Flash Friday: “A Dangerous Kind of Help” (Adult Content)

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous King of Help” – excerpted from Guardians, Inc : DOUBLE TAKE

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

Jesse paused in his office doorway, not sure if he was more surprised that Analeise was talking to thin air, or that she was actually there. His wry glance passed over the clutter of books that hadn’t been there when he left, either. Apparently, she raided Jason’s archives. Wonder if Jason knew.

“Damn it!” The sudden oath, punctuated by the sharp sound of flesh striking wood as she slapped the desk – hard – snapped Jesse from his musing. She looked pissed, and the furious light in her eyes shouldn’t turn him on, but damned if it did. Lust surged toward his groin, and he stifled his groan only through sheer force of will. So he had a thing for bad girls. No surprise there; Natalya had been as bad as they come, and he fell head-over-heels for her.

Jesse heaved a silent snort of disgust. Natalya should be all the warning he needed to stay away from Analeise. Tangling with another bad girl was liable to get him killed, even if that was more difficult these days. His eyes fixed back on her, and the rush of heat was instantaneous at the memory of her hot, welcoming body and eager responses. Both heat and memory were expected, though neither was appreciated. Still, it was the tiny twist in his gut at the layer of vulnerability beneath that anger that bothered him most. She looked innocent, and that was such a contradiction he wanted to grin, but his swollen, split lip protested the attempt, and he hissed in pain.

Analeise’s head jerked up, a gasp of surprise flying from her, and she stared at him as if he was a ghost. The irony of it was, without Victor, he would be – twice, now. He uttered a bitter laugh, but it ended on a groan as his bruised ribs protested. Good thing he was a fast healer, these days. A year ago, a beating like that would have laid him out for a good week, if he survived it. Now, a good night’s rest, and he’d be right as rain, as he mother put it; or, as right as a man under a vampire’s curse could be, anyway.

“You’re bleeding!” He didn’t realize she moved, but her hand was suddenly there, a cotton handkerchief in it, pressed against his mouth. He jerked away with a surprised hiss as the thrum of the pulse in her wrist filled his ears.

Goddammit! Jesse clamped down on the impulse that urged him to take her arm, and sink his teeth into her soft, warm flesh. Strong as the urge was, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the ritual of Turning – he burned it into his brain those first few months after Victor’s impromptu gift, terrified he had no choice but to become a monster. He couldn’t begin to describe his relief when he discovered that wasn’t true.

Turning a living human being into a living vampire was an elaborate ritual, full of ceremony and magic. At least, most of the time. Problem was, there was no recorded precedent, no history for cases like his, where a vampire essentially gave a life-saving transfusion. It just wasn’t done. The closest Jesse could find, in a year of desperate searching, was the mention of a young girl from the fourteenth century who was miraculously restored to health after a terrible fall, by a nameless traveler. Unfortunately, the story didn’t leave him with much hope. By the account, later the same year the girl accidentally swallowed some blood while tending to an injured family member, and became an unnatural creature. She was eventually burned as a witch, for her thirst for human blood. Jesse’s stomach had plummeted after reading that. One taste was all it took to Turn her. One accident. How many bloody scenes did a cop – particularly a homicide detective – see in a week? Too many. So he quit the force, unwilling to take that chance. It didn’t even matter that he knew better, now – that drinking blood was useless to a living vampire.  It didn’t even matter to know that it was the energy in the blood, not the blood itself, that he would really be absorbing. Whenever his adrenaline surged, the urges were there, and they terrified him. He feared it was only a matter of time.

No. He dragged his mind from the thought with a shudder. It wouldn’t happen. Not to him. Jesse Guardian would not become a damned monster. Hell, he was probably damned anyway, but at least he could still make a conscious choice. He could choose to avoid temptation, to not take that first taste. He could choose to avoid the subtle scent, the rich, sweet wine of blood, the siren pulse of energy…

He yanked his mind from the thought with a muttered oath. He wasn’t about to go that route, damn it all. Especially not with this woman; she already fascinated him too much. He blinked, and found her watching him with worried mocha eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and focused beyond her, on the desk where she’d been sitting when he came in. “What are you doing here?”

Her brows knit as she backed off a step, and her dark eyes searched his face. “Helping you. I think you should go to the hospital and–”

“I’m fine,” he repeated sharply, with one upraised hand when she would have continued her protest. “Really. And I didn’t expect you to stay here all night.”

