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Urgent Vows
Joyce Sullivan
He asked her to be his wife, a mother to the children–and before the night was through…possibly his widowQuinn McClure had no right to show up on her doorstep after five years, looking sexy and desperate, with two tiny orphaned children in tow, asking her for an impossible favor. And yet, one look in Quinn's eyes, and her heart answered yes before she knew it.Quinn knew that if something happened to him before he could find his brother's killer, at least he could see that Hope and the children were safe. But being with Hope again reminded him of the wasted years they'd spent apart. Now with a killer on their heels, Quinn had to stay alive for the children–and for Hope, who loved him as only a true wife could…
Quinn’s lean, muscled body quivered with tightly reined emotion
It took all Hope’s willpower to hold back the urge to touch him. It was her last remaining defense to his unexpected invasion. Somehow she felt if she didn’t cross that line, she could survive this encounter with her heart still intact.
Her gaze flew instinctively to Quinn’s little niece and nephew. A drop of moisture dripped off her chin and she realized she was crying at the senseless injustice of a family being destroyed…and Quinn walking around with a price on his head and the guilt of his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths on his soul.
Quinn.
A hundred questions formed in her mind. But only one seemed important. “What can I do to help?”
“Marry me.”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Your summer reading list just wouldn’t be complete without the special brand of romantic suspense you can only get from Harlequin Intrigue.
This month, Joanna Wayne launches her first-ever miniseries! You loved the Randolph family when you met them in her book Family Ties (#444). So now they’re back in RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES, beginning with Branson’s story in The Second Son (#569). Flesh and blood bind these brothers to each other—and to a mystery baby girl. All are her protectors…one is her father.
Familiar, the crime-solving black cat, is back in his thirteenth FEAR FAMILIAR title by Caroline Burnes. This time he explores New Orleans in Familiar Obsession (#570).
It had been Hope Fancy’s dream to marry Quinn McClure, but not under a blaze of bullets! Are Urgent Vows (#571) enough to save two small children…and a lifelong love? Find out with Harlequin Intrigue author Joyce Sullivan.
With her signature style and Native American characters and culture, Aimée Thurlo revisits the Black Raven brothers from Christmas Witness (#544). In Black Raven’s Pride (#572), Nick Black Raven would die to protect Eden Maes, the one-time and always love of his life. And he’d be damned before anyone would touch a hair on the head of their child.
So if you can handle the heat, pull the trigger on all four Harlequin Intrigue titles!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Urgent Vows
Joyce Sullivan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joyce credits her lawyer mother with instilling in her a love of reading and writing—and a fascination for solving mysteries. She has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and worked several years as a private investigator before turning her hand to writing romantic suspense. A transplanted American, Joyce makes her home in Aylmer, Quebec, with her handsome French-Canadian husband and two casebook-toting kid detectives.
Books by Joyce Sullivan
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
352—THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
436—THIS LITTLE BABY
516—TO LANEY, WITH LOVE
546—THE BABY SECRET
571—URGENT VOWS
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Quinn McClure— This counterfeit expert is certain his identical twin was killed in his place. Can he find a mother for his brother’s children before the hit man rectifies his error?
Hope Fancy— Always a fiancée and never a bride. Would a jinx and a hit man prevent her from marrying her first love?
Mercy and Bernardo— Who had hired this hit man and his sidekick?
Asian Syndicate — They feared Quinn was coming too close to identifying the principals of their credit card ring.
Hugh Simons— The mastermind of this payday counterfeit check ring blamed Quinn for his arrest.
Ross Linville— Quinn’s investigation into the stock certificates he’d counterfeited to use as collateral for a bank loan had tarnished his family’s sterling name. Now he’d skipped bail. Was he plotting revenge?
Adrian Burkhold— When Quinn exposed him as the head of a rare gold coin counterfeiting operation, Burkhold swore he’d see Quinn dead.
Dr. Juan Chavez— Was this wealthy Dominican Republic doctor trying to prevent Quinn from telling a packed courtroom about his counterfeit medical diplomas?
For Jeannie, who found her Sha’ul. May you live happily ever after. Mazel tov.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A serendipitous meeting with two charming and debonair gentlemen was the inspiration for this book. I would like to extend my gratitude to Jean-Claude Doré, Forensic Counterfeit Examiner and Robert Fawcett, Forensic Document Examiner, of Counterfeit & Forgery Prevention Inc. for sharing the details of their fascinating work.
Thanks also to Inspector Al Misner, RCMP Forensic Ident Services Ottawa; T. Lorraine Vassalo, Criminologist; Detective-Sergeant Bill Bowles, Ontario Ministry of the Solicitor General and Correctional Services; Detective-Sergeant Clyde Dyck, Chief Firearms Officer, Ontario Ministry of the Solicitor General and Correctional Services; Dee Barlow, ADT Security Systems Canada; Lawyers Robert Lewis and Glen Kealy; Jackie Oakley, Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police; Dr. Stephen W. Maclean; Karen Robertson; Kathryn Young-Davies; Pat and Linda Poitevin; and Judy McAnerin
Any mistakes are my own.
