by Rebecca Deel
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
About the Author
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
About the Author
MIDNIGHT RECKONING
Rebecca Deel
Editor: Jack Williams
Cover: Melody Simmons from ebookindiecovers
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel
All rights reserved.
#
To my amazing husband.
CHAPTER ONE
Sophie Valero’s hands shook. She shoved the letter from her dead brother-in-law into the envelope. The police had declared the crash accidental, and David’s letter wasn’t proof of his allegations despite his familiarity with law enforcement procedures.
Though 15 minutes before her store’s official closing time, she decided an early night trumped an unlikely potential sale. Most Nashville natives were racing home, hoping to beat the winter storm. In her office, she thrust the letter into an inner pocket of her purse. She shrugged into her coat, wrapping the edges around her extended belly, grabbed her purse and satchel, and plunged into the frigid night. Sophie locked the door to Natural Health, her herbal supplements store, wind whirling around her boot-shod feet and whipping her dark hair around her face.
She tugged on gloves and hat, and hurried to the white Chevy Tahoe parked at the edge of the lot. Strapped into the driver’s seat, she turned the heat to high and merged onto West End, rush hour traffic crawling at turtle speed. If weather forecasters were right about the predicted four inches of snow overnight, the next morning’s ride to work promised to be an adventure. Nashville natives rose above floods and triumphed over twisters, but they lacked experience driving in snow and ice.
A solid kick to her side brought a smile. “Don’t worry, little one. If the roads are too slippery, I’ll let Adam open the store. I doubt we’ll have customers first thing tomorrow. The smart ones will wait until the roads thaw.”
As if in agreement, the baby’s foot or elbow thumped Sophie again. Tears blurred her vision a moment. Six months since David and her sister’s deaths in that fiery plunge off the mountainside in Gatlinburg and the pain had yet to ease. Sophie’s only solace was the growing baby she carried, a lasting tribute to Sierra.
In a bittersweet moment two days after the funeral and ugly confrontation with David’s brother, she learned the in vitro fertilization procedure had been successful and she carried Sierra and David’s child.
Forty minutes later, she exited Interstate 24, navigated through the neighborhood to her ranch-style house. She punched the garage door opener and pulled into the lighted interior. Sophie grabbed her purse and satchel full of work still to be completed before bed and headed for the door leading into her house.
A cup of hot tea and a peanut butter and banana sandwich really sounded good. Standing in the kitchen to cook a meal for 1.5 people—not going to happen tonight. She wrinkled her nose. The Publix produce workers knew her by name and fruit preference. She had bought several bushels of the sunny yellow fruit since her morning sickness days.
Sophie unlocked the door to the kitchen and frowned. The bulb must have burned out in the living room lamp. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She hated walking into a dark house and always left one light burning.
She flipped on the kitchen light, dropped her bags on the table and trudged to the bedroom. She wanted to kick off the boots and relax with Isotoner slippers. Her feet and legs ached from carrying extra baby weight while maintaining her daily schedule. Probably time to let Adam take over more floor work at Natural Health.
The hall light provided enough illumination that Sophie didn’t bother turning on the bedside lamp. She sat and removed her boots, moaning with relief. She massaged her feet for a moment, then tugged on her slippers. She noticed the closet door ajar. Chills raced down her spine. She had closed the door that morning. Hadn’t she?
She rose and edged toward the hall, gaze focused on the closet. A creak behind her galvanized Sophie into a run. That board only groaned when someone stepped on it.
A hard hand clamped over her mouth and an arm gripped her waist and yanked her back against a solid male body.
Her muffled scream and ineffective kicks made her attacker laugh and lift Sophie off her feet. He tossed her on the bed and followed her down.
Sophie rolled, fought to dislodge him. An open-handed slap stunned her. He captured her wrists in one hand and forced them over her head.
“Get off me. You weigh a ton.” Sophie shifted, seeking any relief from the pressure on her stomach. What if he hurt the baby?
He chuckled. “A wildcat, huh? Makes this all the more fun.”
She wiggled harder. “Look, my purse is on the kitchen table. Take it and go.”
“Not so fast, kitty cat. You and me got some business.”
He didn’t seem interested in rape. Sophie swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter. If he peeled clothing from her body, the eight-month baby belly would dampen his enthusiasm.
“What kind of business?”
“Sierra Winter stole from my employer. He wants his property.”
She stilled beneath the man’s restraining weight, tension leeching from her muscles. Another one. “What did Sierra take?”
“Where is it?”
Sophie sighed. “How can I know where this item is if you haven’t told me what it is?”
A back-handed slap, this time a little harder and to the opposite cheek. Great. Matching bruises. Her eyes narrowed. The hall light shown behind him, keeping his face in shadow. No way to identify him or give some kind of description to the cops. Tall, heavy, and strong muscles didn’t give Metro’s finest much to go on. Not that the cops had ever been keen to help her family.
