Dead Fall (The Quantico Files Book #2)

By Nancy Mehl

He has a deadly endgame in mind--and he's already chosen each victim . . . including her.

After putting to rest the most personal case of her career, Alex Donovan is ready to move on and focus on her future at the FBI's elite Behavioral Analysis Unit. When the BAU cofounder is discovered dead in his hotel room, the FBI is called in to work on the strangest case they've ever faced. How do you find a killer who murders his victims from a distance?

When it becomes clear that the killer is targeting agents in Alex's unit, they are ordered into lockdown, sheltered in the dorms at Quantico. Alex bunks with controversial agent Kaely Quinn, and as they work together, Alex discovers in Kaely the role model she's never had--despite being warned away.

As Alex questions the type of agent she wants to become, things get personal when the brilliant killer strikes close to home. Now Alex will do anything to find the killer--even at the risk of her own life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781493433803

Nancy Mehl

Nancy Mehl (NancyMehl.com) is the author of more than fifty books, a Parable and ECPA bestseller, and the winner of an ACFW Book of the Year Award, a Carol Award, and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She has also been a finalist for the Christy Award. Nancy writes from her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband, Norman, and their puggle, Watson.

Book preview

Books by Nancy Mehl

ROAD TO KINGDOM

Inescapable

Unbreakable

Unforeseeable

FINDING SANCTUARY

Gathering Shadows

Deadly Echoes

Rising Darkness

DEFENDERS OF JUSTICE

Fatal Frost

Dark Deception

Blind Betrayal

KAELY QUINN PROFILER

Mind Games

Fire Storm

Dead End

THE QUANTICO FILES

Night Fall

Dead Fall

© 2021 by Nancy Mehl

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-3380-3

Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Studio Gearbox

Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.

Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

To Brandon Brotton,

an exceptional young man who loves God and

promised me he’d try harder in his English classes.

Brandon, I’ll make you a character in one of my books when your parents say you’re old enough to read them, okay?

In the meantime, keep giving it your best.

I’m so proud of you!

Contents

Cover

Half Title Page

Books by Nancy Mehl

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigraph

1

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3

4

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Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

Those in law enforcement pay a heavy price when they constantly look into the dark minds of evil.

JOHN DAVIS, DARK MINDS

1

John Davis turned up the collar on his jacket as he swiftly walked away from the shrill voices bleeding through from the hotel banquet hall behind him. March certainly wasn’t going out like a lamb. This last blast of cold weather was intense.

He took a quick look behind him. If he didn’t make a fast getaway, he’d be stopped by some convention attendee asking him for advice on how to get their book published. Or even worse, begging for help finding the person who murdered their child, husband, wife, brother, sister, or parent. Over the years, the darkness in the eyes of the grieving had taken a toll on him.

He’d just turned seventy-six. Maybe it was time to stop speaking to groups full of people who thought murder was somehow exciting. Who believed they could learn behavioral analysis during a three-day convention. He’d been at this since his early days at the FBI, when profiling was just an experiment. Now, thanks to television shows and movies that romanticized the process, everyone and their dog thought they could understand the evil that festered in the hearts of certain human beings.

Although statistics and analysis helped to narrow down possibilities so law enforcement had a better chance at finding violent criminals, those procedures couldn’t explain the kind of malevolence they witnessed. As a Christian, he knew where true evil came from, but that knowledge didn’t banish the images that burned in his mind. The ones that showed up in his nightmares.

He took the key card he needed to enter the building that housed the hotel’s guest rooms from his pocket. Before he fit it into the card slot, he thought he heard someone behind him. A quick look around showed no one. Just his imagination. Why was he so rattled? He’d been uneasy ever since he’d arrived in Bethesda.

John entered the building and made sure the outer door behind him clicked shut and locked. He hurried to the elevator and more than once punched the button to the third floor as if it would somehow make the elevator move faster. When it finally arrived, he hurried inside and pressed the button to close the door. He didn’t want anyone riding up with him.

The elevator had just started to move when his cell phone rang. It was one of the Murder Will Out convention organizers and speakers, a successful suspense author he respected. This guy got it right. Few writers did. Some of the things included in novels made John cringe. In fact, he’d publicly criticized several of them. But not D. J. Harper. John recommended his books to those who wanted a real look into the lives of behavioral analysts.

Hi, D. J., he said into his phone.

Hey. You were great tonight. Thanks again for coming.

You’re welcome. You’ve done a great job with this group. This convention’s larger every year.

D. J. laughed. Sure, because you show up. You’re the main event, you know. The FBI’s most renowned profiler.

D. J. was being humble. He had a huge readership, and after every convention his book sales rocketed well beyond John’s own. Seemed to be a win-win situation for them both.

