by Geri Krotow
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.
Chapter 2
“He wasn’t just a vendor with an umbrella, I’m certain.” Zora spoke in the privacy of her car as she drove home, her mission to draw out the killer over. For today.
“I’m not doubting what you saw, Zora, but it doesn’t fit this criminal’s profile.” Claudia Michaels, retired US Marine Corps general and CEO of the Trail Hikers, sighed audibly over the secure cellular connection. “This is supposed to be one of our easier missions. I wouldn’t have risked you blowing your cover otherwise. Not this close to where you live.”
“We’ll get him. It’s not over.” The same foreboding that had struck her on the football field made her grip the steering wheel tighter. “But I may have blown my cover all by myself.”
“Go ahead.” Claudia’s voice remained level but Zora knew her boss was gritting her teeth—the secrecy of the Trail Hikers was paramount to its success.
“The detective assigned to the case—Bryce Campbell—was my neighbor growing up. He may have recognized me. If he didn’t, he’ll figure it out. He’s a smart man.”
“That’s not a problem. Detective Campbell has a stellar reputation and he’ll follow Superintendent Todd’s orders. I’ll double-check to make sure.”
Bryce must be one hell of a detective if Claudia was aware of him—he was SVPD, not fed or ex-military, as far as Zora knew.
“Are you going to tell me he’s a Trail Hiker, too?”
Claudia sighed.
“You know I can’t tell you who’s on our team until you need to work with them.”
“I do.” The Trail Hikers worked on a strict need-to-know basis. Zora had come to recognize familiar faces at the agency’s headquarters in Silver Valley but never pursued finding out who they were. There’d been no need to.
She’d know if she’d seen Bryce, however.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful with my disguise.”
“Go back to your civilian job, Zora, and we’ll be in touch soon.”
“Roger.”
Claudia ended the connection and Zora shut off her Bluetooth. The ugly brunette wig itched and she wanted a hot shower, a chilled glass of chardonnay and a couple hours with her favorite author’s latest novel before bed. Maybe she’d spend the whole weekend reading. She had a full day of clients on Monday in what she considered her real job—family counseling. Claudia referred to it as her “civilian job” because it allowed Zora to live a normal life while taking on missions as needed for the Trail Hikers.
Counseling was her vocation now. But when the client she’d been seeing since she’d started her practice had been murdered two weeks ago, simply because she was a woman and a Protestant minister, Zora had known she had to take the mission. Louise had been seeing her for over a year and had been the kind of woman Zora hoped to become. Wise. Compassionate. Generous.
Her killer could not go unpunished.
Forcing herself to ease her grip on the wheel, Zora looked out over the dark and quiet farm fields that surrounded the property she’d chosen to make home two years ago. The area had promised safety, a place to stop running. The farmhouse had fit her desire for a slower pace of life, a respite from the grind that a military career demanded.
Bryce’s presence, his stare, had unnerved her earlier. Of course she’d recognized him immediately—he’d been the only boy she’d ever let get close to her when she’d moved to Silver Valley as a twelve-year-old. Make that the only person, save her adoptive parents.
Her real parents.
And then she’d let Bryce down, broken their childhood friendship in the worst way. She’d left Silver Valley and never spoke to him again. Complete silence, no explanations. It’d been too risky to let him into her life completely. She’d believed she was protecting him from the worst parts of herself. She’d entered the naval academy without a backward glance at Silver Valley or Bryce.
Until tonight. He’d matured, grown handsome as she’d known he would. Seeing him again made her wonder why she’d been so awful to him, why she hadn’t at least written to him over the years and apologized for her behavior. It always came back to the fact that she’d never explained why she’d left the way she had. Revealing her reasons would mean revealing her past. And that would be too painful, too complicated.
By his reaction tonight she knew he still remembered her on some level. He might not have figured out it was her under the wig and bulky bulletproof vest, but she had no doubt that he would, eventually.
He’d remember.
Bryce had always figured out what was bothering her, how to make her laugh on an otherwise dreary winter day during high school exam week. He’d been the best friend a girl like her could have hoped for—funny, kind and respectful. He’d never made her feel he wanted to be any more than friends even when the sexual pressures of their teenage years had confronted them on a daily basis.
The headlights swept her long driveway as she drove up to her old, small farmhouse. She noted that her front porch light was out. She hadn’t had to change a bulb since she’d moved here, and seeing the darkness of the porch gave her the creeps. She parked and opted to walk around the well-lit right side of her house to use the back entrance. She had no close neighbors so she didn’t have to worry about explaining her wig. It was one of the many advantages of buying a home outside of a conventional development.
The back of the house was dark, too, and she waved her arm high to activate the motion detector light.
Nothing happened. No light.
Butternut’s sharp bark from within the house made her stop in her tracks. The German shepherd never barked when she came home. And those weren’t playful barks—Butternut was trying to warn her.
A twig snapped in the inky night in front of her an instant before something slammed into her chest, throwing her backward into darkness.
* * *
Bryce ran the rest of the way up the dirt driveway to the farmhouse. His gut had told him tonight wasn’t going to go smoothly, and it wasn’t only because he suspected Colleen Hammermill wasn’t who she said she was.
He’d heard gunshots while he was on duty exactly four times in his ten years with the SVPD. Two were when hunters had been in an off-limits area and one was when he’d fired his own weapon to take out a convenience store robber who’d shot a cashier and then pointed his gun at Bryce.
The fourth was ten seconds ago, in the dark fields surrounding the farmhouse he’d followed Colleen Hammermill to. Superintendent Todd had given him her address when he’d texted him after the ceremony.
“Need backup, Cherry Creek and Skyline Drive. The old Shropesbury farm.”
He shoved his phone back into his chest pocket and kept running, weapon drawn. He’d explain to his boss later why he’d made the decision to follow the “chaplain” home.
&
nbsp; The house was dark but the side of the structure was lit as a dog barked incessantly, probably inside. He scanned the surroundings as he approached but found no one near the house. No one running away, either.
A still figure lying on the ground came into view as he crested the top of the drive. Sirens grew closer but they weren’t here yet. He did a rapid check of the shrubs and trees around the house for an assailant.
Once he was satisfied there wasn’t a shooter in the immediate vicinity, he went to help the chaplain. Backup would scour the woods around the farm later. She was conscious but looked confused as she struggled to sit up.
“Hang on, are you hit?”
A pale, feminine hand brushed her chest at heart level.
“My vest...”
“I’ve got it.” He lifted her school jacket up, revealing a tight-fitting T-shirt underneath. It was stretched over a bulletproof vest.
Holy shit. No way was this woman only a minister.
The glint of metal peeked from a hole in the shirt. The shooter had aimed for her heart.
“You’re okay. You still have your Kevlar on. Good going.” He eased her back and was relieved she didn’t fight him. She had to be on the verge of being in shock and the EMTs couldn’t get here soon enough as far as he was concerned.
As he laid her back, her red hair caught his eye, right at her temples. Where her wig was sliding off.
Her wig.
He removed it the rest of the way. Thick, lustrous red hair spilled into his hands.
“Zora.” He breathed out her name before he could stop himself.
“Bryce, I’m undercover.”
“For who?”
She closed her eyes, shielding him from the pale green irises he remembered too well.
She stayed silent, but was still breathing.
Did the shooter want “Colleen the chaplain” dead, or the girl—no, woman—he’d once dreamed of spending the rest of his life with?
* * *
“You don’t need to know what she was doing, Bryce. All you need to know is that she helped us draw out the Female Preacher Killer. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch him.” Superintendent Colt Todd spoke matter-of-factly, refusing to answer Bryce’s questions.
