Closer by Morning Read online

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  More books

  About the Author

  Books by Thom Collins

  Single Titles

  Closer by Morning

  Closer by Morning

  ISBN # 978-1-78651-440-0

  ©Copyright Thom Collins 2016

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright 2016

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Pride Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2016 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Book Description

  Passion and love bring them together. Murder could tear them apart.

  When Matt Blyth, a handsome young lawyer, joins an early morning boot camp, all he wants is to get in shape. His thirtieth birthday is approaching fast. He’s ready to throw away the past and embrace a new future. The last thing he expects is to fall in love…or become embroiled in murder.

  Dale Zachary, an American actor, is stuck firmly in the closet. He spent his twenties playing good-looking jocks in bad horror films and romantic comedies. But that boy-next-door act has a limited shelf life. Dale lands the role of his career playing a sexy, psychotic killer in a major British TV series. It’s a part that could make him a star. It’s no time to fall in love, but when Dale meets Matt, the attraction is impossible to resist and they both fall hard.

  Someone is killing young men in the city. A killer like no other. The murders bear an uncanny resemblance to the script Dale is shooting. A devious mind is at work. As their relationship becomes more complex, Matt and Dale find the murders intruding further into their lives. The killer is closing in on his next target. It could be either one of them…or both.

  Closer by Morning

  THOM COLLINS

  Dedication

  To Liam.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Fiat: Fiat Auto

  Men’s Health: Rodale, Inc

  Twitter: Twitter, Inc

  Broadchurch: Kudos Film and Television

  The Fall: Fables Limited

  IMDb: IMDb.com. Inc

  NBC: National Broadcasting Company

  Facebook: Facebook, Inc

  Heat: Bauer Media Group

  Closer: Bauer Media Group

  Hello!: Hola S.L.

  EastEnders: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Coronation Street: Granada Television

  Hollyoaks: Lime Pictures

  Emmerdale: ITV Studios

  Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Molton Brown: Molton Brown Limited Corporation

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  iPod: Apple, Inc

  Amarone: Camera di Commercio Industria, Artigianato e Agricoltura di Verona

  Glee: 20th Century Cox Television

  HBO: Home Box Office, Inc

  TV Choice Awards: Bauer Media Group

  Veuve Clicquot: Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin

  Love at First Sight: Kylie Minogue, Richard Stannard, Julian Gallagher, Ash Howes, Martin Harrington

  Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation

  Netflix: Netflix, Inc

  Skype: Microsoft Corporation

  Nissan: Nissan Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha TA Nissan Motor Co., Ltd.

  Audi: Audi AG

  Ford: Ford Motor Company

  Peugeot:Societe Anonyme des Automobiles Peugeot Corporation

  Sunday Sun: Trinity Mirror North East

  BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft Corporation

  Sweet’N Low: CPC Intellectual Property, Inc

  Digital Spy: Digital Spy Limited

  Masterchef: Reveille Independent, LLC

  Wikipedia: Wikimedia Foundation, Inc

  Qashqai: Nissan Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha TA Nissan Motor Co., Ltd.

  BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Grindr: Grindr LLC

  Snow White: Brothers Grimm

  Sunday Edition: ITV Productions

  Post-it: 3M Company

  Yale: Yale Security, Inc

  Celebrity Big Brother: Endemol

  BAFTA: British Academy of Film and Television Arts

  Emmy: Academy of Television Arts and Sciences

  iPhone: Apple, Inc

  Travelodge: Travelodge Corporation

  Fiddler on the Roof: Sholem Aleichem

  Chapter One

  Matt Blyth was not a morning man. When his alarm went off at five a.m. it shocked him awake. What the hell? Dragged rudely out of dreamland, where he’d been sailing across the Atlantic on a luxury cruise ship, to the darkness of his bedroom on Monday morning. Then he remembered the reason for the alarm. Boot camp. Today would be his first session. What had made him think that was a good idea?

  He forced himself out of bed. No time to think about this. Just do it.

  He stumbled to the bathroom and threw water in his face and raked wet fingers through his dark, wavy hair. Ten minutes later, dressed in joggers and running shoes, he was out of the house. He felt nauseated with the lack of sleep but pushed through it. Minor discomfort would not deter him, not when he was set on doing something he wanted. He was twenty-eight years old. In a little over a year he wou
ld turn thirty, that first great milestone of age. He was determined to be in his best shape ever when the dreaded day came. Even if it meant getting up well before dawn to slog it out and sweat for an hour before work.

