The Target

Description

FBI agents Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock are faced with the case of an abducted child in this “absorbing”(Publishers Weekly) FBI Thriller.

Escaping unwanted media attention after a notorious incident, Ramsey Hunt retreats into the solitude of a cabin high in the Colorado Rockies. But his isolation is shattered when he rescues a small girl in the forest and strangers invade his private meadow with intent to kill.

Molly Santera, the little girl’s mother, catches up with Ramsey and her daughter, mistaking him for the kidnapper. When she discovers that he instead saved Emma, there’s little time for thanks. With the strangers in pursuit, the trio flee to Chicago for sanctuary.

With an unexpected assist from FBI agents Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock, Molly and Ramsey begin to unravel the clues, and in the process they make an astonishing discovery as to the true nature of the target.Praise for Catherine Coulter’s FBI Thrillers
 
“Fast-paced.”—People
 
“This terrific thriller will drag you into its chilling web of terror and not let go until the last paragraph…A ripping good read.”—The San Francisco Examiner
 
“A good storyteller…Coulter always keeps the pace brisk.”—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
 
“With possible blackmail, intra-judiciary rivalries and personal peccadilloes, there’s more than enough intrigue—and suspects—for full court standing in this snappy page-turner…A zesty read.”—Book Page
 
“Twisted villains…intriguing escapism…The latest in the series featuring likable married FBI agents Lacey Sherlock and Dillon Savich.”—Lansing (MI) State Journal
 
“Coulter takes readers on a chilling and suspenseful ride…taut, fast-paced, hard to put down.”—Cedar Rapids Gazette
 
“The perfect suspense thriller, loaded with plenty of action.”—The Best Reviews
 
“The newest installment in Coulter’s FBI series delivers…a fast-moving investigation, a mind-bending mystery.”—Publishers Weekly
 
“Fast-paced, romantic…Coulter gets better and more cinematic with each of her suspenseful FBI adventures.”—Booklist
 Catherine Coulter is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the FBI Thrillers featuring husband and wife team Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock. She is also the author—with J. T. Ellison—of the Brit in the FBI series. She lives in Sausalito, California.Prologue

HE SAW THE man clearly: tall, with dark clothes, a

stark figure against the misty gray sky. He was walking into

the big granite building, ugly and flat-looking, with scores

of windows that didn’t look out over much except if you

were up high. Then, suddenly, he was behind the man, just

over his shoulder, keeping pace with him, watching him

take the elevator to the nineteenth floor. He was nearly

beside him as he walked down the long corridor and opened

the door to a large office. A smiling receptionist greeted

him, laughing at something he said. He watched the man

greet two other people, a young man and a young woman,

both well dressed, both obviously subordinate to him. He

went into a large office with the man, saw a United States

flag, a huge desk with its computer on top, the built-in

bookshelves behind him, the windows beside him. He

punched up the computer. Then, he was right behind

the man; he could have reached out and helped him put on

the long black robe. He watched him fasten the two clips

closed. The man opened a door and walked into a big room,

the look on his face somber, becoming cold, all the earlier

humor wiped clean. There was a buzz. It stopped abruptly

1

when he came into the room. Then the place went deathly

silent.

Suddenly the room began to spin, faces blurred into one

another, the very air of the room turned dark and darker

still, and then the great main doors burst open and three

men slammed into the room. They were carrying guns,

assault guns like Russian AK47s. They were shooting, people

were screaming, blood was spewing everywhere. He

saw the man’s face tighten with horror and fury. He saw the

man suddenly leap over the railing that had separated him

from the rest of that roomful of people, his black robe

swirling. His leg was up, he was turning, striking out, his

motion so fast it was hard to see it clearly. Someone

screamed loudly.

He was right behind the man now, heard him breathe,

could feel the controlled rage in him, the vicious tension

and determination, and wondered.

Suddenly, the man whirled about again, turning this time

to face him. He stared at himself, looked deeply into the

eyes of a man who had just killed and would kill again. He

felt the spit pool in his mouth, the coiled muscles, and felt

his arm fly out, striking a man’s throat.

He jerked up, flailing at the single sheet that was wound

tightly around him like a mummy’s shroud, a yell dying on

his lips. He was soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his

head. His heart was pounding so fast and hard he thought

he’d explode. Again, he thought, that bloody dream yet

again. He didn’t think he could stand it.

An hour later, he let himself out of his house, carefully

locking the door behind him. He was on the way to his car

when a man jumped out of the bushes and blinded him with

a good half dozen photo flashes. It was too much.

He grabbed the photographer, hauled him up by his shirtfront,

and yelled right in his face, “You’ve gone over the

line, you little bastard.” He grabbed his camera, pulled the

film out, and threw him aside. He tossed the camera to

the man, who was lying on his back, gaping at him.

“You can’t do that!”

“I just did. Get off my property.”

The man scrambled to his feet, holding his camera to his

chest. “I’ll sue you! The public has a right to know!”

He wanted to beat the guy senseless. The urge was so

strong he was shaking with it. It was then he knew he had to

leave. Otherwise it might not stop before he went nuts and

really hurt one of the jerks. Or he simply just went nuts.

US