Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice)

by Hannon, Irene

  “His timing stinks.” Cole shot a disgruntled look at the closed door.

  She squeezed his hand. “I know right where we left off.”

  He turned back to her, and the ardent light in his eyes made her feel like it was Christmas and Thanksgiving and her birthday all rolled up into one. “Me too.”

  Bending down once again, he wasted no more time on words. Instead, he claimed her lips in a kiss that was gentle, tender, careful—and far too short. Lifting her uninjured hand, she wrapped it around his neck and tugged him back for more.

  He didn’t resist.

  At last, with obvious reluctance, he eased back. “Just so you know, I can do a lot better than that. And I’ll prove it as soon as you’re back on your feet.”

  “That’s a great incentive to get well fast.” The words came out breathless—and not because of her broken ribs.

  Smiling, he brushed the tip of his index finger across her lips and straightened up. “You sure you’ll be okay by yourself if I run home long enough to shower and grab a couple hours of sleep?”

  “As long as I know you’re coming back.”

  “Count on it. Sooner rather than later.” Smiling, he backed toward the door, winked, and slipped out.

  For a long moment, Kelly looked after him, a smile lingering on her lips.

  Turning away at last, she discovered that a sunbeam had shimmied through a slat in the blinds to cast a luminescent rainbow on the white sheet. Struck by the symbolism, she touched the arc of vibrant, radiant color. For just as the storm outside had passed, so, too, had the tragedy in her life given way to a bright, new future.

  The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. She knew that. Her physical injuries would take months to heal, and the emotional trauma might always be with her. But she was alive. And no matter what tomorrow held, she felt certain Cole would be by her side.

  Life and love. Two great gifts.

  It was, indeed, a day for thanksgiving.

  Epilogue

  4½ MONTHS LATER

  Cole slid the suit jacket off the hanger in the backseat of his car, slipped his arms through the sleeves, and adjusted his tie. It was a little warm for formal attire, but at least the kids had a nice day for their Easter egg hunts.

  A memory from a long-ago Easter surfaced, and a smile tugged at his lips as he strolled toward Kelly’s front door.Alison had barreled straight for a cache of eggs, oblivious to everything in her path—including a mud trap that had sucked her shoes off. He and Jake had ribbed her for weeks.

  Still grinning, Cole pressed Kelly’s bell. Maybe he’d tell that story after church, when they all gathered for brunch at her house. And share the “shoeless wonder” nickname he and Jake had coined.

  Then again, maybe not. She might decide not to feed him.

  Thirty seconds ticked by, and he leaned on the bell again. He was ten minutes early. It was possible Kelly was finishing her hair or makeup, but since she was as punctual as she was tidy, it was more likely she’d been ready and waiting for half an hour. She was probably in her beloved garden. Which would be perfect, because he’d planned to coax her there, anyway.

  After retracing his route, Cole followed the stepping-stones that led to the backyard. As he rounded the side of the house, his speculation was confirmed. She was down on one knee near the statue of St. Francis—a position that only hours of grueling physical therapy and her singular commitment had made possible—the fingers of one hand splayed on the ground for balance, the full skirt of her floral-print dress resting on the grass where it had drifted around her as she peered at the ground.

  He paused, enjoying the view, until the trill of a cardinal drew her attention. Kelly lifted her head, giving Cole a brief moment to admire her flawless profile before she caught sight of him.

  A radiant smile brought a glow to her face, and she started to rise. Too fast.

  As she teetered, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides and took her arm.

  “Thanks.” She brushed off her hands, her smile morphing into a frustrated frown. “But I should be able to do that by now without any help.”

  “Hey.” He stroked away the furrows on her brow, hating Carlson anew for all the extra pain he’d put her through by slamming that rock into her knee. “You’re getting there. The doctor said you’ve made remarkable progress.”

  “It’s too slow.”

  “Maybe you’re too impatient.”

  She made a face, then lifted one shoulder in concession. “That’s possible.”

  “Probable.” When she affected a pout at his correction, he chuckled. “Happy Easter.”

  Her pout dissolved into a smile. “Thank you. The same to you. And guess what? I found a present better than Easter eggs.” She gestured to the ground.

  He looked down at the first tulip of the season, a double-petaled, two-toned beauty. “One of the ones your dad sent?”

  “Uh-huh. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The catch in her voice tugged at his heart, and he pulled her close. Tucking her cheek against his chest, he cradled the back of her head with his hand and rested his chin on her soft hair. “Yeah, it is. Just like the woman who planted it.”

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “Guilty as charged. But don’t you want the man who’s in love with you to think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”

  She pulled back to look up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. In the months they’d been dating, he’d never been that direct about his feelings, though he’d dropped plenty of hints and innuendos. In light of the trauma that had brought them together and all the medical issues she’d faced, it had seemed more prudent to let their relationship develop at a slower pace.

  But he was tired of moving slow. He might have chided her for being impatient, but he was just as guilty when it came to getting started on their future together.

