by EMILIE ROSE
Thick Neck number one stepped forward. He had a short forehead, buzzed hair and a nose that had been previously broken. He wore a black suit and a tie that looked as if it struggled to maintain its hold on his bulging neck.
“Sir, my name is Victor Lario, I run the security for this establishment. It’s come to my attention you had a pretty good night tonight.”
“Yep. Great night. Great service. Love the buffet. I’ll be back.” Greg tried to step around him, but both men repositioned themselves to block his path.
“Sir, it’s our understanding that you have a good night every night you are here. Never down. Always up.”
Greg sighed, falling back on a familiar answer to explain his success. “It’s poker, not blackjack. I play the people and I win.”
“Yeah. It’s poker. That’s what I thought, too. I thought maybe you were one of those World Tour guys, you know. So I looked you up.”
Ah yes, Greg thought. ’Twas the price of needing a casino complimentary card for the extra perks, like free access to the all-you-can-eat buffet. He’d been required to provide identification. When he’d handed over his ID he’d felt that moment of panic, but the girl issuing him the card hadn’t been inspired to do any kind of background check. Probably because Greg looked more like a psychologist in his sweater and jeans and less like a professional gambler.
When she’d handed him back his license a few days ago with the card and a wish for good luck, he told himself this time would be different. He’d promised himself this time he would keep his head low. This time he would spread out his visits to not attract attention.
He’d failed. Just like he had the last time. And the time before that.
“Seems Vegas kicked you out of every casino on the strip not even a year ago. Then I checked with a buddy of mine at the Borgata and you’re not wanted there, either.”
“I know. You can’t imagine the complex it’s giving me being so unwanted.”
The two men stepped forward in the ominous way thugs have of silently delivering the message that they didn’t appreciate sarcasm.
Greg held up his hands. “If I agree to go peacefully and never come back, can we end this now?”
Victor cracked his knuckles. So cliché, Greg wanted to tell him.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Mr. Chalmers. It’s important you understand how seriously we deal with the matter of cheating at our establishment.”
“It’s not cheating.”
It was the last thing he was capable of saying as Victor drove his beefy hand into his midsection.
This, Greg decided, was not going to end well.
Copyright © 2014 by Stephanie Doyle
ISBN-13: 9781460327876
THE SECRETS OF HER PAST
Copyright © 2014 by Emilie Rose Cunningham
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Go big, or go home
TV producer Delainey Clarke thought she was done with Homer, Alaska. Until a last-ditch attempt to save her career lands her in town, filming a reality-show pilot about expert search-and-rescue tracker Trace Sinclair. Trace is also the man whose heart she broke in half years ago. A man whose kisses are as powerful as the grudge he still holds against her.
Delainey can’t afford to let Trace’s attitude interfere with production—any more than she can resist falling back into his bed. But for how long? Because Delainey isn’t trading Hollywood for Homer…not even for Trace.
“I don’t care what you have to say.”
Trace pointed to the door. “You can show yourself out.”
“Trace, please?”
“No.”
“The least you can do is just humor me and listen to what I’ve got to say?”
“And why should I do that?” he asked. “Because we parted on amicable terms? Because you’re a decent person? Because you always have everyone else’s well-being in mind?” Delainey’s stare narrowed and he laughed because they both knew none of those reasons were true. “My point exactly. You have no leverage with me. The minute I saw that fake smile you pasted on for my benefit, I knew you came with something in mind.”
“Fine,” she said with a dark glower. “You’ve caught me. I need your help.”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Is that all you’ve got for me after everything we’d been through?” she countered, her eyes glazing a little. “At one time, you loved me.”
“A long time ago.” He stared, unable to believe she’d thrown that card down. “A very long time ago.”
Dear Reader,
I love writing complicated love stories—ones with twisted, gnarled attachments and entanglements—and that’s exactly what you’ll find with Trace and Delainey. Difficult choices, painful pasts, and yet the heart wants what the heart wants, right? That’s how I felt about these two lovers, both strong and stubborn at the same time, neither willing to admit that they were wrong, but the love they share refuses to die. How romantic!
But this story isn’t only about two lovers, it’s about the sphere of influence surrounding them as they struggle through the complicated mess that is their life, which includes family, friends and career. Life isn’t always pretty, but the joy is that much sweeter when you search for it.
