This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Christie Craig
Cover design by Jerry Todd
Cover images by Arcangel
Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hot Target copyright © 2018 by April Schwartz
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ISBN: 978-1-5387-1162-0 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1164-4 (ebook)
E3-20190917-DANF
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Discover More
About the Author
Praise For Christie Craig
Also by Christie Craig
Keep Reading for Hot Target
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
April Hunt's Alpha Security Series!
On autopilot, Vicki reached up to grasp the necklace that had become her touchstone.
When her fingertips found an empty spot on her chest, she felt the empty spot in her heart. She had to find the necklace. It was the last gift Alison had given her.
She approached the counter. “I’m Ms. Hanson, Bell Hanson’s mom. I was told I needed to fill out paperwork, but I could swear that I—”
“Yes. Have a seat and someone will be right with you.”
Vicki took a chair and told herself it was nothing. You are safe now.
The office noise buzzed around her. Needing a distraction, to relax, she looked at the latest breaking news on her phone. But there was no relaxing. Not when two uniformed cops walked in.
She held her breath as the officers moved to the counter. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.
The woman at the front desk got up to greet them. They spoke in hushed voices, then the receptionist looked up and motioned at Vicki.
The officers started toward her. She didn’t move, just sat frozen, her heart hitting against her breastbone. A voice inside her screamed, Run!
To women everywhere who struggle to find a sense of self, to find the strength to stand up to those who try to push them down
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Women are like tea bags. You never know how strong they are until you put them in hot water.
—Often attributed to
Eleanor Roosevelt
Prologue
Juan held the camera and filmed his wife as she spoke. Angie had come up with this idea of making videos for their unborn daughter so that when she grew up she would know how wanted and loved she was at the start.
“I love you, baby girl, and I love your daddy.” Angie spoke to the camera. “This is me and you before you were born. See?” She pulled up her shirt and showed the basketball-sized bump from her seven months of pregnancy. She grinned up at him. Her love for their baby was so bright that sometimes it hurt to look at her. “We’re so happy to be having you.”
Juan stared at his wife of two years. Love shone from her blue eyes, and a smile of pure happiness added a glow to her expression. A halo of blond hair rested on her shoulders. She was indeed an angel. His angel.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve her, but if fate ever realized it’d screwed up and tried to take her back, he was prepared to fight. And fight dirty. He was keeping her. She made the bad things in his past feel small. She made the bad things he saw every day feel less horrible.
She waved him forward. “Now put the camera on the stand and come be in the video.”
“I’ll ruin it.”
She made her cute face and gave him a come-here wiggle with her index finger. “Don’t be shy.”
He did as she said, because telling her no was impossible.
She wrapped her arm around his waist. “This is your daddy. Juan, say something to your daughter.” She playfully bumped him with her hip.
“I’m camera shy,” he said, but it was a lie. The truth? This whole parenting thing made him nervous. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the idea of having a child. It just didn’t feel real. Sure, he’d placed his hand on his wife’s middle and felt the baby move, he’d seen the fuzzy sonogram video that showed the child was a girl, but it still didn’t feel…true.
And that worried the hell out of him, too. He saw what Angie felt for their unborn baby. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t tap into those emotions.
Ricky, his older brother and a father of two, assured him it’d change when he held his daughter in his arms. He hoped like hell Ricky was right. He hoped losing his parents the way he had hadn’t somehow damaged him and prevented him from being the kind of dad a kid deserved.
“Juan.” She touched his arm. “Say something.”
“Okay.” Pause. “I think you’re going to be the luckiest little girl in the world. Your mama makes everyone she loves feel special, like they have everything they’ll ever need
. She’s smart and so beautiful. And I’m sure you’ll grow up to be just like her.”
“Right,” Angie said. “Like you aren’t easy on the eyes.” Angie looked into the camera. “Your dad’s friends call him Pretty Boy. He even did TV commercials while he was going through school.”
“Don’t tell her that.” He’d only done it to pay tuition.
Angie laughed. “But I don’t love him just because he’s a hottie. The day I met him he was getting a kitten off the roof of my apartment building for an elderly neighbor. He was kind to the kitten. He was kind to the neighbor, who was being a pain in the butt. And as a cop, he still helps people every day. It’s why I fell in love with him then, and why I love him even more now.”
