Shattered Mind (A Cooper Trace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

By Ella Swift

When FBI Agent Cooper Trace is diagnosed with a degenerative brain disease, he finds himself having to keep it a secret and in a final race against time to catch diabolical serial killers—before it’s too late.

When victims of a new killer are found with mirrors shattered around them, Cooper must race to decode the mysterious signature—while grappling with his own new mental state.

SHATTERED MIND (A Cooper Trace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) is the first novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Ella Swift.

The Cooper Trace series is a gripping and intense crime thriller saga, showcasing an intricate and troubled protagonist. With its non-stop action, suspenseful moments, unexpected turns, and fast-paced narrative, this series will have you hooked well into the night. Fans of Robert Dugoni, Mary Burton, and Rachel Caine are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ella Swift
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094384313

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SHATTERED MIND

(A Cooper Trace Suspense Thriller —Book 1)

Ella Swift

Ella Swift

Ella Swift is author of the PEYTON RISK mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the new COOPER TRACE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).

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

Copyright © 2024 by Ella Swift. 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.

BOOKS BY ELLA SWIFT

PEYTON RISK MYSTERY SERIES

WHAT’S HIS (Book #1)

WHAT’S LEFT (Book #2)

WHAT’S WISHED (Book #3)

WHAT’S GONE (Book #4)

WHAT’S MINE (Book #5)

COOPER TRACE MYSTERY SERIES

SHATTERED MIND (Book #1)

SHATTERED LIFE (Book #2)

SHATTERED HOPE (Book #3)

SHATTERED DREAM (Book #4)

SHATTERED FATE (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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Who’s a good dog!

The golden retriever bounded up to Lily Alvarez and jumped up in excitement. Lily rubbed her ears, singing, Oh, you’re a good dog. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.

Peaches was the dog's name, and she had boundless enthusiasm and endless energy. She flopped her paws onto Lily’s shoulders and licked at her face.

Alright, alright, Lily laughed. You’ll get your food with the rest of them soon enough.

Lily opened the back door to let Peaches out to join the other dogs. Most people had a collection of some sort; for Lily, it was dogs. She had only meant to get one, a companion to share her home, but one visit to the Humane Society had led to another, and three years later, she had six jobs and a voluntary position.

There was the faint crunch of someone stepping on the gravel at the side of the house. Lily stood at the door and listened, sticking her head out to check if anyone appeared. Bernie, the large St. Bernard, rounded the corner, and Lily sighed in relief. Not that she had anything to worry about.

Lily left the door ajar and opened the dishwasher even though the ‘drying’ light was still on. Six metal dog bowls took up most of the upper shelf and were too hot to handle just yet. Lily left them to cool and continued with her other chores. She lived alone, so the chores didn't take up a whole lot of her time, and she wasn’t the messy sort. She removed the garbage bag from the small bin and left it by the door before replacing it with a fresh one. Then, she grabbed the dusting rag and went through to the living room.

Lily walked fully into the room and stopped dead.

She knew he was behind her—she could sense him in the silence—and should have run but slowly turned around to face him.

She did not recognize the man standing in her house. He had a pallid, stoney face and glassy eyes. He was taller than her, and while not overly muscular, she knew he could overpower her if he wanted to. Her eyes flickered to his hands—they were empty as far as she could see. The most terrifying thing about him was the way he stood there, unmoving, staring straight at her—not even a blink.

It was not a case of a confused individual entering her home by mistake or a man come to rob the place. She knew from his stare that he had come for her, and his intentions were evil.

Flight, fight, or freeze.

Lily wanted to run. She would even choose to fight. Her body froze, her eyes the only part of her that could move. His actions mirrored hers, standing still in the same spot she had found him in when she turned around, and she knew instinctively that as soon as she moved, he would move.

Lily scanned the room, looking for a weapon to defend herself. Her eyes caught a second figure, and she almost screamed. There was no one else; it was the same man reflected in the large mirror on her wall, but as she looked into it, he was staring straight at her from beyond the glass. She looked back at him, and he had also turned back to face her.

