by Dana R. Lynn
And why had she come here to this isolated stretch of nowhere to find Mitch? Put herself in such a vulnerable position for a man who believed she was a willing participant in Wade’s sick plans?
Because Wade was her worst nightmare, evil incarnate, and he’d found the house where she rented a tiny back room from Nana Jo. It was only by God’s grace that she’d been out at the time, able to flee. Mitch Whitehorse was the only one...the only person on earth who could help her put Wade back in prison, where he could not destroy any more lives. Only now Mitch was likely dead. Icy despair licked at her.
You can’t give up.
Wade’s voice, singsong and high-pitched, carried over the wind. “Who’s that shooting at me?”
Terror coursed through her at the sound of that voice, and his courtroom promise returned to her mind.
We’ll be together again, Janey. Don’t you worry, my dove. The smile, the soulless eyes. I’ll never let you go.
She clamped her teeth closed to hold in the scream and clutched the useless flare gun. Where was he? Still at a distance, judging from the voice. Stopped to examine her boat? Circling around to her position? She could not see through the thickening fog.
A flicker of movement up and to the right riveted her. He was climbing to a higher position, a spot on top of the craggy pile from which he’d be able to pick out her hiding place. But his movement gave her time, minutes maybe, no longer, while he threaded his way along the rocks. If she could reach Mitch, the boat, and get them into the water... The little outboard motor wasn’t terribly powerful and she’d be fighting the incoming tide, but it would put some distance between them, and maybe she could make it past the cove, out of range of Wade’s gun.
One thing she knew after a year of marriage to the monster was that Wade Whitehorse could not swim. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she counted to three, pushed off from the rotted piling and ran as quietly as she could. Every moment she expected the report of a gun, the pain of a bullet plowing into her skull.
Panting, fueled by terror, she made it to Mitch and the boat.
As frightened as she was of Wade, it scared her even more to crouch behind a pile of sand next to Mitch’s sprawled body. He lay on his back, face turned toward her, one muscled arm out-flung. Blood stained his forehead, collecting in the puckered edges of his scar, dripping down to saturate the collar of his barn jacket. With shaking fingers, she checked for a pulse. His dark lashes twitched as she touched his cold throat.
Alive.
Mitch Whitehorse was alive.
A rock bounced loose from the towering cliff and tumbled to the beach. Wade was closing in, and if she didn’t do something fast, neither one of them would live to see morning.
Copyright © 2019 by Dana Mentink
ISBN-13: 9781488040474
Guarding the Amish Midwife
Copyright © 2019 by Dana Roae
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
