Little Miss Straight Lace: Unbreakable, #1

By Maria Romana

*** The Unbreakable Series:  A 2010 Readers Favorite Gold Medal Award Winner ***

When a dedicated researcher learns a bit too much about her client's new drug, the horrors from her past seem destined to return. Just as her life begins to spin out of control, a dashing computer security expert arrives from South America and seems the perfect antidote. But is his sudden arrival just the happy coincidence it seems? Find out in these three novels that take the reader on a roller coaster ride of mystery, romance, and suspense—until the very last page.

Praise for the Unbreakable Series:
"Romana's characters are portrayed with skill, each is a credible person filled with foibles, warts and gaffes...the various twists and turns are handled with skill, are easily followed, and add depth and dimension often lacking in works provided by newer writers...Maria Romana's 'Little Miss Straight Lace' is a fast paced, keep 'em guessing and turning the page type read sure to intrigue readers who enjoy good writing, a bit of romance, a lot of action, and a downright good read..."
—Molly Martin, Midwest Book Review

"It was one of those books I couldn't wait to finish, had to know what happened, but at the same time, didn't want it to end."
—ARC Reviewer

Books in the Unbreakable Series:

    Little Miss Straight Lace
    Little Girl Lost
    Daddy's Little Girls

Read an Excerpt:
    Robert spoke with open hands and a casual stance, "Look, fella, take it easy. We just—"
    "O-okay, listen, I-I'll tell you the whole story. Everything. But I swear, I never did anything to her. Nobody did. Not on my watch, anyway. I took real good care of her. I swear. You gotta believe me!"
    Nic's pulse quickened. He took a step closer and cocked a brow at the stocky man, "Who her?"
    "Y-you know—your girl."
    "My girl?"
    "Y-yeah. You know...petite, brunette, pretty. Kinda..." The guy relaxed a little, pulling his hands away from the fence, and started forming an hourglass shape with them.
    Nic pursed his lips. "Okay. I know what she looks like." He lifted his chin at the stocky man, "So what are you talking about? 'Your watch'. 'Took care of her'. Where? When?"
    "Come on, you know..." The tattooed man looked from Nic over to Robert, as if he expected a more reasonable interrogator—a Good Cop to Nic's Bad.
    But Nic insisted, "Humor me."
    "Well, uh, well..."
    Nic took another step.
    The tattooed man gulped and started talking, "Yeah, okay. See, when I took the job, I didn't know it was her, okay? It was only when I saw her close up, in the light, that I recognized her. I remembered her from the bar. From that night last summer when I pulled her off the stool. I mean, I didn't know who she really was. I just thought she was your date, your girl or whatever, okay? I didn't know she was like...one of you."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Research Triangle Publications
• Release date: Jul 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781497706231

Book preview

Prologue

June 14, 1984

Clarkston, New Mexico

Tears stung Bobby Prescott’s eyes, making it even harder to see, as he ran stumbling in the near blackness of the dank hallway. One hand blindly sought the doorway he remembered being there, while the other gripped the waistband of his faded blue jeans to keep them from slipping down. He was forced to pause and wait for the flash of bright light that he knew would pass by, regular as clockwork, in just a moment. There. A full two seconds of illumination, moving across the hallway, showing him the crooked thick wooden doorframe that led to the room in the furthest corner of the basement. He could still see the light in his mind long after it was gone.

He staggered in, making it clear across to the back wall, and when he felt the cool stone against his palm, sank to the dirt floor, gasping and sobbing. Nausea swept over him. He wrapped his arms around his belly, trying to still the pain. It wasn’t physical pain, not really, but it hurt just as much. He wished it was physical. Wished they’d beaten him, beaten him like the time he had stolen food from the warehouse. Or the time he and that stupid kid Johnny had skipped off the compound to see what it was like down in the town, where the regular people lived. The whole thing was Johnny’s idea, but they hadn’t punished Johnny, because he was younger, and because he was Father William’s son—real son, that is, as in flesh and blood. But they’d beaten the tar out of Bobby for it. That was a while ago, though, when he was just a kid, like twelve. He was a man now—fourteen. That’s what they told him anyway.

