Debra Webb - Missing

Memories of last night’s lovemaking. For most of his life he’d focused on his career. Women came and went with the job and the location. No one had ever managed to keep a piece of his heart.

The idea rattled him hard, but it was the truth, the one ideal he’d always clung to. Truth, honor, courage. Those words meant a great deal to him. Honestly, three years ago Melissa hadn’t needed a man like him, nor did she now.

Jonathan had sworn that he would never commit emotionally to anyone after that mission five years ago. He completed his assignments and went home—wherever home was. He made no attachments.

Then he’d met Melissa. Bit by tiny bit, she’d taken a part of him. She’d given of herself completely…and he hadn’t been able to cut it.

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness and he damn sure hadn’t deserved her trust the way she’d given it last night. Hurting her again was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he brought her niece back home safely, he’d earn all that Melissa had given him.

Finding Polly alive might just be impossible. But he had to try. For the child and for Melissa.

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This story is dedicated to the real Melissa and Jonathan.

As you take each other’s hand in marriage, I wish you

the most wonderful storybook ending of all!

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, Germany, that she realized 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 P.O. Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815.

Jonathan Foley —As one of the new Equalizers, Jonathan must help Melissa find her missing niece—but can he do it without losing his wounded heart?

Melissa Shepherd —As a nurse, Melissa attends to the sick and injured every day of her life. But she can’t seem to heal her own heart…the one Jonathan Foley shattered three years ago.

Polly Shepherd —This little girl is missing.

William Shepherd —His child is missing. But did he have anything to do with it?

Harry Shepherd —William and Melissa’s uncle. He will do anything to keep William home from Afghanistan.

Presley Shepherd —She swears she was at home when her daughter was abducted in the middle of the night.

Reed Talbot —He’s the chief of police. It’s his job to find this missing child, not some hotshots from out of town.

Carol Talbot —She lost her only child. Can she survive watching her husband investigate this too-similar tragedy?

Johnny Ray Bruce —He is in competition with William for Presley. He intends to win…even if he has to do it with the nastiest kind of blackmail.

Stevie Price —He went missing the same day as the child. Is he a harmless mentally challenged man or something far more sinister?

Floyd Harper —He is the only witness to Stevie’s alibi.

Scott Rayburn —He’s the town’s rich-boy lawyer. He knows everyone’s secrets.

Slade Keaton —Slade isn’t his real name, but he now owns the Equalizers. But his primary agenda isn’t about the Equalizers at all…he has plans for the Colby Agency.

Victoria Colby-Camp —She has no idea that her world is about to be turned upside down.

Lucas Camp —He will do anything to protect his family.

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

Chicago

Thursday, May 27th, 10:30 pm

There were better ways to die.

But never a good time.

Jonathan Foley wouldn’t have chosen to die in a vacant warehouse with the river lapping at its crumbling foundation. Definitely not while shackled to a cast-off swivel chair beneath the glare of a single bare bulb.

But life stunk that way sometimes.

“Amp it up another notch,” the punk gripping the defibrillator paddles ordered. Then he smiled at his prisoner. “Last chance, tough guy.”

Evidently the trigger-happy lackey was through playing. Foley braced for the electrical charge that would throttle through his chest the instant the paddles touched his naked skin. Nope, there was never a good time to die. But then he had accomplished his mission. This was likely as good a time as any. He lifted his gaze to the nimrod currently holding the power. “We both know I’m not going to talk.”

The jerk laughed, his pale blue eyes glittering with anticipation. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The one manning the controls gave the appropriate knob a violent twist then checked the readout. “Ready,” he announced.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, but he refused to close his eyes. He stared straight at the SOB with the paddles. Refused to allow even a glimmer of fear or defeat. This waste of DNA might kill him but he couldn’t make him cooperate. Better men had tried.

“Stand down.”

The sharply issued order echoed in the stale air of the long-abandoned warehouse, wiped the smile right off the paddle punk’s face.

Foley should have relaxed. After all, he was just a few volts from dead. This unexpected interruption provided a momentary reprieve. He shifted his attention in the direction of the footsteps coming nearer. Not that he needed visual confirmation. He knew the voice.

Victor Lennox.

Tall, distinguished, with just enough gray at the temples to lend an air of wisdom. Even at a time like this—in a place like this—the man sported a three thousand dollar black silk suit. No doubt the leather shoes he wore were handcrafted. Nothing was too good for a Lennox. A similarly dressed underling, briefcase in hand, rushed after him.

Well, well, Foley mused. Would wonders never cease? He’d thought Lennox was long gone by now. Yet, here he was, in the flesh, assistant in tow.

“Sir,” the underling urged, “the Learjet is waiting. There’s no time.”

Lennox held up a hand, cutting off his much younger colleague. “Before you die,” Lennox said to Foley, his gaze narrowed with disdain and fury, “I have one question.”

Foley licked his cracked lips, noted the taste of blood and sweat. “For the past two hours I’ve been beaten—” his ribs ached with each indrawn breath “—shocked with ever increasing amperage and—” he jerked his head toward the punk with the paddles “—I still didn’t talk. What makes you think I have anything to say to you?”