Shirlee McCoy - The Defender's Duty

Lacey screamed, then felt something slam into her. Jude. He was shoving her back the way they’d come, shouting for her to run.

She ran several yards back up the path, her heart beating so hard and so loud that she could hear nothing else. Not her panting breath. Not her feet slamming against the ground. Not Jude running beside her.

Jude.

She skidded to a stop, turning to see him on the ground, struggling with their attacker.

She couldn’t leave him there to fight alone.

She raced back, fishing in her pocket and pulling out her cell phone. She dialed quickly, shouting their location to the 911 operator.

Something flashed in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. A knife.

Lacey’s heart nearly stopped as she lunged forward and grabbed the blade plunging toward Jude’s throat.

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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 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 four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Washington and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com, or e-mail her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert

and streams in the wasteland.

—Isaiah 43:18–19

To my family: Rodney, Jude, Caleb, Seth, Emma Grace and the daughter I have yet to meet. Ed and Shirley. Mary Ellen, Eldridge, Skylar and Trey. Beth, Rob, Joshua, Danielle, Kaitlyn and Jeremiah. Jonathan, Valerie, Jake, John, Elijah, Evelyn Grace and my nephew who hasn’t made his appearance. Sara, Nate, Kai and Noah. Kitty. Melissa. Lynde, Brianna, Elijah, Amirah and Olivia. I am so blessed to have you all in my life!

And a special thanks to Elizabeth Mazer who has worked through the three Sinclair brothers books with me and whose keen eye has made each story better. In the words of my thirteen-year-old son—you rock!

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

The person breaking into Jude Sinclair’s house wasn’t being quiet about it. That suited Jude just fine. He might not be able to move as quickly as he used to, but his NYPD service weapon was in his hand, lightweight, and deadly. An old friend. A comforting one. As far as Jude was concerned that more than evened the odds.

He pressed close to the living-room wall, his view of the front door unobstructed, his heart beating slow and steady as he waited in the darkness. Anticipated. Even prayed. Let it be the guy who’d run him down. The one who had ended his career, taken the life he’d had in New York. Who had stalked him for the past two months, waiting for an opportunity to finish what he’d started—murder.

The doorknob rattled, and a soft thud carried through the thick wood. Jude frowned. The guy might have murder on his mind, but he seemed to be having trouble following through on it. Come on. How hard was it to break into a house?

Pain shot up Jude’s left leg, and he shifted his weight, irritated by his weakness but refusing to be distracted by it. Just another minute and he’d finally be able to put a face to the person who’d almost killed him. He wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that. Not pain or impatience or any of the hot emotions that swelled up and threatened to spill out as he waited.

One minute.

Two.

The doorknob rattled again, the lock slid open and the door creaked. Cold, crisp air blew into the house, filling the darkness with the scent of spring rain and flowers. Definitely not something he should be smelling in the winter. Jude frowned, his hand tightening on the gun as a shadow moved into the foyer. Short. Maybe five foot two.

A woman?

Or a very short man.

The light went on, and Jude lifted the gun, aiming it at the head of a very young, very scrawny woman. Pale-blond hair, creamy skin, delicate features.

A murderer?

Maybe, but she looked like a fairy-tale princess come to life. The kind that danced around forests with singing animals, completely oblivious to danger. The fact that she was humming under her breath and tapping a beat against her thigh while he pointed a gun in her direction only added to the impression.

Could she have cold-bloodedly run him down when he’d stopped to help a stranded motorist two months ago?

Jude wasn’t sure, but he was about to find out. “Next time you decide to break into someone’s house, you might want to be quieter about it.”

She screamed, her eyes going wide and dark with terror as she finally caught sight of Jude. She screamed again when she noticed the gun, jumping back and nearly tumbling out the front door.

Jude raced after her, his left leg howling a protest, his right throbbing with pain. He grimaced, but kept running. Recovering from almost losing his legs stunk. Actually losing them would have been a whole lot worse, so he figured he couldn’t complain. He also figured he wasn’t going to let the blond-haired woman get away before he found out why she’d broken into his house.

She was fast, but even with pins and rods in both legs, Jude was faster. He snagged the back of her coat as she pulled open the door of a beat-up Mustang convertible.

“Let me go.” She rounded on him, slamming her open palm toward his nose.

He just missed getting a face full of pain, and that irritated him. It used to be he could take down a three-hundred-pound man with ease. Now he was barely managing to restrain a hundred-pound woman.

He grabbed the woman’s arm, tugging it behind her back but not exerting pressure. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted answers. “Sorry, lady. You can’t go anywhere until you tell me why you were in my house tonight.”

“Your house? But…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “You’re Jude Sinclair.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” He kept his grip light as he urged the woman back to the house.