One Final Breath (Special Agent Ricki James Book 1) Read online

  ONE FINAL BREATH

  Special Agent Ricki James Thriller Book 1

  C.R. Chandler

  Copyright © 2020 by C.R. Chandler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also By C.R. Chandler

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Also By C.R. Chandler

  SPECIAL AGENT RICKI JAMES

  (Mystery/Thriller)

  One Final Breath October 2020

  One Last Scream January 2021

  One Life Lost May 2021

  * * *

  Under Pen Name: Cat Chandler:

  FOOD AND WINE CLUB MYSTERIES

  (Cozy Mysteries)

  A Special Blend of Murder 2017

  Dinner, Drinks, and Murder 2017

  A Burger, Fries, and Murder 2017

  Champagne, Cupcakes, and Murder 2018

  Tea, Dessert, and Murder 2018

  For Stephanie, who always loved a good mystery. Thank you for letting me be a part of your world.

  Prologue

  She was lighter than the others.

  The climb up the rocky trail had been much easier hauling less weight. It was too bad that he’d already decided on the names for his list, or he would’ve been tempted to look for smaller targets. If his selections didn’t appease the constant demands of the bitch who continued to torment him, he would have to keep the size of his future targets in mind.

  His mouth twitched upward. He’d always thought of them as targets. It made them something other than human. But why a target? Why not an object, or simply a thing? He shrugged, not really interested in the answer. He supposed it was a holdover from his military training. Just like his skill with the firearm at his side. He hadn’t been the best in his unit, but he hadn’t been the worst either, and that was good enough.

  He shrugged again and let the thought go. It made no difference. All he cared about was hitting his target, and this current one would be dead soon anyway. Meeting her fate at last. That’s what mattered now.

  Kill the target. Appease the bitch.

  Death never lost. That was an unbreakable rule. His loving mother had drilled that into him every minute of every day until he’d finally found an escape in the army. Strange he’d found peace in a place where he’d constantly trained for war.

  At least he’d been happy for a while. But the bitch had found him eventually. He knew she would.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the cart, barely visible in the shifting darkness of the overcast night. The light from his headlamp pierced into its interior where the woman lay.

  Her honey-blond hair tangled beyond fixing, an impossible mess helped along by a coat of the constant mist that permeated the air in the mountains. She would have had to cut it off and grow it out again if it had been her fate to ever leave this forest. Her neck was bruised around the edges of the collar he’d fastened there, and her eyes were closed. But he knew they were hazel.

  The last time he’d seen them, they’d been filled with terror.

  She was naked, her hands and feet bound together by a piece of clothesline. When he’d undressed her, he was pleased that she had a nice body, with a flat stomach, sleek muscles in her arms, and long legs. He liked to exercise every day himself and approved of the way she’d kept in shape.

  Hannah Maynard. That was her name. She was young—hadn’t even reached thirty yet—which put her a solid two decades behind him. But that was all the years she was allowed to have, and even then she’d managed to steal a few extra. But now it was time to pay up.

  The temperature was close to freezing, made that much colder by the frigid air trapped beneath the thick canopy of the trees towering overhead. Even under the influence of the drug he’d given her, she shivered. If she had frozen to death on the way to the ridge, he would still have sent her tumbling over its edge.

  It had to be done. It was the only way for him to make things right. And until he had, he’d never escape the bitch. Never have any peace. And he deserved that. He’d earned it. Even his poor excuse of a brother would have agreed.

  A low moan rose from the depths of the cart. He held up his wrist and glanced at the expensive sports watch he always wore. He had to keep to the timetable. He needed to be off the mountain before sunrise, but first things first.

  “I’m cold.”

  The soft plea told him she was awake at last. He’d already waited an hour longer than he usually did, which was another reason to keep the weight of his target in mind. He should have reduced the dosage for her.

  “Please. I’m going to be sick.”

  He shrugged in answer, even though she couldn’t see him. He always wore a dark jacket and black pants just in case some camper or stray park ranger was about, even at this late hour. There was no reason to make it easy to spot him. He’d even painted his cart black and always kept the wheels well oiled.

  “Where am I?”

  Her voice had a noticeable tremble in it but sounded stronger than a moment ago. He needed to get the rest of the work done before she found enough energy to scream. Not that it would make any difference. There wasn’t anyone around to hear it, but he didn’t want to deal with the noise.

  He lifted a coil of nylon rope he’d tossed into the cart, ignoring the feeble movements of the woman inside.

