Never Tempt Danger Read online

  Never Tempt Danger

  by Denise Robbins

  Published by L&L Dreamspell

  Spring, Texas

  Copyright 2010 Denise Robbins

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. Places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN- 978-1-60318-261-4

  Published by L & L Dreamspell

  Produced in the United States of America

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  DEDICATION

  Never Tempt Danger is dedicated to my nephew Brandon and all the other young people out there who want to be writers. If your aim is to someday be a published author my advice is simple. WRITE. Write about your summer vacation, write a story about a teenager who has mystical powers, write a story about your favorite sport. Write about anything you like, but just write. Getting words on a page makes you a writer. Getting someone else to put the book in print makes you an author. If you become a writer there is no doubt you can become an author. You can and will do or become whatever you want as long as you pursue it and never give up. I’m living proof.

  May your words flow like water and your pen never leave the page.

  * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  There are characters who come to you, grab you by the heart, nag you, and won’t leave you alone until you write their story. Gilly and Lucas are two of those characters.

  NEVER TEMPT DANGER started because of a dream. It wasn’t really a dream, more of a flash of a scene in my mind as I crawled into bed one night. The vision was so vivid that I grabbed a pen and paper and wrote it down. That scene is the first chapter of NEVER TEMPT DANGER and when you read it I hope you will be as spellbound and intrigued as I was. Not by just the action and suspense, but by my heroine, Maureen Gillman (“Gilly”).

  When I began to figure out my heroine’s story, I had no clue what she did for a living. All I knew was that Maureen was Irish, had a talent for technology, and a secret gift she believed to be a curse. As I researched my heroine’s gift it melded into my favorite realm of nanotechnology. The next thing I knew, my heroine was working on a project for DARPA building nanotechnology robots called Chembots.

  Lucas, my hero, is another character who popped into my head one day and wouldn’t leave. He’s the reason for the title of the book. You’ll have to read to find out why.

  Happy Reading!

  Denise

  ONE

  Her pulse had not stopped racing since he put the box down. Jimmy put the velvet box on the white china plate set in front of her. She stared, her green eyes transfixed on the little square, dark against the gleaming white of the plate and linen tablecloth, and the shimmering ivory candles. She picked up the champagne flute intending to take a sip just to relieve her dry mouth and ended up draining the glass.

  “Sweetheart.”

  Maureen looked away from the blue velvet and into deep chocolate eyes. “Huh?”

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Open it.” Even to her own mind, she sounded dimwitted. Of course, she was supposed to open it. She rubbed damp palms over her black slacks.

  “Let me help you.”

  Jimmy reached across the table for two and eased open the clamshell box. Her heart fluttered as he revealed a beautiful princess cut solitaire. He lifted the ring out of the velvet and held out his other hand for her. She swallowed hard and wiped her nervous, clammy palms on the tablecloth before she brought her left hand above the table. What would she say?

  “Will you marry me?” Jimmy asked as he clasped her hand.

  The contact of his fingers wrapping around hers sent a mishmash of images slamming into her. A speeding car, a bright light, and an explosion flashed in her mind.

  “Maureen, honey?”

  She shook the image aside, drew her attention back to Jimmy, and looked into her lover’s eyes. She smiled and opened her mouth to answer his question. The squeal of tires and an engine gunning had her holding off. Then she knew. Jimmy! She started to tug her hand back, wanting to reach for her purse when she heard the crack, saw the bright orange flash of a shot out of the corner of her eye, and Jimmy’s head exploded.

  His lifeless hand that had grasped hers dropped to the table on the white linen that was no longer white, but splattered with dots and splotches of red blood and brain matter. People ran screaming from the restaurant, knocking chairs and tables over in their wake. Maureen sat stunned into silence unable to breathe, to think, only to stare at Jimmy’s hand holding hers.

  The sounds of sirens approaching galvanized her. Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand from Jimmy’s cold fingers, and got to her feet. She picked up her purse from the back of the chair, slung it over her shoulder, and turned away, walking down the sidewalk, into an alley and then gone.

  She found the nearest gas station and used one of the restrooms to change and clean up as best she could. Afterwards, she went inside the service station and bought a T-shirt to wear that expounded the virtues of somebody named Johnson.

  * * * *

  Hundreds of miles, and hours later, Maureen stepped into a shower and broke down. Forearm against the porcelain, she rested her head and let the stinging needles of the hot spray bring her back from a numbing cold. As the water washed her body, she let the tears wash away the pain.

  If she had let the images play, would Jimmy still be alive? Could she have saved him? She pounded her fists against the unforgiving wall, sobbing. “Why?”

  Why did she not know sooner that something was wrong? Why have a gift if it didn’t work in your favor?

  Because it was a sucky gift! The kind of gift she wanted to return or re-gift. She slumped against the cool, wet tiles, covering her face with sore hands. She spent years hiding from visions. Years! Ever since she made the mistake of sharing her ability, gift, and curse with one man, she never made that blunder again.

  “Ugh.” She did not have time for self-recrimination. She had to get out of there and some place safe.

