“I know you’re hurting, but let me help you. Don’t push me away.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I’m not blaming anyone but the piece of crud who stole my daughter. But what you wrote—”
“I wish I could change everything, Hunter,” Shauna said, her pain magnified by his. She laid her hand on his bare arm. “But I need you to trust me—”
She stopped speaking as his eyes, trained on hers, suddenly turned from dull green to flashing jade. He bent down, took her into his arms and kissed her. Hard.
She knew it was simply to shut her up. Prevent her from finishing what she’d been saying. Because the fact was, he still didn’t believe she could help him find his daughter.
But she kissed him back with a longing born of seven years of missing him.
He pulled back. Even as she knew he would. Even as she knew she should. This wasn’t seven years ago, when they were lovers. This was today, and they were drawn together by circumstances too horrible to contemplate. And they didn’t need any more regrets….
Not a Moment Too Soon
LINDA O. JOHNSTON
Books by Linda O. Johnston
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Not a Moment Too Soon #1331
Harlequin Intrigue
Alias Mommy #592
Marriage: Classified #624
Operation: Reunited #655
Tommy’s Mom #688
Special Agent Nanny #725
Guardian of Her Heart #757
Lawful Engagement #786
LINDA O. JOHNSTON
Linda O. Johnston’s first published fiction appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year. Now, several published short stories and novels later, Linda is recognized for her outstanding work in the romance genre.
A practicing attorney, Linda juggles her busy schedule between mornings of writing briefs, contracts and other legalese, and afternoons of creating memorable tales of the paranormal, time travel, mystery, contemporary and romantic suspense. Armed with an undergraduate degree in journalism with an advertising emphasis from Pennsylvania State University, Linda began her versatile writing career running a small newspaper, then working in advertising and public relations, and later obtaining her JD degree from Duquesne University School of Law in Pittsburgh.
Linda belongs to Sisters in Crime and is actively involved with Romance Writers of America, participating in the Los Angeles, Orange County and Western Pennsylvania chapters. She lives near Universal Studios, Hollywood, with her husband, two sons and two cavalier King Charles spaniels.
To all fellow writers. We all sometimes wish that what we write would come true, don’t we? Well, be careful what you wish for….
And, as always, to Fred, one writer’s dream who happily came true.
Contents
Prologue
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 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Prologue
Shauna O’Leary opened her eyes slowly. As she remained seated on her stiff desk chair, apprehension contracted her body into the same tight, quivering mass that it always did when she wrote something at her computer.
Most of the time, the tales that poured from her fingertips were fine, even delightful. Suitable for reading to the kids who came especially to her restaurant, Fantasy Fare, to hear them. She would laugh aloud as she read, in relief as much as enjoyment. Chastise herself gaily, push the print button and—
As she automatically began to scan the words on the screen, she gasped aloud. This was one of those rare, yet nevertheless too-frequent, other times.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, though no one else was there, in her small, secluded home, to hear. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.” She repeated the words in a mantra born of despair as she continued to read:
Andee was scared. So scared. “Daddy,” she cried.
But Daddy didn’t come. Instead, the bad man came back into the room.
“Help me, Daddy!”
Shauna stared at the hand clutching the computer’s mouse as if it belonged to someone else. The long, slim fingers with blunted, pink-polished nails—fingers that were so skilled on the computer keys—were trembling. Resolutely, she highlighted the entire file, prepared to push Delete. Get rid of it.
But that wouldn’t get rid of the problem.
She did it nevertheless. Erased everything. Closed the file.
Opened it again.
The story was still there. Of course.
With a small moaning sound, she pushed Print.
There would be a physical record of what had already been set into motion.
Shauna took two long, deep breaths, steeling herself for what was to come. Anxiously running fingers through the sides of her long, ash-blond hair, she looked at the telephone beside her computer. It sat on the antique door that had been taken from her grandmother’s house and was now propped on wooden file cabinets, serving as her desk.
She studied the phone, delaying the inevitable.
And then, filled with dread, she lifted the portable receiver and pressed in a familiar number. Elayne Strahm’s. She needed to speak with her immediately. Get another phone number from her.
For the little girl in her story was Elayne’s grandchild.
Hunter Strahm’s daughter.
Chapter 1
Hunter Strahm steered his speeding rental car off the Interstate and onto the main road toward his mother’s home.
Oasis, Arizona. Lord, it seemed like ages since he’d been back. It was late afternoon, desert time, though he’d already put in a full day of work and travel. He ignored the pounding of his heart as he hurtled through town, trying to silence the inner voice that told him he was on a fool’s mission. Wasting not just minutes, but hours of precious time.
He’d made the decision to come here first. He’d live with it.
Yeah, but would Andee…?
