Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #1 (63 page)

Hunter walked her to the truck, and she leaned against it, waiting for him to open the door. When he stepped closer and planted a hand next to her, her head swam. He didn't exactly have her pinned. His right arm was at his side, still in the cast. But even if he had had her totally caged in, she wouldn't have wanted to get away. His gaze was warm, everything he was feeling shimmering in those gorgeous blue eyes. This time she wasn't going to have to ask.

He leaned closer. The clerk was probably watching through the window. Several other people likely were, too. But the moment his lips met hers, all other distractions faded into nothingness. There was only Hunter and his love and prospects for a bright and happy future.

Yes, she had walked away from everything.

And found so much more.

EPILOGUE

Nine months later

N
otes from the pipe organ filled the large sanctuary, and Hunter shifted his weight onto his toes, then back again. Blake stood next to him, with Wade on Blake's other side, and finally Hunter's cousin, Phillip. The church was decked out with flowers, but nothing was overdone. The decor was simple but elegant. Just what he would expect from Meagan.

With most of Cedar Key on the guest list, along with his Ocala friends and family in attendance, they had chosen to hold the ceremony and reception in the large church in his hometown. It was a good thing. Every pew was packed.

The music changed, and Darci started up the aisle. She was wearing a light purple dress. No, not purple—Radiant Orchid, according to Meagan. She had corrected him several times. Radiant Orchid was
not
purple, just as salmon and mauve were not pink.

Meagan had put the whole wedding together herself. Hunter had always been impressed with her artistic ability. But watching her design and create floral arrangements, and set out in search of just the right piece of fabric or lace or other accessory for the image she had in her mind, gave him a new respect for her artistic eye.

When Darci was halfway up the aisle, another young lady followed—his sister, Amber. The smile she wore stretched across her face, and her eyes shone. When he'd announced his engagement to Meagan, Amber had been the most excited of anyone. At least she was the most vocal. She never ran out of energy. And rarely shut up.

The final bridesmaid coming down the aisle was Meagan's sister, Jennifer. Her dress was a shade of deep purple that also had a fancy name. He just couldn't remember it at the moment. A younger version of Meagan, she was struggling to hold back tears.

His gaze shifted to the right, where Meagan's mother sat. If she was fighting tears, she had apparently lost the battle, because hers were flowing freely, making twin trails down her cheeks. He understood. Both women were experiencing something they'd thought they would never see—Meagan on her wedding day, having been brought back to them from the dead.

Jennifer stepped onto the platform and grinned over at Amber. Since Meagan's mother and sister had moved to Ocala six months ago, Amber and Jennifer had become best buds.

Once all three bridesmaids were in position, mirroring the locations of the groomsmen, the music changed again, becoming louder, slow and deliberate. The mother of the bride stood, and the whole church followed suit.

Then Meagan appeared at the end of the aisle, her arm looped around Darci's father's, and the sight of her took Hunter's breath away. Soon he would vow to have and to hold her, to love her till death. And she would become Mrs. Elaina Kingston.

But to everyone in Cedar Key, and to him, she was still Meagan. Though her bank accounts and identification said Elaina Thomas, Meagan had become somewhat of a nickname.

Everyone knew her story. And when Hunter encountered someone who didn't, he shared it. Because he was proud of her. Proud of her courage. Proud of the strength and determination that had kept her alive against all odds. Proud of the serene, confident woman she had become and the example she provided to the youth of the church in her position as an assistant to the director.

As she started down the aisle, her eyes met his through the sheer veil, and his heart almost stopped. She was beautiful. In the months since Edmund's capture, her hair had gone back to its natural blond color and had grown out to fall against her shoulders. But today it was up, woven with tiny flowers. And her green eyes were lit with a happiness that even the veil couldn't hide.

When Darci's father put Meagan's hand in his, Hunter's heart swelled with love and gratitude. In moments, he would recite his vows. But as he stood facing her, clasping both her hands, he made some silent ones of his own.

He would never take her for granted. Or saddle her with unrealistic expectations.

She was a precious gift, sent from God.

