Identity: Classified - Liz Shoaf Coldwater Bay Intrigue

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not happy about that.” He moved his face closer to the webcam. His gritty voice scraped her nerves with its intensity. “I decided to give you a taste of what’s in store for you if you don’t give me the disc. I would advise you to get it now. My deliveryman should be at your door any second.” He turned away but glanced over his shoulder with menace in his eyes. “I wouldn’t advise contacting the police, or Stan will find himself in the same position as Peter Norris.”

      The screen went blank, and through her haze of terror, Chloe vaguely registered that the killer had logged off Peter Norris’s computer.

      A loud, piercing bark jolted her out of shock. She tore her gaze away from the now-blank screen and looked down at her dog. “Geordie,” she whispered, “we’re in big trouble and I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I’ll worry about the disc later. Right now, we have to get out of here.”

      Her heart was pounding and her mind racing. The killer’s so-called deliveryman could be at her door any second, and she needed time to figure out what he wanted and how he knew so much about her.

      “Geordie, grab your stuff.” Her poodle was highly trained and must have sensed her urgency. He skidded out of her office and headed toward the kitchen, where she kept his stuff in a bag.

      Chloe left her laptop and smartphone where they were—she could be tracked through the technology—and grabbed several burner phones she stored in her desk. Being a computer geek came in handy. Chloe met Geordie in the foyer and tore open the closet door. Having learned a lot during her forced tenure at the FBI, Chloe had a “go” bag ready for any emergency that might arise. It included a new identity, passport, driver’s license, the works.

      She threw on her leather jacket, slipped the strap of the duffel over her shoulder and opened the door to her apartment. She locked it quickly after her dog followed her out. Peering at the elevator in the middle of the hallway, she saw the numbers were moving upward toward her floor. “It’s the stairwell for us, Geordie,” she whispered. They were halfway to the exit door when the elevator dinged. She glanced over her shoulder as a masked man stepped off the elevator, saw her fleeing and started running toward them.

      His hand reached inside his leather jacket and Chloe slowed down. She’d never make it to the garage and her Harley. She lowered her right arm, and the knife she kept stashed up her sleeve dropped into the palm of her hand. Before the guy had a chance to lift the gun, Chloe turned midstride, lifted her arm and threw the knife. It landed exactly where she wanted it to, in his right arm. He stumbled, dropped the gun, grabbed his bleeding arm and shot her a look filled with rage.

      Chloe didn’t wait to see if he followed. She pushed the stairwell door open, and she and Geordie raced down to the garage. She lifted her dog, placed him in the attached pouch strapped to the back of the seat and straddled the bike. The roar of the engine filled the parking deck. She quickly maneuvered the bike around and shot forward. Just as she was passing the stairwell door, it opened, and the killer took aim. Chloe swerved the Harley sharp into a curve and almost laid the motorcycle on its side. Two bullets bit into the concrete above her. As soon as the bike was upright, she headed for the exit.

      They hit the street and Chloe rode around for a short time, making sure they weren’t followed. She’d stop at an internet café and send an anonymous email reporting the crime. She couldn’t do it under her own name because there was a chance the FBI would become involved due to the high-profile murder. She couldn’t take a chance on the killer going after Stan.

      She didn’t even consider contacting Stan. As Director of Criminal Cyber, Response and Services Branch of the FBI, he would end up in the middle of this mess, and she refused to take that chance. Stan and Betty had assumed custody of, and later adopted, a sassy sixteen-year-old girl who had hacked into a bank and gotten sent to juvenile hall. Thanks to Stan, and her extensive hacking skills, the judge wisely, and leniently, allowed her to leave juvenile hall and finish out her sentence working for the FBI cyber unit. Her community service helped the FBI and taught her a lesson at the same time. And, of course, all child labor laws were strictly adhered to.

      Stan and Betty had done enough for Chloe already. She had to handle this herself. She’d call them after she decided where she was heading and tell them she and Geordie had taken a little vacation. Risking their lives by involving them wasn’t an option.

      * * *

      Standing on the sidewalk outside of Lucy’s Café, enjoying the unusually warm late-autumn weather, Sheriff Ethan Hoyt almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken when a Harley roared down the street, then swerved into a spot right in front of him. The rider removed her helmet after pushing down the kickstand, then she attached the helmet to the motorcycle and ran her hands through short, midnight-black hair, leaving it spiked all over her head.

      His eyes narrowed as he scanned her face and took note of every feature. Pixie face with porcelain skin, narrow nose, sculpted chin, brown eyes, black eyebrows. She had the physique of a runner, he noticed as she lifted a leg over the seat of the bike and shot him a mischievous grin. Two dimples appeared on either side of her mouth, contrasting with the biker-dude appearance. She was a looker, but he wasn’t the least bit interested. He had a daughter to raise, and he had failed to make his deceased wife happy when she was alive.

      When she unzipped a partially open attachment on the back of the bike, he took what he hoped appeared to be a casual sip of coffee. She placed both hands inside the leather pouch and lifted something out.

      He was totally caught off guard when she folded a small, ugly brown dog into her arms. Ethan didn’t like surprises. He liked to think of himself as being prepared for every contingency. She crooned nonsense to the mutt and placed him on the ground, where he promptly pooped on town property. She praised the critter for doing what nature demanded, then dug around in another bag and lifted a leash triumphantly in the air. After attaching it to the dog’s collar, she approached the sidewalk.

      Ethan’s eyebrows shot up when he spotted the studded leather dog collar. The thing appeared to be a poodle and it looked as harmless as a flea. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses when she flashed him a big smile before sauntering past, decked out in black leather pants, jacket and biker boots. His gut—that had never failed him—screamed the woman and her sidekick were trouble. He hadn’t missed the wariness in her eyes she tried to hide behind the big friendly smile.

      Taking several long strides to catch up with her, Ethan slapped a hand on the door leading to Lucy’s Café, effectively stopping her when she tried to pull it open. “Ma’am, you can’t leave dog poop on the ground. We have city ordinances.”

      She lifted her head slowly, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

      Ethan went on high alert and glanced at her hands for weapons, but they were empty. It was then he noticed she had dropped the leash. A low growl, very close to his right ankle, rose from below him. He removed his arm from the door and the growl turned into a snarl. Without moving, he glanced down. The previously friendly looking little mutt had his gums peeled back, revealing a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth.

      The woman had the audacity to chuckle before snapping out a command.

      “Geordie! Off!”

      In a split second, the small—Ethan would put the dog at twelve to fifteen pounds—vicious beast closed his mouth and plopped onto his hind quarters, transforming back into the deceiving appearance of a sweet, docile dog. The thing was covered in brown curls. Ethan could barely see its beady little eyes, which were now warm and pleasant looking, as if the thing had never threatened to chew his leg off.

      “I came here to grab a bite to eat. Now, are you going to call the police, or am I allowed to go inside the restaurant and get some paper napkins to clean up Geordie’s mess? I ran out of poop bags several days ago.”

      Ethan took a deep breath. He’d just made a fool of himself and could only chalk it up to the sudden appearance of Dorothy carting Toto around on a motorcycle.

      Time to back up and get some information. He wanted to know where she was from. Evidently the woman and her

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