Nichole Severn's Blog - Posts Tagged "romantic-suspense"
Cover Reveal for The Fugitive!
It's cover reveal day for The Fugitive, the first book in my brand new Intrigue series, Marshal Law!
Four US Marshals. Four of the country's most dangerous criminals. One shot to save their futures.
Request an ARC: http://eepurl.com/g88hqT
She’s on the run, pregnant…
And about to find out whom she can trust.
When Raleigh Wilde reappears in Deputy Beckett Foster’s life as a fugitive, he’s shocked. He has a job to do, but she needs his help clearing her name. By-the-book Beckett is having none of it until he learns she’s pregnant—with his child. With a killer willing to do anything to keep Raleigh from discovering who embezzled millions from the charity she runs, the lawman will do whatever it takes to ensure he doesn’t become a fugitive father.
Four US Marshals. Four of the country's most dangerous criminals. One shot to save their futures.
Request an ARC: http://eepurl.com/g88hqT
She’s on the run, pregnant…
And about to find out whom she can trust.
When Raleigh Wilde reappears in Deputy Beckett Foster’s life as a fugitive, he’s shocked. He has a job to do, but she needs his help clearing her name. By-the-book Beckett is having none of it until he learns she’s pregnant—with his child. With a killer willing to do anything to keep Raleigh from discovering who embezzled millions from the charity she runs, the lawman will do whatever it takes to ensure he doesn’t become a fugitive father.
Chapter One Reveal: The Fugitive
Raleigh Wilde.
Hell, it’d been a while since Deputy United States Marshal Beckett Foster had set sights on her, and every cell in his body responded in awareness. Four months, one week and four days to be exact. Those soul-searching light green eyes, her soft brown hair and sharp cheekbones. But all that beauty didn't take away from the sawed-off shotgun currently pointed at his chest. His hand hovered just above his firearm as the Mothers Come First foundation’s former chief financial officer—now fugitive—widened her stance.
“Don’t you know breaking into someone’s home is illegal, Marshal?” That voice. A man could get lost in a voice like that. Sweet and rough all in the same package. Raleigh smoothed her fingers over the gun in her hand. It hadn’t taken her but a few seconds after she’d come through the door to realize he’d been waiting for her at the other end of the wide room.
It hadn’t taken him but a couple hours to figure out where she’d been hiding for the past four months once her file crossed his desk. What she didn’t know was how long he’d been waiting, and that he’d already relieved that gun of its rounds as well as any other weapons he’d found during his search of her aunt’s cabin.
“Come on now. You and I both know you haven’t forgotten my name that easily.” He studied her from head to toe, memorizing the fit of her oversize plaid flannel shirt, the slight loss of color in her face and the dark circles under her eyes. Yeah, living on the run did that to a person. Beckett unbuttoned his holster. He wouldn’t pull. Of all the criminals the United States Marshals Service had assigned him to recover over the years, she was the only one he’d hesitated chasing down. Then again, if he hadn’t accepted the assignment, another marshal would have. And there was no way Beckett would let anyone else bring her in.
Beckett ran his free hand along the exposed brick of the fireplace. “Gotta be honest, didn’t think you’d ever come back here. Lot of memories tied up in this place.”
“What do you want, Beckett?” The creases around her eyes deepened as she shifted her weight between both feet. She crouched slightly, searching through the single window facing East Lake then refocused on him.
Looking for a way out? Or to see if he’d come with backup? Dried grass, changing leaves, mountains and an empty dock were all that were out there. The cabin she’d been raised in as a kid sat on the west side of the lake, away from tourists, away from the main road. Even if he gave her a head start, she wouldn’t get far. There was nowhere for her to run. Not from him.
“You know that, too.” He took a single step forward, the aged wood floor protesting under his weight as he closed in on her. “You skipped out on your trial, and I’m here to bring you in.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Countering his approach, she moved backward toward the front door she’d dead-bolted right after coming inside but kept the gun aimed at him. Her boot hit the go bag she stored on the kitchen counter beside the door. “I didn’t steal that money. Someone at the charity did and faked the evidence so I’d take the fall.”
“That’s the best you got? A frame job?” Fifty and a half million dollars. Gone. The only one with continuous access to the funds stood right in front of him. Not to mention the brand-new offshore bank account, the thousands of wire transfers to that account in increments small enough they wouldn’t register for the feds, and Raleigh’s signatures on every single one of them. “You had a choice, Raleigh. You just chose wrong.”
“Beckett…” She slowed her escape. Her fingers flitted over the gun as her expression softened. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this. Find Calvin Dailey, the foundation’s CEO. I told him everything when I discovered the funds were being sent offshore. I’ve been trying to contact him for weeks. He must’ve gone into hiding when the news about my arrest hit the media, but he can clear my name.”
“I’m afraid Calvin Dailey can’t help you right now. Seems your boss left his house without about a half a gallon of his own blood. Local police haven’t found the body yet, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence considering you just revealed he’s the only other person you told about the missing money.” He locked his jaw against the fire burning through his veins, the easygoing marshal gone. Beckett lowered his hand from above his holster and took another step. “You think you know a person. Then one day you wake up and see them on the morning news getting arrested for embezzlement.”
“Calvin’s…dead?” Shock dropped her bottom lip. Real dangerous. Either Raleigh Wilde was one hell of an actress, or she honestly hadn’t known her former colleague had most likely been murdered. Shock bled to resolution and wiped the confusion from her gaze. She secured the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. Just as he’d taught her. “I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t embezzle that money. I’m not going to prison. I can’t. Not now.”
There was the woman he’d let into his life, the one with vengeance in her eyes and her middle fingers raised high. The one who’d stood up to the mugger who’d tried stealing her purse on a Portland street until it’d gotten to the point Beckett had to intervene before she punctured one of the bastard’s lungs with her high heel. The one who’d thanked him for his help by intertwining her fingers with his and showing him what real desire looked like. He’d never forget that woman. Too bad she’d never existed in the first place. Instead, he’d gotten involved with a criminal, but she wasn’t going to manipulate him again. “That’s up to the judge, sweetheart.”
