Spiced Latte Killer: Book 10 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Read online

  Chas took descriptions of Steve Arnold, and of the two men, and promised her that he’d be discreet in his investigation.

  “Is there anyone that you can stay with? Your safety may be at risk,” he warned the weary author.

  “I think that my safety would be at risk no matter where I go, so I’m just going to batten down the hatches and hope for the best,” Izzy sighed.

  “I’ll send some unmarked cars on periodic drive-bys. If you get scared, don’t hesitate to call, and don’t be afraid to use my cell number,” the detective instructed.

  “Thanks,” Izzy shook his hand and led him to the door, determined to disappear into her work, where the deliberate horror was far less scary than her present situation.

  CHAPTER 5

  Spencer Bengal was staring into his beer at a dive bar in a tiny town in Idaho when the text tone on his phone buzzed his pocket. No one knew where he was, and there shouldn’t have been anyone trying to get in touch with him, but he reached into the pocket of his well-worn jeans anyway. The text consisted simply of a number… a number that he knew only too well. He downed his beer in a series of quick gulps, left a bill on the counter for the bartender, and headed for the local outfitter.

  In a matter of minutes the Marine had what he needed. He paid for his purchases in cash, much to the astonishment of the proprietor, who typically only sold some fishing lures and hunting knives on any given day. The transaction represented such a windfall for him that he closed up early after Spencer left, and headed for the barstool that the Marine had just vacated.

  Night vision goggles would make getting through the woods easier, and Spencer preferred to travel under the cover of darkness. The code that he’d received could only mean trouble, and he wanted to slip into his destination undetected, assessing the lay of the land before deciding on his next move. His mind was focused fully on the task at hand. When he’d been mulling over his beer, his thoughts had been consumed with Izzy, the woman who had refused his love, twice. He missed her, but understood her reluctance to get involved with someone whose associations had already gotten her kidnapped.

  Spencer Bengal was a man on a mission. His fellow Marine, Janssen, who was like a brother to him, had sent out a distress call, and he would answer it. The last time he’d heard from his war-scarred friend, he’d been taking Izzy’s kidnapper to a place where he wouldn’t be hurting anyone anymore. Spencer and Janssen had served in a very special capacity in the military, and had participated in a program where their former identities had been erased, in the interest of national security.

  Steve Arnold, the man who had kidnapped Izzy in hopes of using her as leverage to bring Spencer and Janssen in, had been tasked with keeping track of them in case their country needed them to serve in a mission that most wouldn’t be coming back from. The contract that the young men had signed with the government had ended, but that didn’t stop their former unit, known simply as “Command,” from searching for them when special missions needed to be done. Spencer and Janssen had both gone underground in their own ways, to avoid being sent out into another hellish war zone, but Steve had managed to track them down and had been making their lives difficult for close to a year now.

  Spencer had settled into a job, posing as a handyman at the bed and breakfast inn that Chas and Missy owned, but in reality, he’d been hired fresh out of the military by Chas’s late father’s manservant, Chalmers, to provide security for Chas, who was the eldest heir to the Beckett fortune. When Chas had declined to manage his family business, preferring to serve his fellow man in law enforcement, his father had made certain that he was guarded twenty-four hours a day. Spencer had followed the detective’s every move for years, making certain that no harm came to him. Once he seemed to have shaken the government from his tail, he became more relaxed, actually applying for a job at the inn, so that he could observe the Beckett family more closely.

  Janssen, who sported a dramatic facial scar, had never been able to assimilate back into civilian life after having been witness to and participant in so many war-time blood-baths, had shadowed Spencer wherever he went, living off the land, staying hidden, but close enough to help out if necessary. There had been some close calls over the years, but the two of them always managed to do what needed to be done to keep Chas and Missy safe.

