Shattered Dream (A Cooper Trace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 4)

By Ella Swift

When pharmaceutical executives are found dead from their own drugs, it falls to FBI Agent Cooper Trace to untangle the mystery. But with his own mind and body betraying him, can he uncover the murderer in time?

SHATTERED DREAM (A Cooper Trace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 4) is the fourth novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Ella Swift. The series begins with SHATTERED MIND (Book 1).

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: Aug 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094384344

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SHATTERED DREAM

(A Cooper Trace Suspense Thriller —Book 4)

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Isabelle York looked at the red LEDs on her bedside clock that formed into digital numbers representing the time, the constant jester in her life, mocking her one second after the next. The clock read 3.37 a.m. The last time she looked at the clock, it had read 3.34 a.m. It felt like an hour ago—it had only been minutes.

She rolled over onto her other side and tried to find some comfort.

Breathe, Isabelle! Take it one breath at a time, just like Dr. Ferguson told you.

Isabelle stared at the wall and breathed in and out, in and out, in and out. She slowly closed her eyes and emptied her mind. She imagined a large black void, and in the middle was the word: breathe. She looked at the word and said it in her mind over and over as she breathed slowly in and out. Each time her mind wandered, she gently brought it back to the word hanging in the pitch-black void.

Until the word morphed slightly, and the letters formed themselves from the same red LEDs on her clock. Isabelle continued to breathe in and out, but the word would not change back to how she had initially seen it. She let out a large sigh and opened her eyes, staring at the blank wall.

A scraping noise came from the kitchen.

Isabelle felt nothing. It was not her first night lying awake, and there were all manner of sounds in the old apartment and from outside, but she knew one critical piece of information. She had a cat who liked to roam around at night and sleep most of the day.

She turned and looked at the clock again: 3.41 a.m. She shook her head.

Isabelle got up. She had tried almost everything, and the last resort was another cup of camomile tea with the tiniest hint of honey. Another scratch came from the kitchen as her cat pushed his metal bowl around with his nose.

Why do you mock me? she muttered as she got out of bed. You do know you could sleep at night and be up during the day, don't you?

She lived on the seventh floor. There were no mice to hunt this high in the building. There was no reason for her cat to be awake all night unless it was trying to keep her company through her own sleeplessness.

Do you have enough food? she asked when she reached the kitchen.

The bowl was empty. Isabelle clicked on the kettle first before she grabbed the small container of cat food from the lower cupboard and shook a little into the bowl. She shook the container for the cat’s benefit. Isabelle opened one of the upper cupboards and took a mug, honey, and a tea bag. She yawned as she put the teabag into the cup.

She had fallen for that before. One night, she had gone to bed after yawning furiously, only to lay awake for the next four hours. She looked out of the window and into the dark night. The sky was covered in clouds, the stars blanketed. There were dozens of other tall buildings, and a couple of them had lights on inside.

She heard the cat scrape at his bowl as he ate some of the food.

Isabelle wondered what the people in the other buildings were doing. Were they sleepless like her, or did they have a reason to be away so late in the night or early in the morning?

Isabelle’s blood turned to ice in her veins. It wasn’t what she saw out of the corner of her eye but what she did not see. She could make out the bowl close to her on the floor, but there was no cat near it.

The scraping sound came again.

The ice running through her veins froze her to the spot. She stared straight ahead, her eyes shifting to see her reflection in the window. She could make out her outline reflected back at her, and then there was a movement behind her as someone walked past in the hallway.

Isabelle’s instincts caught up with her. Adrenaline pumped through her body, and she became wide awake. She was not sleepy—not fatigued. She lunged to the side and grabbed a knife from the wooden block, spinning around and holding it out in front of her.

She stared at the empty doorway that led out to the corridor beyond. Isabelle cursed herself for leaving her phone in the bedroom on the table by her bed.

Hello? she called. I’m calling the police. I have a knife.

Her words hung in the silence, followed a moment later by the scraping sound. She stared at the emptiness and was rooted to the spot but knew she needed to move. Isabelle weighed up her options: the phone by the bed or the front door in the opposite direction.

She made the decision: make it to the door, run, and don’t look back.

Isabelle slowly crept toward the hallway, listening for the slightest sound. She took one more step and poked her head into the hallway, first looking toward the bedroom and then the door. There was no one there, but she knew her mind had not played a trick on her. It was not some insomniac hallucination. It was real. Someone was in her apartment.

She took an even breath, remembering her sleeping technique, and focused on breathing in and out. She moved sideways into the hallway, keeping her back to the wall. She had to sidestep past the bathroom door, and she stared into the dark room with wide eyes, trying to make out if anyone was in there. She didn’t have time to let her eyes adjust.

Isabelle carried on toward the front door, gripping the knife tightly in one hand and reaching out with the other to manipulate the lock. She slid the chain off and then gently turned the deadbolt. It caught—the lock had always been a little sticky.

The scraping noise came from down the hall, and Isabelle took the plunge. She dropped the knife and grabbed the deadbolt with both hands.

