by Julie Cannon
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About Julie Cannon’s Work
By the Author
Author’s Note
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Barrett and Kelly, two complete strangers, shared a harrowing experience where they were completely dependent on each other for survival. When Barrett is rescued and forced to leave Kelly behind, she returns several months later to free her from their captors. After returning home, they go their separate ways and try to pick up their lives, but circumstances and feelings they didn’t expect pull them together and threaten to drive them apart.
Can love overcome feelings of guilt, obligation, gratitude, debt, and responsibility?
What Reviewers Say About Julie Cannon’s Work
In Smoke and Fire…“Cannon skillfully draws out the honest emotion and growing chemistry between her heroines, a slow burn that feels like constant foreplay leading to a spectacular climax. Though Brady is almost too good to be true, she’s the perfect match for Nicole. Every scene they share leaps off the page, making this a sweet, hot, memorable read.”—Publishers Weekly
Breaker’s Passion is…“an exceptionally hot romance in an exceptionally romantic setting. …Cannon has become known for her well-drawn characters and well-written love scenes.”—Just About Write
In Power Play…“Cannon gives her readers a high stakes game full of passion, humor, and incredible sex.”—Just About Write
About Heartland…“There’s nothing coy about the passion of these unalike dykes—it ignites at first encounter and never abates. …Cannon’s well-constructed novel conveys more complexity of character and less overwrought melodrama than most stories in the crowded genre of lesbian-love-against-all-odds—a definite plus.”—Richard Labonte, Book Marks
“Cannon has given her readers a novel rich in plot and rich in character development. Her vivid scenes touch our imaginations as her hot sex scenes touch us in many other areas. Uncharted Passage is a great read.”—Just About Write
About Just Business…“Julie Cannon’s novels just keep getting better and better! This is a delightful tale that completely engages the reader. It’s a must read romance!”—Just About Write
“Great plot, unusual twist and wonderful women. …[I Remember] is an inspired romance with extremely hot sex scenes and delightful passion.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Because of You
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Because of You
© 2014 By Julie Cannon. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-256-4
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: October 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Come and Get Me
Heart 2 Heart
Heartland
Uncharted Passage
Just Business
Power Play
Descent
Breakers Passion
Rescue Me
I Remember
Smoke and Fire
Because of You
Author’s Note
I worked for an oil and gas company for a few years and one of my co-workers was a man who had been kidnapped by the FARC. He was on a fishing trip when he was abducted and he was held captive for nine months and a few odd days. He could tell you the exact number of days and hours. He was not a young man but in his mid-sixties when he was taken and it took a toll on him mentally and physically. This is not his story, it was started many years ago, but his tales over coffee and bagels sounded exactly like my research. We’re not perfect so any misinformation about the FARC, Columbia, or hostage reintegration is my responsibility alone. This is a work of fiction but it happens more times than we could ever imagine.
Dedication
To all the men and women who are waiting to come home and those who never did.
Prologue
“I’m not leaving without her!”
She fought the hands that held her arms tight against her sides. The man was well over six feet tall and so strong she knew she’d have several bruises from his fingers gripping her arms. His buddy was equally built, and his crooked nose said that he too was used to physical violence to get what he wanted.
“We’re here to get you, lady. Nobody else,” Broken Nose said through clenched teeth.
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving her,” she shouted, accentuating her last few words.
The men had come in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness that the flares and grenades they’d lobbed at her home had obliterated. She was swept off her feet before she was able to stand and hustled into the jungle. She managed to twist around and find the dark eyes of the woman who had shared the terror with her and who was now quickly disappearing out of view.
She fought with every ounce of strength in her, kicking and scratching the man that held her. Her foot made contact with his shin, causing a muffled obscenity to escape his lips.
“Let me go.” She jerked free on those words and had taken two steps in the direction of the woman before he grabbed her again. Their eyes locked, panic and desperation filling the smoky space between them. A sharp pain pierced her shoulder, and her knees buckled. Shouting voices and the sound of gunfire faded into blackness, along with the image of the desperate woman reaching out to her.
