by Rebecca York
She felt some of the tension seep out of him as he shifted his position beside her. He had never had a home or a family who cared, but he was about to find out what it was like to be part of a warm extended family of people who were there for you in bad times—and good.
He raised himself on one elbow so he could look down at her. “To have you for a mate—for a wife—would be a miracle.”
She gave him a playful little grin. “Not to be pushy, you understand, but is that a proposal?”
“A what?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” she said, half teasing, half serious.
He flushed as he realized the implications of his words. “I . . . want to. More than you can ever know. But I think we should wait.”
“Why?”
“I want to make sure that it’s the right thing for you.”
When she started to object, he shook his head.
“Let me see if I fit in first.”
She swallowed, nodded. He was cautious. And honorable. But she’d have plenty of time to make him comfortable with the idea of marriage.
He brought her hand to his lips, tenderly kissed her fingers. “Dr. Kolb said you looked like Ben Lancaster’s wife,” he whispered. “Ben Lancaster had excellent taste.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know much about her, except that she was beautiful. But she isn’t the same as you. No other woman has the warmth and strength you have. No other woman could have seen Swinton’s laboratory and still loved me.”
When she tried to deny the statement, he shook his head and plowed on, “No other woman has your bravery. No other woman could have gotten me out of Stratford Creek.” Tears misted his eyes. “No one else would have cared enough about me. Why did you care so much?”
Her own vision swam. “At first, I knew you needed me. Then I knew I needed you, too.”
They lay holding each other silently for several moments; then he spoke again. “Would you . . . would you go to the desert with me? See the places I remember—the memories from Ben Lancaster?” he asked in a tentative voice.
“I’d like that.”
“It’s a good place to start, but I have a lot to try and understand now.”
“I know. But you’ll have my help. And my love.”
“I couldn’t do it without your love,” he said simply. “Meeting you was like waking from a bad dream to find that there was a bright, warm light piercing the darkness around me.”
“Oh, Hunter.”
He folded her close, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered to the joy of the moment, the joy awaiting them in the future.
Epilogue
He stood beside the mirror, tugging at the hem of his knit shirt, then studied his hair before glancing anxiously at Kathryn.
“Do I look okay?”
“You look fine.”
“And you’re sure they know I’m . . . a clone?”
“Yes.”
“And they still want to meet me?”
“Yes. Not everybody is like the jerks who work for Colonel Emerson.”
Lily Wardman had been in to examine Hunter and pronounced him fit. And Kathryn had gone out to tell the Decorah team that Hunter was anxious to meet them. More like just plain anxious, but she knew the group would make him welcome.
She kept herself from grabbing his hand as she opened the door and stepped into the hall, then preceded him to the great room and stepped to the side.
Everybody looked up, smiles on their faces as they spotted him.
The company head came forward, holding out his hand. “I’m Frank Decorah, and I want to welcome you to our family,” he said.
“Family?”
“Yes. You’ll find out that we’re very close.”
Hunter grasped his hand and shook. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, his voice strained.
“Nobody here bites,” Frank said, exchanging a quick look with Knox Marshall.
Kathryn, who was in on the joke, kept her face neutral. Then Hunter was busy meeting the others.
“We were just having lunch,” Frank said, gesturing toward a table laden with food. “Grab a sandwich or we have fried chicken.”
Hunter hesitated. “I think I would make a mess with the chicken.”
Frank laughed. “Everybody does. They just don’t admit it.”
“Could I have a sandwich?”
“Anything you want.”
She watched Hunter deliberate for several moments, knowing he’d had few chances to make similar decisions. Finally, he picked up half a roast beef sandwich and half a tuna sandwich.
“Have some potato salad, too,” she suggested, pointing to one of the dishes.
“It looks strange. What is it?”
“Try it; you’ll like it.”
He dutifully scooped up a little.
“What do you want to drink?” Kathryn asked.
“Can I have a Coke?”
“Of course. Find a seat, and I’ll get it for you.”
He sat next to an agent named Matthew Houseman.
The man grinned at him. “I think Frank got a bunch of his weirdest agents together to impress you with our eccentricity.”
Hunter nodded cautiously.
“Like, for example, I was a ghost for fifteen years, haunting a ranch in Arizona.”
Hunter almost choked on his bite of tuna sandwich. “What?”
“My body was unconscious in a nursing home, my mind was at the ranch, and I had almost no memories of my previous life. A little like you, I guess. It took my wife, Isabella, to knit me back together.”
