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Witness... And Wife?
Kate Stevenson
THE LEAST LIKELY BODYGUARD…When Cassie Bowers awoke in a hospital bed to see her ex-husband, she was bewildered–and bombarded by bittersweet memories. But she soon discovered that Luke Slater hadn't come back to discuss old times or what might have been. He was here as a detective, to uncover the one thing Cassie COULDN'T remember: a killer's identity.Luke knew Cassie's amnesia wouldn't last forever. But until she recalled the details of the murder she had witnessed, he would keep her safe. He knew how headstrong and impulsive she could be, but he still loved her enough to risk his life for her….
“I’m your surveillance, Cassie.”
Disbelief clouded Cassie’s expression. “You’ve got to be kidding… Chief Bradley assigned you?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And if I say no?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“But I don’t want you,” she snapped.
“Too bad, baby. You’ve got me.”
Dear Reader,
Happy New Year! Silhouette Intimate Moments is starting the year off with a bang—not to mention six great books. Why not begin with the latest of THE PROTECTORS, Beverly Barton’s miniseries about men no woman can resist? In Murdock’s Last Stand, a well-muscled mercenary meets his match in a woman who suddenly has him thinking of forever.
Alicia Scott returns with Marrying Mike… Again, an intense reunion story featuring a couple who are both police officers with old hurts to heal before their happy ending. Try Terese Ramin’s A Drive-By Wedding when you’re in the mood for suspense, an undercover agent hero, an irresistible child and a carjacked heroine who ends up glad to go along for the ride. Already known for her compelling storytelling abilities, Eileen Wilks lives up to her reputation with Midnight Promises, a marriage-of-convenience story unlike any other you’ve ever read. Virginia Kantra brings you the next of the irresistible MacNeills in The Comeback of Con MacNeill, and Kate Stevenson returns after a long time away, with Witness…and Wife?
All six books live up to Intimate Moments’ reputation for excitement and passion mixed together in just the right proportions, so I hope you enjoy them all.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Witness…And Wife?
Kate Stevenson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my father, Aleck Fine
1916-1995
KATE STEVENSON
After more then twenty years in Colorado, author Kate Stevenson considers herself a “near native.” Drawing on her knowledge of people and the Rocky Mountain Front Range, she writes stories about strong, risk-taking heroes and heroines who struggle to build lasting relationships in today’s challenging world.
Now that her children are grown, Kate spends her time writing and teaching. She shares her home, at the base of the Rocky Mountains, with her husband and their cat, Spike.
Kate always enjoys hearing from her readers, who can write her at P.O. Box 20271, Boulder, CO 80308-3271.
Contents
Prologue
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 15
Chapter 16
Prologue
Cassie Bowers hated being late, even a little. Even when it wasn’t her fault.
With an impatient gesture, she shoved back the hood of her khaki raincoat and hurried away from the security checkpoint at the Boulder Justice Center. Water dripped from the hem of her coat, leaving a trail of moisture in her wake, and her shoes made a squishing sound against the marble floor. Without slowing, she nudged aside her wet sleeve and checked the time—6:05. She quickened her pace and angled left into a dimly lit hall.
From behind the closed door of one of the offices she passed, a phone rang unanswered. Except for Cassie and the guard who’d let her through security, the Justice Center seemed empty.
Of course, she knew that wasn’t true. Besides the night cleaning crew, at least one other person was here late—Judge Thomas Wainright, the man who’d left the message on her home answering machine. The only man capable of pulling her away from her snug house on a soggy evening after a day of running down leads.
A gust of wind rattled windows high on the wall across from Wainright’s office, and as Cassie rapped on the door the lights flickered.
When no one responded to her knock, she tried the knob. The door swung open to reveal a small, shadowed anteroom. In the feeble light cast by the only window, the room’s furnishings appeared indistinct and vaguely threatening. Along one wall, file cabinets stood sentry duty, while a secretary’s desk in the center of the room guarded the entrance to the judge’s chambers.
“Judge Wainright?” Cassie stepped forward, her soggy shoes sinking deep into plush carpet.
“Judge Wainright?”
Behind her the latch clicked softly into place.
“Judge Wainright, it’s Cassie Bowers.”
Rain splattered against the window like the echo of distant enemy fire. A shiver ran up Cassie’s back.
Where is he?
Crossing to the desk, she switched on the brass lamp and examined the appointment book that lay in the pool of light at its base. Strange. Her name wasn’t there. Flipping the page, she checked on the next day’s calendar. Not there, either.
Puzzled, she glanced toward the judge’s chambers. The door stood slightly ajar, but no light showed.
Mentally she reviewed bits of the message she’d heard on her answering machine when she’d returned from Denver. …something odd… Meet me at six. I’ll explain then.
If it weren’t for the note of urgency underlying the words, she’d have postponed their meeting till morning in spite of her curiosity. Instead, she’d thrown her coat back on and raced across town—to find him gone.
Unless he’d just stepped out for a bit.
She hesitated an instant, then shrugged out of her coat, depositing it across the top of a wing-backed chair. Since she was already here, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Plopping onto the chair, she crossed one leg over the other and ran her fingers through her damp curls in a hopeless attempt to make herself look presentable. Water trickled down her neck.
