Whispers In The Dark

Whispers In The Dark
Bj James

MR. JULYHis Name: Rafe CourtenayHis Challenge: To rescue a kidnapped childHis Accomplice: Beguiling Valentina O'HaraTheir Destination: A remote canyon where danger will merge with desireWhen Rafe Courtenay is on a mission, nothing stands in his way. Not scorching heat and rugged terrain. Not a tempting female whose tormented nightmares shatter the still desert nights. But Rafe, who has never truly needed anyone, needs Valentina O'Hara. And though the legendary markswoman inhabits a man's perilous world, Rafe intends to win her trust - and love - by treating her like a real woman.MAN OF THE MONTH THE BLACK WATCH: Men and women sworn to live - and love - by a code of honor.

“What Are You Frightened Of, O’Hara?” (#u18d400b0-0594-59b6-88fe-5023caded5c9)Letter to Reader (#uc7c8c2a5-d9f4-549c-8c22-1fe8cfb8f5f6)Title Page (#ua6d184f7-84e0-5290-bb3b-55d4ea2c82d7)About the Author (#u92af7f43-70df-590c-bd1f-1c4bea119711)Forward (#u88cfd36e-4a34-59a5-bcbe-8de9ce59ee9d)Chapter One (#u98944538-8ea2-539f-824b-e057c3a791e4)Chapter Two (#u02c10d7f-bd98-5b70-99b0-5447d0845631)Chapter Three (#u2728593e-8d0b-5aca-9e68-c669d7768e0c)Chapter Four (#ucddab1e5-5d6f-5d3b-bd35-47ac98ec406e)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“What Are You Frightened Of, O’Hara?”

Rafe asked softly.

Valentina bristled and reddened. “Frightened? I’m not. Why would I be?”

“Do I frighten you? After you slept in my arms for most of two nights, are you suddenly afraid that I would harm you?”

Shaking her head and catching the sweep of her hair back, she stuttered a denial. “I never...I wouldn’t...”

“You dreamed, O’Hara,” Rafe said, wishing he could touch her and comfort her as before. “Disturbing dreams. And I held you until you slept at peace.”

Dear Reader,

THE BLACK WATCH returns! The men you found so intriguing are now joined by women who are also part of this secret organization created by BJ James. Look for them in Whispers in the Dark, this month’s MAN OF THE MONTH.

Leanne Banks’s delightful miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS—all about three childhood friends who kiss a lot of frogs before they each meet their handsome prince—continues with The You-Can’t-Make-Me Bride. And Elizabeth Bevarly’s series THE FAMILY McCORMICK concludes with Georgia Meets Her Groom. Romance blooms as the McCormick family is finally reunited.

Peggy Moreland’s tantalizing miniseries TROUBLE IN TEXAS begins this month with Marry Me, Cowboy. When the men of Temptation, Texas, decide they want wives, they find them the newfangled way—they advertise!

A Western from Jackie Merritt is always a treat, so I’m excited about this month’s Wind River Ranch—it’s ultrasensuous and totally compelling. And the month is completed with Wedding Planner Tames Rancher!, an engaging romp by Pamela Ingrahm. There’s nothing better than curling up with a Silhouette Desire book, so enjoy!

Regards,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Whispers in the Dark

BJ James

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

BJ JAMES

married her high school sweetheart straight out of college and soon found that books were delightful companions during her lonely nights as a doctor’s wife. But she never dreamed she’d be more than a reader, never expected to be one of the blessed, letting her imagination soar, weaving magic of her own.

BJ has twice been honored by the Georgia Romance Writers with their prestigious Maggie Award for Best Short Contemporary Romance. She has also received the following awards from Romantic Times: Critic’s Choice Award of 1994-1995, Career Achievement Award for Series Storyteller of the Year, and Best Desire of 1994-1995 for The Saint of Bourbon Street.

