Seaside Secrets

IN THE LINE OF FIRE

Navy chaplain Angela Gallagher wants to put the past behind her, but she’s still haunted by the wartime death of her assistant. So when his brother claims he’s in danger and pleads for her to use her family’s private detective company’s resources to help him stay alive, she can’t turn him down. But someone will stop at nothing—even murder—to keep her from revealing their secrets. She’ll have to depend on a military colleague to keep her head above water. Dr. Dan Blackwell was in the field with her when her assistant died, and he’s determined to keep her safe. Can they sift through the web of lies to find the truth without losing their lives?

Pacific Coast Private Eyes: Sisters fighting crime

She hardly felt Dan lift her into the passenger seat. He stood in the open door.

“You can get through this,” he said. “Squeeze my hands.”

She tried, but her body seemed to have no will of its own. It was as if her mind was imprisoned somewhere dark and terrifying.

“We’ll do it together.” He squeezed her fingers for a slow count of five and then relaxed.

After several moments of the gentle pressure to her hands, she was able to squeeze back. Her breaths became less shuddering, and she grew aware of her surroundings. The late afternoon sun poked through the clouds, outlining Dan’s strong shoulders, and revealed his look of concern tinged with quiet confidence.

You can get through this.

She continued to breathe and squeeze until she could get the words out, a stumbling gush of details that made his face go from concerned to enraged.

“I am going to see that guy in prison if it’s the last thing I ever do on this planet.”

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

I am the vine; you are the branches.

If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.

—John 15:5

To those who struggle with PTSD and those who help them overcome, blessings on you and yours.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The sound exploded through the crowded street. Angela Gallagher screamed, jerking so violently she stepped wrong off the curb and sprawled onto the asphalt. Her purse flew out of her grip. On hands and knees, she struggled for breath, pulse thundering as her senses tried to right themselves.

The worker who had dropped the empty pallet went about his unloading, oblivious to the panic he’d caused in one out-of-control woman. “Get up,” she told herself furiously.

A hand grasped her elbow, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a wide face. He wore khakis and a plaid shirt. His eyes were flat, probing. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed a surge of panic. Not every stranger is dangerous. You’re not in a war zone anymore. A deep breath in and out. “Yes, thank you.” She forced a smile. “I wasn’t watching my step.”

His hand lingered on her arm. “You look lost. Visiting?”

Why did he want to know? It’s called polite small talk. Paranoia. She could not get rid of it, no matter how hard she poured herself into Bible study or prayer.

“Meeting someone here at the wharf,” she said.

He stooped to help as she retrieved the spilled items from her purse. “Bad time for that. During Beach Fest the whole town is nuts. Where were you supposed to meet?”

“Oh, somewhere around here. I’ll find him. Thanks for your concern.” She gave him another smile and edged away, toward the vendors.

“I could help, if you’d like.”

“No. No, thanks.”

He studied her face. A moment too long? “Enjoy your stay, Miss Gallagher,” he said softly, turning away into the crowd.

Goose bumps prickled her skin. One more look, soft and sly, and he was gone.

For a moment, she felt frozen, paralyzed. Her name. How had he known? Her brain slowly began to reboot. Her wallet. He’d picked it up for her. It had probably fallen open and he’d read her driver’s license. What is the matter with you? she asked herself. He was a regular guy, offering help, and this was not wartime, not here.

A bead of sweat trickled down Angela’s back, at odds with the chill ocean air. The press of the crowd overwhelmed her senses. She had not imagined when she’d made the eight-hour drive from Coronado to Monterey that she would land in the middle of some sort of festival. Would she have come if she had known? No, her gut said. Yes, her heart corrected.

People walked along Fisherman’s Wharf, stopping at the craft booths and trailing down to the rocky shore to watch the kayakers and the whale-watching boats chugging through the choppy waters of California’s central coast. The January cold pressed in; she gathered her jacket around her. Where was he? He was supposed to meet her under the balloon arch a half hour ago. Blowing on her fingers, she scanned the wharf again. Though she’d never clapped eyes on Tank Guzman, she knew exactly what he would look like. His identical twin, Julio, had died in her arms from sniper bullets meant for her. Again Julio’s gentle face rose up in her mind, the sweet hopes he’d shared about a life with his girlfriend upon his return from Afghanistan, the easy banter that was a salve to the tension of the war.