Dangerous Testimony

LAST WITNESS STANDING

Four weeks before she’s set to testify at a gang murder trial, someone is determined to make sure that Candace Gallagher Andrews never takes the stand. When nowhere is safe for the private investigator or her little girl, Candace turns to the only person she can trust—longtime friend and former navy SEAL Marco Quidel. For Marco, protecting Candace is not just another duty. As the trial date nears and the killer stalks ever closer, Marco knows fear for the first time—the fear of losing Candace and her daughter. But while Marco begins seeing Candace as more than just a friend, her late husband’s memory is never far from her mind. So he must keep Candace alive—and not get emotionally involved—long enough to put away a killer.

He’d never forget that look on her face as she ran to him, away from her attacker.

Beside him, his dog growled and strained, awaiting his command. Shielding Candace, he let the dog go, and Bear hurtled after the attacker. Before he ran, the thug shot them a look that promised revenge.

Marco turned to Candace. The sight of her trembling body cut deep down to his core. I told you I should have come along, he wanted to say. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Instead, he gathered her in his arms, taking her fear and willing it away.

“You’re all right,” he murmured.

“It’s the Pack. They want to kill me.”

He knew when the next logical thought struck her. Her fear turned to complete panic. “Marco, what about my daughter? What if they go after her?”

Every protective nerve in his body firing, he squeezed her closer.

“No one is going to hurt you or her,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”

Not as long as he was alive to prevent it.

Dear Reader,

I have had such a great time writing this series that takes place here on my beloved California coast. It was satisfying to explore the lives and loves of the four Gallagher sisters. Sisters are especially important to me, as I am one of four daughters. I am greatly blessed in that all my sisters live very close and I see them often. They are the people who share my joys and triumphs, and they are also the “3:00 a.m.” people, as I like to call them. They are the folks you can call on in the middle of the night when disaster strikes, and they will be there to help in any way they can. Is there any greater blessing than that? I once heard someone say that friends come and go, but sisterhood lasts from cradle to grave.

I hope you have women like this in your life, dear reader, whether they are friends or sisters. It is a great joy to share this life journey with faithful women who will hold your hand, share your laughter and shoulder your pain.

Thank you again for journeying along with me through this series. As always, I enjoy hearing from my readers. You can find me on various social media spots—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest—but I also have a physical address on my website in case you would like to correspond by mail. Thank you for taking the time to read this book.

God bless you!

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

Dangerous Testimony

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For God hath not given us the spirit of fear;

but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

—2 Timothy 1:7

For those who bravely tend to home and family while their loved ones serve in our military. God bless you all.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

A loud pop.

The flash of the gun.

A man’s body crumpling to the unforgiving cement. Not a man, a boy, barely old enough to shave, by the looks of him. A boy, somebody’s son, gone in the split second it took to pull the trigger. He’d had brown eyes and full cheeks, maybe the kind that dimpled when he smiled, like her daughter Tracy’s. But he would never smile again.

Candace Gallagher Andrews blinked the memory away for the thousandth time. “It’s over,” she told herself fiercely. “He’s dead and they arrested the shooter four months ago, so let it go and do your job, you ninny.”

The incident had left her with a lingering echo of fear, a feeling she detested. After a few slow breaths, she stowed her iPad in her bag, locked the car and straightened her suit jacket. She’d found a parking place three blocks from the college. Though it was broad daylight in a very public place, she hurried anyway, eager to be enveloped by the safety of others. “Maybe you should have let Marco come,” she muttered under her breath. He had all but insisted in that pushy way of his.

Typical Marco. The former navy SEAL and longtime family friend sorted everything and everyone into precisely two camps: friendlies and enemies. She’d made enemies when she agreed to testify against Kevin Tooley, a member of the Wolf Pack, the murderer who’d gunned his rival down right in front of her. But she’d had no choice. If she let the shooter go unpunished, what kind of person was she? What kind of mother? Backing down would not show the honor and courage her husband, Rick, would have modeled for their daughter before his death.

“It’s a presentation at a community college,” she’d proclaimed with some bravado. “I’ll be perfectly safe, and besides, you scare people.”

Marco continued to be a rock in so many ways as things had gone from bad to worse for the Gallaghers. Their father’s death was just the beginning of the family trials as the Gallagher sisters encountered one frightening scenario after another, until the most recent, when Candace had witnessed the shooting outside a gas station. At least her seven-year-old daughter had not been with her. God had spared them that. Tracy’s life had been impacted enough by violence already. Half a world away, in Afghanistan, it had robbed Tracy of her father, and Candace of the only man she’d ever loved—goofy, patient, faithful Rick.

