Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Elspeth made quick work, tying a clean linen bandage around the wound. A hollow pall filled the room when her song ended. Titus could have lain back and listened to her sing forever. Her eyes met his when she finished. They remained connected for a moment and Titus sucked in a gasp. Now that his face was inches from hers, Elspeth’s beauty captivated him. He reached out and brushed his fingers across her silken cheek, immediately pulling back when he felt her tremble and realized the impropriety of his gesture. She didn’t move.

  “Ye see. I can tend ye.” Her voice was low, almost sultry. She looked up and stared at him expectantly.

  Titus swallowed and forced himself to stand. It was late. If he turned her out, she’d be pounced upon by a mob of lustful, drunken legionaries. Something deep inside him twisted. Yes, this was a barbarian lass, the enemy, but something in his blood demanded he protect her. No one would be forcing himself on her—not if Titus had a say in it, and most especially not under his watch.

  Vindolanda was a burnt out shell and his domus had suffered the worst of the looting. The fortress needed days—weeks of repairs. There was no place fitting within the walls for her to bed down. To turn his back on her plight would be unconscionable. If I let her stay, I’ll only be performing my duty as a Christian. ’Tis how any loyal Roman subject should act. That is all.

  Groaning, he clapped his hands on his thighs. “Blast it all. Take my pallet. I shall sleep on my saddle blanket.”

  She placed a dainty hand over her mouth. Back to being a shy, fearful maid, I see. How many sides are there to this woman? “Oh no, I couldn’t put ye out, m’lord.”

  He held up a finger. “Not another word. I have been sleeping on it for a year, what is one more night? In the morning I will decide what is to be done with you.” His gaze fell to the knife in her belt. He held out his hand. “But I’ll take your blade first.”

  Her eyes narrowed with the thin line of her lips. “If I give it to you, I’ll have no means to protect meself.”

  “If I were going to harm you, you’d already be dead.” He spread his fingers demanding the knife. Titus didn’t rise to the post of centurion by being gullible. “I shall return it in the morn.”

  Elspeth slowly removed the dagger with its scabbard, her jaw set. “And I’d not have tended yer wound had I wanted to cut yer throat.”

  He snatched the weapon. She mightn’t be as helpless as she’d made out. After all, to slip into his chamber, she’d somehow made it through an entire contingent of men. He took a step back. “Unfortunately, in times of war, a soldier needs to take precautions.”

  For a split second, he could see a fire burn in her eyes. But she said nothing and looked down again. Titus watched her for a moment longer, trying to figure out what was it about this woman that made him so curious. He shook his head. He would have Bacchus find her a home on the morrow.

  About Amy Jarecki

  Amy adores Scotland. Though she now resides in southwest Utah, she received her MBA from Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh. Winning multiple writing awards, she has focused on the genre of Scottish historical romance. Her favorite eras are the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as well as the time of the Barbarian Conspiracy during the Roman occupation.

  Other books by Amy Jarecki:

  Captured by the Pirate Laird

  The Highland Henchman

  Beauty and the Barbarian

  Return of the Highland Laird

  Chihuahua Momma

  Virtue

  Boy Man Chief

  Celtic Maid

  Amy loves to meet her readers. Here are some ways you can connect with her:

  Visit her website and join her newsletter list (she only sends out a newsletter to announce a new release):

  www.amyjarecki.com

  Facebook

  Twitter

  Goodreads

  SCENT OF A SHADOW

  Jennifer Johnson

  Ninjas don’t exist, do they?

  Bonnie Moore earned the name the Bloodhound because of her ability to track down beneficiaries for the retirement systems of the Commonwealth. As a divorced mother of three, she has her hands full with her daughter’s relationship with a juvenile delinquent, her five-year-old son who sleeps on the floor next to her bed because he’s afraid of the dark, and her middle child who is—well—caught in the middle. Bonnie has more important things to worry about than her present case—a delusional man who claims to be a ninja.

