“You won’t have to hide anymore, Eloise,” Jackson said. “Then it won’t be dangerous for either of you.”

“You can’t promise me that,” Eloise said, anger giving her strength. “You promised me that once before, remember? And I almost lost my baby girl. I gave her up to protect her and I won’t change on that. I have to stay away from her for the same reason.”

His hand on her arm steadied her, but the warmth she felt from his touch only added to her misery. Because she’d put him in danger, too. He’d die for her; she knew that. And she couldn’t have that on her conscience.

PROTECTING THE WITNESSES:

New identities, looming danger and forever love in the Witness Protection Program.

Risky Reunion—Lenora Worth, June 2010

LENORA WORTH

has written more than forty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She has worked freelance for a local magazine, where she wrote monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for the local paper for five years. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-five years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks, sit in her garden and go shoe shopping.

Risky Reunion
Lenora Worth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

He reveals the deep things of darkness and brings deep shadows into the light.

—Job 12:22

To Nate

Thank you so much!

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

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

MEMO: Top Secret/Top Priority

TO: FBI Organized Crime Task Force; U.S. Marshal’s Office

FROM: Jackson McGraw, Special Agent in Charge, Chicago Field Office

RE: Operation Black Veil

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Date: June 2, 2010

Chicago Mafia kingpin Salvatore Martino is dead. Per informant—Vincent Martino, now the head of the Martino crime family, will make good on a final tribute to his father by executing Eloise Hill, the woman who testified against Salvatore twenty-two years ago.

Recent sightings place Vincent Martino in Montana—READ—he intends to oversee this hit himself. Through joint investigation with the U.S. Marshal’s office, we’ve learned that even though Eloise Hill left the Witness Protection Program, she is still living in Montana under an assumed name. Current location and name—on a “need to know” basis. Agents currently in place. Witness under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Subject will be immediately informed of these developments and will remain under protection until suspect is apprehended.

Please contact SAC Jackson McGraw on any new leads or changes regarding the above information or any new developments in the Martino case.

Special Agent Jackson McGraw did a visual sweep of the trees on the other side of the little stream then watched as a butterfly fluttered around a cluster of vivid pink bitterroot blooming just outside the window of the vacant apartment he’d been holed up in since 3:00 a.m.

The brown, yellow-tipped butterfly was beautiful, a quiet and graceful contrast to the tension coiled like a snake inside Jackson’s gut. Something wasn’t right.

Something hadn’t been right for the past six months, but now he instinctively knew that something was about to go all wrong, completely wrong, if he didn’t move quickly. This entire investigation had boiled down to one thing—he had to keep Eloise Hill alive.

But in order to do that, he had to find the leak that seemed to stem from the U.S. Marshal’s office, a leak that had jeopardized the entire Witness Protection Program and caused a number of people to be killed. And he had to find Vincent Martino and stop him, one way or another.

Jackson thought back on his last conversation with his informant—the Veiled Lady—back in Chicago two weeks ago. They’d met on a sunny day near a heavily wooded park by the lake. But even though the day had verged on being warm, the woman had worn the same outfit she always wore—a wide-brimmed black hat with a heavy veil covering her face and a black wool coat, gloves and dark shades. And there under the cover of trees surrounding the secluded park, she’d told Jackson the very thing he didn’t want to hear.

The woman spoke in a whispery, low voice, her words slow and carefully formal. “Salvatore is dead. He died late last night in his home with several of his top capos there by his side. Vincent was there, too, but as soon as his father is buried, he will be leaving for Montana. He is going to find this woman—Eloise Hill—and finish the job himself. This will be his final tribute to his father. As if Salvatore Martino would care one way or another. The man had no heart.” She’d paused, taking a deep breath that almost sounded like a sob. “And neither does his son.”

Those chilling words spoken two weeks ago contrasted sharply with the beautiful June morning, Jackson thought now as he looked out the window. His gaze didn’t stay on the butterfly. He was watching the other apartment just across the quaint little bridge between the chalet-style brown-and-beige buildings. And he was waiting for the woman who lived there to turn on a light, indicating she was up for the day.

Finally, he’d get to see her and make sure she was all right with his own eyes.

This had been a long journey, trying to find Eloise Hill before Vincent Martino did. She called herself Ellie Smith now, but she would always be Eloise—his Ellie—to Jackson. He’d often called her Ellie many years ago. And apparently, she would always be a threat to the powerful Martino crime family, since Vincent Martino was determined to see her dead. Jackson had the body count to prove it, and he was determined to end Vincent’s obsession with revenge. He had to warn Eloise. He had to protect her.

