Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2)

You can run from the past, but you can’t hide . . .

Tough as nails, no nonsense San Francisco reporter Grace Hanover will do anything to cover the story of the decade—and her career. Having survived a painful past, she’s learned never to let anything stand in her way. Even if it means following a key witness into the Alaskan wilderness, and partnering with Travis Barnett, a former Navy SEAL turned PI who’s working for the Feds, and who would love to bring in Grace’s witness before she can get her story. But together in the wilderness, they’ll each have to put aside their differences and trust one another if they want to survive.

Because someone from Grace’s past is watching, waiting for just the right moment. Every step Grace takes draws her deeper into the line of fire, and into the hands of a killer…

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Who’s Watching Now Series

Every Move She Makes, Book One

Every Step She Takes, Book Two

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Who’s Watching Now Series

Jannine Gallant

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Copyright © 2014 by Jannine Gallant

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First Electronic Edition: July 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-653-7

ISBN-10: 1-61650-653-9

First Print Edition: July 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-65407

ISBN-10: 1-61650-654-4

Printed in the United States of America

To my daughters, Tara and Kristen. May your lives always be a journey filled with excitement, fun, accomplishment and love!

Grace Hanover dropped her cell phone on the counter and happy danced around the apartment. Fists pumping in the air, she kicked an empty pizza box and let out a hoot. “Oh, yeah, oh, yeah! Pulitzer Prize, you’re mine, baby.”

Collapsing onto the old leather couch, she pictured herself wearing a killer black dress, long hair swept up in an elegant knot and diamonds the size of her thumb sparkling at her ears. She smiled graciously at the tuxedo-clad presenter.

All in a day’s work. I uncovered the story quite by chance... Who would I like to thank? Why, my family for their loving support, my long-suffering editor, and a reliable source who made this story possible.

Her brows drew together as the vision faded. Calling her source reliable was a gross exaggeration, although Tia had come through for her in the past. She prayed the girl was merely stoned and not tripping on some hallucinogen when she overheard the rumor about Casey Sutton. A sober Tia was too much to hope for, about as likely as palm trees growing in Alaska, but Grace was willing to risk a wild goose chase for the story of the decade.

Thinking about the possibilities sent a quiver of anticipation skittering down her spine. She, Grace Hanover, would have an exclusive interview with the man who had stumbled upon a billion dollar drug exchange
and
witnessed the murder of a government agent. For an investigative reporter, it didn’t get any better. San Francisco native Casey Sutton’s testimony was the key to bringing down Colombian drug lord Juan Estrada, and
she
would tell the public Sutton’s story in his own words.

Both the national and local media were panting for details, but no one had a clue where the man was sequestered. Until now.
If
Tia could be believed.
If
the woman shooting off her mouth at some party really was Sutton’s girlfriend.

Grace bounced off the couch and stared out the window through the marine layer obscuring her view of Golden Gate Park. Summer in San Francisco was nearly always foggy. Biting her lip, she wondered what the weather would be like in the wilds of Alaska. Sutton was idling away the weeks before the trial at a fishing retreat in the back of beyond, for God’s sake. She’d read the man was a nature freak, a hippy throwback, but couldn’t the feds have found someplace a little closer to home to hide him?

The things I put myself through for a story.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and scowled at a chip in her nail polish. She’d rather have bamboo rammed under her fingernails than sleep in a tent. Thank the good Lord there was supposedly some sort of lodge at this camp.
If
Tia’s source wasn’t making up the whole freaking story. She’d check the place out online, pack and book a plane ticket on the next flight north. Chortling with glee, Grace headed for her computer.

Casey Sutton wouldn’t know what hit him.

* * * *

“You want me to handle it personally?” Travis Barnett ran a hand through his hair and frowned at the piles of paperwork on his desk. “I don’t have time for fieldwork anymore, Fritz, and my staff is top rate.”

The voice of his old buddy from SEAL Team Six rose in volume on the other end of the secure line. “I want you, not one of your staff. This is a hell of a lot more important than bodyguard duty for some two-bit celebrity, for Christ’s sake. The man’s location has been compromised. You’re close, and you’re the best. I don’t have time to screw around, and I’m not certain any of our men in the Anchorage office has the experience to get the job done. If Estrada’s goons get to Sutton first, we can kiss a conviction good-bye. Hell, we can kiss
Sutton
good-bye. I’ve spent months putting this case together, and I won’t see it flushed down the crapper because that hippy wannabe texted his girlfriend!”

“Idiot.”

