praise for

The Neighborhood

“A must-read, intense thriller with a badass protagonist you will stand up and cheer for. Betley will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page. Don’t miss this one.”

—Joan Lunden

“Propulsive, suspenseful, and relentless, The Neighborhood is a roller-coaster thriller packed with twists and gritty action—Matthew Betley’s best novel yet. Grab it and hold on for a great ride.”

—Meg Gardiner, author of The Dark Corners of the Night

“Reading The Neighborhood feels like watching an action film set in suburbia. My favorite of Matthew Betley’s novels.”

—Karen Cleveland, New York Times bestselling author of Need to Know

“A blood-pumping modern thriller. With The Neighborhood, Betley solidifies his position as one of America’s top action/suspense scribes . . . You won’t be able to put it down!”

—Kurt Schlichter, veteran, media personality, and bestselling author of the Kelly Turnbull series

“Die Hard in a gated community . . . A stand-on-the-pedal, runaway-train thrill ride of the year . . . Don’t just buy it. Armor up!”

—Chris Hauty, national bestselling author of Deep State and Storm Rising

“Supremely suspenseful. The action builds like a storm on the horizon . . . You may think you’re ready when the lightning strikes, but you’re not. It’s everywhere at once and never lets up. You can’t put down The Neighborhood.”

—David Ricciardi, author of the Jake Keller series from Berkley Publishing

“An action-packed, bloody, highly immersive thriller that is guaranteed to elicit fist-pumps and gasps from readers . . . Think Die Hard, Lethal Weapon, Under Siege, and The Rock . . . Big props to Matthew Betley for crafting a fun, edge-of-your-seat thriller . . . A very enjoyable experience!”

—Best Thriller Books

books by

matthew betley

standalone novels

The Neighborhood

logan west thrillers

Overwatch

Oath of Honor

Field of Valor

Rules of War

Amira

Copyright © 2022 by Matthew Betley
E-book published in 2022 by Blackstone Publishing
Cover and book design by Blackstone Publishing
Artwork by Anthony Morais

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-6650-6460-6
Library e-book ISBN 978-1-6650-6459-0
Fiction / Thrillers / Suspense

CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520

www.BlackstonePublishing.com

Part I Reconnaissance

Part I
Reconnaissance

Chapter One

Chapter
One

4:53 p.m.

The van drove slowly through the black iron gates, its driver accelerating once he’d emerged unscathed into the inner sanctum of the gated community. The code he’d been provided had worked, as he’d known it would, as it had for the past few days. How these people thought a gate and a code would keep the monsters of the outside world at bay was beyond him. But that wasn’t his concern. His job was simple—last-minute reconnaissance of the neighborhood before the operation began that night.

The dark blue Mercedes Amazon delivery van, a mobile fixture in suburbs across America, maintained its twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed as it drove along the shaded, tree-lined road. The woods were still relatively thick, only recently beginning to shed their summer skin of multicolored leaves. A cold front was approaching, and the winds of autumn would soon rattle the trees in relentless pursuit of uncovering the jagged, worn limbs. The street was the only way in or out of the community, although the driver knew a running path wound around the perimeter of the neighborhood, connecting the three residential streets and, in two locations, leading to the main road more than a mile away.

Shards of sunlight broke through the tall woodland canopy glinting off the hood of the van. It sure is peaceful, though. He shook his head to himself in a combination of disbelief and resignation at the fact that their target had brought the package to this quiet, secluded neighborhood in Virginia. Whoever had taken it knew that we would come looking for it. Why bring it here? How could someone be this stupid? These were questions he wasn’t paid to answer, and he refocused on the job.

Thirty seconds later, the van emerged into a clearing in the center of the community, revealing the scale of the suburban oasis that was Hidden Refuge, a name selected by the builder precisely because of the isolation, real or imagined, from the outside world and Washington, DC, to the east. The driver smiled to himself at the irony of the name. He knew better. There were no truly safe places in America today, no matter what the occupants of communities like this told themselves. He knew money bought a certain amount of self-delusion, and 99 percent of the time, that delusion would stand against the test of time. Unfortunately for the residents of Hidden Refuge, they’d unknowingly found themselves in the 1 percent. But that was their problem, not his.

The driver stopped at the stop sign and flipped on his right turn signal, looking left and then right. Nothing. Luxury also paid for a false sense of tranquility.

