The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright ©2011 Robin Perini
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN: 978-1-61218-152-3
In loving memory of my grandmothers, Gennie Carder and Hazel Perini Brown—to fulfill a very special promise. Their belief in me never faltered; their confidence in me never faded; their faith in me never wavered. My love and gratitude for them is never-ending.
Contents
Prologue
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
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Seventeen Years Ago
She hurt too much to cry.
At the slam of the screen door, Jane burrowed her head under her lanky arms. Her ten-year-old body shrank beneath the lopsided kitchen table, its cheap pine scarred and rotten with age. Her heart pounded as she swallowed down the sobs. Quiet. She must be quiet. Mama said so.
Slowly she closed her eyes and let her mind drift to another place, the safe place she visited when things got too bad. Her body floated on the cool water in her dreams. Protected, safe.
For a fleeting moment, the pain went away.
Please, don’t let him come back.
As if in answer to her prayer, the heavy footsteps didn’t cross the scuffed linoleum toward her. Instead, they lumbered down the front porch. A loud tumble followed by a sharp curse echoed through the rickety shack she and her mother called home.
When the diesel engine cranked to life, Jane gulped back the relief.
He’d left. For now.
“Mama?” She barely recognized the muffled whisper through her bruised and swollen lips. With a groan she tried to sit up, but the second she raised her head, sharp pain scissored through her arms and legs. She fell back with a whimper and fought to stop a scream from escaping her. Mama would cry, and he’d hurt them enough tonight.
“I’m sorry…I tried to stop him, Mama. I tried to do my job.”
The wind beat against the gray wood walls, and she could almost feel the house sway around her. She waited for the soft shuffle of her mother’s footsteps to pad down the hallway. Tonight would be better than most. The whiskey bottles were empty. He was gone.
She shoved her hair out of her face and blinked against the darkening of the room. The aches had settled to a dull throb. Gingerly Jane straightened and rose, her eyes squinting as she eased down the hallway. “Mama?”
One step, then another, then another.
Her feet slipped on something wet and cold and dark. She stumbled forward. Her mother lay at a strange angle on the floor, her blond hair plastered against her head, stained red with blood.
“Mama!” Jane fell to her knees. “Mama?”
She barely recognized her mother’s face, one eye nearly swollen closed, her cheek multi-colored black and purple.
Her mother’s eyelids flickered. “Jane?”
She tugged at her nightgown, using the thin cotton to wipe away the blood oozing from her mother’s injuries, but they kept bleeding. “What can I do, Mama? What?”
A gurgling sound echoed from her mother’s chest. “Too late.”
“No!”
“Shh.” Her mother’s voice was a bare whisper, and Jane leaned forward, her ear right next to her mother’s lips. “It’s okay. Better this way.” She tugged in another shallow breath. “Leave. Do what we planned. Change who you are.”
Jane fell against her mother’s breast, the red blood soaking the polyester that her mother had pretended was silk. “I can’t.”
“You will.” The words were so quiet. Her mother raised a hand and gripped Jane’s chin. “Don’t be like me. Be strong, like the jasmine growing in the windowsill. Never count on anyone.”
A gasp for air shook her mother’s broken body. The deathly cold fingers tightened, hurting Jane’s bruised jaw. “Never let them inside…your heart.”
Her mother shuddered. Her hand dropped, and the wheezing from her chest went silent.
Her eyes stayed open.
Trembling, Jane hauled her mother’s hand back to her chin.
“Mama, please. Wake up,” she whispered.
But tug after tug wouldn’t wake her. And Jane knew.
She scooted away, huddling in the corner of her mother’s bedroom, splinters digging into her heels, until the final rays of sun sliced through the window’s blinds. “I’m sorry, Mama. I tried to protect you. I tried. But he was too strong.”
She buried her face in her arms. She didn’t move. Didn’t weep. A chill wrapped around her heart.
She hurt too much to cry.
Present Day
The trigger felt right.
The sight was zeroed in, the balance perfect. The Remington 700/40 fit her body and her mind like an old friend she could trust, and Jasmine “Jazz” Parker didn’t trust easily. But she and this rifle were connected in a way a lover, friend, or family could never be. The Remington would never let her down.
The only hitch—she didn’t have an ideal shot at the kidnapper. Not yet, anyway.
Sweat beaded her brow in the Colorado midmorning sun. Without taking her gaze from her target, she wiped away the perspiration. Every second counted, and she had to stay ready. Negotiations had fallen apart hours ago and the ending seemed inevitable. To save the governor’s daughter, Jazz would excise the five-year-old girl’s captor.
Jazz shifted, relieving the pressure against her knees, the stiffness in her hips, but the rifle remained steady. She centered her sight on the small break in the window.
Having focused through the high-powered Leupold scope for hours, she waited for an opportunity for the scumbag’s blond head to move into range. They all made a mistake sooner or later. His face or the back of his head, she didn’t care, but she needed a clear shot through to the medulla oblongata. The kill had to be clean; the man had to crumple with no time to think and no reflex to pull the trigger.
