Love isn’t part of the job...
A tough-as-nails cop, Chantel Harris faces whatever life throws at her, and then some. As part of Santa Raquel’s High Risk team—created by the town’s women’s shelter, The Lemonade Stand—she goes undercover to expose one of the community’s elite as an abuser.
Looking the part is easy, but gaining acceptance into upper society circles is a different matter. That’s where gorgeous and successful lawyer Colin Fairbanks comes in. But Colin is so much more than Chantel could have dreamed. Wanting him is dangerous. Falling for him could ruin everything...
“You’re different...”
Colin drew out the words, then added, “Compelling. In a way I’ve never known before.”
In a stunningly simple black short shift that was sexier for what it covered, not for what it left uncovered, she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine.
And those lips—so artfully painted—glistened with promise.
“You did hear me say that when I’m done with my book I have to return to New York?”
“I heard.”
“And you’re okay with that?” The worry in her gaze hit him harder than the kiss waiting on her lips. She cared, too.
“Yes,” he told her. She’d been honest. If, in the future, they needed to work out something...then they’d work it out.
Two nights ago his life had changed. He’d changed.
And it didn’t seem as if there was a lot he could do about that.
Except to see where it was all going to lead...
Dear Reader,
What can I tell you about Chantel Harris that will make you want to read this book? Whatever it is, please imagine me saying it. Chantel is the best friend...but has few friends. Her closest friend, a female cop, was killed on duty. Chantel was the first responder.
She never expects things for herself, she only asks how she can help others. She’s the kind of friend we all want.
If you haven’t read previous Where Secrets are Safe books, relax, you don’t need to. You won’t feel left behind. For those of you who have, you’ll have seen Chantel once before in book three, Husband by Choice, when she visited Santa Raquel to help her best friend’s widower after his second wife goes missing.
Now a member of the Santa Raquel High Risk Team, she goes undercover to ensure the safety of a boy and his mother and ends up finding something horrible going on in the society she infiltrates. I didn’t know, when I started this book, what was going to happen. I didn’t know until the end how it was going to end. I didn’t even know if the bad guy was bad. Chantel took care of it all. She took care of me. And she’ll take care of you, too, if you give her a chance!
I love to interact with my readers. You can find me on Facebook at facebook.com/tarataylorquinn and on Twitter, @tarataylorquinn.
Or join my open Friendship board on Pinterest! Pinterest.com/TaraTaylorQuinn/Friendship
All the best,
Tara
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
TARA TAYLOR
QUINN
Love by Association
An author of more than seventy novels, Tara Taylor Quinn is a USA TODAY bestselling author with more than seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering emotional and psychologically astute novels of suspense and romance. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She has won a Readers’ Choice Award and is a five-time finalist for an RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for a Reviewer’s Choice Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. She has also appeared on TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. She supports the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.
Books by Tara Taylor Quinn
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
Where Secrets are Safe
Wife by Design
Once a Family
Husband by Choice
Child by Chance
Mother by Fate
The Good Father
Shelter Valley Stories
Sophie’s Secret
Full Contact
It’s Never Too Late
Second Time’s the Charm
The Moment of Truth
It Happened in Comfort Cove
A Son’s Tale
A Daughter’s Story
The Truth About Comfort Cove
HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING
The Historic Arapahoe
Once Upon a Friendship
Once Upon a Marriage
MIRA BOOKS
Street Smart
In Plain Sight
The Second Lie
The Third Secret
The Fourth Victim
The Friendship Pact
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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For Lynda Kachurek, who started out as a fan and became a friend. I am very thankful you sought me out...
Contents
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
EXCERPT FROM THE CLOSER HE GETS BY JANICE KAY JOHNSON
CHAPTER ONE
IT FELT WEIRD being in an interrogation room out of uniform. Not that thirty-two-year-old Chantel Harris spent much time interrogating suspects. She was a street cop, not a detective. But in the twelve years she’d been a cop, she’d been called in to sit with suspects on occasion and to help with questioning a time or two.
Even worse than being out of uniform was entering the room on stiletto heels, with makeup on her face and with her blond hair, which usually lived in a ponytail, cascading down her back in artfully curled waves.
“Excuse me, miss, but... Chantel?”
She almost turned and walked right back out as Detective Wayne Stanton—a friend from academy days—whooped. And grinned.
“Impressive, Wayne,” Chantel said, trying not to become too fond of the way the silk lining of her pants slid along her legs as she sat. Cops couldn’t afford Italian-made silk-lined clothes. Shrugging out of the matching slate blue jacket, she drummed her blunt-cut fingernails on the table. “Let’s get through this.”
