Hers To Protect
She’s sworn to protect...
But does that include a speeding celebrity?
Violet Hawks is a by-the-books police officer—so when she catches a man speeding, she arrests him. Only, the man is famous race car driver Josh Stevens. To make amends, Josh launches a charm campaign, and it works on the small town...and on Violet. But when Josh is connected to an investigation, Violet begins to wonder—can she trust her instincts when her heart is involved?
CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born to storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer.
For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago. To add to the dream, Hallmark Channel has recently released The Sweetest Heart, based on the second book in her Mills & Boon Heartwarming series, Shores of Indian Lake. With more books in the series and more movies to come, Catherine makes her home in La Porte, Indiana, the inspiration for Indian Lake.
Also By Catherine Lanigan
Shores of Indian Lake
Family of His Own
His Baby Dilemma
Rescued by the Firefighter
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Hers to Protect
Catherine Lanigan
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09136-7
HERS TO PROTECT
© 2019 Catherine Lanigan
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Why was Josh interested in his arresting officer?
There was a softness in Violet’s eyes, a compassion, and that made Josh pause. Made him think. And feel things he hadn’t felt in a really long time.
Josh had spent most of his adult life chasing the next win. He hadn’t stopped to consider what he really wanted.
“Belonging.”
The word rushed out of him like a riptide from the bottom of his heart. To be important to just one person. What would that be like? What would it be like to walk into a room and have Violet’s face light up just because he was there? Not the blaze of fame like he saw in a fan’s face, or the need in those dependent on him, but love.
Was that what he wanted?
Love?
Dear Reader,
To all of you who are returning to the Shores of Indian Lake series and who read Family of His Own, you might remember Violet Hawks. For those of you who are new to Indian Lake, welcome. Indian Lake is a lovely and loving smallish town located in Northwest Indiana. The town is noted for its close community of involved, concerned and caring people. I have been fortunate in my life to grow up in a place like Indian Lake.
Violet Hawks is a rookie police officer. She dreams of becoming an investigative detective one day, but when she sees an expensive Bugatti Chiron shooting down a country road, she pursues. The Chiron is driven by handsome, famous and wealthy race car driver Josh Stevens. Josh is shocked when the feisty and pretty Violet actually arrests him!
The judge orders Josh to do community service, which keeps him tied to Indian Lake and to Violet. When Josh is injured in a Memorial Day race, Violet realizes that her concern for Josh has turned into something deeper.
I hope you enjoy Hers to Protect. It was interesting and challenging to delve into the law enforcement world as seen through Violet’s young, ambitious eyes. Josh clearly burrowed into my heart.
I love hearing from you as I delve into more Shores of Indian Lake stories. Follow me on Facebook; Twitter: @cathlanigan; catherinelanigan.com; Pinterest; YouTube; heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com; and my book tours at prismbooktours.blogspot.com; and see my Hallmark movie, The Sweetest Heart, based on the book Heart’s Desire, on the Hallmark Channel.
God bless,
Catherine
This book is dedicated to my husband and hero, Jed Nolan, who died October 21, 2015. I love you to the moon and back and throughout all the galaxies forever. I am ever grateful to you for watching over me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to my editor Adrienne Macintosh for guiding me through this fast-paced relationship between Violet and Josh. We had so much fun sitting in the grandstand while these two jockeyed for positions in their rocketing romance. Your insights and brilliance continue to polish my creativity and make my work turn to “play.”
To Dianne Moggy, my editor and friend. We’ve racked up another one and we’re heading into even more fun! Thank you for being there for me over twenty-three years. That time went fast.
To Kathleen Scheibling, Kathryn Lye, Deirdre McCluskey, Dana Grimaldi and all the creative Heartwarming team who work endlessly to make every Heartwarming story the superlative novels they are, my deepest gratitude. You all continue to amaze me.
