Page 2

2

FBI Special Agent Stella Knox, acting as Claymore Township’s co-sheriff, stood outside the small Pennsylvania town’s general store. She stared down at her quarry.

David Broad was Claymore’s sole journalist. He was also the town’s biggest drunk. And this morning, its loudest citizen.

Broad had been bellowing about the apocalypse and the importance of repenting for the last half hour, forcing cars to drive around him. Stella wasn’t surprised so many people had called for help. Broad’s size made him intimidating enough when he was sober.

His massive frame seemed to take up twice the space of an average man, with shoulders so wide, they strained the seams of his winter coat. When he lurched forward, even the most confident locals gave him a wide berth for fear he’d trip and smash them under his solid frame.

She’d been on the scene less than five minutes, and already, she’d had enough. A few minutes more, and she’d be set to explode.

The man tottering in the middle of the road in front of her struggled to maintain his balance between the hills of slush piled against the curb. His thick, black-and-white beard was wet, and Stella could smell the tequila on his breath from ten feet away.

“Repent, repent!” His shouts came from the top of his lungs. “The end of the world is coming.” He threw his long arms wide, raised his face to the heavens, and laughed.

Stella took a deep breath. She really didn’t have time for this.

Drunk and boisterous at half past ten in the morning, he looked positively dangerous.

She glared at him. “Broad, you need to calm down and go home. Sleep it off. I won’t say it again.”

Broad lowered his chin to his chest. He examined her from underneath his thick eyebrows. “Hey, it’s you. I know you. You find my truck yet?”

Instead of punching him, she simply shook her head. The truck had been missing for a couple weeks now. Broad had probably parked his Toyota Tacoma at the bottom of a lake somewhere and forgotten about it.

“The BOLO’s still out.”

He swayed, blinking heavy. “Tha’sallrai’, hon-neh.” The words blurred into each other. It took a second to untangle them. That’s all right, honey. “How’s about a quote fer me? Huh? Something about…murder…something. Whatever ya got, I’ll take. Write it up fer you. Make you famous. Make you more famous .”

He cackled and slapped his leg, nearly falling over in the process. Stella’s anger deepened.

Two weeks had passed since the end of their last case. To say she was eager to get out of uniform and back to her real job in Nashville’s FBI was the understatement of the year.

Stella and her partner—both romantically and professionally—Special Agent Hagen Yates had agreed to stretch their extended leave into a temporary co-sheriff position while the governor of Pennsylvania found a new sheriff.

Under usual circumstances, when a sheriff in Pennsylvania vacated the office for whatever reason, the job passed to the chief deputy. But since the chief deputy had been murdered, the problem was kicked up to the governor.

For Stella, time was dragging. Handing out speeding fines and dealing with daytime drunks had never been rewarding work. She’d had enough of that when she was a beat cop.

And Paul Slade, their supervisory special agent, was eager for them to return to Nashville so the team would be at full strength again. He’d called that morning and told them the governor had finally found a replacement.

They needed to get their asses down south.

But the thought of leaving the mayor and the rest of the town in the hands of some stranger sat uneasily with Stella. Besides his civic duties, Dr. Bill Silow was also the administrator of a nearby psychiatric hospital and a good man who’d recently lost friends and a patient to a murderer. Stella liked him. But Slade was right. She and Hagen needed to get back to their lives and back to work.

A truck pulled out of the parking lot behind the general store.

Broad leaped into the middle of the road and stretched his arms wide. “Have ya repented, Dick? Ya gotta repent before the end of the world, Dick.”

The truck swerved. Dick Terry, the owner of the town’s carpentry workshop, stuck his fist out his window and yelled at Broad to get out of the damn road before someone got killed.

Broad responded by yanking off his coat and throwing it at the truck’s cab. Dick drove over it without slowing.

That was enough.

Stella whipped the handcuffs out of her belt and moved in to make the arrest. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back. I’m arresting you for public intoxication.”

Broad didn’t move. He didn’t even pick up his coat. Stella drew nearer. Broad arched his back. One hand curled into a fist. He pulled back his shoulder and swung.

Stella had hoped Broad wouldn’t do anything stupid.

But she’d expected otherwise. And she was ready.

His massive fist cut through the air with surprising speed for a man his size, and his entire body twisted with the force of the blow. A small breeze swept past her face, his knuckles missing by inches as she executed her practiced dodge.

Broad’s boots skidded on the road’s icy surface, sending him crashing down with all the elegance of a hippo on ice.

In a second, Stella’s knee was in the small of his back. She yanked his arms behind him and snapped the handcuffs around his wrists.

“You’re an idiot, Broad. You know that?”

Stella picked up his coat and tossed it over her shoulder. The material stank of sweat and tequila. She then pulled Broad to his feet, draped the coat over his shoulders, and shoved the drunk headfirst into the back of her SUV.

Her phone rang.

She took a moment to catch her breath before answering. “Knox.”

“Yates.” Hagen was a welcome change to the morning. Stella was only a little envious that he was spending it in the sheriff’s office while she managed the callouts.

“Hey, got my hands full here. Just on my way in.”

“Excellent. I just spoke to Bill. He wants to speak with us both at the office.”

“I need to drop someone off in the cells first.”

