Only three more miles...
Rain pelted Jonna Strand as she jogged the wintry Washington shoreline. Her cheeks grew numb from the wet cold as white vapor clouds puffed out of her burning lungs.
But as focused as she was on her run, a subtle alarm snaked up her spine.
She’d learned long ago to pay attention to that sixth sense that forewarned of danger. The alarm going off now had nothing at all to do with the storm that had advanced from far out in the Pacific faster than meteorologists had predicted, catching Jonna off guard.
She remained on high alert—a souvenir from her previous training as an ICE agent. More specifically an HSI special agent—the Homeland Security Investigations division of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. She’d put that life behind her, but the training remained.
Jogging six miles every day, she made an effort to stay as fit as she’d been while in law enforcement, the job she’d left three years ago. Even brutal winter storms couldn’t keep her inside. Except weathermen had predicted this system would wreak havoc and threaten lives—so maybe she should have stayed inside, especially given that her instincts warned another possible threat loomed.
Up on the ridge overlooking the beach, a man jogged, keeping pace with her. Only a crazy person would be out in this storm. She could almost laugh at that.
But she felt something was off.
Jonna shoved the apprehension aside and focused on her jog. She’d know soon enough if her instincts were right.
God, please let me be wrong.
Just two more miles...
Then she’d reach the Oceanview Lodge, where she and her guests could watch the wind, rain and waves buffet the coast.
Her business thrived on the winter weather drama that drew people from all over the country. Since the lodge perched on a bluff overlooking a rocky section of the beach, her clients were protected from the hazards posed by seriously high waves as they dashed magnificently against rocky outcroppings, or crashed into the beach.
Like today’s storm that threatened high winds, twenty-foot waves and a significant surge in sea level. Citizens of the town of Windsurf had placed warning signs on the beach about the dangers of sneaker waves and ocean swells. Jonna had assisted in the placement of the signs, and she should have been back before the brunt of the storm hit. No matter. She would be okay as long as she kept clear of the sneaker waves.
Never turn your back on the water.
Never turn your back on the past.
The foreboding thought caught her by surprise. In coming back to Washington, she’d tried to do just that. So far, it had worked.
Far from the threats of her past career, she’d found a sense of peace here in Windsurf on the Pacific side of Coldwater Bay. A few small towns bordered the bay and a peninsula separated them from the ocean.
With her training and her trustworthy Sig Sauer P320 Compact, which she had affectionately named Max, she could take care of herself while she enjoyed managing this peaceful lodge—a stormy haven where she could watch the storms from a safe distance.
The inclement weather wouldn’t prevent her from running.
And neither would a stalker. Was her follower the man who’d already abducted and murdered five women along the Washington coast over the last six months? The Shoreline Killer?
If so, then he’d just picked the wrong woman to mess with.