Authors: DiAnn Mills
T
igo’s gaze swept the warehouse until he found Kariss. Even in the dim shadows, he could see she’d been beaten, but she was alive. Probably raped, but he refused to think about that. He caught her gaze and silently sent reassurance. Xavier sat beside her. How had he gotten involved with this?
“Get rid of the van,” Cheeky said to the driver. “Take it to the northeast side and leave it. Call someone to pick you up.”
Time … Tigo needed time. His shirt with the tracker was in the van. As long as it stayed parked, Linc could find them. He saw the oil pipe stacked for yards and wondered how many of them were filled with guns and ammo.
The Arroyos on each side of Tigo pushed him to Cheeky. Was the FBI in place?
Tigo bore his gaze into Bates. “I was right. You and Masterson are the Arroyos’ supplier.”
Bates sneered. “Too bad you won’t live to tell it.”
“The FBI knows. It’s just time.”
“Something you don’t have.” Cheeky sunk a fist into Tigo’s stomach then stepped aside for his men to take over.
All of them were drinking beer. Masterson struggled to stand. Tigo willed himself to handle whatever happened next — and for Kariss not to cry out. When they were finished with him, they’d start in on her. And it would be savage.
Every second that ticked by brought help closer. But Linc was following the wire on his shirt, now on its way to the northeast side of town. He wanted to look at Kariss … No doubt she’d be praying. He should be too — not for himself but for her.
A fist smacked against the side of his face. Lightning pain raced to his skull.
Another fist to his stomach doubled him over. He swallowed a gasp for breath. Two men jerked him to his feet and pinned back his arms.
An explosion of agony burst from his body — his face, his abdomen, his kidneys.
He tasted blood with each blow. Groans escaped him, and it fueled their anger. Bates and Masterson stood back, obviously enjoying the show.
“Enough, before you kill him,” Cheeky said. “Bates and Masterson want the pleasure. Put him with the others.”
Tigo was dragged to where Kariss and Xavier were held.
“Are you going to video the beheading?” Masterson seasoned his words with hate. “Upload it to YouTube?”
Cheeky laughed. “We’ve taken care of all those who’ve gotten in our way. This time it’s your turn.”
Bates nodded. “I’m going to let you finish them. We’ll wait for you outside.”
Cheeky motioned to the other Arroyos. “Unless you don’t have the guts.”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Masterson pulled out one of his guns. He had another one in his waistband … Bat Masterson. “Why me?”
“You told me you wanted the opportunity to blow Harris’s head off,” Bates said. “Now you can do it.” He pointed to the three captives and walked away with Cheeky.
The Arroyos would make sure Masterson took the blame for this. And Cheeky would kill Bates outside, after which the Arroyos would dispose of all the bodies — revenge for raising gun prices. Now that they had a new supplier, they no longer needed Bates and Masterson. What irony.
Tigo wondered,
Where was backup?
“Are you all right?” he whispered to Kariss.
She blinked, her face a blanket of compassion. “Yes. Where’s Linc?”
“Just waiting for the right moment.”
She held her breath. “You mean he’s not here?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. “Patience. What about Xavier?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
He attempted to look at her, despite the excruciating pain turning his head caused.
“I can help,” she said.
They needed more than a prayer.
“Xavier untied me.”
Masterson staggered within twelve feet of them, waving his gun. “I owe them thanks. Now I can take care of you myself.”
Tigo’s body refused to move. His right arm was broken, and he fought to keep from passing out. How could he help Kariss? Her hands might be untied, but he was useless.
Xavier bolted from his position and grabbed Masterson by the knees, knocking him down. The gun dropped and fired, a bullet hitting Xavier in the left thigh. The sound echoed across the warehouse. Kariss scrambled for the fallen gun.
“FBI, drop your weapon.”
Masterson ignored the order. He yanked out his second gun and pointed it at Tigo.
A shot rang out from the FBI at the same time that Kariss fired into Masterson’s chest. Two bullets took the man down.
ONE WEEK LATER
K
ariss’s phone rang and she pulled it from her purse. She stared at the caller ID. “Can’t believe this. Mike McDougal, you’re on your way out.” She paused for a moment then responded. “Kariss here.”
“How did you manage writing the FBI gun-smuggling article for the paper?”
“Skill, Mr. McDougal.”
“Want to make a deal?”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Oh, you will this one. I’ll leave you alone on my blog. Even post an apology for the last tidbit in exchange for getting me into the FBI.”
