RAINE
HOLLISTER
DESTINATION: LOVE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Tall, Dark and Delicious ©2013 by Anna Phegley
DESTINATION: LOVE Copyright ©2013 by Anna Phegley
Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Visit Raine’s website at www.rainehollister.com
Book Cover Design ©2013 Anamari Phegley
EPub Edition DECEMBER, 2013 ISBN: 978-0-9912436-0-0
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-9912436-3-1
In memory of my mother,
and for my son, Michael.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT OF TALL, DARK AND DELICIOUS
CHAPTER 1 TD&D
CHAPTER 2 TD&D
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
“I gotta pee, Mom. Real bad.”
“I know, sweetie. That’s why I got off the highway. Look, there’s a station.”
Josefina Maria Hernandez Hughes sighed in relief as she slowed her ’77 red Mustang to a halt in front of a door marked Restroom. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Josie stretched tense shoulders, but that wasn’t enough to relieve the ache in her lower back caused from driving most of the day. She still had another two hundred miles to go before she reached El Paso. She turned on the dome light and glanced at her watch. Ten p.m. No wonder she felt so weary.
Behind her lay the past, a place where she had lost everything—home, possessions, marriage, and her credit cards. Everything but the most important, she thought as she glanced down at her six-year-old son.
“Let’s see if the restroom is unlocked.” Taking her key out of the ignition, Josie pushed her door open, got out, and waited for Michael to slide out. When they reached the door, she jiggled the doorknob but it didn’t budge.
“We’ll have to go inside and get the key.”
“Hurry, Mom.”
As they rounded the corner of the building, Josie noticed a black sedan parked in front of the door, with its engine running. She felt relieved to see another person there. From the lonely highway, the station had almost looked as if it had been swallowed by the dark. The town was sandwiched somewhere between Sonora and nowhere.
She noticed that the car’s driver was a boy of about eighteen. A dark ski cap covered his head, almost obscuring his brows, and he kept craning his neck to look inside the station. The car horn blared twice. Startled, Josie frowned. Young people these days had no patience.
She started to push open the thick glass door, but something stopped her, and a shiver ran down her spine in spite of the sweltering July night. She didn’t have time to analyze why; the small hand that held hers tightened, reminding Josie of her son’s urgent need. Flipping her long braid over her shoulder, Josie pushed the door open and walked in.
An olive-skinned man stood behind the cash register, his Indian ancestry evident in his high cheekbones and blunt features. His straight hair and eyes were the same coal-black color as his clothes. The only contrast to his dark clothing was a sterling silver Mexican buckle attached to a snakeskin belt.
He turned his back to her and began fidgeting with something behind the counter.
She felt another tug on her hand.
“Could we borrow the key to the restroom?”
There was a pause, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“We’re closed,” came his raspy reply.
Her feet were dragging from exhaustion. “It will only take a moment. My son really needs to go.”
At her determined prodding, he turned and looked into her eyes. His irises, large and black, almost drowned out the whites of his eyes. An alarm bell went off in Josie’s head, and it suddenly hit her with sickening dread what had been nagging at her—the cap that the boy waiting outside wore. This was West Texas, where the air was hot and gritty. No one wore winter sock caps in July. No one.
Like a magnet, her glance darted to the oval surveillance mirror above him. Tingling fingers of fear raced down her spine as she saw the reflection of a man’s body lying on the floor. Panic gripped her throat and lodged there making it impossible for her to move.
Dios mio! she thought. The place was being robbed.
Josie looked away, pretending to study some object to her left, while her mind struggled to function. She prayed he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.
She fell back a step. “Th...thanks, anyway.”
Oh, Michael, she thought, you picked the worst time to go.
Josie couldn’t decide whether to back out slowly or turn and run. Of course, either would arouse suspicion. If he got close enough to look into her eyes, he’d know that she knew. Josie had never been good at hiding anything.
Her feet felt like dead weight as she turned, pulling Michael in front of her. “Come on!” she said, nudging him toward the door.
“But—”
“You heard the man, sweetheart. The station is closed. Let’s go!” she almost screamed, resisting the urge to pick him up and run.
But where would they run? With her peripheral vision, Josie had seen the man leave his spot behind the counter. She could only hope she hadn’t aroused suspicion.
Michael reached the door first, opened it, and ran out ahead of her.
As Josie reached out to stop the door from swinging shut, a hand grabbed her long braid, yanking her back. She winced as the painful tug on her scalp caused her to lose her balance. An arm pulled her sharply upright and wrapped itself around her throat, silencing her scream.
Her car keys clattered to the floor as she kicked and fought desperately to breathe. For one wild second, she felt his grip loosen long enough for her to take in a quick frantic breath. The odor of cheap after-shave mingling with sweat from his shirt assailed her nostrils, causing her to gag.
