by CINDI MEYERS
Her father’s face was ashen. “You had no right,” he said.
“I had every right. I’m the one who stayed home. The one who remained loyal. But it didn’t mean anything to you.” His voice shook, and his eyes were dilated, wild.
“Sammy, calm down,” Anne said.
“No! I’m tired of waiting around for what is rightfully mine.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol.
“Sammy, no!” she screamed.
But it was too late. Sammy fired the pistol, the report deafening in the small room. Sam clutched at his chest, blood spurting between his fingers while Anne looked on, horrified.
While Sam was still falling, Sammy turned the gun on Anne. “You won’t get away from me this time,” he said.
She screamed, but the scream was drowned out by another gunshot. Sammy jerked back from the force of the blow, then sank to his knees. Anne stared at the window behind her father’s chair, the glass shattered in a thousand pieces. Jake stepped through the opening, his gun fixed on Sammy. “Are you all right?” he asked Anne.
She nodded, too shocked to speak, then knelt beside her father just as her brother collapsed beside her.
* * *
THE DEEP SNOW had saved Jake’s life, and delivered him to the house in record time. He’d ended up tobogganing down the slope on his belly and landing in an avalanche of thick powder at the base of the rock wall behind the house. He was banged up, with a rip in his pants and a gash in his leg that oozed a thin line of blood, but he was alive and whole—and apparently no one had noticed his spectacular descent.
He stood and brushed off as much snow as he could, then drew his gun, removed the safety and checked the load. All around him was quiet, and he saw no one. Keeping low and out of sight of the windows, he reached the back of the house, then crept around the side toward the sound of raised voices. Before he could identify the speakers, a gunshot shattered the silence.
Jake rushed forward, in time to see Sammy turn his gun on Anne. He fired, shattering the window and striking the younger man in the middle of the back. He didn’t even remember stepping through the broken glass and moving to Anne’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, and knelt beside her father, but he was beyond help, his face forever frozen in an expression of surprise.
Jake turned to Sammy, who lay gasping on the rug, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. “We should call an ambulance,” Anne said.
Jake thought it was too late for that, but who was he to say, considering how he himself had defied the odds? He looked for someone to make the call and found himself face-to-face with three men with guns, all of them pointed at him.
“Call 9-1-1,” he ordered, ignoring the weapons.
No one moved. “Put those guns away and call for help!” Anne shouted.
The men looked at each other. “All right, Miss Elizabeth,” one said, and the rest followed him out of the room.
Anne moved to her brother’s side. He stared up at her, vacant-eyed. “Sammy, hang on,” she pleaded, gripping his hand.
“I just...wanted him...to be proud...of me,” Sammy gasped.
“He was,” she said. “I know he was.”
Sammy’s eyes closed and Anne choked back a sob. Jake pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. Not sorry he’d protected her, but sorry she had to go through this, to lose her family, no matter how bad they were.
Shouting and the sounds of running feet came from the front of the house. Jake stood, and pulled Anne to her feet behind him. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Jake! Anne!” a man bellowed.
“Patrick!” Anne called. “We’re in here.”
The U.S. marshal, dressed in black fatigues and carrying an assault rifle, appeared in the doorway of the room, flanked by two similarly clad officers. He took in the two men on the floor. “Sam Giardino and his son?” he asked.
“We need an ambulance,” Anne said. “Sammy—”
Thompson was already kneeling beside the younger Giardino. “It’s too late for an ambulance,” he said. He moved to Anne. “Come with me. I’ve got a team ready to relocate you right away, before anyone here even realizes you’re gone.”
“I...” She looked around the room, confused. “Sammy’s dead?”
Thompson nodded. “Come on,” he said, one hand on her shoulder. “We have to go.”
“Wait!” She wrenched away from him. “Senator Nordley. You’ve got to stop Senator Nordley.”
“What about Nordley?” Thompson asked Jake.
Jake shook his head. “Is the senator here?” he asked Anne.
“He arrived while we were eating lunch and my father told one of his men to put him in his office to wait.”
“And you’re sure it was Greg Nordley?” Thompson asked.
“I think so. I only caught a glimpse, but he had white hair, and he looked like the man Jake pointed out to me in Telluride this morning.”
“I have my men searching the house,” Thompson said. “If he’s here, we’ll find him.” He took Anne’s arm again. “Now you need to come with me.”
Anne stared at her fallen brother and father. “I can’t just leave them,” she said.
Thompson started to argue, but Jake stepped in. “Can’t you see she’s in shock? Don’t ask her to make that kind of decision right now.”
