His smile widened, and he pulled her into his arms.
“Springtime in Paris with you,” she whispered for his ears only. “I’d be happy going anywhere with you, even the barn, but once again, you’ve made my dreams come true.”
“Let’s stick to Paris,” he said, and chuckled. “And never talk of visiting the barn again.”
“I suppose now that you two got engaged it means you’ll be too busy making googly eyes all day and will change your mind about participating in the egg toss,” Rick said, a note of humor in his tone.
“Nothing is out of the picture for us,” Tara replied as she squeezed Cal’s hand and smiled at him. “Nothing ever again.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to:
My daughter, Emma, and husband, Mark, for help with plot issues and technical details in this book and many others.
My agent, Chip MacGregor. Without you, this book wouldn’t have been possible.
My editor, Christina Boys. I’m so blessed by your insight and suggestions for crafting a stronger novel and for your publishing wisdom.
The wonderful romantic suspense author Elizabeth Goddard, for always being my sounding board and a friend I can lean on when needed. I am blessed to know you, Beth!
The very generous Ron Norris, who gives of his time and knowledge in police and military procedures, weaponry details, and information technology. As a retired police officer with the La Verne Police Department and a Certified Information Systems Security Professional, the experience and knowledge you share with me is priceless. You go above and beyond, and I can’t thank you enough! Any errors in or liberties taken with the technical details Ron so patiently explained to me are all my doing.
The Portland FBI agents and staff for sharing your knowledge, expertise, and heart for your job at the Citizen’s Academy. Our day at the firing range still brings a smile to my face. Who knew shooting a semiautomatic rifle could be such fun. I hope my respect for your dedication to the job comes through in my FBI agents in this series.
And most importantly, thanks to God for giving me the opportunity to share stories filled with the hope He gives to all of us.
Reading Group Guide
1. Tara is shocked when she learns that the Lone Wolf Bomber is her former friend, and she struggles to accept that he could be a killer. Have you ever had a friend who surprised you, perhaps betrayed you, and you struggled to come to grips with it? If so, how did you handle it? How long did it take for you to accept—or maybe you are still working on it?
2. When Tara sees that the agent who is supposed to protect her has disappeared, she panics and decides to rely only on herself. She doesn’t consult God. Doesn’t talk to Cal, but runs. What do you think she should have done in that situation? What would you have done and why?
3. Cal promises to be by Tara’s side to protect her, but he no sooner offers the promise than he leaves her in the care of others. Do you think he had a good reason for leaving her behind each time he does so? Have you ever promised to do something and had to go back on that promise? How did that make you feel? Make the other person feel? If you could go back and change your decision, would you? If so, what would you have done?
4. Tara had to come face-to-face with the Lone Wolf, a very traumatic experience for her, but she chose to trust God to get her through the situation. Have you ever faced a difficult situation where you wanted to panic but relied on God? What was the outcome and what might the outcome have been if you hadn’t trusted Him?
5. For a long time, Cal blames himself for the loss of the young boy and the women Keeler killed. Do you think Cal was justified in blaming himself? How do you think you would have felt in such a situation? How might his life have been different if he’d let go of the guilt earlier?
6. At first, Tara thought Cal was controlling and rigid like her former fiancé, but as she got to know Cal she learned there were many sides to his personality. Have you ever pigeonholed people when you first met them and had to change your opinion? Do you think most people do this, and if so, what can we do to stop it from happening?
7. Both Cal and Tara let their past take over, and as a result it changes their future. Have you ever let something from your past change the course of your life? Are you glad you did so, or do you regret it? In either case, why?
8. Trusting God—so easy to say, but if you’re like Cal and Tara, it can be very hard to do. Is there an area in your life where you aren’t trusting God? Do you want that to change? If so, what can you do about it?
9. Cal doesn’t open up to his team, as he’s afraid they’ll find out that he’s letting the loss of Willy and the women get to him. As a result, he’s alone when he could use a friend. Do you share yourself with others or are you more reserved like Cal? Do you like how you handle this part of your life or would you like to change? If so, why?
10. When Oren put a bomb around Aunt June’s neck, she embraced her faith and sat peacefully and without worry. Do you think you could have done the same thing? If not, how do you think you would have reacted?
Turn the page for a preview of
Kill Shot
Book two in the White Knights Series
by
Susan Sleeman
Available from FaithWords in early 2018
Wherever books are sold
Chapter One
Murder.
Not a word Dr. Olivia Dobbs took lightly, even if she didn’t believe her client’s life was in danger. Someone was stalking him, he claimed. Following him. Their sights set on killing. He couldn’t give a reason. No explanation. Just a feeling. As his therapist, she couldn’t play into his paranoia. It was her job to find a way to get through to him.
She slid closer to him on the park bench to grab his attention. “This is just a setback, Ace. We can work through it.”
He gaped at her and fidgeted with a bullet strung on a cord that he often grasped during their sessions. “You think I’m flashing back again, don’t you? To Iraq. Well, I’m not.”
