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HEAT OF THE MOMENT
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to the Humane Society.
Liam & Kate's song: Dance Into The Light by Phil Collins
Las Vegas, Nevada
August 30th, High Noon
Kate Chabeau stared down at the sweaty blond man working feverishly between her thighs and waited to die.
Carson raised his head and attempted what she assumed was a reassuring expression.
“I know it’s tough, but don’t squirm.”
She clenched her teeth. “Does it usually take this long?”
“Depends on how she’s wired.”
Slowly, carefully, she eased a strand of long brown hair back from her eyes. “Exactly how good are you?”
“Plenty.” Carson’s voice grew more strained by the moment. “But this is…beyond me.” He eased gingerly from between her legs. “I’m calling in backup.”
“They said you had the best hands in Vegas.” Perspiration trickled down Kate’s spine as he slowly straightened.
“I do.” Leaving her sitting immobile in her black Ford Focus convertible, he jogged toward the bomb disposal squad, convened a safe distance away.
If the best hands in Vegas couldn’t disarm the bomb under her seat, then who would save her?
Wait! She bit back the silent scream echoing inside her head. Come back! Don’t leave me to die alone!
The sun beat down on her exposed head and soaked into her sleeveless black dress, stinging the tender skin beneath. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, a wavery curtain isolating her from the heavily armored police officers surrounding the perimeter. They’d evacuated the parking lot and adjoining buildings, and other than what seemed like hundreds of police vehicles in the distance, hers was the only car in sight. If you didn’t include five vans swarming with media personnel.
She scowled. If the vultures got lucky, she might die in time to boost the ratings on the six o’clock news.
How many minutes did she have left? She fought the riptide of fear and glanced at the wilted calla lily on the gray leather upholstery beside her. Its once stark white petals were brown and curling in the heat. Another “gift” from her stalker. The head case had left her lilies and creepy notes…but this was the first bomb.
Her nightmare might finally end here, with her body violently ripped to pieces.
The engine idled a little faster, and her pulse sped into matching RPMs. Could the change in engine tempo trigger the bomb? The young bomb tech had told her she was fortunate her cell call to 9-1-1 hadn’t made it explode. She’d been fussing with a melting mocha frappuccino and started the car before she’d spotted the note tucked into the console. The radio station, tuned to “all eighties, all the time,” segued into Phil Collin’s “In The Air Tonight.”
She closed her eyes. How ironic.
Two years ago, the same song had been playing the first time she’d died.
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to a local women's domestic violence shelter.
Aidan & Zoe's song: "The Reason" by Hoobastank
Riverside, Oregon
New Year's Eve , 10:00 p.m.
SWAT rear guard Aidan O’Rourke crushed the impatience nagging at his heels as he coordinated the tactical operation forming in Riverside Mall’s parking lot. He was too busy to think. Too focused on the job to feel. That’s what he kept telling himself. Maybe, eventually, he’d believe it.
Hell, he shouldn’t have any problem. Incarcerating his emotions in a steel cage was his MO for getting through life.
Sleet stung his face, but he ignored the rotten weather, just as he ignored dread’s smothering weight on his chest. Normally, he guarded the team’s back. But unless Captain Greene arrived, which didn’t look promising, Aidan was high-ranking officer. Team leader and incident commander by default.
All the other members of Alpha Squad had answered the call-out, except his younger brother Conall, the team’s door kicker. Con was trapped inside the mall with a crew of bank robbers. Unarmed and defenseless.
Con’s fiancée, Bailey, was trapped along with him. The robbers held three additional hostages -- the bank manager, a pregnant woman and the O’Rourke's eighty-year-old neighbor, Letty Jacobson.
Aidan had played with, worked with and fought shoulder to shoulder beside Con. He admired and respected his brother.
He also loved him. With bone-deep, fierce and abiding loyalty. Closest in age among the four siblings, he and Con had forged a nearly inseparable bond since birth. The O’Rourke brothers shared not only the calling to be SWAT cops, but also a heart connection that grew stronger by the day.
No criminals would steal that from him. Nine years ago, Aidan had become head of the family when his father was lost to senseless violence. One wrenching loss was enough. He’d vowed to protect his loved ones at any cost. He would get his brother out alive.
As he prepared to head across the street, his shoulders stiffened in rebellion, his warrior’s instincts outraged at leaving the combat zone. He forced himself to move. He had to go. Had to establish the command post. Stick to procedure. Don’t let emotions interfere. Bring everybody home breathing.
Blinding light stabbed his peripheral vision, and he pivoted. What the--?
A TV news crew had encamped in the rear of the parking lot, setting up cameras and floodlights around a white van. The lights illuminated Aidan, the team and the mall. A slick blond male reporter sporting a salon tan postured in front of the cameras, emoting dramatically into a cordless mic.