And this was worse. Much worse. U-u-u-gh. God Almighty. Puke. Oh, how he wanted to puke. Kimmy. God, Kimmy. He could still see her face. Her sweet, pretty face. All screwed up in horror.

A-r-r-r-g-g-h-h! Those sounds again! Those Godawful noises. Blaring, always blaring. Bobby slammed his hands over his ears. And then the light came again. All night long, it kept coming. Constantly, over and over. He squeezed his eyes shut, kept his hands pressed over his ears. Could he possibly shut it out? Could he ever shut it all out?

Not Kimmy. He knew better. He knew, right then and there, until the day he died, he would be seeing her face, staring up at him, eyes wide and wild with terror, pleading for his help, unable to comprehend.

The nausea was coming in waves now. Saliva was rapidly forming in his mouth. They made him do it. Not like he had a choice. They said he was a man, and a man needed a wife. But he wasn’t a man, and he wasn’t big enough or brave enough to disobey them.

The sounds outside were growing in intensity. Sirens. Trucks. People shouting. Was that smoke he smelled? Ugh—adding to his desire to puke his guts up. To empty his body of every last drop of fluid it contained. But he’d already done that now, hadn’t he? He cringed, pain jabbing into his belly.

Kimmy was his friend, his playmate since they were little children, running in the fields inside the compound walls in happier times. Climbing trees, building forts, damming the brook. He’d even kissed her once, though he’d been pretty sure he’d be beaten for that, too, if they ever found out. Kimmy had smiled at him that day. There were no smiles tonight.

Bobby crawled to the corner of the room and retched violently until nothing more would come up. Then he crawled toward the doorway in need of water. But as he neared it, he heard voices and heavy, running footsteps. He should have been afraid, but he was past caring, and so, was more startled than anything else when he saw the group of large, unfamiliar men, uniformed and heavily armed, approaching him.

Take it easy, son.

Don’t move.

Keep your hands where I can see them.

He stayed still, on hands and knees. One of the men, a tall, rangy fellow, with light brown skin and jet-black hair, stepped forward. His accent was light, but distinct, Amigos, he is just a kid. The man knelt beside Bobby and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. You okay, buddy?

Watch it, Miguel, that ‘kid’ could be packin’.

I don’t think so.

The other men stayed aloof and alert, weapons drawn, but Miguel put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder and started helping him to his feet. Come on, there, fella. Let’s get you out of here while we still can, eh?

Bobby stood with the man’s help. He was weak and dizzy from vomiting. And so grateful that someone was helping him. As the soldier ushered him outside toward a waiting van, he strained to see through the confusion and swirling smoke, searching for any sign of Kimmy, but there was none. The building they’d been in only an hour before was engulfed in flames, and emergency vehicles and water hoses and shouting personnel surrounded it, making it impossible to tell if the people inside had gotten out. And no one gave him a chance to ask. The doors closed on the van with Bobby and several other young people inside. Then the vehicle raced off the property.

Bobby didn’t know where they were going—where out of here would end up being—but at that point, any place was better than where he’d been.

Chapter One

Twenty-seven years later...

The sun had been down for ten or fifteen minutes already, and it would soon be pitch dark. Well, pitch dark behind this ten-foot wall of creeping ivy and kudzu anyway. The copious vines covering the chain link fence provided the perfect screen—hiding his presence, while permitting his view. Meanwhile, a single aging lamppost offered decent lighting to the area he was watching, the door at the rear of the house.

There was also a bit of light coming through the window of the first-floor room where the two women were working. The shade was drawn, but there were occasional shifts in the pattern of light as they moved around in the office. Perhaps office was a strong word. The Durham Women’s Health Center was actually run out of a rehabbed turn-of-the-century Victorian-style home.

