PREVIOUS ACCOLADES FOR MICHELLE PERRY:
CAIN & ABEL
“This is a fast-paced novel, with some well-drawn characters, some brutal moments and interesting twists of fate.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine
“CAIN & ABEL, by newcomer Michelle Perry, is a gripping romantic suspense that will have you on the edge of your seat page after page. There are so many twists and turns in this exciting novel that the tension level just continually ratchets up right up through to the exciting conclusion. Kudos to Ms. Perry on creating a terrific novel!”
—Romance Junkies
“The romantic suspense of Michelle Perry grabs you and won’t let go.”
—Affaire de Coeur Magazine
“By train, plane, boat, or bus, get to your local bookstore and find a copy of CAIN & ABEL by Michelle Perry. It’s a book that will have you reading late into the night, and then begging for more from this very talented author.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Ms. Perry did an incredible job on this romantic suspense at every turn. The pace and utter drive behind the plot and suspense were amazing. I don’t think there was a moment during the story where I wanted to put it down. I can honestly say I loved CAIN & ABEL … and in a strange way, I’m almost hoping for more.”
—The Romance Studio
“Wow. Perry’s thriller is edge-of-your-seat intense. Every page adds another layer and you want to put the book down and take a break, but you find you can’t. You have to know how the story ends. While fiction, CAIN AND ABEL does resemble life, as you read Jessica’s story, escaping from an abusive husband and trying to start a new life, you realize there are women doing the exact same thing at this very moment. This realization adds to the storyline and intensifies the emotions. CAIN AND ABEL is a masterful thriller!”
—Sharyn McGinty, www.inthelibraryreviews.net
IN ENEMY HANDS
“IN ENEMY HANDS is an exhilarating romantic suspense tale …”
—H. Klausner, Independent Reviewer
“IN ENEMY HANDS is an exciting suspense that will force you to read it in one sitting. Heart-stopping action, rapid-fire dialogue, and adventure in every chapter propel IN ENEMY HANDS forward in a race to the finish.”
—Romance Junkies
“IN ENEMY HANDS is a well-written, non-stop, action-filled story of good versus evil. The characters are well defined, and there are some excellent, imaginative scenarios that will leave you breathless. The interaction between Dante and Nadia is sizzling and based on love and trust. If you enjoy a good romantic thriller, this is the book for you.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“IN ENEMY HANDS is fantastic! It is action packed and deeply sensual and I was on the edge of my seat from the first page to the last… Michelle Perry has written a truly captivating and thrilling book with IN ENEMY HANDS. It’s a must read for any romantic suspense fan. I can’t wait to read it again!”
—www.joyfullyreviewed.com
“Ms. Perry delivers another impressive romantic suspense with IN ENEMY HANDS. The action is almost non-stop and both characters are more than sufficiently developed in order for us to understand why they feel and act the way they do. If you are in the mood for a thrilling romance with characters you can’t help but adore, then this book is a must read. I’m certainly hoping some of the secondary characters will get their own book in the future.”
—Romance Reviews Today
THE THREE MOTIVES FOR MURDER
“Perry pens a suspenseful mystery that will keep readers guessing and on the edge of their seats.”
—Romantic Times
“I absolutely loved Natasha and Brady. Natasha has lost herself since the horrible deaths of her friends. She is stubborn, passionate and strong-willed. She thinks Brady is sexy and too stubborn to listen to the truth of what happened years ago. But she loves him and is not willing to give up on him. Brady is sexy and charming. He is disgusted with himself for still having feelings for Natasha after the pain she caused him. Brady thinks Natasha is selfish, stubborn and he can not deny the love he still feels in his heart for her. The secondary characters in THE THREE MOTIVES FOR MURDER are fun, sexy and vibrant. I had to keep reading to see how they would play out in the story.”
—Billie Jo, Romance Junkies
“THE THREE MOTIVES FOR MURDER is a fast action intense suspense with twist and turns that keeps readers guessing until the very end.
Perry creates a complex mystery with just enough romance, mystery and suspense to bring readers to the edge of their seats and keep them glued to the pages. THE THREE MOTIVES FOR MURDER moves readers along on a roller coaster ride taking them from high points to low and never letting up until the mystery is revealed.”
—Tara & Deb, Review Coordinators, Suspense Romance Writers
DEDICATION:
For Patricia Yarworth Myers
Published 2008 by Medallion Press, Inc.
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2008 by Michelle Perry
Cover Model: Melissa Noble
Cover Illustration by Adam Mock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro
ISBN# 1933836008
ISBN# 978-193383600-3
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
Rebecca Miller, Ronnie Wayne Scissom, Rebecca
Coleman, Cat Walker, Lori Saltis, Theresa Gaus,
Karla Bran, Patsy Phillips, Nicole Service, Gladys
Brady, the Perrys, the Yarworths, the RWG
gang: Angie, JAC, Sky, Kristen and Judith.
