by Rebecca York
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from getting killed.” Alex looked around at the broken glass and the man slumped on the floor. He moved toward her, closing the distance between them in a stride.
Sara didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms. In fact, she melted against him.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re all right now,” he soothed as he folded her close. There was nothing wrong with comforting her, he told himself. Then he’d let her go.
He thought he had himself under control…until the feel of her feminine body, the smell of her familiar scent, the touch of her breasts pressed against his chest chased all rational thought from his mind.
No matter what her involvement, no matter how guilty, she felt too good to let her go.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
The summer is here and we’ve got plenty of scorching suspense and smoldering romance for your reading pleasure. Starting with a couple of your favorite Harlequin Intrigue veterans…
Patricia Rosemoor winds up the reprisal of THE MCKENNA LEGACY with Cowboy Protector. Yet another of Moira McKenna’s kin feels the force of what real love can do if you’re open to it. And not to be outdone, Rebecca York celebrates a silver anniversary with the twenty-fifth title in her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series. From the Shadows is one more fabulous mystery coupled with a steamy romance. Prepare yourself for a super surprise ending with this one!
THE CARRADIGNES come to Harlequin Intrigue this month. The Duke’s Covert Mission by Julie Miller is a souped-up Cinderella story that will leave you breathless for sure. This brawny duke doesn’t pull up in a horse-drawn carriage. He relies on a nondescript sedan with unmarked plates instead. But I assure you he’s got all the breeding of the most regal royalty when it counts.
Finally, Charlotte Douglas brings you Montana Secrets, an emotional secret-baby story set in the Big Sky state. I dare you not to fall head over heels in love with this hidden-identity hero.
So grab the sunblock and stuff all four titles into your beach bag.
Happy reading!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
FROM THE SHADOWS
REBECCA YORK
RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.
Books by Rebecca York
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
143—LIFE LINE*
155—SHATTERED VOWS*
167—WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT*
179—ONLY SKIN DEEP*
188—BAYOU MOON
193—TRIAL BY FIRE*
213—HOPSCOTCH*
233—CRADLE AND ALL*
253—WHAT CHILD IS THIS?*
273—MIDNIGHT KISS*
289—TANGLED VOWS*
298—TALONS OF THE FALCON†
301—FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN†
305—IN SEARCH OF THE DOVE†
318—TILL DEATH US DO PART*
338—PRINCE OF TIME*
407—FOR YOUR EYES ONLY*
437—FATHER AND CHILD*
473—NOWHERE MAN*
500—SHATTERED LULLABY*
525—AFTER DARK
“Counterfeit Wife”*
534—MIDNIGHT CALLER*
558—NEVER TOO LATE*
582—AMANDA’S CHILD*
606—BAYOU BLOOD BROTHERS
“Tyler”
625—THE MAN FROM TEXAS**
633—NEVER ALONE**
641—LASSITER’S LAW**
667—FROM THE SHADOWS*
Dear Reader,
While I was writing the MINE TO KEEP trilogy, I introduced a by-the-book police detective named Alex Shane in Never Alone. As the series progressed, I became increasingly interested in Alex. By the time I wrote Lassiter’s Law, Alex had quit the Howard County Police Department and joined Randolph Security. At that point, I knew he was going through a devastating divorce. And I wanted to know how it had affected him.
So I started thinking about telling his story. In From the Shadows, Alex has accepted an assignment in St. Stephens, Maryland, the small town on the Eastern Shore where he grew up. Long ago, when he left town, he thought of St. Stephens as the backwater of the universe. Now it’s a refuge, a place where he can get away from the anger and hurt of recent events.
Then he runs into Sara Delaney, the girl he let get away, because he was too gallant to take her innocence. It’s clear she’s mixed up in the mystery he’s investigating. Is she part of a conspiracy? Is she an accessory to murder? Or is she just as innocent as she used to be—and caught in a web of danger?
On a more personal level, does she remember the torrid night she and Alex spent turning each other on in the back seat of his car? Or is she pretending that she’s forgotten all about Alex Shane?
Best wishes,
Ruth Glick, writing as Rebecca York
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Alex Shane—He was determined to do his job, until Sara Delaney stepped into the picture.
Sara Delaney—Alex was afraid to trust her, even when he remembered their shared past.
Lee Tillman—Was he dead or alive, a victim or a murderer?
Clark Hempstead—Would the police chief help Alex—or send him to jail?
Reid Delaney—Was he angry enough to kill Tillman?
Emmett Bandy—He owed Lee money. How far would he go to cancel the debt?
Lewis Farmer—Did the handyman know what had happened to Lee?
Billy Shane—Why did he hate his brother, Alex?
Dana Eustice—What did Lee’s mistress know about his disappearance?
Tripp Kenney—The militia leader was Lee’s neighbor and perhaps his enemy.
