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Whiskey Creek Press
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright ©2007 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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TRAIL OF DESIRE
by
Felicia Forella
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright ©
2007 by Lea Forella Moyer
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-59374-644-5
Credits
Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston
Editor: Katherine Smith
Printed in the United States of America
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
BLANCHE'S DESIRE
"Blanche's Desire is an extremely likeable, almost fairytale like book, by Felicia Forella that pulled me in from the first page. The whimsical touches and references to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs were ingenious."
Aggie Tsirikas
Just Erotic Romance Reviews
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
GHOST OF A CHANCE
"(Ghost of a Chance is) Truly an exciting romance that takes us back in time with these star crossed lovers where nothing can change the bonds of love. Love conquers all even death! Back in time Nick realizes that the real true love of his life is Bethany and she gives him a reason and the strength to live even after he is shot down in Nam. Don't miss this one it's a story that will show how deep the power of love is."
Louise Riveiro-Mitchell
The Romance Studio
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
THE PRINCESS AND THE O
"Unexpectedly delightful and wholly enticing, ThePrincess And The O will tease your imagination with a pleasure that is hard to resist. If you want a book that has incredible romance and suspenseful drama then The Princess And The O is definitely a must read book. Ms. Forella should be congratulated on penning a fantastic story that has characters that appear bigger than life, very well done."
Sheryl
Ecataromance
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
DEADLY BRIEFS
"Deadly Briefs, the opening volley of Felicia Forella's Class of ‘93 trilogy, is a unique blend of hot romance, thrilling action and strong characterizations that is skillfully laced with sharp wit and human insight. Aiden and Erika sizzle—the irrestible force and the immovable object—and will keep you turning the pages to see who wins their delightfully unpredictable tug of war. Her leather holster and lace teddy heroine is more than a match for her strong hero with enough brains to recognize his lady is just as strong, just as capable, and usually right."
Rayne Forrest, author of Mountain High and Under a Painted Moon
Dedication
For the indomitable Sandy, who's waited very patiently for this book.
For Patty and her husband Larry, who lent their knowledge and shared their love of hiking.
In memory of Primula, even though the only hiking we did together was through the fields of her family's dairy farm and on the streets of NYC.
Author's Note
The 2,175-mile Appalachian National Scenic Trail runs from Georgia to Maine and is enjoyed by thousands of hikers each year. Low-impact use and the principle of “leave no trace” are essential rules to preserve the quality of the environment for everyone and future generations. While I tried to have Braedon and Katrina adhere to as many of these philosophies as possible, I did take artistic license at times. Mainly, AT organizations request hikers not bathe in the streams. I took some liberties for the sake of the plot knowing that I certainly wouldn't be interested in anything romantic after a hot sweaty day of hiking unless I'd been able to clean up!
If you ever get the chance, hike part of the AT. My husband and I have a great time taking day walks on the parts of the Trail near us.
Chapter 1
"If you think I'm sleeping in there with you, you're out of your flipping mind."
FBI Special Agent Katrina Boyd gazed in horror at the small tent set up in the office conference room. With its zippered entrance hanging partially open, the contraption looked like it was grinning at her. No way was she climbing into that thing every night with fellow FBI Special Agent Braedon Powell.
"It's as large a tent as I'm willing to carry, since I'm the one who has to pack it all up and down the Appalachian Trail. If you want something bigger, you can strap it on your backpack.” Powell glared at her, his sensuous mouth set in a tight line, and his hands fisted on his slim hips.
The fact that she even thought about his hips or considered his mouth sensuous was problematic. And part of the reason she planned to request a personnel change on this assignment. For the sake of her sanity, only one of them could be a part of this manhunt.
How the heck had she gotten tapped for this case? She knew how, she'd been chosen as much for her skill and seniority as for her passion for hiking and camping. Under different circumstances, she'd have been psyched to get the nod.
Her gaze crept back to the miniscule tent mocking her in the corner of the room. “It's too small for the both of us."
"No, it's not. It's a small four-person tent."
"A four small-person tent, you mean.” Katrina shifted her gaze between the nylon structure and her coworker. The man would never be classified as a small person, not in a million years. At six feet tall, Powell possessed a body worthy of a football linebacker. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he'd joined the FBI by way of the Philadelphia Eagles instead of the United States Air Force. His broad shoulders and wide chest filled doorways when he entered a room.
Nope, no way, no how, did she intend to spend who-knew-how-long trapped in that confined space with him. Her hormones turned somersaults if he was on the same floor of their high-rise Center City Philadelphia office building. Trapped out in the middle of nature, alone, they'd be winning gold medals in gymnastic floor routines conducted in close quarters.
