Eye of the Storm
Authors: Dee Davis
Critics hail Dee Davis as a master of romantic suspense!
"Dee Davis' novel is a heart-stopping romance and mystery all at once. She captivates readers from the start, pulling them into an intricate plot that offers fast-paced action on nearly every page." –
Romantic Times, 4 stars
"EYE OF THE STORM is an action-filled, stimulating story. Page after page, the pressure builds to an explosive crescendo where the storm of action can only erupt into a surprising outcome. Davis creates an exciting, thrilling experience for readers." --
Fresh Fiction
"EYE OF THE STORM has a fast moving, thrill-a-minute pace, and is totally engrossing. This is a fantastic tale which grabs your attention immediately and never turns loose. Realistic characters, a complex storyline, and a surprise ending makes this story one of the most exciting reads of the year. Dee Davis scores another perfect ten with this one." --
Reader to Reader
"Dee Davis is a very talented author. She keeps you in suspense until the end. I loved reading this book. It is fast moving and will keep you turning the pages. I just couldn't put it down." –
Romance Junkies
"Eye Of The Storm is an exciting story that shows Ms. Davis at the top of her game and shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon. She is making her name synonymous with the best there is in romantic suspense. A worthy addition to her already stellar backlist, Eye Of The Storm delivers on all accounts."
-- A Romance Review
"Simone and Reece have that sexual chemistry that only Davis can write. Davis's Romantic Suspense books are top-notch, never ending thrill rides!" --
Book Cove Reviews
"EYE OF THE STORM is a captivating thriller with its gripping details and constant danger. With never-ending action and mounting suspense, Dee Davis has penned an exceedingly rewarding read. The storyline is thought-provoking, and the likable main characters make one care about their chaotic lives."
-- Single Title Reviews
"Eye of the Storm is a riveting read. Dee Davis crafts an action packed thriller that is hard to put down. Her style of writing practically holds the reader suspended in time until the dramatic conclusion. She weaves a tale that I thoroughly enjoyed and found mesmerizing."
-- Coffee Time Romance
Eye of the Storm
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
Published by Pocito Press.
Copyright 2006 by Dee Davis Oberwetter
All rights reserved.
Originally published as a mass market paperback in the United States by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Cover design: Kim Killion
http://www.deedavis.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
:
Romantic Suspense
Dark Of The Night
Dancing In The Dark
Midnight Rain
Just Breathe
After Twilight
Liars Game Series:
Line of Fire
Eye Of The Storm
Chain Reaction
Still of the Night (Novella)
Last Chance Series
:
Endgame
Enigma
Exposure
Escape
A-Tac Series
:
Dark Deceptions
Dangerous Desires
Desperate Deeds
Daring (Novella)
Deep Disclosure
Deadly Dance
Double Danger
Dire Distraction
Matchmaker Chronicles
A Match Made on Madison
Setup In SOHO
Time After Time Series
Everything In Its Time
The Promise
Wild Highland Rose
Cottage in the Mist
Devil May Care Series
Hell Fire
Hell's Fury
To my mother
Missoula, Montana
BEATRIX BRASEL STOOD in the grocery line trying not to look behind her. It was ridiculous really, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She reached down into her basket and pulled out five or six items, mentally counting again to make sure that her total didn't exceed ten.
No one else ever seemed to bother to count. But then they weren't as attuned to detail as she was. And anything that deviated from the norm was a sure ticket to being noticed. She readjusted a couple of soup cans to make room for Ben and Jerry, then shot another furtive glance behind her.
Four tired and probably cranky people were lined up waiting their turn. An old man with cookies and a six- pack. A working stiff with mud-caked boots and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. A businessman with a newspaper and a quart of milk. And a mother with a placidly sleeping toddler. She rocked the baby as she pushed the cart forward with her knee.
Ten years away from it all and Bea still couldn't imagine anything more American pie than her sparsely furnished apartment and beat-up old Chevy. She'd tried to fit in. To find her place. But that had turned out to be an exercise in futility. Still, she'd done all right for herself, holding down the same nine-to-five for almost eight years. Granted, the only time she saw anyone outside of work was at the company picnic and the Christmas party. Or maybe when she stopped to exchange hellos with one of her ever-changing neighbors.
Not exactly the picture of domestic life. But Bea was nothing if not a realist, and from a very early age she'd learned that society was never going to welcome her with open arms. There was just something off about her. A stillness that had been present even in the cradle. She'd tried to hide it, and when that had failed, she'd used it to her benefit. Trouble had followed in her wake with magnetic certainty, until she'd found a way to channel it into something productive.
Bea sighed and added a loaf of bread to the conveyor belt. Maybe reality was overrated. Maybe she'd been better off before. God knows she'd been happier. But all good things came to an end. Sometimes explosively.
The point here was that her old life was over. Had been for almost a decade, which made her present situation all the more laughable. There'd been a time when her sixth sense would have been accurate, when someone very well could have been stalking her. But not anymore.
As if to argue the point, her skin pricked with sensation, and she shot another look behind her. Nothing but tired shoppers and a sale on frozen vegetables. A swarthy man in jeans and a flannel shirt gave her a moment's pause. His dark hair curled at his ears, a John Deere baseball cap hiding the upper half of his face.
