Renegade Protector
When intimidation turns to deadly force…If ruthless developers want Mariana Balducci’s land, they’ll have to kill her for it. And they nearly succeed – until Ty Morrison foils her attacker. The sexy San Francisco also soon realizes that battling bad guys is easier than fighting their sizzling attraction.
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When intimidation turns to deadly force,
Itâs time for Frontier Justice.
If ruthless developers want Mariana Balducciâs land, theyâll have to kill her for it. And they nearly succeedâuntil Ty Morrison foils her attacker. The sexy San Francisco cop is part of a secret organization called Frontier Justice. Mariana is tough, but she realizes she canât win this fight alone. And when bullets fly, Ty realizes battling bad guys is easier than fighting their sizzling attraction.
Frontier Justice
NICO ROSSO was a writer in search of a genre until he was introduced to romance by his wife, Zoë Archer. Heâs worked in many forms and was deeply honored to have one of his romantic suspense novels final in the RWA RITA® Award contest. When heâs not writing, Nico can be found in his shop, building furniture for the California home he shares with his wife and their cats.
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07958-7
RENEGADE PROTECTOR
© 2018 Zachary N. DiPego
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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For Ami.
Contents
Dark night hunched over Mariana Balducci as she stood outside the back door of her shop and double-checked the locks. The light in the parking lot behind the building was out, and she was the last to close along the row of stores. For months, every time she heard the metal snap into place on the glass door, it sounded final. Customers avoided her place, and sales were terrible. It was only a matter of weeks or days before she locked up one last time and handed the keys to a stranger.
A shape forty feet away sent a startled shock up her spine. Through the glass back door she peered down the length of her store to where a man stood at her front window. Sheâd already been on edge from the deep shadows surrounding her, and the figure on the other side of the building froze the breath in her lungs. A streetlight carved out his features enough for her to recognize him. Heâd been in her shop that day.
When heâd first come in, sheâd thought about walking him through all the organic apple products she had, produced directly from her fifth-generation orchard. But there was a quietness about him that demanded a little space as he discovered things for himself. He was a handsome black man, clean shaven over a square jaw and close-cropped hair. Broad shoulders. Somewhere in his early thirties, around her age or a little older. It was probably a good idea that she hadnât tried to hand-sell him any cider, because when their eyes did meet, an unexpected heat bloomed across her chest. Her mouth had managed only a simple greeting. Anything wordier wouldâve tied her tongue in knots.
The surprising blush on her skin had persisted as heâd walked her store. His thoughtful eyes had captured hers as if heâd already known her and her struggles. As if he understood. But the man didnât say much, and instead of buying anything, he spent most of his time looking at the antique black-and-white photographs on the wall. Theyâd been passed down through her ancestors, Italians who settled in the Monterey Bay of California and the Mexican families theyâd married into. For a moment, sheâd considered telling him what little history she knew from the pictures, then maybe asking if he wanted to get a cup of coffee. But her tongue still felt too thick for nimble words, and it wouldnât have been fair to flirt with the man while she was buried under two tons of trouble.
