A Baby Before Dawn. Linda Castillo
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She was having his baby…
Even in the darkness he could see that. He took her arm and looked her over. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she spat out, “There are men out there with guns who want to kill me and I have no idea why!”
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Lily.”
“Why is it that things never change with you? There’s always danger.”
“We don’t have time for this now.” Taking her hand, he tugged her deeper into the dark hall. “We have to get out of here.”
She resisted. She’d had enough of the lifestyle Chase craved. Her baby came first now, and it needed stability. Something she’d never get from Chase, no matter how much she loved him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Hearing noises down the corridor, Chase pulled her against him, his breath hot and moist on her neck. His hand slid around to splay across her belly, reminding Lily of their child.
“Like it or not,” he breathed, “I’m your best hope of making it through the night.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda Castillo knew at a very young age that she wanted to be a writer – and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen. She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including a Holt Medallion, a Golden Heart Award, a Daphne du Maurier and a nomination for the prestigious RITA® Award.
Linda loves writing edgy romantic suspense novels that push the envelope and that take her readers on a roller-coaster ride of breathtaking romance and thrilling suspense. She resides in Texas with her husband, four loveable dogs and a horse named George. For a complete list of her books, check out her website at www.lindacastillo. com. Contact her at [email protected]. Or write to her at PO Box 577, Bushland, Texas 79012, USA.
A Baby Before Dawn
LINDA CASTILLO
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
4:00 a.m., August 2 7 hours since the blackout began
It was going to be a long night.
Chase Vickers should have been accustomed to waiting. In his line of work he did enough of it. But he’d never developed much in the way of patience. He liked to move. More to the point, he liked speed. Lots of it. Tonight, however, parked in the looming shadow of Boston’s Hancock Tower with the city in the midst of a blackout, he passed the minutes pacing as he waited for his passenger. Curbside, the sleek limo he drove part-time—and affectionately called Irma—purred like a big black cat.
Around him, plunged into darkness, the usually unflappable city of Boston was in a state of panic. Even at this hour the tower bustled with city police, Secret Service personnel and the occasional frightened civilian dressed to the nines. From the look of things, something big had gone down inside.
Chase had received the call for a client pickup just before 9:00 p.m. He was supposed to drive a foreign dignitary from Hancock Tower to Logan Airport. A simple enough assignment under most circumstances, anyway. Until the blackout hit en route. Traffic had crashed to a halt, and for the next three hours he’d maneuvered the big limo through spaces more suited to a Volkswagen. He’d dealt with an army of frightened motorists and angry cabbies, and dodged dozens of accidents caused by inoperative traffic lights.
Chase was comfortable in the dark and chaos. When he wasn’t driving dignitaries and high- ranking government officials to various destinations— most requiring a driver with a high-security clearance—he spent his days on mercenary missions for Eclipse, a secret organization he and three other of his Special Forces buddies had formed years ago. For a price, the band of brothers took on assignments the CIA, FBI and other elite military forces couldn’t get done. The kinds of covert operations that never made the newspapers.
Lately, those missions were the only time Chase felt truly alive.
He stood at the rear of the limo, taking in the chaos, wondering about its source. This was more than just a blackout situation. The arrival of additional Secret Service told him something significant had transpired. Was it related to the black-tie affair atop the tower? He’d read about the event. Something to do with a trade agreement…
Pulling out his cell phone, he was about to make some calls to see if he could get some answers when a chirp alerted him to an incoming text message. He hit Receive and watched the words scroll across the display.
Are you afraid of the dark?
The jagged scar above his left eye throbbed as the meaning of the words registered. Four years in the Special Forces and numerous missions for Eclipse had taught him to take every threat seriously, regardless of its source or how vague. The truth of the matter was, he’d made some enemies over the years. He’d ticked off some very dangerous people who would probably like nothing more than to pay him back in spades.
Chase knew whom to call. As much as Chase didn’t want to turn to his older brother—half brother, he corrected with a sneer—Shane Peters did seem to have his finger on the pulse. He punched in Shane’s number from memory. Five rings and his call went to voice mail. Another oddity—his half brother almost always answered his phone. What the hell was going on?
“Hey, it’s Vic,” he said, using the nickname known exclusively by his Special Forces and Eclipse counterparts. “Call me.”
He was about to get back in the limo when a thin young man with dark hair exited the tower and approached. The tuxedo told Chase the man was part of the black-tie affair. More than likely the dignitary he’d been hired to drive to Logan Airport.
He studied the man’s face; a flash of familiarity gave him pause. Something about the eyes. But as the man drew closer Chase decided he was mistaken. He had a near photographic memory; he would have recalled meeting this man. His green eyes and black hair made his face a memorable one. But Chase knew both could be easily altered.
He put on a smile and started toward his passenger. “Hell of a night for a blackout.”
“It’s a madhouse in there.” The man glanced at the limo with the admiration of a man who appreciated fine machinery. “You must be Chase Vickers.”
“The one and only.” Because he would require his passenger to do the same, Chase pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID and security badge.
The man fumbled with his own wallet. “I’m Sam Michaels.”
The name confirmed this man was, indeed, his assigned passenger, but Chase looked carefully at the driver’s license and accompanying photo ID anyway, putting both to memory. Samuel Michaels. Washington, D.C. Personal aide to the ambassador of South Africa. DOB 06-06-1981.
Confident everything was in order, Chase walked to the passenger door and opened it, ushering his client inside.