PRAISE FOR JANICE CANTORE
“A complex tale of murder, deceit, and faith challenges, complete with multifaceted characterizations, authentic details, and action scenes, even a subtle hint of romance . . . [all] well integrated into a suspenseful story line that keeps pages turning until the end.”
MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW on Lethal Target
“Well-drawn characters and steady action make for a fun read.”
WORLD MAGAZINE on Lethal Target
“Readers who crave suspense will devour Cantore’s engaging crime drama while savoring the sweet romantic swirl. . . . Crisis Shot kicks off this latest series with a literal bang.”
ROMANTIC TIMES
“A gripping crime story filled with complex and interesting characters and a plot filled with twists and turns.”
THE SUSPENSE ZONE on Crisis Shot
“A pulsing crime drama with quick beats and a plot that pulls the reader in . . . [and] probably one of the most relevant books I’ve read in a while. . . . This is a suspenseful read ripped from the front page and the latest crime drama. I highly recommend.”
RADIANT LIT on Crisis Shot
“Cantore, a retired police officer, shares her love for suspense, while her experience on the force lends credibility and depth to her writing. Her characters instantly become the reader’s friends.”
CBA CHRISTIAN MARKET on Crisis Shot
“An intriguing story that could be pulled from today’s headlines.”
MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW on Crisis Shot
“The final volume of Cantore’s Cold Case Justice trilogy wraps the series with a gripping thriller that brings readers into the mind of a police officer involved in a fatal shooting case. . . . Cantore offers true-to-life stories that are relevant to today’s news.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL on Catching Heat
“Cantore manages to balance quick-paced action scenes with developed, introspective characters to keep the story moving along steadily. The issue of faith arises naturally, growing out of the characters’ struggles and history. Their romantic relationship is handled with a very light touch . . . but the police action and mystery solving shine.”
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY on Catching Heat
“Questions of faith shape the well-woven details, the taut action scenes, and the complex characters in Cantore’s riveting mystery.”
BOOKLIST on Burning Proof
“[In] the second book in Cantore’s Cold Case Justice series . . . the romantic tension between Abby and Luke seems to be growing stronger, which creates anticipation for the next installment.”
ROMANTIC TIMES on Burning Proof
“This is the start of a smart new series for retired police officer–turned–author Cantore. Interesting procedural details, multilayered characters, lots of action, and intertwined mysteries offer plenty of appeal.”
BOOKLIST on Drawing Fire
“Cantore’s well-drawn characters employ Christian values and spirituality to navigate them through tragedy, challenges, and loss. However, layered upon the underlying basis of faith is a riveting police-crime drama infused with ratcheting suspense and surprising plot twists.”
SHELF AWARENESS on Drawing Fire
“Drawing Fire rips into the heart of every reader. One dedicated homicide detective. One poignant cold case. One struggle for truth. . . . Or is the pursuit revenge?”
DIANN MILLS, bestselling author of Burden of Proof and the FBI Task Force series
“This hard-edged and chilling narrative rings with authenticity. . . . Fans of police suspense fiction will be drawn in by her accurate and dramatic portrayal.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL on Visible Threat
“Janice Cantore provides an accurate behind-the-scenes view of law enforcement and the challenges associated with solving cases. Through well-written dialogue and effective plot twists, the reader is quickly drawn into a story that sensitively yet realistically deals with a difficult topic.”
CHRISTIAN LIBRARY JOURNAL on Visible Threat
“[Cantore’s] characters resonate with an authenticity not routinely found in police dramas. Her knack with words captures Jack’s despair and bitterness and skillfully documents his spiritual journey.”
ROMANTIC TIMES on Critical Pursuit
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Visit Janice Cantore’s website at www.janicecantore.com.
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Cold Aim
Copyright © 2019 by Janice Cantore. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of woman by Faceout Studio. Copyright © Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of forest road copyright © Brendan Lynch/EyeEm/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of police car copyright © Sven Hagolani/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of man’s body copyright © m-imagephotography/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of man’s head copyright © Hero Images/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Designed by Faceout Studio, Tim Green
Edited by Erin E. Smith
Published in association with the literary agency of D.C. Jacobson & Associates LLC, an Author Management Company. www.dcjacobson.com.
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked AMP are taken from the Amplified® Bible, copyright © 2015 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org.
Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Cold Aim is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at [email protected], or call 1-800-323-9400.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Cantore, Janice, author.
Title: Cold aim / Janice Cantore.
Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., [2019] | Series: The line of duty series
Identifiers: LCCN 2018060135 | ISBN 9781496423788 (sc)
Subjects: LCSH: Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.A588 C65 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060135
Build: 2019-05-21 15:38:16 EPUB 3.0
DEDICATED TO THE VICTIMS OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING, WITH PRAYERS FOR THEIR SWIFT RESCUE AND RECOVERY.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Preview of Crisis Shot
About the Author
Discussion Questions
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to acknowledge Idele Collins, Darrell and Gail Wiltrout, and all the members of the prayer team who have shown me the power of prayer.
“FOR NOTHING IS HIDDEN, EXCEPT TO BE REVEALED; NOR HAS ANYTHING BEEN KEPT SECRET, BUT THAT IT WOULD COME TO LIGHT [THAT IS, THINGS ARE HIDDEN ONLY TEMPORARILY, UNTIL THE APPROPRIATE TIME COMES FOR THEM TO BE KNOWN].”
MARK 4:22, AMP
–––
“BUT THE EYES OF THE WICKED WILL FAIL, AND THEY WILL NOT ESCAPE [THE JUSTICE OF GOD]; AND THEIR HOPE IS TO BREATHE THEIR LAST [AND DIE].”
JOB 11:20, AMP
–––
“THERE IS NO FEAR IN LOVE, BUT PERFECT LOVE CASTS OUT FEAR.”
1 JOHN 4:18A
PROLOGUE
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
Royal’s knuckles were white with his grip on the door handle, nervousness and irritation jacking him up as if he’d just mainlined some speed. Devo, the skinny coke freak driving the car, kept rapping the same song lyrics over and over:
“Now that the party is jumping,
With the bass kicked in, the fingers are pumping. . . .
Ice, ice, baby, too cold.
Ice, ice, baby, too cold, too cold. . . .”
Royal hadn’t cared for the song when it came out a couple years ago, and the fact that Devo was not a singer, had no rhythm, and kept repeating the same thing over and over while tapping on the steering wheel with his large brass ring was aggravating to say the least. But Royal bit his tongue. This gig was the biggest thing to drop in his lap ever, and he vowed not to fail. Devo had the experience and was leading the gig, so Royal would listen, follow instructions, and do the job he was hired to do, for more money than he’d ever seen.
“You have poise for a kid, so I’m trusting you here.” The words of the man paying for the job echoed in his mind. They called him Boss Cross. “I see big things for you, Royal, so prove yourself with this task. You do that, and the sky is the limit.”
At eighteen the praise and confidence the man put in him had Royal’s chest puffed with pride. He’d do anything to make the man proud, anything. “The sky is the limit.”
“It’s ice time, baby.” Devo came to a stop, and Royal refocused on him. They’d cruised through a quiet neighborhood in San Pedro, pulled into an alley, and parked next to a cinder-block wall. It was close to 2:30 a.m. on a pitch-black, moonless night, with cloud cover. Rain had just started to fall. Big drops splattered on the windshield. Royal heard in them the same rap rhythm Devo had been tapping.
“You ready, kid?” Devo asked.
Royal looked across the car and nodded. “I’m ready,” he said, ignoring the silliness of the question because as soon as Boss Cross had found out from his friend the girl’s secret shelter, they’d planned and practiced this job so many times that Royal was fairly certain he could perform his part with his eyes closed.
“Need a little boost?” Devo pulled a baggie out of his pocket and held it out.
Royal held a hand up. “No thanks, man. Want a clear head.”
“Suit yourself.” Devo dug into the bag, and Royal looked away as the guy snorted the coke. He wasn’t even tempted to indulge. Royal felt as if he were stepping into a new life, and he was going to experience it all without being messed up.
Devo finished and sniffled, licked his fingers, then said, “Okay, check your watch. The two-minute rule applies. I kill the alarm, and once the door is open, we are in and out in two minutes—got it?”
Royal nodded and held his fist out. Devo bumped it and opened his car door. Royal followed, pulling his hoodie up as the rain pelted down. Devo made a stop at the back of the car to open the trunk. The plan was to grab the girl, toss her in the trunk, and get out of Dodge as fast as possible.
Devo then stepped up to a padlock securing a wrought iron gate in the center of the cinder-block wall. He cut the lock easily with the small bolt cutters he had with him, opening the gate to a modest, neatly kept backyard. They’d studied the target address extensively. Royal knew the layout by heart. Devo was inside the yard quickly with Royal on his heels. They reached the back door of the small, Spanish-style stucco dwelling, and Devo stopped. He held an index finger to his lips.
