Retreat: Fateful Justice, #5

By Sara Vinduska

A talented FBI agent, a gutsy park ranger, and a string of missing hikers...

 

When Special Agent Josh Sanderson takes a much-needed vacation to Yellowstone National Park, he never expected to be plunged headlong into a disturbing murder investigation. But after he crosses paths with a spunky female park ranger, they begin to unravel an unsettling case that threatens both of their lives.

 

A killer is stalking Yellowstone National Park. As ranger Mackenzie Ford struggles to track down the shadowy culprit before any more hikers go missing, she welcomes the charming FBI agent's help. But the closer they get to answers, the stronger their feelings for each other become.

 

The clock is ticking, and it's only a matter of time before the pair fall into the killer's sights. Josh won't risk letting Mackenzie get hurt – but deep in the forests of Yellowstone, the law of the wild rules... and they're nothing more than prey.

 

Can Josh and Mackenzie unearth the murderer stalking the woods? And what will become of their undeniable feelings that are simmering just beneath the surface?

 

Dive into a scintillating romantic suspense novel that's packed with electrifying action, nail-biting suspense, and two lovers brought crashing together by a sinister mystery. The fifth book in the Fateful Justice series is a page-turning read that you won't want to miss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Vinduska
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215137260

Book preview

1

FBI Special Agent Josh Sanderson cursed as he crouched down behind his truck in his driveway. He flinched as another bullet hit the concrete next to him. Goddamn, this was not what he expected when he came home after a perfectly ordinary day on the job.

He’d known the instant he pulled into his driveway that something was wrong. He’d spotted the figure in the shadows before he’d even hit the garage door opener. And he had a damned good idea who it was lurking in the shadows.

As Special Agent in Charge of the tiny Casper, Wyoming FBI resident agency, he didn’t deal with a lot of high profile investigations. The man outside his house was one of the exceptions. Gavin McCabe. A slimy bastard wanted on embezzlement charges. Now he was shooting up Josh’s fucking driveway. And that was not acceptable.

Josh lived in a nice neighborhood. The houses were all on large lots, but it wasn’t exactly isolated either. McCabe was using a silencer, but Josh wasn’t - just his bureau issued Glock 19M. Gunshots would definitely be noticed by someone soon.

He needed to end this. Now.

McCabe, he shouted. I know it’s you.

Silence.

He leaned around the passenger side of his truck. And was rewarded with a sharp sting on his shoulder. Fuck, McCabe is going to pay for that.

Glancing down, he saw blood running down his right arm. Not serious, just a graze on the upper arm, but damn it stung like a son of a bitch. He’d underestimated how good of a shot McCabe was.

Time to call in the troops. He grabbed his phone. It’s Sanderson, he said when his senior agent, Agent Deavers, answered. I’ve got Gavin McCabe outside my house. He’s got me pinned down in my fucking driveway.

McCabe shot again, hitting Josh’s windshield this time.

Fuck, Josh said, returning fire.

Hold tight, sir. We’re on the way, Deavers said over the sound of the shots being fired.

Josh pocketed his phone as the dark clouds above started spitting out rain. He wiped water off his face, kept his aim on the corner of his house.

McCabe came barreling around the side of Josh’s house, shooting, and ran for a car, parked down the street.

Josh returned fire and followed. He fumbled for his phone.

On the move, Josh said, jumping back into his truck and speeding after McCabe. He didn’t hear what the other agent said as he dropped the phone and concentrated on not losing McCabe.

---

Josh tried to keep sight of the brake lights of the vehicle he was pursuing. He ignored the pain in his arm, the blood dripping steadily onto the floor. His windshield wipers were on high, but did little to help him see into the dark Wyoming night. Neither did the cracked windshield. He braked hard, trying not to hydroplane on the slick blacktop as the two lane county road curved around the side of the mountain.

He still couldn’t believe the damn son of a bitch had been staking out his house, waiting to ambush him. Fucking coward.

He needed reinforcements, needed to call in his current location, but that was damned hard to do when it took everything he had to stay on the road at this high speed with one good arm.

The road straightened again, but there was no sign of the car in front of him. Damn it to hell. He leaned forward, squinted his eyes, searching for a sign of the car.

The son of a bitch had to be around here somewhere. There’d been a few turnoffs he could have taken, but not many.

Sudden bright light through the passenger window blinded him a second before the bone-jarring impact on the side of his truck.

His head slammed sideways into the window hard as he gripped the steering wheel and fought to keep control of the truck. But it was a losing battle. He slammed on the brakes. His truck continued to slide sideways towards the guardrail. There was another hard impact as the truck hit the railing, a brief screech of metal, then he was airborne.

The truck careened down the steep incline. Nothing he could do to stop it. Josh’s body was held in place by the seatbelt, but battered as the truck crashed through trees. The rugged truck was no match for the steep terrain. Glass shattered, metal bent. Darkness closed in.

---

By the time Agent Deavers and the local cops arrived on scene at his SAC’s house, there was no sign of Agent Sanderson or McCabe. There was, however, a small amount of blood in the driveway. Hopefully it was McCabe’s and not his boss’s. He quickly covered it with an evidence cone before the rain could continue washing away the valuable evidence.

Shit, he said, looking around and wiping rain from his face. They’d process the blood and station someone outside the house, but there wasn’t anything else they could do at this point. He cursed as he tried his boss’s number again and Sanderson’s phone went straight to voicemail.

