Trust the enemy?
Desperate to escape her kidnappers, Kody Cameron can turn to only one manand hes holding a gun. Outnumbered and trapped in the deadly Everglades, she has little recourse, but something in this captors eyes makes her believe she can trust him. Does she dare to take the risk?
Undercover agent Nick Connolly has met Kody before and knows she might very well blow his cover. Though determined to maintain his facade, he cant let Kody die. He wont. And his decision to change his own rules of law and order are about to make all hell break loose.
The Finnegan Connection
They were still in dangervery real, serious danger. And yet, she felt ridiculously attracted to him.
Theyd both been hot, covered in swamp water, tinged with long grasses
Her flesh was burned and scratched and rawAnd she was still breathing!
Was that it? She had survived. He had been a captor at first, and now he was a savior. Did all of this mess with the mind? Was she desperate to lean on the man because there was really something chemical and physical and real between them, or was she suffering some kind of mental break, brought on by all that had happened?
Come on! he urged her.
And they began to move again, deep into the swamp. She felt his hand on hers. And she felt a strange burning sensation
Even as she shivered.
Law and Disorder
Heather Graham
www.millsandboon.co.uk
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author HEATHER GRAHAM has written more than a hundred novels. Shes a winner of the RWAs Lifetime Achievement Award and the International Thriller Writers Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her website: www.theoriginalheathergraham.com. You can also find Heather on Facebook.
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For Kathy Pickering, Traci Hall and Karen Kendall
Great and crazy road trips
Floridas MWA and FRA
And my magnificent state, Florida
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Extract
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
Dakota Cameron was stunned to turn and find a gun in her face. It was held by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a hoodie and a mask. The full-face rubber masklike the Halloween Tricky Dickie masks of Richard Nixonwas familiar. It was a mask to denote a historic criminal, she thought, but which one?
The most ridiculous thing was that she almost giggled. She couldnt help but think back to when they were kids; all of them here, playing, imagining themselves notorious criminals. It had been the coolest thing in the world when her dad had inherited the old Crystal Manor on Crystal Island, off the Rickenbacker Causeway, between Miami and South Beachdespite the violence that was part of the estates history, or maybe because of it.
She and her friends had been young, in grammar school at the time, and theyd loved the estate and all the rumors that had gone with it. They hadnt played cops and robbersthey had played cops and gangsters, calling each other G-Man or Leftie, or some other such silly name. Because her father was strict and there was no way crime would ever be glorified hereeven if the place had once belonged to Anthony Green, one of the biggest mobsters to hit the causeway islands in the late 1940s and early 1950scrime of any kind was seen as very, very bad. When the kids played games here, the coppers and the G-men always won.
Because of those old games, when Kody turned to find the gun in her face, she felt a smile twitching at her lips. But then the large man holding the gun fired over her head and the sign that bore the name Crystal Manor exploded into a million bits.
The gun-wielder was serious. It was not, as she had thought possible, a jokenot an old friend, someone who had heard she was back in Miami for the week, someone playing a prank.
No. No one she knew would play such a sick joke.
Move! a husky voice commanded her.
She was so stunned at the truth of the situation, the masked man staring at her, the bits of wood exploding around her, that she didnt give way to the weakness in her knees or the growing fear shooting through her. She simply responded.
Move? To where? What do you want?
Out of the booth, up to the house, now. And fast!
The booth was the old guardhouse that sat just inside the great wrought-iron gates on the road. It dated back to the early years of the 1900s when pioneer Jimmy Crystal had first decided upon the spit of high grounda good three feet above the water levelto found his fishing camp. Coral rock had been dug out of nearby quarries for the foundations of what had then been the caretakers cottage. Over the next decade, Jimmy Crystals fishing camp had become a playground for the rich and famous. The grand house on the water had been builtpieces of it coming from decaying castles and palaces in Europethe gardens had been planted and the dock had slowly extended out into Biscayne Bay.
In the 1930s, Jimmy Crystal had mysteriously disappeared at sea. The house and grounds had been swept up by the gangster Anthony Green. He had ruled there for yearsuntil being brought down by a hail of bullets at his club on Miami Beach by assailants unknown.
The Crystal family had come back in then. The last of them had died when Kody had been just six; thats when her father had discovered that Amelia Crystalthe last assumed member of the old familyhad actually been his great-great-great-aunt.
Daniel Cameron had inherited the grandeurand the ton of billsthat went with the estate.
Now! the gun wielder said.
Kody was amazed that her trembling legs could actually move.
All right, she said, surprised by the even tone of her voice. Ill have to open the door to get out. And, of course, youre aware that there are cameras all over this estate?
Dont worry about the cameras, he said.
She shrugged and moved from the open ticket window to the door. In the few feet between her and the heavy wooden door she tried to think of something she could do.
How in the hell could she sound the alarm?
Maybe it had already been sounded. Crystal Manor was far from the biggest tourist attraction in the area, but still, it was an attraction. The cops were aware of it. And Celestial Islandthe bigger island that led to Crystal Islandwas small, easily accessible by boat but, from the mainland, only accessible via the causeway and then the bridge. To reach Crystal Island, you needed to take the smaller bridge from Celestial Islandor, as with all the islands, arrive by boat. If help had been alerted, it might take time for it to get here.
