A Treasure Worth Seeking
Page 19
Just before he kissed her, he felt an infinitesimal fluttering against his abdomen. Erin hadn’t moved. What the—?
His blue eyes widened in surprised awe as comprehension dawned. “Is that…?”
Erin smiled down and lowered her lips to his. “Yes, darling. He’s as eager for his daddy as I am.”
About the Author
Sandra Brown is the author of over sixty New York Times bestsellers, including most recently Low Pressure; Lethal; Rainwater; Tough Customer; Smash Cut; Smoke Screen; Play Dirty; Ricochet; Chill Factor; White Hot; Hello, Darkness; The Crush; Envy; The Switch; The Alibi; Unspeakable; and Fat Tuesday, all of which jumped onto the New York Times list in the numbers one to five spots. There are over eighty million copies of Sandra Brown’s books in print worldwide and her work has been translated into thirty-four languages. In 2008, Brown was named Thriller Master by the International Thriller Writers Association, the organization’s top honor. She currently lives in Texas. For more information you can visit www.SandraBrown.net.
When Dr. Emory Charbonneau disappears on a mountain road in North Carolina, her heart-pounding story of survival begins, taking the age-old question, “Does the end justify the means?” and turning it on its head.
Please see the next page for an excerpt from Mean Streak
Prologue
Emory hurt all over. It hurt even to breathe.
The foggy air felt full of something invisible but sharp, like ice crystals or glass shards. She was underdressed. The raw cold stung her face where the skin was exposed. It made her eyes water, requiring her to blink constantly to keep the tears from blurring her vision and obscuring her path.
A stitch had developed in her side. It clawed continually, grabbed viciously. The stress fracture in her right foot was sending shooting pains up into her shin.
But owning the pain, running through it, overcoming it, was a matter of self-will and discipline. She’d been told she possessed both. In abundance. To a fault. But this was what all the difficult training was for. She could do this. She had to.
Push on, Emory. Place one foot in front of the other. Eat up the distance one yard at a time.
How much farther to go?
God, please not much farther.
Refueled by determination and fear of failure, she picked up her pace.
Then from the deep shadows of the encroaching woods came a rustling sound, followed by a shift of air directly behind her. Her heart clutched with a foreboding of disaster to which she had no time to react before skyrockets of pain exploded inside her skull.
Chapter 1
Does it hurt this much?” Dr. Emory Charbonneau pointed to a drawing of a child’s face contorted with pain, large teardrops dripping from the eyes. “Or like this?” She pointed to another in the series of caricatures, where a frowning face illustrated moderate discomfort.
The three-year-old girl pointed to the worst of the two.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Emory inserted the otoscope into her right ear. The child began to scream. As gently as possible, and talking to her soothingly, Emory examined her ears. “Both are badly infected,” she reported to the girl’s frazzled mother.
“She’s been crying since she got up this morning. This is the second earache this season. I couldn’t get in to see you with the last one, so I took her to an emergency center. The doctor there prescribed meds, she got over it, now it’s back.”
“Chronic infections can cause hearing loss. They should be avoided, not just treated when they occur. You might consider taking her to a pediatric ENT.”
“I’ve tried. None are accepting new patients.”
“I can get her in with one of the best.” It wasn’t a misplaced boast. Emory was confident that any one of several colleagues would take a patient that she referred. “Let’s give this infection six weeks to heal up completely, then I’ll set her up with an appointment. For now, I’ll give her an antibiotic along with an antihistamine to clear up the fluid behind the eardrums. You can give her a children’s analgesic for the pain, but as soon as the meds kick in, that should decrease.
“Don’t push food on her, but keep her hydrated. If she’s not better in a few days, or if her fever spikes, call the number on this card. I’m going away for the weekend, but another doctor is covering for me. I doubt you’ll have an emergency, but if you do, you’ll be in excellent hands until I get back.”
“Thank you, Dr. Charbonneau.”
She gave the mother a sympathetic smile. “A sick child is no fun for anybody. Try to get some rest yourself.”
“I hope you’re going someplace fun for the weekend.”
“I’m doing a twenty-mile run.”
“That sounds like torture.”
She smiled. “That’s the point.”
