Debra Webb - Colby Brass

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Title Page Colby Brass Debra Webb www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author DEBRA WEBB wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political Walls of Berlin, that she realised her true calling. A five-year stint with Nasa on the Space Shuttle Program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romantic suspense and action-packed romantic thrillers since. Visit her at www.Debrawebb.com or write to her at PO Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815, USA.

Dedication This book is dedicated to a man I did not have the privilege of knowing personally. But his reputation is one no one hereabouts is likely to forget. Jerry Crabtree, a man who did the thing he loved, police work, until the day he died. Thank you, Jerry, for a lifetime of commitment to serving and protecting your fellow man.

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

Copyright

DEBRA WEBBwrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political Walls of Berlin, that she realised her true calling. A five-year stint with Nasa on the Space Shuttle Program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romantic suspense and action-packed romantic thrillers since. Visit her at www.Debrawebb.com or write to her at PO Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815, USA.

This book is dedicated to a man I did not have the privilege of knowing personally. But his reputation is one no one hereabouts is likely to forget. Jerry Crabtree, a man who did the thing he loved, police work, until the day he died. Thank you, Jerry, for a lifetime of commitment to serving and protecting your fellow man.

Chicago, Tuesday, December 22, 2009, 2:05 p.m.

Only three days until Christmas.

Victoria Colby-Camp smiled as she watched the rush of last-minute shoppers along the sidewalks of Chicago’s Miracle Mile.

Lunch with a longtime friend just two blocks from the office provided a nice stroll in the gently falling snow. Though many only endured Chicago’s harsh winters, Victoria loved this time of year. It was filled with countless reasons to be joyous and to celebrate. Just six years ago she had celebrated her first Christmas with her son after more than twenty years of not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

Now she not only had her son, Jim, back, she also had gained a wonderful daughter, his wife Tasha, and two amazing grandchildren. A darling granddaughter, Jamie, and five-month-old Luke, Lucas James Colby. James would be so proud. The memory of her beloved late first husband brought a smile to Victoria’s lips. He would very much approve of how far she and Jim had come despite the many obstacles life had thrown in their paths.

Victoria paused a moment to consider the building that had become home to the Colby Agency after the original building had been destroyed. Despite the state-of-the-art security, evil still found a way to touch those inside. Certainty chased away the niggling worry. No matter how hard their enemies fought to bring down the Colby Agency, somehow Victoria and her staff overcame the seemingly insurmountable to not only survive but also to thrive.

For this she was immensely thankful.

The chilly wind blew a wisp of hair against her cheek. Victoria swept it away, tucking the strands back into the French twist she’d so meticulously arranged that morning. Not so easy to do with gloved fingers. Sentimentality flowed inside her as she considered the numerous miracles she had observed firsthand over the past two-plus decades. The good somehow always outweighed the bad. She owed much to those who continued to persevere alongside her at the agency and fight the good fight.

Some had moved on to begin new lives elsewhere, but most remained invaluable assets, both as friends and as business contacts. The Colby staff was the best of the best. Victoria appreciated each one for his or her unique qualities. This year she and Jim had decided upon distinctly generous bonuses for every member of the staff.

Another smile spread across her lips. It was the least she could do given the enormous sacrifices each had made through their continued dedication and loyalty during the ups and downs and changes with the agency.

A rush of pedestrians drew Victoria from her tender, affectionate musings.

“Did you see that?” a woman asked another as the two, headed in Victoria’s direction, glanced back then hurried forward.

Victoria didn’t hear the rest of the conversation since the women moved by so quickly. A group of pedestrians farther up the sidewalk drew her attention there.

A woman stood alone.

Victoria was first taken aback by her lack of suitable attire considering the freezing weather conditions. No coat … no hat or gloves. Dear God, no shoes. The woman stood, staring across the street, as if she expected someone or something to appear in her line of vision.

Then she turned, facing Victoria’s direction, and trudged forward, her bare feet faltering clumsily through the ankle-deep snow.

Victoria’s lips parted with a sharply indrawn breath.

The front of the woman’s yellow blouse was stained a deep crimson. Droplets of that same startling color dripped from the fingertips of her right hand and onto the newly fallen snow, leaving a horrifying atlas of her jagged path.

Victoria’s gloved hand slid into her coat pocket, wrapped around her cell phone even as a sort of shock held her unable to look away … unable to properly react. Who was this woman? What had happened to her?

She stumbled closer. “Can you help me?” Her lips were cracked from exposure and her skin was deathly pale from the icy cold.

Instinct kicking aside the shock, Victoria bolted forward just in time for the woman to collapse into her arms.

“Help me,” she begged, her eyes wide with fear and glassy with whatever physical trauma she had suffered. Her left cheek was swollen. Blood had trickled from her nose and coagulated on her skin.

Victoria hit speed dial for the office as she lowered the woman onto the cold blanket of snow. “Mildred,” she said before her personal assistant could launch into her practiced greeting, “I need paramedics. Now! I’m on the street in front of the office. I have a female, mid-to-late twenties, who is injured and bleeding.”