“As far as the world is concerned, you’ve slept with a killer.
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Patricia Potter
About the Author
Dedication
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Copyright
“As far as the world is concerned, you’ve slept with a killer.
“Nothing to take pride in. Certainly no one you would stand in front of an altar with.”
Julie sat up, and he couldn’t miss the anger in her face. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned an altar. And how do you know what I take pride in?”
“It can’t be me,” he said steadily. “And you’re the kind of woman men marry. Dammit, you’re much too trusting. I’ve cost you money. Friends. Neighbors. I’m not going to take away your self-respect.”
She started to reach for him, but he rose before she could touch him. Without looking at her, he dressed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and started for the door.
“Ryan?”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I would take pride in you,” she said.
His insides twisted.
If only...
Dear Reader,
Happy holidaze! The holiday season always does pass in a bit of a daze, with all the shopping and wrapping and partying, the cooking and (of course!) the eating. So take some time for yourself with our six Intimate Moments novels, each one of them a wonderful Christmas treat
Start by paying a visit to THE LONE STAR SOCIAL CLUB, Linda Turner’s setting for Christmas Lone-Star Style. Remember, those Texans know how to do things in a big way! Then join Suzanne Brockmann for another TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS title, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. I wouldn’t mind waking up and finding Crash Hawken under my Christmas tree! Historical writer Patricia Potter makes a slam-bang contemporary debut with Home for Christmas, our FAMILIES ARE FOREVER title. Wrongly convicted and without the memories that could save him, Ryan Murphy is a hero to treasure Award winner Ruth Wind returns with For Christmas, Forever Isn’t this the season when mysterious strangers come bearing romance tinged with danger? Debra Cowan’s One Silent Night is our MEN IN BLUE title. I’d be happy to “unwrap” Sam Garrett on Christmas morning. Finally, welcome mainstream author Christine Michels to the line A Season of Miracles carries the TRY TO REMEMBER flash, though you’ll have no trouble at all remembering this warm holiday love story
It’s time to take the “daze” out of the holidays, so enjoy all six of these seasonal offerings. Of course, don’t forget that next month marks a new year, so come back then for more of the best romance reading around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Seasons Greetings,
Leslie J. Wainger Executive Senior Editor
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S. 3010 Walden Ave, P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
* * *
HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
PATRICIA POTTER
Books by Patricia Potter
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Home for Christmas #897
Harlequin Historicals
Swampfire #6
Between the Thunder #15
Samara #20
Seize the Fire #26
Chase the Thunder #35
Dragonfire #48
The Silver Link #63
The Abduction #78
PATRICIA POTTER is a former journalist with a passion for history and books. While working at the Atlanta Journal, she met and reported on three presidents and covered news stories from murder to space launches to the Civil Rights movement. An avid reader, Patricia tries to fit a bit of everything into her hectic life-style—anything from reading biographies and espionage books, caring for her animals (of which she has a few) to traveling. She’s a multipublished author of both category and mainstream historicals, and her books have reached both the Waldenbooks and USA Today bestseller lists. A three-time Romance Writers of America RITA finalist, Patricia also earned the Romantic Times Storyteller of the Year Award. A former president of the Georgia Romance Writers of America, she is now active in the River City RWA Chapter, and serves on the national board of Romance Writers of America. Patricia currently resides in Memphis, Tennessee.
For Carol Quinto,
whose courage, love and friendship will always be an
inspiration.
Chapter 1
A split second. A lifetime.
From the instant Julie Farrell felt the shock of another car smashing into hers, heard the grinding sound of folding metal, felt the incredible impact of an air bag exploding, she believed she would die.
And, dear God, her son!
I killed my husband, now I’ve killed my baby. The thought flashed through her consciousness like lightning through a storm. Terror filled her Stark terror Not for her For her son
Please God, let him live!
Pain ripped through her chest from the impact of the safety bag. Still, her panic focused on her son, Nick, silent in his car seat in the back Ignoring the chest-crushing agony, she twisted against the seat belt that held her in place. The top of the car had crunched inward. She couldn’t reach him. Frantically, she fumbled to unfasten her own seat belt, and tried again to reach out to her son, bent metal blocked her
She smelled the acrid odor of smoke, felt the heat beginning to crawl into the car, and saw flames dart from the engine. Desperate, she tried to open the door but it was crumpled, jammed
Nick, my baby! She heard herself scream in her mind. She heard more sounds. More crashing metal. Something that sounded like a shot Yelling. Screaming. Her own screaming.
