Amidst the Ruins (A Tori Spark FBI Suspense Thriller—Book Two)

By Laura Rise

When a shattered city is hit with aftershocks, FBI Agent Tori Spark must sift through the survivors to decode cryptically staged murder scenes—and decode the killer’s pattern… before he strikes again.

AMIDST THE RUINS (A Tori Spark FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2) is the second novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Laura Rise. The series begins with AMIDST THE DARKNESS (Book 1).

A captivating crime thriller that centers on a brilliant but tortured female protagonist, the Tori Spark series offers an exhilarating experience filled with unrelenting suspense, ingenious narrative turns, shocking revelations, and a fast pace that will have you eagerly turning pages deep into the night. Fans of Rachel Caine, Mary Burton, and Kendra Elliot are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Rise
• Release date: May 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094397078

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A M I D S T   T H E

R U I N S

(A Tori Spark FBI Suspense Thriller —Book 2)

L a u r a   R i s e

Laura Rise

Laura Rise is author of the IVY PANE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the BREE NOBLE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the TORI SPARK mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).

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

Copyright © 2024  by Laura Rise. 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.

BOOKS BY LAURA RISE

IVY PANE SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

BROKEN LIFE (Book #1)

BROKEN HEART (Book #2)

BROKEN TRUST (Book #3)

BROKEN PATH (Book #4)

BROKEN PROMISE (Book #5)

BREE NOBLE SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

EMPTY SOUL (Book #1)

EMPTY HOUSE (Book #2)

EMPTY HEART (Book #3)

EMPTY ROAD (Book #4)

EMPTY EYES (Book #5)

TORI SPARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

AMIDST THE DARKNESS (Book #1)

AMIDST THE RUINS (Book #2)

AMIDST THE ASHES (Book #3)

AMIDST THE SHADOWS (Book #4)

AMIDST THE LIES (Book #5)

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

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Sarah Jennings' fingers flew across the laptop keyboard, the click-clack rhythm synchronizing with the ticking wall clock in her sparsely furnished apartment. It was a race against the deadline for her latest article, one she couldn't afford to lose. Her concentration was laser-focused, her mind weaving words like a seasoned storyteller.

Abruptly, the serenity shattered. The floor lurched beneath her feet, sending her chair skittering across the hardwood. She grasped at the air, her eyes widening as her mug of coffee became an airborne missile, splattering its contents against the pale walls. Books avalanched from shelves, and picture frames danced off their hooks, their glass faces shattering on impact. A low rumble grew into a roar as the earthquake declared its presence with ferocious intent.

Earthquake! she gasped, the realization igniting a wildfire of panic within her. The world seemed to twist and contort, an angry beast trying to shake off its inhabitants. Sarah's journalistic instincts screamed for her to take notes, to document the experience, but primal fear eclipsed rationale. Her heart thrummed against her ribcage, each beat a thunderous drum echoing the chaos that unfolded around her.

Instincts took over. Dropping to her hands and knees, she scurried like a frightened rabbit seeking refuge. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light that somehow still pierced through the quivering curtains. Sarah locked her gaze on the sturdy oak table that anchored the center of her living room. It was a relic from her grandmother, built to withstand the tests of time and, hopefully, earthquakes.

With the agility borne from sheer terror, Sarah dove beneath it. She curled into a fetal position, arms shielding her head as the ground continued to convulse beneath her. The table groaned under the strain of falling debris, a protective guardian in the midst of turmoil. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a sharp intake of dust-laden air.

Please hold, she whispered to the oak, a silent plea to the only thing standing between her and the collapsing world above. The cacophony of destruction filled her ears, but beneath the table, amidst the violent shaking, there was a semblance of sanctuary. Sarah clung to this fleeting safety, her entire being focused on the hope that this, too, shall pass.

The trembling earth stilled as suddenly as it had erupted. Sarah's lungs expanded with a gulp of air that tasted of freedom from the immediate terror. For a precious heartbeat, silence enveloped her, a stark contrast to the roar that had filled the moments prior. Her eyes squeezed shut, she sent a silent prayer into the void, pleading for the reprieve to last.

But peace was a visitor, not a resident in these fraught seconds.

