She moved ahead of Ryder toward the group of kids sitting on the end of the first bed by the window. Their smiles lit up the room; she was amazed that just a simple pat on the head or hug could make such a different in so many lives.
She bent down to look at one particularly pretty little red-haired girl. If they hadn't come up with the laryngitis excuse, she could have spent the rest of the day sitting there telling them stories.
Joanna's job kept her on the run – in strange places with even stranger people – and so she was rarely around children. She'd forgotten just how wonderful it could be to relive the adventures of Jack the Giant Killer, and Snow White and –
A flash of movement from the corner of the room. She glanced at Ryder and he motioned for her to stay put. Nothing seemed unusual about the scene: two doctors with stethoscopes around their necks leaned against the doorjamb; an orderly stared at Joanna as if she were descended from the stars; a nurse, hands in pockets, looked out the window toward the cliffs tow stories below.
Nothing to worry about.
But, wait. Where everyone else's uniform had a thin navy stripe outlining the collar, this nurse had none. And, if Joanna's eyes weren't playing tricks on her, a thin piece of wire trailed from her right ear and disappeared into the bodice of the uniform.
Joanna started toward her.
It might be nothing.
It probably was nothing.
Perhaps the woman was one of Ryder's mysterious cohorts that she had yet to meet, or the wire belonged to nothing more ominous than a hearing aid.
Joanna took a deep breath as she closed in on the nurse, whose back was still to her. No more than twelve feet separated them.
In a few moments, this would all be over and Ryder and Alistair and the rest of their organization could relax, knowing that the threat against the princess of Wales had been an emptyone.
Eight feet. Seven. Six –
A sound. Deep, throbbing, unmistakable even though she was hearing it for the first time. The entire left side of her face pounded with it and she stopped in her tracks, her hand resting over the enormous earring-cum-alarm system.
If the alarm blaring in her ear were any indication, the woman in front of her was wired with enough plastic explosives to blast them all the way back to London.
Ryder flanked her left side; Alistair and two other associates flanked her right. The alarm intensified. She could barely think.
The signal. What in hell was the signal?
The nurse turned around. Joanna met her eyes and saw evil face-to-face for the first time.
Her hand flew to the brim of her hat, and Ryder threw her to the ground while Alistair and the other two men turned what looked to be Uzi machine guns on the nurse. Instead of raining bullets, the machine guns rained a thich, viscous yellow substance that clung to the terrorist like mucilage.
"The kids," Ryder yelled. "Get them out now!"
"But it's over," she said. "You've neutralized the plastics. We're safe."
The danger was past. The good guys had won. She was in Ryder's arms. Everything was over except for the happy ending.
That was when she realized it wasn't over at all. There, in front of her, stood the terrorist, looking like an apparition from the worst of the horror movies Joanna had ever worked on. While Joanna watched, the woman extracted a live bomb from a spot beneath the window.
The old-fashioned kind.
The kind that ticked.
"Back away!" The woman's voice was heavy with the sound of the Middle East.
To Joanna's surprise, Alistair and the other men complied instantly. Ryder remained positioned over Joanna, shielding her. Her heart hammered in counterpoint to the ticking of the bomb.
"You move," the woman said, motioning toward Ryder. "She is the one we want."
"Listen to her," Alistair said quietly. "It's our only chance."
The room emptied of patients and hospital staff. Joanna could hear Mrs. Penhaligon sobbing in the corridor.
Ryder still didn't move. Fear made it hard for Joanna to think. The only reality in this insane nightmare was the strength and warmth of his body against hers. If he moved away from her, all of her brave talk of doing something important, of living life on the wild side, would be exposed for what it was: the talk of a woman who knew very little about the ways of the world.
"Two minutes," the terrorist screamed. "Two minutes and this building is no more."
"Use your head, son," Alistair roared. "Don't be a fool. Go near her and it's all over. She'll blow us all to hell. There are other ways to deal with this."
And then, to Joanna's horror, Ryder O'Neal got up and moved away.
#
It was every nightmare he'd ever had and refused to acknowledge in the light of day.
Love and duty. The topic of late night, whiskey-soaked talks, of speculation and uncertainty.
The one thing every operative feared.
And here it was, right there in front of him, the classic confrontation.
In the years since he'd walked away from Valerie Parker, he'd wondered what he would do when the ultimate conflict, choosing between the woman he loved and his commitment to duty, presented itself.
Only nothing had prepared him for the reality of standing there helpless while the woman he loved beyond duty, beyond training, beyond his own life, was being used as a pawn in a game of danger and death.
"Cover Joanna," he said to Alistair. "I'll handle this."
"Go slow," Alistair warned. "Play for time. The bomb blanket is on the way."
"No talking!" the terrorist screamed. "No more talk!"
She put the small bomb inside her blouse and reached for Joanna. Something inside Ryder went mad with rage. He'd spent his life playing games, avoiding commitment, skating by on charm as much as skill.
He was through playing for time.
He grabbed for the bomb. The terrorist struggled. The bomb continued ticking.