Candace walked the last two blocks, the Southern California sun flushing her cheeks, even in the month of October. Dumb idea to wear a suit jacket in Long Beach, but the tan color complemented her brown eyes and made her feel professional, in the same way mashing her curly hair into a chic twist had done. Teaching a session on investigation techniques to eager criminal justice majors was just the thing to promote the company and keep her mind off the upcoming trial preparations.

It was late morning, and she was surprised to see very few people ambling along. A car crept slowly by, and she froze for moment, clutching her bag, recoiling in spite of herself. Would the tinted glass roll down in a thunderous explosion of bullets? Her heart hammered against her ribs as the window slowly lowered.

“Do you know where the post office is?” the elderly driver asked.

Candace pushed the words through her dry mouth. “Another block down, make a left. You can’t miss it.”

The car drove away, and Candace stood there, breathing hard, feeling ridiculous beyond words. Was this fear ever going to go away? Probably not until the trial was over. She’d just have to do her best to keep it in check. Her sister Angela, who was dealing with PTSD from her service as a navy chaplain in Afghanistan, told her it would take time to heal.

Time Candace would rather spend taking care of Tracy and working as a private investigator.

Nearing the school boosted her confidence. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high. As she crossed the narrow alley, tires squealed and her attention was drawn to a car slamming to a halt, someone flinging the passenger door open. This time it was not her imagination. She vaguely recognized the face, the driver of the car who had stopped just long enough at the gas station to allow his passenger to kill a young boy. He had managed to elude the police.

It was him, all right, and his intent was clear.

Run, her mind screamed. Run or die.

* * *

Marco ground his teeth in frustration. Traffic resulted in such a delay that he’d not been able to insert himself into Candace’s outing to Long Beach.

He shot a glance at the big dog sprawled in the passenger seat, happily oblivious to traffic or anything else. Bear was happily oblivious to most everything, unless he was taking direction from Marco. Then it was another matter entirely for the black-and-tan Malinois. Marco had worked with a fellow SEAL one time who was just like that. Most relaxed guy you’d ever see...unless he was on a mission. Then he was a force to be reckoned with...and surrendered to.

Marco was hungry, and annoyed that Candace had not listened to him. What was it about women that made them constantly disregard his advice? He’d served in eight SEAL Platoons, was platoon chief in five, and awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for Heroism, but could he get any woman anywhere to listen?

And the Gallagher sisters, Sarah, Angela, Donna and now Candace, were trouble magnets. After Sarah’s recent kidnapping and Angela’s life-and-death struggle in Cobalt Cove, he felt like snapping GPS trackers around the Gallagher sisters’ wrists whether they liked it or not. At least Donna had the Coastie keeping an eye on her when he wasn’t on duty, and Sarah had Dominic Jett, a kid with guts enough to be an explosive ordinance technician before he’d gotten injured. And Angela was planning to marry the doctor. Marco huffed. Dr. Dan was okay for a civilian, he had to admit, but still. Wasn’t like the guy had ever handled a grenade launcher or an assault rifle or anything.

Part of him had to smile at the way the Gallaghers bested him on a regular basis. Though he’d never admit it to any of them, he admired their spirit, even though they drove him to distraction.

Creeping along, he finally found street parking opposite the campus and dialed Candace’s cell phone. She didn’t answer.

He sent her a text, big fingers fumbling over the tiny buttons. Here.

No reply, so he reached for the door, hand freezing in place as he caught sight of Candace fleeing down the alley and a dude in baggy pants with a backward baseball cap running after her.

“Bear,” he said, as he leaped from the driver’s seat.

The dog sat up, ears swiveling.

“Time to go to work.”

* * *

Candace sprinted down the alley, which led to a small parking lot behind the school. There had to be a back door where she could get into the building, or a late arriving student whose attention she could attract. Breath coming in pants, she dodged behind a parked compact car and tried to calm her thudding heart so she could listen.

She tried desperately to focus. Had she heard the sound of running feet? She slid a hand in her bag to rummage for her phone, but the cell had slipped to the bottom and she couldn’t lay her fingers on it. Oh, why hadn’t she cleaned out her bag like she’d been meaning to? Should she run to the building or wait for help? Neither option was attractive.

