THREAT FROM HER AMISH PAST

Eight years ago, a drifter destroyed Becca Miller’s ties to her Amish community—and murdered her family. Now a special agent with Fort Rickman’s criminal investigation department, Becca knows her past has caught up with her and doesn’t want to relive it. She’s convinced that the killer, who supposedly died years ago, is very much alive and after her. Special agent Colby Voss agrees to help her investigate. Yet the closer they get to the truth, the closer the killer gets to silencing her permanently.

Military Investigations: Serving their country and solving crimes

Colby glanced into the dense forest on each side of the road, his internal warning system on high alert.

The sky was clear, the wind calm, yet there was a fallen tree in the middle of the road. He unbuttoned the safety on his holster.

“Watch yourself, Becca,” he cautioned.

She approached the fallen tree and then turned to face him. “We’ll have to move the log off the road.”

Inadvertently, she stepped into the arc of illumination from her car’s headlights.

Colby’s shoulders tensed. “You’re exposed, Becca. Get away from the light.”

He moved toward her. She stepped aside, but not fast enough.

A shot rang out.

For half a heartbeat, Becca froze.

Colby lunged and shoved her to the pavement. Two more shots pummeled the log. A third pinged against her open driver’s door.

A car engine whined in the distance. Tires screeched along a narrow path that paralleled the newer two-lane.

Becca wiggled under Colby’s weight.

“It was a trap,” he said, his tone sharp. “You could have been killed.”

She almost had been, he realized. On his watch.

DEBBY GIUSTI

is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of suspense that touch the heart and soul. Contact Debby through her website, www.DebbyGiusti.com, email debby@debbygiusti.com, or write c/o Love Inspired Suspense, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

The Agent’s Secret Past

Debby Giusti

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.”

—Luke 9:23–24

In Memory of Ginger Leary

A dear friend who loved books and always encouraged me to keep writing.

Contents

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

Eight years earlier

The moon peered down between dark, billowing clouds and cast the Amish farmhouse in shadows. Rebecca Miller stepped from her car onto the one-lane, dirt road she knew so well and shivered in the frosty night air.

Leaving two years earlier had sealed her fate. She would not be welcomed nor accepted back unless—and until—she asked forgiveness. Something she could never do.

If only her father had believed her. Perhaps then, she would have remained in Harmony, Alabama, and spent the rest of her life wrapped in the familiar embrace of the Amish way.

Instead she had created a new future for herself in the military. Seemingly a drastic shift from the peace-loving community of her childhood, but then too many ignored what Rebecca knew so well. Evil existed even among the Amish.

After driving straight through from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, her legs were stiff and her shoulders tense.

Cautiously she climbed the front steps, her breath clouding the air. She shivered, anticipating her father’s icy stare and quick rejection.

Her sister’s words replayed in her memory. I fear for my life.

Rebecca tapped ever so lightly on the unlatched door. An even more chilling shiver snaked up her spine.

“Katie,” she whispered, pushing the door open.

An acrid stench wafted past her before she saw her father and the dark circle of blood pooling on the wooden floor beneath his chest. The cloying scent of copper clogged her throat and sent a jab of fear deep into her heart.

“Datt?” Without thought, she slipped back to her Amish past.

He lay on the hand-hewn floorboards his bearded face pale and drawn, life ebbing from his glassy eyes. Trying to assess which of the many stab wounds to stanch, Becca dropped to her knees and touched his outstretched hand.

Her father’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Who was it?” she whispered, knowing even before he answered.

“Ja-Jacob,” he stammered, ignoring the ban that forbid him from speaking to his daughter.

A shuffle sounded overhead.

Rebecca’s breath hitched. “He’s here?”

“Yah.”

An unseen sword pierced her soul, the pain so intense she gasped for air. “Katie?”

He pointed to the pantry. “Go,” he demanded, with a flick of his hand.

Recalling the times she and her younger sister had playfully hidden in the adjoining alcove, Becca hastened toward the pantry and inched the door open.

Her heart stopped.

Katie sat slumped against the wall, eyes open, face contorted in terror. Blood spilled from the gaping wound that sliced through her gut.

“No!” she moaned ever so softly.

Rebecca bit her fisted hand, unable to see anything except her sister’s lifeless gaze. Guilt overwhelmed her. If she hadn’t left, Katie would still be alive.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and warned of his approach. Rebecca scurried back to the kitchen. Her father’s head lay slack against his arm. She leaned down to touch his neck, feeling nothing except his soft flesh and prickly beard.

No pulse. No life.

A floorboard groaned on the landing. Close. Too close.

“Goodbye, Datt,” she whispered.

Rebecca opened the door and slipped into the darkness. Once at her car, she glanced back.

Jacob appeared in the farmhouse doorway.

She could see the outline of his face, his beard, his lips snarling as he stared into the night.

“Who’s there?” His eyes found her in the shadows.

He raised his fist in the air. “You cannot run from me, Rebecca. I will find you. When I do, you will die.”

ONE

Eight years later

Run faster!

He was behind her, gaining speed.

The raspy pull of air in and out of his lungs grew louder, signaling his approach.

At any moment, she expected his work-worn hand to grab her shoulder and send her crashing onto the asphalt roadway.

How had he found her?

For the last eight years, she’d been stationed overseas. Three deployments to the Middle East, a twenty-four-month tour in Korea and a three-year assignment in Germany, all far from Harmony, Alabama, and her past.

She smelled his stench, an evil mix of hay and sweat.

“Becca,” he whispered in her ear.

She gasped for air, woke from her nightmare, clawed at the sheets and blinked her eyes open, searching the darkness of her bachelor officer’s quarters.

Sitting up in bed, she threw the covers aside and stepped onto the floor, the tiles cool to her bare feet. She shook her head in an attempt to scatter the dream that came too often.

She was at Fort Rickman, Georgia, not the Amish community where she had grown up.

Reality check. She had run away from Jacob Yoder eight years earlier. Supposedly he had died later that night after killing her father and sister.

Unnerved by the nightmare, Becca grabbed her holstered, service weapon off the nightstand and stumbled into the hallway on her way to the kitchen. She needed to hydrate her body and clear her mind. If only she could wash the memories away.

She placed the gun, which had been her almost constant companion for the last eight years, next to her purse on the kitchen table and opened the cabinet over the sink in search of a glass. A sickening smell, like rotten eggs, hit her full force.

Pinpricks of fear needled the nape of her neck.