“Actually, you’re the impressive one,” Captain Reagan said, coming in behind her and closing the door. “You clean up nice, H
arris.”
“Thank you, sir.” The undercover assignment had been her idea. Hers and Wayne’s. She had no doubts about her ability to do the job. Or her desire to catch the rich scumbag who thought his money and power gave him the right to knock his wife around.
“I might make one suggestion, though.” The captain was holding back a smile.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Before you go to the fundraiser tonight, stop off at one of those walk-in nail salons—I believe there’s one on the corner of Dunbar and First. Get yourself some acrylic nails. No rich society woman’s going to show up with fingers that look ready and able to pull a trigger.”
He had a point. “Yes, sir.”
“The money you received was enough to buy you the clothes and things you need to see you through a six-week stint?”
Six weeks had been the operation’s initial approval window. Chantel hoped she could either get proof in that time or enough evidence to warrant an extension on the assignment.
“Yes, sir. I found a secondhand shop in LA that sells high-end designer clothes.”
“So just to be clear—” the captain looked at her and Wayne “—you’ll work your regular tour, with pay. For this operation you have your project budget, but your time spent is on a volunteer basis.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Wayne echoed. While the detective wouldn’t be undercover, he was not only going to be the person to whom she reported, but he would also be doing follow-up, including information dissemination.
The captain shook his head. “You’re both really committed to this High Risk team.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. By bringing together members from all professions that came in contact with victims of domestic violence, creating an information pool that ensured that doctors and schools and legal aid and child protective services were all on the same page, the team was preventing domestic-violence deaths. Chantel had seen firsthand evidence...
The captain sat back. “You know, when I first read the memo on this team, I thought the folks in charge were nuts.”
Chantel’s jaw tightened as she bit back the ready defense that sprang to her lips.
“But I have to admit...domestic violence statistics, even here in Santa Raquel, are down remarkably.”
She relaxed.
“And you.” He nodded toward Chantel. “You know better than most...”
“Yes, sir.”
She’d first visited Santa Raquel from San Diego two years before, as a favor to a friend who believed his wife had been taken by her abusive ex-husband. Wayne, who’d been a member of the Santa Raquel police force, had helped her—also on his own time—and they’d saved a woman’s life.
As far as anyone knew, it had been Chantel’s first personal experience with domestic violence. And while she’d always known that what had happened with her stepfather had been a crime, she’d only in the past months begun to realize just how hideous his treatment of her had been. Helping Max and Meri Bennet had changed her in a lot of ways. Not only in how she viewed love. Through them she’d found her calling, found a way to put her own past to good use. To make lemonade out of her lemons. She was meant to help other women who, though they may have the strength of Hercules, couldn’t always fight their battles on their own. Innocent women who’d been betrayed in the vilest ways by the one person they were supposed to be able to trust above all others.
She’d applied for a position on the Santa Raquel police force, as well as with the High Risk team developed by The Lemonade Stand—a unique women’s shelter right there in Santa Raquel. The place where Meri Bennet—wife to Chantel’s close friend, Max Bennet—had run when her ex-husband, a Las Vegas police detective, had threatened the lives of her husband and young son.
In the time since Meri’s rescue from the hands of a madman, Chantel had not only grown to know her, but to consider her one of her closest friends.
When she thought about what would have happened to her if Max hadn’t been so adamant that his wife was in trouble...if Chantel hadn’t loved him enough to have enlisted Wayne’s help...
The captain tapped the table. “So, I’ve read the reports. We’re all on the same page here, and unless I hear from Stanton that we have a problem, I’ll expect normal reports on this sting until otherwise noted.”
“Yes, sir.” As a beat cop, Chantel wasn’t used to sitting down for one-on-one conversations with a department captain.
She wasn’t used to hobnobbing with the rich and famous, either. She hoped, during her debut that evening at the auction being hosted to benefit some art foundation, that she wasn’t as tongue-tied and awkward as she felt right then.
The captain seemed to have dismissed them, but he was still sitting there. And until he stood, she couldn’t. “I just have one question...”
“Yes, sir?” Wayne answered for the two of them.
“This collage thing... You don’t think this is overkill? The department’s money, going undercover, working your ass off for no compensation because some kid pasted pictures on a board during art class?”
