02 Turn to Me - Kathleen Turner

  Turn to Me

  By Tiffany A. Snow

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Turn to Me

  Copyright ©2012 by Tiffany Snow

  Cover Design by Tiffany Snow

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without written permission.

  For more information:

  tiffany@tiffanyasnow.com

  ISBN 978-0-9853742-0-4

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my cheerleaders – Paige, Emily, Stephanie, Kristi, Nicki and Lisa – for your encouragement and enthusiasm. What a blessing all of you have been to me!

  Thanks especially to my head cheerleader extraordinaire – Nicole. Without you and you’re unwavering enthusiasm and persistent heckling for more chapters, this book might still be unfinished. I love you!

  Thank you to Nikki. Every writer should have a person like you whom they can ask “Is this utter crap?” and know they’re going to get an honest answer – whether they like it or not.

  Thank you to Zoi. Your willingness to share your expertise in editing this manuscript humbles me and I’m grateful for you.

  Thank you to Tracy. Newfound friend and fellow book-lover, thank you for letting me exploit your awesome kindness (and excruciating logic and attention to detail). This book is better because of you.

  Lastly, thank you to my wonderful family. I appreciate your patience in enjoying fewer homemade dinners, instead enduring frozen pizzas and take-out as I spent evenings typing away on the computer. And yes, Erica, one day when you’re older I’ll let you read it.

  This book is dedicated to my mother,

  from whom I inherited my love of reading.

  Rarely do I recall seeing you without a book in your hand.

  Thanks, Mom. This one’s for you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  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

  Prologue

  Kade Dennon rose silently from the bed, the brunette next to him still sleeping. The moonlight that filtered through the blinds on the window provided enough illumination for him to find his clothes.

  After he’d dressed, he retrieved his holster and gun, attaching them firmly to his hip. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, the locks tousled at the hands of the brunette. Pausing for a moment, he frowned in concentration, trying to remember her name. When it didn’t immediately come to mind, he shrugged, grabbed his leather jacket and quietly let himself out of the woman’s apartment.

  Outside was bitter cold, December having hit Buffalo hard. The streets were empty. The snow and freezing temperatures had driven even the panhandlers and criminals inside.

  For a brief moment, Kade longed for a cigarette. Despite having kicked the habit years ago, the cravings never seemed to go away permanently. He slipped into his car, the engine of the Mercedes coming to life easily, despite the weather.

  Kade’s watch said the hour was getting late, but he pointed the car in the direction of downtown. He had an appointment to keep.

  A short while later, he parked his car on the street outside of a tiny bar, the neon sign blinking tiredly in the night. Pushing open the door to the place, Kade stepped inside. The smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke permeated the air. His gaze swept the room.

  The place held only a few patrons. Two men sat at the bar, nursing beers and avidly watching the television hung on the wall, bleating out some kind of sports program. Another man sat alone at the far end.

  The bartender, his sluggish movements betraying too many years doing the same work, looked up, saw Kade, and quickly looked away.

  A shadowed figure sat at a table in the far corner. Kade rested his hand on his gun as he made his way through the bar past empty tables. He slid into a chair across from the man waiting for him. Neither of them was seated with their backs to the door. When Kade saw who awaited him, he relaxed.

  “Donovan,” Kade greeted him. “Didn’t know they were sending you.”

  “Dennon,” the FBI agent replied. “Glad you could come.”

  “I can always make time for the federal government,” Kade said dryly.

  “How’s freelancing going?” Donovan asked.

  Kade hesitated. The agent was well aware that Kade hired his services out to a select few - those for whom justice had been an illusion, victims of various crimes whose perpetrators had been able to evade the best efforts of police and litigators.

  “It’s a living,” Kade replied vaguely.

  “Saw what you left for us in Pittsburgh,” Donovan continued. “Glad you got the bastard.”

  Kade knew what he was referring to. A man named Travis Haney had murdered his mother and his grandparents, then kidnapped his eight year old daughter and been chased by the FBI across four states. Kade had found him holed up in a motel in the middle of bumblefuck, Utah.

  The girl had been scared to death, her father ranting and raving, and she hadn’t been fed for two days. Kade had watched through the scope on his M40 rifle, trained on the window, tensing each time the man waved the gun in the girl’s direction. Finally, the man had stayed still long enough for Kade to shoot him.

  Kade had called Donovan, then dropped the girl off at the nearest hospital. She’d clung to him, crying. Kade still remembered her little hands clutching his jacket.

  “No problem,” Kade said uncomfortably.

  “You saved that girl’s life,” Donovan pressed.

  Kade shrugged, smiling tightly. “I wouldn’t want to pay for the years of therapy she’ll no doubt need.”

  Donovan sighed, conceding Kade’s point.

  “Are you sure you won’t come back?” he asked. “I could get you a sweet position in D.C. You wouldn’t be stuck in some remote field office.”

