The General's Secretary Page 19

  “They all seemed touched by the college scholarships and the trees in each girl’s memory. I told them they were planted near Irene’s Garden.”

  Dawson looked at the etched plaque to Lillie’s mother erected in the middle of the flowering bushes and rows of blooming plants. “It’s a perfect memorial to her memory.”

  Lillie nudged his arm. “Plus it lets you play in the dirt. Dad said you’re a farmer at heart. He also told me you were looking at land not far from their place.”

  “I wanted to surprise you. A hundred acres are for sale.”

  She studied him with pensive eyes. “You’ve decided to get out of the military?”

  He shrugged. “I keep feeling a need to work the soil.”

  “Maybe you could go into landscaping,” she teased, making him laugh.

  “You have your construction company,” he reminded her. “And your gym.”

  She held up her hand. “I’m putting both of them up for sale.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s not what I want, Dawson.”

  He leaned in, his gaze intent on the fullness of her lips and the curve of her smile. “What do you want, Lillie?”

  “I thought we discussed that when I was in the hospital.”

  “You needed time to heal, emotionally and physically.”

  She scooted closer. “I’m all better now.”

  “But this isn’t the best time. I was thinking of a candlelight dinner and a roaring fire.”

  “It’s too warm to build a fire.” She looked around. “Besides, a farmer’s wife likes fresh air and sunshine.”

  He tickled her chin. “You know what you want, don’t you, Ms. Beaumont?”

  “You do too, soon-to-be Farmer Timmons.”

  “What I want—” he reached for her “—is for you to be my wife.”

  Without saying yes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and molded into his embrace. All around them, flowers danced in the breeze from the river.

  “We’ll get married at the main post chapel,” Lillie said. “And hold the reception in the ballroom at the museum.”

  He kissed her cheek and then her neck as she discussed plans for their wedding, while he enjoyed the softness of her skin and the fragrant scent of her perfume.

  Dawson wouldn’t mention that he had seen the wedding magazines at her parents’ farmhouse or that Mr. McKinney had already clued him in on how women always got what they wanted.

  After all, marrying Lillie was what Dawson wanted more than anything. He had given her time to heal and experience life without always looking over her shoulder.

  Dawson had needed time to heal his relationship with his mother and grow in his faith. Both he and Lillie were stronger now and ready to start their new life together.

  Tonight, after they had a candlelight dinner, he would slip a ring on her finger and formally ask her to be his wife. But he already knew the answer. Their lives had been entwined, seemingly forever.

  The storms of the past were over, and the future would be filled with sunshine and babies. Strong boys to help him on the farm and emerald-eyed girls who would steal his heart, just as Lillie had done the first time he saw her.

  She continued to chatter, but then she stopped and smiled at him, her eyes making him think of lush green farmland and the home they would build on their new acreage.

  Then thoughts of everything else left him and all he could think about was Lillie. Her lips on his, her arms holding him tight, the way their hearts beat in sync. They kissed and kissed and kissed again, while the sun warmed them and the gentle breezes wrapped them in a loving embrace.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Betrayal on the Border by Jill Elizabeth Nelson!

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed THE GENERAL’S SECRETARY, the fourth book in my Military Investigations series, which features heroes and heroines in the army’s Criminal Investigation Division. Each story stands alone so you can read them in any order, either in print or as an ebook: THE OFFICER’S SECRET, book 1; THE CAPTAIN’S MISSION, book 2; and THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER, book 3.

  Abandoned by her mother when she was a child, Lillie Beaumont now works for the Fort Rickman commanding general. More than anything else, Lillie doesn’t want to upset the perfect, albeit reclusive, life she has created for herself. But when a man is murdered on her front porch, she can no longer block out what happened long ago.

  Special Agent Dawson Timmons is called in to investigate a murder that hits too close to home. Forced to expose a secret from his past, he must work with Lillie to solve not only one murder but a series of crimes that could jeopardize his military career. Before the truth can be revealed and healed, Lillie and Dawson must turn to the Lord in their need.

  I pray for my readers each and every day. If concerns weigh you down, call upon the Lord. He is a God of mercy and forgiveness, and His love is unconditional.

  I want to hear from you. Email me at debby@debbygiusti.com or write me c/o Love Inspired, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. Visit my website at www.DebbyGiusti.com.

  And blog with me at:

  www.seekerville.blogspot.com

  www.craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com

  www.crossmyheartprayerteam.blogspot.com

  As always, I thank God for bringing us together through this story.

  Wishing you abundant blessings,

  Debby Giusti

  Questions for Discussion

  What does the memory box symbolize in this story? Why did Lillie hide the box in the back of her closet, and what did she learn when she finally looked inside?

  Karl Nelson said, “Sometimes the person we know best can cause us the most pain.” How did that prove true in this story?