“Don't call me that.” The words left her mouth between gritted teeth. “You lost the right to call me sweetheart when you disappeared after my arrest.”
“And here I was thinking you’re the one who broke us up.” He pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his holster, shards of reflected sunlight bouncing across her face. “I’m bringing you in.”
“I’ll give you one chance to walk away, Beckett.” She racked the shotgun, her expression softening slightly. “Please. For both our sakes, don’t make me pull this trigger. Turn around and pretend you never found me. It’s better for everyone if I stay lost.”
“You’re going to shoot me now, is that it?” It was possible. Honestly, how well did he really know her? They’d been together six months before she’d gotten arrested. Sure, she’d let her past slip out every once in a while, but, it turned out, nearly everything he’d known about her had been a lie. The deeper he’d dug into her life, the more he’d realized how stupid he’d been to trust her. People didn’t change. Once a criminal, always a criminal.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.” The shadows across her throat shifted as she licked her lips and swallowed. “This isn’t just about me anymore.”
Beckett stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out the rounds he’d taken from the gun. Pinching one between his thumb and index finger, he held it up for her to see. “How are you going to shoot me if the gun is empty, Raleigh?”
She faltered, her green gaze lowering to the weapon.
Beckett dropped the cuffs and the rounds and lunged. Ripping the rifle from her grip with one hand, he unholstered his own weapon and aimed with the other. In less than two breaths, he had his fugitive. The shotgun hit the floor, jarring her instantly. Nice to see there were still some things that could get through that carefully monitored exterior. “Now I can guarantee you this gun is loaded.” He motioned her to the left with the barrel of his service weapon. “Cuffs. Now.”
“You’re making a mistake. If Calvin was killed as you said, whoever stole that money is cleaning up loose ends. He’s the only one I told about the missing money. Who do you think they’ll come after next?” Raleigh crouched, picked up the handcuffs, and secured one over her wrist. The cords between her shoulders and neck flexed tight as she moved. She straightened, facing him, her light vanilla scent making its way deep into his lungs. “You take me in, you’ll only make it easier for his killer to find me.”
He ensured the cuffs were tight enough she couldn’t squirm loose, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist. An electric jolt shot up his arm in response. Hell. He’d forgotten what it was like to touch her, how his body had always craved hers. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, his lungs pressurizing with the air stuck in his throat. Six months. That’d been all the time he’d needed to fall for her, she’d been that addictive. He’d run to help when some purse snatcher had tried to take off with her bag, but, in reality, she’d been the one to save him that day. She’d changed…everything, given him hope he didn’t have to spend the rest of his life alone. Until he’d learned who she really was. Learned it’d all been one long con.
The cuffs ratcheted into place, the clicks loud in his ears as he secured her hands in front, and reality bled into focus. Justice. Integrity. Service. He’d sworn to uphold the law when he’d become a marshal, and the woman in front of him wouldn’t change that. No matter how strong her gravitational pull. Or how clever her lies. “No, Raleigh. The mistake was trusting you from the beginning.”
“I’m not going back.” She stared out the window over his shoulder, almost lost, green eyes ethereal. Seconds ticked by. Then, in an instant, her gaze snapped back to his, and his instincts screamed in warning. Raleigh wrenched away from him then kicked him square in the gut. “Not until I clear my name.”
His head hit the old wood mantel above the fireplace—hard—and he went down. The cabin blurred in his vision as he struggled to his feet; the only illumination came from a beam of sunlight through the now open front door. It was enough to give him direction. The go bag from the kitchen counter was gone. He pressed his free hand to the back of his head then glanced at his fingers. Blood. Pain spread fast through his skull. Damn, that woman had powerful legs. Beckett charged out the door, gun up, finger on the trigger. He blinked against the brightness glinting off the lake and shook his head to clear the soft ringing in his ears. “Raleigh!”
Movement registered along the lake's shore about fifty feet to his left. Cuffed, she sprinted toward a thick line of trees behind the cabin, all that soft brown hair trailing behind her.
Beckett pumped his legs hard. The sun had already started hugging the mountains. If she evaded him long enough, there was a chance she’d disappear forever. That wasn’t an option. Raleigh vanished into the tree line ahead of him. Loose rocks and fallen branches threatened to trip him up, but he only pushed himself harder.
His heart thundered behind his ears as shadows enveloped the small dirt trail ahead. Too many damn places for an ambush. He slowed, sweat beading in his hairline, and forced the adrenaline pumping through his veins to cool. His training kicked in, instincts on high alert. Raleigh might be a criminal, but she wasn’t a trained law enforcement officer. Any family she’d had, had turned their backs on her a long time ago, and her friends had been advised to keep their distance by counsel. She couldn’t hide from him. At least, not for long.
The sound of a broken twig snapping in two twisted him to the right. He took aim as branches of a fir tree swayed with the fresh breeze. Tension tightened every muscle down his spine. Three seconds. Four. A shadow slipped into his peripheral vision off to the left, and he spun, too late.
Thick, dried bark scraped across the exposed skin of his arm a split second before he ducked out of the way of the massive branch she’d swung at him. He lunged as she widened her stance for another round, hiking her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. A sharp jab of her knee knocked the air from his lungs. A growl rumbled through his chest as they hit the forest floor. He pinned her beneath him, all that lean muscle and soft skin. “You’re making this harder on yourself.”
Raleigh hooked her foot under his shin and shoved, trying to roll him onto his back. Wouldn’t work. Struggling for purchase, she bucked her hips up to dislodge his advantage. Fire ignited the subtle hints of gold around the edges of her eyes.
He secured her wrists between his hands and pulled her to her feet. “You’re under arrest.”
