Uncensored Passion (Men of Passion)

by Bobbi Cole Meyer

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Harm’s Way

  The next book in the Men of Passion series from

  Bobbi Cole Meyers

  available soon from Arrow Publications

  PROLOGUE

  Harm Pranston exited I-40, glad to be at the end of his journey. When he approached Rainbow Road, with the Sandia Resort and Casino in sight, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Pulling into the parking lot, he braked before the office, switched off the Harley and exhaled a weary breath. For a moment, he just sat gathering his thoughts and drinking in the fantastic view of the Sandia Mountains forming a backdrop to the sprawling city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, before stepping off the motorcycle, removing his helmet and stretching the kinks out.

  Every mile of the 1,200 plus mile trek from Nashville, even though he had allotted himself a three-day period of travel, had been exhausting. But he realized it was more a mental than physical exhaustion because it had been filled with apprehension and plagued with doubt. Was he doing the right thing? Was it wise to go rummaging through a past closet full of skeletons? What would he do when he finally knew all those answers?

  He had purposefully arrived a day earlier than his appointment, in order to have the time to try and relax in anticipation of whatever news McLemore’s son might have to share.

  His son. Damn! I hate dealing with McLemore’s son instead of him.

  Frowning, Harm wondered if the son would be as good as his father had assured him he was when he had last Skyped with the man. He recalled the conversation, complete with the exaggerated drawl of a die-hard Texan.

  ” ‘Fraid I’m gonna have to bow out of this assignment, Mr. Pranston, due to a health problem. I’ve done most of the preliminary legwork already though. But hell, that’s really a misnomer ‘cause it was mostly done from in my office. The highways of the Internet run everywhere, you know? But anyway, the fact is, I’m turning the business over to my kid, Mac.”

  Harm remembered how the old man laughed then, pausing for a minute before adding, “But mind you, Mac prefers to be called M.K. Now, before you protest this switch, let me assure you Mac’s highly capable, expertly trained and actually better at finding missing persons and keeping tabs on them than me.”

  Thinking of that now, Harm shook his head.

  Mac had better be, for what I’m paying.

  Not that he begrudged the exorbitant sum McLemore was charging him. It would be worth every penny to finally know the whole truth; to put those past regrets to rest, consequences be damned.

  After researching and finding out Macklin Killian McLemore Skip Tracers was considered the best tracking firm in the country, Harm had contacted him. Without argument he had paid more than double the ordinary price just to convince the man to take on the task because, as McLemore had put it, he usually only handled cases like locating bail jumpers, not missing persons, and he had a particular aversion to domestic complications.

  Harm had talked him into taking the case only after assuring him it was not a domestically complicated case at all; that he was simply laying old ghosts to rest so he could clear his mind of them once and for all.

  McLemore has simply grunted, as though he wasn’t really convinced but had decided to take it on anyway, and then said, “Well, okay then.”

  Shaking all that from his mind, Harm entered the impressive lobby of the Sandia Resort and Casino. It was packed to overflowing. He wondered if there was some kind of convention going on. He was thankful he had had the foresight to book a reservation.

  When he had given his name and filled out the registration and was handed the card key, he inquired about the bar.

  “There’s a lounge on the ninth floor, sir, and we are proud to say boasts of a spectacular view,” the young lady informed him with a beaming smile, her eyes frankly appraising Harm’s tall, lithe frame. She seemed especially intrigued by the heart-shaped tattoo on his muscular bicep with the word “yes” in the center. She silently speculated about it, wondering what it would take to get him to say yes to her. With a sigh of disappointment, she watched him move away after he gave her a simple, “Thanks.”

  Oblivious to the woman’s interest, Harm stood for a moment, contemplating hitting the lounge, but then opted not to check it out until after he was settled in his room. Having decided that, Harm went back outside and stood breathing in the crisp New Mexico air, that old tense feeling creeping back over him. He reminded himself that this quest was necessary because not knowing was worse than knowing and whatever he found out, he would deal with it.

