by Terri Reed
“You still need to follow the rules if you want to keep your job.”
Reggie laughed. “Since when did I ever worry about the rules?”
“I’ll handle it.”
Reggie paused and Mick could hear the smile. “Cops won’t want you interfering. I’ll call and see if I can grease the wheels for you. Try not to get killed, huh?”
“Yes, sir.” Mick disconnected. He stood, letting the Oregon spring chill his skin and assimilate with the cold that had settled there permanently when he’d let Tucker Rivendale murder Keeley’s sister.
*
Keeley pushed the old Jeep a little faster, and the engine complained as it took the mountain slope just before dusk. The morning shoot had gone flawlessly, and her courage was on the mend. Keeley Stevens, world-class avian photographer, at her finest. Now it was time for the night shots of the great horned owl emerging from the nest. One good picture of the powerful, yellow-eyed predator would net her three hundred dollars, which meant gas in the car, food on the table and utilities paid for another month anyway.
She squeezed the steering wheel as the engine’s growling grew louder. Her sister would have given the vehicle a pep talk about little train engines and such. Keeley took a different tact. “If you leave me stranded on this road and I miss my shot, I’m turning you in for scrap. You’ll be a toaster by morning.”
Big words. She hardly had the money to replace her crippled toaster, let alone a new vehicle. As it was, she was still driving LeeAnn’s beat-up Jeep, picturing her sister clutching the armrest, urging Keeley to slow down.
I’m not in a hurry to leave this world, sis.
Ah, but you did leave it, Lee. And God took you way too early. Her throat thickened. What she wouldn’t give to hear her little sister’s gentle criticisms one more time. You were always too sweet, Lee.
Too trusting, right up until she was murdered just before her twenty-sixth birthday. Too innocent to see it coming. Naive about a man who said he loved her. Not a mistake Keeley was going to make.
Cold air whooshed in through the open driver’s-side window along with crisp scent of pine and fir. She thought she heard the whine of a motorbike. Ahead? Behind? She stopped to listen. Nothing. Was it the tiny flicker of a headlamp she’d seen flitting through the dark tree trunks? No, nothing but that paranoia. LeeAnn’s murder had stripped away her naive sense of safety, depositing a shadow just behind her shoulder that taunted her vision as much as she wanted to deny it, kept her from letting people close. See what can happen? it whispered. Remember how easily your sister’s life was extinguished? She swallowed.
“Get the shot and leave your paranoia at home,” she muttered to herself. She took the steep turn slowly, no sense making too much noise. As it was, her quarry was extremely sensitive to the slightest vibration, so she’d have to park soon and hike up the mountain on foot.
Her Nikon camera and tripod with the gimbal head rested safely on the passenger seat. They were her most precious belongings. Well, second most anyway. She got that strange, fuzzy feeling deep down in her gut, along with a swirl of desperation. She could not give up, in spite of the ever-present fatigue. Her life wasn’t just about herself anymore. She had someone else relying on her, someone with flyaway hair that never stayed in pigtails and a ready smile.
Something cracked into the windshield, and her foot reflexively hit the brake. She stopped, engine idling. The wheels must have kicked up a rock. She probably had a new chip in the front windshield to show for it. She started on more slowly when another pebble hit the front glass. This time she put the Jeep in Park, slamming the door open.
“All right, Ricky and Stephano. Knock it off,” she hissed to the teen boys she knew must be hunkered down behind the boulders off the path. “If you scare my owl away, I’ll have you tossed in jail.” She was on shaky ground here and the boys probably knew it. She’d threatened to cause trouble with their parents when they vandalized her shed, but incarceration for rock throwing might be a tad severe. Ricky and Stephano were rabble-rousers, but probably not ready for prison yet. In any case, they might just mess up her opportunity to photograph the bird she’d been stalking for a month.
There was a crackle of dry leaves, and someone stepped from behind the rocks. Baggy pants, dirty sweatshirt, backpack. She could not see his face in the near darkness, just a white gleam as he turned his face to hers. Long hair.
Something in the body language made her skin erupt in prickles. Was it the slope of the shoulders, the way he tucked a thumb into the belt loop of his jeans? She knew it was Tucker, even before he spoke. All the time she’d been hunting the owl, he’d been hunting her. Tingles of fear coursed along and tangled with white-hot rage.
“So,” she said, forcing the words out around the serrated edge in her throat. “Are you here to kill me now, too?”
He didn’t answer, just stared at her with eyes that gleamed reptilian in the dim light.
She took a small step back toward the open car door. The motion seemed to jar him loose from his thoughts.
