Not This Time Read online

  Praise for

  Vicki Hinze

  “Hinze has written a masterful, complicated tale of suspense that gains momentum with each turn of a page. Her writing flows surely, moving from one character to the next, one setting to another, with readers keeping the swift pace.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly

  “[Hinze] keeps the pace brisk and the tension high. Don’t start reading too late at night—you may see 2:00 a.m.”

  —Crosswalk.com

  “As expected, Deadly Ties filled my need for encouragement, and though it explored some rather disturbing issues, its consistent reminder of God’s omnipotence was a welcomed comfort.”

  —TheChristianManifesto.com

  “Fans of Christian suspense will enjoy Hinze’s latest thriller.”

  —Library Journal

  “Excellent characterization and a compelling plot draw the reader in and never let go. Perhaps most importantly, the novel addresses the universal question of the purpose of pain and the importance of faith when all hope seems lost. Evil is unapologetically painted black and bold, making the redemptive power of Christ seem all that much more powerful. Deadly Ties is absolutely magnificent.”

  —FictionAddict.com

  “I literally couldn’t put down Forget Me Not by Vicki Hinze. The suspense kept me flipping pages until long after midnight, and I loved the plot twists. Highly recommended!”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, author of The Lightkeeper’s Bride and the Rock Harbor series

  “Forget Me Not took off like a bullet from a shotgun and gripped me all the way to the exciting end. With tight plotting, twists and turns, a sweet romance, and lots of action, I’ll be making room on my romantic suspense shelf for more books from Vicki Hinze!”

  —SUSAN MAY WARREN, award-winning author of Nothing but Trouble

  Praise for

  Not This Time

  “Vicki Hinze’s new thriller, Not This Time, hones suspense to a razored edge. Riveting, relentless, and fraught with betrayals, here is a novel that cuts both to the bone and to the heart. Not This Time should be retitled Not to be Missed.”

  —JAMES ROLLINS, New York Times best-selling author of The Devil Colony

  “In Not This Time, Vicki Hinze has created a tense, suspenseful story, peopled with vivid characters and set against a backdrop of deadly danger. I can always count on Vicki for an absorbing story I’ll remember long after I’ve closed the book, and Not This Time was no exception. Do yourself a favor and pick this book as your next read.”

  —KAY HOOPER, New York Times best-selling author

  “Vicki Hinze has created a ‘keeper’! Not This Time is engrossing, entertaining, filled with excellently drawn and very real people, and a story that keeps you turning the pages!”

  —HEATHER GRAHAM, New York Times best-selling author

  “Hinze paints her tale on a broad canvas, her writing expertly controlled, rich in imagination, deep in characterization. It’s a race against time and shadowy instincts, the narrative loud with surprises, the premise all-too-believable.”

  —STEVE BERRY, New York Times best-selling author of The Jefferson Key

  NOT THIS TIME

  PUBLISHED BY MULTNOMAH BOOKS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®.

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-1-60142-275-0

  Copyright © 2012 by Vicki Hinze

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  MULTNOMAH and its mountain colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hinze, Vicki.

  Not this time : a novel / Vicki Hinze.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(Crossroads crisis center; bk. 3)

  I. Title.

  PS3558.I574N68 2012

  813′.54—dc23

  2011029988

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Readers Guide

  To Julee Schwarzburg.

  Thank you for helping me find my way and taking this journey with me.

  To my children. Thank you for the privilege of being your mother.

  And to my Heart, my Sunshine, my Rainbow, and the Angel Boy who to me hung the Moon and Stars.

  I’ll love you all forever and forever, no matter what.

  1

  Saturday, June 5 at 6:00 p.m., Seagrove Village, Florida

  He was late.

  The country club’s parking lot was nearly full, but Detective Jeff Meyers spotted an empty slot in the last of five rows. He parked and cut the engine, grabbed the invitation to Harvey and Roxy Talbot’s remarriage off the center console, and then rushed through the humid heat back to the main entrance.

  Cold air blasted him in the face. He breathed deeply, relishing it. No doubt all the Crossroads Crisis Center staff were already out in the courtyard. He hated to show up for a classy event late and sweaty, but thanks to clashing factions at Ruby’s Diner over the coming mayoral election, there hadn’t been time to shower and change clothes.

  Bypassing a grouping of sofa and chairs, Jeff headed toward the back of the building. With all its polish and gold-framed original art, the club was too elegant for his tastes, but the people were friendly enough to make it semi-comfortable. There was no need to ask anyone where to go, which was a good thing, since not a soul was in sight—kind of funny, that—but Annie and Nora, the self-appointed Seagrove Village wedding planners, had made sure if a body found the front door, there’d be no confusion.

  Rose petals on the cool marble floor created a path between white stretch columns to a set of french doors that led outside to the courtyard. A sign would have worked, but the club didn’t allow them. There were limits to its tolerance for things that pricked at its perception of class.