“Who the hell let civilians leak into the inner perimeter?” Aidan roared.
“Tighten up that line! Not even a freaking gnat gets through unless he’s packing a badge and a weapon!”
An abashed chorus of “Yes, sirs” swelled in the frosty air.
Swearing, Aidan stalked toward the van. “Kill those lights!”
A petite woman with short, wispy brunette hair stepped in front of him. Dressed for the turbulent weather in a well-worn purple parka, red scarf and matching gloves, she planted both palms on his Kevlar vest, jerking him to an abrupt stop. “That’s Parker Dane, award-winning anchor man.”
Aidan glanced down into intelligent, warm hazel eyes and deliciously feminine, almost feline features. The jolt to his senses, the kick of heat in his belly was anger, nothing more. “I don’t care if he’s the Pope, in town to bless the masses. Kill those damn lights, they’re compromising my operation.”
The exotic-looking brunette dropped her hands. Colorful beaded earrings swung as she waved at a stocky guy standing beside the van. “Douse the lights while Parker rehearses.” She turned back to Aidan. “And you are?”
“Officer Aidan O’Rourke, acting SWAT Incident Commander.” Her gaze, a fascinating, changing combination of green, brown and gold, traveled the length of his body from tousled, wet hair to scuffed combat boots, then back. Unwelcome, uninvited warmth flooded his bloodstream, and he clenched his jaw. “You’re in a secured area. Clear out.”
She tilted her head. The icy wind tumbled shiny chestnut curls around her face like a halo. Talk about blatantly deceptive packaging. Her spicy tropical fragrance seemed incongruous in the dangerous winter night as she grinned up at him. “What does SWAT stand for? Sure, we are tempting?”
Like a numb limb with circulation suddenly restored, long dead, disturbing feelings tingled painfully to life. A distraction he didn’t need, and sure as hell didn’t want. “I don’t have time for games--”
“I’m Zoe.” She interrupted him, a rare occurrence. His fierce concentration and alpha wolf attitude intimidated most people. Apparently, it didn’t impress the little gypsy, because she didn’t budge an inch. “Zoe Zagretti, with KKEY, your key to breaking news. See it happen as it happens. I’m Parker’s fact checker.”
“I’ll just bet you are.” His libido was lusting after a reporter, for crying out loud. Perky harbingers of doom. Peddlers of destruction and death. Vultures, pimping people’s anguish for the ratings god. Been there, done that, had bitter, painful scars on his soul. He’d rather suck face with a scorpion. He drilled her with a lethal stare that had made hardened felons cower. “You’re endangering my officers and the hostages. Leave. Now.”
Apparently also immune to the death stare, she whipped a notepad and pen from inside a battered canvas bag. “You can confirm there are hostages? How many? Who’s holding them?”
Widening his stance, he stepped closer, aggressively invading her space. “I’m going to say this once. Pack your stuff, clamp a leash on your pet monkey and bug out.”
She didn’t so much as blink. “This is an opportunity to provide information to our viewers, and we have an obligation to take that opportunity. Any good news organization would do the same.” She jutted her small pointed chin in a challenging angle. “The public has a right to know the truth.”
Frustration burned in his gut. He was used to being obeyed without question. “The public has a right to safety. And protection from piranhas who rip personal tragedies apart on live satellite feed and feast on the bloody pieces. If one person, one item of equipment, is still on the premises in two minutes, I will personally place you all under arrest.”
Her pretty red lips parted in a shocked gasp. “For what?”
“For starters, interfering with an officer in the line of duty.”
“You wouldn’t dare! The freedom of the press is a guaranteed constitutional--”
“Try me. You’ll be on your way to jail before you can say ‘yellow journalism.’” He flicked a glance at his watch. “One minute and forty seconds.” Not waiting for her reply, he swung around and strode away.
That’s when everything went to hell.
Two four-wheel drive SUVs careened around the corner of the mall, chained tires sparking on the ice. Gunshots exploded, and bullets screamed overhead. Running, shouting police officers dove for cover and returned fire.
Adrenaline blasted through Aidan’s veins, and his body moved before his brain fully registered the urgency. He whirled and lunged at Zoe, taking them both down in one leap. Cushioning her head in his hand, he rolled on the frozen pavement, absorbing most of the blow, and then rolled again, pinning her small body beneath him.
She didn’t make a sound, didn’t move as he snatched his HK from his thigh holster and fired at the retreating SUVs. Dammit, the target was too far away, moving too fast. Sirens shrieking and lights flashing, police cars chased the SUVs into the storm.
Aidan sucked in a deep breath and holstered his weapon. He rolled to one side, and scooped the woman from underneath him. “Are you all right?”
Her small body limp, her face bleached by death, Zoe stared sightlessly up at the swirling sleet.
