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Recovered Secrets
Jessica R. Patch
A blank memory. A new life. But her borrowed time just ran out Two years after Grace Thackery washed up on a small-town Mississippi riverbank, she has the first clue about the life she doesn’t remember: someone wants her dead. And while Search and Rescue Director Hollis Montgomery’s determined to protect her, the secrets of her past are darker than they expected. Can the bond between Grace and Hollis survive her true identity…and an assassin?
A blank memory. A new life.
But her borrowed time just ran out
Two years after Grace Thackery washed up on a small-town Mississippi riverbank, she has the first clue about the life she doesn’t remember: someone wants her dead. And while search-and-rescue director Hollis Montgomery’s determined to protect her, the secrets of her past are darker than they expected. Can the bond between Grace and Hollis survive her true identity...and an assassin?
JESSICA R. PATCH lives in the Mid-South, where she pens inspirational contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. When she’s not hunched over her laptop or going on adventurous trips with willing friends in the name of research, you can find her watching way too much Netflix with her family and collecting recipes for amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. To learn more about Jessica, please visit her at jessicarpatch.com (http://www.jessicarpatch.com).
Also By Jessica R. Patch (#u0d3e1057-3541-5bdf-b800-d95bad50efc6)
Fatal Reunion
Protective Duty
Concealed Identity
Final Verdict
Cold Case Christmas
Killer Exposure
Recovered Secrets
The Security Specialists
Deep Waters
Secret Service Setup
Dangerous Obsession
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Recovered Secrets
Jessica R. Patch
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09739-0
RECOVERED SECRETS
© 2019 Jessica R. Patch
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u0d3e1057-3541-5bdf-b800-d95bad50efc6)
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Text to speech
“I’m a ninja!”
She frantically shook her head, disbelief washing over her again as the scenario replayed through her brain. She’d assaulted a man with a jack! Yes, he’d come at her first...but she hadn’t even hesitated. What had she done?
“Grace,” Hollis said in a calming but wary tone, his gaze giving the strength she needed. “I need you to breathe, honey.” He pushed a mass of wet hair from her face and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes.
His voice soothed her. His touch eased her knotted muscles as she followed his instructions. Slowly she gained her wits, until finally the hysteria passed and she could think rationally. “Hollis, two Latino men pulled up behind me on the highway. My tire blew. I’m pretty sure they set it up.” She told him what had happened next and how she’d single-handedly put them on the ground. She collapsed into his powerful arms.
Hollis held her tighter and she melded into him—a safe place. The safest place she’d been since she’d lost her memory...possibly ever. She peered into his dark eyes, searching for wisdom, answers...hope.
Dear Reader (#u0d3e1057-3541-5bdf-b800-d95bad50efc6),
I hope you enjoyed this story. I loved writing it. I’ve always been a big fan of spy movies and novels. What better way to explore amnesia than using a spy who did some things that blurred and even crossed moral lines. But that was Grace’s past. Maybe it’s your past too. But it’s not who you are anymore. In Christ, you are free. You get a clean slate. You get to be a new creation, making new and better choices. No longer are you a slave to sin. And you are forgiven. Completely. Thoroughly. Utterly. No more shame. No more guilt. That’s the beauty of salvation. Of mercy. Of forgiveness. Grace finally realized that, and it gave her the liberty to pursue her dream—to love Hollis fully. I pray that if you are battling the same feelings as Grace, you’ll take comfort from this story. Cling to truth, and walk in freedom, friend. It’s yours.
I love to hear from readers! Please drop me a line and visit me at www.jessicarpatch.com (http://www.jessicarpatch.com).
Warmly,
Jessica
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.
—2 Corinthians 5:17
To Dad—for giving me a love for spy movies, especially James Bond.
Special Thanks:
My agent, Rachel Kent, who has been one of the biggest blessings in my life. You are my friend and champion!
My editor, Shana Asaro, who makes everything I write so much stronger and better. I am thankful for you.
Susan Tuttle, my brainstorming partner and friend. I wouldn’t have a great story if you weren’t there to help me turn it into something worth pursuing.
My family, who always supports, understands and encourages me to keep writing and dreaming.
