by Irene Hannon
Start Reading
© 2011 by Irene Hannon
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3401-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Any internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided only as a resource; Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
To my husband, Tom—
who proves to me every day that a man
doesn’t have to jump into raging rivers to be a hero.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Author
Back Ads
1
Heavy breathing.
That was all she could hear.
No voice.
No background noise.
Just a palpable presence on the other end of the line.
Again.
Despite the warmth of the early May breeze wafting through her kitchen window, an icy shiver snaked down Alison Taylor’s spine.
She glanced at the number displayed on caller ID. Compared it to the one thumbtacked to the small corkboard beside her phone. The one she’d jotted down after the second call.
It didn’t match. But it looked vaguely familiar.
She grabbed a pen and wrote down the new number.
“Who is this?” She tried to sound poised. Unruffled. In control. But the tremor in her words betrayed her.
A sudden click as the line went dead was the only response.
I do not need this!
As she slammed the portable phone back into its holder, a startled yelp at her feet summed up Bert’s reaction to her frustrated—and futile—gesture.
Bending down to pick up the fourteen-pound mutt she’d rescued from the animal shelter last summer, she winced as a twinge of pain radiated down her leg. Lately she’d begun to forget about the steel rod inside. And that was a positive sign. It meant her recovery was progressing. But moments like this reminded her it wasn’t yet complete.
And maybe never would be.
As Bert wriggled and stretched his neck to lick her face, his unrestrained affection helped chase away her sudden dejection—and uncoil the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach.
“Missed me while I was at work, did you, big guy? How does a walk sound on this beautiful St. Louis afternoon?”
The word walk set off another round of ecstatic slurping.
Chuckling, she set him on the floor again, moving more carefully this time. “Okay, okay, I get the message. Let me grab your leash and we’ll—”
The phone rang again, cutting her off midsentence.
Her heart stuttered, then tripped into double time as she edged toward the counter to check caller ID. She should have done that before answering the last call too. But Bert’s enthusiastic welcome-home greeting had distracted her.
One glance at the display, however, set her mind at ease. Her two brothers had a tendency to be annoyingly overprotective, but she could handle them better than she was handling the anonymous calls. Especially Cole.
Bert nudged her leg when she picked up the phone, and she gave him a pat. “In a minute, big guy. Be patient.” As if. A rueful grin tugged at her mouth. Bert had many virtues, but patience wasn’t one of them.
“Hi, Cole.” She grabbed the leash draped over a coat hook by the back door. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just checking in. How’s my favorite sister?”
“I’d take that as a compliment, except I’m your only sister.”
“Are you evading my question?” Concern sharpened his tone.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “No. I was making a joke. The accident was a year ago, Cole. I’m fine, as I keep telling you and Jake. Although I have to say, our big brother hovers less since he and Liz got engaged three weeks ago. Maybe I need to find you a good woman too.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. You’re thirty-five. You ought to have a wife and family by now.”
“You’re thirty-four, as of a couple of weeks ago.”
She clicked the leash on Bert’s collar, fighting back a wave of melancholy. If all had gone as she’d expected, she might have been married by now—as they both knew. Instead, her dreams of a husband and family had been shattered that fateful night a year ago.
“Alison . . . I’m sorry.” Contrition and self-reproach etched Cole’s words. “Sometimes I speak before I think.”
“No kidding.” She took a deep breath and lightened her tone. “However, my experience with David is ancient history. Besides, I have Bert now. Not a bad trade-off, if you ask me.”
Hearing his name, the dog gave her a hopeful look and began vigorously wagging his stubby tail, his whole body quivering in anticipation.
“Who wants to go for a walk, by the way.” Alison leaned down to pat him again, favoring her bad leg. “So if there’s no specific reason for your call other than to harass your little sister . . .” She let the words trail off, preparing to hang up.
“Actually, I do have another reason.”
At the trace of nervousness in his voice, Alison’s antenna went up. Her brothers rarely displayed even a hint of uneasiness. As a deputy U.S. marshal, Jake was a take-charge kind of guy—on and off the job. Cole wasn’t far behind. She’d been the victim of his brother-to-sister interrogations on numerous occasions, and she pitied the suspects who faced his official, on-the-job grilling. Police detectives didn’t come any sharper—or more relentless—than Cole Taylor.
When the silence lengthened, she prompted him. “You mentioned another reason?”