And to my agent and dear friend, Lissy Peace, our journey has been decades in the making and the speedway to our futures is certainly filled with thrills and triumphs. The race has only just begun.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Introduction
Dear Reader
Dedication
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 NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
VIOLET PEERED THROUGH her binoculars at the shower of apple blossoms fluttering onto the hood of her unmarked Ford Taurus squad car. Though she listened to satellite radio through an aux jack, she was waiting anxiously for a call from her superior, Detective Trent Davis. This was Violet’s first stakeout—though only an innocent-looking old farmhouse, it represented her superiors’ trust in her.
After six months on the ILPD force, she’d been handed every rookie assignment the chief couldn’t pawn off on one of the veteran cops. She was the greenie kid fresh out of the academy. Every one of her superiors had dodged giving her a real assignment. Until today.
She’d been walking past the chief’s office—okay, she’d been purposefully loitering there, eavesdropping on the conversation between Trent Davis, Sal Paluzzi and Chief Williams about a Chicago-based drug dealer moving into the area. She heard Chief Williams say, “All I’ve got is that this guy is in the area, drives an expensive sports car and a name. Miguel Garcia.”
Violet choked on the coffee she’d been nursing. Trent looked up and saw Violet on the other side of the open door. “Officer Hawks?”
Violet didn’t shy away. “Yes, sir.” She boldly walked across the threshold, but as she opened her mouth, an image of being fired for her impertinence invaded her thoughts. Risks were something an officer of the law faced every day. She took the shot. “It’s likely an alias. Miguel Garcia is a very common name. It would take more than searching databases to get a bead on this guy. Which would be the reason it was used.”
Trent folded his arms over his wide chest. The chief narrowed his eyes, while Sal sought refuge in his coffee mug. He was waiting for her to trip up. Again.
“You’re correct on that, Officer Hawks,” the chief said. “Any suggestions?”
Fast thinking, intuition and the ability to piece together unrelated clues and fragments of information had served her well since the first time she played board games, or watched television mysteries with her siblings. “Over Easter dinner at my mother’s house, which is out on the north side of the county, Mom said she’d seen an expensive sports car racing down 1000 North. She said it came out of nowhere and had to be going over one-fifty. It was so fast she didn’t remember the color. For my mother, an architect and designer, who sees every tone and hue of color, that’s fast.”
“Your point?” Trent challenged.
Her thoughts fell into place like lightning strikes. “It’s been ILPD experience that drug dealers around here tend to have fast, expensive cars. They also comb the county roads around Indian Lake because that’s how they traffic their shipments and avoid us. Er, the authorities. I’ve lived in the north of the county all my life. I know every road, farmer’s access road and gully. I’ve picked strawberries at Paulson’s Farm and peaches at Brown’s Orchards. The tourists don’t usually head out that way. Superfast cars aren’t the norm out near my mother’s house. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say that speeding car belonged to someone who was up to no good, someone who might be part of this new dealer’s network or even the dealer himself.”
Her mouth had gone dry. Had she done the right thing? This wasn’t her meeting. She’d been hired as a traffic cop, though all she’d ever dreamed about was becoming an investigative detective on a major city’s police force such as Chicago or New York.
The truth was, Violet wasn’t good enough for big city forces. She’d applied in Indianapolis, Evansville and South Bend. They’d all turned her down. Being the second youngest Hawks kid, she’d wanted to get out of Indian Lake and make her mark elsewhere. Anywhere. But since drug use and trafficking in small towns and rural areas throughout the Midwest was on the rise, towns like Indian Lake needed cops. Trent Davis knew her sister, Isabelle, and Isabelle’s husband well, so he recommended Violet to the chief. She got the job.
Violet knew she had dues to pay. She was okay with that. Still, she would have rather done so in Los Angeles or Chicago where her detective skills would have been tested nearly every day and advancement would have been faster. Or so she thought. Trent Davis’s Drug Task Force had made significant inroads and arrests last year. Isabelle’s husband, Scott, had written a prize-winning newspaper article on his eyewitness report to Davis’s bust bringing down the notorious and elusive Le Grand gang. Now a new gang was taking over. If she could contribute to this investigation, she could become a permanent member on Davis’s team. After that? The possibilities were endless.
