by Jana DeLeon
“You?” she gasped. “But I don’t understand...”
He stared at her, his disgust clear. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? I thought if you were passed over for the partnership, you’d resign and it would all be over with. I thought the past could be left in the past where it belongs, and I could move forward with my own political aspirations. But you had to keep digging. Your meddling will get Emily killed. You shouldn’t have involved her.”
“I didn’t! I don’t know what’s going on. I swear!”
“That may be the case, but you know enough to keep digging. I know you, Alaina. You won’t let it go. The only way I’m safe is if you’re dead. And poor Emily...what a shame. The girl had promise.”
“You’re mad.”
He laughed and her skin prickled.
“Oh, I’m completely sane,” he said. “I know exactly what I want and you’re not going to get in the way.”
She stared at him, the man she’d worked with every week for the past seven years. How had she missed his instability? How had she failed to notice ambition so big that it was eating away at his sanity?
“At least tell me what all this is about,” she said. “I deserve to know why you’re going to kill me.”
“No, I don’t think so. I think you deserve to die just the way you are now, especially given all the trouble you’ve caused.”
This was it. She was going to die before her life had even begun. All those years focused on a career that didn’t matter instead of forming relationships that did. Now that she was on the verge of what could be the most important relationship she’d ever had, she was going to die.
He pointed the gun directly at her head and smiled as his finger whitened on the trigger.
When the shot came, her knees collapsed and she slumped against her SUV, her eyes clenched shut. It took her a second to realize she hadn’t been hit. She opened her eyes just in time to see Carter race across the driveway toward her. He paused long enough to pick up Everett’s gun, then rushed over and dropped down beside her.
“Are you all right? Were you hit?”
She threw herself into his arms and he placed Everett’s gun on the ground and held her tightly. She felt the soft stroke of his free hand running across her hair and in the middle of her back, the hard metal from his gun pressed into her as he held her.
It suddenly struck her that this exact moment personified everything that was Carter Trahan—soft and caring but ruthless and hard when protecting those he cared about.
Right there, kneeling in the driveway—her hands and chest still stinging from glass cuts, her legs already cramping from her run, her body drenched in sweat and her mind only moments from believing she was going to die—it was the most perfect moment of her entire life.
* * *
CARTER CLUTCHED ALAINA, never wanting to let her go. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to losing her. If not for her intelligence—her bravery and ability to think cool under pressure—he had no doubt this all would have ended tragically.
She was unlike any woman he’d ever known. He kissed her ear and squeezed her tighter. All those years in New Orleans—with millions of beautiful women living in and passing through the city each year—and he’d had to return to his tiny hometown to find perfection.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered.
“I thought you had, too.”
He pulled back a bit so that he could look down at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with that. I don’t know how or when it happened, but I don’t want to be without you, Alaina.”
Her eyes widened and filled with tears, and her bottom lip trembled. For a moment, he thought she was going to try to gently let him down—that she was going to tell him she cared but not as much as he did.
Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
And he had his answer.
Chapter Eighteen
Alaina pulled packing tape over the last of the boxes in her Baton Rouge condo just as Carter opened the door and walked in. It had been a little over a week since her flight from Everett. She’d finished her two weeks in the old house without incident, not even a ghostly one.
That part made her a bit sad, but maybe her mother had appeared to help her and that was all she could manage from another plane of existence. The evil-looking specter that had appeared over her bed that first night had never returned, and as time passed, Alaina began to wonder if she’d imagined it.
“Is that the last of it?” Carter asked as he pulled a dolly in behind him.
“Last one,” she said and smiled.
A month ago, if anyone had told her that she’d be selling off half of her belongings and packing the rest in boxes to move to a town so small it didn’t even show on maps, she would have laughed. But now, she couldn’t imagine any other life.
Of course, a life with Carter Trahan was hardly a consolation prize.
And she had plenty of time to decide what she wanted to do career-wise. For the time being, she was going to help William at his practice on an as-needed basis and continue her work with a couple of corporate clients in New Orleans who still wanted her to represent them in business matters, even though she’d left the firm.
Carter grabbed her around the waist with one arm and twirled her around as she laughed. Then he set her down and kissed her long and deep—reminding her of what she had in store that night and every other after it.
As he broke off the kiss and released her, he said, “Detective Breaux called while I was loading the boxes.”
“Did they find anything?”
The Baton Rouge police had been trying to piece together the reason for Everett’s attack on her and Emily. The intern had finally awakened and doctors expected her to make a full recovery. What no one expected was for her to be as shocked as Alaina to find out that Everett was behind the attack.