That flash of vulnerability was back, and something else that tugged him toward her like an invisible guide wire. She met his gaze, and the smoky quality of her eyes sucked the breath from him. Her tongue darted over those lush lips, and he could barely focus on the words that followed, through the lust roaring in his ears. “I… I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Was that croak really his voice? He swallowed hard, even as a hundred images of how she could help him right this moment cascaded through his mind.

Flash Friday: “Leap of Faith”

What happens when an immortal creature supposed to be nothing more than myth takes human form to escape total annihilation?  … Meet Ryan Jaspar – the last of his kind.  He’ll do anything to stay hidden from the Crucibani, a secret religious order determined to see him dead.  But when he meets up with Guardians, Inc.’s spunky receptionist, he’ll have to do something that’s totally against his nature – he’ll have to learn to trust a human, again.

“Leap of Faith”  — excerpted from Virtual Darkness

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            “We have to jump.”  He grasped her hand securely and drew energy for the descent.  A few more moments, and the Crucibani would realize where they’d gone.

            “Jump.”

            Her disbelief was emphasized by the way she dug her heels in and refused to move.  For such a waif, she was suddenly a completely immovable object.  And he didn’t have time for her stubbornness.  Already, he could feel the energy dissipating.

            “Yes, jump.”  He glanced toward the stairwell door again.  “And quickly.”

            “We’re twelve stories up!  Are you serious?”

            “Very.  Kylie—”

            “You’re crazy!”  She tugged backward, and they were playing tug-of-war with her arm.  Their eyes met, and he read fear in her grey-green eyes.  And suddenly, he saw the drop through her eyes.  She was afraid of dying. 

            He focused his energy as he stared into her eyes until the crackle of energy rose around them both, and her eyes widened as a small gasp flew from her lips.  His mouth curved up at the edges, seductively persuasive.

            “Trust me, Kylie.”

            Her expression was dubious, and she eyed him warily.  “Who are you?”

            His brow furrowed.  He wanted to avoid this; especially now.  She wouldn’t believe the truth if he told her.  “You already know me.”

            He tugged her hand to get her moving again, but again she resisted him, her narrowed eyes full of accusations.

            “No.  I mean, who are you really?  Why are there Crucibani chasing us?”

            It was his turn to freeze, as surprise gripped him.  How did this waif of a human know about Crucibani? 

            “How—?” he picked up the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, two floors below them.  “Never mind.  Now isn’t the time.”

            “Actually,” she eyed to edge of the building again, and the empty air beyond.  “If you expect me to throw myself off of a twelve-story building, your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”  – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

She was so cold.  The wind here on the shore was bitter, chilled by the storm that raged around her.  Csilla huddled in the cavern, watching as sthe boats were made ready.

“Are you ready, Gatekeeper?”

She turned at the sound of a masculine voice, to find Sargon beside her, tall and strong in his armor, the glow of his charge shining around him even from where it rested, secure in the scabbard at his side.  She shuddered to think that, of them all, only she was a real danger.  Only her charge could bring them all back to this place, and only her charge could be forced from her grasp by any manner besides death.

“Go, Warrior,” she whispered, already aware of what she must do.  And yet, she could not tell these men, her soul-brothers, what she planned.  They would surely halt her plan, if they knew how she meant to protect them all.  “I am weary, and will bide here a while.”

He frowned.  “It is not safe, Csilla.  Already, Arachaena swarm the mountain above us.  They must not find us here.”

She looked out toward the storm-tossed waves whose peace she once found solace in.  Sadness gripped her that she would leave this behind, and she hugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders.  There was no help for it.  This was as it must be.

“I shall follow directly.  Have Mykalos tie me a boat in yon rocks.”

Sargon sighed, but relented.  Truly, he was too tender to a woman’s comfort; she feared that would bring him to ill ends.  “Do not linger too long, Csilla.”

She smiled up at him, careful that he did not read her sorrow.  “I will be gone before they arrive.”

With a nod, his eyes wary, Sargon left her and headed for the boats beyond.  Csilla sighed, and shivered slightly as she rested her back against the cool rocks.  She felt the weight of the knife concealed beneath her cloak.  She would keep her promise.  Only, it would not be as Sargon believed.

