I always LOVE to hear from readers and will be particularly interested in your thoughts on this book. I can be reached via email at [email protected] or by mail at the following address: Jordyn Redwood, PO Box 1142, Parker, CO 80134.
May good men always shine light to uncover the darkness.
Many blessings,
Jordyn
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Tracking Danger
by Terri Reed
ONE
“Wait!” Dill, Texas, Deputy Sheriff Serena Evans called to her fellow sheriff’s deputy standing on the porch of the one-story cottage. He placed the red rose and white sheet of paper, which no doubt had the words I’m coming for you scrawled in black script, into an evidence bag.
Serena and her K-9 partner, a red-and-white-speckled English springer spaniel named Ginger, hurried up the walkway of the home of the latest target of the serial killer known as the Red Rose Killer. The perpetrator had already claimed five victims.
Thankfully, the latest intended target was still alive. The Dill Sheriff’s Department had a chance to catch the fiend before he made good his threat. And Serena anticipated this time the sheriff would give her and Ginger a chance to prove themselves. That he’d called her in on her day off gave her hope he was finally taking them seriously.
Deputy Sheriff Mike Burnside paused with a quick glance at the open front door. “What?”
“Let Ginger take a smell before you seal the bag,” she said.
Mike frowned. “Bruno already sniffed them.” Referring to the department’s other K-9 officer: “Harry and the dog followed the scent to the road. The guy took off in a car, and they lost his scent.”
“But Ginger won’t lose the scent,” Serena told him. “She’s trained for this.” Serena didn’t add the German shepherd was great at apprehension and protection but he wasn’t a scent hound. Ginger was a hunting dog, trained in wilderness air search.
With another glance at the open door, Mike held out the opened bags. “Fine. Hurry.”
“Sniff,” she instructed Ginger. The dog stuck her brown nose in each bag and then let out a woof, clearly ready to get to work.
“Evans! Get in here,” Sheriff Dave Reinholt yelled from inside the house.
Mike jumped with a grimace even though he wasn’t the one being yelled at and quickly zipped the bags before hustling away with the evidence.
Serena braced herself and led Ginger into the house. “Yes, sir. I’m here, sir.”
The sheriff, an imposing man in his sixties with white hair and broad shoulders, ate up space in the living room. He gestured to the early twentysomething woman seated on the couch. “This is Cindy Willis.”
Serena recognized her from the Dill Main Street Diner. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Miss Willis.”
“Thanks.” Mascara-streaked tears ran down the younger woman’s frightened face.
Empathy tightened Serena’s chest. Everyone in town was on edge.
“You’re to take Miss Willis to the airport and make sure she gets on her plane safely,” the sheriff said. “She’s going home to Minnesota.”
Serena’s stomach dropped. “But, sir. Ginger and I can trail the suspect.”
The sheriff lifted one bushy eyebrow. “Are you defying an order?”
Knowing he’d relish an opportunity to fire her because the mayor had strong-armed him into hiring her. He hadn’t wanted a female in his department. She straightened her shoulders and struggled to keep her irritation in check. “No, sir. I’ll do as ordered, sir.”
His gaze narrowed. “I thought so. Then you can go home.” He turned away dismissively and left the house.
A low, simmering anger burned within Serena, but she forced herself to rein in her emotions as she regarded Cindy. “We should go,” she said gently. “The sooner you’re out of town, the better.”
Once they were on their way to the airport, Cindy said, “I don’t know why I’m a target.”
From what Serena knew of the killings there was no pattern. He was picking his targets at random.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Cindy confessed. “I just don’t know who to trust. I mean, the killer could be anybody.”
Cindy’s words repeated through Serena’s mind long after she saw the young woman’s plane rise in the blue spring sky.
Instead of heading home as ordered, Serena returned to the Willis house determined to plead with the sheriff to let her and Ginger work. He may not like having a female deputy, but surely he couldn’t deny them the opportunity to do what they were trained to do.
Crime scene tape fluttered in the March breeze across the front porch, but everyone was gone. It took only a moment for her to decide what to do. She climbed out of the vehicle, released Ginger and put on the dog’s soft-sided working vest, then attached a long lead.
“Let’s see if you can pick up the scent again,” Serena said to her partner.
Ginger put her nose to the ground. Patiently, Serena followed as Ginger led her around the side of the house to the flower bed beneath the bedroom window.
Two boot footprints marred the earth.
Heart racing, Serena had a feeling these belonged to the Red Rose Killer who’d obviously stood here spying on Cindy.
Though she knew the sheriff or Deputy Burnside would have already photographed and documented the prints, she snapped off a few images of the prints using her cell phone, noting the smashed Ashe juniper seeds in the tracks of the boot’s tread. She quickly glanced around. No Ashe juniper nearby.
Serena pointed to the prints in the dirt. “Sniff.”
Ginger put her nose to the earth and smelled the print and the grass all the way to the street, and then she lifted her head, nose twitching in the air. She faced east, her tail straight, one paw lifted.
Anticipation revved Serena’s blood. “Go find.”
The dog didn’t hesitate; she took off with Serena hurrying behind her, holding the end of the lead. Ginger stopped more than six miles later, panting at the fenced property line of the Double Pine Ranch. Serena hadn’t met the new owner of the ranch, Jason Hargrove, but she’d seen him around town and had heard from the townsfolk that he kept to himself.
Could he be the Red Rose Killer?
* * *
He almost had her.
Jason Hargrove held the bridle and spoke in soothing tones to the big roan. When he’d taken ownership of the Double Pine Ranch, he’d discovered several wild horses living on the land. For the past six months he’d been doing everything he could to care for the animals. This beautiful girl was learning to trust him and had even followed him into the corral.
A dog bark. The sound echoing on the breeze.
The horse reared up on her hind le
gs, clearly spooked.
“Whoa there, girl.” Jason backed away. The horse, he’d yet to name her, took off for the far end of the fenced pasture.
The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck sent an alert through his system. His hand automatically went to his side but he wasn’t carrying. Hadn’t been since he left the Dallas police force.
Gritting his teeth in agitation, he turned and found himself facing a petite pixie standing on the other side of the fence. She wore the brown uniform of the Dill Sheriff’s Department. Beside the woman sat a compact little red-and-white dog with big brown eyes and a brown nose.
“Hands in the air,” the pixie of a deputy shouted in a raspy voice that shimmied down his spine and made his toes curl.
Only then did he notice the gun held steady in her hands, aimed at his heart.
What part of his past had caught up with him now?
Copyright © 2018 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488087851
Fugitive Spy
Copyright © 2018 by Jordyn Redwood
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