Lottery

by Kimberly Shursen

In this psychological thriller, nothing is what it seems. Caleb O’Toole has hit the mega lottery jackpot—but no amount of money can eradicate the malevolent force that is chasing him and threatening everything he holds dear.

With murder, suspense, and deceit at every turn, Caleb will do what it takes to hold onto the woman he’s vowed to never let go and prevent her from finding out the truth. But when he learns that someone is secretly trying to unravel his deadly past and expose him, Caleb’s mind goes to an even darker place.

From the San Francisco suburbs of Chinatown and Pacific Heights, to Shanghai, no one knows what Caleb is capable of—not even himself.

Once again, Kimberly Shursen, author of Itsy Bitsy Spider and Hush, has spun a riveting story that will keep you guessing until the surprising end.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

“When this monster entered my brain, I will never know, but it is here to stay.

Maybe you can stop him, I can’t.”   – Dennis Rader aka BTK killer

The crowds, the noise, and the ongoing commotion of tourists all disappeared when Caleb spotted her flying down the street on her bike.

A flashback blazed through Caleb’s mind. Caleb was ten when his old man made him watch as he destroyed Caleb’s new Huffy bike. Tears streaming down his freckled face, Caleb had been helpless to intervene. Running over the bike, backing up and running over it again and again, when the truck stopped abruptly, his father stepped out, slamming the door, his face a burnished red. “That’ll teach you to do what you’re told,” his dad spat angrily, pointing at the demolished bicycle, his meaty jowls shaking with anger. He bent over toward Caleb, a sickening smile on his face. “Are you crying, sissy boy?” Caleb’s father asked with a sarcastic smile. “Cry baby sissy boy, you’ll never amount to a tinker’s damn.”

God, Caleb hated his father. He’d hated him for as far back as he could remember. It was apparent that his father detested him just as much. Caleb couldn’t remember his old man ever telling him he was proud of him—not for one damn thing. Caleb’s mother had tried to explain that Caleb was the oldest and fathers were always harder on their first born. Caleb had almost accepted her answer until he’d overheard his aunt talking to his mother, asking if Caleb’s father still believed Caleb wasn’t his.

“Hey,” Ling said out-of-breath and hopped off her bike next to him.

The sunlight washed over her flawless skin; her eyes were hidden by sunglasses. She took off the black plastic helmet embellished with a hot pink stripe, and shook out her hair.

“I thought you were a kid,” he said, admiring her.

“Only took me like twenty minutes to get here.”

He nodded at her city bike and then his eyes fell on the oversized, heavy-belted wheels that helped to shrug off city hazards such as broken glass and deep potholes. “You have a lock for that?” Caleb asked.

She reached inside the backpack on the back of the bike and pulled out a flexible tube. “Well … yeah.” She smiled. “Us biker girls have to take precautions.” She bent over, wrapped the snake-like coil around the bike, and snapped the lock closed. Wearing a black racer-back tank, her spandex shorts hugged her petite, yet muscular thighs.

Caleb pushed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Everyone’s starting to board.”

“Wait.” Ling flashed a mischievous grin. “I have to do something.”

Puzzled, he followed her through the crowded pier. The cloudless sky, the endless trail of boats trolling the bay, and the variety of street entertainers garbed in flamboyant attire all made for a picture-perfect San Francisco day. She stopped at a symphonic stairway like the one in the blockbuster movie Big.

The keyboard spanned almost five feet across, and every time a tourist stepped on one of the keys, a musical note rang out. On most weekends, an off-key symphony would resound over Fisherman’s Wharf, through the streets of Nob Hill, and across the bay.

Arms crossed, Ling patiently waited for a time when the keyboard was devoid of any tourists. Quickly, she shot up to the third step, sending out a loud middle “C.” Swiftly hopping to the first step, and then bouncing up to the second that she stomped on twice. When the audience recognized the tune—Old McDonald Had a Farm—whistles and applause rang out, competing with the cries of the throng of seals in the bay.

Caleb watched her with adoration. “Pretty impressive,” he complimented as she walked toward him.

