Midnight Sacrifice (2 page)

A green exit sign flashed in his peripheral vision. He rested his left wrist on the wood-grain steering wheel and ignored the twitching of his fingers. Thanks to an Iraqi insurgent, that hand no longer worked as it should. With his right, he checked the map resting on the passenger seat. This was it. He exited onto a country highway lined on both sides by a forest vast and thick enough to conceal the most horrific of crimes.

Four months before, while on a photographic assignment in this small, isolated town, his sister had been kidnapped by a pair of psychotic killers. One killer had died. The other, Nathan Hall, had slipped away and was still on the loose. According to the last phone call from the lead detective, the police had all but given up their manhunt. Dammit. His sister deserved a future untainted by the fear that the escaped crazy ass was going to come after her. Danny was going to do his best to get it for her, even if his chances of succeeding were less than winning the Mega Millions.

Even if being back in Maine sent his gut into a free fall.

Danny turned up the radio volume. “Paradise City” blasted over the speakers, but his attempt to drown out his worries with thoughts of green grass and pretty girls was unsuccessful.

On the surface this trip was all about giving his family peace, but there was another reason he was here, one that was much more selfish.

Danny cruised past a green sign announcing that the town of Huntsville, Maine, was two miles ahead. Queasiness rolled through his gut. Back in December, he’d come here to rescue his sister but ended up saving another of Nathan Hall’s victims
instead. That night had been a turning point in Danny’s new civilian life. For the first time since his medical discharge from the army, he’d functioned under pressure. His combat first aid training had overridden his post-traumatic stress. He’d contained the guy’s guts and his own panic until the medevac had arrived.

Go him.

He rounded a bend and descended into a valley. The small town of Huntsville spread out in front of him like a travel brochure photo. Buildings were sturdy, practical, and showed the beatings of harsh New England winters. Colonial Yankee colors dominated the scene. Lots of barn red and pale yellow. Mountains on the horizon framed the picture. But for Danny, the country charm was tainted by memory. A vision stormed into his head. A haze of blood and fear, a dying man, and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen right in the middle of it all. The woman whose voice and trust had helped him beat back the darkness. The woman who belonged to another man.

Mandy Brown.

The selfish reason he was here.

The business section of town was only a few blocks long. His car turned off Main Street as if on autopilot. A minute later, Danny pulled up to the curb and looked up at the large three-story house. The Black Bear Inn, owned by Mandy’s family, stood tall behind a sloping lawn of pale spring grass. The white clapboards looked tired, as if winter had been particularly rough to weather.

Was she inside?

Though he hadn’t seen her since that night, her soothing, steadying voice was etched in his mind. He’d mentally replayed it through four months of therapy, exercise, and balanced meals. Was she as beautiful as he remembered, or had his imagination exaggerated her perfection?

As the car idled, nerves hummed in Danny’s belly. He could go inside and find out what she knew about the status of the investigation. Right. As if that were the reason he’d headed straight for the inn. Or he could drive out to the house and get settled.

Danny turned in to the driveway. He hadn’t driven eight hundred miles—not to mention blown the family’s savings on an expensive psychiatrist—to wimp out now. Time to man up. He parked in the small lot behind the inn, shut off the engine, and looked up at the house. A bay window on the back porch gave him a view of the inn’s kitchen—and the woman inside.

In his chest, his heart fist-bumped his rib cage.

Nope, his imagination hadn’t exaggerated one bit. She was as perfect as he remembered. Wholesome, beautiful, sweet. Everything he wasn’t. Her dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail away from a face that was as deceptively delicate as her slight frame. He’d seen her wrestle her fears and help save her boyfriend’s life. Mandy was far tougher than she appeared.

But how would she react to seeing him again?

Only one way to find out. Danny opened the door, and Huntsville greeted him with a damp cold that suggested winter wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

A lifetime of doing the right thing could be completely obliterated by one lapse in judgment. One mistake.

Granted, it had been a doozy.

Mandy added flour to the stainless steel bowl. Inside the heavy-duty mixer, a dough hook spun the mixture into a soft ball. She shut off the machine, and the kitchen fell quiet. Listening to the sound of rain tapping on the back porch roof, she turned the
lump out onto her marble board. Practiced hands kneaded the dough until it was soft and elastic. She set it aside to rise.

On to the muffins. She preheated the oven then pulled a stainless steel bowl from the cabinet and measured ingredients without any need to consult a recipe. Heat from the oven banished the dreary chill. The kitchen was her favorite room in the rattling old bed-and-breakfast, which had been owned by her family for three generations. With commercial appliances and plenty of space, the dated country oak and gold Formica could be overlooked. It would never be the swank urban restaurant she’d dreamed of running, but it would have to do.

Mandy wasn’t going anywhere. She was barely twenty-seven, and her dreams were dead.

Gently stirring the batter, she glanced out the window. Raindrops plunked into puddles in the lot behind the inn. The entire area needed grading and a fresh layer of stone. Winter had been tough on the Black Bear Inn and the Brown family, but things were looking up. Jed was recovering from his terrible stab wound. Her mother was recuperating from a triple bypass operation. And Mandy had almost stopped jumping at every noise, in the daylight anyway.

Nighttime was a whole different story.

Her hand strayed to the .38 nestled behind her right hip. A baggy sweater made the handgun invisible, but its size and weight were a comforting reassurance.