Hell, it’d been a while since Deputy United States Marshal Beckett Foster had set sights on her, and every cell in his body responded in awareness. Four months, one week and four days to be exact. Those soul-searching light green eyes, her soft brown hair and sharp cheekbones. But all that beauty didn't take away from the sawed-off shotgun currently pointed at his chest. His hand hovered just above his firearm as the Mothers Come First foundation’s former chief financial officer—now fugitive—widened her stance.
“Don’t you know breaking into someone’s home is illegal, Marshal?” That voice. A man could get lost in a voice like that. Sweet and rough all in the same package. Raleigh smoothed her fingers over the gun in her hand. It hadn’t taken her but a few seconds after she’d come through the door to realize he’d been waiting for her at the other end of the wide room.
It hadn’t taken him but a couple hours to figure out where she’d been hiding for the past four months once her file crossed his desk. What she didn’t know was how long he’d been waiting, and that he’d already relieved that gun of its rounds as well as any other weapons he’d found during his search of her aunt’s cabin.
“Come on now. You and I both know you haven’t forgotten my name that easily.” He studied her from head to toe, memorizing the fit of her oversize plaid flannel shirt, the slight loss of color in her face and the dark circles under her eyes. Yeah, living on the run did that to a person. Beckett unbuttoned his holster. He wouldn’t pull. Of all the criminals the United States Marshals Service had assigned him to recover over the years, she was the only one he’d hesitated chasing down. Then again, if he hadn’t accepted the assignment, another marshal would have. And there was no way Beckett would let anyone else bring her in.
Beckett ran his free hand along the exposed brick of the fireplace. “Gotta be honest, didn’t think you’d ever come back here. Lot of memories tied up in this place.”
“What do you want, Beckett?” The creases around her eyes deepened as she shifted her weight between both feet. She crouched slightly, searching through the single window facing East Lake then refocused on him.
Looking for a way out? Or to see if he’d come with backup? Dried grass, changing leaves, mountains and an empty dock were all that were out there. The cabin she’d been raised in as a kid sat on the west side of the lake, away from tourists, away from the main road. Even if he gave her a head start, she wouldn’t get far. There was nowhere for her to run. Not from him.
“You know that, too.” He took a single step forward, the aged wood floor protesting under his weight as he closed in on her. “You skipped out on your trial, and I’m here to bring you in.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Countering his approach, she moved backward toward the front door she’d dead-bolted right after coming inside but kept the gun aimed at him. Her boot hit the go bag she stored on the kitchen counter beside the door. “I didn’t steal that money. Someone at the charity did and faked the evidence so I’d take the fall.”
“That’s the best you got? A frame job?” Fifty and a half million dollars. Gone. The only one with continuous access to the funds stood right in front of him. Not to mention the brand-new offshore bank account, the thousands of wire transfers to that account in increments small enough they wouldn’t register for the feds, and Raleigh’s signatures on every single one of them. “You had a choice, Raleigh. You just chose wrong.”
“Beckett…” She slowed her escape. Her fingers flitted over the gun as her expression softened. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this. Find Calvin Dailey, the foundation’s CEO. I told him everything when I discovered the funds were being sent offshore. I’ve been trying to contact him for weeks. He must’ve gone into hiding when the news about my arrest hit the media, but he can clear my name.”
“I’m afraid Calvin Dailey can’t help you right now. Seems your boss left his house without about a half a gallon of his own blood. Local police haven’t found the body yet, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence considering you just revealed he’s the only other person you told about the missing money.” He locked his jaw against the fire burning through his veins, the easygoing marshal gone. Beckett lowered his hand from above his holster and took another step. “You think you know a person. Then one day you wake up and see them on the morning news getting arrested for embezzlement.”
“Calvin’s…dead?” Shock dropped her bottom lip. Real dangerous. Either Raleigh Wilde was one hell of an actress, or she honestly hadn’t known her former colleague had most likely been murdered. Shock bled to resolution and wiped the confusion from her gaze. She secured the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. Just as he’d taught her. “I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t embezzle that money. I’m not going to prison. I can’t. Not now.”
There was the woman he’d let into his life, the one with vengeance in her eyes and her middle fingers raised high. The one who’d stood up to the mugger who’d tried stealing her purse on a Portland street until it’d gotten to the point Beckett had to intervene before she punctured one of the bastard’s lungs with her high heel. The one who’d thanked him for his help by intertwining her fingers with his and showing him what real desire looked like. He’d never forget that woman. Too bad she’d never existed in the first place. Instead, he’d gotten involved with a criminal, but she wasn’t going to manipulate him again. “That’s up to the judge, sweetheart.”
“Don't call me that.” The words left her mouth between gritted teeth. “You lost the right to call me sweetheart when you disappeared after my arrest.”
“And here I was thinking you’re the one who broke us up.” He pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his holster, shards of reflected sunlight bouncing across her face. “I’m bringing you in.”
“I’ll give you one chance to walk away, Beckett.” She racked the shotgun, her expression softening slightly. “Please. For both our sakes, don’t make me pull this trigger. Turn around and pretend you never found me. It’s better for everyone if I stay lost.”
“You’re going to shoot me now, is that it?” It was possible. Honestly, how well did he really know her? They’d been together six months before she’d gotten arrested. Sure, she’d let her past slip out every once in a while, but, it turned out, nearly everything he’d known about her had been a lie. The deeper he’d dug into her life, the more he’d realized how stupid he’d been to trust her. People didn’t change. Once a criminal, always a criminal.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.” The shadows across her throat shifted as she licked her lips and swallowed. “This isn’t just about me anymore.”
Beckett stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out the rounds he’d taken from the gun. Pinching one between his thumb and index finger, he held it up for her to see. “How are you going to shoot me if the gun is empty, Raleigh?”
She faltered, her green gaze lowering to the weapon.
