by Linda Style
THE MISSING: LAPD Special Investigations, Book 4
Giving up is not an option…
Book Description:
The cop…
Clean and sober and back on the job, LAPD Detective Luke Coltrane has come to Santa Fe to make amends with his father, only to find his ex-wife at the family ranch. The pain of losing their son roars back with a vengeance, and worse, he can’t forget all that was good between them. Julianna is even more beautiful than he remembers. But getting involved again could be a huge mistake. If he doesn’t leave now, there’s no turning back.
The investigative journalist…
Julianna Chevalair learned early on to stand her ground, and she sure isn’t going to cave to a stalker’s threat to stop writing a series of magazine articles about missing children. She’s on to something that could help uncover a serial killer, possibly their son’s murderer. While hiding out to finish writing the piece, Julianna’s stunned to see Luke again but not surprised when old emotions arise. Guilt and grief. Passion and temptation. It’s impossible to be near him. But when a new threat proves her stalker knows where she is…she has nowhere else to run.
The threat…
As the killer closes in on Julianna, Luke vows to protect her. But he can’t protect her from the past or a pain that could destroy them both.
THE MISSING
L.A.P.D. Special Investigations
Giving up is not an option
DEDICATION
—To all who protect and serve—
And always…to my family for your love and support
Dear Reader,
I’m delighted to bring you another L.A.P.D. Special Investigations novel and again delve into the inner world of law enforcement—a world that’s always intrigued me. While career choices took me in another direction, I did enroll in my city’s civilian police academy and the extensive classes gave me more than just a look inside the world of law enforcement―and it sparked the idea for this series.
THE MISSING was intended to be the last book in the series, and it seems perfect to end with Luke’s story. But some readers are prompting me to reconsider. If you’re interested in more of this series, please let me know.
This story, however, is Luke’s. It’s about second chances, and don’t we all wish we could do some things over? But even when given the opportunity, we don’t always make the best choices. I believe true character is revealed by the choices we make when our personal risks are the greatest. Detective Luke Coltrane is a man forced to make those choices.
Luke and Julianna have been through a terrible tragedy. In order to find love and commitment again, they must overcome nearly insurmountable odds. I didn’t know until I wrote the end of this book whether they’d be able to do it or not. I’m happy with the outcome and hope you will be, too and enjoy Luke and Julianna’s story.
I love hearing from readers and can be contacted at [email protected] or through my Web site at www.LindaStyle.com. While there, sign up for my newsletter to learn about new books, freebies, sales and contest. You can also join me on Facebook and Twitter.
May all your dreams come true.
Linda
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
EPILOGUE
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MORE BOOKS FROM LINDA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU CROSSED THE LINE. Stop now or you’re next.”
Julianna Chevalair listened to the distorted digitalized voice, heard a click and then… nothing. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, closed her eyes and waited for the next message. The message icon indicated there were three.
“If you don’t stop, I will stop you.” A different, higher voice, but obviously disguised.
She’d ignored the earlier e-mails warning her to stop writing the story, one in a series of articles on missing children and the second installment on the Willis case was about to run in the magazine’s next issue.
After a pause, the next message started. “You think you’re safe, don’t you.” A deep laugh emanated from the phone. “Well, you’re not,” the voice hissed “and when you least expect it, I’m going to slit―”
She gasped, jabbed wildly at the buttons and clicked off, hands shaking, heart racing. No. No. That’s what he wants. Don’t buy in to it. She drew in a deep breath.
As long as she’d worked at the magazine, The Achilles’ Heel had always received crank calls, letters and e-mail messages from readers who didn’t like some of its stories, but this call went far beyond any of the earlier responses to her articles. The two e-mails the magazine received prior to her leaving San Francisco had threatening undertones, but they’d been mild compared to this.
Even though the magazine received a lot of responses, she rarely received personal email messages at work, and many were from obvious crackpots. She was used to a certain amount of criticism and took it in stride. But the most recent messages had bothered her so much it had been hard to concentrate on her work. Maybe it was the subject of the articles, or her nerves were on edge with the deadline. She didn’t know, but when her ex-father-in-law invited her to stay at his ranch outside Santa Fe, she’d jumped at the opportunity.
Abe’s ranch was the last place anyone would expect her to go. She didn’t know if the calls were all from one person or more, but the important thing was that whoever it was, they couldn’t possibly know where she was. No one knew. Not even her editor.
She heaved a sigh and dropped into Abe’s recliner, its dark leather soft and cracked with age, took her laptop from the table at her side, put it on her lap, and switched it on. The article was almost complete and when she finished, she’d be done with her third story in the series, this one about a little girl’s abduction and murder in Los Angeles.
