A Night Without End

The king-size bed was big enough to hold them both.

Carlie saw no reason for either of them to spend an uncomfortable night.

She sat up and slipped her hand into his. “We’ll both sleep in the bedroom.”

Sean’s eyes went wide. “But you don’t remember me.”

“I won’t put you out of your bed.”

“I’ll be fine on the couch.”

Carlie refused to believe he wanted her to leave him alone. Although Sean seemed to be a lone wolf, fit and capable of taking care of himself, she wanted to help him ease his grief.

“Even if I can’t remember our wedding vows, we are husband and wife.”

Sean took her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Let me get this straight. You want to share my bed tonight.…”

Dear Intrigue Reader,

A brand-new year, the launch of a new millennium, a new cover look—and another exciting lineup of pulse-pounding romance and exhilarating suspense from Harlequin Intrigue!

This month, Amanda Stevens gives new meaning to the phrase “men in uniform” with her new trilogy, GALLAGHER JUSTICE, about a family of Chicago cops. They’re tough, tender and totally to die for. Detective John Gallagher draws first blood in The Littlest Witness (#549).

If you’ve never been Captured by a Sheikh (#550), you don’t know what you’re missing! Veteran romance novelist Jacqueline Diamond takes you on a magic carpet ride you’ll never forget, when a sheikh comes to claim his son, a baby he’s never even seen.

Wouldn’t you just love to wake up and have the sexiest man you’ve ever seen take you and your unborn child into his protection? Well, Harlequin Intrigue author Dani Sinclair does just that when she revisits FOOLS POINT. My Baby, My Love (#551) is the second story set in the Maryland town Dani created in her Harlequin Intrigue book For His Daughter (#539).

Susan Kearney rounds out the month with a trip to the wildest American frontier—Alaska. A Night Without End (#552) is another installment in the Harlequin Intrigue bestselling amnesia promotion A MEMORY AWAY.…This time a woman wakes to find herself in a remote land in the arms of a sexy stranger who claims to be her husband.

And this is just the beginning! We at Harlequin Intrigue are committed to keeping you on the edge of your seat. Thank you for your enthusiastic support.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

A Night Without End

Susan Kearney

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Susan Kearney likes suspense-packed romance with an unforgettable twist. She’s also more than fond of feisty heroines and heroes with soft hearts and hard heads. Sue lives in Florida with her husband, two children and two Boston terriers.

Books by Susan Kearney

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

340—TARA’S CHILD

378—A BABY TO LOVE

410—LULLABY DECEPTION

428—SWEET DECEPTION

456—DECEIVING DADDY

478—PRIORITY MALE

552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Carlie Myers—A policewoman whose murky memory couldn’t call up the previous two years. She’s determined to discover her past so she can have a future.

Sean McCabe—An educated man who is just as experienced in a rough mining camp, a sophisticated boardroom or the bedroom. Sean claims he’s Carlie’s husband. So why does he seem like a stranger?

Jackson McCabe—The murder victim and Sean McCabe’s adopted father. Jackson was a back woodsman with a heart big enough to take in a homeless boy.

Roger McCabe—Jackson’s angry and grieving brother. But is Roger really grieving or does he have something to gain by his brother’s death?

Ian Finley—A rich banker with a stake in Sean’s mine. He’s prosperous and has his finger on the pulse of the small mining town.

Tyler—Were his dreams of gold a delusion? Caught between boyhood and manhood, Tyler has a propensity for showing up at the scene of a crime.

Marvin—A gambler always ready to play his hand. With a poker face and a flashing gold tooth, Marvin stands back and watches events unfold—with seemingly no reason to commit murder.

Sally—Jackson’s lady friend who is ready to move on. Did she really love Jackson or was it his money she wanted?

For Angela Catalano, my editor,

whose invaluable help is very much appreciated.

