Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4)

by Susan Vaughan

  “Matt?”

  “Leoni. He’s been very sweet.”

  Jack frowned. His gaze sharpened, then slammed into a formidable glare.

  Was he jealous? The notion lapped anticipation higher within her. There was hope yet that he loved her. But he wasn’t ready to admit anything. Already he was blanking his expression. He didn’t want her to see his feelings, so he would change the subject.

  He cleared his throat. “The uranium was secure. The seals were soft but leaking minimal. No more than an X-ray, the technician said.”

  She hoped her smile wasn’t too cat-in-cream smug. “Matt told me. They found my luggage in Vadim’s house in Venice too. Everything was there, including my camera and addresses of my cousins here in Florence. I don’t have to wear his clothes anymore. I have my own.”

  “You look great.”

  He didn’t. Sweat beaded his forehead. Pain or nerves? “Thanks. The first time we met, you came to see me in the hospital.” She approached the bed and placed her hand in his.

  Out in the corridor, rubber sole squeaked on the tile, medicine carts clattered past the doorway and voices rose and fell.

  Desperate to touch her, Jack linked their fingers together. He browsed from her hair — a beautiful mess from the wind — to her mouth and lower. To her arm. “The sling. Vadim hurt you.”

  She smoothed a hand over her bound shoulder. “He wrenched it, and I did more when I whacked him with the little saint. Guess it wasn’t totally healed.”

  “You slugged him a good one. A little practice and the Yankees will recruit you. But I’m sorry about the saint.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She wasn’t real, and I don’t need her anymore.”

  “You saved our lives. I saw you try for the figure, but I didn’t expect it to work. My hat’s off to you. Mind-blowing courage, Sophie.”

  Her grin eased the pain in his chest. “I was so scared I thought I’d faint. Where the nerve came from to swing that saint, I have no idea.” A blush colored her cheeks. “When he stabbed you, it was horrible. With a dagger in your chest, you shot him. You were the brave one.”

  “I couldn’t let him shoot you. Forget him. We’re a hell of a pair, all bound up like this.” Did his voice sound too desperate?

  He wanted them to be a pair, but she was keeping it light. To avoid talking about her saying that she loved him? His stomach clenched. Even that jabbed his chest.

  “Yes, but your wound is a lot deeper than mine.” Her voice turned serious and her eyes darkened with emotion. “And you’ll always have scars.”

  They weren’t talking about their physical wounds anymore.

  He hoped. Please, God, let me read her right. Don’t let me lose her.

  “I’ve already healed some,” he said, taking a practice run up to the big hurdle. “I might need some TLC for the rest. You could nurse me until I can take you back to Saint Mark’s like I promised. Unless you have other plans.”

  In his condition he couldn’t hold his breath, but his heartbeat was on hold waiting for her answer.

  She lifted her chin. “De Carlo said that your DARK assistant director authorized new plane tickets for me.”

  He gripped the sheet with his free hand. “Oh.”

  “But the date’s open on them.”

  He sighed. “You’re a wicked tease. You know that?”

  “Only with you. But I’m going to be direct so we understand each other. You prodded me these past few weeks to assert myself. So here goes. What I said at the farmhouse, I meant. I am in love with you. And I think you love me.”

  His heart started again, then leaped over track hurdles his body couldn’t. He lifted their joined hands to his lips and searched for the words. He had to get this right.

  She peered at him, apprehension in her eyes. “Well?”

  “Yes, Sophie. I love your breathless charm, your kindness. You’re so beautiful and you seem so fragile that I want to protect you, but you have warrior strength inside.”

  He paused to catch his breath, inhaled oxygen. He made himself breathe deeply, past the stone-slab pressure.

  “Are you okay? Should I get the nurse?” Fear flashed in her eyes, and she started to turn away.