Outside the examination room, Emory filled out the prescription form and finished her notes in the patient file. As she handed it over to the office assistant who checked out patients, the young woman said, “That was your last of the day.”
“Yes, and I’m on my way out.”
“Did you notify the hospital?”
She nodded. “And the answering service. I’m officially signed out for the weekend. Are Drs. Butler and James with patients?”
“They are. And both have several in the waiting room.”
“I hoped to see them before I left, but I won’t bother them.”
“Dr. Butler left you a note.”
She passed her a sheet from a monogrammed notepad. Break a leg. Or is that what you say to a marathon runner? Emory smiled as she folded the note and put it in her lab coat pocket.
The receptionist said, “Dr. James asked me to tell you to watch out for bears.”
Emory laughed. “Do their patients know they’re a couple of clowns? Tell them I said good-bye.”
“Will do. Have a good run.”
“Thanks. See you Monday.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Your husband called and said he was leaving work and would be at home to see you off.”
* * *
“Emory?”
“In here.” As Jeff walked into the bedroom she zipped up her duffel bag and, with a motion that was intentionally defiant, pulled it off the bed and slid the strap onto her shoulder.
“You got my message? I didn’t want you to leave before I got here to say good-bye.”
“I want to get ahead of Friday afternoon traffic.”
“Good idea.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, “You’re still mad.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
Last night’s argument was still fresh. Words shouted in anger and resentment seemed to be reverberating off the bedroom walls even now, hours after they’d gone to bed, lying back to back, each nursing hostility that had been simmering for months and had finally come to a boil.
He said, “Do I at least get points for wanting to see you off?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re hoping to talk me out of going.” He sighed and looked away, and she said, “That’s what I thought.”
“Emory—”
“You should have stayed and finished out your day at the office. Because I’m going, Jeff. In fact, even if I hadn’t planned this distance run for tomorrow, I’d still want to take some time for myself. A night spent away from each other will give us a chance to cool off. If the run wears me out, I may stay up there tomorrow night, too.”
“One night or two won’t change my mind. This compulsion of yours—”
“This is where we started last night. I’m not going to rehash the quarrel now.”
Her training schedule for an upcoming marathon had been the subject that sparked the argument, but she feared that more substantive issues had been the underlying basis for it. The marathon wasn’t their problem; the marriage was.
Which is why she wanted so badly to get away and think. “I wrote down the name of the motel
where I’ll be tonight.” As they walked past the kitchen bar, she tipped her head down toward the sheet of paper lying on it.
“Call me when you get there. I’ll want to know you made it safely.”
“All right.” She slid on her sunglasses and opened the back door. “Good-bye.”
“Emory?”
Poised on the threshold, she turned. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “Be careful.”
* * *
“Jeff? Hi. I made it.”
The two-hour drive from Atlanta had left Emory tired, but most of the fatigue was due to stress, not the drive itself. The traffic on northbound Interstate 85 had thinned out considerably about an hour outside the city, when she took the cutoff highway that angled northwest. She’d arrived at her destination before dusk, which had made navigating the unfamiliar town a bit easier. She was already tucked into bed at the motel, but tension still claimed the space between her shoulder blades.
Not wanting to exacerbate it, she’d considered not calling Jeff. Last night’s quarrel had been a skirmish. She sensed a much larger fight in their future. Along every step of the way, she wanted to fight fairly, not peevishly.
Besides, if the shoe had been on the other foot, if he had left on a road trip and didn’t call as promised, she would have been worried about his safety.
“Are you already in bed?” he asked.
“About to turn out the light. I want to get an early start in the morning.”
“How’s the motel?”
“Modest, but clean.”
“I get worried when clean is an itemized amenity.” He paused as though waiting for her to chuckle. When she didn’t, he asked how the drive had been.
“All right.”
“The weather?”
They were reduced to discussing the weather? “Cold. But I planned on that. Once I get started, I’ll warm up fast enough.”
“I still think it’s crazy.”
“I’ve mapped out the course, Jeff. I’ll be fine. Furthermore, I look forward to it.”
* * *
It was much colder than she had anticipated.
She realized that the moment she stepped out of her car. Of course the overlook was at a much higher elevation than the town of Drakeland where she’d spent the night. The sun was up, but it was obscured by clouds that shrouded the mountain peaks.
