Person of Interest

WOMAN ON THE RUN

While babysitting a young servicewoman’s infant, Natalie Frazier hears a murder in the neighboring army duplex. Convinced her former commander is behind the crime, the ex-soldier bolts with the baby. But who will believe her story? Army investigator Everett Kohl deals only with the facts, but this time his gut instincts can’t be denied. Is the attractive Natalie a cunning killer, as his ranking officers believe, or an innocent victim? Ordered to bring her in, Everett has a decision to make. Helping her could cost him his job…but not protecting Natalie and the baby could get all of them killed…

Military Investigations: Serving their country and solving crimes

“Keep your head down.”

Everett pulled off the roadway onto a dirt path. “We’re being followed.”

It’s him. The killer. She didn’t give voice to her suspicion. Couldn’t.

He stopped behind a thick stand of trees. “Stay here. I’ll go check.”

Seconds after he disappeared into the woods, brakes squealed in the distance. Cuddling the baby tighter, she heard a crack of a gunshot cut through the stillness.

A lump of fear filled her throat.

No. Surely Everett hadn’t been shot. Then a new realization hit her. The shooter could follow the tire tracks. She and the baby were easy prey.

She stepped from the car and ran, clutching the baby close.

Leaves rustled behind her. Footfalls came closer. Her toe caught, she started to fall and someone grabbed her.

“I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t the killer, but Everett.

DEBBY GIUSTI is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com; blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com; and email her at Debby@DebbyGiusti.com.

Person of Interest

Debby Giusti

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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I love you, Lord, my strength,

Lord, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer,

My God, my rock of refuge,

my shield, my saving horn, my stronghold!

—Psalms 18:2

In thanksgiving for

The Seekers

My twelve Sisters in Christ

who spread God’s message of

love and mercy

through their wonderful stories.

I give thanks to my God at every remembrance of you.

—Philippians 1:3

Tina Radcliffe

Mary Connealy

Janet Dean

Audra Harders

Ruth Logan Herne

Pam Hillman

Cara Lynn James

Myra Johnson

Glynna Kaye

Sandra Leesmith

Julie Lessman

Missy Tippens

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Natalie Frazier’s heart raced as she woke with a start and struggled to get her bearings. Blinking her way back to reality, she recognized the Joneses’ living room on post at Fort Rickman, Georgia, instead of her own apartment in nearby Freemont.

Outside, wind tangled through the giant oaks. Branches creaked in the September night and scraped against the two-story brick quarters. The sound added to her unease as lightning flashed through the windows, followed by thunder that buffeted the house.

She closed the book that lay open on her lap and hesitated, listening for the baby’s cry. Relieved that the little one hadn’t awakened, she placed the textbook on the coffee table. How to Manage the Middle School Classroom was required reading for her teaching degree and had undoubtedly lulled her to sleep.

But what had awakened her?

Natalie had accepted the two-week nanny position caring for Lieutenant Wanda Jones’s five-month-old daughter while Wanda was away for training, and she planned to use the time to catch up on her classwork.

As prior military, with six years on active duty under her belt, Natalie was usually unfazed by new circumstances. Tonight was different.

In hopes of calming her anxiety, she hurried into the foyer and insured the front door was locked before she stepped to the nearby window. Easing back the curtain, she stared for a long moment at the narrow, two-lane road that ran through the military housing area. A porch light from one of the duplexes across the street cast a yellow glow over the few cars parked at the curb.

Dropping the curtain, she flexed her shoulders to allay the tension in her neck and padded across the hardwood floor to the kitchen. The small, cozy room had seemed inviting this morning when she’d arrived. Wanda had coffee brewing and warm-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls to welcome her. The scent of the fresh brew and hot rolls had long since disappeared, leaving behind an emptiness that tugged at her heart. She and the baby were safe, yet something about the night was unsettling. Probably the darkness outside and the encroaching storm. Both caused her concern.

Opening the door to the attached one-car garage, she stared into the interior, seeing only her small sedan. Convinced her imagination was playing tricks on her, she shut the door and slipped the chain lock in place before she flipped off the kitchen light and retraced her steps into the main living-dining room combination.

She needed to check on Sofia. Natalie climbed the steep wooden stairway to the second floor and tiptoed into the nursery. The little one was asleep on her back, her cheeks plump and rosy.

Wanda had been concerned about leaving. With her husband—Sofia’s father—deployed to the Middle East, the female lieutenant had weighed accepting a two-week school assignment at Fort Hood that was good for her military career but hard on a new mom forced to leave her infant daughter.