She glanced at the gas cooking range. The burners were off. The flame on the pilot lights glowed crimson in the dark.

The smell was intense, overpowering, deadly.

Run!

She reached for her Glock and slipped her handbag over her shoulder as she raced through the living area to the back door. Fingers trembling, she fumbled at the lock, dead bolt and chain, her progress slowed by the protective safeguards she had put in place. For too long, she had tried to distance herself from Jacob, fearing he was still alive.

Her pulse pounded in her ear, like a ticking time bomb ready to explode. She had to escape before—

The door opened. She ran into the night, inhaling the pure, sweet air that filled her lungs.

In the distance beyond the common green space stood the older BOQ apartments. Even at this late hour a few lights glowed in the windows.

She glanced back at the newly built quad she’d moved into ten days earlier. The only occupant thus far.

Digging into her purse, she traded her gun for her cell and speed dialed the Criminal Investigation Division on post, where she worked. The noncommissioned officer on duty answered on the second ring.

“This is Special Agent Rebecca Miller. Notify the fire department and military police of a gas leak in the new BOQ quad on Eisenhower Drive. Tell them the only occupant has cleared the premises.”

Before she could disconnect, the sound of unleashed fury rocked her world. The explosion lit the sky and mushroomed into a giant ball of fire.

The force of the blast pushed against her. She took a step back to keep her balance.

Her ears rang. Her eyes blurred.

She blinked against the brightness.

A surge of heat warmed her for an instant as it blew past, replaced with frigid winter air that penetrated her bones.

Jet-black smoke billowed from the windows of the bedroom where she had been asleep just moments earlier. The terrifying dream had saved her life.

Flames licked at the building’s wood facade and devoured the decorative trim. “No,” she gasped as the growing inferno turned night into day.

Sirens sounded in the distance. A trail of flashing lights signaled their approach. Fire trucks, followed by military police cars, raced into the parking area and screeched to a stop. Men in turnout gear spilled from the trucks. With swift, sure motions, they connected hoses to nearby hydrants and trained the heavy streams of water on the blaze while maintenance personnel hastened to cut off the gas supply that fueled the fire.

Footfalls pounded on the ground behind her. Becca turned at the sound, ready to defend herself again.

“Are you okay?” Colby Voss.

“How—how did you get here?” Instantly, she regretted the foolish question. No doubt, her fellow CID agent lived in the older BOQs on Sheridan Road, just across the open field.

“Are you hurt?” His eyes roamed her body as if searching for an injury or burn.

With her throat unexpectedly dry, she shook her head and raised her hand to reassure him. Her inability to find her voice caused an additional tangle of concern to wrap around her.

A pressure filled her chest. She clamped down on her jaw to ward off the wave of nausea that swirled around her. She didn’t want to appear weak.

Especially not to a guy with inquiring eyes.

For the past eight years, no one had climbed her wall of defense. No one until Special Agent Colby Voss had sauntered into her cubicle ten days earlier to welcome her to Fort Rickman.

So much for maintaining her cool. Although right now she felt completely drained and unable to maintain anything, let alone her composure.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes flicking between her and the firemen battling the blaze.

She wiped her hand across her forehead and pulled in another breath of cold night air. “I—I smelled gas. My stove was off. There must have been a leak someplace in the system.”

“You were awake?”

A good question, but one she didn’t want to answer. She had never told anyone about the reoccurring dreams.

“Just barely. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and realized there was a leak.”

“Good job getting outside.”

She didn’t need his praise or affirmation. Not tonight. Not when he was standing way too close and adding more anxiety to her already questionable stability.

Turning to stare at the raging inferno, she sucked in another mouthful of air and tried to calm her out-of-control pulse.

“It happened in the empty apartment next door,” she said, convinced the gas had seeped into her kitchen from the neighboring unit. “Probably an accidental leak.”

Had it been accidental?

Or was something else or someone else involved?

Her stomach tightened.

Surely not someone from her past.

* * *

Colby wanted to put his arm around Becca and quiet the fear that flashed from her eyes. He would have done exactly that, if not for the keep-out sign she wore around her heart, which he’d noticed the moment she reported for duty at CID Headquarters.

He had refused to be put off when they’d first met, especially since he had been the new CID agent two months earlier when he transferred from Fort Hood, Texas. He could read her body language and kept his welcome to a firm handshake and nod of his head, knowing all too well about self-sufficient women who didn’t want or need a man in their lives.

Becca appeared to be a by-the-book type of agent who kept to herself. Not that he had been staring at her pretty face or green eyes with their flecks of gold. Eyes that she averted whenever he glanced her way.

That elusive shift of attention made him wonder if there wasn’t something she wanted to hide. Perhaps he was reading more into what was only her nervous attempt to remain aloof, yet his gut feelings were usually right, and he kept thinking she had something buried beneath her neat and trim facade.

Two military police officers hustled toward them. Colby recognized the taller of the two as Gary Flanders, a put-together sergeant with an interest in joining the CID.

“Hey, sir, you know anything about what happened?”

Before Colby could answer, Becca drew in a deep breath and steeled her jaw with determination. “It was an explosion, Sergeant, in my BOQ.”

Flanders pulled a notepad and mechanical pencil from his pocket while his partner stood to the side. “Can I get your name, ma’am?”

“Special Agent Becca Miller. I’m with the CID.”

“You were the only resident in the new building?”

“That’s correct. I arrived on post ten days ago and signed for the bottom apartment on the left. The one on the bottom right, as well as the two second-story apartments, were unoccupied.”

“What happened?” the MP asked.

“I—I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed a strong gas smell. Realizing the danger, I exited the building.”

“Did you see anyone outside?”

She shook her head. “No one.”

Wind blew across the clearing and ruffled the pages of the sergeant’s notebook. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and glanced at her lightweight flannel pants and T-shirt. “The temperature’s dropping, ma’am. Would you like to take shelter in one of the squad cars?”

“I’m fine, Sergeant.”

Colby knew better.

Dressed as she was coupled with the plummeting temperature and the shock of seeing her BOQ in flames had to have an adverse effect on her. Even in the half-light, her face was noticeably pale and drawn.

He glanced down at her bare feet.

Time to make a command decision. “My BOQ is just across the clearing. We can continue to talk there.”

He shrugged out of the thick fleece he’d grabbed on his way outside and slipped it over her shoulders.

She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

“Maybe not, but humor me.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment.

