Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (55 page)

“When I said I loved you.”

He rubbed his neck. “Yeah.” He swallowed away a lump. This was hard. “I know people can sometimes say things they don't mean when facing danger. So if you want to forget you ever said it, that's okay by me.”

He watched her face fall. No matter how much he wanted her words to be true, he needed to be sure. He needed to know she truly meant them.

At that moment, Cole appeared at Jack's side. “Darius is stable. He'll live.” He turned to Rebecca. “For someone who's not used to handling a gun, you did great.” He then slapped a hand onto Jack's back. “There's no better induction training for coming back to the SEALs than a firefight like that. If you're determined to rejoin the ranks, I won't stand in your way.”

Rebecca shrank back from Jack's arms. “You're rejoining the SEALs?”

He saw moisture quickly gather in her eyes. “I was considering it, yes.”

“And you didn't think to tell me?” Her voice contained a mix of hurt and anger.

“I was going to tell you,” he said, reaching out a hand that she avoided. “But I didn't think it would matter to you anyway.” He sighed deeply. “You told me to move on with my life, so that's exactly what I'd planned to do.”

“And is that what you still plan on doing?” she asked, clearly upset at this news.

“I don't know,” he admitted.

“I see,” she said, backing off farther and crossing her arms. “I hear sirens out front. I'll go explain what's happened.”

She turned and walked quickly toward the driveway. “Rebecca,” he called after her. “It's not what you think. I never wanted to leave.”

She broke into a run, disappearing around the house in a few seconds.

Cole looked sheepish. “Hey, I'm sorry, Jack. I thought Rebecca knew about your plans.”

“It's okay,” Jack said with a wave of his hand. “It's my bad. I thought she wouldn't care.”

Cole whistled through his teeth. “But she clearly does care. She cares a lot.”

Jack ran his fingers down his face. “I'll go after her,” he said, breaking into a jog across the lawn. “There are a lot of loose ends to tie up.”

* * *

Rebecca sat on the couch while Agent Bateman ran through their statements one last time. Dawn had broken an hour ago, and the sun streamed through the long windows in the living room, where Jack, Cole and Dillon stood with two remaining members of the FBI armed response unit. The SWAT team had worked quickly, scouring the vicinity for any further suspects, but none had been found, and they were satisfied that Darius Finch was now the only living member of the art theft gang. A team of six renegade soldiers had brought shame on the honor of the marines, and five had paid the ultimate price for their dishonest actions. But at least the process of returning the artworks to their rightful place could now begin, and Rebecca felt she was finally safe. Yet it brought her no comfort.

Jack sat close by her side, brushing her leg with his own. She hadn't looked at him properly since she had learned of his plan to rejoin the navy SEALs. Jack had offered her a chance of happiness, and she had waited too long. She'd blown it.

“What's the news on Simon?” she asked the agent.

Agent Bateman raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Orwell is currently recuperating from his injury in a hospital bed in Blountstown,” he said, “where he is negotiating with all the major news networks for exclusive rights to his story.”

Rebecca shook her head. “That sounds like Simon, all right.”

The agent sat down opposite her. “Of course, Mrs. Grey, you will be required to testify at the trial of Darius Finch. Is this still okay with you?”

“Sure,” she said with a firm nod of the head. She slid her gaze over to Jack. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“In that case,” the agent said, rising and walking toward the door, “we'll leave you good folks in peace. I expect you've got a lot to talk about.”

Cole nudged Dillon with his elbow. “We'll walk you out to your car, sir.”

Dillon took the hint, and they left the room, creating a sudden silence between Rebecca and Jack that neither seemed to know how to break.

Jack shifted awkwardly in his seat and took Rebecca's hand. “I'm sorry, Bec,” he said. “I only wanted to leave because I didn't think I had a future here with you.”

Rebecca abruptly stood and faced the window, still too afraid to look him in the eye. “And do you think we have a future now?”

She heard him stand to rise behind her. “I want that more than anything, but I have to be cautious.”

She turned around. His eyes were full of longing, with heavy lids from lack of sleep. “Why?” she asked.

He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I need to be sure that you know what you're doing,” he said. “People get caught up in emotion when death is a very real prospect, and it's too easy to say things that you may later regret.” He took a small step toward her. “If I took advantage of you when you're in a vulnerable state, I wouldn't be taking care of you—I'd be oppressing you.” He gripped her shoulders. “It's like you said after Claire died—you can't force someone to see the goodness of what's in front of them. A choice is only a choice if it's a free one.”

Rebecca felt her face break into a huge smile. “Oh, Jack,” she said, putting her arms around his waist and pulling him close. “I choose you with all my heart. I love your integrity.” She pressed her lips onto his and felt them curl into a smile beneath hers. “I love
you
.”

