Midnight Sacrifice

  Also by Melinda Leigh

  She Can Run

  Midnight Exposure

  She Can Tell

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2013 Melinda Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781611098846

  ISBN-10: 161109884X

  To Tom, for knowing how to begin this story

  CONTENTS

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  December

  Winter in Maine was more than a season. It was the enemy.

  The December wind whipped down the alley and smacked Mandy in the face. Her eyes watered. Another gust grabbed the glass door. She held on tight, muscling it closed. To her right, the alley opened into a small parking lot behind the building. Her car would be as cold as a walk-in freezer and wouldn’t begin to warm up on the six-block drive home, but at least she’d be out of the wind and off her feet.

  Helping her mother the run family’s bed-and-breakfast, then waiting tables at the diner had left her arches crying for a hot bath and a soft bed. But if she ever wanted to get out of this town—and she did—the extra shifts were a must. No way could she squeeze tuition payments out of the Black Bear Inn’s nonexistent profit margin.

  With gloved hands, she pulled her knit hat over her ears and trudged forward. Wind slipped into her coat at the throat. Turning her back to a frigid gust, she made sure her knee-length parka was zipped to her chin and her flannel scarf wound securely around her neck. Being a Maine native did not make her impervious to the temperature.

  “Mandy, get in.”

  She startled and spun around. The diner’s owner, Nathan Hall, had pulled his SUV into the alley. He was leaning over the passenger seat. The window was down. She took a half step toward him. She stopped midstride, a prickly sensation sliding along her spine. Under her thick coat, the primitive tingle lifted goose bumps that had nothing to do with the abominable temperature of her hometown.

  Something was wrong.

  Nathan jumped from the truck, rounded the front of the vehicle, and approached her. He wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves. The smell of smoke wafted from him, and his eyes gleamed with a weird fervor. He stepped into the light cast by the fixture over the door. What were those dark stains on his pants and shoes? Blood. As he got closer, its raw, meaty scent thickened the air.

  He reached for her arm. Instinct kicked in, and Mandy stepped back. He caught her wrist. “I love you. Just get in the truck.”

  “No.” Mandy stared at him. Fear pulsed into her throat. “What’s wrong with you, Nathan?”

  Instead of answering, he tightened his grip and tugged on her arm. Mandy resisted. He pulled harder, dragging her toward his SUV. Her purse dropped from her arm and hit the ground with a thunk.

  “Let me go!” She planted her feet on the pavement and leaned back. “Nathan, what are you doing?”

  His silence fueled the panic gathering in her belly. “I said let go of me!”

  He let go and raised his hand. The slap knocked her to her butt. She pressed a glove to her burning cheek. Nathan glared down at her, rage and madness transforming his handsome face into an ugly mask, as if someone else had taken over his body. “Shut up and get in the truck.”

  Her friend Jed barreled out of the diner. He grabbed Nathan by the jacket. “Don’t you touch her!”

  Nathan moved. Silver glinted in the streetlight. Jed doubled over. His mouth went slack. He looked at Mandy and gasped, “Run.”

  But she couldn’t leave him. Nathan turned toward her, a knife clutched in one hand. Blood dripped from the tip. Jed’s blood.

  The scream burst from her throat. She crawled toward Jed, who was sinking to the ground. Just before she reached him, Nathan leaned down. His fingers clamped around her wrist again. He yanked hard. Mandy resisted, sinking her butt toward the icy pavement.

  If she went with him, she would not be coming back.

  “Get in the truck now.” He pocketed the knife, lifted his free hand, and cracked her across the face again. Her cheek stung. Tears streamed down her face as he hauled her toward his vehicle. Terror scrambled in her belly. She was too small, too light. Her feet skittered along the icy asphalt as he dragged her closer. She tried to scream again, but panic clamped down on her vocal chords.

  A dark figure flew in front of Mandy and tackled Nathan. She fell backward. Her savior and Nathan tumbled into a snowbank. Nathan landed on top. He leaped to his feet and ran to his truck. Turning, Nathan pointed at her. “You’re mine.”

  With one eye on the retreating Nathan, Mandy crawled to Jed’s side. Oh my God. There was so much blood. It was welling out of Jed’s stomach, through the hands he’d clenched there, and into the dirty snow piled against the building. Jed stared up at Mandy, his brown eyes glazed with fear and pain. His hands fell away from his belly. His eyelids closed, and he went limp.

  “No,” she whispered. She pressed her hands to Jed’s wound. The blood kept coming. Her rescuer scrambled to his feet and poised to give chase. Nathan’s car door slammed, and the truck took off down the alley.

  “Help him, please.”

  The man was on his knees beside her in a second, gently nudging her aside. She moved her hands, and he fumbled to open Jed’s jacket with one hand. The other he held out at an awkward angle. Had he hurt his arm tackling Nathan? Mandy unwound her flannel scarf, folded it up, and handed it to him. He pressed it over the wound and leaned on it with one hand and a forearm.