If the man weren't a colleague, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. But he was, and it would be.
All she had to do was convince the Special Agent in Charge that any other agent was more qualified for this assignment than a newbie with six month's experience. Replace her or replace him, it didn't matter much. She'd gladly give up the challenge of tracking down a possible serial killer on the Appalachian Trail in order to avoid such c
lose quarters with Braedon Powell.
Coward.
She wasn't a coward. She wasn't. She was a self-preservationist. Her dislike of the pairing went beyond her unruly and unprofessional attraction.
Powell wasn't known for his investigative skills or his abilities in the field. Heck, he wasn't known for anything at all. The only thing worse than being stuck with a drop-dead sexy coworker was being stuck with the FNG—flipping new guy. He hadn't been with the Bureau long enough to develop much of a reputation, except for the one he had as a womanizer. The rumor mill ground out big time gossip about his exploits and conquests. Funny, though, the same gossip merry-go-round didn't contain the names of any women in their office building who'd been lucky enough to make the beast with two backs with him.
Her career, however, teetered on the brink of going big. A promotion loomed on the near horizon. It had been strongly hinted at during her last performance review. She just needed the right break, and she hungered for it. This assignment with any other agent might be it. She'd been surreptitiously informed that she was in direct competition with Special Agent Thicke for the next opening at NCAVC, the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. Successful completion of a case of this magnitude might just be the edge she needed to triumph and get to be a “profiler."
Partnered with Powell had disaster written all over it and she refused to have her name linked to his.
He'd just have to find his way onto another assignment. To heck with personally backing out. She needed this collar.
"Look, I'm not thrilled with the idea of being stuck in the woods with you in a portable house the size of a port-a-potty. But that's life. This bastard only strikes at couples, so separate tents isn't an option."
Why did the realization he didn't want to be squished in with her sting?
Why wouldn't he want to be paired up with one of the best agents in the Philadelphia office? What the heck was wrong with him? As the FNG, he should be jumping at the chance to learn from her.
"Do you have something against being partnered with me?"
Jack Griffin, the Special Agent in Charge of the Appalachian Trail murders investigation and the task force, stuck his head in the conference room and prevented Powell from answering. “Boyd, Powell, my office. Now.” The slamming of the door signaled his abrupt departure.
Powell cocked a questioning eyebrow as he turned his attention to her. After working with Griffin for almost five years, she had acclimated herself to his gruff demeanor and scintillating conversation. His bark was worse than his bite. Most days. Hopefully, this was one of those days.
With a forward shrug of her shoulder, she gestured for Powell to follow her down the hall to Griffin's office. Her heart thumped in anticipation of addressing her concerns with the SAC. The carpeting muffled the rhythmic click of her sensible beige pumps as her quick stride carried her to her destination. Her bottom tingled, practically burned, as she walked a few steps in front of her coworker.
"Quit staring at my butt.” She spun on her heel. Powell stopped short, his mile-wide chest only inches from her own. In fact, she'd be willing to bet that if she took a deep breath, her breasts would brush against him. Beneath her linen suit jacket, her nipples beaded in anticipation.
Whoa, that train of thought had to be derailed.
"Who said I was admiring the view from behind?” The wicked gleam in his eyes belied the innocent tone of his voice. The man had obviously not paid attention during the sexual harassment awareness training.
Oh yeah, one of them—him—needed to be removed from this assignment.
Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she continued on her way, making sure to stay at Powell's side. When they reached Griffin's office door, she raised her knuckles to knock.
"Enter."
Powell gestured for her to precede him. She swept into the cramped office, taking the chair closest to the door. The backs of Powell's calves brushed her knees as he slid past, giving her a tempting view of his backside. Good grief, she was as bad as him. His large frame overflowed the tiny office chair. Hadn't she heard that he'd been a pilot of some sort during his years in the Air Force? How the heck did he fit in a cockpit?
Griffin pushed two burgeoning file folders across his desk, one to each of them. “If you're with us, Boyd, and ready to discuss the case, I'd like to get rolling."
Shoot. She'd been caught off in space. Griffin always was too observant for his own good. Katrina snatched up the packet and began to leaf through the papers. On top of the stack was a newspaper article dated over the weekend. The headline screamed at her in big bold black letters that jumped off the page.
FOURTH COUPLE FOUND BUTCHERED IN TENT.
