Mac's Angels : Sinner and Saint. a Loveswept Classic Romance (9780345541659)

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thirteen years ago I came to
Loveswept
as a reader, feasting on the stories of Iris Johansen, Kay Hooper, and Fayrene Preston as if they were bonbons and I was a decadent lady to the manor born.

I laughed. I cried. For four years I was swept away by the ladies of
Loveswept
.

Then, eight years ago, a miracle happened. I came to
Loveswept
as one of those ladies. I'm still amazed at my good fortune. I'm in awe of the editorial staff who makes the decisions and the ingenious minds of the authors who create books that just get better and better.

I, too, have grown and reached for new horizons, and you—the readers—seem eager to support those changes. As a writer, I'm especially grateful that Bantam pioneered the concept of promoting the author's real name as well as allowing us the freedom to explore new ideas.

My first
Loveswept
was published in February 1988. Since then I've written twenty more. I also write historicals, but there will always be a soft spot in my heart for
Loveswept
. And on my thirteenth anniversary with Bantam I hope to create something deliciously appealing and sinfully satisfying that will sweep all of you away.

PROLOGUE

Friday the 13th—8:30
A.M
.—Shangrila

When the phone rang, Mac closed the journal he'd been writing in and slid it into the desk drawer. He'd had a disquieting feeling since he'd awakened at dawn. Now he sensed that he was about to learn its source.

He lifted the receiver. “Yes.”

“Mac, this is Avery Marsh, administrator at Mercy General Hospital in New York. Sorry to call so early. I may be chasing shadows, but you're my last hope.”

“What can I do for you, Avery?”

“We've got a comatose woman here at Mercy who won't let herself wake up. There's no reason for her to die, but she seems to have her mind set on it. I know you're in the business of creating special miracles, and it's gonna take one to bring her back. Can you help?”

Mac studied his angel assignment board. He
didn't have anybody in the complex available for a medical rescue assignment. “What's her name?” he asked, racking his brain for a prospect.

“Karen Miller.”

Karen
.

Mac let out a sigh of relief and reached for a new computer disk. He had his angel. “You still have Nikolai Sandor on your staff?”

“Niko? Sure. When he came here six years ago, he stirred up a storm and settled like lightning in the middle of it. He's an institution now, the resident sinner of the research department. But I don't know about Niko. Mac, since his sister died, he has absolutely refused to deal directly with patients.”

“The resident sinner of the research department, huh?” Mac laughed. “Sinner or saint. In my line of work, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. Let me handle it. I think Niko may be just what your patient needs.”

Suddenly Lincoln MacAllister felt a new energy come to life and begin to build. His smile widened as he pulled up Niko's face on his computer screen. Yep, Karen Miller needed a reason to fight, and it was time for Dr. Sandor to come back to the land of the living.

A Gypsy, a woman, and the perfect lure—
a sinner and a saint. Danger and desire
.

ONE

Friday the 13th—Mercy General Hospital—10:00
A.M
.

Karen's dream came again.

The woman stood on the English moor in the damp fog of the late afternoon and waited. He'd come, as he'd promised. He'd put his arms around her and her heart would soar. Then, after he'd teased away her fears and worries, they'd climb on his white stallion and ride off into the night. He had always come before.

But this time he was very late. Growing colder, the woman began to fidget. What if he'd changed his mind? She couldn't go back. She'd already closed the door on her past by running from the man to whom she'd been promised, the man who'd kill her for what she'd done.

Glancing around, she felt the finality of her action begin to gnaw at her. What would she do if he didn't come? Where would she go? No. Her black-eyed
Gypsy wouldn't do that to her. He'd promise to keep her safe. No one would think to look in the Rom camp, he'd said. Everybody knew that no respectable woman would ever take up with those thieving vagabonds.

She rubbed her chapped hands together in growing despair. Resigned to accepting the monotony of her life, she'd never expected to take a lover. But from the first day he'd arrived at her back door, black eyes snapping, dark hair curling at his threadbare collar, she'd understood her life would never be the same.

Now she waited.

The fog swirled in, covering the heather, leaving her hair glistening with moisture and the ground spongy beneath her feet. She was having more and more difficulty seeing through the mist. Not even sound penetrated the curtain of gray. Their time to meet had long since passed, but still she waited.

He would come.

He had to.

But he hadn't.

The dreamer let out a sigh. In her mind everything was a blur of reality and dreams. She didn't know where one ended and the other began. The only constant through it all was the loneliness. It had become personal. The dreamer and the woman she dreamed about were the same. Now both were afraid.