Contents
Prologue (#u9abe5cf7-7e81-52c3-a537-4330c0f99dbb)
Chapter One (#ub00e8233-6799-5a87-b262-547d35723cee)
Chapter Two (#u3ae09c35-1220-5582-a566-4d6579887235)
Chapter Three (#u5f79a00c-57ef-5d5c-93ff-badba6c8e720)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Prologue
12:00 p.m. Thursday
The electronic beeper on his wristwatch sounding noon roused Mercy from sleep, his heart pounding, the blood pumping through him and rushing to his head.
Had the bodies been discovered yet? Mercy scratched his private parts, then rolled over and grappled for the TV remote on the bedside table. The hand that had been so steady last night, so deadly, now trembled with anticipation.
The morning news had been ungratifying—not one mention of the killings. But surely, now there’d been time…. The set came on with a burst of color and sound in the darkened motel room.
A satisfied smile twisted his mouth as the thin-lipped, tight-assed, primly suited anchorwoman gazed solemnly into the camera, her expression conveying both sympathy and outrage as she segued into the lead story.
“Residents in Gloucester are in shock today over the gruesome discovery of the bodies of a man and a woman shot to death in their home. A neighbor spotted the couple’s three-year-old daughter through a kitchen window and became suspicious when it appeared the girl was unsupervised. Police are not commenting on whether it was a botched burglary or a murder/suicide. A toddler was also found in the home. He was unharmed. Names will not be released until the next-of-kin have been notified.”
Mercy flipped her the bird and switched to another Ottawa station, just catching the tail end of the story. He got some satisfaction from seeing footage of the neighbors huddled outside the house. The fear stamped on their faces made his chest swell. Damn straight they should be afraid. Mercy was no one anyone wanted to mess with—not if they didn’t want to find themselves six feet under or reduced to dust in a fancy bottle.
This station reported no names were being released, too. Mercy threw the remote against the wall. If he was lucky he’d get positive confirmation on the evening news, then he could blow off this town filled with politicians and civil servants squabbling over pay increases and tax cuts to medical and social programs. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He’d followed the bastard home from the office, and the mail piled in a basket on a table in the living room had been addressed to Q. D. McClure. The confirmation was just a technicality. Necessary paperwork.
He was on his way into the bathroom when his digital cellular phone rang. “Yeah?”
He recognized the dry, raspy voice. “Has the job been completed?”
“Last night. Just waiting for positive ID. His old lady woke up so I ended up poppin’ her, too.”
“Don’t expect extra. Just fax me a copy of the newspaper report and I’ll have the money wired directly to your account. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” The line went dead.
Mercy grunted and shook his head, remembering how the woman had stirred, her blond head lifting from the pillow…and how he’d popped her before the scream could rise from her throat.
His body tightened. Yeah, the pleasure was all his.
Chapter One
2:35 p.m. Friday
“It should have been me. Not them,” Quinn Mc-Clure told the solemn-faced lawyer who’d agreed to this cloak-and-dagger meeting in a fast-food restaurant. But then, never in a million years could Quinn have imagined himself, with two young children in tow, on the run from a hit man.
Of medium height and average build, wearing a conservative gray suit topped with a black overcoat, Tom Parrish glanced up from the pages of the last will and testament of Quinn’s brother, Quentin Mc-Clure. Parrish was sharp, with a glint of ingrained caution evident in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Quinn nodded. He’d never felt so numb. His thoughts seemed disconnected from his body, neither fully registering the actions of the other. Or maybe it was that the part of him which had always been linked to his identical twin brother, Quentin, was irretrievably severed. And yet, Quinn had to think. Had to resist sinking into the black whirlpool of grief that had opened in the pit of his stomach. He had to do what was best for the children before he hunted down the bastard who’d gunned down Quentin and Carrie in their sleep.
A Mountie always gets his man. Even ex-Mounties.
Parrish set Quentin’s will aside on the table and picked up Carrie’s. Quinn’s fingers trembled as he tried unsuccessfully to blot the horror of identifying his brother and sister-in-law’s bodies from his mind. Tried not to remember the last joking conversation he’d had with Quentin when his brother had dropped by Quinn’s office Wednesday evening to pick up the ticket Quinn had bought him for a Senators’ hockey game.
Parrish’s narrow brow furrowed. “Both wills appoint a Charles Duncan as the children’s alternative guardian.”
“That’s Carrie’s dad,” Quinn explained, struggling to keep his teeming emotions from his tone. “He had a debilitating stroke just after Christmas. He’s in a nursing home in Nova Scotia. I guess Quentin and Carrie never got around to selecting someone else—”
Quinn swallowed hard, unable to continue. Heat seared the backs of his eyelids. He hadn’t called the nursing home yet. He couldn’t bear to think of Charlie being told such news by a stranger. Couldn’t bear to think of Charlie’s grief at learning his only child and her husband were dead. That his grandchildren were orphaned.
