No Turning Back (42 page)

Padding barefoot into the bathroom, I quietly pulled the bedroom door closed behind me. I found some salve and band-aids and applied it to the worst of the scrapes and cuts marring the soles of my feet. My thoughts unwittingly drifted to Kade. A part of me worried about him, though I knew it was ridiculous. He was quite capable of taking care of himself. I wondered where he'd gone, if he'd come back to Indy or went wherever he'd been before Blane had called for him to come here. The thought crossed my mind that he might have gone back to Chicago to see Branna. Something twisted inside at that thought and uncomfortably I pushed it away.

Leaving the bathroom, I headed to the kitchen for a drink of water. After filling up a glass, I turned my back and leaned against the cool kitchen counter as I drank. I glanced toward my living room and something sitting on the coffee table caught my eye. Frowning, I set my glass down and hesitantly walked into the room. I switched on a lamp and saw a large manila envelope on the table. I was quite certain it hadn't been there earlier.

With some trepidation, I picked it up and opened it, peeking inside. I gasped in surprise at the contents before turning it upside down. A thick sheaf of crisp bills cascaded out onto the table.

My knees gave way and I sat heavily on the couch, unable to take my eyes off the money. Slowly, I reached out and started gathering the bills, a suspicion forming in my mind as I counted. Ten minutes later, I had my answer as I sat staring at exactly twenty thousand dollars which now sat in a neat and tidy pile in front of me. The price for my life.

Grasping the manila envelope, I turned it over in my hand, only now seeing the short line of handwriting on one side. I held it closer so I could read it.

Buy some decent shoes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tiffany Snow has been reading romance novels since she was too young to read romance novels. It seems she never tires of the magic that happens the first time the heroine meets the hero, nor does she grow weary of watching their unique story unfold with each turn of the page.

Tiffany makes her home in the Midwest with her husband and two daughters. She can be reached at [email protected].

Turn the page for a sneak peek at the second book in

the
Kathleen Turner Series
,
Turn To Me

available April 24, 2012!

Turn
To Me

Chapter One

"Hey, pretty girl, give me your cash and I won’t mess up your fancy dress."

I started, my pulse picking up as my brain processed the words. I was cold. Freezing actually, and my feet were killing me. December in Indianapolis was bad enough - add to it walking the streets alone at night wearing nothing but an evening gown and four inch heels and you had the ingredients for a truly wretched experience. Well, at least I'd thought that was the worst it could get. Apparently, I'd been wrong.

Turning, I watched as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was a hulking brute, big enough to easily outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more. The scattered light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off the knife he was holding and I swallowed heavily. I hated knives. Knives meant pain whereas guns meant death. Maybe I was in the minority, but death was the preferred of the two to my way of thinking. I wasn't a big fan of pain.

"I don't have any money," I said, trying to stay calm. I glanced around, keeping an eye on him as he advanced toward me. Unfortunately, no one was around. I backed away as he got closer, but knew I didn't stand a chance if I tried to run, not with these shoes.

"Then I'll take the pretty necklace," he sneered, leaping forward and grabbing my arm. I shrieked in surprise, but was silenced when he pressed the cold steel of the blade to my neck.

"Shut up, bitch," he snarled.

I was breathing hard, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins. He towered over me, pushing against me until my back was against the cold brick wall. The rough stones abraded the exposed skin of my back.

"Give me the necklace." His breath was hot and fetid against my face.

"No," I said, helpless anger rising in me. I'd been given the necklace mere hours ago, Blane fastening it around my neck as I'd gotten dressed for this evening.

It suddenly seemed terribly ironic that a night that had started with such promise was ending in terror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day had begun well enough. I’d had the day shift at The Drop, a local place where I tended bar. I know the current in vogue term was "mixologist," but neither myself nor the patrons had any illusions about what I did - which was pour drinks. On Saturdays I usually worked the night shift, but today I’d traded with Lucy so I could have tonight off to be with Blane.

Blane Kirk was my boyfriend, although the term was at once both too adolescent and too committed to actually describe him and our relationship. Blane was a high-profile lawyer in Indianapolis, with aspirations to public office. A former Navy SEAL, he was over six feet of male perfection complete with dirty blond hair, a square jaw and eyes a tantalizing mix of gray and green, drifting more one or the other depending on what he was wearing. Women had been an interchangeable accessory to Blane and I wasn't sure that wouldn't be the case with me. Blane and I had started dating about six weeks ago, right after Halloween. I know that doesn't sound like very long, but considering how often Blane usually changed girlfriends I was cautiously optimistic. Optimistic of what, well I wasn't sure of that either.

Considering who he was and who I am, it was difficult most days to believe that Blane would choose to be with me. As the daughter of a housewife and police officer from Rushville, Indiana, Kathleen Turner - yeah, that's me – wasn't a name people knew. I take that back. People knew the name, but I wasn't THAT Kathleen Turner. Turner was the family name and choosing a celebrity to be named after was the tradition. Just ask my dad, Ted Turner or my grandma, Tina Turner. Except neither one was with me any longer so I alone was left to carry on the Turner tradition or curse, depending on your point of view.

I'd moved to Indianapolis eight months ago and had taken a job working as a runner for Blane's law firm. It took both gigs to make ends meet and I hadn't given up the day job, even though I was sleeping with the boss. Incredibly tacky of me, but I needed the job. We kept it discreet because while Blane didn't care at all what people said, I did.

Blane had asked me to go with him to a victory dinner/fundraiser tonight for someone he knew that had been re-elected to Congress in the last election. I'd seen in the paper that plates were seven thousand dollars each. I'd swallowed hard and hoped the food was really good for that kind of price tag.

After my Saturday shift, I had dashed home, hopping into the shower to quickly wash my hair and shave my legs. I had time to blow my long, strawberry blond hair dry, pin it up and throw on some makeup before I heard his knock on my door.

