âThereâs a hit man trying to kill Billy Brent.â
There was a short silence before Mickey continued speaking into her cell phone. âItâll be the mother of all stories and weâll have an exclusive. Weâll scoop the Chronicle and the Examiner. Hell, weâll scoop the New York Times.â
She lapsed into silence, obviously listening to whatever her boss was saying. Dan felt his blood pressure rising. He wished he could hear both sides of the conversation.
âI know Iâm not the best candidate.â She was speaking again. âBut the critical thing is Iâm up here with Dan OâNeill, and Iâm the only person heâs willing to take along.â
Willing to take along? That was hardly the way heâd put it. There was another silence, and Dan couldnât keep himself from whispering, âIs he going for it?â
She smiled at him. âIâm on hold. Heâs running it past the editor in chief.â
Dan held his breath. Surely an editor in chief would recognize the insanity of this.
And then Mickey said, âThatâs great. Tell Mr. Edwards Iâll come through. Neither of you will be disappointed.â
Dammit. Dan should have realized how persuasive she could be. After all, sheâd convinced him to go along with this ridiculous scheme.
Dear Reader,
For my January 2003 Harlequin Superromance novel, Finding Amy, I created a company called Risk Control Internationalâwhich turned out to have so many exciting people working for it that Harlequin will be publishing a miniseries of stories featuring various RCI operatives.
According to its director, RCI is in the âsurvival business,â a phrase he prefers over saying that people come to RCI because their lives are in danger. The only rule the company has is âDonât let the client get killed,â and in The Full Story the client is Hollywood superstar Billy Brent.
A contract killer is after Billy, and itâs up to RCIâs personal security advisor, Daniel OâNeill, to keep Billy alive while learning who the hit man is and whoâs paid him to whack Billy.
However, Danâs plan for doing that runs into trouble when photojournalist Mickey Westover appears on the scene.
Sheâs arrived to interview Billy, but when she discovers that his life is in jeopardy she realizes a front-page story has fallen straight into her lapâand she has no intention of letting it go, despite the fact that Dan OâNeill is bound and determined to be rid of her. And the sooner the better.
Sparks fly between Mickey and Dan from beginning to end, and I hope you enjoy the way their romance is spiced with both humor and danger.
Warmest wishes,
Dawn Stewardson
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE MOUNTAINS OF Vancouver Island were home to some of the biggest trees Mickey had ever seen, and the air smelled so heavenly that she was driving with the windows down. Imagining herself a thousand miles from civilization was no challenge at allâuntil she reached her destination.
Then she was treated to a reality check. An eight-foot wrought-iron fence and a sign that read:
Private Property
No Hunting Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted
Hmm. That certainly got the point across. And it was probably a lot more likely to discourage potential intruders than the fence. If it had razor wire it would give people pause, but as things stood it didnât look like an insurmountable obstacle.
She pulled up to the intercom speaker and said, âIâm here to see Mr. Brent.â
There was no response, although she was sure sheâd found the right place. According to Billy, the road dead-ended at his property. And this was clearly the end of the line.
After combing her fingers through her hair, she climbed out of the rental to check the gateâand wasnât at all surprised when she found it locked, even though the risk of riffraff banging on Billy Brentâs door had to be minimal up here.
When a second attempt to rouse someone via the speaker failed, she tried a couple of honks on the horn. That did no good, either. So what was her next move?
Glancing at her cellular, she wished Billy had entrusted her with his number. Then she could simply phone to say sheâd arrived. But since she couldnât do that, there seemed to be only one option left.
She absently rubbed her palms across her jeans, thinking sheâd feel better about the idea of climbing over the gate and hiking down the driveway if she didnât know that Billy had a hundred acres here. Or if she could see exactly how far his hideaway was from the road.
For all she knew the drive was miles long, winding its way through forest that looked just as dense inside the fence as outside.
Her gaze drifted uneasily back to the sign.
No Hunting obviously implied there were things to hunt. And since sheâd been warned that the woods were full of bears and cougars, she wasnât thinking in terms of bunny rabbits.