Disarming Detective. Elizabeth Heiter

      

       She gave him a sassy smile. “I’m armed.”

      “And,” she continued, “the Bureau believes pretty strongly in teaching its agents defensive training. Believe me, I got the bruises to prove it back at the Academy, but I learned. This guy won’t want to mess with me.”

      Logan didn’t seem any less worried. “I’d still feel better if you were somewhere else. You can stay with me if you want. I have an extra bedroom.”

      Her nerve endings tingled at the idea, but Ella forced herself to give him a look of disbelief. “Yeah, because that would really work.” If she stayed at his house, she’d end up in his bed, and they both knew it. Appealing as it might sound, that idea had heartbreak written all over it. And she didn’t have time to mess around.

      She was here to catch a killer.

      Disarming

      Detective

      Elizabeth Heiter

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ELIZABETH HEITER likes her suspense to feature strong heroines, chilling villains, psychological twists and a little romance. Her research has taken her into the minds of serial killers, through murder investigations and onto the FBI Academy’s shooting range. Elizabeth graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in English literature. She’s a member of International Thriller Writers and Romance Writers of America. Visit Elizabeth at elizabethheiter.com.

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      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      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

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      The instant Isabella Cortez left the safety of the FBI building, goose bumps skittered across her skin and her senses went on high alert. Her instincts and training, like a sudden alarm shrieking inside her head, told her she wasn’t alone.

      The door slammed shut behind her before she could dart back inside, and Ella cursed the heavy briefcase weighing down one hand and the stack of file folders clenched in the other. Just because she was taking her first real vacation in two years didn’t mean killers took time off, so her cases were coming with her. Assuming she made it to her vacation.

      Tonight, she was the last one out of the bland office building in Aquia, Virginia. It was set back off the road, nestled deep in the woods, and manned by an armed guard. Entrance to the parking lot was supposed to be reserved for the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Analysts who worked there and no one else. If a visitor was arriving, the guard at the gate called ahead. Anyone who could make it past security was a threat.

      Pushing back her fear, she blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness outside. Her arms tensed, but she didn’t drop the files and reach for her gun. Not yet. Not until she identified the threat. If she acted too soon, she’d probably get shot.

      No, all the instincts honed by two years in the Behavioral Analysis Unit told her to let him think she was oblivious. Let him show himself before she brought him down.

      Her heart thudded too fast, reminding Ella all too clearly of her first years in the FBI, in the gangs unit in Dallas, when she’d taken a bullet to the leg and her partner had taken two to the chest. At the memory, all the nerves in her leg burst to life, painful and fire-poker hot.

      Lock it down, Cortez. Focus.

      A tiny movement made her glance left, toward the only two cars in the lot. A bulky figure shifted beside her car, stepping into the dim glow of the overhead light.

      He was big, taller than her by half a foot and outweighing her by a good fifty pounds and all of it muscle. But none of that mattered if she didn’t let him get close.

      Her eyes darted to his hands. Empty. She let out a breath, but it caught when she spotted the telltale bulge at his hip. No way was she giving him a chance to go for the weapon. She dropped her briefcase and files fast, yanking her Glock pistol from its holster. “Hands up!”

      “Whoa!” He lifted his hands near his head. “Look, I—”

      “Higher. Get on your knees.”

      “Hey, I didn’t—”

      “Now!” Ella took a step closer, let him see the dead seriousness in her eyes, the solid, steady aim of her gun. “Pull your weapon out with your left hand. Toss it over here.”

      “Crap.” He complied, getting on his knees and sending his own Glock skidding across the pavement toward her.

      “You have any other weapons on you?”

      “No.