And he also had to tell her that her daughter, Kristin Perry, knew about Eloise and wanted to see her.

The static in his earpiece broke the taut summer silence of the early morning. “Big Mac, come in.”

Frowning at the nickname his team member Roark Canfield used, Jackson answered. “Talk to me.”

“Subject is late for work, sir.”

“So I noticed. It’s not her day off, is it?”

“Negative. She always leaves at sunrise. She walks a short distance to work just after sunup, no matter the exact time, and she has a big dog with her, sir. Really big German shepherd—dangerous animal.”

“I get it about the dog, Roark,” Jackson said. “GQ, what’s the status at your location?”

“She’s not here, sir,” Marcus Powell answered from his spot at the restaurant around the corner. “Staff arrived right on time and everyone’s busy preparing for the day.” A pause, then, “But the one named Verdie has tried calling her several times. No answer. Verdie seems a bit worried from the conversation going back and forth behind the counter.”

Jackson rubbed a hand down his neck, the tension going from coiled to twisted. “We’re sure of this schedule? Thea, what’s your take?”

A feminine voice purred across the line. “Her restaurant is a popular spot, and subject is never late for work. Or at least she hasn’t been in the time we’ve been watching her.”

“Affirmative,” GQ added. “Staff of three comes in around five every morning to prepare for breakfast rush, but proprietor and two part-timers come in later, just in time for the crowd. Subject stays after lunch to prepare next day’s menu from what we’ve seen so far. She should be on her way by now, sir.” Silence, then GQ said, “Uh, Jackson, we have another problem, too. One of the coworkers is also late. Young, blonde, pretty. Her name tag says Meredith. She’s usually at the door before anyone else.”

Jackson looked at his watch. It was six-fifteen on a Tuesday morning. The sun had been up a good twenty minutes and was now brightening the morning sky with each ticking second. And his gut was burning as hot as those incoming rays. Had the bad gone to worse already?

“I’m on it,” he said, his mind ticking off all the logical explanations while his stomach sizzled with the worst-case scenario. “Cover me.”

“You got it,” Roark said.

Jackson checked his holster, secured his weapon, did a quick surveillance of the nearby city park and the walking trail between buildings, then opened the front door a crack. With Roark stationed in the park and Thea in a car down the way, he didn’t need to worry about being secure. But he sure wasn’t prepared to see Eloise just yet.

He hadn’t planned on announcing himself this abruptly, but Eloise might already be in trouble.

Glancing around, he stalked along the perimeter of the trees, his heart pounding a heavy beat that matched the thud of his hiking boots against gravel. He hit the footbridge over the stream with a run, the echo of his steps chasing him with an eerie cadence across the arched structure.

He was about to come face-to-face with the woman he’d loved for over twenty years. And he prayed he’d find her alive.

She couldn’t stop shaking. First the roses and now this. Eloise stared at the clock on the wall of her kitchen, a forgotten cup of coffee steaming in her hand. She had to steady herself to keep from spilling the coffee. Her German shepherd, Duff, rubbed his nose against her robe, trying to get her attention. Duff could sense her trauma and her fear.

Touching a hand to the faithful dog, Eloise gently pushed him away then glanced at the trash can where she’d tossed the white roses. White with pink-edged petals.

Duff sniffed and whined, giving her some measure of comfort. She should have taken him with her last night when she’d deliberately gone out the door to help her friend, but she’d been afraid Duff’s barks would bring too much attention to the situation. She’d promised Meredith no cops, but Eloise wished she hadn’t kept that promise. She’d arrived only to find her friend dead.

This can’t be happening again, she thought, her stomach roiling as a wave of nausea assaulted her. Memories from two decades ago, brutal and raw, hit her with the force of a fist in her solar plexus. She could still see the blood everywhere, could still see Danny’s face as he’d begged for his life there in the seedy warehouse in South Chicago. Could still see the quick burst of smoke from the guns and hear the staccato spew of the silencers—once, twice—as Danny and another man were killed in cold blood while she watched from the shadows.

Killed in cold blood. Twenty-two years of trying to forget and it all still seemed as if it had happened last night. Twenty-two years of hiding, of staying invisible, of living like a shadow, always looking over her shoulder. And always wondering what had happened to the child she’d been forced to leave behind. She’d found solace in her faith, in her church and in her work.

She’d almost found a sense of peace.

And now, she’d witnessed another murder.

