Books by Patricia Bradley

  Logan Point Series

  Shadows of the Past

  A Promise to Protect

  Gone Without a Trace

  Silence in the Dark

  Memphis Cold Case Novels

  Justice Delayed

  Justice Buried

  Justice Betrayed

  Justice Delivered

  Natchez Trace Park Rangers

  Standoff

  Obsession

  Crosshairs

  Deception

  Pearl River

  Counter Attack

  © 2023 by Patricia Bradley

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2023

  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 978-1-4934-4125-9

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

  To my sister, Barbara,

  who journeyed with me 1,120 feet below the earth

  so I could see what being in a cave felt like.

  And to Bryan and Carole,

  who never complain about my deadlines . . .

  at least not to my face.

  But most of all,

  to my Lord and Savior, Jesus.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Books by Patricia Bradley

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from the First Book in the Natchez Trace Park Rangers Series

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  Phame fingered the White pawn and opened the Tor browser from a USB drive. It took a minute to scroll through the sites before finding the right one on the dark web.

  Good. So far over five thousand gamers had played the new video game. Half a mil in cryptocurrency . . . None of the other video games had ever brought in this much money. But then none of the other games were like this one. The murders had been a stroke of genius. And focusing on similar victims killed two birds with one stone.

  Phame shuddered at the cliché. Phillip had hated clichés.

  “Still, you’d be proud of me.” The words dropped into the quiet room held a catch.

  Revenge for Phillip’s death was sweet, but it’d always been about the money. The potential to make millions of dollars relied on new victims. Retribution for Phillip’s death made the choice of victims easier.

  Minutes later, new additions to the game that would bring in even more money were up and running. That so many would pay to be a killer, even vicariously . . . Phame had to laugh.

  Getting away with the first murder had brought such a sense of power that outsmarting the police had become very addictive. Soon, everyone would know about Phame, and one police officer in particular. The officer would pay—not by her own death but knowing her actions had caused the deaths of many.

  2

  Undercover detective Alex Stone twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Her spidey sense tingled from the back of her neck to the small of her back, where a bellyband secured her small backup pistol.

  Someone was watching her, hopefully the person the media had dubbed the Queen’s Gambit Killer. She clenched her jaw. Leave it to the media to link a killer to a TV program because a White pawn had been found in the hand of each of the five victims. She’d give anything to know who leaked that information to the public.

  Her neck prickled again. Was the killer watching her every move?

  Alex swiveled the barstool, casually scanning the Lemon Tree Bar and Lounge and making brief eye contact with a man who nursed a drink at the other end of the bar. One of the two Chattanooga, Tennessee, police detectives covering her in case the killer took the bait. The other officer sat at a nearby table.

  Alex smoothed the short skirt that revealed way more leg than she liked. But the style was similar to what the victims had worn to the bar. She glanced down at the red three-inch heels. What she wouldn’t give to slip on her running shoes.

  When homicide requested her for the undercover operation, she’d insisted on Detectives Watkins and Parker as her backup. She trusted them, and the three of them were a team, one that she would hate to break up if her request to transfer to homicide came through. Homicide was the only department in the Special Investigation Division she hadn’t worked in. If she was able to lure the killer into a trap and he was captured, that would surely help the transfer to go through.

  She sipped a nonalcoholic Tom Collins—fizzy water with a wedge of lemon—as her gaze shifted to the stage, where a lanky kid with peach fuzz on his chin crooned of lost love in the smoky haze. Then she watched a young waitress as she wove around the tables delivering orders. Kayla. That’s what she’d said her name was when Alex ordered her drink. The girl didn’t look old enough to be admitted to the bar, much less serve patrons.

  Alex continued her scan of the room, and a man caught her eye. He raised his glass as if inviting her to drink with him. Should she take him up on his offer? Although he was the right age, Alex doubted he was the killer—the FBI profile indicated the killer was an introvert, and this man seemed anything but. She decided to ignore him for now.

  He was the third man to hit on her. Alex wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for—maybe someone showing interest but not in a way that drew attention to himself.

  She realized Kayla had stopped by her barstool and was speaking to her. Alex leaned toward her. “I didn’t catch what you said.”

  “Ready for another drink?”

  Alex glanced at her almost-empty glass. “Oh, sure.”

  “Tom Collins mocktail again?”