He moved fast, coming at her straight on. She had just enough time to get into the car and slam the door, jamming the lock down. His eyes went wide as he tried the handle, banging his palms against the glass. She started the engine and he backed off. Lurching forward, she lost sight of him and then she realized her mistake. She had not locked the passenger-side door.
Tucker’s face loomed in the darkness, fingers yanking at the handle. Though she jammed the accelerator down, the wheels found no traction on the muddy ground, spinning grit and squealing their helplessness. She tried Reverse with no better luck. Tucker dived into the seat, hands grabbing at her forearms. With a scream, she threw an elbow as hard as she was able into his face and felt the give of his cheek. Momentarily, he released his grip, grunting in pain.
She pressed the gas again and the car shot forward, tumbling him to the floor. He tried to right himself, and she took her foot off the gas pedal long enough to kick out at him. He shoved her off.
“I want what’s mine…” he began, and then suddenly he was pulled from the car. A tall stranger with a crew cut had Tucker by the shoulders. He looked vaguely familiar. Tucker whipped around and threw a punch, which glanced off the stranger’s chin, sending him slightly off balance, but he straightened quickly. Through the open door, over the sound of her own shuddering breaths, she heard the guy say, “You’re done, kid.”
Then there was a glint of metal, a shine of a blade in Tucker’s hands. A knife.
“I’ll die first, Mick,” he hissed. “I’ve got nothing more to lose.”
Keeley realized she’d taken her foot off the gas. Now, with a flood of crazy energy, she cranked the car forward then into a tight turn and stepped on the accelerator. The open door bumped and banged, but she did not take a moment to close it. Both men jerked their heads in her direction.
Tucker yelled something. She did not stop.
The car zipped forward, pinging gravel and dirt up. She was gratified to see the men scatter, running. Her front wheel hit a depression, causing the wheels to buck, and she fought to stay the course.
He would not win. Not again.
*
Mick saw the blur of the moving vehicle bearing down on him. The shock loosened his grip, and Tucker slashed with the knife, cutting into Mick’s biceps. Fire rippled through his arm. Then the Jeep was upon them. Tucker leaped aside. With no time to do the same, Mick dived for the trees.
Too slow.
For a moment, he was airborne, cartwheeling over the hood of the car and tumbling headfirst onto the hard ground. The breath rushed out of him in a painful explosion. He tried to get to his feet, stumbled and fell, finding himself planted palms first in the dirt.
Where was Tucker? His nerves screamed. He looked up in time to see the flash of a T-shirt as the kid took off for the trees. Forcing his legs into motion, he made it to his feet.
Keeley got out of the car. She was slender, her hair chin length, cut in a careles
s bob showing under the knit cap. The same blue eyes as her sister. She looked older and more tired than he’d seen her the last time at LeeAnn’s funeral, the lines more pronounced around her mouth. At least, he thought they were more pronounced. Blink as he would, her face blurred in his vision. He heard her speak as if from far away.
“Who are you?” she said.
I’m the man who let Tucker Rivendale kill your sister, his mind said.
She hugged herself, waiting for him to respond.
Mick struggled to speak. Get back in the car and drive before he comes back. Don’t let him hurt you like he did LeeAnn. But his mouth remained stubbornly closed. “I think I know you. Tell me who you are,” she demanded again.
“Mick,” he said aloud, or maybe it was only in his mind as his sight bled off into darkness and his knees buckled under him.
Copyright © 2015 by Dana Mentink
ISBN-13: 9781460380000
Duty Bound Guardian
Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Terri Reed for her contribution to the Capitol K-9 Unit miniseries
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MARKED FOR MURDER
When photos of Stephanie O’Brien are found in a serial killer’s home, she must face the horrible truth that she’s the next intended victim. She has nowhere to hide, nowhere to run—except to K-9 cop Rick Powell. As her self-appointed bodyguard, Rick will do anything to protect the innocent teacher—even keep his attraction at bay. He’s known loss; he won’t lose Stephanie. But the killer seems to anticipate their every move. And Rick fears he’s never faced an opponent so cunning. One who won’t stop till he has his victim right where he wants her…six feet under.
Everyone was in danger because of her.
Stephanie scanned the crowd, assessing the damage. The blast had destroyed their hotel suite and the surrounding rooms. Paramedics worked on a number of people. But it could have been worse.
She turned to Rick. “When we were running, I kept wondering why it took so long for the bomb to detonate.” Nothing the serial killer was doing made any sense to her. There had been so many opportunities for him to kill her already. Why did he keep letting her live?
“Maybe the bomb was just a message,” Rick replied. “He’s telling us that when he is ready to do it, he’s going to do it his way.”
“By it, you mean kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen, Stephanie.” He reached for her hand. “You can’t let him get inside your head. Otherwise he accomplished exactly what he set out to do.”