  Shivering, Mandy glanced sideways. The stranger was lean and dark. He looked at her, and she drew back. His eyes were turquoise, clear as the Arctic Sea, and they were filled with nearly as much shock as Jed’s. In the subfreezing temps, sweat beaded on the stranger’s forehead.

  “You have 911 service here?” His voice shook, but he worked through his obvious distress.

  “Yes.”

  “Call them. If you don’t have a phone, mine’s in my jacket pocket. Right side.”

  Her purse had fallen somewhere. Mandy reached into his pocket and dug out this phone. Wet hands slipped on the cell.

  “How far’s the hospital?” he asked.

  “Forty minutes.”

  The stranger frowned. His hands trembled as he worked to stanch the f
low of blood. “He doesn’t have forty minutes. Tell them you need a medevac.”

  Mandy made the call.

  “What’s your name?” He swallowed hard. His eyes were too wide, his breathing rough and raspy.

  “Mandy.”

  “Please keep talking to me, Mandy,” the stranger said.

  Mandy watched him fight for control. His determination and strength kick-started her brain. “Who are you?”

  “Danny. Danny Sullivan.” He shifted his position. “He’s still bleeding a lot.”

  Think. She knew basic first aid, but Jed’s injury went beyond any of her scout or wilderness training. Her gaze fell on the snowbank. Numbness and desperation temporarily suppressed her shock. “Snow. We’ll pack him in snow. Lowering his body temperature should help.”

  Danny nodded. “It’s worth a shot.”

  She tried not to look at the red smears in the snow as she scooped it with her hands to pack around Jed’s torso.

  Jed moaned. His legs twitched. Mandy grabbed more snow.

  He had to live. He just had to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Four months later

  A steady April rain shower pattered on the windshield. Water dripped off the visor onto Danny’s thigh. He wiped the seam between the convertible top and the windshield frame with a paper napkin. His restored 1970 Dodge Challenger wasn’t the most practical vehicle, but she was Danny’s good luck charm, and considering the purpose of this trip, he needed all the good vibes he could get.

  Long shot didn’t begin to describe his chances of accomplishing his goal.

  Switching lanes, Danny stepped on the gas. The car responded with a surge of speed, the throaty roar of the powerful V-8 an audible middle finger to the powder-blue Prius humming along in the slow lane.

  He’d restored her in high school, and like a valiant charger, she’d carried him safely through his youth. The days of perceived immortality. Illegal drag races on Front Street. Skipping school to cruise to the Jersey Shore. Hot summer days with the top down and the sun beating on his head. A decade later, the black bucket seat was molded to his ass, and a glance in the back filled him with wistful memories of fumbling hands, steamed windows, and teenage girls rebelling against their parents with the neighborhood troublemaker.

  Ah, those were the days.

  The days before he’d learned exactly what a well-placed IED could do to the bodies of a dozen men. Or what horrible deeds two psychos would attempt in the middle of the Maine wilderness. At twenty-nine, Danny’s head was filled with more than enough violence for a lifetime.

  A green exit sign flashed in his peripheral vision. He rested his left wrist on the wood-grain steering wheel and ignored the twitching of his fingers. Thanks to an Iraqi insurgent, that hand no longer worked as it should. With his right, he checked the map resting on the passenger seat. This was it. He exited onto a country highway lined on both sides by a forest vast and thick enough to conceal the most horrific of crimes.

  Four months before, while on a photographic assignment in this small, isolated town, his sister had been kidnapped by a pair of psychotic killers. One killer had died. The other, Nathan Hall, had slipped away and was still on the loose. According to the last phone call from the lead detective, the police had all but given up their manhunt. Dammit. His sister deserved a future untainted by the fear that the escaped crazy ass was going to come after her. Danny was going to do his best to get it for her, even if his chances of succeeding were less than winning the Mega Millions.

  Even if being back in Maine sent his gut into a free fall.

  Danny turned up the radio volume. “Paradise City” blasted over the speakers, but his attempt to drown out his worries with thoughts of green grass and pretty girls was unsuccessful.

  On the surface this trip was all about giving his family peace, but there was another reason he was here, one that was much more selfish.

  Danny cruised past a green sign announcing that the town of Huntsville, Maine, was two miles ahead. Queasiness rolled through his gut. Back in December, he’d come here to rescue his sister but ended up saving another of Nathan Hall’s victims instead. That night had been a turning point in Danny’s new civilian life. For the first time since his medical discharge from the army, he’d functioned under pressure. His combat first aid training had overridden his post-traumatic stress. He’d contained the guy’s guts and his own panic until the medevac had arrived.

  Go him.

  He rounded a bend and descended into a valley. The small town of Huntsville spread out in front of him like a travel brochure photo. Buildings were sturdy, practical, and showed the beatings of harsh New England winters. Colonial Yankee colors dominated the scene. Lots of barn red and pale yellow. Mountains on the horizon framed the picture. But for Danny, the country charm was tainted by memory. A vision stormed into his head. A haze of blood and fear, a dying man, and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen right in the middle of it all. The woman whose voice and trust had helped him beat back the darkness. The woman who belonged to another man.

