скачать книгу бесплатно
Countdown to Danger: Alive After New Year / New Year's Target
Hannah Alexander
Jill Nelson Elizabeth
Danger rings in the New Year in these two suspenseful novellasAlive After New Year by Hannah AlexanderAn anonymous note demands millions of dollars–and in return, Lynley Marshall can keep her life. Lynley turns to new police chief John Russell for protection. The handsome widower promises to keep her safe. But time is running out as the clock ticks closer to midnight–and to the deadline for the culprit's demands.New Year's Target by Jill Elizabeth NelsonWhen a sniper shoots at Cassidy Ferris on a ski slope, the wounded police detective is shocked by her rescuer's identity–her childhood nemesis, Tim Halstead. And as the threats escalate, they must join forces to uncover why a killer has targeted them both.
Danger rings in the New Year in these two suspenseful novellas
Alive After New Year by Hannah Alexander
An anonymous note demands millions of dollars—and in return, Lynley Marshall can keep her life. Lynley turns to new police chief John Russell for protection. The handsome widower promises to keep her safe. But time is running out as the clock ticks closer to midnight—and to the deadline for the culprit’s demands.
New Year’s Target by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
When a sniper shoots at Cassidy Ferris on a ski slope, the wounded police detective is shocked by her rescuer’s identity—her childhood nemesis, Tim Halstead. And as the threats escalate, they must join forces to uncover why a killer has targeted them both.
Praise for Hannah Alexander (#ulink_8054721e-c396-5b03-8464-08d9f6525a86)
“The rapport of Alexander’s characters is both realistic and engaging in this tautly thrilling tale.”
—RT Book Reviews on Eye of the Storm
“With its suspense, danger, characters and other strong elements, Hannah Alexander’s Hidden Motive is an excellent story that’s sure to keep you up late.”
—RT Book Reviews
Praise for Jill Elizabeth Nelson
“This book has a well-developed plot and an excellent mystery that will keep you guessing until the final pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Legacy of Lies
“A wonderful mystery with a great heroine keeps the reader guessing.”
—RT Book Reviews on Witness to Murder
HANNAH ALEXANDER
is the pseudonym of husband-and-wife writing team Cheryl and Mel Hodde (pronounced “Hoddee”). When they first met, Mel had just begun his new job as an ER doctor in Cheryl’s hometown, and Cheryl was working on a novel. Cheryl’s matchmaking pastor set them up on an unexpected blind date at a local restaurant. Surprised by the sneak attack, Cheryl blurted the first thing that occurred to her: “You’re a doctor? Could you help me paralyze someone?” Mel was shocked. “Only temporarily, of course,” she explained when she saw his expression. “And only fictitiously. I’m writing a novel.”
They began brainstorming immediately. Eighteen months later they were married, and the novels they set in fictitious Ozark towns began to sell. The first novel in the Hideaway series won the prestigious Christy Award for Best Romance in 2004.
JILL ELIZABETH NELSON
writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. By day she operates as housing manager for a seniors’ apartment complex. By night she turns into a wild and crazy writer who can hardly wait to jot down all the exciting things her characters are telling her, so she can share them with her readers. More about Jill and her books can be found at jillelizabethnelson.com. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children, who have settled nearby.
Countdown to Danger
Hannah Alexander
Jill Elizabeth Nelson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#uf8342604-5a32-59ef-aa99-7fbd7b57df00)
Back Cover Text (#u5dbb6233-7c2b-58f9-98ad-288d9e02980e)
Praise (#ulink_2c025813-8cde-5c48-9f8c-ccd4930aa8c8)
About the Author (#u6bf8cb8a-d92d-5673-a71e-db1ae89a54f3)
Title Page (#uaa31e06e-f17c-5b29-b16f-49d843d88bc3)
Alive After New Year (#ulink_a7597ede-9c5a-5c0b-b1a7-85cd1649486a)
Dedication (#u8a8d0199-0ba5-50fe-8466-82ac605b2cb3)
Bible Verse (#ud670d777-6cad-5556-b70f-90892a427805)
One (#ulink_86d89ccf-4fce-5be9-835d-eec45f3f5e8e)
Two (#ulink_70126290-0de5-56ec-845f-4f68d2c12b1a)
Three (#ulink_4109c719-a056-5013-85f5-d0d816d50f2c)
Four (#ulink_cc8a2142-b492-5b73-b318-59e8587ef4f0)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
New Year’s Target (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Bible Verse (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#litres_trial_promo)
Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Alive After New Year (#ulink_5bc47e0d-11de-5cb6-960b-54ad2bae2b32)
Hannah Alexander
This book is dedicated to the caretakers of Jolly Mill Park and to the founders long ago in history who built it into a thriving community for those traveling by wagon train.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.
—Philippians 4:8
ONE (#ulink_114ac29d-4658-5c5b-bbd4-beb6c4091e6c)
Too stunned to move, Lynley Marshall pressed numb fingers against the sliding glass door that led out onto the lower deck of her mom’s house. A lurid red note pasted eye level outside on the glass glared at her with a green, jagged font and accusing words. The Christmas colors had drawn her to the note initially. Now its writer had ruined Christmas for her forever. She didn’t dare open the door to retrieve it until she knew whether or not someone might be out there waiting.
