He kissed her brow. “I forgive you,” he whispered. “And I’ll be here. I’ll do whatever you need.”
“And please don’t quit your job.” She peered into his eyes. “You love it and you’re not gone forever. You have weekends sometimes. We can come and see you until Lin starts school. We can make it work. I was wrong to put demands on you. I wanted to constrict you to prove you’d walk away...but I don’t really want you to give up your work. Not to make you stay but because I want that for you.”
She wanted him to keep his job. To renew the contract? His heart nearly burst. He had no more words, only action. He slipped his hand around her neck and gently descended on her lips, claiming them for himself, as his own. She tasted like goodness. Like love. Like freedom.
EPILOGUE
A week had passed since the tornado’s destruction. Cindy was devastated and she and Greer had cried together. Jody and Evan had flown back to Atlanta. Lin was staying in her own bed and the town was rebuilding the south end.
Adam had found the box of evidence stolen from Greer and Locke that night in Flip’s camper. Bolt Masterson had taken it to help Jenna. He was going to do some jail time.
They’d searched the Woolridges’ home and found a false back in Michael’s closet along with trinkets he’d kept over the years from his victims. The prosthetic nose, the beard and mustache had been in a bag with knives along with the trophies he’d kept to relive his murders. There were more than seven. FBI were working on the case and notifying families. The carnival had packed up and left, taking their secrets with them. Greer had called the Birmingham police about Jenna Dennison’s son being a drug dealer.
Adam had come by yesterday while Locke was finishing up his work with the research team. He’d admitted his feelings for Greer and that he had come to the soccer field to see if there was a chance for them. But after seeing her and Locke in the aftermath of the tornado, he knew there wasn’t one and he was dealing with that. He’d wished her and Locke the best.
Hollister had called. Grace had found Lilly Reed and she was now back in the arms of her parents, safe and sound.
Greer sat on a blanket with Lin in the front yard and watched her stack colorful rings onto a plastic white stick.
Locke pulled into the drive and bounded from the truck, sending her pulse rocketing. “How’re my best girls?” he asked and collapsed on the blanket beside them.
“We’re good. How did it go with the team?”
“They got a lot of good data and it looks like they’re getting another two-year grant. But I declined.”
“What?” She thought he was going to keep doing what he loved.
Locke’s crooked smile sent her pulse skittering. “I’m going to finish out this contract. Which means some traveling in tornado alley, but I can be home on some weekends and you two can come see me. You know I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“I know. We’ll figure it out. Make it work. But what about after the two months?”
Locke skimmed her jawline with his thumb. “I called Rush and Nora.”
Why would he call her cousin Rush and his wife in Tennessee? Unless...Nora worked as a private meteorologist and storm tracker. “Are you moving us to Splendor Pines?” she teased.
“No, but I do the like the mountains. I asked her to put out some feelers here locally. Channel Six is looking for someone with experience in storm chasing. The job’s mine if I want it. And I plan to still sell nature photos and help you build this photography-studio business. Memories are priceless. I want us to help others make them.”
Greer was stunned speechless.
Locke’s smile turned mischievous. “One thing. The name has to change. Greer Montgomery Photography won’t do.”
Greer rolled her eyes. “Yeah? What are you changing it to?”
“Well... Montgomery-Gallagher Studios had a nice ring to it, but then I realized that wouldn’t work, either.” He leaned in and nuzzled her nose.
“Why not?” Her stomach dipped.
“Because, you’re not always going to be a Montgomery.” He pecked her nose and shifted to his knee, removing a velvet box from his pocket. “Greer Montgomery, I bought this ring two years ago and I wasn’t able to give it to you then, but I couldn’t let it go because I could never let you go. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Greer’s heart soared. “Yes, I will.”
Lock placed the oval diamond ring on her finger and drew her into his safe arms—arms that promised to always hold her, to protect her. He kissed her wilder than a whirlwind and she melded against him. God had blessed her with this second chance. She’d been open to healing, to trusting again, and the peace and joy gushed like a river.
She drew away. “So, what are we calling our business?”
“I was thinking Fidgety Photos. Tagline—we’ll capture the shot anyway.” He laughed. “No? LLG Studios then?”
LLG Studios. Locklin, Lin and Greer. A family. Making memories and capturing others’. “I love it.”
“I love you.” He nipped at her earlobe.
“I love you more.”
Locke chuckled. “I love you most. I did run into a twister for you.”
Well played. “You win.” She pecked his lips.
“I know.” He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “I have you. And Lin.” He kissed her nose, her lips, her cheeks. “I’ve won it all.”
