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The Makeover Mission
Mary Buckham
When Jane Richards woke up bound and blindfolded, she just knew it had to be a mistake.She was a small-town librarian, after all. Who'd want to kidnap her? Little did she know that her striking resemblance to Elena, the queen of Vendari, would result in her being whisked away to parts unknown and coerced into acting as Elena's double. Jane's only ally was the majorly sexy Major Lucius McConneghy. But could she trust him? Lucius had sworn to protect Jane no matter what. But with death threats aimed at the real Elena, keeping Jane out of trouble wouldn't be easy.At first Lucius's promise was professional, but as the mission progressed - and his attraction to the surprisingly brave Jane became impossible to ignore - he couldn't prevent it from becoming personal….
Where was the legendary McConneghy control? The ability to shut off all emotions to get the mission accomplished?
Shot to hell the moment he saw this doe-eyed young woman, her look pleading with him to save her.
As if he were some angel of mercy. Hell, he was the reason she was here. And the sooner she knew it, and accepted what her role was, the better it would be for all concerned.
So far, this mission had been a disaster. If they’d had more time, they could have foregone the crudeness of a kidnapping. Avoided the emotional and physical costs the woman before him was already paying.
But if there was one thing he had accepted after years of service, there was no going back and correcting past mistakes. There was only going forward and minimizing future ones. Someone always paid. In this case—her.
Jane Richards was his responsibility now. And he would do everything in his power to keep her alive. Everything.
Dear Reader,
The weather’s hot, and so are all six of this month’s Silhouette Intimate Moments books. We have a real focus on miniseries this time around, starting with the last in Ruth Langan’s DEVIL’S COVE quartet, Retribution. Mix a hero looking to heal his battered soul, a heroine who gives him a reason to smile again and a whole lot of danger, and you’ve got a recipe for irresistible reading.
Linda Turner’s back—after way too long—with the first of her new miniseries, TURNING POINTS. A beautiful photographer who caught the wrong person in her lens has no choice but to ask the cops—make that one particular cop—for help, and now both her life and her heart are in danger of being lost. FAMILY SECRETS: THE NEXT GENERATION continues with Marie Ferrarella’s Immovable Objects, featuring a heroine who walks the line between legal, illegal—and love. Dangerous Deception from Kylie Brant continues THE TREMAINE TRADITION of mixing suspense and romance—not to mention sensuality—in doses no reader will want to resist. And don’t miss our standalone titles, either. Cindy Dees introduces you to A Gentleman and A Soldier in a military reunion romance that will have your heart pounding and your fingers turning the pages as fast as they can. Finally, welcome Mary Buckham, whose debut novel, The Makeover Mission, takes a plain Jane and turns her into a princess—literally. Problem is, this princess is in danger, and now so is Jane.
Enjoy them all—and come back next month for the best in romantic excitement, only from Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
The Makeover Mission
Mary Buckham
MARY BUCKHAM
has always believed in make-believe. As a child she roped, cajoled and bullied her brothers and sisters, along with any unsuspecting neighbor child, into elaborate story productions put on in her backyard or basement. Swashbuckling pirates, damsels in distress, and heroes and heroines—this was Mary’s role—who saved the day. As an adult, Mary made sure her five children had a trunk of dress-up clothes and plenty of space to create their own make-believe worlds. She married her Prince Charming, one who doesn’t mind that she talks with imaginary people and who learned to cook as a self-preservation measure. She lives in a picturesque Pacific Northwest seaport community filled with writers, artists and musicians, all constantly proving that the power of make-believe can make magic happen. Mary loves hearing from readers, writers and everyone in between. You can reach her via her Web site, www.marybuckham.com.
I think one’s first dedication page is the hardest to write, because there are so many to thank for their support, encouragement and help over the years.
For my mom, Joy Arsenault, and my mother-in-law, Marilyn Buckham, and Allie Burnell, who all believed. For Sandi Harbert, who was there from the first lines written. For critique partners and fellow writers, friends and believers and, especially, my husband, Jim, and my children—Lizzie, Michael, Brittany, Devon and Tyler— I couldn’t have done this without any of you. Thanks!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
“Tell the major she’s awake.”