“Blue Four, have you acquired the target?”
The question came through her earpiece loud and clear, but she spoke quietly into the microphone. “Negative.”
“Blue Two, what is target’s position?”
“Zone Two, pacing. He’s carrying the girl, a gun at her head, a Bowie on the southeast corner table. He’s nervous, unpredictable.”
Jazz could trust Gabe Montgomery’s assessment of the situation. He, unlike his brother, Luke, she could count on. And what was Luke doing in her head anyway? Now was not the time to be thinking about the one guy she should never have let near her.
“Blue Two to Blue Leader.” Gabe’s voice filtered through the communications system. “He’s on the move again. Going toward Zone One. I repeat. He’s headed to Zone One.”
Jazz’s body froze in readiness. He was coming her way. If Blue Leader ordered the guys to rush the house, she had to be on her game. She would protect them. She wouldn’t fail.
The blinds fluttered. Jazz forced her breathing into a comfortable, familiar pattern. “B
lue Leader, this is Blue Four. I see movement.”
A blond head peered out, face straight on front, the area between nose and teeth in clear view.
“Target acquired. It’s a good shot.”
“Can you see the girl?”
“He’s got a gun to her head.”
Only a second passed before the expected order came through.
“Take the shot, Blue Four.”
“Ten-four, Blue Leader.”
Slowly, deliberately, Jazz exhaled and, between heartbeats, squeezed the trigger.
Luke Montgomery ducked through the door of the bar, closing out the last hints of sunset behind him. He hated not knowing his enemy’s identity, but he would adapt. His Army Ranger unit had always been ready for an ambush. Five years in special ops had made him suspicious of most. On that last mission, though…even Luke had been taken in.
Not again. Never again.
He shifted his shoulder, the stiffness and scarring a permanent reminder of how close a bullet had come to sending him home from Afghanistan in a body bag. Lesson learned. Except for his family, Luke assumed everyone was lying. Tonight would be no different.
He kept to the shadows, studying the surroundings for potential threats and quick exits. He preferred covert operations, but stealth wasn’t an option here. Even he couldn’t blend his six-feet-four-inch frame in this cracker box. Though he hadn’t set foot in the joint in a couple of years, too many people would recognize him.
A sharp rap of the cue ball hitting its target echoed like a gunshot over the raucous laughter. Nope, Sammy’s Bar hadn’t changed. Neither had the clientele.
Cops. And some of them were on the take. How many guns would turn on him if they knew he was after one of their own? It didn’t matter. His informant had risked her life coming to him. She didn’t want her son forced into the world of organized crime. Luke understood the need to protect a child all too well. He’d get Grace and her son out, and bring down the bastards. Not only the criminals who threatened her, but also the cops who enabled them.
He searched the room as if he were casing the streets of Kabul for concealed insurgents. Colorado wasn’t Afghanistan, but his mission was almost identical. Ferret out the liars. As an investigative journalist, he just did it with a pen these days instead of an assault rifle.
Acutely focused on his surroundings, he stepped into the light and waited, patience something he’d learned the hard way in the field. The hum of whispers started soft then grew louder. Most everyone in the bar turned toward him. Excellent. He scanned the new faces and recognized one that definitely interested him. Sheriff Tower’s son, Brian. Luke’s intel hinted that the corruption went all the way to the top. How ironic if he ended up using an Internal Affairs cop in the sheriff’s office to get to the rotten core. And what better way to get at the father than through the son.
Luke stalked his target at the far end of the bar and slid onto the stool next to him, adjusting his position to create a clear view of the entrance while minimizing his blind side. “Cola,” he said to the bartender. “Straight.”
Tower snorted and sipped amber liquid from his shot glass. “Sure you don’t need some ice to water it down?”
“You got a problem?” Luke said. Tower’s eyes were bloodshot and glazed over. Good. Lowered inhibitions made Luke’s job that much easier.
“What are you doing here, Montgomery? Slumming with the boys in blue? Don’t you military types stay to yourselves?”
“Ex-military. I’m a civilian, and it’s a free country. Thought I’d catch a game of pool. Join me?” Luke nodded to the table that had just come open.
“Nah.” Tower swirled his glass. “I’m having a party of my own right here.”
“Celebrating?”
“You could say that.”
A shout blasted through the bar’s door, and a group of men shoved into the room led by none other than Luke’s brother. “The blue team beat the bad guys this morning. We’ve been waiting all day for this.” Gabe’s exclamation boomed over the bar’s chatter. A hearty cheer sounded. “Line ’em up, barkeep.”
Great. His brother wouldn’t be happy Luke had infiltrated Gabe’s favorite bar. Luke stroked his jaw. Might as well prepare for the punch that would come later.
