Explosive Reunion

by Karen Kirst

  He sighed, thinking of the tragic helicopter accident that had left his friend in bad shape. Cade was afraid the emotional challenges would far exceed the physical. “He’s going to recover.”

  “But his future in Special Forces is uncertain.”

  “His future as a Marine,” he amended. Going out on clandestine missions was out of the question. “It’s a game of wait and see.”

  “I put him on the church’s prayer list.”

  Crossing to her, Cade looped his arms around her waist. “That was nice. Thank you.”

  She rested her hands on his biceps and waited.

  “They need me in Camp Pendleton,” he blurted, and then held his breath.

  Her eyes widened. “California?”

  “I’m to report there in two months.” He glanced around at the house she’d put her own stamp on. “I’m sorry, Tori. I wasn’t expecting it this soon. You’ll have to leave our church and the new friends you’ve made. Angela and your mom.”

  Surveying the kitchen, she slowly smiled. “You’re right, I will miss this house and everything else. But I won’t have to worry about my mom, now that your mom has retired and is pitching in to help. Dee told me that your cousin will start work at the shop after graduation in May. Besides, I’ve never been to the West Coast. Think of all the places we’ll get to visit.”

  The vise in Cade’s chest eased its grip. “You’re not upset?”

  “Lenore gave me an important piece of advice—in the military, you’ve got to bloom where you’re planted. God’s uprooting us for a season. One day, we’ll wind up back here.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Not only would they likely be stationed here again, but they’d have to return in coming months to testify at Heath’s, Aaron’s and Felicia’s trials. Tori’s strength and resiliency were impressive.

  “We’ll be closer to Jason,” she said excitedly. After completing basic training and the school of infantry, he’d been assigned to Twentynine Palms, California. Not a favorite place for most guys, but Jason seemed to be content. He kept in touch with emails and frequent video chats.

  “And who knows.” She trailed her fingers up and over his shoulders, the delicate touch sending a cascade of goose bumps across his skin. “There might be surfer babies in our future.”

  The thought of having a child with Tori filled him with awe and wonder. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “I’m one blessed man to have you in my life.”

  She beamed with happiness. “You’re my home, Cade. Not this house or this town. You.”

  His heart so full that he couldn’t speak, Cade offered up a prayer of thanksgiving and kissed his wife. Sometimes dreams faded. And sometimes dreams changed and became bigger, better, brighter. He was living his dream at last.

  * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from No Safe Place by Sherri Shackelford.

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  Dear Reader,

  What a roller-coaster ride this book journey has been! In the spring of this year, after having written multiple books for Love Inspired Historical, I learned the sad news of the line’s closing. After much prayer, I turned my sights on the romantic suspense line and was grateful my editor agreed to let me submit an idea. The appeal of the military hero was strong. My husband and I lived the military life for nearly eight years. The challenges were many and varied, but so were the blessings. Writing about Camp Lejeune and the surrounding areas, and about the brave men and women who serve, brought back many wonderful memories. I’ve had such fun writing this story, and I hope to return to this setting in future books.

  I love to hear from readers. You can find me on Facebook and Twitter. My website, www.karenkirst.com, has information about my historical romances, including my Smoky Mountain Matches series. I will update it with information about my new romantic suspense adventures. You can also email me at karenkirst@live.com.

  Thank you for choosing my book.

  Blessings,

  Karen Kirst

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

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  No Safe Place

  by Sherri Shackelford

  ONE

  Today was a good day to die, as far as days went.

  Beth Greenwood focused on the steady blink-blink-blink of the cursor on her screen. One click and her life changed forever, possibly even guaranteeing her death unless she disappeared indefinitely. As her trembling index finger hovered over the mouse button, she glanced at the single photo perched on the bare expanse of her desk. Her dad’s unwavering stare gave her courage.

  Her heartbeat stuttered, and her palms grew damp.

  A Chicago cop, he’d suffered a debilitating stroke two months before his retirement. His death had been shattering, but knowing he was no longer suffering gave her a modicum of peace. Never much for talk, Officer Greenwood had lived his faith and had led by his example. Though his job had exposed him to temptation, he’d seen his dedication to truth as a higher moral calling. For what shall it profit a man, he’d quote the Bible, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

  What, indeed? She checked the email attachment and then clicked the option to schedule the message for arrival the morning after the bank holiday. A muffled thump startled her upright, and her pulse thrummed in her ears.

  She whipped around, shooting her mouse off the side of the desk, searching for signs of a lingering coworker. The building usually emptied early on the Friday afternoon before a holiday. She leaned out of her cubicle, and her shoulders sagged. An overflowing trash bin sat in the center of the aisle. Probably the cleaning crew getting an early start on the weekend. She retrieved her battered mouse and set it beside her keyboard.

