Lenora Worth - Risky Reunion

“You can’t promise me that,” Eloise said, anger giving her strength. “You promised me that once before, remember? And I almost lost my baby girl. I gave her up to protect her and I won’t change on that. I have to stay away from her for the same reason.”

His hand on her arm steadied her, but the warmth she felt from his touch only added to her misery. Because she’d put him in danger, too. He’d die for her; she knew that. And she couldn’t have that on her conscience.

PROTECTING THE WITNESSES:

New identities, looming danger and forever love in the Witness Protection Program.

Risky Reunion—Lenora Worth, June 2010

has written more than forty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She has worked freelance for a local magazine, where she wrote monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for the local paper for five years. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-five years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks, sit in her garden and go shoe shopping.

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.

He reveals the deep things of darkness and brings deep shadows into the light.

—Job 12:22

To Nate

Thank you so much!

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

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

MEMO: Top Secret/Top Priority

TO: FBI Organized Crime Task Force; U.S. Marshal’s Office

FROM: Jackson McGraw, Special Agent in Charge, Chicago Field Office

RE: Operation Black Veil

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Date: June 2, 2010

Chicago Mafia kingpin Salvatore Martino is dead. Per informant—Vincent Martino, now the head of the Martino crime family, will make good on a final tribute to his father by executing Eloise Hill, the woman who testified against Salvatore twenty-two years ago.

Recent sightings place Vincent Martino in Montana—READ—he intends to oversee this hit himself. Through joint investigation with the U.S. Marshal’s office, we’ve learned that even though Eloise Hill left the Witness Protection Program, she is still living in Montana under an assumed name. Current location and name—on a “need to know” basis. Agents currently in place. Witness under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Subject will be immediately informed of these developments and will remain under protection until suspect is apprehended.

Please contact SAC Jackson McGraw on any new leads or changes regarding the above information or any new developments in the Martino case.

Special Agent Jackson McGraw did a visual sweep of the trees on the other side of the little stream then watched as a butterfly fluttered around a cluster of vivid pink bitterroot blooming just outside the window of the vacant apartment he’d been holed up in since 3:00 a.m.

The brown, yellow-tipped butterfly was beautiful, a quiet and graceful contrast to the tension coiled like a snake inside Jackson’s gut. Something wasn’t right.

Something hadn’t been right for the past six months, but now he instinctively knew that something was about to go all wrong, completely wrong, if he didn’t move quickly. This entire investigation had boiled down to one thing—he had to keep Eloise Hill alive.

But in order to do that, he had to find the leak that seemed to stem from the U.S. Marshal’s office, a leak that had jeopardized the entire Witness Protection Program and caused a number of people to be killed. And he had to find Vincent Martino and stop him, one way or another.

Jackson thought back on his last conversation with his informant—the Veiled Lady—back in Chicago two weeks ago. They’d met on a sunny day near a heavily wooded park by the lake. But even though the day had verged on being warm, the woman had worn the same outfit she always wore—a wide-brimmed black hat with a heavy veil covering her face and a black wool coat, gloves and dark shades. And there under the cover of trees surrounding the secluded park, she’d told Jackson the very thing he didn’t want to hear.

The woman spoke in a whispery, low voice, her words slow and carefully formal. “Salvatore is dead. He died late last night in his home with several of his top capos there by his side. Vincent was there, too, but as soon as his father is buried, he will be leaving for Montana. He is going to find this woman—Eloise Hill—and finish the job himself. This will be his final tribute to his father. As if Salvatore Martino would care one way or another. The man had no heart.” She’d paused, taking a deep breath that almost sounded like a sob. “And neither does his son.”

Those chilling words spoken two weeks ago contrasted sharply with the beautiful June morning, Jackson thought now as he looked out the window. His gaze didn’t stay on the butterfly. He was watching the other apartment just across the quaint little bridge between the chalet-style brown-and-beige buildings. And he was waiting for the woman who lived there to turn on a light, indicating she was up for the day.

Finally, he’d get to see her and make sure she was all right with his own eyes.

This had been a long journey, trying to find Eloise Hill before Vincent Martino did. She called herself Ellie Smith now, but she would always be Eloise—his Ellie—to Jackson. He’d often called her Ellie many years ago. And apparently, she would always be a threat to the powerful Martino crime family, since Vincent Martino was determined to see her dead. Jackson had the body count to prove it, and he was determined to end Vincent’s obsession with revenge. He had to warn Eloise. He had to protect her.

And he also had to tell her that her daughter, Kristin Perry, knew about Eloise and wanted to see her.

The static in his earpiece broke the taut summer silence of the early morning. “Big Mac, come in.”

Frowning at the nickname his team member Roark Canfield used, Jackson answered. “Talk to me.”

“Subject is late for work, sir.”

“So I noticed. It’s not her day off, is it?”

“Negative. She always leaves at sunrise. She walks a short distance to work just after sunup, no matter the exact time, and she has a big dog with her, sir. Really big German shepherd—dangerous animal.”

“I get it about the dog, Roark,” Jackson said. “GQ, what’s the status at your location?”

“She’s not here, sir,” Marcus Powell answered from his spot at the restaurant around the corner. “Staff arrived right on time and everyone’s busy preparing for the day.” A pause, then, “But the one named Verdie has tried calling her several times. No answer. Verdie seems a bit worried from the conversation going back and forth behind the counter.”