Praise for Counter Attack

  “Balancing a slow-burning romance with a twisty mystery, this will keep Bradley’s fans hooked until the final page.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “Plenty of action and interesting details about the dark web and police procedure keep this thriller with light Christian messaging moving.”

  Booklist

  “Counter Attack opens with a chilling snippet that takes us into the dark web, a murderous game, and a killer’s quest for revenge. Buckle up, because Counter Attack by Patricia Bradley takes you on an intense ride!”

  Reading Is My Superpower

  “Patricia Bradley introduces her new Pearl River series with a bang with Counter Attack.”

  Life Is Story

  “What a great read! Infused with tension that comes with the search for a killer, this book will have readers flipping the pages late into the night to find out what happens.”

  Lynette Eason, bestselling, award-winning author of the Danger Never Sleeps series

  “If you like your romantic suspense to include a twisted villain, a deadly plot, and a second chance at love, look no further than Counter Attack. I couldn’t put it down!”

  Lynn H. Blackburn, bestselling author of the Defend and Protect series

  “Checkmate! Patricia Bradley hits the mark again in this fast-paced, high-stakes suspense you won’t be able to put down!”

  Natalie Walters, award-winning author of The SNAP Agency and Harbored Secrets series

  “Counter Attack grabs you from the first page and doesn’t let go until the end. The story plays out like a fast-paced chess game, with plenty of action and red herrings to ratchet up the suspense.”

  Sarah Hamaker, award-winning author of the Cold War Legacy series

  Books by Patricia Bradley

  LOGAN POINT SERIES

  Shadows of the Past

  A Promise to Protect

  Gone Without a Trace

  Silence in the Dark

  MEMPHIS COLD CASE NOVELS

  Justice Delayed

  Justice Buried

  Justice Betrayed

  Justice Delivered

  NATCHEZ TRACE PARK RANGERS

  Standoff

  Obsession

  Crosshairs

  Deception

  PEARL RIVER

  Counter Attack

  Fatal Witness

  © 2024 by Patricia Bradley

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  Grand Rapids, Michigan

  RevellBooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2024

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-4473-1

  Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

  To my readers.

  Thank you for reading my books!

  And to my sister, Barbara,

  who was the one who told me I should write a book

  set in the Chattanooga area.

  And in memory of Lonnie Hull DuPont.

  Thank you for taking a chance

  on an unknown writer ten years ago.

  You changed my life. You will be missed.

  Contents

  Cover

  Endorsements

  Half Title Page

  Books by Patricia Bradley

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

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  69

  Sneak Peek of the Next Book in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  The back door slammed, and nine-year-old Danielle Bennett jumped. Her daddy was home. She held her breath, waiting to see which Daddy it was. The one who laughed and swung her up in the air or the one who yelled and broke things . . .

  Her heart sank as he yelled at her mama to get things packed. When she yelled back that she wasn’t going anywhere, Danielle covered her ears, but it didn’t do any good. She prayed Daddy wouldn’t be mean. Remembering the last time that happened made her sick to her stomach. She should have done something. Stopped him . . . or called someone.

  “Danielle! Get in here!”

  She flinched.

  “Now!”

  If she didn’t go, he would come after her. She laid her Barbie on the floor and trudged to the kitchen, slipping inside the room quiet as a cat.

  Her dad shoved her mama toward their bedroom. “Get packed. We have to leave. Now!”

  Mama turned and crossed her arms. “Why is he coming here, Bobby? What does he want?”

  “His share of the diamonds,” he said. “We need to leave before he gets here. Now get to packing!”

  “No! You have to take them back!”

  “You’ve been talking to your mother, haven’t you?” He jutted his jaw. “Don’t you understand? They’re our way out—” He cocked his head as tires crunched in their drive. “He’s here!” He slammed his fist against the table. “If you’d done what I’d said, we’d be out of here.”

  “Me? You’re the one who broke the law! And now you’re even stealing from your partner.”

  His face was so red Danielle thought he might explode. Then his face changed, and he didn’t look so mad. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” He swept her up in his arms and turned to her mama. “You stay here. I’ll see if I can talk our way out of this. But first, I’ll hide Danielle.”

  She looked over his shoulder as he rushed her out of the kitchen. Her mama’s face . . . Danielle had never seen it so white.

  “It’s going to be all right, Little Bit.”

