by Jana DeLeon
He drew up short at the library door. Decision time. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then gripped his pistol and whirled around the doorway, pistol pointed into the room.
Olivia was in between Wheeler and the doorway, the absolute worst place for her to be, and Wheeler was obviously on edge and ready for action. He reacted immediately to John’s entrance by stepping completely behind Olivia and leveling the gun at her head.
“I would think twice if I were you,” Wheeler said. “Although one has to admire your persistence.”
Olivia stood stock-still behind the table, her fear evident. John felt his heart clench and he mentally cursed his inability to catch a break. This was the one situation he’d feared the most. “You can’t get away with this,” John said.
“Of course I can,” Wheeler said. “Do you think this is the first time someone’s disappeared from the estate?”
“There have been others?” John asked.
“I had a miscalculation several years ago and thought it was time. A minor problem with counting, really, but one that cost a couple of surveyors their lives.”
“You killed the surveyors?” Olivia asked.
“Well, I could hardly let them leave when they didn’t produce the emeralds. Besides, a little death every once in a while helps keep people away from this place. It wouldn’t do to have many visitors.”
“You’re insane.”
Wheeler smiled. “I’m not insane. I just want what’s mine.”
John’s finger tightened on the trigger. He could make the shot, even over Olivia’s shoulder, but it was risky. Even if he hit Wheeler right between the eyes, he could still squeeze off a round, even involuntarily. With the gun pointed directly at Olivia’s head it would take a miracle for him to miss her.
“It seems,” Wheeler said, “that I have the upper hand once more. It’s a shame you let your personal feelings get the best of you. This would be such an easy choice if you didn’t care for her, wouldn’t it? Women ruin everything.”
He inched a bit closer to Olivia, bringing his gun even closer to her head. “Now, lower your weapon and place it on the table.” He laughed. “It’s like a repeat of downstairs, really. How sad. In your last moments on earth, you’ve become a cliché.”
John gritted his teeth, his hands still clenched on the pistol. He was going to kill them, regardless. If he didn’t take the shot now, there wasn’t going to be another chance. He looked at Olivia. She stared him directly in the eyes, and he could tell she knew the score. She lowered her head a fraction of an inch then raised it back up.
He said a silent prayer and tightened his finger on the trigger. A huge bolt of lightning struck right outside the library and Olivia glanced outside and gasped.
“It’s her,” Olivia said and pointed out the window.
Outside the window in the center of the drive stood a woman in a long, white, flowing dress. Her long black hair whipped around her in the wind as another burst of lightning illuminated her face.
Marilyn Borque.
“No,” Wheeler said. “It can’t be. You’re dead!”
The woman raised one arm and pointed directly at Wheeler. A bolt of lightning ripped through the sky and hit the window in the library, shattering it into a million pieces. Olivia dropped to the ground and John took his shot, hitting Wheeler in the center of the chest.
The attorney stumbled backward and crashed into a bookshelf, bringing a pile of books tumbling down upon him. His eyes were wild and he still stared out the window. “No!” he screamed and put his hands up in front of his face. “You can’t take me.”
The wind whipped through the window and another blast of lightning lit up the sky. Wheeler screamed and slumped to the floor, his dead eyes still staring out the window. A flash of white passed over him, but John blinked and it was gone.
Olivia bolted from the floor and ran into John’s arms. He held her against him, afraid to ever let go. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Olivia looked up at him. “Did you see her?”
“I saw something,” John said, still not wanting to think about the apparition.
“It was her—Marilyn Borque. I saw her hover over him right before he died. He looked like he was scared to death.”
“I think the cause of death was the bullet.”
“But she distracted him...made lightning strike the window.”
“Olivia, I...I don’t know what to say. Maybe it was the storm playing tricks on our eyes. With all the stress and that crazy man ranting about emeralds...”
“I know what I saw, and you saw it, too. We did not share a hallucination.”
John gave up trying to reason his way out of it and sighed. “I know, it’s just...this is hard for me. I never imagined... I still don’t know what to think or say.”
“I think on the police report, you say that you shot a man who was holding a gun to my head—the same man who kidnapped your sister and the caretaker.”
“You don’t think I should mention that a ghost showed up and saved the day?”
“Not if you plan on working there much longer.”
John smiled and placed his hand on her cheek. “Promise me you’ll only stay in bed-and-breakfasts from now on.”
Olivia smiled. “I don’t know. Little old ladies fussing over breakfast croissants don’t exactly lend themselves to great horror stories.”
“Use your imagination,” he said and lowered his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.
“Get a room.” A familiar voice sounded from the hallway and John spun around to face his partner standing in the doorway, Rachel hovering behind.
“You’re late as usual. I’ve done all the dirty work.”
