by Andrea Kane
ALSO BY ANDREA KANE
FORENSIC INSTINCTS NOVELS:
THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED TWICE
THE LINE BETWEEN HERE AND GONE
THE STRANGER YOU KNOW
THE SILENCE THAT SPEAKS
THE MURDER THAT NEVER WAS
A FACE TO DIE FOR
OTHER SUSPENSE THRILLERS:
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE
NO WAY OUT
SCENT OF DANGER
I’LL BE WATCHING YOU
WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME
DARK ROOM
TWISTED
DRAWN IN BLOOD
ISBN-13: 9781682320297 (Hardcover)
9781682320303 (Trade Paperback)
9781682320310 (ePub)
9781682320327 (Kindle)
LCCN: 2018952251
DEAD IN A WEEK
Copyright © 2019 by Rainbow Connection Enterprises, Inc.
All right reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is prohibited without prior written permission of the publisher, Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC, 16 Mount Bethel Road #777, Warren, NJ 07059, USA.
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.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
www.BonnieMeadowPublishing.com
Printed in USA
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication
Names: Kane, Andrea. | Kane, Andrea. Forensic Instincts novel.
Title: Dead in a week / Andrea Kane.
Description: Warren, NJ : Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC, [2019]
Identifiers: ISBN 9781682320297 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781682320303 (trade Paperback) | ISBN 9781682320310 (ePub) | ISBN 9781682320327 (Kindle)
Subjects: LCSH: Students, Foreign--Germany--Munich--Fiction. | Kidnapping--Germany--Munich--Fiction. | Nanostructured materials industry--United States--Fiction. | Undercover operations--Fiction. | Forensic sciences--Fiction. | LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction)
Classification: LCC PS3561.A463 D43 2019 (print) | LCC PS3561.A463 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54--dc23
DEDICATION
To Laci, our tiny miracle who’s instilled in my heart a new and unconditional love, the depths of which I could never have imagined. You’re a blessing beyond compare, my precious little granddaughter.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
1
Munich, Germany
20 February
Tuesday, 4:00 p.m. local time
Normally, Lauren Pennington loved the sound of her combat boots clomping across the cobblestone apron. But right now, all she could think about was the growling of her empty stomach, urging her to move faster. She was oblivious to everything else—the couple on the corner sharing a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, the guy puking up his overconsumption of beer into the storm sewer grating, and the man watching her every move as he talked into his cell phone in a language that Lauren wouldn’t have recognized had she been paying attention.
She walked into Hofbräuhaus’ main hall, took a seat at one of the wooden tables, and placed her order. Minutes later, the waitress came over and brought Lauren’s food and drink. Barely uttering a perfunctory “Danke,” Lauren bit into a pretzel the size of her head and took a healthy gulp of Hofbräu.
The semester had ended, and she was entitled to some carbs and a dose of people-watching at the historic Munich brewery. Pretzels and beer were addicting, but people-watching had always fascinated her. Despite a whole winter semester of her junior year abroad studying art history at the Ludwig Maximilian University at Munich, she still enjoyed playing the tourist. Not at school, but every time she strolled the streets, studied the architecture, chatted with the locals.
Hofbräuhaus was less than a mile from campus, but the brewery’s main hall had a reputation all its own. With its old-world atmosphere of wooden tables, terra cotta floors, painted arches, and hanging lanterns, how could anyone not feel a sense of history just being within these walls?
Maybe that’s why Europe called out to her, not just here, but from a million different places. Museums. Theaters. Cathedrals. She wanted to experience them all, and then some. She’d be going home to San Francisco in July, and she hadn’t been to Paris or London or Brussels. She’d gotten a mere taste of Munich and had yet to visit Berlin.
When would she get another chance to do all that?
Not for ages. And certainly not with the sense of freedom she had as a college student, with little or no responsibilities outside her schoolwork to claim her attention.
On the flip side, she felt terribly guilty. Every February, her entire family traveled to Lake Tahoe together. It was a ritual and a very big deal, since her father rarely got a day, much less a week, off as a high-powered executive. Her mother usually began making arrangements for the trip right after the holidays. In her mind, it was like a second Christmas, with the whole family reuniting and sharing time and laughter together.
This year was no different. Lauren’s brother, Andrew, and her sister, Jessica, were both taking time off from their busy careers to join their parents at Tahoe—no easy feat considering Andrew was an intellectual property attorney in Atlanta, and Jess was a corporate buyer for Neiman Marcus in Dallas.
Lauren was the only holdout. Lauren. The college kid. The baby. The free spirit who always came home from Pomona College to nest, especially for family gatherings and rituals.
