by Debbie Mason
“You’re lying,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.
He shrugged again, finishing up with his sleeve. The second it was perfectly in place above his elbows, he took a step in my direction. I jerked hard, trying to break free of my captor, knowing it was pointless to do so. I caught sight of Javi’s profile over my shoulder and it was clear there’d be no escape.
“Jeremy will figure out where I hid everything. It’s in the hiding place from when we were kids,” I said in a rush, lying through my teeth in a futile attempt to buy time. “You’re too late.”
“We both know that’s not true. Let’s not diminish your spirit with useless lies and pleas for mercy. You’re a fighter, Chelsea. We both enjoy that.”
I glared at him silently, heart pounding against my ribs.
“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, darling,” Richard said softly, his voice like warm butter spreading on fresh-baked bread. “But I need to teach you a lesson. By the time I’m done, you’ll wish you never let another man touch what belonged to me. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll take you back, if you promise to never cheat on me again.”
The crazy thing was, he meant every word. Richard honestly thought I’d want to be with him, completely ignoring the fact I’d tried to kill him. How had my life gotten to this? How did I become prey to this bastard?
The abuse had started slowly. It had been emotional at first, delivered so craftily I didn’t even notice it until it was too late. When that stopped working, he became violent. A push here, followed by an apology. A slap there, followed up with flowers and words of love.
That’s when I’d started planning my escape. I’d rediscovered my strength when I came here, to this inn. When I’d pulled that trigger and put an end to the abuse.
I’d be damned if I lost that strength again.
“I doubt I’ll go back to you,” I said sweetly. “After all, you’re nothing but a spineless, wormy coward who has no idea what it’s like to be a real man. Jeremy knows how to treat a woman, and he knows how to be a man, so I’d never regret being with him. Only you. I wish I never let you touch me, and I wish you had died when I shot you.”
Finally, for the first time ever, he lost his cool. Anger flushed his cheeks, his upper lip curled, and he growled. Hauling his fist back, he let it fly, and pain burst in my skull, making me crumble in Javi’s arms. Stars exploded into my vision.
“Drop her,” Richard said.
Javi obeyed immediately, and I hit the floor hard, banging my head. Suddenly, Richard was on top of me. “Take it back.”
Unable to speak, I did the one thing I knew would piss him off, because, God, I wanted to get under his skin…I laughed, spitting out blood with the sound.
Right in his face.
An animalistic sound escaped him, and his eyes bulged in rage as he stared down at me, unable to believe I’d disobeyed him. He lifted his hand and slapped me with his knuckles. I weakly pushed at his shoulders, but Javi pinned down my arms before I could get any leverage. I let out a loud scream, my one last attempt at freedom, but then his hand was on my throat, cutting off my air supply, and I knew with a sinking clarity that this was it.
And then the blackness took over.
Chapter 27
Jeremy was steps from the front door of the inn when he heard it. A fall leaf crunched behind him, and a soft breath was released. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and every instinct he’d ever trusted told him danger approached. He dropped the chandelier to the ground with a crash and spun with his gun drawn.
The man creeping up behind him froze for a split second, which is the only reason Jeremy didn’t end up with a bullet in his brain. Unlike the other man, he didn’t hesitate—his finger squeezed the trigger and the guy went down with a hit to his chest. Jeremy stared at him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the man was in the cartels.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Fueller? You out there?”
There was no answer from the agent on duty. Jeremy scanned the trees as he picked up the dead man’s gun and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans. Finally he saw Fueller. He was on his back in the shadows, blood congealing on the ground from a bullet wound to the head. Cursing, Jeremy made a phone call to request backup and then wasted no time approaching the inn on light feet. Knowing Chelsea might be inside made him want to run up the stairs screaming her name, but that wouldn’t do either of them any good.
His pulse pounded. He should have come earlier, damn it, but he’d been trying to give her some time to cool off. She had every right to be angry, but he knew he had to get past that anger and find a way to make her see he hadn’t been lying to her about everything. He did love her, and he had no intention of giving up on her…again.
