List of Secrets E-Book

D.F. Hart

• Herausgeber: 2 of Harts Publishing
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

It could just be coincidence. It also could be revenge.
But hardened cop Frank Zimmerman doesn’t believe in coincidences. Neither does FBI profiler Nathan Thomas.
A drowned lawyer, a fatal car accident, a heart attack and a socialite’s lethal fall in front of a huge crowd all have their cop antennae pinging - hard.
They dig for evidence to support his theory of a trail of bodies that lead into the past.
What’s going on? And who will die next?

Vital Secrets is a suspenseful crime thriller series chronicling FBI profiler Nathan Thomas and his team's cases, who capture serial killers while also juggling their personal and professional lives. While each suspenseful, riveting title in this series can be read as a standalone, readers will find maximum enjoyment if these full-length books are read in order - because while there are no cliffhangers, there is character growth over the series. If you enjoy the works of Elle Gray, Mary Burton, Lucinda Berry, Melinda Leigh and Pete Zacharias, the Vital Secrets series should make for a very enjoyable read!

List of Secrets is perfect for readers who enjoy fast-paced, action-filled crime thriller novels that are brimming with unexpected twists and turns and feature FBI profilers.

Leseprobe

List of Secrets

Book Two of the Vital Secrets Series

Table of Contents

Title Page

List of Secrets: A Suspenseful Crime Thriller (Vital Secrets, #2)

The Vital Secrets Series

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

Author’s Note:

Web of Secrets

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D.F. Hart

A Collaboration with

K. W. Branzell

The Vital Secrets Series

Wall of Secrets (prequel)

Book of Secrets

List of Secrets

Web of Secrets

Path of Secrets

Carnival of Secrets

House of Secrets

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COPYRIGHT

––––––––

Copyright © 2019 by D.F. Hart

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019910812

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-7330454-4-5

eBook 978-1-7330454-5-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

––––––––

Custom Cover Design commissioned for D.F. Hart by:

Rocking Book Covers

Published 2019 by 2 Of Harts Publishing

www.2Ofharts.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my husband Rick, who is my biggest cheerleader;

To my fabulous sister Leah, and my beta readers Carrie and Lisa, who get as excited about all this as I do;

To Mr. John Doppler and Mr. John Robert Marlow, whose abilities to both bolster my self-confidence and talk me down from my ledges never ceases to amaze;

To Anita, whose encouragement never falters and who shoots straight with me when I need it most;

To Mr. Michael C. Miller, Mr. Glen R. Stansfield, and Mr. Robert Keating, for sharing with me their expertise in law enforcement, civil aviation, and criminal law, respectively;

And to all in the ALLi and SPF peer groups, for their support. I thank you all!

Finally, to an amazing woman who had a wicked cool idea for a plot and who trusted me to bring it to life – My collaborator, proofreader, and one of the best friends I have ever had – My mom, K.W. Branzell. It was both an honor and a joy to travel this road with you Mom!

D.F. Hart

PROLOGUE

Just after one a.m. on a typical November 2010 night in Tucson, Arizona, and the target was late. The killer had been given his prey’s schedule in advance, a schedule that usually had no variations whatsoever.

Until tonight it seemed.

The Raven, as he was called by those who hired him, was not the least bit bothered by this. One could not be in this line of work and last long at all if impatience or other infirmities could not be controlled. He was among the best at his craft; with over a hundred kills to his credit already, and with zero success of any law enforcement agency worldwide at even identifying, much less catching, him, he deserved both the rating and the respect he held.

He was engaged by his clientele through extremely anonymous means – typically through interestingly worded ads – and maintained a very high moral standard of which jobs he accepted. Only those truly deserving of death at his hand, such as drug dealers and sex traffickers, needed to fear a visit from him. And because he didn’t deal out random judgement for dollars, the Raven slept just fine at night.

