Death by Midnight: The Secret Life of Anna Goode series

  The Secret Life of Anna Goode

  Death by Midnight

  NICOLE NADEAU

  Copyright © 2019 Nicole Nadeau

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other-except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 9781708963101

  Dedication

  To anyone else facing challenges and succeeding anyway.

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER XXV

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Acknowledgments

  To my amazing family—my parents, my sister, Paige, and my brother, Mark—who give me nothing but love and support and for always being there for me. To the rest of my family for the same love and support, and their patience during this entire process. I know it took a while, but the book is finally here. To everyone who played a part in getting this published. Mom, Dad, Bonnie and Janae, thank you all for giving me such great feedback and helping me edit this and make the story come alive. To my insanely talented cousin, Sarah, for providing the awesome illustration in the back. I love you all so much. And thank you to anyone and everyone who picks up this book and loves these characters as much as I do.

  CHAPTER I

  December 25th. 10:35 PM. Siberia, Russia.

  Will Daniels would have preferred looking down the scope of his rifle. Instead, he was stuck peering through the lens of his camera.

  The wind howled through the trees as the snow fell onto the desolate road ahead of him. Five miles away sat Novosibirsk, one of the most populated cities in Russia, yet an eerie stillness surrounded him. There were no ambulances or police sirens wailing in the distance. No car horns called out into the night. The unsettling calm would’ve put anyone else on edge. But not Daniels.

  Daniels lowered his six foot two, muscular frame further into the brush. His close-cropped blond hair disappeared into the foliage. His ice blue eyes stared unblinking at the road. He readied the camera. The target would arrive at any moment. Daniels had chased him for years. But he always managed to escape, waiting several months before resurfacing. Now the noose was tightening. The target was coming out of hiding again, and it couldn’t have been sooner. His activity was increasing with each day, his presence stretching out like a dark shadow. There was a storm coming—Daniels could feel it. The target had arranged a meeting, an exchange. Daniels was ordered to intercept it at any cost. And if he could, capture the target alive.

  Headlights pierced through the darkness to his right. Daniels reached to his ear and pressed down on his earpiece. “Visual on Red-2,” he whispered. “Approaching from the west.”

  “Copy,” a woman’s voice responded. “In position.”

  “Roger, ready to go,” a man’s voice replied.

  A black Volkswagen Polo crawled into view. Daniels snapped picture after picture as the car drove down the gravel road. It slowed to a stop, and the door swung open. A short, stout man stepped out of the Polo. Moonlight danced off his bald head and the bifocals that perched across his crooked nose. The man held a thick metal briefcase, gripping it with white knuckles. He withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead as sweat began to trickle down his face. The camera let out a barely audible click as Daniels quickly snapped pictures of the newcomer.

  Minutes passed. Nothing happened. The man nervously kicked the gravel at his feet. Daniels grew anxious. Where was the target? Did he cancel the meeting? Did Daniels miss his chance?

  Then, from his left, a second pair of headlights appeared. A black van rolled onto the road and came to a halt ten feet from the Polo.

  The driver jumped out. Despite trying to conceal it, Daniels spotted a pistol tucked into his waistband. The driver walked around the van and slid the side door open.

  Now Daniels really wished he had his rifle.

  Alexei Komarov strode out into the night, a deadly air surrounding him. Wisps of gray speckled his black, military styled hair. An immaculate, matching goatee covered his chin. A scowl was etched across his face, cutting deep lines into his skin. A parka was wrapped tightly around his thick, six foot frame. His intense gray eyes bore into the stout man ahead of him.

  A teenage boy climbed out after Komarov. He looked about nineteen, and stood just shy of six feet. He had short, curly golden brown hair that was an unruly mess. His face lacked the scowl his father, Komarov, wore. His gray eyes shared the intensity, but were somewhat softer.

  A fourth man followed after him. Daniels spotted a pistol in his waistband as well.

  Daniels carefully reached for his earpiece. “Visual on Red-1. I repeat, visual on Red-1. Standby.”

  The stout man squirmed as the men approached. He looked past the men, as if expecting someone else. His eyes grew wide with fear. He opened his mouth, closed it, then forced himself to speak.

  “Wh-where’s my wife?” the man stuttered in Russian.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Komarov answered coldly, his face a mask of indifference. “You give us the briefcase now. Then we’ll reunite you with your wife.”

  The boy reached for the briefcase, but the man yanked it away and clutched it to his chest.

  “That wasn’t the deal,” the man said boldly.

  “Deals often change Dr. Petrov,” Komarov fired back. “You can keep the case. But then I’ll be keeping her.”

  The doctor’s eyes fluttered between the four men. Daniels could see his mind racing. Sweat trickled down from his brow. The briefcase shook in his trembling arms.

  He drew a shaky breath. “Take me to her. Then you’ll get this.”

