When Lightning Strikes

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I won’t let you down,” Hannah said firmly

  He believed her. “While you’re looking through the mug shots, I’m going to talk to the sergeant.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. Daniel made an effort not to glance at her, but he was aware of everything about Hannah.

  Misinterpreting his silence, she looked over at him. “If you’re worried that I won’t be able to handle this, don’t be.”

  “I like to worry about you.” His voice was low and masculine.

  Her breath caught and her cheeks tinged pink. Hannah looked away quickly as if trying to hide her reaction. Daniel found himself remembering the last time he’d heard that little hitch in her breath. She’d been beneath him, her warmth open to him.

  His body suddenly grew hard. He cursed himself silently. He would never get this woman out of his system. He knew it with a certainty that frightened him. For a man who had never feared anything in his life, this was a new experience….

  Dear Reader,

  We have a fabulous fall lineup for you this month and throughout the season, starting with a new Navajo miniseries by Aimée Thurlo called SIGN OF THE GRAY WOLF. Two loners are called to action in the Four Corners area of New Mexico to take care of two women in jeopardy. Look for Daniel “Lightning” Eagle’s story in When Lightning Strikes and Burke Silentman’s next month in Navajo Justice.

  The explosive CHICAGO CONFIDENTIAL continuity series concludes with Adrianne Lee’s Prince Under Cover. We just know you are going to love this international story of intrigue and the drama of a royal marriage—to a familiar stranger.… Don’t forget: a new Confidential branch will be added to the network next year!

  Also this month—another compelling book from newcomer Delores Fossen. In A Man Worth Remembering, she reunites an estranged couple after amnesia strikes. Together, can they find the strength to face their enduring love—and find their kidnapped secret child? And can a woman on the edge recover the life and child she lost when she was framed for murder, in Harper Allen’s The Night in Question? She can if she has the help of the man who put her away.

  Pulse pounding, mind-blowing and always breathtaking—that’s Harlequin Intrigue.

  Enjoy,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES

  AIMÉE THURLO

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s written forty-one novels and is published in at least twenty countries worldwide. She has been nominated for the Reviewer’s Choice Award and the Career Achievement Award by Romantic Times.

  She also cowrites the Ella Clah mainstream mystery series, which debuted with a starred review in Publishers Weekly and has been optioned by CBS.

  Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on the Navajo Indian Reservation.

  Books by Aimée Thurlo

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  109—EXPIRATION DATE

  131—BLACK MESA

  141—SUITABLE FOR FRAMING

  162—STRANGERS WHO LINGER

  175—NIGHT WIND

  200—BREACH OF FAITH

  217—SHADOW OF THE WOLF

  246—SPIRIT WARRIOR

  275—TIMEWALKER

  304—BEARING GIFTS

  377—CISCO’S WOMAN

  427—HER DESTINY*

  441—HER HERO*

  457—HER SHADOW*

  506—REDHAWK’S HEART**

  510—REDHAWK’S RETURN**

  544—CHRISTMAS WITNESS

  572—BLACK RAVEN’S PRIDE

  677—WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES†

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Handler—Just who was the faceless owner of Gray Wolf Investigations and why did he have so many friends in high places?

  Hannah Jones—Would the truth keep her out of jail, or destroy her future?

  Daniel Eagle—He was the only Gray Wolf operative who didn’t carry a weapon. An expert in martial arts, he’d vowed to protect Hannah. But he’d never dreamed it would cost him his heart.

  Deacon Robert Jones—He was Hannah’s uncle, but what was his real reason for hiring Gray Wolf Investigations to track her down?

  Pablo Jackson—All the church’s money went through his capable hands. So where were the missing funds now?

  Reverend Brown—He loved his church, and trusted everyone—perhaps too much.

  To the three editors who helped us on this project:

  Angela Catalano, Patricia Smith and Priscilla Berthiaume

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Prologue

  Hannah Jones opened her eyes and looked around in confusion, fear squeezing her heart. She was alone in the passenger seat of a car, but it was one that was totally unfamiliar to her and, worst of all, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there.

  A faint ray of sunlight stabbed at her eyes and she shut them, trying to will away the merciless pounding in her head. Gathering her courage, she drew in a deep breath, but regretted it instantly. The smell of cheap cigars that permeated the worn upholstery made her gag and start coughing.

  She tried to sit up, but something yanked her arm back hard, pinning her down on the right side. Pain swept across her skull in waves that left her feeling weak and shaky.

  Moving more carefully this time, she leaned forward slightly and looked down. Her right wrist was handcuffed to the seat belt bracket that was bolted to the floor of the car beside the door.

  Her heart began drumming frantically, one thought paramount in her mind. She had to find a way to get out of the car and escape. Every instinct she possessed screamed that she was in mortal danger.

