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Blindsided
Katy Lee
UNDERCOVER RESCUEWhen race car track owner Veronica Spencer discovers stolen cars in a garage on her track, she knows she’s been framed. But before Roni can do anything about it, the criminals kidnap her. Undercover FBI agent Ethan Gunn shouldn’t break his cover to protect Roni, but he won’t watch her die, either. Despite his FBI information that says she’s involved in the crime ring, Ethan knows she's innocent. So he risks it all to help her break free. But now with killers and the FBI on their trail, Ethan must find a way to keep her safe…and clear her name.ROADS TO DANGER: Family Secrets Resurface
UNDERCOVER RESCUE
When race-car track owner Veronica Spencer discovers stolen cars in a garage on her track, she knows she’s been framed. But before Roni can do anything about it, the criminals kidnap her. Undercover FBI agent Ethan Gunn shouldn’t break his cover to protect Roni, but he won’t watch her die, either. Despite his FBI information that says she’s involved in the crime ring, Ethan knows she’s innocent. So he risks it all to help her break free. But now, with killers and the FBI on their trail, Ethan must find a way to keep her safe…and clear her name.
ROADS TO DANGER: Family secrets resurface
“Do what I say if you want to stay alive.”
Ethan pushed her back into the convenience store. “Keep away from the windows. I’m going out. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”
“And then?”
“Just follow my orders and no one gets hurt.” He hoped. The last time his orders were followed, a woman almost died.
He stepped out under the canopy. The helicopter’s motor blasted his eardrums, and the smell of gasoline mixed with his own scent of fear. One peek and he could be riddled with holes. But what else could he do? Call for backup, he supposed. But he worried his backup was in the chopper, ready to take Roni in.
Or down.
A car screamed into the parking lot, but all Ethan could see was the gun pointed out the window. Three shots wrenched the air, none at him. He wished he’d been the target when he saw what the shooter aimed for. A propane tank beside the store.
Ethan knew what was coming. But he was too late to stop it.
KATY LEE writes suspenseful romances that thrill and inspire. She believes every story should stir and satisfy the reader—from the edge of their seat. A native New Englander, Katy loves to knit warm, wooly things. She enjoys traveling the side roads and exploring the locals’ hideaways. A homeschooling mom of three competitive swimmers, Katy often writes from the stands while cheering them on. Visit Katy at katyleebooks.com (http://www.katyleebooks.com).
Blindsided
Katy Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ
hath made us free, and be not entangled again
with the yoke of bondage.
—Galatians 5:1
He hath made everything beautiful in his time.
—Ecclesiastes 3:11
To Brianna, the daughter my heart chose.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_3e5770a9-f49e-56c2-a93d-d0113201134f)
I’m the safest driver you will ever find on the road, definitely a following-the-rules kind of gal. So all these speed chases had to be researched and yes, tried in a safe environment. I am thankful to the Rusty Wallace Racing Experience and Gotham Dream Cars for their expertise and training. Honestly, I have loved the thrill of getting behind the wheel of so many different kinds of cars, from a stock car to a Ferrari. The pressure against my head as the race car careens around a turn at 120 miles per hour is not something I ever would have thought about—and definitely would never do on my own. Kids, don’t try this at home, either! But the experiences are out there to be had with organizations like Rusty Wallace and Gotham if you ever want to give it a whirl. Be safe. Drive safe. Enjoy!
