Cold Case Reunion (Native Country, 2, Band 1669) - Softcover

Van Meter, Kimberly

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0373277393 ISBN 13: 9780373277391

Verlag: Harlequin Romantic Suspense, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

A passion that's anything but cold…

Fifteen years ago, Mya Jonson thought her life had ended. Pregnant and alone, she found strength in her people and the beauty of the Pacific Coast reservation. Now her lover has returned, chasing a killer, and she doesn't dare trust him.

For Angelo Tucker, every memory is proof of his failings. Not strong enough to lead the tribe, not smart enough to catch his brother's killer… Coming back was the last thing he wanted. Especially when he sees Mya—and feels a passion he'd long since set aside. But when a fellow FBI agent is murdered and Mya's life is in danger, Angelo knows he must track the killer whatever the cost.or risk losing Mya forever…

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings, on her mother’s old portable typewriter. She received The Call in March 2006 with Harlequin Superromance and hasn't looked back since. She currently writes for Harlequin Romantic Suspense.Kimberly and her three children make their home in the Central Valley of California.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Angelo Tucker remembered stories told at his grandfather's knee of how their tribe used to walk on their hands and fished the mighty Hoh River with their feet until Creator came along to show them a better way.

He and his younger brother Waylon used to laugh out loud at the idea of catching smelt with their toes.

"Why didn't they just walk on their own, Papa?" Waylon asked, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. They'd loved Papa's stories of the beginnings even if the tales had seemed completely outrageous.

"We were not so wise," Grandfather had answered, smoothing the wild jet–black hair on Waylon's head. "All the blood rushing to our heads clouded our reason. Creator taught us a better way and we were thankful. Aren't you thankful you don't have to fish with your feet?" he asked, his worn face crinkling in a warm, teasing smile.

"Very much, Papa," Waylon had answered fervently. "I don't want to fish with my toes."

"It's just a story, Waylon," Angelo had scoffed at his younger brother's gullibility, earning a subtle frown from Papa. "Creator isn't real and no one would really walk on their hands all their life. It's not possible anyway."

"It is so true." Waylon had pushed Angelo, a fierce scowl on his young face. He turned to Papa for reinforcement, although there was a hint of a question in his expression, for Angelo was his big brother and his idol. "Right, Papa? Tell Angelo he's wrong."

Papa, the hereditary tribal chief, took a long moment to answer. Angelo had shifted under Papa's deep, assessing stare; it felt as if it had zeroed in on his very soul, and then Papa had said, "White Arrow…you have much to learn about your people. Your eyes are closed, but when the time is right, they will open. In the meantime, do not mock your brother for what you refuse to see."

"Yeah," Waylon echoed, the laughter returning to his voice as he tackled Angelo, taking both to the worn carpet of their grandfather's living room.

The memory of that day crashed through Angelo's mind now with all the violence of a head–on collision, and the unexpected pain brought him back to the present more quickly than the sound of his partner's voice. She repeated the facts as they knew them as they drove to the local facility where the body was being held. He'd known returning to the reservation wasn't going to be a picnic but he hadn't been prepared for the mental assault he'd undergone the moment he stepped foot on native soil.

When his partner, Grace Kelly, a woman who was nothing like her famous namesake in appearance or disposition, noted his attention had wandered, she lowered the case file to her lap to stare him down. "Please let me know if I'm interrupting your quiet time."

"Settle down, Kelly," he retorted irritably as the urgent care facility came into view. He was dealing with more than the case but he wasn't in the mood to share. "I was listening."

"Yeah, I could tell," Grace said dryly, returning to the case file with a sigh. "The body was bagged at the scene by the locals. We can only hope everything was done right. I would've been more comfortable if our forensics team had collected the evidence. Agent Byron Hicks went missing about a week ago, according to his wife. The body was identified by a fingerprint match." She scanned the page, adding, "Says here Hicks was found by a man named Sam Fisher on the bank of the Hoh River with a single bullet wound to the back of the head." She pursed her lips and shook her head at the mystery. "Helluva way to end a vacation. Wife said he came up here to do some salmon–fishing. Looks like he caught more than he planned."

Angelo refrained from comment as his grip tightened on the steering wheel, but his mind kept detour–ing in spite of his best efforts. There was a reason he had never returned, not for visits, not for anything. The weight of his ancestors' judgment seemed to press on him though he told himself repeatedly he'd done nothing wrong in leaving. Not everyone's path started and ended at the reservation. At least that's what he'd tried to tell his grandfather. He bit back a sigh and ignored the stab of guilt that always followed when he allowed his thoughts to wander too closely to his memories of living here.

The urgent care facility, with its bare, utilitarian construction, was as ugly as it ever had been because there had never been enough money for cosmetic improvements. Not having enough money… a common thread that wove its way through the reservation. If he'd stayed it would've been his responsibility to look after the tribe, to sit in on the pointless tribal meetings with the government, fighting and scrabbling for the scraps from the white man's table. His tribe had not followed the casino route as had so many of their tribal brothers and therefore, money was always scarce.

As they exited the car he wondered who had taken over the administration position after Hector had died. The fact that he was clueless about who was in charge illuminated just how removed he was from the place. And yet, everything looked the same, locked in time.

Grace swiped at her nose. The moist, chilly air common to the Pacific Northwest at nearly all times of the year made her shiver in her trench coat. "You grew up here?" When Angelo nodded, she offered a grim analysis. "It's cold, wet and creepy. It must've been a friggin' fairy tale calling this patch of dirt home."

"It had its moments," he said, his sharp gaze taking in everything at once. The last time he'd walked through these doors he'd been summoned to identify his baby brother's body. Waylon had been sixteen when someone had shot him in the back, but the fall into the river was what had killed him. The official cause of death was drowning. Like Hicks, Waylon's body had been hauled from the Hoh. The murder had never been solved. Way–lon's death had crippled their grandfather mentally. A year later, Papa had walked into the forest and tumbled down a ravine, breaking his neck. And just like that, Angelo's last remaining family member was gone, leaving him completely alone. An uncomfortable tremble shook his frame and he was glad for the bulk of his trench coat for cover. After that day he'd sworn he'd never walk through these doors again. And until this moment, he'd kept that vow.

"Is it weird to be back?" Grace asked, breaking the silence as they walked through the back door of the urgent care, their shoes scraping against the aged and faded tiles.

"A little," he lied, his gaze taking in the surroundings with one sweep. Only a few lights lit the darkened facility, but as the hairs rose on his neck and goose pimples erupted, his stare locked on a woman who emerged from a side office, her dark hair pulled into a short serviceable ponytail that twitched with the brisk clip of her stride.

His gaze feasted even as he took a mental step away. If the memory of his brother's murder made the visit home unpalatable, running into Mya Jonson only made it worse.

Heaven help him, but time hadn't been unkind. If anything, maturity had molded what had been considered a pretty face into one that now stopped traffic. Her dark eyes burned, saying all the things those tightly compressed, gorgeous lips wouldn't. A wave of anger and hostility from her hit him, leaving little to guesswork as to how she felt about seeing him again. He wouldn't say he'd spent the last fifteen years pining for his lost love, but he couldn't rightly say he'd forgotten her, either. Seeing Mya again only served to freshen what he'd hoped had gone stale inside his...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Harlequin Romantic Suspense
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2011
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0373277393
• ISBN 13: 9780373277391
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 224
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: HarperCollins Publishers Ireland; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; Mayor Street Upper 39/40; Dublin; D01 C9W8; Irland