The only one able to heal his heart.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
HEADLINE: MURDER
by Maggie K. Black

Dear Reader,

Thank you for joining me for a second trip back to Cedar Key. Every time I visit, I fall in love a little more with the place, and I hope you are, too. As was the case with Shattered Haven, most of the locations mentioned in this book are real places, although I did take a lot of artistic liberty with the Island Hotel Restaurant's bathroom.

After getting to know Hunter in the first book, it was fun writing his story. Meagan was enjoyable for me to write, too. She had a lot of strength and determination and did what she had to to stay alive. With her dark and deceptive past, she was the least likely woman to capture Hunter's heart, but once he recognized some faults in himself, he was able to open himself to love her in return.

I hope you'll come back to Cedar Key soon for Darci's story. In the meantime, I'd love it if you'd drop me a line. You can find me on Facebook (
www.facebook.com/caroljpost.author
), Twitter (
@caroljpost
), my website (
www.caroljpost.com
) and email (
[email protected]
). For news and exclusive content, join my newsletter. The link is on my website. I promise I won't sell your info or spam you!

God bless you!

Carol

http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

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Headline: Murder

by Maggie K. Black

ONE

S
hock rippled like a wave through the crowded Toronto courtroom, leaving a rumble of anger seething in its wake. The crown attorney had just announced that Brian Leslie, sleazy owner of Leslie Construction, was going to walk out the door a free man, despite stealing hundreds of thousands from both the government and his own employees. Which meant the construction crew he'd left both unemployed and broke had just seen their best hope for justice go up in flames.

Reporter Olivia Brant tightened the grip on her notepad. Her green eyes grew wide. That man's sloppy, reckless attempts at tax evasion had made headlines across Canada. How could the authorities possibly think it was “in the public interest” to let a thieving creep like him go free? Growing up, always shuffling from one lousy rented apartment to the next, she'd seen all too well how working for really bad bosses could tear someone's family apart.

Well, even if I don't succeed in saving my own position at
Torchlight News,
at least the last story I write will be about something I care about.
Although hopefully, if she acted fast enough, this would turn out to be the one big news story that actually kept her from losing her job.

Olivia tightened the clasp holding back her fiery red mane and leaped to her feet. The camera that she'd nabbed off a coworker's desk clattered to the floor. She scooped it back up and pushed through the rows. The courtroom was packed to the seams with former Leslie employees eager to see Brian pay. Now that justice wasn't coming, the room felt like a mob waiting to surge. A large bald man with a hawk tattoo on his neck cursed and gripped the seat in front of him until his knuckles cracked. Beside him, a woman with spiky hair cried loudly.

Brian sat alone and was grinning so widely he might as well be gloating. The only other living member of the wealthy Leslie family was Brian's teenage niece, Sarah. Much to the media's dismay, the seventeen-year-old heiress hadn't agreed to any interviews about her uncle's arrest and hadn't attended his trial. Didn't look as though any friends had shown up to offer Brian support, either. Olivia wondered if the rumors of his gambling addiction and drug use were true.

Any moment now, he'd walk out of the courtroom, head down to the private parking garage and drive out as a free man into the hot summer air.

When he got to his vehicle, she'd be waiting.

Dear God, please help me get this interview with Brian Leslie. Or at the very least a picture and a quote to make my article solid enough for the front cover. I really don't want to lose my job. The newspaper's the only place I've ever really felt at home.

Prayer slipped through her heart like an instinct. It was funny, no matter how many times she tried to put her childhood faith out of her mind, whenever stress hit she could feel it pushing back in at the edges. Not that all the desperate prayers she'd prayed as a child had ever kept her dad from losing one job after another. While Vince, her editor at
Torchlight News
, was one of the most dedicated people of faith she knew, that still didn't alter the fact that recent changes at the paper meant he was going to have to lay off almost a third of the staff by September.

Her phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Ricky, a young photographer at
Torchlight
who was probably facing the chopping block, too.

Hurry back! Vince is looking for you. Also, you seen the camera? R.

Guilt dripped down her conscience like a nagging cough she couldn't clear. She hadn't told Vince she was covering the Leslie Construction trial. There were dozens of potential stories like this in Toronto every day.
Torchlight
could only afford to send reporters out to so many. Newspaper policy was that writers brought their article ideas to the weekly story meeting, like treasure hunters piling their maps into the middle of the table. Vince would then decide which stories would get reported on and who covered what. Getting a good, hard crime story meant a chance at seeing your story hitting the front cover. He'd never given her that chance.

