Hunted

by Sharon C. Cooper

  Hunted

  by

  Sharon C. Cooper

  Copyright © 2021 Sharon C. Cooper

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For permission, contact the author at www.sharoncooper.net

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  Disclaimer

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To my friend Cheris—a fellow Mustang girl.

  Keep doing you, Diva!

  Blurb

  She’s everything he never knew he wanted…

  Former CIA spy Myles Carrington experienced enough danger in his clandestine days. The last thing he needs in his life right now is trouble, but that’s what he gets when salon owner Geneva Ramsey crosses his path. She’s combative, fierce, and the sexiest woman he’s ever met, but he’s not looking for anything serious. He promises himself only one night with her and nothing more.

  Geneva kissed him on a dare. A dare that altered her carefree life, and she’s conflicted. Myles is an enigma, a puzzle she can’t piece together. Yet, she’s addicted to him—which is just crazy. She never gets serious with any guy, but after one night with Myles, no other man will do. Now, she just needs him to cooperate.

  When an unknown enemy from Myles’s past begins hunting him, the hunter becomes the hunted. Myles will destroy anyone who dares threaten those he loves, but will Geneva become a casualty of his past? Or can Myles save her and begin a life he thought he never wanted?

  Prologue

  Whitney hated this part of her job. The photos she had taken over the past four weeks would no doubt change the dynamics of her client’s family.

  Watching Margaret in silence as she sifted through the pictures, Whitney brought her steaming mug of coffee to her lips. At seven in the morning, she needed all the caffeine she could get.

  Taking a careful sip of the strong brew, she glanced around the cozy cafe. They were just north of Macon, Georgia, in an out-of-the-way area that Whitney had never heard of before, much less visited. Like her client, she preferred meeting someplace where there was a slim chance of running into anyone she knew. Spying for the CIA for so many years had made her paranoid on almost every level, but she now enjoyed working for herself. As a private investigator, she chose her assignments, decided how much she wanted to work, and what level of danger she would allow.

  A couple of months ago, Margaret had hired her to find out if her husband was cheating. Unfortunately, Whitney had just handed over proof that not only was he cheating, but he also had a drug problem.

  “I can’t believe he would do this to me.” The woman’s hazel eyes brimmed with tears, and red splotches covered her fair skin that had gone pale. “I didn’t want to believe it, but the signs were there. Late hours. Money disappearing. Lying about where he’d been. The smell of perfume on his clothes. Each time I questioned him, he had an excuse.”

  “Well, it’s probably good you know now,” Whitney said, unsure of what else to say. Seemed lately this was the type of work she’d been getting, and it wasn’t always the men who were caught cheating. She’d had her share of male clients wanting her to spy on their cheating wives or girlfriends.

  “After twenty years and three kids, he steps out on me. I thought we had a good marriage. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Can I get you ladies anything other than coffee? Maybe pancakes? Waffles?” the server asked.

  Margaret stared at the photos as if still trying to wrap her brain around that she’d been right about her loser husband.

  “That’ll be it,” Whitney answered for the both of them. “You can just bring me the check.”

  As Whitney went back to drinking her coffee, a strange sensation crept down her back. The feeling of being watched was stronger than it had been the day before. Yesterday, while she was running errands, she thought it might’ve been her imagination, but two days in a row? No. Something wasn’t right.

  She set her coffee mug on the table while casually glancing around. Sitting toward the back of the cafe, she had a good view of most of the tables, except those few on the side. Her gaze bounced from person to person as they dined and chatted. Considering the early hour, the place was somewhat full. Nothing seemed out of place or looked unusual.

  Yet, that eerie feeling consumed her.

  “I appreciate your help with this,” Margaret said, cutting into Whitney’s thoughts. She stuffed the pictures into her large handbag. “You’re as good and efficient as I heard you were. I just wish I had been wrong about my husband.”

  Margaret slid a white envelope across the table to Whitney. She had requested to pay in cash up front, thinking it would be easier to hide the investigation from her husband.

  Whitney stuffed the payment into the back pocket of her blue jeans while dividing her attention between Margaret and their surroundings. Her client rambled on about how she planned to handle her cheating spouse, and Whitney’s pulse pounded in her ears. She hated the anxiousness swirling inside of her.

  “All right, ladies. You can take care of this whenever you’re ready.” The server set the check face down on the small table. “Oh, and the cute guy at the counter…” she glanced back, pointing to where several people sat at the bar. “Well, he was there a minute ago. Anyway, he told me to give you this.”

  Whitney accepted the folded piece of paper while taking another glance at the counter. Five people were sitting there, some talking to the person next to them, while others hunched over their plates eating. She didn’t recognize any of them and wondered where the person who sent her the note had disappeared to.

