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While the Teton Mountains are a real location for this adventure, many of the place names for encampments and natural features on Mt. Moran are fictitious. I’d like to thank my parents, my hubby and the University of Missouri for taking me to the Tetons time and again. It truly is God’s country. Thanks to my eighth-grade English students for letting me make grammar a fun class to teach! And for one young man, in particular, you’re welcome. I’m glad my methods helped you “actually get it now!” FOOLING AROUND Linda Turner Dear Reader, I’ve written a lot of stories over the years, but I can’t remember the last one I enjoyed so much. There was something about the hero and heroine and parrot in “Fooling Around” that I just loved. And I have my late, great, wonderful grandmothers to thank for that. When I was growing up, Ludie Mae, my maternal grandmother, used to tell me stories about her aunt and her pet parrot. Whenever someone in the family had a baby, the parrot would fly to a perch on
Prologue I t was a dark and stormy night, and normally, Josephine London would have been curled up in bed with a good murder mystery. Instead, she sat at her small kitchen table and stared at the letter she’d just found in her afternoon mail. Dear Miss London, I am writing to inform you of the death of your great-aunt, Boonie Jones. She died quietly in her sleep two weeks ago and was cremated, as she requested. As you may or may not know, your late father was her favorite nephew, and it was always her intention to leave you all of her worldly possessions. As the executor of her estate, it is my duty to inform you that you have inherited her home in San Antonio, as well as her ownership in a private detective agency. I have included a full accounting of her possessions, as well as several documents that you need to sign and return to me. You will also find in the paperwork a personal letter from Boonie that she requested I give you upon her death. If you have any questions or wish to ta
Prologue
Chapter 1 J osie had always considered herself a practical woman, but the day after she received news of her inheritance, she quit her job and notified her landlord that she would be moving out at the end of the week. On Saturday, she squeezed the last of her personal things into her Volkswagen bug and headed for Texas. She’d lost her mind, she decided. There was no other explanation. All her life, she’d played it safe. She didn’t speed, didn’t drink, never took any drug stronger than an aspirin. And she never, ever took a chance and went out on a limb. So what the heck was she doing?! Having an adventure, just as Boonie had suggested, she decided, and was shocked to hear herself giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled. Maybe she was going through a midlife crisis. That had to be it. Granted, she was only twenty-eight, but what other explanation could there be? She’d just walked away from her life, and she couldn’t stop smiling. And she hadn’t even notified her aunt’s
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Chapter 2 W iley liked to think he was one of those easygoing souls who could roll with whatever life threw at him, but he was not amused. When Boonie had told him she was leaving her share of the agency to her niece, he hadn’t been concerned about a librarian who lived a thousand miles away causing him any problems. That’s why he’d made the bet with Boonie—there was nothing he liked more than a sure thing. Yeah, right, he thought grimly. Here she was in the flesh and now he had to deal with her. “Some of the jobs we get are dangerous,” he warned. “You could get hurt.” “Did Boonie ever get hurt?” “No, but she could take care of herself.” “So can I,” she replied indignantly. “And I don’t believe she would have left me ownership in the agency if she truly believed working here would put me in danger.” When he continued to frown, a half smile curled one corner of her mouth. “You just don’t want to work with me, do you? Is it something I said?” “She’s a babe!” Ethel warned suddenly. “Run f
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Chapter 3 “W ho’s in trouble?” Whirling to find Wiley stepping through the front door, Josephine grinned. “Nobody. Look!” With a flourish, she waved the envelope of money Olivia Sanchez had given her. “It’s five thousand dollars!” Wiley’s dark brows snapped together in a frown. “Oh, God, Ethel’s right. What’d you do? Rob a bank? Where’d that come from?” “Our new client. She wants us to check out her husband. She thinks he’s playing around on her.” “And she just waltzed in here with five thousand dollars in her purse? Who the hell is she? One of Donald Trump’s exes?” “No, of course not. Her name’s Olivia Sanchez. Her husband’s—” “Roberto Sanchez,” he finished for her, horrified. “Tell me this is a joke.” His reaction stopped her in her tracks. “You know him?” “Not personally, thank God,” he retorted. “Dammit, Josie—” “Josephine,” she corrected him automatically. “I don’t—” “Like nicknames,” he finished for her, his frown deepening into a scowl. “You’re not going to have to worry about t
