Cowboy Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  The Female Preacher Killer, as the FBI and local law enforcement agencies—LEA—referred to the murderer, was blamed for two murders and three near misses in central Pennsylvania. The second killing had occurred in Silver Valley Township two months ago, and the Trail Hikers and every other LEA in Silver Valley wanted to catch the killer before they found another murdered minister.

  The last victim had been one of Zora’s clients, a Methodist minister who’d come to counseling to work through issues from her childhood. Like the first victim, she’d been found dead in her driveway. The near misses had been more recent, female ministers shot at as they’d left their respective church services. Two had sustained significant but not life-threatening injuries, while the third had been grazed on her temple by the killer’s bullet. Like her childhood best friend—Bryce Campbell, sitting next to her—this case was too close to home for Zora’s liking.

  She hadn’t run into Bryce Campbell in the entire time she’d been back home, not while living as herself nor as Reverend Colleen Hammermill. When she left the navy she’d moved back to Silver Valley, but to a different part of the sprawling suburb of Harrisburg than where she’d grown up since age twelve. With a population of twenty thousand, it wasn’t extraordinary that she hadn’t run into him yet. She hadn’t sought out any of her former high school classmates or friends.

  Why did she have to bump into him tonight, when her undercover disguise was vital to the operation’s success?

  “You nervous about doing this with that lunatic out there, Chaplain?” Bryce’s voice betrayed no suspicion of her. He was a pro.

  “No. I’ve got the best protection in Silver Valley, right?” She smiled but inwardly winced. Lying came too easily to her. The officers in the front seats thought she was a real chaplain, needing protection from the man or woman who’d been making female ministers a target for the past year.

  No one in SVPD knew about the Trail Hikers, except for one man. The man who ran the entire force, Superintendent Colt Todd.

  Officer Samuel pulled out of the SVPD lot and toward the main artery of the surrounding area. Zora cast a quick look at Bryce. His profile was more attractive than she’d remembered. Fifteen years had passed since they’d graduated from Silver Valley High School, fifteen years since she’d canceled their date for the senior prom and effectively ended their childhood bond.

  It was more than that.

  She’d given him a week’s warning that she wasn’t going to prom with him. Guilt still prodded at the mental floodgate that kept her memories of the boy who had been her best friend compartmentalized.

  He wasn’t the boy she’d known anymore, though. His profile was etched with the years that had passed.

  Her mother had tried to catch her up on Bryce and other classmates but Zora had asked her to stop. Truth was she had no intention of looking up Bryce or any past Silver Valley acquaintances.

  She should have checked the SVPD roster and told Superintendent Todd to assign a different detective to tonight’s mission, or she’d have to go back to the Trail Hikers and let one of the other women on the team fill in.

  Too late now.

  The bright lights of the football stadium, so large it rivaled many college fields, made the night sky glow even though they were a full mile away from their target area. It was a prime spot to lure out the killer. It had been announced for weeks that a female minister would give the invocation for the community’s holiday festival, and an exposition football game was part of the celebration. Zora, in her cover as a female minister, was to play the killer’s victim of choice.

  Adrenaline surged through her system and she curled her toes, trying to stay grounded. She really wanted to get this bastard.

  Officer Samuel spoke to her from the front seat. “Chaplain, we’ll continue as planned. You take your time walking around the concessions, around the bleachers where the fans are seated. We have officers all over the place—that stadium is on a virtual lockdown. Everyone attending the game has gone through a metal detector. When they call you out on the field for the invocation, go up and say the prayer. As soon as the marching band finishes the national anthem, leave the field and immediately go around the back of the main school building. We’ll be waiting for you in the teachers’ parking lot and we’ll bring you back to the station. You’re safe with us.”

  Zora nodded, sensing Bryce’s attention on her as he finished speaking.

  “Right. I’m not worried about my safety with you backing me up. I trust you. Besides, it would be pure stupidity for the killer to try something in such a public place.” But she hoped her words proved wrong. She hoped the psycho who thought picking off women of the cloth was some kind of sport took the bait. The killer was sloppy—he’d attempted to kill three women, and of the two he did manage to kill, one had only died because she had been on a blood thinner. She’d bled out from what otherwise would have been a survivable wound.

  The officers in front murmured their agreement. Bryce remained silent.

  Did he recognize her voice?