A sigh of exasperation escaped from her lips. She hated delays. When she’d taken the job on the Denver Tattler a year ago, she’d thought her days of hurry-up-and-wait were at an end. With a weekly publication, she’d believed she could pick and choose her times. Yet, here she was—cold, wet…and waiting. Only one step removed from her years on the local daily newspaper.
Impatience wriggled inside her, betrayed by the soundless tapping of her fingers against the upholstered armrest. Shifting her weight, she tried to calm her irritation by envisioning the public’s reaction to the articles taking shape on her computer. Local drug traffic. Money laundering. White-collar crime. The series was certain to stir up a furor, establishing her once and for all as a top-notch investigative reporter. A reporter even Pop would approve of.
Her meetings with Judge Thomas Wainright were going to be instrumental to her success. In today’s world, nearly anyone could write a decent piece on drugs. But not everyone had access to Wainright. One of the best-known judges in the state, he was celebrated for hard-nosed justice when dealing with the drug cases that passed through his courtroom.
And he never gave personal interviews.
Cassie, however, held a trump card. Wainright and Pop had sat on the bench together, and even better, they’d remained friends after her father had retired to teach law.
She’d been certain Wainright would assist her in her mission. Though she’d seen him only occasionally in recent years, she still recalled his visits to the family home in Denver. His imposing figure, the air of reserved authority that clung to him, as well as her father’s obvious respect for the man’s integrity, had all combined to make an indelible impression on her young mind. Wainright was one of the few men Pop truly admired, and given half a chance, he’d expound for hours on some of the judge’s more famous cases. “Mark my word,” Pop would say. “Some day you’ll see Wainright on the Supreme Court.”
A crack of thunder split the muffling quiet. At almost the same instant the room brightened with a flash of lightning. Startled from her musings, Cassie checked her watch.
6:15.
In spite of her determination to be patient, she frowned. Where was he? She was positive she hadn’t garbled the message, yet it wasn’t like Wainright to overlook an appointment, and she’d only been five minutes late.
Maybe she’d misread his tone, mistaken distraction for urgency. Or he could have hoped to fit her in before another meeting, then decided not to wait when she didn’t show. After all, he couldn’t be sure she’d received his message in time to come.
A glance at the window told her nothing had changed outside. Rain buffeted the building, rippling the clear glass like a fun-house mirror. Unwilling to brave the weather again so soon, she decided to give him more time. Half an hour. If he hadn’t come by then, she’d leave a note and call in the morning.
Shadows crept across the carpet until she was finally on the outer fringe of lamplight, the darkness pressing at her back. The air in the room grew heavy and oppressive, a result of excessive humidity, she felt sure. But knowing the cause didn’t calm the jittery feeling in her stomach nor make breathing any easier. When she felt an eternity had passed she tilted her wrist.
6:20.
Maybe she should find the guard and ask for help locating the judge. She rose from the chair, then hesitated. What if Wainright showed up while she was gone?
A barely audible scraping sound, like the whisper of cord across metal, emanated from the room on the other side of the desk.
Cassie froze, hairs rising on the nape of her neck. When the sound failed to repeat itself, she let out the stale air locked in her lungs. She paced to the window and peered into the dreary landscape, feeling more sympathetic toward Noah than she ever had during years of Sunday school.
Air shifted against her back. Her heart thudded.
Get a grip, woman! Next, you’ll be seeing ghosts.
She smiled nervously. Cassie Bowers never let her imagination run away with her. She was too sensible, too down-to-earth. Why, if a ghost had dared rear its head, she would have laughed it back into the grave.
Although she’d checked her watch mere moments ago, she looked again… 6:22. She pressed her lips together and decided her nerves couldn’t take eight more minutes.
Her mind made up, she crossed to the desk, intent on scribbling a quick note. Something halted her hand as she reached for the notepad next to the lamp.
A soft, nearly inaudible sound.
A moan?
She held her breath and waited for the sound to repeat itself. It didn’t. Narrowing her gaze, she stared at the slit of black that outlined the unsecured door to the judge’s chambers.
No way could he be here. All the lights had been turned out, and she’d called loud enough to wake the dead.
Dead?
A sudden vision of the man, lying ill or injured, floated through her mind. She took a hesitant step toward the door. “Judge Wainright?”
With the flat of her hand, she pushed at the unresisting barrier. It swung noiselessly inward. In spite of the prickling along her scalp, she took another step and ran her fingers along the wall in search of a light switch.
A movement within the darkened room caught her attention, drying her mouth and making her pulse flutter.
“Judge Wainright?”
Even as she spoke, she suspected it wasn’t the judge. The shape that detached itself from the murky shadows wasn’t tall or solid enough.
Unnerved by the apparition’s failure to respond, she widened her eyes, trying to adjust her vision to the deep gloom, and groped once more for the elusive light switch.
The figure seemed to sense her purpose. With lightning speed, it leaped forward. In the dim light something glinted in its upraised hand.
Cassie’s heart thudded wildly.
Disbelief cramped her stomach.
Fumbling, she found the switch as something crashed against her skull.
Bright light exploded.
The room went dark.
