Cold Day In Hell (31 page)
"Ty."
He held up his hand to stop her. He couldn't walk away without saying everything in his heart. He refused to think that he might have screwed up and lost her.
"Why? Because I love you. I don't want to spend my life without you. That wouldn't be living. I love your temper. Your laughter. Your honesty. Your devotion to your family. To your country. I love the whole package, my little female warrior. I love all of you. How? Easy. I sold all my belongings and moved here."
"How could you do that? You love your country. You won't be happy here."
"You're right, I love the US, Texas, and the Dallas Cowboys. But they're not home. You are my home. With you is my home."
"Your job?"
"Can be done from here."
Tears trickled down her cheeks. He could only hope they were caused by extreme happiness. He placed his hands on her shoulders and tugged, fear she'd resist screaming through his mind. She melted into him. Molding her body to his, she grasped the back of his shirt and clung to him. His arms had felt so empty. She filled them with hope.
"So today is the cold day in hell?"
Ty searched his memory. His smartass remark about her country filtered through his thoughts. He felt the sting of unshed tears in his eyes. "So cold I'm shivering."
"Good. Because I've missed that sigh you make when you're irritated with me."
"It's something we can work on together." His heart had to be pounding in her ear.
She lifted her face. Her gaze warmed with desire. Ty ran his thumb across her mouth, leaned down, and kissed her. Her soft, warm lips opened for him to taste her with his tongue.
Home. He was truly home.
"I love you, too." She spoke into his lips. "I couldn't have gone on much longer without you. It was stupid to let you go without telling you how much I care."
"You can tell me again and again. Because I'm here, and I'm staying forever. If you'll have me."
"Was that a marriage proposal?" A beautiful smile lit her face.
"It was. For better or worse."
He opened the car door, waited until she buckled up. What had he ever done to deserve this brave, beautiful woman? This chance to spend his life making her happy? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to blow this opportunity. He leaned in for another kiss. Her hands came up and held him, holding their mouths together.
Ty had one more thing to ask of her, so he jogged around to the driver's side and quickly slid behind the wheel. He reached across and rested his hand on her knee. "Think we can find the little girl from Santiago's village?"
"I'm sure we can. That's what you do at Lost and Found, isn't it?" A smile lit Ana's face. "Why?"
"Somebody has to step up and take care of her. I think we're perfect for the job."
Again, Ana's beautiful eyes filled with tears. She twined her fingers through his and squeezed.
"I think we should find out."
Read NO CHANCE IN HELL
Book three of the Lost and Found, Inc. series
Riverside, California
He stood back and admired his latest masterpiece before snapping a series of pictures, alternating angles, and capturing her in her finest hour. A sense of pride washed over him.
He adjusted the focus on his camera, a winning shot was critical. Perhaps if he moved her arm just so. Was he picky? Yes. He was a perfectionist.
After all, death was an art.
And he was the DaVinci of the twenty-first century.
He brushed her long blond hair off her shoulder and then straightened her legs out in front of her. At last, here was the money shot. He lifted the camera.
A loud knock startled him as he clicked, no doubt blurring the perfect picture. Damn it, he'd chosen this woman carefully. He'd watched her, studied her habits. No one had visited her at home is the past two weeks. Why now?
The pounding grew louder.
"Chelsea," a woman's voice called out. "It's Chris. Open up. I didn't come this far for you to shut me out."
He moved to the window, lifted a slat on the blinds, and took a peek. The last rays of the sun washed over the blond at the door. The hair on the back of his neck rose. A younger version of the dead woman stood on the porch. Her appearance today was going to ruin everything.
Her hand covered the door knob and jiggled it. She stepped back and turned her body sideways.
He'd kill her if she broke in. He pulled back his temper. Keeping a cool head and remaining calm was critical. Facts were facts, and she couldn't survive this intrusion. He had too much at stake.
He moved to stand directly behind the door. Quickly unbuckling his belt, he slid it out of the loops, and wrapped the ends around his hands. Not his favorite method of killing but it would work. It occurred to him that two dead women, if posed properly, might ensure a win.
A hard bump and the door was pushed open. The intruder stormed into the house.
"Chels—"
Her word morphed into a scream. Without hesitation, he dropped the makeshift garrote over her head and tightened it around her neck.
She elbowed him in his ribs, catching him off guard. She rolled her shoulders forward, and damned if she didn't stomp his foot. He usually loved it when they struggled, but this was different. This woman hadn't been bound and gagged. She couldn't be allowed to break free.
Her head whipped back barely missing his nose but connecting solidly with his chin. The belt fell free, and the bitch spun on him. He grabbed her neck with his hands.
Her knee connected with his balls. His groin exploded into a raging fire. Nausea rushed him. The pain blinded him, folded him like a broken kite. He dropped to his knees. Involuntary tears flooded his eyes. The darkness called, but he struggled against it. He could not lose consciousness.
He had too much at stake to allow her to escape. Because of her, he could not only lose his freedom, he'd lose the game.
The intruder escaped through the front door, her footsteps hitting the wooden porch rapidly. A surge of panic gave him a burst of energy. He'd parked around the corner. If he could just make it that far. He grabbed his camera, stumbled out the back, and hobbled to his car. The burning sensation radiating from his groin blurred his vision with every step.