  Shoving away the pain, he tugged her back. “I’m fine. Let me finish. You blow me away. I love that you made me search my soul and find myself. I love your name. I love saying it. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, I love you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and her lip trembled. “Oh, my. I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s a first.” He handed her the tissue box sitting beside his bed. “I don’t want to screw this up, so I’ll warn you. My ex-wife said I was too distant. Too reserved.”

  “Yeah, you think?”

  He grinned. She knew him too well already. He patted the bed beside him. “I never told her I loved her. I let the distance grow. What love we had between us died. There’s more to communication than those three words, and the break wasn’t all my fault, but you get the idea. I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you.”

  “I won’t let you.” Smiling, she eased down and sat beside him. She clasped his hand again. “So I have to make you tell me at least twice a day that you love me. Maybe three times. You could say it again now.”

  “Sophie, I love you.” He tugged her closer, nudging the oxygen tube aside so he could rock his mouth over hers. Her tongue caressed his as she kissed him back. He let the taste and the scent and the feel of her flow through him, a healing balm better than any medicine.

  When the kiss ended, she gazed at him with serious intent, no more teasing. “I want you in my life, but I know what you said about danger to family. More than most, I appreciate the hazards of your job.”

  “I was seeing through a prism of grief and hatred. Cops of all kinds have families. What happened with Vadim was one in a million. De Carlo, of all people, reminded me of that.”

  After he’d inhaled more oxygen, he said, “What about your search for independence?”

  “Independence doesn’t mean I have to be alone. I’ve done some thinking too, learned some things about myself. You know those cousins in Florence?”

  He nodded. “Their addresses were in your suitcase.”

  “When my memory returned, I remembered meeting them. I think that was the reason I blocked out the entire vacation, not just Vadim. My cousin Enrico is a professor at the University of Florence, and his sister is a nurse.”

  “I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt like hell. Teaching and nursing, professions you were trying to deny.”

  “Exactly. You said I was fighting my true nature. You were right. I loved teaching the Donati kids and helping them develop and grow.”

  “No wonder you couldn’t figure out your direction. You were in a tunnel and ignoring the light at the end.”

  She smiled. “After I nurse you back to health, I want to finish my degree in education.”

  “Sounds like a plan. But an incomplete one.” He kissed her nose. “Marry me, Sophie. I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to cook pasta and Tuscan chicken with you. Make babies with me, Sophie. I love you.”

  There, he’d said it again. Easier the second time. Or was it the third?

  Her eyes widened. She pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh my, once again I’m speechless.”

  “All you need is one word. Sophie, say yes and let me breathe again. I have only one healthy lung here.”

  A slow smile curved her lips. More tears sparkled on her lashes. “Yes, Jack, I’ll marry you and make babies with you.”

  Waves of joy and relief nearly lifted him off the bed. Propping herself so she wouldn’t hurt him or her shoulder, she kissed him gently. He couldn’t hold her as tightly as he wanted, but he could sate himself on her taste. Her mouth was sweet and insistent, and when lack of breath made him pull back, he ached for more.

  She squeezed his hand. “David will always be your son. Will you take me to the ceme
tery in Miami? I want to put flowers on his grave and say a prayer. For Tonia too.”

  “We had our differences, but she was a good mother.” Then his throat clogged for some reason, so he merely nodded and kissed her again.

  Fourth of July sparklers soared inside him, disintegrating the remnants of the clawed monster that had tormented him for what seemed like eons. Her mind had blotted out her painful memories, and he obsessed on his until they poisoned him.

  No longer.

  He couldn’t change the past any more than he could forget it, but he could choose to move on.

  Together they would make a new future.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading DARK VENGEANCE. My memories of a trip to Italy and my research allowed me to indulge myself with Italian culture and lore. I steeped myself in the language and history, architecture and scenery as I created villas and villages. Of course, I had to sample the wine and recipes that accompanied my characters’ journey from Venice to Tuscany. My research was so tough!

  I hope you enjoyed immersion in the romance of Italy along with the adventure. If you did, please help others find the book by leaving a review at the retailer where you purchased it. Now continue reading for the start of Dark Memories.

