Toxin Alert Read online

  “Hey, Noah?”

  The man paused. Then two forest green eyes were on her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let the belief that you know the people who live here cloud the fact that one of them could be responsible for what’s happened. Knowing someone doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of violence, malicious intent or even murder. Sometimes the people closest to us are really only there to hide in our blind spots.”

  The pain that hadn’t left in over two decades was a constant reminder that there were some things so low that not even light could touch them. “We need to catch who did this and that starts with that list. Amish or not, someone here has to have an idea of who might be behind it or at least a theory.”

  Noah took off his cowboy hat and thumped it against his chest, almost like he was saluting to her, though there was no pageantry in his answer.

  Only a hard rumble that stirred something else within Carly.

  “I’ll do my best. You have my word.”

  TOXIN ALERT

  Tyler Anne Snell

  Tyler Anne Snell genuinely loves all genres of the written word. However, she’s realized that she loves books filled with sexual tension and mysteries a little more than the rest. Her stories have a good dose of both. Tyler lives in Alabama with her same-named husband and their mini “lions.” When she isn’t reading or writing, she’s playing video games and working on her blog, Almost There. To follow her shenanigans, visit tylerannesnell.com.

  Books by Tyler Anne Snell

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Toxin Alert

  Winding Road Redemption

  Reining in Trouble

  Credible Alibi

  Identical Threat

  Last Stand Sheriff

  The Protectors of Riker County

  Small-Town Face-Off

  The Deputy’s Witness

  Forgotten Pieces

  Loving Baby

  The Deputy’s Baby

  The Negotiation

  Orion Security

  Private Bodyguard

  Full Force Fatherhood

  Be on the Lookout: Bodyguard

  Suspicious Activities

  Manhunt

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Dr. Carly Welsh—As the Tactical Crime Division’s specialist in biochemical terrorism, this agent is put in charge when a biological attack is carried out against an Amish community. But because of a secret she’s kept buried for years, the case might be harder than she thought. Can her civilian partner help her figure out who’s behind the attacks? Or will both of their pasts work against them?

  Noah Miller—After leaving the Amish when he was sixteen, this rancher has led a solitary life not far from the community. He might be labeled an outsider by the Amish now, but he’s also the only one they’ll talk to about the case. It’s not what he wanted, but he can’t deny that finding justice for the innocent while working alongside Carly more than has its appeal.

  Selena Lopez—Carly’s closest friend on the team, this TCD agent’s specialty is in surveillance, tracking and suspect apprehension. She’s also their K-9 handler.

  Aria Calletti—TCD agent and former rookie of the team, she’s fluent in multiple languages and known for taking down tough if not impossible culprits.

  Max McRay—TCD agent and a veteran, he’s the team’s explosives expert.

  Axel Morrow—Supervisory special agent of the TCD, he’s the team’s criminal profiler.

  David Lapp—After being exiled for breaking church rules, this nineteen-year-old might just have an ax to grind with the Amish community.

  Caroline Ferry—This wealthy real estate developer has to scrap her grand plans when three Amish families refuse to sell their land and not everyone is happy with the outcome.

  This book is for Julie Anne. I love our powers of being awkward. May we always use them for good.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Tyler Anne Snell for her contribution to the Tactical Crime Division: Traverse City miniseries.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Excerpt from Texas Law by Barb Han

  Prologue

  Noah Miller slipped his hands into his pockets, squared his shoulders against the cold and counted the bodies in silence. On a normal day he’d be the first to tell you that he didn’t think Potter’s Creek had a spot of ugly in it, but today? Today wasn’t normal.

  Today wasn’t right.

  And he’d guessed as much before he had come out to Amish country at the invitation of his father. A rare occurrence on its own, but nothing compared to what they were looking at on the Yoder farm.

  “Twenty-four.” Samuel Miller’s voice was a shock against the cold quiet. Samuel nodded in the direction they were already facing. “Twenty-four cows dead,” he repeated. “Make sure you don’t touch anything.”

  Noah hadn’t been planning on it but didn’t say as much. He and his father hadn’t been on good terms since he’d left home when he was sixteen. Now, twelve years later, they lived in the constant strain of their differences. Noah was just whom his family and their community called with an emergency, and that was still a hard pill for some to swallow. He might live only a mile from where they were now standing but that mile was the difference between the Amish world and the English world. And that difference was enough.

  “What do you think it is?” Noah asked. “Poison? A virus? I’ve had a few cows pass on my farm before from sickness but I’ve never seen anything on this scale.”

  Out in the pasture was a sea of death. Not at all what he’d expected when he’d seen the number for the community phone pop up on his caller ID that morning.