What can I do for you? John asked, hoping there wasn’t anything. He was so tired his bones hurt. He just wanted to lie down and close his eyes.

I thought I’d ask if you’d like a nightcap. We’ve been working so hard that we haven’t had much time to talk.

John couldn’t hold back a sigh as he exited the elevator and headed down the hall. I’d love to, D. J., but I just can’t. Not even for you. I’m beat.

I understand completely. As the years go by, it gets harder and harder to keep up with all these young, eager fans. I’m getting by on fumes as it is. Hey, by the way, a rather odd guy asked to meet you. I told him you weren’t available for personal meetings. Just wanted to warn you.

There’s always at least one, isn’t there?

D. J. chuckled. You’re right. Some people get so entrenched in this stuff that it warps them.

I worry about that.

I do too, but it sells books. Hard to walk away from that. He paused for a moment. Ever wonder if we’ve sold our souls?

Every day.

John was almost to his room when a group of people got off the elevators at the other end of the hall. They were dressed up, so they were probably coming from the semiformal dinner that was the last event of the convention. He hurried to slip into his room before they saw him, but he didn’t make it.

Mr. Davis, a woman in the group called out. We really enjoyed your lectures this weekend.

John nodded and tossed her a smile before sliding his card into the key slot. He was happy to hear the door unlock. Thankful to be free, he quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The final click caused him to nearly groan with relief.

Hey, sorry I rushed out after my speech, John said into the phone. Hope I didn’t come off as a snob.

D. J. laughed. Nah. Just the regular disappointed groupies who wanted a chance to talk to you. They’ll get over it.

John sat down on the side of his bed. I had the strangest feeling after leaving the banquet hall. I . . . I can’t really explain it. Almost like someone was watching me. I guess I’m letting my professional life bleed over into my real life.

Too many meetings, too many serial killers.

Yeah, you’re probably right.

D. J. grunted. If our fans only knew the truth. But no one wants to hear that. The carnage. The twisted facts that make you want to puke.

"Nothing exciting about looking at photos of young women slaughtered by one of these psychopaths. Most television shows and novels aren’t honest. They portray us as heroes and the UNSUBs as inhuman. But the frightening thing is they are human. Some can fit neatly into society so that no one knows what they really are. Some of the people here tonight could be working next to a monster and not know it."

You’re thinking of Ted Bundy.

That’s the kind of killer that scares me the most. The ones who can’t connect to society? They’re easier to find. Sometimes I wonder how many Bundys are out there. Making friends. Gaining trust. Just waiting for an opportunity to . . . He sighed. Sorry. I’m babbling. I’m just so tired tonight. Truthfully? I’m too tired every night. It might be time for me to go home and spend what time I have left with my family.

You do what you need to do, John. You’ve given enough.

Thanks. I appreciate that.

Maybe D. J. was right. These things sucked the life out of him. His speeches were whitewashed versions of the truth. People wanted nice killers. Stories you could repeat in polite society. Some of the more sordid facts stayed in the minds of law enforcement, lurking in the recesses of their thoughts, sometimes trying to claw their way out, overthrowing the idea of a sane and sensible world. A world where redemption still existed.

Thanks for the call, D. J., but I’ve got to hit the hay. I’m out of here first thing in the morning. I have an eight a.m. flight.

I could meet you for breakfast. You have to eat.

Maybe. Can I let you know after I get up?

Sure. Just call me. No pressure. Hey, thanks again for coming.

You bet. Talk to you in the morning.

John disconnected the call, D. J.’s words echoing in his head. You’re the main event, you know. He’d done thirty of these speaking engagements last year. It was March, and here he was at it again. He was exhausted, inside and out. He had enough money, and his ego didn’t need more attention. He’d made his mark. So why keep going?

He took off his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair. He’d told housekeeping not to clean the room but to leave fresh towels. He checked, and sure enough his used towels were gone and new ones had been left in their place. He noticed that a tray from breakfast was still on the table. He’d assumed they’d take it, but it seemed they took it literally when he said towels only. He thought about putting the tray in the hallway, but he might run into another excited convention fan. He decided to just leave it on the table. The cleaning staff would get it tomorrow after he left.

He grabbed his sweats out of his suitcase. He’d hung up his convention clothes, but everything else stayed packed. Faster and easier when he was ready to check out.

After a quick shower, John grabbed his cell phone. Sometimes Susan wanted to video chat so she could tell him how much she missed him. He needed to hear that now. He just wanted to go home to Houston and sit by her side on the couch with the fireplace crackling in the background as they drank hot cocoa and watched a funny movie. He was at peace then. The demons quieted. The flashes of horror stayed buried.

