Debra Webb - Identity Unknown

He’d felt it. No doubt she’d seen it. Need .

Pure. Primal. Standing right there at the bathroom door. The idea of her taking off her clothes and stepping into the shower had abruptly consumed him. The desire to climb into that shower with her had been fierce.

Not once in years had he felt the compulsion for sex. Nor had he been attracted to any woman with whom he’d worked or encountered outside work. He’d assumed that component of his life was over. The part of his brain that reasoned using his formal training understood that it would take time for him to get over the tragic loss of his wife, physically and emotionally.

But his less rational side had opted not to allow that kind of pain again. The only way to avoid it was to avoid contact with another human on that level.

He’d been completely successful until now…until Sande Williams.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Patrick O’Brien– He’s working his first field assignment, but he has trust issues that may get in the way.

Sande Williams– She has no idea who she is or where she came from. The only thing she knows for sure is that anyone who might be able to help her keeps ending up dead.

Windy Millwood– Former marine captain, Windy is one of the Colby Agency’s best investigators.

Victoria Colby-Camp– The head of the Colby Agency.

Lucas Camp– A CIA legend and the man who owns Victoria’s heart.

Nancy Childers– A former co-worker of Sande’s. Or is she?

Alma Spears– She claims to know all about Sande.

Detective Lyons– The homicide detective following the bodies piling up in Sande’s wake.

Detective Cates– Lyons’s partner who has been left out of the loop.

Special Agent Wheeler– An enigma. Does he really exist or is he a part of Sande’s make-believe world?

Special Agent- in- Charge Young– Head of Chicago’s FBI field office.

Simon Ruhl and Ian Michaels– Victoria’s secondin-command.

Angela Tapley– Is she really working with the FBI? Or is she also make-believe?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at the age of nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a daycare centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA or visit her website at http://www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

DEBRA WEBB

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Sometimes we search high and low and can’t

seem to figure out who we are anymore or what

we want. Whether it’s a new phase in our lives

or just a rough patch, sometimes we question

ourselves and our destiny. This book is

dedicated to the two women who keep me

grounded. They never lose faith in me and

never let me forget who I am, what I want and

where I’m going in this life. To Donna Boyd

and Vicki Hinze. I love you both. Life would

be damned hard without you.

Chapter One

She shivered.

Goose bumps rushed over her flesh. God, she was so cold. She hugged the sheet more closely, then wrinkled her nose. Why was the sheet covering her face?

Her eyes opened.

The sheet was over her face!

She snatched it away. Gasped for air, as if the cotton were plastic, and had deprived her of much needed oxygen…

Okay, she was okay.

A frown furrowed her forehead. Where was she?

A hall or corridor. Glaring fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A nasty smell lingered in the air. Something pungent and unfamiliar.

She sat up and blinked, looked around and blinked again. Dingy white walls…long corridor. A white sheet draped her nude body.

Where were her clothes?

She stared at her breasts…at her flat belly.

What the…?

A gurney. She was sitting on a gurney. Like in a hospital.

Had she been in an accident?

She looked at her arms and hands, touched her face, ran her fingers through her hair… She didn’t feel different. She wasn’t in pain. There were no lumps or bumps. No wet sticky spots.

Where the hell was she?

She looked around again. Then she saw the door directly across from where her gurney stood.

A plaque on the door marked it as… She squinted. It was…the morgue.

Her heart missed a beat.

The morgue?

She stared down at herself once more. No blood. No bruises.

She jerked free of the sheet, stumbled off the gurney and staggered as if she hadn’t stood in a long time. Her legs felt weak and rubbery.

What was wrong with her?

Voices. Someone was coming.

She snatched the sheet from the gurney and wrapped it around her naked body. She had to hide.

If they found her… Her mind couldn’t grasp the concept of why the unfamiliar voices terrified her, but instinct warned that she should be afraid.

She had to run!

She half stumbled, half fell down the corridor, grabbed the knob of the first door she encountered and yanked it open.

Janitor’s closet.

She threw herself inside, closed the door soundlessly and struggled to catch her breath.

Just breathe. Deep breaths. Slow…steady.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

The stench of cleansers and damp mops assaulted her nostrils. She ignored it. She had to think!

What had happened to her?

Why would she be on a gurney in front of a door marked Morgue?

She wasn’t dead.

Was she?

She took a step back from the door and stared down at her foot. A white tag was attached to her big toe.

Panic closed her throat.

Don’t panic.

She crouched down and reached with trembling hands to remove the tag. Slowly straightening once more, she read the information written there. Sande Williams. Female. Twenty-eight years old. Sixty-four inches tall. One hundred ten pounds.

Why didn’t the name ring a bell?

There was no address or telephone number.

What did this mean?

She started to shake, and found she had to brace herself against the closed door in order to remain vertical.

What was wrong with her?

Could she be dead and not know it?

No, that wasn’t possible.