Easy Target (29 page)
Authors: Kay Thomas
T
HE WOMAN WOKE
slowly, to stare at a canvas tent ceiling. The muscle aches and chills that had racked her body for days had finally subsided. She hadn’t vomited the last two times she’d been awake.
That was a very positive development. She knew because she’d heard the health care workers say so. They hadn’t realized that she was conscious and could hear them talking about her. She’d learned to keep her eyes closed and her head down when she was unsure of her surroundings.
Opening her eyes, she lay still and listened to the voices around her. The beds on either side of hers were empty. Had those women recovered or died?
Two people dressed in hazmat suits were at the cot two spaces down, dealing with another patient.
How long have I been out of it?
Days? Weeks? She’d lost track of time long before the devastation of the illness had overtaken her. Yet, remarkably, miraculously, she was alive.
People would think she was insane if she said Ebola was a blessing, but for her it had been a deliverance. When her fever had spiked and she’d been left behind, she’d thanked God. She’d known she was going to die, but even the ravages of Ebola were more merciful than what she’d been facing.
A worker in protective gear came toward her bed.
She couldn’t see a face clearly through the mask, but she could hear excitement in the man’s voice when he saw that she was awake.
“Doctor! Doctor!” The worker turned back to the others.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, an older man dressed in a blue hazmat suit was looking down at her. It was easier to see his face.
You’re back,” he said. “That’s excellent. How do you feel?”
Like Lazarus.
Certainly better than the last time she was awake.
Her throat was so dry, she couldn’t speak. So she nodded and tried to smile her answer instead of talking. Her lips were swollen and chapped from lack of moisture. They cracked at the movement. She tasted the faintest hint of copper on her tongue.
The doctor patted her arm and picked up a cup with a straw in it, holding it to her mouth. “We’ll get something for your lips. Can you tell me your name?”
She took a deep breath, surprised at the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Her throat was cotton dry, even after the sip of lukewarm water. Her mouth stung, but the pain reminded her that she was alive. She’d survived.
For months she’d longed for someone, anyone, to ask for her name. She coughed and cleared her throat, but her voice was still rasping when she finally spoke.
“Elizabeth.”
F
IRST, THANK YOU
to my readers for your excitement and enthusiasm about this series. I’ve loved hearing what you think of my Elite Ops heroes, and I appreciate your taking the time to write. Your messages have always seemed to arrive just when I’ve needed the encouragement. I’m grateful.
Writing
Easy Target
was an adventure I did not embark on alone. Having a mystery arc that stretched across three books was a challenge requiring a host of folks to keep me on track. Sassy and Hollywood’s story wouldn’t have been possible without the feedback and help I received from many generous people, several of whom have been working with me from the first manuscript. Many thanks to Ellen Henderson and Joyce Ann McLaughlin, who read and reread this story as we worked out the kinks. Thanks also to friend, author, and graphic artist Kathleen Baldwin, who continues to go above and beyond.
Many thanks to Mike Simonds, Don Ring, Tim McManus, and my brother, Tim Luster—the men who helped with a multitude of technical details about things like body decomposition time lines and international firearms transportation. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
As always, thanks to my editor extraordinaire, Erika Tsang, who pushed me to make Sassy and Hollywood’s story the best it could be, along with all the folks at HarperCollins who work so hard on my behalf including—the fabulous art department, Chelsey Emmelhainz, Heidi Richter, and Judith Gelman Myers. Thank you to my agent, Helen Breitwieser, for her continued support.
Thank you to the “Bulletproof Babes” for their passion and encouragement for my work. Your enthusiasm is contagious!
Thank you to the Writer Foxes—Lorraine, Addison, Suzanne, Alice, Sandy, Julie, Jo, Tracy, and Jane—for your unwavering supply of wisdom and wine. Cheers!
Finally, thanks to my family. This book took more time to finish than I’d planned, and you gave me the time and the space to write during a decidedly busy season of life. My parents and daughter were particularly understanding about phone calls rolling to voice mail. My husband and son ate lots of meals without me. Thank you, Tom—for making me laugh, keeping me sane, and loving me, even when I’m grouchy (and hungry). You always make it fun to “come home from work.”
Can’t get enough of Kay Thomas’s Elite Ops team?
Keep reading for an excerpt from Book One,
Available now from Avon Impulse
“C
OULD YOU HAND
me my top, please?”
Leland bent down to retrieve Anna’s shirt and turned away, staring at the floor in front of him to give her privacy. What the hell was he doing? At least he’d given the room a cursory inspection to rule out cameras or bugs before he’d practically screwed her against the bedroom wall.
