Return to Me (37 page)

The sun blasted a welcome searing heat. Sweat poured off Ethan, splattering and dimpling the dirt like slow, fat raindrops. Wiping his hand across his brow, eyes squinted against the brightness, he gazed around at the progress he’d made. After months of doing nothing but chopping down dead trees and clearing brush, he was beginning to see a small amount of progress. Yes, it would have been simpler to hire people to do this but not nearly as satisfying. This was his land. No one would care about this property as much as he did. It was his blood and sweat that would create something out of nothing. Besides, what the hell else did he have to do?

After throwing another tree limb onto the already full truck bed, Ethan jumped into the cab and started it up. One last load—then he’d shower and head to town for supplies. Once a month, he forced himself into town. He’d put it off three days longer than he should have. Out of coffee for the last day and a half, he felt like a rabid dog, on top of having a hell of a headache. The fast-food place a few miles from town would be his first stop. A giant cup of their strong brew would ease the pain. Hopefully, by the time he made it to the store he wouldn’t want to kill anyone.

Under the rumble of timber slamming to the ground, he heard the quiet purr of an expensive car headed up his hill. Mercedes, maybe? Not a Jag. Whoever it was, they were lost. He was the only one who lived on this road.

His jaw clenched. He hated that he’d have to see another person on his property, even for the short amount of time it would take to get them off. His fingers combed through a week’s worth of growth on his face, pushed through his shoulder-length hair, soaked with sweat. Nice thing about looking like a serial killer—most people who saw him turned around and ran the other way. Whoever was headed this way would soon do the same.

A sleek silver Mercedes rounded a corner and hit the top of the hill. The sun’s glare against the windshield couldn’t disguise the identity of the dark-haired man behind the wheel.

“Shit.” The dull pounding in Ethan’s head blasted toward jackhammer status.
Gabe Maddox
. Last time he’d talked to Gabe, he’d told him to go to hell. Looked as though he hadn’t taken the advice. Figured … bastard was stubborn like that.

Ethan glowered at the other man, letting him know up front that he still didn’t want him around. “Don’t believe you were invited.”

Unfolding his long body from the leather seat, Gabe flashed an arrogant grin that was so popular with the ladies and pissed most men off because of it. “If I waited for an invitation, I’d never see you again.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Sorry … I’m on orders.”

“Noah sent you?” Now, that was a surprise. Last time he saw Noah McCall, the man had damned near choked him to death. Not that he hadn’t deserved it, but he figured McCall would just as soon pretend that Ethan had never existed.

“Yeah.” Gabe jerked his head toward the house. “Mind if we talk inside?”

“Why?”

His eyes searching the hills warily, Gabe shrugged and headed toward the log house without Ethan’s consent. “Don’t like being out in the open like this.”

“Damned stupid, coming from a claustrophobic.”

Gabe turned to glare at him but kept walking.

Ethan threw his gloves down and stalked past Gabe into the house. His home was only a few months old, but his furniture was almost as ancient as the surrounding hills. His things served their purpose, and that was all he cared about.

He tugged open the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. Tossing a bottle to Gabe, Ethan leaned against the counter, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.

Easing down into a rickety chair at the scarred, aged table, Gabe swallowed a mouthful of beer and gazed around. “Nice place you got here, man.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell the decorator you said so. Now, what the hell do you want?”

Gabe took another swig of beer, set the bottle on the table, and blew out a long sigh.

A strange tension zipped up Ethan’s spine. “Must be something major for you to take so long in answering.”

“It’s Shea.”

The words were quietly spoken, but the impact to his heart and mind were like bombs exploding. He turned toward the kitchen window, unwilling to allow his former friend to see the naked pain. “She dead?”

“No. If only it were that simple.”

Ethan turned sharply and growed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s gone sour.”

Ethan snorted his disbelief. “Shea wouldn’t turn south. I’d believe you turned before her.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Gabe waited a beat, allowing Ethan to absorb his statement. “We’ve got positive intel.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve got. Shea Monroe would never betray LCR. Not for money …” He shrugged. “Not for anything.”

“Noah feels the same way.”

“But you don’t.”

Gabe didn’t flinch from Ethan’s direct gaze. “You know Shea was never my favorite person after she and Cole married.”

“Shea did the right thing by marrying Cole. But that’s beside the point. Give me what you know.”

“First I have to have your agreement on something.”

“What?”

“Noah wants you to find her. If she’s turned, you’re to bring her in. If she’s in trouble, he wants her rescued.”

“Why me?”

“Says you’re the only one who’d be able to determine if Shea has truly turned.”

Crossing the room, Ethan slumped into a chair across from Gabe. Noah McCall had fired his ass for very valid reasons. He didn’t blame him. Besides, he owed Noah his sanity and his life. The man knew he’d do almost anything for him. But this was Shea. And Noah knew Ethan would slay dragons and fight an army for the woman he’d once loved and lost. Yeah, McCall was right on the money to ask him to go in. No one had more to lose than Ethan if something happened to Shea.

He owed Shea Monroe a whole lot … more than he could ever repay. After all, not only had he broken her heart and crushed her spirit, he’d also gotten her husband killed.

Return to Me
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

Copyright © 2009 by Christy Reece
Excerpt from
Run to Me
copyright © 2009 by Christy Reece

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

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ALLANTINE
and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Run to Me
by Christy Reece. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

eISBN: 978-0-345-51507-0

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