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Night Talk
Rebecca Daniels
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Published by Silhouette Books
America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance
TYVMFE! And for Jackson Jerome Phillips:
Aunt Nell has a place at the table for you.
"I never should have done it. I should have left you out there to freeze!"
Kristin had been so full of emotion, so intent on getting out all the pent-up anger, she hadn't really been thinking about what kind of a reaction to expect from him—and for a moment Jake didn't do anything. He just stood there, staring down at her.
But then the most amazing thing happened. Suddenly he was coming toward her, reaching for her, pulling her close.
"I could have lost you," he growled, pulling her into him. "I could have lost you."
His words made their way into her heart and burst through her system like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She forgot about being angry, forgot about being careful and staying in control. Suddenly she understood there were some things worth suffering for—and in that moment she knew Jake Hayes was one of them.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to another fabulous month of the most exciting romance reading around. And what better way to begin than with a new TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS novel from New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann? Night Watch has it all: an irresistible U.S. Navy SEAL hero, intrigue and danger, and—of course—passionate romance. Grab this one fast, because it's going to fly off the shelves.
Don't stop at just one, however. Not when you've got choices like Fathers and Other Strangers, reader favorite Karen Templeton's newest of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. Or how about Dead Calm, the long-awaited new novel from multiple-award-winner Lindsay Longford? Not enough good news for you? Then check out new star Brenda Harlen's Some Kind of Hero, or Night Talk, from the always-popular Rebecca Daniels. Finally, try Trust No One, the debut novel from our newest find, Barbara Phinney.
And, of course, we'll be back next month with more pulse-pounding romances, so be sure to join us then. Meanwhile…enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Books by Rebecca Daniels
Silhouette Intimate Moments
L.A. Heat #369
L.A. Midnight #431
Fog City #467
Lawyers,
Guns and Money #563
*Tears
of the Shaman #654
*Father Figure #696
Mind over Marriage #765
Yuletide Bride #827
Rain Dance #1061
Night Talk #1247
Silhouette Romance
Loving the Enemy #987
Family Addition #1201
Husband
Wanted—Fast! #1419
Silhouette Books
Montana Mavericks
Way of the Wolf
REBECCA DANIELS
will never forget the first time she read a Silhouette novel. "I was at my sister's house, sitting by the pool and trying without much success to get interested in the book I'd brought from home. Everything seemed to distract me—the dog, the kids, the seagulls. Finally, my sister plucked the book from my hands, told me she was going to give me something I wouldn't be able to put down and handed me my first Silhouette novel. Guess what? She was right! For that lazy afternoon by her pool, I will forever be grateful." From that day on, Rebecca has been writing romance novels and loving every minute of it.
Born in the Midwest but raised in Southern California, she now resides in the scenic coastal community of Santa Barbara with her two sons. She loves early-morning walks along the beach, bicycling, hiking, an occasional round of golf and hearing from her fans. You can e-mail Rebecca at [email protected].
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
"He said he couldn't go that long, you know, without…er…without it."
"Without sex?"
"He's a man, he has needs."
"And this was while you were in traction."
"Right, for six weeks. He said it would just be for then, just while I…couldn't. H-he promised it would stop after that, he wouldn't see her anymore once I was…well, once we could…we could…"
"We get the idea. And that was okay with you?"
"He's a man, he has—"
"Needs, yeah, you mentioned that."
"But then, when I got home from the hospital I found it. The letter."
"The Dear Jane."
"Yes."
"And he was long gone, right?"
"He went with her to Alaska. They're going to look for gold."
"Gold? Oh brother!"
"Gold? You mean like prospect?"
"Yeah, that's why he said he needed my truck."
"Your truck?"
"It's four-wheel drive, he had to borrow it, you know, to get up into the mountain."
"He didn't borrow it, lady, he stole it."
"He took your truck without checking with you first?"
"He just borrowed it. He promised to bring it back once they struck it rich."
"I don't call that borrowing, Sally. I call it grand theft auto."
Jake smiled.
"But I miss him, Jane."
"Oh jeez, lady, give me a break."
"Sally, my dear girl, give me a break. You don't miss this guy, you escaped him. He didn't leave you, he did you a favor."
Jake's smile widened. It wasn't the first time they'd thought alike. "You tell her, Jane."
"Count yourself lucky all this relationship cost you was your truck."
"But…but I love him."
"Well, if you do, he doesn't deserve your love, Sally. But there will be someone who does. Anybody agree? Anybody out there have advice for Sally Sad in Savannah, or a story of the love you've lost that you'd like to share? Let's hear from you, 1–800–NIGHT TALK. This is 'Lost Loves' and I'm your host, Dear Jane—Jane Streeter—and here's a little smooth jazz to soothe those aching hearts."
Jake stretched back as best he could in the narrow lawn chair, listening to the sultry tones of the saxophone drift out from the speaker and up into the night sky. It was late, too late, and he needed to be up early in the morning, but he wasn't sleepy. He'd gotten caught up in the music and the stories from callers who had phoned into the late-night radio program, caught up in the soft, velvety voice of Dear Jane.
