Kidnapped At Christmas
HER HOLIDAY BODYGUARD When journalist Samantha Colt finds herself tied up and dumped on a landmine outside her boss's country house, she has no memory of how she got there. And her only clue is an ominous note warning her to quit before it's too late. Fortunately, the quick-witted soldier who's house-sitting for her boss rescues her…and agrees to become her bodyguard until the danger ends. Joshua Rhodes might be protecting Sam as a favor, but the spark that immediately sizzles between him and the determined, lovely reporter can't be denied. If the puzzled pair can't swiftly outsmart Samantha's tormentors, though, their brimming holiday romance will be snuffed out…along with Samantha's life.
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HER HOLIDAY BODYGUARD
When journalist Samantha Colt finds herself tied up and dumped on a landmine outside her bossâs country house, she has no memory of how she got there. And her only clue is an ominous note warning her to quit before itâs too late. Fortunately, the quick-witted soldier whoâs house-sitting for her boss rescues herâ¦and agrees to become her bodyguard until the danger ends. Joshua Rhodes might be protecting Sam as a favor, but the spark that immediately sizzles between him and the determined, lovely reporter canât be denied. If the puzzled pair canât swiftly outsmart Samanthaâs tormentors, though, their brimming holiday romance will be snuffed outâ¦along with Samanthaâs life.
âDo you think something bad will happen if I move you?â
Yes.
âWill somebody attack us? Like thereâs somebody nearby lying in wait?â
No.
âHow about a booby trap?â
Yes. Her eyes cut to the floorboards hoping heâd understand.
âUnderneath you? Like a pressure-sensitive device?â
Yes! She nodded her head.
âWell, then, I get why youâre so twitchy.â He set the gun down, reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knife. âIt looks like you can move your head freely without setting it off. So now that I know whatâs going on, Iâm thinking that if Iâm really slow and careful I can probably cut off your gag and then you can tell me exactly what weâre dealing with, okay?â
Yes, butâ
She took a breath and then nodded.
âOkay,â he said. âLetâs do this.â
MAGGIE K. BLACK is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.
Say to those with fearful hearts,
âBe strong, do not fear; your God will come.â
âIsaiah 35:4a
Thanks to Roz for giving me a safe place to hide and write. Thanks to Sunny for the puzzle-piece metaphor. You are remarkable women, and you both inspire me.
Also, thank you, Bethany, for lending me your very special headphones when mine broke, so that I didnât have to write the suspenseful kidnap scene while listening to âUnder the Mango Tree.â You are very awesome and I love you.
Contents
A fierce, biting cold that seemed to dig right into her skin was the first thing journalist Samantha Colt felt as her groggy brain swam back into consciousness.
The second was the sharp tip of the knife pressed against her throat.
âDonât move.â The voice was coarse, male and contained more than a hint of a threat.
She froze. She was lying on her back and couldnât move her arms or legs. The metal floor of some kind of vehicle vibrated beneath her. The shriek of December wind rose above the rough sound of the engine. A gag filled her mouth. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but a blindfold.
Iâve been kidnapped.
The thought hit her like a jolt. But whoâd kidnapped her? How had they grabbed her? What could they possibly want?
She had no idea.
Help me, Lord! she prayed.
She closed her eyes again and struggled to piece together the strands of what she could remember. It had been quarter after five in the morning when sheâd left her small one-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a converted house in downtown Toronto. Thereâd been new flyers plastering the staircases. Bright blue this time, with dire warnings from her landlady Yvonne about the dangers of both trespassers and raccoons. The streets were dark. The world was frozen. Sheâd slipped through the icy back alleys toward the Torchlight News office. Sheâd buried her hands in the pockets of her vintage wool overcoat, feeling for her gloves before realizing sheâd left them behind. And then?
She wasnât wearing her coat now.
How long ago was I kidnapped? Did I even make it to work?
With Christmas only two days away, the newspaperâs office was already closed for the holidays. But she was the newspaperâs main fact-checker. She was never really off. Last night her laptop had refused to load, so sheâd headed into the office this morning to grab a backup tablet so that sheâd have something to work onâbecause a good story waited for no one.
Samantha had singlehandedly created and updated the paperâs research databaseânicknamed ATHENA, because âAggregated Torchlight Hub for Enforcement and News Analysisâ was a mouthful. Not that she ever got the glory. Or wanted it, for that matter. Samantha was a desk jockey. Someone who was quite comfortable working in the shadows, making sure overenthusiastic reportersâand their storiesâstayed accurate. It was her job to verify that Torchlight got every fact right, to see the bigger picture and to even catch patterns that others might miss.