He called Susan using the new app he’d recently downloaded. He’d been sent an offer for a free three-month trial. If he decided to keep it, the cost was surprisingly low, and it was supposed to be better than Zoom. It not only allowed you to see the person you were talking to but recorded the video in case you wanted to replay it later. He’d accepted the offer only because he missed Susan so much when he was gone.

When she answered, he saw her beautiful face smiling at him. Her warm voice filled his ear.

I love this new video calling program, she said, but I’d like to see you too. Isn’t it supposed to work both ways?

Sorry. I haven’t figured out the problem yet. You know I’m useless when it comes to technology. I’ll ask Brandt to look at it when I get home. I’m sure he’ll take pity on his clueless grandfather and show me how to work this thing.

They chatted for a few minutes before John told her he had to get some sleep. I can’t wait to be home. I love you.

They always ended their calls the same way. He waited for Susan’s I love you more before hanging up.

He put down his phone, but then he decided to check his email. He found nothing vital, but one message’s subject line—in all caps—caught his attention: John. Read this. Important. He thought about ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of him. It was probably from a Nigerian prince telling him he would get millions of dollars if he helped the man transfer his billions, but John had to know just what was so important to someone. He opened it and read the message: Those in law enforcement pay a heavy price when they constantly look into the dark minds of evil.

It was a quote from his book Dark Minds. John shook his head and exited his account. Someone playing games. Probably another serial killer groupie trying to impress him. It had happened many times before.

John got up and made sure the door was locked, then flipped the metal swing bar closed as well. As he turned around he noticed an envelope on the floor. A bill? He picked it up. He wasn’t paying for his room. The people in charge of the convention were picking up the tab. He opened it anyway and found a page from a book folded inside. He walked over to the bed and sat down. The lamp on the nightstand was still on, and he held the paper under the light. It was a page from Dark Minds. What was going on?

Three sentences were underlined in red. In those early days, I worked with several great agents. The success we had didn’t belong to one person. We were a team, each agent bringing his special skills to our efforts. He turned the page over and found a numeral scrawled on the back, but he had no idea what it meant.

John frowned. He was getting irritated. Tomorrow he’d talk to the people in charge of the convention as well as the hotel manager. They shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. But as he thought about it, he sighed. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The hotel was full, and management couldn’t watch every single guest. Neither could the organizers watch every attendee. He should be used to it. At least a dozen times he’d had to contact the police for help against people who’d felt compelled to get involved in his life. Who thought they knew him since they’d read his books. He prayed this wasn’t another stalker. If anything else unusual happened tonight, he’d call the manager and let him know.

But right now all he wanted was sleep. He was safely locked inside his room. This situation only served to reinforce his new commitment to stay home with Susan and enjoy whatever years they had left together. Maybe God was sending him a message, confirming what he felt in his heart.

He put the envelope with the page inside on the nightstand, then got up and opened the long drapes that covered the large glass windows stretching across the wall on the other side of the room. Good, a full moon was out, and the hotel property had some outdoor lights too. He never slept in the dark. Hadn’t for years. Not since he’d learned what can lurk there. He also didn’t like feeling closed in. He mentally acknowledged the moon’s beauty, but tonight his soul was too deadened to really appreciate it. He turned off every light in his room, then climbed into bed and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d decided. This would definitely be his last speaking engagement. He’d cancel the rest.

He was just dozing off when his phone rang. Thinking it might be Susan, he rolled onto his side. When he saw her name on the screen, he answered.

2

Supervisory Special Agent Alex Donovan was closing out the paperwork on the most recent case she’d worked for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. A violent rapist had been caught in Oregon and would be spending the rest of his life in prison. Every time she and her fellow agents helped law enforcement capture criminals by creating profiles that narrowed down the field of suspects, Alex felt great satisfaction. She knew some women would live long, safe lives because of the work the BAU did. She was so thankful to be here. This was all she wanted to do.

She kept glancing toward the hallway that led to their unit chief’s office. This morning Jefferson Cole was meeting with a new member of their BAU team, but Alex wasn’t the only one distracted by that. Word had spread that Kaely Quinn, an agent once part of the BAU, had returned. Kaely was almost a legend. Her father had been an especially notorious serial killer, and her unusual ways of profiling had caused a previous unit chief to push her out. After spending several years in a field office in St. Louis, she’d recently been approved by the FBI Career Board to rejoin the BAU.

