Chasing Marisol (Blueprint to Love Book 3) (29 page)

Jeff stared at his parents, acknowledging how comfortable they were together, arm in arm. Marisol's comments about their 'friendliness' flashed through his brain. She'd sensed something was up with them. "When are you going to tell everyone?"

Mona flashed a guilty look at his dad. "I knew it," he confirmed. "Mari was right. You two are back together, aren't you?"

"We didn't want to say anything— with you and Marisol announcing your engagement—and Harry and Kendall due any day— we didn't want to draw attention-"

"That's crazy. There’s always room for more good news." Jeff pulled them in for a hug. "I'm so happy for you both."

"Well— we'd like to be the first to congratulate you on your engagement." Linc beamed. "You'll never find a finer woman. Where is she, by the way?"

Jeff searched the sea of people, his gaze not lingering to admire the new carpeting, tile, and artwork. He skipped over the double doors leading to the shiny stainless kitchen the chefs would now work in. Finally, they settled on Marisol. And his breath caught. She was especially beautiful tonight . . . her wild mane swept up, her shimmering gown revealing an expanse of honeyed skin he'd grown addicted to over the last seven months.

"She's heading this way." Surrounded by her sisters and the overprotective Manuel, Marisol was radiant. This was her night. Her dream. She’d worked so hard to achieve it. Pride swelled his chest. She was so important here— to so many people. Jeff’s gaze locked on her hand, on the sparkling band gleaming there. Smiling, he remembered the climb to the plateau. At his favorite spot in the world, he'd asked her to marry him, slipping the ring on her finger as the sun rose. With the light warm on their faces, he'd kissed her, sealing their promise.

Though he'd never stop chasing her— he'd finally caught her hand. The adoption completed, Hector was Mari's son. Soon, Jeff would officially become his dad. He'd already completed the background check and all the paperwork. All that remained to make it official was their rapidly approaching wedding.

Hector poked him. "I wanna be in here, too." Slipping under Jeff's arm, he entered the circle he'd created with his parents.

"I hear you'll be a Traynor one day soon." Linc lowered his gaze to Hector.

Hec’s earnest expression made Jeff smile. "Well, for now, I'm still an Ortega. But when Jeff marries us, I'm gonna be Ortega
and
Traynor. I want both names so I can remember."

"Remember what, Hec?" Hoisting the little boy to his shoulder, Jeff loved the feel of his sturdy little body cushioned against him.

"When Mari picked me."

"Picked you for what, sweet?" Mona gave his hand a squeeze.

"To be her kid." His grin was exuberant. "What if she'd wanted a girl instead?"

His mother's smile faltered. For a moment, Jeff thought she might cry. Hell— for a second, he thought he might, too.

"Are you sad, Miss Mona?" Hector's chocolate eyes were puzzled. "I think it's good she picked me cuz I'm really good at baseball and I 'member to make my bed every day. Almost."

His mother's smile was radiant. "I think she picked the best boy ever. With you and Alex, I'm going to have the two best grandsons ever."

"
Three
best grandsons," Hector corrected. "Remember? Aunt Kenny's baby is a boy, too."

Joining them, Marisol's dazzling smile was directed at him. Still slightly awed by how amazing his life had become over the last seven months, Jeff wondered whether the sense of belonging he experienced every time he looked at Mari would fade with time. Gazing at his parents, he had his answer.

"Where have you been?"

"I was just in the kitchen with our chefs— admiring my extravagant engagement present from Jefferson."

"What did Jake say when you told him you were donating all the kitchen equipment to the shelter?" His father’s smirk suggested Linc already knew the answer to that question.

"He understood— eventually." Jeff smiled. "After reminding me again about the four mouths to feed . . . four cars . . . four college educations . . ."

"Mama— you already have a stove at home."

"I know, carino. Jeff gave me this one for our new building."

"We need a toast," Linc announced as he signaled a passing waiter. The cluster of Traynors wiped out an entire tray of champagne glasses. Hector in one arm, Jeff sought Mari’s fingers. When she linked them with his, a sense of peace settled over him. Of exquisite rightness.

Linc raised his glass. "To New Beginnings. To all the souls who pass through these doors . . . may they find the help they seek. To all the hard-working volunteers who devote themselves to helping others."

Squeezing Mari’s fingers as they shared a glass, Jeff leaned in to brush his mouth against her ear, loving the delicate shiver that coursed through her. "To my beautiful, talented, dedicated fiancée."

Her eyes lit with happiness, she smiled. "Thank you for my beautiful kitchen."