Aidan’s heart stopped, frozen with anguish. He’d let her down.
He’d let her die.
MIDNIGHT HERO
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to Oregon Food Bank.
Con & Bailey's song: Forever May Not Be Long Enough by LIVE
Riverside, Oregon
New Year’s Eve, 8:00 p.m.
SWAT team door kicker Conall O’Rourke studied the blood under his fingernails. He’d scrubbed his hands, but blood under the nails was always a bitch to get out. How’d he end up butt deep in bullets and blood anyway? He’d started the day off with a promotion, and had planned to cap it with a long overdue marriage proposal. Today was supposed to be one of the happiest of his life. Instead, he was grimy, battered and exhausted.
Trapped like a rat in a maze.
His chest tight, he stared down at Bailey, dozing beside him in the cold gloom of the canvas tent. She trusted him to keep her safe -- enough to sleep in the middle of combat -- and he wouldn’t let her down. Long, coppery eyelashes rested against her creamy cheeks, and delicate blue veins traced under her eyelids. Her pulse fluttered evenly in her throat. She was beautiful, but he’d never been big on dating women for their looks. He was far more intrigued by what went on inside them. What made them tick. He’d chosen well. Bailey’s tender emotions warmed his aching heart like flickering candlelight in a dark room. And without her quick intelligence, he might not be alive right now.
His girl only looked fragile. Only thought she was weak. Deep down, she was made of sturdy stuff. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have triumphed over tragedy with her spirit intact. Wouldn’t have won freedom from her oppressive mother. Wouldn’t be the caring woman he loved. He stroked her red-gold curls, and she breathed a soft sigh. If the worst happened, and Bailey had to live without him, he hoped he’d given her enough tonight to sustain her.
And if she died?
Wrenching pain stopped his heart. Then it resumed beating, steady and determined. He would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen. Give everything.
Even his own life.
He was grateful she’d finally succumbed to fatigue. At least he didn’t have to fake it anymore. It was damned hard to project strength when he was afraid clear to his bones. To stay upbeat, when the odds were so long against them, that even he, an incurable optimist, wouldn’t bet on himself in the coming battle.
He could no longer pretend confidence, when every instinct he possessed screamed they were all going to die.
If it were only his life at stake, he wouldn’t be worried. He’d launch a tactical assault, and accept the risk. But how was he supposed to keep the woman he loved and three hostages alive against six Uzi-toting bank robbers? With no way out, no back-up and armed only with a baseball bat. Wait, make that five bank robbers. He’d taken one down earlier in hand-to-hand combat. Still, five Uzis against one Louisville Slugger wasn’t such hot odds.
Eerie silence crept over him, prickling the hair on the back of his neck, and he glanced up, straining to hear the slightest noise. Being hunted had honed every sense to a razor’s edge. Careful not to disturb Bailey, he tore open a pack of cinnamon gum. Chewing gum helped him focus on the way to an incident site, and in the midst of long sieges. During an assault, the spicy taste overrode the smell of gunpowder and gore. Right now, he needed the boost to his concentration. All his focus. Four other lives depended on him.
He needed every scrap of wits if they were to survive until dawn.
BULLETPROOF BRIDE
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to Meals On Wheels.
Gabe & Tessa's song: "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt
Gabriel Colton watched the bank's vault gate swing closed. The faint click echoed like a gunshot through the hushed lobby. He sized up the woman frozen in the doorway. The baggy cut of her plain brown suit nearly disguised her curvy figure, and her long chestnut curls were clasped at the nape of her neck in a conservative ponytail. This little kitten wouldn't give him any trouble.
Then his gaze locked with hers. Sharply intelligent, her golden-brown eyes widened in horror. A jolt of recognition slammed into him. For a split second, his concentration splintered. Impossible. He'd never even seen her before. He shook his head to clear it. "You the vault teller?" he snarled in his best bad-guy voice.
Her face blanched fish-belly white and she nodded.
Man, he hoped she wasn't about to pass out on him. "Get the cash delivery." His jaw clenched at the fear shimmering in her big amber eyes, but he didn't have time to reassure her. He needed to grab the goods and get out.
She stood rooted to the spot, stunned and staring.
Feeling as lowdown as the guy who shot Bambi's mother, he dropped his voice to a menacing rumble. "Now! Move it, sister!"
Kitten squared her shoulders. Color flooded her cheeks. She raised her chin and shot him such a blazing glare he needed asbestos boxer shorts. He got the message loud and clear.
Uh oh. His kitten had morphed into a lioness. No heroics, sweetheart. Please. He glared at her. "Do it!"
She hurried inside, quickly returning with six canvas bags. She stalked toward him and tossed the bags at his feet.
