Vanishing Point

by Lisa Harris

  © 2017 by Lisa Harris

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1105-4

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Published in association with Joyce Hart of Hartline Literary Agency, LLC.

  Praise for THE NIKKI BOYD FILES

  “A thrill ride from start to finish, the first book in Harris’s NIKKI BOYD FILES series is filled with twists and surprises.”

  —RT Book Reviews, Top Pick on Vendetta

  “The story is fueled with misleading dangers, and the character is so fascinating that fans will be waiting impatiently to see what adventure Nikki Boyd will have next.”

  —Suspense Magazine on Vendetta

  “Harris draws her readers into the fear and excitement generated by a mission to catch a madman.”

  —Booklist on Vendetta

  “Lisa Harris has quickly become one of my favorite romantic suspense writers, and she has penned another winner in Missing.”

  —Radiant Lit blog on Missing

  “With Missing, Ms. Harris has given us a thriller that becomes more and more exciting and nerve-wracking until you flip the last page and let out a contented sigh of relief.”

  —The Suspense Zone on Missing

  “Intense. Nail-biting. A real page-turner that is sure to enthrall the discerning romantic suspense aficionado.”

  —Fiction Addiction Fix on Missing

  “As with everything that Harris writes, this novel is wonderfully plotted and fast-paced, with unexpected twists and turns to keep the reader engaged in the story.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Pursued

  “Lisa Harris is getting better with each book, and this is probably the best one she has written.”

  —Write-Read-Life blog on Pursued

  To those who have loved and lost.

  May you find peace in Him.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for THE NIKKI BOYD FILES

  Dedication

  Prologue

  2004

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  2005

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  2006

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  Present Day

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt of Vendetta

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Lisa Harris

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  She could read the satisfaction in her abductor’s face. A chilling sense of pleasure that reached from his upturned lips to his piercing gaze, as if he were enjoying contemplating her fate. Even with that knowledge, she was surprised at how calm she was as he motioned her out of the vehicle and onto the soft ground still wet from last night’s rain. It was a deep-seated numbness, like when she woke up in the morning, hovering between dreams and reality, and she wasn’t sure where she was. Or the feeling when she watched a scary movie and had to keep reminding herself that none of it was real. And no one had really died.

  But in real life people died.

  And this was no dream.

  She looked past the dark figure, who was dressed completely in black, toward the thick, green wooded area located somewhere outside of Nashville. He’d threatened to shoot her if she ran or caused any problems, but for the moment he was busy pulling something out of the car. Was it better to count on the odds that he might miss if he tried to shoot her? Should she try to escape anyway?

  She decided to run.

  Drawing in a lungful of air, she dashed behind the car and took off into the woods surrounding them. The lingering sunlight was going to disappear soon. And the coming darkness terrified her almost as much as the person who had snatched her. She kept her focus on the ground. There was no path. Only layers of thick underbrush. She stumbled over a rotting log, barely catching her balance on the uneven terrain. He shouted behind her, but she only ran faster. If she could find a road, she might be able to catch a ride leading back to town.

  Please, God . . . please help me . . .

  She could hear him, crashing through the trees behind her as she tried to maneuver the thick underbrush. Maybe it was simply the terror of the situation beginning to seep through her, but she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. A splash of water from one of the branches above her hit the end of her nose and ran down her chin. She shivered. It was so cold. He’d taken her coat and the gray scarf and beanie she wore weren’t enough to keep her warm. She sucked in some air, worried her legs were going to collapse beneath her, both from physical exertion and the mounting fear. To her right there was an opening in the trees. She had run cross-country earlier in the school year. With open ground she might be able to outrun her abductor.

  A bullet slammed into a tree beside her. A flock of birds scurried from their perch near the top, the frenzied flapping of wings sending her into a panic. She froze, heart pounding in her chest, unable to stop the escalating fear. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think, except about how she didn’t want to die. Not this way.

  “That was a warning,” he shouted. “Next time I won’t miss.”

  She started to run again, but it was too late. He grabbed her arm. A sharp pain shot through her elbow. She had no choice now. No one would hear her if she screamed. And more than likely, no one would find her body if he killed her. She walked beside him back through the darkening forest and caught sight of the butt of the gun as he pressed the barrel against the side of her head. He was right. This time he wouldn’t miss.

  I tried . . .

  The last bits of sunlight faded around them as he shoved her shoulder against the bark.