Beckett dropped the cuffs and the rounds and lunged. Ripping the rifle from her grip with one hand, he unholstered his own weapon and aimed with the other. In less than two breaths, he had his fugitive. The shotgun hit the floor, jarring her instantly. Nice to see there were still some things that could get through that carefully monitored exterior. “Now I can guarantee you this gun is loaded.” He motioned her to the left with the barrel of his service weapon. “Cuffs. Now.”
“You’re making a mistake. If Calvin was killed as you said, whoever stole that money is cleaning up loose ends. He’s the only one I told about the missing money. Who do you think they’ll come after next?” Raleigh crouched, picked up the handcuffs, and secured one over her wrist. The cords between her shoulders and neck flexed tight as she moved. She straightened, facing him, her light vanilla scent making its way deep into his lungs. “You take me in, you’ll only make it easier for his killer to find me.”
He ensured the cuffs were tight enough she couldn’t squirm loose, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist. An electric jolt shot up his arm in response. Hell. He’d forgotten what it was like to touch her, how his body had always craved hers. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, his lungs pressurizing with the air stuck in his throat. Six months. That’d been all the time he’d needed to fall for her, she’d been that addictive. He’d run to help when some purse snatcher had tried to take off with her bag, but, in reality, she’d been the one to save him that day. She’d changed…everything, given him hope he didn’t have to spend the rest of his life alone. Until he’d learned who she really was. Learned it’d all been one long con.
The cuffs ratcheted into place, the clicks loud in his ears as he secured her hands in front, and reality bled into focus. Justice. Integrity. Service. He’d sworn to uphold the law when he’d become a marshal, and the woman in front of him wouldn’t change that. No matter how strong her gravitational pull. Or how clever her lies. “No, Raleigh. The mistake was trusting you from the beginning.”
“I’m not going back.” She stared out the window over his shoulder, almost lost, green eyes ethereal. Seconds ticked by. Then, in an instant, her gaze snapped back to his, and his instincts screamed in warning. Raleigh wrenched away from him then kicked him square in the gut. “Not until I clear my name.”
His head hit the old wood mantel above the fireplace—hard—and he went down. The cabin blurred in his vision as he struggled to his feet; the only illumination came from a beam of sunlight through the now open front door. It was enough to give him direction. The go bag from the kitchen counter was gone. He pressed his free hand to the back of his head then glanced at his fingers. Blood. Pain spread fast through his skull. Damn, that woman had powerful legs. Beckett charged out the door, gun up, finger on the trigger. He blinked against the brightness glinting off the lake and shook his head to clear the soft ringing in his ears. “Raleigh!”
Movement registered along the lake's shore about fifty feet to his left. Cuffed, she sprinted toward a thick line of trees behind the cabin, all that soft brown hair trailing behind her.
Beckett pumped his legs hard. The sun had already started hugging the mountains. If she evaded him long enough, there was a chance she’d disappear forever. That wasn’t an option. Raleigh vanished into the tree line ahead of him. Loose rocks and fallen branches threatened to trip him up, but he only pushed himself harder.
His heart thundered behind his ears as shadows enveloped the small dirt trail ahead. Too many damn places for an ambush. He slowed, sweat beading in his hairline, and forced the adrenaline pumping through his veins to cool. His training kicked in, instincts on high alert. Raleigh might be a criminal, but she wasn’t a trained law enforcement officer. Any family she’d had, had turned their backs on her a long time ago, and her friends had been advised to keep their distance by counsel. She couldn’t hide from him. At least, not for long.
The sound of a broken twig snapping in two twisted him to the right. He took aim as branches of a fir tree swayed with the fresh breeze. Tension tightened every muscle down his spine. Three seconds. Four. A shadow slipped into his peripheral vision off to the left, and he spun, too late.
Thick, dried bark scraped across the exposed skin of his arm a split second before he ducked out of the way of the massive branch she’d swung at him. He lunged as she widened her stance for another round, hiking her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. A sharp jab of her knee knocked the air from his lungs. A growl rumbled through his chest as they hit the forest floor. He pinned her beneath him, all that lean muscle and soft skin. “You’re making this harder on yourself.”
Raleigh hooked her foot under his shin and shoved, trying to roll him onto his back. Wouldn’t work. Struggling for purchase, she bucked her hips up to dislodge his advantage. Fire ignited the subtle hints of gold around the edges of her eyes.
He secured her wrists between his hands and pulled her to her feet. “You’re under arrest.”
Chapter One: Into the Veins
People were poison.
King County Sheriff Blair Sanders followed the deep tracks along the hiking trail winding west around Rattlesnake Lake. Temperatures dropped in the shade of tall pines even as the sun battled the last few inches of winter snow and ice clinging to the final days of March. Her boots suctioned into the mud as low conversation reached her ears.
The crime scene unit had found the body.
Blair nodded in greeting as she passed the deputy stationed at the perimeter and ducked under the crime scene tape. Hikers kept their distance, whispering between themselves. The call had come in three hours ago, but it’d taken the team at least half that time to find the remains. The trail stretched ten and a half miles and switchbacked along Rattlesnake Mountain before delivering hikers on the north side, and the witness who’d called 9-1-1 had had to leave the park to get cell service. Unfortunately for her, service bars hadn’t been all she’d found.
“Who called it in?” Blair’s legs burned as she hiked the small distance toward Seattle’s chief medical examiner who was crouched over the remains.
“Hiker.” Dr. Vanessa Moss pointed to a thin, dark-haired woman outside of the perimeter tape talking with one of the deputies. “Call came in at six this morning.”
From the state of the victim’s clothing, she’d guess the body hadn’t been out here more than a few hours. Jeans, blazer, nice blouse. Whoever the woman was, she hadn’t come out here for hiking. Not in heeled boots. Blair instantly homed in on movement beneath the victim’s silk blouse and leaned in closer. Pointing down, she glanced at Dr. Moss. “You know she’s moving, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” the ME said.
