Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 1 of 2
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Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 Box Set 1 of 2
Impact Zone
Agent Under Siege
Dead Man District
Julie Anne Lindsey
Lena Diaz
Julie Miller
Table of Contents
Impact Zone
By Julie Anne Lindsey
Agent Under Siege
By Lena Diaz
Dead Man District
By Julie Miller
“When I was trying to shut that bomb down, all I could think of was you and Max Jr. I was terrified I’d never see you again, and I hadn’t made things right between us. Then I walked outside, you were there and I thought, This is my chance. I can do the right thing.”
Allie crossed her arms and chewed her lip.
He recognized the defensive posture and pressed on before she shut him down. “I pulled away from you today because I realized that if the bomber sent that text, then he knew I was there and that I’d stopped his attack. Whether he was in the crowd or watching from another location, I couldn’t be sure, but if he had eyes on the scene and saw you with me…” Max trailed off, unable to voice the unthinkable truth.
Impact Zone
Julie Anne Lindsey
Julie Anne Lindsey is an obsessive reader who was once torn between the love of her two favorite genres: toe-curling romance and chew-your-nails suspense. Now she gets to write both for Harlequin Intrigue. When she’s not creating new worlds, Julie can be found carpooling her three kids around northeastern Ohio and plotting with her shamelessly enabling friends. Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, Julie is a member of International Thriller Writers, Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. Learn more about Julie and her books at julieannelindsey.com.
Books by Julie Anne Lindsey
Harlequin Intrigue
Impact Zone
Fortress Defense
Deadly Cover-Up
Missing in the Mountains
Marine Protector
Dangerous Knowledge
Garrett Valor
Shadow Point Deputy
Marked by the Marshal
Protectors of Cade County
Federal Agent Under Fire
The Sheriff’s Secret
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Special Agent Max McRay—TCD explosives expert determined to stop a serial bomber in Grand Rapids, Michigan, before the detonations injure anyone else or put his ex-wife and toddler son in danger.
Allie McRay—Max’s ex-wife and the mother of Max Jr., Allie is a small business owner, making baby clothes for sale at a local mall kiosk.
Max McRay Jr.—Toddler son of Max and Allie McRay, owner of their hearts, distributor of smiles.
Special Agent Axel Morrow—TCD supervisory agent, criminal profiler and negotiations specialist. Max’s close friend.
Special Agent Selena Lopez—TCD K-9 handler. Surveillance, tracking and suspect apprehension expert.
Special Agent Aria Calletti—TCD team rookie. Narcotics expert.
Special Agent Dr. Carly Welsh—TCD poison expert.
Director Alana Suzuki—TCD director, fearless leader, tenacious fighter for justice.
Rihanna Clark—Former special agent, current TCD liaison for local PD, press and public affairs.
Opaline Lopez—TCD tech guru.
Fritz O’Lear—Grand Rapids bomber.
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
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
“We’re coming to you live from the scene of our city’s second bombing in just three days,” the tenacious female reporter declared. “I’m standing across the street from what remains of Burger Mania. As you can see, this popular twenty-four-hour fast-food restaurant was all but completely destroyed in the explosion early this morning. Police and bomb-squad officials are combing the wreckage now for clues as to who might’ve done this, and whether or not the culprit was also responsible for the bombing of a Grand Rapids real-estate office earlier this week.”
The bomber coughed into his fist, covering a smile as the reporter rambled on. Law-enforcement officials wouldn’t find a single clue about who’d made that bomb or the previous one. He’d taken great care to be certain of that. Officials would still waste their time looking, of course. They had to. But there was nothing to find.
From his place on the sidelines, he could see the big picture. The reporter couldn’t. She could only see the loss of a building and a few lives. Same for her hapless viewers and the gaggle of lookie-loos gathering at his sides. They didn’t understand the planning and precision that went into something like this. The sheer skill involved in what he’d done. They only saw the aftermath. The wreckage. They missed what truly mattered. The revenge.
Winter in Michigan is starting to heat up, he thought, chuckling internally at the joke.
The reporter twisted at her waist, wide brown eyes jerking between the camera in front of her and the rampant chaos behind. Her deep brown skin flushed slightly as the coroner’s van trundled into position, joining the collection of emergency and first responders in the Burger Mania lot.
So there had been casualties. Just as he’d planned. Pride puffed his chest and satisfaction warmed his gut. He’d created the chaos and the carnage that made the pretty reporter shake in her high-heeled boots. If that wasn’t power, then what was?