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Chapter 4 J osephine stopped short at the sedate sedan parked at the curb in front of Boonie’s house. “This is yours?” she asked Wiley in surprise. “I thought you’d drive something flashy like a Z3 or something.” “Actually, this is a rental,” he admitted with twinkling eyes. “I’ve got a bike, but it’s hard to do surveillance on a motorcycle. And I didn’t think you’d be thrilled at the idea of snuggling up to my back. Of course, if you’d rather…” “Oh, no!” she said quickly, cursing the color that heated her cheeks. “This is fine.” “It’s also safer,” he said, sobering as he opened the passenger door for her, then came around to slide into the driver’s seat. “Sanchez didn’t get where he is by being dumb. A man in his position has a hell of a lot of enemies, and he knows it. He’s going to be looking for a tail just as a matter of precaution. If he spies us following him, he’ll have a difficult time tracing the car back to me or the agency.” “You really think he might realize we’re followin
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Chapter 5 H er heart slamming against her ribs, she couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d got down on his knees and proposed. But she didn’t pull back. Follow my lead. His words echoing in her ears, she lifted an arched brow and looked him right in the eye as his mouth came closer to hers. “What are you doing?” At her quiet inquiry, he only grinned and leaned down to nuzzle her ear. “Sanchez just looked this way,” he murmured in a soft, rough voice that sent a delicate shiver sliding down her neck. “We have to make sure he thinks we’re not interested in anything but each other.” Josephine hardly heard him. Her blood heated, and every fiber of her being seemed to quiver in anticipation. If she tilted her head just the tiniest bit, his mouth would brush her ear. Could she be that daring? There’d been so few men in her life—her experience was practically nil. Did he know what he was doing to her? Would he notice if she leaned into him? Would he realize she was inviting him to… What? a
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Chapter 6 J osephine knew she was in trouble when she dreamed about Wiley all night long. Finally falling asleep around four in the morning, she woke at eight when she found herself reaching for him. Groaning, she rolled to her back, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. This couldn’t be happening! She couldn’t be dreaming about Wiley because of one kiss! She’d been kissed before, for heaven’s sake. Granted, that was four years ago, and Arnold Shoemaker was no Wiley Valentine. He’d worn his belt cinched tightly at his waist and never did anything without consulting his mother. The only reason she’d gone out with him was because she was friends with his cousin, who had begged her to give him a chance. He had kissed her, not the other way around, and she certainly hadn’t dreamed about him or the kiss later. Wiley, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. Why did he have to be sexy? Sexy men weren’t interested in her—they never gave her a second look. Or at least they never
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Chapter 7 H is hormones working overtime, every nerve in his body attuned to Josie and the feel of her arms around his waist, Wiley had to force himself to concentrate as he headed for the motorcycle bar on the northwest side of town where the riders were gathering for the memorial ride. It wasn’t easy. With every curve, every dip in the road, Josie crowded closer. And everywhere her body brushed his, he burned. How the hell was he going to get through the day? he wondered as they arrived at the bar and pulled up behind dozens of motorcycles lined up in the street. He was already drooling over her and the ride hadn’t even started yet. Thankful for the chance to put some space between them, he hurriedly dismounted, then turned to help Josie. She, however, was already off the bike and searching the crowd. “He’s here,” she said softly. “Over by the entrance to the bar. And he’s not alone.” Wiley turned casually, as if he was checking out the size of the crowd, and spied Sanchez with his d
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Chapter 8 “L et’s go out to dinner to celebrate!” Dazed that they’d been able to get so much incriminating evidence against Sanchez in just two days, Josie said, “Shouldn’t we wait until we’ve tracked down all the women Sanchez is involved with before we celebrate?” Grinning, Wiley said, “Are you kidding? We may never track down all the women he’s got on a string.” “But he’s a drug lord!” “The world is full of people who couldn’t care less how someone makes their money as long as they can get their hands on some of it,” Wiley retorted. “We’ll spend a couple of more days on Sanchez and come up with an impressive list of names for Mrs. Sanchez. Trust me, she’ll be satisfied.” “And if she’s not? We just pick up the case again and get more pictures of her husband’s paramours?” “Exactly. So we’re halfway home. Let’s celebrate. You haven’t seen the Riverwalk yet—not at night. Let’s go out to eat, then go dancing. It’ll be fun.” Josephine didn’t doubt that. Whenever she was with Wiley, life w