What he’d really wanted to tell her, before they’d gotten sidetracked with the birth control issue, was the same thing he’d wanted to tell her last night. She didn’t have to do him to get Zach back. Whether or not they had sex had no bearing on whether he’d help find her son.
Not that he didn’t want her. He did. So much so that his teeth ached.
He hadn’t known her long but what he knew fascinated him. To have dealt with everything she had in the past year and to still be so strong. That inner strength captivated him.
It was important she not think he expected sex in exchange for his help. Sex wasn’t some kind of payoff. He needed to clarify that right away.
Besides, neither of them was going to be able to sleep now. He sighed, zipped his cargo shorts and pulled on his t-shirt and shoulder holster with the Ruger. He shoved the larger Glock into his backpack. This was going to be a long evening.
The night breeze had shifted the shabby curtain to the side, leaving an unobscured view into the room. He turned to face her, wondering if anyone on the street had just gotten an eyeful.
A red laser dot reflected off the wide shoulder strap of her tank top. Recognizing the threat, he dove for her, shouting, “Down. Get down!”
Leland tackled Anna around the waist and pulled her to the floor. A bullet hit the wall with a
sphlift
, right where she’d been standing a half second earlier.
He climbed on top of her, his heart rate skyrocketing, and covered her completely with his body. His boot was awkward. His knee came down between her legs, trapping her in the skirt. More shots slapped the stucco, but they were all hitting above his head.
The gunman must be using a silencer. A loud car engine revved in the street. Voices shouted and bullets flew through the window, no longer silenced.
How many shooters were there?
A flaming bottle whooshed through the window. Breaking on impact, the fire spread rapidly across the dry plywood floor. The pop of more bullets against the wall sounded deceptively benign.
“What’s happening
?”
Anna’s lips were at his ear.
Her warm breath would have felt seductive if not for the shots flying overhead and fire licking at his ass. He was crushing her with his body weight but it was the only way to protect her from the onslaught.
“Why are they shooting at us
?”
Her voice was thin, like she was having trouble breathing.
He raised up on his elbows to take his weight off of her chest but kept his head down next to hers. “They want the money.”
“How do they know about the ransom?” she asked.
“Everyone within a hundred miles knows about it.” He raised his head cautiously.
They were nose to nose, but he ignored the intimacy of the position. They had to get out of the smoke-filled room. In here, even with just half the money, they were sitting ducks.
He needed his bag. It held all his ammunition and the Glock 17. And they couldn’t leave the cash, not now anyway. Having the money might be the only thing to keep them alive when they got out of here.
“Come on.” He rolled to the side and tugged Anna’s hand to pull her along with him. “But don’t raise your head.”
Another bullet hit the wall where she had been moments earlier. God, how many men were there? Knowing that could make a difference in getting out of this alive.
T
HE WOMAN AT
the vanity turned, and his breath caught in his throat. Nick had known it would be Jenny, and despite what he’d thought about downstairs when he’d seen her on the tablet screen, he hadn’t prepared himself for seeing her like this. Seated at the table with candles all around, she was wearing a sheer robe over a gray thong and a bustier kind of thing, or that’s what he thought the full-length bra was called.
He spotted the small unicorn tat peeping out from the edge of whatever the lingerie piece was and his brain quit processing details as all the blood in his head rushed south. He’d been primed to come in and tell Jenny exactly how they were getting out of the house and away from these people and now . . . this. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. She looked like every fantasy he’d ever had about her rolled into one.
He continued to stare as recognition flared in her eyes.
“Oh my God,” she said. “It’s . . .”
She clapped her mouth closed, and her eyes widened. That struck him as odd. The relief on her face was obvious, but instead of looking at him, she took an audible breath and studied the walls of the room. When she finally did glance at him again, her eyes had changed.
“So you’re who they’ve sent me for my first time?” Her voice sounded bored, not the tone he remembered. “What do you want me to do?”
What a question. He raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head. In warning?
Nothing here was as he’d anticipated. He continued staring at her, hoping the lust would quit fogging his brain long enough for him to figure out what was going on.
“I’ve been told to show you a good time.” Her voice was cold, downright chilly. Without another word she stood and crossed the floor, slipping into his arms with her breasts pressing into his chest. “It’s you.” She murmured the words in the barest of whispers.
Nick’s mind froze, but his body didn’t. On autopilot his hands automatically went to her waist as she kissed his neck, working her way up to his ear. This was not at all what he’d planned.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She breathed the words into his ear.