  Danielle’s stomach squeezed. Daddy smelled funny . . . he always smelled funny when he yelled at Mama. She buried her face in his shoulder, not wanting to remember.

  They stopped at a row of cabinets in the hallway, and he opened the door to the one they put her in when storms were coming. “I want you to get in here, and no matter what happens, you stay here until Mama or I come get you. Can you do that?”

  “Why, Daddy?”

  “Because it’s very important.” He knelt and pushed a board on the wall, and it slid open. Then he put something inside, but she couldn’t see what it was before he closed it. Her daddy motioned her inside the cabinet. “Climb in.”

  Once she was settled, he stood and stared solemnly at her. “Promise me you’ll stay here no matter what you hear. Will you do that for me?”

  Danielle nodded solemnly.

  “I want to hear you say it—I promise.”

  “You’re scaring me, Daddy.”

  “Hurry! You have to promise.”

  Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I promise.”

  He shut the door, and darkness closed around her like a blanket. She scooted back against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. It was hard to breathe . . .

  Suddenly there was shouting. Someone was yelling at her daddy.

  The house filled with booms. Then it was eerily quiet.

  Danielle’s heart beat so fast she thought it would jump out of her chest. She felt for the door and remembered her promise. Maybe Daddy would come get her in a minute.

  Danielle waited as long as she could, but she had to go to the bathroom. Daddy would be mad if she wet her pants. Slowly, she eased the cabinet door open and crept down the hallway in her bare feet, not remembering when she lost her shoes. A noise in the kitchen drew her. Maybe it was Mama and Daddy . . . Danielle eased down the hall, remembering not to step on the squeaky board at the door.

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of what she saw. Across the room, her daddy lay on the floor beside her mama. A man knelt beside them. Danielle must have made a noise because he looked up, right at her.

  She whirled around and raced down the hall to the cabinet and pulled the door shut. Danielle curled into a tight ball and closed her eyes. Seconds later footsteps pounded down the hallway past the cabinet.

  “No, no, no!”

  A crying voice awakened her, and she blinked open her eyes. Why was it so dark? She couldn’t see anything. She stilled as footsteps hurried down the hallway.

  “Danielle?” a voice called softly. “Where are you, honey?”

  Her body started shaking, and tears ran down her face. Suddenly the door flew open, light flooding the little space she was in.

  “Danielle?”

  She blinked at the brightness and shrank back.

  “It’s me, honey. Are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer, instead staring at him as a horn sounded in the distance.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said and reached inside the cabinet.

  She wanted to fight him, but her arms wouldn’t move.

  He pulled her out and carried her through the front door to a four-door pickup parked in the driveway. Once he settled her in the backseat, he said, “It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.”

  She stared at him. “Who are you?”

  2

  TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER

  Dani Collins tilted her head as she tapped the Blackwing pencil against the sketch pad and studied the woman she’d just drawn. Something was off. But what?

  Her Puli, Lizi, padded over and put her paw on Dani’s thigh. Absently, Dani set her pencil down and ran her fingers over the dog’s corded fur. “I know. I should be getting ready to leave instead of drawing people I don’t know.”

  She glanced around the pottery-slash-artist studio where her portable wheel and supplies waited to be loaded in her RAV4 for the workshops at the University of Cincinnati. She’d been honored when they asked her to teach two classes—how to add sculpture techniques to wheel-thrown pieces on Thursday and brushwork decoration on Friday.

  Dani was amazed at the success she’d enjoyed while combining her two loves. Her gaze shifted to a grouping of photos on the far wall. Four photos she’d taken of the nearby Badlands and Makoshika State Park. Her aunt had surprised her with the matted and framed prints last year.

  But it was the photo in the center of the grouping her eye was drawn to—a dark green mountain range bathed in a smoky haze. It was like a green oasis in the middle of arid ground.

  That photo had been a gift from her uncle when she moved into the studio ten years ago. When she’d asked where he got it and why he chose it, he’d shrugged. “I just liked it.”

  So did Dani. It stirred something in her heart. Home. The word popped into her head. But why?

  He never did tell her where he got it. As she stared at the mountain scene, a dreamlike memory surfaced. Riding on a man’s shoulders, a woman walking beside him, her laughter warming Dani. In her heart she knew the woman was her mom. The man had to be her dad, but before she could decide, the scene faded.

