Peek-a-boo Protector
Книга "Peek-a-boo Protector", авторами которой являются Литагент HarperCollins EUR}, Rita Herron, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Зарубежные детективы. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.
Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, Литагент HarperCollins EUR позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. EUR настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.
"Peek-a-boo Protector" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.
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Table of Contents
Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former nursery teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for romance and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website at www.ritaherron.com.
To Allison & Denise – two great editors who sparked this idea!
Leaving her baby was the hardest thing Honey Dawson had ever done.
But someone was trying to kill her, and she had to run. Had to in order to keep her babies safe.
She swiped at the tears trickling down her face and gulped back a sob. Beside her, her baby girl cooed up at her so innocently that her heart wrenched.
“I’m not a deserter, Emmie,” she said earnestly as her baby boy’s face taunted her. “I’ll go back and get your brother and we’ll all be together again one day.”
She wouldn’t be like her own mother who’d left her on the doorstep of the local orphanage with nothing but a diaper and an empty locket. She hadn’t even put a picture inside. Hadn’t even given her a name.
The caretakers had called her Honey because of her golden hair, and Dawson for the county she was left in. It was downright pitiful.
The reason she’d taken such good care to choose special names for her twins. “When I get us out of this mess, we’ll be a family, I promise.” Another sob escaped her. “I may have messed up but I swear on my mama’s necklace—” she stroked the pendant she always wore, one that now held her twins’ pictures “—I swear that I’ll be a good mama.”
Butterville, the small town where she’d grown up, loomed ahead with its welcoming arms, and she crossed the county line and veered the car toward Samantha Corley’s house. Sam was the only real friend Honey had ever known.
Men adored Honey, but girls didn’t take much to her.
Of course, lately she’d pissed off both sexes. Now one of them wanted her dead.
Trouble was, she wasn’t even sure who…
No, she wasn’t going to die. She had babies to live for now, and Honey would not let anyone stop her from raising them. Sam would help. Sam always knew what to do.
Her foster sister lived on the side of the mountain in a little cabin that had been there for decades. So like Sam to still be here. She probably hadn’t changed a stick of furniture or her hairstyle, for that matter.
Honey hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. She’d wanted to follow her dreams. Now the town felt like she was coming home, and her only dream was to take care of the twins.
Honey checked over her shoulder for the umpteenth time, but she didn’t spot anyone following her. Thank God. She’d finally lost the son of a bitch who’d followed her across the country.
She slowed the vehicle, her heart fluttering as the car lights flickered off the porch swing where she and Sam had shared lazy afternoons drinking sweet tea, dreaming about their futures and trading secrets.
But Sam’s house looked dark as Hades, and she didn’t see a car anywhere nearby, so she parked and cut the lights. Emmie had fallen asleep, so she left her in the car long enough to check the front door. It was locked. She searched the flowerpot where Sam usually kept a key. Darn it, it was gone.
Not to worry though. A locked door never kept Honey Dawson out.
She removed a hairpin and jimmied the door open in five seconds flat. The night shadows seemed ominous, the whistle of the wind as eerie as the mountain lion’s howl. She scanned the trees surrounding the house and shivered. Someone could be hiding in those woods, ready to pounce.
No, she was safe. Finally. Sam would take care of her. Help her figure out what to do. Then they’d get her little boy back.
She rushed back to the car, grabbed the diaper bag and then the infant carrier and car seat base. “I love you, kitten,” she purred. Smiling at her daughter, she juggled the carrier and bag up the steps, shut the door and went straight to the kitchen to heat a bottle. The sweet scent of chocolate-chip cookies warmed the air and memories suffused her.
But a noise startled her. The wind? Leaves crunching? A stray dog scrounging in the garbage for food?
Boards creaked as if someone was climbing the back steps.
Trembling, she grabbed the baby and diaper bag and rushed up the staircase to Sam’s room. Determined to protect Emmie, she opened the closet door, set the baby and bag inside then pulled the door closed.
Fisting her hands by her side to defend herself, she tiptoed down the stairs, then heard a noise in the kitchen and ran to the back door to make sure it was locked. But it stood open, a gust of cold fall air swirling through the room blowing dry leaves into the entryway.