Her fingers crinkled the paper as she read the article, which gave the barest of information about the crime. It merely stated that a fourth couple had been found murdered on the popular hiking trail and local and state law enforcement authorities had joined forces with the FBI to search for the killer or killers. The newspapers had finally acquiesced to the FBI request to limit the details relayed to the public. The general public had a right to be informed for their safety. No one argued that. But the task force needed to have a gauge to judge the validity of the calls pouring into the tip line. Holding back crucial details was the tried and true method of doing just that.
She had to flip to the next sheet to read the horrific details provided by the local police. The pertinent facts were eerily similar to the other attacks that had taken place along a four county stretch of the hiking trail. The vicious nature of the crimes and the increasing number of victims had led the local authorities to request FBI help.
Scanning the photos, she experienced a gut-deep compulsion to catch the person responsible for the murders. A need that went way beyond her desire to move up the FBI food chain. There was no way she was stepping back from this assignment. She'd see the victims and their families got the justice they deserved.
It meant she had to get Griffin to find her a new partner.
"I don't have to tell either of you this is the fourth couple to be found sliced and diced, two in the last three weeks. The local PDs have requested our help and we're going to give it to them. I've met with the task force and they're anxious for this phase of the investigation to begin. Are you both ready to head out on the nature trail?” Jack shifted his perceptive gaze back and forth.
"I'm ready, Griffin, but I want a new partner.” There, she'd said it. Her shoulders felt lighter for the first time all day.
"What?” The man next to her bristled, his anger pouring off of him.
Too bad. Her own career had to take priority.
"Before I deny your request, I'll let you tell me why you're requesting a different partner.” Jack's attention lasered in on her.
"I'm sure Special Agent Powell is a capable agent, but he's new to this line of work.” She kept her gaze locked with Griffin's, unwilling to meet Powell's stare until she'd said her peace. “Until a few months ago, he was an Air Force pilot. I just don't think he's ready for an assignment of this magnitude.” She kept her tone level, her voice calm, and delivered a perfectly logical explanation. She shot Powell a I'm-sorry-but-I-had-no-choice-besides-you-don't-want-to-work-with-me-either look over her right shoulder.
"You're so wrong, Boyd, I don't know where to begin."
"Excuse me?” Powell's words floored her. She'd been wrong before, but never “so wrong.” Somewhat wrong, mostly wrong, but never “so wrong I don't know where to begin.” And she'd never been called out by the FNG.
"Powell is former Special Ops, a Combat Rescue Officer, in addition to being a pilot. He's got training that makes Quantico look like kindergarten and he's been on missions he can't even talk about,” Griffin interjected before Powell drew a breath to continue.
She absorbed that fact. So there was more to the Freaking New Guy than she'd thought. The gossips had missed that piece of information. So much for the pampered fly boy she'd thought had weaseled his way into the Bureau af
ter tiring of the nomadic military life. As she turned her attention to Powell, he flashed her a I'm-sorry-but-I'm-not-going-anywhere smile. The air around her thinned, his shit-eating grin sucking it from the room. The curve of his lips transformed his rugged face from classically handsome to flat-out gorgeous. A genuine happy smile might just knock her into next week.
And she was going to be stuck with him. In a tent. For who knew how long.
As Powell explained further, she hoped she hadn't missed anything important in her oxygen-deprived state. “My survival training and weapons skills will be a valuable asset when combined with your investigative and analytic abilities. Surely you're not questioning Griffin's judgment in teaming us up?"
No. Not anymore, anyway. The firm set of Griffin's lips and the determined lift to his chin clued her as to his frame of mind. Arguing would be a waste of energy.
Energy she was going to need to make the best out of a really, really crappy situation since it looked like she'd better get used to sharing her personal space with Braedon Powell.
"If we're all on board with this, I want to review what I learned from the task force before you two pack up and head off."
Braedon focused on Jack's voice, drawing his attention away from his partner. The one who'd been ready to dump him on his ass. He had to admire her forthrightness, not going behind his back and voicing her concerns. She had balls, probably big brass ones. He respected that and wondered what else she had hidden under that prissy suit. He forced his attention on the events at hand and not on imagining the shape of Katrina's breasts.
Shit, he should have been jumping in to second her request to send him back to the cubicle farm instead of out in the wilds of Pennsylvania with the sexiest woman he'd seen in a month of Sundays. The damn woman was a serious threat to his self-imposed celibacy and his sanity. Instead, he'd cemented his hell.
Katrina settled her folder on her lap, ready to go. No female histrionics, no show of emotion at all. She accepted the decision of her superior and got right back down to business. One more thing to respect.
Trail of Desire [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 2] Page 1