Fatal Target: A J. Carter & Associates Novel

By T. M. Carper

No one is safe from this killer's wrath...

ONLY

Framed for a murder he didn't commit, Aidan Murphy's trapped inside the walls of a prison while a dangerous man escapes. Separated from the woman he loves, he can only worry about her safety in the wake of his arrest.

THE

Alone once again, Katherine Carter-Robertson is forced into hiding at a small university where she befriends a kind stranger. Despite her misgivings, she gradually lets him in while Aidan faces life behind bars.

STRONG

Everything changes in a flash when Kat is taken hostage during a shooting spree. Will Aidan be able to save her? Or will this accident be fatal?

SURVIVE

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. M. Carper
• Release date: Aug 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301642076

T. M. Carper

I'm the author of several thrillers featuring the employees of J. Carter & Associates, a firm that specializes in everything outside the law. Among those at J. Carter are a profiler, a con artist, an ex-FBI agent, computer hackers, and accomplished killers. STEAL YOU AWAY is my first standalone romantic suspense novel. It loosely ties into the J. Carter & Associates series.

Book preview

Chapter One

April 3rd, 2007

Breathe. Focus. In and out.

He stood behind her, his breath hot on her bare neck. His warm, calloused hands steadied her, helping to fine-tune her position. Katherine loved being close to her boyfriend even when he barely touched her.

You can do this. Remember the recoil. No, don’t tense up. That’s a good way to get smacked in the face, he urged, soothing her muscles with a gentle touch. You’ve got this. You’ll be fine.

Okay, she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

Katherine Carter-Robertson took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. In her hand, the gun leapt, barking out as the bullet left the barrel and soared across the room to cut through a paper target. Her shoulders absorbed the recoil and she held her ground.

Again, Aidan urged.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Each bullet ripped through the paper. One. Two. Three. Four. Five holes. Two in the head and three center mass.

That’s my girl! Aidan Murphy whooped, kissing her cheek. Great job, babe!

She flipped the safety on and set the hot gun down on a table. You think?

Oh, babe, that was perfect. Perfect! Hard to think that two months ago you’d never held a gun, let alone fired one. Look at you, shooting like a pro! He picked her up, swinging her in a circle. You’re amazing, you know that?

A, I doubt that.

Five shots. Each one hit not only the target, but hit dead-on. You are something else.

She frowned, still in his arms. So, that’s not normal?

Hell no. Even Marc couldn’t do that after two months and he can shoot the wings off flies if he’s tempted to.

Kat approached the target, reluctantly leaving his embrace. Her sneakers were silent on the floor as she moved. Dead-on, she muttered, examining the holes. Head and chest. Kill zones.

Your dad picked up firearms quickly, too. At least that’s what everyone says.

One more thing I didn’t know.

He put an arm around her waist where the snug tank top met her sweats. Kat, talk to me. This is a good thing. It’s progress. Fantastic progress. But it doesn’t make you a killer. It doesn’t make you anything but a good target shooter. Okay? Don’t worry.

I just… I want to be like him, but I don’t… I still don’t know who or what he is.

I don’t even think he knows. He’s spent so many years running and being other people… but he’s a good guy. You know that. Hell, we all do.

The man who killed Lisa… he was a good shot.

Babe, when you have a gun to someone’s head, you don’t need skill. A monkey can kill at point blank range. Just because you can shoot doesn’t make you a murderer. Besides, he’s dead. He can’t hurt you.

She nodded, her thoughts somewhere else entirely. Every sharp crack reminded her of that horrible night. Of the blood. Of her own wound. Guns were important to understand, but they caused pain. They were meant to kill. Paper or people. Was there a difference between ripping through tree pulp or human flesh?

You are not a killer, he insisted, his warm hazel eyes staring deep into hers.

Maybe I want to be.

Not innocent people. You would never hurt someone who didn’t hurt you first. That makes you different. It makes you special. It makes you human.

What’s it like? To take a life?

Aidan frowned as he led her to a bench. He knelt down in front of her, her hands in his. Each time, it takes away a piece of you. A tiny bit of your soul. Even if they deserve it, you’re playing God. At the moment, the adrenaline is overwhelming. It’s the aftermath, alone, in the dark when it hits.

So when you pull the trigger… it feels good.

He nodded. Yeah, it’s a release. It’s relaxing.

It’s addictive.

No. It’s not that kind of high. It’s different. And there are other ways to hit that same feeling. Sparring. Running. Target practice is only a tiny piece.

Kat nodded. Okay. I just… it feels good. So good.