  Brandt Sherrod makes his living slipping in and out of places undetected. So, when the Bloodhound finds him, he’s intrigued by her no-nonsense attitude, observant blue eyes, and her fierce, protective loyalty for her family. For a man who’s never had a family of his own, Brandt decides to give the Bloodhound a new trail to track.

  Can Brandt be trusted, or has he drawn Bonnie into a fantasy world of his making?

  Prologue

  Billy sat on the cement divider at the parking garage and watched the guy across from him suck on a cigarette. “That’ll kill you,” he commented.

  “Gotta die of something,” his companion replied.

  “There’s better ways to die.” Billy stared at the cars pulling out of the exit. He raised his hand and waved at a navy blue SUV.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Bonnie Moore. She’s a state worker. They call her the Bloodhound.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause she’s good at finding people. Mr. Brewer moved her to death benefits because she can find a needle in a haystack; even gave her an office because of the cases that come her way from all over the state. Last year she went out to this woman’s house because she couldn’t get her on the phone, and she was dead.”

  “Murdered?” the younger man blew out smoke, which dissipated in the warm breeze.

  “Naw. Heart attack they decided, but her son was cashing her retirement checks. When Bonnie couldn’t make contact with the woman, she called the police. They investigated and found the woman buried in the backyard.”

  “Get out.”

  Billy held up his right hand. “Truth. If there’s a missing person, Bonnie’s your gal.”

  “Bonnie’s my gal. I’ll remember that if I ever need somebody found.” Stubbing the cigarette in the sand on top of the receptacle, he walked toward the entrance. “You coming?”

  “We ought to wait until the offices close before we start cleaning. People don’t like it if you empty their trash when they’re still there.”

  “They don’t notice me. I’m the invisible man.”

  He shook his head at the younger guy. “Invisible man. If I get complaints, you’re going to wish you was the invisible man, especially if you go in people’s offices smelling like cigarettes.”

  “Maybe I’ll switch to a pipe. Pipe tobacco has a nice aroma.”

  “Nobody wants to smell tobacco at all. The only aroma you need to bring with you is the cleaner we use,” Billy said.

  “That stuff’s worse than the cigarette smoke.”

  “You aren’t going to be around very long with that kind of attitude,” Billy predicted.

  Chapter One

  Ninja

  Bonnie laughed at the occupation. Who would put that on their income tax form? Obviously, Brandt Sherrod thought it was okay to do. And the form had not been rejected.

  Amazing.

  She shook her head in derision.

  Ah, well, if the commonwealth gets its money, that’s all they care about. She scrolled to the W-2 form. Her eyes widened at the salary amount. Apparently, being a ninja was quite lucrative.

  The job paid a lot better than her own state job.

  So, who would employ a ninja? Bonnie looked at the employer name.

  Benjamin and Associates in Bellini, Kentucky. Bonnie wrinkled her nose. She’d never heard of Bellini or Benjamin and Associates Consulting. She Googled the company but the link took her to ESPN. Well, that was weird. The zip code was also odd. It had a letter for the last digit.

  Next Bonnie checked the Employe
r Identification Number. When she did a search on it, all she came up with was classification 47.

  47? What’s that mean?

  Marla Standridge came back from lunch and crooked her head when she saw Bonnie sitting at her desk.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Here was Marla’s desk in the state income tax department. Bonnie had ventured there from her own office in the retirement systems looking for more information on the ninja. Bonnie adopted an innocent stare. “I’m trying to locate somebody.”

  “You’re going to get me in big trouble, Bonnie.”

  “Look. The retirement system of Kentucky owes this guy money, and I can’t find him.”

  “Turn it over to unclaimed then. I don’t want to lose my job because you’re playing detective again.” Marla pulled her chair back and motioned for Bonnie to move.

  Bonnie vacated the chair. “I can’t link the employer to the EIN. I can’t even find the location of the employer. Could this guy have filed false information?”

