Paula Graves - Hitched and Hunted

He grabbed Mariah, hauling her to her feet. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he set out for the relative safety of the woods, not looking back.

She’d been shot. The pain was like nothing Mariah had ever felt.

“I have to stop,” she moaned as Jake bent to gather her up to her feet again.

“We can’t stop long,” he warned.

Letting her go, Jake crossed to the nearest of the trees and tested the connection between the stump and the trunk. The connective wood didn’t seem to budge despite the violent shake he gave it.

“It’s like a lean-to,” he said.

She shook her head, not following.

“I guess you were never a Girl Scout.” His eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was wondering how much else about her past he didn’t know.

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For eHarlequin Subcare, a forum full of tough, dedicated writers who know that success comes one struggle at a time. Keep writing and submitting!

Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.

Mariah Cooper —When the aftermath of a tornado brings Mariah face-to-face with a nightmare from her past, all the secrets she’s been keeping from her husband come to light in the worst possible way—at the end of a gun barrel.

Jake Cooper —He learns about his wife’s lies while handcuffed inside a killer’s van. Can he put aside his anger and distrust long enough to save himself and Mariah from a dangerous man seeking vengeance?

Victor Logan —He made Mariah Cooper the woman she is, and she repaid him with betrayal, testifying against him after he killed her lover. Now she’s back, with a new husband and new identity, and Victor finally has the chance for payback.

Karl —The mystery man may be Victor’s ally at first glance, but his clear antagonism toward his partner in crime makes him a wild card who could put everyone’s life in danger.

Gabe Cooper —Jake’s twin brother begins to worry when his brother doesn’t arrive home. Will he figure out what’s going on in time to come to the rescue?

J. D. Cooper —A widower still mourning his murdered wife twelve years after her death, he has a stake in what happens to his missing brother that he doesn’t even know about.

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

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Mariah Cooper had imagined her death a thousand times in the past four years, but never had she thought she’d be crouched in a motel room bathtub when it finally happened.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jake’s calm voice barely rose above the wind gusts rattling the windows and howling around the corner eaves just outside the motel room. Across the tub, he locked his hands with hers, his blue eyes meeting hers with steady assurance. “Just another tornado warning, right?”

Mariah nodded. Having spent her whole life in tornado-prone areas, she’d responded to hundreds of tornado siren warnings with actions drummed into her head over the years—go to the basement or an interior room, put as many walls between you and the exterior as possible, get beneath something sturdy if possible. Right now, they were on the bottom floor of the two-story motel, and the bathroom was the only place in the room that didn’t have an exterior window. The tub had a long steel handle set into the wall to hold on to if things got hairy.

But she couldn’t remember ever hearing the wind howl so loudly or feeling the walls shake with each gust.

“It’s close,” she said, pressure rising in her ears.

Jake’s gaze held hers. “It may not even touch down.”

On the counter across from the tub, a battery-powered radio kept up a steady stream of chatter from a local station carrying wall-to-wall weather coverage from a television station out of Meridian, Mississippi. The meteorologist was warning people in the Buckley area to get to their places of safety immediately.

“I love you.” The warmth of Jake’s voice wrapped around Mariah’s shivering body. She held his gaze, her heart sinking under the weight of the truth. Jake didn’t really love her. He couldn’t. He didn’t know who she really was.

A crackling boom shook the motel room. The lights surged, then died, plunging the bathroom into utter blackness. Mariah gasped, her fingers tightening over his.

“A transformer blew. That’s all.” Jake shifted, turning her until she was cradled between his knees, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his breath hot against her neck. “Just a few more minutes and it’ll be over.”

The roar of the wind rose. Cracks and thuds filled Mariah’s ears, frighteningly close. Though she closed her eyes against the darkness, as if she could shut it out somehow, the blackness pursued her relentlessly, carried on a sea of destruction encroaching from somewhere outside.

She repeated Jake’s promise in her head. A few more minutes and it’ll be over. It’ll be over. It’ll be over.

Then, suddenly, it was. The roar of wind fell quickly before dying away altogether, replaced by a steady drumbeat of rain against the windows. Jake began to stir, but Mariah clutched his arms, holding him in place behind her in the tub. They sat quietly, listening to the radio. Only when the weatherman started talking about storm damage reports trickling in from Buckley did Mariah finally move.

