Intimate Strangers Read online

  “What are you doing?”

  “This.” He gently turned Molly to face him and took her into his arms.

  Molly had known from the moment she’d agreed to show him some property that this was going to happen. Truth be told, she wanted it to happen.

  There was a breathless moment when reality seemed to fade away, so that nothing remained in the universe besides the two of them—a man and a woman who’d been fated to come together in this time and place.

  His mouth toyed with hers, and she went from aroused to hungry in a heartbeat. She might have fled Perry’s Cove years ago, but now she was glad she’d stayed. Because she’d met Mark Ramsey. She’d known him only a few days, and he’d told her nothing about himself, yet incredibly his embrace felt like a homecoming. Reckless and not caring, she stepped closer to him and raised her face to his, ready for the kiss she felt was years overdue.

  Abruptly Mark pulled away, looking tortured. “I tried to stay away from you. I told myself it would be better if I—”

  But nothing had ever felt better to Molly. She silenced his protest with another kiss….

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  We have a thrilling summer lineup for this month and throughout the season to make your beach reading positively sizzle!

  To start things off with a big splash, you won’t want to miss the next installment in bestselling author Rebecca York’s popular 43 LIGHT STREET series. An overturned conviction gives a hardened hero a new name, a new face and the means, motive and opportunity to close in on the real killer. But will his quest for revenge prevent him from becoming Intimate Strangers with the woman who fuels his every fantasy?

  Reader favorite Debra Webb will leave you on the edge of your seat with the continuation of her ongoing series COLBY AGENCY. In Her Secret Alibi, a lethally sexy undercover agent will stop at nothing in the name of justice, only to fall under the mesmerizing spell of his prime suspect!

  The heat wave continues with Julie Miller’s next tantalizing tale in THE TAYLOR CLAN. When the one woman whom a smoldering arson investigator can’t stop wanting becomes the target of a stalker, will Kansas City’s Bravest battle an inferno of danger—and desire—in the name of love? And in Sarah’s Secrets by Lisa Childs, shocking secret agendas ignite perilous sparks between a skittish single mom and a cynical tracker!

  If you’re in the mood for breathtaking romantic suspense, you’ll be riveted by our selections this month!

  Enjoy!

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  INTIMATE STRANGERS

  REBECCA YORK

  RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

  Books by Rebecca York

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  143—LIFE LINE*

  155—SHATTERED VOWS*

  167—WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT*

  179—ONLY SKIN DEEP*

  188—BAYOU MOON

  193—TRIAL BY FIRE*

  213—HOPSCOTCH*

  233—CRADLE AND ALL*

  253—WHAT CHILD IS THIS?*

  273—MIDNIGHT KISS*

  289—TANGLED VOWS*

  298—TALONS OF THE FALCON†

  301—FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN†

  305—IN SEARCH OF THE DOVE†

  318—TILL DEATH US DO PART*

  338—PRINCE OF TIME*

  407—FOR YOUR EYES ONLY*

  437—FATHER AND CHILD*

  473—NOWHERE MAN*

  500—SHATTERED LULLABY*

  534—MIDNIGHT CALLER*

  558—NEVER TOO LATE*

  606—BAYOU BLOOD BROTHERS

  “Tyler”

  625—THE MAN FROM TEXAS**

  633—NEVER ALONE**

  641—LASSITER’S LAW**

  667—FROM THE SHADOWS*

  684—GYPSY MAGIC

  “Alessandra”

  706—PHANTOM LOVER*

  717—INTIMATE STRANGERS*

  Dear Reader,

  Earlier this year I spent a relaxing week on the Outer Banks of North Carolina at a little beach town nestled among the sand dunes.

  I loved the area, and decided I wanted to set a book there.

  Of course, when I write a book, a picturesque little town becomes the setting for a murder conspiracy. So I changed the name to Perry’s Cove, to protect the innocent.

  In my story, Mike Randall was convicted of his wife’s murder and went to prison. But thanks to the Light Street Foundation, he’s been exonerated. Now he wants to make sure the real killer pays. So he’s come back to the scene of the crime with a new name, Mark Ramsey, and a new face.

  But the murder investigation is complicated by his feelings for Molly Dumont, a woman he was drawn to during the years of his failing marriage. Mike and Molly would never have acted on their feelings while they were married to other people. Although they’re both free now, the emotional bond growing between them gets tangled up in Mark’s murder investigation. Is Molly involved, or is she also an innocent bystander? What will happen when she finds out that Mark has been lying to her since arriving in town? And will they live long enough to explore the depths of the passion their reunion generates?

  These are some of the questions I’ve asked and answered in Intimate Strangers.

  Sincerely,

  Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Mike Randall—He came back to Perry’s Cove with a hidden agenda.

  Mark Ramsey—Mike’s new name, to go with his new face.

  Molly Dumont—Was she an innocent bystander, or was she involved in murder?

