by Rachel Lee
A quiet voice. Gus. He was here. Warmth suffused her, and a contradictory sense of happiness. Lying post-op in a hospital bed seemed like an odd place to feel that warmth.
At last the anesthesia wore off enough that she could open her eyes. They lighted instantly on Gus, who was sitting beside her bed.
“Blaire,” he said again, and smiled. A wide, genuine smile that communicated more than words. She was okay and he was happy and relieved about it. Then she sensed him gently taking her hand.
“Welcome back,” he said. “You’re fine.”
“What was that all about?” she asked, her voice thick. “The guy. What was he doing?”
He told her about The Hunt Club, about how the man they had captured had been forced into committing two murders by threats against his life.
“Sport?” That almost made her mind whirl. “They were doing this for sport?”
“Two of them, evidently. They’ve been rounded up. The full truth will come out with time, but right now the man we caught seems eager to talk.”
“Good.” Then she slipped away again, still under the influence of surgical medications.
She had no sense of how much time had passed, but when she came to again, her shoulder throbbed like mad. “Damn,” she said.
“Blaire?” Gus’s voice again. “What’s wrong?”
“My shoulder hurts worse than when I was shot.”
“I’m not surprised. No adrenaline now, plus I guess they had to do some work inside you. One of the docs said you were lucky your lung didn’t collapse.”
Those words woke her up completely. “What?”
“You were bleeding internally. Next time you want to ride a horse when you’ve been shot, please reconsider.” Then he pressed a tube into her hand. “Top button. Call the nurse for some painkiller.”
She certainly needed some. She pressed the button and a voice came over the speaker over her head. “Nurse’s station.”
“Something for pain, please.”
“Be there shortly.”
Then she dropped the tube and her fingers reached for Gus. He replied by clasping her hand.
“Listen,” he said. “You were tough. You are tough, as tough as anyone I’ve known.”
Something important was coming. She could sense it. All of a sudden she didn’t want that nurse to hurry. She wanted to listen to him.
“I know we’ve avoided this,” Gus continued. “But I refuse to avoid it any longer. Nearly losing you... Well, it kind of yanked me out of stasis.”
“You, too?”
He nodded. “We don’t have long. I’m sure you’re about to get knocked out again. But tuck this away for when you’re feeling better because I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“How could you?” She thought she heard the nurse’s rubbery steps in the hall. Her heart began to accelerate. “Gus?”
“I love you,” he said simply. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to marry you. But don’t answer now. Just put it away until you’re back on your feet. I promise not to pressure you. I just needed you to know.”
Just as the nurse wearing blue scrubs appeared in the doorway, she felt her heart take flight. “Pressure away,” she said. Then the needle went into the IV port. “I love you, too,” she said before she vanished into the haze again.
* * *
A MONTH LATER, they stood before Judge Wyatt Carter and took their vows. They’d agreed to keep their jobs, to feel out their path into the future.
And they’d promised each other they were going to attend the trials of The Hunt Club. A game? Just a game had cost five lives? It was an appalling idea. It appalled Blaire even more to recognize Jeff Walston and remember they’d served briefly together. A man known to her!
But that faded as they stepped out of the courthouse into a sunny August morning. The bride wore a street-length white dress and the groom wore his best Forest Service uniform.
A surprising number of people awaited them outside and began to clap. Turning to each other, they kissed, drawing more applause.
They had friends and had found love and a new way of life.
“Upward,” he murmured. “Always. I love you.”
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Constant Risk by Janie Crouch.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.
You crave excitement! Harlequin Intrigue stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards and reward the book lover in you!
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever and whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS of your choice
OR
EXCLUSIVE GIFTS from your favorite authors or series.
Click here to join for FREE
Or visit us online to register at
www.HarlequinMyRewards.com
Harlequin My Rewards is a free program (no fees) without any commitments or obligations.
Constant Risk
by Janie Crouch
Chapter One
“Here’s the paperwork you need to look over, Mr. Jeter.”
Michael Jeter barely noticed when the handcuffs pulled at the skin on his wrists as he reached for the piece of paper his lawyer, Beau O’Boyle, slid over to him. After the past five months of being in handcuffs regularly, he did not pay much attention to something that had irritated him to no end when he’d first been incarcerated.
There were many other things that irritated him to no end now.
The lack of flavor in all the food. The lack of quiet in the jail. And most definitely the lack of anything to do.
Up until five months ago, his hours had been filled from sunup to sundown running a worldwide, multifaceted charity that touched thousands of lives.
