Missing: New South Romance

By M.K. Chester

She shouldn't be alone. He shouldn't be the one with her.

Private Investigator and ex-Ranger Noah Sullivan arrives in Nashville to identify the victim of a twenty-year-old kidnapping, one of a series of cases in a nation-wide investigation. He plans to locate the victim, hand off information to authorities, and move on. But Quinn Collier has other plans. How dare this handsome stranger ruin her life and not stick around for the fallout?

Uncovering the truth means questioning everything she's ever known and destroying every barrier he's ever put up. Finding lust amid the conflict is easy. Love is a whole different story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LBD Media
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393617310

M.K. Chester

M.K Chester is an avid reader who began writing at an early age to entertain herself. She began to take writing seriously after college and her work developed timeless themes of redemption and second chances. ​​She won some RWA awards, published with The Wild Rose Press and Carina [Harlequin] and now considers herself a happy Indie. Her romance titles include something for everyone: historical, contemporary, and paranormal. 

Book preview

Chapter One

QUINN COLLIER STEPPED back and surveyed her classroom with a sigh while wiping her hands on a damp paper towel. Friday cleanup of the most popular room in the elementary school, the art room, exhausted her in the very best way.

A big mess meant her students dove in, got their hands dirty and experienced her lesson in every imaginable way. And they expelled some of their endless energy, which everyone in the building appreciated.

She could use some of their energy right about now.

Hey, girl!

Quinn spun to see one of the third-grade teachers leaning against her door. They exchanged exhausted smiles. Hey, Sarah, what’s up?

Sarah White dragged a hand through her hair, always a little unkempt. A bunch of us are going out for dinner and drinks. Do you want to join?

Quinn’s smile faltered. A bunch? Umm...

Sarah’s hands shot up. Oh no, she’s not going.

Relief washed over Quinn, even as she realized she’d made the exchange super awkward by excluding one of the teachers in her mind. Everyone knew why. Okay, then. I could blow off some steam.

Awesome, we’re meeting at the Corner Pub on 5th.

This group always went downtown. No matter how brilliant parents believe their child’s elementary school teacher to be, the stress of the job coupled with the youth of most of the staff led to frequent Friday evenings out. Downtown, they were less likely to run into their suburban families.

Quinn took one more turn around the room, trying and failing to remember what she’d planned for Monday. Being off for a few days for her father’s funeral really skewed her calendar. And her memory. Hopefully she hadn’t planned more charcoal drawings. While fun, they made clean-up hell.

When she’d wiped all the surfaces one more time and turned the chairs upside down on the tables, she grabbed her bags and locked and shut her classroom door behind her.

Clay. They would work with clay starting next week. She grinned, always looking forward to what the students would make.

Last year, one student made a full circus.

Oh, Mike! A shrill giggle echoed down the empty, dim hallway. A man’s laughter followed, his voice all too familiar.

What the actual hell? A glance to her right confirmed her ex-boyfriend had come to the school to pick up his new girlfriend, Kara Pike, the fifth-grade social studies teacher.

She and Kara had been good friends. She’d introduced Kara to her fantastic boyfriend, sang his praises, and in return, been stabbed in the back. Repeatedly. For an extended period of time.

Everyone in the school knew what had happened, and still they had the nerve to show up like this. Like they didn’t know no one wanted to see them together.

Turning away, she hurried down the hallway, too late. She’d been spotted. When Mike called after her, she didn’t slow her roll. Did they have to shove their relationship in her face?

Quinn, stop! Mike jogged up beside her and pushed the exterior door open. Can’t we talk this out?

She shook her head and rushed past him, angling for her car. They didn’t have anything to talk over, about or out as far as she was concerned.

I’m sorry about your dad.

At those words, she froze. Of all the things he could have said, mentioning her father hurt more than anything. Her father had adored him, and Mike’s betrayal hurt him as well.

Mike caught up to her. I really am, Quinn. I admired your father. I wanted to come to the funeral...

You weren’t welcome, she forced the words through her constricted throat. At least you knew to stay away.

Using the button on her key fob, she opened the trunk and tossed her work bags inside. Then she slammed the trunk and turned to look at her dear old college boyfriend, his new squeeze hovering in the door of the school, too scared to confront any of this.

Quinn sighed and shifted her weight. We don’t need to talk. You made your choice, a bad choice, and you don’t get to try to make things better for yourself or for her. I don’t care how much you admired my father. He knew what you did, and he died hating you.

Mike stepped back, her truth hurting him, she hoped. Come on, Quinn, you’re hitting below the belt.

You would know. She slid into the car’s seat and started the engine. Mike jumped out of the way when she put the BMW into reverse and shot out of her spot.

Frustration boiled in her veins. How dare the two of them even think she wanted any part of them? They would never be friends, could never be friends. If Mike had any sense at all, he’d stay away from the school before he made her workplace completely toxic. Kara, at least, had the good sense to keep her distance.

