Shadow: A Linear Tactical Romantic Suspense Standalone

  Copyright © 2019 by Janie Crouch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Design.

  A Calamity Jane Publishing Book

  SHADOW: LINEAR TACTICAL

  This book is dedicated to ILF:

  Benches

  Putt-putt & Connect-4

  Heart barrages

  Elevators

  M. & Crying

  More than steak?

  Paper, rock, scissors

  Hey you

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Ghost - Sneak Peek

  Cyclone - Sneak Peek

  Shamrock - Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Janie Crouch

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Today was the day Heath Kavanaugh was getting his answers.

  Finally.

  The man he was following was the one who had given Heath the codename Shadow. He had taught Heath to live in the shadows, survive there, destroy there. So it was fitting that the shadows hid him from his prey now.

  Shadow walked out of the shadows.

  Nobody spared him a second glance at the bank in Rome, Italy. It was late afternoon, and everyone was rushing to finish up their business before heading home.

  Dr. Timothy Holloman sat in the bank manager’s office. Heath wasn’t exactly sure what Holloman was doing—transferring money? opening an account? asking for a date?—but it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was that the man was here, Heath was here, and they would damn well be leaving together.

  If you want answers, I’m the only one who has them. You’re going to have to let me go.

  Just the thought of Holloman’s taunt that day six weeks ago made Heath’s trigger finger itch. And the fact that the words were true was the only reason Holloman had walked out of that port in Oregon that day.

  Holloman had developed and run Project Crypt—a covert US government agency used for missions that needed to be conducted with the utmost precision, discretion, and lethality. He’d made Heath and the other dozen Crypt agents into deadly super soldiers.

  All fine and good, except Holloman had left out a few key points.

  Like that Crypt missions weren’t actually US government sanctioned.

  And that they’d brainwashed some of the Crypt agents in order to force them to perform sleeper missions without their knowledge.

  And that they’d done something to Heath’s mind.

  Not brainwashed him like the other agents, but they’d put something in there. Put endless gibberish in his mind that never seemed to go quiet.

  And Holloman was about to tell Heath what the cacophony in his mind meant. Whether he wanted to tell Heath or not.

  Because, hell, after what Holloman had done to Heath and his friends, it wouldn’t hurt Heath’s feelings if he had to pull out a few of Holloman’s teeth in order to get him to talk.

  Heath smiled at a young bank teller, talking to her fluently in her native Italian. She smiled at his compliments about how she really should be outside on a beautiful day like today rather than trapped in the old bank building.

  He kept one shoulder facing her, still able to keep Holloman in his line of sight, as she mentioned a nearby restaurant she was hoping to visit soon that served one of her favorite bottles of wine.

  Any other time, Heath would have been quick to find out more information—about her, about the café, about the wine. The woman was definitely his type . . . tall, leggy, confident.

  But today she was just one more shadow he was hiding in.

  He chatted with her a couple more minutes, then said his goodbyes when Holloman walked through the manager’s office door, casually strolling toward the front of the bank.

  Heath followed discreetly. Holloman didn’t seem aware of his presence, but he didn’t want to spook the man. Heath’s van was parked a quarter block away. A gun at Holloman’s back ought to be all the incentive needed to get Holloman in. If not, he’d go to the backup plan—sedate him, then shuffle Holloman to the vehicle, pretending like Holloman had hit the bottle too early.

  But either way, today was the day Heath was finally going to have some answers after a decade of wondering what the hell was going on in his head.

  By the time Holloman was ten feet out the door—thankfully going in the direction of the van—Heath was on him. Keeping his gun in his pocket, Heath grabbed Holloman by the shoulder and pulled him up against the weapon rather than the other way around.

  “Good evening, Doctor,” Heath whispered against Holloman’s ear. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for quite a while.”

  Holloman stiffened but didn’t try to pull away. “Shadow. I have to say, you’re not who I expected to find me here today, if I was going to be found.”

  Heath kept the gun against Holloman’s waist. “You’ve got so many people hunting you, you can’t even keep track of them all? Since you successfully eliminated most your little Project Crypt pets, I would’ve thought I ranked higher on your people-who-want-to-kill-me list.”

  Holloman actually smiled. “Yes, well, that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t want to kill me. At least not yet.”

  “I hope you don’t think for even a second that means you’re safe. Some of the most sadistic bastards on the planet trained me how to both survive and dole out unbearable pain. Oh wait, that was you. I’m sure we’re about to have a lot of fun.”

