PRAISE FOR DIANE BENEFIEL
Solitary Man
National Readers’ Choice Award Winning Novel
“I am in love with this story. I devoured this book and didn’t want it to end. The chemistry between the characters and the plot kept me wanting to read late into the night. This is my first read from Diane Benefiel but definitely not my last. I can’t wait to read more from this amazing author. Thank you Diane Benefiel for getting me hooked on your books!”
~CJ’s Book Corner
“Ryder was exactly who Brenna needed in her life, and trust me when I say you will love him because yeah he really is that good of a guy. Solitary Man is my first book by this author and it will not be the last. I really think you all will enjoy this one as much as I did it is one I do recommend.”
~I’m A Sweet And Sassy Book Whore
“I really enjoyed this book and there were a few twists and turns that kept me completely involved in the story. This is the first time I have read this author and it definitely won’t be my last!”
~Sassy Southern Book Blog
“A well written story that wasn’t quite what I expected but that certainly captivated my imagination. A new author to me that I will be keeping an eye on in future.”
~Books Laid Bare
“Wow did I get swept away with Brenna and Ryder! Solitary Man is an enthralling, suspenseful, romance.”
~Tracy
“I recommend this contemporary romance novel to anyone who likes to read about a heroine and hero with integrity, characters who behave believably, and a rich, developed world that feels real.”
~Shauna S. Roberts
“Engaging, polished, and sexy! All in all, I’m definitely looking forward to the next book!”
~Kat
RECONSIDERING HER OPTIONS
Stalwart, honest, a stand-up guy – high praise, right? Wears his jeans just right, single, a catch – pretty much everyone in Hangman’s Loss, a quirky little town in the Eastern Sierras, adores the hell out of Police Chief Bradley Gallagher. Yet, new resident Emma Kincaid is determined to keep him at arm’s length, and with good reason. But vandalism, arson, and a violent attack have her rethinking her stance. Has someone from her past caught up with her, or is the escalating threat coming from within her newfound community? Sparks fly as Brad races against time to keep her safe, and passions combust when they join forces to combat the danger.
FLASH POINT
Diane Benefiel
www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.
FLASH POINT
Copyright © 2018 Diane Benefiel
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
ISBN 978-1-948029-04-9
E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
To Mom, who always believed in me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to extend a special thank you to some key people who made this series possible. To Michelle Klayman of Boroughs who first approached me about the High Sierras Series and who saw the potential in my writing, and to my editor Katie McCoach for her excellent editing skills and upbeat encouragement. Also, to the wonderful ladies that make up the East Valley Authors chapter of the Romance Writers of America, any success I have is because of their constant support.
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
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
FLASH POINT
Chapter One
The twin shafts from the high beams lighted the sign. Want cabin, fishing boat, or canoe rentals? This is the place for you. Emma peered at the red block letters through the bug-spattered windshield of her car and heaved a deep sigh. She’d made it.
The driveway ended at what her grandfather had called the main cabin, the headlights lighting the building that had served as his rental office and living quarters. Now it would be her home.
She stepped out of the car and stopped for a minute, head tilted back, to take in the epic grandeur of the Sierras at night. Tall trees formed spired shadows against a starry sky glittering in a brilliant display. The stars were beautiful but did little to dispel the darkness. After the never-quite-dark nights of Los Angeles, this blackness left her a little unnerved. A shiver snaked down her spine and she gave a tug to pull her collar snug, then rummaged under the seat of her Toyota for her flashlight.
Arriving so late in the evening had not been part of her plan. She was a planner, because planning meant having control. Until it didn’t. She hadn’t planned on a leaky fuel line holding her up in Bishop, or the spectacular view of the mountains at sunset luring her into pulling off the highway to take it in. The combined effect made her arrival hours later than she’d intended. She eyed the dark buildings of the resort, crossing her fingers that the power company had done as they’d said they would, and hooked up the electricity. Clutching the flashlight like a lifeline, she debated leaving the headlights on, then killed them. Iffy car battery made that too risky.
Cold mountain air numbed her fingers and Emma’s feet thudded against the wooden steps as she hurried to climb to the porch. A niggling little thought tantalized her with the idea that she could drive back into town and find a nice, cheery, lighted motel, and come back in the morning when the place didn’t look so spooky.
But this was her grandfather’s cabin, damn it. A place that had been her refuge from a chaotic life for those few golden summers she had spent with him. And while Walt Kincaid was gone, his home was now hers, and she wasn’t about to let the dark chase her away.
Tugging the key from her pocket, she slid it into the lock to open the front door. Reaching in, she felt for the switch and flipped it up, then down. Nothing happened. Up, down. Up and down again and still nothing. No cheery light, nothing to see with. Shit.
