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
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
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
"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
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
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
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
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
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
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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DiAnn
Expect an Adventure
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.
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