Deadline: A Domestic Conspiracy Political Crime Thriller:

Genres: Contemporary Romance; American Romance; Military Romance; Crime & Mystery; Domestic Thrillers; Enemies to Lovers

Synopsis

"Very engaging. Hard to put down." - Billy Allmon, U.S. Navy SEAL (Retired)

Nobody writes Patriotic Suspense like Jessica James.

DEADLINE introduces the men behind Phantom Force Tactical, a domestic private security firm made up of former Navy SEALs and other covert operators who perform black ops no one else will take.

All books in this series are award-winning suspense/thrillers that can stand alone.

He's a relentless homicide detective. She's an uncompromising journalist.
Neither desires to work together—but they'll never uncover the truth alone.

Landing a front page headline isn't why reporter Caitlin Sparks is investigating a string of suspicious deaths connected to the U.S. State Department. She has a personal stake in finding the killer.

Detective Blake Madison has a connection to the murders too, and will risk anything to uncover the truth. But a journalist is the last type of person he'd rely on to help him solve a crime—especially one whose trail of evidence leads back to him.

Joining forces becomes essential as the body count continues to grow. Someone powerful doesn't want the truth to come out—and will stop at nothing to make sure no one talks.

On the run with nowhere to turn, the couple devises a plan to expose the killer. The risk is great and the chance of success small, but the ultimate outcome is something neither one of them envisioned.

Readers who enjoy political suspense, conspiracies, vigilante justice, and assassination plots will enjoy this series.

If you enjoy L.T. Ryan's Jack Noble, Brad Thor's Scot Harvath, Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan, Lee Child's Jack Reacher, Vince Flynn's Mitch Rapp, or Robert Ludlum's Jason Bourne, this book will keep you up at night turning the pages.

Release date: April 9, 2016

Publisher: Patriot Press

Print pages: 332

Sample

Chapter 1

The wail of a siren jolted Caitlin Sparks from her thoughts an instant before the flashing red and blue lights barreled out of the fog in front of her. Clutching the steering wheel more from surprise than fright, she watched the swirling beams pass her, then shifted her gaze to the rearview mirror for the brief moment it took the fast-moving vehicle to vanish again.

Wow. They’re sure in a hurry. Caitlin concentrated on the otherwise-empty road, trying to distinguish landmarks through the heavy rain and curtain of fog. Despite her best efforts, anything not lying directly in the path of her headlights was indistinguishable.

Reaching to turn up the radio, Caitlin’s stomach leaped as a second, then a third, police cruiser barreled out of the haze before disappearing into the darkness behind her. She cursed the broken emergency scanner sitting on the seat, and then made a split-second decision when her headlights glanced off a red reflector marking a wide driveway. Slamming on her brakes, she executed a quick U-turn, sending everything on the seat beside her to the floor.

So much for a quiet night at the office.

Her eyes flicked to the dashboard just as the clock turned to eleven fifty—almost midnight. Her newspaper shift didn’t start for another six hours, but insomnia had driven her out of bed. She had hoped a night of research and writing in an empty newsroom would help quiet her over-active mind. Though she hated to admit it, the familiar glow of her computer terminal and the warmth from the hot thermos of coffee she’d brought along provided comforting solace.

Leaning forward and holding the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip, she struggled to see flashing lights—or anything—in front of her headlights.

“I must be insane,” Caitlin said out loud as she swung onto a narrow road, hoping the cops had turned here too. She thought she had seen the slightest trace of a roadside flare, but maybe it was her imagination. Banging her dashboard in an attempt to get the defroster to work, she peered determinedly into the inky darkness for the familiar sign of emergency vehicles.

Even though a simple outing to do some late-night writing had turned into a miserable drive through the rain stalking police cars, Caitlin was more excited than disheartened. As a seasoned reporter, she couldn’t resist the temptation of a good story. They didn’t come around that often at a small daily paper.

Turning the windshield wipers on high, as if that would clear the fog from the road in front of her, Caitlin thought about the last time she’d chased down a story on a night such as this—and then tried to think of something else. The memories from that occasion crashed down upon her almost like a physical weight, causing a surge of apprehension she forced away.

One more mile and I’m turning around. The road had long since turned to gravel, pretty common in that part of Virginia, but it had narrowed substantially to a single lane—a deeply rutted and potholed single lane at that. Caitlin clenched her teeth as one tire fell into a seemingly bottomless pothole that whipped her head forward. She hoped to find a place to turn around, but the high banks on each side of the narrow road made a U-turn almost impossible.

