Take You (A Rylie Wolf FBI Suspense Thriller—Book Five)

T A K E   Y O U

(A Rylie Wolf FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 5)

M o l l y   B l a c k

Molly Black

Bestselling author Molly Black is author of the MAYA GRAY FBI suspense thriller series, comprising nine books (and counting); of the RYLIE WOLF FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); of the TAYLOR SAGE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); and of the KATIE WINTER FBI suspense thriller series, comprising eleven books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Molly loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.mollyblackauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2022 by Molly Black. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Robsonphoto, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY MOLLY BLACK

MAYA GRAY MYSTERY SERIES

GIRL ONE: MURDER (Book #1)

GIRL TWO: TAKEN (Book #2)

GIRL THREE: TRAPPED (Book #3)

GIRL FOUR: LURED (Book #4)

GIRL FIVE: BOUND (Book #5)

GIRL SIX: FORSAKEN (Book #6)

GIRL SEVEN: CRAVED (Book #7)

GIRL EIGHT: HUNTED (Book #8)

GIRL NINE: GONE (Book #9)

RYLIE WOLF FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

FOUND YOU (Book #1)

CAUGHT YOU (Book #2)

SEE YOU (Book #3)

WANT YOU (Book #4)

TAKE YOU (Book #5)

DARE YOU (Book #6)

TAYLOR SAGE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

DON’T LOOK (Book #1)

DON’T BREATHE (Book #2)

DON’T RUN (Book #3)

DON’T FLINCH (Book #4)

DON’T REMEMBER (Book #5)

DON’T TELL (Book #6)

KATIE WINTER FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SAVE ME (Book #1)

REACH ME (Book #2)

HIDE ME (Book #3)

BELIEVE ME (Book #4)

HELP ME (Book #5)

FORGET ME (Book #6)

HOLD ME (Book #7)

PROTECT ME (Book #8)

REMEMBER ME (Book #9)

CATCH ME (Book #10)

WATCH ME (Book #11)

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

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Nights were always the worst.

Ever since Lance had left, Marie Bottoms had a hard time falling asleep. Everything seemed so quiet, like it was her against the world.

Sixteen days. That was how long he’d been gone. But more importantly, sixteen nights. Sixteen sleepless nights, spent with her heart in her throat and her comforter pulled up over her head like some frightened child.

She’d spent most of the day fulfilling orders, threading silver beads onto elastic cord to make her custom creations. It kept her busy, kept her mind from wandering to what he was up to. Now, she looked down at her phone for the thousandth time that day, hoping for a text from her husband. He used to do those things so incessantly, she’d almost been annoyed by it. Just a, Hey, checking in or a U ok? or a Thinking about you. Or even just something to let her know she was on his mind.

But she wasn’t, anymore, was she?

She stood up from the couch, leaving the television on because it kept her company. Poor company, even though she’d always found the announcer’s voice comforting and his jokes funny. Taking her empty teacup to the sink, she decided to leave it there until morning. If she could get to bed right away, the Sleepy-time tea could sometimes lull her off before she had a chance to obsess about what had gone wrong in her life, leading her to this horrible, desperate loneliness.

She checked the back door to make sure it was locked, something Lance had always done for them. He’d always been so concerned about the safety of their little family. That was one of the things she’d liked most about him. He was careful. So steady, responsible, and well, predictable.

That was, until Carrie.

His secretary.

Marie noticed something was wrong, almost the same time the eighteen-year-old bombshell from Florida had started working for Lance’s firm. One moment, it was, our old admin’s retiring, hope we can find someone to replace her, and the next, he was staying late. Arranging long, out of town business trips. Forgetting to call or text her during the day to check in. Coming home, smelling heavily of flowery perfume.

 And then, one day, just over two weeks ago, he hadn’t come home at all.

She’d gotten a text, of all things, explaining how it was. He said he was sorry, but he wouldn’t be coming back to their house, ever. He wanted a divorce, but he’d keep her in the house, make sure she was taken care of. He apologized that it hadn’t worked out.

Now, she looked down at her phone and saw it, silent. She hadn’t had any communication from him at all in over three days.

Marie laughed bitterly at that, as she locked the front door, set the alarm system, double-checked it, and went upstairs to brush her teeth. As far as she’d known, it was working out. He had a good job, she had a thriving shop on Etsy, selling fancy cellphone charms, and they were trying to start a family. She’d even told him she was going off birth control last month, and he’d been excited about that.

