Wounded at Work

By Mitzi Pool Bridges

FBI Agent Matthew Montgomery is handed a serial killer case on the same day his worthless cousin files suit for half of the sizable Montgomery Trust. His brothers, fellow retired SEALs, dig in to help find the proof needed to thwart Matt's cousin. Ex-Army Carrie Sullivan is a PI in the brothers' investigative firm. She goes undercover in a missing woman case that collides with the one Matt is investigating. He wants her to back off, as she fits the profile of the serial killer's victims. Somehow, their feelings for each other have changed from friendship to something more intense, but they have to get past obstacles, real and imagined, as they find themselves falling in love amidst a storm of evil. When Carrie is taken, she wonders if she will survive long enough to overcome the wide divide between their backgrounds to make a life together, and Matt is determined to do everything in his power to give them a chance to try.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Aug 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509208876

Book preview

Mitzi

Chapter One

The explosion threw him out of the Humvee and onto the rocky roadside. For a full minute he was too stunned to move. Fire and smoke surrounded him and the other SEALs on the ground. When he could hear again, there were moans and curses along with the constant rat-tat-tat of AK-47’s.

Where were his brothers? Coop! Dirk! Too much smoke kept them from his line of vision. His heart hammered faster than the bullets aimed at their position. Where the hell were they?

His call brought no answer.

Painfully, he pulled himself up. Find them. Now.

They couldn’t be dead. The moment their feet hit the ground in Afghanistan, the three brothers vowed to protect one another, just as they had as kids. So far they had kept that vow.

If he was the only one left, he didn’t want to live. His stomach filled with acid-fire, he grabbed two AK-47’s and headed to the other side of the smoking truck.

Then he heard them. They were trapped.

Blood turned to ice—his heartbeat slowed.

In slow motion, he ran in their direction, each hand firing a weapon. They would not die. The faster he ran, the further away their voices sounded. Through the smoke and stench of gunfire, he saw them. Making one last effort, he lunged in their direction, only to find they had disappeared.

Matthew Montgomery sat up in bed, his body drenched in sweat, his hands shaking, his Tarzan yell clogged in his throat.

Jeez! He shook his head, tried to shake the nightmare away. It had been years since the last one. Why now?

Matt staggered to the bathroom. What had brought this on? He’d had his PTSD under control so long he had almost forgotten how he’d suffered after the battle that cost Dirk half an arm and almost cost Coop a leg.

A glance at the clock told him it was five o’clock. Still dark out. He splashed cold water on his face, looked in the mirror. His eyes looked haunted, the same as they had so long ago.

He couldn’t go through that torment again. Wouldn’t, he vowed, as he stepped into the shower and under the spray of hot water for so long his skin felt like it was on fire, before he switched to cold.

When he stepped out, he felt better. Calmer.

The doorbell chimed.

He looked at his watch. Five-thirty. Quickly, he pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

Had something happened at the homestead? With Dirk or Sky? Had she gone into premature labor? Dirk would have called or texted if that were the case.

The monitor on the state-of-the-art security panel showed a man in uniform at the door. Matt looked closer. Constable Ben Brown. Why would Ben be here at this hour of the morning? Something was going on and Matt’s gut told him he wasn’t going to like it.

By the time he ran downstairs and to the door, his heart was in his throat.

What’s going on, Ben?

Sorry to get you up so early, Matt. I have a summons that needs your signature.

Do you know what it’s about?

Not a clue. He stuck the paperwork out for a signature.

Do I have a choice?

Afraid not. Sorry.

Matt signed the papers and scanned the envelope before closing the door on Ben’s apologies. Matt had been involved in hundreds of cases with the FBI, but a grievance of that nature would go to the office.

Throwing the envelope on the table, he started a pot of coffee. Maybe that would shake off the aftermath of his nightmare.

A mug of coffee in hand, he sat at the table and stared at the envelope. Only one way to find out what this was about. He ripped it open.

Reed is out of his mind. The more he read, the more confused and angry he became. This was a ruse for his cousin to get his hands on half the Montgomery Trust. Was Reed grasping at straws? Matt always suspected his cousin thought he was entitled to the money. Which was probably one of the reasons he came around so often for a handout. Or had he found evidence he was entitled? Not possible. The Trust was ironclad.

Matt’s great-great-grandfather had set up the Trust as a philanthropic entity that gave millions every year to worthy charities. The responsibility for its safekeeping had been handed over to Matt when he got back from the war. It was his biggest and most serious obligation. Now the Trust was being challenged. Not by strangers, but by another Montgomery. Though Matt could access the Trust at any time, it never occurred to him to use even a penny for himself. Now his cousin was claiming half. He had no right.