  “Who are you?”

  “Justice.” He smiled at that. It sounded very poetic.

  “What do you want?” Her voice had risen half an octave, ringing with the same panic they’d all shown.

  “Justice.” He chuckled at the clever way the single word answered both questions.

  “I don’t understand.” Her hazel eyes were still clouded from the last effects of the drug, and she was now shivering so violently the whole cart was shaking.

  He held the end of the rope in one hand, letting the rest of the length drop to the ground as he clapped his other hand firmly against her shoulder and pressed down to hold her still. He quickly threaded the end of the rope through the ring sewn into the leather collar he’d pulled snug around her neck.

  Drawing the rope through, he efficiently tied a knot, then tugged on the tightly braided line, lifting her up by the neck to test
its strength. It held just fine. That was good. When he abruptly let go, her head and shoulders dropped back into the darkness of the cart. The soft thump was followed by her cry of pain.

  “Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He almost laughed. Did she think she had any choice in the matter?

  He grabbed the woman’s arm and yanked her up, waiting as she cried out in protest and scrambled to get her feet underneath her.

  When she collapsed beside him, he grunted his annoyance and dug his fingers into her scalp, wrapping a handful of her hair around his fist. He yanked her upward, satisfied when she screamed in pain. Latching on to her shoulder once more, he wrapped an arm around her waist, tightening it enough that she had to struggle to take in a breath.

  The sound of her fight for air made him grin. He savored her frantic gasps for a long moment before half dragging, half carrying her over to the iron ring. He flexed his arm muscles and deliberately put extra effort into throwing her onto the unforgiving rocky floor at his feet, where she collapsed onto her hands and knees like a deflated balloon.

  His own breathing was spiking upward now. The short bursts coming out of his mouth formed a white mist in front of his face. At least her flailing about had warmed him up.

  Taking up the slack in the rope, he pulled it tighter through the ring on the ground until the pressure on her neck forced her into a low crouch. He didn’t let up, continuing to pull on the rope until the side of her face was flat against the rock and her nose was touching the cold iron of the ring.

  Now she was crying in earnest, pleading with him, offering him money, her body, even her silence, but there wasn’t anything she had that he needed. There was only one thing she could give him that would bring him peace.

  He put a heavy boot on her back, increasing the pressure to keep her in place as he looked up at the sky. The ridge created a break in the thick forest around them, allowing him a glimpse of the ghostly gray of the clouds shifting overhead. They parted just enough for him to catch sight of the slim crescent shape of the moon before it disappeared in the heavy mist once more. But that was enough to assure him that it was time.

  He patted his shirt pocket, listening for the slight crinkle of the paper tucked inside before resting a hand on the butt of the pistol nestled in the holster on his hip.

  He removed his gun, cradling the weapon in his hand before slowly lowering his arm. The matte-black finish made it difficult to see when he held it next to his leg with the barrel pointing down. But he could feel its comforting weight. The shape of the handle fit perfectly into his palm.

  He closed his eyes. Now all he had to do was wait.

  Within a minute he heard the thump and scrape of a cane, followed by labored breathing. Every time it was the same sounds, and every time they made his back go rigid and his shoulders tense.

  Do you hear me, boy?

  “I hear you,” he whispered into the dark, his eyes open now. He didn’t even blink as he stared straight ahead into a void that stretched out forever.

  When it’s your time, you have to go. You can’t cheat death. Your brother couldn’t and he was much stronger than you. It isn’t right.

  He did what was expected and dutifully shook his head, then echoed the words back to her. “It isn’t right.”

  Do you hear me, boy?

  “I hear you.” The black despair rose from his belly and spread through his chest. He had no choice if he ever wanted to be free. He closed his eyes again and took several deep breaths before repeating the words out loud. “I have no choice.” It was as much of an explanation as the woman sobbing beneath his boot would get.

  Slowly turning around, he shifted the gun from his side and held it in front of him, bending at the waist until the barrel was an inch from her head.

  “Justice,” he repeated before slowly squeezing the trigger.

  Chapter 1

  Winter never gave up easily. Despite the calendar sitting firmly in May, the bite in the early-morning air penetrated right to the bone. To make the beginning of the new day even more miserable, it carried a mist, left over from the heavy downpour a few hours before, that wasn’t heavy enough to be considered rain but still managed to paint the surrounding trees and ground with a dripping sheen of moisture that turned to ice in random places. It was a good time to be inside, snuggled deep in a warm bed. Or better yet, sound asleep.

