скачать книгу бесплатно
Luck And a Prayer
Cynthia Cooke
As a tough L.A. cop, Willa Barrett thought she could handle anything. Until she was trekking through mountainous woods, trying to find evidence that was mixed up with a youth minister leading a preteen church retreat.Willa soon discovered the forest' s dangers weren' t anything like the ones she usually faced, and she needed help– pronto. Luckily handsome youth minister Jeff MacPhearson knew the woods inside out. Or was it something more than luck? Willa had never pictured any man entering her life– let alone saving it. But suddenly there was no way out without the help of this caring minister, who had the kindest eyes she' d ever seen.…
“You can have my tent tonight,” Jeff said, his voice cutting through Willa’s torturous thoughts.
She looked up in astonishment. “No, I couldn’t do that.” She clamped down on her lip, regretting the words the instant they slipped out of her mouth. Of course she could! “Where would you sleep?” she asked softly, and berated herself for sounding like the cream puff Jeff believed her to be.
“Out here under the stars. I’ll keep watch for the predators.”
She glared at him, certain he was laughing at her. She could even see the laughter dancing in his eyes.
“Unless, of course, you’d rather keep watch,” he said. “I understand you’re pretty good with your feet.”
“No, that’s quite all right. You’ve seen one star, you’ve seen them all. But, thanks, I’ll take you up on the tent offer.”
“My pleasure.” He leaned close, his warm breath tickling her ear and sending shivers straight down her spine. “Maybe in the morning you’ll tell me exactly what you’re doing here, Blondie.”
CYNTHIA COOKE
Nine years ago, Cynthia Cooke lived a quiet, peaceful life, caring for her eighteen-month-old daughter, until she gave birth to boy/girl twins. Hip-deep in diapers and baby food, peacefulness gave way to chaos. She kept her sanity by reading romance novels and dreamed of someday writing one. She counts her blessings every day as she fulfills her dreams with the help of good friends, a supportive husband and three wild children who constantly keep her laughing and her world spinning. Luck and a Prayer is her debut novel.
Luck and a Prayer
Cynthia Cooke
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
—Ecclesiastes 3:4
To my friends: Gail Ranstrom, Nina Bruhns, Michele Hauf and Pat White. You are the best!
Hugs to the ABC kids to being the great kids you are, and to my own hunky hero, Dale, for your unwavering support and encouragement throughout the years.
I love you all.
A special thanks to Kim Nadelson and Tracy Farrell for believing in Luck and a Prayer and making this author’s dreams come true.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Detective Willa Barrett stifled a groan as jolts of pain gnawed at her calves and moved up her spine. Grimacing, she shifted slightly, but stayed crouched behind the kitchen counter, not daring to move or make a sound.
Why Jack would bring someone in here at 9:00 a.m. was beyond her, especially after one of his late-night parties. Luckily, her brother Johnny had just left; otherwise, she’d have a hard time explaining why a “paying customer” was sleeping in the spare room.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Jack Paulson boomed from the other side of the counter. “One of our best. You’ll be rooming with Blondie,” he told the woman. “She’ll take good care of you. Teach you everything you need to know.”
No doubt. Willa barely resisted snorting aloud. A roommate would make her farce of “working” all that more difficult. Now she’d actually have to take the other undercover cops into her room with her. A thought she didn’t relish, since there wasn’t one of them she could tolerate. Straining her ears, she tried to determine exactly where Jack and the woman were positioned.
She gnawed her bottom lip and rubbed her injured arm. She couldn’t afford to get caught spying on Jack again. The captain had ordered her to go home and take care of her arm, but had she? No. Instead she’d hurried back to the strip dressed in purple sequins and tassels, swinging her hips in her exaggerated “Blondie” mode. Left and right she’d swung, calling to motorists, winking, hawking her feminine wares, clattering down Sunset Boulevard in five-inch spiked heels.
The same heels that were torturing her calf muscles now as she adjusted her weight from one hip to the other in her cramped position behind the counter. She had one last shot to get the goods on Jack Paulson and she wasn’t about to lose it because the captain had gotten squeamish over a sprained arm and pulled her off the case. She couldn’t worry about that now; right now the only thing that mattered was nailing Jack Paulson.
Willa turned on the special Pen Cam Johnny had acquired and inched it onto the counter behind a pot of African violets. The amazing little thing looked just like a standard ink pen, but in actuality was a self-contained video and audio outfit. It must have cost Johnny a pretty penny, but he was as anxious to put Mr. Slimebag Paulson behind bars as she was. They both had good reason.
