No One Heard Her Scream (36 page)

She breathed a sigh and laid her head on his chest, holding him close. Maybe they did need to talk. Closure
was
important.

"No more than you did for me. I had no choice really. If anything would have happened to you or Danielle, living with that pain for the rest of my days . . . would have been no life at all. And I'm done with merely existing in a fog. I have to reclaim my life, take it back."

"Oh yeah, I hear that." Becca rose and looked into Diego's eyes, taking a chance she might get lost in them . . . for days . . . weeks even. But a lingering thought ruined the moment.

"I guess Joe Rivera is eager to get you home." She'd hoped to sound casual. "You've been gone a long time."

"Yeah, he is. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow," he said. Becca couldn't help it. She couldn't hide her shock. The news gripped her heart like a vise. But when Diego saw her strong reaction, he smiled with a tenderness she had grown to love. "Just to pack my things and have a few days with my father. I'll be gone a week, but I'm coming back home ... to you. My life is here with you, Rebecca."

She replayed his words in her head, over and over, before she understood what he meant. Diego had made a place for her in his future, and she couldn't imagine a life without him in it. The ticking clock in her head unwound, releasing the sense she might wake up tomorrow, and he'd be gone. Diego was coming back ... to her. And they had all the time in the world.

"And I think I've been waiting for you ... to begin
living
mine." Her eyes blurred with tears.

Diego pulled her to him, his lips pressed to hers, with the ambrosial taste of Chardonnay on his tongue. She felt the arousal of his body, his hunger for her. Yet he cradled her face in his hands with such gentleness. She never felt so loved ... so cherished.

When she burrowed into his arms once more, resting her cheek against his shoulder, Becca remembered the first time Diego kissed her. "You know, I started our relationship with blackmail. Who says crime doesn't pay."

She hugged him tight, listening to the deep and soothing rumble of laughter in his chest. Breathing in the seductive smell of his skin, Becca looked out her window. She watched the cypress trees dance under the colorful lights off the Riverwalk, stirred by a winter breeze. She always wanted to remember this moment, when she knew her heart belonged to him.

"I love you, Diego."

He kissed the top of her head and pulled her close.

"What took you so long, sweet Rebecca?"

This passion to write has been with me for as long as I can remember. There are people who have supported my efforts and contributed in many ways. First and foremost, my beloved husband and plot partner, John, has put up with my wild hours and the idiosyncrasies of a crazed author channeling characters. My family, particularly my father and mother, gave their unflinching support and plenty of fodder for fiction. They tell me if they had known I'd be an author, they would've worked harder at being better parents. Better parents? I can't imagine a reality where that would even be possible.

Thanks to those who helped shape the voice I am still cultivating—Dana Taylor, Beth Daigre, Katie Kuhne, Cindy Sorenson, and Tina "Godiva" Novinski-Radcliffe. And special thanks to Grace Kirkwood, who helped forge this story with a keen reader's eye. Glad you answered the phone all those years ago when a wannabe author called to research your corner of the world. And to other generous author mentors—Merline Lovelace and Mel Odom— I couldn't have done this without you. There were times I firmly believed you hung out in cyberspace solely to respond to my emails.

And with every story, an amazing amount of research takes place—the fun part of the job. For things I may have embellished for the sake of fiction, no one is accountable except me. But for everything I got right, special gratitude to author and former homicide detective John Foxjohn, who shed light on law enforcement in Texas. On San Antonio, my resident experts Kath-ryn and Ignactio Torres, Jr., played a vital role. And much appreciation to the police department of the City of Edmond, Oklahoma, for the training I received as part of the Citizen's Police Academy, a terrific program conducted by Lieutenant Cleo Land, my "LT."

I also want to recognize those professional organizations that provide great resources for new writers: Romance Writers of America, my beloved Outlaws at the OK RWA, Sisters in Crime, RWA Kiss of Death Online Chapter, Mystery Writers of America, and the International Thriller Writers. And a special thanks to all the hardworking staff at Avon Books—sales, publicity, art department, copy editors, and anyone who contributed to the process. If it takes a village to package a book, then let me extend my never-ending gratitude to Avon's Village People.

And my dream to be published had plenty to do with the intervention of an angel,
New York Times
bestseller Sharon Sala, who read this story and believed in me enough to stick her sweet neck out. Angels do walk the earth and I have living proof. Special thanks to my stylish and savvy ally in the trenches, my agent, Meredith Bernstein. And to my glorious and brilliant editor, Lucia Macro—this wouldn't have happened without you believing in my future. You are my dream catcher.

After JORDAN DANE sold her first three books to HarperCollins in June 2006, her debut title,
No One Heard Her Scream,
held more significance.
Everyone
heard her scream!

Pursuing publication since 2003, Jordan received awards in thirty-three writing competitions, including her 2005 Golden Heart final. Formerly an energy sales manager in the oil and gas industry, she is now following her passion to write full time. Jordan and her husband share their residence with an intelligent canine and two cats of highborn lineage.

www.jordandane.com

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