The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  Why did Mary have to be so set on talking her way out of things? With her background, growing up in the Middle East— He stopped on that. The Middle East. She had probably seen enough people killed— including her mother— to make her abhor violence.

  Connor could understand why she might want peace at any price, but these devils weren't the kind you talked to. "Might made right" to them. The only sure way to escape was to kill all of them. He edged himself closer to her, reluctant to allow any space between them. Her presence helped fuel his resolve.

  The truck slowed down and made a sharp turn to the right, bouncing over rough ground, throwing Mary up and down. Then it jerked to a stop, whacking the back of his head against the wall again. White pain flashed through his eyes, shooting stars with lightening. Next the back doors were unlatched and Wes jumped out.

  Outside, rain cascaded down, the heavy drops mixed with slush flakes that descended in a blanket of cold. Judd untied Connor's feet and allowed him and Mary to jump out and walk around while Wes and Ira collected Mary's gear.

  "Okay, Ramone," Judd yelled, calling forward to the driver. "Put it in the barn."

  Connor filled his lungs with clean air while sizing up their surroundings. He absorbed every detail he could, knowing their escape might hinge on some item he did or didn’t see. They had stopped at an old farmhouse, its gate less fence broken and useless, the paint peeled from the siding. No other houses were in sight. A huge thicket of blackberry bushes eight to ten feet high spread over the yard and outbuildings— including a collapsed garage and a small barn with part of its roof missing.

  Mary walked close to his side, picking her way through the tall grass, her slender frame bowed like a wounded soldier who needed his buddies to carry him home. Her fragile loveliness shook him deeply. He must protect her at all costs.

  The driver sauntered up to them and Connor got his first look at the fourth man. Short, dark-complexioned, with black, curly hair— Ramone was the vermin who had taken such pleasure in beating up Connor's mother.

  A chill traveled down Connor’s spine as Ramone turned evil eyes on Mary, his overly handsome face marred by the greedy desires of a predator. A cigarette hung slackly from his lips and a lecherous grin twisted his face as he motioned them forward.

  Connor swallowed hard against the helpless rage boiling up in him. He put himself between Ramone and Mary, following her into the building. Time was running out.

  Three candles sat upright in tin can holders and Connor glanced around the dirty kitchen with disgust. He could almost feel Mary cringe at the dried hamburger on the counter.

  Used paper cups and plates overflowed a cardboard box on the floor next to two empty five gallon buckets. Cigarette butts littered an old porcelain double sink tarnished with red rust stains arrowing from top to bottom, while newspapers and scraps of trash covered the cracked and curled linoleum floor. Black mold covered two walls, the musty smell permeating the room.

  Luckily, most of the windows were still intact. The few broken panes had been covered with cardboard. The temperature hung at just above freezing— the same inside as out— but at least they had shelter from the rain.

  "You need to untie my ropes," Mary said, her voice high and frightened. "Please. I've no feeling in my hands."

  Judd nodded at Ira, who untied them both. "Wes, take McLarren down to the river for water. Keep your distance— and your gun ready."

  "Should I go along?" Ira asked.

  "Nope. He won't try anything as long as we've got Mary. Besides, you know what it's like out there."

  Connor felt uneasy about leaving Mary, but eager to survey the area out back. They wouldn’t be gone long. He picked up the five gallon buckets and followed Wes out the door.

  Connor’s departure chilled Mary's mind. Loneliness rushed over her like a wave of snow avalanching down a mountain, engulfing her in its mighty power.

  She hugged deeper into her clothes, seeking warmth. One wooden chair remained in the room, so close she could touch it, but she stood stiffly. Then Ira pulled out his knife and a small whetstone, and she shuddered.

  The dirt in the house invaded her mind as much as the cold. She needed things clean and neat and orderly. She couldn’t bear the sight of filth. Was it because of the abandoned houses she had hidden in as a child, their roofs collapsed by mortar shells?

  Images returned of that first night. She had crawled into a hole under a stairway and huddled there amidst the dirt, listening to the rustle of rats, kicking at them as they boldly tried to bite her. She had cowered from the sound of footsteps.

