Guardian Angel

A woman alone in the dark witha stranger…

Hands in the air. Feet wide apart. She was prepared to fight if the need arose. She’d had nearly identical training as the federal agent cohorts she once worked with, but she wasn’t even close to the stranger’s level. His gaze skimmed her body. The formfitting T-shirt and jeans didn’t leave any room for concealing a weapon.

She certainly didn’t look like his idea of a private detective. But looks were often deceiving. After all, he was an expert at creating illusions. Perhaps she was an illusion designed to do exactly what she appeared to be trying to do: drawing him into a trap.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at the age of nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried various occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and they finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing came true. You can write to Debra at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Guardian Angel – Is he really a saviour or merely a vigilante? And what of his alter ego, Nathan Tyler, the mysterious recluse with far too many secrets of his own?

Ann Linker Martin – A Colby Agency investigator with a deep, dark secret of her own. Will that secret prevent her from doing her job?

Victoria Colby-Camp – The head of the Colby Agency. Victoria has complete faith in all her investigators. She is certain that Ann will not fail her or the client.

Katherine Fowler – A mother who will go to any and all lengths to find her missing child.

Trey Fowler – The child’s father is terrified that the Colby Agency’s involvement will jeopardise his child’s life.

Kevin Addison – The top public relations agent in the business. How far will he go to put his boss in the limelight?

Owen Johnson – Will loyalty and ambition continue to outweigh any sense of basic human compassion he has left?

Phillip Kendall – Wealth and power are the only moral codes he follows.

Ian Michaels and Simon Ruhl – The top men at the Colby Agency.

DEBRA WEBB

To all members of law enforcement, local,

federal or international, the true guardian angels who protect our children.

Chapter One

Western VirginiaMonday 8:35 p.m.

The girl was here.

He could feel it, could taste the evil in the air. His senses went on high alert.

Moving silently, he eased closer to the run-down shack that sat deep in the wilderness backing up against the George Washington National Forest.

An acrid chemical stench lingered in the September air. He recognized that solvent-laden stink. The remote setting provided the perfect anonymous spot. Most meth labs were found in trailer homes, old sheds, run-down motels and places exactly like this, where no one wanted to look.

It was too dark to see just now, but somewhere nearby there would be a mounting refuse pile that would tell the tale and would, all by itself, provide sufficient probable cause for a search warrant. But he wasn’t here about the classic lowlife-style meth lab.

He was here for the girl.

His heart rate remaining stable despite the anticipation coursing in his veins, he stole toward the east side of the shack. Light poured through the bottom portion of the single window on that end, its faint glow cutting through the darkness like a ray of hope.

Anticipation fueled his determination, limiting his patience; but before going in, he needed the number and location of the trouble he would encounter inside. He pulled the bill of the cap lower over his face and prepared to move closer.

The front door swung open and a lone man, maybe six feet, one-thirty or one-forty pounds, lumbered onto the ramshackle porch. He muttered what might have been song lyrics as he stumbled down the steps. Dark hair. Ragged jeans, T-shirt sporting what appeared to be the logo of some defunct heavy metal band. Not enough light reached beyond the door to determine whether or not he was carrying anything other than the sheathed knife on his belt.

The skinny degenerate lurched his way to the tree line and proceeded to relieve himself against the bark of the closest one. Too bad he’d chosen east over west. Probably didn’t know one from the other.

Less than five seconds were necessary to acquire his position. The silenced end of the weapon’s muzzle landed against the back of his skull, and the biological urge that had brought the scumbag to the tree halted.