Find out more about this series at www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain

Read IN HER NAME, HOPE OF HEAVEN, and SHADOW WALKER today!  Find them at:

www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html

www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/paranormal/romance/shadow-walker/prod_219.html

Flash Friday: “Dead Pirate Walking”

I’ve played in the Fantasy for a while…  Thought you’d like a little something else, this week.  This week’s Flash Friday is a short little piece, and comes from a paranormal series I’m working on, called Guardians, Inc.   I already love this story, because it has everything a good ghost story should have, and a little something surprising, as well…

“Dead Pirate Walking”  — excerpted from Lady’s Lament

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

            There was someone up there.  A  chill of awareness slid through Alie, pulling her gaze to the upstairs window of the old manor, even as her brain called her an idiot for believing Mrs. Tolliver’s stories.  She dealt with Paras every day, and she’d never encountered a ghost.  She didn’t even believe in them.

            She was about to turn away, when the curtains stirred again.  The air left her body in a gasp of disbelief as a shadowy figure passed behind the curtains and disappeared.  There was no one in that wing of the manor; not at this time of night.  But it was exactly where the chatty town historian told her rumor said the pirate appeared, keeping look out for the lover who once betrayed him.

            A new shiver passed through Alie, and nausea gripped her.  There are no such things as ghosts.

            But what if there were?  Were the stories true?  After all this time, had Captain Sawyer come back from the grave?  Or had he simply never left?

Flash Friday: “Her Father’s Keep”

Today’s Flash Friday comes from the second book, still a WIP, from the Legends of Tirum series.  As Telyn undertakes the quest levied on her, will she uncover a secret alliance meant to destroy everything she loves, or can a shadow of her past save her from the ultimate mistake?

“Her Father’s Keep” — excerpted from Legends of Tirum II:  PHOENIX RISING

copyright 2010 by Esther Mitchell

The crumbled ruin of a soaring war keep loomed on the forested horizon, bathed in the bloody streaks of Helios’ setting light.  Telyn’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the structure, imposing in spite of its dilapidation.  Pain wrenched her heart, startling her.  She’d never been to this place, so why did the mere sight of that decaying ruin fill her with such grief?  Her eyes stung, and she blinked away the tell-tale signs of impending tears.  She didn’t have time for this foolishness.

Determination fueled her forward, toward the destroyed remnants of her father’s lineage – all that remained of her heritage, and the once-mighty Phoenix Clan.  One day, she promised herself silently, she would see it restored.  For now, she intended to search every nook and cranny of the old ruin.  The Phoenix Book was still here.  She could feel it.

Pelarius Brunnari was an evil man, driven by an insatiable desire for power that didn’t rightfully belong to him, but he wasn’t stupid.  Oh, no.  The old fox was wily, right up to the end.  He knew the legends of the Phoenix Book, and probably better than anyone left alive, at that.  It was said, she’d heard whispers once, that the removal of any of the sacred artifacts from those entrusted with their care would not only render the artifact useless, but also quite dangerous to the one who did the removing.  The Aerai Majin, it was said, made sure of that.  And those whispers confirmed Telyn’s gut feeling – the Phoenix Book never really left Phoenix Hall.

Excitement pulsed a fiery song through her veins as she urged Bloodcloud toward the forest surrounding Phoenix Hall.  She had no fear of its darkness – her Bathron eyes would grant her vision even in its darkest corners and brambles.  And, if Kishfa rode with her this night, she’d have the Phoenix Book in her hands before the morning light.

Interested to know more?  See how it all begins in Book I: DAUGHTER OF ASHES, due out from Desert Breeze Publishing June 2010!

Flash Friday: “Trooper’s Crusader”

In honor of my signing tomorrow at the Tucson Festival of Books, today’s Flash Friday is a little piece from one of my most popular series, the SF series Underground.  Hope you enjoy… As always, leave a comment and let me know what you think! – Esther

“Trooper’s Crusader” – Excerpted from Underground #1: TAMIA

copyright 1992 by Esther Mitchell

Barely five minutes after she settled herself into one of the plush lounge chairs, she heard someone enter the room, and looked up to find a man in his mid-thirties leaning against the doorframe, a curious expression on his stubbly face.  His strawberry-blond hair was in disarray, and his half-hearted attempt at a suit was rumpled enough to convince her that he’d slept in it at least once.

“You’re the lady asking about the Altura piece?”  He sounded suspicious.

“Yes.  My father left some paperwork—”

“I’m not as gullible as Pete, out there,” he snapped as he stepped the rest of the way into the room, and the glass door slid shut behind him.

Tamia straightened instantly as a shot of fear skimmed through her veins.  “Who the hell are you?”

“Carey Feldar.”