  She had even run when she’d first seen her father two days later, not recognizing him in the dim light.

  "Mary." Ramone spoke, his voice sickly sweet. "Come here"

  "What?" Returning to the present, she stared blankly around.

  "Over here." He pointed to her sleeping bag, unzipped and thrown open on a filthy mattress near the wall.

  She started to take a step, but faltered, the evil anticipation in his eyes sickening her. "Why?"

  "Time to play."

  She glanced at the bag, then back at Ramone. "No!"

  "Oh, yes. I make the rules here, girly."

  He leered at her, his voice with its cruel overtones turning her stomach to ice. Throwing up her hands, Mary backed away.

  He followed and grabbed for her hair, missing as she ducked. "We've got all night."

  "No!" Mary screamed. She threw herself behind Judd, shoving his unyielding bulk toward Ramone. "Keep him away from me. Please!"

  Frantically, she clawed at Judd’s arm, her knuckles white as she clutched the slick fabric of his coat sleeve. "You're the boss. Stop him."

  He stared at her in disdain. "Why?"

  10

  Mary cringed as Ramone fingered the wooden back of the old chair with a sensuousness that had nothing to do with the feel of the grain. He stroked it as if it were the softness of her skin.

  Bile rose, strong and bitter. Time stopped.

  Outside the isolated farmhouse the rain beat down, the rising wind forcing water through the cracks in the shattered windows. Inside the three candles sputtered in protest, sending dark smoke trails twisting upward, casting long web-like shadows across the moldy walls.

  "Keep him away," Mary repeated, clutching Judd's arm.

  With an oath, Judd grabbed her hand and threw it aside. " I don't baby-sit my men."

  "But you must. Stop him," she demanded, panic rocketing upward, overwhelming her. The room swayed and grew darker as the blackness invaded her mind. "Don't you understand?"

  "Stop him yourself," Judd said with a snarl.

  Mary cringed, unable to break away from Ramone's gaze. His face became the only object in the room.

  "No!" She stepped backwards, one hand reaching out to hold back the unthinkable. “No!" She kicked a cardboard box aside roughly, and backed up four more steps. Five. Six.

  Ramone stalked her easily, his intent evident. He licked his lips and walked closer, his fingers beckoning her.

  Then someone grabbed Mary from behind, and Ramone stopped, scowling in anger. “Keep outta this,” he snarled.

  Mary glanced over her shoulder at Ira's knife-scarred face and close-cropped, military-style haircut. He held his knife in his right hand, its blade gleaming as it moved like a deadly cobra. His grip tightened and she struggled, crazed with terror as her mind clicked back to the men who had attacked her mother.

  The room swirled. She collapsed into blackness.

  Entering through the kitchen, Connor dropped the buckets of water, instantly alert. Something was wrong. He could see the worried indecision on the thugs' faces.

  "Daddy! Daddy!" Mary's voice— and yet it wasn't. It sounded like a child's terrified cry.

  Connor charged into the main room where Ramone and Judd stood opposite Ira and Mary. The lanky killer stood behind Mary, a knife in one hand— held away from her, but there, nonetheless.

  She sagged across his arm, her head bobbing l
ike a rag doll when he shook her gently. Her face had paled to a deathly white.

  "Mommy!" Mary cried out.

  Connor winced. "Hang on!" he yelled, running to her. He grabbed Ira's knife hand and pushed it away. "Let go of her, you coward! You're scaring her to death."

  "Watch yourself," Ira warned, but allowed Connor to take the shivering woman into his arms.

  "Can't you see what you've done?" Connor accused him, gently shifting Mary higher in his arms. She wasn’t a dead weight, which meant she was still conscious. But her high pitched keening sent tremors through him. He wanted to kill Ira with his own knife.

  He had to tell them about Mary so they would be more cautious— if it wasn't already too late.

  Ira stared at him. "What's wrong with her?"

  "Her mother was murdered in front of her. The killers used knives. Mary was nine."