“Well.” Ling pushed the sunglasses down on her nose and glanced up at him. “I’m afraid that’s the extent of my musical talent.” She shoved the glasses back into place. “If I don’t practice, however,” she said and grinned, “I might lose my touch.”

He put a hand over his chest. “Well, I hate to brag, but I play a little guitar.”

“You know my song?”

“Is Old McDonald Had a Farm your song?”

She thumbed her chest. “I own it.”

Caleb laughed.

Walking down the pier, Ling nodded at the waiters and waitresses dressed in black shorts and skirts carrying large silver platters. “Wonder what’s going on?”

“They’re taking those to Weber’s boat,” Caleb said. “Fog Harbor Fish House caters his outings.”

“Really?” she asked. “Quite an important fella, huh?”

“Weber?” Jack said and paused. “His family money comes from oil, plus they own a number of restaurants. One of them is Fog Harbor.”

Weber’s hundred-foot yacht was an eye-stopper. The body of the boat and hull painted in a subtle warm beige tone was accented with wide, bold stripes of burgundy and black. Growing up in Nebraska, Caleb had never known anyone with this kind of wealth.

Caleb hopped on board and held out his hand to Ling. She put her small hand in his, sending another tingle though him. People chatted in small groups, while hired help unveiled platters of shrimp, fried calamari, steamed clams, and fresh warm French bread. Port windows had been dropped, merging the outside with the inside.

He placed his hand in the small of Ling’s back. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

Cushy lounge chairs, wrap-around bars, and informal dining areas speckled all three levels of the ship. On the upper deck, bright colored cushions covered chaise lounges that surrounded a swimming pool complete with a diving board.

The hot tub was already filled with sun worshippers toasting with champagne and high ball glasses held above the bubbling water. Women in skimpy bikinis were clustered together while men in Speedos, their six-packs sculptured by Gold’s Gym, vied for their attention.

“Wow,” Ling said, placing a hand over her chest. “This is unbelievable. Everyone looks so … model-like.”

“O’Toole.” Caleb turned and saw Weber walking toward them. Wearing a perfectly pressed blue and yellow striped cotton polo shirt, Weber’s shiny, dark hair was slicked back. Weber lowered his sunglasses and parted his lips slightly, staring at Ling. “And who might you be?”

“Ling,” she said confidently, thrusting her hand toward Weber. “And you are?”

Caleb forced himself not to smile. Ling knew full well who he was. He prayed he was right about her, and that she wouldn’t be attracted to Weber because of his money.

“Your host,” Weber said. “Jack Weber.” He took her hand and put his other hand over hers. “What a beautiful addition to our family,” he flirted.

Ling slowly pulled her hand from his grip. “You have a very large family.”

“There’s always room for one more,” Weber said, and then added, “Can I get you something. Glass of wine? Margarita?”

“Water would be great,” she said.

Weber flagged down one of the servers. “Get my beautiful new friend here a Fuji.”

Beautiful new friend. Caleb pushed his hair back off his forehead and glanced around the deck. Weber was a sleaze with no boundaries when it came to what he wanted.

“Yes, sir,” the attendant answered.

“Quite a ship,” Ling said, glancing around.

“Yacht,” Weber corrected.

Ling briefly gave Caleb a look and grinned.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Weber turned and started to walk away. “Need to get the crew moving so we can enjoy this awesome day.”

“He’s full of himself,” Ling said under her breath.

“Ya think?” Caleb put his arm around her.

The yacht drifted on San Francisco Bay for hours. Caleb and Ling talked by the pool, with Weber interrupting occasionally to introduce Ling to some of the other guests.

When they were alone again, Ling nodded at a frail woman, her strawberry-blonde hair blowing the wind. “Who’s that? She doesn’t look like she belongs here.”

“I can’t remember her name.” Caleb leaned closer to Ling’s ear and whispered, “I think she’s Weber’s contact.”

Ling wrinkled up her nose. “Contact?”

“Drugs.”

“I’m going to go talk to her.” Ling stood. “She looks lonely.”

Caleb put a hand on her arm. “Bad news, Ling.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right,” she agreed and sat back down.

