True Shot Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE - Earlier the same afternoon

  CHAPTER FOUR - The present

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE - 19 months later

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Joyce Lamb

  Praise for the novels of Joyce Lamb

  TRUE COLORS

  “Fast paced and gripping. The story is dark and twisted . . . The romance is sizzling and satisfying. It’s easy to empathize with the characters, and the action makes this a perfect weekend read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Will hold you spellbound. [It’s] splashed with just the right amount of romance, [and] you will keep turning the pages to see where the unexpected twists and turns lead next.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  TRUE VISION

  “Lamb knocks it out of the Chicago ballpark with this fast-paced romantic mystery. Combining paranormal elements, a carefully crafted mystery and a powerful romance, True Vision has something for everyone. Readers will be looking for the next book in the trilogy as soon as they finish reading this one.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  COLD MIDNIGHT

  “Impossible to put down! A spine-tingling whodunit constantly keeps you on the edge of your seat with scenes that will make your toes curl . . . Joyce Lamb is a highly talented writer who knows how to write a captivating suspense novel.”

  —Manic Readers

  “Tension runs high throughout the entire story and the drama is terrific . . . Well crafted and intriguing.”

  —Huntress Book Reviews “The interaction and emotion between the characters [are] very entertaining . . . This is a page-turner.”

  —Night Owl Reviews (Top Pick)

  “An enjoyable romantic police procedural.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  FOUND WANTING

  “Top-notch suspense . . . Believable characters in an action-packed plot will enthrall readers. Like Tami Hoag and Iris Johan-sen, Lamb weaves the textures of romance and suspense together in a satisfying read.”

  —Booklist

  “This wonderfully written story is a must read for any fan of romantic suspense! Joyce Lamb is a master storyteller . . . Don’t miss out on one of the best novels ever written!”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Fast-paced suspense, full of twists and turns and nonstop action . . . To find out the many other fabulous nuances of this story, you’ll just have to go and grab yourself a copy!”

  —LoveRomances.com

  CAUGHT IN THE ACT

  “Page-turning suspense and a rewarding romance make for a riveting read.”

  —Booklist

  “Captures readers’ interest from the opening pages.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Full of shocking twists and turns . . . A wonderful novel that achieves the perfect balance between the romance and the mystery.”

  —LoveRomances.com

  Berkley Sensation Titles by Joyce Lamb

  COLD MIDNIGHT

  TRUE VISION

  TRUE COLORS

  TRUE SHOT

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  TRUE SHOT

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / December 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Joyce Lamb.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-55242-1

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For the best critique partners a writer could have:

  Diane, Joan, Linda, Maggie, Susan and Lina.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to:

  • Grace Morgan, who always looks out for me.
>
  • Wendy McCurdy, a super editor.

  • Katherine Pelz, Kayleigh Clark and all the myriad professionals at Berkley, who do some truly top-notch work.

  • Julie Snider, whose artistic talent continues to blow me away.

  • Mary G., who asks great questions and frequently makes my day.

  • My wonderful friends and family, who are unfailingly supportive and enthusiastic despite my “I’m in my head right now” moments and who no longer blink when I say stuff like, “This would make a good murder weapon.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Zoe was dead. Dead.

  Sam closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the throb of pain in her shoulder.

  Focus, damn it, she thought. It’s what you’re good at. What you’re trained to do.

  Soldier on. Accomplish the mission. Get to the cabin. Hunker down. Hide. Get warm. God, she couldn’t wait to get warm.

  Blinking cold rain from her eyes, she squinted into the growing dusk, trying to get oriented. The cabin was around here somewhere. She was sure of it.

  Unless she’d gotten herself lost.

  No. She wasn’t lost. She knew where she was going.

  Just like you knew where you were going when you ran away from home fourteen years ago?

  Don’t think. Focus.

  She peered through the rain running in rivulets over her forehead and into her eyes. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Just towering trees decorated in gold and orange and red. The same coppery red that spattered her Nikes and the leaves squishing underfoot. Her feet were cold and wet, just like the rest of her. At least she still shivered, the body’s way of creating its own warmth. But she’d been shivering for so long and so hard that she should have generated enough heat to warm a small house. If she didn’t find the cabin soon, she was toast. And not the warm, golden brown kind.

  She was probably toast anyway. No way was he going to let her go. He’d hunt her down like an animal. Have her shot down like they’d shot down Zoe—

  She battled back the wave of grief that tried to steal her breath and forced herself forward, one foot in front of the other. Don’t think, don’t think.

  But she couldn’t help but think.

  Zoe was dead. Her closest friend.

  Don’t go there, she thought. Don’t go there.

  Then she saw it. The Trudeau family cabin. Materializing out of a copse of amber gold and dark orange trees. An honest-to-God log cabin.

  A rush of much-needed warmth spread through her blood. Almost home. As close to home as she’d gotten in a decade. Wouldn’t it be cool if her sisters and parents waited for her there? Alex and Charlie and Mom and Dad.

  She pictured the cozy living room with its stone fireplace and polished wooden floor, the big, overstuffed couch with the red-and-black-plaid blanket draped over the back. She imagined that blanket draped around her shoulders, imagined sinking into the poofy cushions and drifting off, wrapped in the familiarity of home away from home.

  She found the key in its place, tucked into a cleverly carved notch three feet up from the planks of the porch. Her half-frozen fingers fumbled with it, missed getting it into the lock the first three tries. Hot tears streamed through the cold rain on her face.

  Stupid, so stupid. Crying now, after everything that had happened, after so many years of not crying. N3 operatives didn’t cry. N3 operatives carried on.