Tightening her hold on the flashlight, she stepped inside to cast the narrow beam around the room. The cabin held the musty smell of a closed-up building. The check-in counter stretched across the front of the room, and her grandfather’s army surplus desk sat in a corner behind it. Rudy, the stuffed deer head mounted on the far wall, reflected the beam in his beady glass eyes. That much hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here, the s
ummer after she’d graduated from high school. While back then she’d thought Rudy kitschy, now he looked plain creepy. Get a grip.
The living quarters were in the back; she would check them out before bringing in enough gear to get through the night. She crossed to the little hall and peeked into the bathroom. It was much as she remembered: dated fixtures and chipped grout. Even the medicine cabinet looked—
A sound from outside held her motionless, ears straining. Unnaturally loud tires crunched on gravel. Someone had pulled into the driveway. She snapped off the flashlight, her mind racing. Crap, crap, crap. Who could be here this late in the evening? She was in an unfamiliar area, it was dark as a tomb, and if by some stroke of luck the area had cell coverage, her phone was in the car. She was on her own.
On her own wasn’t new, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it.
Warily, she made her way through the front office. A car door slammed, echoing like a shot through the night. She edged along the wall to the front window and took a quick peek out. A dark shadow loomed large, thrown in silhouette by bright headlights. Taking a careful breath, Emma forced herself to think. She could try to make it to the kitchen door, or maybe—
“This is the police. Come on out, hands up.”
Police! Clenching her teeth, Emma fought back a surge of unbridled fear. Stay calm, stay calm. Panic was not allowed; she was past that. She closed her eyes momentarily to try to find calm, to listen to that inner voice and not lose it.
Okay, there was a cop out there and not all cops were bad. That was rational. She wasn’t a kid again, in a patrol car paralyzed by terror. Dread gripped her at the realization that, as much as she hated the idea, she would have to trust this cop.
“I repeat, this is the police. Come out with your hands up.”
Bracing herself, she tried to speak but a dry throat made her voice inaudible. A convulsive swallow, and she tried again. “I’m coming out.”
Cautious, she eased into the doorway. She pushed open the screen, grip tight on the heavy flashlight, then hesitated, blinded by the powerful beam of his light.
He stood in front of the porch, a shadow darker than the rest. “Stop. Lower your flashlight to the floor.”
Emma ordered herself not to freak out. Crouching, she reluctantly set down her only possible weapon. “This is my place. I can be here.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded tight with dread.
“We’ll figure that out.” When she’d risen again, he continued, “Put your hands behind your head and come down the steps.”
Emma raised her arms, linking her fingers behind her head. Slowly she moved forward. That voice kept whispering in the back of her mind. He could be a rogue cop. He could rape and kill her, bury her body out in the woods somewhere and no one would even know she was gone. If he made one wrong move, she’d take her chances and run. Poised for flight, she couldn’t keep a hard shiver from wracking her body.
“What’s your name?”
His voice had a low timbre that was somehow calming. They probably taught the technique in cop school. She tried to see beyond the blinding light but couldn’t make out his features. “My name is Emma, and this is my property.” She paused. “Can I put my hands down?”
She’d never felt more vulnerable in her life when the cop ignored her question and moved behind her. She tensed as he gripped her wrists with one warm hand and conducted a quick pat down with the other. “Is there anyone with you?”
Her heart beating so hard it was a wonder she didn’t pass out. Emma conducted a fast internal debate on whether to admit there was no one else, but realized she had no choice. She was alone. “It’s just me.”
The unyielding presence behind her made her hyperaware. The creak of the leather cop belt, the hiss of his radio, even the scuff of his boots on gravel brought back frightening flashes of memory that served to reinforce that she was at his mercy. And that this could go very, very badly for her. To the depths of her soul, Emma hated feeling so vulnerable.
He released her clasped hands and moved to stand in front of her. Angling the flashlight so it wasn’t shining directly in her face, he stood back, watchful. A stillness settled over him. He stared at her, making her aware of the pull of his gaze. After a long, arrested moment he appeared to gather himself.
“You can lower your hands now. Sit down on the steps.” He pulled the radio off his belt, low voice reporting his location and situation, then strode back to his vehicle to open the rear door.
Sinking onto the porch steps, Emma watched as he leaned inside to retrieve something, then moved to the driver’s door to reach in and flip off the headlights. His radio buzzed and he paused to respond. He had the sure, economical movements of a supremely self-confident man.