Trent rubbed the pleased smile off his face and turned to Violet. “Did your mother have an idea what kind of car it was?”
“She said Maserati. My brother Eric always had posters of Italian race cars in his room. She said it was something like that.”
“It could be anything,” Sal interjected.
Trent unfolded his arms. “How many Maseratis have you seen around here? Even in tourist season, Sal?”
“None.”
Chief Williams pointed at Violet. “Hawks, I’m ordering you on a stakeout. Davis, you get her outfitted with what she needs. If something is going on up there on or around 1000 North, I want to know about it. This makes sense. It’s close to the Michigan state line. The interstate is a stone’s throw away. Those county roads up there are a spiderweb. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve missed my turn and ended up in Three Oaks, Michigan.” He cleared his throat.
Trent rose and walked toward Violet. Sal was behind him. He lowered his voice as they headed toward Trent’s desk. “Congrats, Hawks. But, while I’m ordering up a car for you, I want you to search that database.” He pointed to the computer on his desk. “Don’t look for Garcia. Look for Maserati sales in the tristate area.”
* * *
AS SHE SCANNED the early May orchards, she savored the sweet taste of satisfaction on her lips. She’d stepped up to the plate, and finally, she felt she was part of a team.
The radio chirped.
“Hawks?”
She grabbed the square shoulder mic. “Sir?”
“What have you got?” Trent asked.
“Nothing.” She sat up straighter. Her ears pricked as she heard the sound of an engine. This wasn’t a tractor or a slow-moving old truck taking fruit saplings out to plant. It was something she’d never heard before.
Holding the binoculars again, she saw a streak of blue through a blind of windbreak trees to the far south.
“Are you still there?” Trent asked.
“I got something.”
“What?” His voice pitched with interest.
“I don’t...know...but it’s moving like a bullet train.”
“Use your radar gun. How fast?”
She snatched the radar gun from the passenger seat, aimed and tagged the vehicle, whose make she still couldn’t identify. “Holy crap. Sorry, sir.” She turned on her car’s engine already anticipating the chase. “Two zero two.”
“Talk later. Go!”
“Roger. Out.”
She flung the radar gun and binoculars to the passenger seat, stomped on the gas pedal and shot dirt from under her tires. The blue bullet was streaking down the country road as if the devil was on its back. As Violet sped the Taurus over seventy, then eighty miles an hour, she knew she’d never outrace her prey.
She’d have to outsmart him.
Knowing that Jasper Brown had bisected his enormous orchard years ago with a dirt path wide enough for his truck, she headed for that familiar dirt alley that separated the apple trees from the pear trees.
Turning sharp right, she tore down the bumpy trail that seemed a lot more hazardous today than it had ten years ago when she used to ride her bike home from apple picking. She tightened her seat belt and hit the gas. From the right, she could see the blue sports car approaching. It would pass her, but she’d have it within her sights.
As she burst out of the farm’s dirt path and up the slight bank, the blue bullet screamed past her. The driver was a blur.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Violet’s squad car nearly leaped onto the pavement and made chase. She turned on her light bar and siren. “Officially, you’re mine.”
Expecting the blue sports car to slow down now that her lights and siren were on, Violet was shocked when it kicked up its speed. Convinced she had the drug dealer dead to rights, she wasn’t about to let up. She plunged the gas to the floor. The Taurus could do up to one-fifty, but this sports car was out of her league.
Just then she heard Trent’s voice. “Officer Hawks, keep this line open.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Report.”
“I’m coming up on 350 East. I’m in pursuit. I’ve never seen this car make. I’ll shoot the license. It’s over two hundred miles an hour. I can’t overtake. I need backup.”