Matt gripped the sheaf of legal documents with clenched fists. He could and would deal with this.

Running upstairs, he printed out three copies, put two copies and the original in his pocket, another copy in the safe. Then he got dressed. By now Coop and Dirk were at the training area working with dogs that would end up on a battlefield. Matt wanted to talk to his brothers. After his nightmare, seeing their faces would assure him they were all right. And he wanted to share what could be a monstrous disaster in the making.

The sky was clear with the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon when he walked outside. Since it was mid-summer, it would be hot soon enough. He scanned the area. Calm. Serene. The opposite of what was going on in his gut. If Reed succeeded in his claim, millions of dollars would be withheld from dozens of worthy charities. Scientists searching for cures for killing diseases would have to look elsewhere for financing—hospitals would be forced to stop research programs. The list went on. He, with the help of the board, scrutinized and personally looked into every charity on their donor list. It was a long one, but one each and every one on the board hoped would do the most good.

Now it was all in jeopardy.

Even though it was hazy outside and not yet daylight, his gaze swept over the empty fields; dry now in the summer heat. Here was the one place he could relax, forget for a short time the heavy responsibility the Trust put on him—here he was surrounded by a loving family.

At the heart of the family was Shorty. She wasn’t his biological mom, but she was his mom nonetheless. She solidified that relationship when the brothers returned from Afghanistan and she handed each of her boys, as she called them, a deed for fifty acres. Matt had been relieved. He would never live on the estate his parents left him, and had no idea where else to go.

Being close to the family that had all but adopted him was perfect. Plus, it was close enough to Houston and all a big city offered, but still far enough away to enjoy the open space. There was nothing like the sea of bluebonnets in his backyard every spring. He wouldn’t trade this spot for any amount of money. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he did his best to dispel the anger simmering over Reed’s greedy demand for money.

He went to his SUV and drove the short distance to the training field. For a moment, he watched his brothers put their soon-to-be military dogs through their paces. Coop’s wife, Lanie, was exercising Thor; another dog was waiting his turn.

While in Afghanistan, the three brothers had seen how valuable the trained dogs were to the military. Matt had listened for hours as Coop and Dirk planned how they would get involved when they got back to the States.

Though he encouraged his brothers in their endeavor, with his Trust responsibilities, he didn’t have time to be tied down with their new venture. He had offered to fund them financially, only to be turned down. They had done it on their own and Matt was proud of them.

His brother Dirk had wanted to site the training facilities on his fifty acres. It was a good choice. There was an open field where the dogs were trained, a fenced-in area to the side for the dogs’ exercise, and a small bungalow to the right where the handler stayed while learning the signals before taking his dog back to base.

Every few weeks, Matt took a dog to the field and went through the signals. He wanted to be able to help out in a pinch. And had.

Coop saw Matt and signaled Dirk. They stopped training and, with long and purposeful strides, headed toward him.

Coop put the dogs in their pens and hurried to Matt’s side. Is something wrong?

Matt thrust a copy of the summons into each brother’s hand.

They moved beneath one of the outside lights to see better. Coop spoke up. Is Reed crazy? You know this isn’t true, and so does he. It’s a scam to get your money.

Dirk’s mouth twisted in anger. Your cousin has been jealous of you all his life. This is his way to get millions, if not billions, from the Trust and claim it as his own.

They were voicing Matt’s own thoughts. He wouldn’t go this far without some kind of proof. They wouldn’t send out a subpoena on a whim, which means he has something.

Do you have any idea what it could be?

Matt ran a hand over his face. Not a clue.

Just because there are only two Montgomerys left doesn’t mean he should get what your great-great-grandfather handed down, which is now entrusted to you. You know as well as anyone how fast Reed would blow through the money. The charities the trust donates to would suffer the loss.

I know that, Coop, but what if he has a legitimate claim?

His brothers looked at him as if he was crazy. Coop slammed a hand onto the papers. I guess you’re ready to hand your lazy, good-for-nothing cousin half of your Trust based on what’s written on a piece of paper?

I will if it’s true.

"You’re nuts. What happened to your sense of right and wrong?

If his allegations are true, he deserves half, Matt said stubbornly.

Coop put his hands on his hips. Then prove him wrong.

Even though I don’t know where to start, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Coop folded the papers and put them in his pocket. You’re upset. When you calm down, you’ll be able to think more clearly. In the meantime, Dirk and I will do what we can.

