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WHO CAN BE TRUSTED?
Former army communications specialist Maddie Jerrard may not remember the details of the deadly mission on the Texas-Mexico border, but she knows one thing. She’s not responsible for the massive ambush that left only her and investigative journalist Chris Mason alive. Yet with suspicion—and danger—targeting Maddie and Chris, and a killer on their trail, partnering up is the only solution. But as Maddie and Chris get closer to uncovering the truth, they’ll have to trust each other to make it through alive.
Maddie whirled and ran.
The vehicle followed, and a voice called her full name—her real name. No bullet for her. Just a hit and run with her own car. A greasy spot on the pavement.
She wasn’t about to let them win that easily. As she ran, her hand dived inside her pack and closed around the handle of a 10mm Glock pistol.
“Maddie!” The male voice called again. Too familiar. And impossible!
Her racing feet jerked to a halt, and she pivoted on her heel, Glock extended in both hands. The Oldsmobile’s tires locked, and the car skidded toward her. The scent of burnt rubber met Maddie’s nostrils as she leaped up and forward. The vehicle rocked to a halt, bumper covering the spot where she’d been standing. She landed atop the hood on her knees and the knuckles of one fist. The other arm trained the Glock on the driver.
He lifted his hands, palms out, lips pressed into a tight line.
Blood pounded in Maddie’s ears and blackness edged her vision. It was him.
The most gorgeous man on the planet. He was supposed to be dead, but he was alive.
She should shoot him.
JILL ELIZABETH NELSON
writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as housing manager for a seniors’ apartment complex. By night she turns into a wild and crazy writer who can hardly wait to jot down all the exciting things her characters are telling her, so she can share them with her readers. More about Jill and her books can be found at www.jillelizabethnelson.com. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children who have settled nearby.
Betrayal on the Border
Jill Elizabeth Nelson
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.... A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.
—Psalm 91:1–2, 7–8
To the brave, honest and loyal men and women who protect and serve on the front lines
of the war on drugs. May you dwell securely under the shadow of the Almighty and walk in supernatural triumph as you battle with spiritual weapons greater than what is common to man.
Contents
ONE
If that off-white chunk of clay was craftsman’s putty, Maddie Jameson would eat her tool belt. What was C-4 explosive compound doing on the kitchen table in this unit at Morningside Apartments? A chill rippled her insides.
Not everyone would recognize the remnants from the construction of a pipe bomb. To the untrained eye, the dab of C-4 could be mistaken for putty and the bits of wire and lengths of sawed-off pipe merely scraps from a handy-man project. But then, not many apartment-maintenance workers were ex–army rangers with Maddie’s skill set—or a history that meant she must keep her head down and her eyes peeled.
Those who hunted her were relentless and ruthless, and she was damaged prey. She needed to see them coming before they got to her.
Not that she ever knew exactly what hired assassin would be after her. She could bump into one on the street and not know it until he tried to take her out. Everyone was a suspect. If only she could figure out why she was marked for death. Had she seen something the night of the attack a year ago on the Rio Grande? If so, her head injury had erased it from her memory.
Was she the target of the bomb these Morningside tenants had been making? If the three attempts on her life within the past year were any clue, she’d be an idiot to think otherwise. Where was the bomb planted? Her caretaker’s apartment on the premises? Maddie’s mouth went dry. There could be collateral damage. Dozens of people—including children—lived in this building, and a bomb didn’t care who it destroyed.
Dear God, please don’t let innocent families be hurt because of me.
Fighting for a full breath, she looked down at the work order in her hand. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. The order listed this apartment and stated that the tenants had given permission for the maintenance person to enter in their absence in order to replace a torn window screen. But she’d checked the screens—they were whole. Why would the tenants give permission for her to enter the premises on a trumped-up excuse and then leave their bomb-making scraps lying around in plain view?
Unless this was a trap.
The air in Maddie’s