Last Chance Hero

No. Not possible. It can’t be him...

Jordynn Flannigan was sure her fiancé was dead—along with all their dreams for a future together. But the stranger who just saved her from a kidnapper is none other than Donovan Grady, who supposedly died ten years ago. Now his enemies have found Jordynn, and he’s not going anywhere without her by his side—and under his dangerously close protection...

Donovan had to disappear to save those he loved. He can’t ask for Jordynn’s forgiveness, but he can keep her safe while they unravel an insidious conspiracy. As their reignited passion proves too hot to resist, the truth strikes devastatingly close to home. And their second chance might prove the most deadly trap of all.

“If you think I’m going to keep your secret, Donovan, you’ve got another think coming.”

“If you don’t, everyone we’ve ever cared about will be in danger.”

“Let me guess. You want me to trust you about that, too.”

“Yes.”

Jordynn met his gaze with a challenging glare. “Is that your plan, then? Return from the dead, save my life, then just assume I’ll fall into place?”

“My plan is to get you out of here before it’s too late.”

Donovan slid one of his hands to her back and found her wrist, intent on just taking the phone. But at the contact, a responding heat slid to his palm. It flowed through his forearm and out, searing his heart and drawing full attention to how close together they stood. Just inches apart, in fact.

Donovan’s fingers were on the phone, its cool exterior a sharp contrast to the warmth everywhere else. But he couldn’t actually make himself take it. He couldn’t even move. A decade apart, and still Jordynn’s touch set him on fire.

* * *

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Dear Reader,

When I first came up with the idea for Last Chance Hero, I was actually envisioning a short story with a horror vibe. I pictured a woman coming home alone to find signs of an intrusion—little things that only she would know that signaled her house has been disturbed. I had the whole scenario mapped out in my head. I pictured her walking up her driveway, an ominous feeling building in her chest. The lighting would have to be perfect—dim and spooky, with just a hint of color from the moon above. And as with most scary tales, the heroine realizes a second too late that she should’ve trusted her instincts.

The imaginary opening played out in my head again and again, never feeling quite right until I realized my heroine wasn’t alone in the fight for her life. A damaged hero was waiting on the sidelines, prepared to come to her aid the moment she needed it.

The hero, of course, became Donovan Grady, damaged and needing redemption. The heroine grew into Jordynn Flannigan. And from the moment Donovan jumped in, I knew that instead of finding a ghost around the corner, Jordynn would find something far more nerve-racking—a second chance at first love.

As always, I hope my story keeps you on the edge of your seat, makes your heart race a little faster and leaves you with a smile on your face.

Melinda

Last Chance Hero

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Amazon bestselling author MELINDA DI LORENZO writes in her spare time—at soccer practices, when she should be doing laundry and in place of sleep. She lives on the beautiful west coast of British Columbia, Canada, with her handsome husband and her noisy kids. When she’s not writing, she can be found curled up with (someone else’s) good book.

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For all those who believe everyone deserves

a second chance.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Extractt from Tough Justice: Countdown (Part 1 of 8) by Carla Cassidy

Extract from Colton’s Secret Son by Carla Cassidy

Copyright

Prologue

From his spot on the hotel balcony, Corey “the Nose” Waller watched as the guy in the ball cap smiled at the courier, who handed over a slim envelope. He’d had Ball Cap under close surveillance for a week now, and the man’s unflappable politeness was making the Nose itch. Tipping coffee servers. Holding the door open for old men. Chasing after some young mother when her baby lost his shoe in a puddle and the woman didn’t notice.

“Do-gooder,” the Nose muttered, pulling the binoculars away from his face for a disgusted second.

Over twelve months of solid tracking, and he could scarcely believe this was the man who’d fooled his employers for the past decade. Someone who had—just this morning—returned a damned hundred-dollar bill to a guy who walked away from an ATM without it. But the Nose had earned his nickname well; his bloodhound abilities were rarely wrong. Everything had led him here. All he needed now was proof.

He lifted the binoculars back up. The courier was laughing at something Ball Cap had said. He gave the other man a friendly slap on the shoulder. The Nose rolled his eyes. Two minutes in and they were best friends. Awful. A whole other minute of chatting went by before the courier finally turned to go. Ball Cap, though, continued to stand in the street, holding the envelope up to the light.

“C’mon,” the Nose urged. “Open it up where I can see you do it.”

He said it partly because it would be easier to report the proof that way. But mostly, he just plain wanted to ruin Ball Cap’s day. Inject a little misery into all that kindness.

The Nose waited patiently, counting up. He only made it as far as twenty-seven before he got his wish. The other man slipped his thumb to the seal and forced the envelope open. He reached in, pulled out the thin sheet inside, then lifted his eyes. And even though the Nose knew he was too far away to be seen, he could feel Ball Cap searching him out. He made himself ignore the feeling, and continued to watch.