“Stay out of this,” Patrick said. “We have to get all the women out of here. We don’t know who else might move in to take over, and we need to take down their testimony before someone else gets to them. This is our chance to dismantle the Giardino operations while the family’s in disarray.”
“You can give her a little more time,” Jake said.
“I tell you, we don’t have time.” Thompson turned her toward the door. “I promise she’ll be safe.”
Jake watched as the marshal led Anne away. Her head was bowed, and she moved blindly, letting Thompson guide her around the carnage in the room. Jake turned away, cursing under his breath. He shouldn’t have let them take her—not like this.
“Sir? I need you to come with me.”
He turned and faced another black-clad marshal. “We’ll need you give a statement about what happened.”
He looked over the man’s shoulder, at Anne’s retreating figure. “What will happen to her?” he asked.
“She’ll be taken care of. You don’t have to worry.”
But of course, he would worry. And he’d start over, looking for her again. And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.
* * *
ANNE SAT IN THE SMALL interrogation room, in an office whose location she couldn’t have named, and stared into a foam cup of long-cold coffee. Patrick had taken her statement, then left her here to wait for the typed transcript, while he made the final arrangements for her to travel out of state. Tomorrow she’d start over—a new life, with a new name, a new occupation and a new past.
Before, she’d been grateful for the chance to make a fresh start. She’d longed to distance herself from her family, and from the pain of losing Jake. Now, all she felt was numb. Her father, a man she’d spent a lifetime both loving and hating, was gone. Her brother, who had been both ally and enemy, was dead, too.
And Jake. He was the one man who’d stood by her, and she’d realized his value too late. He’d saved her life, but more than that, he’d saved her from thinking she was only good enough to be her father’s daughter, a pretty, spoiled socialite who turned her back on the suffering of others. Jake had shown her she had the courage to do the right thing—not once, but over and over again.
A knock on the door startled her out of her musings. “Come in,” she called, and sat up straighter, trying not to look as exhausted as she felt.
Patrick leaned into the room. “There’s someone out h
ere who’s asking to see you,” he said.
“Who is it?” Patrick wouldn’t let a reporter in to see her. But maybe Stacy wanted to speak with her. Or even Veronica...
Patrick held the door open wider and Jake came into the room. He stopped halfway to her. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he said. “Now that you’ve had time to think about everything.”
“Jake!” she cried, and ran to him.
He crushed her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head, over and over. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry about your brother and your father...and everything.”
“Don’t apologize for saving my life.” She drew back, just enough to look him in the eyes. “I’m glad I got to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
“I couldn’t let you go. I called Thompson and I made him tell me where you were.”
“You must have been pretty persuasive. He thinks I’m still in danger from others in my father’s business.”
He cradled her face in his hand. “I told him I loved you and I didn’t want to live without you.”
Her breath caught, and tears stung her eyes. “I love you, too,” she said. “And I don’t want to live without you, either.”
“Sounds like we’re stuck.” He kissed her, a sweet, gentle brushing of his lips against hers that said more to her heart than all a poet’s words of love.
“I told Thompson I’d come with you into WitSec,” he said.
“What about your career?” she asked. “Don’t you want to get back into law enforcement?”
“You said yourself, I was never a typical agent.” He smoothed his hands down her arms. “I’ll find something to do. Don’t worry about me.”
“There’s only one problem.” Patrick moved into the room and shut the door behind him.
“What’s that?” Anne asked.
“Jake’s not in my budget. I can’t enroll random people into Witness Security just because I feel like it.”
“That’s not a problem,” Anne said.
“It isn’t?” Jake sent her a questioning look.
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to start over with a new life. I like the life I have. As Anne.”
“Anne Gardener?” Jake asked.
She met his steady gaze. “Or Anne Westmoreland.”
His grin erased all the weariness and pain of the past hours. “I like the sound of that,” he said.
They kissed, and Anne marveled that so much sadness and happiness could be mixed up together.
Patrick cleared his throat, and reluctantly the lovers moved apart. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you don’t stay in the program,” he said.
“I don’t think I have anything to worry about now that my father and my brother are both gone,” she said. “My father’s business partners or his rivals will take over his operations, but there’s no one left in the family to take over. And certainly no one who cares about me.”
“We’ll be offering protective custody to your sister-in-law and to your father’s mistress,” Patrick said. “You won’t see them again.”
“I understand.” Jake would be her family now. The only family she needed.
“What about Senator Nordley?” Jake asked. “Was he at the house?”
Patrick shook his head. “No sign of him. He must have left before we arrived.”