The head of a vibrant green snake burrowed through the victim’s clothing, followed by another. Half a dozen at least. Her gasp filled the scene, and Blair closed her eyes to counter the embarrassment heating her neck and face. She forced herself to stay in place. The snakes’ bright red eyes stood stark against their soft, coiling bodies, as though staring back in warning. Her stomach tightened. It wasn’t uncommon for wildlife and insects to feed off of a set of remains, but this… She had a hard time believing this had been an accident. No signs of a struggle or blunt force trauma. A remote location. “I’ve never seen snakes go after a set of remains like this.”
“The cold drove them to take shelter inside the victim’s remains, but as far as I can tell, they haven’t fed on the body. Nothing has.” Dr. Moss reached a gloved hand for one of the snakes and pulled it free from the body. Handing it off to the Regional Animal Services deputy a few feet behind her, the pathologist shifted her position to the head of the remains. Her dark gaze scanned the victim. With long, brown hair tied at the base of her neck and a shoulder-to-ankle protective bodysuit, Dr. Moss exuded expertise and intelligence in one petite package. The ME didn’t normally respond to death scenes, usually leaving this kind of work to her medicolegal investigators, but Blair appreciated her assistance all the same. Dr. Moss pulled another reptile free, staring into small red eyes a few inches from her face. “Animals will avoid eating dead flesh if they smell something off. I’ll have to get her back to Harborview to know for sure, but we could be looking at a poisoning.”
“I don’t see any bruising or evidence she fought her attacker.” Blair crouched beside the remains. Medium-length brown hair with perfectly shaded highlights spread around the victim’s shoulders. Pristine makeup fought to cover a birthmark above a thin upper lip, professionally sculpted arched eyebrows revealing the victim’s natural coloring. Dried skin and thick foundation flaked off around the woman’s chin. Blair unpocketed a notebook from her jacket pocket and compressed the end of her pen. “Any idea who she is or how long she’s been out here?”
“I’ll be able to check her clothing for identification once I remove all the snakes.” Dr. Moss pushed to her feet. “Judging on lividity and these temperatures, I’d say she was out here between five and six hours. As for time of death, I’ll need to get her on the slab to give you a better timeframe. I will say she was already dead before the killer disposed of her body.”
“Not snakes. Vipers,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. “More specifically Trimeresurus rubeus or ruby-eyed green pit vipers.”
Blair turned, instantly aware of the six-foot-plus, striking man inside the perimeter tape. She swept her focus the length of his muscular body, void of credentials, and instant stiffness ran down her spine. T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. Short brown hair and a few days of beard growth pronounced the enthralling brightness of his gaze. No uniform. Not a federal agent and sure as hell not one of hers.
“Vipers aren’t indigenous to this area.” He took a single step closer and intensified the responsiveness simmering along her nerve endings. “Whoever dumped the body out here left them behind, too. Maybe as some kind of message or warning.”
“Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this is a crime scene.” Blair faced him fully, her hands automatically sweeping her jacket out of the way to show her badge on her hip. “You’re not allowed to be here unless authorized, and I don’t see a badge.”
“Oh, I’ve got one of those.” He dug into his back pocket, flipping open his wallet before pulling a card from the depths. He handed it off to her, callused knuckles brushing against her hand. “Colson Rutherford. Seems you might’ve found my missing person.”
Blair read the card, her gut souring. A license. “You’re a private investigator.”
“Among other things.” Colson plucked the card from her hand and tucked his wallet back into his pocket, that playful gaze never leaving hers. Amusement deepened the smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He scanned her from head to toe as he shifted his weight between both feet. Sizing her up. “You must be Sheriff Sanders. I’ve read a lot about you. Your work on that serial case two months ago has been topping headlines for weeks.”
The case she couldn’t forget. No matter how many times she’d tried. Three victims—all investigative journalists—forced to swallow gasoline and set on fire out of a killer’s wrathful revenge. Colson was right. That case and her work with the FBI had rocketed her career into the limelight, but fame and recognition hadn’t ever been the reason she’d run for King County’s sheriff four years ago. It was because of people like the man standing in front of her.
Blair pressed the edge of her notebook into her palm as anger bubbled to escape. “I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, Mr. Rutherford. Police solve crimes. Private investigators exploit their clients for profit and leverage. Now get off my scene before I have you arrested for obstructing a homicide investigation.”
She turned back to the remains and forced herself to take a deep breath, but the flood of heat that’d crawled into her neck refused to abate. She made a note to research ruby-eyed green pit vipers and check them against the snakes Regional Animal Services had collected into an oversize sack. Hisses permeated through the fabric, their violent movements a testament to the warning she’d noted in their red eyes. “Let’s check her clothing for an ID, Doc.”
“Her name is Rachel Faulkner.” Colson’s voice penetrated through the focused haze she used to block out the world when working a new case, and her pulse ticked up a notch. He’d stepped back behind the tape, all six-three, maybe six-four, of muscle and mystery honed in on her. “She was reported missing two days ago. I recognize her blazer. It was one of her signature pieces of clothing. Her father hired me to find her.”
A hint of regret infused the last part of his statement, but Blair’s impatience only burned hotter. She turned to face him. “Mr. Rutherford—”
“My friends call me Colson.” The tall, dark, and dangerous private investigator raised both hands, palms forward as though in surrender, but she’d dealt with guys like him her entire life. She knew better. “And I know what you’re about to say, but I figured you’d want to save your department and her family time by hearing what I’ve gathered on the victim these last couple of days. Or are you going to let your personal opinions of private investigators impede your investigation into who killed her?”
The fire under her skin cooled. Her personal opinions, as he’d put it, had nothing to do with solving this case, but if Colson Rutherford had information relevant to the investigation, she needed it. This was what she’d been trained for, what she was good at, and where she felt most in control. And she wasn’t going to let an investigator more interested in money than justice put this case at risk. “Hundreds of people must own jackets like hers, and we don’t have a positive ID yet. How can you be sure this is the missing woman you were hired to find?”