Jane Richards snapped her head back, paying for the movement with a pounding that felt like a band of fire across her temples.
Who was the major? And where was she?
She blinked, straining to see into the darkness. Nothing. Something shielded her eyes. What? Why?
Panic tightened her throat.
She attempted to rip off whatever covered her eyes. But her hands wouldn’t budge. They were strapped to the blunt edges of what felt like armrests.
Blindfolded and trapped.
But why? Where?
“Who are you?” The words were hers, but the voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded weak and scared.
No one answered.
The air around her felt clammy. The darkness seemed uniform throughout. There were no traffic sounds beyond thin windows, no voices through walls. The only noise permeating the silence came from behind her. The sound of someone breathing. Slow, even breaths. The sound from a child’s nightmare. The sound from a woman’s worst fears.
But it was real. And it was happening to her.
She wanted to scream. The temptation to struggle against the bonds trapping her was stronger. It must be a nightmare. It had to be. People like her did not end up in dark rooms with their hands tied to the arms of chairs.
“Who are you? Why am I here?” Her voice shook; her whole body mimicked it.
No answer. The breathing continued. Evenly paced and controlled.
She had to keep calm, to regain control. Isn’t that what they’d told her during library fire drills? The person who panics is the person who’s lost. And she was ready to panic in a big way.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to hold back the tidal wave of terror pulsating through her system. She wiggled her hands, wondering what held her in place. Tape? She could feel adhesive tugging at her bare skin with each twist of her wrists.
The fear wanted to paralyze her. If she let it, it would. She flexed her hands, the tug of the tape holding strong. Her legs too were bound. Helpless.
Scream? If she shouted would anyone hear her? Could she alert someone before the breather stopped her? Did she have any other choice?
She might have only one chance. She had to make it good. She opened her mouth to scream.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The voice stopped her cold. It was male. Rough-edged and deep.
Poised on the brink of shouting, she paused. Listening. Straining against the darkness to locate the speaker. His voice had sounded in front of her, not behind. Had the breather moved? Or was there someone new in the room?
But she hadn’t heard movement. Had she?
Her jaw relaxed, but not because the fear lessened. If anything it had increased. The voice was that of the hunter and she was the prey.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” She sounded like a tape recorder stuck on one line and felt the rise of laughter bubbling through her. Hysteria? Possibly, not that she had much experience with the emotion. Hysteria happened to others. Not to her.
“Turn the light on, Elderman.” The voice spoke again, ignoring her question as the sound of footsteps moved closer. Leather soles slapped against a hard floor behind and then in front of her. What sounded like at least two others stepped closer, making her want to cringe. To flee. But she couldn’t. Not with her hands and legs bound.
Before she prepared herself, a light blazed forth. Not strong as much as startling behind the muffled darkness of the blindfold. She knew she was spotlighted before these strangers.
She pulled back, jerking her head with the movement, setting off the cannons pounding double-time in her head. There was no place to run, no place to hide.
She might have gasped, or flinched, because the deep voice demanded. “How much did you give her?”
“She didn’t come easily, sir.” Another male voice replied from behind her.
“I asked how much you gave her.”
The man’s voice radiated cold assurance, unrelenting authority. Jane wanted to hide from that voice. There was no doubt that voice could order men into battle and expect to be obeyed. But what did they want with her?
“Thompson handled the dosage, sir.”
“Then he’ll be dealt with.”
This new voice jogged a fuzzy memory.
Someone had grabbed her arm from behind in the parking garage of her apartment building. The very unexpectedness of it had caused her to turn, to catch the shadow of a masked face. She felt another grab her other arm. Then the pain of a scratch near her elbow. A scratch or a poke. She’d called out. Swung away, striking the nearest man with her purse. He’d muttered an oath, or what sounded like an oath, but already things were blurring.
She’d felt herself falling. She thought she’d screamed again and knew she’d lashed out, her foot connecting with a shin, her hand tearing cloth. The jabbing sensation to her arm came again. Then the darkness.