She gasped.  She’d heard of him.  Carey Feldar was one of print news’ top-rated war correspondents during the Divide, and the troops were always eager to talk to him.  He was sympathetic to their troubles – “the Trooper’s Crusader,” they called him.  Feldar won four Pulitzers for his coverage of the disaster in Montreal.  “The Carey Feldar?”

He smirked.  “There sure as hell ain’t two of me, honey.  And I’m the man who snapped this pic,” he held up the clipping she’d given Pete.  Feldar’s eyes narrowed.  “I know who you are, too, Lieutenant.”

“Captain,” she corrected automatically, and then sighed.  “Okay, so I was there.  I didn’t really want to advertise that fact, Mr. Feldar.”

“I’d already figured that out, but I think I’m going to enjoying hearing why.”  A brief grin slashed his face, and was gone.  “And congratulations on your promotion.”

She glanced around.  “Is there somewhere else we can talk about this?  I need some information from you, about that photo.”

His gaze fell to the clipping in his hand again, and he frowned.  “Why do I get the feeling it isn’t aesthetic appreciation that brought you here?”

“Because it’s not,” she confirmed grimly.  “It’s a lot more important than that.”

He looked resigned, but interested.  “So what’s in it for me?”

“The chance to help prevent another war.”

He smirked.  “Haven’t you heard, Captain?  War means news.  Why would I want to put myself out of a job?”

“Because you’re playing a game with me, and maybe even yourself, right now.  You’re the Trooper’s Crusader, and that wasn’t a title you earned, or ever took, lightly.”  She met his green eyes head-on, reading the discomfort there.  “You saw enough of war and death to never want to see more.”

His shoulders slumped as he nodded.  “All right, you got me there.  Let’s go on up to my office.  I’ve got plenty to show you.”

Flash Friday: “Dangerous Proposal” (ADULT CONTENT)

“Dangerous Proposal” – excerpted from Underground: TAMIA

copyright 1992 by Esther Mitchell

“Try it again, Frank.” The engine compartment door muffled Rick’s voice as he torqued an electrical plug a little tighter. Stepping back, he swiped a grease-darkened hand across his already-smudged face and listened intently as Frank turned over the Rover’s Chameleon system.

Designed to make the transport gunship silent and invisible, Chameleon engines were state-of-the-art technology comprised of sophisticated electrical systems, holotechnology, and hydro engines that ran on superheated water. So far, only the Commandos’ Rover was equipped with the prototype system. Lately, though, the damned thing was anything but silent.

Rick frowned as he heard the low-pitched whine of the engine on rotation. “Cut it, Frank! It’s still whining.”

The whine died, and Rick sighed as he bent over into the engine compartment again. He’d been at this ever since he left Tamia in Comms last night. At the point when he knew sleep was beyond him, he decided to get something productive accomplished. He pored through the manuals Science and Research sent over for the sophisticated Chameleon. Those manuals might as well be in Greek, for all the good, they did him. He wasn’t much of a mechanic when it came to heavy-duty machinery. So he was glad when Frank came to help at 0600 this morning, until the other man admitted that the technology stumped him, too. Rick sighed. What they really needed around this place was a damned mechanic…

He nearly cracked his skull open on the compartment casing as a hand suddenly ran over his rear, to become fingertips as they traced a shivery line up the center of his spine. He jerked upright in shock, even as his body went on red alert. He withdrew his head from the engine, rubbing it as he muttered curses. Rick glanced up to find Tamia beside him, an impish grin on her face that stalled his heart.

“Sorry.” She looked anything but. “I couldn’t resist. You’ve got a great ass, you know.”

He gave her a mock scowl as he rubbed his still-aching head. He knew what this was all about, now. Tamia was getting even for his alpha-male stunt in Comms last night. “You’re late.”

Her grin widened. “I had a lot to weed through. Besides, you weren’t in your quarters when I got there. I had to come track you down.” She glanced over his grease spattered coveralls and skin, and one dark eyebrow rose. “You need a shower.”

Those words sent a spike of lust through him as his mind conjured images of her in that shower with him, her soft skin damp and slick beneath his hands. Her long, smooth back, those slim, capable hands clenched against the tile as he slid in and out of her slickness from behind. He drew a sharp breath and bit down on an oath as his jeans tightened painfully against his sudden hard-on. That she could drive him to this state with a single, innocent comment told him how tight he was strung, lately. Time to give her back what those  come-fuck-me eyes offered. He let his eyes trail over her skin-tight bodysuit
beneath the open shirt she wore, and smiled languidly. “You planning
to join me?”