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Chapter 9 T he next morning, she drove him back to the old polo field to get his motorcycle. Relaxed, he teased her just as he always did and didn’t say a word about the previous night. Pain squeezing her heart, Josephine followed his lead, but it wasn’t easy. She couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened between them. She was falling irrevocably in love with him, and he didn’t seem to notice—or return her feelings. And that hurt. All she wanted to do was drop him off, then go back home so she could cry. “You’re going to go back to the office and work on the report for Olivia Sanchez?” he asked as she pulled up to his motorcycle. It’s Sunday—I need the day off, she almost told him, only to bite back the words just in time. Work would, she realized, distract her, and right then, she needed to think about anything other than the fact that Wiley wasn’t in love with her. All business, she said quietly, “I was going to drop the film off for development, then work on the report. What about
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Chapter 10 I n spite of the fact that Roberto Sanchez was the notorious head of the Mexican mafia, he lived in one of the most exclusive gated communities in the city. There was a reason for that. When Wiley pulled up at the front gates and told the guard they were there to see Mrs. Sanchez, the guard just looked at him. “It’s business,” Wiley told the man easily, refusing to accept no for an answer. “We work for her.” “Yeah, right,” he growled, making no move to lift the cross bar that blocked their entrance. Wiley’s eyes narrowed at the guard. “What you’re going to be is out of a job if you don’t change your tone. I’m sure Mrs. Sanchez wouldn’t appreciate you being rude to a guest.” Not the least impressed with the threat, the guard smiled snidely. “If you were a guest, you won’t need me to get through the gate—you’d know the code.” Wiley wanted to bust him, but Josie had other ideas. Grabbing her cell phone, she punched in Olivia Sanchez’s phone number. When she answered on the seco
Chapter 10
Dear Reader, When I get an idea for a story, it’s often hard for me to tell whether it began with a plot that demanded the characters, or whether the characters led to the plot, but with “The Man in the Shadows,” it was neither. This story started with chocolate. No, I don’t mean I consumed chocolate to kick-start my little gray cells, although come to think of it, there likely was a Hershey’s bar involved somewhere along the line. That plus coffee are vital inducements to my muse. In fact, it’s rumored that Juan Valdez had to ditch the donkey and hire a mule train just to get my daily requirement of beans down the mountain. Coffee and chocolate to me are the equivalent of diesel fuel to a long-haul trucker. Without it, neither of us would get far, no matter how compelling the cargo might be, even if we got out and pushed. But the chocolate that inspired this story wasn’t mine, it was Erika Balough’s, the intrepid female sleuth who tracks down “The Man in the Shadows.” When I discovere
Chapter 1 E rika Balough was thinking about chocolate when she saw her lover’s ghost. Neither event was unusual. Chocolate was Erika’s one remaining indulgence. She’d sworn off alcohol four months ago when she’d awakened in her car at the side of the Jersey Turnpike with no memory of leaving her uncle’s bar in Queens. She’d kicked her nicotine habit long before that because she didn’t like the smell of cigarette smoke and hated doing laundry. She’d even given up taping her soaps two weeks ago when the rubber bone she’d lobbed for Rufus had bounced off the floor and broken her VCR, but give up chocolate? No way. So she was thinking about the Hershey’s bar that she’d stashed in the glove compartment, debating whether to break off another square now or to ration it so it would last to the end of the stakeout, when Sloan Morrissey flickered on the edge of her vision. But as she’d realized, seeing Sloan wasn’t unusual. Over the past year, it had become an all-too-common occurrence. Erika un
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Chapter 2 S he was going to barf. The realization dragged Erika back to consciousness. She could feel the bile rise, burning the back of her throat. Next, she registered the pain. It throbbed psychedelic patterns through her head, like one of the pressure headaches she got when the weather changed. She clenched her jaw and tried to lift her hands to make sure her head was still the same size. Only, she couldn’t lift her hands. They were stuck together in front of her, with her arms pinned to her sides. She couldn’t move her jaw, either. She couldn’t even open her mouth. Panic surged through her. Was she paralyzed? Was she dead? No, she couldn’t be dead. She didn’t remember any tunnel with a white light at the end. No floating around the ceiling while looking down at her body, either. And for a headache this bad, her heart had to be pumping and her nerves working overtime. Okay. Great. Dead wasn’t an option, so what about paralyzed? She experimentally tried to move her hand again and fe
