Running Out of Time Read online

  When a terrorist is on the loose,

  the Tactical Crime Division is on the case.

  To find out who poisoned medications, two of TCD’s agents are tapped to go undercover posing as a married couple and infiltrate the company. But as soon as Jace Cantrell and Laura Smith arrive at Stroud Pharmaceuticals, someone ups the ante by planting explosives in their midst. Turns out that the small-town family business is hiding a million secrets. Could they unknowingly be protecting a vengeful killer?

  “About that kiss on the dance floor,” he began.

  “I don’t want to talk about that kiss.”

  “We need to talk about the kiss.” He reached out and captured her hand in his.

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” she said, trying, and failing, to pull away from him. “It was a momentary lapse of judgment.”

  “I think it was the natural reaction of a man and a woman who are attracted to each other.”

  “We are work partners.”

  “We’re human beings, not robots.” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, sending a current of sensation through her, like an electrical charge.

  She jerked her hand away from him. “We have a job to do,” she said. “We can’t make this about us.”

  RUNNING OUT OF TIME

  Cindi Myers

  Cindi Myers is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.

  Books by Cindi Myers

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Running Out of Time

  Eagle Mountain Murder Mystery: Winter Storm Wedding

  Ice Cold Killer

  Snowbound Suspicion

  Cold Conspiracy

  Snowblind Justice

  Eagle Mountain Murder Mystery

  Saved by the Sheriff

  Avalanche of Trouble

  Deputy Defender

  Danger on Dakota Ridge

  The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets

  Murder in Black Canyon

  Undercover Husband

  Manhunt on Mystic Mesa

  Soldier’s Promise

  Missing in Blue Mesa

  Stranded with the Suspect

  The Men of Search Team Seven

  Colorado Crime Scene

  Lawman on the Hunt

  Christmas Kidnapping

  PhD Protector

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Special Agent Laura “Smitty” Smith—A disciplined agent who never breaks the rules, Laura must go undercover as a newlywed to find the person responsible for a rash of poisonings and bombings in a small West Virginia town.

  Special Agent Jace Cantrell—The military veteran and special ops expert has a reputation as a rebel and a rule breaker—exactly the kind of man to clash with Laura, yet the two must pose as husband and wife to solve a case that brings death to their very doorstep.

  Donna Stroud—The head of Stroud Pharmaceuticals intends to keep her company going and her family together in the face of tragedy, but how far will she go to do so?

  Parker Stroud—Donna’s son chafes at his parents’ unwillingness to put him in charge of the family business.

  Merry Winger—Parker’s girlfriend has big plans to marry Parker, despite his parents’ disapproval of their relationship and Parker’s own reluctance to make their relationship public.

  Leo Elgin—His mother was poisoned by tainted medication manufactured by Stroud. He holds a grudge against the Stroud family.

  Tactical Crime Division—Rapid-deployment joint team of FBI agents specializing in hostage negotiation, missing persons, IT, profiling, shootings and terrorism with director Jill Pembrook at the head.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Cindi Myers for her contribution to the Tactical Crime Division miniseries.

  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

  Excerpt from Chain of Custody by Carol Ericson

  Prologue

  Who knew death could be so satisfying?

  Half the people in town had gathered, watching police—every cop in the county from the looks of it—mill about while the paramedics wheeled out the gurney, the body on it covered by a sheet. Whispering, like the rush of wind through catalpa trees, rose from the crowd as people speculated on the identity of the person under the sheet. Mayville, West Virginia, population 2,000, was small enough that almost everyone knew everyone else.

  But they didn’t know each other. Not really. They didn’t know what people were really capable of doing.

  This was the third death in as many days. No one felt safe anymore. Things they had taken for granted—something they had trusted—had turned deadly. Eat too much chili at lunch? Pop a Stroud’s Stomach Soother. Stress have your guts in a knot? Stroud’s Stomach Soothers to the rescue. Safe and Natural—Our Promise to You. It said so right on the label.

  Not so safe now.

  A woman broke into sobs. Tammy somebody, who worked on the factory floor. “How can this be happening?” she wailed. “This used to be such a safe place.”

  Two other women moved in to comfort Tammy. The men around them shuffled their feet and stared at the ground, their expressions grim. Fear hung in the air like diesel exhaust, a choking poison that threatened to kill the town.

  The killer had done that. One person had brought a town—a whole region, even—to its knees.

  What a rush to have that kind of power. Seeing the body on the gurney sparked an idea. The perfect way to solve problems.

  Chapter One

  “We’ve got another tough case on our hands.” Jill Pembroke, director of the FBI’s tactical crime division, surveyed her team from the head of the conference table in the Bureau’s Knoxville headquarters. “One that requires a great deal of discretion.”

