A Cry In The Dark. Jenna MillsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I’m not the enemy.”
Liam willed her to believe him, knowing she wouldn’t. “I’m here to help.”
Danielle shoved her hair back from her face. “You can’t. Don’t you get it?”
“Yes, I can. Because I know things you don’t.” About Titan. His handiwork. His trail of devastation. “I have resources you can’t begin to fathom.”
“I don’t want your resources,” Danielle shot back. “Why can’t you understand that?”
“Because you’re scared,” he told her, even though he didn’t understand. Bringing down Titan was all he’d thought about, wanted, for three long years. “Because I stood in the shadows watching you for over an hour.” And had seen her shaking, shivering. “And because I’m your best chance.” He grabbed her arm. “You need me, Danielle. You need me in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”
And, God help him, he needed her even more.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to another month of excitingly romantic reading from Silhouette Intimate Moments. Ruth Langan starts things off with a bang in Vendetta, the third of her four DEVIL’S COVE titles. Blair Colby came back to town looking for a quiet summer. Instead he found danger, mystery—and love.
Fans of Sara Orwig’s STALLION PASS miniseries will be glad to see it continued in Bring On The Night, part of STALLION PASS: TEXAS KNIGHTS, also a fixture in Silhouette Desire. Mix one tough agent, the ex-wife he’s never forgotten and the son he never knew existed, and you have a recipe for high emotion. Whether you experienced our FAMILY SECRETS continuity or are new to it now, you won’t want to miss our six FAMILY SECRETS: THE NEXT GENERATION titles, starting with Jenna Mills’ A Cry In The Dark. Ana Leigh’s Face of Deception is the first of her BISHOP’S HEROES stories, and your heart will beat faster with every step of Mike Bishop’s mission to rescue Ann Hamilton and her adopted son from danger. Are you a fan of the paranormal? Don’t miss One Eye Open, popular author Karen Whiddon’s first book for the line, which features a shape-shifting heroine and a hero who’s all man. Finally, go To The Limit with new author Virginia Kelly, who really knows how to write heart-pounding romantic adventure.
And come back next month, for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
A Cry in the Dark
Jenna Mills
JENNA MILLS
grew up in south Louisiana, amidst romantic plantation ruins, haunting swamps and timeless legends. It’s not surprising, then, that she wrote her first romance at the ripe old age of six! Three years later, this librarian’s daughter turned to romantic suspense with Jacquie and the Swamp, a harrowing tale of a young woman on the run in the swamp and the dashing hero who helps her find her way home. Since then her stories have grown in complexity, but her affinity for adventurous women and dangerous men has remained constant. She loves writing about strong characters torn between duty and desire, conscious choice and destiny.
When not writing award-winning stories brimming with deep emotion, steamy passion and page-turning suspense, Jenna spends her time with her husband, two cats, two dogs and a menagerie of plants in their Dallas, Texas, home. Jenna loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached via e-mail at [email protected], or via snail mail at P.O. Box 768, Coppell, Texas 75019.
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
Epilogue
Prologue
The cry ripped through the late-afternoon silence.
Gretchen Miller stopped folding her daughter’s pink-and-white play outfit and looked up abruptly. She held herself very still, listening intently, as only a mother could.
Violet.
Her heart kicked hard. She sprang to her feet and ran across the hardwood floor of her suburban Boston home, toward the staircase leading upstairs, where her daughter napped.
“Sweetheart?”
She heard her husband’s voice but didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Not when her daughter needed her. After years of longing for a child and believing the miracle would never come her way, Gretchen had dedicated herself to motherhood with a ferocity that even she had never imagined. Gone was the woman whose life had once consisted solely of ancient writings and academic pursuits. In her place lived a mother who thrived on art projects and play dates.
“Violet?” she called, reaching the top of the stairs. She tried to strip the concern from her voice, but adrenaline drowned out her effort. The cry had been sudden and intense, drenched in distress and fear. If her little girl was hurt—
Wide blue eyes greeted Gretchen the second she raced into the pink room with the white canopy bed. Sandy-blond hair framed her daughter’s pixie face. She sat in a small chair in front of the art table. In front of her, crayons lay scattered across a sheet of drawing paper.
Gretchen drank in the scene—the beautifully, perfectly normal scene—and tried to regain her equilibrium.
“Whatcha drawing?” she asked, moving to squat beside her little girl. With a hand she fought to steady, she brushed the hair back from Violet’s pale face.
Her little girl gazed up at her, her eyes darker than usual, her pupils dilated, almost trancelike. It took a moment for Gretchen to realize the child was still mostly asleep.
“Come, now,” she cooed, lifting her daughter into her arms and carrying her back to bed. She deposited her among the messy sheets and stretched out beside her. “How about we nap together?”
“Everything okay?”
The soft Texas drawl had her glancing toward the doorway. She and Kurt had been married for three years now, but his rugged handsomeness still stole her breath. “I thought I heard something,” she said. “A cry.”
With a gentle smile he strolled to the bed and leaned down, kissed her softly on the lips. “Looks like everything’s okay now.”
Emotion swarmed the back of her throat. Fighting tears she didn’t understand, she looked at her little girl, sleeping now, her breathing deep and rhythmic, as though five minutes before she’d not sat with crayon in hand. “I hope so,” she whispered.
But deep inside, an innate sense warned otherwise.
The cry drowned out the gentle strains of the lullaby.