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“You’re going to have to trust me, Katie.”
Alec’s fingers tightened briefly before falling away and she missed the connection immediately. She placed a hand on his chest and when she did, both of them went instantly still. Tension radiated from his body. His breathing became shallower. She met his gaze and saw the desire there. Her pulse kicked a little harder and her throat tightened. When she’d reached out for him, she’d intended to ask him to hold her. She’d thought the only thing she wanted from him was to feel safe. But looking into his eyes, she felt anything but that.
Uncertain, Katie dropped her gaze to his throat. Smooth skin. The scent of his cologne reaching her. The open collar of his shirt left a triangle of skin exposed. What would his chest be like? What would it feel like to lay her hand over his heart without a shirt in the way? To feel smooth male flesh beneath her palm instead of starched cotton? Letting her hand drop, she backed away. It took her another second to look at him again.
“I trust you, Alec,” she whispered, but was surprised by just how unsteady her voice was when she said it.
Targeted
Lori L. Harris
MILLS & BOON
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lori Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officers—and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?
When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.
Dear Reader,
When I was thinking about the setting for Targeted, the first in a pair of stories about THE BLADE BROTHERS OF COUGAR COUNTY, I knew immediately that it would be Florida. From the very first moment I set foot in the state more than twenty years ago, she has always held a certain mystery for me. On the surface, she’s sunny beaches and sparkling salt water, modern cities with mass transit and sophisticated nightlife. But that’s just the garb she wears, not who she really is.
You have to get off the beaten track to discover Florida’s true beauty—the dark, tea-colored waters of her mangrove swamps, the large expanses of her real estate owned more by the alligators and mosquitoes that inhabit them than the investors who hold title to them. Wide open prairies where cattle graze in knee-high grasses and cowboys still ride out to check on them. And the small towns where a hitching post still stands out front—a reminder that no matter how much we seem to move beyond our pasts, we never fully leave them behind.
Alec Blade and Katie Carroll, the hero and heroine of Targeted, are both attempting to do just that, though, when they move to Deep Water, Florida. They believe it’s possible to file away the unresolved events of their violent pasts. But they learn just how mistaken they are when one of those faceless monsters reappears. Suddenly it isn’t a matter of outrunning the past. Now they have to survive long enough to have a future.
Hang on as Alec and Katie fight for their lives—and somewhere along the way, they’ll discover a passion neither of them has ever experienced.
Warmly,
Lori Harris
I need to thank fellow critique partners Terri Backhus,
Ann Bair and Kathleen Pynn for their unending generosity.
And fellow suspense author Kathy Holzapfel for her devious
mind, quick wit and friendship. Without these four,
writing wouldn’t be nearly the adventure that it is.
And as always, to my very own hero, Bobby Harris.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
As soon as Alec Blade stepped inside Frankie’s Gun and Range, the dull thuds of live rounds slamming into plate steel at a velocity of more than eight hundred feet per second resounded.
The rottweiler that had been dozing at the end of the long display counter climbed to his feet even before the range marshal looked up. The man was somewhere deep in his sixties, on the lean side, wearing a bowling shirt with Frankie embroidered on the chest. His smile was welcoming enough. Until he spotted the telltale bulge of a weapon beneath Alec’s jacket.
He reached for something beneath the desk. “I need to see a badge or a concealed weapon permit.”
“Sure.” Alec handed over the newly acquired State of Florida permit, and while it was being inspected, glanced at the rottweiler that now sat two feet away with pricked ears and watchful eyes.
“Beautiful dog. Does he have a name?” Alec asked.
