Carla Neggers - The Waterfall

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Three years after the sudden death of her husband, Lucy Blacker Swift has finally got things under control. Leaving behind the cutthroat world of Washington, Lucy and her two children move to a Vermont farmhouse and start to rebuild their lives. But a string of unexplained events—late-night hang-ups, a bullet through a window—threatens her new life.

Unwilling to turn to her powerful father-in-law, Senator Jack Swift, Lucy tracks down Sebastian Redwing, an international security expert her late husband asked her to contact if she ever needed help. Sebastian, though, wants nothing to do with her problems…or with a woman he’s been half in love with since her wedding day.

But Sebastian knows he has no choice, and reluctantly he becomes drawn with Lucy into a dangerous tangle of blackmail, vengeance and betrayal, with Lucy’s powerful family—and Sebastian’s troubled past—smack in the middle.

Praise for the novels of

“Nobody does romantic suspense better than Carla Neggers.”

—Providence Journal

“Well-drawn characters, complex plotting and plenty of wry humor are the hallmarks of Neggers’s books.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Cold Pursuit is the perfect name for this riveting read. Neggers’s passages are so descriptive that one almost finds one’s teeth chattering from fear and anticipation.”

—Bookreporter

“[Neggers] forces her characters to confront issues of humanity, integrity and the multifaceted aspects of love without slowing the ever-quickening pace.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Carla Neggers is one of the most distinctive, talented writers of our genre.”

—New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

The

Waterfall

Carla Neggers

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Dick and Diane Ballou…for the house,

the clothes, the fun and the friendship.

Dear Reader,

When I wrote The Waterfall, we had just bought our “fixer-upper” on a hilltop in Vermont not far from picturesque Quechee Gorge. I remember my excitement when The Waterfall hit the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller lists, a first for me…I was in my makeshift office on a balcony with views of the surrounding mountains. Since then, we’ve renovated the house (let’s talk mice!) and I’ve gone on to write more books, always with a sense of adventure and love of storytelling.

If you’ve never read The Waterfall, I hope you enjoy the story of Lucy Blacker Swift and Sebastian Redwing. I continue to hear from readers who tell me it’s the book that got them “hooked” on my writing.

As I type this note to you, I’m deep into writing Declan’s Cross, the third in my Sharpe & Donovan suspense series, due out later in 2013. Saint’s Gate, where we first meet FBI art crimes expert and ex-nun Emma Sharpe and deep-cover FBI agent Colin Donovan, and Heron’s Cove are available now. I’ve also returned to my contemporary roots with my Swift River Valley novels, Secrets of the Lost Summer, out now, and That Night on Thistle Lane, due out in February 2013.

Please visit my website for news on all my latest books, to enter my monthly draw and sign up for my eNewsletter! I’m also on Facebook and Twitter, and I love to hear from readers.

Thanks, and happy reading,

Carla

Contents

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

Teaser Chapter

One

“The Widow Swift?” Lucy made a face as she absorbed her daughter’s latest tidbit of gossip. “Who calls me that?”

Madison shrugged. She was fifteen, and she was doing the driving. Something else for Lucy to get used to. “Everyone.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Like, the six people who live in this town.”

Lucy ignored the light note of sarcasm. The Widow Swift. Good Lord. Maybe in some strange way this was a sign of acceptance. She had no illusions about being a “real” Vermonter. After three years, she was still an outsider, still someone people expected would pack up at any moment and move back to Washington. Nothing would suit Madison better, Lucy knew. At twelve, life in small-town Vermont had been an adventure. At fifteen, it was an imposition. She had her learner’s permit, after all. Why not a home in Georgetown?

“Well,” Lucy said, “you can just tell ‘everyone’ that I prefer to be called Lucy or Mrs. Swift or Ms. Swift.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“A name like ‘the Widow Swift’ tends to stick.”

Madison seemed amused by the whole thing, so much so that she forgot that parking made her nervous and just pulled into a space in front of the post office in the heart of their small southern Vermont village.

“Wow, that was easy,” Madison said. “Okay. Into park. Emergency brake on. Engine off. Keys out.” She smiled at her mother. She’d slipped into a little sundress for their trip to town; Lucy had nixed the flimsy slip-on sandals she’d wanted to wear. “See? I didn’t even hit a moose.”

They’d seen exactly two moose since moving to Vermont, neither en route to town. But Lucy let it go. “Good job.”

Madison scooted off to the country store to “check out the galoshes,” she said with a bright smile that took the edge off her sarcasm. Lucy headed for the post office to mail a batch of brochures for her adventure travel company. Requests from her Web site were up. Business was good to excellent. She was getting her bearings, making a place for herself and her children. It took time, that was all.

“The Widow Swift,” she said under her breath. “Damn.”

She wished she could shake it off with a laugh, but she couldn’t. She was thirty-eight, and Colin had been dead for three years. She knew she was a widow. But she didn’t want it to define her. She didn’t know what she wanted to define her, but not that.

The village was quiet in the mid-July heat, not even a breeze stirring in the huge, old sugar maples on the sliver of a town common. The country store, the post office, the hardware store and two bed-and-breakfasts—that was it. Manchester, a few miles to the northwest, offered considerably more in the way of shopping and things to do, but Lucy had no intention of letting her daughter drive that far with a two-week-old learner’s permit. It wasn’t necessarily that Madison wasn’t ready for traffic and busy streets. Lucy wasn’t ready.

When she finished at the post office, she automatically approached the driver’s side of her all-wheel-drive station wagon. Their “Vermont car,” Madison called it with a touch of derision. She wanted a Jetta. She wanted the city.

With a groan, Lucy remembered her daughter was driving. Fifteen was so young. She went around to the passenger’s side, surprised Madison wasn’t already back behind the wheel. Driving was all that stood between her daughter and abject boredom this summer. Even the prospect of leaving for Wyoming the next day hadn’t perked her up. Nothing would, Lucy realized, except getting her way about spending a semester in Washington with her grandfather.

Wyoming. Lucy shook her head. Now that was madness.

She plopped onto the sun-heated passenger seat and debated canceling the trip. Madison had already voiced objections about going. And her twelve-year-old son, J.T., would rather stay home and dig worms. The purported reason for heading to Jackson Hole was to meet with several western guides. But that was ridiculous, Lucy thought. Her company specialized in northern New England and the Canadian Maritimes and was in the process of putting together a winter trip to Costa Rica where her parents had retired to run a hostel. She had all she could handle now. Opening up to Montana and Wyoming would just be spreading herself too thin.