Deadly Commitment: The Deadly Secrets Series

by Kathy Harris

  “Okay! That’s a wrap!” The photographer put down his camera. “That last one was a keeper.”

  Acknowledgements and Special Thanks

  Thanks to—

  Linda Veath and Rebecca Deel—for your help with the early draft

  Edlynn Zimmerman, Karin Warf, and Debbie Scroggins—for your encouragement

  Julie Gwinn—for your patience and guidance

  Ramona Richards—for your continued faith

  Everyone at New Hope Publishers/Iron Stream Media-for bringing this book to life

  Tom and Letha Edwards and the Big Mean Kitty web team—for your digital dexterity

  Susan Larson and the girls at FBC—for introducing me to the healing work of The Next Door, Nashville

  Special thanks for your help with research:

  Tim Adair

  Kelcey Bell

  Tonya Bible

  Hendersonville Citizens Police Academy

  Ed Laneville

  Kate Tanis McKinnie

  George Offutt

  The TBI Press Office

  My hope is that this story will reflect the Word, Jesus Christ, who was, is, and will be forever. I write to the rhythm of His song.

  A Note to the Reader

  We don’t always choose our stories. They sometimes choose us. Deadly Commitment was a story that chose me. And, once it took hold, it wouldn’t let go.

  Over the past few years, we’ve seen the theme of deadly narcotics dominate the headlines. But during that time, the personal reality of illicit drugs destroying lives also impacted me closer to home. During the time it took me to write this book, that reality, unfortunately, stole the future of two of my extended family members.

  And then there was Michael.

  I met Michael several years ago when he was a manager in a small coffee shop where I wrote the first draft of this book. Michael would always greet me and other patrons with a warm smile and friendly conversation. One day when I was writing, he walked over to my table and asked what I was doing. I explained that I was working on a book, and he immediately took interest. Although I never shared details about my story, every few days he would ask how my book was coming along.

  Several months passed, and then one day I walked into the coffee shop and saw a framed picture of Michael sitting on the front counter. Two dates were written beneath it. The date of his birth, and the date of his death. I was told later that he had died of an overdose.

  As Michael had encouraged me in life, he continued to encourage me with his legacy. I had come face-to-face with the knowledge that good people can, and do, die from bad drugs. And, if I’d ever had any doubt, I knew then I had to finish this story.

  Not long after Michael’s death I became acquainted with a group of women from my church who were volunteering at The Next Door, an addiction treatment center in Nashville, and I decided to join them. It was through volunteering at The Next Door that I met countless young women who, like Rachel in my fictional story, were making their best effort to put their lives back together. Thanks to The Next Door, and facilities like them across the country, young women and men are given the opportunity for a second chance.

  I hope you will check out the resources page on my website, www.kathyharrisbooks.com/resources, for ways that you can help make a difference in the lives of those who have been affected by addiction. By working together, we can help them write hope into their personal stories.

  God bless you.

  Continue reading for a sneak peek at the next book in the Deadly Secrets Series

  Deadly Connection

  Kathy Harris

  After fending off a would-be abductor, twenty-seven-year-old singer-songwriter Hannah Cassidy hides behind a car in the half-empty parking lot behind Pancake Pantry and watches in horror as her attacker grabs another woman and pushes her into a nearby car. Within seconds, the vehicle speeds away.

  TBI Special Agent Jake Matheson may have planned a quiet day off and a date with Shannon—the only name her online profile revealed—for an introductory lunch, but soon after pulling into a parking space on 21st Avenue South, he hears a scream. Jake races to the back of the building and finds a frightened young woman bent forward and gasping for breath.

  Jake presents his badge, and Hannah explains what she just witnessed. The pieces fall into place quickly for Jake. Shannon, who fits the same general physical description as Hannah, with long, wavy blonde hair, medium height and medium build, is most likely the victim. But what was the motive? Was this the work of an international trafficking ring or a lone wolf? Did Shannon’s abductor grab her because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was she being stalked, perhaps because of her profile on the online dating app? Had the attacker confused the two women, and, if so, was Hannah Cassidy being stalked, and was she still in danger?

  After the police arrive, Hannah comes to grips with what has happened. She has avoided death or injury at the expense of another woman. Guilt sets in, not only for her but for Jake, who can only assume that Shannon would be safe right now if he hadn’t invited her to lunch.

  Thrown together by uncanny circumstances and driven by the whys and what ifs of secrets yet to be revealed, Jake and Hannah set out to piece together the connection between them—and Shannon. Will they make that connection in time, or will it prove to be deadly?

  CHAPTER 1

  Present Day – August 28

  Strong arms pulled Hannah Cassidy backward, her heels barely touching the pavement as her captor drug her across the half-vacant parking lot. The harder she fought the more the man tightened his grip on her throat, and each breath she drew threatened to be her last. She willed herself not to lose consciousness.

  Or hope.

  If she could land one well-placed kick, she could make a run for freedom. Fighting to fill her lungs with air, Hannah summoned the strength to secure her footing. Then, with a twist of her body, she landed a blow, driving her heel into the man’s shin.

  “O-o-ouch! You little—” He released his hold enough for Hannah to pull away.

  Lunging forward, she calculated her escape. If she could make it to the main street she could solicit help from a passerby. Her ability to outrun her attacker would either seal her fate or set her free.