Jose Marquez, their security man, often walked the walled area down to the water, around the back of the house and the lawn and the gardens and the maze, to the front. He was on his radio at all times. But, of course, with the gun in her face, she had no chance to call him.
Was Jose all right? she wondered. Had the gunman already gotten to him?
What! Are you eighty? Move!
The voice was oddly familiar. Was this an old friend? Had someone in her family even set this up, taunting her with a little bit of reproach for the decision shed made to move up to New York City? She did love her home; leaving hadnt been easy. But shed been offered a role in a living theater piece in an old hotel in the city, a part-time job at an old Irish pub through the acting friend who was part ownerand a rent-controlled apartment for the duration. She was home for a weekjust a weekto set some affairs straight before final rehearsals and preview performances.
Now! Get movingnow! The man fired again and a large section of coral rock exploded.
Her mind began to race. She hadnt heard many good things about women whod given in to knife-or gun-wielding strangers. They usually wound up dead anyway.
She ducked low, hurrying to the push button that would lower the aluminum shutter over the open window above the counter at the booth. Diving for her purse, she rolled away with it toward the stairway to the storage area above, dumping her purse as she did so. Her cell phone fell out and she grabbed for it.
But before she could reach it, there was another explosion. The gunman had shot through the lock on the heavy wooden door; it pushed inward.
He seemed to move with the speed of light. Her fingers had just closed around the phone when he straddled over her, wrenching the phone from her hand and throwing it across the small room. He hunkered down on his knees, looming large over her.
There wasnt a way that she was going to survive this! She thought, too, of the people up at the house, imagining distant days of grandeur, the staff, every one of which adored the house and the history. Thought of them all...with bullets in their heads.
With all she had she fought him, trying to buck him off her.
For the love of God, stop, he whispered harshly, holding her down. Do as I tell you. Now!
So you can kill me later? she demanded, and stared up at him, trying not to shake. She was basically a coward and couldnt begin to imagine where any of her courage was coming from.
Instinctual desperation? The primal urge to survive?
Before he could answer there was a shout from behind him.
Barrow! What the hell is going on in there?
Were good, Capone! the man over her shouted back.
Capone?
Cameras are all sizzled, the man called Capone called out. She couldnt see him. Closed for Renovation signs up on the gates.
Great. Ive got this. You can get back to the house. Were good here. On the way now!
Youre slower than molasses! Capone barked. Hurry the hell up! Dillinger and Floyd are securing the house.
Capone? As in Al Capone, who had made Miami his playground, along with Anthony Green? Dillingeras in John Dillinger? Floydas in Pretty Boy Floyd?
Barrowor the muscle-bound twit on top of her nowstared at her hard through the eye holes in his mask.
Barrowas in Clyde Barrow. Yes, he was wearing a Clyde Barrow mask!
She couldnt help but grasp at hope. If they had all given themselves ridiculous 1930s gangster names and were wearing hoodies and masks, maybe cold-blooded murder might be avoided. These men may think their identities were well hidden and they wouldnt need to kill to avoid having any eye witnesses.
Come with me! Barrow said. She noted his eyes then. They were blue; an intense blue, almost navy.
Again something of recognition flickered within her. They were such unusual eyes...
Come with me!
She couldnt begin to imagine why she laughed, but she did.
Wow, isnt that a movie line? she asked. Terminator! Good old Arnie Schwarzenegger. But arent you supposed to say, Come with meif you want to live?
He wasnt amused.
Come with meif you want to live, he said, emphasis on the last.
What was she supposed to do? He was a wall of a man, six-feet plus, shoulders like a linebacker.
Then get off me, she snapped.
He moved, standing with easy agility, reaching a hand down to her.
She ignored the hand and rose on her own accord, heading for the shattered doorway. He quickly came to her side, still holding the gun but slipping an arm around her shoulders.
She started to shake him off.
Dammit, do you want them to shoot you the second you step out? He swore.
She gritted her teeth and allowed the touch until they were outside the guardhouse. Once they were in the clear, she shook him off.
Now, I think you just have to point that gun at my back, she said, her voice hard and cold.
Head to the main house, he told her.
The old tile path, cutting handsomely through the manicured front lawn of the estate, lay before her. It was nearing twilight and she couldnt help but notice that the air was perfectneither too cold nor too hotand that the setting sun was painting a palette of colors in the sky. She could smell the salt in the air and hear the waves as they splashed against the concrete breakers at the rear of the house.
All that made the area so beautifuland, in particular, the house out on the islandhad never seemed to be quite so evident and potent as when she walked toward the house. Jimmy Crystal had not actually named the place for himself; hed written in his old journal that the island had seemed to sit in a sea of crystals, shimmering beneath the sun. And so it was. And now, through the years, the estate had become something glimmering and dazzling, as well. It sat in homage to days gone by, to memories of a time when the international city of Miami had been little more than a mosquito-ridden swamp and only those with vision had seen what might come in the future.