Natalie and Wanda had been stationed together in Germany and had reconnected after Natalie had moved to nearby Freemont. Natalie was happy to help, and the arrangement would be good for both of them. Wanda needed child care, and Natalie wanted time to study away from her cramped apartment and moody roommate.

Denise Lang had become increasingly irritable over the past two months. Natalie blamed her roommate’s new boyfriend, who insisted Denise keep their relationship under wraps. The secrecy was taking a toll on her and impacted her relationship with Natalie.

Pulling the receiving blanket up around Sofia’s shoulders, Natalie smiled at the precious child and returned to the hallway on her way to the guest room. The sound of raised voices from the adjoining quarters next door stopped her at the top of the stairs.

She should have asked Wanda about the neighbors. All she’d provided had been the woman’s first name and her phone number. Natalie didn’t even know the couple’s last name. Surely the bickering wasn’t a regular occurrence.

Thunder rolled overhead, and rain drummed against the roof. The voices grew louder as the storm intensified. Although the shared wall between the two sets of quarters prevented Natalie from understanding what was said, the harsh tones signaled escalating conflict.

A woman screamed.

Something crashed against the wall.

Natalie gasped and took a step back. Her pulse raced.

Another crash and a second scream were followed by a series of thumps as if something—or someone—had fallen down the stairway.

Heart in her throat, Natalie checked again to be certain Sofia was asleep before she ran downstairs and opened the front door. The storm had unleashed its fury with strong winds and torrential rain. Her voice of reason told her to stay dry and mind her own business, but her need to help overrode the warning.

Ignoring the deluge, she raced next door and climbed the steps to the neighbor’s porch. In her haste, she slipped, then steadied herself and pounded on the door.

“Is someone hurt?”

Feeling exposed, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the neighbors spilling from the quarters across the street. As loud as the woman’s scream had been, they should have heard her, as well. Another clap of thunder made her realize the woman’s cries had been masked by the storm.

Again, Natalie knocked and raised her voice. “Do you need help?”

The door remained closed.

Envisioning a tragic scene inside, she hurried back to the Joneses’ quarters, wiped the rain from her face and reached for the phone. Her hands shook as she searched through the list of emergency numbers Wanda had left. Finding the military police, she tapped in the digits and waited impatiently for someone to answer, then explained the situation.

“I’ll send a squad car,” the MP said.

“Hurry.”

* * *

Everett Kohl shoved his travel toiletry kit into his duffel and zipped it shut with a smile. Tomorrow he’d be heading to North Georgia for two weeks of R&R and a chance to help Uncle Harry get his mountain cabin ready to put on the market to sell. Everett had half a notion to buy the place himself. But, first, he wanted to assess the structure and tend to the repairs that needed to be done.

Much as he loved his uncle, Harry’s age and stubbornness could be a problem, especially since he was trading the North Georgia mountains for an assisted-living complex in the metro Atlanta area. The timing was right, but his uncle saw it as losing his independence and a way of life he had enjoyed for over eighty years. Everett hoped to soothe the transition and ease his uncle’s concerns about the change.

Grateful the rain had stopped and the storm subsided, Everett whistled as he hurried to his SUV and threw his duffel in the rear. Nothing would delay him in the morning. He’d packed, filled his gas tank and was ready to lock up his bachelor officer’s quarters and drive north.

Retracing his steps, he checked his watch. Almost midnight. He’d catch some shut-eye and rise before dawn to skirt the morning traffic in Atlanta, two hours north, on his way to the mountains.

He entered his BOQ apartment just as his cell rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw Special Agent Frank Gallagher’s name displayed. The chief was out of town and Frank was in charge.

“I’ve already signed out on leave,” Everett said in lieu of a greeting.

“We’ve got an incident that needs your finesse.”

“You say the nicest things, but buttering me up won’t work. The next trip I take will be out the front gate in the morning. I’ll wave as I pass CID Headquarters on my way off post.”

“The military police just called with a heads-up. Someone reported hearing a domestic squabble at Mason Yates’s quarters.”

Everett groaned inwardly and shoved the cell closer to his ear. Domestic violence was never pretty and especially troublesome when a fellow agent was involved. “I’m listening.”

“A woman named Natalie Frazier heard arguing coming from the other side of her duplex and called in the report. I told the MP we’d check it out, but I can’t believe Mason would hurt his wife. If it’s bogus, we go home relieved that his name doesn’t end up on the commanding general’s desk tomorrow morning.”

“We owe the MPs for contacting us.”

“Exactly. Call me optimistic, but I’m hoping the neighbor’s imagination was working overtime due to the storm. If it’s a mistaken call, you’ll be home sawing logs before you can say ‘take care of our own’ three times.”

“Give me the address, I’ll meet you there.”

Frank provided the street and quarters number.

