The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  So why is that such a thrill? Well, because I’ve always been fascinated with the space program, not in small part because my parents used to work at NASA in Mountainview, California (where I was born, though I don’t remember it, since we moved to Texas soon after). My mom was a secretary (until I came along) and my dad was an aeronautical engineer. I’m pretty sure a satellite he worked on is still up there, circling in some endless orbit.

  Without giving away my exact age (ahem) let’s just say this was during the space program’s heyday, but before Apollo 11 (I was little, but I actually remember watching Neil Armstrong’s historic step onto the moon on our television; we were in Texas by then). At some point when I was a little kid, my dad gave me a NASA folder. I still have it somewhere. It’s filled with eight-by-ten glossies of astronauts, moon rocks, a view of earth from space. It also has some maps of the moon and other stuff I don’t specifically remember.

  I think my grandmother must have shared my fascination (or maybe she was just proud of her son, my dad) because bits of NASA and astronaut-related things made it into our family mythology. For example, from the time I was a very small child, my grandmother told me that Al Bean (one of the Apollo astronauts) used to baby-sit me. Naturally I thought this was pretty cool. And it even made sense after I got older and realized that the astronauts did not, as a rule, hang out at the Mountainview NASA office. Houston was really more their domain. But the reason it made sense is that my dad grew up in Fort Worth and went to school with Al. Thus the story had an air of respectability and I ate it up.

  Alas, my illusions were recently shattered. I happened to mention this bit of family history to my dad, and he looked at me as if I were nuts. Yes, he knows Al (he even visited him at his Houston home not too very long ago), and yes, they went to school together. Mr. Bean probably even met me at one point or another in my youth. But he never baby-sat me. That honor was usually reserved for teenage neighborhood kids, not my dad’s old school chums, and certainly not astronauts.

  And that’s why I never asked my dad to confirm or deny the next bit of Grandma Ebby’s NASA family mythology. I’ve bought in to this one fully, and no one is gonna tell me it ain’t so.

  From before I was born, my parents had a wonderful cat named Sammy. (By wonderful I mean that he put up with little me dressing him in my doll’s clothes. No scratching, biting or hissing. He’d just put up with it until he had enough, then go hide under the couch. I adored Sammy.) I learned from Grandma that Sammy was short for Sam-somethingorothermythologicalsounding. And that Sam had a brother named Rom-somethingorothermythologicalsounding.

  My parents acquired Sam in California while they were working at NASA. He was born to a cat who belonged to a guy in the astronaut program, and when the guy’s cat had kittens, he named them Sam-etc. and Rom-etc. It turned out that Sam-etc. and Rom-etc. were the code names for two top secret projects that the astronaut had been assigned to. No more. He was reassigned (to Alaska, the story goes) and the cats stayed behind with my dad’s best friend, who turned out to be allergic, and my dad got Sammy, a king among kitties and, if the rumor is true, with an Eyes Only name.

  True? Not true? Beats me. I’ve believed it for thirty-something years, and Daddy, if you’re reading this and it’s not true, please don’t tell me!

  So you see, my fascination with spinning yarns about NASA is genetic. And in fact, I actually have an idea for a thriller involving an Apollo astronaut. Maybe someday I’ll give Al a call. Just for research purposes, you know. I mean, surely he’d talk to a little kid he used to baby-sit….

  Susan Kearney

  Stories have always come easily to me; however, writing them is quite difficult. That’s probably because I didn’t like English classes in school. Grammar is boring, boring, boring. And studying business at the University of Michigan wasn’t exactly the right background for becoming an author. I had one thing going for me: I’d always loved to read. Growing up I loved biographies, mainstream fiction and science fiction. When my grandmother gave me my first romance to read at age ten, The Wolf and the Dove, I was hooked.

  I’ve read romances for years. Back in my teens the romances I read were all historical and my favorites were the hot and spicy ones. And then I read a futuristic romance by Johanna Lindsey and was fascinated. I tried to find more romances set in the future, but they were few and far between back then. So I figured the publishers must need more of them. I was so wrong—the futuristic market simply wasn’t that popular. But in my ignorance I happily went about writing three love stories set in the future. Along the way I made a bunch of great new friends and discovered I didn’t know squat about writing. Editors expect you to know where to put those pesky commas. And they expect the book to be broken up into chapters.