He brushed her cheek. Don’t worry. I won’t let you become a serial killer. Okay? C’mon, we’re just getting started. Let’s hit the gym. Punch a few bags.

Yeah, that sounds good.

That’s my girl. He kissed her quickly on the lips. Let’s go.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Block. Punch. Block left. Uppercut. Front-kick. Cross-block. Roundhouse kick.

Breathing heavily, she faltered when he grabbed her in a chokehold. Panic set in immediately as he compressed her airway. Her toes strained to touch the ground thanks to the height difference.

C’mon, Kat… what’d we practice?

She struggled, tugging at the arm locked around her throat.

You need air, how do you get air? Aidan asked calmly.

Kat kicked at his shins, her vision darkening as she ran out of air. I can’t… I can’t… Aidan… I can’t breathe…

He sighed, loosening his grip on her. Together they slipped down to the hardwood floor, her slender frame resting against his muscular chest. Both were dripping with sweat, their workout clothes stuck to their skin despite the air conditioner running in the background.

Sorry… panicked… she gasped, sucking in air. Her throat burned already, even after those few seconds of pressure. She hoped there weren't bruises this time.

Don’t worry about it… I mean, you’re still new to this. I’ve had years to practice…

She turned to face her boyfriend. Yeah? Doesn’t help that you’re taller and could bench press me…

Aidan shrugged, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. She loved his shaggy locks. You know you love me.

I do… just not at the moment.

He gripped her shoulders, massaging them. Kat couldn’t help but moan. The man was good with his hands and too sweet to her. How’s the shoulder?

Stiff… but that’s normal, right?

You were shot in the back, Kat. It takes time. Stop beating yourself up. If you push yourself too hard… you could really damage your shoulder or your back, he said, continuing to rub her shoulders and upper back.

A wolf-whistle cut through the tension and sweat. Will you two please get a room?

Very funny, Pearson, Aidan mocked, ducking a gym towel.

The clean-cut man standing over them held himself much like a military-trained professional. His tight-fitted t-shirt and sweatpants showed off his defined arm muscles and a six-pack. Marc Pearson was still a mystery to Katherine, despite being a good friend and her boyfriend’s co-worker. Not many of the people who worked at J. Carter & Associates talked openly about their pasts. She didn’t mind. He was still family in her mind.

Seriously, stop screwing in the gym. Some of us have real work to do.

Kat rolled her ice-blue eyes. You’re just jealous…

Of the two of you? Please… I’m enjoying my freedom. I just wish you two would start locking doors or something… Marc said pointedly.

She blushed, remembering an incident the other day when she’d been half-dressed and straddling Aidan on the living room couch. The problem with sharing an apartment with Marc was that while rent was cheaper, there were a lot of awkward moments between the three of them.

Half the fun is the danger, Aidan teased, his hands dropping from her shoulders to her hips. She rested her back against his chest.

Whatever. Just stop hogging the gym.

Aidan scooped Kat up, her legs dangling over his arms. She wound her arms around his neck. Marc just snorted, stretching his muscles, as the pair disappeared into the dressing rooms.

She giggled as Aidan sat her down on another bench. He smirked, stripping off her sweat-soaked tank. They both were sweaty from their tussle in the gym but neither cared.

Clothes hit the ground quickly as she beckoned him to the shower.

Steam. Sweat. Pant. Moan.

Lips and tongues tangled as they embraced underneath the warm spray. It beat their skin and muscles, washing away the sweat and grime. It revealed their scars as their skin turned pink from the heat.

Not that it mattered to them. They barely noticed those marks anymore.

Kat wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. Right here and right now was perfect. A stolen moment. A perfect, lasting moment.

Neither one knew it would be one of their last moments together.

Chapter Two

Being rich was unnatural.

No longer did she have to make each penny stretch and live paycheck to paycheck in order to keep her old truck running and afford her infrequent college classes. If a hole appeared in her socks, shoes, or jeans, she didn’t have to break out the needle and thread. She could buy ten new pairs if she wanted.

Katherine Carter-Robertson wasn’t just rich. She was filthy, fricking rich. From a half-broke hobo to a high-flying heiress in a spilt second; she still couldn’t wrap her head around her new circumstances.

Thrift store rejects gave way to tailored designer duds and her favorite battered Eastland boots became high-heel death traps with names like Christian Louboutin and Manolo Blahnik. Even her workout clothes went from no-name Wal-mart sweats to color-coordinated sneakers and Under Armor everything. When she tried to refuse the bags of clothes or shoes, her father seemed hurt and insulted. After having been a millionaire for almost a decade, Jackson Robertson was used to what he called quality while she still called it pricey.