“I was in the bathroom for a few minutes right after lunch,” Anne said. “My father might have sent him away then.”
“We may ask you to confirm that he was at the house, but right now the investigation is ongoing.” He put a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I can look after her,” Jake said.
Patrick studied them a long moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take care of the paperwork. You’re free to go.”
She hurried to collect her coat, and to leave the office before Patrick changed his mind. Outside, it was snowing, soft flakes drifting down to dust her hair and the shoulders of her coat. Jake gathered her close. “It’s going to be all right,” he said.
“I know it will be.” She kissed his cheek. In Jake’s arms, she felt safe and warm, and more at home than she had ever been anywhere else.
* * * * *
Be sure to pick up Cindi Myers’s
ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE,
coming out next month. Look for it wherever
Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!
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Chapter One
Ashley edged farther under the desktop in the cubicle, her fingers clutching the phone to her ear, her knees scraping against the coarse commercial carpet. Breathe...in, out, in, out. Focus, listen. Where is he?
Her breaths wheezed between her teeth, making a sharp whistling sound.
Calm down. He’ll hear you if you don’t calm down.
“Why don’t I hear any sirens yet?” she whispered to the nine-one-one operator.
“They’re on the way, ma’am. Is the shooter still in the building?”
“I’m not sure. I think so.”
“Stay where you are. Stay on the line. The police will be there soon.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. That’s the same thing the operator had told her ten minutes ago—after the shooter killed Stanley Gibson.
They’d both been standing by the copier, chatting about nothing in particular while the machine spit out reports for their next meeting. A soft pfft sound whooshed through the air. A bright red circle bloomed on Stanley’s forehead. His eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the floor.
Ashley had stood frozen, too horrified to acknowledge what her subconscious already knew—someone had just shot one of her coworkers.
That’s when the screams began.
She’d whirled around. The shooter stood in the main aisle, his silver hair forming spikes across his head like porcupine quills. His dark gaze locked on her.
And then he smiled.
Ashley’s fight-or-flight instincts had kicked in. She ran. Around the corner, past the glass-enclosed offices the managers used. Empty. Thank God. At least half the company was out to lunch. But the rest were here, like her, trapped between the shooter and the only exit.
She kept running, to the other side of the building, to another maze of cubicles. She dove into the nearest one and grabbed the phone from the top of the desk. That was when she’d called nine-one-one.
A terrified scream echoed through the room.
Ashley’s pulse sputtered. “He’s still here,” she whispered.
“Help is on the way.”
The operator’s calm, matter-of-fact tone had Ashley clenching her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Didn’t the operator realize people were dying? Had the woman even called the police?
Leaning as far out of the cubicle as she dared, she risked a glance down the main aisle. The shooter’s progress through the offices of Gibson and Gibson Financial Services was marked by screa
ms and shouts coming from the other side of the building.
The mournful wail of police sirens erupted outside the windows.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
“I hear sirens,” she whispered. “They’re close.”
“Yes, ma’am. Are you still in the same location?”
“I haven’t moved.”
“I’ve notified the police where you are. They’ll be there soon.”
Ashley was really starting to hate the word soon. And she also sorely regretted taking the auditing contract in Destiny, Tennessee. If she were in her home office in Nashville right now, she wouldn’t be cowering in a cubicle with a crazed shooter on the loose.
One of the young temps stuck her head out of another cubicle several aisles away. What was her name? Karen? Kristen? Ashley had only met her once and couldn’t remember. The girl’s face was ghostly pale, her eyes wide with terror as she silently begged Ashley for help.
Ashley’s stomach jumped as if she’d plunged down a steep drop on a roller coaster. The girl couldn’t be more than nineteen. Ashley had to help her. But how? Which cubicle was safer? Should she run to the girl, or have the girl run to her?
She sucked in a breath. Oh, no. Spiky gray hair showed above a row of cubicles down a side aisle. The shooter. And he was heading straight toward the temp.
Ashley frantically motioned for the girl to hide.
The girl’s brow furrowed and she raised her hands in the air, not understanding what Ashley was trying to tell her.
In a few more steps, the gunman would be able to see them both.
“Go back,” Ashley mouthed, desperately pointing at the approaching shooter.
He rounded the corner. Ashley ducked back behind the partitioned wall.
A high-pitched scream echoed through the room, then abruptly stopped.
She clamped her hand over her mouth. No, no, no.
A shoe scraped across the carpet. Ashley froze. A swishing sound whispered through the air, as if someone had brushed up against one of the fabric-covered cubicle walls. Close.