  As she tugged at the handcuff, Hannah became aware of a man’s voice nearby. She raised up slightly in her seat and looked out the driver’s side window. A tall, disheveled man was standing a dozen or so feet away beside a juniper tree, speaking into a cell phone. Shadows crossed his face, distorting his features, but even without that she knew he was bad news. His beefy hand was wrapped around a can of the area’s most popular beer, and he was pacing as he spoke, his steps slightly unsteady.

  “Isn’t there some other way? You never said I had to kill her.”

  Terror seized her like a cold, clammy hand squeezing her throat. Desperate to escape, she tugged and twisted the handcuff looking for a weak spot. The bracket was rusted and worn, and the more she tugged, the looser it became.

  Putting everything she had into it, Hannah yanked once more and the bracket broke loose, freeing her hand. Though she still had the handcuff on her right wrist, she was now able to move.

  Hannah looked over at the driver’s side and saw that the key was in the ignition. She had her chance now. She started to slide over when the man turned and looked right at her.

  “No you don’t!” he growled, lunging toward her through the open window.

  Ducking back, she grasped the dangling metal cuff in her right hand, and using it as makeshift brass knuckles, turned and punched him. Hannah heard the sickening crunch that sign
aled she’d broken his nose.

  Her attacker groaned and stumbled back, blood flowing down his face.

  In a heartbeat, Hannah slipped behind the wheel, switched on the ignition, then pressed down hard on the accelerator. The tires spewed gravel and the rear end fishtailed on the loose road surface as she raced away. One quick look in the rearview mirror revealed her injured attacker running after the car, but losing ground rapidly.

  Hannah spotted the highway ahead of her in a gap between the trees and aimed for daylight. Too afraid to slow down, she swung out onto the pavement, tires squealing, leaving the scent of burning rubber in the air. She knew she was in an old car, and it was dangerous to proceed at this speed for long, but the alternative, falling into the hands of a killer, was not an option.

  From the road sign, Hannah realized she was south of Shiprock, heading west up the road that led to Narbona Pass. A cop car suddenly raced past her in the other lane, sirens wailing. She hit the horn, but he kept on going. He probably hadn’t heard her over the siren and that meant she was out of luck.

  She needed a new plan, and she needed it fast. Remembering that her assailant had been speaking to someone else, and afraid that the other person would show up to help him, she turned off the highway and drove down the first dirt road where she could see a roof among the trees. She needed to get to a phone and call for help, and the roof she’d seen was bound to be attached to a house back here somewhere.

  Hannah had only gone about a quarter of a mile when she suddenly heard a dull pop and the steering wheel jerked out of her hands, pulling the car toward the piñon and juniper trees that lined her route. As she wrestled with the wheel, she took her foot off the gas pedal and slowly braked to a stop.

  Still fearful of pursuit, Hannah looked up and down the road but, for the moment at least, it appeared deserted. She climbed out, guessing she’d blown a tire, and a quick look proved her right. There was no spare in the trunk. From now on she’d have to travel on foot but first she had to hide the car, in case the man came after her.

  Hannah climbed back into the sedan, started the engine, and managed to coax the vehicle down to a low spot among the trees before it got stuck. Here, below the road level, it would be hidden somewhat from her attacker if he came down the road.

  Hannah climbed back up to the road and, using the soles of her shoes, smoothed out the tire tracks as best she could that showed where she’d left the road. Then she looked around again carefully, trying to spot the roof she’d seen from the highway. Up ahead was a well-constructed fence, a graded road, and a metal gate with a sign that read Private Property. With luck, she’d find a cabin or someone’s house up that road.

  The fence was strong and tightly constructed, and it was easy to climb over, but the hike became difficult after that since it was mostly uphill. As she pressed on, she searched her mind for answers. She still didn’t know how she’d ended up in that man’s car. The last thing she remembered was going to the church where she worked as an accountant part-time to search for her uncle, who was a deacon there.

  As Hannah concentrated, willing herself to remember, vague images of out-of-focus faces and the sound of angry voices echoed in her mind, filling her with cold terror. She held on to that fragmented vision, trying to make sense of it all, but answers eluded her.

  Focusing on the present again, she looked around, unable to suppress the feeling that danger was still close by. There would be time to remember later, after she’d reached safety. Right now she had to concentrate on finding help.

  The road was not graded here, and the going was rough. Hannah jumped as a squirrel darted out in her path. The small, frightened animal froze, stared at her, then raced off into the bushes.

  Sympathy filled her heart. Fear was the common denominator that bound all of nature in its daily fight for survival. But, in order to stay alive, she’d have to push back her fears and allow instinct and intelligence to guide her. It would be dark soon and she didn’t want to be wandering about then. She was alone and no one, except the wolves, ever spared a thought for those lost and seeking shelter in the night.