Of course, if anyone were ever to ask, he would deny it to the death that he was part of the legion of listeners across the country who tuned in to the popular call-in program. After all, real men didn't listen to programs called "Lost Loves." They went for things like sports and hard-core news. But when you live alone at the top of a mountain, the nights get to be long, and the low, sultry voice of Jane Streeter helped fill the hours.
A tiny flicker of light glimmered suddenly out of the blackness from the far side of the canyon below. Jake sat up, automatically reaching for his binoculars. No flame, no fire, nothing to get excited about, but he would check it out anyway.
He focused the high-powered lens on the tiny spot of light. Just the pale beam from the headlights of a lone vehicle on the narrow mountain road. Too late for campers to be out. Besides, it was off-season. The campground wasn't set to open for another six weeks yet. More likely one of the handful of locals who lived year-round in the tiny fishing village of Vega Flats, which was three thousand feet and f
ifteen very rugged miles below his mountaintop perch. It was probably Mac making his way back to his cabin on the ridge after closing up the tavern in town, or maybe Ruby from the bait shop, out looking for night crawlers or tracking down one of her stray colts from the small herd of free-roaming horses she raised.
Jake followed the headlights' slow progression along the winding mountain pass until they became lost in the dense overgrowth and disappeared. He had planned to swing by the Flats tomorrow to pick up his mail while he was out checking a report of a mudslide along the trailhead leading up the east ridge. He would give that stretch of road a look just to make sure whoever was down there had gotten to where they were going okay. The narrow gravel pass was treacherous in broad daylight; in the dead of night it could be a killer.
"We're back and we've got Miss Priss from Mississippi. What do you say to Sad Sally?"
"Jane, I've only got one thing to say to Sally and that's good riddance to bad rubbish. Let's hope she's seen the last of him."
The loud click on the line had a laugh coming from Dear Jane.
"Okay, Miss Priss, thank you for that. Rita in Rialto, what's your advice for Sally? What's a girl to do when her man takes off with her neighbor and her four-wheel drive?"
"Well I'm with you, Jane. Sally honey, if my man did that to me, he'd be doing some serious talking to the business end of my Colt .45."
"Colt .45, ouch!" Jake laughed, dropping the binoculars to his lap.
"Whoa, Rita, gunplay, that's a little harsh, isn't it? After all, isn't all fair in love and war?"
"Oh, I wouldn't shoot him, honey, just put the fear of God into him. And if that didn't work, I've got a friend over in San Bernardino who could turn that dude into a dudette."
Jake laughed again and shook his head. "They grow them mean in Rialto."
"Well okay, Rita in Rialto, thanks for the call. Let's go to Harry, calling in from the East Coast. Harry, what's the word?"
"I think you're right, Jane. There are a lot of good men out there, Sally. Forget that creep. You're better than that and don't let yourself be disrespected like that again."
"Sage advice, Harry, thanks for tuning in. Now here's a sad story from the Pacific Northwest. This is Tim from Tacoma. You're on, Tim. Talk to me."
Jake leaned back in the chair again and listened as the story unfolded. He stretched out his long legs, hooking his knees over the edge of the deck's railing. It had been a mild winter and spring had come early. But despite the clement days of early March, midnight on the mountaintop was always cold, and sitting on the deck, which encircled the lookout tower's dome, it was even colder. Snow still dusted the ground in a few spots and the thermometer hanging on the post beside the sliding door read thirty-six degrees.
He pulled his Gortex jacket around him tightly and reached for the glass of wine on the small metal table beside the chair. He didn't mind the cold, but even if he had he wouldn't have gone inside. The midnight sky was brilliant with a million stars and worth risking cold ears and a red nose.
He drained the glass, feeling the alcohol warm a path down his throat, and listened while Dear Jane talked with the caller on the line. There wasn't another sound on the mountain and her voice drifted out into the darkness like the wind through the redwoods. He'd been first drawn to "Lost Loves" by the jazz, an eclectic mix of new and classic pieces, but it wasn't long before he found himself listening to the rest of the show—in particular to Dear Jane herself.
Jake wasn't one for talk radio and normally wouldn't have much patience for the sad stories phoned in by listeners. But there was something in the way Dear Jane responded to her callers, something so practical, so down-to-earth and rooted in common sense that he could appreciate. She seemed genuine, real, and she refrained from the usual antics of the media to stir up controversy or feign concern in an attempt to promote ratings. It was her manner, her comments, her sense of humor that had him tuning in night after night—well, that and her sexy voice.
"So that winds down another one for tonight. Don't forget to tune in tomorrow and catch the irrepressible Sly Fox, who will be sitting in for me for the next few days while yours truly takes a little R&R away from heartache."
"Who broke your heart, Jane?" Jake asked, gathering up the glass and binoculars and slowly rising to his feet.
"But I'll be back on Monday night with the best in jazz and worst in love. In the meantime, you're in good hands with Sly Fox."
