by Rebecca York
She’d been so prepared for dismissal that all she could do was stand and stare at him in a sort of dumb-eyed confusion. “But I brought Enders onto the estate. I almost got you killed. I—”
He took another step forward and pressed his fingers to her lips. “And when you realized the part you played in that, you did everything in your power to put things right. God, it killed me to let you keep the appointment with Johnson, but I couldn’t say anything—because I knew it would make your job more dangerous. If he’d thought I cared about what happened to you, he would have used that against me. So all I could do was let you go—then follow you down here.”
“Oh, Glenn.” She threw herself against him, wrapped her arms around him and held tight.
He hugged her close, and she clung, molding the contours of her body to his. When he began to speak, his voice was stronger. “You were right. I’ve been afraid to live in the real world since Operation Clean Sweep. I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling, so I walled myself off in a castle like a monster. But you marched in there and shook up my life. Then you got your memory back, and the worst part was knowing that what you’d been told about me wasn’t so far from the truth.”
“Weren’t you listening to anything General Dorsey said? Don’t you know why he and Blake and all the rest of them are so loyal to you? They know you’re a good man fighting for what he thinks is right. Fighting for other people’s lives. That’s why they were all so hostile to me. They thought I wanted to hurt you. And they wanted to protect you.”
He stared at her, stunned, as if none of that had ever occurred to him.
“But you have to let yourself live, too. You have to do that for me and Tommy, and everyone else who—who loves you and needs you to be there for them.”
“I’m not exactly lovable,” he said, his voice thick.
“That’s not your call.” Tipping her face up, she clasped the back of his head and brought his lips down to hers. She thought she’d lost him; now she tried to tell him with her mouth and with her body what he meant to her.
“I love you. I love you so much,” he gasped when he finally lifted his head.
“And I love you, too.”
One hand moved possessively up and down her back while the other tangled in her hair, and again he covered her mouth with his. His hand crept under her shirt, splaying across the heated skin of her back, kindling raw need inside her.
She made a frenzied sound, moving against him, suddenly frantic to get as close as she could. When the kiss finally broke, she was giddy enough to contemplate pulling him into the back seat of the car and ripping off his clothing.
Before she could do it, a helicopter swooped low and circled them. Looking up, she saw grinning faces pressed to the windows.
“So much for privacy,” Glenn muttered. He made a chopping gesture with his hand, and the spectators sped away.
Again he wrapped her close, but she sensed he was making an effort to control himself now.
“There’s got to be a motel around here,” he muttered.
“Probably. And undoubtedly some very nice country inns.”
“Will you go to one with me?”
“I’ll go anywhere with you,” she answered from the bottom of her heart as he opened the door and ushered her into the car.
He slipped into the drivers’ seat but didn’t immediately start the car. “You said things happened between us fast.”
“That’s because we both knew we’d found our soul mate,” she replied.
He turned toward her, his eyes sparkling like a sunrise. “Then it’s not too soon to ask you to marry me? I—I don’t want to waste any more time.”
Joy bubbled in her heart. “Yes. No. I mean you’re not moving too fast. Well, actually,” she amended, “my head is spinning. But I’ll adjust.”
“If the ‘beast’ of Castle Phoenix can adjust to being happy, I think you can.”
“I’ll thank you not to talk that way about my future husband.”
She gave him a brilliant smile, then snuggled close as he backed the car out of the woods and headed for a place where she could show him how happy she truly was.
Epilogue
Meg stood in the doorway of the recreation room, watching the men who had gotten the medication Glenn had developed. They were all on the road to recovery—even the ones who had been in the worst physical and mental shape.
In the bright, cheery space washed with afternoon sunlight, some of them were playing board games. Some were watching television. Some were simply laughing and talking and getting used to feeling normal again.
When Tommy spotted her, he excused himself from the card table where he’d been sitting and came over.
“How are you doing, Miz Bridgman?”
She gave him a wide grin. “I’m doing very well. And you?”
“Never better.”
It wasn’t quite true, she knew. He still needed to gain back another thirty pounds along with considerable muscle tone. But she’d never dreamed she’d see him this healthy again. And for that she was profoundly grateful.
Glenn, who had been bending over the only man in a wheelchair, straightened and came over. It was Hal Dorsey, who was still fighting the insidious effects of his arthritis. But he seemed to be holding his own.
He watched with approval as Glenn moved to Meg’s side and slipped his arm around her. After a brief chat with Glenn, Tommy went back to his poker game.
“I have some notes on the Nepalese mountain herbs you wanted,” she said, holding up a blue folder.
“Fast work.” He took the papers from her and shuffled through them.
Before their marriage six months ago, Meg had left the Light Street offices of Adventures in Travel. Now she was working for Glenn, planning the details of foreign plantgathering expeditions and directing some of the physical activities for the Operation Clean Sweep team. Her expertise was in rock climbing, hiking, fishing and a host of other outdoor skills that the guys seemed to like a whole lot better than their more regimented physical-therapy sessions.
With the Jackal out of the picture, Glenn had reduced the security force at the castle. The men who’d stayed on staff were also in her program, and there was a friendly rivalry going on to see who could climb to the top of Little Falls Summit the fastest. So far, she still had the best time. But she suspected that Blake Claymore was going to claim the championship soon.
