A killer with a secret motive...
A mother with a secret baby
Crime scene photographer Greer Montgomery didn’t expect to witness a murder at a small-town carnival—nor to be rescued by the father of her secret baby. A storm chaser, Locke Gallagher often stares down death, but he’s never known true fear until Greer’s life is at risk. But how can he protect his newly discovered family when the killer could be anyone?
“I’m so frightened. I want my daughter. I want my life back.”
Locke knelt next to Greer. “I’m scared, too, if it makes you feel any better. For Lin’s safety and yours. But he’s been in this house. He knows we have a daughter, and while we’re being super careful and taking extra measures to make sure we aren’t followed...we aren’t perfect.”
She looked into his eyes and he saw her fear.
“Maybe we move Lin somewhere else,” he told her. “Or talk to the sheriff about extra protection. We’ll figure it out. You and me,” he whispered. “Okay?”
She only nodded and he refrained from wiping her tearstained cheeks. He was supposed to be angry with her for keeping his child from him. But right now, in this moment, she was so vulnerable. So frightened. He could only offer her compassion. Any other emotion he felt toward Greer could get them killed.
He had to focus on one thing only: a killer was coming. With vengeance on his mind.
Jessica R. Patch lives in the Mid-South, where she pens inspirational contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. When she’s not hunched over her laptop or going on adventurous trips with willing friends in the name of research, you can find her watching way too much Netflix with her family and collecting recipes for amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. To learn more about Jessica, please visit her at jessicarpatch.com.
Books by Jessica R. Patch
Love Inspired Suspense
Fatal Reunion
Protective Duty
Concealed Identity
Final Verdict
Cold Case Christmas
Killer Exposure
The Security Specialists
Deep Waters
Secret Service Setup
Dangerous Obsession
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Killer Exposure
Jessica R. Patch
Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
—Deuteronomy 31:6
To Mom, for loving us kids sacrificially and unconditionally, and letting me sit out on the porch as a kid watching thunderstorms instead of making me come in the house.
Special thanks to my agent, Rachel Kent, who’s always in my corner and a joy to work with. To Shana Asaro, for her excitement about weather disaster plots and for always being a rock star editor; to Emily Rodmell, for her help early on in the story; to Susan Tuttle—the other half of my author brain and human shovel always ready to dig me out of a plot hole; and to Jill Kemerer, for helping me burrow into my heroine’s and hero’s hearts to find their fears.
Contents
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
EPILOGUE
DEAR READER
EXCERPT FROM ALASKAN AMBUSH BY SARAH VARLAND
ONE
Spring wasn’t the only thing in the air. Storms were rolling in, and if Greer Montgomery didn’t need the money she wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of a field on an April evening taking photos for the upgraded Goldenville Chamber of Commerce website. Nope, she’d be home snuggled up with her own little Stormie Lin, listening to her suck a pacifier and inhaling that sweet baby scent—a mix of innocence and baby powder. But Greer would work three more jobs, if necessary, to provide for her nine-month-old princess.
The Stellar Entertainment traveling carnival had spent most of last night and early this morning setting up for the week-long spring-fest. Greer had been by earlier to catch some of the action and meet with the Chamber of Commerce’s executive director—and her friend—Cindy Woolridge to discuss the vision for the website.
Most of the patrons tonight would be donning ponchos and rain boots. Alabama’s springs could be wet and soggy. But that didn’t stop families from coming out in droves to indulge in corn dogs—or, as everyone around here called them, Pronto Pups—pretzels, rigged games, a Ferris wheel and cotton candy. Greer peered into the sky. The sun had been eclipsed by thunderheads that looked a lot like spun cotton candy piled high on a stick. Breaking through the dappled clouds, lightning flashed in the distance. The scent of rain rolled in, which brought a whole different flood of emotions.
She clicked a few photos of the lit-up Ferris wheel. Perfect for the chamber website. Tourists would want to come and visit; folks moving to the area would see how family-friendly Goldenville was. Southern hospitality at its best. When she returned home a year and a half ago, she’d been welcomed with open arms. One set of feeble arms had belonged to her mother. Greer had expected to come home temporarily to help her after a mild heart attack, but Mama never completely recovered and three months ago, she’d passed into the strong arms of Jesus after a severe heart attack. Greer missed her daily. Missed that Lin wouldn’t get a chance to know her grandmother.
Another flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, revealed the storm was fast approaching. Maybe less than thirty minutes. Greer had already taken a ton of photos this morning after her shift at the sheriff’s department. She normally worked days, but they were short a few deputies, so she’d taken the overtime and worked the night shift last night. Not much in town too sinister. Other than those thunderheads.
Locke would call them by their proper name—cumulonimbus clouds. Her tummy flip-flopped at the thought of him. But she’d been thinking about him all afternoon. She’d have never experienced a storm in all its terrifying glory if she hadn’t chased dozens with him over the few years they were together. Seen them through his shockingly blue eyes—blue like tropical waters with limbuses as black as a tempest.
