Cassie Miles - The Suspect Groom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

One of the greatest rewards for writing for Harlequin Intrigue is the chance to travel in your mind to places you would never dream of going. Like Alaska. Since I live a quiet life in Denver, where we usually get plenty of snow, a trip to glacier land wasn’t my number-one priority. However, after working on The Suspect Groom, a MAIL ORDER BRIDE book, my priorities have changed. I envy the two main characters in this story, Trina Martin and David St. John.

The country near Juneau is remarkable and beautiful, a wonderland filled with incredible wildlife. Just think of being caught in a blizzard with a gorgeous, rugged male, like David St. John. Think of snuggling in front of the fire with nothing to do but share bodily warmth. Of course, Trina Martin has to worry about solving a couple of murders and surviving when the killer comes after her. But David and Alaska make her struggle worth it.

I wouldn’t mind being Trina. I’m tempted to respond to one of those ads for MAIL ORDER BRIDES!

Sincerely,

Cassie Miles

Trina Martin—She came to Alaska as a mail-order bride, but the marriage license included more than she bargained for.

David St. John—He didn’t own the Stoddard Hunting Lodge or the vast acreage that came with it, but he kept everything running. Until murder intervened.

Ivan Stoddard—This cruel and wealthy man thought he could buy anything, even a wife.

Maybelle Ballou—The housekeeper’s main responsibility was to keep Ivan happy. How far would she go to please him?

Jacob Poynter—An Olympic champion in the shoot-and-ski event, the biathlon, he was the consummate hunter, dangerous to his prey.

Sheriff Reuben Kittridge—His job was to solve the crimes, but he had an unfortunate tendency toward poaching.

Bradley Winkle—This jealous newlywed came to Alaska to investigate environmental violations. Did his accusations lead to murder?

Phyllis Winkle—She loved horses, almost more than her new husband, and she wasn’t very good at dealing with people.

Victor Stoddard—As Ivan’s only living relative, he stood to inherit a magnificent estate, if only his uncle Ivan were dead.

Prologue

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

Epilogue

A bitter wind from the Alaskan coast mountains tore through the night. Black velvet skies, studded with crystal stars, loomed over the stark snow-covered horizon, but Darien Greenlee saw only the glare of headlights in his rearview mirror. Like the glowing eyes of a predatory beast, the lights had tailed him for the past eight miles on this desolate road that led to Ivan Stoddard’s hunting lodge.

From a distance, Darien heard a timber wolf howl at the waning February moon, and he shivered. His grip tightened on the steering wheel of his rental car. This idiot behind him was following too closely, tailgating as if they were in a traffic jam instead of being the only two vehicles for miles and miles. Darien hadn’t seen another car since he passed through the main street of Osprey and circled the edge of Crowberry Lake. What was wrong with this guy?

Darien lessened his speed by five miles per hour, so that the other car could pass him. But the driver stayed tight on his tail. Swinging wide on a curve that was rimmed by ice-covered berry thickets, Darien slowed even more. The vehicle behind him did the same. They were creeping along the dark road. Was the driver Ivan himself? Was this his idea of a joke?

Suddenly, without warning, the headlights behind Darien came close. The other car nudged his bumper, and the studded snow tires of Darien’s rental car skidded on the icy road.

“Hey!” The exclamation burst through his lips. What was going on? This wasn’t funny! Darien stomped hard on the accelerator and shot forward. He’d driven this route often enough to be familiar with the twists and turns in the narrow road that led through an old-growth spruce and hemlock forest. Beyond the trees, a two-lane road shot straight as a harpoon. The lodge was only a few miles farther away.

With satisfaction, Darien saw the headlights fall behind.

He chuckled. Try to keep up with me. Just try it.

His rental car burst past the trees. Far away, Darien saw the glow of lights from the lodge. Up close, too close, there was an obstacle in the road. A log. A fallen tree. He pumped frantically on the brakes and came to a stop only inches from the jagged pine boughs.

The car behind him halted.

Outraged, Darien flung open his car door. He charged toward the other vehicle, a Jeep, ready to confront the person who was stepping out. “What the hell were you doing? I could have been killed. I have a good mind to—”

His words stopped when he saw the shimmer of starlight on the gunmetal gray barrel of a Winchester rifle. The raw wind, the Taku wind from the mountains, sliced through his parka and chilled his heart.

The driver of the other car raised the night sight and aimed at Darien’s chest. The voice was a whisper. “Seems that you’ve fallen into a trap.”

Though the shape was well-padded in winter gear, Darien recognized the person. “You!”

“I’ll give you a sporting chance, my friend. I’ll count to one hundred before I come after you.”

“Don’t be absurd. I won’t play games with you. It’s freezing out here.”

“Twenty-eight below zero.”

“Come on, now. Enough is enough.” Darien fought the terror that rose in his chest. “Let’s get this road cleared,” he continued reasonably. “We can use the winch on your Jeep.”

“I’ll make it even easier for you. I won’t use the rifle with the night sight.” The rifle disappeared into the Jeep. “I’m only armed with this handgun. A Colt .45. That’s fair.”

“You’re insane!”

“One. Two.” The whisper was firm. The cadence of the count was steady. “Three. Four.”

“You’ll never get away with this.” Searching for a way out, Darien stared at his rental car, neatly hemmed in by the log and the Jeep. There was no way he could escape, but his own rifle and hunting gear were in the trunk.

“Don’t even think it” came the low whisper. “Touch your car and the game’s over. You die right now.” The count resumed. “Five. Six.”

“It would be more fair if I was armed.” Darien tried another tactic. “You said you wanted to be sporting, didn’t you?”

“Seven. Eight. You’re talking yourself to death, my friend. Nine. Ten.”

Darien started running. He had two choices—into the trees or toward the lodge. The trees would provide shelter and make him a more difficult target, but he couldn’t hide there long. It was too cold. Still running, he zipped his Gore-Tex parka and pulled up the hood. There were bears in the forest. And wolves. Night hunters.

Still, he chose that direction.