The other man was clearly affected by what he’d seen. Trying not to panic, maybe. His eyes flicked up and down the street. Seeing nothing, he shifted from foot to foot, tapping the envelope and its contents on his knee.

The Nose smiled to himself. That’s right. Twitch, you big suck. Go back inside and hide some more. Make your getaway plan.

Satisfied that his search had come to an end, he started to lower the binoculars. Then stopped. Ball Cap had started to move, but he didn’t turn to go back into his apartment. Instead, he took off down the street at a dead run.

“Crap.”

The Nose dug into his pocket in search of his phone. He hit speed dial one. A deep, already angry voice answered on the second ring.

“What?”

The Nose didn’t bother to hide his concern. “I think we’re gonna have a problem. He’s on the run.”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yeah. You want me to go after him?”

There was a pause. “No. He knows we’ve got him now. He’ll stay hidden and he’s too good at it.”

“What, then?”

Another pause. “Just a sec.”

The Nose tapped his thigh impatiently as the phone became muffled. What the hell could be more important than this? A few moments later, he got the answer.

A new voice—more refined and calmer than the first—came on the line. “Mr. Waller?”

Puzzled to hear his own name, he answered carefully. “Yeah?”

“Corey ‘the Nose’ Waller?”

“Yeah.” He was impatient now. “Who’s this?”

“The man calling the shots.”

The Nose swallowed, suddenly very nervous. “Uh...”

“You’ve done a fine job finding the target.”

“Thank you.”

“Now I need you to do something else for us. For me.”

The Nose cleared his throat. “Okay.”

“Go after the girl.”

“Me? I’m not much of a—”

“You are now. How far away are you?”

“Few hours by car.”

“Good. You should have more than enough time.”

The Nose tried again to protest. “I really don’t—”

“You’re fast and efficient and she won’t be expecting you. Make it scary. I want her terrified.”

“Not...dead?”

A cool laugh came from the other end. “No. I want him. I can use him. And if we have her, he’ll come straight to us.”

Chapter 1

As the bus wheezed around the second-to-last corner before her stop in her hometown of Ellisberg, Oregon, Jordynn Flannigan’s phone buzzed to life in her pocket. She yanked it out and stared down at the flashing screen.

New Message from: Sasha.

She checked the time.

4:17 a.m.

Jordynn swiped her finger across the screen, wondering what her best friend could possibly want at this time of the morning. If it could even be called morning yet. Outside, the streetlights still glowed, and just a minute or so earlier, she’d seen a flash of the nearly full moon, as well. You up? Sasha had texted.

I am. But I have a good excuse. What about you?

Don’t ask. Incident with a crayon up the nose. My fave four-year-old was sleep coloring or something. Thought I’d check in. You okay?

Jordynn’s fingers were quick to reply. She smiled as she pictured her friend’s son.

Sounds like a typical night in your house. And I’m fine.

The response came almost instantaneously.

You sure? Uncle Reed said you refused to let him give you a ride home earlier. Sane people avoid the bus.

She smiled again. Sasha’s uncle Reed, who had been her friend’s guardian since they were teens, also owned the private care facility where Jordynn worked. He often went above and beyond in the role. In fact, with her own parents gone—her dad before she was born and her mom just two years earlier—everyone in Sasha’s family kind of filled the void. Her two kids were like a niece and nephew, her husband like the brother Jordynn never had, and her uncle definitely saw himself as a surrogate parent. Sasha took it as meddling, but Jordynn didn’t mind the support.

Tell Reed I’m fine. I just worked a few extra hours tonight.

Uh-uh. No way. I’m not going to be the one to break his heart by telling him you’re trying hard to exhaust yourself.

At that, Jordynn laughed. It was true that Reed coddled her a little at work, but she could hardly feel any resentment. And in spite of his preferential treatment, she never took advantage.

It’s nice that he cares. Too bad none of his sweetness got passed down to you.

If you could see me, you’d know I’m rolling my eyes. Hard.

If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got the rest of the weekend off.

I’d kill for a weekend off. But...you know...kids.

There was the briefest pause, then another text came through.

You sure you’re okay?

Jordynn tapped the side of the phone for a second, thinking about what to say. She knew why her friend was asking. The date had glared at her all day from the tear-away calendar on the nurses’ station at work.

After a moment, though, she sighed and wrote,

Totally fine. Really. I’m just going to go home, go to bed, and not get up for at least ten hours.

There was a delay in Sasha’s reply, and she wondered if her friend was thinking about calling her out for her brush-off. But when the answer finally came, it was a five-word acceptance instead of a demand for her true feelings.