“You have to give me information. If Sierra stole something, I’ll return it, but I have to know what to look for.” Wouldn’t be the first time she’d returned stolen property, either.
“No hints. My employer wants his property within 72 hours or you join your sister six feet under.” He eased his bulk away. “Roll over, kitty cat.”
Pulse hammering in her ears, Sophie complied as much as she was able. “Your employer won’t be happy if you hurt me. I can’t return anything if I’m in a hospital or dead, now can I?” She winced at the old movie dialogue spilling from her mouth. Guess she’d been out of the family business long enough her skills had rusted. As the only Valero currently not in jail or a loc
al cemetery, she counted the rust a blessing.
“Don’t move for ten minutes. No cops. If I hear sirens, I’ll be back and I won’t be nice. Remember, kitty cat, 72 hours.” And then he was gone.
Sophie waited until she heard the front door shut, then scrambled to her feet. She raced to the living room window on shaky legs, eased the curtain aside and scanned both directions. Nothing. Her attacker had vanished like a wisp of fog along with his transportation.
She sat in the closest wingback chair, hands on her belly, fingers spread. “What have you done, Sierra?” she whispered. “For your baby’s sake, you promised to stop. How will I protect your child now?”
Sophie’s gaze shifted to her purse, still sitting on the kitchen table, the letter from David secreted in a zipped pocket. She didn’t have a choice now. The baby’s safety was on the line, not to mention her own, although Sophie doubted her last resort would put himself out for her. She needed help and only man might provide it.
Too bad he hated her guts.
#
Micah Winter scanned the latest email from his Secret Service supervisor. He scowled. Another stupid reminder to take time to heal. A desk job waited if he wasn’t ready for active duty when his leave expired.
He shifted the laptop, rubbed his left leg again. The bottle of prescription pain meds sat on the end table. Micah glared at the brown bottle. The capsules worked, but knocked him out for hours. His lip curled. Couldn’t do the druggie angle right, either.
Not bothering to reply to Cagle’s message, he shut down the computer, grabbed the blasted cane, and hobbled around the log cabin for the umpteenth time in the last two hours. Windows and doors still secure since the last circuit ten minutes earlier.
Micah yanked open the door and limped onto the porch. A sharp wind cut through his long-sleeved Polo shirt and jeans. He resisted the urge to dive into his log prison, prop up his leg and watch all the Die Hard movies back-to-back and leaned against the wall, breathing in air so cold his lungs hurt.
What else was he supposed to do while recuperating from a gunshot wound besides read books and newspapers, and pick apart action flicks? Script writers didn’t have a clue how the real world worked. Hollywood prettied up grit and gore from society’s underbelly. No film accurately portrayed what law enforcement officers lived through. Blood and filth stained their dreams.
Snow poured from the cloud-laden sky, a rare event in Middle Tennessee. Washington, D.C. took a foot of snow in stride. Tennessee traffic would grind to a halt soon.
Fingers and face numb, Micah returned to a crackling fire inside. He limped to the couch and sank down on the cushion. He’d regret his choice when he dug his way out of the contraption, but for the moment his body appreciated a venue change.
Gaze drifting to the family pictures arrayed on the mantle, Micah studied the photograph of his brother, David, taken at their father’s birthday party six months ago. Anger simmered in his gut. His kid brother’s life had ended in a plunge off a mountain road, a needless casualty of the Valero family.
He warned David before he married Sierra that she was from a long line of con artists and thieves. David swore Sierra was different. Micah couldn’t prove it, but he knew Sierra Valero played a role in his brother’s death. The Valeros were worthless.
His conscience seared him. He gritted his teeth and ignored the inner vision of Sophie crying beside her sister’s casket. The woman was gorgeous, maybe even exquisite. Didn’t mean she was worth any more than the rest of her misfit family. She, too, had a criminal record, a sealed one. Just because he hadn’t uncovered a recent offense didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Maybe Sophie learned from her family’s mistakes and hid the evidence better than the rest of them.
Micah stared at the flames dancing in the stone fireplace. Why waste time thinking about Sophie Valero? She was nothing to him except a haunting reminder of the woman responsible for David’s death.
He seized the remote, punched in the code for ESPN and settled back to watch a football game recorded earlier in the season. He’d been out of the country on the Secretary of State’s security detail most of the season. Might as well catch up before the big game in a couple of weeks.
Seven minutes into the second quarter, his doorbell chimed. Micah struggled to his feet, grabbed his Sig Sauer from the coffee table, and limped to the door. He checked the peephole, sucked in a sharp breath. He tucked the pistol under his shirt at the small of his back and wrenched open the door.