  Chapter One

  It was such a great morning to be outside that Daniel Eagle was reluctant to step into the warehouse that housed Gray Wolf Investigations. The sky was a clear blue, and the weather cool though it was late September. It was his kind of day. Even having a flat tire to change on the way here couldn’t spoil his mood. He felt energized, and the last place he wanted to be was inside the stark warehouse on the eastern outskirts of Farmington, New Mexico, sitting through a briefing. Unfortunately, it was his job. Using his key, Daniel let himself in through the windowless metal door, then walked over to one of the four overstuffed leather chairs that occupied the small office area.

  “Lightning,” an electronically altered voice coming over a microphone said in greeting. “You’re late.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” he answered curtly, facing the video camera attached on the wall opposite the chairs. If “Handler” wanted a long explanation, he’d ask for it.

  “You’re part of the Gray Wolf Pack. We have an impeccable reputation, and that’s partly because I won’t tolerate unprofessional behavior like tardiness.”

  Daniel said nothing. A warning had been given, and excuses about car trouble wouldn’t help. At Gray Wolf Investigations the only thing that mattered was results. The agency specialized in catching thieves, finding missing people, and retrieving lost or stolen property around the Four Corners area, or beyond if required. They were the best. Gray Wolf usually took on cases the police wouldn’t or couldn’t accept, and their reputation had been built on the nearly one hundred percent success rate they maintained.

  The agency also assured secrecy and privacy for both clients and personnel. Cases were kept strictly confidential, and known only to Handler, who was the owner of the agency, Mr. Silentman, his assistant, the operative assigned to the case, and the client. Names were kept to a minimum, once the case was accepted. Each operative had a code name assigned to them by Handler. Daniel’s was Lightning, and his cases usually involved a high level of action and/or quick extractions that suited his nature and training perfectly.

  The fact that none of them, except possibly Mr. Silentman, ever saw Handler had certainly piqued Daniel’s curiosity, especially at first. To make sure everything was legit, he’d done an exhaustive background check on the agency before applying for a job with them, but everything had checked out.

  He’d speculated that Handler had chosen to keep his identity a secret because he was a public figure, or maybe Handler and Mr. Silentman were one and the same. Mr. Silentman looked like a man who wanted to be thought of as polished, but knew he didn’t quite make the grade. Perhaps inventing “Handler” had been his way of adding a touch of mystique to the agency so that clients were bound to remember. But no matter what the explanation, the bottom line was that Handler continued to be a mystery.

  Yet, despite all the open questions, being associated with the best private investigation agency in the southwest had certainly appealed to Daniel. He’d worked hard to get the job though it hadn’t been easy. At first Handler had been skeptical about hiring him. Daniel was told that all the operatives were required to carry a firearm, something Daniel refused to do. He’d obeyed that policy during his eight years as a cop, but he’d sworn the day he left that he would never pack a gun again.

  Yet, after seeing the full extent of Daniel’s skills as a master of several martial arts disciplines, Handler had changed his mind and offered the tough Navajo loner the job. As Lightning had proven, even something as innocent as a straw, in the right hands, could become a deadly weapon.

  Now, even after three years with the agency, Daniel only knew two other members of the Gray Wolf Pack—as Handler called them—his cousin, Ben Wanderer, who had recruited him, and Riley Stewart, a former Denver cop they’d both known for many years.

  “Lightning, I’m going to turn you over to Mr. Silentman now. As always, h
e’ll be your contact,” Handler said.

  A tall Navajo man with black hair and brown eyes strode into the room. He was a big, self-confident man who could appear threatening simply by changing his posture and standing ramrod straight. Daniel always got a feeling that Silentman was a street kid who’d spent most of his life trying to forget his roots, and the taint that had left on his soul. Although Daniel knew his first name was Burke, Silentman had made it clear that he preferred to be addressed by his last name.

  Daniel wondered if Silentman was a code name or his real name. He’d probably never know. The name wasn’t unusual for a Navajo, but he’d never met a family by that name. Then again, the Rez was a very big place.

  At the moment, in his Western-cut suit, he looked like a cross between a cowboy and an oilman. Yet something about his eyes and the tension in his rigid shoulders told Daniel that he was a man who’d seen violence up close and personal and was capable of dishing out as good as he got.

  Silentman handed Daniel a large, brown envelope. “Examine the contents, please,” he said, then sat on the leather chair across from Daniel.

  Daniel opened the envelope, and a photo of an attractive dark-haired Anglo woman fell into his lap.

  “Meet Miss Hannah Jones. She’s the twenty-eight-year-old niece of Robert Jones, a real estate broker and deacon at the Riverside Mission Church in Farmington.”

  Daniel studied the portrait. Hannah Jones was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way. A man would remember Hannah for life once he’d gazed into those hazel eyes. Her black hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves like a dark veil against her alabaster skin. She didn’t use much makeup, and that fact only served to heighten the natural innocence mirrored on her face. She was the type of woman who would make a man willingly give up a playoff game to take her grocery shopping.

  Hearing a knock, Silentman stood up and opened the door leading to the waiting room reserved for clients.