Gabe reached for the money, but the sight of the cut seals brought him up short. Damn! This operation was going to hell on a torpedo. "Did you look through these?"
After a heartbeat's hesitation, she nodded. Then understanding flashed across her face.
He was too late. She must have seen the checks! Gabe assessed the situation with the speed of experience and reacted on instinct. His gloved hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, hauling her up against him. She stiffened. "Pick them up," he growled into her ear. As she complied, her softly rounded bottom brushed intimately against his groin and her warm vanilla fragrance teased his senses. He shook his head. Get a grip, Colton, before all your brains rush south and get you killed.
What the hell was wrong with him? He never lost his focus. Ever. Especially not over a woman. Tempering his strength, he yanked her out the entrance, hustled her to his black Corvette, and flung open the driver's side door.
His captive tried to wrench free. "What are you doing?"
"Sorry, sweetheart. You're now my hostage."
"No!" Her elbow stabbed his solar plexus.
The breath slammed out of his lungs. Gabe lost his grip and she slipped under his arm. She sprinted toward the bank and he lunged, grabbing her jacket to yank her back. "Nice try." He shoved her into the car, tossing the money behind the seat.
She tried to climb out. "I can't be your hostage. I have an important appointment this evening."
He frowned. Poor Kitten probably didn't even realize what she was saying. Damn, he hated scaring her, but if she knew anything and he left her behind, she was dead. He pushed her back inside and threw himself into the seat. As he twisted the key, she scrambled away from him, over the console.
"I won't hurt you," he attempted to reassure her. Sirens screamed, and the sweet, heady rush of adrenaline glittered through his veins. He grinned. A conscientious employee had tripped the alarm. Now life was getting interesting. Exactly the way he liked it. He turned to his wide-eyed passenger. "Fasten your seat belt." The engine roared, and he tore out of the parking lot.
The ski mask interfered with his vision, and he ripped the mask and gloves off. He'd deal with the repercussions of letting her see his face later. Right now, he had to get them out of here in one piece. He wasn't about to add either of their names to the long list of casualties on this one. His foot slammed down on the gas pedal.
"Hey!" his captive squeaked. "You're running the red lights!"
"No kidding." Chuckles burst out of him. "A traffic citation is the least of my worries, honey."
"You've committed robbery; don't add kidnapping," she said in a reasonable tone, though her shaky voice gave away her panic. "You're lengthening your sentence by at least five years. Let me go. Please."
"No time to explain. I'm taking you for your protection." He ignored the screaming sirens behind them. The 'Vette responded to his touch like a familiar lover as he wove from side to side. Revved up to sixty, the car screeched around a corner. It skidded and spun into another sharp turn and they nearly rocked up on two wheels.
A moan leaked out of his passenger and Gabe glanced over at her. Stiff and unmoving, she clutched the armrest like a life preserver, her face a bilious pea green. Unless he missed his guess, she was about to yodel in living Technicolor. "You okay?"
"Motion sick," she murmured through white lips.
Wonderful. Just what he needed. "Take deep breaths." He stabbed the window button. Fresh air. Get the lady some fresh air.
The window slid down and Tessa leaned out like a wind-drunk poodle, gulping in cool autumn air. She clung to the armrest, fighting her terror and the nausea pitching in her stomach. This was all a crazy nightmare. Any minute, she'd wake up, call Mel and have a good laugh. Right after she threw up. Distraction - she needed a distraction.
The police would want a description. She forced together her scattered concentration and studied her captor. Six foot one, around a hundred and ninety pounds. All hard, male muscle in a black jacket, T-shirt and snug jeans. His thick black hair was cut military short at the sides and back and left just long enough in front to stand straight up. Long, sooty lashes fringed light colored eyes. She couldn't see the shade in profile and the slitted ski mask had concealed them in shadow before.
The shifting light played over a tanned classical face with strong cheekbones and a Roman nose. His sculpted lips were quirked in a smile over even white teeth and his square chin cradled a dimpled cleft in the center. Her gaze followed his wide shoulders downward. His lean, tanned hands - musician's hands - controlled the wheel with grace and power.
She knew firsthand how much strength those hands possessed.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he sucked in a sharp breath.
She jerked her gaze to the front. A thousand yards ahead, two police cars charged toward them, blocking both lanes and thwarting their escape. She was saved! But instead of slowing down, the bank robber shifted gears, his muscled thigh tensing beneath the tight denim as he stomped on the gas. The car leapt forward at blood-curdling speed. "What are you doing?" she yelled.
An unholy grin of pure joy split his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life! "Playing chicken."
Was he insane? Dumb question. He'd robbed a bank and was attempting to outrun the cops in a high-speed pursuit. Of course he was insane. Fear clutched at her chest as they closed the distance with incredible speed. Stay calm. Humor him. Wrestling down her dread, she tried negotiation. "Do you know how unlikely that is to work?"