  Impossible. She’d never come back since she’d left for the naval academy, save for short holiday visits to see Mom and Dad. They were adoptive parents in name only—they’d loved her through her hardest years.

  From what her mom had told her, Zora knew Bryce’s parents had moved to a fifty-five-plus community a few years ago. The house with the top window she’d stared at for so many dark summer nights had been sold to a new family at least a decade ago.

  Even if he was available, she’d be the last person he’d ever want to befriend. Not after how she’d betrayed him, betrayed the deep friendship they’d shared.

  You betrayed yourself most of all.

  She tried to force back the unwanted memories of the way she’d closed herself off, even six years after moving to Silver Valley. She’d been placed in the home next to Bryce’s as part of the Witness Security Program when she was twelve years old.

  But she’d never told him about her life before Silver Valley, or where she was from.

  Snap out of it.

  Mission focus was essential. With any luck, there’d be a serial killer with a weapon aimed at her in the next fifteen minutes. SVPD would apprehend the psycho and Silver Valley would be safe again.

  Zora watched the stadium lights grow from a soft glow to the harsh glare of hundreds of incandescent lights. The rumble of the crowd’s cheers penetrated the unmarked car’s tinted windows.

  She pretended to stretch and allowed her fingers to lightly brush her weapon under the roomy Silver Valley High School jacket she wore over her bulletproof vest. She hoped she’d never need to use the pistol; her job was to attract the criminal’s attention, giving the local and federal agents that were part of this operation something to work with. A suspect.

  “Here you go, Chaplain.” Officer Samuel opened her door.

  “Thanks, officers.”

  Before she eased her way out of the car she allowed herself a quick look at Bryce.

  The stadium lights illuminated the car and his eyes glowed with intensity. How had she forgotten how bright his blue-gray eyes were?

  You haven’t forgotten one thing about him.

  “When you get back, let’s see if we can’t figure out how we know each other, Chaplain Hammermill.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think...”

  “Save it for some other chump. Is that a wig you’re wearing, or have you dyed your hair? And those black-rimmed glasses—pure Halloween. Next time, don’t be so obvious.” His voice was low, precluding Officers Samuel and Pasczenko from hearing his words.

  Zora ignored the sick drop of her stomach and got out of the car.

  * * *

  Combined aromas of hot popcorn, funnel cakes and hot chocolate triggered memories Zora would rather forget. The first couple of years after she’d been placed in witness protection and moved to central Pennsylvania, far away from her abusive “family”—aka the cult her mother had joined—had been rough. Growing up on
a compound in upstate New York had made her people smart. She knew when a man looked at her if he was genuinely interested in her or only wanted to satisfy his lust. It had taught her to trust no one and make friends only if she needed something from the other person.

  What it hadn’t taught her was that truly good people existed in the world, that not all teenage girls were waiting for their sacrificial bonds of matrimony to honor the Family Father, that not all boys grew up to be misogynistic monsters.

  Misogynist. She’d first learned the word in eleventh grade, in Ms. Perkins’s English literature class.

  The entire True Believers cult she’d been forced into at age seven was disbanded now, two decades later. Because of her testimony. The little girl who’d wanted freedom from the madness more than she’d wanted to live.

  “Reverend Hammermill?” A slim woman in a sport jacket emblazoned with the high school logo smiled at her.

  “Principal Essis. Nice to meet you.” Zora held her hand out to the middle-aged woman, who grasped it firmly.

  “Thanks so much for coming out and saying the invocation for tonight’s game.” The principal’s gaze was frank and assessing.

  “It’s an honor.”

  “You’re probably safer here than anywhere at the moment. I want my students to be kept safe.” The principal’s voice conveyed her frustration. The school district had paid for metal detectors and extra security at the entrance to the stadium. Zora was grateful for the precaution.

  “As do I.” She wanted to add that she’d had Principal Essis as a math teacher in ninth grade, but that would have to wait for another time, when Zora wasn’t undercover.

  The low, steady rhythm of the marching band’s drums vibrated in the air.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you out to the podium.”

  Zora walked behind Principal Essis. They were escorted around the metal detectors to the area below the stands. Zora barely felt the press of her weapon in the small of her back, under the school jacket, but her fingers were ready to reach for it at the first sign of the gig going bad.

  Once out on the field, Zora stood in front of the marching band and faced the home crowd. It had grown from the time she’d been a student, and for a moment she was struck by the enormity of her mission.