Me either,
he thought, but kept the news to himself as he pulled her closer. His senses flooded with all that smooth skin pressing against him. His body tightened, and his right hand moved to cup her ass. Her cheek’s bare skin was silky soft, like he remembered. God, he’d missed her. She melted into him as his body switched into overdrive.
“What do you want?” She spoke louder. The artic tone was back. He was confused and knew he was just too stupid with wanting her to figure out what the hell was going on. There was no way the woman could mistake the effect she was having.
She moved her lips closer to his ear and nipped his earlobe before she spoke in a hushed tone. “Cameras are everywhere. I’m not sure about microphones.”
And just like that, cold reality slapped him in the face. He should have been expecting it, but he’d been so focused on getting her out and making sure she was all right. She might be glad to see him because he was there to save her, but throwing her body at him was an act.
Jesus.
He had to get them both out of here without tipping his hand to the cameras and those watching what he was doing. He was crazy not to have considered it once he saw those tablets downstairs, but it had never occurred to him that he would have to play this encounter through as if he was really a client.
He slipped her arms from around his neck and moved to the table to pour himself some wine, willing his hands not to shake. “I want you.”
K
AY
T
HOMAS
didn’t grow up burning to be a writer. She wasn’t even much of a reader until fourth grade. That’s when her sister read
The Black Stallion
aloud to her. For hours Kay was enthralled—shipwrecked and riding an untamed horse across desert sand. Then tragedy struck. Her sister lost her voice. But Kay couldn’t wait to hear what happened in the story—so she picked up that book, finished reading it herself, and went in search of more adventures at the local library.
Today Kay lives in Dallas with her husband, two children, and a shockingly spoiled Boston terrier. Her award-winning novels have been published internationally. For more information on Kay, please sign up for her newsletter at
www.eepurl.com/TBUI
or visit her website:
www.kaythomas.net
.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.
Give in to your Impulses . . .
Continue reading for excerpts from
our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
By T.J. Kline
By Tiffany Clare
A
S
AVE THE
D
ATE
N
OVELLA
By Cara Connelly
R
IBB
ON
R
IDGE
B
OOK
T
HREE
By Darcy Burke
An Excerpt from
by T.J. Kline
Jessie Hart has a soft spot for healing the broken, especially horses and children, but her business is failing. The one man who can save Heart Fire Ranch is the last man she wants to see, the man who broke her heart eight years ago . . .
J
ESSIE HEARD THE
crunch of tires on the gravel driveway and stepped onto the porch of the enormous log home. Her parents had raised their family here, in the house her father had built just before her brother was born. The scent of pine surrounded her, warming her insides. Even after her brother and sister had built houses of their own on either end of the property, she’d remained here with her parents, helping them operate the dude ranch and training their horses. She inhaled deeply, wishing again that circumstances hadn’t been so cruel as to leave her to figure out how to make the transition from dude ranch to horse rescue alone.
Leaning against the porch railing, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed the quiet of the morning. When a teen girl walked toward the barn to feed the horses, she lifted her hand in a wave. The poor girl was spending more time at the ranch than away from it these days, since her mother had violated parole again, but Jessie loved having her here. Aleta’s foster mother, June, had been close friends with Jessie’s own mother, and she understood the healing power horses had on kids who needed someone, or something, just to listen. Now that Aleta was living with June again, she was spending a lot of time at the ranch.
Jessie looked down the driveway as Bailey drove her truck closer to the house. She could just make out Nathan through the glare on the windshield. The resentment in her belly grew with each ticking second at the sight of him. Clenching her jaw and squaring her shoulders for the battle ahead, Jessie walked down the stairs to meet Justin’s former best friend and the man who’d broken her heart.
The truck pulled to a stop in front of her, and Bailey jumped from the driver’s seat wearing a shit-eating grin. Jessie narrowed her eyes, knowing exactly what that meant—she was in for a week of hell from this pain-in-the-ass, penny-pinching bean counter.
She didn’t understand why he’d insisted on returning to the ranch. If Justin hadn’t begged her to give Nathan a chance to help, she would have been perfectly content never to speak to his lying ass again.
She watched him turn his broad shoulders to her as he removed his luggage from the back seat. When he faced her, Jessie was barely able to contain her gasp of surprise. After he left, she’d avoided any mention of Nathan Kerrington like the plague, going as far as changing the channel when his name was mentioned on the news. She’d been praying that the past eight years had been cruel, that he’d gained a potbelly, or that he’d developed a receding hairline. She pictured him turning into a stereotypical computer geek.