Instead of being able to touch the neighbor’s home from her own bedroom window, Kat had to learn how to adjust to solitude when surrounded by trees and nature. Her father’s mansion was set back a good half-mile from the main road and hosted two guesthouses, an outdoor in-ground pool, a multi-car garage, and at least six acres of wooded paths for hiking and running. There was also an indoor heated pool, a home gym, a gourmet-level kitchen with appliances she couldn’t name, let alone use, and a half-dozen guest rooms.

It was straight-up extravagant and not at all what she was used to. Finding a balance between her old life and her new inheritance took time. Her father didn’t help matters when he continually showered her with gifts and even more money. Neither of them knew how to deal with her mother’s murder. Kat knew that was part of the reason for the over-indulgence.

Money wasn’t a replacement for affection. She knew he cared; he happened to be as lost as her. Lisa’s murder shocked them both. Some nights, she remembered the basement in all its muggy, mildewed quality, and the loud crack of the gun as a bullet struck the mother she barely knew in the forehead.

The bitter tang of blood filled her mouth. She bit down on her tongue the moment the gun went off. She lost a chance to know the woman who gave birth to her and later gave her away. To know why Lisa kept her birth secret for twenty years — even from her own father.

No one could answer the dozens of questions she had. Only Lisa knew. Now Lisa was dead and buried in a fancy silk-lined coffin. The funeral had been closed-casket thanks to the bullet buried in her brain. There would never be closure for Katherine or Jackson. She lost the mother she never knew and he lost the woman he loved.

For most people, after witnessing a murder or being shot, guns would be frightening. But Katherine wasn’t most people. It took more than a bullet to the back to kill her. Her self-confidence and stubborn nature were both inherited from her father. Inside of living in fear of the unknown, she’d learned how to handle a loaded gun with precision and respect. Kat ended up with her own Glock handgun — a special, smaller size — as a present from her father.

Along with her gun, she got several bulletproof vests of varying thickness. Why her father thought she'd need half-a-dozen bulletproof vests was beyond her. Just in case, she obtained a concealed carry permit for the state of Maryland. Both Aidan and her father each had a permit, as did most of the employees at J. Carter & Associates.

But even money couldn’t protect her from the past. Nothing except a loaded gun could protect her from Scott Bennett's wrath.

*~*~*~*~*~*

April 18th, 2007

A hand reached for hers as the judge prepared to read the verdict. Kat took a deep breath, her body trembling. She’d been fretting for months about his release, despite her name change and relocation. Despite the certainty that no matter what she was safe from him.

He gave her hand a squeeze. Aidan shot her a tiny glance, one that showed he shared her worry, and that he was there. He’d been there not only for the trial, but for the nightmares that plagued her both about the man sitting a few rows ahead and about her mother’s murder. Shortly after they met, he'd saved her from a severe beating at Scott's hands.

Ever patient, Aidan listened to her recount incidents from the past in open court. He listened as she told the judge about the repeated assaults that left her hospitalized and the near-nightly rapes. He listened and didn’t judge her. He was her rock. When she woke screaming, he was the one person who soothed her.

Aidan didn’t let trauma control their relationship. He loved her regardless.

Not that it lessened the pain of facing her rapist and former brother-in-law. She'd never be free of him and the pain he caused.

On the count of aggravated assault in September of 2006, I find the defendant, Scott Gray Bennett, guilty. On the twenty-seven counts of first-degree rape, I find the defendant not guilty. On the twenty-seven counts of second-degree rape, I find the defendant not guilty. On the twenty-seven counts of third-degree rape, I find the defendant not guilty, the judge started.

Kat paled. The judge was going to let him walk.

On her right side, her father got up. She could hear him walking away, muttering under his breath.

Don’t do anything stupid, Dad. Please, no… I can't lose you, too...

Sentencing will be at a later date…

A gavel banged, jolting her back into awareness.

Aidan helped her stand on shaky legs. She’d dressed for court as the demure victim in a button-up blouse, tailored suit jacket, and knee-length business skirt with stockings and heels. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the doors without saying a word. The crowd swept them along.

By the time they reached the court steps, flashbulbs were popping in her face and microphones filled her view, each one operated by a hungry newsperson. They swarmed like vultures hunting roadkill.

How does it feel…?

Miss Winters, do you have anything to say…?

Down by the circle, her father stood with his back to them. Dressed in an impeccable suit, Jackson Robertson was in complete control once more. He even turned on the charm and charisma that helped him succeed in the