Jenna Ryan - Shadow Protector

Shadow Protector

Jenna Ryan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Title Page Shadow Protector Jenna Ryan www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author JENNA RYAN started making up stories before she could read or write. Growing up, romance alone always had a strong appeal, but romantic suspense was the perfect fit. She tried out a number of different careers, including modelling, interior design and travel, but writing has always been her one true love. That and her long-time partner, Rod. Inspired from book to book by her sister Kathy, she lives in a rural setting fifteen minutes from the city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s taken a lot of years, but she’s finally slowed the frantic pace and adopted a West Coast mindset. Stay active, stay healthy, keep it simple. Enjoy the ride, enjoy the read. All of that works for her, but what she continues to enjoy most is writing stories she loves. She also loves reader feedback. E-mail her at jacquigoff@shaw.ca or visit Jenna Ryan on Facebook.

Dedication To Samoa and Serendipity. Part of the new Lucky Seven.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Copyright

JENNA RYANstarted making up stories before she could read or write. Growing up, romance alone always had a strong appeal, but romantic suspense was the perfect fit. She tried out a number of different careers, including modelling, interior design and travel, but writing has always been her one true love. That and her long-time partner, Rod.

Inspired from book to book by her sister Kathy, she lives in a rural setting fifteen minutes from the city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s taken a lot of years, but she’s finally slowed the frantic pace and adopted a West Coast mindset. Stay active, stay healthy, keep it simple. Enjoy the ride, enjoy the read. All of that works for her, but what she continues to enjoy most is writing stories she loves. She also loves reader feedback. E-mail her at jacquigoff@shaw.ca or visit Jenna Ryan on Facebook.

To Samoa and Serendipity.

Part of the new Lucky Seven.

The dream unfolded piece by resistant piece in Serafina Hudson’s sleeping mind.

She heard disembodied voices overlapping inside a viscous black fog. They murmured words like “death” and “danger” and “serial killer.”

The mood altered. The voices grew louder. Fear slithered in, making the blackness cold.

Where was she? Sera wondered. Why couldn’t she see?

“We look inside too much, Sera. That’s our problem and our burden. It isn’t all about the mind …”

Andrea’s voice joined the mix. But that was impossible …

Because corpses couldn’t speak!

Reality swept in, churning, swirling, spinning the black into blood red. Like the pool of blood her friend and colleague had been lying in on their office floor.

Sera remembered a slow, painful rise from dark to light. There’d been people everywhere, most of them wearing uniforms, all of them unfamiliar to her. Except for Len, the security guard. And Andrea.

Click into clinical mode. She was a doctor. She’d seen blood before.

Just not pooled around a body.

She swore three times. The hands vanished. Lights flashed red and blue. She’d be fine, a stranger promised. As for Andrea …

The voices stopped abruptly. The lights blurred. Her mind stuttered then seemed to wink out.

“Try to remember, Dr. Hudson …”

The mental prod repeated with an eerie echo. A man’s face, hazy at first, solidified. He had creased, careworn features. He looked sixty and tough, yet she sensed an underlying kindness.

She also knew a cop when she saw one.

“I’m sorry your colleague’s dead, Doctor. I wish I could change that, but I can’t. Neither can you.”

Had she thought the man was kind?

“You need to concentrate,” he pressed. “We found a white bandanna at the murder scene. It’s the signature of a serial killer. A phantom. You saw the person who did this—we’re sure of it. You called Security. You screamed. The guard was down the hall, less than ten seconds away. He thought you were both dead when he found you …”

His voice trailed off. This really was a nightmare, Sera decided. Maybe if she did as the cop suggested and concentrated, she could erase some of the more gruesome aspects.

Determined, she willed the man away, shut out the blurred lights and, because she knew it was important, concentrated on the throbbing pain at the base of her skull.

For a heartbeat, the world went dark.

When it relit, she was being ushered through a door. And, damn, there he was again. The careworn cop.

“You’ll be safe here, Doctor. Leo and I have been partners for twenty years. We haven’t lost a witness yet.”

She was a witness? Her mind snapped to attention. Had she seen Andrea’s killer? Please, God, no, had she watched her die?

The walls and fixtures distorted. Two men spoke in the distance.

“Captain thinks there’s a leak at headquarters, Leo. I agree with him.”

“You’re a pair of old ladies.”

“She saw him. I know she did. If we can buy her enough time, she’ll remember, and we’ll have that bastard Blindfold Killer cold …”

The image of a white bandanna floated in. It fell over Andrea’s lifeless, staring eyes.

Sera’s mind gave a single convulsive shudder that had her surging upright in bed.

“Sera!”

The cop’s voice cracked the night shadows like a whip. He caught her by the shoulders, held her steady and stared into her eyes. “Are you awake?”

Was she?

Sera’s heart settled as the image of Andrea’s rigid features faded.

“Yes.” She breathed in, then out. “I had a nightmare.”

“You only had the beginnings of one, Doc. Worst part’s still to come.”

Instinct had her bracing. “There’s worse than my nightmare?”

“There’s a leak in the department. I’ve suspected it for a while. I’m sure of it now. My partner’s been killed. This place isn’t safe.”

Questions raced through Sera’s head, too many to ask. She wanted this to be part of her dream, but she knew it wasn’t.

Two people were dead, and if the man who’d murdered them had his way, she’d be joining them. She’d been there the night he’d murdered Andrea. She’d seen his face.

All she had to do now was remember it.

“You’re the psychiatrist, Doc. You tell me what’s going on in this guy’s pathetic excuse for a brain.”

Sig Rayburn pushed on his forehead as if to compress his thoughts. Pain, worry, even a hint of fear had clouded his eyes during the two-day drive from San Francisco. The long, hot drive that currently had them blasting along Wyoming’s I25 in his rusty brown Ford.