Shattered Secrets Read online

  BODYGUARD REUNION

  Narrowly escaping thugs who held her at knifepoint, lawyer Olivia Hammond turns to the man who once broke her heart, bodyguard Salvatore Santonni, for protection. However, when an anonymous caller reveals her boss has been kidnapped and will die if she doesn’t comply with demands, she wishes she hadn’t asked for help. Especially since the first order is to tell no one. But with someone determined to get something they think Olivia has, Sal won’t back down. He can’t let anything happen to the woman he never stopped loving. And as they uncover the truth, Sal and Olivia quickly learn that the threat is much more deadly than they ever would have guessed.

  “You might be able to hide your feelings from others, but not from me,” Sal said.

  He looked at Olivia and added, “Your expression gives you away every time.”

  When she started to put her hands to her cheeks, he stopped her. “Don’t try to hide. Not from me.”

  Deliberately, Olivia backed away from him and the touch that could still turn her inside out.

  She knew she was putting off the inevitable, and she hated the fact that she felt cowardly for doing so. She’d never been one to shirk from her responsibility, but now...now she didn’t know where her duty lay.

  Sal took her hand and squeezed it. “Right now, we’re operating in the dark. We don’t know who’s doing this. We don’t know what they want. We need something, anything, to give us a handle on this.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly.

  “You’re doing the right thing.”

  Was she? She didn’t know.

  Olivia looked up at Sal, not surprised to find his eyes flat and dark. He was all Delta at the moment.

  Good. She had a feeling she was going to need his special set of skills and training.

  Jane M. Choate dreamed of writing from the time she was a small child when she entertained friends with outlandish stories complete with happily-ever-after endings. Writing for Love Inspired Suspense is a dream come true. Jane is the proud mother of five children, grandmother to seven grandchildren and the staff to one cat who believes she is of royal descent.

  Books by Jane M. Choate

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Keeping Watch

  The Littlest Witness

  Shattered Secrets

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  SHATTERED SECRETS

  Jane M. Choate

  For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy and to all them that call upon thee.

  —Psalms 86:5

  To Dina Davis, editor, whose suggestions for this book made it much richer and stronger.

  To my friends at Front Range Christian Fiction Writers. Thank you for all the encouragement and support.

  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

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM SHERIFF BY LAURA SCOTT

  ONE

  A hiss of energy brushed her face as the deadly blade cleaved the air a scant inch from her cheek.

  Olivia Hammond forced herself to remain still. To move even a fraction would cause the knife to slice open her skin. She dared not breathe until the need for oxygen forced her to take a noisy gulp of air.

  “Ah, I see I have your attention. Now you will tell us where you hid it. Maybe we will kill you quickly rather than taking our time about it.” The heavily accented voice held no particular menace, as though the man who pressed the weapon to her face was discussing a business transaction rather than taking her life.

  “Or we will be forced to encourage you to tell us.” This was from the second man who had said little during the interrogation.

  The two intruders had already ransacked the law offices of Chantry & Hammond. It had been her misfortune to return for a file and run into them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How many times had she uttered those words? The effort of not moving and the fear of what the men intended to do to her had dulled her energy and her wits.

  Don’t give up. The small voice inside her head had her sitting up straighter despite the duct tape binding her to the chair. She was far from beaten. Her passion for defending the underdog had earned her a reputation for taking no prisoners, both in and out of the courtroom. She called upon that now.

  It was up to her to free herself. No one was coming to her aid. Immediately her mind rejected that. There was always One who was at her side.

  Lord, I’m in a fix here. I need Your help. The silent prayer said, she tried once again to reason with her captors. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re looking for?”

  “Enough!” Impatience shimmered in the single word. The first man, whom she’d identified as the leader, nicked the delicate skin of her cheek with the blade.

  Blood trickled down her cheek. The metallic scent of it stung her nostrils and sickened her stomach.

  “You know what we want. Do not play the innocent. You are part of this, along with your boss, trying to cheat us out of what is ours.”

  “Calvin?” What did this have to do with Calvin Chantry, the head of the law firm where she was an associate? And where was Calvin anyway? He hadn’t shown up for work yesterday or today.

  “Yes. Calvin. Your boss. He could not pull this off without help. You, his partner’s daughter, are the logical choice.”

  Though the man spoke English, she struggled to understand his thick accent that gave a hard jab to every syllable. “Please... Calvin didn’t tell me anything. I don’t—”

  A key turned at the office door. Teresa, the cleaning lady.