Her parents had been very quiet when she’d told them about her plans. Lauren knew what that silence meant. After the phone call ended, her mother would have cried that she was losing her baby, and her father would have scowled and written off her decision as college rebellion.
Neither was true. But no matter how she explained it, her parents didn’t understand. They’d traveled extensively in Europe, and to them, it was no big deal. But it was Lauren’s first time here, and to her, it was like discovering a whole new world—a world she felt an instant rapport with. It was like discovering a part of her soul she’d never known existed. And she had to immerse herself in it.
She’d entertained the idea of flying to Lake Tahoe for the week and then returning to fulfill her dream. Her parents would definitely pay for that. But given the long international travel, the flight changes, the time differences, and the jet lag, Tahoe would put too much of a crimp in the many plans she had for her break between semesters. She’d had invitations from school friends who said she could stay with them during her travels—friends fr
om Germany and so many other countries.
The world was at her feet.
No, despite how much she loved her family, she had to do things her way this time. There’d be other Februarys, other trips to Tahoe. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
She was still drinking her beer and lamenting her situation when a masculine voice from behind her said, “Hallo. Darf ich dich begleiten?”
Turning, Lauren saw a handsome, rugged-featured guy, gazing at her with raised brows. He was asking if he could join her.
“Bist du allein?” he asked, glancing to her right and to her left.
“Yes, I’m alone,” she answered in German. “And, yes, please join me.”
The man came around and slid onto the bench seat. He propped his elbow on the table, signalling to the waitress that he’d have the same as the lady. The waitress nodded, hurrying off to get his refreshment.
He turned his gaze back to Lauren. “You’re American,” he noted, speaking English that was heavily accented.
“Guilty as charged,” she responded in English. “Is it that obvious?” She gave him a rueful look.
He smiled, idly playing with the gold chain around his neck. “Your German is quite good. But I picked up the American...what’s the word you use? Twang.”
Lauren had to laugh. “It’s my turn to take a stab at it, then. You’re French? Slavic? A combination of both?”
“The last.“ His smile widened. “You have a good ear, as well.”
“Your German and your English are excellent. I guess I just got lucky.”
“Speaking of getting lucky, what’s your name?” he asked.
His boldness took her aback, but she answered anyway. “Lauren. What’s yours?”
“Marko.” He held out his hand, which Lauren shook. “I’m in Munich on business. And you?”
“I’m an exchange student. I’m on break, and I’m looking forward to enjoying some time exploring Europe.”
Marko looked intrigued. “I can give you a few tips.” A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Or I could travel with you for a few days and give you the best taste of Munich you’ll ever have.”
Lauren felt flushed. She was twenty years old. She knew very well what Marko meant by “the best taste.” She should be offended. But she couldn’t help being flattered. He was older, good-looking, and charming.
Nonetheless, she wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t in the market for a hookup.
“Thanks, but I’m tackling this trip on my own,” she replied. “I’m meeting up with friends later, but I’m good as planned.”
“Pity.” The glint in his eyes faded with regret. “Then at least let me give you some pointers about the best sights to see and the best restaurants and places to visit.”
“That would be fantastic.” Lauren rummaged in her purse for a pen and paper. Having found them, she set her bag on the floor between them.
She spent the next twenty mesmerizing minutes listening to Marko detail the highlights of Munich and other parts of Bavaria, as she simultaneously scribbled down what he was saying.
“Thank you so much,” she said when he was finished. “This is like a guided tour.”
“Once again, I could do it in person.”
“And once again, I’m flattered, but no thank you.” Lauren signaled for her check, reaching into her bag and retrieving a twenty euro bill when the waitress approached the table. “The rest is for you,” she told her.
“I’ll take care of that,” Marko offered, stopping Lauren by catching her wrist and simultaneously fishing for his wallet. Evidently, he was still holding out hope that she would change her mind.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it.” Lauren wriggled out of his grasp, leaned forward, and completed the transaction. “You’ve been a tremendous help,” she said to Marko as she rose. “I’m glad we met.”
This time it was she who extended her hand.
Reluctantly, he shook it. “I hope we meet again, Lauren. I’ll look for you the next time I’m in Munich.”
Still smiling, Lauren left the café and walked through the wide cobblestone apron outside. There were little tables with umbrellas scattered about, with patrons chatting and eating. Sated by the beer and pretzel, she inhaled happily, and then, walking over to the sidewalk, began what she expected to be a thoughtful stroll. Maybe she’d text her parents this time, try explaining her position without all the drama of a phone call.
She was halfway down the street when she heard a male voice call after her, “Lauren!”
She turned to see Marko hurrying in her direction. “Here.” He extended his arm, a familiar iPhone in his hand. “You left this on the table.”
