Deadly Attraction Page 26

  “Bodyguard? I don’t understand.”

  “He’s kept your name out of the media for the time being, but it won’t take much for it to leak out or for some other Tom Monahan superfan to go Linda Brown on us and come after you. So unless you’re willing to sell the ranch and go into hiding, you’re going to need to increase your personal security. For the next few months at least, part of that security is me.”

  A grin broke over her face. “I’m your new assignment?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Words escaped her and her eyes finally let go of the tears she’d been suppressing.

  “If you’re that upset about it, I can get you a different one,” Mitch teased.

  Emma found the strength to swat his arm. Then she dashed her hands at the tears on her cheeks. “I can’t be your therapist.”

  “To hell with that. I’ve already got about five fantasies I want to act out.” He reached over to the side table and brought back a bag of M&Ms and set it on her stomach. “One of them involves these.”

  Her mouth watered. “Fantasies are not therapy.”

  “They are if they involve you. Everything about you is therapy for me.”

  “I guess you can help with the horses,” she teased, eyeing the candy, “in exchange for room and board.”

  “I can cook, too, remember?”

  For a moment, they simply smiled at each other. Then Emma reached out and drew him in close. “I love you, Mitch Holden. I hope I’m going to need your bodyguard services for a long time.”

  “I love you, too, Doc.” He kissed her gently, deeply. “And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need therapy for the rest of my life.”

  “I’ll look at my schedule and see if I can fit you in.”

  He chuckled. “Good, because every Christmas from here on out, I’m going to be in your bed, making you a happy woman.”

  “I think I might actually like the holidays again.”

  He gently coaxed her body to the side and climbed into the bed next to her, the bag of candies rattling as he fit his big body around hers. “Me, too, Doc. Me too.”

  Emma snuggled into him and let the floaty, happy feeling take her away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Three months later

  The timer went off and Emma and Mitch exchanged a look. Outside the dogs were playing Frisbee with Will and Jane. Danika was due for her normal Wednesday session any minute. Second Chance and Hope were running in the pasture as Zig Zag, the new horse, chased them playfully.

  “I can’t look,” Emma said, covering her eyes with her hands. Her stomach was tied in knots. This couldn’t be happening. “You do it.”

  Mitch peeled one of her hands away from her face. “We’ll do it together.”

  He drew her off the bed and toward the bathroom where the little white stick sat on the vanity. He stopped, bent forward and squinted. “Oh boy.”

  Emma snuck a peek over his shoulder. “Or girl.”

  Mitch picked her up, twirling her in his arms and making her squeal. “Congratulations, Doc. Looks like we’re adding to your menagerie.”

  Miracles really did happen, because that’s what this was. After miscarrying Skye, the doctor had told her she’d never have another child, and yet, here she was with a very clear plus sign on the pregnancy stick. “I can’t believe it.”

  Mitch kissed her, set her down, and said, “A plus sign means positive. I read that to you six times. Guess my considerable skills extend even farther than I realized.”

  “Not sure you should list impregnating the barren on your resume, Holden.”

  “Seriously? I mean, you have to admit, that’s pretty impressive shit.”

  She laughed, enjoying the teasing light in his eyes. She saw that a lot more these days, the past having less hold on him. He was focused on the future now. So was she.

  “We should call your mom.”

  Mitch grimaced. “She’ll be here next week. I’d rather break the news in person, if you don’t mind. She’s going to freak and ask a million questions, and well, you know how she is.”

  The mother and son were on the road to reconciling, and Emma had learned a lot about what made each of them tick. Their mutual love for Mac had initially torn them apart; now, it was forging a bond between them. The baby would no doubt strengthen that.

  “How about we call your parents?” Mitch said.

  “Later.” Emma grabbed his hand and tugged him along after her. “I think Will and Jane should be the first to know.”

  The spring had been a wet one so far, the wildfires already a distant memory as the hills and valleys bloomed with new life.

  As she and Mitch stood on the front porch, the dogs came running, all except Lady, who stayed by Will’s side.

  Jane looked over, face flushed with fun. She put a hand up to shade her face from the sun. “What’s up? You coming out to play?”

  Will stalked toward them, a frown on his face. “Everything okay?”

  He was always on alert, much like Mitch. So far, Emma’s name hadn’t made it into the papers or onto the Internet in connection with Chris’s death. Victor had spun the story, and the world believed Linda Brown had killed Chris. Fans of their series were devastated, both that their hero was dead and that a woman who claimed to be his number one fan and believed she was the legitimate mother of Tom Monahan, had been the killer.

  Cyborgs. They were everywhere.

  While she had no doubt Linda had been a stone-cold murderer, there were times when Emma wondered if she’d misdiagnosed Chris. She’d been so sure he was fooling her colleagues, but after finding those toy soldiers under her bed, she now had doubts.

  If it hadn’t been Chris, it had been Linda playing with those action figurines. Either way, she knew between the two of them, they had planned to kill her. Because of their actions, several good men had died. Danika had almost died as well.

  Sociopath or just a damn good actor? She would never know for sure, but a part of her stuck to her original diagnosis. She knew criminals and she trusted her training and her gut instincts. Like Mitch had said to her a dozen times before, some people were just fuckin’ crazy.

