Trusting a Stranger
Read Trusting a Stranger Online
Authors: Melinda Di Lorenzo
The sexiest fugitive alive
Wanted for murder, Graham Calloway has hidden for years in a remote mountain cabin, desperate to find the killer who framed him. Keira Niles, too, is running from her shattered life when, during a blizzard, a mysterious, silent stranger pulls her from her wrecked car. Their sizzling attraction is instant; mutual trust is not. While Keira doubts Graham’s innocence, Graham fears she’ll expose him.
Instead it’s an unforeseen betrayal that threatens Keira, causing Graham to risk exposure—and his life—to rescue her and redeem himself. For the first time he wants a future…but will the killer let him have one?
“Did you know I was here?” he demanded. “Or did you just get lucky?”
“I wouldn’t call this lucky.”
Keira pulled emphatically on the rope around her arms, and in spite of himself, Graham winced.
“If you’re not going to answer my questions,” he said, “then I’m going to go back to our previous arrangement.”
“What previous arrangement was that?” she replied, just shy of sarcastic.
“The one where I don’t speak at all.”
He started to turn away, but she snorted, and he stopped, midturn, to face her again.
“More of the silent treatment? What are you?” she asked. “A ten-year-old boy?”
For some reason, the question annoyed him far more than her lack of candor. Graham strode toward her, and once again, she didn’t cower. She raised her eyes and opened her mouth, but whatever snarky comment had been about to roll off her tongue was cut off as Graham mashed his lips into hers messily. Uncontrollably. And when it ended, Keira was left gasping for air—gasping for
more
.
TRUSTING
A STRANGER
Melinda Di Lorenzo
Melinda Di Lorenzo
is a Canadian author living on the West Coast of British Columbia. She is an avid reader and an avid writer. Her to-be-read and to-be-written lists are of equal overwhelming length and she plans on living to be 150 years old so she can complete them both. Melinda is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a full-time mom to three beautiful girls. When she is not detangling hair, fighting for her turn on iTunes or catching up on sleep, she can be found at the soccer pitch or on the running trail.
Books by Melinda Di Lorenzo
Harlequin Intrigue
Trusting a Stranger
Harlequin Intrigue Noir
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com
for more titles.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Graham Calloway—
Wrongly accused of murder years ago, Graham Calloway traded in his life as a doctor for the life of a man on the run. On the cusp of a revelation in his case, Graham is about to leave his mountain hideaway.
Keira Niles—
Finally ready to take a chance on a man who’s been flirting with her for years, Keira is heading to the Rocky Mountain Resort when she drives over a cliff and changes the course of her life forever. She wakes up in the arms of a stranger—Graham Calloway.
Dave Stark—
A police officer who is Graham’s best friend and oldest confidant. He is the only person who knows Graham’s whereabouts, and the only one who knows that Graham is hiding Keira.
Holly and Sam Henderson—
Graham’s wife and his stepson, whom Graham was accused of murdering in their home.
Mike Ferguson—
The only lead Graham has to finding who killed his family. But who is Mike Ferguson? And how is he connected to Graham’s family’s deaths?
Drew—
A businessman from Keira’s hometown who should be the perfect man for her, if she would just take a chance on him.
As always, I owe the deepest gratitude to my family.
Without them, I would never have been able to
add the title of “writer” to my list.
Contents
Prologue
Mike Ferguson crossed
and uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again.
Even though the swanky hotel room was loaded with testosterone-fueled tension, the movement was the only indication that any of it affected him.
So far anyway.
Unflappable. It was a characteristic he valued above most others. A characteristic each of the two men in front of him lacked utterly.
The one with his meaty fingers around the other’s neck...he was on edge. On
the
edge, maybe. He should’ve been calm. Self-assured. Those were the things that would make a man good at a job like his. Instead, he used ego and coercion tactics to get his way.
The one on his knees was just as bad. A blubbering mess. Or he would’ve been blubbering, if he’d been able to do more than gurgle. Had he shown a little more fortitude, the first man would’ve released him long ago and traded violence for a reasonable conversation.
Ferguson sighed.