Callie Anderson—Was she Lee’s victim?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
It started out the way it always did for Alex Shane. Erotic and arousing. A dream from the time when life was good. He was in bed with Cindy, mouth to mouth, naked body pressed to naked body.
One of her arms circled his shoulder, and her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, then closer still. His hand moved from the curve of her hip to the swell of her breast—and his own body tightened as he heard her indrawn breath, felt her nipple harden beneath his fingers.
Even while it was happening, he knew it was just a dream. The same dream. The one that grabbed him by the throat again and again and shook him like a wild animal wringing the life from its prey.
A strangled cry rose in his throat. A cry of denial and anguish. Of anger and loss.
“No,” he moaned, trying to claw his way back to consciousness.
Yet he was helpless to stop the drama from unfolding the way it always did. Helpless to make it come out any differently—no matter how many times he was doomed to repeat the terrible day when everything had changed.
One moment h
e was kissing Cindy, stroking her silky flesh, staring into her passion-drugged eyes.
In the next moment, he was no longer on the bed with her. Instead, he was standing in the doorway, watching his wife writhe on their navy-blue sheets with another man. Another man who’d been so busy with Mrs. Alex Shane that nobody had heard the front door open—or the footsteps coming down the hall.
By the time the guy heard the husband’s shout of anger, it was already too late. Too late for all of them. Him, Cindy and Chad Enders, one of his fellow Howard County police officers.
At least Alex hadn’t fired the service revolver that had leaped into his hand. Murderous thoughts had filled his mind, choked off his breath. But somehow sanity had intervened. At the last moment, he’d realized that the betrayal in the bedroom wasn’t worth spending the rest of his life in jail.
“No,” he cried out again, the terrible image burning its way through the sensitive tissue of his brain. He wanted to turn off the obscene pictures from a year ago but he was trapped for eternity—doomed to repeat the worst moment of his life, like an actor who could never get his part right.
By force of will, he managed to shatter the dream into a thousand jagged shards. Suddenly he was awake, lying in a tangle of sheets, his muscles taut, his body slick with perspiration.
His gaze flicked to the windows. Above the wooden shutters that covered the bottom two-thirds of the panes, he could see the first faint streaks of dawn.
He needed to get up, to distance himself from the dream. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood on the cold floorboards, the morning air sending a shiver over his sleep-warmed skin. After several seconds, he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon. Sighing, he decided that he might as well get up and face the day.
In the bathroom, while he waited for the shower water to heat, he peered into the bathroom mirror. His dark eyes were rimmed with red and his hair needed cutting.
When the bathroom began to fill with steam, he stepped under water as hot as he could stand. The biting spray helped to sweep the last of the fog from his brain.
He had just rinsed his hair when a jangling sound reached him above the roar of the water.
The phone. Who the hell was calling at this time of the morning?
He ignored the summons for several rings, then cursed as he shut off the taps, leaped out of the shower and headed for the bedroom, leaving a trail of water in his wake as he snatched the receiver from its cradle.
“Yeah?”
The response from the other end of the line was just as abrupt. “I need you over here right away,” a brusque voice said without preamble. There was no, “Did I wake you?” or “Sorry to call so early.”
“Good morning to you too, Lee,” Alex answered, stepping onto the pile of newspapers he’d left beside the bed. They immediately turned soggy under his bare feet.
“I’ve got a problem,” Lee Tillman, eccentric millionaire, landed gentry and all-around son of a bitch elaborated.
“At the crack of dawn?”
“Yeah, well, I’m leaving for a vacation in Nova Scotia. I’ve electronically transferred five thousand dollars to your account.”
“You mean to Randolph Security?”
“To you personally.”
“I’m working for Randolph. We’re on retainer to chase down your numerous enemies, remember?”
“Well, I have some personal business. I want you to do something for me. At your chicken-manure billing rate, I’ve just bought fifty hours of your time,” the voice on the other end of the line clipped out. “Starting right now.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Lee. How about I give you twenty-five hours for that price?”
Alex waited through the expected curse, rubbing his hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin.
“Get your butt over here.”
“My butt’s not dressed.”
“Throw something on,” Tillman commanded, then continued issuing orders. “Don’t park on my property. Leave the car on that old road in the woods just past my turnoff. And come up along the riverbank. The front door will be unlocked.”
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Somebody threaten you?”
“Just get over here.”
Closing his eyes, Alex pictured the imperious look in Tillman’s smallish brown eyes, the stubborn cant of his narrow jaw. The man was used to giving orders and having people say, “Yes, sir.”
However, Alex had always suspected there was a wide streak of insecurity below the bluster, and this morning there was more than arrogance in the reedy voice. There was a serrated edge that Alex had long ago learned to read as fear. It sounded as if the man was in trouble. Alex said he’d be right there and hung up.