  “Stand against the tree. We’re running out of time.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t know why he was in such a hurry. What did it matter? No one was here to save her. No one was going to stop this monster in front of her.

  Her eyes focused on the old Polaroid camera like the one her grandfather had owned where the picture came out.

  “Smile.”

  The machine whirred. She couldn’t smile. Instead, she felt the seconds tick by, then a photo slid out of the camera. She knew the picture had caught the terror in her eyes. Any numbness had now compl
etely worn off.

  She shifted her gaze from the photo and saw something she hadn’t noticed before. A dozen yards in front of her lay a freshly dug grave.

  1

  January 23

  6:17 a.m.

  Sumner County, Tennessee

  Special Agent Garrett Addison snapped a photo of the freshly dug grave located inside the yellow roped-off crime scene. He would have preferred to avoid looking at the magnified details of the body half buried in the patch of soft earth, but his camera lens wouldn’t let him. Instead, it only emphasized the state of the young woman.

  She lay in the ground where a couple of hikers had discovered her, posed with her hands on her chest as if she were sleeping. If not for the bullet hole and a single trail of dried blood running across her forehead, he could almost imagine she was simply sleeping. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old, with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore minimal makeup and there was a smudge of dirt on her left cheek next to a row of freckles. Her faded jeans were ripped at the knee, and the thin black T-shirt she wore wouldn’t have been warm enough for the six inches of snow forecast to fall in the next twelve hours.

  If she were still alive.

  Five years on the force might have made responding to 911 calls routine to him, but even experience couldn’t completely prepare him for days like this.

  What kind of person does this to another human being, God?

  He drew in a deep breath as he snapped another photo. If it had been in the middle of a hot summer, the body would have already started to smell. Instead the cold January weather had prolonged the decaying process. He shook his head, wishing he could shake away the eerie feeling that always came with cases like this. A young life brutally cut short.

  He glanced toward the other end of the blocked-off crime scene at the couple who’d called in the discovery. They’d been out hiking the wooded trails when they stumbled across the girl. The woman was crying again, her shoulders shaking, while the man had his arms around her, trying to comfort her. Images like the one they’d just stumbled across didn’t simply fade away. They lingered in the back of your mind, resurfacing when you least expected it. He knew that from firsthand experience. Things like this should never happen.

  Some first week on the new job working homicide.

  He pushed back the growing sense of unease and went back to snapping photos. As a criminal investigator now, he expected to deal with the underbelly of society. That he could handle. It was the innocent loss of life that churned his gut. The heavy consequences of crime had just forever marked this young woman’s family. But he couldn’t make this scene personal. His only hope was that he’d be able to bring justice to victims like the one lying in front of him. But how could there be justice when it was too late and the scent of death already filled the air? She’d been so young . . . so vulnerable. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister.

  Holding back the bile in his throat from the images in his viewfinder, he shifted his position and took another shot.

  “Hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight.”

  Garrett looked up at Special Agent Sam Bradford, his new boss for the past forty-eight hours. The man was somewhere in his late fifties, balding on top and graying around the edges, but he was still as fit as someone half his age.

  “Nothing important,” he said, reminding himself he was no longer a seasoned cop on the street but the newbie on Bradford’s team.

  “Good. Because we need to wrap this case up as soon as we can. The public gets nervous when they find out a young girl’s been murdered.” Bradford knelt down next to the body, then rubbed the back of his head. “Make sure you get close-ups of her hands and face as well as multiple shots of the perimeter when you’re done here. And be careful not to disturb any of the evidence while you’re at it.”

  Garrett started to say something, then decided not to mention that while he might be new on the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation’s payroll, he wasn’t exactly lacking crime scene experience. “Will do, boss.”

  A second man, at least a decade younger than Bradford, stepped up beside him. At six foot two, Garrett was used to towering over people, but the ebony-skinned agent had at least an inch or two on him, as well as ten-plus pounds.

  “Garrett Addison, I’m guessing,” the man said, holding out his hand.

  Garrett nodded. “And you must be Special Agent Michaels.”

  “Welcome to homicide. I’ve heard a lot about you. You made your way up the ranks pretty fast.”

  “Not before putting in my time on the streets,” Garrett said, brushing off the familiar implications that friends in high places had gotten him his promotion.

  One of the patrol officers who’d been first on the scene hollered something at Michaels.

  “Excuse me a sec.”

  Garrett took another step back from the body as Michaels walked off, then flipped back through the photos he’d just taken, ensuring he photographed every angle. They might have the rookie do the grunt work, but he wasn’t going to give them any reason to perpetuate the rumor he was here because of his grandfather.

