Linda Jones - Hot On His Trail

She tried her hardest not to stare at Nick’s bare chest. A man shouldn’t look so good in nothing but a pair of jeans, she thought.

“So should you,” he said.

“I haven’t been shot,” she countered.

But she might have been, she remembered. “Would you really have shot me back there?” she asked in a soft voice.

He hesitated, then said, “Probably.” Something smoldered in his eyes, and she realized he could see right through her nightgown. His eyes were riveted below her waist.

“But I’m glad I didn’t have to,” he added huskily. “It would be a shame to scar those legs of yours.” He very slowly lifted his eyes to her face, taking his time, and gave her a crooked smile that set her heart to pounding again. “A real shame…”

Dear Reader,

As always, Intimate Moments offers you six terrific books to fill your reading time, starting with Terese Ramin’s Her Guardian Agent. For FBI agent Hazel Youvella, the case that took her back to revisit her Native American roots was a very personal one. For not only did she find the hero of her heart in Native American tracker Guy Levoie, she discovered the truth about the missing child she was seeking. This wasn’t just any child—this was her child.

If you enjoyed last month’s introduction to our FIRSTBORN SONS in-line continuity, you won’t want to miss the second installment. Carla Cassidy’s Born of Passion will grip you from the first page and leave you longing for the rest of these wonderful linked books. Valerie Parv takes a side trip from Silhouette Romance to debut in Intimate Moments with a stunner of a reunion romance called Interrupted Lullaby. Karen Templeton begins a new miniseries called HOW TO MARRY A MONARCH with Plain-Jane Princess, and Linda Winstead Jones returns with Hot on His Trail, a book you should be hot on the trail of yourself. Finally, welcome Sharon Mignerey back and take a look at her newest, Too Close for Comfort.

And don’t forget to look in the back of this book to see how Silhouette can make you a star.

Enjoy them all, and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

With many thanks to my good friend Sabrah Agee,

and to all the good people of Marion, Alabama.

has loved books of all kinds for as long as she can remember, spending her leisure hours with Nancy Drew and Miss Marple, or lost in worlds created by writers like Margaret Mitchell and Robert Heinlein. After years as an avid reader she decided to try her hand at writing her own stories. Since 1994 she’s been publishing historical and fantasy romance, winning the Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of Excellence for her 1996 time-travel story Desperado’s Gold. With the publication of Bridger’s Last Stand, her first book for Silhouette Intimate Moments, Linda stepped into the exciting arena of contemporary romance.

At home in Alabama, she divides her time between her husband, three sons, two dogs, reading whatever she can get her hands on and writing romance.

Prologue

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

No one would look at him. Five men and seven women filed gravely into their seats, their eyes on the floor or their shoes or the back of the juror before them. One woman dabbed at her red eyes. Tears. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign. Nick’s heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest.

The judge didn’t look at Nick, either, nor did the aide who remained close by the judge’s side. The assistant district attorney appeared to be supremely bored. His steely gaze wandered the room in an aimless way.

Nick’s own lawyer didn’t look at him, either. Norman’s solemn eyes were on a blank sheet of paper on the table. His fingers worked restlessly.

From beyond this very small part of the world, in the seats beyond the jury box, eyes were trained on Nick. He knew that. But in the past two weeks he had learned to ignore those onlookers so completely they ceased to exist. His mind had remained on the witnesses against him, the evidence the D.A. had presented so competently, the defense Norman had put together.

His defense was simple, but it was enough. It had to be. Innocent men didn’t go to prison for the rest of their lives. They didn’t go to the electric chair.

At the judge’s direction, he and Norman rose to their feet. Still, no one looked his way. Not the judge, not the D.A., not the members of the jury. Everything was so…quiet. Nick wondered if they could all hear the beat of his pounding heart and the way the blood rushed through his veins, so loudly he could hear the roar in his ears.

He waited to hear the words “Not guilty.” He waited for Norman to smile, to clap him on the back, for relieved eyes to turn his way at last.

Guilty. At first he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. The noise that followed the verdict was deafening. The crowd murmured loudly, with individual voices raised. A few men and women hurried from the room: reporters, damn them all to hell. The judge banged his gavel, and the sheriff’s deputies came to take Nick away. They didn’t look at him, either. Norman said something low and indistinct, something Nick couldn’t hear for the roar in his ears.

Numbly, he allowed the two sheriff’s deputies to lead him away. Through the side door, through the small office, into the hall by way of a doorway near the elevator that would take him back to jail. Back to jail.

His heart beat much too hard now, threatening to burst through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His vision dimmed. Guilty?

One of the deputies reached for his handcuffs. In a move more instinctive than deliberate, Nick lunged for the man’s weapon.

Shea ran up two courthouse steps, spun around quickly and lifted a hand to her hair. She smoothed one dark strand, which barely brushed her shoulder. “Do I look okay?”

Mark, in his usual ratty T-shirt and a backwards ball cap that covered most of his bright red hair, cocked his head and glanced from behind his video camera to smile at her. He was the same age as Shea, twenty-five, but could easily pass for sixteen years old. Since he didn’t stand much more than five foot six he looked like a kid lugging around that big camera. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

She didn’t feel beautiful. The August heat was suffocating, humid and almost overwhelming. Her hair was going to fall, her makeup was going to melt…and she had to look her best.

If she’d had more time she might have chosen the royalblue suit instead of the red one, but it was too late to worry about that now. The call from the station had been unexpected, and she’d had less than fifteen minutes to put on her makeup and change clothes. Fortunately, she was getting good at this. Concessions had to be made, though, in the name of expediency. Her legs were bare and she was wearing a pair of running shoes instead of the red pumps that matched this suit.