by Laura Taylor
Intimate Strangers
(based on the novel Tender Mercy)
by
Laura Taylor
www.authorandeditor.com
Copyright ©2011 by Laura Taylor
Published in the United States by Blue Jay Media Group
ebook ISBN: 978–1–936724–05–5
265 pages
Copyright ©1994 by Laura Taylor
Based on Tender Mercy
ISBN–10: 055–319938–2
Cover design ©2011 Blue Jay Media Group
All rights reserved. No portion of this book, whether in print or electronic format, may be duplicated or transmitted without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Other Books by Laura Taylor
Intimate Strangers, formerly titled Tender Mercy
Fallen Angel
Desert Rose
Midnight Storm
Troubled Waters
Wildflower
Jade's Passion
Starfire
Promises
Just Friends
Heartbreaker
Wilder's Woman
Winter Heart
Lonesome Tonight
Seduced
Dangerous Surrender
Slightly Scandalous
Cloud Dancer
Anticipation
The Christmas Gift
Smoke and Mirrors
Honorbound, hard cover and paperback
Heartfelt thanks to Patricia Maas and Gabriel Porras of Blue Jay Media Group.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright Other Books By
Dedication
Quote
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
"Innocent people sleep peaceably in their beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."
– George Orwell
1
Nicholas Benteen knew the instant the intruder violated the boundary line of his property. A red light glowed on the console built into the top of his oak desk. A low hum followed, the sound prompting him to activate the six foot by six foot computer screen that was positioned on the wall opposite his desk.
Pushing aside the open file in front of him, Nicholas automatically dismissed the notion that the intruder was nothing more than a lost tourist. NO TRESPASSING signs lined the entrance as well as the extensive perimeter of his property. Only a blind man would ignore them. And only a fool would challenge Nicholas Benteen on his own turf.
He sank back in his chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and observed the intruder’s progress like the predator he’d been for his entire adult life. The illuminated grid provided him with an overview of the nearly ten thousand acres of forested land that he called home. His land. His private retreat from the decade and a half of violence he’d witnessed, participated in, and survived. His home. A home Nicholas intended to preserve and defend—whatever the cost.
A skilled warrior, he watched the intruder with slate–colored eyes narrowed to slits. And he waited, his powerful body deceptively still despite the wariness pulsing through his bloodstream.
The driver slowly navigated the rutted, overgrown excuse for a road that led to his home deep in the forested land of northern Nevada. Delicate fiber optic motion sensors Nicholas had installed with the assistance of a select group of loyal friends during his first months of ownership allowed him to track the vehicle’s progress.
Nicholas remained in his office, noting the passage of time whenever he glanced at the clock on his desk. Reaching out almost an hour later, he flipped a switch on the console to activate the bank of television monitors which scanned the terrain surrounding the glass and wood structure he’d occupied for the last five years.
He observed the late model van as it inched its way up the driveway and finally stopped near the front walk. Nicholas stiffened with surprise when a woman slipped out of the driver’s seat of the vehicle and then slammed the door behind her.
Frowning, he studied her as she paused to gaze at his home. He took in her expression, an obvious mix of awe, admiration, and delight as she scanned the sweeping lines of the wood and glass dwelling he’d designed. He already knew that his home appeared to be a natural extension of the magnificent beauty of the statuesque fir trees and rugged terrain of the area. Still, he drew satisfaction from the appreciation he glimpsed in the woman’s expressive face.
He exhaled. The harsh sound of the air escaping his body was ragged enough to make him angry with himself over the sharp bite of hunger he experienced for a woman who wouldn’t judge him or his past deeds. But Nicholas Benteen knew better than to indulge in such fantasies.
He swiftly controlled his thoughts and emotions, his gaze narrowing yet again as he watched the woman. Petite, fair–skinned, raven–haired, and slim–limbed, she didn’t look like an assassin, but he knew from many years as a highly paid mercenary that professional killers came in all sizes and shapes. Gender wasn’t a deciding factor. It hadn’t been since the beginning of time.
Women, Nicholas knew from personal experience, possessed the same deadly capabilities as men. And in his judgment, some often displayed far more finesse and lethality. He counted two such seductive black widows among his past lovers.
This particular member of the so–called weaker sex, Nicholas decided as he focused on her slender figure and shoulder length dark hair, represented a new player in the games of retribution routinely orchestrated by one or another of the enemies he’d acquired over the years. His jaw tight with annoyance, he recalled the last time a female had invaded his private retreat and threatened his life.
He’d become careless, almost paying for the lapse with his life. This time, he promised himself, he would maintain the upper hand. This time, his latest unwelcome guest would leave promptly. Otherwise, she would suffer the consequences.
Nicholas Benteen didn’t feel the least bit tolerant as he continued to observe her. If anything, he grew increasingly more tension filled. He told himself that he loathed interruptions when he worked. In truth, he resented the unexpected desire that flirted with his senses.