I hope you enjoy Trace and Delainey’s love story; I certainly enjoyed writing it.
Hearing from readers is a special joy. Please feel free to drop me a line via email through my website, at www.kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail, at Kimberly Van Meter, P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.
Kimberly Van Meter
A REAL LIVE HERO
Kimberly Van Meter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kimberly Van Meter wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for the Harlequin Superromance and Harlequin Romantic Suspense lines. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.
Books by Kimberly Van Meter
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1391—THE TRUTH ABOUT FAMILY
1433—FATHER MATERIAL
1469—RETURN TO EMMETT’S MILL
1485—A KISS TO REMEMBER
1513—AN IMPERFECT MATCH
1577—KIDS ON THE DOORSTEP*
1600—A MAN WORTH LOVING *
1627—TRUSTING THE BODYGUARD*
1694—THE PAST BETWEEN US**
1700—A CHANCE IN THE NIGHT**
1706—SECRETS IN A SMALL TOWN**
1778—LIKE ONE OF THE FAMILY***
1802—PLAYING THE PART***
1826—SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN***
1887—THAT RECKLESS NIGHT‡
HARLEQUIN ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
1622—TO CATCH A KILLER
1638—GUARDING THE SOCIALITE
1666—SWORN TO PROTECT§
1669—COLD CASE REUNION§
1696—A DAUGHTER’S PERFECT SECRET
1769—THE SNIPER
*Home in Emmett’s Mill
**Mama Jo’s Boys
***Family in Paradise
‡The Sinclairs of Alaska
§Native Country
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
A writer relies on many research tools to aid the task of creating a completely fictitious world, and while the internet has become an invaluable tool in that endeavor, talking to knowledgeable people cannot be beat.
To that end, I’d like to thank Hollywood producers Jeff Mercer and Christina Villegas for answering my many questions about producing a reality show on location in Alaska.
Any mistakes are my own and no reflection of their true talents!
And to my son, Jaidyn…I am so proud of the young man you’re turning into.
I know you’ll go far no matter where you go or what you do in life.
Contents
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
“TOUGH BREAK ON Vertical Blind.”
Delainey Clarke glanced up at the sympathetic voice and offered a tight smile in response, but hurried all that much more quickly down the brightly lit hallway, hoping she could reach her small cubicle of an office and hide.
She managed to slip inside and dropped the fake smile the minute she was safely behind the closed door.
Tough break? More like death knell. Vertical Blind had been her last chance at making her mark at the network as an associate producer, and it had bombed so badly her boss had not only passed on picking up the pilot but had given her newest idea the sardonic brow, as if to ask, “Are you kidding me?” which did not bode well for her future.
Hollywood was a rough town—no, actually, it wasn’t a town at all because that would imply that it was inhabited by people. Hollywood was a shark tank, and she was definitely feeling more like chum than a predator at the top of the food chain. What was she going to do? At this rate, she needed more than just a hit, she needed an award-winning, knock-it-out-of-the-park hit in order to restore her status around the network before someone else came along and booted her from her tiny, cramped office.
Suddenly, the back of her head connected with the door as someone tried to enter, and she stumbled away, rubbing the back of her skull with a scowl as Hannah Yaley walked in looking day-spa fresh and plainly perplexed.
“Delainey...were you leaning against the door?” she asked.
Speaking of sharks. Delainey smiled for Hannah’s benefit, though why she even bothered, Delainey wasn’t sure. They didn’t like each other, but for the sake of appearances they played the same passive games as everyone else in this fake town. “What can I do for you, Hannah?” she asked, smoothing the tiny wrinkles from her slim skirt and wondering how Hannah always managed to look as if she’d just collected her clothes from the dry cleaners. “Congratulations on the ratings of Hubba Hubba,” she added with false cheer while gagging on the inside. Reality shows were cheap to produce and easy to make a good impression on within the right demographic, but shooting a reality show about the wild shenanigans of college coeds during spring break was like shooting fish in a barrel. Hubba Hubba had beaten out every other show in its demographic, making Hannah Yaley the new network darling. And Hannah hated Delainey.
