Mercy

The hunt for a killer leads to a battle between justice and desire

For U.S. marshal Rourke Kincaid, there’s the law…and then there’s his law. When the two don’t agree, he always trusts his instincts. A killing spree has gripped the Northwest, showing a strange connection that only he sees, and now the old rules of justice no longer apply. Forced to turn rogue, he goes deep undercover to track his mysterious female suspect to a quiet, unassuming café in the wild, isolated mountains of Beartooth, Montana.

But encountering Callie Westfield complicates his mission in ways he never expected. As suspicious as she seems, her fragile beauty and sexy charm get to Rourke. Then the gory crimes begin anew. With his heart suddenly at war with his instincts, he has only two options. Either turn Callie over to the law, or put everything—including his badge and his life—on the line to protect her.

Praise for

New York Times bestselling author

B.J. DANIELS

“Daniels is truly an expert at Western romantic suspense.”

—RT Book Reviews on Atonement

“Will keep readers on the edge of their chairs from beginning to end.”

—Booklist on Forsaken

“Action-packed and chock-full of suspense.”

—Under the Covers on Redemption

“Fans of Western romantic suspense will relish Daniels’ tale of clandestine love played out in a small town on the Great Plains.”

—Booklist on Unforgiven

Mercy

B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

I joke that this book tried to kill me. I realize now that the ones that really grab me are the ones that I struggle with and end up loving the most. This one grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. So this book is dedicated to the man who saw me through it, even the three a.m. trip to the hospital with my first migraine.

To my husband, Parker, who takes good care of me so I can just write. I couldn’t be more grateful for your loving support or the wonderful meals you cook me or the patience you have deadline after deadline. I couldn’t do this without you. I love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise for New York Times bestselling author B.J. DANIELS

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SWEAT BEADED HIS forehead and upper lip. He tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible with the gag. It stuck to his dry tongue and cut into one corner of his mouth as he’d attempted to cry out for help. The blindfold kept him from knowing what time of day it was. He kicked, but his legs had tangled in the sweat-drenched sheets. His wrists, still bound to the headboard, were chafed raw, his aching arms numb where the restraints bit into his flesh.

He didn’t know how long he’d been like this. The last thing he remembered was having sex and then asking the woman to leave. It had been a mistake picking her up at the bar and bringing her home in the first place.

After that, he must have fallen asleep. He’d awakened in a panic to find himself gagged, blindfolded and bound to the bed. That had to have been hours ago, but he had no concept of time.

He’d tried everything to free himself. But the way he was trussed up, nothing worked.

How long before someone would find him like this? At first all he could think about was the embarrassment. Now he prayed for anyone to stop by, knowing how remote a chance that would be. No one would even realize they hadn’t seen him for days since he’d taken off for a short vacation.

Anxiety filled him, making him fear he was losing his mind. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell, faster and faster.

A sound made him stop struggling. He held his heaving breath. Had he only imagined someone in the room?

A floorboard creaked. She’d come back. Of course she had. She couldn’t leave him like this. This was some kind of sick joke. Something straight out of a horror movie.

It had been his first night of vacation, so he’d thought, why not have a little fun? Maybe he should have been nicer once the fun was over. Too late to worry about that now, though. Once she cut his restraints, she would regret ever pulling this stunt on him.

He tried to remember her name. Something that started with a C. Candy. Cara. Catherine. Cassie. He tried to say Cassie around the gag. It came out unintelligible.

A thought suddenly struck him. It was her in the room, wasn’t it? Who else? But now he wasn’t so sure.

He felt someone move closer. He could hear breathing next to his bed. He thrashed against his bonds, moaning in both pain and terror.

A harsh whisper next to his ear silenced him. It was her all right. He remembered that voice. But at first he thought he’d heard her wrong. Then she repeated the same three words.

“Beg for mercy.”

The gag muffled his screams as he felt the first slice of the knife.

CHAPTER TWO

IT HAD SURPRISED Laura Fuller when he’d called. Something odd in his voice. That and the fact that she hadn’t heard from him in months. It made her anxious. As she stepped into the small restaurant off Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle, she stopped to scan the place. Maybe it was the cop in her, but she couldn’t help feeling on guard as she spotted him.

He looked good. That thought made her smile to herself. Rourke Kincaid always looked good, all six foot four of him. He had classic dark looks that were almost as amazing as the rich depths of his eyes. If he wasn’t usually so serious, he would have been sinfully gorgeous. Women always noticed him. He, on the other hand... Did he notice other women? Or was Laura’s former partner just unaware of her as a woman?

