Chapter 2
Present day
Lake Accotink Park, Springfield, Virginia
Ryan Schaeffer tamped down his excitement. He had to keep his head in the game. So much careful preparation had led to this moment. The late-afternoon sun showered down through the dense canopy of trees, dappling the running trail below. A warm fall breeze rustled through the hedgerow, the faint scent of azaleas providing momentary relief from the pungent odor of sweat clinging to his best friend.
Zippo popped his head above the shrubbery to check on the jogger. “Here she comes.” He held the binoculars up to his eyes, focusing them on the winding trail near the shore of Lake Accotink. “I can make out that neon blue tank top she’s wearing.”
“Let me see.” Ryan yanked the field glasses from Zippo’s grasp, eliciting a stream of expletives. “Oh yeah.” His pulse kicked up a notch as he dialed in a clearer image. “She’s a hottie.”
The jogger’s short-cropped dark hair was sweat-damp and sexy, like the spandex that clung to her toned body. He studied the steady rhythm of the footfalls bringing her closer to his hiding place. His blood heated.
“And she’s small,” Zippo said. “She can’t weigh more than a buck ten. How much of a fight can she put up?” He jabbed Ryan’s ribs with a bony elbow. “Should be easy for you, dude.”
A senior at East Springfield High, Ryan was already bigger than his father. Four years on the gridiron had taught him how to tackle a runner. Zippo was right—he could take her without breaking a sweat. They’d come to the park every day after football practice, hunting. Today they’d finally found the perfect . . . what had Zippo called her? Prey. They were the hunters, and she was their prey.
He glanced at Zippo. “You aren’t going to wuss out, are you?”
Zippo grabbed his crotch. “Dude, I’m locked and loaded.”
Ryan nodded. “You getting this?”
Zippo held up the burner phone he’d bought last week. “On it.”
Ryan would take his turn first while Zippo livestreamed the whole thing. He’d sworn the cops couldn’t trace anything back to them. Ryan had gotten ski masks for both of them so they could change places once he finished with her.
Ryan gave a thumbs-up. This would be epic. He peered back through the lenses. “She’ll be at the spot in about thirty seconds. Better get in position.”
They pulled the knit masks over their heads. Zippo crouched, poking his phone through a hole in the hedgerow.
Ryan hunkered into a three-point stance next to the thickest part of the foliage. She wouldn’t see him until it was too late. He watched her approach. They had picked out a place near the end of the running trail, figuring she’d be tired if she jogged the whole way, but it didn’t matter. She was tiny. Up close, her brown eyes looked huge in her small face. He would make those eyes go even wider. Body thrumming with anticipation, he focused and waited.
The instant she ran past him, he launched himself, slamming his shoulder into her back with all his weight.
She sprawled headlong, thudding facedown on the grass beside the trail. He had knocked the wind out of her, but he figured she would recover enough to scream in a few seconds.
He couldn’t let that happen.
She rolled over as he threw his body forward again and slammed down on top of her, using the full force of his bulk to crush her. He heard the air rush from her lungs in a grunt and knew he’d bought another few seconds of silence.
Before he was prepared, she began to fight. One of her palms shot upward, connecting with his nose. He howled and batted her hand away. While he tried to grasp her arms, she brought her knee up into his crotch. Gritting his teeth, he managed to avoid rolling off her and doubling over.
Realization dawned. If he didn’t regain control fast, this crazy chick would kick his butt. Pinning her legs with his thighs, he reached for her wrists. They were so slender he could easily hold them both in one hand. He grabbed one and fumbled for the other when he felt searing pain in the soft flesh along the back of his jawbone just under his earlobe.
He pulled his head back, lifting slightly off her, and caught a glimpse of something black in her free hand. Had she stabbed him? There was no blood. Still clutching one of her wrists, he drew his other arm back to punch her face when the agony returned to light up every nerve above his shoulders. She kept digging that black thing into him.
All thought ceased in the wake of the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. The sensation felt overwhelming, devastating, immobilizing.
Where was Zippo? A small part of his mind still able to function understood he needed help taking down a woman less than half his size. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Darting a glance to the left, he saw the back of Zippo’s gray T-shirt flapping behind him as he ran away. He would murder the little weasel first chance he got. The throbbing along his nerves eased a fraction, and he became aware the woman underneath him was speaking.
Her enormous brown eyes had narrowed to slits. “What’s your name?”
Intense pain had reduced his thought processes to their most primal level. His synapses only fired on one overriding subject. “You’re hurting me.”
“Am I?” She pressed in harder, blurring his vision around the edges. “I’m all choked up about that. Here’s a thought. Don’t jump women in the park.”
He could only muster a feeble protest. “I didn’t . . . it was just a prank. Wasn’t serious.”
“Save it.” Her lip curled. “You’re under arrest.”
Everything crashed in on him as her words sent his once-bright future spiraling into darkness. Less than five minutes ago, he’d been headed for college on a full-ride football scholarship. Now he’d be playing hoops in a prison yard.
His watering eyes met her steady gaze. “C-cop?”
“Special Agent Nina Guerrera.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “FBI.”
Chapter 3
The next day
FBI Washington, DC, field office
Nina sat on the edge of a stiff vinyl chair in the waiting area outside Special Agent in Charge Tom Ingersoll’s office. He had been holed up inside with Supervisory Special Agent Alex Conner, her immediate boss, for the past half hour.
Conner had left a message with the front desk directing her to the SAC’s office as soon as she arrived for work this morning. In two years at the Washington field office, her first assignment after joining the FBI, she had never been summoned to see Ingersoll. Certain this had something to do with her off-duty jog in the park yesterday, she replayed the events in her mind for the hundredth time, unable to figure out what—if anything—she had done wrong.
She gingerly touched her side and winced. Had the oaf cracked one of her ribs when he landed on her? Every muscle ached from his crushing weight slamming down on her small frame. The local PD had called an ambulance, but she’d waved off the paramedics, who then made sure her attacker hadn’t sustained lasting injuries. She’d refused transport to the hospital and spent the rest of the evening giving her statement to her former Fairfax County police colleagues. Now she wondered if an X-ray at the ER might have been a smarter move.
Conner opened the door, interrupting her ruminations. “We’re ready to see you now.”