When her headlights caught the reflection of something ahead, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. A road flare. She rounded a curve and came upon a policeman motioning with his flashlight for her to stop. His dark rain slicker shimmered in her headlights, creating an eerie-looking apparition that made her heart skip a beat.

“Can’t go no further, miss,” the man said gruffly, once she’d stopped and lowered her window.

Caitlin flipped out her press pass and smiled with relief. “Hey, Olson. How’s it going?”

“Caitlin. How the hell are ya?” The robust officer leaned in the window. “Why, I haven’t seen you since…” A look of discomfort and then sympathy crossed his face.

Caitlin just nodded, glad he didn’t finish his sentence. With his rough, tough-guy exterior, Olson used to intimidate her. But once she got to know him, she discovered what a kindhearted, gentle soul he was. After more than thirty years on the job he had seen just about everything, and was always willing to share information with her—even if most of it was off the record. She didn’t run into him much anymore, but always enjoyed the reunion when she did.

“What’s going on?” Caitlin pulled forward and steered as far off the road as she could as another cruiser passed by with lights flashing.

“Homicide,” Olson said, taking off his wet hat and giving it a shake. “Maybe a double from what I’m hearing.”

Caitlin’s heart started to pound with a little adrenalin. Her hunch had paid off.

“Anyone else here?”

The officer grinned, knowing exactly what she meant. “Are you crazy? Ain’t no other reporters dumb enough to be out on a night like this. Anyway, it might be you’re the last one that gets through.” He gave her a wink.

Caitlin shot him a look of appreciation. “Thanks, Olson.” She reached out and touched his arm. “You getting relieved soon? You look cold and wet.”

“Who knows? Everyone wants to be up at the scene, not stuck down here on the road keeping nosey reporters out.” He lifted a hand and motioned in the direction of the crime. “I’ve seen enough of that stuff. They can have it.”

“Well thanks for passing me through. Good to see you again.”

“Well, it might be the last time.”

“What?” Caitlin moved her foot back to the brake.

He bent down to the window again. “You didn’t hear? I’m retiring. End of the month is my last day.”

“Congratulations.” The news made Caitlin both happy and regretful at the same time. “I’m sure going to miss you.” She put her hand on his wet arm and gave it a heartfelt squeeze. “Who’s going to teach the new reporters the ropes now?”

Unlike other veteran cops, Olson had taken the time to show her the ropes when she was a rookie reporter a dozen years ago. From police lingo and protocol to local politics and personalities, he’d taught her more through his patient answering of questions than she could have learned in a year of schooling.

“Aw.” He pushed away from the car. “They don’t need me. They got this.” He used his thumbs on a make-believe cell phone.

“You got that right. Well, enjoy your retirement if I don’t see you.” Caitlin started to drive away, but then hit the brakes and yelled out the window. “Who’s the investigating officer?”

“Madison,” Olson said, with what looked like a frown. “You best stay out of the way.”

Caitlin’s heart sank as she waved a thank you and then closed her window. Of course her luck had to run out sometime. She had never worked with Detective Madison—Mad Dog Madison, as he was affectionately known in the newsroom. But then again, neither had any other reporter. The only interviews he gave began and ended with “no comment.”

All she really knew about him was he had served in the military and moved quickly up the career ladder in the police department to the rank of detective. Even though he hadn’t been on the force that long, he was well known in law enforcement circles—almost a legend to those who aspired to work with him—and was reputed to be one of the best interrogators in the region.

But his no-nonsense approach and abrupt retorts in dealing with the media didn’t give him many fans among journalists. They preferred working with flamboyant police officials who would hold press conferences and pose for photographs at a crime scene.

As for Caitlin, she didn’t blame the detective for avoiding reporters and not trusting the media. In many ways, she had the same distrust of cops as he did for journalists. The corruption in Washington, D.C., did not end with politicians and did not stop at its geographical boundaries. The desire for power and influence had crept into the very fabric of the local culture, including those charged with enforcing the laws and protecting the citizens. Her job required her to work with law enforcement officers, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

After driving up a dirt lane that inclined steeply, Caitlin pulled in behind an unmarked cruiser and sat in her car to take in the scene. What appeared to be a large, extravagant retreat-type home loomed eerily out of the darkness, offset by flashing lights from perhaps a half-dozen police vehicles. The squawking of radios created a sense of chaos as Caitlin watched officers scurry around and then disappear into the shadows.

Despite the misty gloom surrounding the scene, Caitlin surmised from the incline that she now sat on top of a hill. The home was constructed on high stilts and the wooden deck that wrapped around it probably provided a breathtaking view, making it a prime piece of real estate.

