A string of bodies carved with a bizarre symbol has FBI Tracker Cat Morgan on the hunt, until she becomes the killer’s next target. Can even her arcane secrets keep her from being his perfect sacrifice?
“First-rate police novel, absorbing thriller. Dickason's plot is taut and unrolls beautifully. Will have serial killer mystery fans and paranormal urban fantasy junkies alike getting excited over a new series." Readers' Favorite Review
I ride the night wind
Evil does not escape my vigilance
The black-clad woman melded into the shadows cast by a line of idle railroad cars and diesel engines. Even the barrel of the pistol gripped tight in one hand failed to reflect the faint illumination from the light poles scattered in the deserted railroad yard.
“Got him. Two rows from the control tower. He’s headed toward the fence,” she whispered into her mic. A voice softly echoed through her earpiece. “I’m on the other side of the row … to your right.”
Focused on the man striding ahead of her, FBI Special Agent Cat Morgan eased her way over the gravel surface as she glided from car to car. Certain this was the man dubbed by the media as the Rail Killer, her grim determination pushed back the discomfort of the sweat-soaked shirt under her vest and the rancid odor of oil and diesel that hung in the humid air. Over the last four months, she’d chased the killer who rode the rails in empty boxcars. He’d find a house near the tracks and brutally murder the occupants for money and supplies, then hop another train.
After plotting locations, dates, times, and railroad schedules, she discovered a pattern in his movements. While Cat had predicted the killer’s next move, it wasn’t in time to prevent the murder of an elderly couple.
This time, they were ready. At dusk, teams of agents moved into position along several miles of track around Beaumont. Cat and her partner, Ben Kennedy, had drawn the short straw for the railroad yard and set up surveillance in the control tower. Near midnight, they spotted a man jump from a boxcar of a passing train. Climbing down from the tower, they lost sight of him and had split up, working their way along the rows of cars.
Cat picked up the pace and needed only a few more yards to close the gap. Then—her foot slipped on the edge of a pothole. At the loud rattle of rocks, the man glanced over his shoulder. His gaze locked onto her before he leaped between two cars.
“Damn, he spotted me. He crossed the track.” Cat jumped the rail, climbed over a coupler, and paused to scrutinize the deep shadows from the cars on the next row. Where the hell did you go?
Excerpted from "Sentinels of the Night: A Trackers Novel" by Anita Dickason. Copyright © 2017 by Anita Dickason. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.