  Harm wheeled the Harley to the designated parking area, retrieved the hefty cable lock from his saddlebags, then flipped the two-way switch he had installed into the starter button so if anyone other than him tried to start it, the horn would start honking and wouldn’t stop until he had deactivated it.

  Satisfied the bike was as thief-proof as he could make it, he gathered his things and headed to his room thinking, it’s the right time to do this! No, hell, it’s way past due. I should have done this long ago.

  He shrugged off a flash of guilt as he recalled his half-hearted attempt to locate Emily a few years before, knowing that it had been just that—a half-hearted effort. He hadn’t really wanted to succeed. After all, he had his life going great guns; had just hooked up with the most fascinating woman he had ever met; was beginning to live a lifestyle that suited him; had three of the best friends a guy could have, plus a thriving chain of tattoo salons his partner was managing well, and enough money from his online investment consulting business to last a lifetime. What he didn't need was a complication from the past.

  Hell, who am I kidding? It was too easy to just keep letting it slide; to push that mistake to the back of my mind and pretend it never happened.

  Harm stepped inside his room, did a quick survey and was satisfied that it lived up to the Internet hype of being one of the best, then tossed his duffle bag to the bed. He fell down beside it, only then realizing how tired he was. He hadn't slept much since he’d determined to come on this quest and this time, to see it through to the end.

  His thoughts immediately began running backward, one old memory dragging another into his mind—beginning with how he’d lied to his parents those many years back. As he had so many other times before, Harm felt washed by remorse with that memory.

  He vividly recalled that day after graduation, his belligerent tone as he argued with his mother and father, “I am not going to college and that’s it! I’ve decided to go to L.A. and take Uncle Joe up on his offer to be a part of his successful tattoo business. And before you say anything, Dad, I’m telling you, I’ve made up my mind!”

  Harm muttered a sleepy expletive, remembering the shocked look on his mother’s face and his father’s angry retort. “A tattoo artist? Really? That’s the big plan? That’s what you want to be? All right, go ruin your life! Carve ink into people’s skin for a living. Yes, that’s definitely a calling. One day you’ll look back and realize how insane this decision is but it might be too late to rectify it then.”

  “But Uncle Joe is raking in the money. He has movie stars as clients.”

  “Go on then. Just remember, when you make a hard bed, you will have to lie in it. You’ll find out soon enough how hard it is living with the consequences of your actions.”

  Harm swiped a hand over his burning eyes, wishing he could blot out that memory; not wanting to recall his mother asking tearfully, “Why such a rush to do this, Harm? Oh, I blame myself for bragging on my brother and how he’s got such a great business there. But I never dreamed you would want to do it too. What’s right for Joe—and to be truthful, my brother has always had a wild streak in him might not be right for you, Harm. Please reconsider.”

  Harm couldn’t recall exactly what he had told her then. He only knew that he never told either of them the real truth—that he wasn’t running to something as much as he was running away from an evolving situation he just didn’t want to face.


  The painful memory of his parents being killed in a car accident just a week after that argument deepened Harm’s frown and, as it had so many times since, brought a sharp pain of regret that twisted in his gut.

  God, I'd give anything to go back and do things differently.

  The memory of those next few days following that tragic news exploded in his head—he and his uncle going back for the funeral—settling their affairs—seeing Emily again, walking into the funeral home, stirring up a flood of anger he’d just barely contained until then.

  As if it had happened yesterday, Harm remembered how torn with self-recrimination he’d felt. How he’d needed to blame someone other than himself. So, he’d laid the blame squarely on Emily’s shoulders, refusing to speak to her when she came up to him offering tearful words of condolence. He had just turned his back to her and walked away.

  God, what a stupid jerk I was! Well, hell, that’s water under the bridge. Now, I just want to find her; to face her and find out the truth.