He was truly ready for this one to be over with, though. The Raven didn’t need to take on any new jobs for a while; his financial status these days, unlike when he first started, was such that he could walk away from this career any time he chose. No, it wasn’t money that had him ready to go home. He itched to get back to the hobby he’d taken up fifteen months earlier. While that too employed a certain framework of rules and a moral standard, it was much more personally satisfying.

Mentally he ran down the hobby checklist. New York was happening next. It wasn’t where she was supposed to be, but evidently something had happened that had drawn her there. No matter. From the research that had been done, it was obvious she was terrified of crowds. That would make her even easier to deal with in a city that size.

He checked his watch. Almost one-thirty a.m. now. At last, the vehicle he’d been waiting on approached. As it swung past him, he slipped on his gloves, verifying a lone occupant as expected. Good, he thought. No collateral damage to worry about. He moved quickly but quietly toward the car as it came to a halt about ten feet from him.

The driver put the car in park. He looked right, to retrieve his briefcase from the passenger seat, so he didn’t notice the approach from his left side. Before he could open his driver’s door, the Raven was in the back seat right behind him, pulling the man’s head backward with his left hand, his right hand running the scalpel deep across the exposed throat.

Raven exited the car and faded away into the dark, leaving one of the Southwest’s biggest kiddie porn distributors to spend his last few seconds on earth gurgling blood and wondering what the hell had just happened.

CHAPTER ONE

The magnificent wilds of Sunburst Lake, Alberta, on a gorgeous late afternoon in early August 2009.

God, I love it up here, Ernest thought to himself. The view from the cabin’s back porch, across the lake toward Mount Assiniboine, was worth the trip all by itself. So different from the flat terrain back home. Every year he usually came up with a bunch of fishing buddies.

But not this time. This time was secret. This time was special.

Finally, at sixty-five years of age, he’d found the one he wanted to spend forever with. She was a sweet young thing, only thirty-one, gorgeous, with a lush, full body he planned to thoroughly enjoy for the first time later tonight. He’d been wooing her for a couple of months now, and she’d finally agreed to go away with him for a weekend together. He just knew the beauty of the location and the romance of the fireplace would finally lead to him seducing her.

After all, no one ever said no to Judge Ernest Copeland. It just didn’t happen.

As a standing judge in Fort Worth, Texas for over twenty-seven years, he’d become accustomed to his word being law. No one escaped his wrath if they failed to pay proper respect. Defendant, plaintiff, prosecutor or attorney to those accused - even John Q Public simply watching the proceedings - all stood equally targeted in his sights when he became displeased. He’d ruined quite a few promising careers in his time and was universally loathed on both sides of the aisle as a result.

He didn’t give a damn at all.

Now he gazed at his prize, this lovely lady standing beside him in the living area of the cabin she’d just followed him up to. She had insisted on driving her own rental vehicle up. A little power play, he supposed, frowning. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t resist his charms much longer.

“I’m hungry, baby,” she mentioned. “Want me to whip up some dinner for us?”

“Absolutely,” he retorted. That was woman’s work. He had no intention of doing it.

“Okay, hon,” she said, and headed into the kitchen as he sat down near the fire with a newspaper he’d brought.

She busied herself at the stove for a bit, then crept over to the doorway to make sure he was fully absorbed in his reading and wouldn’t interrupt her. Good. He was focused. She unpacked the groceries he’d picked up in the little town down the mountain from here, then retrieved the extra special ingredient from her bag, tucking it into her pocket.

“Would you like a drink while you read?” she called out.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” he replied.

“Coming up.” And grinned to herself as she added the liquid potassium chloride she’d brought along into his glass, mixing it thoroughly with the Jack Daniels before adding ice.

“Here you go, dear,” she handed him the glass, then returned to the kitchen. Ten minutes later he called out to her, handed her the empty glass, barked, “Another,” then returned to his paper.