Flash Friday: “Blood Sacrifice”

“Blood Sacrifice” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            He called it a situation.  What kind of situation bloodied a man’s face and clothes while sealing his lips?

            A few moments later, Manara had her answer and wished she never asked.  Standing beside Matt, her eyes filled with tears and her face froze in horror, Manara viewed the carnage laid out before her eyes and felt ill.  Unsteadily, she groped for Matt’s arm, clinging to him with all the strength she possessed as she stared out over at blood-soaked stretch of land.  A swatch of cloth, like a bloody flag, snapped on the stiff desert breeze from its position in the low desert brush.  It was easier to look there than to see what made up its genesis.

            The pieces were almost unrecognizable as body parts from this distance.  At first glance, they looked like nothing more than dust-caked red rocks.  But the carrion birds that circled and swooped in to grab up the pieces belied that illusion.  And then she saw the heads.  Sitting side-by-side, staring toward their home, were the bloody, slashed heads of a man and a woman.  His beard was matted with blood, and her hair was hacked off and clumped near her dismembered head.  Gashes slit open the skin to the bone and their eyes held matching, blank expressions of terror.

            Her stomach heaved without warning, and Manara spun away and dropped to the ground as she retched.  Even the temple had not been this grotesque or without cause.  Sobs folded her over long after the illness passed and she rocked back and forth on her knees, wailing for these people whose souls she had not been strong enough to save.

            She sensed movement and knew when Matthew crouched beside her by the warmth of his hand on her back.  With another sob, she threw herself into his embrace, and clung with all her strength to his rock-solid support. 

            “How?”  She cried, as fury rose up to mingle with failure and pain.  “How could this happen?  How could we not know?”

            “I found them this morning on the other side of the ridge.  It’s not pretty over there.”

            Her eyes snapped to his grim face as he spoke those quiet words.  Her stomach roiled threateningly as her mind painted grotesque pictures, but she forced herself to ask the question she really didn’t want answered.

            “There are more?”

            “Just goats and sheep.  Animals,” he reassured her quietly as he helped her to her feet, then placed a protective arm around her as she swayed.  Squeezing her gently, he asked, “Are you okay?”

            Manara’s stomach heaved again.  Okay?  Anything but, she acknowledged queasily as she turned to stare at the carnage, which was all that remained of the goatherd and his wife.  She didn’t have to ask who brutally dismembered them or their herd.  She already knew.

            “It was…it was like this at the temple, too,” she whispered weakly as she clung to Matthew’s steady support.  “Bodies torn apart as if by some terrible beast.”

            She took a shaky step toward the bodies but Matthew caught her, pulling her back.  His eyes were tender and filled with concern as he gazed down into her face.  A shadow touched those muddy eyes and she realized that the demon responsible for this evil had already reached across the span of oceans and polluted another heart with such vileness it was driven to butchery.  The horrible memory of Rachel Murray never left Matthew, though he hardened himself against its influence over time.

Flash Friday: “The Seer’s Curse”

“The Seer’s Curse”

copyright 2004 by Esther Mitchell

Smoke curled up from the city below, and the distant sounds of death and battle filled Ausar’s ears.  His nostrils flared with the scent of burnt flesh and fresh blood, and rage coiled in his gut to know that Onuris’ minions were the genesis of this slaughter.  As the Crophines‘ Seer, his was the responsibility to guide Ali-Antos towards a bright future.  Why had he not foreseen this?  Why did he receive no warning, no way by which to prepare the people of Ali-Antos for battle?  It was as if the Great Gods mocked him, reminding him that, while he was immortal within the confines of Aermornosa, he was still fallibly human.  Now, the people he was sworn to guide and protect were helpless lambs at the altar of Onuris’ lust for blood and power.

A low, lupine growl rumbled through his chest, and his pupils drank in the light as the wildness within gripped him.  If not for his position, he would be down there, in the thick of battle.  The Gods gifted him with an ability that could turn the tide of the struggle in the city below.  But the weight of the Medicine pouch slung across his chest reminded him that he was bound by other covenants.  He must defend his charge, regardless of the cost.  Which meant he must leave this place.  When the Sodalitas Arachaena arrived at Aermornosa’s gates, they must find nothing of use.

“We must go.”

He turned toward the voice, to meet the dark gaze of the Musir to his left.   Sargon.  The Warrior among them.  Quickly, his gaze flashed over the rest.  Lugh, Mykalos, Csilla.  These were the only family he knew, and he would defend them with his life’s blood.