Juan leaned down and kissed her.
The kiss lingered. “Okay.” Angie pulled back. “Let’s cut off the video.”
“And then what?” He waggled his brows.
She stopped taping, pushed a few buttons to send the video to the cloud, then shot him a sexy smile. “If you get the tools and put the crib together, you might get lucky.”
“You want to tape that, too?” he teased.
She swatted his ass.
He laughed and went to the garage to get his tools. Their new puppy, Sweetie, followed him out.
He’d just found the wrench when his phone rang. Anonymous number, it read. He still took the call. “Yeah?”
“You didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you?”
The voice, Guzman’s voice, yanked the joy right out of his chest. How had the gang leader gotten this number? It could mean only one thing: his cover was blown.
He’d taken one step toward the door, toward Angie, toward everything that mattered in his life, when a massive blast blew him back. The wall of the garage imploded, throwing him over his car.
“Angie? Angie? Angie.” Her name fell from his lips like a litany. For one second, he could swear he heard her call his name. Felt her sweet touch to his face. He got to his feet. The taste of his blood thickened his tongue. His ears rang.
Disoriented, he fought his way out of the collapsed garage. Pieces of his roof were scattered over the lawn. Fire claimed what was left of his house.
“Angie!” he screamed, and ran inside.
Chapter One
Three years later
I love you, baby girl, and I love your daddy.”
Sweetie’s barks woke Juan up. He must’ve fallen asleep watching the video again…Crawling out of the recliner, he gave the television screen and everything he’d lost another glance. He walked to the back door. All seven pounds of the dog stood in attack mode.
“What? A firefly up to no good?”
Sweetie growled.
“Fine, go save the world.” He opened the door. The white toy poodle, in desperate need of a haircut, raced out. He should take better care of her. Angie would’ve. Hell, if Angie were alive, the dog would have painted nails and pink bows.
She’d have done the same for their daughter. If they hadn’t died.
Leaving the door open, he turned to reclaim his recliner, but Sweetie’s growl had him retracing his steps. Thick summer heat brushed over his bare chest. Moving under the covered patio, he focused on Sweetie. Front paws on the wooden fence, she barked as if something, or someone, was behind it.
He started to call her, but swallowed the words when a figure lunged up and over the fence. Not landing in his backyard, but in his neighbor’s. The house had been vacant until a couple of weeks ago. Yesterday, he’d heard a kid talking to Sweetie through the fence.
In full cop mode, he ran back through the door, grabbed his gun, and hauled ass outside again.
He bolted over the fence, his bare feet landing in his neighbor’s yard with a thud. Blinking to adjust to the darkness, he saw someone at the back door as if trying to break in.
“Anniston PD.” Juan’s dead-serious tone echoed in the night, joined by Sweetie’s barking. “Don’t move. Hands over your head. Now!”
The guy, measuring over six feet, turned. Light-colored eyes stared through a ski mask.
Holding his gun in a firm grip, Juan moved in. “On the ground. Do it!”
The man’s hands shot high, and he started to get down on one knee. But before his second knee hit the concrete patio, the asswipe grabbed hold of a rusty three-legged charcoal grill and flung it.
The metal slammed against Juan’s head. Burnt coals and ash that smelled like dead hamburgers rained down on him. The smell he could handle, the gritty blindness not so much.
Blinking, trying to rid the black dust from his eyes, he saw the perp haul himself over the side fence. Partially blind, pissed, and maybe stupid, he stuck his gun in his pants and gave chase.
He had one leg over the wooden slats when something—no, someone—yanked him back. He landed hard on his ass.
Two perps? How had he missed that?
He rolled once and stood. A kick to his right eye socket took him down again. He gazed up, but could make out only a blurred figure looming over him. A figure holding a baseball bat.
Juan reached for his gun, but saw the bat swing. He caught it, yanked it from his assailant, threw the weapon away, then continued for his Glock but was flattened by a kick to his gut. Pain spasmed through his stomach. Charcoal-flavored ash caught in his throat. Unable to breathe, he watched as his gun was pulled from the waistband of his jeans.