Josie whimpered deep in her throat and looked toward the door. There, in the glass, she saw the reflection of her puny struggles and her life passing before her eyes.
Never had she wanted to live so much as she did at that moment. No matter how insignificant her life had been up to now, she wanted to live to make it better. To make it count. For herself and her son.
Her glance traveled farther, beyond the glass door, into the gloomy night where the black sedan waited. For the second time that night, the impatient blare of his horn broke the silence.
The car rolled forward a few feet, stopped, and then was gone in a screech of protesting rubber.
Dear God. Michael!
“Bastardo! Coward!” her attacker shouted to the disappearing taillights.
His partner had abandoned him. Josie
shuddered at the implication of what that might mean for her. Her body shook violently, and she closed her eyes.
He spun her around and shoved her back. Stumbling, Josie reached out frantically for something—some lifeline to hold on to—but it was no use. She cried out as her body reeled backward. Then her head struck something hard, and everything went black.
Sheriff Logan McKinnon turned his car radio on and leaned back to relax after a long day. He had five dials precisely set—two on his favorite country and western stations, one on pop music, another on a local Mexican station, the fifth one on an oldies station—and God help anyone who messed with them.
He’d spent most of the day writing reports and chasing down one of Jesse Moore’s cows, which had gotten out of his pasture and bolted out onto the highway. It had almost scared Jesse’s wife to death, because she’d nearly run it over with her new Cadillac. Then Maya Rivera’s calico cat had gotten itself trapped up on her roof again—the second time this week. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she’d hoisted that feline up there herself, just so he’d come by and talk to her. Damn, her biological clock must be ticking. He made a mental note to send his deputy, Xavier, the next time Maya called.
Logan turned on to Rupert Road. He planned to kick back when he got home, open a cold beer, and watch the Late Show. That was as good as he was likely to get this side of heaven.
Bright headlights sped by, but Logan ignored them. He was off duty, and nothing short of murder was going to get him to alter his plans.
In another minute he would be passing Jamie Gordon’s Gas and Grocery Store, and he slowed down. It had become habit for him to drive by and check things, just to make sure the old widower was okay. On occasion, Logan stopped in to say hello, but Jamie would be closed by now.
Surprise flared briefly in Logan’s eyes as an old red Mustang pulled out of Jamie’s driveway and drove past him. Logan glanced at the clock on his dash. It was long past time for Jamie to be closed.
A late customer? Maybe, but he’d better check it out. He pulled into the lot, braked near the door, and stepped out.
Logan automatically reached down to touch his holstered gun as he eased the door open, stepped inside, and made a quick assessment of the room.
Two things registered at once. A young boy sat on the floor next to the body of a woman, and an image in the surveillance mirror above clearly showed Jamie’s bound body.
He headed for Jamie first.
By the time he freed Jamie and told him to call for an ambulance, the boy had started sobbing uncontrollably.
As Logan knelt to examine the woman, the kid flinched and quickly wiped away tears with the back of his hand, but he didn’t take his gaze off his mother. Logan couldn’t see much past the tear-stained cheeks and the boy’s baseball cap, but he knew he couldn’t be much over five or six years old.
Logan felt for a pulse. The woman was alive, but looked deathly pale. For a moment, he stared at the bruises on her neck, his own throat hot and tight from the rage he felt at the bastard who had done this to her. He found himself wanting to cradle her in his arms, but instead he touched her gently on the shoulder, then lifted one of her small hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Logan pulled the radio handset from his gun belt and depressed the button to transmit.
“Dispatch, this is McKinnon. I’m at Jamie’s. There’s been an aggravated robbery here.” Static distorted the reply on the other end. “One victim, female. Down and unconscious. Suspect is in a 76-77 Red Mustang, last seen heading North toward Interstate 10. LP unknown at this time.” Logan paused to get a general description of the robber from Jamie, then relayed the information to his office.
Logan glanced down at the woman again.
“What’s her name?” he asked the boy.
“Jose ... Josefina.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Hughes.”
“Mrs. Hughes. Can you hear me?”
The baritone voice seeped into the murky depths of Josie’s mind like a distant whisper. She tried to move her eyelids, but they felt too heavy and she gave up the effort.
“Josefina!”
This time, the husky timbre vibrated with more force, penetrating the foggy grayness that held Josie in its grip.
Somewhere, a sudden noise frightened her, and her body convulsed. Something touched her shoulder—something safe and solid—and she shivered from the warmth.
