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Double Take
Jenness Walker
Cole Leighton can barely believe his eyes.A woman on his bus has just been abducted–in an exact reflection of a scene from the bestselling novel he's reading. Someone is bringing the book to life…and isn't above forcing an innocent woman to follow the story to its tragic end.Using the novel as his playbook, Cole catches up with the beautiful victim–but rescuing Kenzie Jacobs doesn't keep her safe for long. The killer is writing his own ending, and none of the twists and turns lead to happily ever after.
“When you walked in, I felt safe for the first time…in a long time. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Cole whispered.
Kenzie didn’t answer. Until he started to rise. He wanted to stay–to make sure she stayed safe and kept breathing those slow even breaths. But he didn’t belong here with her.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Cole swallowed the lump in his throat and settled back in his chair, her hand cradled carefully in his. Why hadn’t he picked up that novel sooner? If he’d just allowed himself to trust his instincts, Kenzie’s ordeal would have been shorter.
He shook his head. Kenzie would live to see another day, to light up the world with her smile. He had not been too late. That would have to be enough. Her nightmare was over.
Or was it?
JENNESS WALKER
has always loved a good story. She grew up scouting around her grandparents’ basement for something good to read. Today she doesn’t feel complete if she doesn’t have a book nearby. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys hanging out with her husband, playing with her part-time dog and planning trips to explore small-town America.
Double Take
Jenness Walker
Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us.
—Titus 3:5
To my family—Mom and Dad; my brothers,
Ben and Anthony; and my husband, Jason—
for your never-failing encouragement, support
and love. Thanks for believing in me.
Acknowledgments
I owe a big thank-you to Detective Mark Weaver, the perfect consultant. I owe you a lifetime of Coldstone Creamery gift cards. Also, I need to thank Dave, my mechanic; the nurses who made sure my heroine didn’t accidentally die of infection; and my writing buddies—Cathy, Ava and Faith.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
If her car hadn’t died that morning, Monique might not have, either. But the car died. Monique boarded a bus. And the fight for her life began.
Cole Leighton shifted on the bench and closed Obsession to study the cover. Surely the author hadn’t given away the ending already. He’d never read a Warren Flint thriller, but this one caught his attention for some reason. Maybe because of the high praise or the blurb on the back. More likely because of the cover model. He glanced at her one more time: back pressed against a wall, delicate fingers splayed against the concrete block, slim figure silhouetted by a streetlight. But it was her face that held him. The wide eyes, the fear-laced expression partially hidden by dark hair blowing in a slight breeze. She drew him in.
Heels clicked against the sidewalk. A woman advanced toward the bus stop, gesturing with one hand while holding a phone to her ear.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it…” Exaggerated patience sounded in her tone. “Yes, I know this is your last day in town, but my car just gave up the ghost. I’ll be there, but I’m running late. Okay?”
So much for some quiet reading time. Cole gazed at the road, watching for the bus as she snapped her phone closed and sat down beside him.
She broke an awkward pause with a polite “How are you?”
He was in the middle of Atlanta. Smelling diesel fumes, fighting crowds and wishing for the hot Texas air. But he nodded and said, “Fine.”
Her cell phone rang again. She groaned and silenced the ring. “Ever had one of those days where everything goes wrong?” she asked.
A wry smile tugged at Cole’s lips, and he nodded. He finally turned to look her full in the face, then blinked. She looked hauntingly familiar. Where…?
She gave him a small smile.
Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head and studied her. Dark hair fell in shiny waves past her shoulders. A pale face with wide, sad eyes—
Those eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”
Heat swept his face. Cole shook his head and looked away, down at Obsession’s cover again. She could be the model’s twin.
Weird.
“Oh, good. Here it comes.”
His bench partner pointed to a bus with orange stripes and a turquoise MARTA sign as it rounded the corner. Cole gathered his things and walked to the curb as the bus arrived. But hesitated before following her up the bus steps.
She chose a seat near the front, but, face still burning, Cole strode down the aisle. About halfway back, he dropped into an empty seat beside a James Earl Jones look-alike. His chest abnormally tight, Cole reached for the novel again.
She sat near the front and crossed her legs. One of her shoelaces dangled in the aisle, swinging like a slow pendulum as other passengers walked by. She studied the pedestrians outside the window, the way sunlight played off the apartment windows, the angle of the bus driver’s hat, the warm leather of a passenger’s jacket. She thought she should take a picture to help her remember this day for the rest of her life, every part of it.
She didn’t.
But she would remember anyway.
The bus lurched forward, and Monique braced her hand against the seat in front of her. The gray fabric itched, but she held on, leaning into a curve. When the tree-lined road wound out of the commercial area—
Cole looked up from the page and stared at the gray fabric on the seat in front of him. Maybe he shouldn’t be reading this. Not right here, right now, on a bus with the heroine’s twin sitting in the second-row aisle seat. It was kind of like watching an in-flight movie with a plane crash somewhere in its plotline.
When Cole didn’t settle back into the book, his seatmate took that as a cue to talk. “Beautiful day, ain’t it, son? Makes me glad to be alive.”
Cole followed the man’s gaze to the window as the bus rounded a corner. Rays of sunlight spread through thick tree-cover, dancing over the grass of an undeveloped area.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“Reminds me of home.” A soft smile transformed the old man’s face. “Back when my wife was alive, we used to—”
The bus swerved off the main road and ground to a halt. Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught a flash of light—the sun glinting off metal.
This could not be happening.
But it was.
“Put your hands on the seat in front of you,” a man’s voice grated out. “Everyone! Hands on the seat where I can see them.”
Cole spotted a second masked gunman just as a bullet tore through the roof of the bus. Someone screamed.
“I said now!”
“Do it, son.” His seatmate sounded calm, but his withered hands trembled as he placed them on the top of the seat.
Cole obeyed, hot anger competing with cold chills.
“This is a holdup,” the second man said, walking to the rear of the bus. “We don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want your valuables.”
Someone whimpered as a bag’s contents hit the floor. A cheap pen rolled by, stopping near Cole’s feet. He stared at the label and narrowed his eyes.
Why would someone hold up a bus? And why did he feel almost as if he’d known something like this was coming?
TWO
It felt like some crazy Western movie gone awry. Kenzie Jacobs gripped the seat in front of her and wished she could disappear. Her life seemed to be a series of bad days. Just when she didn’t think things could get any worse…
She winced as the first gunman—the one with the leather jacket, the one who had been sitting right in front of her—shoved his weapon into the bus driver’s face again.
“Get away from the radio!”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, holding his hands high.
The gunman jerked the driver to his feet, then marched him up the aisle with a gun pressed to the back of the man’s head. Kenzie didn’t watch. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t hear more gunfire, more screams, the sound of the driver’s body hitting the floor.
“Keep your hands on the seats!” the second man yelled from the rear. “Heads down. No looking around. The faster we get your valuables, the faster you can get off this bus.”
No shots. The driver would live another few minutes, at least.
Kenzie wished she could pull a Hollywood stunt and save the world…or at least this bus full of people. But she was never any good at saving people. So she lowered her head and closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears from pushing past her eyelids.
She didn’t have anything of value with her. No jewelry. Little cash. One credit card. Even her shoes were inexpensive.
Something bumped her foot. Her eyes cracked open and she saw a gloved hand snatch her purse from the floor. The gunman breathed heavily near her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from him as he dumped her belongings. Her pocket knife hit the floor with a clatter. Lip gloss rolled to the front and thunked down the steps. A package of tissues landed near her shoes. She was glad they hadn’t been open. She might need them today, if she ever made it to lunch with her mom.