  Komarov’s scowl deepened. His eyes narrowed into slits. “Very well,” he growled. He spun on his heels and marched back to the van, his son following behind like a puppy.

  The driver took the doctor roughly by the arm and herded him toward the van. He shoved the doctor in after the Komarovs and slammed the door shut behind him. The driver jumped back behind the wheel as the fourth man went to the Polo and climbed inside. The van whipped itself around and went back the way it came, the Polo following close behind.

  Daniels leapt to his feet and scooped up the camera bag. He cursed under his breath. The doctor was supposed to stay behind. Stealing the briefcase was hard enough. Now he had to deal with a civilian in the crossfire.

  He slung the bag over his shoulder and raced through the brush. His hand flew to his ear. “Target heading east in a black van. Civilian with them. Continue with intercept, but be careful.”

  Daniels slid to a stop, where a motorcycle and helmet lay hidden among the brush. He threw on the helmet, picked up the motorcycle, and hopped on. The engine roared as he chased after his prey.

  He flew down the road, gravel quickly giving way to pavement. Wind whipped around him. Trees blurred
by on either side, then came to an abrupt stop. Ahead, two pinpricks of light grew in the dark, turning into the taillights of the Polo as he got closer. Daniels eased up on the accelerator, careful to keep a distance, and let the convoy lead him back into the city.

  Novosibirsk was the third largest city in Russia, and Daniels could see why. Large crowds navigated the streets. Looming buildings stretched far into the sky and illuminated the night. Every few feet, lamp posts lit up the streets.

  Daniels followed the cars onto Kirova Street. Right on cue, the light ahead of them turned red. His muscles tensed. The team back home was playing their part. They’d hacked into the traffic system and switched the light manually.

  The two cars crawled to a stop in front of the light. Daniels glided into the right lane and pulled up beside the van. From behind, a car came speeding toward them. Daniels didn’t have to look to know what was happening. He knew that a white Skoda Rapid had just rocketed into the street. It hurtled toward the Polo, showing no signs of slowing down. He only had a matter of seconds.

  The Rapid slammed on its brakes, tires screeching. It hit the back of the Polo, pushing it forward and into the back of the van.

  Daniels sprung into action. He jumped off his motorcycle, whipped the van’s door open, grabbed the doctor by the collar and began to pull him out.

  But the son was quick. He grasped the doctor’s arm and yanked him back, then swung his free hand around and punched Daniels in the face. Spots danced across his eyes. Daniels lost his grip and fell to the pavement. The son dragged the doctor back in, tires squealing as the van sped off.

  Daniels jumped to his feet and ran back to the Polo. The Rapid’s driver had dragged the Polo’s unconscious driver out of the car and was handcuffing him in the street.

  His partner nodded to the Polo. “Go. I’m right behind you.”

  Daniels jumped into the Polo and chased after the van.

  He raced through the streets, fighting to catch up as stoplights flew by. The streets and people became a blur. Horns blared at him, but he didn’t hear any of them. He spotted the van and floored it. He surged ahead, quickly closing the gap.

  Then three loud shots rang out. Daniels ducked as a hail of bullets punched through the windshield and whizzed past his ear.

  Daniels grasped for his earpiece. “Taking fire! Need some help here!”

  “Right behind you,” the man responded.

  “I’m moving to intercept,” the woman said.

  Daniels hunched over the wheel as he charged the van. He peeked up, and another round of gunshots flew at him. He ducked back down as they blew out the remnants of the windshield, shattered glass falling into his lap.

  He jerked the wheel and came up beside the van. More shots rang out, riddling the side of the Polo. Suddenly, the van swerved and rammed into him. The wheel spun in Daniels’ hands, but he steadied the car before it could crash onto the sidewalk.

  The Rapid zoomed up from behind. It raced to the other side of the van, getting a spray of bullets as it approached. It swung and rammed into the van, making it veer toward Daniels. Daniels swerved to avoid getting hit.

  “What are you doing?!” Daniels shouted into his earpiece. “That briefcase opens and the whole city goes down.”

  “You got a better idea to get them off the road?” the man questioned.

  He thought for a moment. “Squeeze them. We’ll box them in.”

  Daniels drifted as close to the van as he dared. On the other side, the Rapid did the same. The van tried to shove them away as they boxed it in, but the two cars held their ground.

  The van suddenly slammed on its brakes and slipped out of the corral. Daniels looked back around, only to find the street took a sudden sharp turn.

  He stomped on the brakes and spun the wheel as hard as he could. Daniels careened around the corner, smoke peeling off from the tires. He fishtailed onto the sidewalk, pedestrians diving out of the way. The side of the Polo crashed into a storefront and screeched to a halt.

  The Rapid wasn’t as lucky. It raced around the corner, its tires spinning as it tried to make the turn. But it was too late. The Rapid jumped the sidewalk, plowed through a lamppost, and then slammed into a brick wall. Metal crunched and crumpled like paper. Its headlights shattered into a million pieces. Smoke poured out from under the hood.

