Son of the Enemy

by Ana Barrons

  “I lost my baby,” she whispered. “John’s baby.” She turned into Sam and felt herself bundled into a safe and loving embrace.

  “Oh, Hannah,” he said, his voice gravelly. “So much loss. So much.”

  “I didn’t even know until it was gone. The doctor said it was probably the trauma.” She wiped her eyes. “That sick, twisted bastard claims another victim. May he rot in hell.”

  They held each other, Hannah and the man who should have raised her. How different her life would have been with Sam Daly as her father. She and John… Well, it would have been different, but it would have lasted forever.

  John as my brother.

  The thought made her feel suddenly giddy, and laughter bubbled up. Oh boy, she was hysterical, that’s what was going on. Sam’s arms loosened around her, and when she looked up and met his gaze, feeling guilty for laughing, she saw him smiling through teary eyes.

  “I was thinking about John being my stepbrother.”

  Sam chuckled and stroked her hair. “Things could’ve gotten a little dicey in our household. I don’t think you and he were meant to be related that way.” When her vision blurred, he pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. “You can have other children together. He’ll wait for you a long time, honey, but it sure would be nice for both of you if you didn’t make him.”

  Hannah rubbed her nose on him like a little girl. Whatever happened between her and John, she knew that she and Sam Daly were connected at the soul level, and that she could count on that. “So, what’s he going to do, if he doesn’t go back to the FBI?”

  She could hear the smile in Sam’s voice when he answered. “He wants to be a school psychologist.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Hannah poured herself a cup of coffee, then changed her mind and left it sitting on the credenza. Five twenty. Her appointment should be here any minute. She stretched and gazed out the window at the small cluster of teachers standing and chatting on the lawn below her. Larissa glanced up at her window and waved. Hannah smiled and waved back, and then the others all turned and sent up dramatic waves and big smiles that said Welcome back to our world. God, she loved these people. They were her family, along with Arthur and Bebe. And, of course, Sam Daly.

  She could call him right now, and just hearing his voice would reassure her that there was still some justice in the world, even though it was late and incomplete. How many people, wrongfully incarcerated for more than two decades, could emerge with so little anger inside them? He’d spent it all in the early years, he’d told her. And then he’d learned to accept his lot, not passively but actively, doing what he did best—teaching. There were many inmates and guards he would stay in touch with for the rest of his life, friends he valued infinitely more than those who had abandoned him when he was arrested and convicted. In the midst of all the publicity surrounding Philip’s capture and Sam’s release, several of those “old friends” had sent letters, saying they never believed he was guilty.

  “That’s when I discovered I was still angry,” he’d told her.

  She sighed. The ad in Craigslist had been in since Sunday, and here it was, Friday, and still… Drumming her fingers on her hip, which jutted out from the black skirt she was wearing—reminding her that she was still wasn’t eating enough—she wandered back to her desk, sat down and dropped her head into her hands. She was tired, as she was most days, either from too little sleep or too much. It was a good thing the board had agreed to hire a psychologist to counsel the kids, because she still hadn’t gotten her edge back. She had to get her own life together before she could help these kids with theirs.

  Right, which was why she’d argued so passionately for the board to approve the funds. Uh-huh.

  Well, Larissa said this Dr. Bettelheim—no relation to Bruno—had sounded great on the phone and had lots of experience with adolescents. Hannah shook her head. She’d find something wrong with him, just like she had with Judith Whatsername, the psychologist who’d come in yesterday, and all the others who’d faxed their resumes to her this week. This Bettelheim guy claimed he’d faxed his resume but she couldn’t find it. He’d bring another one. They all did.

  Restless, she moved to a comfortable chair by the fireplace, which now had a large potted fern in front of it. To keep that gloomy look out of her eyes, Larissa had told her. Leave it to her to be painfully honest when no one else would be. She closed her eyes and rubbed her knuckle over the line between her brows. It had gotten deeper recently, which wasn’t a surprise.