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Chapter 3 E rika rocked forward, using the momentum of her upper body to lever herself upright. The chair toppled to its back behind her, the legs tangling with her feet. She lurched sideways, trying to regain her balance and her hip struck the edge of the table. “Get her, Leavish!” Wates ordered. “Sloan!” she screamed. She was grabbed by the arm before she had gone two steps. She threw her weight to the side and wriggled free of Leavish’s hold. “Sloan!” Firm footsteps crossed the floor. There was a whiff of fresh air and damp fabric, then Erika was caught from behind. One arm fastened around her waist and a palm flattened over her mouth. She had fainted only once in her life. It had been during that endless search last November. She had been banned from the command center by the third day because she’d taken a swing at the captain of a Coast Guard cutter when he had suggested it was time to scale down their efforts. She hadn’t wanted to go back to her apartment, so she’d joined Sloan’
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Chapter 4 T he funeral had been a blur. Erika hadn’t wanted to attend—how could they bury Sloan without his body? Yet everyone had agreed that there was no hope of recovering him alive. The Riki B. had been found drifting off Montauk, her hold awash from the waves that had broken over the deck and flowed through the sloop’s open hatch. There had been empty beer cans on the floor of the cabin and an open bag of Doritos on the bunk, along with the running shoes Sloan had been wearing when he’d slammed out of the apartment. That final fight had been a bad one. But Erika had never dealt well with ultimatums. That was one way in which she and Sloan were too much alike. I’m sorry, Sloan. You know I’ll always love you, don’t you? I would take every word back if I could. Yet she couldn’t take back the words. They were chiseled into her memory like dates on granite. “You’re analyzing everything to death, Riki. Let’s just get married.” “We’ve got a good thing going between us, Sloan. We need mor
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Chapter 5 I n a way, allowing herself to acknowledge what her heart had been telling her all along was a relief. It was like the one and only time Erika had gone skydiving. The worst part had been standing in the doorway of the plane, feeling the wind on her face, watching the earth scroll past beneath the wing, wondering if she was about to do the stupidest thing in her life. Regarded logically, voluntarily jumping out of a plane was insane. Nothing was ever a hundred-percent certain. There was always the chance of an error that could quickly turn deadly, and yet… And yet there was nothing quite as invigorating as that moment when the decision was made. The point of no return. One instant her fingers had been gripping the solid sides of the hatch and her feet planted firmly on the floor of the fuselage. The next instant, she had launched herself into the air with nothing for certain except gravity. She had screamed all the way down. Her instructor had refused to take her up again when
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Chapter 6 I t was hot fudge, dark and rich and honest, sizzling through her senses with a power that left her breathless. It was too intense to be pleasurable. It burned, it stung. It tore away what was left of her reason and sent her soaring to a realm of pure sensation. Erika’s legs buckled. She clutched his shoulders. Sloan slid one hand behind her waist and clamped his other hand at the nape of her neck, holding her mouth to his as he turned in a circle, whirling her in a dizzying, jubilant dance. Yes, he was Sloan. He was here, he was real. His breath warmed her cheek, his taste filled her mouth. Sloan! They sank to their knees together on the floor. With her body sealed to his, she touched her fingertips to his jaw and felt the square corners. She followed the lines that bracketed his lips and skimmed her thumbs upward to the bridge of his bold, hawk nose. There was the bump where he’d broken it as a kid, that wonderful, one-of-a-kind bump. He splayed his hand over her back, crus
