About the Book
Title: The
Defenseless
Author: Carolyn
Arnold
Genre: Mystery /
Suspense
The
first victim was poisoned. Three others are still missing. One more turns up
dead. But there is one connection that ties them all together.
This
case has FBI Agent Brandon Fisher and the team in Colorado to stop a serial
killer targeting men who beat charges of animal abuse over twenty years ago.
With the method of murder changing to match what his victims had allegedly
inflicted on the defenseless, the team questions who is on the side of
justice--them or the murderer. After all, their unsub is seeking retribution on
behalf of the victims who have no voice.
While
facing this moral dilemma, Brandon’s loyalty to the bureau is also tested. But
Brandon is up for the challenge--anything to get his mind off his pending
divorce and the upcoming holiday. Being thousands of miles from home, the
forbidden relationship between him and Paige becomes more tempting, but is he
willing to risk all that he’s worked for?
Author Bio
CAROLYN
ARNOLD is the bestselling author of the Madison Knight series, the Brandon Fisher
series, and the McKinley Mysteries. Her love for writing dates back to her teen
years, but her passion was reignited in 2006 when a fellow employee said
"tell me a story." Since then Carolyn has never looked back.
Her
writing has since been compared to New York Times Bestsellers such as JD Robb,
Mary Higgins Clark, Sue Grafton, Michael Connelly, Tess Gerritsen, and more.
Carolyn
was born in 1976 in a rural town of Ontario, Canada, and she currently lives
with her husband and two beagles in a city near Toronto.
Links
Book Excerpts
Excerpt 1:
Chapter 1
Current
day
December
15th, 6 a.m.
Denver,
Colorado
The
plane touched down at Denver International Airport just after six in the
morning. I was happy to have the tumultuous flight over with, and thought it
should have been canceled, but apparently those responsible for that sort of
thing had cleared take-off.
Flying typically didn’t bother me, but high winds and various
temperature pockets had buffeted the plane, rocking it almost like a ship at
sea, only we were thirty thousand feet in the air. Land never looked so good.
Zachery slapped me on the back and had me lurching forward from
the momentum. “We made it, Pending.”
Months into my probationary period but still not clear of
it—something I was reminded of all the time by his beloved nickname.
Jack brushed past, leading the three of us through the airport, no
doubt driven by the undying urge for a cigarette. Paige hung back, and when I
turned, she pushed a rogue strand of hair from her eyes and dipped to the left
as she shifted the position of her suitcase strap on her right shoulder.
We were called to Colorado because some old-timer detective by the
name of Mack McClellan was certain the area had a serial killer. He believed it
strongly enough we were convinced as well.
The label serial killer no longer fazed me, and it only took a few
horrid cases to rub off its shock value.
Regular people, who didn’t have to hunt down murderers, lived life
as if they were merely characters fabricated for entertainment purposes. The
dark truth was, conservatively, there were an estimated thirty-five to fifty
serial killers in the United States at any given time.
The local FBI office was to provide us with transportation, but it
was the local detective who insisted on meeting us at the airport and bringing
us up to speed.
Stepping out of the warm cocoon of the airport into the brisk
winter air of Denver stole my breath. It had me wanting to retreat back inside
for the warm, blowing vents.
For recreational purposes, Denver would be an ideal location to
spend the Christmas season, with its mountain slopes and deep snow. Even facing
the search for a killer, I’d rather be here, miles away from home, than facing
the emptiness of the house on Christmas day.
This would be the first year without Deb. The only thing that
could make it better was reconciliation, but we were beyond that point. Truth
be told, I wasn’t even sure if I’d take her back. The divorce was already
filed, and knowing my penchant for attracting negative events, it would be
official in time for the holiday. It didn’t matter though. I had found a way to
move forward in my life—at least I told myself that. Maybe I was burying my
feelings, but I preferred to think I healed faster than most.
“Hey, there they are.”
A man pushed off the hood of a Crown Vic, the cup in his hand steaming
in the cold air. At full height, he was all of five eight. His hair was sparse,
and reminded me of a Chia Pet just starting to grow, but what he did have was a
dark blond. He wore a thigh-length wool parka, zipped up shy of his collar by
about six inches. It revealed a white collared shirt and a blue tie with white
dots. I wondered if he dressed this way all the time or only when the FBI was
in town.
He put his cup on the car roof and came toward us with another man
who wore a fur-lined leather jacket paired with blue jeans, which appeared
stiff due to the mountain air.
It had me wondering which scenario was more uncomfortable, frozen
stiff jeans, or breezy dress pants. I experienced the latter and questioned the
wardrobe I had brought, wondering if I’d be warm enough.
Curse winter and all that’s white.
“Gentleman, I’m Mack McClellan.” The man in the parka extended his
hand, first to Jack. He must have sensed his authority despite the lit
cigarette.
Jack took a quick inhale and blew a stream of white pollution out
the side of his mouth as he shook the man’s hand. “Supervisory Special Agent
Jack Harper, and this is my team.” Jack left us to introduce ourselves.
McClellan’s gaze settled on me, and I surmised what he was
thinking—I was the young guy on the team, the inexperienced one he’d have to
watch.
He gestured to the man with him. “This is Detective Ronnie Hogan.
He’s also with Denver PD. We’re not partners, but he’s of the same mind.
There’s a serial at play here.”
Hogan bobbed his head forward as a greeting, but made no effort to
extend a hand. His eyes were brown and hard to read. He had etched crease lines
in his brow, but he also had smile lines, so there was some promise there. Not
that we witnessed the expression.
McClellan grinned with a warmth that touched his eyes, giving me
the impression he was used to Hogan’s aloofness. “Glad to see you made it all
right. It’s quite the weather we’re having these days. How was your flight?”