“You were at my apartment,” she whispered the words aloud, feeling anger slide in where moments ago there was only fear. “I want to know what you’re doing. Why I’m here.”
“Enough.” Another man spoke, this one with a guttural accent she couldn’t place. Eastern European maybe. That and an imperious tone to his voice; a man used to getting his way. A different kind of power than the first voice. “I cannot see what she looks like with that thing around her face.”
“That thing is for your protection, sir.” The first voice spoke, and in spite of the salutation there was no deference in his tone. “For your protection and hers.”
“We are running out of time. She looks like Elena but I must be sure.”
Who was Elena? And who was the first voice protecting? He’d said “her” but surely that didn’t mean her. Why would someone drug and kidnap a person then worry about protecting them? Nothing made sense.
Before she could demand answers, someone bent down next to her. She could smell the scent of soap and feel the warmth of a hand brush against her shoulder.
She flinched, pressing as far back as the unyielding chair would allow, straining against the tape, but it was useless. There was nowhere to go.
A hand slid down her hair. A gentle touch, soothing somehow, though that made no sense. The human contact should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She felt fingers tugging at the knotted fabric covering her eyes. The material bunched, catching strands of her hair before it loosened.
“You won’t be hurt.” The dark voice came like a caress in the darkness. “Do exactly what I say and you won’t be hurt.”
Now she knew it was hysteria bubbling through her. The need to laugh aloud. The wanting to believe the voice when logic told her it’d be a fool’s mistake.
“Why—”
“Shhh. The less movement you make the less your head will hurt.”
The words sounded tinged with regret, as if he understood the pain slamming through her temples, the terror surging through her system. Maybe he was sorry for his part in it.
For the space of one deep breath she would have believed there were only the two of them in the room. The fear began to subside. Until the cloth gave way and slid from her eyes.
The harshness of the light felt like a thousand suns instead of the gritty wattage of a single bulb directly overhead. Two soldiers garbed in rumpled camouflage gear flanked her and a man in a pressed uniform of white and blue faced her. And next to her, instead of a dark voice, she found herself staring into a pair of gray eyes, as cold as a frozen lake, as unreadable as the ocean deep.
If she had thought she wanted to run and hide before, it was nothing compared to what she felt now. Those eyes pinning her as effectively as the straps around her wrists, searched her gaze until she felt stripped bare, exposed and more vulnerable than she’d ever felt before.
“It is true then. She is Elena.” The uniform spoke, startling her with his words. Yet, in spite of his gold epaulets and row of medals marching across his chest, no one could doubt who held the power in this room. And it wasn’t him.
She found herself licking suddenly dry lips, felt the blip in her heart rhythm when the movement caught the attention of the man kneeling before her, compelling his gaze to shift to her lips, then back to her face. His expression remained enigmatic, except for the briefest tightening of his facial muscles.
He wasn’t handsome. Far from it, with unforgiving lines and a square jaw. His hair looked dark, black maybe, with a hint of gray near the temples. Not softening in its effect. There was nothing soft about this face. Not with the lines radiating from the corners of those glacial eyes, bracketing his mouth and dug deep along what looked like a scar near his right temple. His skin was tanned, like a man who lived beneath tropical rays.
It was a strong face, one as compelling as his eyes.
Jane held no doubt it could be implacable and hard when he chose. But she thought it wasn’t inherently cruel or vicious, which, for the first time since she’d awakened, gave her hope.
He rose beside her, his gaze still locked with hers, as if silently assessing and measuring, though he spoke to the uniform. “There are enough similarities that she could easily pass as Elena, especially from a distance.”
“Then she will do,” came the immediate, and dismissive response. The uniform’s accent had deepened. “It has taken too long as it is.”
Who was Elena? What did it matter if she looked like her? Who were these men?
“There are still a number of obstacles,” the man they referred to as the major said, leaving no doubt Jane was one of them, before he continued, “There will be repercussions. Too much has already been badly handled.”