He was right, but as she looked across the street, a man standing there pulled her attention. Hadn’t the police evacuated the area? Instead of looking at the spectacle around the hotel, he was staring at her. He raised a hand in a wave, and Stephanie’s insides turned to ice.
There he was. Her would-be killer.
Becky Avella grew up in Washington State with her nose in a book and her imagination in the clouds. These days she spends her time dreaming up heart-pounding fiction full of romance and faith. Becky married a real-life hero and follows him around begging him to give her material she can use in her stories. Together with their children, they make their home in the beautiful Northwest.
Books by Becky Avella
Love Inspired Suspense
Targeted
Targeted
By Becky Avella
A man’s heart deviseth his way:
but the Lord directeth his steps.
—Proverbs 16:9
To Pat, my hero and my happily ever after.
We both know this book wouldn’t exist without you.
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
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DEAR READER
EXCERPT
ONE
Saturday
“Seattle Police, K-9 Unit. Announce yourself.” Officer Rick Powell’s voice boomed through the open door. “If you do not announce yourself, we will send in the dog. If you surrender now, you will not be harmed!”
Rick kept the leash taut and his hand steady on his K-9 partner’s back. The dog’s training held him still, but Rick knew the Belgian Malinois wanted to go, his muscles quivering to be set free to work again. Only absolute devotion to Rick held the dog back.
Kneeling beside him, Rick crooned the German command for stay and stroked the fur along Axle’s back. I understand, buddy. I’m ready to work, too.
The city block surrounding the early-twentieth-century brick town house had been cordoned off. SWAT team members were poised for action, waiting for the signal that would allow them to penetrate the building, too eager to capture the killer inside to mind the pouring rain running down their stoic faces. Intel indicated the suspect was home and hiding. If their information was correct, then he would soon be calling prison home. Rick believed it was more than he deserved, and it was about time.
“Ready?” Sergeant Terrell Watkins asked Rick.
“Very,” Rick answered.
Terrell was Rick’s supervisor, but the two had been friends for a long time. It was Rick’s first day back on regular duty after an extensive medical leave, and Terrell knew better than any of the others around him how important it was to Rick to be back in the field.
Rick nodded his head in the direction of a wiry man pacing the sidewalk behind the two of them. “But maybe not quite as ready as Shelton is to get this guy.”
Terrell’s gaze followed where Rick pointed and chuckled. “No kidding.”
Detective Gary Shelton deserved the credit for cracking this case. Three unsolved and particularly gruesome murders had terrified the city of Seattle for over a year. It was Shelton who had finally identified Julian Hale as the man responsible for the deaths of those women. And it was Julian Hale whom they believed was hiding inside this town house now.
Investigating the killings had consumed the detective’s life, and bringing Hale to justice had become Shelton’s personal mission. They were so close to making that happen. Rick leaned forward, anxious to serve this warrant. He hoped that capturing Hale would allow Shelton some much-earned peace.
Rick called his warning into the house once again, his voice even louder and deeper. “You are surrounded. Announce yourself now.”
Axle squirmed, his tail thumping on the doorjamb. The dog knew it was go ti
me.
Stroking Axle’s fur, Rick’s fingers brushed across the healed scar running along the dog’s side. Rick had similar scars across his own abdomen. A quick flood of panic raced through his body. Were they both ready to face what was about to go down? Don’t go there. This is a new start, no wallowing in the past.
“This is your last chance to surrender.” Rick’s warning echoed into the house, answered only by silence. He unclasped Axle’s leash, but kept his hand firm on the dog’s back, containing him. Axle’s tail thumped harder and faster. No answer came. No one exited the building.
No more chances.
Axle’s muscles quivered in anticipation. Rick might have doubts, but Axle didn’t. The dog whined as if to say, “Let me go!”
Pride for Axle pushed away the panic. After a confrontation with human traffickers had left both Axle and Rick near death, the dog had defied all the odds and all of the claims that he would never recover. It was only their first day back, but Rick knew that Axle was stronger than ever and more than capable of doing what was needed. He drew strength from Axle and raised his hand, shouting the command to search. “Reveire!”
That one word ignited the built-up energy within Axle’s body, propelling the dog forward off his haunches. He disappeared into the house as the men outside waited for barking to alert them to the hidden suspect’s location. After several moments of silence, they couldn’t wait any longer. The SWAT commander’s signal sent Rick and the rest of the Metro team crashing into the house with weapons raised.
The baritone shouts of “Police!” and the urgent calls of “Go, go, go!” harmonized with the high crystal notes of shattering glass, all of it fueling Rick’s adrenaline. He caught sight of Axle and trailed after the dog through the chaos, tuning his ears for the sound of barks. Come on, Axle, show me where the bad guy is hiding.