“So, can we get away for a few minutes to discuss this stuff?” she asked, gesturing toward the folder.
Glenn’s lips quirked, and she smiled into his eyes, giving silent thanks for the changes in his life. He was able to relax, able to enjoy the life they were making together. As their gazes held for a few more seconds, she was sure he knew that the report was only an excuse to be alone for a few hours.
They slipped around the corner, stole a kiss, and started toward their private apartment, arm in arm—two lovers still on their honeymoon.
And if Meg had her way, they always would be.
And there’s more 43 Light Street!
Turn the page for a bonus look at what’s in store for you in the next
43 Light Street book by Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York, coming to you in April 2000.
NEVER TOO LATE
Only from Harlequin Intrigue!
Chapter One
“The police are in town—asking questions about you.”
Mariana Reyes froze in front of the old porcelain sink where she stood with her hands plunged to the elbows in hot, soapy water. “Are you sure they’re police?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“They have the uniforms. The guns.”
Mariana nodded. Maybe they were police. Maybe they were imposters. But what did it matter? Word had reached her that Benito Lopez and three others were dead. And now the killers were coming for her.
She felt the chill of fear sink into her bones. It was all starting again—the running, the hiding, the endless terror that was too
much for any human being to endure. She didn’t know how they’d found her; she only knew that it was true.
In this high mountain village far from Santa Isabella, where the air was cold and clear, she’d lulled herself into believing that she was finally safe. For six months, she’d worked here as a teacher, made a home for herself. Yet all the time, in her soul, she’d been waiting for this moment to come.
The old woman behind her must have seen her defeated posture. “You have to go,” she said. “Quickly. For the niña.
Mariana straightened and dragged in a steadying breath. “Yes. For Alicia,” she said, knowing that she had to hold on to her sanity—for her daughter. Because the innocent child sleeping in the next room was the only thing that mattered.
Reaching for the rough towel hanging from a hook beside the sink, she dried her hands. A long time ago, washing her own dishes would have been unthinkable for Mariana Reyes. She’d lived in a huge white house full of servants who’d washed and fetched and carried according to her whims. She’d taken it all for granted, unaware how lucky she was—until the life she’d known had been snatched away.
She looked down at her rough, reddened hands, wondering if that time had only been a dream.
“Tonio is talking to them,” the old woman said. “He knows what to do. He’s sending them in the wrong direction to give you time to get away.”
“I don’t want him to be in trouble because of me.”
The old woman laughed. “He won’t. He knows how to act the fool when it’s convenient. He’s been doing it for years. Remember when your father used to get so angry with him when the oranges disappeared from the trees?”
A smile flickered on Mariana’s lips. “Yes,” she replied, even as she rounded the dark wooden table and headed for the little bedroom where her daughter slept, curled under a bright wool blanket that the women of the village had woven—the kind they had woven for hundreds of years.
Crossing to the bed, she stood looking down at her child, seeing the long, reddish hair. Her father’s hair.
The mouth was her father’s, too—well shaped, sensual. Quick to break into a smile. Incredibly, her eyes were like his, also. Not the deep brown of her own Spanish heritage, but an impossible sea green that grew dark with strong emotion.
For an endless moment she stood very still, fighting the stab of pain that always pierced her heart when she thought of the man she had no right to love. Then she stirred herself and began to move around the room, taking clothing from the shelves that lined the wall, pulling rough wool travel bags from under the bed. Her belongings were meager. Still, she couldn’t take everything.
“Mama?”
The quavering voice stopped her hand. She hadn’t wanted to wake Alicia. Not yet. Quickly she crossed to the bed, knelt at her daughter’s side.
Alicia sat up, looking from the empty shelves to the bags. “Are we leaving in the night? Like the last time?”
“Yes,” she whispered, hating the admission, hating the knowledge that her five-year-old daughter already possessed the wisdom of a hardened fugitive. “I’ve put out clothes. Can you get yourself dressed while I make some arrangements with Tía Susanna?”
“I’m a big girl.”
“I know.” She managed a smile, then returned to the only other room in the cinder-block cottage.
The old woman was waiting. “I’ve packed some food. You can go in the truck that’s taking produce to the market.”
“Please, you’ve done enough.”
“No. Not for you.” Susanna hesitated. “Will you take some advice?”
“Always.”
“Write the letter. The one you should have written years ago.”
Mariana felt her heart stop, then start again in double time. “I…can’t.”
“You must. This time, my child, you must swallow your pride.”
“I—”
“Don’t tell me no. Tell me you want to save your own life and the life of your child.”
She gave a tight nod, then whirled away. Before returning to the bedroom, she dried her clammy palms on her skirt and tried to wipe the look of sick panic from her face.
Don’t miss the next 43 Light Street title—NEVER TOO LATE—coming to you in April 2000.
Only from Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York and Harlequin Intrigue!
eISBN 9781459281189
MIDNIGHT CALLER
Copyright © 1999 by Ruth Glick
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly Inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Printed in U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Dear Reader
Title Page
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Other Books By
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
Epilogue
Preview
Copyright
