Where Danger Hides.pdf

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Where Danger Hides

ISBN 9781419910630

Edited by Helen Woodall.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication August 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written

permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-

3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

W HERE D ANGER H IDES

Desiree Holt

Dedication

This one is for the Muses. What would I ever do without you?

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Bankers Box: Fellowes, Inc.

Expedition: Ford Motor Corporation

Gulfstream: Gulfstream Aerospace Corporation

Hummer: General Motors Corporation

Where Danger Hides

Chapter One

Hell and damnation.

Taylor Scott never swore but after this week—this day—she’d acquired a number of

words not previously found in her vocabulary.

She hitched her five-foot-four-with-heels body onto one of the two vacant barstools.

Turning sideways, she looked at herself in the mirror behind the bar. She saw a tumble

of auburn hair and emerald green eyes. The conservative navy suit and silk blouse

looked only slightly the worse for wear after today’s confrontation. The heavy gold

hoops at her ears reflected back what little light the cocktail lounge afforded.

Not bad, she thought, critically assessing herself. Not a showstopper. Breasts too

small, hips too wide, thighs a little plumper than she’d like. But she made the best use

of her assets. Certainly not someone to get tossed out into the street, so to speak.

She wasn’t much of a bar sitter—not even a bar visitor truth to tell—and she’d

really wanted one of the small tables only they were all full. But she needed a drink,

something to make her forget the fact that in the short span of seven days she’d learned

her entire life was a lie. The letter from her grandmother was folded in the pocket of her

jacket, a slim sheet of stationary filled with words that destroyed everything she’d

believed about her life up until now.

“What can I get for you, miss?”

Taylor’s head snapped up. The bartender had placed a cocktail napkin on the

surface in front of her. Now he waited patiently in front of her, a stocky blond with eyes

that said he’d seen and heard it all and an expectant look on his face. What did one

drink to get drunk? Her experience was limited to a small selection of good wines and

Bloody Marys at Sunday brunches. Wait. The partners in the investment firm where she

worked always drank Jack Daniels at corporate functions. Black, whatever that meant.

She guessed it was as good a choice as any.

“Jack Daniels Black, please.” She tried to sound authoritative.

“Rocks or neat?”

She frowned. Why did ordering a drink have to be so complicated? “Oh, um, rocks

please.”

She was hyperaware of her surroundings. The walls of the bar were a rich, polished

oak as was the paneling of the bar itself. The tables were oak planking with chairs

covered in soft-looking leather. The lighting, discreetly recessed, gave patrons the

illusion of a cloak of darkness. Soft music drifted into the air from hidden speakers, an

effective sound screen for couples with heads inclined toward each other in intimate

fashion.

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