Catherine Lanigan - California Moon

Shannon looked at him closely. The cuts on his face were healing well and there was a remarkable change almost overnight as the swelling had gone down. The edges of his bruises had altered from black and blue to a muddy yellow.

She passed her hand over his cheek. No response, not even the flutter of an eyelash. “Looks like you could use a shave, my friend.”

Shannon smoothed a clump of hair from his forehead and gazed at him. She was seeing an almost normal-looking man. She looked at him, but not as a nurse looking for signs of health.

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.

Impulsively, she leaned toward him, her lips pursed.

“Do you believe in magic, that a kiss will awaken you?”

She stopped herself midmotion, straightened up and blinked.

My God, what was I thinking. I’ve never done anything like that. Never. Professionalism is my middle name.

“That is the last time I pull three shifts in a row!” she exclaimed, and walked out of the room.

“This fast-paced book is the perfect choice for readers who crave romances liberally laced with adventure.”

—Library Journal on The Legend Makers

Also available from MIRA Books and CATHERINE LANIGAN

DANGEROUS LOVE

ELUSIVE LOVE

TENDER MALICE

IN LOVE’S SHADOW

THE LEGEND MAKERS

www.mirabooks.co.uk

The brightest star in the heavens is the MIRA star. I have been blessed with the brightest angels to guide me through so many books. California Moon shines through the expertise of my brilliant editor Martha Keenan, whom I call friend as well as co-creator. My deepest thanks to Dianne Moggy, Katherine Orr and Stacy Widdrington of MIRA for believing in me and being there for me. To Jennifer Robinson of PMA Literary and Film Management, who aided in the birth of this book, to Charlotte Breeze, founder and owner of CDB Literary Company, who contributed her intellect and love for this story, and to Peter Miller, my agent, whose hope kept it alive.

Dearest Reader,

I hope you enjoyed California Moon as much as I loved bringing it to you. This was an intense story to write because so much of the work was done by me while still living in Quito, Ecuador. During that time the communications systems to the United States were far from stellar, to say the least. I am amazed I ever got it assembled, considering that my copiers, printers and fax machines conked out on me constantly. However, after years in the making, as they say in the movies, it finally comes to you.

For those of you who collect my recipes, I have a follow-up to the “Quick and Easy Tortilla Soup” I offered years ago. This one requires a bit more work, but the result is outstanding.

If you’d like a copy and a California Moon bookmark, please send a self-addressed, stamped (legal size is best for the bookmarks) envelope to me at: 5644 Westheimer Road, PMB #110, Houston, Texas 77056.

I would love to hear your comments!

God bless you all,

Catherine

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

He couldn’t be drowning.

He was in too much pain to be dying. No, he was very much alive. At least for the present.

His ribs felt as if they’d been cracked in half. His right arm was numb and flopped against his side. His shoulder was white-hot as if branded. He heard accents, maybe Hispanic, difficult to understand. He had no idea what they wanted from him. He didn’t even know where he was or how he’d gotten there. He was shocked to find himself struggling for his own name.

His head throbbed with pain but he tried to stand anyway. Then they grabbed him roughly under the arms and dragged him from the back seat of the car.

Not my car…a rental from the Shreveport airport.

They frisked him and one of the men took his wallet.

“You want money?” he managed to ask.

“Idiot!” one of the men growled as he clumsily shoved the wallet in a jacket pocket. “No identification. No traces,” he explained in thickly accented English.

Anger exploded inside him as the realization hit that he might not come out of this alive—whatever this was. That was the hell of it. He didn’t know these men. In his bewilderment he reasoned that his wallet was vital to staying alive. He lunged toward the man. “Gimme that!”

A fist slammed into his jaw, stunning him, and his assailant continued frisking him.

“Where eezit?”

“What? I don’t have a gun,” he tried to tell them, but his cut, bruised mouth barely moved.

Hands moved down his jeans and back again. He shivered, the fleece lining of his Houston Rockets windbreaker doing nothing to cut the biting wind. He shivered.

One of the men laughed.

What do they want?

Suddenly, his arms were pulled behind his back. A fist sank into his jaw again. Pain screamed through his body as another blow hit his midsection and another. His face was pummeled.

He fell to the ground and struck his head on a rock.

He saw stars, tiny swirling lights, but then they faded.

And he remembered. He wasn’t alone. He’d been with Adam, his best friend.

He could hear the sound of Adam’s frantic pleadings as the assailants turned their attention to him.

“That’s only my wallet. I don’t have it, I tell you.” Adam groaned.

He heard scuffling of feet on gravel and dirt, the sound of fists pounding on muscles. Then he heard a chilling human wail.

“Please don’t kill me. No!”

What are they doing to him? And why? Adam, do what they want.

Adam screamed. The sound was frighteningly high-pitched, as if he couldn’t take any more.

This is insane! Adam, what have you gotten us into?

He tried desperately to focus his eyes. A dense gray mist swirled around everything. Glancing sidelong toward the long, dark structure to his left, he realized they’d brought him to a bridge.

But where? And why?

He was barely able to make out a sign—the Sabine River. He’d been brought out to Highway 79, south of the city. Down the embankment the murky river flowed deep and wide this time of year.

His arms felt as if they’d been pulled from their sockets. He could barely move his numb fingers as he reached under his jacket for warmth. Behind the Rockets’ heavily embroidered emblem he felt the computer disk. It was safe.

He remembered back to his dinner earlier that night with Adam at the Catfish King. “They’ll kill me if they get their hands on this,” Adam had said, passing the disk across the wooden table. “Thanks for flying in to meet me and not asking why I arranged for your rented car using a phony name. I don’t want anyone tracing you back to me. You’re anonymous in this thing. I swear, I’ll protect you,” Adam had said. “Just do this for me.”

He knew Adam was in trouble then, but still hadn’t fully understood the ramifications at the time. He should have paid more attention. He thought he was helping Adam, but at what price?