Susan Mallery - The Only Way Out

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“A gifted storyteller, Ms. Mallery fills the pages with multi-faceted characters, solid plotting and passion that is both tender and sizzling.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“If you haven’t read Susan Mallery, you must!”

—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster

SUSAN MALLERY is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over eighty books and has been a recipient of countless awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. Her combination of humor, emotion and downright sexiness has made her a reader favorite. She makes her home in Southern California with her husband, her very dignified cat and her not-so-dignified dog. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.

The Only Way Out

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jan. Okay, so it was tough at first. It’s turned out

to be more than worth the trouble. I wish I could

find the words to say how much your support and

friendship have meant to me. You’re terrific. (I know

it’s supposed to be a secret, but hey!) Here’s to being

R&F, to maids, summer homes and bright futures.

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

Epilogue

He was less than twenty feet from the car when it exploded. The deafening blast threw Jeff Markum up against the side of a clothing shop. Glass, chunks of wood from a corner fruit stand and pieces of twisted metal from the car itself peppered his body like buckshot. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything except the powerful echo of the explosion. The blackness around him grew, humming louder and louder until he felt himself losing this world. Not yet, he thought desperately.

He forced himself back to consciousness, driven by the need to rescue the two people inside what had once been a small red Ford. As he tried to push himself to his feet, pain ripped through his left leg. A quick glance confirmed the injury. Blood seeped from a tear in his trousers, and his knee bent at an awkward angle. Broken.

Around him, people stirred to life. He heard faint cries and louder screams. The uninjured scurried for cover in case the blast came again. Jeff knew they hid in vain. There was no need for another blast.

He gathered the little strength he had left and crawled along the littered sidewalk. Glass cut his hands. His broken leg dragged behind him. His shoulder was dislocated, but he couldn’t worry about any of that now. He had to get to the flaming, twisted heap that had once been his car.

Toward the inferno that housed his wife and child.

Fury drove him. Sorrow and guilt fueled his need. He was less than five feet from the car when he heard the sounds of the sirens.

They were too damn late, he thought looking at the flames licking skyward as if they could consume the heavens. No one inside could have survived. Even as he tried to comfort himself with the thought that they would have died instantly, he imagined he heard their screams.

Each high-pitched shriek of terror pierced him deeper and deeper until his soul started to bleed. He stared at the wreckage as black smoke began to obscure it from sight.

Then the siren stopped next to him and the medical team jumped out. Strong hands pulled him away from the fire, away from his wife and son. He fought the medics, but he had no strength. All too soon he was in the medical van and on his way to the hospital.

Jeff closed his ears against the clanging of the siren, and closed his eyes against the medic’s penlight. He would get the report tonight, but he already knew what they would find.

A car bomb. Nothing odd about that in a city that claimed hundreds of lives each year. Yet he’d been arrogant enough to assume that the statistics would never touch him. That he could pursue his enemy with all the fervor of a saint chasing the devil and that it would never get personal. Jeff had known Kray had marked him for death, but he hadn’t thought his family would have to pay because he loved his job.

“J.J. needs to be near his father,” Jeanne had insisted when her plane had landed in Lebanon. “And I need to be near my husband.”

Jeff had tried explaining the situation to her, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d resorted to anger. Jeanne had listened quietly, then continued unpacking. As far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter to her that she was in the middle of something ugly, something she would never understand. The rules in her life were simple. A wife’s place was at her husband’s side.

So he’d let her stay. Because a part of him had enjoyed the moments of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. Because he loved his wife and son almost as much as he loved his job, and because he believed he could keep them safe. Kray had warned Jeff he would pay. Until this moment he hadn’t known how much.

Jeff let go of his thoughts and concentrated on the pain because the alternative was too horrible. Kray had ordered one of his men to place the bomb in Jeff’s car. The car Jeanne had borrowed that morning so she and J.J. could run errands. Jeff had grown complacent and overly confident. He’d killed his wife and child as surely as if he had set the bomb himself.

Then the buzzing in his ears grew louder and his thoughts more erratic. He couldn’t focus on Jeanne’s face or the sound of J.J.’s laughter. They were getting lost in the pain. Suddenly not finding his way back didn’t sound so bad.

“We’re losing him,” a disembodied voice called. “Pressure’s dropping. He’s lost too much blood.”

Jeff let himself sink further into the blackness. He didn’t care if he died. Jeanne was gone already, and with her, Jeff Jr. Dying might solve his problem. He would simply wait for Kray to join him in hell.

Five years later

Jeff Markum lay on his belly in the sand. Waving sea grass, bougainvillea and wild fig trees hid him from view. His powerful binoculars allowed him to see into the open windows of the exclusive villa situated at the far end of the hotel grounds.

Three men gathered around a table, as was their morning custom. They’d finished breakfast and were talking. A soft, tropical breeze carried with it the faint sound of laughter. Jeff couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he watched their lips moving and deciphered most of the words.

They were going fishing.

Jeff turned his head slightly to the right and saw the dock jutting out into the deep blue of the Caribbean sea. A well-equipped powerboat sat bobbing in the water. The crew was preparing for their day of fishing. Jeff looked back at the villa. The path from the front door to the boat was about fifty feet long. Nothing obstructed Jeff’s view of the area, so nothing would get in the way of his shot.

Kray would walk those fifty feet. He was a head taller than both his bodyguards. It would be easy to take him out.

Jeff lowered the binoculars and rolled onto his back. His hip bumped the gleaming rifle he’d laid out in preparation of what had to be done. Timing. This whole damn thing was about timing. Today it would happen. He could feel it in his bones, especially in his knee, which often ached if the weather was right.