“I need protection.”
Micah’s eyebrows shot up. “No friendly greeting? I’m hurt.” He noted Sophie Valero absently rubbing her stomach. Was she sick? Gaze drawn back to her face, he mentally shrugged. She looked healthy enough. “I’m not listed in the phone book.” His phone number and house address weren’t on any map. A clandestine trip to the assayer’s office took care of that years ago along with a dead fifth cousin’s name on the deed. “How did you find me?”
Sophie grasped the door frame with one hand. “May I come inside? I need to sit.” Her face colored. “Um, first, could I use your restroom?”
Although reluctant to admit Sophie Valero into his home, Micah also couldn’t leave a woman standing on his porch in the middle of a snowstorm, either. He stepped back, opening the door wider.
“Down the hall, first door on your right.”
Sophie scraped the snow from her boots and hurried past him, followed seconds later by a slamming door. Micah blinked. He closed and locked the front door. Guess she’d been on the road for a while. He debated brewing coffee or nuking hot chocolate, decided against it until he figured out what was going on.
Minutes later, she walked back into the living room still bundled in her coat, relief obvious on her face. Micah squelched the smile threatening to break free. Didn’t pay to regard the enemy as cute.
“Thanks, Micah.”
“Why come to me for protection? What about your boyfriend or husband? Even a local cop would be better than me.” Especially now. Yeah, he could still shoot the wings off a butterfly, but he’d end up with his face planted in the dirt if he tried to run. No bodyguard duty for a few more weeks.
“I don’t have a husband or boyfriend.” Sophie shrugged out of her coat.
Micah’s gaze swept over the body she wanted him to guard again, paused on the distended belly obvious now without her voluminous coat for cover. His jaw clenched against the swelling disappointment. He’d hoped she was different from her family. That’s what he got for wishing. “A one-night stand, then?” he said, his tone as cold as the snow piling up in his front yard.
Anger stained Sophie’s beautiful face. In the 1600s, she might have been named a witch with her blue-black hair and mysterious green eyes. “You think that little of me?”
A bark of laughter rumbled from his chest. “Sweetheart, I haven’t thought about you for months.” Another prod from his conscience at the lie. “The ten-minute conversation we had beside David and Sierra’s caskets doesn’t qualify as a relationship.”
All color drained from her cheeks.
Micah, aggravated with himself for his lack of tact, grasped her arm with one hand while maneuvering his cane with the other. He guided Sophie to the butter-soft brown leather sofa. If she passed out, he’d have to let her lay on the floor until she woke on her own. Micah glowered at the cane supporting his left leg.
“What’s with the cane, Micah? How did you injure yourself?”
He sank down beside her. “I had an accident.” An accident with him on the wrong end of a bullet. “We’ll return to how you found me in a minute. First, why do you need protection?”
“Someone threatened to kill me.”
“Been playing with the criminals, babe?”
“This isn’t funny, Micah.”
He sighed. “Look, Sophie, you own an herbal supplements shop in a fairly well-to-do part of Nashville. Where would you run into a killer?”
“You don’t believe me.”
Micah ran a hand ove
r his face and grimaced at the beard stubble. He’d forgotten to shave again. On a normal boring day in this neighborhood, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen anyone except family in over a month. “Why come to me instead of a local cop?”
“David left a letter in Sierra’s safe deposit box.” She yawned and glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, Micah. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ve been driving for hours. I had a tough time finding this place.”
With good reason. No markings gave friend or foe clues to find him. He didn’t have a mailbox, either, since he used a post office box in town.
“David told me to find you if anything happened to him and my sister.”
Mystery solved. “David left directions. It’s been six months since we buried them. Why did you wait until now to look me up?”
“I couldn’t face opening the safe deposit box until today, or rather yesterday. Besides, I thought you would be the best person to protect your niece or nephew.”
Cold rage washed over Micah. What was she after? Child support? He blew out a disgusted breath. He should have known his first impression of the achingly beautiful Sophie was wrong. Yet another woman’s integrity he’d miscalculated. Ignoring his instincts about Sierra had cost David his life.
“Not possible, sweetheart. If you’re looking for a sucker to provide child support, you’re out of luck.” He leaned closer. “Don’t bother telling me David had an affair with you. He didn’t notice any woman except Sierra from the first time he saw her at that art show.”
“I didn’t have an affair with your brother.”
“Of that I am absolutely positive, sweetheart.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand because from where I’m sitting, you’re trying to blackmail me or guilt me into child support on my brother’s behalf.”
“I don’t want anything from you except protection for this baby.” Sophie’s eyes flashed. “I did not have an affair with your brother, but I am carrying his child. I’m the surrogate mother for Sierra.”