Colby wanted to shake his head at her obstinacy. Someone needed to inform Ms. Miller that taking healthy measures to protect herself wasn’t a sign of weakness.

What did she have to prove?

He took her arm.

She glanced down at his hand and then raised her gaze. “Really, I’m okay.”

“Maybe, but the temperature is in the forties. You’re not dressed for the cold. Neither am I.”

He turned to the MP. “Sergeant, I’m in apartment 103, the first door on the left, should anyone need to question either Special Agent Miller or me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Colby motioned Becca forward and was somewhat surprised when she followed his lead. As tough as she had tried to be over the past few days, he had expected opposition. Not that he wasn’t relieved.

Shock was a nasty complication that often went unnoticed. From the knit of her brow and the ever-so-slight slump to her usually ramrod-straight spine, Becca had been affected by the middle-of-the-night attack.

Who wouldn’t be? To go from a near sleep to a race for your life could try the best of men—or women.

Glancing over his shoulder, he took in the seeming chaos as the on-post fire company worked to control the inferno that resisted their attempts at containment. The military police, post engineer, fire marshal and fire chief would survey the damage and photograph anything suspect. As much as Colby would have liked to check the property himself, someone needed to get Becca inside and out of the cold.

Tomorrow, the fire marshal and his entourage would sift through the rubble in hopes of uncovering the cause. More than likely, an accidental malfunction from a leak in a gas line or a faulty pilot light coupled with some type of spark.

At the far side of the grassy knoll Becca stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the blaze.

Colby heard the sharp intake of air as she shook her head.

“Was it Jacob?” she whispered.

He leaned closer, not sure if he had heard correctly.

“What did you say, Becca?”

Her eyes widened as if she had forgotten he was there.

So much for making a positive, first impression. Something his sisters would have teased him about mercilessly, if they found out.

Which they wouldn’t.

“Did you say ‘Jacob’?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

But she had. A man’s name. Did she associate Jacob—whoever he was—with the explosion?

If so, Colby would keep watch in hopes she would eventually reveal more information. Maybe then he’d know what secrets she kept hidden behind her hauntingly hooded eyes and tantalizing reticence.

TWO

Becca hesitated for a moment before she stepped into Colby’s BOQ and flicked her gaze over the leather couch and matching chair bathed in soft light from a floor lamp. A newspaper and stack of fitness magazines were arranged on the coffee table next to a collection of framed photos. She moved closer, her eyes drawn to a picture of a group of girls standing around a much younger Colby in uniform. The family resemblance couldn’t be ignored.

“These must be your sisters?” she said.

“All five of them.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he headed for the kitchen. “They insisted on a picture before I deployed to Afghanistan the first time.”

A bittersweet moment for sure. Pride for their brother was tempered by the reality that he might not come home from war. Photos were something tangible to hold on to when all else was gone.

Graven images, the Amish called them. Her father had railed when she and Katie had come home with a snapshot a friend from town had taken of both of them. Her father had torn the picture into tiny pieces that Becca had tried to glue together later that night after he had gone to bed. If only she had that picture now. Instead, she had to rely on memories that faded with time.

“How do you take your coffee?” Colby called from the other room.

“With a little milk, if you’ve got it.”

“Creamer okay?”

“Perfect.”

A biography of General George S. Patton sat on a side table along with a number of training manuals. Military plaques and memorabilia hung on the wall next to citations for an army commendation medal, a meritorious service metal and two bronze stars. Impressive to say the least.

Not only was Colby good-looking but also competent, although she’d realized that the day they’d met. He’d been focused on business and not with making idle chitchat, for which she’d been grateful. Coming into a new unit was stressful. Having to keep up a flow of chatter made it even more so.

Turning, she noticed an open laptop on a desk in the corner. A plasma screen TV and two bookcases, stacked with three-ringed binders, filled the corner of the room and balanced the rather stark but comfortable furnishings. She approved of his uncluttered decorating style. Her own preference leaned to basic needs with few extras, which probably stemmed from her upbringing.

She accepted the coffee Colby offered and wrapped her hands around the mug, thankful for the warmth of the thick stoneware. After taking a sip, she gazed through the window at her own quarters visible in the distance. The once-sizable structure was now only a shell of steel support beams and charred debris.

Her hold baggage, containing the majority of her household items, wasn’t due to arrive from Germany for another two weeks. The fire had destroyed only what she had brought in her luggage. All of which could be replaced.

“These might help.” She turned to find Colby holding out a pair of heavy socks.

“Thank you.” Accepting the offering, she quickly settled into a nearby chair and slipped the thick woolen coverings over her bare feet. “I didn’t realize I was so cold.”

“You were bordering on shock, which worried me.”

“I appreciate your concern and the coffee.” She smiled. Yet her attempt to remain upbeat was only halfhearted. The reality of what had happened tonight clamped down on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Give me a minute to thaw out, then I’ll head back to my BOQ,” she told him.

“You won’t be able to salvage anything tonight, Becca.”

“Except the clothes that are still in my car.” She laughed at her own foolishness. “I stopped at the commissary after work and lugged the groceries inside when I got home, but I failed to go back for the laundry I had picked up earlier. My gym bag’s also in the trunk along with a pair of running shoes.”

“What about your weapon?”

She ran her fingers over the purse still strapped to her shoulder. “I grabbed my Glock and purse before I ran. CID badge, military ID card, car keys. Everything I need is inside.”

“Sounds as if you were expecting trouble.”

Colby’s comment struck too close to home.

When she didn’t respond, he raised his brow expectantly.

Becca stood, needing to distance herself from his penetrating gaze. She walked into the kitchen and placed her mug in the sink.

“I’ll drive you to your car,” he said when she returned to the living room.

“Thanks, but I can walk.”

“Not in this weather.” He glanced at her feet. “I’ve got a pair of slippers that should fit you. They were a gift from my grandmother, but they’re too small for me. The leather soles will protect your feet until you get the gym shoes from your car. You’ll also need a jacket.”

He disappeared down the hallway and returned with sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt she pulled over her flannel pajamas. The slippers were roomy but warm.

“Maybe the fleece will be enough,” she said, regarding the bulky coat he offered.

He shook his head. “You need more insulation if we’re going to be outdoors for any length of time.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wear my Gore-Tex. It’s with my training gear in the back bedroom.”

She shrugged into the jacket that smelled like sandalwood and lime and waited as Colby located his military outerwear and car keys.

