The Chase

Crime Scene: HoustonDiAnn Mills




To the FBI it's a cold case.

To Kariss Walker it's a hot story...

Drawing from a real-life cold case, bestselling novelist DiAnn Mills presents a taut collage of suspense, faith, and romance in The Chase.

"I was chasing the pages, flipping them as fast as I could while holding my breath to find out what Kariss and Tigo would get caught up in next. The Chase is an edge-of-your-seat fun read everyone will enjoy." - Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author




"DiAnn Mills is not only one of our best writing mentors, but she also proves her reputation with meticulously researched thrillers like The Chase. Another breathless winner for her many fans." - Jerry B. Jenkins, novelist and owner of the Christian Writers Guild

Chapter 1

Present day

June

Kariss had fulfilled all her dreams but one by age thirty-five. Most women would bask in such a claim, but not Kariss. The one mountain yet to climb beckoned her to strap on hiking boots and make her approach. The peak held her in fascination, and failing meant losing everything she'd ever gained.

Her heels clicked along the marble flooring of the Marriott hotel's lobby adjoining Houston's Intercontinental Airport. Ten minutes early for her appointment with her literary agent and she could use the time to make sure her responses to Meredith were gracious and resolute. A mouthful for sure.

Sinking into a plush chair, she took a deep breath and waited. With all of her prolific abilities, why couldn't she respond with words that relayed her passion for this story? But now she had the opportunity to convince Meredith of her sincerity. A little encouragement went a long way when calling up the powers of inspiration and creativity.

Right on time, Meredith Rockford slipped into a chair across from Kariss, sipping on a cup of tea, no doubt Earl Gray. Dressed in a black traveler's knit jacket and pants, the only color emitting from Meredith was her crimson lipstick.

"You could have texted me that you were early," Meredith said.

Kariss smiled. "Just got here. Did you have a good night's rest?"

Meredith lifted a brow while taking a sip of her tea. "My head is killing me. I had to fly from New York to Houston. Arrived late and had to cancel our dinner appointment, andyou ask me if I slept well?" She set the cup on a table in front of them. "The only thing that will give me a good night's sleep is for you to abandon this ludicrous idea of changing genres."

Kariss valued integrity above all things, and she refused to lose control. "Please understand I have given this writing project considerable thought. I need a break from writing women's fiction. I'm not discounting what you've done for my career, my friends who continue to write women's fiction, or my faithful readers. But I have a deep need to write a suspense novel."

"You rehearsed your spiel very nicely, but let me give you the facts: you, Kariss Walker, are about to commit publishing suicide. Changing genres in the middle of New York Times bestselling status means starting all over."

"I was hoping you'd champion my goals."

"My goal is to make sure my writers and my agency make money while ensuring the publishing community has quality writing projects." She crossed her arms. "After Sunrise has held the number two slot for three months. Always a Lady sold over six hundred thousand copies each along with a sweet spot on the bestseller list. You write women's fiction. Period. Not suspense. Your ratings are going to plummet like an avalanche."

Kariss uncrossed her legs and allowed her arms to lay limp at her side. How much more open could she be? "Ten novels in five years is a bit much, don't you think? Suspense intrigues me. Remember the eight years I spent reporting evening news on Houston's Channel 5? I have more ideas than I will ever have time to write."

"It won't work. Your readers want stories about women. They'll drop you tomorrow if you switch to suspense. Now send me the proposal for the next story. The one we chatted about in New York will do nicely. You're the only writer who can remind the reader that the victim isn't just a case file, but a human life."

Meredith started to stand, but Kariss gestured for her to stay. "Please hear me out. Deep inside me is a well of passion for stories that burst onto the suspense scene. These are real and happening in my city. One in particular touched my heart several years ago and has never let me go. I cannot not write this. It doesn't matter that I don't have a contract. If one of the big six doesn't want to publish it, I'll self-publish."