  Holloman stepped away from Heath’s grasp. Heath let him go. There was nowhere he could run that Heath wouldn’t be able to catch him. Holloman turned to face Heath. God, he hated how calm the man looked.

  Always so fucking calm.

  “Now, Shadow, you’ll want to be careful not to break me. Without me, you’re never going to get your answers.”

  The damned thing was, Holloman was right.

  But Heath didn’t let any of that show. He was an expert at masking his emotions. “Oh, I think I can find the right balance between making your life pretty damn miserable and getting the answers I need.”

  Holloman gave him a smirk, his mouth opening for some smart-ass remark—

  —and his head exploded right in front of Heath.

  He heard the rifle shot not a split second later.

  Heath caught what was left of Holloman’s body as it fell to the ground.
br />   “No,” he whispered.

  Then his training kicked in.

  Heath dropped Holloman and rolled behind one of the small cars parked on the street. He drew his weapon and peeked out, looking up toward the third-floor apartments across the road where the shot must have come from.

  There. Third apartment down, northeast corner. Heath raised his weapon and shot, careful to make it a shot to distract or wound, not to kill.

  Whoever had killed Holloman was now Heath’s only chance for answers.

  He was being so conservative, the bullet barely hit the window frame. Panic built on the streets around him. Civilians ran, screaming and ducking for cover.

  No one shot back. Holloman had been the target, not someone the assassin had deemed disposable. But more importantly, he hadn’t been aiming at Heath. Holding his weapon low and to his side, he moved out from behind the car and into the surrounding panic. He kept one eye on the window as he weaved in and out of the frantic bystanders. Sirens sounded in the distance; Heath was running out of time. There could be any number of people who could place him standing right next to Holloman at the time of his death.

  The cops would have too many questions Heath couldn’t answer easily. The purpose of his own gun being primary.

  He darted around a woman sobbing into her phone while pushing a stroller and ran toward the door leading up to the apartments.

  Inside the building wasn’t any less chaotic. People weren’t sure what was happening—some darted outside to see if they could find out what was going on; others rushed inside. Rapid, excited Italian echoed off crowded stairwell’s walls.

  And to Heath’s trained eye, none of them seemed out of place—like a killer trying to quietly make an escape.

  Heath moved upstairs, keeping his face averted as much as possible. The sirens grew louder. He could hear them all the way from inside. He didn’t have much time.

  Seconds later, he arrived at the apartment door where the shot had originated. He didn’t hesitate, turning and kicking with the back of his foot to force the door open, then instantly spun with his weapon drawn.

  The apartment was empty.

  He did a thorough sweep to make sure before coming back to the window the shooter had used, which was still cracked open.

  But there was nobody here.

  Whoever had shot Holloman was gone.

  And so were all of Heath’s answers.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Look, the man is my best friend, but Finn is unfocused and not ready for this. We can take him.”

  Heath never expected to hear words like that come out of Zac Mackay’s mouth.

  But Zac was right, things had changed at Linear Tactical. Heath had seen it the past six weeks, ever since he’d made his way back to Oak Creek from Italy, trying to piece his world back together.

  But this was pretty fucking cutthroat. Heath had worked at Linear Tactical for years, mostly in overseas negotiation and kidnap/ransom cases. Until recently, he hadn’t spent much time at the Linear home office here in Wyoming, mostly because according to the US government, Heath didn’t actually exist.

  A shadow, if you would.

  But damn. Heath had never thought he’d see the day when Zac would turn against his childhood friend and brother like this.

  Heath looked at the man and shook his head. “Really, Zac? You sure this is how you want it to go down?”

  It was a much more feminine voice that broke their stare. “Are you kidding me right now, Mackay?”

  Violet Collingwood, Aiden Teague’s girlfriend, smacked Zac on the shoulder. “Finn’s wife is exactly 427 months pregnant, and you’re going to use that against him? Were you this ruthless in the Special Forces?”

  Zac crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still narrowed, face still grim. “In the Special Forces, we weren’t playing for all-you-can-eat dessert from the Frontier Diner.”

  The man had a point.

  Heath nodded. It was time to take charge. “Fine. Zac, if you think you can get around Finn, do it. Otherwise, Violet, you and Jordan distract Aiden and Gabe—don’t be afraid to play dirty. Everybody else just try to get open. I’ll throw to whoever will get us into the end zone. This is it. Last play. It’s now or never.”

