Chapter One
Brad picked up Galena’s purse. He was dying for a smoke, but his fiancée was such a puritan she’d faint if he lit up in her presence, or even if she smelled it on him. If he recalled correctly, Galena smoked like a chimney.
“Hey!” Galena shouted, grabbing her purse out of his hands.
But not before Brad saw the unmistakable gleam of a firearm. He jumped and drew up his hands to protect his chest He stared wide-eyed at her. “Is that a gun? Are you nuts?”
She pulled a blue steel.32 automatic from her purse. She glared steadily at him. “I must be, for trusting you.”
He flopped onto a cheap chair, hating this sleazy motel room, and hating Galena. But if she got a whiff that he had a penny of his own, she’d go straight to Dawn and ruin everything. He watched her pace like a tigress, caressing the gun barrel as if it were a pet.
“I’m pretty good with this thing. I’ve changed a lot in five years, Brad—”
“Quentin,” he corrected. “My name is Quentin Bayliss. I told you, the Witness Protection Program insists that I stay in character all the time.” She stopped in the middle of the room and hung her head. Her shoulders shook. It took him a few seconds to realize she was laughing. He softened his tone. “I know what I did was wrong, baby. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice, but those mobsters were out to kill me. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anybody, or ever will. I still love you. If I could turn back the clock, I would.”
Her head snapped up. “Liar!”
“I don’t blame you for not believing me. If you’d run out on me, I’d have been—”
“Run out on you? You ruined me, Brad! I lost the gallery, I lost my house. I lost everything because of you.” She extended her right hand, and sighted down the barrel of the pistol, aiming it straight at his head. “Five years, baby. Five long years and the only thing I’ve done is hunt for you. If you don’t give me back my money, I will kill you.”
He huffed a heavy sigh. When he’d married her, she’d been a flaky artist, an appealing eccentric who always wore black and drank only Dom Perignon. Now she was just plain flaky, and obsessed—and dangerous. The only way to shake her off his tail would be to give up Dawn and her millions, but that he refused to do. “Look, Dawn promised to give me the money.”.
“Sure.”
“She thinks it’s a business debt, and she’s agreed to pay. A hundred and fifty grand, a cashier’s check. She promised to give it to me as soon as we’re married, but she won’t give it to me until we’re legal. Ten days, baby. Just hang on until the wedding. Then we’ll be square.”
“You better not be lying. Because you can’t hide from me anymore. No matter where you go, no matter what lies you tell, I will find you.” She lowered the pistol. “And if I have to find you again, you won’t have time to open your big mouth. I’ll put a couple of holes in your head and then we’ll really be square.”
“You won’t need money if you’re in prison,” he grumbled.
“I won’t care, as long as you’re dead.”
WONDERING WF she made the biggest mistake of her life, Dawn Lovell entered the lobby.
From the outside, the main lodge of Elk River resort looked rustic. Constructed of logs and stone, the lodge seemed to sprout from the rocky forest along with the towering pine trees.
Inside, Dawn gazed in wonder at the exposed beams high above the lobby and the posts sporting antlers and Old West memorabilia. As a native of Colorado, Dawn knew about Southwestern style. Only in theory, though, or from what she’d seen in magazines. Mother had not approved of “rustic charm.”
With guilty pleasure, Dawn approved heartily of the decor. She liked the brightly colored rugs on the pine floor and the squat furniture covered in geometricpatterned upholstery. Knotty-pine wall paneling had aged to a golden patina. Western art depicting cowboys, Native Americans, North American wildlife and sweeping landscapes enchanted her with earthy colors and lively subjects.
She twisted her engagement ring around her finger and wished Quentin had agreed to join her for this prewedding vacation.
A young woman behind the reception desk smiled curiously at Dawn. Another young woman carried a tray of drinks across the lobby to a man and woman seated before a window. A catch gripped Dawn’s throat as she stared at the pair. She hoped once she and Quentin were married, he’d settle down enough so they’d make a happy-looking couple. As much as she loved him, his hyperactivity distressed her.
“Dawn Lovell?”
The warm masculine voice startled Dawn. She caught her pocketbook in both hands. Turning her head slowly she stared into a pair of bright gray eyes.
Beautiful eyes sparkling to match a sunny smile. Dawn forgot her nervousness about being in a strange place. Forgot her loneliness. Forgot the curious looks of the girl behind the reception desk and the happy couple enjoying the panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains.
Deep in the secret place where she allowed her spirit freedom, she heard the crystalline whispering of bells.
The man lifted one thick eyebrow and his smile softened, turning crooked. “Are you Dawn Lovell?” he asked, but hesitantly, his voice lower.
Snapping back to herself, she lowered her gaze. She noted the man’s light gray trousers were of expensive fabric and cut, breaking perfectly over his shiny black loafers. “Uh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Miss Lovell.”
“Ross Duke.” He thrust out a hand.
Ross Duke, Quentin’s best friend since high school and the owner of this mountain resort. Quentin had assured her Ross would see to her every comfort this week, but he hadn’t told her his friend was so attractive. Or how the sunshine filtering through the windows appeared to dance against his chestnut hair.
Keeping his hand out, Ross said, “Quent didn’t describe you very well.”
She clutched her pocketbook more tightly. With eyes blinded by love, Quentin had most likely described her as an angel gracing the earth. Now Ross saw firsthand she was nothing special at all. By sheer force of will, she made her fingers release her pocketbook, leaving it to hang by the shoulder strap. She surreptitiously swiped her palm against her skirt before extending her hand for a proper handshake.
Ross touched her fingertips. Electric chills tickled her skin. He slid his hand across her palm and folded his fingers over the side of her thumb. While she puzzled over his unusual hold, he bent at the waist, lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of her hand.
The chills raced up her arm all the way to her shoulder. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her face warmed. She opened her mouth to protest, but a sigh emerged.
“Quent never said you were so pretty.”
Drowning in the smooth river of his voice, she stared helplessly at his handsome face.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Dawn. Where’s your luggage?”
Pretty?
