Wise Moves
The idea of Dane touching her made her more nervous than she thought possible.
He lifted a brow. “It’s either I check you out or we take you to the doctor.”
“Okay, check.”
He pressed his large hands to her rib cage under her loose top. Her breathing had gone shallow. It had been almost a year since she’d been with a man. But she’d only known this man less than a day. He was a stranger. A very dangerous stranger.
Yet, emotion and desire overruled reason. She’d been alone for so long and she wanted to feel connected to someone, if only for a short while.
Sensing the first move would have to be hers, she rose up on tiptoes and gently kissed his lips.
Dear Reader,
Yoga is one of my passions and for the past four years I’ve been a dedicated student. During yoga classes my mind often wanders off to that quiet place where my stories are born. It was during a yoga class that I caught my first glimpses of Kristen and Dane, the heroine and hero of Wise Moves, which of course is set in a yoga studio. Kristen and Dane begin their journey as lost souls, but despite it all they bravely face the threats in the physical world. Their reward is inner peace that allows each to love the other.
I hope Wise Moves keeps you on the edge of your seat, touches your heart and for just a little while takes you away from the hectic pace of the outer world.
Have a safe and happy summer!
Mary Burton
Wise Moves
Mary Burton
www.mirabooks.co.uk
MARY BURTON
sold her first novel in 1999 and since then has written eight Harlequin Historical novels. Wise Moves is her third contemporary novel for Silhouette Intimate Moments. Burton not only enjoys a variety of hobbies, including yoga, hiking and scuba diving, but also recently tackled her first triathlon. A graduate of Hollins University, she is based in Richmond, Virginia, where she lives with her husband and two children.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Prologue
Danger surrounded Elena Benito.
The dark sensation had grown steadily since she’d returned to Miami yesterday, winding her nerves tighter than a drum. At 9:00 a.m., just six hours from now, she was scheduled to testify against her brother, drug kingpin Antonio Benito.
Unable to sleep, Elena paced the small furnished room of the FBI’s Dade County safe house. Feeling trapped, she sat on the twin bed, picked up the TV remote, clicked on the small television and started surfing. But none of the B-movies, late-night talk shows or infomercials distracted her from her fears. Her brother was out there, looking for her, and he wanted to punish her.
She clicked off the television. The house’s old air-conditioning system couldn’t overcome the hot, humid July air, making it difficult to breathe.
Rising, Elena flexed and released her fingers. She had to get out of this room.
She opened her bedroom door, which fed into the living room furnished with bamboo furniture and a green shag carpet. Flowery drapes covered a large picture window by the wooden front door.
This room felt as foreign as the safe house in New Mexico where the FBI had hidden her. Out west, she’d dreamed of getting out of the mountains and returning to the Miami she loved. She longed for her beloved beaches and the sight of the ocean. But now as she stared around this seedy house, she realized the Miami she’d loved was lost to her forever.
Police officers Jack Mendez and Nancy Rogers were the Miami officers assigned to guard Elena until the FBI detail picked her up at seven. The police officers’ voices and the click of cards shuffling drifted out from the kitchen.
Both Rogers and Mendez had called this operation a routine gig, but there was nothing routine about any of this. The officers, like everyone else involved in her brother’s murder trial, knew how much rode on her testimony. The Feds had been after Antonio for years. But they’d never been able to pin anything on him until Elena had told police she’d witnessed her brother kill six members of a local Miami church.
The “Churchmen,” as they were known by the press, had effectively stopped the drug trade in their neighborhood with peaceful sit-ins and a neighborhood watch program. Angered by sagging profits, Antonio had decided to send all he knew a message by murdering the men. He’d forced Elena to witness the killings because she, too, was being taught a lesson: Never run from me again.
Elena had begged for the lives of the men, but Antonio had showed no mercy and shot each in cold blood. It had taken her another nineteen days before she’d found another opportunity to escape Antonio. This time, when she ran, she had gone to the police. She had identified her brother as the shooter and he had been arrested.