“Right. Here’s the thing. Remember me telling you at your birthday brunch that we were getting a new detective?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he started this week. Nice guy. My age. A former Navy SEAL. He’s spent the past four years with the NYPD—two on the SWAT team, two as a detective. His name’s Mitch Morgan.”
Silence fell again, and Alison frowned. Bert was tugging on the leg of her slacks now, his initial excitement over the prospect of a walk giving way to the necessity of a walk.
“Look, Cole, spit it out. Bert’s sending me an urgent message here.”
“Could you let him out in the backyard?”
“Is this going to take that long?”
“It might.”
> Huffing out a breath, Alison unclipped the leash and reached for the doorknob. “Fine. But I have one disappointed dog here. He was all geared up for a walk.” Bert shot out the instant she opened the door and took off at a gallop for the nearest tree.
“Okay.” She swiveled back to the kitchen. “You have my full attention. Continue.”
“First, promise you won’t say no right away.”
Uh-oh.
Alison knew where this was headed, and she had no intention of going down that road again. “You’re not trying to fix me up with this guy, are you?”
“Not for a lifetime. Just an evening.”
“Yeah? Are you willing to take a lie detector test on that?”
“Hear me out, okay? Can you do that much at least?”
Picking up on his frustration, she bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Cole’s efforts to shore up her social life might be annoying, but they were well-intentioned.
“Sure. I can do that. As long as you know that when I decide to date again, the man will be of my choosing. Not one of the guys you and Jake have been trying to set me up with for the past six months.”
“They were nice guys.”
“I can handle my own love life.”
“This isn’t about your love life. It’s about helping a guy out for one night.”
Drat. People in need were her Achilles’ heel—and both her brothers knew that. Positioning this as a favor to someone else was an excellent strategy.
Score one for Cole.
“Okay.” She might as well give up the fight. “What’s the deal?”
“He needs a date for his cousin’s wedding reception on Saturday night.”
“You don’t need a date for a family event.”
“You do if you’re a very eligible male and you don’t want every married female relative shoving single women at you.”
Good point.
Her resolve wavered.
“Will he expect me to dance?”
“I can tell him you don’t dance if you want me to, but I bet you could. I hardly notice the limp anymore. Come on, Alison. Help the guy out. He’s only been back in town two weeks, and he’s spent most of his free time doing some long-overdue repairs on his dad’s house. And here’s the other thing—his father will be riding with you to and from the reception. So it’s not a real date. But having you there will keep predators away from Mitch.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t mind a few predators.”
“Yes, he would. He told me almost the same thing you did. That when he’s ready to jump into the St. Louis social scene, he’ll choose his own dates. That’s why he’s not looking forward to having single women steered his way by well-meaning relatives at the reception. So what do you say? Can I tell him you’re willing to step in for the night and be a defensive shield?”
Defensive shield?
Not the most flattering role she’d ever played.
On the other hand, she had no plans for Saturday night. Why pass up a free meal, the chance to do a good deed, and an opportunity to dress up? Especially in such a safe setting. A guy couldn’t get too amorous with his father in tow, even if he was so inclined. And this one didn’t sound like he was, anyway.
“Okay. If he wants a date for the evening, I’ll go.”
“Great. I’ll check with him tomorrow and let you know what he says. You won’t regret this.”
“I hope not, brother dear. Because if I do, your name is mud.”
Why did I let Cole talk me into this?
As he sat in his car outside Alison Taylor’s small suburban bungalow, Mitch ran his finger around the collar of his dress shirt and wished he could ditch the tie. Or better yet, ditch this whole evening.
If he had it to do over, he’d never have gotten into that conversation with Cole on Tuesday. The one about meddling female relatives who can’t stand to see a guy stay single. And he sure wouldn’t have agreed to take his new colleague’s sister to this shindig when Cole had brought it up again on Wednesday, even though his colleague had picked up the tab for their burgers after work. He’d rather fend off a dozen women on the make than try to entertain one who was still too distraught to reenter the social scene a year after breaking up with her boyfriend. She was going to be a barrel of laughs.
But once Cole had mentioned an accident his sister had been in and said it would lift her spirits to get out, he’d been a goner.
His colleague’s largesse—plus the soft heart beneath his own tough-guy veneer—had done him in.
Resigned to a boring evening, he slid out of the car and considered the suit coat hanging on the hook above the door in the backseat. Should he bother putting it on?
Nah. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress a real date.
As he strolled up the concrete walk and climbed the steps to the porch, a muted, high-pitched yapping heralded his arrival. Some froufrou dog, no doubt. He’d lay odds the pooch was a nipper too.
