He’d always felt like an outsider, even in his own family. He’d never wanted to be a doctor, but that was expected of an Addison. When he’d returned to Pinecrest, all those years of trying to fit in and not succeeding came back and ate at him. Then Marcie and he had started going out. She’d been the one who wanted to keep it a secret. He’d wanted to parade her around, shouting to the townspeople Marcie Morgan was finally giving him the time of day.
Marcie’s last journal had been with the photos of her in his closet. He admitted to reading some of it and realized that Marcie was playing with him. He was her amusement in an unhappy life. He’d begun following her and had seen her meeting Evan at the cabin.
Through all of this, Kira had seen another side to Marcie. A self-destructive one.
Pinecrest wasn’t the same town through adult eyes. As a child, Kira had been naïve and easily swayed. She’d come a long way partially due to a bad marriage to Jonathan. She now knew what she wanted and intended to fight for it. Bill told her that the Morgans were back from Florida, which meant Gabriel was. She would go see him and make him aware of how much she wanted to be in his life.
“Kira, wait up a second.” Bill strode to her. “Do you believe what Craig said about the murders? Especially about Mary Lou.”
“Yes. Why would he lie?”
“To evade a fifth conviction of murder.”
“What’s one more when you’d be in prison for life or on death row?”
Bill’s mouth twisted in a frown. “You’re not surprised. Why not?”
“Because Mary Lou never totally fit with the other three. With Craig confessing to Marcie, Rebecca, and Shirley’s deaths but not to Mary Lou’s, we should leave her murder open. Something else is going on.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. We’ll talk later.”
She left the police station and nearly ran into Gabriel on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?” was all she could think to say.
He smiled. “I came to see you. Your grandmother told me you were here. Did Craig confess and save the town a long trial?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You and I need to talk.”
“Here?” Kira looked around, pulling her coat together. “It’s starting to snow in case you haven’t noticed.” A snowflake caught on her eyelashes. She blinked.
“I have my truck back. I’m so glad Jeremy’s recovering.”
“He shouldn’t be working though.”
“He didn’t put my windshield and windows in. His employee did. My truck is still warm. Let’s sit in it.”
“You don’t want to find a place in the police station.”
“No. I don’t want to see the inside of that building again.” Gabriel put his hand at the small of her back and led her to the parking lot. Warmth still lingered inside his truck, but Gabriel switched on his engine and turned up the heater. “Is that better?”
“Yes. What do you want to talk about?” Hope blossomed in her heart.
“First this.”
He bridged the short space between them and cupped her face. When he brushed his mouth across hers, the urge to throw her arms around him and demand more was strong. But she held back, needing to see what he wanted.
He didn’t disappoint her. He nibbled her bottom lip then drew her toward him, pulling her into his embrace while he claimed a deep kiss that washed away any doubts Kira had about his feelings.
“I want to get to know you when we aren’t fighting for our lives. I want to go out on dates like normal couples, share family time, and see where these feelings of love lead us. When I was in Craig’s basement, all I wanted to do was escape and protect you. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t because I want the same thing. I’ve seen you at your worst and best, and I love what I’ve seen. This is the first Christmas in a long time that I’m really looking forward to, especially with you in it.”
“That’s the way I feel. Jessie wants to start decorating today. Want to join us?”
“I’d love to if you’ll help me and Grams do the same. We only have a week, and she has big plans.”
“I like how your grandmother thinks.”
Kira finally wrapped her arms around Gabriel and kissed him as though she never wanted to leave his embrace. And she didn’t.
—The End—
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Deadly Noel, the fifth book in the Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations. This story about an assistant DA sending the wrong man to prison has been something I’ve wanted to write for years. I’m working on the sixth book in the series called Deadly Dose about who killed Mary Lou. She wasn’t the serial killer’s victim in Deadly Noel, so who killed her? Jessie Michaels is determined to find out. Look for Deadly Dose in the spring.
Margaret
About the Author
Margaret Daley
USA Today Bestselling author, Margaret Daley, is multi-published with over 95 titles and 5 million books sold worldwide. She had written for Harlequin, Abingdon, Kensington, Dell, and Simon and Schuster. She has won multiple awards, including the prestigious Carol Award, Holt Medallion and Inspirational Readers' Choice Contest.
She has been married for over forty years and has a son and granddaughters. When she isn't traveling, she's writing love stories, often with a suspense thread and corralling her three cats that think they rule her household. To find out more about Margaret visit her website at http://www.margaretdaley.com.
DEADLY HUNT Excerpt
Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations
Book One
Tess Miller pivoted as something thumped against the door. An animal? With the cabin's isolation in the Arizona mountains, she couldn't take any chances. She crossed the distance to a combination-locked cabinet and quickly entered the numbers. After withdrawing the shotgun, she checked to make sure it was loaded then started toward the door to bolt it, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Silence. Had she imagined the noise? Maybe her work was getting to her, making her paranoid. But as she crept toward the entrance, a faint scratching against the wood told her otherwise. Her senses sharpened like they would at work. Only this time, there was no client to protect. Just her own skin. Her heartbeat accelerated as she planted herself firmly. She reached toward the handle to throw the bolt.
