WAITING IN THE DARK (Special Agent Ricki James Book 4) Read online

  WAITING IN THE DARK

  Special Agent Ricki James Book 4

  C.R. Chandler

  Copyright © 2021 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

  Special Agent Ricki James Thriller

  Also By C.R. Chandler

  SPECIAL AGENT RICKI JAMES

  (Mystery/Thriller)

  One Final Breath October 2020

  One Last Scream January 2021

  One Life Gone May 2021

  Waiting in the Dark October 2021

  Running in the Night February 2022

  ***

  Under the 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

  Prologue

  Run.

  That’s what he’d been told. If you want to live, stay on the trail and run. So that’s what he’d done. As hard as he could, as fast as he could, and as long as he could. But it had been hours since he’d been left, naked and alone in the dark. At least it seemed that way. And it was pitch-black underneath the thick canopy of the trees, so he didn’t even know if he was still on the trail.

  But it didn’t make any difference because he couldn’t run anymore.

  He stumbled to a stop, his arms flailing to keep his balance, then wrapping around his stomach as he stood in the dark, shivering so hard his knees were knocking against each other. They’d sprayed something on him—the cold liquid had hit his back like an ice cube being dragged across his skin. He didn’t know what it was, but even now it still had a stench that had his stomach doing jittery somersaults. If he weren’t afraid he’d never get up again, he would drop to his knees and throw up.

  Desperate to stay on his feet, he looked up, barely catching sight of the sliver of moon through the treetops. It hung in the dark sky, its silvery light barely able to cast a faint, eerie glow over the trees crowding in around him. It wasn’t enough to penetrate all the way to the forest floor and show him a path he wasn’t sure had ever been under his feet. Maybe they’d lied. Maybe there never was a path.

  Using all his remaining strength, he slowly turned around, his overtaxed muscles screaming a protest at even that small movement. His groan bounced through the trees, echoing back to him as he peered into the darkness, trying to see something, anything, that would show him how to get out of this damn hellhole of a forest.

  He didn’t want to be here. Shouldn’t be here. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stood, completely isolated and exposed, wishing he’d never met them. Had never stepped into that truck of theirs. That he’d stayed behind the counter at the convenience store, or in his apartment, playing video games at all hours of the day and night. He would have been safe if he’d just stayed in his own small space.

  He didn’t try to wipe away the tears. It would take too much energy. Every one of the few friends he had would tell him he was a pussy for crying, but he didn’t care. No one was there to see. He was alone.

  His body suddenly spasmed into a long, violent shiver, starting at his shoulders and winding around his spine before snaking its way down his legs. The sudden gust of cold night wind wrapped around him like a thick blanket, encasing him in an invisible, frigid wall.

  A movement in the forest, followed by a sound, muffled from traveling between the trees, made his heart rate spike and his breath come in faster, shallower gasps. He saw someone. Or thought he did. As he squinted to make out the figure in the shifting moonlight, it finally formed into a man, standing between the trees, watching him.

  “Hello?” His voice was high and squeaky, sounding alien even to his own ears. “I need help.”

  The figure said nothing but lifted one arm and pointed it at him. “Connor Brown.”

  A spark of hope flared up. Maybe someone had seen him being tied up and thrown into that truck, and sent a search party to look for him. “Yes. Help me. Please.”

  The figure held up a knife, moving it into a shaft of moonlight filtering through the trees. The weak, shimmery beam reflected off the long, wide blade, its glow holding Connor’s feet in place as he stared at it in horror. The words flew through the air, shot out from the ghostly figure and hitting him with the force of a punch to his gut.

  “You have been chosen. To stay alive, you must run.”

  Chapter 1

  Ricki stepped out of the small gift shop, a steaming mug of coffee cradled carefully between her hands. She’d already suffered through half a cup of what barely passed for coffee before leaving her cabin that morning. As usual, her own brew had poured out of the pot with the thick consistency of tar and hadn’t tasted much better. Something she’d become resigned to long ago. Anything having to do with food preparation escaped her completely. She was positive every pot, pan, and kitchen appliance secretly cringed whenever she came near them. She was much better at eating than she was at cooking.

  Which was why her first stop that morning had been to drop in on Adele Harris. The always-serene woman ran a candle shop two doors down from Ricki’s own establishment that radiated the small-town kind of friendly Ricki was comfortable with. Just as importantly, Adele always had a fresh pot of coffee on hand in the back of her store and was more than happy to share. At this moment in Ricki’s life, a drinkable cup of coffee was a lifesaver.