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Chapter 7 M usic throbbed from the speakers in the corners of the bar. Hector was playing his Rolling Stones collection tonight. The vintage red patrol-car light in the window was keeping the beat as Mick sang about time being on his side. Erika found the song ironically fitting. “He is coming back to me, Uncle Hector.” “Riki, he’s gone. He was never there in the first place.” “Oh, he was there, all right. Sloan promised he would come back, and he will.” Hector Balough smoothed a hand over his fringe of red hair, a gesture of pained patience that Erika recognized all too well. “Honey, it doesn’t make sense. The FBI said there was only one man working undercover. That Floyd character. Why would they lie?” “Besides the fact that I broke their guy’s jaw?” she asked. “Technically, Sloan’s NYPD, so they weren’t really lying when they said he wasn’t working for them.” Hector reached beneath the bar and brought out a can of root beer to refill her glass. “Maybe you should talk to someone abou
Chapter 7
Dear Reader, During the fifteen years I spent as an English teacher, I was often surprised by the stereotypes that some folks would have about me. Spinster schoolmarm. Mean old battle-ax. Having to use perfect grammar around me or else I’d call them on it. (Okay, I still correct my son sometimes—but then teaching is in my blood and he’s the most important student in my world.) Every now and then I run across someone who insists on calling me “Miss” instead of “Mrs.” And more than once I’ve reassured acquaintances that after hours and on summer break, I’m off-duty, and they can relax and speak in whatever sentence fragments and with whatever pronoun references make them comfortable around me. And I always loved the students who were surprised enough to tell me I was nice, occasionally eccentric and usually fun—and that they learned a lot from me, anyway. I tried to bring some of those same sensibilities to my story in Cornered. English teachers can be very nice people—they can be as nor
Chapter 1 “O h. my God.” Hannah Greene gaped at the scene inside the tent. Her blood seemed to rush to her feet, leaving her light-headed. “Breathe deeply, girl,” she coached herself. “Keep it together. You can handle this.” A good Greene woman would. She squeezed her eyes shut, wished the ugliness away, then slowly re-opened them. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as her resolve failed her. “No, I can’t.” Glancing over her shoulder, she groaned at the deserted campsite. It was too early for anyone else to be stirring yet. So much for Randolph College’s fractured English department turning over a new leaf, learning to bond and help each other instead of hindering goals and careers. She was on her own. What should she do? What would her father do? Her mother? Her sister? Hannah peeked back inside the tent. She swallowed hard. Somebody had to go inside. That somebody was going to be her. In a minute. “Frank?” Maybe he’d answer. Or not. She crushed the edges of the tent’s n
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Chapter 2 “H ello? SOS? 911?” Hannah pressed the button on the side of the hand-held radio she’d uncovered in Frank’s backpack, searching for something besides static to answer her. “Can anyone hear me? Hello?” Dick Copperfield had been appropriately shocked and concerned when he’d checked the dead body. He’d gathered everyone around the empty fire pit, informing them of the situation. Lydia Defoe had fainted into her husband’s arms, scattering them all back to their tents in a desperate search for smelling salts and cool water. Five minutes later, they’d returned empty-handed, but Lydia was awake. While her husband, Charles, cooled her with a battery-powered rotary fan, Professors Butler and Robinson resumed their never-ending debate, this time arguing over the proper way to dispose of a body when there was no mortuary at hand. Rowdy asked if anyone had brought a weapon to defend themselves against the killer and Dr. Hawthorne limped away to gather wood. Before Copperfield could regai
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Chapter 3 W ith the sun balling into an orange glow behind the snow-capped peak of Mount Moran, Rafe emerged from the forest that formed the jagged southern border of Targhee Meadow. Peering through the cloud of his warm breath in the cooler air, he paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead and take stock of the chaos. “Hell.” Tackling the mountain in one day was a piece of cake compared to corralling these tourists bent on self-destruction. Rafe stalked into the campsite—silently cursing the pile of trash that broke park rules and invited wildlife to pay a visit. He overlooked a collapsed tent, strode past the woman curled up like a pretzel and chanting about Calm in a patch of itch-weed that would come back to haunt her by morning, and approached the circle of campers gathering around an argument that was quickly becoming a brawl. “I saw you come out of that tent!” A blond man, decked out in L.L. Bean from head to toe, ignored the woman with her hand braced against his chest and sho