Your hands are full with your PI work and the dogs. Between myself and the Trust attorney, we’ll handle it.

Do you mean old Emery Flannery? He’s too decrepit to do anything other than look at these papers and do his tut-tut routine.

Matt wanted to laugh at Dirk’s all-too-accurate description of the attorney who had handled the Trust since Matt’s grandfather put it in his hands. Under the circumstances, Matt couldn’t muster so much as a chuckle.

You have a point. I’ll talk to Flannery. The Trust can hire your PI firm to look into this.

Though there were millions the Trust could access at a moment’s notice, getting to the stocks, bonds, and real estate would take longer. What was his cousin thinking? Over the years, his brothers had refused to take a penny from Matt, even when they were in a pinch. And though the Trust put a million dollars in a personal account in Matt’s name every year, he rarely touched it, not like his dad who took his yearly stipend, and played his life away. Mostly, Matt’s money went to Reed when he came begging. Matt lived quite comfortably on his FBI salary. The Trust itself was put to better use.

Dirk grabbed one of Matt’s arms, Coop the other. We’ll look into this whether that old goat Flannery approves or not. We’ll fight you over this if we have to. Several times a year, Reed bursts into your life and demands money. You give in without a fight every time. Not now. We’ll take the case and prove it’s bogus. Dammit, Matt. We owe you more than this. We owe you our lives.

His nightmare flared briefly. No, Dirk, you don’t. Let’s do this: you handle the case and I’ll help any and every way I can. How’s that?

It sounds like a plan. SEALs never quit! We’ll get to the truth and send Reed packing.

This time Matt did laugh. And if Carrie gets in on the act, watch the sparks fly.

Carrie would spice the case up, that’s for sure.

Carrie’s red hair, her mischievous green eyes, and sparkling personality, popped into Matt’s head. I’m going to work. There are several trunks in the attic I brought over from the estate when it sold. I’ve never looked inside them. Whether there are old clothes, documents, or mementoes, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find something that will either prove or disprove Reed’s claim. If not, we’ll continue our search until we do.

Coop nodded. It’s as good a place to start as any. We’ll go to the office this morning, get our work lined up and be back after lunch.

You each have a key to the house and the security code. Help yourselves.

Matt hurried to his SUV.

Is there any food in the house?

I doubt it, Dirk. Pick up something on your way.

Forty-five minutes later, Matt pulled into a parking space at the FBI’s downtown Houston office building. As was his custom, he took the stairs. When he stepped onto the floor, he was stopped before he got to his office. Boss wants to see you. Small conference room.

Now? It was still early, and though the timing couldn’t be worse, apparently another case was about to be dropped in his lap.

He opened the door to the conference room to see Special Agent In Charge of the Houston office, David Nelson, sitting at the head of the table. Matt’s friend, Agent Carl Sweeney, was to Nelson’s left. Matt had no idea what was going down. There were many cases coming in, so it could be anything. Sit, Montgomery.

What’s up?

He looked at Carl, but his friend gave a slight shrug, which told Matt he didn’t know.

Nelson stood and went to the white board behind him. HPD found a woman last night with knife wounds to the heart—wounds that match those of another murder victim a few months back. After some research, HPD found an earlier victim killed with the same MO in Dallas. It looks as if we might have a serial killer on our hands.

Matt and Carl exchanged a glance.

There were three photos on the board. Nelson used a laser pointer to indicate one, then the other. The first victim in Dallas had several stab wounds to her chest. The autopsy showed that any one of the wounds would have killed her, as every one hit her heart. The second victim was found here in Houston three months ago with the same type of wounds. He turned to face them. Last night’s victim was killed with the same MO. Dallas authorities have hit a dead-end. HPD didn’t do any better with the first local Vic. When her picture was put in the paper to see if anyone could identify her, someone called in anonymously that she was seen in a bar on the northeast side of Houston called Magee’s. Check and see if both local victims were customers. So far, HPD has found nothing useful. We don’t know if the first victim was into drugs or prostitution. If so, she never came onto the radar. He looked up. Get their backgrounds. What are their names? Did both visit the same bar? Were they there the night they were killed? So far we have nothing to go on.

Where were the bodies found?

In Memorial Park, not too far from the walking trail.

Interesting. Not too far from downtown Houston, the park was known for its many walking and jogging trails; its golf course was a recreational favorite for thousands.

Coop kept his eyes on his boss. From the look on your face, you seem to think this was unusual.

