by Alexa Verde
TASTE OF DANGER
By
Alexa Verde
Book 2 in the Secrets of Rios Azules Series
Copyright © 2016 by Olga Grun writing as Alexa Verde
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Amy Knupp. Formatting by L.K. Campbell.
Cover design by Elle J Rossi.
To the Lord my Savior
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Alexa Verde
Excerpt from Scent of Danger
Introduction
Thank you so much for picking up Taste of Danger. The most wonderful gift you can give to an author is leaving a review and/or recommending the book. If you kindly write even several words on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To celebrate my readers, I offer giveaways to my newsletter subscribers. The emails are infrequent, and you can unsubscribe at any time. A collection of Russian souvenirs is one of the most recent giveaways.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading about James and Soledad as they find love amid danger. If you’re interested in other titles in the Secrets of Rios Azules series, please find information about River of Danger, Color of Danger, and Scent of Danger at the end of this novel, as well as a sneak peak of the next book in the series. I’m honored that you chose to spend time with me and my books.
Blessings,
Alexa Verde
Secrets of Rios Azules
Christian Multicultural Romantic Suspense
Sweet, wholesome books about faith, love, and murder
Welcome to Rios Azules, a small south Texas town, where rivers and emotions run deep, and the secrets are deadly.
About Taste of Danger
Small-town librarian Soledad Sokolova has three days to find a hidden Russian treasure — or she and her father will die. Out of options, she turns for help to a hunky stranger, private investigator James O'Hara. But she knows better than to let a ladies’ man break her heart for the second time. Bound by his word to Soledad's father, James is ready to protect her at all costs. However, once betrayed, he's reluctant to fall in love again. Will James and Soledad escape danger and find treasures of faith, love, and hope?
Chapter One
“I’d like to see your father,” the stranger said.
“What a coincidence. Me, too.” Soledad Sokolova leaned against the doorframe of her small home. She stared at six feet of hunk wrapped in leather pants and a jacket, not the best attire for a south Texas summer. The day in her boring life as a small-town librarian was shaping up to be an interesting one. “There’s a minor problem. He died years ago.”
She folded her hands on her chest to cover a blue paint stain on her ragged T-shirt, not caring for charming men with secret agendas. She’d learned her lesson.
“Forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m James O’Hara, private investigator.” He flashed her a grin together with an ID and a Texas PI license. “I have reasons to believe he’s supposed to contact you today. Mind if I come in?”
“I’m Soledad Sokolova. But you probably already know that, Mr. O’Hara.” Her eyes widened. The name, profession, and the appearance fit the person her best friend, Mari, had hired last year. This man also had dark hair and stealthy movements that had made Mari compare him to a panther.
“Great to meet you, Miss Sokolova.” His grin widened, and her heart made a strange flip. Yes, the description fit. James O’Hara had handsome looks and piercing green eyes that could make any woman feel special.
“Are you the PI who helped Mari Del Lobo track down a serial killer?” Soledad asked quickly. She’d missed the unfortunate event while being in Eastern Europe, but their sleepy town and her social circle had talked about the homegrown murderer for months afterwards.
He lifted an imaginary hat. “It was my pleasure. Especially considering that my friend Luke fell in love with Mari and moved to Rios Azules to marry her.”
So far, his story panned out, but Soledad made a mental note to make a sketch of her guest and text it to Mari. Her curiosity piqued, Soledad gestured for him to enter. O’Hara stepped inside.
A motor roared in the distance, and she lingered. Seconds later, a sports car screeched to a halt in her driveway, fumes filling the air. Her jaw dropped.
A tall, lean man with gray hair and a beard made it to her porch, limping slightly. “I’m Sergey Eliseev. I’m your father,” he said, struggling for breath.
“And I’m Luke Skywalker.” She picked up her jaw from the ground.
The man in worn-out jeans and a plain T-shirt that hung on him didn’t look like the university professor her mother had described him to be. But then, according to her mother, he died. This guy was very much alive.
“Sergey, listen to me.” Urgency coating his voice, O’Hara stepped forward.
A black van with tinted windows rushed down the road and slowed down opposite her place. A rifle came out of the car’s window. Shocked, Soledad took in a sharp breath.
Dear Lord, please save us.
She tried to grab her alleged father’s hand to drag him into the house. Instead, he pushed her through the door.
“Stay inside!” he growled.
James O’Hara drew a gun and rushed past her. She winced when the door slammed in her face. Gunfire thundered in the air outside her home.
She wanted to cover her ears and crouch in the farthest corner of her closet.
Run.
Hide.
With shaking fingers, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed 911.
“What’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
“I have—” Her voice trembled. “I have a drive-by shooting in my front yard.” She rattled off the address. At least she lived on the outskirts of the small town of Rios Azules, with no houses for miles. No neighbors would be hit.