  Standing there on the porch, she grinned as Mitch wrapped his arms around her waist. “We have an announcement.”

  Jane caught up to Will and the two of them stopped at the bottom of the steps. Lady laid down at Will’s feet and the veteran and veterinarian both stared at them. Jane clapped her hands together. “Wait, let me guess. You’re getting married!”

  Mitch made a face and looked at Emma. “Are we getting married? We probably should, shouldn’t we?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s not a bad idea. Children who grow up with loving parents don’t care about a marriage certificate in most cases, but research has found that it does lend a level of security to them.”

  “Wait,” Will said, frowning. “Children?”

  Emma beamed. “We’re pregnant.”

  Jane squealed and ran up the steps to hug Emma. Will climbed the steps, too, and shook Mitch’s hand.

  “Congrats,” the man said. He patted Emma on the shoulder, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m happy for you, Doc.”

  She grabbed his hand before he could pull away. “You’ve brought me a lot of luck, Will Longram. I hope you’re up for babysitting.”

  One of his eyebrows disappeared under his hat. “I don’t know anything about kids.”

  Jane squeezed his arm and leaned into him. “You didn’t know anything about horses, either, when you first came to work for Emma. Now, look at you. You’re running this place. Emma’s right, you’ve brought a lot of good here with you.”

  He peeled her hand off his arm and slipped down the steps. “That girl will be here in a minute. I better get Twinkie ready.”

  “Harry,” Mitch called after him. “How many times do I have to say it? His name is Harry.”

  Emma and Jane laughed. “Don’t let him name your kid,” Jane said to her.

  Mitch loo
ked indignant. “What’s wrong with Harry?”

  Jane rolled her eyes and left them on the porch. “Time for me to get back to my real job. I’ll see you kids later for dinner.”

  The four of them had plans that night to take a trip into town for a quick bite and a movie. Emma now had the urge to do some baby shopping as well. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant. I want to go into town early for a couple of errands.”

  Jane waved. “See you there.”

  As her truck pulled away down the drive, Mitch gave Emma a quizzical look. “What errands? Or is this another undercover run to the lingerie store for me, Dr. Collins?”

  He did love his lingerie and their little fantasy sessions. She had one scheduled for them that afternoon. “I still have a stack of sexy stuff to show you. I want to get some things for the baby.”

  “We don’t even know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Mitch drew her into his arms for a kiss. “Anything you want, Emma. I’m up for all of it.”

  She was too. “Good. Let’s get married next week when your mom is here.”

  He laughed long and deep. “You sure you want to marry a mixed up, crazy-assed guy like me?”

  “Oh, yes,” Emma said, kissing him back. “You’re my kind of crazy.”

  Acknowledgements

  This story came to me a while ago, I just didn’t have time to write it. Mitch and Emma needed time to percolate in my imagination, both of them working through their respective grief.

  Grief is a funny thing, as Emma tells Mitch in the story. Like many of you, I’ve rubbed shoulders with it, and it still rears its ugly head at times out of the blue. Writing this story was very cathartic and I thank my fictional characters for allowing me to explore loss and its aftermath with them.

  As always, my Facebook fans picked the heroine’s name, so a big shout out to all of you who are regulars on my author page and always willing to lend a hand.

  If I hadn’t been a writer, I might have been a psychologist. Like Emma, I find the brain, and the way we process life, fascinating. I read many resources, first-hand accounts, and watched hours of videos to understand what a real forensic psychologist does in his or her job. I’m grateful for all of the people on both sides of the proverbial therapist couch who shared stories with me.

  I also share Emma’s passion for rescuing animals. A portion of the proceeds from this book will go to two different dog rescue groups to help them provide care and medical support to abused and abandoned dogs. Please check out my Facebook author page for more details (or sign up for my newsletter!) and to keep up with the amount of money readers raise for this great cause!

  Want to know more about Cooper Harris, head of the SCVC Taskforce?

  Enjoy this excerpt from

  Deadly Pursuit

  SCVC Taskforce

  Book 1

  “Take your gun, Davenport.” Chief Forester’s voice was low and ominous, rising out of the back seat of the car where he was hiding. Not an easy thing to do, Celina figured, with so much body mass.

  Bending down, she motioned at her partner Ronni in the passenger seat and shucked off her mittens. “Give me your bag.”

  Celina rarely carried handbags to work. She hung her badge on her belt like her male counterparts and carried her ID in her back pocket. Her gun was always in a shoulder holster. Now her gun, ID and badge were lying on the Fairmont’s floor. “Avon ladies don’t carry guns,” she murmured to her boss. “At least not in Iowa.”

  Ronni handed Celina her brown leather purse and the Avon catalog. “Right behind you,” she said, giving her a wink.

  “Take. Your. Gun,” the chief ground out again. His voice carried as much threat in its low volume setting as it did at its ear-piercing level. “You want to end up a goddamned hostage?”