  “Thanks.” She accepted the slip of paper. “Can you describe him?”

  The server’s brows drew together and her sienna-toned face scrunched as if trying to remember. “A little shorter than my husband. He had to be around six feet or so with broad shoulders and olive skin. He was wearing a heavy black jacket with a baseball cap pulled low above his eyes,” she said to Whitney. “He was just there a minute ago.”

  “I guess you have an admirer,” Margaret said after the server walked away.

  Whitney gave a half-hearted shrug. She hoped that’s all it was, but her gut was still churning with trepidation. She’d wait to read the note in the car.

  Margaret took care of the bill, and once they were outside, Whitney shook her hand.

  “If there’s anything else I can do, you know where to find me.”

  “I do, and thanks again.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Whitney hurried to her car. Repeated glances over her shoulder revealed others were leaving, but no one was following her. Maybe her imagination was working overtime, and she was being paranoid. Either way, she wouldn’t feel comfortable until she was back at home.

  After starting the vehicle, she unfolded the now crumpled slip of paper and skimmed the words written in block lettering.

  I know who you are, Samantha Cooley. You will pay for destroying my family.

  Whitney’s heart slammed against her chest, and her blood turne
d to ice in her veins as she balled up the paper.

  Samantha.

  Heart racing. Pulse pounding. She glanced over her shoulder and out the back window, searching for anybody who might be watching her. Seeing no one, she hurried and started the car, then peeled out of the parking lot.

  Going through her mental rolodex, she tried to remember the last time she had used the name Samantha Cooley. It had been her final alias before leaving the CIA.

  Whitney searched her mind to recall the details of that last case. She’d been in Colombia for months on assignment. An assignment that had been chaotic and mishandled on so many levels. She had almost been killed, which was why she had decided it was time to leave the CIA.

  You will pay for destroying my family.

  Whose family? Whose family had she destroyed? And why now? Why come at her after so many years? She had always feared that one day her work with the CIA would come back to haunt her. Gathering intel from all over the world had been dangerous, but she had always been careful. Not once had her real identity been compromised.

  At least that’s what she thought.

  How the heck had someone connected her to Samantha? That just anyone could get ahold of that information. Unless somehow her target at the time had managed to make the connection. Whitney had moved around for years, never staying in one city for long until she settled in Atlanta.

  With a death grip on the steering wheel, she checked her mirrors for the hundredth time. Thankfully there wasn’t much traffic, and she wasn’t far from the highway that would take her back to Atlanta.

  “Okay, just stay calm,” she mumbled to herself as she entered the on-ramp for I-75. Her mind raced as she weighed her options. The last thing she should do was head home. Chances were, they probably knew where she lived. Maybe if she changed cars and laid low for a while, she could delay whatever this person had planned.

  Whitney’s thoughts raced as her fear increased while debating on what to do first. Maybe it would be best to head back to Atlanta. If this person knew her, they might also know about Collin and Myles.

  Myles. I have to call Myles. He’ll know what to do.

  “Damn,” she mumbled, seeing traffic backed up ahead. Just once, it would be nice to travel around Georgia and not worry about traffic.

  She pressed the brake, but the car didn’t slow down.

  “What the…”

  Panic roared through her body as she kept pumping the brake.

  Nothing happened.

  “Oh, dear God.”

  At sixty miles an hour, her car raced toward the crawling vehicles ahead.

  Tension seized her shoulders.

  Icy fear twisted inside her chest.

  She had to do something.

  At the last second, Whitney jerked the steering wheel to the right so hard, pain shot through her arms. Terror clouded her vision. The car hurtled across the shoulder of the road. An ear-piercing scream ripped from her throat as the vehicle flew through the air toward trees.

  “Oh, God!”

  She crossed her arms in front of her face just before impact.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter One

  Three days earlier…

  “Any day now, Gen. I need to get out of here,” her sister Journey said as she strolled from the office in the back of the salon and sat in Geneva’s styling chair.

  “Don’t be trying to rush me now. You’re the one who’s been on the phone for the last thirty minutes,” Geneva said, grateful the phone call had given her just enough time to finish up another client before getting back to Journey’s hair.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was waiting to hear from one of our investigators regarding a case,” her sister explained.

  “I don’t know how you juggle a demanding job, a husband, and a one-year-old.”

  “Girl, sometimes I don’t know either. It never slows down in our office.” As a Georgia assistant district attorney, Journey worked crazy hours but seemed to take it all in stride.

  Geneva couldn’t do it. She couldn’t see herself married, much less a mother raising a child. Neither had ever been on her radar. At least not until lately. She had caught herself over the last few weeks entertaining the thought of settling down. All because of one virile, irritating, sexy hunk.