As she let the door close behind her and moved in his direction, she thought he looked a little pale. The lines around those dark eyes a little more defined. She thought of the first time she’d seen him as she limped toward his table. She had detested the idea of working with someone who looked like him because she’d thought he wouldn’t take the job seriously. She’d thought he was a womanizer, one of those men who had to have the attention of every woman around him. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rourke, like her, had been interested in only his job. At least that was how it had been back then.

As Laura drew closer, she saw that all his attention was on the papers he had spread on the table. But when he saw her, he hurriedly tucked them back into the folder and set it on the chair next to him.

He’d brought some case he was working on. Of course that was why he’d called her. It was the only reason he had ever called her, except for the few times to see how she was doing after she’d gotten out of the hospital.

He rose now, hastily getting to his feet. His expression brightened, and he flashed her one of his disarming smiles. Even after bracing herself against it, her heart kicked into gear, all those old feelings rushing at her.

“Laura.” He took both her hands in his large, warm ones and brushed a kiss across her cheek. She noticed then that he wasn’t wearing his U.S. Marshals uniform. Maybe it was his day off. But then, Rourke never really took a day off, especially when he was deep in a case.

To a bystander, he probably looked relaxed in a pair of worn jeans, equally worn boots and a blue chambray button-up shirt, and yet she could tell he was anxious. His Stetson was on the seat with the folder he’d brought. You could take the cowboy out of Wyoming, but you couldn’t take the cowboy out of him, she thought.

“How are you?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice. She knew then that he’d seen her limp, even though she’d tried so hard to hide how bad it was. Rourke missed little. It was what had made him such a good homicide detective and now criminal investigator.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically. “How about you?”

“Me?” He seemed surprised by the question as he stepped around the table to pull out her chair. It was such a gentlemanly thing to do that she couldn’t help but smile. A year ago he wouldn’t have touched her chair. She wouldn’t have let him because they’d been equals back then. But a lot had changed in a year, hadn’t it?

She sat and watched him move back around to his own chair. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she got a closer look at him.

He blinked. “Can’t I ask my former Seattle P.D. partner to lunch without you thinking—”

“Rourke,” she said with a shake of her head as he lowered himself into his chair.

He laughed, his dark gaze meeting hers as he stretched out his long legs. “I forget how well you know me.” His look alone made her pulse purr just under her skin. How long had she been in love with this man? Too long.

“Tell me what I’m doing here besides having lunch?” she said, needing to clarify for herself what this meeting would cover. She knew what she’d hoped it was about, but clearly she’d been kidding herself.

“I’m sure you heard about what happened six months ago,” he said, dropping his voice.

Law enforcement was a tight-knit community. Even if she was no longer one of the gang, she still heard things. Rourke had risen so quickly in his field that she knew there were some who’d enjoyed his fall from grace.

Six months ago he hadn’t waited for backup even though he’d been ordered to do so. The bust had gone badly, a civilian was shot and almost died, and Rourke was reprimanded and pulled off active duty.

She picked up her napkin, unfolded it carefully and laid it across her lap before she spoke. “You have always followed your intuition. It’s what made you such a good homicide detective. Now as a U.S. marshal, well, I would expect you to continue doing what you do best. I would still trust you with my life.” When she looked up, she saw the shine of his eyes and felt a lump form in her throat. Was it possible he missed her as much as she’d missed him?

“You were the best partner I ever had,” he said, emotion making his deep voice even deeper. “Sometimes I miss the Seattle P.D.” His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “If I could go back to that night—”

“I’ve put that part of my life behind me.” Laura couldn’t find words to describe how much she missed it. But not for the reason Rourke Kincaid thought. Even if they could change what had happened that night a year ago, she doubted he would still be with the Seattle P.D. Even back then, she’d known he wouldn’t stay in Homicide long. He was destined to greater things.

“Want a drink before we eat?” He didn’t wait for an answer before signaling the waitress. “The usual?” he said to Laura with a grin. “Scotch on the rocks for my friend. Nothing for me.”

“You’re not joining me?” she asked as the waitress left. “I just assumed you were off duty.”

“Off duty.” He chuckled at that. “Today is my first day of my latest suspension. My boss suggested I take two weeks to reevaluate my career choices.”

