His To Protect Read online

  Celebrate 15 years with

  “I know you’re risking your life for us.”

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Pat Werner

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright

  Celebrate 15 years with

  Because romance is the

  ultimate mystery...

  The thrill of a secret lover and the excitement of an unknown threat have always been trademarks of Harlequin Intrigue. And thanks to you, our faithful readers, we are here to celebrate 15 years of breathtaking romance and heart-stopping suspense—an irresistible combination.

  And we’ve got plenty to keep you on the edge of your seat in the coming months!

  more 43 LIGHT STREET stories by Rebecca York, and Caroline Burnes’s FEAR FAMILIAR—your favorite ongoing series!

  THE LANDRY BROTHERS—a new series from Kelsey Roberts

  and THE McCORD FAMILY COUNTDOWN, a special promotion from three of your best-loved Intrigue authors

  Intensity that leaves you breathless, romance that simmers with sexual tension—and you can only find them at Harlequin Intrigue. We won’t let you down!

  Thank you,

  From the Editors

  “I know you’re risking your life for us.”

  “I would risk everything for you.” His head lowered and his mouth hovered near hers until she let her arms slide around his waist.

  “Is there anything you can’t take care of?” she asked in what she meant to be a teasing voice. But it came out shaky.

  “Nothing,” he growled in her ear. “You tempt me. Right now, all I want is to take care of you.”

  Tracy wanted that, too, her fuzzy mind realized. She wanted to forget about everything and drink him in. He was winning her over, her weak knees said. He was everything Scott hadn’t been, or so he was proving himself to be. Did he really want to stay by her side this way forever?

  “Tracy,” Matt whispered huskily. “I care about you. And Jennifer. I’m not doing this for Scott anymore.”

  “Then who are you doing it for?”

  “For me. For us...”

  His To Protect

  Patricia Werner

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Jessica Wulf for her insider’s knowledge of banking

  institutions. Thanks also to Sergeant Mark Olin of the Denver Police

  Department for answering questions about police procedure; to

  Elizabeth Hill for her information about Washington Park; to Alice Kober

  for advice about children with asthma. And, of course, many thanks to my

  literary agent, Alice Orr, for her incisive knowledge of the business, and

  to my editor, Angela Catalano, for making the experience pleasant.

  The initials SWAT stand for Special Weapons and Tactics.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patricia Werner is the author of twenty-three Medieval, Western historical romance, Gothic and contemporary romantic suspense novels, as well as numerous articles. This is her third Intrigue title. She and her husband reside in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking and attending llama festivals.

  Patricia received the 1998 Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Writer of the Year Award.

  Books by Pat Werner

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  26—IF TRUTH BE KNOWN

  431—RIDE THE THUNDER

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  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Tracy Meyer—A single mom who’s sworn never to get involved with another cop.

  Matt Forrest—The cop holds a grudge against whoever killed his partner.

  Jennifer Meyer—Tracy’s seven-year-old stepdaughter and an innocent pawn.

  Amanda Fielding—A bank president who throws obstacles in Tracy’s way.

  Carrie Lamb—Jennifer’s tutor and a bank employee with a secret past.

  Roland Baker—SWAT team sniper. Patient, steady and dangerous.

  Rene Baker—She believes in letting her heart be her guide.

  Andrew Leigh—He wants to take his granddaughter away from Tracy.

  Brad McAllister—A police captain who doesn’t like his jurisdiction messed with.

  Commander John Udal—He knows that only the most stable officers qualify for SWAT.

  Prologue

  Tracy Meyer hated appearing nervous and defensive. She tried to keep her hands in her lap instead of twisting the long strands of her curling auburn hair. But the July 1, nine-o’clock meeting in the Empire Bank of Colorado’s small basement conference room was nerve-racking. Her survival and that of her stepdaughter, Jennifer, depended on it

  She couldn’t understand how blond, immaculate bank president Amanda Fielding could be the mother of a nine-month-old infant and yet be so unfeeling. Tracy had just made a plea to access Jennifer’s trust fund, a fund set up as a result of donations following the death of Jennifer’s father—and her husband—a year ago. Scott Meyer had been a cop killed in the line of duty, and as such, the trust fund had received considerable contributions from the Denver Police League and concerned citizens who’d read about his little girl’s loss in the newspaper. The bad news was that with Scott’s death, the family health insurance had lapsed, and Tracy had made expensive insurance payments so at least part of Jennifer’s asthma treatments would be covered.

  But now Tracy’s palms were sweaty with desperation. Her high-stress job as a production manager at a small publishing company had gone by the boards. It just wasn’t manageable as a single parent. With Jennifer out of school so much and needing special attention because of her asthma, Tracy stayed home. But the money had run out. There was nowhere else to turn. Thus, this morning’s meeting.