  Something in the director’s tone made Agent Laura Smith sharpen her focus. Pembroke, with her well-cut silver hair and feminine suit, might be mistaken for a high society grandmother, but she was as hard-nosed as they came, and not prone to exaggeration. That she reminded her team of the need for discretion pointed to something out of the ordinary.

  The door to the conference room opened and a man slipped in. Tall and rangy, Agent Jace Cantrell moved with the grace of an athlete. He nodded to the director and eased into the empty seat next to Laura. No apology for being late. Typical. Laura slid her chair over a couple of inches. Cantrell was one of those men who always seemed to take up more than his share of the available space.

  “We’re going to be investigating product tampering at Stroud Pharmaceuticals in Mayville, West Virginia.” Director Pembroke stepped aside to reveal a slide showing a squat factory building set well back on landscaped grounds.

  “The antacid poisonings.” Agent Ana Ramirez spok
e from her seat directly across from Laura. She tucked a strand of dark hair into the twist at the nape of her neck, polished nails glinting in the overhead light. “That story has been all over the news.”

  “Do the locals not want the FBI horning in?” Agent Davis Rogers—the only member of the team not wearing the regulation suit—sat back in his chair beside Ramirez, looking every bit the army ranger he had once been. “Is that why the extra discretion?”

  “No, the local police are happy to turn this over to us,” Pembroke said. She advanced to the next slide, a listing of the deaths—six so far, with two additional people hospitalized—attributed to Stroud’s Stomach Soothers, a natural, organic remedy that claimed a significant share of the market as an alternative to traditional antacids. “This hasn’t been released to the public, but the poison in the contaminated tablets was ricin.”

  Laura would have sworn the temperature in the air-conditioned room dropped five degrees. “Any suggestion of a link to terrorism?” Hostage negotiator Evan Duran, bearded and brooding, spoke from the end of the table. “Anybody claiming credit for the deaths?”

  Pembroke shook her head. “At this point, we aren’t assuming anything. Obviously, we want to avoid panicking the public.”

  “The public is already panicked,” Rowan Cooper, the team’s local liaison, said. “People have been organizing boycotts of all Stroud products.” She absently twisted a lock of her jet-black hair, brow furrowed. “We’ll need a strategy for managing the public’s response.”

  “The facility where the Stomach Soothers were manufactured has been closed for the time being and the product is being pulled from store shelves,” Pembroke said. “But another facility in town, which manufactures other items, remains open, and the company has reduced hours and reassigned as many employees as possible to the single plant. The company, the town, even the state officials, are very anxious to downplay this tragedy and get Stroud up and running full-speed as soon as possible.”

  “Why do that?” Kane Bradshaw, Agent-at-Large, said. Laura hadn’t noticed him until now, seated as he was behind her and apart from the rest, almost in the shadows. Kane always looked as if he’d just rushed in from an overnight surveillance, all wind-blown hair and shadowed eyes. The fact that he was here spoke to the gravity of this case. While always on hand when the team needed him, he wasn’t much on office decorum.

  “Jobs.” Cantrell’s voice, deep and a little rough, like a man who smoked two packs a day, sent a shiver through Laura. He didn’t smoke, but maybe he once had. “Stroud Pharmaceuticals is one of the biggest employers in Boone County,” he continued. “The coal mines are shutting down, and there isn’t a lot of other industry. Stroud has been a savior to the community. They—and the officials they elected—are going to do everything in their power to keep the company running and redeem its reputation.”

  “Even covering up murder?” Laura asked.

  Cantrell turned to her, his gaze cool. “I doubt they want to cover it up, but they’ll definitely downplay it and keep it quiet.”

  “They want us to help, but they don’t want us to be obvious.” The youngest member of the team, computer specialist Hendrick Maynard, jiggled his knee as he spoke. A genius who looked younger than his twenty-six years, Maynard never sat still.

  “Precisely.” Director Pembroke advanced to another slide of a small town—tree-shaded streets lined with modest homes, some worse for wear. A water tower in the distance displayed the word Mayville in faded green paint. “Agents Smith and Cantrell, you are to pose as a married couple and take jobs at the Stroud factory. Investigations so far point to the poisonings having originated from within the plant itself, so your job is to identify possible suspects and investigate. Agent Rogers, you’ll be in town as well...”

  Laura didn’t hear the rest of the director’s assignments. She was focused on trying to breathe and holding back her cry of protest. She and Cantrell? As a couple? The idea was ridiculous. He was rough, undisciplined, arrogant, scornful...

  “You look like you just ate a bug.” Cantrell leaned toward her, bringing with him the disconcerting aroma of cinnamon. His gravelly voice abraded her nerves. “Don’t think I’m any more excited about this than you are.”

  “Do you have a comment, Agent Cantrell?” Pembroke asked.

