Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing (18 page)

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.

You crave excitement!
Harlequin Intrigue
stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Other ways to keep in touch:

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

Prologue

Today was no ordinary day.

Normally Laurel McCallister would have adored spending an evening with her niece Molly, playing princesses, throwing jacks and just being a kid again, but tonight was anything but typical. Laurel let the wind-driven ice bite into her cheeks. She stood just inside the warm entry of her sister's Virginia home, staring out into the weather to see the family off to the local Christmas pageant. Her fist clutched the charm bracelet Ivy had forced into Laurel's hand.

A gift from their missing father.

He'd been incommunicado for over two months. Then suddenly the silver jewelry had arrived in Ivy's mailbox earlier that day. No note, only her father's shaky handwriting on the address label, and postmarked Washington, D.C. Laurel squeezed the chain, quelling the shiver of foreboding that hadn't left her since Ivy had shown her the package. Her sister had told her they needed to talk about it. Tonight. The news couldn't be good, but it would have to wait.

Bracing against the cold, she met her sister's solemn gaze, then picked up her five-year-old niece. Laurel snuggled Molly closer. At the end of a bout of strep throat, the girl had insisted on waving goodbye to her mother. Ivy returned the farewell wave from across the driveway, apprehension evident in her eyes. And not typical mom-concern-for-her-youngest-daughter's-health worry.

Laurel scanned the rural setting surrounding Ivy's house. With the nearest neighbors out of shouting distance, it should be quiet. And safe. Laurel might only be a CIA analyst, but she'd completed the same training as a field operative. She knew what to look for.

Nothing seemed off, and yet, she couldn't stop the tension knotting every muscle, settling low in her belly. For now, her sister and brother-in-law refused to let the trepidation destroy Christmas for the kids, but Laurel had recognized the strain in her sister's eyes, the worry on her brother-in-law's brow. Too many bad vibes filtered beneath the surface of every look her sister had given her.

Laurel touched the silky blond hair of her youngest niece.

Molly stared after her mother, father, brother and sister, her baby blues filled with tears. “It's not fair. I want to go to the pageant. I'm supposed to be an angel.”

The forlorn voice hung on Laurel's heart. She placed her hand on the little girl's hot forehead. “Sorry, Molly Magoo. Not with that fever.”

Ivy bundled Molly's older brother and sister into the backseat of the car. Laurel sent her sister a confident nod, even though her stomach still twisted. She recognized the same lie in her sister's eyes. They were so alike.

One of the kids—it must have been Michaela—tossed a stuffed giraffe through the open car door. Ivy shook her head and walked a few paces away to pick up the wayward animal.

Laurel started to close the door. “Don't worry, Molly. They'll be back s—”

A loud explosion rocketed the night, and a blast of hot air buffeted Laurel. She staggered back. The driver's side of the SUV erupted into flames. Fire and smoke engulfed the car in a hellish conflagration. Angry black plumes erupted into the sky.

God, no!
Laurel's knees trembled; she shook her head. This couldn't be happening. Horror squeezed her throat. She wrenched Molly toward her, turning the little girl away from the sight, but Laurel couldn't protect Molly. Her niece had seen too much. Molly's earsplitting screams ripped the air.

No sounds came from the car. Not a shout, not a yell.

Laurel had to do
something.

“Stay here!” She scrambled through the door, racing across the frozen yard. She glanced back; Molly had fallen to the floor in tears. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut against the heart-wrenching cries, then snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Help! There's been an explosion.”

Blazing heat seared Laurel's skin. It wasn't a typical car fire. It burned too hot, too fast. Laurel choked back the truth. This wasn't just any bomb. This was a professional hit. A hit like she'd read about in dossiers as part of her job with the CIA.

Unable to look away, she stared in horror at the interior of the car. In a few minutes, nothing would be left. Just ash. They wouldn't even be able to tell how many people had been in the car.

The phone slipped from her fingers.

Ivy's family was gone. No one could have survived. Frantically, Laurel searched for her sister. Her heart shattered when she saw the smoking body lying several feet away from the car. She ran to Ivy and knelt next to her sister's body, the right side blackened and burned beyond recognition, the left blistered and smoldering.