Now, she was alone. Twenty-six-years-old, and about to be divorced.

When she was finished getting ready in the bathroom, she left the light on there, closing the door only partway before plugging in her phone to charge and jumping into her big, lonely bed.

She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of trees swaying in the moonlight cast through the window. Faraway, a television announcer said something, and the audience roared with laughter.

Did she lock the back door?

She couldn’t remember. Marie had always had OCD tendencies, which was why she let Lance take care of all that. If she was in charge of it, she’d constantly obsess about whether it was done, and would check and re-check things to near madness. That had always been her problem; she never trusted herself. She’d been so happy when she’d found him, someone she could trust, to take care of everything and make sure she was safe.

Her lips curled into a snarl and she threw the covers off, surprised at how cold it’d become in such a short period of time. Shivering, she rushed down the steps to see Jimmy interviewing some sports star she didn’t recognize. She checked the back door.

Locked.

She groaned at herself. Of course it was locked, stupid. You always second-guess yourself.

And she’d been doing it more and more in the last few weeks. Questioning herself, her sanity. She hated to think that it was that man, her cheating husband, who’d given her all her confidence, but it was true. Now, she felt adrift.

But what was she, a child? Needing someone to guide her through life? No, she had her own business. She was a fully independent adult. She’d survived without Lance Bottoms for eighteen years, and she could do it again. She could do this.

Turning, she went to the television and switched it off. Adults are happy with their own company, she told herself, smiling in triumph.

She marched to the front door and put her hand on the banister, ready to climb the steps and fall into her bed, when she noticed the security system panel on the wall near the front door.

A light on it was blinking.

Had it ever done that before? She couldn’t remember. Lance had managed all that. He was a techno-geek, and it had been his fun toy—he knew all the ins and outs of it, what every little button on it did.

She moved closer to it and saw that the blinking was next to the words, BACK DOOR. Another word was flashing on the panel, too, right next to it. UNLOCKED.

That was strange. Hadn’t she just checked that?

Probably a malfunction. It had done that a few times, when Lance was here. She pressed a button, hoping to turn it off. It didn’t work.

She tried a couple more, but none of them seemed to do anything, either. Stupid thing, she said, smacking it and half-wishing it was Lance’s face. You’re broken.

Then she went through the house, once again, to the back door. Maybe she’d disturbed some sort of sensor, sent it off track, and she just needed to flip a switch.

She went to the door, looking for the wiring, but she noticed something else.

The back door was no longer locked. It was closed, but the lock had not been engaged.

This time, though, she was sure she had engaged it. She remembered twisting it. Had she not twisted it hard enough? No, she was certain she had.

I’m going crazy. Without Lance here, I’m losing it.

Then, she thought she heard a noise, outside, on the back deck. A crack. Like a foot stepping on a dried branch. But nearby, almost right by the door.

Pulling open the door, she slowly, cautiously, poked her head out.

All was quiet. Her house backed up to tall trees, and a little creek. She could hear the burbling of its waters, the slight rustle of the leaves, the lone cry of a hawk in the trees above. But nothing else. Reaching for the switch on the wall behind her, she flipped on the back light, illuminating the small patch of deck. Nothing.

I am so paranoid. I’ve got to loosen up, she thought, rubbing her eyes.

But the second she regained her focus, the man was there. Standing in front of her.

Marie froze in terror, recognition sparking within her. She couldn’t remember where she’d seen him; all she knew was that he didn’t belong here, on her back deck. She scrambled back a few steps, hitting the door and tripping over the transom as she frantically tried to remember where she’d left her cell phone.

Upstairs. On the charger. A lot of good it’s doing you, now.

Before she could try to stand, he reached for a pillow from the couch and stood over her. He brought it down over her face, holding tight there. She flailed her arms, trying to escape, but it was no use. She was already half out of breath from the fright, so she quickly went dizzy from lack of oxygen. Her lungs burned, so hot she thought they might explode, until it felt like they did. Then, gradually, everything went numb, and she could feel no more.

CHAPTER ONE

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Shooting pain spiraled stars into Rylie Wolf’s vision as she stood in front of a blank wall in her apartment. She opened her mouth and let out a silent scream, punctuating it with the perfect word:

Dammit!

