PRAISE FOR CARRIE STUART PARKS
“Rich characters, a forensic artist’s eye for detail, and plot twists—Carrie Stuart Parks hits all the right notes!”
— MARY BURTON, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“I’ve always known Carrie as someone devoted to mastering her craft, be it forensics, fine art, public speaking, kick-butt dinners (but please, no more zucchini!), or writing suspenseful mystery novels with just the right touch of her characteristic wit. When Death Draws Near reflects Carrie’s way with all things creative: it’s engaging, tightly woven, painstakingly researched, and a just plain fun read. Dive in!”
— FRANK PERETTI, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“Carrie Stuart Parks is a riveting storyteller, and every book about forensic artist Gwen Marcey shines with authenticity from this real-life forensic artist. Her books are an automatic buy for me and stay on my keeper shelf. When Death Draws Near and every other Parks novel is highly recommended!”
— COLLEEN COBLE, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF MERMAID MOON AND THE ROCK HARBOR NOVELS
“Thank you so very much, Carrie Stuart Parks, for giving me a reading hangover! Carrie injected this story with so much tension, suspense, and superb characterization that I lost hours of sleep and ignored my own work because I simply had to finish the book. I highly recommend When Death Draws Near, but only when you have several hours of uninterrupted time to read because you will not want to put it down. Fabulous job! Eagerly awaiting the next Gwen Marcey story!”
— LYNETTE EASON, AWARD-WINNING, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE HIDDEN IDENTITY SERIES
“Christian fiction lovers will devour this new work by Carrie Stuart Parks because it delivers on so many fronts. It’s not only a page-turning murder mystery, but a gripping and compassionate story about personal trial.”
— CRESTON MAPES, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE CRITTENDON FILES
“Once again, Parks has written a top-notch forensic thriller . . . The details are rich but not overpowering, and Parks writes with an excellent balance of science, forensics, action, and comfort. This second Gwen Marcey novel will create a following for Parks, with readers anxiously awaiting the next installment.”
— RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, ON THE BONES WILL SPEAK
“This book holds the reader’s attention from the first page with a riveting mystery that will keep them guessing until the final chapter.”
— CBA RETAILER + RESOURCES, ON THE BONES WILL SPEAK
“Parks, in her debut novel, has clearly done her research and never disappoints when it comes to crisp dialogue, characterization, or surprising twists and turns.”
— PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, ON A CRY FROM THE DUST
“Besides having a resourceful and likable heroine, the book also features that rarest of characters: a villain you don’t see coming, but whom you hate with relish . . . A Cry from the Dust will keep you hoping, praying, and guessing till the end.”
— BOOKPAGE
“Renowned forensic and fine artist Parks’s action-packed and compelling tale of suspense is haunting in its intensity. Well researched and written in an almost journalistic style, this emotionally charged story is recommended for fans of Ted Dekker, Mary Higgins Clark, and historical suspense.”
— LIBRARY JOURNAL, ON A CRY FROM THE DUST
“Parks’s fast-paced and suspenseful debut novel is an entertaining addition to the inspirational genre. Her writing is polished, and the research behind the novel brings credibility to the story . . . an excellent book that is sure to put Carrie Stuart Parks on readers’ radars.”
— RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, ON A CRY FROM THE DUST
“A unique novel of forensics and fanaticism. A good story on timely subjects well told. For me, these are the ingredients of a successful novel today and Carrie Stuart Parks has done just that.”
— CARTER CORNICK, FBI COUNTERTERRORISM AND FORENSIC SCIENCE RESEARCH (RET.), ON A CRY FROM THE DUST
OTHER BOOKS BY CARRIE STUART PARKS
When Death Draws Near
The Bones Will Speak
A Cry from the Dust
Portrait of Vengeance
© 2017 by Carrie Stuart Parks
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version®. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Parks, Carrie Stuart, author.
Title: Portrait of vengeance / Carrie Stuart Parks.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson, [2017] | Series: A Gwen Marcey novel; 4
Identifiers: LCCN 2017006718 | ISBN 9780718083786 (paperback)
Epub Edition June 2017 ISBN 9780718083830
Subjects: LCSH: Forensic pathologists--Fiction. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction. |
Mystery fiction. | Christian fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3616.A75535 P67 2017 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017006718
Printed in the United States of America
17 18 19 20 21 LSC 5 4 3 2 1
To Rick, who brings me story ideas and inspiration
daily. Along with hockey scores. Sigh.