“The police and an ambulance are on the way.”
“Thank you.” She disconnected.
Her legs heavy, she dragged herself to the closet. After her friend had been attacked in her home, Soledad had bought a .38 caliber gun and had taken a crash course in shooting. She’d gotten a license to carry, more for the peace of mind than anything else.
The thunder of the gunfire outside spurred her on. She reached for the box on the top shelf. Even though the man claiming to be her father and O’Hara were strangers to her, she couldn’t let them die. Fighting the deadly grasp of fear, she opened the box, grabbed the gun, and inserted a loaded magazine. She clicked off the safety. A small voice told her to wait in the closet, like so many times when she’d been a child.
If you sit very, very quiet, he’s not going to find you.
Dismissing the memory, she sprinted to the front door. The gunfire stopped, and the silence was deafening. Holding her breath, she took a peek from behind the door. Time seemed
to slow down. Everything was happening in a matter of seconds, and still, every moment appeared to be in slow motion.
Two men in black clothes and dark sunglasses pushed Eliseev inside the van. O’Hara fired from behind an old oak tree. The driver, a blue cap drawn low on his face, shot back. Her stomach clenched. O’Hara was outnumbered.
Her heart was beating with such force she was afraid it would break her rib cage. Mari’s training rang in her ears: Slowly breathe in, counting to five. Breathe out. Control yourself. Soledad did so, and her hands stopped shaking.
Think.
Should she shoot through the slit in the door? No. She couldn’t aim well that way, and the wooden door wasn’t good protection from bullets anyway. If she stepped outside, she’d be killed as soon as she revealed herself. She was a librarian, not a cop. She should stay inside and wait for the police. Maybe O’Hara had it under control.
Carefully, she glanced outside again. O’Hara went down, but remained shooting from behind the tree. The driver moved closer, probably to take better aim at him.
Her heart sank. As a Christian woman, she was against violence. But if she didn’t do something, O’Hara and Eliseev would be dead.
Dear Lord, please help me. Please guide me on this path. Let Your will be done.
The prayer gave her courage. Before she could stop herself, she bolted outside and flew into the bushes that outlined her home’s perimeter. She landed on her stomach and aimed at the van’s tires. It wasn’t the best choice, but she couldn’t force herself to shoot at a person. Bracing herself for the recoil, she pulled the trigger several times. The driver turned in her direction, and bullets whizzed by her. The barrel of a rifle appeared in the window again.
She ducked and pressed her face to the ground. The scents of grass and earth filled her nostrils. If nothing else, she managed to distract the driver from killing O’Hara.
Acting on instinct, she rolled to the right. A split second later, a bullet grazed grass at the place where she’d just been. Fighting panic, she lifted her head and shot back. The sound of gunfire came from behind the oak, followed by a muffled scream from the van and a string of angry words. The voice didn’t sound like Eliseev’s, and she heaved a small sigh of relief.
But it was far from over.
Stop the threat. You have to stop the threat. Mari’s voice sounded clear in Soledad’s ears.
Dear Lord, please forgive me.
Spotting the blue cap behind the large mesquite tree near the van, she shot in that direction and rolled to the right. Again, bullets grazed the place where she’d just been.
She lifted her head and pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened.
Oh, no. She was out of bullets.
Her blood turned cold. She dropped the empty weapon to the ground. No sound came out from behind the oak tree. Was O’Hara out of bullets, too? Or had he lost consciousness because of his wound? Or… worse? Sheer terror spread inside her, claiming every cell of her body.
Was this how it was going to end for her? Acting on autopilot, she rolled to the right. Her mind registered the bullets hitting the grass mere inches from her, but she didn’t have inner strength to react to it.
She managed a silent prayer, asking God to spare O’Hara’s and Eliseev’s lives, as well as her own.
Sirens wailed in the distance. She slumped, feeling numb.
Then she lifted her head and zoomed in on the driver, feeling as if she were watching a movie. The man sprinted from behind the tree and leaped inside the van, slamming the door behind himself. The motor growled, and the van squealed out of her driveway, spitting out gravel.
Relief flooded through her.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You, thank You, thank You!
With the rush of adrenaline gone, she couldn’t move for several seconds. But she had to help O’Hara. She. Had. To.
Her limbs didn’t want to obey. The simple task of getting up took a gigantic effort. Earth moved in front of her eyes. Panic returned full force. Was she hit?
No, she didn’t feel pain anywhere. Gathering her willpower, she hurried over to check on O’Hara. The sirens grew louder, giving her hope.
She leaned down to him. At some point in the process of her shooting, he’d managed to pull himself up and now was sitting propped against the tree. He looked pale. His leather jacket was on the ground nearby, and a crimson stain spread on his T-shirt. She needed something to press onto his wound to stop the blood flow.