This guy was perfection. Well, if she was into muscular men who looked like Hollywood actors and wore suits that cost several thousand dollars. Every strand of his dark brown hair was combed into place, even at six in the morning, after a flight from New York. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his stiffly starched shirt.
His green eyes slid over her dirty jeans and T-shirt before climbing back up to focus on her face. Memories of stolen kisses and lingering caresses filled her mind before she could cast them aside. His slow perusal sent heat curling in her belly, spreading through her veins, making her feel uncomfortable. Was he just trying to be an ass? If so, it was working. She felt on edge immediately, but she wasn’t about to let him know it. She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked her hip to the side.
“Nathan Kerrington. You’ve got some brass ones showing up here.”
An Excerpt from
by Tiffany Clare
Amelia Grant has just escaped her lecherous employer with nothing but the clothes on her back. In the pre-dawn hours of London, a horse and carriage comes barreling down on her, and a stranger rushes to her aid, sweeping her off her feet . . .
“W
HY DID YOU
kiss me?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but a part of her needed to know. And talking was safer right now.
“I have wanted to do that since you first stumbled into my path. Do you feel something growing between us?”
She’d been ignoring that feeling, thinking and hoping it would pass with time. She’d assumed she’d developed hero worship after Mr. Riley had rescued her and then taken care of her when she’d been at an ultimate low.
She couldn’t deny the truth now. She did feel something for him; something not easily defined as mere lust but a deep desire to learn more about him and why he made her feel so out of sorts with what she thought was right.
Not that she would ever admit to that.
Who was she to garner the attention of this man? Women probably threw themselves at his feet and begged him to ruin them on a regular basis. That thought left her feeling cold. She eyed the door, longing for escape.
“Do not leave, Amelia.” He stepped closer to her, near enough that she could kiss him again if she so desired. She ignored that desire. “Work for me as we planned. Just stay.”
There was a kind of desolation in his voice at the thought of her abandoning him. But that was impossible. And she was reading too much into his request. Logically, she knew she couldn’t feel this sort of attachment to someone she had just met. Someone she didn’t really know.
“I am afraid of what I will do,” she admitted, more for herself than for him.
“Then do not think about it. Go with what your instincts tell you. If there is one thing I have always done, it is to follow my first inclination. I would not be in the position I am today, had I ignored those natural reflexes.”
He caressed her cheek again. She nearly nestled into his palm before realizing what she was doing. With a heavy sigh, she pulled away from him before she made any more mistakes. This was not a good way to start her first official day as his secretary.
She couldn’t help but ask. “And what do your instincts say about me?”
“I do not need my instincts to tell me where this is going. It is more base than that. I desire you. And there is nothing that can stop me from fulfilling and exploring what I want. You will be mine in the end, Amelia.”
Her heart picked up speed at his admission. Her breathing grew more rapid as she assessed him. She desired him too. She, Amelia Marie Somerset, who wanted nothing more than to escape one vile man’s sick craving to marry her and claim her, was willing to let the man in front of her ruin her, only because she felt different with him than she had with anyone else.
What would she lose of herself in the process of courting dangerous games with this man? Focusing on the hard angles of his face and the steady expression he wore, one thing was certain.
This man would ruin her.
And more startling was the realization that she would do nothing to stop him.
An Excerpt from
A Save the Date Novella
by Cara Connelly
In the next Save the Date novella, mousey Jan Marone finally allows herself to live, laugh, and love . . . with a sexy fireman during a weekend wedding in Key West!
“I’
M SORRY, MA’AM
, there’s nothing I can do.”
Jan Marone wrung her hands. “But I have a reservation.”
“I know, I’m looking at it right here.” The pretty blonde at the desk tapped her screen sympathetically. “I’ll refund your deposit immediately.”
“I don’t want my deposit. I want a room. My cousin’s getting married tomorrow, and I’m in the wedding.”
The girl spread her hands. “The problem is, when one of the upstairs tubs overflowed this morning, the ceiling collapsed on your room. It’s out of service for the weekend, and we’re booked solid.”
“I understand,” Jan said, struggling to remain polite. Hearing the same excuse three times didn’t make it easier to swallow. “How about a sister hotel?”
“We’re independently owned. Paradise Inn is the oldest hotel on the island—”
Jan held up a hand. She knew the spiel. The large, rambling guesthouse was unique, and very Old Key West. Which was exactly why she’d booked it.
“Can you at least help me find a room somewhere else?”
