Safe with a Stranger

His sense of humor had been AWOL for months—years, maybe.

“Thank you,” Clare said with a smile.

Without thinking, only needing to feel her warmth, he leaned in closer. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. He was hovering within an inch of those tantalizing lips, caught between a wish and a prayer.

“Say, ‘You’re welcome.’”

The soft whisper of air from her words fanned over his face as he closed his eyes and breathed her in. What would she do if he narrowed the gap between them and bent for a taste of those luscious lips?

He reached out and ended up grabbing a handful of air.

Hot damn. He should’ve known better.

Dear Reader,

June brings you four high-octane reads from Silhouette Romantic Suspense, just in time for summer. Steaming up your sunglasses is Nina Bruhns’s hot romance, Killer Temptation (#1516), which is the first of a thrilling new trilogy, SEDUCTION SUMMER. In this series, a serial killer is murdering amorous couples on the beach and no lover is safe. You won’t want to miss this sexy roller coaster ride! Stay tuned in July and August for Sheri White Feather’s and Cindy Dees’s heart-thumping contributions, Killer Passion and Killer Affair.

USA TODAY bestselling author Marie Ferrarella enthralls readers with Protecting His Witness (#1515), the latest in her family saga, CAVANAUGH JUSTICE. Here, an undercover cop crosses paths with a secretive beauty who winds up being a witness to a mob killing. And then, can a single mother escape her vengeful ex and fall in love with her protector? Find out in Linda Conrad’s Safe with a Stranger (#1517), the first book in her miniseries, THE SAFEKEEPERS, which weaves family, witchcraft and danger into an exciting read. Finally, crank up your air-conditioning as brand-new author Jill Sorenson raises temperatures with Dangerous to Touch (#1518), featuring a psychic heroine and lawman, who work on a murder case and uncover a wild attraction.

This month is all about finding love against the odds and those adventures lurking around every corner. So as you lounge on the beach or in your favorite chair, lose yourself in one of these gems from Silhouette Romantic Suspense!

Sincerely,

Patience Smith

Senior Editor

LINDA CONRAD

was inspired by her mother, who gave her a deep love of storytelling. “Mom told me I was the best liar she ever knew. And that’s saying something for a woman with an Irish storyteller’s background,” Linda says. Linda has been writing contemporary romances for Silhouette Books for seven years. Besides telling stories, her passions are her husband and family, and finding the time to read cozy mysteries and emotional love stories. Linda keeps busy and is happy living in the sunshine near the Florida Keys. Visit Linda’s Web site at www.lindaconrad.com.

Safe with a Stranger

Linda Conrad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all women everywhere: these books are for you.

And to Janet Capps, whose ideas for Texas-sounding

names were superior. Thanks to her, we found

Larado Hinojosa and the interesting character

behind the name. Thanks Janet!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Nothing seemed off, yet everything felt wrong.

There were no eerie noises. No flashes of color. No lightning bolts to give her a clue. Still, Clare Chandler’s instincts told her this funky Houston bus station was about to be the end of their road.

But she refused to give up. Frustration warred with determination as she clutched her sleeping son in her arms and slinked backward into the shadows. So, they would miss this bus. There would be another in a couple of hours.

The danger she’d felt had been coming from those two men there by the bus benches, the ones in the suits and ties. They looked legit, but slightly out of place. Had they come for her and Jimmy?

She’d been so careful. Hadn’t used a credit card or a phone. Hadn’t slipped up and called Jimmy by that hard-to-spell name his father had given him.

Clare and her son had only just arrived in this country on the private plane her old boss had helped to charter. There could not have been time for anyone to locate them.

Clare was sure she hadn’t made any mistakes.

Nevertheless, her gut was telling her the worst had happened. She’d known her ex-husband, Ramzi, would come after them. After Jimmy. But she had hoped to reach the safety of her old college roommate’s Missouri home first.

