Joint Investigation
LONE AGENTUnder other circumstances, FBI agent Samantha Bennett might welcome a bit of backup–but not from an overprotective Mountie. She's been on the trail of a serial killer for six months and no one has ever taken the case seriously…until now. When Royal Canadian Mounted Police inspector Drew Kelley saves her life, he decides that the hunt for "Birdman" is his problem, too. Together they begin a cross-continent chase to stop the madman before he strikes again. However, Samantha fears her growing feelings for the lawman may weaken her focus, or worse–put Drew directly in the killer's sights…Northern Border Patrol: Keeping the U.S.Canadian border safe
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LONE AGENT
Under other circumstances, FBI agent Samantha Bennett might welcome a bit of backupâbut not from an overprotective Mountie. Sheâs been on the trail of a serial killer for six months and no one has ever taken the case seriously...until now. When Royal Canadian Mounted Police inspector Drew Kelley saves her life, he decides that the hunt for âBirdmanâ is his problem, too. Together they begin a cross-continent chase to stop the madman before he strikes again. However, Samantha fears her growing feelings for the lawman may weaken her focus, or worseâput Drew directly in the killerâs sightsâ¦
Northern Border Patrol: Keeping the U.S.âCanadian border safe
What happened to Drew?
Her partner could be hurt. Or worse, dead. Bile burned her throat. The thought of losing another partner caved in her heart. But her priority had to be eliminating the danger.
Still in a crouch and leading with a two-handed grip on her gun, she moved slowly in the direction of what she hoped was the front door. She mentally ticked off the steps. The dark overwhelmed her, playing havoc with her equilibrium. She bumped into something solid and froze. Her pulse jumped. Not a wall. There was no furniture.
Panic jolted through her. She jumped away and whipped around, looking for a target. But the blackness concealed the threat.
If it were Drew, heâd say something, right?
The scuff of a shoe on the wooden floor sounded as loud as a gunshot.
âDrew?â she whispered. Please, dear Lord, let Drew be okay.
If something happened to himâ¦
Something touched her hair.
TERRI REEDâs romance and romantic suspense novels have appeared on Publishers Weekly top twenty-five and Nielsen BookScanâs top one hundred lists and have been featured in USA TODAY, Christian Fiction Magazine and RT Book Reviews. Her books have finaled in the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award contest, the National Readerâs Choice Award contest and three times in the American Christian Fiction Writersâ The Carol Award contest. Contact Terri at terrireed.com or PO Box 19555 Portland, OR 97224.
For God has not given us a spirit of fear,
but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
â2 Timothy 1:7
To my husband, who loves and accepts me, flaws and all.
Contents
The smell hit her ten feet from the motel door. Fresh blood. Pungent and tangy. Sticky sweet. A scent once experienced not easily forgotten. FBI agent Sami Bennettâs stomach heaved. Anguish fisted in the middle of her chest. Images of arterial spray, unseeing eyes, birds, lots and lots of birds, flashed through her mind like an animated flip book.
Shaking her head to clear the pictures from her brain, she focused on the moment, her hands tightening around the grip of her Glock 23.
Clamping her lips together, she calmed her racing heart and pressed closer to the wall along the shadowy second-story balcony of the cheap motel on the outskirts of Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. All the bulbs in the wall sconces were broken.
Glass crunched beneath the heels of her black Dr. Martens boots. The cool dark night was ripe with moisture, and overhead thunder rumbled like an angry fist against a wooden drum.
Sami was angry, too. Angry sheâd been chasing a phantom for six months who remained one step ahead of her yet had the gall to leave her a trail to follow. Frustration beat at her temple.
She thought of the photocopied postcard in her pocket. The latest clue left by the killer sheâd dubbed Birdman because of the image of a small bird, either hand drawn, ink stamped or stickered, found on each clue.
She debated retreat. Most likely Birdman was long gone, leaving behind another dead body and another bread crumb to track. She was so tired of the gore, of the deaths. So tired of being the one to find the bodies.
But if there was the slimmest chance that she could catch Birdman, then she had to proceed. Giving up wasnât an option. She wouldnât rest until the man was behind bars.
She inched closer to the room at the end of the balcony. The air around her shifted as if a hot-breathed creature mirrored her steps. Tensing, she glanced over her shoulder. The world was shrouded in inky darkness. A shiver of apprehension tripped down her spine.
âLord, please have my back,â she whispered.
With laser-like focus, she returned her attention to the door of room 218. Was Birdman in the room? Would she finally catch him?
She hoped so. She wanted this over. She wanted to take the man down. She wanted her life back, but sheâd promised to bring her childhood friendâs murderer to justice. And she always kept her promises.
Steeling herself against what sheâd find inside the room, she reached for the door handle. Through the thin leather gloves she wore, the handle was cool. She turned the knob.
The sound of glass being crushed behind her sent alarm sliding across her flesh. Before she could react, an arm snaked around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides and rendering her gun useless. A large hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her yelp of surprise.