Either way, both men were weak, as far as he was concerned. An embarrassment to work with.
Ferguson cared so little about them that he couldn’t even be bothered with their names. Unfortunately, they were a necessity for this particular issue. Because they were also the only two men on the planet who knew as much as Mike did about his activities. The only two men who could implicate him for the one time in twenty years that he’d lost his cool while trying to protect everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.
“You think you found Mike Ferguson,” the first man growled at the second. “What were you going to do about it? Turn me in?”
Gurgle, gurgle.
“Or were you going to tell our mutual friend and let
him
turn Mike in? Or maybe just skip the preamble and kill me?”
Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.
“Fat chance you’d get to that badly disguised weapon of yours before my palm crushed your trachea.”
Gurgle.
Ferguson was tired of the theatrics.
“Drop him.” The command came out as if he was talking to a dog about a bone and, truthfully, it was kind of the way he saw them.
Beta dog. And even
more
beta dog.
The presently dominant one flexed his hand once more, then released the submissive one to the ground.
“You know I’d never turn him in,” the second man croaked.
“We
all
know that,” the first replied. “Takes a hell of a lot more guts than you’ve got to do the job that I do. You’ve been looking for Mike Ferguson for how long? And nothing. You couldn’t find him until
I
let you.”
“You think that’s what happened?” The other man finally sounded a little gutsier. “I’ve suspected all along that he was under my nose. What I was looking for was
proof
. Because that’s how
I
do things.”
Ferguson rolled his eyes, came to his feet and stepped between them. “Your pissing contest is starting to get to me, boys.”
“Waiting is starting to get to
me
,” the first man snapped. “I want the other half of my money.”
“Relax,” said Ferguson. “Both of us want to be paid. And I agree. Enough time has passed, and we’ve all exercised enough patience for one lifetime. Your
friend
has stewed long enough. He needs to be smoked out.”
“He’ll never leave,” said the second man. “And he’s stupidly stubborn. Bad enough that if we go to him, he’ll probably die before he tells you where he’s hidden what you’re looking for.”
“So motivate him.”
“Motivate him? It’s been four years,” pointed out the first man. “I’m tired of hanging around, waiting for him to show his face, hoping he’ll turn up and lead me to the painting. I think
I
could motivate him just fine.”
Ferguson gritted his teeth. “This doesn’t need muscle. It needs finesse.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his preferred weapon of choice. Photographic evidence. He held it out, knowing it was far more menacing than any gun.
“You recognize the kid?”
“Yes!”
“His life is in your hands.”
The man on the ground was immediately blubbering all over again. “Please don’t!”
“Motivation,” Ferguson stated coldly. “Just enough to get the man to his own house. Then we can decide whether we move on to muscle. Two days, no more. Understood?”
“Yes.”
The reply was barely more than a whisper. It didn’t have to be. Ferguson knew the beta dog had been motivated enough.
Chapter One
Keira Niles stepped on the gas, checked her rearview mirror and smiled.
Admittedly, it was kind of a forced smile.
But it was a smile nonetheless.
Because today was going to be the day.
The one where she said yes.
The one where she gave in to Drew Bryant, the handsome, friendly neighborhood businessman whom she’d been flirting with for four years.
Today, she would tell herself—and believe it—that his business-minded attitude was a complement to her socially conscious one instead of a sharp contrast to it.
Yes, she was finally ready to dismiss the doubts in her mind that had never seemed all that reasonable to start out with.
Drew was as close to a perfect man as she’d ever met. Calm and predictable, financially stable and kind. Tall enough that when they kissed for the first time, she’d probably have to tip her head up at least a little, and good-looking enough that he’d probably stay that way until both of them were too old to care anyway.
It was a good list. A good cross section of pleasant characteristics that were totally at odds with the nervous butterflies in her stomach.
Go away
, Keira grumbled at them.
But no. She was nervous, and the butterflies were prevailing. So she did the only thing she could—she beat them down as forcibly as she knew how.
No more excuses, no more waiting for this, that or the other thing.
She straightened her dress over her thighs and glanced at her bare ring finger on the steering wheel one more time. Maybe soon it wouldn’t look so naked and exposed. So free.
