Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
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
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Biography
Untamed
Duty Bound, Book 3
J.S. Marlo
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3
Copyright © 2013 J.S. Marlo
ISBN: 978-1-77101-952-1
Cover Artist: Mina Carter
Editor: Megan Martin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
Dedication:
To Joe and the kids. Love you!
Acknowledgments:
Teresa and Tara, without your inspiration and support, I may never have gathered the courage to write a deaf heroine. I hope I did Hannah justice. Thanks!
Kim, you spoke so fondly of Newfoundland that I had no choice but to post Avery in your beautiful corner of Canada. I hope you enjoy.
Megan, working with you was a pleasure. Thank you for being my new editor.
Many, many hugs!
J.S.
Chapter One
This wasn’t reckless. It was insane.
Sensible women don’t search for a dog at sundown when a snowstorm looms on the horizon, ready to strike.
Every bone in Hannah Parker’s body agreed this was a bad idea, but her heart refused to listen.
The female rat terrier meant everything to her son. She couldn’t let the little dog freeze in the bitter February cold. Not only would it be wrong, it would also be cruel.
Snowflake, what possessed you to run away in such weather?
Hannah swerved between the trees in a part of the forest she hadn’t ventured in since October. The vibration of the snowmobile coursed through her body, and the single headlight illuminated the paw prints in the fresh snow.
How did you manage to run this far? The feisty dog liked to chase after squirrels, grouse, and rabbits, but she didn’t usually venture kilometers away from the cabin.
Twigs and branches Hannah couldn’t avoid scratched her winter coat. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Behind her, her son was harnessed to the seat, the visor of his yellow helmet down. Rory should be in his pajamas leafing through his picture book in front of the fireplace, not bundled up in a snowsuit, but she couldn’t leave him alone in the cabin. They only had each other—and Snowflake.
A clearing opened ahead, and the wind picked up, prickling the exposed flesh around her mouth. The evergreens shook, their branches heavy from the last snow dump they’d received a few days ago. Powdery snow swirled into the darkening night, lowering visibility and erasing the paw prints.
A path where Hannah often hiked during the summer skirted the clearing. She followed it to an old log bridge. No one knew who’d built it or when, but the structure had withstood years of abuse at the hands of Mother Nature—until now.
The handrail and the post on the left side were broken, as if something had smashed into them. In September, Hannah had come fishing here with Rory and they’d caught five trout in the creek flowing underneath the bridge. Before she’d let her son lean against the handrail, she’d shaken it to ensure its solidity. Back then it’d been intact.
She parked the snowmobile a few feet from the broken post, lifted her visor, and turned toward her son. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
His head bobbed up and down. At four years old, Rory could be trusted to follow her directives. Leaving the engine running, she disembarked.
There was a ledge under the platform where birds nested, the perfect nook for Snowflake to crawl into and weather the coming storm. The headlight of her snowmobile shone under the bridge. As she approached the frozen creek on foot, the light reflected on a ski protruding from the snowbank near the opposite pillar.
A snowmobile can’t possibly be buried under the bridge.
The damage to the handrail appeared consistent with a vehicle ramming into it. In these parts, the forest was dense, and few people rode here. It was conceivable the rider had lost control and plunged over the bridge. As she trekked down the bank, she peered under the platform for a sign of her dog. The ledge was empty.
Snowflake, where are you?
With the colder than normal temperatures they’d endured since Christmas, the creek would be frozen solid. She crossed the ice and started digging into the snow. Within a few sweeps, she exposed a second ski and the hood of a vehicle.
A violent gust of wind stung her eyes, briefly obscuring her view. A warning to go back home before the storm trapped them in the forest.
A few more seconds. If someone had crashed here during the winter she would have been told. She hadn’t, and that sparked all sorts of discordant vibrations in her body.
Driven by a sense of urgency she couldn’t explain, she scooped snow by the armload baring a cracked windshield...then a black helmet. At the sight of the red maple leaf painted on its side, her heart summersaulted.
No. It can’t be.
With a trembling hand, she lifted the visor. The shock of seeing his bloody face and lifeless blue eyes silenced the scream roaring inside her chest.
Chapter Two
“They demoted you for drinking in your cruiser and posted you on The Rock?” A guttural laugh jiggled Sgt. Greg Reed’s belly. The flab rolled like waves underneath his tight shirt.
News traveled fast, and bad news even faster.