  So she’d strolled down the block and snagged a cup first thing. If she was lucky, her second decent cup would come from a pot of a very special and really superior brew that she hoped Anchorman already had going at the Sunny Side Up. No one made coffee like the cook at her diner.

  Looking forward to it, Ricki sipped from the mug in her hand as she continued her slow walk to her own business, telling herself she wasn’t actively avoiding having to jump feet-first into the diner’s renovation project. No, she was simply enjoying a stroll in the refreshing morning air. Fortunately, there was no one around to give her grief about it.

  At nine in the morning, with the regular tourist season rapidly winding down, the three-block-long center o
f town was deserted, with only the occasional appearance by a shop owner or two, busily opening the sources of their livelihoods for the day. Which was a particular problem she didn’t have right at the moment. It was also the main reason she stopped on the sidewalk in front of the Sunny Side Up instead of immediately rushing inside to chat with her customers and lend her employees a helping hand by clearing tables.

  The frayed awning she’d proudly hung over the front door over two years earlier, after she’d finished converting an out-of-business incense shop into a diner, was gone now. Another casualty of the fire that had done its best to burn her place to the ground. A disaster that was a direct result from a murder case she’d been working on as a special agent with the ISB, more formally known inside federal circles as the Investigative Services Branch of the National Park Service.

  She’d rejoined the ISB after a year’s absence and had solved several cases since then, including her last one that finally brought her answers about the true reason behind her partners murder. The aftereffects of that case still lingered, since it had been the cause for the Sunny Side up being set on fire.

  The damage had been bad enough that the diner was still closed four months later, a fact that brought running complaints from a good portion of the local residents. The Sunny Side Up had managed to claim the honor of being the best spot in town to hear all the local gossip while you grabbed a bite to eat. The lion’s share of that success sprang from Anchorman’s truly exceptional cooking. And coffee. She lifted her mug, took another sip of Adele’s good-but-not-great brew, and sighed.

  She missed simply hanging out at the diner during her off-hours from investigating major crimes in the national parks, and especially missed Anchorman’s food, although she’d bite off her own tongue before she’d ever admit it to him. The Marine-sniper-turned-cook was already far too smug about his own abilities, both in the kitchen and behind a rifle. He might have good reason to be, but she sure wasn’t going to add any fuel to feed his already very healthy ego.

  The sudden roar of a power saw jolted her out of her musings about Anchorman and back to the very real quagmire of trying to manage a major repair project while she was knee-deep in chasing killers. Well, usually. At the moment she didn’t have any active cases, at least not any major ones. And while she was thoroughly enjoying the slower pace for a change, it also meant she had no excuse not to devote more time to managing the ongoing repairs.

  Or at least pretending to manage them, she thought to herself with a wry smile, then winced when she heard Marcie’s voice rise above the noise drifting out to the sidewalk. Her waitress-turned-reno-manager was shouting loudly enough to be heard above the whine of power tools and the steady beat of hammers against hard surfaces.

  Marcie, who was a good friend as well as one of her employees at the diner, had been stuck with most of the daily oversight of the repair project, sharing that task with Anchorman. Ricki should have jumped in and taken on the whole thing herself, but the fact was she’d all but tossed the project at her two loyal employees and wished them luck before deserting the job.

  Knowing that hanging back on the sidewalk was only putting off the inevitable, and that before long she’d have to face the barrage of demands about where the new booths should be put, or if they should include a dessert bar in the plans, Ricki straightened her spine and sternly told herself to buck up and get on with it.

  In her faded jeans, olive-green shirt with the National Park Services patch on the sleeve, and well-worn hiking boots, she was at least physically, if not mentally, ready to get to work on putting her diner back into shape. While this wasn’t exactly in her wheelhouse—she regularly hired out even the smallest home repair jobs—how hard could it really be? At five foot eight inches, she was on the taller side, with a slender build that tended more toward athletic than model-thin, so she should be able to swing a hammer without denting everything around it.

  She’d already pulled her thick, dark hair back into its usual ponytail, anchored at the nape of her neck then falling in one long wave to the middle of her back. Closing deep-blue eyes, she took a big breath, before tugging out the work gloves she’d remembered to stick underneath her belt. Curling her fingers around the heavy latch of the front door, she yanked it open.