CONTENTS
Praise for Carrie Stuart Parks
Other Books by Carrie Stuart Parks
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
An Excerpt from: A Cry from the Dust Chapter 1
About the Author
PROLOGUE
KAMIAH, IDAHO JUNE 1994
SOMEONE HAD LEFT THE FRONT DOOR OPEN.
I stopped abruptly on the front walk. I knew I’d closed and locked the door when I left to get the groceries, just like my mom, Holly, told me to.
Holly will be in a fearful mood if she finds out. When she finds out.
In spite of the heat beating on my back from the midday June sunshine, I shivered.
Jacob probably forgot. He was only four years old. He didn’t understand Holly’s . . . problems.
I would claim to be the culprit. At fourteen, I was better able to withstand Holly’s raging storms. Lately I’d had lots of practice.
Slowly I approached the porch, climbed the few steps, and pulled open the screen door.
The rank stench of copper, body fluids, and sweat hit me like a locomotive.
I gagged.
Blood splattered the walls and floor. An overturned coffee table lay on a broken vase.
Holly’s voice screeched in my brain. Run, Gwen! If ever you find us dead, it means he found us!
The sack of groceries and gallon of milk slipped from my numb hands, crashing to the floor. Spilled milk mixed with blood, making pink swirls on the floor.
My feet seemed rooted to the ground.
A hatchet was embedded in the center of the room, smeared blackish-red.
Run!
Jacob’s favorite toy, a genuine Shari Lewis Lamb Chop puppet I’d given him for Christmas, was ripped apart.
Dead. They’re both dead.
I turned and ran.
CHAPTER ONE
PRESENT DAY
COMMANDER GARY JAMES, MY BOSS, LOOKED AROUND the room. Five of us had gathered around the “conference table,” which was more accurately the dining room table of an old house outside of downtown Missoula, Montana. The government grant that funded us didn’t stretch as far as a chrome-and-glass office overlooking the mountains.
I was just happy to be on a regular forensic art job. I had a new identity card with my name printed on it—Gwen Marcey, Forensic Artist—and the unit’s seal. A new gun, a set of flex-cuffs, and the use of a car rounded out my perks. I straightened the shiny gold badge mounted on a leather holder and hanging by a chain around my neck. Even though I was still on probation, I was ridiculously proud to wear it.
The Interagency Major Crimes Unit had been in the works for years, the brainchild of two police chiefs who’d been on the painful end of major crime waves. They’d been overwhelmed, understaffed, and underfunded. They pitched the idea of a group of individuals with various specialty backgrounds who could be available on an as-needed basis should a smaller agency get hit with a major crime. In addition to a government grant, the IMCU received an annual fee from the agencies that used it. This concept kept the local agencies in charge of their cases, an idea they relished.
Commander James pointed to the projected image on the screen behind him. “Turning to the last box on the W307 form, this space is for the narrative . . .”
I stifled my yawn and peeked again at my watch. This mind-numbing lecture on filling out paperwork had to have gone on for hours. Blake Adkin’s plane should have landed by now. He’d be on his way to pick me up. I hadn’t seen him since I returned from the case in Kentucky six months ago. I smiled.
“Do you think it’s funny when you misspell words on an official form, Gwen?” Commander James asked.
“Oh no, sir. Misspelled words are a serious crime—”
Someone kicked me under the table.
“Ump!” I looked around the table but no one would meet my gaze. “I’m just excited about the new cases that came in.” I waved at the perfectly aligned stack of files resting in front of him.
He glanced down and I again checked my watch.
“All right.” He turned off the projector and picked up the files.
I let out a sigh.
“Four agencies have contacted us in the past day requesting our services.” Commander James made sure we were all paying attention. “I’ve already assigned staff to each of them.”
Picking up my mug of stone-cold coffee, I nodded and gave him a slight smile.
He gave me a frosty stare and opened the first file.
I wanted to throw a pencil at his head for being such a boring grumpbox, but if I missed, it would shatter the graphite of a perfectly good pencil.
“Anaconda has a convenience-store robbery with a homicide.” Commander James closed the file. “It’s the second in three weeks. Jennifer, I’m sending you.” He handed the file over to our crime-scene specialist, Jennifer Bailey.
“You men”—James nodded at the two officers on his right—“will be working an accident reconstruction outside Mills, Wyoming. The highway patrol is involved and wants outside assistance.”
“Gwen.” He turned to me. “Kodiak, Alaska, needs forensic art help on a cold case.”