She moved silently through the house to the open kitchen door. Mendez stood at the kitchen sink as a coffeepot brewed. His white Guayabera shirt accentuated rich brown skin. “My old lady was talking about buying a bigger house.”
Nancy sat at a yellow Formica kitchen table and shuffled a worn deck of cards. The room’s pineapple wallpaper and appliances dated back to the fifties. “Her high-dollar tastes are gonna break you, Mendez.”
Mendez’s full mustache twitched when he smiled. “Nah, I can handle her.”
Nancy dealt two hands. “That’s what they all say.”
Floorboards under Elena’s feet squeaked as she crossed the threshold. Immediately the officers’ gazes whipped around. Nancy was already reaching for her gun.
Elena rubbed smooth hands over designer jeans. “I’m sorry. I just wanted a glass of water.”
Nancy clipped her gun back in the holster and smiled. “Sure.”
“I’ll get it,” Mendez said.
As Mendez filled a glass with tap water, Nancy stood. “Is everything in your room okay?”
Elena hugged her arms around her chest. “It’s fine.”
There was softness in Nancy Rogers’s eyes when she nodded. “It will all be over soon.”
Elena tried to take comfort from the officer’s words, but found the ominous dread in her would not stop growing. “Yes.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” Nancy said. “Your brother is a monster and he needs to be put away.”
Elena had never expected that doing the right thing would be so hard. “It’s what must be done.”
A sound from the street caught Nancy’s attention. “Did you hear something?”
Mendez shut the tap off and set the glass on the counter. He peaked through the kitchen’s miniblinds. “Looks like the transfer team arrived early.”
Elena’s fingers trembled as she pushed back the cuff of her silk blouse and checked the Rolex on her slim wrist. “They’re four hours early.” She suddenly felt cold, as if Death had brushed past her.
Nancy’s hand slid to the holster clipped to her jeans. “I don’t like it.”
“He’s here,” Elena whispered as she stepped back. She hated being afraid, being a coward. “He’s come to kill me.”
Nancy shook her head, puzzled by Elena’s words. “Who? Antonio? He’s not here.”
Elena shook her head, unable to deny the feelings in her. “He’s sent people to kill me.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Ms. Benito. It could be nothing,” Nancy said.
Instinct whispered differently.
Nancy switched off the living room light and moved past Elena into the dark room. She peeked out thick curtains covering the picture window. “It makes sense they’d change the schedule. I just wish they’d told us.”
There was no tension in Mendez’s face when he came into the living room and looked out the same window. A gold signet ring on his pinky caught the moonlight. “Varying the pickup time just means tighter security, Ms. Benito. The car looks like Miami D.A. issue. No need to worry.”
Nancy flipped open her cell phone. The light of its screen cast a faint blue light on her angled faced. “I’m calling the lieutenant to see if this is legit.”
Mendez rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, I hope this gig is ending four hours early. I haven’t slept in my own bed in two nights and I’m missing my old lady’s loving.”
Elena stepped back toward her room. She glanced at the side window in her bedroom that led to a back alley.
“Remember the plan,” Nancy said to Elena as if reading her thoughts. “If there is any trouble, climb out the window. There is a car parked in the alley. Keys are under the mat and the gas tank is full. Go straight to the central office.”
Mendez looked surprised. “Who put the car out back?”
“I did. Just in case,” Nancy said.
He cracked his knuckles. “You’re so anal, Rogers.”
“Better anal than dead, as my brother says,” Nancy shot back.
Elena didn’t want to be a coward, but raw fear churned in her gut. “Do you think it’s Antonio?”
Nancy looked calm, too calm, as if she didn’t want to spook her witness. She held her phone close to her ear. “Chances are it’s like Mendez said. They’ve changed the pickup time.”
Mendez moved toward the door. “You two are worrying over nothing. It’s FBI. This time tomorrow Benito will be in—”
Nancy snapped her fingers, signaling Mendez to stop talking as someone came on the line. “Hello, Lt. Grasser, this is Officer Rogers at the Benito safe house. I need a confirmation on an early pickup. We’ve got men who look like FBI in our driveway now. Right. Okay.” She muttered an oath. “The guy put me on hold.”