Remembering the elaborate spray of white roses at Danny’s funeral, Eloise rubbed a finger over the scar near her lips. Back then, the Martino family had sent the roses. Salvatore Martino loved roses; he grew them in the massive garden inside the Martino compound. And he sometimes sent them to the funerals of his victims.

She’d received a box of her own yesterday just before closing at the café. A dozen long-stemmed, lush roses—a creamy white with just the blush of pink around the tips of the petals.

And no card.

She’d been so paranoid she’d rushed out of the café, hurrying down the street with Duff right on her heels and the box of roses still crushed in her arms.

Who sent them? Who knew she was here?

Putting the horrible questions out of her mind, Eloise sank down in a chair, her thoughts reeling with what she’d seen and heard last night after she’d arrived at Meredith’s. Screams, a scuffle, then a distinctive thump and footsteps running, running. A man’s voice crying out, “No, no.” Then Meredith. Dead. Sweet, innocent Meredith. Her friend and her employee. Dead. Lying in a deserted parking lot, blood pooling underneath her head, her eyes open and vacant as she stared up into the night sky.

It seemed as if Meredith had been staring right up at Eloise, asking her why she hadn’t come sooner.

“Come up the back stairs,” Meredith had shouted over the phone. “He’s in the kitchen. I think he knows, Ellie. He’s going to kill me. Hurry! You have to get me out of here.”

“I’ll be there and I’ll call 911.”

“No!” Meredith was adamant. “No cops. They won’t help me. They won’t—they’ll side with him. Just hurry!”

“Why didn’t I get there in time, Lord?” Eloise whispered in a prayer for forgiveness. She shivered in spite of the summer morning and Duff’s efforts to console her. She’d tried to help her friend and she’d failed.

Meredith called her, crying and frantic, in the middle of the night. Eloise rushed into the dark night, her own fears somehow pushed aside in order to get Meredith away from her abusive husband. But she’d arrived too late.

“Why didn’t I get there sooner? Why didn’t I call 911 to help you?” She reached for Duff, rubbing her hand over his soft brown fur. “Why didn’t I take you with me, boy?”

But Eloise knew the answer to all of those questions. The roses. She’d been so afraid to leave her house after she’d received the roses. She didn’t even take her car. She’d walked the few blocks to Meredith’s house. And now, she had to stay hidden, had to stay out of the limelight. She couldn’t risk the glare of cameras and reporters and questions from the local authorities. Because she couldn’t trust anyone to help her, either. Not even the police.

If she’d been able to step forward sooner, to alert the authorities that Meredith’s husband was dangerous, their plan might have worked. Meredith would have gone to a safe place. But Meredith didn’t want to go to the local authorities, Eloise reminded herself now. Meredith knew, just as Eloise did, that sometimes the police were actually part of the problem. So they agreed to keep quiet and Eloise finally talked Meredith into escaping. They formed a solid plan, talked about it quietly and secretly for weeks. Everything was in place. And Meredith was finally ready to leave.

But apparently, Meredith’s husband had figured things out.

And for that reason, her friend was now dead.

And she was paralyzed with a fear she’d been running from for over twenty years. Paralyzed because Meredith’s husband had still been there at Meredith’s house last night when she arrived. He stood over the still body, crying quietly as he stared down at his dead wife. A killer crying in regret over the woman he’d murdered.

And that killer might have seen Eloise.

It was just a glimpse in the dark, she reminded herself. He couldn’t have caught a good look at her. And since she’d disguised herself with a big hat and a scarf, she prayed he couldn’t identify her. But he’d heard her intake of breath, heard the shocked gasp as she stood on the landing above, her silhouette hidden in the shadows.

But he hadn’t come after her. Yet.

No one had come after her. Yet.

But the roses…the roses meant that Randall Parker might not be the only person who wanted her dead and gone.

Had the Mob found her after all these years?

“I have to get to work,” she said, forcing herself out of the chair, her knuckles white from clutching her now-cold coffee. “I have to pretend everything is all right.”

Putting her cup in the sink, Eloise glanced at the clock. She was late and she was never late. Verdie had already called once, concerned. Verdie would send Frank to look for her.

Meredith won’t be there this morning, either.

Meredith would never be at work again.

Her limbs stiff and fatigued from tension and lack of sleep, Eloise managed to get dressed and pull herself together, doing her usual routine of downplaying her looks by pulling her hair away from her face and putting on brown contacts and dowdy clothes. No makeup, but then she rarely wore any—except for a bit of concealer over her scar. She tried to make herself plain and unremarkable and she prayed that ploy would work today. She had to act normal, as if nothing had happened. She had to go through the motions. She knew how to go through the motions; she’d been doing that for so long now it was like second nature.

