Cold Fury

  COLD FURY

  A COLD HARBOR NOVEL - BOOK THREE

  SUSAN SLEEMAN

  EDGE OF YOUR SEAT BOOKS, INC.

  Published by Edge of Your Seat Books, Inc.

  Contact the publisher at contact@edgeofyourseatbooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Susan Sleeman

  Cover copyright © 2018 by Susan Sleeman

  All rights reserved. Kindle Edition Printed in the United States of America or the country of purchase. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents in this novel are either products of the imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, to events, businesses, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Thanks for Reading

  Susan’s Other Books

  About Susan

  1

  “A killer’s on the loose, and Maggie will be dead by then!” Jackson Lockhart didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he looked up from the video to find his Blackwell Tactical teammates watching him instead of the footage.

  The recording of the college lecture hall continued to run in the background, but Jackson had played it like a hundred times, and he was more interested in his team’s take on the video. Or maybe their take on his outburst. That was more likely the reason for the skeptical looks.

  “We have to think about our client’s best interest here.” Company owner Gage Blackwell planted his hands on the long conference room table. “No matter what you uncovered in this video, Martin hired us to find his son’s killer, not to protect Maggie Turner.”

  “So, what you’re saying is we leave Maggie to fend off this killer by herself?” Jackson’s heart beat hard at the thought of the woman he once loved in danger. “How can you even think that when the video clearly shows her bumping into the killer? Now that this video is public, he has to know she can ID him. He’ll want to take her out before she can. And you want to let her work that out on her own?”

  Jackson took a breath and met his boss’s gaze. “Unbelievable, Gage. Just unbelievable.”

  Gage came to his feet and stretched to his full height. Six two like Jackson, his boss glowered at him. As a former Navy SEAL, his intensity was always over the top, and the guy was downright intimidating, but Jackson wouldn’t back down. Couldn’t back down when it came to keeping Maggie safe.

  “If you’d just listen,” Gage said, his tone low and intense. “You’d know I didn’t say that. I’d no more leave this woman to die than I would my own wife. All I’m saying is it’s going to be tricky to find Scott’s killer and protect Maggie at the same time. There’s bound to be a conflict in your priorities.”

  Jackson sighed out his relief. Priorities. Right. That was Scott Dawson until an hour ago. He was strangled on his college campus in the last month, and his father Martin hired Blackwell Tactical to find the killer. The murder occurred in a lecture hall where Maggie taught anthropology. And now, the video showing she bumped into the killer on her way out of that classroom had become public. The camera didn’t catch the killer’s face, but Maggie looked him in the eye, and he could be gunning for her.

  Jackson couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her unprotected. Sure, they’d broken up six years ago under difficult circumstances. So what? He would always care for her, and she had to be his priority right now. Trouble was, his team was also counting on him to take charge on the job they were hired to do.

  He would balance both aspects. He had no choice.

  He drew back his shoulders, making sure he conveyed confidence. “You can count on me to do what Martin needs and protect Maggie at the same time. Won’t be the first time I’ve walked a tightrope on one of our investigations. I’ll manage just fine.”

  “But it will be the first time you’ve done it when you’re emotionally connected to one of the players.” Cooper Ashcroft’s dark brown, almost black eyes locked on Jackson, giving him a moment’s pause. “And trust me. Gage and I both know how hard that’s gonna be for you.”

  The pair shared a knowing look. Both men recently headed up investigations involving a woman in danger. Everything turned out just fine. Gage had since married Hannah, and Coop was engaged to Kiera.

  Not that their situations related to Jackson’s circumstances at all. This was different. Totally different. He and Maggie might’ve once been in love, but there was no way he’d wind up engaged or married to her. Even interested in her again. Not with the tragedy they’d suffered together. No way.

  Like he said. He could handle it. “So, I have the green light to offer protection services to Maggie?”

  “You’re good to go.” Gage ran a hand over dark hair, not as deep as Jackson’s coloring, and Jackson preferred a shorter military cut. “But don’t let your personal connection take over and make me sorry I’m not sending one of your teammates instead.”

  “Anyone have a problem with this plan?” Jackson surveyed the team, starting with Eryn Calloway who shook her head sending her jet-black ponytail swinging.

  The only woman on the team, she was once a cyber security professional and agent with the FBI. She might only be five seven or so, but she was as fierce as the men. Still, it was obvious she was touched by his desire to warn Maggie.

  He moved his focus one seat over to Riley Glenn.

  “I’m good.” He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. His surfer blond hair and reddish beard gave him a more laid-back look than you’d expect from a former sniper for the Portland Police Bureau, but Jackson had worked alongside Riley long enough that it wasn’t hard to imagine him perched behind a sniper rifle, target locked in.