“He’s right, Sheriff.” Dr. Moss rounded the remains and stepped into her peripheral vision. The pathologist’s thin frame was nearly swallowed in her protective gear as she offered a mud-caked leather wallet inscribed with designer gold above the button closure. Tendrils of hair slipped free of the knot at the back of the medical examiner’s neck, softening the severe angles of her cheeks and chin. “I found this under her remains. Driver’s license says this is Rachel Faulkner. Cash, phone, and her cards are all there.”
Blair pocketed her pen and notebook and pulled an evidence bag from her jacket. The ME dropped the wallet inside, and Blair sealed the top. This hadn’t been a mugging gone wrong. Whoever’d dumped the victim out here wasn’t interested in money. She’d have CSU pull prints from the leather wallet and run LUDs on the victim’s phone. She raised her attention to Colson and closed the distance between them. The crime scene tape brushed against her jacket as she lowered her voice. “All right, Mr. Rutherford, I’ll bite. Tell me what you’ve discovered about the victim before she ended up out here, and I’ll make sure you’re not lying about being hired to find her.”
“You have trust issues, don’t you?” Colson slid his hands into his front pockets, his mouth quirking to one side in an attempt to soften her guard. It wouldn’t work. “Rachel Faulkner is the daughter of a CEO who runs a Fortune 500 company in the city.”
“And when a rich man’s daughter goes missing, you just can’t help but jump on the opportunity?” she asked.
He ignored her quip and graced her with another half-smile. “He came to me. Rachel took off for weeks at a time for her job, giving keynote speeches and promoting her books on tours, but she always stayed in touch. Only this time, neither he nor her husband had heard from her in two days.”
“She’s an author.” Blair took notes as the medical examiner prepared the remains for transportation back to the Harborview Medical Center, King County’s morgue. While publishers didn’t spend the funds they used to by sending their authors on tour, there would have to be someone who handled the victim’s schedule. An assistant or publicist maybe.
“Rachel was a social media influencer who happened to land a three-book deal with a big publisher. She’s also a business coach with almost two million followers, a podcast host, and a self-proclaimed marriage counselor.” The weight of Colson’s gaze burrowed beneath the thick layer of her uniform jacket. “She ran a multi-million-dollar company with about thirty employees without any capital investors.”
“And none of them realized she’d been missing for two days?” Blair found that hard to believe. Although the chances of all thirty employees knowing the victim’s schedule were slim.
“A main part of Rachel’s job was giving speeches to other companies, colleges, and anyone who wanted to pay her to be their own personal or business coach. A lot of people found her to be inspirational.” Those dark eyes settled over Blair’s shoulder. The hint of regret she’d caught in his voice earlier bled into his gaze, but, in her experience, private investigators were far too adept at using their clients for their own gain. Colson wouldn’t be any different. “She encouraged them to take care of their bodies, put their dreams first, and make themselves a priority. She changed countless people’s lives and never apologized for being herself.”
“I highly doubt the person who dumped her body out here found her to be inspirational.” Blair pointed the end of her pen over her shoulder.
“What about enemies? Have you been able to get access to her social media accounts, mail, or email since you started looking into her? Did any of her employees or fans have a problem with her as far as you could tell?”
Colson seemed to pull himself back in the moment, straightening slightly, and another hit of awareness chased through her. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and suddenly, he seemed much younger than she’d originally believed. Almost lost. In her next breath, the confident man who’d strode onto her scene without consideration for himself stared back at her. “Sheriff Sanders, everything I’ve told you about Rachel Faulkner is public knowledge, but the details I’ve uncovered in her private life aren’t. I understand you have a job to do, but I was contracted by the victim’s father to find her. I signed a non-disclosure agreement to keep the things you’re asking for from leaking, and I intend to stand by it. If you have any further questions about Rachel’s personal life, I suggest you get a warrant for those accounts. Or you can save yourself the trouble and bring me into the investigation.”
“First, this is a homicide investigation. No judge in the state is going to hold up that non-disclosure agreement if you have information about this case. Second, you’re not law enforcement, Mr. Rutherford. I imagine it’s been fun playing pretend, but private investigators don’t solve crimes. Police do.” She stepped into him. This was how private investigators worked. Willing to give or sell information solely on their terms, despite the consequences to everyone around them, even their own clients. But she knew how to play this game. She forced herself to click the end of her pen and slid it into her jacket breast pocket with her notebook slower than she wanted to. “Lucky for me, I believe you have information pertaining to Rachel Faulkner’s death, and it’s your duty as a private investigator to give a full statement to the police.” She motioned to one of her deputies off to her left higher up the trail. “This deputy will escort you back to the station while my team finishes collecting evidence from this scene.”
His humorless laugh filled her with satisfaction as the deputy she’d signaled stepped beneath the crime scene tape and motioned him down the trail. Colson leaned into her, a hint of soap and man filling her lungs. “Well played, Sheriff, but taking me off the board isn’t going to win you the game.”
Blair cocked her head to one side. “You’ve never gone up against me.”
King County Sheriff Blair Sanders followed the deep tracks along the hiking trail winding west around Rattlesnake Lake. Temperatures dropped in the shade of tall pines even as the sun battled the last few inches of winter snow and ice clinging to the final days of March. Her boots suctioned into the mud as low conversation reached her ears.
The crime scene unit had found the body.
Blair nodded in greeting as she passed the deputy stationed at the perimeter and ducked under the crime scene tape. Hikers kept their distance, whispering between themselves. The call had come in three hours ago, but it’d taken the team at least half that time to find the remains. The trail stretched ten and a half miles and switchbacked along Rattlesnake Mountain before delivering hikers on the north side, and the witness who’d called 9-1-1 had had to leave the park to get cell service. Unfortunately for her, service bars hadn’t been all she’d found.
