“I just wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” Nick said.
“What do you want?”
The quiet question, no less intense for its lack of volume, snared his attention. Slowly his gaze met hers. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “I told you once…”
“That you wouldn’t sleep with me.”
“It’s not fair….”
“If you’re concerned for my feelings, don’t be. I rarely do anything for altruistic reasons.” His words served a twofold purpose. They held a warning for her, one she would be wise to heed.
And they served as a reminder to himself….
Hard to Tame
Kylie Brant
KYLIE BRANT
lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.
An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.
Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.
For Mary Ann and Harris—
because it’s hard being the “out-laws”!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Prologue
They were dead. Every one of them.
With an unnatural strength borne of terror, Sara Parker tore away from the female U.S. Marshal and pushed through the apartment door.
“Get her out of here!” Agent Carlson shouted from his position on the floor. Sara felt arms grabbing at her shoulders, trying to yank her away from the bloody carnage.
She fought like a wild thing, adrenaline giving her the power to break free. She rushed into the compact kitchen, stumbling over the bodies on the floor. Carlson was checking one of the agents for a pulse, but Sara knew, in some numb, distant area of her mind, that he wouldn’t find one. Just as she knew the futility of the hope she still harbored.
“Sean!” She dropped to her knees beside the blond man’s chair and took his hand in hers, refusing to consider what the coldness of his fingers meant. He could have been asleep but for the fact that his eyes were open. The round hole in the center of his forehead was a horrifying contrast to his choirboy countenance. Somehow he still managed to exude that sad sweetness that was so much a part of him. Even in death.
There was a soft keening sound that Sara didn’t recognize as coming from her. Unmindful of his blood-soaked shirt, she slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her face to his form. I’m sorry. The words echoed endlessly in her mind. I’m so sorry.
And then the hands were at her shoulders again, drawing her to her feet. Her unnatural strength of a few moments ago had drained away as quickly as it had surged, leaving her feeling empty and weak.
“Don’t. Try not to look at them.” Agent Reindl’s voice was unusually compassionate. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Sara allowed the woman to guide her out of the apartment, only half aware of the sharp exchange between the two agents, the cell phone conversation between Carlson and his superior. She took no note of the different route they took to the car. Made no observation of her surroundings before Reindl forced her to lie down in the back seat.
The vehicle started, pulled away. Sara lay motionless, her cheek pressed against the cool leather of the seat, eyes open, yet unseeing.
Another safe house. More agents. Leak in the department, had to be. Dammit, Dobbs had four kids.
The words eddied and swirled around her, surreal and unrelated. They made no sense. Nothing did anymore. She started trembling, the shudders racking her body. She could have told them that they were wasting their time. Finding another safe house was pointless.
She’d never be safe again.
“We’ll move you tomorrow, once we get word from the department. You’ll be fine here for tonight.”
Sara gave a listless nod at Reindl’s words, and continued to stare at the wall of the motel room. Carlson was on his cell phone again, after which he’d hold another whispered conversation with his partner. Both were doing their best to maintain at least an outward appearance of control. But Sara knew the truth. The only one in control was Victor Mannen, and he’d just had six people massacred.
She would be next.
The knowledge washed over her like a wave, and fear circled. How had security at the apartment been breached? How had two U.S. Marshals and four young adults been dispatched with such chilling efficiency? Useless to wonder about, really, just as it was useless to harbor a macabre fascination in how she would meet her death. A gun again, or a blade slipped into her back as she walked into the courthouse flanked by guards?
Swallowing hard, Sara barely noticed the concerned glance Carlson sent her way. There was something outrageously self-centered in worrying about her own demise when the deaths of six other people rested on her shoulders. A part of her wondered why she even cared. There was nothing worth living for, at any rate. Not since Sean…
She choked on the boulder-sized knot that lodged in her throat, and pressed a fist to her lips. Agent Carlson ended his conversation and looked at her. “How you doing?” he asked, not unkindly.