He chuckled. "Never tell me the odds."
"Han Solo."
"Huh?" He flicked a quick, puzzled glance at her.
Common sense told her to shut up. Screaming nerves made her babble on. "You're quoting Han Solo."
"You are one nutty broad." The handsome felon shook his head. "Don't worry, I know exactly what I'm doing. They'll blink."
Obviously, he was delusional, too. So much for negotiation. She gripped the dash with fingers gone numb. Her entire body felt numb. Her mind struggled in slow motion, her thought processes clogged by fear. For heaven's sake, talk your way out of this. Logic. Logic never failed her. "Have you tried this demented maneuver before?"
"Twice."
"And it worked?"
He urged the car even faster. "Not the first time."
Tessa took a fortifying breath. "And the second?"
He chuckled. "I'll let you know in about five seconds."
The car rocketed forward, the tires skimming over the highway. The force pushed her back against the seat. Tessa stared at the police cars hurtling toward them and her stomach rolled, bitter bile rising up in her throat.
Her life flashed before her eyes in a horrifying squeal of tires and blaring horns.
The thief's deep laugh rang out. "See? No problem."
"Who are you, the Angel of Death?" she croaked. Her stomach lurched in warning. "Oh no." Frantic, her gaze spun wildly around the car.
The robber glanced at her and groaned. "Here we go."
The car was swept clean, nothing to get sick in. Her desperate gaze locked on the money bags behind his seat. If she could get one open in time...
"Oh no you don't. I need that. Uncontaminated." He thrust the ski mask at her.
She snatched the quilted cap and turned away from him, mightily regretting the chocolate donuts she'd scarfed down during her break. After several horrible minutes, she felt much better. Holding the ruined mask between two fingers, she looked at the door handle, then at the scenery flashing by. "Um..."
"No evidence." His right hand reached past her to open the glove compartment.
She deposited her burden and slammed the door. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. She heaved a short-lived sigh of relief. One problem solved. Kind of. She glared warily at her captor. Served him right for driving like the lunatic he was.
She glanced into the side mirror at the empty street behind them. Her kidnapper had evaded the police. Her heart stumbled into an uneven gait.
She was on her own.
Select a book from the shelves to read an excerpt
LETHAL ATTRACTION
FULL EXPOSURE
HEAT OF THE MOMENT
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES
MIDNIGHT HERO
BULLETPROOF BRIDE
LETHAL ATTRACTION
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to the Red Cross for disaster relief.
Grady & Sabrina's song: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
Riverside, Oregon
Saturday, May 29th 11:00 a.m.
Fatigue weighed Sabrina Matthews' limbs as she unlocked the sunny sanctuary of her apartment. She hadn’t taken a day off in…wow…several months. She dropped her purse and kicked off her heels inside the door. Past time for a mental health day. She’d bake her favorite apple crisp, brew a pot of Earl Grey and curl up with a romance novel.
She unzipped her restricting red silk sheath. Silk was a pain to iron, and she wanted to hang it up ASAP. Wearing a red satin bra and panties, she meandered through her jungle of potted plants. Cool leaves brushed her body, and she inhaled the earthy scent that carried her back to her childhood. After six nanny fiascos, Letty, the Matthews’ neighbor who’d wrangled five kids of her own, had offered to baby-sit. Wild child Sabrina had found a soul-mate in the feisty senior and they’d shared wonderful times in Letty’s garden.
Lost in anticipation of her stolen afternoon, Sabrina strolled into her bedroom. She froze inside the doorway, the dress dangling from numb fingers.
Two strange men stood at the end of her bed.
With neat haircuts and dressed in tailored black suits and conservative ties, they could be any average businessmen.
Except for the guns pointed at her.
Choking fear clawed her throat, and she gasped. The tall, sandy-haired man motioned with his gun. “Don’t scream. You’ll die before anyone hears.”
Clutching the dress like a shield, she swallowed terror. She’d never shown fear to her enemies and now didn’t seem like a good time to start. “I’m not the screaming type.” She inhaled a quivering breath. “Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”
The stocky blond man laughed, but it wasn’t reassuring. “She has nerve. She inherited more from the old soldier than those sharp brown eyes.”
Sabrina started. They meant Granddad. She stared at the silencers attached to the pistols. Her grandfather had been in politics for three decades. She’d heard his stories. Knew the reality behind the rhetoric. Granddad was a straight shooter, but arrows in other quivers were bent. The crisp suits and sharp haircuts suddenly made sense. Who had Granddad crossed? “Are you FBI…CIA…NSA? What’s going on?”
“Smart,” Sandy-hair said. The men exchanged a glance that made her stomach lurch. Too smart. “Cooperate with us, and nobody has to get hurt.”
