by Laura Scott
Mike winced. “I did,” he acknowledged. “But I’d rather not think about them dating, if you don’t mind.”
She giggled. “Hey, as long as they’re happy, who are we to interfere?”
“I guess you’re right.” He shrugged, then gestured toward the house. “Come on, let’s tell the family about Brodie.”
She held back. “Now? With everyone here?”
“Shayla, my mother and grandmother are going to be thrilled to know I’m finally settling down. That I’m no longer a lone wolf. That Brodie is our son. Please trust me on this.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Mike kept her hand in his as they entered the house. “Mom? Nan? Mr. O’Hare? Will you join us in the living room for a minute?”
Shayla wondered if Mike noticed the way his mother helped her father into the great room, staying close to his side.
“I—we have an announcement to make,” Mike said with a broad smile. “Shayla has agreed to marry me. And if you were wondering...yes, Brodie is our son.” There was a moment of silence so he added, “Our biological son.”
“I’m aware of that, dear,” Margaret said, patting his arm. “Impossible to miss since Brodie looks just like you did at that age. Solid and sturdy. For years you constantly complained about being hungry.”
“I’m hungry,” Brodie announced, gazing around at the adults. “Time to eat?”
That made the entire room crack up with laughter.
“Yippee skippy,” Maddy said with a smile. “The lone-wolf Callahan has bitten the dust.” She rested her hand protectively on her still-flat abdomen, Noah cuddling her close.
Dana leaned on Mitch, too, and the way he placed his hand over her lower abdomen and the secret smile they shared made her suspect another baby announcement would be forthcoming. Mike was right—they needed to jump on the grandbaby train before it left without them.
Shayla caught her father’s gaze. He gave her a smile and a nod in approval.
Amid the chorus of congratulations and well-wishing, she knew in her heart that this was what she’d hoped for since the moment she’d reunited with Mike. Her dream had come true.
She and Brodie would become Callahans for real.
A sense of peace washed over her. In that moment she knew that God was up in Heaven beaming down at them with love.
Pleased that another member of His flock had come home.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, look for the other books in the Callahan Confidential series:
Shielding His Christmas Witness
The Only Witness
Christmas Amnesia
Shattered Lullaby
Primary Suspect
And pick up these other exciting stories from Laura Scott:
Wrongly Accused
Down to the Wire
Under the Lawman’s Protection
Forgotten Memories
Holiday on the Run
Mirror Image
Available now from Love Inspired Suspense!
Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Fatal Threat by Valerie Hansen.
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Dear Reader,
Protecting His Secret Son is the sixth and last book in my Callahan Confidential series. I know you have been waiting for Mike’s story and, as you expected, I was thrilled to finally solve Max Callahan’s murder.
I hope you enjoyed Mike and Shayla’s story. Many of you have reached out asking about Hawk’s story, so I’m hoping to write his book very soon. I love hearing from my readers. If you’re interested in contacting me or signing up for my newsletter, please visit my website at www.laurascottbooks.com. I’m also on Facebook at Laura Scott Books Author and on Twitter @laurascottbooks.
Yours in faith,
Laura Scott
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Fatal Threat
by Valerie Hansen
ONE
Flames were crackling, leaping and curling, their updraft sending sparks and embers whirling into the spring night from a burning duplex on the outskirts of Paradise, Missouri.
Fire Captain Adam Kane figured that the wooden structure was doomed. “Engine One on scene. Structure partially involved. Start a second alarm,” Adam radioed before whipping off his headset. He grabbed his handheld radio as he jumped out, slammed his red captain’s helmet down on his short dark hair and went to work.
“Clay and Walt, pull a two and a half. Peter and Rafe, the hydrant. Dave and Ty, to the roof. And get me more lights. We’ll set up to force ventilate from the front doors so we can search for victims.”
Besides the arrival of an ambulance, Adam noticed his own department’s rescue squad slowly pulling through the crowd of spectators. John Forrester was driving. And in the passenger seat was lithe, blonde Sara Southerland, the ER nurse whose unexpected presence had unnerved Adam when she’d arrived at the station that evening.
Well, he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on Sara’s problems. Other lives depended upon him and his crews. Once the ladder truck arrived he could raise the snorkel and position it to spray the rear of the wood-frame building, doubling their efforts without endangering anyone. Or the equipment.
Radio in hand, Adam continued to issue orders. “As soon as the fan’s in place, Walt, give me a quick figure-eight spray to cover the attack team. We won’t have long.”
