Nowhere To Hide (A Harley Cole FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 6)

By Kate Bold

When a second dead body turns up on an oil rig in Texas, FBI Special Agent Harley Cole must race to enter a serial killer’s mind and stop him before he strikes again. Why this mysterious signature? Is she walking right into his trap?


“This is an excellent book… When you start reading, be sure you don’t have to wake up early!”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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NOWHERE TO HIDE is Book #6 in a new series by #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Kate Bold, whose bestseller NOT NOW (a free download) has received over 600 five star ratings and reviews.



A page-turning and harrowing crime thriller featuring a brilliant and tortured FBI agent, the HARLEY COLE series is a riveting mystery, packed with non-stop action, suspense, twists and turns, revelations, and driven by a breakneck pace that will keep you flipping pages late into the night. Fans of Rachel Caine, Teresa Driscoll, and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love.



Book #7—NOWHERE CERTAIN—is also available.



“This book moved very fast and every page was exciting. Plenty of dialogue, you absolutely love the characters, and you were rooting for the good guy throughout the whole story… I look forward to reading the next in the series.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Kate did an amazing job on this book and I was hooked from the first chapter!”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“I really enjoyed this book. The characters were authentic, and I see the bad guys as something we hear about daily on the news... Looking forward to book 2.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“This was a really good book. The main characters were real, flawed and human. The story went along quickly and wasn't mired in too many unnecessary details. I really enjoyed it.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Alexa Chase is headstrong, impatient, but most of all brave with a capital B. She never, repeat never, backs down until the bad guys are put where they belong. Clearly five stars!”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Captivating and riveting serial murder with a twist of the macabre… Very well done.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“WOW what a great read! Talk about a diabolical killer! Really enjoyed this book. Looking forward to reading others by this author as well.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Page turner for sure. Great characters and relationships. I got into the middle of this story and couldn’t put it down. Looking forward to more from Kate Bold.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Hard to put down. It has an excellent plot and has the right amount of suspense. I really enjoyed this book.”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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“Extremely well written, and well worth buying and reading. I can't wait to read book two!”

—Reader review for The Killing Game

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Bold
• Release date: Jan 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094378183

Book preview

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N O W H E R E

TO   HIDE

(A Harley Cole FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 6)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); and the EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2023 by Kate Bold. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Mykola Mazuryk, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY KATE BOLD

ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)

THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)

THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)

THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)

THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)

THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)

ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER

LET ME GO (Book #1)

LET ME OUT (Book #2)

LET ME LIVE (Book #3)

LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)

LET ME FORGET (Book #5)

LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)

CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT ME (Book #1)

NOT NOW (Book #2)

NOT WELL (Book #3)

NOT HER (Book #4)

NOT NORMAL (Book #5)

NOT AGAIN (Book #6)

NOT SAFE (Book #7)

NOT TODAY (Book #8)

HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)

NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)

NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)

NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)

NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)

NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)

KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

LAST BREATH (Book #1)

LAST CHANCE (Book #2)

LAST WISH (Book #3)

LAST SHOT (Book #4)

LAST MISTAKE (Book #5)

EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IN HIS BLOOD (Book #1)

IN HIS SIGHTS (Book #2)

IN HIS REACH (Book #3)

IN HIS MIND (Book #4)

IN HIS WAY (Book #5)

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

As the alarm for the morning shift rattled in the distance, Angelo Detti set the wrench aside and wiped his brow, accidentally smearing a rainbow of oil across his face. He cursed, then plucked a fresh rag from his tool bag.

He wasn’t getting paid enough to do this. Not nearly enough.

It was not that Angelo was greedy. He had always been a man of simple tastes, able to go through college eating little other than ramen noodles and pizza, working part-time jobs so that he would not graduate with an insurmountable weight of debt on his shoulders.

Since marrying and becoming the father of a beautiful boy not yet three months old, however, his need to make money had increased. His long shifts meant that his son was getting ready for bed by the time Angelo came home, but if that was the sacrifice necessary to provide a home for his family and a future for his son, Angelo was more than ready to put in the time and effort.

And what better place to make his fortune than in the vast, blistering oil fields of Texas?

It was tedious work, yes, but whenever he got discouraged, he pictured his son’s face—the wide, toothless smile—and drew hidden strength from the knowledge that he would see his family again at the end of the day. All he had to do was keep working until then.