“Didn’t Mason move into military housing a few weeks ago?” Everett remembered the newcomer talking about signing for quarters.

“Three weeks to be exact. As I recall, his wife stayed with his sister in Decatur, Georgia, until quarters were available.”

Everett had arrived at Fort Rickman six months earlier, so he wasn’t an old-timer on post. He and Frank had been stationed together years earlier, along with Special Agent Colby Voss, which had made his transition to Fort Rickman an easy one.

Mason reported to post eight weeks ago. Since then, he had seemed withdrawn and less than willing to join in the office camaraderie that often relieved the stress of working long hours on felony cases for the military. Probably a loner by nature or maybe a bit aloof. That he outranked the other special agents might have bearing on his attitude, especially if he hoped to step into the chief’s shoes. Chief Agent-in-Charge Craig Wilson had led the CID office at Fort Rickman for nearly three years. Even if Uncle Sam considered him ready for a new assignment, no one wanted the chief to be reassigned.

Mason was an unknown, which gave Everett pause.

“I’m trusting this ends well,” he said in closing.

“Agreed,” Frank added. “I’ll meet you there.”

The housing area wasn’t far, and Everett was the first to arrive. He pulled to the curb and spotted headlights in his rearview mirror, then stepped out and waited for Frank.

“The report came from that side of the duplex,” Frank pointed to Quarters A. “Let’s talk to Mason before we question the neighbor.” Frank was the lead on this call, with Everett along as another set of eyes if need be.

Both agents climbed the front steps. Frank knocked on the door. “Special Agent Frank Gallagher, CID.” He glanced at Everett before adding. “Mason, it’s Frank. Everett’s with me. Everything okay?”

He tapped the door again.

Everett glanced at the duplex across the street. A light went on in an upstairs window.

“I’ll check the rear.” Starting down the steps, he heard a door creak open and turned to find the neighbor in Quarters A standing backlit in her doorway.

Long, shoulder-length black hair, slender build. Probably 110 to 115 pounds and five-four or five-five.

She stepped onto the porch. Oval face, big eyes drawn with concern, her mouth angled downward in a frown.

“We’re with the CID, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Kohl,” he said as introduction. “You called in the report?”

She glanced at her watch. “About fifteen minutes ago. I haven’t heard anything since then.”

“What did you hear earlier?”

“Raised voices and two screams, followed by thumping, as if someone had fallen down the stairs.”

Everett nodded. “Wait inside, ma’am. I’ll need more information after we make contact with the residents.”

Walking through the wet grass, he rounded the house, flicking his gaze over the large side yard and the rear access road. Headlights signaled an approaching vehicle. A dark blue sedan screeched to a stop.

Mason lunged from the car, wearing running shorts and a gray Army T-shirt damp with sweat. Eyes wide, he glanced at Everett, then turned his focus to his quarters.

“It’s Tammy, isn’t it? What happened? Is she hurt?” Breathless, he raced to the back door.

“A neighbor heard screams.” Everett hated being the bearer of bad news.

“She called me, distraught. I heard a voice in the background.” Mason pushed open the door and charged into the kitchen.

Everett followed. Unwashed dishes sat in the sink.

“Tammy, where are you?” Mason ran through the living room, then rounded the corner into the foyer. Stopping short, he staggered to brace himself against the wall.

“No!”

Everett’s gut tightened. A woman lay sprawled at the foot of the stairs, her face contorted in death. Blood pooled under her head.

He felt her neck, knowing instinctively he wouldn’t find a pulse.

Mason fell to the floor and reached for his wife, a scream keening from deep within him.

“Don’t touch—” Everett couldn’t warn Mason fast enough.

The husband’s broken sobs echoed in the quarters.

Everett had been at too many crime scenes, but none as wrenching as Mason holding his wife’s lifeless body.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and opened the front door. Frank stepped inside, face tight and eyes brimming with the same emotion Everett felt as they shook their heads with regret. Both special agents were aware of the significance of Mason’s arrival on-site. If he hadn’t been home, then someone else had argued with his wife. Someone who may have pushed or shoved or thrown Tammy Yates down the stairs to her death.

Everett raised his cell and called CID Headquarters. “Notify the military police. We’ll need a crime-scene investigation team, ambulance and the medical examiner.”

Frank patted Mason’s shoulder. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you into the other room. The MPs are on the way along with the ME.”

Mason shook off the attempt to comfort him. “Tammy,” he moaned, pulling his wife even closer into his arms.

“You need to step away from your wife. Remember, we have to preserve evidence if we’re going to catch this guy. Come on, buddy. Let’s head into the other room.”

Mason shrugged out of Frank’s hold and glanced at the open doorway. His face twisted in rage.