Table of 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 Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
CHAPTER
1
On Thanksgiving morning, we gathered in darkness in an abandoned Sears parking lot. When I exited my ancient Pontiac, I didn’t bother to lock it. Hey, if a thief wanted it, more power to him. My defroster had stopped working last week, so—after scratching a clear patch on my iced-over windshield with the edge of a CD case because I couldn’t find the scraper—I’d spent the twenty-minute drive scrubbing the fog off the inside windshield with my sleeve, squinting at the road, and trying not to breathe.
Rubbing my hands together, I moved toward the black van. Other agents drifted from the shadows like ghosts. In the predawn hours, the cold November sky cast ev
erything in a strange, monochrome gray tint, making me feel like I was caught in a black-and-white movie. Our dark clothing only added to the effect. We entered the van in a somber procession that made my throat ache, because this wasn’t like any raid I’d ever been on.
There was no AC/DC Back in Black blasting from the speakers, none of the pumped-up, adrenaline-laced chatter. No Johnny Angel asking if I wanted to sit on his lap.
“Hey, Chief, I’m askin’, not harassin’,” he’d joke when Bill shot him a stern look.
Today, the inside of the van was utterly silent. Pale, worried faces gazed at me and nodded in greeting, all except one. With his head in his hands, Cougar hunched forward on the edge of the bench that lined the sides of the van. His unruly brown hair peeked from beneath the edge of his black knit cap. I slid in beside him and squeezed his arm.
He glanced at me with bloodshot blue eyes, then leaned back. His gloved hand grasped mine, a gesture that would’ve normally inspired any number of rude comments and catcalls. But not today.
Instead, Luke Jacobi, the agent on my right, took my other hand and reached for the man on his right. In a show of solidarity that made my eyes burn, agent after agent linked hands with the man on either side, until at last Bill clasped Cougar’s and completed the circle.
Tucker Fitzgerald cleared his throat. “Our Father, please extend your protection over the men …” He glanced at me. “—and woman—assembled here today, and most especially protect our brother, Angel. Guide us in our mission, and deliver him unto us unharmed in body and spirit.”
We all echoed his amen and the circle broke. When I attempted to release Cougar’s hand, he gripped my fingers and refused to let go. That was okay. He and Angel were like brothers, and I knew he was taking this harder than anyone. If holding his hand gave him some comfort, I was glad to do it, because I damn sure couldn’t think of anything reassuring to say. Angel had vanished yesterday in the middle of an undercover operation, and I think we all assumed the worst. Even the DA had finally stopped dragging his feet and drafted a search warrant for the estate of Frank Barnes, a suspected class one drug dealer.
Usually, riding in the van didn’t bother me, but today my stomach lurched when we took the curves. This was the fulfillment of a dream for me, a lifelong quest for revenge, but suddenly Frank Barnes didn’t matter. Seeing him punished didn’t matter; I only wanted my friend to be alive.
“Almost there,” the driver said.
We threw on tactical gear and checked our weapons. Our badges hung on cords around our necks, and I pulled Cougar’s from beneath his shirt. When the van braked to a stop, Bill barked, “Go, go, go!” and threw open the door. We hit the ground running.
ATF agents spilled from another van and surged in front of us with a battering ram. They splintered the front door while we raced around back. For a few seconds, it was chaos. Agents shouted “ATF!” or “DEA!” or simply “Police!” when we stormed inside. Someone was screaming “Down! Down! Down!” but there was no one inside to get down.
The mansion seemed utterly vacant, but we didn’t slow down until we’d searched every room, every closet. Cougar and I swept the last room together.
Nothing.
Cougar kicked the bedroom door. It cracked against the wall hard enough to knock a hole in the plaster. He turned and stalked out of the room.
“Cougar, no!” I yelled, not really knowing what I was telling him not to do, but alarmed by the fury on his face. I raced back down the stairs on his heels. He stopped on the landing, yanked his helmet off, and hurled it across the room. It bounced off the paneled wall with a loud thwack, and he turned his stormy eyes on me. “Barnes knew, Necie. He knew we were coming, just like he knew Angel was a cop.” He pointed over my shoulder and shouted, “Which one of you bastards is working for him?”
Pressing my hands against Cougar’s chest, I glanced behind me at the cluster of men. Karl and the ATF agent beside him glared back. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed Cougar’s arm and dragged him outside. He let me, or otherwise I couldn’t have budged him.
Snow fluttered from the sky, and the cold wind shrieked around us, whipping my hair in my face. We stood on the back deck facing each other while the tiny white flakes swirled around us.
“Cougar, listen to me,” I said, but he was staring over my shoulder, through the patio doors. Grabbing his chin, I forced him to look at me. The despair in his eyes made my stomach clench. “Listen,” I repeated, softer this time. “You can’t throw accusations like that around. I know—”
“I know, too,” he said, his face reddening. “Angel didn’t mess up. Someone sold him out.”
