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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MARIE FERRARELLA

      earned a master’s degree in Shakespearean comedy and, perhaps as a result, her writing is distinguished by humor and natural dialogue. This RITA Award-winning author’s goal is to entertain and to make people laugh and feel good. She has written over one hundred books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide and have been translated into Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Japanese and Korean.

      To

       Maggie Price & Beverly Bird, who brought new meaning to the word precision. My hat is off to you both.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      Mulrooney was droning on endlessly. It was obvious that the newly hired policeman had absolutely no idea what the word succinct meant. But for once, Chief Ben Stone of the Mission Creek police department didn’t mind being subjected to the endless rhetoric as the much younger man was describing a recent, utterly trivial incident that had occurred in town.

      He wasn’t listening anyway.

      The late morning Texas sun filled the office, highlighting the dust and cobwebs that the night janitorial staff had missed. Ben’s dark blue eyes stealthily shifted to the watch on his wrist just beneath the cuff of his navy blue uniform. A vague hint of a smile teased the corners of his ordinarily downturned mouth as he noted the hour.

      Almost time.

      “Can’t understand why a man who can look death in the face and spit in its eye would want to waste his time knocking around a little white ball along some stubby green grass.”

      Completely mystified by the attraction of the game, Luke Callaghan shook his dark head as he watched the tall, rangy silver-haired man who he respected more than any living being on the face of the earth take careful measure before making his shot. Though it was the game of choice for the people who populated the upper-crust world he lived in, Luke only played because his best friends found the game so intriguing. As for him, he could abandon the game in a heartbeat. His score reflected as much.

      Leaning on his club in what could only be termed an indolent pose, Spence Harrison, the local district attorney, teased, his tongue in his cheek. “No mystery, Luke. Comes a time when a man just has to lay down the saber and do what he can to occupy his mind.”

      Commander Phil Westin grinned at the men he’d both led and saved when they had been part of his Marine platoon in the Gulf War. The expression softened a face that was all planes and angles, ordinarily arousing fear in the hearts of his enemies.

      Lack of activity had never been a problem for Westin and he ignored Spence’s good-natured jibe. “I already told you, Luke, golf relaxes me.”

      Keenly aware of his score and not one who enjoyed not excelling at everything he tried, Luke frowned. “Well, it frustrates the hell out of me.”

      Spence glanced over his friend’s shoulder at the scorecard. “I can see why.”

      “That’s because your hand-eye coordination is shot to hell,” Flynt Carson kidded Luke. The country club where they were playing had originally been co-founded by his great-grandfather Jace in 1923, on land he had carved out of his ranch and donated. The other half had come from the Wainwrights, who the Carsons no longer had any dealings with for what all felt were excellent reasons. “Thank God you did better with a rifle in your hands than you do with a golf club.”

      Tyler Murdoch, the fifth man on the team, raised his club like a sword. Taking his cue, Luke raised his and crossed it over Tyler’s. The latter gave a few thrusts and parries, which Tyler countered.

      “Anything can be a weapon,” Luke quipped to Tyler, “in the right person’s hands.”

      “Boys, boys, play nice,” Westin laughed. The serious nature behind the impromptu gathering blended into the laughter, making it fade. It was time he told them why he’d asked for this get-together. “Besides, this is probably the last time I’m going to be seeing you for a while and I’d like to take away an image of you overgrown Boy Scouts doing something other than clowning around.”

      There was a great deal of affection between them that went beyond their time together in the war. They, along with the one missing, estranged member of their former group, had all attended Virginia Military Institute, then joined the 14th Marines after graduation. The Gulf War had seen them taken prisoner and required them to demonstrate exemplary bravery under fire and extreme conditions. Though none talked about it, each man would have gone to hell and back for the others in the group.

      Some of them felt they had.

      “Okay, I’ve had it with this country club facade.” Unlike Luke and Flynt, an endless supply of money had never been Tyler’s problem while he was growing up. He turned to Westin. “C’mon, Commander, straight out, tell us. Why’d you call us together? What’s this big mystery you’re keeping from us?”

      Phil slid his club into his bag and debated over which club to use for the shot. He appeared unruffled, but his mind wasn’t on anything so trivial as the right club to use. “No big mystery, just don’t want it advertised just yet.” Taking a club out, he turned to look at the others. He needed them to know this. In case there came a time when he had to call upon them for help. “I’m being sent to Central America to see if maybe I can get a handle on how to bring down that new drug czar. Calls himself El Jefe.” He smiled thinly. “No ego problem there.”

      Though their lives had taken them in different directions since the time they served together, the men were all up on the rumors that the newest drug route bringing illegal fare into the U.S. was passing directly through their part