  His father hesitated. Not a great sign for an already dark situation.

  “I don’t know but it gets worse.” Noah’s brow rose at that. His father let out a long, low breath then nodded to the barn next to the pasture. “Isaiah is inside the barn. There are black sores on his arms.”

  “Black sores?”

  His father nodded, solemn. Noah’s confusion at being called out to meet him was swiftly hardening into a deep, terrible sense of foreboding. Isaiah Yoder, a loving father of five and a good guy, owned and worked the farm. Black sores on his arms and dead cows in his pasture?

  This was bad.

  This was very bad.

  “The Haas farm lost ten cows a few days ago,” his father continued, surprising Noah. “David and his sons who worked the fields became sick but then recovered. They believed it was a virus they picked up from the cows or something in the soil. Now I’m afraid that with these black sores it’s something else. Something that could endanger the entire community.”

  Noah might have been estranged from his family but he still knew when his father was afraid. He could read it in the set of his shoulders and jaw, and hear it beneath a tone he was trying
to keep even.

  And he didn’t blame him one bit for it.

  “Whatever it is, it’s bad,” Noah spelled out. “We need to take Isaiah to the hospital.”

  His father shook his head. Fear was no match for being set in his ways.

  “The Englisher doctor is in the barn examining him now.”

  Noah had every intention of continuing to insist but movement from the same barn pulled at their attention.

  A balding man with large-framed glasses and a crease of worry along his brow stepped outside. When he saw them, he waved them over, shutting the door behind him, a palpable nervousness in his gestures.

  “It’s never good when the doc is nervous,” Noah muttered.

  His father didn’t say a word as they walked over to greet the man. He introduced himself to Noah as Carson and then apologized for not shaking his hand.

  That was a giant red flag to Noah even before the man got right to his point.

  “It looks like Mr. Yoder is suffering from anthrax poisoning,” he started, not pausing for any reactions. “In itself that’s not necessarily a scary thing—anthrax poisoning can occur naturally in soil and infect cows and people—but, well, come look at this.”

  Noah and his father followed the doctor to an outside corner of the barn. He stopped by a pair of worn, brown work boots.

  “These are Isaiah’s boots. He was wearing them when I got here.” Carson bent down and, without touching them, pointed between the heels. A dusting of white powder could be seen on each. “And this is what I believe to be anthrax.”

  Noah and his father were far from being in sync since he’d left the homestead but, in that moment, both Millers took a horrified step backward.

  “As a bacterial infection, anthrax isn’t contagious,” the doctor continued. “But inhaling the powder? That can be lethal.”

  “But where did it come from?” his father asked. “Somewhere in the field?”

  The doctor shrugged.

  “That would be my best guess. Though, that’s maybe not what worries me most.”

  Noah could see his father trying to work out what the doctor was referring to, but Noah already knew.

  “Does this mean that someone put the anthrax in the field intentionally?” Noah asked. “And, if so, why?”

  “Good questions, son,” the doctor said.

  They let those thoughts mingle in with the cold around them for a moment. No one had to say out loud that their morning had gone from one of worry to something much more.

  Why would anyone put anthrax in the cow pastures on purpose?

  Why would anyone target the Amish community like that?

  Another flash of movement pulled Noah’s attention away from his current thoughts, back toward the dirt road that led from the Yoder farm to the main one.

  Someone was running toward them. A teenager.

  And he was terrified.

  Noah’s adrenaline spiked at the sight. He started to run toward the boy, his father and the doctor behind him. When they met him next to the pasture’s fence, he glanced at the dead cows without an ounce of surprise and then put his hands on his knees to try to catch his breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Noah hurried. “Are you hurt?”

  The teen shook his head and then pointed wildly behind him.

  “No, but my—my father and brother need—need help,” he panted out. “They—they collapsed in the pasture at our farm.”

  Noah shared a quick look with the doctor.

  “We need to get there now.”

  While his father had never liked riding in anything but horse-drawn vehicles, he didn’t push back as Noah herded everyone into his truck. Instead, he got into the front seat and directed him to the farm of the boy’s family while the doctor asked the teen questions in the back seat. However, when Noah cut the engine next to the cow pasture fence, his father became quiet.

  “Doc, let’s go,” Noah said, another surge of adrenaline going through him. “Dad, you two stay in here.”

  Noah didn’t have time to be surprised that his father listened. He and Carson hurried out into the field with purpose and caution.

  Neither did them any good.

  The father and son weren’t unconscious on the grass.

  They were dead. Black sores on their bodies.

  Noah kept his back to his truck after Carson confirmed there was nothing he could do. The two were gone.

  But there were still people they could help.