Twenty-six hours had passed since Quinn had received the horrible call early yesterday afternoon informing him that Quentin’s and Carrie’s bodies had been found in their home. He told himself that he’d made it through the first horrific day and could make it through another. He’d been an RCMP officer too long not to immediately suspect the grisly truth when he’d arrived on the scene. It looked like a professional hit. Forced entry in a neighborhood that hadn’t seen a break-and-enter in over three years. Victims shot at close range with a .22 semiautomatic. None of the neighbors had heard a sound, and there was no sign of the spent casings, which indicated the hit man had used a silencer. Not a damn thing was taken. A quick in-and-out job. Quentin’s wallet and Carrie’s purse weren’t even touched.
Damn. It was his fault.
Every day of his life he’d live with the torturous knowledge that the hit man had followed Quentin home by mistake. Quentin hadn’t had an enemy in the world. But Quinn had a long list of enemies—all of them criminals, and not one of whom appreciated his efforts to toss their sorry asses in prisons all over the globe for counterfeiting anything from currency, credit cards, checks and travel documents to high-end designer clothes, salon products and stuffed toys.
A forensic examiner specializing in counterfeit detection and prevention, Quinn had left the RCMP at the invitation of Oliver Wells, a forgery specialist who was ready to retire from the RCMP and wanted to open up a private consulting firm. Their clients were many and varied: government agencies, financial institutions, insurance companies, law-enforcement agencies, private-investigation and security agencies, and private companies all over the world sought out their technological expertise to deter fraud and their investigative skills to combat it.
Once Quinn had realized his twin’s death was a professional hit, it hadn’t taken him long to provide the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police with a short list of crime syndicates and individuals who possessed the motivation and the resources to order a hit on him. Not that he thought a list would do much good when the hit had likely been ordered by someone outside the country.
Quinn had a more straightforward means of finding out who’d hired the hit man. He planned to extract the information from the bastard when he came back to rectify his mistake. Oh yes, Quinn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the cold-blooded killer would return to finish the job he’d been hired to do. And when he did, Quinn planned to be ready and waiting. But first, he had to make sure that Quentin and Carrie’s children would be well taken care of in the event something happened to him.
Quinn cast a watchful eye toward the play area of the restaurant where his friend, Gordon Swenson, who’d arranged this meeting with the lawyer, was supervising nineteen-month-old Kyle and three-year-old Melanie’s antics in the ball room. Then he panned the room, checking for anyone or anything that seemed unusual or out of place. The police hadn’t released the names of the victims to the press yet, but that didn’t mean the hit man hadn’t already been alerted to his error.
Tom Parrish carefully placed Carrie’s will on top of Quentin’s and aligned the corners. “Given what Gord has told me over the phone about your circumstances, Quinn,” he ventured in a low tone, “the best way to ensure that your niece and nephew don’t end up wards of the Crown—in the unfortunate event of your death—would be for you to marry and appoint your wife as their guardian in your will. As their aunt, your wife would be considered a relative of the children and it’s unlikely the court would choose not to uphold your request, particularly since there would be no opposing claim. Have you been seeing anyone lately you might consider marrying?”
Quinn shook his head. He’d only ever considered marriage once in his life—very briefly—and that was a decade ago. “The ladies I occasionally date aren’t the nurturing types. Besides, Kyle and Mel deserve a mother who’ll love them as much as Carrie did and be willing to raise them on her own if she has to. From a security perspective, the children would be safer with a stranger. We don’t know the resources behind whoever ordered the hit. Once they realize I’ve gone into hiding with the children, they’ll start digging into my background looking for people who might be in a position to help me out. That’s why I came to you instead of my own lawyer. It minimizes the risk of discovery because there are no links to trace.”
Quinn rubbed his jaw, feeling the rasping bite of the stubble on his chin. “Gord told me you come from a big extended family. I don’t suppose you know any single women willing to take on two kids?”
Parrish looked thoughtful for a moment. “My wife will probably string me up for suggesting this, but one of her sisters runs a day care out in Kanata. She’s a terrific person. Funny, caring. Loves kids. My daughters are five and two and they adore her. She’s definitely the kind of person you think should have kids of her own, but she lost her fiancé a few years ago in a car accident and she’s pretty much given up on the idea of having a family. You could talk to her, see if she’s willing to help you. To my knowledge she’s not seriously involved with anyone, but she likes to keep her personal life private. It drives my wife nuts.”
“I’d make it worth her while. Money won’t be a problem.”
Parrish didn’t bat an eyelash. “Since I’m your lawyer and she’s my sister-in-law, I’ll make sure she’s adequately provided for. But the only reason she’d do it is because she loves children. I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
“I’ll take every precaution necessary to make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word. I only plan to stay long enough for the kids to bond with her.” Quinn couldn’t believe he was even talking about marrying a perfect stranger. “How soon could we be married if your sister-in-law accepts my proposal?”
“Monday at the earliest. The two of you would need to go down to city hall and apply for a marriage license in person. There’s no waiting period or blood test required in the province of Ontario. Unfortunately, judges no longer perform civil ceremonies in this region, but I can make all the necessary arrangements with a nondenominational minister and draft your will once you talk to Hope.”