Hunter stared at him, and Matthew spread his hands. “I’m as good as new.”
“How . . . how?”
She used a mystic vortex in the desert. I can tell you more about it later, but you probably want to meet Alice, Jonah Raider’s wife.”
Alice looked at Hunter. “I’m even harder to explain. I was living in the 1960’s when a serial killer took me captive. Jonah saved me by going back there and getting me.”
Hunter had put down his plate. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s hard to explain, but the important point is that I was pretty lost here. I had to learn all about life in the twenty-first century. But Jonah and the other Decorah people helped.”
Kathryn could see Hunter working his way through that as the other members of the group told their story.
“Some of us only have minor talents,” Ben Walker said. “I can touch dead bodies and get the person’s last memories. Useful for solving murder cases.”
Hunter was still staring at him when Zane Marshall got up and walked behind the kitchen island where he dropped out of sight.
“Is it going to be a magic trick?” Hunter whispered.
“Not exactly. Just wait and see.” She had not witnessed this before, and a shiver went through her as she heard Zane chanting some ancient words. Moments later, a fierce looking gray animal walked out from behind the island and stood grinning at everyone.
Hunter reared back. “Is that a wolf?”
“It’s all right,” Knox Marshall said. “He only bites people in self-defense. Like me. So, if you thought you were gonna be the strange one in this crowd, you got another think coming.”
Knox scooped up his brother’s clothing and draped it over the wolf’s back before he trotted down the hall into a bedroom. A few minutes later, Zane reappeared.
Kathryn took the seat next to Hunter. “I told you you would fit in. Well, as much as anybody here does.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
“I know. But get used to life with Decorah Security. It’s the strangest, most remarkable group of people you’ve ever met. Nobody would be better equipped to help you learn about the world.”
“Except you,” he murmured, and she squeezed his hand, grateful that she’d answered Dr. Kolb’s phone when Jonah was on the other end of the line.
THE END
AFTERWORD
Thank
you for purchasing Hunter. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.
If you enjoy my books, do me a huge favor. Please go back to your favorite online bookstore, and leave an honest review. Authors live and die by their reviews. The few extra seconds it takes are really appreciated. Thank you!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author, Rebecca York is a 2011 recipient of the Romance Writers of America Centennial Award. Her career has focused on romantic suspense, often with paranormal elements.
Her 16 Berkley books and novellas include her nine-book werewolf “Moon” series. KILLING MOON was a launch book for the Berkley Sensation imprint. She has written for Harlequin, Berkley, Dell, Tor, Carina Press, Silhouette, Kensington, Running Press, Tudor, Pageant Books, and Scholastic.
Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. And her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series.
Many of her novels have been nominated for or won RT Reviewers Choice awards. In addition, she has won a Prism Award, several New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf awards and numerous other awards, and she is on the Romance Writers of America Honor Roll.
Contacts
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COPYRIGHT
Published by Light Street Press
Copyright © 2019 by Ruth Glick
Cover design by Earthly Charms
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
An earlier version of HUNTER was published by Harlequin Intrigue as NOWHERE MAN.
ISBN: 978-1-943191-22-2
Excerpt of Fire on the Moon, by Rebecca York
Chapter One
Had she leaped into the middle of a family feud? Or was this her chance to heal a twenty-year-old rift between two brothers? Francesca Turner wasn’t sure, but she knew that her dying father kept saying he wished he could see his older brother, Angelo, one more time.
She ached to grant that wish. But she wasn’t foolish enough to break the rules and simply invite her uncle to visit. She wanted to see what he was like first, and so she’d done a little research and called him on the phone.
The call coming out of the blue must have startled him.
“This is little Francesca?” he asked, his voice skeptical and at the same time hopeful.
“Yes. But I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“It’s been so long.” His tone took on a note of urgency. “Where are you? Is your dad okay? Can I come and see you?”
“You know it’s complicated. Why don’t I come down there, and we’ll talk first?”
“Of course. Wonderful. I’ll send you the air fare. Just give me a few days to finish some important business.”
She’d agreed, and now here she was pulling into the driveway of his place in Naples, Florida—in what looked like a very plush neighborhood.
She hadn’t told Dad about the trip. It was a secret—until she could be sure everything was okay.
There was a fence around the property. And when she pressed the buzzer on a post beside the high gate, she could see a camera inspecting her through the side window of her rental. Then a disembodied voice asked her to state her name and date of birth.
