The Scarlett Bell FBI Series

by Dan Padavona

  Bell felt the rocky shoreline scrape her back before she knew where she was. Hodge stood over her, ripping the hair from her scalp and leering. He flung her into the shallows where something sharp and rusted sliced into her shoulder. The blade of an abandoned outboard motor.

  She saw a darker pool well up through the ripples. Her blood. It poured out of the open wound.

  He clutched her from behind. The muscles of his forearms closed over her windpipe in a headlock. She whipped her head backward, but he was ready this time and moved his bloodied face away. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face underwater. Her hands slid across slick stones and plunged into the mud.

  Bell’s legs flailed as he drowned her. She closed her hand over a rock, searching for something large enough. The fist-sized stone was smooth and round. It kept slipping from her hands as she tried to grasp hold. Water filled her lungs. She wretched as he yanked her head back by the hair, coughing out muddy lake water.

  When Hodge shoved her head under she swung back with the rock. She struck his face, but there was no leverage behind the blow. The rock glanced harmlessly off his cheek and dropped from her hand as she imagined him laughing.

  He pushed Bell’s face into the muddy lake bottom. Muck filled her mouth and eyes, her legs coming to rest behind him as her life teetered.

  Hodge tugged Bell out of the water and sat on the small of her back. Clutching her chin from behind with both hands, he leaned back and strained to snap her neck. Her spine shrieked with pain.

  The agony flared her senses, her body breaking.

  When Hodge leaned farther backward he lost his grip, his slick fingers sliding off her chin. She twisted beneath him, drove her palm up, and struck his shattered nose. A sound like twigs snapping.

  Stunned, Hodge stumbled backward. He quickly shook the cobwebs out and came at her.

  Bell flipped over and scissored her legs around his neck as he leaned down. His eyes went wide as her thighs clamped together. Straining, squeezing until her legs shook.

  He went down to one knee, and she thought she had him. Then he pushed up and lifted Bell’s entire body off the ground. Clutching her hips, he tried to throw her down.

  She refused to let go. Veins stood out down his neck and arms. He beat his fists against her thighs. Lifted her higher.

  He almost had her over his head when she jerked her back and twisted. A crackle as the torque snapped his neck.

  Hodge went limp. They crashed to the ground together. Bell landed on Hodge’s legs.

  She rolled off and lay on her back. Hodge’s eyes were open but blank. The man appeared to be stargazing, except his chest no longer moved.

  Carefully, she moved her palm over his face and thought this is the part of the movie when the killer suddenly opens his eyes and sits up.

  Thankfully, he didn’t. Bell was too exhausted to defend herself if he did.

  She tried to crawl into a sitting position and collapsed. Her shirt was soaked with blood, the shoulder wound shooting waves of hot pain down her arm.

  A moment later, she heard the motor approach. Lerner to the rescue. Bell’s eyes squinted shut. Through tears, she began to laugh.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Gardy was somewhere near the lake shore. The starlight was sharp, the moon coloring the water an eerie blue-gray.

  He’d come awake minutes ago and stumbled through the trees before he shook the dust out of his brain and realized he was lost. The girl’s cry snapped him awake, and he followed the voice, calling out to her every minute until he zeroed in on her location.

  He was somewhere south of Hodge’s property when he saw Angela Thiele splayed over the rocks. Her legs extended into the lake up to her knees. Waves rolled over her stomach and splashed her face. She cried harder when she saw him. It wasn’t until then he realized how terrifying he must have looked. A helmet of blood-soaked hair, a leaking gash on his forehead, eyes glowing in the moonlight. His badge was on crooked. At least that was an easy fix.

  Realizing who he was, the girl calmed.

  Gardy didn’t know much about lakes or if tide played a factor, but it was plain the waves were getting higher as the wind gusted toward the shoreline. Soon the water would be over Angela’s head.

  “Don’t worry, Angela. You’re safe now. I’ll get you back to your parents. Are you injured?”