  The morning, which felt like the dead of night, was damp and cold. The sky was still ink black as he steered his car off the estate and onto the road that would take him out of town. It wasn’t far to the assembly point, a little over two miles. Soon, when he got used to these God-awful early rises, he wouldn’t need the car, he would jog to the meeting place. But not yet. Not today.

  Matt turned on the radio. Music usually got him going but the radio was tuned to a local station, just in time for the news. He let it play. He liked to know what was happening in the area, as well as getting the sports results and weather.

  The lead item blasted away the final cobwebs of sleep.

  “Durham Police have cordoned off an area of the river bank in the city following the discovery of a body late last night. Police refuse to speculate whether the death is connected to that of student Conner Welsh, whose body was discovered just two weeks ago downriver of the latest finding. Mr. Welsh was severely beaten before being strangled. Durham FM News will bring you further information on the latest death as we receive it.”

  Two bodies dragged from the river within a fortnight. That was unheard of in a small city like Durham. Murder of any kind was rare. He hoped the latest death was nothing more than an accident—a tragic coincidence—in no way connected to the murdered student. Drunk students had always been drawn to the riverbank. Too much alcohol and a loss of balance could have fatal consequences. From what he’d heard, Conner Welsh, the previous victim, suffered a nightmare ordeal before going in the water. He prayed it hadn’t happened again.

  The story continued to trouble him as he followed the winding country road, though he tuned out the rest of the bulletin and missed the sports update. The image of the murdered student had been a regular feature in the local press these last two weeks. A smiling, happy boy. Young and good-looking, a university student, Conner had everything to smile about. But some sick bastard had thought otherwise. Matt hoped they quickly found who was responsible, for the sake of Conner’s family and the wider community.

  Thin fingers of light began to crawl across the sky when he pulled into the car park at Binchester Woods. A handful of vehicles were already parked and a group of people in sports clothes were limbering up and stretching against the picnic table.

  So there were others just as crazy as he was, coming out to exercise at this early hour.

  There was no sign of Annabel’s Fiat among the parked cars. Typical. This crazy venture was her idea. “C’mon, Matt,” she had enthused in the office kitchen. “We’ll motivate each other. And think how great it will be to get it over with so early in the day. No more having to drag our tired butts to the gym after work. Our evenings will be our own.”

  He had texted her the night before to make sure she was still up for the challenge.

  Definitely she had replied and had added a smiley face.

  Matt locked the car and headed toward the group of people. There were four men and three women, all of them swaddled in layers from head to foot.

  “Is this the meeting point for boot camp?” he asked, certain it must be. Why would they be here otherwise?

  A large man stepped forward. He carried a hardback notebook and a pencil. “It is. I’m Clint. I’m instructing the group today.”

  “Hi.” They shook hands. “You spoke to my work colleague on the phone. Annabel Faith. She made the booking for both of us.”

  Clint consulted his little notebook. “Matt, is it?” He ticked him off his list. “Is your friend with you?”

  “No. But she only has to come from town. She shouldn’t be long.” She had better not be.

  Clint was huge. Exactly how Matt imagined a boot camp instructor would look—an enormous, ex-military, brick shithouse. With his steely crew cut and dark, hooded eyes, he looked like a hard case who would take no prisoners. He was sexy too, in a strange, scary way. Not really Matt’s type, but he could see the appeal.

  Clint enquired about his current level of fitness.

  “Decent, I’d say. I train at the gym three or four times a week and like to run at weekends. I eat plenty of protein and take it easy with carbs. I’m just looking to improve my overall levels of fitness.” All true, if slightly exaggerated.

  Clint looked him over closely before making notes in his book. “Good. Any health concerns I should know about before you start?”

  “None.”

  “Sure? This is an intense course.”

  “That’s what I’m looking for. Something I can’t get at the gym.”

  Clint nodded, satisfied, and closed his book. “You’ve come to the right group. Whipping bodies into shape, that’s what I’m known for. No messing, no time wasting, no excuses—just exceptional results. A guy in my group last year made the front cover of Men’s Health magazine. Those are the kind of results I aim for.”