Emily overheard Everett and another partner arguing the day before she’d called Alaina. The partner was expressing his displeasure at Alaina being passed over for the partnership in favor of Kurt. Everett had cited her mistakes on the Warren case as his reason and said he was only protecting the firm. Emily had pulled the case file to read so that she could understand what construed a mistake when you’d won your case. She’d called Alaina to tell her about the argument and ask her why Everett felt she’d made a mistake.
That innocent phone call and copying the case file had unwittingly been her undoing.
So the Baton Rouge police, upon direction from Emily and Alaina, began a forensic search of all the law firm’s records, trying to determine if someone had been deleting or altering them. The police had already been at it for a week.
Kurt had already confessed to giving Everett the passcode to Alaina’s building, but he’d thought the senior partner only wanted to try and talk her out of leaving. Because Alaina always left her house key in her unlocked desk drawer, Everett could easily have swiped it at any time and made a copy for use in case he ever suspected she was on to him.
The only thing they hadn’t figured out was how Everett got into the house in Calais, but Carter was determined not to rest until he had an answer.
“Oh, they found something all right,” Carter said. “They found the answer to everything.”
Alaina sucked in a breath. “Really? What is it? What did Everett think we knew?”
A flash of anger passed over Carter’s face. “It was a piece of deleted video from when Warren Sr. and his son were in your conference room. The son admitted to molesting the girl and his father told him exactly what to say in the interview with you.”
Her hand flew up to her mouth. “No! How could he? How could Everett delete that knowing he was risking putting a child predator back on the street?”
“He didn’t care a whit about children. He was using the information to blackmail Warren Sr. into supporting an upcoming run for state senate. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, especially because you were positioned nicely
as the lead attorney to take the fall if something went south. Or I should say when something went south. He had to know that the kid would reoffend. They always do.”
She slumped down into one of her dining room chairs. “That other girl didn’t have to die.”
“No, she didn’t.” He placed one hand on her shoulder. “But that is not on you.”
“Tell that to the families.”
“Detective Breaux already has. They are angry and sad, but they understand that you and Emily were Everett’s victims, as well.”
“What about Colbert? Did his wife ever give up his location?”
“Yeah. He had a nervous breakdown and was checked into a substance abuse facility. She knew the attacker couldn’t have been him and wasn’t about to tell the very people she held responsible for his condition.”
Alaina sighed. “I don’t blame her. The entire thing is so ugly.”
“Yes, but it’s in the past.” He reached down and pulled her up into his arms. “You are very beautiful and I can’t wait to have you making my life gorgeous every day.”
She smiled. “Every day? I don’t get a day off?”
“No. Sorry.”
He lowered his lips to hers.
I’m not, she thought before losing herself in his arms.
* * * * *
Jana DeLeon’s spine-tingling new miniseries,
MYSTERE PARISH: FAMILY INHERITANCE,
is just getting started.
Don’t miss Danae LeBeau’s story,
THE BETRAYED, available next month
wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt of Falcons Run by Aimée Thurlo!
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Chapter One
Armed with her favorite guilty pleasure—a caramel vanilla cappuccino—Abby Langdon left Sunny Perk in the distance and navigated the long gravel road that led to her ranch. Later, she’d put on a pot of coffee, but for now, her fix was complete.
Already she was anticipating the hard work and long day ahead. Sitting Tall Ranch and its special mission had always been her dream come true. Young victims of illness, poverty and abuse came to her ranch daily for a respite from their challenges. Her guests had witnessed the worst life could hand out, but Sitting Tall Ranch was the haven where they could forget their troubles and just be kids.
Abby slowed as she neared the abandoned pickup parked alongside the road. She’d seen it earlier when she’d left the ranch. Somebody had probably run out of gas then gotten a ride.
Abby drove through the gates, parked and headed to her office, a separate casita behind the main house. She was holding her to-go cup in one hand and reaching for her keys with the other when she heard a familiar voice to her left.
“Abby! Wait up!”
Ten-year-old Bobby Neskahi, hands down her favorite guest, was struggling up the sidewalk. Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis had damaged most of his joints and left him to rely on braces, but whatever had caused the panicked look on his face was urging him to move fast.
He stopped in front of her, catching his breath. “Carl’s hurt! He’s not moving.”
“Where is he?” Her heart suddenly beat overtime. Carl Woods was her caretaker, animal handler and all-around right-hand man on the ranch.
“He’s inside Tracker and Missy’s turnout area. He’s on the ground, and he didn’t move or answer when I called him.” Bobby grabbed her hand. “He might be dead. I couldn’t see him breathing. Come on! You gotta help!”
Abby touched Bobby firmly on the shoulder, then handed him her keys. “Bobby, I need you to go into my office, call 911 on the desk phone, then stay here until the police arrive. You’ll have to show them the way. I’ll go check on Carl.”
