Stranded
Authors: Alice Sharpe
Tags: #Contemporary romantic suspense, #Fiction, #Harlequin Intrigue
AFTER MONTHS STRANDED IN THE MOUNTAINS, A DETECTIVE RETURNS HOME TO A TARGET ON HIS BACK—AND HIS PREGNANT WIFE CAUGHT IN THE CROSSHAIRS…
When Detective Alex Foster’s plane goes down in the remote Bitterroot Mountains, everyone thinks he is dead. Including his wife, Jessica. But against all odds, he survives, returning months later to the joyous news that Jessica is pregnant. Yet their reunion reminds them both of their imperfections. Then Alex discovers his plane crash was no accident. Someone wanted him dead and is now targeting Jessica to get to him. She wants honesty; he wants to keep the frightening details to himself. Protecting Jessica and his unborn child is Alex’s first priority—even if it means giving up his second chance at life to save theirs….
“Alex, I have something to tell you,” she said.
“Your tone of voice worries me.”
“It’s nothing bad. It’s about that ‘virus’ I was fighting in February.” She took another deep breath. “Do you remember that big fight we had in January?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I do. I can’t remember what it was about, though.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “What’s important is how we made up the next day,” she added.
She could feel him staring at her. Was he remembering that night? They’d made love with a vengeance, downstairs in front of a blazing fire, and had slept there all night. “I’ve been trying to tell you this since you got home,” she added. “I was wrong about the cause of my nausea. Brace yourself. I’m about four months pregnant.”
She could see the whites of his eyes widen. “Say that again,” he whispered.
“We’re going to have a baby.”
STRANDED
Alice Sharpe
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in
Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived
the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5,
numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named
Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon,
where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love,
writing.
Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her c/o
Harlequin Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. An SASE for reply
is appreciated.
Books by Alice Sharpe
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
746—FOR THE SAKE OF THEIR
BABY
823—UNDERCOVER BABIES
923—MY SISTER,
MYSELF*
929—DUPLICATE DAUGHTER*
1022—ROYAL
HEIR
1051—AVENGING ANGEL
1076—THE LAWMAN’S SECRET
SON‡
1082—BODYGUARD FATHER‡
1124—MULTIPLES MYSTERY
1166—AGENT
DADDY
1190—A BABY BETWEEN THEM
1209—THE BABY’S
BODYGUARD
1304—WESTIN’S WYOMINGΔ
1309—WESTIN LEGACYΔ
1315—WESTIN
FAMILY TIESΔ
1385—UNDERCOVER MEMORIES§
1392—MONTANA
REFUGE§
1397—SOLDIER’S
REDEMPTION§
1501—SHATTERED**
1507—STRANDED**
*Dead Ringer
‡Skye Brother Babies
ΔOpen Sky
Ranch
§The Legacy
**The Rescuers
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Alex Foster—
This police detective apparently fell off the face of the earth three months before. Now he learns his travails were no twist of fate, nor are they over. But someone isn’t counting on Alex’s fierce determination to rebuild his marriage and protect his wife at any cost to himself.
Jessica Foster—
Alex’s wife isn’t sure how she feels about her marriage or which secrets to share with Alex. But she does know someone is out to wreak havoc on their lives. It’s time to take a stand.
Nate Matthews—
Alex’s best friend from way back has struggled with the same issues facing Alex. He’s managed to survive. His goal is to make sure Alex does the same.
Dylan Hobart—
Alex’s partner on the Blunt Falls Police Department is a bodybuilder with an eye for the fairer sex. It takes him a while to declare his intention to watch Alex’s back but when he does, he makes it clear he’ll see it through to the bitter end.
Billy Summers—
Everyone agrees this handyman is a nice guy, and it’s obvious he has something he wants to tell Alex. But, wow, he’s sure having trouble saying it.
Lynda Summers—
Billy’s mother is the town’s fallen beauty with so many problems it’s hard to see where one stops and another begins. What is her hold on Chief Smyth? And exactly how many men are using her?
Chief Smyth—
He’s a tricky guy. Part publicity hound, part dedicated lawman, a family man with a dash of arrogance and a sprinkle of hostility. He’s suspicious of almost everyone, especially Alex. Or is that an act?
Kit Anderson—
This patrolman wants to be a detective, a goal that seemed attainable until Alex showed back up in Blunt Falls. How far will he go to make his dreams come true?
John Miter—
He’s just flat-out an enigma. How dangerous is he?
Tad and Ted Cummings—
Are these attractive, personable twins really Billy’s pals, or does the friendship have a darker side?
Charles Bond, aka William Turner—
A shadowy figure everyone is looking for. His agenda includes murder and mayhem as vehicles to spread fear. Can he be stopped in time to avert a disaster?
This book is dedicated to sweet Ruby Rose. Welcome, baby.