“Who called it in?” Blair’s legs burned as she hiked the small distance toward Seattle’s chief medical examiner who was crouched over the remains.
“Hiker.” Dr. Vanessa Moss pointed to a thin, dark-haired woman outside of the perimeter tape talking with one of the deputies. “Call came in at six this morning.”
From the state of the victim’s clothing, she’d guess the body hadn’t been out here more than a few hours. Jeans, blazer, nice blouse. Whoever the woman was, she hadn’t come out here for hiking. Not in heeled boots. Blair instantly homed in on movement beneath the victim’s silk blouse and leaned in closer. Pointing down, she glanced at Dr. Moss. “You know she’s moving, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” the ME said.
The head of a vibrant green snake burrowed through the victim’s clothing, followed by another. Half a dozen at least. Her gasp filled the scene, and Blair closed her eyes to counter the embarrassment heating her neck and face. She forced herself to stay in place. The snakes’ bright red eyes stood stark against their soft, coiling bodies, as though staring back in warning. Her stomach tightened. It wasn’t uncommon for wildlife and insects to feed off of a set of remains, but this… She had a hard time believing this had been an accident. No signs of a struggle or blunt force trauma. A remote location. “I’ve never seen snakes go after a set of remains like this.”
“The cold drove them to take shelter inside the victim’s remains, but as far as I can tell, they haven’t fed on the body. Nothing has.” Dr. Moss reached a gloved hand for one of the snakes and pulled it free from the body. Handing it off to the Regional Animal Services deputy a few feet behind her, the pathologist shifted her position to the head of the remains. Her dark gaze scanned the victim. With long, brown hair tied at the base of her neck and a shoulder-to-ankle protective bodysuit, Dr. Moss exuded expertise and intelligence in one petite package. The ME didn’t normally respond to death scenes, usually leaving this kind of work to her medicolegal investigators, but Blair appreciated her assistance all the same. Dr. Moss pulled another reptile free, staring into small red eyes a few inches from her face. “Animals will avoid eating dead flesh if they smell something off. I’ll have to get her back to Harborview to know for sure, but we could be looking at a poisoning.”
“I don’t see any bruising or evidence she fought her attacker.” Blair crouched beside the remains. Medium-length brown hair with perfectly shaded highlights spread around the victim’s shoulders. Pristine makeup fought to cover a birthmark above a thin upper lip, professionally sculpted arched eyebrows revealing the victim’s natural coloring. Dried skin and thick foundation flaked off around the woman’s chin. Blair unpocketed a notebook from her jacket pocket and compressed the end of her pen. “Any idea who she is or how long she’s been out here?”
“I’ll be able to check her clothing for identification once I remove all the snakes.” Dr. Moss pushed to her feet. “Judging on lividity and these temperatures, I’d say she was out here between five and six hours. As for time of death, I’ll need to get her on the slab to give you a better timeframe. I will say she was already dead before the killer disposed of her body.”
“Not snakes. Vipers,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. “More specifically Trimeresurus rubeus or ruby-eyed green pit vipers.”
Blair turned, instantly aware of the six-foot-plus, striking man inside the perimeter tape. She swept her focus the length of his muscular body, void of credentials, and instant stiffness ran down her spine. T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. Short brown hair and a few days of beard growth pronounced the enthralling brightness of his gaze. No uniform. Not a federal agent and sure as hell not one of hers.
“Vipers aren’t indigenous to this area.” He took a single step closer and intensified the responsiveness simmering along her nerve endings. “Whoever dumped the body out here left them behind, too. Maybe as some kind of message or warning.”
“Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this is a crime scene.” Blair faced him fully, her hands automatically sweeping her jacket out of the way to show her badge on her hip. “You’re not allowed to be here unless authorized, and I don’t see a badge.”
“Oh, I’ve got one of those.” He dug into his back pocket, flipping open his wallet before pulling a card from the depths. He handed it off to her, callused knuckles brushing against her hand. “Colson Rutherford. Seems you might’ve found my missing person.”
Blair read the card, her gut souring. A license. “You’re a private investigator.”
“Among other things.” Colson plucked the card from her hand and tucked his wallet back into his pocket, that playful gaze never leaving hers. Amusement deepened the smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He scanned her from head to toe as he shifted his weight between both feet. Sizing her up. “You must be Sheriff Sanders. I’ve read a lot about you. Your work on that serial case two months ago has been topping headlines for weeks.”
The case she couldn’t forget. No matter how many times she’d tried. Three victims—all investigative journalists—forced to swallow gasoline and set on fire out of a killer’s wrathful revenge. Colson was right. That case and her work with the FBI had rocketed her career into the limelight, but fame and recognition hadn’t ever been the reason she’d run for King County’s sheriff four years ago. It was because of people like the man standing in front of her.
Blair pressed the edge of her notebook into her palm as anger bubbled to escape. “I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, Mr. Rutherford. Police solve crimes. Private investigators exploit their clients for profit and leverage. Now get off my scene before I have you arrested for obstructing a homicide investigation.”
She turned back to the remains and forced herself to take a deep breath, but the flood of heat that’d crawled into her neck refused to abate. She made a note to research ruby-eyed green pit vipers and check them against the snakes Regional Animal Services had collected into an oversize sack. Hisses permeated through the fabric, their violent movements a testament to the warning she’d noted in their red eyes. “Let’s check her clothing for an ID, Doc.”
“Her name is Rachel Faulkner.” Colson’s voice penetrated through the focused haze she used to block out the world when working a new case, and her pulse ticked up a notch. He’d stepped back behind the tape, all six-three, maybe six-four, of muscle and mystery honed in on her. “She was reported missing two days ago. I recognize her blazer. It was one of her signature pieces of clothing. Her father hired me to find her.”