  Matt stretched while they waited for the rest of the group to arrive. Clint told him they would leave at five-forty-five sharp. “Get here later than that and we’ll be gone.”

  There was still no sign of Annabel. Punctuality wasn’t one of her strong points. If she intended to turn up at all. Knowing her, she would still be curled beneath her duvet. He was mad for listening to her in the first place. She never came through, always full of enthusiastic ideas but with little success in achieving them.

  More vehicles began to pile into the car park and soon there was a group of around twenty assembling for the class. They were mainly men, aged twenty through to mid-forties. Intense, serious-looking men who didn’t mess about over fitness. Real go-hard-or-go-home types. Maybe it was a factor of the unsociable hour, but there wasn’t much conversation going on. That suited Matt. Nobody wanted small talk at this time of day.

  He cast an appraising eye over the group. They were fit, masculine, real men’s men, but, a little bit like Clint, he found them rather asexual. Not his type at all. Not that he was looking anyway, but hey, a little eye candy could provide great motivation.

  Just before the appointed start time another vehicle pulled into the car park and a man in blue running pants and a gray hoodie jumped out and jogged toward Clint. They spoke briefly and the instructor made a few hurried notes in his book.

  Matt’s interest was piqued by the new arrival. This was more like it. Even from a distance, he could see this guy was something very special. With short, dark blond hair and a light beard, he was as manly as the rest of the group but seemed to lack the focused intensity that made them so fearsome.

  He even smiled as he left Clint to join the group. A lovely, winning smile that wrinkled the corners of his sparkly eyes and illuminated a broad, handsome face.

  “Hi, guys,” he addressed the group as a whole in a warm American accent.

  “Hi,” Matt replied while the others responded with a non-committal grunt or nod.

  Unselfconsciously, the newcomer began to stretch.

  Matt found it hard not to stare. Wow. This guy looked good from a distance but was even better close up. He had the broad build of a man in his thirties and, though he was swaddled in layers like the rest of them, Matt could discern the strong lines of his shoulders and butt through that clothing.

  But it was his face, with its twinkly eyes and golden skin, that was so exceptionally handsome.

  Matt, with his wavy brown hair, brown eyes and angular face, was good-looking. He wasn’t vain or conceited about it, he knew he was attractive, but couldn’t help feeling inadequate beside the glorious American. With a face like that, he could do anything he wanted and the world would accept it—model, actor, politician, king.

  Take it easy. Matt turned away. It was the only way to keep from staring.

  He had the beginnings of an e
rection.

  He’d wanted eye candy and now he had it. He’d have to be careful that the American didn’t become a distraction rather than a motivation.

  Clint Dexter’s boot camp was advertised as the toughest, most effective workout in the county. Hard work and effort get results! proclaimed the poster in the window of his town center fitness studio. Nobody trains you harder.

  It was no lie.

  Without equipment, weights or gimmicks, Clint pushed his group on the most intense and physically grueling workout Matt had ever known. Clint was old school in his methods. Like an army sergeant breaking in the new recruits, he drove them uphill and into the woods. There was no let-up. He shouted and blew whistles, breaking up the run with demands for press-ups, squats, lunges, then straight back onto the track, going higher up the steep hill. There were no breaks. No moment to catch a breath.

  Matt believed he was in good shape. Epic mistake. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache. His lungs were ablaze as he drew one arduous breath after another. Shit. He’d never known anything like this. And it didn’t stop. For the whole hour Clint worked them hard—no slacking, no respite.

  Matt was glad to see he wasn’t the only one struggling with the course. He might be the newbie but even the seasoned old-timers were taking it badly. Everyone was red-faced and grimacing with pain.

  Finally Clint guided them back down to the car park. It was over.

  “Make sure you all stretch down thoroughly,” he shouted as he walked among the group. Most people were bent double, clutching their knees and gasping. “You’ll pay for it later if you don’t take the time now.”

  “Some group, eh?”

  Matt realized that he was standing beside the handsome American. The course was so exhausting that he’d stopped paying attention to the blond hunk after the first five minutes. His hair was soaked, plastered to his head, and his face burned red, yet he exuded a sexiness that would have caught Matt’s breath if he wasn’t already wrecked.

  Matt struggled to speak. “My first time,” he gasped.