Avery Stone had reported to the isolated Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment in Mooseland, Newfoundland, late last night, and already his past had caught up with him. “I was off duty, Reed. They—”
“Sergeant Reed.” If the glare in his eyes could kill, his new superior wouldn’t need the
gun attached to his belt. “Now listen, Constable Stone. I’m two years away from retirement. You cause me any trouble and you’ll wish they’d sacked you. Understood?”
Before his depressingly fresh demotion to Constable, Avery had outranked the sergeant. Without his four chevrons pointing upward he felt naked and incomplete. “Yes…Sergeant.”
Reed stood in the doorway of his personal office, his winter jacket slung over his shoulder. At fifty-seven, the officer had thirty-three years of service under his gut and not a stain on his record. “Close the files on your desk and try to stay sober.”
In the opposite corner of the room, a wooden stove, with a log burning in its core, rested on four cast iron legs. Against the adjacent wall, Avery’s newly assigned desk stood underneath a frosty window, next to a stack of freshly-cut firewood.
A mountain of paperwork was piled on the desktop. Avery grabbed the closest folder and looked inside. Five drunken men arrested for disorderly conduct. The report was dated November 6th, and the arresting officer was Corporal Brent Abbott, Avery’s predecessor. Abbott had gone missing two weeks later, and his body had been found frozen in a snowbank twelve days ago, remarkably preserved.
“These arrests took place three months ago.” If not closed, the report should have been filed. It didn’t look like Sergeant Reed or Constable Lee Cooper, the absent Mountie whose desk was on the other side of the stove, had picked up the slack after Abbott’s disappearance.
“That’s called backlog, Stone. I kept bugging the top brass for a replacement ever since Abbott took off, and behold, they sent you. Must be poetic justice.” Reed donned his jacket. “If there’s an emergency, you can reach me by radio. I’ll be at Terri’s, Abbott’s widow. Now that we found his body, the poor woman needs help with finalizing the arrangements for the funeral tomorrow.”
An unmanned counter separated the constables’ work area from the lobby, but it didn’t shield Avery from the draft of cold air accompanying Reed’s departure. In a three-person detachment, resources were limited, and the officers were on permanent standby for the duration of their posting. On call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No bloody break.
Avery tossed the report back on his desk, then ventured down a brightly lit corridor with doors on each side: a narrow kitchen, a restroom needing attention, and a storage room stocked with filing cabinets and shelves full of boxes. At the end of the corridor were two jail cells separated by a concrete wall, both unlocked and empty, near an emergency exit leading to the back of the building.
Like most members in the force, Avery had heard of the working and living conditions in remote communities, but he’d never dreamed—or wanted—to experience them for himself. If not for his rogue reputation, he would never have drawn this assignment.
Three years ago, Avery had lost his partner in a shooting, and drowned his grief in barrels of beer. Rowan had nursed his broken spirit, and the summer he’d spent with her at Buccaneer unearthing skeletons had given him a new lease on life. He’d pieced his career back together and gone back to active duty—only to be posted in Newfoundland.
Time for a Red Eye.
He backtracked into the galley and searched the cupboards on the outside chance he might find a can of tomato juice and a bottle of beer.
***
Greg parked his brand new four-wheel drive SUV in the street in front of Terri’s bungalow. Her silver Lexus was in the driveway alongside Cooper’s RCMP cruiser.
Dammit, Coop. Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?
Since Abbott’s disappearance, the younger Mountie had spent lots of time with the beautiful widow. When Terri called him earlier, Greg had been ready to offer a compassionate shoulder to lean on. He didn’t count on Cooper’s presence.
If not for their age difference, and the aggravation of two greedy ex-wives, Greg would have thrown caution to the wind and pursued Terri more openly.
The door opened before he had time to knock. “Hello, Gregory. I saw you from the window.” Feisty and proud, Terri sported mystic green eyes and gorgeous golden curls. “Thanks for coming.”
As he followed her into the kitchen, he spotted Cooper on the living room floor. The constable’s tie was gone, the top button of his light blue shirt undone, and his sleeves were rolled up. He was assembling a miniature train under the gleeful gaze of Lyn, a little blonde as gorgeous as her mother.
The kid deserved a good daddy to replace the sleazy man who’d fathered her, but seeing the twenty-eight-year-old constable rising to the task didn’t sit well with Greg.
“Lee is good with her. He’s been filling the void left by Brent’s departure. Coffee?”
Terri’s uncanny ability to read his mind during innocuous social interactions unnerved him.
“Yes, please.” The sugar and milk were on the counter, within his reach. He added a dash of milk, more for color than taste, then took his mug with him to the table. “What can I do for you, Terri?”