She’d made it to the hallway, Duff right by her side, when a knock at the front door caused her to drop her purse. It thumped against the tile floor, making her flinch with fear and causing Duff to go wild, barking angrily as he sensed her tension and fear. Picking the purse up again, Eloise slipped her hand into the hidden side compartment where she kept her pistol.

“Duff, sit,” she said, trying to sound firm. The big dog whimpered, barked once more, then did as she commanded. But his snarl and his quivering body indicated he would attack if she gave him the word.

Shaking, Eloise adjusted the small gun in her hand, its familiar steel giving her a sense of reassurance. But her mind whirled between running out the back door and remembering the gun-training courses she’d taken.

Lord, help me, she prayed. I’m so very tired of running. I’m so very tired of being afraid.

Eloise took a deep breath, gave Duff another command to stay, then walked toward the front door. “Who is it?” she called, her voice weak underneath the heavy, throbbing pulse pumping through her ears.

No reply. She swallowed, once, twice, pulling the gun out of her bag. Then she forced herself to look through the peephole. A man she didn’t recognize stood at her door. “I said who’s there?” But something about this man—

“It’s me,” came the terse answer. “It’s me…Jackson McGraw. Eloise, open the door and let me in, please.”

Jackson stood back, gun at the ready, as the door creaked open about an inch. He turned, doing a quick scan of the surrounding area. Roark jogged by, looking laid-back and casual in spite of the intensity of the situation. Satisfied that his team was still in place, Jackson slowly turned back to the door and put his gun away. Flashing his badge and ID, he said, “It’s Jackson. I have to talk to you.”

He heard an intake of breath then the door swung back.

And he took in the sight of her, standing there, her eyes wide with shock and fear, her skin pale as she tried to find air. Jackson heard the dog’s snarl but ignored it.

“Eloise,” he said, reaching for the door.

She swayed, her eyes fluttering, her head dropping.

Jackson stepped inside and caught her before she passed out. The dog went into a frenzied stance, barking and dancing in circles. Jackson issued a sharp command. The animal kept snarling but he stayed away.

“Eloise, it’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

She felt tiny in his arms, fragile. She looked almost the same, older but still beautiful in spite of the jagged white scar bursting through the pale skin near her lips and the deep circles of fatigue underneath her eyes. And she was still afraid. Her whole body began to quiver with a gentle shaking as she held on to him, her head moving in denial against his shoulder.

“Subject safe,” he said. “Stand down.” He clicked off his wire with a touch to his wrist, shutting down any further communications for the sake of privacy.

Slamming the door with a booted kick, he helped her to the floral couch then carefully sat her down against the cushions, grabbing a blue chenille blanket off the back. After making sure she was coherent and her dog wasn’t going to eat him alive, he sat down beside her. And looked into her eyes again. They were brown instead of the vivid green he remembered, but the colored contacts matched the rich brown of her long, straight hair. Contacts might change the color of her eyes but he didn’t care. That look of fear mixed with disbelief and a bit of wonder broke Jackson’s heart and made him even more determined to protect her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Want some water?”

She shook her head, focusing on him. “What are you doing here?”

The whispered question hung in the air between them. He tried to formulate an answer. But before he could, she sat straight up, asking the same question again, this time with more strength and a defiant demand, realization clearing her eyes. “Why are you here, Jackson?”

Jackson took her hand then inhaled a deep breath. He’d always been straight with her before. He had to tell her the truth now. “Salvatore Martino has died and his son Vincent is here in Montana. And he’s looking for you. He’s put out a hit on you as a final tribute to the old don.”

She pulled away, her mind filling with a dark dread. Wrapping her arms across her midsection, she started rocking back and forth, a low moan escaping between her tightly clenched lips. “No, no, that can’t be. Tell me this isn’t happening! Not now, not now.” She waved a hand in the air, pointing toward the kitchen. “The roses. I got roses yesterday, Jackson. White roses. In the trash.”

Jackson glanced toward the kitchen then fell on one knee in front of her, his hands stilling her movements as he held her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “It’s the truth and that’s why I’m here. I’m going to protect you, Eloise. We’ll find him before he finds you, I promise.” Needing her to listen, he asked, “Who sent you roses? What are you talking about?”

She looked up at him, her eyes widening, her body going still. Jackson was afraid she was going into shock. “Eloise?”

And then she did something that scared him even more than the fear and shock in her eyes.

She burst out laughing.