  And the damnedest game of football he’d ever been a part of, not that there’d been that many in the past decade. The special agent business—for or against the government you thought you worked for—didn’t leave much time for community pastimes.

  This was nice. One, because the physical activity of the game helped silence the damned gibberish in his head for a couple hours. But beyond the football too. The whole settling down, starting to make a life for himself here in Wyoming. It was not something he would’ve ever thought he wanted, but it had helped him in the past month when he thought he might go completely crazy.

  He was never getting his answers. Holloman was dead, there didn’t seem to be any leads, and Heath was stuck with this jabber in his mind forever.

  The sounds—almost like words, but nothing that made sense in any language— constantly bombarded his thoughts unless he pushed them out. Like the nonsensical clamor a baby made when talking to himself. Useless. Static. Noise.

  And inescapable.

  Nothing to do right now but breathe in, breathe out, and move on.

  Or in this case, throw the damn football.

  Heath tamped down the muddled voices in his mind trying to break through as the team moved out of the huddle. Heath hiked the ball, getting ready to throw. Zac ran out, spun, then cut to the left for a long pass. Heath grinned as Jordan distracted her fiancé, Gabe, with a kiss that had the big man wrapping his arms around her and completely forgetting the game. Violet dropped and swept Aiden’s leg with her own—a fighting move he’d probably taught her in the past year. They both laughed as they began mock sparring right there on the makeshift football field.

  But Zac had underestimated Finn. Pregnant wife or not, the man was covering Zac too closely for a Hail Mary throw. Nobody else seemed particularly open, but all the shenanigans had cleared a path for Heath to run the ball himself.

  He cut to the left, tucked the ball into the crook of his arm, and sprinted downfield. He thought he was going to make it until a flying tackle blindsided him and sent him and the tackler down hard into the grass.

  “Not today, Satan.”

  Heath chuckled and rolled onto his side. Gavin. “Should’ve known you’d be the only one fast enough to catch me blind. And this is supposed to be a game of touch, not tackle, you jackass.”

  Behind them, Gavin’s team cheered their win, everyone good-naturedly accusing everyone else of cheating.

  Gavin hopped up and offered Heath a hand. “As soon as I saw Jordan kissing on Gabe, I knew you guys were playing dirty. I was planning to help double-team Zac if Finn couldn’t cover him, but then I saw you had an opening. Knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

  He and Gavin had known each other a lot of years, even if they’d never played football together before. “Hey, for all-you-can-eat desserts, you do what you have to do.”

  “Absolutely. I’m a little surprised you didn’t . . .” Gavin’s grin faded as a car pulled up to the side of the Linear Tactical office. “Shit.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Federal agent. If needed, do your Shadow thing, make yourself scarce without looking like you’re doing so.”

  Heath nodded. The man was already on them.

  “Agent Franklin.” Gavin reached out to shake the other man’s hand. “What brings you to Oak Creek? Hopefully not looking for any more international criminals.”

  Franklin gave Gavin an easy smile, but the agent’s eyes took in everything around him. He was in his mid-thirties—Heath and Gavin’s age—with sandy-brown hair and a face that was saved from being too pretty by a scar that ran over his right eye and the downward pull of his lips.

  “Why?” Franklin said. “Got any around here?”

  Gavin laughed but didn’t answer. Consi
dering Heath could be labeled a criminal for some of the things he’d unknowingly done for Holloman and Project Crypt, not saying too much was probably wise.

  Gavin turned to Heath. “Heath, this is FBI Agent Craig Franklin. He and I met about three months ago when I was working a case that led us to a port in Oregon. Big brouhaha. I think you were out of the country at the time?”

  Or Heath had been right in the middle of said brouhaha. “That’s right, I remember you guys telling me about that. Bad guy got killed.”

  Actually, a lot of people had been killed that day. But the particular “bad guy” Franklin thought was dead happened to be living happily in a cabin with the love of her life about two hours from here. She’d also been a part of Project Crypt with Heath.

  Heath reached out his hand to shake Craig’s. “Nice to meet you. I do a lot of overseas work for Linear Tactical, so not often in the mix here.”

  Craig looked back and forth between Heath and Gavin. “Actually, I’m aware of who you are. You’re part of the reason I’m here.”

  Heath forced himself not to stiffen. If Agent Franklin knew exactly who Heath was, he wouldn’t be standing here talking to him; he would’ve come in with a SWAT team.