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s probably right. I’m not sure I’m cut out for taking orders. Nor am I so sure I can still trust my instincts.” He took a sip of his water and waited as the waitress returned to place the drink in front of her. “We should probably order. Two cheeseburgers and fries?” he asked, smiling at her again.

Laura nodded even though she didn’t eat like that anymore. Couldn’t. Being on the force, she had worked out all the time, kept active and could eat anything she wanted and did. Now...well, now things were different.

Once the waitress left again, he said, “Six months ago, I was put on cold cases down in the basement.” He nodded. “I know. I was lucky they didn’t send me packing.”

“I’m sure you’ll be back on fieldwork soon. Rourke, you’re too good to leave you stuck away much longer. If you can just hang in—”

He shook his head. “Surprisingly that’s not the problem. They’ve reinstated me for fieldwork. They want me back on the job.”

Frowning, she said, “Then I guess I don’t understand.”

“I found something in an old case file. Something I want to chase.”

This was the Rourke she knew so well. Once he got on the scent, he couldn’t let up until he caught what he was chasing. Wasn’t that why he’d ended up in the basement with the cold cases?

“I’ve been ordered to assist with an asset seizure on a drug case that any fool can handle.”

She stared at him. “This is why you invited me to lunch. You want me to talk you out of whatever it is you’re thinking of doing?” She shook her head, seeing her error as she studied his face. “No, you want me to encourage you to chase it.”

Laura couldn’t help being touched that her opinion meant that much, while at the same time, it really wouldn’t matter what she said. She was sure his mind was already made up. He just wanted that little push and from who better than his old partner?

Her gaze shifted to the file he’d placed on the seat of the chair next to him. What had he found that would make him risk his career over it? “So, let’s see it.”

“Maybe we should eat—”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You didn’t get me down here for the burgers or the Scotch. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He gave her a sheepish grin as he reached for the file folder. “I found something—some old photographs,” he said with an excitement that would have been contagious when they’d worked together. He opened the folder and leaned toward her. She caught a whiff of his oh, so familiar aftershave. Her pulse thrummed. She loved seeing Rourke like this.

* * *

ROURKE FELT EVEN more anxious as he pulled out the photographs. He trusted Laura’s judgment. Now he worried that she’d tell him he was wrong, that he’d lost his edge. That he was about to make yet another mistake. Only this one would cost him his career and for nothing.

He slid the photographs from the folder and reached into his jacket pocket for the magnifying glass he’d brought. The photos were all of a group of onlookers standing behind yellow crime-scene tape. As he started to hand over the shots, his eye went to the one face, a face he hadn’t been able to forget from the first time he’d seen the young woman—and realized that he’d seen her somewhere before.

Laura took the three photographs and the magnifying glass. “What am I looking for?”

He didn’t answer as he watched her scan one photo, then another until she had looked at all three.

She frowned and studied each again, more slowly this time. “These are from three different crime scenes.”

He smiled. He’d been right to bring this to her. He just hoped she saw what he had—that one face in the crowd. What Laura might have lacked in polish as a homicide detective, she more than made up for in street sense and down-to-earth logic. She didn’t jump to conclusions. She took in information, digested it, considered and then assessed the situation with almost a coldhearted clarity.

Rourke had always trusted her judgment because of it. Not that he’d been happy at first about being partnered with a woman when he’d joined the Seattle P.D. Like a lot of other men, he’d been biased, believing that when the cards were down, even a good woman cop would be weaker than a man or may become emotional and be a liability.

He could laugh about that misconception now. Laura Fuller was tougher, more capable and less emotional in a tight spot than a lot of male cops he’d known. As he had in the past, he wondered now how she’d been raised. She’d never talked about growing up, but at first he’d suspected, because of how tough she was, that she might have been the only girl in a houseful of brothers. She’d never seemed to want to talk about what she offhandedly called her boring childhood, but then she’d mentioned once that she had a sister. He’d gotten the impression that the sister was her only family and that they weren’t close.

As inseparable as he and Laura had been in the past, he realized that he didn’t really know her. His fault, since all his focus had been on his career for as far back as he could remember.

The waiting now, though, was killing him.

He started to say something when Laura hesitated on a corner of a photo where a dark-haired young woman stood just beyond the crime-scene tape. He watched Laura spread the three photos on the table, going from one to the next. He could feel the change in her. She’d seen it!

