In the wake of a tragedy,
the Tactical Crime Division is the first call.
When ironclad body armor inexplicably fails and soldiers perish, the Tactical Crime Division jumps into action. Agent and former ranger Davis Rogers asks to go undercover to find the traitor responsible for the death of one of his friends, and Petrov Armor CEO Leila Petrov is happy to provide access to her company...especially once she discovers she’s being framed. But will their joint efforts be enough to uncover the truth?
“I want to take the lead on this case,” Davis blurted.
Gazes darted to him. From profiler Dr. Melinda Larsen, silently assessing, suspicion in her eyes, as if she somehow knew he had a history with one of the victims. Always buttoned-up Laura Smith was quiet and unreadable, but her Ivy League brain was probably processing every nuance of his words. JC, staring at him with understanding, even though he didn’t realize Davis knew Jessica personally. No one on the team did.
“Is your personal investment in this case going to be a hindrance or a help?” Pembrook asked, voice and gaze steady.
Davis’s spine stiffened even more. She was talking about his army background. She had to be. But if she thought he was going to fidget, she underestimated the hell he’d gone through training to be a ranger for the army. “A help. I’m familiar with how the army works. And I’m familiar with the product. I’ve worn Petrov Armor vests.”
“I’m not talking about the armor,” Pembrook replied, her gaze still laser-locked on his.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Denise Zaza, for inviting me to be a part of the Tactical Crime Division team’s story! Thanks to my sister, Caroline, for beta-reading this book for me. To my writer pals Tyler Anne Snell and Heather Novak for keeping me on track. And to my new husband, for all of the brainstorming.
SECRET INVESTIGATION
Elizabeth Heiter
Elizabeth Heiter likes her suspense to feature strong heroines, chilling villains, psychological twists and a little romance. Her research has taken her into the minds of serial killers, through murder investigations and onto the FBI Academy’s shooting range. Elizabeth graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in English literature. She’s a member of International Thriller Writers and Romance Writers of America. Visit Elizabeth at www.elizabethheiter.com.
Books by Elizabeth Heiter
Harlequin Intrigue
K-9 Defense
Secret Investigation
The Lawmen: Bullets and Brawn
Bodyguard with a Badge
Police Protector
Secret Agent Surrender
The Lawmen
Disarming Detective
Seduced by the Sniper
SWAT Secret Admirer
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Leila Petrov—When defective bulletproof vests cause the deaths of an army unit, Petrov Armor’s CEO is determined to find the person responsible. But her search makes her a liability to a killer, someone who’s closer than she ever expected.
Davis Rogers—The former army ranger thinks going undercover in Petrov Armor is his chance to prove himself in the FBI’s elite Tactical Crime Division (TCD). But it’s also deeply personal. One of the soldiers killed was a friend, and Davis won’t stop until he’s gotten justice.
Melinda Larsen—The deeper this profiler digs into the Petrov Armor case, the more unexpected threats she uncovers—putting her directly in the line of fire.
Kane Bradshaw—Ever since his last partner died on the job, the TCD agent prefers to work alone. But as he’s forced to work with Melinda, he fears history will repeat itself.
Eric Ross—Petrov Armor’s head of sales was Leila’s first love. He’s jealous of Leila’s obvious interest in her new “assistant,” Davis, but is there something more sinister behind his constant appearances?
Joel Petrov—Leila’s uncle has been an integral part of the company since Leila was a child. But is his involvement too convenient?
Tactical Crime Division—Rapid-deployment joint team of FBI agents specializing in hostage negotiation, missing persons, IT, profiling, shootings and terrorism, with Director Jill Pembrook at the head.
For my mom, who gets to be surprised by this book (even though there are no aliens).
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Elizabeth Heiter for her contribution to the Tactical Crime Division miniseries.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Excerpt from Conard County Justice by Rachel Lee
Prologue
The sandstorm came first. Then came the bullets.
Training had been going well. The locals wanted to take the lead in the fight on their land, and US Army captain Jessica Carpenter was more than willing to let them. Leave behind the ninety-degree heat—and that was before she loaded herself up with fifty pounds of gear, which made it feel a million degrees hotter. Leave behind the sand that swept up out of nowhere, got into your eyes and nose and mouth until everything was gritty. Leave behind trudging for miles up mountainsides, where one wrong step sent you on a downward slide over nothing but sharp shale and deadly rocks.
Go home to her kids. Her oldest was starting middle school this year. He was getting into gaming and skateboarding, and losing interest in talking to his mom over satellite phones when his friends were down the street waiting. The youngest was about to start kindergarten. Her baby, who’d never met her dad and cried every time her mom left for another tour. Ironic that Jessica, who ran headfirst into firefights, was still here and her unassuming engineer husband had been taken from them with a simple wrong turn in a thunderstorm and a head-on collision with a telephone pole.
