Authors: Tiffany A. Snow
Turn To Me
Turn to Me
By Tiffany A. Snow
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Turn to Me
Copyright ©2012 by Tiffany Snow
Cover Design by Tiffany Snow
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without written permission.
For more information:
ISBN 978-0-9853742-0-4
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my cheerleaders – Paige, Emily, Stephanie, Kristi, Nicki and Lisa – for your encouragement and enthusiasm. What a blessing all of you have been to me!
Thanks especially to my head cheerleader extraordinaire – Nicole. Without you and you’re unwavering enthusiasm and persistent heckling for more chapters, this book might still be unfinished. I love you!
Thank you to Nikki. Every writer should have a person like you whom they can ask “Is this utter crap?” and know they’re going to get an honest answer – whether they like it or not.
Thank you to Zoi. Your willingness to share your expertise in editing this manuscript humbles me and I’m grateful for you.
Thank you to Tracy. Newfound friend and fellow book-lover, thank you for letting me exploit your awesome kindness (and excruciating logic and attention to detail). This book is better because of you.
Lastly, thank you to my wonderful family. I appreciate your patience in enjoying fewer homemade dinners, instead enduring frozen pizzas and take-out as I spent evenings typing away on the computer. And yes, Erica, one day when you’re older I’ll let you read it.
This book is dedicated to my mother,
from whom I inherited my love of reading.
Rarely do I recall seeing you without a book in your hand.
Thanks, Mom. This one’s for you.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Kade Dennon rose silently from the bed, the brunette next to him still sleeping. The moonlight that filtered through the blinds on the window provided enough illumination for him to find his clothes.
After he’d dressed, he retrieved his holster and gun, attaching them firmly to his hip. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, the locks tousled at the hands of the brunette. Pausing for a moment, he frowned in concentration, trying to remember her name. When it didn’t immediately come to mind, he shrugged, grabbed his leather jacket and quietly let himself out of the woman’s apartment.
Outside was bitter cold, December having hit Buffalo hard. The streets were empty. The snow and freezing temperatures had driven even the panhandlers and criminals inside.
For a brief moment, Kade longed for a cigarette. Despite having kicked the habit years ago, the cravings never seemed to go away permanently. He slipped into his car, the engine of the Mercedes coming to life easily, despite the weather.
Kade’s watch said the hour was getting late, but he pointed the car in the direction of downtown. He had an appointment to keep.
A short while later, he parked his car on the street outside of a tiny bar, the neon sign blinking tiredly in the night. Pushing open the door to the place, Kade stepped inside. The smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke permeated the air. His gaze swept the room.
The place held only a few patrons. Two men sat at the bar, nursing beers and avidly watching the television hung on the wall, bleating out some kind of sports program. Another man sat alone at the far end.
The bartender, his sluggish movements betraying too many years doing the same work, looked up, saw Kade, and quickly looked away.
A shadowed figure sat at a table in the far corner. Kade rested his hand on his gun as he made his way through the bar past empty tables. He slid into a chair across from the man waiting for him. Neither of them was seated with their backs to the door. When Kade saw who awaited him, he relaxed.
“Donovan,” Kade greeted him. “Didn’t know they were sending you.”
“Dennon,” the FBI agent replied. “Glad you could come.”
“I can always make time for the federal government,” Kade said dryly.
“How’s freelancing going?” Donovan asked.
Kade hesitated. The agent was well aware that Kade hired his services out to a select few - those for whom justice had been an illusion, victims of various crimes whose perpetrators had been able to evade the best efforts of police and litigators.
“It’s a living,” Kade replied vaguely.
“Saw what you left for us in Pittsburgh,” Donovan continued. “Glad you got the bastard.”
Kade knew what he was referring to. A man named Travis Haney had murdered his mother and his grandparents, then kidnapped his eight year old daughter and been chased by the FBI across four states. Kade had found him holed up in a motel in the middle of bumblefuck, Utah.
The girl had been scared to death, her father ranting and raving, and she hadn’t been fed for two days. Kade had watched through the scope on his M40 rifle, trained on the window, tensing each time the man waved the gun in the girl’s direction. Finally, the man had stayed still long enough for Kade to shoot him.
Kade had called Donovan, then dropped the girl off at the nearest hospital. She’d clung to him, crying. Kade still remembered her little hands clutching his jacket.
“No problem,” Kade said uncomfortably.
“You saved that girl’s life,” Donovan pressed.
Kade shrugged, smiling tightly. “I wouldn’t want to pay for the years of therapy she’ll no doubt need.”
Donovan sighed, conceding Kade’s point.