He seems fine, she thought. I didn’t mix it strongly enough. Time to fix that. The next drink she made she doubled the dose, freshened the ice, took it back out to him. She also added some into the beans she’d made; she hated beans anyway, so it was no sacrifice to make on her behalf. She plated his meal, served that to him too, then returned to the kitchen, pulled on the latex gloves she’d also retrieved from her overnight bag, and waited.

Five minutes in, she heard the plate hit the floor as his body finally reacted to too much potassium coursing through him. She came into the living room, sat on the couch, calmly and quietly watching as a massive myocardial infarction laid out Mr. I-Am-God on the floor like a homeless man on the street. He managed to turn his head toward her, whispering ‘help’ in a paper-thin voice. She slowly shook her head side to side, her eyes never leaving his.

As his heart gave out completely, the last thing he ever saw was her smiling face, watching him go. She gave it a bit, then reached down and checked his vitals with a practiced hand.

Good.

Now to tidy up.

She retrieved the plate and glass, took them to the kitchen, then cleaned up the food spilled on the floor. She proceeded to wash the dishes and all the cookware, taking care to wipe down every single surface she’d touched so no trace of her would remain. She repeated the wipe procedure on the front door handles, the little table beside the chair he’d fallen out of, everywhere she could think of as even a remote possibility of containing her prints.

Just before she made her exit, she pulled a tiny cellophane wrapper out of her pocket, tied it in a little bowtie like she’d seen so many times before so long ago, and placed it into his front pants pocket.

“One down, fifteen to go,” she said aloud, looking back at the scene one last time to make sure she’d not forgotten anything. And saw exactly what she’d hoped to convey– a man, sitting alone reading his paper by the fire, had what appeared to be a fatal heart attack, and fell out of the chair to the floor.

It had been her first kill. And she was proud of herself. She didn’t panic, she didn’t forget anything. She was truly amazed how simple it had all been. All I had to do was wear low-cut tight shirts and bat my eyes at that bastard, she recollected. And he lapped it up like milk. She’d never had any intention of letting him have sex with her; she’d just had to play along so she could get him somewhere alone. And it had worked.

She walked out into the fading light for the return trip down the mountain. Climbing into her rental car, she took a small notebook out of her purse, pulled out a pen, and marked a line through Judge Ernest Copeland’s name with a great deal of satisfaction. She took a moment to breathe, to relive it, revel in it, just for a moment. Then she put her car in drive, circled wide around his car, and started her journey back.

On to the next.

*  *  *

Landon Kendal was in his office, checking manifests against current inventory levels. The shipment from Italy was already two days overdue. He’d padded expected delivery dates as a routine measure, to account for unforeseen circumstances like rough seas or customs issues, but he still needed to lock down the cause of this delay.

As he reached for the desk phone to get in touch with his supplier there, his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and grinned. His kid sister Sam. He smiled as he typed a response to her, hit send, put his cell back in his pocket, and continued his quest to find out where exactly his merchandise was.

*  *  *

October the twentieth, 2009. District Attorney Hugh Livingston was not having a good evening. He figured he’d hired the stupidest PR man on the fucking planet for this campaign. Who else but a complete idiot would schedule back to back events only two hours apart when the drive time alone from Plano to Waco was almost two hours? And that was in good weather. This evening had turned misty, with thunderstorms forecasted. Fuming, he waved off his entourage in disgust, walked quickly to his car, and slammed it into drive. If he absolutely hauled ass, he’d just make it.

Running for Governor of Texas wasn’t worth dealing with all this shit.

Almost, he amended.

To be honest, it was the fruition of a dream he’d had since the 1980’s. He’d worked hard, being sure to keep any high-profile cases for himself rather than handing them to staffers; he’d cultivated strategic friendships across political lines. Every single bit of it had paved the way to this point. Currently he was ahead by a large gap in the polls, but he needed to keep this insane schedule to stay out front for another few weeks. Just a few more weeks until the public went to the polls on November fourth and it would all pay off.

