A Time To Protect

He slid a hypodermic needle out of his pocket and inserted it into the mayor’s IV line, his thumb pushing whatever was in the cylinder into the life-giving fluids.

Chloe realized she’d have to handle this herself and hoped the guard would show up soon. “Hey!” She dashed into the room, knocked the needle away, then hit the IV pump switch marked Off, at the same time thrusting her leg out and hitting the intruder with a dropkick. The blow seemed to glance off as the attacker rose in one lithe movement.

“What did you put in there?”

He swung at her, aiming the needle. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

FAITH AT THE CROSSROADS: Can faith and love sustain two families against a diabolical enemy?

A TIME TO PROTECT–Lois Richer (LIS#13)

THE DANGER WITHIN–Valerie Hansen (LIS#15)

THROUGH THE FIRE–Sharon Mignerey (LIS#17)

IN THE ENEMY’S SIGHTS–Marta Perry (LIS#19)

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL–Terri Reed (LIS#21)

HEARTS ON THE LINE–Margaret Daley (LIS#23)

LOIS RICHER

Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word.

“I’m a bookaholic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”

Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential.

“In my stories, as in my own life, God has a way of making all things beautiful. Writing a love story is my way of reinforcing my faith in His ultimate goodness toward us—His precious children.”

A Time to Protect

Lois Richer

MILLS & BOON

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Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Lois Richer for her contribution to the FAITH AT THE CROSSROADS series.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way which you should go: I will counsel you with my eye upon you.

—Psalms 32:8

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Brendan Montgomery—The FBI agent was assigned to protect nurse Chloe Tanner from the would-be assassin who’d already made one attempt on the mayor’s life. But protecting his heart from the single mom and her charming kids is his toughest mission yet….

Chloe Tanner—Nothing was more important to this single mom than her kids’ safety, so having the FBI move into the living room was a necessary precaution. But while Brendan’s presence eased their fears, he put Chloe’s senses on high alert….

Maxwell Vance—The mayor of Colorado Springs. Was he shot because of his strong anti-drug stance, or was there something more sinister going on in his city?

Alessandro Donato—Max’s nephew-by-marriage, Alessandro received a call about the mayor’s shooting moments before it was announced on television…but why was an accountant for the European Union notified before the immediate family?

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Colorado Springs, the town of the fictional Vance and Montgomery families. A Time To Protect is a story of faith. FBI agent Brendan Montgomery is assigned to protect nurse Chloe Tanner against a faceless attacker determined to kill her. Brendan’s faith in God is something Chloe admires, but as she struggles to understand God’s love, she also has to learn how to trust again.

As you read about Chloe’s struggle to regain her faith in God and people, I hope you’ll be challenged to test your own faith, to press deeper into the love God has for you. I wish you much joy, a double portion of love and the peace that comes from knowing God’s perfect love is always there, always waiting to comfort you.

Blessings,

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

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Brendan Montgomery switched his beeper to vibrate and slid it back inside his shirt pocket. Nothing was going to spoil Manuel DeSantis Vance’s first birthday party—and this large Vance and Montgomery gathering—if he could help it.

Peter Vance’s puffed-out chest needed little explanation. He was as formidable as any father proudly displaying his beloved child. Peter’s wife, Emily, waited on Manuel’s other side, posing for the numerous photographs Yvette Duncan insisted posterity demanded. Posterity was greedy.

Judging by the angle of her camera, Brendan had a hunch Yvette’s lens side-tracked from the birthday boy’s parents to the cake she’d made Manuel. Who could blame her? That intricate train affair must have required hours to create and assemble. By the size of his dark brown eyes, little Manuel obviously appreciated her efforts.

“Make sure you don’t chop off their heads this time, Yvette.”

Former mayor Frank Montgomery had opinions on everything in Colorado Springs. Fancying himself Yvette’s mentor, he’d never been shy about offering her his opinion, especially on all aspects of picture-taking. But since Yvette’s camera happened to be the latest in digital technology and Frank had never owned one, Brendan figured most of his uncle’s free advice was superfluous and probably useless. Still, he wouldn’t be the one to tell him so.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Frank,” Yvette ordered, adjusting the camera. “Just put your arm around your wife. Liza, can you get him to smile?”

After so many years of marriage, Liza knew exactly how to coax Frank’s smile with just a whisper. Satisfied, Yvette motioned for Manuel’s godparents, Dr. Robert Fletcher and his wife Pamela, and their two sons, to line up behind the birthday boy. Then she began snapping.

Brendan judged more than heads would be missing in her photos, digital technology notwithstanding. Before he said something he shouldn’t, he eased his way into the living room. A horde of family members lounged around the room, heads tilted forward, focused on a news report on the big-screen TV.