  Marla took her seat and peered at the screen. “Let me see here.” Bonnie stood next to her friend’s chair and leaned down so she, too, could see the monitor. Marla typed on the keyboard. When the classification appeared, she closed the screen.

  “What did you do that for?” Bonnie complained. “I want—”

  All the color had drained from Marla’s face. She craned her head around the office as if making sure no one was watching them. Turning her head to Bonnie’s ear, she whispered. “EIN 47 means classified. My supervisor said it’s a hornet’s nest, and I’m not allowed to deal with those ever.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Huh.” Bonnie straightened. “Well, okay then.” No sense in telling Marla that Bonnie had printed the form out. She walked out of the office to the printer in the copy room to snag the document before someone else did. Luckily, no one else was there when she picked up the sheets and walked back by Marla’s cubicle. “Sorry, Marla. If you get in trouble, you can blame me.”

  “If I get in trouble, they may be dredging the river for my body.”

  Bonnie sniggered but stopped when she saw Marla’s serious expression. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Please don’t do this again, Bonnie. I appreciate that you’re committed to helping the beneficiaries of Commonwealth employees, but you’ve got to go through proper channels to do it.”

  “I go through proper channels first. I’d only hack into the KRS if I—”

  “Don’t say hack,” Marla interrupted. “Bonnie, stay on your floor, please, and out of my computer.”

  Bonnie slinked to the elevator feeling properly chastened. Marla had never minded her looking into the state income files before. Bonnie hoped Marla got over it because she was the only person Bonnie knew in revenue who didn’t mind bending the rules. She didn’t use Marla’s computer often, but she’d sure hate to lose that avenue when she needed it. What was so horrible about Employer Identification 47? Could it be the Mafia or something? Surely Kentucky didn’t have a Mafia…

  Drugs? Sure, but the state wouldn’t tolerate illegal drug dealers, would it?

  Bonnie stepped into the empty elevator when the doors opened and studied the papers in her hand. If those drug dealers paid their income taxes, it would be tempting to let them continue in their business. Just assign them an Employer Identification Number and warn away the lackeys.

  Bonnie sighed as she read his name. “Who are you, Brandt Sherrod, and who do you work for?”

  ****

  Bonnie leafed through the file she kept on Delores Park, retired teacher, until she found the woman’s obituary. The list didn’t include Brandt Sherrod, so why would she make him her beneficiary? Mrs. Park had been a widow when she died. She had two sisters still living, one right here in town. Maybe she knew who Brandt was and how Bonnie could reach him. Bonnie reached for the telephone book but after calling the Tacketts listed there, she still hadn’t reached the one she wanted. Dead ends every way she turned.

  Studying the newspaper column again, Bonnie noted Mrs. Park had belonged to Eastern Star, a fraternal organization affiliated with the Masons. Bonnie recalled a funeral she had attended for one of her aunts who belonged to Eastern Star. Several women from the chapter had come to the funeral to perform a simple ceremony of farewell. Perhaps one of them knew Delores well enough to know who Brandt was, or maybe they had met him at the funeral. Bonnie did an Internet search for non-profits and clapped her hands in triumph. The secretary of the local organization was Louise Tackett. It had to be Mrs. Park’s sister, and there was even a telephone number. I love you, Eastern Star!

  Within half an hour, Bonnie stepped into a modest home in Westwood, an older neighborhood in the city. Louise Tackett ushered her inside and invited her to the parlor.

  “Mrs. Tackett, I understand your sister Delores Park died earlier this year. I want to offer my condolences. On behalf of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, I’m trying to find Brandt Sherrod, her beneficiary. Did you know him?”

  “Brand? Well, my yes. He was one of Delores’s foster children.”

  Bonnie noted the variation of the name. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to find him on the Internet. She leaned forward. “Mrs. Park had foster children?”

  “Yes. Several of them. Brand, though, he was the last one and stayed with her the longest. Even after he was grown, he’d come back and visit her.” The older woman stood with some effort and walked to a door, which she opened to reveal a closet. She indicated a box on the top shelf. “If you’ll get that box for me. I may just have a picture.”

