by Helen Brenna
Praise for RITA® Award-winning author Helen Brenna
“Brenna’s book offers a riveting plot and sparkling dialogue.”
—RT Book Reviews on Along Came a Husband
“I laughed and I cried over this book, and it holds a very special place in my heart, as I am sure it will in yours!”
—Romance Reviews Today on Then Comes Baby
“This book is enchanting.”
—Love Romances and More on Then Comes Baby
“Be prepared for romance, suspense and a lot of emotion from this beautiful book.”
—Cataromance on Next Comes Love
Dear Reader,
I knew when I was writing Maggie Dillon and Nick Ballos’s story, Finding Mr. Right, that little sister Kate was going to eventually need her own story. I didn’t know it would involve Riley. Now that it’s all done and written it makes so much sense! Turns out they were destined to be together from the moment their names first appeared on the same manuscript page.
A little note about the plot. As I’m known to do, I’ve fudged a bit. Yes, there are, depending on the version of mythology, up to ten Greek primordial gods. While I’ve done my best to make sure all the names I’ve mentioned are mythologically accurate, there are not ten known statues of these gods from the Hellenistic period scattered around the world. Sure made the story fun to write, though.
Three more Mirabelle Island stories will be coming in 2011. Sarah Marshik is going to knock heads with (yes, finally!) one of Garrett Taylor’s brothers, there’s a new bed-and-breakfast owner coming to town and Missy Charms’s sister, Marin, finds herself in need of a little R and R. Only, Mirabelle has a few surprises in store for her.
I love hearing from readers, and I answer all correspondence. Drop me an email at [email protected], or send a letter to P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.
My best,
Helen Brenna
The Moon That Night
Helen Brenna
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Helen Brenna grew up in central Minnesota, the seventh of eight children. Although she never dreamed of writing books, she’s always been a voracious reader of romance. So after taking a break from her accounting career, she tried her hand at writing the romances she loves to read.
Since she was first published in 2007, her books have won many awards, including Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award, two RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice awards, the Holt Medallion and the Book Buyers Best Award.
Helen lives with her family in Minnesota, and she’d love hearing from you. Email her at [email protected] or send mail to P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424. Visit her website at www.helenbrenna.com or chat with Helen and other authors at RidingWithTheTopDown.blogspot.com.
Books by Helen Brenna
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1403—TREASURE
1425—DAD FOR LIFE
1519—FINDING MR. RIGHT
1582—FIRST COME TWINS*
1594—NEXT COMES LOVE*
1606—THEN COMES BABY*
1640—ALONG CAME A HUSBAND*
HARLEQUIN NASCAR
PEAK PERFORMANCE
FROM THE OUTSIDE
For Tina Wexler
Just because
Acknowledgments
I’m so fortunate to be surrounded by smart and cultured princesses. It seems at least one of them has a hand in helping me get my facts straight in each of my books. This time it was Warrior Princess Zena, aka Tina Plant, aka Valentina Anatolievna. Thank you, sweetie, for helping me with all things Russian. Maybe someday we’ll go to Moscow together!
Oh, and she never makes mistakes, so you may trust that any you find are all mine.
Thanks, as always, to Johanna Raisanen for her editing insight.
And last but never least, my unending gratitude to Tina Wexler for being such a great cheerleader, a joy to work with and for helping me make every book better.
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
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Washington, D.C.
Sunday, 10:36 p.m.
“GET BACK OR GET DEAD.” Riley inserted a detonator into a small amount of C-4. “I’m blowing the door.” While he preferred all the assholes surrounding him dead, that particular objective would have to wait. He spun around the dark corner. “When this goes,” he said to the supreme asshole behind him, “we’ll have less than five minutes to get the statue and get out of here.”
“You’re really going to pull this off, aren’t you?” David March said, grinning.
“What has to be done gets done.”
“The consummate soldier.” March chuckled. “I knew you were the best man for this job.”
When this was all over Riley was going to show March what being best was all about. He turned as the small explosion blew the lock to smithereens and the door swung open.
March pointed to Riley. “Clear the room.”
A cloud of smoke and tiny particles of debris hung in the air, making it impossible for Riley to see more than several inches in front of his face. Slowly he stepped across the threshold. From nowhere a chair came at him. He put up his hand, grabbed the leg and yanked it away. The unknown attacker screeched. A woman. Perfect.
Wrapping his arms around her midsection and pinning her hands at her sides, he quickly immobilized her. Although they’d anticipated someone could be working in the room, they hadn’t expected any resistance, and he sure hadn’t expected to feel curves this nice on the likes of a museum curator.
“Let me go, you big ape!”
The woman struggled against him, but despite the fact that she had fairly well-defined muscles, there was no contest. A good foot shorter than him and little more than a hundred pounds, she was about as much trouble as a pesky gnat buzzing around his neck.