Forty seconds. Thirty-five . . .
He remembered how Joanna had felt in his arms, remembered how much it had cost her to believe in him. He owed her this one, last gift: her life.
When there was no more time left at all, he grabbed the terrorist by the shoulders and the two of them crashed through the mullioned window toward the sea and the rocks below.
Epilogue
The cast on his leg looked heavy and hot and it probably itched like hell, but to Joanna Stratton it was the most beautiful sight on earth.
At the moment she could think of no greater pleasure than simply watching Ryder O'Neal breathe.
"You must have nine lives," she said as PAX's private Concorde took off from Heathrow on their delayed flight back to the States. "That fall would have killed a lesser man." The luck of the Irish had been with him.
Not to mention high tide.
Ryder grinned and pulled her down next to him on the hospital bed Alistair had had installed for the return trip. "Eight more lives to go," he said, kissing the side of her neck. "I don't know if I can stand the excitement."
"I can," Joanna said. "If I spend those lives with you."
His hazel eyes twinkled with delight. "Is that a proposal, Ms. Stratton?"
"No," she said, pointing toward the cast. "That is."
There, in lipstick-red, the words, "Will you marry me?" were scrawled along the side of the cast.
Ryder started to laugh. "When did you do that?"
"While you were napping."
"I don't nap."
"Afraid you did, Superman."
He stroked her hair gently and she marveled at the tenderness this man of power and danger was capable of. "Eight more weeks in this cast," he said. "I make a lousy patient.
"Don't change the subject."
"I just want you to know what you're getting into, Joanna. It may not always be this easy."
"This was easy?"
"I have a lousy temper."
"I know."
"I smoke cigars now and then."
&n
bsp; "I'll buy air freshener."
"I've been known to eat cold pizza and drink warm beer."
"Me too."
"You probably have questions."
"A million of them," she said, "but I figure I'll have forty or fifty years to get the answers."
He gripped Joanna by the shoulders and drew her across his chest until her eyes were level with his.
"This is your last chance to back out, Joanna."
She tilted her head toward the window. "From fifty thousand feet up"? Not very likely. Besides, you wouldn't deny Rosie the chance to say I told you so."
"I love you," he said softly. "I always will."
"Now there you have me, Mr. O'Neal," Joanna said, reaching up to extinguish the overhead light. "That's something you'll just have to prove to me."
#
Laughter.
Alistair looked up from the London daily newspaper and listened.
There was no mistaking that sound.
Low. Seductive. Wonderful.
And probably the most private of sounds on earth.
He leaned over and made sure the door between the cabins was closed, then clicked on the tape player. Strains of an old Cole Porter tune enveloped him in a haze of sweet nostalgia. He couldn't hear their laughter any longer but the sound lingered in his memory.
Ah, yes. To be young and in love . . .
How Sarah would have enjoyed seeing their young friend so happy. But that was neither here nor there. When they landed in New York, he would have to see about setting Ryder up with the facilities he'd wanted for his development work. And Joanna – well, Alistair would be a fool if he didn't do his utmost to lure her into utilizing her amazing skills in some capacity for PAX.
No longer could he pretend that Ryder was needed in the field. The perfect blend of love and work was there for the taking, and Alistair would make sure Ryder had his chance. No longer could Alistair ignore the fact that Ryder deserved a chance at the happiness he himself had once taken for granted.
There was a lesson to be learned there and Alistair was nothing if not a fast learner.
He put down the newspaper and picked up the air-to-ground telephone. He didn't have to check the number; he couldn't forget it if he wanted to.
"I should hang up on you, Alistair Chambers," Holland said, her voice crystal clear despite the miles separating them. "I waited ten hours for you to show up and that was three days ago. Where in hell are you? This story better be good."
"It is," he said, thinking about love and romance and how splendid it was that they were no longer solely the province of the young and blessed. "It is."
~~The End of Playing for Time~~
Author's Note
Readers are everything.
Seeing your name in print is terrific. Good reviews put a smile on an author's face.
Royalties help keep the wolf from the door. But the absolute best thing about being a writer is being read.
Knowing that your words are making someone you're not even related to happy. Knowing that your story is helping to make a bad day better for a stranger who needed to escape for a few hours. Knowing that the imaginary friends you've spent the last few months with are out there in the world becoming just as real to a reader you'll never meet but know and love just the same.
See what I mean?
Readers are everything.
So this one is for the wonderful readers (and knitters) who have taken time over the last few years to let me know how much they enjoy my books.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And if you're new to my work, welcome. I hope you'll check out these other titles and excerpts and let me know what you think. You can always reach me on Facebook or Twitter, or directly at [email protected] or [email protected]
Happy reading!
Barbara Bretton
A Soft Place to Fall – contemporary romance
A Shelter Rock Cove book
The first time they met, his dog trashed her car.
The second time they met, she set fire to her bathroom.
The third time they met, they fell in love.
Annie Galloway isn't looking to fall in love again. Sam Butler doesn't want a home and family of his own.