A gust of icy wind blew sleek black tendrils across her cheeks and against her glossy red lips. The scents of burning grease, hair and flesh seemed to fan her fear. “Five customers have been escorted from the building so far. Each was taken to a waiting ambulance, and most have already been rushed to local hospitals. Sources on scene are reporting three casualties, all Burger Mania night-shift employees,” she said, her expression comically sad, as if she’d ever met any of those people. As if she’d ever graced a grease-mill like Burger Mania with her upscale, picture-perfect presence. “There’s no word yet as to whether or not this week’s two explosions are related,” she said, “but you can count on us to keep you informed with up-to-the-minute details as they are released.” She held her canned smile a few seconds longer, until the bright light on the camera dimmed, and the cameraman removed the device from his shoulder.
The microphone shook in her trembling grip as she passed it to him. She was right to be afraid. They all were.
The bomber lingered another moment, reveling in the panicked whispers around him. They had no idea how powerful he was. That he alone was responsible for the bombs destroying their comfortable little worlds. He smirked at the flimsy line of yellow plastic fluttering before him, nearly as pathetic as the ones who’d strung it. As
if they could keep him back if he wanted to go. As if they could stop him from doing anything he wanted to do.
So far, he’d executed two perfect plans in three short days. He’d even taken a day in between to enjoy the news coverage and watch local police chase their tails.
He hoped his next victims were watching. He hoped they were afraid, too. Afraid to go to work. Afraid to leave their homes. Afraid because he could reach them anywhere. He was just that good.
The bomber watched a few more minutes, until the satisfaction began to slowly fade, and the grip of seething hatred returned. Then he walked away. Fresh churning and burning in his core. Renewed anger begging for release.
Two down, he thought. And two to go.
Time to get back to work.
CHAPTER ONE
Tactical Crime Division director Alana Suzuki strode confidently from the elevator onto the seventh floor of the Traverse City, Michigan, FBI building. Her high heels clicked across the hard tile floor, her determination growing with each new step. The TCD would leave on assignment again today, and she never took their deployment lightly. The specialized unit of experts on everything from combat to poisons and hostage negotiation was infinitely capable and collectively unstoppable. But more than that, they were family.
“Good morning,” Alana called, crossing into the oversize boardroom and making her way to the front.
The team was already in place around the massive table, tired eyes instantly on her. She didn’t have to check her watch to know it was barely 5:00 a.m.
“Thank you all for coming in so early and on such little notice.” Alana dragged her gaze over the fatigued faces before her, then rested it briefly on the giant FBI logo clinging to one wall. A sense of pride rolled up her spine. Pride for the Bureau. Pride for the thirty years she’d spent there. And pride for this team. “If you’ve seen the news, you can probably guess why you’re here. There was a second bombing in Grand Rapids early this morning, and their local law enforcement could use our help.”
The group exchanged silent glances, then turned their attention on Max.
Special Agent Max McRay had taken a seat at the front. Brows furrowed and hands folded on the table, he’d likely been there for a while. It was Max who’d woken Alana at half past two this morning, requesting she consider this assignment for their team, or send him alone if necessary. Max was an explosives expert, and there was a bomber in Grand Rapids. A city just two hours away by car and home to Max’s ex-wife and toddler son.
“Grand Rapids detectives suspect a serial bomber,” Alana continued, drawing the team’s focus back to her. “After a long talk with their chief of police, I’ve agreed to send the TCD to their aid.” She nodded to Opaline Lopez, the curvy, bleached-blonde tech guru seated at the back of the room.
Opaline lifted a small remote, and a big screen lowered from the ceiling behind Alana, images already appearing on the white backdrop.
“Thank you.”
Opaline smiled, her brightly colored clothing and hair accessories never a match for her impossibly upbeat personality. She was a much-needed source of light on many dark days in their office, and one more thing Alana appreciated deeply.
“There have been two bombs detonated in three days,” Alana said as photos of the carnage flipped across the screen. “Five people are dead in total. More are injured. The first bomb went off inside a small stand-alone real-estate office three days ago, at seven eighteen a.m. Two of the office’s twelve employees were killed in the blast. A female office manager and a male real-estate agent. No one else was in the building. Official hours are nine to five.”
Alana paused while the slide changed, then went on. “The second blast occurred at approximately two o’clock this morning. This time the target was Burger Mania, and the building was all but destroyed. Three were killed. Two employees in the kitchen and one behind the counter. A night manager and two staff members.”
Selena Lopez lifted the pen from her mouth. “Similarities or connections among the casualties?” she asked. Selena was Opaline’s younger sister and a K-9 handler. As the team’s specialist in surveillance, tracking and suspect apprehension, she rarely missed a beat.
“None that we’re aware of at this time. Two men and one woman at this location. All in their twenties,” Alana answered.
Opaline changed the slide on-screen to one with candids of the deceased from both bombings.
Selena made a note on the paper before her. “Thank you.”
Alana nodded. “Right now, local detectives and bomb-squad members have no leads, and the bombs are the only connections they’ve been able to make between the two attacks.”
