Broken Promises

by

Marie-Nicole Ryan

Romantic Suspense Novel

BROKEN PROMISES

Marie-Nicole Ryan

Published by Ryandale Publishing at
Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Mary Varble

Cover Art Elaina Lee

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe a debt of gratitude to my free lance
editor, Linda, who helped me, once again, whip a somewhat flawed
story into shape.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wonderful
friends in Canandaigua, NY, Tom and Marti Miller, who welcomed me
into their home and hearts. Also a shout-out to Jane and Gloria who
have waited patiently for this story set in their wonderful,
picturesque town.

NOTE TO READERS

If you’re curious about the first time Alex
and Bette met and want more details, check out the short story
prequel, PILLOW TALK.

Chapter One

The phone rang.

“
Just ignore it,” she whispered and
pressed her lips and body against his
.

It rang again.

Alex shuddered awake. To an empty bed and no
sign of a woman. Hell, he’d dreamed about Bette again. An unwelcome
reminder he’d been too busy to check on her since they’d gone their
separate ways. He groaned and reached for the phone.
“MacGregor.”

“It’s Bette. You have to come home.”

Was her tone a touch on the hysterical side?
That was Bette’s voice, all right. “No can do. Things are about to
break on this case—”

“No, you don’t understand. Listen to me. You
have to come home. Your sister is
missing
.”

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
A never-quite-forgotten dread jarred his gut and spiked his heart
rate. He squinted at the clock. Four. And not a sign of dawn.

“What do you mean she’s missing? Where’s
Brad?” Brad was his sister’s husband. Why wasn’t he calling?

“He’s in New York for a seminar.” A note of
rising panic was clear in her voice, as well as more than a hint of
her Jersey-girl accent.

“Hold on. Take a deep breath. Start at the
beginning. What makes you think she’s missing?”

“I left her alone in the office last night.
Just as we were leaving, someone pulled in and said his cat was
ill. She told me to go on home, that she’d take a look at the cat,
and then head on to the emergency clinic. Last night, she was
supposed to be on call, but the clinic assistant called me after
trying Jackie’s cell and home phones.” She took a couple of gulping
breaths. “Omigod, Alex, she never showed up. She’s gone—like,
vanished into thin air. Someone took her!”

“Okay, maybe she had car trouble and her cell
phone was dead,” he suggested, trying to think of less ominous
reasons for his sister’s being out of touch.

“No, she keeps her phone charged during
office hours. Something’s happened. I just know it. I shouldn’t
have left her alone with him.”

“Why did you?” An accusatory tone crept into
his voice, even if Canandaigua wasn’t nearly as dangerous as
Chicago.

“I thought it was someone she knew. I mean, I
heard her laugh when they went inside.”

A nightmare. A freaking nightmare. Why
couldn’t he still be dreaming? “Have you called the police?”

“Yes. They’re trying to find Brad at his
hotel.”

“Where’s Cody?” His five-year-old nephew must
be terrified to learn his mother was missing, if he’d even been
told.

“He had a sleepover last night at the
Crandalls’. What should I do? Should I pick him up? Take him to
kindergarten or wait until Brad gets home?”

He could almost hear Bette wringing her
hands. “Call the Crandalls. Tell them what’s happened. Have them
send Cody to school. The locals will want to talk to Brad.” The
husband or significant other was always the first suspect in a
woman’s disappearance. “I’ll catch the next flight to Buffalo. No,
wait. First, I have to let my boss know what’s going on.” Asking
for personal leave while he was ass-deep in a serial killer case
could stall his career with the Bureau for years. Talk about
kissing his dream job on the Violent Crimes Task Force
good-bye.

Couldn’t be helped. No question about it. No
way could he endure losing his sister the way he’d lost his brother
Andy. His identical twin.

“I’m sorry, Alex.” Bette’s voice quivered,
sounding clogged with tears. “I know you’re busy, but I just didn’t
know who else to call. The sheriff’s deputy didn’t seem too
alarmed. The jerk acted like she was probably stepping out while
Brad was out of town. I haven’t known her all that long, but I know
she’d never run around. And she’d
never
miss her turn at the
emergency clinic.”

“You’re right.” Trying to clear his head, he
stood and yawned until his jaw popped. “Hang tight. I’ll call you
as soon as I’m on the ground.”

He rang off, shook his head, shrugged into a
shirt, and tugged on a pair of jeans. He snatched up the go-bag he
kept packed. An FBI agent could conceivably be sent anywhere on a
moment’s notice. Being prepared wasn’t just for the Boy Scouts. He
called a cab. Since this was personal, he’d be on his own for
transport and—

Crap! He hadn’t called the Special Agent in
Charge.

He called and awakened the SAC. By the time
he finished giving the SAC a sit-rep, he was downstairs in time to
meet the cab as it pulled to the curb.

Still on the phone, he nodded and tossed his
go-bag into the backseat. “O’Hare,” he told the cabbie and slid
inside. “Yes, sir,” he continued with his SAC. “I know it’s
inconvenient. Yes, I realize I can’t function in an official
capacity, even if the locals call in the Bureau.”

