Mary Buckham - The Makeover Mission

Shot to hell the moment he saw this doe-eyed young woman, her look pleading with him to save her.

As if he were some angel of mercy. Hell, he was the reason she was here. And the sooner she knew it, and accepted what her role was, the better it would be for all concerned.

So far, this mission had been a disaster. If they’d had more time, they could have foregone the crudeness of a kidnapping. Avoided the emotional and physical costs the woman before him was already paying.

But if there was one thing he had accepted after years of service, there was no going back and correcting past mistakes. There was only going forward and minimizing future ones. Someone always paid. In this case—her.

Jane Richards was his responsibility now. And he would do everything in his power to keep her alive. Everything.

Dear Reader,

The weather’s hot, and so are all six of this month’s Silhouette Intimate Moments books. We have a real focus on miniseries this time around, starting with the last in Ruth Langan’s DEVIL’S COVE quartet, Retribution. Mix a hero looking to heal his battered soul, a heroine who gives him a reason to smile again and a whole lot of danger, and you’ve got a recipe for irresistible reading.

Linda Turner’s back—after way too long—with the first of her new miniseries, TURNING POINTS. A beautiful photographer who caught the wrong person in her lens has no choice but to ask the cops—make that one particular cop—for help, and now both her life and her heart are in danger of being lost. FAMILY SECRETS: THE NEXT GENERATION continues with Marie Ferrarella’s Immovable Objects, featuring a heroine who walks the line between legal, illegal—and love. Dangerous Deception from Kylie Brant continues THE TREMAINE TRADITION of mixing suspense and romance—not to mention sensuality—in doses no reader will want to resist. And don’t miss our standalone titles, either. Cindy Dees introduces you to A Gentleman and A Soldier in a military reunion romance that will have your heart pounding and your fingers turning the pages as fast as they can. Finally, welcome Mary Buckham, whose debut novel, The Makeover Mission, takes a plain Jane and turns her into a princess—literally. Problem is, this princess is in danger, and now so is Jane.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month for the best in romantic excitement, only from Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

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has always believed in make-believe. As a child she roped, cajoled and bullied her brothers and sisters, along with any unsuspecting neighbor child, into elaborate story productions put on in her backyard or basement. Swashbuckling pirates, damsels in distress, and heroes and heroines—this was Mary’s role—who saved the day. As an adult, Mary made sure her five children had a trunk of dress-up clothes and plenty of space to create their own make-believe worlds. She married her Prince Charming, one who doesn’t mind that she talks with imaginary people and who learned to cook as a self-preservation measure. She lives in a picturesque Pacific Northwest seaport community filled with writers, artists and musicians, all constantly proving that the power of make-believe can make magic happen. Mary loves hearing from readers, writers and everyone in between. You can reach her via her Web site, www.marybuckham.com.

I think one’s first dedication page is the hardest to write, because there are so many to thank for their support, encouragement and help over the years.

For my mom, Joy Arsenault, and my mother-in-law, Marilyn Buckham, and Allie Burnell, who all believed. For Sandi Harbert, who was there from the first lines written. For critique partners and fellow writers, friends and believers and, especially, my husband, Jim, and my children—Lizzie, Michael, Brittany, Devon and Tyler— I couldn’t have done this without any of you. Thanks!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

“Tell the major she’s awake.”

Jane Richards snapped her head back, paying for the movement with a pounding that felt like a band of fire across her temples.

Who was the major? And where was she?

She blinked, straining to see into the darkness. Nothing. Something shielded her eyes. What? Why?

Panic tightened her throat.

She attempted to rip off whatever covered her eyes. But her hands wouldn’t budge. They were strapped to the blunt edges of what felt like armrests.

Blindfolded and trapped.

But why? Where?

“Who are you?” The words were hers, but the voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded weak and scared.

No one answered.

The air around her felt clammy. The darkness seemed uniform throughout. There were no traffic sounds beyond thin windows, no voices through walls. The only noise permeating the silence came from behind her. The sound of someone breathing. Slow, even breaths. The sound from a child’s nightmare. The sound from a woman’s worst fears.

But it was real. And it was happening to her.

She wanted to scream. The temptation to struggle against the bonds trapping her was stronger. It must be a nightmare. It had to be. People like her did not end up in dark rooms with their hands tied to the arms of chairs.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” Her voice shook; her whole body mimicked it.

No answer. The breathing continued. Evenly paced and controlled.

She had to keep calm, to regain control. Isn’t that what they’d told her during library fire drills? The person who panics is the person who’s lost. And she was ready to panic in a big way.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to hold back the tidal wave of terror pulsating through her system. She wiggled her hands, wondering what held her in place. Tape? She could feel adhesive tugging at her bare skin with each twist of her wrists.

The fear wanted to paralyze her. If she let it, it would. She flexed her hands, the tug of the tape holding strong. Her legs too were bound. Helpless.

Scream? If she shouted would anyone hear her? Could she alert someone before the breather stopped her? Did she have any other choice?

She might have only one chance. She had to make it good. She opened her mouth to scream.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The voice stopped her cold. It was male. Rough-edged and deep.

Poised on the brink of shouting, she paused. Listening. Straining against the darkness to locate the speaker. His voice had sounded in front of her, not behind. Had the breather moved? Or was there someone new in the room?