Max shifted, catching Alana’s eye. “What links the bombs?”
The slide changed again, and Alana stepped aside, making sure everyone had a good view of the screen. Images of the aftermaths glowed in the dim room. The charred metal remains of the devices were showcased beside snapshots of the damage done in the immediate areas. A list of bomb contents according to a local lab formed a column beside the photos.
Alana folded her hands in front of her, giving her team time to take in the visuals before answering Max’s question verbally. “Both bombs were homemade. Both used pressure cookers and materials available at local stores or online. Both were set off with a cell-phone detonator. The explosive in both was Tannerite.”
Max’s head bobbed slowly, knowingly. He swiveled in his chair to face his teammates. “Tannerite is a material designed for use in long-distance target practice. It creates a small explosion when the target is hit, sending up a puff of white smoke. The result saves the shooter a long walk to see if they landed the shot. If they’re successful, there’s smoke. Used incorrectly, as seen too often on YouTube—” he grimaced “—people lose limbs and lives.”
Alana’s gaze slid unbidden to Max’s black dress pants. It was nearly impossible to tell, but Max had lost a leg, below the knee, to a similar device eight years ago in Afghanistan. Pressure-cooker bombs were widely used by rebel forces and militant groups there. Max’s position in the bomb squad had put him in close proximity to dozens of such devices over the years. She’d recruited him for the TCD a year after the amputation, pulling him straight from the gym at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center before he could sign papers to reenlist. An army superior in her circle had given Max an unparalleled recommendation, and Alana wasn’t in the business of letting opportunity pass her by. Max had intended to return to combat full-time, but she’d persuaded him to accept her challenge instead. Many civilian lives had been saved because of that decision. And he’d never let the loss of his limb or the prosthesis in its place slow him down.
“Tannerite is packed into a pressure cooker,” Max continued. “It’s surrounded with small metal objects meant to become projectiles and shrapnel. Nails and ball bearings, nuts, bolts and BBs are popular choices. A cell phone typically detonates the explosive. The pressure in the cooker amplifies the blast. These are rudimentary bombs with detailed instructions available online. Materials are inexpensive and easy to acquire. No skill is necessary for a successful build.”
Axel Morrow leaned in across the table, anchoring his elbows. “So we’re dealing with devices like the ones used in the Boston Marathon.” Short blond hair and sharp green eyes gave Axel the stereotypical “boy next door” look. His easy smile spoke of mild manners and a wholesome upbringing, but looks were deceiving. At thirty-four, Axel was the team’s supervisory agent, a fierce friend and formidable opponent.
“Exactly.” Max nodded.
“And there was nothing unique left behind at the bombing sites?” Axel asked, swinging his attention back to Alana. As the team’s criminal profiler, Axel was in his wheelhouse looking for patterns and clues in the details. “No calling card or other source of pride?”
“None,” Alana answered.
“Is he targeting a specific neighborhood?�
� Axel asked. “Could these be locations of convenience? Maybe random sites near his home?”
“Possibly,” Alana conceded, turning to examine the screen as Opaline changed the image once more. “The businesses aren’t in close proximity to one another, but it’s possible the bomber frequented the locations, making them familiar and emotionally comfortable.”
A map of the city showed the bomb sites circled in red. Clearly several miles apart.
Opaline danced her fingers over her laptop’s keyboard. “I’m sending you all everything I have so far. Photos, police reports, initial findings, witness accounts…”
Phones buzzed and chimed collectively before she’d finished speaking.
“Local law-enforcement officials weren’t able to make any connections between the victims,” she said. “The detonation days and times were different. The casualties had no obvious commonalities in appearance. A basic surface review revealed nothing useful. I, on the other hand, hope to have plenty of leads for you by the time you reach your temporary headquarters in Grand Rapids later today.”
“Which will be at the local police department.” A familiar voice sprang through the open door a moment before Rihanna Clark entered. The former special agent and current TCD liaison for local PDs, press and the public smiled widely at the team. Her sleek black hair fell over her shoulders and her onyx eyes sparkled as she set a pair of stacked cup carriers on the table. “I thought you could all use a little help waking up. So I made a stop on my way in, while I worked out some details by phone with Grand Rapids PD.”
The team went for the coffees, thanking Rihanna as they made their selections and returned to their seats. Dr. Carly Welsh, the TCD toxins expert, abstained, having brought her own large cup, as usual.
“TCD has access to a large conference room at the Grand Rapids PD for as long as we need it,” Rihanna continued. “I’ve been assured the space is ours alone. We won’t have to share or move for any reason, and we have access to anything within the department we might need. Personnel included. Their force is aware of what’s going on, and they’re highly motivated to protect their city and its citizens. As always, I’ll be there to make any other arrangements you need. Just ask.” She nodded at Alana, then took a seat near Opaline.