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  “Have you ever seen anything like this, Doc?”

  Personally? Chloe had more experience than Chief Ford would know what to do with. “No. I haven’t.”

  Weston shook his head. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine.” Chloe pointed toward the door, every nerve ending she owned frantic to end the personal conversation between them. The more questions Weston asked, the more she had to lie—and that could get her removed from this investigation.

  He headed into the hallway. “There’s a diner down the block. I’ll be there eating my weight in waffles and bacon if you’re hungry.”

  Chloe followed him to the front door. She had to stay detached from the people here. From Weston. It was the only way to make sure nobody else would be hurt. As soon as she handled the details of the recent victim’s remains, she’d get out of town. Move on to the next place. She’d start over.

  “Thank you, but I’m—”

  The glass door exploded around her, and she hit the floor.

  GRAVE DANGER

  Nichole Severn

  Nichole Severn writes explosive romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them and a hell of a lot of guns. She resides with her very supportive and patient husband, as well as her demon spawn, in Utah. When she’s not writing, she’s constantly injuring herself running, rock climbing, practicing yoga and snowboarding. She loves hearing from readers through her website, www.nicholesevern.com, and on Facebook, @nicholesevern.

  Books by Nichole Severn

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Defenders of Battle Mountain

  Grave Danger

  A Marshal Law Novel

  The Fugitive

  The Witness

  The Prosecutor

  The Suspect

  Blackhawk Security

  Rules in Blackmail

  Rules in Rescue

  Rules in Deceit

  Rules in Defiance

  Caught in the Crossfire

  The Line of Duty

  Midnight Abduction

  Profiling a Killer

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Weston Ford—The widower and police chief has learned from his mistakes. Falling in love cost him everything once before, and he’s not about to let his growing concern for the town’s newest mysterious resident distract him from his job: keeping Battle Mountain safe.

  Chloe Pascale—Hiding out in the small remote mining town of Battle Mountain should’ve been enough for this former cardiothoracic surgeon to start over. But as the threat closes in, she quickly learns changing her name and profession aren’t enough to stop the killer she escaped.

  Easton Ford—After escaping from Battle Mountain straight into the military when he turned eighteen, Weston’s younger brother has finally returned home.

  Wesley Byrd—The handyman has more than enough motive to want Chloe dead. Is he the killer burying town residents alive, or is there a bigger game at play?

  Battle Mountain—Rocky Mountain mining town comprising 2,800 residents.

  For my babes:

  You drive me nuts, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from An Operative’s Last Stand by Juno Rushdan

  Chapter One

  Three months ago...

  “When I’m done, you’re going to beg me for the pain.”

  Chloe Pascale struggled to open her eyes. She blinked against the brightness of the sky. Trees. Snow. Cold. Her head pounded in rhythm to her racing heartbeat. Shuffling reached her ears as her last memories lightninged across her mind like a half-remembered dream. She’d gone out for a run on the trail near her house. Then... Fear clawed at her insides, her hands curling into fists. He’d come out of the woods. He’d... She licked her lips, her mouth dry. He’d drugged her, but with what and how many milliliters, she wasn’t sure. The haze of unconsciousness slipped from her mind, and a new terrorizing reality forced her from ignorance. “Where am I?”

  Dead leaves crunched off to her left. Her attacker’s dark outline shifted in her peripheral vision. Black ski mask. Lean build. Tall. Well over six feet. Unfamiliar voice. Black jeans. His knees popped as he crouched beside her, the long shovel in his left hand digging into the soil near her head. The tip of the tool was coated in mud. Reaching a gloved hand toward her, he stroked the left side of her jawline, ear to chin, and a shiver chased down her spine against her wishes. “Don’t worry, Dr. Miles. It’ll all be over soon.”

  His voice... It sounded...off. Disguised?

  “How do you know my name? What do you want?” She blinked to clear her head. The injection site at the base of her neck itched, then burned, and she brought her hands up to assess the damage. Ropes encircled her wrists, and she lifted her head from the ground. Her ankles had been bound, too. She pulled against the strands, but she couldn’t break through. Then, almost as though demanding her attention, she caught sight of the refrigerator. Old. Light blue. Something out of the ’50s with curves and heavy steel doors.

  “I know everything about you, Chloe. Can I call you Chloe?” he asked. “I know where you live. I know where you work, and I know your running route and how many hours you spend at the clinic. You really should change up your routine. Who knows who could be out there watching you? As for what I want, well, I’m going to let you figure that part out once you’re inside.”

  Pressure built in her chest. She dug her heels into the ground, but the soil only gave way. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. Not to her. Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision, her breath coming in short bursts. Pulling at the ropes again, she locked her jaw against the scream working up her throat. She wasn’t going in that refrigerator like the other victim she’d heard about on the news. Dr. Roberta Ellis. Buried alive, killed by asphyxiation. Tears burned in her eyes as he straightened and turned his back to her to finish the work he’d started with the shovel.