The center of the neighborhood lay directly before him, mocking him with its suburban perfection. A wide circle one hundred yards in diameter was the hub of Hidden Refuge. Squarely in the middle stood a white, ornate, elevated pavilion. The front half of the structure was open, welcoming, but the back half was a series of benches attached to a railing that ran around the pavilion. The driver knew it could easily accommodate eighty people based on the size, but he wondered if it was just a decoration. He didn’t get the sense that Hidden Refuge was a close-knit community. But he also didn’t care.

To the left of the pavilion, a large, complex playground with nets, slides, swings, and bridges stood as if begging for some child to clamber on its empty parts. To the right was an empty field and a pet station, the dark green liner hanging over the sides of the suspended, caged trashcan. Even the wealthy have to pick up after their pets. At least we have that in common. Trees were randomly planted throughout the hub to break up the monotony of the flat, expansive grounds.

A sidewalk encircled the area, complete with tall black lampposts every forty feet that stood like sentinels watching over the hub. Jutting off from the traffic circle around the hub were three linear streets arranged exactly like the symbol on the front of the Amazon van, and each street was cut off from the others by a wedge-shaped section of woods, providing a layer of insulation between them. The residents knew others lived on those streets, but they didn’t have to see them if they didn’t want to. Must be nice, the driver thought, having grown up in a dirty apartment in the South Side of Chicago. There’d been no escape from his neighbors or the horrors they’d perpetrated daily. Drugs and murder had been a booming business in the South Side for as long as he could remember.

The entire area put his nerves on edge. He saw the black SUV in his rearview mirror, approaching from behind. Time for deliveries, he thought, and turned right onto Founder’s Circle, an apt and self-indulgent name for the roundabout. When he reached the first street, he turned right and saw the first residents of the day on Arrow Drive.

Two teenage boys no older than thirteen chased each other on mountain bikes, open jackets flapping in the wind like streamers, oblivious to the threat that had just arrived on their street. The fact that there were children in the neighborhood troubled the driver, but he compartmented the emotion and proceeded.

The homes had been constructed in an alternating pattern, with four large single-family homes on each side, each house in the center of two acres of land. They were arranged so that no two homes were directly opposite each other, another small touch that added to the privacy of the community. The street ended several hundred yards in front of him in a cul-de-sac with two more enormous homes angled in toward the street as if standing guard over Arrow Drive.

Various SUVs and sedans were parked in each driveway, and he watched as an attractive woman unloaded groceries from the back of her black Audi SUV as her two middle-school-age children chased a black Labrador in the front yard. Suburban America in all its splendor.

With a little more than two hours of daylight left, the driver approached the first house on the right, 101 Arrow Drive, and prepared to pull into the long driveway. He turned his head to the left as the two boys sped by him on their bikes, which was why he failed to see the little girl on a pink scooter shoot out of the driveway ten feet in front of the van.

His peripheral vision, though, honed to a sixth sense, caught the flash of movement, and his reflexes kicked in. He slammed on the brakes of the van, even before he fully saw what it was that had found itself in the path of the delivery vehicle. Recognition turned to horror, and he prayed to God that he had enough room to stop, although not completely out of a selfless duty to protect the child. He was concerned about the girl’s well-being and safety, but he was more concerned about his own.

As the van skidded across the pavement toward the girl, he gripped the steering wheel tighter, and he realized there wasn’t enough time. He was going to hit the little girl. If I hit her, this operation is over, and he’ll kill me. The man in charge would not tolerate mistakes, not ones like this, when the stakes were so high.

Chapter Two

Chapter
Two

Zachary Chambers—Zack to everyone he introduced himself to—kept walking toward his neighbors’ driveway, the Thomases’ mail in hand. It was an inevitable annoyance of suburban life that mail was occasionally delivered to the wrong address, but it felt like it had been happening more frequently. Maybe a sign of societal decay? As goes the Post Office, so goes the world.

The cool fall late afternoon felt refreshing, and he inhaled deeply as the Amazon van turned the corner onto his street. Another sign of societal decay, for sure.

As the driver approached, Chloe Thomas shot down her driveway toward the street, triggering alarms inside Zack’s calculating mind. An old habit, he took a mental snapshot instantaneously—Chloe on the scooter, the boys on bikes, the distracted driver—and he realized the imminent danger. Oh no.

He dropped the mail and broke into a sprint. The Thomases’ driveway was only twenty feet away, and he prayed he’d started running in time.

A woman’s screams assaulted his ears, but he blocked it out, focusing on his objective—the girl.

