by Lisa Childs
Two confirmed casualties…
She screamed and clutched at Garek. But then she pushed him back again. “We have to go to the hospital.”
“He would have been in the SUV,” Garek said. “He would have been one of the dead. The other was probably his twin or his sister…”
She wanted to deny it, but her brother was probably right. “We have to be there,” she said. “Mrs. Payne was there for us so many times.”
Milek spoke up. “She’s right. We need to go.”
Garek cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her, studying her. “Can you handle this?” he asked.
No. If her brothers were right, she had just lost the man she loved. Her worst fears were confirmed at the hospital. The injured man lying in the hospital bed wasn’t Logan; he had to have been one of the casualties.
But instead of needing comfort, his mother was offering comfort to some other women in the waiting room, and Garek and Milek had gone to interrogate doctors and nurses for more information. So Stacy walked up to the bed alone, tears streaming down her face as she focused on Logan’s twin.
“Is—is he…?”
Parker’s face—so handsome and so like Logan’s—was scratched and bruised. And his blue eyes were nearly vacant as he stared up at her as if he had no idea who she was. Or who he was…
But she knew: he wasn’t Logan. The man she loved was gone.
*
IT WAS WORSE. So much worse than Logan could have imagined. How on earth had he not put it all together before this—before lives had been lost? Two of his employees had died because they’d jumped into a Payne Protection Agency company SUV and it had been wired to explode.
One of those casualties could have been Stacy. Her brothers ran up to him in the hall. He braced himself, expecting Garek to throw a punch. “You were right,” he said. “You were absolutely right about my putting her in danger. I’m glad I listened to you.”
He was so grateful that he’d listened to them.
Garek grabbed him as he’d suspected he would. But instead of slugging or shoving him, he pulled him close and…embraced him. “Thank God you’re all right,” his longtime enemy said. “It would have devastated her if you’d died.”
His heart clutched. “She’s here?”
Milek nodded and then pointed toward his brother’s room. “She’s in there.”
He turned toward the room, but he could see only a shadow through the door. “Does she think Parker is me?”
“No, she thinks you’re dead.”
Pain at the thought of leaving her clutched his heart. “What? Why?”
“The news reported two casualties,” Milek said.
“Damn it!” Logan pushed past Garek and headed toward his brother’s room.
Stacy was sitting on his bed, holding his hand. In sickness and health, but what about love? Maybe she did think Parker was him…
But then she turned, as if she felt his presence, and saw him. And she jumped up from the bed and vaulted at him. “You’re alive!” She threw her arms around his neck, clutching him close. Tears from her face streaked down his neck and dampened his shirt.
He pulled her back so he could see her face—her beautiful face. Her eyes glistened with more tears. Happy tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for crying all over you. But I’m just so happy you’re alive.”
“Your brother did the same thing when he saw me in the hall,” he said. “Got all emotional over me.”
“Milek?” She laughed.
“Garek.”
She laughed harder. “No!”
“Seems he’s kind of sweet on me,” he said, and ignored the good-natured curse from the hall. “What about you? Are you sweet on me?”
She drew in a deep breath and then murmured, as if to remind herself, “No more secrets.”
“You’ve been keeping one from me?” God, was she pregnant? He’d worried that she might not tell him if she was.
“I’m in love with you,” she said, and then she was in his arms again.
But he was the one who’d pulled her close this time. “I thought you hated me again. That you blamed me for causing your father’s death,” he said. “It was my fault he didn’t get parole…”
“Robert Cooper might have had him killed anyway,” she said. “You can’t blame yourself for that. I don’t.” She pulled back to look at his face again. “Is that why you broke our engagement?”
“I didn’t want to,” he confessed. “But I didn’t want you in danger.” He forced himself to release her and to step back. “I didn’t want to lose you forever the way we’ve lost two employees. Like we nearly lost Parker.”
His twin groaned. “I’m coming back. Damn explosion addled my brain.”
Logan didn’t know what his excuse was. While he’d been in his office when the bomb went off, his walls had only shook a little. But maybe it had shaken him up enough to come to his senses and put it all together.
“The bomb was in your SUV,” he told his twin. Their employees had unfortunately asked to borrow it for a fast-food run. “And the bomb was in your house…”
Stacy’s eyes widened as she realized what he had when he’d rushed outside to find Parker’s SUV burning. “Whoever was trying to kill you wasn’t trying to kill you,” she said. “He was trying to kill Parker.”
“I’m still in danger, though,” he said, “because someone keeps mistaking me for him. And me being in danger puts you in danger, too.”
“I have a thought about that,” Parker said, and as he sat up, he nearly toppled out of the bed.
Logan’s heart clutched with concern for his brother. “You’re lucky you can think at all with that concussion.” But the doctors had already assured them that it wasn’t life threatening.