“Please,” she said. “Don’t throw away years of hard work because of one bad day.”
“You don’t understand. If they find me, they’ll kill me.” He shot to his feet and ran a hand over his military haircut that harkened back to his service as a marine. He shoved the bullet into his pocket as his gaze roved over Centennial Olympic Park. Even in the sweltering night air, he shuddered. “I have to leave now, or they’ll see us together and think I told you. Then they’ll want to kill you, too. I can’t let that happen.”
“Told me what?”
“Take care, Doc.” He saluted, his gaze lingering for a moment as if imploring her to act on his behalf. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“Don’t go. Please. Let me help you.”
He shook his head, the arc more sorrowful than disappointed, and spun on his red Converse sneakers. Long legs carried him away, tattered jeans dragging on the brick walkway. His head swiveled like a searchlight, likely looking for demons he thought real. He ran his fingers through water spurting up from the Fountain of Rings then scrubbed the hand over his face. He took one last look behind, caught her gaze with eyes pleading for help, then turned up the street and disappeared into the darkness.
She sighed out her disappointment, her breath swallowed by the steamy Atlanta humidity. What a session. If you could even call it that. More like a duck-and-cover exercise on his part.
He’d been jittery and keyed up, unable to focus the entire half hour. She hadn’t seen him exhibit these classic signs of PTSD hyperarousal since he’d mastered strong coping skills, and she needed additional time to determine the cause of his regression.
Her first mistake had been to meet him at the park, but she’d had no choice when he’d refused to come to her office. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to concentrate here. Who could? Not with the sound of gushing water and people lingering until the eleven o’clock closing time just five minutes away. Her second error was letting him take
off.
He counted on her to help him navigate the scary waters of PTSD, and she’d failed him. Failed big-time. His final beseeching gaze reinforced that.
What if something happened to him in his delusional state? How could she live with that?
She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He deserved more.
She headed across the park and slipped past the five Olympic rings with colorful lights shining through jets of water. Misty spray settled on her face and arms, cooling as it evaporated. Turning north toward the Salvation Army shelter where Ace often stayed, she soon moved into a less desirable and poorly lit area.
Her steps faltered.
Maybe this wasn’t safe. Maybe she should go back.
No. She owed Ace her very best. Besides, the shelter was just ahead, and she had pepper spray. Sliding her hand into her purse to cup the cylinder, she rounded the corner. The streetlight’s warm glow directed her attention down the way to a man lying on the sidewalk, another man hunched over him. The guy stretched out on his side wore red high-tops.
“Ace?” was the only word she managed to utter as she tried to make sense of the scene.
Was Ace right? Was someone trying to kill him? This man in front of her, perhaps. Or was he helping?
He swiveled toward her. A glint of metal flashed in the light. She strained to make out the object.
A knife. He had a knife! No. Oh. No.
She screamed, the sound rolling from her throat and cutting through the silent night. He lurched to his feet. Tall. Over six feet, built and powerful, he started toward her, his knife raised and threatening.
She tried to pull out the pepper spray, but purse straps tangled around her hand.
The man lunged.
She lurched back, freed her hand, and heaved her purse at him. It slammed into his face, knocking him off guard.
Run. Now!
She whirled and took off. Running hard. Fast. Rounding the corner and not looking back.
Heavy footsteps pummeled the sidewalk behind her. He was going to use his knife on her. Kill her. Like Ace?
Ace. Poor Ace. Was he dead?
Her heart clutching, she picked up speed. The street stretched ahead. Deserted, except for a few cars at the next stoplight. She had to reach them.
You can do this.
She pounded forward, moving into a rhythm, but he was taller and his footfalls gained on her. She risked a glance over her shoulder.
He was closer. Moving fast. She kicked into gear. Her legs churned faster than she could manage. Clumsy, awkward, she lost her rhythm, and her foot wrenched in a pothole.
No! Please.
She catapulted forward, her hands slamming into the unforgiving pavement, and her cheek sandpapering across the rough surface. Pain screamed through her body, but it didn’t matter. He was going to catch her, and she was going to die.
She listened for the thump of his boots—waited for him to arrive and stand over her, but heard only a car screech to a halt behind her.
His footsteps sounded again. Moving fast. Receding.
Lifting her head, she searched. He was gone like a whisper in the night. She collapsed back on the warm concrete to catch her breath.
She was alive! Thankfully alive. But what about Ace? He needed her. She rose to her knees as steps coming from the opposite direction caught her attention.
Had the man circled around?
She shot to her feet, her hands outstretched and ready to defend herself.
An Atlanta police officer stood strong and tall, the sight of his navy uniform bringing a sigh from deep in her chest. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“A man. He was chasing me. He had a knife. I think he killed my client, Ace.” Her words came flying out, tumbling over each other. She drew in a breath to calm down and make more sense. “He was going to kill me, too. We have to help Ace. Please come with me. Now!”
“Hey, hey.” The officer held up his hands. “Slow down, okay? What’s your name?”
“There’s no time. Ace might still be alive. We need to help him.” She started down the street.