He screamed down US -75 heading south toward downtown Dallas and switched lanes whenever possible to try to get an edge. He made his way through the ninety-degree right-hand motion to merge onto westbound I-30, and then on to I-35E South without incident. He was almost in Waxahachie when the tie rod the Raven had sabotaged finally broke under the strain. Livingston could no longer control his car. It snapped hard right on the rain-slicked road, left the elevated freeway and barrel-rolled down the embankment to land wheels up on Solon Road below.

He was pronounced dead at the scene.

As he listened to the police scanner, the Raven smiled. Nice job, he congratulated himself. That worked out perfectly. This hobby was already way more fun than either one of his day jobs. Absolutely. And when they inventoried the car’s contents, they’d find the subtle little souvenir he’d left behind.

He consulted the memo feature on his phone. Time to line up the next on his list.

*  *  *

2,121 miles northwest, at her desk in Seattle’s police headquarters, Detective Elizabeth Zimmerman finished typing out her case report on the one she’d finally been able to wrap today. A fatal carjacking two months earlier had given her quite the run. But she’d stayed focused, channeled the dogged determination she had inherited from her father, and the hours tenaciously racked up had finally paid off. She not only caught the man she’d been chasing, but she’d managed to hand Vice an extremely handy piece of intel; they had conducted a raid earlier in the evening that resulted in over three million in cocaine taken off the streets of Seattle.

She had just hit ‘save’ then ‘print’ when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. “Hi, daddy,” she said.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

“Just finishing up a report.”

“You caught your carjacking suspect. I can tell by your voice. Good work, kiddo.”

“Thanks Dad. What are you up to?”

“Not much, just got off. Gonna go hang with Joe, watch TV.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah. Hey kid, I... I gotta go. Just wanted to check in on you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you. Talk soon?”

“Talk soon.” And he hung up.

She smiled sadly.

He just wasn’t the same as before. Before, Frank Zimmerman had been one of Fort Worth’s best detectives, ever. It wasn’t just her opinion as his daughter; he’d had several commendations over his twenty-five years doing detective work. One case, though, had broken him. One case from earlier in his career that haunted him enough to turn in his detective shield and go back to patrol work once new evidence came to light. He just hadn’t been the same since last fall, when the real killer in the 1985 case was finally identified through now more sophisticated DNA testing, and Frank realized that the man he’d helped put in prison back then - and who died while incarcerated - was innocent all along.

Now he walked a beat, and spent his off time with Joe Wallace, his former partner in the Detective unit. And, according to her last conversation with Joe a couple of months ago, Dad had become more and more dependent on whiskey to get through his days as a beat cop.

She sighed. She’d have to take some time, travel down to Fort Worth soon and check on him. Maybe over the holidays at some point. Although that was when the crazies seemed to peak around here.

She’d just have to play it by ear.

Her desk phone rang, and with it came a fresh case. She grabbed her badge, jacket, and sidearm, fixed them all in place, and left to go look at the scene and at one very dead convenience store clerk that had made the mistake of fighting back unarmed against a masked robber.

*  *  *

New Year’s Eve, 2009. Benbrook, Texas.

Jerry Singletary was at home, alone, stoned and drunk out of his mind.

After the papers had announced to the world that he’d been one of the men caught up in an underage solicitation sting five days before Christmas, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace from the subsequent media frenzy. Being busted had parlayed into his home being raided, and the large quantity of child pornography he possessed had sealed his fate completely. He had been released on a massively expensive bail after some wrangling, and already colleagues had distanced themselves – not a one that he’d called for help was willing to represent him.

That hurt. He’d known some of them for years.

He’d been immediately fired from the law firm as well, and last he’d heard, a lot of the cases he’d worked would now be under review for possible misconduct charges to pile onto him along with everything else.

If that happened, he’d be disbarred right around the time he got sent to prison.

Insult to injury.

He knocked back the rest of the Jameson, cursed and threw the empty bottle, lurched up unsteadily, and shuffled to the counter for a new bottle to continue his downward trend.

