Military Heroes Romantic Suspense Collection

by V. R. Marks

  The Thief

  The Witness

  The Hostage

  A collection of romantic suspense novels

  by V.R. Marks

  Praise for V.R. Marks:

  The best new romantic suspense voice of 2012! Do not miss The Thief by V.R. Marks!

  --Debra Webb, USA Today bestselling author of The Faces of Evil series

  The Witness is packed with suspense and romance and great characters

  and hooks you from the first page.

  -- Cindy Overton. SnS Reviews

  Sizzling suspense and emotional romance!

  --Award-winning author Kathy Carmichael

  Lies, secrets, murder, intrigue and prose as beautiful as the Southern setting.

  Don't miss V.R. Marks' The Thief…Timely and stunning!

  --Peggy Webb, bestselling author of Elvis and the Blue Christmas Corpse

  (Southern Cousins Mysteries)

  This book gives readers the sitting on the edge of your seat,

  needing to know what happens next, can't put the damn book down syndrome.

  --Janet Juengling-Snell, review of The Thief

  Dedication

  This special collection is dedicated to my family for their unwavering support

  and tenacious belief as I pursue my dreams.

  The Thief

  Dedication

  For Debra Webb. Your outstanding motivation,

  constant inspiration, and astounding dedication personifies friendship!

  Chapter 1

  "Run!" Arms pumping, legs churning, she cast off the high heels that completed her cobalt business suit and prayed it would be enough. All that was left of her life was in the stylish black leather backpack looped over her shoulders.

  "Run!" Her lungs burned, the humid air dragged at her. She dug deep for a higher gear, sprinting for the safety of the house. Getting caught was worse than losing the data, possibly worse than death.

  She heard him gaining on her, his feet slapping the pavement just a micro-second quicker than her own.

  He caught her around the middle, stealing her breath as they crashed to the street.

  Heart hammering, Allie Williams leaped out of the dream, clutching her midsection and fumbling with the light. With shaking hands, she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.

  Three times this week the nightmare had left her feeling trapped and helpless. She didn't need a dream analysis or psych evaluation to tell her what it signified.

  They were closing in and she was out of options.

  Out of friends.

  Out of time.

  * * *

  Ross Carpenter sat up a little straighter in the late model Ford sedan when a soft glow lit up the curtains in the second story bedroom window.

  He made a note in the log and didn't need to page back to know this was the third time in five nights. In his years of security and surveillance he'd learned the guilty often had trouble sleeping.

  Lucky for him, this time around the guilty party was easy on the eyes. With that lean athletic body that rocked a business suit or running gear, and the new short cap of sunny blonde hair, Allie Williams was still a sight to behold. Even after all these years.

  He enjoyed his job, regardless, but on long stakeouts like this a little eye candy kept the team alert. This woman, this case, was going to need their full attention.

  He'd bet his recovery bonus she didn't know exactly who was following her, but after five days on the job, he was sure she felt someone out here, watching and waiting for the right moment to haul her in.

  Which meant she was smart and guilty. Fine by him, he enjoyed challenges. He might be enjoying this one a little too much.

  Another light, in the bathroom this time. He imagined her splashing water on her face, analyzing the dark circles under her eyes. Yesterday's photos proved she was good with concealer, but the strain was starting to show.

  Those dark circles bothered him on a personal level he couldn't shake. All his memories of her were bright and happy. Well, nearly all.

  "Do everyone a favor, sweetheart," he muttered, "and come clean."

  The location wasn't really the issue. He could blend in anywhere, but the small Southern town routine wasn't his favorite. Even with a solid cover story he kept his South Carolina team stationed an hour away in Columbia so they wouldn't have to chat too much with the locals. They were generally nice people in this particular small town, but too concerned about their neighbors for his line of work.

  He knew two strangers checking into the motel on Main Street or shopping at the Piggly Wiggly would be front page news around here.

  He glared at yesterday's local paper in the passenger seat. Already they'd run a feature on the niece of the local rich widow coming home, returning to her roots. He snorted. The above the fold feature mentioned an extended stay.

  "Well, where else would you go?" He aimed the question at the big house.

  Life was irony. Thief or not, Haleswood would always give Allie a hero's welcome and give him the cold shoulder. Must be a courtesy to the prodigal daughter kind of thing. Since he'd never bothered to come back home until this assignment, he wouldn't know.

  Time was the real issue and hers was running out.

  The curtains stirred, parting as his target peeked out into the night. He hunched deeper into the seat. She couldn't possibly see him, couldn't possibly tell his sedan apart from the others in the darkness.

  "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. If you can." Her nerves were rubbing off on him. He ran down the operation checklist for the mental distraction. Following her had been easier in Virginia with the larger population. Now, his team changed cars with every shift since she'd rolled into Haleswood two days ago. They were never seen in town together and he only worked the night shift. They had different cover stories and different reasons to be in her general vicinity.

