Julie Miller - Protective Instincts

“And where do you think you’ll be when those bullets start flying?”

At last she turned. Her face was close to his, her eyes studying his mouth as if analysing the words that just came out.

He tucked a golden strand behind her ear. “I have a hard time with you – Ben, too – being a detail that gets overlooked. Ben’s already growing up without a dad. I couldn’t handle it if he had to grow up without a mother, too.”

She reached up and touched his face with her wet hand, stroking his jaw. “It’s for Benjamin’s sake that I’m trying to be this strong. You saw how upset he got this morning at the diner. He needs to know that I can take care of us.”

“My mum and dad were always stronger together.”

Her tremulous smile cut straight to his heart. She brushed her fingertips across his lips. “I don’t know what that’s like, Sawyer.”

“Let me show you. Let’s be that team.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sawyer Kincaid– This gentle giant discovers a darker side to his personality when his father is murdered. When the woman who once rejected his love is targeted by a killer, will it bring out this Kansas City cop’s protective instincts, or send him over the edge?

Melissa Teague– As a young woman, she married a man who turned out to be her worst nightmare. When her ex escapes from prison, she learns that putting her faith in another man may be the only way to survive.

Richard “Ace” Longbow– Melissa’s abusive ex. He’s escaped from prison to save his own neck from an inside hit, but what’s his plan for life on the outside?

Benjamin Teague– A bright, happy four-year-old who knows nothing about the father who never claimed him. Melissa wants to keep it that way.

Fritzi Teague– Melissa’s mother.

Hank Brennerman– Ace’s cellmate. He likes to talk.

Tyrell Mayweather– An enemy of Ace’s from inside the pen. But escaping from prison makes strange allies.

Riley Holt– The FBI agent in charge of recapturing the fugitives.

William Caldwell– Longtime family friends of the Kincaids.

John Kincaid– Deputy commissioner of the KCPD, Sawyer’s father. Unforgivably, unmistakably dead. But why, and who’s responsible?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at PO Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162, USA.

JULIE MILLER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For my reading and writing students.

Thanks for keeping me on my toes and being

such cool kids to work with. Remember,

each of you has a talent.

Learn something new every day – it keeps your

brain healthy and makes life more interesting.

Make a difference every day – in big ways or

small, others will appreciate it, and you’ll feel

good about yourself.

Keep working hard.

And thanks for the chocolate!

John Kincaid touched his tongue to the coppery tang of his swollen split lip. His words were slurred, his confusion evident. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“You’re a cop. Does it make any difference?” Dark eyes reflected delight in their power over him.

“Shut up! We’re not supposed to talk.” The one with the colorless eyes shoved the taller man.

“Back off!”

Not good. His enemies were fighting between themselves now. With his wrists handcuffed behind the rusting steel office chair, John sat helplessly in their path, waiting to bear the brunt of their discord.

“Quit playin’ us! You think we’re stupid, old man?”

Three of the fingers on his right hand were already broken when the kick came and crushed another joint. John gritted his teeth, his agonizing scream growling inside his throat.

He’d been tortured like this before, having the crap repeatedly beat out of him, as though pulverizing the muscles and bones would loosen the tongue. But he’d been a young man then. Age and too many years on a desk job had weakened his body if not his will. It was harder to stay awake this time, harder to detach his brain from the violence so that he wouldn’t reveal something he shouldn’t.

Only, that’s what made no sense. These two bastards—the hotheaded one with the prison tattoos and the older, more calculating one with the meaty fists—hadn’t asked him one sensible question beyond verifying his name and position as deputy commissioner of KCPD.

Nothing about an open case.

Nothing about revenge for someone he’d killed or put away over the span of his thirty-year career as a cop.

Nothing about using him as a get-out-of-jail-free card, exchanging one of their buddies for his release.

Nothing but pain and punishment.

John hadn’t recognized either man when they’d abducted him from his Sunday-morning run through the park earlier in the day and brought him to this run-down brick-and-steel warehouse. He didn’t recognize the place, either, though it was near the Missouri River—judging by the wash of water outside the walls, which his ringing ears had detected when he’d first regained consciousness in the bare-bulbed circle of light just outside the warehouse’s office.

He still couldn’t put a name to a face or case beyond Jaw-Smasher, as he’d silently dubbed the big black man, and Bone-Crusher, as he’d nicknamed the wiry smart-ass with the white, nearly shaved, hair.

Senseless violence was not a foreign concept to a man who’d been a cop for thirty years, and who’d served in military intelligence before that. But his kidnapping hadn’t been random. These two knew his running schedule, knew the park, knew at just what stretch of road he’d be alone and out of sight from any other joggers. And they’d come prepared—with some kind of knockout drug that had taken him down before he could put up much of a fight, and a van that John had spotted and dismissed earlier on his run. Real plates. Real business logo. Woman driver.

John’s awareness sharpened a notch and he slyly tilted his chin to peer through his one good eye into the broken shadows and empty spaces of the warehouse around him. Where was the woman now? Was she part of this? A girlfriend? Running the show? Another flunky? Or had she already become a victim?