Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

McCloud continued, “We also see a strong connection between these deaths and the murders committed by Darcy Owens.”

Owens has been accused of committing over half a dozen murders in Wyoming and is awaiting trial at the Northern Wyoming Correctional Facility.

“At this time,” McCloud concluded, “we have a single person of interest, Robert E. Carpenter of Slippery Rock, Wyoming. Carpenter is to be considered dangerous and should not be approached. If you see him, contact the sheriff’s office immediately. Carpenter was last seen on Monday morning in Pleasant Pines.”

Several photos of Robert Carpenter were attached to the story, including a photo of the blonde with Tom Nolan. That, law enforcement had surmised, was Robert Carpenter in a wig. According to his conversation with Julia, Carpenter was more than dressing like and emulating Darcy Owens. He saw himself as an extension of the killer. In fact, his personality was morphing to match hers. Along with the article, there were photos taken from the security camera at the Pleasant Pines Inn. Then, the entire file was uploaded.

With other stories Peter had written over his lifetime, he’d shared the facts and informed the public as to what had occurred. But this being was proactive. For the first time, Peter had the ability to stop another crime before it happened.

It meant that this article might be the most important that Peter had ever published.

* * *

Travis Cooper shifted in the seat of his cruiser and drew in a lungful of air. He’d driven all night to drop off the cans and wrappers at the state crime lab in Laramie. He’d been promised that the tests would be run first thing.

He was now on his way home, speeding down the interstate. Sunshine slanted over the mountains and the dashboard clock read 7:54 a.m. He wasn’t going to lie, he hated working the overnight shift. His girlfriend, Cassidy, worked at the hospital during the day and Travis only saw her as he was coming home from work and she was leaving.

It was a lousy way to work a relationship.

What made matters worse was that Travis was still a deputy and not the actual sheriff. After years of dedication, he thought he deserved the position. Not that Julia did a bad job. She was smart, hardworking and driven.

Despite the long hours and the other hardships, Travis would never think of leaving the force. Being a cop was his calling. The need to protect and serve was embedded in his DNA.

And speaking of protecting, his eye was drawn to the next exit. He could take it, making his trip home longer, yet he could also stop by Sergeant Taylor’s house. Taking a drive-by now would save him from having to come out later.

Easing into the turning lane, Travis figured he could use a little fresh air, and he wanted to stretch his legs, too. Soon, he was turning onto the gravel lane that led to the Taylor home. The house was quiet and dark, just as it had been every other time he’d stopped by.

Putting his cruiser in Park, Travis turned off the engine and slipped out of the car. He stood, and blood rushed down his legs and filled his feet with pinpricks of pain. He stomped his boots, smothering any discomfort. As he had every other time he’d stopped by, Travis walked around the property.

Nothing had changed.

He strode onto the porch and glanced through a window. It was the same sitting room, filled with pictures. He tried the doorknob—it was locked, but...

The door wasn’t latched.

The last time Travis had checked out the area, the door had been locked and closed.

Had the old man come home without Travis being told? Possibly. Yet, if he had, where was the dog?

Something wasn’t right.

Unsnapping the latch on his sidearm, Travis pushed open the door.

“Mr. Taylor,” he called out, stepping into the entryway. “It’s Deputy Cooper—you home?”

He listened for an answer. None came.

Travis moved farther into the house. Past the stairs. Into the kitchen.

The counters were clean. Dishes filled a drying rack. A TV sat on the counter. Nothing appeared to be out of place, or even recently used.

Maybe Travis had been wrong about the door being completely closed all this time. Or maybe Sarge had stopped by yesterday and not locked up properly. Either way, the house was empty now. Travis retraced his steps.

He examined the door and the lock. There were no signs of damage or tampering. And yet, something had caught his eye. Travis looked at the small sitting room. On the back wall, there was a gun cabinet made of wood and glass.

Shards of glass littered the floor. One of the slots was empty. There was a creaking on the stairs and Travis slowly turned.

Christopher Booth, the leader of the Transgressors, a motorcycle club, stood on the steps. He aimed a shotgun at Travis.

“Deputy Cooper.” He sneered. “I should’ve killed you last time. Oh well, problem solved.”

And then, he pulled the trigger. There was a flash of light, a cloud of smoke and Travis was knocked into the back wall. His shoulder was filled with fire and blood soaked through his uniform and dripped onto the floor. Travis lifted his own gun and pulled the trigger. Booth ducked, but Travis continued to fire.

The Transgressor ran for the door and out into the woods.

Stumbling forward, Travis slammed the door and engaged the lock. His brow was soaked with sweat. His shirt was covered in blood. Leaning on the wall for support, Travis reholstered his gun and removed his cell phone. He placed the call.

“Julia,” he said, as his vision started closing in from the sides. “He was here. Booth. He’s got a gun.”

Travis slipped down the wall. “I’ve been shot.”

Then the phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. A pool of blood spread out around Travis, seeping under his phone. As his vision went dark and his mind blank, he had a single and final thought. Had he even