Bracing himself, he pressed the doorbell.
Thirty seconds later, at the sound of a latch being pulled back, he pasted on a smile and gritted his teeth.
Look at it this way, Morgan. In three hours, max, it will be over. You can find an excuse to . . .
The door opened, and Mitch’s mouth almost dropped open.
Wow.
The wallet-sized family shot Cole had shown him, taken at his mother’s birthday party last fall, hadn’t come close to doing justice to Alison Taylor’s classic oval face or her model-like cheekbones. To eyes as blue as a summer sky. To lips that were full and soft—and slightly parted, as if she, too, was surprised.
Her smile wavered, then steadied as she held out her hand. “Mitch, I presume.”
He reached out and enfolded her slender fingers in his. At some peripheral level, he realized she was about five inches shorter than his six-foot height. But he was more intrigued by the way the late-afternoon sun was gilding the highlights in her shiny, dark blonde hair. Worn parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears, it fell just shy of her shoulders before turning under to frame her perfect face.
Double wow.
Alison Taylor was drop-dead gorgeous.
Clearing his throat, he restrained the urge to loosen his tie. Too bad he hadn’t donned his jacket after all. “Guilty.”
A tug on the cuff of his slacks caught his attention. Welcoming the excuse to regroup, he looked down.
“Bert!” Alison scolded the golden fluff ball at his feet, bending to scoop him into her arms. “Sorry about that.” The skirt of her black cocktail dress was made of some kind of floaty fabric that billowed around her as she dropped down, emphasizing a waist that was impossibly small.
It took him a second to find his voice. “No problem.”
She wobbled as she started to rise, and he reached out to steady her. “Careful.”
“Thanks.”
Once upright, she cuddled the dog close, a slight flush suffusing her cheeks. “I meant to put him in his cage before you got here. Come in and make yourself comfortable.” She stepped back and gestured to the living room. “This will just take a minute. Will your dad be okay in the car?”
“My dad?” He tried to shift gears, but Alison’s blue eyes got in the way.
“Yes. Cole said he’d be joining us tonight.”
“Oh. Right. That was the original plan. But his sister and her husband are in town for the wedding, so he decided to ride with them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When did the plans change?”
“Thursday afternoon. My dad called me at work.”
“Did Cole know that?”
“I think I mentioned it to him yesterday. Why?”
“It’s not important.”
Pressing her lips together, she turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen.
But as Mitch took a seat on one of the side chairs in her living room, he sensed Cole’s lapse was, indeed, important.
And he had a feeling it didn’t bode well for his colleague.
You are dead meat, dear brother.
Alison latched the spacious cage in the basement, unmoved for once by Bert’s pleading whine to be released.
Cole had known as of yesterday that the man’s father wouldn’t be part of the date, and he hadn’t bothered to give her an update.
He was going to pay for this. Big-time.
Resting one hand on the cage for leverage, she straightened up. He was going to pay for something else too.
He’d failed to disclose that the bureau’s newest detective was hot.
Very hot.
Okay, so maybe a guy wouldn’t think in those terms. But all he’d offered when she’d asked him on Thursday what Mitch looked like was that the man had brown hair and was tall. Pretty sketchy for a guy who dealt with detailed descriptions every day on the job.
He could have told her about Mitch’s velvet brown eyes. Or his broad shoulders. Or his firm chin with the tiny Cary Grant cleft. Not to mention his potent presence, which radiated strength and integrity and leashed power.
No way did she believe Cole’s reticence was an oversight.
On the other hand, why should she care, when the handsome man waiting upstairs was hers for the evening? She slipped her fingers into the cage and gave Bert’s ear a distracted scratch. This could turn out to be a lot more interesting than she’d expected. Not that she’d ever tell Cole about her change of heart. Overprotective brothers might be bad.
But I-told-you-so-ing brothers were worse.
Seated at a small table tucked into one corner of the noisy VFW hall, where a rowdy duck dance was in progress, Mitch took a sip of soda. It was the first time he and Alison had been left alone. His relatives had all paraded by to say hello—and from their interested looks, it was clear they assumed he was on a real date rather than a mission of mercy.
Truth be told, he was beginning to wish it was a real date.
If it was, though, he wouldn’t have brought Alison here. He’d have taken her to some classy place for a sit-down dinner instead of the roast-beef-and-mostaccioli buffet that was the standard fare at weddings in his family. A quiet place where they could have had a real conversation instead of trying to shout over a DJ who seemed to have only one volume setting on his equipment: deafening.