“Are you sure you won’t come back?” he asked. “I could get you a sweet position in D.C. You wouldn’t be stuck in some remote field office.”
Kade shook his head. “I like my freedom. So, what do you have for me?”
Donovan reached into his jacket and produced a brown envelope. He placed it on the table.
“This was handed to us from Homeland Security. Coded transmissions coming out of Iran,” he said. “They’re having issues breaking the code.”
Kade took the envelope, sliding it into his jacket. “What’s it worth?”
“Break the code and it’s two hundred grand in your bank account,” Donovan said.
“I thought the FBI was under a budget crunch,” Kade replied.
“There’s always money for certain things.” Donovan glanced at his watch and stood. “Gotta get going. You know how to reach me.”
Kade nodded, watching the FBI agent as he left. Kade stood and went to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools. The bartender warily approached.
“Vodka. Neat,” Kade ordered.
The bartender set the glass down in front of Kade who threw it back quickly and signaled for another. The second he nursed more slowly.
The latest job from Donovan was going to require him to go either to his office or his home for the equipment he needed. One was in Boston, the other in Indianapolis.
He didn’t want to go to Indy. Everything inside him rebelled at the mere thought. The woman he both wanted to see and needed to avoid at all cost was there.
Kade stared at the mirror behind the bar, but didn’t see his reflection. Instead he conjured a memory, one he refused to contemplate very often, that of a woman with long, strawberry blonde hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. He recalled the softness of her skin when he’d held her, the curves of her body beneath his hands. For a moment, he allowed himself to remember the look in her eyes when he’d last seen her. She’d trusted him. Trusted him to keep her safe, take care of her.
His phone rang, vibrating in his pocket. A glance at the caller ID had Kade cursing, as though the mere thought of her had conjured the phone call.
“Yeah,” he answered curtly.
“Kade, it’s me,” Blane said.
“What’s up, brother?” Kade asked, forcing his mind from the image of Blane’s girlfriend, guilt assailing him.
“Can you come back to Indy? It’s important.” A pause. “Kathleen is in danger.”
Kade frowned, his grip tightening on the cold glass in his hand. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here,” Blane replied.
“Are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Kade asked, stalling for time, trying to think of a way he could refuse.
“I need you.”
Blane’s bald confession made Kade pause. He took a swallow of his drink.
Kade’s silence prompted Blane to speak again. “You know I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
“I know, man, it’s just-”
“I don’t ask much from you, you know that,” Blane interrupted.
Kade cursed. “Fine. I’m on my way.” He disconnected the call and finished his drink in one swallow.
It looked like he was going back to Indianapolis whether he liked it or not.
Meeting his own eyes in the mirror behind the bar, he muttered softly, “This isn’t going to end well.”
Chapter One
“Hey, pretty girl, give me your cash and I won’t mess up your fancy dress.”
I started, my pulse picking up as my brain processed the words. I was cold. Freezing actually, and my feet were killing me. December in Indianapolis was bad enough - add to it walking the streets alone at night wearing nothing but an evening gown and four inch heels and you had the ingredients for a truly wretched experience. Well, at least I'd thought that was the worst it could get. Apparently, I'd been wrong.
Turning, I watched as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was a hulking brute, big enough to easily outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more. The scattered light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off the knife he was holding and I swallowed heavily. I hated knives. Knives meant pain whereas guns meant death. Maybe I was in the minority, but death was the preferred of the two to my way of thinking. I wasn't a big fan of pain.
“I don't have any money,” I said, trying to stay calm. I glanced around, keeping an eye on him as he advanced toward me. Unfortunately, no one was around. I backed away as he got closer, but knew I didn't stand a chance if I tried to run, not with these shoes.
“Then I'll take the pretty necklace,” he sneered, leaping forward and grabbing my arm. I shrieked in surprise, but was silenced when he pressed the cold steel of the blade to my neck.
“Shut up, bitch,” he snarled.
I was breathing hard, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins. He towered over me, pushing against me until my back was against the cold brick wall. The rough stones abraded the exposed skin of my back.
“Give me the necklace.” His breath was hot and fetid against my face.
“No,” I said, helpless anger rising in me. I'd been given the necklace mere hours ago, Blane fastening it around my neck as I'd gotten dressed for this evening.
It suddenly seemed terribly ironic that a night that had started with such promise was ending in terror.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The day had begun well enough. I’d had the day shift at The Drop, a local place where I tended bar. I know the current in vogue term was “mixologist,” but neither myself nor the patrons had any illusions about what I did - which was pour drinks. On Saturdays I usually worked the night shift, but today I’d traded with Lucy so I could have tonight off to be with Blane.