“It’s nothing,” he said. And compared to what had happened to two of their employees, it was. “I can handle it. And I can handle whoever’s after me. Take your fiancée and elope. Get the hell out of here.”
Logan shook his head. “I can’t leave you alone—not to face this kind of danger.”
“You just said you don’t want to lose her,” Parker argued. “So don’t put her in danger.”
“We can help,” Garek Kozminski offered as he stepped into the room with Milek. “We want to help.”
“What are you saying?” Logan asked. “You want me to hire you?”
Garek outright laughed but then he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you should. It took me just a couple of calls to learn what you guys have yet to figure out.”
“What?”
“Someone put out a hit on Parker Payne.”
Logan stared at him in shock. That explained all the different attempts on their lives—different assassins. It was much worse than he’d thought.
Garek continued, “I’m sorry, man, sorry that I thought it was you putting our sister in danger. I shouldn’t have interfered. I can see that you love her.”
“Do you?” she asked hopefully.
How did she not know?
Because he was an idiot…
He dropped to his knees and pulled out the ring she’d given him—her favorite piece. “I love you with all my heart, Stacy Kozminski. Will you marry me, really marry me? Will you become my wife—my partner—for the rest of our lives?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course, I’ll marry you.” She held her hand steady as he slid the ring on to her finger.
“And we’ll all work together to make sure those lives are very long,” Garek assured them.
Penny Payne clapped her hands together, drawing their attention to where she stood in the doorway. “See, I told you they’re good boys.”
Logan laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “But they’re family now.” Just like the Paynes, the Kozminskis protected the ones they loved. With their help, he believed they could keep Stacy and Parker safe.
“One big dysfunctional family,” Garek added.
Her gesture was small, just h
er palm sliding over her stomach, but Logan caught it. And hope burgeoned inside him like a baby might be burgeoning inside his fiancée.
Their family was probably going to be getting even bigger. But first they had to make certain that they didn’t lose one. That no one carried out that hit on his twin.
“Together we can handle anything,” Stacy declared, as if she sensed his concern. “My father was right. You are the man for me.”
“And you’re the woman for me.” He hoped his mother still had her connection to rush the marriage license. He didn’t want to wait another moment before making Stacy his bride.
He had no doubt their lives would be full of danger and craziness, but, more than that, it would be full of love.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from STRANDED by Alice Sharpe.
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Prologue
February
To Alex Foster, the flight between Blunt Falls, Montana, and Shatterhorn, Nevada, felt ill-fated from the get-go. The unexpected deteriorating weather was just the latest obstacle, but at least it was one that could be managed by some decent flying skills and a deviation from his flight plan.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes, fighting a growing fatigue he couldn’t afford. Unscrewing the cap on a new bottle of the vitamin-enhanced water he carried when he piloted his plane, he took a long swallow. The numbers on the charts swam before his eyes and he blinked, performed a few fuzzy calculations and changed radio frequencies to the Bozeman, Montana beacon. He banked the plane toward the east, hoping to avoid the worst of the system and arrive just a little late.
No big deal. Nate would explain the facts of life when it came to flying to their friend Mike. And Mike’s issues would be there in two hours or two days—they weren’t going away anytime soon. The poor guy had been devastated by the incident all three men shared last Labor Day when a lone teenage gunman had shot and killed four kids in a random attack at a Nevada shopping mall. Since then, Mike had been gathering data he believed hinted at a conspiracy. This meeting would let them review what Mike had learned and maybe, hopefully, help him get past some of his wild ideas.
A glimpse out the Cessna window revealed nothing but icy-white sky that seemed to swirl in his head. He climbed higher, hoping to find less turbulent air. He was kind of glad Jessica hadn’t come along. She’d claimed she was fighting a virus and he’d accused her of making it up so she wouldn’t have to be with him. Maybe some time apart would help, he didn’t know. However, now, with his vision blurring and his stomach turning, he considered he might owe her an apology.
He yawned again and took another swallow of the drink as he tried to quench his thirst.
After thirty more minutes, the break in the weather he’d anticipated still hadn’t materialized. His eyes drifted shut and he opened them quickly, making himself sit up straighter. As he did periodically, he glanced at the control panel. It took him a second to actually register what he saw.
The oil-pressure indicator showed a rapid decline toward the red zone. He stared at the gauge with disbelief, then tapped the glass. At that moment he became aware of a burning odor and peered out the window where he found oil flying over the coaming. Liquid drops hit the windshield and crawled away, leaving portentous snail-like tracks on the glass.
A quick check of the gauge showed pressure still falling. He flipped the radio frequencies again, but the unit was now silent. He tore off the headphones as flames flared from the engine compartment. Almost simultaneously, he pulled the handle to turn off the fuel tanks and yanked on the fire extinguisher lever. Smoke billowed from under the cowling, but dissipated at once.
