About the Author
Annslee Urban grew up watching old-time romance movies, which she attributes to her passion for sweet romance and happy endings. Her writing journey began when the youngest of her five children started school. As a member of ACFW, she served on the board of Carolina Christian Writers, has worked as a freelance writer and registered nurse. She enjoys Bible studies, cooking, traveling and grandbabies! She lives in NC with her husband and family. Contact her at annsleeurban@gmail.com
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Kylie Harper pressed the cell phone to her ear, her heart thumping against her chest. Had she heard the man right?
Standing outside the airport terminal, she took a moment to gather her composure. Angry clouds hovered low over Asheville, quickly turning the evening into night.
She took a much-needed breath. "Who is this?"
"Murderer." He spoke slowly this time. More precisely. "Because of you, an innocent person died."
Kylie stiffened and swallowed. A sick joke. Crazed folks enjoy taunting journalists, her rational self reminded her. "I don't know who you are, what you want or even if you have the right number"
"Ten years ago." The slow, mumbled drawl bled through the phone line. "I was there."
Clutching the cell in a death grip, Kylie smashed it harder to her ear. Her battered heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. "What do you want?" She tried to sound calm.
A raspy chuckle tore at her eardrums. "Dear Kylie, you do remember what happened ten years ago?"
Silence as her heart now ceased to beat. She pulled the phone from her ear, checked the display. Restricted number glared back.
She pressed the phone to her other ear. "Is this about Camp Golden Rock?" The words stuck in her throat.
A bark of laughter replaced the chuckle. "How many incidents are hidden in your past, Kylie? Could I be talking about anything else?"
Kylie gasped, breath caught in her throat.
"I know I've been negligent," the man continued, "not staying in touch. But for this anniversary I planned something special."
Struggling to even breathe, Kylie blocked the memories from her thoughts. So many times she'd relived that May night, haunted by the what-ifs and if-onlys. By God's grace, she'd finally moved on. Put that nightmare behind her.
"Why are you doing this?" she ground out.
"You know how important memories are. Especially the ones that involve death."
Memories. Anniversaries. Her ten-year class reunion was coming up. As cruel as it seemed, only one explanation made sense: this had to be a prank. A hidden cameraman from some shock-reality show had to be hiding somewhere. Kylie jerked her gaze around the area.
"You won't find me, Kylie."
She froze. She was being watched.
"The baggage claim, Kylie. My gift is there. And remember, sweet girl, I'll never be more than a heartbeat away," the man calmly whispered. The phone went dead.
Panic jolted every nerve ending in Kylie's body. Turning on her heel, she rushed back into the terminal and started down the concourse, praying this was a bad joke, but somehow knowing it wasn't.
Leaving caution behind, she bounded down the escalator two steps at a time, her bulky purse banging against her side. On the bottom level and out of breath, she dashed around the corner and into the main baggage claim. She quickly scanned the area. Empty except for the two rental-car agents chatting behind a counter at the opposite end of the building.
She shifted her attention to the flight-status monitor on the wall. Her nerves settled a bit. The last plane for the evening had landed, but the carousel number had yet to be listed. She breathed easier. Nothing. Thank You, Lord.
She'd seen this before. Some lonely person fascinated with unsolved murders and too much time on their hands. Why not rouse speculation and gain a little notoriety at the same time? And who better to harass than someone who'd been at the camp, a journalist no less? She shook her head.
A screech, thud and a chime resounded, then carousel A's conveyor belt churned to life.
Kylie turned just in time to see a limp male figure roll down the chute and onto the moving belt.
No, dear Lord, not again.
Instantly, the chill returned. Her extremities turned icy about a second before a curdling cry tore from her throat.
Former Delta Force captain Nick Bentley barely roused as the aircraft's front wheels made contact with the runway. The plane bounced, rose in the air and touched down hard again. The final jolt of the impact sent ripples along his spine.
Nick's eyes flew open. He gripped the metal armrests.
Lights flickered on overhead. The thunder of the outside engines assailed his ears.
As he stiffened against the seat back, Nick's adrenaline surged, his mind stumbling to keep up. What mission are we on? What destination?
"Welcome to Asheville. The local time is seven thirty-eight," crackled through the commuter's speakers.
North Carolina. Nick exhaled heavily as relief swept over him. The nightmare was over.
No more watching over his shoulder.
No more blistering desert heat.
No more death.
Or? Tension grabbed at his gut. Was another nightmare about to begin? He was coming homesomething he'd vowed he'd never do.