Although she appreciated Colby’s help, she needed to keep up her guard. No matter how nice or how good-looking he was, she didn’t want anyone to complicate her life.

Her gaze returned to the window and the smoldering ruins beyond. Involuntarily, she shivered, regretting her youthful infatuation with Jacob Yoder when the Amish drifter had first stumbled into her life. How eagerly she had given her heart to him, not knowing he had taken up with an older woman—an infirmed Amish widow whose farm he coveted.

Bitter tears had stung Becca’s eyes when she’d learned of their marriage. Even more difficult was her father’s insistence that Becca help Jacob’s sickly wife with housekeeping chores.

Jacob paid her father nicely for her services, and her needy datt turned a blind eye to what Jacob really wanted.

Her stomach soured, recalling when Jacob had lured her to the barn. She’d fought him off and narrowly escaped. Knowing her father would never believe her own innocence, she had run away from Jacob, her father and her Amish roots.

Two years later, her sister’s phone call forced Becca to return home, but she arrived too late to save Katie or her datt.

With a heavy heart, Becca turned from the window, hoping to distance herself from the niggling concern that too often hovered close at hand.

Jacob was dead.

The case was closed.

But if that were true, then why did some inner voice keep warning her that Jacob Yoder was still alive?

* * *

Acrid smoke hung in the air around Becca’s BOQ as Colby parked his green Chevy near her Honda and waited as she slipped on her shoes and shrugged off his suggestion to stay in the car. Worried though he was about her well-being, he admired her determination to get to the bottom of what had caused the explosion.

Together they crossed the street to where Sergeant Flanders stood next to his squad car.

“What’s the latest?” Colby asked, raising his voice over the drone of the fire engines.

“We haven’t been able to get close to the building, sir, but we’ve done a preliminary search of the surrounding wooded area and plan to retrace our steps after daylight. The post maintenance company has been called as well as the fire marshal, staff duty officer and post engineer. General Cameron was notified.”

Becca stared over her shoulder at a second residence still under construction on the next street. “Has anyone searched the other building?”

“Not yet, ma’am.”

She nodded to Colby. “Let’s check it out.”

Stopping at his car, Colby grabbed a Maglite from the trunk and handed a spare to Becca. “We might need these.”

Flashlights in hand, they hustled across a narrow strip of green space and cautiously rounded the front of the structure. A utility van sat at the far end of the parking lot. The side panel decal read Peachtree Construction.

“Why would someone leave their truck in an isolated parking lot overnight?” Becca gave voice to what Colby was thinking.

“Time to have a look-see.” He shone his flashlight through the windshield. A ladder and tools were visible in the rear. An insulated coffee mug sat upfront in the console cup holder.

The doors were locked.

Becca raised her cell and relayed the Fulton County tag number to CID Headquarters. “Run the plates. Find out who the truck belongs to and get me an after-duty hours contact number for the company.”

After disconnecting, she and Colby entered the second building through an open doorway. Their flashlights illuminated inner walls that were framed but lacked drywall.

Colby pointed to his left. “You go that way. I’ll head right.” Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the maze of two-by-fours. The only sounds within the building were their muffled footfalls on the concrete-slab floor and the wind that blew through the open doorway.

They met up at the far end of the structure. A rustle caused them to turn their lights on a rodent scurrying for shelter.

“That’s one culprit we don’t need to follow.” Colby chuckled and then flexed his shoulders, hoping to ease the growing tension in his neck.

“I keep thinking that abandoned maintenance van might be important,” Becca said as they exited the building and retraced their steps to the fire scene.

Sergeant Flanders looked up as they neared. “Find anything?”

“One of the construction vans,” she said. “We’re running the plates and getting a phone number for the company. Probably an Atlanta-based firm that landed the building contract.”

“Any sign of the driver?” he asked.

Colby shook his head. “We searched the building. It’s clean.”

“Maybe the guy caught a ride home with a buddy.”

The fire chief hustled toward them. He was tall with serious eyes that stared at them from under his helmet. “The fire’s contained. I’ll have some of my guys keep watch throughout the night. We don’t want any hot embers to rekindle. One of my men is checking out something he saw in the unoccupied apartment on the bottom floor.”

The chief’s tone caused Colby’s gut to tighten. He sensed the entire investigation was about to change.

A younger man in full turnout gear approached the chief. “There’s a problem, sir. We found a body in the rubble.”

Colby turned to look at Becca. This time she didn’t avert her gaze. Instead she stared back at him.

“Was it Jacob?” she had whispered earlier.

Did the dead victim have anything to do with Becca?

* * *

“Hurry up and wait” was a standing joke in the army, although there was nothing funny about waiting for the medical examiner to arrive on site. After inspecting the body, he scheduled an autopsy for the following afternoon.

Crime-scene tape surrounded Becca’s quarters. A name tag found on the victim identified him as the project manager for Peachtree Construction Company.

At this point, foul play couldn’t be ruled out, but the most likely explanation was an accidental gas leak. Either the project manager had entered the unoccupied apartment suspecting a problem or had caused a malfunction once he was inside.

Becca kept thinking of what could have happened had she not awakened. Dark thoughts she had no reason to mention. Certainly not to Special Agent Voss, who hadn’t left her side since the explosion.

His presence played havoc with her internal calm. She needed space and a few moments to compose her tired and confused mind. The reoccurring dream of running from Jacob Yoder continued to haunt her. She sighed in an attempt to distance herself from the memory.

“Something wrong?” Colby asked.

Becca shook her head.

“You need some rest.”

“I’m fine.” A statement she had uttered too many times tonight. She wasn’t used to having someone underfoot, although she did appreciate his concern.

“The chief reserved a room for you at the Lodge, Becca. It’s time you headed there.”

Special Agent in Charge Craig Wilson had arrived onsite shortly after Arnold’s body had been uncovered. The CID commander now stood talking to the post provost marshal and Special Agents Jamison Steele and Brody Goodman.

Wilson was a tall African-American with broad shoulders and an innate ability to hone in on pertinent information that often solved a case. The high regard with which he was held in the entire CID was one of the reasons Becca had accepted the Georgia assignment. She could learn much under his direction.

Tonight she feared her credibility had been compromised. Wilson kept telling her to get out of the cold, yet he hadn’t mentioned the temperature to Colby nor to the other CID personnel on scene.

Maybe it was the oversize coat she wore and the baggy sweatpants that made her seem needy. Something she never wanted to be.