There was a loud knock at the front door. “Mendez and Rogers open up. FBI.”
Mendez looked through the peephole. “He’s holding up a FBI badge.” He reached for the handle.
“Don’t open that door!” Nancy shouted. “Wait until I get a confirmation.”
Mendez smiled at his partner.
Elena froze. His was the same oily smile she’d seen on Antonio’s face before he’d killed the Churchmen.
Elena felt sick. “He’s going to betray us.”
Shock registered on Nancy’s face but before she could react, Mendez turned the deadbolt.
“Mendez, don’t,” Nancy shouted.
“I’ve got to,” he said. “There’s five million on her head and I want it.”
The shock on Nancy’s face gave way to anger in a split second. Dropping her cell phone, Nancy reached for her gun and shot Mendez in the leg before he could open the door.
“Run!” Nancy shouted to Elena.
Frozen with fear, Elena watched Mendez drop to his knees.
“Bitch.” Wincing, Mendez reached for the doorknob.
“Run!” Nancy shouted again to Elena.
Elena did not want to leave the officer behind. She liked the woman and knew if Nancy stayed she’d die.
“Come with me!” Elena begged.
“No,” Nancy said. “Now go!”
Elena felt like a coward as she ran into the bedroom. Her high heels caught in the shag carpet and she stumbled to the floor by her bed.
Behind her, she heard the crack of wood splintering as the front door slammed open. Her heart hammering, she kicked off her shoes, rose and ran toward the window. She jerked back the curtains and fumbled with the lock.
Elena glanced back as Nancy swung around, her Beretta raised as three men entered the house. One pulled a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun from under his black suit jacket. He shot Mendez point-blank in the head. The policeman dropped to the floor, dead.
Nancy fired and hit the shooter in the chest. He fell back into the wall and slid to the floor.
Elena said a silent prayer as she fumbled with the window’s lock. She and Nancy had reviewed the escape plan just hours ago, but her thoughts tripped inside her head.
More gunshots exploded in the living room.
The lock gave way and the window opened. Elena hoisted herself up onto the sill and swung her legs over. She jumped the four feet to the soft ground. Bare feet sunk in the moist dirt.
Nancy screamed, firing again. The agonizing sounds tore at Elena. Another shot exploded and then silence.
Elena didn’t have to see to know that Officer Nancy Rogers was dead.
Tears clouded her eyes and she ran to the car. Nancy had sacrificed herself for Elena. With trembling hands she opened the car door. The dome light flashed on and she reached under the front mat and got the keys. She immediately closed the door. The vehicle plunged into darkness.
In her rush, she dropped the keys on the floor. Frantically, she ran her hand along the carpeted floor until she felt the cold metal of the keys.
Inside the house, two men entered her room and went to the window out of which she’d just climbed. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the engine.
Elena didn’t dare look back at the house for fear she’d see them coming. She put the car in Drive and sped down the side street.
Tonight had proven that the five-million-dollar reward on her head was enough to turn anyone against her, including the police. If she showed up at the courthouse later this morning, she would die. Antonio would see to it.
Her heart ached for Nancy. The officer deserved justice. The Churchmen deserved justice.
There was nothing she could do for any of them now but disappear.
Chapter 1
Nine Months Later, Tuesday, April 24, 11:00 a.m.
As Kristen Rodale approached the small town’s historic district, asphalt and nondescript buildings gave way to tree-lined cobblestone streets and turn-of-the-century buildings with flower boxes in the windows.
A gold-leaf sign on a wooden post near a courthouse with white columns read, Welcome.
Welcome.
It had been so long since she’d felt welcome. So long since she’d felt wanted, nurtured and loved. But close contact with anyone was too dangerous. Not only did the police want her, but her brother Antonio wanted her as well.
Two old men stood in front of an antique shop, glanced up and nodded as she passed. Reflex had her stiffening, and it took a concerted effort to relax her shoulders and nod a greeting back.
Nine months of running and still she didn’t like being scrutinized.