He checked his watch—almost seven thirty. He wondered exactly how much time he had before they were through, because he was dying for a cigarette. He could almost taste that heavenly tobacco flavor and feel the gentle rush of nicotine cooling his nerves. He knew he needed to resist, though, not only to keep the smell out of his hair and clothes, but because he couldn’t take a chance on giving away his position. He pushed a few more leaves aside and peered through the fence again. Aha! The office light had just gone out. It was almost time.

In another moment, the building’s rear door swung in, and the women’s chattering voices floated out into the night. The older woman, red-headed, tall, and gently rounded, was speaking, So I’m like, Shawn, seriously? You think I’d be happy working in some stupid data lab all day, bossing around a bunch of twenty-something data grunts, and never seeing a live human patient again? And he’s like—

Crap.

Huh? The older woman looked back at her younger companion.

The petite brunette was digging in her oversized business bag. Oh, sorry, Di, but I can’t find my key. I swear, I had it in here last night. I checked. She glanced out toward the parking lot. Got yours handy? I want to get out of here. It’s getting really dark.

No problem, hun. I’ll get mine. Here. Diana handed over the armload of files she was carrying and dug into her own bag. She pulled out a key, then pulled the door closed behind them and began fiddling with the lock. Oh, for God’s sake, this is the stupidest door and the stupidest lock... She gave it a few more twists and shakes, then finally said, Okay, got it.

She took the files back, and the two women started heading for their cars. The younger one walked quickly, checking all around them. Geez, I hate this parking lot at night. It’s creepy as hell.

Still hidden behind the wall of vines, their silent observer smiled a small smile. Apparently, the girl’s instincts were pretty sharp. And as good as she looked in that silky pink dress, she really shouldn’t be hanging around poorly-lit parking lots at night.

Ow, dammit! The brunette appeared to stumble, catching herself against the side of her car.

What happened, Jos?

Would you look at that? I broke my heel and ran my stocking in one fell swoop. She hiked her dress up and indicated a place on her shapely thigh. Brand new, too. She slid her finger around the lacy top edge of the stocking, adjusting it somehow.

The taller woman gave her a friendly jab. Well, maybe you should consider wearing something other than four-inch heels when walking in gravel parking lots.

Oh sure, so I can strain my neck looking up at you? With that, the petite woman pulled off the broken shoe and stood flat on her stockinged foot, cleverly illustrating the seven or eight inch height differential that separated the two.

The tall woman grinned. Okay, point taken. She started unlocking her car door. I’ll see you soon, Jos. Tell Shawn his big sister says hello when you see him tomorrow.

Josie slid her broken shoe back on and climbed into her car. All right, sure thing. Bye, Di.

He waited until he could no longer see or hear their cars, then pulled out his phone, popping off a quick text, Coast is clear.

The response was Just parked. C U in 5.

He played with the phone a minute, admiring its multitude of advanced features. This little treasure was one of his new favorite toys. Of course, it helped to have decent cell service. He wondered if they’d ever get service like this back home. It just made everything so much easier, especially these type of activities, where speed and discretion were paramount.

He looked up from the phone, toward the building. All was still quiet, not that he’d expected anything less. So far, their five prior missions had gone flawlessly, and he assumed this one would do the same. His brother was a genius with his planning; nothing ever seemed to go awry when it had his special touch on it. Their trip to the Women’s Center tonight was to be their final installation. Starting tomorrow, he’d be learning about the ongoing maintenance phase of this endeavor.

He thumbed the phone a couple times, pulling up his calendar. On tap for tomorrow night was Dr. Benito Toral’s OB/GYN office on the south side of Raleigh. Sure, he remembered the place—been there two or three times before—tiny office in the crappy, er, socially disadvantaged, section of the city.

Clinkety-clink-clank.

Ah, the five minutes were up. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and peered through the leaves again. Yep, there was John, just walking into the parking lot and yanking on the chain link a bit to get his attention. He could have walked the whole way around the fence to meet up with John, but instead decided to exercise his skills. He reached up with both hands and grabbed openings in the chain links. In less than a minute, he had scaled the ten-foot fence, swung his legs over the top, and dropped down the other side, catching himself neatly with flat feet and flexed knees. He landed no more than a foot in front of his brother.