  She logged out of her computer with a few rapid clicks, then stood and reached for her dad’s photo. She’d supplied the FBI with the evidence she’d discovered about the money laundering. It was time to disappear from Quetech Industries for good.

  Not that she’d miss the place.

  Her job as a forensic accountant was transient by nature, and she’d worked in plenty of office buildings over the years. Quetech Industries had earned the dubious title of being the worst. It was like drowning in a sea of gray. The walls were medium gray. The carpet was dark gray. Even the cubicles were fashioned from light gray plastic.

  She turned and ran into a solid male chest.

  Stifling a shriek, she stumbled backward. “Clark, I mean, um, Corbin. What are you doing here this late on a Friday?”

  She smoothed her hair with quaking fingers.

  “I could ask
you the same, Beth,” he said, his voice low and intimate, like the romantic strains of a cello.

  The ladies in the building had dubbed the new financial consultant “Clark Kent.” The office nickname suited his darkly handsome good looks. His coffee-colored hair was cut in neat, almost military, precision, and his eyes were ice-blue behind his black-rimmed glasses. Though he wore a suit and tie, someone claimed they’d seen a sleeve tattoo on his left arm. There was even talk that he was ex-military. Special Forces.

  “I was just leaving.” Hiding her unsteady hand, Beth reached for her bag. “Had to finish up some work before the weekend.”

  Corbin had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He rested his elbow on the top of the cubicle wall, and she caught a hint of ink at his wrist. Her mouth went dry. In another time and place, she’d have been curious about the rest of the art. She had no trouble believing he’d once been in the military.

  “You up for a drink?” he asked. “The finance department is meeting at O’Malley’s tonight.”

  “I don’t drink,” she said, casting a surreptitious glance at the blank computer screen.

  She certainly didn’t have time to socialize. Someone was laundering money through Quetech Industries to an offshore account. As a forensic accountant, she’d sent white-collar criminals to federal prison in the past. People who laundered money didn’t frighten her. Greed and cowardice mostly went hand in hand.

  The name of the offshore bank listed on the company’s balance sheet, Cayman Holdings Limited, had struck pure terror into her heart.

  She could have walked away. She probably should have walked away. She couldn’t. The words of Mark 8:36 prevented her: For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

  “I don’t drink, either,” Corbin said. “Janice, Matt Shazier’s assistant, promised to sing karaoke. We can be the sober witnesses.”

  Matt was the company CEO, and she couldn’t imagine his buttoned-up assistant belting out a tune on a Friday night.

  “Sorry.” Trying to appear casual, Beth slid this afternoon’s department store purchase into her bag. Escaping the building for a little shopping this afternoon had been a welcome respite from constantly looking over her shoulder. “I have other plans.”

  Two years before, she’d noticed some odd transactions concerning Cayman Holdings on an account she was auditing for another company. Her mentor, Timothy Swan, had offered to review the files. After studying the case, he’d warned her against pursuing the matter further. He’d contacted the FBI, but Beth sensed he was frightened. They’d found his dead body a month later.

  The coroner had ruled the forensic accountant’s death a murder by poisoning. Not even the FBI had been able to protect Timothy. Which meant the sooner she disappeared, the better. Except Corbin’s tall frame and broad shoulders were currently blocking her exit.

  “Maybe we can meet tomorrow?” Corbin shrugged. “There’s a new coffee house on Fifth Street.”

  His words gradually penetrated the fog of her anxiety. She was a temporary contractor. Coworkers didn’t ask her out for drinks.

  She narrowed her gaze. Corbin was a new hire, and he’d been awfully curious about her work. Had he been sent to spy on her?

  “Like a date?” she asked.

  “Whatever you want to call it.”

  Adrenaline coursed through her veins. This was bad. This was very bad. Men like Corbin did not ask forensic accountants on dates unless they wanted something. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  Beth neatly sidestepped around him. “I’m b-busy tomorrow.”

  And for the foreseeable future. The message she’d sent was time-stamped for delivery on the Tuesday morning following Columbus Day. She had the three-day weekend to disappear before the FBI received the evidence. Three long days before the men who poisoned Timothy discovered they’d been exposed and started looking for her.

  She had no illusions about keeping her part in the whistle-blowing quiet. There was no way of turning over the evidence without tipping her hand.

  Corbin’s brow furrowed above the bridge of his glasses. “Is something wrong?”

  “Just anxious to start the weekend.”