  Taking her hand, he motioned toward a wooden bench beside a rosebush that was sprouting its first new shoots of the season. “Let’s sit for a minute and enjoy the garden, okay?”

  She gave him a curious glance, then checked her watch. “Do we have time?”

  “I’ll get you there before the organ strikes the first note of the opening hymn. Trust me.”

  She locked gazes with him. “I do.”

  The quiet conviction in her tone helped quell the flutter of nerves in his stomach as he led her to the bench.

  “By the way, I had a nice chat with one of my cousins in Rochester last night.” Kelly sat, brushing her silky skirt aside to make room for him. “She invited me to visit this summer so I can meet all three of them.”

  He joined her, forcing himself to switch gears—temporarily. “I’m glad you connected with them. There’s no reason not to build that relationship now, since the vendetta died with Rossi.”

  The cardinal warbled again, and she lifted her face to the sky, watching as the scarlet bird took flight. When she continued, her voice was more subdued. “I think about how he died sometimes. Lying there for four days before his housekeeper found him. Wouldn’t it be sad to have no one who cared enough to call and check on you, especially on a holiday?”

  “Only if you’d done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. Rossi’s own choices brought him to that end.”

  “That’s true.” Her gaze shifted to her father’s tulips.

  Cole moved closer and draped one arm on the back of the bench behind her, his fingers skimming her shoulder. Time to get this conversation back on track. They’d wasted enough breath on a man who’d gotten what he’d deserved. “So now that you’ve reconnected with your cousins, have you given any more thought to reclaiming your original name?”

  “Not much.” She tilted her head as she studied the tulips, her expression pensive. “I’ve been Kelly Warren my whole life. I’m glad I know the truth about my background, but I don’t see any reason to change my name.”

  “I think you should.”

  She swiveled toward him, clearly taken abac
k. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Pulse accelerating, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. “But I think you should change it to mine.”

  As she stared at the box, he flipped it open to reveal a one-carat solitaire on a gold band, every facet sparkling in the brilliant morning sun.

  Her hand flew to her throat. “Wow.”

  He waited—but that was all she said.

  The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he swallowed. “Wow is good. But I was hoping to hear a yes.”

  A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she switched her focus from the ring to him. “And I was hoping to hear a question.”

  She was going to make him go the whole nine yards.

  Okay, he could do that. Even if Alison claimed his verbal skills were pathetic.

  He removed the ring from the box with fingers that weren’t quite steady and took her hand.

  “I’m not too good at saying the right things at the right time. Plus, I tend to be too blunt—and not all that diplomatic. So I’m sorry if this isn’t flowery enough, but here goes.”

  Clearing his throat, he tightened his grip on her finger. “Even though I’ve been in love with you for months, I thought we both needed time to regroup after everything that happened. But I’m tired of waiting. I want to share the rest of my life with you—sooner rather than later. You’re everything I could ever want in a woman, and I promise to love you with all my heart as long as I live. So . . . will you marry me?”

  The tiny lift of her lips suddenly swelled into a megawatt smile. And even before she gave him her answer in words, he saw it in the rush of tenderness that softened her eyes and in the love shining in their depths.

  “I think I’m about to change my name after all.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She put her arms around his neck and leaned close. “You’re the detective. What do you think?”

  Smiling, he tugged her left arm free, slid the ring on the third finger, then pulled her to her feet and into his arms—where she belonged. For always.

  “I think this deserves further investigation.”

  She grinned and snuggled closer. “I’ll cooperate in any way I can.”

  “I’m counting on that. Because this case will take a lot of up-close-and-personal research.”

  And without wasting any more words, he got down to business.

  Acknowledgments

  Because my suspense books are research intensive, I spend hours on the Net digging for information. But despite that huge investment of time, the final touch of authenticity always comes from the information and advice I receive directly from the experts who do the jobs I depict, day in and day out. Only they can answer the questions specific to the scenarios in my book.

  I am blessed to have many such people who graciously and generously give me their time and expertise whenever I need help. For this book I offer special thanks to:

  Lieutenant Tom Larkin, Commander of the St. Louis County Police Department’s Bureau of Crimes Against Persons, who went above and beyond in answering my questions and reviewing the final text. It is only because of his input that I was able to portray my fictional detectives with such a high degree of real-world accuracy.

  U.S. Marshal Don Slazinik, who validated the tight security and incredible secrecy surrounding the Witness Security program and who answered what few questions he could. No wonder the U.S. Marshals have never lost a protected person who followed the WitSec rules!

  Fellow author and nurse Patricia Davids, who reviewed and fine-tuned the medical sections of the book.

  And Marc Ulses, Assistant Chief/Fire Marshal of the Frontenac Fire Department, who answered my many questions about the paramedic/rescue scene at the end of the book and reviewed the final copy.

  As always, my thanks also to the incredible team at Revell—editorial, marketing, sales, cover design, promotion. I feel blessed to work with such masters of the business.