  Olivia held on to a breath of hope. Just as quickly, the sliver of hope died. Teresa, sixtyish and stout, would be no match for two armed men.

  An exclamation in the woman’s native Portuguese was quickly followed by the clump of her sturdy shoes down the carpeted hallway outside the office. Seconds later, a fire alarm shrilled. Teresa must have pulled it.

  Thousands of gallons of water spilled from the sprinkler system above.

  “This is not over,” the first man said just before he and his partner fled.

  Drenched, Olivia waited for help and said another silent prayer, this one in gratitude for the Lord’s intervention.

  An hour later, after the fire department had arrived and departed and the EMTs had checked her over, she was still answering questions from the Savannah police, some in uniform, some in plain clothes. She didn’t fool herself that she was that important. The Chantry & Hammond law firm, a Savannah institution, carried a lot of weight.

  “I don’t know what they were looking for,�
�� she repeated. “They kept saying I knew where it was. And then they accused me of being in on it with Calvin Chantry.”

  “Did the men say what it was they wanted from Chantry?”

  “Like I said, no.”

  Olivia shivered in her wet clothes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home and change.”

  The older of the detectives, whose suit bore the stains of a quickly eaten dinner, nodded. “Sure.” He handed her a card. “If you think of something, anything at all, give us a call.”

  After promising to do so, Olivia headed home. Though a long shower helped to rid her skin of the memory of the knife and the stench of her own fear, she admitted what she hadn’t wanted to just an hour earlier: she needed help.

  She picked up the phone and punched in the number of the man she had thought never to see again. She needed the kind of help that only Salvatore Santonni could give.

  * * *

  At core, Salvatore Santonni was still a soldier. He shoved a hand through his hair. Though he’d left Delta several years back, he had only recently exchanged the military haircut for a nonregulation one. He missed the buzz cut that had been his for more than a decade.

  Now an operative for S&J Security/Protection, he took the jobs assigned him with the same dedication to duty with which he had carried out missions for his country. Individuals contacted S&J only when circumstances had turned dangerous and they needed a bodyguard.

  When he’d gotten Olivia’s call, he’d driven through the night, unable to wait until morning. He knew she wouldn’t have called unless she was terrified. He rapped on the door of the Savannah law offices of Chantry & Hammond.

  Olivia Hammond let him in and stared up at him, her mouth forming a soft O, her eyes widening. He took a moment to take inventory of her. Tall and willowy, she was elegant in a red suit. He imagined she thought the severe style made her look powerful, even tough, in the courtroom where she shredded witness testimony on a regular basis. Instead, it only emphasized the delicate femininity that was so much a part of her.

  Sun-streaked blond hair swung to her shoulders, framing a face that was so breathtakingly beautiful that he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Her features weren’t perfect: her nose was slightly too small, her lips too full, but together, they made for an arresting package.

  Something flitted through her eyes, but he couldn’t make out what it was. His eyes narrowed when his gaze zeroed in on the bandage that marred the perfection of her cheek. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out and skimming his fingers over it.

  “It’s nothing. Only a prick of a knife,” she said softly.

  His hands tightened at the thought of men threatening Olivia, using a knife on her. Even though he’d decided that he and she couldn’t be together, he cared about her. Always would.

  “Olivia.” Just her name. It was all he could manage. The feel of it on his tongue was infinitely sweet.

  She looked down, away, and then gestured to her office. “Let’s talk inside.”

  He followed her into the office. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth so he looked about. Water damage from the sprinklers was as evident here as it was throughout the suite of offices.

  Even with the damage, though, he could make out the spartan decor. A desk with an efficient-looking chair behind it, a couple of battered file cabinets and two uncomfortable chairs for visitors comprised its only furnishings. He remembered her saying that comfortable chairs invited visitors to linger and she had too much work to do to indulge in small talk.

  “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to call. I know Shelley would have come, but she’s like a hundred months pregnant.”

  Sal smiled at the exaggeration. Shelley was eight months pregnant and counting, but to hear her tell it, Olivia’s description was more accurate.

  Olivia looked down at her hands. “You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad you did.”

  He schooled his voice to a coolness he was far from feeling. “You called. I came.” Because he cared about her. Whatever had transpired between them didn’t change that. “You had to know I would.”

  “I wasn’t sure.” The silence stretched until the air was thick with it. “I figured you never wanted to see me again.” A punch of hard silence followed.

  He ignored the past and focused on what was important. “What’s going on, Olivia?”

  “I told you over the phone. Two men broke into the office. If it hadn’t been for Teresa—the cleaning lady—they’d have killed me.” She recited the words by rote, probably having said the same thing to the police.