If that hadn’t taken up enough of his time, the network he’d developed underneath said charity—where information, privacy and lives themselves could be sold to the highest bidder—certainly had filled his hours.
But now there were so many hours of nothing.
Nothing to do but plan. And wait.
He looked at the paper, immediately spotting the code within the sentence structure that provided him with the real information he needed.
All messages, hidden or official, now had to be sent archaically—on paper. He didn’t even like the feel of the parchment on his fingers. He much preferred a keyboard and screen. But he hadn’t been allowed any sort of computer or internet access since the moment he was arrested. When Michael’s lawyer came to see him, the man was required to leave every electronic item outside of the room.
It was almost as if law enforcement thought Michael would be able to vanish into thin air if he even came anywhere near any sort of computerized item. Like a computer-age Houdini.
In their defense, that wasn’t totally untrue. If he had five minutes with a smartphone he could probably manipulate enough data to make the prison warden and guards think the wrong person had been arrested and maybe even let him out. After all, Michael was the most brilliant computer hacker on the planet.
Actually, no.
He was the second most brilliant computer hacker on the planet. The most brilliant hacker was the reason he was in jail to begin with.
For now.
Michael forced himself not to grimace at the feel of the paper as he continued to read. The encoded message was nothing less than he’d expected.
Michael read the letter again, a habit he developed around other people since his exceptional reading speed tended to make them uncomfortable. They thought he wasn’t giving the document thorough attention since he finished so quickly. In this case it was probably better anyway. The second read through would allow him to almost memorize the info.
He looked over at his lawyer, unsure of how much the man was actually aware of. Almost everyone who’d been involved with the top tier of the Organization had been arrested. Anybody who was capable had immediately started flipping on others. That was to be expected. Loyalty dived out the window when the death penalty for treason entered the room.
Michael looked over at the lawyer. “Mr. O’Boyle, what exactly is your job here?”
His response would tell Michael everything he needed to know. Any response about law, the trial or the case would mean he didn’t know the true contents of the letter.
“I am here to assist in all ways needed.”
So, someone loyal. Good to know, not that they could talk openly about the real content of the message anyway. They were supposed to have a confidential conference room, but Michael was more than aware that Homeland Security was listening. He also knew there were cameras in this room right now surveilling what was written on the letter.
The most brilliant law enforcement minds in the country would be looking for encoded messages in it, starting immediately.
They wouldn’t find any.
“Good to hear that.” Michael held up the letter. “Thanks for the paperwork. Has there been any progress on the case in any other areas?”
“We are continuing to gather evidence for the trial. Things are going as best as can be expected.”
“The cost is high. We have people willing to pay the price?” The security footage Homeland would run of this conversation would lead them to believe Michael was talking about the costs of trial preparation.
He was talking about something much different.
“Yes, sir. There are those who are loyal and look at the bigger picture, willing to sacrifice short term, for the long-term good.”
Michael gave a brief nod. “I’m glad to hear that is still true.”
They had been prepared for this contingency. Perhaps not exactly in the way it had occurred—a young woman back from the dead taking them all down so swiftly and efficiently. That had definitely been unexpected. But from the beginning, the Organization had known there would be enemies, and that drastic methods might be needed to evade those enemies.
It was time for the drastic measures.
“What sort of schedule are we talking about?” he asked O’Boyle.
“The tentative court date is set two months from now. We can certainly push that back to give us more time to—”
Michael shook his head. “No. It’s time to move forward.”
He had plans of his own. Plans that couldn’t be put into play until he was out of this hellhole of boredom.
O’Boyle nodded. “Of course. The trial itself could take weeks, which will give us plenty of time to continue gathering...data and anything else needed.”
“No. I want to move forward now, not during the trial. Call the district attorney.”
“But, sir...”
“Now, Mr. O’Boyle. Prison is inevitable for me. Let’s not pretend it’s not. I’m ready to not be in limbo any longer. I want to know my sentencing and move on with my life.”
O’Boyle nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll start making the necessary calls today. But I must forewarn you, I think this might be a little premature. The closer we are to the end of your trial—”
“That will be all, Counselor.” Michael didn’t know if the man was unaware of law enforcement, who would be poring over their discussion, or if he’d momentarily forgotten. Either was unacceptable. “Make it happen.”
Color leaked out of O’Boyle’s face. “Yes, Mr. Jeter. It will take a little bit of time, but I can get the wheels set in motion immediately.”
Wheels in motion. Good.
He’d been still for too damn long.
Copyright © 2019 by Janie Crouch
ISBN-13: 9781488046070
Murdered in Conard County
Copyright © 2019 by Susan Civil Brown
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