No matter how many times Caleb toured the bay, each time it felt like the first; the seagulls circling gracefully overhead, the impressive Golden Gate Bridge that led to the Pacific, the hush that ensued when the yacht circled Alcatraz. One day he’d have his own boat; that is, if the bookie didn’t kill him first. He wasn’t going to think about that now. He’d talk to Weber about it tomorrow. Today he wanted to focus on the beautiful woman who’d consented to spend the day with him.

It was almost ten when the boat slowly made its way back to the dock. A slit of the moon overhead, Caleb heard the white caps gently slapping the sides of the yacht.

Weber tapped Caleb on the shoulder and glanced at Ling. “Can I steal your man for a sec?”

Ling smiled at Caleb. “Just for a sec.”

When the two men reached the railing, Weber leaned into Caleb. “I won,” he whispered.

“Won?” Caleb asked, confused.

“The fucking lottery.”

“Come on.” Caleb rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap.” Noticing that there was no sign of amusement in Weber’s expression, Caleb felt the blood drain from his face.

Weber patted the pocket in his shorts. “Haven’t turned it in yet. Gonna wait for a day or two.”

“You’re not kidding?” Caleb’s mouth dropped open and he slapped his hand on top of his head. “736 mil?”

“Why the hell would I lie about something like that?”

“Oh, my God,” Caleb gushed, feeling light-headed. “I cannot believe this is really hap—”

“You act like you won.” Weber took a sip of his drink.

Caleb’s heart started to race. “We’re splitting, remember?”

“Splitting?” Weber smirked. “Forget it, man, you picked up the tickets so I’ll give you a couple of bucks.” He turned and started to walk away.

“You’re not serious … right?”

Not turning back around, Weber held up his hand, dismissing Caleb.

Caleb felt like he’d been punched it the stomach. Jesus. He had to somehow curb his anger and fight off the urge to beat the shit out of Weber. Feeling ill, he turned around, leaned over the side of the railing and drew in a deep breath. He felt his left eye twitch. Son-of-a-bitch.

“You okay?” Ling asked when Caleb reached her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

. . .

When Caleb and Ling said their good-byes to Weber and other guests, Caleb forced himself to shake hands with faceless people.

Walking her bike beside him, Caleb turned to Ling and noticed a confused expression on her face. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you’d ever been to the open market.”

“You mean like fresh vegetable and fruit stands?”

“Yes.”

Caleb shook his head. “Once Katherine and …” He stopped himself, embarrassed he’d brought up another woman’s name.

Ling patted his arm. “Not to worry. Everyone has someone in their past.” She smiled. “Maybe you and I could go to the market sometime soon. I go every Sunday.”

Picking up on her cue that she wanted to see him again, he said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday. How ‘bout it?”

She stopped in front of the door to her apartment. “I’d like that.”

He looked up. “Is this where you live?”

“Surprised?”

“Pleasantly so.”

“You want to come up for coffee?”

“You know,” Caleb lied, “all the fresh air has made me a tired and I’m afraid I’d conk out on your couch. Not cool on a first date.”

“Okay.” After she’d locked her bike into place, she turned toward Caleb. Standing on her tiptoes, Ling pecked his cheek lightly. “Thanks for today. I’ll see you tomorrow, like around ten?”

“Perfect.” Caleb put his hands on her shoulders, leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. “Thank you for a wonderful day.” God, he wanted to kiss her passionately, but reminded himself that he didn’t want to scare her off.

After she closed the door, he knew that he wouldn’t be able sleep. Aimlessly walking the streets, Caleb thought back on what Weber had said. That smug look on his face when he’d told Caleb they weren’t splitting the lottery ticket; his condescending bullshit comments. No. Caleb wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Weber had given his word. For once in his miserable life, Caleb needed a fucking break. Caleb had clawed his way through college, and then up the ladder to become creative director of one of the largest ad agencies in the world. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but his father’s angry words burned into his memory: “You’ll never amount to a tinker’s damn.”

Hell, yes, it was Caleb’s fault he’d gotten into this mess. However, he’d caught the break he needed with Weber winning the lottery. And he’d be damned if Jack trust-fund baby Weber was going to go back on his word. He picked up a pint of gin at an all-night liquor store, took a swig, and stuffed the bottle into his back pocket.