  Kade shook his head. “I like my freedom. So, what do you have for me?”

  Donovan reached into his jacket and produced a brown envelope. He placed it on the table.

  “This was handed to us from Homeland Security. Coded transmissions coming out of Iran,” he said. “They’re having issues breaking the code.”

  Kade took the envelope, sliding it into his jacket. “What’s it worth?”

  “Break the code and it’s two hundred grand in your bank account,” Donovan said.

  “I thought the FBI was under a budget crunch,” Kade replied.

  “There’s always money for certain things.” Donovan glanced at his watch and stood. “Gotta get going. You know how to reach me.”

  Kade nodded, watching the FBI agent as he left. Kade stood and went to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools. The bartender warily approached.

  “Vodka. Neat,” Kade ordered.

  The bartender set the glass down in front of Kade who threw it back quickly and signaled for another. The second he nursed more slowly.

  The latest job from Donovan was going to require him to go either to his office or his home for the equipment he needed. One was in Boston, the other in Indianapolis.

  He didn’t want to
go to Indy. Everything inside him rebelled at the mere thought. The woman he both wanted to see and needed to avoid at all cost was there.

  Kade stared at the mirror behind the bar, but didn’t see his reflection. Instead he conjured a memory, one he refused to contemplate very often, that of a woman with long, strawberry blonde hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. He recalled the softness of her skin when he’d held her, the curves of her body beneath his hands. For a moment, he allowed himself to remember the look in her eyes when he’d last seen her. She’d trusted him. Trusted him to keep her safe, take care of her.

  His phone rang, vibrating in his pocket. A glance at the caller ID had Kade cursing, as though the mere thought of her had conjured the phone call.

  “Yeah,” he answered curtly.

  “Kade, it’s me,” Blane said.

  “What’s up, brother?” Kade asked, forcing his mind from the image of Blane’s girlfriend, guilt assailing him.

  “Can you come back to Indy? It’s important.” A pause. “Kathleen is in danger.”

  Kade frowned, his grip tightening on the cold glass in his hand. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here,” Blane replied.

  “Are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Kade asked, stalling for time, trying to think of a way he could refuse.

  “I need you.”

  Blane’s bald confession made Kade pause. He took a swallow of his drink.

  Kade’s silence prompted Blane to speak again. “You know I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  “I know, man, it’s just-”

  “I don’t ask much from you, you know that,” Blane interrupted.

  Kade cursed. “Fine. I’m on my way.” He disconnected the call and finished his drink in one swallow.

  It looked like he was going back to Indianapolis whether he liked it or not.

  Meeting his own eyes in the mirror behind the bar, he muttered softly, “This isn’t going to end well.”

  Chapter One

  “Hey, pretty girl, give me your cash and I won’t mess up your fancy dress.”

  I started, my pulse picking up as my brain processed the words. I was cold. Freezing actually, and my feet were killing me. December in Indianapolis was bad enough - add to it walking the streets alone at night wearing nothing but an evening gown and four inch heels and you had the ingredients for a truly wretched experience. Well, at least I'd thought that was the worst it could get. Apparently, I'd been wrong.

  Turning, I watched as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was a hulking brute, big enough to easily outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more. The scattered light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off the knife he was holding and I swallowed heavily. I hated knives. Knives meant pain whereas guns meant death. Maybe I was in the minority, but death was the preferred of the two to my way of thinking. I wasn't a big fan of pain.

  “I don't have any money,” I said, trying to stay calm. I glanced around, keeping an eye on him as he advanced toward me. Unfortunately, no one was around. I backed away as he got closer, but knew I didn't stand a chance if I tried to run, not with these shoes.

  “Then I'll take the pretty necklace,” he sneered, leaping forward and grabbing my arm. I shrieked in surprise, but was silenced when he pressed the cold steel of the blade to my neck.

  “Shut up, bitch,” he snarled.

  I was breathing hard, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins. He towered over me, pushing against me until my back was against the cold brick wall. The rough stones abraded the exposed skin of my back.

  “Give me the necklace.” His breath was hot and fetid against my face.

  “No,” I said, helpless anger rising in me. I'd been given the necklace mere hours ago, Blane fastening it around my neck as I'd gotten dressed for this evening.

  It suddenly seemed terribly ironic that a night that had started with such promise was ending in terror.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The day had begun well enough. I’d had the day shift at The Drop, a local place where I tended bar. I know the current in vogue term was “mixologist,” but neither myself nor the patrons had any illusions about what I did - which was pour drinks. On Saturdays I usually worked the night shift, but today I’d traded with Lucy so I could have tonight off to be with Blane.