Jack took another drag on his cigarette. “Over now.”
His retort killed the expression on the detective’s face. “A man
who is all business, I see. So, the dead body. You know the name and details.”
Another pull on the cigarette, and Jack flicked the glowing butt
to the ground and extinguished it with the twist of a shoe.
“We know what the file says, but we like to go over everything in
person.” Paige smiled at the detectives, no doubt trying to compensate for
Jack’s crass behavior.
“Well, let us fill you in on the way to where the body was found.
My, it’s mighty cold out here.” He rubbed his hands together and grabbed his
cup before going around to the driver’s side. “For everyone to be more
comfortable, two of you can come with me, and the other two can go with Hogan.”
McClellan seemed like an open book—what you saw was what you got.
With Hogan, there was something about him, whether it was his skepticism or
what, I wasn’t sure. A quality that should repel actually made me want to get
to know him.
“I’ll go with Hogan.” Paige and I spoke at the same time.
Our eyes connected. In the past this symmetry in thought would
have elicited a smile from both of us. These days our relationship was more
complicated.
Paige stepped back and sought Jack’s direction. “I’ll go with
whomever you want me to.”
“It’s fine. You guys go with Hogan. We’ll all catch up at the
crime scene.”
She went past me and held out her hand to Hogan. “I don’t think
we’ve been properly introduced.”
Hogan stared at her extended hand and, eventually, conceded to a
handshake. The greeting was over quick.
As he was getting into the driver’s seat, I whispered in Paige’s
ear. “He’s not really the touchy-feely kind, is he?”
I received a glare in response.
Excerpt 2:
Chapter
2
“Things
must be slow for you guys if you’re willing to come all the way here for this
case.” Hogan kept his eyes on the road, his voice level as he spoke. He made a
quick pass of a slower-moving vehicle.
My fingers gripped the armrest on the door, indenting the foam
beneath it. “You’re not buying that it’s a serial at work?”
A small snort, which could have been construed as a laugh. “I’m
not saying anything. McClellan can be a convincing man. I agree the situations
surrounding these men are similar. Whether that means anything more, I haven’t
fully decided.”
He touched the brakes, and the back end of the car lost traction
and swayed to the right. No one else seemed to notice or care.
“How long have you been with Denver PD?” Paige asked.
It warranted a quick, sideways glance from Hogan. “Is this where
you try to get to know me better?”
Paige’s jaw tightened. “If you don’t like people, why are you a
cop?”
I settled in to the seat, happy that I wasn’t on the receiving end
for a change. Part of me wished to be elsewhere, the other part wondered who
would come out the victor.
“Who says I don’t like people? I like people. I just don’t like
feds.”
“And what have we done to you?”
Hogan kept his eyes straight ahead. “McClellan feels the latest
victim was left there for us to find. Like this guy wants to get caught.”
“So that’s how you get by in life? You shut people down who try to
get close.”
“You want to get close to me, sweetheart, we’ll do it after hours,
but now’s the job.”
Air rushed from Paige’s mouth, skimming over teeth and making a
whooshing sound on the exhale. She knotted her arms and kicked her back into
the seat as she did so.
Hogan didn’t give any indication he was affected by her response.
He took a street on the right, made a quick left, parked, and cut the engine.
“We’re here.”
“I’m glad you told us,” Paige mumbled and got out of the car.
We had beat the other detective and the rest of our team, but as
we made our way toward the dumpster, the department-issued sedan pulled in,
crunching snow beneath the wheels.
When we were all standing around the dumpster at the back of
Lynn’s Bakery, McClellan pointed to the right of the bin.
“The body was found right there. He was covered in snow, with only
the tip of his boots showing. The waste removal company found him when they
came to empty the bin. At first they thought someone was too lazy to pick up
the trash and dispose of it properly. They stepped out to lift it and got more
than they expected.”
Excerpt 3:
Chapter
3
His
hands shook every time, but someone had to clean up the city. The government
certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it. Those who were elected put on a
show for glamor and fame with no real purpose. They slept in their
million-dollar homes and shut out the ugliness of the world around them. For
appearance’s sake, they went to their charity benefits while being too lazy to
deal with the issues. The promises made to those who’d voted them into office
in the first place were forgotten. It was a disgusting irony that defined
politics. The very men who swore to deal with issues, to rectify injustices,
sat on the sidelines, more incompetent than most.
This is why he was left to take the power into his own hands and
make a difference to society. He brought justice for the Defenseless by
condemning their Offender.
It was this reasoning that added justification for his actions.
Everyone had a purpose. His was to speak for the victims who have no voice. He
was their Advocate.
Placing Simpson’s body on display was a message to the world to
let them know crimes against the Defenseless would not be tolerated, and that
those who inflicted abuse upon them would be held accountable.
This Offender, his latest captive, would take patience, but that
was one thing he had developed over the years. A tempering of knowing when best
to strike, and whom.
The Advocate watched his captive through a camera he had placed in
the man’s cell. The Offender was extended the same courtesies he had provided
his canine companion—a dank corner with an empty food dish and a shitty water
bowl. To complete the retribution he put a tight choker around his neck and
attached it to a short chain.
For hours, the man had protested his captivity, but now his cries
for help had lost conviction. What was once a high-pitched fervor had dulled to
a mumbled whisper. Despair and hopelessness were taking over.
The thought made the Advocate smile. He was making a difference.
He offered no mercy for these men. The Offenders deserved what was coming their
way, and if he was the one destined to exact the punishment, he would see it
through. Exacting revenge and punishment on these mongrels had become his
driving purpose in life. It was what he was meant to do.
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