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Chapter 4 D amn. Damn. Damn. Where had the Incredible Hulk come from? One slight miscalculation in timing his return to Frank Brooks’s tent, and a whole new, big problem had arisen. It was that Greene woman’s fault. He’d sorely underestimated her. To think a quiet mouse like that would pick this particular occasion to grow a backbone and get to the radio before anyone else could. No, that wasn’t quite true. She’d had backbone enough when she’d stood up at that dissertation review and announced that although the culmination of several years of hard work were interesting, the results were flawed. Rejected. Denied. And to think, he’d wanted to do her a favor by asking her out. Linking himself to the Greene name would have been quite the coup. She’d have been grateful for his attentions. But no more. She’d be dealt with like all the others. The new guide from Extreme, Inc., was a problem he could handle, too. He’d already spotted the little flickers of attraction between the mountain man a
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Chapter 5 “T his has been cut.” Rafe had long since inured himself to the rain that plastered his hair to his scalp and trickled down the back of his neck. He ran his thumb along the smooth edge of the severed rope. “The core’s still dry,” he muttered to himself. The sabotage was recent. If he had eyes in the back of his head, he couldn’t pinpoint any more accurately where each member of the Randolph group had positioned themselves. Eight drenched hikers waited on the path behind him through the trees, resting their bodies, catching their breaths and anxiously hoping that he’d found a shortcut to warmth and safety. But the fifty-foot expanse of the Osprey River gorge and the dubious means to cross it stood in their way. Rafe dropped the rope where it hung from a detached pulley and rose to his feet to check the rest of the rigging attached to the wooden platform. A rough-hewn beam anchored one end of a series of ropes that carried a bosun’s chair back and forth above the storm-fed rive
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Chapter 6 H annah blinked her dizzy eyes into focus. Like Hector, storming through the Greek battle lines of the Trojan War, Rafe snapped his anchor line to the bridge and charged toward her. In an extraordinary feat of strength and balance, he looped his anchor line around hers and pulled her in. He pulled her right up against his body, his hand on her butt, her hips wedged against his. Then his arm and chest wound around her somehow and she was crushed against him, her nose buried in the damp warmth of his collar, his mouth brushing against her temple. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he whispered savagely against her ear. Hannah latched onto his shoulders and held on for a split second, absorbing his hard strength, sharing her own. “I’m okay, Rafe. I hooked up everything the way you taught me. I’m okay.” “I know. I know.” He repeated the words as if he didn’t quite believe her, but he was already setting her down. Her feet touched the rope and took her weight. “Can you mak
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Chapter 7 B y the time Rafe returned several minutes later, Hannah was up, grinding a circle into the ground as she paced around his sleeping bag. He allowed himself a moment to simply watch her move. He couldn’t exactly call her graceful, but there was a force about her—a combination of mental energy, hope and selfless natural beauty—that spoke to him in a way no other woman ever had. He’d nearly lost her today. Twice. If the mountain hadn’t talked, hadn’t woken her, she might be dead. When she spotted him, she squinted him into focus and hurried to meet him. “I’m so not a nature girl, am I? Did I totally embarrass myself with my little phobia?” Rafe walked right up to her, palmed the back of her head and kissed her soundly before she could make another joke about herself or any other thing that had happened between them. The kiss grounded him and bamboozled her enough to keep her quiet for the moment. “You’re a smart girl, Kansas.” He held up the spider skewered at the end of his kni
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Chapter 8 R afe slipped his key into the back door of the Extreme, Inc., offices and wearily pushed it open. He didn’t bother looking at his watch. Judging by the stars, it was close to three in the morning. He was too late. After his brother, Luke, had picked them up off the high grassland of Bridger Pass and helicoptered them all down to the town of Moose, Wyoming, Rafe had filed a report with his father for Extreme, Inc.’s attorney and the rescue team who were heading up the mountain to retrieve the bodies of Frank, William, Natalie, Rowdy and Cyrus. He’d taken a few stitches and been declared free of any major injury at the hospital in Moose. He’d given his statement to the sheriff’s department and park security, and notified his commander at the Watchers of Frank Brooks’s death. He’d done his job. He’d conquered the mountain one more time and saved eight people from certain death. He shoved the door closed behind him and leaned against it. The darkness of the empty hallway walls s
Chapter 8
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