TWO

Eloise pushed away the glass Jackson offered her, slapping at his hand. Water sloshed out and fell in a bright pool onto the wooden floor. Duff, now calm, immediately lapped at the water. Jackson set the glass on the table, wiped his hand on his jeans then stared down at her. “Eloise?”

Eloise realized her laughter had turned to tears and that Jackson was staring at her, the frown on his face an indicator of how much she’d confused and frightened him. She’d managed to frighten the fearless Jackson McGraw. That was a first. Or at least she remembered him as fearless, even at age twenty-three and even though he’d been a rookie back then. But he still looked that way—fearless, intense, completely serious and devoted to his job. Only now, he also looked self-confident and sure and a bit weary. His eyes were still that crystal-blue that reminded her of a deep, still lake, but his hair, once a golden brown, now held hints of glinting gray. It suited him.

Her fearless protector. And the man she’d trusted with her most precious possession—her child.

“I’m all right,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. She’d never had that luxury. “You just…surprised me.” She waved a hand at him. “I saw the irony of my situation and it…seemed so funny. But we both know it’s not so funny, is it?”

“Not that I can see, no,” he replied, his eyes scanning her, obviously looking for signs of delusional behavior. “You were late for work. I was worried.”

“How’d you know— You’ve been spying on me?”

He nodded. “I’ll explain.” Then he turned to stare straight into her eyes, his look telling her more than the official report ever could. He was here for a reason; that was how Jackson operated. No need to read more into that intimate look. No need to hope for anything more.

“I’m sure you will.”

From habit, she moved a hand down the right side of her face. Had he noticed the scar she’d tried to cover each and every day since the last time he’d seen her? She didn’t care about how it looked—but the why bothered her—the jagged, circular imprint left from the near-death of Eloise and her baby always reminded her of a rose just about to bud.

And roses only reminded her of Salvatore Martino.

“I knew they were coming,” she said. “Someone sent me roses yesterday. They were delivered at the café.”

“And you think they’re from the Martino family?”

She nodded. “Remember how he loved roses?”

Jackson grunted. “He liked to send them to his enemies, just as a polite way of reminding them who was in charge.”

“Yes, and he also sent them to funerals, Jackson. There was a big spray at Danny’s funeral. I saw them when you took me there before the mourners came in. But I never said anything about them.”

He sat back on his heels. “And the roses you got yesterday look like those?”

“Yes. Kind of ironic, don’t you think—that my scar looks like a budding rose. Salvatore never knew it, but he left his mark on me.” She turned her head, showing the scar to Jackson. “White with traces of pink. It didn’t heal very well.”

Chilling, considering Salvatore had no qualms about murdering people and letting them bleed, their blood as bright as any red roses she’d ever seen.

Jackson’s gaze followed her hand as she rubbed it over the scar.

“You’re still beautiful,” he said, the words so soft she almost missed them. But she couldn’t miss the way his gaze settled on her with a protective warmth. “Listen, I’ll check on the roses—find out where they came from, okay? Are you sure you’re all right?”

She bobbed her head. “Just peachy. And how about you?” She remembered reading his identification and his badge. “Special Agent in Charge now, huh? You’ve come a long way.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve still got a long way to go. And a lot to talk about with you.”

She didn’t tell him that she’d often thought of him knocking at her door, that she’d dreamed of a moment such as this where they’d be free and clear and together again. She didn’t dare tell him any of that. But in her dreams, she hadn’t imagined a madman tracking her down at the same time she’d just witnessed another man killing his wife. What were the odds? Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat again but Eloise forced it back down. It became like bile sitting cold in her stomach.

Willing herself to stay still, she looked back up at him. “What do I do now?”

He looked at his watch. “You should have been at work an hour ago.” Before she could respond, he pushed at a tiny wireless earpiece in his left ear, then clicked at his wrist. “GQ, Roark, you read?”

Apparently GQ and Roark did read. Jackson lifted an eyebrow then spoke into thin air. “Subject has been apprised of situation. Stay put. Watch my back. Thea, go back to the command post. I’ll update when we meet back up.” Satisfied, he looked back at her then turned off the two-way communications device.

“You brought a posse?” she asked, calmer now in spite of the tiny shivers that refused to leave her body.

He nodded, glanced at Duff. “And you bought a dog.”

“He’s my second one. Do you blame me?”

Jackson didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stalked around the confines of her tiny living room like a giant cat, his nostrils lifting, his eyes scanning her minimalist existence with a laserlike scrutiny, his expression blank and unreadable. Reaching out a hand toward Duff, he let the big dog sniff his knuckles. “What’s upstairs?”