  “You wouldn’t be my first choice, but let’s see how it plays out,” Alex Hamilton weighed in. As a former Recon Marine, he likely thought he could do a better job scouting out the situation at the college.

  Shoot, everyone on the team probably thought the same thing. They all frequently believed they were the best person for the job. Jackson honestly didn’t know how Gage kept their egos in check, but he did.

  “Just don’t screw it up,” Coop added.

  Jackson rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

  “We’re a go, then,” Gage said. “Report in on a regular basis, and whatever you do, be mindful of Martin Dawson in every action.”

  Jackson nodded, his thoughts already going to the logistics of getting from Cold Harbor to Maggie’s place in Ashland in the shortest possible time. “I’ll need the helo. Who’s gonna take me?”

  He waited for Gage to veto the resource due to fuel cost, but Gage didn’t say a word. He would do everything necessary to protect the innocent, and Jackson was just being touchy because this involved Maggie. He shouldn’t have even questioned Gage’s motivations.

  Jackson glanced from Coop to Riley, both pilots, but Riley only recently received his license.

  “I’m always glad for more air time.” Riley lowered his arms and snapped his chair forward. “Plus, I have a buddy from the police force in Medford whose dad owns a nearby logging company. I’m sure he’ll let us put down at their helipad and lend us a vehicle to make the short drive to Ashland."

  “Then let’s get after it.” Jackson headed for the door and assumed Riley would follow.

  Outside, he paused to wait for Riley to join him in the unusually steamy evening for the end of June. The ocean breeze whisked inland from the Pacific, cooling everything in its path, thankfully keeping the temps bearable today.

  Riley lifted his hand to a gust of wind. “Gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  Jackson nodded, but he didn’t care. He would take a helo up in a tornado if it got him to Maggie before the killer figured out she knew about him and came looking for her.

  Jackson strode to the utility vehicle and climbed behind the wheel, his knee aching in protest as he folded his leg to settle inside. He’d taken a bullet to his right leg in his last skirmish as a Green Beret and was given the choice of riding a desk or leaving the army. Yeah, right, like he was desk-rider material. No way. He wouldn’t choose desk duty any more than the rest of his teammates would. They’d all suffered on-the-job injuries. Some in the service. Some in law enforcement. All losing their chosen professions as a result. The loss united them all in a way nothing else could.

  Jackson got the vehicle headed down a winding road lined with soaring pine trees, thankfulness for Gage’s rescue from that desk job always at the top of his mind. After a serious injury to his arm, Gage was forced to leave the SEALs and had the brilliant idea to start Blackwell Tactical. The team was devoted to training law enforcement officers, investigating any manner of situations, and providing private protection services for people in distress.
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  Near the compound’s property line, Riley pressed a remote mounted on the visor to turn on in-ground lights circling the concrete helipad. The helo sat in the middle of the pad, a boot on each rotor tip strapping the helo down to an aluminum securing point sunk into the concrete.

  Jackson shoved the gearshift into park and left the keys so one of his teammates could retrieve the vehicle while he was gone. He was jonesing to get into the air and get to Maggie before the killer did, but a preflight check was necessary to be sure they were safe. Wouldn’t help Maggie in the least if they crashed along the way.

  Still, Jackson could help speed things along. “Want me to remove the tie-down boots while you start the checklist?”

  Riley nodded and got out of the vehicle. “Just be sure you don’t manhandle the rotors.”

  “Me, manhandle something?” Jackson laughed.

  His teammate knew him well. Shoot, all the guys on the team often used more force than necessary to get a job done. Eryn was the only one with any finesse.

  Jackson strode to the first ring and squatted, his knee aching. The humid ocean air often made it hurt, but he’d do about anything to stay on this team, and that included enduring a little pain from living on the southern Oregon coast.

  He released the first strap and stood to take off the boot and push the rotor up. He tried to imagine the moment he would walk into Maggie’s life again. Maybe her home or even her summer school classroom. He saw her standing at the lecture podium, looking to the door and seeing him. Her face creasing in the same agony as the day they’d parted ways.

  Pain gripped him like a charley horse that wouldn’t release its hold. It’d been some time since this particular ache had taken him down, but even years later it felt the same. He could force the memories away, reason them away, work so hard there was no place for them to surface, but the pain still pushed its way up in unguarded moments and left him reeling.

  Did Maggie feel the same way, or had the passing of time healed her wounds?

  He had no way of knowing. Meant he couldn’t tell her he was coming. She could refuse to see him, and he wouldn’t be able to help her. Actually, odds were good that she would send him packing. After the tragedy that tore them apart, they’d agreed never to see each other again.

