Introduction

FBI special agent Nick Bradley has seen his share of kooks during his fifteen years with the Bureau. But Rachel Sutton is an enigma. She seems normal when she shows up at the FBI office in St. Louis--until she produces a tattered Raggedy Ann doll she found and tells him she thinks something is wrong because of a strange feeling of terror it gives her when she touches it. Nick dismisses her, only to stumble across a link between the doll and an abducted child, setting in motion a chain of events that uncovers startling connections--and puts Rachel's life on the line. Filled with palpable suspense and a touch of romance, In Harm's Way is the final installment of the thrilling HEROES OF QUANTICO series. Praise for Irene Hannon: "Extraordinary writing, vivid scenes, and a surprise ending come together for a not-to-be-missed reading experience."--Romantic Times "I found someone who writes romantic suspense better than I do."--Dee Henderson

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

Fast food.

What a joke.

Rachel Sutton tapped her foot on the tile floor by the pickup

counter, sighed, and checked her watch. Again. A ten-minute

wait did not qualify as fast. At this rate, she'd have to push the

speed limit and inhale her lunch or risk being tardy for her first

class of the afternoon.

"Rachel!" A harried clerk plopped her order on the counter

as he called her name.

Finally.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Rachel snagged the

large bag of sandwiches and chips and settled it into the cardboard

tray between two soft drinks. Juggling her purchases, she

plowed through the sea of customers and pushed the glass door

open with her shoulder.

Unseasonable spring-like temperatures greeted her, an early

February reprieve from the past month's harsh weather. If the

throng around her was any indication, the nice weather had

brought everyone in St. Louis out of hibernation. And no one

appeared to be in a hurry. Didn't any of these people have jobs?

Commitments? Schedules to keep?

Dodging a stubborn patch of ice, she trudged toward the

last spot in the parking lot, where her older-model Camry was

squeezed in next to the mountain of plowed snow piled beside

the dumpster. Chill out, Rachel, she counseled herself. The world

won't end if you're five minutes late for class.

But the pep talk didn't do much to calm her tense nerves. And

for the dozenth time in the past few weeks, she tried to figure

out why she felt so stressed and on edge. It didn't make sense.

Her life was good, her career fulfilling. She loved teaching music

to grade schoolers. Playing piano during high tea on Sundays

at one of St. Louis's most elegant hotels was a highlight of her

week. Her young piano students were a joy. And she'd found a

way to indulge her artistic leanings by starting a very successful

mural-painting business on the side. There was no reason for

her recent unease.

Yet she couldn't shake it. She hadn't had a good night's sleep

in more than a month, and her patience was at an all-time

low. Ten days ago, she'd nitpicked one of her piano student's

technique until the poor child was almost in tears. Last week,

she'd refused to kitsch up a mural with Victorian curlicues,

much to the annoyance of a well-paying client. Yesterday she'd

snapped at Marta when her co-worker tried to tease a smile

out of her.

That display of bad temper was the very reason she was battling

the noontime crowd at this popular outlet. Today's lunch

was a peace offering-even if she'd never felt less peaceful in

her life.

Sidestepping a puddle, Rachel shifted the tray, balancing

it in one hand while she dug in her shoulder purse for her

keys. Marta had meant well yesterday, she conceded as she

edged between her car and the mound of melting snow on

the passenger side. She did need to lighten up. The frown

imbedded in her forehead was fast becoming a permanent

addition. And it was out of character. In general, Rachel was

upbeat, patient, and calm. She had no idea why her usual

tranquility had evaporated, leaving an unnerving jumpiness

in its place.

As if to underscore that point, the horn in the car next to

her blared as the owner unlocked it with the remote from

across the parking lot. Rachel's hand jerked, and she watched

in dismay as the drinks tottered. Somehow she managed to

juggle them back to stability, but her luck ran out with the

bag of sandwiches. It took a nosedive into the melting pile

of snow.

Disgusted, she set the tray on her trunk and bent to retrieve

the bag. This whole lunch thing was turning out to be

a disaster.

As she snagged the top of the white sack and rescued it

from the pile of dirty, melting snow, a tuft of bright orange

yarn peeked out at her from beneath the mound. A knit cap

perhaps. Or the end of a scarf. No doubt lost in the parking

lot on a snowy, windy night and later swept aside as the plows

barreled through.

After depositing the food on the front passenger seat, she

poked at the orange clump with the toe of her boot. If she

wanted to be a good Samaritan, she could dig it out and add

it to the shop's lost and found collection. But it didn't seem

worth the effort. It may have been buried for a month. The

person who'd lost it would have given up all hope of finding

it by now.

Suddenly her toe dislodged a large chunk of ice, and a button

eye blinked back at her.