Jack held the back of her head in his hand and twined his fingers through her hair as he returned her kiss. “Then there's just one last thing for me to say,” he said, taking a step back.

Rebecca gasped as Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small red box before dropping to one knee and opening it up. Inside was the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen. “Will you please honor me by agreeing to be my wife?” he asked.

Rebecca clasped a hand over her mouth in shock, and Jack reached around her waist to pull her onto his knee. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes.” She touched the sparkling ring. “When did you buy this?”

He grinned. “I slipped away from the hospital in Tallahassee while you were safe with the police.”

“Really?” she exclaimed. “But how did you know I'd say yes?”

“I didn't,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But I think it's called having faith.”

EPILOGUE

J
ack put down his paintbrush and stood back to admire his work. Rebecca had chosen a pale green for the nursery, preferring to stay neutral until they knew the gender of the baby.

Rebecca walked into the room and twirled around. “Wow, Jack, this is great,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I made coffee for you. It's time you took a break.”

“I'm all finished,” he said proudly. “Now all I need to do is bring the baby furniture in, and we're all set.”

He stood behind Rebecca and curled his arms around her swollen belly, resting his chin on her head. “I almost can't reach anymore,” he laughed, rubbing his fingers over the baby bump and reveling in this perfect moment of happiness. “Hey,” he said, looking at the blue sweater she wore over her maternity jeans. “Where have I seen this sweater before?”

Rebecca twisted around. “It's Ian's,” she said. “Do you remember it was in the garage with all of Ian's other clothes? Well, I decided to keep it. The rest has gone to charity.” She looked into his eyes. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Are you kidding?” he asked, putting a hand on her face. “You look great in it. Blue is definitely your color.”

At that moment, Charlotte and Emily came running in through the open door and danced around the floor. “Can I help, Jack?” asked Charlotte. “Please.”

“No,” Jack said firmly, ushering them both out. “This is not a place to play. Go out in the yard and we'll play swamp monsters as soon as I wash up.”

The girls raced downstairs with excited chatter, and Jack turned back to Rebecca. “Looks like I've got a date with two young ladies,” he said. “Can I take a rain check on the coffee, Mrs. Jackson?”

“Sure thing,” she said, linking arms with him. “I don't think I'm capable of being a swamp monster right now, so I'll sit and watch.” She rubbed the blue fabric over her belly. “I love the fact that we're a family.” She looked up at him. “It feels good.”

They walked together to the door and Jack squeezed Rebecca's hand. “It feels like home.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from INTO THIN AIR by Mary Ellen Porter

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading
Lethal Exposure
. I hope you found it enjoyable and uplifting.

Rebecca and Jack are a perfect match, yet they fight against their attraction, neither willing to betray Rebecca's late husband, Ian. For Jack, honor among SEALs is strong, and he considers his oath to care for Rebecca a sacred one. In this story, I wanted to explore the deep ties of friendship that exist among men. Men are not usually as vocal or as sentimental as women in expressing their affection to one another, but their bonds are often tacit and secure. The support Jack receives from Cole and Dillon not only helps him better understand his feelings for Rebecca but also assists in bringing him to the Lord.

Rebecca also has a true friend to help her make sense of her growing feelings for Jack: her mother-in-law, Sarah. We can sometimes fail to see a blessing in front of us because of negative emotions like fear, guilt and worry. Jack and Rebecca had a team of supporters to help them reach their happy-ever-after.

Talking to a trusted friend can make a positive difference in all our lives.

Blessings,

Elisabeth

http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

You enjoy a dash of danger.
Love Inspired Suspense
stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

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ONE

I
t was a passing glimpse, no more. A young teen walking slowly along the edge of the darkening side street, a violin case tucked in the crook of her arm, her face illuminated by her cell phone screen as she furiously texted, aware of nothing but the phone in her hand.

The van made even less of an impression, the driver all but invisible as the vehicle passed Laney Kensington's Jeep Wrangler.

Both should have been easy to ignore, but they nagged at Laney's mind—made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Laney told herself it was just her imagination getting the best of her—but she couldn't simply drive on.

Call it intuition, call it divine intervention—Laney called it never wrong.

She'd never ignored it on a search. She wouldn't ignore it now.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, pulse jumping as the van swung a wide U-turn and headed back toward the girl. Laney did the same, stepping on the gas, her Jeep surging forward.

The slowing van closed in on the girl. She finally looked up, eyes widening as a figure jumped out and sprinted toward her. The violin dropped from her arms and she tried to run.

Too little, too late.