The scraping came again. She grabbed the handle and started to turn it. The presence was right behind her. Isabelle opened her mouth to scream, and suddenly, she could not breathe.

One hand clamped on her neck and the other over her mouth to stifle the scream.

She watched with wide eyes as the door receded from her; she scraped her heels on the wooden floor as she struggled to get out of their grasp.

A blackness came, different from the one she had stared out into. She didn't want it to come this time as she drifted off into sleep.

CHAPTER ONE

I’m almost there, Dad, Cooper said as he steered the rental truck down the potholed road that led from the highway to the small town.

If you find anything, I want you back here to let me know, Archibald Trace said.

Cooper fell silent for a couple of seconds. I’ll call you, at least. It depends on what I find. If it leads me somewhere else, that’s where I will go. I still have to get back to Seattle.

You’re still going back there?

I have to.

No, you don't have to, Archibald complained. You’re sick, Cooper. You should come back here, and I will take care of you.

I’m not sick, Dad. The entire truck bounced up and down as he hit an unavoidable pothole in the middle of the road. I have a degenerative disease, and it will slowly become worse, but I’m fine for now, and I have a job to do.

Yeah, and I know when you are lying. Even when you were a little kid, you used to pretend you weren’t hurt whenever you fell off a horse or your bike. You would get up straight away and get back on. You would clamp your lips together like it was nothing.

Cooper slowed and flicked on the blinker before turning. So, that’s it? Did I purse my lips together?

He passed the sign for Linnenville.

No, but I saw the look in your eyes, his dad continued. I know you are playing this down, and I pray to the Lord that you are not playing it down as much as I think you are. Hallucinations! Migraines! Blacking out! Loss of limb function! Memory loss! How are you supposed to do your job when you have all of that going on.

I know those symptoms, Dad. I told you all the things that could happen over time. It’s not like I hallucinate all the time or I can't remember anything. I just spent five days with you. Did you have to take care of me the entire time?

I just want you to be careful, Archibald said.

I know, Dad, and I appreciate that.

It had taken a lot to tell his dad about his Lindof Syndrome diagnosis, and his dad was right that it did affect his work at the FBI, but to admit that fully was to admit he wasn’t capable anymore. He had brought in a killer not much over a week ago. If he couldn’t do his job, he wouldn’t have been able to bring him in and save a woman in the process.

Dad, I’m not coming to live with you. You don't need to take care of me. If anything, I should be the one taking care of you. So, if you really want me to come back and stay at the Ranch, then it means you can't cope anymore. Is that what you want?

Don't try your psychological bullcrap on me. I might be a rancher, but you got your smarts from somewhere. I can cope just fine on my own.

So can I, Cooper said. He stopped the car on the first main street he came to and checked the map on his phone. The town looked small on the map, but it was extensive now he was in it.

It was good seeing you, Coop.

Yeah, it was good seeing you, too, Dad. Listen, I am almost there, so I should go, but I will send you a text or give you a call when I am done and let you know where we stand.

There was a small noise on the other end of the phone, barely audible. Archibald cleared his throat after. I’ve gone through periods of grieving and being over it, then knowing she is out there, and going back to knowing she is gone again. It’s been a long time, Coop. I know that wherever she is—still on earth or up in heaven—she would be proud of what you are doing. She always looked up to you, and you had a way with her that I never had. I know I can't ask you for this, but I hope you can find out what happened to Alison. Your sister never deserved this.

No, she didn’t, Cooper admitted. He wanted to say something that would give his father hope, but it was almost cruel. He couldn’t give him hope after hope slowly seeping away over twenty-four long years. I’ll call you when I am done, Cooper said.

Okay. I love you.

I love you, too, Dad.

Cooper hung up and took a moment. His relationship had been strained with his father at the best of times, and it still felt alien to speak so easily and affectionately with him. They still had a long wait to go, but the three days spent with him had been good. He hit the button on his map to guide him the rest of the way and drove again.

The town was not extremely old, but most of the buildings on the main streets had been either converted to look like buildings from the old Wild West or had fronts added to them to look that way.

Cooper turned off onto one of the side streets and headed down it for a short drive before taking alternating left and right turns for a mile. He pulled up in front of one of the older houses in the town.

The lower level of the house was half in the ground—there was a basement. Cooper wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, nor did he think he would stumble upon his sister being held captive in someone’s basement, but it could be possible.

Cooper got out of his vehicle and walked through the opening where there should be a gate. He walked up the crooked path, studying the house. Curtains were pulled over the windows on the main level, and the windows to the basement were boarded up from the inside.

The air outside was stifling, even though it was not hot. Cooper felt his heart quicken as he reached the door and knocked.

There was a shuffling noise from inside and then silence. Cooper placed his hand on the door and could feel the man on the other side.

Special Agent Cooper Trace, Cooper said loudly.

There was another silence before the door shifted slightly as it was unlocked. The door opened, and Cooper stood face to face with the man from the photographs.