Adjusting the Pen Cam’s position, she hunkered back down. Perhaps now she should make her way back to the bedroom where she’d have less of a chance of getting caught.
“You sure are a pretty thing. Wear your hair loose for me. That’s it, falling over your shoulders.” Jack’s raspy voice, low and seductive, filled the room. “What do you think of our new girl, Carlos?”
“She’s a beauty, boss. She’ll class up the place all right.”
Silently, Willa shoved her back into the cabinets. Carlos sounded close. Too close. Jack was known far and wide for being cruel to his girls, but it wasn’t Jack who did the most damage. It was Carlos. Jack just liked to watch.
“Here, you’ll have your own place, your own money, you’ll make your own rules,” Jack continued his pitch to seduce his hapless victim into the “good” life. “I won’t be here to check what time you come in or to tell you who you can see. If you want that kind of treatment, stay home with Daddy.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.” The woman’s voice, soft and low, trembled as she spoke. “I won’t give you any trouble.”
Willa inched her way along the kitchen counter toward her room, once again trying to get a handle on Jack’s position. She’d feel better if she could make it out of the kitchen. That way she could come out of a door when he called her, instead of popping up from behind the counter like a peeping Willa-in-the-box.
“All I want from you in return is sixty percent, Tracey. That will cover your expenses. This is a nice place—it ain’t cheap. Is it, Carlos?”
“No, sir. Not cheap at all,” Carlos’s voice thundered, resonating right down Willa’s spine.
The creep was directly above her. With knees burning and calves screaming, Willa quickly scampered along the counter to the other side of the kitchen. She wouldn’t make it back to her room now. From Carlos’s position, he’d be able to see her. She’d have to stay and hope Jack didn’t call for her.
“I know you’re not experienced with this kind of life, so I’ll do you a favor. I’ll give you a few days to get used to the place. I’ll send you to a few parties; let you meet the rest of the girls. See, old Jack isn’t such a bad guy,” he said heartily. His chuckle turned Willa’s stomach. “You’ll love it here. All my girls love working for Jack Paulson. Don’t they, Carlos?”
“Yes, sir. They sure do.”
“You see, Tracey, my job is to make sure we both earn a lot of money while having a great time doing it. Life’s too short not to have fun, don’t you agree?” He paused. “But most of all, I enjoy taking care of you girls. Nothing bad ever happens to one of Jack’s girls. That’s a God-given promise.”
Willa rolled her eyes at the manure spewing from his lips, and wondered how Jack defined the word bad. No one with a brain could be buying this garbage. She peeked around the corner and almost choked. The girl sitting across from him couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. Good Lord! Where had he found a baby like her? This was sinking to an all-time low, even for Jack.
The girl’s eyes widened as they met Willa’s. Biting back a groan, Willa swung back behind the counter.
“Here’s five hundred to get you started,” Jack stated. “Go buy yourself some new clothes and a few knickknacks for your room, something to make this place feel like home. It’s all yours now.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl said. “Thank you.”
“You’ll pay me back by being a good girl and working hard. Jack’s girls know how to get ahead. Blondie will show you the ropes. Where is she anyway, Carlos? She should be here to meet the newest member of our team.” The dinette chair scraped across the wooden floor. “Hey, Blondie,” Jack yelled.
Willa bit her lip, and wished she could sink into the floor.
“Um, sir?” the girl spoke up, nabbing Jack’s attention. “Will I—that is, will I ever be able to visit my friends?”
The girl’s lilting voice broke Willa’s heart. Don’t worry, sweetie, she thought. I’ll get you out of this. Just as soon as I get myself out from behind this counter.
“You’re a runaway, Tracey. I’m giving you a place to live, a new identity, a way to support yourself, and start-up money. Now why would you want to blow all that by contacting your friends or family? You’re going to make a whole bunch of new friends right here. We’re your family now.” The front door opened. “Come on, doll,” Jack said. “Let me show you around.”
Willa fell back against the cupboards and stretched out her aching legs as she heard the door click shut. She’d done it! She’d gotten the whole conversation on videotape. This time, nothing could stop Jack Paulson from paying for a very long time.
“I thought you learned your lesson the last time I caught you spying on the boss.” Carlos’s raw hate-filled voice slithered around her.
