An excerpt from
TERMS OF SURRENDER
by Kylie Brant
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
Coming October 2008
“What do you want?”
Dace’s brows skimmed upward. “Still a morning person, I see.”
Jolie took a breath, strove for an impassive mask to match his. “I’m running a little late. You can talk on the way to my car.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her.
He slipped his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers as he strolled along with her. He was wearing a matching black shirt, muted tie, and shoulder harness. He must have left his jacket in his vehicle. There was a fresh nick on his chin, courtesy of his morning shave. Noticing it had a ball of nerves tightening in her stomach.
“Why are you here?”
“You didn’t answer your cell.”
She looked at him blankly. The cell was in her glove box, along with her wallet. So far the precautions had kept them out of Trixie’s clutches. “And you called my cell because. . .”
“Not me. Lewis. The feds have called a meeting for this morning. He was in a hurry, so when he told me he couldn’t reach you I said I’d swing by. He gave me the address and. . .” He shrugged, the familiar gesture striking a chord in her.
“Have there been developments in the investigation?” If so, it would be unusual for the feds to share them with the locals. She had figured that the debriefing the previous week would be their last direct involvement in the case.
“Lewis wouldn’t say. But I heard something that I think explains the urgency.” He stopped, turning to face her. Jolie was struck by his grim expression. “Ava Carter was shot as she was going into a grocery store yesterday afternoon.”
Her throat abruptly dried. “Did she. . .was she. . .”
“She’s alive and her condition has stabilized. No word on the shooter. But that, coupled with Lewis’s call this morning makes me think the feds want to discuss whether it could possibly be connected to the case.”
Everything inside her rejected the idea. “You’ve got a suspicious mind. More likely they’ve got a preliminary profile from their agency shrink and want to run it by us.”
“Yeah, because they hold our opinion in such high esteem.” Dace’s voice was so dry, she shot him an amused glance. She’d always enjoyed his sardonic outlook, since she wasn’t exactly a Pollyanna herself. They’d connected first through the job they shared, with passion following quickly. And then. . .she swallowed hard, forcing her gaze to the parking lot ahead of them. Sammy had forged a bond between them that couldn’t be broken, couldn’t be outdistanced. Even now his ghost loomed, silent and somehow reproachful.
“You’re going to have a heckuva time backing your car out.” Dace squinted at her dated sedan. He’d tried to get her to trade it when they’d been together, but she’d refused. She had no interest in cars, and as long as hers still ran and parts weren’t falling off while she drove, it was good enough.
She followed his gaze across the parking lot and irritation rose. “Some drunk with a depth perception problem must have decided to take his space and part of mine, too.” A non-descript white Ford hugged her car on the passenger side, the door handles nearly touching. How was she ever going to get out of the space without hooking its mirror with her own?
Surveying the position of the vehicles, she decided she could pull straight ahead over the curb without touching the other vehicle, if she was extremely careful. Her Monday morning mood went from peevish to surly. She was tempted to hunt down the driver and kick his ass, whether it made her late to work or not.
“I want you do something for me, Jolie.”
The quiet urgency in Dace’s voice managed to distract her from her violent thoughts. “You can think I’m paranoid, fine, but when I say go, you’re going to turn and run like hell. Ready?”
She scowled at him, at a loss. “Why should I . . . .”
His hand gripped her elbow tightly. “. . .go!” He abruptly turned, yanking her with him and half dragging her across the lot back in the direction they’d come. “Stay down!” he yelled, running in a crouch, never loosening his grasp.
She ran. She didn’t have a choice. In a heartbeat, the focus of her ire switched from the driver of the Ford to the man beside her. “You idiot, what are you. . .”
The explosion drowned out her protest, the impact knocking them off their feet and propelling them through the air. When they landed, amidst a shower of debris, Jolie’s head bounced hard against something solid. Then everything went black.