Dakota Meltdown. Elle JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
Her heart pounded…
Breath came only in short, shallow gasps as she held the envelope in her hand. The killer had sent another letter. How did he know where she was?
“You all right?”
Brenna jumped and spun around to see Nick mere inches from her. As he reached for the letter, his chest brushed her, and she gasped, stepping back from him and the smell of leather and aftershave.
“Want me to open it?” He came even closer and the air left her lungs, making breath and speech impossible. Not when he was so near, all she had to do was exhale and their bodies would be touching in ways she’d only dreamed.
“No, I can do it.” She lowered her eyes so he couldn’t see how affected she was. Or how afraid she was for the job she had to do.
He pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear and traced her jaw with a soft fingertip. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Jensen.”
The urge to lean into him assailed her and she pulled away just in time. “Yes, I do. I’m a cop, Nick. I don’t have time to be scared.” Of killers…or tall, gorgeous FBI agents.
Dakota Meltdown
Elle James
Like the heroine in this story, I was burned severely as a child
and suffered the insecurities of being flawed on the outside. This book is dedicated to my father and mother, Charles and Phyllis Hughes, who’ve always loved me unconditionally and treated me just like my siblings—normal—the best thing they could have done for me. Without their love and support, I wouldn’t have grown into the confident woman I am today. A special thanks to my mother- and father-in-law, Janell and Jerry Jernigan, for giving us a home while we were in transition and for making it possible for me to continue writing. Their support helped make this book happen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
2004 Golden Heart Winner for Best Paranormal Romance, Elle James started writing when her sister issued the Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas hill country. Ask her, and she’ll tell you, what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in information technology management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.ellejames.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Nick Tarver—An FBI agent determined to stop the killer before another life is lost.
Brenna Jensen—Letters from a serial killer draw her into a search for the man terrorizing her hometown of Riverton.
Stanley Klaus—Brenna’s successful brother-in-law, the mark her mother goads her to aim for.
Alice Klaus—Brenna’s perfect sister. Will she be a target of the murderer?
Chief Burkholder—The Riverton police chief on the verge of retirement, determined to catch a killer.
Victor Greeley—The philandering married man who duped Brenna once. Is he just a cheating husband, or a killer?
Bart Olsen—A man convicted for sexual offenses, he hates Brenna for putting him in prison.
Jason Connelly—The young computer wiz who stalked one of the would-be victims.
Contents
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 One
The killing’s only just begun. Watch them drop now, one by one.
For the past seven hours the words echoed through Brenna’s head. No amount of loud music or talking to herself erased the sound, repeating like a mantra again and again.
When she finally slid her Jeep Cherokee into the driveway of the police station and parked on a hump of ice, she sat for a moment, letting the heater blow warm air in her face. If she’d had any strength left in her arms after the grueling drive, she’d have shaken a fist at the sky.
Yesterday, she’d been fooled into believing spring had arrived with sunshine melting through the mounds of solid ice piled four feet deep outside her town house in Bismarck.
With a sigh, she switched off the engine, pulled her gloves on and wrapped a wool scarf around her face before she stepped out into the storm. The storm that had raged since midnight had dipped its subzero blast as far south as Des Moines.
A native of the northern prairie, she knew better than to count on spring arriving any sooner than April and usually not until May. Her eyes stung and she pulled her scarf higher up over her nose to ward off the bite of the icy wind. Still wired by her hair-raising drive from Bismarck in whiteout conditions, Brenna stomped loose snow from her insulated boots outside the door to the Riverton police station.
The weatherman had predicted snow flurries. But one thing North Dakotans could count on was unpredictable, harsh weather. A trip that normally took her three and a half hours had taken twice as long at half the speed.
In any other circumstance, she’d have waited to make the trip until the storm had passed and the road crew had worked its magic clearing away the foot of snow already accumulated. The forty-mile-an-hour wind hadn’t helped, either. She’d struggled to see the road through the heavy snowfall and fought the gale-force gusts buffeting her four-wheel-drive vehicle all over the interstate highway. But she’d made it.
Stepping through the two sets of doors, Brenna entered the police station. The reviving scent of brewing coffee filled her senses as she divested herself of the scarf and draped it over a hook, followed by gloves, stocking cap and finally her heavy parka. Even the short walk from her car to the building necessitated full snow gear unless she wanted frostbite. The coffee smelled even better without the filter of wool around her nose, and she yearned to wrap her stiff fingers around a hot cup. But first she needed to find Tom.
She planted her hands on the counter and leaned toward the curious young police officer. “Hi, I’m Brenna Jensen. Where can I find Chief Burkholder?”
“That you, Brenna?” a deep voice called out from a doorway beyond the front desk.
Her smile lifted upward as her mentor and old friend Chief Tom Burkholder stepped into the lobby.
When she held out her hand to shake his, he brushed it aside and engulfed her in a bear hug that forced the air from her lungs. God, it felt good to be home, even in