Born to Die

By Winter Austin

Trouble's on the run in rural Eider, Iowa, and Deputy Cassy Rivers's heart is in the line of fire. Two years ago, she barely escaped a harrowing experience at the hands of a maniac - and not without scars. Now a series of random robberies leads to the brutal death of a fellow officer, and she must put her trust in the one man who broke her heart.

FBI agent Boyce Hunt knows commitment isn't for men with pasts like his. He left Cassy once to protect her from the blackmail and manipulation he faces from his mother's criminal enterprise. But when they reluctantly partner up to capture the modern Bonnie and Clyde terrorizing McIntire County, their attraction flames to life once more, pulling Boyce between two loyalties.

Will they risk their hearts again, even if it means losing everything?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Aug 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215486214

Winter Austin

Winter Austin was once asked by her husband if he could meet some of the people who took residence in her head. She warned they weren’t all characters he wanted to meet, as killers walked among them. Needless to say, that conversation ended abruptly.A lifelong Mid-West gal, Winter swears she should have been born in the South, Texas or Louisiana preferably. But then she’d miss the snowy winters.Dividing her day between her four children and their various activities, a growing pet population, and her Beta-with-Alpha-tendencies Hero, Winter manages to find time to write chilling suspense and action-packed novels between loads of laundry.Don’t worry. You won’t find any of her mouthwatering culinary dishes poisoned. Unless you’re one of her fictional creations.

Book preview

Chapter One

She had avoided any chance of entering the timbered areas of McIntire County, where the stuff of nightmares dwelt.

But not tonight.

Tonight nothing that mattered to her—not her family, her past, or her pride—was as important as doing her job. And damn it, Deputy Cassandra Rivers always did her job, even when it was obvious the orders might get her killed.

She and her squad-car partner, Deputy Deacon Nash, had been sent to this side of the county—the heavily wooded side—to patrol for the culprits who’d dared to rob a bank yesterday. With every mile she traveled through the darkened timbers, sweat seeped from her pores, saturating the first layer of her clothing.

Calling all units, the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio. Robbery in progress at the Speedy Mart, 1653 Elm St. Two unidentified suspects wearing dark clothing and black sneakers. Suspects are armed. No sirens or lights.

10-4, dispatch, Nash said. Rivers and Nash responding. Approximately nine minutes out, over.

Thank God for small miracles. She yanked the car around, and as fast as the slick road conditions would allow, she sped back toward town.

Easy, Rivers. We’re one of several units responding, Nash warned.

Screw this crappy weather. No doubt the gas station attendant wasn’t in a situation to wait for whoever was less inconvenienced to arrive.

A few miles from the edge of town, the glare of headlights seemed to come out of nowhere. It took her brain a few seconds to realize the oncoming vehicle was veering back and forth between her lane and the other, and those lights were a lot closer than they first appeared.

Shit! She reacted without thinking, hitting the brakes and throwing the car into neutral, then braced for impact, hoping the cow kicker covering the grille did its job to protect them. Hang on!

The front wheels hit a slick patch. Suddenly the steering wheel jerked right, and the car skidded off the road into the ditch. The nose dove into a snowbank, spraying the windshield with a powdery shower and bringing the vehicle to a rapid stop. Cassy jerked in her seat, the belt locking her tightly in its grip. Glaring at the whooshing wipers as they cleared the moisture from the glass, she unclenched her fingers from around the steering wheel.

Rivers, you okay? Nash asked.

Fine. Pissed off, but I’m fine. She shifted the car into park, leaving the engine going, and removed her belt. Those assholes are going to be in for a surprise. She hit the lights, and as she tried to push her door open, it stuck in the snow.

Nash grabbed the mic and radioed dispatch. Dispatch, be advised, responding unit has been in an accident and is in need of assistance, over.

Cassy twisted in her seat to brace her feet against the door and forced it open wide enough for her to squeeze out.

Copy, she heard the dispatcher reply as she fumbled through the drift. Nash would give their location.

Flashlight in hand, she scanned the area, making sure not to peer into the stand of trees at her back. Oh, how nice. The asshole who’d ran them off the road hadn’t bothered to stop and was now a faint red glow in the distance. The mound they’d plowed into was mid-calf deep, and by the looks of the tires, the car was stuck good. They’d need a wrecker. Upon making another pass toward the road, the flashlight beam glinted off metal. Cassy paused, her heart hurtling into her throat as the light revealed a secret in the dark.

