Love Inspired Suspense September 2015 #1

by Margaret Daley

  “I’ll clean it out just for you.”

  “Right.”

  “Seriously, I’ll—”

  “It’s okay, Jake. You don’t have to try and take my mind off this ride. I need to focus.”

  “I know.” His pal shut up and helped Seth settle in. Seth passed the rope between his pinkie and ring finger, then over the top of his hand across the back and around again to thread it under where it crossed his palm. Then he moved the rope between his middle and index fingers and clamped down hard.

  He was ready.

  No, he wasn’t.

  Fear flared. “Do you ever think about Daniel before you ride?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Every time,” Jake said. He’d watched his friend die just as Seth had. Then six months later, Seth had fallen and been horribly injured. He knew Jake had to wonder if he was next.

  “Where’s Monty?”

  “He was on the computer in the break room last time I saw him. The orders are rolling in.” Monty and several of the other buckaroos ran a side business selling Western wear through an online store. “Don’t worry—he’ll be here. Like you said…you just focus on staying on.”

  “Right.” Focus would be a good thing. Staying on would be even better.

  For Seth the flashes of falling off the bull six months ago wouldn’t fade. He’d been back riding now for two months, training and working. And each time he got on one of the beasts, the images from the past came forward to taunt him. Focus.

  Mia and her well-trained dogs ran from the arena to the resounding cheers and applause of the entertained audience. Mia used dogs, while Tonya defied death walking a high wire and being shot out of a cannon. Mia would be back in about fifteen seconds to help Tonya bullfight.

  The clock ticked. Mia returned in a flash of color and renewed applause. She moved opposite of Tonya and waited on the other side of the gate.

  A third bullfighter, Rhett Jamison, grasped the rope he’d use to pull open the gate when Seth gave him the signal. Tonya met his gaze then gave him a slow nod. The timekeeper held the stopwatch next to Seth’s head. He’d press the button as soon as the gate opened. His muscles bunched and he forced them to relax. He’d have to move with the bull, not fight him. He nodded to Rhett.

  Rhett pulled the rope and the gate opened. The bull shot out and went into his rocking north-and-south bucking motion. Seth kept his free arm up, his stomach tight, his weight centered over the hand that gripped the rope, muscled legs clamped against the beast’s sides.

  Eight seconds. Just do it for eight seconds.

  He knew what he was doing. The ride felt right. Good. The fear fled. Exhilaration filled him. He let his body flow with the movement. Time slowed; the roar of the crowd faded. It was just him and the bull.

  The bell sounded. Elation zipped through him. He’d done it again. He’d stayed on. The rope slipped. He frowned and felt himself falling. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Wha—?

  Seth was on the ground, his lungs straining for air. The past rushed back to hit him and he steeled himself for the pain, for the bull to trample him. He tried to breathe, to roll, and couldn’t move.

  A hoof hit his newly healed leg. Pain ricocheted through him and blackness descended.

  *

  “Seth,” Tonya whispered even as she, Rhett and Mia went into action. Mia moved, flapping her arms. The bull turned in her direction and galloped toward her. She ran for the barrel, then dived inside. The bull stopped and turned back to focus on Seth and the men who’d already jumped into the arena to grab him. But there was no way they’d get him over the fence in time if the bull charged.

  Tonya raced forward, her brain whirling. She had to buy the men time. She yelled and snagged her horn from her pocket. A fierce blow loud enough to hurt her ears confused the animal. He stopped and turned to look at her for a brief second.

  Then ignored her and charged back toward Seth. The men almost had him over the fence.

  Tonya dashed over to slap the bull on his hindquarters, then dart off to the right since he had his head lowered and to the left. The animal roared, pivoted in the direction she’d anticipated he would. It bought her some time, but not much. He finally came after her. Mia, who’d climbed from the safety of her barrel, waved her hands and yelled, but the bull had Tonya in his sights and wasn’t being distracted.

  Tonya didn’t hesitate. She was dead if she did. She ran for the fence, grasped the top rail and flipped herself over. She hit the ground on the other side as the bull’s horns hooked through the fence. With a snort and a few bucks, he stomped off, back to the pen. Mia jumped over the fence and collapsed down on the ground. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m all right,” Tonya gasped. “And Seth… Did they get him out? Is he okay?”

  “Thanks to you, he is,” a deep male voice said. Tonya felt hands grab her, pulling her to her feet, and immediately her mind went to her stalker. She released a quavering sigh. The man who had her was a stranger to her, but somewhere in the crowd, Hank Newman waited.

