Travis laughed. “Because she’s going to marry me, and we’re all going to live together as a family. What do you say to that?”
Willow paused for a moment and then nodded her approval.
“Okay,” she said. “I like that.”
Travis laughed. “I like that, too.”
Very, very much. More than he had words to say.
“Seth said my book is fiffy towns of ‘spensive,” Willow said seriously. “But I tol’ him it’s mine and Dominic’s.”
Travis glanced at Seth and felt his eyebrows rise. He and Seth had searched the book, inside and out, in the days following Alvin’s arrest and had not been able to find any reason why anyone would kill for it.
“Took me a while,” Seth said. “But I finally found out why Alvin went through that whole Shiny Man scheme to try to get his hands on Willow and Dominic’s bedtime storybook. It’s a rare first edition with the unique error of being stitched upside down. It’s valued anywhere from fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Travis felt his eyes widen. He fought the urge to whistle.
“But it’s mine and Dominic’s!” Willow said firmly. “I bought it with my own money!”
Travis nodded. “Yes, it’s yours and Dominic’s. And we’re going to get a very special box with a combination lock to keep it in until you and Dominic are old enough to decide what to do with it. Okay?”
Willow paused a moment. Then nodded and smiled. “Okay.”
“Now—” Travis glanced at Seth “—give Jess and me a moment? Then we’ll all go talk to Patricia together.”
Seth glanced at Jess and nodded. Then the hacker took Willow by the hand and led her up to where Patricia sat on the porch.
“Willow has taken that book out on the motorboat at least twice this summer,” Travis said. “And left it on the grass overnight. Thankfully it never got rained on or fell in the lake. I can’t believe we had something that valuable in our hands this whole time and didn’t see it.” Jess chuckled and he laughed, too. “Yeah, I get the irony.”
“Sounds like Willow and Dominic have quite the little nest egg for their future,” she said.
“Apparently,” Travis said.
He glanced to where his adopted family now gathered on the porch. Then he looked back down at the beautiful woman in his arms. Jess’s lips brushed his and he lifted her up off her feet as he kissed her back, knowing that in her he’d found all the treasure he’d ever need.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, look for these other books in the Protected Identities series by Maggie K. Black:
Christmas Witness Protection
Runaway Witness
Keep reading for an excerpt from Undercover Threat by Sharon Dunn.
Dear Reader,
When Rescuing His Secret Child came out, I got a lot of letters from readers about my valiant little soldier, five-year-old Zander. They were really wonderful to read and I wish I had space here to answer them all. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to sneak Zander into this book, but as his daddy Nick reports, he now has a little sister.
Many of you asked how I’d come up with Zander. Well, my secret writing weapon is my twelve-year-old daughter. She was only six weeks old when I sold my very first book and grew up watching me write around her. She has a brilliantly creative mind and is one of the very best people to bounce ideas off of.
She helped name baby Fitz from The Littlest Target and Eve from Protective Measures, and it was her idea for K-9 dog Queenie to play “doggie doggie who’s got the phone?” in Standing Fast. For this book, I asked her to help me invent another child character and so Willow was created.
I hope one day she writes her own stories.
Thank you again for all of your amazing letters. They encourage me so much and spark so many wonderful ideas. You can message me online at www.maggiekblack.com or find me on Facebook and Twitter under MaggieKBlack.
Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
Mags
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
Courage. Danger. Faith.
Find strength and determination in stories of faith and love in the face of danger.
6 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!
Undercover Threat
by Sharon Dunn
ONE
Undercover Drug Enforcement agent Grace Young stepped into the dark galley of the cruise ship where she was working as a cook. She took in a deep breath to try to release some tension in her body. The anonymous note had said to meet in the kitchen at midnight. The rest of the crew and passengers were sound asleep.
Since being hired on, Grace had dropped hints of how cash-strapped she was. She’d implied that she’d had brushes with the law. Would this meeting be her “in” for finding out how drugs, mostly meth, were being manufactured in Seattle, trafficked up through Canada and then brought back into the United States via the northern border? DEA had traced most of the transport to one particular cruise line that did tours of the San Juan Islands and Canada. Whether the owner of the cruise line, Mitchell Wilson, was involved or if someone who worked for the cruise line was running the operation was not clear. Only Grace’s undercover work could ferret that out.
She tuned her ears to her surroundings, hearing only the creaking of the ship. Wind had picked up and the ship was lilting side to side at a more extreme angle. A storm was moving in. She reached for the light switch.
A hand went over her mouth.
Hot lava breath pummeled her ear. “I know what you’re up to.”
Had her cover been blown? How would he have found out? If so, she was a dead woman. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She didn’t recognize the man’s voice. This was a small ship with a crew of only fifteen and forty passengers. His voice was generic in character.
The man wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her even closer. She felt pressure on her stomach, making it hard to breathe.
She tried to twist free.
“No one horns in on my game, you hear me?”