“The boy’s father has a sealed juvenile record, sir,” Wayne said, immediately pointing out the information they’d found when they’d started asking questions about the wealthy, respected and well-known Morrison family, who lived just a few miles from them in nearby Santa Barbara.
“I understand. He hit his younger brother with a baseball bat.”
“The boy died.”
“That was more than forty years ago. Plus, as we’ve already said, the record was sealed.”
“Hospital records show that Mrs. Morrison is accident-prone.” Wayne was all business as, in his suit and tie—daily attire for him now—he sat forward, facing the captain.
“I understand. She’s not the only woman who appears to suffer from the malady. Believe me, I want domestic violence to stop. I don’t want anyone to suffer abuse at the hands of loved ones. I’m just trying to understand, between you and me, why we’re going to all this trouble because of a collage.”
Wayne looked at her, and Chantel found her tongue.
“The artist who works in the schools doing collages with students, Talia Paulson, volunteers at The Lemonade Stand, sir. She has now had formal training in domestic violence counseling. She works with all students, but part of her purpose is to read the collages, as a way to pinpoint problems students might be having that the adults in their lives are either unaware of or not tending to.
“Anger issues, self-concept issues, grief... It all comes out not only in the photos these kids choose, but in organization and color expression, too.”
She had Captain Reagan’s full attention now. And though she felt like a bug under his microscope, she respected the man and needed his buy-in.
Not to do the job. The project was already approved. But for her own sense of...she didn’t know what.
“Ryder Morrison is a straight-A student in a well-touted private school. He also used to be a star swimmer and was damned good at surfing, too. In the past year, he’s become withdrawn. Never wanting to leave home, or seemingly leave his mother’s side. Talia was called in. What she saw in Ryder’s collage alarmed her to the point that she called the High Risk team immediately.”
“I read the report,” Reagan said. “What was in the collage? That’s what I’m asking.”
“Baseball bats. A series of them, hidden among a collection of surfboards, sticking out of the leg of a pair of swim trunks, as a tattoo on a businessman’s arm. The bats were all small, and all black. The other thing that stood out was a collection of ads—all women selling house-cleaning supplies like furniture polish and floor wax. They also were spread throughout the other clear interest groupings. All of those were rimmed in red and purple. Colors that typically signify love and blood. Bruising. There were othe
r things, but those were the most standout. Talia was alarmed and called us. Wayne checked it out and found not only that Mrs. Morrison was prone to being hurt—bruised—but that Mr. Morrison had had an episode with a baseball bat...”
“Did anyone think about asking the kid about any of this?” Reagan asked. “I didn’t see anything about it in the report.”
“His parents refused to let him speak with us,” Wayne dutifully reported.
Chantel looked at Captain Reagan and made a split-second decision to trust him. He was a powerful man in the small police force. She wanted to know they had him on their side.
“Talia spoke with Ryder,” she said. “He told her that he’d overheard something, but that when he’d asked his mother about it she’d told him he’d misunderstood. We don’t know what he was referring to. But that had been his reply when Talia had asked him about the significance of the baseball bats. He said they were black to represent misunderstanding.”
“A bit deep for an eleven-year-old.”
“Kids who are forced to grow up quickly tend to be that way.” Chantel knew.
Reagan frowned. “So you think what this kid overheard was something about his father killing his little brother?”
Wayne’s head tilted a bit as he said, “Stands to reason. It’s pretty clear that whether it’s something he overheard, or something going on in his home, Ryder has had a complete personality change in the past year and neither of his parents are acknowledging it.”
Chantel added, “They say his behavior changes are no more than a phase, due to his burgeoning adolescence. And because there are no signs of physical abuse against him, no sign that he’s being mistreated at all, there’s no more we can do to gain entrance through a front-door approach.”
“That family is in danger, sir,” Wayne told him. “The boy is clearly afraid.”
“I’m willing to work triple shifts without pay if need be to prevent Mr. Morrison from hurting his son. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if Ryder ended up hurt or, God forbid, dead because we did nothing.”
“Not to mention Mrs. Morrison,” Wayne added. “Her life is clearly even more in the balance than her son’s since she’s already exhibiting signs of having been abused. According to hospital records, she’s had a broken arm, a broken collarbone, multiple contusions on the back of her head and ribs broken in her back. Those are the injuries she sought medical help for. We have no idea how many others there have been. As you saw in the report, we’ve had three doctor notifications of suspected abuse over the past several years, but each time, both parties deny any wrongdoing. It’s clear she’s not going to press charges. Or even stand up for her son. She won’t let him talk to us.”
Love by Association Page 1