“You won’t get an argument from me, but I need the man alive. I want you in Alaska yesterday! God, I was a fool to leave him up there alone, but the man I had on him was whining about the isolation. Then his wife went into early labor…” He sighed. “I was short staffed and made a bad judgment call, but let’s face it,
no one
would have found him at that lodge if he’d kept his mouth shut.”

The fully loaded appointment book on his desk taunted Travis.

“I suppose I could rearrange my schedule.” Thinking about the meetings he had lined up with potential clients and updates required for existing ones, he turned and stared out his office window at the Seattle skyline. A steady drizzle hadn’t let up in two days. A wet spring had turned into a soggy summer, not unusual for the Pacific Northwest, but this year the damp and gloom grated on his nerves. A fishing retreat in Alaska sounded like heaven.

Phone in hand, he stood up to stretch his legs.

Maybe getting away would improve his mood. Too bad he’d be working.

“Rearrange, cancel, whatever you need to do to make it happen. I don’t care if you have to drag Sutton back to the lower forty-eight kicking and screaming. Get to him before Estrada does. I’ll personally take him off your hands the second you get home. With any luck, you won’t be away longer than two or three days at the most.”

“Fine. I’ll be in touch as soon as he’s secured.”

A breath whooshed through the phone. “I owe you one, or is this payback for the time I saved your hide in Iraq?”

Travis grinned. “Carting your sorry ass twenty miles through a Nicaraguan jungle covered that debt.”

Fritz’s voice turned gruff. “Be careful. If Estrada has a man headed north—and we have to assume he does—the whole situation could turn ugly real fast.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Ass.”

The phone went dead. Travis closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. For a while now, he’d considered delegating more of the company’s managerial workload to McNally. His second in command would tackle the new responsibilities with his usual efficiency. Plus, it was way past time to loosen his grip on the reins. Now that Barnett Security and Investigations, Inc. was flourishing, Travis really, really needed a break.

Turning away from the window, he dropped into the seat of his leather desk chair. When was the last time he’d had a vacation? Two—no three years ago he’d spent five days on a rafting trip down the Snake River. Maybe after he handed Sutton over to Fritz...

Still holding the receiver, he punched the intercom button. “Donna, can you track down McNally for me? Tell him I need to see him immediately.”

“I’ll take care of it right away.”

He kept the button depressed. “Thanks. Oh, and book me on the first flight to Anchorage. I’m going to be out of the office for a few days.”

* * * *

“There’ll be tourists around if it’s a fishing camp. A bunch of yahoos in hip waders.” His lip curled. “Collateral damage could be an issue. Let’s hope Estrada isn’t squeamish.”

He listened to the accented voice and smiled. “Whatever you say. If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, you have to take your chances. I’ll handle it. Estrada knows I always get the job done.”

Hanging up the phone, his fingers flew over the computer keyboard, pulling up flights. A redeye would get him to Anchorage by mid-morning. From there he’d take a puddle jumper to Moose Flat. If Estrada’s flunky wasn’t offering him a fortune to take care of the problem, he’d have told him to go to hell. Still, it didn’t pay to piss off a good client. Word would spread.

Moose Flat
, for God’s sake. Could it get any hokier?

Booking the flights under an alias, he drummed his fingers on the desk as he awaited confirmation. An onyx ring gleamed in a shaft of light shining through the high window. He’d have to stop at a sporting goods store for suitable clothing and gear. Grimacing, he smoothed a hand down his Egyptian cotton shirt. In the attire he favored, he’d stand out like a diamond in a dung pile in Bumfuck, Alaska.

The shit I put up with for the sake of a job.
As much as he disliked the whole damned idea, he’d survive a few days of roughing it.

Casey Sutton wouldn’t.

The hunk in seat 4B was seriously hot. Not cover model handsome the way Grace usually liked her men, a little rough around the edges with a day’s growth of stubble on a hard, square jaw. Very sexy nonetheless.

“Excuse me.”

“Sure.”

Glacier blue eyes surveyed her with ill-concealed interest as she squeezed past his knees and dropped into seat 4A. She judged his height at a couple inches over six feet, weight pushing two hundred pounds of firm, solid muscle. Which left her little room to maneuver in the cramped quarters of the ridiculously small plane.

She snapped her seatbelt closed and studied her companion for the flight from Anchorage to Moose Flat. Dark hair cut short, a scar high on his right cheekbone—intriguing rather than disfiguring—short, black lashes rimming those pale blue eyes, straight nose neither big nor small, lightly tanned skin. Either he didn’t get outside much, or he wasn’t from a sunny climate.

Might as well start a conversation, or it’ll be one boring flight.
“I’ve seen pelicans bigger than this plane. Do you think we’ll get off the ground?”