  Beside her, Jennifer’s tutor, Carrie Lamb, sat stone-faced. Her short, wispy black hair had a trendy cut, but her trim, athletic body looked stiff under her houndstooth jacket. Tracy knew Carrie was fond of Jennifer, but perhaps as a teller at the bank, she was afraid to offend her boss. The authoritarian Amanda Fielding had an intimidating bearing, to say the least.

  To back up her arguments about her ability as guardian to access the trust funds, Tracy opened the safe-deposit box that lay between them on the laminated wood table. She lifted out the heavy stainless-steel revolver that had been returned to her after Scott’s death, and placed it on the table so she could get to the papers underneath it.

  “My God, Tracy,” said Amanda. “Why do you have a gun?”

  “It was Scott’s service revolver.”

  “Not loaded, is it?”

  Tracy widened her brown eyes and looked up at the haughty bank president. “I don’t know. I hate guns. I wouldn’t even know how to check.”

  Carrie reached for the revolver and with quick movements, opened the cylinder. She removed five bullets and dropp
ed them into the box.

  “It was loaded, but not anymore,” said Carrie with a shrug.

  Tracy stared. Where had she learned to do that?

  She retrieved the trust-fund documents from the box and scooted them toward Amanda. “Here.”

  Amanda barely glanced at them. “I have copies. I know what they say. Legally, you have every right to access the trust. However, as overseer of the trust fund, I advise against it. This money is for Jennifer’s college education, possibly for special schooling now. You shouldn’t use it for living expenses.”

  Tracy felt her stomach tighten. “Can’t you understand? Jennifer and I don’t have any money.”

  It was a horrible feeling. She still had the house, but she had to make the mortgage payments. She couldn’t work full-time because Jennifer needed her at home after school. She had to watch like a hawk for all the early-warning signs of an asthma episode. Her fists clenched and her heart beat in quick, shallow thumps as the conversation broke down into an argument about the suit for custody Jennifer’s maternal grandfather, Andrew Leigh, was initiating. His daughter, Jennifer’s own mother, had died a year prior to Tracy and Scott’s marriage.

  “I understand your situation,” Amanda continued. “But you need to think of how it will look to a judge if you start using the funds now. Jennifer’s grandfather will use it as ammunition in court, saying you’re irresponsible.”

  “But Andrew Leigh hardly knows Jennifer,” Tracy said with vehemence. “During the four years I’ve taken care of her, he’s only seen her six times.”

  “Surely he doesn’t have a chance of winning custody,” said Carrie, coming to her defense at last. “Does he?”

  Amanda didn’t try to sugarcoat her answer. “I’m afraid so. He’s a blood relative and can afford the best attorneys.”

  Tracy felt herself on the verge of tears of frustration. Amanda didn’t understand a thing. She felt a surge of resentment for Amanda’s good-paying job and healthy child. It wasn’t the same at all.

  Something clunked against the door, interrupting Tracy’s thoughts.

  Amanda frowned at the interruption. “We’re busy in here,” she called out.

  Then a man dressed in black and wearing a ski mask broke into the room. He pointed a semiautomatic rifle which was slung from a shoulder strap.

  “Let’s go. Now!” the man ordered.

  Tracy’s heart stopped beating. “What’s happening?”

  “Bank robbery,” said Amanda, paling.

  The man grabbed Amanda’s arm. “You the lady bank president with the combination to the vault?”

  Amanda winced in pain, but nodded.

  Tracy saw Carrie’s hand dart for the revolver on the table. But the ski-masked man forced her hand down.

  “Don’t,” he told her.

  He picked up the gun and slipped it into his belt. Then to all of them, he barked, “Move it! All of you!” He waved the weapon at them.

  Tracy’s instinct was to shrink under the table, away from the gun, but she felt Carrie grip her arm to steady her. The man was shoving Amanda through the door and waving the gun at Carrie and Tracy.

  Carrie spoke evenly into Tracy’s ear. “Do what he says.”

  Numb with fright, Tracy followed Amanda up the stairs. Belatedly, she realized the safe-deposit box had been left open, the contents scattered on the table. She heard Carrie speaking to the masked man, but she was too terrified to understand what they were talking about.

  Upstairs, Tracy gasped when she saw two more masked men waving guns over the customers and employees lying facedown on the marble floor. One of the robbers was big, with the look of more brawn than brain. The other one was lankier, but with a dull, stoned look in the eyes behind the ski mask. Her fears turned to dread when she saw the security guard also lying on the floor, bleeding from the head.

  “Oh, my God,” Tracy whispered. Was he dead?

  The robber pushed the three women toward the vault, then Tracy heard Amanda speaking about the key. Blood pulsed in her ears as she tried to think. Tried to summon her courage. She turned to see Amanda’s white but determined face. There was still a sense of unreality about the scene, and she leaned against the teller counter, grasping its edge for support.