She shifted her backpack to the other shoulder, strolling past a delightful collection of stores. A lingerie shop, an Italian restaurant with a collection of sidewalk tables, a high-end clothing store—each was as unique and special as the century-old stone buildings that housed them. Two years ago—a lifetime ago—she would have shopped in stores like these and never have glanced at a price tag. Now pennies were precious.
A coffee shop’s large picture window caught her attention. Tucked in the first floor of an old redbrick bank building, the shop was stuffed with a collection of small round tables, an old jukebox and bin after bin of specialty coffees. The rich sights lured her closer.
She thought about the money in her pocket. She’d saved five hundred dollars by scrimping and saving. Her goal was to buy a car, so that she wouldn’t have to rely on buses and trains where anyone could recognize her.
As she entered the shop, bells jingled above her head and a rush of warm air greeted her. Most of the tables were filled with mothers chatting to other mothers as their babies gurgled in wooden high chairs, tourists with cameras and maps and a worker grabbing a coffee, presumably before her afternoon shift.
Kristen studied the menu. She could have splurged on a preferred cappuccino but decided on a much less expensive small coffee and a muffin.
She walked to the ancient cash register where a young man with a crop of red hair stood. “What’ll it be?”
She cleared her throat. It had been days since she’d spoken to anyone. “Small coffee, in a regular to-go cup, and a blueberry muffin.”
“Coming right up.” He poured her the coffee and set it on the counter and then plated up the muffin.
She counted out quarters, dimes and pennies to the right amount. “Thanks.”
As he rang up her purchase and counted her change, he asked, “You passing through?”
She sipped her coffee. Delicious warmth spread to her chilled fingers. “I was thinking about staying a while.” She dumped fifty cents in the tip jar. Having lived off tips these past nine months she knew how the extra coins could add up.
The young man nodded his thanks. “Cool. You’ll like it here. I’m Pete, what’s your name?”
This question always brought a moment’s hesitation. For the first eight months on the run, she’d changed her name often, fearing she would be traced. But this last month, she’d grown confident as she’d become more streetwise. She’d settled on the name “Kristen,” and announced this to Pete.
“Kristen. Welcome.”
“Thanks.”
“So are you looking for a job?”
“Yes. Know of any?”
Another customer came into the store. “I think so. Let me take care of this guy first.”
“Sure.”
As Pete waited on the new customer, Kristen took an empty seat by the large picture window and settled her backpack between her feet. Sunlight streamed in. She closed her eyes and savored the warmth on her skin.
If there was one thing she missed most about her old life, it was the sun. She’d grown up accustomed to bathing suits, the scent of sun screen, sandals and sleeveless dresses.
She ate her muffin. It was a bit dry but sitting at a table and eating off of a real plate made it palatable.
The muffin gone, she was savoring her coffee when the bells on the front door rang again. A cool breeze flowed into the shop on the heels of a slender woman with shoulder-length blond hair. She wore a loose-fitting black turtleneck sweater that topped a green peasant skirt. Sporting well-worn Birkenstocks on her feet, she moved through the room as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Good morning, Pete!” she called out.
Pete stood a little straighter and grinned. “Morning, Sheridan. You want the regular soy latte?”
“Yes, thank you.” She tossed a five on the counter. “So how is your mom? I hear she’s out of the hospital.”
“She’s good. The cast should come off in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s wonderful. Have her come by the Yoga Studio when she’s feeling better. I’ll show her some moves to limber up. She’s going to be stiff.”
“Thanks, I will.” He handed her the latte in a porcelain cup and made change.
Carelessly, she dumped the couple dollars’ worth of change in the tip jar and grabbed two packets of sugar from the counter.
“Oh, hey, are you still looking for a receptionist?” Pete said.
Sheridan’s eyes brightened. “Yes.”
“Well, that gal over there is new in town and looking for work.”
It took a second for Kristen to realize Pete was talking about her. Immediately, she tensed.
Sheridan settled her gaze on Kristen. Shrewd eyes studied her before she strolled toward Kristen’s table.
“So, is my young friend correct?” Sheridan said. “Are you looking for a job?”