Trying to stand perfectly still so they wouldn’t be spotted, Clare almost missed her two-year-old’s muffled cry. She settled him higher against her shoulder. In her head she began clicking off the possibilities for his distress, wanting to be the best mother ever.

“Are you wet, Jimmy?” she asked and checked his diaper.

Her baby squirmed in her arms, wide-awake now. “No!” He didn’t have many words in his vocabulary yet, but he knew what changing his diaper meant. She had very nearly managed to potty train Jimmy before it had been time to take her son and sneak away from the country of Abu Fujarah.

Ramzi had once said he thought she made a good mother, though that hadn’t seemed good enough to make him want to let her raise her own son. Clare let out a beleaguered breath, then stiffened her spine, determined to do everything right.

Jimmy crammed his fist into his mouth and whined. Ah, he was hungry again. And he was tired. If she didn’t do something about the hunger soon, he would start making a fuss. The last thing she needed was for Jimmy to throw a terrible-twos tantrum and draw the attention of everyone in the bus station.

Clare would never give up her son. Never. So she couldn’t simply walk into the busy restaurant in the station and let those goons take him away. There had to be someplace else nearby where they could eat.

Murmuring to soothe Jimmy, she inched along the wall in an attempt to stay away from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station’s main waiting room. She slipped out the side door into the starlight-spangled night.

Taking a breath of good ol’ Texas air—the pungent, hit-you-in-the-face-with-gas-wells-and-feed-lots kind of air—Clare thought of her home. Maybe she should try calling her father in West Texas for help. She’d already rejected that plan once, knowing it would be the first place Ramzi would look for Jimmy. But right now, being home sounded so safe.

No, she didn’t dare show up on her father’s doorstep. Sticking with her plan to go to her old roommate’s home would be for the best. She’d never mentioned Brenna to Ramzi and had hoped going in that direction would be the smartest idea for losing him and his men.

Clare checked the local neighborhood right outside the bus station’s door and was dismayed at the sight of such a blighted area. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman and her child to go wandering after dark. But even going out there seemed a lot smarter than simply hanging around here waiting to be jumped.

Still holding tightly to Jimmy, Clare walked to the corner and checked in both directions. What looked like a roadhouse was down about a block from where she stood. Cars and trucks sat parked on every available inch of the parking lot, which seemed well lit and busy. If it was anything like the roadhouses and truck stops she remembered from West Texas, the place would at least serve food.

She knew joints like that usually served their share of hard liquor, too. But she would much rather take her chances with Texas drunks than with Ramzi’s henchmen.

Josh Ryan wished he was well on his way to getting blitzed. He toyed with the idea of ordering a bottle of tequila, but managed to reject the thought. Just barely.

It wasn’t only that he’d totally sworn off liquor sixty-three days, fourteen hours and twenty minutes ago. His grandfather had also recently died, and he was supposedly on his way to the funeral. It was a good five-hour drive there, and Josh had never been one for drinking and driving.

So what the hell was he even doing in this seedy bar, with its smell of burned ribs, cheap beer and fries cooking in lard? Twice so far he’d been approached by women in skimpy leather outfits who looked hungry and suggestive in a cheap way. Both times he’d sent them about their business with cold, dismissive looks.

If he’d been searching for oblivion tonight, he’d have found it by downing RedEye by the gallon and not with nameless, drugging sex.

But if it wasn’t for booze or women, then why was he here? Apparently he was giving himself a test. Just to see if his new resolutions could stand up to the stress of the upcoming funeral. His life had become one big trial.

So far, the civilian world hadn’t been what he’d hoped. Though he never would’ve re-upped—even if the army docs had said it would be all right. He wasn’t all right. In Afghanistan, his concentration had deteriorated to a point where he had managed to get a buddy blown to hell and himself shot up bad. Once or twice in the heat of battle, he’d even come to the point of considering the use of one of his grandmother’s so-called gifts. Amazing.

