Dead Fall (The Quantico Files Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Nancy Mehl

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136 pages

English

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Description

He has a deadly endgame in mind--and he's already chosen each victim . . . including her.After putting to rest the most personal case of her career, Alex Donovan is ready to move on and focus on her future at the FBI's elite Behavioral Analysis Unit. When the BAU cofounder is discovered dead in his hotel room, the FBI is called in to work on the strangest case they've ever faced. How do you find a killer who murders his victims from a distance?When it becomes clear that the killer is targeting agents in Alex's unit, they are ordered into lockdown, sheltered in the dorms at Quantico. Alex bunks with controversial agent Kaely Quinn, and as they work together, Alex discovers in Kaely the role model she's never had--despite being warned away. As Alex questions the type of agent she wants to become, things get personal when the brilliant killer strikes close to home. Now Alex will do anything to find the killer--even at the risk of her own life.

Sujets

Thriller

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	02 novembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493433803
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0384€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Half Title Page
Books by Nancy Mehl
R OAD TO K INGDOM
Inescapable
Unbreakable
Unforeseeable
F INDING S ANCTUARY
Gathering Shadows
Deadly Echoes
Rising Darkness
D EFENDERS OF J USTICE
Fatal Frost
Dark Deception
Blind Betrayal
K AELY Q UINN P ROFILER
Mind Games
Fire Storm
Dead End
T HE Q UANTICO F ILES
Night Fall
Dead Fall
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2021 by Nancy Mehl
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3380-3
Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Studio Gearbox
Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
Dedication
To Brandon Brotton, an exceptional young man who loves God and promised me he’d try harder in his English classes. Brandon, I’ll make you a character in one of my books when your parents say you’re old enough to read them, okay? In the meantime, keep giving it your best. I’m so proud of you!
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Nancy Mehl
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
Those in law enforcement pay a heavy price when they constantly look into the dark minds of evil.
JOHN DAVIS, DARK MINDS
1
J ohn Davis turned up the collar on his jacket as he swiftly walked away from the shrill voices bleeding through from the hotel banquet hall behind him. March certainly wasn’t going out like a lamb. This last blast of cold weather was intense.
He took a quick look behind him. If he didn’t make a fast getaway, he’d be stopped by some convention attendee asking him for advice on how to get their book published. Or even worse, begging for help finding the person who murdered their child, husband, wife, brother, sister, or parent. Over the years, the darkness in the eyes of the grieving had taken a toll on him.
He’d just turned seventy-six. Maybe it was time to stop speaking to groups full of people who thought murder was somehow exciting. Who believed they could learn behavioral analysis during a three-day convention. He’d been at this since his early days at the FBI, when profiling was just an experiment. Now, thanks to television shows and movies that romanticized the process, everyone and their dog thought they could understand the evil that festered in the hearts of certain human beings.
Although statistics and analysis helped to narrow down possibilities so law enforcement had a better chance at finding violent criminals, those procedures couldn’t explain the kind of malevolence they witnessed. As a Christian, he knew where true evil came from, but that knowledge didn’t banish the images that burned in his mind. The ones that showed up in his nightmares.
He took the key card he needed to enter the building that housed the hotel’s guest rooms from his pocket. Before he fit it into the card slot, he thought he heard someone behind him. A quick look around showed no one. Just his imagination. Why was he so rattled? He’d been uneasy ever since he’d arrived in Bethesda.
John entered the building and made sure the outer door behind him clicked shut and locked. He hurried to the elevator and more than once punched the button to the third floor as if it would somehow make the elevator move faster. When it finally arrived, he hurried inside and pressed the button to close the door. He didn’t want anyone riding up with him.
The elevator had just started to move when his cell phone rang. It was one of the Murder Will Out convention organizers and speakers, a successful suspense author he respected. This guy got it right. Few writers did. Some of the things included in novels made John cringe. In fact, he’d publicly criticized several of them. But not D. J. Harper. John recommended his books to those who wanted a real look into the lives of behavioral analysts.