  Mandy Brown.

  The selfish reason he was here.

  The business section of town was only a few blocks long. His car turned off Main Street as if on autopilot. A minute later, Danny pulled up to the curb and looked up at the large three-story house. The Black Bear Inn, owned by Mandy’s family, stood tall behind a sloping lawn of pale spring grass. The white clapboards looked tired, as if winter had been particularly rough to weather.

  Was she inside?

  Though he hadn’t seen her since that night, her soothing, steadying voice was etched in his mind. He’d mentally replayed it through four months of therapy, exercise, and balanced meals. Was she as beautiful as he remembered, or had his imagination exaggerated her perfection?

  As the car idled, nerves hummed in Danny’s belly. He could go inside and find out what she knew about the status of the investigation. Right. As if that were the reason he’d headed straight for the inn. Or he could drive out to the house and get settled.

  Danny turned in to the driveway. He hadn’t driven eight hundred miles—not to mention blown the family’s savings on an expensive psychiatrist—to wimp out now. Time to man up. He parked in the small lot behind the inn, shut off the engine, and looked up at the house. A bay window on the back porch gave him a view of the inn’s kitchen—and the woman inside.

  In his chest, his heart fist-bumped his rib cage.

  Nope, his imagination hadn’t exaggerated one bit. She was as perfect as he remembered. Wholesome, beautiful, sweet. Everything he wasn’t. Her dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail away from a face that was as deceptively delicate as her slight frame. He’d seen her wrestle her fears and help save her boyfriend’s life. Mandy was far tougher than she appeared.

  But how would she react to seeing him again?

  Only one way to find out. Danny opened the door, and Huntsville greeted him with a damp cold that suggested winter wasn’t quite finished with him yet.

  A lifetime of doing the right thing could be completely obliterated by one lapse in judgment. One mistake.

  Granted, it had been a doozy.

  Mandy added flour to the stainless steel bowl. Inside the heavy-duty mixer, a dough hook spun the mixture into a soft ball. She shut off the machine, and the kitchen fell quiet. Listening to the sound of rain tapping on the back porch roof, she turned the lump out onto her marble board. Practiced hands kneaded the dough until it was soft and elastic. She set it aside to rise.

  On to the muffins. She preheated the oven then pulled a stainless steel bowl from the cabinet and measured ingredients without any need to consult a recipe. Heat from the oven banished the dreary chill. The kitchen was her favorite room in the rattling old bed-and-breakfast, which had been owned by her family for three generations. With commercial appliances and plenty of space, the dated country oak and gold Formica could be overlooked. It would never be the swank urban restaurant she’d dreamed of running, but it would have
to do.

  Mandy wasn’t going anywhere. She was barely twenty-seven, and her dreams were dead.

  Gently stirring the batter, she glanced out the window. Raindrops plunked into puddles in the lot behind the inn. The entire area needed grading and a fresh layer of stone. Winter had been tough on the Black Bear Inn and the Brown family, but things were looking up. Jed was recovering from his terrible stab wound. Her mother was recuperating from a triple bypass operation. And Mandy had almost stopped jumping at every noise, in the daylight anyway.

  Nighttime was a whole different story.

  Her hand strayed to the .38 nestled behind her right hip. A baggy sweater made the handgun invisible, but its size and weight were a comforting reassurance.

  On her way to the freezer for a bag of last season’s wild blueberries, she opened the door that led to the family quarters. In the living room, her mother reclined on the sofa. The roots of Mae Brown’s dark auburn hair were gray, something she never would have allowed before her heart attack over the winter, and her body was far too still. Holding her breath, Mandy tiptoed closer. Her mother’s chest rose and fell. Relief coursed through Mandy. She backed away, nearly lightheaded, and slipped back into the kitchen to finish her breakfast prep. Her mom’s recovery had been slow. Mortality had checked into the inn as a permanent guest.

  Things were never going to be the same.

  She folded the blueberries into the batter and carefully filled the muffin cups. The baking tin went into the hot oven. Mandy set the timer.

  An engine rumbled. Likely guests returning. The weather hadn’t dissuaded the fishermen, hikers, or kayakers staying at the inn from enjoying their vacations. They were making the most of every day, an attitude Mandy was trying to emulate. She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove, then started a pot of coffee. Even the most die-hard outdoor enthusiasts felt the cold at the end of a rainy spring day.

  A car door slammed. She moved to the window. An old convertible was parked at the rear of the lot. Strange. Most of her guests drove SUVs.

  The doorbell rang. Mandy deposited a tray of biscotti into the dining room, then ducked into the reception area. She looked through the peephole. A man stood on the front porch with his back to her. Mandy paused. The set of his shoulders was familiar. He was brushing the water droplets from his jacket with one hand. Daylight reflected off hair gleaming and black as a raven.