Paula Graves - One Tough Marine

“I can protect him myself.” God, she sounded foolish.

“Drive by here on your way out and I’ll see if I can spot anybody tailing you,” Luke suggested as he walked her to the door. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

She slanted a look at him, wondering if he realized just how hollow his promises sounded after what happened between them three years ago. Although he hadn’t really made her any promises that night, had he? There hadn’t been many words at all, just kisses and touches and a raging fire she’d thrown herself into without a second thought.

For him, it might have been nothing more than a few hours of shared grief and release.

But that night with Luke Cooper had changed her world.

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For Ashlee, my Psych viewing buddy.

Bum-bum-bum…muffins!

Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Paula invites readers to visit her Web site, www.paulagraves.com.

Abby Chandler —When masked men threaten to hurt her son if the marine widow can’t give them what they want, Abby turns to Luke Cooper, her late husband’s best friend—and the unwitting father of her son.

Luke Cooper —Retired from the Marine Corps, Luke lives in self-exile to protect the ones he loves from a ruthless drug lord’s vow of vengeance.

Stevie Chandler —The two-year-old has become a pawn in a deadly game of extortion.

Eladio Cordero —When Luke killed the South American drug kingpin’s only son, Cordero vowed to make him pay by going after the people who mean the most to Luke.

Los Tiburones —Cordero’s hired enforcers have caught Luke’s scent, dogging his trail, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

Barton Reid —His job high in the U.S. State Department has given him access to a great deal of power and volatile information. He’ll go to any lengths to protect his secrets.

Demetrius “Damon” Miles —An operative in Barton Reid’s private army, Damon has his own hidden agenda.

Sam Cooper —Luke’s older brother is the only Cooper who knows the truth about Luke’s self-imposed exile. Can Sam help Luke and Abby reach safety before the bad guys catch up?

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

Abby Chandler shifted the grocery bag to her left arm and fumbled in her pocket for her keys. Arriving home later than she’d planned, thanks to a pileup on I-5, she had to hurry and put away the groceries so she could pick up Stevie by six. After six Mrs. Tamburello charged time and a half, and the budget this month couldn’t take the strain.

She unlocked her apartment and pushed the door open with her foot, stumbling as her toe caught on the rubber welcome mat inside. Muttering a curse, she kicked the door shut behind her and took a half step forward before she realized what she was seeing in the dim afternoon light filtering into her apartment.

Sofa cushions, ripped apart and tossed on the floor. Paintings torn from the wall and dismantled. Her coffee table upended in the middle of the room.

Her heartbeat barely had time to notch upward when a voice, inches from her ear, sent it hurtling into hyperdrive.

“You’re late, Mrs. Chandler.”

At the sound of the deep male voice, her body jerked into one jangling nerve. Her keys dropped with a clatter from her numb fingers while her mind flew haphazardly through her options. Run? No, the man with the deep voice stood between her and the door. Try to outrace him to the kitchen for the knife block by the refrigerator? Not a chance.

“Sorry for the mess. We became bored waiting for you.” A second voice, not quite as deep as the first, spoke to her right. She heard more than a hint of Boston Brahmin in that accent.

“What do you want?” She felt her grip on the grocery bag slipping and tucked it to her side to keep from dropping it.

“Please don’t move, Mrs. Chandler,” the man behind her said. “We don’t want things here to escalate.”

Escalate to what—unadulterated terror? Too late, buster.

The second man moved into her field of vision—tall, well built, dressed in black from his soft-soled shoes to his knit ski mask. Clear blue eyes, direct and confident, gazed out from the eyeholes. He was light-skinned, with a hint of freckles, she noted for future reference.

Assuming there’d be a future in which to reference.

“Are you going to tell me what you want?” She tried not to give in to the panic buzzing like wasps in her brain. Her muscles were already beginning to ache from tension. If someone didn’t start talking, she might just snap in half.

The freckled man took the grocery bag from her trembling arms and set it on the floor. “Your husband took something that didn’t belong to him. We’re here to retrieve it.”

The man behind her pushed something cold and hard against the back of her neck. It took no imagination to guess it was the barrel of a pistol.

“My husband’s been dead for three years. Most of his stuff has been sold or given away.” Her answer had the benefit of being the truth. Matt hadn’t collected much in the way of personal belongings during his foreshortened life. Most of what he possessed had been government issue, from uniforms to gear to weapons. “If you’ve been through the trunk at the foot of my bed, you’ve seen all I have left of him.”

The Brahmin, as she thought of him, made a low tsk-tsk sound. “Perhaps you are mistaken. Did your husband have a safe-deposit box? A storage unit located elsewhere?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, and again it was the truth. “He was a soldier. There was a lot about his life I don’t know. Can you at least tell me what this is about? Maybe I could help you find what you’re looking for if you told me what it was.”

The Brahmin hesitated a moment. She caught a slight flicker in his eyes and realized he wasn’t sure how to answer.

Oh, God, they don’t even know what they’re looking for.

“We’re not at liberty to reveal that to you if you don’t already know what we’re talking about,” the man behind her said, and she almost laughed at the absurdity. They’d broken in and trashed her apartment on a hunch that maybe, possibly, her husband had hidden—what? A million dollars? A stash of gold?