Covert Christmas Twin (Twins Separated At Birth Book 2)

by Heather Woodhaven

“It’s nothing,” he replied gruffly.

  His feet sank deeper into the mud, and his gut churned. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his footing. He didn’t know how much longer they had before the water swept away the car.

  The woman took another deep, gulping breath. “I trust you.”

  Her declaration knocked the breath from his lungs. The last person who’d trusted him, Jenny, had paid the ultimate price. He’d prayed to God plenty growing up, especially during the worst times, and he’d begged God to save Jenny that day.

  He’d gotten the same answer he’d grown accustomed to: silence.

  He didn’t resent God for ignoring his prayers, instead, he’d learned that if a man never asked for anything, he was never disappointed.

  Lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder rattled the shattered windshield, and her grip on his arm tightened. His past no longer mattered. What mattered now was this woman’s safety.

  “Someone f-forced me off the road,” she said. “S-someone tried to kill me.”

  * * *

  She found herself in a freezing nightmare of throbbing pain. Blood pounded inside her skull. Her other pains were too numerous to count, and the frigid rain had her bones aching.

  The water was rising.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn’t staying in this car another minute.

  “Did you hear me?” She tried to shout over the rushing water, but the words came out warbled. “About the accident?”

  “I heard you,” the deputy said, a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get a description of the vehicle and the driver once you’re squared away.”

  “A t-truck, I th-think.”

  She attempted to reconstruct the moments before careening off the road, but the images at the edges of her vision blurred.

  Someone had tried to kill her, and they’d nearly succeeded.

  Her eyes must have drifted shut, because the next instant, Deputy McCourt was gently nudging her. “Stay with me.”

  He was somewhere in his early thirties and handsome in an earnestly boyish kind of way. The weak beam of light from the highway above wasn’t strong enough to see his eyes, but she had a vague impression they were blue. His beard was dark, and she assumed the hair beneath his brimmed hat matched. He was tall—his shape hidden beneath his enveloping slicker.

  The car shifted, and she frantically reached beneath the water to unfasten her seat belt. The mechanism released, and the sudden freedom sent pain shooting through her shoulder.

  She clutched her upper arm and groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” The deputy steadied her through the broken window. “What happened?”

  The strap had been cutting into her collarbone, but she’d been too preoccupied by everything else to notice. “I’m f-fine. Just the seat belt.”

  Her lips were going numb, making speech difficult. She pressed her palm against her throbbing head and winced.

  The deputy broke the few remaining glass shards from the surrounding window frame. “You’ll have to crawl out. I’ll help you.”

  “A-all right.”

  As she drifted in and out of consciousness, the next few minutes passed in a blur. Strong arms lifted her from the car’s wreckage. The pain came in gasping waves. Even the slightest movement jolted her battered limbs. Once the deputy had positioned her on the backboard, she struggled feebly against his insistence on checking her for additional injuries. She was fine. She could walk. As he secured her upper body, a shaft of pure agony jerked through her.

  “Sorry,” the deputy mumbled. “You have a dislocated shoulder.”

  She blinked rapidly through the rain streaming over her face. “Can you put it back?”

  “Take a deep breath.” He hovered over her, his gaze intense. “This is gonna hurt.”

  His sharp movement caused an anguished cry, but the relief was almost immediate.

  “You’re right,” she gasped. “That hurt.”

  At least she’d learned one thing about herself—she appreciated honesty.

  He brushed the back of his gloved hand over her temple. “Sorry.”

  Stepping away, he slipped out of his raincoat.

  She held up a restraining hand. “I’m already soaked. Y-you need that more than I do.”

  “No arguments.” He leaned over her, adjusting the ties near her head, his body shielding her from the worst of the rain. “You can at least pretend like I’m in charge, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am,” she said weakly, wondering if he’d even hear her words over the rain. “Makes me feel old.”

  His expression shifted. “What else should I call you?”

  She probed the edges of her memory but met only an endless blank wall.

  A sudden terror took hold, as though she was standing on the edge of a void. Her lungs constricted, and she couldn’t breathe. She desperately searched for something that made sense. She knew the man standing above her was a deputy. She recognized the insignia on his hat. Clinging to that one simple fact, she inhaled deeply. If she followed familiar items, they’d lead her out of this shadowy maze.

  He clasped her hand. “Never mind. Don’t try and remember. We’ll stick with ma’am for now.”

