Honeymoon To Die For (49 page)

Ryder answered with a humble, “Yes, sir.”  He strolled toward the door where he shook hands with her daddy, then Ryder looked over his shoulder with a wink and disappeared into the hall.

She took her daddy’s arm and couldn’t believe how nervous she was. She’d already married Ryder.

But this was for real. This was forever.

When the wedding march sounded and they entered the church, everyone was standing. Bianca’s eyes locked on Ryder.

The love pouring out of his face threatened to turn her into a waterpot. As she neared the front, she searched the groom’s side where Hubrecht Van Dyke stood in front of the varnished pew. Next to him were her kidnappers, aka the Slye Temp team, and Murdock. But Hubrecht Van Dyke had been the big surprise.

His limousine had scrunched rocks across its undercarriage when the driver pulled right behind her Explorer an hour after she’d arrived at her parents’ house.

 Ryder had swept her next to him, within his protective embrace.

Hubrecht had given them both an appraising look as he’d marched up her parents’ front yard and announced, “I missed the first ceremony. I would like to attend this one.”

Mama and Daddy had stepped forward and shaken Hubrecht’s hand, which was when Ryder found out her parents had called his, because as Mama said, “That’s what family does.”

Bianca’s heart went out to Hubrecht. He hadn’t said a word about Terrence, but he looked older, as though the pain of losing his son had increased his years. Hubrecht was not an easy man to get close to, but Bianca would never forget the moment when Hubrecht shook Ryder’s hand and said he was proud of Ryder.

Ryder finally admitted to Bianca that he’d been wrong about Hubrecht, because of the way Terrence had manipulated all of them. But Ryder was ready to give the man who had raised him a chance at being his father. He wanted to meet with Janeen and try to mend that rickety bridge, though he didn’t have high hopes.

As Bianca walked up the aisle toward the altar, her gaze danced over to Hubrecht who had turned with everyone else to watch the bride’s entrance. He winked at her, shooting a happy bolt through her heart.

Ryder
was
loved by someone in his family.  

Her daddy stopped in front of the altar and passed her off to Ryder. To be honest, the ceremony was more blur than anything until Ryder took her finger and slid his mother’s ring on her hand, for real this time, and said, “With this ring, I thee wed forever and a day.”

The End

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR:

“Thank you for reading my books. I hope you enjoy the Slye Temp series. Visit
http://www.AuthorDiannaLove.com
to find all my books. If you have a moment to leave a review at the online bookstore, GoodReads, BookLikes, Shelfari or anywhere else I’d really appreciate it. And please visit me on Facebook at Dianna Love Fan Page and on Dianna Love Street Team where I hope you’ll join the team!” To collect free “signed” cover cards, visit
www.KeeperKase.com
 

Dianna

***

Slye Temp romantic thrillers reading order:

Last Chance To Run
 

Nowhere Safe
 

Honeymoon To Die For
 

Kiss The Enemy (Fall 2013)

***
*Visit
www.KeeperKase.com
to find out how to get FREE “signed” glossy cover cards of  Dianna’s books.
 

***
 

Another Slye Temp romantic adventure

LAST CHANCE TO RUN

To an undercover agent, she’s a Person of Interest.  He’s interested. 

Escaping the compound of a deadly international felon--with a fortune in rare, stolen coins hidden on her body--elite athlete Angel Farentino has to make the most important run of her life. Literally. With her father in prison, where he belongs, and a prior undeserved conviction hanging over her head, she has nowhere to turn and no one to trust. Definitely not law enforcement who railroaded her through a judicial nightmare.  One step ahead of lethal men and dogs on her trail, she runs into the arms of a dark stranger willing to help her if she’d let him.  But that would only get the sexy pilot killed.

Between figuring out who’s sabotaging his undercover work for the DEA and trying to save his baby sister from herself, Zane Jackson has enough on his plate. The last thing he needs is to get entangled with a woman who’s treading on the wrong side of the law.  But when the long-legged distraction races into the middle of his operation and stows away on his plane, a primal need to protect forces Zane to risk everything, starting with his heart. 

***

A SNEAK PEEK AT

LAST CHANCE TO RUN

Lightning crackled nearby. Close, but not close enough.

Escape tonight or ... there was no second option.

“Come on, God,
please
.”  Angel whispered the desperate prayer for the hundredth time since midnight. But lights still burned through Mason Lorde’s opulent compound where she’d been imprisoned for the last ten days.

She had to get over this compulsion about being honest. The last time she’d done the right thing, she’d landed in a real prison with a warden and crazy female inmates threatening her life. That had been thanks to her father.

One more thing she had to get over. Trusting any man.

Wind howled across the beveled panes, rattling the French doors and sounding cold when August weather was anything but.

“I should have asked for a hurricane instead of a thunderstorm,” she muttered under her breath. But hurricanes weren’t as prevalent along the North Carolina coast as lightning storms. All she needed was a brief power outage. Not that she had any reason to believe in divine intervention at this point in her life.

A short life if she didn’t get out of this place now.

She rolled a golf-ball-shaped compass in her hand, a dangerous stress reliever. She’d stolen it from his office, and to hell with any guilt she felt.

It would get her fingers snapped like twigs if Mason caught her with his solid gold desk toy.

No chance he’d let her off easy.

She’d learned that the hard way. Just like everything else in her life.

Mason Lorde, her dream employer. The bastard had turned into her worst nightmare. But with a conviction in her past, who could blame her for jumping at a chance for a job with a highly reputed firm? Assisting the manager in one of the warehouses for Lorde’s revered import enterprise beat cleaning toilets or scavenging aluminum cans any day.

She’d thought.

