Linda Conrad - In Safe Hands

“Maggie,” he whispered in her ear. “The guy has a gun pointed at us and no one is watching now. We need to disappear before he regains his senses.”

They both hit the door at a run. Just as daylight and cold city air blasted him in the face, the zing of a bullet whizzed past his ear and hit the front window. Glass shattered everywhere.

Bending, he threw his arm over Maggie’s head and shuffled the two of them out the door as fast as he could. “Move!”

She took off without a word, but managed to keep up with him as he dashed along the packed sidewalks. They ran full-out and pushed through midday crowds until they were both out of breath.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he gritted out.

Maggie turned and gave him a sweet smile. “Why, Colin, darlin’, you know the answer to that. I was saving your sorry life. What else?”

Dear Reader,

When I began THE SAFEKEEPERS trilogy, I thought of the three traits that I believed portrayed the best of womankind: courage, motherhood and love. The heroines in each of the three stories take a journey to becoming the best woman they can be—by living up to these traits. In this last book, I’ve embodied my ideals of the best of all three traits into one woman. For even though she may never have a child of her own, Maggie Ryan must find the courage to seek out trouble. She must accept both the joy and pain of mothering a child she may never be able to keep. And she must learn to give herself over to true love in order to become the best mother possible.

Maggie is one of my favorite heroines. She’s tough enough to take what she needs. But she must also learn to be vulnerable enough to lose it all—in order to win the one thing she wants most! Count on Maggie to find a way. It’s been great fun writing this trilogy. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Happy Reading!

With all my best,

Linda

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!” Winner of many writing awards, including a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Award and a Maggie Award, Linda often appears on bestseller lists. Her favorite pastime is finding true passion in life. Linda, her husband and KiKi the puppy, work, play, live and love in the sunshine of Florida.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To everyone who believes in magic.

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

Epilogue

Icurse you, Brody Ryan! May you and your children be forever barren. From this moment forward, no Ryan of your loins shall parent a child. No grandchild will you live to see! Your family name ends with your children, Brody Ryan, you son of a dog! Vete p’al carajo!

The bruja’s dark curse still rang out in Lupe Delgado’s mind a decade and a half after it had been issued. More of a good witch, the curandera shook off the memory of her mother’s harsh words from long ago. She continued her walk down the beach along a tropical Vera Cruz mountain lake, glancing again at the disturbing note that she had just been handed. Her mother, the ancient, black-magic bruja witch, was dying.

Lupe had known this time was coming. After all, her mother’s lifetime stretched well into her nineties, and her health had been precarious lately. But Lupe wished with her whole heart for her mother to be granted more time. The fifteen-year-old curse was still valid, and her mother’s shadowy soul was still unprepared to meet her God. Lupe’s eyes filled with tears as her thoughts turned to her three Ryan grandchildren, who were currently living their adult lives in Texas. Their great-grandmother had cursed them when she cursed their father, and they had suffered from the old woman’s black magic ever since. Lupe’s mother’s furious words had brought disaster down upon them, not to mention a blackened soul for the old woman herself.

After leaving the beach and returning home to her potions and crystals, Lupe packed up a small traveling kit. Her mother had finally relented a few months ago and renounced her black ways. The old woman was refusing to sell dark charms and hexes to her former customers. With her approaching death, Maria Elena Ixtepan had also agreed to reverse the curse on the Ryan children—if their father managed to perform three selfless deeds.

Lupe had not expected a miracle from her arrogant and defiant son-in-law, Brody Ryan. But so far he had accomplished two good deeds, and Lupe foresaw the possibility of complete redemption in the near future.

They were so close to salvation. Her mother just had to last a little longer.

With prayers in her heart, Lupe started out in the direction of her mother’s mountainside cabin. She knew her own curandera white witchcraft abilities should not be used for such dubious purposes. But perhaps, if Lupe prayed to the right combination of saints and used the proper combination of words, she could keep death from her mother’s doorstep long enough to save them all.

She had to try.

Colin Fairfax took another shot of brandy from the flask he’d begun keeping in his pocket and resumed pacing the threadbare carpet in the rundown New York flat.

Bugger. It was freezing in here. No wonder the place was all but deserted. What kind of human could live for long in conditions like this? He’d agreed to wait for twenty-four hours, but now he was wondering if that had been the most intelligent thing to do.

He’d been through much worse, of course. Fighting alongside his men in freezing blizzards in the mountain passes in Afghanistan, he had known hell. Yet, even that extreme cold hadn’t chilled his bones the same way the icy drafts singing down the tenement walls were battering both his body and his psyche.

