His touch felt way too good
“I’m okay now.” Robyn didn’t let go of his hand. She felt Ford slide across the big bench seat toward her. He slid one arm around her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he’d take her in his arms and kiss her. She kind of hoped he would.
She wanted his kiss more than oxygen.
It should have felt awkward as hell, but instead it felt like the exact right thing to do. She’d seen those old movie clichés of fireworks and waves crashing against rocks, but this was the first time she’d understood what those analogies meant.
Oh, God, he smelled good. The smell of his skin was intoxicating.
When his mouth finally made contact with hers, it was a sweet kiss, a gentle kiss, and Robyn didn’t want it to end. She wished she could bottle the way she felt right now, all tingly and warm and strangely right with the world.
Ford slid across the seat, resuming his spot behind the wheel. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since high school.”
Dear Reader,
Many years ago, I became fascinated by a news report about the Innocence Project, an organization dedicated to exonerating wrongly convicted people through the use of DNA testing. For years I’ve been mulling over the idea of creating a series of books about a similar organization. But the foundation I envisioned would use all sorts of methods for proving innocence—including a team of crack investigators, lawyers, evidence analysts and even computer hackers.
That’s how my fictional Project Justice was born. For the record, Project Justice is inspired by, but not based on, the Innocence Project. I designed my foundation not as a factually accurate portrayal of such an organization, but to maximize dramatic possibilities, for this and future books.
Taken to the Edge involves a lying eyewitness, a sloppy police investigation and advanced scientific analysis of physical evidence—all of which have been used in real cases to overturn convictions. Of course, the most important aspects of my story are the human ones, the personalities, motivations and emotions of the people involved.
As of this writing, there are dozens of “innocence organizations” in this country and around the world, working to help those the justice system itself has wronged. I applaud their courageous efforts.
Sincerely,
Kara Lennox
Taken to the Edge
Kara Lennox
MILLS & BOON
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kara Lennox has earned her living at various times as an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. She’s been an antiques dealer, an artist and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has ever made her happier than writing romance novels. She has written more than sixty books.
Kara is a recent transplant to Southern California. When not writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of hobbies. Her latest passions are bird-watching, long-distance bicycling, vintage jewelry and, by necessity, do-it-yourself home renovation. She loves to hear from readers; you can find her at www.karalennox.com.
For my tireless editor, Johanna Raisanen, who took the time and made the effort to figure out where I belong in the large spectrum of Harlequin Publishing. Johanna, your encouragement and enthusiasm mean so much.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
IF ONE WILD TURKEY ON ICE didn’t make the pain go away, maybe two would. That was Ford Hyatt’s thinking when he’d ordered a second drink even though he needed to drive home. But two didn’t work, either, and now he’d have to sit in this damn ugly bar for at least two hours while he sobered up.
This never worked. He just wasn’t a drown-your-sorrows kind of guy. He was more of a go-fix-what’s-wrong kind of guy, except there was no way to fix this, no arguing with the fact that a woman was in intensive care, and it was Ford’s fault.
His supposedly infallible instincts had failed him. Again.
“Another?” The bartender nodded toward Ford’s empty glass.
“Sure.” Hell, why not? In for a penny and all that. He could take a cab home.
He first became aware of the woman on the bar stool next to him when he smelled her perfume, a light, teasing scent. He looked over, surprised to find her there. She’d slid onto that stool as noiselessly as a cat.
“Need someone to drown your sorrows with?” she asked.
How had she known? Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Guy drinking alone in a bar must have some sorrows.
“I don’t need company, thanks,” he said. Or, more accurately, he doubted she would want his company inflicted on her. Under other circumstances, he might have responded to the flirtation. He gave her a second look from the corner of his eye. She was tall and long-legged, and dressed too nice for this dive. The fact she was hanging out alone at McGoo’s meant he could probably have gotten her into bed without too much effort.
But the easy conquests of his youth held little appeal these days. Anyway, he was in a helluva mood. Being nice, even civil, would require too much effort.
She ordered her own drink, a diet cola, which made the bartender’s grizzled eyebrows rise in surprise. Ford was amazed the bar stocked diet anything.
He gave the woman a third look—and realized he knew her. He hadn’t seen her in well over a decade, and she’d changed quite a bit, filled out, darkened her hair a shade. But her eyes were the same, big and blue and innocent—deceptively so, some had said.
“Robyn?” He would probably regret starting a conversation. But he had to say something.
“I wondered if you’d recognize me. It’s been a long time.” No smile, but why should there be? Their history wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.
“You obviously recognized me,” he said, wondering why she would even bother acknowledging him.
“I heard you hang out here sometimes. Your number’s not in the