He glanced out the oval window to his left. Runway lights lent an eerie glow against the passing landscape. An outline of rugged mountains. The evergreen beauty was lost in the darkness and fog, but he could picture it still. Lofty hardwoods and bristly pines. Dense forest he used to love.
The plane rolled to a stop. He hung back, waiting for the few other passengers to deplane, then hefted his army-issued duffel bag onto his shoulder and stepped down the steep aircraft stairs and onto the tarmac. The terminal in front of him was lit brightly, surprisingly welcoming. Small and quaint. No bustling crowds to contend with.
Nothing had changed. That was what he was afraid of.
Three back-to-back tours of Afghanistan and Iraq should have prepared him for anything. So why was his gut twisted in knots?
Temporary assignment, he reminded himself. Once his brother was back on his feet, he'd shake the dust off his shoes and move on. Find someplace to call home.
He repositioned his duffel and headed for the terminal doors. He inhaled deeply, pulling in a lungful of Blue Ridge air. Cool and clean, yet tainted with memories.
On the ground floor of the main terminal, Kylie stepped aside, allowing a wave of airport security officers a clear path to the baggage-claim conveyor belt and the body sprawled across it.
Two of the officers halted about a yard from the victim and exchanged glances. The older man, shorter and robust, shook his head. His grave expression said it all. The other officer, tall and lanky, craned his neck a bit for a better look but didn't move any closer.
Nausea spiraled through Kylie's abdomen. She struggled to breathe as flashes of another crime erupted in her mind. One just as gruesome. The night her classmate and friend Conrad Miller was killed.
"Late twenties, early thirties is my guess," the tallest officer mumbled after a moment. "Anyone know who he is?" He glanced back at Kylie.
She shook her head. "Not that I can tell."
Approaching sirens blazed to life behind her. The few onlookers, stragglers from earlier flights, were quickly herded out of the way as paramedics and sheriff's deputies rushed in.
There was a cacophony of noise. Questions flying, voices escalating around her. The medics gave a quick assessment of the limp male figure lying in a pool of blood, then pulled a sheet from the gurney and covered him. No other measures were needed.
Kylie backed farther away from the scene and leaned against a nearby column. Coolness from the metal trim penetrated her thin jacket, adding to her chill. Fortunately, she'd gathered sufficient facts for a story, along with an elusive phone call. Nothing conclusive, but enough to satisfy her boss, chief news editor Max Dawson. And after a cliffhanger article for the morning paper, she planned to hand the story over to another colleague. Being at the wrong place at the right timeeven worse, being the perpetrator's contact persondidn't make her the best fit for the story. Hopefully, Max would agree.
"Kylie, tell me again what you know." Detective Dave Michelson walked toward her, scratching his forehead with the end of his pen.
"I really don't know much." Kylie straightened a bit, willing her knees not to buckle. "I came to the airport to drop off my sister and was heading back to my car when I received the phone call."
"And the man on the phone told you he had a gift for you at baggage claim?"
"Eventually. Yes."
"Any idea who the caller might be?" Dave started scribbling on a pad.
"No. He spoke with a thick, muffled drawl. And the number came up restricted."
"Was there anyone else around when the body arrived?"
"Security was right behind me. Tipped off by a caller
or killer." Just saying the word sent a shiver dancing across her skin.
Dave grunted, shifted his husky frame and kept writing.
"The first security guard at the scene checked for a wallet or ID," Kylie added, tightening her arms across her chest. "None were found."
Dave bobbed his head. "No signs of life?"
Her heart fractured. "None. He was bleeding from the neck."
Eyebrows gathered over Dave's prominent nose. He didn't comment, only jotted more notes on his pad.
"Fortunately, security officers secured everything before a crowd formed. Not really a picture that bystanders needed to see." She knew that from experience.
A grunt again. Dave hadn't changed since high school. Serial grunts, nods, maybe a raised eyebrow. He only said what he needed to.
"Thanks." He pocketed his pen and pad.
This time she nodded. There was nothing else to say.
"Incoming bags are on carousel C," one of the security guards shouted, gesturing to the opposite side of the baggage-claim area for the passengers stepping off the escalator. "Just keep moving."
There were surprised looks and mumbles from the travelers, but everyone complied, except for one man. He was dressed in fatigues and boots, a duffel draped over his shoulder and a canned drink in his hand. His dark, piercing gaze roved over the scene. And as he stood there, his expression turned dismal.
Kylie's teeth dug into her bottom lip. She knew that expression. And she would never forget those eyes.
Nick Bentley.