John stopped suddenly at the sight of him, then shook his head and laughed. Show-off!

Hey, there’s not much I can do better than you, so I gotta take advantage when I can. He grinned at his big brother, then embraced him. Johnny. Good to see you, man.

You, too, kid. You know, I actually miss you sometimes. John stepped back, then reached out and ruffled his brother’s dark hair. When’d you do this?

Oh, yeah, Johnny hadn’t seen the super short cut. Ah, recently. For her. He shrugged. She doesn’t like long hair.

John grinned. Guess I wouldn’t be her type then. He ran his fingers through his long blonde bangs.

Guess not.

Say, you got a picture of her? I don’t even know what she looks like.

Uh, no, I don’t. Wouldn’t show him if he did, either. He loved his brother, and he was happy to see him, but he wouldn’t mind if Johnny never got to see or meet this one. For once, he wanted a girl all to himself. It was tough enough having an older brother who was bigger, stronger, smarter, and better-looking.

Okay, let’s get on with it. What you got for me? John held out his hand, palm-side up.

Little bro dug in his pocket, pulled out the key and slapped it in John’s hand. The lock’s a bit tricky. It sticks. You have to pull up on the knob while you turn the key.

Okay, got it. John closed his fist around the key, then straightened the bulky backpack on his shoulder. He looked up and down the parking lot, then toward the building. You check the perimeter? He motioned toward the sides of the house, which led back to the main street.

Yeah, I did, but I’ll go again while you’re inside. Don’t worry, Johnny. I’ve got your back.

John laid a hand on his shoulder. I know you do. Thanks. He turned again and headed for the back door.

After John went inside, his younger brother started across the gravel lot toward the side of the house. A colorful stone caught his eye. Oh, not a stone—the broken heel, from the bright pink shoe. He stopped to pick it up and turned it over in his hand. The curvy little figure in the matching bright pink dress and the lace-edged stockings nudged into his noggin. His brain shifted gears, imagining for a moment what she’d look like in those pretty stockings without the dress. He quickly shook his head, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Then he made a mental note to return to that delicious stocking idea later. Not like he wouldn’t have the chance; he had to return the key, after all.

# # #

Religious nuts! Freakin’ zealots!

Dr. Shawn McKenna tumbled his curly red mop with one hand as he stared at his super-sized flat-screen monitor. He didn’t know what to think—spam, tasteless humor, or some twisted cult crazies out there in the ether? He swiveled around in his soft leather office chair and looked out over the campus of Research Triangle Technologies, the private research firm where he headed up the Hormonal Products Division in Research Triangle Park, North Carolina.

Now Shawn wasn’t a crusader. No, not him. He was never the picketing or marching on Washington type. Shawn was a scientist. He just wanted to peer through microscopes, mix chemicals in test tubes, dissect the occasional lab rat, nothing more. He didn’t need this crap. Didn’t need religious fanatics interfering with his projects or messing with his handsome government contracts.

Six floors below, he could see some of his colleagues taking an afternoon walk on the property, strolling along the edge of the pond, neatly shaded by the last of May’s cherry blossoms—picturesque, peaceful, calm—just the way he liked things. He didn’t need any colorful controversy to stir things up. It had to be a prank.

But what if it wasn’t?

Shawn gave the windowsill a hard enough shove to spin himself back around, just in time to see Josie Natale scooting past his office door. He barked at her, Jo-SIE!

A second later, her head appeared, preceded by a swinging mass of long, wavy dark brown hair. Shawn. ’Sup? I’m late...

Stop by when you’re done, doll. I need you. Few things to talk about.

Yeah, sure. Later, came the return, tossed back from already some distance down the hall.

Shawn shook his head. Josie Natale would be late to her own funeral, and even God wouldn’t be surprised. Well, not really late, rather, just sliding in as the door was closing behind her—that was Josie’s style. Kind of an attitude thing, and that attitude caused difficulties at times, but her work was impeccable, so Shawn would suck it up when folks complained, and yell at her about it later.

