Stormy Haven

He’s her undercover bodyguard—but she can’t know

A Coldwater Bay Intrigue story

When someone tries to kill former government agent Jonna Strand, Ian Brady comes to her rescue. Now Ian must keep Jonna safe and catch the would-be killer—without revealing he was sent undercover to protect her. But when Jonna learns the truth, can she look past his secrets and lean on him to ensure they live through the storm-ridden night?

ELIZABETH GODDARD is the award-winning author of more than thirty novels and novellas. A 2011 Carol Award winner, she was a double finalist in the 2016 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and a 2016 Carol Award finalist. Elizabeth graduated with a computer science degree and worked in high-level software sales before retiring to write full-time.

Also by Elizabeth Goddard

Love Inspired Suspense

Coldwater Bay Intrigue

Thread of Revenge

Stormy Haven

Texas Ranger Holidays

Texas Christmas Defender

Wilderness, Inc.

Targeted for Murder

Undercover Protector

False Security

Wilderness Reunion

Mountain Cove

Buried

Untraceable

Backfire

Submerged

Tailspin

Deception

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Stormy Haven

Elizabeth Goddard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08596-0

STORMY HAVEN

© 2018 Elizabeth Goddard

Published in Great Britain 2018

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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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The hooded man aimed a gun at Jonna.

Ian lunged at the man, ramming into him to at least throw off his aim. Gunfire resounded in his ears. The weapon went off before he could stop it.

Cold, brutal waves washed over them as he fought the attacker. A fist filled Ian’s vision. Pain radiated across his face. Salt water washed into his nose and burned.

Ian shoved the man down in the wet sand and pinned the man’s arms behind his back. But the ocean gripped them both. Ian floundered as the current ripped the man from him and pulled Ian under. He held his breath, trying to gain his footing again. He met the sand on his knees, broken shells cutting into his flesh as he gasped and choked on water. Hands gripped him, and he wrestled someone to the ground.

Too late he recognized the feminine form beneath him. “Jonna!”

“We have to get out of here. It’s too dangerous!” she yelled.

For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me;

he shall set me up upon a rock.

—Psalms 27:5

Dedicated to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

You’re the King of my heart.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to all my writing buddies for your encouragement through the years on this long writing road. It’s been an adventure, to be sure. And special thanks goes to my family—thank you for putting up with me while I get lost in my writing world. I couldn’t do this without you. Elizabeth Mazer—I’m so grateful for the opportunities you’ve given me to write for you. To my agent, Steve Laube, thank you for seeing something in me, for believing in me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

Dear Reader

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Only three more miles...

Rain pelted Jonna Strand as she jogged the wintry Washington shoreline. Her cheeks grew numb from the wet cold as white vapor clouds puffed out of her burning lungs.

But as focused as she was on her run, a subtle alarm snaked up her spine.

She’d learned long ago to pay attention to that sixth sense that forewarned of danger. The alarm going off now had nothing at all to do with the storm that had advanced from far out in the Pacific faster than meteorologists had predicted, catching Jonna off guard.

She remained on high alert—a souvenir from her previous training as an ICE agent. More specifically an HSI special agent—the Homeland Security Investigations division of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. She’d put that life behind her, but the training remained.

Jogging six miles every day, she made an effort to stay as fit as she’d been while in law enforcement, the job she’d left three years ago. Even brutal winter storms couldn’t keep her inside. Except weathermen had predicted this system would wreak havoc and threaten lives—so maybe she should have stayed inside, especially given that her instincts warned another possible threat loomed.

Up on the ridge overlooking the beach, a man jogged, keeping pace with her. Only a crazy person would be out in this storm. She could almost laugh at that.

But she felt something was off.

Jonna shoved the apprehension aside and focused on her jog. She’d know soon enough if her instincts were right.

God, please let me be wrong.

Just two more miles...

Then she’d reach the Oceanview Lodge, where she and her guests could watch the wind, rain and waves buffet the coast.

Her business thrived on the winter weather drama that drew people from all over the country. Since the lodge perched on a bluff overlooking a rocky section of the beach, her clients were protected from the hazards posed by seriously high waves as they dashed magnificently against rocky outcroppings, or crashed into the beach.