And for B.C., who gives excellent advice. Thank you.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“Did I hear right? Did you say Alaska?” Carlie Myer propped one hip against the kitchen counter, twisted the phone cord and tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

Her husband, Bill, preoccupied and even more secretive than usual, hadn’t been himself lately, but now his former bubbling enthusiasm returned to his voice and came in loud and clear from his car’s cell phone. “I want to show you Chikosh Pass in summertime.”

Perhaps she’d let him talk her into going on an Alaskan vacation, after all. Besides, relief from the tropical heat of August in Tampa, Florida might not be so bad.

If she didn’t know better, from the way he described Alaska, she’d have thought he longed for his old job back. He was practically crooning into the telephone with his husky bedroom voice that he knew she had difficulty refusing. “You haven’t lived until you’ve kayaked blue glacial rivers and climbed Mount Kiska—”

“You know I don’t like the cold.” Or the wilderness. She was a city girl, born and bred in the Sunshine State. And nothing relaxed her better than Florida sun, palm trees swishing in a seventy-five-degree breeze and the aroma of suntan oil on a white-sand beach.

“Come on, Carlie. It’ll be romantic. The aurora borealis is unbelievable at night.”

“So are the mosquitoes that suck a human being dry in half an hour—”

“Think of camping with the scent of spruce in your hair. Fresh salmon baked the way you like it—”

“What about grizzlies?”

Even if she accompanied him to Fairbanks, his intention to revisit his old haunts raised issues she preferred to forget. He made the trip sound so sentimental and appealing, but he had almost died in those frigid mountains he loved.

“You can sleep with your gun under the pillow,” Bill teased.

In spite of her suspicions, Carlie allowed a smile to surface. A seven-year veteran of the Tampa Police Department, she considered her sidearm as necessary as most women did a tube of lipstick. However, on their wedding night, Bill had insisted he wasn’t sharing her with a .357 Magnum and urged her to leave the weapon on her nightstand—a small compromise she’d made after the happiness he’d given her. That she was considering a trip to practically the North Pole was a testament to how much she loved him.

Every so often she had to remind herself that even the best marriage required compromises. If he wanted to return to Alaska, she’d go along with his request, but not before making one of her own.

“This is strictly a vacation, right?”

“And what else would it be? I’m a happily married man.”

The thought of running into one of his old girlfriends was the least of her worries. And he knew it.

“No digging into unsolved cases?” she asked. Bill had worked for Customs in Alaska before he’d received a promotion and transferred to Florida. And he was damned secretive about his work. For all she knew he was still on the same case that had almost taken his life. Fear curdled in her gut. “Promise me, you’ve put the past behind you.”

“Now, honey, we’re just taking a little visit, and I may check out a few things. You aren’t going to lose me. There’s nothing to fear—”

Through the receiver, car horns blared in her ear. Metal screeched. Glass shattered.

“Bill? Bill! Talk to me, damn it.”

His car phone went dead.

“God, no. Please, please, please don’t do this to me.”

With frantic fingers, she redialed his number, but the call wouldn’t go through. Pain and panic slammed into her. Numbly, she tried the police department next.

But she didn’t need anyone to tell her he was dead. Every cell in her body shuddered as the special connection they had shared was brutally severed.

He was gone. She would never again see his warm smile, never again hear his husky laughter or feel the comfort of his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking, but the gesture did nothing to halt the tears raging down her cheeks or the shivers crawling over her soul.

Bill was gone.

And deep in her heart she knew the fear had just begun.

Chapter One

Fifteen months later

The herd of elk spooked, taking off on a mad run, and, on the alert, Sean McCabe instantly froze. He read danger in the Alaskan bush easily, rapidly and expertly. While many Alaskans were at home in the woods, his senses were more acute than most, and years in these mountains had endowed him with almost a sixth sense. His ears picked up not just normal animal activity—but the lack of noise. An arctic warbler in the willow thicket had ceased to sing.

Sean did not move, all senses keenly focused. The abnormal stillness spoke to him. In the bush, game could be frightened by an angered grizzly, an approaching storm, a forest fire or an imminent earthquake. But he didn’t see any bear signs, didn’t smell smoke, and though he expected snow within hours, the sky remained blue and clear. Still, his neck prickled with an acute perception of danger and he shifted his stance with vigilant caution.