Caitlin studied the site but could find no mailbox to provide a house number. Maybe a rental house? Even though the chalet was constructed of log and located in the middle of nowhere, its size and prominence suggested a luxurious and lavish lifestyle—not a rustic one. The short distance to downtown D.C. boosted her belief this was a weekend retreat for those who ran in the elite circles of Washington’s political class.

She examined the scene again, questioning the heavy response and urgency. Judging by the number of police cars, she made the assumption this was not a cut-and-dried domestic dispute or even a murder-suicide. This appeared to be a full-fledged murder investigation—and no police tape restricted her from taking a closer look. She had to at least get close enough to see if she could find a house number so she could cross-reference the location on a map and track down an owner’s name.

Caitlin grabbed her notebook and was greeted with a loud splash as soon as her foot hit the ground. Way to park in the middle of a mud puddle, Caitlin.

Shaking her foot, she was glad she’d had the sense to wear work boots and a heavy barn coat. A hat and gloves would be nice, but she hadn’t known she was going to be traipsing around in the rain so didn’t have them with her.

After looking around to make sure no one had noticed her presence, Caitlin decided to head to the back of the house where there seemed to be less activity.

But maneuvering across unfamiliar, uneven terrain proved difficult. The heavy cloud cover blotted out all illumination from above, while the flashing beams of the police cruisers created a disorienting array of colored lights and shadows. She had to practically feel her way up the stone path of steps through the trees, which were slippery from the rain.

When she reached the back of the house, Caitlin found it was much quieter; just the sound of the wind in the trees and the occasional squawk of a police radio emanating from inside. The darkness was oppressive, but she now stood at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs that led to the wide deck on the first floor.

Here we go. Caitlin gripped the wet handrail and tiptoed up the steps, surprised she had made it this far without being stopped. When she reached the top, she noticed most of the blinds were drawn, making the house appear empty. But as she proceeded along the wrap-around deck toward the front, a soft glow of light punched a hole in the darkness, lighting a short span of the wooden planks. Good. No curtains.

Creeping in the shadows, she stopped beside the window and bent cautiously forward to get a glimpse inside. The sight that greeted her seemed like a scene from a movie. About a half-dozen cops filled the room—some taking prints, others snapping photographs or writing notes. A table obstructed her view, but their general focus appeared to be something on the floor.

Most notable among the officers busy at their jobs was a broad-shouldered man with an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth. The way he commanded attention and directed the others in the room made Detective Madison easy to recognize. Although she’d only ever seen him from a distance and in passing, he was not the type of man one could forget.

Caitlin shivered in the rain, but couldn’t tell if it was from the chill of the night, the great story she was on the verge of getting… or intimidation as she stared at the officer in charge of the investigation. To help renew her courage, she closed her eyes and pictured her editor’s face when he saw the headline for this story in the file for tomorrow’s paper.

Heavy footsteps moving out of the house nudged Caitlin from her thoughts, and before she even opened her eyes, she knew it was Detective Madison. Holding her breath, she stood perfectly still as he walked to the corner of the deck with long, brisk strides that suggested boundless impatience. Luckily, he was facing the opposite direction as he stopped and attempted to light a cigarette just a few feet away.

Caitlin prepared to take a step back into the shadows, but before she had time to move, the detective cursed. Cupping his hands, he turned completely around to put his back to the wind that had extinguished his lighter. Just as the cigarette sparked red, his expression changed and Caitlin knew he had spotted the tip of her boots. She held her breath as he slowly raised his head, taking in every inch of her, until he stared straight into her startled eyes.

Without saying a word he lowered his gaze from her face to the small notebook she held, and then raised it again. Disapproval and displeasure radiated from him in a palpable wave.

“I hope you’re not a reporter.” His voice was low and calm… hostile. “This is a secure crime scene.”

Though her heart pounded at his tone, Caitlin found herself momentarily flustered by the color and depth of his eyes. Even in the dim light she could see they were a deep shade of blue—the type of eyes that drew you in and made you pause. The type that missed nothing and announced to anyone who looked close enough that this was not a man to be messed with.

Caitlin turned her palms up, feigning calmness and innocence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice any tape or signs that it was secure.” She regretted the words almost before they had left her lips, but there was no way to take them back. Dammit. Think before you speak.

When she mustered the courage to look back at the detective, Caitlin could not interpret the emotion on his face—but it did not appear to be anger. Taking a long draw on his cigarette, he simply cocked his head to the side and stared at her through half-opened lids as if trying to read her mind, thought by thought.

“Okay, Scoop,” he said, casually relaxing against the porch railing. “I’ll level with you.” He took another drag from the cigarette and looked down at her. “I don’t like reporters.”