Josie felt her body struggling to wake up, but she wanted to remain hidden, to remain safe. Her grandmother was there with her, telling her that this had happened to someone else once. Her grandmother called it susto — the soul frightened out of the body. An afflicted person was allowed to rest, recuperate, to withdraw into the underworld without drawing condemnation.
Josie wanted to wallow in her underworld, to sink deeper, but the masculine voice kept pulling her back, making her curious to see who was at the other end of that low husky drawl.
Josie heard a groan, and realized it was hers.
“Mommy, please wake up.”
“Michael?” Her son’s name rolled off her lips in a painful gasp, and she swallowed to clear the dry burning ache at the back of her throat.
“Easy, now. Your son’s fine.”
Josie forced her lids open and struggled to focus, but she couldn’t see past the mountain in front of her. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the mountain turned into broad shoulders. Her gaze lifted to the giant’s eyes. A cream-colored Stetson sat low on his head, shadowing most of his face, but couldn’t disguise the color of his eyes. They were the color of light warm honey, almost gold.
“Senora? I’m Deputy Sheriff McKinnon. Can you hear me?”
“Eres mi santo?” she asked with some effort.
“Am I your saint?” A deep crease appeared at each corner of his mouth as he smiled at the play of words she used to describe him. “I’ve been accused of many things, but being a saint isn’t one of them. Do I look like one?”
Josie frowned. “No ... You’re big,” she muttered, as though that would explain everything.
Standing behind Logan, Jamie spoke. “Poor little thing. I’m going outside to wait for the ambulance.”
Logan nodded.
“Mrs. Hughes, how many fingers do you see?” he asked, holding up his index and middle fingers.
Josie blinked in an attempt to focus. Carefully, she struggled to a sitting position. The Sheriff’s arm wrapped around her, and his warm hand felt strong and safe.
But she wasn’t safe. She would never feel safe again.
“Two.” Josie said, and shifted her attention to her son. “Michael!”
“I’m here, Mommy. I had to pee real bad, and I was scared. I peed in the weeds.”
Josie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for a sob and touched his cheek. “Oh, baby. I’m so glad you’re here. I thought...” Josie couldn’t finish the words.
“Hold still, Mrs. Hughes, an ambulance should be here any minute.”
His voice was gentle though deep, reminding her of sand sifting through lazy fingers. Granite and silk.
“No. No hospital,” she said, then winced at the stab of pain in her head. “Please, just help me up. I’ll be fine.”
He looked skeptical. “That’s a nasty bump on your head. I think we’d better get a doctor to look at that.”
Josie stared dismally at her son. A doctor was out of the question. She didn’t have enough money. She knew, because she’d counted her meager stash just before they’d started out on this trip.
“My purse,” she whispered. “Can you find it for me?”
Logan didn’t see anything on the floor. “There’s no purse here. Were you driving a Mustang?” Logan asked, recalling the car that had pulled out of the driveway earlier.
“Yes,” she groaned, her heart plummeting. “It’s gone, too, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so. Is there anyone you want me to call?”
“No.”
>
“Are you visiting someone here in Sandera?”
“No.” Her eyes were drawn to his badge. She started to tell him that they’d only stopped to use the restroom, but something about the situation suddenly hit her as amusing. She tried to laugh, failing miserably. There was nothing funny about her plight. She’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly swiped it away. It seemed she’d been at the wrong place all her life.
“I can’t afford a doctor,” she said, embarrassed and angry that she couldn’t be in more control of her situation.
“Don’t worry. I know the doctor personally.”
Josie frowned. “Look at me, Sheriff. I can move my arms and legs and...” Glancing down, she noticed that the top two buttons of her blouse had been torn off in the struggle, and the swell of her breasts was visible. She reached up to close the gap, unsuccessfully, and looked away. “There’s no one to watch my son.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
Josie was used to hearing false promises.
“Yeah, right. I’ve heard that before. It must be a man’s pastime to...” The word lie hung in the air between them, unspoken. She swallowed her answer, shocked by her rudeness to this man who was only doing his job. After all, he had no way of knowing that she’d been married to a man who had taught her the meaning of deceit all too well. She looked up at him, embarrassed again.
Something flickered in the golden depths of his eyes, and then his reply was cut off by the wail of an approaching siren. A minute later two men rushed in, with Jamie following close behind. As they set down a gurney, one of them called out, “Hey, Logan, how’s it going?”
“Fine.” Logan frowned as Josie rose unsteadily to her feet. His arms quickly closed around her, and against her will, Josie slumped weakly against his chest.
So that’s his name, Josie thought as she listened to his heart beat like a muffled drum. Nice as far as names went, but he was too rugged, too macho, and she didn’t trust handsome men.
Destination: Love (The Sandera, Texas Series) Page 1