“We should see if the truck and boat made it,” she murmured, struggling to compose herself.

Jake muttered a soft oath. “Didn’t think about the boat.”

The power was still out, so Mariah had to feel her way out of the tub and into the main part of the motel room. She’d spotted candles and matches in the drawer of the bureau when she was putting away their clothes a couple of days earlier, so she made her way there and opened the drawer, groping inside until she felt the smooth, cool wax of a candle beneath her fingers. A little more searching garnered the small box of matches as well. She struck a match and touched the tip to the candle’s wick. The candle sizzled to life, casting a warm, flickering glow across the motel room.

Mariah turned and found her husband gazing at her, his expression tense but confident.

“Told you we’d make it through.” He brushed her arm with his fingertips as he passed her on the way to the front window. He moved the curtain aside and peered out through the rain-mottled windows. His back stiffening, he spoke in a raspy voice. “Good news is the truck and boat are still there. But the shopping strip next door is gone.”

Her knees buckling, Mariah stumbled to the end of the bed and sat heavily, her heart pounding wildly. There had been fifteen stores in that strip center. They’d shopped at the drugstore there just that morning. And now it was gone?

She’d known it was a bad idea to come back to Buckley.

THE BAD WEATHER THE night before had bypassed Victor Logan for the most part. A few trees had fallen in the woods surrounding his house, a shanty of a place that was the most he could afford to rent with the little bit of money he’d had left after his legal fees. But he’d seen nothing but a little wind and rain where he lived, despite the tornado siren. And as his old box set television couldn’t pick up any channels since the conversion to digital, he hadn’t watched the morning news before gassing up his van and driving to town to look for work.

So it was with some surprise that he saw the utter devastation wrought across the small town of Buckley, Mississippi, in the early hours of the morning. Houses with roofs damaged or missing completely. Vehicles upside down, including an eighteen-wheeler wrapped around the concrete piling of an overpass, the trailer split in two, spilling its payload of fresh strawberries onto the roadway. Birds swarmed like winged piranhas, pecking bits of flesh from the berries until the roadside bled red with their juices.

Bodies of farm animals dotted the highway into Buckley, buzzards circling overhead. As he neared town, traffic slowed to a grind due to a roadblock on the highway ahead. The cops must be screening people to be sure they had legitimate business in the storm zone, he realized with a grimace.

He didn’t want to talk to the cops, so he turned off as soon as he could, parking in front of a small diner. He’d eaten there a few times. Good food, low prices, and the staff mostly left you alone. Inside, he sat at the counter and ordered the breakfast special—eggs, sausage and a gravy biscuit.

Nearby, a half dozen fellow customers huddled around the diner’s small television, murmuring in low tones of horror and concern. Victor could see part of the television screen between their bodies, enough that he got a good look at the devastation in downtown Buckley and on the south side, where the road toward Flint Creek Reservoir had taken a hard hit, wiping out a shopping strip center and several dozen residences.

Victor watched for a moment, his only emotion curiosity. The destruction might open up the job market for him. He was a good mechanic. He could also do construction work if necessary. He just needed someone to look past the black marks on his record. He was starting to get anxious—he’d never been a thief, and he didn’t want to become one now just to keep his head above water. Theft was Marisol’s crime, not his.

Treacherous bitch.

As he started to look away from the television screen, a face in the crowd behind the male reporter caught his eye. Dropping his fork, he walked closer to the television screen, edging another man out of the way to get a better look.

Marisol. As if his thoughts had conjured her up.

Four years later, she’d changed little, her hair still long and coal black, her eyes so light they looked like pools of silver against the dusky olive of her skin. She gazed straight into the camera, as if looking right at him, and his heart beat a thunderous cadence in his ears.

Her eyes widened and she looked away quickly, as if she’d seen him watching her through the television screen, and turned to speak to a tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. He put his arm around her shoulder and they walked out of the frame.

Victor stared at the screen, barely breathing. He forced himself to listen to the reporter’s drivel. The talking head was near a residential subdivision the tornado had nearly wiped out. The people behind the guy were volunteers for the rescue and recovery efforts. More volunteers were needed.

Victor returned to the counter and wolfed down his breakfast. He was on the road within a few minutes.