Taken Hostage

by Jordyn Redwood

  Colby’s sapphire-blue eyes held hers, and she felt herself magnetically drawn like a compass needle to true north. His smile was broad, disarming. She felt haltingly smitten by the jeans, white pressed shirt and brown sport coat he wore.

  He held his hand out to her. “Regan, I need you to come closer. I have a question.”

  Truly, she felt weak in the knees. Olivia grabbed her hand and started to pull her forward. Regan wanted to slow this moment down, to remember the twinkle in his eyes. His creased laugh lines. His dimples.

  Regan drew closer and Colby held his hand out to her and grabbed the ends of her fingertips. “Regan Lockhart, never have I loved someone more than you. You saved my sister’s life. You saved...my life. With you I learned it was possible to love someone wholly again. Regan, will you marry me?”

  Tears streamed down Regan’s face and she trembled. Olivia tugged at her hand.

  “Can we give it to him now?” Olivia pleaded.

  Regan shook her head and pulled out a small envelope she’d kept in her pocket for the last three months, hoping that someday this moment would come.

  Regan held it forward with trembling fingers. “This is our answer.”

  Colby released her hand. He opened the envelope and withdrew the bracelet. It was heavy, made of gold. On the band was an engraving of the photo he and Olivia had drawn together.

  He looked at Regan, his eyes glistening.

  “Read the back!” Olivia yelled.

  Colby laughed and turned the bracelet over.

  Regan envisioned what his eyes were seeing. “We say yes.”

  Colby pulled her into a tight embrace, and Olivia wrapped her arms around both of them.

  “It’s perfect,” Colby said. Then he pulled away and raised his hands above his head, pumping his fists in the air. “They said yes!”

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed TAKEN HOSTAGE, look for FRACTURED MEMORY by Jordyn Redwood.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from BETRAYED BIRTHRIGHT by Liz Shoaf.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

  Dear Reader,

  Taken Hostage was inspired by two true medical stories I found very interesting.

  Duke University Medical Center is actually in phase I clinical trials using a genetically modified poliovirus that is working in some patients to cure recurrent glioblastoma. Of course, the leap that a cure like this could be further manipulated into a bioweapon is (as far as I know) fiction.

  The second was based on Italian physician Dr. Paolo Macchiarini who specializes in building tracheas (or windpipes). He is considered a maverick, but also some patients’ last hope at life. His compassion struck me after I watched a documentary called A Leap of Faith: A Meredith Vieira Special. What if this man went missing?

  To what lengths would I go to find him if it was my loved one that needed him?

  I always LOVE to hear from readers and can be reached via email at jordyn@jordynredwood.com or by mail at the following address: Jordyn Redwood, PO Box 1142, Parker, Colorado 80134.

  Many Blessings,

  Jordyn

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired Suspense every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.

  Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!

  Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*

  *New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.

  Click here to register

  Or visit us online to register at

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001

  Betrayed Birthright

  by Liz Shoaf

  ONE

  Abigail Mayfield gripped the covers, fear icing the breath in her throat as she strained to hear the noise again. A slight sound had disturbed her sleep. She closed her eyes against the darkness and listened intently. An unnatural silence greeted her. The wind was calm and no tree branches brushed against the side of the house because she’d had them removed after buying the property.

  Her eyes blinked open when she heard a small scratching sound. The stalker is here! She had moved all the way across the country for nothing. She struggled to breathe and goose bumps pimpled her arms until a cold, wet nose nudged her neck.

  In slow increments, Abby forced herself to relax and silently thanked her grandmother for helping her find a trained protection dog before she moved to Texas.

  “Bates,” she whispered, “did you hear that noise, boy?”

  The seventy-pound, playful but dead-serious-about-his-job, black-and-tan Belgian Malinois grabbed her blanket with his teeth and tugged it off the bed. That was answer enough.

  As quietly as possible, she slid out of bed, grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand, along with the Glock 19 pistol her grandmother had given her last year for Christmas. She might appear to be a harmless Tinker Bell—and had been called that on occasion—but appearances were deceiving. While growing up, her grandmother made sure she knew how to handle a gun.

  “God, I need a little help here,” she whispered as they moved toward the bedroom door. The dog glued to her side bolstered her confidence. Bates would attack an assailant, but his main job was to protect her; at least, that’s what the trainer had said during the handler classes.

  Tinkling glass hit the kitchen tile floor and left no doubt that someone was breaking and entering. At the top of the stairs, Abby took a deep, steadying breath. She buried her fear—the way Daddy had taught her—dialed 911 with one hand and held the pistol loosely at her side with the other. She had the advantage at the top of the stairs. If someone tried to come up, she’d fire a warning shot.

  “Nine-one-one. Is this an emergency?”

