Jenna Ryan - Dakota Marshal

Images of the two of them skin-to-skin, rediscovering each other’s bodies, streaked through her mind. Though they were in a truck on the side of the road, she still wanted to strip away McBride’s clothes. Worse, she wanted him to tear off hers.

All that pent-up desire was unleashed from a single mind-blowing kiss that got more potent the longer it went on. She should end it before her sanity dissolved. But his hands were cupping her face, the back of her neck, holding her in place so he could ravish—yes, actually ravish—every inch of her mouth. And she was loving it.

Instead of going with wisdom, she matched him stroke for delicious stroke with her tongue. There was a smoky darkness, an element of danger in the way he touched her. It hinted at some never quite spoken vice she’d been warned by her father not to want or accept. And never to enjoy.

The memory of that warning rang through her mind when it was displaced by another sound—two echoing gunshots, fired directly at them.

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To Kathy, who makes it all work.

Jenna started making up stories before she could read or write. Growing up, romance always had a strong appeal, but romantic suspense was the perfect fit. She tried out a number of different careers, including modeling, interior design and travel, but writing has always been her one true love. That and her longtime partner, Rod.

Inspired from book to book by her sister Kathy, she lives in a rural setting fifteen minutes from the city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s taken a lot of years, but she’s finally slowed the frantic pace and adopted a West Coast mindset. Stay active, stay healthy, keep it simple. Enjoy the ride, enjoy the read. All of that works for her, but what she continues to enjoy most is writing stories she loves. She also loves reader feedback. Email her at jacquigoff@shaw.caor visit Jenna Ryan on Facebook.

Alessandra Norris—The Rapid City veterinarian’s life is peaceful, until her ex comes crashing back into it.

Gabriel McBride—As a U.S. marshal, he is accustomed to danger, but when a hit man’s bullet catches him off guard, the only person he can turn to is Alessandra.

Rory Simms—The escaped felon is unpredictable, desperate and deadly.

Casey Simms—The head of a powerful criminal family, she hired a hit man to take out McBride. But what else has she done?

Eddie Rickard—Alessandra saw the hit man on McBride’s tail. Now she’s a target, too.

Larry Dent—This small-town man wants to help, but can he be trusted?

Raven—The woman knows how to fight, but is she friend or foe?

Mystery Shooter—More than one person is out to get Alessandra and McBride.

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

The bullet that knocked U.S. marshal Gabriel McBride into the giant boulder caught him just below the left shoulder. Close enough to his heart to be a problem—if he’d actually believed he had a heart. He felt the blood and—hell, yes—the pain, but no way was he going to fold up and die because some low-life hit man had gotten lucky.

He estimated the distance from the boulder to the road, waited until the next spectacular fork of lightning faded, then, using the darkness as a cover, ran for his truck.

Once inside, he drew a deep, grimacing breath and checked the wound. His jacket and shirt were soaked. With blood as much as rain, he suspected. Which rendered his next decision moot. He was approximately ten miles from Rapid City, South Dakota, shot and disinclined to call the people he should for help. That only left one option. Alessandra.

Fighting pain that speared white-hot through his arm and torso, he got the engine started. In spite of everything, a faint smile flitted across his lips. Alessandra would either cure him or kill him. Only she and God knew which way it would go.

Maybe he knew, too, but his thoughts were beginning to haze, so when he pictured his beyond beautiful veterinarian ex holding a scalpel, she wasn’t necessarily using it to dig a bullet from his body.

Swinging the truck off the road one-handed, McBride relied on his memory rather than the headlights to guide him through the murk. A vivid flash of lightning had him swearing and pivoting left. He’d almost slammed into one of the rocks that lined the mountain road.

Concentrate, he told himself, and not on scalpels or death. It was three miles to the highway, another six to Alessandra’s door. With luck, he’d spot his quarry on the way and find the strength to haul him in. Without it, big sister’s hit man would cut him off and finish the job he’d started.

Swiping his good forearm over his face, McBride let both hit man and quarry go, fought the dizziness that wanted to sweep in and consume him and focused on Alessandra.

If tonight was his last night on earth, he wanted to die with her in his head. As she had been since he’d wedged aside a mangled piece of metal on a crumpled northbound bus and encountered her stunning gold eyes.

“YOU COULD DO worse, much worse, than date my nephew.” Alessandra Norris’s assistant, Joan, tapped the veterinary clinic’s laptop. “By the way, how do you spell the dog’s last name?”

On her knees, Alessandra smiled. “You’re joking.” She gave the black-and-tan German shepherd a quick scratch behind the ears before palpating his kidneys. “You can spell Phoenix, but not Smith?”

“It’s been a long day.” Joan’s blue eyes rose to the fluttering overhead light. “Storm’s getting worse, and this pooch is as healthy as Rin Tin Tin in his prime. Why was his owner so insistent we check him out tonight?”

“Because he just bought the dog, and the two of them are heading south tomorrow.”

“Not in that rattly old truck they rolled up in, they’re not.”

“The truck’s borrowed. They’re going by bus.”

Her assistant’s eyebrows rose. “He’s taking a dog on a bus?”

“Hey, I didn’t make the plans.”

“You don’t ride buses, either.” Joan gave her a look. “My sister and I are taking our usual tour bus trip to Las Vegas this fall. It’s fun. You’d meet lots of interesting people. That’s people, Alessandra, not dogs. Every year we encourage you to come, and every year you say no.” She shook an accusing finger. “When you’ve got a phobia, you should march right up and spit in its eye.”

Alessandra listened to the dog’s heart. “Beat’s good.” Then she removed her stethoscope and scratched the animal’s chin. “I almost got killed riding a bus, Joan. You know that.”