“What was that?” The young soldier at her side jerked, his weapon coming up fast, sweeping the space in front of him even though there was no way he could see anything.
Jessica slapped her hand over the top of the weapon, forcing it toward the ground. “Don’t fire unless you can see what you’re shooting.”
It was going to be nearly impossible. She tried to ignore the hard thump-thump of her heart warning her something was wrong. Sandstorms came hard and fast here, with the ability to shred away the top layer of skin. They reduced visibility to almost nothing, and the sound—like high-velocity wind—meant she could barely hear the soldier screaming beside her.
She put her hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him, as she strained to hear over the wind. Had she imagined the gunshots? Maybe it was a local, startled by the ferocity of the sandstorm. More likely it was one of the newer members of her team, still not used to the violence of it.
The sand whipped up from her feet, stinging every inch of exposed skin like a thousand tiny needles. Times like these,
she was grateful for the uniform that stuck to her skin in the heat and the full body armor she and her team had donned. Yes, it was a training op, but they’d chosen to take the locals into a dangerous pass, practice tactical approaches. Out here, you could never discount an ambush.
Yanking her goggles down over her eyes, Jessica blinked and blinked, trying to get the grit out. No matter how much her eyes watered, the sand wouldn’t clear. Her vision was still compromised. She hunched her shoulders upward, trying to protect the exposed skin on her face, but it didn’t matter. If this kept up, it would be raw in minutes.
Time to bug out. She lifted her radio—her best bet of them hearing through the storm—to tell the team to get back to the vehicles when another shot rang out.
Instinctively she ducked low, forcing the soldier beside her down, too. Her MP4 carbine assault rifle was up without conscious thought, but she couldn’t see a thing. Was there a real threat? Or was someone panicking in the storm?
“Report!” Jessica yelled, but her voice whipped away on the wind.
Even though it would make her a target, Jessica flipped the light on her helmet, trying to illuminate the space in front of her. Her hand brushed the camera strapped to her head, reminding her she’d been taping the training session. Little good it would do them now, even if the camera wasn’t ruined.
She didn’t expect the light to make a bit of difference, but it actually helped. Or at least that’s what she thought until she realized it was just the storm dying down as fast as it had come. She had a moment’s relief until movement caught her eye. An insurgent, darting from an outcropping in the mountain above, the muzzle on his rifle flashing.
“Take cover,” Jessica screamed as she took aim.
The insurgent ducked into a mountain crevice, but as the howling wind abated, the heavy boom-boom-boom of automatic fire took its place. He wasn’t alone.
Toggling her radio, Jessica told base, “We’re taking fire. Sandstorm moving out. Insurgents...” She paused, glancing around and trying to gauge numbers. Dread sunk low in her chest, bottoming out as she saw her soldiers racing for cover. “At least twenty, maybe more. Send—”
The radio flew out of her hand before she could finish and Jessica swung her weapon up, ignoring the way her other hand burned. She didn’t dare look to see how bad it was. First she had to assess her team. At least she’d made them wear their body armor. Brand-new and the best the army had, it was lightweight but ultrastrong. It could stop a bullet from anything short of a .50 caliber. And her soldiers were wearing full-body plating today.
It wouldn’t save them from a shot to the face or a lucky hit that found its way underneath the plates, but she had faith in their training and their gear.
Then the soldier next to her—the new recruit who’d been on her team for less than a week—let out a wail that made her stomach clench. He hit the ground hard, head thrown back at an impossible angle.
Still, Jessica dropped next to him, reaching for a pulse beneath his neck guard. That’s when she saw the bullet holes. Straight through the chest, five of them in an arced line. She slammed a hand down over them, furious at him for not wearing his vest, and pain ricocheted up her arm. Not just from the bullet that had nicked the fleshy part of her thumb, but from the hard plating that should have protected him.
Her dread intensified, a new panic like she’d never felt in the almost ten years she’d dodged bullets for the army. Her head whipped up, surveying the scene. The locals, diving for cover or already down and not moving. Her soldiers, taking hits that should have knocked them down but not taken them out, crumpling under the fire of the insurgents.
Too many of them.
The panic worsened, tensing all her muscles and dimming her vision even more, a tunnel within the specks of sand. She didn’t want to die seven thousand miles from home. Didn’t want to fail her team. Didn’t want to leave behind the kids who meant everything to her. The kids she’d taken this job to support, back when her husband was still studying for his degree. The job she’d discovered she loved enough to keep even after he was gone.
But she didn’t want to die for it.
Fire seared through Jessica’s arm and the force of the bullet made her stagger backward. She’d been hit. She shifted her MP4 to the other hand, blood from her thumb smearing across the trigger guard as she returned fire. The next shot knocked her back. She slammed into the ground, gasping for breath.