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, pick up these other books by Jessica R. Patch:
Cold Case Christmas
Dangerous Obsession
Secret Service Setup
Keep reading for an excerpt from Alaskan Ambush by Sarah Varland.
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Dear Reader,
Greer Montgomery was a tough character to write at first. Why would someone hide a child from a father if she knew he was a good man? It came down to her own childhood fears. Fear can be irrational, but it doesn’t make it any less real or debilitating to the one who suffers from it.
Words hold life and death, and the words Greer heard her father say the night he left molded and shaped what she believed about men, especially men like Locklin, who had some similar playful and adventurous traits as Greer’s dad. Greer had to learn to trust God. To trust that even if everyone walked out on her and baby Lin, God never would. When that peace was enough, it healed her to trust Locke and give him a chance to be the dad he desperately wanted to be, but was also afraid of.
You and I don’t have to be afraid of our pasts or how they were shaped. We do have to be brave and ask God to heal us from those fears and help us trust people in our lives who want to help and love us. I hope you enjoyed Greer and Locke’s story. I love to hear from readers, so please email me at [email protected] and sign up for my newsletter to keep in touch and be “Patched In” with all things bookish! Sign up at www.jessicarpatch.com.
Warmly,
Jessica
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Alaskan Ambush
by Sarah Varland
ONE
The gunshot cracked loud in the snowy silence, confirming Kate Dawson’s worst fear: someone wanted her dead.
So she ran. She didn’t look around, didn’t try to identify where it had come from, because it would almost be impossible to tell in the winter darkness with trees surrounding her, and if she didn’t run, she might get hit.
Dying wasn’t an option for her, especially on someone else’s terms. No, if Kate died young, it would be from her taking her outdoor adventures one step too far, not from whatever it was she’d stumbled into when she’d gone home tonight. Whoever was after her had been in her house in town, had ransacked it completely, like they were looking for something. Kate didn’t have what they wanted, didn’t have a clue what it might be, but knew she needed to get out of there fast. Shivers had run up and down her spine on the walk from her house to her car; she’d known even then she was being watched.
She ran faster, legs burning as she powered through the powdery snow toward her cabin, the one place she might have a chance to escape. Kate dodged another birch tree and powered up the last hill before her cabin. Less than a quarter of a mile. She could do it, even with the backpack on her back. She’d never been so thankful to be in good shape.
As the bag slammed in rhythm against her back, she called herself every kind of fool for not mentioning to her brother Noah that she’d felt like she was being followed. She knew he was already worried enough that her home had been broken into. As chief of the Moose Haven police, he would have known what to do and would have mobilized the entire department to help her. Except she hadn’t known what kind of trouble she was in, hadn’t been sure if he could help and hadn’t wanted to bring danger to her family’s doorstep by going to their lodge.
So instead she’d driven around town, trying to lose whatever tail she had, and finally parked her car at the Hope Mountain Trailhead and headed for the safety of her cabin. Her plan had been to stay for a few days, try to figure out who could be after her and why, and alert Noah via the satphone she carried in her pack.
Something else to be thankful for in addition to her fitness level—she was always prepared in the backcountry.
Another pop and snow flew less than ten feet to the right of Kate. She could see her cabin now, not that it did her any good. Or did it? She might be able to hole up there. She had a .44 in her backpack in case any confused bears had awakened from hibernation for a snack. But that seemed like a bad plan. Unnecessarily dangerous.
Still, it was all she had. Get in the cabin, shut the door, get her own weapon out as fast as possible.
Fear clawed at her throat, made it hard to breathe, and Kate hated the sensation. She was rarely afraid for her safety—years taking risks in the backcountry had seen to that—but she hated feeling powerless.
She swallowed hard. Braced herself for the fight.
Because a person couldn’t run forever—she’d spent the last decade denying that was true. But out here, facing a cold-blooded killer’s bullets?
The only way through a problem was through it, just like her dad had always taught her.
With a last burst of speed, she made for the door, shut it behind her and took a deep breath before bending down to get into her backpack, remove the gun and the satphone. It was past time to call Noah.
As she did so, she looked around at her cabin, ready to assess the scene like she would in one of the disaster scenarios in one of the backcountry survival classes she’d attended for years. This was different than facing the elements, or even wildlife, but hopefully the skills transferred. They were all she had. The cabin was destroyed, just like the main floor of her house. The cushions had been ripped from the wood-framed futon that sat against the wall with the window that looked out into the woods. That would be the most likely place for an attack against her to originate from, if her assailant didn’t come straight in the door. The drawer of the little side table had been pulled out and lay cracked on the floor and the books had all been pulled off her bookshelf.