All right. Good night, BFF.

Jordynn tucked her phone back into her pocket as the bus lumbered to a halt.

Truthfully, she’d spent her shift alternating between being short-tempered and ready to tear up at any given moment. But she’d promised herself she’d get through it. And she had. She’d gone the full twenty-four hours without actually crying, and without letting the ache in her chest overwhelm her.

She supposed that was probably why she felt so tense now. The lack of emotional release, coupled with the utter exhaustion brought on by three hours of overtime tacked on to an already twelve-hour shift—almost all of it on her feet—was definitely a recipe for a bad state of mind. She was so much more than ready for her own split-level house. For her hideous, bunny-eared slippers and her cushy, oversize robe. She doubted she’d ever been so glad for a week to be over.

Still, she couldn’t quite shake a strange sense of worry at the thought of walking the two and a half blocks from the stop to her two-bedroom rancher.

Don’t let it win, she ordered silently.

She refused to give in to the melancholy and let herself think about the past. To wallow in the things she couldn’t change. Not even today, on the tenth anniversary of the day her life had become forever altered.

But as she pushed open the hydraulic doors and stepped into the chilly predawn air, her unease grew stronger. She pulled her thin coat a little tighter across her chest and glanced around quickly. The streets were empty, as was to be expected at this time of night. The neighborhood wouldn’t wake for an hour or more, and for now, the houses sat still, dark and quiet. Nothing unusual. Nothing to make her fingers shake the way they were.

Jordynn increased her pace anyway. And as her feet hit the ground, the bad feeling increased with a vengeance. It was compounded by the fact that the ring—the one she kept on a long chain around her neck—felt suddenly heavy. And the way it pressed into her sternum under her scrubs made the pressure in her chest that much more stifling. Cooler than her skin and far more unyielding, too. And when a single streetlight directly above her head flickered off, bathing her in momentary darkness, she almost turned to ran back and try to flag down the bus again.

You’ll feel better when you get home, she told herself.

But oddly, the closer she got to her house, the worse she felt. By the time she’d crossed the first two blocks, her heart had started to race with worry. And when she hit the end of her own block and put her driveway in view, her feet didn’t want to move another step. With a dry mouth, she pushed one shoe forward. Then the other. She made it to the very edge of the stone steps that led from the lawn to her front patio. And the next few steps wouldn’t come. Because Jordynn spotted a true reason to be concerned.

The light on her porch—the one she always left on—was gone. Not turned off. Not burned out. Gone completely. The bulb and the vintage case that gave it the unmistakable orange hue were both missing.

Her eyes flicked around in a vain search for a logical explanation. She found nothing. Not even shattered glass on the ground.

It wasn’t an accident.

As the realization hit her, Jordynn took a step back, fumbling to reach for the phone in her jacket. Her hand didn’t even get as far as her pocket before her back hit something solid.

Not something. Someone.

It took her a second too long to figure it out. Quicker than she could even get out a whimper, a hand slammed over her mouth. A rough, distinctly masculine palm.

She fought to get away, twisting, and dropping her purse and all its contents as she tried to throw an elbow into his stomach. The man bent away easily, and his hand stayed in place. She made another attempt to free herself, this time driving her foot backward. It was a futile move. Her shoe tumbled to the ground, and her sock slid uselessly off his pants. And suddenly, she was pressed against him, her arms pinned to her sides.

“Move again, and die,” warned a gruff voice. “Scream, and die. In fact, do anything I don’t like...and die.”

But the three-part warning wasn’t even necessary. Because when he eased away, the cold tip of a blade digging into the small of her back provided motivation enough. She held very still, praying that all he wanted was her money. Her silent hope went unmet.

The rough hand came down, and a heartbeat later, a cloth took its place. Her assailant shoved the fabric between her teeth, then back farther. Jordynn wanted to gag, and fought the urge. She didn’t dare make a sound. But as he forced her hands behind her back and lashed them together with a plastic tie, she couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes and spilling over to her cheeks.

Will it make him mad? she wondered. Is crying something he doesn’t like?

A few seconds later, it didn’t matter anyway. Her attacker slipped a hood over her head, covering up the evidence of her near-silent sobs. Then he spun her around and gave her a little shove, and Jordynn realized why he’d covered her face. He was going to take her somewhere, and she wouldn’t stand a chance of knowing a thing about how they got there.

“Walk,” the man growled.

Jordynn tried to obey him, but with the tears coming even harder, and the choking sensation growing worse, disorientation reigned. When she lifted her foot, it caught on one of the pathway stones. She stumbled, just enough to send her to her knees.

Above her, the man holding the knife snarled.

A chance. This is a chance.