Contents
Cover (#u01a799c6-55d0-5629-9d29-f83311df0788)
Back Cover Text (#u3bf823d3-fbf3-5e09-a886-cd903408973d)
About the Author (#ub3667916-8bef-5e5b-a53e-5d7b3766c60b)
Booklist (#u8e23af25-d8a5-55e2-9f2c-06127c4f10c0)
Title Page (#u7e94af0b-dff9-5fc7-b555-02d93e29c3f5)
Copyright (#u6154ae01-cb08-5967-b0d7-dbfd6169d4f2)
Note to Readers
Introduction (#ucf02f60e-f599-545f-abb5-e23500c86f3f)
Dear Reader (#ub3ac3913-7ae8-5d0a-9635-7e6411314aff)
Bible Verse (#udce98ae3-18cb-5afa-bab1-4267b272f254)
Dedication (#ufcac68a1-f2a3-5cb5-a8df-d1589dda9671)
ONE (#ue303792a-5946-5fe8-8ce0-2df672adcdc9)
TWO (#ue138298f-6b7f-5f41-9027-4743f4c61199)
THREE (#u5af4df4d-444c-5d44-9a18-d1dac6c1cea9)
FOUR (#u24468943-eebc-5471-bd28-103176788a3a)
FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#u0d3e1057-3541-5bdf-b800-d95bad50efc6)
Grace Thackery was living on a borrowed name; she’d lost every single memory prior to the past year and a half since she’d awakened from a six-month coma. But as she breezed into the kitchen at the Muddy River Inn, inhaling the smell of cinnamon and yeasty dough, she had no doubt she’d loved cinnamon rolls. How could anyone not? She rubbed the round locket around her neck. At least she thought it was a locket, but it wouldn’t open—it was as locked as her memories. Had it been a gift from a family member, a friend...a boyfriend, fiancé or husband?
Tish LaMont looked up and grinned, her plump face colored pink from the oven heat; the lines around her lips and eyes showed she’d spent most of her life happy. She slid a pan of rolls onto the butcher block island and waved a pot holder over the steam. “If this rain doesn’t let up soon, we’ll float away. I can’t tell you the last time we had this much in Cottonwood. April showers are supposed to bring May flowers. Not more showers,” she drawled in a rich, Mississippi accent.
Grace snickered and helped herself to a cinnamon roll; the fresh hot glaze dripped onto her dessert plate. She’d lick that up last. It had been raining the past eight days straight. Gray and dismal. Something about it felt familiar, teetering on the edge of her fuzzy mind but unwilling to surface. “If I ever lose my memory again, there’s no way I’d forget these.”
Tish snorted and used her wrist to push away a strand of bobbed gray hair. According to Tish, women over fifty needed to let go and let God. And that meant allowing the silver to rule as a crown of glory and wisdom. Grace wasn’t sure what she meant, but it had to be something out of scripture. Tish was the godliest woman Grace had ever met—in the past year and a half, that is.
This woman had taken her under her wing, physically and spiritually, the day Hollister Montgomery—the man who’d rescued her—brought her to Tish. She’d given her a place to live, turning the garden shed into a small living quarter, and in return Grace helped Tish around the inn for a meager, but livable, salary. A man at Hollis’s church had given her a car. Once she got behind the wheel, the muscle memory had taken over. Weird thing about retrograde amnesia—she’d lost some words but not her procedural memory. She might not remember the name for a spoon, but she could drive a car or even ride a bike if she’d done it often in her past. Hollis insisted she take lessons and a driver’s test anyway. He’d worked with the sheriff to get her a temporary ID and license.
“You going to the facility today?” Tish asked, and pointed to her search-and-rescue raincoat.
“Yep. I told Hollis I’d help him do inventory.”
“Hmm,” Tish said and gave her a knowing eye. The one she always gave when Grace mentioned him.
Grace couldn’t have romantic feelings for Hollis—or anyone. How could she? What if she was already married—or in a relationship and her beloved was out there hunting for her, worried sick? And even if that weren’t the case, what did a woman with no memory have to offer? Nothing. Literally. She could see a first date now: Where did you grow up? I don’t know. What do you love to do in your spare time? I can’t remember. Do you have any brothers or sisters? Maybe.
Tish pointed toward the small dining area for guests. “Not many today. The two businessmen from Memphis. The Westcott couple. And a man from Jackson.” She rubbed her hands on her apron. “Before you head out—and take Hollis a couple of those cinnamon rolls—would you carry these into the dining room?”
“You got it.” She licked her fingers and washed her hands, then carried a platter of glazed goodness to the buffet in the dining area. She nodded a hello to guests she recognized and spotted the man from Jackson, Mississippi, at the table by the window, sipping coffee and gazing at the rain. He glanced her way as if he felt her watching, but made no move to be polite, to smile or even acknowledge he had locked eyes on her.
“Good morning,” she said softly and set the tray of sweets next to the bowl of fresh fruit. “Tish makes homemade cinnamon rolls that are out of this world.”
He said nothing, only stared.
“Are you okay, sir?” She moved closer to his table. Was he having a stroke? His fist tightened, and he cocked his head. “Sir?”
He blinked out of his stupor. “Fine. Sorry. I’m fine. I’m Peter Rainey.”