Rachel cried out in relief and rushed into the room to hug Olivia and him at the same time. She was soaking wet from the storm and giant tears rolled down her face. “I thought for sure he’d kill you both before I got help, then Brian’s car came down the road and I almost cried.”
“I wondered how you got here so fast,” John said.
“When I couldn’t raise you on the cell, I decided to make a visit. I had a bad feeling about all this. Apparently, I was right. Rachel told me some of it on the way here, but it looks like you two have a story to tell me later.”
Sirens sounded in the distance and Rachel ran for the door. “I’m already soaked. I’ll go meet them and take them to Aubrey in the basement.”
“Oh, my God,” Olivia gasped. “Is Aubrey all right?”
“Wheeler knocked him out, but he was breathing when we left. I’m sure he’ll be fine with some rest and care.”
Brian nodded. “I’ll go help Rachel.” He shot John a knowing grin and headed down the hall.
John turned to Olivia. “I know you don’t trust me, and I have some things to make up to you. But if you give me the chance, I’d like to try.”
Olivia’s eyes filled with tears as the past few days flashed through her mind, completely overwhelming her senses. She’d thought it impossible for her to have a normal relationship...to trust that someone could love her and stay with her, but maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe it was time to take that chance, especially as her heart had already made the leap. She looked up at John and smiled. “What if it takes you the rest of our lives?”
John gathered her in his arms again, knowing that he’d found the place he needed to be. “I hope it does.”
One week later
AT THE SOUND of the front door, Olivia looked up from her laptop on the kitchen table and smiled at John as he entered his apartment. He set a cardboard box on the counter and leaned over to kiss her.
“How’s the book going?”
“Despite terror week, I’m actually ahead of schedule now. I think my experience inspired me. My editor is thrilled with what I’ve sent her so far.”
>
“As long as she knows that almost getting killed is not part of your preparation for any other books, she can be thrilled all she wants.” He slid into the chair across from her. “I’ve got some information for you.”
Olivia immediately shut her laptop and gave him her full attention. “About laMalediction?”
“Yeah. The cops turned Wheeler’s home and office inside out. He had a file with the missing diary pages. He wasn’t lying about the baby. It looks like Marilyn Borque had a child while Franklin was at war. Wheeler tracked the lineage from that child down the line until forty years ago, when he lost track of one of the descendants. There’s a chance that descendant was your mother.”
“Wow. I’m not even sure what I think about that.”
“There’s more. Apparently, Wheeler’s been skimming from all his estate clients. The auditor has already uncovered two million worth of discrepancies and he expects he’ll find more.”
“Two million. Surely those emeralds couldn’t be worth two million.”
John shrugged. “With the historical significance, maybe, but that isn’t why Wheeler wanted them so bad.”
“So what, then?”
“That nut Franklin Borque tied the entire estate up in those stones. Until the stones are found, the estate can’t be sold. The detectives found surveys in Wheeler’s office and a family tree with supporting documentation that seems to prove Wheeler was a descendant of Franklin Borque. According to the surveys, the property is full of oil. I believe Wheeler wanted the emeralds so he could claim the property and sell it to an oil company. Then he could settle up the estate accounts he’d stolen from, and sit pretty and rich the rest of his miserable life.”
“It’s so unbelievable. So what will happen to the estate?”
“The prosecutor has some ideas about that and wanted me to run them by you.”
Olivia sat up straight in her chair. “Me?”
“There’s a good chance you’re heir to the estate. There may be others, but at this point they’re not identified.”
“I don’t see how I can help.”
“He thought you might hire someone, courtesy of the estate bankroll, to do some research on the family tree and try to locate the emeralds.” John rose from the table and opened the cardboard box on the counter. He pulled out a dusty book and placed it on the table in front of her. “And I have a surprise from Aubrey. His great-grandmother’s journals.”
Olivia sucked in a breath and laid her hand on the book. “Sissy’s journals?”
“Yeah, Aubrey claims that’s how he knew about the prophecy and the emeralds. Ought to make for some interesting reading.”
“How is Aubrey?”
“Ornery as hell. He said to tell you he doesn’t want the journals back. He’s leaving for Florida next week and wants to put laMalediction behind him. It will be the first time he’s ever left the state.”
Olivia smiled. “Good for Aubrey.” She picked up the journal and looked up at John. “So I guess I’ve just got to find someone who’s willing to move into a haunted house where several murders were committed, there’s almost never any power and cable television and a decent cell phone connection are out of the question. Piece of cake.”
John reached down to her and Olivia placed her hand in his. He pulled her gently into his arms and Olivia snuggled into his chest, still unable to believe how happy she was with this man. How content. She turned her face up to his and he lowered his lips to hers with a kiss that, for that moment, took all the troubles of the past away.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from MY SPY by Dana Marton.