The door crashed open before she touched the knob. She scrambled backwards and to the side at the same time steadying the weapon in her grasp. A large man tumbled into the cabin, collapsing face down at her feet. His head rolled to the side. His eyelids fluttered, then closed.
Stunned, Tess froze. She stared at the man's profile.
Who is he?
The stranger moaned. She knelt next to him to assess what was wrong. Her gaze traveled down his long length. Clotted blood matted his unruly black hair. A plaid flannel shirt, torn in a couple of places, exposed scratches and minor cuts. A rag that had been tied around his leg was soaked with blood. Laying her weapon at her side, she eased the piece of cloth down an inch and discovered a hole in his thigh, still bleeding.
He's been shot.
Is he alone? She bolted to her feet. Sidestepping his prone body, she snatched up the shotgun again and surveyed the area outside her cabin. All she saw was the sparse, lonely terrain. With little vegetation, hiding places were limited in the immediate vicinity, and she had no time to check further away. She examined the ground to see which direction he'd come from. There weren't any visible red splotches and only one set of large footprints coming from around the side of the cabin. His fall must have started his bleeding again.
Another groan pierced the early morning quiet. She returned to the man, knelt, and pressed her two fingers into the side of his neck. His pulse was rapid, thready, and his skin was cold with a slight bluish tint.
He was going into shock. Her emergency-care training took over. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her backpack off the wooden table and found her first aid kit. After securing a knife from the shelf
next to the fireplace, she hurried back to the man and moved his legs slightly so she could close the door and lock it. She yanked her sleeping bag off the bunk, spread it open, then rolled the stranger onto it. When she'd maneuvered his body face-up, she covered his torso.
For a few seconds she stared at him. He had a day's growth of beard covering his jaw. Was he running away from someone—the law? What happened to him? From his disheveled look, he'd been out in the elements all night. She patted him down for a wallet but found no identification. Her suspicion skyrocketed.
Her attention fixed again on the side of his head where blood had coagulated. The wound wasn't bleeding anymore. She would tend that injury later.
As her gaze quickly trekked toward his left leg, her mind registered his features—a strong, square jaw, a cleft in his chin, long, dark eyelashes that fanned the top of his cheeks in stark contrast to the pallor that tinged his tanned skin. Her attention focused on the blood-soaked cloth that had been used to stop the bleeding.
Tess snatched a pair of latex gloves from her first aid kit, then snapped them on and untied the cloth, removing it from his leg. There was a small bullet hole in the front part of his thigh. Was that an exit wound? She prayed it was and checked the back of his leg. She found a larger wound there, which meant the bullet had exited from the front.
Shot from behind. Was he ambushed? A shiver snaked down her spine.
At least she didn't have to deal with extracting a bullet. What she did have to cope with was bad enough. The very seclusion she'd craved this past week was her enemy now. The closest road was nearly a day's hike away.
First, stop the bleeding. Trying not to jostle him too much, she cut his left jean leg away to expose the injury more clearly.
She scanned the cabin for something to elevate his lower limbs. A footstool. She used that to raise his legs higher than his heart. Then she put pressure on his wounds to stop the renewed flow of blood from the bullet holes. She cleansed the areas, then bandaged them. After that, she cleaned the injury on his head and covered it with a gauze pad.
When she finished, she sat back and waited to see if indeed the bleeding from the two wounds in his thigh had stopped. From where the holes were, it looked as though the bullet had passed through muscles, missing bone and major blood vessels. But from the condition the man had been in when he'd arrived, he was lucky he'd survived this long. If the bullet had hit an inch over, he would have bled out.
She looked at his face again. "What happened to you?"
Even in his unconscious, unkempt state, his features gave an impression of authority and quiet power. In her line of work, she'd learned to think the worst and question everything. Was he a victim? Was there somebody else out there who'd been injured? Who had pulled the trigger—a criminal or the law?
Then it hit her. She was this man's lifeline. If she hadn't been here in this cabin at this time, he would have surely died in these mountains. Civilization was a ten-hour hike from here. From his appearance, he'd already pushed himself beyond most men's endurance.
Lord, I need Your help. I've been responsible for people's lives before, but this is different. I'm alone up here, except for You.
Her memories of her last assignment inundated Tess. Guarding an eight-year-old girl whose rich parents had received threats had mentally exhausted her. The child had nearly been kidnapped and so frightened when Tess had gone to protect her. It had been the longest month of her life, praying every day that nothing happened to Clare. By the end Tess had hated leaving the girl whose parents were usually too busy for her. This vacation had been paramount to her.
The stranger moaned. His eyelids fluttered, and his uninjured leg moved a few inches.
"Oh, no you don't. Stay still. I just got you stabilized." She anchored his shoulders to the floor and prayed even more. Even if he were a criminal, she wouldn't let him die.