“Hi, D. J.,” he said into his phone.
“Hey. You were great tonight. Thanks again for coming.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve done a great job with this group. This convention’s larger every year.”
D. J. laughed. “Sure, because you show up. You’re the main event, you know. The FBI’s most renowned profiler.”
D. J. was being humble. He had a huge readership, and after every convention his book sales rocketed well beyond John’s own. Seemed to be a win-win situation for them both.
“What can I do for you?” John asked, hoping there wasn’t anything. He was so tired his bones hurt. He just wanted to lie down and close his eyes.
“I thought I’d ask if you’d like a nightcap. We’ve been working so hard that we haven’t had much time to talk.”
John couldn’t hold back a sigh as he exited the elevator and headed down the hall. “I’d love to, D. J., but I just can’t. Not even for you. I’m beat.”
“I understand completely. As the years go by, it gets harder and harder to keep up with all these young, eager fans. I’m getting by on fumes as it is. Hey, by the way, a rather odd guy asked to meet you. I told him you weren’t available for personal meetings. Just wanted to warn you.”
“There’s always at least one, isn’t there?”
D. J. chuckled. “You’re right. Some people get so entrenched in this stuff that it warps them.”
“I worry about that.”
“I do too, but it sells books. Hard to walk away from that.” He paused for a moment. “Ever wonder if we’ve sold our souls?”
“Every day.”
John was almost to his room when a group of people got off the elevators at the other end of the hall. They were dressed up, so they were probably coming from the semiformal dinner that was the last event of the convention. He hurried to slip into his room before they saw him, but he didn’t make it.
“Mr. Davis,” a woman in the group called out. “We really enjoyed your lectures this weekend.”
John nodded and tossed her a smile before sliding his card into the key slot. He was happy to hear the door unlock. Thankful to be free, he quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The final click caused him to nearly groan with relief.
“Hey, sorry I rushed out after my speech,” John said into the phone. “Hope I didn’t come off as a snob.”
D. J. laughed. “Nah. Just the regular disappointed groupies who wanted a chance to talk to you. They’ll get over it.”
John sat down on the side of his bed. “I had the strangest feeling after leaving the banquet hall. I . . . I can’t really explain it. Almost like someone was watching me. I guess I’m letting my professional life bleed over into my real life.”
“Too many meetings, too many serial killers.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
D. J. grunted. “If our fans only knew the truth. But no one wants to hear that. The carnage. The twisted facts that make you want to puke.”
“Nothing exciting about looking at photos of young women slaughtered by one of these psychopaths. Most television shows and novels aren’t honest. They portray us as heroes and the UNSUBs as inhuman. But the frightening thing is they are human. Some can fit neatly into society so that no one knows what they really are. Some of the people here tonight could be working next to a monster and not know it.”
“You’re thinking of Ted Bundy.”
“That’s the kind of killer that scares me the most. The ones who can’t connect to society? They’re easier to find. Sometimes I wonder how many Bundys are out there. Making friends. Gaining trust. Just waiting for an opportunity to . . .” He sighed. “Sorry. I’m babbling. I’m just so tired tonight. Truthfully? I’m too tired every night. It might be time for me to go home and spend what time I have left with my family.”
“You do what you need to do, John. You’ve given enough.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Maybe D. J. was right. These things sucked the life out of him. His speeches were whitewashed versions of the truth. People wanted nice killers. Stories you could repeat in polite society. Some of the more sordid facts stayed in the minds of law enforcement, lurking in the recesses of their thoughts, sometimes trying to claw their way out, overthrowing the idea of a sane and sensible world. A world where redemption still existed.
“Thanks for the call, D. J., but I’ve got to hit the hay. I’m out of here first thing in the morning. I have an eight a.m. flight.”
“I could meet you for breakfast. You have to eat.”
“Maybe. Can I let you know after I get up?”
“Sure. Just call me. No pressure. Hey, thanks again for coming.”
“You bet. Talk to you in the morning.”
John disconnected the call, D. J.’s words echoing in his head. “You’re the main event, you know.” He’d done thirty of these speaking engagements last year. It was March, and here he was at it again. He was exhausted, inside and out. He had enough money, and his ego didn’t need more attention