She’d fought for her life
but the terror continues.
For five years FBI agent Blake Garrett has fixated on a serial-killer case. Now the madman has attacked Marissa Lane. She escaped with her life...and some clues that could help Blake. Yet she is still the object of the killer’s obsession. And Blake is torn between the unquenching need to catch his prey and a deep desire to protect the woman he can’t possibly keep.
“You’re safe with me, and I’ll make sure to keep you that way.
“The team secured a room for us at the Blue Ridge Lodge outside of town. We know now that you were targeted. That makes you safer with us until we find Nash, and we will find him.”
She gnawed her bottom lip. “One room?”
“It’ll be crowded but secure. My team and brothers will come and go as the investigation moves along. And don’t worry, contrary to local legend, the Garrett men were raised to be gentlemen.”
She pinned him with a fiercely ornery smile. “I was raised to be a princess. Look how that turned out. I’m about to spend the night with a man I just met.”
He shot the ceiling another look and rearranged his ball cap. If the job didn’t kill him, protecting Marissa Lane might.
FEDERAL
AGENT UNDER
FIRE
Julie Anne Lindsey
Julie Anne Lindsey is a multi-genre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Julie lives in rural Ohio with her husband and three small children. Today, she hopes to make someone smile. One day she plans to change the world. Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and Sisters in Crime (SinC). Learn more about Julie Anne Lindsey at julieannelindsey.com.
Harlequin Intrigue
Protectors of Cade County
Federal Agent Under Fire
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
Marissa Lane—Nearly abducted on her morning jog through the national forest in Shadow Point, Kentucky, this nature photographer is horrified to learn her attacker’s MO matches that of a serial killer whose trail went cold five years prior.
Blake Garrett—The FBI agent is thrilled to get a new lead on the killer he came face-to-face with during his rookie year. He’d hesitated then, and the man escaped. A mistake Blake hasn’t let go and one he’s determined to make right. That is if he can stay focused on the case and not on the killer’s latest target, a strong-willed beauty who may be Blake’s undoing.
Nash Barclay—A serial killer with a wedding fetish who slipped through the fingers of a young Agent Garrett. Nash had enjoyed the ensuing chase until recently, when Blake stopped looking for him. Now Nash is back and determined to regain Agent Garrett’s attention.
West Garrett—Cade County sheriff and younger brother of Blake, willing to do whatever it takes to support his brother and protect his hometown.
Kara Lane—Marissa’s little sister. A nature lover who went missing on her daily hike through the mountains shortly after Marissa identified Nash Barclay as her attacker on the local news.
Cole Garrett—Youngest of four Garrett brothers and a Cade County deputy, Cole is all in to back up his brothers and capture the serial killer stalking his hometown streets.
Dedicated to double-shot espressos.
Contents
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
Excerpt from Hero’s Return by B.J. Daniels
Chapter One
Marissa Lane knew something was wrong the minute she saw him. In the six months since she’d started her predawn ritual, she’d rarely seen anyone in the national park before sunup, save the occasional ranger, but there were no rangers today. Only him. A man nearly engulfed in shadows at the lookout where she watched the sunrise three days a week.
She slowed her pace before reaching the low wooden fence that separated hikers from a sharp plummet into fog-laced evergreens, angling her body to keep the man in her sights. Everything about the moment set her intuition on edge, but she forced the shaky feeling away. She’d met plenty of fellow hikers over the years, and they’d all been kind. Kindred spirits. Glad to be outdoors. It was the hour that threw her. She’d started to think of herself as the only one in town who enjoyed a good sunrise.
The rocky eastern face of the park’s tallest mountain was the best place in Cade County to watch a sunrise, maybe the best in Kentucky. Marissa had yet to find a better one, though it was her job to try, and she did four mornings a week. Normally, she’d have finished her water and enjoyed her apple before walking back to her ride, parked nearly five miles down the trail, but today every cell in her body said that whatever had brought this man into her path wasn’t good, and she didn’t want any part of it.
“Mornin’.” His voice was low and gravelly. The hood of his jacket was up, working in collaboration with the shadows to shield his face.
Marissa lifted her chin in acknowledgement. She moved her tired body another step away, feigning interest in the view closest to the trail. He’d probably come there to think and was feeling as intruded upon as she was. Courtesy said she should be on her way. Greedily, she dawdled for one more breathtaking look.
The fiery glow of daylight scorched a path across the sky, climbing the opposite mountain with vigor and bathing thousands of deciduous trees, already dressed in rich autumn colors, with luminous shades from amber to apricot and everything in between. These were her favorite seconds of the day; when an ordinary forest became an inferno, and the world was backlit by Mother Nature’s glory.
The man broke free from the shadow and took a few casual steps in Marissa’s direction, setting her intuition into overdrive. The light scent of cigarette smoke plumed from his clothes, tainting the crisp morning air. This man wasn’t a hiker, wasn’t a runner, and he was definitely not getting a second of Marissa’s time.