  Was he still here? Her eyes darted from face to face. Too many faces. He could be hiding behind any one of them. “That was some move you did there over the rail. Never seen anything like it,” another voice said.

  Tonya focused on the speaker. Monty Addison, Mia’s brother. “Gymnastics,” she muttered. She took several long, deep breaths. “Where’s Seth now? How bad is he hurt?” She whirled around, still scanning the area, grimacing at the twinge in her lower back. She might have made it over the fence, but her form could have used a little work.

  She saw the EMTs hovering over Seth about ten yards down. She rushed toward him, concerned. “Please, God, let him be okay,” she whispered.

  Monty stayed with her. She could almost feel his worry as she came up to the edge of the crowd. They now had Seth on a stretcher, his leg in splints. The sight of his pale, colorless face grabbed her heart, and she nearly buckled as the past rose up in her mind once again. “Daniel,” she whispered. “Not again.”

  “He’s going to be all right, Tonya,” Monty said, gripping her arm. “It’s not like Daniel this time. Seth is going to be fine. Maybe banged up and sore, but okay.”

  She blinked back tears. “How do you know?”

  “They didn’t pull the sheet over his face.” He turned and walked away.

  Tonya swallowed hard. Daniel. Her friend, the man who’d wanted to marry her. Grief welled up again and she shoved it aside. The EMTs carried Seth through the silent crowd and to the ambulance. While they maneuvered him inside, she glanced around, eyes probing. Rhett gave her a two-fingered salute. She nodded and kept looking. Where was Hank? She didn’t want to leave town just yet; she wanted to stay and find out how Seth was doing. But she couldn’t take a chance that Hank would find her and try to kill her again.

  She raced toward the ambulance and grabbed one of the EMTs’ arms before he could swing into the driver’s seat. “Let me go with him,” she panted.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  A glance over her shoulder sent terror slashing through her as her eyes collided with Hank Newman’s. He lifted a hand and she saw his lips form the word “Wait.”

  She looked for an escape route. The crowd pressed in, so she couldn’t run fast enough to get away from Hank. He would catch up to her. She did a one-eighty, eyes searching, desperation filling her. She looked back, made a split-second decision and leaped into the back of the ambulance just as the other EMT reached to close the door. “I have to go with him. Please.”

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” she said softly.

  He studied her for a second. “Sorry.”

  “Let her come,” Seth rasped.

  The paramedic turned back to Seth. “You’re awake?”

  “Let her come.” He let out a pained groan and rolled his head on the pillow. The EMT grasped his stethoscope. “Come on, then.” He held out a hand.

  She lat
ched on to it and scrambled up into the nearest seat. She glanced back and saw Hank closing the distance. “Hurry,” she pleaded.

  “Tonya!”

  She glanced left, panic-stricken, but that wasn’t Hank calling her. Jake Foster sped toward her. He seemed dead set on stopping them before it was too late, but impatience to get the doors shut hurtled through her. Moments later Jake reached the back of the ambulance and tossed an object at her. She caught it in midair. A phone. “It’s Seth’s cell,” he told her. “I want to be able to call. Keep it on. Tell him I’ll clean out my truck if he needs a ride home from the hospital!” He disappeared as the doors slammed shut in his face. She shoved the phone in her back pocket and let a relieved breath escape her.

  The EMT looked at her funny. She ignored him and glanced at Seth. He still looked awful and she thought he might have lapsed back into unconsciousness. Within seconds they were moving. Through the back window, she saw Hank standing still, watching them, the frown on his face shouting his displeasure.

  And Tonya knew, whatever she did, she’d better not wind up within her ex’s grasp ever again.

  Because this time he wouldn’t just leave her for dead—he would finish the job.

  Copyright © 2015 by Lynette Eason

  ISBN-13: 9781460389119

  The Protector’s Mission

  Copyright © 2015 by Margaret Daley

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com

  AMISH TARGET

  Rebecca Fisher’s life was turned upside down when her husband was accused of murder and died in prison. Now, more than a year later, someone is reminding the Amish widow that all hasn’t been forgiven. But Rebecca isn’t about to pay for the sins of someone else’s past. So when the threats escalate and her rebellious stepson starts keeping secrets, Rebecca turns to former army ranger Jake Burke for help. She knows the Englisher is an honorable man, but being around him rattles her traditional community. Before long, Rebecca senses Jake is the only person she can trust with her safety…and with her fragile heart.

  “I don’t mean to cause you any grief,” Jake said, tilting his head. There was a kindness in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing in a man.

  She blinked at him. Flo was right. He was pleasing to the eyes. Inwardly, she shook the thought away. She had no business thinking in those terms.