"If you do not adhere to the demands of the publishing world, your actions may dissolve our representation of your work."

Kariss moistened her lips. "I am fully aware of the consequences."

"Are you? You may never publish again." Meredith retrieved her cup of Earl Gray and left the lobby.

Kariss gathered her purse and laptop before leaving the hotel. She had two hours until her appointment with Lincoln Abrams, special agent in charge of Houston's FBI, referred to as the SAC. Five years had passed since she'd linked arms with law enforcement agencies and enlisted public support to help find criminals. Excitement with a twinge of apprehension grabbed hold of her senses. If only her agent held the same enthusiasm about her writing a suspense novel. Maybe if she knew the real reason why Kariss wanted to protect children. . .

This story meant more than all the six-figure checks combined. In five years, no one had solved the crime stalking her, and she didn't possess the skills to smoke out a killer. But in her novel version, the perpetrator would be brought to justice.

* * *

Drinking a double espresso, his breakfast of choice, Tigo drove through the seedy neighborhood off South Main in Houston, looking for the dark-green van last seen at the shipyards speeding away with two hundred and fifty grand of stolen AK – 47 rifles.

The area looked deserted except for the battered vehicles matching the twisted and dented people who hid behind their weapons and bravado.

Some residents were simply poor and trying to eke out a living. Why they stayed made no sense. But those weren't the ones Tigo wanted to question. He needed Cheeky and his gang of Arroyos behind bars for gun smuggling. Add to that the identity of the dealers who were selling them weapons, and he was a happy man. Houston ranked as Mexico's largest gun supplier, and Tigo intended to drop that stat like a live grenade.

He drove slowly, studying each peeled-painted house for signs of rodents. He didn't really expect a tattooed ganger this time of the morning, but he also knew they could tear through a door at any moment ready to blow him to pieces. He risked the encounter and hoped they were sleeping off the previous night. His appointment was critical to draw out those who continued to break the law, one important enough for him to break the rules and work alone. He'd long ago given up trying to figure out if he wanted credit for the arrests or if he didn't want to endanger another agent. Probably both.

The gangs living here counted coup on law enforcement types.

Tigo eased to the curb next to a bungalow with boarded-up windows. Turning off the engine of the twenty-year-old Toyota minus the fender and hubcaps, he waited for his guest and drank the espresso.

A toddler pushed open the door of a house across the street. Wearing nothing but a diaper, he carried what looked like a rag — probably a substitution for his mother. The reality of the kid's future yanked at Tigo's thoughts, along with the likelihood of him already being an addict. How long before he was dealing and carrying a piece?

No one else ventured from the neighborhood. But Tigo couldn't wait forever. Linc wanted to see him about something. Glancing at his watch and rolling down the window, he gave himself fifteen minutes.

Candy was ten minutes late. Maybe she'd overslept, since her career kept her occupied at night. But the olive-skinned beauty had always been prompt, especially when the extra money didn't touch her pimp's pockets. She seemed to sense Tigo's drive to nail the gang, but he refused to psychoanalyze that. She claimed to have the information he needed to close down the Houston operation, including names of arms dealers and details about those dealers raising prices on their weapons.

Five more minutes passed, and the espresso cup lay crumpled on the passenger's seat. Candy wouldn't have left him waiting without a call. Lately she'd grown bolder . . . maybe too bold. After all, meeting here at seven-thirty had been her idea. Late nights ate up her earning power. She claimed his presence looked like a john leaving, and the neighborhood slept until noon.

Tigo punched in her number. Four rings. "This is Candy. I'm busy right now." A giggle with a Hispanic accent. "Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

He wasn't stupid enough to leave a message.

They'd met five times, and he believed each one raised the bar on their trust. She wanted to leave her sordid life, but she needed money until she landed a respectable job. Even asked for the name of a shelter. Said her two kids would have a better future. That suckered him in. Now suspicions about her motives called him a fool.

