Agent Bride
Finding an amnesiac bride stranded in a blizzard wasn't how a Navy SEAL pictured his homecoming…Navy SEAL Cal Hollister is stunned when the white flag he sees flapping in a snowstorm turns out to be a veil attached to a beautiful woman. Unconscious and dressed only in a bridal gown, Cal calls her Stormy and carries her to safety. But it isn’t long before trouble finds the mysterious bride and trying to discover her identity puts a target on her back. Using every resource at his disposal, Cal uncovers a sinister plot involving terrorists, a forced marriage—and that who Stormy really is might get them both killed.
Читать Agent Bride онлайн беплатно
âWeâve got less than ten minutes. This time, I really do need you to hide. Will you do that? Please?â
âTell me your plan first,â she said, not answering his question.
âI donât have one,â he said. âOther than to get more information out of them than they get from me and to keep you safe. Everything besides that is fluid.â
She let out a loud breath.
âI canât focus on them if in the back of my mind, Iâm wondering what youâre doing,â he said.
âFine,â she said. âIâll be in the back of the closet, hidden behind the clothes.â She started to walk toward the bedroom.
âStormy,â he said.
She stopped. âYes.â
He put his hand on her shoulder, turned her and kissed her. All the emotion of the moment was packed into ten seconds of scorching pleasure.
Then he stepped back. âWeâre not finished,â he said.
BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelorâs and a masterâs degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.
For Brynn and Eric, who both made the leap from college kid to adult look easy.
Hope youâre having fun in Missouri!
Contents
Cal Hollister rarely let anything stop him. And that included the weather. But when the freezing rain in the upper plains had turned to snow, then more snow, making the I-70 corridor a real mess, even heâd had to admit it was time to take a break.
Now, an hour east of Kansas City, Missouri, heâd filled up both his gas tank and his belly. He sat back in the tattered booth of Dawsonâs Diner and watched the television that was mounted in the corner of the truck stop. It was on mute and the words flashed across the screen. Early winter storm paralyzes Midwest.
Cal stopped reading, just as heâd turned off the radio in his rental car earlier. It was all they were talking about. The storm, the storm, the storm.
Missouri rarely got heavy snow and to get it in November was real news. He didnât care. He wasnât going to let a little ice and snow stop him.
He was going home. Back to Ravesville. The idea had taken root after Cal had talked to his brother last month and learned that Chase was getting the old house theyâd inherited from their mother ready to sell.
Chase hadnât asked for help. He never did. Especially not from Cal. But it was time for that to change. Cal had finished his assignment and put plans in motion to get back to the States. It had taken a month but finally, he was a mere hundred miles northwest of his destination, more than three weeks early for Thanksgiving dinner.
âAll finished?â the waitress asked as she passed the booth.
âThat was amazing,â Cal said. The woman had encouraged him to get the daily special, the roast pork, especially if he was pressed for time. He didnât have a schedule but heâd gone along with the suggestion.
She smiled. âI know. People are always surprised. They donât expect a place like this to have a chef. Pietro worked for years at Moldaire College in a high-end restaurant in their student union. Heâs always talking about how he used to cater all the important events at the college, even the private parties that the president of the college hosted.â She picked up the dirty dishes. âCan I get you anything else? Maybe a piece of apple pie?â
âIâm stuffed but because I suspect it will be every bit as good as that roast pork, Iâll take it to go.â
âGood choice,â she said. She walked over to the pie case, opened the door, slid a piece into a cardboard box, and brought it and a plastic fork back to the table.
Cal pulled out a twenty. âKeep the change, Lena,â he said, looking at her name tag. She looked tired. Hell of a job slinging hash.
But at least she had a job.
Which was more than Cal had at the moment.
No job. No expectations to live up to. No one elseâs timetable to adhere to. It was a heady feeling for a man whoâd spent eight years in Uncle Samâs employ as a Navy SEAL and the past six months as a contractor doing much the same kind of work at a considerably higher rate of pay.
âWhat are they saying about the roads?â he asked. Heâd seen Lena chatting with two state police officers at the counter.
âItâs bad and supposed to get a whole lot worse. Interstate is still open but thereâs lots of spinouts and cars in the ditch.â
About what heâd expected. First bad storm always resulted in a bunch of fender benders as people relearned their winter mathâthat speed plus following too close equaled crap-on-a-stick.
