Susan Mallery: Quinn's Woman

“A wonderful study of contrasts, as gritty defense lessons play out against the tender moments of falling in love.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Quinn’s Woman

“I enjoyed revisiting the Haynes family and I know that you will, too. Pick up a copy of Quinn’s Woman today and enjoy.”

—www.writersunlimited.com

“Not many novels get your pulse racing from the start. Quinn’s Woman does just that.”

—The Romance Reader

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Quinn’s Woman

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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is a USA TODAY and New York Times bestselling author of more than eighty romances. Her combination of humor, emotion and just-plain-sexy has made her a reader favorite. Susan makes her home in Washington State, where the whole rain thing is highly exaggerated and there’s plenty of coffee to help her meet her deadlines. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.

To that young girl who grew up with

broken wings, and somehow learned to fly.

You are, as always, an inspiration.

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

“Try to bring this one back alive,” Sheriff Travis Haynes said as he nodded at the slightly built private waiting by the edge of the makeshift podium.

“Alive I can promise,” D.J. Monroe said as she grabbed a rifle from the stack on the table. “In one piece may be more complicated.”

The men standing around chuckled, but the private in question blanched. D.J. tossed him the rifle, grabbed a second one for herself, then started walking. She figured her partner for the next fourteen hours would come trotting along as soon as he figured out she wasn’t going to wait for him.

Sure enough, in about thirty seconds she heard rapid footsteps on the damp ground.

“What’s your name, kid?” she asked when he’d caught up with her.

“Private Ronnie West, ma’am.”

She gave him a quick once-over. He was tall—about six-three to her five-nine—skinny and barely shaving. His shock of red hair was bright enough to read by.

“Are you even eighteen, Ronnie?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nearly four months ago.”

“You insulted about being paired with a woman?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.” His pale-blue eyes widened as he glanced at her. “I’m honored. My sergeant said you were one of the best and that I was damned lucky to get a chance to watch you work.” He ducked his head and blushed. “Excuse me for swearing, ma’am.”

She stopped walking and turned toward him. The annual war games between the emergency services of Glenwood, California—sheriff’s office, fire department and EMT units—and the local Army base were a chance for all concerned to practice, learn and have fun. The morning had been spent on obstacle courses, sharpshooting and tactical planning. D.J. didn’t care about any of that. She looked forward to the search and capture phase of the games.

Between now and 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, she and her partner would be expected to bring in up to five enemy prisoners. For the past two years she’d won that section. It was a point of pride with her. The other players grumbled about her good fortune, not understanding it. Especially when she always took a relatively new recruit as her partner.

“Ronnie, let’s get some ground rules set up,” she said. “You can swear all you want. I doubt you can come up with anything I haven’t heard. Or said.” She smiled at him. “Fair enough?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. On this mission, I’m in charge. You’re here to listen, learn and follow orders. You get in my way, and I’ll cut off your ear. Or something you’ll miss even more. Understand?”

He swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Last, but most important, you’ve got a good six inches of height on me and weigh about forty pounds more. Is there any doubt in your mind that I could take you right here, right now?”

His gaze swept over her body from her Army-issue boots, past her camouflage pants and shirt, to her face.

He straightened and squared his shoulders. “No, ma’am.”

“As long as we have that straight.”

She ducked into the tent her team used for headquarters and picked up her backpack. Ronnie already had his gear with him. When she stepped back out into the misty afternoon, she pulled a knife from the pack and stuck it into her boot.

“Check your weapons,” she said.

Ronnie frowned. “They’re not loaded.”

“Check them, anyway. You always check.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He followed her lead and made sure both his side arm and rifle were unloaded. When he’d finished, she pulled her cap lower on her head and wished they could have had sun today. Telling herself the gray skies and low clouds would reduce the risk of shadows didn’t make her appreciate the chilly dampness any more. It was nearly July. Shouldn’t it be hot?

Northern California weather was frequently uncooperative, she thought as she set off into the forest. Ronnie trailed after her, making enough noise to pass for a musk ox. At least he wasn’t a talker. The one from last year had chatted on and on until she’d been forced to grab him from behind and threaten to slit his throat.

Two hours later they were deep in “enemy” territory. She slowed their pace in an effort to keep her boy toy from giving away their position. Her oversize shirt was damp and clinging to her skin, which she hated. Water dripped from her hat. It was the kind of day better spent curled up reading, not combing the backwoods for swaggering men who thought they knew it all. Still, the war games helped keep her sharp. For her life was all about maintaining her edge; the book would have to wait.

Up ahead she sensed more than heard movement. She stopped, as did Ronnie. After silently handing him her backpack and ordering him to wait, she circled around a cluster of trees so that she could come out on the other side.

A man sat on a log, studying a map. She recognized him as a Fern Hill EMT guy. Midthirties, in decent shape, but not much of a challenge. Oh, well, she had to take what she could get.

After deliberately stepping on a fallen branch to make it snap, she retreated into the dripping shadow of a thick tree. The man sprang to his feet and turned toward the sound. His backpack lay on the ground, as did his rifle. He wore his sidearm, but she doubted he knew how to use it.

As the man stepped toward where she’d broken the branch, she circled behind him. When she was less than a foot away, she grabbed his arm, turned him, then swept out her leg to topple him to the ground. He landed hard, with an audible “oof” of air.