Brilliant light flashed across the heavens, illuminating the edges of the brass bed at her shoulder. She glanced at the burgundy silk duvet covering the lump she’d built with pillows. Would that gain her an extra minute?

Maybe. She hated maybe. Reminded her how often her worthless court-appointed attorney had spouted that word.

Maybe you’ll receive leniency for a first offense.

Maybe you’ll get out early on good behavior.

Neither happened.

Maybe
men would stop screwing her over at some point, but she wasn’t counting on that, either.

Angel consulted her black plastic sports watch.

In sixteen minutes Kenner would begin his two a.m. round.

On the dot.

Unlike the rest of the security, the knuckle-dragging commander now in charge of Mason’s thirty-room mansion lacked any tolerance. Kenner had been brought in from another of Mason’s locations to replace Jeff, who’d overseen the property for the past ten years, according to his last screaming words.

He’d pleaded for his life.

Then Mason had ... nausea rolled through her stomach.

Another glance at her timepiece. Fifteen minutes, forty-eight seconds left.

She reached for the doorknob, desperate to flee, but paused short of touching it. She had no allies beyond patience. It wasn’t as if Kenner would repeat Jeff’s mistake. Poor Jeff, too slow on the uptake to be hanging with a bunch of killers. He’d smoked one too many cigarettes a week ago while she’d scurried down the Italian marble hallways in a fevered attempt to escape.

One of the other guards had caught her.

Mason didn’t tolerate mistakes. He’d ordered everyone to witness Jeff’s punishment. Angel, in particular. She still had bruises from where she’d been dragged outside and shoved up front for the show being performed for her benefit.

The citizens of nearby Raleigh would never believe what went on inside this private compound belonging to one of their most prominent city businessmen.

Just over six feet tall, with thick golden hair and a champion’s physique, Mason, the Nordic antichrist, had calmly raised his .357 magnum revolver to Jeff’s head and squeezed the trigger.

A deafening explosion. Then blood.
So much blood
.

She clenched her fists. The horror lived on, burned on the insides of her eyelids.

And the smell. Who could forget the god-awful coppery stench of fresh blood? Her stomach roiled again.

Hard to believe a week had passed. Seemed like just minutes ago. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw it all again. The hole in Jeff’s forehead. His eyes locked open in horror. The back of his head ... she swallowed and took a breath. She’d carry that brutal image for as long as she lived.

Along with the responsibility for his death.

And all because of a job she’d thought was a godsend. What had she done so wrong in her life to have ended up involved with a criminal
again
?

The first time, she’d been eighteen. And naïve to the point of being clueless about drugs.
That
had cost her.

She’d had no reason to think her own father would take advantage of her job as a city courier and use her to mule drugs without her knowledge.

Then throw her under the judge’s gavel to save his own hide.

This time, she was not going down without a fight.

If she got out of here tonight, she had the hammer that would bring down Mason. And prove her own innocence. She patted the heavy band wrapped around her waist like a money belt. The strip of plastic held a fortune in gold coins that would bring her salvation.

Or the end of her life.

Twelve minutes, forty-two seconds until room check.

Jagged sparks flashed across the eerie sky, nearer, but still too far away. Her heart pounded against her breastbone.

Come on, God. Don’t I deserve one break?

Thunder rumbled through the black heavens, longer than it had during the two power outages earlier in the week. They were common occurrences at the estate, cured each time temporarily by generators. She’d timed the last two blackouts. Should the Almighty-in-charge-of-weather deign to knock out the main electrical feed once more, she’d have nine minutes until three thousand volts surged through the chain link fence again.

Three thousand volts or face Mason when he returned tomorrow morning – not much of a choice.

The goal was simple. Escape or die trying.

She still nursed wounds from her penance for that first attempt. Her hand unconsciously went to her sore ribs and she licked her cut lip. The guards hadn’t harmed her beyond bruising, but Mason enjoyed doling out his personal brand of punishment.

The psycho had actually gotten aroused as he’d beaten her.

In the dignified tone of a pompous professor, Mason had explained his actions. “Consider this step one in teaching you compliance and submission, Angelina.”

He’d wasted his time.

There would be no step two.

Thunder barreled across the sky, directly overhead this time, rattling the delicate glass panels between her and the storm.

Ten minutes, eighteen seconds left.

Her restless fingers worried the cold silver band Mason had locked on her wrist. He’d smiled when he assured her the tracking device was for her own protection. That had been right before he promised to return by the time she’d healed.

Cracked bones and bruises weren’t major concerns, but living to see her twenty-sixth birthday had become questionable.

The guards had breathed a collective sigh of relief after her beating, sure that she would stay put.

Only a crazy person would try to escape again.

“We’ll see who’s crazy,” she whispered. “You
son-of-a – ”

Lightning exploded in a clap of thunder, so close her arm hairs stood on end.

The entire compound fell dark.

Angel hit the self-timer on her watch and dropped the compass down the front of her Lycra running top beneath a butter-yellow T-shirt. Mason’s choice of color. Not hers. Combined with matching shorts, she’d stand out like a beacon when the first lights popped back on.

She pushed the French doors open and rushed into a cool rain that battered the second floor private balcony. She nudged the doors shut behind her. A worn navy blue ball cap shielded her eyes from the downpour and hid shoulder-length auburn hair she’d fastened into a ponytail.

No going back now. Guards would enter the empty bedroom by the time lights flicked on.

Feeling blindly in the dark for the rail that enclosed the balcony, she gripped the ledge, climbed over then locked her legs around the ten-inch thick center column. Her arms strained to hold her body’s dead weight. Tremors shook her at the fear of falling twenty feet. Wet polished marble offered no traction to slow her descent.

She slid down the soaked surface. Friction burned both her hands and exposed legs in seconds. Tears, mixed with rain, poured down her face from the searing pain.