  For the last week, while he was Skyping back and forth with McLemore, making plans for the search, Emily had dominated the shadowy world of Harm’s dreams. Always, she was crying; always looking at him with her mascara running and her red lips quivering, accusing him with those puppy dog eyes, repeating the mantra that had stuck in Harm’s head all these years, “I’ve only been with two guys in my life and one of them is you.”

  He hadn’t believed her then and still didn’t, but he had to admit that that was because he didn’t want to believe her.

  His lids dropped sleepily. He’d just take a quick nap, he thought. His breath evened out as he finally gave in to the exhaustion and the moment he did, felt himself spiraling into a dark abyss.

  CHAPTER 1

  M.K.

  Harm was just one of the many men who watched as the woman with mile-long legs incandesced her way into the lounge. And because of their interest, the women with them stared, too. The men ogled appreciatively; the women frowned jealously. Seemingly oblivious of the attention she was generating, she stood with her hands on her hips, her almond-shaped eyes raking the room, obviously looking for someone. Harm squashed a ridiculous urge to shout, “Me! Here I am!” She reminded him of the star on an old TV Wonder Woman rerun he had recently seen.

  The emerald green tank top she wore did not quite meet the skin-tight, hip-hugger jeans, leaving exposed a sliver of tanned skin, where the head of an intriguing dragon tattoo teased the onlookers.

  Unable to take his eyes off her, Harm thought, damn, that lady is some kind of fine.

  It was the first time a woman had peaked his interest since Kayla Saradon. He guessed her to be almost as tall as he was, probably five foot nine and that was without heels because he saw she was wearing sensible-looking, low-heeled boots.

  The fact that every other woman in the lounge was well dressed didn’t seem to bother her. Harm realized by her easy stance and unruffled look that this mystery woman was completely at ease and comfortable in her jeans. Her mass of auburn hair was swept casually to one side and she made no attempt to catch the stubborn tendrils escaping to curl around her exposed right ear that sported a dangling coiled-snake silver earring.

  But the most striking thing about her, the thing that held Harm’s rapt attention once he spotted it, was the unique tattoo on her right arm. The stem of a rose curled up and around her arm, its roots beginning in the center of the top of her hand like a brownish-green ink snake, rising up and ending on her slightly muscled upper arm in a fully opened flaming red rose. The intricate detail of that tattoo was astonishing.

  Whoever did that tattoo did one hell of a job, Harm thought as she stepped farther into the room came toward the bar. It seemed to him that she was coming right at him. And his surprise deepened as she, indeed, did come to stand before him, asking, “Your name Harm Pranston?”

  Sonofabitch!

  “Yes.”

  She stuck out her hand, “My father is Macklin McLemore.”

  Why the hell did he send his daughter instead of his son?

  “I was expecting your brother.”

  “My brother?”

  One perfectly shaped eyebrow shot up and her head tilted to one side, allowing that mass of hair to brush her full breasts.

  “Yes. He told me I would be meeting with his kid Mac, or as he preferred to be called, M.K.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. Harm liked her laugh. It was full on and throaty. Sexy as hell.

  “So, tell me, Mr. Pranston, did Dad actually say his “son”?”

  “Yes. Ah – well, no, not really but he implied that.

  “Bet he said that Mac would be miffed if you didn’t use M.K. instead. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I come from a long line of stubborn, gonna-do-it-my-own-damned-Scottish-way Scots. Dad’s parents named him Macklin Kinnel McLemore after his father and grandfather, and he always hated that name. But then, when he didn’t have the son he wanted, damned if he didn’t name me Macklin Kinnel McLemore the fourth. He calls me Mac but I do prefer M.K.”

  When she saw Harm’s confusion, she added, “Don’t try to understand it. It’s a Scottish thing. So, whether you like it or not, I’m your contact and the one with whom you’ll be working. Any objections?”

  A whole hell of a lot! Harm thought, but those words stayed in his mind.

  “If you're wondering if I can get the job done, stop fretting. I’m the one who found your Emily Richardson in the first place, not Dad. In fact, I’ve been running the business quite successfully for a long time.”