“Pun intended?” I grinned at being sent somewhere besides Mills or Anaconda.
“I don’t understand.” He frowned.
“You know . . . cold? Alaska? Um . . .” I gripped my coffee to keep from throwing a pencil anyway. “What’s the last case?”
“From the Nez Perce Tribal Police, in Lapwai, Idaho. Double homicide, missing four-year-old child. Killer used a hatchet.”
I sloshed the coffee over my hand and onto the table. Jennifer helped me mop up. When I knew my voice would be somewhat steady, I asked, “Where exactly is Lapwai located?”
“North Central Idaho, near Lewiston.”
Lewiston? Where my parents had been murdered.
“Are you okay, Gwen?” Jennifer asked. “You’re as white as a sheet.”
I gave her a trembling smile. “The case just reminds me of an old . . . case I was once involved with. What kind of specialist did they ask for?”
“General help in interviewing.” Commander James glared at the mess I’d made. “Maybe some crime-scene help. I’ve assigned it to Kirt.”
“No.” I took the file before Kirt had a chance to grab it. “They need a forensic artist.”
“They didn’t ask for one.” Kirt reached for the materials I held.
“They’ve probably never even heard of forensic art.” I moved the folder out of range. “Listen, with a missing child, time is critical. By the time someone figures out they saw something, it could be too late. And I . . . kinda know the area.”
“It’s my case.” Kirt’s voice went up a notch.
Commander James tapped his lower lip. “I don’t know—”
“Please.” I leaned forward. “You said Kodiak was a cold case. There’s no rush. And you know I’m a trained interviewer. And I’ve worked crime scenes. I’m already packed.” To go on a trip to Glacier Park with Blake. I held my breath.
“Okay. I’ll call them and say you’re coming—”
“Today. I’ll be there as fast as I can drive over.”
Everyone at the table was staring at me. I didn’t care. I ran away from a scene like that once. I wouldn’t run again.
CHAPTER TWO
I DIDN’T WAIT FOR COMMANDER JAMES TO CHANGE HIS mind. Grabbing the case files, I dodged into the restroom and looked at my watch.
Blake is probably waiting outside. What are you going to say to him?
“He’ll understand,” I whispered. “I hope.” A swift phone call to my best friend, Beth, alerted her to my immediate departure. She agreed to take care of my Great Pyrenees, Winston.
Blake was leaning against his rental car holding a bouquet of coral-colored roses. He wore a low-brimmed, black Stetson over sun-bleached hair, a Pendleton jacket, jeans, and alligator boots. He grinned at my appearance, his manganese-blue eyes crinkling.
Throwing
all dignity aside, I flew down the steps and into his arms. He engulfed me in a bear hug, making breathing difficult on several levels. After a few moments I extracted myself and stepped away. “Blake! I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Ready to go? I’ve booked two rooms—”
“Wait. There’s been a slight change of plans.”
The boyish grin on his face turned to a frown. “Your daughter’s birthday? Did you decide to be with her today after all? I understand—”
“Not quite. Aynslee’s staying with her dad.” Neither my daughter nor my ex-husband had bothered to tell me when, or if, they were having a birthday celebration.
“What, then?”
“There’s been a homicide, actually, two homicides, and a little girl is missing.”
Blake straightened. “That’s terrible, but what does it have to do with you? With us?”
“I need to go. It’s only for a few days.”
His gaze sharpened. “Why you? Aren’t there other members of your team who could take care of it?”
I placed my hand on his arm. “No one has my particular skills. Listen, you could come with me. I’d be gone during the day, but we could spend the evenings—”
“I didn’t fly all the way here from Kentucky to have a few evenings with you.”
“If you can wait, I’ll be back in a couple of days—”
“I won’t be here in a couple of days.” He stepped away.
“I’m sorry, Blake, it’s just bad timing. I wanted to see you, I want to see you—”
“Obviously not enough to change your plans.” Blake shook his head. He was even more handsome than I remembered.
“Blake, this is important—”
“Important enough that I may not be waiting for you when you’re done?”
I searched his face. “If there’s anything between us, it can’t be this fragile. You’ll have to trust me.”
He took another step back and stared at me a moment. “Let me think about it.” He turned and got into his car.
I should stop him. Someone else could work on the homicide. Commander James wasn’t even going to give me the case.
Don’t bother. The voice of my ex-husband, Robert, echoed in my brain. You might as well break up with him now, before he has a chance to find out you’re damaged goods.
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