Blue Ridge Ricochet
The mountains are dangerous–but not as dangerous as what's building between them…Missing and presumed dead, wanted FBI staffer Dallas Cole is running for his life…until undercover agent Nicki Jamison finds him lying crumpled in the road. To his relief, his rescuer doesn't ask questions, doesn't call the cops. Who is she? What secret is she hiding? Not trusting Nicki any more than she trusts him, Dallas joins the headstrong agent's mission to take down a ruthless militia group. But when she falls into their brutal trap, Dallas will do whatever it takes to be reunited with Nicki and her irresistible tough-as-nails charms.
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âYouâre not like any man Iâve ever tried to seduce, Dallas Cole.â
âIs that good or bad?â
She cocked her head, a smile flirting with her kiss-stung lips. âBoth.â
âIn case itâs not clear, I do want you.â
She stepped closer until she pressed against him. âI know.â
She was damn near impossible to resist, but he made himself ease her away. âWe have to trust each other.â
âYes,â she agreed.
âAnd sex complicates things.â
âIt does.â
âIt would be easy to let myself get caught up in you, as a way of forgettingâ¦â
âComfort sex.â
âYes.â He stole a look at her. âI donât want there to be any doubts between us. I donât want you to ever feel used.â
âA little late for that,â she said in a wry tone, and he realized she was revealing more about her past than perhaps she meant to.
PAULA GRAVES, an Alabama native, wrote her first book at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When sheâs not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. Paula invites readers to visit her website www.paulagraves.com.
For my readers. Thank you for all your support.
I couldnât live this dream without you.
Contents
Sleet rattled against the windshield, a staccato counterpoint to the rhythmic swish-swish of the windshield wipers. Outside, night had fallen in inky finality, as if it planned to stay awhile, the Jeepâs headlights the only illumination as far as the eye could see.
Nicolette Jamison forced herself out of a weary slouch behind the steering wheel and concentrated on the curving mountain road revealed in her headlights, well aware of the treachery that lay ahead for a careless driver. The switchbacks and drop-offs in the Blue Ridge Mountains could be deadly if you werenât paying attention. Not to mention the occasional reckless deer or coyoteâ
âSon of aâ!â
The man loomed in the Jeepâs headlights as suddenly as if the swirling mist had conjured him up, a tall, lean phantom of a man who turned slowly to face the headlights as she hit the brakes and prayed she wouldnât go into a skid this dangerously close to a steep drop-off.
The Jeepâs wheels grabbed the blacktop and hung on, the vehicle shimmying to a stop just a yard away from the apparition gazing back at her through the windshield. For a second, she had a strange sense of recognition, as if she knew him, though she was pretty sure she didnât.
Then his eyes fluttered closed and he dropped out of sight.
Nickiâs heart stuttered like a snare drum against her rib cage as she stared at the misty void where, seconds earlier, sheâd seen the staring man.
Ghost, her inner twelve-year-old intoned, sending her heart rate soaring steeply for a few seconds before her grown-up side took charge. She checked the rearview mirror for coming traffic, saw only the faint red glow of her own taillights, and put the car in Reverse, backing up carefully until she could see what the front of the Jeep had concealedâa man lying in a crumpled heap in the center of the narrow two-lane road.
She pulled the Jeep to the shoulder on the mountain side of the road and parked, engaging her hazard lights and trying to calm her rattled nerves. The man could be hurt.
Or it could be a trick. Maybe she should call the sheriffâs department and let them handle things.
Except...
Buck up, Nicki. This is the life you chose.
Her weapons of choice these days were pepper spray and sheer nerve, and so far, sheâd survived on their one-two punch. But something about the man lying crumpled on the road in front of her made her nerve waver. There was still something eerily familiar about him, a memory tugging at the back of her mind, trying to make itself known.
Holding the pepper-spray canister out in front of her, she approached the man, easing into a crouch just beyond reach. She shifted position so that the glow from the Jeepâs headlights fell across the manâs face.
He was younger than sheâd thought, in his midthirties at most. His pallor, combined with the sunken cheeks and shadowed eyes that came with illness, had made him look older. He was still breathing, she saw with relief.
âMister?â
He stirred at the sound of her voice, his eyelids flickering open to half-mast, then drifting shut again. He muttered something that sounded like a string of numbers, but she couldnât quite make them out.
Gingerly, she reached out to check his pulse. Fast but steady and stronger than sheâd anticipated. âWhere are you hurt?â
He murmured numbers again. She made out a two and a four before he stopped.