“It’s about my in-laws.” Taking a seat opposite the table, she took a sip of her own mixture. “I waited twelve days to bury Brent so his parents could attend the funeral. Now they want to take his body back with them to North Bay.”
The lack of intonation in her voice masked her feelings regarding her in-laws’ request. Terri’s mother was deceased, but her old man still lived here. He was CEO of Thor Gold Mines, and his only daughter had grown up here in Mooseland. Under different circumstances, Terri might have wished for her husband to rest in peace nearby, so she and Lyn could go visit him. But Abbot’s disappearance had exposed his darker side.
“How do you feel about it?” The man had been no decent or loving husband. Greg wouldn’t think any less of Terri if she shipped his sorry carcass to Ontario.
“After what he did…” Her voice quivered, and her knuckles whitened as she visibly tightened her grip on the coffee mug. “I just want him out of my life.”
“Understandable.” The sorry excuse for an officer hadn’t deserved a wife like Terri.
She leaned forward. “Would you take care of the arrangements for me? Please? I’m busy with my computer courses. I don’t have time to deal with his parents’ request.”
“Of course.” Reaching out, he touched her forearm. She could count on him. Always. “I’ll contact his parents and arrange the details with them. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”
Chapter Three
On most days it didn’t bother Hannah that her son didn’t eat any faster than fresh paint dried on a cool, rainy day. Today it did. “We need to get into town. Would you hurry and eat your breakfast?”
Rory looked at her with big blue eyes, so much like her own, but when his mind wandered, his gaze lost its focus, and she could see his father in him. Not a memory she wanted to dwell on.
“If you finish your oatmeal, I promise to buy you some Timbits.” Doughnut holes were her son’s favorite treat, and while blackmailing wasn’t a technique on which she often relied, his slow pace didn’t give her much of a choice. They couldn’t be late for church. Not today.
He shoved a big spoonful in his mouth then dropped the utensil into the bowl, splashing oatmeal onto his pajama top.
A sigh expanded inside Hannah’s chest. “What is it?” After half an hour, there was no way his breakfast was too hot.
Snowflake zoomed out of the kitchen at the same time Rory knocked with his fist into thin air. Three times. One of the many secret codes that bridged their worlds together.
“I will go answer the door. You keep eating, okay?” Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she crossed into the living room.
The dog scratched at the door, her short tail wagging like a windmill. With her foot, Hannah nudged the animal aside. A front of frigid air swept inside the cabin when she answered.
“Hello, Hannah.”
“Cooper?” At the best of times, the constable’s visits were an inconvenience she tolerated. Today, she had no patience to spare for the young, cocky officer. With his curly
strawberry blond hair, turquoise eyes, disarming smile, and strapping physique, he could have been a poster boy for model agencies. Unfortunately for him, she was immune to his charms.
As if Snowflake sensed her annoyance, she leapt at the unwelcomed officer and sank her teeth into his leather boots. Cooper shook his leg, frowning, and Snowflake retreated behind the couch.
“The pooch doesn’t like me, does he?” The greeting might as well have been written on the front of his uniform. He repeated it every time he stopped by.
“No, she doesn’t.” Hannah had stopped counting how often she’d corrected him. By now, the sex of her dog should have sunk in. “What do you want?”
By skipping the pleasantries, she hoped to shorten his stay.
“I’m attending a colleague’s funeral in a few hours. Why don’t you send the boy to his room and show some compassion?” As he took a step inside, he unzipped his jacket. One hand lingered on his big, shiny belt buckle, and she fantasized about chopping off the appendage. “Checking on you every week isn’t part of my job description. I deserve some kind of compensation on a day like this.”
His gall sickened her, but as much as she wanted to report him for sexual harassment, she couldn’t. Cooper would claim she had misread his lips, blame the misunderstanding on the lack of a hearing aid.
The words of a supposedly respected RCMP officer against the words of a deaf woman once arrested for prostitution. She would lose. The incident would tear her already tarnished reputation to shreds. Such was the price for silence.
“I have a better idea, Cooper. Stop checking on me and get out. I’d hate to mistake you for a bear and shoot you.”
He stared her down, but she held his gaze. After what felt like an eternity, he gripped the doorknob. “You’re alone in the woods, Parker. Don’t push your luck.”
And with this cryptic advice, he left.
***
The church, with its two-dozen rows of pews, was packed. Morally obligated to attend the funeral, Avery stood in a corner at the back, near a set of wooden doors leading outside.
Abbott’s widow and daughter, a smaller version of her mother, sat on the front pew between grandpa, the richest man in town, and Abbott’s parents. On the steps of the altar, Sergeant Reed chatted with the minister near the closed casket.