The Trap

The Trap, A Billy Jo McCabe Mystery

COPYRIGHT © Lorhainne Ekelund, 2021, All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Editor: Talia Leduc

THE TRAP

A Billy Jo McCabe Mystery

Book 4

LORHAINNE ECKHART

Contents

Keep in touch with Lorhainne

A New Crossover Series!

About this book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Next in the Billy Jo McCabe Mystery

Above the Law, Chapter 1

The O’Connells are back in The Girl Next Door

The Girl Next Door

Don’t miss the long awaited newest release in The Friessens

Keep Me In Your Heart - Chapter 1

Keep Me In Your Heart - Chapter 2

About the Author

Series Available

Links to Lorhainne Eckhart’s Booklist

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A New Crossover Series!

The Billy Jo McCabe Mystery

Nothing As It Seems

Hiding in Plain Sight

The Cold Case

The Trap

Above the Law

The Stranger at the Door

The Children

The Last Stand

The Charity

The Sacrifice

A Billy Jo McCabe Mystery Box Set: Books 1 - 3

A Billy Jo McCabe Mystery Box Set: Books 4 - 6

The social worker and the cop, an unlikely couple drawn together on a small, secluded Pacific Northwest island where nothing is as it seems. Protecting the innocent comes at a cost, and what seems to be a sleepy, quiet town is anything but.

The Social Worker

Billy Jo McCabe wants only to help children overcome their troubled lives, as she herself struggles to forget the childhood nightmare she survived. She took sociology and prelaw at the insistence of her adoptive father, Chase McCabe, and learned how to use power tools from her adoptive mother, Rose. She loves reading in the backs of bookstores before tucking the book back on the shelf and slipping out without paying. She has a fondness for peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches, has a three-legged cat named Harley, hates running (because that was all she did as a kid), and secretly binges on brownies and red wine on the sofa in front of her TV every Friday night.

She’s never been married and has dated only twice. She visits Chase and Rose when summoned and shows up dutifully for every holiday with her family, but she has no siblings to speak of, and she feels a growing resentment for the mother who abandoned her in foster care. Despite proudly maintaining the same prickly attitude that nearly landed her behind bars as a kid, she has yet to speak up to Chase, who interferes in her life too frequently, ready to fix every problem, whether she wants him to or not.

One thing no one knows about Billy Jo is that she moved to Roche Harbor because it’s the only clue she has about the last known whereabouts of the woman who abandoned her.

The Cop

Mark Friessen, son of Jed and Diana Friessen, has landed accidently in the role of small-town detective, a position in which he’s going nowhere. Nearly married once, and broken-hearted three times, he’s sworn he’ll stay single forever, and he keeps his tattoo of a former girlfriend as a reminder that only fools fall in love. He’s tall, attractive, and stubborn, and he refuses to live in the shadow of his two older brothers, Chris and Danny.

As Roche Harbor’s youngest detective, he sleeps with a gun under his pillow. He has a stray dog that won’t leave, and he swears that the only two food groups that exist are meat and potatoes. His favorite drink is black coffee in the morning, sugared coffee in the afternoon, and a shot of whiskey in his coffee at night to keep him warm.

***Each book in this series is a complete book, with no cliff-hangers, and can be read as a standalone. However, these books may contain references to situations from earlier books in the series. As with any long book series that focuses on specific characters, their changing relationships, and how their lives continue to unfold, you may find it more enjoyable to read the series in order of publishing, as there will be developments and changes in the relationship dynamics of the core characters.

About this book

A deadly game of cat and mouse—and no one is safe

Social worker Billy Jo McCabe is used to dealing with difficult situations, but nothing could prepare her for what happens the night she receives a late call about a child in distress. Alone and with a nearly dead phone, she arrives at a deserted location—only to realize too late that she’s walked straight into a trap.

When Billy Jo doesn’t show up for work the next day, Detective Mark Friessen is called in to search for her. As he retraces her steps, he uncovers unsettling clues that lead him to believe this isn’t just about Billy Jo. Someone has orchestrated her abduction with a far more sinister goal—and Mark might be the true target.

In The Trap, bestselling author Lorhainne Eckhart delivers a heart-pounding mystery where trust is scarce, danger lurks in the shadows, and a rescue mission turns into a chilling game of survival.

Click here to buy THE TRAP. Or scroll to the next section and read the sample chapter.

Chapter One

What was that sound?

The ringing came from a distance as Billy Jo stared at the arrogant redhead. He seemed to look right through her…

When she jolted awake, she realized it was her phone ringing from somewhere in the apartment.

Mark Friessen had been in her dreams.

She tossed back the covers, and her bare feet hit the icy floor in the pitch black. She flicked on her bedside light and hurried out of the bedroom. Her cell phone was on the island in the kitchen, and the screen was lit up when she landed on it.

Hello? she said, then cleared her throat, still feeling the cobwebs of sleep and her anger at how Mark had looked at her. The red digital clock on the stove read 1:10 a.m.

Ms. McCabe, this is the program director from DCFS. I’m filling in for Grant. I apologize for calling at this late hour, but we have an emergency.

She didn’t recognize the voice. What had he said his name was?