A twenty-mile run up here would be a challenge.
As she went through her stretching routine, she assessed the conditions. Although cold, it was a perfect day for running. There was negligible wind. In the surrounding forest, only the uppermost branches of the trees were stirred by the breeze.
Her breath formed a plume of vapor that fogged up her sunglasses, so she pulled the funnel neck of her running jacket up over her mouth and nose as she consulted her map one final time.
The parking lot accommodated tourists who came for the nearby overlook. It also served as the hub for numerous hiking trails that radiated from it like the spokes of a wheel before branching off into winding paths that crisscrossed the crest of the mountain. The names of the particular trails were printed on arrow-shaped signposts.
She located the trail she’d chosen after carefully reviewing the map of the national park and researching it further online. She welcomed a challenge, but she wasn’t foolhardy. If she wasn’t certain she could make it to her turnaround point and back, she wouldn’t be attempting it. Rather than being daunted by the inhospitable terrain, she was eager to take it on.
She locked her duffel bag in the trunk of her car and buckled on her fanny pack. Then she adjusted her headband, zeroed the timer on her wristwatch, pulled on her gloves, and set out.
A Note from the Author
Love Beyond Reason was my second published book. In it I used the marriage-of-convenience plot, which remains a romance fan favorite. The device works well to keep two people together, fighting their attraction, but unable to resist it. I was very nervous when I sent in the manuscript. I had sold one book, but what if it had been a fluke, a lightning strike, a flash in the pan? I feared my career would be over before it had begun. Fortunately, the editor liked Love Beyond Reason—and actually bought it within thirteen days of buying the first book.
The storyline for Eloquent Silence came about because of my interest in and appreciation for deaf education. Family friends had an adorable little girl, Jenny, who was profoundly deaf. I spent time with her, attended her school, watched and learned from her, then based the child Jennifer in Eloquent Silence on her. Years later, I wrote Unspeakable in which Anna, the heroine, is deaf. I went back to Jenny, who by then was married and had a child of her own, and again used her as a model for my character.
A Treasure Worth Seeking was my fourth book and broke new ground in two ways. One, it was the first book in which I incorporated an element of suspense. Just a hint, mind you. But I liked it! Also, at that time, almost all romances were written strictly from the female point of view. I told my editor that the hero was thinking such great thoughts, couldn’t I please share some of them with the reader? She consented, so a few passages of Treasure are written from the male point of view. Today, I’m writing suspense novels, and many of them are the hero’s story and written largely from his point of view.
When I submitted Shadows of Yesterday to the publishing house, it went in under that title. Months later, I was sent a copy of the book—bearing another title! Relentless Desire. I thought a terrible mistake had been made, but, sure enough, it was my book. The title had been arbitrarily changed without my approval. Later, when the book was reprinted, I insisted that it be published with the original title because I really liked this story. It begins with strangers—a wild well firefighter and a young widow—meeting on the side of a lonely highway. She’s in labor, and he delivers her baby in the bed of his pickup. You gotta love it!
These four books were written in the early years of my career. They were published as series romances and are available for the first time as ebooks. I hope you’re as charmed by the characters and their love stories as I was.
—Sandra Brown
Look for These Thrilling Sandra Brown Novels!
Low Pressure
Lethal
Mirror Image
Where There’s Smoke
Charade
Exclusive
Envy
The Switch
The Crush
Fat Tuesday
Unspeakable
The Witness
The Alibi
Standoff
Best Kept Secrets
Breath of Scandal
French Silk
LOOK FOR SANDRA BROWN’S THRILLERS
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
A Preview of Mean Streak
A Note from the Author
Also by Sandra Brown
You Might Also Like…
Newsletters
Copyright Page
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 1982 by Rachel Ryan
Excerpt from Mean Streak copyright © 2014 by Sandra Brown Management, Ltd.
Cover design by Faceout Studio
Cover photography by Shutterstock
Cover copyright © 2014 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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This book was originally published under the pseudonym Rachel Ryan by Dell Publishing Company, Inc. in 1982.
Previously published in mass market paperback by Warner Books
First ebook edition: December 2014
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ISBN 978-1-4555-4623-7
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