Now, sitting alone in his darkened house, no future in sight that he could see, he wallowed in self-pity. He’d have to represent himself in all this. No family – he was an only child, his parents were dead, his wife had bailed back in 1986 – and now, no friends for support either. His addled brain tried to make some sense of what his life had turned into, and just couldn’t.

Screw this, he thought hazily. Hot bath and sleep, and deal with it all in the morning. He stumbled upstairs to his jacuzzi tub, weaving dangerously, fresh bottle of Jameson in his hand.

He padded over to the counter and, with some difficulty and swearing, finally was able to turn on the radio. Jazz filled the air. He frowned, pressed another button, and grinned sloppily as Drowning Pool screamed at him from the speakers. “Thash better,” he slurred, bobbing his head to the beat.

Jerry ran the water, stripped down, climbed in. He pressed the button to turn the jets on full blast, leaned back and closed his eyes as the water and his music washed over him. He didn’t see the closet door slowly swing open.

The Raven crept silently to the side of the tub, and as Jerry remained blissfully unaware, pressed the rag of chloroform to his face. The resistance was minimal – thanks to a blood alcohol level almost four times the legal limit and massive tokes of some very strong pot not fifteen minutes earlier, Jerry couldn’t have fought off a fly.

A tiny shove was all it took to send Jerry Singletary’s head under the water permanently. He was so far under the influence from the pot, booze, and sedative that he didn’t even struggle as he drowned.

“Happy New Year,” the Raven told him as he placed a token of his visit on the bathroom counter. “Oh, and ironic choice of music, bro. But quite appropriate, don’t you think?” He crossed to the side of the tub, gazed at the lifeless face under the surface for a moment to make sure it was finished, then chuckled to himself as he left.

As he drove away, the Raven mulled over the night’s events. This had been one of those rare times that professional and hobby dovetailed into a single target. Singletary had already been in his sights to deal with at some point, and then the paid contract to end him had been offered. As a result, killing Jerry Singletary had been satiating all the way around.

Doesn’t get much better than this, he thought happily as he cranked the radio.

*  *  *

New year, new things to accomplish. She’d drilled down into her next target’s life for four hours straight and her eyes were beginning to cross. She rubbed them, got up to move around and restore blood flow in her legs, then walked to the kitchen, got herself more water, and returned to her computer desk.

She sighed, stretched again, then resumed her seat and her research. Her eyebrows raised. Hmm. Made the U.S. Olympic team in 1990, 1994, 1998. Missed making it in 2002 and 2006.  She wondered if he’d be focused currently on making the 2010 squad for Vancouver; if he was, it would be much harder to approach and distract him. Then again, at forty-one, most skiers had already ended their Olympic chase; the average age of the 2006 team was only twenty-seven years old. She decided she’d have to risk it. She’d make sure to cross his path and hope he didn’t have training tunnel vision.

This was almost going to be a shame. She did appreciate talent.

She pulled his picture up again. Definite hottie, and only five years her senior. This one she wouldn’t mind letting touch her one bit. As she reviewed her plans, she realized it might come to that; it might be the only way to get close enough to do what she had to do. Hazards of the work, she told herself, and grinned. Sometimes you gotta take one for the mission. She looked at his picture again. And I am completely okay with that. When they look like this, I’d take several.

She opened another browser window, pulled up a travel site, made her arrangements. Then she headed off to bed.

*  *  *

Frank Zimmerman sat on his couch flipping channels and working his way through another bottle of Wild Turkey at three a.m. after yet another tedious shift at work. Another year of this, he thought sourly, referring to his patrol beat. He wanted to hold out until he turned fifty-five to retire, but as miserable as he was, he didn’t know if he could stand another year of it.

