Linda Style - Husband and Wife Reunion

“Move and you’re history,” the intruder said, pulling Julianna’s hands behind her.

That voice. She knew that voice.

Swiftly, big deft hands patted her down, moving under her arms, sliding around to her breasts, then down between her legs, at which she felt a familiar pull low in her stomach. He clicked on the light and yanked her around.

His eyes went wide. “Jules?”

Five years and he still looked the same. Same cobalt-blue eyes that crinkled around the corners whether he was smiling or not, the same lean, hard features that said he was a man’s man—a man with a purpose—and always in control. Qualities she once thought sexy and desirable.

He was so close she felt his heat. His familiar scent made her blood rush. And if the look in his eyes was any indication, he felt the same. But then, lack of desire had never been their problem. In the end, desire hadn’t helped the marriage. She hated what they’d done to each other in the year before the divorce.

Things that would stay with them forever.

Dear Reader,

I’m delighted to bring you another COLD CASES: L.A. novel and again delve into the inner world of law enforcement—a world that’s always intrigued me. While career choices took me in another direction, I did enroll in my city’s civilian police academy. Little did I know that the six-week class would spark the idea for this miniseries.

Husband and Wife Reunion is the last book in the series, but it seems perfect to end with Luke’s story. It’s about second chances, and don’t we all wish we could do some things over? But even when given the opportunity we don’t always make the best choices. I believe true character is revealed by the choices we make when our personal risks are the greatest. Detective Luke Coltrane is a man who has hit rock bottom. He’s lost his son and his wife, alienated most of the people he loves, and it nearly cost him his job. But he’s on the mend and determined to put his life in order, starting with his relationship with his father. But he never expected to run into his ex-wife, Julianna, back home in Santa Fe. That’s one fence he knows he can’t mend. To do that, he’d have to take the greatest risk of all…and open his heart to love.

Luke and Julianna have been through a terrible tragedy. In order to find love and commitment again, they must overcome nearly insurmountable odds. I didn’t know until I wrote the end of this book whether they’d be able to do it or not. I’m happy with the outcome and hope you enjoy Luke and Julianna’s story.

I always like hearing from readers. You can write me at P.O. Box 2292, Mesa, AZ 85214, or e-mail me at LindaStyle@cox.net. For upcoming books and other fun stuff, visit my Web site at www.LindaStyle.com and www.superauthors.com.

May all your dreams come true,

Linda Style

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Courtney and Connor,

You are the stars that light up my life.

I love you both.

My sincere thanks and appreciation to all the people who

contributed to the research for this book, and all the books

in the COLD CASES: L.A. miniseries—the professionals with

the Los Angeles Police Department, the city of Los Angeles

Chamber of Commerce and the Orange County RWA

members who so generously shared their expertise

about the City of Angels.

Many thanks to my editor, Victoria Curran, for her guidance

and uncanny ability to see the essence of a story.

Since this is a work of fiction, I’ve taken some liberties

with facts where needed.

Any errors are solely mine.

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

EPILOGUE

“YOU CROSSED THE LINE. You’re going to regret it.”

Julianna Chevalair listened to the distorted digitalized voice, heard a click and then the dial tone droned in her ear.

She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, closed her eyes and waited for the next message. The recorder had indicated there were three.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to stop you.”

Her heart raced. She’d ignored the caller’s earlier e-mails warning her to stop writing the story, and the second installment was about to run in the magazine’s next issue.

A moment later, the next call started. As she listened, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A chill ran up her spine. Hands shaking, she clicked off in the middle of the message.

How had he gotten her number?

The Achilles’ Heel received dozens of crank calls, letters and even more e-mail messages from readers who didn’t like some of its stories. But this was new. She’d never received a phone call at home before. And the two e-mails she’d gotten prior to leaving San Francisco had definite threatening undertones.

It creeped her out and she’d jumped at Abe’s kind invitation to stay at his ranch outside Santa Fe. Now the decision seemed even more right. No one knew where she was, not even her editor. Her ex-father-in-law’s ranch was the last place anyone would expect her to go.

She heaved a sigh, fell into Abe’s recliner, its leather soft and cracked with age, and switched on her laptop. When she finished the piece she was working on right now, she’d be done with the series about a little girl’s abduction and murder in Southern California.

It was only one of many she’d written about missing children who’d met the same fate. And someone wanted her to stop. She bristled at the thought. If anything, he’d made her even more determined to complete the series. She’d never give in to a coward who made anonymous threats. She’d finish the story even if she had to go somewhere else to do it. But she would finish.

She pulled up Word on her laptop, went to the last page of the story and typed in, “If you recognize anything about the individual profiled in this article—if you know anything about this case, call the LAPD, your local FBI office or 1-800-CRIME TV. Help us take this killer off the streets before he harms anoth—”

A noise outside made her sit up straight as a soldier. She stopped typing. She was used to city sounds, but here in the desert, in the stillness of the night, every small noise seemed magnified.

Listening, she heard nothing more. Okay, she was jumpy because of the messages, but that really was silly; the calls had gone to her condo in San Francisco two thousand miles away.

Abe had complained about a family of javelina disturbing his chickens; maybe that’s what she’d heard. He’d had trouble with coyotes, too. It certainly wouldn’t be a visitor at two in the morning—Abe didn’t have visitors any time.

She smiled, thinking of the old man sleeping in the back wing of the sprawling adobe ranch house. Besides being her ex-father-in-law, he was a friend, a surrogate father who’d taken her in, no questions asked. Abe might be cranky and more stubborn than a donkey, but she loved him dearly.

Except for the soft light of an old faux oil lamp across the room and the glow from the laptop screen, the rest of the house was dark. No lights were on outside either since Abe insisted on conserving energy. He called himself thrifty. Others called him cheap.