  “I’m not looking for your friendship.” She didn’t try to hide the exhaustion in her voice. “My coming to your office the other night was misguided. I was desperate. I thought you could help me understand what’s going on with my son.” Rebecca wrung her hands. “But I suppose that’s something I have to work out with Samuel.”

  The professor put his hand on the railing near hers. For the briefest of moments, she thought he was going to cover her hand with his, warming it.

  She ignored the disappointment that swelled inside her when he didn’t.

  Alison Stone lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at alison@alisonstone.com. For more information please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @Alison_Stone. Find her on Facebook at facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor.

  Books by Alison Stone

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Plain Pursuit

  Critical Diagnosis

  Silver Lake Secrets

  Plain Peril

  High-Risk Homecoming

  Plain Threats

  PLAIN THREATS

  Alison Stone

  God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.

  —Psalms 46:1

  To my son Alex, as you embark on your senior year of high school. May you continue to be fearless and intelligent in your choices. You have the world at your feet, Buddy. I can’t wait to see what you decide to do in life. I’m so proud of you. Love you.

  To my editor, Allison Lyons, who continues to believe in me. Thanks for your keen editorial input. My books are the best they can be because of you.

  To my husband, Scott, and the rest of my kids, Scotty, Kelsey and Leah. Love you guys, always and forever.

  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

  EPILOGUE

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM DESPERATE ESCAPE BY LISA HARRIS

  ONE

  “I won’t be long.” Rebecca Fisher scooted forward on the vinyl seat in the van and raised her voice over the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of the worn wipers scraping against the windshield.

  “I have another pickup.” The driver’s words were clipped, as if a return ride hadn’t been understood. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and checked his wristwatch. “Meet you back here in thirty minutes?”

  “Yah.” Gathering the folds of her skirt and her tote bag, Rebecca climbed out of the van, popped up her umbrella and slammed the van door closed. She cast one last glance at the driver, who seemed oblivious to her indecision. Not as chatty as some, the young driver was one of several employed in the heavily Amish community of Apple Creek, New York, to cart the Amish around when they didn’t want to be bothered with a horse and buggy.

  Standing on the sidewalk under her black umbrella next to the brick building, Rebecca watched the red brake lights of the van as it slowed, then disappeared around the corner. She tugged on her black bonnet, trying to shut out the brisk wind and the whipping rain. It was late September, too early for snow, but the cold and rain were a hint of the winter to come in western New York.

  Rebecca checked the address for Professor Jacob Burke on the slip of paper in her hand. Then she squinted at the name of the building carved into the stone above the nearest doorway. Her heart sank. It wasn’t the building she was looking for and all the buildings looked the same.

  If Rebecca didn’t hurry, she might miss the professor. The college student she had talked to at the Apple Creek Diner where Rebecca worked as a waitress had assured her that Professor Burke had office hours on Monday and Wednesday from four until six-thirty.

  Rebecca clutched the collar of her coat and turned down the first brick path leading between a row of buildings. Oh, so many buildings. A male college student strode toward her, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his hood pulled up against the rain and his eyes straight ahead.

  “Excuse me. Do you know where…?”

  The young man continued past without as much as a si
deways glance.

  She squeezed the handle of the umbrella tighter and looked down at the piece of paper as it flapped in the wind, the writing smeared from the rain.

  “Can I help you?” An older woman stopped and gestured with her umbrella toward the young man who hadn’t bothered to stop. “Don’t take it personally, dear. The young people today walk around with those thingies—” she pointed to the side of her head “—in their ears. They don’t hear anything except whatever it is they’re listening to on their phones.”

  “Oh,” Rebecca said, feeling completely out of her element on the college campus. “I’m looking for the Stevenson Building. Room 214. Professor Jacob Burke’s office.”

  “The anthropology building,” the woman said, as if suddenly everything made sense. It was no secret the professor of anthropology studied the local Amish. Perhaps the woman thought Rebecca was availing herself to his research, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.

  Smiling, the woman spun around and pointed across a wide courtyard with her free hand. “You’re close. It’s right over there.”

  “Thank you.” Rebecca tucked the piece of paper into the tote she had draped over her arm. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled back her shoulders and strode across the courtyard to the arched doorway of the brick building. Her pulse whooshed in her ears in competition with the drops pelting her umbrella.

  Rebecca pulled open the heavy wooden door and held it for a second with her foot. After wrestling to close her umbrella, she stepped into the marble entryway. The door slammed, echoing in the cavernous space, startling her. She adjusted her wind-whipped bonnet and smoothed what little hair was visible near the crown of her head.