A forgotten kill daniela.., p.1
A Forgotten Kill (Daniela Vega), page 1
PRAISE FOR ISABELLA MALDONADO
A Forgotten Kill
“Dani Vega is the kick-ass heroine we’ve all been waiting for! Former Army Ranger, current hard-core FBI agent, she can outthink, outfight, and just plain outclass any opponent around. Welcome to your next favorite series!”
—Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author
A Killer’s Game
“Maldonado keeps the plot boiling and the bodies dropping to the end.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Intense, gripping, and compulsively readable, A Killer’s Game goes from zero to ninety on page one and never slows down. FBI agent Dani Vega is a heroine to cheer for—tough, inventive, and highly capable. A winner.”
—Meg Gardiner, #1 New York Times bestselling author
The Falcon
“Another great read from [Isabella Maldonado]! I’m a Nina Guerrera fan, and this book is the best of the series so far. Don’t miss it!”
—Steve Netter, Best Thriller Books
A Different Dawn
“A horrifying crime, cat-and-mouse detection, aha moments, and extended suspense.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Maldonado expertly ratchets up the tension as the pieces of the puzzle neatly fall into place. Suspense fans will be enthralled from the very first page.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A thrill ride from the very start. It starts off fast and never lets up. It’s one of the best thrillers of the summer.”
—Red Carpet Crash
“A Different Dawn is a heart-stopping journey on parallel tracks: police detection and personal . . . Isabella Maldonado has created an unforgettable hero in Nina Guerrera.”
—Criminal Element
“A killer of a novel. Fresh, fast, and utterly ingenious.”
—Brad Thor, #1 New York Times bestselling author
The Cipher
“The survivor of a vicious crime confronts her fears in a hunt for a serial killer . . . forensic analysis, violent action, and a tough heroine who stands up to the last man on earth she wants to see again.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“[In] this riveting series launch from Maldonado . . . the frequent plot twists will keep readers guessing to the end, and Maldonado draws on her twenty-two years in law enforcement to add realism. Determined to overcome her painful past, the admirable Nina has enough depth to sustain a long-running series.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The Cipher by Isabella Maldonado is a nail-biting race against time.”
—POPSUGAR
“Maldonado does a superb job of depicting a woman who’s made a strength out of trauma and an even better job at showing how a monster could use the internet to prey on the vulnerable. Maldonado spent twenty-two years in law enforcement, and her experience shines through in The Cipher.”
—Amazon Book Review
“A heart-pounding novel from page one, The Cipher checks all the boxes for a top-notch thriller: sharp plotting, big stakes, and characters—good and bad and everywhere in between—that are so richly drawn you’ll swear you’ve met them. I read this in one sitting, and I guarantee you will too. Oh, another promise: you’ll absolutely love the Warrior Girl!”
—Jeffery Deaver, New York Times bestselling author
“Wow! A riveting tale in the hands of a superb storyteller.”
—J. A. Jance, New York Times bestselling author
“Intense, harrowing, and instantly addictive, The Cipher took my breath away. Isabella Maldonado has created an unforgettable heroine in Nina Guerrera, a dedicated FBI agent and trauma survivor with unique insight into the mind of a predator. This riveting story is everything a thriller should be.”
—Hilary Davidson, Washington Post bestselling author
OTHER TITLES BY ISABELLA MALDONADO
FBI Agent Dani Vega series
A Killer’s Game
FBI Agent Nina Guerrera series
The Cipher
A Different Dawn
The Falcon
Sanchez and Heron series
(coauthored with Jeffery Deaver)
Fatal Intrusion
Detective Veranda Cruz series
Blood’s Echo
Phoenix Burning
Death Blow
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by Isabella Maldonado
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781662515828 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781662515811 (digital)
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
Cover image: © Marie Carr, © Beatrice Preve / ArcAngel
For Liza Fleissig and Ginger Harris-Dontzin,
whose sage advice, timely intervention, and unswerving support have guided me through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
August 15, 2024, 2:30 a.m.
East Harlem, Manhattan
“Something’s wrong,” Conner muttered to himself. “She’s late.”
As he’d done many times before, Conner waited at the Harlem–125th Street station for Angela Dominguez. Only her train hadn’t come.