Rising, Kristen cleared her throat. Sheridan stood a good five inches taller than her own five-foot-two inches, but Kristen kept her chin high and her gaze direct. “I am.”
“My name is Sheridan Young.”
“Kristen Rodale.”
“Mind if I sit down?”
“Sure.” As the two sat, she reminded herself that she had no reason to be nervous. She’d had a dozen jobs in the past nine months. Besides, she’d survived hell and lived to tell the tale.
“What brings you to Lancaster Springs?”
“I like to travel.”
“So you won’t be staying long.”
Kristen heard the apprehension in the woman’s voice. “I like this town. I could easily stay here.” That was the truth. If she could stay, she would.
Sheridan dumped raw sugar into her coffee and stirred it. “Your breathing is shallow.”
“What?”
“Shallow. You don’t take deep breaths. Is it habit or stress?”
Behind the easygoing appearance was a shrewd woman. “Habit, I suppose.”
“I’d vote stress.”
Kristen picked up her coffee and sipped as her thoughts stumbled. Sheridan didn’t know her from Adam. And there were millions of reasons why people got stressed out. “Why do you say that?”
“The breathing and your eyes give it away.”
Kristen blinked. Maybe this wasn’t the town for her.
As if reading her mind, Sheridan smiled. “Don’t look so nervous. I’m not going to dig too deep.”
Kristen nodded and, more to change the subject, said, “You said something about a job?”
“As a matter of fact I did. I own the Yoga Studio. Up until now I’ve been all the help I could afford, but the studio is doing well and I’m looking to hire a receptionist. I pay seven dollars an hour.”
“It sounds great,” Kristen said honestly.
“But…”
Kristen managed to keep her face blank. “What makes you think there is a but?”
Sheridan rose. “Pete, mind if I take this mug? I’ll bring it back in a couple of hours.”
Pete raised his hand. “No problemo.”
Sheridan hitched her head toward the door. “Get your cup. Walk with me.”
Kristen wasn’t sure what to say but picked up her cup, hoisted her backpack on her shoulder and followed Sheridan down the tree-lined street.
They walked several blocks north of the historical district into a neighborhood that hadn’t been renovated yet. In the center of the aging buildings was a tall house made of gray stone. It had a red front door flanked by large pots filled with purple and yellow winter pansies. A sign painted in a breezy style hung above the door. It read: Yoga Studio. The building had a warm, calming quality.
“This is your place?”
“Yes.” Pride was evident.
“It’s lovely.”
“I’ve worked hard to fix her up. She was a mess and marked for demolition when I bought her three years ago. But I could see there was still a good bit of life here. There’s more work to be done, but I’m making progress.”
“You like to rescue things,” Kristen said as she stared at ivy trailing out of the window boxes.
A smile tugged at Sheridan’s full mouth. “And you are good at sizing people up.”
A necessary skill. “Yes.”
Sheridan studied her. “There’s sadness in your soul, Kristen Rodale.”
Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. “Sadness isn’t a crime is it?”
Sheridan sipped her coffee. “No, it’s not. But someone as young as you shouldn’t be so sad.”
“No one ever said life was supposed to be happy.”
A cloud passed in front of Sheridan’s eyes. Kristen had hit a nerve. But just as soon as the sorrow appeared, it vanished. “Like I said, I pay seven dollars an hour and I also have a room above the studio, which you can use. I lived in the apartment until a couple of months ago. Now I live down the street in the youth shelter.”
“Why the shelter?”
“The old director quit unexpectedly and they needed someone to run the place. I like the kids so for now it’s my home.”
“More people to save?”
“I suppose.” Sheridan broke Kristen’s gaze and let it travel over her building. “The apartment is yours if you want it, though I’ll expect you to open the shop each morning by eight. That’ll save me from having to arrive much before the 9:00 a.m. class. The shelter has a 10:00 p.m. curfew, but I never seem to get to bed before midnight.”
Life had made Kristen cautious, skeptical of lucky breaks. Sheridan just seemed too good to be true. “Why me?”