He wiped the oil off the stripped bolt, then swapped the wrench for a pair of pliers and tried again, not worried about damaging the bolt further with the teeth of the pliers. This time the bolt turned. He backed it out, found a matching bolt in his toolbox, and inserted the new one into the hole, tightening it down so that it would hold the plate firmly without rattling.

Nodding to himself, satisfied with his work, he stepped back and tossed his tools into the once-orange utility box, which was now as drab as the steel platform on which it rested, and then turned to shout to the foreman that he was finished, and the drill was ready to run again.

As he swiveled his head, however, something caught his eye. The sun was just surfacing in a blaze of orange, and its light—not unlike the color his toolbox had once been—painted the upper half of the rig, the derrick, in a bright brushstroke. Something was moving up there, swinging in the gentle breeze that rose in fits and starts across the vast, eternal emptiness of the Texan plain.

One of the fellas left a vest up there, that’s all it is. Just a vest.

Even as he tried to reassure himself, however, he knew that whatever object he was seeing was too big to be a vest. Too . . . full.

The wind freshened, and something fell toward Angelo, making a dull ring as it bounced against the struts of the tower. Angelo stepped back at the last moment, and the work boot landed upright where he had been standing moments before, the laces loose and the tongue bent away from the rest of the boot.

Angelo stared at the boot, puzzled. You didn’t take your boots off when you were working on a rig, so where had this one come from? He tried to imagine some scenario in which one of the other workers might have lost a boot up in the derrick, but he could think of none.

He glanced over to where the foreman stood just past the silent diesel engines, his white hard hat popping out against the gray morning like a mushroom sprung overnight. The man’s back was to Angelo, a radio pressed to the side of his head.

What am I going to do? Angelo thought. Interrupt his conversation to say I found a boot? Do I want him to make my life a living hell?

It was an odd discovery, but that did not mean there wasn’t a perfectly reasonable explanation for what that boot had been doing up there. Surely, one of the other workers would recognize it and have a funny story to tell. Angelo would wait to hear it—he didn’t need to get impatient and make an ass of himself.

He picked up his toolbox and began making his way to the company truck parked nearby, already turning his thoughts to the next repair on his list. While he was still crossing the platform, however, he heard something ping against one of the steel supports of the derrick.

He looked up. Another drop fell, dragged slightly off-course by the wind before hitting a strut and exploding into tiny droplets.

A strange chill went through him. He tried to assure himself it was just oil—he was on an oil rig, after all.

But what, then, was that shape swaying up there?

The next drop managed to slip through the network of steel limbs and strike the cover of Angelo’s toolbox. It lay there, glistening and unmoving, while Angelo stared at it as if it were a living thing.

Troubled, he set the toolbox down and swiped the drop with his finger.

Oil—yes, it was oil. He felt a strange flood of relief, though he was not sure what he had feared. Then he noticed something strange about it, a tint of red that looked like . . . like . . .

Well, like blood.

The wind picked up, and the object suspended high overhead began to swing more violently, rebounding against the frame of the derrick. For one horrible second, Angelo saw the limbs quiver from the impact.

Madly, the words of a nursery rhyme he had often sung to his son came to mind: One boot off and one boot on. Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John.

He stepped back, filled with a panicky need to run, and stumbled over the fallen boot. He caught his balance, and as he looked down, he saw the boot fallen on its side, liquid spilling across the steel platform.

Black as oil, red with blood.

CHAPTER ONE

Federal Agent Harley Cole drew her sidearm from the holster at her hip and checked the magazine. Reassured it was loaded and ready to go, she drove the magazine home again and rested the handgun in her lap, her fingers only trembling slightly.

Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

She was parked in the corner of a gravel lot, right beside a dumpster that smelled like rancid fat and moldy produce. Through the windshield, she could see a long, low building with letters above the squat windows advertising fries, burgers, and malts. Jilted Jane’s Highway Retreat, the neon road sign read, though she could not see it from this angle. She had only recently learned of the diner, but already she knew its name by heart.

Cole’s gaze stole to the row of motorcycles standing against the building, chrome shining in the early sunlight. One of those bikes, she believed, might very well belong to a man she knew only as Savage, a man who may have been involved in her sister Kelly’s mysterious disappearance seventeen years before. And if Savage wasn’t in that building, there was a good chance she would find someone who knew him. She had no intention of leaving otherwise.