She turned away with a frustrated sigh and headed down the mountain on tired, burning legs and a heart full of injustice. Anger churned in her gut with each forced step. She’d made the run in record time. She’d pushed her body for results and had gotten them. These few fleeting moments of sunrise were supposed to be her reward, but this man, whoever he was, was stealing those from her. She hated herself for letting him. For fearing him when she didn’t know him. For denying herself the hard-earned prize because she was a woman and he was a stranger. All feminism aside, wrong or right, she’d promised her parents long ago to make safety paramount while she was on her adventures. It was her duty to hold to that, even now, when he had her sunrise and she had a long walk back to where she’d started.
The return trip was always a slower, more methodical process. A pleasurable cooldown, normally preceded by rest on the lookout. She massaged the warm muscles in her neck and shoulders as she moved, swinging her arms
across her body for an added stretch. Her legs were rubbery beneath her, but the brisk autumn breeze was invigorating as it rushed over the sheen of sweat on her skin. If she could sell everything and live in the wild for a year, at one with nature, part of the beautiful multicolored kingdom around her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. But only for a year. Eventually she’d miss her crazy family, except for her little sister. Kara would probably be swinging in the hammock beside hers.
Back at the trailhead, the lot was empty except for her old Jeep, and Marissa couldn’t bring herself to make the drive home without enjoying the moment of reflection she’d worked for. She checked the empty trail behind her, then hooked a left onto the short path toward Shadow Valley Lake. A hundred yards later, she slid onto the ground at the base of an ancient tree and pulled her knees to her chest. The lake was beautiful, peaceful and full of history.
Shadow Valley was one of Kentucky’s lake towns. Someday Marissa planned to see for herself what remained of the underwater historic town. Records showed that residents were relocated up the mountain in the nineteen thirties before their town was permanently flooded. Hard to believe remnants of another time had stood silently beneath the surface for decades, disguised as part of the national park. Those were images she’d love to capture.
She sipped her water and wondered if she’d been irrational to change her daily routine for the sake of one man. Maybe, but what was he doing there? Where was his car, if not in the lot with hers? And who hiked five miles to have a cigarette? The scent had been strong and fresh.
She shook away the irrelevant thoughts and focused instead on the beauty before her. It was important that she start her days at peace, in harmony with her work. Marissa’s adventure photos were fast becoming a lucrative business. The images she’d captured were used across the country in textbooks and at seminars on the preservation of wildlife. Her dreams were coming true and demand was rising. In the last year alone, she’d made more than enough to pay the bills and support her travels.
She ran a forearm over her brow before crunching into her morning apple. The sweet scent lifted a smile on her lips as she pressed her tired back against the supportive tree and breathed. Her eyelids dipped closed on the exhale. The moment was so perfectly Zen; she almost didn’t turn around when the sound of snapping twigs forced her eyes open. Almost.
Marissa pushed slowly to her feet, listening hard for the next noise. Whatever had cracked the twigs was heavier than a rabbit and less stealthy than anything calling this area home. She opened her stance and braced her tired form. The sudden silence was astounding. She dared a peek around the large oak. There was nothing but the breeze and a pair of chasing squirrels, turning century-old trees into a playground. She puffed a sigh of relief.
The breeze lifted again, stronger this time and bringing a fresh rustling of leaves with it. This distinct scent of cigarette smoke stiffened her spine. Logically, she knew she wasn’t in danger. She’d visited the national park three days a week and met dozens of people, all friendly. But her logic had already shut down. Marissa discarded her apple. She screwed the lid on her bottle and gripped it in both hands.
A jaunty whistle lifted slowly into the air and echoed off the trees. A strange, familiar tune she hadn’t heard in years, and one that seemed wildly out of place in the forest.
She stepped silently around the tree and again, there was nothing.
Except the whistle.
Marissa turned in a small circle, seeking the source. Her accelerated heartbeat joined every other instinct telling her to go. She bounced forward, away from the sound, back toward the trail. To the safety of her Jeep. The normalcy of her life.
“Don’t leave.” A man’s voice boomed in her ear, successfully ending the whistle and shattering the eerie silence left in its wake.
Something hard connected with the side of her head, sending her sideways into another large tree. Scents of earth and bark exploded in her senses as sharp pain tore through her face. Marissa cried out at the shock and agony. The sound was extinguished by a large pair of gloved hands, clamping firmly around her throat.
Softly then, the man began to sing.
Her eyes bulged. Searing pressure filled her lungs. She clawed uselessly at the massive hands until images of her sister and parents blurred in her mind. She was dying, and he was singing.