  Since Roxy had her heart set on the inner courtyard, they had scheduled the ceremony later in the day to avoid the relentless heat, but it still radiated. With reluctance, Jeff left the cool lobby and closed the french doors behind him. Doing his job or not, he would get his ears blistered by Nora for being late. His only hope was that the village matriarch was so focused on the ceremony she wouldn’t notice. She was getting up in age and bat-blind, seeing walls only when she bumped into them, but Jeff had never known Ben Brandt’s housekeeper to miss a thing that mattered to her, whi
ch meant Jeff was going to get reamed. He resigned himself to it.

  Nora had put everyone on notice. This ceremony had to be perfect for Harvey and Roxy. Dr. Harvey Talbot worked at Ben’s crisis center and Nora worked for Ben. That put Harvey under Nora’s protective wing as one of her “boys.” She was beloved in the village, and anyone who messed with her would answer to everyone—Jeff included.

  Truly, Harvey and Roxy getting back together was a miracle, and all the villagers were glad to see it. They never should have gotten divorced. Harvey hadn’t wanted it, but Roxy was with the FBI and she’d pulled a case that involved NINA—Nihilists in Anarchy—a group of terrorists with a criminal wing so ruthless, it gave Homeland Security, law enforcement, and crooks cold chills. Roxy had divorced Harvey to get him out of the line of fire so NINA wouldn’t hurt him or use him to get to her. Not that she’d explained that to Harvey, which is why he’d been as miserable as a man on death row. Apparently, so had she.

  Jeff followed the rose-petal trail onto a stone walkway that wound between fat shrubs and fountains that cooled the air with a welcome mist. He’d like to pause to cool down but didn’t dare; if he was lucky, he’d get to hear the “I do agains.”

  Intended to seat fifty, the intimate courtyard was surrounded on all sides by brick buildings that held in the heat. He rushed his steps, rounded a cluster of petite palms and spiny palmettos—and came to a dead halt.

  Bodies lay everywhere.

  All the white-slatted chairs stood empty, and every guest who should have been in one was sprawled on the ground. Under the arch draped in leafy greenery and pink roses lay Harvey and Roxy and Reverend Brown.

  Jeff didn’t dare move. Hyperalert, he scanned the scene. The Crossroads group was clustered together. Nora lay facedown, her arm outstretched as if reaching for her companion, Clyde Parker, who was flat on his back with a toppled chair parked half on his stomach. It wasn’t moving. With breaths, that chair should be moving.

  Jeff whipped out his phone and hit speed dial, phoning the station. Busy. No surprise; most who’d answer were here, supine on the grass. The silence in the courtyard was deafening. They all lay motionless. What had happened here?

  His heart thudding, he pulled his gun, continued searching. Nothing. Fearing a trap, he checked the rooftops but saw only clear blue sky. The lingering scent of something pungent burned his nose. It sure wasn’t the flowers, but he couldn’t tag its source. The building’s walls had trapped the scent, but now a breeze stirred. Whatever the smell, it was faint and fading fast; another minute or two and it’d be gone.

  Chemical. Get out of here. You’re getting exposed.

  He ignored the warning. He was already exposed, and these people mattered to him; he couldn’t just leave them. Keeping his eyes peeled, he thumbed off the safety and readied for rapid firing, then moved toward the people closest to him: Beth Dawson and her SaBe Inc. co-owner, Sara Jones-Tayton. Sara’s husband, Robert, wasn’t with her. Strange. He seldom missed a social event, and Sara rarely attended one without him. Beth and Sara volunteered at Crossroads, kept the center’s computers safe from hackers, and helped out Quantico when it got in a pinch. Crumpled on the grass behind the chairs, they too must have arrived late and not made the last half-dozen steps to their seats.

  His mouth went stone dry. These were all his friends—many of them since birth. Were they all dead?

  Nothing. Not one unexpected sight or sound or movement. He tried the station again. Still busy.

  A table draped in crisp white linen stood between the others and him. Flowers and crystal filled one end; a two-tier wedding cake, the other. The breeze bent all the leaves to the north, and that faint, pungent smell had disappeared. Whatever it was, it’d dissipated.

  Get out, Jeff. Wait for Hazmat.

  The internal battle escalated to a war. He should wait for a hazardous-material team, but his heart wouldn’t let him. Covering his mouth and nose with his handkerchief, he stepped behind the table and bumped his back against the brick building, then slid down the rough wall to Beth. Don’t let her be dead. Please.

  In a cold sweat, he squatted and pressed his fingers to her throat. A steady thump pulsed against his fingertips. She was alive. Thank God.

  “Beth?”

  No answer.

  “Beth?” They had dated a couple times. He had been crazy about her, but she just hadn’t been into him, so they settled for being friends. “Can you hear me?”

  No response.

  What about the others?

  No. Backup first. You need backup.

