Shirlee McCoy: Protective Instincts

STALKED!

After losing her family, and then nearly her life when she was held hostage in Africa, grieving widow Raina Lowery only wants to put the past behind her. Instead, she’s finding her son’s toys in the woods and dodging a gunman’s bullets. Raina is trapped in a real-life nightmare—until Jackson Miller reappears. Months ago, saving Raina was Jackson’s job as a member of HEART, a private rescue team. But now it’s personal. The hardened protector wants to give Raina—and himself—a second chance at love. But first he has to save her…again.

Mission: Rescue—No job is too dangerous for these fearless heroes

Her heart jumped as she met Jackson Miller’s eyes.

Even in the midst of her terror, half-frozen and desperate, she recognized him. She’d dreamed about him dozens of times.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” She met his eyes, her pulse jumping again. He was as handsome as she’d remembered. “But you...” She touched a bruise that was forming on his cheekbone.

“Must have happened when I jumped out of the way of the Jeep that was trying to run me down.” He watched her steadily as he spoke. “You know anyone with a blue Jeep?”

“No.”

“You’re sure, because someone was in the woods with you.”

Fear clogged her throat. She’d been trying to convince herself that she’d imagined the man and his whispered threat. That everything that had happened since she’d woken to a child’s cries had been part of some bizarre dream.

It wasn’t, though. It was real. And someone wanted to hurt her.

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschooling mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Protective Instincts

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

—Jeremiah 29:11

To Glenda Winters, because she knows how to hold on and how to let go. Blessings to you, my friend. And prayers that God will give you comfort and courage and peace.

Contents

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dear Reader,

Extract

PROLOGUE

Sudan

Six months ago

Dying felt like summer heat and dusty earth. It sounded like flies and buzzards, humming and flapping in Raina Lowery’s ears as she lay on the hot, hard ground of the African savanna.

Please, God, just let it end soon. The prayer flitted through her mind. There and gone so quickly she couldn’t quite grab hold of it.

Close by, someone groaned, the sound drifting on waves of scorching heat. Twenty days traveling rugged terrain with little water, five days lying in cages in the blazing sun. They’d all die soon. Some of them already had.

Of the ten-member missionary team, seven had survived the initial attack against the small village where they’d been staying. Only five of the remaining had completed the forced journey to the rebel encampment.

Raina didn’t know how many more had died since they’d arrived. If any of them lived, it would be a miracle, and she’d given up believing in those years ago.

A fraud trying to live a faith that she’d professed when she was a child; that’s what she’d felt like when she’d agreed to travel with the medical mission. She’d die a fraud, because she hadn’t found what she’d been looking for when she’d left Pine Bluff, Washington, and flown to Africa.

Dear God, please...

Something rustled beside her, and she opened her eyes, squinting against the late-afternoon sun. A gun strapped to his shoulder, his eyes hollow and old, a boy soldier peered through the cage bars. Young. Six or seven. A year or two younger than Joseph would have been. His close-cropped hair was coated with dirt, his cheeks covered with grime. He wore a baggy shirt and faded red shorts. His feet were bare.

Raina thought that he’d spit on her the way others had, but he pulled an old water bottle from beneath his baggy black T-shirt and slid it through the bars.

“Drink,” he whispered, his English thick and heavily accented.

She wanted to thank him, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn’t get the words out. She lifted the murky water and drank greedily, gulping it down so quickly she almost choked.

She passed the bottle back through the bars, desperate for more. But the boy shoved it back under his shirt and ran off.

Alone again, she curled into a fetal position, the hot earth burning her cheek, the water roiling in her stomach. The buzzards flapped their wings, the droning sounds of the flies growing so loud they were almost deafening.

The air hung still and heavy, the heat so thick she could taste it on the back of her tongue, feel it in the sluggish pulse of her blood. It dragged at her, pulling her down into a darkness she wasn’t sure she’d ever escape.

Someone shouted and gunfire blasted through the encampment, the explosive power of machine-gun rounds vibrating through the hard ground. Raina pushed to her knees, couldn’t make it to her feet. Fire blazed from the roof of one of the rebel’s huts, the shimmering heat dancing against the afternoon sky. A black helicopter hovered above, blowing the smoke and flames into a frenzy of motion. Men ran toward the tall savanna grasses, weapons slapping against narrow backs, boots thudding on drought-dry earth.

A small figure darted through the chaos, running straight toward Raina’s prison. Black T-shirt and old red shorts, skinny legs pumping hard. No gun this time. Just wild fear in his ancient eyes.

He crouched near the cage door, his hand shaking as he shoved a key into the padlock.

“You have to run and hide!” Raina tried to shout, but her voice caught in her parched throat, and all that came out was a croak.

The door swung open, and the boy held out his hand. “You are free.”

Their gazes locked, and she reached for him, her fingers brushing the warm, dry tips of his.

Another explosion, and his eyes went wide as he fell into the cage.