  But Zoe, poor Zoe.

  Her hands trembled as she finally nailed the lock and heard the tumblers squeak open. The door swung inward, and she all but tripped over the raised threshold into dust-choked air and a musty odor that didn’t smell at all like the cabin she remembered. Where was the scent of fresh-chopped wood? The hint of fabric softener that spoke of clean sheets on big, soft beds?

  She dropped her dripping bag on the floor and pushed the door closed, her arms and legs leaden now, weighed down by her sodden denim shirt and jeans. All she had to do was make it to the couch and get the blanket, and she’d be warm in no time.

  But her knees buckled, and as they hit the floor, pain seared through her shoulder. A burst of light flashed the world bright, and she flinched. A deep, quaking rumble vibrated the worn wooden floor under her knees. Thunder.

  On the next flash of light, she noticed the pink water pooling near her left knee.

  Oh, yeah. She’d been shot in the shoulder. Funny how she couldn’t feel it anymore.

  In fact, she couldn’t feel much of anything. Maybe that should alarm her, but somehow it didn’t.

  It figures, she thought. Make it almost home, and it wasn’t going to matter.

  She was still going to die alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mac Hunter squinted against the rain slashing the windshield and hoped he was going the right way. He had no clue at this point. No street signs for miles, just this crappy, pothole-ridden road that kept going. Thank God for four-wheel drive, or his back end would have sunk into three feet of mud by now.

  A streak of lightning made the towering trees pressing in on all sides look menacing against the night sky. Why had he let Alex and Charlie talk him into a week by himself in the middle of the Shenandoahs with nothing to do but brood? He didn’t need to get away to get his act together. He was fine.

  Okay, yeah, he was a little burned out, and, yes, he’d started drinking more than he should. But it wasn’t like he was downing shots at the local bar every night then stumbling home at two in the morning with no memory the next day of how he got there. He wasn’t sneaking drinks at work from a bottle stashed in a bottom desk drawer. He wasn’t slipping out at midday for a three-martini lunch. The Trudeau sisters seemed to think a few drinks after a stressful day meant he was veering onto the off-ramp to alcoholism.

  He supposed he could see their point. His father had drunk himself to death, after all. But that was why Mac had always tried to be careful about his alcohol intake. Not so much lately, though. So, yeah, maybe he did need someone to slap him upside the head. Maybe he was lucky that Alex and Charlie had staged their version of an intervention before more serious measures became necessary. They wanted to stop the self-medicating drunk before he became an alcoholic. He had to appreciate the depth of their friendship, whether he agreed with them or not. Every man should have friends like his.

  Finally, he saw it.

  The dark clouds of the storm lightened, and there sat the Trudeau family cabin, nestled among tall trees dressed up in the golden colors of fall. He suddenly wished he knew what kind of trees those were, but he had no idea. Some people knew plants. Mac Hunter knew inverted pyramids and how many picas in an inch. He knew how to write a story hook that’d pique your interest, even if it was about nothing more exciting than a city council meeting. He knew nut graphs and hammer heads and how to get a shooter to the scene of a fire in less than ten minutes. But trees? The closest he came to knowing anything about trees was that the newsprint he spent his days filling with stories and photos started out as trees.

  With a relieved sigh—because now he wouldn’t have to drive the hour back down the mountain to find a crappy motel for the night—he parked the Jeep Commander and stepped out onto the soft, squishy ground. As rain pelted his leather jacket, muddy water oozed up around his loafers. He should have put on his new Gore-Tex hiking boots when he’d stopped for supplies, but he’d shrugged off the threatening clouds, too eager to get to the cabin and crash. The flight had been long, picking up the rental SUV a hassle. The cherry on top of his shit sundae: an unrelenting thunderstorm the entire way up the mountain, at times so fierce the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the deluge. So far, not a fun trip.

  On the porch, he found the notch exactly where Charlie said the key resided. Three feet up, a handy little nook. But there was no key.

  His heart thumped. Maybe he was destined to spend the night in a ratty motel after all. But, with his luck, the road he’d just put behind him would have washed out by now, trapping him.

  He stuffed his hand into his front poc
ket and retrieved the new Swiss Army knife Alex had given him for the trip. Maybe he could pick the lock.

  After a few seconds of fumbling with the knife, trying to figure out which tool to use, he gave up. Before beginning the wet slog back to the truck, he tried the door, just in case the universe took pity on his pathetic soul.

  The knob turned.

  He pushed the door open and blinked several times as his eyes tried to adjust to the gloom inside. Alex had told him a lantern sat on a table right by the door. All he had to do was pop in some batteries and he’d be good to go until he could get the generator going. Batteries, of course, that still sat with the rest of the supplies in the back of the Jeep.

  He sprinted back to where he’d parked, figuring his shoes were ruined anyway, and it was kind of liberating to splash through the mud puddles like a kid.

  Batteries in hand, he stepped into the cabin while ripping into the packaging. Within a minute, he cranked the light on and, eager to see where he’d be spending the week, held up the lantern.

  And just about dropped it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Earlier the same afternoon

  Zoe, you have to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “They did it to me, so they might have done it to you.”

  “Done what? You’re not making any sense.” Sam tried to guide her friend out of the entryway and toward the sofa. She’d arrived home in DC less than an hour ago, relieved to drop her bag by the door and start shedding the persona she’d worn for the latest assignment. She’d gotten as far as shrugging out of the denim shirt she’d worn as a jacket when Zoe started pounding on the door.