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Mountain Blizzard
Cassie Miles
Her ex-husband becomes her bodyguard in USA TODAY bestseller Cassie Miles's gripping new suspense novelAfter his ex-wife witnesses a murder, FBI agent turned security specialist Sean Timmons steps in to be her bodyguard. One look at investigative reporter Emily Peterson and Sean is reminded why he fell in love with her years ago. But his beautiful, headstrong ex is being targeted by a crime lord – who Sean is determined to take down. Trapped in the Colorado mountains by a blizzard, the former Mr. and Mrs. Timmons rediscover each other with red-hot passion. But a cold-blooded killer is waiting to stop them from uncovering evidence – and ever saying "I do" again.
Her ex-husband becomes her bodyguard in USA TODAY bestseller Cassie Miles’s gripping new suspense novel
After his ex-wife witnesses a murder, FBI agent turned security specialist Sean Timmons steps in to be her bodyguard. One look at investigative reporter Emily Peterson and Sean is reminded why he fell in love with her years ago. But his beautiful, headstrong ex is being targeted by a crime lord—who Sean is determined to take down. Trapped in the Colorado mountains by a blizzard, the former Mr. and Mrs. Timmons rediscover each other with red-hot passion. But a cold-blooded killer is waiting to stop them from uncovering evidence—and ever saying “I do” again.
“You have plenty of reason to be worried,” Sean reminded Emily.
“Don’t make this into a worst-case scenario.” Emily continued to hold his hand, and he felt the tension in her grip.
“Seriously, Emily, you do need a bodyguard.”
“I agree, and the job is yours.”
He’d expected an argument but was glad that she’d decided to be rational. He glanced toward the dining room. The snowstorm raged outside the windows. “I could do with another bowl of chili.”
“Me, too.”
Before she hopped down the step to the floor, she went up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the forehead. It was nothing special, the kind of small affection a wife might regularly bestow on her husband. The utter simplicity blew him away.
Before she could turn her back and skip off into the dining room, he caught her hand and gave a tug. She was in his arms. When her body pressed against his, they were joined together the way they were supposed to be.
Then he kissed her.
Mountain Blizzard
Cassie Miles
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CASSIE MILES, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lives in Colorado. After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Mills & Boon Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
For Nafina,
who will always be my screen saver and,
as always, to Rick.
Contents
Cover (#u78a29f64-411f-5302-99dc-437d855a9096)
Back Cover Text (#u32d4dfd9-b618-5ccc-b2f0-7ef80189bee9)
Introduction (#u93f4c771-9f28-5a4e-a21f-aba0a83554d3)
Title Page (#uc0655235-af8b-5a07-af6d-31b66421c78f)
About the Author (#u9172329e-4dce-5bb3-bd7f-1973eb4c33e2)
Dedication (#ue4df4689-764c-5e3a-9a4f-28ccabc3ec7f)
Prologue (#ulink_1e3600ef-988b-5f9f-bf65-3ee7f0b465cc)
Chapter One (#ulink_d27e7864-f3b8-51af-9829-20e823698a0b)
Chapter Two (#ulink_b462ea02-36c3-526c-b5cc-797600a1e99e)
Chapter Three (#ulink_f9195741-1340-5596-87bb-2eb439ce5535)
Chapter Four (#ulink_dcaa2af0-b6c6-5fba-9dc4-948f3f2e7b9a)
Chapter Five (#ulink_134284b1-95be-5537-a77a-1a10203d4d48)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_7e2953e6-b61c-5fc9-bde8-d01a93b660d6)
San Francisco
Mid-September
The double-deck luxury yacht rolled over a Pacific wave just outside San Francisco Bay as Emily Peterson wobbled down a nearly vertical staircase on her four-inch stilettos. Her short, tight, sparkly disguise gave her a new respect for the gaggle of party girls she’d hidden among to sneak on board. Somehow those ladies managed to walk on these stilts without falling and to keep their nipples covered in spite of ridiculously low-cut dresses.
Her plan for tonight was to locate James Wynter’s private computer and load the data onto a flash drive. She’d slipped away from the gala birthday party for one of Wynter Corporation’s top executives. The guests had been raucous as they guzzled champagne and admired their view of the Golden Gate Bridge against the night sky. Some had complained about having to surrender their cell phones, and Emily had agreed. It would have been useful to snap photos of high-ranking political types getting cozy with Wynter’s thugs.
Belowdecks, she went to the second door on the right. She’d been told this was James Wynter’s office. The polished brass knob turned easily in her hand. No need to pick the lock.
Pulse racing, she entered. The desk lamp was off, but moonlight through the porthole was enough to let her see the open laptop. In a matter of minutes, she could transfer Wynter’s data to her flash drive, and she’d finally have the evidence she needed for her human trafficking article.
Before she reached the desk, she heard angry voices in the corridor. She backed away from the desk and ducked into a closet with a louvered door. Desperately, she prayed for them to pass by the office and go to a different room.
No such luck.
The office door crashed open. One of the men fell into the office on his hands and knees while others laughed. Another guy turned on the lamp. Light spread across the desktop and spilled onto the floor.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, but Emily stayed utterly silent. She dared not make a sound. If Wynter’s men found her, she was terrified of what they’d do.
Carefully, she stepped out of her red stilettos and went into a crouch. Through the slats in the door, she could see the shoes and legs of four men. The man who had fallen kept apologizing again and again, begging the others to believe him.