The white coats in the evac-hospital had eventually given his mental state some medical-sounding nonsense of a name and DX’d him out of the Rangers, sending him stateside. But Josh knew better. Post-traumatic stress disorder, hell. He’d just stopped giving a crap whether he lived or died. His own life wasn’t worth another bullet. And he refused to be put back into a place where what he did or didn’t do meant someone else’s life.

Never again.

He stared down at the remnants of his brisket sandwich just as the jarring sound of a cue hitting a nest of pool balls cracked through the smoky air. A couple of cowpokes in the corner began to argue, while the laugh of an apparently very drunk woman tittered through the beer-soaked night.

It was time to go.

He paid the bill and shoved out the door into the parking lot. Even outside the night air was hard to take. Exhaust fumes and mesquite smoke mixed with the sulfur smell from nearby refineries over on the bayou. For the first time in many years, Josh was glad to be heading to deep south Texas.

There were a million things wrong with the south Texas town of Zavala Springs and the Delgado Ranch. But bad air had never been one of them.

The roadhouse parking lot was traffic central tonight. Pickup trucks of every size roared over the gravel. Giggly young girls squealed as their desperate-eyed oil-jockey dates grabbed their bottoms on the way to the bar’s door. There weren’t many like him who were leaving. But one or two Resistol-hatted twenty-somethings stumbled out the door on their way to the edge of the lot to puke their guts out.

God, he was so tired. This was no night for anything but a long, careful drive back to the Delgado.

Making his way to his old truck, Josh found he’d been blocked in by a brand-new Cadillac Escalade. He took a moment to wonder what the dude would do if he just backed into all that shiny black metal and made his own exit. Josh felt almost tired enough to give his family’s gifts a shot in order to free his pickup.

Drawing in a breath instead, Josh went around the front of his truck and checked for another way out. It might be possible—if he went over an eight-inch-high curb stop. Then he’d be forced to drive over the next-door empty lot with all its broken glass and weeds growing upward through the old concrete. But damned if he didn’t know his fifteen-year-old Ford F-150 could get through much worse.

He climbed into the pickup and started the engine. Rolling his front tires up and over the curb with minimum effort, he slowed as he realized he would have to gun it to get the back tires over, too.

Sitting at idle, Josh opened his side window and double-checked the position of his wheels. Yeah, it should work.

A high-pitched scream suddenly tore through the night air. The cry jolted him. Definitely coming from a female, it wasn’t at all like the flirty shrieks those young girls made when their dates groped them in the dark.

No, this scream sounded like someone in trouble. Narrowing his lips in a frown, Josh figured it was none of his business. He had plenty of his own problems.

He shrugged a shoulder and jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, praying the old tread would hold together. A few seconds later he’d crossed the barrier and was slowing down on the other side in order to pick his way through the trash and glass scattered around the vacant lot.

Another scream, this time closer, captured his attention. He stepped on the brakes and searched the dark lot for any signs of trouble.

A figure appeared, illuminated in the distance by his headlights. It was a female, all right. For a spilt second he saw a curvy form with a flash of blond hair. She seemed to be carrying something heavy. The vision dashed in and out of the beams.

Right on her tail were two greaseballs, dressed in suits with short haircuts. Their looks made Josh wonder if the FBI might be after this babe. But when he saw their drawn pistols, something in his brain snapped.

The picture was all wrong. No lawmen would run with guns out in the open like that, especially not when chasing an obviously unarmed woman.

Without another thought, Josh gunned his truck again and began chasing down the men. He used the Ford like he had his old mare back in the bronc-cutting days of his youth on the Delgado. But rounding up the two thugs turned out to be easier to manage than wild broncs had ever been.

Rooster-tailing it on the loose gravel as one of the men turned and tried to aim his pistol toward the truck, Josh sent a spray of caliche toward both guys, and they bolted. The two dudes headed away in the opposite direction as he nudged his bumper up close behind them. If they’d spilt up, one of them might’ve stood a chance at getting off a shot at him. But it turned out that neither of them was as bright as any year-old colt.