  She shook her head. That was a good sign. He prompted the girl to move her arms, then her legs. Not paralyzed, just exhausted and in a state of shock.

  Everything hurt when he knelt down. He slipped one arm under her neck, the other beneath her knees, and scooped her up. Water poured off her body as he carried her up the shoreline and toward the road. He almost missed the two silhouettes strewn across the shore a quarter-mile away. Jesus, Bell.

  He walked in Bell’s direction, the girl waterlogged and limp as a rag doll in his arms, when he heard the ghost screams. Coming closer. Tired and confused, he took a while to figure out the wailing ghost was an ambulance siren, then the truck’s headlights flared over the hill and lit his face. Gently setting the girl down, he waved his arms until the sheriff swerved in his direction and stopped along the shoulder.

  The look on Lerner’s face was one of abject horror as he climbed down from the cab. The ambulance came to a stop behind Lerner’s truck as Gardy leaned over, hands on knees.

  A female paramedic with blue eyes and a lion’s mane of blonde hair tried to stop Gardy as he limped past.

  “Agent?”

  Gardy looked over his shoulder at Lerner.

  “I’ll live. Take care of the girl. I’m going after Bell.”

  ***

  Bell’s eyes shot open at the sound of footsteps. Thinking it was Hodge, her hand instinctively moved to her hip for the missing gun.

  She saw Gardy and gasped. The shock of his bloodied forehead didn’t last long before her eyes turned cross.

  “Just like you to show up in the nick of time and save the day.”

  He dropped to one knee, saw Hodge’s crumpled form and reached for his gun. She snickered, though doing so quickly reminded her how much she hurt.

  “Don’t worry, Superman, I already defeated the villain.”

  A beam of red light rotated over their heads. She could hear Lerner’s voice and two others, probably emergency workers. As he ran his eyes over her wounds, he stopped on the empty holster.

  “And you lost your gun again, I see. Weber will be thrilled.”

  “Weber can…ow!”

  She flinched when he touched her shoulder. Gardy issued a sharp whistle that momentarily deafened her. He waved someone forward, and she heard footsteps approaching.

  The sudden memory of why they were on Hodge’s property jolted her. She tried to sit up. Gardy blocked her from doing so.

  “Where’s the girl? Is Angela alive?

  “She’s fine, Bell.” She held his eyes and searched for a flicker of dishonesty. “I swear to you. She’s in the ambulance by now. You’ll meet her at the hospital.”

  “I don’t need to go the hospital. Help me up.”

  “You do and you will,” Gardy said as the blonde paramedic stooped beside him. He met the woman’s eyes and cocked his head at Bell. “She’s stubborn, this one. Good luck.”

  The woman took one look at Bell’s shoulder and winced.

  “Ma’am, I need you to remain still. I’m going to cut away the fabric and dress that wound.”

  Bell rolled her eyes.

  “You know how much I paid for this shirt?” She saw Gardy raise an eyebrow and scowled. “Fine. It was on the Target clearance rack. Still nice, though and…ouch! Are you sure you need to do that?”

  Placing gauze over the wound, the woman pressed down.

  “Just to stop the bleeding. With how long you’ve been bleeding, I’m surprised you’re conscious.”

  “Feel free to put her under,” Gardy said. The paramedic didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m a little jealous of that injury, Bell.”

  Bell glared at hi
m and sucked air through her teeth when the pressure increased.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That’ll leave a nice little scar. You can’t buy street cred like that.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  An endless ocean of blue flowed outside the plane’s windows. Bell stretched her aching legs and leaned the seat back, muttering a silent prayer of thanks that the return trip to Dulles had remained smooth. Gardy sat in the next seat and sifted through the case notes, a thick eye-patch-looking bandage affixed to his forehead that made him look like a pirate with bad aim.

  The flight attendant was a male this time, and to Bell’s boundless amusement, he paid Gardy an uncanny amount of attention. He brought the agent another tea when Bell elbowed him.

  “Bet he’s a Pisces.”