And then the engine seized.
The fire was out but the plane was dead.
Disaster was imminent. He was off his flight plan, somewhere over the Bitterroot Mountains in the middle of the Rockies. He had an EPIRB aboard and knew the emergency beacon would signal once activated by a crash, but unlike the newer models that communicated with satellites, his older unit required a search plane to fly directly overhead. Would anyone look for him this far afield from his expected route?
The plane began losing altitude. He spiraled down through the clouds, into the storm. Visibility cleared for a few seconds and he saw a large snow-covered meadow to the north. He quickly corrected his course to aim for that, going into a glide, pushing the yoke ahead to avoid a stall.
Seconds seemed to drag and then everything sped up as the ground once again appeared closer than ever. The plane skimmed over the snowy treetops ringing the meadow and shuddered as it made its first bounce. That was immediately followed by the scream of twisted metal as the landing-gear struts tore from their housings. The wounded plane skimmed along the snow on its belly, racing into the middle of the meadow, snow flying at the windshield.
At last the Cessna came to an abrupt and sudden stop. Alex flew forward into the instrument panel. His chest impacted with the yoke, his left leg caught and twisted in the mangled metal below. The outside of the cabin was covered with snow. He wiped something from his eyes—blood—then immediately struggled with the door, pushing against the buildup, knowing he had to get it open before it froze shut. He almost choked on relief as weak daylight flooded the cabin.
A strange cracking noise drove ice picks through his nervous system. The noise came again and he recognized it for what it was. With horror, he looked down to find water rising over his shoes. As quick as he’d ever done anything in his life, he grabbed his backpack and the medical kit and threw both through the open door. He undid his seat belt, took a steadying breath and screamed with pain as he ruthlessly extricated his leg. There was blood everywhere but he’d have lots of time to worry about that later. If there was a later…
Clenching his teeth, he used his upper-body strength to pull himself through the open door.
This was no meadow; this was a lake covered with ice and the plane, heavy with unspent fuel, had broken through. He scrambled out the door and landed on his gear. The fall sent a stab of unbearable agony racing from his heel to his groin, and he had to struggle to keep from passing out. Priority one: keep himself and his gear from going into the water. Get away, get away, as fast as possible, beat the cracks spreading out around him. His hands were clumsy as he tied things together and then he dragged himself away from the wreck, using his elbows for traction, trailing his gear from his belt, the fissures continuing to open up all around him.
Chapter One
Three Months Later
Jessica’s cell phone rang as she sat at her desk grading a math quiz. She jumped in her seat and swallowed a lump of panic as she dug the device from the jacket hanging over the back of her chair. You’d think after all this time a ringing phone wouldn’t cause this fearful knee-jerk reaction, but it did and it probably always would. Until they found his body, anyway. Or until she knew the truth.
She clicked it on and said, “Yes?” in a breathless voice because she didn’t recognize the number on the screen and that was always nerve-racking. How many
times had she imagined learning news of Alex’s fate from a stranger? Almost as many times as she’d imagined him calling her himself from some secret spot in Middle America where he’d gone to start a life without her. That was the trouble when a husband simply vanished. You never knew if he was dead or alive; you lived in limbo. Any closure would be better than none.
The caller was a salesman wanting to know if she needed new drainpipes and she got rid of him right away. The truth was, her house was in limbo, too. If it wasn’t for Billy Summers and his sweet-natured persistence in helping her with chores, she imagined she would just let the place crumble around her.
And that had to end. She had to get a grip. Maybe it was time to think about selling the house, getting something smaller. Could she do that? Not yet. But the question nagged her: What would she do if Alex walked through the door?
The sun beating through the high windows made the room too warm. She folded her arms on her desk and rested her forehead against her hands, closing her eyes. Restless nights usually caught up with her in the late afternoon, and apparently today was no exception. The school was mostly empty now, but occasional footsteps moving in the halls gave her a reassuring feeling of not being alone as did the faint whirring and beeping of distant machines set to automatic timers.
Thank goodness the school term was almost finished and she’d been allowed to back out of teaching summer school this year. She loved the kids in her remedial classes at Blunt Falls High, but she needed time away from them and everyone else. Who would have guessed constant pity could be so exhausting? She closed her eyes and let her mind drift for a while.
A nearby noise jerked her out of her stupor and she looked up to find a stranger standing in her open doorway. As the school was very strict about allowing unauthorized people on the campus, this man had to be someone’s father, but he didn’t look like any other parent she’d met at this school. He was tall and dark, thin, with uncut hair and a full beard. Dark glasses covered his eyes. His jeans and corduroy shirt appeared too big for his frame, while his face and hands were weathered looking. There was a healed abrasion across one cheekbone and another slashing across what she could see of his forehead. As he moved into the class, she detected a definite hitch in his left leg.