“Who are you?” she yelled. “And what do you want?”
That voice. Something about the surly tone had a distinctly unpleasant familiarity. He was frantically trying to make the connection when the woman slammed her heel down on top of his foot. “Enough,” he said quietly, despite the fact that his foot now throbbed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
As the smoke cleared, he let her go. She spun around and wound up, preparing to wallop him. The sight of her—pale skin contrasting with dark hair and golden-brown eyes firing as bright as a sunlit tiger’s eye—hit him like a rubber pellet to the chest, knocking the wind from him and leaving him totally unprepared. “Kate Dillon?”
Her fist connected with his diaphragm, and he sucked in a breath. For a lightweight she packed one hell of a punch.
“Riley?” Surprised, she jumped back and studied him. “Is that you?”
It might have been almost ten years since he’d last seen her, but a man didn’t easily forget a girl like Kate. She’d been all of about seventeen years old and a pistol then, too. One little stint as a bodyguard during a personal leave and he’d been more than happy to get back to active duty. He and Kate hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything, and while he would’ve liked
nothing more at the time than to tie her up and put a muzzle on that sassy mouth, she’d been a job. He’d promised to protect, and protect is what he’d done for three hellish days. And nights.
Back then she’d been attractive in a promising sort of way, but he’d never been into robbing cradles. While her youthful beauty might have turned into an I-eat-men-for-midnight-snacks kind of allure, with no makeup and her hair bunched in two short, braided pigtails she looked as if she still couldn’t walk into a bar and order a beer without getting carded.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing at his watch. Time was ticking.
“Shouldn’t I be asking that? You just blew off my door.”
He glanced around the room. A lab of sorts. “You’re working here, aren’t you?”
“What’s it to you?”
Surprise, surprise. Her mouth and attitude hadn’t improved. Double the reason he’d never made a move on her all those years ago. Not only had she been too young, she’d also been too outspoken for his tastes.
As far as he was concerned, women were supposed to be soft-spoken and compassionate. A woman should complement her man, not compete with him. He wasn’t a chauvinist, simply a realist. Throw together two people who were too much alike, and instead of harmony all you’d get was chaos. There was no doubt in his mind that Kate Dillon plus a man like him equaled chaos times ten.
“What do you do here?” he asked.
“At the moment, restoration work. Why?”
This was too much to be a simple coincidence, but it still didn’t make sense. “March!” Riley called. “You coming or not?”
March came into the room, followed by a couple of his goons, including Mick Coben, his right-hand man. “Good job,” March said to Riley before fixing his gaze on Kate. “Hello, Miss Dillon.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“David March. A great admirer of your work.” He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on the obviously old statue on the nearby table. “What do you need to finish repairing that piece?”
“Why?”
He glared at her. “I don’t have time for this.”
She glared back at him. “And I’m supposed to care?”
“No.” In one surprisingly swift movement, March was by her side with the barrel of his gun pressed against her temple. “But I’m guessing you care about making it out of this building alive.”
Riley pushed March’s gun toward the ceiling, and Coben made a threatening step forward. “Back off, Coben,” Riley said.
March gave a short nod, and Coben reluctantly stepped down.
“She wasn’t part of the plan,” Riley said.
“Of course she was.” March grinned. “Kate’s a night owl, aren’t you? Especially when she’s on deadline to get repairs finished before an exhibit opens.”
She only narrowed her eyes at March.
Son of a bitch. The pieces were starting to fall into place in a twisted David March kind of way. That man had been a thorn in Riley’s side ever since they’d done their first tour of duty together in the Gulf War. Sometimes he wondered if he was ever going to be rid of the unprincipled a-hole.
“I’ll handle Kate.” Riley bit out the words.
“You have one minute.” March stepped back. “Then things go my way.”
“Kate, listen to me.” Riley turned her to face him. “These guys aren’t messing around.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t you one of these guys?”
“I don’t have time to explain—”
“Well, that’s—”
“For once in your life, girl, could you do what you’re told?”
“I’m a woman,” she snapped. “Not a girl. Thank you very much.”
Coben chuckled softly. “Can’t handle her, old man? Need help, let me know.”
Riley might be a bit worse for wear after twenty years in the marines, but it’d be a cold day in hell he couldn’t handle this little spitfire, let alone the likes of Coben. “Kate, I’m only going to ask you this once.” He jerked his head toward the work in process on the table. “What do you need to finish your repairs on that piece?”
“Nothing,” she said through clenched teeth. “I was basically finished with it.”
“What do you typically need to repair this type of statue?” March asked.
“Why?”
“Kate,” Riley said softly, “answer the question.”