The words hung between us, and I had to admit, I believed it, too.
Cougar shook his head, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. “There’s no way Barnes could’ve known unless there was a mole.”
The whine of a motorcycle interrupted our conversation. A hooded rider exploded around the corner on a yellow Yamaha and raced toward the woods. Cougar and I vaulted the railing and took off after him.
Cougar entered the forest a few steps ahead of me. When he lurched to a stop, I collided into his back and knocked us both down on the slippery leaves.
Scrambling to his feet, he never even looked at me. I peered around him to see what had his attention.
Angel sat on the ground, tied to a tree, with his long legs splayed out in front of him. Snow dusted his black jeans like powdered sugar, and his chin rested against his chest. Blood streaked the front of his white T-shirt.
Half-running, half-stumbling, Cougar raced toward him, the motorcyclist forgotten. He grabbed a fistful of Angel’s black hair and jerked his head up.
A tiny black hole burned in the middle of his forehead.
“No!” I screamed—or at least I think I did.
The howling wind abruptly died, leaving behind a moment of utter stillness and silence.
Angel’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Cougar.
“Hey, man,” he said. “I’m freezing. Get me up from here.”
CHAPTER
2
Cougar gaped at him, then shot me a disbelieving look. He still clutched a handful of Angel’s hair. “Y-you,” he stammered.
“What’s the problem?” Angel said, and winced, though I think he was trying for a smile.
Somehow that broke my paralysis, and I scrambled toward them. “Angel, you’ve been shot.”
He frowned. “No. Barnes knocked me out or something. I can taste blood. I think he hit me with the gun …”
I slid next to him, and couldn’t resist the urge to check his pulse. Cougar stared at me, and I noticed he was clutching Angel’s other wrist.
I heard a commotion behind me, and turned to see Ubi and Tucker burst through the tree line. Like us, they stared dumbfounded at Angel.
“Would you all quit gawking and get me up?” Angel said.
“You’ve been shot,” I repeated, and yelled over my shoulder, “Call 911!”
“Necie, I’m fine,” he protested. “Let me up.”
He struggled against the ropes, and I pressed a hand on his shoulder to still him.
“You have a hole in the middle of your forehead, handsome,” I said shakily.
It was small caliber, probably a .22. The sickly sweet stench of his charred flesh made my stomach knot.
“What?” Angel’s brown eyes widened. His usual bravado disappeared. Suddenly, he looked very young and confused.
Gently, Cougar tilted Angel’s head forward, then he turned his own face away. “And you’ve got an exit wound the size of a half dollar,” he whispered.
Angel blinked. “I’ve really been shot?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I-I remember Barnes holding the gun to my head, but I thought it misfired or something. I thought he hit me with it. Am I gonna … can you see …”
“Just hang on, man,” Cougar said. “I’m not moving you until the EMTs get here.”
A tear slipped from the corner of Angel’s eye and s
talled halfway down his cheek. “Coug, I’m scared,” he said.
Though his face was nearly as white as the snow falling around us, Cougar tried to smile. “Ah, man … you think he’d know better than to shoot a Red Sox fan in the head.”
Angel snorted. He leaned his head against Cougar’s, and they both laughed. Then they cried.
“Just hang on,” Cougar said.
The ambulance arrived seven minutes later. The EMTs didn’t seem to know what to do with him any more than we did. Afraid to lay him down, they managed to transfer him to a gurney while keeping him sitting up straight. Cougar insisted on riding with them to the hospital.
Angel was in surgery for three hours. Cougar paced the waiting room, then finally the hallways, hounding the nurses for information every few minutes. I tried to calm him down before they threw him out. Most of my attempts at conversation garnered only a grunt in reply, but when I asked how Angel had seemed on the way to the hospital, Cougar stopped pacing and sagged against the wall. The tightness around his mouth vanished for a moment, and he almost smiled.
“He asked the driver to find out the Notre Dame score. The poor EMT was so flipped out that he did it. When Angel heard they were down by seven, he said, ‘Bummer.’ Then he closed his eyes. I tried to keep him talking, because, you know, my mama used to wake me up every two hours after I’d taken a helmet to the head in a game. Sometimes I’d wake up and find her hovering right over me. I’d yell, she’d yell … it scared the hell out of both of us. She was checking to see if I was still breathing. That’s what I was doing to him.”
Ubi nudged Cougar and pointed to the ticker on the silent television screen mounted in the corner of the room. Notre Dame had come back to win by three.
“Good,” Cougar said, rubbing his forehead. “Good.”
I squeezed his hand.
The OR doors swung open, and we ran to meet the surgeon. He pulled his blue-green cap off and squinted at us.
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