"But Sly Fox is no Dear Jane," Jake commented. The substitute host had filled in for Jane Streeter on several occasions in the six months he'd been listening and Jake would inevitably find himself losing interest in those broadcasts. But he didn't mind this time. With Ted's wedding, he wasn't going to be able to catch the program for the next few nights anyway.
The reminder that all too soon he would be heading down the mountain and returning to Los Angeles again had a mixture of emotions broiling up inside and he suddenly felt cold—the kind of cold that had nothing to do with the brisk night air. The sturdy Gortex could protect him from the elements but it didn't stand a chance against the dread that pushed itself up from the past.
"And don't forget, love may be a many-splendored thing, but when it's over, we'll be here waiting. This is Dear Jane—Jane Streeter—and you've been listening to 'Lost Loves'. Until next time, dream, hope and love until it hurts. Good night."
Jake took one last glance across the sky, but like his disturbing sense of dread, the wind had kicked up, whistling through the trees and dropping the temperature another few degrees. He reached up, switching off the small outside speaker mounted on the wall, and pushed the sliding glass door open. The blast of warm air that greeted him from inside the tower felt delicious and inviting, causing him to shiver again.
Ranger Station and Fire Watch LP6, with its solid stone walls and thirty-foot tower perched atop Mount Holloway, was known as Eagle's Eye, and in the three years since he'd been appointed its ranger, he'd grown accustomed to the volatile weather conditions. The remote assignment in the backcountry of California's Los Padres National Forest wasn't usually the first choice of rangers entering the United States Forestry Service. Not many welcomed, or could tolerate, the solitude and the rugged living conditions. But solitude was exactly what Jake had wanted when he'd joined the Service three years ago. He'd wanted to be by himself, wanted to be as far away as he could get from people, from the LAPD and from the memories.
Valerie had accused him of running away—from her, from their marriage and from all the reasons that it wasn't working. But things hadn't been working between them for a long time, long before there had been a drug dealer under indictment and a key witness to protect.
He'd been a cop for ten years and had considered himself a damn good one. He'd worked hard to make his way up through the ranks, putting in long hours and many late nights. But while his efforts had paid off, landing him in charge of an elite task force working to bring down a major drug-smuggling operation in the Los Angeles area, the strain it put on his relationship with Valerie had put their marriage in jeopardy. He'd promised her once the assignment was over, he would take some time off and work on making things right between them—and who knows, maybe if things had worked out as they should, they could have salvaged something. But as it was, he'd never know. Fate had stepped in and changed everything.
He hung the binoculars on a hook beside the door and switched off the lights and the stereo. The tower went black and he followed the pale glow of the lights along the spiral stairwell to make his way across the tower's dome. He didn't like thinking about those days or about that old life, but sometimes even time and distance couldn't block out the memories.
Ricky Sanchez. He'd been a man who had worked hard all his life, a kind, decent man with a wife and a family, a man Jake would never forget.
It had been a warm summer night in June when Ricky Sanchez had gone about his normal janitorial duties of waxing floors, emptying trash cans and cleaning the rest rooms after hours in one of L.A.'
s towering glass and steel high-rise office buildings. But on that particular night it had been the wrong place to be at the wrong time. From an unseen spot in a maintenance closet, Ricky unwittingly became the eyewitness to a high-level drug deal that had turned deadly.
Ricky hadn't known at the time that it was notorious drug lord Donnie Hollywood whom he had seen put a bullet in the head of a rival, but instinct had told him the only way to stay alive had been to find a hiding place and stay there, which is exactly what he had done. He'd still been trembling in a crawl space when the police had found him the next morning.
Jake still remembered the rush of adrenaline he'd felt when he'd listened to Ricky tell what he had seen. They had been trying for months to get something on Hollywood, something that would put him out of commission for good, but he'd managed to elude them each time. But now they had him on a murder charge and Ricky's testimony was going to put him away for life.
It hadn't come as a surprise when word filtered in from the streets that Hollywood had promised a hefty reward to anyone who succeeded in taking out the prosecution's star witness. The authorities had already taken steps to protect Ricky, and Jake had been confident they had thought of everything to keep him safe. He'd been stashed in a safe house with around-the-clock security and no one outside of Jake, the D.A. and a small, select number of task force agents—all of whom he had trusted implicitly—knew how to find him.
Unfortunately, it was the one thing Jake hadn't accounted for that did Ricky in. It had been one of their own, one of his own task force agents who had betrayed him. Hollywood had managed to do the one thing Jake had thought could never happen, turn one of his men against him, and it was a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. It had not only cost Ricky his life, but the lives of two more task force agents as well.
Jake paused at the top of the stairs, staring down the narrow passage. The sense of betrayal had been overwhelming but the sense of failure had been even worse. Ricky had known the risk, had understood the danger, but he'd agreed to testify anyway. He had trusted Jake and the other members of the task force with his life, and they had let him down. At the funeral, Ricky's wife had told Jake she forgave him, and her words had haunted him every day since then. How could she forgive him when he hadn't been able to forgive himself?
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