Like today’s storm that threatened high winds, twenty-foot waves and a significant surge in sea level. Citizens of the town of Windsurf had placed warning signs on the beach about the dangers of sneaker waves and ocean swells. Jonna had assisted in the placement of the signs, and she should have been back before the brunt of the storm hit. No matter. She would be okay as long as she kept clear of the sneaker waves.

Never turn your back on the water.

Never turn your back on the past.

The foreboding thought caught her by surprise. In coming back to Washington, she’d tried to do just that. So far, it had worked.

Far from the threats of her past career, she’d found a sense of peace here in Windsurf on the Pacific side of Coldwater Bay. A few small towns bordered the bay and a peninsula separated them from the ocean.

With her training and her trustworthy Sig Sauer P320 Compact, which she had affectionately named Max, she could take care of herself while she enjoyed managing this peaceful lodge—a stormy haven where she could watch the storms from a safe distance.

The inclement weather wouldn’t prevent her from running.

And neither would a stalker. Was her follower the man who’d already abducted and murdered five women along the Washington coast over the last six months? The Shoreline Killer?

If so, then he’d just picked the wrong woman to mess with.

Or was it someone from her past? Her old boss in Miami, Gil Reeves, had contacted her not long ago—to catch up, he’d said. See how she was doing. Then he’d casually mentioned her name had come up in intel chatter. He’d been giving her a heads-up.

It had been three years since she left. Why would anyone care to talk about her, much less find her, then follow her here? She was no threat to any criminal operations these days. There was no reason to attack her and bring an investigation down on themselves.

A violent gust caused her to misstep, but she righted herself and second-guessed her decision to run outside no matter the weather. A wave could wash up and sweep her away, rip her off the beach and take her out into the depths. Or it could wash over her, carrying driftwood that could knock her unconscious.

Either scenario would result in her death.

She had to get back to the safety of the lodge, but another part of her wanted to face off with man on the ridge pacing her.

Except she hadn’t brought Max. So better to head straight home, where she could arm herself.

She was almost there.

Just beyond the rocky outcropping ahead of her, rustic steps led up to her lodge on the ridge.

Dark, angry clouds bled into an equally dark ocean, blurring the line where sky met sea. The breakers rolled in, reached higher and crashed harder. Jonna stayed just out of reach, her breaths coming faster as she ran on the wet sand, her running shoes leaving footprints that quickly melted away.

Salty ocean spray lashed at her, taunting her. The ocean swelled. Her heart hammered as she ran. If she could make it back to the lodge and grab her gun, then she could find the guy and get some answers.

Fear and determination fueled her steps.

Dread surged as a wave towered up and arched over—a sea monster opening its mouth wide, baring ugly sharp teeth ready to chomp down and consume her whole. Jonna barely escaped.

When she glanced over her shoulder at the ridge, the guy was gone. She was alone in the storm after all.

He hadn’t followed.

Had her instincts been wrong? Was she that rusty?

Relief surged as she neared the lodge. She waited until the crashing waves subsided so she could make her way around the rocks.

A gust of wind forced cold into her marrow, despite her rain-resistant cold-weather jogging garb. Running today had been the absolute worst idea.

Before another wave crashed forward and the ocean surged, blocking her path, Jonna had to get past those rocks.

The hooded man stepped around them and aimed a gun at her.

* * *

Ian Brady was too late.

He lunged at the man with the gun pointed at Jonna, ramming into him to at least throw off his aim. Gunfire resounded in his ears. The weapon went off before he could stop it.

Cold, brutal waves washed over them as he fought the man and disarmed him. Thankfully, the receding waves whisked the gun away. A fist filled his vision. Pain radiated across his face. Salt water washed into his nose and burned.

Ian drew from his experience and training to ignore the pain. He shoved the attacker down in the wet sand and pinned his arms behind his back, then lugged him to his feet. He had the man securely contained in his grip. Now to haul him off to the sheriff.