I’m sorry, who is this? she said, shivering as she strode back to her bedroom, where Harley was curled up asleep on the bed, half under the covers she’d tossed back. He didn’t stir.

Lane Fuller, the man said. Again, I apologize for the late hour, but a report has come in about a child in trouble. I need you to immediately pick up the child and arrange for emergency placement.

Her hand went to her head, and she brushed back her hair, which she knew was sticking up everywhere. She grabbed her ratty plush gray housecoat and shrugged one arm in as she hurried back into the kitchen, then flicked on the bright overhead light. She blinked, her heart thudding with the familiar warning that came at her every time she woke in the night.

What happened? she said. She spotted her bag and juggled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she pulled out the pen and notebook she always kept tucked inside. She instinctively rolled her shoulders, feeling the chill of the night.

Not sure on the details. All I know is we’re to pick up the kid. The name here is… The sound he made was cold and unfeeling, and she couldn’t shake the suspicion that he possessed the familiar trait of too many in this business. She’d become accustomed to the desensitization, just something it seemed came with this job. Otherwise, it could eat people up. She, though, still saw the eyes of all the children, the hope that dimmed there, every night before she slept.

Maybe that was why she felt haunted now.

Ah, here it is, he said. Whitney Chandler, and here’s the address. He rattled it off, and she scribbled it down, wondering whether this job ever got easier.

And how old is the child? Did something happen? The parents…?

I told you this is all I have. It’s just an emergency placement. Go get her, find a bed for her tonight, and you can iron out all the details in the morning, he said. Then he hung up, and Billy Jo just stared at the disconnected phone, glancing at the time again and wondering why it seemed emergencies happened only in the middle of the night.

She hated this. Worse, she hadn’t even met the child but could already feel her anguish.

She pulled on thick socks and opted for sweats and a sweatshirt, then ran a brush over her hair, hearing the rain pattering on the roof. She reached for her heavy warm raincoat and shoved her feet into her lined rainboots, then quickly searched up the address. It was a part of the island that she knew was rural and dark.

Great, just perfect for a late-night visit!

Seriously, why does the bad kind of shit have to happen after dark? she muttered, pissed off. There was something about the night that always had her on edge.

Billy Jo reached for her phone, seeing Mark’s name in her contacts, and could feel the unease. It was just a dream, she reminded herself as she thumbed past his name. She opened Pam’s contact and dialed, then put it on speaker and listened to it ring once, twice. Then it went to voicemail.

Ah, dammit… Pam, it’s Billy Jo. I need you to get up. I got a call from some guy filling in for Grant, and I’m doing an emergency placement. There’s a kid in trouble. Not sure of any of the details, but I need you to find me a bed for her tonight… She heard the beep and knew she’d just been cut off.

She reached for her bag and then opened the drawer in the kitchen island to pull out a flashlight to tuck into it. As she strode to the door, the phone to her ear, dialing Pam again, she held the notebook open to the address.

What!

At least this time she answered.

This is Billy Jo. I just left you a message. Sorry to call in the middle of the night. She pulled open the door and flicked on the outside light. The rain was heavy, pounding down, making everything impossible—seeing, driving, just being out in it. I just got a call from the program supervisor. I think he said his name was Lane. I have to pick up a kid in trouble.

She rattled off the address and then tucked the notebook in her coat pocket as she stood in the open doorway, her hood up. Then she stepped out and pulled the door closed, the rain pelting down on her. Look, I’m driving out there now, so find me a bed if you can. Call me back and let me know where to take her.

The way Pam sighed on the other end summed up exactly what she was feeling. I’ll see what I can find. Why is it that it seems these calls happen only in the middle of the night?

Hadn’t she just thought the same thing? She didn’t answer, remembering her nights in foster care, lying there in the dark. That was when everything bad could and would happen.

Oh, and Pam, whatever place you find, try to make sure I won’t have to worry that I’m pulling this kid from one bad situation and sticking her in another.

I’ll do my best, was all she said.

Billy Jo hung up and tucked the phone in her bag, then made her way down the steps, the rain making everything difficult. She splashed through the puddles to her new Nissan and yanked open the door, then tossed her bag in across to the passenger side and climbed in.

She should have brought a towel, as the water dripped off her. She stared at the outside light and started her car, letting it warm for a second before flicking on the heat and pulling down the darkened driveway to the road.

The wipers were on high, whirring back and forth so fast as she gripped the steering wheel, trying to see, but the rain came down so hard that they couldn’t clear it fast enough. Worse, the fog had settled in, and she white-knuckled the steering wheel.

Damn, I hate nights like this, she said as she struggled to see, searching for the faded white lines on the road as she rounded a bend. The road was treelined on both sides now, and she slowed as the water splashed under her wheels. She turned right and had to flick on her high-beams, seeing darkened driveways, some with numbers, some without.

114, where are you? she said over and over, slowing to a crawl, seeing trees and driveways, only two with numbers by the road. Sometimes I really hate this island.

She slammed on the brakes when she spotted a small sign with an address in white letters, realizing she’d gone too far. She pulled out her notebook and flipped to the page with the address, remembering the directions she’d pulled up, feeling uneasy because of the night and the quiet.

With her foot on the brake, the car idling, she reached for