"Thank
you
for finally agreeing to go out with me." Chasing Marisol had been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He gazed at the circle that
was his family. A circle that would continue to grow over time. The one constant in his life he'd always known he needed. And for him, Marisol was at the center of it. Everything he would ever want was right there in his arms.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the beautiful, strong women who have ever struggled with domestic or partner violence. Don't ever doubt you are worth so much more. A portion of the proceeds of this book will be donated to Safe Harbor Shelter. Assist them at safeharborshelter.com

Look for Book 4 of the Blueprint to Love series, Hank Freeman's story,
SHELTERING ANNIE.

Coming Summer, 2016.

Love Under Construction . . .

Solitary widower Henry Hank Freeman has relearned how to be alone. In a world gone colorless with grief, he views life in varying shades of gray. Until bumping into Annie McKenna, a mysterious woman walking her own lonely path. But when their paths cross, he can see only light. And a rainbow of opportunity.

Annie McKenna doesn't need any distractions. Perpetually on the run from her abusive ex- husband, she has two kids to hide and protect. No job. No money. No hope. Until she meets Hank Freeman at the shelter she's living in. For the first time in years, she's awakened to a sharp sense of longing. For a normal life. With a man she can trust. But Hank seems too good to be true.

Falling for Annie and her boys was the easy part. But convincing her to build a new dream with him might take longer than the addition he's constructing for the shelter. And protecting them from her ex is a full-time job. Believing Henry's beautiful blueprint will take all the faith Ann can summon. She can't afford another mistake. Because where she's escaped from . . . mistakes can kill.

SHELTERING ANNIE

Available Summer, 2016

I hope you will enjoy an excerpt from

OUT OF THE MIST
,

the first book in my new series, Can't Help Falling.

Coming April, 2016.

Out of Time . . .

Beaten and left for dead,
Juliet awakens in the rain with no memory of how she ended up alone on an isolated road. After another attempt on her life, she'll have to pour her faith into the one man who's made it clear he doesn't trust her.

Injured drug agent Matt Barnes has seen just about everything in a decade battling the worst humanity has to offer. But he's never seen anything like Julie. The beautiful blonde reminds him more of sorority Barbie than a ruthless drug kingpin. But looks can be deceiving. He's got the bullet hole to prove it.

Juliet— and her memory are all he has in a case going nowhere. To erase the worst mistake of his career, his team will utilize her to lure the most dangerous drug lord he's ever battled. But will the woman he's fallen in love with ever forgive him for making her the bait?

***

An Excerpt from:

OUT OF THE MIST

Available April, 2016.

Julie jolted awake to a cold raindrop sliding down her neck. Followed by another. Thunder vibrated, shaking the ground beneath her. Head swimming, she sat up, the earthy bloom of decaying leaves clinging to her sweater. She was alone in a ditch. With no memory of how she’d arrived there.

Wrestling a freight train of panic threatening to knock her flat, she released a calming breath. Great news— her lungs were working. "Even better." Her spine seemed intact. She wiggled her toes. Super duper. Her face however, held the drunken sensation of an injury she might be afraid to acknowledge in a mirror.

In the smothering darkness, pain slithered over her like crawling insects. "Oh, God-" Terror rose in her throat.
Was it really bugs
? Bolting to her feet, her wobbly stilettos sank in wet moss. If she’d known she was going to be kidnapped, she never would’ve worn new pumps.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." A sharp torque in her ankle toppled her back to the ground. Shoes should’ve been the last thing on her mind, but contemplating her shiny, never worn, sort-of-pinched-her-toes-but-she’d-bought-them-on-clearance Jimmy Choos was easier than wondering why someone wanted her dead.

"Try not to panic." Except fear had already taken over, tremoring her hands as she grasped handfuls of weeds to claw her way up the embankment— where she prayed she’d discover a road. "Piece a’ cake." Yeah— dropped on the floor, frosting side down. Her desperate chuckle hinted at approaching tears. Who was she kidding? It was the
perfect
time to panic. She wanted to run— to the nearest source of light . . . safety . . . warmth. Cower under a blanket with her eyes scrunched shut.

When tires crunched on the gravel above, instinct had her shrinking back against the slope as she prayed.
Please, please don’t see me
. Unable to rationalize her fear, the throbbing sense of dread hovered like the storm clouds overhead. Twin headlights loomed closer, casting exaggerated shadows on her hiding place.

A warehouse. A body. A lion's paw? Images flashed before her as she flattened into the shadows, remaining motionless for what seemed an eternity.
Was he back
? The thought did little to steady her catapulting heart. Once the vehicle passed, she lurched to her feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to drop her again. Finally reaching pavement, she released a sob of frustration at the glimpse of fading taillights. Wanting the car to return. Wanting it to disappear. Wanting to run in the opposite direction. With a renewed sense of urgency, she stumbled down the road.