The dome light of the SUV lit him from the side, showing a strong profile. His eyes were on her but he was a good thirty feet away. He responded to the radio and took his gaze off her to lean farther into the vehicle.
Watching him warily, Emma thought briefly, insanely, of running. She could do it. Just slip into the darkness and find safety in the trees. But that would be madness. So far he’d done nothing threatening, other than being a cop, and, more importantly, she hadn’t done anything wrong. But having the legal right to be here sure didn’t make her feel any safer.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Emma startled, looking up to find him staring at her across the distance. Great, the cop was a mind reader.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered. It would have been pointless anyway. With that determined look about him, she got the feeling if she ran, he’d chase her down, and then her problems would be compounded. Cops didn’t like civilians who resisted. She comforted herself with the thought that if he did have some deviant plan, he wouldn’t have checked in with his dispatcher. Small comfort, but logical.
The vehicle door slammed and he returned with a battery-powered lantern. He switched it on and set it on the step next to her where it lit them both. With his composed movements, his focus on the job, Emma could feel herself settle. The fluorescent bulb put out a white glow and she got her first good look at him. He’d put on a low-crowned cowboy hat that only made him look taller. In addition to his height, he had a lean build with broad shoulders under a heavy jacket. He’d be kinda sexy if he wasn’t wearing a badge.
His eyes remained shadowed and Emma couldn’t tell the color. Denim jeans encased long legs, and his jacket sported a patch on the shoulder. “Chief Gallagher” was embroidered in gold lettering on the front. Chief? As in the chief of police? Wasn’t that a desk job? What was the chief doing checking out potential trespassers this late in the evening?
An eyebrow winged upward as he caught her scrutiny, and Emma shifted nervously, blowing on her chilled fingers.
“I’m Brad Gallagher, police chief of Hangman’s Loss.” His intense focus made her squirm. “I need to see your identification.”
Yep, he was the chief, Emma thought dispiritedly. Not some beat cop, but the top guy. And didn’t that put a nasty end to the day that was supposed to be the start of her brand-new life?
She made to stand but he held up a hand. “Stay put. Tell me where your ID is.”
Emma blew out a frustrated breath. “In my purse, in the passenger seat of the car.”
He shot her a look that told her not to budge before he turned and walked to her car. Returning a moment later, he gave the purse contents a quick scrutiny before setting the bag on her lap.
With fingers made clumsy by the cold, Emma fumbled for her wallet. She opened it and pulled out her driver’s license, thrusting it at him before crossing her arms in front of her in an attempt to keep warm. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
He gave her license a quick glance, then cast his gaze over her face. “So, what is Emmaline Kincaid of Los Angeles doing in Hangman’s Loss?” Wary, she held herself still. He’d barely looked at the license. Why did she have the feeling he’d recognized her? Unsettled, she respo
nded, “Emma Kincaid is minding her own business.”
The cop rubbed a hand over his face, beard stubble making a rasping sound. The action gave her the impression that he’d had a long day, too.
“You’re going to have to explain yourself, Emmaline. Unless you want to take a ride to the station where you can stay until I run a background check on you. To me it looks like you’re trespassing.”
“It’s Emma, and you don’t need to run a background check.” Damn, that sounded defensive. Forcing a more neutral tone, she continued, “This was my grandfather’s place. He left it to me in his will.”
The anger that flashed across his face was undeniable. “You’re Walt’s granddaughter. Why the hell weren’t you here when he was dying?”
A physical blow couldn’t have hurt any less. But who the hell was this cop to judge her? He had no idea what else had been happening when her grandfather had been dying. She’d heaped on enough guilt herself, and sure didn’t need him adding to it.
She looked away, carefully schooling her features. Self-reproach ate at her, but he didn’t need to know that. When she turned back, she said, “There were reasons. I would have been here if I could.”
“I sure hope they were good reasons because your grandfather needed someone at the end.”
Damn it. Tears tightened her throat and she swallowed, forcing them back. No way was she going to let him see her cry. The cop was quick to judge but he was right; she should have been here for her grandfather. As always, throughout her life, her mother had put her needs first, sucking Emma in. Trudy Kincaid had been sick, really sick, but even after Emma had arranged care so she could visit Walt, her mother had still found a way to keep Emma from leaving. She should have come anyway, not given in to the guilt trip. Phone calls hadn’t been enough. And then her grandfather had died and it was too late.
She frowned at the man standing in front of her, face shadowed. Why did they make cops so big? Fighting the feeling of intimidation made her tone sharp. “I wasn’t able to help my grandfather when he was sick, but I can’t change that now. A lawyer contacted me a couple of months ago and told me I had inherited this property. So here I am.”
Flash Point Page 1