Available at fine bookstores everywhere

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The Chase

Crime Scene:Houston

DiAnn Mills

Zondervan

© 2012 by DIANN MILLS

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without

permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied

in critical articles or reviews.

Captive Trail; Attracted to Fire

Captive Trail

By Susan Page Davis

Captive Trail is Susan Page Davis's new book from Moody Publishers. It's part of the Texas Trails series, for which authors Vickie McDonough and Darlene Franklin are also contributing books set in different decades in Texas.

Award-winning author Loree Lough says, "Susan Page Davis's Captive Trail is a wonderfully descriptive tale that will lure you in on page one and not let go until you've read The End. Escape and freedom, courage and faith, and the sometimes fearsome beauty of the wild Texas landscape combine for a fast-paced, spirit-filled read. Make space on your Keepers shelf for this one!"

An excerpt from Captive Trail:

Chapter One

Plains of North Central Texas, 1857

Faster. Taabe Waipu had to go faster, or she would never get down from the high plains, down to the hill country and beyond. South, ever south and east.

Clinging to the horse, she let him run. The land looked flat all around, though it was riddled with ravines and folds. She could no longer see any familiar landmarks. The moon and stars had guided her for two nights, and now the rising sun told her which way to go on her second day of flight. She'd snatched only brief periods of rest. At her urging the horse galloped on, down and up the dips and hollows of the land.

Taabe didn't know where the next water supply lay. The only thing she knew was that she must outrun the Numinu—Comanche, their enemies called them. No one traveled these plains without their permission. Those who tried didn't make it out again. She glanced over her shoulder in the gray dawn. As far as she could see, no one followed, but she couldn't stop. They were back there, somewhere. She urged the horse on toward the southeast.

South to the rolling grasslands where the white men had their ranches. Where Peca and the other men often went to raid. Where Taabe was born.

The compact paint stallion ran smoothly beneath her, but as the sun rose and cast her shadow long over the Llano Estacado, his breath became labored, his stride shorter. Where her legs hugged his sleek sides, her leggings dampened with his sweat. He was a good horse, this wiry paint that Peca had left outside her sister's tepee. Without him she wouldn't have gotten this far. But no horse could run forever.

Taabe slowed him to a trot but didn't dare rest. Not yet.

Another look behind.

No one.

Would she recognize the house she'd once lived in? She didn't think so, but she imagined a big earthen lodge, not a tepee. Or was it a cabin made of logs? That life was a shadow world in her mind now. Fences. The warriors talked about the fences built by the white men, around their gardens and their houses. She thought she recalled climbing a fence made of long poles and sitting on the top. When she saw fences, she would know she was close.

At last she came to a shallow stream, sliding between rocks and fallen trees. It burbled languidly where it split around a boulder. She let the horse wade in and bend down to drink.

Taabe stayed on his back while he drank in long, eager gulps, keeping watch over the way they'd come. She needed to find a sheltered place where the horse could graze and rest. Did she dare stop for a while? She studied the trail behind her then took her near-empty water skin from around her neck. Leaning over the paint's side, she dangled it by its thong in the water on the horse's upstream side. She wouldn't dismount to fill it properly, but she could stay in the saddle and scoop up a little. She straightened and checked the trail again. The horse took a step and continued to drink.

She stroked his withers, warm and smooth. With a wry smile, she remembered the bride price Peca had left. Six horses staked out before the tepee. A stallion and five mares—pretty mares. Healthy, strong mounts. But only six.

The stallion raised his head at last and waded across the stream without her urging. They settled into a steady trot. Tomorrow or the next day or the next, she would come to a land with many trees and rivers. And many houses of the whites.

Would she have stayed if Peca had left twenty horses? Fifty?

Not for a thousand horses would she have stayed in the village and married Peca—or any other warrior. Staying would make it impossible for her ever to go back to that other world—the world to the south.

Eagerness filled her, squeezing out her fear. She dug her heels into the stallion's ribs. Whatever awaited her, she rushed to meet it.