The fear finally caught up with her, and Lily ran for it.

The man stood still as if he knew what was coming. Lily caught her ankle on the coffee table and stumbled. She reached out her arms, fell onto the couch, and tried to push herself up quickly. The plush cushions embraced her as if pulling her into their embrace and toward her death. She finally managed to push herself back to her feet and turned to—

Lily screamed!

The man was there, the glint of a sharp blade in his hand.

Lily screamed again, drawing some barks from the backyard, but none of the dogs came—they sensed the danger and stayed away.

She moved as if submerged in water—ice-cold syrup that slowed her down.

The living room became a contrast of silence and piercing noise. Lily’s scream rang in her ears, engulfed in the silence. Everything was slowed and quietened by the man's presence in the room.

Lily found herself confused in her panic. Then another piercing sound—a loud crack and smash, followed by a bell-like tinkling. Shards of glass rained down around Lily, some scratching at her skin.

Danger surrounded her as the pieces of mirror fell to the ground, reflecting shards of herself. In the moment before her impending doom, Lily saw beauty. She was mesmerized by the blades of reflection.

The back of her head exploded in pain. She fell forward, her brain still working, but her body not. She saw her eyes—dozens of reflections of her pale blue eyes, growing bigger and bigger in the shards as she fell toward the ground. There was terror there but acceptance, too. She did not want to die but knew she would.

Her body thudded to the ground, falling to her side. Lily could see what was ahead, splayed across the gray carpet. Colors danced on the mirrored shards, and beyond them were his black shoes. The man stepped forward, and Lily closed her eyes tight, the strength drained from her body.

Her body shut down, and the darkness behind her eyelids became an eternal blackness.

CHAPTER ONE

The doctor will see you soon, the receptionist said. Please take a seat, Mr. Trace. She smiled as if they had been friends since childhood.

Cooper took a seat, avoiding eye contact with the one other person in the waiting room. He didn't have a problem with strangers; he had a problem with being called in to speak with his doctor instead of discussing his problems over the phone. He didn't have time to sit in a waiting room when there were cases to work on.

He’d been an FBI agent for over a decade and one of the smartest in the agency, but he would not let his mind wander to the case right before his eyes. Or right behind them. The headaches didn't come all that often, and a couple of painkillers usually did the trick. He hadn’t seen the need for tests, but his doctor had insisted.

Tests came with results, and when results could not be given over the phone, it meant there was something wrong. Cooper didn't let his mind decipher what might be wrong with his body; instead, he went through the evidence from the cold case he had been working on. A body had been discovered five years ago on the banks of the Potomac River.

Washington D.C. had been home since he had graduated from the academy. Perhaps that was why he was interested in the case—it was so close to home. It wasn’t a case that would be solved by relooking at the evidence; it was one that would be solved by gaining insight into the killer. Cooper closed his eyes and saw the evidence laid out before him. It needed to be taken as one complete synopsis of the killer—each piece of evidence could only be studied as part of the larger whole and not as a distinct clue.

It had been five years with no progress, and Cooper knew there was little chance of catching the killer now. Still, thinking about the case in different ways helped to hone his skills.

Mr. Trace? the receptionist asked. The doctor will see you now.

Cooper opened his eyes and looked over to the open door—a waiting cave of disappointment. He nodded at the receptionist and went to discover his fate.

Dr. Gordon sat behind his desk. He was in his mid-sixties but looked far older—he was balding, a ring of thin, neatly-cropped black hair encircling his head, wore round glasses, and had the downturned mouth of a man who had spent most of his life frowning. There were FBI-appointed doctors, but Cooper had not clicked with any of them and preferred Dr. Gordon, the first doctor he had checked out when he moved to the city.

Cooper, Dr. Gordon said. He held out his hand toward the seat on the other side of the desk. Take a seat.