So much for her cap and scarf theory. Judging by the patched

face that was emerging as she nicked away the ice and snow, the

object buried under the pile of frozen slush was a well-loved

Raggedy Ann doll. One that would be missed.

That put a whole different light on the situation.

She knew it was foolish, but for some reason Rachel couldn't

bring herself to abandon the doll in the parking lot. On the off

chance a mother was desperately searching for her daughter's

beloved doll, Rachel decided to dig it out and deposit it in the

restaurant's lost and found.

Retrieving the ice scraper from the floor of her front seat, she

went to work on the frozen snow caked around the doll. The

warm sun had softened the surface, but the deeper she dug, the

more ice-like the snow became.

"Excuse me, ma'am . . . is there a problem? Can I help you

with something?"

Rachel shifted around. An older man, white sandwich bag in

hand, was regarding her from under arched, shaggy gray brows.

"No. I'm . . . uh . . . just trying to rescue this doll."

"Is it yours?"

"No." Warmth flooded her cheeks. "But I imagine the little

girl who lost it would like to get it back."

The man moved closer and bent down to give the jointed

cloth leg an experimental tug. It didn't budge. "I don't know. It's

stuck pretty good." He backed up and regarded the filthy, sodden

doll. "Besides, I'm not sure the little girl's mother would want it

back. It has to be full of germs." He regarded his damp fingers

with an expression of distaste.

Rachel surveyed the doll, exposed now except one blackmitted

hand. He had a point. The frayed gingham dress was

stained, the threadbare white apron gray with dirt. "You're probably

right."

"It was a nice thought, though," the man offered.

"Thanks." Rachel shot him a half smile and rose, tossing the

ice scraper into the backseat.

"Well . . . enjoy your lunch." He hefted his bag in salute and

continued toward his car.

Rachel started to close the door. Hesitated. Gave the Raggedy

Ann one more look. It seemed so forlorn, lying there abandoned

in a puddle of muddy water. Yet she doubted the restaurant

would appreciate her hauling a dirty, dripping doll across the

tile floor to the lost and found.

But she could display it in some prominent place in the parking

lot. That way, if the mother frequented this restaurant, she

might see it-and could reclaim it if she chose. Scanning the

property, she spotted an air-conditioning unit. Perfect.

Armed with a plan, Rachel chipped the remaining snow away

from the doll's hand with her boot and bent to pick it up. As

her fingers closed around the arm, she was already swiveling

toward the air conditioner. If she hurried, she might be able to

sit for five minutes with Marta and eat part of her-

Two steps toward her destination, Rachel was blindsided

by a sudden rush of adrenaline. Her pulse rocketed, and she

leaned against the car, sucking in a sharp breath as the world

tilted. Her whole body began to tremble, and the doll slipped

from her grasp, falling to the ground.

As quickly as the violent reaction had gripped her, it disappeared.

Her pulse slowed, her lungs kicked in again, the world

righted itself.

What on earth had just happened?

Aftershocks rippled through her, robbing her legs of strength.

She clung to the back of her car, scanning the parking lot for

an explanation. Searching for anything out of the ordinary that

could have triggered such an intense reaction.

But the scene appeared normal. People were walking in and

out of the restaurant, talking on cell phones, laughing together,

juggling bags of sandwiches. The sky was blue, the sun was

shining. A convertible drove past, top down in honor of the

unseasonable warmth, the middle-aged driver in sunglasses and

shorts, the radio tuned to an old Beach Boys song.

There was nothing around her to account for what had happened

moments ago.

Yet her reaction had been real. And there was only one word

to describe the emotion that had rocked her.

Terror.

But what had brought it on?

And why had it gone away with such dizzying speed after

she dropped the doll?

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she slowly lowered her

gaze to the doll. The innocuous, patched face smiled back up at

her, as innocent as childhood. Was it possible that . . . ?

Irritated, she cut off that train of thought. She didn't believe in

that kind of creepy stuff. No sane, logical person did. Whatever

had prompted her reaction had nothing to do with the doll at

her feet.

No way.

And she could prove it. All she had to do was pick up the

doll again.

Except she didn't want to.

Annoyed, she wiped her palms on her black slacks. Now how

ridiculous was that?

Clamping her lips together, she flexed her fingers and snatched

up the doll.

Instantly the terror slammed into her again, gripping her

lungs in a vise.

Fighting for air, Rachel held the doll at arm's length and

stared at it. Sweat broke out on her brow and she began to

tremble. Jarring, disjointed images and sounds crashed over

her. She heard the distant cry of a baby. Sensed danger. Pain.

Anguish.

This couldn't be happening.

She groped for the latch on her back door, fingers fumbling.

Yanked it open. Flung the doll inside.

The panicked sensations abated at once, leaving a residue of

anxiety-and urgency-in their wake.