As he drove away, the need for satisfaction washed over him. She'd seen his face. She'd bested him. She'd ruined his masterpiece.
Which meant they'd meet again.
****
Dallas, Texas, fourteen months later
The hair on Christina Holland's arms stood on end. The sensation of ants crawling under her skin convinced her. He'd found her again!
Was she never to have any peace? She'd done everything in her power to stay out of sight. Yet, he was in Dallas, watching her.
It took all her strength not to turn and scream to the heavens. Better yet, demand he come out into the open and face her. Not that the bastard would confront her head on, no, he'd sneak up on her, just as he had when he'd killed Chelsea.
Chris gritted her teeth and kept walking. She shifted her purse to the right side, welcoming the added weight of the pistol. Silently, she thanked Texas for the private citizen's gun law that permitted her to carry as long as she had a license. She slid behind the steering wheel of her car, started the engine, and cranked the air conditioner wide open. And then drove away as if oblivious to the fact she knew he was hiding just out of sight.
Watching.
Again.
She'd given up everything to escape him. Walked away from the job she loved, broke contact with all her friends, and moved. Still, he'd found her. So she'd moved again. And here he was in Dallas, proof he'd never stop coming.
Chris was through running. She'd make her stand here. A friend had suggested a company that could help. The glowing review she'd been given hadn't filled her with optimism, but she'd agreed to talk with them.
She parked in front of the office of Lost and Found, Inc. Why did Dalton think these people could help her? Police departments in two other states hadn't been able to. She got out and stepped up on the walkway still unsure this was the right move. She turned, paced a few steps, and then reversed her direction.
"If you need help, you're at the right place."
She jumped and whirled toward the male voice.
"Sorry, we didn't mean to surprise you."
Admonishing herself for not staying aware, she stepped back. Something moved at her feet and her gaze honed in on the black dog looking up at her.
"Are you okay?" The tall stranger moved closer, reaching out as if to catch her arm.
"I'm fine." She breathed a little easier when the man drop his hand. His smile brightened his solemn face. "Does he bite?" She kept a close eye on the animal.
"Not unless told to. Offer him the back of your hand, and let him get your scent." The man leaned down and scratched the dog's ears. "Go ahead."
Chris did as the man suggested. The dog sniffed briefly and then rewarded her gesture with a lick. Her heart melted a little. "Aren't you handsome with your bright red bandana?" She placed her hands into the brown and white scruff around his neck, and rubbed. His coat was soft and shiny. "What's his name?"
"Diablo. And you are?"
"Not sure I should go in." Chris was having second thoughts about bringing strangers into her problem. She hoped Dalton was right about this organization.
"Well, "not sure". You won't know unless you go inside."
Tall, dark, and huge reached around her. The muscles on his arm flexing as he pushed the door open. Cool air from inside rushed out into the Texas summer.
"Coming?" he asked. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Head and shoulders taller than Chris, he looked down at her with warm brown eyes. A lock of brown hair with hints of sunlight streaks fell onto his forehead, and he raked it back with a large hand.
"You work here?" She couldn't believe her good fortune. Just the way he carried himself left no doubt that he feared no man.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then let's do this," she said.
About the Author and Other Titles...
Author of
The Green-Eyed Doll
,
The Last Execution
,
Someone To Watch Over Me
, and
Hell Or High Water
, book one in the Lost and Found, Inc. series, my husband and I live in Texas with our rescue dog, Buddy. I write alpha males and kick-ass women who weave their way through death and fear to emerge stronger because of, and on occasion in spite of, their love for each other.
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If you enjoyed this book, please help me spread the word. Facebook and tweet your approval. A review on Amazon and or GoodReads would be greatly appreciated. Send me an email if you post a review, I'd love to thank you personally.
Acknowledgements
I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the following people. Their support, advice, and enthusiasm were invaluable.
To my editor, Joyce Lamb, your guidance helped me polish this story until it shone. For that, you have my sincere appreciation.
To Barb Han and Jackie Pressley, who critiqued my words, poked and prodded me when the story stalled, listened while I complained and pressured me to work through the rough spots. My thanks and gratitude for your support.
To my advisor on all firearms and tactical matters, a real American hero who prefers to remain nameless, thanks for sharing your knowledge and for your service to our country. Any mistakes are my own!
To my husband, who has always said I could do anything I set my mind to, and our daughter, who believed in this book from the beginning, thank you for your unwavering love and support.
Last but not least, thanks to my readers. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I loved writing it.
PRAISE FOR HELL OR HIGH WATER
"Author Jerrie Alexander keeps the reader in suspense throughout the book while slowly building the possible romance between Kay and Nate. It's a thrill ride you will never forget. I recommend this book to anyone who wants a lot action along with their romance."
PRAISE FOR THE GREEN-EYED DOLL
"Two lonely people meet at a routine traffic stop, a woman with a sad, violent past, and a man on the good side of the law. Add a crazed serial killer to the mix, and you have the makings for a gripping romantic suspense read!"
PRAISE FOR THE LAST EXECUTION
"This was my second romantic suspense novel by Jerrie Alexander, and she is now one of my go-to authors for semi-creepy plots à la Criminal Minds with a side of sizzling romance."