  Having turned the volume down before leaving the bedroom, Abby held the phone close to her ear. “This is Abby Mayfield. Someone is breaking into my house,” she whispered.

  “Ma’am, leave your phone on and keep it with you. We can track you through your cell if circumstances change, but for now, give me your address.”

  Abby swallowed hard. She knew what that meant. They could track her if the assailant removed her from the house. “My address is 135 Grove Street, Blessing, Texas.”

  “Stay hidden if you can. We’ll have a squad car there as soon as possible.”

  Abby didn’t respond because the sound of soft footsteps climbing the wooden stairs reached her ears. This scenario was the reason she’d removed all the carpet and installed wood and tile floors. She raised the Glock and Bates released a low, snarling growl. Bless his heart. The sweet animal she knew and loved sounded as if he wanted to rip someone’s throat out, and he probably would if it came down to it.

  The footsteps stopped and Abby sensed the menace and hatred floating up the stairs in a thick wave of dark emotion. Whoever it was meant her harm. But why? Who disliked her that much? The police in North Carolina had asked her that question and she still had no a
nswer.

  A siren wailed in the distance. Quick footsteps raced back down the stairs and out the kitchen door. Her legs wobbled. Abby plopped onto the top step and blew out a relieved breath. Her dog licked her face and she hugged him close. “Thanks for the help, Bates. I know you’d probably be happier as a police dog, but I sure am glad you’re with me.”

  The trembling in her body started small, but gained momentum as the police cruiser swerving into her driveway illuminated the front of her house.

  * * *

  Noah Galloway pried his eyelids open and squinted at his wristwatch—it was 3:15 a.m.—when his cell phone belted out “God Bless America,” his call tune for dispatch. He came fully alert within seconds. “Galloway.”

  “Sheriff. We have a B and E in progress at 135 Grove Street. Nine-one-one transferred the call.”

  Night calls were rare. B and Es, even more so in their small town. Grabbing his jeans, he dressed with one hand and held the phone to his ear. “You on your way over?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m in my car right now. I’ll be there in three minutes. Don’t you worry none. I’ll take care of Dylan while you’re on duty.”

  He thanked Peggy Sue—his dispatch officer and dedicated babysitter—shoved his gun into his holster, threw on a jacket and raced down the hall. Stepping quietly into his son’s room, he reassured himself that Dylan was safely tucked in bed and left the door cracked on his way out.

  Peggy Sue was climbing the steps to the front porch as he opened the door.

  “Isn’t that the address for the church’s new choir director?” It was a small town, and as sheriff, he made it his business to keep tabs on everything going on.

  “Yes, sir. I can’t imagine anyone breaking into a choir director’s home. It’s blasphemous, is what I think.”

  Noah ignored the small talk. “Is Cooper on his way?”

  “Yep, I called Coop first. Y’all should arrive there about the same time.”

  Before hopping into his car, he glanced back at Peggy Sue, an older woman who had taken him and Dylan under her wing when they moved to town.

  She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  Noah gave a curt nod and ducked his head as he folded his long frame into the squad car. He estimated he’d arrive at the scene within five minutes. Grove Street was located on the outskirts of town, where quite a few older homes had been built during the town’s more prosperous days.

  His jaw clenched when he turned a street corner. Coop had flipped on his siren, and red and blue lights were streaming through the neighborhood. Nothing like alerting the perpetrator to our presence. Taking a deep breath for patience, he exited his patrol car just as his young, energetic deputy flung his car door open and presented himself as a target.

  Noah motioned Cooper to the back of his squad car and reminded himself that his deputy was new at the job. The eagerness shining out of Cooper’s eyes reminded Noah of himself many years ago, before disillusionment set in.

  Before he had a chance to put his plans into motion, a woman came careening down the front porch steps. He gauged her to be about five foot three, a little over a hundred pounds with long, soft-looking blond hair. Her eyes were rounded and her mouth formed a grim line. Dressed in pajamas decorated with big pink hearts, she yelled while pointing toward the side of the house.

  “He fled through the kitchen door when he heard your sirens. You’ll have to hurry if you want to catch him.” Her breath came out in short gasps.

  Noah nodded at his deputy. “Go ahead, Coop.”

  “Yes, sir.” Coop gave a crisp salute.

  He doubted the perpetrator was still in the area—the only reason Noah allowed Cooper to go after him. Keeping a close eye on the dog that had accompanied the woman outside—and the pistol that looked much too comfortable in her hand for his peace of mind—Noah made a closer assessment of the woman shivering in front of him. He estimated her to be in her midtwenties and her eyes were dark brown. Peering deep into those eyes, he recognized courage overlapping the fear.

  He shook off those fanciful thoughts. Though he’d heard the church had hired a new choir director, they’d never met. “Sheriff Galloway, ma’am. Maybe we should take this inside. The perpetrator has likely fled, but we don’t know that for sure.”