Was there a crash? A shooting? A bomb?
He pulled out his cell phone and had started entering the Transit Authority’s website into the search bar when the platform vibrated beneath his feet. He glanced down to see the lights embedded in the floor begin to glow and felt the tension drain from his body. The number 6 train heading uptown had been delayed. Nothing was wrong.
A minute later, his eager eyes scanned the small cluster of passengers making their way onto the platform.
She glanced up at him after he fell into step beside her. When she finally spoke, her words were tinged with a sexy Colombian accent that never failed to heat his blood. “You really don’t have to—”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he cut in. “So yes. I have to walk you home.”
Her shy smile told him she was secretly pleased. It was enough encouragement for him to edge closer to her. Should he take her hand?
Conner had first approached Angela two weeks earlier when he’d seen her get off the train. She’d been leery at first, understandably guarded around a powerfully built man who was easily twice her size. She’d asked why he was out so late, and he’d explained that he worked the swing shift as a bouncer at a nightclub on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
She’d confided that she worked on the opposite side of Manhattan, as part of an office-cleaning crew for a high-rise building on Third Avenue. Like him, her shift ended at two in the morning, and she took public transportation to her apartment in Harlem.
Her beauty had drawn him instantly. Getting to know her had cemented the attraction. His sweet Latina Cinderella scrubbed floors until the wee hours, then rose early to work as a short-order cook in a local diner until the late afternoon. He estimated her
Instead, they chatted as they strolled along Fifth Avenue from the subway stop in Harlem, which seemed empty compared to the bustling activity of the thoroughfare during business hours.
Without warning, Angela reached out to grasp his arm. He followed her startled gaze to a nearby cluster of honey locust trees lining the sidewalk. A beefy, unkempt man was barreling straight at them, something clutched in his hand.
Conner swept Angela behind him and faced the threat.
A gap-toothed grin spreading across his unshaven face, the man raised a clenched fist and moved his thumb. A silver blade sprang out with a distinctive click Conner recognized.
“Your money,” the man said. “And your jewelry.” He maneuvered the switchblade into fighting position. “Now.”
“Stay where you are,” Conner whispered to Angela over his shoulder. “If you try to run, he’ll go after you. If you’re behind me, I can protect you.”
Assuming she appreciated both the danger of their situation and his experience as a bouncer, he moved forward to confront the mugger.
The element of surprise carried many advantages, and Conner made use of them all. He’d learned to confront bullies with an overwhelming show of force as a small boy and, one way or another, had dealt with violence ever since.
He slammed a meaty fist into the mugger’s forearm, sending the knife flying. He barely registered it clattering to the ground several yards away as he followed up with a series of punishing blows to the man’s head and body.
The mugger stumbled, fell, then scrambled to his feet and took off, hollering obscenities as he fled.
Before he could give chase, a slender set of arms wrapped around Conner’s arm, holding him back.
“Thank you,” Angela whispered.
He turned toward her, and she buried her face in his chest. He gently pulled her into his arms, saying nothing but stroking her silky black hair as she released a shuddering sob.
After a full minute, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and started to call 9-1-1. Again, her surprisingly firm grip stayed him.
“Don’t call the cops.”
He raised an inquiring brow.
She lowered her head. “I’m . . . uh . . . I—don’t exactly have my paperwork in order.”
He lifted her chin with his index finger, bringing her soft brown eyes up to meet his. “Your work visa expired?” he said gently. When she merely nodded, he tucked her trembling hand into the crook of his arm and turned toward her apartment building. “Let’s just get you home.”
He stopped after a few feet and bent to pick up the switchblade. “Shouldn’t leave this lying around,” he said to her. “Kids might find it and get hurt.”
Her look of admiration was worth doing battle with a street thug. He pocketed the knife and guided her the rest of the way to her door in silence.
“I want to make sure you get inside okay,” he said after she typed her code into the keypad by the main entrance.
“Want some coffee?” She hesitated. “A beer?”
In his dreams, he’d done a lot more than have a drink with her, but that was just his imagination working overtime. Not reality.
“I’ll just walk you up to your unit.” He kept his voice neutral.
He followed her up to the third floor, where she pushed the door open and turned toward him. Conner could tell she was rattled and didn’t want to enter her apartment alone.