  Larry Iverson—Why did he send Molly into danger?

  Oliver Garrison—The antique dealer’s blood pressure went up when Mike came back to town.

  Bill Bauder—Did he report the news or make it?

  Dean Hammer—Was the sheriff a good guy or a bad guy?

  Cory Daniels—Did he have something personal against Mike Randall?

  Doris Masters—She was Oliver Garrison’s lover. Were they in a conspiracy together?

  Jerry Tilden—Why were his construction projects plagued with accidents?

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Prologue

  The nightmare dug its talons into his flesh, seized him by the throat and choked off his breath. He knew it was just a dream, but he couldn’t shake the sick, helpless feeling.

  He was back in the living hell of the past five years. Back in prison, under the control of guards who considered him a member of a subhuman species. He was a convicted murderer, after all. And that gave them the right to subject him to any indignity they chose.

  They were strip-searching him, making him bend over, probing the recesses of his body, as though they really thought they were going to find he was hiding a six-pack of beer that he inte
nded to sell for enormous profits to the other inmates.

  “You can go,” Big Louie growled. He was one of the real sadists among them. A man who enjoyed inflicting humiliation—and pain, if he could get away with it.

  The prisoner wanted to scream out that he wasn’t guilty of anything beyond stupidity. But he knew that everyone claimed innocence, so he kept his mouth clamped shut, and simply stood there, breathing in the scent of stale sweat and urine, and the disinfectant that failed to mask them.

  Then an electric gate opened, and someone gave him a push into the exercise yard. He stumbled forward, struggling to regain his footing, because if he fell on his face now, he was a dead man.

  Cunningham was there, waiting for him to make the wrong move. Cunningham, who hated his guts because he used correct grammar, and was tough enough to defend himself. But today the guy had a knife he’d made from a piece of PVC pipe. It might not be metal, but it was honed to a fine point.

  The guards were right on the other side of the gate. Though they must have seen the knife, they did nothing.

  When the weapon came slashing toward him, he jumped back, his shoulders slamming against the wire fence.

  Behind him, he heard Big Louie laugh. Maybe he’d set this up. Maybe he’d even placed a bet on Cunningham to win.

  A curse sprang to the prisoner’s lips as he tried to raise his hand to ward off another blow. But he couldn’t move. Someone behind him had grabbed his arms. He struggled to twist away, but the unseen demons held him fast. And the knife came down, aiming for his heart.

  He fought with all his strength, trying to wrest himself from the powerful grasp. And finally he realized that he was tangled in the bedclothes. That only a thin sheet was holding him down.

  He flopped back against the mattress, carefully untangling his arms and legs as he dragged in drafts of the cool, clean night air wafting through the window.

  The air-conditioning had been on when he’d first come into the hotel room, but he couldn’t stand the feeling of being confined so he’d turned off the climate control and opened the window.

  He swiped an arm across his forehead, feeling cold sweat. With a grimace, he heaved himself out of bed and made his way toward the bathroom. It was a large room—almost as large as the cell he’d shared with another inmate for five long years. But while the cell’s toilet–sink combo in the corner had been institutional stainless steel, now he leaned over an expanse of gleaming marble countertop and turned on the water. When it was cold, he splashed some on his sweaty face, then cupped his hands under the stream and lifted them to his mouth.

  The clean, modern bathroom was a luxury he hadn’t quite gotten used to. Like the wide bed with its firm mattress. Or the television he could turn on anytime he wanted. Or the phone on the bedside table.

  Every morning when he woke up, it was like a miracle. He was free. Thanks to hope, prayers and the Light Street Foundation.

  He gripped the edge of the counter, his fingers digging into the hard surface. Then he slowly raised his gaze to the mirror. As it had for the past few months, the face staring back at him jarred his senses. Not his old face. An expensive new one. Acquired so he could come back to Perry’s Cove and find the bastard who had taken away five years of his life.

  Chapter One

  “So now your life of lies and falsehoods officially begins,” Mark Ramsey said aloud into the closed confines of the car as he pulled into a space near the waterfront.

  The parking lot was free. The city council wanted to make it as easy as possible for visitors to enjoy the many charms of Perry’s Cove, North Carolina.

  He sat for a minute, taking shallow breaths, his hands gripping the wheel. He could still change his mind and walk away from this damn little town that had done its best to destroy him. But caving in had never been in his nature. He’d grown up a fighter and it was too late to change now.

  So he climbed out of his secondhand Ford Taurus, then turned and pressed the remote that locked the doors.

  Once, he might have skipped that safety precaution. Now he knew you couldn’t be too careful in these little shore towns. They might look safe as a nun’s virtue, but there were a lot of con artists walking around the streets.

  Like himself, for example. The last time he’d been in Perry’s Cove, he’d been Mike Randall. Now he was back with his new name and his new face.