  —Susan

  Please Enjoy this Excerpt from

  Dark Memories

  (DARK Series, Book 1)

  DARK MEMORIES - Chapter One

  “SO, LAURA, I see you’re still holding court.”

  The racquet slipped from Laura’s shaking fingers to clatter on the tennis court. Ten years vanished in a heartbeat. Only one man’s smoky rumble could hum like that through her nerve endings.

  “Thank you, Kay,” she said to the girl who retrieved the racquet. “Um, you girls switch opponents and keep practicing.”

  Simmering with awareness and trepidation, she scarcely noticed whether they complied or not. She turned to face him.

  With indolent male grace, Cole lounged against the gate. Self-assured and arrogant, yet elements of his rebellious youth remained.

  The last time she’d seen him he wore leather. His present garb of charcoal T-shirt and khaki cargo pants appeared almost respectable, except for the scuffed boots. Military, not the chain-draped motorcycle boots she expected.

  Why was he in Maine? She had to get rid of him fast, before he revealed her identity. If he lingered, she’d have to run again, to find a new sanctuary and a new identity. Her life was in danger. She’d take no chances with a wild card like Cole.

  And what consummate gall he had to approach her after dumping her like a worn-out tire on his Harley-Davidson. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to reveal how much he’d hurt her, how much damage his betrayal had caused. She couldn’t trust him.

  Her stomach knotted, and her heart raced. It took a minute for controlled breathing, learned in therapy, to ease the tension.

  She clutched her racquet in front of her — useless as protection — as she walked to the fence. “What are you doing here, Cole? Hart’s Inn is a family resort, not a biker bash. Did your motorcycle dump you, or are you lost?”

  His ice-blue eyes bore into her without a hint of the humor she’d discerned in his mocking greeting. His expression was as chilly and unrelenting as the North Atlantic tide.

  After unwinding his arm from the fence support, he hooked his fingers in the fence above the opening. “Can’t a guy take a vacation?”

  “Here? That makes a lot of sense.” She propped one hand on a hip. “The Cole Stratton I knew traveled only to motorcycle races, certainly not to a staid old resort. Your idea of vacation was a six-pack and a Saturday afternoon.”

  She blinked under his scrutiny. What did he think about the changes time had wrought in her? Cole might be tracing her shape with his gaze, but at least she could keep her scars — physical and emotional — hidden from him. She closed the shirt collar around her throat.

  Fire leaped in his eyes, and tension flattened the skin across his angular features as though he were struggling with his thoughts or emotions. His scent, a mingling of aftershave and soap, and another musky essence purely Cole, wafted to her, a lure to buried emotions and memories.

  Oh, God. She couldn’t let her awareness of him erode her vigilance. She had much more at stake than pride and resurfacing anger.

  He plunged a hand into his dark hair, spiking it into disarray. “Hell, I’m not here to hassle you. General Nolan sent me to protect you.”

  Laura grasped the fence for support. Trent Nolan? Her breath came in shallow gulps, and she willed her lungs to drag in air. “Why on earth would the director of a Homeland Security agency approach you about me?”

  “You don’t want these happy vacationers to know how you got those scars you’re trying to hide. Or how Alexei Markos is hunting the only murder witness against him.” He jerked a nod toward the goggle-eyed kids on the court. “Lose the audience. We need to talk. In private.”

  A tornado twisted through Laura, leaving in its path the wrecked illusion of anonymity and safety at this quiet lake. “But how do you know all this? Why are you here?”

  “Hey, Laura, how’s the tennis going?” Burt Elwell waved to her from a golf cart laden with garden tools and painting supplies. His curious gaze earned no response from Cole, who stared at him stonily.

  “Terrific.” She waved off the young handyman. The fewer people who noticed her with Cole the better.

  “Laura, are you coming?” one of the girls called.

  “Can he come and play, too?” Kay cooed.