“Oh, thank you.” How could she have been so careless? She protected her cell phone like a small child. “I’d be lost without that—“
As she spoke, a Mercedes van tore around the corner and came screeching up to them.
The near doors were flung open, and a stocky man jumped out, his face concealed by a black hood. Before Lauren could so much as blink, he grabbed her, yanking a burlap sack over her head and tossing her over his shoulder.
“Merr në makinë,” he said in a language Lauren didn’t understand.
By this time, Lauren had recovered enough to struggle for her freedom. Her legs flailed in the air, kicking furiously, and she pounded on the man’s back as he carried her and flung her into the back of the van.
Marko jumped in behind her, slamming the doors shut and barking out something in the same dialect as the other man—neither French nor Slavic—as the stocky barbarian held her down.
Finally finding her voice, Lauren let out a scream, which was quickly muffled by the pressure of Marko’s hand over her mouth. She could taste the wool of the sack, and she inclined her head so she could breathe through her nose.
A short-lived reprieve.
Marko fumbled around, then shoved a handkerchief under the sack, covering her nose and mouth. Lauren thrashed her head from side to side, struggling to avoid it. The odor was sickeningly sweet and citrusy.
Chloroform.
Tears burned behind her eyes. Shock waves pulsed through her body.
Oh God, she didn’t want to die.
Marko clamped his other hand on the back of her head, holding it in place while he forced the handkerchief flush against her nose and mouth, making it impossible for her to escape.
Dizziness. Nausea. Black specks. Nothing.
“Shko,” Marko ordered his accomplice, shoving him toward the driver’s seat.
The van screeched off, headed to hell.
2
Wall Street, Manhattan, New York
23 February
Friday, 10:00 p.m. local time
Another late night.
Aidan Devereaux leaned back in his office chair for a brief moment of peace.
There weren’t many of those at Heckman Flax. He was responsible for troubleshooting the labyrinthine communications infrastructure at the largest investment bank in the world. The company relied on its operations to extract billions in profits by trading everything from stocks and bonds to options and commodities. Virtually nothing in the world was traded without flowing through their book of business. They would take any side of any transaction if there was a buck to be made. With trillions of dollars on the line, nothing short of perfection in its communications network was acceptable. And it was his department’s sole purpose to guarantee that perfection.
No one understood that better than Aidan. As a former Marine, he had seen men live or die based on communication failures of all types—equipment, procedures, and people. And he had learned how to prevent all of them. Uncle Sam had taught him well.
Most of his time was spent in meetings or on the phone, putting out fire after fire. No sooner would one “near miss” end when the next one would flare up in another part of the world. Last week, it was the loss of a critical data circuit in Singapore that placed the Far East operations at risk of slow transaction processing, or wo
rse, a complete halt of trading operations. Aidan knew the drill. He’d immediately awakened the IT director in Japan, telling him to mobilize his team and bring on extra capacity in Tokyo should it be necessary. Fortunately, the worst hadn’t happened, as his team quickly resolved the Singapore issue.
Frankly, Heckman Flax nauseated Aidan. Talk about a sharp contrast to his days as a Marine on active duty. In the military there had been a sense of real purpose, a common goal of annihilating the enemy, doing good, forming a brotherhood. And Wall Street? It was the worst of the worst. There was nothing decent or patriotic about individuals attacking their own team members—and all for the almighty dollar. It was screw or be screwed. Friendship was for losers.
Working in this jungle made Aidan’s “other” life that much more appealing, and a hell of a lot more rewarding.
But he had personal responsibilities that he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—walk away from. He needed this job for the obscene amount of money Heckman Flax paid him, for the “cover” it provided, and for the advantages his position gave him to pursue his ideals.
Thinking of his primary responsibility, he picked up and studied the only personal item in his entire office. It was a photo of a four-and-a-half-year-old hellion. She was the one who had transformed all facets of his life and turned it totally upside down.
Abby. His little girl. His daughter.
He hadn’t known of her existence until social services showed up at his door, with the necessary proof and documentation, and placed her in Aidan’s arms. He’d been shocked to the core. But none of that mattered now. Abby’s mother, Valèrie, was dead, and Aidan was all Abby had.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for becoming a single dad. There was no field manual. No Special Operations Parenting training. Just his instincts, wits, and anything he could read from supposed experts. And talk about losing a battle—he was losing this one each and every day in every possible way as little Abby wrapped him around her tiny little finger.
It appeared that former Marine Captain Aidan Devereaux was suddenly not so tough anymore, at least where his precocious daughter was concerned.
A smile curved his lips. Abby could wreak more havoc in an hour than a cave full of Taliban fighters or a conference room packed with corporate lawyers.
