Always Look Twice
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
‘‘Geralyn Dawson demonstrates what is best about
the romance genre. . . . She writes with
tenderness, passion, and absolutely gripping
suspense. With her full-blooded characters and
rip-roaring plots, Dawson always delivers.’’
—Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author
Praise for Geralyn Dawson
Never Say Never
‘‘Dangerous, romantic, always well-written . . . the narration remains smooth, the dialogue compelling, and the attraction between the leads palpable.’’
—Romantic Times
‘‘Outstanding! An author after my own heart. . . . Witty, creative . . . a perfect read for adrenaline junkies or addicted romance readers . . . a top pick.’’
—Romance Readers at Heart
‘‘Dawson continues to weave superb storytelling with sexy characters . . . excellent! I’m anxiously awaiting the third book in the series.’’
—The Romance Readers Connection
‘Combines romance, humor, and adventure to create a light, entertaining read.’’ —Affaire de Coeur
‘Dawson takes two very appealing leads and shakes and stirs them up to create another winner. . . . Matt and Torie’s chemistry sizzles from the moment they meet. . . . Dynamic characterizations, crackling and often-funny dialogue, a hot romance, and a nice touch of suspense make Never Say Never a top contender for your October reading list.’’ —BookLoons
‘‘Read Geralyn Dawson and fall in love!’’
—Christina Dodd, New York Times bestselling author
Give Him the Slip
‘‘Dynamic characters, folksy writing leavened with tension and suspense, and a steady dose of steamy romantic interludes . . . create a truly enjoyable romance.’’
—Booklist
‘‘Dawson pens a complex, intricately plotted novel, and creates a community full of offbeat characters and circumstances.’’ —Romantic Times
Praise for Other Novels by Geralyn Dawson
‘‘The feel-good book of the month. The wonderfully funny, poignant romance has just the right balance of humor, sensuality, and engaging characters to make it a treasure. Ms. Dawson has written a book that gives you that warm glow.’’ —Romantic Times
‘‘Warm and delicious enough to satisfy the sweet tooth of any reader. Geralyn Dawson leaves me hungry for more.’’
—Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author
‘‘A terrific fairy-tale romance.’’ —The Best Reviews
‘‘With her trademark emotional storytelling and many touches of humor, Ms. Dawson has penned another winner.’’ —A Romance Review
Also by Geralyn Dawson
Give Him the Slip
Never Say Never
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Fifteen years ago, I dedicated
my first book this way:
For Steve
Thanks for the time, the understanding,
and the support.
You’ve shown me what a true
Texan hero is all about.
Twenty-one books and a few novellas later, I am blessed to know that some things never change.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank Sally Sorenson and Will Sankey for their help with things Hawaiian. Colorado girl Nicole Burnham helped get me to Telluride. Christina Dodd showed me Seattle, Mary Lou Jarrell took me to Kansas, and Mary Dickerson put her Philly Girl experience at my disposal. Thank you, my friends!
Thanks, also, to my editor, the wonderful Laura Cifelli, for loving the Callahan men and being such a joy to work with.
Chapter One
Late summer
Lanai, Hawaii
The things we do for family.
Mark Callahan sucked a peppermint while his bloody hands clutched the coarse holds of the blue-black rock face. Halfway up the two-hundred-foot cliff, he searched for the next foothold. Below him, ocean swells crashed violently against the rocks. Above him, a three-quarter moon and a sky full of stars cast a silvered light across the land. When the wind blew just right, he could hear soft music and occasional laughter drifting from the grounds of the estate called Hau’oli.
From the Zodiac anchored at the base of the cliff, his brother Matt’s voice sounded in his earpiece. ‘‘You doing okay, bro?’’
‘‘Nice of you to ask,’’ he drawled in reply, the sarcasm in his voice unmist
akable as he rolled the hard candy around his mouth.
‘‘You scared the shit out of me during that slide. I dropped my mike. Took me a couple minutes to find it. What happened?’’
‘‘I damn near fell—that’s what happened. The wall pancakes from ten feet of solid basalt to ten feet of fractured, crumbly rock. Lost my footing. Sliced my hands to hell.’’
‘‘Well, be careful. We don’t have time for you to climb the cliff twice.’’
His brother’s sympathy overwhelmed him, so Mark responded, ‘‘Bite me.’’
