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  Jack couldn’t imagine the thought of Tara packing heat instead of wielding a chef’s knife. “I hope she keeps doing exactly what she’s doing now.”

  “Son! We’re here.” His parents entered the room. Dad looked grayer, and Mom had a few more lines on her face than he last remembered.

  George stood. “I’ll leave you three to catch up.” He nodded at Jack’s parents before stepping from the room.

  Mom reached his bedside first. “Oh, my sweet boy. I’ve always been afraid of this happening to you.” She clamped her hand onto her mouth and a few tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “I’m okay, Mom. I’m going to be back out there in a couple of months.” Of course, there’d be physical therapy and another shoulder surgery. “I’m thankful, though, it wasn’t my right shoulder.”

  “Son, we are so proud of you.” Dad’s eyes were bright. “I don’t think we tell you enough.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I know you are. But you didn’t have to come. Airfare is expensive, and it looks like I might be able to fly home sooner instead of summertime.”

  “We needed to be here,” his father said. “Not every day is our son a national hero, even though nobody knows about it.”

  “It’s not important for people to know.” Jack squeezed his mother’s hand. “Mom, don’t cry. I’m okay. Really. It hurts like anything, but it’ll be fine.”

  “Do I need to get the nurse?” she asked, dabbing at her eyes.

  “No, Mom, but thanks.”

  “Speaking of thanks, well, I’d like to give thanks,” Dad said.

  “Go right ahead, because I would, too.” Jack closed his eyes and listened to his father’s voice.

  “Lord,” his father said, “thank You for keeping Your hand on our son. We know that even though he’s hundreds and sometimes thousands of miles away from us, he’s not outside of Your reach. We don’t know where he is sometimes, but we know You do. Nothing happens to him that You don’t know about or care about. So thank You again for preserving his life. Now, I ask that You touch his heart, his mind, and strengthen him. Help him make wise decisions in the days and months and years ahead. In Your Son’s name I pray, amen.”

  Jack blinked. He’d forgotten what it was like to hear his father pray. A simple Midwestern farmer whose faith ran as deep as the trees on his land. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Well, I meant to tell you. There’s a pretty lady outside the door who insisted we see you first.”

  Tara—

  “Send her in, please.”

  “We’ll be right outside if you need us, hon.” Mom gave him a smile before they went into the hallway.

  Tara entered the room with a wave at his parents. She was at his bedside not soon enough, yanking a chair to sit close to him.

  “You’re okay—“

  “I’m perfect right now.” Heat swept through him at her nearness, and not because of his arm. With his good arm, he pulled her closer and gave her a lingering kiss. “You did good, Special Agent Whitley.”

  “I’m not packing my knives away and heading for training at Quantico anytime soon.” Her smile was brief, then faded. “When I saw that gun, and what he was trying to do, I kept trying to think about how I could stop him, how I could let you know. Because I knew you had to be there somewhere at the dinner.”

  “I heard you. I came as soon as I did.”

  “About last week, at the café.”

  “I deserved it.” He knew he did. It had been a long time coming. He shouldn’t have thought that one kiss and apology would make up for the past. But Lord, I don’t want to lose her again.

  “Give it time.”

  “Maybe,” Tara said, sitting up a little straighter. “And even now, I don’t want us to make any decisions in the heat of the moment—whether it’s because of a kiss, or gunshots—that we aren’t prepared to back up later. I love you, Jack Courtland. I knew it when you hit the floor of that walk-in, and I thought about what life would be like without you, alive or dead. I didn’t like either. But I’m not going to give you an ultimatum. That’s not fair. The State Dinner is over, and I know we still don’t have our answer. Not just yet. Or do we?”

  She had a point. He really just wanted to kiss her again, and then spend the afternoon in the hospital channel surfing, since the docs weren’t ready to let him go just yet. He had a ton of reports to write, and it would all be waiting for him. For now, he just wanted Tara to be with him.

  “Give it time.”