Well aware wildlife could sense vibrations in the ground long before people felt an earthquake, Sean dumped his heavy backpack of supplies and sprinted toward the Dog Mush Mine. If a tremor were to hit, he might have only moments to warn Jackson, who was most likely prospecting deep in the cave and unaware of the unusual stillness on the mountain.

A Sitka black-tailed deer bolted past Sean into a stand of white spruce and disappeared behind a hummock. A woodchuck dived for its burrow while a snowshoe hare bounded through the gooseberry bushes. Forcing his feet faster along the steep, well-trod trail, he redoubled his effort to reach his partner. And friend.

Jackson was family, the father he’d never had. Twenty years ago when Sean had been a lost and lonely eight-year-old brat, he’d run away from the very thought of a foster home, and the old prospector had taken him in. At first he’d been afraid of the miner, but he soon learned Jackson’s gruff exterior hid a heart of melted gold nuggets. He’d taken in a hungry and defiant boy, fed him and educated him, given him the tools to make a living.

An eagle wheeled in the sky with a cacophony of cries. With a primal caution, Sean rounded the last bend in the trail, his boots pounding the hard-packed dirt. A bone-chilling gust pummeled him, but as he dashed into the mine past Jackson’s bivouac site, the sheer rock pinnacle cut the wind. An eerie stillness made the hairs on the back of Sean’s hands stand on end.

“Jackson! Get out! You hear me, there’s an—”

Sean skidded to a halt. In the dim light of the mine, two bodies lay in the dirt. He had no trouble spotting Jackson’s yellow Arctic parka.

“Jackson? You okay?”

Heart jackhammering, Sean reached out and touched the old prospector’s neck, searching for a pulse. His body still warm, Jackson didn’t let out so much as a moan. Sean couldn’t find any reassuring evidence of a heartbeat.

No!

He leaned over Jackson, desperate for a sign that he still lived, straining for the slightest whisper of a breath.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

Gently Sean turned the man over. Blood drenched the yellow jacket, soaked into the dirt. And now he knew what had spooked the game.

Death.

No! Not Jackson. Not the man who meant the world to him. It couldn’t be true.

A gaping wound and fresh blood on Jackson’s chest indicated that the old prospector had been stabbed just minutes ago. Sean’s vision clouded with a red rage. Spinning on his heel, he slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the pain in his knuckles, wishing it took his mind off the agony of his loss.

Sean barely glanced at the second body. That Jackson had killed his attacker didn’t satisfy him.

Jackson was the only father Sean had ever known. Unrelated by blood yet bonded by their love of this wild land, the willful boy and the crotchety old prospector had made a family. And now he was gone.

Murdered.

Murdered in the mine he loved.

Jackson’s open eyes were frozen in surprise, horror and pain. The look of a man betrayed.

Sean ached to take out his grief and frustration with his fists. Instead, he ruthlessly quashed his anger, sank onto the floor and cradled his adoptive father’s head on his lap. Rocking, Sean smoothed back Jackson’s hair, gently closed his eyes.

He couldn’t be dead.

But Sean couldn’t deny the truth of the cooling body in his arms.

“I’m sorry, old man. I should have been here sooner. I should have been here when you needed me most.” His eyes filled with tears. He could say no more. Just sat in the cold, rocking Jackson, feeling his warmth slip away and his body grow cold.

Finally, Sean stood on legs grown numb and floated a blanket over the body. Authorities needed to be notified. He pushed his choking grief deep inside and reached for the walkie-talkie clipped onto his belt.

He pressed the talk button, cleared his throat to make the words come out. “Sean to base.”

“Marvin here,” answered the radio operator.

“I’m at the Dog Mush. Jackson’s dead.”

“Come again. Did you say dead?”

“Murdered.” The word tasted bitter in Sean’s mouth.

“I’m sorry. Real sorry. I liked that old man.”