Suddenly her fight-or-flight instinct sharpened like a switchblade slicing through the fear. No longer able to flee, years of self-defense courses bubbled to the cloudy surface of her thoughts along with the voices of past instructors, her father, and every surviving woman whose story had served as a warning.
Marissa refused to be a victim.
She released his hands and balled her fingers into fists. She rammed her elbows into the soft torso behind her and drew strength from the gust of breath that swept out of him in response. She stomped one foot against her attacker’s instep and followed with a kick to the shin. He swore violently and tightened the pressure on her throat, repositioning his fingers for a more effective grip. Black dots danced in her peripheral vision, but she wasn’t done. The human kneecap breaks with only eight pounds of pressure. He was taller than her, but slower. She kicked again, raising her foot high behind her, this time earning a wild yelp. His grip faltered and sweet oxygen rushed into her burning lungs. She was small, but that was an advantage, not a curse. She bent her knees to lower her center of gravity and clutched his forearms with both hands. In one final heave, her body lurched forward, chucking the man over her back and soundly onto his. Air whooshed from his mouth, and Marissa’s wobbly legs were in motion before he’d hit the ground.
* * *
FEDERAL AGENT BLAKE GARRETT stormed into the Shadow Point Sheriff’s Department with a familiar mix of dread and adrenaline. “West.” His voice echoed through the building as his long legs ate up the distance between the front desk and his brother West’s office. He dipped his chin at the receptionist as he passed. If West was right about Nash Barclay, there was no time to waste on formalities.
“West.” Blake strode past a set of deputies gearing up for their shift and down the narrow hall past West’s empty office. The place never changed. Concrete floors. Metal desks. The constant aroma of black coffee in the air, and the words Sheriff Garrett painted on the big office door. The Garrett inside was once their father. Now, it was his younger brother. Where the hell was he?
Blake opened his mouth to call again, but stopped short.
Sheriff West Garrett popped his head through the open conference room door. “Hey.” He met Blake with a hearty hug. “It’s good to see you. Wish I could get you back to town this quick for fishing and birthdays, but I suppose a possible serial killer sighting is as good an invitation for you.” West’s hair was lighter than Blake’s, bleached by hours in the sun. His face was tanned and his eyes were bright, mischievous for a reason Blake couldn’t comprehend. They had business to discuss. Ugly, dirty business and no reason, as far as Blake could tell, for nonsense.
“How sure are you that this was Nash?” Blake asked. He owed Nash Barclay a bullet and he planned on making good on the debt. “He’s been underground for nearly five years.”
West furrowed his brows. “When was the last time you slept, man?”
Roughly? Five years ago. “I’m doing just fine, Mom. Now, can we get down to business, or do you want to ask me if I’m getting enough to eat?” Blake forced a smile to smooth the sharp edge of his words. Yes, he’d been away more than around these last few years, but he’d had good reason. He didn’t feel right showing his face in a town where he’d let a serial killer get away. Who would?
“All right.” West nodded. “Cole and I agree the victim fits the profile. Blond hair, blue eyes, petite build.” He circled a wrist, implying Blake knew the rest.
Four women had gone missing during Blake’s rookie year at the bureau, and he’d worked long and hard to find a connection between
them when no one else could. Beyond their appearances the women had nothing in common. On the surface. Once Blake had started pulling threads, he found the same toxic creature hidden in all their lives—Nash Barclay. Nash had worked as a maintenance man for the local library system, and each of his victims had frequented a branch where Nash made regular service calls. Blake went to pick him up for questioning, but Nash ran. He’d tried to lose Blake in the labyrinth of industrial park alleys and abandoned factories but Shadow Point was Blake’s home turf, and Nash was soon confronted with the business end of Blake’s department issued Glock. They’d stood ten feet apart on a sprawling asphalt roof at the old tire plant, daring one another to make a move. Nash had taunted him, screaming obscenities until he was red-faced, begged him to shoot or go home, but Blake had been determined to stick to protocols, obey procedures, wait for his partner. He wanted Nash in cuffs, not in the morgue. He’d relived the moment a thousand times, certain he’d done everything right until Nash began to sing.
Nash’s mood had changed in an instant. The violence in his expression had morphed into an eerie smile, and he’d sang. The behavior had successfully fractured Blake’s concentration, and in that splinter of a second, while Blake had pondered the mind of a psychopath, Nash dove headlong over the roof’s edge. He’d landed on the shorter building next door with ease and disappeared behind a massive smokestack. For the last five years, he might as well have been the smoke.
The moment should have ended in an arrest. A victory for justice. It should have catapulted Blake’s budding career. Instead, it had put him on a short list of screw-ups. Worse, his mistake had cost those missing women and their families the justice they deserved. That moment had changed his life and caused him to question everything, especially himself.
“And the song?” Blake asked. “She said he sang the song?”
“Yep.” West leaned closer. “Why don’t we go over things in my office?”
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