I'd learned a hard lesson a few weeks ago about checking the peephole in my door and I remembered that tonight. I checked first before opening the door and my breath caught, as it nearly always did, when I saw Blane.

My doorway was filled with wide shoulders encased in a charcoal gray suit jacket that tapered to lean hips. A white shirt peeked from beneath his jacket and tie. Currently, a hand was braced high against the jamb of my door, opening his jacket enough for me to see the gun tucked into the holster against his side. Indiana was a conceal state and Blane had a permit to carry, which he always did. That habit had saved my life once.

"You're early," I said, smiling and opening the door wider to let him in. He unfolded his tall frame from where he'd been leaning and came inside, closing the door behind him and stepped into my personal space. The whole apartment seemed smaller with him in it, not that it was very big to begin with. He took in my appearance, still wrapped in a towel from my shower, and the gleam that came into his eyes made my heart beat faster.

"How early?" he asked, his voice a low rasp as he moved even closer, his hand coming up to trace the top edge of my towel. Words failed me when his lips and tongue touched the bare skin of my shoulder. I tipped my head to the side, my eyes fluttering shut. He sucked lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder and I inhaled deeply, the scent of his cologne enveloping and enticing me. When I felt him loosen the towel and it dropped to the floor, I found my voice.

"You'll mess up my hair," I managed breathlessly as his hand slipped between my thighs. I clutched at his shoulders for support, his fingers moving with practiced ease and causing my legs to tremble.

"There are ways to avoid that," he whispered in my ear, sending a delicious shiver through me. And indeed, there were, as he proceeded to show me.

Half an hour later, I was slipping on my dress and repairing the damage done to my lip gloss. True to his word, not a hair of mine was out of place, though my skin now had a telltale flush.

My dress was a deep, midnight blue and I thought it brought out my eyes, since they were nearly the same shade. It was a long, satin sheathe with a sweetheart neckline, the straps reaching over the outer curve of my shoulders. The cut emphasized my cleavage, something I'd been blessed with plenty of. A long slit ran up the side, shifting and revealing my legs as I walked. I stepped into a pair of silver heels that helped make up for my sad lack of stature and surveyed myself with a critical eye in the mirror. The dress demanded a necklace, but jewelry – even the costume sort – was an unnecessary expense when I worked two jobs just to pay the bills. I'd found a pair of rhinestone earrings which now dangled from my ears and sparkled when I turned my head.

"You forgot something," Blane said, surprising me as he stepped into the mirror's reflection. I looked at the couple we made and was gratified at the sight. We looked good together, I thought.

My eyes widened as I watched his hands come up to place a necklace on me. As he did the catch, my jaw dropped at the sight of the large, oval sapphire pendant now nestled between my breasts. Surrounded in diamonds, it glittered brightly as it hung from a long double-chain.

"I'll let you put on these," he said, his arm reaching around in front of me.

I glanced down to see he was holding a velvet jewelry box, opened to display a set of matching diamond and sapphire earrings. I reached out cautious fingers to touch them, the movement causing them to sparkle in the light.

"Blane," I began, "I...I don't know what to say. It's too much." I was stunned. I had never been given something like this. Tears pricked my eyes and the earrings swam in my vision. I blinked them back. It would totally ruin the moment if my mascara ran.

"Say you'll wear them," he cajoled, his lips at my ear as his other arm slid around my waist to pull me back against his chest. "The stone reminded me of the color of your eyes. I want you to have them."

I put on the earrings as he watched me in the mirror and left the rhinestones on my bureau. A thought occurred to me and my eyes flew to his in the mirror. Was this my "going away" present? Blane always gave a gift to his girlfriends when he broke up with them, though usually they were chosen by his secretary, Clarice.

"You're beautiful," he complimented me, the warmth in his eyes easing my worry. The heat from his hands seeped through the thin satin and I berated myself for thinking he had other motives for the gift.

He glanced at his watch. "We'd better go."

I grabbed the silver clutch bag I'd gotten to go with the dress and headed for my apartment door.

"Wait," Blane said. "Where's your coat?"

I grimaced. I hated wearing coats and usually only did so when Mother Nature forced the issue by spreading snow on the ground.

"You have to wear a coat," Blane insisted, going to my tiny coat closet and pulling out the long, black trench coat he'd given me a few weeks ago. "It's freezing outside."

I reluctantly let him put it on me, though I didn't think it went with my dress at all, and locked my apartment door on the way out. I lived on the top floor of a two-story apartment building in an area of downtown Indy where you made sure you locked your car at night.

Blane took my hand as we went down the stairs and I was grateful for his solid presence next to me, unpracticed as I was in walking in heels this high. It's not like I went many places where I had cause to dress up - except church occasionally, but somehow I didn't think silver strappy sandals with a four-inch heel were Sunday morning Baptist attire.

He helped me into his black Jaguar which, let me say, was difficult to get into in the getup I was wearing. As he watched me carefully swing my legs into the car, Blane let out a chuckle.

"What?" I said, my voice testy.

"I was just wondering if you were going to emulate Britney again," he said, propping his arms against the door as he leaned toward me. My cheeks grew warm as I realized he was referring to my beloved pop princess, Britney Spears. I was a huge fan and could do a dead-on impression of her singing, which I'd had cause to do this past Halloween when all the girls at The Drop dressed up as pop divas for the holiday bash. In this instance, I didn't think Blane was referring to Britney's singing so much as her inadvertent flashing of some very private areas when climbing into and out of cars.

"You're assuming I'm not wearing anything under my dress," I said breezily, deciding to give as good as I got.

"Are you?" I noticed the gleam was back in his eyes as they dropped to where the cut of my dress had opened to expose the length of my thigh.