So her cover wasn’t blown. This guy just didn’t want to share his illegal cash cow with anyone. Was he the only operator for this leg of the trafficking? “You mean to tell me you’re the only one who gets to see some green from this little gig of yours? Come on, share the wealth.”
“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or what you know but stay out.”
She relaxed a little. Maybe he was just going to warn her and let her go.
“I can tell you love to run your mouth.” He pressed his lips close to her ear again. “You’re going to tell someone what I’ve been doing, aren’t you?”
Fear came back tenfold. His voice was filled with murderous rage. She shook her head even as her heart pounded.
“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he said.
His words chilled her to the bone. He was probably going to kill her and throw her overboard. She had to get away. She kicked him hard in the shin.
He released his hold and she whirled around. He pulled a gun out from his waistband. It had a silencer on it. No one would hear the shot.
Though it was dark, she recognized him as one of the crew members who worked above deck, not someone she interacted with much. She knew him by first name only, Joe.
They stood staring at each other. He raised the gun so the red dot laser sight landed on her chest.
Her heart raced. She put a protective hand out as if that would stop the bullet. “If I disappear that will raise a red flag to the authorities. You don’t want the cops sniffing around, do you?”
She took a step back toward the counter, remembering that she had taken an open bag of flour out of the pantry to make biscuits in the morning.
He sneered and stepped toward her, still aiming the gun at her chest. “They’ll never find your body. I’ll just tell a sto
ry about what a druggie you were. That you probably fell overboard.”
She spun, grabbed the bag of flour off the counter and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the head, creating a cloud around him. The move seemed to stun him. He’d dropped the gun.
She turned and raced toward the door to get down the hall where the rest of the crew slept. She’d wake the captain, tell him this man had tried to rob her at gunpoint. He’d be taken into custody at the next port. The ruse would buy her time and maybe keep her cover intact.
He gave up looking for the gun and blocked her way to the hallway.
She did an about-face and sprinted toward the stairs. She had no choice but to go on deck where the passengers slept in their rooms. She’d have to bang on doors and raise a ruckus.
She ran halfway up the stairs.
A hand with an iron grip wrapped around her ankle and dragged her back down. She twisted around and kicked him in the face. The move was enough to paralyze him for a moment. She flipped over and bolted up the stairs.
He was right at her heels, reaching out to grasp her shirt hem. She pulled away.
She sprinted to get above deck. The ship rocked and swayed, and the wind blew around her. The storm was picking up. He did not come right after her, which meant he must have gone back for the gun.
She’d taken two steps toward the long corridor that led to where the passengers were sleeping in their rooms when he grabbed her from behind. She spun around to defend herself so she could escape. He must have put the gun in his waistband again. Maybe he was afraid of witnesses. People might be awake because of the storm. Otherwise, he would have shot her in the back.
He clamped his hands around her neck, squeezing. She tried to push him away by pressing her hand against his chest. She pinched his pectoral muscle, not exactly in the DEA training manual, but it worked. He let go.
The ship continued to sway, tilting at a severe angle. They both fell and slid across the deck as a spray of water hit her. The storm was getting worse. The captain must have been at the helm by now even if crew members hadn’t been pulled out of bed yet. Could she get to him before this man shot her or threw her overboard? Maybe she should just scream for help, though she doubted she would be heard above the noise of the storm.
They both rose to their feet. She tried to find her balance on the unsteady platform. Joe stalked toward her. He clamped his hand on the front of her neck and pushed her until her back was against the railing of the ship. Again, he tried to choke her, trapping her in with his other hand. She clawed at his hands. She could feel herself getting light-headed. In her peripheral vision, she saw the high rolling waves coming toward the ship. Hitting the side. Splashing across the deck.
“Something wrong here?” The voice sounded very far away.
Joe let up on the hold he had on her neck.
On the far side of the deck the crew member who had called out to her, whose name she did not know, had emerged, probably to deal with issues connected to the storm.
“He tried to hurt me!” She was shouting to be heard above the intensity of the waves and wind, but it felt like her words fell at her feet.
Joe took the gun out and pointed it at the other crew member, who put his hands up. They all had to put their energy into not falling. None of them had solid footing on the rocking ship. She lunged toward Joe, intending to snag the gun away from him. An innocent man didn’t need to die. The two wrestled with the gun. The crew member disappeared around a corner. He would get help. This would all be over soon.
Joe hit her across the jaw with the gun. She stumbled backward against the railing.
He aimed the gun at her. He must have known he had only minutes before he’d be found out. She braced for the impact of the bullet. A wave came up, washing over her and the entire ship. She felt herself being lifted up and then sucked underwater. She surfaced long enough to get a breath. She’d been pulled overboard by the wave.
She caught a glimpse of Joe anchoring himself by clinging to the railing before another wave covered her.
The ship drew farther away as more waves hit it. It was lilting to one side. Something wasn’t right with the ship.