While he rode to the airport, he used his
iPhone to purchase a ticket on the next flight to Buffalo.

The SAC was understanding but made it clear
Alex would be replaced on the VCTF if his situation wasn’t resolved
in forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight short hours to find his
sister.

But forty-eight hours was a long time to
avoid getting involved with one sexy Bette Smithson. Dark chocolate
doe’s eyes. Dark brown hair, thick and silky as a waterfall. No
matter how much he’d itched to get tangled up in the sheets with
her last New Year’s Eve, he’d remained a gentleman.

Damn. Who the hell cared about being a
gentleman nowadays? No one he knew.

And what’d he done? He’d kissed her
adios
, put her on the plane to Buffalo, and forgot all about
her.

Almost.

That one heated—and unfortunately
unforgettable—kiss had been a mistake, all right. He’d promised
he’d call. And he hadn’t. Now he’d be forced to face the woman who
plagued his dreams. Dreams like he hadn’t experienced since he was
a horny teen.

~~*~~

Bette set aside the phone and balled her
fists. Good-guy hero Double-O was on the way. He’d find Jackie
before anyone hurt her…if they hadn’t already. Dammit. Things like
this weren’t supposed to happen. Not to someone as good and kind as
her boss. After all, Jackie was as much a friend as boss. When
Bette had landed on Jackie’s doorstep, she’d welcomed Bette with
open arms and given her a job and a place to live.

Still, there must be something she could do
before Alex arrived, which probably wouldn’t be for another two or
three hours. And only if his flight connected just right.

Not like New Year’s Day, when she’d flown
from Nashville to Buffalo. Jackie’s husband had braved the ice and
snow, picking up Bette at the airport. At least in June, the roads
were clear, making Alex’s drive from Buffalo a breeze.

Calling Alex took every ounce of courage she
possessed and shook her to the core. Bette wouldn’t have called
him, not in a million years, if not for Jackie. In spite of their
brief night together—where nothing actually happened, thank you
very much—it seemed they had a connection. At the airport, he
promised to call soon. And then he kissed her. Kissed her good,
like call-your-best-girlfriend-and-tell-her-all-about-it good.

Guess Special Agent MacGregor was just too
busy with his new job to keep his promises. Hell. He wasn’t the
first man to disappoint her. Not by a long shot.

Still, none of that mattered. Not really. Not
when his sister was missing and maybe already dead. And it was
Bette’s fault.

I should’ve stayed with her.

But, hell, this was Canandaigua. Upstate New
York, for Pete’s sake. Nothing much ever happened here. People
didn’t lock their doors, except maybe in the summertime when the
small rural town was flooded with tourists.

Lined with summerhouses, Canandaigua Lake’s
ice-blue waters drew boaters and water-skiers. The perfect climate
and the hills above the lake were ideal for growing grapes, which
made the Finger Lakes area the New York version of Napa Valley. In
addition, there were a million and one places to go and things to
do, from antiques to boutiques to one-of-a-kind potteries. And for
a small town, Canandaigua boasted some very fine eating
establishments. Very fine indeed.

Yet in the middle of all this idyllic beauty,
Jackie Stinnett had vanished as surely and silently as the early
morning mist on Canandaigua Lake.

Chapter Two

Bette sat on the hard bench, tapping the toe
of her sandaled foot against the tile floor of the Canandaigua
Police Department. A surly desk sergeant had given her a brief nod
and sent her to sit next to two working girls and possibly a serial
killer or two. What was taking so freaking long? Didn’t anyone care
Jackie’d been kidnapped? And what was going on with the two
post-ops still at the practice? Someone had to see after them
too.

True, she’d already talked to the detective
on the phone, but now he wanted an official statement. “Appreciate
it if you’d come down to the station, right now,” he’d told her.
“Right now” had been seven, but her watch currently showed eight
thirty, and she was still sitting. Waiting.

“Smithson!” The desk sergeant motioned with
his thumb. “Go straight back. First left. Third door on the right.
Detective Spitz is ready for you. ”

She swallowed the about-damned-time comment
she didn’t dare make and responded with a meek nod. No point in
hassling the cops when they just loved to pepper spray or fire off
their Tasers at the slightest provocation.

Of course, Double-O, her nickname for Alex,
was different. As a Fed, he saw the big picture and didn’t have a
small-town cop’s mentality. With her family’s history, she knew a
lot more about cops than she cared to admit. Especially to Special
Agent Alex MacGregor.

More than likely, there was some regulation
against an FBI agent doing the horizontal mambo with a runaway
Mafia princess. Not that any such thing was likely to happen,
except in her imagination.

Following the sergeant’s directions, she
quickly found herself in a small interview room complete with a
small metal desk and two vacant chairs. Detective Spitz occupied
the third chair—actually, he sprawled. Shiny bald with a thick
salt-and-pepper mustache like a Schnauzer’s, the detective didn’t
look like any Spitz she’d ever run across. Of course, working in a
vet’s office, she was more familiar with the canine variety. In
other words, the detective didn’t have a bushy white fur coat, and
his tail didn’t curl over his back. Not as far as she could
tell.