Splashdown: A Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 3) (24 page)

The trouble with being new in town is that she didn’t know alternate routes, and neither she nor her GPS had any idea what roads would be passable now. Her eyes focused on the rearview mirror again. No other cars had come this way since the white Honda, but the danger grew the longer she sat there.

Okay.
She made a slow Y turn and headed back the way she came. Even Luke Stephens would shelter her until the rain stopped. Wouldn’t he?

***

Groaning, Luke backed up from the fireplace and dropped into the lounge chair. He’d been desperate enough to jump on the horse and ride back without a saddle in spite of his leg. Feeding and stalling the stallion and the two mares had eaten away more time, and the pain mounted with each passing minute.

When he got inside, he tore the bathroom cabinet apart looking for the pain meds even though he’d quit taking them some time ago. His head dropped back against the headrest.

Twice now, the woman had caused him more pain than he’d dealt with in the last year, and pain did things to him he didn’t like. He’d wanted to take her head off, only God wouldn’t let him. The strong rein on his spirit had choked back his words.

He took a deep breath, glad of the hand that had kept him from saying things he would regret. The woman had not meant to cause him pain. Something stirred in his soul. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

What is she doing here, Lord? Someone special to You?

Leaning down, he pulled off the boot and rolled up the left leg of his jeans. He’d overdone it. Walking as far as he did, and downhill at that, had pushed things too far. Not to mention the fall on Monday. Amazing that neither of them had suffered a broken bone or worse. God, again. He remembered her apology, the flush staining her cheeks and her indignation. His mouth curved into a smile.

Luke stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. The room darkened around him. The rain started, a few scattered drops that grew into a thunderous cascade. Moments later, a torrent hit the roof. Luke turned his head and stared through the large window facing the front of the house. The downpour grayed and blurred the image of the huge tree outside. 

Good thing he’d fed up. The stallion, the two mares, and Farley would ride this out in the barn. Maximus never liked the rain nor the thunder and lightning accompanying it, but he’d be fine in the closed stall. The dog would keep him company. The mares at the other end of the barn would be fine, too.

He opened his eyes and watched the tree outside bend and shift in the wind. The line of rain increased only to drop to nothing a moment later. Then it returned with mounting intensity. The meteorologists had predicted a series of squalls. That’s why he’d gone to find Maximus.

And found her.

The lash of the wind and pounding rain filled his ears. He rolled his shoulders again. With the number of low places on the road between here and town, she’d never make it in that car. His truck sat higher, which was one of the reasons he’d bought it.

Not the main reason, of course; that had to do with starting over – after the divorce. He’d bought the truck and this house with twenty-five acres. Four years later, it felt like home. And the pain of someone who couldn’t live with the “new” him had dimmed.

Or so he’d thought…until he saw Alexis Jergenson.

Lightning stabbed across the sky and jerked him back to the present. Rain pummeled the ground. How far had she made it before the storm broke? Numerous gullies and valleys made the road between here and the main highway treacherous during storms. Someone would need to rescue her.

Meeting her at the faculty retreat along with the other new faculty members had shaken him. She had reached forward to shake his hand, and the dark depths of her eyes and the way her long straight hair swung as she nodded at his introduction brought back memories he didn’t want. Too much like Teresa. Too pretty. The sight of her had sent pain and anger ricocheting through him, surprising him.

Thunder rumbled. He sat forward. If the woman needed rescuing, he’d have to do it. Who else knew she was out there? He groaned and sat forward. Pain or not, he needed to find her. She’d be somewhere between his place and the bridge.

He headed to the front door, threw it open and almost collided with her.

Again.

She’d raised her hand to knock, and her hair and jacket dripped water. She looked like foliage curling beside a waterfall, droplets clinging to her eyebrows, her eyelashes, and mouth.

Rain and wind blew into the house as they stared at each other. Lightning tore across the sky. Luke grabbed her arm and dragged her into the foyer, slamming the door behind her. She jumped and slid further into the hall.

Even dripping wet, she was still one attractive woman. And, like Teresa, she probably needed the proverbial bullwhip to beat the men off.

His jaw tightened. Pretty women were Trouble. Capital T. “You’re drenching the floor.”

She jerked her head around, and scooted back to the rug against the door, clutching her purse under one arm.

“Better?” she asked. Cynicism filled the word. “You were right about the rain. I’ve never seen it come down like that. The road flooded right in front of me. And you’re right about the car, too. It won’t make it through puddles the size this storm is dumping. I didn’t know where to go, so I—” She stopped, eyeing him with a look he could read easily enough.

She wasn’t any happier being here than he was having her. When he said nothing, her gaze shifted past him to the living area. The crackle of the flames in the fireplace reached him.

“Do…do you mind,” she asked, trying to hide the shakes starting in her shoulders, “if I stay until it stops?”

He kicked himself inside. Quit being a jerk. She’s wet and cold. Not every pretty woman is selfish and unfaithful.

Pushing past his reluctance, he indicated the room behind him. “Sure. The fire will warm you in no time.”