  Luckily, I didn’t know how much I had to learn. I wrote five books in eighteen months, then sold my first two books, historical romances, to Zebra’s Heart Fire line. I told everyone I’d sold a book. Lots of people didn’t believe me, but I didn’t worry, because soon I would have a book in print to show them. Only, Zebra canceled the line and those books were never published.

  Determined to sell a book, I decided to write a contemporary romantic suspense for the Silhouette Intimate Moments line. But the fit wasn’t right. However, the book, Tara’s Child, found a home with Harlequin Intrigue, and after that sale I was on my way and wrote another twenty or so books for Harlequin Intrigue.

  However, I’d never lost my love of science fiction, and Charlotte Douglas and I wrote a Star Trek book, The Battle of Betazed, that made the USA TODAY bestseller list.

  Meanwhile, Harlequin had begun a line of books called Blaze—hot, sensual and spicy books that sounded like fun. So I started writing for Harlequin Blaze, too. I enjoy creating different kinds of stories, and the simmering sensuality of Blaze was a challenge I relished.

  And then I heard about a publisher who was looking for paranormal romance and I sent my very first futuristic story idea off to them. To my delight they were interested in my paranormal romance—which needed a complete rewrite. After some forty books, after ten years of writing, I’d learned a lot. So my very first story, The Challenge, was released in February and the sequel, The Dare, will be out in July.

  However, I’ve never lost my love of suspense. Harlequin Signature Select allowed me to write a paranormal romantic suspense, titled On the Edge, which will be in stores in May.

  Writing has kept me extremely busy. The fun part is that I can sit in my home and create to my heart’s delight. I’ve been fortunate to combine creativity with a career I love. You can read excerpts from all my upcoming books at www.SusanKearney.com.

  Here’s a sneak peek…

  ON THE EDGE by Susan Kearney

  Some dreams are all too real…how much did Kaylin Dancroft really know about her sister’s disappearance?

  PROLOGUE

  IN THE GLOOM of the late-night storm, rain pinged on the roof and the wind keened as if in warning, bringing realism to Kaylin Dancroft’s nightmare, in which warped branches twisted like arms rising out of a tree trunk in search of prey. In search of her.

  She had to wake up.

  Had to get out of bed.

  Hide.

  Still more than half-asleep, she rolled off the mattress, stumbled into the walk-in closet and shut the louvered door. She crouched shivering, teeth chattering, filled with the conviction that the evil lurking outside was stalking her.

  Terror clawed up her gut. Fear squeezed her throat tight, and she couldn’t mutter as much as a yelp. Though she told herself she’d experienced only another ugly nightmare and should climb back into bed, her feet might as well have been encased in hardened cement. Wedged in her closet by her subconscious, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Thunder boomed. Her window squeaked open. Damp air and the scent of rain saturated the room.

  Oh, God.

  This wasn’t part of another bad dream. Someone was here. In her room.

  She peeked through
the slats of the closet door. A man’s silhouette hovered over her bed. Lightning bolted against the black clouds, and for a split second Kaylin glimpsed a swarthy shape against the stormy sky.

  For a moment she hesitated, indecisive. Maybe he was meeting a lover and had climbed into the wrong window of the wrong house.

  Yeah, right. And she was Xena, warrior princess.

  No matter how much she wished otherwise, the gun in his hand, as much as his ominous hulk looming over her bed, convinced Kaylin that he meant business—nasty business. Menacing malevolence clung to him like the stench of foul garbage. She sensed a monster beyond her worst nightmare. Without remorse, without humanity. Without a soul.

  He turned from her tossed-off blanket and vacant pillow to check the bathroom, but still blocked her chance to flee. After assuring himself the bathroom was empty, he trod back to Kaylin’s bed and slicked his hand over her bare sheets. Oh, God. He was checking for warmth, assessing how long ago she’d left. Lightning flashed again. With his face in total shadow, enough light glinted for her to see him raise the finger that had just touched her bed to his mouth for a long lick, an obscene gesture. Shuddering, she prayed he wouldn’t find her.