The Amazon van kept coming, its driver distracted by the boys on bicycles. Zack ran straight toward it, engaged in a game of chicken, man versus vehicle, with Chloe Thomas stuck in the middle.

Chloe shot out into the street as the driver finally spotted her, and he slammed on his brakes.

Zack reached her a split-second before the skidding van and hooked her with his right arm around her waist as he turned toward the curve. With the van looming like a monster right next to him, he wrapped Chloe in his arms as she shrieked, and launched the two of them into the air. As they sailed over the curb and toward the Thomases’ lawn, Zack rotated his body so that his back was to the ground. His feet cleared the curb as he watched the Amazon van slide across the space he and Chloe had occupied a moment ago. He smiled to himself in relief, at least until his back slammed onto the grass, expelling his breath, and slid to a stop, Chloe secure in his arms.

He looked down at the adorable girl, who seemed to be taking it all in stride, and he felt his breath come back, inhaling deeply, which seemed to amuse Chloe, who smiled up at him.

Sherry Thomas was screaming, even as Zack asked Chloe, “Are you okay? Sorry about that.”

“Can we do that again?”

Zack sat up and placed Chloe on the ground next to him. “Maybe another time. That was exciting enough for one day.”

Sherry Thomas reached her daughter and wrapped her up with both arms, shouting at the African American Amazon driver, who now stood on the street, concern written all over his face. “How could you not see her? She was on the driveway!”

“It was the boys on the bikes. He got distracted by them as they approached him. I’m sure he was just being careful,” Zack stated, intentionally calm, momentarily ignoring the driver. He stood up, ignoring also the dull pain in his lower back.

Zack’s presence seemed to calm her, and she shifted her eyes from the driver to him. Sherry paused, exhaled, and said, “Thank you, Zack. Thank God you were there.”

“Thank the Postal Service. I was bringing you some mail that got delivered to us by accident.” Zack turned to the driver, whom he found staring at him in an unusual way, as if assessing him with a purpose. The driver was no older than thirty, clean cut, light-skinned, with a short, faded haircut. His deep brown eyes shone with alertness and intelligence, more so than the last Amazon guy we had in here.

For two weeks during the summer, an Amazon driver had terrorized the residents, delivering his packages as if the neighborhood were his personal raceway. Several families had captured his aggressive driving maneuvers on camera, but it wasn’t until an executive who lived on another street had nearly lost his son when the driver had tried to pass a car doing the speed limit on the traffic circle. The driver hadn’t seen the boy on the bike, and he’d missed him by inches, causing the boy to crash into the grassy hub. Unfortunately for the driver, another resident had captured in HD the entire ordeal on the latest iPhone. Several phone calls to Amazon had ultimately landed on the desk of one of the executive customer service representatives at Amazon headquarters. One of the homeowners had even emailed Jeff Bezos at [email protected], his publicly available email. He hadn’t responded—“Probably too busy dealing with a mistress and a divorce,” Zack had commented at the time—but the video had sealed the deal, and the driver was gone within days. There’d been no issues since, but Zack understood why Sherry was quick to react the way she had.

“Am I right about what happened?” Zack asked directly but without accusation in his tone.

“I swear to God, I didn’t see her. I wasn’t speeding. I know what happened over the summer with the other driver.” And he did, as it had been included in the target-package brief on Hidden Refuge that each team member had received. “Just like you said, I got distracted by the kids on bikes as they passed me. I only took my eyes off the road for a split second, just to make sure they didn’t swerve toward me. It’s happened before.” He turned to the girl and her mother. “I’m so, so sorry. It won’t happen again. I swear.”

The young, fit man’s apology seemed sincere, and Zack watched as Sherry softened. But there was something about it that felt calculated, as if he knew the right words to say. Stop it, Zack. You’re being paranoid, even for you. Yet he couldn’t shake the sensation, even as he spoke.

“What’s your name?”

The driver turned back to Zack. “Aaron. Why? Are you going to report me to Amazon? I really need this job, sir,” he pleaded.

Zack hesitated. His instincts were almost always right. They had to be because of what he did, who he was, but this was just a kid doing his job, wasn’t it?

“Okay, then, Aaron. No. I’m not going to call Amazon. This seems like it was an honest mistake. Just be as careful as possible. While we might have nice homes and things, all of that is replaceable—but our kids aren’t. You know what I mean?”