“Sounds good. Find me after you’ve booked him.”

Stella pocketed her phone, climbed into the warm SUV, and clicked the seat belt into place. “Hope you’re excited for your bed and your nice, warm cell, Broad.” Without waiting for a response, she released the parking brake.

The local newspaper lay on the passenger seat next to her. There she was with Hagen on the front page, leaning against the patrol vehicle while they sipped hot drinks.

The headline told the whole story.

More Details Emerge about the Psychiatric Patient Killer.

The sight of their faces and their names infuriated Stella. Again.

For two weeks, Broad had sobered up enough to milk that story, writing two print editions and daily online articles—now nationally syndicated because of the interest the case generated. They’d asked him repeatedly to leave their names and faces out and warned him he was endangering federal law enforcement officials. Broad had ignored them.

He’d named them, photographed them, and even suggested in one editorial that they should’ve taken the killer alive. As if he’d been there in the room on that dreadful day two weeks ago.

The gall of the man.

Yet sometimes Stella did wonder if they couldn’t have done more to prevent the killer’s death.

She swept the newspaper to the floor and pulled out onto the road.

Broad chuckled. “I see you’re a fan of my work.”

“I wish you’d just stop writing about this.”

“Hey, it’s in the public interest, right? And you should see the kind of response this story’s been generating.” He belched, loud and wet. “Online, that stuff’s getting hundreds of thousands of hits. Most popular story I’ve ever covered. People can’t get enough of those killings.”

Stella swore under her breath and pushed the gas. The last thing she and Hagen needed was to be known. She’d even gotten a call from her mother—wondering whether her career might be too dangerous and asking if she’d please find a nice desk job somewhere.

The sheriff’s department was no more than five minutes away. As long as three-foot snowdrifts or six-foot David Broads weren’t blocking the road, nothing in Claymore was more than five minutes away. But by the time Stella pulled up, Broad was already snoring.

She stepped out and opened the back seat. “Wake up!” The combination of her voice and the blast of cold air served to stir him.

After muscling Broad inside, booking him, and dropping him in the drunk tank to sleep it off, Stella returned to the temporary office she shared with Hagen.

She found him seated behind the sheriff’s desk. Across from him sat Dr. Bill Silow and another man in a sheriff’s uniform. The man sat with his legs crossed at the ankles. He was in his early fifties, had a long, bare chin, and hadn’t taken off his hat. His sausage fingers drummed the arm of the chair.

Hagen smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on in.”

The man greeted Stella with no more than the lightest of nods.

Dr. Silow turned with a smile. “Stella, good morning. Let me introduce you to Sheriff Louis Deacon. He just received his commission from the governor, and he’ll be taking over from you and Hagen starting immediately. Much as I’ll be sorry to see you go, I know you’ve got lives and jobs to get back to. Wanted you both present for the handover.”

A weight lifted from Stella’s shoulders. They were done here. Their leave was over. The murders in the town were solved, and their responsibilities had been fulfilled.

They had their lives back.

She knew Hagen well enough now to recognize the relief in those dark-green eyes. But there was also a tightness in his jaw that suggested worry. They hadn’t been a couple for long—and almost all of it had been on their leave from work. Now, as they returned to Nashville, they’d be building a life together.

Unfolding before them was a whole new adventure. The thought excited Stella, even as it worried her.

She nodded to Sheriff Deacon and stretched out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff. If you’ve got any questions, feel free to?—”

“I’ll be fine. Been reading about your exploits in the news.” Sheriff Deacon took her hand without standing up and released it quickly, as though he’d touched something cold and wet. “I might not be as flashy, but I’ve got over twenty years on the job. I know what I’m doing.”

Stella’s irritation returned, but she resisted the urge to fire back.

There was no point in getting into a slinging match with some small-town sheriff. Not with their bags nearly packed. She fished around in her pocket, pulled out the keys to the patrol vehicle, and tossed them.

Sheriff Deacon caught the keys in one hand and grunted in affirmation.

“Okay, then. We’ll drop off our uniforms on our way out of town.” She forced a close-lipped smile. “Oh, by the way. There’s a big, sweaty gift waiting for you in the drunk tank.”

Stella and Hagen accepted Dr. Silow’s thanks for their help, promised to remain in touch, and headed out of the office.

As they drove to their cabin, Stella called Slade and put the phone on speaker. When she told them they were on their way home and would be in the office first thing Tuesday morning, the relief in his voice was clear.

“Bright and early.”

Hagen raised an eyebrow. “We’re looking forward to seeing you too, Boss. Missed the old place.”

Stella hung up. No one ever liked a travel day. But by late Monday, they’d be back in Nashville. The day after that, they’d return to the briefing room, receiving their new assignments.

She wanted to be there already.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the cabin they’d been renting for the last three and a half months. She’d grown fond of the quiet place in the mountains, where she and Hagen had planned to get to know each other without the distractions of work or the pressures of hunting a killer.

As Stella stuffed her things into her suitcase, Hagen took apart his macchinetta and washed the parts carefully. He was quiet as he folded his clothes, and Stella assumed he was already missing the place.

She whistled as she packed. Pennsylvania was nice, but it wasn’t home.

Nashville was waiting.