Worth the Risk

By Melissa Johnson

Getting into trouble runs in the family. In the wake of a political scandal, Carrie Riley is a witness who knows too much and it's up to Nick Fallon to keep her safe and alive in the days before her Grand Jury testimony. But in the unusual hideout of a Victorian mansion, Nick discovers the depth of her painful secret and a new and fragile intimacy is forged between them. Protecting Carrie from a killer becomes a very personal mission and he will use every resource at his disposal to keep her safe. And what better way to put her out of a killer's reach could there be than to remove her to another time?

Carrie has experienced more than her share of the paranormal, but nothing has prepared her for being swept away to Regency England! Even more unsettling, the man she's learned to trust with her body and soul has abandoned her in another time, leaving her hurt and bewildered, but safe in the care of the Duke and Duchess of Claymore. She's left with the bombshell that Nick isn't even his real name...only she doesn't know the man named Eric left in his place. But her mysterious protector fails miserably at abandonment. When she needs him, he appears. When he find out she's being courted by suitors, he appears. But the question remains, where does he go when he disappears? And why does everyone who knows him warn her Eric is unattainable, but stop short of saying exactly why?

When Eric reveals the truth of his identity, she finally knows why a future together is impossible. But tell that to her heart. As the days slip closer to her return to the 21st century to testify, a task she dreads, all she wants is to have Nick back, the man she knew...and the only one who knows her secret. And after that, if he dared to leave her again, she'd follow. She'd just have to show him an impossible love is worth the risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Johnson
• Release date: Jun 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781311022264

Melissa Johnson

My favorite things in romance are often ghosts, time travel, historical settings, plots with amnesia, eccentric secondary characters, humor, and romantic suspense. These characteristics describe what I love to read and I'm drawn to include them in my own stories. (So far, not quite all have been in one story, but it's close!) I also put my love of writing and history to use in my blog and I have written The Historical Research Companion to Everything of Interest to a Romance Writer, a research/reference book. I worked as a legal secretary in Washington, DC for many years before moving back to my small hometown in Northern Minnesota. In recent years, in addition to my writing and my role as a mom to one, I returned to college for a degree in Biology, with an emphasis in Ecology.

Book preview

What did a professional hit man look like anyway? She knew the tough guy image created in the movies wasn't accurate. No, he’d have to be average enough to blend into the crowd. And he'd have a convenient day job to keep his taxes legitimate -- something that didn't require background checks or require staying long in one place. That would be about right. And he’d have a nice, but unremarkable face, like a character actor who played the same role with a success you hardly noticed.

Carrie Riley hoped the accuracy of her profile wouldn't be proven today. She knew he lurked out there somewhere, hiding in plain sight. One of the joggers running with his dog in the adjacent park? One of the coffee shop’s customers? Or even the waiter who approached her now from across the leaf-strewn patio. He had a nice face.

She assessed the waiter from behind her sunglasses. His youth didn't automatically clear him, but his job involved too much...well, waiting in one place, she thought ironically, for him to be the one. He’d have to have known she’d come here and that was impossible. She had no routine.

Unbidden, her thoughts turned back. Instead of the friendly, smiling face of the young waiter before her she saw an older gentleman. Vander had known her routine. He'd had a nice face too. She'd been his target and she’d escaped only through an extraordinary coincidence of having unknowingly helped his son out of a legal jam. Her brother called it her extraordinary luck. He worried it made her an idealist, or that she thought nothing could touch her. In her experience, that was true. That day a hitman had been in her debt and spared her life. He'd even come back to save her.

He'd died in the effort. On that day, 304 days ago, her extraordinary luck had run out.

Would you like more time to decide?

Startled, Carrie realized she'd been staring at the waiter. For how long, she didn't know. Embarrassed heat flushed her cheeks. She shook her head and ordered a cappuccino.

After the waiter left, Carrie chided herself to relax. She lifted her face to the lingering rays of late autumn sunshine. This had always been her favorite season in Washington, D.C., when the southern warmth advanced to reclaim the city from a northern chill like a Civil War battle charge. It was a season of stolen days, and too much temptation for someone who longed for a stolen hour.

Wasn't this why she’d convinced herself to leave the hotel room? One more hour with only her thoughts and the television for company and she would have lost her mind. It had been barely tolerable while the cold rain spattered against the windows, but once the sun came out she hadn't stood a chance of staying put. Without even registering a conscience decision being made, she’d made an abrupt detour in her pacing to grab her black pea coat, tuck her distinctive red hair into a throwback knit beret, and head out the door for a glorious taste of freedom.