The stillness shattered, a distant crash jolting Sarah back into the present peril. The walls groaned, voicing their protest against the relentless shaking they had endured. Her heart, which had momentarily slowed, resumed its rapid tattoo, an urgent drumroll pressing her into action.

Get out, her mind commanded, each word a hammer strike against the fog of fear.

Sarah unfolded herself from the cramped space beneath the table, muscles protesting with tension. With a swift glance at the door, her objective crystallized. Survival depended on escape. She crawled forward, urgency propelling her movements, the fragile serenity of the apartment now a collapsing illusion.

The floorboards creaked under her palms and knees, a sinister reminder that stability was only an illusion. Behind her, the sounds of her life being torn apart by nature's fury chased her—glass shattering, wood splintering, every noise a cacophony of destruction.

Move! she demanded of her own body, voice lost in the din.

She reached the door, lurching to her feet with a dancer's grace born of desperation. Her fingers scrabbled at the knob, slick with sweat. The once familiar entrance now loomed like the gate to a besieged fortress, her last barrier to the relative safety of the outside world.

As she yanked it open and stumbled across the threshold, the earth roared its defiance, but Sarah Jennings would not be claimed without a fight.

Sarah's legs pumped furiously, a blur of motion as she descended the staircase. The steps themselves seemed to pulsate with the earth's rhythm, each footfall an uncertain gamble with gravity. The chandelier overhead swung like a pendulum gone wild, its crystals clinking in a mad, discordant melody. Dust billowed around her, tickling her lungs and painting the world in a gritty haze.

Just as she launched herself off the final step, the building heaved a guttural groan, and the tremors intensified. Sarah felt as though she was riding the back of some great, restless beast clawing its way to the surface. She fought for balance, her survival instincts sharper than ever, every sense attuned to the shifting ground beneath her.

The dimly lit lobby, once a welcoming space of polished marble and soft lighting, had transformed into a perilous maze of fallen debris and fractured pillars. Sarah navigated the chaos, her mind singularly focused on finding an exit. Amidst the roar of destruction, a new sound caught her attention—a sinister shuffle from the shadows.

She skidded to a halt, her breath hitching. From the darkness, a figure materialized, incongruous and chilling amidst the pandemonium.

At first, she thought it was a neighbor, or a first responder.

The figure of a man emerged, moving towards her. His hand was raised as if to flag her down like some taxi.

But then she spotted it.

She froze, staring, her heart in her throat.

A Venetian mask obscured his face, its grotesque features frozen in a mocking semblance of gaiety. His eyes, however, betrayed no mirth; they glinted with calculated malice, fixated on Sarah with unnerving intensity.

The man stepped forward, the knife in his hand catching the scant light—a silver flash of danger that underscored the surreal nightmare enveloping her. It was a cruel juxtaposition, the elegance of the mask at odds with the primal threat of the weapon it accompanied.

For a moment, time seemed to still, even as the earth continued its wrathful dance. Sarah's pulse thrummed in her ears—a frantic Morse code signaling the presence of a predator. And then the air itself seemed to shudder with the force of her realization: this was no chance encounter. This was a hunt.

The realization hit Sarah like a physical blow, her lungs contracting with the raw edge of terror. The man wasn't just an eerie anomaly in the disaster; he was a predator in human guise, his intentions as lethal as the blade glinting in his grip. A scream clawed its way up from the depths of her being, tearing through the tumultuous soundscape of the earthquake—a desperate plea for salvation piercing the veil of destruction.

The man didn't seem surprised by the earthquake. Almost as if he'd been expecting it. But how was that possible?

Help! Somebody, please! Her voice was a ragged banner amidst the cacophony, yet she clung to the hope that it would summon a guardian angel from the chaos.

But the masked man didn't flinch at the sound—didn't so much as hesitate. Instead, he advanced with deliberate steps, the click of his shoes on the fragmented tiles a sinister counterpoint to Sarah's distress. Each footfall resonated with dark purpose, a haunting melody played by a conductor of nightmares. His presence was a chilling reminder that even amid natural calamity, human malevolence persisted.

The Venetian mask, with its grotesque smile and soulless eyes, twisted the air around him into a tableau of horror. It seemed to mock her plight, to relish in the surreal terror of the moment.