On her way to the freezer for a bag of last season’s wild blueberries, she opened the door that led to the family quarters. In the living room, her mother reclined on the sofa. The roots of Mae Brown’s dark auburn hair were gray, something she never would have allowed before her heart attack over the winter, and her body was far too still. Holding her breath, Mandy tiptoed closer. Her mother’s chest rose and fell. Relief coursed through Mandy. She
backed away, nearly lightheaded, and slipped back into the kitchen to finish her breakfast prep. Her mom’s recovery had been slow. Mortality had checked into the inn as a permanent guest.

Things were never going to be the same.

She folded the blueberries into the batter and carefully filled the muffin cups. The baking tin went into the hot oven. Mandy set the timer.

An engine rumbled. Likely guests returning. The weather hadn’t dissuaded the fishermen, hikers, or kayakers staying at the inn from enjoying their vacations. They were making the most of every day, an attitude Mandy was trying to emulate. She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove, then started a pot of coffee. Even the most die-hard outdoor enthusiasts felt the cold at the end of a rainy spring day.

A car door slammed. She moved to the window. An old convertible was parked at the rear of the lot. Strange. Most of her guests drove SUVs.

The doorbell rang. Mandy deposited a tray of biscotti into the dining room, then ducked into the reception area. She looked through the peephole. A man stood on the front porch with his back to her. Mandy paused. The set of his shoulders was familiar. He was brushing the water droplets from his jacket with one hand. Daylight reflected off hair gleaming and black as a raven.

It couldn’t be.

As if he sensed her, he turned. Turquoise eyes focused on the door. Shock swept her brain free of all thoughts but one. It
was
him.

Danny Sullivan.

She smoothed her hair, wiped her hands on her apron, and opened the door.

“Danny.” She stared at him. Her mind reeled with memories of that traumatic night, while a different kind of tension gathered in her belly.

“Hi, Mandy.”

She moved back. “Please, come in.”

The foyer closed in on them as he stepped into the house. She shut the door. He’d filled out a little since December. His face was still lean, his body tall and rangy. But he’d lost the sickly pallor, and the desperate look had been kicked aside by determination. Thick hair, wet from the rain, curled over his collar and was just unkempt enough to be sexy without crossing into sloppy territory. A leather jacket highlighted broad shoulders, and sinfully worn jeans hugged lean hips.

If he’d been handsome then, he was devastating now.

A thrill, hot and delicious as melted chocolate, poured into her belly. She tamped it down.
Relax!
He’d protected her from Nathan, and then Danny had helped her save her best friend, Jed. Some attraction to her rescuer was natural. It wasn’t real. It was some kind of hero worship that psychiatrists probably had a clinical term to describe. Everything was just starting to feel as normal as possible under the circumstances. But the heat rushing through her was anything but ordinary.

The oven timer dinged. Mandy blinked. How long had she been staring at him? Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she tugged her gaze back to his face. His eyes were sweeping over her just as intently. When they settled on hers, the look on his face was hotter than her oven.

“Come back to the kitchen with me.” She backed away from him. Danny followed her down the hall. By the time she reached the kitchen and retrieved the muffins, she’d composed herself. Somewhat.

“Sit down, please.” She gestured to the stools tucked under the center island. Then she retreated to the other side of the counter, putting a large slab of butcher block between them. “Coffee?”

Danny slid onto a seat. “Sure, thanks.”

She filled a mug and handed it to him. “Cream or sugar?”

He shook his head. “Black is fine.”

One by one, she lifted the steaming muffins to a wire cooling rack, putting the last one on a plate for Danny. “How’s your sister?”

“She just got engaged.”

“That’s great.” Mandy choked back her envy. Danny’s sister had risked her life to save three young men from death. She deserved happiness. “Have they set a date?”

Danny shook his head. “Jayne wants to, but Reed is too focused on protecting her right now. They bought a house just a couple of blocks from our brother Pat’s place. Reed is still fine-tuning the security system. By the time he’s done, the president will be able to visit and feel secure.”

“What brings you back to Maine?”

He set his coffee on the counter. “We got a call about the case.”

Mandy fumbled the plate. It dropped to the floor with a crash. Bits of ceramic flew in every direction. The muffin rolled across the tile.

“I’m sorry.” Danny rounded the island. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” She grabbed a broom from the pantry and swept up the debris. She emptied the dustpan in the trash, the excited flutter in her belly giving way to nausea. She wanted to ask him what happened, but fear silenced her voice like sawdust smothered a fire. On one hand, paranoia was getting old. On the other, there were things no one knew. Things she didn’t want anyone to know. And for the sake of her family, things she hadn’t told the police…

To cover the slight trembling of her hands, she kept moving. She washed up and gave Danny a new muffin.

“Thanks.” He went back to his stool, as if he knew she needed the space, but he didn’t touch the coffee or pastry. Instead, he just looked at her with those striking eyes that seemed to see everything she was hiding.

She reached for her risen dough. A quick punch deflated the spongy lump. She floured her marble board and dumped the bowl onto it.

Danny leaned both elbows on the counter. “Has the detective been in touch?”

“He stopped in a few weeks ago.” She divided the dough into quarters and reached for her rolling pin. The familiar motions settled her. “There aren’t any leads. The case is going nowhere. They think Nathan is probably dead.”

“Does it bother you not to know for sure?”

Mandy hesitated. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Frankly, I just want to put the whole thing behind me.” That, at least, was the truth. She rolled the dough into a rectangle.

“He tried to abduct you. He stabbed your friend. He killed people. Aren’t you afraid he’ll come back?”

Yes.
Mandy’s fingers tightened on the wooden handles. The .38 pressed against her back. “It’s been four months. If he’s still around and interested in me, what’s he waiting for?”

He let her question go, but his mouth tightened into a line as flat as the edge of her cleaver. “I’m meeting with Detective Rossi tomorrow.”