Dammit, he wasn’t meant for this. He’d been born to be a detective, had known all his life that’s what he was destined to be. And he’d been good at it. But after what had come to light, he couldn’t face the possibility of pursuing and persecuting another innocent. He took a long pull from his bottle and tried desperately to quiet the accusing voices in his head. Every time Frank closed his eyes, he pictured the poor man’s face again, drawn and pale, his shoulders slumped in defeat, the way he flinched as if struck when the judge had sentenced him to life in prison and banged the gavel, the way he’d sobbed and pleaded as he’d been led away to his fate.

I helped put him there, Frank chastised himself yet again. Young hotshot detective out to prove myself, so fucking determined that I was right, I was so sure that it was him... I was so very, very wrong. And he died there. Tears slid down his cheeks as the memories broke him all over again, and he polished off the bottle in a futile effort to ease the pain. God, I wish I could take it back. As he stumbled toward his room, his cell phone buzzed repeatedly, forgotten on the coffee table.

*  *  *

Lizzie waited, fingers tapping out a beat, listening to her dad’s phone ring and ring on the other end. And sighed. She knew he was on second shift rotation this month, so he should be home. She’d caught another case that just wasn’t feeling right to her, and she wanted to pick his brain about it and see if he could help her figure out what she was missing.

She’d only recently made detective, after paying her dues and working her way up the ranks for seven grueling years. When she finally received her detective’s badge, she honestly had not been able to tell who was prouder – her or her father. Her mother, on the other hand, had never been supportive of Lizzie’s career choice at all. “It’s the whole reason we got divorced,” her mother reminded her constantly. “I didn’t want to have that life, worried sick every time your dad left for work, and I don’t want to have to be worried sick when you go to work either.”

It had escalated over time into a huge knockdown drag out fight between the two; her mother called her selfish, and Lizzie finally exploded and told her mother exactly what she thought of being ripped from the father she idolized when she was twelve and dragged over two thousand miles away against her will.

They hadn’t spoken since that night, which was just fine with Lizzie.

She sighed again as her dad’s voice came on, asking her to please leave a message. She did so at the beep, then, reluctantly, she hung up and returned to her latest puzzle.

CHAPTER TWO

February 2010, Vail, Colorado, and a perfect day for snowboarding and skiing. She had made sure to select a bright blue ski suit that was flattering as hell and showed every curve to perfection. And she was delighted to hear that her target was available for private instruction. Although she could already ski well, it would be to her advantage to play dumb in a big way.

Now she giggled and mildly flirted, and Donny Atherton was entranced the moment he saw his shapely student with honey blond hair and emerald eyes. Over the course of their first day together, she managed to get him to reveal that he was not in fact training for the next Olympics. Matter of fact, occasionally taking students was about the extent of his ski time these days. Fabulous, she thought. Means I can have you to myself.

She paid very careful attention to her footing in this back-and-forth dance of flirty and chaste, and hoped he would follow each step unaware of the plans she had for him. As he showed her the proper way to fasten skis, she fawned over him. As he gripped her hips and rocked her gently through the motions of properly shifting her weight to lean through turns, she made herself blush as she smiled at him. By the end of the day, she’d solemnly announced that she would feel much more secure in her abilities if she had a few more days of lessons with him before trying out any of the ski runs. And he agreed. He asked her out to dinner the first night; she turned him down, by design.

*  *  *

County Wicklow, Ireland, and the Raven had been retained once again for some payback. He trained his binoculars downslope from his perch farther up the hillside overlooking the Glendalough monastic settlement. From here, he could pass for watching for birds or other wildlife as he was bringing his target into view. Slowly, he scanned right, then left. “A-ha. There you are,” the Raven murmured as he confirmed the man was indeed being a tourist today as he’d been told. He nodded his approval, then began to head down toward the settlement.

There were people around, but not so many as he’d imagined. Peak tourist season for this park seemed to be from April to October. Mid-February was much less crowded, but there were still enough visitors milling about that he should be able to make delivery and then fade away surreptitiously. He grinned as he made his way down the slope to his target.