  “Don’t bother trying to break the ropes. Dr. Ellis learned that the hard way when she dislocated her elbow trying to escape. She suffered for hours before she ran out of air. Needlessly, I might add. If she’d just followed the rules, she would’ve died peacefully like she was supposed to.” Peacefully. He said the word as though he’d been doing her colleague a favor when he buried her inside a fridge just like this one. The scrape of metal on rock grated against her nerves. A pile of dirt landed beside her. He was digging a hole, large enough for the refrigerator to fit.

  Her grave.

  Chloe forced herself to take a deep breath, a combination of chemical cleaner and staleness burning her nostrils. He’d cleaned her makeshift coffin. Police hadn’t been able to recover any forensic evidence from inside Dr. Ellis’s tomb. It’d been wiped down with bleach before her killer had placed her inside.

  She memorized the interior shape of the refrigerator, imagined the door closing on her forever. She had to stall for time. She had to find a way to get free. Scanning the trees and ground around her, Chloe fought to clear her head. Dr. Ellis’s body had been buried within the cit
y limits. If the man above her had kept to the same MO, she still had to be in Denver. “If you’re going to kill me, why hide behind the mask? Why disguise your voice?”

  A combination of dirt and ice froze her from the outside in. Her fingers stiffened. Depending on weather conditions, it took two hours to freeze a body solid. She could still move. They hadn’t been out here long. She closed her eyes. She had to focus, listen. Yes, there. A breath of relief rushed from her lungs. Brakes on asphalt, but not a vehicle. Something heavier. A plane? Had her attacker intended to bury her by the airport? If she escaped—

  “Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Dr. Miles.” The man in the mask rounded back into her vision. Rough hands wrenched her to her feet, and the surrounding forest tilted on its axis. A hint of peppermint dove into her lungs. Gum? “I’m going to let the refrigerator do the job for me. Don’t worry. The police will have your location by this time tomorrow, but, one way or another, the truth will come out.”

  The truth?

  “Please, please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this!” Chloe fought to pull free of his gloved grip, but the ropes around her ankles only unbalanced her. She hit the ground hard. A few inches of soggy foliage softened the blow, but a sharp sliver of rock lodged in her side. A scream escaped her chapped lips. Blood spread across her long-sleeved shirt and jacket as her heart pumped faster.

  “Hmm. Well, I don’t like that.” He stood over her, hands curling into fists. He’d discarded the shovel next to the hole meant to become her grave. “While any injuries inflicted will only make your last moments far more unbearable, that one is going to bleed you dry before I’ve had a chance to have my fun. But you know that better than anyone, don’t you?” Digging into his black cargo pants, he knelt beside her. He produced a small orange plastic box. “Good thing I brought my first-aid kit.”

  “Go to hell.” Covering her wound with both hands, still bound, Chloe locked her jaw against the scream. The rock hadn’t gone in too deeply as far as she could tell, but he wasn’t getting anywhere near her. Two tugs was all it took to dislodge it from her side, and another moan escaped her control. She quickly set the rock against the ropes around her wrists as he riffled through his small kit.

  He laughed. “Every second you waste is another second you’re likely to bleed out, Doctor.”

  The bloodied rock cut through the rope around her wrists faster than she’d expected. Kicking with every ounce of strength she had left, she connected with soft tissue protecting his digestive tract. Pain exploded down her side and across her back, but she shoved it to the back of her mind. Her attacker fell, and she swiped the rock underneath the rope around her ankles before he had a chance to rebalance. She didn’t wait to see if he’d gotten up and forced herself to her feet. Chloe pumped her legs hard and ran, her heart in her throat. The main road had to be close. It had to be close.

  A growl reached her ears, and she pushed herself harder. Puffs of crystalized air formed in front of her lips. Tears froze in their tracks down her cheeks, the dropping temperatures working to slow her down. She was a runner, but the laceration from her fall on the rock shot agony through her side. Barreling footsteps echoed from behind.

  “Help!” she screamed as loud as she could, branches cutting the skin across her neck and face as she raced toward the sound of the road. Her breathing filled her ears. Was that a car passing? “Help!”

  The trees started to thin, the light brighter here. Or was that the desperation playing tricks on her mind? Blood seeped through her fingers, but she didn’t dare stop. Didn’t dare look back. She had to keep going. She had to get to the road.

  A wall of muscle slammed her into the icy dirt.

  “You’re faster than I gave you credit for.” His lips pressed into her ear, his breath hot against her over sensitized skin. A shiver raked down her spine, intensifying everything around her. The trees. The roots. He wrapped both hands around one ankle and pulled. “Even when you’re bleeding to death. That’s why I’ve always admired you. Your determination. The quality of your work.”

  All too easily, she imagined Denver police heaving that light blue refrigerator out of the ground after her attacker’s anonymous tip and finding her body inside.