In spite of his dark mood, he studied and then grudgingly admired her lithe, shapely body as she lifted her arms and stretched. He wondered, too, if she was half as good as she looked. Heat and hunger flooded his veins. He muttered an expletive, a violent and crude sound.
Clad in a cranberry–colored pair of leggings, matching sweater, and hiking boots, she seemed amazingly light–hearted as she paced the gravel driveway to work the kinks from her limbs. Nicholas was puzzled by her ease in an unfamiliar environment, and he closed his hands into fists as he forced his thoughts beyond her physical attributes.
Given her need to stretch her legs, he concluded that she’d been on the road for a long time, a conclusion he assumed she wanted him to draw. He noticed, too, the out of state license plate on her late model van. He gave her high marks for attempting to appear unthreatening.
Settling back in his chair, he reclaimed the file atop his desk. He tried to focus on the typed pages, but he failed. Nicholas resigned himself to staring at them as he listened to the woman knock on his front door for a solid ten minutes.
At first, he found her relentless knocking mildly amusing, although far less subtle than he’d anticipated in a professional. He leaned his head back against the high back edge of his leather chair, closed his eyes, and ignored her, certain she would soon grow weary of pounding on his door.
Thirty minutes later, he officially misplaced his sens
e of humor, discarded the word subtle from his vocabulary, and allowed himself to bask in the irritation he felt. He stood abruptly and crossed the room to stand before a wall of tinted, bullet proof glass. Aware that she couldn’t see him, Nicholas peered down at her through the one–way glass from the upper floor of his tri–level home.
He suddenly frowned as he perused her facial features. Open, accessible, and vaguely familiar, her appearance tugged at his memory and made him wonder if she was an ally or an adversary from the mercenary life he’d abandoned. He immediately discounted that possibility. This woman reminded him too much of innocence and youth, qualities that neither he nor his few trusted friends possessed any longer.
Still, Nicholas continued to examine her delicate features. He finally, and very reluctantly, admitted to himself that she fascinated him. She roused his senses and stimulated his imagination. She also made his blood run like heated currents through his body.
Her eyes—big green cat eyes—were faintly almond shaped. The lushness of her mouth and the poorly concealed bounty of her hourglass figure prompted memories of sultry feminine heat and the erotic sounds of passion he’d known with past lovers.
Nicholas felt his insides clench with an almost violent sensation of need, and his muscles trembled like highly–stressed ribbons of steel. He grew angry with himself and with the woman, because his anatomy insisted on responding to his thoughts and to endless months of abstinence as he stared down at her.
He finally decided that she had no intention of ending her assault on his front door. As a result, Nicholas Benteen stopped trying to pretend that he could ignore the determined creature who’d violated his privacy and his peace of mind, the same creature who’d unknowingly forced him to acknowledge the fact that he craved a woman with satiny–soft skin, a gentle, knowing touch, and the kind of passion that could restore his soul and bring his heart back to life again.
Nicholas took the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the front door. Once there, he flipped the intercom switch and glared through the one–way glass.
** ** **
Although no one seemed inclined to answer the door, Hannah Cassidy refused to stop knocking. She also refused to be ignored. Driven by instinct and a single–mindedness that had always set her apart from family and friends, she was determined to make Nicholas Benteen aware of her presence. She suspected he was already.
She stepped back from the front door, primarily to give her knuckles a brief rest. She peered up at the top level of the cathedral–like dwelling she’d discovered in the middle of the woods. She knew from extensive research that this was the home of one Nicholas Benteen. Referred to as an anti–social survivalist by residents of the nearest town, those few people who knew him had cautioned Hannah against disturbing him.
As far as she was concerned, he defied the stereotype of a survivalist. His extensive land holdings and his elegant home made a statement about him that she couldn’t ignore. Hannah suspected that he was simply an affluent loner. Local folklore had evolved as a result of his desire for privacy, she’d concluded.
Although puzzled and somewhat amused by the attitude she’d encountered in town, she still felt compelled to take her chances and risk a less than friendly greeting. Too much was at stake, and her primary concern was finding her brother. She refused to pander to the quirky nature of some reclusive man who’d buried himself in the back woods for the previous five years.
Whatever it took, she intended to conduct a face–to–face meeting with the man, even if she had to wait him out by camping in her van. The idea of spending even a few hours in a sleeping bag lacked any real appeal. A confirmed city dweller, Hannah favored hot and cold running water, flush toilets, and room service when she traveled.
She sighed audibly as her gaze swept up and across the contemporary lines of the vaulted ceilinged house. She couldn’t recall having ever seen anything quite so beautiful, or quite so appropriate to the natural environment. Hannah also felt certain that Nicholas Benteen hadn’t skimped one bit on essentials like plumbing and heating.
Smiling, she recalled her discovery that he’d designed and built his home. That particular tidbit, which she’d unearthed by combing through county tax, land, and licensing records, gave her hope that he possessed the sensitivity that such creativity implied. As well, she prayed that he wou1d agree to help her in her search for Sean.
