Julie Miller: Unsanctioned Memories

“Jess?”

Sam’s voice broke through the demons. Jessica threw herself against his chest. “I was so scared,” she breathed. Strong arms folded behind her back and pulled her close as she clamped her fists around the waistband of his jeans. She could feel him moving, retreating, pulling her along with him. Away from the unknown danger.

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked softly.

She was surrounded by strength and heat. Her cheek pressed against the warm skin beneath. Bare skin. She breathed in the clean, masculine smell of soap and the earthier scent of the man himself. She was hugging, grasping, clinging…. She waited for the shock of being clutched against a man’s hard chest to undermine the comfort seeping into her. But she was okay. She was okay with this. She was okay with him. She nuzzled her cheek closer.

She needed him.

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Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to 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 P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.

Jessica Taylor—Only one person knows what happened to her the night she wound up in an emergency room, brutally assaulted and half dead—and it isn’t her. She needs a bodyguard and she needs the truth. Because her attacker wants to finish the job. And what she can’t remember could get her killed.

Sam O’Rourke—FBI agent on an unsanctioned mission. He’ll do anything—or use anyone—to find out who killed his sister and bring the man to justice. Will his quest for vengeance cost him the chance to redeem his frozen heart?

Alex Templeton—Jess’s former lover in Chicago. Meeting the wife ended the affair. For Jess.

Derek Phillips—Jess’s part-time help. He has a serious crush on his boss.

Boyce, Riegert and Winston—Jess’s best customers. But are these mystery men who they claim to be?

Trudy Kent—She might come from old money, but there’s nothing old-fashioned about the way this woman does business.

Charles Kent—The gentleman farmer is buying up parcels of land to keep out the undesirables.

Sheriff Curtis Hancock—Was he Jess’s best line of defense? Or her worst nightmare?

Kerry O’Rourke—Inspiration or excuse?

Harry—The dog knew the truth. He just couldn’t get his mistress to listen.

In memory of Lyn’da Simon Van Slyke.

A gentle soul with a brave heart.

A supportive fan and wonderful influence

on the youth of Nebraska.

I miss our long talks and shared hugs.

She loved her family best—

and I was lucky to have her as my friend.

Prologue

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

“Hell, O’Rourke. Don’t you ever miss?”

With machinelike efficiency, FBI Special Agent Sam O’Rourke reloaded the spent magazine of his Bureau issue Sig Sauer pistol. He adjusted the protective goggles and insulated earphones to tune out the awed skepticism of his partner, Virgil Logan.

Lightly caressing the grip of the pistol between his hands, he took a bead on the image of John Dillinger at the end of the firing range and pictured a faceless man between the sights. Head? Or heart? Did it really matter? He emptied all fifteen rounds into the paper target before acknowledging his partner.

“It’s just a matter of steady hands…” he dumped the spent magazine “…twenty-twenty vision…” he punched the button to pull the target forward “…and nerves like ice.”

Virgil tried to laugh, but the worry lines in his coffee-dark skin had deepened with concern. “Usually a Feeb with sharpshooter status asks for a transfer to a TAC team. But you insisted on staying with drug enforcement.”

“That’s so I could be close to you, pal.”

“Right.” Virg was too smart to buy Sam’s witty repartee, which lacked the heart that used to back it up. He ripped the target off its mounts and counted the holes inside each of the two circles that would constitute a fatal shot. “Fifteen for fifteen.”

Sam released a slowly measured sigh. His grim expertise was about the only thing that gave him comfort and satisfaction anymore.

Each and every one of those bullets had been for Kerry.

His opportunity would come—one day—when he could put away his sister’s murderer. One way or another. And he’d be ready.

“I have to practice to stay efficient with my weapon.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all that practice that has me worried.” Virgil stood by as Sam stripped, cleaned and holstered his weapon. “Chief Dixon thinks the strain of your sister’s rape and murder is proving too much for you.”

A flare of Sam’s Irish temper tried to show itself. “He’s already stuck me on desk duty.”

Virgil put up his hands in surrender, reminding Sam that he was just the messenger. And a concerned, loyal friend. “He wants you to take that bereavement leave. Get your head on straight before you shoot at something you shouldn’t. Before you crack.”

“Is that what you think, too? That I’m about to crack?”

Virgil shook his head. “I know you need the work to get your mind off things.” His partner’s mouth thinned into a grim line. When Virgil Logan got serious, Sam paid attention. “I just don’t want to see you make a mistake that’ll come back and kick you in the chops. I don’t want to see you in a second career as a security guard somewhere because you lost your head.”

Sam inhaled and exhaled deeply. He leaned forward and rested both fists atop the shooting deck. “I’m not trying to screw up anything, Virg. I only want justice done.”

“You know I want that, too. But you gotta give yourself some time to heal. You haven’t taken any time off since the funeral.”

Sam pushed himself up straight and backed out of the booth. “Seeing that bastard lined up in the crosshairs of my gun is the only thing that’ll help me heal.”

Virgil followed him out. “That’s the kind of talk that worries me. You’re a damn good investigator when your head’s on straight.”