“Alistair Barclay, the British hotel mogul now infamous for his ties to the La Mano Oscura drug cartel, died today in jail under suspicious circumstances. Barclay was accused of running a branch of the notorious crime syndicate right here in Colorado Springs. The drug cartel originated in Venezuela under the direction of kingpin Baltasar Escalante, whose private plane crashed a year ago while he was attempting to escape the CIA. Residents of Colorado Springs have worked long and hard to free their city from the grip of crime—”

“Hey, guys, this is a party. Let’s lighten up.” Brendan reached out and pressed the mute button among a plethora of groans. “You can listen to the newscast later, but we don’t want to spoil Manuel’s party with talk of drug cartels and death, do we?”

His brother, Quinn, winked and took up his cause. “Yeah, what’s happened with that cake anyway? Are we ever going to eat it? I’m starving.”

“So is somebody else, apparently.” Yvette appeared in the doorway, her flushed face wreathed in a grin. “Manuel already got his thumb onto the railway track and now he’s covered in black icing. His momma told him he had to wait ’til the mayor gets here though, so I guess you’ll just have to do the same, Quinn.”

A good-natured groan went up from the group.

“Maxwell Vance has been late ever since he got elected into office,” Fiona Montgomery said, her eyes dancing with fun. “Maybe one of us should give him a call and remind him we’re waiting. I’m willing to do it.”

“Leave the mayor alone, Mother.” Brendan shared a grin with his brother. “Max already knows your opinion on pretty much everything.”

Both Brendan and Quinn were well aware Fiona’s impatience had nothing to do with eating that cake. She simply couldn’t wait to watch Manuel open his gifts. Their mother was a sucker for any toy that moved and made a lot of noise. He and Quinn had often joked that whichever of them got married and had children first was going to have to curb Fiona of her penchant for shopping in the toy department. So far, neither of them had to worry.

“It may be that the mayor has been delayed by some important meeting.” Alessandro Donato spoke up from his seat in the corner. “This is the time when city councilors and mayors iron out their budgets, yes?”

“But just yesterday I talked to our mayor about that, regarding a story I’m doing on city finances.” Brendan’s cousin Colleen sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair tied back into the eternal ponytail she favored. “Mayor Max said they hadn’t started yet.”

Something about the way Alessandro moved when he heard Colleen’s comment set a nerve in Brendan’s neck to twitching, enough to make him take a second look at the man. Moving up through the ranks of the FBI after his time as a Colorado Springs police officer had only happened because Brendan paid attention to that nerve. Right now it was telling him to keep an eye on the tall, lean fellow named Alessandro, even if he was Lidia Vance’s nephew.

Something about Alessandro didn’t quite fit. Brendan wasn’t sure why he thought that, but it might have had to do with the fact that Alessandro was more European than American and took pains to show it.

Brendan closed his eyes and let his brain click through its mental files until he was reminded of what he did know about this family member.

Alessandro Donato said he was an accountant for the European Union, claimed he was working on some hush-hush business deal in Colorado Springs. Peter and Travis Vance were his cousins, but on the two occasions Brendan had spoken to them, both men seemed slightly wary of Alessandro, as if they didn’t quite trust him. Yet they barely knew him. So why—

A phone rang. Brendan chuckled when everyone in the room immediately checked their pockets. His grin faded when Alessandro spoke into his. Immediately the other man’s face paled, his body tensed. He murmured one word then listened.

“Hey, something’s happening! Turn up the TV, Brendan.” Everyone was staring at the screen where a reporter stood in front of City Hall.

Brendan raised the volume.

“Mayor Maxwell Vance was apparently on his way to a family event when the shot was fired. Excuse me, I’m getting an update.” The reporter lifted one hand to press the earpiece closer. “I’m now told that there may have been more than one shot fired. At this moment Maxwell Vance is on his way to the hospital. Witnesses say he was bleeding profusely from his head, perhaps also his chest, though that has not been confirmed. We’ll update you as the situation develops.”

Max’s children gathered around their mother as Lidia collapsed. Sons Peter, Travis and Sam began organizing who would be driving which family members to the hospital while Lucia, Jessica, Emily and Tricia decided who would stay home with the kids.

Brendan caught movement from the corner of his eye, saw Alessandro flip his phone closed and tuck it into his pocket. The other man rose and Brendan followed him, blocking his escape.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked, only then realizing that Alessandro hadn’t even glanced at the television before leaving.

“Excuse me. I have just received a phone call from a friend telling me about the attack on the mayor.”

“What else did they tell you, Alessandro?” He pinned the man with his coldest look, one he usually reserved for criminals he was interrogating.

“I only know the mayor was shot twice. No one seems to have seen whoever did it. My aunt needs me. I have to go. Excuse me.” Alessandro sidestepped him, made his apology to Yvette, then slipped out of the room.