Wilson slapped the provost marshal’s back and nodded to Jamison and Brody before he walked purposefully toward where Becca stood.

“I’ve assigned Brody the lead on the death investigation.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You were the only occupant of the BOQ, Becca. Any chance the explosion was targeted at you?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Has there been something in the past, a person who’s given you trouble, someone who threatened to do you harm?”

“There was an incident in my youth, sir, but that person died some years ago.”

Wilson rubbed his jaw. “It might be prudent to run down anyone you’ve arrested in the past few years, especially those who were incarcerated. Let’s ensure you can account for anyone who might have a grudge to bear.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chief glanced at Colby. “Becca’s new to post and doesn’t know the surrounding area. Look into the explosion, Colby, and ensure it doesn’t have anything to do with her past.”

“I can handle it, sir,” Becca objected.

Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you can, but this might get personal. I want Colby to watch your back.”

“But, sir—”

“Time for all of us to call it a night,” Wilson said before she could state her objection. “The military police will guard the building. The crime-scene folks plan to go over the area as soon as the fire marshal gives them the okay. In spite of the investigation, General Cameron wants every available unit on post to participate in the half marathon tomorrow.” He paused and stared at Colby. “You signed up to represent the CID?”

Colby nodded. “Yes, sir. Becca did, as well.”

Wilson turned to her. “No need for you to run, if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Then I’ll see you both after the race.”

As Wilson headed to his car, Colby touched Becca’s arm. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. I’ll drive you to the Lodge.”

She shook her head, frustrated at being coddled by not only Colby but also the chief. “Thanks, but I can drive myself. Besides I’ll need my car in the morning.”

The half marathon had been organized as a way to foster good relations between the town and military community, one of a series of events scheduled for the upcoming year that had the post commanding general’s full support.

Colby smiled. “The least I can do is follow you home.”

She shook her head. “Really, it’s not necessary.”

Either the tone of her voice or her narrowed gaze caused him to take a step back.

He raised his hands, palms out, and shrugged. “Of course, you’re fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Colby turned and headed to his car, leaving her standing in the parking lot. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back and fisted her hands. For some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to leave.

THREE

Only a little farther!

Becca pushed harder, her focus on the finish line. One more hill to climb to complete the 13.1K run, her first competition since she had arrived at Fort Rickman.

The cheers of the people lining the streets melded into a single roar that accompanied her up the incline. At the crest of the hill, she sucked air into her lungs, appreciating her body’s response to the need for more oxygen.

The finish line lay fifty yards ahead.

Her time was good. Not good enough to win, but nothing to be ashamed of, either.

One last sprint. She kept her eyes on the goal. The Freemont running club official said something over the loudspeaker. Probably her number.

Her footfalls pounded the pavement.

Left, right, left, right...

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Everything faded into a blur.

Push. Harder. Faster.

She broke across the finish. Cheers erupted around her. Her body relaxed, and her pace slowed. She loped through a roped-off chute that would take her to one of the running club volunteers.

“Rebecca.”

Someone from the sidelines called her name. A deep voice she knew too well. Fear tightened her spine.

She whipped her head to the right, the direction from which the voice had sounded, and stared into the crowd, searching for a face she would never forget. The face of a man—no, a monster—who had destroyed everything and everyone she had ever loved.

She scanned the bystanders—wives with babes in arms, parents and grandparents waving at their favorite runners, shopkeepers and community leaders supporting the town’s first attempt to host the sporting event.

Surely her ears were playing tricks on her.

She would never forget the deep, almost soothing quality of his voice that persuaded even those most determined not to succumb to his diabolical charm.

Evil packed in a handsome face and muscular body.

Goose bumps pimpled her flesh. Despite the exertion, she shivered.

Someone shoved a plastic cup into her hand. “Water?” the guy asked.

She switched her gaze to the man and his outstretched hand. An older gentleman with kindly eyes.

Not Jacob.

“Great run,” the man offering water enthused.

Nodding her appreciation, she took the cup and headed farther along the narrowing chute, still studying the crowd, unable to abandon her search.

She had heard Jacob’s voice.

A high school volunteer checked the clipboard in his hand and marked off her number.

He pointed her toward the refreshment area. “Sports drinks are available at the table ahead. Burgers and dogs are on the grill when you feel like eating.”

She downed the water, tossed the glass in a nearby trash receptacle and slipped through the crowd of those who had already finished the run.

“Good run.” Another voice, one she also recognized.

She turned to see Colby approaching her, his angular face still flushed. His group had started ahead of hers.

“With so many runners, I didn’t think I’d see you this morning.” His smile was warm, but his eyes were serious as if he were searching her face for some sign of weakness. He’d worn the same intense expression last night when he’d found her on the knoll immediately after the explosion.

“No reason to pass up a good race,” she offered, hoping he wouldn’t push for details.

“You were pretty worn out last night. You should have slept in.”

She reached for another cup of water on a nearby table. “I could say the same for you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, but no reason to pass up a race.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You heard Chief Wilson last night,” she offered as further reason for participating today. “He wanted everyone to support the event.”

Once again, she flicked her gaze to the crowd. “Did you hear anything new from the fire marshal?”

“Only that he’ll check the site this morning. The Atlanta construction company provided the name of the project manager. Ralph Arnold.”

“The truck belonged to him?”

Colby nodded. “The Freemont chief of police asked for a court order to search the trailer he rented in town. They expect it to be signed by noon. I’ll head that way later this morning”

“Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

“No reason to take two cars.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll pick you up at the Lodge, say at eleven o’clock. We can stop by your old BOQ first and still arrive at Arnold’s place ahead of the local police.”

Glancing at her watch, she nodded. “That works for me.”

Becca needed to buy a few items she’d lost in the fire, including a pair of flats to wear with the civilian clothes worn by the CID, instead of a military uniform.

Maybe Colby was right. She was pushing too hard, but it was the only way she knew how to operate. Move forward. Don’t look back. Don’t think of what could have been. Don’t allow anyone to get too close.

Then she glanced at Colby, seeing again that questioning lift of his brow. She would have to be extra careful to guard her past when he was around. For some reason, he seemed to sense the disquiet she carried in her heart.

After saying a quick goodbye, she turned toward the crowd, hoping her abruptness signaled her desire to be alone.

Coming back may have been a mistake.

Supposedly Jacob was dead and buried.

But Colby Voss was very much alive, and although the two men were polar opposites, they both posed a danger.

