Hunted, A Romantic Suspence Novel
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Authors: Suzanne Ferrell
Tags: #A Romantic Suspence Novel
Hunted
By
Suzanne Ferrell
Table Of Contents
Other Books by Suzanne Ferrell
Copyright © 2012 by Suzanne Ferrell
Cover Art by Lyndsey Lewellen
Formatting by
Ink Lion Studios
Release date: July 2012
All rights reserved
This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author and publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Ferrell, Suzanne (2012). Hunted. A Romantic Suspense Novel.
Seated behind the prosecutor’s table and flanked by two large men dressed in government-issue blue suits, dark sunglasses and wearing stern expressions, Sarah shivered as she watched the devil standing before the judge.
“Jacob Strict, having been found guilty of conspiracy against the United States government in the Philadelphia Federal Building bombing and the deaths resulting from therein, you are hereby sentenced to be put to death on the date and time to be set by this court.”
The judge’s gavel hammered against the wooden bench frame. Despite her resolve to remain calm, Sarah jumped, her breath catching in her throat.
The judge’s words echoed for a moment in the silence of the crowded courtroom.
Then shouts of victory erupted from the victims’ families. Strict’s “family” moaned and wailed. She felt neither jubilation nor remorse. Seeing that Strict received judgment for his crimes had driven her for months. Nothing else mattered.
The prosecutors shook hands and slapped each other on the back. Reporters scribbled frantically in their notebooks or spoke softly into tape recorders. The rail-thin, white-haired man standing at the defendant’s table didn’t move a muscle—not even an eyelash. He stared ahead with deadly calm as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike—a consummate performer to the last.
Grasping the coat sleeves of the oversized navy blue suit the Marshal’s assistant had given her to wear for the hearings, she closed her eyes. The tumult in the courtroom pounded in her ears and she shrank into the chair, praying she’d be swallowed up by it. Plain by most people’s standards and rarely noticed in a crowd, she prayed that for once she could blend into the furniture. Only this time she knew her wish wouldn’t be granted. No matter how little he’d shown it to his audience, the defendant’s entire attention was focused on her.
She’d done the unthinkable. She’d defied the Almighty Prophet—dared to expose the monster to the light. There would be hell to pay.
The judge’s gavel banged and banged. Shouted commands to come to order or have the courtroom cleared slowly registered with the crowd. People regained their self-restraint. Women dried their eyes. Men took their seats.
A cold chill settled in her bones. Fine tremors caused her hands and knees to shake. She dug her fingers into the nylon serge of her borrowed suit.
Once again the judge focused his attention on the silent man before him. “Mr. Strict, do you have anything you wish to say before this court, Sir?”
Tense silence filled the assemblage. Women gripped their husbands’ arms tight. Some spectators waited to hear their prophet speak his last free words. Reporters’ pens paused.
For her, time slowed to an eon. She sucked in air, every muscle in her body tensed for flight.
Words can’t hurt me, words can’t hurt me.
She silently repeated the mantra she’d practiced for years in her head. She just wished her body believed them as much as her mind wanted it to.
The Marshals moved a fraction of an inch closer, reminding her they were there to protect her. Slowly, she exhaled, sat straighter and lifted her head.
Jacob Strict, the Grand Prophet of the People’s Militia Movement, inhaled deeply. Only five feet eight inches tall, he appeared to double his height with the breath he took—a trick she’d watched him practice in front of the mirror for years. Slowly, he scanned the faces on the jury, his throng of supporters, and then the faces of his victims’ families.
Finally, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes narrowed. He’d lived by one simple code for as long as they’d known each other. An eye for an eye—total retribution, no matter how large or how small the infringement.
She returned his stare without flinching. She’d be damned if she’d let him see her fear. From the moment she’d walked into the police station, half-starved and nearly frozen to death, she’d known her testimony would seal her own death sentence.
After a moment that seemed like an eternity, he spoke. “The chains of this illegal government cannot hold me. Soon I will be free. Then nowhere on this earth will provide safe haven for the traitor among us.”
Matt Edgars searched for stranded motorists in the snowdrifts lining the roadside as he drove into work. The cold spell the weathermen had predicted blew in last week, layering one snowfall after another onto the Midwestern landscape, until six inches had accumulated on the ground.
Other state troopers didn’t understand his need to find stranded motorists when he was on duty let alone on his way to work. They said he had a knight complex. He always needed a fair damsel to rescue or a dragon to conquer. His fellow patrolmen didn’t get emotionally involved with the drivers they stopped to help, but he made a habit of it.
