Lantry dragged her to him, encircling her with his strong arms …
Her lips parted, opening for him, and she felt the tip of his tongue sweep over her lower lip. It had been so long since she’d felt desire, felt it run like a fire through her veins, felt it blaze across her skin.
She would have been shocked had she thought about how badly she wanted this man, but at the moment all reason had left her. Her body ached with a need for this cowboy and Dede threw all caution to the wind as he swept her up and carried her to the loft.
About the Author
BJ DANIELS wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½ star review from RT Book Reviews magazine and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and many nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.
Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
To contact her, write to PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, or e-mail her at [email protected]. Check out her website at www.bjdaniels.com.
ONE HOT
FORTY-FIVE
BJ DANIELS
This one is for Danni Hill and her wonderful bookstore,
Promises. Thanks for letting me be a part of it.
Chapter One
Every nerve in Dede Chamberlain’s body was tense as she lay on the narrow bed in the barred, locked room. She listened to the late-night sounds: weeping, an occasional scream, the scrape of a chair leg at the nurses’ station down the hall.
Dede knew better than to fall asleep. She’d heard that a new orderly had been hired, and she knew what that meant. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she’d heard about him through the whispers of the other patients. A big guy with light gray eyes and a scar on his left cheek. Claude.
She didn’t know his last name, doubted he would have used his real one for this job anyway. But she knew Claude would come for her tonight now that only minimal staff were on duty.
But there was no chance of escaping this place. After she’d escaped from the Texas facility, they hadn’t taken any chances with her up here in Montana. They’d put her in the criminally insane ward under maximum security, assuring her she couldn’t get out—and no one could get to her.
And they thought she was the one who was crazy?
The men after her would get to her. There was no escaping them—not while she was locked up.
The air around her seemed to change. She sensed it, the same way she had sensed her life coming unraveled just months before. No one had believed her then; no one believed her now.
Dede leaned up on one elbow, the metallic taste of fear in her mouth, a taste she’d become intimately familiar with since she’d discovered just how far her husband would go.
Battling back the fear, she vowed she wouldn’t make it easy for Claude when he came to kill her. It was all she had left—she would give him one hell of a fight.
From down the hall, she heard a door open and close with the careful stealth of those who lived by secrets and lies. Dede sat all the way up, listening to the cautious squeak of shoe soles as someone crept down the hallway in her direction.
Another door opened with a soft click; another pair of shoe soles sneaked down the hallway.
Furtively Dede rose from the bed and padded to the door to peek out through the bars into the dimly lit hallway.
Two figures moved as quietly as cockroaches. She recognized them as patients and started to turn away. Whatever they were up to, she wanted no part of it.
But then one of them saw her.
From down the hall, Violet Evans shot her a warning look and touched her finger to her lips before dragging it dramatically across her throat.
Dede had seen her the day she’d been captured and brought in. Violet had watched her through the bars of her window. After spending the last month in a psych ward, Dede recognized madness. But when she’d met Violet’s gaze that day, she’d known that she’d just seen true insanity.
“Who is that woman?” Dede had asked the armed orderly taking her to her room.
“Violet Evans. We all watch out for that one.”
Violet was a raw-boned woman, late thirties, with straight brown hair and a plain face. The other patient beside her now in the hallway was a large buxom woman with a visage like a bulldog. Both seemed to be carrying what looked like a bright red blanket over one arm—only Violet had one over each arm.
As Violet motioned to someone down the hall at the nurses’ station on the other side of the steel bars, Dede felt her stomach roil. She’d heard that Violet had tried to escape from here once before and it had gone badly. She was sure it would be worse tonight and wanted no part of it.
Dede started to step back as Violet came alongside her door. But before she could move, Violet stepped in front of the barred, open window. For the first time, Dede was glad that she was locked in.
She touched her finger to her lips to let Violet know she’d gotten the message loud and clear and wasn’t about to give them away. Anyone with a brain could see that the woman was dangerous.
Violet nodded slowly, and Dede saw what she was carrying. Not a blanket. Two plush Santa Claus suits. Dede frowned. Were the costumes from the Christmas program she’d heard about that patients on the other side of the hospital were practicing for? But how did Violet—
The sudden blare of the fire alarm made Dede jump.
But it was the closer, quieter sound that sent her heart racing: the soft clunk of her cell door unlocking.
Through the bars of her window, Dede saw Violet smile and mouth, “You’re coming with us.”
The door swung up, and Violet reached in, grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out into the hallway. Violet shoved a Santa costume at her before giving her a shove toward the confusion at the end of the hallway.
“Come on, Texas escape artist,” Violet said. “Let’s see if you can get out of here alive.”
LNTRY CORBETT WASN’T USED to the phone ringing in the wee hours of morning. Unlike his brother Shane, who was a deputy sheriff, Lantry’s business didn’t require middle-of-the-night calls.
That’s why it took him a few minutes to realize what had awakened him.
“Yeah?” he said after fumbling around half-asleep and finally snatching up his cell phone.
“Lantry?” Shane’s voice made him reach for the lamp beside the bed. The light came on, momentarily blinding him. His bedside clock read 3:22 a.m. His pulse took off, and he sat up, scaring himself fully awake.
“Sorry to call you so late, but one of your clients has been arrested and is demanding to see you.”
“What?” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head to his free hand. “You