Hannah breathed deeply, filling her senses with the evergreen scent that permeated the air. She liked the dry mountain climate, despite the crisp breeze and threatening snow flurries. She also couldn’t help but admire the serenity of the secluded location Nicholas Benteen had chosen for his residence. Squaring her slender shoulders, she approached the front door once again, briefly mourned the absence of a doorbell, and resumed her knocking.
"State your business," a male voice ordered thirty seconds later. "Use the intercom to the left of the door."
Startled, Hannah flinched and stepped back. It took her a moment, but she gathered her wits and approached the intercom. "I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Nicholas Benteen."
"He’s not available."
"I’d be happy to wait for him. I really need to speak to Mr. Benteen. My name is Hannah… "
"You’re trespassing," he broke in.
His hard voice reminded her of a slab of granite. Suddenly chilled, Hannah rubbed her hands together. Her gaze strayed to the bank of tinted windows on her left, and she experienced a sudden certainty that she was visible to the man on the other end of the intercom.
Hannah lifted her chin, an indication of her determination not to be swayed from the purpose of her trip. Not ever. "Who are you?"
He ignored her question. "State your business and then be on your way."
Frustrated by his attitude, she silently questioned the wisdom of revealing the reason for her visit to anyone besides Nicholas Benteen. Seeing no way around the truth, Hannah admitted, "I’m searching for my brother, Sean Cassidy. He may be known to Mr. Benteen as Sean O’Neill or Neill Cassidy."
"There’s no one here by that name. Please leave."
"Look, I’ve driven halfway across the country in order to speak with Mr. Benteen. Sean is my brother, and it’s imperative that I get in touch with him."
"I can’t help you."
Hannah insisted, "I am not leaving here until I speak to Nicholas Benteen."
"You’re trespassing." The edge in his voice was as sharp as a carefully honed blade.
She deliberately softened her voice, although the tension flowing through her body made the pretense of calm difficult. "I heard you the first time. I apologize for trespassing, but it was necessary. I’m still not leaving. I must make contact with Sean, and I’m absolutely certain Mr. Benteen can help me to locate him. They’re friends. At least, they were several years ago."
"Mr. Benteen is not available."
Her patience bottomed out, but she kept her tone even. "That’s the third time you’ve said that. I must speak with Mr. Benteen, so I’ll wait. When he is available, please let me know."
She turned away from the intercom, unwilling to continue their verbal wrestling match. She hesitated when she heard his voice.
"You’re wasting your time. He won’t be available to you."
Slowly turning back to the front door, Hannah promised, "I refuse to give up, and I refuse to leave until I speak with him. When he’s ready to talk to me, I’ll be in my van."
"The authorities will be summoned if you do not leave within the next five minutes."
Hannah shrugged. "Knock yourself out."
The man cursed. The word, exceedingly vivid, reflected Hannah’s own frustration. She grinned in spite of his rudeness. Ditto, she thought. Right back atcha!
Then, Hannah relented. "Look, this is the very last place I want to be, but I’m here. I don’t want to bother the man, but I really must speak with him. I only need a few minutes of his time, and then I’ll be on my way, never to darken his doorstep again."
/>
No response.
She huffed out a gust of air. "If you need proof of the connection between Mr. Benteen and my brother, I have letters with me from Sean. In them, he describes Mr. Benteen as his friend."
More silence. It lasted for several long minutes.
Nonetheless, Hannah prayed she’d made at least a minor dent in the man’s surly nature. "Please, this is an urgent situation," she said, her tone somber.
"You sound very sincere, Miss… "
"Hannah Elaine Cassidy," she said, hurrying to fill in the gap. "Sean’s youngest sister. First grade teacher from St. Louis, Missouri. Totally harmless person." She extended her arms, displayed her open palms, and very slowly pivoted full circle for his inspection. "No weapons. No magazine subscription order pads. No cookies. Nada. Just me. Five feet, three inches, one hundred and ten pounds of female who skipped judo in favor of ballet. I can prove my identity. If you want to check me out, be my guest, but please don’t turn me away. I must find Sean. I’m here on an urgent family matter."
"I cannot help you," he muttered through what sounded to Hannah like gritted teeth.
She articulated the next thought, which sounded ludicrous even to her, that popped into her head. "You could blindfold me before I speak to Mr. Benteen. I promise not to tell anyone I’ve spoken to either one of you. In fact, I won’t tell a soul that I’ve even been here. I’m more than willing to protect your privacy, which is obviously very important to you."
A heavy masculine sigh echoed through the intercom.
Hannah heard exasperation in the sound, which she knew she routinely inspired in people. She also heard something more. She couldn’t define the something more, but she hoped it meant that she was wearing down his resistance.
Grasping at straws, she said, "You needn’t be embarrassed if you’re… damaged in a physical sense. I work as a volunteer with battered children at my local hospital, and I’ve seen…" She cleared her throat. "… I’ve seen very difficult sights. I don’t frighten easily, if that’s what you’re worried about."