Kate had her house, her car, her phone, a camera, this cabin. That was the extent of her worldly possessions, at least those that might be worth stealing. Not that this felt like simple stealing to her at all. This wasn’t a crime of opportunity. She was being targeted.
Why?
She ran her hands along the cold wooden grips of the .44, took a deep breath and hoped she’d be strong enough to use it if she had to. Kate hated the idea of killing anything, especially a person, but if someone broke in here intent on killing her...she wasn’t opposed to self-defense.
Another gunshot, this one so loud she knew her pursuers must be right outside the cabin. But if so, why hadn’t it hit the cabin, shattered a window?
More gunshots, these farther away.
Kate tightened her grip on the .44, frowned. Two sets of shooters. Both shooting at her, or shooting at each other?
The shots paused.
The cabin door creaked.
Kate raised the .44, hands trembling more than she wanted to admit, and waited for her shot.
* * *
The cold of the snow was the first thing that registered in Micah Reed’s mind when he came to. He blinked his eyes against the darkness, could make out the shapes of dark trees around him.
How long had he been unconscious? He rubbed his throbbing head, the blackness threatening to pull him under again. He wouldn’t let it. He had to get up, get away from the scene of the ambush that had taken place. He and his partner had thought they’d been prepared to make this arrest, but something had gone wrong.
Micah focused on the pain in his upper arm, willing it to help him stay conscious, grounded in reality. It gave him something to grit his teeth against, another reason to fight. He struggled to sit up, to get his bearings and figure out how far he’d made it from Jared Delaney’s cabin.
His partner of three years was lying dead somewhere behind him, on the cold Alaskan ground, shot dead by criminals they’d been attempting to apprehend and arrest.
He still didn’t know what had gone wrong, though there would be plenty of time to analyze every aspect later on when he had to fill out the incident paperwork. But right now all Micah knew was that they’d been so sure they had had what they needed to arrest Jared and Christopher Delaney to take them down for their part in a ring of thefts from several places in Anchorage: museums, high-end gift shops, even hotel lobbies displaying Native Alaskan artwork that the group later sold. They’d been confident the two brothers were the heads of the operation, though not desperate enough to pose a huge danger.
Of course every arrest had danger in it. Everything he did as an Anchorage police officer did—traffic stops included. It was part of the job, a risk inherent in it, and one Micah had accepted. He’d known one day he might die doing what he thought was right, protecting people who were more and more resentful of that protection.
He hadn’t counted on losing a fellow officer, though. He’d assumed his commitment to not let that happen would be enough, would somehow keep those around him safe.
He’d thought wrong.
Micah swallowed hard. Thinking was good, it was better than letting himself fade back into unconsciousness, but he needed to get up, get backing this, do what he could to arrest them on his own. Now that he knew they were willing to kill...making the arrest solo wasn’t ideal, but he’d do what he had to do.
He pushed himself up, the cold of the snow stin
ging his bare hands as he did so. His gloves...where...? That’s right, he had taken them off when they’d approached the cabin and shoved them in his pockets. He felt for them now but they were gone. Probably lost in the pursuit, when they’d realized their tip was a setup and the Delaneys were waiting... When Stephen had gotten shot and Micah had managed to drag him away from the scene only to watch his life ebb away under a spruce tree...
He owed it to Stephen to make sure justice was done here.
Although...
He forced his mind to focus, to go back to the ambush. The one where they should have been able to arrest the Delaneys, put an end to their crimes and tie the entire case up with a nice bow. But the Delaneys’ cabin had been guarded by far more than two men. He wasn’t sure how many. Four? Six? Only three well-prepared and well-armed men? He didn’t know. Easy enough to explain, as the Delaneys had men working under them. But something rubbed him wrong about that, his mind wouldn’t let that answer be sufficient.
It hadn’t seemed like the Delaneys were the ones calling the shots. They weren’t the ones yelling orders; there’d been someone else, a man, but his voice was too foggy in Micah’s memory to do any good.
Which meant they’d missed something in their investigation. Missed someone.
Micah rubbed his hands on his pants, glanced down at the blood running down his arm. The wound had stopped bleeding when he was still but had picked up some now that he was using it again.
He needed to get moving. He could feel the edge of his mind growing fuzzy, maybe shock setting in, maybe the beginnings of hypothermia, he didn’t know. They’d come prepared for the hike to Jared Delaney’s cabin but at the last minute he’d left his backpack with some gear behind in the patrol car. Time had been of the essence and he’d thought it would be better not to be weighed down by too many safeguards.
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