  When the two Marines last parted, Spencer had taken Izzy to the airport after rescuing her from Steve Arnold, and Janssen had taken Steve back to the cell where Izzy had been confined. Spencer had suggested to Janssen that Steve should be left alive if at all possible, but he had no idea what had happened after leaving them, and now he’d received the distress call. He hoped that Steve hadn’t somehow turned the tables on his buddy, and was on his way to make sure.

  According to the coordinates that he’d received, he’d have a day and a half of jogging through the woods in order to reach the confinement facility. He’d travel at night, and find a safe place in the woods to sleep before approaching the facility. He wanted to be fresh, with all of his wits about him. The Marine was well armed, but would only use his weapons as a last resort. A gunshot in the middle of the wilderness could bring all kinds of unwanted attention, and stealth was his best friend at the moment.

  Spencer moved lightly and swiftly through the trees, falling into a steady, easy rhythm that ate up the miles, while still being cautious enough to not trip over brush, stumps, and roots. As daylight approached, he found an area between two rocks that would shield him from sight and settled in for a nap, pulling brush and branches across the opening between the rocks to further camouflage himself. Backpack behind his head, he slept sitting up, one hand on his hunting knife.

  Hours of daylight had passed when the Marine awoke abruptly, his expert senses alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone. Motionless, he opened his eyes and listened hard, hearing nothing, but unable to shake the feeling that something, or someone, was nearby. The grip on his knife tightened imperceptibly as he readied himself to spring into action if necessary. He was puzzled, any woodland creature would surely have given away its position by now, but Spencer hadn’t even heard a leaf rustle or a twig snap.

  “Just keep that pig-sticker in its sheath, boy, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” a vaguely familiar voice drawled.

  Spencer rose to his feet, his hand securely on the knife, and peered through the brush in front of his hiding spot. In front of him was Norm, the mountain man who’d found Izzy nearly dead in the woods after she had escaped from Steve Arnold. He’d made a stretcher and transported her back to his cabin, treating her with folk remedies as she battled infection and dehydration. The rough-looking but kind hermit regarded the Marine with an open, friendly demeanor.

  “Norm?” he asked, not quite knowing what to say, and unaccustomed to being spotted when he didn’t want to be.

  “Yep,” the mountain man nodded. “I remember you. Things work out with that pretty little gal?” he asked mildly, not intimidated in the least by the powerful and well-armed man in front of him.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Spencer muttered, kicking himself for not being more careful about his cover.

  “I’m heading to my place to grab some food if you’re needing lunch. You’re welcome to join. Ain’t nobody out here but you, me and the critters right now.”

  Spencer considered his options. There were hours of daylight left, and he didn’t want to travel until at least dusk, so holing up in the hermit’s cabin might not be a bad way to pass the afternoon.

  “Sounds good,” he nodded at last. “How did you know I was here?” the Marine asked as he followed Norm’s lead back to the cabin.

  “Son, I know these woods like the back of my hand. That spot you were sleepin’ in was one that I use for trappin’ smaller critters sometimes. I saw that the brush around it looked different and came over to take a look. You look like a man who don’t want to be found, but don’t worry none, ain’t nobody out here but me, and any others who mighta happened by wouldn’t have seen ya. I just
knew what to look fer.”

  Spencer felt a bit better after the reassurance, knowing that Norm had special knowledge and skills that the average operative wouldn’t have, but he still made a mental note to be more careful. The two men moved silently through the trees until they reached Norm’s cabin. Once inside, the mountain man set about making lunch, clanging cast iron pans, dicing potatoes and slicing thick slabs of meat.

  “I s’pose you’re looking for them two fellas who came around here a few days ago,” Norm remarked casually, putting Spencer on instant alert.

  “Two men? Who were they?” he asked, staring hard at the mountain man. “Were they the men that I came here with originally?” he asked, referring to when he, Janssen, and Steve Arnold had tracked Izzy down.

  Norm shook his head, cracking some eggs into a pan.

  “Nope, dark fellas. They weren’t from here, talked kinda funny.”