“You have a lot of nerve. I know my attorney filed charges against you for slander.”
“Just you wait. My book reviews on your past titles will be up on Amazon before the day is over.”
“Go ahead. I could care less about your threats. Your calls are now harassment.” She disconnected the call and dropped her cell back into her purse.
“Hope that’s the end of McDougal for you.” Tigo stood in the entrance of her cubicle, his first day back at work since helping to close the Operation Wasp case and arresting Delores Olvera. His face was still a mass of blue and purple, and the sling around his arm was decorated with Buzz Lightyear stickers.
“Somehow I doubt it, but we can hope.” She studied his pitiful face. “I thought we agreed last night that you should rest a few more days.”
“Can’t keep a good man down.”
“You and Xavier have the same philosophy.”
“He looks better than I do.”
She tilted her head. “You’re right. I think he’s going to be okay. Truth is he’d go through the whole thing again just to learn the truth about Benita and to discover the little boy is his.”
Tigo nodded. “We’re working on expediting his papers to keep him here permanently.”
“I’m so glad. His little boy looks a lot like Benita — same huge eyes and long lashes. And he will most likely have his son permanently since Delores will undoubtedly be in prison for life. I’m glad she confessed to allowing Benita to starve to death.” She remembered her first glimpse of the long-haired woman with delicate features and cold eyes.
“Xavier’s a good man.”
“Like you.” She hoped he could see her gratitude.
A few moments passed as though he were searching for something to say. “Do you have any idea how good it feels to have Cheeky and Bates in custody along with a few Arroyos?”
“Total satisfaction? So glad I’m no longer looking over my shoulder.”
“Thank goodness I remembered that Hershey is dyslexic, and thank Ryan for turning around the numbers in the warehouse address. How’s your sister holding up?”
“She’ll be all right. It’ll take time. The new baby will help her heal.”
“Good. She’s a survivor like her sister. Hey, congrats on passing the shooting portion of your CHL. Of course for me that happened when you
saved
my life. Your bullet sailed straight through Masterson’s heart.”
A nightmare she’d never forget. “Here’s hoping I’ll never have to use a gun again.”
“Oh, and another congrats on officially selling your book. Let’s go get Starbucks. I’m buying.”
“Looking like … that?”
“Why? Are you ashamed of me?”
Never, but she’d not tell him so. “You look like a battered hero.”
He lifted his sling and pointed to the Buzz Lightyear stickers. “What’s the next step with your book?”
“Once it’s finished, which will be in a few months, my editor reads it, then makes suggestions. I take care of those edits, and then it goes to other editors and proofreaders before publication.”
“How long does the process take?”
“Approximately a year from the time I turn in the manuscript.”
“Long time to wait. So are you going to start another book?”
She laughed. “Yeah. It’s in my blood. I have bubblings in my head.”
“Back to women’s fiction?”
“Not on your life.”
Tigo groaned. “Do I want to know the plotline?”
“Same characters. Same setting.”
“Any way I can get out of helping you?”
“Do you really want me to find someone else?”
He studied her with the same expression he used to figure out the details on a case. His features softened, and she saw a spark of something that spoke of fragile feelings. “I think we can manage being a team again. Besides, you’re up two games in Word Family, and I’m a sore loser.”
Dear Reader,
Although this is a fiction work, Cherished Doe is based on an actual FBI-solved cold case. The first time I heard the story, it attached itself to my heart. Like Kariss, the horror of a murdered, unidentified child would not let me go.
Although the details of the case have been altered, many aspects of the investigation are true. The FBI, Houston Police Department, and the Texas Rangers refused to let the case rest. The idea of calling a joint press conference to enlist media assistance was unprecedented. But the effort worked. Houstonians became involved in finding the identity and the cause of the child’s death. The father, who thought he was paying for his child’s critical medical care, viewed the documentary on a Spanish-language TV station and made the call to the FBI. Even now, as I write this letter to you, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. I pray this novel moved you to keep your eyes open for potential child abuse and vow, like I’ve done, to ensure our children are safe and protected.
Thank you for reading my story.
DiAnn
Beau Egert; Cathy Nielsen-Barrett; Dr. Richard Mabry; Elaine Cornell; Karl Harroff; Marlon Amell; Shauna Dunlap, Media Coordinator, FBI Houston Division; and J. Victor Moreno. And I couldn’t write a book without acknowledging my husband, Dean Mills, for his patience, support, and understanding.