  “I hope I got the appointment right this time.”

  Hannah raised her head slowly and stared at him, standing in the doorway. He, too, looked thinner, but every bit as handsome as when she’d last seen him in November. Why had she let so much time go by? He came toward her, wearing the same clothes he’d worn last fall, when he’d walked into her office and set off a chain of events that had changed both their lives. She didn’t move, but she didn’t take her eyes off him. His were swimming with emotion. One of them was anger.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone guarded.

  She gazed at him, wanting so much to say the right words, but her mind wasn’t working so she let her emotions take over. “Dying of love,” she said in a voice so soft she could barely make it out herself.

  John’s expression softened. He squatted and rested his elbows on the arm of her chair, his face only a foot from hers. “Interesting affliction. Where’d you hear about it?”

  “Someone very important to me once said he felt like he could die of love.” The lump in her throat was huge. “Now I know how that feels.”

  “Who do you love, Hannah?” There was fear and longing in his eyes, and she knew they mirrored her own.

  Her throat was clogged with tears. “I love you.”

  He lifted her hand off her lap and held it to his lips. “You love me. But do you trust me?” He studied her face. “Do you?”

  She nodded.

  John looked away, his lips pressed tightly together. “But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about the baby.” He turned back to her, naked pain in his eyes. “Maybe you thought I’d push myself on you. Maybe you didn’t trust me to respect or even believe what you told me so damn clearly, that you couldn’t be with me. Remember? I was begging you just to let me tell you the whole story, but you refused to listen. You told me to leave you alone and let you get your life together.”

  How well she remembered. “I didn’t understand, then.”

  “What didn’t you understand?” He stood. “I know you were traumatized. I know it was my fault. I used you in the worst possible way, lied to you about everything—except about my feelings for you. I never lied about that.” He walked to the mantle, rested his elbow on it. “None of it was your fault. It’s just… I assumed you understood how much I loved you. I was being naïve.”

  She rose and stood by her chair, hugging herself. “I was numb. I didn’t feel anything, and I didn’t believe anyone in the world loved me…had ever loved me. I can’t remember my mother, except in dreams, and we both know my father doesn’t give a damn about me.”

  “Your father doesn’t love anyone but himself, the selfish bastard.”

  “Then your father came to see me.” They were just a few feet apart, but the gulf was wide. “Within a minute I understood why my mother loved him. And why you loved him enough to risk everything to get him back. If he’d been my father, I think I would have done the same thing.”

  John lowered his elbow from the mantle and searched her eyes. “If it had been a choice between saving your life or keeping Philip alive to get my father out of prison, I would have killed Philip in a heartbeat. My father knows that. Do you?”

  She nodded slowly. A moment passed, and then she moved toward him. “John—”

  He snatched her into his arms. “Oh God, I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into her hair. She squeezed him to tell him she felt the same. “Here we were, both dying of love, and it took a sixty-tw
o-year-old ex-con to get us back together.”

  Hannah framed his face with her hands. “He has you back now, and he’s free. The only thing missing is—” She stopped, realizing that she had the power to give that back to him as well. Almost.

  “He’ll never stop loving your mother, but having you in his life feels like such a big goddamn gift.” His expression was tender. “If you love me half as much as I love you, you’ll marry me immediately and give that man a grandchild. He’ll make the best damn grandfather in the world.”

  She laughed and then sobered. “Are you sure? I mean, about getting married?”

  In answer, he lowered his mouth in a kiss that took her breath away. True to form, he also squeezed the breath out of her, forcing her to push away. “You know, I have an appointment coming in any minute, and it’s too late to cancel it.”

  “With your school psychologist?” John asked. He kissed her gently. “The one you were advertising for, hoping I’d apply for it?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, that one.”

  “I really do want to come back to the school. I miss the little delinquents.”

  She threw her arms around him. “Oh, John, I love you so much.”

  He kissed the top of her head and held her like he’d never let go. “I think we both might just live.”

