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Shadow Hunt, Shadow Point Security Romantic Suspense Series, Book 1
©2026 Misty Evans
Claire
Washington, D.C.
10:47 p.m.
Special Agent Claire Dawson had spent five years hunting predators. She refused to become prey.
The three women staring back at her from the computer screen hadn’t had a choice. Sarah Mitchell, thirty-one. Rebecca Torres, twenty-eight. Amanda Greenwood, thirty-three. All brunetts. All with careers in law enforcement or victim advocacy. All dead within a week of receiving their stalker’s first direct message.
Claire’s own FBI photo sat in the fourth position on her screen.
She leaned back in her desk chair, the squeak of worn leather loud in the nearly empty office. She was the only agent still at her desk in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that made late nights feel even longer.
Her coffee had gone cold an hour ago. She didn’t care.
The pattern was there. She could feel it, just out of reach. Something that connected these women beyond the obvious similarities. Something the stalker saw that made them targets.
Survivors. They were all survivors.
Sarah Mitchell had escaped an abusive relationship. Rebecca Torres had fought off a carjacker. Amanda Greenwood had been sexually assaulted in college and testified against her attacker.
And Claire… Claire had survived the night Lily died.
Her hand moved unconsciously to the scar on her left forearm. Fifteen years healed, barely visible now, but she felt it every time she worked a case like this. Felt the break, the cast, the helplessness of being fourteen with a concussion while police asked her what happened to her best friend.
I tried to fight him. Lily told me to run. I should have stayed.
Her phone buzzed.
Claire glanced at the screen, expecting another update from the protection detail that had been shadowing her for the past three days. Instead, an unknown number. A text message that made ice slide down her spine.
Day 3, Claire. Your friend couldn’t outrun him. Will you?
Her hands shook as she screenshotted the message, forwarded it to the case team, and documented the timestamp. Calm and controlled. Never mind that her heart was trying to hammer its way out of her chest.
Three days since the first direct message. According to the pattern, she had four days left. Maybe five if she was lucky.
The intercom on her desk crackled. “Dawson. My office. Now.”
SAC Marcus Reeves didn’t wait for acknowledgment before the line went dead.
Claire stood, checked her weapon out of habit, and walked down the hallway. She tried not to feel like she was walking to her own execution.
Reeves looked like he’d aged five years in the past week. The Special Agent in Charge of the BAU was in his fifties, a former profiler himself, with the kind of experience that made agents feel safe under his command.
Right now, he looked exhausted. “Sit,” he said.
Claire remained standing. “Sir, I just received—”
“I know.” He turned his computer screen toward her. The exact text she’d received, along with metadata that made her stomach drop. “He accessed our internal network. Again. Third breach in forty-eight hours.”
“Then we need to find out how—”
“You’re off the case.”
The words hit like a physical blow. She stammered, snapped her mouth shut, and tried again. “Sir, I—”
“Effective immediately.” Reeves stood, came around his desk. “You’re compromised, Claire. This isn’t a discussion.”
“But I’m the best person to work this case.” She fought to keep her voice level. “I know his pattern better than anyone. I’ve studied these victims for weeks.”
“You’re not studying victims anymore. You are the victim.” His voice was gentle but firm. “And victims don’t work their own cases.”
The hell I’m a victim. “I’m an FBI agent.”
“Being stalked by a serial killer.” Reeves pulled up another file, this one of security footage. A man’s silhouette stood outside her apartment building. Timestamp: Wednesday, 6:43 PM. “He was at your building. We have multiple sightings in the past week.”
Claire stared at the screen. She’d felt watched. Dismissed it as paranoia.
“There’s more.” Reeves showed her another photo. A package, addressed to her, that had been intercepted at the FBI mailroom screening. Inside was a bracelet. Silver, delicate.
Exactly like the one Lily had worn. The one that was buried with her.
“How did he—”
“We don’t know. But he seems to know things about you, Claire. Personal things. Things from before you were an agent.” Reeves met her eyes. “This isn’t random. Our team believes he’s been planning this for a long time.”
The team? Had her unit been talking to him behind her back?
She wanted to argue. Wanted to insist she could handle it, that she’d trained for this, that running wouldn’t solve anything. But the bracelet sat in that evidence bag like an accusation.
Her voice came out a touch too shaky. “What’s the…plan?”