Maybe Vince won't like that I just took the initiative and jumped on this story without asking. But if I pull it off, it'll prove I have what it takes and he'll think twice about letting me go. Or at least, it'll give me a great story on my resume to help with my job search.

Her fingers slid over the handle to the stairwell door.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going?” A large hand landed on the door in front of her. She turned, coming face-to-face with a young man in a dark blue police uniform and a bushy blond beard.

“I'm sorry. I was just—”

“You can't go down there.”

Olivia rolled her slender shoulders back and stood tall. Sure, she was only five foot two, and this man was easily twice her size. But she'd worked in a newsroom long enough to know police couldn't just block public access somewhere without cause. This belligerent officer hadn't even flashed her a badge.

She flashed him her media credentials. “I'm a journalist with
Torchlight News
and, yes, I can. This is a public stairwell and you have no legal reason to detain me.” His eyes narrowed. In her experience, while most cops were amazing, a handful of them got just a little too used to throwing their weight around and expecting the public to obey. Not the type of cop a reporter ever wanted to tangle with. What was worse was this cop had even covered the badge number on his uniform, so she wouldn't be able to report him—an illegal but sadly not unheard-of practice that the chief of police had been clamping down on hard. She raised the camera, hoping the thought of being caught on film would be enough to make him back down. He just scowled.

“Is there something else going on here that I should be reporting on?” she asked.

A loud crash came from behind them, along with a whole lot of yelling. She turned. A muscular dark-haired man was being forcibly ejected from the waiting area. He was putting up such a fight it took multiple guards to handle him. The blond officer snickered.

Olivia ducked under his arm and dashed down the stairs.

“Hey!” The questionable cop's voice bellowed through the staircase like a freight train. “Stop!”

Her feet pelted down one flight of stairs. Stopping wasn't an option. But maybe a route change wasn't a bad idea. She hit the second floor, slipped through a side door and came out on an administration level. Her footsteps sped up, weaving through rows of people waiting for their trials to be called. She went down one more staircase and came out on the opposite side of the parking garage. The officer was gone. A slight smile crossed her lips.

The garage was dark, lit only by the eerie glow of yellow fluorescent lights. She readied the camera. The state-of-the-art equipment would just keep snapping once she pushed the button, taking hundreds of pictures a minute. She only needed one of the pictures to be usable, so the odds were in her favor. Brian's car was to her right.

That was when she noticed the truck. The bright green pickup was parked a few spots away, looking like a flash of sunlight on a fresh spring leaf compared to the sea of concrete around it. Her breath caught. There was a man in the driver's seat. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders and a faded plaid shirt. Strong arms rested on the steering wheel. His head was bowed, showing a mop of chestnut-brown hair that curled slightly at the neck. He looked nothing like a lawyer. Bit too casual for a journalist, at least from anywhere reputable. A member of Leslie Construction's crew, perhaps? But then, why would he be down here instead of in the courtroom?

He glanced her way. His eyebrows rose. She looked down at her camera.

The door to the staircase flew open. Her camera started snapping. Brian Leslie walked through. He glanced around the garage, turned back toward the stairs for a moment, then hurried to his car.

“Mr. Leslie!” Olivia started across the parking garage toward him. “Olivia Brant,
Torchlight News
. What do you have to say to your former employees? Are they ever going to see the money you owe them?”

“Seriously?” He laughed and yanked his car keys from his pocket. “You heard how those ungrateful jerks booed me in court today? As if my family didn't keep them working for years. You tell them that I'll be dead and buried before they get one more cent of money from the Leslie family. Tell them fat chance winning in civil court now.” He pressed the button on his key fob to unlock his car. The car didn't respond. He frowned and jammed his finger on the button. Nothing happened. “Stupid waste-of-money car.”

Then, it was like everything happened at once.

A stairwell door banged open to her right.

Three figures in black fatigues and blank featureless masks ran toward Brian.

Three men without faces.

A gunshot split the air. Olivia screamed.

Brian wheeled around. Blood spread across his chest.

His car exploded in flames.