  About the Author

  Born and raised in New England, Ana Barrons has spent most of her life in Washington, DC, where daily news stories inspire her writing. She is the author of several romantic suspense novels. She loves to hear from readers, and invites them to visit her website at www.anabarrons.com or her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/ana.barrons.

  One killer is in her blood. The other is in her house.

  First Do No Evil

  © 2012 Carey Baldwin

  Blood Secrets, Book 1

  There’s a killer lurking in Dr. Skylar Novak’s family tree: the gene for breast cancer. That's why her brilliant brother invented the Bella vaccine. But even if the miracle drug protects her from the cancer that took her mother's life, it can't save Sky from the flesh and bone evil stalking her in secret.

  When the killer strikes, detective Daniel Benson finds himself in the wrong place at the right time. The bold detective manages to save Sky's life…just in time for her to return the favor. Survival leads to seduction, and Danny risks everything—his career, even his life, to keep Sky safe. But will the buried sins they uncover cost him her heart?

  Danny’s strong arms may hold her close, but only Sky can stop the terror that's coming next…

  Warning; Contents include: One heart-melting hero—good luck getting this delicious detective out of your head. One reluctant heroine—wielding a Glock was never on her to-do list. One crazed villain—an entire flock of baa baa black sheep won't be enough to put you to sleep. And a lifesaving vaccine with one deadly side effect—murder.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for First Do No Evil:

  Inside the diner, Nevaeh Flores bustled about, wiping counters, laying placemats and filling sugar jars, her back to the door. Despite the early hour, the girl had a swing in her step, evincing a naïve optimism characteristic of many of the young women Sky cared for at the family medicine clinic, and poignantly appropriate for someone whose mother had named her heaven—spelled backwards. Perhaps naïve optimism was an inherited trait.

  Just yesterday, Sky had reluctantly turned over the care of nineteen-year-old Nevaeh, now five months pregnant, to an obstetrician. She rapped on the glass, but Nevaeh danced her way behind the counter without looking up. Shivering, Sky turned and reassessed the street. A baby-blue classic Mustang crept up the icy road and skidded to a stop at the curb in front of Jolene’s. Her throat constricted as she watched a big man exit the vehicle. Easily a foot taller than her, he must’ve been well over six feet. The man approached, head down, gray hoodie pulled forward over his face. No bulge in his lightweight sweats or jacket to suggest a weapon, but he held his arms a bit too far from his body, indicating to her that he might be carrying a sidearm.

  Her heart rate jacked with each menacing crack of boot against ice. The man’s shoulders were broad, his waist and hips narrow. She could see the outline of densely muscled thighs working beneath his sweats. He reached the doorway and crunched to a halt beside her.

  Security code: orange.

  Hold your head up. Look him in the eyes. Don’t act like a victim.

  His chin came up. Her eyes lifted to his, and a warm brown gaze short-circuited her security system. She was struck by an unreasoned, instinctive urge to trust this man.

  He spoke first. “Brrr chill.”

  Such a childlike expression from such a dangerous looking source. Before she could stop it, her laugh broke free.

  Two vertical lines creased the space between the man’s thick sable brows. “What?”

  In order to quell her laughter, she concentrated on the dim scar that traveled the length of the man’s nasal filtrum before coursing into his off-center upper lip. The effect of that slight asymmetry, those full, battle-scarred lips set against otherwise perfect, intensely masculine angles was undeniably sensuous. The word devastating came to mind. He should be a poster boy for cleft-lip repairs. Her shoulders stopped vibrating, but she didn’t trust herself to speak, not quite yet.

  “It’s fuckin’ freezing,” he said.

  “Now that’s more what I’d expect from an outlaw like you.” Oh. That was inappropriate. But judging by the way every feature on his face worked its way into a rebel-without-a-cause grin, he hadn’t exactly taken offense at the remark.

  “Well, all right then. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Doesn’t fit anyway. Buy you a coffee?”

  “Thanks, but no.”