Except Ian was fighting another assailant now. The Pacific gripped them both. Ian floundered as the current ripped the man from his grasp. Tossed him. Icy cold water pulled Ian under. He held his breath, trying to gain his footing again. He met the sand on his knees, broken shells cutting into his flesh as he gasped and choked water. Hands gripped him, and he wrestled someone to the ground.

Too late he recognized the feminine form beneath him. “Jonna!” The woman who ran the lodge where he stayed.

And the woman Ian had been sent to secretly protect.

“We have to get out of here—it’s too dangerous,” she yelled over the cacophonous storm.

Now she was trying to protect him?

He pulled her to her feet. Together they ran away from the angry ocean to the stairway that climbed the cliffside and carefully maneuvered the slippery steps to the landing. They stopped beneath the shelter of her lodge’s terrace. Driving winds and lashing rain accosted them even under the covered porch. At least they weren’t still on the beach. Below, the ocean boiled and waves collided with rocks and blasted the shoreline.

In the distance, Jonna’s would-be killer crawled onto the beach. At first he floundered when another wave tried to take him, then he found his footing and fled. The guy was too fortunate. He was also too far up the beach for Ian to give chase, but he couldn’t just let the man get away so easily. On the landing of the steps, Ian watched the shooter head for another set of stairs up the cliff to make his escape from the raging waves. Ian started to run after him, but Jonna grabbed his arm.

Surprised at the strength in her grip, he turned to face her.

“Come on.” Turmoil lingered behind her brown eyes as her gaze pled with him. “Let me get you inside.”

Jonna acted like the protector here—her law-enforcement background coming through.

“No. He tried to shoot you. I want to catch him and find out who he is. Maybe I can get to him if I take my car.”

Her lips hardened in a flat line as she lifted her chin. “We’ll take mine.”

She guided him around the lodge to a single-car parking garage. They entered to find her silver GMC Terrain and climbed into the unlocked vehicle. She quickly fished the keys from the visor.

The wind rattled the structure. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “You could stay here while I search for him.” Ian had only meant to protect her, but he had realized his mistake too late. Still... “The guy tried to kill you, Jonna. Not me. It’s safer if you stay here.” Plus, she’d just finished a six-mile jog and her energy could very well be spent, but he knew to say no more.

Starting the ignition, she sent him a tempered glare. Wouldn’t do to glare at a guest, but Ian had insulted her.

Jonna backed from the garage, then took off down the street. She probably wanted to speed, but rain plastered the windshield, rendering the wipers useless.

“Careful now. I don’t know how you can see anything.”

“I’m being careful. I know my way around. You look for the guy while I drive.” The hint of a bite edged her tone.

Clearly, Jonna didn’t like being coddled. Ian focused on searching for the man. Had he gotten into a vehicle and left the area already? Had someone been waiting for him in a getaway car? If the storm would ease up, maybe he could actually see something, but he had a feeling their efforts were futile. His face throbbed from the punch, and his body ached from the damp cold that soaked through him as he sat dripping in her vehicle.

As if finally realizing it was cold, Jonna flipped on the heat. Chilled air flayed him. It would take a few minutes for it to warm up. Ian almost regretted her move.

“We weren’t that far behind him. I hope he didn’t get away.” He scanned the cars parked in the street and the few driving the road despite the sheets of rain. “Why did the guy try to shoot you?”

He tossed the words out to get her talking. Ian had been sent to protect her from a possible attack, but he wasn’t certain she knew she was being targeted. And even if she did, she wouldn’t expect him to know about it. She didn’t know why he was here, which made his task more difficult.

Her long, dark hair plastered to her head, she glanced his way intermittently. Droplets clung to her pale face. Even drenched she was drop-dead gorgeous.

“I don’t know. But he was pacing me up on the ridge while I jogged the beach.”

Guilt suffused him that she’d been running alone without him there to keep watch until it was nearly too late. He’d assumed she wouldn’t jog today. The old adage about assumptions came to mind. But that wasn’t good enough. She could have died today, and that would be another failure. Another life he’d cost.

“You’re usually out jogging the beach too,” she said. “Where were you this morning? Not afraid of a little rain, were you?”