Alex was a big fan of Kaely’s. Even though she hadn’t been allowed to work officially as a behavioral analyst in St. Louis, Kaely had been instrumental in closing quite a few troublesome cases. Alex was excited to meet her and learn more about her methods.

You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you don’t stop staring toward the boss’s office, someone said from behind her. Alex jumped, then looked up to see SSA Logan Hart grinning down at her.

Funny, she said softly. Are you telling me you’re not a little excited about meeting her?

Not really. I know she has a great reputation, but I’d rather get to know her before I fall down and worship at her feet.

Also funny. But I’m not worshiping her.

I’m just teasing. But I do wonder if getting so much attention has given her a big ego. We don’t need that here. We’re a team.

I doubt Jeff would have championed her return if he didn’t think she’d be an asset. Just keep an open mind.

How about you do the same? Or do you intend to kiss her ring when you meet her?

You’re a real comedian this morning, aren’t you?

Logan laughed. Sorry. All I really care about is that she does good work—and isn’t a diva.

Alex snorted. A BAU diva? What does that look like?

I have no idea. I’m sure she’ll be fine.

He’d started to walk away when Alex’s phone rang. When she answered, she heard the voice of Alice Burrows, Jeff’s administrative assistant. Jeff wants you in the conference room ASAP, she said. Bring Logan and Monty with you, please. Without another word, she hung up. Alice was a friendly person, not usually so abrupt.

Hey, Alex said, calling Logan back. She lowered her voice. Jeff wants us and Monty.

He nodded. I’ll get Monty. Monty Wong was a close friend of theirs, and she respected his ability and tenacity. He talked a lot about his grandmother. They were very close. Even though he joked about her quite a bit, bringing up something funny she’d said or done, it was obvious he adored her. She lived in Burke, Virginia, about twenty minutes from Quantico.

Monty had recently joined Alex and Logan at church. Logan had been inviting him for quite a while, and he was really happy when Monty finally accepted. The three of them always ate out after the service, and Alex enjoyed her time with the two men. They were the closest thing she had to a family, although she was careful not to get too close to them. Working as a team meant keeping your personal life out of the equation. It could get in the way.

She followed Logan as he made his way to Monty’s desk, and then the three of them walked down the hallway to the conference room. Jeff sat at the head of the table, and next to him was Kaely Quinn. Alex had seen photos of her, but she’d had no idea how petite the woman really was. FBI agents had to pass several tests of strength and agility, so Kaely had to be strong even though at first glance she didn’t look it. Her curly red hair was held back by a hair tie, and her hands were folded on top of the table in front of her.

As Alex sat down, she noticed Jeff’s expression. Something was wrong. The last time they’d met like this they’d ended up facing a serial killer who had almost cost Alex her life. She felt her stomach tighten.

Once everyone was seated, Jeff nodded toward Kaely. This is Kaely Quinn, he said. She worked here several years ago and was dismissed from our unit for circumstances beyond her control. I’m pleased to welcome her back.

Alex smiled at Kaely and saw her visibly relax. The previous unit chief, Donald Reinhardt, had left the BAU a few years ago and had been teaching training classes at the academy until recently. He was the one who had forced Kaely out. Alex’s memory of him was of a rather imperious man who looked down on almost everyone around him. The stories she heard from other agents made it clear his departure was welcomed.

Jeff introduced the other agents sitting at the table.

I’m happy to meet you all, Kaely said.

Each agent acknowledged her, and then all eyes focused on Jeff, who seemed hesitant to speak. What was going on? Alex glanced at Logan, who slightly shrugged.

We’ve been called in on a death that happened in Bethesda, Jeff finally said. I want you to meet with the local police. Go over the evidence. Help them find the UNSUB who did this.

All of us? Logan asked.

Alex was thinking the same thing. Four analysts seemed like overkill, especially for a single murder case. Who was killed, Jeff?

His deep sigh made it clear this was personal. John Davis. He was speaking at one of those murder-mystery conventions. He spoke on Saturday night, the last night of the convention, and then went back to his room. A friend of his, an author named D. J. Harper, asked someone from the hotel to go into Davis’s room Sunday morning when he didn’t hear from him and he didn’t answer his phone. He was supposed to tell Harper whether he wanted to get together for breakfast before he flew home. Davis was found on his bed. Dead. A knife in his chest.

We heard he’d died, Logan said. But it was made to sound as if he’d died of natural causes. Maybe something like a heart attack.

Alex had been saddened when the man’s death was announced, and like Logan, she’d assumed he died of some kind of physical problem. But murdered?

John Davis was instrumental in forming the BAU. She’d read every book he’d written about the cases he’d worked. Most books several times. He was almost a father figure to behavioral analysts. He really understood the