She merged recklessly onto 440 and headed toward downtown, shaking her head while thinking of a hundred comebacks she should have used. The Mike and Kara drama always took a backseat to her father’s unexpected stroke and death. She didn’t need to mash them together. Her father’s passing left a hole for this Daddy’s Girl where she could have used good friends.

They’d made sure she felt alone.

She needed a drink more than ever.

GODDAMN. THAT GIRL could throw down some serious, top-shelf tequila. Noah Sullivan smiled as he slouched in the corner of the Wildhorse Saloon in good ole Nashville late on a rainy fall Friday. He cupped a half-empty beer bottle in his hand, shaking his head while his surveillance target got fully loaded mere feet away.

With Halloween only three days in the future, most of the customers wore trendy or revealing costumes, like the naughty nurse at the bar or the scantily clad cheerleader who managed to keep walking by.

Not her. Hell no. She wore tight, faded, well-loved Levi’s and black high heeled boots. An oversized University of Alabama sweatshirt slouched off her shoulder and her long caramel-colored hair brushed over her bare skin while she chatted with a group of about ten friends.

Her old, tired sweatshirt did nothing to hide the banging body underneath. The way her heels lifted her backside, arched her back high enough to let you know what being with her would be like.

This wasn’t the kind of inner dialogue his client would endorse. He hadn’t been hired to grow an infatuation. He’d been hired to track down someone who hadn’t been seen by her family in twenty-plus years. Someone hiding in plain sight.

Someone who, most likely, didn’t even know she was a missing person.

He took a swig of lukewarm beer, careful not to drink too much, not to lose himself. Not now, not yet. Too much work to do. Damn, she was hot, though. She checked all his boxes, no doubt.

Shame he had to break her heart within the next day or two, professionally speaking.

Causally lifting his cell phone, he snapped a candid photo of her and filed the image away to send to his anxious client. While his hands worked the gadget, her laughter drifted over to him in the lull between songs. He looked up and smiled without even thinking.

She grinned back, zeroed in on him, a grown man sitting by himself in the corner of a tourist bar like some big-ass loser. He raised his beer, then glanced away, hoping she’d lose interest or focus. Not to be denied, she got to her feet and started toward him.

And he absolutely could not let her make contact. His pulse kicked up a notch as he stood and gestured as if his phone was ringing. Side-stepping her, he made a beeline outside, where he shook free of her charms and brought his focus to bear on his actual job. The great paying job he loved.

This should never have happened. His success in the previous five cases made him too comfortable. And the beer didn’t hurt, either. He didn’t need to be drinking on the job even if he was trying to blend in at a bar.

She shouldn’t have seen him before they sat down together to discuss the reality of her identity.

If he was lucky, which he often was, another couple shots of tequila and she wouldn’t remember him tomorrow morning. Or at all. Tequila used to wipe his memory all the time and she looked like she didn’t want to remember.

As the saloon doors swung shut behind him, he vowed not to risk blowing this contract. Not after digging into her life for two long months and following her for a week. He knew without a doubt he had the right girl. He only lacked the go-ahead from his client to make contact.

Hopefully, he’d receive permission soon, tonight even, since she seemed a little dangerous to him, being the kind of girl he liked to keep warm on cold nights. All sorts of things could go wrong if he had to wait to do his job, especially since she’d seen his face.

What was the hold up to make contact and have the opening conversation? He’d provided more than ample proof of her identity, how the kidnapping had happened, and who had been involved. The client had cold feet, something he’d have to push through tonight if they weren’t ready to go.

Because he was ready to go.

As he wandered away from the bar and down Broadway, he reminded himself he didn’t need to stay in one place too long or get attached to anything or anyone. Best to keep his show on the road, as always, retain his lucky streak, and keep getting paid to find lost children.

QUINN PULLED UP SHORT in the middle of the bar and watched the handsome loner exit the Wild Horse. WTF? Counting her drinks in her head, she was far from wasted. Buzzed, sure. Not drunk. 

So how had she misread this guy so badly? He’d been into her, right? Enough to take a picture, which was kind of questionable in her book. She wasn’t wrong about him though.

She shook her head, glancing back at her friends sitting around their table.

Go get him! they encouraged her, waving her forward, like she was Sherman aiming for Atlanta. Because they all knew she’d been dumped and needed a win. Or a distraction from her loss. Maybe both.

Never one to back down from a challenge, she charged outside, boot heels clicking on the cracked sidewalk.

Hey! she shouted as she came up behind him, dodging semi-drunk tourists.

He kept walking. A few more steps closed the distance, and she reached out and grabbed his elbow. He stopped in his tracks and whirled to glare with electric blue, angry eyes.