Sure enough, she stepped aside to allow him in first. He brushed past her, careful not to make overt contact as he went inside the modest studio apartment.
“Sit,” she said, indicating two pieces of mismatched furniture made of faded fabric. “I’ll get the coffee on.”
He eased himself onto the sofa, watching her graceful movements in the kitchen, which was separated from the tiny family room only by a tile-covered island. She filled the coffee maker’s reservoir with tap water, then flicked on the power and reached up to open the cabinet door.
An instant later, her hands flew to her mouth, muffling a scream.
He surged to his feet and was behind her within seconds. “What’s wrong?”
She turned wide brown eyes to him and stuttered through shaking fingers still pressed against her lips, “He came b-back.”
He drew his brows together. “Who?”
“S-stalker,” she choked out, barely holding back tears.
“Someone’s stalking you?”
“He broke in once already,” she said. “My friends don’t believe me.” She took her hands from her mouth to point at the open cabinet. “But I swear, I didn’t do that.”
On the upper shelf sat a row of teas, their labeled tins neatly arranged in alphabetical order. The lower shelf had an array of ground-coffee bags, also in alphabetical order, and grouped by variety. Each tin or bag was aligned precisely against the front edge of the shelf, with other bags behind it in symmetrical rows.
“How did it look before?”
“I just shove the coffee and tea in there. Whatever I use most is in front. I don’t organize it.”
He took her slender hands in his, engulfing them. “How long has it been since you noticed anything else?”
“The last time was four days ago.”
“What happened that time?”
“My pantry.” She glanced at a narrow cupboard at the far end of the counter. “All the boxes and cans. Lined up in a row. In alphabetical order.” She let out a whimper. “Everyone thinks I’m nuts.”
He didn’t bother to suggest she call the police. She’d already made it clear that wasn’t an option. With deliberate gentleness, he pulled her against him. She instantly molded her body to his with a quiet sob.
He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and tried to reassure her. “I believe you.”
She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “I’m scared, Conner.” She swallowed audibly. “Why don’t you stay?”
He longed to crush his lips against hers, to taste her sweetness, to feel her sweat-damp skin beneath his fingertips.
Summoning all his will, he disengaged from her grasp. “It wouldn’t be right,” he said softly. “I can’t take advantage of you.” He paused. “We’ll know when the time is right.”
She raised up on her tiptoes to plant a tender kiss along his jaw. “You’re amazing, Conner.”
He stayed a few minutes longer to make sure she was calm. She’d forgotten the coffee, but he didn’t want to bring it up again and frighten her. When he started for the door, she made a second veiled invitation. After another silent battle with his desire, he insisted she lock the door behind him and left.
Fresh night air would clear his head from the pheromone-induced fog that enveloped him. He had walked out onto the sidewalk and made his way to the corner of the building when a shadowy figure stepped into his path.
“Where’s my money, asshole?”
Conner instinctively tensed, prepared for another attack. Once the man moved under the streetlight, Conner recognized the mugger from a few blocks back.
They had unfinished business.
“Broke my nose,” the mugger went on in a stuffy voice. “Wasn’t part of the deal.”
Conner reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills wrapped in a rubber band, and extended the money.
The mugger shook his head. “Gonna cost you double. I got doctor’s fees now.”
“Did I ruin your chance at a modeling career?” Conner said, not troubling to hide his contempt. “Please. A broken nose is an improvement.” He dug a hand into his other pocket and pulled out a few loose Benjamins. “There,” he said, tossing them in the air between them. “That’s all you get. Take it or leave it.”
Conner watched the other man stoop to gather up the fallen bills before disappearing into the darkness. His mind was on Angela Dominguez. His sweet Cinderella believed she’d found her prince, but there would be no fairy-tale ending for her.
He’d planned every detail down to the minute. Until then, he would bide his time as the days passed.
The final days Angela Dominguez had left on this earth.
CHAPTER 2
August 15, 2024
Bellevue Hospital, Manhattan
FBI Special Agent Daniela Vega strode through the corridor in the secure psych ward at Bellevue Hospital. The chief psychiatrist, Dr. Ashley Maffuccio, had called Dani with what amounted to a summons yesterday, and offered to personally escort her inside the facility.