Thanks for the newsflash.

“But…” He paused and peered at the dark sky above him. “Since you obviously took the time to come all the way out here on a less than agreeable night, I’ll give you the lowdown.”

Caitlin waited for him to continue, biting her lip to keep from saying anything stupid again. She could tell from his condescending tone there would be no information forthcoming.

 “I’m investigating an incident.” He tilted his head again and stared at her, gauging her reaction to that revelation.

An incident? Wow. Should I write that down and pretend that’s helpful? She shot him a look of aggravation that she was sure he noticed, but did not acknowledge.

“And you’re in my way. That makes me irritable, you know? I mean, here I am chilled to the bone. Tired. Frankly, I don’t want to be here.”

Caitlin nodded like a first-grader getting a lecture from her teacher.

“I sure as hell can’t figure out why you would want to be here.” He brought the cigarette up to his lips with a slow, even motion, inhaled, and then let it drop to rest at his side.

“Actually, I left a warm house to be here.”

The detective stared at her intently with those slate-blue eyes again, as if surprised to hear her speak. “I hope you’re not going to blame me for that bad decision.”

His tone and expression should have made Caitlin turn and leave, but she ignored them both and decided to push on. What did she have to lose at this point? “Well, since I’m here and we ran into each other, maybe you could give me some information… I mean, so I don’t have to go back completely empty-handed on such a cold, miserable night.”

The detective’s eyes flashed a little this time, but his face remained like stone. “Tell you what. I’m going to be a nice guy and give you the courtesy of a warning.” He took a step forward and stared down at Caitlin. “You get out of here before I lose my temper, and I’ll try to forget this ever happened.”

He took one last draw on his cigarette, crushed it between his fingers, and stuck it in his coat pocket. Without another word, he turned and disappeared around the corner of the porch. It wasn’t until Caitlin heard the door slam shut that she remembered to breathe again. And it wasn’t until she remembered to breathe again that she noticed the light drizzle had turned to a steady rain during her conversation with Detective Madison. Large, icy drops were hanging on her eyelashes, sliding down her face, and dripping from her hair.

I guess I’ll take that as a no comment.

As she made her way back to her Jeep, Caitlin tried to find some humor in the situation. But wet and weary and chilled to the bone, it didn’t take long to come to the conclusion that her first meeting with Mad Dog could really not have gone any worse.

 

 

Chapter 2

Dripping wet, cold and tired, Caitlin tried to find one good thing that had come from driving to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. She couldn’t. Not only was she leaving with no information, she had pissed off the investigating officer.

My reputation would be better off if I had spent the night in a warm bed or at the office, and picked up the press release from police headquarters in the morning.

Opening the door to her Jeep and sliding into the seat, she decided she had two options. She could leave and pretend this night had never happened, or she could hang around and see if one of the other officers would talk. If she targeted one of the younger, inexperienced guys she might be able to get something.

Like in more trouble, her conscience told her.

And what good would it do? If she couldn’t get it confirmed by the investigating officer she wouldn’t use it anyway. And not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but she didn’t want to piss Mad Dog off any more than she already had. She liked to build relationships—not destroy them on the first meeting.

Then again, how do you destroy something you never had?

Throwing her unused notebook on the seat beside her, Caitlin spied the thermos of coffee lying on the floor. She stared at it as her mind kicked into a new gear. The nearest store had to be at least five miles away—and Detective Madison sure did look cold.

Caitlin held onto the steering wheel and tried to talk herself out of what she was thinking. As it stood, the most she would get from her time out in this nasty weather was a runny nose and sore throat. She had no information to go back to the office with—not even confirmation this was a murder scene. Yes, it would be an act of desperation, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth a try.

Desperate times call for desperate measures… right?

Caitlin sat back and noticed her face in the rearview mirror, then moved in closer to get a better look. Holy cow. No makeup. Hair dripping wet. Cheeks and nose red from the cold. Nice first impression, Caitlin. Seriously. A little lipstick would have done wonders if she’d only remembered to put some on.

She turned her head and squeezed the water out of her ponytail, then blew on her freezing hands. The air temperature wasn’t just cold.  It was wet and damp. The kind of pure discomfort that goes straight to the bones. Detective Madison had the whole night ahead of him. He had to be perfectly miserable, even though he’d shown no sign of it.

Without analyzing the situation any longer, Caitlin scooped up the thermos and the coffee mug she had tossed on the seat as an afterthought, knowing it would only be moments before Madison would order the area secured with police tape—if indeed he hadn’t done so already.