“A bedroom and a bath,” she replied, amazed that her highly trained guard dog seemed to accept Jackson as an immediate ally. But then, Jackson was that way—quiet and calm, and capable, offering a solid security to anyone who needed his help. “Half bath down here and a small laundry and storage room off the back. Two entries—the front door here and the back door off the laundry room. Dead bolts and chain locks on both. And I have a security system and an upstairs exit route. I know the rules, Jackson. And you still haven’t answered my questions.”

He pushed at his thick, spiked hair, a long sigh his only answer for now. After a minute of looking the place over again, he said, “First, we need to move you.”

“I don’t want to be moved,” Eloise responded, digging in her heels even as the words came out. “I’m settled here and as you apparently already know, I have a good job.”

“Risky, opening your own business.”

“I took the risk. I set it up under a corporate name and I was very careful with all the paperwork. I needed something to focus on. And baking is the one thing that brings me a sense of peace and normalcy.”

The unspoken things hung like high clouds there in the air between them. But Eloise knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Finally, because she knew she might not get a straight answer from him on anything unless he decided she needed to hear it, she dared to ask one more question.

“Jackson, I need to know. Just tell me…is she safe? Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?”

Jackson turned to face her, his hands on his hips, his frigid eyes turning a liquid blue. “She is now.”

Eloise’s brief joy turned to a familiar dread but that dread brought her courage back. “What do you mean—she is now? And stop evading me, Jackson. You came to me. And if you want to protect me, you’d better level with me. I need the truth—not just the ‘need to know.’ You owe me that even if I did leave my baby with you to keep her safe. Even if I did leave the witness protection program.”

He tipped his chin then sat down across from her, his eyes flittering around the room. “She goes by the name Kristin Perry now. Her adoptive parents were Anna and Barton Perry. I handpicked them then pulled a few strings to go through the proper procedures. They were good people.”

Eloise swallowed then closed her eyes, trying to imagine what Kristin looked like now. “Were?” she asked, the dread congealing in her stomach.

“They were killed in a car accident several months ago.” At her gasp, he held up a hand. “It was a horrible accident, nothing more. Believe me, I had it thoroughly investigated. Anyway, Kristin found something in their things, a sealed envelope with…the note you left me. She got in touch with my brother, Micah—he’s a U.S. Marshal now, here in Montana. She didn’t know he was my brother but…we had to tell her. I met with her in Billings and warned her off, then later she came to see me in Chicago and while she was there, she attended Vincent Martino’s trial.”

Eloise put a hand to her mouth. “What are you saying?”

He leaned forward, his fingers templed together. “She knows about you, Eloise. And she was so determined to find you that she almost got herself killed. Vincent is out to get both of you now. And if he’s the one who sent those roses, then we have to move you immediately.”

The pulse building inside Eloise’s temple throbbed into overdrive. A silent prayer screamed throughout her mind as she stared at Jackson. “Dear God, what do I do now? What if he finds Kristin?”

She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until Jackson’s dark eyebrows lifted in a reaction. The phone rang, causing both of them to jump—Eloise in sheer terror and Jackson into high-alert mode.

Jackson put a hand on her arm. “Whoever it is, act normal. Don’t give anything away.”

She nodded as she went into the kitchen to get the cordless phone. “Hello?”

“Girl, I’m worried about you. Where are you? And where is Meredith? She’s not answering her phone. You girls have a late night or something?”

Eloise steadied herself, the image of Meredith’s body still fresh in her mind. “Hi, Verdie. I’m sorry. I was feeling kind of sick and I thought it would pass. I should have called you back. I might be a while.” She shot Jackson a glance. “If I even make it in.”

“Take your time, honey. I called Timothy in for backup since I can’t get Meredith on the phone. We’re kind of slow today, anyway. Except for this delicious-looking blond-haired, blue-eyed stranger who keeps winking at me, it’s just a few of the locals and me, Timothy and Frank. You rest up. Between my old man and that scrawny teenager, we’ll take care of things. We got plenty of cinnamon rolls turning brown in the oven and I know how to bake bread and cook French toast, even if you make the best in the world. I just wish Meredith would show her pretty face. I could use her help with Mr. Delicious. The man’s already been through a whole pot of coffee and he wants two of those cinnamon rolls.”

Eloise didn’t comment on Meredith. She couldn’t. And she was pretty sure Mr. Delicious was probably one of the FBI agents Jackson was communicating with right now. “Thanks, Verdie. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

“Okay, then. Hey, are you sure you’re all right?”

Eloise wanted to laugh again. She might not ever be all right. “I’m fine. Just a bug or a summer cold.”