Tower lowered his head, a sly smile tilting the corners of his mouth. A tingle vibrated in Luke’s temple, an alarm he’d learned the hard way not to ignore. Something was definitely up with the guy. Maybe his source had been right after all.
Glasses clinked as the SWAT team members piled into the bar. “Wait a minute,” Gabe said. “Where’s Jazz?”
The second Luke heard her name, he couldn’t fight the urge to watch for her. He surveyed the room then lasered on the bar’s entrance. A flash of blond glinted in the dim light and a tall, lithe frame filled the doorway. He knew that silhouette well, from the generous curve of her breasts, to the narrow waist, to the slim but strong legs that could hold him…Damn, if he let his mind travel any farther he’d need a cold shower. She did look good, though. Better than the academy photo he’d stared at all day on CNN.
He’d spent too much time thinking about her today after avoiding her for the past two years. They’d replayed the story of her precision shot and the rescue of the governor’s daughter over and over. His editor, sucked into the idea of a female sniper as much as the rest of the country, had tacked on the human interest assignment to Luke’s already full investigative plate. Just because he knew Jasmine. Now she was here. Much too close for his own sanity.
He’d have to talk to her. Soon. He forced his attention back to Tower, who’d gone rigid in his chair.
“Let’s hear it for Jazz!” Gabe called out.
A roar of applause rocked the bar.
“Yeah, right,” Tower muttered into his drink.
“You got a problem with her too?”
Tower slanted a disgusted look toward the doorway. “Parker’s got female quota written all over her. She doesn’t belong.”
The swarm of SWAT bodies concealed Luke’s presence, so he took the opportunity to study Jasmine. With stiff movements, she strode to the bar and nodded as Gabe handed her a drink. She squirmed under his brother’s toast, edging away from the group as soon as she could. The laughter and conversation rose, but she pulled away. Tower was right on one count. She didn’t fit into SWAT’s easy camaraderie. She stood apart from the group, solitary and watchful, just like the first time they’d met in this same bar, when he couldn’t resist introducing himself to a lone goddess. He’d wanted to know if the full lower lip that didn’t smile hid untapped passion. He hadn’t been disappointed.
“What are you doing here, Luke?” Gabe’s voice came out of nowhere.
Luke had to admire the stealth flank. His little brother really could’ve been a Ranger. He shook off the memories. “Just having a drink with my friend here. Join us?”
“Looks to me like you’re consorting with the enemy,” Gabe said.
“Internal Affairs keeps the riffraff out of the sheriff’s office, Montgomery.” Tower stared at Jasmine. “Most of it, anyway.”
Gabe let out a low curse and nodded toward the bar’s entrance. “Outside, Luke. Now.”
He tossed down a couple of bills and called the bartender over. “I’m buying this round,” Luke said. He’d made initial contact. It was a start.
He slid off the barstool and followed his brother. His gaze swept the room one last time for Jasmine, but she’d vanished. Probably for the best. One investigation at a time. He had an article on her coming out in tomorrow’s paper. He wasn’t looking forward to telling her about it or requesting an interview for the follow-up.
At least he wouldn’t have to go searching for her hangouts when he needed to talk to her. Jasmine was a creature of habit, and Luke knew her patterns. Hell, he knew much more than that. He knew she loved her sex hot and her whiskey straight. He knew she couldn’t stand cantaloupe or cauliflower but was addicted to butter rum Life Savers. He knew she liked her s
howers scorching, her kisses gentle, and that she purred in the middle of the night when he splayed his hand along her hip and nuzzled her neck.
Whoa. Where had all this rehashing the past come from? He’d been burned with Jasmine’s brand once too often, and he still had the scars as evidence. He had to remember that. She’d been the one to walk out. With a soft shake of his head, he shoved out of the bar and stepped into the cool night breeze. Instinctively he gave the dusk-lit parking lot a quick scan.
Before he could finish, Gabe turned on him. “You just had to bring the investigation here, didn’t you? And who do you start on? Tower?”
Calmly Luke removed Gabe’s hand from his clothes. “You don’t care if there’s a dirty cop working beside you?”
“Of course I do, but Tower’s on a power trip. He thinks his old man’s position as sheriff gets him a free ride, and he hasn’t been far from wrong. When Jazz beat him out of the sniper slot, he moved to Internal Affairs for a reason. He plays a good game with the brass, but he’s got more than an eye on SWAT. He’d like to bring us all down.”
“Then you should be glad he’s on my radar. I won’t stop until I get to the truth.”
“Life’s not all black and white, Luke. You’ve never tolerated the gray, and if you get this wrong, good cops could lose everything.” Gabe poked Luke’s chest. “You have one source. No corroboration.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been on this story a few weeks, and I’m already receiving threats to lay off or be sorry. I don’t like threats, little brother.”
Gabe’s expression hardened, but not before Luke caught the flash of hurt behind his brother’s eyes. Luke understood all too well. He knew from experience how much it sucked knowing the “supposed” good guys could let you down.
In Her Sights Page 1