  “You’re right, an emotional moment isn’t the time to be making big decisions.” Jack swallowed hard. “I tell you what. Let’s see each other again—next Tuesday.”

  Tara nodded. “Valentine’s Day?”

  “That seems appropriate. You name the place.”

  “The Washington Monument reflecting pool. Six o’clock.”

  “You’re going to freeze,” Susan Holland said as Tara put on her gloves.

  “I need to go. If he’s not there, I’ll know. Just like Paris.”

  “Honey, it’s not a movie. It’s real life. And Jack Courtland is just a man.”

  Yes, he most certainly was.

  After the shooting in the White House kitchen, the news media ran an interesting story. Evidently a worker slipped in the kitchen during the State Dinner, struck his head on the counter, and had to be medevaced from the White House with a head injury. Funny how a gunshot wound turned into a kitchen mishap.

  “Y’all are sweet for thinking of me.” Tara glanced from Susan to Ciara. “I’ll be okay. I’ll call you if everything goes south.”

  “You sure?” Ciara asked.

  “I promise.”

  Tara hurried away from Cherry Blossom Estates in the dusk. This was crazy, heading into the city’s downtown on Valentine’s Day. She found a parking place not far from the Washington Monument reflecting pool.

  Her feet took her, too swiftly, to the walkway. A figure in a dark coat waited.

  “You came,” Jack said. His left arm was in a sling.

  “Yup,” was all she could manage. She refused to let herself step into his arms, at least into the circle of his one good arm. “So where are we?”

  “I love you, Tara Whitley. I once thought I’d forget about you, but I couldn’t,” Jack said. He held a square box. “And I’m here. I’ll keep showing up, every day, for as long as we live. If I can’t find a way back to you, I’ll keep working at it. But I’ll never let you forget who you are to me.”

  If he whipped a diamond ring out of that box, she didn’t know what she’d do. They still had a long way to go. He opened the box. Inside was a gold heart pendant.

  “It, uh, should go nicely with the cross you always wear. I thought they’d look good together on that chain. I mean, I didn’t want you to not wear that, since… well…” He bumbled with the box lid, and Tara almost laughed. She’d never seen him fumble with words or babble.

  “I love it. And I love you.” She touched the heart, about the size of a dime. One side had simply “Jack” engraved on it. “It’s perfect.”

  “This is our beginning. Well, I want it to be.” Jack cleared his throat. “I don’t want any enemy in the world, or otherwise, to come between us. Never again. I want a life with you, to build a family with you, Tara. I work hard at being a good agent. But I plan to work just as hard at being the man that God, and you, want me to be. Please say yes, Tara. Tell me that’s what you want, too.”

  “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” She leaned closer and he pulled her to him and kissed her as the city lit up for the night.

  LYNETTE SOWELL is an award-winning author with New England roots, but she makes her home in central Texas with her husband and a herd of five cats. When she’s not writing, she edits medical reports and chases down stories for the local newspaper.

  DYING FOR LOVE

  by Cara C. Putman

  Dedication

  Many thanks to Becky Germany for the opportunity to write a novella for this collection along with three stellar authors and frien
ds. Gina, so delighted to get to write this with you—your first book! Lynette and Frances, it’s been worth the wait to get to share this experience with you.

  Additional thanks to Casey Herringshaw, Ashley Clark, and Sue Lyzenga for loaning me their eagle eyes and serving as first readers for me. Appreciate you!

  Also a big thank-you to my George Mason Law School classmate Amy Mirabile, who helped me nail the details about Alexandria courts. Any errors are mine.

  To Linda Adair, my amazing paralegal, who makes me a better attorney than I am alone and is a good friend I cherish.

  My kids are amazing. Thanks for always having bigger dreams for my writing than I do, even when the hours are long and my sleep non-existent. I couldn’t write without you.

  To my husband, Eric, for the early years of our own “Cherry Blossom Caper” in Fairlington Village inside the Washington, DC Beltway. God graced us with a great home—that looked an awful lot like Ciara’s—and a group of friends as incredible as Ciara’s. I treasure those years and you. I can’t wait to see what chapters God writes next in our love story.