She hung up then came back to the living room, her knees too weak to keep her standing straight. “My coworker, checking on me again. I rarely miss work.” Grabbing the arm of the couch, she managed to fall back against it. The dizziness returned, forcing her to put her head down and close her eyes.

Jackson was beside her before she took her next breath. “You don’t look so hot. Are you really sick? Is that why you didn’t go to work?”

Eloise didn’t dare open her eyes. “I don’t feel so hot, either, but I’m okay. And I need to know the rest.” She lifted her head but avoided looking directly at him. “Is…Kristin safe?”

“She is. But she’s stubborn like her mother. She wouldn’t let up. She hired a private investigator to help her track you down. And somebody out there found out about it and tried to harm both of them. But…for now, she’s safe. I might as well warn you, though, she wants to see you and if she tries, that could lead Martino right to your door.” He stopped, shook his head. “She did see you down in Mountain Springs, at the fair. I was there with her.”

“That was just last month.” Eloise shot off the couch. “I won the prize for my Huckleberry pie. I used the money to do some quick renovations at my place here.” She paced around, holding on to the back of the couch. “You were there? Kristin was there? But why—”

“I couldn’t let her talk to you,” Jackson explained without really answering her question. “We were being watched by Martino’s men, and later we saw him there. It was too risky.”

“And now?”

“And now, she knows you’re safe and she knows I’m going to make sure of that. She’s willing to wait, but not for long. She wants to get to know her mother.”

Eloise clutched the couch, her stomach roiling, a white-hot heat of fear flaring through her system. She hadn’t managed to eat any breakfast and now she felt empty, so empty. But this emptiness didn’t come from lack of nourishment. It came from that deep, gaping hole in her heart. She’d missed out on so many things.

“I can’t see her, Jackson. It’s too dangerous for her. I can’t see her ever.”

He got up to come around the couch. “Listen to me. We’re so close to capturing Martino and when we do…it will all be over. You won’t have to hide anymore. Then it won’t be dangerous for either of you.”

“You can’t promise me that,” she said, anger giving her strength. “You promised me that once before, remember? And I almost lost my baby girl. I gave her up to protect her and I won’t change on that. I have to stay away from her for the same reason.”

His hand on her arm steadied her, but the warmth she felt from his touch only added to her misery. Because she’d put him in danger, too. He’d die for her; she knew that. And she couldn’t have that on her conscience. Not now, when she had yet another threat hanging over her like fog over a mountain. If Jackson found out she’d witnessed Meredith’s death, he’d go into double time trying to save her. She couldn’t risk the exposure or the scrutiny. Or the guilt that would come if something happened to Kristin or him.

She whirled, gathering her purse as she headed up the stairs. “You’re right. I have to leave. I have to get out of here.”

“Wait,” Jackson called, stomping to the bottom of the stairs. “You can’t run away without my help, Eloise. Not this time.”

She pivoted to stare down at him. “And you can’t come in here and announce that after twenty-two years of no other choice, Jackson. I’ve done nothing but run since the last time I saw you. And you did suggest that I might need to move.”

He held on to the banister. “Yes, but just to a safe house. I’m here to see that you don’t have to go anywhere permanently again. If you’ll let me help you. I’m telling you—you don’t have to do this by yourself anymore.”

“Yes, I do. I have to protect Kristin. And you.”

He followed her to the landing, grabbing her to pull her around. “Don’t worry about either of us. Kristin is with a good man now. And he knows how to take care of her.”

That declaration floored Eloise. “She’s…happy?”

“I think so. His name is Zane Black and he cares about her. He’s the P.I. I mentioned. He went through the same thing—he was adopted and he recently found his brother.”

“She fell in love with the man who helped her track me down?”

He nodded. “What are the odds?”

His words echoed her earlier thoughts. Eloise knew the odds, though. Hadn’t she fallen in love with her protector all those years ago? But that love hadn’t survived the Mob, even if seeing Jackson again made it feel as strong as ever. She couldn’t give in to that notion; she’d just lose him all over again.

Ignoring the keen loneliness that shrouded her soul, Eloise said, “I’m glad she found someone.”

“Me, too. Zane is crazy about her and now he has his brother, too.”

“Good, then he has his happy ending. And if I leave her alone, maybe Kristin will have one, too.”

“She will. They’re engaged but she wants you at their wedding.”

Eloise closed her eyes, imagining Kristin walking down the aisle, smiling, happy. But then another image came into her mind. That of her daughter lying dead, surrounded by crushed white roses. “I can’t go. I won’t risk that. As much as I’d love to be there, I won’t ruin her special day.”