As she headed back to the house, she spied the detective on the porch in deep conversation with another plain-clothed police officer.

“Detective.” Caitlin hurried up the front steps, trying to muster her courage as she walked. The man had an intensity about him she could feel even from this distance.

Madison put an unlit cigarette back into his pocket and strode toward her with a look of displeasure written clearly on his face.  He reached her before she had made it halfway up, and didn’t give her a chance to explain. “I thought I made myself clear earlier, but maybe you didn’t understand. Would a trip to jail help?”

“No. I’m leaving, but I-I just thought you could use a cup of coffee.” Caitlin twisted the top off the thermos. “I mean, I brought it and I thought it may as well not go to waste.”

“That’s nice of you, Miss—”

“Sparks. Caitlin Sparks.” Caitlin finished the name for him even though the sarcasm in his voice made it clear he knew what she was up to and wasn’t going to fall for it.

“Thanks for the offer, Scoop,” he said, ignoring her real name, “but I have men bringing food and coffee right now.”

Whether it was the gust of bone-chilling wind that kicked up at that moment or the aroma of the hot brew, Caitlin didn’t know, but the detective suddenly had a change of mind and reached out for the large mug.

“On second thought, you’re right. No sense in it going to waste.” He regarded her with an expression that had the same effect as another blast of cold wind, causing a shiver of discomfort to run up her spine. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Caitlin poured the dark liquid into the mug and watched Madison’s eyes turn almost soft as he took a large swallow. He lifted his gaze to hers as he brought the mug back down. “You’re not planning on staying out in this weather all night, I hope.”

“No.” Caitlin stamped her feet to get the feeling back into them. “I’m taking off as soon as I get some information.”

The detective tilted his head and gave her that look again, as if he couldn’t quite figure her out. Caitlin, on the other hand, had figured him out completely. He was a man not accustomed to being pushed, or even questioned, and reflected an intensity that made him come off as unshakable and tough. If not for his occupation and menacing reputation, Detective Madison might be someone she’d want to know better.

“Okay.” He wrapped both hands around the mug. “Don’t ask me why I’m doing this, but I’ll give you three questions. Shoot.”

Caitlin’s gaze darted back to his, stunned that he’d even spoken to her. Three questions? She wasn’t ready for this. She had about a hundred. “Well, I don’t even know the basics—like what you’re investigating and the sex of the victims.”

“Is that your first question?”

“No, that was a statement.”

“It’s two questions, but I’ll only deduct one. Possible homicide. One male. One female.”

So Olson was right. “What was the murder weapon?”

“I can’t release that.” He sounded grave.

“Does that mean you haven’t found a murder weapon yet?”

“Is that your third question?”

Caitlin frowned. She didn’t want to waste another question on something that should be available by morning. “No.” Damn it. She cleared her throat. “My next question is, where were they found and by whom?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Well, it’s only one sentence.” She glanced up and made a half-hearted effort to smile, but the intense look of his expression almost caused her to waver. She knew she was pressing her luck, but needed to make the most of her limited situation.

“I don’t think I can answer that one at this point in the investigation.”

“Do you mean the person who found them is a possible suspect?”

“I mean it’s too early to rule anyone out.”

Her questions seemed to be irritating him, as if he hadn’t expected them to be quite so intuitive.

“I gotta get back. I’ve given you enough.” He shot her a look that made it clear he had reached his limit.

“More coffee?” Caitlin held out the thermos.

“Thanks. That sure hit the spot.”

Caitlin tried to keep her own cold hands from shaking as she poured another cupful into the outstretched mug. “I get the feeling you thought I would blow a question on the actual cause of death.” Caitlin attempted to make conversation, just in case she could get him to reveal anything else. She was beyond intimidation at this point.

Madison looked at her from over the mug. “I guess I kind of assumed you would do that.”

“This isn’t my first investigation, Detective.” Caitlin shot him the same sideways glare he had used on her. “I don’t need you for that. I can get it from the coroner.”

“Thanks again for the coffee.” Madison turned abruptly and headed back to the house.

Goodbye to you, too. Caitlin scrutinized him as he walked away, his long, confident strides showing no signs of discomfort from the weather or weariness from the lateness of the hour. He was quite a commanding and imposing-looking man. But he could sure use some people skills.

Madison stopped at the top of the steps to say a few words to a young officer now guarding the front door. Caitlin assumed it had something to do with securing the area with police tape since he nodded in her direction and then pointed toward the road. She knew he was going to disappear, knew he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, but for some reason she just stood there, awkwardly holding a half-empty thermos of coffee.

It wasn’t until the front door slammed shu