Since he’d lost Angie and his daughter, dying had been one of the multiple-choice options on his what’s-next test, but the idea of being taken out by some lowlife home invader, and with his own gun, put a fire back in his belly.
He grabbed an arm. The perp struggled. The gun dropped. Juan, giving everything he had, tossed the asshole off of him. The perp was small. Light. Shit. Was this a kid? When the guy hit the ground, a moan filled the dark air.
Fighting the urge to rub his eyes, Juan lunged to his feet to find his gun. A big mistake. A kick slammed into his ribs, stealing his breath.
Still standing, he body-slammed the guy, landing on top of him.
Then bam, Juan had to retract that thought. No, not a guy. A woman.
“Stop!” he spit out. “I’m police.”
Her squirming stopped. He shot up on his knees. She scooted a foot away from him.
“That’s good.” His words came out breathless. “Just calm down.”
Forced air filled his lungs. She shifted, and before he could stop it, her right foot slammed into his nuts. “Damn! Shit!”
She stood, then quickly dropped down on all fours and ran her hands over the ground—no doubt looking for his gun.
He tried to stand, but he puked instead. Okay, so maybe he was about to join Angie after all.
He fell back on his butt, blinked, and spit out the bitter taste of charcoal. The woman, a few feet from him, stood, a gun—his gun—aimed right at him. A splash of silver moon shifted from behind a cloud, and his vision cleared a bit. She wore a nightshirt. White with black script that read ANGEL AT REST.
He’d hate to see her when she wasn’t at rest. What was she doing wearing pajamas to break into…Crap. She wasn’t the perp. She was his neighbor. She must’ve thought he was the burglar.
The taste of blood brought on another realization. He’d just gotten his ass kicked by a resting angel who, standing on her tiptoes, didn’t reach his shoulders.
He held his hands up. “I’m police.”
“I don’t care if you’re the pope.”
“So you don’t trust the pope or the police?”
“Not if they’re breaking into my house.”
“I wasn’t…The guy who tried to break in jumped the fence. I came to help you. I live next door.”
“Then why did you attack me?” Her tone came armed with snark.
“Whoa. You attacked me.” His throbbing balls were all the proof he needed.
“What’s on your face? Why did you run?”
“I didn’t…I wasn’t. I was chasing the guy breaking into your back door.�
� He ran a hand over his face, flinching when he touched his swollen eye. “And I’m covered in ash from that grill that the asswipe slung at me.”
“Riiight.” Her grip tightened on the gun. “You think I don’t know why you’re here?”
“Obviously, you don’t. I’m your neighbor, and I work for APD. You don’t want to shoot me. Call the police—”
“I already have.”
“Good.” Then he flinched at the thought of his police buddies seeing him beaten up by a tiny angel.
“Move and I swear I’ll shoot you.”
A wave of nausea hit. He pushed it back. “I’m not moving. But I’d appreciate it if you’d take your finger off the trigger. It doesn’t take much pressure to—”
“You think I don’t know how to use this?”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ve underestimated you already. But I don’t deserve to be shot.”
“Then shut up and don’t move.”
“I’m not.” But it became a lie when his throbbing balls insisted he readjust his crotch.
“You’re moving!”
“My balls hurt, okay?” he growled.
Neither of them said another word for several minutes. The only noise in the night was Sweetie whimpering on the other side of the fence. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Was she an officer herself? Ex-military?
The scratchy sound of her back door opening had her bunching up the nightshirt to hide the gun. As the material rose, his still-watery gaze got a nice view of her outer thigh.
“Au— Mom?” a young voice called.
“Go back inside.” The woman looked away from him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Juan considered pouncing to retrieve his weapon, but the child spoke again.
“What are y-you doing?” The fear in the voice gut-punched him.
“Go inside, honey. Now!” Her voice grew stern. Sweetie’s bark echoed again. The door closed.
“I’m really the police.” Juan softened his voice. “Go inside and check on her.”
“Not happening.” Sirens and tires screeching sounded in the dark.
“Let them know we’re back here before they break the door down and scare your kid,” he snapped.
Don't Breathe a Word: Includes a bonus novella (Texas Justice Book 2) Page 1