  Several of the workmen looked over and smiled a greeting, which she returned before settling her attention on the two people standing nose-to-chest in the center of the room. Not keen on starting her morning by breaking up an argument, Ricki slowly approached the pair, stopping dead when Marcie reached out and poked a short, stubby finger straight into Anchorman’s chest.

  “It needs a curve. It will add a nice flourish to the place.” Marcie removed her jabbing finger and put her hands on her wide hips. She gave a decisive nod, sending her short, gray-streaked curls bobbing around her head and face.

  The tall, solidly built cook, who still sported the same buzz cut from his twenty years in the marines, looked down at the much shorter Marcie before crossing his arms over his muscular chest and letting out a dismissive snort. He followed that up with a bland stare that had been known to strike an ice-cold fear into anyone who came face-to-face with the former sniper.

  It didn’t faze Marcie one bit. Tilting her head back, she cocked one eyebrow at the man who towered over her by more than a foot. “You have a problem with extra counter space, which means we can seat more customers?”

  Brown eyes radiating annoyance narrowed on Marcie’s face. “I have a problem with adding some prissy flourish to a place that doesn’t need one.” Anchorman had long ago abandoned the name his mother had given him unless he was forced to use it, sticking with the nickname he’d earned in the corps. His twenty years of military training had taught him many things, including when to kick a problem up the chain of command. Which he did now by shifting his glare away from Marcie and over to Ricki, who had quietly edged away in an effort to ignore what sounded like an ongoing argument she did not want to get sucked into.

  “So what about it, boss? Do you want some kind of dumbass curve running all along the back of the place?”

  Ricki glanced over at the space still occupied by the slightly charred, straight-as-a-ruler counter and frowned, trying to imagine it with a curve. Wishing she’d ducked out through the kitchen with its newly erected back wall and taken refuge in the alley, Ricki was saved by a deep voice, holding more amusement than concern, coming from behind her.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Ricki looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the tall, absurdly handsome man with dark-blond hair brushing the top of his collar. His gray eyes were crinkled at the corners in silent laughter.

  Clayton Thomas was chief of the police department shared by the three small towns that dotted the twelve-mile length of Dabob Bay. Cutting deep into the peninsula that separated the Pacific Ocean from the rest of the state of Washington, the bay was part of a series of waterways that branched off the Hood Canal and Puget Sound, skirting Seattle on one side, and the wild, partially unexplored peninsula on the other.

  People from all over the world came to take in the truly spectacular scenery, enhanced by a thick forest of towering trees that reached right to the water’s edge. All of it was capped off by the towering presence of Mount Rainier and the millions of acres of untouched wilderness that lay within the boundaries of Olympic National Park. It was as beautiful as it was wild and housed both its own glacier and the only rain forest in North America.

  On the edge of the massive park, and carved out into their individual niches along the bay with only a single highway connecting them, were the three small towns of Brewer, Edington, and Massey. Collectively called “the Bay” by the residents, the towns had long ago pooled their resources to share common services, including the tiny police department made up of the chief, his one deputy, and occasionally a clerk if a civic-minded soul from one of the towns was willing to volunteer for the position.

  Ricki had grown up in Brewer, and when her life, along
with her marriage, had gone south, this was where she’d come to lick her wounds. Which was why she’d sunk all her meager savings into getting her diner up and running. It had supported her and her son before she’d once again found her way back into law enforcement and her former job as a special agent. Something else she’d also loved, even if her ex-husband had not. And right now, standing over a dead body was a lot more appealing than having to mediate a design dispute about a curve in a counter.

  Ricki turned her back on the bickering Marcie and Anchorman and nodded a greeting to Clay before offering a friendly smile to the young man standing next to him. Ryan was a young former park ranger who was currently working his way through the Law Enforcement Academy. He held his hat in his hand as he politely returned Ricki’s smile before his wide-eyed stare bounced back to Anchorman.

  Used to the effect Anchorman had on anyone who didn’t know him well, Ricki shifted her own gaze to Clay. “Are you carrying your gun?”

  Clay’s mouth twitched at both corners as he shrugged. “Now, that depends on why you want it.”

  “To settle an argument,” she replied loudly, sending a pointed stare back over her shoulder. “Since I won’t shoot Marcie, I need to shoot my cook.”

  Clay’s mouth transformed into a wide grin. “You know, Anchorman’s something of a hero around here, so some starstruck kid just might protest and shoot you in return.”