  “Can you describe them?”

  She gave a detailed description that had him nodding in approval.

  “What about their clothes?” he asked.

  “Their pants dragged on the floor. One man kept having to yank his up. He looked annoyed each time he did it and I remember wondering why he just didn’t wear clothes that fit.”

  “Prison shuffles,” Sal said, naming the pants in question. “Anything distinctive about their voices?”

  “They both had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Spanish. I would have recognized that.”

  “Middle Eastern?”

  “More guttural.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was too busy concentrating on not throwing up on their shoes and making them really angry at me.” The last was said with a half smile that quickly died.

  Sal kept his voice quiet as he asked further questions. The last thing Olivia needed was for him to come on like gangbusters. She looked fragile enough to break. Who could blame her? Being held captive and threatened with torture and death was enough to send anyone into a tailspin.

  She picked up a mug of coffee from her desk, her hand trembling so much that she had to set it back down again. The small gesture was telling in the extreme, but he pretended not to notice. Just as he pretended not to notice that his own breathing was having a tendency to stutter.

  “What did they want?”

  “I don’t know.” Her already husky voice turned even huskier.

  “You said the men mentioned your boss. Where is he?”

  “I haven’t seen or heard from him in two days.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said, thinking aloud. “First your boss disappears, then you’re threatened by two men you’ve never seen before. The two have to be connected.”

  “I don’t see how. Calvin would never have anything to do with men like that.”

  “He’s a lawyer. Lawyers work with all kinds of people, including ‘men like that.’”

  There was a new edge to his voice now, and he worked to gentle it. Olivia wasn’t one of the men he’d commanded in his unit. She didn’t snap to attention when he barked out an order.

  In an attempt to curb his impatience, he lifted his gaze to study the vivid print hanging on the far wall. Fortunately, it had escaped being drenched with water. Bold colors depicted a boat docked at the Savannah harbor at sunrise, the clashing tones juxtaposed against the quiet scene. That was Olivia, he thought, both bold and quiet.

  She was a contradiction in many ways. Right now, she was frightened and looking to him for help, both in keeping her safe and in finding out what the men were after.

  “I’m here now. You’re not alone.”

  And with that, tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Ah, Livvie.” The nickname came automatically to his lips. He watched—oddly helpless—as she swiped at the tears now trickling down her cheeks.

  He had fast-roped from a helicopter into choppy seas, done HALO drops from 30,000 feet, and escaped the clutches of a warlord who’d put a price on his head and a target on his back, but he was as clueless as the next man as to how to handle a woman’s tears. Helpless wasn’t an emotion that
sat well on his shoulders.

  Being with Olivia had always been emotion-laden and fraught with unspoken feelings and unanswered questions. Those too-short weeks with her had been the best of his life. She’d filled him, and all of those dark places inside of him had grown a little smaller, a little brighter. He couldn’t forget that, didn’t want to forget it, even when he’d realized there was no hope for a future between them.

  Though he’d fallen in love with Olivia, he knew he wasn’t the right man for her. The violence in his past made him unworthy of her. He’d walked away from her two years ago, certain it had been the right choice. The only choice. So why was he regretting it now?

  * * *

  After spending most of the night answering the police’s questions followed by a full day in court, Olivia returned to her office, slipped off her jacket and toed off her shoes, yawning heavily. She’d worn a lipstick-red suit, a favorite that gave her much-needed confidence. She had splurged on it last year, living on macaroni and cheese for the following month in order to afford it, and wore it on days like today when she needed a boost.

  Feminine vanity had her wishing she didn’t look as exhausted as she felt, and she put a hand to her hair to push it back from her forehead. Out of habit, she sat behind her desk while Sal took one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of it.

  “Why?” The question had taunted her all day. “Why did those men come after me? I don’t know anything.” The breath tumbled from her lips at the memory of the wicked-looking knife pressed to her cheek.

  “Someone thinks you do,” Sal pointed out.

  “Not helping.” She tried a smile, but it came out flat.

  “Sorry. It’s likely you know more than you think you do. A couple years ago, you were Chantry’s right hand. I’m guessing that’s still true.”

  “I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I know what those men were talking about.” A fresh shudder poured through her.

  Across the desk, Sal reached for her hand, squeezed. She glanced at him, then away.

  Two years ago, he’d overwhelmed her with the strength of his personality. She felt a frown take hold before she could stop it. That had been part of the problem, her fear that he would consume her, that her own sense of self would be eroded if she stayed within his orbit. Not even the most expensive of suits could help with that.