She wandered through the maze of rides, games and food stands. Carnies worked to get set up. Music blared through speakers, and she gravitated toward employee campers and then to the field that widened into the woods—which gave her some unique photo opportunities to capture storms, clouds or any wild weather through the treetops. Locke taught her that, too. But their dreams of exploring the world and capturing it on film had shattered like glass in a hailstorm.
She had planned to come home and nurse Mama back to health while Locke went on with the research team, documenting storm systems and tornadoes. Then she would meet back up with him and the team, helping with photography needs.
But upon arriving back in Goldenville, she discovered a shared moment of weakness with Locke—that she sorely regretted—had left her pregnant. But God had been faithful to forgive and to provide for her and Lin, whom she did not regret one iota. Lin was the good in the whole messy situation.
Greer had quickly sec
ured a job as a crime-scene photographer and sheriff’s deputy. Law enforcement was in the blood. From her mama’s side of the family—the Buchanan side. Dad hadn’t been one for enforcing anything. That was Mama’s job. Then he’d flown the coop decades ago, only coming back to town to visit her and her older brother, Hollister, on occasion. But eventually he became as scarce as woodland creatures before a cyclone.
She snapped a few photos of the lightning to use with her new filters. Thunder rumbled as she darted in between the employees’ makeshift homes. A commotion came from one of the smaller house trailers up ahead. Not much light due to the sun setting and the blanket of ominous clouds. Greer crept toward the sounds of a scuffle.
The door was cracked open.
A man’s garbled cry sent chill bumps across Greer’s skin. She drew her off-duty Glock 43 and darted toward the camper, swinging open the door.
A man stared at her, his eyes inky and threatening. Her training kicked in. “Drop the knife. Hands up. Come out slowly. Slowly,” she commanded.
Dressed in a carnival maintenance uniform, he held up black-gloved hands, one still gripping the bloody blade. He wore a ball cap that hid his hair, but his short-cropped beard and mustache matched his eyes, his physical features distorted in the dimness.
The man at his feet stared blankly, unmoving. The amount of blood couldn’t have come from only one wound. He’d been stabbed multiple times. Greer feared she’d witnessed his last breath, last sound. “Take it easy. You’re under arrest.” No radio to call it in. But she had the situation under control. Once she got him to lie face down with his hands behind his back, she’d use her cell and get backup out here to cuff him.
A brilliant flash of lightning popped across the sky. The man kicked a bucket through the door. She batted it away, but it startled her. The killer leaped out and ran for the woods. Greer couldn’t let him get away. She rushed inside the mobile home and checked the victim’s vitals. As she sadly suspected—gone.
Sprinting through the light drops of rain, Greer spied him rushing into the safety of the trees.
“Freeze!” She raced in his direction. Eating up the field, she flew into the dense forest and paused, listening. A whiz up ahead. She moved in.
He disappeared.
Her heart pounded as she crept through the trees, brush, limbs and leaves crunching under her feet.
Come on. I need another flash of lightning. Come. On.
A burst of light shot through the night, and the man slammed her into a tree. Greer’s loose grip, due to the rain, was lost, and her gun plummeted into the brush. She swung at the killer and connected with his jaw with a right uppercut. She might be slight in frame, but her brother had been a Navy SEAL, and he’d taught her a trick or two—and she’d been kickboxing since her early twenties.
A raspy laugh belched from his mouth, and the knife he’d refused to drop glinted in the night. Her adrenaline kicked up a notch. Game changer.
She weaved and dodged him, hoping to spot her gun with a fresh flick of light. The camera hanging around her neck thumped against her chest.
No go. Jumping backward, she grabbed a large, gnarly branch and swung it at the attacker. Thoughts of her baby girl recharged her need to fight. The killer rushed her, and she tripped in the darkness, dropping the limb. They tumbled to the ground, and she screeched. But no one would hear. Not this far out. Not over the thunder. Not over the carnival music blaring.
Greer had no one to rely on to survive but herself and God. She screamed again as he shoved her into the dead winter twigs and pinecones. They cut into the back of her cropped denim jacket and T-shirt with a sharp sting. She drew up her knees, putting one against his stomach, blocking him from putting his whole body and weight on top of her. He grabbed her right wrist. She snatched his with her left hand, pulling his arm across her body and pushing with her free leg. She rolled out from under him, her camera strap snapping and sending it to the forest floor. Scrambling to her feet, she sprang into action and tore through the trees as the raindrops turned into a steady, but drizzly, rain.
Breathing ragged. Fear propelling her forward, faster. Stronger. Greer’s lungs screamed for more air, burning in protest. She’d left her hair down, and it matted to her face and eyes.