“It’s spring break. I’ll make some calls, but . . .” A discouraging shrug and a gesture toward the coffeepot.
The girl didn’t seem very concerned, but Jan smiled at her anyway. “Thanks, I appreciate you trying.”
Parking her suitcase beside the coffee table, she surveyed the lobby wistfully. The windows and doors stood open, the wicker furniture and abundant potted plants blurring the line between indoors and out. The warm, humid breeze drifted through the airy space. Her parched Boston skin soaked it up like a sponge.
To a woman who’d never left New England before, it spelled tropical vacation. And it was slipping through her fingers like sand.
Growing ever gloomier, she wandered out through a side door and into a lush tropical garden—palm trees, hibiscus, a babbling waterfall.
Paradise.
And at its heart, a glittering pool, where six gorgeous feet of lean muscle and tanned skin drifted lazily on a float.
Ignoring everything else, Jan studied the man. Thick black hair, chiseled jaw, half smile curving full lips. And arms, perfect arms, draped over the sides, fingers trailing in the water.
He seemed utterly relaxed, the image of sensual decadence. Put him in an ad for Paradise Inn, and women would flock. Gay men would swarm.
As if sensing her attention, the hunk lifted his head and broke into a smile. “Hey Jan, getcha ass in the water!”
Mick McKenna. Her best and oldest friend.
He rolled off the float and jacked himself out of the pool. Water streamed from gray board shorts as he crossed the flagstones.
Stopping in front of her, he shook his hair like a Labrador.
“Geez! Don’t you ever get tired of that?” She brushed droplets off her white cotton blouse.
He laughed his big, happy laugh. “Never have, never will. Get your suit on. The water’s a perfect eighty-six degrees.”
“I can’t. They don’t have a room for me.”
The grin fell off his face. “What the hell?”
“Water damage.” She shrugged like it wasn’t tragic. Like she hadn’t been anticipating this weekend for months.
“They must have another room.” Mick started to go around her, no doubt to raise hell at the desk, McKenna-style.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I tried everything. They’re digging up a room for me somewhere else on the island.”
He tunneled long fingers through his hair. “Take my room,” he said.
An Excerpt from
Ribbon Ridge Book Three
by Darcy Burke
In the third Ribbon Ridge novel from
USA Today
bestseller Darcy Burke, Tori Archer is about to discover that even the best kept secrets don’t stay buried for long . . .
T
ORI
A
RCHER SIPPED
her Nocktoberfest, Dad’s signature beer for the annual Ribbon Ridge Oktoberfest, which was currently in full swing. She clung to the corner of the huge tent, defensively watching for her “date” or one of her annoying siblings that had forced her to go on this “date.”
It wasn’t really a date. He was a professional colleague, and the Archers had invited him to their signature event. For nine years, the family had sponsored the town’s Oktoberfest. It featured Archer beer and this year, for the first time, a German feast overseen by her brother Kyle, who was an even more amazing chef than they’d all realized. Today was day three of the festival and she still wasn’t tired of the fondue. But really, could one ever tire of cheese?
“Boo!”
Tori jumped, splashing a few drops of beer from her plastic mug onto her fingers. She turned her head and glared at Kyle. “Did you sneak through the flap in the corner behind me?”
“Guilty.” He wore an apron tied around his waist and a custom Archer shirt, which read CHEF below the bow and arrow A-shaped logo. “How else was I supposed to talk to you? You’ve been avoiding everyone for the past hour and a half. Where’s Cade?” He scanned the crowd looking for her not-date, the engineer they’d hired to work on The Alex, the hotel and restaurant venue they’d been renovating since last spring. With a special events space already completed, they’d turned their focus to the restaurant and would tackle the hotel next.
Tori took a drink of the dark amber Nocktoberfest and relished the hoppy flavor. “Don’t know.”
Kyle gave her a sidelong glance. “Didn’t you come together?”
“No. Though it wasn’t for your lack of trying. I met him here. We chatted. He saw someone he knew. I excused myself to get a beer.”
An hour ago.
Kyle turned toward her and frowned. “I don’t get it. Lurking in corners isn’t your style. You’re typically the life of the party. You work a room better than anyone I know, except maybe Liam.”
Tori narrowed her eyes. “I’m better at it than he is.” Their brother Liam, a successful real estate magnate in Denver, possessed many of the same qualities she did: ambition, drive, and an absolute hatred of failure. Then again, who
wanted
to fail? But it was more than that for them. Failure was never an option.
Which didn’t mean that it didn’t occasionally come up and take a piece out of you when you were already down for the count.