  "I was holding it away from her. I didn’t threaten her."

  "You didn't need to."

  "She was running from Ramone. All I did was stop her—"

  "Ramone?" Connor exploded. "If you let that maniac loose on Mary—"

  "Don't worry. He'll leave her alone." A fierce warning accompanied the growl of Ira's voice as he spat a look of hatred toward Ramone. “He knows better than to mess with me.”

  "She's already living on the edge. If he pushes her over, she won’t return. Then she'll never lead you anywhere."

  Connor paused, feeling her slight weight sagging against him. Why had he ever left her, even for a second? Anger flared, this time at himself. He had never felt so helpless. Talking his way out of things wasn’t his method, but he had to, to keep Mary alive.

  He glared at the men. "You have to treat her with care. That means keeping that scum-bag under control."

  Mary huddled in upon herself. She could feel Connor's arms supporting her, keeping her on her feet. Safe arms. She burrowed into them, her hand clutching the ivory dragon on its chain. The jagged edge dug into her palm, the pain returning her to reality.

  She had to resist the past to stay in the present.

  "Hang on, Mary." The deep rumble of his voice— Connor's voice— the low-pitched tones, soothed her. She could feel the black cloud receding. "Mary? Can you hear me?"

  She managed to nod. "Connor." She thought the word. Had she said it? "Connor." This time Mary heard herself say it. She opened her eyes. Cautiously, she peered about.

  Ira stood in front of Ramone, one hand raised to warn him off. Then Judd grabbed the dark-haired predator, spun him around and shoved him into the kitchen.

  “It’s all an act,” Ramone protested, trying to shake off Judd’s hand. “It’s as phony as she is. Let go of me.”

  "Keep him away from her," Connor demanded. "Far away." His voice dropped, became gentle as he added, "It's okay, Mary. You'll be okay."

  Mary pushed herself closer against Connor, her legs still unable to hold her up.

  "Take some deep breaths," he suggested.

  She did. It helped. She wanted to cry, but squinted hard instead. She put her head against his chest, seeking to stay within the shelter of this stranger who had become her fortress.

  Mary knew what was wrong, having fought the cold, clammy fear before. She gulped in more air.

  "Keep him back, Connor," she begged.

  "I will. That's a promise. Right now, Judd's got him. He'll hobble him."

  "Judd didn't sound,” she paused to gasp, “like he cared what Ramone did."

  "I think he's convinced."

  Releasing the front of Connor's coat, Mary hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms tightly while she allowed her mind to clear completely. Several more deep breaths and she could stand alone, although Connor continued to hold her. She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes.

  He smiled at her, a smile of genuine thankfulness that she had returned from the darkness. His smile helped fortify her. She tried to smile in return, letting out a long sigh.

  Ira stepped closer, his knife now sheathed. "What happened when you were a child?" he asked. "I'd like to avoid that again." He glanced around. “We all would.”

  She looked at Wes, Judd, and Ramone, all standing within hearing distance, intent upon her answer.

  That day. The doctors always made her talk about it, saying it helped to bring it out. The images remained vivid, but each time she described it, the impact lessened.

  "We were... in the Middle East. My Dad worked there. Some soldiers came, late in the afternoon. Drunk."

  She paused, gathering strength from Connor's arms wrapped so securely around her. That day remained burned on her mind, as vivid as the day it happened. The one event she’d like to forget refused to fade into the past.

  "They broke down the door. Mom hid me in a large wicker basket— my toy box. Threw some clothes over me. But I could see, through the cracks, and hear it all. Everything that happened. They trapped her in my room." She shuddered, feeling again the terror of that day. "Just a few feet away."

  She raised her eyes to stare woodenly at Ira. "They carved her up with their knives. Ones like yours."

  He wore two, one in his boot and another in a webbed shoulder sheath. He held up the knife he had used to kill her neighbor and rolled it over slowly in his hand.

  She trembled at the sight of the double-edged blade which came to a spear-like point at the tip. A knife made for death.