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Chapter One
He had two weeks to gain the information he needed to stop terrorists with weapons of mass destruction from entering the country. But everything his six-man team had done so far had been a bust.
Undercover operative Jamie Cassidy sat with his back to the wall in the far corner at the Yellow Armadillo, a seedy, small-town bar on the backstreets of Pebble Creek, Texas. Country music streamed from overhead speakers; the place was dark and dingy, the food was fried within an inch of its life. But the beer was cold, the only nice thing that could be said about the joint.
“So you have no idea who the new boss is?” he asked the scrawny farmhand across the table.
Billy Brunswik fingered the rim of the tattered Stetson on his lap, his eyes on his empty glass. A cowboy tan left the top of his forehead white, the rest of his face several shades darker. His checkered blue shirt was wrinkled and smudged with dirt, as if he’d been wearing it for more than a day or two. He silently shook his head.
Jamie had his own cowboy hat and jeans and shirt to fit in, a far cry from his usual commando gear. In a place like this—a known hangout for smugglers—being spotted as a government man could quickly earn you a bullet in the back.
He waved the perky blonde waitress over for another round for Billy but didn’t return her flirty smile. His attention was on the man across the table. “It’s tough. Believe me, I know.” He waited until the waitress left. “In this economy, and they cut off work. Hell, what are you supposed to do? Who do you go to now?”
“Nobody knows nuthin’.” Billy set his empty glass down and wiped his upper lip with the back of his calloused hand, then pulled out a tin of chewing tobacco and tucked a pinch between gum and cheek. “I can barely buy groceries for the girlfriend and me, I’ll tell you that.”
Jamie watched him for a few seconds, then slid three twenties across the table. “I know how it is.”
Billy was on the cash like a duck on a june bug, the bills disappearing in a flat second. He looked around nervously, licking his crooked yellow front teeth. “I ain’t no snitch.”
Jamie gave a sympathetic nod. “A man has to live. And I ain’t asking for nothing that would get you in trouble. Just need enough to show the boss I’ve been working.” He shrugged, playing the halfhearted customs agent role.
Billy hung his head. “I do work a little,” he admitted. “When nobody’s lookin’. Just some weed.”
“Who do you kick up to?”
“Ain’t nobody there since Kenny.”
And no matter how hard Jamie pushed the down-on-his-luck farmhand after that, Billy didn’t give up anything. Although he did promise to get in touch if things changed.
Developing an asset was a slow and careful business.
Jamie left the man and strode across the bar, looking for familiar faces as he passed the rows of tables. The two border towns his team watched, Hullett and Pebble Creek, had their share of smugglers, most of them lying low these days. He didn’t recognize anyone here today.
He paid the waitress at the bar, stepped outside into the scorching heat then shoved his hat on his head and rubbed his eyes. He’d spent the night on border patrol, then most of the morning running down leads. His legs hurt. The doc at Walter Reed called it phantom-limb pain.
He resisted the urge to reach down and rub his prosthetic limbs. It did nothing for the pain, and he hated the feel of the cold steel where his legs should have been.
> He strode up to Main Street, came out by the bank and drew a hundred out of the ATM while he was here, since Billy had cleaned him out. Then his gaze caught on the bookstore across the street. Maybe a good read would help him fall asleep. When on duty, his mind focused on work. But when he rested, memories of his dark past pushed their way back into his head. Sleep had a way of eluding him.
He cut across traffic and pushed inside the small indie bookstore, into the welcoming cool of air-conditioning, and strode straight to the mystery section. He picked out a hard-boiled detective story, then turned on his heels and came face-to-face with the woman of his dreams.
Okay, the woman of every red-blooded man’s dreams.
She was tall and curvy, with long blond hair swinging in a ponytail, startling blue eyes that held laughter and a mouth to kill or die for, depending on what she wished.
His mind went completely blank for a second, while his body sat up and took serious notice.
When his dreams weren’t filled with blood and torture and killing, they were filled with sex. He could still do the act—one thing his injury hadn’t taken away from him. But he didn’t allow himself. He didn’t want pity. Foreplay shouldn’t start with him taking off his prosthetics—the ultimate mood killer. And he definitely didn’t want the questions.
Hell, even he hated touching the damn things. Who wouldn’t? He wasn’t going to put himself through that humiliation. Wasn’t going to put a woman in a position where she’d have to start pretending.
But he dreamed, and his imagination made it good. The woman of his dreams was always the same, an amalgamation of pinup girls that had been burned into his brain during his adolescent years from various magazines he and his brothers had snuck into the house.
