Not for Sale
A Blue Cove Mystery
A desperate young girl cries out for help as she hides in terror, hoping against hope that someone might hear her. Jessie Reynolds does and finds herself caught up in an equally desperate search for Abigail. She has escaped human traffickers, but has no idea where she is, and Jessie must find her in time. She joins forces with Matt, the chief of police, and they discover that Abigail is only one of several kidnapped children. Faced by a cold trail, they must rely on Jessie's ability to hear Abigail’s thoughts, backed up by a tracking bloodhound. But the children mean big money and that brings murder and a hit man to Blue Cove to clean up the mess. Matt and Jessie grow closer as they are forced to work side by side but will they find Abigail in time?
And will they, themselves, survive?
She cut through the cemetery. It was dark. She could hear someone following close behind her as she wove through the headstones. “Wait up, Jessie.” Dylan’s voice startled her. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You can come if you want. Hurry, I know where he is.” She picked up her pace. “If you’re coming, you’d better keep up.” She ran along the trees at the back of the church, remembering that night where she had run not so long ago. Slowing down, she tried to feel her way. That darn tree root was somewhere around there. Closing in on where she thought the gunman was, she got down on the ground and crawled quietly toward the ledge. Matted wet leaves, soggy grass, and mud muffled the sound of her progress. When she came to the ledge, she carefully peeked over the edge. There he was, the snake, stretched out on the ground ready to strike. A dark figure clothed in black, just sliding another magazine into his semi-automatic. She could barely make him out. He had shot out the light in the church parking lot. She slipped her gun out of her holster and took aim, and felt Dylan grab her foot to let her know he was there. Good she had back up.
“If you pull that trigger one more time, mister, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” She kept the gun sighted between his shoulder blades. Startled, he yanked his head around toward her voice, his night goggles making him look like a sci-fi character in the shadows. He started to reach for his gun, and she aimed a hair to the right. The warning shot scuffed the leaves six inches from his arm. “I won’t miss the next time. So anything you do from this point needs to be slow and easy.” She watched until he put his hands up. “Lay face down and spread your legs. Away from the rifle.”