Valentine Vendetta

Original Copyright © 2013

by Melanie Atkins

ISBN:

Published in the United States of America

1st Ebook & Print Publish Date: February 1, 2013

2nd Ebook Publication date: April 29, 2019

Content Editor: Sarah Giese

Cover Artist: Taria Reed

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher. Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting, or uploading is illegal and violates U.S. Copyright laws.  

Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.   Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents, or persons living or dead are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Chapter One

I don't care where you send me, but I must be able to write. Nikki Brooks lifted her chin and challenged Assistant U.S. Attorney Ralph Dawson with a flinty glare. It's imperative.

It won't be a problem, as long as you have a laptop. He cocked his head. Do you?

Of course I do. I write on one, but my battery is shot—so I must have electricity. Nikki drew her brows together in a tight frown. The idea of being confined in this lodge in the middle of nowhere, even for a few days, set her teeth on edge. Especially after what happened last year in the Mississippi Delta during that awful flood on her birthday...

She met the prosecutor's guileless stare. I also need Internet access for research.

Can't guarantee that. He sighed and rubbed his thick eyebrows. Wild Creek Lodge is extremely remote, and fifteen feet of new snow is piled on top of what was already in the mountains this month. They're having trouble with their cable reception. I know, because my wife and I stayed there the week before the avalanche.

Well, if it's all you've got—

It is. And it's only for today and Sunday. The trial starts Monday morning in Denver, and you're my first witness.

I don't see why I can't just stay at my apartment. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. She had no love life and hated that particular celebration, but her feelings were beside the point. She scowled at him. I was planning to have my parents over for dinner. It's tradition.

Sorry, but that'll have to wait. He glared at her. You told me you don't feel safe at home, and I have to agree. You found that intimidating letter from Cappaletti on your coffee table. If one of his men was able to get inside your place when it was empty, he could very well do it with you there.

Oh, all right. Damn it. The most frightening part had been when she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had seen Al Cappaletti, one of the nation's most notorious mobsters, cut down John Almond, one of his biggest rivals, in cold blood. She shivered as memories of that terrifying night flooded her mind. She'd given her statement to the police, then the FBI, and had figured she was done until the trial—if they asked her to testify.

Weeks later, however, right after she arrived home from work one night, a deliveryman had handed her a gorgeous bouquet of fragrant, blood red roses. Then she'd discovered that threatening letter from Cappaletti—along with fresh rose petals scattered around inside her apartment. Petals from the same kind of long stemmed roses in the bouquet. Roses meant to terrify. Someone connected to the mobster had violated her personal space.

Mr. Dawson sat back in his creaky leather chair. I've already lined up a U.S. Marshal to protect you.

You have? Her anxiety increased. She didn't relish spending time with some no-neck lawman anymore than she wanted to go into hiding. She was on a deadline. She had to finish her latest romance by the first of the month.

Marshal Marc Trapani, from our Colorado Springs field office. He usually works fugitive apprehension, but he's been sidelined for a bit and is perfect for what we need.

Nikki's eyes widened. She'd grown up with a Marc Trapani—a rounder of a boy who'd become a cop right out of college and had later gone federal. He was almost four years younger than she. When they were teenagers, he'd humiliated her by submitting one of her first love stories to the school paper in an act of revenge. She'd never forgiven him. She shook her head.

"Not just no, but hell, no, if it's the Marc Trapani I know. You can forget it."

Come now, Ms. Brooks. Dawson's smile turned patronizing. Marc is highly qualified. He was recently involved in a shooting and isn't quite ready to return to his usual job, but he's looking forward to getting out from behind a desk for a few days. He'll keep you safe. I can guarantee it.

Maybe so. Nikki crossed her arms defiantly. But he and I have a history, and no way in hell am I spending five minutes—much less an entire weekend—alone with him.

I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter. The prosecutor rose, signaling their meeting was at an end. Either you go to the lodge with Marc, or I'll lock you up for the duration for your protection. It's your call.

*****

Marc Trapani tossed his suitcase and the duffel bag containing his gear into the trunk of his worn Nissan Altima and slammed the lid. The cold breeze bit into his cheeks, and his injured thigh throbbed. He ignored the pain, gripped his keys, and limped around the car.

Not my idea of a fun weekend, he groused, getting in and starting the engine.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and he'd planned on doing what he did every February fourteenth: Get rip-roaring drunk and try not to think about Angela, his former fiancé. She'd broken off their engagement on Valentine's Day three years ago after he'd spent two hundred bucks on roses, candy, and a fancy steak dinner with all the trimmings, and she'd even kept the damned ring. Bitch.

He flipped on the heat, and icy air blasted from the vents. He shivered. To his relief, the car quickly warmed, and he adjusted the whoosh of air to a gentle stream. His thigh ached, and his thoughts slid into the past as he left his driveway and raced toward the string of purple mountains in the distance.

He wasn't looking forward to spending two days and nights with Nikki Brooks, the rough and tumble tomboy who'd tortured him from the time he could walk until he was big enough to fight back. He'd heard she'd moved to Denver, but had never run into her.

As the only other child on the block in their small Mississippi town, she'd been his surrogate big sister. He barked a laugh. Yeah, and he still had the scars to prove it. She'd made fun of him, sprayed him with the water hose while he hung screaming from her big jungle gym, and called him squirt more times than he cared to remember.

Marc shook his head. No. This weekend would not be fun.

He plugged in his cell phone and brought up his audio copy of Nikki's latest book, Run to Nowhere. He'd heard she was a romance author, but he'd never read any of her work except that one short story that had come out in the school paper when he was in ninth grade. She'd been a senior, and he'd made sure her love scene saw print. Boy, had she been pissed. She'd never spoken to him again. He shook his head. Now, according to a couple of his fellow marshals, both female, she was pretty popular in romance circles and had even made the USA Today list.

What a wild coincidence. The woman had moved to Denver, and now she was a federal witness—with him in charge of keeping her alive for the next three days. He quirked his mouth. Guess it was time to see what all the fuss was about. With any luck, listening to the book would give him something to talk about with her—should she decide to speak to him.

The woman reading the audio book finally finished the introduction, and Nikki's words painted vivid images in Marc's mind as the story slowly unfolded. Her easy style of writing surprised him, and he pressed back in his seat to enjoy the ride. His grip on the wheel tightened as the couple in the book, former college lovers who had reconnected at a conference, soon got busy with each other. Kissing, touching, and...

Whoa. He squirmed in his seat. He hadn't expected Nikki's books to be so hot.

The hour and fifteen minute drive to the lodge passed quickly, and he spent most of that time paying rapt attention to the story. Before he knew it, the hero had estranged himself from the heroine because of his lack of commitment, and Marc was ready to choke the guy. How could he run out on such great sex?

Snow drifted down from the sky, but failed to cool his reawakened libido. He turned down the heater and concentrated on keeping the car on the slick road. He'd been with more than one woman since Angela had dumped him last February, but nobody had stuck. The last time he'd slept with a woman had been about six months ago. He squeezed the wheel. No wonder he teetered on the edge.