Goodbye Arizona Read online

  The lights flickered to invite people to take their seats. Pooley nodded. “From here on out, no one is getting in or out of this room without my direct authorization.”

  Her deputy grinned. “Does that include me?”

  “Smart-mouth. I’ll check on the sponsor and Flint. Get what you can about the good doctor, and proceed with the search.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She expected—and got—a quick click of heels as he turned tail. The kid was cocky, but he was sharp, and carried on orders without the puppy exuberance of rookies. The lights flickered again. Instinct told her she would need a street-smart ally before the night was over.

  ****

  “Oh, I know who you are. I read your books.”

  Marcus covered his own jolt and Deb’s with a back step with a light kiss on her lips. “Don’t pout, honey. I promise we won’t talk shop the whole dinner.”

  Her frightened eyes lingered on his face, wide open. He squeezed her hip, not daring to do more to reassure her. His brain swirled fast. Wolski’s nominee bio claimed she manipulated half-lies and twisted truth better than Machiavelli. So either they’d walked straight into the villain’s web, or she was fishing. Well, he hadn’t spent the last two years evading questions and bluffing for nothing.

  “Now you’re going to tell me you hated them.” He let out an exaggerated sigh, and Marcus piloted Deb so he blocked her from the other woman. No need to tempt fate. “All right. Which one did you detest most?”

  “Huh, I—”

  The lights blinked. Marcus sent a silent prayer to the lords of bluffing. “Saved by the bell.” The microphone screeched from Rachel Hunter’s little cough. “I hope they’ll serve dinner soon. I’m starved.”

  Chapter Ten

  The lights focused on the stage, dimming its surroundings in a shadowed haze. The set-up served the plan. No one watched anything else but the speaker, or the content of one’s plate. They pretended Flint was not here! Flint was right there, petting his idiot wife and pausing like a king holding court, with his minions around him. That despicable sheriff thought herself clever. Tsk-tsk. They hadn’t been able to put two and two together after the fireworks were rescheduled, had they? Or when citrus had accidently been added to the water served during the lecture. Poor Clare Holiday had never seen it coming. They all ignored what was right under their filthy noses. Who had that much power? Who made things happen?

  But soon, they would see. They would pay for their lies, the vexations and the disdain. They would all pay.

  Turner first. All this time, he’d been laughing at his fans, ROSA, and all the romance family. He had to pay.

  The empty chair next to the scribbler was a bother. But the filthy liar would have to stand before long. And then…

  ****

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Pooley sat without waiting for an answer. Deb welcomed the sheriff with a beam that widened some more when she caught the sullen look on Eden’s face. The agent edged slightly away toward Rachel Hunter’s assistant. The man clutched his plate with one hand while he spooned gazpacho at full speed with the other, no doubt hoping to get some food down before his boss called him on stage. Rachel held forth at the lectern, vomiting platitudes and complacency to an uninterested audience.

  Deb glanced at her half-full plate. She was too tense to eat. The cold soup she’d managed to swallow felt like a reeling ice cube in her stomach. The only warmth around her came from Marcus’s thigh pressed to hers. He caught her looking at him and offered a smile, before diving onto his buttered bread.

  On the other side of the table, Elizabeth Wolski played with her fork. The woman didn’t look like her photograph at all, but a pair of glasses and hairdos changed a face completely. Was she an assassin? A psycho groupie turned into a killer by disappointment or some absurd revelation? Tension and worry wrecked her nerves. Her ears picked up the high-pitched thuds of spoons against porcelain under Rachel’s drowsy chatter. Shadows moved all around her, too fast for her eye to catch.

  Deb nearly shrieked when one of them whispered, “May I?”

  She bit it back just in time when she realized the dark form was a waiter aiming for her plate. Marcus brushed her hand.

  “You barely touched your soup.”

  “I’m all right. I just, I wish this thing were over. I can’t stand the wait.”

  At the same moment, Pooley cleared her throat.