She took a step back and his expression softened. He looked even better close up. Those eyes, ringed with ridiculous, dark eyelashes women paid hundreds of dollars for, looked her up and down as if he’d never seen her before.

He liked what he saw, she could tell by the way his jaw clenched.

You forgot your keys, mister. She dangled a set of car keys in front of him, doing her best to tease him and read him at the same time. Hard call on how drunk he might be, probably not more than a 2 on a 1-10 scale.

Meanwhile, she teetered around a 5-6.

He shook his head and offered a tight smile, patting the pocket of his faded jeans. Nope, sorry to disappoint you. Those aren’t mine.

Oh, I guess they’re mine, then. She tucked the keys, her keys, into the front pocket of her jeans. Truth is, I followed you out here on a bet. I’m supposed to find a way to kiss you.

His eyebrows shot up and amusement shone in his gaze. You don’t say?

True story. She batted her eyelashes, hoping she’d made an impression strong enough to end her dry spell for at least a moment or two. I thought I’d try the direct approach. You game?

He shifted on his feet and flashed her a rather genuine smile. Did he do this kind of thing all the time, lurking in bars, snapping photos and kissing strangers?

One could hope.

She waited while he considered her offer.

Well, what are you waiting for? he asked, nodding in agreement. Night’s not getting any younger.

Mischief bloomed in her belly, and she stepped forward, her head tilted back, her hands skimming over his chest. At the last possible moment, he slipped his hand behind her neck and directed her parted lips to his scruffy cheek.

He smelled like Ivory soap and beer.

Even though limited contact with him gave her a solid charge, what he whispered in her ear threw cold water all over her hopes and dreams. You’ll thank me later.

What did that mean?

No fair, she countered, suddenly completely sober as her fingers wrapped around his wrist. You took a picture of me inside. Why?

He shook his head. You’re mistaken.

A flash of confusion split her mind as he backed away. Was she mistaken? No. She could have sworn he was interested. Since the disaster over the summer, her metrics had been way off, so maybe not.

I don’t think I’m mistaken, she argued. What do you mean I’ll thank you later?

He pursed his lips while he studied her. I mean, you’re pretty drunk right now and taking advantage of you isn’t really my thing. Go back inside to your friends and make sure someone gets you home safe, okay?

Disappointment underpinned her words. Sure. You missed your chance, though.

He stepped backward, like he wanted to run away as fast as humanly possible. From her.

So no, she wouldn’t thank him for keeping his lips to himself tonight or any other night. She wanted to kiss him more than she realized.

Now she had to slink back inside and admit defeat because she wasn’t a liar on top of everything else.

Furthermore, no one else in the bar looked as interesting as him. Out alone on a Friday night? Acting like he wasn’t watching while he watched and yes, took a picture of her? And then, given opportunity, turned her down?

If the problem wasn’t him, that left her. Message received, loud and clear. Settling back into her group of friends, she let their platitudes soothe the sting of his rejection and ordered another drink. The shadows of her friend’s betrayal, her father’s recent death, and a fresh new rejection closed in around her.

She’d never see him again anyway. Nothing a couple more shots couldn’t fix.

THE FLASH OF DISAPPOINTMENT crossing her face boosted his ego for a split second. Maybe he was her kind of drug, too, something he’d never even considered.

Which was the danger of making contact when they didn’t know why you were there.

He drove the feeling deep into his gut, turned, and headed back to his hotel. He couldn’t help imagining what she would have tasted like. Tequila, barbecue, and cash. A sexy little rich girl more than used to getting her way. On any other night, he would have made the most of her just because he could.

He’d teach her how to win a bet.

Tonight, though, he had to be good. Knowing he’d have to deal her an unbelievable blow soon, he convinced himself he’d made the grown-up choice.

Even if his dick didn’t agree.

Once he locked his hotel door, he dialed his client and waited for an answer, sitting in the dark, more work to do.

This is Darren.

Hey, it’s me. I’ve met your daughter.

Silence on the line. You weren’t supposed to meet her.

He didn’t wait for questions, didn’t want to explain tonight to anyone. If you’re certain, I need to talk with her as soon as possible because she’s going to notice if I keep popping up.

More hesitation, then finally, Yes, we’re sure this is her based on the information you’ve provided. How do you tell her?

Leave the ‘how’ to me, he advised. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, something he didn’t need to say. I’ll let you know what happens.

A pause. What’s she like?

She teaches art to little kids and goes out with her friends. Noah rubbed his hand over his eyes and lied again. She’s like every other girl in America. She has no idea anything is wrong.

Another long pause. We’ll be waiting for your call.

Thank God. One more day and he’d be able to shake this girl off, coast out of town and move on to the next gig. Private detective work did not find itself, contrary to popular belief, and he wanted to ride this line of jobs as long as he could.

He turned on a cold