He fingered the weapon at his waistband. Colin was pleased he’d thought of obtaining the automatic from his embassy before embarking on this personal mission. The secretive man he was supposed to meet claimed to have information that would be the most vital clue in Colin’s search to date. According to other local contacts, this man was covertly employed by the Americans. His job was to keep tabs on just the sort of thing Colin wanted to find. Allowances had to be made for that kind of knowledge.

Covert was one thing, though. Being stupid was quite another.

Impatiently awaiting the creak of floorboards on the stairs outside his door, Colin wasn’t sure how much longer he could bide his time in this godforsaken hovel. Once again he wondered why the man had been so insistent that they meet in this place and on this date.

But obtaining information about his brother, John, from the mystery man who called himself “El Cuervo” was important enough to keep Colin right here, freezing his bum for the duration.

A sudden soft knock from the other side of the door took Colin by surprise. At last. An end to this ridiculous waiting.

Blowing out a pent-up breath and deciding that his best defense was the element of surprise, he ripped open the flimsy wooden door, only to find a curly headed leprechaun standing in the shadows of the threshold.

“What?” he asked irritably and half turned away. This person resembled one of his annoying mother’s fairie creatures. It couldn’t be the man he’d been expecting.

“Colin?”

That word caught his attention, and he swung back. A low and sexy female voice had come from the short, lumpy body—and that voice had spoken his name.

Colin did what his gut told him to do. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off her feet as he popped her into the room. Using his foot, he slammed the door behind them. Then, reaching out with a steadying hand, he turned her around so that he could better study the small, odd female in the combined glow from an overhead bulb and the dusty lamp on his makeshift desk. Was she carrying a weapon?

“Hey!” she complained as she batted at his hands. “Cut out the manhandling.” She sounded as surprised to be here as he’d been when she appeared at his door.

No gun. And at an inch or two over five feet tall, she posed no immediate danger.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

She took off the mannish, gray fedora and a tumble of auburn curls spilled out over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Colin revised his original opinion. Not a leprechaun at all. No. Even in the shadowed glow of lamplight, the sight of this woman’s wide and frightened eyes sent a sucker punch of heat straight to his gut. She was actually quite beautiful underneath the ugly green covering. But that doe-eyed look made her appear vulnerable—and too much like the very thing he’d long ago vowed to steer clear of. A lovely woman in distress. Trouble.

He needed to get his head in the game. She knew his name. Perhaps she had been sent with information. She seemed benign, if disconcerting, but she could turn out to be as potentially deadly as one of those beautiful, deserted passes belonging to mujahadin fighters in Afghanistan.

With his senses strung tight, Colin tried to ignore his primal response to her. He was certainly experienced enough to maintain appearances.

Except for her hair. Colin lost focus again, as he stared at that glorious hair. Even in the dim light he could see a hundred different colors shining throughout her mass of curls. Reds and chestnut and ebony. Even a few sprinkles of burnished gold. His hands ached to glide their way through that silken, shiny mane.

She stared at him, and the bare overhead bulb shot a single glimmer of light into her eyes. They were forest-green. The color was blinding.

Whoever the woman was, her body came in a riot of colors under the drab garments. Perhaps she truly was a leprechaun in disguise, sent to guard the pot of gold.

At that wayward thought, Colin took a sharp breath. Was John the pot of gold?

“Answer me, woman. What do you know?” Furiously he blinked away the guilt and pain that always came when he thought of John.

She simply stood there, eyes wide. A compulsive urge to lift a hand to her face and brush aside a flyaway strand of hair had Colin balling up his hands and gritting his teeth. He forced himself to step back and think clearly, reminding himself why he was here.

“My name is Maggie Ryan,” she finally said with a lilting voice and an odd accent. “I’ve come a long way to seek you out. You hold the key to a child’s future.”

As the tall man gaped at her from out of those steely gray–blue eyes, Maggie tried to take in the whole picture with one quick glance, the way she’d trained herself to do. Age about midthirties. Clean-cut, with a strong chin. A touch of gray at his temples, and an expression that seemed both sharp and wary. Her initial impression was of a man both sophisticated and deadly. An odd combination.

But Maggie Ryan wasn’t one to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. Even as a kid, she’d stood her ground against both her older brothers and against the magic forces in nature that swirled around their Texas family. She felt tough enough to get any job done. Especially one this important.