One Tough Marine. Paula Graves

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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Ashlee, my Psych viewing buddy.

       Bum-bum-bum…muffins!

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

      Paula invites readers to visit her Web site, www.paulagraves.com.

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

       Abby Chandler —When masked men threaten to hurt her son if the marine widow can’t give them what they want, Abby turns to Luke Cooper, her late husband’s best friend—and the unwitting father of her son.

       Luke Cooper —Retired from the Marine Corps, Luke lives in self-exile to protect the ones he loves from a ruthless drug lord’s vow of vengeance.

       Stevie Chandler —The two-year-old has become a pawn in a deadly game of extortion.

       Eladio Cordero —When Luke killed the South American drug kingpin’s only son, Cordero vowed to make him pay by going after the people who mean the most to Luke.

       Los Tiburones —Cordero’s hired enforcers have caught Luke’s scent, dogging his trail, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

       Barton Reid —His job high in the U.S. State Department has given him access to a great deal of power and volatile information. He’ll go to any lengths to protect his secrets.

       Demetrius “Damon” Miles —An operative in Barton Reid’s private army, Damon has his own hidden agenda.

       Sam Cooper —Luke’s older brother is the only Cooper who knows the truth about Luke’s self-imposed exile. Can Sam help Luke and Abby reach safety before the bad guys catch up?

      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

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter One

      Abby Chandler shifted the grocery bag to her left arm and fumbled in her pocket for her keys. Arriving home later than she’d planned, thanks to a pileup on I-5, she had to hurry and put away the groceries so she could pick up Stevie by six. After six Mrs. Tamburello charged time and a half, and the budget this month couldn’t take the strain.

      She unlocked her apartment and pushed the door open with her foot, stumbling as her toe caught on the rubber welcome mat inside. Muttering a curse, she kicked the door shut behind her and took a half step forward before she realized what she was seeing in the dim afternoon light filtering into her apartment.

      Sofa cushions, ripped apart and tossed on the floor. Paintings torn from the wall and dismantled. Her coffee table upended in the middle of the room.

      Her heartbeat barely had time to notch upward when a voice, inches from her ear, sent it hurtling into hyperdrive.

      “You’re late, Mrs. Chandler.”

      At the sound of the deep male voice, her body jerked into one jangling nerve. Her keys dropped with a clatter from her numb fingers while her mind flew haphazardly through her options. Run? No, the man with the deep voice stood between her and the door. Try to outrace him to the kitchen for the knife block by the refrigerator? Not a chance.

      “Sorry for the mess. We became bored waiting for you.” A second voice, not quite as deep as the first, spoke to her right. She heard more than a hint of Boston Brahmin in that accent.

      “What do you want?” She felt her grip on the grocery bag slipping and tucked it to her side to keep from dropping it.

      “Please don’t move, Mrs. Chandler,” the man behind her said. “We don’t want things here to escalate.”

      Escalate to what—unadulterated terror? Too late, buster.

      The second man moved into her field of vision—tall, well built, dressed in black from his soft-soled shoes to his knit ski mask. Clear blue eyes, direct and confident, gazed out from the eyeholes. He was light-skinned, with a hint of freckles, she noted for future reference.

      Assuming there’d be a future in which to reference.

      “Are you going to tell me what you want?” She tried not to give in to the panic buzzing like wasps in her brain. Her muscles were already beginning to ache from tension. If someone didn’t start talking, she might just snap in half.

      The freckled man took the grocery bag from her trembling arms and set it on the floor. “Your husband took something that didn’t belong to him. We’re СКАЧАТЬ