Not all the children she wrote about had been murdered, but all had been abducted and some were still missing. If she could reach one person who knew something, it would be worth whatever nastygrams or threats she might get. How could anyone not be sympathetic and want to catch the monsters who could do such things. Who the hell were these people? Serial killer sympathizers?
Well, she had news for those wackos. Their creepy messages made her even more determined to finish the series. She’d never give in to a coward who made anonymous threats. She’d finish the story even if she had to go into deep hiding to do it. But she would finish.
She pulled up Word on her laptop, went to the last page of the story and typed in, “If you recognize anything about the individual profiled in this article—if you know anything about this case, call the LAPD, your local FBI office or 1-800-CRIME TV. Help us take this killer off the streets before he harms another ch―”
A rustling noise outside the window made her jump. Her heartbeat quickened even as she grinned at her own nervousness. She was used to city sounds, but here in the desert, in the eerie stillness of the night, every small noise seemed magnified.
Listening and hearing nothing more, she blew out a long breath. The messages had unnerved her. Which was silly. Before she left San Francisco, she’d switched the landline message forwarding to her cell. Of course she’d get the messages here. No one had her cell number.
Hearing another sound, she reminded herself that Abe had complained about a family of javelina disturbing his chickens. He’d had trouble with coyotes, too. It certainly wouldn’t be a visitor at two in the morning—Abe didn’t have visitors…at any time.
Her heart warmed thinking of the old man sleeping in the back wing of the sprawling adobe ranch house. Beside
s being her ex-father-in-law, he was a friend, a surrogate father who’d taken her in, no questions asked. Abe might be cranky and more stubborn than a jackass, but he had a kind heart and the courage of a lion. She loved him dearly.
Except for the soft light of an old faux oil lamp across the room and the glow from the laptop screen, the rest of the house was dark. No lights were on outside either since Abe insisted on conserving energy. He called himself thrifty. Others called him cheap.
A coyote bayed in the distance, its lonely howl a faint echo in the vastness of the high desert, reminding her how far they were from Santa Fe. Yet, here, she felt a peace she’d rarely enjoyed at home. The air was so pure that sounds traveled for miles, the sky so clear, she could see the Milky Way, like a road of sparkling light against a velvet black backdrop. She hadn’t seen the stars look like that since she was a kid and had taken a trip with her mother in their beat-up VW bus to Arizona.
Julianna hauled in a deep breath and went back to typing in footnotes on her article, the keys clicking loudly in the silence.
Another sound…from the other side of the house, near the kitchen. Her hands stilled over the keyboard. Abe? Had he gotten up for something? He usually slept like the dead.
The front doorknob rattled.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Another crash, louder this time, and then a thumping sound in the hallway. The doorknob rattled again.
She grabbed her cell phone. They were so far out in the boonies it would take forever for anyone to get there, but she punched nine one-one, anyway.
Static. But then, faintly, between the crackles, she heard a voice. She rattled off her name, Abe’s address, her cell phone number and that she thought someone was breaking in, hoping whoever was on the other end had heard her.
She should wake Abe. But shouting for him wouldn’t do any good. The old man took out his hearing aid at night and he’d be lucky to hear a bomb blast without it.
Her heart pumping like a piston in her chest, she glanced to Abe’s rifle in the gun rack against the far wall, crossed the room, found the key to the case and took out one of the rifles. The wood on the stock was smooth, like it had been recently polished and the oily scent reaching her nose said she was right.
Dear God, she’d never handled a gun in her life. It wasn’t even loaded. Abe had told her none of his guns were. Just as well, she’d probably shoot herself.
Reaching to put it back, she stopped. What the hell. It was protection. She opened the drawer and scooped out some rifle shells. Abe had loaded his guns in front of her before and it looked easy peasy. All she had to do was put the shells in, close it, and pull the trigger.
But what if she missed?
She pocketed the shells, then, cradling the gun in her arms like a baby. It was dark in the hallway. No intruders that she could see. She edged down the hallway toward Abe’s room to wake him. He knew how to shoot. Besides, what was she going to do? Force a burglar to leave at gunpoint? Tie him up for the police? How long would it be before they arrived? If they arrived?
With each step, she tightened her grip on the weapon. Hard to believe anyone would break into an old man’s house in the middle of the night when he had nothing worth stealing. It could still be an animal searching for food. In California, she’d heard of bears and bobcats wandering into homesteads.
But animals didn’t rattle doorknobs. She heard a dull thud and before she could react, a door to one of the bedrooms creaked open and a large male form stood shadowed in the opening. Eeek! she shrieked.
Adrenaline shot through her veins. She curled her fingers around the gun barrel, raised the weapon, butt end up and, with all the power she could muster, smashed the man on the head.
He grunted…and he was still standing.
Oh God! She turned to run. Fingers dug into her shoulder and in one quick movement, he took the gun, shoved her face against the wall, and pulled both hands behind her.
