Page 31 of Protective Assignment (Warrior Peak Sanctuary #1)

Chapter One

Natalie bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest, her T-shirt soaked with sweat. Her wide eyes darted around the darkened bedroom, searching for an anchor, but the relentless green of the forest closed in on her. Her legs bicycled under the sheets, running from her dream, running from him.

Trapped in the tangled bedcovers, she thrust out her arms, clawing through the branches, scrabbling for an escape. Her hand hit a hard object, knocking it to the ground…the floor, where it shattered.

Her gaze shifted toward a glimmer of light that peeked through a crack in the blinds. Windows. A streetlight. Her bedroom.

Closing her eyes, she fell back against her pillow. The dream had come at her like a sledgehammer, annihilating the fragile facade she’d pieced together for the past fourteen years to cover her trauma.

Maybe it was about time she dismantled that facade and faced her fears.

* * *

Later that morning , Natalie parked her suitcase in the lobby of the FBI office where she worked in Quantico. When Francesca, sitting at the front desk, stopped speaking into her headset, Natalie pointed at her bag. “Okay if I leave this here while I run upstairs and collect a few things?”

Francesca nodded. “You’re traveling today?”

“Long flight to the West Coast.” Natalie wrinkled her nose and patted the carry-on strapped across her body. “I just need to pick up some files before I leave.”

“Go ahead. I’ll…” Francesca answered a call and pointed at her eyes with two fingers, then aimed those fingers at Natalie’s suitcase.

Natalie left her to it and hustled up the stairs to the records office.

She dropped into a chair in front of one of the computers and logged in with her smart card.

There was no way around leaving a trail.

If anyone bothered to check, she could excuse her interest in these two missing-persons cold cases as being related to her assignment with the Marysville forensics lab. They were related.

She searched the database for the two cases and didn’t even have to review them—she knew them by heart. She printed out both and grabbed two file folders from the supply cabinet.

The door to the office swung open with a bang, and she clutched the folders to her chest and spun around.

Special Agent Jefferson barreled into the room, and Natalie sidled in front of the printer, now spitting out pages of the first report. “Were you looking for me?”

Jefferson ran a hand over his bald head, as if he’d just broken into a sweat instead of her. “Agent Brunetti, didn’t we give you a final briefing yesterday?”

Natalie swallowed and held up the folder before plucking a stack of papers from the printer and stuffing them inside. “Just dropped by to pick up a few more cases. I’m ready to go, sir. My flight leaves in a few hours.”

Jefferson shook back the sleeve of his expensive navy suit and glanced at his even more expensive watch. “Better get going. Dulles is no picnic in the afternoon.”

“I brought my bags to the office. I’m leaving for the airport straight from here.” She slid the second set of papers into the other folder and crammed both folders into the bag at her feet. Then she yanked the bag up by the strap and hitched it over her shoulder.

“You’re ambitious. I’ll give you that, Brunetti.” Stepping back, Jefferson narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you from that area? Seattle or something?”

She dipped her chin. “My family lived there for a while.”

“It’s good you have some familiarity with the location.” He leveled a finger at her. “You’re not going to be welcome there. You’re an outsider, digging into their business, examining what they did wrong, telling them how to improve.”

Natalie held up one hand in a stop sign. “I’ll be diplomatic. We all want the same thing…to solve those cold cases.”

“We do want to solve the cold cases, and the King County Sheriff’s Department can get back to that business after we do ours—find out why and how so much evidence in that forensics lab in Marysville got corrupted or lost. The lab supervisor, Michael Wilder, should be happy to help.

He wasn’t in charge when the evidence got compromised.

As far as we can tell, he’s been running a tight ship. ”

“Has he, though?” Natalie tilted her head and readjusted the bag’s strap on her shoulder. “The lab had evidence from the Kitsap Killer case just a few months ago and didn’t run a basic test for a sex identifier, which would’ve solved that case earlier.”

“That wasn’t Wilder’s call. The sample was sent to Seattle.”

“His lab was responsible for the case.”

Holding up a finger, Jefferson said, “Diplomacy, remember?”

“Got it. Now I’d better order my car for the airport, or I’m going to undiplomatically miss my flight.” She made a move for the door, and Agent Jefferson shifted his stout frame out of her way.

She waved her hand in the air as she walked down the corridor, feeling his eyes boring into her back. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine.

She had a feeling Jefferson had objected to sending her out to Seattle to look into the anomalies at the forensics lab in Marysville, but she did good work. Nobody could dispute that—even though she had some personality issues.

But she had a job to do and an ulterior motive for doing it, and she didn’t really care what the lab rats in Marysville thought about her…especially Michael Wilder.

* * *

Michael pushed his laptop away and massaged his throbbing temples.

He’d been working all week to prep his lab’s files for the FBI oversight inspection.

He’d cleaned up a mess when he took over as manager for the forensics lab in Marysville, but all his hard work over the past few years hadn’t even scratched the surface of the mishandling of evidence that had occurred ten to fifteen years ago.

He smacked his hand on his desk, sending the pens and pencils in the holder into a frenzy. Rubbing the spot on the blotter he’d just hit, he lifted his head and peered at the cubicles outside his office window. Had anyone witnessed his flare of temper?