* * *

Daniel Ash froze with his hands on the steering wheel. The scene unfolded in front of him through a haze of smoke and fire. Just moments ago, he'd been sitting there trying to pray for Brian Leslie—an endlessly unpleasant man who he'd briefly called his brother-in-law a very long time ago.

Then Brian walked into the garage, three masked men surged from the shadows and the world erupted in fire.

A car bomb. A weapon fired. A bullet through Brian's chest.

It was like Baghdad, Manila and Damascus all over again.

Here. In Toronto.

Just moments ago he'd seen a woman running toward Brian. Now her screams echoed through the flames.

Instinctively, Daniel yanked open the glove compartment to feel for his bullets and gun. It might be too late for Brian. But he could still save the beautiful stranger from the line of fire.

His hand came up empty. There were no bullets. He had no gun.

Reality hit—Daniel wasn't a bodyguard anymore. His handgun was long gone.

He was just a regular guy back home in Canada, a place where it was incredibly difficult for a personal bodyguard to even get a license to carry a handgun. This wasn't his first firefight. But this time he was unarmed and unprotected, without even an armored vehicle to shield him.

His hand gripped the door handle. His eyes rose in a split second of prayer.

Lord? What do You want me doing right now? Can I still save her?

More gunfire now. Sounded as though only one of the masked men was firing. But he couldn't see either the shooter or the target, just a series of bangs and flashes in the billowing smoke.

The woman's screams fell silent.

He'd never once run from danger. But like it or not, his hero days were over. Daniel had given up being a bodyguard four years ago, because his former stepdaughter had no one else to turn to.
I made a commitment to be Sarah's legal guardian.
With her uncle Brian's death, the teenager was now the last remaining member of the Leslie clan. For all he knew, whoever had killed Brian would now be coming after her, too. He needed to be there for her. He needed to protect her.

How can I risk my life to save a stranger? The woman might not even still be alive.

Reluctantly, Daniel turned the engine over. He grabbed the gearshift, ready to drive. Then, through the smoke, he saw a flash of red hair. She was running toward him, beautiful and terrified, like a phoenix rising. Dark lashes fringed eyes wide with fear. Auburn hair tumbled loose around her face.

He couldn't just leave her to die.

Daniel threw the door open. “Here! This way! Run to me—”

A second explosion shook the air and tossed her onto the ground. Daniel leaped from the truck. He pelted across the parking garage—toward the flames, the chaos and the woman now lying still on the concrete. In moments, Daniel had reached her side. Her eyes were closed. But when he clasped her wrist, he felt that her pulse was strong. He scooped her up into his arms—bag, camera and all—and cradled her up against his chest. He ran for the truck. A huge, faceless brute of a man loomed out of the smoke and yelled at Daniel to stop. He kept running. Bullets ricocheted in the darkness behind him. Prayers poured from his heart over his lips, “Please, God, guide me now!”

He climbed into the driver's seat, not letting his strong arms loosen their grip on the woman's body for an instant. As he slid her off his lap and into the passenger seat, her press pass caught his eye—Olivia Brant,
Torchlight News
. He reached across to buckle her seat belt. Her cheek brushed his shoulder. Luminous green eyes fluttered open, inches away from his own.

“Olivia? Hey, my name's Daniel. Don't worry. It's going to be okay. You're safe here with me.” He glanced up and counted three masked, black-clad figures in the haze. The brutish one now had a gun in each hand. A short man was fiddling with a small box. An extremely thin one barked orders at them both. The big one raised both guns toward the truck. “And we're getting out of here.” Daniel slammed his door. “Right now.”

He hit the gas and swerved a hard left, narrowly steering the truck between the thin man and a concrete support pillar.

“Daniel?” Her voice beside him was faint. “Who are you? What are you?”

Thank You, God!
She was both conscious and able to talk, which hopefully meant no serious injuries, even though her mind was probably reeling and her ears would be ringing. No doubt she wanted to know what kind of man had just scooped her into his truck. But now was no time for long answers. The short version would have to do.

“I used to be a bodyguard.” He focused his eyes on finding an exit. “Spent a decade overseas. War zones and danger spots mostly. Getting someone safely from point A to point B like this was kind of my specialty. Now I'm just a carpenter.” One who apparently could still swerve around an obstacle course of parked cars and concrete at full speed.