Bullets hitting your body armor always did that. Ripped the air from your lungs and left a nasty bruise.
But this time the pressure wasn’t lessening. It was getting worse. Jessica gasped for air, trying to raise her MP4 as she saw another insurgent taking aim at her. She couldn’t lift it, so she went for her pistol instead, strapped to her side and much lighter than the assault rifle.
Her fingers closed around it even as her vision began to blur. Then the whole world went dark.
Chapter One
“I assume everyone’s seen the news coverage.” Jill Pembrook, director of the FBI’s Tactical Crime Division, didn’t bother to wait until her team was settled in the conference room. She stood at the front of the long table, arms crossed over her tailored navy blue skirt suit. On a large screen behind her, a video was paused, frozen on the terrified face of a soldier.
Pembrook was petite enough that even standing while most of the team was sitting didn’t give her much clearance over those assembled. But she didn’t need it. Pembrook had been with the Bureau for almost forty years, meaning they’d opted to keep her on past the regular mandatory retirement age. With her pale, lined skin and well-coiffed gray hair, she might look like someone’s sweet yet chic grandma, until you locked eyes with her. Then you knew exactly why the FBI had handpicked her to lead TCD—a rapid response team that could activate quickly and take on almost any threat.
Davis Rogers was still amazed he’d made the cut to join the team. He looked around the room at the other agents, with backgrounds ranging from the military like him to hostage negotiation and profiling to missing persons and computer hacking. He’d only been here for a few months. But they’d welcomed him into the fold fast, with the kind of camaraderie he’d only felt with his family—in and out of the military.
Normally he’d sit back and take the assignment the director gave him. He’d be willing to bide his time and prove himself, without any of the hotshot antics that had motivated many an army ranger. But not today. Not with this case.
He gritted his teeth as Hendrick Maynard stepped up beside Pembrook. Hendrick was their resident computer genius. With his tall, lanky frame and a face that was still battling acne, he looked young enough to be in high school, but that facade hid a genius mind and mature outlook.
Hendrick seemed more serious than usual as he pressed the handheld remote and started playing the video on the screen behind the director. The clip he played was one Davis had seen last night on the news and again this morning in slightly more detail on the YouTube version.
It started suddenly, in the middle of a firefight, with gunshots blasting in the background and sand whipping everywhere, the sound intense even over video. The soldier who’d been frozen on screen finished his fall and didn’t get up again. The camera made a quick scan of soldiers and Afghan locals going down, all of it hard to see through the sand that shot up from the ground like a tornado. Then everything suddenly cleared as the camera dived in for a close-up of a young soldier, eyes and mouth open with the shock of death. The camera panned down, a hand slapping against his chest as the bullet holes became visible.
The average American probably wouldn’t have realized from the brief footage that the soldier had been wearing full body armor. But somehow the news station had known. They’d also known who’d been running the camera: decorated US Army captain Jessica Carpenter. Widow, mother of three, and as of 6:52 a.m. Tennessee time, a confirmed casualty.
Davis pictured her the
way she’d looked a decade ago, the day he’d met her. Only a few inches shorter than his own six feet, with gorgeous dark skin and hair she’d had twisted up and away from her face in braids, she’d worn that army uniform with a confidence he’d envied. She’d been five years older, and with two months more military experience, it had seemed like much more. If she hadn’t been happily married, with a toddler and a new baby at home, he might have taken his shot with her.
Instead, they’d become friends. She’d even trained him early on, back before she’d become a captain and he’d headed for Special Operations. If he wasn’t sitting in this conference room right now, waiting for the chance to go after the people responsible for her death, he’d be flying to Mississippi to attend her funeral this weekend.
Davis squeezed the underside of the table to keep himself from slamming a fist on top of it. As he refocused, he realized Hendrick had turned off the video screen and taken a seat. Around him, agents were nodding thoughtfully, professionally. Only fellow agent Jace Cantrell—JC to the team—showed a hint of anger on his face. But JC had been military too. And once a soldier, always a soldier.
As in the Bureau, dying in the field was a possibility you accepted. You did whatever you could to prevent it, but if it happened, you knew you’d be going out doing something you believed in. But not like this. Not the way Jessica had died, trusting the military, trusting her training, trusting her equipment.
“I want to take the lead on this case,” Davis blurted.
Gazes darted to him: from profiler Dr. Melinda Larsen, silently assessing, suspicion in her eyes, as if she somehow knew he had a history with one of the victims. Always buttoned-up Laura Smith was quiet and unreadable, but her Ivy League brain was probably processing every nuance of his words. JC, staring at him with understanding, even though he didn’t realize Davis knew Jessica personally. No one on the team did.
Secret Investigation (Tactical Crime Division Book 2) Page 1