Red taillights reflected from a truck that had smashed into the fat trunk of a tree. The driver’s side door hung open at an awkward angle. Her brain blanked, ripping her back to those moments, those seconds of lucidness when she’d realized the open door meant her life or death.

A grunt of exertion transported her to the present. Cassy coughed as she realized she’d been holding her breath. There would be no going back to that night, or the day that followed. She was here, now, and it meant someone was hurt and needed her help. She looked over her shoulder at her partner. Nash, we’ve got another accident.

The truck… it looked familiar. She hurried, best as she could through the snow, to the crushed vehicle. Behind her, she heard her partner following. Panting by the time she reached the truck bed, Cassy placed a hand against the side and sucked in air. Finally able to breathe, she lifted her flashlight.

Dark, dripping stains marred the window and the door’s interior. The coppery scent of blood was strong—either the cold was keeping it fresh, or the accident had occurred in the last hour. On closer inspection, they found more blood on the steering wheel and seat, smeared down the side of the truck into the snow.

Where’s the driver? Nash asked.

Cassy’s stomach roiled as she searched the ground for signs of the driver’s escape route. A few feet from the truck, bright pink stains dotted the new dusting of snow. She crouched down to examine the indentations around the blood. It looked like the driver had crawled along the ground, probably disorientated from the crash, and—the beam followed the tracks—headed into the timber. She lost all ability to swallow as she gazed into the black abyss. The road wasn’t far from the truck. Why go into the woods?

Shoring up her flagging courage, Cassy swiveled back, catching sight of deeper tracks inches from her position. Nash, does it look like someone else came down here?

He had crept away from the truck, the beam of his flashlight pointed toward a spot on the slight hill coming down from the road. Yep.

Had the driver of the vehicle that forced them off the road done this and come down here to help the injured party? It could explain why they hadn’t stopped after she and Nash went off the road—they were in a hurry to get the injured party to the hospital. But they’d gone the wrong way for emergency help. She turned back to the ominous tracks leading into the woods. And why go there? A violent shudder coursed through her. Was this a deadly hit and run?

Nash stomped through the piling drift in the direction she dared not go. He pressed on, following the tracks.

Rising, she looked above him to the towering menace holding her darkest fear. The scent of pine triggered more memories, but she covered her mouth and nose with her glove. Criminy, how she hated to even be near the trees, always taunting her because she’d trusted the wrong person with her life. Hell, she’d shot her sister, almost killing her last chance at repairing the rift between them.

Rivers, you need to come see this.

She couldn’t move. Staring into that pit of hell, she trembled.

No. She was cold. Not scared. The snow was melting against her legs and soaking her pants, so it was a chill-induced shiver, nothing more.

Rivers, you okay? Nash’s question was like a hammer coming down on her, shocking her out of her stupor.

I’m fine, just thinking. Willing herself forward, she took one giant step over the white mound in front of her, and then another, until she joined Nash under the heavily laden boughs, doing her damned best to ignore the quaking in her limbs and the dark whispers going through her mind.

"Your family has failed you… Atone… She’s mine… Release me… It’s okay."

There’s a trail.

Long drag marks bookended by a bevy of footprints and bloodstains led further into the timber. Somebody—or somebodies—hadn’t taken the driver to get help.

I don’t like this, she said. If she excluded the events of two years ago, this area was peaceful and quiet, and the worst crime she had to worry about was pulling over drunk drivers. She hadn’t moved here to get embroiled in another complicated and messy death.

Follow the tracks, Nash said, and without any hesitation, he began plowing through the shin-high snow. This was just another call that would result in routine paperwork for him. When he realized she wasn’t following him, he stopped and turned. Come on, Rivers, someone who needs our help is in there.

He didn’t know about her ordeal with The Priest; all Nash was privy to was that she’d been here when it happened. To avoid getting special treatment from anyone, especially her partner and the sheriff, Cassy stayed mum about the unwarranted fear of the forest that had cropped up after her kidnapping. But she’d never expected them to actually make her go there—go into those woods. Her job be damned at this point.

Nash trudged back to her. Rivers, what’s up? You aren’t going to get sick on me now?

She shook her head, making her braid fly. No, she choked out. I’m fine. Let’s go. With a curt nod, she pushed forward. Doing her best to stay in his tracks and forget where she was going, Cassy kept the beam of her flashlight trained on the drag marks. At one point it looked as if whoever was moving the driver had lost their hold and let the person fall. A large, red blotch stained the snow.