Chapter One
Bogota, Columbia
A lone bead of sweat snaked a crooked path between her breasts on its way to her navel. It was hotter than hell, even with the air-conditioning blasting on high. She’d lived in hot places before so she was used to the heat, but the humidity was killing her. Glancing around the room she couldn’t help but sigh in exasperation. She shouldn’t be here. She could have sent one of her staff to these meetings, but they’d insisted on her.
She had better things to do. She was way beyond this mundane jabber about contract extensions, working hours, and local versus U.S. suppliers. She was the owner of this
company, for God’s sake. She paid people to put up with this shit. That’s what Debra and James were here for.
Debra Packer, however, her vice president for Global Digital, had barely broken a sweat. How did she do that? In the nine years she’d known Debra, Barrett had never seen her sweat. Or in Debra’s case, the correct word would be perspire. Debra always said, “Ladies don’t sweat, they perspire.” Debra was impeccable, always perfectly put together, coiffed and fragrant. Every necklace matched her earrings, every bracelet a complement to her equally stylish accessories. It irritated the hell out of Barrett that she always had to wait for Debra who, if she played on their team, would be the poster girl for a lipstick lesbian.
How they had come to be business partners was still a mystery to her. Barrett was working on building her own software company when Debra had practically fallen into her lap. She was the granddaughter of her neighbor, a woman who’d lived next door to her for years, and Debra had knocked on her door one day and extended an invitation to dinner. After a plate of lasagna and several glasses of wine, Barrett had discovered that Debra had money to invest and she had all the brains to make Global Digital a reality. Over the years Debra had learned the business and become quite adept at landing big accounts, all the while never getting wrinkled. It didn’t hurt that the men in the room obviously would rather look at Debra than her. Debra could probably get them to buy central heating simply by batting her eyelashes.
Barrett, however, was miserable. They’d been sitting in this stuffy room for three days with five men, and she desperately needed a change of scenery and fresh air. Bogota Electric was negotiating with Global Digital for a new electric-power grid system to better manage their electrical-power distribution that, in the past dozen years, had provided only sporadic electricity to the growing city. Global Digital had been chosen over a handful of companies in the world that could fix their problem, and they’d had to get special permission from the U.S. State Department to do business with Bogota Electric. What a pain in the ass that process had been.
She couldn’t sit still any longer. She pushed her chair away from the large teak conference table. “Gentlemen, we’re to a point where Debra and James can answer any additional questions you may have,” she said, standing and nodding in the direction of Debra and her chief information officer. “If you’ll excuse me.” Even if they didn’t, she was out of here.
Barrett knew her departure was abrupt but she didn’t care. The discussions were routine and boring, at least to her, and she was, after all, the president of the company. She could do as she pleased and often did. Her reputation as a shark in business preceded her, and it was clear early on that this entire week was just a macho power play. They’d discussed nothing of substance and were basically at the same place as when they’d started. What crap.
Her car waited at the curb, and she didn’t spare the panhandlers a second glance as she got in, snapped her seat belt, and told the driver to return to the hotel. At least there the air-conditioning worked. The Hotel De La Opera was a five-star establishment located in the center of the country’s capital city. It was a quaint hotel from the outside, but once through the front door and into the expansive marble-filled lobby, she had immediately been able to tell that no expense had been spared. Her shoes tapped an angry cadence as she crossed the atrium, the sounds of muffled voices in the background.
Her room was large, at least by Columbian standards, with a king-size bed surrounded by soft lights, double sinks in the bath, a sitting room, and a well-stocked bar. She stripped and pulled on her swimsuit. The hotel amenities included a pool that Barrett considered barely above sub-standard, but she needed to burn off her irritation. She needed a few dozen laps and was determined to glide through the water for at least an hour. Fifteen pounds had snuck up on her while she sat behind her desk, and she was doggedly chasing each one away.
The water was tepid at best as she swam back and forth, her breathing even with each stroke. Her mind always cleared when she was in the water, but today it took longer than usual. She hadn’t wanted to come to Columbia. She knew very little about the country other than what she had Googled in preparation for this contract.
The fourth-largest country in South America, located southeast of the Panama Canal, Columbia was most recognized as a danger zone rife with drugs, violence, and poverty. The phrase Medellin drug cartel was a staple on the nightly news. She had consulted the best security experts before allowing any of her staff to enter the country, and the hotel provided exceptional security as well. They traveled to and from their client’s office in reserved, armor-plated cars.