  Alex nodded, and the girl disappeared. She’d been watching her work the crowd off and on all night, and when Kayla returned, she handed the girl a twenty and took the glass. “Keep the change.” A broad smile made the waitress look even younger. “Are you in college?”

  The smile dampened. “No. My dad died a while back, and between his hospital bills and my mom losing her job, there was no money. I had to drop out with only half my credits toward a degree in social work.” Then she smiled brightly. “But I’m not letting that stop me. My financial aid advisor is helping me find grant money, but it probably won’t be this semester. Next year for sure, though.”

  Even though she’d just met Kayla, Alex had no doubts about the waitress getting her degree. She seemed the type to not let anything stand in her way.

  “You haven’t worked here long, have you?” Alex didn’t remember seeing Kayla’s name in any of the case reports.

  “Off and on for five years next month.”

  Alex blinked. A person had to be eighteen to work in a bar, so the girl was a lot older than she seemed. Had she been working at the Lemon Tree during the times of the murders and slipped through the cracks? Or was she not working there at the time of the murders? “Did you know Trinity Collins?”

  “The woman who was murdered after she left the bar?” Kayla shook her head. “That was so sad, but I was working the afternoon crowd back then, and she never came in during that time.”

  That explained why there was no statement from Kayla in Trinity’s file.

  “Was she your friend or something?” the waitress asked.

  “Something like that.”

&nbs p; Victims four and five, Maria Brooks and Trinity Collins, had been at the bar earlier on the nights they were killed, and Alex had almost made the fatal mistake of sounding like a cop. And now she didn’t dare ask if Kayla knew Maria Brooks.

  Kayla jumped as someone called her name, and Alex followed her gaze to the same man who’d raised his glass to Alex earlier. “Houdini probably wants another scotch and water,” she said with a shudder.

  “Houdini?” She was surprised Kayla even knew who the dead magician was.

  The girl giggled. “Yeah. He comes for a while then he disappears for a month or so.”

  “Get it,” Alex said. “And I’ll take it to him.”

  “You don’t mind? He gives me the willies, but I have to be nice to him since he’s a friend of the owner.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Houdini was sounding more interesting by the minute.

  Alex slid a hose-clad leg from the barstool and stood, straightening the leather skirt while she covertly checked the small Sig at her back. Normally she wore it attached to her sports bra, but the low-cut blouse ruled out that option. At least the top hung loosely past her waist. She glanced down, making one last check to verify the top didn’t reveal too much cleavage.

  With a pasted-on smile, she took the drink Kayla handed her and walked toward Houdini’s table. There was a small chance he was the person she was looking for.

  3

  Well, well,” Houdini said as he took the drink she offered. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. What’s your name, handsome?” She couldn’t very well call him Houdini. And he was good-looking in a movie-star kind of way. Perfectly styled hair, icy blue eyes, rugged face, and pearly white teeth. His clothes looked as though he’d had them tailor-made.

  “Reggie. And yours?”

  A fake name if she’d ever heard one. “Lexie.” It was one of the nicknames she’d been given over the years. Alex glanced at his ring finger.

  “Nope, not married.”

  At least he was sharp. “Maybe you’ve never worn a wedding band.”

  “Believe me, honey, if I’d ever gotten married, I would’ve worn one.”

  “So, Reggie, what do you do?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was a preacher?”

  She eyed the drink in his hand.

  “Hey! Some preachers drink.”

  “Not in the Bible Belt.” At least she didn’t know of any.

  “Guess I forgot where I was.” Then he winked. “Reckon I blew that one.”

  “You blew that one when you walked in the door.”

  “You’re funny. You want to cut to the chase or play the dating game?”

  “I’m not going home with you, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

  His eyes turned cold as he raised the scotch to his lips. “Then don’t waste my time.”

  Alex shivered at how fast he’d gone from warm and inviting to ice cold. “I’m not going to say it was nice talking to you.”

  She hoped one of her colleagues snapped a photo of him because he’d just gone to the top of her list of possibilities. As an undercover cop, she’d seen the worst of the worst. Rarely did they come packaged as nicely as “Reggie.”

  No one had taken her seat at the bar and she reclaimed it, almost tempted to take a sip of the drink she’d left behind. She knew better, though; someone could have slipped something in it, and she needed a clear head in case the killer was trolling for his next victim. His pattern was a kill every three months, and it’d been almost three months since the last murder.

