anyone the reason she had spent time in juvenile hall. Her past held secrets and she meant to keep them.
Propping her elbows on her desk, Chloe found herself held spellbound by Peter Norris’s stunning dark blue eyes—even though she wasn’t personally interested—when a knock on his office door reverberated through her computer’s sound system. She sat up straight and stared at the screen, curious to see who had arrived. A colleague? A late date with a beautiful woman? A partner in crime, helping him sell company secrets?
The sound of a door opening and closing reached her, and not long after that, a heated argument ensued between two men. She turned up the volume on her PC and Geordie whimpered. She reached down and gave him a soothing pat, keeping her eyes glued to the computer screen.
“Come on, get in front of the webcam so I can see what’s going on,” she murmured to herself.
Two men were shouting at each other, but she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Her throat constricted when she heard a loud thump. Were they having a fistfight? Mr. Norris’s body flew past the screen and disappeared, and she heard him hit the floor with a solid thud. Chloe jumped out of her chair and leaned closer to the screen. She jerked back when a hand rose into view and pointed a wicked-looking gun toward the floor near the desk, the direction Mr. Norris had fallen.
“No! This can’t be happening,” she whispered.
The sound of a soft pop filled the room. She reached for the chair behind her as a few tiny red splatters hit Peter Norris’s computer camera, enlarging themselves on her screen. Easing into a sitting position, Chloe’s blood ran cold when a ski-masked face stared at her through the small droplets of blood.
“Yes, he’s dead, Miss Spencer. You’ve been a hard woman to track down. The long delay has cost me a lot of time and money. I’m not happy about that.” He moved his face closer to the webcam. His gritty voice scraped her nerves with its intensity. “I decided to give you a taste of what’s in store for you if you don’t give me the disc. I would advise you to get it now. My deliveryman should be at your door any second.” He turned away but glanced over his shoulder with menace in his eyes. “I wouldn’t advise contacting the police, or Stan will find himself in the same position as Peter Norris.”
The screen went blank, and through her haze of terror, Chloe vaguely registered that the killer had logged off Peter Norris’s computer.
A loud, piercing bark jolted her out of shock. She tore her gaze away from the now-blank screen and looked down at her dog. “Geordie,” she whispered, “we’re in big trouble and I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I’ll worry about the disc later. Right now, we have to get out of here.”
Her heart was pounding and her mind racing. The killer’s so-called deliveryman could be at her door any second, and she needed time to figure out what he wanted and how he knew so much about her.
“Geordie, grab your stuff.” Her poodle was highly trained and must have sensed her urgency. He skidded out of her office and headed toward the kitchen, where she kept his stuff in a bag.
Chloe left her laptop and smartphone where they were—she could be tracked through the technology—and grabbed several burner phones she stored in her desk. Being a computer geek came in handy. Chloe met Geordie in the foyer and tore open the closet door. Having learned a lot during her forced tenure at the FBI, Chloe had a “go” bag ready for any emergency that might arise. It included a new identity, passport, driver’s license, the works.
She threw on her leather jacket, slipped the strap of the duffel over her shoulder and opened the door to her apartment. She locked it quickly after her dog followed her out. Peering at the elevator in the middle of the hallway, she saw the numbers were moving upward toward her floor. “It’s the stairwell for us, Geordie,” she whispered. They were halfway to the exit door when the elevator dinged. She glanced over her shoulder as a masked man stepped off the elevator, saw her fleeing and started running toward them.
His hand reached inside his leather jacket and Chloe slowed down. She’d never make it to the garage and her Harley. She lowered her right arm, and the knife she kept stashed up her sleeve dropped into the palm of her hand. Before the guy had a chance to lift the gun, Chloe turned midstride, lifted her arm and threw the knife. It landed exactly where she wanted it to, in his right arm. He stumbled, dropped the gun, grabbed his bleeding arm and shot her a look filled with rage.
Chloe didn’t wait to see if he followed. She pushed the stairwell door open, and she and Geordie raced down to the garage. She lifted her dog, placed him in the attached pouch strapped to the back of the seat and straddled the bike. The roar of the engine filled the parking deck. She quickly maneuvered the bike around and shot forward. Just as she was passing the stairwell door, it opened, and the killer took aim. Chloe swerved the Harley sharp into a curve and almost laid the motorcycle on its side. Two bullets bit into the concrete above her. As soon as the bike was upright, she headed for the exit.
They hit the street and Chloe rode around for a short time, making sure they weren’t followed. She’d stop at an internet café and send an anonymous email reporting the crime. She couldn’t do it under her own name because there was a chance the FBI would become involved due to the high-profile murder. She couldn’t take a chance on the killer going after Stan.
She didn’t even consider contacting Stan. As Director of Criminal Cyber, Response and Services Branch of the FBI, he would end up in the middle of this mess, and she refused to take that chance. Stan and Betty had assumed custody of, and later adopted, a sassy sixteen-year-old girl who had hacked into a bank and gotten sent to juvenile hall. Thanks to Stan, and her extensive hacking skills, the judge wisely, and leniently, allowed her to leave juvenile hall and finish out her sentence working for the FBI cyber unit. Her community service helped the FBI and taught her a lesson at the same time. And, of course, all child labor laws were strictly adhered to.
Stan and Betty had done enough for Chloe already. She had to handle this herself. She’d call them after she decided where she was heading and tell them she and Geordie had taken a little vacation. Risking their lives by involving them wasn’t an option.
* * *
Standing on the sidewalk outside of Lucy’s Café, enjoying the unusually warm late-autumn weather, Sheriff Ethan Hoyt almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken when a Harley roared down the street, then swerved into a spot right in front of him. The rider removed her helmet after pushing down the kickstand, then she attached the helmet to the motorcycle and ran her hands through short, midnight-black hair, leaving it spiked all over her head.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned her face and took note of every feature. Pixie face with porcelain skin, narrow nose, sculpted chin, brown eyes, black eyebrows. She had the physique of a runner, he noticed as she lifted a leg over the seat of the bike and shot him a mischievous grin. Two dimples appeared on either side of her mouth, contrasting with the biker-dude appearance. She was a looker, but he wasn’t the least bit interested. He had a daughter to raise, and he had failed to make his deceased wife happy when she was alive.
When she unzipped a partially open attachment on the back of the bike, he took what he hoped appeared to be a casual sip of coffee. She placed both hands inside the leather pouch and lifted something out.
He was totally caught off guard when she folded a small, ugly brown dog into her arms. Ethan didn’t like surprises. He liked to think of himself as being prepared for every contingency. She crooned nonsense to the mutt and placed him on the ground, where he promptly pooped on town property. She praised the critter for doing what nature demanded, then dug around in another bag and lifted a leash triumphantly in the air. After attaching