Jacob did because of the memories that tangled her dreams and impacted her life. Colby Voss was a danger in a completely different way, but she needed to guard against his charisma and his show of concern for her, just the same.

As she made her way through the crowd, her focus shifted back to Jacob.

He was dead.

She hoped.

* * *

Colby pulled to a stop at the red light, thinking of the warning signs that had flashed through his mind since he’d met Becca. If only she would lower her guard around him just a bit. Case in point, last night when she’d refused his offer to follow her to the Lodge.

Stubborn pride is what he called it, although not to her face. In truth, it was possibly her dislike of appearing weak or fear of revealing too much about herself. Now that Wilson had tasked them to investigate the explosion’s tie-in with her past, Colby hoped to find a way to work with her and not against her.

Frustrated though he had been last night, he had hung back until she left the BOQ parking lot and had followed her to the Lodge. He’d made sure she arrived at the transient billets safe and sound and watched as she scurried inside. Lights came on in an upstairs room, and he’d seen her at the window before she closed the drapes.

Relieved to know she was safe, he’d driven home. Sleep had eluded him, and he’d spent a great portion of the night focused on Becca Miller and her determination to take care of herself.

Strong women were a challenge, to say the least.

He’d made that mistake once before and still carried the scars. Not physical, but painful nonetheless.

Foolish of him to have thought Ellen would change when they were both deployed in Afghanistan. Her independence and desire to go it alone had forced him to transfer to another forward operating base.

A mistake that haunted him still.

No matter how hard he worked to move on, the reality of what had happened was never far below the surface.

Meeting Becca had brought those memories to light again. Unresolved issues, his sister called them, but then she knew him too well. As much as he treasured their close sibling relationship, he didn’t appreciate her uncanny ability to recognize his struggle.

Surely Becca Miller couldn’t sense the undercurrent of his life. He prided himself on his outward control and on being a law enforcement officer who got the job done.

Turning into the lodge parking area this morning, he saw Becca standing in front of the building. She glanced impatiently at her watch.

He checked the dashboard clock. One minute past eleven. Did she think he was late?

Pulling to a stop, he reached across the passenger seat and opened the far door from the inside. Equal footing was what she wanted, which he would give her. Becca was a fellow army investigator. End of story.

So then why did he breathe in the flowery scent of her shampoo and take a second deep breath as if to ensure what he smelled was real and not his imagination?

He reached forward to help her click the seat belt in place. Their hands touched, sending a ripple of electricity up his arm. Nothing about Becca was his imagination. She was tall and slender, lean in a fit way but not too skinny, with a graceful neck and shoulder-length brown hair streaked with auburn.

She turned and greeted him, but his focus honed in on her green eyes, tired but bright.

“Did you get something to eat?” he asked.

“A couple power bars.”

“You want some coffee. Maybe a burger at the drive-through?”

“Only if you do.”

“I ate earlier at the race.” Not that he couldn’t eat again, but they were on a tight schedule, and he didn’t want the Freemont police to arrive at the project manager’s trailer ahead of them.

“Dental records should come in later today to officially ID Ralph Arnold’s body,” he told her as he pulled onto the main road and headed to her former BOQ.

“Have they contacted the next of kin?”

“A wife who lives in Marietta, just north of Atlanta. She talked to her husband yesterday evening. He was working late and had hoped to finish sometime before midnight and then drive home for the weekend.”

“Now he’s dead.” Becca tsked. “I feel for the wife. Did they have kids?”

“Two boys.”

“Growing up without a father will be tough.”

Colby had to agree. “The question we need to answer is what was he doing in the vacant apartment?”

The fire marshal and two MPs were searching Becca’s BOQ when they pulled into the quad parking lot.

“Find anything?” Colby asked after he and Becca had introduced themselves and flashed their identification.

“Nothing yet, but watch your step.” The marshal pointed to the burned rubble covering the floor. “No way of telling if Mr. Arnold caused the problem or tried to fix what was amiss when he arrived.”

“Wouldn’t he have called in a gas leak and notified the fire department?” Colby asked.

“More than likely,” the fire marshal said. “And if he’d used his cell when he was inside, a spark from his phone could have caused the explosion.”

The marshal was a slender guy with bushy eyebrows. He glanced at Becca over the top of his glasses.

“After you smelled gas, Special Agent Miller, you told the MP last night that you exited through the rear of the building.” He pursed his lips for a long moment. “Why didn’t you use the front door?”

“My first thought was to get out. The back door was closer.”

“Then you called CID Headquarters instead of 911?” the marshal pressed.

She nodded. “The number was programmed on my phone. I knew the person on duty could and would notify both the fire department and the military police immediately. Emergency operators ask questions that can delay the process.”

The marshal raised his bushy brows. “We have an excellent emergency response system at Fort Rickman.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll use it next time.”

As if satisfied with her response, the marshal walked through the gaping hole between the two apartments and headed into the adjoining kitchen. Becca and Colby followed him into the living area of the unoccupied unit.

The stench of smoke and burned plastic hung in the air. Becca coughed to clear her lungs. Bending down, she brushed some debris aside.

Colby edged closer. “What did you find?”

“Glass shards.”

“An overhead light fixture perhaps,” he mused.

“Maybe, but most lights are opaque or frosted.” She glanced at an opening in the nearby wall. “Guess what used to be here?”

Colby stepped back to view the entire room and realized where she was headed. “The front door.”

“That’s right. Flanked by panes of clear glass.”

Colby knew the significance of finding the glass within the house. “If the panes had blown with the explosion, the shards would be outside the footprint of the structure.”

“But they’re inside,” she said, her face drawn. “The shattered glass makes me think someone else was in the apartment. Someone who had broken one of the glass panes to gain entry into the apartment before the explosion.”

“Ralph Arnold had a key to the unit.” Colby glanced again at where the front door had been. “If Arnold noticed the broken window, he may have entered the unit to determine what had happened and inadvertently surprised the intruder.”

“And was killed for that reason,” Becca added. “Then the perpetrator turned on the gas. The explosion covered up any evidence he left behind.”

“Evidence and a dead body. But if that’s the case, then why was the perpetrator here in the first place?”

Becca didn’t want to share her suspicions with Colby. She wasn’t ready to discuss her past and the man she had run from years ago.

Had Jacob Yoder found her? If so, he’d entered the vacant apartment earlier in the day and had holed up until she came home from work and eventually headed to bed.

The project manager had surprised Jacob, but Arnold wasn’t the target of last night’s explosion.