Nick stared at the scene and nearly lost the burger he'd just devoured. The thread of welcome he'd felt when he arrived evaporated. A déjà vu moment replaced it.
EMS workers strapped the body wrapped in a bloodstained sheet onto the gurney and headed out the door. Three police officers followed and several others remained at the crime scene, talking among themselves and shaking their heads. As they had the night Conrad Miller was murdered.
Ten years ago, Nick's senior class had taken a trip to nearby Camp Golden Rock. Their last night there, somewhere between eight and nine o'clock, Conrad's body had been dumped onto the front porch of their cabin. He had been found lying in a small pool of blood, with his throat slashed from ear to ear. Nick swallowed as nausea threatened again. Conrad had taken security patrol that night. It was his job to make sure everyone was out of their cabin and at the bonfire. A mandatory buddy system was in place, but Conrad's buddy had been late.
Nick still couldn't forgive himself.
"Nick."
A wave of panicked voices echoed around him, but the softness of one feminine tone cut through the mayhem, making him almost drop his duffel and the drink that he was carrying. Nick hadn't been home an hour and already his mind was playing tricks on him. He slowly turned his head and to his surprise, he met Kylie Harper's warm green gaze. Shoulder-length auburn curls framed her sweet face.
Pert nose, slender brows, high cheekbones, luscious full lips. An unmistakable twinge of awareness shot through him, quicker than any bullets he'd dodged in the Middle East.
He blinked, not believing how even after ten years she still struck him as the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. His déjà vu moment got stronger.
"Kylie." Even saying her name stung. Another part of his life he'd tried to forget.
"I can't believe it's you." She stared up at him and brushed stray locks back with her fingers.
No ring. He couldn't help but notice.
"Yeah. It's been a while." He swung his duffel to the ground, propping his drink can on top. "And a dead body wasn't exactly the welcome I hoped for."
"Ironic, isn't it?" Shaking her head, she looked up at him, her eyes widening and brimming with tears. "The poor man. No one even knows who he is. Even worse"
She looked away a moment, took a deep breath.
"Worse?" Nick stuffed his hands into his jacket packets.
Another moment, then her gaze settled back on him, fear in her eyes. "I think Conrad's killer may be back." Her voice was barely a whisper.
The knife in Nick's heart slipped a little deeper. "What do you mean, back? You don't think"
Kylie's nod cut off his words. Déjà vu had just escalated to nightmare.
TWO
At Milkweed Café in downtown Asheville, Kylie gazed at Nick from across the table. He was tall and lean, with a Go Army black T-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders and chest. He looked so mature. Strong features, chiseled just right, and his eyes a deep brown as rich as the cola he was drinking.
As handsome as she dared to remember.
This Delta Force captain left no one in doubt of his capabilities.
A warm comfort swept over her. She still felt safe in his presence.
Nick took a drink and set the glass on the table. "Do you really think this murder is related to Conrad's?" His deltoid muscles bulged slightly as he eased back into his seat.
Biting the inside of her lip, Kylie shrugged. "That's the question I keep asking myself. The man on the phone said that he was there the night Conrad died. Although it seems oddsilence for ten years and then
this."
"Could be a copycat." Nick crossed his arms against his sturdy chest. "If so, this butcher has done his research and probably knows as much about the crime as we do. Or more."
"That's true. I just wish he hadn't involved me." Nick chuckled. "Journalists do attract flakes."
"Flakes I can handle." She nodded. "But murderers"
"You know" Nick cut her off, sat forward and looked at her, suspicion skewing his features. "In all likelihood, you know this guy."
Her spine prickled. "What?"
"The murderer. He knew your cell number and that you'd be at the airport. Even knew what time."
Kylie shivered. The very thought made her skin crawl. "I hadn't even considered that."
Nick's dark brows drew closer. "Who knew you'd be at the airport tonight?"
Leaning on her elbows, she mentally ticked off everyone who might have known her plans to drop off her sister. Her chest tightened at the results. "There's too many to name. I left work early, so most of my colleagues were aware. Shannon and I went to a church social last night. Lots of people asked when she and the baby were leaving."
"You never could hide much in this small town." Nick nodded. "Except possibly murder."
A boulder-size knot formed in Kylie's stomach. "I can't imagine anyone I know being capable of such a terrible crime. Not now or ten years ago." She dropped her voice several octaves.
Nick touched her arm, sending shivers of a different manner across her skin. "Kylie, predators aren't obvious. Believe me, I've met my share. Sometimes it's who you'd least expect."