She rationalized her impulsiveness by deciding her original plan had flaws. According to the final stage of The Plan, she was to stay put at her hotel until the last minute when secure transportation arrived to deliver her to the Federal Courthouse in Alexandria. There were no field trips allowed in The Plan.

But as the minutes dragged into hours, she began to have doubts. Her imagination took flight. Wasn't she drawing attention by sequestering herself? Was the hotel’s staff talking about the strange woman in Room 682 who never left and hid in the bathroom when room service arrived? Possibly. She imagined a chart in the kitchen for the staff to keep track of bets. Maybe they thought the mystery guest had a horrible disfigurement. Or maybe she was a celebrity recovering from plastic surgery. Or maybe she was Carrie Riley, the star witness for the political scandal of the year.

Bingo.

Put that way, it seemed an easy deduction to make that she had to get out. Logically, she should get out to avoid drawing curiosity. She bit her lip. It might be too late for that. Tomorrow she’d move to a different hotel and modify her strategy. She needed to act normal, keeping a low, but not too low, profile. She’d go shopping and play the part of a tourist.

Her chin lifted. If he could hide in plain sight so could she. But as a cool breeze brushed along the nape of her neck, it seemed perfectly timed to elicit a shiver as a reminder of her exposure. Was she risking everything she’d so carefully arranged by changing things up now?

The waiter returned with her cappuccino, and Carrie’s effusive thanks had more to do with her gratitude for distracting her from her dwindling confidence than for the beverage. She wrapped her fingers around the warmth of her cup. Four more days, she reassured herself. In just four more days, she’d tell her part. She had foolishly hoped they wouldn’t even need her testimony since she hadn't actually been an eye-witness to the worst of Matt Banning's crimes. That task fell to the Senator and his daughter, her sister-in-law Beth. They were the ones who had been witness to Matt's final meltdown at the Senator's mansion. He'd shot Margaret, the Senator's wife, in cold blood. The Senator had been his next target, and he'd been saved only by Ben's extraordinary intervention. In spite of his efforts, Beth had ended up in the line of fire. To her eternal gratitude, Beth, who she loved dearly, had survived being shot.

They had all survived.

Her hand shook as she lifted the cup. She knew all this second-hand. It was what she knew first hand that made her a trembling wreck. The prosecutors didn't even know the extent of what had happened earlier that day when Matt had found her alone at the hotel. No one did, not even her brother and Beth. The event had slipped under the radar in the aftermath of the shooting. By the time Beth had recovered and Ben had seen her again, the bruises could be hidden. What Matt had done to her, according to the hierarchy of law, hadn’t been the worst.

Carrie swallowed hard and hot liquid went down the wrong way. Instantly, her eyes watered. Oh, crap. Now she’d done it. She had a split second to think: cough quietly. Maybe no one would notice.

Right.

She noisily gasped for breath and a couple sitting at the next table with their toddler glanced over at the sound of her sputtering. Carrie lifted her hand in an I’m all right gesture. She lied. The more she tried to suppress her cough, the less graceful her efforts became. Finally, she ended her coughing fit with a sneeze.

At least that was over.

Carrie blew her nose, calling herself ten kinds of idiot. She should leave. Were curious eyes watching her now, trying to place her? She glanced around, but no one was paying her any mind. Coughing wasn’t a crime. If anything, once the potential need of medical attention had passed, everyone purposefully avoided eye contact, as polite, ordinary people tended to do.

But two-year-olds, like the toddler with the blonde curls at the next table, hadn't learned this social nicety yet. The little cherub held a cracker suspended in her chubby fist and her china-blue eyes were locked on Carrie in an unblinking stare. Carrie winced when the baby opened her mouth and made her announcement loud and clear into the quiet.

Lady choke!

Several chuckles erupted from the patrons. The baby clapped and Carrie had a feeling she should take a bow.

I don’t choke, the baby said. See? She shoved her crackers in her mouth, including her fist.

Samantha Jo, that’s too much! The baby’s mother pried crackers from her child’s chubby fingers and smiled apologetically at Carrie.

Carrie’s smiled weakly back. Keep a low profile. Right. Somehow that never seemed to work out for her. She wouldn't have needed her extraordinary luck if she didn't always land in trouble. Her brother also used to say she needed a keeper. As much as she hated to admit it, her current mess seemed to prove him right.

At the thought of her brother, she blinked away the sting of tears. He’d pulled her out of more than one scrape, but this time she was on her own. Ben couldn’t help her now. He had enough guilt on his plate for not seeing Matt for the traitor he'd shown himself to be. She wouldn't add to it.

