I N S I D E

  H I S

  L A I R

  (A Lucy Crimson Mystery—Book 10)

  K a t e B o l d

  Kate Bold

  Bestselling author Kate Bold is the author of numerous series in the mystery and thriller genres, including Meg Thorne, Heather King, Brynn Justice, Beth Drake, Maggie Flight, Addison Shine, Barren Pines, Nina Veil, Nora Price, Kelsey Hawk, Alexa Chase, Ashley Hope, Camille Grace, Harley Cole, Kaylie Brooks, Eve Hope, Dylan First, Lauren Lamb series.

  Many of Kate’s books are available for free. Please visit Kate’s author page to find out more.

  An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

  Copyright © 2026 by Kate Bold. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SERIES BY KATE BOLD

  MEG THORNE

  HEATHER KING

  BRYNN JUSTICE

  BETH DRAKE

  MAGGIE FLIGHT

  ADDISON SHINE

  BARREN PINES

  NINA VEIL

  NORA PRICE

  KELSEY HAWK

  ALEXA CHASE

  ASHLEY HOPE

  CAMILLE GRACE

  HARLEY COLE

  KAYLIE BROOKS

  EVE HOPE

  DYLAN FIRST

  LAUREN LAMB

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Thomas Welch groaned as he woke. The groan emitted from him in a thin stream through his nose, as he willed his body to spur into action. His back was sore, but that was nothing new, and his head was throbbing and cloudy, also not a revelation that morning as he woke for his day.

  A wave of panic shot through his body, and his eyes snapped open. He panted as he came to and witnessed an unusual sight. He didn't know what he was seeing at first, only that it wasn’t his bedroom and he hadn’t woken in his bed. He sat in an uncomfortable chair, rusted metal panels before him.

  He sat forward, wincing as the pain coursed through his lower back. It was not making the same pain that troubled him most mornings, but a new pain, temporarily making the pain he was used to and comfortable with. The pain that came from sleeping in a chair.

  Two thoughts ran through this mind.

  What the heck am I doing here? Where am I?

  A third thought crept in as he tried to move his back and release some of the tightness. He knew he didn't have immediate access to his painkillers, some over the counter and others obtained from more questionable sources.

  Thomas smacked his lips together, then licked them. His mouth was dry, his head groggy as if he had been drinking a lot the previous night, which may or may not be true. He currently couldn’t remember where he was the previous night and how he had gotten into…the room.

  His eyes had been on the former control panel before him, all rusted, weathered by time, and broken. His eyes wandered the rest of the room, trying to figure out where he was. There were old metal shelves, colored by red and brown as if the rust were a living organism creeping over the units. A door was to his right, a large viewing window slightly to his left. There were more chairs in the room, but they had toppled, and only one was upright, which was the only one that was larger, more comfortable at one point in time, and bolted to the floor.

  His first instinct now that he was fully awake was to take stock. He felt pain in his back, but none elsewhere. He reached a hand up to his head and felt around the back and the side, bringing his hand back with no blood on it. That told him two things: he hadn’t been hit over the head to be subdued, and he wasn’t tied up.

  Thomas gingerly stood, the pain and tightness in his back stopping him from straightening quickly, but he was able to do so over time. He arched his back as far as it would go and took another look around from the slightly higher vantage point.

  He could see into the window better, and while it was dirty, he would likely be able to see into the next room if it weren’t dark in there. Thomas looked up to see a small light above covered in a metal wire casing.

  Thomas stumbled over toward the door, grabbing the handle and turning it. The door moved slightly, but didn't open. He shook the door a few times, trying to force it, but it was locked. Thomas moved his head from side to side, stretching more, and contemplated ramming the door with his shoulder. He was not sure if he was able to with the pain in his body, and even if he could ram it, he wouldn’t be able to sustain the action multiple times.

  He needed a moment to compose himself and let some of the pain dissipate from his body—he knew himself well, and after a few minutes on his feet, he would be able to move far better.

  The only thing to think about while he was waiting for that to happen, and extremely unsettling now that he was able to think about it, was what he was doing in the room.

  He had woken up in an unknown room with the door locked. He might panic more if not for the pain and fuzziness in his head. Thomas placed a hand on his head as his balance didn't fully cooperate, and he made his way back to the chair, taking a moment to sit down.

  "The green button."