Bobby nodded and Abby took off running toward the stalls.
Jogging around the corner of the barn, Abby nearly collided with a wheelbarrow stacked with bales of alfalfa hay. Stopping just in time, she began inching between the wheelbarrow and the fence. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of movement.
As she turned to look, a large figure leaped up from behind the stack and forced an empty feed bag over her head.
“Hey!” Sputtering from the debris in her eyes and mouth, she fought to pull the bag off.
Strong arms grabbed her wrists, yanked them down to her sides, then lifted her off the ground.
Abby tried to kick her captor, but he just grunted, hauled her several steps, then flung her violently onto the ground.
* * *
DARK, ANGRY CLOUDS were building over Copper Canyon. “Storm’s heading our way.” Hot from exertion despite the cool, early hour, Detective Preston Bowman had already shrugged off his shirt as he continued working alongside his brother, repairing gaps in the fence line. Their late foster father’s place belonged to all of them now.
As the wind from the downdrafts intensified, Preston could feel the force of the approaching storm. The sky continued to darken quickly, turning the new day into near twilight.
Kyle, taller than his brother by one inch and just as muscular, wiped his eyes with a dirty hand. “Rain I like. Sandstorms, not so much, bro.”
Preston was tired, though he’d never admit it. His sore muscles were a constant reminder of why he’d chosen city life instead. As a cop, Preston was more used to wielding a gun rather than a shovel, axe or sledgehammer. Even though he was six feet tall and in excellent shape—police work demanded it—he was ready for a break.
Kyle reached for his shirt. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to be sandblasted.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to be coming home for good?” Preston grabbed his own shirt and ducked inside the toolshed.
“Not yet,” Kyle said, joining him in the small shelter. “I have some things to work out first.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Can’t say anything else—classified.”
Preston nodded silently. He didn’t have to know the details to realize whatever it was had hit Kyle like a hard kick to his gut. Despite that, he knew his brother would find a way to deal with it.
Inside each of his five brothers was a fighter who never gave up. They’d all been tested at an early age, long before they’d even known how to protect themselves from life’s hard knocks.
Their stories were all different but shared the same core. They’d been wards of the state, abandoned by people who were supposed to have protected and loved them. Survival instincts had become second nature to each of them early on.
When life did its best to bring them to their knees, they got up and kept fighting. It was what they did best. The difference was now they had each other’s backs. Though none of them were bound by blood, their pasts had forged unbreakable ties among them.
A flash of lightning was followed immediately by an ear-splitting crack of thunder that shook the ground. Hearing a horse’s panicked whinny, Kyle shot out of the shed and ran toward the corral. “Red!”
The large mahogany horse with the dark mane was bucking wildly, racing around the corral and tossing his head.
“Red’s used to his own stall inside Gene’s barn. He doesn’t like it here,” Kyle said.
Preston took the horse by its halter, led him to the side of the house and stood there with him. “He’ll settle down now that he’s here with us
, sheltered from the wind,” he said. “How come Red’s here? Did Gene loan him to you for a few days?”
“No. He’s donating him to Sitting Tall Ranch. The owner, Abby Langdon, was looking for a gentle mount for kids with special needs. Red’s steady as they come—except around thunder. If he’s inside a barn, he’s okay, but not if he’s outside. Since I’d planned on keeping him here for a day or two so I could go riding, I checked the weather ahead of time. It was supposed to be okay, just a little cloudy, but this front’s a day early.”
As they stood waiting for the storm to pass, Preston kept his arm over the horse’s neck. The animal seemed to be handling things better now.
“Have you opened the envelope Hosteen Silver left for you yet?” Preston asked, referring to their foster father.
“No, not yet. He knew things before they happened and that always spooked me. There’s also something else I need to take into account now. After Daniel, Gene and Paul opened theirs, they ended up getting married within months. I’m thinking that I’ll hold on to mine for another decade or so,” he said and flashed his brother a quick grin.
Preston laughed. “Just so you know, they’re not all letters that foretell upcoming events. Mine’s a sketch.” Preston reached for his wallet and took out a folded piece of paper. “I made a copy to keep with me until I figured it out.”
“Nice. The old man was a good artist, though he seldom had time for that,” Kyle said, studying it. “That’s obviously Copper Canyon and there’s Falcon. It looks just like the fetish he gave you when you turned sixteen.”
“I’ve carried that carving with me every day since,” Preston said, lifting the leather cord that hung around his neck. A small leather pouch hung from it. “Falcon’s a faithful spiritual guide. I think he helps me see what others miss. That’s a great asset in police work.”
“In the sketch, Falcon’s swooping down on that owl and defending something... a nest or maybe its mate? The background’s mostly in shadow and hard to make out. Can you see it any better in the original?”