No, she could not tell Ben what else Matt had done. Especially not now, when it looked like he might just get off scott-free. The two eye-witnesses had been handled -- the Senator quieted with blackmail, and Beth's testimony had been barred from the trial. When she’d last spoken with Ben he’d been spitting mad and rightly so. It galled them all that Matt had found yet another way to add insult to injury and further exploit Beth's history. And Ben...well, there was no way he could even prove he'd been at the Senator’s mansion.

That left her. She had to see it through and testify. Then maybe she could finally get her life back.

Carrie bit her lip. Who was she kidding? She didn't know if she'd ever get back what Matt had taken from her. Gone was the girl who had taken such pleasure in goading him every chance she'd had. She'd never liked him, but he'd been her brother's best friend and she hadn't thought him dangerous. Now she knew exactly what he was capable of, and the last thing she wanted was to face him in court.

She didn’t doubt he felt the same about her. He’d see her dead first.

Thwack!

The sudden nearby noise wreaked havoc on her jumpy nerves, but Carrie relaxed when she saw it was only a tennis ball that had hit the sidewalk. The ball must have sailed over the hedge bordering the park. A black and white puppy barreled through the shrubs and skidded after the ball. He trapped it between his front paws, and plopped down on the sidewalk with his rear end stuck up in the air.

Cute. She smiled, grateful for the puppy for making her field trip worthwhile. Five more minutes and then she would go.

Carrie took a careful sip of her traitorous drink and turned her attention to the park. She focused on an oblivious-to-the-world teenage boy who skateboarded down the hilly path. Damn, he was good. And the kid was texting on his phone as he skateboarded. She couldn't help admiring, and also envying, his amazing sixth sense for avoiding obstacles, never once looking up as he approached the turn from the park’s path onto the sidewalk.

Carrie glanced back toward the puppy still on the sidewalk. If he didn't move, he’d be directly in the kid’s path. She whistled. It was soft, but the puppy perked its ears and cocked his head in her direction. He wagged his tail but maintained his playful stance. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Subtlety was not working. She patted her jean-clad thigh and called to the pup, trying to keep her voice little more than a whisper while inflecting every ounce of cajole she had in her. Come here, boy! Come, on!

The puppy settled his butt down to chew on his ball. And the kid on the skateboard rounded the curve onto the sidewalk. She jumped to her feet. As her luck would have it, she knocked a tray out of a passing waiter’s hands. China shattered on the brick of the patio.

Carrie groaned. The baby laughed. The puppy didn't move.

Oh, hell. Subtlety had never been her style, anyway. She sprinted across the grass, yelling at the kid, but he couldn't hear her over the headphones. She swooped up the puppy, turning just in time to realize she was going to become the object the kid with the sixth sense wasn't going to move around. The impact knocked her into the shrubs. Somehow she landed on her back, still holding the squirming puppy.

Ow! Rose bushes. Carrie stared up into the sky as the puppy whimpered and licked her face. Knock it off, you troublesome beast.

She laughed and hugged the pup. It was crazy, but by rescuing the puppy she felt she’d somehow gotten back a tiny piece of what had been stolen from her. If she hadn't been there, something bad would have happened. It had been worth the risk.

The sky darkened.

Carrie blinked up as a broad-shouldered man blocked the sun. Her warning signals went into overdrive as he lowered the length of his body to crouch beside her. He looked...hard. As dark as a fallen angel and just as beautiful. Dark, overlong hair framed a face straight out of every woman's Byronic fantasy of a man 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know.' Her eyes took in every detail of full, thick lashes, chiseled cheekbones and a strong nose. Perfection was broken by the lines bracketed his mouth, making her think he hadn't slept well in a long time. And he needed to shave.

Are you all right? His harsh, gravelly tone didn't match his question. He plucked the puppy from her arms. She missed the warm contact. Was he the owner? He didn't look like a puppy owner, but Carrie desperately clung to the explanation. The alternative was much less appealing.

Yeah, are you okay? The skateboarder hovering behind the man asked after her welfare much more anxiously. I didn't see you!

Carrie spared the kid a thought that at least he wasn't a hit and run skateboarder, but it was the man who held her attention.

I’m fine. She struggled to sit up. Her hair had escaped from her hat and become entangled in the thorny bushes. My hair is caught...

Then hold still.

Carrie froze. She didn't blindly obey anyone, but he’d spoken to her like she was a child who said her eye hurt when she rubbed it with her finger. No sympathy. Just a then don’t do it.

I'll deal with you in a minute, he said, his low voice for her ears only. He moved his leather jacket aside, giving her a glimpse of a shoulder holster and a gun. Stay put and keep quiet if you don’t want the boy or anyone else to get hurt.