It was almost like a message.

A call to action.

But what kind of action?

Stumped, Rachel regarded the doll beaming back at her from

the seat. Odd. From a distance, she sensed no danger. Just the

opposite. The doll gave her a warm, happy feeling. Only by touch

did it convey a more ominous aura.

Aura.

She cringed. Now she was even beginning to think in psychic

terms.

Torn, Rachel scrutinized the doll. That man who'd stopped a

few minutes ago had touched the doll and hadn't had any adverse

reaction. Only she seemed to pick up bad vibes.

Why me? she wanted to ask the smiling face. Why pick me

to dump on?

She'd have spoken the question aloud, except people would

think she'd gone off the deep end. Herself included.

Besides, the real question was what to do with the doll.

Leaving it in the parking lot was no longer an option. She

might not understand why it affected her the way it did, but the

feelings of danger it evoked were too real-and too strong-to

ignore.

She supposed she could offer it to the police. They were the

danger experts, weren't they? But she could imagine the reaction

she'd get if she showed up at a precinct station and told

them her story.

They'd think she was nuts.

And considering how odd she'd been feeling lately, maybe

she was.

Unsure how to proceed, she slammed the door, circled the

trunk, and slid behind the wheel. As she put the car in gear,

she glanced at the forgotten lunch on the seat beside her-and

inspiration struck. Marta's husband was a police officer. She

could run the whole incident by her friend and see what she

recommended. Marta knew she was a serious, stable, intelligent

person who wasn't given to flights of fancy. They'd shared lots

of lunches and laughs over the past two years as they chatted

about the antics of their students.

Marta wouldn't think she was crazy.

At least Rachel hoped not. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. This book touches on some unusual topics-psychometry, parapsychology, twin telepathy. There's not much credible proof for the first two, but twin telepathy is supported by anecdotal evidence. What do you think about that phenomenon? Have you ever known anyone who's experienced the kind of link displayed by Rachel and Rebecca?

2. In Rachel's place, assuming you'd had the same reaction she did to the Raggedy Ann doll, what would you have done?

3. In Nick's place, what would your reaction have been to Rachel's story? How do you think he handled the situation?

4. Emily offers one explanation for Rachel's reaction to the doll. Do you think it's credible? Have you ever had an experience or seen something that triggered strong feelings for reasons you couldn't pin down? A scent, a photograph, a taste? Do you think buried memories can produce that reaction?

5. Claudia pursues her story for St. Louis Scene with single-minded determination, setting in motion a potentially deadly chain of events. In today's world, the press seems to consider even the most personal subjects fair game. How do you feel about that? Where should the press draw the line?

6. Nick's traumatic childhood set him on the wrong path as a youth. But thanks to the intervention of a caring cop, he turned his life around. In what ways do positive role models impact a child's life? How did Dan's influence help Nick start his own faith journey? Talk about some of the ways his faith and sense of honor are reflected in this story. Provide some examples of his character and his faith in action.

7. Rachel has been exposed to many different faiths during her life, but the diversity confused rather than edified her. Do you think it's important to give a child a strong foundation in one particular faith, or offer them a sampling of many different belief systems? Why or why not?

8. Both Rachel and Nick went through the foster care system. Neither had a great experience. What are some ways that foster care can do a better job of instilling a sense of structure and caring in a child's life?

9. Jeannette never told Rebecca about her sister. Did you understand-even sympathize-with her reasons? Why or why not? How do you think adoptive parents should handle this situation?

10. Debra is obviously a troubled woman. Based on the hints about her past that are dropped in the story, do you think her childhood contributed to her problems? Why or why not?

11. Several people in this story stepped up with information that helped the FBI solve the case-Allen, Gary, Marsha. Without their tips, Rachel would have died. Often today, citizens are apathetic about taking such a proactive step. Why? What does Scripture advise about this?

12. In the end, the cross Rachel wears becomes more than a sentimental object. It becomes a source of strength. Although her faith journey is in the early stages in this book, cite some of the reasons she begins to consider starting down the path that will lead her to God.

13. Mental illness, especially the types in which victims exhibit normal behavior in some areas of their lives-like Debra-or at some times but not others, can be extremely hard on loved ones. Do you know anyone who has had to deal with this kind of experience? How did they cope?

14. Infertility exacerbated Debra's problems, but it can be traumatic even for people without her other issues. Do you know anyone who has gone through this? Why is it such a distressing experience? Discuss the reasons. What can a friend do to support a woman who is struggling with infertility?

15. Name two key things you will remember about this book.

16. If you've been following the heroes of Quantico through all three books, talk about how the lives of the three agents have changed over the course of the series. What have they learned? How have their priorities shifted? How has love changed their lives?

Weblinks

»	Author Irene Hannon's web site

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