After a few more steps, he was in the foyer. The door was ajar, and he scanned the interior for any signs of intrusion. The table drawer by the door was open, and Chelsea’s gun was gone. The second he stepped into the living room, he saw another cartel foot soldier. He stood guard over the kitchen, watching the back door.
Well, that was a good sign.
It meant he was counting on the dead guy out front to stop anyone from coming in, and he was watching the back. Hopefully, there would be no one else to contend with. Tucking his gun away, Jeremy crept up and locked his arm around the man’s throat, taking him down effectively and silently. The asshole struggled for a good five seconds, arms flailing, but it was a useless fight. Jeremy wasn’t letting go till he was unconscious or dead.
Either one worked for him.
The second he went limp, Jeremy lowered him to the floor. At the same time, Chelsea let out a scream. He bolted up the stairs, not bothering to be quiet anymore, not even debating whether or not to wait for his backup, skidding into her bedroom with his gun aimed for anything that wasn’t her. He’d seen a lot of messed-up shit during his time as a DEA agent, but the sight that met his eyes was horrifying.
Something he would never forget.
Chelsea was on the floor, and someone was on top of her, choking her. She struggled against her assailant, but her movements were slowing. Another knelt at her head, holding her shoulders down as the other man attacked her viciously. The amount of rage that slammed into Jeremy was unreal, and he saw red.
Literally. Blood red.
He recognized Javi as the man holding her down. Javi glanced up, spotting him, and cursed. Releasing Chelsea’s shoulders, he pulled out a gun and took aim. Jeremy did the same. He didn’t hesitate or think like an agent in that moment. He just pulled the goddamn trigger and took the asshole down.
Javi was hit between the eyes, but not before he could squeeze off a shot. Jeremy staggered back, pain ripping through his body, but he didn’t take a second to recover. He didn’t have time. He turned to Chelsea, who was struggling under her attacker with renewed fervor, and when he glanced at him…
Richard wasn’t dead.
This changed everything. If they managed to take him down without killing him, Chelsea would be a free woman. Richard would probably do anything to save his own skin and they could use his testimony to replace whatever evidence Chelsea had. This whole thing could be over.
Chelsea punched Richard in the face with an impressive upper-cut, and the asshole reared back, blood spurting out of his nose. She squirmed out of his arms, struggling to reach the gun lying on the floor. Richard grabbed his nose, cursing. “I’ll kill you, you little bitch.”
“DEA, asshole. Don’t move,” Jeremy said, aiming at Richard, who’d been was so focused on hurting Chelsea that he’d ignored the gunplay three feet away. “One move and you’re a dead man.”
Richard froze, watching him carefully, his gaze finally leaving Chelsea. He seethed with a cold, calculated rage. “You’re a federal agent. I’m unarmed. You can’t just shoot me.”
“Try me.” His finger flexed on the trigger. “Chels, are you okay?”
“Yes,” she croaked. She cocked the gun in her hand and Jeremy
stiffened. “But he won’t be.”
Jeremy tore his eyes off the man and stared at Chelsea.
“Go ahead,” Richard taunted, holding his arms to his sides. “Shoot an unarmed man. That one’s actually loaded.”
She stood up on unsteady feet, swaying, and pointed the gun at Richard. Blood trickled out her nose and from the corner of her split lip, and bruises were already forming around her neck. Her eyes held a light that warned that she was close to the edge and not thinking clearly. He’d seen that look in plenty of people’s eyes before. She was going to take any chance at freedom she had, and nothing he said was going to stop her.
Downstairs, men came into the house, calling out to one another that it was clear. His backup was here, just in time to witness this. If Chelsea killed Richard now, no amount of maneuvering on Jeremy’s part would save her.