It wasn’t where they were found that was unusual.

The pictures aren’t clear. Do you have a description? Anything?

Here you go, Montgomery. The SAC slid a folder their way. For the moment, they are Jane Doe One and Two. I’m appointing you as Special Agent In Charge of the case. The folder holds all I know and all HPD knows. Sweeney will be on your team. Others will be assigned as needed. Questions?

Who has the case for HPD?

Detective Ben Seton. His number is in the file.

Has an autopsy been performed on the latest victim?

Nelson looked at his watch. In thirty minutes.

Standing, Matt grabbed the file and hurried out with Carl close behind.

I want a daily report, the SAC called out just before the door shut.

Twenty minutes later, the two opened the double doors at The Institute of Forensic Sciences for Harris County. Do you think we’re on time?

Pray we are. I understand the medical examiner is a stickler for punctuality.

Down the hall they saw a man and a woman waiting at the door to the morgue. I think we made it.

They hurried to catch up when the door opened.

I see the FBI is in on this one. Standing in the doorway, the medical examiner surveyed the group. I’m Doctor Jane Alahandra. Why don’t you introduce yourselves?

Detective Seton, HPD.

Agent Sweeney and Special Agent in Charge Montgomery. FBI.

Detective Candace Hopkins, HPD.

Do people call you Candy?

She gave Carl the evil eye. Not if they want to live.

There were a few chuckles.

Matt gave her a close look. Small boned, not too tall, blue eyes and black hair. Nice. His gaze went to the medical examiner. She was a tall brunette in her forties, with the dark eyes and complexion of her Hispanic ancestors. A green gown, hairnet, and paper shoe coverings covered her street wear. A pair of half-glasses sat on the end of her nose. Suit up. She pointed to a table. Three minutes.

When they walked into the cold room, dressed as if ready to perform surgery, she was standing over a steel table. Carefully, she lifted the lightweight sheet from the victim.

If anyone is faint of heart, leave now.

No one moved.

Detective Hopkins spoke up. I could gut a deer by the time I was twelve.

Let’s get on with it.

Matt gave the doctor his full attention as she weighed, measured, and checked the victim. After removing the paper bags from the victim’s hands, the doctor carefully took nail scrapings, then photographed, and examined the entire body.

Red hair. Quickly, he checked his file. The first victim had red hair and green eyes as well. Doc. Can I ask a question?

Go for it.

From the Dallas victim’s file and your autopsy on our first victim, both had red hair and green eyes, does this one as well?

She does. However, the hair on our first victim and the one in Dallas was dyed.

Pubic hair as well? Detective Hopkins wanted to know.

Yes.

And this one?

The doctor took a sample of hair from the victim’s head and pubic area and moved to a microscope. Dyed.

What does that mean? If anything? Detective Hopkins asked.

We’ll talk after we finish, her partner hissed.

See to it, Detectives. The medical examiner’s tone was hard as she turned away from her recorder. Otherwise you and your friends are going out the door.

Sorry, Doctor. The dyed hair got my attention.

As it should.

Matt cleared his throat.

The medical examiner looked at him over her glasses. What?

Obviously the doctor wasn’t happy with interruptions, so Matt kept quiet.

Can we get on with it now?

Matt nodded. But he had dozens of questions. The first one being, if the killer targeted women with dyed red hair, how did he know it was dyed?

The doctor measured the wound, glanced over her glasses at them. I performed the autopsy on the first local victim. It seems that both died from a clean, deep cut made by a six-inch knife with a one-inch base.

I would like to find that knife. Matt spoke in an undertone, but the others heard and nodded in agreement.

The doctor gave him a look before she turned back to her work. For the next two hours, her voice took on a monotone, as she carefully went through the procedure of opening up the victim, weighing and checking the woman’s organs, while at the same time, speaking her findings into the mike.

Matt was more than glad to have her close the body and call the autopsy concluded.

As they were removing their protective gear, Detective Hopkins spoke up. Why don’t we have lunch and compare notes?

Good idea. Sweeney jumped on the idea.

Matt wondered if Hopkins was the detective in charge? He had thought it was Seton.

They met up at a sandwich shop two blocks away. But Matt’s mind was going in many directions. The nightmare that came out of nowhere—the problem with Reed, and now a serial killer case. The day that started out on a bad note was only getting worse. His appetite left him.

…I think it’s pertinent, Detective Hopkins noted.

What?

"You’re a million miles away. I hope that’s not how the FBI conducts an investigation of this