LITMIR.BIZ

      SOMEONE WAS OUT THERE… WATCHING…WAITING

      Kelly reached in the drawer for her automatic, and she was still digging through the clutter when a pebble shot toward her across the grease-stained concrete floor. She looked up, her fingers finally closing around the butt of the gun. The silhouette of a man filled the hangar’s entrance. She stiffened, her gut filling with an odd mixture of fear and hate.

      Nick Cavanaugh.

      What was he doing here? Why had he come strolling into her life after all these years?

      She watched as he calmly dropped his duffel bag and slowly raised his hands, his cocky grin never fading.

      “It’s good to see you, too, Kelly.”

      “What do you want?” Her voice was cold.

      Nick nodded at the gun. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you guns are dangerous?”

      “Depends which end you’re facing. It feels fine from this side.”

      He took a step forward. “I guess, but I’ve never been comfortable around a woman with a pistol in her hand, especially when she’s pointing it at me.”

      Someone Safe

      Lori L. Harris

      For Bobby Harris With love.

       You are my world.

      And

      For Bobbie Laishley Who made me believe I could do anything.

       Thanks, Mom!

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Lori Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officers—and would be competing today if she hadn’t discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?

      When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Nick Cavanaugh—He was one of Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s toughest investigators. And just as there’s always one woman who lingers at the back of a man’s mind, for every investigator there’s one case that he can’t forget. For Nick, the case is Princeton Air, and the woman is Kelly Logan.

      Kelly Logan—She’s the scrappy, blond beauty who owns Bird of Paradise airline. Seven years ago, she was in love with Nick, but then he destroyed her family….

      Rod Griffis—Owner of the local dive shop and the kind of guy who is always helping out those around him. He’s in love with Kelly, but her feelings for him are anyone’s guess.

      Myron Richards—He was the Agent in Charge and Nick’s mentor. He and Nick have always had each other’s back…until now.

      Doug Willcox—Recently divorced; Special Agent Doug has his hands full with two kids and an ex-wife, and tended to disappear at all the wrong moments.

      Benito Binelli—This big-time drug dealer was the No. 1 bad guy on every federal agency’s most wanted list and the headliner on Nick Cavanaugh’s hit parade.

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter One

      U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement special agent Nick Cavanaugh scanned the case file one last time before setting it aside.

      The first day back after an investigation was completed meant hours compiling detailed reports. Nick preferred field work to paperwork and was a hell of a lot better at it. Unfortunately, the prosecution required both.

      For the first time, he realized just how late it was and that the cramped office smelled of the Mexican food he’d thrown uneaten into the trash can. After three weeks of greasy fast food and doughnuts, he hadn’t been able to face the enchilada and refried beans any more than he had been able to face going home to an empty condo.

      With the office and his thoughts closing in on him, Nick stood and crossed to the window. He opened the blinds. Gray pavement and shale-colored buildings. Not a view that would make an Orlando travel brochure. Under the last vestige of dusk, the scene appeared as somber as his mood.

      When he returned home last night, he’d found a note on the kitchen counter. Stephanie, his girlfriend of more than eleven months, had moved out while he tracked a load of cocaine up the Eastern Seaboard.

      He really wasn’t surprised. The job, his lifestyle, wasn’t conducive to long-term relationships. But in the beginning, he’d hoped this time might be different.

      When they’d first dated, she had seemed independent enough to handle the occasions when a case kept him out of town and out of touch. In recent months, though, that had changed.

      She talked about how, because he wasn’t available, she’d turned down this invitation or that one. He told her often enough to go on without him. But even when he said those words, he knew they weren’t the right ones.

      The bottom line was he couldn’t give her what she wanted. Marriage and kids. A husband who showed up at the dinner table every night.

      It just wasn’t in him. Wasn’t part of his makeup. He wasn’t a nine-to-fiver. He’d be bored with any job that kept him behind a desk or any relationship that became as predictable as his and Stephanie’s had.

      It really was better that she was the one to move on. Easier for her. She’d find someone ready to give her what she wanted. What she was entitled to. And he, no doubt, was getting exactly what he deserved.

      Fatigue overtook him as he stood there, staring. He recognized the feeling that crept up on him more and more of late, from the dark alleys of his mind.

      Regret.

      Over cases gone sour, over failed relationships. Regret that he wasn’t a better friend for Myron when his wife had passed away. That he hadn’t mended fences with his own father before his death five years ago. That perhaps he was responsible for a man hanging himself. That, though he had no other choice, he’d killed a fourteen-year-old kid in a dark warehouse.

      He couldn’t seem to let go of any of them; instead, he kept them buried inside. They escaped some nights, and he welcomed them because they were all he had.

      The phone rang.

      He briefly considered ignoring it, then, relenting, turned

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