  Although consumed with curiosity, Laura knew she couldn’t cut short the lesson. Some parent would complain to her boss, and she didn’t want to have to explain Cole. Even if she could.

  “I have to finish the lesson,” she said to him. “Then you’d better have a good explanation.” Hoping that was the final word, she retreated to her class.

  Like birds to a feeder, her flock of students gathered around her, clamoring for her to observe their progress. Kay, the oldest girl at thirteen, said, “Who’s the hottie, Laura? Your boyfriend?”

  “Just someone I used to know.” A friend. A lifetime ago. It had been friendship, at least at first. Maybe she should have remained a timid rabbit like the other girls and not have approached the leather-jacketed rebel in senior history class.

  Then she wouldn’t have fallen for him two years later.

  For the next half hour, Laura could scarcely focus on what she did. A robot, she shot balls to each girl in turn. As they swatted at them, she mumbled inane phrases of praise and critique.

  Her brain swirled with questions. How did Cole know General Nolan? How did he know about Alexei Markos? And how could she get rid of this dangerous man?

  For a while Cole stood beside the closed gate. When parents of one of the girls arrived to watch the practice, he strolled away and leaned against a tree.

  Keeping him in sight as she tried to pay attention to her charges, Laura observed wryly that Cole Stratton never actually strolled. He prowled.

  He wasn’t overly tall, about six feet, but God knew what kind of labor must have augmented his lean muscle to render him more imposing than ever. His hair was still as black as night but clipped ruthlessly short, no longer in a thong-tied ponytail. What had been taut lines at eighteen and twenty stretched into deep creases down the lean planes of his tanned cheeks. Thin white scars slashed his chin and right temple. He’d matured into a man who would invariably draw female eyes. He looked hard, dangerous and — much as she hated to admit — sexier than ever.

  She used to call him cowboy. The soubriquet still fit.

  Unbidden, the memory of his rescuing her at their all-night, unsanctioned graduation party leaped to her mind. When some of Cole’s drunken biker pals had rolled in, he’d stopped one from harassing her. He’d worn a black Western hat instead of a helmet, and she’d called him cowboy. Seeing through his tough-guy biker persona, she’d been attracted to his protect
ive nature and sense of honor.

  But that was before he’d broken her heart.

  When the tennis lesson ended and the girls dashed away to their cabins, she turned to confront him.

  He was gone.

  Not knowing whether to be relieved or frightened, she froze. Swimmers’ carefree squeals and the tang of pine scent floated on the light breeze, cooling the perspiration on her forehead.

  Thank God, she thought, giddy with conflicting emotions. Maybe she’d dreamed him up, this ghost from her past. Or from one of her nightmares. She emitted a bitter laugh that stopped just short of a sob. Like a ghost, he’d dematerialized. In a puff of exhaust from his bike, he vanished from her life.

  He must have.

  After zippering her racquet in its case, she hurried toward her cabin.

  About the Author

  SUSAN VAUGHAN is the multi-published author of romantic suspense novels. Her books have won the Golden Leaf, More Than Magic, and Write Touch Readers’ awards and have been an RT Book Reviews Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Nominee and a finalist for the Booksellers’ Best and Daphne du Maurier awards. Her books have been translated into German, French, Spanish, and Icelandic and published in more than eleven countries. She’s a West Virginia native, but she and her husband have lived in Maine for many years.

  To keep up with Susan’s latest book news:

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  She loves to hear from readers: SHVaughan.author@gmail.com

  Also by Susan Vaughan

  The DARK Files series

  The DARK Files series *

  DARK MEMORIES (Book 1)

  DARK COVER (Book 2)

  DARK RULES (Book 3))

  * Devlin Security Force *

  ON DEADLY GROUND (Book 1)

  RING OF TRUTH (Book 2)

  CLEOPATRA’S NECKLACE (Book 3)

  AT LAST – a Devlin Wedding (Novella 3.5)

  * Task Force Eagle *

  ALWAYS A SUSPECT (Prequel)