After looking down at the newsprint that was now sticking to his feet, he retraced his wet steps and dried off quickly in the bathroom. He didn’t even take the time to shave. He merely pulled on briefs, sweatpants and running shoes, yanking on a Crab Claw restaurant T-shirt as he trotted downstairs.
After hesitating in the front hall, he sprinted toward the relentlessly blue kitchen that the owners of the sprawling old house had installed. He hated it, but not enough to turn down a six-month lease at rock-bottom prices.
Pouring some of yesterday’s coffee into a plastic mug with a lid, he heated it in the microwave, then added a splash of milk—for nourishment.
Minutes later, he was heading down the long driveway in his Toyota 4Runner. If his mind hadn’t been focused on Lee’s message, he would have enjoyed the early-morning ride along Route 33. Mallards glided through the marsh on one side of the road, and as he crossed the bridge over Oak Creek, he spotted a couple of enterprising men already fishing. Farther down the river he could see a marina, with everything from work boats to luxury cabin cruisers moored at the piers.
Funny how a few years changed your perspective. He’d been born not ten miles from here. And he’d felt as if his first semester at the University of Maryland in College Park was a miraculous escape from the backwater of the universe. He’d planned to leave his rural roots behind forever. First he’d worked as a cop in Howard County and thought he was going to stay there forever. When seeing Chad Enders in the squad room had made his blood pressure rise, he’d quit the department to join Randolph Security ten months ago. He’d already worked with them on several cases, knew he liked the guys on staff, and liked the freedom of not having to do everything by the police manual.
Then the Lee Tillman assignment had come up a month ago, and he’d jumped at the chance to decompress in his old stomping ground. So now he was back home, trying to figure out the next move in his sorry personal life while Randolph Security paid him to discover who was after Lee Tillman’s hide.
There were plenty of candidates. Starting with the president of the local Boosters Club who was angry that Lee wouldn’t sell some of his real estate holdings cheap—to be used for soccer fields. And progressing to the owner of the Duck Blind at the corner of Main and Chestnut Streets, who was pissed off that Lee was raising his rent. Then there was Emmett Bandy, one of Lee’s friends, who was in debt to the man for fifty thousand dollars—money he couldn’t afford to repay.
Lee had told Alex about them—and a number of others. Yet Alex knew there was stuff the cagey bastard was holding back. The maneuver was maddening. Lee Tillman wanted protection, but he wasn’t willing to come clean with the company he’d hired to do the job.
Typical, Alex thought with a snort. Lee had always been secretive. And, unfortunately, a month of discreet digging hadn’t yielded anything worth a restraining order, let alone an arrest.
Rounding the next bend in the road, he slammed on his brakes. An early-morning crew was already at work repaving one side of the two-lane highway. Alex’s hands tightened on the wheel as the traffic slowed. Ordering himself to relax, he took several sips of coffee while he waited for the traffic to flow in his direction again, then made up for the delay b
y pushing past the speed limit.
As ordered, he drove past the white brick gateposts with the name The Refuge grandly displayed on a brass plaque. He knew the entrance marked the beginning of a blacktop driveway that wound through artfully manicured woods set off by fading pink and white dogwoods and blazing red azaleas.
Instead, he took the next turnoff, jouncing along an old dirt road that petered out in a stand of trees. Opening the car door, he started to get out, then withdrew his leg quickly. The shiny carpet of green leaves beside the car looked innocent enough, but he knew better, having learned one of his earliest lessons in Maryland nature lore the hard way. If poison ivy were a cash crop, the state’s financial future would be made.
Eyeing the ground, he held the door ajar with his left hand and pulled the car forward into a clear place. From there it was an easy hike through the woods for the next fifty yards, until the path narrowed into a thicket of blackberry canes.
Security work on the Eastern Shore wasn’t quite like operating in the Baltimore area, he thought as he skirted the brambles, and climbed over the jagged rocks dumped along the shoreline to hold back the Miles River. Before stepping onto the manicured lawn, he paused to scuff dirt from his tennis shoes, then crossed to the driveway and peered through the garage window. A sporty Jaguar JX6 was parked inside, but the silver Lexus sedan, which Lee would have taken on an out-of-town vacation, was missing.
Had his employer already left—and paid a five-grand retainer before departing for his vacation? Not likely.
After climbing the three wide steps to the porch, Alex strode to the massive front door. As he pressed the brass bell, he peered through the five-foot-long section of leaded glass, expecting Lee to come marching down the hall.
Alex suppressed a surge of anger. Lee had summoned him at the crack of dawn. So where the hell was he?
As Lee had said, the door was unlocked. Inside, the house was completely, eerily quiet, except for the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock along the left wall.
Most people who owned a mansion this large would have employed at least one live-in servant. Lee made do, however, with a middle-aged African-American woman and her daughter who came in during the day and stayed late for dinner parties, and a guy who did odd jobs for him.