  “I bet you should shut up.”

  The flight attendant gave them a curious glance. Bell grinned.

  “Don’t worry. Inside joke.”

  She reached for her iPad and groaned, forgetting the shoulder.

  “Serves you right for making fun of him. He’s just being friendly.”

  “He’s being more than friendly, Gardy. You see, this is why you can’t get a date. Women throw you signals all the time and they go straight over your head. Besides, I wasn’t making fun of him. That would be rude.” She shifted the ice pack on her shoulder. “I was making fun of you.”

  Bell’s stomach dropped when the plane unexpectedly began its descent. She blew the hair from her eyes.

  “Maybe I should fly back to Coral Lake,” she said.

  Gardy unfolded a pair of reading glasses and set them on the end of his nose, jotting something down as he watched her from the corner of his eye.

  “Need a vacation?”

  “My parents are coming for the week.”

  “That’s wonderful. You didn’t tell me your parents were visiting. When do I get to say hello?”

  “I’ll let them know how excited you are to meet them. Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Maybe they can stay at your place.”

  “The bachelor pad? That would kill my swagger, Special Agent Bell.” When she didn’t laugh, he put down the pen and peered at her through the tops of his eyes. “Okay, what’s bugging you?”

  Bell shook her head and stared out the window.

  “They’re okay, but I can’t deal with the I-told-you-so lectures right now.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “That I’d just get hurt working this crazy job. This man’s job. Dad always figured me for an exciting career in the retail industry. Or maybe I’d be a fashion designer.”

  “Nothing wrong with fashion design.”

  “Didn’t say there was. My college roommate makes six figures in fashion design. I can’t wait until Mom and Dad see my shoulder. Wouldn’t be surprised if they end up in Weber’s office Monday morning and berate him for putting their precious daughter in danger. My parents are good people, but their expertise is in running my life.”

  Gardy removed another folder from his briefcase and thumbed through a series of notes and photographs.

  “You tend to exaggerate when things don’t go your way. I’m positive it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Well, you say that now, but wait until they try to fix us up.”

  Gardy coughed into his hand. The male flight attendant was quick to ensure he was okay.

  The plane was ten minutes from arrival when Bell glanced over and saw the photograph.

  Logan Wolf.

  She’d recognize the deep-set, black eyes anywhere. They seemed to penetrate her mind.

  “New evidence?”

  Gardy flipped to a map of the United States. A scattering of dots indicated where Wolf was recently seen.

  “Tough to say. There was a murder outside of Melbourne, Florida last week. A drifter. Officially, it’s an unsolved murder, but the MO looks like Wolf’s work.”

  Victim’s throat slashed with a sack over his head. Seven such murders in the last year alone.

  She wondered if anyone would ever find Logan Wolf, the former BAU-agent-turned-serial-killer. A master profiler, Wolf returned home from work one night in July of 2013 and butchered his wife. Throat slashed. Sack over her head. There was never an explanation. Wolf simply vanished.

  Bell shivered. The perfect killer. Impossible to catch.

  “Oh, we’ll catch him,” Gardy said, reading her face. “He might cover his tracks better than the Alan Hodges of the world, but he can’t hide forever.”

  “He’s been doing a good job so far.”

  Gardy slid the folder into his briefcase and locked it away.

  Bell didn’t look forward to landing. She could have stayed in the air for another month. Between her parents and Weber, Bell didn’t relish facing the new week. After the Deputy Director saw their injuries and figured out she’d lost her gun, he’d have a conniption.

  Gardy closed his eyes. Bell was about to do the same when the male flight attendant smiled and handed her a business card. She turned it over and grinned. When the attendant disappeared toward the back of the plane, Bell slipped the card into Gardy’s pocket.

  His eyes sprang open and glanced down at his open pocket.

  “What was that?”

  “Smile, Gardy. He gave you his phone number.”