Royal nodded and drew a small five-shot .38 revolver from his waistband. Devo trotted off to disable the alarm—that was Devo’s specialty, anything electronic, any kind of lock—and Royal moved to the left of the back door, taking shelter under the eaves.
–––
Heather sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her bent legs, head resting on her knees. She was in a room decorated for a little girl because according to her benefactor, small female cousins usually stayed in the room. The decor was all pink and frilly, dolls and stuffed animals neatly arranged, and while at eighteen she wasn’t that far from being a little girl, she felt old, ancient, and devoid of any hope or joy reflected in the decor. Next to her on the bed was a calendar, days until the grand jury was seated marked off in black ink, only two remaining yet to be crossed off.
The closer the day came, the more her despair deepened. She was set to testify in front of a grand jury against the man who stole her innocence, the man who sweet-talked and conned her into the sex trade. At one time she believed and trusted him, maybe even loved him, until he crudely shoved her aside and sold her to the highest bidders, keeping her a prisoner for three long years, using and abusing her and letting others do the same. Ironically it was being arrested for prostitution that saved her. That and Sergeant Isaac Pink, the one cop who believed her, the one cop who pushed back on the charges against her and turned the focus of his investigation onto her captor, exploiter, and the real criminal, Porter Cross.
Heather knew Sergeant Pink had fought hard for her, and he still believed in the institutions she’d long since lost faith in.
“You testify, tell the truth, look into the jury’s eyes, and this evil man will go down. I promise you.”
Heather reluctantly agreed, and Pink even gave her shelter, housing her in his downstairs guest room to keep her safe until the grand jury.
But was she safe?
Tonight, fear kept her from sleep, kept her tense. Porter Cross was a rich, powerful movie producer, a famous and ruthless man. He had no shortage of wealthy, connected friends who were equally wicked. If she did reach the grand jury, would those law-abiding, normal people truly believe her, a woman arrested for prostitution, over Cross?
Out of respect for Pink and all he had done for her, Heather dutifully crossed off the days until the jury convened, but now, two days out, her courage failed her. She’d packed a bag and was ready to flee, take her chances out in the world and try as best she could to forget Porter Cross. Would Pink understand?
In the end, it didn’t matter if he understood. He thought that Heather’s being here was a big secret. The trouble was, Heather knew big secrets never stayed buried.
Time ticked away as Heather waited for the sounds to subside upstairs, something that would indicate that Pink and his family had dropped off to sleep. She knew the alarm code, though he’d been careful not to show her, and she could quietly let herself out. One thing the pas
t few weeks in Pink’s house had taught Heather was that she had a gift for computers and electronics. Porter Cross had had a computer and he worked on it constantly, but he wouldn’t let Heather touch it. Isaac Pink had one also, and Heather had spent hours learning from him how it worked and why. She wished she could take it with her.
It was important not to have to explain to Sergeant Pink why she had to leave because she knew she’d lose her nerve as soon as she saw his face. But she also knew that even if the grand jury believed her—and that was a big if—any trial for Cross would be a joke and the man would walk. Where would she be in Pink’s eyes then? She certainly couldn’t live with him and his family forever.
There were other reasons she had to leave. She’d heard Pink on the phone when she wasn’t supposed to be listening. He feared that Cross was actively searching for her, trying to locate her hiding place, and if he found her, Cross would kill her. Pink didn’t have to convince Heather of that; she was certain Cross would kill her when he found her, and there was nothing that would stop him from killing Pink as well. Heather was putting him and his family in danger the longer she stayed.
Sometime after two in the morning, Heather got up from bed. She peered out into the dark night and saw that rain was falling. Pulling on a thin Windbreaker over her sweater, she zipped it up and grabbed her backpack. Something fell onto the floor, sounding like a tremendous explosion to her oversensitive ears, and she held her breath before slowly picking it up. It was the small Bible Mrs. Pink had given her.
“Read it, dear. It will give you peace.”
Heather had tried to read it. She’d even asked Mrs. Pink to explain a paragraph or two to her, and a couple of passages she’d read had warmed her heart. After all, God was supposed to defend the fatherless. But the book hadn’t stopped her fear. Still, she opened her backpack and shoved it inside, then zipped it back up. Slinging the pack onto one shoulder, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the kitchen, wincing when the floorboard creaked. After a minute, hearing no other sound, she continued forward.
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