“Damn,” he muttered aloud, forcing his thoughts from the direction that could only make him crazy.
He stared out the windshield. Oasis looked the same as he remembered. Except—where was the restaurant he knew Shauna O’Leary now owned?
He’d find out, if he had to. First, he’d go see his mother. Would Shauna still be there? If not, his mother would know how to find her.
He turned onto the street where his mother lived, and he looked around.
What kind of car did Shauna drive?
It had been more than five hours since that series of phone calls which made him want to lash out in total frustration and fear at whatever, whoever, was convenient.
He usually thrived on dealing with the worst of situations. Taking control, and resolving them.
But the calls had concerned his five-year-old daughter. Andee.
She’d gone missing from Margo’s home in L.A. Wandered off from the backyard. Or at least that was what his ex had said in the first of those damnable calls.
Hunter, a private investigator, had been a thousand miles away on business, unable to do a blessed thing but head for the airport. He’d left a job unfinished. He had never done that before.
He’d never faced an emergency this urgent before.
Shauna’s had been the second call. And Margo’s next call had confirmed what Shauna had claimed.
Andee h
adn’t just gotten lost. She had been kidnapped.
Emergency, hell. It was a crisis of a magnitude he’d never imagined.
Shauna had called from his mother’s, where she said she’d gone to be with Elayne. And though what she said reminded him too much of the past, he couldn’t ignore it—just in case she could provide a clue, no matter how absurd, about where Andee was. That was the major reason he’d come here, instead of straight to L.A.
Surely Shauna would have gone home, or to her business, by now. Yet when he strode up the familiar walkway to Elayne Strahm’s tan stucco hacienda, he figured it wouldn’t necessarily be his mother who answered the door.
He rang the bell, reluctant to use his key after not being here for so long.
He heard footsteps inside. Light, quick ones.
And when the door opened, he found himself staring into soft brown eyes that were wide but not with surprise, the way her call had startled him. With…what? Uneasiness?
Pleasure?
No way.
She hadn’t changed at all, except to become prettier. Her blond hair was a little longer, a little lighter. She was slim in her T-shirt and shorts, with shapely, endless legs.
Steeling himself for what was to come, he took a step toward her. Parroting the initial, friendly greeting she’d given him over the phone earlier—before she had dropped her bombshell—he said simply, “Hello, Shauna.”
He looked so tall, standing there.
That was the first thing Shauna thought. She hadn’t forgotten Hunter’s imposing height. Though she was above average stature for a woman, he had always towered above her. Before, it had seemed exciting and masculine and very, very sexy.
Now his daunting size seemed magnified by his anger. Those flashing green eyes she remembered so well glared, as if she were to blame. But she was just the messenger.
“Hello, Hunter,” she said softly. She consciously pulled her gaze from his, hoping to relieve some of the tension building between them.
His blue sport shirt, tucked into khaki trousers, wasn’t tight, but she could tell that the young cop she’d fallen for all those years ago was now even more muscular. With his prominent, straight brows, his wide jaw, he still was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Maturity would have looked good on him, if it hadn’t been combined with the other emotions spewing from him like water from a broken sprinkler.
Like the emotions of the nonfiction characters in her latest story…
Daddy!
Needing to break the building silence—and escape her own heartrending thoughts—she said, “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“This is my mother’s house.” His voice was even deeper in person than on the phone. Perhaps it was also amplified by his obvious fury. “Did you have to worry her, too? But of course you did. You wouldn’t keep such a feat of realistic storytelling to yourself, now, would you?”
She reeled back as if he had struck her. In a way, he had.
Malice spewed from lips that had once kissed hers sometimes sweetly, sometimes passionately, but always caringly.
Years ago. But she had loved him. And lost him. And he had married another woman.
Elayne spoke from behind her, reiterating Shauna’s earlier question. “Hunter? What are you doing here?”
Staying silent, Shauna retreated a few steps. Elayne burst by her, and in a moment mother and son were locked in a tight, emotional embrace. Even though Elayne, too, was so much smaller than Hunter, she seemed to be the one comforting him. Reaching up, she stroked his head, his back.
If only Shauna had the right to try to ease his pain that way…
No. Not now.
She had to escape the emotional involvement that would swamp her if she stayed here.
Elayne was the first to back away. The pale, drawn skin of her face contrasted with her short mop of curly hair that was probably too dark to be natural for a woman in her late fifties. It had looked the same from the time Shauna had met her eight years ago. In fact, little had changed about Elayne’s appearance during the time they’d been friends, except for the multiplication of tiny lines radiating from the edges of her eyelids and the deepening of the creases framing her mouth.
“You belong in California, son,” she said, “looking for Andee.” She held his arms and looked up, studying him.