Becca was.

FOUR

Becca was eager to find something—anything—to refute her theory about being the target of last night’s explosion. If only she could uncover incriminating evidence in the project manager’s trailer that would point to his involvement in an illegal operation. Drug smuggling, embezzlement, even human trafficking. Bottom line, she needed a motive for his death that would draw attention away from her.

She and Colby arrived at the trailer and were joined by two officers from the Freemont Police Department. Wearing vinyl gloves, they searched all the logical places where a perpetrator would hide anything he didn’t want the police to find.

When their search proved futile, Becca turned to more ingenious hiding spots, but even then she found nothing that seemed questionable.

If she couldn’t uncover evidence relevant to a crime, her initial assumption about Jacob Yoder being alive might prove true, which made her even more determined to keep looking.

After searching Arnold’s bedroom, she pounded her fist against the wall.

“Take it easy, Becca,” Colby cautioned from the hallway.

Undeterred by his comment, she tapped again. “Hear that hollow sound? It could be a secret hiding compartment.”

Brody ran his fingers over the walls and stood close enough for her to notice his aftershave. She took a step back, needing to keep her focus on the search instead of his strong hands and the heady scent that wafted around her.

Eventually, he shook his head. “The wall’s secure. No cubby holes. No secret hiding spots. Let’s keep looking.”

He was right, of course, yet she was frustrated by the fruitless search as well as her less than professional response to Colby’s nearness. She moved into the living area, forcing her thoughts back to the case. Nothing could be ruled out at his point, but even the idea of a drug deal gone south seemed remote.

The trailer had been in pristine condition when they first arrived. Neat and tidy with a number of scrapbooks containing pictures of Mr. Arnold receiving awards from his superiors. Religious books were stacked on the coffee table, as well as a scattering of pictures of his wife and kids, all of which indicated that he was a salt-of-the-earth type of guy. A well-worn Bible lay on the couch as if he’d read scripture before he had left for work.

More than likely, Arnold’s death was a wrong-place, wrong-time incident. Making his rounds last night, he had seen the broken windowpane and entered the BOQ to check it out, never expecting the perpetrator to be inside. Instead he should have called the military police on post and asked them to investigate.

As Colby drove them back to post, Becca kept her eyes on the road ahead instead of on him. She was becoming much too interested in Colby, and instead, she needed to come up with a logical reason for the initial break-in. She quickly narrowed it down to two options. Either the killer entered the empty BOQ because he wanted a place to hole up overnight, or he was there to do her harm.

“You’re quiet.” Colby broke the silence. “Want to share what you’re thinking?”

Exactly what she didn’t want to do.

She tried to act nonchalant. “Just wondering about the killer.”

“Anyone giving you a hard time recently?” He flicked a sideways glance her way. “We make enemies in this business. Wilson said as much last night. Is there someone who has a beef with you? Someone you sent to prison and now he’s out? Even an old boyfriend who wasn’t happy when you dumped him?”

“No old boyfriend.”

Colby nodded as if relieved, which made her smile.

“That’s one down,” he said. “Anyone grumbling about being set up or complaining you pushed too hard?”

“Probably everyone I’ve arrested.”

“Do you remember anyone who was more vocal than the rest, more agitated, more out to seek revenge?”

She shook her head. “No one comes to mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She straightened her skirt, still frustrated with her own response to his nearness. “You sound as if I’m under interrogation.”

“Of course not. It’s just—” He tapped the steering wheel. “I get this feeling you’re holding something back. Is there anything you’re not telling me that might have relevance to this investigation?”

If only she could tell him about Jacob, but an investigation depended on facts and not some pie-in-the-sky suspicion that a buried killer could come back to life.

Becca had worked hard to get to this point in her career and still walked a tight rope to fit in with a predominantly male work group. She didn’t need to spout nonsensical supposition.

“As we both know,” she offered, hoping it would ease the tension between them. “The simplest explanation is often the one that proves true. The guy who broke in probably needed a place to hole up overnight. He could have been cold and tried to light the stove to keep warm. If the pilot light was out, the gas could have filled the apartment and caused the explosion.”

Colby glanced at her. “And this homeless guy seeks refuge on an army post complete with gate checks and 24/7 security?”

“I admit it doesn’t sound likely.” He was right. Security was tight on Fort Rickman. If the project manager hadn’t seen the broken window, the military police would have.

“You want to hear my theory?” he asked.

She licked her lips, not knowing what to expect. “Okay.”

“The perp was interested in you, Becca.”

She held up her hand. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I beg to differ. It’s the most plausible explanation.” He hesitated and then added, “Anything in your past that could play into the explosion?”

He wouldn’t let up, and she couldn’t chance what would happen if he knew the truth. “Not that I know of.”

“You were fearful last night when the fire was raging, and when we were walking to my BOQ you mentioned some guy’s name.”

“I don’t remember saying anything specific. Besides, my new home was going up in flames. It wasn’t that I was fearful, Colby. I was relieved to have gotten out alive.”

He nodded. “My oldest sister—her name’s Gloria—claims I survived Afghanistan because of her prayers and God’s mercy. He must have been watching over you last night.”

Thoughts of her own sister made her eyes burn with unexpected tears. She turned her gaze to the side window, not wanting Colby to notice.

His hand reached for hers. “Did I say something wrong?”

For a guy, he had a keen knack of sensing her emotional struggle. Plus, his touch was reassuring, yet she didn’t want to seem like an emotional female. In truth, a lot had happened and if she added fatigue to the mix, she could almost forgive herself for appearing weak.

“My...my sister died eight years ago. I keep thinking I’ve worked through my grief, then something happens and it rushes back again.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m glad Gloria prayed for you.” She offered him a weak smile, hoping her face wasn’t blotched and her nose beet red from the tears.

“My father always said I was headstrong, but my sister Katie claimed I just needed prayer to keep me in line. In hindsight, it was probably wanderlust that got me in trouble at home and made the military seem a natural way of life.”

“You transferred to Fort Rickman from Germany?”

She nodded, relieved the conversation had moved to neutral ground. “I asked to work for Chief Wilson. There was an opening, and I got my first choice of assignments.”

“Which means your record is excellent or you wouldn’t have been selected for the job.”

“Maybe it was my sister’s prayers finally coming to fruition.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand again, a reassuring gesture, she told herself, that any friend would offer.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before he asked, “Did you meet Dawson Timmons when he stopped by the office last week?”