Forward

In desperate answer to a need prompted by changing times and mores, Simon McKinzie, dedicated and uncompromising leader of the Black Watch, has been called upon by the president of the United States to form a more covert and more dangerous division of his most clandestine clan. Ranging the world in ongoing assembly of this unique unit, he has gathered and will gather in the elite among the elite—those born with the gift or the curse of skills transcending the norm. Men and women who bring extraordinary and uncommon talents in answer to extraordinary and uncommon demands. They are, in most cases, men and women who have plummeted to the brink of hell because of their talents. Tortured souls who have stared down into the maw of destruction, been burned by its fires, yet have come back, better, surer, stronger. Driven and colder.

As officially nameless as The Black Watch, to those few who have had the misfortune and need of calling on their dark service, they are known as Simon’s chosen...Simon’s Marauders.

One

A telephone rang in the spartan mountain retreat. A telephone seldom used. Turning from a fire that did nothing to warm him in the unseasonable chill of late August, Simon McKinzie crossed with a heavy step to the jangling instrument. On the third ring, his square, strong hand raised the receiver slowly.

His massive shoulders were bowed, his face bleak. This was the call for which he’d been waiting. The call he’d feared.

“Yes?” No other greeting or identification was necessary, any informed of this line would not need it. Especially the man who called now.

“I heard. I’ve been waiting.” With his back to spacious windows and Blue Ridge vistas heralding an early autumn, he listened.

“Is there no other way?” His bleak expression grew bleaker. “I see.” The words were raw, bitter. Blunt fingers raked through silver hair, and, after a silent minute, he nodded. “I understand, and I agree.”

Again there was a hush in the softly lit study. A hush broken only by the crackle of the fire, the tick of a clock, and the voice that recounted horror in his ear. And into a hollow stillness he pledged, “The one you need will be on the way within the hour.”

There was more. More Simon didn’t need to hear, but out of concern and respect, he listened. “Within the hour,” he repeated when the somber soliloquy was done. “You have my word.

“And Jordana?” Hesitating, girding himself, he asked, “How is she?”

This time, as he listened, even the fire seemed mute, the clock still. A weighted sigh shredded his throat, and his voice roughened in shared pain. “I’m here, should you need me. If you need me.”

Returning the receiver to its cradle, he sat at the edge of his desk. As his hands curled around its beveled edge, his mind filled with memories of a young wife and mother, her fragile daughter, and the compelling man who loved them. And with it came the desolation that only the powerful can know in the face of utter helplessness.

Jordana, of whom Simon asked so earnestly and spoke so lovingly, was Jordana Daniel McCallum. A beautiful woman, a gentle woman. An American born to the power of wealth and influence, wed to more of the same in McCallum, her wild and wily auburn-haired Scot.

McCallum, chieftain of his clan, laird of her heart. Her true beloved, tamed by none but his own beloved, and only because he wished it

McCallum, who fought as he lived, and loved as she—with all his might, with all his heart.

Now, in this worst hour, even as one who built corporate empires as a way of life, moved mountains as easily as others moved lulls of sand, and commanded the respectful friendship of those as powerful, this man, this mighty Scot could do nothing. As the woman he loved above all else lay injured, perhaps dying, and with his family under siege, he had turned in his hopelessness to those he trusted.

But there was still hope. There was a way.

And in the hush of his study, oblivious to towering vistas and autumn chill, as he lifted the receiver again, a silvering bear of a man became much more than sorrowing friend. Much more than an ally. Within the beat of an aching heart, in quiet wrath, Simon McKinzie was the revered and sovereign commander of the most unique organization in the world. The most proficient. The most dangerous. The most covert—The Black Watch.

“Hope, Clan McCallum,” he murmured gravely as the connection was complete. “In the one I send you.”

Somewhere in Virginia, on the shore of the Chesapeake, another telephone rang. A voice answered softly, commenting on the beautiful day, thanking the caller for patronizing a business that did not exist, and inviting the statement of his need.

Interrupting the pleasantries, drawing a ragged breath, with steel in his words Simon McKinzie began.

Two