  “You’re Mark Ramsey,” he murmured, just to hear the sound of the syllables. As he spoke, he raised his face to the blue sky and the sun. The feel of wind blowing back his dark hair was still a luxury he couldn’t take for granted.

  As if he could outrun the past, he strode quickly down the path from the parking lot to the waterfront. Long ago the main business in the area had been fishing. Now the town lived off the tourists who came to soak up the quaint atmosphere, shop for souvenirs and hit the beaches. Once, he had seen the place as charming. To his newly cynical eye, however, the storefronts looked like pretty little money traps.

  The shopping center right on the water was a brand-new, three-story building. But across the street, most of the shops had been created from old residences. Businesses went in and out. He saw that the ladies’ weaving guild had taken over the ground floor of a small clapboard house. Next door was a boutique in a converted Victorian. Down a bit, an antique shop he remembered was now a T-shirt emporium.

  He could walk into any of those places and buy anything he wanted. The idea was still mind-blowing. When the gates of the federal pen had first locked him in, he’d been angry and determined to fight his conviction. A couple of years in the joint had drained the piss and vinegar out of him, and he’d gotten used to the reality that he was going to die in prison.

  Then a ray of hope had opened up at the end of his long, dark tunnel. It still seemed like a miracle that he had his life back—minus those five very nasty years. Not his old life, of course. Despite the warmth of the sun, a wave of cold traveled over his skin as he thought about stepping back into the town that had convicted him of murder and thrown away the key.

  Well, not the whole population. Surely there was someone here who hadn’t thought he’d killed his wife and conveniently gotten rid of the body. Actually, there was someone who knew it wasn’t true. The real murderer.

  Mark Ramsey was going to track down the real killer and extract a substantial payment for years of pain and suffering. First, though, he needed to understand the lay of the land, because acting quickly could have fatal consequences.

  He set his course for Today’s Catch, the seafood restaurant where he’d enjoyed many a pleasant lunch in his previous life. Hopefully, the food was as good as he remembered. There hadn’t been much seafood in prison, beyond canned tuna and the dried-out mystery fish he could never identify.

  The eating establishment was a favorite spot for locals and tourists alike. A small boardwalk fronted the building, and along one side a covered deck supplied seating where diners could look out over both Main Street and the cove that had given the town its name.

  The hostess looked up from her spot at the podium and swept back a fall of long brown hair. It was Callie Fletcher, a woman he’d known casually in town. Not well, but well enough that she might recognize him.

  She paused a beat as she studied his face, and he felt his stomach clench as he waited for her to come out with his real name.

  Instead, she blinked and simply said, “Can I help you?”

  He kept his gaze steady on hers as he shoved one hand casually into his pocket and answered, “I’d like a table in a quiet corner.” Even his voice was different. It hadn’t the same timbre as when he’d lived here, thanks to a prison fight in which he’d gotten a fist to the larynx.

  He watched Callie taking in his muscular arms and shoulders, another new development. When he’d lived in town he hadn’t exactly had a remarkable physique. Truth be told, he’d been starting to acquire a little bit of a paunch.

  But in prison, where hardly any aspect of his life had been under his control,
physical fitness had taken on importance. Using books from the library, he’d designed an exercise program and stuck to it religiously. The regimen wasn’t just an ego trip. It had the practical result of making him less vulnerable to attacks from the sharks who preyed on the weak.

  “Would you like to sit inside or out?” Callie asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Outside,” he answered, unconsciously filling his lungs with the salt air blowing off the cove.

  Callie led him to a table topped by a green-and-white-striped umbrella, and he sat in the shade, stretching out his long legs and crossing them comfortably at the ankles as he picked up his menu and studied the selections.

  He hoped he looked at ease. Truthfully, he hoped he could choke down lunch. Though his plans had seemed reasonable when he’d first made them, now he wondered if he could actually pull them off.

  He studied the menu, decided on the fish of the day, then leaned back in his seat and took a sip of water.

  He almost swallowed the wrong way when he saw a short, balding man striding down the sidewalk as though he owned it.

  Some people thought he did. Bill Bauder was the editor of the Voice of Perry’s Cove, the local twice-weekly paper, and he had a hell of a lot of influence on public opinion in the community. The prudish editor had been convinced of Mike Randall’s guilt. He’d written editorials congratulating the police for removing the snake from their midst, and he’d kept whipping up public opinion against the wife murderer, as if he’d had a personal stake in the outcome of the trial.

  Bauder was on his shortlist of murder suspects. Perhaps it was an omen that the editor was one of the first familiar faces Mark saw in town.

  His chest tightened as he watched Bauder turn in at the restaurant entrance, then follow Callie inside. Mark toyed with the idea of walking past the man’s table on the way to the rest room, so he could test his new face on a well-known enemy. If Bill Bauder didn’t recognize him, nobody would. Then he reminded himself there was no hurry. He was going to be here for a while.