He joined the back of the tour group at first, his eyes never leaving the man he sought who stood about twenty feet in front of the Raven. As the man gazed around, taking in the old tower and the headstones, it was clear he was oblivious to just how close to death he was.

The Raven moved closer as his prey took off his jacket; for mid-February, the temperature was a bit over sixty degrees, unseasonably warm. Good, the Raven thought to himself. Less fabric to penetrate.

As he passed the man on the walking path, he pretended to stumble, slapping his left hand onto his victim’s right shoulder for balance – and deploying the tiny plunger he had palmed containing the ricin-laced metal sphere into the flesh of his victim. “My apologies,” the Raven said, removing his hand and slipping the now-empty device into his pocket.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, unaware he now had only about seventy-two hours to live.

“Fine, thanks,” Raven answered. “Just lost my footing for a moment there.” And he continued past on his way down the walking path. Now all he had to do was tail the man for a day or two and make sure the ricin worked as advertised.

*  *  *

Day two saw Donny and his pupil on the bunny slopes, her still hiding her true skill set and winding him more and more around her finger. Small talk, noncommittal, most of it fictitious, met his questions about her life. But he seemed to be satisfied with the answers, and she could tell he wanted to get to know her more. Another dinner invitation was proffered at day’s end, and, as before, was politely refused.

*  *  *

Within twenty-four hours, he had his confirmation. The priest, who had fled the U.S. before he could be arrested on multiple counts of child molestation, had been hurriedly packed into an ambulance outside the hotel they both were registered guests in. The Raven watched silently from his balcony as the man on the gurney was loaded up and carried away, sirens breaking the still morning air. He followed the ambulance’s movement until it was out of sight, then sent a carefully worded email to his employer.

A certain priest wouldn’t be preying upon the innocent anymore.

*  *  *

On day three, Donny asked again, and she said yes. He beamed at her. “Great,” he exclaimed, as their session for the day was winding down. “Pick you up at six?”

“Sounds great,” she replied, and gazed at him with those sparkling green eyes.

He escorted her back to the lodge, and they parted ways to prepare for their date.

She showered, toweled herself dry, and thought about him while she pondered what to wear. “Dammit, I like him,” she sighed. That part sucked. She didn’t often meet interesting men. But he’d been involved, so he had to go. No exceptions. End of story. Pull it together and get this done.

Meanwhile, Donny had also showered, and was pulling on form fitting jeans and boots. “She is amazing,” he murmured to himself as he chose and put on a sweater that brought out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, then turned to the mirror to make sure his hair was perfect. He’d felt the electricity surge between them on day one, when he’d placed his hands on her sides to try to help her feel what she needed to do when traveling down a slope to be able to turn. Since then, the days with her had flown by much too fast. But she’d finally agreed to spend time together as man and woman rather than instructor and student.

He grinned as he brushed his perfect white teeth. He wanted her, badly. And he had no idea what was driving it. All he knew was that he just had to see her, even if only once, out of that blue suit and in his bed. But hopefully more than once. He felt a real connection forming, and he didn’t want it to be just another one-night stand. He’d done enough of those, especially with Olympics groupies back in the day.

His conscience mocked him. After everything you did, you don’t deserve a normal life, or a real relationship.

“No! That is ancient history. I’ve changed. I’m not that guy anymore!” he told himself out loud as he stared into his own soul in the mirror for a long moment.

Donny broke out of his reverie and glanced at his watch. “Gotta get moving, I’m gonna be late,” he chided himself. The fifteen-minute drive back to the lodge left him with exactly three minutes to spare. Promptly at six p.m. she came down the staircase of the lodge. He offered his arm, escorted her to his car, then opened the door for her. She entered with a surprised expression.

“What?” he asked. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” she told him. “Just trying to remember how long it’s been since a date opened any doors for me.”

He shut her door, walked around the car, and got in. “Well, darlin, that’s a damn shame,” he smiled and kissed her hand before starting the car. “Do you like steaks?”

