FREEstyle> “First-rate police procedural 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
Someone is stalking women in a small Mississippi town and leaving a string of mutilated bodies with a strange symbol carved on the forehead. FBI Tracker Cat Morgan is on the hunt, but can she stop him? Even her arcane secrets won’t keep her from becoming his next target—his perfect sacrifice.
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 voice mic.
A voice softly echoed in her ear piece. “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, 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. The last four months she had 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’d
finally discovered a pattern in his movements. While Cat had predicted
the killer’s next location, it wasn’t in time to prevent the murder
of an elderly couple.
This time, they were ready. At dusk, teams of agents had moved into
position along several miles of track around Beaumont. Cat and her
partner, Ben Kennedy, drew the short straw for the railroad yard and set
up surveillance in the control tower. Near midnight, a man jumped from a
boxcar of a passing train. Climbing down, they lost sight of him and had
split up, working their way along the rows of cars.
She 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, then 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.