Prologue
February
To Alex Foster, the flight between Blunt Falls, Montana, and Shatterhorn, Nevada, felt ill-fated from the get-go. The unexpected deteriorating weather was just the latest obstacle, but at least it was one that could be managed by some decent flying skills and a deviation from his flight plan.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes, fighting a growing fatigue he couldn’t afford. Unscrewing the cap on a new bottle of the vitamin-enhanced water he carried when he piloted his plane, he took a long swallow. The numbers on the charts swam before his eyes and he blinked, performed a few fuzzy calculations and changed radio frequencies to the Bozeman, Montana beacon. He banked the plane toward the east, hoping to avoid the worst of the system and arrive just a little late.
No big deal. Nate would explain the facts of life when it came to flying to their friend Mike. And Mike’s issues would be there in two hours or two days—they weren’t going away anytime soon. The poor guy had been devastated by the incident all three men shared last Labor Day when a lone teenage gunman had shot and killed four kids in a random attack at a Nevada shopping mall. Since then, Mike had been gathering data he believed hinted at a conspiracy. This meeting would let them review what Mike had learned and maybe, hopefully, help him get past some of his wild ideas.
A glimpse out the Cessna window revealed nothing but icy-white sky that seemed to swirl in his head. He climbed higher, hoping to find less turbulent air. He was kind of glad Jessica hadn’t come along. She’d claimed she was fighting a virus and he’d accused her of making it up so she wouldn’t have to be with him. Maybe some time apart would help, he didn’t know. However, now, with his vision blurring and his stomach turning, he considered he might owe her an apology.
He yawned again and took another swallow of the drink as he tried to quench his thirst.
After thirty more minutes, the break in the weather he’d anticipated still hadn’t materialized. His eyes drifted shut and he opened them quickly, making himself sit up straighter. As he did periodically, he glanced at the control panel. It took him a second to actually register what he saw.
The oil-pressure indicator showed a rapid decline toward the red zone. He stared at the gauge with disbelief, then tapped the glass. At that moment he became aware of a burning odor and peered out the window where he found oil flying over the coaming. Liquid drops hit the windshield and crawled away, leaving portentous snail-like tracks on the glass.
A quick check of the gauge showed pressure still falling. He flipped the radio frequencies again, but the unit was now silent. He tore off the headphones as flames flared from the engine compartment. Almost simultaneously, he pulled the handle to turn off the fuel tanks and yanked on the fire extinguisher lever. Smoke billowed from under the cowling, but dissipated at once.
And then the engine seized.
The fire was out but the plane was dead.
Disaster was imminent. He was off his flight plan, somewhere over the Bitterroot Mountains in the middle of the Rockies. He had an EPIRB aboard and knew the emergency beacon would signal once activated by a crash, but unlike the newer models that communicated with satellites, his older unit required a search plane to fly directly overhead. Would anyone look for him this far afield from his expected route?
The plane began losing altitude. He spiraled down through the clouds, into the storm. Visibility cleared for a few seconds and he saw a large snow-covered meadow to the north. He quickly corrected his course to aim for that, going into a glide, pushing the yoke ahead to avoid a stall.
Seconds seemed to drag and then everything sped up as the ground once again appeared closer than ever. The plane skimmed over the snowy treetops ringing the meadow and shuddered as it made its first bounce. That was immediately followed by the scream of twisted metal as the landing-gear struts tore from their housings. The wounded plane skimmed along the snow on its belly, racing into the middle of the meadow, snow flying at the windshield.
At last the Cessna came to an abrupt and sudden stop. Alex flew forward into the instrument panel. His chest impacted with the yoke, his left leg caught and twisted in the mangled metal below. The outside of the cabin was covered with snow. He wiped something from his eyes—blood—then immediately struggled with the door, pushing against the buildup, knowing he had to get it open before it froze shut. He almost choked on relief as weak daylight flooded the cabin.
A strange cracking noise drove ice picks through his nervous system. The noise came again and he recognized it for what it was. With horror, he looked down to find water rising over his shoes. As quick as he’d ever done anything in his life, he grabbed his backpack and the medical kit and threw both through the open door. He undid his seat belt, took a steadying breath and screamed with pain as he ruthlessly extricated his leg. There was blood everywhere but he’d have lots of time to worry about that later. If there was a later...
Clenching his teeth, he used his upper-body strength to pull himself through the open door.
This was no meadow; this was a lake covered with ice and the plane, heavy with unspent fuel, had broken through. He scrambled out the door and landed on his gear. The fall sent a stab of unbearable agony racing from his heel to his groin, and he had to struggle to keep from passing out. Priority one: keep himself and his gear from going into the water. Get away, get away, as fast as possible, beat the cracks spreading out around him. His hands were clumsy as he tied things together and then he dragged himself away from the wreck, using his elbows for traction, trailing his gear from his belt, the fissures continuing to open up all around him.
