Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  The child was petrified, dirty, and bruised from being dragged through the house. Right now, that was the worst of it. The man thought he and the child were alone. Chloe had maybe a few minutes before things got much, much worse for the little girl. Outside the window, she could see a tall tree with white blossoms.

  At the edge of the woods, she opened her eyes and searched until she found the tree. Fingers crossed that she was right, it meant the room he was in was on the other side of the house. With a quick prayer, she bolted across the open lawn and up to the back porch.

  Screw it, she thought and threw open the back door wide, she couldn’t afford to be quiet. Her job right now was to distract the man.

  Even as she touched the door handle, she was flooded with the sensations he left behind. He admired the lawn and his corn. Or he was mad about the harvest that hadn’t come in. He relived the anger and sick gratification that he got when he used the children. She turned and vomited onto the wood planks.

  But there was little time for such things.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she decided to storm into the house, only to turn and see him standing in the doorway. It was the first time she'd seen his face. He looked so normal.

  Had he not been scowling at her, she would have guessed she maybe didn’t have the right man.

  “Why are you here?” he barked.

  As of this moment she had achieved her goal. She had distracted him from the little girl upstairs. But what did she do now? Could she stall and pretend she was lost and keep him here at the door? Was Decker even coming to help? Chloe didn't know.

  The only other option was to take him on. He was much larger than her and full of rage. If she tried and failed, would the officers get here before he disappeared with the child?

  It was a risk.

  But when she opened her mouth, she didn’t ask for directions or to use his phone. She enunciated every syllable. “I'm here for the girl.”

  His expressions slowly changed, contorting until he lifted his hands. As he came at her, she let out a blood curdling scream she didn't know she was capable of. Chloe leapt the steps off the back porch and bolted for the trees.

  He would kill her.

  But if he followed her, he would be away from the girl.

  The girl!

  “Run!” Chloe yelled, suddenly knowing more. “Run, Samantha!”

  For a moment, she could see the girl in the upstairs room, eyes widening as she heard her own name. She'd been huddled in a corner, afraid. But at least she seemed to get the instructions, because she got up and began looking for a way out.

  Good, Chloe thought just as her foot caught on a root and she went down.

  Chapter 7

  “Chloe!” Lando yelled her name at the top of his lungs. He'd been scared for his own life before, but he'd never felt a terror quite like this.

  The captain's car was parked sideways at the front door to the white house with the black shutters and the silo a short distance behind. Chloe had been right about everything.

  “Back here!” he heard her voice and noises that indicated she wasn’t alone. His heart stuttered, knowing that her scream wasn’t the end of her. She could still yell…for now.

  As he rounded the corner of the house, his feet pounded the green grass. His gun was already in hand, though he didn't remember grabbing it. He had to remind himself that Chloe was in the mix so he couldn't shoot indiscriminately. If he hit her by mistake, he would never forgive himself.

  “Decker?” Lando spat the word out, knowing that he was giving the killer clues as to who was on the scene, but Chloe’s life was in danger.

  “North side,” he heard the other officer’s voice crackle through the walkie talkie he'd pinned to his shirt. Then a second voice joined in. “Balero, just got here…”

  Good. There were at least three of them with guns. But then, for a moment, the strangest sensation overcame him, and he saw a flash of slim hands reaching in front of him, parting the rows of corn, and running. He felt the slashing of the stalks, and the sharp surprise that corn could hurt.

  Chloe’s hands.

  He was seeing what Chloe saw! He now looked at the field of corn behind the house. There, toward the middle, some of the stalks were rustling, but there were two spots moving through the corn. The killer was right behind her.

  He felt her fear, as well as his own measure of pride in Chloe. Her hand felt heavy, her palms stung and so did her knees, but he didn't have time to worry about small injuries yet. Lando grabbed the walkie talkie and pushed the button, yelling—though he didn't need to—for Decker, or the captain, or anyone else who might have arrived on scene.

  Without further thought for himself or his safety, or even for the protocol that had been drilled into him, he pushed his way into the stalks and followed the footprints he found. Deep and heavy, they were the marks left by a large, angry man. Lando pushed to catch up.

  Her legs burned, but Chloe fought to go faster and move further out of his reach. She would have collapsed, exhausted, but she knew if she stopped, he would kill her.

  She could see herself through his eyes. She saw the stalks snap closed behind her as she stayed just ahead of him. She only had enough lead that he couldn't jump and grab her. Any error on her part, and she would quickly be dead.

  Maybe that was the answer, she thought, turning a sharp right, diving farther through the stalks. She cut through a row, barely noticing that she sliced her arms. She couldn't afford to care. Her breath was heavy in the air, and her feet pounded the ground. She was not quiet.

  Half a second later, she heard him bellow and take the turn behind her.

  Three.

  Two.

  She leapt, pushing through the row in front of her, and felt her toe catch.

  That was it. She was down. She was dead.

  She heard the threat from his raging mouth, felt the smile of victory forming on his face. Her hands hit the ground and her knees smacked into hard earth as her ankle wrenched at an odd angle. She was not getting back up.