  Turning the knob, Maureen killed the water, wrung her wet hair and stepped out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around her, she padded barefoot into her bedroom, turned on the television for white noise and dropped to the bed, her hands hanging between her knees.

  “What do I do now?”

  When her mind came up blank for an answer, she tugged the covers back and crawled under the paisley print comforter. Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees up to her chest, enfolded them in her arms, and sought the kind of peace that only came in sleep.

  * * * *

  A deep, loud voice penetrated her slumber when he announced, “A government contractor is dead and his business is in flames.” Maureen sat bolt upright, shoved her hair out of her face and gaped at the television.

  “The owner of NanoRobotics, a government contracting company, was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting yesterday evening. Firefighters received phone calls just after eleven last night that the building that housed NanoRobotics headquarters was ablaze.”

  Maureen stared wide-eyed at the television screen and the footage of the old Georgetown building burning up, firefighters aiming hoses at the red and orange flames that licked at the brick.

  Scrubbing her disbelieving eyes with her hands, she shoved the covers back and hopped out of bed, the towel trailing to the floor in her wake.
From the closet, she pulled out a suitcase and a handful of clothes. She flipped the case onto the bed, hurriedly unzipped it and flung the clothes inside. She went to the dressers, grabbed some clothes from each, and stuffed them into the black bag, then dressed.

  After finishing in the bathroom, she tossed her toiletries into the suitcase and zipped it shut. Giving the room a last look, Maureen grabbed her cell phone, dragged the bag into the kitchen, and made sure there was nothing that would spoil in the refrigerator. That done, she took a deep breath, muttered goodbye to her house, and left. It was time to get lost.

  Not soon enough. She heard a car crunch over the gravel of her drive and brake hard to a stop. Heart pounding, she hurried to the corner of the house and with her 9-millimeter drawn, peered around the corner. Two men dressed in black, and armed, exited the non-descript dark-colored sedan and rushed up her front porch. When no one answered their hard knocks, they let themselves in.

  As soon as she saw the men go inside, she bolted across the yard with her suitcase trailing behind and stopped next to their vehicle. Kneeling down beside the car, she quickly unscrewed a cap on a tire valve and pressed the little doohickey. Air hissed out. Waiting for the tire to go flat, she heard the crash of lamps and furniture.

  “Hurry u—up.”

  When the rim met the ground with only a thin layer of rubber between it and the dirt, she figured it was now or never. The flat would not stop them completely, but it would at least slow them down. Now she had to get to her own car.

  Weaving her way between trees, trying to be unseen, she made it to the garage. She entered through the unlocked side door and deposited her suitcase in the trunk. Rather than using the remote control, Maureen opted for releasing the hook on the garage door and manually sliding it open. The less noise she made the better. With one hand on the metal plate of the garage and the other on her weapon, she slowly lifted the wooden door. Certain no one had heard her, she ran for her car and slid inside, and made sure her window was open so she could shoot if need be.

  “Here goes.” She turned the ignition and the engine roared. Cringing, she shoved the car into reverse, slammed her foot on the gas pedal, and gunned the car backwards, jerking her head back as she went. When the car had done a J-turn, she hit the brakes and the headlights just in time to see the two thugs racing out of the house. Frantic, she thrust the car into drive and pushed on the gas and the car lurched forward and then took off, almost hitting one of the guys who jumped out of the car’s path in the nick of time.

  The man still standing took a shot and hit her bumper. Tugging the wheel to her left, Maureen turned the vehicle, fired back at the two idiots, heard the satisfying ping as the bullet struck metal, then gunned the car down the street. From her rearview mirror, she saw the two get into the car to chase after her and then stop when sparks flew as their rim made contact with concrete.

  Safe for now, Maureen blew out a breath and tucked her weapon between her legs on the driver’s seat. Her cell phone rang for the umpteenth time. Without looking, she knew who it was and chose to ignore it anyway.

  TWO

  Lucas stepped into his boss’s home office shutting the door behind him. Mickey was standing at the window overlooking the Merrimac River when he spoke. “Take a seat.”

  Pulling out a leather barrel chair, Lucas sat across the cherry wood desk from his boss. “What’s up?” he asked slipping one ankle over a knee.

  Mickey turned around to face him and dropped a manila folder in his direction so it slapped against the desk. “Gilly is missing.”

  Lucas had one hand on the folder about to open it up when he froze, his heart thumping hard against his chest at the unexpected mention of Maureen Gillman’s nickname. “What do you mean missing?”

  “She’s managed to make herself disappear.”

  Sitting back, his arms crossed over his chest, Lucas eyed Mickey. “Why do you think she has disappeared? Maybe she took a vacation.”

  “Look at the file,” his boss demanded, pointing at the folder.

  He leaned forward and slid the file off the desk and into his lap. Opening it up, the first thing his eyes fell upon was a photo of a crime scene. The horrific image caused his stomach to roll and bile to invade his throat. He swallowed the sickening taste and examined the photo with a more detached approach.