  “You’ve found Emily?”

  “That’s why I wanted us to meet here. First, how about buying a lady a drink?”

  “Sure. What’ll you have?”

  She spoke to the bartender directly since he had appeared and was staring at her, waiting for the order and pretty close to drooling, Harm noticed. And for some reason, that irritated him.

  “A shot of Jose Cuervo Gold. No, make that a double, handsome.”

  The young guy beamed as he set the salt shaker before her. “Lime?”

  “What else?”

  The lady is serious about her liquor, Harm thought as she settled next to him.

  “So, this Emily. Is she a former wife or girlfriend?” M.K. asked.

  The smitten bartender blazed a trail to place her tequila before her. Harm watched her lick the skin between her thumb and forefinger, pour salt there, lick it off, down the tequila in one quick gulp then suck one half of the sliced lime the bartender had placed in a saucer.

  She did that like a pro. Wonder what else she’s good at?

  Masking those thoughts, Harm said, “Now that you’ve had your drink, how about filling me in?”

  She gave him her full attention then, and Harm was struck by her green-eyed gaze. With a jolt, at that moment he was reminded of Kayla Saradon, who had also gotten under his skin with her shimmering green-eyed look. M.K. had that same kind of temptress gaze.

  Damn, why does she have to have green eyes? Harm thought. His breath quickened as old memories ran through his mind…Kayla smiling at him…Kayla beneath him and above him… Kayla now lost to him forever.

  M.K. recaptured his attention by leaning toward him with a mischievous grin, asking, “Anxious to reconnect with your old lover, huh?”

  “Just give me the damned report!” he snapped.

  Settling back on her seat, she said pithily, “All right. I didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject. One Emily Freemont, nee Richardson, has worked here at Sandia Resort and Casino for the last two years. She”

  “Wait!” Harm interrupted. “She’s married?“

  “Was. She’s been divorced now for twelve years.”

  “What does she do here?”

  “Nothing now. She quit yesterday and moved. My guess is she heard from one of the people I was talking to, that someone was looking for her and she bolted. That says to me that she’s running scared. So, tell me, Pranston, is she s
cared of you?”

  “Hell, no. So why didn’t you contact me and let me know she’d already left here?”

  “Tried to but you were already on the road, I guess. I left a message on your cell phone. Have you checked it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, there you go. When you do, you’ll hear me say that she left but I am tracking her. So far, she’s covered her trail pretty well. She took her son and hightailed it like a bat out of hell. I know she’s moved at least a dozen times over the years. And that sounds like the actions of an abused woman. If I thought you had done that, Pranston, no amount of money would keep me on the job.”

  “I never abused Emily,” Harm gritted, even though it flashed through his mind that in a way, he had. “A son? You said she took her son. How old is he?”

  “Don’t know exactly. Never thought to check on that. I know he’s a teenager.”

  Sonofabitch! I may have a son.

  Harm returned M.K.’s stare. She nodded at him. “Okay. Now I get it. The boy’s yours, right?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I want answers.”

  “Seems to me a lot of time has gone by without those answers,” she said, with another raise of eyebrows. “So why now?’

  Harm almost said, it’s none of your business. But all he did say was, “It’s time. Find her.”

  “That’s my job,” she said flippantly. “And I’m damned good at it.”

  Having said that, she slipped off the stool and stood before him, her fingers hooked in her jean’s pockets.

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll find her again. In the meantime, maybe you could unwind a little here. Looks like you could use some down time. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and by the way, keep your cell phone on for a change.”

  She fished out a card from her pocket and handed it to him.

  “Here’s my cell phone number. I’m staying here, too, of course, and I’ve written my room number on it. What say let’s both get our bearings and go from there. I’ve got a couple of leads already. I know she took a Greyhound heading west but that bus makes a lot of stops so she could get off different places. Smart girl. She knows how to disappear. Wonder why she’s so afraid of being found? Tell me, how long have you been looking for her?”