Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 #1

by Margaret Daley

  “She was desperate toward the end and tried to shoot me at my uncle’s. Instead, he was wounded. That’s when Carly decided to leave the country with the money she’d accrued from the bribes she had taken.”

  “But she went after you first?”

  “Yes, she wanted me to pay for ruining her scheme.”

  Nicholas clasped Selena’s hand. “Can we give you a ride, Greg?”

  Greg panned the area. “Thanks, but my mom should be here. We’re going out to celebrate.” His face lit up. “Ah, I see her coming.”

  “Greg, my uncle would like you to come visit him. He wants to offer you a job at his estate as groundskeeper.”

  “You’re not joking?” Greg asked in a stunned voice.

  “No.” Selena gave him a piece of paper. “Call that number when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you. Tell him I will.” Greg shook Selena’s hand then Nicholas’s, then headed for the nearby Chevy and hugged an older woman waiting by the car.

  Selena’s throat clogged, and she swallowed several times before saying, “I’m glad I could finish what Michael started with the case.”

  “Come on. I’ve got one more place to go.” He tugged her toward his Tahoe.

  “Where?”

  “A surprise.”

  As Nicholas headed toward Maryland, Selena relaxed, thinking about the whirlwind past few days since Carly had been arrested for Saul Rather’s murder. “At least we found one murderer. I’d hoped Carly had killed Michael, too, then Erin could come home.”

  “Carly had an airtight alibi with a dozen senators able to verify her presence at a small party your uncle had given.”

  “And she was there the whole time?”

  “Yes. Believe me, I went through her alibi, wanting to tear it apart. I couldn’t. Neither could Isaac or Gavin.”

  Selena sighed. “Which leaves Erin where she was—a suspect.”

  “I’m not going to rest until the truth comes out. But I need you to promise to stop doing your own investigation. I can’t go through the past few weeks again.” Nicholas pulled up to a gate and pushed a remote control.

  The black iron gates slowly opened. “I thought we were going to my uncle’s.”

  “No, I told you I would bring you to my childhood home and that’s what I’m doing.”

  Selena sat forward, looking out the windshield at the white-brick mansion with a long veranda across the front of the house and tall, massive columns. At least four chimneys thrust up toward the sky.

  “This isn’t that far from my uncle’s.”

  Nicholas parked on a circular driveway near the massive double doors that led inside. “Actually, this place is closer than I realized. Probably no more than twenty minutes away.” He opened his door and climbed from the Tahoe. “I want to show you the place.”

  She slid from the car as Nicholas rounded the hood. Was this his way of saying goodbye because neither she nor her uncle needed to be guarded anymore? The physical threat was over, and now she faced a different kind of threat. When she was praying to the Lord to be saved from Carly, she’d realized how she really felt concerning Nicholas.

  “Why do you want me to see this?” she finally asked Nicholas, who paused and stared up at the front of the house.

  A neutral expression descended, as if he was struggling to hide any emotion. “Because I needed to let my past go in order to move forward.”

  Move forward? Where? Doubts assailed Selena. “Have you forgiven your parents?”

  “Yes. I can’t change what happened, but I can put it behind me once and for all. I’m going to sell the place. This isn’t me, but it will be perfect for someone else. I want some family to enjoy it the way it was meant to be enjoyed.”

  Her heartbeat thumped against her chest. “So you don’t see you having a family one day?”

  He shifted toward her and clasped her arms. “On the contrary, for the first time I do see me having a family—with you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

  For a moment no words came, as if his declaration had robbed her of coherent thoughts.

  “I know we haven’t been together long, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.” Concern lined his face.

  She flung her arms around him, pressing her body against his. “Yes. It’s not the quantity of time we’ve been together that is important, but the quality of time. I know I should be scared of my love for you, but I’ve realized I’m not. You understand me.”

  He framed her face with his hands and peered down at her. “And you understand me.”

  “For years I was determined never to be like my mother. She had to have a man around. If she didn’t, she couldn’t function. I know I’m not ever going to be like her because I have for years lived a happy, content life.” She looked into his beautiful eyes, full of love. “But you’ve changed that. If I went back to the way things were before I got to know you, I wouldn’t be happy and content as before without you. There was a time I would have been scared about that. I’m not now. When I needed someone, God sent you.”

  He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. “I love you, Selena.” Then he deepened the connection, his arms entwining her.

  The feeling of forgiveness toward her mother and of finally being free of her past spread through Selena as she poured all her love into the kiss.

  *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from EXIT STRATEGY by Shirlee McCoy

  Dear Reader,

  It is always a pleasure to work with the wonderful authors who were a part of this continuity series. And an added bonus was dealing with police dogs. They are amazing at what they do.

  I love hearing from readers. You can contact me at margaretdaley@gmail.com or at PO Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101. You can also learn more about my books at www.margaretdaley.com. I have a newsletter that you can sign up for on my website.

