Kay Thomas - Bulletproof Hearts

Shaun’s heart started beating again.

“Someone broke in.” He pulled off his dress shirt, wondering if his voice sounded normal.

“Who? Did you get the computer? Why are you undressing?”

“No. They have it. And I’m taking off my T-shirt to clean your face.”

“Oh…” Coughing more vigorously, she tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down before pulling his shirt over his head. “Who’s they?”

“I don’t know. Do you always ask this many questions?” He didn’t intend to answer so sharply, but he was still getting his equilibrium back at almost getting them both killed.

“No, I just… Sorry,” she muttered.

He stopped and looked into her eyes. “No, Abigail, I’m the one who’s sorry. I almost got you killed for the second time today.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t really see it that way, you know. I think you just saved my life for the second time.”

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For Tom, for everything.

Having grown up in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, Kay Thomas considers herself a “recovering” Southern belle. She attended Vanderbilt and graduated from Mississippi State University with a degree in educational psychology and an emphasis in English. Along the way to publication, she taught high school, worked in an advertising specialty agency and had a very brief stint in a lingerie store.

Kay met her husband in Dallas when they sat next to each other in a restaurant. Seven weeks later they were engaged. Twenty years later she claims the moral of that story is “When in Texas look the guy over before you sit next to him, because you may be eating dinner with him the rest of your life!” Today she still lives in Dallas with her Texan, their two children and a shockingly spoiled Boston terrier named Jack.

Kay is thrilled to be writing for Harlequin Intrigue and would love to hear from her readers. Visit her at her website, www.kaythomas.net, or drop her a line at P.O. Box 837321, Richardson, TX 75083.

Abigail Trevor—A professor of Southern literature attending her brother’s funeral in Washington, D.C. When Abby finds out her brother’s hit-and-run accident was murder, she is forced to trust a mysterious stranger to ensure her own safety.

Shaun Logan—Raised in Ireland, Shaun now works in the U.S. as a contract bodyguard security specialist for Zip Technologies. His job is to keep Abby safe, but can he do that and discover who really killed her brother?

Jason Trevor—Abby’s brother and the creator of Zip-Net, a completely secure internet wireless protocol. Was he killed for it?

Michael Donner—CEO and founder of Zip Technologies, also Shaun’s boss. Famous in the business world for his philanthropy and business sense, Michael is about to sign the deal of a lifetime if Shaun and Abby can find the answers he needs.

Karen Weathers—Abby’s mentor and friend currently living in a Dallas rehab facility due to a stroke. Will she be used as a pawn while Abby and Shaun look for clues?

Harlan Jeffries—Shaun’s best friend from Iraq. Can Harlan help Shaun keep Abby safe?

Hodges—Reports to Michael Donner. Shaun has worked with him before at Zip Technologies.

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Day One—Morning

Watching the strangers scurry past her brother’s grave, Abby Trevor felt blessedly numb everywhere…except her feet. The designer shoes she’d bought on a whim last spring with Jason hurt like crazy and pain was the only thing keeping her focused. The pinch in her right instep reminded her of the day she and her brother had shopped themselves silly in New York. At the moment that needle-like sensation was the way she knew the coffin in front of her was not some hideous nightmare as the rain fell in sheets from the dark morning sky.

If she let herself believe for one second the sea of black umbrellas around her was a dream, she’d stand up, kick off those wretched shoes and run screaming from the drowning cemetery. That would certainly set the tongues to wagging, especially here in Washington, D.C.

But she wouldn’t disgrace her brother or his memory that way. Her mama’s Southern belle training was too in-grained in her, despite the fact that she was one thousand miles from the Mississippi Delta and the small town that had been the cradle of her genteel upbringing.

Still, that home training—and her uncomfortable shoes—kept Abby’s butt firmly planted in the soggy funeral home seat under the green awning. She’d never be able to stand the sight or scent of stargazer lilies again. Thunder rumbled in the distance, serving as another reminder that despite the surreal atmosphere, this was no dream.

Jason was dead. Killed by a hit-and-run driver while crossing the street on his lunch hour. D.C. police were still looking for the driver.

God, Jason, what happened?

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the rain was coming down in biblical proportions and almost everyone was gone. She wouldn’t be surprised to see frogs falling from the sky soon. She felt nearly alone in the world. Nearly.

Estranged relatives in Mississippi didn’t count. But Karen Weathers did. Even if her beloved mentor was in a nursing home in Dallas. Abby tried to imagine herself in happier days sitting in her old college professor’s office at Southern Methodist University sipping tea and arguing about William Faulkner, anything to mentally take herself away from her present location. It didn’t work. She was too aware of the rain. The overpowering scent of the lilies. The pain in her feet. And the temptation to run screaming from it all.

“Miss Trevor, I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Your brother will be missed.” The deep voice had a rich Irish lilt to it.

The speaker was tall, wore a trench coat and held a massive golf umbrella against the dreary weather. Rain splattered his outstretched hand but she reached to take it anyway. His grasp was warm and wet.

“My name’s Abigail but everyone calls me Abby.” She glanced up with her practiced “polite funeral smile” in place only to get a distinct jolt when she stared into unusual blue-green eyes that reminded her of dark Caribbean waters that could change to a deep emerald when the light hit just so. She took a moment longer to study the man’s Cary Grant cleft chin and high cheekbones. But that’s where all similarity to her favorite movie star ended.