Killer Body. Elle James
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Killer Body
Elle James
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About the Author
Golden Heart Winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, ELLE JAMES started writing when her sister issued a Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas HillCountry. Ask her, and she’ll tell you, what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in Information Technology Management, Elle is now pursuing her writing fulltime. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at [email protected] or visit her website at www.ellejames.com.
This book is dedicated to my family—my husband,
daughters, son, grandson, mother, father, sister, brothers and all my extended family. Because … family is everything.
Chapter One
Dawson Gray clutched the phone in a death grip to keep his hand from shaking. “I’m not right for this job. Isn’t there a surveillance gig I could cover? What about Jack, can’t he do it?” This was just the kind of job his buddy Jack was best at. Dawson didn’t want to disappoint his new boss, but he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s life other than his own.
Private investigation is what he’d signed up for when he’d joined the Lone Star Agency. Taking pictures of cheating spouses, he could handle. Protecting someone from an unknown enemy, never again.
He stared at Laredo’s Doctors Hospital from the parking lot, dreading the visit. The last two times he’d been in a hospital had left him with the permanent need to stay clear. When he was in the military he had to stand at the bedside of the young corporal he’d been responsible for and watch him slowly bleed to death of wounds from an IED roadside explosion. Then he had to witness his wife’s death, or rather he missed saying goodbye to the only woman he’d ever loved. She’d died before he’d arrived.
“The D.A. in Laredo needs someone today. I’d send Jack, but he’s not available. You’re the only agent not tagged at this time.” Audrey Nye sighed over the line and pleaded with him. “I need you to do this. A woman’s life depends on you.”
His boss’s words made his stomach knot and his palms sweat against the steering wheel. Who was he to provide protection to anyone when he’d already lost too many of the people he cared about? How could Audrey give him this assignment when he’d only been sober for two months? Two months wasn’t enough to make him qualified to blow his nose in public, much less watch over the welfare of a woman who’d been left for dead in an alley. He opened his mouth to tell his boss he couldn’t take the job, but she beat him to the punch.
“Dawson, you can do this. I wouldn’t have assigned the case to you if I didn’t think you could handle it. Laredo itself isn’t bad, but the city’s so close to the border a lot of the drug-war fighting happening in Mexico bleeds across the Rio Grande. You’re trained in Special Ops, you know how to use a weapon. I know you’re right for this job. You’re there, you might as well check it out. If you still don’t think you’re up to it, I’ll find someone else, even if I have to take the case myself.”
When his female boss, with no military training whatsoever, volunteered to take on a potentially violent bodyguard gig, he knew he had a problem. Dawson’s jaw tightened and he drew in a deep breath. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Dawson. I knew you would.” Before he could comment, she continued. “The D.A., Frank Young, is scheduled to meet you at the nurses’ station on Savvy’s floor. He’ll fill you in on the details. Tell them you’re her fiancé or they won’t let you in. Don’t let on to anyone you’re anything else. The D.A. wants this all to be low-key. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” As long as it stayed at the pretend level. Dawson wasn’t in a position to be anything other than a hired protector. Since his wife’s death two years ago, he’d been nearly suicidal. Brokenhearted, he’d volunteered for the most dangerous of missions in Iraq, taking risks no one in his right mind would dream of. He hadn’t been in his right mind. Not since Amanda’s death. After nearly getting killed three times and a mandatory psych evaluation, his commander shipped him home and Dawson had gotten out of the service.
He shifted his truck into Park, pulled the keys from the ignition and pushed the door open. Heat hit him like a steamroller. The glaring Texas sun beat against the black asphalt.
Thankful for the thick soles of his cowboy boots, Dawson stepped out of the truck and stood.
An image of his wife lying across sterile