She remembered both him and his wife. “Nice guy. His wife Lillie was equally so. They invited me to the barbecue at his farm.”

“Just about everyone in CID Headquarters will be there.”

“It was kind of them to include me.”

“They’re good folks. I served with Dawson at Fort Hood. He transferred here and met Lillie. Now he’s out of the army, owns a farm and is living the good life.”

“A soldier turned farmer.” Becca smiled. “His wife must have changed his mind about law enforcement.”

“Actually, he claims to love working the soil.” Colby thought for a moment before asking, “Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow? We can drive there together. That way you won’t have to worry about getting directions.”

“Dawson drew a map for me when he was in the office. Between that and my GPS, it shouldn’t be difficult to find.”

“Call me if you change your mind.”

Becca didn’t believe in mixing business with her social life. No reason to give folks anything to talk about, especially when she already seemed much too affected by the special agent.

The Lodge appeared on the left. Colby turned into the parking lot. “Did you get the memo about Monday and Tuesday being training holidays?”

“I did.” Becca opened the passenger door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “We’ll probably be working on the investigation both days. Thanks for the ride.”

She waved goodbye and waited until Colby drove away before she dug in her purse for her phone and hurried to her car. Once behind the wheel, she called the former sheriff in Harmony, Alabama.

“McDougal,” a raspy voice answered.

“Sir, you may not remember me. I grew up in the Amish community. Now I’m with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Rickman, Georgia. There’s been a crime on post that may be related to my father and sister’s murders.”

“Rebecca Mueller, is that you?”

“Yes, sir. Although I go by Becca Miller now.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m driving to Harmony this afternoon and should be there in a couple hours. I’d like to talk to you about the case.”

“I retired and don’t have access to any of the old files, although I’d be happy to see you.”

She glanced at her watch. “I need to stop by Elizabeth Konig’s house first. It might be late afternoon before I get to your place.”

“Do you mind telling me what you want to discuss?”

“Whether Jacob Yoder could still be alive.”

* * *

Colby left the Lodge parking area and turned onto the main road irritated with himself. Once again, he thought of Becca’s flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears. Grief was insidious, like a sly fox that doesn’t want to be seen, until something flushes the animal into the open. His sister had a way of bringing his own pain to light by often saying the one thing that reminded him too much of Ellen.

Death was so...

He hunted for the right word.

Final.

He’d learned that the hard way. Evidently, Becca still had more to learn. From now on, he’d try to be more sensitive to her feelings.

At least, they’d talked openly about her security. Colby planned to keep revisiting the subject until he was convinced she realized the danger she might be in.

A good CID agent had a list of enemies. Becca was no different. Yet she hadn’t been forthright about any investigation or arrests that ended badly. Call it his sixth sense, but he distinctly felt she was holding something back.

Jacob? He had heard her mention the name last night, yet she’d denied it.

While searching the trailer today, she’d been like a coon dog hot on the prey’s trail. Only they had uncovered nothing of interest, not even a shred of evidence that would raise suspicion. Brody Goodman, one of the other special agents, had checked into Arnold’s past. The man’s record was lily-white. No arrests. No trouble with the law. Not even a traffic violation. He served as a deacon in his church and was voted favorite coach of his son’s Little League.

Yet Becca had insisted if they looked long enough, something would be uncovered, and when they returned to post empty-handed, she’d seemed withdrawn and mildly agitated. Perhaps she had hoped Arnold would be found culpable to take the heat off her. The project manager might have stumbled upon the perp, but Arnold wasn’t the reason the guy had been hiding in the BOQ in the first place. Seemed logical that he’d been there because of Becca. Which Colby had mentioned, and she had tried to refute.

He pulled to a stop at an intersection and thought back to her clipped speech and guarded eyes. Becca was an unknown entity. She had transferred from an overseas assignment and had never served previously with any of the Fort Rickman special agents. As much as Colby wanted to believe she was competent, she could be involved in something suspect.

The light changed. He picked up his cell and tapped in the number for CID Headquarters. Sergeant Raynard Otis answered. “Ray, put me through to the boss.”

Once Wilson came on the line, Colby filled him in on the clean search of Arnold’s trailer. “Sir, I’m concerned Special Agent Miller may have been the targeted victim of the explosion as you mentioned last night.”

“Have you discussed your suspicions with her?”

“She’s quick to discard the idea, which makes me concerned about her personal safety.”

“I wanted her to work with you, Colby. Is that a problem?”

“Ah, no, sir.”

“I realize this puts you in a difficult position. Especially if she’s unwilling to realize she might be in danger. Keep tabs on her as best you can until we have a better picture of what happened last night. From the short time she’s been with us, it’s evident she guards her privacy. Make sure her self-sufficiency doesn’t get her into trouble. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir.”

Colby disconnected and made a U-turn when the light changed. Wilson was right. He’d put Colby in a difficult position. Keep Becca safe when Becca didn’t think she was in danger. Worse than that, she probably didn’t want him around.

Approaching the Lodge, he noticed her silver Honda turn out of the parking lot, heading toward the main gate. Could be a long day if she was like his sisters and planned to spend time shopping.

Colby hadn’t expected to play bodyguard to another CID agent. A waste of taxpayer money, in his opinion, but Wilson was in charge so he would comply.

Just so Becca didn’t spot the tail.

Leaving post, she increased her speed and took a road that bypassed Freemont. He glanced down at his gas gauge relieved that he’d filled up at the Post Exchange gas station two days ago. Settling into his seat, he hung back a number of car lengths and accelerated to keep up with her. At the speed she was driving, Becca seemed determined to get somewhere fast.

Maybe she wasn’t heading for the mall after all.

Colby programmed a selection of music CDs that filled the Chevy with country songs about lost loves and broken hearts. He sang along and tapped his hand against the steering wheel in time to the music.

Becca seemed oblivious to his tail, which concerned him. She should have been more observant. Wilson had been right. She needed someone to watch her back. Colby planned to do exactly that.

Nearly two hours passed before she slowed her speed. A road sign welcomed them to Harmony, Alabama. Becca drove to the center of town, turned onto a side road and braked to a stop in front of a small one-story ranch.

Colby pulled to the curb in front of a neighbor’s house on the opposite side of the street. Turning off the ignition, he scooted down in the seat and watched Becca scurry along the sidewalk to the modest home. She glanced over her shoulder before she knocked.

He slumped down farther. The last thing Colby wanted was for Becca to realize she was under surveillance.

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