She squatted and scanned the markings. I’m getting the sense we have two people doing this. She rose, squinting back at the accident scene. The snow was beginning to fill in the tracks. Wind blasted through the drooping evergreens, swirling the tiny crystals into a wild frenzy. The temperatures were predicted to drop into the negatives overnight, but before it happened, another five to six inches of snow was supposed to fall. It was getting heavier as they stood there.

I don’t get why they came this way. Like they wanted to—

We need to hurry, she cut off Nash, not wanting to hear her thoughts voiced.

He continued to lead the way, and she hauled it to keep up. They’d gone another eight yards when Nash’s flashlight beam glanced off a large, darkened lump at the base of a tree.

A feeble, bloodied hand lifted in the flashlights’ beams, then flopped.

Oh my God, he’s still alive, Cassy called out.

Her fear shelved, Cassy hurdled the snow and fell down next to the man. Blood was everywhere, bubbling from his mouth and nose, but that wasn’t what sent a violent tremor through her body.

Wallis, she gasped.

The young Eider police officer’s eyelids fluttered open enough for her to see his eyes. Help, he rasped. A breath rattled in his lungs, then nothing.

She frantically yanked off her glove and searched for a pulse. Wallis. Wallis, no.

She flung herself back and crab-crawled away, rolling onto her knees as she gulped deep, icy breaths to stave off the need to vomit. Why? Why her? Why here? She stared into Wallis’s dead eyes, wishing she hadn’t been the one to find him. Wishing she were anywhere other than here.

God wouldn’t be so cruel as to force her to work through another horrendous homicide. Right?

Chapter Two

FBI Agent Boyce Hunt emerged from the government-issued car, paused to zip his heavy coat, then plowed through the drifting snow.

Cold peppered the back of his neck. Boyce glared over his shoulder at the agent he was assisting, Liza Bartholomew. I’m never letting you drive again.

I got you here in one piece, southern boy—you should be grateful.

If you consider lucky to be alive as getting here, then yes, Bartholomew, you got us here in one piece. In the first bad snowstorm of the season.

Look, I grew up in northern Iowa; this is not bad. Maybe you’d like to drive back to Cedar Rapids?

Uhh, nope. It’s been too many years since I last drove on snow, and I don’t plan on revisiting that particular skill.

Then quit your bitchin’. Liza kicked up another dusting of snow.

Boyce shivered as the ice crystals coated his head, melting as they made contact with his skin. Damn that woman and her need to torment him. They’d been paired up six years ago, the last year Boyce worked out of the Cedar Rapids office. But as much as Liza’s bossy, sister-like attitude irritated him, they managed to work well together. They seemed to be able to read each other’s minds, and each was able to balance the other in many different situations. So when the Cedar Rapids office asked Memphis to send him as an assist in a high-profile fraud case, Boyce asked to partner with Liza while her current partner was recovering from surgery. Together, they had made short work of the fraud case and were now looking into some troubling robberies in McIntire County. In their first short partnership, Liza had quickly caught on to Boyce’s quirks, though he’d never revealed anything more to her than what the other agents already knew.

The only woman who knew him beneath the surface was miles away, physically, and farther still, mentally. Sadly, Cassy preferred it that way.

Lights blazed from the convenience store, highlighting the falling snow. God, how he hated cold weather, and snow, and winter in general. Boyce hadn’t missed this one bit since moving to Memphis. His return to the Cedar Rapids office couldn’t have come at a worse time, as colleagues were closing in on the one person Boyce wanted to see brought down. Not being there gnawed on his brain, making him irritable.

Get over it and move on. It’s not like you have any say in what happens in that case. At least, you’re not supposed to.

Ever the gentleman—as his wickedly southern belle of a mother taught him—Boyce opened the door for Liza, despite her constant protest at the deed, and allowed her to enter first. The smell of gunpowder and sweetener filled the air. It was preferable to the overwhelming odor of blood and decay he normally encountered on a scene like this. No one had been shot in this robbery.

Sheriff Shane Hamilton, whom Boyce had worked with two years previously on a rash of murder-suicides, turned as Boyce and Liza rounded the front checkout counter. Next to the imposing cowboy stood his youngest deputy, Adam Jennings. The kid appeared to have aged, given his deeper frown lines and crow’s feet. Jennings didn’t have the fresh-out-of-the-academy look anymore—this was a solid cop with experience under his belt. Hamilton and Deputy Nicolette Rivers must have molded him well.