  Thank you, Jesus, for the gift of story and for the opportunity to write stories for You. May they always glorify You!

  Chapter 1

  Ciara Turner sucked in a breath, trying to calm the adrenaline-addicted hummingbirds filling her stomach as she straightened her shoulders and adjusted her grasp on her attaché case.

  She pasted on a smile and pushed into Judge Banter’s still-dark anteroom. The judge had issued one of his infamous pre-hearing orders on Friday, so she’d rushed to the office extra-early for the first-thing-Monday-morning appearance. His secretary’s desk stood abandoned, but the judge would expect her to enter anyway. She strode to the judge’s office door and glanced down the short hallway to the clerks’ desks. Based on the silence, neither of them had arrived either. It looked like she’d even beat opposing counsel, Daniel Evans, to court. That in itself made the day an unusual one. They’d raced each other in when both clerked for the judge, a race that continued when they found themselves on opposite sides of a case like this one.

  Ciara shifted her hold on her briefcase and rapped on the judge’s door.

  “Judge Banter? It’s Ciara Turner.” She pushed on the cracked door and stepped just inside. “Sir?”

  A rustling sound reached her, and she stepped deeper into the darkened room. She frowned. Usually by this time in the morning Judge Banter would have opened the curtains and filled the room with sunlight. Most in the legal community knew Judge Banter usually arrived by 6:00 a.m. so he could capture the early morning peace. He liked to attack whichever legal puzzles waited on his desk with the windows thrown open, no matter how cold. He’d always commented on how healthy sunlight was for a person.

  With spring giving hints it had arrived, he should have the windows open. She’d worn a cashmere sweater under her suit in anticipation of the chill.

  The door to his private restroom stood cracked with fluorescent light spilling onto the carpet and the walnut desk. The rows of bookshelves behind the desk were as crammed with books and papers as they had been during her clerkship. It all looked as she’d expected, except the judge wasn’t sitting on his towering leather chair.

  Ciara glanced over her shoulder at his assistant’s desk. Still no sign of the woman. Guess she might as well pull out the motion she wanted to file. Daniel wouldn’t like it, but she didn’t care. Virginia still required alimony, and his client would not get away with the paltry amount he offered. If it took filing a motion for an accounting, then so be it. The cuckoo clock perched on the shelf behind the judge’s desk wound into its song and dance. Now the judge and Daniel were both late.

  Where was Daniel? He knew Judge Banter’s intolerance for anyone arriving late for a hearing. The judge insisted each counsel be present when speaking to him about a case. Ciara set her bag on one of the wing chairs, then startled when the outside door opened. She jerked to attention. Maybe Judge Banter had returned after stepping out.

  The strong strides of a man approached the chambers. “Ms. Glenda?”

  She closed her eyes as Daniel’s smooth baritone called for Judge Banter’s assistant. While she’d relished her clerkship with the judge, Daniel Evans was the do-over she longed for from that two-year stint. With his all-American looks and smile that could twist her insides into knots, she’d fallen head over heels the moment she walked into the tiny office and found him at the desk next to hers.

  “Anyone here?” Daniel’s steps approached the door.

  She turned, pasting a smile on her lips. She refused to let him know that five years later he still made her heart somersault. “Good morning, Mr. Evans.”

  His slow, lazy grin stretched across his mouth as he took her in. She resisted the urge to shift under his inspection.

  “Is my dad here?” He looked over his shoulder then caught her gaze as she shook her head. “I always look for him when someone says Mr. Evans.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed. “Now this is the way to start a Monday morning.”

  “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the ones who bring a ray of sunshine with them.”

  Ciara bit her lower lip to hide an answering smile. “Are you ready to get to work?”

  “Sure.” Daniel examined the room. “Where’s the judge?”

  “I haven’t seen him or a clerk, but someone must be here since the door’s unlocked.”