  One of the robbers started to kick a woman on the floor who was curled into a ball, but Amanda intervened. Then Carrie bent down to the woman, retrieved a key and stood up again. Gunfire burst from the two other robbers’ weapons, and Tracy crouched, covering her ears. She glanced desperately toward Carrie and Amanda to see if they’d been hit, but they were standing together near the first robber.

  The biggest of the three robbers barked, “Quit playing games. Open the goddamned vault. Now!”

  She watched Carrie and Amanda move to unlock the vault. The tall robber stepped inside, pulling a dolly after him. Compassion flowed from Tracy toward the terrified woman curled up on the floor. She started to kneel to comfort her, but the big thug who’d tried to kick the woman shoved the barrel of his automatic weapon in her face.

  “Back off.”

  Tracy glared at him. “I’m not armed. I just want to help her.”

  “I said back off,” the mean thug threatened again.

  Tracy took a step backward until she pressed up against the teller counter once more. She didn’t want to die.

  Then Carrie and Amanda were herded beside her again. The three of them huddled together while the two thugs kept watch outside the vault. Tracy could hear the third robber working inside, stacking money on the dolly. On the floor, some of the bank customers and staff whimpered and cried. Let him take the money and get out of here. These people needed help.

  Over the thug’s shoulder, she saw out the big windows facing the parking lot that police cars were pulling up outside. Thank God. She swallowed, but tried not to react. The second robber saw them, too.

  “Hey,” he yelled toward the vault. “We got company.”

  Then one of the men on the floor moved, pulled out a gun and fired. Tracy gripped Amanda’s waist and recoiled. One of the masked robbers screamed and let loose a barrage of fire as Tracy pulled Amanda down under the teller counter to get out of the way. She breathed in the hot smell of gunfire and heard screaming.

  She looked across the marble floor toward the gray-haired man who’d fired his gun. He was lying still and bleeding. Oh, God! Let this end! She and Amanda and Carrie clung together tightly, whispering to each other.

  Then Carrie said in a firmer tone, “We’re going to get out of here.”

  The robber from the vault was outside now, arguing with the one who’d been shot. The one giving orders prevailed and the wounded robber eased down to the floor. But he waved his gun and shouted, “All of you, shut up!”

  The customers and employees continued to whimper, some in pain, some frightened for their lives. The first robber was talking on a cell phone. Negotiating?

  The red-and-blue lights flashed from the police cars in the parking lot outside. The sight of police nearby ought to reassure her, but instead an unwanted image formed behind her closed eyelids. Another bank robbery a year ago. Another police attempt to intervene. A dispatcher call. Scott unable to raise backup because the rest of the SWAT team was busy elsewhere. Her husband had died that day because of it. She felt queasiness and a dull stab of pain remembering it.

  She opened her eyes. The robber on the phone said something about hostages and an ambulance. She started to shake again. With the robbers in control, more people could get hurt.

  Then the robber with the phone started barking orders.

  “You two,” he said to three male hostages in business suits. “Carry this injured man outside and put him on the grass. Move slowly and don’t try anything else. Understand me?”

  The three businessmen got to their feet and started to move the wounded man. Someone else helped the bleeding security guard to his feet, draped the guard’s arm around his shoulders and walked him toward the front door.

  “They’re go
ing to let us go,” Tracy whispered hopefully.

  “Maybe,” said Carrie. There was a hard edge to her voice. “Stay on your guard. Do as they say.”

  The first robber continued to organize the retreat of the remaining hostages. But as Tracy, Amanda and Carrie started to inch toward the door, he swung around.

  “Not you three. We need hostages.”

  “Not them,” Amanda said, stepping forward. “I’m responsible here.”

  The big, gorilla-like thug said, “Sorry, honey. You’re not enough.”

  Amanda turned to confront him. Though she only came to about his shoulder, she spoke defiantly. “Let the others go. I insist”

  The big thug muttered something else.

  Amanda stuck her chin forward. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah,” he sneered. “You’re a hostage.”

  “You have to let these other women go.”

  “Don’t push me, or you’ll be a dead hostage.”

  She turned to Tracy. Embracing her, she whispered, “Tracy, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Amanda turned to confront the robber again. “I insist—”

  The big man made his move, swinging the butt of his rifle toward her temple. Tracy choked off a scream and tried to grab Amanda as she sank to the floor.

  Chapter One

  The Denver Police SWAT team site commander went over the blueprints of the bank with the rest of the team as they rode in the unmarked van to the call-out. Matthew Forrest listened to the commander’s remarks pointing out the layout of the bank that was in the control of the robbers. At the same time, he rechecked the ammo in the 20-round extended magazine for his 9 mm automatic pistol. While the use of deadly force would be the last, desperate choice of the SWAT team commander, the team was trained within an inch of their lives for high-risk assaults and had to be prepared.