  What was the significance of the child’s drawing? Was that a turning point for Lillie?

  When he was a young boy, Dawson had a bigger-than-life image of his father. When and how was that image shattered? By the end of the story, what had Dawson learned about his dad?

  Why did Lillie feel the need to protect her heart? Is there something from your past that keeps you from living fully in the present?

  Mr. McKinney was a man of faith, yet his comments about prison hurt Dawson. What did Lillie’s father do when he realized his mistake? In your opinion, is it harder to forgive or to ask forgiveness?

  How is the climax foreshadowed in this story?

  Do you think Dawson eventually changed his military paperwork and claimed Granger as his father? Was Granger a heroic figure? If so, why?

  How did the construction accident in Dawson’s youth affect him? What did he learn from that incident that played a role in this story?

  Granger Ford found Christ when he was in prison. Is Christian prison ministry important and does it lower the rate of recidivism, which is a problem in the U.S.? Has God ever called you to work in prison ministry? If so, share your experiences.

  Before his death, Granger asked Lillie to free them from the past. In what way did she fulfill his request?

  How does the setting enhance the suspense in this story? Does Lillie’s fear of storms make her a more compelling character?

  What did the mosaic in the hospital chapel symbolize to Dawson? Are there visual signs in your life that remind you of God’s love?

  What themes are explored in The General’s Secretary? What have you learned from this story?

  What was the significance of Irene’s Garden? How did Lillie reach out to the families of the three murdered Atlanta women?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysterie
s and saving lives.

  Visit Harlequin.com to find your next great read.

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  ONE

  If that off-white chunk of clay was craftsman’s putty, Maddie Jameson would eat her tool belt. What was C-4 explosive compound doing on the kitchen table in this unit at Morningside Apartments? A chill rippled her insides.

  Not everyone would recognize the remnants from the construction of a pipe bomb. To the untrained eye, the dab of C-4 could be mistaken for putty and the bits of wire and lengths of sawed-off pipe merely scraps from a handy-man project. But then, not many apartment-maintenance workers were ex–army rangers with Maddie’s skill set—or a history that meant she must keep her head down and her eyes peeled.

  Those who hunted her were relentless and ruthless, and she was damaged prey. She needed to see them coming before they got to her.

  Not that she ever knew exactly what hired assassin would be after her. She could bump into one on the street and not know it until he tried to take her out. Everyone was a suspect. If only she could figure out why she was marked for death. Had she seen something the night of the attack a year ago on the Rio Grande? If so, her head injury had erased it from her memory.

  Was she the target of the bomb these Morningside tenants had been making? If the three attempts on her life within the past year were any clue, she’d be an idiot to think otherwise. Where was the bomb planted? Her caretaker’s apartment on the premises? Maddie’s mouth went dry. There could be collateral damage. Dozens of people—including children—lived in this building, and a bomb didn’t care who it destroyed.

  Dear God, please don’t let innocent families be hurt because of me.

  Fighting for a full breath, she looked down at the work order in her hand. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. The order listed this apartment and stated that the tenants had given permission for the maintenance person to enter in their absence in order to replace a torn window screen. But she’d checked the screens—they were whole. Why would the tenants give permission for her to enter the premises on a trumped-up excuse and then leave their bomb-making scraps lying around in plain view?

  Unless this was a trap.

  The air in Maddie’s lungs went arctic. Maybe the bomb was planted in this very unit. The timer could click down to zero at any second.

  Her feet cried Run—seek safety somewhere...anywhere! But flight wouldn’t help the other people who could be blown to smithereens.

  Sweat trickled down her scalp, despite the coolness blowing from the wall-mounted air conditioner. The scar above her right ear itched, but she ignored the sensation as she yanked her two-way radio from her belt and began to search the premises with her eyes. There wasn’t much space to cover in this studio apartment. A kitchenette. A living-room area with an easy chair and matching ottoman, a television the tenants had left blaring, and a couch that had been slept on, if the rumpled bedding was any indication. A hide-a-bed pulled out from the wall filled the rest of the space. That, too, hosted a nest of wadded bedding.

  “Bill, do you have a copy?” Maddie spoke into the radio.

  She took her thumb off the button and listened for a response. Silence answered. Great! The apartment manager had chosen this critical moment to be absent from his office.

  Maddie gingerly cracked the oven door open and peered inside. No bomb. She checked the refrigerator. A half-gallon carton of milk, a partially eaten brick of cheese and an overripe peach, but no bomb. She opened the cupboards with one hand while using the other to keep calling for Bill every few seconds. Still no answer. Her throat tensed as if invisible fingers had tightened around her windpipe. A little voice in her head screamed she was running out of time.

  The tenants in this unit had opted not to hook up a landline phone, and company regulations dictated that employees not carry cell phones. Bad policy in this instance. Maybe she should run to the office herself and phone for the bomb squad. But the bomb could go off in her absence and kill any of the neighbors above, below or on either side. If she found the apparatus, she could defuse it as well as—or better than—the police experts.