  Myles Carrington.

  The one man she couldn’t have.

  “So, what’s up with you and Myles?” Journey asked as if reading Geneva’s mind. “You heard from him lately?”

  Geneva sighed loudly as she flat-ironed her sister’s hair. Just once, she wished they could share the same space and not discuss Myles.

  “How many times do I have to say it? Nothin’s up with us.”

  At least that’s what Geneva kept telling herself. She didn’t do serious, long-term relationships. Yet, here she was, thinking about him every few minutes. Months ago, he had dared her to kiss him during their friends Kenton and Egypt’s wedding reception held at Journey’s house. Geneva never walked away from a dare, and that evening was no different.

  The intense lip-lock with Myles led to a quickie with him inside Journey’s guest bathroom, and Geneva hadn’t been able to think straight since. They’d had an agreement. One and done. Instead, they had run into each other six weeks ago at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and that intense connection from months ago was still there. After the party, they met for a drink. One thing led to another, and they ended up back at her place. Since then, Geneva hooked up with him again, and again, and yet again.

  Their chemistry was like nothing she had experienced with any other man. Before long, they were hanging out like a couple. Meeting for coffee. Camping out in front of the television and watching sports or movies late into the night at her place. The week before he headed to California, Geneva had even cooked for him.

  “Laz made it sound as if you and Myles were an item,” her sister said of her husband, Lazarus Dimas, a former detective with the Atlanta Police Department. He was now a personal security specialist who worked with Myles. “You might as well admit—” Journey winced when Geneva pulled her hair. “Ouch, Gen! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Pick something else to talk about. Myles is off-limits.”

  “Fine, I won’t mention him again, but don’t take your frustrations out on me or my hair.”

  Geneva heated up a curling iron, planning to bump the ends of Journey’s hair after she finished flat-ironing it.

  “Come on, Gen. When are you going to face the fact that you’re feeling him?” Journey asked as if they hadn’t just agreed to change the subject.

  “Don’t talk to me about Myles while I have a hot flat iron in my hand. I might accidentally let it slip.”

  Journey tsked. “And if you do, I’ll have you arrested for assaulting a government official.”

  Geneva gasped and held the flat iron up and away from her sister as she glared at her through the mirror. “That’s cold. I cannot believe your ass went there,” Geneva ground out.

  Journey, who was two years older, knew that Geneva was only afraid of one thing in this whole world—going back to jail. That experience was one thing she never joked about and a subject that was entirely off-limits.

  “Okay, I’ll admit that was a low blow, but you started it,” Journey shot back, remorse in her tone. “I shouldn’t have said that, but you’re the one who’s tripping. Don’t get mad at me if you’re not willing to admit that you have feelings for Myles.”

  Geneva released a long, frustrated sigh. Her sister was right. Myles was a sensitive subject, and it irritated the hell out of Geneva. He was just a man. Like every other, it should’ve been easy for her to move on and not look back.

  But something inside of her shifted. She wanted more. She wanted him.

  It didn’t matter now, though. Myles had shut down their little fling and moved on. He’d even had the nerve to give her the it’s me, not you speech.

  No man had ever kicked her to the curb. Instead of being pissed, Geneva had b
een shocked, and if she was honest with herself, she was a little disappointed. She actually liked the asshole. A lot.

  “Why’d I have to fall for him,” she mumbled under her breath but realized too late that she’d said it out loud.

  “I knew it!” Journey said, practically leaping out of her seat.

  Geneva yanked on her hair.

  “Ow. Dang, Gen! I’m getting a little sick of you tonight. So what if you like Myles? You can do a lot worse. Heck, you have, more times than not.”

  “Would you just shut up and leave it alone? I’m done talking about him.”

  “Fine. I won’t say anything else about him.”

  “Good.”

  “By the way, I’m loving the hot pink styling chairs. They go perfect with the black and white color scheme.”

  Geneva smiled. “Thanks, they arrived a few days ago. Business has been booming, and I had to add two more stylists and another nail tech. I figured since I had to get more chairs, I might as well get what I’ve been wanting.”

  The spa-like space was fun, yet elegant, and was turning into everything Geneva had dreamed. It had taken years to finally find her true passion. She had always been into makeup, fashion, and anything involving her appearance, but she hadn’t considered doing hair until Journey suggested she enroll in cosmetology school.

  Geneva owed her success to her sister and their parents. After being released from jail, she had still toed the line of that reckless stage of life. Now, she was a business owner trying to keep her head on straight and her butt out of trouble. She owed the change in her to her family. They not only supported her emotionally during those troubled years; they had also invested in the salon. For them to trust her enough to put money behind her dream meant everything, and it was something she wouldn’t soon forget.