She gave him one of her rarely used genuine smiles, and replied, “Love steaks.”

“Then I know just the place.” He winked at her as he started to drive.

Twenty minutes later saw them seated at a cozy candlelit table for two, next to a window where they could watch the snow falling softly in huge swirling flakes. He noticed her gazing at them. “They make for great skiing. Not too wet, not too dry, and if you fall, it doesn’t hurt quite as much. Unless you’re hauling ass down the mountain,” he grinned. “Then any fall hurts.”

She grinned back, sipped her wine. Dammit, Donny. Why do you have to be so handsome, so charming, so nice? She sighed very quietly to herself. That makes this a lot harder. Be conceited or something. Please.

The cooked to perfection steaks arrived in short order, and she purposely kept the conversation light as they ate. “Hmm, this is fabulous,” she nodded in approval as she savored the first bite. “Yeah,” he answered. “Best steakhouse in all of Colorado, if you ask me. But even better than usual, because of the company.” And he picked up his glass and raised it to her. She blushed, picked her glass up as well, and they toasted.

By the end of the meal, she knew she was in trouble. She really, really liked Donny. And that had been completely unexpected, the total opposite of the Judge. He’d been a self-absorbed ass since day one; as a result, she’d had zero difficulty following through with ridding the world of him. But Donny was different. Her resolve was beginning to waver in a huge way.

He dropped her back off at the lodge after dinner, and she had fought the urge to invite him up. Instead, she gave him a small kiss, nodded and smiled when he ended their evening with, “I had a great time. See you tomorrow for another lesson?”

Now she paced back and forth in her room. Emotions. She’d not taken those into account in all this. Dammit.

She’d call her best friend. Her best friend always had stellar advice, especially when it came to men. She dug her cell out of her purse, dialed, and waited.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said. “I need your advice.” And she told her best friend about Donny, how cute he was, how nice, that she was starting to fall for him.

“So, what’s the problem?” came the reply. “He’s single, you’re single, have fun with it.”

“You really think I should?”

“Look, it’s not that big a deal. If you can’t decide right now how far you wanna put yourself out there, then don’t. Keep it light. You can circle back to it later. It’s not like you don’t have other things to focus on, you know.”

“You’re right, that’s true.”

A laugh. “Of course, I’m right. Go with your gut here, is what I’m saying. No need to make a life-altering decision right this second.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted. Love ya.”

“Love you too, girly.”

Yeah, she thought to herself as she hung up, undressed for bed, brushed out her hair. Don’t have to make this decision right this minute. Really not any set timeframe driving all this, to be honest. It’s all as fast or as slow as I choose. So, I can postpone for now, see where this goes with him.

She pulled out her little notebook, considered. “Well, well, Mr. Norton,” she murmured with a smile as she erased numbers beside the two names to change the order. “Looks like you’ll get to go next instead.”

She climbed into bed, turned off the lamp. Her phone buzzed. She picked it up from her nightside table and checked her text messages.

Sweet dreams, beautiful. See you in the morning. – Donny.

She smiled as she faded into sleep.

*  *  *

Day four in Vail, and her mood had changed. She’d decided to allow herself to explore these feelings, had shelved her original plans for him until further notice. It was the first day to get off the practice area and hit the slopes together. They chatted companionably as they rode the chairlift up the mountain to the beginning of the ski runs. Given that she’d severely understated her skiing ability, she had to pretend the green route scared her a bit. Donny was encouraging and gentle, never leaving her side, and when they reached the bottom, he gave her a megawatt smile and a big hug.

“You did great!” he exclaimed. “Wanna go again?”

“Sure,” she responded, caught up in his enthusiasm. They rode the chairs again, re-ran the green route at a pace that allowed for conversation. She honestly could not recall the last time she’d had so much fun with anyone. When he mentioned dinner plans, she readily accepted.