“Clay,” she said. “Some tools and adhesives.”
“That’s it? You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Get those supplies together and let’s go.”
She didn’t move.
“Now.” Riley grabbed her by the back of the neck and pushed her toward the reddish-brown clump of clay on the table. “The man isn’t kidding about putting a bullet in your head. Got it?”
Her cheeks turning an angry red, she stuffed a hunk of clay into a thick plastic bag. After grabbing a handful of tools from the workstation and some small containers of paint and glue, she snatched up a shoulder pack. “Now what?”
March ignored her and reached for the ancient-looking statue she’d been working on. “Can’t forget this.”
“Don’t touch that!” One of the goons grabbed Kate’s arms and held her back. With one quick twist she shook him off and grabbed the statue. “This is a fragile, authentic Greek figurine from the Hellenistic period. It’s about twenty-five hundred years old.”
March grinned. “I’m well aware of that.”
“It may be priceless in terms of historic value,” she muttered, “but it’s certainly not worth this effort.”
“That, dear Kate, is a matter of opinion.”
Riley’s watch beeped, signaling thirty seconds before the guards would hit. “We gotta get out of here.”
“Give me that statue,” March said, ripping it out of her hands.
“No!”
“Grab her.”
Gripping Kate’s arm, Riley dragged her out of the room. They’d no sooner closed the door on the stairwell than security guards rushed into the hall behind them. March’s men laid out a burst of rapid fire, stalling the onslaught.
Down three flights of stairs, through a maze of hallways, and past a ghostly quiet shipping and receiving area, Riley pushed through a back door and into the chilly November night air. Since he’d knocked out the streetlights earlier, the only illumination in the alley came from a hazy moon. The van, lights off, was idling only a few feet away.
March climbed into the vehicle. “Get her in here,” he called to Riley. “Now!”
Angry and exhibiting not the slightest bit of fear, Kate glared at him. “You’re really going to kidnap me?”
Life from Riley’s perspective was straightforward and simple, every decision black and white. This was as clear-cut as it got. Without an ounce of remorse he stared back at Kate and ground out, “Get in.”
CHAPTER TWO
POSITIONED TIGHTLY between two of the jerks who had robbed the small museum she worked for occasionally, Kate sat on her butt across from Riley, swaying to and fro as the van hightailed it through the streets of Washington, D.C. A burst of cold autumn air traveled up her back, sending a shiver down her spine. Figured. She would manage to get kidnapped and thrown into the back of a van without a jacket during a record-setting November cold snap. As escape options quickly flicked through her mind, her gaze clashed with Riley’s.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said, low and deep.
If he was even as half aware of everything going on around him as she remembered, there was no way she was getting out of this vehicle. “You used to be one of the good guys.” She glared at him. “But then, maybe that was all a lie.”
A couple of the other men laughed. The instant Riley turned his gaze on them, they quieted. All but one. A man just as big as Riley, if not bigger, sneered at him. “Full of bullshit,” the man said. “That’s about right.”
“Coben,” Riley said, “when this is al
l over, you and I are going to settle a few things.”
“Why wait?” Coben snickered.
Interesting. No love lost between those two.
March glanced back from the front passenger seat. “Knock it off.”
Riley’s gaze, as unreadable as ever, flicked toward Kate. After all these years she couldn’t believe she still remembered Riley, but what woman ever forgot the most irritating man she’d ever met?
When her sister, Maggie, and Maggie’s now husband, Nick, had run into some trouble in Greece several years back, Riley had escorted Kate back to the States and acted as her bodyguard for several days. Not only had he stuck to her like slip on clay, he’d barely spoken the entire time. Although one-word grunts had been the extent of his side of their limited conversations, his disapproval of her—her appearance, her life, her opinions—had rolled off him like twenty-foot waves.
If the disdainful look in his eyes when he glanced her way was any indication, his assessment of her hadn’t changed. Neither had he. Still cold, silently focused and built like a linebacker, he wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense. But with his features—eyes as blue as a cobalt glaze, sharply bowed lips and a cleft in his chin partially hidden by several days of stubble—God help the women of this world if Riley ever chose to smile, let alone laugh.
He sure hadn’t even come close to cracking a smile during the entire three days he’d been her bodyguard all those years ago, and still she’d found herself viscerally attracted to him. He’d been her first major-league crush, the first man—not boy—to make her pulse race and her skin burn.
She’d been too stubborn to admit to her teenage self that back then he’d completely intimidated her, but the truth was if she hadn’t been scared to death of the way he’d made her feel, she might’ve been nicer to him. Then before she’d had a chance to come to grips with her strange feelings, he’d left. Mission accomplished. Time for new orders. She’d been so insignificant to him she’d been shocked he’d remembered her name.