Agent Hunt, to what do I owe the displeasure of your presence in my county? Hamilton asked.

Why, Sheriff, I’ve come out of the goodness of my heart to assist you in what appears to be your time of need.

Liza muttered something about a cockfight, which made Boyce grin. Wait until she met Deputy Rivers and experienced the woman’s penchant for what he could nicely call sarcasm.

Wonderful, Hamilton exclaimed. Why don’t you clean up while I go see who was murdered?

His statement floored Boyce.

Murdered? Liza asked.

Two of my deputies just called in for my assistance. They found an Eider city police officer who has been murdered.

One of Hamilton’s deputies would have to be Rivers; the other was probably the replacement for a deputy who had died tragically two years ago.

Well, this just got interesting, Liza commented.

I wouldn’t call it that, Agent… ?

Bartholomew. And why’s that?

Hamilton shifted his weight to his right leg and crossed his arms. Because, this ain’t normal for my county.

Boyce tapped Liza’s shoulder. She glanced at him, and when she registered his let me take the lead expression, she stepped back.

Sheriff Hamilton, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come along. Agent Bartholomew can assist Deputy Jennings with the scene here.

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. The former bronc rider’s stare was as cold as the snow blowing around outside. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.

Boyce pulled out the good-ole-boy charm. At this point in our acquaintance, Deputy Rivers and myself have come to a mutual ‘let’s agree to disagree’ understanding.

Hamilton glanced at the stone-faced Jennings, who managed to crack a smile. When Hamilton’s gaze returned to Boyce, amusement filled his weathered features. Whatever you say, Agent Hunt. It’s not like you won’t find out later.

Find out what?

• • •

Turned out Deputy Rivers was Deputy Cassandra Rivers, and not her mouthy sister, Nicolette. Boyce had to remind himself not to gape at the vexing blonde, who had replaced her sister on the McIntire County department force.

Now they were all going to have one happy reunion, if Cassy didn’t shoot Boyce on sight.

Traipsing through the deepening snow, Boyce was thankful Cassy hadn’t noticed him yet. The closer he could get to another person—the tall, African-American man in a deputy uniform next to her, for instance—the lower the chance she’d want to take a swing at him. The last time he’d seen her, Cassy was recovering from being drugged and kidnapped. A near-miss to her head shot by her now brother-in-law had left her with a long wound on her left cheek. Boyce had done what came naturally to him: used his job as an excuse and bailed. Just like the first time, he’d left her to deal with the fallout alone while he sought solace in his career and getting one step closer to seeing his mother brought down.

Cassy looked different in uniform. She’d taken a step down, becoming a deputy after serving as a plainclothes detective in Coralville, Iowa. Whatever had occurred out here in the middle of the woods would demand her investigative skills once more.

Cassy had always worn her hair medium-length or short, but now there was a long, blond braid trailing out from under her stocking cap. Cassy turned, allowing the headlights to spotlight her face, making the scar stand out.

The scar was a symbol of his worst and best heartbeat, that second he’d stood frozen, watching a drugged Cassy shoot her sister and then fly backward, blood spraying the air above and behind her. Boyce swore his heart had failed and he’d died right there with her, until Cassy let out a distressed scream and rolled to her side.

Why in the hell is he here?

Her caustic demand jerked Boyce out of his memories, yet he didn’t hesitate to walk up to her. Seems we can’t avoid meeting like this, Deputy Rivers.

Hamilton, I’m not working with him.

Hold your horses, Rivers. No one said he was working with anyone. I still don’t know why he’s even here.

Boyce turned his attention to the other deputy, and he thrust out his hand. Agent Boyce Hunt, FBI.

The man flashed his teeth, taking Boyce’s hand. Deacon Nash.

You worked alongside Deputy Rivers long?

Since she took this post. I was her sister’s partner for a time.

Ahh, and how did you enjoy working with the infamous Nicolette Rivers?

A gem. A real gem.

Are you two through with the small talk? Cassy cut in.

If he could read her mind—and he usually was good at it—she was trying to figure out what he was doing. Buddying up to her coworker meant keeping her off-kilter, and frankly, that’s what he wanted. To get under her skin.

Lead the way, Deputy, Boyce said.

With a shake of her head, she turned and trudged through the deep snow toward the wooded area and presumably the victim, leading them past a mangled truck draped with a tarp to keep the snow from damaging any evidence. The beams from the four flashlights revealed the faint traces of tracks making a path.