“What’s she doing here?”

Everett turned to see the neighbor cover her mouth and muffle a cry of disbelief. Fear flared from her eyes.

“Ma’am, I asked you to remain in your quarters.”

She pointed a finger at Mason, the distraught husband holding his wife’s bloodied body, and screamed.

TWO

Natalie ran back to the Joneses’ quarters, unable to take in more of the death scene. The horrendous sight stuck in her mind, and she couldn’t erase the image of the woman lying at the bottom on the stairs.

Seeing who clutched the woman’s bloodied body was even more unsettling. She hadn’t expected Mason Yates to be the neighbor next door. Her stomach rolled, recalling his steely eyes and accusing glare that brought back memories she wanted to forget.

Locking the door behind her, Natalie raced to the downstairs half bath and ran water in the sink. Pumping a large dollop of liquid soap into her palm, she lathered her hands and tried to wash off the blood she kept seeing.

Although she hadn’t entered the Yateses’ quarters, she felt soiled and defiled. Scrubbing with soap and rinsing her hands in the hot tap water did little to change the feeling.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror. Black hair, still damp with rain, tumbled around her shoulders in disarray, and her eyes, puffy from her earlier sleep, appeared as anxious as she felt.

Worried about the baby, she dried her hands and raced upstairs, trying to keep her footfalls light. She felt vulnerable, knowing the men on the opposite side of the wall would hear her as she climbed the stairs.

Relieved to find Sofia still asleep, Natalie rubbed the back of her hand over the baby’s soft cheek, needing contact with goodness and purity after what she’d seen.

She shook her head and tried to calm her racing heart, but all she could think of was the woman who had died. Her mouth gaped open as if the scream Natalie had heard had carried down the stairs with her. Death was supposed to be peaceful, but the neighbor’s death had been anything but.

Blood was smeared along the wall and down the stairs, pooling under her head. The sights had brought back too many memories of another woman who had died in Germany. The similarity was frightening.

Hurrying downstairs, Natalie stopped in the foyer and shivered, realizing she was standing in the exact spot where the victim’s body lay in Quarters B. Sirens sounded in the distance, and flashing lights filtered through the gauze curtains.

She glanced out the window. Two military police squad cars pulled to the curb. An ambulance followed. The medical personnel were too late to save the woman and would, instead, transport her body to the morgue.

A knock sounded at the door.

Swallowing the lump that filled her throat, Natalie peered through the peephole. The CID special agent she’d spoken with earlier stood on the porch.

Needing to control her emotions, she ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, thinking of the tangled web into which she’d stepped.

If only she could turn to God, but He’d never taken an interest in her. Not in Detroit growing up, not with a mother whose care bordered on abuse, not with a father who liked the bottle more than he liked his only child. God hadn’t helped her then. He wouldn’t help her now.

Her breath hitched when she opened the door. Earlier, she hadn’t realized how broad the special agent’s shoulders were or the deep brown of his eyes. Even through the screen door, they appeared rimmed with concern. She couldn’t let down her guard, no matter how sympathetic the agent seemed.

She had to be strong and take care of herself.

She’d done it before. She could do it again.

At least, she hoped she could.

Plus, she couldn’t let anything or anyone harm Sofia. The baby’s needs came before her own, and Sofia’s safety was Natalie’s main concern for the next two weeks.

* * *

Despite the tragic crime scene Everett had just left, he couldn’t help but be taken in by the woman who answered his knock at Quarters 324-A. She was pretty, with dark brows and pensive eyes, a slender nose and full cheeks now pale and drawn, like her mouth. Even her shoulders seemed weighted down, no doubt from what she’d seen. Death was never pretty, and Mrs. Yates’s life had come to a traumatic end.

While the ME tended to the body and the crime-scene team looked for evidence, Everett needed to question the neighbor.

Frank was continuing to quiz Mason. He had been running in the training area when his wife had fallen to her death.

In shock and visibly grieving, Mason had been forthcoming about the evening he and Mrs. Yates had spent together. She had prepared a light meal, they had watched a favorite TV show, and soon thereafter, he had left, as he often did, for a nighttime jog. From the many photos displayed in the home, they appeared to have been a loving couple, but things weren’t always as they seemed.

Case in point, the attractive woman staring at Everett through the screen door. She appeared totally confused and upset. Had she seen or heard more than raised voices and thumps against the wall?

Although he had introduced himself earlier, he doubted the woman had focused on his name when she was worried about her neighbor. Again, he held up his badge. Following protocol was always good, especially tonight when a woman had died so tragically.

“Everett Kohl, Criminal Investigation Division. I’d like to ask you some questions.”