But it wasn’t. The moment she managed to get to her knees, thick fingers landed on top of the hood. He gripped it together with her hair and dragged her back. She hollered against the gag in her mouth. Muffled. Pointless.

I’m going to die. I moved and I screamed and he didn’t like it and—

The wild thoughts cut off as a snarl reached her ears. She was sure it hadn’t come from the man who held her, because he went still, then released her abruptly. Jordynn fell sideways, slamming to the grass and knocking off the hood, giving her a clear view of the strange scene unfolding in front of her. First, a flash of movement caught her eye. Then, from up the walkway—and she could almost swear the figure had come from inside her house—a distinctly human form flew toward her and her assailant. It flew straight into the man holding her, and he let out a yell as he was knocked sideways.

And now there were two men in her yard instead of one. The first was on the ground. He was short and whip-thin, his furious face angular and almost birdlike. The second was on one knee, and he was just the opposite—a bear of a man, with a square, beard-dusted jaw. He wore a ball cap pulled low, and under its edges, Jordynn could just see a curl of sandy hair. As he pushed to his feet, his muscles strained against his fitted T-shirt.

When the first intruder stood, the second one lifted his face up under the cap, and Jordynn thought there was something familiar in his gaze. And strangely, the flash of familiarity actually sent a pleasant tingle up her spine. After a second of staring at her, he dipped his hat down, obscuring his features. And for some reason, that just made her want to see more of him. It surprised her to realize it. Checking out men was low down on her to-do list. Nevertheless, there was no denying his appeal. The strength in his tense jaw. The fullness of his lips. The raw power in his physique. Even in the very dim light, she could see how attractive he was.

And in spite of the fact that Jordynn didn’t know who he was, and even though she knew she ought to be more than a little frightened about what he was doing outside her home in the first place, the all-over tingle became an unexpected—and unwanted—buzz.

She swallowed nervously.

Then he lifted his head again, the baseball hat tipping back to expose his face. He took a small step forward, and Jordynn’s breath caught in her throat. She knew why he seemed familiar. And why she felt such a strong, singular attraction to him.

The man standing in front of her looked enough like the man she loved—the man she’d lost a decade ago, today—that they could’ve been brothers. He was bigger. Way bigger. Older, too. And there was something darker and more guarded in the way he held himself than she’d ever seen from the man who’d given her the ring that she wore around her neck.

But the eyes...

Jordynn swallowed again, swaying a little on her feet. That warm, mesmerizing hazel that picked up the glow of the moon and reflected it back... She’d never seen the shade on anyone else.

But it can’t be him.

Her mind had to be playing the cruelest of tricks on her. Because the man Jordynn loved had died ten years earlier.

* * *

Jordynn Jean Flannigan.

For a minute that lasted a lifetime, Donovan Grady couldn’t do more than stare into her eyes, watching the heart-wrenching fear play through them. His guilt held him as fast as his awe.

His plan had just been to check on her from afar. To assure himself she was alive and well, but not to give her a chance to recognize him. For some reason, he hadn’t really thought about what would happen if she did. If his suspicions became fruitful—as they had—forcing him to get close and giving him no choice but to interact.

Maybe you just wanted so badly to be wrong that you didn’t consider the consequences.

Now that it had happened, the sight of her in the moonlight floored him. It sent thoughts of caution to the very back of his mind.

He waited for her to whisper his name. Or cry it out in confusion. Instead, she stood very still. Too still. Not showing a single emotion.

Maybe she doesn’t know you.

The idea cut into him.

Of course, he knew he looked a lot different than he had ten years ago. Two inches taller. Eighty pounds heavier. Hell, he hadn’t been more than nineteen when his world had changed forever. Barely a man. It wasn’t just the sudden, belated growth spurt, either. A decade away—a decade of pretending to be someone else—had changed him. Inside and out.

Still. He would’ve been able to pick her out of a crowd of a thousand. A crowd of a million. He’d held her face in his mind every night for the past decade. That didn’t mean she’d done the same. He hadn’t even wanted her to hang on to his memory.

He tore his eyes away from hers, but only succeeded in moving his gaze to the rest of her face.

Ten years had turned her from the pretty eighteen-year-old girl he remembered to a ravishing twenty-eight-year-old woman. Still naturally beautiful, still clean-scrubbed and makeup free. Still perfect. It left him tongue-tied, every part of him frozen. Except his pulse, which raced through his body with long-buried desire. From his spot just a few feet away, he just stood and appreciated the sight of her. The fiery cascade of her red, red hair and the subtle curves of her athletic build. Her sky blue eyes, and the curve of her lips—that he knew to be as soft and warm and tempting as silk—working furiously against a piece of cloth that had been jammed into her mouth.