He had no choice. When his friend slowly bled to death in his arms on the roadside with no help in sight, he’d vowed never to let that happen to another person. He’d promised on his friend’s grave that he’d help others when he could, even if it meant doing so on his own free time.
Winter in the Midwest held dangers for those stranded or ill prepared for the sudden storms that ripped through the area. Each morning he pulled his truck out of its warm garage to check for those in need of aid before beginning his shift.
Today he drove along Plumb Road toward the junction of State Route 3. A green Jeep sat pulled off the roadside at the red light. He slowed, pulling in behind the other car, its engine still running.
The person in the driver's seat slumped to one side. Apprehension crept over Matt’s spine. After finding that old man frozen to death last week, he dreaded finding this driver dead, too.
Damn, he hated starting his day like this.
He stepped out of his truck and approached the driver's side. Unable to see clearly from that window, he circled the car, and peered in from the passenger side.
A woman, a rather pretty woman—with dark hair surrounding an oval shaped face, dark lashes fringing her closed eyes, a narrow, slightly upturned nose and pink lips—leaned against the driver’s door. He leaned closer and wiped at the fog his breath had made on the window and studied her. There it was—thank God—the subtle movement of her chest under the wool winter coat, air being inhaled. Her breath fogged against the glass from the inside as she exhaled. She'd fallen asleep at the light. At least he hoped she only slept. Hell, he’d settle for passed out even.
Before waking the woman, Matt retrieved both his Breathalyzer and the thermos of hot chocolate he’d packed for himself that morning. His fellow officers liked to rib him for preferring hot chocolate to coffee. But today, it might come in handy for this young woman.
He returned to the car and tapped lightly on the driver’s window. The woman didn't move, so he tapped harder. Still no movement.
Damn, maybe she was seriously injured.
With a gentle tug, he opened the car door.
The movement jarred her. The woman gasped, then sprang away from the door, surprise and confusion filling her face.
“W-what?” she stuttered. Her eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to clear her mind.
“Are you all right, Miss?” Matt asked, temporarily caught in the gaze of two deep-blue—no, make that violet—eyes. Then his training kicked in. He searched her face and head for any injuries. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No-no, officer. I’m fine. I-I just fell asleep, I think.”
“You aren't hurt at all?”
She glanced at him, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the cold putting that pink in her cheeks. “No, really, I’m fine. I was just a little tired after working all night. This is so embarrassing.”
Matt nodded. “May I see your license and registration, Miss?’
“Um, oh, yes...” She blinked again, a bit of confusion still crossing her face.
Matt fought the urge to chuckle as she searched through the backpack beside her, all the time mumbling that she couldn't believe this was happening to her. Finally, she found her wallet. Then she leaned over to open her glove compartment and twisted to one side.
Nice butt.
He barely managed to wipe the grin off his face before she straightened and handed him both the registration and her driver's license.
“Thank you, Miss...” he read her name off the license, “...Myers.” Matt flipped open his notepad and wrote down both her name and address, then returned her papers.
A light blush filled her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. “Thank you, officer.”
“Well, I hate to do this, but I need you step out of the car Miss Myers, and take a Breathalyzer test.”
Her head snapped up and she fixed him with an intense stare. “You’re kidding.”
“I don’t make the rules ma’am, I just enforce them.”
The woman shot him an exaggerated sigh, her face tensing. Then she climbed out of her car. Her head only came to his shoulders. “I can't believe this. I just finished working a twelve-hour shift and fell asleep at the wheel. Honestly.”
Matt moved back as she stepped away from the car. He hated making her go through the test, but regulations were regulations. He handed her the Breathalyzer and instructed her to inhale, then exhale deeply into the mouthpiece. He watched her follow his instructions. Anger flashed through her narrowed eyes.
Good thing looks couldn’t kill.
After she handed him back the Breathalyzer, she folded her arms across her chest and tucked her hands beneath her arms. Despite the cold her attitude dared him to say something about her belligerent stance. She had bravado, he’d give her that much.
With great effort, he focused on becoming the professional cop again as he read the results. “Zero, point zero-zero. Good.” Then he flipped open his book and wrote down the findings.
“May I go now, officer?” Irritation filled her voice.
“In a moment, Miss Myers.” Matt picked up his thermos and poured some hot chocolate into the lid, blowing over the hot liquid for a moment. He watched her face through the steam. Then he offered her the cup.
“No, thanks.”
He could see the drink’s smell and warmth tempted her.
“I insist, Miss. The caffeine will help keep you awake for the rest of your ride home.” Again he offered her the cup, and this time she took it. “Go ahead. I really won't let you go until you have at least one cup.”