Verwandte Artikel zu Dead Even

9780345463944: Dead Even
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345463943 ISBN 13: 9780345463944
Verlag: Ballantine Books, 2004

Inhaltsangabe

From New York Times bestselling author Mariah Stewart comes a novel of sexy romantic suspense for fans of Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter, and Karen Robards.

Three devious prisoners vow murderous revenge. Now the third is free.

FBI Special Agent Miranda Cahill has always played by the rules: always maintain a respectful professionalism, and never mix business with pleasure. Except when it comes to fellow agent Will Fletcher. Their on-again, off-again relationship has left painful scars even he has never seen.

Now, a series of murders has the two agents racing to outwit a killer before he can strike again. Miranda and Will know that lives depend on identifying intended victims and tracking them down before the killer does. But as they begin to unravel this homicidal agenda, it becomes clear that Miranda may be the last and final target in a twisted game. With the clock ticking, time is running out on a killer who is determined to cross Miranda’s name off his hit list . . . permanently.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of numerous novels and several novellas. A RITA finalist for romantic suspense, she is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International Organization) Awards honoring excellence in women’s fiction, a Reviewers Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine, and a three-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award for contemporary romance. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she lives with her husband, two daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers in a century-old Victorian home. She is a member of the Valley Forge Romance Writers, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Romance Writers of America.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

Three devious prisoners vow murderous revenge.
Now the third is free.
FBI Special Agent Miranda Cahill has always played by the rules: always maintain a respectful professionalism, and never mix business with pleasure. Except when it comes to fellow agent Will Fletcher. Their on-again, off-again relationship has left painful scars even he has never seen.
Now, a series of murders has the two agents racing to outwit a killer before he can strike again. Miranda and Will know that lives depend on identifying intended victims and tracking them down before the killer does. But as they begin to unravel this homicidal agenda, it becomes clear that Miranda may be the last and final target in a twisted game. With the clock ticking, time is running out on a killer who is determined to cross Miranda's name off his hit list . . . permanently.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

chapter one

Fingertips tapped lightly on either side of the rim of the steering wheel, a quiet expression of annoyance favored by FBI Special Agent Miranda Cahill when faced with a vexing situation over which she had no control. The current immovable object was the rental car that had buzzed along nicely from the Natrona County Airport just a short hop from Casper, Wyoming, where she had picked it up, to the spot where it had sputtered unceremoniously to a stop some fifteen miles from Pine Tree Junction.

At least, that was where the last road sign had placed her, but that had been close to half an hour ago. She wondered if perhaps somehow she’d taken a wrong turn. Tough to do, she thought wryly, when there had been so few turns to be taken.

She turned the key in the ignition one more time, praying for a smooth start. Her prayers were answered with the clack-clack-clack of an engine that steadfastly refused to turn over. Battery, maybe. Or perhaps the starter. Either way, the Taurus was dead. And that meant she would be walking the rest of the way to Linden, however far that might be, if she was going to get there today.

Cursing aloud, she got out of the car.

“I should leave you unlocked, you know that?” She spoke aloud to the car, pausing with the key in her right hand. “Let’s see how you like being abandoned out here in the middle of nowhere, all alone. Defenseless. May you be pilfered and vandalized.”

She locked it anyway, tossed her large brown tote bag over her shoulder, and set off on foot toward her destination. Hardly defenseless herself, she slipped her Sig Sauer into the holster that rode on her hip, just in case a mean-spirited rattlesnake or equally ornery cowboy crossed her path.

While she walked along the narrow shoulder of the road, she fiddled with her phone, found the autodial number she wanted, and hit Send. When there was no answer, she dialed a second number, never missing a stride.

“Please leave a message for John Mancini. . . .”

“Damn,” she grumbled. “I hate voice mail.”

She blew out a heavily agitated breath.

“John, it’s Miranda Cahill. I’m currently hoofing it up what I believe is still Route 387, but since there are no signs out here in the middle of No Where, Wyoming, that’s just a guess on my part. I’m due in Linden in twenty minutes for the meeting, but that looks way optimistic right now. I tried calling Aidan, but he didn’t pick up. If you or someone else could reach him, please let him know I’m going to be a little late. If he’d like to come and pick me up, even better. I’ll be the one walking along wearing a tan suede jacket and a we-are-not-amused expression.”