Chapter 28
Richard was just staring at me with that goddamn cocky smirk, kneeling on the floor with my blood smeared on his knuckles, so sure I wouldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t put an end to his pathetic excuse of a life. Right now, there was nothing I wanted more in this life than to end his. Murder hadn’t been part of my original plan, but Dad always said that you had to be ready to improvise.
If I didn’t kill him now, what would stop him from coming back in a year, or five, or ten, to finish what he’d started? No. Never again.
I tightened my finger on the trigger.
“No!” Jeremy shouted out, holding a hand in front of him as he approached slowly. “DEA is here, right downstairs. If you pull that trigger, you’ll go to jail, Chels. Your immunity agreement won’t save you. Your hands are clean right now. You didn’t kill him before, and you don’t have to kill him now.”
I didn’t ease up, and my eyes burned with the force of the tears I held back. Angry tears that screamed to be released. Tears I’d been holding back for longer than I could remember. “I don’t care. He’ll be dead. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s not all that matters. There’s the inn. And there’s…” He tucked his gun away, waving off the men standing behind me. Clearly they were standing there ready to take Richard away—or take me down. “There’s me. I love you, Chels.”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t lie to me again, Agent Holland.”
“I’m not,” he said slowly. “I’m telling the truth. Yes, I lied to you about my occupation. Yes, you have every right to be angry at me and to hate me, but damn it, Chels, give me a chance to earn your forgiveness. I’ll never stop trying, and I’ll never stop knocking on your door, asking you to let me in. But if you’re in jail…we don’t stand a chance in hell in making this thing we have between us work.
“He wants you to kill him because it keeps him from retribution from the cartel, and it ruins your life. It’s a win-win for him,” Jeremy said in a rush. He stepped closer, putting himself between me and Richard but not moving to take the gun from me. Blood soaked his shirt at the shoulder. I stared at the spot, watching the red spread across his blue shirt. “Don’t give him that satisfaction. Don’t give him what he wants.”
My grip on the gun wavered, and I sensed men creeping closer behind me, waiting to take me down if I didn’t give up the gun soon. I had a feeling the only reason they hadn’t yet was because of Jeremy. “But he’ll come back if I don’t kill him. Just like he did this time.”
“No, he won’t. He’s going to jail.”
I heard the words he said, but I didn’t have much faith in the criminal justice system to keep him there. I’d seen too much to believe that it would all be okay.
“He’s still alive, Chels. If you keep him that way, you’re free.” Jeremy held his hands up, locking eyes with me, looking a little ashen. “You can rebuild the inn. You can be here, like you wanted, with a new life. And I’ll be here with you, helping. I swear to God, I will be here.”
I bit my lip, swaying slightly. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. You lied to me. I’m still pissed at you.”
“I know. I swear, I’ll make it up to you. Every second of every day, I’ll make it up to you.” He shot a nervous look behind me. “Just put the gun down.”
Chapter 29
I lowered my arm slowly, releasing the trigger and exhaling at the same time, my throat aching because of Richard’s abuse. “Take him away.”
I didn’t even look at Richard. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. I just stared at Jeremy as the men who had hovered behind me rushed forward, taking Richard away in cuffs. Once we were alone, I wrapped my arms around myself, my whole body aching from the beating and the fight I’d lived through. But it was over now. It was actually over. “You’re shot.”
Jeremy glanced down. “Yeah. It’s nothing.”
I didn’t say anything to that because it didn’t look like nothing to me. “So now what?”
“Now—Christ.” He crossed the room, closing the distance between us. He pulled me into his arms, threaded his hands in my hair, and kissed me gently. I was pissed at him, and there were a million reasons why I shouldn’t be in his arms like this. But right now? I needed him more than I needed air. When he pulled back, he framed my face with his hands gently. “Now we get checked out by a doctor, and then we come home. I’ll tuck you in and stay the night to make sure no one bothers you for at least twenty-four hours. You need to recover from today.”
His voice was raspy at the end. Almost broken.
