The Sheriff's Surrender. Marilyn Pappano

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      When he saw her lying there, the first sensation that swept over Reese was relief.

      He might resent Neely like hell, might wish she’d disappear from his life and his memory, but he didn’t want her dead, hurt or in danger.

      The second sensation was…hard to identify. Something weak. Soft. Damnably foolish…

      She looked so fragile. Vulnerable. There was a part of him—the part that remembered loving her—that wanted to close the door and lock them inside this safe place, then gather her into his arms and simply hold her.

      Thank God the rest of him knew better than to give in to such weakness.

      The Sheriff’s Surrender

      Marilyn Pappano

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MARILYN PAPPANO

      brings impeccable credentials to her writing career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then she’s sold more than forty books to various publishers and even a film production company.

      She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her country home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she spends her free time mowing the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches.

      You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK, 74067-0643.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      Reese Barnett drove slowly down the main street of Killdeer, Kansas, his gaze sweeping side to side, across empty buildings and lots to empty parking spaces. The town was small, a nowhere place, and unremarkable except for the fact that it lay about halfway between Kansas City and Heartbreak, Oklahoma. Grass grew in cracks in the sidewalks, and the few buildings left standing were unoccupied—a grocery store, a gas station, a café. The place had never been prosperous, and these days, except for a combination gas station-grocery store-post office-restaurant on the edge of town and a handful of sorry houses, it was damn near a ghost town.

      It was, according to his cousin Jace, a good place for a meeting.

      Reese pulled into a parking lot that filled half the block and found a bit of shade underneath a blackjack oak. He parked facing the street, rolled down the windows, then shut off the engine. He was early for the meeting. Jace had asked him to show up first, to look around and make certain nothing seemed out of place. The only thing out of place was him, furtively scoping out a down-on-its-luck town with a population of maybe twenty, if he counted the stray cats and dogs.

      Reaching for the cell phone, he dialed Jace’s number. Jace answered on the third ring, skipped the greeting and went straight to business. “Where are you?”

      “Sitting in front of what used to be a grocery store in the heart of what used to be a town.”

      “Everything okay?”

      “No traffic, no people. Only the critters are out and about.”

      “Good. We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

      “I’ll be waiting,” Reese said dryly, then disconnected. He didn’t have much of a clue about what was going on. All he knew was that he’d gotten a call from Jace that morning, asking for his help. Since he was in the help-giving business—his official title was Canyon County Sheriff—and since Barnetts never said no to family if they could help it, he’d taken a day off work. He’d followed Jace’s instructions and left his uniform and badge at home. His black-and-white Blazer, complete with a shield on each door and a light bar on the roof, was parked at his house. He’d driven his own truck, worn jeans and a chambray shirt, boots and a straw Resistol.

      Also per Jace’s instructions, his Sig Sauer P-220 .45-caliber pistol was tucked between the seat and the console, his five-shot .38 was holstered at the small of his back, and his department-issue 12-gauge pump shotgun was within easy reach behind the seat. He was ready for damn near anything.

      He did know one other detail—the favor Jace was asking of him involved baby-sitting. It would be for just a few days, his cousin had promised. All Reese had to do was keep this witness safe and breathing for a week, no more, while Jace wrapped up the case back in Kansas City, where he was a detective with the K.C. Police Department. Male or female, young, old, honest citizen or cowardly informant—Reese knew none of that. He didn’t even know what crime the person had been a witness to.

      But he was about to get a few answers.

      The car that turned into the parking lot was a midsize sedan with heavily tinted side and back windows. He recognized Jace behind the wheel, but couldn’t tell anything about the passenger. He stepped out of his truck as Jace parked beside it. Thanks to the window tint and the hat the passenger wore, Reese still couldn’t tell much, although he presumed it was a woman. The hat was too fussy by far for a man.

      Jace climbed out of the car and met Reese’s gaze over the roof. Though they were the same age, the only sons of brothers who could have passed for twins, there was no family resemblance at all. Reese looked like their dads—brown hair, brown eyes—while Jace looked more like his Osage mother’s family with black hair, bronzed skin and eyes so dark they seemed black.

      “I appreciate your doing this,” Jace said.

      “Do I get an explanation, or do you plan to just drop her and run?”

      “She’s a lawyer who’s been getting death threats. Last week someone tried to make good on them, so I put her in a safe house that turned out to be not so safe. Last night someone tried again.”

      “Which suggests that either your guy is damned lucky…or you’ve got a traitor in the department.”

      Jace nodded grimly.

      “And no one knows where you’ve taken her now.”

      “She doesn’t even have a clue herself. At this moment, only you and I know she’ll be in Heartbreak.”

      “She have any bags?”

      “Just one.” Jace opened the trunk and lifted out a pricey leather suitcase. “If you have to get in touch with me, call my cell phone and leave a message for me to call, nothing more. And keep an eye on her. So far, she’s been pretty cooperative, but that could change. And keep her safe. I really want to make this case.”

      While Jace opened the passenger door, Reese turned and stowed the suitcase in the cargo space at the rear of his truck. He turned back just in time to come face-to-face with the witness as she got out of the car. He stared, and she stared back. Even with the hat shadowing her face, he could see she was stunned—though no more than he.

      Neely Madison. Criminal defense lawyer. Former friend. Former lover. And Reese’s worst nightmare.

      She looked as incredible as ever—tall, slender, perfect. Underneath the straw hat that sported a giant sunflower, a few strands of silky light brown hair