  That was her plan. Celina knew when she approached the door, Annie would immediately sense something was up. Something in Annie’s world always involved police. Celina could see no other outcome but a dangerous hostage situation. She doubted Annie would even open the door, but if she did, Celina was going to offer herself as a trade for Annie’s kids. Any mother, even an outlaw one, would look for a way to save her children. Celina was prepared to give it to her.

  Slinging the strap of Ronni’s bag over her shoulder, she shut the car door, defying the chief’s direct orders. Not the best idea, but he’d stuck her in a no-win situation and therefore, Celina decided, she was calling the shots. For a split-second she wondered if he and Quarters would transfer her like Cooper had after the Londano case. Where would she end up this time? South Dakota?

  Probably.

  Not the end of the world. If I can get the kids out safely, she thought, that will be enough.

  Shifting her shoulders, Celina forced her feet to walk up the cracked sidewalk toward the steps of the duplex. She loved her job, wanted to serve her country, but if there was anything she’d learned in the past year, it was that she didn’t always get what she wanted.

  Ronni’s car door slammed and Celina glanced at her partner. Her hair was a bright apricot color, her skin darker than Celina’s but no less smooth. As they walked down the sidewalk, the sun popped out, glaring off the new fallen snow. Celina started up the stairs, shielding her eyes against the glare and trying to keep her breathing even. There were fifteen of her counterparts hidden around the block, watching the apprehension and scrutinizing every move she made.

  Annie was one honest to God bad girl. Having been on the run for more years than Celina had been legal, Annie was an experienced fugitive. The woman had once shot her partner in his nether region in the middle of a bank robbery because he wouldn’t let her carry the bag of money.

  Clearing her mind, Celina tried to think positive. Ronni was by her side and definitely carrying. Chief Forester was right behind her in the car for immediate backup with his Remington, and the other guys were scattered up and down the block. All had extensive training in marksmanship and deadly-force decisions.

  Voices from a television filtered through the door. Muffled laughter drifted down from upstairs. Little girl laughter. She had to do this right, not to prove that she was as good as any of the men in the unit, but to keep those little girls safe.

  Glancing at Ronni, Celina mouthed Ready? Ronni gave her a nod. Do it.

  Celina knocked sharply on the door. “Avon calling,” she said, trying to mimic the singsong voice Ronni had used earlier when they’d decided to approach the house under this outdated guise.

  At first nothing noticeable changed inside the house. Then the TV went silent and Celina heard a man’s voice, low but commanding. A man? No one had reported a man being inside the duplex.

  Before she could consider who or what she was now up against, Celina saw a drapery move in the window to her right. Instinctively, she shifted her weight and her hand went for her gun.

  And came up empty.

  Before she could curse her poor judgment, the door handle turned and her eyes dropped to it. Watch their hands, the words of her Quantico instructor echoed in her head. Not their eyes. No one could shoot you with their eyes.

  “Don’t want no Avon,” a man’s voice said as the door opened a notch.

  A fragment of sun bounced off metal. Instinct had Celina moving before she could think. “Gun!” she yelled, pushing Ronni to the side.

  The sawed-off shotgun boomed in her ears and the iron railing gave out as Ronni and Celina toppled off the porch and into the dead evergreens by the house. They landed with a thud on hard ground next to the concrete foundation. A thousand prickly evergreen needles showered down on them as they rolled in unison away from the porch.

  Before the spent shells hit the concrete, Celina was hauling Ronni up by her jacket. “Run!” she yelled, hearing the distinctive click of the shotgun snapping back into place.

  BOOM!

  The sound sent her to her knees, but adrenaline had her back up in the blink of an eye, her legs moving like a runner
taking off out of the blocks. More gunshots cracked through the air. Celina heard the Fairmont’s windshield explode.

  Crouching with her arms thrown over her head, she ran for the edge of the house where Ronni had disappeared. She rounded the corner at full speed.

  And ran smack dab into a wall.

  Bouncing back as her feet scrambled for purchase on the late season ice and snow, she grunted when her butt hit the ground. Glancing up, black Magnum boots were in her line of vision. Big boots, laced military tight.

  She hadn’t run into a wall. She’d run into a man.

  A hulk of a man with very broad shoulders. Celina followed the line of his body up to his face. The sun was reflecting off the house and snow and blinding her. She could make out a few things: a black baseball cap with the letters DEA across the front pulled down low on his forehead, a mean-looking semi-automatic gun in his left hand. His scowl made her already-racing heart shift into warp speed.

  When did the Terminator arrive in Iowa?

  He shifted his gaze down to her and the look of disgust in it made her, if only briefly, entertain the idea of taking her chances with the sawed-off shotgun.

  “Get up,” he ordered, and the sound of his voice and the impatient tone clicked in her brain, but her ears were ringing from the shotgun blasts and she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. He reached down and grabbed her by the knot in her knitted scarf. Hauling her to her feet, he pulled her with him as he backed up against the side of the house. Her legs wobbled and her feet skimmed on the ice. She lost her balance and fell face first into his chest.

  His bullet-proof vest was hard, but under it, she sensed a wall of pure, solid muscle. Just like his arms and his legs and everything else hidden under his DEA-approved wardrobe. Celina knew once her adrenaline slowed down, she was going to ache all over, not from falling off the porch but from hitting the Terminator at full speed.