  He straightened. “I think Agent Smith is going to stick out like a sore thumb in Mayville. Everything about her screams blue blood as well as law enforcement.”

  “I’ve worked undercover before.” Laura bristled. She didn’t care what Cantrell thought of her, but to imply she wasn’t capable of doing her job—

  “I’m sure Agent Smith will adapt,” Pembroke said. “Smitty, you’ll be working as assistant to the plant director, Parker Stroud, son of company owners Steve and Donna Stroud. This should give you access to personnel files, as well as financial records and other information you might find useful. Agent Cantrell, you’ll be on the manufacturing floor.”

  Where he’d fit right in, Laura thought. Cantrell had the Southern drawl and casual attitude of the classic regular-guy down pat.

  “Our profiler, Dr. Melinda Larsen, will assist with evaluating suspects,” Pembroke continued. “She’ll be available to travel to Mayville if necessary. Agent Maynard is on call for research and anything else you need. Agent Rogers and Agent Ramirez will be the FBI’s official representatives in the area and will be on location as backup.”

  Davis Rogers cracked his knuckles. “Happy to help.”

  “Smitty, you and Cantrell will need to report immediately to the support center for your background documents and everything you’ll need to start your assignment. You’ll depart for Mayville tomorrow. Rogers and Ramirez will be a few hours ahead of you.” She surveyed the team again, then nodded, as if satisfied with what she saw. “Any questions?”

  There were none. The team knew how to launch a new op and hit the ground running. “Then get to work.” Pembroke dismissed them.

  Laura pushed back her chair and started to stand. “Agent Smith, a word, please,” Pembroke said.

  Self-conscious over being singled out, Laura kept her eyes on the table as the others left. Cantrell stood and slid a stick of gum into his mouth, then leaned over her chair. “Later,” he said, with a cinnamon-scented grin.

  When she and the director were alone, Pembroke sat beside her. “I know you’re not happy about this assignment,” the director said.

  “I never said—” Laura began.

  “You didn’t have to say it.” Pembroke smiled. “Your dislike of Agent Cantrell is clear, but he’s very good at his job, and he has a connection to this region that makes him ideal for this assignment.”

  “Is he from Mayville?” Laura asked.

  “He’s from a small town in Tennessee. A town very similar in many ways to Mayville. He has an insight into the culture of the area that could prove very useful. I’m counting on you to rein in some of his more unorthodox tendencies.”

  Great. She was on this job to babysit.

  “I also think this assignment will be good for you,” Pembroke said. “You’re very dedicated and skilled. You pay attention to details. Those are the skills this assignment requires. But you’ll also need to make friends among the locals and attune yourself to the overall atmosphere. I know you prefer to work alone, so this assignment will help you build your skills at relying on others for help and information.”

  “I work with this team every day,” Laura protested.

  Pembroke nodded. “You do, but you also can be a bit...aloof. I believe it’s this tendency to hold yourself a bit apart that’s behind Agent Cantrell’s belief that you’ll have trouble fitting in at the factory. I’m counting on you to prove him wrong.”

  Laura did her best to hide any response to this criticism, though the director’s words stung. So what if she wasn’t one to hang out with her fellow agents after work or discuss her p
rivate life with them? She preferred to keep her personal and business lives separate, but that didn’t mean she was as cold as Pembroke made her sound. “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “You always do.” Pembroke rose, signaling an end to the meeting.

  Laura rose also and was gathering her coffee cup and notebook when the door opened and a slim young man entered. “Sorry to interrupt, Director,” he said. “But there’s a call for you. It’s urgent.”

  Pembroke nodded and walked to the phone in the corner of the room. Laura moved toward the door. She had just opened it when the director called to her. “Smitty, wait.”

  Laura turned. As the director continued to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line, some of the color drained from her face. “Yes,” Pembroke said. “We’ll get right on it.” She hung up the phone, her expression grave.

  “What is it?” Laura asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was West Virginia State Police Office. They’ve just learned that at least a dozen bottles of potentially tainted Stomach Soothers are unaccounted for.”

  “You mean consumers didn’t turn them in?”

  Pembroke shook her head. “According to the company’s records, these bottles were never sent to stores. They’re missing from the factory. They might have been stolen.”

  “Or the person who planted the ricin in the product originally has stashed them, maybe waiting until things calm down to release them again,” Laura said. Like a deadly bomb the killer could set off to wreak havoc whenever he wanted.

  Chapter Two

  Driving down Main Street in Mayville, West Virginia, on Sunday afternoon gave Jace an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades, as if someone had slapped a target back there and he was bracing for the first shot. He had never been here before, but he already knew what he’d find: a mix of aching beauty in blooming azaleas and stately homes side-by-side with the despair of lost glory and opportunities passed by. Closed storefronts, weedy lots, and idle men and women paired with groups of laughing children, flourishing gardens and rolling fields.