  Had it actually happened? Or was it something she’d dreamed up to compensate for not remembering her parents? Dani didn’t have a clue, but for a few seconds, she’d felt carefree . . . and happy.

  She turned back to the sketch and stared at the drawing. A picture emerged in her memory, and she picked up her pencil again. A few strokes later, a braid curled over the woman’s shoulder.

  “Yes.” That’s what had been missing. If her colored pencils were handy, she would fill in the braid with red and make the woman’s eyes blue. Dani didn’t know how she knew this, but she did, just like she knew how to draw the woman’s features.

  She wished she knew more about the woman, but her memory was selective, as it had been with the half dozen other people she’d sketched in the past few months. People she didn’t recognize but whose images popped into her head and stayed until she sketched them. People she believed held the key to her past.

  “Who are you?” she murmured. Could this possibly be the woman in her memory? Her mother? Dani didn’t think so. In her mind, her mother would be younger than this woman.

  If only she could remember—

  Lizi barked when she heard a soft knock at her studio followed by her uncle’s voice.

  “Mail’s here,” Keith said as he opened the door.

  Dani quickly closed the sketch pad as he entered. Her uncle got really upset when she questioned him about their life before they came to Montana. He would flip out if he thought she was beginning to remember people from her past. “Thanks.”

  Lizi rubbed her head against Keith’s leg as Dani sorted through the mail, separating it into bills, ads, payments, and the latest issue of Pottery Making Illustrated.

  “I see you made the cover,” Keith said, pointing to the magazine with one of her plates on the cover.

  “My work, not me.” Making the cover was a surprise—a nice one. She smoothed the plastic sleeve encasing the magazine and read the caption under the photo: “Talented ceramic artist Dani Collins talks about combining her two loves—painting and clay.”

  “Same difference.”

  Dani frowned. Keith worried there would be trouble every time she received any type of attention through her art, but he would never tell her why. Just like he wouldn’t talk about what happened to her parents.

  “It’s not the first time my work has been featured in a national magazine. Nothing happened before, and I don’t expect anything to happen this time, especially since my photo isn’t even featured in the article. Besides, I’m not even sure what could happen since you won’t tell me.”

  “I know . . . but if—”

  “The wrong people see it, there will be problems.” She’d heard him say it so many times that she could finish the sentence for him. Except he wouldn’t tell her who those people were or what the problems could be. Dani studied Keith as he stared at the cellophane-wrapped magazine. What secrets did he hold that made him so afraid? And why did he refuse to talk about their past life?

  Keith was like a father to her, and his wife, Laura, whom he’d married when Dani was eleven, had been like a mother . . . had been. She blinked back tears. It’d been a month since the woman who’d raised her through her turbulent teens died of cancer, but some days it was as fresh as yesterday.

  Laura had always been her ally, and she would miss her. Laura had even encouraged Dani to ask Keith about her parents, but when Dani did, he never told her what happened or what made her forget them.

  “Your past is best left alone.” Keith had been so upset and hurt by her questions that she’d dropped it. But with Laura’s passing—Dani preferred that word much better than died—it drove home that if something happened to Keith, her questions would never be answered.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  She looked up. “I will later. Right now, I need to finish packing.” Dani itched to check out the article but refrained, just in case the journalist hadn’t kept his promise about not using her photo. Keith would have a fit.

  “What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

  “Early.”

  He glanced toward the wheel and supplies by the door. “It’s not too late to cancel.”

  “I cannot believe you suggested that. The workshops start Thursday, three days from now. The university is expecting me, spent money advertising the classes . . . not to mention, I made a commitment to be there.” Dani raised her eyebrows when his lips pressed in a thin line. “Why is this such a big deal for you?”

  Keith held her gaze briefly, then he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Cincinnati is thirteen hundred miles away—you don’t usually venture that far.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time? I’m thirty-four years old and back living at home.” He started to say something, and she palmed her hands. “I’m not saying I didn’t want to be here for Laura, and I know you’re lonesome and would like me to stay on.”

  “I appreciated you being here. Laura loved you like a daughter. And I do too.” He hugged her. “I do hope you’ll continue to make this your home. ’Cause you’re right, it is lonesome when you’re not here. I’ll miss you this weekend.”

  He knew how to play on her sympathy.

 

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