Carrie sucked in her breath. No, he wasn't a puppy owner. More than that, her profile of average when it came to hitmen had just been shot to hell.

Do we understand each other?

Did she understand? The puppy he cradled in one large hand licked his fingers. The gesture of simple trust gave her a pang of regret. How could someone so beautiful be a killer? No, she didn’t understand at all.

Carrie?

Her eyes flew to his at his use of her name. They were flint gray, unreadable. She doubted her own eyes were masking her feelings and desperately wished her sunglasses hadn't flown off. He waited for an answer.

Yes, she bit out.

He gave a nod and stood, towering over the skateboarder kid. You got lucky, he said in his raspy voice. She is not hurt but she could have been. Trust me, that would have been bad for you.

In any other circumstance, Carrie might have enjoyed the protective act. But she knew that’s all it was. An act. Bitterly, she couldn't help wondering why it mattered to him if she’d been hurt. Wasn't he planning to do more than hurt her?

He took a step toward the kid. I want two things from you.

Yeah, yeah, sure. The kid tripped over his words. Anything.

One, apologize to the lady.

The boy’s thin shoulders slumped with obvious relief and he instantly complied. I’m sorry!

Carrie opened her mouth, but he answered for her. Apology accepted.

She shut her mouth and glared. Hypocrite, she thought snidely. In one breath he ordered manners and in the next he showed how they didn't apply to himself.

Wh-what’s the second thing? the boy asked.

Get this dog back to its owner. He thrust the puppy at the boy and nodded toward the hedge. Try the twin girls over there.

Through the shrubs from her vantage point, Carrie saw the girls he referred to searching for their puppy. The kid took the puppy and pushed off on his skateboard back to the park, obviously glad to leave Carrie in his hands.

Wait! I need your help! Carrie bit her lip to hold back the words. She couldn't involve the boy. Her eyes darted around looking for somebody. If she screamed…

Do not.

His softly spoken words held a world of warning. Carrie swallowed hard. The remaining onlookers had scattered like the autumn leaves and her window of opportunity was disappearing fast. She felt as alone with him on the public sidewalk as she would have in the desert. She knew she couldn't entangle anyone else in her mess. All those months ago with Vander she'd been lucky. She missed her long lost extraordinary luck.

You don’t happen to have a relative I've helped in the past do you?

He frowned, obviously not understanding her weak, inside joke. He crouched down next to her again.

You scratched your face.

It was her turn to be confused. There was that misplaced concern again. Even in a state of fear she could not deny the kick to her solar plexus from the contact with his steel-gray eyes. She turned her head away, wincing as her hair, still caught on the thorns, pulled at her scalp.

Hold still.

His long fingers began to work loose the strands of her hair. Carrie shivered. It could have been because she sat on the cold ground, but she didn't think that was it.

Chapter 2

Her hair had a life of its own. No sooner had he freed a fiery strand from a thorn, than it seemed to catch on his calloused fingers. He should not take such care, nor such time, but it seemed a crime to break even one strand. The near poetic thought made him scowl. What the hell was the matter with him? Everything about her destroyed his common sense.

Please, you don’t have to do this. I have money. Not much right now, but I can get more.

He looked up with great reluctance, braced to meet her pleading eyes. If her hair were fire, then her eyes were ice. Light blue, rimmed with a ring of black, they never left his face. What she searched for, he did not know. One thing he did know was she was scared to death. Of him. By his design, she thought he was the threat. He looked the part. His scars fit him much better than the angry red scratch marring the perfection of her cheek.

Perfection? This woman was far from perfection. She was reckless. Clumsy. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose. They were so faint as to be unnoticeable, he thought, in better circumstances. In these circumstances, however, they stood out on her pale face. She was afraid.

Be still, he said gruffly, although she hadn't moved an inch. She should be scared. Maybe she should have thought to be scared earlier when she left her hotel. Unbeknown to her, he'd been watching her movements in her hotel room from an adjacent building. As long as she didn't do anything stupid he'd resolved to let her be. But when she’d started to pace he’d known she’d reached her limit. He recognized the signs. If there was one thing he knew very well, it was what enforced confinement could do to a person. She’d lasted in her imposed isolation longer than he’d thought she would...longer than, if given a choice, he thought he could ever do again. Each step she took brought back memories of the darkest years of his life. When she'd finally lost the battle and left the room he'd been almost physically relieved. Let her have her break, he’d thought.

He grimaced. That had been his first mistake. His foolish, misplaced empathy. The second mistake had been how completely he had underestimated her potential for disaster.

