Jean Barrett - To The Rescue

“You don’t need to use it.”

Those lethal eyes of Leo’s searched her face. They seemed to darken, smoldering with something she was afraid to define. Something that suddenly deprived her of oxygen. She was still much too close to him, but couldn’t seem to move.

Carrying her hands to his mouth, he began to demonstrate that remedy, nibbling on her fingers, placing kisses in each of her palms.

Drawing her tightly against him, a growl low in his throat, Leo angled his mouth across hers. His kiss was deep, demanding.

Jennifer’s senses rioted. Threatened to go out of control. And might have, if there hadn’t been the sound of someone, making them aware they were no longer alone.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To Barb and Dick Norene, in appreciation for your support and friendship. You are the best.

If setting has anything to do with it, Jean Barrett claims she has no reason not to be inspired. She and her husband live on Wisconsin’s scenic Door Peninsula in an antique-filled country cottage overlooking Lake Michigan. A teacher for many years, she left the classroom to write full-time. She is the author of a number of romance novels.

Jennifer Rowan—She is desperate to prove herself innocent of murder, but can she survive the rugged P.I. who puts her heart and soul in jeopardy?

Leo McKenzie—He is determined to catch his brother’s killer, but he hadn’t counted on the irresistible allure of the woman who is his chief suspect.

Father Stephen—The abbot’s monastery may not survive if the valuable Warley Madonna is not recovered.

Brother Timothy—Will his medical skills be enough to save the latest victim of a deranged killer?

Geoffrey—The young novice seems to be troubled about taking his final vows.

Patrick—He wants to join the order, but is it for the right reason?

Harry Ireland—The traveling salesman may not be what he seems.

Fiona and Alfred Brasher—What secret is the couple hiding?

Sybil and Roger Harding—She has a sharp tongue and a fondness for gin. He’s a devout ex-monk who’s worried about his wife.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Heathside, Yorkshire

Who is he? How did he find me?

Needing answers, Jennifer hugged the shadows at the top of the stairs, her heart registering anxiety with rapid beats as she listened to the conversation in the lobby below.

“You’re sure you can’t give me her room number?”

His voice was deep and mellow. That much Jennifer could tell, but nothing else about him. Although she had a limited view of the front desk and the young woman who stood on duty behind it, the man who had come in off the street wasn’t in her line of sight. She would need to lean forward in order to glimpse him, but she feared even a slight movement would betray her presence.

The clerk, her thin face peppered with freckles beneath a cap of red hair, shook her head in regret. “Be worth my job if I was to go and tell you that, sir.”

The woman had been far less careful when he’d approached the desk a moment ago with a confident “I’m here to see Jennifer Rowan. She is registered with you, right?”

He shouldn’t have known that. Jennifer had told no one she planned to spend the night at this inn. But his bold assumption that she was here had won an admission from the clerk that, yes, Jennifer was a guest at the King’s Head. The clerk hadn’t bothered to ask him his name.

“Sure wouldn’t want you to go and jeopardize your job—” he paused, moving in close to the desk in order to read the clerk’s name tag “—Wendy.”

Jennifer could see him now. Or at least enough of him to understand why the desk clerk wore a willing smile as he leaned toward her. From what Jennifer could tell at this angle, he was good-looking in a rugged sort of way. That deep voice was also persuasive, with a tone that was appealingly personal.

“But how about calling her room and letting her know someone is here to see her. You could do that much, couldn’t you, Wendy?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that, sir. Not that I’d have to, being as how Ms. Rowan isn’t in her room. Went out a bit ago to buy herself a London paper. Real disappointed, she was, when I told her we only take the local paper here. Well, why would we need anything else when we have the telly?”

But Jennifer hadn’t been willing to wait for a TV newscast, which wouldn’t have provided her with enough details anyway. Only a London paper would have a full account of Guy’s murder. She needed to know if there was any new development in the case, whether she was at imminent risk of being arrested.

As far as the desk clerk knew, Jennifer wasn’t in the inn. Wendy had watched her go out the front door in search of a shop that carried the London papers. What the young woman didn’t realize was that, once out on the street, Jennifer had feared she would be soaked within seconds. A hard rain had begun to fall. Wendy hadn’t been at her post when Jennifer immediately returned to the inn to fetch her umbrella. If the tea mug now at the clerk’s elbow was any indication, she must have been in the kitchen.

Umbrella in hand, Jennifer had been heading toward the street again when the stranger below had asked for her by name. Alarmed, she had shrunk back into the shadows where the hallway emerged at the top of the stairs. But she couldn’t go on standing here. The dimness, presumably the result of a burned-out lightbulb in the fixture overhead, wasn’t enough to conceal her if either of them happened to look up.

Frozen in place, Jennifer prayed he was satisfied by the clerk’s explanation of her absence. That, whoever he was, he would leave the inn and go out on the street to look for her in the shops. But it didn’t happen that way.

“You wouldn’t have any objection if I waited here in the lobby for Ms. Rowan, would you, Wendy?” he asked the clerk.

“That’s all right then, sir.”

Trapped! What was she to do? He had already removed his coat, was running a strong hand through his wet hair. It was when he looked over his shoulder, probably to locate a comfortable chair in which to take up his vigil, that Jennifer seized the opportunity to make her escape from the stairway.

Backing slowly, silently away from the landing, hoping none of the old floorboards would announce her retreat with a sudden groan, she waited until the lobby was entirely swallowed from view before she turned and fled to her room.

Once inside, and with the door secured behind her, she went and sat on the edge of the four-poster. Only then did she realize she was trembling. It was imperative that she think rationally about her situation, come to some decision, and in order to do that, she had to calm herself.