  “I met Senator Addison back in ’92 when he was running for office,” Bradford said. “Heard he went back into law after retiring.”

  “Yes, he’s at the family firm now. Addison, Addison & Green.”

  “I’ve heard of it. And I’m guessing you were supposed to be the third Addison?”

  Garrett started on the terrain surrounding the body, wishing he could avoid the topic. “Yes.”

  “So how does an up-and-coming lawyer with a prestigious firm decide to become a criminal investigator with TBI?” Bradford asked.

  “I got fed up defending the bad guys.”

  The older man nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m glad you’re on board, no matter who your grandfather is. We could use some new blood around here. Some fresh ideas and perspective. In the meantime, what about an ID? Anything on her before the ME gets here?”

  “Nothing’s been found so far.”

  “Keep photographing the scene. Hopefully something will turn up.”

  Five minutes later, Garrett was still making his way systematically through the crime scene. He took another photo, then paused to check the view screen. Something partially buried beneath a clump of dirt caught his eye. He knelt down in front of the object. It was a Polaroid photo of their victim.

  He called out to his boss, who was still studying the body. “I’ve got something you’re going to want to see. It’s a photo.”

  Garrett studied the picture. The girl’s expression was haunting. As if she knew exactly what was going to happen to her. His gut clenched. She’d looked her abductor in the eye, and he’d killed her.

  Bradford crouched down beside him, picked up the photo with his gloved hands, then brushed off a layer of dirt, his face paling with the action.

  “What’s wrong?” Garrett asked.

  “I worked a case about eighteen months ago, before I transferred to this department’s homicide division. A sixteen-year-old girl named Jessica Wright went missing. Her body was found five days later in an unmarked grave about ninety miles from Nashville.”

  “Did you ever find her killer?”

  “No, but a Polaroid photo of the victim was found. Nine months later a second girl, Becky Collier, vanished under similar circumstances. She was supposed to have spent the afternoon at the library. Her body hasn’t turned up, but authorities found a photo of her, near where she was taken. A Polaroid.”

  The sense of unease returned. Garrett snapped a photo of the Polaroid. She’d been terrified. He could see it in her eyes as he tried not to imagine what she’d been thinking at that moment. “I remember hearing about both cases, but I don’t remember hearing anything about the Polaroid photos.”

  “That information was intentionally left out of our reports to the media.”

  “Any witnesses or a description of the abductor?” Garrett asked.

  “We’ve got a polic
e sketch from a witness in the first case who saw Jessica arguing with someone after school. We never could identify the man and the artist’s sketch is pretty generic. Could be anyone. And on top of that, no matchable DNA was found at the crime scene, which means that even after all this time, we still have no idea who the perpetrator is.”

  “What about trying to track down the buyer of the camera?” Garrett asked. “Polaroids aren’t used that much anymore.”

  “You’d think a vintage camera would be easy to track, but it turns out there are dozens of sellers on eBay alone. We never could narrow it down.” Bradford ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “What about the couple who found this body? Did they see anything that might help?”

  “Not as far as I know. One of the first officers on the scene took their statements. Apparently they were here watching for eagles.”

  Bradford frowned. “Eagles?”

  “While winter isn’t the best time to be out camping and hiking, apparently it’s the best time for eagle sightings.”

  “So they didn’t see anyone hanging around this morning?”

  “No, but the area’s slow this time of year. They said even the parking lot was empty.”

  Bradford shook his head. “And it’s possible she’s been here for days.”

  Garrett turned around as the medical examiner slipped under the yellow tape and headed toward the body with his equipment.

  “Sam Bradford.” The ME stopped next to them. “I thought I heard you were heading out of town to celebrate your anniversary.”

  “I was.”

  “Irene’s going to kill you for this. We can handle it, you know.”

  “And miss breaking in a newbie?” Bradford glanced at Garrett. “This is Special Agent Garrett Addison, by the way. And as for Irene? She’s been putting up with me for thirty years. This won’t change anything.”

  “JB Philips,” the examiner said, giving Garrett a nod. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

  “You’re not going to like this, Philips,” Bradford said as the ME crouched beside the victim.

  “Another young girl losing her life far too early?”

  “It’s more than that. Do you remember the Wright case back in ’02? A sixteen-year-old was abducted while walking home. Five days later, a couple kids were playing and found her body in a shallow grave.”