These guys weren’t street criminals. Soulless eyes and steady hands. Silenced guns. Professionals. These men made people disappear.
Cooperation be damned, they were here to execute her.
The certainty she was about to die froze her blood. Granddad, what did you do?
“Give us what the old man sent you.”
“Who?” she asked, stalling.
“Too late to pretend ignorance,” the blond said. “Senator Vaughn mailed you something. What was it?”
If she lied, they’d kill her. If she told the truth, they’d still kill her. The dress crumpled beneath her shaking fingers. They could toss her apartment and stage the murder as a burglary. Nobody would question it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His lips thinned. “No games. You won’t like the way we keep score.”
Breathe. “Granddad didn’t send me anything. You can’t tell me your information is a hundred percent reliable. I know better.” Delaying the inevitable was her only tactic. Twenty minutes ago, she’d worried about an unhappy future.
Now, she had no future.
The sandy-haired man pinned her with an icy stare. “If you don’t have what we need, you’re useless.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. Tasted blood. Should she tell them she had a package in another place? If she could get outside, she could relay an SOS…or escape.
“And don’t try a bait and switch. One of us will stay with you, while the other checks. If you’re lying…” He sliced his finger across his throat.
Her instincts screamed run! Sabrina shifted toward the doorway, and both men tensed. Their eyes narrowed, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She’d be dead before she turned around. “I don’t know anything.”
“I’m beginning to believe you. We’ve searched everywhere. If you had it, you’d have used it by now.” The blond pointed his gun at her head. “I’m out of patience.”
Sabrina stared into the black barrel. She had nowhere to run. Nothing would save her. She swallowed. If she had to die, her final defiance would be thwarting them. “I have nothing to say.”
The blonde smiled coldly. “Goodbye.”
She braced herself. Who would miss her? Her mom had died when she was four. Dad was married to his work. She and Letty were close but had their own lives.
His finger tensed on the trigger, and her eyes slammed shut. Her life coalesced. A face rose in her mind.
Her last thought was for the man who’d captured her heart. The man whose rejection had broken her heart. Would Grady O'Rourke grieve for the girl who’d been his friend? For the woman he had refused to know?
She’d never see Grady again.
She’d die, without ever knowing what might have been.
That hurt worse than anything her assailants could do.
A boom shattered the silence. Sabrina flinched as brilliant heat seared her closed lids. Then the bullet slammed into her head -- and everything went black.
FULL EXPOSURE
10% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to the PEACE Fund to benefit children.
Dante & Ariana's song: Run by Snow Patrol
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
February 14th
The fat lady had sung, the curtain had dropped, and Ariana Bennett had been unceremoniously fired. Sleet needles lashed her face as she trudged through snowdrifts. Frigid weather was the perfect encore. She flipped up the collar of her brown cashmere coat and turned on her iPod -- two indulgences not yet paid for on her credit card -- and not likely to be soon.
Administrative furlough due to budget cuts. Her department head hadn’t summoned the nerve to make eye contact while emoting that fable. And the weasel had waited until the end of the day to oust her.
Ariana stomped her feet to warm them as she reached her bus stop. Mr. Weasel didn’t have the backbone to admit she’d been “furloughed” because the academic community was shying away from guilt by association. Her father’s museum had shared fundraisers with the university and he had guest-lectured on campus. The Bennetts’ battered credibility might affect public trust. And alumni donations.
Thank you Pennsylvania University for rewarding my seven years of loyalty. She blinked back tears. She’d done enough crying the past months. Anger hurt far less than sorrow.
She peered through the stinging haze. Cars crawled bumper to bumper, but no sign of her bus. One advantage to being unemployed. She wouldn’t have to choose between traffic or mass transit. And she’d never again feel duty-bound to wear a purple sweatshirt emblazoned with the initials P.U.
Huddled under an overhang, Ariana clapped her gloved hands together and listened to the dramatic power of Verdi’s “Aida” soaring through her earbuds. Was any place more wicked miserable than Philly in February? Maybe the Arctic Circle. At least in Philly she wouldn’t be mauled by polar bears. She grimaced. If she counted the FBI, the press and her ex-bosses, she did have wolves snapping at her heels.
She turned her back to the wind, and an employment agency’s window poster snagged her attention. A cruise ship glided through sun-washed islands dotting the cerulean Mediterranean. Get paid to travel in style. Greece, Italy, the Caribbean. Liberty Lines has positions available for qualified personnel.
Ariana stared longingly at the inviting picture. She imagined standing on deck, looking over the railing at white beaches bathed in sunshine. Sailing to Greece and Italy -- countries whose cultures and artifacts she’d loved and studied her entire life. Surrounded by cobalt ocean.