  “Not into outlaws?”

  “Uh…” She rattled the doorknob helplessly.

  “One cup. C’mon, flirt and run’s a crime. Don’t make me arrest you.”

  Now this was just plain awkward. She couldn’t figure any way out but honesty. “You’re right. I was flirting—and I never flirt—and I absolutely should not have flirted with you just now. It’s my bad. I apologize.”

  “I refuse to accept.” Reaching inside his jacket, the man pulled out his wallet and flicked it open, revealing a gold badge. “What’s it gonna be,” he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face, “coffee or cuffs?”

  So he was one of the good guys—a detective. Like the ones who’d worked her father’s case with such dedication. Good to know her instincts had been right. But that didn’t change the fact that she was engaged. “You don’t understand. I’m meeting someone—my brother—and my fiancé.”

  “You’re engaged to your brother?”

  “No, I…” Impossible as it seemed in the subfreezing temperature, heat crept up her neck and across her face. “Stop teasing. I said I was sorry.” She lifted her frigid hands to cool her cheeks.

  The detective’s fingers slid around her left wrist, pulling her hand close for inspection. “The cheap bastard didn’t spring for a rock?”

  Allowing herself a mere moment to enjoy the unexpected rush of pleasure that resulted from his fingertips grazing her skin, she tugged her hand free. “Oh, the bastard’s quite generous, the ring’s at home…this is all so new…and…”

  “How new?”

  “Edmond proposed last week.” She bit her lower lip. She shouldn’t be explaining herself to this man, good guy or no, but his interrogation technique was difficult to resist. His boldness was tempered with just the right touch of humor and there was a friendly encouragement in his tone.

  Leaning in, he reached one arm out and settled his palm on the glass, half-caging her between his body and the door. His head bent low. “Edmond, I take it, is not an outlaw.”

  She felt his breath warm her neck, drank in his scent—pine trees and salt. Low in her belly, muscles softened and ached. He was too close. Mashing her back against the door until its rigid contours poked her spine, she pushed him away. “I wish they’d open up.”

  He cl
utched his heart. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

  “I only meant I’m cold…you know, brrr chill,” she said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the unsettled tone in her voice.

  “Sorry. I’ve got the manners of a polecat.” He knocked on the window and called out, “Nevaeh!”

  “I already tried that. I’m afraid her earbud’s connected to her iPod.”

  When he whistled a short riff from “Dem Bones”, Sky’s shoulders relaxed, and she found herself laughing for the second time in the space of five minutes. Skylar Novak…first flirting, and now laughing. Maybe for an encore she could mud-wrestle the guy. “You know Nevaeh?”

  “Since she was knee high. This Edwin—”

  “Edmond.”

  “Proposed just last week, and you’re not sporting ice, checking out your left hand until you’re blind? You sure you’re a girl?”

  “Not very PC, are you?”

  Shrugging, he pushed his sleeve back and checked his watch. “It’s oh-seven-hundred, why didn’t you and Edmond come together? No ring. No Edmond. I think maybe you’re shining me on.”

  “The ring is a bit ostentatious for the office is all.”

  “I’d insist you wear the ring.” His gaze wandered from her mouth to her eyes. “If you were mine.”

  She looked past him, focused on the distant San Francisco Peaks, their frosted tips gleaming in the sunlight. “I don’t belong to any man.”

  “So there’s still a chance for me.”

  Rolling her shoulders back, she stuck her chin up. Even though she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, she felt disloyal to Edmond. “I love my fiancé, and I plan on making him happy.”

  “If there is an Edmond…”

  She crossed her heart.

  “If there is an Edmond, you’re not in love with him.”

  At that, the hairs on the back of her neck bristled in Edmond’s defense. “Try to keep up. I just said—”

  “You just said you loved him, not that you’re in love with him. I bet you love your brother, too, and your cat. But that won’t make for wedded bliss. You said you want to make Edmond happy, not that he makes you happy. You left the ring at home and—”