Killshadow Road
Nick Darcy thought he'd left his past behind…until McKenna Rigsby showed up wounded on his doorstep.Nick Darcy has always needed rules. So when he's temporarily suspended from a job he's dedicated his life to, the unstructured days ahead make him desperate for a distraction. That's when a blast from the past resurfaces on his front steps, bleeding and spinning a wild tale of assassins on her trail.Their history is complicated. But Nick is still McKenna Rigsby's best chance when it comes to surviving. Her cover blown by a mole in the FBI, she needs a partner who can stay levelheaded in a firefight. She has no doubt they're headed for a showdown. And that this time, there won’t be any rules left to break…
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He felt a driving need to protect her.
He tried not to speed on his way back to the cabin, but he didnât like leaving McKenna alone so long. She was making a good show of being stronger, but heâd seen the circles of fatigue under her eyes, the pale tone of her skin. She was still weak, still vulnerable.
About three miles from the turnoff, a glance in the rearview mirror made him sit up straighter. That black SUV about three cars back had been with him since heâd left The Gates, hadnât it?
He took the next turnoff and drove at a steady pace down one of the small feeder roads that led toward Warrior Creek Falls. Only one vehicle behind him followed, keeping a steady distance back. The black SUV.
He was being tailed.
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 Jenn,
who shares my love for all things Darcy.
Contents
Tablis, Kaziristan, baked beneath the August sunshine, and no amount of joking about it being a dry heat could make the place feel any cooler to the soldiers and diplomats assigned to protect the US Embassy against the rising unrest in the no-manâs-land beyond the city walls.
For Nick Darcy, whoâd spent most of his childhood in the cool, mild south of England, the brutal summer heat in the Central Asian republic was a shock to the system. The dress code for his job with the Diplomatic Security Serviceâsuit, tie, holstered weaponâdidnât help.
But the escalating tensions in the Kaziristan countryside had driven considerations such as climate and comfort from the minds of everyone tasked with the embassyâs protection.
Something was building. Something bad. Darcy could feel it as if it were a living creature writhing beneath the dusty earth, making the very ground beneath his feet feel unsteady.
Trouble was coming. Fast and hard.
A harsh squawk of static from his handheld radio jangled his nerves. âBOGART on the move.â
Darcy acknowledged the signal and watched from his post for the ambassadorâs car to emerge through the slowly opening gates. The dusty black sedan moved safely through the opening and onto the four-lane boulevard in front of the embassy. The sedan made it down the road about thirty yards before all hell broke loose.
A rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the ambassadorâs car and sent pieces flying through the air. One slab of metal debris slammed into the stone column next to Darcy, fragmenting the stone and sending a large chunk slamming into his forehead.
Staggered by the blow, he held on to the column to stay upright and tried to see through the blood pouring into his eyes. The road in front of the embassy was suddenly teeming with armed men and even more young men throwing rocks and swinging clubs.
The embassy was under siege.
Darcy managed to get his pistol out of his holster, but his movements felt slow and awkward, as if he couldnât quite convince his limbs to do what he asked of them.
A pair of small but strong hands wrapped around his arm and pulled. âMove it, Darcy! Weâre under siege!â
He turned to look at the speaker, tried to focus on her small, freckled face and her sharp green eyes, but the world seemed to be spinning out of control, around and around until black spots started to appear in his vision.
She muttered a profanity and started yelling for help in that hillbilly accent of hers that always made him smile. He tried to smile now, but his face felt paralyzed.
Nothing made sense. Not anymore.
His world fragmented into a thousand shards of light, then faded into nothing.
Nick Darcy woke to the sort of darkness that one found miles from a big city. No ambient light tempered the deep gloom, and the only noise was the sound of his heart pounding a rapid cadence of panic against his breastbone.
Only a dream.
Except it hadnât been. The embassy siege had happened. People had died, some in the most brutal ways imaginable.
And heâd been unable to save them.
He pushed the stem of his watch, lighting up the dial. Four in the morning. As he sat up and reached for the switch of the lamp on the table beside him, he heard a soft thump outside the cabin. His nerves, still in fight-or-flight mode, vibrated like the taut strings of a violin.
Leaving the light off, he reached for his SIG Sauer P229 and eased it from the holster lying on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