The liquor was down to the last few ounces when Caleb found himself back at the yacht, hoping Weber was still there.

“Weber,” he called out when he stepped on deck. The boat was pitch black, but the moon offered enough light to allow him to make his way up the two flights of stairs. “Weber?” Caleb found him passed out on the top deck, sprawled out on one of the many plush chaises that surrounded the pool.

Caleb shook his shoulder. “Weber.”

“What the fuck?” Weber growled in a low, gravelly voice.

“We need to talk.”

Weber rubbed his blood-shot eyes. “What the hell, man?”

“A deal is a deal.” Caleb pulled up a chair beside him. The gin had given him the liquid guts he needed to confront Weber.

“Get the hell off my boat.” Weber rolled over on his side, his back to Caleb.

“Not going to happen.” Caleb stood, and walked to the bar. “You are going to split that money.” He poured gin into a glass, and ambled back to Weber. Caleb pushed Weber’s shoulder again. “I’m not leaving until we settle this.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Weber said enraged.

Caleb slammed the glass down on the floorboard and, using both hands, pushed Weber off the chaise. A loud thud resounded when his body hit the deck. “I told you to get up, dumb ass,” Caleb said angrily.

Weber shot up, his eyes crazed, and his fists clenched. “Get the fuck away from me, man.”

“Not a chance.” Caleb casually bent over and picked up the glass of liquor. “You’re not going to fuck with me. Not this time.”

“Screw you.” Weber pushed an arm out. “Get the hell off my boat.”

Caleb strolled to the railing, turned, and leaned back against it, trying hard to keep his cool. On top of being a drunk, Weber was an asshole and, one way or another, Caleb was going to get half of what he’d been promised.

Wearing only swim trunks, Weber weaved to the bar, and rummaged through the open bottles. He poured clear liquid into a used glass. “I told you to get the hell off my boat or I’ll call the fucking cops.”

Caleb’s eyes raked the deck, finding Weber’s khaki shorts draped over a chair; the shorts he’d patted when he’d told Caleb he won. “A deal is a deal,” Caleb said sternly.

Although it was dark, the lights on the pier captured Weber’s evil smile. Weber staggered to within a few feet away from Caleb. “It’s already settled, you pathetic nobody.”

Caleb saw red. “Listen, you piece of shit. You think people hang around you because they like you? No one cares about your sorry ass. In fact, people laugh at you behind your back.” He tossed an arm in the air. “You’re fucking useless without your money.”

When Weber charged him, Caleb quickly moved to the right, and Weber tripped, his head hitting the deck with a loud thud.

Caleb crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at Weber. “Jesus, what a fucking idiot.”

Weber’s head sandwiched against the side of the boat, his arms were sprawled out on either side of him.

Caleb pulled back his sandal and pushed it into Weber’s side. “Get up, you SOB. I said we’re going to settle this.” Even with the dim lighting, he noticed something on the end of his sandal. He bent over, rubbed his hand over it, and brought his fingers to eye level. Blood?

Caleb knelt next to Weber, his heart racing. “Jack?” He paused. “Weber?” Jesus. He scrambled to the bar and found a flashlight.

Moving the beam around Weber, when he spotted the anchor embedded in Weber’s right temple, he saw stars.

“Oh, God no,” he stumbled backward, tasting his own bile. Caleb placed a hand on the side of his head, trying to grasp the situation.

Trembling, he knelt and set the large flashlight upright beside Weber. Placing two fingers on the side of Weber’s neck, he held his breath and waited to feel a pulse. Oh, Jesus, please … please don’t let him be … moving his fingers to the other side of Weber’s neck, he couldn’t feel a beat … nothing. Scared shitless, he noticed Weber’s complexion was chalky, his eyes open and fixed.

“Weber?” Caleb said again. But there was no response.

Jesus, he needed to call for help. Shaking, Caleb pulled out his phone to dial 911 and then stopped. The police would question Caleb. The last thing he wanted was to be a suspect in a wealthy man’s death.

He slowly turned in every direction. “Hello? Anyone here? Hello?” Caleb asked a little louder than a whisper. If his heart beat any faster, it would explode.