  She spun on her heel and promptly struck the trash bin blocking the aisle. Stumbling, she scattered the contents of her shopping bag over the floor along with the papers from the trash bin.

  “Are you all right?” Corbin was by her side in an instant. “Let me help.”

  Rubbing her bruised shin, she frantically searched the deserted maze of cubicles. Where was the cleaning crew?

  “I’m fine.” Her cheeks heated. Even in a getaway, she was clumsy. “Just embarrassed.”

  They both crouched before the mess. Corbin sure was laying it on thick. His charm was clearly an affectation. Her first year out of graduate school, she’d fallen head over heels for the chief financial officer of the company she was auditing before she’d discovered his part in the fraud. He’d thought he could romance her away from turning over the evidence.

  Sixteen months in federal prison had corrected his thinking.

  Corbin shook his head. “Makes me crazy when people don’t recycle.”

  “Should be a crime,” Beth said, then cringed. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, she’d wind up zipped in a body bag with a toe tag marked murder by poisoning. “Or not.”

  As she stuffed the papers back into the bin, her heart thumped against her ribs. She grasped her shopping bag and checked the contents. Nothing broken. Considering the price she’d paid for the small makeup compact this afternoon, she was grateful it had survived. The cosmetics were a treat to herself as she embarked on her temporary new life.

  Her fingers brushed Corbin’s arm, and she recoiled. She caught a hint of his spicy aftershave and held her breath. She’d always been a sucker for aftershave.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Not a problem.”

  What was wrong with her? She was Officer Greenwood’s daughter, not a frightened extra in a horror movie. Even if Corbin was involved, he wasn’t the person she needed to fear. As a cop’s daughter, she had certain instincts about people. He didn’t strike her as a cold-blooded killer.

  Straightening, she brushed at her pencil skirt and eyed the exit at the far end of the aisle. Why had she worn sling-backs today? Because today is just a normal day, she reminded herself. She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary that might draw attention to herself. Proper planning meant peak performance.

  Clutching her leather bag against her chest, she backed away a few steps. “I’d better get going. Traffic.”

  “Let me walk you to your car.”

  “I’ll be fine. This building is full of security cameras.” She let the implication hang in the air between them. Every move she made left a cyber trail. Her gaze swung between the elevator door and the stairwell. She turned toward the stairs. “See you Monday.”

  “Tuesday,” Corbin corrected. “Don’t forget Monday is a federal holiday.”

  A flash of disappointment surprised her. She wouldn’t be seeing him after today. Better she was leaving now before he directed the full, potent appeal of those ice-blue eyes on her. There was something about Corbin that had her feeling like a giggling schoolgirl with her first crush.

  He adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I can’t believe we get Columbus Day off. Any big plans for the holiday weekend?”

  “Thought I’d organize my taxes.”

  “It’s October.”

  “I work on a fiscal year.” She cringed inwardly. “See you Tuesday.”

  “Enjoy your taxes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I can take a hint.”

  She opened and closed her mouth, then turned. If he was working for Cayman Holdings, he was an excellent undercover operative. If he was innocent, she’d just turned down her fi
rst chance at an actual date in over a year.

  Who was she kidding?

  He was up to something. There was no reason for him to zero in on her when Karli from marketing had been raising her hemlines and lowering her necklines since Corbin had taken up residence in the corner office.

  Beth paused. Should she take the stairs? Corbin always took the stairs. They both did; that’s how she knew his habits. Don’t deviate from the routine. She wasn’t any safer stuck with Corbin in the elevator than being alone with him in the stairwell. When she reached the end of the aisle, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Corbin had disappeared.

  A chill snaked down her spine. No one of his size should be able to disappear that quietly. Did they teach that sort of thing in Special Forces? Probably.

  A new coffee house on Fifth Street. She snorted softly. She wasn’t a complete fool.

  Her heart racing, she took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door to the parking garage. Only a couple other cars remained. Keeping her back straight and her gait purposeful, she crossed the distance.

  The sound of her heels striking the concrete echoed through the cavernous, empty space. Pausing beside the car, she dug in her purse for her keys. Normally she kept them at the ready when exiting a parking garage. Corbin’s unexpected appearance upstairs had distracted her.

  As she fumbled with her purse, she dropped the bag. “Calm down, Beth.”

  She took a deep, relaxing breath. Everything was fine. She was overreacting. No one knew anything, least of all Corbin. Whatever suspicions he may have, she’d done nothing to confirm them. Not yet. She scooped up her purse and stepped back. Glass crunched beneath her feet.

  The hairs on the nape of her neck stirred, and she tipped back her head. The security camera hung from a single electrical wire. The glass lens was shattered.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.