***

"Pete. . . I just saw somethin'."

"Half the county’s searchin' for that girl. You really think
we’re
gonna find her?"

"Dammit, turn around. I saw a flash a color in my mirror."

"We ain’t seen the car, Billy. Don’t you think we’d find the car first? Or did she let
herself
outta that trunk?"

"People were blowin’ their horns like crazy. Maybe the perp catches on— so he changes plans and dumps her."

The old cop pondered. In the span of seven minutes, the 911 operator received six calls on a rusty Plymouth beater with a woman’s arm hangin’ from the taillight. Now, one call— that’s probably a crank. But six? In Marsh Point, they were lucky to get six calls all night. ‘Course not a single damn caller got the plate number.

  "What’d I tell you," Billy crowed. "Hell if that ain’t a woman."

Pete flicked the siren as they pulled up behind a limping woman. Leaving the engine idling, they approached cautiously. She turned to face them, swaying on her feet like a Friday night drunk.

"Holy Mother 'a God."

Blood oozed from an ugly laceration on the side of her head. Long, blond hair straggled from a fancy hairdo, covering half her battered face. Glowing in the moonless night, an icy blue sweater hung from one shoulder, covered in blood spatters and mud.

"Ma’am? I’m going to approach. Place your hands where I can see them." His gaze never leaving the woman, he muttered to Billy. "Get an ambulance. She ain’t gonna be standing much longer."   

***

"You're sayin' she can't remember anything?" Captain Jonas paused for the hospital intercom, his weary eyes looking every minute of his fifty-nine years. "Amnesia’s in the movies, Jeb."

"Is it permanent?" Matt Barnes rose from his chair, relieved to suspend his argument with the small town cop. Jonas should have called yesterday. Since he’d landed in Marsh Point two months earlier, Steve had called him on just about everything. Instead, he'd received the news from the Boston drug team. A Jane Doe found in the middle of nowhere . . .
his
middle of nowhere. With distributor quality heroin under her nails.

"Too soon to tell." The doctor glanced from Jonas to him. "It’s a common side-effect from a blow to the head."

"How long?" Just because Matt was on medical leave from the agency didn't mean he had
nothing
better to do. Well— almost nothing. PT on his useless shoulder and . . . Cable wasn't exactly great out at the lake.

The doctor shrugged. "Memory usually returns in fragments. The more she can string together, the more enabled she'll be to remember."

"What's typical?" Jonas turned his attention to the doc.

"Everyone’s different. Could be days; maybe weeks. Some take longer."

"Could she be faking?" Matt voiced the question he and Jonas both wondered. It was pretty convenient the woman who'd rolled around in pure grade heroin couldn’t remember a damn thing.

Jeb grinned. "Anything's possible, but pressuring doesn't work— so don’t upset her." The paging system interrupted their discussion. "That’s for me." Waving, he headed down the corridor.

Jonas scratched his head. "So, DEA's taking over my case?"

"You've said you're spread too thin. Why would you want to take lead on this?"
When you're seriously unqualified
.

The old man shrugged. "It's a good case. Fifteen years of Friday night DVs after Gus or Ricky has too much to drink-" He sighed. "Wives never leave 'em . . . and every time I gotta worry about gettin' shot." He scratched his salt and pepper crew cut. "Wife beaters and DIBs. That's my life now."

"DIBs?" Matt stifled a yawn. He wanted coffee that didn't come from a nursing station pot.

"Drunk in daddy's boat." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "So, you got a lead then? This tie back to Boston?"

"Looks like it might." He pushed off the corridor wall, grimacing as pain lanced his shoulder. Ten weeks after surgery and he was still worthless.

"Okay, Mattie. Let's do this." Graying whiskers creased into a smile. "We don’t see many heroin dealers in Marsh Point. And I damn sure haven’t come across amnesia before."

Matt pushed through the door. "Can't help on the amnesia, but drugs . . . I know." A battered, sleeping woman met his gaze. Blonde. Late twenties. Maybe thirty, he corrected, his gaze methodical. An ugly purple bruise marred her right cheekbone, the color seeping into her eye socket, giving the appearance of a shiner. A sweep of dark lashes stood in stark relief against parchment skin, leaving him with a disturbing sense of innocence she couldn’t possibly live up to.

He drew closer. Bandages covered the head injury that had taken seventeen stitches to close. The contusion spreading into her hairline was a nasty rainbow of purple and yellow. Doc was right. She was lucky to have awakened at all.

"Ma’am? You awake?" Glancing at Jonas, he hauled a chair to her bedside.

When her eyes fluttered open, fear flared in their depths, warring with the arresting color for his attention. Terror, followed by confusion. Matt acknowledged both before conceding they were possibly the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.