  “No!” Clamping onto the nearest root, Chloe heaved herself closer to the base of the large pine. The root broke away clean, and her attacker dragged her backward. She couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—but she swung as hard as she could.

  A groan filled the clearing. His hold on her ankle loosened. She clawed across the foliage. A whooshing sound reached her ears, and she exhaled hard, her tears stinging her cheeks. A car.

  Chloe dug her fingernails into the nearest tree and lifted herself to her feet. Run. No looking back. She stumbled forward, gaining strength with every step before she was finally able to jog. Every muscle in her body protested.

  Another car drove past. Louder. Closer. Her heart threatened to beat straight out of her chest, but...slower than before. She gasped for air—she was losing too much blood. She could do this. Pressing her hand into her side, she pushed forward. Couldn’t stop. He’d catch up any minute. He’d find her. She just had to flag down—

  The ground dropped out from under her feet. She rolled end over end. Branches and bushes scratched at her skin as darkness closed in at the edges of her vision. Sliding down the last few feet before the road, Chloe closed her eyes as oxygen crushed from her lungs.

  A rumbling tore down the road, growing louder, and she forced her eyes open. No. This wasn’t the end. Pain tore through her as she flipped onto her side. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t let him find her. “Move, damn it.”

  A red pickup truck barreled down the road. Chloe struggled to her feet. One step. Two. Asphalt solidified her balance as she raised her hand for the driver to stop. Tires screeched loud in her ears a split second before the darkness swallowed her whole.

  Three months later...

  THE CALL ABOUT the body had come in a little more than an hour ago.

  Police Chief Weston Ford shoved his truck into Park, the entrance to Contention Mine a soft outline through the windshield. He pulled the flashlight from the glove box and holstered his pistol. It was probably nothing. Teenagers liked to come out here at night. Dare each other to go inside the abandoned mines. It was a rite of passage, proof they weren’t kids anymore.

  Straw weeds and bushes bent at the wind’s whim as he shouldered out of the vehicle. Snow had started melting over the past few weeks, but low temperatures still solidified the dirt under his boots as he surveyed the area. Pressed right into the San Juan Mountains, Battle Mountain, Colorado, and its twenty-eight hundred residents were stuck in the chaotic season shift where the weather couldn’t make up its damn mind. It warmed above freezing during the day, but right now, with the sun ducking behind the mountains, ice worked under Weston’s thick sheepskin, wool-lined jacket and jeans. He reached back into the vehicle and collected his cream-colored ten-gallon hat, centering it on his head.

  He swept his flashlight around the edges of the mine. Up until a few years ago, Contention Mine had been the main source of income for the town and most of the families who lived in it. The owners had been forced to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy when it became too hard to even purchase toilet paper on credit, but the promise of a fresh start had been enough for town residents to hope. Until things got worse. Battle Mountain coal had supported the economies of two states for decades and fueled a shrinking number of power plants across the country. Now more than six hundred families were out of jobs while the entire town waited for a new company to take over operations.

  They’d been waiting six years.

  Weston surveyed the footprints in the dirt leading straight into the mouth of darkness. Too many sets to count. The wind rustled through thick pines on either side of the short incline leading into the mine. A low whistle reached his ears from inside. It’d been over a decade
since he’d shoveled coal, but the layout had been engrained in his brain a long time ago. He crossed the threshold into pitch-blackness.

  Thick supports braced up along either wall and crossed the ceiling above him in expertly measured intervals. The familiar scent of gravel and must dived into his lungs as he searched along the tunnel. His footsteps echoed off the walls the deeper he walked into the mountain. His heart thudded steadily at the base of his skull. None of the kids had waited around for him to show up, most likely terrified of what their parents would think of them crawling around in the deserted mine. But as Battle Mountain’s only law enforcement officer, he was duty bound to check it out. In a dying town this small, most of the calls he responded to were domestic violence–related. The unemployment rate had skyrocketed into mid–double digits, stress was higher than ever, tempers raged, and he didn’t have time for prank callers.

  The ground sloped down. He followed the cart tracks at least three hundred feet. The tension bled from his shoulders, and Weston pulled up short of the slight decline. The flashlight beam vanished about ten feet in front of him. No sign of a body. No sign anyone had come this far into the mine.

  “If anyone’s down here, I think this is when you’re supposed to jump out of the shadows and kill me. No takers? Great.” His words tumbled one over the other as they echoed down the length of the shaft. He’d wasted an hour climbing up the mountain and another twenty minutes getting dust and the smell of coal lodged into the fibers of his clothes. “Won’t stop me from finding which one of you called in a false report.”

  He turned back toward the entrance, and a glint of something metallic caught in his flashlight beam. His nerve endings shot into awareness as he maneuvered the beam back. This was a coal mine. Nothing in this mountain should reflect light back like that. Weston closed in on the abnormality. He crouched over a dark patch of dirt. Loose. Disturbed. That didn’t make sense. The mine had been shut down six years ago, and he doubted any of the teens in town would spend more time in here than they had to.