“Move and you’re history,” he said, his voice low and raspy.
That voice. She knew that voice.
Swiftly, big deft hands patted her down, moving under her arms, sliding around to her breasts, then down between her legs. An all too familiar sensation squeezed low in her stomach. The light clicked on, and he yanked her around.
Seeing her face, his eyes went wide. “Jules?”
Words stuck in her throat. Abe had assured her there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d run into her ex-husband. Frowning, she flung off his hands and rubbed her arms where he’d manhandled her. He must’ve come in through a bedroom window since there was no exterior door in the room.
He reached for his head. He was bleeding. Scowling and bleeding.
“You coulda killed me.”
“That was the intent. I thought you were a freaking burglar. Most normal people don’t come in through a window, y’know.”
When he took his hand from his forehead, blood dribbled down into his brow. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to him, pointing at the cut. Damn. She’d hit him really hard. “Geez. Keep pressing on it. I’ll get some first aid stuff.”
As she turned to go, he grabbed her by the arm. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I think I should be the one asking you that question.”
“This is my father’s house.”
“Well, I’m here by invitation. Abe told me you hadn’t been here for a year.”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “It couldn’t be that long.”
She shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
Luke’s gaze went to the floor indicating what Abe said was true and Luke probably felt guilty about it. Her ex had never been good at hiding his reactions. If he was irritated you knew it. If he was happy, you knew that, too. Angry, you really knew it. But he kept his thoughts, his reasons behind the emotions locked inside.
“Yeah, well, if it’s been that long, then he’ll be pleased to see me.”
“Not with you dripping blood all over his floor.” He seemed to have forgotten about his head and was staring at her instead. She gave him a shove, urging him down the hall to the bathroom. “Let’s do something about that cut.”
Once inside the tiny room, she pulled a washcloth from the linen closet and moistened it under the faucet. “Here, this will help.”
He discarded the blood red tissue, took the cloth and, looking in the small mirror above the old cast-iron, pedestal sink, applied it to his forehead.
Five years and he still looked the same. Same cobalt eyes that crinkled around the corners whether he was smiling or not, the same lean, hard features that said he was a man’s man—a man with a purpose—and always in control. Qualities she’d once thought sexy and desirable.
“Your hair is different,” he said, still looking in the mirror, but gazing at her to the side behind him.
“Different than what?”
“Than before. No ponytail.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that important?”
“Still good at answering questions with a question, aren’t you?”
“And you’re still good at thinking everything is your business when it’s not.”
A tight smile lifted his lips. “Touché.”
With that one small concession, an uncomfortable silence fell between them, a silence laden with recriminations and guilt. Her chest squeezed at the thought…the memories. Their divorce had been inevitable, filled with heartache and pain. The hurt was so great, she couldn’t be around him and vice-versa. She’d even moved from L.A. to San Francisco to lessen the chances of running into him.
In the confines of the small bathroom, he shifted his stance and lifted one foot to the edge of the tub, effectively imprisoning her between his leg and the sink. He was so close his body heat practically scorched her clothes. And as before, his familiar masculine scent made her blood rush. If the look in his eyes was any indication, he felt the same. But then, lack of desire had never been their problem.
“Okay, here’s a question you can answer. How’s my father?”
She shrugged. “You know Abe, he wouldn’t admit to anything even if he were inches from death’s door. And there’s no question he’d be a lot healthier if he stopped smoking.”
“Fat chance of that.”
“I know.”
“So let’s quit the sparring and you tell me what’s up with the visit.”
She sighed. He was in cop interrogation mode and would ask the question sixteen ways to Sunday to get an answer. He wasn’t going to give up. “Your father invited me for a vacation. I needed one.” She crossed her arms. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m taking a couple weeks off. And since I hadn’t seen Pops for a while, I thought I’d check on how the old rooster was doing.”
“You’re taking time off?” Luke never took time off.
A loud banging sounded at the door. “Oh Geez. I called the police. That’s probably them.”
He took his foot down and waved an arm for her to go. They went into the living room together amid spotlights flashing through the window, rotating red and blue and lighting up the room like a nightclub. Another percussion of knocking rattled the walls. “Sheriff’s department. Open up.”
She crossed the room and swung the door wide open. A tall man in a black hat stood in front of her, arms crossed, legs apart. His badge said he was indeed the sheriff.
He peered inside. “I’m Sheriff Ben Yuma. I received a call.”
Julianna flipped on a light switch next to the door. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I called because I thought someone was breaking into the house, but I was wrong.”
The sheriff’s dark eyes narrowed as he glanced at Luke.
“Luke Coltrane, LAPD.” Luke pulled out his shield. “I came to see my father, forgot my key and decided to use a window.”