  Best wishes,

  http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

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  ONE

  Cold.

  It speared through Lark Porter’s long-sleeved sweater, settled deep into her bones. She shivered, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. The slivers of light that seeped through the cracks in the trailer during the day had disappeared hours ago. She’d waited, because she’d wanted Elijah Clayton’s security team to think she had given up. She hadn’t.

  She wouldn’t. Not now. Not in another day or two or three. Joshua deserved better than what he’d gotten. He deserved justice. She’d come to Amos Way to get it for him. She wouldn’t quit before she accomplished that goal.

  An image of her husband flashed through her mind. The way he’d been on their wedding day, happy and smiling, his dark suit just a little big in the shoulders. Joshua had written his own vows, promising to cherish Lark’s heart for as long as they both lived.

  Three years.

  That was all they’d had.

  Elijah’s doing, and she planned to prove it.

  Or die trying.

  She rolled to her side, turning her back to the security camera and shimmying forward until her hands were level with the nail that stuck out of the wall. At least she’d been tied up with her hands in front of her. Every night, she tried to cut through the ropes that held her wrists. Every night, she failed.

  Tonight might be different.

  She held on to that thought, clung to it as she rubbed the rope against the nail. Back and forth. Up and down. Subtle movements
. Slow movements. Counting. One. Two. Three. Wait ten. Start again. One. Two. Three. She missed and the nail raked against skin already raw from five nights’ worth of struggling.

  Five nights.

  Six days.

  Heading into another long night.

  How many more did she have?

  At some point, Elijah would be done with whatever game he was playing. When that happened, she would die. She knew that as surely as she knew that Joshua hadn’t accidentally shot himself eighteen months ago, that he’d been murdered.

  She dragged the rope against the nail again and again and again, thought the bonds might be loosening. Prayed that they were. As determined as she was, as much as she wanted to succeed, the odds were against her. She was tied up in a rotting trailer, sitting at the edge of a religious compound deep in the heart of a Pennsylvania forest. She could scream all she wanted, beg all she wanted, but there wasn’t a person in the compound who’d help her. They all believed the lies, supported the cause. And the cause was Elijah’s dogma, his doctrine.

  Her stomach churned, the sickening scent of vomit and death filling her nose as she struggled to cut through the ropes. The dinner that had been left on a tray near the door only added to the awful stench. She’d made the mistake of eating meals three times. She’d lost hours after each one, drugged into a deep sleep that had left her disoriented, dehydrated and muddleheaded.

  She couldn’t afford to have that happen again. Now she didn’t eat. She just smelled the rich aroma of stew and home baked bread. Prisoners in Amos Way were fed well.

  And then, they died.

  Accidental deaths.

  Deaths that no one questioned, because no one in the community questioned anything. There were rules and bylaws and community mores every member of the group agreed to. Even she and Joshua had, signing the contract that bound them to Amos Way for five years. They’d made it through three, and then Joshua had died, and Lark had left. She should have stayed away. It would have been the safe thing to do, the wise thing. But she’d had to know, she’d had to find out the truth. Joshua deserved that.

  She missed the rope again. This time, the nail dug in so deep, blood slid down her arm. She wiped it against her skirt and kept working. One. Two. The rope shifted, the threads separating, blood rushing into her fingers.

  Not free yet, but she could feel the ropes giving. She allowed herself a moment of celebration, a second of rejoicing. Maybe she could free herself. Maybe she could find her way out of the trailer, out of the compound, back to civilization.

  If John McDermott and his security team didn’t catch her before then. John had trussed her up so tight, she’d lost feeling in her feet and in her hands. Aside from the gouge she’d just cut in her arm, there were other signs that she’d been held captive. If she died, those marks would have to be explained. Or maybe not.

  Maybe John would carry her body into the woods, bury her deep enough that animals would never dig her up. She shuddered, tugging frantically against the rope. It gave, the sudden slack in it so surprising, she stilled.

  Free?

  It didn’t seem possible, but she tugged again and the rope gave even more. Her pulse jumped, and she yanked one more time, the ropes giving completely. She didn’t sit up, didn’t reach down to free her ankles. She couldn’t let the security team know she was free. If she did, they’d tie her up again, remove the nail, take away her one hope that she might actually get out of Amos Way alive.

  She kept her arms in front of her, clutching the rope in her hand as she staggered to her knees, shuffled to the bathroom, her body so weak, she wasn’t sure she’d make it.

  There. Finally. No door to the room, but the camera was angled away, the bathroom tiny and windowless, offering no hope of escape.

  She’d find another way out after she removed the rope from her ankles. It took too long, her muscles weak, her fingers still numb from too many days without good blood flow. Somewhere outside, a dog barked, the sound muted by the trailer walls. Was the security team heading her way? Had she been in the bathroom too long? Were they coming to check on her?