His relief was almost palpable. He couldn’t help the surge of adrenaline that shot through him. If Laura saw it, then he had to be right. He was onto something.

“It’s the same woman, isn’t it?” he said, no longer able to contain himself.

As Laura studied the woman in the three photos, she unconsciously pushed a lock of her blond shoulder-length hair back behind one ear. He realized that she’d let her hair grow out since he’d last seen her and felt a wave of guilt. After she’d been shot and left the Seattle P.D., he’d checked on her often during the first few months. But since taking the job with the U.S. Marshals, he had gotten so busy he couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her.

She handed back the magnifying glass. “Three different neighborhoods? Three different homicides?”

Rourke nodded.

“And these are the best shots you have of her?”

“Unfortunately. But she’s the key to those three murders. I can feel it.”

“She might just be a murder junkie. Probably has a scanner next to her bed and responds whenever she hears the call.” Laura shrugged and pushed the photos back toward him. “Have you been able to identify her?”

“Not yet. I’ve hired a private investigator to canvass the neighborhoods where the murders were committed.”

She raised a brow in surprise as she realized he had been working outside the U.S. Marshals Service and apparently for some time. “Aren’t you taking this a little too personally?”

He’d already gone rogue, and now she knew it. “I just have a feeling about this one. I can’t let it go.” He looked down at the photos spread on the table, his eye going to the dark-haired woman. Her face had been haunting him for weeks. When he closed his eyes at night...

She shook her head. “What are you doing, Rourke?”

He could hear the skepticism in her voice. He wished now that he’d ordered a drink. He could use it. Laura thought he was looking for a lead where there wasn’t one. Unfortunately, his boss thought the same thing.

He’d never been plagued with self-doubt when it came to his instincts. But after almost costing a man his life...

“Rourke, what am I really doing here?” Laura asked.

* * *

“I NEED YOUR HELP,” Rourke said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. “I remembered that your background was psychology and criminology. Did I hear correctly that you’re doing freelance profiling for the Seattle P.D.?”

Laura shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew this, but she was. Just as she shouldn’t have been disappointed that he’d asked her to dinner because he wanted her help on a case.

“I need to know about this woman and the kind of man who would be in her life,” he said.

“Based on three photos?” she asked, thinking he must be kidding.

“This woman is the connection between the three different crime scenes, but I think there’s more. I think she’s working with a serial killer.”

Laura leaned back in her chair in surprise. She studied him for a moment before she looked at the photographs again. She tried to imagine why this woman was at three separate crime scenes in three separate neighborhoods. It could be as simple as morbid curiosity. Or not.

Profiling was a science based on statistics compiled of criminals. Depending on the type of murder, she could paint a fairly accurate picture of the killer once she had all the information. Or, if Rourke was right about the woman, in this case, co-killer.

Of course, it was much more likely that this woman could be just as Laura had said before, someone with a scanner who lived such a dull life that going to crime scenes was her only source of entertainment.

Had it not been Rourke, she would have dismissed this without a thought. But she’d learned a long time ago to trust him. If he felt he had to chase this, even jeopardize his job to do so, then she had to take it seriously.

She motioned for the magnifying glass again. What was funny was that when she’d first noticed the woman, she’d thought she recognized her. Something about the woman’s face... But when she studied the features, she decided the woman merely had one of those sweet, innocent-looking faces. That didn’t make Laura hate her any less.

She knew it was crazy to be jealous of a woman in a crime-scene photo who was possibly involved in at least three murders. But she could see that no woman had ever captivated Rourke like this one had. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her in the photo.

Laura figured he’d be disappointed when he finally came face-to-face with her. That was if he could find her—and didn’t get himself killed in the process.

Pushing the photos away, she was torn between laughter and tears when she thought how excited she’d been after Rourke’s call. What a fool she’d been, taking forever to get dressed. She’d even put on a little makeup, not that Rourke had noticed. And while she was touched that he’d called her to help with this, she wanted him to see her. Not the former cop. Not the former homicide partner. For once, she just wanted him to look at her and see the woman.

“So, what are you planning to do?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Laura, I can’t get these three cold cases out of my mind. I have no choice but to try to find this woman. I know you think I’m a fool to chase this.”

She sighed, seeing his disappointment. He’d hoped she would jump on board just like in the old days when he’d bent the rules and she had gone along with it. But the last time she’d bent the rules, she was almost killed. Her world, as she had known it, ended the day she was shot. She still had the scars, both inside and out.