Jackson and Marvin had played poker every Friday night for years. Was Sean imagining the voice choked with tears coming over the radio or did they have poor reception?

“Any sign of who killed him?”

“Looks like Jackson took out the other guy before he died. Send up a couple of men with sleds for the bodies.”

“Roger that. Anything else?”

“Notify the authorities in Fairbanks.”

“Will do. Base out.”

Sean’s attention turned from Jackson to the smaller man who lay unmoving on his back in the dirt, the bloody knife still in his hand. Who was he? He faced away from Sean and a hood partially covered his face, and Sean didn’t recognize the pea-green jacket or the barely broken-in boots. Perhaps his pockets held identification.

Sean knelt beside the murderer, wishing he was still alive—so he could slam a fist into his face, close his hands around his throat and kill him again. If his thoughts were vicious and primitive, at least they were honest. He’d spent eight years in the civilized east, learning that an Italian suit and tie could hide men as vicious and deadly as grizzlies. He preferred the uncrowded mountains, the unpolluted air and the sweat equity of his rough-hewn log cabin to the greedy and callous life in the big cities.

He liked to think of these mountains as pristine and uncontaminated by humanity’s cruelties, a place where man could coexist with nature, not destroy it. Now murder had come to his own neck of the woods, staining the land with a good man’s blood.

And he could do no more than take Jackson’s murderer to the authorities. While leaving the killer’s body on the mountain for carrion to feed on held a certain appeal, Sean knew the police would need to identify the attacker. But with snow coming, it might be days before anyone in an official capacity could reach the town. Once the weather socked in the remote mountain town of Kesky, the only transportation in or out was by dogsled.

Before he changed his mind and left the body to rot, Sean snaked out his hand toward the murderer’s front pocket. What he’d assumed was a corpse snapped to a sitting position, yelled and swiped the knife at his gut.

Sean cursed and with a hunter’s reflexes jerked aside, tumbling away from the weapon. While shock and grief had dulled Sean’s senses, Jackson’s murderer must have been gathering strength and waiting for the opportunity to attack. Sean had broken up enough fights among the miners to know this man was skilled in how to wield a knife or he would stab the weapon—not slice it. Off balance, Sean took a moment longer than he would have liked to recover and scramble upright.

Prepared and agile but unsteady on his feet, his opponent stood and shifted the knife to his right hand. In the dim light, the bloody weapon appeared almost black. The sneaky little bastard was threatening him with the same weapon he had used to murder Jackson.

Relishing his jacked-up senses, Sean felt his adrenaline pump. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, grasping for the attacker’s wrist, grappling for control of the weapon. One quick twist of the captured wrist and the murderer dropped the knife to the dirt and would have spun away if not for Sean’s tight grip.

With his free hand, the man reached into the pea-green jacket, no doubt intent on retrieving another weapon. Like hell would Sean allow that sneaky maneuver. He twisted the surprisingly delicate wrist harder, drawing a grunt of distress.

And received a sharp kick to his shin, an elbow jammed into the ribs. Sean ignored the biting pain. With grim determination, he hung on, using his superior strength and weight to wrestle the other man to the ground.

Together, they toppled, Sean landing on top of a wiry body, straining to escape. He estimated his opponent at five foot nine to five foot ten, no match for his conditioned six foot four. Still the shorter man struggled.

The jacket’s hood fell back and sunny-gold hair spilled across the dirt. What the hell? His hot blood chilled. Sean flipped his opponent over and stared into the face of a woman with eyes as fierce and wary as a cornered fox.

Jackson’s murderer was a woman?

The astonishing revelation of her gender caused him to loosen his grip. That’s all she needed to take advantage. Strong, determined and clearly capable, she rolled away and kicked his feet out from under him. He fell hard, but not without grasping a handful of golden hair, trapping her beside him.

Panting furiously, she looked mad enough to spit bullets, confused enough to make a foolish mistake. She inched her hand inside her jacket.

“Don’t even think it.” He clamped his free hand over her wrist, imprisoning her.