She studied him for a moment, careful to keep her interest concealed. The man reached over to grab a Hershey's bar from the candy rounder, adding it to his sparsely populated basket. Just a guy with a sweet tooth on his way home from work. She was obviously losing it big-time.
The woman in front of her finally made sense of her pile of coupons, presenting them to the clerk as if they were a trophy. Bea never bothered with coupons. The payoff just wasn't worth the hassle. Behind her the baby started to cry, the mother's tone gentle as she shushed her child. Bea felt a pang of envy, but quashed it. Everyone had their place in life. And there was no sense in trying to change the status quo.
What was the saying? "You could give a pig sheet music but you couldn't make him sing?" She laughed to herself and pulled out her wallet, watching as the clerk scanned the items with all the enthusiasm of an automaton. Not that she blamed the kid. As jobs went, clerking in a grocery store was pretty near the bottom of the food chain.
Like answering phones all day was any better. She shot what passed for a smile at the checkout boy and handed him two twenties. One habit she'd never outgrown was dealing solely in cash. Checks and credit cards were too damn easy to trace.
Like anyone was looking for her.
Unease slid down her backbone with pointed nails and she shivered. God, she was getting morose. Grabbing her two sacks of groceries, she headed for the doors, dodging people as she went, her speed dictated more by instinct than any kind of logic. Near the exit, she collided with a well-heeled woman in fur, her scent overpowering in that cloying way of women over a certain age.
Mumbling an apology, Bea tightened her fingers on the grocery bags and stepped out into the frigid night air. Spring in Montana could be a beautiful thing. A rebirth of sorts. But just at the moment, winter was having a last hurrah. Snowflakes fell like confetti stars, sticking to the sidewalk and mixing with melted muck to form lethal sheets of ice.
Treading carefully, she walked to the parking lot, her eyes lighting on the Chevy two rows away. Counter to her usual practice of parking away from the crowds, she'd chosen instead to park in the midst of the congestion, her need to avoid the drifting snow more imminent than her innate caution about keeping under the radar.
The streetlight above her row blinked ominously and then went black, the cars beneath immediately shifting into shadow. If she'd believed in signs, this would have been a doozy. But Bea was a pragmatist, and the row was, for the moment, devoid of activity, the other patrons evidently opting for the warmth of the store.
Keys in hand, she fumbled with the trunk lock, thinking that maybe she ought to consider a new car. At least then she'd be able to open it with the touch of a button. But the Chevy was a known quantity and Bea wasn't big on change. Dumping the groceries into the trunk, she slammed the door down in a flurry of snow and stomped over to the driver's side, trying to get the muck off her boots before she slid behind the wheel.
Automatically, she checked the area around her, the motion as natural to her as breathing. Nothing moved except the languidly falling snow, and with a sigh, she unlocked the door, yanked it open and got inside. The car was dark and quiet. Shivering, from the cold she assured herself, she turned the key in the ignition and smiled as the Chevy leapt to life. Old faithful wins the day.
The engine was soon joined by the sound of the wind-shield wipers as they swooshed through the falling snow. With a final look out the window, Bea hit the driver's side lock and threw the car into reverse.
Although she'd started her life in far warmer climes, she'd long ago mastered the art of driving on snow and ice, and so it was only moments before she turned out of the parking lot and onto the access road that led to the highway and home.
The green dial in her car indicated that it was later than she'd thought. Almost ten. Which meant she was too late for her television programs. In the old days, she wouldn't have even known what was on, much less cared if she missed it. But times had changed, and truth be told, the television was her only friend.
God, that sounded pathetic.
She steeled herself against self-pity, and steered onto the highway. Actually, "highway" was probably overstating things a bit. It was a county road, narrow and curving at times, particularly treacherous in bad weather. But she'd been driving it for years and so was familiar with every inch of it.
Bea was about a mile from Cloudburst Creek when she noticed the flashing light in her rearview mirror. Automatically she slowed, her eyes dropping to the speedometer. She'd only been a few miles over the limit.
She checked all the other gauges as well, inventorying the Chevy's condition with the precision of a mechanic. Nothing else was wrong. As if to challenge the thought, her gaze moved to the registration sticker, the month "October" standing in relief against the glow from the dashboard.
Damn it.
She hated making mistakes of any kind, but one that resulted in a paper trail was particularly galling. Especially when she was always so careful to drive within the limits. Blame it on her stupid ruminations about something being wrong.
Pulling the car onto the shoulder, she applied the brake and then reached for her wallet and license. The officer tapped on the window, and she rolled it down with a sigh, pasting on a smile to go with the plastic card in her hand.
It only took a moment to realize that it wasn't an officer at all. The man at the window wore a parka and a hat, his face obscured by the heavy knit. Her mind shifted into high gear, the gun in the glove compartment only a couple feet away, but her reflexes, once razor sharp, had dulled with age and disuse.
The man pulled the trigger almost before Bea had identified the silenced Beretta for what it was. And in the instant before the world went black, she had the irrational thought that at least she'd been right—someone had been following her.
Someone who wanted her dead.