Never Give You Up. Shady Grace

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      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2016 by Shady Grace

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: June 2016

      eISBN-13: 1-60183-725-9

      eISBN-10: 978-1-60183-725-7

      First Print Edition: June 2016

      ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-727-1

      ISBN-10: 1-60183-727-5

      Printed in the United States of America

      Chapter 1

      The 1969 Charger RT weaved through traffic two cars behind.

      Terry McCoy adjusted his rearview mirror and eyed the shiny black beast. The car had been following him for thirty minutes since he’d left the estate near Saanich Inlet, and the driver wasn’t even trying to be discreet.

      So, you want to play games, eh? He glanced into the rearview mirror again, and grinned at the driver’s side of the windshield as the car darted around traffic behind him. A good game of cat and mouse always got his blood pumping.

      With the engine revving high, he took a left and whizzed past a minivan packed with unruly children. He winked at the frazzled-looking mother and punched his Camaro into fifth, blowing ahead of her as if she were pulling those brats by hand.

      Like an angel of death, the Charger was right on his ass.

      He jerked to the right then the left, veering around other vehicles as he neared the main drag along the wharf, but still he couldn’t shake him. The Charger nudged his bumper, making Terry grip the wheel tighter.

      “Fucker.”

      He sped up and slowed down, making the driver behind him veer around another car to his right, barely avoiding a crash. Terry laughed and accelerated again, only a few hundred yards from his destination.

      As he neared the hotel parking lot he jerked hard to the right and stepped on the gas, skidding to the side then punched it harder into the parking lot, missing the hotel sign by mere inches. The Charger blew straight ahead toward the downtown core, its engine screaming, and disappeared from view.

      Terry chuckled and eased the Camaro into the rear parking lot at his family’s Sea Scape Hotel. He shut off the engine and took a deep breath. The hotel was the last place he wanted to be right now, but he had to tend to his own personal business.

      He glanced up and stared at the man reflected in the rearview mirror.

      Tired eyes. Gaunt cheeks. Pale skin. Pathetic life.

      He looked like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.

      Still staring into the mirror, he released a pent-up breath and tried to clear his mind, before pulling out his cell phone.

      As he dialed the number he pictured her lovely face on the other end of the line. He really needed to hear her voice. Maybe it would make him feel better. Maybe it would make his negative thoughts go away. He didn’t know why, but her sweet, seductive voice made him feel as if the world could be a good place sometimes. Right now he needed a good place.

      To his bitter disappointment the answering machine kicked in.

      “Hi. You’ve reached the Billings. We’re probably outside right now so please leave a detailed message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Thank you!”

      He couldn’t think of what to say and hung up. Low, that’s how he felt. Low and lost, and for some stupid reason he thought she would make him feel better. He punched the dash and shouted, “Fuck!” before he lowered his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes. Now what was he supposed to do with himself? He let out a self-loathing groan and shook his head.

      She still hadn’t changed the message on her machine. Obviously Mary Billings СКАЧАТЬ