“I’m here just for a couple of hours, Mom, on a stopover between planes.” His sweeping gaze seemed equally concerned about his mother. “Meantime, I called my best operative, and he’s started our search for her. He’s already talked to Margo and the cops. I’ll jump in soon, but for now I came to see how you’re holding up.”
Maybe. But though he might not admit it, Shauna figured he was also there to see if she had information that could help him.
“I’ll survive,” Elayne said. “Shauna promised to stay with me until I heard again from you. I guess you don’t have any news.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She undoubtedly could read it in his stark expression as easily as Shauna could. “As long as you’re here, come in.” She turned her back and motioned for him to follow her toward the kitchen. “I’ve got steaks in the freezer. It won’t take me—”
“No need to feed me,” Hunter said. “A cup of coffee would be great.” He put one arm on his mother’s shoulder as he accompanied her down the hall.
Shauna remained in the entry, feeling so alone that tears welled in her eyes. She had once been close enough to both of them that she would have tagged along and gotten drinks for them in their own house. During that time in the past, Elayne had been like a mother to her, for Shauna had lost her own when she was very young.
Now, mother and son needed time together to deal with a situation that could have no happy ending. Shauna had suggested so in what she’d said to each of them.
Neither knew just how bad it was…
Help me, Daddy!
Damn. The tears she’d held back flowed down her cheeks. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and swiped them away, even as she pulled the front door open again. She had done what she had to. It was time to leave.
“Shauna?” Hunter’s voice stopped her. He filled the end of the hallway.
He still was such a good-looking man…
“Join us.” It wasn’t an invitation, but a command. “We need to talk.”
She owed him that, at least. Not that she could describe what had happened, at least not coherently. And she absolutely didn’t want to provide any details about the ending of the story she had written.
But she was a psychologist. Her practice was very limited, of course. She made her living from Fantasy Fare. But she had gotten her license, become a therapist, to help people in crisis.
To help a select group of patients. Patients selected for her, by her stories. Though she had been sought out by former school colleagues to join their practices, she never took them up on it.
She maintained her license for the counseling she did intensely, but as infrequently as possible, when her writing called for it—mostly to work with strangers whose stories had swept through her without warning.
She had craved that kind of help when Hunter had left seven years ago, and when, soon after, another story had spewed from her fingertips, a tale as unbidden as the ones that had driven him away. As unbidden as the one she had written today. As unbidden as so many of them…
In that one, her father had died of cancer.
She hadn’t been able to help Hunter before. Or her dad. Not even herself.
Now she had the resources to at least try to make it a little less agonizing for Hunter.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk.”
He stood still until she had passed him. After all this time, she was finally so close to Hunter that she could have touched him. Wanted to…but didn’t. He followed her down the hall. For an instant, panic throbbed through her. She felt trapped. She couldn’t get out.
But then they reached Elayne’s cheerful, bright kitchen. She had remodeled it since Shauna
had last visited her. The painted cabinets along the wall had been replaced by light pine ones that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. Along their tops was a collection of antique pans. The new kitchen table was pine, too, with matching chairs on wheels pushed under it. The refrigerator was the same as before—a gold side-by-side.
On the new tile counter closest to the table, framed photographs, some of Hunter, were arranged in irregular rows. Nearest Shauna was a picture of an absolutely adorable cherub, a small girl with hair as dark as Hunter’s and as curly as Elayne’s. This had to be Andee. Her eyes were the same shade of green as her father’s and grandmother’s, too.
Shauna looked away quickly, her eyes dampening again. Her attention landed on Hunter. He was watching her. She turned away quickly, to help Elayne with their refreshments.
Soon all three sat at the table. The herbal tea Elayne and she had sipped earlier as they had talked had been refreshed several times, so Shauna opted to join Hunter in drinking fresh-brewed, strong coffee from large mugs.
And mother and son, black haired and with symmetrical facial features that resembled each other, trained similar emerald eyes on Shauna.
She looked back. Waited. Made herself remember every iota of her training as a psychologist. Compassion, yes.
But also detachment. Distance.
Please…
“Tell me more about this story you called me about,” Hunter commanded.
“All right,” Shauna began. “It came unexpectedly.” She watched those brilliant green eyes study her critically. Otherwise, he seemed emotionless. Cool.
Cold.
“They’re always unexpected, aren’t they?” Elayne asked. “This kind of story.”
“Pretty much so,” Shauna acknowledged, looking at her friend’s pale face instead of at Hunter.
Elayne, at least, believed in Shauna, for they had first met when a story had, long ago, caused Shauna to contact Phoenix’s Human Services Department. Elayne, a social worker, had been Shauna’s contact, and her kindness and curiosity had led Shauna to let down her guard and reveal—accidentally—the source of her knowledge about domestic violence in a child’s home.
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