by Alice Sharpe
“I knew you’d come for me,” she whispered
“I’ll always come for you.”
Their lips met in a soft kiss that mingled tears and fog and brine. It was a moment Alex wished he could freeze and lock away, because it was pure, untainted by anything but need.
Casting him a look he would never forget, Liz murmured, “You saved me.”
He couldn’t think of an answer, so he kissed her again.
Alex stared at her tearstained face and said, “Are you okay? How about the baby?”
“I feel okay. The fall doesn’t seem to have affected either one of us.”
Knowing the situation could have been much worse, Alex was relieved to hear Liz’s words. His love for her was overwhelming in its intensity.
But the questions remained—who had tried to kill his very pregnant wife and what would happen when the culprit discovered she was still alive…?
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
The holidays are upon us! We have six dazzling stories of intrigue that will make terrific stocking stuffers—not to mention a well-deserved reward for getting all your shopping done early….
Take a breather from the party planning and unwrap Rita Herron’s latest offering, A Warrior’s Mission—the next exciting installment of COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL, featuring a hot-blooded Cheyenne secret agent! Also this month, watch for The Third Twin—the conclusion of Dani Sinclair’s HEARTSKEEP trilogy that features an identical triplet heiress marked for murder who seeks refuge in the arms of a rugged lawman.
The joyride continues with Under Surveillance by highly acclaimed author Gayle Wilson. This second book in the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series has an undercover agent discovering that his simple surveillance job of a beautiful woman-in-jeopardy is filled with complications. Be there from the start when B.J. Daniels launches her brand-new miniseries, CASCADES CONCEALED, about a close-knit northwest community that’s visited by evil. Don’t miss the first unforgettable title, Mountain Sheriff.
As a special gift-wrapped treat, three terrific stories in one volume. Look for Boys in Blue by reader favorites Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor about three long-lost New Orleans cop brothers who unite to reel in a killer. And rounding off a month of nonstop thrills and chills, a pregnant woman and her wrongly incarcerated husband must set aside their stormy past to bring the real culprit to justice in For the Sake of Their Baby by Alice Sharpe.
Best wishes to all of our loyal readers for a joyous holiday season!
Enjoy,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
FOR THE SAKE OF THEIR BABY
ALICE SHARPE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.
Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Liz Chase—The heiress and businesswoman resigns herself to a divorce in order to move into the future and find peace before her baby is born. Then her imprisoned husband walks back into her life….
Alex Chase—The former fireman and confessed killer of Liz’s uncle has limited time—before his new trial—to discover the truth, protect his wife and reclaim his freedom.
Devon Hiller—The wealthy, manipulative autocrat had so many enemies it’s a toss-up who wanted him dead the most.
Sheriff Roger Kapp—His hatred of Alex Chase leads to a slipshod investigation and a hung jury, but he won’t rest until he gets Alex behind bars for good.
Ron Boxer—The leasing agent at the Harbor Lights Mall, he’s the big brother Liz never had, as well as a trusted friend and confidant.
Emily Watts—Ron’s prickly sister and Liz’s friend, she has secrets of her own.
Harry Idle—The former shopkeeper blames the late Devon Hiller for all his problems.
Dave Sullivan—The one man at the fire station who never loses faith in Alex.
Battalion Chief Montgomery—The chief holds a crucial piece of information about Kapp’s scheming.
Sinbad—The ever hungry, ever loyal Siamese cat is yet another victim.
This book is dedicated to my newest darling,
Carmen Amelia Sharpe,
with enduring love.
A huge thanks to Tom Hanky and Station 14
of the Albany Fire Department for their generosity
in helping me with this book. Thanks also to
Donna Beamer of the Heritage Mall, and
Jennifer Jones for her spiffy ideas and
incalculable support.
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Prologue
May 14th
Devon Hiller lit a hand-rolled Cuban cigar and leaned back in his chair. Under strict doctor’s orders not to smoke, drink or become unduly stressed, he amused himself by blithely indulging in all three. Hell, he wasn’t dead yet.
It was good to have the house to himself again. A cleaning crew would come in the morning and pick up after the party, but for now he was just glad to be rid of that crowd of brown-nosers. And that included his niece, Elizabeth, though he had to admit issuing ultimatums to her had been the high point of his evening. Never mind her husband, a ticking bomb if there ever was one. What could he do about anything? Nothing, that’s what!
As Devon took a generous sip of cognac, he thought he heard a noise in the foyer and straightened in his chair. Parking the cigar in a heavy crystal ashtray, he peered into the gloom as the door to his study silently drifted open.
“Who’s there?” he barked.
A figure moved in the shadows.