She blinked. That was what they always asked when you were calling to make a doctor’s appointment—to double-check it was really you. The request from her uncle was like a little jolt from a stun gun, and she wondered if she’d made a serious mistake coming down here.
She looked behind her, wondering if she should just back up and return to the airport. Then she told herself she was overreacting.
When the gate swung inward, she proceeded up a curving driveway bordered by lush foliage you’d only see indoors back home in Massachusetts. Among the green leaves were low plantings of bright impatiens and begonias that had long since been killed off by frost in New England.
The house had been invisible from the street, but as she rounded a bend, her jaw dropped. The white stucco structure sparkling in the tropical sun was the size of a small apartment building, but a lot more stylish, with shady verandas, a huge second-story balcony, a four-car garage and a front door that looked like it had been stolen from a Spanish castle.
As soon as she parked her rental Hyundai in the brick-paved circular drive, the massive door opened, and a short, dark-haired man wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt stepped out. He looked so much like her father that her breath caught. Well, she corrected herself, like Dad had looked before he’d gotten sick. But the prominent nose, the deep-set eyes and the wavy dark hair were the same.
As she climbed out of the car, he hurried to the driver’s side, seeming a little nervous, and she suspected that he was wondering how to act, now that she’d arrived.
“Honey, you’re all grown up. And you’ve turned into a beauty like your momma.”
Mom had died a couple of years ago, and Francesca still missed her.
“I’m sorry you didn’t want to stay with me,” Uncle Angelo continued, then looked like he wished he hadn’t said it.
“I didn’t want to put you to any trouble,” she answered cautiously. Really, she had good reason to keep some distance between them.
“Well, I’m so glad you came. Come in. Come in. You must be worn out from your trip.”
She studied his tanned face. Now that the greetings were over, she saw that his features were drawn, and his eyes darted around the garden before coming back to her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just trying to finalize a business deal.” He led her into an entrance foyer as large as Dad’s living room back home, then through to a covered veranda. The view swept down to the Gulf, where she saw a wrought iron fence blocking direct access to the beach. She might have asked him if he ever went down there, but she didn’t want to start off this reunion by bringing up his security concerns.
Searching for something to say, she murmured, “This is a beautiful setting.”
“Yes. I was lucky to find the property.”
At one side of the seating area was an alfresco kitchen, where he opened the fridge and brought out a bright red plastic pitcher.
“Fresh-squeezed orange juice,” he said. “A perfect welcome to Florida. And some little sandwiches. Chicken salad. Tuna. Ham and cheese. Egg salad. I had my housekeeper make them before she went home for the day. What’s your pleasure?”
It was hard to focus on the question because she was having trouble taking in everything. Before he’d started getting nostalgic, her father had called Uncle Angelo a selfish bastard, and this man was all solicitude. Or maybe he was working overtime to show he’d changed since the good old days.
She put two triangular sandwiches on her plate—tuna and ham and cheese.
“Try the orange juice,” her uncle urged. “The oranges are from the trees right over there.”
Dutifully she picked up her glass and took a swallow. “It’s good.”
“How come you dec
ided to contact me?” Angelo asked.
“Dad’s not doing too well. He’s had Parkinson’s disease for a couple of years, and it’s gotten worse.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. What about your mom?”
“She passed away.”
“So you’ll be alone in the world when your father dies.”
She nodded.
“All the more reason it’s good you phoned me. We gotta keep in touch.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet bag. Opening it, he took out what looked like an antique gold locket.
“This was your grandmother’s. Dante’s and my mom’s. From the old country.” Dante had been her dad’s name before he changed it.
She stared at the piece. It looked old and valuable. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, I’ve had it for years, but I don’t have a daughter. I’d be so happy if you’d take it.”
She fingered the scrollwork on the front. “I . . .”
“Put it on. and wear it with pride,” he urged.
She hesitated, then slipped the heavy gold chain over her head and felt the locket settle against her chest.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “It looks like it was made for you.”
Since he obviously wanted to get closer to her, maybe it was the right time to ask, “What happened between you and my father?”
He shifted in his seat, looking like he wished someone would come and rescue him.
“You know how it is when you get mad at someone and can’t let it go?”
“Actually, no.”
Before he could elaborate, a flicker of movement down by the beach caught her attention. Two large tough-looking men dressed in knit shirts and jeans were coming across the sand toward the fence.
As Angelo turned to see what had caught her attention, he made a strangled sound.
“Oh no. Not now.”