“No, not a little rain. But I read the warning signs and they deterred me. I wasn’t going to jog in the storm. Why did you?” He really wanted to know the answer to that. He needed to understand her better if he was going to protect her.

“I trusted the weather app I use to tell me when the dangerous part of the storm system would hit. According to the meteorologists, I had a couple of hours to jog. That strategy has worked well enough for me until today.”

“You could have been swept away. There’s no surviving those violent waters.”

“I run a storm-watching inn, don’t you think I know that?” she asked. “No need to worry about me.”

“Maybe we should jog together from now on, if we don’t catch this guy right now.” He’d offered earlier to jog with her, but she’d insisted she needed the time alone since she ran a lodge. So he’d given her the space. If she suspected Ian had an agenda, she didn’t show it.

He watched out the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of the guy. Indecision roiled in his gut. Hired by his uncle Gil, the Special Agent in Charge of the Department of Homeland Security’s Miami field office, Ian was here to watch over Jonna. Uncle Gil had been Jonna’s boss, and even though she’d left HSI, he still felt an obligation to keep her safe. Especially from the criminals she’d angered in her years of service. He’d made it clear he didn’t want Jonna to know Ian had been sent.

Like most law-enforcement officers, Jonna would believe she could take care of herself—after all, she’d been trained to do so—and she would send Ian away. Or worse—she’d hightail it back to Miami, furious that someone had come to Washington to find her. Uncle Gil didn’t want Jonna back in Florida. He’d hired Ian to watch and report if he saw anything suspicious, as well as protect Jonna if necessary.

According to Uncle Gil, three years ago, Jonna had just finished wrapping up a human-trafficking-ring case when she went missing. The department feared she was dead, but then she called Gil and explained she’d been attacked and left to die in a marsh. The guy probably thought he’d succeeded in killing her.

She’d woken up in a hospital in a small town off the Florida coast and walked out before she answered their questions. She didn’t have the answers they were looking for—she didn’t know who had shot her or why. The injury, the whole experience of lying there in the marsh and waiting to die, had been too traumatic. In order to cope, her mind had buried those memories out of her reach.

She resigned over the phone. Gil managed to keep the information out of the media. As far as the man who’d shot her knew, she was dead, that is, if he even questioned or came asking. But recently her name had popped up via an informant—and Gil was worried she would be targeted again.

What could she know that would make her a target?

“I wonder if it’s the Shoreline Killer,” she said. “I need to call the sheriff.”

“Let’s say it wasn’t the Shoreline Killer. Could it have been a disgruntled guest?”

Jonna quirked her face. “Are you kidding me?”

Ian stifled a laugh. “Look, I’m not saying there’s actually anything to complain about at your lodge. Not at all. But didn’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t please all the people all the time? Just humor me. Could someone have been unhappy?”

“Enough to try to kill me? No.”

Ian didn’t think so either but he had to ask. “Any acquaintances outside of the lodge, then? Or...” Is there anyone from your past with a grudge? Ian couldn’t say that or he’d give himself away.

“What’s with the questions? You sound like a detective.”

Maybe he already had given himself away.

“Just a concerned guest, that’s all.” And while his motives were more complex than that, he really was concerned. When Ian had learned that Jonna had gone jogging, he’d rushed out and down the landing steps to join her, even in the storm. That’s when he’d spotted a man watching her from behind the rocks.

A man with a gun.

A man who seemed to have made a clean getaway. Ian didn’t see the shooter anywhere. How could he in this storm? Trees swayed and rain rippled like sheets in the wind. The guy had likely escaped in a vehicle and was long gone.

“Thank you for your concern, but there’s no need.” She sighed and glanced around the interior. “Like I said, we should call the sheriff. I need to find my phone. I hope it survived.”

“You don’t have a waterproof cell? I’d think that would be a priority for someone who lives here.” He sent her a wry grin and tugged his own phone out from a protective pocket. “Let’s see. Looks like my waterproof cell really is waterproof. Let me give the authorities a call and tell them what happened.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll head back. But I don’t need emergency vehicles showing up at the lodge. I don’t want my guests to worry or be afraid.”