Brendan watched him go with mounting suspicion. He was hiding something. But what? And why?

The jiggle of his own beeper sidetracked his thoughts. He tugged it out of his pocket. The number displayed was his office. He moved into a nearby bedroom, closed the door and flipped open his own cell phone.

“Montgomery. Yeah, I heard. One shot or two?”

“Two. One to the head. The other just missed his heart.”

So Alessandro’s source had been at the scene? “Sounds professional.”

“You think?” His boss’s voice brimmed with sarcasm. Duncan Dorne never minced words. “I thought we had this town cleaned up and now this happens. I want to know what’s going on, Brendan, and I want to know it yesterday. Take a good look at the scene, see if you can find somebody who knows anything, then get to the hospital. He regains consciousness and you’re the first one in there. Got it? This is top priority.”

“Okay, Duncan. I’m on it.”

Brendan managed to slip away from the house without much of an explanation. His family knew his job demanded his time at all hours—they even expected him to be called away from family functions. But nobody could have expected a hit on the mayor.

The nerve in his neck was really twitching now.

Something in this town was wrong and Brendan had an awful feeling that Maxwell Vance had been right: The folks in Colorado Springs couldn’t afford to become complacent just because they’d ousted one crime syndicate. Brendan knew from hard experience that there were plenty of others just waiting to get a foothold and continue the dirty business of drugs and weapons transport, among other things.

Brendan shifted into third, pulled past a group of joyriding teens and headed for downtown. Whatever was going on, he’d figure it out. He had to.

There was no way he was letting any organized crime syndicate back into his town. Not if he could stop it.

So they’d ordered Alistair’s death, gotten rid of him because he was of no more use—like garbage that needed to be tossed away.

Not a single tear betrayed the inner turmoil or sheer fury that flared inside. But like a steel shaft, revenge penetrated, burning away any inhibitions that might have caused a change in course. Alistair Barclay would be avenged.

The car engine roared, the town disappeared, for now. But not for long. Justice must be done, retribution paid. They thought they were so smart, self-righteous and smug. They thought they were immune, just as he thought it. Little did any of them know they were merely cogs in a wheel of reprisal that would crush them.

Only then would Alistair be avenged.

Maybe, then, this horrible aching pain would subside.

Chapter One

Chole Tanner checked the mayor’s vital signs once more, noted them on the chart, then walked out of the room to collect a new IV drip bag from her cart in the hall, intending to exchange it for the nearly empty one. A hand reached around her, fingers clamped over her wrist.

“You’re not a nurse. What are you doing?”

A man appeared in front of her and he was not the middle-aged guard named Sid who’d been seated by the door of the mayor’s room. This man was tall, at least six feet, with the kind of hair she privately labeled “beach boy”—mussed, light brown with golden streaks that reflected the light and made him look as if he’d just left his surfboard and the sand behind.

Mostly it was his green eyes that fascinated her, frozen bits of emerald that echoed the frost in his voice. “I asked you a question.”

A reporter trying to get a story? She glared at him.

“This is an intensive care unit, sir. You are not authorized to be here. I’ll have to ask you to leave.” She stood her ground, her fingers still gripping the bag of fluid, his hand still clasping her wrist. “Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere and you’ll have a tough time throwing me out, honey.” He grinned, a slow easy smirk that annoyed her intensely.

“You think so?” Chloe assessed him. Look for the weak spot. In two seconds she’d brought down her other hand in a crack across his wrist and broken his grip. A quick twist of her foot against his knee and he was on the floor.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” she said quietly, staring at him spread-eagled on the hard white tile, “I have a job to do and the mayor needs new fluids. So please leave or I’ll have you removed.”

She thought he’d be embarrassed. Most men would be. But this one rose to his feet lithely, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Hey, you’re good!” He dusted off his pants with a chuckle. “But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Who are you, anyway?”

“Chloe Tanner, nurse.” She pointed to her name tag, but realized it wasn’t attached because she was wearing scrubs. “A patient was sick on me and I didn’t have time to do much more than pull these on.” She waited for him to leave. “Visitors are not allowed in Intensive Care. Not today.”

“I know.” He pulled out his badge, showed her his ID. “Brendan Montgomery. FBI. Can you tell me how the mayor is?”

“No, I can’t.” She hung on to his badge when he would have pulled it away and gave it a thorough scrutiny. Sid’s police presence in the ward had made her edgy. “Nice badge, I suppose. But it doesn’t say you have any authorization to be on this floor, Mr. Montgomery. We were specifically warned by the police not to allow anyone up here who isn’t on their list. I’ve memorized that list—you’re not there.”

“Anything wrong?” Sid had risen, laid one hand on his holster.