  The photograph depicted an elegant street side restaurant with small tables covered in white linen flipped over on their sides, chairs toppled and strewn about. Broken candles, crystal, and gold trimmed plates scattered the ground. Fancy, Lucas thought. What made his skin crawl was the center of the photographer’s image. What was left of a man slumped in a metal chair, his right hand resting on the white tablecloth, his head mostly gone except for the dark red blood and matter that splattered the table and the china. In the middle of the speckled plate across from the dead man sat an open blue box.

  He peered up from the image and into hard sapphire eyes. Not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Lucas asked, “What does this have to do with Maureen?”

  “Gilly was there.”

  “There? As in there at the shooting?” He stabbed a finger at the picture and fought the urge to throw up. “How do you know?”

  Mickey lifted one brow. Yeah, okay, Mickey would know where one of his agents was located.

  “Then where the hell is she?”

  Mickey rested his fists against the desk and leaned over it, holding him in his stare. “I don’t have a fucking clue. We haven’t been able to find a trail of her since.”

  “How do you lose an agent?” Lucas stood, dropping the folder and its contents on the floor, stomped toward the door and paced back.

  “I did not lose her. She disappeared. She knows how.” Mickey straightened. “You know her better than anyone. Find her.” His hard tone had Lucas halting his pacing.

  “We haven’t been close in years,” he complained in a knee-jerk reaction, his arms flailing at his sides.

  “Locate Gilly. Bring her back.”

  For a few minutes, Lucas stood stock still, staring at his boss. He was right, if anyone knew Gilly, it was he. He could and would find her. Nodding his agreement, he squatted to gather the fallen papers and picked them up.

  Standing, he addressed his boss. “Anything else?”

  “It’s in the file, but the cops may want to question Gilly.”

  His eyes went wide with fear. “Cops?”

  Mickey inclined his head.

  “They can’t possibly think…”

  “That’s why I want her found. They haven’t identified her yet but when they do I don’t want some gun-happy cop to get the wrong idea and shoot her.”

  Lucas studied his boss for a minute. “What else?”

  “Did you hear the news this morning about NanoRobotics headquarters burning?”

  He shook his head. “No. I was driving here.”

  “Who is NanoRobotics and what does that have to do with Maureen?”

  “NanoRobotics is a government contractor. Gilly was working with them on a DARPA contract. The dead guy in the picture was the owner of NanoRobotics.”

  Lucas let that sink in then swallowed a knot of fear. “You think Gilly may be in danger?”

  “I have no doubt.” Mickey’s clipped response sent a chill up his spine and lit a fire under his feet. “This is a huge research and development project for the government. If successful, it would mean we could send in robots to do reconnaissance before our own military men. Lives would be saved.”

  Some people did not want that. “I’m outta here.” He pivoted on a booted heel and headed toward the door.

  “Luke.” His hand halted and he turned back to Mickey.

  “Be damned careful.”

  Lucas nodded once and left.

  THREE

  Lucas got into his vintage Mustang, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tore out of Mickey’s drive. It was probably a waste of time, but he decided to check Gilly’s house first. If nothing else, maybe he’d fi
nd some kind of clue as to where she would go hide.

  An hour into the drive, he stopped at a gas station just over the border into Vermont. He filled up the car up with gas and got himself a candy bar and soda. Refueled, radio blaring, he headed for Killington, Vermont. Why the woman had to live in the freakin’ boonies was beyond him.

  When he finally reached her house four hours later, he pulled down the long drive and stopped in front of the detached garage. He alighted from the car and stretched his legs, clasped his fingers behind his back and stretched it too. Rolling his head from side-to-side, Lucas went around to the passenger side of the car. He popped the glove compartment open and retrieved his Glock. Holstering it to his belt at the lower part of his back, he ambled up the stairs to the farmer’s porch that ran the length of the house.

  He reached up to knock on the huge wooden door when he noticed it stood ajar. Reaching behind his back, he yanked the gun from its holster and held it out in front of him.

  “Maureen?”

  Lucas waited a beat then yelled again. “Maureen? It’s me, Luke.”

  No answer.

  With his left hand, he pushed open the door, swung his weapon into the threshold and then peered around the corner. No one. He stepped into the entry and swept the room left to right, making certain no one was present. What he saw stopped him cold, sending his heart beating into overtime.

  Someone trashed the place. Cushions lay on the floor, the stuffing ripped out of them. Chairs were overturned. Lamps cracked, their bulbs shattered, littering the floor. The flat screen TV did not even survive the hurricane that hit the place.

  “What the hell have you stepped in Gilly?” He mumbled the question as he stepped cautiously through broken debris and headed for the back of the house.

  Pictures he had seen hanging on the Gillman’s walls since he was a young boy now hung crooked on cream-colored walls, some slashed to unrecognizable shreds. When he hit the threshold to the kitchen, he swiped one hand down his face. What once used to be the neatest, cleanest room in the house, looked as if someone let their two-year old try their hand at baking. Shards of crockery littered the floor. Flour and other food products covered all the surfaces where there were not pots and pans, and broken dishes.