“You think you’re staying the night?” I asked. “Hell no. I’m fine on my—”
“It wasn’t a request. I’m staying.” He ran his thumb over my cheek, smiling gently when I glowered at him. “I meant what I said before all this went down. I’m not going anywhere, Chels. I know this scares you, and you don’t feel the same way yet, and I know you’re pissed as hell at me, but I love you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you, even if you never forgive me or love me back. And nothing you do or say will stop me.”
I stared up at him, heart pounding. For the first time, hearing those words come out of his mouth and seeing him look at me like I was his whole world didn’t make me want to run. It made me want to stay. We had a lot to resolve between us, but at the end of the day, it had always been…and would always be…Jeremy fricking Holland. I could have it all. The inn. The man. The life I’d always wanted.
And suddenly, it didn’t seem too crazy to let myself feel that way.
“I love you, too,” I said, my voice more of a whisper than anything.
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I love you,” I said again, this time with more strength behind the words. “But I’m still mad at you for lying to me,” I added for good measure.
He laughed, and he kissed me again, this time in a promise of forever, and of what was to come. And I believed every single second of it. I’d finally found my home.
It was with him, in Maine, all along.
Read on for a special preview of
A Princess in Maine
a James Patterson BookShots Flames story
in the McCullagh Inn series by Jen McLaughlin
Prologue
Is this a good idea?
Grace settled back on the couch, smoothing her black dress over her thighs. Across from her, with only a small coffee table separating them, was Chelsea O’Kane—wait, no.
Chelsea Holland. She’d married Jeremy Holland last year.
No big surprise there.
Everyone knew Chelsea and Jeremy were in love in high school, whether the couple admitted it or not. Now, it looked like they’d finally seen the light. Chelsea had on a dusting of makeup, but that wasn’t what provided the ethereal glow on Chelsea’s cheeks, and in her bright blue eyes. No, that had to be happiness.
It was a feeling Grace was ready to embrace.
Chelsea looked at her and smiled, and Grace smiled back immediately. After glancing around the room, she said, “You did great here, Chelsea. The inn is gorgeous. I love the bright-pink door. I’m glad you kept it.”
“Thank you,” the other woman said, smiling wider. “Jeremy and I did a lot of renovations. It was definitely a lot of work, but we’re really happy with the way it came out.”
“I can see why,” Grace said, surveying the living room again.
She picked up the decaf coffee Chelsea had made her, wrapping her hands around it and bringing it chest level. As she reclined against the cushions, her gaze turned toward the foyer. Light-yellow walls. Painstakingly polished wood floors. Elegant furniture. Fancy chandeliers.
This inn could have easily been in Talius.
“So. A wedding? Congratulations!” Chelsea said, clearly trying to steer the conversation where it was supposed to go.
“Yes.” Grace glanced down at her ring with a soft sigh. “We were hoping for something small. Private. Quaint. Romantic. Private.”
It hadn’t been a mistake that Grace said private twice.
Nodding, Chelsea opened her notebook. It had a wedding dress on the front. Grace watched as Chelsea jotted down her name, Grace Grigoris, but then hesitated over the second line. Smiling again, she lifted her head and fixed her blue eyes back on Grace. “Absolutely. We can do all those things, and we’ll get started right away. What is your future husband’s name?”
Grace licked her lips, hesitating, and adjusted her grip on the mug. “About that…it’s not…that is…I’m not…”
Chelsea waited with a patience Grace didn’t remember her having. When she didn’t finish her sentence, Chelsea rested her pen on her notebook. “Or is it your future wife?”
“What?” Grace laughed. “Oh! No, I’m not marrying a woman. My best friend did that a month ago, but that’s not why I can’t seem to put a sentence together.”
“Your best friend…Sherri?”
“Yes,” Grace said, her smile widening at the memory of how pretty Sherri had looked on her wedding day. Both brides had worn dresses. For some reason, thinking of her best friend’s wedding put Grace at ease.