  He and his team were professionals, experts in the field. Their target wasn't. He had every advantage here and yet something pricked his instincts, made him wary. There was a desperation about her lately, and he worried she'd do something crazier than she'd already done.

  They'd been looking for a legal way into the aunt's house, or at least into that black leather bag Allie – the thief – kept with her at all times.

  No, she wasn't a professional, and beyond the desperation, she was paranoid enough for a whole gang of thieves. Scared too, he thought, when the bedroom light stayed on.

  She had good reason for the fear, and with him on her tail, she had good reason for the paranoia.

  When the name had come across his desk, he'd called it coincidence. Williams was common enough as names went. The pictures of her at corporate galas, hospital benefits, and racing in this or that triathlon sparked the inevitable flood of memories.

  Hearing she'd stolen sensitive data didn't stem the tide of old feelings, it just made him more determined to reel her in quickly.

  * * *

  Allie looked at the bed, but knew she couldn't sleep. She didn't want to risk even an attempt so soon after the nightmare. She couldn't lie there in the dark pretending anymore, the tension, the uncertainty were tying her up in knots.

  She wanted to move. Needed to move. Her body craved a hard run in the cool pre-dawn air, but she was too afraid of the darkness outside, despite the pervasive safety of the quiet neighborhood that overlooked the sleeping town.

  A few taps on her phone brought up a Sudoku puzzle but the distraction wasn't enough to tune out the negativity cycling through her head. She needed help, but there was no one to call on. The incriminating evidence on the hard drive in her bag meant she couldn't involve any of her pr
ofessional associates. Bottom line: she was guilty. She'd deliberately stolen sensitive information.

  Information that proved her bosses were guilty of deplorable behavior.

  Stealing made her a criminal, but at least she wasn't hurting innocent people.

  She set the phone aside and pushed her hands through her hair. In her dream it had been long, but she'd chopped it off before her last triathlon, back when her life had been simple. Only last month, but it felt like years. At the time, she'd been disappointed she hadn't won the race for the good publicity for her company. Now she was grateful she hadn't added even one more small accolade to perpetuate the myth that they cared about anything other than their bottom line.

  When the fidgeting got the best of her and yoga breathing didn't help, she changed from her nightshirt into a sports bra, shorts, and running shoes. Her aunt kept a treadmill downstairs, in a small room tucked between the garage and the kitchen.

  Allie could scan the news networks while she worked off the tension. She might even come up with some brilliant idea for her next move.

  It seemed childish, turning on every light along her path though the big house, but she couldn't shake the nerves. What did it matter?

  She was alone, staying here while her aunt enjoyed a couple weeks cruising the Mediterranean. Allie wouldn't have hidden here if it meant putting her aunt in the line of fire, but with her aunt safely out of the way and the clock ticking, this was the best of her limited options. She had to figure this out or turn herself in soon.

  She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator on her way through the kitchen and felt ridiculously accomplished when she reached the exercise room without trouble or a nervous breakdown.

  Then she tried to feel nothing at all as she set her feet into the soothing motion on the treadmill. It felt so good to move, to focus on nothing but her breathing, she muted the volume on the television as she increased her speed. Running outside was better, but this was a fair compromise. If she survived the consequences of this decision she'd made, if she managed to stay out of jail, she knew compromise would be the theme of the rest of her days.

  Her career as a publicist for the pharmaceutical research and development industry was over, but there might be other options. With her master's degree and athletic experience, maybe she could coach at the junior high or high school level. Except along with that experience, came her name and a comprehensive resume that ended with the glaring black mark of stealing from her employer.

  While it was tempting, she couldn't hang out here in Haleswood, hiding in plain sight indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before someone dug up this address in her family records and came calling despite the lack of cover available in a tiny town where every visitor was big news.

  If she managed to settle things peacefully she might be able to negotiate something just shy of a complete career meltdown and gain a little breathing space. Even if the town eventually judged her with the facts as presented by her former employer, she and Aunt Ruth would know the truth. It might even boost business at her aunt's coffee shop in town if people thought they could come by and hear the gory details of the prom queen gone bad.

  Prom queen. That felt like a million years ago.

  She turned the television volume up a few notches above low, flipping between news stations for any word yet on her criminal activity and disappearance. It had been six days and still nothing had been announced publicly. No doubt the executives were locked in a conference room analyzing their options. They would be meticulous about finding the best approach to out her before she could out them and they held all but one of the cards.

  In the past few days she felt someone watching her and knew the sensation was more than her own guilt. Her bosses, with so much money on the line wouldn't hesitate to hire someone to track her down. While she wished she could've made it more of a challenge, she didn't have the resources beyond a new phone and the safety of a loyal small town. Sure she had the truth on her side. The trouble was that truth might never come to light.