  And finally, all my love to my wonderful husband, Tom, and my fabulous parents, James and Dorothy Hannon, who have supported and encouraged me every step of the way on my writing journey.

  Irene Hannon is a bestselling, award-winning author who took the publishing world by storm at the tender age of ten with a sparkling piece of fiction that received national attention.

  Okay . . . maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. But she was one of the honorees in a complete-the-story contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. And she likes to think of that as her “official” fiction-writing debut!

  Since then, she has written more than thirty-five contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. Irene has twice won the RITA award—the “Oscar” of romantic fiction—from Romance Writers of America and is a five-time finalist. Her books have also been honored with a Carol award, a HOLT medallion, a Daphne du Maurier award, and two Reviewers’ Choice awards from RT Book Reviews magazine. In 2011, Booklist named Deadly Pursuit one of the Top 10 Inspirational Fiction titles of the year.

  Irene, who holds a BA in psychology and an MA in journalism, juggled two careers for many years until she gave up her executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company to write full time. She is happy to say she has no regrets. As she points out, leaving behind the rush-hour commute, corporate politics, and a relentless BlackBerry that never slept was no sacrifice.

  A trained vocalist, Irene has sung the leading role in numerous community theater productions and is also a soloist at her church.

  When not otherwise occupied, she loves to cook, garden, and take long walks. She and her husband also enjoy traveling, Saturday mornings at their favorite coffee shop, and spending time with family. They make their home in Missouri.

  To learn more about Irene and her books, visit www.irenehannon.com

  Books by Irene Hannon

  * * *

  Heroes of Quantico

  Against All Odds

  An Eye for an Eye

  In Harm’s Way

  Guardians of Justice

  Fatal Judgment

  Deadly Pursuit

  Lethal Legacy

  What a lousy night to get lost.

  Moira Harrison peered through the April rain slashing across her windshield. Even at full speed, the wipers were no match for the torrential onslaught. The faint line bisecting the narrow strip of pavement—the only thing keeping her on the road and out of the ditch filled with churning runoff immediately to her right—faded in and out with alarming frequency.

  Tightening her grip on the wheel with one hand, she cranked up the defroster with the other. Fogged-up windows were the last thing she needed. As it was, the high-intensity xenon headlights of her trusty Camry were barely denting the dense darkness of the woods-rimmed rural Missouri road. Nor were they penetrating the shrouding downpour.

  So much for the premium she’d paid to upgrade from standard halogen.

  She spared a quick look left and right. No light from house or farm broke the desolate blackness. Nor were there any road signs to indicate her location. Maybe St. Louis–area natives would be better able to wend their way back to civilization than a newcomer like her. But she doubted it. Dark, winding rural roads were confusing. Period. Especially in the rain.

  With a sigh, Moira refocused on the road. If she’d known Highway 94 was prone to flooding and subject to sudden closure, she’d never have lingered for dinner in Augusta after she finished her interview and risked subjecting herself to this poorly marked detour.

  Instead, she’d have headed straight back to the rented condo she now called home and spent her Friday evening safe and warm, cuddled up with a mug of soothing peppermint tea, organizing her notes. She might even have started on a first draft of the feature article. It wouldn’t hurt to impress her new boss with an early turn-in.

  A bolt of lightning sliced through the sky, and she cringed as a bone-jarring boom of thunder rolled through the car.

  That had been close.


  Too close.

  She had to get away from all these trees.

  Increasing her pressure on the gas pedal, she kept her attention fixed on the road as she groped on the passenger seat for her purse. Maybe her distance glasses were crammed into a corner and she’d missed them the first time she’d checked.

  Five seconds later, hopes dashed, she gave up the search. The glasses must still be in the purse she’d taken to the movie theater last weekend. That was about the only time she ever used them—except behind the wheel on rainy nights.

  It figured.

  The zipper on her purse snagged as she tried to close it, and Moira snuck a quick glance at the passenger seat. Too dark to see. She’d have to deal with it later.

  Releasing the purse, she lifted her gaze—and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Front and center, caught in the beam of her headlights, was a frantically waving person.

  Directly in the path of the car.

  Less than fifty feet away.

  Lungs locking, Moira squeezed the wheel and jammed the brake to the floor.

  Screeching in protest, the car fishtailed as it slid toward the figure with no noticeable reduction in speed.

  Stop! Please stop!

  Moira screamed the silent plea in her head as she yanked the wheel hard to the left.

  Instead of changing direction, however, the car began to skid sideways on the slick pavement.

  But in the instant before the beams of the headlights swung away from the road—and away from the figure standing in her path—one image seared itself across her brain.

  Glazed, terror-filled eyes.

  Then the person was gone, vanished in the darkness, as the vehicle spun out of control.

  Moira braced herself.

  And prayed.

  But when she felt a solid thump against the side of the car, she knew her prayers hadn’t been answered.

  She’d hit the terrified person who’d been trying to flag her down.

  The bottom fell out of her stomach as the car continued to careen across the road. Onto the shoulder. Into the woods. One bone-jarring bounce after another.