  Daniels glanced at the destroyed Rapid, then shoved the accelerator to the floor and catapulted off the sidewalk.

  “You alright, man?” Daniels called out.

  “For the most part,” the man groaned through the earpiece. “I’ll live. Just end this.”

  Daniels sped ahead. He roared through the streets, raced around a corner, and the van came back into view. He chased after it, never letting up. They ducked in and out of traffic, horns screaming at them as they whizzed by at breakneck speed.

  As they raced across a bridge over the Ob River, the woman’s voice rang in his ear. “I’ve got them.”

  A blue BMW flew toward them from the other direction. It suddenly swerved into their lane and blocked the road, forming a blockade right in front of the van.

  But the van never slowed. Instead, it picked up speed and plowed into the BMW. The BMW spun into the wrong lane, then got struck headfirst by a speeding car. Daniels looked at the wreck as he raced by.

  “My arm,” the woman cried.

  “You okay?” the man asked before Daniels could.

  She grunted. “Just. Get. Him.”

  He pushed the engine as hard as it would go, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. He gained on the van, closing the gap with each passing second. The van cut around corners and weaved between cars, trying anything to lose Daniels. But nothing worked. Daniels was relentless.

  Desperate, the van dove into oncoming traffic. Daniels chased after it. Cars whizzed by in a blur. Headlights flashed in his eyes. He jerked the wheel back and forth as he darted through traffic. Ahead, the van dodged cars with ease.

  The van whipped back onto the other side of the road. Daniels yanked the wheel to follow it.

  But he never made it.

  As he swung across the road, a car clipped the back of the Polo. He spun out of control, and then a truck plowed into the passenger side and sent Daniels airborne. He flipped end over end, bracing himself as best he could. The Polo slowed, crashed down onto its hood, and finally came to a stop.

  Broken glass surrounded him. The passenger side was caved in. He dangled upside down, his seat belt the only thing keeping him in place. Pain radiated throughout his body, but nothing felt broken. Daniels looked out from the wreckage for any sign of the van. But it was gone.

  He smacked the wheel in frustration.

  He managed to haul himself out of the wreckage and quickly filled in his teammates. Then he tried to have his hackers access the street cameras and track Komarov, but all the cameras had gone dark.

  Daniels called in another team nearby and set up a search perimeter. He and his team would scour the city, while the other searched the surrounding woods. All they needed was one small trace left behind. But Daniels knew better than to hope. He’d lived this before.

  Two days later, his fears were confirmed. When the other team finally called in, Daniels sent his phone flying across the room.

  They had found the doctor. Dead.

  Komarov was in the wind.

  CHAPTER II

  December 28th. 5:35 pm. Washington D.C.

  Squish, squish, squish. The snow seeped into her boots as Anna Goode trudged out of Home Depot. The bitter cold air whipped through her chocolate colored hair, threatening to turn her skin blue. She pulled her scarf up over her nose. A plastic bag swung back and forth in her grip. A part of her wanted to retreat back into the heated store, not wanting to face the cold again. The short walk suddenly felt like a mile. She decided to text Jake to pick her up at the store instead and patted her jacket pocket, only to find it empty. She cringed. Guess she was walking after all.

  A shoulder suddenly crashed into he
r. Bolts, screws, and copper wires flew from the bag and sprinkled across the snow. Anna let out a deep sigh as she knelt down to pick them up. It was one of those days.

  The guy that ran into her knelt down beside her and started plucking the hardware out of the snow. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he dropped a handful into the bag. “Wasn’t paying attention.” He looked a couple of years older than her, with curled golden brown hair that poked out from under his hood. There was a slight accent in his voice. Russian?

  “Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed.

  The guy studied the hardware. “You picking stuff up for your dad?” he asked.

  Anna shook her head. “No, it’s for me. School project.”

  He looked at her curiously. “Aren’t schools on break?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she stammered. “But there’s an extra credit project we can do over break.”

  “What is it?”

  “What?”

  “The project. What is it?”

  Uneasiness swept over her. His gray eyes stared into her emerald ones, as if trying to pull something from her brain. He stopped digging through the snow as he waited for her to answer.

  “Power a light with a battery,” she finally answered as she dropped the last handful into the bag.

  His eyes narrowed.

  A second later, his eyes cleared and he nodded. “Cool. Best of luck,” the guy said as he stood and headed into the store.

  Anna rose to her feet. She looked back at the guy, something nagging at her in the back of her mind. Then a strong gust of wind cut through her and chilled her to the bone. She shivered and hurried off to the meeting place.

  The only thing she loved more than Washington D.C. in spring, was D.C. after it snowed. The iconic city became almost unrecognizable. A dusting of snow would cover the bare branches of the cherry blossoms. Snow topped the Washington Monument, the frozen Reflecting Pool stretching out before it. The usually busy city would slow down. All was quiet and tranquil, if only for a little while.