  Find the Female Preacher Killer. Draw him out.

  The band played “America the Beautiful.” Zora used the time to take stock of her surroundings.

  “Silver Valley High School, welcome to the opening game of the season! Welcome alumni, community members and students. We have Reverend Hammermill with us to start off our great night with the invocation. Please stand.”

  The band quieted and Zora took the microphone.

  “Let us give thanks...” Zora recited the ecumenical vanilla prayer she’d memorized last night. A part of her, deep inside, balked at portraying a woman of the cloth. She’d lived a life far from the world of church meetings and Bible studies. Yet she meant each word when she’d come up with the prayer.

  Her memorization allowed her to do her job as a Trail Hikers agent. She scanned the crowd for anyone appearing different from the ordinary winter festival-goer or football fan.

  A sea of the Silver Valley Hawks’ royal blue school color faced her, most of the faces pointed in her direction. She wasn’t interested in the crowd, but the fringes. A killer would need a quick escape, and the tall bleachers prevented that for most of the ticket holders.

  A line of concession vendors, with boxes strapped around their necks and resting on their waists, stood near the entrance to the field. They were all dressed for the chilly weather and all had the same box—white with the school logo on it. All wore matching school-themed knit ski caps with huge pom-poms on top.

  Except for one.

  “May we play honestly and win graciously...”

  Male, average height and build, baseball cap. To her far right at the edge of the bleachers. With sunglasses—totally disguised.

  “Thank you for our school...”

  He reached over his shoulders and behind his head. With both hands.

  Zora reached behind and under her jacket, her SIG Sauer’s handle firmly in her grasp.

  “Thank you also for our teachers...” She had to draw out the prayer, to keep the crowd in its place, so that the undercover and regular LEAs could protect everyone.

  The Hawk County sheriff’s snipers would’ve had this guy in their sights by then. If they didn’t, she’d take him out.

  The “vendor” pulled his hands up from behind his back, holding a long dark object. If it was a rifle, she had seconds to neutralize him.

  “Amen.” Total silence surrounded her and Zora waited for the crowd’s response.

  “Amen. Go Hawks!” At least the roar of the crowd would drown out the sound of gunfire.

  The vendor held the long item in his arms, his face on Zora. He flashed a wide grin that Zora knew was meant for her.

  The first strains of the national anthem began to a crowd that soon began to sing along to the school’s marching band.

  He was waiting for her to tip off that she wasn’t a chaplain.

  She could outwait with the best of them. But not when other lives were at stake.

  If he planned to try to kill her here in front of all of these civilians, including many children, it was out of pattern for him. He had no decent escape route.

  Her hand steadied as she pressed against her back, her weapon ready to fire. She watched as he pulled his weapon. The minute he revealed it, she or a county sheriff’s sniper were in the clear to take him out.

  The vendor shot first.

  He opened a golf umbrella.

  Relief flooded through Zora, followed by red-hot anger. That was no vendor. She was sure he’d meant to make her believe he had a weapon.

  “Thank you, Chaplain.” Principal Essis stood in front of her, blocking the vendor from her sight. She reached out her hand.

  Zora blinked. She released her weapon and grasped the principal’s hand.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She walked off the field as the band started an upbeat number, revving the crowd for the kickoff. As she headed straight for the spot where the man with the golf umbrella had stood only seconds before she knew what she’d find.

  He was gone.

  She searched the crowd for SVPD and her gaze landed on Bryce. He was walking toward her, his mouth in a grim line.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “The man with the umbrella.” She filled him in on what she’d witnessed, frustrated that he hadn’t seen it, too. To her surprise Bryce called in her description to SVPD on his cell phone as soon as she finished speaking.

  “Thanks for taking me seriously.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She couldn’t tell him she’d been in the navy and had, as a woman, had to fight for credibility with each new command, each new tour. Apparently SVPD took it for granted that if you were assigned to work with them, you’d earned it.

  “No reason. Just...thanks.” She walked toward the waiting SVPD vehicle, aware of Bryce’s silent presence next to her. One thing hadn’t changed in fifteen years—she still had a sixth sense where Bryce was concerned.

  Copyright © 2015 by Geri Krotow

  ISBN-13: 9781460388020

  Cowboy Christmas Rescue

  Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Rescuing the Witness

  Copyright © 2015 by Beth Cornelison

  Rescuing the Bride

  Copyright © 2015 by Colleen Thompson

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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