He heard the faint whining of Sanderson’s dog inside the house. One more thing they’d have to take care of.

The other agents were looking for both vehicles, but with no idea where they’d gone, it was a futile effort. It was going to be a long damned night.

---

Gavin McCabe drug the last branch across the damaged guard rail. With the storm, there were plenty of branches down. Some were now just strategically placed to disguise the damaged area of the railing.

He turned his face to the dark sky. The rain would take care of most of the evidence. He looked around, moved a few more branches and debris to hide where the agent’s truck went over, then he picked up any piece of metal and plastic he could find on the road.

No need to climb down the hill. If the Fed wasn’t dead, he would be soon. Hopefully, he suffered at least a little bit. McCabe laughed as the rain soaked him to the bone.

2

When Josh came to, his sharp inhale made him nearly pass out again from the pain. He fought down panic as he realized the passenger side of his truck was crushed inwards. The door pressed against his thigh, which was now sticky with blood. He squinted his eyes into the dark night. The driver’s side of the truck was jammed against a tree, the front end of the truck crumpled inwards. He tried to think, but the throbbing in his head fought with the pain from the rest of his body.

Shit. His thoughts were jumbled as he assessed his situation.

He couldn’t get out of the truck, could barely move at all. He was trapped in the dark. He fought back a laugh, thinking about how he’d gotten his promotion to SAC because his predecessor had been killed in a car accident.

Goddamn, he’d loved his truck. He’d spent years looking for the 1993 Land Rover Defender. It was loud, rough, and slow as shit, but so damn cool. He groaned. Too bad it didn’t have airbags.

He fought down the panic and claustrophobia. He needed to calm the fuck down and think. He tried to focus, but his brain was fuzzy. Pain and darkness crashed in on him from all directions.

---

When he regained consciousness again, there was a slight glow in front of him. The sun was rising. He estimated it had been nine hours since he’d been run off the road by McCabe. He blinked. He could just make out the shapes of the trees surrounding what was left of his truck. He slowly took inventory of his body. The gunshot graze on his arm was the least of his worries. He wiped dried blood from his face with his left hand. He discounted the numerous superficial cuts. The pain in his chest and left side, combined with the difficulty breathing meant he definitely had broken ribs and probably a punctured lung at the very least. Not good. Not immediately fatal, but definitely not good.

He couldn’t move his legs, but his left arm was still mobile. He reached for his cell phone, cursed when he saw the shattered screen. He bit his lip, fought down the pain. He had to get out. He tried again to move his legs and blacked out from the pain.

---

Josh felt the individual drops of water hitting his face. Not quite like a shower. Rain. At least it was spring and raining instead of snowing. He tried to move. Pain hit like a wave, enveloping his entire body. What the hell was going on?

Forcing his eyes open, he was aware of the cool rain coming through the shattered windshield of his truck. His survival instincts kicked in. He cupped his hand, drank it down.

He caught a glimpse of his barely recognizable bruised and bloody face in the rear view mirror. He looked like shit, no question about it. The thought made him laugh, it was so absurd given the situation he was in.

Time passed, he hallucinated, drifting in and out of consciousness. Surely, someone would find him soon.

God, his dog. There was water and enough food out for a day or two. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if it was longer than that. To either of them.

Other than his dog and his co-workers, a few friends he kept in touch with, there weren’t a hell of a lot of people in this world who would miss him. And how fucking sad was that? His parents and younger brother had been killed in a mugging during his first deployment overseas and he had no other family he was close to. His eyes drifted shut.

It was so damned quiet. He was comfortable being alone, but this . . . this was unsettling. He could deal with the pain, but the feeling of being trapped was overwhelming. He couldn’t do a damn thing to save himself. His guys would search for him, no doubt about that, but how the hell would they find him here in the middle of fucking nowhere?

There had to be something he could do to help himself. But any movement he made sent waves of pain through his body.

He blinked hard, feeling disoriented. It was darker outside now. Had he passed out again? His eyes were so heavy, it was hard to keep them open and focused. Giving in, he let them close.

He woke up again with a painful jerk.

He fought to ground himself. The road couldn’t be that far away. He couldn’t turn around to look. He yelled until his voice went out. Then he pulled out his gun. He fired several shots out the window to try to draw attention. But he stopped, saving one bullet. Just in case.

How long would it take for him to die if no one found him? He could hear the wheezing as he breathed now and found it hard to stay conscious. He leaned his head back against the headrest, exhausted, trying to catch his breath. He’d survived ten years in the Army including multiple deployments. He was a Delta soldier for God’s sake. He was not going to die in a fucking car crash. That was unacceptable.

---

FBI Special Agent in Charge of the Denver field office, Ward Calhoun, had been ready to leave his office for the day when his phone rang. Calhoun, he said as he picked it up.

This is Special Agent Deavers with the Casper, Wyoming field office. Sir, I wanted to let you know we have a missing agent. Our SAC, Agent Sanderson.

Ward knew the Special Agent in Charge of the Casper office, had been impressed with him. He’d been instrumental in the takedown of a dirty senator not long ago.

All thoughts of going home any time soon evaporated. What happened?

"Our last contact with him was around seven pm last night. He radioed in, said Gavin McCabe, a suspect in a case we were working, had been spotted lurking around his home and he was in pursuit of him. There was gunfire. We never heard from him again. He never came