The man was on her in a flash, hand over her mouth, dragging her toward the van. In seconds they'd be gone. One more child missing. One more family broken.

Not today. Not if Laney could help it.

Although it had been years since she'd last prayed, Laney found herself whispering a silent plea to God, begging Him for help that deep down she knew would never come. She'd learned a long time ago that the only one she could depend on was herself.

Putting her trust anywhere else was just too risky.

The van was right in front of her, and there was only one thing Laney could think to do to stop the kidnapping. She braced for impact, ramming the front of the van with her Jeep in the hope of disabling it. In the back seat, Murphy yelped at the jarring stop; there was no time to comfort the dog.

Leaping from the Jeep, Laney threw herself at the would-be kidnapper. His weight off-balance from the struggling child, he tumbled over. The girl went with him, her high-pitched scream piercing the still air. Laney snagged the girl's hand, yanking her to her feet.

“Run!” she shouted, but the kidnapper was on his feet again, snatching a handful of the girl's shirt and dragging her back.

“Back off!” he commanded, his voice chilling.

Laney slammed into him again, this time with so much force they all fell in a tangled mass of limbs, pushing and grabbing and struggling. The kidnapper grunted as Laney kneed him in the kidney. His grip on the girl loosened, and Laney shoved her from the heap.

But the kidnapper would not let his prey go without a fight. He reverse punched Laney, propelling her backward. She tumbled onto damp grass, her head slamming into hard earth. She had a moment of panic as blackness edged in. She could
not
lose consciousness. She willed herself up, lunging toward the struggling pair as they neared the van. Laney yanked the guy's arm and slammed her foot into the back of his knee. He cursed, swinging around, the girl between them.

“I said
back off
!” he growled, his dark eyes filled with fury, his hand clamped firmly over the girl's mouth.

Laney eased around so that she stood between him and the van. She saw that the girl was still fighting against his hold, but her efforts were futile. She met Laney's eyes, the fear in her gaze something Laney knew she would never forget.

It's okay
, Laney wanted to say.
He's not going to take you. I won't let him.

“Let her go,” Laney demanded.

“I don't think so.” The man glanced just beyond Laney's shoulder, a cold smile curving his lips.

The girl stilled, her eyes widening.

Laney knew without even looking that someone was behind her.

Her blood ran cold, but she turned, ready to fight as many people as it took for as long as she had to. Eventually, another car would come, someone would call the police, help would arrive. She just had to hold the kidnappers off long enough for that to happen.

A shadowy figured jumped from the van's open door. Laney had the impression of height and weight, of dark hair and cold eyes, but it was the gun that caught and held her attention. Although the gunman was shorter and more wiry than his stocky partner, the firearm in his hand made him far more lethal.

“Don't move,” he snapped, the gun pointed straight at Laney's heart.

Laney stopped in her tracks, hands in the air in a display of unarmed surrender.

She wanted him to think she'd given up; she needed him off guard. She had to get the gun out of his hands, and she had to free the girl.

“Get the kid in the van before someone else comes by,” the gunman ordered his accomplice.

“What do we do with the woman?” the other man asked as he dragged the child around Laney, grunting and tightening his grip as the girl's sneaker-clad foot caught his shin.

“Get rid of her. She's a loose end. No witnesses, remember?” The words were spoken with cold malice that sent a wave of fear up Laney's spine.

No cars coming, nothing to hide behind. No matter what direction Laney ran, a bullet could easily find her. If the girl was going to survive, if
Laney
was going to, the gunman had to be taken down. Laney braced herself for action, waiting for an opening that she was afraid wouldn't come.

Please
, she prayed silently.
Just give me a chance.

The girl grunted, trying to scream against the hand pressed to her face. They were close to the van door, so close that Laney knew it was just a matter of seconds before the girl was shoved in.

“Bite him!” she yelled.

“Shut up!” the gunman barked, glancing over his shoulder to check on his accomplice's progress. That was the opening Laney needed. She threw herself at his gun hand. He cursed, the gun dropping to the ground. They both reached for it, Laney's fingers brushing cold metal, victory right beneath her palm. He slammed his fist into her jaw and she flew back, her grip on the gun lost in a wave of shocking pain. A dog growled, the harsh sound mixing with the frantic rush of Laney's pulse.

Murphy! She'd not given him the release command, yet he raced toward them, teeth bared.

The man raised the gun. Laney tried to scramble out of the way as he pulled the trigger. Hot pain seared through her temple, and she fell, Murphy's well-muscled body the last thing she saw as she sank into darkness.

* * *

Grayson DeMarco rushed through Anne Arundel Medical Center's fluorescently lit hallway, scanning the staff and visitors moving through the corridor. He'd been working this case for almost a year. He'd dogged every lead to every dead end, traveling from California to Boston and down to Baltimore, and he'd always been a few steps behind, a few days too late.