How long before the car exploded?
Where was help?
“Nicholas,” she screamed. A cry answered her. She squirmed around, trying once more to stretch out her hand to him, but he remained out of reach.
The smoke grew heavier. She could barely breathe Words strangled in her throat Dear God, help Nicholas. He’s only four Tears mingled with blood blinded her as she frantically tried to reach her son, talk to him, calm the fear in his sobs.
Then she heard a noise from the back. Someone was trying to wrench open the right back door
“Dammit!” The profanity ripped through the car, and she stretched around to see Two arms were reaching through the right rear window, working desperately to release Nicholas from the car seat. “Please, God.” she whispered. “Please. please, God ..”
Then she heard a voice, the same voice that had been swearing a moment earlier. But now it was soothing, soft. “It’s all right, son I have you.” Someone was taking Nicholas from the car through the window He was safe! Safe. Thank you, God. Thank you.
The smoke was denser The heat..dear God, the heat ..
Her hand tried the door handle again Please. Please. Please. Someone please help She did not want to die. Nick needed her He had no one else No one.
Then a bloody hand reached inside her window. She heard the same voice she’d heard seconds earlier. Steady and sure. Confident. “Lady, I’ll get you out” A hand tugged on the doo
r outside as she tried from the inside. The door did not move.
“Lean back,” her rescuer said, “as far as you can.”
She trusted that voice She trusted its confidence. She leaned back, and heard the remainder of the broken glass being cleared from the window. Then she was being pulled out by two bloody arms. She was aware of strength, incredible strength.
Heat singed her Flames darted out from under the hood
“Nicholas?” she screamed.
“The boy’s safe,” the man said as he finished dragging her out. He took her in his arms, and for the first time she felt as if she might live. There was confidence in those arms, in the stark face that looked worriedly down at her He started toward the side of the road.
Someone yelled, “It’s gonna blow ”
She was hurtling through the air. He had thrown her, tossed her like a rag doll. She was rolling, rolling down an embankment just as the world exploded into noise and heat and raining particles of metal
“Nicholas,” she whimpered again as she covered her head and felt tiny bits of shrapnel piercing her as she continued rolling. Then from nowhere, she heard herself whisper, “Doug. Doug. Why?”
Then pain faded into darkness
Killer Cop Saves Mother, Child
The headline raced across the front page in letters large enough for even Julie Farrell’s fogged, aching eyes to read.
She squinted and concentrated, trying desperately to read the subhead
Prominent Attorney And Son
Pulled From Flaming Car
By Convict
Her eyes went to the paragraph below, but the small words wriggled and dimmed until they were a mass of indecipherable blobs of ink If only the pain would fade away like the words.
It was useless. She could only read the large type. After a moment’s frustration, she gave up, allowing the sheet of newsprint to fall on her lap as she looked up at the senior partner of her law firm, who had brought her the paper Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt. She could barely move, and when she did, every part of her—external and internal—ached, pounded or burned.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to arrange her thinking processes. Her first thought, when she regained consciousness at the hospital, was her son She was assured that he’d been clear of the explosion and was in much better shape than herself, though that was of small comfort, considering that she felt like a pincushion punctured with a thousand needles
She had threatened to crawl, if necessary, to see him, and finally a volunteer had brought him to her room. Nick looked tembly small in a wheelchair, and bandages covered some cuts from glass, but his eyes were as bright as ever, and he climbed next to her, putting a chubby hand on her cheek.
“I was afraid,” he said tearfully “I was afraid you was going away.”
“No,” she said. “I will never, ever leave you.”
“I love you,” he said with the intensity of a frightened little boy He was allowed to stay several more minutes before being taken back to the pediatrics ward.
Then she asked about the man who had thrust her away from the burning car.
But no one would tell her anything. They kept dodging her questions, reassuring her instead about her own injuries. But she already knew she was going to live. Painfully for a while, but live What about the stranger who risked his life for Nick and herself? She remembered being thrown away from the car; he wouldn’t have had time to escape the brunt of the explosion
It wasn’t until David Caldwell, the managing partner of her law firm, appeared and handed her the newspaper that she received some answers. “You made the news,” he said in his usual no-nonsense voice. “The doctors say you should rest for a few weeks, but you’re not to worry about it. Mark will take over the Crispen appeal ”
She nodded, well aware of the importance of the case to the firm. a battle over a valuable patent the court ruled did not belong to their client. The deadline for the appeal was next week.