  In her head, she could feel him jumping to tackle her, his victory certain in his mind.

  She had one shot.

  Chloe twisted and flung her hand upward, the heavy rock still clutched tight from when she'd fallen the first time. She’d picked it up, hopeful. Now, she bashed the sharp point against his temple with the hardest blow she could muster and watched as he fell.

  Had she done it? Wouldn't she feel something if he had died by her hand?

  Her victory lasted only the briefest moment before he pushed back upright. His teeth were bared in a primal growl, and Chloe was shoved back by the rage he exuded—the same rage he’d shown his child victims.

  The rock was still clutched tightly in her hand, red with the blood from his wound. But it was useless now that he knew she had it. In the light of what should have been a beautiful Nebraska day, bright sunbeams glinted off the blade in his hand. He lifted it and aimed downward toward her, and Chloe thought, “Well, it had been worth a shot.”

  Samantha was out of the house. She'd run straight to the officer waiting at the front steps, and Chloe was grateful that she had a moment to know this before she died.

  As the knife arced downward, she pulled her hands up as though it might ward off the fatal wound. But just then…

  He jerked.

  She felt his shock at the fire in his chest before she even registered the sound of the gunshot.

  Chapter 8

  Lando took a deep breath before picking up the phone. He knew Chloe's number by heart, but it had been three weeks and he hadn't called her despite the fact that she’d nearly died at the hands of a maniacal child killer. Despite the fact that his bullet had stopped the man.

  When she was upright again, she’d refused to see the police therapist. Said she had to get back to her job—back to Breathless, Georgia, and some semblance of a normal life.

  Now he was the one waking up in the middle of the night with nightm
ares. Lando’s only consolation was that his weren't real. He would put his arms around her to ease the things he’d seen, but he was always in bed alone.

  The captain had walked in a few minutes ago and placed the folder on his desk. He'd been expecting it. But he hadn't found the nerve to call Chloe and let her know what had happened, not until everything cleared. He was now out of excuses.

  “Hello?” Her voice through the line calmed him. He’d been nervous until he heard her. There was something about her, even with all the danger they'd gotten into, that eased all his nerves.

  “Chloe.” He should have said more, but her name came out almost reverently.

  “How are you doing, Lando?” she asked as though this were a casual conversation or an expected check-in. But that wasn't going to be good enough for him. She'd been in Redemption for a grand total of seven days. She'd been gone for twenty-one. Twenty-one days too long.

  “I'm not doing so hot.” He figured he might as well admit it. She probably already knew anyway. Before she could respond, he added, “I have news.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

  Did that mean she was following him, checking in? “Thank you. But it's not about the promotion.”

  It suddenly occurred to him that calling to surprise her with his information was possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever done. She had to already know. But since she hadn't mentioned it, he dove in. “Samantha Reiner, the little girl you saved… Her grandfather is William Reiner, and if you're not familiar, the Reiners own a very large portion of Omaha.”

  He waited a beat and when she didn’t speak, he kept going. “He gave money to the police station when he heard about what you had done for his granddaughter.”

  “That's very nice,” Chloe replied. “You'll be able to find more missing kids.”

  “No,” Lando corrected her. “You will. It's for you.”

  There was silence on the end of the line again, and he took a deep breath. This was Chloe and he couldn't afford to hide anything. “Reiner set up an endowment. It will make regular payments to you to cover travel and expenses to help find other missing children.”

  “What?”

  Had he actually told her something she didn't already know? He blurted out the next part. “I want to go with you. I want to be your assistant. When you go into police stations it will help if you have a cop with you…or I’ll be an ex-cop by then. I’d be useful.” He was rambling but he couldn’t help it.

  “Are you offering me a job?”

  “No,” he laughed. “I'm asking you for one.”

  The line went silent again. Lando waited for the click to indicate that she had hung up. Instead, he stilled his breathing and could almost see her thinking about it. “It's a very nice idea. If I do it, I should probably hire an assistant, a cop is a great idea.”

  But not him. Her tone said it all.

  Then she asked, “Is it actually the job that you want?”

  There. That was the moment of truth. He could lie or he could put it all on the line and give this thing between them a shot. “No. I like the idea of the job. I think it will be a great job. But I was also thinking maybe I would move to Breathless, Georgia. I could be a cop there. You know, see if—”

  She interrupted him. “I'd like that.” But after a brief pause, she asked, “How much money is it?”

  When he told her, the silence echoed for almost a full minute before she replied. “We could do this, couldn't we, Lando?”

  His heart soared. “Yes, Chloe. Let's do this.”

  About Savannah Kade

  Maggie Winner – Best Romantic Suspense 2019

  Savannah created her first romance novella at age eight. Even then it was clear she was looking for a story about a breakthrough. Though that particular book shall never again see the light of day (please, don’t even ask) it set the stage for everything after.