Slowly the stranger's restlessness abated. Tess exhaled a deep, steadying breath through pursed lips, examining the white bandage for any sign of red. None. She sighed again.
When she'd done all she could, she covered him completely with a blanket and then made her way to the fireplace. The last log burned in the middle of a pile of ashes. Though the days were still warm in October, the temperature would drop into the forties come evening. She'd need more fuel.
Tess crossed the few steps to the kitchen, lifted the coffeepot and poured the last of it into her mug. Her hands shook as she lifted the drink to her lips. She dealt in life and death situations in her work as a bodyguard all the time, but this was different. How often did half-dead bodies crash through her front door? Worse than that, she was all alone up here. This man's survival depended on her. She was accustomed to protecting people, not doctoring them. The coffee in her stomach mixed with a healthy dose of fear, and she swallowed the sudden nausea.
Turning back, she studied the stranger.
Maybe it was a hunting accident. If so, why didn't he have identification on him? Where were the other hunters? How did he get shot? All over again, the questions flooded her mind with a pounding intensity, her natural curiosity not appeased.
The crude cabin, with its worn, wooden floor and its walls made of rough old logs, was suddenly no longer the retreat she'd been anticipating for months. Now it was a cage, trapping her here with a man who might not live.
No, he had to. She would make sure of it—somehow.
Purchase DEADLY HUNT
DEADLY INTENT Excerpt
Strong Women, Extraordinary Situations
Book Two
Texas Ranger Sarah Osborn approached the man at the paddock. He faced away from her, his arms resting on the top slat of the fence. His tall, lean build radiated tension as he fisted his hands. She could see his biceps flexing beneath the T-shirt. There’d been a time she knew Ian O’Leary well. But not anymore. Maybe never.
“Ian,” she called out. “I’m here about your stolen stallion.”
He stiffened, pushed away from the wooden railing, and swung around. The tan cowboy hat shadowed his expression, but there was no mistaking his anger—the hard line of his jaw gave that away. “I heard you were assigned to this area, but I’d expected the sheriff. What’s a Ranger doing investigating a stolen horse?”
“I’m heading a multi-county investigation into the recent cattle rustling.”
“My prize stallion was taken. I don’t have many cattle on this ranch, but the ones I have are accounted for.”
“Sheriff Denison and I thought since a few horses have been taken, too, that this is the work of the same cattle rustlers.” She didn’t have to see his dark blue eyes to know they were drilling into her.
“Very well. What do you need from me?” A tic twitched in his cheek.
“To tell me what happened.”
“I went through this with the sheriff this morning on the phone.”
“Humor me. Run through it again.” She ground her teeth to keep from saying what was really on her mind: Why did you come home? Since she worked several counties in this part of northeastern Texas, she’d managed for the past six months to keep her distance, but she couldn’t avoid him forever.
He turned to the fence and gestured with his hand. “I keep Thunder near the barn. This is his paddock.”
“When did you notice him gone?”
“About six this morning. I walk by here a bunch of times every day, since my home is so close.”
As she walked toward the fence, she glanced over her shoulders at the simple red brick, one-story house with a long front porch, and if she remembered correctly from when they’d dated fifteen years before, it had a deck off the back that overlooked a large pond. “I heard about your father. I’d have been at the funeral, but I was on vacation when it happened. I didn’t find out until I came home a week afterwards.”
“He went fast and didn’t suffer much. I didn’t get to say good-bye…” Ian swallowed hard.
She fixed her gaze on the lower half of his face, the only part she could
see. For a few seconds his lips, frowning, drew her total attention. Memories of that mouth kissing her flooded her mind, and her heart rate accelerated. “I’m sorry. He was a good man.”
“The best.”
“The last I heard you were working in Houston for the FBI. What made you come home now and run the ranch?” Now, when it was too late for them? Now, when her heart had finally scarred over where he’d broken it in two. And why did she care, anyway? It had been fifteen years.
“I promised my dad I wouldn’t sell the ranch. It seemed appropriate I carry on for him.”
“He had the best rodeo horses in this part of Texas, maybe in the whole state.”
“Which may be a reason someone took Thunder. He’s sired many champions.”
Thunder, his stallion. That’s why she was here at the Shamrock Ranch. She had to find out what she needed and leave. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night about eleven.”
“You were at the barn late?”
“No, looking out my office window. It gives me a good view of Thunder, the barn, and some of the fields where the mares are. There’s a security light that shines on the barnyard and into the front of the paddock. He was at the fence.”
“So he was taken between eleven and six. Did anything unusual happen in the middle of the night? Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?”
“Frisky barked”—he paused and tilted his head—“about two this morning. But Dad’s dog does that most nights. I tune him out unless he persists. He didn’t.”
“Where’s Frisky?”
Ian scowled. “At the vet’s. Whoever took Thunder poisoned him. Doc Miller is keeping him overnight, but he should recover.”
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