Contents
COVER (#u1afae162-e4aa-50f3-a853-ece0bdc3c3c0)
BACK COVER TEXT (#ud0384a00-af49-5b27-9762-0d1e3dce045c)
INTRODUCTION (#u68d88b52-6edd-5b35-b657-1c1dabbf3126)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#uc69234ee-7372-5930-87e2-a604fd2c3c68)
TITLE PAGE (#u34c61fbc-5a72-51d6-bb5c-75f7397599fa)
BIBLE VERSE (#u95963280-6de3-5c3c-8255-201b219f179a)
DEDICATION (#u258cce1d-8c19-53ec-9b2b-ae30c3f0f65b)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_ed1dbfef-7ad9-5340-b5e8-45f244e6a296)
ONE (#ulink_9d1eb2b4-c0b3-588f-b08d-47612284b784)
TWO (#ulink_06e88b59-9e41-566a-aa7f-3ff7c320f8bf)
THREE (#ulink_97b0b2f3-acf0-5331-99f0-8a9c15a57489)
FOUR (#ulink_73547854-5ad5-5e4d-8281-361a8ba29a5a)
FIVE (#ulink_9e5f25df-fd61-5a73-8b04-58beab4fbd24)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#ulink_7ebcca1a-eeb1-5692-a6c8-97ff829d61b0)
Veronica Spencer’s fuchsia patent leather boots, useless in the New Hampshire soggy spring, stalled on the backlot pavement of her racetrack. The sound of mechanical whirring and the clang of metal tools came from behind the closed bay doors of a dark, unused garage at Spencer Speedway. This was her garage, she silently staked her claim. She had a plan for it, and it didn’t include a squatter.
The damp, cold, night wind matched her bitter mood and fluttered her signature rose pink silk scarf, also not an accessory for functionality—but in the case of her scarves, glamour wasn’t their purpose either. Mutilated scar tissue from a car fire at three years of age covered her neck and right arm. It was the arm she’d used to reach for her mother, who’d sat in the front passenger seat before the flames killed her. Roni’s burns reminded her of the memory daily. The scarves?
They helped her forget.
They also had a way of putting people at ease when they saw her coming. Gave them something pretty to look at instead.
Roni had no intentions of putting her intruder at ease.
She smiled the first smile since she left her uncle grumbling at his dining room table earlier that night.
Perhaps taking the scarf off to show this trespasser what ugly looked like would make him second-guess squatting on her track again for...what? Just what was he doing here this late at night when the track remained closed for the season? The sounds told her he was building a car. He probably planned to race it in the Icebreaker, the first spring race, next week.
Not a chance, buddy. Not on my track. And not anyone else’s after the sponsors heard what Roni Spencer had to say about him. He wouldn’t be the first man who underestimated her influence in the racing world.
The last one would never race again.
Her determined steps picked up, but at the door, deep, guttural voices filtered out and tripped her up again.
Someone gave an order like a drill sergeant breaking in new recruits, or more like threatening their lives. Her hand paused on the doorknob, and her gaze shot to the window a few feet to her left.
The square glass panes were covered with black paper. From afar it appeared dark and unused. Up close it all appeared...criminal. As much as she wanted to meet her trespasser face-to-face, perhaps barging in might not be the way to go. Her choice of weapon was her cutting tongue. Something told her she might not like theirs.
Always known for her uncanny ability to escape trouble, on and off the track, Roni grabbed her cell phone from the back pocket of her white jeans and backed away. Sometimes Reverse saved lives.
Her black Porsche Carrera beckoned at thirty feet where she’d parked it, and now with each retreating step she wished she’d pulled up closer. But that might have alerted the intruders to her presence if she had.
This wasn’t the first time the track had seen illegal activity. A few months back the main office had been ransacked, computers stolen, windows smashed. She loved her little town of Norcastle, but she knew it had fallen on hard times before; many were still struggling. It was only realistic that crime would follow. She wasn’t naive. She was an intelligent businesswoman—despite what her uncle implied and what her ex-fiancé denied.
She’d approached her uncle Clay again tonight about opening a racing school at the track. And again, he’d scoffed. “No man will ever want to learn how to race from a girl. Especially one so...pink,” he’d said. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Jared? Your own fiancé didn’t want his peers knowing you were the brains behind his driving. Why would anyone else?”