“It is time, Shadow Walker,” Sargon nodded toward the hidden tunnel that led to the docks only the Elder Musir knew existed.  There, boats would carry them to the far reaches of the Earth, to hide their charges.  They would never see each other again.  And the darkness that filled Ausar had only one bright spot of light.  He had seen the future, in his mirror.  One day, the Gods would bring the five sacred artifacts back to Aermornosa, and return the balance.  Peace settled over him.  That knowledge was comfort enough.

Discover PROJECT PROMETHEUS today!  Join the struggle between light and darkness with

IN HER NAME

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html )

HOPE OF HEAVEN

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html )

and SHADOW WALKER

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/shadow-walker/prod_219.html )

Random Thursday: “Incognito”

Hmm… I’m starting to think no one wants a fresh new bit of free fiction every week… I’m not getting much in the way of responses to my call for quotes, etc.  Oh, well…

For this week, I chose one of my favourite quotes – from Hubert Humphrey:  “It’s not what they take away from you that counts.  It’s what you do with what you have left.”

*grins* Great inspiration, that one!  So, I’ll use it, this week.   We’ll see what kind of responses I get, next week, before I decide how much longer this is going to continue…

“Incognito” – copyright 2010 by Esther Mitchell

       Billie hunched down in the driver’s seat of her rented sedan, trying to look like she belonged there among the hedgerows and prize roses of Kensington’s wealthy streets.  What she felt like was a first class fraud.  Why had she thought this would be easy?  Resurrecting a life never was.

    She swallowed hard, and her gaze fell briefly to the picture tacked to the dashboard in front of her.  In it, a cherubic little face, framed by dark curls, grinned up at the camera.  Pain twisted in her chest.  Her little Melanie would be six, now.  She’d missed so many precious years.  Her head thumped down against the hand crossed on her steering wheel, and she fought tears for what had to be the hundredth time since she left Houston.  How could she have been so naive, so stupid?

    Roger had taken her baby away.  That was what she got for marrying the first smooth-talking Prince Charming Wannabe to come her way.  She should have known better.  People like her just didn’t marry rich guys like Roger Llyod  Hastings of the Maryland Hastings.  His mother had delighted in reminding Billie of that fact every chance she got in their brief three-year marriage.  Until Melanie was old enough to “leave the brood sow” as her mother-in-law had so haughtily put it.

    Sick rage roiled in Billie’s stomach, and she wondered if it was stress, or just the fact that she’d eaten nothing but a stale donut in the past three days – ever since that slimy P.I. she hired in DC had turned out to be more interested in her ex’s family money than in Billie’s heartache and need for justice.

    “Billie?”  She turned at the sound of her name, before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be her.  She’d cut her hair, dyed it, and she was wearing shades.  No one should recognize her.  And when she saw who half-crouched beside her car door, the donut she’d consumed about made a reappearance.  Logan MacCauley

    “My God, Billie, what’re you doing here?”  His dark green eyes skimmed over her from a face lined in worry.  “You changed your hair.”

     Belatedly, it seemed to dawn on him why she was there, which was a good thing, because she couldn’t speak if her life depended on it.  This man knew her deepest, darkest secrets.  He knew the truth about Melanie’s birth – a truth she hadn’t dared speak in the four years since her divorce.  

    “You’ve come back for her.” 

    She couldn’t very well deny it.  Billie nodded.   Then, clearing her throat, she met his gaze again.  “I thought you were in Italy.”

    He lifted one shoulder in a negligent half-shrug, then moved around the hood of her car to open the passenger side door.  He slid into the seat without asking if it was all right with her, then stared at her again for a long moment.  Finally, he drew and released a breath, and shook his head.  “Damn, you look good.  Even with red hair.”

    Her eyes narrowed.  “Logan.  What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

    He glanced toward the fancy Victorian mansion, then lifted one dark eyebrow at Billie.  “I imagine the same thing you are.  Except I don’t have a restraining order keeping me from that front door.”

     Billie’s throat closed, and she reached out in blind panic to clutch his arm. 

     “You’re not going to…”  She couldn’t finish the terrible idea.  She hadn’t spent the last of her meager savings only to lose in a legal battle she couldn’t face, had she?

     He watched her with that level, hooded gaze for a long moment, before he finally spoke.  “A daughter belongs with her mother.”

    Enigmatic to the last, and neither confirming nor denying her fears.  And that, more than anything she’d been through so far, scared the life out of her.  She had the dreadful feeling she was about to lose her baby forever.