She narrowed eyes that surged with green anger, bewilderment and a hint of fear. Now that he held her trapped, he expected her to plead, cry or beg forgiveness.

Instead she threatened him. “Assaulting a police officer is a federal offense.”

“And what’s murder?” he countered, not buying her claim of being an officer of the law for a millisecond.

“I didn’t—”

“Lady, I walked into this cave and found you next to Jackson.” He fought down the urge to shake her until the lies from her chapped lips ceased. Although she was strong for a female, her neck looked fragile, easy for him to snap. Fighting his own grief, anger and lust for revenge, he sought to tamp down his wildly surging emotions.

“That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“The murder weapon was in your hand.”

“Which hand?”

“The left.”

She glanced at the blood-smeared cuff of her left sleeve. “I’m right-handed.”

She sounded indignant at his accusation, but then what could he expect from a killer? He shrugged away his doubts. “The way you wield that knife, you’re probably ambidextrous. No doubt you’d have liked to kill me, too.”

Her voice was calm and even, as if accustomed to dealing with tough situations. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe her story, not with the evidence right before his eyes.

“I came to and sat up. I didn’t even know the knife was in my hand. Then you attacked.” She stared at him as if she thought he was the one who was confused.

But he wouldn’t be taken in so easily by her innocent demeanor. That’s probably how she’d killed Jackson. He frowned and raised his voice. “You expect me to believe your flimsy explanation?”

At his harsh accusation, her entire body shuddered and slumped. Her eyes rolled to the top of her sockets.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He wanted answers. And she’d either fainted on him or she was an excellent actress. Either way, Sean wasn’t taking any chances. Without relinquishing his grip on her wrist, he perused Jackson’s supplies.

A rabbit snare caught his eye. Perfect. Within moments he’d firmly tied the woman’s hands behind her back. He supposed she wouldn’t like her helpless position much once she came to and discovered that he’d trussed her like a goose—but she should have considered the consequences before she’d killed Jackson. Out here, men took care of their own.

Unwilling to risk any further unpleasant surprises, Sean unzipped her jacket and started to relieve her of the gun she’d reached for. He noted her curves with mechanical efficiency. What a waste. Unconscious, her features relaxed into an attractiveness he might have found appealing if they’d met under other circumstances.

She had unusually symmetrical features, wide-set eyes, angled cheekbones and lightly tanned skin framed by that lion’s mane of golden hair. No wonder she’d taken poor Jackson by surprise. But Sean wouldn’t let that angelic face fool him. His only interest in her womanly curves was to discover where she’d hidden the weapon she’d been so obviously reaching for.

He unzipped her jacket, parted the flap. Beneath her arm, she wore a shoulder harness with a sheathed gun clearly visible. He reached out to take the weapon.

She came to with a groan. Startled, he jerked his hand back, grazing her breast.

She stared at him accusingly—as if he were doing something wrong. “What are you…?”

He watched her arms strain as she discovered her tied wrists, noted the slight widening of her eyes that betrayed a hint of fear. He opened her jacket wider.

She flinched. “Don’t!”

He could have reassured her. But a murderer didn’t deserve courtesy. “I’m taking your gun—before you shoot me.”

Her brows furrowed and a shadow hovered in her sea-green eyes. “Why would I want to shoot you?”

She spoke with such conviction he almost believed in her innocence. But he’d already seen her weapon. And she wouldn’t distract him with clever questions. Reminding himself she was his prisoner, slowly and deliberately, he reached for her weapon. With her hands tied behind her, pulling her arms tight, her gun lay wedged between her arm and her breast. He slid his fingers over the handle of her gun, watching her stiffen as the back of his thumb touched the curve of her breast. He’d sensed how much she’d detested the brush of his fingers. Tough. Letting her keep the weapon wasn’t an option. But he wouldn’t take advantage of her helplessness, either. He would honor Jackson by respecting what the old miner had taught him, and that homespun knowledge included acting the gentleman. He drew the gun out firmly, knowing she thought the worst of him, uncaring whether she believed he was about to harm her.