  Daniel frowned. “That’s not like him, especially when he issues a summons like this. He would have made us come in early with him for these command appearances.”

  “I know. But I haven’t seen Glenda or a clerk.” Ciara shrugged. “Maybe he’s loosened up since we clerked.”

  “Doubt it.” Daniel walked toward the judge’s large walnut desk. Stacks of legal treatises and briefs covered the surface, except for the desk calendar. “This doesn’t show anything but us until a ten o’clock hearing.”

  Ciara followed him to the desk, then glanced at the bathroom. She froze when she saw a shoe. “Daniel—“

  He glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Is that Judge… Banter?”

  The next moment Daniel inched the door open, then eased to the floor. “Judge?” He touched the judge’s neck, then stiffened. “Call the sheriff’s office downstairs and ask for an ambulance and officers.” Without glancing at her, he started chest compressions.

  She froze, her gaze captured by the image of Judge Banter’s lanky Abraham Lincoln frame splayed across the cold tile floor.

  “Ciara.”

  She jerked to attention, reaching for the phone on the judge’s desk and sending a pile of briefs cartwheeling from the top. Her fingers fumbled as she dialed. “This is Ciara Turner. I’m in Judge Banter’s chambers, and he’s unconscious on the floor. Please send an ambulance.”

  She stumbled as she remembered Daniel’s other request. She looked at him, still kneeling next to the judge. “Daniel Evans says we need officers, too.”

  The deputy on the phone barked at her. “You need what?”

  “Medical help and officers.”

  “In Judge Banter’s office?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Muffled shouting filled the background as she waited for the deputy to come back on the phone. “Your name again?”

  “Ciara Turner. C-i-a-r-a.” She rubbed her temples trying to stave off the building pressure.

  Daniel Evans leaned over the judge, praying he’d feel a puff of breath or a flutter of a pulse. Instead, his mentor lay too still. Daniel fought to control the anger that rolled over him like a rogue wave swamping his sailboat. What cases did the judge have now that would cause someone to kill him? Child support and custody didn’t usually lead to more than violent words.

  Daniel glanced at Ciara. Her quiet voice filled the space, soothing even as she played her thumb back and forth across her fingers—a nervous habit when she felt out of control. She had no idea it was her te
ll that would ruin her chances in many card games. He’d never told her about the gesture because he needed every advantage he could wrangle when fighting her in court.

  He pressed two fingers against the judge’s carotid artery again, then held his breath. What was that? The faintest flicker seemed to pulse beneath his fingers. He inhaled sharply and checked for breath. Maybe he’d written the judge off too quickly.

  In a rush, the outer door banged open and soon paramedics pushed him out of the way. He eased back, relieved to let someone else worry about what to do and how to save the judge’s life. If it could be saved…

  Not long after the paramedics, a couple of Alexandria City sheriff’s deputies and someone in street clothes walked into the chambers. Soon the time rushed past in a flurry of questions, few of which he could answer. A detective took Ciara across the room. Daniel tried not to concentrate on her instead of the officer in front of him. He needed to focus, intent on giving answers that might help them find whoever attacked the judge.

  “All right.” Detective Middleton flipped his notebook shut and reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card. Call me if anything comes to mind. I’ll be in touch.”

  Daniel slipped the card into his breast pocket, then glanced at Ciara. Her cheeks were pale as she accepted a card from the other detective. The two conferred in a corner of the judge’s chambers, so Daniel moved to Ciara’s side.

  “Hey.”

  She glanced at him, then down at her hands. The knuckles were white from the way she clenched her fingers. “Can you believe this?”

  “No.” Daniel ran a hand across his hair. “I’ve tried to think who would do this.”

  “And why. I saw him last week at Inn of Court, and he didn’t mention any cases that bothered him.”

  Daniel wasn’t surprised Ciara was active in that monthly professional gathering. “He didn’t sound any different from normal when he called us in early either.”

  “I know.” Ciara bit her lip. “But someone didn’t want this.”