“That you, Elizabeth?” he chuckled as he set aside the snifter. “Back again, are you? Changed your mind? Good, good. I knew you’d see it my way.”
The figure stepped into the light. Not Elizabeth.
“How did you get in here?” Devon demanded. The look on the intruder’s face caused an alarm to go off in Devon’s brandy soaked brain. His gun was in the wall safe. Palming the antique letter opener he always kept on his desk, he slowly got to his feet.
“I thought I made it clear I wasn’t going to do business with you,” he growled as he rounded his desk. A show of strength, that’s what was called for. Just as he decided to throw in a few words of warning, he finally noticed a long green cord stretched between the two gloved hands.
The intruder’s lips curled into a smile that sent Devon stumbling back, groping for the phone. His attacker moved swiftly, pulling Devon away from the desk, slamming him onto the Persian carpet. The impact caused the letter opener to tumble free.
Still Devon struggled, gratified as he felt his fingers wrap around the green fiber, then gasping as a sharp pain drove all other thoughts from his brain. He was conscious just long enough to glimpse the hilt of the letter opener erupting from his chest.
He died knowing that
, in the strictest sense, his bad habits had finally caught up with him.
Chapter One
Seven Months Later
The jarring ring of the doorbell startled Liz Chase awake. She sat very still for a moment, trying to remember what she’d been dreaming, but the images dissolved without ever taking form.
The bell rang again. Setting aside the paperback novel that had lulled her to sleep in the first place, she heaved her very pregnant body from an aging rocker and mumbled, “I’m coming.” Curled up by the cold fireplace, Sinbad, her Siamese cat, opened one blue eye and yowled.
Through the parted drapes she saw a light-colored truck pull away from the house and a jolt of uneasiness rocked her. It had to be close to ten o’clock. Who would plan an unannounced visit at this hour? Who would apparently send his or her ride away before making sure Liz was home?
Wishing she’d gotten around to installing a chain on the door, she cautiously pulled it open as she switched on the outside light.
For a moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Was this one of those dreams within a dream where you thought you were awake but you weren’t? She whispered, “Alex?”
He blinked at the sudden influx of light just as she shivered from the gust of cold wind that blew a handful of fallen leaves around her feet. He was dressed in jeans and a heavy jacket and looked far better than he had a right to look.
“Liz,” he said at last, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “My God, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”
She managed to mumble, “I thought…how…”
“In a minute, sweetheart. Just give me a minute.”
Heart racing, she glanced over his shoulder. Across the narrow country road, she caught a glimpse of her only neighbor’s lights. She searched her own heavily shadowed yard for—
For what? Sheriff Kapp and a posse of deputies?
She found nothing but the forbidding shapes of denuded fruit trees twisting in the wind, dancing to the mournful sound of ocean breakers hitting the base of the cliff below.
Alex cleared his throat. “May I come in?”
A death grip on the door kept her on her feet while she considered his question. Her instinct was to say no.
“Dave Sullivan gave me a ride,” he explained as though giving her time to gather her wits. “I didn’t want you running around at night,” he continued. “Not with the baby coming.”
As her free hand flew to her midsection, her indecision fled. “I think you should leave,” she said, pushing on the door.
He blocked it with his hand. “Honey, wait. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Except for a few glimpses of him in the courtroom when she’d testified at his trial, she hadn’t seen him since the night he killed her uncle. She’d thought she’d never see him again. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?
“Liz, please.” He had somehow moved across the threshold. Letting go of the door, she pushed against his chest, but he caught her hands and held onto them. “Liz!”
For the first time, she met his gaze straight on. His stormy eyes and gaunt cheeks hinted he wasn’t sleeping or eating well. His skin was pale, unnaturally so for a man who had spent most of his life outdoors, whose passion was fighting infernos and saving lives, who camped and hiked year-round. Jail time can do that to a man, she figured, trying to imagine what he’d look like after ten years behind bars, twenty.
“I’m home,” he said gently.
She felt a biting pain behind her nose as tears gathered there but went no farther. She fought with herself to discount the way his voice caressed her, the sudden ache his presence created, an ache she’d spent months trying to overcome, to deny. Pulling away, she said, “No—”
“I’m home,” he repeated fiercely, his face mere inches from hers, his breath warm against her chilled skin. His gaze bored two holes into her. “Home, Liz.”
And feeling the pressure of his hands clasped around hers, sensing the heated power of his body standing so close, she felt every last ounce of self-control and pride slip away. Horrified at her own weakness, she nevertheless burst into tears, slumping against him, relying on his quickness and strength to save her from hitting the floor in a pitiful heap.