“We’re sending you to a secure location in Montana. Private security contractor with former Special Forces experience. You’ll be protected while we work the case.”
“Montana?” The word came out sharp, harsh. “You’re sending me across the country to hide in a safe house while everyone else hunts him?”
“He’s here, in D.C. You need to be somewhere he can’t reach.”
“A safe house here makes sense. Montana is exile.”
“Montana is remote, defensible, and off any radar he might have access to.” Reeves’s voice hardened slightly. “This predator has breached FBI security three times.” The media had dubbed him the Countdown Killer. While no one on her team was allowed to refer to him that way, she knew they all did in their minds, even Reeves. “He knows where you live, where you work. Your running route, your coffee shop, your dry cleaner.”
Claire’s jaw clenched. “So we’re giving him what he wants—me off the case.”
“We’re keeping you alive long enough to catch him.”
“I should be here.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts. “Working this.”
“You’re too close.” Reeves softened slightly. “I know why you do this work, Claire. I know about Lily Harper.”
Claire’s stomach dropped. “That’s in my sealed psych eval.”
“I’m your SAC, and it’s hardly top secret information. It was all over the news back then.” He paused. “I’ve seen it before. You became an agent to catch men like the one who killed your best friend. You’ve done good work. Important work. But right now, your job is to stay alive.”
“While other agents work my case.”
“Yes.” No apology in it. Just fact. “We have a full team on this. Good agents. They’ll find him.”
Claire looked away, fighting the burn behind her eyes. Five years of hunting predators. Every arrest for Lily. Every case closed because she wouldn’t let another family go through what hers had.
And now she was the victim.
“The contractor is Shadow Point Security,” Reeves continued. “They specialize in high-risk protection.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I won’t trust your life with anyone but the best.” Reeves shuffled several folders on the desk. “Their team leader is a former SEAL Commander, and I’m assured you’ll be in good hands.”
Great, a former SEAL. She’d worked with Special Forces before. They were more than competent but tended to treat civilians—even FBI agents—like fragile cargo. “When do I leave?”
“Tonight. A car’s waiting downstairs.” He must have seen the protest forming. “That’s an order, Agent Dawson.”
She stood there, hands clenched at her sides, every instinct screaming to fight this. But orders were orders.
“Can I at least work the case remotely?”
Reeves paused. “I’ll keep you in the loop. You can review the case materials and provide input on the profile. But only from the Shadow Point compound, secure channels only.” His voice hardened. “If you compromise your location or security in any way, I will pull you completely. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Shadow Point’s contact information has been sent in an encrypted email. They’ll brief you on arrival.”
Claire turned to leave.
“Claire.” Reeves’s voice stopped her at the door. “We’ll catch him.”
She looked back. “Without me, it seems.”
“Just promise you’ll stay alive long enough for us to do it. Don’t make me attend your funeral. That’s an order.”
The words hung in the air. Claire nodded once and walked out.
She always kept a go-bag in her office. Along with that, she grabbed her laptop, case files, and the photograph she kept in her desk drawer of her and Lily as young girls, laughing at something long forgotten.
Before everything changed.
The black SUV was waiting where Reeves said it would be. Professional driver, silent and efficient. Claire climbed into the back seat and stared out the window as D.C. rolled past in the darkness.
She should stay, hunt this bastard, not run off to Montana.
But the memory came anyway. Always did when she thought about Lily.
The hospital. Her broken arm, a concussion, and her parents crying in the hallway. The detective asking what happened.
“He took Lily. I tried to stop him. She told me to run. I should have stayed. I should have—”
“You did what you could, sweetheart. You survived.”
But Lily hadn’t.
Claire pulled out her phone, opened the case file she’d copied to her secure drive. Three victims. Three dead women who looked like her, who’d survived violence before, who’d fought back.
He was choosing survivors. Testing if they could survive again.
Proving they couldn’t.
Not me, Claire thought. I won’t be number four.
The private airstrip was small, the plane smaller. Claire slept maybe an hour on the flight, dreams full of Lily and bracelets and men’s silhouettes in doorways.
The flight took longer than she anticipated, as a storm over the Midwest diverted the plane south before it could resume its flight path. When she landed, dawn was breaking over mountains that seemed impossibly vast compared to the urban landscape she’d left behind. A different driver, same silent professionalism, drove her through a small town called Blackridge.
Main Street. The Last Stand bar. Local diner. Post office.
Quaint. Normal. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone.