Whatever you’ve been paid I’ll double it.

He shook his head.

Triple it, she added when he did not answer.

Her desperate bargaining scored a hit to his battered conscience.

I am not going to hurt you. His words were stilted. It did not help his cause that he snagged a tangle and pulled her hair.

Ow! Her accusing eyes called him a liar.

He nearly growled in frustration. Be still and listen. I am not the villain.

She blinked, as if his wording disconcerted her. What had he said? Ah. He'd said villain. Bad guy, he corrected himself too late. He should have said bad guy. Either way, she obviously did not believe him.

You just threatened to kill that boy!

I did not threaten him. I threatened you.

That did not help. She paled even more. If he wanted to, he could count each and every one of those freckles. He sighed. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt the need to explain himself to anyone. I needed to make sure you did not make a scene…again, he felt compelled to add. You drew too much attention to yourself at the coffee shop.

Her eyes narrowed. Too much information, he realized.

You were watching me?

Someone had to. His annoyance that the task had fallen on him must have come through loud and clear.

Why? she demanded.

Why indeed? He had been asking himself that question for two days. Did he tell her he was here to clean up a mess of an old fool who had once been his mentor? Did he tell her he had felt obligated to find out for himself if the threat was real? That explained why he had come, but not why he had stayed. At any time he could have handed the assignment off to any number of qualified candidates. He frowned, concentrating on his task. If he had done so before now, he would not have found himself here, his fingers clumsily entangled in silk.

Who are you?

She nearly broke his concentration with another question he could not answer. He told her the only thing that would gain her trust. Ben sent me.

She sucked in her breath between her teeth, as if he'd snagged her hair again. You expect me to take your word for that?

No, he supposed he did not. He had to give her something more. But what? He'd never met her brother. All he knew was what Alex had told him, most of which had made little sense. As usual, it had taken some time to piece together because what Alex did not do was tell any story in a linear fashion. The experiences of his lifetime, all four hundred years of it, often found their way sprinkled into his telling. It had been the same with the story of how he'd 'saved' Ben Riley. At the core of Alex's nonsense was the truth she would recognize. Does it help that I am aware of Ben’s time as a ghost?

Her mouth formed a soundless oh. He told you that?

He had not, but Carrie Riley did not need to know that. How else would I know?

She had no answer, as he knew she would not. The last strand of her hair was freed and he sat back on his heels. She picked up the knit cap from the ground and he watched with something like regret as she tucked the fiery mass back out of sight. He recognized the time she took as a stall tactic, but finally she finished and looked up with a challenging tilt to her chin.

So now what?

He stood and held out his hand. Now you come with me.

***

Carrie stared out into the darkening sky beyond the SUV’s windows, her hands clasped tensely in her lap. They were heading west, toward the mountains. With every mile she had second and third thoughts. What the hell had she been thinking to leave with a complete stranger? What if she had made a mistake? She hadn't had a lot of time to examine the wisdom of trusting him. They’d returned to her hotel to pick up her belongings and quickly left the city behind. Now that she had a chance to catch her breath she realized she still had no idea who he was, not even his name.

You haven’t told me your name.

Nick Fallon.

He didn't glance her way. That was probably for the best, she realized, noticing for the first time how he seemed unusually intent on his driving. He kept fiddling with gadgets and she heard him curse under his breath when he turned on the windshield wipers. Maybe he was just unused to the vehicle, which was likely a rental. Okay, Nick. Where are we going? Some kind of safe house?

You could say that.

His cryptic answers grated on her nerves. Listen here --

A car in the oncoming lane blared it's horn when Nick failed to dim the headlights. Her jaw dropped when he responded with turning on the washer fluid. Good grief! It was as if the man had never driven before! Or at least not for a long time. She didn't quite know what to do with that conclusion. But the glimpse of a human failing did more to calm her nerves than any spoken words of reassurance. Do you uhm, want me to drive?

To her surprise, he abruptly pulled over to the side of the road. He didn't say a word. He just undid his seat belt and got out. Carrie did the same, shivering in the cool night air.

She slid into the driver's seat, but made no move to pull out onto the highway. The doubts rushed back. For all she knew, allowing her to drive was a clever ploy to gain her cooperation. Carrie bit her lip, wondering if she was actually being stupid enough to drive herself to a secondary location. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel, uncertain what to do. She stalled by asking a question. If I'm going to drive, shouldn't you tell me where we're going?

Here. With more skill then he'd previously shown with the car's other controls, he quickly input the information into the state of the art navigation system. They were heading to West Virginia and had a couple hours of