Human Trafficking
is of epidemic proportions, fast outdistancing drugs as a major crime in America and the world. The insatiable appetite for sexual gratification—and money garnered from this—has enslaved women, girls and boys all over the world. Moving away from God’s standard of sex within marriage has started a tsunami of abuse of vulnerable people, those made in the image of God. Sold, beaten, drugged, abused, these people need to be set free.

If you have been trafficked, you deserve to be free. There are many survivors out there, many who have found help. The National Human Trafficking Hotline is 1-888-373-7888 or text BEFREE. 

For more information, log on to:
[email protected]
,

 
www.traffickingresourcecenter.org
or try Shared Hope International at
http://sharedhope.org/

***

In 2015,
Indonesia
was forced to rely on
tsunami
warnings
from other nations because its warning system is no longer operable. Its chain of buoys have been stolen by pirates or had parts removed by fisherman to sell for scrap. Out of 22 buoys, none is working at this time. Indonesia does not have the funding for maintenance or repair, leaving their country in grave danger if a massive earthquake hits.

In 2004, an earthquake off the Indonesia coast followed by a tsunami killed 230,000 people in the nations surrounding the Indian Ocean. Numerous earthquakes and tsunamis have hit since, but thankfully none as big as the one in 2004.

The country of Indonesia is mostly Muslim. It consists of large cities and outlying villages—from modern to primitive lifestyles. As one Christian student from Indonesia said, “Indonesia still needs missionaries to preach the Gospel of Christ in all areas.”

***

The numbers and the plight of the
homeless
in our land is growing steadily. Many have lost jobs or cannot cope with the cost of physical disabilities and find themselves on the streets. Some have PTSD or drug addictions. Some single moms are trying to keep a job while living in their cars. All are people God loves and can restore. Check out how you can help in your area by doing an online search or asking at your church.

• As always, this book is dedicated to the Father God and to the Lord Jesus Christ. Thank you for forming me, loving me, shaping and guiding me. Thank you for allowing me to publish these books. I ask that they be a blessing to many and that You, God, would be magnified in them May the words of my mouth (and computer), and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, my Lord and my God.
  

• And to my mother, Elaine Knadle, for her constant love and care of myself , our family and many others, for her enthusiastic love of Christ, for her courage in following God and being a witness in Indonesia, and in Jerusalem, in Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. I miss you.
  

Thank You to Many

• To the Word Weavers critique group of Tampa for all the love, encouragement and critiques through the years.
  
• The Tarpon Springs Fiction Writers’ Group, especially our leader David Edmunds, retired homicide detective Ken Dye*, and all the rest of you “go get ‘em” critiquers.
  
• The Christian Indie Authors and the Clean Indie Reads Facebook groups for all their wisdom and encouragement.
  
• Teri Burns, editor at Lone Mesa Publishing, for doing the impossible and bringing all my ideas and the needs of this manuscript together.
  
• Beta Readers, reviewers and encouragers—without you, I would have died on the vine
  .
  You know who you are. Thank you!
  
• ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) and the FCWC (Florida Christian Writers Conference) classes on writing, critiquing, and life—and meeting other struggling and not-so-struggling authors, thank you!
  
• My family and my husband, Frank. Thank you all for your love and support and encouragement, and in putting up with me through all the trials!
  
• To Marylou Hess for your one-on-one encouragement, support, and expertise.
  
• To Russ and Susan Chastain for giving initial, challenging input into Splashdown
  .
  
  
• To Mark Mynheir, detective, former police officer, former SWAT team member, and author for his expertise on police procedures and his permission to mention his book,
  Rolling Thunder
  , in my novel.*
  
• Dr. Donald Brobst, doctor, missionary, pilot, and author for his encouragement, and expertise on flying and missionary work. *
  

*Any problems with police procedures or flight information are not because of the expertise of the advisers, but because of the author’s lack of understanding or the intentional use of fictional license.

Born and raised in Florida, Linda loves
the salt water, the sun, and the
swamplands
.

She has always loved reading—especially mysteries and romantic suspense novels. Years ago, she found authors Agatha Christie and Mary Stewart thrilling. Today, she reads different types of Christian fiction, but romantic suspense is still her favorite.

Linda taught at a Christian school and worked for the Pregnancy Center of Pinellas County as a Center Director and at Trinity College of Florida as a financial aid assistant. Now, she speaks and works against human trafficking with the Tampa Bay area’s Community Campaign Against Human Trafficking Task Force (now called FREE). Her blog at
www.lindarodante.wordpress.com
  highlights human trafficking, sexuality in America, commitment to Christ, and her mother’s missionary trips to Israel and Indonesia.

At the age of twenty-six, Linda discovered what the miraculous love of Jesus Christ has to offer and gave her life to Him. Her life has not always been easy but has included wonderful friends and family, joy, laughter, and even the miraculous.

As a young teen, Linda wanted to write, but it wasn’t until she was in her fifties that God opened the door. Linda’s writing has won finalist and semifinalist awards with the American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis and First Impressions contests.

She and her husband live in Florida. They have two grown sons. One is following his grandmother’s example—he and his family are missionaries in Botswana, Africa. Her other son works at the National Institutes of Health in Washington, DC.

To learn more about her books, this series, and the author, please visit Linda’s website at
http://lindarodante.com
.