She recognized the voice of one of his tormentors: Frankie Wynter, the youngest son of James Wynter. Though she couldn’t exactly tell what was going on, she thought Frankie was pushing the man who was so very sorry while the others laughed.
There was a clunk as the man who was being pushed flopped into the swivel chair behind the desk. From this angle, she saw only the back sides of the three men. One of them rocked back on his heel, cracked his knuckles and then lunged forward. She heard the slap, flesh against flesh.
They hit him again. What could she do? How could she stop them? She hated being silent while someone else suffered. Each blow made her cringe. If her ex-husband had been here, he could have made a difference, would have done the right thing. But she was on her own and utterly without backup. Should she speak up? Did she dare?
The beating stopped.
“Shut up,” Frankie roared at the man in the chair. “Crying like a little girl, you make me sick.”
“Let me talk. Please. I need to see the kids.”
“Don’t beg.”
Emily saw the gleam of silver as Frankie drew his gun. Terror gripped her heart. The other two men flanked him. They murmured something about waiting for his father.
Frankie opened the center drawer on the desk and took out a silencer. “I can do what needs to be done.”
“But your father—”
“He’s always telling me to step up.” He finished attaching the silencer to his handgun. “That’s what I’m going to do.”
He fired point-blank, then fired again.
When Frankie stepped away, she saw the dead man in the chair. His suit jacket was thrown open. The front of his shirt was slick with blood.
Emily pinched her lips closed to keep from crying out. She should have done something. A man was dead, and she hadn’t reached out, hadn’t helped him.
“We’re already out at sea,” Frankie said. “International waters. A good place to dump a body.”
“I’ll get something to carry him in.”
He glanced toward the closet...
Chapter One (#ulink_8339b705-801b-593e-99b3-ee9fb79c3a0d)
Colorado
Six weeks later
He’d been down this road before. Though Sean Timmons was pretty sure that he’d never actually been to Hazelwood Ranch, there was something familiar about the long, snow-packed drive bordered on either side by wood fences. He parked his cherry-red Jeep Wrangler between a snow-covered pickup truck and a snowy white lump that was the size of a four-door sedan. Peering through his windshield, he saw a large two-story house with a wraparound porch. It looked like somebody had tried to shovel his or her way out, but the wind and new snow had all but erased the path leading to the front door.
Weather forecasters had been gleefully predicting the first blizzard of the Colorado ski season, and it looked like they were right for a change. Sean was glad he wouldn’t have to make the drive back to Denver tonight. He hadn’t formally accepted this assignment, but he didn’t see why he wouldn’t.
Hazel Hopkins from Hazelwood Ranch had called his office at TST Security yesterday and said she needed a bodyguard for at least a week, possibly longer. He wouldn’t be protecting Hazel but a “friend” of hers. She was vague about the threat, but he gathered that her “friend” had offended someone with a story she’d written. The situation didn’t seem too dangerous. Panic words, such as narcotics, crime lord and homicidal ax murderer, had been absent from her conversation.
Hazel had refused to give her “friend’s” name, which wasn’t all that unusual. The wealthy folk who lived near Aspen were often cagey about their identities. That was okay with him. The money transfer for Hazel’s retainer had cleared, and that was really all Sean needed to know. Still, he’d been curious enough to look up Hazelwood Ranch on the internet, where he’d learned that the ranch was a small operation with only twenty-five to fifty head of cattle. Hazel, the owner, was a small but healthy-looking woman with short silver hair. No clues about the identity of her “friend.” If he had to guess, he’d say that the person he’d be guarding was an aging movie star who’d written one of those tell-all books and was now regretting her candor.
Soon enough he’d know the truth. He zipped his parka, slapped on a knit cap and put on heavy-duty gloves. It wasn’t far to the front porch, but the snow was already higher than his ankles. Fat, wet flakes swirled around him as he left his Jeep and slogged along the remnants of a pathway to the front door.
On the porch, the Adirondack chairs and a hanging swing were covered with giant scoops of drifted snow. He stomped his boots and punched the bell under the porch lamp. Hazel Hopkins opened the door and ushered him into a warmly lighted foyer with a sweeping wrought-iron staircase and a matching chandelier with lights that glimmered like candles.
“Glad you made it, Sean.” Her voice was husky. When he looked down into her lively turquoise eyes, he suspected that a lot of wild living had gone into creating her raspy tone. Though she wore jeans on the bottom, her top was kimono-style with a fire-breathing dragon embroidered on each shoulder. He had the impression that he’d met her before.
She stuck out her tiny hand. “I’m Hazel Hopkins.”
Compared with hers, his hand looked as big as a grizzly bear’s paw. Sean was six feet, three inches tall, and this little woman made him feel like a hulking giant.
“Hang your jacket on the rack and take off your wet boots,” she said. “You’re running late. It’s almost dark.”
“The snow slowed me down.”
“I was worried.”
Parallel lines creased her forehead, and he noticed that she glanced surreptitiously toward a shotgun in the corner of the entryway. Gently he asked, “Have there been threats?”
“I had a more practical concern. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to find the ranch and you couldn’t reach us by phone. Something’s wrong with my landline, and the blizzard is disrupting the cell phone signal.”
He sat on a bench by the door to take off his wet boots.
Without pausing for breath, she continued. “You know how they always say that the weather doesn’t affect your service on the cell phone or the Wi-Fi? Well, I’m here to tell you that’s a lie, a bold-faced lie. Every time we have a serious snowstorm, I have a problem.”