His foot found purchase on a narrow ledge and he ascended another step. Filling his lungs with salt-scented air, he looked up. Fifteen minutes more, he figured as the last of his peppermint melted away. Maybe twenty. He had plenty of time.
Mark knew what he was doing. He’d climbed more-dangerous cliffs in his life under far worse conditions. One instance in the mountains of Afghanistan stuck out particularly vividly in his mind. Wind blowing like a sonofabitch. Gunfire from down below pinging off the rocks all around him. Tonight’s climb was a walk along the Brazos compared to that.
Besides, he’d prefer the challenge of a cliff to what awaited him above. He was crashing a party, the kind with expensive food and liquor and women—women whose smiles were as plastic as the boobs on their chests. Not at all his idea of fun.
He adjusted his night-vision goggles, then spied another foothold. He worked steadily, capably, and quietly until he reached the top of the cliff. ‘‘I’m here. Signal Luke.’’
‘‘Roger.’’
‘‘No, not Roger. Luke,’’ he murmured back, easing the tension with the old, bad joke.
Mark cautiously lifted his head and studied the area in front of him. Solar lamps and spotlights illuminated the area. Beyond a short hedge of flowering bushes, lush green grass stretched toward the house some thirty yards away. To his left he spied a resort-style pool and tropical waterfall and spa. A tennis court lay off to his right. This stretch of land along the cliff was the only section of the estate’s border not fenced, though his research had indicated the existence of a buried cable perimeter-intrusion-detection system. Judging by the presence of guests milling on the lawn, the protective alarms were disabled for the evening, just as he’d anticipated.
Excellent. His gaze swept the area, then snagged on a woman dressed in red facing away from him. Whoa. He popped another peppermint into his mouth and savored.
The gown exposed most of her back and clung like a second skin to a shapely, world-class ass. She was tall and lean, and she wore her auburn hair piled high on her head. The long slit in the back of her dress revealed shapely legs that stretched on forever. From this angle, anyway, she was one fine example of womanhood. He wished she would turn around. Wished he was closer so he could see her more clearly. Something about her called to him.
Hold on, Callahan. Remember where you are. What she’s liable to be.
He’d outgrown porn queens years ago.
Seconds later, the first explosion sounded, followed quickly by another, then a third. Luke’s distraction successfully alarmed the guests strolling on the lawn and sent them scurrying for the protection of the house.
The woman in red took off in the opposite direction, toward the pool area. Hmm. Curious.
A guard rushed past Mark’s position, pulling his sidearm as he ran toward the booms. Luke’s string of high-explosive, not-legal-in-the-good-old-USA firecrackers was doing its job.
Mark pulled himself up over the crest of the cliff onto level surface. He ducked behind a flowering bush, stripped off his black jumpsuit, and used it to wipe the blood from his hands. After stashing the suit and his climbing shoes in the shrubs, he removed his dress shoes from his pack and slipped them on. A quick glance confirmed that no one was looking his way, so he shot the cuffs of his tuxedo, stepped out onto the lawn, and strolled toward the house.
Glass doors led into a sumptuous formal living and dining suite with a wall of floor-to-twelve-foot-ceiling windows that provided a panoramic view of the Pacific. Bet the daylight view takes a man’s breath away. Kinda like the woman in red.
The guests stirred in concern over the commotion outdoors until security personnel began circulating word of firecrackers and troublemaking teenagers at the neighboring estate. Mark accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and returned his attention to his surroundings, idly noting the opulence of the furnishings and design of the luxurious estate. The style was classic Louis XV, with magnificent marble and murals, crystal chandeliers, and embroidered silk draperies that framed Technicolor views of the Pacific Ocean.
Obviously, porn paid exceptionally well.
The estate’s owner, Harvey P. Selcer, was a second-generation pornographer who used his father’s string of adult bookstores to launch Selcer Films back in the 1980s. A B-school graduate, Harvey brought modern marketing techniques to the industry, and today Selcer Entertainment Group was sometimes referred to as the Microsoft of the porn world. Now in his fifties, Harvey had billions in the bank, a Hugh Hefner reputation, and Howard Hughes paranoia.
And a porn-queen girlfriend born and raised in Brazos Bend, Texas.