KM: Your precious daughter is a killer and deserves to die. Wire me four million dollars before December 31 or she won’t live to see New Year’s Day. You gave birth to her, you will pay. Be alone and ready for my instructions in six days. Don’t contact authorities unless you wish to lose her sooner.
Lynley sucked in a hard breath. KM? That meant Kirstie Marshall. Mom. This note was to Mom? Rereading the note, she felt the numbness in her fingers spread up her hands. She backed away from the door and into the shadows, where the few patches of morning sun that reached the lower deck couldn’t reveal her to whoever might be watching. Someone wanted to kidnap her?
Nothing moved out in the gray and cedar-green forest past the deck railing that overlooked the secluded village of Jolly Mill. Even the tiniest of tree branches seemed frozen in clear amber. The only movement she sensed was the skin on her arms as it tightened into gooseflesh. She could see no footprints on the decking to suggest that someone had recently been here, but that meant nothing since she’d swept snow from the deck yesterday.
Someone must want retribution. Lynley could guess why. But to get it from Mom?
She paced from the kitchen to the living room, shaking with fear and fury.
Lynley had known from the first notice of the malpractice suit three years ago that the family of a patient who died under her nursing care was after money. It didn’t matter to them that no one could have saved their drugged daughter, or that her overdose was her choice, not Lynley’s, even though she’d been the nurse in charge of triage the night the patient came in. There was no way of knowing that this had been the one time Wendy Freeson had gone too far.
Hospitals had deep pockets, so the family had attempted to squeeze money from her employer through the court system. Since the court had ruled against the plaintiff, could the plaintiff be looking for another way to get to her?
It infuriated Lynley that someone was vindictive and greedy enough to threaten her—and her mother! Via television, radio and the printed word, news had spread throughout the region about her uncle Lawson’s death and Mom’s inheritance.
Lynley’s respiratory rate, along with her heart rate, increased. Her insides trembled. Someone had gone to the trouble to find out where Mom lived—to discover, even, where Mom typically preferred to sit and greet the dawn with a cup of espresso. Today, however, she’d had no time because of an early meeting.
Oh, yes, someone knew about those millions, but they obviously didn’t know enough. So who erroneously believed Mom was now wealthy? Not a Jolly Mill citizen. They all knew better.
The smell of Lynley’s coffee lingered in the kitchen, but it mingled with anxiety to make her stomach queasy. Mom would have gone straight to the garage this morning, and she’d missed this tasteless piece of paper, but what about next time? She had to be warned.
Lynley closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, fighting back a bitter terror. The note writer could be on the upper deck this very minute. The house had double decks leading from the kitchen and dining room, as well as the upper guest room. Both had sliding glass doors and upper windows that allowed anyone a good view into the house from the right angle, though no one could see into the house from the front. She’d always appreciated that openness to the morning light. Until now.
From inside, she could see the bottom of the upper deck. She glanced up between the slats of the wooden floor that had tripped her so many times when she was a child. She could see no movement, only those evenly spaced rows of light, enriched by the morning sun that cast shadows of crisscrossed lines on the lower deck.
She was reaching to unlock the door to slide it open and grab the note when the doorbell rang. She jerked around and stared at the solid oak door thirty feet away. Who could that be? Mom wouldn’t ring the doorbell.
Something brushed against her leg. Lynley shrieked and looked down to find Data, one of Mom’s cats, on his usual affectionate marking journey through the house.
She heard rushing footsteps alongside the house and up the short stairway that led to the bottom deck. She searched the kitchen cabinet for a weapon...any weapon.
The edge of a shadow reflected against the glass door and she scrambled aside, screaming again as she drew a handle haphazardly from the wooden knife block. She turned, holding it in front of her. It was a butcher knife, sharp and heavy. She could have been holding a toothpick and she’d have felt as safe.
But then Police Chief John Russell stepped into view, weapon drawn, face grim. She released a breath and slumped with relief against the counter. He froze when he saw the knife, and then his gaze went to her face, which must have certainly shown her fear.
Without intending to, she glanced once more at the object of that fear, and John followed the line of her sight. He looked to the note, which was taped on the outside of the door. He reached for it, of course unable to read it from his vantage point.
“No. John, oh, no!” She lunged forward, still holding the knife. What if someone was watching? What if the person knew he was the policeman in this town?
He stopped midreach and stared at her through the glass, lowering his hand. “Lynley?” The thick double pane muted his voice. “What’s wrong? I was just bringing some of your favorite blueberry muffins and I heard you cry out. Is someone in there? Are you in trouble?” Once again he reached for the red square of paper, weapon still drawn.
“Don’t touch the note!” She set her knife on the kitchen counter and flipped open the lock on the door.
He rolled the heavy glass backward and stepped inside. “Lynley? What’s wrong?” He peered around the living area and kitchen, as if seeking an intruder.
“I...I’m just a little, uh, creeped out.” She couldn’t keep her gaze from skimming the note again, like a rabbit staring at a rattler. How could she distract John from it?
Of course, that was when he decided to turn and look at it. “What on earth is going on?” He paused, and she could feel his body stiffen.
“John, please. Someone could be watching, and they warned—”
He holstered his weapon. “KM? This is to your mother?” He reached back out the door and lifted the note from the glass. “What kind of sick joke—”
“It doesn’t look like a joke to me.”
“Yeah, but someone’s asking for millions of—”