Come on, come on, she pleaded silently. Somebody come along. It’s a public building. Where’s the public? The squeak of sneakers made her skin erupt in goose bumps. Peering under the car, she couldn’t see the location of her pursuer.

A smattering of litter had collected along the periphery of the lot, and a brown rat was padding its way through the mess. In the far corner of the parking lot she heard the familiar beep of a car lock being activated.

Hope rising, she peeked up over the hood to see a tall, lanky young man in a sweat jacket striding toward the building. She ached to call to him, but again the fear left her mute. Stay hidden or get help? Which one, Detective Candace? Seconds ticked by until she let her instincts take over. Darting from behind the car, she ran toward him. “Help,” she yelled. “Help me.”

He did not turn.

“Help!” she cried, throwing aside all attempt at caution, waving her arms and hollering. “Please.”

She realized too late that he had earbuds firmly in place and couldn’t hear her. Her only chance to get to the back door and help was to run toward him and hope her pursuer wouldn’t want to risk dragging others into the situation.

She took off in a sprint. Fueled by terror, she ran faster than she thought she could. Each foot she gained ratcheted her hope a little higher, until the man suddenly detached himself from the shadows, hooked a leg around her ankle and sent her sliding to the asphalt. Her palms hit the ground, the rough surface grinding into them as well as her bare knees. Through the pain, she kicked out, making contact with a shoulder or face—she couldn’t be sure which.

He grabbed her from behind, fingers wound in her disheveled hair, bringing her to her feet and slamming her over the hood of the car.

“You scream, you die,” the man hissed in her ear, his breath sour on her cheek.

He pulled something from his pocket and held it in front of her eyes. With a snick of sound, the switchblade opened. The razor-sharp edge gleamed, and fear cut into her as deeply as the blade soon would.

Stubborn determination bucked like a mule past her panic as she thought of Tracy, her little girl who’d already lost her father. There was no way Candace was going to lie here and get her throat cut without the biggest fight of her life. Rick would have said to resist with her last ounce of strength. She intended to.

Lord, help me, she prayed. Let me go home to my daughter.

Her assailant leaned back slightly. The movement opened a tiny window of opportunity. Before the fear took over completely and paralyzed her, she made one last desperate attempt to save her life.

* * *

Marco jogged down the alley, Bear trotting next to him. They stuck to the shadows, taking it all in. A kid at the far end of the lot had just entered the building, oblivious, sipping coffee from a plastic cup, earbuds no doubt crammed in his ears.

Where are you, Candace?

He didn’t hear the sound, but Bear did. The dog went rigid, tail erect, nose quivering.

Marco gave him the command to “go quiet” and the dog dashed through two rows of parked cars. Marco caught up in time to see Candace rear up off the hood of a parked compact, smashing the back of her head into the face of an attacker. The goon reeled back, hand reflexively going to his bloody nose. It gave her the time she needed to sprint away. The guy spun to catch her again, and Marco saw a switchblade in his hand.

“Here!” he called to Candace as he ran toward her. Wide-eyed with terror, she raced to him. He shoved her behind, his body shielding hers.

Bear was barking wildly now, as the bloody-nosed kid turned to Marco, but the dog had not attacked yet because Marco hadn’t told him to. Not bad for a new trainee. Marco regarded the guy calmly. “Put it down.”

“Uh-uh,” the kid said, hands out, the blade ready in one of them, his gaze darting between Marco and the dog.

Bear barked and lunged forward a step.

“I’ll cut your dog if he comes near me, ’fore I cut you.”

Marco picked up a slender board that was lying against the brick wall. “That would not be wise.” He smiled. “I don’t want my dog to get dirty biting you. I just bathed him.”

“This isn’t your business,” the kid hissed, jerking his head at Candace. “She’s messing with the Pack, and Rico wants her to stop.”

“Ah. So your boss sent you. I didn’t figure you were a decision maker.” Rico was the Pack leader, dangerous, unpredictable and wily. He’d apparently decided to scare Candace off testifying against Kevin Tooley. Marco kept his voice light. “Tell your boss that his boy Kevin is going to prison for that gas station shooting, so he’d better learn to accept it.”

The kid looked nervous now, his knife hand dropping a few inches. Marco waited until Bear barked again, momentarily drawing the kid’s attention. Then he swung the board as if he was Babe Ruth driving one out of the park.