  And her prayer was answered. The intruder retreated from Kaylin’s bed and padded over to Jenna.

  She’s not the one you came for. Leave her alone. She’s only sixteen, too young to know that evil like you exists in the world.

  Twenty-two-year-old Kaylin knew this man had willfully targeted the Dancroft home. And Kaylin. Although she couldn’t pin down the specifics of her dream, she’d sensed that he was coming for her—but dear God, not for Jenna.

  This time God didn’t heed Kaylin’s prayer. And when the monster nudged Jenna with the gun, Kaylin’s terror kicked into high gear.

  Blissfully asleep, Jenna was unaware of the menace focused on her. Kaylin had to protect her sister, had to stop the predator. But how? He had a gun. Calling out to her parents down the hall could get them all killed.

  She had to save Jenna.

  Kaylin’s fingers skimmed over a shoe box, a tennis racket, a backpack. Damn. Damn. Damn. Where was a golf club or a baseball bat when she needed one? Adrenaline rushing, she settled for an umbrella, clenching it with both hands.

  Wait for the right moment.

  Wait until he’s vulnerable.

  Wait…

  He turned his back.

  Now.

  Pulse speeding, palms sweaty, Kaylin slowly and silently shoved open the closet door with her foot. Barefoot, she advanced with quiet steps.

  Again he poked Jenna with the gun, but, as usual, Jenna didn’t want to wake up. Her sister groaned and turned onto her stomach, one hand flung over her head.

  Almost there. One more step.

  The man wound his arm around Jenna’s throat and yanked. She let out a short, muffled curse.

  And Kaylin pounced, smashing the umbrella on the arm of the hand holding the gun. Although she had lunged silently, the intruder spun to meet her attack like a wild jungle animal focused on survival, his mouth spewing obscenities. With an upward swing of his arm he blocked her blow as easily as he’d have brushed off a flea, then slammed her into a wall.

  Her head burst with hot pain that caused her legs to buckle. She fought to push back to her feet, but her muscles refused to work.

  Kaylin’s world went black.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Four years later

  Shane Lynch eyeballed the woman sitting by herself in the dark movie theater. If she’d glanced his way just once, he would have smiled, flirted, charmingly used one of the dozen pickup lines he’d kept handy for this mission, but Kaylin Dancroft looked neither right nor left. Her hair had fallen forward and half covered her cheek. Watching her run along Tampa Bay this morning, he had thought it pure golden; now in the light from the screen he noticed auburn tints, a rich warmth that contrasted with her too-pale cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes. As the trailers ended and credits for the feature rolled, she stared straight ahead, almost transfixed, her don’t-approach-me vibes obvious to anyone. To a man with Shane Lynch’s extraordinary perceptions, her aura was in shut-down mode, a condition that wasn’t just unusual or rare, but unique.

  Even if work hadn’t required him to get to know Kaylin Dancroft, Shane would have gravitated to her like a collector of rare art to a newfound Renoir. In search of a casual way to meet, he’d tailed her since before dawn when she’d jogged along Tampa Bay, her sneakers tapping a swift staccato on Bayshore Boulevard’s sidewalk. Her stride, a sassy sway of trim hips mixed with her own brand of feminine swagger, had shaken him up and restarted his engines. Until that moment he hadn’t known how much he’d looked forward to a new challenge. Or how tired he’d become of Middle Eastern countries—it had been too long since he’d seen bare legs. And Kaylin’s were tanned and toned, incredibly shapely. However, great legs and a fine-looking woman alone would have held his interest for only a short time. Shane had known many beautiful women, their auras ranging from quiet green to blazing scarlet. None of them had Kaylin’s strength of mind.

  Self-contained, Kaylin hadn’t given him one opening to approach her with a casual greeting. How did one meet a woman who was so isolated? All day she’d hurried from one task to the next. She’d never stopped moving until she’d entered the movie and sat in her aisle seat.