Dr. Gordon was not one for pleasantries, which Cooper appreciated. The doctor made no small talk when Cooper visited, not wasting the time of either of them.

Let’s see what we have here, Dr. Gordon continued, opening up Cooper’s file. All the files were digitized, but the doctor preferred to deal with hard copies. Cooper Trace, forty-two years old, male, good health, no family history of illness he is aware of, and six months since his last physical. How are the headaches?

Manageable, Cooper replied. ‘They don't come on all that often, and they pass pretty quickly. If not, a couple of pills do the trick."

Mmm-hmm, the doctor replied. He held up the file and read through more of the information.

Cooper stared at the pale orange folder with his name scrawled on it in black marker and wondered what secrets it held inside.

And the headaches still come from time to time? Dr. Gordon asked.

They appear occasionally, but they are not all that bad. Look, Doc, can you just cut to the chase? What is it? Cancer? A tumor?

No, nothing like that, Dr. Gordon said. He riffled through the reports and placed some documents on his desk. Do you remember the tests we sent you for?

The bloodwork? Cooper asked.

Dr. Gordon shook his head. No, the other tests. The memory ones.

I don't have time to do any more of them, and I still don't get why I had to do them in the first place. Cooper was becoming uncomfortable, and a memory niggled in his mind.

The doctor closed the file he held and placed it on the desk as he looked over the documents. We talked about this, Cooper.

The niggling memory suddenly formed into a fully-fledged one. He remembered Dr. Gordon talking about the memory tests, and he had been as annoyed back then as he was getting now.

Do you remember talking about this? Dr. Gordon probed.

Yes, of course, Cooper said, his feathers thoroughly ruffled. I don't have time for childish games. He thought about the cold case he was working on and could visualize every single report and organize and manipulate them in his mind. He could remember the tests vividly, too—it had only taken a minute because they were inconsequential.

Do you need a second? Dr. Gordon asked, lowering his spectacles.

I’m fine, Cooper replied.

What do you know about early onset Alzheimer’s? the doctor asked.

Cooper knew what was coming, but the beating around the bush from Dr. Gordon had him worried. He would rather the doctor come out and tell him that was what he had.

I know some things. How bad is it? Cooper asked.

It’s called Lindof Syndrome, Dr. Gordon replied. It’s rare but not entirely uncommon. When I found elevated traces of the protein amyloid-beta in your blood, along with some evidence of inflammation and oxidative stress, I requested the memory tests.

Why didn't you tell me after I had the bloodwork done? Copper demanded.

I didn't want to influence your responses, the doctor admitted. I know you, Cooper, and you would have treated this like a puzzle. I wanted your honest responses, and that’s what I got.

Cooper felt the anger surge through his veins. He was darn good at his job, and his work had never been in question. Who was this doctor to tell him there was something wrong?

So, what? I forgot we had an idiotic conversation, and I’m losing my mind. Is that it? Give me the tests again, and I’ll do them properly this time, Cooper said.

Cooper’s mind was everything, and it was still sharp as a tack.

He’s the one losing his mind.

Dr. Gordon waved a hand in the air as if he were consoling a small child. Alright, Cooper, don't shoot the messenger. Your tests weren’t bad, but combined with the blood markers, I think this is in the very early stages. The good news is that it can be delayed.

Delayed? Cooper spat. What good is that?

It’s very good if you will just listen to me. We are at the very early stages here, and if you eat well, exercise, and keep your mind active, there’s a chance the symptoms will remain mild until the end.

The end? Cooper breathed.

Dr. Cooper pushed the glasses back into place and sat straighter to regard Cooper. I heard you were the best, so I don't take you for a man who jumps to conclusions. The end is far off, Cooper. You’re fighting fit, and you won’t keel over any time soon. So, take my advice and look after yourself, and you might not have anything to worry about apart from the occasional lapse here and there and the odd headache.

Copper ran a hand over his face and sat back in