The paint lunged forward and down. His right front hoof sank, and he didn't stop falling. Taabe tried to brace herself, too late. The horse's body continued to fly up and around. She hurtled off to the side and tucked her head.

Captive Trail, copyright 2011 by Susan Page Davis, published by Moody Publishers. All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Visit Susan's website at: www.susanpagedavis.com

Captive Trail is available now in stores or online through:

Christian Book Distributors: http://www.christianbook.com/captive-trail-susan-davis/9780802405845/pd/405845?item_code=WW&netp_id=892812&event=ESRCN&view=details

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0802405843/suspagdav-20

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/captive-trail?store=book

Books-A-Million: http://www.booksamillion.com/product/9780802405845?id=4988325581053

* * *

Attracted to Fire
DiAnn Mills

This masterfully crafted suspense novel immediately hooks the reader…a real page turner. – Booklist

Christy winner and prolific author Mills braids together romance and suspense in a compelling narrative about a young woman caught in the crosshairs of political ambition. Special Agent Meghan Connors's dreams of protecting the president become tainted by the vicious evil that overtakes those in power. Reeling from her own painful loss and head spinning from a new love that clouds her professional vision, Meghan must team up with Lindsay Hall, the daughter of the vice president of the United States, to uncover a conspiracy that's leaving a growing swath of death and destruction. But can she trust Agent Ash Zinders and the other agents? Is there someone on the inside who wants Lindsay dead? Taking place mainly in one locale—a West Texas ranch owned by the Halls—this stand-alone will delight and draw readers of Christian romantic suspense like moths to flame. Readers who prefer a slower paced, single-setting, focused character-building story to one that rushes headlong across international borders will be suitably "attracted." - Publisher's Weekly

CHAPTER 1

Washington, DC

"If he doesn't muzzle his daughter, he's going to lose the presidential nomination."

Special Agent Meghan Connors cringed at the TV anchor's analysis of Vice President Hall's campaign, even though the statement rang with validity.

"Although early popularity polls indicated Hall to be a strong contender for the presidential race, his ratings are dropping daily." The blonde reporting the news gave the camera a tilt of her head. "We are currently waiting for a statement from his office regarding Lindsay Hall's appearance on The Barry Knight Show last evening, where she made the following statement, 'My father is a poor excuse for the office of President of the United States.'"

The screen flashed a clip of Lindsay Hall sporting cleavage and lots of leg.

"And she's our new assignment?" Special Agent Bob Lawson eased back in his chair and stuck his thumbs inside his pants pockets. "I've heard she swears like a convict. Smacked a couple of agents in the face."

Meghan kept her opinions in check. She focused on the TV mounted in the corner of the coffee shop, the one located not far from the White House. Thank goodness the shop was empty except for the barista moving to whatever was playing on his iPod.

The news anchor continued her report. "Take a look at Lindsay Hall's escapade three nights ago." The screen reverted to footage taken in a local nightclub. Lindsay toasted the camera with a bottle of beer. Clearly inebriated, she sat in a booth enjoying media attention. The news anchor shook her head with a smile, an obvious display of her political preference. "Many are asking, 'If Vice President Hall cannot control his daughter, how can he effectively run our country?'"

Ouch. That nailed the situation. Meghan wrapped her fingers around the loop of her coffee cup and walked out onto a patio filled with umbrella tables and chairs. A steady mist filled the afternoon heat with humidity. She needed to focus on her new assignment—and the challenges ahead. Protecting the VP's daughter was supposed to be a promotion. If she failed, this could mean a permanent stall in her career.

Sensing Bob standing beside her, she turned to give him her views about their situation. "We're made of better stuff than the agents dismissed from Lindsay's protection team."

"I keep telling myself that."

"They let her manipulate them. Plain and simple."

"But we're not babysitters. We're Special Agents for the Secret Service."