The officer’s hand came around her arm, stopping her. “Let’s not rush into danger, ma’am.”
She extricated her arm.
“Look. I’m not a ma’am. I’m Ace’s therapist. Dr. Olivia Dobbs,” she said, and quickly caught the officer up on what had transpired.
He eyed her. “I didn’t see a man.”
“You must have scared him off. Please. We have to help Ace.”
“We will,” he replied. “But we aren’t going on foot. We’ll take my car.”
She didn’t wait for further instructions but started for the front of his vehicle. He trailed her, and she heard him radioing for backup.
At the car, he stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to check for a weapon.”
“What? I’m not armed.”
“Then you won’t mind letting me check so we can get to your friend.”
She didn’t want to be searched, but she also wasn’t going to head toward a knife-wielding man without the officer. “Then do it quickly.”
She endured the frisking as onlookers ogled her, but he made it quick as she requested then opened the back door for her. She’d never been in the backseat of a police car—never been searched either—but she wasn’t going to argue with him about these points when they needed to get to Ace.
He slammed the door closed. She noticed the lack of handles in the back, locking her in. Did he think she was nuts and he had no intention of going to Ace’s rescue?
“I’m not crazy,” she said when he settled behind the wheel. “Ace is really hurt. Just drive and you’ll see. But hurry.”
“Caution is the name of the game, ma’am.” He set the car in motion and ran his gaze down both sides of the street.
Maybe he was looking for the man who’d chased her. She wanted him caught, but helping Ace was more important to her. Finally, the car eased around the corner, and she spotted Ace. He hadn’t moved.
“There, on the right,” she said, her heart plummeting. “See? He’s wearing red sneakers.”
The officer shifted into park but left the engine running. “I’ll be right back.”
He grabbed a flashlight and exited the car. She expected him to hurry over to Ace, but he made a guarded approach, scanning all directions as he walked. He ran his flashlight over Ace, then shot a look at the sky. He suddenly bolted back to the car.
“Is Ace okay?” she asked.
“Get down on the floor,” he warned as he shifted into reverse.
He gunned the engine. The car shot backward, her body catapulting toward the seat divider, her shoulder catching it hard.
She righted herself. “What’s going on?”
“Looks like a sniper, and we’re taking cover.”
“Sniper? But the man had a knife.”
“Trust me, lady. I’ve done several combat tours. There’s no way your client’s injury could be from anything but a bullet. Likely a .50 caliber, and we need to get out of sniper range before you see firsthand the damage one of those bad boys can do.”
* * *
Nothing good came from a middle-of-the-night phone call. As Agent Rick Cannon stepped into the FBI’s airport conference room and spotted top-secret binders waiting for his six-person Critical Incident Response team, he doubted tonight would be the exception.
Add his team leader Max White pacing the room in long, bold strides plus the stone-faced armed guard at the door, and Rick’s feeling morphed into certainty. Something huge had hit the fan. Lives were at stake, and his team would deploy within the hour to minimize the casualties.
Max crossed powerful arms over a massive chest, a scowl drawing down his mouth. A former Army Ranger, when Max scowled, he could intimidate the toughest of guys. Not Rick. At least not on most days. Only because he worked with Max and knew him to be reasonable and fair.
“I’m glad you’re the first to arrive.” He marched acro
ss the room to join Rick. “You’ll be taking lead on this incident.”
“Weapons or hostage issue?” Rick clarified so he could mentally prepare for which of his team roles he’d be filling on this mission.
“Weapons.” Max tapped the nearest classified binder. “I can’t read you in until the team is in place and we unseal the documents, but be prepared for your worst nightmare to come true.”
Worst nightmare. Likely an even bigger incident than Rick had first thought. After all, Max wasn’t one for drama. He was more a levelheaded and even-keeled kind of guy.
“Take a moment to get your head in the game so when the rest of the team arrives we’re ready to move,” he said before stepping up to a large whiteboard.
He picked up a cool blue marker, and Rick watched him jot each team member’s name on the board in square, precise letters. After they unsealed the documents and completed a quick briefing, Max would grab the fiery red marker and note assignments below their names. A procedure used to keep from wasting valuable time in planning, so the minute their Cessna touched down wherever they were headed, they’d be ready to take action.
Laughter rang out behind Rick, seeming out of place. He shifted to focus on his teammates, cyber expert Kaci North and hostage negotiator Shane Erwin, as they stepped through the door. Their focus lingered on the binders, abruptly stilling their laughter.
Forensic specialist Brynn Young trailed behind them. She stopped to stare at the table. Even in the middle of the night, every hair on her head was in place, but she smoothed a hand over it anyway, the only hint she would ever give of her unease.
Kaci pushed up black glasses, her eyes dark with concern as her focus drifted to Rick. “Looks like it’s going to be a tough one.”
He nodded but didn’t mention he’d take lead. If Max wanted them to know, he’d say something.
Shane continued into the room, and his long strides carried him across the space. He dropped into the chair closest to Max. “Any chance you’ll read us in before everyone gets here?”
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