“Thank you, we’re very proud of our team,” Hannah murmured with put-on modesty. Then her expression crumpled appropriately as she added, “I was so bummed to hear about Vertical Blind. I had such high hopes.”
Sure you did. “Well, I should’ve known... A drama about rock climbing was a logistic nightmare, not to mention expensive, and if you don’t get the right time slot...” She let the rest of the excuses trail, knowing she sounded like a pathetic loser and preferring to act as if the failure was simply an unfortunate casualty of the business and no real tragedy to her personally.
God, if only that were true. Hannah nodded in complete understanding, but her eyes glittered with undisguised mirth as she said, “Well, I just wanted to pop in and see how you were doing. I was worried you might’ve taken this recent failure a little hard. But I should’ve known you’d handle it with grace. You are such an inspiration, Delainey. If I were you, I’d probably end up sobbing in a corner, sucking down vodka and cranberry until I died of alcohol poisoning.” She emitted a sharp laugh at her own joke, and Delainey gave her a brittle smile in return.
“Yes, well, where I’m from, giving up isn’t an option.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re from Alaska....” Hannah shuddered delicately. “Must be murder on the skin. But then, it’s not as if there’s much opportunity to show much skin when you’re bundled in a parka, right?”
Delainey affected a surprised expression as she glanced at the wall clock. “Damn, I have an appointment to get to,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Thanks for checking up on me. It means a lot that you care.”
Hannah’s expression was mildly frosty as she replied, “Of course. We girls have to stick together in this boys’ club.”
“Absolutely,” Delainey agreed, yet wished she could roll her eyes so hard she saw her brain. Just once, she’d like to call Hannah on all her fake bullshit, but Hannah was the favored one right now and Delainey was already getting appraising glances from the other producers, the vultures. She shouldered her purse and followed Hannah out into the hall. “Anyway, good chatting with you. On to bigger and better, right?”
Hannah’s expression was patronizing as she said, “That a girl. Such spirit...” before walking away—and if Delainey wasn’t mistaken, her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.
Argh! Delainey wished she had a real appointment to dash off to. That might lift her spirits at least a little bit, but as it was, her calendar was depressingly free of appointments. No one was interested in taking a meeting with Delainey Clarke.
Not even the public access channels.
When she’d first arrived in California, she’d been hungry for a new life. Everything had been new and exciting, and she’d been eager to learn the rules of Hollywood’s brutal social game. But the bloom had certainly worn off the rose at this point. You’re just depressed over Vertical Blind, she told herself, trying to prop up her ego and heal her bruised feelings. This is the nature of the business that you love.
Did she love it? Not at the moment.
Delainey detoured to her favorite coffee shop, and even though she knew she shouldn’t spend the money on such a friv
olous purchase, she really didn’t think she could face the rest of the day without something sugary and caffeinated.
She needed a hit. God, please. She’d come too far to fail now. She’d do anything to succeed. Just send me something I can work with...
* * *
TRACE SINCLAIR FOUGHT the urge to bat the microphone out of his face as he cast the reporter at the other end a dark look. “I’ve already given a statement,” he said curtly, pushing his way past the throng of reporters all clamoring for an exclusive that he’d already said repeatedly he wasn’t going to give. Damn nuisances. He was just doing his job. Why didn’t they pester someone who was interested in flapping their jaws about themselves?
“Is it true you’re the best tracker in the state of Alaska?”
“How did you know where to find Clarissa Errington?”
“Were the conditions a hindrance to your tracking skills?”
“How close to death was the governor’s daughter when you rescued her from the mountain?”
“Please, Mr. Sinclair, don’t you know you’re a hero? Wouldn’t you like to tell your side of the story?”
“No.”
“Mr. Sinclair!”
Trace climbed into his truck and gladly put the horde behind him, finally able to breathe. But before he could fully relax, his cell phone rang. He peered at the evil piece of technology that he abhorred and restrained himself from chucking it into a snowbank when he saw his boss’s number pop up on the screen. He bit back a muttered curse and answered the phone.
“Yeah?”
“Would it kill you to grant an interview or two? It’s really good publicity for the Search and Rescue program, and we could use a little good press, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s not my job to pander to the press. It’s my job to find people. End of story. I don’t remember reading anything in my job description that said one word about granting interviews that no one’s going to care about when the next big story hits.”