  She chose the latter and took off running. Midway to Belcourt Avenue, she heard footsteps falling behind her. And then she heard the shrill scream of a siren.

  Could it be that easy?

  Turning quickly, she scanned the landscape in front of her in search of her rescuer. But the Metro Nashville police cruiser rolled past on Wedgewood Avenue, lights ablaze, oblivious to her situation. Still, it had been enough to distract the man chasing her, who stopped to watch the police car. While he was distracted, Hannah ducked behind a nearby vehicle.

  Barely breathing, she peered through the window of the SUV that shielded her from her attacker. She watched as the man hesitated, glanced over his shoulder to look for her, and then took off running in the opposite direction.

  Now taking her breaths in gulps, Hannah watched as her former captor grabbed another woman. The girl, who appeared to be a college student, dropped the books she had been carrying. Papers littered the sidewalk in front of her and scattered into the street.

  The young woman’s neck jerked backwards as her assailant lifted her feet from the ground and dragged her toward a light-colored sedan. The man opened the back left-side passenger door and tossed the girl, her body now limp, into the car. Then he slammed the door. Seconds later he jumped into the driver’s seat and sped away, heading up the hill toward Belmont University and, perhaps, the interstate highway just beyond.

  Hannah’s gut churned as she replayed the last few minutes of her life. The stranger’s arms wrenching her throat, choking, squeezing, dragging her. How had she managed to escape? And if she hadn’t, would her fate have been the same as the young girl who had just been whisked away?

  She knew the answer. And it drove her to her knees.

  Jake Mat
heson pulled his dark gray Toyota Tacoma into an empty parking spot on Belcourt Avenue near 21st Avenue South. Glancing into his rearview mirror he ran his hand through his short-cropped hair and gathered his composure. If this went as usual, he would be on his way home in an hour with zero connection and even more doubt that he could ever find someone special in his life again. Even after a year, the pain of losing Rylee still stabbed him in the gut.

  He switched his phone to mute and tucked his Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Special Agent’s badge into his back pocket. His date, whom he only knew as Shannon from her online profile, deserved an uninterrupted conversation. And one without the complications of knowing about his difficult job.

  When he stepped out of his truck, a blur of movement caught his attention. Someone, a young woman, had fallen in the parking lot. He slammed his door and ran to her side.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No—” She appeared to be shaken.

  “Are you hurt? Can I help you up?”

  “I’m not hurt,” the woman said, raising her face to him.

  Jake grasped her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. After leaning her against a nearby vehicle, he recognized the splotches on her neck as strangulation marks.

  “What happened?”

  She shook off the question. “I’m the lucky one . . . I managed to get away. But another woman”—she pointed toward Wedgewood Avenue—“the man who attacked me. He took her.”

  Jake scanned the parking lot. “Where? In a car?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you describe the car for me? And the woman?” He pulled his phone from his pocket preparing to dial 9-1-1. “What about the man?”

  “They were in a light blue, or maybe a silver, sedan. An Audi, I think.”

  “Could you read the plates?”

  “No, not the plates. But the girl was wearing a pink blouse. With ripped jeans. And . . .” She closed her eyes. “She must have been a student because she was carrying books. They fell everywhere.”

  Jake scanned the parking lot, finally focusing on the pile of books and scattered papers on the sidewalk and in the street. He looked back to the woman in front of him.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Hannah . . . Hannah Cassidy.”

  “Hannah, my name is Jake. I’m a TBI agent. Do you remember anything about the man who attacked you?”

  Her eyes clouded. “No . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t see his face. He was dragging me backwards.” She put her hands to her neck. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “I understand.” Jake dialed 9-1-1.

  “I remember he was tall,” Hannah said. “He towered over me. And he was dressed in a light-colored polo shirt, maybe even silk. And khakis.” She shook her head. “It all happened so fast.”

  “You’re doing a good job, Hannah. Hold on while I—”

  “9-1-1. How can I help you?”

  “Yes. This is Jake Matheson. I’m a special agent with the TBI. A woman has reportedly been abducted. I have the witness with me. We’re in the parking lot behind the Pancake Pantry, at the corner of 21st and Wedgewood. You’re looking for a silver or light blue Audi sedan with two passengers. The victim is—” He gestured to his hair.

  “Blond,” Hannah said. “Long blond hair. About the length and color of mine.”

  “The victim is blond.” Jake repeated. “She’s wearing a pink blouse and torn blue jeans. The suspect is tall. Medium build?” He looked to Hannah again. She nodded. “He’s wearing a polo shirt and khakis pants.”

  “We’re sending a car, Agent Matheson. Will you be on the scene?”

  “I’ll be here. With the witness.”

  Jake hung up the phone. “Hannah, are you okay to stay here by yourself for a minute? I want to secure the evidence.”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah was either a woman of few words, or she was in shock. Jake guessed the latter considering the unfocused look in her eyes. He ran to his truck, pulled gloves and an evidence bag from his trunk, and then slammed the hatch door shut.

  After checking on Hannah again, he sprinted across the parking lot where he found three books lying on the sidewalk. He snapped a photo to document their position and then stepped into the street to retrieve a notebook that had landed in a lane of traffic.

  Jake froze when he read the name on the cover.

  Shannon Bridges.

  The woman he had planned to meet for lunch.

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