It must have been taking on water.
She tried to swim but the waves crashed against her, hitting her body with such force it was like being hit with liquid rocks.
The last thing she saw was Joe cutting the dinghy loose and getting into it. He knew he’d been caught. Was he going to try to get away or come after her? Maybe both.
As she struggled to stay above water, she wondered if she might die. In a way, maybe that would be relief from the pain she’d been trying to outrun. She’d been taking dangerous assignments ever since her two-year-old daughter had died and her marriage had fallen apart as a result three years ago.
Another waved crashed over her, pulling her under. She struggled for air, slicing her arms through the weight of the water to try to get back to the surface. She didn’t want to die.
Was there a God? Would He hear her if she cried out to Him?
* * *
Coast Guard rescue swimmer Dakota Young stood at the edge of the helicopter ready for his drop. He searched the turbulent waters surrounding the San Juan Islands. The storm had come up with a vicious intensity. Way beyond what the forecast had predicted.
They’d received calls of boats taking on water. And of people tossed overboard. He surveyed the ocean below. He saw a man in a motorized dinghy and then a smaller object in the water caught his eye. “There.” He pointed. His was trained to discern the gray of the water from the color of a person’s head and arms. At this distance, he couldn’t tell if the person in peril was male or female. They would rescue the man in the dinghy but the person in the water was priority. He watched as the person, aware of the helicopter, tilted his or her head for just a moment before being covered by another wave.
The helicopter dropped in altitude. Wind gusted against the body, rocking it.
Dakota took in a breath that contained a silent prayer. This was not going to be an easy drop. Though he had not been raised a Christian, he’d found a deep faith during his training with the Coast Guard. The life-and-death situations the men and women faced made them cling to each other and to God.
The pilot’s voice reverberated in the radio in Dakota’s ear. “That’s as close as I can get.”
The chopper jerked from the force of the wind. Dakota gave the pilot the thumbs-up and he nodded at the other two crew members. Dressed in a dry suit and flippers, Dakota made the leap into the roiling dark waters. He hit the surface and plunged beneath, trusting that his body would naturally rise back up.
Now he could see that he was dealing with a woman. She was clinging to a piece of wood or plastic; he couldn’t tell exactly what it was. She tried to ride the waves as they rolled over her. As he stroked through the water, he had a view of only the back of her head, her long hair soaked and stringy. She turned, her expression growing wide with recognition. He almost didn’t believe what he was seeing. The woman in the water was his ex-wife, Grace.
Dakota was transported back to three years ago. His marriage had fallen apart after the death of their little girl, Anita. Grace had become depressed. At first, he had poured himself into his work as a DEA agent. They drifted apart. Once the divorce was final, he’d joined the Coast Guard knowing that he had to do something that was more life-giving. He hadn’t seen his ex-wife in three years.
He swam toward her. “Grace, I’m going to get you out of here.”
Already the chopper was lowering the rescue basket, though the high winds made it a challenge to achieve any degree of accuracy.
Her hand touched his cheek briefly. “Dakota. How strange that it should be you.” He suspected there was a whole story around her comment but now was not the time to find out.
She was shivering, cold and wet. If hypothermia had not set in, it
would soon. He could only guess at how long she’d been in the cold waters.
She was still clinging to the wooden board. He had to shout above the roar of the waves. “Let go of the board and hold on to me.”
She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, then he stroked toward where the rescue basket was still being whipped around in the wind. They drew closer. Hours of exercise and training gave him the stamina he needed to tow Grace and still make progress through the waves.
Well trained to stay calm in perilous situations, she clung to him. If she had fought him by flailing out of panic as some victims did, he might have to let go until she calmed enough so she didn’t take them both under. That was the hardest part of rescue.
Above the wind and the crashing waves, a different kind of noise reached his ears, a sort of piercing zing. He glanced across the water, shocked to see the man in a motorized dinghy taking aim at them. The man fired several times.
Dakota was within five feet of the rescue basket. The chopper jiggled and then slanted to one side.
Through his earpiece radio, Dakota heard the pilot’s panicked voice. “Got some sort of engine failure. Maybe damage from the storm. Will limp back to base. Pray we make it. Calling for help. Someone will come for you.”
The pilot must have been so focused on his job that he hadn’t noticed the man in the dinghy shooting at them.
Smoke swirled from the helicopter motor as a mechanical grinding noise replaced the smooth hum of the engine. A package was pushed out of the chopper. Dakota knew that they had provided whatever they could to help him.
The chopper turned and twisted, still dragging the rescue basket. Islands in the sound were within sight but still some distance away. He prayed they would find safe landing before the motor gave out if they couldn’t get back to base.
Grace screamed as the man fired yet another shot. Dakota worked his way toward where the chopper had dropped something, trying to put distance between himself and the shooter.
Witness Protection Unraveled (Protected Identities Book 3) Page 18