Claire had never felt more exposed in her life.
The compound sat outside town, tucked against the mountains. From the road, it looked like nondescript buildings, a parking area, and modest, generic signage that didn’t disclose its true identity.
Up close, Claire’s trained eye caught the details. Cameras on every angle. Reinforced doors. Electronic locks. Defensive positioning.
This wasn’t just a safe house. This was a tactical installation.
A woman waited at the entrance. Mid-thirties, dark hair, intelligent eyes. “Agent Dawson. Welcome. I’m Dr. Genevieve Montgomery. Call me Vivi.” Her voice was cultured. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.”
“Yeah, me, too. When do I meet my protection detail?” Claire kept her voice professional, but she was exhausted, frustrated, and in no mood for small talk.
“This morning. First, let’s get you settled.” Dr. Montgomery led her inside, down a hallway to a room that looked more like a decent hotel than a prison cell. “You’ll have access to secure internet for your work. Our communications are encrypted.”
Claire dropped her bag on the bed, turned to face the doctor. “Who exactly are you people?”
“We’re specialists who handle threats law enforcement can’t neutralize quickly enough.” Dr. Montgomery’s smile was slight. “Your job here is to stay safe while the FBI works your case.”
“My job is to catch predators, not hide from them.”
“You don’t like being sidelined.”
“Would you?”
Dr. Montgomery studied her for a moment. “I’ve reviewed your file. Your work on the Riverside Strangler case was impressive. Your profile led to his arrest.”
Claire didn’t respond. It had been her first big case. More had followed.
“The FBI’s behavioral analysis on your stalker is…adequate,” Dr. Montgomery continued, “but I think we can do better.”
Claire’s attention sharpened. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve developed a new profiling methodology that combines traditional behavioral analysis with neuropsychological markers and predictive modeling.” She pulled out a tablet and showed Claire a complex flowchart. “It’s called Trident Therapy. Three-pronged approach—behavioral, neurological, environmental.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“The Bureau doesn’t have access to it. But I’ve used it with operatives for years. It’s designed to help them understand themselves and their enemies on a deeper level. I believe with a few modifications, it can help us understand predators and serial killers, too.”
Claire moved closer to the screen, studying it. The tool was sophisticated. More comprehensive than standard FBI profiling protocols…but was it accurate?
“Traditional profiling tells us a lot about the suspect’s personality and habits,” Montgomery went on, “helping us understand behaviors and potential patterns. My work takes that to a more analytical level. I don’t like educated guesses. I like solid facts that lead to better options.”
“You want to re-profile my stalker.”
“I want us to re-profile him. Together.” Dr. Montgomery met her eyes. “Fresh perspective, new methodology, no preconceptions from the FBI’s work. You know this case better than anyone. I have tools you don’t. Working as a team, perhaps we can uncover this killer’s next move.”
Claire hesitated. “But my team is already working the case.”
“We’re not interfering with their agenda or procedures. You’re consulting, independently.” A pause. “Anything we discover, you can share with them. Or…if we find an imminent threat you feel is important, we can act on it first and loop them in when you’re ready.”
That was bending the rules. Claire knew it. But the alternative was sitting here on the sidelines while other agents hunted her predator. “What makes your methodology different?”
“Your stalker chose you specifically. You’re his type. But from what I’ve learned, there’s a psychological architecture to his obsession.” Dr. Montgomery pulled up another screen. “These women,”—she gestured to the three victims—“were all survivors. But so are thousands of other women. They resemble you, but again, so do hundreds of other women. Why these three? Why you?”
“The FBI profilers already established—”
“They established demographics, opportunity, and general behavioral patterns.” Dr. Montgomery’s voice was patient but firm. “I’m talking about the specific psychological framework that made him choose you. Not just any survivor. You, Claire.”
Claire stared at the screen. The same question had nagged at her for weeks.
“He’s been watching you for how long?” Dr. Montgomery asked. “Weeks, possibly months?”
“That we know of.”
“What if it’s been longer? What if he’s been building toward this since…Lily’s death?”
Claire’s chest refused to expand. The bracelet flashed through her mind. “You’ve done your research.”
Dr. Montgomery’s voice was gentle now. “He targets survivors—women who fought back and lived. You survived what happened to Lily. Were those other women’s deaths simply a lead-up to yours? Are you the true target? Are you unfinished business to him?”