Rylie clutched her thumb as the fireworks of pain whizzed up to her elbow. She dropped the hammer, which fell on her foot. She screamed louder, then hopped around her apartment, clenching her teeth at the pain before pulling a chair out from the kitchen set and sinking down into it.

She hated this apartment. This dull, drab, old, cruddy apartment.

She looked around sourly. The place had come courtesy of the federal government, when they’d started the new field office out here in Rapid City, South Dakota. She’d heard plenty of stories about government overspending, but apparently, whoever’d decided on this place for her and the other agents in the Rapid City FBI office had missed the memo. It was a one-bedroom crap-hole in what looked like a rectangular brick prison, 1970s construction, across from a fast-food restaurant and a gas station.

It smelled. Nothing worked. It took forever to get hot water in the shower. Forever. Sometimes she’d turn on the faucet, go and heat up a frozen meal for dinner, and come back, and it still wouldn’t be warm.

It hadn’t mattered much, at first. She was so busy on cases along highway 86 that she was barely home. And Rylie had never been one to enjoy HGTV or home decorating magazines. But the past week, after closing out a case in Montana, she’d been back here, and gradually getting more annoyed by her surroundings.

Also, more antsy.

She thought that adding some nice artwork to the walls she’d freshly painted might help.

But now, as she looked at her swelling, purple fingernail, she realized she was going to need a lot more help than that.

Taking a swig of her beer, she looked over at the nail she’d barely managed to hammer into the wall. She’d measured to make sure it was exactly in the center, but now, it looked kind of . . . off.

She sighed down at the painting of the Seattle coast she’d brought with her. As bad as the experience was that had forced her to leave Seattle, she still had a soft spot for it. She’d moved out there for college, and had always considered it home—definitely more of a home than the place she lived with her father in Wyoming. She thought the painting would brighten the drab place up, make her happier. It wasn’t working. Now, she felt so far away from it, she wondered if she’d ever get back.

Drumming her hands on the table, she looked over at her phone again. No calls.

It wasn’t just the décor that had her antsy, or that her boss, Kit, hadn’t put her and her partner, Michael Brisbane, on anything exciting in over a week. It had everything to do with what she’d found at Elephant Hole, the military outpost in Montana.

 All it takes is one little piece of evidence. It might be everything. The thing that cracks the case wide open.

That is what her partner had said when she’d found the piece of the rear-view mirror from a car, dusty and broken at the bottom of a dried well. They’d been led there by another piece of evidence-- a necklace her sister Maren had worn. She’d thought she’d seen a fingerprint on it, and sent it to be analyzed.

And now she was waiting. Waiting to find out if the newest piece of evidence would finally bring her some peace of mind as to what had happened to her sister, almost twenty years ago.

Had she been kidnapped, and by whom? That question had plagued Rylie, ever since she was a child, when she found her mother, best friend, and her best friend’s mother, murdered at a campsite along the Montana-Wyoming border. After that horrific day at Story Creek, Maren, her older sister, had been declared missing, and there had been no leads, since.

It was the driving force behind why Rylie had wanted to become an FBI agent in the first place. She’d always, in her heart of hearts, hoped that she could bring some closure to herself and her estranged father, who’d suffered just as much as she had.

As she sat there, sucking on her swelling thumb, the phone rang. The number was from headquarters. She sucked in a breath and answered. Rylie Wolf.

Hey, Ry, it’s Marsden.

Marsden, lead forensics analyst. She wasted no time with small talk. Yeah, hey, so you’re calling about the mirror? What’d you find out?

We were able to extract the fingerprint, and ran it through our database. We got a positive match.

She straightened. It sounded too good to be true. After all the setbacks, they actually had an ID of a person of interest, someone who had been in the same place where Rylie’s sister had been. Yeah?

Yeah, but . . .

Of course, there had to be a but. Nothing could ever be easy. Is he dead?

No, actually. The guy’s name is Griffin Franklin, and he’s in prison right now for another murder.

Another murder. Of course. The person who’d done that to Maren wouldn’t be a preschool teacher. The man was a killer. This was looking better and better. Rylie didn’t want to get her hopes up, but here was a man who’d been in the same place as her sister, and had a history of violent crime. It was the best lead they’d had in, well . . . forever.