Falling For The Enemy

Falling For The Enemy
Dawn Stewardson

Unavoidable liason…Every Tuesday, Hayley Morgan drops off her six-year-old son, Max, at the baby-sitter's, then drives the deserted stretch of highway south from New Orleans to the maximum security prison where she works. Every Tuesday, Max waits out front at the baby-sitter's, eager for Hayley to return.One Tuesday, the routine isn't quite so smooth.Because Max disappears. He's been abducted. But there's one man–lawyer Slade Reeves–who can help her.He's Hayley's only link to Max. She knows she has to trust him, although he appears to be invovled with Max's kidnapping.Even worse, she starts falling for Slade…falling for the enemy.

“We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other for the next little while,” Slade told Hayley (#u7b84ec75-49f9-5479-8f43-c11db4182a22)Letter to Reader (#u5df1606b-a5a0-5060-8e35-5dc056c6b637)Title Page (#u841d2c6c-0169-5a9a-8499-3d00aacde2eb)ACKNOWLEDGMENT (#u927c069a-660d-5488-9812-243fbb6d1d7b)PROLOGUE (#uf1553ec1-f8f1-50c3-ad54-aedca6ff19e2)CHAPTER ONE (#u14f274b3-697f-5013-ba6f-7c634c8baca7)CHAPTER TWO (#u4d3c9228-c799-5e56-834e-0254cbb7df47)CHAPTER THREE (#u48dcadf6-23c2-5952-a14e-5cbe4f864bf4)CHAPTER FOUR (#ua6e3e59b-c68a-5607-a2e7-6bcf51880590)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)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other for the next little while,” Slade told Hayley

In your dreams, she said silently

“I’ve got to tell you something that will frighten you. But try not to panic, because it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds.”

He hesitated, eyeing her, then continued. “We have your son. He was picked up just a few minutes ago, while he was out riding his bike.”

The world froze around her, and her heart froze inside her chest.

“Max is perfectly safe,” he added quickly. “I swear he is. And I promise he’ll stay that way as long as you cooperate.”

She almost couldn’t hear him over the thunder in her head. She’d never felt such terror before, and when she tried to speak, the words caught in her throat.

“I want my son back,” she whispered fiercely. “Right now... Get him back for me!”

“I can’t. Not—”

“What kind of man are you?” Her entire body trembling, she pushed herself out of her chair and stood glaring across the desk at him. “You’re trying to help a convicted felon plan a prison break? You let his men kidnap an innocent child? Are you a monster?”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever found yourself falling madly and passionately in love with a man you knew was totally wrong for you?

That’s what happens to Hayley Morgan in Falling for the Enemy New Orleans lawyer Slade Reeves has a certain je ne sais quoi that starts her heart beating faster the moment she gazes into the deep blue depths of his eyes.

But once she discovers the truth about him, feeling even a twinge of attraction is out of the question.

Still, have you ever tried to stop yourself from falling in love? Especially when you’re constantly thrown together with the man in question? If so, you know it would be easier to stop a tide from turning.

Hayley and Slade’s story is truly one of love against all odds. I hope you enjoy reading about how they manage to find happiness together

Warmest wishes,

Dawn Stewardson

P.S. I invite you to visit my web site at www.superauthors.com (http://www.superauthors.com)

Falling for the Enemy

Dawn Stewardson

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

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

With special thanks to fellow authors Anne Logan

and Linda Kay West for generously sharing their

knowledge of rural Louisiana

PROLOGUE

MR. WILLIAM FITZGERALD, “Billy Fitz” to his friends, rated one of the “executive suites” at the Poquette Correctional Center in Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana. That meant he didn’t have to share. He was the sole occupant of a six-by-eight-foot windowless cell.

Despite his privileged status, every morning when Billy woke up he wished he were anywhere else on earth.

The cell walls were cinder-block gray. The sink and seatless toilet, which occupied one open corner, white. At least, he assumed it was the color they’d been before becoming permanently stained putrid yellowish brown.

The bed was concrete, the mattress a slab of foam. The cell door had a slot where a battered food tray was pushed through at mealtimes.

Inmates from the executive suites didn’t eat in the communal dining room. Prisons like Poquette were filled with meltdowns who figured they could make their reputation by killing someone with a big name. That meant living like a hermit was conducive to Billy’s continued good health.

Five days a week, he was allowed to take a shower while a guard stood outside the shower room. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he had an hour in a fenced-off section of the exercise yard. Weather permitting.

He’d been in Poquette for three weeks that seemed like three years. The place was intolerable. Worse for him than for most because of what he was accustomed to—an old mansion in the elegant Garden District of New Orleans, where dinner was served on bone china in his enormous dining room.

In his cell at Poquette, he ate off a dented tin plate with a plastic spoon. No forks allowed.

Billy was fifty-eight years old, and came from long-lived Irish stock. With any luck, he’d see the far side of ninety. He had no intention, though, of seeing it from a prison cell. In fact, he had no intention of seeing fifty-nine from behind bars.

After being convicted on three separate counts of manslaughter, he didn’t have a hope in hell of his appeal going anywhere. But there were other ways for him to regain his freedom, and as head of New Orleans’ “Irish Mafia,” he had both the money and connections to get what he wanted.

All he needed was a little help from his friends. And from Dr. Hayley Morgan.

Until now, he’d never had much use for psychologists. But he certainly had use for her. She was the key. The weak link. A woman with something valuable to lose.

One way or another, she was going to get him out of here. “We’re better off to take things slowly and try the most obvious route first,” his lawyer had advised. “With any luck, she’ll cooperate. Then there’ll be one less problem to worry about.”

Billy didn’t like the prospect of taking things slowly. It meant spending longer in this rat hole. But although he’d never admit it to a living soul, if he’d listened to Sloan Reeves more often he might not have ended up in prison. So he’d listen now and see where it got him.

If Dr. Morgan didn’t cooperate, then they’d use their ace in the hole. Her son.

CHAPTER ONE

HAYLEY MORGAN HEARD Max coming long before he reached the kitchen—hardly surprising when he was doing his imitation of a jet plane breaking the sound barrier.

Satchmo switched his tail a couple of times, then scurried into the sheltered space beside the fridge. He was a smart-enough cat to avoid the paths of small boys in motion.

A second later, Max zoomed into the room, skidded to a stop in front of Hayley and focused on the shorts she was wearing.

“Not goin’ to jail today, huh, Mom?” he said with a grin.