Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) by Marissa Garner Page B

facilities often kept their vehicles registered in their home states due to frequent moves.
    He was about to shake off the incident when an odd tingling sensation raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Marissa and her premonitions had taught him to respect and not to ignore inexplicable sensory reactions. Call it instinct, intuition, or ESP, the subconscious reacted to stimuli unnoticed by a person’s five regular senses.
    After parking in his assigned spot and killing the engine, he sat, replaying the brief encounter. Then the significance hit him.
The vehicle, not the license plate.
    He’d seen a similar vehicle—but he couldn’t swear it was the same one—race off after he chased the man who’d been attacking the mailboxes in the wee hours of Wednesday morning.
    Something told him there was a connection.

Chapter 9
    On Saturday morning, Amber stood in front of the bathroom mirror, transforming herself into the person who’d gotten the Dream Makers flyer on Thursday. The man and woman she’d interacted with might not remember her or might only be sales reps and not actually work at the competitor clinic, but she preferred to be prepared.
    She stuffed her hair into a hairnet and pulled on the short brunette wig. Her disguises had cost her plenty, but since they could mean the difference between life and death, she considered all the materials a great investment. After putting in the hazel contacts, she stared at the person in the mirror. Unlike wearing a wig, changing her eye color produced a surreal feeling. Many women dyed their hair and styled it differently on a regular basis, but few people altered the color of their eyes, especially ones who didn’t need to wear contacts in the first place.
    She smeared on foundation, heavy eyeliner, and purple shadow. Extra-thick mascara lengthened her lashes. A black eyebrow pencil darkened her arched blond hairs. Skillful application of blush and powder created an illusion of more-pronounced cheekbones. She slid on the ugly black-rimmed glasses, which held plain glass lenses, as the final touch.
    Amber Jollett stared into the mirror, and Amber Moore peered back at her.
    The metamorphosis complete, she hurried into the bedroom. Since she’d worn yoga pants on Thursday, she chose them again but picked a pale blue sweater set to go with them this time. Flats instead of sandals finished the outfit.
    “I can do this,” she whispered as she did a final check of her appearance in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. “
I
wouldn’t even recognize me.”
    The drive across the bridge and into downtown went much faster than on weekdays with rush-hour traffic. She took slow, deep breaths to calm her jittery nerves. Wearing a disguise generally tied her in knots because she associated the process with hiding from Jeremy. Thankfully, today’s activity held a less chilling purpose.
    Carefully navigating the one-way streets, she found the building housing Dream Makers with no trouble. The hard part was finding a parking space. After squeezing her Suburban into a too-small space, she paid for two hours.
    She opened the clinic door at exactly 10:10. A quick sweep of the waiting area revealed a thirtysomething couple and a pair of men. She strolled casually to the receptionist’s window.
    “Good morning. Welcome to Dream Makers. How may I help you?”
    “Hi. I’m Amber Moore. I have a ten fifteen appointment.”
    The woman referred to a handwritten appointment book and nodded. When she looked up, she angled her head to one side and then the other to peer past Amber. “Where’s Mr. Moore?”
    Amber smiled brightly. “He was so disappointed when something came up this morning at work. He’s expecting me to bring him up to speed as soon as I get home.”
    The receptionist’s expression lost its friendliness. She glanced nervously over her shoulder at a middle-aged woman working in the office area. “Uh, we really like both partners to be here. Maybe we should reschedule