Veronica punched in 911 with a vengeance. She’d handle this without calling Uncle Clay. She’d show him she could manage the run of the place without anyone else. He was free to leave his CEO position anytime. With her brother Wade retiring from the army and finally moving back to New Hampshire with his new wife, Lacey, Uncle Clay’s days of being in charge since the car crash twenty-eight years ago that took her parents and baby brother, Luke, away from her were coming to an end.
Her thumb moved to the call button. Her decision to do this alone meant so much more to her than making a phone call. It meant independence.
But just as her thumb pressed the button, the phone disappeared from her hand. Just like that. One moment she held it in her grasp, the next it flew out into the night. Before she could fathom the occurrence, a yank on her scarf jerked her head back in a sharp, quick, painful snap. Roni’s throat closed to life-giving air. She felt a body behind her, but the identity of her assailant took a backseat. In her struggle, her red hair whipped across her face like a red flag of warning that had come too late.
“You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, chica. Too bad for you.” The harsh voice of the drill sergeant spoke close to her ear as his hand twisted the scarf tighter.
Gurgles escaped Roni’s mouth, her long nails breaking as she clawed at her neck. Useless, her mind blared. But it also didn’t give her any other ideas in its fog-laden, asphyxiating state. Her vision blurred even as she felt her eyes bulge with each painful twist of her scarf, tighter and tighter. Her only thought was when would the pain finally end? How long must she endure the torture? It was the same question she’d asked herself since she was three, when the agony of her burns consumed her, and then, when the sting of being marred for life set in. When would the pain end? The answer was always the same.
Never.
Was that the answer for her tonight?
Roni grappled with the material of her scarf. Her scars beneath would never go away. But Jared’s success on the track under her tutelage these past couple of years had given her an idea. A hope.
The Roni Spencer School of Racing.
Roni had something to offer. She knew it now, and it was why she’d come to the garage tonight. There would be no more putting it off.
And she would not allow her dream to fall by the wayside along with her dumped body!
Roni bent her knees to drop her weight in a faux fall. Judging by the way her scarf pulled down, her choke holder stood shorter than her nearly six feet in heels. She used her tall frame against him. He would have to lift her or risk falling forward himself. As his knees bent, she brought a foot up and kicked back at him, heel first. In the dark, she could only hope she hit her mark.
His hold loosened and both of them fell to the ground, apart. Stunned, she continued to claw at her neck as air rushed back in. Her lungs heaved and spots brightened in her eyes, but she pushed her body to face her attacker before another attempt could be made. He got to his knees and spit. His hands shot out of the darkness for her.
Roni rolled away. She wished she could tell the loser he was messing with the wrong person, but her dented voice box blocked her sharp tongue. Anger surged within her. Had the man known her weapon of choice?
He reached for her again, and Roni kicked out. Her body flew back...right into an unmovable wall.
Her hand reached behind her. No, she realized, not a wall.
The legs of a second intruder blocked her. The solid mass of a strong-armed, muscled man in a black tank and unbuttoned white shirt towered over her. So much taller than the other guy...and so much bigger. She scooted to her right and crab-walked back, outnumbered and outwitted without her voice.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the guy standing over her barked.
“Me?” Roni squeaked, her throat strained. Her hand fumbled on empty pavement in a last-ditch effort to find her phone. “You’re on...my...property.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he replied, his voice low and disgusted.
In the light of the moon, she watched her assailant step up to the tall, hulking man. She craned her neck to see them face off with each other.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Tying up loose ends, because you were sleeping on the job. Now get inside so I can finish it.”
The tall man didn’t make a move. Just crossed his arms at his chest. “You can’t kill her. She’s Veronica Spencer, the owner. Do you have any idea of the media frenzy you would cause? She’s high profile. Her family wouldn’t stop until they got you and every person who knows you.”
“Well, she sure ain’t walking out of this place. Now get inside.”
Hanging around to see who won the battle wasn’t Roni’s style. She made a run for the moonlit outline of her Carrera, Spanish for race and career, but the loss of her career would be the least of her worries if she didn’t get her feet in gear.