  “You spoke with them?”

  “Nope, they didn’t even know I was trackin’ ’em. I just wanted to make sure that they didn’t come near my cabin.”

  “Which way were they headed?”

  “Same way you came from last time.”

  Spencer’s mind raced. It sounded as though there had been foreign operatives heading toward the confinement facility, which could explain why Janssen had sent the distress call.

  “There were only two of them?” he confirmed.

  “Yup, and they moved real quiet. They weren’t country boys, but they knew how to leave no trace, that’s fer sure.”

  A tingle of worry curled at the bottom of the Marine’s spine. Professionals. But who would be coming after Janssen and Steve? Or did the two strangers just happen to be in the area because they were looking for something or someone else at the facility? Spencer was anxious to get back on the trail, but now knew that it was more important than ever to travel under the cover of darkness, despite the urgency that gripped him. He hoped that he wasn’t already too late. There were at least two men that he’d have to deal with, so he’d plan accordingly.

  “I expect you’ll be wanting to lay low ‘til around sundown,” Norm commented, sliding eggs out of the pan and onto a plate.

  “If that’s all right with you,” Spencer nodded grimly.

  “Fine by me. You can get a good meal in ya before gettin’ on yer way.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Them two fellas had quite the arsenal between ’em. I’d be a mite careful if I was you,” the mountain man cautioned.

  “I intend to be.”

  ***

  Spencer Bengal lay flat, his body no more than a shadow in the cloudy evening. He was perched on a berm which surrounded the confinement facility, gazing down into the squat grey building with night vision magnification lenses. He hadn’t seen any movement, but he knew that there were people inside because some rooms were lit, and the red lights atop the security cameras blinked balefully, taking in the entirety of the area.

  The Marine scanned the area, looking for a way to get past the cameras, and knowing that there wasn’t going to be an easy way to slip past. His eyes traveled over the building, exploring various routes in, but each one was covered by multiple cameras. Sighing inwardly, his eyes raised to the roof. There were no cameras up there, the area was completely unwatched, so if he could figure out a way to enter the complex from above, he’d be able to drop in wherever he wanted. Even more importantly, once he had access to the ductwork which ran throughout the complex, he’d be able to position himself to disable security systems and gain easier access.

  The facility had a guard tower in one corner of the property, which was unmanned at the moment. The tower faced the part of the building that housed a backup generator and multiple cooling units, so there were no windows on that side. Spencer visually measured the distance and determined that if he could get up into the tower, he’d be able to run a zip line from the tower to the roof on the utility side of the building and enter that way. The tower was on the opposite corner of the property from where he lay, and there were only a few hours of darkness left, so he’d have to run through the woods, skirting the property line, to get to the other side in time to make his move.

  Gathering his gear, he slipped down the back of the berm and disappeared into the woods like a shadow, headed for the guard tower. The Marine moved swiftly and stealthily until he made it to the treeline directly behind the guard tower. He was still nearly fifty feet short of the guard tower, and couldn’t make it across the swath of grass in order to get there undetected. Catching his breath, Spencer leaned against a gently swaying evergreen behind him, the fragrance of its boughs filling the air with a delightful scent.

  Craning his head upward to gaze at the dark clumps of needles above him, he was struck with an idea. The beautiful tree rose to a height of nearly seventy feet. The closest branch to the ground was about a foot and a half over his head, and he jumped up to test it, backpack and all, catching his weight with both hands. The branch didn’t even creak and certainly didn’t budge under his weight. Decision made, Spencer moved steadily upward, his hands coated with sticky, fragrant pitch. As he neared the top of the mighty evergreen, he tested the branches for flexibility and found them to be more than pliable, which would make his plan work perfectly… with a little luck.

  Climbing until he was a mere ten feet from the top of the gently swaying tree, the Marine felt a bit of vertigo and reminded himself not to look down. If he fell from this height, even with branches breaking his fall, he probably wouldn’t walk away from it, and he couldn’t afford to make that kind of mistake, Janssen needed his help.