  This was where the coastal mountains met the waters of an inland bay that snaked its way around long peninsulas of land, eventually reaching the most western shore and disappearing into the Pacific Ocean. It was the essence of the northwest corner of the country—mountains, towering trees, string-bean-shaped bodies of water, and rain. Lots of rain.

  The curvy road traveled the length of Dabob Bay and was the single connection between the three small towns of Brewer, Massey, and Edington. But only the tourists referred to them by their individual names. The locals simply called them “the Bay.”

  The trio sat along a twenty-mile stretch of the two-lane road, enjoying the calm inland waters that were an offshoot of the much-larger Hood Canal. The Bay proudly flaunted its claim as the backdoor gateway to the rugged Olympic National Park, and over the years the towns had seen fit to invest in several large signs, posted strategically along the road, to keep visitors informed of their elite status.

  But in everything else the local councils always watched their pennies. Solely for the sake of saving money, they had banded together to form one government that oversaw a single police force and any other common community needs. Since Edington was the largest of the three towns, and very conveniently sat between the other two, it had become the central hub for most services by default. No one really cared where the police department or water district was located, as long as they were equally shared.

  A big piece of the collective budget came from the avalanche of traffic tickets given out to the tourists who clogged the two-lane highway and local streets every weekend from late spring until the first snowfall of winter.

  These were summer towns, with one resort hotel located near the south end of the Bay, in Brewer, to accommodate those who wanted to enjoy nature without the bugs and dirt. The gently winding road and spectacular scenery also offered the perfect setting for bicycle races and the occasional marathon.

  But the largest draw for tourists was the scenic drive and the huge national park that stretched from Dabob Bay all the way to the ocean. With its soaring mountains covering most of the upper peninsula, it had the singular honor of being the only rainforest in all of North America. A fact that the Bay’s residents had insisted be included on all three of their signs.

  Living in the Bay was a roller coaster of highs and lows. For six months of the year the whole area was overrun by “weekenders” looking for a change from their city life in nearby Seattle and its suburbs, and for the other six months, when the heavy rains and winter snow set in, the residents walked down deserted streets. There was a constant debate over which one was better. More tourists meant more money in their pockets, but they also brought more headaches.

  Ricki James reluctantly opted for the tourists. Her two business ventures depended on them, and she had bills to pay. But that aside, she liked the solitude of the Bay during the late fall and winter months, when the Seattleites and out-of-state RV vacationers deserted them.

  She’d grown up here, and loved it, but had made the decision to leave it behind to go to college and then pursue a career in law enforcement. Somewhere along the way her nine-year marriage had fallen apart. One of the biggest epic failures in her life, and one that had soured her toward the romantic kind of relationships ever since. Which was fine. She didn’t miss it. Ricki silently rolled her eyes at herself. Well, not most of the time.

  Now she was back in the Bay, and this time determined to stay put and create a life and livelihood in her small hometown.

  Dressed in running gear topped by a white windbreaker with reflective stripes across the front and back, she jogge
d steadily down the deserted highway followed by the dog who’d shown up one day on her doorstep and simply decided to move in.

  Corby was seventy-five pounds of solid muscle. On a good day, after a thorough bath that made his white chest and black face markings stand out, he could legitimately claim to be a boxer. But since bathing wasn’t his favorite activity, most days he looked like the mutt that he was, with a little bit of this and a little bit of that thrown in along with his boxer ancestry. But whatever breeds resided inside him, he did like to run. Which was a good thing, because so did she.

  It was just past 6 a.m. and the sun was finally asserting itself, but not enough to keep water from dripping down the thick tail of dark hair that hung from beneath her wool cap and reached halfway down her back. Tall and slender, she pumped her arms in unison with her legs, keeping her pace steady as her long stride ate up another mile with Corby easily loping alongside her.

  Four days out of the week she’d still be in bed, enjoying the last half hour of sleep before having to get her son out the door to school. It wasn’t that her thirteen-year-old didn’t like school. He did.

  Eddie was just plain smart, in the same way her dad had been. Both were born engineers.

  Her son loved to build robots or anything that would move, calling them “automated crawlers”. It always made her think of giant mechanical spiders plotting to take over the world. Kind of creepy when you came right down to it. However, it was Eddie’s passion, so she applauded him every step of the way no matter how weird-looking his creations got.