  The deputy made a signal with his hand and the backboard heaved. She grimaced, attempting to hide her discomfort.

  “You’re doing great,” he said, his face a blur in the falling rain. “Not much longer.”

  “I don’t have anything else planned.”

  He grinned. “Keep that sense of humor.”

  Images raced through her head. She recalled the steady swish of the windshield wipers—the crash of thunder. The visions were like memories from a dream—hazy and unfocused. Had she imagined the whole thing? She couldn’t have. There’d been a white pickup truck. The driver had crossed in front of her, striking her driver’s-side bumper. The blow had sent her car tumbling. The glass around her had shattered.

  Then—nothing.

  Her pulse sputtered. That was the worst part—the nothing. The nothing was horrifying. When she neared the edge of her memories, her stomach dropped as though she was falling. As though she was dropping into an endless void.

  The only thing she knew for certain was the shocking feel of her car rolling down the hill, and the deputy’s soothing voice. Everything else was gone.

  Erased.

  When they neared the top of the embankment, another deputy joined them. He was older. Thinner. Not as handsome as Deputy McCourt, and his expression was stricken. Did she really look that bad? The two men rapidly unfastened her from the backboard, and the second man reached for her.

  She frantically clutched Deputy McCourt’s arm. “No.”

  The reaction came from a gut instinct she didn’t understand and couldn’t govern. Uncontrollable trembling seized her body, and her teeth chattered.

  “You drive, Bishop,” Deputy McCourt ordered. “We’ll take my truck.”

  He gathered her in his arms, compressing her shaking limbs. He was the only solid thing in her world, the only person she remembered. She pressed her cheek into the damp material of his shirt, her mind filling in the blank spaces with impressions of him. His deep, baritone voice, the curve of his lips in a half smile, the feel of his rough beard against her cheek as he’d drawn her close.

  “I’m s-so cold,” she murmured, her mouth close to his ear.

  The next moment the rain ceased pounding her skin, and a door slammed. She gasped in sheer relief. The noises outside were instantly muffled, soothing even. She was sheltered. She was safe. Reckless gratitude flooded through her, and she never wanted to leave the protection of the deputy’s arms. His strength and self-assurance were comforting. Everything outside the circle was unknown.

  “Not much longer,” he said, his warm breath a soothing balm against her chilled s
kin. “Stay with me.”

  “T-tell me your name again,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse. “Y-your first n-name.”

  For reasons she couldn’t explain, his brief hesitation alarmed her.

  “Liam. My name is Liam.”

  She sensed his ambivalence toward her. As though he didn’t want to be kind to her but couldn’t find it in his nature to act unkind.

  “Liam,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue, but there was no spark of familiarity. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so, ma’am, but I haven’t lived in town long.”

  Panic threatened to crush her. How much had she forgotten? What if she was imprisoned in this vacant place forever?

  Her breath came in shallow puffs. The memory flashed in her mind again. A white truck. The crash of steel on steel. The sound of breaking glass. Then...nothing.

  As though familiar with her moods, Liam seemed to sense the moment the wave of anxiety threatened to drown her.

  “You’re all right,” he soothed. “The doc at the ER is good. He’s reliable. I’ve never seen his car parked outside Red’s Bar and Grill. That’s something around here. Not much else to do.”

  The even drone of his voice steadied her. She couldn’t look backward; she had to look forward.

  Something touched her elbow and she started.

  Liam chuckled. “Don’t worry. She’s harmless. She’s my unofficial deputy today. Say hello, Duchess.”

  The muzzle of a rust-colored Pomeranian nuzzled her arm, provoking a reluctant grin.

  A staticky voice sounded over the police radio. “I have a positive ID on the license plates,” the voice declared.

  “Go ahead,” the deputy who was driving said.

  She was breathless, her heart pounding as though she was standing on the edge of a precipice. If the dispatcher said her name, surely there’d be a spark of recognition.

  “The car is registered to a female. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Five feet five inches, one hundred and thirty pounds, age twenty-nine. Initial background check has her occupation listed as self-employed. Journalist. The name is Emma Lyons.”

  Nothing. No flash of memory. No spark of recognition. Nothing. Her stomach pitched, and her fragile world collapsed.

  Someone wanted Emma Lyons dead.

  Someone wanted her dead.

  Why?

  Copyright © 2019 by Sherri Shackelford

  ISBN-13: 9781488040726

  Covert Christmas Twin

  Copyright © 2019 by Heather Humrichouse

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  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.

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