We found drag marks and blood as we came this way, but as you can see, they’re long gone with the snow, Deputy Nash pointed out.

How did you protect the body? Boyce asked.

Staked a tarp around it, Cassy answered. We preserved as much of it as we could, but this storm isn’t playing by the rules.

Swaying in the killer’s favor.

Silence hung between the four of them as they entered a thick stand of trees. Boyce narrowed his gaze at the ever-so-slight hesitation and stiff movements of Cassy as they left the brilliant glow of the squad cars’ lights and entered the deep darkness of the timber. Odd. The snow dampened the sound of their labored breathing. Their lights bounced along, creating a strobe effect that played havoc on Boyce’s eyes, which in turn gave him a headache. This was why he stayed far away from the Memphis nightclubs.

One beam landed on the edge of the blue tarp, and their group slowed. Cassy broke away to lift the tarp and reveal the gruesome package underneath.

My God, Wallis, Hamilton said. What were you doing out here?

Don’t know, sir, Nash said. He was barely alive when we found him.

Boyce eased around to face the victim then squatted down to his level. If he had to take a guess, the man had been propped against the tree, shot to death, and left. The body had listed to the right, not sliding down into the snow. By the amount of blood, frozen to the body, and from what Boyce could make out, it appeared the killer might have emptied the gun on the victim. How he’d stayed alive long enough for the deputies to find him was a miracle. Boyce passed his light over the drooping head but didn’t notice any wounds there.

A case of road rage gone bad? he suggested.

I don’t think so, Cassy said.

Boyce straightened, turning to her. Her intuition was uncanny, and that’s what made her a good investigator. She’d been right about The Priest being the one behind the suicides; regretfully, she hadn’t paid attention to protecting herself in the process.

Why do you say that, Deputy Rivers? he asked.

It might have the hallmarks of a road-rage killing, but why drag him all the way out here? Why not shoot him in the truck and be done with it? And there had to be at least two to drag him to this spot. The signs back at the truck suggest Wallis had been trying to get away from them, and he was injured badly. He must have struggled, because they dropped him at one point.

Do you think he knew his killers?

Cassy tapped her chin with a gloved finger. Hard to say, but it might explain why he was forced off the road. Nash spotted dents in the bumper. Whoever did it didn’t have to hit him hard, especially with the road conditions as they are, but they certainly had to be driving experts in order not to follow him into the ditch and get stuck.

The way you’re talking, Deputy, you think this was an incident of a personal nature, Hamilton said.

Cassy’s hooded gaze focused on Boyce. It was too dark to read what her eyes were saying, and out of courtesy, he didn’t flash his light in her face, but he could decipher her stance. By her rigid posture, he guessed she was onto something. Her brain was probably moving at the speed of light, and she was throwing suggestions at them to hear herself think.

I’m thinking it was spontaneous and a thrill for whoever did this. And I don’t think it’s over.

Chapter Three

Cassy’s pants were saturated, and she was freezing by the time Wallis’s body had been moved to the hospital. The crash scene had been cleared away, with the mangled truck on its way to a garage until the Division of Criminal Investigation could process it for evidence. Hamilton sent her and Nash home, advising them to come back to the department that afternoon. This new development called for all hands on deck. Relieved to finally get out of the woods, Cassy wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and sleep. Instead, she found herself wrestling her quarter-ton truck up the long drive leading to her sister and brother-in-law’s home.

She needed to decompress before going to her place. The only person aware of her fear of the woods was Nic, because her intuitive sister had been fighting her own battles with PTSD and could spot the signs. Cassy trusted Nic to keep her mouth shut; after all, Nic had gone years holding on to her own dark secrets. With Boyce in town, things were about to get really ugly, and Cassy would need all the backup she could get to avoid being lured into his snare. He was crafty and had never failed to ply her with his conman skills. Skills, she’d learned, his mother had taught him well.

After parking off to the side of the freshly plowed driveway, she killed the engine and exited the cab. Con would need to leave at some point, and she wasn’t blocking him in.

She slogged through the snow piled in the yard, squinting in the early-morning light. Christmas decorations adorned the house, reminding her she had eleven shopping days left. It was surreal to see the O’Hanlon house decked out. Nic had forever loathed the holiday, a festering wound thanks to their father’s decided lack of interest in Nic and an MIA Christmas