  Now even nerdier than she was at eight, Savannah holds several degrees in human biology and neuroscience—not that it makes true love any easier… She’s become an ardent defender of stray dogs, a protector of frogs and random wildlife in her yard, and a hopeful crown-straightener for everyone she can find who needs it.

  Check out Savannah’s website

  Savannah@SavannahKade.com

  Also by Savannah Kade

  Perfect – Breathless, GA #1

  Ruined – Breathless, GA #2

  Rebel – Breathless, GA #3

  Gifted – A Breathless, GA Prequel

  * * *

  Our Song – Wilder #1

  HeartStrings – Wilder #2

  Love Notes – Wilder #3

  Music & Lyrics – Wilder #4

  * * *

  Dark Secrets – Dark Falls, CO #2

  Dark Echoes – Dark Falls, CO #7

  Good Bones by Maggie Adams

  International Bestselling Author

  Chapter 1

  Griffin

  “Well, she won’t sell.” Ryker Callahan plopped down on Griffin McBride’s plush leather office chair. “She won’t even discuss it. Told me it had been in her family for generations, and she was going to restore it. The place is a dump. There’s no way she can afford to restore the thing, but she’s adamant about not selling.”

  Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “God, save me from sentimental idiots,” he groused.

  “I say we forget the whole thing, Griff, and find another piece of property. I know the draw is because Mark Twain once said something there or had a party there or whatever the hell he did, but they don’t even let kids read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn anymore, so how is that going to be a draw for a golf resort?”

  Griffin closed his eyes. He had to have that land. Ryker didn’t understand the whole picture, and he wasn’t about to clue him in. Talk about sentimental idiots, he thought to himself. He was the king of sentimental idiots.

  Hannibal Home had been his grandfather’s final place of rest before his death. The hospice home had once been the shining jewel atop the Bluffs of Hannibal, Missouri, overlooking the mighty Mississippi River. Built by the logging magnate, John J. Cruikshank, friend of Mark Twain who was one of the greatest writers in America, it was a massive mansion.

  Griffin’s grandfather, Clayton Thompson, had never been a rich man nor had he ever wanted to be. He’d rather barter than work, but Griffin had loved him dearly. They had gone on many “adventures” together, hunting down whatever took his grandfather’s fancy.

  However, it was what Clayton Thompson had uncovered that made it imperative for Griffin to purchase Hannibal Home. On one of their quests, he and Clayton found a letter from Samuel Clemens. A professional historian had authenticated it, and now, it was missing. Griffin was determined to get it back—not for the monetary value, but because that had been the last adventure they shared before Griffin’s father had taken him away.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at Ryker. “I’m not looking anywhere else. The mansion has historic significance. I know she’s asked for help from the Historical Society, but I can overcome that issue. The land itself would make a magnificent golf course and resort, and the mansion could be fully restored. Did you know it was once called Rockcliffe Mansion? Rockcliffe Resort would be a perfect name.” Griffin shook his head. “Find a way. Contact the Historical Society. Use your Realtor’s smile. Use anything you need to find a way to get me that property.”

  “Look, Griff, I don’t mind doing this for you, but I’ve got my own share of troubles. We have three contracts for subdivisions in Saint Louis County alone, not to mention the one set for Cape Girardeau and the government renovation of the abandoned malls to house the homeless with facilities and beds. And that was your idea, remember?”

  “You can’t do it?” Griffin scowled at his friend.

  “I’ll do it, Griff. I’m just wondering why you won’t.”

  Griffin glared at him, silently hoping Ryker would stop digging.

  Ryker c
onceded. “I get the allure of the place since your grandpa died there. Don’t get me wrong, I do understand it took a while to find him. You did though, and you got to say goodbye. It’s been a year, let it go.”

  Griffin blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. He had almost been too late to say goodbye, thanks to the damn lung cancer eating away at the old man. The memories of the day came back in a rush.

  “Griffin, do not fret. I found happiness here. No more wandering, though.” The faint whisper tore at Griffin’s heart, and he fiercely clung to the bony hand that had guided him in his younger years a little tighter. A deep cough racked his grandfather’s emaciated body.

  “Papa?” Griffin felt tears fall onto his cheek. “Why didn’t you contact me? I tried to find you, to take you with me back to Scotland, but it was as if you had disappeared.”

  “You were a young man ready to take on the world, my boy. You didn’t need to watch over an old man like me.”

  “I could have helped you, Papa. The disease—”

  “You would have tried to stop it, and there’s no stopping death.” Another coughing fit tormented the older man’s body. For a moment, Griffin feared this was the end, but the fit subsided, and his grandfather opened his eyes once again. “Griff, my boy, as I always said, you can’t find happiness in the past nor can you find it in material things, but if you look in your heart, deep into your soul, that’s where your happiness lies. If you’re at peace, then you’re happy, and I am at peace.”

  “Papa, I just found you. I can’t let go. It’s too soon.” The tears poured down Griffin’s face as he realized how many years he wasted building his wealth instead of truly trying to find his grandfather.