  She glanced around, as if coming out of shock. The neighbors’ lights had started blinking on and he knew people would soon be in the street demanding to know what was happening.

  “Where are my manners? Yes. Please come in.”

  Thinking she might be a little shaky from the ordeal, Noah placed his hand on her elbow but immediately released her when the dog gave a low warning growl. The animal’s posture and demeanor indicated intensive training. This wasn’t just a pet. The animal looked like a Belgian Malinois, a dog widely used by both the military and police. It sported a short, light brown coat and black covered its face. And why does a church choir director need a trained attack dog?

  “Control your dog, ma’am, and please hand me the pistol.”

  She blushed and he couldn’t help but notice that the pink in her cheeks matched the hearts on her pajamas.

  “I’m so sorry. Bates is a little protective,” she said, but after a moment she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye with a glint of determination. “No, I’m not sorry. My dog did his job tonight. He protected me.”

  His second impression of the woman reminded him of a soft Southern belle with some feistiness thrown in. Interesting combination. Noah glanced between the woman and the animal. “I take it he’s trained. Give him the release command and he’ll back off.”

  The petite woman faced her dog. “Time to be nice, Bates, baby. Sheriff Galloway is a friend.”

  His incredulity at her choice of command must have shown on his face when she turned around. Hands propped on her tiny waist, she lifted her chin a notch. “What?”

  He swallowed an appalled retort. “Nothing.” He would have used a more common “off” or “back” command, but that was her business.

  He glanced at the front door. “We should go inside. Let me make sure the house is clear.”

  She dutifully handed him her weapon. “I have a concealed-carry permit.” She sounded as if she was just waiting for him to ask to see it. When he stayed silent, she gave him a sweet, tentative smile, and his protective instincts flared to life.

  “And there’s no need to check the house. Bates would alert me if even a mouse dared to invade his territory.”

  “That may be true, but I still need to check the point of entry.”

  The dog had disappeared, but met them when they stepped into the house and moved to the kitchen through which she claimed the assailant had fled. Based on the broken glass pane, it was obvious how the intruder had entered the premises. The ground outside was dry and there were only slight impressions of shoes on the grass. Not enough for a print.

  “That windowpane will have to be replaced and you need a dead bolt on this door.”

  “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  The window would be repaired before he left, but for the moment, he nodded and she led the way to the living room. Outside, the house reflected a Victorian style, and this room was decorated in the same theme. Shelves filled with picture frames lined one wall. They contained photos of children of all ages. A beautiful black, antique-looking baby grand piano was showcased in the room.

  As she sat down on a love seat, she smiled and stared, a fond look on her face, at the photographs. “Those are past and present students. I teach piano lessons in my spare time. I’m also the choir director at the local—the only—church in Blessing.”

  He sat on the couch across from her and stifled his protective urges. He knew nothing about this woman. She had moved to Blessing eight months ago, but he hadn’t been to church since his wi
fe died two years earlier.

  “Ma’am, describe the break-in. Anything you can remember.” She looked so innocent sitting there, her feet tucked under her and her shoulder-length hair slightly mussed. But he knew looks could be deceiving. He’d learned that during his five-year tenure with the FBI before moving back to Blessing to run for sheriff.

  “I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Abby Mayfield.”

  Surprisingly, she was very detailed in her account of events. Almost as if she she’d done this before. Suspicious now, he asked the normal questions, but his gut screamed that there was much more to Abby Mayfield than met the eye.

  “Do you keep valuables in the house? Anything that might tempt a burglar?” Statistics showed that most thieves broke into empty homes when people were out of town. Not when they were asleep in bed. The perpetrator had a bigger chance of getting caught if people were in the house.

  Fiddling with a string on the bottom of her pajama top, she bit her lip, as if debating how much to tell. Noah leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. “Ms. Mayfield—Abby—I can’t help you if you don’t come clean with me.”

  Her chin notched up and he was momentarily pulled into the deep pools of her dark brown eyes. He pulled back, refusing to go there. He had responsibilities now. A motherless, six-year-old son. Ms. Mayfield might appear as harmless as a newly unfurled flower, but he reminded himself again that looks could be deceiving.

  The dog settled at her feet, placing himself solidly between the two of them. She leaned down and rubbed his head.

  “I guess I have to trust someone and you look dependable enough.”

  He kept his expression all business when she lifted her eyes, as if she was assessing his trustworthiness.

  Releasing a sigh, she sat up straight. “I moved to Blessing, Texas, eight months ago because there were several incidents where I lived in North Carolina.” He didn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice. “There were two break-ins at my home, but praise the Lord, I had a high-quality alarm system. There was also—” she placed her hand on the dog’s head again, as if for reassurance “—a car that I’m pretty sure tried to run me down, but nothing that could be proven.”