  Robert jolted, the pain kicking him in the back. The voice was tinny and crackly, coming from the speaker in the corner of the room, which didn't look operational, given that it was almost cracked in two and hanging by its wire. He glared at the speaker.

  "The green button," the voice repeated.

  Robert swallowed, then looked at the panel before him. There, amongst all the other broken switches, knobs, and buttons, was a cracked and faded, round green button.

  He didn't reach for it, defiantly disobeying the voice. Yet, curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself reaching out, his finger hovering over the button. He looked up at the speaker, wanting to tell the voice that he was doing it because he wanted to and not because he was told.

  Then he pressed it.

  The light in the room through the glass was turned on, and it blinded Thomas for a moment before he was able to see into the room.

  He moved back a little, almost falling back into the chair behind him. There were two people in the other room, both of them in chairs, both bound and gagged. The person on the left was a man with black hair and pale skin; a woman sat on the other chair, her hair short and brown, her skin tanned. They blinked to accustom themselves to the light as they looked at him with wide eyes. They were trying to say something through their gags, but no sound could be heard between rooms.

  "What’s going on?" Thomas stated as he ran back to the door and tried it again.

  He shook the door, and it moved slightly back and forth, but it wouldn’t budge.

  "Let me out of here!" Thomas shouted.

  The voice didn't reply. The door didn't give. Thomas forgot about the pain in his back and the dull throb in his head for the moment.

  He left the door and went back to the panel, placing his hands on the glass above it, his eyes moving between the two people bound to the chairs. He tried to figure out what the heck was going on.

  "Don't worry," he said, knowing they couldn't hear him. "I’m going to get you out of there."

  His eyes fell on the control panel again. A button had turned on the lights. Perhaps a button would open the door. His hands hovered over the controls, unsure of what anything did, and he reached for a red button.

  "I wouldn’t do that if I were you," the voice said. They paused, then added, "Well, not yet."

  Thomas hesitated and looked up at the speaker as if someone was watching him through it.

  There was silence for a few seconds before, "You have been selected?"

  "Yeah?" Thomas asked. "Selected for what?"

  "As an authority figure," the crackly voice replied.

  "What the heck does that mean?" Thomas asked, balling his fists. "Let me out of here. You can't keep me locked up like this."

  "Yet, here you are," the voice pointed out
.

  "How about you come and say that to my face?" Thomas suggested.

  "No, I don't think I will," came the reply.

  Then silence again. Long, agonizing silence as Thomas waited to hear the voice again, to negotiate with it. He thought about going back to the door again and trying it, but he knew he wasn’t getting it open without it being unlocked first. He looked around the room again, considering picking up one of the chairs and tossing it through the window.

  The one thing he couldn’t bring himself to look at was the two people still bound to the chairs in the other room. He was caged, but he was free. They were not. He was helpless to help them.

  "Are you ready to begin?" the voice asked.

  "I’m not playing your games," Thomas replied stubbornly.

  "You have a choice," the voice instructed. "If you want to be let free, you must administer the punishment to them."

  "What? I told you, I’m not playing your freaking game," he snarled.

  "Every time they get a question wrong, you will press a red button. The red one on the left is for the person on the left, and the red button on the right is for the person on the right. Do this, and you will be set free. Choose not to do it, and all three of you will be killed. Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?"

  Thomas finally cast a glance toward the two people. He grit his teeth as he looked at them, thinking of a way out of the room. He placed his hand on the glass again, wondering if it would smash if he threw a chair at it. The glass looked pretty thick.

  "We’re almost ready to begin," the voice told him.

  A fourth person stepped from the darkness in the other room and approached the two people from behind with a knife. They wore a black hood.

  "No, no, no!" Thomas shouted. "What are you doing! Behind you! Look behind you! Okay, okay, okay! I’ll play your game."

  The person didn't stop advancing, and when they reached the first person, they stuck the knife upwards behind the head and pulled backward, cutting the gag.

  The person in the chair flinched and began saying things animatedly that Thomas couldn’t hear. The hooded figure did the same with the second person before receding back into the darkness.

  "We are ready to begin," the voice said. "When the answers are wrong, you will administer the punishment, and it will be agonizing. Do that, and you will go free. Fail to do it, and all three of you will die. Do you understand, Thomas?"

  Thomas swallowed and nodded.

  "Fantastic," the voice said with obvious glee. "Here is the first question."

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lucy Crimson sat at the kitchen table, going through case files. They were all cold case files—three women who were killed between twenty-five and twenty years ago. One of them was her sister, Desiree.