He hesitated for a moment, obviously wanting to say something else. She was curious as to why he had come rather than a junior partner. David Caldwell was not known for niceties. He was always all business, often curt, even rude to his underlings, of which she was one Her gaze wandered up and down the impeccably dressed figure, noting the frown that lingered on his lips
“Well, ummmm, we’re all happy that you...and your son...were not injured more severely,” David finally said.
“Thank you,” she replied, wishing he would leave. Wishing she could close her eyes and forget the pain.
He balanced on one foot, then the other, obviously uncomfortable. She wondered suddenly whether he had ever been in a hospital room before. And then she remembered the brusqueness with which he had given her the newspaper He did not like publicity The firm—Caldwell, Michaels, Evans and Cagle—did not like publicity Dammit, she didn’t like publicity. In fact, she loathed it.
She wanted him to go She wanted to read more of the story. To heck with the publicity She wanted information.
“The news media is full of stories,” Caldwell continued. “That...police officer was big news ten years ago Most people believed he should have gone to trial, been sentenced to death. This will stir things up again ”
Her head seemed to pound even louder. Police officer? Death penalty? She stared at the large headline again, though she had difficulty absorbing it. “Did you?” she asked curiously.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Did you think he should have received the death penalty?” she asked, wondering why on earth she was asking such a thing Caldwell was not someone you questioned. Yet she wanted to know She wanted to know everything about the man who had saved her son’s life. Her own
“Yes,” he said harshly, surprising her “I think he should have He was an officer who dealt drugs and killed his own partner.”
Condemnation hung in the room, condemnation she understood. She, too, despised duty cops.
Caldwell looked away from her. “I know the publicity isn’t your fault,” he said in a voice that did not reassure her at all. “But we would appreciate your discretion on the matter ”
Discretion, she thought, meant ignoring the fact that the man in the article, the killer, had risked his life for hers. She didn’t answer.
He cleared his throat, “If you need anything.”
He really was trying to be kind. He just wasn’t very good at it. “Thank you,” she said.
“I understand your boy is doing splendidly,” he said gruffly.
“We were lucky,” Julie said, looking back down at the newspaper They were lucky that one man had the courage to pull them from a flaming car. One man. She swallowed hard as she remembered the headline. She wanted her visitor to leave. She wanted to read more She wanted to know how badly her savior was injured
She closed her eyes, then opened them, feigning sleepiness She did not have to feign much. She was tired, so very tired.
The senior partner cleared his throat. “I should be going,” he said “They told me not to stay long I just thought you should know about .that ” He gestured to the newspaper “Reporters have already called for information about you. They will probably be swarming all over you.”
Another not-so-subtle warning. Disappointment stabbed through her She’d thought for an instant that perhaps, maybe, he had come because someone cared
She merely let her eyes close again. She listened to retreating footsteps and a door opening and sliding shut with a small thud. Part of her wanted to keep her eyes closed Did she really want to learn more about the man who pulled her from the car?
But she opened her eyes and stared at the headlines, then the three accompanying pictures One was the skeletal remains of her car Another was a photo of herself She remembered that picture It had been taken after she had won her first case as an assistant district attorney eight years ago.
The third was a man She had no idea when it had been taken He had a hawk-like face, deep-set eyes an
d thick eyebrows which made his eyes look sleepy. But that was his only benign feature His expression was grim And the grimness looked natural on him. The photo caption identified him as Ryan Murphy.
Her eyes went to the columns of type She felt the heaviness of sedatives, the dullness they created, and she finally set the paper down on her lap. The headline stared back at her
Killer Cop Saves Mother, Child
She managed to read the first few paragraphs. The convict, Ryan Murphy. had evidently defied his guards and a warning shot to rescue Nick and herself.
She managed a few more sentences. There had been a chain reaction of crashes, injuries, confusion which apparently was why no one else offered help. No one, other than the convicts, was near enough Apparently the guards had been indecisive on whether they should assist the wounded or watch their charges.
Murphy had been critically injured and was in a coma, according to the report.
She swallowed hard as she reread the headline. Killer Cop. She had known bad cops. One had lied to her and as a result she had sent an innocent man to prison; she had subsequently resigned from the district attorney’s office.
Her hand tightened around the newspaper. Was that why no one would tell her how he was? No one thought the man worth her worry?
A nurse came in the room with a tray. Another blood sample. She knew they worried about infection. Blood pressure and temperature were taken. A few questions were asked about nausea.
Julie answered impatiently, then held up the newspaper. “The man...in the story .is he here?”
The nurse hesitated, obviously reluctant to give out information about another patient.
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