He was wounded but alive, and she said a prayer of gratitude.
For lack of better options, she grabbed the leather jacket discarded nearby, turned it inside out, and pressed it to his shoulder with all the strength she had left. She’d let herself collapse later, but now she needed to hold on. Just until the paramedics got here, which should be in a few seconds. The duo of the police and ambulance sirens grew closer.
“You were crazy to make yourself an open target,” he whispered. “You could’ve been killed.”
“That’s the thank you I get?” she grumbled. As he closed his eyes, she shook him slightly. “No! Don’t drift off. It’s dangerous. Stay with me. Why are you looking for my father? Are you a brother I didn’t know I had?”
“No,” he groaned, obviously in pain.
The ambulance and the police cars screeched to a stop several feet from her. She moved away to let the paramedics do their jobs. Now she had a chance to think about the man who’d been kidnapped.
“Dear Lord, please help Eliseev. Please watch over him,” she whispered.
A touch on her hand made her turn around. Bewildered, she stared at one of the paramedics. His lips were moving, but she didn’t hear a word. Was she losing her hearing? Her vision was becoming blurry, too. It took her several moments to realize the paramedic wanted to check her.
She glanced down at her hands and T-shirt, covered in dark red splotches.
“It’s not my blood.” Words came out in a raspy whisper, and she barely recognized her own voice.
Slowly, she moved on leaden legs as the paramedic helped her to the gurney.
Why hadn’t her alleged father looked for her until now? Why had he been kidnapped? Why had her mother lied to her? Soledad had no answers. But one thing she was certain about. Her small-town life in Rios Azules was never going to be the same.
* * *
James grunted, trying to get comfortable on the hospital bed. Sharp pain in his shoulder echoed in his body. The room’s depressingly gray walls, bland décor, and the scent of antiseptics made him feel closed in.
The urgency to find Soledad slammed into him. She might still be in danger. Without realizing it, Sergey had brought peril to his daughter’s doorstep. Probably he’d had no clue about being a target himself, until the very act of kidnapping. The authentic Fabergé egg Sergey had found in his possession must be very valuable for the criminals to go to such drastic measures.
His mind fuzzy, James struggled to sit up. He’d promised Sergey he’d help Soledad. James owed that much to his friend and mentor. After all, he’d be dead if not for Sergey, even though the latter had always said that God had saved James and not him. But James wasn’t a believer anymore…
Where was Soledad now? Was she okay?
Light-headed, James gathered his strength and scrambled to his feet. Using his IV drip pole for support, he managed several unsure steps. Pain ricocheted though his entire body again, but he clenched his teeth and made a couple more steps.
Plonk!
He ended up face first on the cold, tiled floor. Nearby, the IV pole fell with a loud racket.
Slowly, he attempted to rise to his feet.
A young male nurse rushed in. “What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be getting out of bed yet. Do you want your wound to open up?”
“No,” James conceded. If his wound didn’t heal, he’d be of no use to anybody, including Sergey and his daughter.
With the nurse’s help, James made the short distance to the hospital bed that felt like the
longest trip of his lifetime. He gritted his teeth not to groan from pain. Cold perspiration beaded on his forehead.
“I’ll see if the doctor authorizes more pain medication. In the meantime, please try to get some rest. You need it.” The nurse left with a frown on his face.
Dull throbbing in his head proved that the nurse had a point. But James didn’t have time to waste. He needed to start on his investigation, at least as much as he could do from a hospital bed. He reached for his phone and called Sergey’s cousin, Alvin Eliseev. With Sergey being an only child, Alvin would be the heir who’d inherit the Fabergé egg. Of course, until Soledad had come into picture.
After the conversation, James called Alvin’s son, Kyle. About half an hour later, James pondered over the results.
Apparently, Sergey had told Alvin and Kyle about his newfound daughter, as well as about the inheritance he’d wanted to give to her. Kyle Eliseev was very vocal about the treasure staying in the family, and he didn’t consider Soledad family. Kyle also didn’t seem too upset about Sergey’s kidnapping, unlike his father. Was it a good enough motive to hire criminals to kidnap Sergey?
James looked through his emails and forwarded the ones about current cases to his co-worker, whom he’d warned about his absence for at least several days. James refused to feel guilty about putting aside other work. He’d pulled more than his weight at the agency, and now Sergey’s case demanded all his attention.
For a moment, he decided to disregard Alvin’s and Kyle’s motives. If the kidnappers had been after the Fabergé egg, did they already have a buyer for it? A private collector, an auction house, or a wealthy man with Russian ancestry?
James didn’t have connections in the art world in Austin, so he searched his memory. He hadn’t kept in touch with his high school friends. And he’d only attended one reunion. But there somebody had mentioned that his old buddy Brian O’Rourke had become an art dealer, specializing in valuable antique art.