He caught her with forceful hands. Supporting her against his side, he shut the door, shielding them both from the wild cold night and prying eyes.
It’s all been a terrible mistake, her heart chirped like a demented songbird. Haven’t you somehow known it all along? He’s your husband and he’s home.
For the first time in months the planet fell back on its axis.
“You’re really here,” she whispered as he wiped away her tears with trembling fingers whose touch she’d thought she’d never again feel. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
How many nights had she dreamed this very thing? Alex’s soft, sensuous mouth pressed against hers, his big hands gently cupping her face, his lips everywhere, grazing her forehead, eyelids, mouth, chin. She held onto him as tightly as she could, afraid he might vanish from her arms the way he always vanished from her dreams, but he was flesh and blood and real.
A million questions rattled around in her brain. She shut them out. For the moment, it was enough to go on feelings and her feelings were telling her that everything she’d thought about her husband for the past several months had been unequivocally wrong. Damn the facts, damn his own confession. Damn the way he’d turned away from her, shut her out. All wrong.
Her husband.
Not for long. Not now…
Like the relentless advances of an unwelcome suitor, reason refused to leave her alone. Things weren’t so simple. She’d come a long way in the past six months, further than Alex knew. She’d had no choice.
Pulling herself away, she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“I came because of you.” Tugging on her hands, he led her toward the light cast by the floor lamp. “Look at you.” His gaze dropped from her face to her distended middle and he put a hand on her belly, lightly cradling his baby. She involuntarily flinched at the intimacy.
“I missed all this,” he said. His gaze lifted again and his expression was so carefree he almost looked like the boy she’d fallen in love with over twelve years before. “Do we know the sex?”
“No,” she said, her voice shaky. She’d worked hard to eradicate the surreal quality that had suffused her life for the past several months, thanks to him, but now it was back.
His gaze swept over her, leaving her breathless, reawakening memories of him she’d fought desperately to forget. Alex after a fire, alive and safe; Alex in bed, reaching for her, loving her…
“You cut your hair,” he added, fingering the tousled blond tresses. “I like it.”
She’d cut her hair because he’d loved it long.
“Honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come sit down.”
Summoning her resolve, holding her breath, she blurted, “I’m not moving from this spot until you explain how a man who should be in prison is suddenly here in my living room.”
He looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “I know you’re surprised—”
“You could say that,” she whispered.
His gaze traveled every square inch of the room as he took off his jacket, revealing a black shirt she’d never seen before. It didn’t fit him very well; it was too tight across his broad shoulders, too short in the sleeves. He caught sight of the cat who now sat on his haunches, both almond shaped eyes wide open. “Sinbad, you little devil, how are you, boy?” He picked Sinbad up and as Liz watched, the cat rubbed Alex’s chin in a show of affection and trust. Liz found herself thinking that life was easier if you were a cat.
Alex put Sinbad down and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. He stared at the unused fireplace for a moment, then back at her. “You still can’t stand an open flame in the house,” he said softly.
She shrugged as he strode to the door with the unconscious grace that had first attracted
Liz in high school. Back then, she’d been a shy freshman and he’d been the star varsity basketball player, the resident bad boy, four years her senior. It had been love at first sight.
He locked the door then yanked the drapes closer together, blocking out the black, moonless night.
From what—or whom—was he hiding?
Rolling up each sleeve in turn, he faced her again, more in control now, thinner than in the past but still unbelievably fearless and every inch the man she’d pledged to love for eternity.
She said, “Why are you stalling?”
Staring at her as though she might disappear at any second, he whispered, “Because I can’t believe I’m really here. I thought I’d never see you again.”
She nodded, well acquainted with that particular feeling.
He moved close to her and added, “There’s going to be a new trial.”
A veritable tidal wave of relief flooded Liz’s central nervous system. Her legs felt wobbly again, but all she could think about was that a new trial must mean new evidence and some kind of…well, mistake or misunderstanding.
“Come sit down before you fall down,” he insisted, taking her arm.
She obligingly sank down on a chair and stared up at him. “I’m okay,” she insisted, relieved when he let go of her. It was hard to think clearly in his presence, let alone form a coherent thought when he actually touched her.
And then his statement resounded in her head. A new trial? How could that be? She knew his case had gone to jury two days before. The television and radio had been full of little else; the newspaper had all but locked him up and thrown away the key. She’d avoided watching, listening to or reading anything that had to do with his trial. What was the point? He’d confessed. He’d shut her out. He was history.
He pulled the ottoman near her chair and sat down opposite her, so close their knees touched. Propping his hands on his thighs, he leaned closer still. “The jury was unable to reach a unanimous verdict.”
“They’re hung?”