“Laur—” the raspy voice croaked.

“Don't talk, Ivy.” Laurel couldn't stop her tears. She could hear her niece's wails from inside the house, but Ivy. God. Her clothes had melted into her skin.

Ivy shifted, then cried out in agony. “Stupid,” she rasped. “Not c-c-careful enough. Can't...trust...”

“Shh...” Laurel had no idea how to help. She reached out a hand, but there wasn't a spot on Ivy not burned. She was afraid to touch her sister. Where was the ambulance?

Ivy coughed and Laurel bent down. “Don't give up. Help is coming.”

“Too late. F-find Garrett Galloway. Sheriff. Tell him...he was right.” Ivy blinked her one good eye and glanced at the fire-consumed vehicle. A lone tear pooled. “Please. Save. Molly.” The single tear cut through the soot, and then her eyes widened. “Gun!”

Laurel's training took over. She plastered herself flat to the ground. A shot hit the tree behind her. With a quick roll, she cursed. Her weapon was locked up in the gun safe inside the house. A loud thwack hit the ground inches from her ear. The assault had come from the hedges.

“Traitor!” Ivy's raspy voice shouted a weak curse.

Another shot rang out.

The bullet struck true, hitting Ivy right in the temple.

Horrified, Laurel scampered a few feet, using the fire as a shield between her and the gunman. She panted, ignoring the pain ripping through her heart. She would grieve later. She had one job: protect Molly.

Sirens roared through the night sky. A curse rang out followed by at least two sets of footsteps, the sound diminishing.

Thank God they'd run. Laurel had one chance. She flung open the door and grabbed a sobbing Molly in her arms. She hugged her tight, then kicked the door closed.

Through the break in the curtains, she watched. A squad car tore into the driveway. No way. That cop had gotten here way too fast. Laurel pressed Molly against her, then locked the dead bolt.

She sagged against the wall. “Oh, Ivy.”

“Aunt Laurel?” Molly's small voice choked through her sobs. “I want Mommy and Daddy.”

“Me, too, pumpkin.”

Laurel squeezed her niece tighter. She had two choices: trust the cop outside or follow her sister's advice.

After the past two months... She slipped the bracelet from her father into her pocket, then snagged a photo from the wall. Her sister and family, all smiles. She had no choice. The high-tech bomb, the cop's quick arrival. It smelled of setup.

Laurel raced through the house and grabbed Molly's antibiotics and the weapon from the gun safe, half expecting the cop to bang on the door. When he didn't, Laurel knew she was right. She peeked through the curtains. Her sister's body was gone. And so was the police car.

The flames sparked higher and Laurel nearly doubled over in pain.

The sound of a fire engine penetrated the house. No time left. She snagged the envelope her father had sent and stuffed it into a canvas bag along with a blanket and Molly's favorite stuffed lion.

She bundled Molly into her coat, lifted her niece into her arms and ran out the back door. Laurel's feet slapped on the pavement. She sprinted down an alley. Shouts rained down on her. Smoke and fire painted the night sky in a vision of horror. One she would never forget.

She paused, catching her breath, the cold seeping through her jacket.

“Aunt Laurel? Stop. Mommy won't know where to find us.” Molly's fingers dug into Laurel's neck.

Oh, God. Poor Molly.
Laurel hugged her niece closer. How could she explain to a five-year-old about bad people who killed families?

Laurel leaned against the concrete wall, her lungs burning with effort. She wished
she
didn't understand. She wished she could be like Molly. But this wasn't a child's cartoon where everyone survived even the most horrendous attacks. Reality meant no one had a second chance.

Laurel had to get away from the men who had shot at her, who had killed her sister and her family.

But Laurel didn't know what to believe. Except her sister's final words.

Which left her with one option. One man to trust.

Garrett Galloway.

Now all she had to do was find him.

Copyright © 2014 by Robin L. Perini

ISBN-13: 9781460343968

Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

Copyright © 2014 by Rita B. Herron

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either 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. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

www.Harlequin.com