Shuddering, she spun and faced the street. Right. A cruise line was the perfect employer for a librarian. She snorted. Especially a librarian who couldn’t swim. She’d have a better chance at hitting best seller lists with the fantasy stories she scribbled in her journals…now in FBI custody. Another humiliating personal intrusion. She gritted her teeth. She hoped the Feds were bored to screaming by her secret girlhood dreams.
Her bus chugged into view, a sluggish dragon billowing steam, and Ariana clambered aboard. The packed interior smelled of soggy wool and overheated bodies. Eau de wet terrier. A baby’s scream wailed from the rear seats, and she grabbed a pole and then cranked up her iPod. At least she could stand. Only slightly breathless after her sprint through the gale, she’d outgrown the asthma that had crippled her until late adolescence. Enforced inactivity had cultivated her adoration for reading and writing. Bored with kiddy drivel, she’d devoured Greek and Roman myths. An interest shared with her father, who had loved his job as a museum curator.
Until the FBI’s relentless persecution killed him.
Her fingers clenched the pole, and she forced herself to concentrate on her music. “Aida” was a tragedy, but it was beautiful and romantic. She glanced at traffic snarled in the blizzard. Unlike real life, which was either humdrum or messy.
Humdrum would be welcome about now.
By the time she arrived home, she had resolved to put the setback behind her. There were other jobs. She still had a special dinner to anticipate. Still had a future with a nice guy. Compared to the past few months, getting fired wasn’t the apocalypse.
Her mom pounced the millisecond Ariana swept breathlessly inside. “You’re late. Is everything all right?”
She shut down her iPod. “The storm snarled traffic.” If you Googled “overprotective mother,” Sadie Bennett’s picture popped up. Ariana had temporarily moved back in with her parents last fall after the FBI arrested her father. When he’d died three months ago, Mom had begged her to stay. From the moment Ariana drew her first uncertain breath, Sadie’s focus was centered on her only child’s welfare. Ariana didn’t have the heart to leave her mom alone in the big old house. Yet.
Ariana brushed a kiss on Sadie’s cheek. “Geoff has reservations at Le Bec-Fin tonight. Will you be okay alone?” It would be the first Valentine’s Day without Dad. Although his quiet, dreamy nature combined with frequent career travel had made her parents’ marriage seem more like a business partnership.
“Of course.” Sadie’s blue eyes twinkled, a paler reflection of Ariana’s deep sapphire hue. “Le Bec-Fin, hmm? He’s been jittery lately.” She clapped her hands. “Finally, after seventeen months…the moment every woman waits for.”
This was supposed to be the highlight of her life? “I suspect so.” Geoffrey Turner was a professor of literature at the same university that had fired her this afternoon. Several months before her father’s sudden death, Geoff had subtly questioned her receptivity to marriage and children. The university was about to offer him job security in the form of tenure.
Annual day of romance, check. Reservations at Philly’s most prestigious restaurant, check. Exquisite food, superb wine and a tasteful ring served with the creme brulée, check.
Ariana bit her lip. Their relationship wasn’t exactly hot. But they enjoyed each other’s company, shared common interests, and didn’t make one another crazy. She may not be delirious with rapture, but unlike passion, contentment wasn’t disturbing. Or messy. She knew where she stood with Geoff. Many lasting marriages -- including her parents’ -- had been founded on such secure principles.
She gathered her long, damp chestnut hair away from her face. “I’m a walking disaster. You know how the professor dotes on punctuality. I’m going to grab a coffee, run upstairs--”
The doorbell pealed. Geoff had probably sent a dozen predictable…ah…classic white roses. Ariana flung open the door. It wasn’t flowers.
It was the police.
After six months of harassment, she recognized the FBI’s second-in-command. Ariana scowled. “Unless you have another warrant, forget it. You people have already turned our house and our lives inside out.” She blocked the doorway, shielding her mother. “I doubt you’ll find America’s most wanted by riffling my closet again.”
The solemn Agent indicated a U-Haul being unloaded by two movers. “After your father’s demise, the government’s case against him was officially terminated. The paperwork is complete, and we’re returning personal effects held as evidence.”
“Giving back our own possessions. Thank you.” She stepped aside so the men could enter. FBI search teams had shown up one day in the middle of Sunday brunch and torn apart their home. Cops had poked and pried and violated every inch. They’d taken the antiques, her father’s computer and research books, and every scrap of paper, including her journals. The travesty had continued at his museum office. “Everything better be in perfect condition.”
“Nothing has been damaged.” Agent Thomas nodded stiffly. “Our experts didn’t have time to dig too deeply before the case was abruptly concluded.”
Hurt by his clinical description of the events that had destroyed her family, she pressed trembling lips together. “Is ‘abruptly concluded’ the police-approved definition of ruining an innocent man’s reputation and persecuting him into an early grave?”