Award-winning author
DiAnn Mills
is a fiction writer who combines an adventuresome spirit with unforgettable characters to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels. DiAnn’s first book was published in 1998. She currently has more than fifty books published. Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists and have won placements through the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Carol Awards and Inspirational Reader’s Choice awards. DiAnn won Christy Awards in 2010 and 2011.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
“I was chasing the pages, flipping them as fast as I could while holding my breath to find out what Kariss and Tigo would get caught up in next.
The Chase
is an edge-of-your-seat fun read everyone will enjoy.”
—D
EBBIE
M
ACOMBER,
#1
New York Times
bestselling author
“DiAnn Mills is not only one of our best writing mentors, but she also proves her reputation with meticulously researched thrillers like
The Chase.
Another breathless winner for her many fans.”
—J
ERRY
B. J
ENKINS,
novelist and owner of the Christian Writers Guild
“DiAnn Mills’s books never fail to delight.
The Chase
is one more winner. A spunky heroine, a sexy hero, authentic research, and a heart-wrenching, action-packed plot. Don’t miss it!”
—K
AREN
Y
OUNG,
author of
Lie for Me
N
OTE TO READER:
Some dramatic license has been taken with regard to FBI procedures.
Any errors in accuracy are the author’s.
10:00 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Miss Walker,
Twenty-three years ago, I survived a killer. I must have my story told. Can you help me?
Amy Garrett, PhD
Freedom’s Way
Counseling
Finding suspense story ideas could be grueling, but the concept that just landed in Kariss’s inbox could be her next bestseller. She’d been approached by enough eccentrics to recognize a sender who saw big bucks for a sensational slice of life. She felt sorry for most of them and wanted to help no matter how ludicrous their story. But none of those people had PhD after their name or a phone number listed in their signature.
The e-mail lured her to the place where words and emotion blended into a feverish dance. She’d survived a killer and knew the courage it took to tell anyone about the horror. She reread the message. Why would Amy Garrett seek her out? Why would she choose to tell a true story in a novel? One way to find out.
She pressed in the number, and a receptionist answered with a greeting from Freedom’s Way. Hurdle number one — Amy Garrett was a real person who worked at an office. Kariss gave her name and waited for the call to be transferred.
“Dr. Garrett, here. Is this Kariss Walker?”
“It is. I just received your e-mail. Curiosity got the best of me.”
“Thanks for responding so quickly. Are you currently online?”
“I am.”
“Go to the website listed in my e-mail. That tells you a little about me.”
Kariss clicked on the site. Amy Garrett, founder of Freedom’s Way, was a doctor of psychology who specialized in counseling women who’d been victims of violent crimes.
“Now click on ‘About Freedom’s Way.’ That says it best.”
Powerful words drew her into Amy’s world.
At the age of nine, I survived a brutal attempt on my life. I understand your pain and confusion, and I have felt the despair. Through caring counselors, I found healing. Now I want to offer you the same pathway to life.
Freedom’s Way cares about you. We are committed to helping every woman who has ever been traumatized by a vicious crime. Your first step is only a phone call away.
Don’t let finances stop you from overcoming emotional pain. If you cannot pay, we have scholarships.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
—Matthew 11:28
This was a Christian counseling service. “Why fiction?” Dr. Garrett’s desire to relate her story in a novel seemed skewed with her profession.
“Can we meet in person and discuss this? I’m booked until three-thirty this afternoon, but I have an hour window then. Do you happen to have the time free?”
Kariss’s mind spun in a flurry of whether she wanted to get involved. The woman was aggressive, but intrigue won out. “I’d be happy to talk to you — to gather more information. From your address, I see your office isn’t far from me.”
“I’d like to meet outside my practice. How about the Starbucks across the street from Crystal Point Mall?”
“Perfect.”
“Miss Walker, it’s important that we keep our discussion private.”
“I plan to come alone.”
“Good. But please don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll explain later.”
Strange request, but maybe Dr. Garrett had approached other writers. “Okay. See you then.”
Kariss stared at phone before placing it on her desk. She reread Amy’s e-mail. Why had the woman contacted her? The answer would have to wait until three-thirty. If she could keep her inquisitive nature at a manageable level.
She continued to read through her e-mails.
A writers’ group wanted her to give a workshop on character and plot. They had no budget to pay a speaker, but she could bring books to sell. Kariss sighed and agreed.
Her nephew had sent his latest poem. She took a peek and laughed. At age ten, he was in love with a red-headed girl who ignored him.