  She went to the clothes closet and pulled back the sliding door. Phew! The scent of onions rolled out. One of the owners of the stack of luggage that filled most of the space must have a love affair with the vegetable she most despised. Maddie let out a heavy sigh. She’d have to search each bag, and she’d be surprised if she didn’t find a different name on every airline tag. Crooks who wanted to fly under the system’s radar sometimes generated pocket money by walking off with pieces from baggage carousels and pawning or selling the contents.

  From the hallway came the sound of male voices. They drew nearer...nearer...and then stopped on the other side of the apartment entrance. Maddie froze. The tenants were returning? Then the bomb wasn’t here. Her shoulders slumped, but then her gut tensed. It was too late to slip away unseen. She could hide in the closet with the onion odor, but to what purpose? If the tenants were in for the evening, she’d be found eventually. There was no way to exit this third-floor unit except through the front door.

  Well, then, that’s how she’d leave. If she could bluff her way out, fine. If not... Tingles traveled down her extremities. Her muscles gathered. Combat instincts reared their ugly heads. Instincts she wished to forget. Instincts she might need. Again.

  Maddie clipped the radio onto her belt and shoved the closet door shut as a click sounded in the entrance lock. A pair of men stepped inside, closed the door and then halted at the sight of her. Above a tall, whipcord body, a dark face with reddened eyes glared at her, lips peeled back from white teeth. Behind him, a short, pale man with doughy cheeks gaped in an astonished O.

  She forced a smile and held out her work order. “I was sent to repair your screen, but I can’t find any damage.”

  Lanky Man’s face grew darker as a spark of recognition lit his ink-black eyes. She didn’t know him, but he knew her. How? His hand slid beneath the front of his suit jacket as Dough Man leaped toward the table.

  With a feral growl, Maddie dropped the work-order slip and swept her leg toward Lanky Man—her immediate threat. Her heel hooked the back of his knee. Crack! A handgun discharged while her assailant toppled backward. The bullet pinged against metal—likely a piece of the sprinkler system.

  Cursing, threat number two rushed toward her, length of pipe raised. She chopped the rigid edge of her left hand into the soft bend of his elbow. The pipe fell from the arm she had numbed, and her right-handed chop connected with his Adam’s apple. The man went down, gagging and clutching his throat.

  She whirled toward threat number one, who was climbing to his feet and bringing his Beretta to bear. Her radio squawked as her leg swept up, higher this time, and the heel of her work boot struck the smaller bone near the gunman’s wrist. The bone broke with an audible snap, and the gun rocketed into the far wall. Roaring and cradling his disabled hand, Lanky Man charged her, shoulder in ramming position.

  Maddie danced aside, but the calf of her leg met the ottoman. She lost the fight for balance and tumbled backward onto the soft body of the Dough Man. Air gushed from his chest, and the struggle to breathe through his damaged windpipe faded into limpness beneath her. Her radio squawked again with Bill’s voice calling for her.

  Now he wanted to talk? Sorry, pal, I’m a little busy!

  The toe of a hard shoe hammered Maddie’s side. Pain splintered through her, and a scream rent her throat even as she rolled away from the next kick. From a catlike crouch, she caught the foot intended for her face a
nd sprang upward while twisting her assailant’s ankle into an unnatural position. Lanky Man howled as his other foot left the floor. Airborne, he flipped and dropped, face-first, onto the unforgiving floor. Stunned and groaning, he lay still.

  Maddie scooped up the gun and held it on her attackers, then pulled her radio from her belt.

  “Bill, do you have a copy?”

  “Maddie, where are you?” Static. “I’ve been trying to raise you to let you know the wrong apartment number was entered on the work order. The damaged screen is in Apartment 312, not 315.”

  “Copy that, Bill, but there’s been an incident in Apartment 315. Call the police and the paramedics. And tell them to send the bomb squad. We need to evac this building.”

  Heartbeats of radio silence were punctuated by another moan from the floor. The lean one stirred.

  “Are you serious?” Bill’s voice came over the air in a tight squeak.

  “Do it now.” A grim smile lifted her lips. About time she had the opportunity to order the paper-pusher around.

  Lanky Man eased to a sitting position, glaring at her above a bloodied nose. The pale one lay inert. His throat was swollen, but his chest moved up and down. She had refrained from striking with deadly force. There was a time when that wouldn’t have been the case.

  A time when she didn’t live like a hunted creature, scurrying from burrow to burrow. Thanks to these two scum of the earth, it was time to run again. But first—

  “Where’s the bomb?” She extended the gun toward her conscious assailant.

  He curled a swollen lip.

  “You can tell me, or you can tell the cops. Or maybe the FBI. Someone like you is probably on their list.”