Don’t be silly, Keira
, she chastised herself.
But it wasn’t that silly, if she thought about it.
Her parents would be happy if she settled down. They weren’t getting younger, and neither was she. Or Drew. He was nearly forty, and he’d hinted enough times that he was just waiting for the right girl. He’d also hinted enough times that maybe
Keira
was that girl. Jokingly called her his girlfriend on repeat since he moved in beside her parents just a few years earlier.
He was a good, stable man. Handsome. Friendly. A catch.
Just this morning, when she’d come by to water her mom’s rhododendrons, he’d paused to say goodbye before he left for his business trip. He’d given her a peck on the cheek—and while it hadn’t lit her up with fireworks, it hadn’t felt bad, either. It wasn’t until he drove away that Keira saw that he’d left his briefcase behind.
And a man on a business trip needs his briefcase.
It was a sign. A subtle push that she ought to take a spontaneous, romantic leap.
After only the briefest hesitation, she’d decided to do it. No call, no warning. Just a seizing of the moment. So she grabbed the overnight bag she kept at her parents’ house and set out on the four-hour trip to the Rocky Mountains and the aptly named Rocky Mountain Chalet.
It was a chilly oasis right in the middle of the mountains—a hot spot for honeymooners who preferred ski hills to sandy beaches and hot toddies to margaritas. The surrounding resort town had year-round residences, too, but the chalet was really the hub of activity.
It would’ve surprised Keira if her parents’ soft-spoken neighbor had chosen a place like this for a weekend of business, but she doubted he’d picked it himself. His clients, who often stopped by his house, and whom she’d had only a few occasions to meet over the past few years, seemed like the kind of men who liked nice things. Bespoke suits and menus that didn’t have any prices.
Not that Drew was any less classy. He was just a little more understated than overpriced. A little more golf shirt and chinos, and little less glossy necktie and cufflinks. A square-cut diamond versus a marquise.
You’re stalling.
Keira realized that she
had
stopped, her hands on the wheel at exactly ten and two, her eyes so glazed over that they almost didn’t see the forbidding sign that pointed out cheerily how solidly she was about to seal her fate.
No Turnaround, Twenty-Two Miles, it read.
The drive time had passed far more quickly than she thought. The hours had felt like minutes, and the resort was close now.
Was what she was doing crazy and impetuous? Maybe. But it was also the perfect story to tell their friends. Their kids, if they had them. Plus, she got the feeling that settling into a life with Drew wouldn’t allow a whole lot of wildness.
Which is a good thing
, she reminded herself.
She was mild mannered and easygoing, too. So they were kind of perfect for each other.
And she was almost there. That final turn up the mountain was all it would take.
“Well,” she said to the air. “This is it.”
Somehow, the second she clicked on her turn signal, the air got colder.
And when she depressed the gas pedal and actually followed through on the turn itself, Keira swore she had to turn the heat up.
* * *
G
RAHAM
WOKE
FROM
the nightmare far too slowly.
It was the kind of dream that he deserved to be ripped away from quickly, not dragged from reluctantly.
In it, he’d been chasing Holly through their home. She’d started out laughing, but her laughter had quickly turned to screams, and when Graham caught up with her at the bottom of the curved staircase, he saw why. Sam’s small body was at the bottom. Graham had opened his mouth to ask what Holly had done, but she beat him to it.
“What did
you
do?”
The words were full of knowing accusation, and try as he might, he couldn’t deny responsibility for the boy’s death.
The image—and the question—hung in Graham’s mind as he eased into consciousness.
In reality, he’d never seen Sam’s body—just the aftermath and the blood.
In the dream, though, it was always the same. Holly alive and Sam dead, and Graham left broken and unable to shake the false memories. He wished desperately that they would disappear completely, or at least fade as he opened his eyes. Instead, they tightened and sharpened like a noose around his psyche.
Survivor’s guilt.
Graham was sure that was a large part of what he felt. The problem was he was increasingly sure he
wasn’t
surviving.
The leads had dried up long ago, his investigation into who had pulled the trigger growing frustratingly colder with each year.