  "I’m doing chicken," Sam said as he worked around her in the kitchen of their Victorian home. "What do you think we should have with it? Rice or pasta?"

  "Pasta," Lucy said with a smile.

  She had been investigating her sister’s death for a long time, and while it was a sadness that she would always carry with her, she had disassociated herself somewhat from it.

  "That works for me," Sam said.

  Lucy went back to the files, but she watched Sam out of the corner of her eye as he worked, making dinner for the two of them. What had started as a working relationship between her, a criminal psychology professor, and him, an FBI agent, had developed into a working friendship, and then a relationship. Now, they lived together in the house that she had once considered hers, but now considered theirs.

  Sam was a large man—an ex-Navy SEAL with blonde hair and blue eyes, muscular, giving him the look of a Viking. He could be intimidating when he needed to, and then there was the softer side of him. A man who was caring and protective, one who had helped her refurbish her home over the past year, and a man who cooked while she worked (something she often did too much of).

  Lucy had been looking for a better connection between the three cases. She didn't know if they were all killed by the same killer, but a part of her hoped they were. It was macabre to think it, but if they were the result of a serial killer, it gave them more to work with. Instead of all the evidence pointing toward three people, it pointed toward one.

  She had pursued her sister’s case for a number of years, based on the premise that it was an isolated incident. Sam had been working alongside her, using his FBI contacts to further investigate the case. Desiree Crimson had been murdered and left in an alleyway in the middle of Boston.

  More recently, Lucy’s father had reflected on his life choices. It had always been hard for Robert Crimson to think about his daughter's death, and he didn't want to hit dead end after dead end by looking at a case that no one had come close to solving in over twenty years. Yet recently, he had decided to support his daughter.

  Robert had been working with Sam, and there was also the possibility of corruption within the department back then, and misplaced evidence. Evidence from the case was indeed missing, but whether that was an error at the time, throughout the years, or something more purposeful, they didn't know.

  All they truly knew was that someone had killed Desiree, and justice had never been served.

  The connections between the three cases were like frayed strings. They kind of held the cases together, but if you pulled on them too hard, they would all unravel.

  They had three women, all young, all killed within five years in Boston, and no one was ever charged for any of the murders. What was more subtle, and below the surface of each case, was the hint of missing evidence. They couldn’t prove there was any missing evidence in Desiree’s case, but they were sure there was. They couldn’t prove that with any of the other cases, but if they could, then they had a strong thread they could weave throughout all three.

  The closest anyone had come to arresting anyone in any of the three cases was when a suspect was arrested but later dismissed. There hadn’t been enough evidence to charge him.

  "I’m not here," Sam said as he placed a glass of wine on the table. "You keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll let you know when dinner is ready."

  "Hey," Lucy said, getting up and tugging on the back of Sam’s sweater. She pulled him back to her. "You are very much here, and that’s just the way I like it."

  When Sam turned around, Lucy wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek before nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. Sam embraced her back and kissed her on the top of her head.

  After this short embrace, Sam went back to cooking, and Lucy went back to the kitchen table. She wouldn’t let herself be frustrated by the dead ends in the case. If she did, she would have quit a long time ago.

  Lucy had begun by going through each case individually, looking for anything the police at the time might have missed or any errors caused by the technology of the time. When that had yielded nothing, she looked for any similarities between the three cases that might have been overlooked because no one had considered a serial killer. She also put together profiles based on the information to see if they matched. There was a lot of overlap, but that was also because there wasn't much to go on. She couldn’t build a profile based on all their cases, because they were not sure the same person had committed them, and that would be making a square peg fit a round hole. She had to start with what she knew and work forward, not start at the end and make everything fit what she wanted it to fit.

  "Dinner is served," Sam said.

  "Good, I’m famished," Lucy admitted. She started reorganizing the case files to pack them away, but stopped. She picked up a police report about evidence found at the crime scene of the third victim. Everything was handwritten, and there were initials on the bottom of the report instead of a signature.

  "Hey, take a look at this," Lucy said. "Does that look like PH to you?"

  Sam took the document from her and brought it closer. "Yeah, I guess it could."

  "If it does, then it could belong to Peter Heinlein," Lucy pointed out. "That would give us a connection between all three cases."

  "He was the lead detective on the first case," Sam said. "And he consulted on your sister’s case. There’s nothing to suggest he did anything wrong in any of those cases.