Cole unclipped her holster and slipped it into the glove box. She bent forward and shoved the gun into the waistband of her jeans, making sure to cover it with her blouse. Satisfied that nobody would notice it, she pulled out her badge and hesitated, uncertain whether to keep it with her or leave it behind.

How much are you willing to risk to find your sister? she asked herself. Your career? Your freedom?

Your life?

She had promised Bryce Forrester, her boyfriend, that she would bring him along for this little adventure. After sleeping on that promise, however, she had realized it didn’t make much sense to involve him. She liked him, and she was beginning to trust him, but he had no law enforcement background, no military training. He dealt with horses all day, not criminals, and his presence could have easily proven a mere distraction—or, worse, a liability.

Going without him meant breaking a promise, which she hated doing, but surely, he would understand. Finding out the truth about her missing sister was too important.

An intermittent humming sound interrupted her thoughts as her cell phone buzzed in the cupholder, gyrating in a slow circle. The name GREG appeared on the screen. Greg, her brother and the oldest of the three Cole children, was the one who had told her about Savage, though to be fair he had only done so after Cole had hounded him for the truth. He had kept what he knew a secret from her for nearly half of Cole’s life, and she suspected he would have carried that secret with him to the grave if a fortuitous conversation with a homeless man had not revealed to Cole her brother’s deception.

The phone was still buzzing. Harley and Greg did not have the kind of relationship that involved calling one another out of the blue just to shoot the breeze, so what did he want? And did Cole even care to find out?

While she hesitated, the phone went still. Cole waited to see whether it would ring again. It did not.

Leaning back in the seat, Cole was surprised to find herself relieved. It was not that she did not wish to speak with her brother, but rather that she didn’t want him to know where she was. If he didn’t know where she was, he couldn’t dissuade her from what she was about to do.

Tossing the badge into the glove compartment and slamming the lid closed, Cole climbed out of the Civic—a rental; her previous vehicle had been totaled during her last investigation, and she had yet to replace it—and strode toward the diner’s windowless, battered door. She studied the motorcycles in passing. She knew next to nothing about bikes, but even her untrained eye could see these were expensive, well-maintained vehicles.

The low murmur of conversation and the sharp clatter of silverware reached her ears as she stepped into Jilted Jane’s. A few regulars—truckers, by the look of them—occupied a table along the wall, but the rest of the customers appeared to be the owners of the bikes. They were dressed in leather vests and bandanas, with sunglasses on their heads and tattoos covering most of their skin. Cole glimpsed several clown faces, complete with lolling red tongues, stitched to the backs of their jackets, a clear sign she was in the company of members of the Cali Clowns.

The bell above the door announced Cole’s presence with a half-hearted tinkle, and a few heads turned in her direction, studying her without smiling. Unsettled by their gaze, she sat down on the nearest stool. Then, to keep her hands busy, she plucked a napkin from the dispenser and began working at an egg stain on the counter in front of her.

The waitress, a portly woman with frizzy hair in pigtails and a washed-out dress, ambled toward her and placed one steadying hand on the edge of the counter.

What can I get you, missy? she asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed. The conversations around the room had resumed, but Cole could still feel the eyes of some of the other customers on her, attentive to her every move.

A cup of coffee, to start, she said. Black, no sugar.

Without a word, the waitress—the name tag on her dress read ELOISE, though Cole thought this name far too elegant for such a woman—plucked a mug off the stack behind her, plopped it in front of Cole, and began filling it from a carafe. No steam rose from the mug, and when Cole curled her fingers around it, she felt only a faint warmth.

Eloise cocked an eyebrow. Is there a problem?

Cole gently pushed the mug of lukewarm coffee aside. Do you know how long this place has been in business?

I’d better know. Me and Ed built it back in seventy-seven. That was before he left me for some tramp with a pair of fakes large as balloons. She rolled her eyes.

Why’s it called Jilted Jane’s, then? Why not Jilted Eloise’s?

Don’t have the same ring to it, now does it? Why you asking, anyhow? You work for the paper or somethin’?

The gentleman to Cole’s left, an elder statesman with a jutting gray beard and a sleeveless leather jacket, popped a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth and turned to watch her.

Knowing she would be overheard anyway, Cole made no effort to lower her voice.

I’m looking for an old friend. His name’s Savage. Have you seen him lately?

Eloise, who had been mopping a circlet of water off the counter with a rag that looked like it had been