âYou need a bodyguard. If not for you, then for your son.â
âI can protect him myself.â God, she sounded foolish.
âDrive by here on your way out and Iâll see if I can spot anybody tailing you,â Luke suggested as he walked her to the door. âIâll be right behind you, I promise.â
She slanted a look at him, wondering if he realized just how hollow his promises sounded after what happened between them three years ago. Although he hadnât really made her any promises that night, had he? There hadnât been many words at all, just kisses and touches and a raging fire sheâd thrown herself into without a second thought.
For him, it might have been nothing more than a few hours of shared grief and release.
But that night with Luke Cooper had changed her world.
For Ashlee, my Psych viewing buddy.
Bum-bum-bumâ¦muffins!
Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, 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. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.
Paula invites readers to visit her Web site, www.paulagraves.com.
Abby Chandler âWhen masked men threaten to hurt her son if the marine widow canât give them what they want, Abby turns to Luke Cooper, her late husbandâs best friendâand the unwitting father of her son.
Luke Cooper âRetired from the Marine Corps, Luke lives in self-exile to protect the ones he loves from a ruthless drug lordâs vow of vengeance.
Stevie Chandler âThe two-year-old has become a pawn in a deadly game of extortion.
Eladio Cordero âWhen Luke killed the South American drug kingpinâs only son, Cordero vowed to make him pay by going after the people who mean the most to Luke.
Los Tiburones âCorderoâs hired enforcers have caught Lukeâs scent, dogging his trail, leaving death and destruction in their wake.
Barton Reid âHis job high in the U.S. State Department has given him access to a great deal of power and volatile information. Heâll go to any lengths to protect his secrets.
Demetrius âDamonâ Miles âAn operative in Barton Reidâs private army, Damon has his own hidden agenda.
Sam Cooper âLukeâs older brother is the only Cooper who knows the truth about Lukeâs self-imposed exile. Can Sam help Luke and Abby reach safety before the bad guys catch up?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Abby Chandler shifted the grocery bag to her left arm and fumbled in her pocket for her keys. Arriving home later than sheâd planned, thanks to a pileup on I-5, she had to hurry and put away the groceries so she could pick up Stevie by six. After six Mrs. Tamburello charged time and a half, and the budget this month couldnât take the strain.
She unlocked her apartment and pushed the door open with her foot, stumbling as her toe caught on the rubber welcome mat inside. Muttering a curse, she kicked the door shut behind her and took a half step forward before she realized what she was seeing in the dim afternoon light filtering into her apartment.
Sofa cushions, ripped apart and tossed on the floor. Paintings torn from the wall and dismantled. Her coffee table upended in the middle of the room.
Her heartbeat barely had time to notch upward when a voice, inches from her ear, sent it hurtling into hyperdrive.
âYouâre late, Mrs. Chandler.â
At the sound of the deep male voice, her body jerked into one jangling nerve. Her keys dropped with a clatter from her numb fingers while her mind flew haphazardly through her options. Run? No, the man with the deep voice stood between her and the door. Try to outrace him to the kitchen for the knife block by the refrigerator? Not a chance.
âSorry for the mess. We became bored waiting for you.â A second voice, not quite as deep as the first, spoke to her right. She heard more than a hint of Boston Brahmin in that accent.
âWhat do you want?â She felt her grip on the grocery bag slipping and tucked it to her side to keep from dropping it.
âPlease donât move, Mrs. Chandler,â the man behind her said. âWe donât want things here to escalate.â
Escalate to whatâunadulterated terror? Too late, buster.
The second man moved into her field of visionâtall, well built, dressed in black from his soft-soled shoes to his knit ski mask. Clear blue eyes, direct and confident, gazed out from the eyeholes. He was light-skinned, with a hint of freckles, she noted for future reference.
Assuming thereâd be a future in which to reference.