Amanda Stevens - The secend Mrs ...

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The Second Mrs Malone
The Second Mrs. Malone
by
Amanda Stevens
A woman alone... with no one to trust. Where can she run?
Straight into the arms of
HER PROTECTOR
She'd forgotten her own husband.
She was wearing a wedding ring.
She looked away from Sergeant Stoner's probing gaze. "Have you
remembered anything?"
"My name." She was still unable to meet his gaze. "It's Andrea."
"So I heard. It's very pretty. And your last name?"
"I don't know." With an effort, Andrea willed herself to relax, forced
her gaze to meet Sergeant Stoner's. His eyes, a dark impenetrable
brown, were fringed with long, curly lashes. He was tall and lean, but
Andrea knew that beneath his suit coat, the muscles in his arms and
chest would be powerful. She could almost feel them flex and bunch
beneath her hands.
She stopped her thoughts cold. Was she remembering how it felt to be
in a man's arms? Or was she experiencing wishful thinking, because of
this particular man?
Just what kind of woman am I?
Dear Reader,
April kicks off with a brand new SHADOWS AND SPICE novel, The Wrong
Man, from popular author Kelsey Roberts. Lawyer Haley Jenkins has a
friend who's gone missing, and so she helps Detective Dalton Ross
investigate: Despite their mutual attraction, Haley has sworn off
cops--and Dalton has only one rule, too--no lawyers! Kelsey says: "I
had a lot of fun showing these two people that it can be more fun when
you forget the rules and listen to your heart."
Heather Graham Pozzessere has created a compelling love story that
transcends time in The Last Cavalier, part of the TIMELESS LOVE
promotion. You'll love heroic soldier Jason Tarkenton; he's a real
man!
In The Second Mrs. Malone by Amanda Stevens, you'll meet another
gorgeous man in uniform. Sergeant Troy Stoner finds a woman with
amnesia wandering the streets, covered in blood--was she victim or
villain? And last but by no means least, Sheryl Lynn's duet HONEYMOON
HIDEAWAY concludes this month in The Case of the Bad Luck Fiancd.
Enjoy!
The Editors
Mrs. Malone
DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?
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The Second Mrs Malone
If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor
the publisher has received any payment for this book.
All the characters in this book have ru existence outside the
imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired
by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents
are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises H B. V. The text of this publication or any part
thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including, photocopying, recording,
storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the
written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade' or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
Silhouette and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books
S.A." used under licence.
First published in Great Britain 1998
Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
Marilyn Medlock Amann 1997
ISBN 0 373 22430 3
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham PLC. Chatham
This book is lovingly dedicated to Steven, Lucas and Leanne Amann
Chapter One
The woman was covered in blood. The drying crimson splashed across the
front of-her expensive white tank dress like globs of red paint. Her
pale face was streaked with dirt and mascara, and her blond hair hung
to her waist in damp, matted clumps. She looked as if she'd been to
hell and back, and Sergeant Troy Stoner of the Houston Police
Department couldn't take his eyes off her.
He turned to the patrol officer who had picked her up earlier in the
evening after spotting her wandering down a busy street and brought her
to the emergency room at St. Mary's.
"Who is she?" Troy asked over the noise and chaos of the ER. Thunder
boomed outside, and somewhere down the hallway, a baby cried
incessantly while a man with a gunshot wound in his leg screamed
obscenities in Spanish at one of the nurses.
Officer Dermott shrugged his damp shoulders, oblivious to the general
confusion around him. "Hell if I know. I couldn't find any
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The Second Mrs Malone
identification on her, and she was pretty disoriented when I picked her
up. Didn't say one word the whole way here." He paused and tapped
his left temple with his fingertip. "I figure they'll take her up to the
bin after they check her out here."
Troy frowned at the derogatory term for the psychiatric ward, although
to be honest, he couldn't say it had ever bothered him before. But
something about this woman brought out something in him he didn't care
to analyze. Unable to tear his gaze away, he stared at her through the
curtained partition.
Who was she? What the hell had happened to her? She hadn't been seen
by a doctor yet, but the nurse who had spoken briefly with Troy a few
moments ago assured him that her injuries appeared to be minor, a few
scrapes and bruises, nothing to warrant the amount of blood on her
clothing. So whose blood was it? And how had it gotten on her?
As if reading his thoughts, Dermott said, "She's damn lucky that blood
isn't hers. It's a wonder some drunk didn't splatter her all over the
pavement."
Somehow lucky wasn't a word Troy would ascribe to the pale, frightened
woman sitting on the very edge of the hospital bed, as if poised to
flee the moment she sensed danger.
He wondered if she had any idea she was being watched. He and Dermott
stood just outside the curtained partition, speaking loudly enough to
be heard over the din of the ER and the storm that raged outside, but
the woman gave no indication that she was aware of their presence. She
sat stone still, stating at some distant point in space that only she
seemed aware of.
He should have gone home, Troy decided wearily. His shift had ended
hours ago, but he'd been delayed at the hospital with a prisoner who'd
sustained serious injuries after a botched convenience-store holdup.
Just as he was about to leave, hoping to beat the rain, his lieutenant
had called him to tell him as long as he was still there he might as
well stick around and talk to another suspect who was being brought
in.