As if she cared. Yes, promptness, professionalism, and respect were the qualities a man looked for in his employees. Good thing Josie wasn’t one of them. Nope, she was a private contractor, and she never let him forget it. The best and most expensive around, too. And whenever her attitude made it difficult to remember why they paid her so much, Shawn would remind himself of those little golden moments, like at last week’s Chiral-T meeting.

The drug’s manufacturer, Chiroan Industries, was hoping the latest research would show that a higher dose of Chiral-T resulted in improved patient outcomes. That way, they could recommend the increase and jack up the price—pretty standard stuff for these guys—but Josie refused to budge on her statistical conclusions.

Okay, fine, she could stand by a sound scientific decision; just turn in the report, sign it, and hand in an invoice, right? Oh no, not Josie. She had to go the extra mile. She had found something in the data. And what did she do about it? Send a text? Write an email? Nah, that would’ve been too easy. She brought it up, right in the meeting with the study sponsor. Know what, Fred?—yeah, she called him Fred; nobody else called the guy Fred—"I just happened to notice that people taking the higher dose were having twice as many heart attacks as people taking the lower dose. And it was statistically significant. Very significant. And it’s all right here. Then she tossed a data disc at him, like she was freakin’ Woodward and Bernstein. This is hardly valid, of course, just off-the-cuff, but I certainly wouldn’t recommend the higher dose without further investigation. Don’t you agree?" Oh yeah, Fred agreed.

And none of Josie’s in-your-face attitude crap was from lack of knowledge or sophistication. Uh-uh. It was deliberate, outright rebellion. She had them all by the short hairs, and she knew it. She was like this biostatistical-computer-whiz-kid, which in and of itself was not so rare, at least not in the Research Triangle area, but that she could crunch all those numbers, get it right, and do it all in clear, comprehensible English was what made her so special.

Well, that and those 32DDs. Shit. Shawn laughed at himself for even thinking it. Not like anybody could help noticing. He suspected that her entire wardrobe of business attire was as carefully calculated as her statistical reports. In the Chiroan meeting, for instance, Josie was sporting this mauve-colored silky dress with a loose, swingy collar. At first glance, it was pretty conservative, but every so often, when she moved ju-u-ust so, it revealed the slightest hint of this lacy little underthing. Every man in that room, from the poor kid pouring the coffee to Fred McGuire himself, had taken note of that fact and couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The coffee kid probably had third degree burns by the time the meeting adjourned. And it wasn’t like they thought she was just some sparkly little piece. The whole time they were staring at her, watching her move, they knew she was freakin’ brilliant. They knew they could barely comprehend all the alphas and thetas and whojama-whajama-jiggies she was talking about, as she pointed at her charts and graphs.

Shawn was just damn glad to be her friend and not subject to falling under her spell like the rest of those bozos. Heck no, not him. Been there, done that. Ancient history. Nah, he had Maggie. Who was, as it happened, Josie’s best friend, and in a lot of ways, her polar opposite. Wonder’s how those two ever

Reviews for Little Miss Straight Lace

[ajbraithwaite_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

'Little Miss Straight Lace' is a mixture of romance and pharmaceutical statistics. Which may not sound like a divinely-arranged combination, but it works really well. The main thread of the plot concerns statistician Josie Natale and her relationship with Nic Remedian. Who is a gorgeous Latino man who drives an Aston Martin and wants to settle down and have babies. If you can get over the suspension of disbelief required to accept that combination of qualities in one human being, then you can settle down and enjoy the book. The romance gets caught up in mystery/thriller territory when a pharmaceutical agency starts interfering with drug trials to discredit their competitors and promote the development of their own products. Throw in a religious cult and the trauma of teenage rape and you’ve got all the ingredients for a story that’s hard to put down.The book is well-written and rattles along at a good pace. It would make a great beach read (if you weren’t worried about getting sand in your ereader, that is). In some ways I’d class it as escapism (all the main characters are good-looking and rich, for example), but there is more to it than that: certainly enough of a mystery to keep me reading for the last two days.