Sarah's muscles coiled, a raw surge of instinct overtaking her paralysis. With the masked figure looming ever closer, every fiber of her being screamed, Run! She spun on the balls of her feet, her sneakers skidding on the debris-littered floor. The earthquake was no longer the sole architect of her terror; it had become a hellish backdrop to a chase she hadn't anticipated.

As she bolted towards the uncertain sanctuary of the building's mangled corridors, her breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps. The dim emergency lights flickered, casting elongated shadows that danced mockingly along the walls. Her mind was a whirlwind of primal fear, each heartbeat thundering a relentless rhythm that urged her legs to move faster, faster still.

Behind her, the man's pursuit was marked by an eerie determination. His knife, a sliver of malice, caught the scant light and flashed menacingly. Sarah dared not glance back, but his presence was palpable; the weight of his gaze pressed against her like a physical force. His heavy breathing, a guttural soundtrack to the hunt, grew louder in her ears, syncing with the pounding of her own heart.

The tremors underfoot renewed their violent cadence, threatening to unbalance her, but Sarah's desperation lent her a precarious agility. Each stride she took was a fleeting triumph over the quivering earth, a testament to her will to survive. Ahead, the exit loomed, a beacon of hope amidst the dissonance of destruction and pursuit.

There was no time for thought, only action—each second, each footfall, could be the difference between life and death. And so, she ran, propelled by the visceral knowledge that the man with the gleaming blade was just steps away, his intent as sharp as the edge he brandished.

CHAPTER ONE

Tori Spark's movements were a blur of precision and haste, each motion practiced and efficient as she prepped for the day ahead. Her apartment, usually neat and methodical, had become a casualty of her urgency; a half-drunk cup of coffee teetered on the edge of the counter, papers shuffled into haphazard piles, and a trail of breadcrumbs from her unfinished toast led to the bedroom. She snatched her jacket from the back of a chair, slipped it on, and felt the weight settle comfortably on her shoulders.

Her badge—gleaming with the promise of authority and the burden of responsibility—was clipped next to her heart, a silent testament to her dedication. The gun, cold and impersonal in its leather holster, was secured at her hip, an extension of her will to protect and serve. Tori checked her reflection briefly in the mirror: storm-cloud hair tied back, blue-gray eyes sharp with focus. She looked every bit the agent ready to face whatever chaos awaited her in the city's underbelly.

But in the midst of tying her bootlaces tight enough to chase down any threat, Tori's hand hovered over her phone, which lay innocuously beside her keys. There was an itch, a gnawing in the pit of her stomach that wasn't solely hunger—it was the unresolved ache of family ties frayed and strained. The desire to call her estranged father pulsed through her, as persistent and unsettling as the tremors that sometimes shook the city's foundations.

She'd told herself she would.

After the last case, a month ago, she'd made a promise she'd bridge old gaps. But...

She still didn't know what she'd say. She frowned.

Part of her rush, her fervor in preparing for the day was to avoid the lingering thoughts. To prevent them from settling in her soul.

She picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen where his number was saved—a ghost in the machine, a specter of could-have-beens and might-still-bes. What would she say? 'Sorry' seemed too small, too hollow, and yet it filled her mouth like cotton, choking out the possibility of conversation. Memories of Sammy, bright and vibrant, flickered behind her eyelids, and with it, the weight of blame that had driven a wedge between her and her father.

Later, she whispered to the empty room, placing the phone back down with a decisive click. Now was not the time for personal demons; there were real ones lurking in the daylight, waiting for her attention. Tori stood, squaring her shoulders, the internal struggle tucked away neatly, like the files on her desk cataloging cases closed and justice served. With one last glance at the phone, she grabbed her keys and strode towards the door, her sense of duty eclipsing the turmoil within.

She hastened down the apartment steps.

The morning air was still laced with the chill of dawn as Tori Spark shut the building's front door behind her, the click echoing a little too loudly in the hush of her quiet street. The crispness bit at her skin, but she was shielded by her leather jacket, the one that always seemed to carry a residual warmth from her body heat, as if it remembered its duty even when discarded.

Her breath formed tiny clouds as she walked briskly towards her car, parked under the skeletal embrace of a leafless oak tree. She couldn't shake the nagging sensation that clung to her like the shadows of branches on the concrete—a feeling of unrest, born from the same tempest that had claimed Sammy's laughter and left silence