Chilling Effect

ALSO BY MELISSA F. MILLER

Th e Sasha McCandless Legal Th rillers

Irreparable Harm

Inadvertent Disclosure

Irretrievably Broken

Indispensable Party

Improper Infl uence

Irrevocable Trust

Irrefutable Evidence

Lovers & Madmen
: a novella

A Marriage of True Minds
: a novella

Th e Aroostine Higgins Novels

Critical Vulnerability

Women’s Work: Th ree Crime Fiction Shorts

Th is is a work of fi ction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously.

Text copyright © 2015 Melissa F. Miller

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Th omas & Mercer, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Th omas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affi liates.

ISBN-13: 9781477829790

ISBN-10: 1477829792

Cover design by Megan Haggerty

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922712

Printed in the United States of America

To David, my amazingly supportive husband,

and Adam, Jack, and Sara, our three awesome

children. Together, we can do hard things.

Isaac Palmer tried to click the button to save and close the spreadsheet, but his hands trembled too badly.

He stopped and exhaled a long, shaky breath.

When his hands were steadier, he closed Excel and popped the

thumb drive out of the USB slot.

Why was he even doing this? Why continue to copy the spread-

sheets when he’d already decided not to turn them over to the feds?

So much risk, and for what?

Th e darkest part of his soul whispered,
blackmail, that’s what for.

But he pushed the words aside.

No. It was an insurance policy. Just in case.

Just in case what, he didn’t know. But he slipped the thumb drive

into his pocket before powering down his computer and fl ipping off the harsh fl uorescent light mounted to the underside of his shelf.

Th en he scanned his cubicle to confi rm everything was tidy, picked up his stainless-steel travel mug and jacket, put his head down, and MELISSA F. MILLER

walked through the warren of accounting cubicles and out of the

building.

Not until he was ensconced in his red Tercel did Isaac relax

even a tiny bit.

He fi shed his keys out of his pocket then sagged against the

driver’s seat and just sat for a long moment in the stuff y, overhead interior, reveling in the feeling of safety that eluded him at work.

Ever since he’d called the FBI, he’d spent every second of every work day in a state of suspended terror, waiting for someone to call him out on his treachery. Even though anxiety dogged him, following

him everywhere—trailing behind his car and slipping into his house

each night like an unseen cloud—it was always the worst at the

casino. Okay, and, if he was being honest, at night when the sun

slipped behind the mountains and darkness fell.

Th is wasn’t how this was supposed to turn out. When he fi rst

discovered the dummy transfers, he’d been excited, imagining him-

self like a movie character bringing down a well-funded, faceless

villain. He’d be bold and fearless. A hero. A hero who got the girl through his relentless pursuit of justice.

Flooded with adrenaline, he’d called the Eugene fi eld offi ce

and asked to speak to the agent in charge. Carley Whitsome, the

agent who took down his information, was enthusiastic and eff usive, which only fueled Isaac’s imagination. For a few thrilling moments, he saw himself as a man of action, passion, and strength.

But then, while the excitement was still coursing through his

veins, he’d bumped into
her
. Th e gorgeous, kind-hearted girl who always greeted him with a warm smile and some friendly chitchat

but had no idea that he loved her.

He’d screwed up his courage and confi ded in her, certain his

cleverness at uncovering the scheme and his bravery in reporting it would impress her. He was sure she’d see him in a new light. He’d

no longer be the dorky, good-hearted neighbor who could always be

2

CHILLING EFFECT

counted on to babysit her kid or jump-start her car’s dead battery.

Instead, he’d be the strong, smart, hero next door.

Or so he’d dreamed.

But as he recounted his story, her fl awless skin turned gray, and

her big black eyes lost their sparkle.

“Oh, Isaac, no. What have you done?” she’d gasped.

He remembered how he’d blinked at her, trying to force his rac-

ing brain to process her words.

And then tears welled up in her impossibly deep eyes, and she

shook her head mournfully. “Th ey’ll kill you.”

Before he could respond, she’d run off , her hair trailing behind

her like a long, shimmering scarf.

He’d stood there dumbly staring after her, as two thoughts tum-

bled through his mind, one after another, over and over:

One, she cares what happens to me.

Two, what have I done?

Th at was the moment when the fear grabbed his chest and

began to eat away at him like a cancer. And it had settled inside

him, buried deep in his chest cavity, and never truly relented. He’d breathe easily—like just a moment ago when he’d settled in his

car—but the relief was always fl eeting.

Already his pulse pounded in his ears, and his hands shook as

he gripped the steering wheel, white knuckled. He gulped for air

and prayed he’d make it through the night.

3

Aroostine’s phone continued to buzz. She continued to pretend not

to hear it.

Even though she physically itched to answer it—or at least swipe

the bar to wake up the screen so she could take a peek at who was calling her—she clasped her hands together in her lap and forced herself to gaze steadily into Joe’s eyes. She focused on the Central Oregon sun warming her shoulders, the morning breeze tickling at her long, loose hair, and the face of her husband, the man she loved, the man who had surprised her with this romantic getaway. She took in the

breathtakingly blue sky, the distant mountains dotted with snow

despite the fact that it was mid-August, and the soft purple wildfl owers carpeting the meadow between the boulder where they’d set up

their picnic and the rushing white stream providing the background

music for their breakfast. She smiled up at Joe, trying to convey a picture of relaxed bliss.

He squinted at her for a moment then shook his head. “Go ahead.”

CHILLING EFFECT

“Sorry?”

“Go ahead and answer the damn phone, Roo. You look like a con-

stipated dog.” He gave her a smile that was half amused, half resigned.

“Way to ruin a moment,” she managed to say while smoothing

her expression into something she hoped looked less canine. And

less constipated.

He laughed. “You get points for eff ort. You’ve been trying to

ignore that thing for a good three minutes.” He glanced down at his watch, her anniversary gift to him. “It’s nine o’clock sharp back East, so the fi rst item on
someone’s
to-do list was to call you at the earliest decent hour and not give up until they reach you.”

He paused and sipped his coff ee then placed the thermos on the

blanket and continued ticking off points. “So
either
R

either
ufus is sick

and my parents decided to call you instead of the vet
or
someone
or

requires the services of my favorite assistant US attorney. As of last night, Rufus was a healthy golden retriever enjoying a week with