The man calling himself Aaron did know what the stranger meant. He’d felt that way about his little brother before the army, before the streets of Chicago had stolen him from those that had loved him. But you can’t keep the streets on a leash, not always. “I understand. Believe me,” he said, thoughts of his brother adding a level of sincerity to his voice that he knew was unmistakable.

“Good. Now, let me help Mrs. Thomas and young Chloe, and you can finish today’s run. Have a good one—and be safe,” Zack said, clapped Aaron on the shoulder, and bent down to pick up Chloe’s scooter as her mother lifted her from the grass.

“Thanks, Zack,” Sherry said, moving off the grass to her driveway. “How are Steph and the kids?”

“They’re good. Unfortunately for me, they left me alone and went to Steph’s sister’s place down in Richmond. It’s my fault, though,” Zack said, and laughed as he followed Sherry up the driveway. “I told her I had some work to do this weekend, and she told me she was leaving me . . . to visit her sister.”

“Ha! That woman is never leaving you, nor you her. While we all have families here, Zack, you have a very happy one, and everyone knows it. I might be a little jealous, in fact.”

While she wasn’t flirting with him exactly, it wasn’t totally innocent. Sherry was an extremely fit brunette with blue eyes who loved her Peloton bike, and it showed. At five feet eleven inches, Zack was a trim, fit man who used the gym in his basement on a regular basis, ate well, and ran when he could. The dad bod was for those with excuses, of which he had none. His brown hair was worn longer on the top, combed up slightly, and short on the sides. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, completing the profile of a handsome man who looked like a daytime soap opera star. He was aware of the impact he had on women, but he was deeply in love with his wife and his kids, and while he appreciated the comment, it had no real impact on him.

“Chad might be too, if you keep talking like that,” Zack said, and put the scooter down. “I’m glad you’re okay, Chloe,” he said to the five-year-old little girl and ruffled her black hair. “I’m sure you’ll be stopping and looking both ways from now on, won’t you?”

The girl only smiled up at him. Zack had a way with almost all children, which endeared him to their mothers—a fact of which he was also acutely aware.

“Oh. She’ll be all right. Kids usually are.”

“I dropped the mail back there. I’ll grab it and put it in your mailbox.”

“Sounds good. Thanks again. And I’ll definitely see you around.”

See you around. It sounded so innocuous, but still. What’s wrong with you? Work got you spooked? Between the driver and Sherry, he was starting to think his imagination was getting the better of him. He envisioned one of his former coworkers, Charles Davis, laughing at his paranoia. “Zack, my man, you need to re-lax.” Uh-huh. Easier said than done.

At least he was alone to deal with the issue at work. Without Ethan and Addison running wild in the house, he’d be able to focus on the problem at hand.

Once he’d returned the mail, he walked back up toward his house, watching the Amazon delivery van pull up the street and stop two doors past his. Just a guy doing his job. Nothing more. He compartmentalized his concerns, something he was exceptional at doing.

A minute later, he walked up the driveway to his single-family home, his personal oasis from work and other pressures.

A two-story, modern home, the six thousand square feet—without the finished basement, he reminded himself every time—comprised a three-car garage; an upstairs with a master bedroom and four other huge bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the main, two-story family room; a formal dining room; a living room; his office; and a kitchen that seamlessly connected to the spacious family room. A sunroom with a back wall of eight extra-wide, tall windows jutted out of the back of the kitchen and opened onto the screened-in back porch, which only added to the footprint of the house. While more than two-thirds of Hidden Refuge had pools, his backyard contained a sixty-foot-long pool complete with a diving board and curved slide for the kids. A huge play set was set back behind the pool. Beyond the play set, at the back of the property, the woods served as a natural barrier, providing a sense that they were close to nature, although not too close.

Zack was grateful for the material aspects of his life, but he knew they were fleeting, like all things, which only heightened his appreciation for them.

He longed for the hugs that welcomed him every day when he returned from work, yet knew he’d have to wait until Monday afternoon, when his family would come home. He once again inhaled the crisp air of fall. It might have been his imagination or a romanticized longing, but he was certain that the air was cleaner the farther he was from the capital. It’s good for your soul too, no doubt.

“What’s up with the Amazon guy, Mr. C?” Samantha Hawkins asked from her front porch next door in her typical dry, direct manner. A seventeen-year-old junior at the local public high school—one of the top blue-ribbon ones in Virginia and ranked nationally—Sam was an anomaly, as well as their babysitter. “Trying to take over our neighborhood the way they’re taking over the world?”

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