  In the many years since that day, he kept his promise no matter how difficult it had been.

  Surely, she would understand why he was breaking their agreement now and be willing to talk to him. Right?

  Devastation stretched out in front of Maggie, and her tears weren’t far from the surface. Stately homes now lay in smoldering ruins of rubble and ash in the once-majestic Oregon hillside. Gray skies hung above, dark and ominous like the ash that still drifted in from nearby fires.

  She sighed. Rain was coming. That was good for the Middle Fork Fire still burning with a hazy glow in the distance. Not good for the recovery effort, but Maggie wouldn’t let that stop her. Couldn’t let it stop her. Families depended on her to identify their missing loved ones. She would work in rain, sleet, snow, hail, or you-name-it if she could bring them closure.

  She shook her head at the utter and totally preventable destruction caused by teens setting off firecrackers in the Willamette National Forest. High winds took care of the rest, blowing the Middle Fork Fire into the Summit subdivision during early morning hours just a few short days ago. Firecrackers were illegal in the area, and even if they weren’t, the teens must have known the spring was drier than normal, already putting forest fire season in full swing.

  “Dr. Turner,” a female voice came from behind.

  Maggie dragged her focus from the disturbing scene and faced the young woman holding a microphone. Maggie was five nine and the woman stood taller, her bleached-blond hair styled to perfection. She introduced herself as Felicia Nutley, but Maggie needed no introduction. She recognized her as an up-and-coming local television reporter.

  “How can I help you, Ms. Nutley?” Maggie asked.

  “I was hoping you’d give me a minute for an interview.”

  “I don’t know…” Maggie looked back at the search and rescue team hard at work gingerly sifting through the rubble. The sun was already drooping low in the sky, leaving her only three hours or so of daylight to complete her work. “The others are depending on me.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Felicia said. “Our small community is so devastated by the loss of life. I know the public will be relieved to hear that a forensic anthropologist has been called in to help with victim identity.”

  Would they? The fire burned extremely hot and fast, and the crew was no longer finding bodies, only bone fragments. The team poured debris by the shovelful through fine grates and sifted. They discarded anything that fell through into piles near the foundation of cordoned-off houses and carefully examined what remained.

  Wouldn’t it creep out the viewing public to learn the crew was only finding fragments? They probably wouldn’t want to discover what her job actually was, taking over after the team finished the initial work. She was trained to distinguish a fragment of bone from rock or burnt clay, and it was her job to scrutinize any pieces remaining after the sifting. Still, maybe it would be a good idea to let folks know that she and the team were doing everything they could to recover the missing homeowners. She could leave out details of how that was happening.

  Maggie faced the reporter. “I’ll give you two minutes, but then I really need to get to work.”

  “Thank you.” Felicia smiled and signaled for her cameraman to join them. “Just relax and look at Zeke when you talk.”

  Zeke, a scruffy-looking stocky guy, joined them and turned Maggie by the arm. “Light’s better facing this way.”

  She nodded and took a long breath. She’d been digging through ruins for nearly twelve hours and must look a mess. Maybe just a quick hand through her hair to straighten it. No. No, she wasn’t going to primp.

  Felicia quickly fired questions at Maggie, and she answered them as succinctly as possible. At the two-minute mark, she excused herself to step behind the barricades and work her way over the ash-strewn street. Brick mailboxes and retaining walls stood at the sidewalk like sentries to former homes. Clay flowerpots once filled with blooming plants sat near metal patio furniture—the only reminders of the lifestyle in the vibrant neighborhood just a few days prior. Now the only colors amidst the gray ash were red flags, planted by dog handlers to mark where the dogs found human remains, and the brightly colored clothing of the search and rescue workers.

  Tears pressed against Maggie’s eyes again. So much destruction. Total and complete. And fifteen lives lost. Two men still missing.

  Oh, God, why? she asked but really didn’t expect an answer. She’d been asking a similar question for six years without an explanation and didn’t think she would get one now either.

  She let her nails bite into her palms to stem her tears and continued down the street toward dog handler Parker Amburg, his dog Quasimodo on a leash. The black lab was covered in ash, but still seemed eager to work. Not Parker. No, this job was taking a toll on him. Thin, about five foot nine, his tan face held large splotches of ash, and his shoulders sagged.

  He stopped in front of her with a resigned sigh. “We have another one.”

  “Another one, what?”

  “Victim.” His well-duh look told of his frustration. “In the shed out back of 5040. I just confirmed it.”

  5040? She shot a look down the street to a house three down from where she’d been working all day. “That can’t be. No one was reported missing at 5040. The entire family is safe and secure on vacation in Florida.”