He wore the two creeps slick and left them panting and limping off the lot as they slithered back into the darkness behind the roadhouse. Then Josh spun his pickup and went after the girl.

With no clue as to what kind of trouble she was in, Josh should’ve just let it be. If he’d had a lick of sense, he would’ve been long gone down the road toward home by now. But nobody had ever referred to Josh Ryan as the most brilliant SOB in the world.

And besides…he’d become downright curious.

Clare slowed, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t believe her bad luck. She’d almost made it to the relative safety of the roadhouse when Ramzi’s two goons spotted them.

They would’ve overtaken her and Jimmy, too, if it hadn’t been for whoever it was in that old pickup. The fellow behind the wheel had driven like a maniac, but he’d done a fine job of blowing off the two thugs. It made her curious who her knight in scratched and dented armor might have been.

Now how was she going to get back to the bus station in time for the next bus? She couldn’t get past the roadhouse without being seen by those men again.

With a cramp nagging at her side, she gulped for air and tried to think of a way out. Jimmy hadn’t made a sound while she’d been running with him in her arms. But after she’d stopped, he began to squirm.

“Down, Mommy,” he whined as he kicked at her stomach.

“Not here, honey,” she said with a breathless gasp.

Her no didn’t get through to the two-year-old. He kicked again, harder. At that same time the lifesaving pickup turned and came roaring up beside her.

She should have been frightened. Maybe she should have run in the other direction. Instead, her curiosity about what the fancy driver looked like had her standing on tiptoe and staring into the pickup’s cab.

The guy leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.” All she caught of his face in the flash of the overhead light was a stubbled jaw and the brim of a beat-up Stetson pulled low over his eyes.

“What?” Belatedly she found her caution. “No.”

“Look. Those dudes will be back here any second. And if you didn’t notice, they have big, frigging guns. Get the hell in.”

He was right. She was in no position to argue. Still…“I can’t. But we should be okay thanks to you.”

“Can’t?”

This must have seemed like a good time to try to get his own way, because Jimmy squealed. When Clare tightened her grip around him, her child finally looked up at the pickup.

“Bye-bye,” Jimmy said as he pointed toward the truck.

“Is that a kid?” The guy in the truck sounded incredulous.

“My son. I don’t dare put him in your truck without the proper restraint. It isn’t safe.”

Just then, a loud ping resounded off the truck’s back bumper. And a tiny spray of gravel exploded right next to the back rear tire.

“They’re shooting now, lady. That ain’t exactly safe. Climb in or not, but I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Shooting? Ramzi would never allow anyone to shoot at his son. Just who were these goons, if not his men?

From that thought, it didn’t take her a whole minute to load herself, her son and their duffel into the wide front seat of the pickup while the driver doused his headlights. “Go,” she urged while still fumbling with the seat belt.

The driver took off with a crunch of tires against gravel. The whining engine strained to keep up with the man pouring on the gas. His takeoff bounced her around in the seat, but she hung on valiantly to Jimmy.

“Those city dudes are still on foot,” the cowboy told her as he fought the wheel. “This old truck might not look like much, but it’ll do zero to sixty in ten seconds. They won’t stand a chance of getting to their vehicle or catching a glimpse of this truck in the dark before we’re long gone.”

Clare swallowed hard. She was grateful to this man, whoever he was. But she didn’t want his crazy driving to end up taking any risks with Jimmy’s life. After all, Ramzi’s men couldn’t possibly want to kill her son. They must just want to take him back to his father.

She thought of the bullets those goons had fired and amended that idea. They might not mind killing her to get to Jimmy.

“Can you go any faster?”

The man turned the lights back on and downshifted to take a corner. “Sugar, this heap may be fast off the line, but it won’t hold together pushed to the limit.”

He took four more corners in quick succession. When she’d gotten totally turned around and lost, he slowed down.