  Blane Kirk was my boyfriend, although the term was at once both too adolescent and too committed to actually describe him and our relationship. Blane was a high-profile lawyer in Indianapolis, with aspirations to public office. A former Navy SEAL, he was over six feet of male perfection complete with dirty blond hair, a square jaw and eyes a tantalizing mix of gray and green, drifting more one or the other depending on what he was wearing. Women had been an interchangeable accessory to Blane and I wasn't sure that wouldn't be the case with me. Blane and I had started dating about six weeks ago, right after Halloween. I know that doesn't sound like very long, but considering how often Blane usually changed girlfriends I was cautiously optimistic. Optimistic of what, well I wasn't sure of that either.

  Considering who he was and who I am, it was difficult most days to believe that Blane would choose to be with me. As the daughter of a housewife and police officer from Rushville, Indiana, Kathleen Turner - yeah, that's me – wasn't a name people knew. I take that back. People knew the name, but I wasn't THAT Kathleen Turner. Turner was the family name and choosing a celebrity to be named after was the tradition. Just ask my dad, Ted Turner or my grandma, Tina Turner. Except neither one was with me any longer so I alone was left to carry on the Turner tradition or curse, depending on your point of view.

  I'd moved to Indianapolis eight months ago and had taken a job working as a runner for Blane's law firm. It took both gigs to make ends meet and I hadn't given up the day job, even though I was sleeping with the boss. Incredibly tacky of me, but I needed the job. We kept it discreet because while Blane didn't care at all what people said, I did.

  Blane had asked me to go with him to a victory dinner/fundraiser tonight for someone he knew that had been re-elected to Congress in the last election. I'd seen in the paper that plates were seven thousand dollars each. I'd swallowed hard and hoped the food was really good for that kind of price tag.

  After my Saturday shift, I had dashed home, hopping into the shower to quickly wash my hair and shave my legs. I had time to blow my long, strawberry blond hair dry, pin it up and throw on some makeup before I heard his knock on my door.

  I'd learned a hard lesson a few weeks ago about checking the peephole in my door and I remembered that tonight. I checked first before opening the door and my breath caught, as it nearly always did, when I saw Blane.

  My doorway was filled with wide shoulders encased in a charcoal gray suit jacket that tapered to lean hips. A white shirt peeked from beneath his jacket and tie. Currently, a hand was braced high against the jamb of my door, opening his jacket enough for me to see the gun tucked into the holster against his side. Indiana was a conceal state and Blane had a permit to carry, which he always did. That habit had saved my life once.

  “You're early,” I said, smiling and opening the door wider to let him in. He unfolded his tall frame from where he'd been leaning and came inside, closing the door behind him and stepped into my personal space. The whole apartment seemed smaller with him in it, not that it was very big to begin with. He took in my appearance, still wrapped in a towel from my shower, and the gleam that came into his eyes made my heart beat faster.

  “How early?” he asked, his voice a low rasp as he moved even closer, his hand coming up to trace the top edge of my towel. Words failed me when his lips and tongue touched the bare skin of my shoulder. I tipped my head to the side, my eyes fluttering shut. He sucked lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder and I inhaled deeply, the scent of his cologne enveloping and enticing me. When I felt him loosen the towel and it dropped to the floor, I found my voice.

  “You'll mess up my hair,” I managed breathlessly as his hand slipped between my thigh
s. I clutched at his shoulders for support, his fingers moving with practiced ease and causing my legs to tremble.

  “There are ways to avoid that,” he whispered in my ear, sending a delicious shiver through me. And indeed, there were, as he proceeded to show me.

  Half an hour later, I was slipping on my dress and repairing the damage done to my lip gloss. True to his word, not a hair of mine was out of place, though my skin now had a telltale flush.

  My dress was a deep, midnight blue and I thought it brought out my eyes, since they were nearly the same shade. It was a long, satin sheathe with a sweetheart neckline, the straps reaching over the outer curve of my shoulders. The cut emphasized my cleavage, something I'd been blessed with plenty of. A long slit ran up the side, shifting and revealing my legs as I walked. I stepped into a pair of silver heels that helped make up for my sad lack of stature and surveyed myself with a critical eye in the mirror. The dress demanded a necklace, but jewelry – even the costume sort – was an unnecessary expense when I worked two jobs just to pay the bills. I'd found a pair of rhinestone earrings which now dangled from my ears and sparkled when I turned my head.

  “You forgot something,” Blane said, surprising me as he stepped into the mirror's reflection. I looked at the couple we made and was gratified at the sight. We looked good together, I thought.

  My eyes widened as I watched his hands come up to place a necklace on me. As he did the catch, my jaw dropped at the sight of the large, oval sapphire pendant now nestled between my breasts. Surrounded in diamonds, it glittered brightly as it hung from a long double-chain.

  “I'll let you put on these,” he said, his arm reaching around in front of me.

  I glanced down to see he was holding a velvet jewelry box, opened to display a set of matching diamond and sapphire earrings. I reached out cautious fingers to touch them, the movement causing them to sparkle in the light.