  The thought made her heart beat faster, made her fingers even clumsier. The dog barked gain, the sound seeming to come from the other side of the wall. She gave up her fight with the ropes, shuffled out of the bathroom, her long skirt catching on broken tiles and debris, her knees bruised and aching. She settled down on the floor again, her back to the door that she knew would fly open at any moment. Someone would walk in, look around.

  Check the ropes?

  Please, God, don’t let that happen.

  She prayed because it was what Josh would have done, prayed because she had nothing else. No one else. Prayed because through everything, through all the sorrow and the grief and the uncertainty, faith had been her one constant, her one truth. God knew. He understood. He wanted justice as much as she did.

  So, why was she lying in a putrid trailer alone?

  She should have been back at work over a month ago, should have reported to her fifth grade classroom the third week of August. Had anyone noticed her absence? Had they gone looking for her? No one had come to the compound. She knew that for sure.

  Her eyes burned with tears. She wouldn’t let them fall. She hated crying almost as much as she hated quitting. She’d been a fighter her entire life, and she’d keep fighting, because there was nothing else to do. No other way out of the situation she’d gotten herself into.

  And, she had gotten herself into it.

  She could have refused her in-laws’ invitation to return to Amos Way. She could have ignored the doubts that had nagged at her since Joshua’s death.

  Could have. Should have. Would have.

  A hundred regrets, but she couldn’t do anything about them.

  Keys jingled. The lock on the door turned. The door opened, cold crisp air filling the darkness. She didn’t dare turn to look at the person entering. Didn’t dare move. Barely dared to breathe.

  Please just let him be getting the food.

  Please let him go away.

  Please…

  A light flashed on the floor near her head, glanced over the wall, landed on the nail still stained with her blood. He saw it. She knew that he did. Saw the trail of red that stained the dingy floor, the glossy drops that proved how she’d been spending her time.

  She clutched the ropes that she’d broken through, her heart slamming against her ribs, her stomach sick with dread. She could have turned, faced the man as he approached, but she still wanted to hope and believe that he didn’t know, that he hadn’t seen the broken ends of the rope, the trail of blood.

  The floor creaked, boots tapping against linoleum.

  Fabric rustled, and she felt him. Right there. Inches away. John? He’d been one of Joshua’s best friends. They’d grown up together. But friendship didn’t mean much in Amos Way. All that mattered was the group cause, the combined beliefs, the value of community and the blind faith in Elijah Clayton. Elijah had named her the enemy. He’d set her up, accused her of theft, beaten her, tossed her in the trailer and left her to rot. No one in Amos Way would question that. No one would come to her aid.

  She swallowed down bile, refusing to give in to panic.

  Someone touched her shoulder, and she flinched.

  “You’ve gotten yourself into a dangerous situation,” a man said. She didn’t know the voice. Not surprising. Most of the men on Elijah’s security team were outsiders, hired hands who got paid well to protect Amos Way.

  She didn’t respond. Didn’t know what she was expected to say.

  “So,” he continued, reaching for her hands, his fingers untangling the loose ends of the rope. “We’re going to play this my way. Then maybe we can both get out of here alive. Okay?”

  Surprised, she shifted, rolling onto her back, looking straight into a stranger’s face. Moonlight filtered in through the open door, splashing across dark jeans and dusty boots, white dress shirt, gun holster. He looked like every other security o
fficer she’d seen in the compound, his dark hair cropped close, his face hard.

  “Who are you?” she asked, because he hadn’t ignored her like every other security officer had.

  “Someone who is here to help, but it’s going to take me a little time to get you out of here.” He pulled something from his gun belt, and her blood ran cold, his words flying away before they could register. Handcuffs. If he got those on her, she’d never escape. It was now or not at all. Fight and run or stay and die.

  She lunged up, slamming her body into his with so much force they both toppled over. Feet still tied, she had no choice but to crawl over him, scramble for the door, for that cold crisp fall night.

  He grabbed her ankle, dragged her back.

  He was too strong or she was too weak. Too many days without food. Too much time trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. She fought anyway, scratching and clawing and bucking against his weight. He pinned her easily, hard body pressing hers into the ground, his hands surprisingly gentle on her forearms.

  “Stop!” he commanded.

  She didn’t, because she could still feel the cold air, the chance of escape just a few feet away.

  He pressed his forearm to her throat without even enough pressure to make her flinch.

  “Stop,” he said again, his voice calm. “John is watching. You want him to come give me a hand?”

  She froze, her body shaking with fear and adrenaline.

  “Good. Now, how about we try this again?”

  He grabbed both her wrists, snapped the handcuff onto one. She bucked up, arm flailing as she tried to avoid the other cuff. He snapped it on easily, and she knew she was done. That any hope that she’d had of getting out of the compound alive was gone.

  He lifted her wrists, flashing his light on the deep cut that still seeped blood.