For undercover FBI agent Katie Cavanaugh this was supposed to be a routine
job-go in, get the evidence, catch a killer. But from the moment she lays eyes
on John Brighton the intense charge in the air between them lets her know that
the stakes will be higher this time around. Posing as his physical therapist allows
Katie first-hand access to him but she can't let the intimacy of living together
cloud her judgment. She will need her instincts sharp if she is going to find
him guilty...or prove his innocence.
Left for dead along a deserted highway, John awakes to find himself physically
weakened, mentally scarred, and the lead suspect in a murder investigation. The
only bright point in his life is Katie, warm and beautiful, she is the one person
he thinks he can trust. But as a net of suspicion closes in, and as loyalties
divide, John and Katie must work together to unravel the maze of secrets and lies
that threaten to keep them apart forever...
Coahuila, Mexico
What
he needed was a little excitement. Jonathan Brighton shook his head, trying to
clear it, to stop the slow incessant onslaught of fatigue, forcing himself to
concentrate instead on the road ahead. It was the sameness that was getting to
him. The lack of anything remotely entertaining.
The hazy mountains shimmered in the distance, taunting him, the diametric opposite
of the arid hell hole he was driving across. As if in testament to his thoughts,
a swirling cone of dust chased a tumbleweed across the road, dissipating when
it reached the other side.
What in hell had possessed him to come here? He’d needed a break from
the headaches of running Guardian, but surely a nice beach located next to a five
star hotel would have been a better choice of getaway. Instead he was heading
for a mountain retreat that was apparently located in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere
remote.
Isolated.
Jesus, he’d been insane.
Or rather his brother had. He’d been the one to insist that Jonathan
needed something different. Something quiet. And of course, his partners had jumped
right up on the bandwagon, offering their sage advice. Go here. Go there. Take
this road. Take that one.
And he’d listened.
So here he was, in the middle of fucking nowhere, in a rental car that shook
if he accelerated past fifty, with a radio that only worked some of the time and
an air conditioner that had stopped before he’d gone a hundred miles. Another
of his partners’ brilliant ideas. “Don’t drive your own car
in Mexico, Jonathan. Just rent one. It’s cheap, it’s…”
Crap. The goddamned thing was crap.
Oh yeah, this was the life.
Hopefully the trip would be worth it, but based on the way things were going
he sincerely doubted it. He did not feel refreshed. He didn’t even feel
like he was on vacation -- more like he was exiled in hell. Angrily he punched
at the fan button, pushing it to high. Sun-heated air blasted out of the vent,
and he gritted his teeth, reaching over to roll down the window. Nothing was worth
this kind of torture.
Truth was, he wasn’t the rough-it-out-in-the-wilds type. He smiled at
the thought, glancing down at his pressed jeans and polo shirt. Even they felt
odd. He spent his days dressed for success, Armani his uniform of choice. The
rest of the world might believe in dress-down Friday’s but Jonathan thought
it was bullshit. A way for people who couldn’t afford the best to justify
their situation. And he wasn’t falling for it.
With a murmured curse, he pressed down on the accelerator. The little car shook,
but held its course. Oh yeah, this was turning into a hell of a day. Hopefully
things were going better in Austin. Derek’s email had certainly made it
sound that way. Although with his cryptic ramblings it was hard to tell for certain.
Still, John was glad he’d stopped before crossing the border to check on
things.
Between Danny and Derek everything would be handled properly. It was tempting
under the circumstances to go home and deal with it himself, but his brother was
totally competent, and Derek had as much as said that things were fine. He just
needed to have a little faith.
And call the office the minute he arrived.
He sighed, leaning back against the headrest. He’d put everything he
had into Guardian. It was like a child. And he wouldn’t -- couldn’t
-- allow anything to happen to it. If it died, so did he.
A horn sounded behind him, breaking into his reverie. He hadn’t even
heard the truck coming up behind him. Three hours in the desert and he was already
losing his edge. With a frown, he pulled the rental over onto the shoulder.
The truck, its red paint faded to orangey-brown, started to pass, then slowed,
matching its pace to Jonathan’s car. A stocky man in the passenger seat
smiled, gesturing for him to stop. Jonathan held his speed steady, concentrating
on the rutted shoulder. The truck stayed with him.
Just what he needed to top off an already perfect day -- a couple of crazy
Mexicans in a beat up pick-up truck. Jonathan accelerated, the car protesting
its mistreatment. The pick-up followed suit, the man waving his hand now in agitation,
his smile fading.
Something glinted in the man’s hand. A badge. The son of a bitch was
waving a badge. Jonathan blew out a breath, relief mixing with anger. Where the
hell was his siren? Pulling the car to a stop, he turned off the ignition, already
reaching for his wallet.
The cop walked up to the car and leaned down, his beefy face glistening with
sweat. “Salga del coche.” Jonathan’s beleaguered brain struggled
to translate as the man repeated himself. “Salga del coche.” Get out
of the car.
Jonathan reached for the car handle, but before he could open it, the door
jerked outward, the man’s beefy hand closing on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“¡Ahora mismo!”
He nodded and stepped from the car. The big man’s partner joined them,
his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.
“Su licencia, por favor.” Despite the word please, Jonathan recognized
that the request was in fact an order.
He opened his wallet, digging for his license. “Yo no hablo el español.”
He actually did speak the language, but it had been a hell of a long time, and
until he understood what was happening, he thought it best to keep the fact to
himself.
The two men conferred for a moment, and then the second man handed the license
back, his fat friend heading back for their truck. “Where are you headed?”
Jonathan returned his attention to the policeman in sunglasses. He was speaking
English now, his words heavily accented.
“I’m on my way to the mountains. A place just outside of Satillo.”
He was actually heading for a little village near Torreon, but again it seemed
prudent to keep his destination private.
The man nodded. “You are on vacation here in our country?”
“Yeah. I needed a little peace and quiet.” Which was turning out
to be a whole lot less soothing than advertised.
The policeman smiled, revealing a gold front tooth. “You have come to
the right place, my friend. I think we can guarantee you nothing but peace and
quiet from now on.”
Jonathan smiled back, but the hairs on his neck rose as some part of his body
responded to a thread of something else in the man’s voice. For the first
time he realized that neither of the men was wearing a uniform. Laughter off to
his left signaled that fatty had moved, and Jonathan turned, his heart pounding
as adrenalin pumped through his body.
The heavy-set man was standing a few feet away, the hot sunshine highlighting
the pistol in his hand. “Duerme bien, amigo.”
There was a flash, and before Jonathan had time to think, let alone act, the
sound of the gun’s report filled his ears. Then for a moment everything
was quiet, the world seeming to move in slow motion. He watched as a bead of sweat
dropped from the shooter’s heavily-jowled face, waiting for the inevitable,
and it came -- an explosion of heat and light that obliterated all other thoughts.
He
struggled to hold on, fighting to maintain consciousness. There was still so much
he wanted to do. Somewhere amidst the pain in his head, he heard tires squealing
as his assailants’ truck pulled back onto the highway, leaving him alone
on the side of the road.
If he could have, he’d have laughed. It was an inglorious way to die,
ironic really. The diametric opposite of the life he’d led. Always pushing
for more. As the darkness swirled up to swallow him, his last thoughts were of
all that had been left undone. What he could have been. But nothing -- not his
money, not his connections, and certainly not his company -- could save him now.
With a sigh, Jonathan Brighton gave in to the dark...