Even the name—Michael Ferguson—the one thing he’d had to go on, had never panned out.
Graham had always believed the truth would come out and, with it, justice. It had never been a part of his plan to live out his days—to
survive
them—in the middle of the woods in a cabin no one knew existed. He sure as hell never thought he’d wake some mornings wondering if he was as guilty as everyone thought he was.
What kind of man admitted publicly that he didn’t love his wife just days after being accused of her murder?
Did an innocent man escape police custody and promptly disappear?
In the early days, those questions seemed easy to answer.
An innocent man ran only so he could give the authorities enough time to
prove
his innocence.
Four years had gone by, though, and instead of gaining traction and credibility, Graham’s story had at first exploded in hatred and bitterness. Then faded to obscure infamy.
Dreams like the one he’d just had made him question every choice he’d made since the second he picked up his cell phone on that morning.
What if he hadn’t answered it at all?
What if he’d called 9-1-1 himself instead of giving that nosy neighbor the time to do it?
What if—
The squawk of Graham’s one and only electronic device cut off his dark thoughts. The bleep of the two-way radio was so unexpected that he almost didn’t recognize it.
The mountain range that held the cabin hostage also insulated the location from uninvited transmissions. The two-way mounted to the underside of Graham’s bed could only be reached one of two ways. Either the message sender had to be less than a hundred feet away, or he had to be right beside the tower at the top of the mountain, tuned to exactly the correct frequency.
The first would mean initiating lockdown mode. Which Graham wasn’t in the mood for.
The second meant someone was trying to reach him on purpose.
And only one person knew where he was.
“G.C., do you read me?”
Dave Stark.
A friend. A confidant. The only person who’d stuck by him over the years. He was the man who’d placed the call to Graham on
that
morning. Whose voice threw Graham back every time he heard it.
“You there?” Dave asked.
Graham swung his legs from the bed and reached down to flip the switch.
“I should be asking if
you’re
there. And why you’re calling me sixteen days ahead of schedule. We’re regimented for a reason.”
“G.C., stop being your bullheaded self for one second... I have good news.”
Graham went still.
Good
news? He wasn’t sure what to do with the statement.
“Come again?”
“I found the man we’ve been looking for.”
The world spun under Graham’s feet. His mouth worked silently. Four years of waiting to hear those words, and now that he had, he couldn’t think of a single damned thing to say.
“You still there, G.C.?”
Graham cleared his throat. “Where is he?”
“A place you know well.”
“Stop being cagey, Dave. It doesn’t suit you. Or the situation.”
“Home.”
Home. Forty-nine miles of nearly inaccessible terrain and two hundred more of straight highway driving is all that stands between you and the man who very likely killed your wife and son, and robbed you of your life. Michael damned Ferguson.
Hmm. Graham was far from stupid. What were the odds? And why had he surfaced now?
“He’s there on business. Must’ve thought enough time had gone by that no one would be looking,” Dave added as if in answer to Graham’s silent question. “Booked in a hotel under another name, but I swear to God, G.C., I’d recognize the man in my sleep.”
“You’ve got the snowmobile ready to go?” Graham asked.
There was the slightest pause. “Yeah. But there’s a weather advisory out. They’re expecting a blizzard and the whole town is shut down already. No one can get in or out. Blockades up and everything.”
“You can’t get around them?”
Another pause. “Of course I can. But I won’t. Had to flash my ID just to get away long enough to come up to the tower.”
“So flash it again.”
“It’s taken me this long to find him, I don’t want to get caught because of a stupid decision. The blockades will be up all night, and probably into tomorrow. If it’s clear enough by morning, I’ll find a way out. One that won’t arouse the suspicion of every rent-a-cop in the area.”
“If he gets away—”
“He won’t. His hotel reservation in Derby Reach is good until Wednesday morning, G.C., and I paid the clerk a hundred bucks to watch him. Two full days is plenty of time.”
Graham stifled his frustration. “Fine.”
“Over and out.”
By the time the radio screeched, then went silent, Graham was already pulling clothes from his freestanding closet. No way was he waiting another twenty-four hours to get to Dave.
And Ferguson.