Too bad fate has other plans . . .
From Booklist
It's been two years since Annie Galloway's husband died, and she is finally putting her life back together, even though she stays in Shelter Rock Cove, Maine. Annie has never lived anywhere else, and her life is tied to the small community, which is a blessing and a curse. Her mother-in-law took her in at sixteen when her parents died, and she feels grateful for her love, but her husband was not the saint that everyone thinks he was. When she meets Sam Butler, a Manhattan investment broker hiding out in the small town and reevaluating his life, they instantly connect, but some townspeople are suspicious of the newcomer and his relationship with Annie. Sam and Annie do keep secrets from each other, hoping to keep their newfound love separate from the past, but prying neighbors may tear them apart. Once again Bretton creates a tender love story about two people who, when they find something special, will go to any length to keep it.
Patty Engelmann Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
#
Chapter One
They saved the bed for last.
Annie Lacy Galloway stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched as the two impossibly skinny young men maneuvered the huge sleigh bed through the narrow upstairs hallway. She winced at the sound of wood scraping against wallpaper. She knew it would be a tight fit but she hadn't let herself consider that it might be impossible.
The moving boys paused at the top of the stairs and considered their options.
"How'd you ever get this up here anyway, Mrs. G?" Michael, the one whose voice still hadn't made up its mind between soprano and tenor, called down to her. "This is like shoving an elephant through a keyhole."
She'd found it at a yard sale six months after Kevin died, a wreckage of wood that looked much the way she'd felt inside. "I feel bad taking your money for this," the man had said as they loaded the pieces into the back of her Jeep. She spent weeks sanding the elegant curves and flat planes, stripping away years of neglect and damage, not even sure if the pieces could ever be put back together again into a recognizable whole. It still wasn't finished yet. Come spring, she intended to stain the sanded wood a deep cherry wood then coat the whole thing with a satiny finish that would grow more lustrous with the years.
"Turn it toward the window," she said. "Once you clear the top of the railing, you'll have it made."
Danny, her nephew by marriage, crouched down near the foot of the bed. "It comes apart," he said, fingering the supports. "Maybe we could --"
"No!" Annie forced her voice down to a more acceptable volume. The poor boys looked downright scared. "I mean, feel free to remove the stair rails, if you have to, but please don't touch the bed."
"You're the boss, Mrs. G," Michael said.
She turned in time to see a third moving boy grab for the cardboard box near the front door. The box marked "Fragile."
"Not that one." Annie raced back downstairs. "I'm taking that one in the car with me."
"You sure?" Scotty had been Kevin's top student, the one who was on his way toward bigger and better things. He was smart and funny and built like a two-by-four, all straight edges and long lines. Scotty nailed the Bancroft Scholarship, Kevin. You would've been so proud of him. Years ago, she had been the one with the Bancroft and the big dreams of studying art one day in New York. It seemed so long ago, almost as if those dreams had belonged to somebody else. The sight of the young man in her foyer awoke so many memories of Christmas parties and summer barbecues when they had opened up the house to students and their parents. Kevin loved those parties, loved being at the center of all the activity, laughing and joking and --
"There's plenty of room in the truck, Mrs. G."
"That's oka
y, Scotty," she said, wondering when he had started shaving. Wasn't it just yesterday that he was raking their lawn for two bucks an hour? "I'll take it over in my car." Her life was tucked away in that box: old love letters, wedding photos, newspaper clippings, and sympathy notes. The sum total of her thirty-eight years on the planet with room left over for her best wineglasses and her journals.
He pointed toward a box resting near the piano. "How about that one?"
Annie grinned. "Be my guest."
He hoisted it on his shoulder with a theatrical grunt. "See you at the new house."
"The new house." Claudia Galloway appeared in the doorway to the living room. She dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief, one of those flimsy bits with the hand-crocheted edging that were her trademark. "It's not too late to change your mind, Anne."
Annie thrust her clenched fists deep into the pockets of her bright red sweater. "Claudia, we've gone over this before. I --"
"This is your home," her former mother-in-law broke in. "This is where you spent your entire married life. My God, you're even sold most of your furniture. How can you turn your back on everything Kevin meant to you?"
"I don't need this house to remind me of all that Kevin meant to me."
"Is she at it again?" Susan, Claudia's oldest daughter, poked her head in the front door. "Ma, you already built a shrine to Kevin. Annie doesn't need to build one too."
Annie shot her best friend a look of pure gratitude. I owe you big time, Susie. Godiva, if I could afford it, or Dom Perignon. "Are they finished in the garage?"
"The place is stripped bare as chicken bones after a barbecue."
"Really, Susan." Claudia frowned at her daughter. "A bit less colorful language, if you please."
"Mother, I sell real estate for a living. I am a master of the colorful metaphor."
"I could do with a tad less sarcasm as well."
"Coming through!" Michael and Danny had found a way to maneuver Annie's sleigh bed downstairs without major architectural damage and had it aimed at the front door.
Playing for Time Page 20