She glanced back as lightning illuminated the surroundings. He was ten feet away, closing in. Zigzagging, she smacked straight into a tree and bounced off, falling to the ground and landing with a heavy thud.
“Whoa.” The tree spoke. “Hey!” This time the voice roared, and she raised her head to see the man-tree go after the killer. Pushing hair from her eyes, Greer heaved breaths and struggled to get up. He dove onto the guy, and the attacker rolled him over. But he was quick and easy on his feet. He jumped up and put himself in a defensive position to block. Martial arts? The guy swung, but her rescuer blocked him once, twice, then landed a frontal kick, propelling him backward. There was some definite power in those legs.
“Who do you think you are?” he hollered, disgust and something familiar in his tone.
Greer’s head pounded, and her entire body blazed and ached.
The killer rushed him, and as fast as the lightning was striking, the towering oak used a series of hand motions to nail him on the ground. “Stay down!”
No. Greer stood, tottered. Couldn’t be. Had to be the blows to the head... But that voice. That confident, almost arrogant attitude. “Locklin?”
He whipped his head in her direction. “Greer...? Greer!”
The attacker made his move, and before Greer could warn Locke, he swept Locke’s feet out from under him, throwing him off balance, then bolted and fled through the woods.
Locke raced toward her as she teetered, legs like noodles. Nauseated. Headache. Trembling. He righted her as the sky lit up.
His crow-colored hair was a bit longer, shaggier, framing his face and touching his collar. Cheeks, chin and neck were scruffier. But it was storm-chasing season. A camera hung around his neck. “How bad are you hurt?” His hands roamed her face, head, back, arms.
She shrugged him away. His touch, while medically motivated, felt too intimate. Too familiar. Too perfect and safe. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking...and bleeding.” He brushed her hair from her face.
“Stop touching me.” She jerked back.
“Okay, I’m backing off.” He held his hands up as a boom of thunder breached the wooded barrier.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just...rattled. But fine.” That wasn’t completely true. Greer was far from fine. Things were happening so fast. She’d been attacked. Locke Gallagher was here. The past was rushing in, as were thoughts of what she needed to do now as a law enforcer. She was flustered, panicked and afraid.
“I get it, Greer. We gotta go, though. Now.”
She nodded, snagged her cell phone from her denim-jacket pocket and turned on her flashlight. “I need my gun and camera. Help me find them?” She hurried and called in the crime, giving the last known location of the killer and which camper the victim would be in.
Locke stood like a statue, rain slicking his hair to his face.
“Please,” she begged. “I have to get back to the crime scene. Get photos.”
Locke shoved rain-drenched hair from his face. “What is going on?” His words were laced with frustration.
“Did you not hear me call it in? I witnessed him murdering an employee. With this weather, time isn’t on my side.” She searched the area for her gun and camera, rain soaking her to the bone.
Locke finally helped her. “Here.” He found the gun by the tree.
“Thank you.” She needed to answer his questions. Have some kind of conversation. He’d have a million questions, but rain would wash away possible evidence, and a killer was on the loose. She had to focus on her job first, then she’d muster some courage to talk to Locke. “What are you
even doing here, in town? In these woods?” she asked as she found her camera, then jogged through the woods and into the field to the campers.
He kept her pace.
Locke couldn’t be here. Not in Goldenville. Not now. Not ever.
“I’m chasing a cluster of storms in the surrounding areas. Be about a week or so.”
That was too long. This was a small town. He’d no doubt bump into Greer at the store, a café, the park. And he’d see Lin.
And he’d know he had daughter. A daughter he’d never laid eyes on. Never met.
Because Greer had kept it a secret.
To spare their child from the future heartache of knowing she was never wanted by her father.
* * *
Locke ran with Greer across the field to the carnival employee campground. Rows upon rows of RVs and campers created a temporary home base for the traveling crew. Locke was no stranger to this kind of living. Especially during spring and summer storm seasons. Greer was supposed to be on the team, too. But she’d come home to help her mother and dropped him faster than a twister descending out of the sky, ignoring all his calls and texts. He’d taken the obvious hint that things were over, which shattered his heart in a million pieces. He’d been too cowardly to show up on her doorstep and face the rejection in person. It had been easier to lick his wounds alone and fake it until he made it.
He’d been debating giving her a courtesy voicemail, as she wouldn’t answer his calls, to let her know that he’d be in her hometown for a week or so with the group of scientists he worked with. Could he slip into town for the week and her not know it? He was leaning toward “yes,” when Greer had literally smacked into him in the woods. No hiding now.
Locke had been capturing this small storm on his own time. The earlier weather hadn’t been conducive to tornadoes so he’d been using it in his free time to collect photos for his online web gallery. He’d created a large platform and made a name for himself as a storm photographer. Even National Geographic had purchased a few images and done a piece on him and his role working with this team to discover more about why some storms produce tornadoes and others don’t. They were working to help stretch tornado warning times for people.
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