Don’t Flinch (A Taylor Sage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 4)

PROLOGUE Amy sank her feet in the cool sand and moved across the beach, listening to the waves as they lapped against the shore. Being at her family's beach house on the island was never anything short of peaceful. Stars splashed across the night sky, and she breathed in the clean smell of salt and sea. It was nice to be alone, but in truth, Amy had stepped out with a hope in mind: to see if the boys hanging out at the other house would be out, to see if Dave would notice her and invite her to hang with them. Earlier, she'd seen the four shirtless guys playing beach volleyball, and she'd wanted more than anything to join in, but her parents had f*******n it. Spending time with Dave had grown increasingly difficult since her mom noticed they’d been seeing each other. Who am I kidding? she thought to herself. He's probably not even that into me... Amy's eighteenth birthday had just passed, and she'd still never had a real boyfriend, as much as she wanted one. She raked her hands through her long brown hair and wondered if maybe she just wasn’t pretty enough to be Dave’s girlfriend. Maybe he was just playing her. Taking a breath, she looked up at the constellations. To Amy, the stars looked like a patchwork of glitter. Their twinkling red, green, and blue lights seemed to be scattered all over the cosmos, and it made Amy feel like she was looking through a telescope, looking at the depths of space. Suddenly, a sound, like a whoosh, appeared behind her. She looked over her shoulder. The beach stretched behind her, illuminated only by the moon and stars. Amy swore she saw a shadow in the distance, but she couldn't tell. Oh well. Probably nothing to worry about. She'd been living on this island her whole life; it was safe here. And so Amy kept walking, enjoying the cool sensation of the sand between her toes. The other beach house was only a short walk up. She glanced over her shoulder again. The shadow had grown closer. Its outline was clearer now, a tall, wispy figure. Amy squinted, but she couldn't make out anything else. It's probably just a trick of the light, she told herself. She kept walking. The shadow was still behind her, now on the sand. Amy couldn't see a face, but she swore the figure looked like a man. Probably a neighbor, she told herself. Still, she felt her heart beat faster, her palms get sweaty. In most places, walking alone at night was unsafe, but not here. Right? She kept walking anyway, taking deep, even breaths. She could make out the other beach house now, the one with the boys. Amy thought about turning back, but she was determined to say hello to the boys. She just had to get to the other beach house. There would be help there. Amy looked over her shoulder again—the shadow was closer. It was definitely a man. Amy picked up her pace, focusing on the other beach house. Then, she heard it: the sound of the boys' laughter. A sense of safety hit her. She just needed to get to them. She looked over her shoulder, and the shadow was gone. Whew. But when she looked in front of her again, a man stood before her with crazed eyes, holding a rag. Amy stumbled back, ready to scream. But the man grabbed her, covering her mouth. Amy's eyes widened as she struggled, but he had a firm grip. "Don't scream," he hissed. Amy couldn't see his face, but something about his eyes gave her the impression that he wasn't sane. She struggled harder. "Shh," he hissed again. "I just want to help you." He forced the rag over her face, against her mouth and nose. Amy struggled, but his grip was firm, and the rag was wet. She felt lightheaded. "Say goodnight, Patricia," was the last thing she heard before the world went black.