  There was a glassless window in the tower wall that faced him, and a ledge right below it. Spencer’s plan was to inch his way toward the top of the tree, bending the tip of it toward the guard tower until he was close enough to jump. He’d grab onto the window ledge with his hands and swing his feet up onto the ledge, allowing him to climb into the window so that he could set up the zip line to the utility wall. He’d either make it or die trying, and he had no plans to let Janssen down, so he set his mouth in a determined line and climbed upward, feeling each branch for strength and flexibility as he went.

  As the Marine neared the top, the mammoth tree began to shudder under his weight. Heart in his throat, he stopped until the shaking stopped. If the top of the tree snapped, he’d go down with it, to his peril.

  And down will come baby, cradle and all…

  The nursery rhyme sing-songed through his mind like a premonition of doom, but he ignored it and continued to climb, only pausing when he heard creaks beneath his hands or feet. When he reached the top of the tree, it trembled without ceasing, and he seriously hoped that no one decided to take a walk outside. He hadn’t come this far to be caught like a treed animal. He put his hand just a few feet from the tip of the tree, and the trunk bowed toward the tower like he’d hoped it would, but it stopped several feet short of his target.

  Taking a deep breath, Spencer began to rhythmically swing his feet back and forth, the top of the tree dipping lower and closer to the tower with each swing. When he was nearly close enough to the tower to reach out and touch it, he heard a groan and a small crunching sound, and he dropped a few inches all at once. Glancing back at where the tree was bent at nearly a ninety degree angle, he saw the trunk beginning to splinter. He didn’t have much time. He heard another crack and knew that it was do or die, literally. Taking a deep breath, he swung his body hard toward the tower and let go of the tree. The trunk snapped back most of the way, dangling at a slight angle toward the tower, and Spencer hit the concrete blocks in front of him hard enough to jar his teeth. He reached desperately for the window ledge with both hands, but his right hand missed, leaving him dangling by his left.

  Heart slamming in his chest, he felt the rough edge of the concrete window cutting into the skin behind his second knuckles and abrading his palms. His feet scrabbled, missing the ledge, and his fingers started to slip from the window. With a Herculean ef
fort, he gritted his teeth and dug his fingertips, now bloody, into the ledge, swinging his right hand up and making contact. Once his right hand held him more securely, his feet found purchase on the ledge, and he was able to rest for a moment, catching his breath. Spencer froze in place, listening for any sound outside which would indicate that he’d been spotted, hearing nothing but night sounds all around.

  His left hand throbbing, he used his legs to propel himself upward, bringing his arms over the ledge and into the window, hanging by his underarms. Inching to the side, he swung his leg up to the window, catching the ledge with his ankle and pulling himself up and in. He was bruised, scraped, and his left hand was a bit worse for wear, but he’d made it inside, and his battle for entry was only half finished.

  Crouching low, he moved across the guard tower to the window which faced the utility wall. Sliding up the wall beside the window, he looked out, seeing no one. Still confident that he’d gone undetected as yet, he surveyed the facility below him and formulated the next step to his plan. Spencer felt the intruder in the room a mere split second before he felt the cold barrel of a gun against his temple.

  CHAPTER 6

  “She wasn’t killed in the bathroom,” Timothy Eckels mused, gazing at the photos of the crime scene.

  “How do you know that?” Fiona asked, peering over his shoulder in a manner that she knew irritated him.

  “There wasn’t nearly enough blood at the scene, there were no spatter marks on the walls or any other surfaces, and there was no trace of the murder weapon. Also, look over there, by the door… see the pattern in the sand?” Tim pointed with a gloved finger.

  “Yeah, so?” she frowned.

  Tim sighed and raised an eyebrow at his assistant.

  “It’s a drag pattern, see the sweeps?” he jabbed his finger at the photo again.