He had to get out of here. The boats parked on either side of Weber’s yacht were dark. Hopefully, no one had seen anything. Racing toward the stairs, Weber’s khaki shorts caught Caleb’s eye. He’d almost forgotten what he’d come here for.

Frantically pushing his hands into the pockets, Caleb found the ticket. He stumbled down the stairs, and forced himself to walk slowly down the pier so as not to cause attention. His mind raced. Had anyone seen what happened? If they had, would they be able to identify Caleb? What if Weber was still alive?

Fuck. He stopped abruptly. Fingerprints. He’d checked for a pulse and had to go back and wipe them off.

Sprinting, he clamored back up the steps to the top deck. A pool of blood now outlined Weber’s body. Why the hell had Weber charged him? Why had Caleb moved when he’d come at him? If he would have stood still, Weber would still be alive. All the why’s in the world couldn’t change the fact that Weber was dead.

Caleb rummaged through the bar, found a rag and turned on the spigot. After the cloth was saturated with water, he wrung it out, and then wrapped it around his hand. Kneeling next to Weber, Caleb quickly swiped the dead man’s neck a few times, and then wiped his prints off the flashlight and put it back on a shelf in the bar.

If Weber had told anyone about the lottery ticket and they came forward, the video from the market would show Caleb purchasing the tickets. It would be Caleb’s word against a dead man’s, he thought, keeping his head down when he stepped off the boat.

The sun was just starting to come up. Hopefully the few people who were still out at this time of day would be too drunk or too preoccupied to remember seeing him.

What the hell? Why was he feeling guilty? If the lump in his throat grew any larger, Caleb wouldn’t be able to breathe. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t killed Weber. Weber had been drunk and tripped.

However, if anyone could place him on the yacht around the time of Weber’s death, Caleb was fucked.

. . .

McKenzie Price didn’t move. Sitting on the closed toilet lid in the john, her thin legs were pulled up and her arms were wrapped tightly around them. She’d heard everything. She had no idea what time she’d passed out, but when she woke up, she’d stumbled into the bathroom to relieve herself.

      When she heard angry voices, she peeked through the crack in the door. Although she didn’t know Caleb O’Toole, she’d seen him at a couple of Weber’s parties.

When Weber fell, she didn’t think much about it. He was drunk like he usually was.

She held her breath until she heard Caleb’s footsteps go down the stairs. She had just started to creep out of the bathroom and heard footsteps. Panicked, McKenzie quietly closed the door and waited.

She’d waited twenty minutes after she heard Caleb leave before she slowly crept out.

Cautiously, she tiptoed to where Weber lay. Leaning over his body, she whispered, “Jack?” Leaning closer, she saw the blood. “Oh, God.” Trembling, she stood up straight and covered her mouth, forcing herself to swallow her scream. The last thing she needed to be involved in Jack Weber’s death.

She wrapped her arms around herself, not able to take her eyes away from the blood that continued to pour out of his head. Turning away, she needed a hit. Christ. Was Weber really fucking dead?

Shaking, she pulled out a few pills from her pocket and stuffed them into her mouth. She weaved toward the bar, found a glass half-full of clear liquid, and chased the pills down with gin.

She had to get out of here. Already having a police record for theft and possession of paraphernalia, McKenzie didn’t need this shit. Tears streaming down her face, she turned on her heels, fell, and scrambled to get up. Not only was she shit-faced, but her bouts with anorexia had left her frail.

There was no way she would tell anyone what had happened. She’d learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut.

She stared down at her worn tennis shoes hurrying down the pier. Pushing her unkempt, strawberry-blonde hair back over her ears, she felt the Valium start to kick in. When O’Toole had said something about a ticket is when Weber had become enraged. She’d also seen Caleb going through Weber’s pockets. Ticket? What kind of a ticket would make both of them so angry?

Paranoid Caleb might be watching, McKenzie jogged down the street, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. She needed to get back to her safe place.

A cold chill ran through her veins when she thought of Weber lying in his own thick pool of blood. Whatever the hell they’d fought about had to be important, as O’Toole hadn’t even tried calling for help, and Jack Weber was dead.

Continued….

Click on the title below to download the entire book and keep reading Kimberly Shursen’s Lottery>>>>