“They’ll never make us now,” he said. “So, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on? Why were those dudes after you?” He took one more corner, but this time on four wheels. “Tell me those weren’t some sort of cops.”

“Oh yeah,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Cops shoot at women and children all the time—sure. I was just walking from the bus station to the roadhouse to get my son something to eat. How should I know those jokers?”

He shot her a quick glance before returning his attention to the road ahead. “It’s after ten. Not exactly a terrific time to be waltzing around these streets with a baby. Isn’t there a restaurant in the bus station?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” she lied.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. And I suppose you have no idea why those guys were trying to get to you, either. All that drama seems extreme for a simple robbery.”

“Well…Maybe they wanted to kidnap my little boy.”

That shut him up for a few minutes. Finally, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “You never made it to the roadhouse. I would’ve noticed you there. Is the kid still hungry?”

She looked down at Jimmy in her lap. “He and I both could use a little food. It’s been a long time since we’ve eaten anything.”

“You were planning on a bus trip, I’d guess. When’s the bus leave?”

“Not until midnight.”

“Then let’s go find a decent place to eat. And I’ll get you two back to the station in time.”

Josh was kicking himself thirty ways from Sunday by the time he found a chain restaurant that stayed open all night. What the hell was he doing with a woman and a child? Only just now recovering from his idiot bout with alcohol, he didn’t know about the long-term effects of PTSD. He still wasn’t sure the docs were right where he was concerned.

He’d been planning on hanging with his baby sister in Zavala Springs for a while after the funeral. Just long enough for him to figure out what he wanted his life to be outside the Rangers and without the alcohol. He wasn’t exactly great company.

Parking and shutting off the engine in the shadowed lot, Josh cleared his throat once more and tried to think of something civil to say.

The woman turned her face toward him and he caught the gleam of white teeth through the darkness. Hot damn, but her smile must have terrific wattage. He had a feeling she was going to turn out to be a real babe when he got a decent look at her in the lights.

“This’ll be fine,” she said. “Thanks for rescuing us. I think the least we can do is buy you dinner.”

“Yeah? Well, I think I can manage on my own.” Hell. Now he felt like a real jerk. What would’ve been wrong with letting her pay or saying something nice, like he’d already eaten?

Swinging down from the truck’s cab, Josh hauled himself around the pickup to help lift her and the kid down. He wasn’t sure why he automatically did that, but it seemed like the thing to do.

He ushered them into the relative safety of the well-lit restaurant and a hostess seated them. Without sitting, the woman excused herself to change the kid’s diaper. It took another ten minutes to locate a high chair. This baby business seemed to be a real pain in the butt.

Finally all together in the booth, they’d placed their orders and now had coffee, iced tea and a sippy cup with juice sitting in front of them. It was then he took a moment and really looked across the table—and nearly bit his tongue in half.

Talk about a babe. He’d only gotten quick glances earlier because they’d been so busy, but this chick was a stunner.

Just looking at her was way better than eating the dessert he’d ordered and more fulfilling than any booze. Even better than the best barbecue he remembered his grandfather Will serving, the sight of Clare became food for the eyes. And sauce for the soul.

Her long, lush eyelashes covered clear, whiskey-colored eyes, and her silvery-blond streaked hair hung in a messy waterfall over the delicate curve of her shoulders. There was a tiny mole at the side of her luscious mouth, but it didn’t mar the beauty of porcelain skin.

She rounded that mouth to say something to her son and the sight of those full, soft lips made him squirm. Whoo baby. For a man who hadn’t cared one whit about sexy females in more years than he’d like to count, Josh was having full-blown wet dreams of her wrapping those lips around a body part of his that was right now sitting up and taking notice.

Hell.

“My son’s name is Jimmy and I’m Clare Chandler,” she said and held out her hand across the table.

He took it briefly. Just long enough to feel an electric shock of warmth running straight to his groin.