“Everything’s fine, Sid. You weren’t expecting anyone else, were you? FBI, maybe?” Chloe saw his negative response and handed back the badge. “I didn’t think so. You, sir, will have to leave. For information about the patient talk to the doctors or the front office. Now if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, but I do mind, Miss Tanner.” He stood in front of her—tall, muscular, disturbing. A tiny smile flicked up one corner of his lips. “I certainly do mind.” One hand stretched out, then retracted as if he were afraid she’d grab it again. “What color do you call your hair?”

“My hair?” Without thinking, she touched the top of her head, felt the ponytail still securely tied. “Auburn, but I can’t imagine why it matters. And it’s Mrs. Tanner.”

“Mrs.?” He frowned as if he’d come upon something smelly and distasteful. “Tanner. For some reason that sounds familiar. What does your husband do?”

“Not visit his family,” she muttered without thinking.

“Sorry?” That quizzical look covered his suntanned face again.

Chloe regrouped.

“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Montgomery. I’m divorced, so I no longer know nor care what my ex-husband does.” She couldn’t believe she’d told him that. To regain her composure she bent over and retrieved the IV bag. “Much as I’d like to continue this discussion, I have other patients to see to, and an IV to change.”

She turned her back on him, made the transfer and walked back out to the hall with the empty bag, slightly relieved that the mayor’s guard was there. If anything happened that she couldn’t handle, at least Sid had a gun.

Her nemesis waited outside the room, watching.

“Look, buddy, I don’t care if you’re the president, you’re not permitted to be here until someone tells me differently. You’ll have to leave. Now.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m checking into what happened to the mayor. It’s my job. You can call the administrator and you’ll find I have clearance to come and go as necessary, which means that it’s okay for me to be here.”

“You need to understand that looking after this unit is my job and I’m not going to let anyone who’s not supposed to be here on my ward. I’m calling security.” Chloe strode to the desk, called and asked about her stubborn visitor. A ripple of frustration washed over her. He was who he said he was. And he was allowed to be on her floor, guarding her patient. “Thanks,” she mumbled into the phone. She felt like a fool.

She was tired and grumpy because someone had called in sick and the ward was shorthanded again, but most of all she was embarrassed that she’d harassed him—and she’d knocked down an FBI agent! Why hadn’t he told her the truth to begin with?

Not that Chloe needed the answer to that. After all, she’d already dealt with a father who’d lied, a cheating husband to whom truth was whatever was convenient and now a supervisor who didn’t know reality from his own fiction. She could handle this guy with one hand tied behind her back.

“Everything check out? Did I make your list?” He loomed over the counter, his smile just itching to break free. The ice had melted and he was a gorgeous sight.

“You’ve been added.” Chloe sucked in a breath and ordered her blood pressure down. “You can stay. You can look around. But you cannot touch anything. Understand?” She ignored him, smiled at Sid and returned to the mayor’s bed once more before moving on to her next patient. When she’d completed her rounds, she returned to the desk. He was still there.

“How is Max doing?”

Chloe found herself repeating the official version.

“Mayor Vance is currently unresponsive. He has a bullet fragment lodged in his brain which the surgeons feel would be detrimental to remove at this time. The other gunshot passed completely through his body missing his heart by centimeters. At the moment, the mayor’s condition is listed as stable but critical. He has not regained consciousness since the incident.” She raised one eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“I guess not. If he hasn’t spoken then that’s no help.”

He frowned, making her think of a little boy who couldn’t grasp what he’d done wrong.

“Why so hostile, Mrs. Tanner?” he asked. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“As am I, Agent Montgomery.” She dropped the chart back into its holder and studied him. “What is it you hoped to find here anyway?”

“Information that would lead me to the perpetrator of this crime.”

The grim tightness of his voice suggested the mayor’s shooting had been committed against him personally. Chloe admired his dedication to justice but this was taking it to the extreme. She raised one eyebrow.

“We don’t have any bad guys hiding here, so I think you can go home and get some sleep.” Since she’d moved to Colorado Springs, Chloe had heard a lot about Montgomery and the Vance families and their close-knit ties. Perhaps that’s why this man felt he had to stand guard over the mayor. Maybe he was some kind of close family friend—which would make his job much tougher. A trickle of sympathy spurted up.

“Hey, Chloe, I’m back.” Theresa, her co-worker, raised an arm as she walked through the elevator door. “Ooh. I see you’ve had company while I’ve been away.” She offered the FBI agent a fawning smile. “You can take your break now if you want, Chloe. I’ll look after your friend.”

“That’s kind of you.” Brendan Montgomery smiled at the woman, but never budged from his position. “Your sacrifice is unnecessary though. I have a few more questions for Mrs. Tanner. You were the nurse on duty when he was admitted, correct?”