  “The set-up is impressive. That’s too bad for the ones who’re going to miss it.” Eden scowled. Elizabeth Wolski raised an eyebrow, while her neighbor’s spoon clanged on his plate. Pooley glanced around. “Mr. Turner, my deputy found your laptop.”

  Deb straightened up on her seat as a ghost solidified close by. Marcus’s hand closed over hers, his voice unassured. “That’s great. May I ask where?”

  She held her breath. For a split second, the only noise she could hear was the loud, hurtful pounding in her chest. Then words formed out of the buzz in her ears.

  “That’s a very interesting question, actually. It was in the hotel’s safe.”

  “The hotel safe?”

  “Yes. Do you have any idea how it got there?” The sheriff let the question hang and then added, “Miss Wolski?”

  Marcus’s eyes narrowed on the redheaded woman to his right.

  “Me? No. Why would I?”

  “The security log of the hotel says you visited the safe this afternoon.”

  Deb gasped in surprise. Marcus tightened his grasp on her fingers to the hurting point.

  “I needed my passport. My flight is leaving at seven tomorrow morning. But—” The romancer gave the sheriff a sharp look. “You already know that.”

  Pooley smirked. “Indeed. But Oliver Lyle’s flight isn’t scheduled until later in the afternoon.”

  She barely finished her sentence before the lights aimed at their table like a squadron of ferocious fireflies. Rachel Hunter’s assistant jumped to his feet and started shouting.

  “R.J. Flint was supposed to be someone special! You were to be the next Nora Roberts! Better, even! The best romancer of the twenty-first century! A truly talented writer!”

  The gun in his hand gleamed angrily. Eden plunged aside. Marcus pulled Deb so hard toward him that both their chairs tumbled over. They landed on the floor, Marcus’s body cushioning her fall. Rachel screeched in the microphone, “Oliver! What on earth are you doing?”

  The man ignored the irate president, screaming in the general direction of their table. “I did everything I could so you would receive the reward you deserve! I killed for you!”

  Platters shattered on the floor. Someone started screaming. Chairs screeched. The speakers echoed the ear-splitting noises when Rachel sent the microphone crashing to the floor. A man bellowed, “Gun!” loudly enough to be overheard over the tearful cries for help. Marcus forced Deb to crawl under the table. “Pooley!”

  With her eyes fixed on the floor to avoid broken glass, Deb could only guess about the sheriff’s movements.

  “It’s over, Lyle! Lower your gun!”

  “No!”

  “Put your gun down! Now!”

  The madman bawled. “Flint! Where are you! Flint! Coward! Liar! Show yourself!”

  Deb stifled a whimper. If he realized where they were…

  “Flint’s not here. Calm down. We’re here to help.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “Surrender your gun before you make it worse for yourself.”

  Marcus began to ease his hold on Deb’s neck. “Stay here.”

  “What? No!” She grasped his lapels with both hands. “It’s you he wants. He’s going to kill you!”

  “I’m wearing a bulletproof vest.”

  “A lot of good it’ll do you if he shoots you in the face,” Eden cut in. “Stay down, imbecile!”

  Deb understood too late. She pivoted awkwardly to keep him with her, but her fingers clawed at empty space. “Marcus!”

  “Oliver, you have to calm down. Please.
Lower your weapon, and let’s talk.”

  A violent blast plunged the room into semi-darkness.

  “Marcus!”

  Hysteria climbed another notch in the shower of screams and sparks from the dead spotlight. Pooley shouted, “Freeze! Drop your gun now or I shoot!”

  “I’m the Storm! You can’t arrest me! I’m protecting my family! Flint is a threat against us! I must stop the lies! I have the right!”

  Blood stammering in her ears, Deb groped the space in the semi-darkness. Her hand closed on fabric. Her pent-up breath burned her lungs while cold sweat wet her skin.

  Half-blind and deaf, she tried to focus on her other senses. Her palm found an immobile limb. Deb pulled away with a gasp and then steeled herself. Her fingertips brushed over the human corpse, trembling. The fabric was smooth and warm to the touch. Silk stockings? She held her breath and squinted hard at a mane of red hair: Elizabeth Wolski’s limp body curled up on the floor. Blood trickled from a gash on her shin. Deb turned dilated eyes on Eden. The agent stared at the body, mumbling. “What’s that idiot thinking? He’s a writer, not a hero! That sheriff had better get us out of this gâchis in one piece.”