  None of the victims had lived to tell how they made contact with their murderer, but for the first three, who were prostitutes, contact probably had been easy. For the last two, the connection to the bar was strong. According to a statement given by the Lemon Tree bartender, who was a lot more helpful than the owner, on the nights the women were murdered, each woman had shown up at the bar without an escort, and they’d left alone. Perhaps they’d encountered Reggie and turned him down, and he hadn’t liked that.

  The medical examiner had placed the time of death for those two women between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. The killer could’ve followed the victims home and forced his way in . . . except none of the murder sites showed forcible entry.

  Did he catch up to each victim as she arrived home and use the weapon he eventually committed the murder with to force them to open the door? Or perhaps, remembering him from the bar, had they invited him in?

  Alex checked her watch. Eleven. Unless someone followed her from the bar, tonight was a bust and she might as well leave. Since the Lemon Tree was the only connection the homicide detectives had found between the last two women, she’d be back tomorrow night. And the next, hoping the killer made a move on her.

  She texted the two undercover officers shadowing her that she was leaving.

  Give me five minutes before following.

  Too long.

  She gritted her teeth. Parker and Watkins were being too protective.

  No, it isn’t. And don’t leave together.

  Their killer wasn’t stupid. He had to figure the police had made the connection to the bar, and if he’d chosen her as his next victim, he would wait to make sure she wasn’t bait. Two men leaving at the same time screamed they were cops and that it was a setup.

  She slipped her phone into her bag and climbed off the barstool just as a man bumped into her.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “No problem.” She looked up in the dimly lit room, and the smile on her face froze as her past stood in front of her.

  “Alexis?” The man stared wide-eyed at her.

  For a second the years fell away as she stared into the blue eyes that belonged to her high school crush. Alex worked to keep her expression from matching Nathan Landry’s dropped jaw. Several thoughts ran through her mind, the main one being she couldn’t let him blow her cover. “You must have me confused with someone else,” she said, her voice blunt.

  His gaze swept her from head to foot, and she tugged the hem of the short skirt, acutely aware of how she must look in clothes she’d never be caught dead wearing back home.

  Slowly Nathan nodded. “Yes, I guess I do have you confused with someone else.” He tipped his head. “Have a good evening, ma’am.”

  She frowned as Nathan picked up the drink he’d ordered and walked toward the tables at the back of the bar. Alex had never known him to drink alcoholic beverages. What was he doing in Chattanooga, in this bar, tonight of all nights? Why wasn’t the Pearl Springs chief of police watching after its citizens? Not that the small Tennessee town had much crime. And “ma’am”? Really?

  She stepped away from the bar stool, her gaze following him. Evidently, Nathan was alone. And he looked as good as ever. Fit and extremely sexy with a five o’clock shadow covering his strong jaw.

  He looked her way. Busted. She quickly shifted her gaze to the other side of the room. What was wrong with her, anyway? Why was she even taking notice of how he looked after the way they’d ended things? Alex clenched her jaw, remembering how he’d cheated her out of capturing the honor of valedictorian their senior year of high school.

  She lifted her chin. There were more important things to think about than a silly romance she’d had as a teenager, even if it had broken her heart. Like finding justice for the five women who’d been murdered.

  Alex gave a slight nod to the officer at the end of the bar as she reached for her purse. Then she sauntered out the door. If she walked slow enough—which wouldn’t be hard in three-inch heels—Watkins and Parker would soon catch up with her. She wanted to live long enough to enjoy the promotion to homicide she expected to receive any day now.

  At the last minute, she glanced back to see where Nathan was. She frowned. He was sitting at Reggie’s table, except there was no sign of Reggie.

  4

  Nathan sipped the Arnold Palmer he’d ordered and set it down in front of him. From the way Alexis had jerked her head in a different direction when he’d turned to look back at her, it was apparent she’d watched him walk to his table. Was it possible she still felt something for him? Something other than contempt? In his dreams.

  He’d quickly caught on that she was working undercover, because he’d never known Alexis Stone to dress in anything so revealing. Of course, maybe she’d changed over the years—he rarely saw her, and the only news he heard about his high school sweetheart came from her grandparents. Nathan winced. Her grandmother would have a fit if she saw the outfit Alexis wore tonight.

 

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