Adam knew his firefighters were in full protective gear, yet he harbored more angst than usual. It wasn’t that he was ever complacent about this job. It was simply an uneasy feeling that he didn’t recall having experienced since ducking snipers and dodging IEDs, explosive devices buried in the ground overseas.
A quick glance proved that Sara was suited up in a bright yellow turnout, too, her sky blue eyes trained on the action. Was her mere presence enough to unsettle him? It never had been in the past, although considering the trauma she’d recently endured he figured he might have developed a heightened sensitivity.
Adam huffed in disgust. He was a decorated marine. A combat veteran. He’d guided men in battle and now commanded crews of paid firefighters and volunteers without hesitation. But one pretty volunteer EMT was enough to give him pause? That was not only disheartening, it was embarrassing.
Someone in the background began to cheer. Adam saw why and started forward to intercept his rescue team. The elderly woman supported between the men was unsteady but conscious as they handed her over to paramedics, then turned and headed
for the second apartment.
Sara was gesturing and seemed to be trying to tell the medics something. When they ignored her, she turned toward Adam and waved her arms overhead. “There won’t be anybody in that other unit,” she shouted, approaching. “Vicki moved there right before we left for Texas.”
Of course. That was why Sara had appeared agitated. Vicki’s untimely death was still fresh in her mind and this had been her cousin’s new home. Those kinds of community ties always hit hard and in Sara’s case the effect would be even worse.
By the time she reached his side and stopped, he was already on the radio. “Be advised, that second unit is reported to be unoccupied.” He was about to order them to withdraw when he heard another cheer arising from the crowd.
His crew had reappeared and were supporting the thin, limp body of a man. Adam frowned. Had a thief or arsonist been trapped by his own crime? It sure looked that way. He took a step toward the firefighters to see if he recognized the victim.
Sara grabbed the sleeve of his turnout coat so firmly she was impossible to ignore. He whirled, frowning. Her face had lost most of its color. Her always-expressive eyes were wide and filling with tears. Her lips trembled.
Expecting her to say something, he was jolted when she released him with a cry and began to run toward the rescuers instead.
* * *
Sara covered her mouth, smothering a wail. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her, she knew this victim. She and Vicki had met and befriended twenty-something Rodrigo Salinas while in Texas on their recent, ill-fated mission trip. The trip that had taken Vicki’s life.
Gently cupping the unconscious man’s cheeks in both hands, she raised his face to get a better look. It was Rodrigo, all right. Unfortunately, the rescuers had reached him too late.
A firm grasp on her shoulders pulled her back as paramedics moved in and took over. Sara knew it was Adam. They’d been friends for so long that she could sense his presence without even looking.
“You know this guy?” Adam asked.
She nodded and met his dark gaze. “Yes. From Texas. He was part of the missionary project Vicki and I...”
“What’s he doing in Missouri?”
Good question, Sara thought. Moreover, why was he in Vicki’s empty apartment and why was it now on fire? What in the world could he have been up to?
“Good job, guys,” Adam told his men. “Was that the last victim?”
“Yeah. He almost made it to the front door before the smoke got him.” One man had removed his air mask and was coughing. A blackened smudge traced its outline on the sides of his face. “Looks like Miss Bessie was the only one to make it out alive.”
Bessie Alt? Of course! Sara took a sharp breath and coughed as a result. Had she been so upset by the involvement of Vicki’s apartment and the discovery of an unexpected victim that she’d missed keying in on such a vital detail? That was inexcusable for a firefighter, even a part-time volunteer like herself.
One glance at Adam told her he was clueless. His words confirmed it. “We’ll take care of this, Sara. Go back to the rescue squad and get some O2 to clear your lungs before you end up sick.”
“No. Listen to me,” she shouted over the surrounding noise. “I know Bessie Alt’s medical history. She has a lot of breathing problems.”
“Okay.”
“Oxygen.” She saw Adam tense when she pointed toward the duplex with her whole arm. “There must be tanks of compressed oxygen stored in there. H models, I imagine. The big ones.”
“Everybody back!” Triggering emergency evacuation protocol with continuous high-low siren blasts he shouted, “Clear the area. It’s gonna blow!”
Sara’s mind was racing ahead. The instant she was certain Adam got the picture she turned on her heel and jogged through the police lines toward the ambulance.