  Help would not come from the blonde. Deb balled her hands into fists. She refused to be a victim. She refused to lose her husband to a madman. She couldn’t hear Marcus talking anymore. Why wasn’t he talking? She couldn’t lose him now, not like this. Not before they had a real chance.

  High above her head, tortured metal screamed horribly. Groping around past Elizabeth, she found something shaped like a suitcase. Deb grabbed the handle and rammed it as hard as she could between the closest pair of legs. Her victim hollered in pain. A compact firearm fell on the floor with a nauseating thud. The shriek of breaking steel lengthened, ear-splitting, then the high-pitched noise boomed as the spotlight crashed on the stage. When the world stopped wailing, Deb heard the sheriff curse.

  ****

  Marcus felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressed into his side. He froze. The metal bit deeper into his waist. Could the man realize something was wrong with his clothing? What would happen then? No safety vest could stop a bullet at this range. Marcus swallowed hard. With Pooley out of the picture, her deputy too far for a precise shot, he had only one option.

  “Lyle. Oliver, listen to me. I promise you I never—”

  “Shut up! Shut the hell up!”

  Marcus lifted both hands in surrender. “All right. All right, calm down. I’ll do what you want, but don’t hurt anyone, okay? It’s my fault. You don’t have to hurt anyone else.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  Cold sweat pearled on Marcus’s forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pooley pushing up to one knee with a grimace. She caught his stare and twirled her index finger discreetly. Make him talk.

  “I’m not telling you what to do, Oliver. I’m trying to understand. Why are you so angry?”

  “You know why! You ridiculed us!”

  Marcus drew in a sharp breath. In for a penny…

  “You’re wrong, Oliver.” He sat, as if the room around him was on the verge of collective hysteria, people yelling and tramping in the middle of broken glass and ripped fabric. “I never did such a thing.”

  He let his hand hang by his side, hoping for Deb to find it. If he was to die, he wanted to feel her touch while he did. In front of him, Lyle looked completely baffled. He pointed the gun forward with both hands to stop it from shaking.

  “What are you doing? Stand up! You can’t sit!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because I say so!”

  Something hard slipped between his fingers. Marcus tightened his grip on the heavy silver knife. He couldn’t fathom how he was going to use it—I’m a writer, not a bloody hero—but the weight felt good in his hand nonetheless.

  “Be reasonable, Oliver. You and I both know that you like Flint’s writing. Don’t you want to know what the next one is about?” Marcus fought not to look toward Pooley. Her deputy was nowhere to be seen. “Put that gun down, and I’ll tell you. Guns make me nervous.”

  “Shut up! I don’t care! I want you to pay for the betrayal! I believed in you! I—”

  Quick as a cat’s paw, the flat of the deputy’s hand crashed onto Lyle’s wrist. His gun went flying. Marcus rushed head-first into his nemesis. Lyle spat and tried to defend himself like a harpy. A mêlée followed, Lyle biting and punching every shadow while Pooley and her deputy tried to immobilize his arms. A solid punch caught Marcus in the jaw, though he wasn’t sure if it came from Lyle or not. He retaliated with a head butt, the crunching noise immensely satisfying. Then the fight ended as suddenly as it had started.

  Pooley pressed the man face down on the floor, while her help cuffed Lyle’s twisted arms. “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say or do can and will be used—”

  “Marcus!” Deb flung herself at him. “Oh, God! Are you hurt? I tried, but—”

  “I’m fine.”

  His jaw throbbed. All at once, he realized the scorch in the back of his throat was bile, and that he was shaking like a leaf. He slumped into a chair before his legs failed him.

  Marcus raked a shaky hand through his hair. All around the room, people hustled in groups of two or three, humming or staring into the air. Eden sat with her back straight while a paramedic tried to read her blood pressure. Elizabeth Wolski was nearby, shivering in a wool blanket that she clutched with both hands. Rachel Hunter contemplated the nightmare her grand event had become, her face very pale.