  It was disconcerting how well her boss kept everything out of the news. For another moment, she considered posting the incriminating evidence online and forcing him to react, but that would only make it easier for the company to discredit her. She understood the game and how they could spin her story as just another disgruntled employee out for revenge. The waiting was horrible, but until she had more instructions from the law firm she'd contacted, it was her best option.

  Her palms sweaty from thinking about the hornet's nest she'd stirred up, she bobbled the remote as she went to change channels. With an easy move, she hopped off the treadmill to pick it up.

  The treadmill screeched and the control panel lit up in a shower of sparks. What the –? Her ears were ringing from the blast of sound. Someone had shot at her...from only a few feet away. Someone was in the house!

  For an infinity of two seconds she froze.

  Run! But there was no escape from the small room. The shooter, the mean, dark muzzle of his gun trained on her, stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blocking the only exit. He must have broken the lock on the back door.

  She scrambled for cover, but there wasn't much of that either.

  The sound of her panicked breath didn't quite drown out the newscaster's voice saying her name.

  It was the distraction she needed. When the shooter glanced up toward the TV, she surged forward, staying low and driving her shoulder through his knees.

  She heard the boom of another shot, but didn't feel any pain. She had him on the floor, belatedly realizing the tang of copper in the air was his blood, not hers, where it seeped out of his body. For a few more seconds she couldn't move. When her instincts kicked in, she reached out to check his pulse. Nothing. The man was dead. Nothing in her public relations experience trained her to put a positive spin on being shot at or dealing with a dead intruder.

  She stared down at the shooter, dressed in black with a black ski mask over his face. Working up the courage, she reached for the mask. She only knew of one man who might want her dead. Her boss, Bradley Roberts. She couldn't picture him getting his hands dirty behind a loaded weapon. Then again, desperation was a mighty motivator. As she reached for the mask again, a shadow blocked the light. She looked up into a face she never thought to see again.

  "Time to go."

  "Ross?" Her stomach pitched as her eyes roamed over the face that had once been so dear to her. She must be hallucinating, not even her luck could be this bad.

  "The same." His voice was deeper and all too real. "Pack a bag while I call this in."

  Over a dead body had to be the worst place to run into an old flame.

  "Where did you come from?" She glanced behind him, but couldn't see anything. His broad shoulders blocked more of the doorway than the shooter had. Maybe it was her angle, but he seemed taller than she remembered. She was clearly addled if his height was her primary concern in this horrible moment. She dropped her gaze back to the dead man.

  "Go pack, Allie."

  "No." She sat back on her heels, not trusting her legs to support her, and let out a sigh of defeat. "This is my fault."

  "I know." He knelt down on the other side of the body, his brown eyes hard and intense on her. "This is a crime scene now. They won't let you stay here."

  She stood up, retrieved her small backpack, and did an odd sort of two-step to get around him and out of the room. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  Ross spun around when he heard her calling it in. The stubborn girl hadn't changed much beyond the new hair and new knack for serious trouble. He shrugged it off. Probably better if the sheriff's office heard it from her first anyway.

  It would give his heart more time to return to its rightful place. It had leaped up and lodged in his throat when he'd heard the gun shot.

  Everyone on her side of the equation would be mad as hell when they learned he was not only in town, but now irrevocably involved in her downfall. Whate
ver happened, it wouldn't be a stretch if the town blamed him for her problems. Which only proved things never changed.

  He peeled away the shooter's ski mask, took a picture with his cell phone, and emailed the photo to his office. Eva would wake up when her laptop chimed an alert and they could start the search for an identity to go with the ugly face.

  To expedite matters he took a thumbprint and patted the guy down, not surprised to come up empty.

  "What are you doing?"

  "My job." He glanced up at her, grateful to see she'd covered those fine, long legs with jeans.

  "I meant what are you doing here?"

  "Sheriff Cochran had reports of a prowler in the area. I was helping with patrols. What are you doing here?"

  "They, um, told me to wait here."

  Which meant sirens would be waking up the whole damned neighborhood any minute now. "Do you recognize this guy?"

  She shook her head and looked away from the body. "How did you get in?"

  "Getting where I need to be is part of the job."

  "Oh."

  He probably shouldn't feel so relieved that the weak explanation satisfied her. It was clear by her wide eyes that shock would set in soon if he didn't do something to divert it. He caught sight of the little backpack he'd been searching for upstairs, and the larger duffel slung over her shoulder. Standing, he reached into his jacket pocket for the rental car key. "Go put whatever isn't essential for your identification and right to be here in the house out in my trunk."

  She gripped the backpack tighter, telling him without words exactly what he needed to know. What he'd been hired to recover was in there.

  "Or you can let the cops have at it," he added.

  "They won't let me stay here?"

  "Not until they clear the crime scene."

  "Do you know who he was?"

  "Nope. You?" he repeated, hoping she'd slip up this time.

  She shook her head again, her lips clamped in a thin line against the emotion swimming in her eyes.