But the moment Troy had seen the blonde, he'd been experiencing a
myriad of regrets. He didn't need this. Not tonight. He wished he'd
told his lieutenant to go take a flying leap Let somebody else handle
this case. But it was too late now, and with another weary sigh, Troy
pushed the curtain aside and stepped through.
He hardly made a sound, certainly nothing that could be heard over the
groans in the next cubicle, but the woman's gaze shot up, panic
flashing in her blue eyes before she glanced away, as if wanting to
shield her emotions from him.
But in that moment when their eyes met, Troy felt an odd little tremor
in the pit of his stomach, a sensation not unlike the ones he
experienced in times of keen excitement or extreme danger.
Damn, he thought. He really didn't need this.
He walked toward her, but she didn't look at him again. Except for
that brief moment of eye contact, she'd retreated into that distant
place that made her appear so unreachable. So... fragile.
Troy guessed he ought to be relieved she wasn't his type. He didn't
like fragile women. He wasn't like his brother, Ray, who needed to be
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The Second Mrs Malone
in control, or his other brother, Mitch, who' needed to be needed. Troy
liked strong, secure, independent women. Women who knew the score as
well as he did.
What he didn't like was a woman who brought out his protective
instincts. He'd found out the hard way that a woman like that could be
a dangerous thing for a man like him.
He cleared his throat, trying to draw her attention without causing
her further alarm. "I'm Sergeant Stoner," he said gently. "I need to
ask you a few questions."
When she didn't answer, he said, "Let's start with your name."
Still no response.
Taking out his notebook and pen, Troy tried not to let his eyes wander
to the slender bare legs revealed by her short hemline. He
concentrated instead on the blood-stains. "The nurse said you didn't
appear to be seriously injured, but you have a lot of blood on your
clothing.
Can you tell me what happened?"
Silence.
Troy moved to the end of the bed, giving her a little more space. He
studied her profile and wondered what she was thinking. He could
almost feel her sinking deeper into that place where no one, least of
all him, could reach her.
But he wanted to try anyway. He wanted to take her by those thin,
tanned shoulders, gaze into those crystalline eyes and, by sheer force
of will, bring her back to a place where he could reach her. Touch
her... He broke off his thoughts abruptly. "What were you doing out
alone this time of night? Officer Dermott said he found you on
Westheimer, walking down the middle of the street. What happened to
you? Were you running away from someone? Were you assaulted?"
Her hands were clasped in her lap, and Troy saw they were trembling. He
took that as a good sign. At least she wasn't completely unaffected by
his questions.
A scream erupted down the hallway, and the woman flinched. She looked
around, as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. The groans in the
cubicle next to her grew louder, and her blue eyes widened in
despair.
"Where am I?" she whispered.
"The emergency room at St. Mary's Hospital. Don't you remember?"
She looked around again, as if seeing the cubicle. for the first time.
Judging by the quality of her clothing and the heavy gold bracelet
around her wrist, these stark surroundings were hardly the
accommodations she was accustomed to. But she was damn lucky it was
Sunday, Troy thought. On Friday and Saturday nights, beds were lined
up in the hallway.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
She lapsed back into silence, her. blue eyes again staring into
space.
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He walked toward her, recapping his pen and putting it away. "Look, I
want to help you here. Your family must be worried sick about you--"
At the mention of the word family, her gaze darted up to his. Her eyes
widened, giving her the appearance of an animal trapped in a headlight.
Troy found himself leaning toward her, wanting to shield her from
whatever terror had driven her out into the rainy darkness.
Her left hand fluttered to her neck, and for the first time, he saw the
faint shadow of a bruise marring her forearm, as if someone had grabbed
her roughly. He also saw the glitter of diamonds around the third
finger of her left hand.
She was married, a suspect, completely off-limits. But before he could
stop himself, Troy reached out to touch the bruise on her ann. She
gasped and jerked away, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as
if she could somehow ward off whatever threat he might pose to her.
Troy let his hand drop to his side and said, "I won't hurt you. I only
want to help you. Your husband ... did he do that to you?"
The blue eyes flooded with tears, but she still said nothing.
Troy swore under his breath. He'd seen it. before. A battered wife
refusing to press charges against an abusive husband. Refusing to
admit what had really happened until it was too late.
"Look," he said impatiently, running hand through his damp hair, "I
can't help you unless you level with me. Tell me what happened. What's
your name? Where do you live?"
One tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. Troy had to forcibly
restrain himself from reaching out to wipe it away. She looked so
young, sitting there with a tear: drop drying on her cheek and
bloodstains drying on her dress
Troy's temper surged at the thought of any man committing an act of
violence against any woman, but especially one who was as defenseless
as this one.
Or was she?
He let his gaze drift back to the bloodstains. "You don't have any
identification on you. Did you lose your purse? Did someone steal
it?" When she still didn't respond, he sighed. "This is getting us
nowhere fast."
He started to turn away, but her blue gaze met his again, and in those
crystal depths, he saw a plea for help that touched him all the way to
his soul.
He took a step toward her in urgency. "Won't you at least tell me your
name?"
"I ... can't."
Her voice floated across the distance separating them and wrapped
around him like a sweetly provocative perfume. Her blue eyes held him
enthralled, mesmerizing him with the secrets hidden within. Troy had
the sudden mental image of a gossamer spiderweb, so deceptively
beautiful, so potentially deadly... "What do you mean, you can't?" he
asked. "Are you afraid to tell me your name?"
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