  Reverting to his life as a beat cop, he reached for the radio clipped to his collar before remembering he no longer had one and his phone was already in his hand. Darting, wary, he tried the station yet again. Finally, it rang.

  “Seagrove Village Police.”

  The rookie, Kyle Perry. “It’s Jeff Meyer. Who’s there with clout?”

  “The chief’s in, but he’s in conference.”

  “Get him.”

  “I can’t, Detective. He said not to disturb him.”

  It was quicker to switch than to fight a rookie under orders. “Who else is there?”

  “Coroner Green.”

  Hank would do. “Get him on the phone.”

  A moment later, Hank came on the line. “Hey, why aren’t you at the ceremony?”

  “I just got here. Everyone’s out cold, Hank.” Jeff briefed him, requested backup, and then added, “I need a Hazmat team—medical too, but put them in a holding pattern away from the building until Hazmat gives an all clear.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Sara Jones-Tayton was breathing. Shallow and slow, pulse thready but there. “I don’t know.” Jeff stood, his knees crackling. Still no one conscious in sight. He moved on to the next closest group. “No signs of a struggle. They’re just all on the ground, out cold.”

  “White powder? Oily residue? Funny smell? Anything like that?”

  “No residue or powder. I caught a whiff of something when I arrived, but it’s gone now. There’s nothing else to see—wait a second.” Beth lay on her side, her hand buried beneath her. He looked closely, then checked the others, homing in on their hands. Beth, Sara, Kelly Walker, and Lisa Harper all had strings tied to their fingers—and Roxy did too. “Five women have strings tied to their fingers. Looks like monofilament.”

  “Fishing line?”

  “Appears so.” He followed the lines to where they converged. “All five lead to one place—the wedding cake.” Jeff double-checked, then added, “To the bride. She’s half buried in the bottom layer of the cake—not Roxy, the plastic bride that usually sits on top of the cake.” He moved closer. The plastic was cracked, its edges jagged. “The plastic groom was ripped off.” Jeff checked beneath the table. “He’s missing.”

  “T-T-The plastic groom is missing.” Hank stuttered. “H-Harvey—”

  “Is here.”

  “Then what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know, but this was no accident.” Not with those strings. Jeff didn’t like where his mind was going, yet he’d have to be a brick short to ignore the obvious. “Professionals knocked out everyone and singled out specific targets.”

  “Oh man. Not NINA again.” Hank sounded as nervous as Jeff felt.

  The international terrorist organization that, to fund its ideological objectives, black-marketed anything of value—weapons, intelligence, drugs, people. “It’s crossed my mind already.” They’d had two run-ins with NINA; of course it’d crossed his mind.

  “I could see NINA coming after Kelly or Lisa—and Roxy busted up their human-trafficking operation—but why Beth and Sara? They can’t identify anyone in NINA.”

  “They helped us take NINA down in the human-trafficking case.” When it came to computers, Beth and Sara were two of the best on the planet. Their SaBe was a megasuccessful software company, and everyone in the village knew they helped out the government all the time. Quantico tried repeatedly to hire Beth full
time but couldn’t afford her, and before Sara married Robert Tayton, she’d spent nearly as much time at Quantico as she had at home. NINA could want them both out of the way for that. “Revenge, maybe?”

  Jeff turned to examine the next of the fallen. Darla Green, the widow of the deceased mayor, lay alone. Jeff wiggled his fingers into position on her throat. Breathing. He moved on.

  Hank grunted. “NINA can’t afford idle revenge. If they’re behind this—”

  “Who else has the ability or guts to pull off something like this?”

  “No one who’d actually do it. But that means there’s more to it than revenge.”

  “We don’t even know what it is yet.” Jeff kept moving through the crowd, person to person, finding throat pulses and growing more and more relieved. “Whatever it is, we never saw it coming. They came in and did what they wanted—they could have killed them all.” That truth sent shards of fear slicing through Jeff’s veins. His friends—all his friends—could have been murdered on his watch.

  “But they didn’t kill them.”

  “Not this time.” Jeff gazed down, then glanced over, seemingly seeing double senior women. His heart sank, then slammed against his chest wall. “Maybe something is still in the air, Hank. I’m seeing two Noras.”

  “Probably Nathara, Nora’s identical twin. She’s here from New Orleans to take Nora to some eye specialist.”

  “Oh.” Jeff had never seen her before. He blew out a relieved breath and checked them both. Strong. Steady. He moved on, past Nora and her sister, and placed his fingertips on the next throat. Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Tried a third time but it just wasn’t there. No pulse.

  A lump rose in Jeff’s throat. “Oh, man.”

  “What?”

  Jeff’s eyes burned. Bury it. You’re a professional. Remember it. His throat went thick and strain flooded his voice. “You’ll need to come out too, Hank. I—I, um, can’t lock down the crime scene by myself, and the rookie won’t be much help.”