Jackson held her with a hand on her arm, his gaze moving over her face with that same concentration she remembered so well. “You’re still stubborn, I see.”

She took that as a compliment. “I’ve learned to take care of myself. I didn’t have any other choice.”

“I can see that, too, but this is a real threat and we’re dealing with a dangerous man. And this time, I’m not letting you go anywhere—not without me.”

The phone rang again. Eloise pushed past Jackson to answer it. He followed her back downstairs, a finger to his lips. “Be cool,” he cautioned.

Eloise thought her head might split open from trying to be cool. Taking a deep breath, she answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me again.” Verdie. And she sounded strange, her voice raspy.

“What is it?” Eloise asked, fear pouring over her. She could feel the sweat popping out down her spine. She knew what was wrong already. She knew and she was helpless to do anything about it.

“The police were just here, honey.” Verdie inhaled a deep sob. “It’s about our little Meredith, and it’s bad. It’s so bad.”

“What?” Eloise looked down at the floor, acutely aware that Jackson was hanging on her every word. Her stomach clenched, her heart rate increased. She felt as if she’d just finished a long marathon. But she knew this run was just beginning all over again. “What is it?”

“They found Meredith dead this morning, Ellie. In the woods just beyond her apartment. Two officers were here asking questions. It’s awful, just so awful.”

Eloise found a chair, managed to sit down. “Oh, no. I can’t believe that. I—” She stopped, unable to lie to her friend. “Do they know what happened?”

“No. They asked a lot of questions, took notes. They don’t know and if they do, they ain’t talking. Her husband is pretty shook up, according to these two. You know he’s a cop, remember?”

“I remember.” Shook up. Eloise remembered seeing Randall Parker last night. He was standing over his wife, crying. He was sorry, all right. Sorry that his unbridled anger and unyielding control had caused him to kill a beautiful young woman. But now, she imagined he was shook up because he had seen someone up on that landing last night. He’d obviously moved the body and now he was probably afraid that person would come forward soon to reveal him as the killer.

Had he already figured out it was her?

“I remember,” she said again, her mind screaming the truth. “I’ll be right there, Verdie.”

“No, don’t come. We’ll just shut down for the day, if I can get rid of this pretty-boy coffee-slurper. He seems mighty interested in what’s going on. Must be one of those crime junkies. It’s just so horrible.” Verdie sniffed then started crying all over again.

“Get him out of there and close up,” Eloise said, forcing back the tears that would come soon. “I’ll come down—”

“Honey, don’t bother. The cops are on their way to your house to question you. I gotta go.”

Verdie hung up while Eloise stared at the phone. Then she turned to Jackson. “I need to leave, Jackson. Right now. Something’s come up at the diner.”

But a knock at the door halted that plan.

Jackson summed things up pretty quickly. “What’s going on, Eloise? Has someone threatened you already?”

“No,” she said, thinking it was useless to lie to him. He’d stay on her until she told him everything. Better to get it out in the open. At least she could trust him—and he did have the authority to help her. She hoped. “I can’t say much now, but…something happened last night. Something really bad.”

The knocking continued and Duff barked a response to each knock, impatient with all the visitors this morning.

Jackson held his hands on his hips, a frown burrowing across his forehead. “Eloise?”

She pushed toward him, then leaned close. “One of my best friends was killed last night,” she said on a whisper. “And I’m pretty sure her husband killed her. I went to help her, but I was too late.” Then she explained what Verdie had told her. “That’s why I wasn’t at work.”

Jackson’s eyes widened as he processed what she was saying. “Is that the cops at the door? Or him?”

She bobbed her head, then grabbed his arm. “Her husband is a cop. I can’t tell them what I know. If I do, he’ll come after me. I can’t step forward and tell the truth, not now. Maybe not ever. I can’t risk it, Jackson. You have to help me.”

She watched as he went into action. Clicking his communication device, he asked, “GQ, what’s the status at your location?”

The knocks persisted but Jackson held up a hand to keep her still. “Got it. Yes, I just heard. Just get out of there now before you blow your cover.”

He lifted a brow toward Eloise, grunted, then sprang toward the door. “Open it,” he said, “and answer their questions.” Then he whispered a quick command to his team. “Stand down and listen in. Don’t move until you hear from me.”

With a quick motion, he pulled her toward the door. “Work with me, Eloise. You have to make this look good. Just let them ask their questions but don’t give away anything right now.” Then he said into her ear, “And after they leave, you’d better tell me everything, so I can make sure you live to see your daughter again.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.