She ended the call, slipped the phone into her pocket, and hitched the bag a little higher. Her long legs ate up lengths of the road at a healthy clip despite the high-heeled boots, partly because her natural pace was quick, partly because the temperature was barely thirty degrees and certain to be dropping as the day began to fade. She was determined to reach Linden before that happened. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, it was the cold.

“Jamaica,” she mumbled under her breath. “Bahamas. Acapulco. Bermuda. The Keys . . .”

She tried to recall the words to some of the old Beach Boys surfer songs they played on the local oldies station, but the only song that came to mind was “Kokomo,” so she sang those few words she knew over and over—“Bermuda, Bahama, come on, pretty mama, to Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go”—hoping to mentally transport herself to some warm clime. But the wind began to pick up and blew her dark hair around her head, and the soft sands and blue waters faded away. She stopped, rummaged in her bag for an elastic, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail before moving on. She walked for nearly forty minutes before the outline of a building appeared in the distance.

“Please be Linden. Please please please . . .”

Ten minutes later, she found the building to be a gas station attached to the small diner that was her destination. She walked across the parking lot, which was little more than one large pothole, and smiled through a grimy window at the man who sat behind an old metal desk on the other side of the glass.

She opened the door and took a half step inside. “Hi. I don’t suppose you have a tow truck?”

The old man at the desk shook his head, struck dumb, no doubt, at the sight of the tall, willowy beauty who’d appeared literally out of nowhere.

“I was afraid of that.” She nodded and let the door swing closed behind her.

She walked a dozen more steps and entered the diner, pausing momentarily to look around. There were only two customers. Fortunately, they were the two people she’d come to see.

“Hey, Aidan.” She greeted fellow agent Aidan Shields with a pat on the back, then dropped her bag onto the floor before reaching out to hug his companion. “Mara, it’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Mara Douglas stood and embraced her friend. “I couldn’t believe it when Aidan said you were on your way out here. It must be something really important.”

Mara’s eyes were shining with hope.

“It is, but I’m afraid it’s not what you want to hear, honey.” Miranda pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat down. “I’m sorry, Mara, I wish I could tell you that we’ve been able to confirm that your daughter and your ex-husband are part of the group out at the Valley of the Angels, but they are not.”

“But we—Aidan and I—have tracked them here. Jules is here; he’s got Julianne here with him.” Mara’s eyes widened. “We had a credible tip—Aidan, tell her. . . .”

“We did have a credible tip.” Aidan Shields nodded slowly. “But, Mara, I told you that we weren’t sure how old that information was.”

“But . . .”

“Miranda, why don’t you tell us what you’ve heard?” Aidan covered one of Mara’s hands with his own.

“Jules is working with Reverend Prescott in some executive capacity, we do know this. He’s apparently involved with their finances, but right now, we’re not sure exactly where he is. He has been here, at some time, but I’m afraid that neither Jules nor your daughter is with the movement here in Wyoming.”

“How do you know?” Mara fought to control her emotions. “How can you be certain?”

“All I can tell you at this time is that the Bureau has someone inside the compound. She has confirmed that they are no longer here. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been able to find out where they went when they left, but she’s still working on that. She has asked that you and Aidan leave the area. The interest you’ve shown in the movement, the questions you’ve been asking of the members when they come into town . . . it’s been noticed. Our agent is afraid you’ll call unnecessary attention to the group and, sooner or later, to her.”

Mara looked at her blankly.

“In other words, back off, because we could jeopardize the life of our agent.” Aidan summed it up.

“That’s exactly right.” Miranda nodded. “I’m sorry, Mara, I know how hard this has been for you—”

“No. No, you do not.” Mara pushed herself away from the table slowly. “With all due respect, Miranda, you...

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Verlag
Ballantine Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2004
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345463943
ISBN 13 
9780345463944
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
384
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Verantwortliche Person
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