  BLOOD STORM

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cars hurtle past Clarice, their taillights painting red streaks across her eyes. Stereos thump bass, and she can feel it in her chest. In the distance, the neon lights of countless tourist shops burn brightly.

  She has walked for almost an hour now. Lost and afraid. Feet ache. The discount heels aren’t helping matters.

  The late summer heat is a second skin she can’t peel off. It weighs her down. Slumps her back and makes her knees heavy.

  As she passes a vacant storefront, she sees her reflection in the glass—the dark, curly hair matted to her head as the sweat pours off in buckets.

  The sun is below the ground now, the blues and magentas of gloaming rapidly draining to black. She sneaks a glance over her shoulder but no one is following. Just her mind playing tricks on her, turning every shadow malevolent.

  She abandoned her car after the temperature light spiked and steam rolled out of the hood. Of course, the phone is dead. Damn battery drains if she looks at it wrong.

  Clarice stumbles through the wrong side of Sunset Island and thinks she knows where she is. If she is correct about her location, the boardwalk is only five blocks away. There the lights will be bright, the streets lined with vacationing families. Safety. Someone will help her.

  The faraway blinking lights become a beacon. They pull her forward and make her legs not so weary. She will be all right.

  A dark sedan slows to a stop, and a man leans his head through the passenger window. Another man sits behind the wheel. She considers asking them for a ride before she notices the passenger leering at her. A catcall. For a second, Clarice thinks she hears the door latch opening, then the car spins its screeching tires and jets up the road.

  She brushes the sweat off her forehead and moves off the sidewalk and into the grass. Slips off her shoes. Ahead lies a vacant parking lot of shattered glass and oil residue, but she takes advantage of the grass while she can, the soft carpet heaven under her feet.

  Clarice is almost to the parking lot when she hears the big truck motor crawl up from behind. She walks a little faster, and the truck keeps pace. It’s a rusted, shabby Ford F-150. A dark color she can’t make out in the failing light. It follows along, falling behind then jerking forward. Her heart is in her throat when the motor guns and the truck disappears into the night.

  Except that it doesn’t disappear. After she slips her shoes on and hurries across the parking lot, she sees the truck pulled to the side of the road. The engine is off, the dead-eye taillights extinguished. She looks for a side street, an alternative route that avoids the truck. There is none. It’s either go forward or turn around and risk the r
undown section of Sunset Island again.

  As Clarice approaches the truck she doesn’t see the driver. The windows are tinted but she can see a vague outline of the steering column. She breathes faster when she is even with the bumper, head on a swivel. A row of houses sprout up around her. Though many are derelict with sagging porches and broken windows, she takes solace that the worst of the resort city is behind her.

  She is almost to the end of the block when she sees the man behind the hedgerow. He watches her approach, then steps back into the shadow and vanishes. It could be anyone, she thinks. A homeowner. Someone who might call a tow truck or drive her to the boardwalk. Her intuition tells her otherwise. It’s the truck driver. She senses him.

  The darkness is almost complete when she stops. Perhaps the best course of action is to turn around and wait until she is sure the man is gone.

  No, he will still be here no matter how late the hour is when she returns.

  She veers off the sidewalk before she reaches the hedgerow, intending to cross the street, when the shadow breaks out from the bushes. He’d been standing beside her the whole time without her noticing.

  Before she can scream, he covers her mouth and clamps a forearm over her chest. As she flails in his grip the man drags her into the bushes. Thorns reach out and tear her skin. Clarice bites down on his hand, the only defense she can think of, and the man hisses.

  Then anguish as he strikes her in the back of the neck. A club of some sort. She pitches forward onto her knees and he clubs her again. The world spins as she splays out on her stomach. She feels a hot trickle of blood on the back of her head and neck and knows she must remain conscious if she is to survive.

  Clutching at clumps of grass, she drags herself forward. Across the lawn of the unlit residence. Somewhere a box air conditioner rattles, and another vehicle passes. Nobody sees or bothers to help.

  He follows her. She sees his shadow enveloping her own, a predator stalking wounded prey.