  Eagerly, Bonnie retrieved the box, and they sat on the couch while Mrs. Tackett leafed through neatly sorted photographs. She picked one up and peered at it. “Ah, yes. Here he is.” She handed it to Bonnie.

  Bonnie held the photo in her hand. A boy, perhaps twelve, gazed back at her with intense dark eyes under a thatch of black hair. A woman stood next to him with her arm on his shoulders. “Is this Delores with him?”

  “Yes. Here’s another one of Brand on his sixteenth birthday. Delores took him to get his driver’s license.”

  “So, he went by Brand?”

  “Brandt. Brand. I call him both. Delores called him Brand. It was a private joke between them. She called him her Brand New Child. He’d been passed around to several other families and told her the day he came that she wouldn’t want him for long because he was ‘used’, not a baby. It made her more determined to love him.” The woman held out the picture to Bonnie who took it.

  Bonnie’s eyebrows rose at the handsome teen behind the wheel of car with his hand at the window waving a greeting. “He was a cutie.”

  Mrs. Tackett smiled. “Indeed. Delores had to practically beat the girls off of him. He was a good boy though. Always home by curfew. Some of the other children she took in were hellions. Not Brand though, which was good because Delores was nearly retired when he came to live with her.”

  “How old is he now?”

  “Goodness. I’d say he’s around forty.”

  “What does Brand do now?”

  “I don’t really know. He never talked about his work to Delores, and after a while she quit asking.”

  Further evidence whatever Brandt did was illegal. Or maybe he knew his foster mother wouldn’t buy the story he was a fourteenth-century Japanese spy.

  “Where does he live?”

  “He…he travels a lot. Sort of a rolling stone, I guess you could say.”

  “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Bonnie quoted the proverb.

  “No, it doesn’t. Probably has a lot to do with his childhood before he came to live with Delores.”

  “Do you know how I could get in touch with him?” Bonnie had already sent two letters to him at the address Delores had listed but had heard nothing. The tax form listed an LPO address, which she never heard of before—though she had sent a letter there anyway.

  The woman studied B
onnie. “Brand is a very private person.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you giving me his number so I could contact him about the money the state owes him.”

  “Brandt doesn’t need the money.”

  “It was your sister’s wish for Brandt to have it.”

  Mrs. Tackett sighed. “Perhaps I could contact him for you.”

  “That would be very helpful.” Bonnie slipped her business card out of her skirt pocket and placed it on the coffee table. “Here is my card.”

  The older woman’s gaze fell to the card, but she didn’t reach for it. Oh, darn it. Bonnie wondered if she’d do anything with the card but throw it in the trash the minute Bonnie left.

  Her cell phone text ring sounded. “Excuse me, that’s my cell phone. Do you mind if I see who it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  Bonnie fished it out of her purse and looked at the screen.

  Mall?

  Kayla, Bonnie’s daughter, was asking permission to go to the mall.

  What about band practice?

  Cancelled.

  It had been thundering that afternoon. Bonnie knew sometimes the director cancelled practice if the gym wasn’t available to march in.

  Mall w/ who?

  Hannah B.

  Hannah Bradley. Sweet girl, and Bonnie could trust the two of them not to get into too much trouble. Bonnie’s own daughter was fifteen and had been out of hand lately. Bonnie blamed Kayla’s new boyfriend Rex, who was a very disrespectful seventeen. Why couldn’t he corrupt someone his own age?

  will call H’s mom & get bck 2 u

  Forget it.

  Bonnie pursed her lips. Hmm.

  She tucked her phone back in her purse. “Thank you, Mrs. Tackett.”

  When Bonnie arrived home later that afternoon with her two younger children, Andrew and Curtis, in tow she found Kayla already home and the obnoxious aroma of Rex’s cologne in the air. Kayla sat on the couch in front of the TV with an open textbook in her lap.