  "I don't use my knives on women," he said, his voice solemn. "You have my word on that." He turned away, leaving Mary hanging onto her sole support. Connor.

  "It's okay, Mary," Connor said again. "Everything's okay now." She wished it were true.

  She felt like throwing up, and fought against the urge. Courage. She squeezed the dragon harder.

  "After they killed my mother, they started ransacking the place. When they went into another room, I jumped out the window and ran.

  “I didn't trust anyone. I hid in abandoned houses— like this one—" She shuddered and stopped, staring at the far wall, with its torn and dirty wallpaper.

  "Why don't you make up that supply list?" Judd said.

  "Now?" Mary shook her head slowly. It was the last thing she wanted to do. "It's after nine. Why not in the morning? You'll have to wait for the stores to open up, anyway."

  "I thought it might take your mind off—"

  "Maybe. But right now I’d probably forget something vital. Tomorrow's better."

  Connor let Mary step away from him, and immediately felt the loss. He wanted to pull her back into his arms. He didn’t know who posed more of a threat to him and Mary— Ira with his knives or Ramone. Or Wes. None of them could be trusted. Ira sounded sincere, but Connor couldn’t believe the word of a killer.

  He watched as Judd walked around the dirty room. Going over to a large cardboard box, Judd peered into it, then kicked it against the wall. Empty, it flipped upside down.

  "Where's the food, Wes? I'm hungry."

  "Don' ask me, Boss. Ramone had the van. You told him to git some while we did the phone calls."

  "That's right. Ramone?"

  "What?" The predator, still seething, snapped a reply.

  "Where's the groceries?"

  Casting a surly look at Judd, Ramone swore loudly. "I didn't buy any. I told you, I'm not paying for you. If you want food, get it yourself."

  "I suppose you ate already."

  "So sue me."

  "Easier to shoot yuh," Wes declared. "I'm hungry."

  "And I'm broke," Ramone claimed. "Send out for pizza."

  "There's plenty of money at the end of this. You'd get it back," Judd reminded him.

  "I said I was broke."

  "Why don't I believe you?" Judd stepped threateningly toward the smaller man.

  "You'd better." Ramone fumbled at the gun in his shoulder holster and Judd slapped his hand down, then shook him hard.

  "Next time I send for supplies, bring some back. Understood?" He slammed Ramone against the wall, making the boards crack in protest.

  "Sure." The an
swer, although grudgingly given, seemed to satisfy Judd.

  Bad blood ran among the men, Connor decided. They were like dogs, surly and snapping at each other. Perhaps he could get them to fight each other so he and Mary could escape. Maybe tomorrow, when one or two went for supplies.

  Mary asked Connor to move her sleeping bag beside his. When he did, she smiled in evident relief. Her soft, glowing gaze transformed her face, changing her from pretty to beautiful.

  His heart did a quick flip.

  He had to get her away from these men— especially Ramone. He had to be ready to take advantage of anything chance.

  They allowed him to use the bathroom before they retied him— at least it had a door on it—and he fretted when Mary asked to go. Ira stepped forward, one look stopping Ramone in his tracks.

  Ira seemed to have appointed himself her guardian, at least as far as Ramone was concerned. But if they ever got the chest, what then? Ira wouldn’t keep Judd from killing her.

  The four took turns, one standing guard while the others slept in their light-weight sleeping bags on two old mattresses.

  Connor followed Mary's example and let himself sleep. The floor felt hard, but at least he and Mary would get a full night's rest. Her father's large sleeping bag, although well-worn, was filled with goose down— too hot to zip up in the farmhouse. He’d appreciate it on the trail.

  He had barely drifted off when Mary sat upright next to him, gasping and muttering, her incoherent words shocking Connor fully awake.

  "What is it?"

  "Help. Stop. Mommy...." She threw herself toward him, her upper body landing next to his. Her voice sounded like a frightened child again. His heart sunk. His mother had said that only Mary’s father had kept her in the real world.

  "It's all right. Mary. They're gone."

  She might not recognize his name in her nightmare, so he tried her father's. "It's, um, daddy. Warren. You're okay."