The Fed’s eyes glinted as cold and gray as the winter twilight. “Mr. Bennett was charged after brokering stolen antiquities to an undercover officer. The arrest was legitimate, as was the search.”
Talk about professional detachment. Maybe the FBI confiscated agents’ hearts when they entered the Bureau. For the second time in an hour, she let anger burn away pain. “Dad never so much as ran a stop sign. He didn’t know the antique jewelry was stolen. It was entrapment. If your ‘undercover officer’ had listened to him, my father would be alive today.”
“Everybody we detain is innocent, Miss Bennett.” His level tone didn’t negate the sarcasm. “Until proven guilty in a court of law.”
“He didn’t get that chance. He was convicted by the press and the museum’s board of directors.” Her father had been forced into a leave of absence. All because of the FBI and their Gestapo tactics. Nobody would ever convince Ariana that the strain over the loss of his job combined with the impending trial hadn’t precipitated her father’s massive coronary. “In the public’s eyes, he died a guilty man.”
“Ariana.” Her mother’s quiet appeal made her turn around. Sadie’s distressed gaze implored her. “Don’t let this spoil your evening.” Sadie handed her a labeled box. “Why don’t you take your journals upstairs and get ready for tonight?”
Ariana squelched her temper. Her mother hated confrontation. According to Sadie, a lady never raised her voice, never lost her poise. A woman with class practiced avoidance. That method had worked for Ariana…until injustice had struck down her father. But Sadie had already been through the wringer, and Ariana wasn’t about to twist the handle. She accepted the box and marched upstairs.
She dropped the carton on the blue organza bedspread, which matched the bed canopy and frilly curtains. Her room remained unchanged since she’d left for college years ago. Dad wasn’t the only parent who liked museums.
She opened the box and began to slot journals in her bookcase according to year. She preferred order, in her surroundings and emotions.
Memories assailed her with each volume. Her first date. First kiss. First broken heart. A newspaper article fluttered out of the book dated Summer 1981, and her mouth softened. Even as a girl, she’d been a romantic. Charles and Diana -- the Royal Wedding. She had set the alarm for dawn to watch the proceedings. A real life fairy tale.
The grandfather clock downstairs chimed seven, and Ariana jumped. She had sixty minutes to prepare for “the moment every woman waits for.” She dropped the journal and sprinted to the shower.
Three hours later, she shakily let herself back inside. Sadie didn’t ambush her, and Ariana tiptoed into the living room and found her mother asleep on the sofa.
A small boon in the day from Hades. She wouldn’t have to break the news until morning. The sadness she’d held at bay flooded her eyes.
Instead of a diamond with the dessert trolley, Ariana had received a quiet brush off. A “better for both of us if we go our separate ways” swan song. Her courtly, dependable literary professor had politely retreated from their relationship.
She swiped her wet cheeks as she trudged upstairs. Of course, she hadn’t made a scene. Tantrums weren’t her style. She was her mother’s daughter. The goddess of get-along. The countess of compromise.
And the Fates had compromised her out of a father, a job and a fiancé.
At least Geoff had possessed the decency to stop waltzing around the truth when she demanded a real explanation. He’d finally admitted Derek’s tattered reputation and Ariana’s “furlough” might threaten his tenure.
She tripped over the journal on the floor and snatched it up. A real life fairy tale. In real life, the princess had been hounded to death…like Ariana’s father. So much for romance. So much for loyalty and undying love.
So much for happily ever after.
Ariana hurled the book aside and it thudded to the floor, the binding torn. Newspaper clippings littered the carpet, and something shiny glinted at the tattered edge of the journal. With trembling hands, she extracted a computer CD. The thin disk had been sealed between the embossed leather cover and cardboard backing.
Tears dried on her face as she booted up her laptop and inserted the CD. Over forty scanned pages of ancient Greek script and cryptic personal notations in her father’s spiky handwriting shimmered on the screen. She had enough
rudimentary knowledge to discern that the information concerned antiques and Derek’s international brokerage.
Her breath caught. Why had Dad secreted the CD in her journal? Had he suspected he was being set up? Thought he was in danger? Had he put the CD where he knew she would find it…in case something happened to him?
Her mother would have said, “We can’t change the past, let it go.”
She used to agree. Now an old Chinese proverb sprang to mind. If you cannot succeed, then die gloriously.
Compromise hadn’t worked out so well for Ariana, or her loved ones. Perhaps it was time to try a new tack. Her father’s reputation would not perish in ruin and be buried along with him.
Heart pounding, she directed her web browser to libertycruiselines.com. The police had stolen her family, her reputation and her future.
All she had left was a crusade.
She grimly hooked up her iPod to the computer and began to reconfigure and download files. Fed up with being tossed around by the whims of the Fates, she was taking her life back.
After all, how much worse could things get?