LINDA CONRAD

      was born in Brazil to a commercial pilot dad and a mother whose first gift was a passion for stories. She was raised in South Florida and has been a dreamer and a storyteller for as long as she can remember. Linda claims her earliest memories are of sitting in her mother’s lap listening to a beloved storybook or searching through the picture books in the library to find that special one.

      When Linda met and married her own dream-come-true hero, he fostered another of her other inherited vices—being a vagabond. They moved to seven different states in seven years, finally becoming enchanted with and settling down in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas.

      Reality anchored Linda to their Texas home long enough to raise a daughter and become a stockbroker and certified financial planner. Her whole world suddenly changed when her widowed mother suffered a disabling stroke and Linda spent a year as her caretaker. Before her mother’s second and fatal stroke, she begged Linda to go back to her dreams—to finally tell the stories buried within her heart.

      Linda’s hobbies are reading, growing roses and experiencing new things. However, her real passion is “passion”—reading about it, writing about it and living it. She believes that true passion and intensity for life and love are seductive—they consume the soul and make life’s trials and tribulations worth all the effort.

      “I am extremely grateful that today I can live my dreams by being able to share the passionate stories and lovable characters that have lived deep within me for so long,” Linda declares.

      Linda loves to hear from her readers and invites them to visit her Web site at http://www.lindaconrad.com.

      To both my darling husband and sister, because Manny’s story is your favorite. To Dana Rae Link, because you started all this years ago. And especially for Emily, because I couldn’t do any of them without you.

      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

      Epilogue

      One

      Manny Sanchez decided the pounding rain did have one advantage—it helped to hide his stealthy nighttime chase. He rode his Harley through the bitter, biting and brutal sleet, torn between cursing the storm and being grateful for the added cover.

      In the next instant the minivan he’d been following slowed. When its brake lights glowed red, memories of devastating car wrecks flashed before his eyes. He’d seen plenty of twisted metal in his thirty-four years, and a flashback of his own agony clutched at his chest.

      Damn. Not this time. A baby boy was riding inside that van. Life had always been cruel as far as Manny was concerned, but the baby’s short, tragic life simply must not end this way. Manny couldn’t let that happen—not again.

      Through his rain-distorted visor, he watched horrified as the minivan carrying the coyote and his cargo came to a low-water bridge. They hit a patch of icy highway and slid sideways. Manny winced.

      ¡Ay, Dios mio! No one will get out alive!

      Suddenly his bike hit another frozen spot and he lost control. He cut the power, laying the bike down into the gravel covering the side of the road. His leather-clad, left shoulder took the entire brunt of the roadway collision, but a combination of adrenaline and freezing cold numbed him to the effects he knew were sure to follow.

      Luckily the bike slid across the asphalt, scattering sparks and landing in a field, while he sprawled down the gravel in the other direction. His heavy jeans protected him from the rocks and wet pavement.

      When his forward momentum finally eased, he jumped to his feet, relieved he was still able to walk. But there wasn’t time to check for broken bones or bleeding. He ripped off his helmet, flung it aside and ran toward the bridge.

      In terrifying slow motion, Manny watched the minivan lose contact with the asphalt as it hit the rushing water. Within the space of a heartbeat, the boxy little vehicle turned on its side and was swept into the furious torrent.

      A breath hitched in his throat as he stood paralyzed, seeing the scene unfold before him. Shock and a fleeting sense of sorrow and guilt overtook him. Why hadn’t he found a way to end this assignment earlier today—or yesterday? Or, hell, last week before things had gotten so out of hand?

      He clearly heard the eerie shriek of twisting metal over the sounds of howling water as torrents assaulted the minivan with a devastating rampage. The incessant beating of the rain competed with the hammering of his heart.

      Without a moment for recriminations and once again burying his emotions, he reacted to the tragedy the way he’d been trained—don’t hesitate, act.

      Just then the minivan snagged itself on a pile of debris