Meghan didn't know the agents who'd been reassigned as a result of Lindsay's latest antics, but Bob had called them friends. She took a sip of her strong coffee, ignoring the raindrops gaining momentum. "Escorting her to the TV station and not informing the vice president was poor judgment. Her statements severely damaged the VP's image. Maybe even his chances of securing the party's nomination."

"Everything she says and does chips at his ability to lead the country. The Barry Knight Show and that entire TV network are out to crucify him and the party."

"So we're back to our assignment." Meghan stepped under the coffee shop's canopy to avoid the rain. "I'm committed to protecting her, and I know you are too."

"I have to be." Bob set his cup on an empty table. "Taking a bullet for her would qualify as above and beyond . . . ." He pressed his lips. "But that's what we do. Right? Can't let personal opinions get in the way of duty."

"Absolutely, and I'm sure there are plans to curb her actions. In fact—" Her phone rang, and she reached inside her shoulder bag. A quick glimpse told her it was Supervisor Tom Warrington from the Secret Service office.

"Bob there with you?"

"Yes sir."

"I need both of you in my office at 1400. Ash Zinders, the SAIC for this assignment, needs to brief you and the other agents assigned to the protectee."

Meghan slipped her phone back into her shoulder bag and relayed the information.

Bob whistled. "Good old A2Z isn't wasting any time."

The nickname for the Special Agent in Charge assigned to Lindsay Hall's protection detail wasn't a title any agent would say to his face. He was known for his obsession with detail and his domineering personality. Meghan hadn't met the agent, and she didn't look forward to his browbeating.

"It really bothers me that she now has six agents protecting her when any other VP family member has three." Bob pulled a dollar from his wallet and anchored it beneath his cup. "Did I say I regret accepting this assignment? Hasn't been two hours since the call."

"There's a reason, Bob. We were chosen because the VP needed agents who could get the job done. But I question the number of us, too, and what it means."

The potential to fulfill her dreams, the circumstances surrounding Lindsay Hall's unpredictable behavior, and the nightmare of working under Ash Zinders had Meghan wondering if the challenges ahead would be worth it.

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Attracted to Fire
DiAnn Mills
Tyndale House Publishers
© 2011 by DIANN MILLS

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Caw! Caw!

Born to parents who died shortly after her birth, twenty-year-old genius Sarah Sims has been hidden all her life in a secure CIA facility. Yet her days of anonymity are limited because her aunt has discovered her existence and is determined to lead Sarah out of exile. But before she can leave the only world she's ever known, Sarah needs what most people take for granted . . . a functioning face and the skills to use it. Will she remain in her secluded fortress or summon the courage to follow her heart?

The Face Angela Hunt. Mira, $6.99 (384p) ISBN 978-0-7783-2727-1
Compelling characterization is the driving force behind this enthralling story of hope . . . Hunt (The Elevator) fuels the completely engrossing story with dual present-tense narration by the two women. Readers are drawn into their lives, sharing their joy and fear as they approach a fulfilling and surprising climax. A touch of suspense adds to the powerful themes of second chances and new beginnings. (Nov.) --Publishers Weekly

Texas Legacy Trilogy
By
DiAnn Mills
Three women of Kahlerville, Texas, battled Old West dangers and personal wars that threaten those they love˜as well as their own lives.
Leather and Lace Casey O'Hare walks away from living with an outlaw gang and straight into the arms of a lawyer turned avenger. Who can she trust when all she has been taught is to fear?
Lanterns and Lace Jenny Martin is determined to find her motherless niece, but a web of intrigue surrounds the child. Who should Jenny listen to when a murderer lurks?


Lightning and Lace Bonnie KJahler, a widowed mother of three, is drowning in her grief until a disarming preacher comes to town. When her son is accused of crimes, will Bonnie listen to the right advice? Christy Award Nominee 2008.


Kahlerville, Texas 1898

DiAnn Mills

Expect an Adventure
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