Sixteen children abducted. Four states. Not one single break.

Until tonight.

Finally the abductors had made a mistake.

A young girl was missing. The police had received her parents' frantic call less than thirty minutes after a woman had been found shot and unconscious on the sidewalk, a violin case and cell phone lying on the grass near her. The case had the missing girl's name on it.

Grayson had been called immediately, state PD moving quickly. They felt the pressure, too; they could see the tally of the area's missing children going up.

Like Grayson, they could hear the clock ticking.

They'd found a gun at the scene, spattered with blood, lying in the small island of grass that separated the sidewalk from the street. Grayson hoped it would yield useable prints and a DNA profile that could possibly lead him one step closer to the answers he was searching for.

He prayed it would, but he wasn't counting on it.

He'd been to the scene. He'd peered into an abandoned Jeep, lights still on, driver's door open. He'd opened the victim's wallet, seen her identification—Laney Kensington, five feet three inches and one hundred ten pounds. He'd gotten a good look at the German shepherd that might have been responsible for stopping the kidnappers before they were able to kill the woman. He'd pieced together an idea of what might have happened, but he needed to talk to Laney Kensington, find out what had really gone down, how much she'd seen. More importantly, he needed to know exactly how valuable that information might be to the case he was working.

Time was of the essence if Grayson had any chance of bringing these children home.

Failure was not an option.

A police officer stood guard outside the woman's room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression neutral. He didn't move as Grayson approached, didn't acknowledge him at all until Grayson flashed his badge. “Special Agent Grayson DeMarco, FBI.”

“Detective Paul Jensen, Maryland State Police,” the detective responded. “No one's allowed in to see the victim. If that's why you're here, you may as well turn around and—”

He cut the man off. “We don't have time to play jurisdiction games, Detective. As of tonight, three kids are missing from Maryland in just under six weeks.”

“I'm well aware of that, but I have my orders, and until I hear from my supervisor that you're approved to go in there, you're out.”

“How about you give him a call, then?” Grayson reached past the detective and opened the door, ignoring the guy's angry protest as he walked into the cool hospital room.

The witness lay unconscious under a mound of sheets and blankets, her dark auburn hair tangled around a face that was pale and still streaked with dried blood. Faint signs of bruising shadowed her jaw, made more evident by the harsh hospital lights. A bandage covered her temple, and an IV line snaked out from beneath the sheets. She appeared delicate, almost fragile, not at all what he was expecting given her part in the events of the night. Fortunately, as fragile as she appeared, the bullet had merely grazed her temple and she would eventually make a full recovery.

Unfortunately, Grayson didn't have the luxury of waiting for her to heal. He needed to speak to her. The sooner the better.

He moved toward the bed, trying to ignore the pine scent of floor cleaner, the harsh overhead lights, the IV line. They reminded him of things he was better off forgetting, of a time when he hadn't been sure he could keep doing what he did.

He pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, glancing at Detective Jensen, who'd followed him into the room. “Aren't you supposed to be guarding the door?”

“I'm guarding the witness, and I could force you out of here,” the detective retorted, his eyes flashing with irritation and a hint of worry.

“What would be the point? You know I've got jurisdiction.”

The detective offered no response. Grayson hadn't expected him to. Policies and protocol didn't bring abducted kids back to their parents, and wasting time fighting over jurisdiction wasn't going to accomplish anything.

“Look,” he said, meeting the detective's dark eyes. “I'm not here to step on toes. I'm here to find these kids. There's still a chance we can bring them home. All of them. How about you keep that in mind?”

The guy muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room.

That was fine with Grayson. He preferred to be alone with the witness when she woke. He wanted every bit of information she had, every minute detail. He didn't want it second-or third-hand, didn't want to get it after it had already been said a few times. He needed her memories fresh and clear, undiluted by time or speculation.

Laney groaned softly and began to stir. Just for a moment, Grayson felt like a voyeur. It seemed almost wrong to be sitting over her bed waiting for her to gain consciousness. She needed family or friends around her. Not a jaded FBI agent with his own agenda.

He leaned in toward Laney. Though only moments ago she had appeared to be on the verge of waking, she had grown still again.

“Laney?” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

He leaned in closer. “Laney?”

She stirred, eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. Was she caught in a dream, or a memory? he wondered.

“Wake up, Laney.” He reached out, resting his hand gently on her forearm.

She came up swinging, her fist grazing his chin, her eyes wild. She swung again, and Grayson did the only thing he could. He ducked.

Copyright © 2015 by Mary Ellen Porter