Cindi Myers - Rocky Mountain Rescue

Stacy held her breath, waiting for Patrick to lie.

“I’ve felt it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She leaned back to look up at him. She wanted to see his face, to read all the emotion there.

“I am attracted to you. But duty doesn’t always allow me to do the things I want.”

Heaven save her from logical, steadfast men. “You’ll be right here with me. You said yourself we can’t do anything else until the morning.” She took his hand and kissed his palm. “I need you tonight. And I think you need me.”

Patrick’s eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze pinning her back against the pillows and stealing her breath. “If you’re sure this is what you want,” he said. “Because once this starts between us, I don’t know if I can stop …”

Rocky Mountain

Rescue

Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CINDI MYERSis the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.

To Delores Fossen — my friend, cheerleader and best roommate ever.

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

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

When the first gunshots sounded, Stacy Giardino ran toward them. Not because she was eager to face gunfire, but because her three-year-old son, Carlo, had been playing in the front of the house, where the shots seemed to be coming from. “Carlo!” she screamed, and tore down the hallway toward the massive great room, where the boy liked to run his toy cars over the hills and valleys of the leather furniture and pretend he was racing in the mountains.

Men’s voices shouted over one another between bursts of gunfire. One of the family’s bodyguards ran past her, automatic weapon at the ready. Stacy barely registered his presence; she had to reach Carlo.

The living room of the luxurious Colorado vacation home was a wreck of overturned furniture. Stuffing poured from the cushions of one of the massive leather armchairs and a heavy crystal old-fashioned glass lay on its side in the middle of the rug, ice cubes scattered around it like glittering dice. But whatever had happened here, the combatants had moved on; the room was deserted, and the tattoo of automatic weapons fire sounded from deeper within the interior of the mansion.

“Carlo?” Stacy called, fighting panic. If any of those stupid men had hurt her son, she would tear them apart with her bare hands.

“Mama?”

The frightened little voice almost buckled her knees. “Carlo? Where are you, honey?”

“Mama, I’m scared.”

Stacy followed his voice to a dim corner under a built-in desk. She knelt and peered into the kneehole space—into the frightened brown eyes of her little boy.

She held out her arms and he came to her, his arms encircling her neck and his face buried against her shoulder. She patted his back and breathed in the little-boy smells of baby shampoo and peanut butter. “Who were those men, Mama?” he whispered. “They came running in, and they had guns.”

“I don’t know who they were, darling. And it doesn’t matter.” The attackers could have been law enforcement agents, members of a rival crime family or different factions of the Giardino family turned against one another. Stacy didn’t care. They were all part of the cruel, violent world of men that she had to navigate through every day. That was what life was like when you married into the mob—always running and hiding, never knowing who you could trust.

The family had come to Colorado on vacation, but there was no getting away from the reality of their life, from the danger. Her father-in-law, Sam Giardino, had been at the top of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list ever since his escape from prison the year before. Which was why they were staying here, on this remote mountain estate outside of Telluride, instead of in a condo near the resort like normal tourists.

And even while relaxing, Sam was directing the family “business,” cutting deals, making threats and building up his evil empire. Putting everyone around him in more danger.

They could all do away with each other, for all she cared. The only other person who meant anything to her was Carlo.

She stood, straining to lift the boy, who was getting almost too big for her to carry. “I’m going to take you some place safe,” she told him. “Just hang on to Mommy, okay?”

He nodded his agreement and she headed back down the hall, toward the stairs to the basement, where the safe room was located. The man who’d built this house—some billionaire who was a friend of Sam’s, or who owed him a favor, since men like her father-in-law never had real friends—had built the concrete bunker and stocked it like those preppers she’d read about, people who were waiting for the end of the world.

Maybe this was the end of her world, she thought. Her husband, Sam’s son, Sammy Giardino, had been battling his father for months now. Maybe those arguments had erupted into all-out war and Sammy was trying to wrest control of the family “business.” She wouldn’t bet against her father-in-law in that conflict; Sammy only thought he was tough. His father was the hardest, coldest man she’d ever known. He’d even pledged to kill his own daughter after she’d testified against him in federal court.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Carlo shifted against her. “They’re not shooting anymore,” he said.

Carlo was right; the gunfire had ceased. Muffled voices came from the back of the house, but they sounded more like normal conversation than angry outbursts. Should she move toward them and try to find out what was going on?

She stroked her son’s soft blond hair. “What did the men look like, Carlo? The ones with the guns?”

“They were really big, and they had helmets covering their faces.”

Not any of the thugs Sam Giardino employed, then. She’d never known them to wear helmets. These men sounded like law enforcement, maybe a SWAT team. They’d found Sam’s hiding place at last. Would they take Sammy away this time, too? She had no idea if federal agents could tie her husband to any of the Giardino family crimes. Women weren’t supposed to concern themselves with the “business” side of things. In any case, Stacy never wanted to know.

She started down the stairs. She’d expected to meet others moving toward the safe room. Where was Sam’s mistress, Veronica, and the cook, Angela, and the guards whose job it was to protect the women? Surely the cops wouldn’t have gotten to them all.

But here she was, all alone with Carlo. Nothing new about that. Even in a room full of Giardinos she was the outsider, the one who wasn’t one of them. They tolerated her and she tolerated them, but none of them would have been sorry to see the last of her.

How ironic to think she might be the one to survive this day. To escape. The thought made her heart beat faster. For four years, all she’d wanted was to get away from the hold the Giardinos had on her. She wanted to start over, somewhere safe with her son, where no one knew her and she knew no one. She didn’t need other people in her life; she only needed Carlo.