"I’m Captain Jonas," Steve explained. "Marsh Point PD. This is my colleague, Matt Barnes. We’d like to ask a few questions, Miss-"

Her eyes widened. "Julie. That's all I remember."

"You’ve sustained a serious head injury. You remember how you got that?"

"Someone— hit me." Eyes unfocused, she appeared to be concentrating on a memory. She raised her arm to mimic the action. "Maybe a pipe?" 

Matt's imagination filled in the sound of the thud— a weapon against skin and delicate bone. Her shudder caught him off guard, crawling down his skin. He catalogued it— comparing it to the database in his head. Faking fear was easy, he reminded himself. After a decade in drug enforcement, he’d pretty much seen it all.   

"Did you know him?" Steve's elder statesman voice encouraged.

"I don’t . . . remember." Grass green eyes went vacant. "My head feels— thick, like . . . it's not working right."

Her voice quavered on the last bit.
Nice touch
, Matt acknowledged. Avoiding him, her gaze remained on Jonas. Clearly, she preferred the fatherly figure she could trust. Or play.

"Where you from?"

Slender shoulders lifted, appearing helpless. "Not here." Restless fingers plucked at the sheets covering her. Once manicured, her nails were ragged. "Marsh Point is in the Berkshires?"

"Pretty much the last stop before the New York border," Steve offered.

Matt hid his smile. Already charmed, Jonas would be damn near useless. The old man may have started his career in the city, but after fifteen years in Marsh Point, he'd lost his edge. The tox report on Julie’s clothing indicated she’d rolled around on a carpet laced with dangerously pure heroin. A batch of drug that sure as hell hadn’t been cut to street grade yet. Her fancy sweater saturated in blood and drugs. Expensive black pants from Talbots— this season’s style. Hot lookin' designer shoes that probably cost a week's pay. All dusted with smack.  

The paydirt had been under her nails— drugs and a drop of someone’s blood. Matt was eager to learn who owned the sample. "Do you remember anything about the night we found you?"

"Fragments— feeling late for . . . something." Her voice trailed off. "Maybe I was lost?"

Okay, so the scrunched nose thing was sorta charming, Matt admitted. Her gaze remained glued to the wall, leaving the impression she really couldn't remember what the hell had happened to her. Or she was damn good at trying to convince them.

"I remember the sound of the car . . . I thought he’d come back."

Jonas shot him a look. "Who?"

"The man in the ski mask." Her expression confused, she glanced up. "He put me in a closet. No— that doesn’t seem right," she muttered. "It was noisy. I think I was lying down."

When Steve glanced at him— none too subtly, Matt wanted to groan. The old man was
seriously
out of practice. Her memory of the trunk should be organic— confirming what they’d gleaned from 911 calls. "What else?"  

She reluctantly shifted her focus to him. "I think I had a meeting."

"With the man?"

"I can’t believe I would associate with someone like him— yet . . . something felt familiar." Long lashes fluttered against translucent skin. "Is that crazy?"

Jonas muttered something reassuring. Matt remained silent, intrigued by her choice of words. 'Associate' implied someone beneath her stature. Was she someone important? That tended to complicate things. Her tailored clothes sketched a picture of a comfortable, monied lifestyle— certainly not what a street dealer wore. He filed the question away for later.

Removing himself from the temptation of his downtown office— from the well-meaning, visits of family and co-workers, from the
sorry-you-effed-up, Barnes
expression in their eyes— he'd hunkered down at the lake house for the grueling months of physical therapy his rebuilt shoulder required. Nearly three months after surgery he wasn’t close to being duty-ready. At least not undercover. But sheer boredom had him consulting with the Marsh Point PD.

The call from State had been a godsend. They wanted him back— in some role. Lab analysis of Julie's clothes tied her to the Boston Harbor haul two months earlier. Their first real break since he'd been shot. But this wasn’t shaping up as a typical case. Julie was a beautiful woman with a suspect story. The drumbeat of warning hammered his brain. This time, his shields would remain firmly in place, immune to manipulating, green eyes. Instinct told him this woman spelled trouble.

***

"They found her?"

"Yeah." Matias fumbled for loose change as he inched through the drive thru line.

"You have confirmation she’s no longer . . . with the company?"

"Nothing in the paper yet." An icy warning whispered along Matias’ spine. He resisted the urge to explain his latest screw-up. "The job was handled as ordered," he lied.

"You followed the plan?"

The silky voice raised hair on his neck.
Here it comes
.

"Because I don't remember discussing driving the bitch all over town."

Matias' pulse ratcheted a notch. How was it his fault the boss lady surprised him? Like— no one coulda warned him? When she'd discovered him standing over the old man's body, the
plan
had gone out the window.