Willa cringed. She stood, rocking unsteadily in her five-inch heels and faced him eye to eye, ignoring the glacial chill quivering down to her toes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carlos.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his bony fingers biting into her flesh. “You were eavesdropping on the boss.”
His breath, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, nearly gagged her. “I wasn’t, Carlos. Really. I was just waiting for Jack to leave so we could be alone. That’s all.” She lifted a painted nail to his chin and flicked the stubble he thought made him look sexy instead of just slimy.
He loosened his grasp, then pushed her against the counter. “I knew you liked me,” he rasped.
“Of course I do, sugar,” she lied with a honey-thickened tongue. “If you give me a little time, I’ll prove it to you.”
“I’ve got time.”
The way he looked at her sent a fresh round of shudders coursing down her back. He turned toward her room. Not able to wait another second, she snatched up the pen. He turned back, staring at the Pen Cam in her hand, suspicion crossing his face.
“Did you really think I’d fall for that act?”
Fear hammered in her chest, but she was careful to make sure it didn’t show on her face. “Which act is that, sugar?”
With two easy strides, he was on her and reaching for the pen. She pulled away, palming it behind her back. With spring-loaded speed, he grabbed her arm and jerked the Pen Cam from her grasp. “What’s this?”
She didn’t answer, just held her breath and prayed the man was as dumb as he looked. He started to unscrew the pen’s barrel.
“Don’t—” she said softly.
“Don’t what?” He dropped the Pen Cam to the floor and raised a steel-toed boot.
The closest she’d ever come to nailing Jack Paulson was recorded on that pen and she wasn’t about to let some moronic flunkie pulverize it. She swung back, brought up one leg and—“Whaaa chai!”—kicked with all her might. Five inches of pointy heel dug deep into soft flesh.
Grunting, he doubled over. She reached down, grabbed the pen, then clattered as fast as she could out the door and down the hall toward the stairs. She had to get the pen to the captain. It was the only way to stop Jack, to save that young girl and to save herself another night of knowing that animal was still out there spreading his poison and infecting everything he touched.
He’s finally going to pay, Daddy. Just like I promised.
She ran toward the staircase at the end of the hall, pushing herself harder, faster. One spiked heel caught an uneven board. She slipped, twisting her ankle as she fought for balance. Through the fog of pain, she kept moving. It wasn’t bad enough to stop her. For that, she’d have to be dead.
“I’m going to kill you, woman!”
If only she had time to lose the stilettos. They’d make a mighty fine weapon in her hand, but on her feet they were downright deadly. A door two apartments down opened. If she could reach it and lock herself in, she might have enough time to call for backup.
Betty Jones, one of Jack’s oldest pros, stepped into the hall. “Hey, Blondie! What’s up?”
Without a word, Willa raced past her, slammed shut her door and threw the bolt. She dashed for the phone and dialed 911.
“Blondie, open up!” Betty yelled, her feeble fists hitting the door.
“Nine-one-one emergency,” the voice on the line answered.
“I need help….”
With one earth-shattering kick, the door flew open, slamming against the wall, shredding the plaster. She had to find a weapon! Dropping the phone, Willa slipped around the counter into the kitchen and yanked open the drawer she kept her knives in back in her apartment. She stared blankly at potholders and dish-towels. “Blast!”
“Give it up, Blondie. You’re mine now.” With slow deliberate steps, Carlos walked into the kitchen, cornering her against the sink. “Take a walk, Betty,” he called without checking to see if she listened. He knew she would obey, and so did Willa. His gaze locked on hers. The expression on his face was downright animalistic.
All her years of training on the force scattered right out of her mind. This man was pure demented evil. He wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up and threw her across the kitchen counter. She landed on the floor, the impact jolting every bone in her body. Within seconds, he was on her.
She groped blindly around her and with splayed fingertips, felt the telephone she’d dropped to the floor. With white-knuckle ferocity, she grasped the phone and swung it against his head. He clutched his temple and fell to the side. It was the second she needed. She was up and running again. Her only hope for safety was to reach the boulevard cluttered with people, traffic and cops.
“Run, little girl! Faster or you’ll never escape me!” His bellow echoed down the hall as he sprinted after her. She didn’t look back. Didn’t have to. His labored breath bounced off the walls in the narrow stairwell, his heavy boots clobbered the stairs behind her, all signs that he was closing in fast.
The door to the street loomed ahead of her. Sunshine filtered through dirty glass—her light at the end of a dark tunnel. Ten feet. Seven.