After the year he’d had, his bosses with the Washington State Patrol had mandated therapy for him.

He hated talking to a shrink as much as he hated getting ready for some nosy FBI agent poking around his lab, but he had to admit the anger-management exercises Dr. Russell had been drilling into him seemed to be working. Until now.

As he dug his fists into his eyes, someone knocked on the open door. Michael blinked as he focused on Nicole Meloan’s curly mop, as she stuck her head inside his office. Nicole ran Evidence Receiving, and she’d been putting in as many extra hours as he’d been. “Are you still here, Nicole?”

“I could ask you the same thing, but I have a feeling I know why we’re both here after hours.” Nicole pursed her lips, her usually pleasant face contorting into a frown.

She looked as mad as he felt, but he had to set an example.

Michael took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly through his lips—another one of his coping mechanisms. “I appreciate your getting everything in order in the evidence room. It won’t be so bad.

A lot of what Agent Brunetti will be looking at is evidence compromised before our time.

That’ll keep him too busy to snoop around our current evidence and practices. ”

Nicole screwed up one side of her mouth. “I hope so. I have a process in my area.”

“Don’t we all.” Michael twirled a finger in the air. “You should get out of here.”

“On my way.” She tucked a wild lock of hair behind one ear. “D-do you need anything? Are you alright? Is Ivy okay?”

Michael refrained from rolling his eyes.

His staff meant well, but damn. Was it ever going to stop?

His lips stretched into a smile. “I’m good, Nicole.

My sister, Molly, is still here, and Ivy’s thrilled.

You go ahead. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow when we have our meeting with Agent Brunetti.

Don’t worry. We’ll show him how we get things done around here. ”

“We sure will.” She wiggled her fingers in the air as she turned.

Michael slumped in his chair. Did it look like he wasn’t doing okay? He’d worked hard to get back to okay. Did everyone else just see right through him?

Closing his eyes, he massaged the back of his neck for one minute, then packed up his laptop and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. He’d already missed dinner and the bedtime rituals, so he might as well make it an even later night.

As he left the lab itself, he made sure the self-locking door closed behind him. The forensics lab had a lobby area with a security guard manning the front desk.

The soles of Michael’s shoes plodded across the vinyl flooring that extended from the lab to the lobby, causing Miles to glance up. When he saw Michael, he saluted. “Working late again, chief?”

“Story of my life, Miles.” Michael rapped on the desk as he walked by. “You got the good shift again, huh?”

Holding up a textbook, Miles said, “Nice and quiet for studying…but I never said that.”

“My lips are sealed, but when you’re done with school and I need a nurse, I’m counting on you for special treatment.”

“You got it, man.”

Michael pushed through the glass doors and inhaled the fresh, pine-scented air.

He hadn’t left the building all day, and the moist droplets that clung to his face and hair refreshed him.

He wouldn’t tell Dr. Russell he’d been cooped up all day.

Getting plenty of fresh air came under the heading of anger management.

Once this Nat Brunetti person did his thing at the lab and left, Michael planned on getting back to normal hours… until the next crisis.

The beep of his remote echoed in the nearly empty parking lot, despite the mist that seemed to mute every other sound. Before sliding behind the wheel of his truck, he placed his bag on the passenger seat.

He dropped onto the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.

He clutched the steering wheel as the truck idled.

He didn’t have to do this. These nighttime visits to the scene of the crime didn’t help matters.

That lonely stretch of trail didn’t have any answers for him.

The scant evidence the killer left behind had already been bagged and tagged a long time ago—and he hadn’t been allowed to see any of it.

Grunting, he threw his truck into gear and stepped on the accelerator. He wanted to get this out of his system before the meeting with the FBI tomorrow. He needed the fresh air, anyway. Dr. Russell would approve…sort of.

Michael wheeled out of the parking lot of the lab and hit the road. The truck practically drove itself toward the forest of the national park. He drove past the turnoff for the camping area and continued into the heart of the woods.

If not aware of the trail head tucked behind some boxwood bushes, it could be missed, especially at night with no cars parked along the road. But he knew all about it.

Michael pulled his truck onto the soft shoulder as much as possible and cut the engine. He slid from the truck and eased the door closed. Flicking on his flashlight, he parted the bushes to reach the trailhead.

To this day, he couldn’t figure out what Raine was doing on this trail. She’d never hiked a day in her life. He stepped carefully onto the moist ground, which was scattered with leaves, his work shoes no replacement for a pair of hiking boots.

His flashlight illuminated the trail in front of him, and he followed it to the first bend. A soft moan reached out to him across the still air, and he tripped to a stop as he saw a figure crouched in the darkness.

Adrenaline pumped through his body, and he lunged forward, one hand outstretched. “Raine!”

The person on the ground jumped to her feet, her face a white oval in the darkness, eyes glittering like a deer caught in the beam from his flashlight.

“Stop!” She thrust her arms in front of her, as if to ward him off. “I won’t let you kill me like you killed her.”

Copyright ? 2025 by Carol Ericson