  “Isaiah needs to go to the hospital,” Noah reiterated, voice low. “I think Mrs. Yoder will agree to that now.”

  Carson nodded.

  “And I need to call the CDC.”

  He shared a look with Noah and said what Noah had circled back to thinking.

  “I don’t understand why anyone would do this. Especially here.”

  Noah gritted his teeth.

  “Neither do I,” he said. “But I sure as hell intend to find out.”

  Chapter One

  Dr. Carly Welsh was in her chair less than thirty seconds before Director Alana Suzuki was in the briefing room, coffee in hand and disgust written across her face. She had been the big boss of the FBI’s Tactical Crime Division since Carly had started working there three years before and, because of the team’s closeness, Carly was able to register her expression now as a warning. Her news wasn’t good.

  Not one bit.

  Then again, the cases that came to their team were never sunshine and daisies.

  “There’s been an attack on several farms in the small Amish settlement at Potter’s Creek,” she said in greeting. She motioned to the TCD tech guru, Opaline Lopez, in the corner of the room.

  Opaline adjusted her neon green flower hair clip with one hand and activated the viewing screen with the other. The familiar mechanical whirl preceded the digital screen lowering at the front of the room. All five agents around the long table sat at attention, Carly included. The TCD’s liaison, Rihanna Clark, and Alana’s administrative assistant, Amanda Orton, came into the room and sat before the screen finished extending. Both had tablets in their hands but both turned their full focus on the first slide.

  What came on screen wasn’t exactly what Carly had expected to see when she’d been called in that morning.

  “Are those dead cows?” Selena Lopez, Opaline’s younger sister and Carly’s closest friend, asked from the seat next to her.

  Everyone on the team had a specialty. Selena’s was surveillance, tracking and suspect apprehension, but it was her love for her partner that colored her tone concerned at the moment. Blanca was a beautiful white German shepherd who helped on just as many cases as the rest of the team. She was the reason Selena was an avid animal lover. Right now Blanca was no doubt lounging in her dog bed in Selena’s office a few hundred feet away from them.

  Alana nodded and gave them a second to pass over the picture once more. It was a beautiful landscape of white and green and a picturesque barn in the distance. Definitely not like any place Carly had seen in Traverse City, Michigan. Sure, they had the bay, but the simple picture captured the beauty of the simple. It reminded her of the many trips she’d taken with her adoptive parents to St. Joseph County.

  Except for the alarming number of dead cows.

  “Twenty-four to be exact,” Alana continued. “At first it was thought to be something in the soil affecting this one farm but—”

  She motioned to Opaline, who clicked to the next slide. She scrunched her face and pushed her pink-tipped hair over her shoulder. As if the movement would distance her from the death they were seeing on the screen.

  Another picture of an otherwise beautiful scene showed more dead cattle. That picture turned into several more.

  “—two other farms in the community were affected.” Alana wasn’t a person for dramatic pauses. In fact, she was
straight to the point in every facet of her job. Yet, when Alana’s gaze swept the group, Carly thought she stuck to her a moment longer than the rest. “And then there’s this.”

  When Opaline switched to a new slide, Carly realized why.

  It was a close-up of an arm. The black sores on it stood out in absolute contrast to the tan.

  Carly had seen it before.

  “Anthrax,” Carly said.

  Max McRay, their resident explosives expert and Army veteran, shook his head. Not because he didn’t believe her but because any form of warfare triggered an automatic reaction. Carly had noticed that, sometimes when he was reminded of his service, he would shift his left leg and the prosthetic attached beneath the knee.

  Carly hadn’t been to war but poison? Well, when it came to personal hells, that was her trigger.

  And Alana was the only one in the room who knew why.

  “The doctor on scene noted white powder on this man’s work boots—” Alana said, motioning to the picture “—and then was called away to a neighboring farm, where they found the bodies of a father and his son. They’d been feeling ill for days, but thought it was flu and still tended their farm.”

  Opaline switched slides.

  Aria Calletti, the former rookie of their team, shook her head along with Max. Both were parents. Aria had met the love of her life on another case the team had closed, which she’d helped solve with her expertise in drug-running.

  “This is when the doctor called in the CDC. They confirmed, as Carly said, anthrax was spread across each farm’s pastures. Animals in the area are now being vaccinated, and mitigation efforts are underway.”

  “It was deliberate,” Carly made sure to emphasize.

  Alana nodded.

  “It was deliberate.”

  The slide changed to the quick facts about the town with an aerial shot. Potter’s Creek was small, mostly Amish, and was under the jurisdiction of an even smaller police department and a sheriff’s department that supported three other towns. Basically, no one in town had the means or know-how to deal with such a malicious attack.