A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trus Reagan Keeter (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

it means, you two-bit princess. We’re lost. One tunnel’s good as another at this point. Either one could lead us to a dead end.”

“At least I have a plan.”

“Sure. Leave it up to the bimbo to come up with a plan, eh, Martin?”

“How dare you talk to me that way.”

Ethan’s mind started to swim. Just another bitch tryin’ to hold you down. Then his eye twitched enough for Cynthia to notice. “I’ll talk to you any way I want to talk to you! You’re just a selfish, silver screen whore—”

“Guys!” They stopped fighting and looked at Martin as if he had just fired a gun. “We’re in this together, remember? Gina and Paul are counting on us. Please, quit it. At least until we find a way out. Until then, we need each other.”

It was enough to stop the yelling, but Ethan and Cynthia continued to glare at each other until Ethan said to her, “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

It was not only enough to break the stalemate, but soften Cynthia’s position, as well.

She directed her attention to Ethan. “You make a good point. I think we should split up and try them both.”

THEN

AS A FAVOR to Byron, the police agreed to deliver Ethan directly to Ridgeview. “He’s not a criminal,” Byron said, leaning into the window of the cop car. “He needs help.”

And Byron couldn’t think of a better place to send his son for that help than Ridgeview. The private psychiatric facility had opened its doors in the late sixties, and had since been home to an exceptional staff of Birmingham doctors.

“Sure, Mr. Lancaster,” the cop said.

“Thanks, Tom.”

Byron had known the officer for more than ten years and had personally refinanced his house twice—both times with a handshake and a smile. That was why Byron had asked for Tom specifically when he called the police; he knew that Tom, if anybody, would handle the situation with as much discretion as was possible in a town as small as Triton.

The officer looked past Byron. He watched two EMTs load Norma into the back of an ambulance and added, “If she doesn’t make it—”

“I know.”

If Norma died, Ethan would have to stand trial for murder. That would mean rumors—lots of them—and Byron knew that enough rumors in a small town could sink his business.

It wouldn’t happen immediately, but if Ethan stood trial, his customers would, one at a time, take their money out and go somewhere else. No more loans, no more savings accounts—his doors would close.

Then, with Ethan yelling for Byron to get him out, Byron said, “Trust me, son. This is the best thing for you.” Then he sent the cop on his way and rode with Norma in the back of the ambulance to Triton General.

NOW

“MARTIN, YOU TAKE the tunnel to the right,” Ethan said. “Cynthia and me will go the other way.”

“Meet back here in twenty minutes?” Cynthia asked.

Martin said that sounded reasonable and turned on his headlamp. Unless another earthquake hit, what could go wrong in twenty minutes?

THEN

THE OFFICERS DRAGGED Ethan into the Ridgeview lobby. He was shouting obscenities and kicking his legs wildly, trying to escape.

The nurse at the front desk turned on the PA and announced, “We’ve got a live one.”

Seconds later, a pair of double doors flew open, and men in white coats came running out. Two, three, four—Ethan wasn’t sure. All he could think about was escaping. All he could hear was that voice in his head shouting, Why are you letting them do this to you?

Then a needle sank into his arm.

In the dreams that followed, he saw rivers of lava burping up fire, jagged black rocks, and winged demons with razor teeth.

NOW

THE TUNNEL ETHAN had chosen started to narrow almost immediately. At five minutes in, it was so tight he and Cynthia had to duck not to hit their heads.

“This doesn’t look promising,” Cynthia said. But she knew better than to be discouraged just yet. The guts of a cave were unpredictable. This narrow tunnel could open up to wider tunnels, a massive cavern or, even better, an exit.

Ethan, who was several steps behind Cynthia, stopped briefly to stretch. His back was getting stiff. Worse, though, was the hunger that everyone was trying to forget.

There was a solution, of course. Every problem had a solution. Martin wouldn’t like it—it didn’t fit their plan—but considering their situation, that didn’t seem to matter much.

“I remember a story I heard once,” he said. “About a plane that went down in the middle of nowhere.”

“What’s your point?” Cynthia asked, still moving forward.

“It was all icy and cold, and nobody was going nowhere to help them because nobody knew where to start looking. But they were hungry, like we are, and they did what they had to do to survive.”

Cynthia stopped and turned, her bloodstained face alarmed. “And?”

“They ate their dead, Cynthia.”

“All right, that’s enough of your sick, psycho shit for now. We have enough to do without you trying to scare me. Once we get out of here, you can eat until you’re fat. For now, if you can’t say something positive, just shut up.”

THEN

ETHAN WAS PUT on a regular diet of specialized medicines. At breakfast and dinner, he was given a small cup of colored pills. They were to control his anger, help him sleep, and various other things he couldn’t remember.

However unnecessary they seemed to Ethan, the hospital felt otherwise. Most days, he was handed the cup by the overworked and overweight Nurse Habal, who watched him until he had chased the pills down with a cup of water.

“Open up,” she’d say when he was through. She’d stick a finger into each side of his mouth and pull his lips wide to look for any pills he might have stashed away. “They usually hide them under their tongues or beside their cheeks,” she said the first time she examined Ethan. “But you wouldn’t do that. You’re a good boy.” Then, satisfied he’d swallowed all his