Breathing hard, arms feeling rubbery, Barrett climbed out of the pool and slid the thick terry-cloth robe over her suit. She grabbed a towel and rubbed her hair, squeezing the excess water from her long locks. She’d been toying with the idea of cutting it much shorter but hadn’t yet made an appointment. A waiter brought her a bottle of water, and she didn’t bother to thank him before lying back on the chase lounge, dark sunglasses covering her eyes.
If Aaron could see her now he’d call her wasteful, decadent, spoiled, and a variety of other adjectives she was confident he’d have no trouble coming up with. Her brother was the greenest greenie she’d ever met. He didn’t own a car, lived in a two-bedroom house with his wife and daughter, and faithfully and meticulously recycled everything according to the pamphlet that came with the blue bin. He was a strict vegan, washed his clothes in cold water, and abhorred excess of any kind. He frowned at her flying first class, thinking she should at least fly coach. He even went so far as to suggest she conduct the meeting by video conference to save on jet-fuel consumption.
The fact that she made a hundred times the money he did didn’t bother him at all. She worked hard and earned every fucking penny. She could do whatever in the hell she wanted with it. So she flew first class. So what? So she ate at the best restaurants, big deal. And the outfit she wore today now lying in a heap on the floor in her room probably cost more than the waiter made in a year. Who cared? She didn’t. She was all about work as well as play, with more than an occasional sleepover. Her personal relationships were superficial and fleeting. Other than her family, she’d never had any feelings one way or the other about anyone in her life.
Aaron had warned her against coming to Columbia. Based on the info he’d dumped on her over dinner last week, he must have trolled the Web for days for scary information on the country.
How could they be so different yet still be a product of the same parents? He was tall and skinny, well over six feet, whereas she was an average five foot six inches and, excluding the additional weight, had managed to keep her college weight of a hundred twenty-five pounds. The only thing about her similar to her older brother, other than the fact that they both liked to have sex with girls, was their hair. Her blond locks were long, naturally wavy and thick. He kept his equally curly hair cropped short and efficient.
Finally relaxed, Barrett strolled back to her room. It was only a little after four in the afternoon and she was restless. She showered, then pulled on a pair of loose khakis, a worn T-shirt, and sandals. She put her cash in her front pocket, her passport in the other, and her sunglasses on top of her head. She knew enough to dress inconspicuously while in the country. Any show of bling or money would be like a beacon to thugs or other street riff-raff. Jesus, couldn’t these people at least take care of the tourists that brought money into their country? Without a glance at herself in the mirror she opened the door and stepped into the hall.
The elevator took her to the ground floor, and the doors silently swept open. The lobby was crowded with guests checking in, and she weaved her way through the crowd and out the front door.
Her guide was waiting for her and she fell into step beside him, pulling her sunglasses off her head and covering her eyes. She wasn’t about to walk around this city without a guide. She’d studied a local map and knew where they were going, but no way would she be on the streets without some type
of protection.
The sun was hot and the air thick. What in the hell am I doing, she asked herself. She could care less about the local trinkets and trash, as she called the typical tourist wares, but she would only be doing this for her family.
They walked for a few minutes, then turned left on the second street past what looked like a post office. An unpleasant scent filled her nostrils. God, what was that smell? She tried not to gag and definitely didn’t want to know. The crowds thickened the closer they got to the outdoor market, until she was rubbing elbows with complete strangers.
She browsed up and down the aisles, picking up a trinket here, a souvenir there. Even with her opinion of tourist crap, she had a bookcase in her office filled with authentic items that were native to the countries where she traveled. One shelf contained a Japanese Geisha doll, a beer stein from Germany, a piece of the Great Wall, an Italian-leather letter opener, and a gold nugget from Africa.
She juggled her packages and the bottle of water she’d just bought and approached the last stall in the row. The bright colors caught her attention, and she knew she could find just the right thing for Aaron. Two men crowded into the space with her.
*
More times than not, Barrett thanked her mother for insisting she take Spanish in high school. Granted, it had been years almost twenty years ago, but only for the sheer advantage she would have in business and in her personal life she kept fluent by occasionally watching the financial reports on the Spanish-speaking television station Telemundo.