Mom confirmed Sunday dinner after church.
Two spam messages. No one could use that much Viagra. She hit “junk.”
Kariss studied Amy’s words again and opened a new tab in her web browser. After googling the woman’s name, several sites popped up. Many churches and community organizations had hosted Dr. Garrett as a keynote speaker. Kariss returned to Amy’s website and continued reading.
Testimonies from those who’d been given the tools to live again after being shaken by violence followed Amy’s excerpt. Survivors. Warriors in their own right. By the third one, Kariss was reaching for a tissue.
Her next stop was Facebook. Amy Garrett’s posts were faith-based and compassionate. She recommended books and websites to help women achieve good emotional health. An upcoming Gulf Coast Christian Women’s Conference, to be held at a large church in downtown Houston, featured Amy as the keynote speaker.
Dr. Amy Garrett was not only a survivor but a champion for abused women.
Unbidden memories surfaced about what had happened during the research of Kariss’s previous novel. She’d made a few stupid choices and nearly botched an FBI investigation. If not for a loving family and renewed faith, Kariss would be in need of Freedom’s Way to help her work through the nightmare of being stalked and caught.
She’d meet with Dr. Garrett, ask questions, and hear her story.
11:00 A.M. WEDNESDAY
FBI Special Agent Tigo Harris knew he smelled like the thirteen-hour stakeout. The pizza eaten before dawn lay in his stomach like a sizzling grenade. But he was determined to help bring in the new self-proclaimed leader of a Houston gang called the Skulls that had ties to a Mexican cartel.
Pablo Martinez had entered an apartment on the southeast side of town shortly after ten o’clock last night with his girlfriend and another gang member. An informant said Martinez had stashed stolen assault rifles there and would be using them on a rival gang last night. Although Martinez had slipped by the authorities in the past by way of the legal system, that was about to end. So Tigo and his team waited. All the FBI needed to make the arrest was for Martinez to set foot outside the apartment with the stolen arms. Of course, if they’d known how long this would take, they would have obtained a search warrant.
“Something about this bothers me.” Tigo lifted his binoculars to the curtain-covered windows. “Like we’re the ones being setup.”
Ryan Steadman, his partner, yawned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they’d left.”
Tigo handed him the binoculars. “Makes me wonder what they’re doing in there. Building a compound? I’m going in.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“What are you going to do, deliver a pizza?”
Tigo reached for the empty box on the floor by Ryan’s feet. “Who can refuse pepperoni and extra cheese?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve things to do and nailing Martinez is in my way.” Tigo picked up his radio.
“A shower is at the top of my list.”
“Mine too. Along with arresting anyone I can find who’s involved with gangs. My personal war.” Tigo smoothed out the dent in the empty pizza box from Ryan’s size-eleven foot. “This gang business has me in a bad mood.”
“Or maybe it’s because Kariss hasn’t returned your phone calls.”
Tigo scowled, wishing Ryan couldn’t read him. “She’s busy. Working. And that’s not what I’m talking about. I have a gang leader to arrest.”
“Never thought you’d make excuses for a woman.”
She wasn’t just a woman. “Cover me. Martinez is mine.”
“I’ll be sure to write that on your epitaph.” Ryan pointed to the second-story apartment. “Nothing is stirring. Maybe they got high and are sleeping it off.”
Tigo chuckled. “That would make our job easier.” He opened the door to his pickup and radioed backup of his intent.
“Hold on.” Ryan pointed to three small children who played at the other end of the walkway near Martinez’s apartment. “Let’s get those kids out of there.” He spoke into his radio, and shortly thereafter, the kids disappeared.
Stealing up the exterior metal steps to the apartment gave Tigo a few moments to scan the area. Martinez could have men posted inside another apartment. His fingers rested on his Glock, which was positioned under the pizza box. Uneasiness dripped into his brain. Thirteen hours in a one-bedroom apartment didn’t make sense. No one in or out. No gunfire. No visitors. Only quiet.
Ryan covered him at the bottom of the steps along with two other agents on opposite ends of the building.
Tigo knocked on the door. “Pizza delivery.” He counted to ten and repeated the knock and announcement. He set the pizza box on the concrete floor.
Ryan joined him, and they nodded the go-ahead.
“FBI, open up!” Tigo turned the knob. Unlocked. A chill swept up his arms. Glock raised, he swung open the door. Three mutilated bodies lay across a sofa and chair. Their throats were cut.