“The fire department’s bailing, Vince,” she told the closest paramedic. “You need to load up and get out of here.”
The shake of his head and slow laying aside of equipment confirmed the original suspicion that it was too late for poor Rodrigo. Sara gently touched Vince’s arm. “At least you tried.”
“Yeah. We got to him too late.”
“I’m sorry.” She sought to comfort him—and herself. “I guess it was his time to go.”
He dipped dark brows and scowled at her. “That why you let your cousin drown, Sara? Did you figure her time was up, too?”
As unfair as his accusation was, Sara had heard whispers far worse since returning to Paradise. And she’d learned the hard way that rebuttal was futile.
She turned from him and started away, continuing until she had put a large sycamore trunk between her and the burning building. As she peered past the tree she could see engines backing up, repositioning. Only the aerial with the snorkel nozzle stayed where it was, presumably because it could shoot water from a long way off and still be effective.
Adam remained closer to the blaze than anyone else, shouting directions and gesturing. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched him. So brave. So capable. And so blooming hardheaded. What did he think he was doing? Didn’t he have a lick of sense? Just because he’d survived roadside bombs as a marine, that didn’t mean he was bulletproof.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at him. “Adam!”
He didn’t respond. Considering the noise of the motors, pumps, sirens and yelling, plus the hiss and roar of the fire itself, chances were good he hadn’t heard a word.
Every nerve in Sara’s body was firing and misfiring. Her wobbly knees might have dropped her on the spot if she hadn’t leaned against the stout tree. If only Adam would give ground!
What was the matter with him? Wanting to do good was one thing. Unnecessary risks were another. She ought to know. Not fighting harder to keep her cousin from behaving recklessly during the Texas flood had been her worst decision ever—one she would pay for the rest of her life.
Well, once was enough. If Adam wouldn’t back off on his own she was going to drag him to safety, just the way she should have dragged Vicki.
Bolting from cover, Sara heard a distant pop and felt tiny, bothersome bits of tree bark raining down on her head. She absently swatted them from her hair. Her one and only mission right now was getting to her friend and convincing him to flee.
Screaming “Adam!” she dodged equipment and jumped fat, wet fire hoses that coiled on the muddy ground like seeping, writhing snakes. “Adaaaaam!”
He whirled. Sara crashed into him. “You have to leave. Fall back.”
He grabbed her upper arms through the heavy canvas-like turnout coat she wore. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”
“I’m saving your life!” Hearing herself screeching she decided he wasn’t going to heed her warning unless she made it more specific. “The oxy tanks. If they fall and the valves break off they’ll turn into rockets.”
“With a fireball on the other end. Yeah, I know.” Taking one last look he pushed her ahead of him in a joint dash for cover.
Sara pointed. “That tree. Come on.”
Rounding it, she flattened her back against the trunk. Adam joined her. Her heart was already pounding from the scare he’d given her. Now, it took off at a gallop. This was one of those extraordinary moments when she wasn’t sure whether to weep or laugh. His handsome face was dotted with ash, smudged with smoke and his warm brown eyes were reddened. Nevertheless, the way he was staring at her was more than disconcerting.
His focus left her face to concentrate on a spot on the tree trunk directly above her head. When he removed one of his heavy gloves and touched the bark, more powdery bits and slivers rained down.
Sara brushed them away. “Stop that. You’re making a worse mess than the first time I hid here.”
His eyes were wide beneath the brim and clear faceplate of his helmet. “What first
time? When did you notice this damage?”
“What damage? What are you talking about?”
Grasping her shoulders he turned her in place, still keeping within the shelter of the broad trunk. “This. See the hole?”
“We have worse things to worry about than a wormhole in a sycamore, Adam.”
He was shaking his head and glancing from side to side as if searching for someone or something. Finally, he said, “This is no wormhole, Sara. The damage is fresh. And judging by the wood that’s been displaced, the hole was probably made by a rifle bullet.”
“Why would anybody go deer hunting in town?”
When he placed both hands on the tree, trapping her, covering her, she began to feel surrounded even though he was only one man.
Adam raised his clear visor and leaned in to bring his lips closer to her ear.
Sara was so nervous, so unhinged by his nearness, she almost missed hearing him say, “They weren’t shooting at whitetails, Sara. They were shooting at you.”
Copyright © 2019 by Valerie Whisenand
ISBN-13: 9781488040221
Protecting His Secret Son
Copyright © 2019 by Laura Iding
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
