Robin M. Carroll

THE

KILL

PATTERN

SERIES

A connected thriller series where every face is a suspect.
Every secret leaves a mark. Every killer leaves a pattern.

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TWO FACED

Missy Melendez recognized at an early age that she was different, which erected a foundation of self-loathing. Still, Missy’s antipathy wasn’t enough to repress her visions or obstruct her passage into the dark recesses of other people’s minds. And just when Missy needed her clairvoyance the most, it failed her..

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“Two faced is the type of novel that you just can't put down!”

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THREE WAYS TO DIE

What happens when your dreams become a killer’s playground?

In the murky recesses of someone else’s mind, Missy Melendez sees a young woman being strangled to death. The room is dark and indistinguishable, and the only identifiable sounds are the killer’s heavy breathing and the woman’s screams; neither of which helps Missy pinpoint the location of the homicide. Missy is the only witness to the crime; however, she never glimpses the murderer’s face because she can only see through his eyes.

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FOUR MARKS OF A KILLER

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MEET THE AUTHOR

Robin Michele Carroll writes psychological thrillers and suspense novels that explore secrets, identity, danger, and the darker corners of human nature.

Her stories are twisty, emotional, and impossible to put down.
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TWO FACED

After the cab dropped her off, Missy walked the short distance from the curb to the front door.
The house felt foreign with Robert’s betrayal still fresh in her mind, but she ignored her doubts and stepped inside.
The smell hit her first.
Something burned.
Something metallic.
Wrong.
Missy hurried up the stairs toward the master bedroom. The moment she crossed the threshold, a scream caught in her throat.
Blood.
It covered everything.
The walls.
The carpet.
The satin sheets.
The headboard looked as if someone had splashed it with red paint.
Missy’s breath rushed from her lungs. The room tilted. Darkness swallowed her whole.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found herself standing before the bathroom mirror.
A man wrapped in bandages stared back.
A surgeon stood behind him.
Robert.
Missy watched as her husband slowly removed the bandages from the man’s face.
“Are you pleased?” Robert asked.
“Yes,” the stranger replied. “I’m a different man.”
The scalpel flashed.
Blood sprayed across the glass.
“See you in hell, Greg.”
“Not if I see you first.”
The vision vanished.
Shaking, Missy picked up the phone and dialed 911.
She had just found her husband murdered.
And for the first time, she wondered if Robert had been a killer too.

 

THREE WAYS TO DIE

“You people always think the surgery changes everything.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“But underneath, you’re still the same man.”
“I don’t have the damn list,” Cooper snapped.
The stranger stopped moving.
“Then tell me who does.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were on it.”
“So were dozens of others.”
“I need names.”
“I don’t remember.”
The stranger laughed again, but there was no humor in it.
“I think you do.”
Cooper shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything about the list in months. We all assumed the police had it, so we kept our heads down.”
“If you believed they had it, why stay?”
Cooper hesitated.
“Because I heard it was stolen from the police station.”
The kitchen went still.
Then sneakers squeaked softly across the floor.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the stranger said.
“So who took it?”
“I swear to God, I don’t know.”
The metallic sound of a weapon being drawn filled the silence.
Cooper’s eyes widened.
“Wait—”
“You should have paid more attention.”
The stranger stepped into the moonlight.
“Merck wasn’t the only one looking for you.”

FOUR MARKS OF A KILLER

The church was empty when Father Reynolds arrived for morning Mass.
At first he noticed the candles.
All four had been lit.
That was strange.
He was certain he’d extinguished them before locking up the night before.
The scent hit him next.
Copper.
Metallic.
Wrong.
His footsteps echoed through the sanctuary as he moved toward the altar.
Then he saw the body.
A man lay on his back beneath the cross, dressed in a dark suit, his hands folded neatly across his chest as if prepared for burial.
For a moment, Father Reynolds thought he was sleeping.
Then he saw the blood.
A symbol had been carved into the man’s chest.
One mark.
Deliberate.
Precise.
A judgment.
Father Reynolds staggered backward, his gaze rising toward the crucifix hanging above the altar.
Someone had left a message.
And he had a terrible feeling this would not be the last.

 

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THE KILL PATTERN SERIES

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