A hint of regret infused the last part of his statement, but Blair’s impatience only burned hotter. She turned to face him. “Mr. Rutherford—”
“My friends call me Colson.” The tall, dark, and dangerous private investigator raised both hands, palms forward as though in surrender, but she’d dealt with guys like him her entire life. She knew better. “And I know what you’re about to say, but I figured you’d want to save your department and her family time by hearing what I’ve gathered on the victim these last couple of days. Or are you going to let your personal opinions of private investigators impede your investigation into who killed her?”
The fire under her skin cooled. Her personal opinions, as he’d put it, had nothing to do with solving this case, but if Colson Rutherford had information relevant to the investigation, she needed it. This was what she’d been trained for, what she was good at, and where she felt most in control. And she wasn’t going to let an investigator more interested in money than justice put this case at risk. “Hundreds of people must own jackets like hers, and we don’t have a positive ID yet. How can you be sure this is the missing woman you were hired to find?”
“He’s right, Sheriff.” Dr. Moss rounded the remains and stepped into her peripheral vision. The pathologist’s thin frame was nearly swallowed in her protective gear as she offered a mud-caked leather wallet inscribed with designer gold above the button closure. Tendrils of hair slipped free of the knot at the back of the medical examiner’s neck, softening the severe angles of her cheeks and chin. “I found this under her remains. Driver’s license says this is Rachel Faulkner. Cash, phone, and her cards are all there.”
Blair pocketed her pen and notebook and pulled an evidence bag from her jacket. The ME dropped the wallet inside, and Blair sealed the top. This hadn’t been a mugging gone wrong. Whoever’d dumped the victim out here wasn’t interested in money. She’d have CSU pull prints from the leather wallet and run LUDs on the victim’s phone. She raised her attention to Colson and closed the distance between them. The crime scene tape brushed against her jacket as she lowered her voice. “All right, Mr. Rutherford, I’ll bite. Tell me what you’ve discovered about the victim before she ended up out here, and I’ll make sure you’re not lying about being hired to find her.”
“You have trust issues, don’t you?” Colson slid his hands into his front pockets, his mouth quirking to one side in an attempt to soften her guard. It wouldn’t work. “Rachel Faulkner is the daughter of a CEO who runs a Fortune 500 company in the city.”
“And when a rich man’s daughter goes missing, you just can’t help but jump on the opportunity?” she asked.
He ignored her quip and graced her with another half-smile. “He came to me. Rachel took off for weeks at a time for her job, giving keynote speeches and promoting her books on tours, but she always stayed in touch. Only this time, neither he nor her husband had heard from her in two days.”
“She’s an author.” Blair took notes as the medical examiner prepared the remains for transportation back to the Harborview Medical Center, King County’s morgue. While publishers didn’t spend the funds they used to by sending their authors on tour, there would have to be someone who handled the victim’s schedule. An assistant or publicist maybe.
“Rachel was a social media influencer who happened to land a three-book deal with a big publisher. She’s also a business coach with almost two million followers, a podcast host, and a self-proclaimed marriage counselor.” The weight of Colson’s gaze burrowed beneath the thick layer of her uniform jacket. “She ran a multi-million-dollar company with about thirty employees without any capital investors.”
“And none of them realized she’d been missing for two days?” Blair found that hard to believe. Although the chances of all thirty employees knowing the victim’s schedule were slim.
“A main part of Rachel’s job was giving speeches to other companies, colleges, and anyone who wanted to pay her to be their own personal or business coach. A lot of people found her to be inspirational.” Those dark eyes settled over Blair’s shoulder. The hint of regret she’d caught in his voice earlier bled into his gaze, but, in her experience, private investigators were far too adept at using their clients for their own gain. Colson wouldn’t be any different. “She encouraged them to take care of their bodies, put their dreams first, and make themselves a priority. She changed countless people’s lives and never apologized for being herself.”
“I highly doubt the person who dumped her body out here found her to be inspirational.” Blair pointed the end of her pen over her shoulder.
“What about enemies? Have you been able to get access to her social media accounts, mail, or email since you started looking into her? Did any of her employees or fans have a problem with her as far as you could tell?”
Colson seemed to pull himself back in the moment, straightening slightly, and another hit of awareness chased through her. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and suddenly, he seemed much younger than she’d originally believed. Almost lost. In her next breath, the confident man who’d strode onto her scene without consideration for himself stared back at her. “Sheriff Sanders, everything I’ve told you about Rachel Faulkner is public knowledge, but the details I’ve uncovered in her private life aren’t. I understand you have a job to do, but I was contracted by the victim’s father to find her. I signed a non-disclosure agreement to keep the things you’re asking for from leaking, and I intend to stand by it. If you have any further questions about Rachel’s personal life, I suggest you get a warrant for those accounts. Or you can save yourself the trouble and bring me into the investigation.”
“First, this is a homicide investigation. No judge in the state is going to hold up that non-disclosure agreement if you have information about this case. Second, you’re not law enforcement, Mr. Rutherford. I imagine it’s been fun playing pretend, but private investigators don’t solve crimes. Police do.” She stepped into him. This was how private investigators worked. Willing to give or sell information solely on their terms, despite the consequences to everyone around them, even their own clients. But she knew how to play this game. She forced herself to click the end of her pen and slid it into her jacket breast pocket with her notebook slower than she wanted to. “Lucky for me, I believe you have information pertaining to Rachel Faulkner’s death, and it’s your duty as a private investigator to give a full statement to the police.” She motioned to one of her deputies off to her left higher up the trail. “This deputy will escort you back to the station while my team finishes collecting evidence from this scene.”
His humorless laugh filled her with satisfaction as the deputy she’d signaled stepped beneath the crime scene tape and motioned him down the trail. Colson leaned into her, a hint of soap and man filling her lungs. “Well played, Sheriff, but taking me off the board isn’t going to win you the game.”
Blair cocked her head to one side. “You’ve never gone up against me.”