Claire’s throat was tight. “You sound as if you’re suggesting it’s the same killer. Lily’s killer is dead.”
“And you’re still here. Still fighting his kind. I don’t think he’s the same man, but he might have a tie to him. Worship him. Want to be like him. Or it could be that he simply hates that you hunt serial killers. That’s what he wants to take from you.”
Fighting back the emotions, the memories threatening to cap her at the knees, she cleared her throat. “When do we start?” The question came out before she could second-guess it.
“This afternoon? After you get some rest.”
“I don’t need rest. I need to work.”
Dr. Montgomery smiled slightly. “I can see why your SAC respects you. All right. Let me set up the system. Two hours?”
“Yes.”
After she left, Claire unpacked methodically. Laptop on the desk. Case files organized. Weapon cleaned and loaded, set on the nightstand. Beside it, the photo of her and Lily.
She changed into jeans and a comfortable button-down shirt, keeping her FBI credentials and badge visible on her belt. A reminder that she was an agent, not a victim.
The window offered a view of the mountains, vast and beautiful, and slightly overwhelming to her urban senses. Reinforced glass, she noted. Nothing got through these windows.
Claire pulled up the case files on her laptop. Studied the messages again.
Day 3, Claire. Your friend couldn’t outrun him. Will you?
He knew about Lily. Knew what happened. Had he known Lily’s killer? Was this connected somehow?
Her phone buzzed with a text from Reeves: Team is en route to interview potential suspect. Will update.
Her pulse sped up. She almost texted back, demanding to be included in the interview, but stopped herself.
She was in Montana. Hidden. Safe.
Useless.
No. Not useless. She had Dr. Montgomery’s Trident methodology. She had five years of experience. She had every file, every message, every piece of evidence.
She’d find him from here if she had to.
Her inbox chimed with an internal email from Dr. Montgomery. Claire pulled up the flowchart, started reading about neuropsychological markers and predictive behavioral modeling. It was fascinating. More sophisticated than anything she’d seen at the Bureau. Her mind soaked it up, reading and rereading. She scribbled notes. Wished she had coffee.
Her lids dipped half a dozen times. She pushed herself to stay awake and keep circling different ideas. If this worked—if she and Montgomery could identify the killer before the FBI did—
There was a knock at her door.
Claire glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Three hours had passed without her noticing.
“Agent Dawson? Your briefing is ready.”
A male voice. Deep, controlled. The kind of voice that came from years of command.
Claire took a breath, cleared her mind, and opened the door.
The man in the hallway stood at attention. Former military was written in every line of his posture. “Agent Dawson.” His voice was professional, carefully neutral. “I’ll show you to the conference room.”
“Are you my bodyguard?”
His lips quirked. “That would be Wolf. He’s busy at the moment, designing your security protocols and getting the team up to speed on you.”
“Wolf?” It came out in a huff, part disbelief and part confusion. “That’s his name?”
“His call sign, ma’am. We all use them.”
Call sign, right. They used codenames for themselves and probably would for her and the mission. “And you are?”
“Lynx.”
“What’s mine?”
He lifted a brow, looked slightly uncomfortable. “Ma’am?”
“You may be ex-Special Forces, but you act like Secret Service, right? You’ve already given me a call sign, haven’t you? Like JFK was Lancer. Nixon was Passkey. Carter was Rawhide. What’s mine?”
His gaze dropped to his boots. “Uh, that’s something you should discuss with Wolf.”
Her curiosity was piqued. “That bad, huh?”
He rolled his lips in as if hiding a grin and gestured down the hallway. “Dr. Montgomery is waiting in the conference room.”
Claire followed, the past stirred up in her head, and the present playing mind tricks with her.
They reached the conference room where Dr. Montgomery waited with a tablet and several files. Lynx nodded and left. Nothing personal in any of it.
“Agent Dawson,” Dr. Montgomery said. “Let’s get started.”
Claire took a seat, pulled out her laptop, and forced herself to focus. She was here to work. To hunt. To prove she wasn’t prey.
Everything else could wait.
Even the uncomfortable truth that being here made her feel something she hadn’t felt in fifteen years.
Safe.
___
Don’t miss the next chapter!
Misty
P.S. Can’t wait to find out what happens? Buy the book in my store here: https://mistyevansbooks.com/product/shadow-hunt-shadow-point-security-romantic-suspense-series-book-1-ebook