“County deputy sheriffs are on their way.”
“Ten four.”
“Stay with him. You got something.”
In the background over the radio, Violet could hear Trent speaking to the county sheriff’s dispatcher.
Trent’s voice was stern. “County is close. They’re forming a barricade two and a half miles from you. Back off.”
She smiled. “Ten four.” She turned off her radio. Violet kept her foot depressed. This was her perp. Her collar. She was going to see it to the end. When the county sheriff barricade stopped this drug dealer, she would be there and she would make the arrest. Glory was within her reach. And possibly a promotion.
Gold-and-brown Indian Lake County sheriff cars and SUVs were strung across the county road with lights flashing. The blue bullet slammed on its brakes, tires squealing and black rubber smoking streaks across the concrete. Violet let off the gas and braked, bringing the Taurus to a quick but safe stop. She couldn’t unbelt herself fast enough. It was all she could do not to run up to Miguel Garcia and drag him from the luxurious sports car. If her brothers were here, they’d be whistling over this car. She still had no idea what it was, but she was sure “expensive” didn’t come close to describing its price.
Before she got to the blue bullet, the door was flung open and a tall, lean, blond man exited. Violet halted. He was killer handsome, dressed in expensive black slacks, a dark blue knit shirt that stretched over his broad chest, its fine material lying over cut muscles. The long sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing taut forearms. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He glared at her. She noticed his eyes were sky blue.
“Aw jeez. A country cop.” He spat the word from between pursed, angry lips.
“ILPD. City cop.”
His anger vanished as he flashed her a blazingly charming smile. “What a coincidence.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m from Indianapolis. It was a joke.”
“I’m not smiling.” This man was likely guilty of nothing more than speeding. And her reaction to him vied with the realization she’d left her stakeout, where the drug dealer might even now be driving by.
She felt she was right back where she started, giving out speeding tickets on Highway 35.
“Sir, I clocked you at over two hundred miles an hour.”
He glanced behind him at his car. He patted the hood. “That’s all?”
Violet gaped at his audacity. Who did he think he was?
The scuffle of boots against the pavement alerted her to the audience of four county sheriff’s deputies watching the scene.
Violet reached to her back pocket for her ticket pad. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket. “I’m citing you for speeding and reckless driving.”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
She glared at him. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She lowered her eyes to the pad and wrote. “The speed limit here is fifty.”
“I never saw anything posted.”
“Well, it is,” she replied, still not looking into his startling blue eyes. “But then you were going so fast, how could you see it?”
“I see a lot of things. If there was a sign posted, I would have seen it. I’ve been all over these country roads.”
“You have.”
“I know people here. Austin and Katia McCreary.”
Violet also knew Austin and Katia. A little. Some said Austin was the wealthiest man in town. He owned the antique car museum, and, according to Isabelle, he’d been a recluse for years until he married Katia. Violet had worked a couple charity events with Katia.
How did this guy know Austin?
She heard the deputies snickering at her, so she pressed on. “It doesn’t matter who you know in town. I need your driver’s license and registration.” She held out her hand.
At that point the deputies broke into guffaws.
This was too much. She took a step away from the car and shot a laser look at the tallest of the four deputies. “What?”
He broke from the barricade as the other deputies walked back to their cars hooting to themselves. “You don’t know who this is, do you, Officer...?”
“Hawks,” she replied officially. “I’m about to find out once I get his driver’s...”
“Josh Stevens,” the deputy sheriff said. “He’s just about the most famous race car driver to come out of Indiana. I saw him race.”
Violet felt herself flush. She imagined she’d gone from red to crimson to deep purple. Of course she knew who he was. You couldn’t grow up in the Hawks house and not know names like Danica Patrick, Fernando Alonso and Josh Stevens. Violet’s brothers had spent nearly every Memorial Day weekend in college seated in the bleachers in Speedway, Indiana, watching the Indianapolis 500.