The board impacted the guy’s wrist with a thwack, sending the switchblade pinwheeling through the air, as the thug grabbed his arm and howled in pain. The back door of the school slammed open and a security guard hastened out, shouting into his radio.

Still holding his wrist, Candace’s attacker shot Marco a look that promised revenge, and then took off toward the rear of the parking lot.

“Bear, chase,” Marco said.

The dog tore after the youth, who ran as fast as his baggy pants would allow.

He hurled himself up over the fence, Bear biting madly at his shoe. One sneaker came off, and Bear snatched it up, still barking in a volume that echoed through the whole space.

“Cops are on their way,” the security guard called out. “Need an ambulance?”

Marco turned to Candace. Her face was stricken, body trembling and a bruise developing on her cheekbone, which made him want to take another swing at Shoe Guy.

Her brown eyes were terrified, a sight that cut deep down to his core. I told you I should have come along, he wanted to say. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Instead, he bent and gathered her in his arms, taking her fear and willing it away, thanking God she was alive.

“Gonna be all right,” he murmured, holding her tight.

“Jay Rico wants me dead.” Panic shot through her words. “Marco, what about Tracy? What if he sends people after us both?”

He squeezed her closer, every protective nerve in his body firing on all cylinders. It was a struggle to keep his voice level, calm, when there was a flood of anger roaring through him like a storm-tossed surf.

“No one is going to hurt you or Tracy,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”

TWO

Candace sighed. Resistance was futile. Marco was not about to let her drive back to Coronado by herself.

“We’ll get your car home another way,” he’d proclaimed.

The best she could do was climb into the passenger seat of his truck and cram next to Bear. The dog was chewing a white shoelace as if it was a savory strand of fettuccini.

“Don’t the police want it for evidence?”

Marco shrugged. “They agreed the shoe was enough. No one wanted to persuade him to relinquish the lace.”

“You could command him to.”

“Yeah, but he did good work today and I pay him in kibble, so he deserves a prize. They’ve got the switchblade and the shoe, anyway.”

She gazed out the window as they drove over the Coronado Bridge, back to the gorgeous island that seemed extra welcoming now. The fall sunlight bathed the palm trees in rich hues and she rolled down the window to let in the cool ocean air. It all seemed so much more vibrant, so precious.

Nearly having your throat cut made you appreciate things more, she thought ruefully. Thank You, God, that I’m still here to savor this.

When they drove past the street that led to her bungalow, she shot Marco a look. “Why aren’t you taking me home?”

He had the decency to appear slightly chagrined. “Your mom’s orders. She doesn’t want you staying alone tonight. Tracy’s already camped out in her guest room. She’s right, you know.”

“I want to go home,” Candace said, trying not to sound like a petulant child. “To my house. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t have to do what my mother says anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m thirty-six and I do, so here you are.”

She huffed out a breath. “Did you always do what your mother wanted?”

“Of course.” He was the picture of innocence.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure all moms want their sons to become navy SEALs. She probably wished you’d become an orthodontist.”

He chuckled. “Can you picture me as an orthodontist?”

Marco’s strapping shoulders and massive hands painted him as more of a linebacker type. “Not really. Are you coming in?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

His eyes were the color of toffee with shimmers of copper in them. They had always fascinated Candace, because she couldn’t understand what went on behind them. She knew he was keeping his plans from her, and further, she knew it would do no good to try and pry them out of him. He would or would not share at the proper time. Now he was also plotting ways to ensure her safety from Jay Rico and his Pack, no doubt.

She reached over Bear and touched Marco’s biceps, rock hard under the tight material of his T-shirt. So warm. Even on the coldest days. The electric buzz it awakened in her nerves confused her. She wanted to both prolong the touch and back away at the same time. She laced her fingers in her lap. “Marco, thank you.” She sucked in a breath. “You were right.”

His mouth quirked. “Hold on. Let me get my phone. Can you say that again so I can record it?”

“I mean it. I should have listened to you. The Pack really is determined to scare me away from testifying against Kevin Tooley next month.”

He waited a beat. “Have they succeeded?”

A long moment passed while she considered her scraped knees, the glitter of the switchblade in her attacker’s hand, the hot flush of panic, the moment when she’d thought she might not live to see her daughter again. What followed was an explosion of anger in her soul, a solidification of her resolve, like cement hardening. Rick had always said she was a pussycat with tiger stripes.

“No one is going to frighten me into backing down.”