Her breath came out in a soft rush, and with it came a debilitating flash of intuition. Even as he kissed her, she was shattered by a sense of loss. This would end. She would be alone again.
Chad raised his head just long enough to catch a flicker of something across her face.
“Darling, what’s the matter?”
She shrugged, lifting both shoulders off the chaise in a way that seemed as if she were getting set to run.
“We’re in this together,” he told her. With the backs of his knuckles he caressed her cheek.
His eyes searched her face as if there was nothing—or no one—more precious on earth. Her dread eased, and she allowed her tears to flow out of her like a receding tide.
Live in the moment. All you have is here and now.
“Meryl Sawyer writes romantic suspense that keeps you turning pages with lightning speed. Better Off Dead is a roller-coaster ride of romance, passion and edge-of-your-seat suspense. If you’re looking for a book you can’t put down, it doesn’t get any better than this.” —Kristin Hannah, New York Times bestselling author of The Things We Do For Love
Praise for Meryl Sawyer’s other books
“A riveting work of romantic suspense…near perfection.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tempting Fate
“Readers will appreciate the sharply drawn characters.”
—Publishers Weekly on Lady Killer
“Meryl Sawyer has become a brand name known for taut, sexy and very intriguing romantic suspense.”
—Romantic Times on Closer Than She Thinks
“A page turner…glamour, romance and adventure on a grand scale.”
—Publishers Weekly on Promise Me Anything
“A thrilling romantic intrigue that will fully satiate romance readers.”
—Midwest Book Review on Half Moon Bay
“Count on Meryl Sawyer to deliver a fast-paced thriller filled with sizzling romance.”
—Jill Marie Landis, author of Heartbreak Hotel
Better Off Dead
Meryl Sawyer
The best way to love anything is as if it might be lost.
—G. K. Chesterton
This book is dedicated to Sheila Field.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
“YOU CAN RUN, sweetheart, but you can’t hide—not from me.”
Brock Hardesty muttered those words to himself after his top field agent delivered the news he’d been waiting for months to hear. They’d found Samantha Robbins.
He dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle and grinned at the high-tech device he held in the palm of his other hand. With the reverse ID he could monitor what phone number anyone in the building had dialed. The gadget electronically recorded the number and length of each call from his underground bunker beneath Obelisk