Hence, the Callahans’ presence at this party. Sophia Garza had called home for help, claiming that Selcer wouldn’t allow her to leave the estate. Her great-aunts,Maria and Juanita Garza, had asked the Callahan brothers to solve the problem. Mark didn’t care a flying fig about Sophia—she was a pitiful, pitiable figure in his opinion—but he loved the Garza sisters. They had worked for his family for years and become family in the process. He and his brothers had made this trip for them.
A woman dressed in blue sidled up next to him. Not Sophia—her pretentious habit was to always wear pink. ‘‘Hello, handsome. I don’t believe we’ve met before. My name is Eloisa. What’s yours?’’
Mark arched a brow and gave her a swift once-over. Bleached, Botoxed, lifted, and implanted. He didn’t bother to smile as he replied, ‘‘Not interested.’’
She huffed off as Matt spoke into his ear. ‘‘Don’t be such an ass. Socialize. Remember, you need to blend in.’’
What he needed was to find Sophia and get the hell out of here. With that objective in mind, he made his way toward one side of the bronze, wrought-iron twin staircase, thinking he could more easily observe the crowd from the upper mezzanine.
Halfway up the staircase, Mark hesitated. The hair on the back of his neck rose. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the woman in red. There is something about her. . . . But as he turned his head to look at her fully, the sight of another person stopped him in his tracks.
Dark hair worn long and tied in a ponytail. Thin, harsh features. Narrow black eyes. Mark swallowed what was left of his peppermint. ‘‘Holy shit.’’
‘‘What is it?’’ Matt asked.
‘‘Not what. Who. Radovanovic is here.’’
There was a long pause on the other end of the wire before Matt said, ‘‘You’re kidding.’’
‘‘Christ, no.’’ Mark almost, almost pulled his 9mm from his shoulder holster and shot the bastard dead. Rad might not be the one who actually kidnapped and murdered Mark’s brother John, but as Ivars Ćurković’s first lieutenant, he’d damned sure protected the man who had.
In that moment, Radovanovic lifted his head and caught sight of Mark. The shock in the Eastern European’s eyes quickly morphed into fury. He and Mark had gone a few rounds more than once in the past.
‘‘You need to get out of there,’’ Matt said.
‘‘No shit. He’s seen me.’’ Mark knew he was in a vulnerable position and should move, but he’d be damned if he’d break eye contact first.
Matt let out a long string of curses.
‘‘No sign of Sophia yet, either,’’ Mark murmured when Matt paused to catch a breath. ‘‘Maybe I should just kill him.’’
Matt hesitated a moment before saying, ‘‘No. We don’t have the necessary connections in Hawaii, and the red tape would be hell. Wh
at the hell is Radovanovic doing there? He’s on the wrong damned side of the world!’’
Finally, Rad caved and shifted his gaze away. Mark continued up the staircase, his mind considering and discarding various scenarios of how to deal with this unexpected complication. What would the Croat gangster do now? Send his minions after Mark? Probably. He would want to know the reason why they’d both ended up in the same place at the same time.
Or maybe he’d run. He wouldn’t know that Mark didn’t have an army backing him up. Of course, Mark did have his brothers, who were better than most armies in the world.
Upon reaching the mezzanine, he turned to survey the scene below him once again. Rad stood beside the door leading to the pool area, and there, a flash of pink. Sophia, on Harvey Selcer’s arm.
Hmm . . . That gave Mark an idea. Maybe he could pull this off, after all. He’d use Selcer to—
The familiar sensation of a gun barrel poking into his back stopped him cold.
‘‘Of all the ops in all the mansions in all the world, he has to walk into mine,’’ came a hauntingly familiar feminine voice. ‘‘Do exactly as I say, Callahan, and you might get out of here alive.’’
Mark’s jaw had slackened in shock. ‘‘Annabelle?’’
‘‘Hush. Don’t turn around, and for once in your stubborn, granite-headed life, listen to me.’’
Annabelle. It had been Annabelle in that red dress, not a porn queen. Although had she chosen that particular career path, she would have been a star.
‘‘Give me your Glock.’’
Mark snorted. The last time he’d seen Annabelle, she had stolen not only his gun, but also his wallet and his clothes in a childish fit of pique. ‘‘Yeah, right. I know all about how you like to leave me naked.’’