Kylie Brant - Deadly Intent (The Mindhunters)

She could hear him breathing.

Icy talons of fear shredded the fabric of sleep and brought Ellie Mulder instantly awake. Old habits had her keeping muscles lax, her eyes still closed as she strained to identify what had alerted her. When she did, her blood ran as cold as the frigid Colorado wind beating against the windows.

The sound was the same snuffle snort that warned her whenever he was coming for her. Hed returned, just like hed threatened. Hed snatch her from her bed, from her house, and this time, shed never get away. Not ever.

Her eyes snapped open, a scream lodged in her throat. The old terrors were surging, fighting logic, fueled by memory. It took a moment to see through the veils of the past and notice her familiar surroundings.

She was home. In her own room. In her bed. And Art Cooper wasnt here. He would die in prison.

A long sigh of relief shuddered out of her. The bright illumination of the alarm clock on her bedside table said one eighteen A.M. The sleep scene on her computer lit the corner of the room that held her desk. And the large aquarium on the opposite wall was awash in a dim glow. She often forgot to turn it off.

The items had been chosen because of the light they afforded. Her mom and dad had worried when shed needed doors open and lights blazing to go to bed at night. But theyd been happy when shed casually mentioned wanting a computer. Had expressed an interest in tropical fish. Had selected things to decorate her bedroom like the brightly lit alarm clock. Those things were normal, the psychologist said. And Ellie knew it was important that she seem normal. Even if it was a lie.

The slight noise sounded again and she tensed, her hand searching for the scissors she kept on the bedside table. But even as her fingers gripped the handle, her mind identified the sound. It was the gurgle of water in the overflow box for the aquarium. Not Coopers asthmatic breathing.

The realization relaxed her, but she didnt replace the scissors. She kept them clutched in her hand and brought them close to her chest, the feel of the small weapon comforting. Learning her daughter slept with a knife under her pillow had made her mother cry. So Ellie pretended not to need that anymore.

She had become very good at pretending.

So good that her mom and dad had been thrilled with her new interest in kirigami several months ago. Shed heard the psychologist tell them that the act of creating, of folding and cutting paper into pretty shapes, would be very therapeutic for her. So there was never any fuss about the constant paper scraps on the floor. Fresh supplies appeared on her desk without her ever having to request them.

Only she knew that the new hobby was an excuse to keep a sharp pair of scissors with her at all times. And the psychologist was right. That part, at least, was very therapeutic.

The initial flare of panic had ebbed. She listened to the blizzard howl outside the windows and found the noise oddly soothing. Bit by bit, she felt herself relax. Her eyelids drooped.

She had the half-formed thought that she needed to replace the scissors before her mom came in the next morning to check on her. But sleep was sucking her under, and her limbs were unresponsive.

It was then that he pounced.

The weight hit her body, jolting her from exhaustion back to alarm in the span of seconds. She felt the hand clamped over her mouth, the prick of a needle in her arm, and fear lent her strength beyond her years. Rearing up in bed, she flailed wildly, trying to wrest away, trying to strike out. She tasted the stickiness of tape over her lips. Felt a hood being pulled over her head.

There was a brief flare of triumph when the scissors met something solid, and a hiss of pain sounded in her ear. But then her hand was bent back, the weapon dropping from her fingers, and numbness started sliding over her body. She couldnt move. The hood prevented her from seeing. A strange buzzing filled her head.

As she felt herself lifted and carried away, her only thought was that she was being taken.

Again.

The sleek black private jet sat waiting, its motors idling. It looked impatient somehow, looming dark and silent in the shadows, as if it had somehow taken on the personality of the man inside it.

Needles of sleet pricked Macy Reids cheeks as she hurried across the tarmac at the Manassas Regional Airport. Adam Raiker, head of Raiker Forensics and her boss, had demanded she be there within the hour. Her home in Vienna, Virginia, was nearly twenty miles from the airport. Since the usual DC traffic was light at four A.M., shed made it in less than forty-five minutes.

An attendant took her suitcases and stowed them for her as she wiped the frigid moisture from her cheeks and made her way up the steps to the aircraft. Her satisfaction at arriving early dissipated when she recognized the man seated in the roomy black leather seat next to her boss. Kellan Burke. Fellow forensic investigator. And the man shed been avoiding for months.

Her stomach gave one quick lurch before she ordered it to settle. She gave Raiker a nod. Adam. She spared barely a glance for the other man as she chose the free seat next to her boss and buckled in. Burke.

The inimitable duchess Macy. Kellan gave her a sleepy smile that she knew better than to trust. Been a while since weve been paired on an investigation. Miss me?

Like a case of foot rot.

A comeback, he noted admiringly. Youve been practicing.

She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and damned yet again the fair complexion that mirrored her emotions. Almost as much as she damned the man for being right. Experience had taught her that it paid to have a ready repertoire of witty replies if she was to spend any length of time in Burkes presence. Unfortunately, those replies usually occurred several hours after they were required, leaving her at the crucial moment as tongue-tied and frustrated as an eight-year-old.

It also paid to have her guard up and her hormones on a tight leash. That experience was more recent, and the memory much more devastating.

Adam pressed a button on his armrest that would alert the pilot to ready for takeoff. Any squabbling and youll ride in the luggage compartment. Both of you. He leaned forward to withdraw two file folders from the pocket of his briefcase and handed one to each of them as the jet began its taxi down the runway. Macy seized it, grateful to have something else to focus on.

Stephen Mulder. Burke was studying the first sheet inside the folder, his expression thoughtful. Why is that name familiar?

Maybe because hes the owner of the discount stores that bear his name. Raikers voice was dry. A quick Google check shows there are two thousand Mulders in the country, with several hundred more operations in Europe, Asia, and South America.

The name had also struck a chord of recognition with Macy, but not for the same reason. Stephen Mulder? His daughter was one of the girls rescued when you broke that child swap ring a few years ago. The case wasnt one she was likely to forget. Her testimony had helped put one of the perpetrators behind bars. It had also brought her to Raikers attention.

Thats right. For Burkes benefit, he explained, Ellie Mulder was seven when she was snatched while attending a friends birthday party. FBI took control of the investigation almost immediately. She was found incidentally when one of my cases overlapped a couple years later. I broke up a child auction, and her kidnapper was among those looking for a trade-in. By that point, shed been missing twenty-two months.

Macys gaze dropped to the opened folder in her lap. A moment later she froze in the act of scanning the information hed put together for them. Shes been abducted... again?