  “Mr. Turner…”

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “I’ll need your deposition about tonight’s events later on. In the meantime, do me a favor. The next time your wife decides to help, please make sure she aims at the bad guy.”

  On her knees next to him, Deb flushed a beet read. “Sorry…”

  Marcus tried not to laugh. “I will, Sheriff… Thank you.”

  Epilogue

  Eleven months later

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE…

  Eden looked up from the press release to glare at the teenage girl in the seat next to her. Her head bounced on the headrest in rhythm with the abominable music that poured out of her earbuds. They had another fifteen minutes before take-off, and the plane was already full. Eden snarled, regretting her decision not to upgrade her seat to first class. She gritted her teeth and resumed her reading…

  Mystery and adventure blacken dawn in riveting romantic suspense.

  Boston, MA – Marcus Turner and R.J. Flint unite to offer a fast-paced, gripping page-turner.

  Co-writing for the first time, the prince of science-fiction thrillers and the new queen of romance sail the dark waters of industrial spying and greed in Black Dawn, the best romantic suspense you’ll read this year.

  “Marcus contacted me to discuss the lecture he was asked to give at the ROSA conference,” explained R.J. “We were firing ideas at each other and the plot just unraveled itself before our eyes.”

  For Bryan Grant, his new job at JADE is exactly what he needs: a fresh start in a new city. However, when his path crosses Selina Jadorevic’s, JADE’s CEO, he gets more than he bargained for, in more ways than one. From the US to France to Serbia, they run for their lives, and a secret long buried underground...

  Black Dawn has it all: high-tech gadgets, engaging characters, and enough plot twists to keep you on your toes until the very end. Well served by Turner’s unmatched knack for action, and Flint’s wonderful storytelling and thrilling relationship-building, Black Dawn will please both thriller and romance fans.

  “R.J. is incredible,” added Marcus. “She builds complex, intriguing characters you can’t help but love. I look forward to our next collaboration.”

  So do we.

  Black Dawn is available for—

  Eden put her iPad down to lean back in her chair with a satisfied smirk. Marcus had outdone himself. The Flint-Turner co-writing was buzzing all around social med
ia. The marketing department had predicted the book would be a hit, and if marketing had their figures right, the book would hit the New York Times’ best-seller list for combined print and e-book fiction that very weekend.

  Just as well. She had some unfinished business in the South.

  Eden switched her iPad to airplane mode as the pilot announced they were next in line. Her pleasure spiked when the flight attendant requested her inconsiderate neighbor to switch off her music player.

  ****

  Marcus put the TV on mute when Deb entered the room.

  “Hey, how was your run?”

  “Nice. But it’s going to be a hot day.” She pecked his lips before perching on the couch beside him. “Is that Lyle’s preliminary hearing?”

  “Yes. His attorney is pleading insanity.”

  “That should work.”

  Marcus grinned as she stole another glance at the flat screen and then at the document open on his laptop. “You’re working on something new?”

  He turned the laptop so she could read his premises. Deb shook her head and linked her arms around his neck. “What are you going to do? About your alter ego? I never turned in that paper to the Traveler, but I’m sure they will be more than happy to publish it.”

  “I think it’s better if Flint remains a mystery for a while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Marcus shifted her legs so she sat sideways on his lap. Her sportswear didn’t hide the small bump of her stomach any longer. The awe he’d felt when he’d first heard the tiny heartbeat still blossomed in his chest each time he looked at her. Some nights, he lay awake beside Deb and wondered about the mystery growing inside her, the promise that part of him would forever be entwined with a part of her.

  “Yes, I’m sure. What happened in Arizona made me realize that I don’t need Flint to write. Not anymore.”

  Deb shivered when he brushed his thumb over her stomach. With his wife’s pregnancy came all sorts of cravings, some less caloric than others. She scrunched her nose, as if concentrating on Marcus’s talking rather than his ministrations was a challenge.