  Apparent exhaustion caused her head to droop. Her eyelids fluttered. As if to counter the sleepiness stealing into her shoulders and softening her stiff posture, she gripped her thighs, her fingertips leaving indentations in her slacks. Still, her chin declined another notch. She jerked in her chair, as if making one last-ditch effort to avoid slumber, before her jaw went slack, her eyes closed and she succumbed to sleep—once again squelching all opportunity to introduce himself.

  Like men exhausted from arduous Special Forces training, Kaylin twitched, jerked and spasmed. She remained oblivious to Schwarzenegger’s on-screen entrance in the nude as she slumped into deeper sleep.

  During REM sleep most minds were exposed, vulnerable, yet even in sleep Kaylin kept tight control of her aura. However, not even she could prevent several low-level leaks in the violet end of her spectrum.

  Finally. Something Shane could work with.

  Until today, he’d believed he’d already seen every possible aura variation. Shane had worked as chief assistant to the ambassador in Afghanistan, gone undercover and infiltrated cells in Iraq and Kuwait, employing his special talents to reroute tempers and passions into positive directions. But Kaylin’s aura was different from any he’d encountered. Finally, as she dreamed, she exposed a thin crescent, reminding him of a lunar eclipse, the gray penumbra a muted violet that shadowed the surrounding light.

  Kaylin moaned, and the feral, guttural intensity coming from those coral-glossed lips startled Shane. He wouldn’t have thought a slender throat could emit such a splintered cry. A man in the back of the audience hissed for quiet. Someone else cursed. Unaware of the commotion she was causing, Kaylin let out a piercing wail that sliced like a garrote. Even as he gathered strength to help her, her pent-up pain reverberated through him, heightening his desire to go to her.

  Shane leaned forward until his mouth neared the shell of Kaylin’s ear and her citrus fragrance teased his nostrils. He kept his words clipped, his tone easy. “Wake up.”

  For all the response he received, he might as well have been talking to the robot on the screen.

  Again she screamed, this time in a stubby burst that seemed artificially cut off and all the more shocking for ending in an insufferable gurgle. Shane noted the additional shouts of annoyance from the peanut gallery, but his immediate concern was for Kaylin, clearly caught in an unbearable nightmare. As badly as she needed sleep, he had to wake her before the security guard entering through the double doors identified who was causing the disturbance.

  By the flickering violets of her aura, Shane knew she’d finally yielded to deeper sleep. He hurdled over the row and took the
seat beside her. Lightly he placed a palm on her shoulder. With a violent wrench she rejected his touch, pitched forward and let out a full-throated shriek, drawing the guard’s attention.

  The security guard strode down the aisle, stopped at her row and aimed his flashlight at Kaylin. “What’s the problem, ma’am?”

  With her fingers now clasping the chair in front of her and her eyes wide open, she appeared to be awake. But she didn’t turn her head toward the bright light or alter her expression.

  Shane spoke quietly to the uniformed guard. “She’s having a nightmare.”

  The guard’s light revealed Kaylin’s dilated irises, her too-tight grip and her unnaturally stiff bearing. “Looks more like she’s on something.”

  Shane had run into his share of security personnel. This one, with his middle-aged belly hanging over his belt and his kind eyes, seemed like a guy inclined to take the easiest way out. If Shane could extract Kaylin from the premises, he didn’t think the guy would call the cops. But if she shook off Shane a second time, he feared the guard would make a move.

  With swift decisiveness that had earned him a Silver Star during his stint in the army and presidential commendation after a classified assignment in an African nation, Shane dropped to one knee, scooped her up, gathered her against his chest and strode out of the movie to the applause of the entire audience.

  She was thin, so he hadn’t expected her to weigh so much. Her delicate facial features and slender body disguised a muscular frame, but her weight was not a problem for him. Shane had carried full-grown men off battlefields and he’d dragged an injured partner through a muddy rice paddy to safety, but those men had placed their trust in him. Kaylin was a stranger, and lifting her into his arms seemed an invasion of her privacy.