Impossible Promise Read online

  Impossible Promise

  By Sybil Bartel

  Three years ago, Layna Blair listened in horror over a telephone line as her parents were murdered. When the killer said she was next, Layna panicked and made a deadly deal—his secret in exchange for her life. She’s paid the price every day since, becoming a prisoner in plain sight.

  Marine Sergeant Blaze Johnson offers Layna a way out—her freedom, his rules, no questions asked—and she takes it, despite knowing what her keepers do to people who get too close. She doesn’t know Blaze is fighting his own demons or that beneath his warrior façade is a man on the verge of breaking.

  Embarking on a wild revenge mission with Blaze and his smooth-talking best friend, Talon, is not what Layna signed on for. But attempting to run when Blaze has made no secret he intends to make her his is a reckless mistake. With the killer closing in, it’s up to Blaze to save them all—and to Layna to realize that she’s risked the one thing she can’t afford to lose.

  Book one of two

  93,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  This month I’d like to take a moment to thank all of you who read, review and recommend. Word of mouth is so critical to the success of a book, and we so appreciate not just those of you who write reviews on retailers, review sites, and your personal blogs, but also those who have a love of talking books, as I do, and recommend the things you enjoy to friends, family and fellow readers in conversation, on social media, and at parent/teacher conferences (yes, I’ve done this!). Thank you, you help us grow and thrive!

  Speaking of books to review and recommend, I hope you find something in this month’s lineup that inspires you. First, we’re pleased to introduce two debut authors. In Time Served by Julianna Keyes, eight years in prison have left Dean insatiable, and a decade apart isn’t enough to stop Rachel from surrendering any way he asks. Don’t miss this sexy contemporary romance debut!

  For those who have longed for something different in historical romance, Pamela Cayne delivers in The Fighter and the Fallen Woman. In Victorian London, Lady and King, a prostitute and a street fighter, are kindred souls, each trapped in their own hells. Both owned by a ruthless businessman, they have no chance at love if they don’t first risk death.

  Also new to Carina Press this month is a brand new male/male space romance series from author duo Jenn Burke and Kelly Jensen set aboard a Firefly-esque freighter, following a cast of misfit super-soldiers who have been through intergalactic hell and offering up a delicious and unexpected reunion romance. Don’t miss the first book in the Chaos Station series!

  For those who love revisiting favorite authors, HelenKay Dimon’s Chain of Command is available in March 2015. Special ops Marine Sawyer Cain is ready for civilian life, trading danger for more stability by opening a gun range with his friends, but first he needs the land and that means going through Hailey Thorne...and nothing prepares him for her.

  A drunken kiss between an out gay man and his supposedly straight best friend awaken long-repressed feelings that neither man is able to ignore in fan favorite A.M. Arthur’s Getting It Right.

  Proving that all good things come to an end, we’re sad to say farewell to urban fantasy series Monster Haven from R.L. Naquin. In Phoenix in My Fortune, Zoey must stop the terrifying Shadow Man from breaking the ancient Human/Hidden Covenant and taking away all the Hidden in our world forever—including Zoey’s family.

  Hunted by a killer, Layna Blair knows trust isn’t a mistake she can afford, but the six-foot-four Marine makes her an irresistible offer—her freedom, his rules, no questions asked in Impossible Promise by Sybil Bartel.

  Author Kate Willoughby delivers another sizzling contemporary romance in Out of the Game. Alex Sullivan may be the San Diego Barracudas’ resident playboy, but he’s never forgotten his kiss with Claire Marzano. When he sees her again at a teammate’s wedding, he can’t think of anything but spending more time with her. Preferably naked.

  Last, we wrap up two science fiction trilogies this month. In The Epherium Chronicles: Echoes by T.D. Wilson, Captain James Hood and his ship, the Armstrong, survived the battle of Cygni, but the victory at the new colony puts humanity in more danger both in space and on Earth.

  And from Timothy S. Johnston’s science fiction mystery series the Tanner Sequence, described as Agatha Christie meets Michael Crichton, Homicide Investigator Kyle Tanner is on an emotional journey as he hunts killers in a society plagued by violence and brutality. Stranded on a disabled vessel with a hostile crew that includes at least one serial killer, he must rely on the love of a remarkable woman in order to decipher the clues and solve the mystery in The Void.

  Coming in April 2015: a hot erotic romance, two new debut authors and the launch of a new male/male new adult trilogy.

  Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  Dedication

  For Kaki

  Acknowledgments

  To all the men and women in our Armed Forces,

  thank you for your selfless service.

  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 Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Copyright

  A word was stealthily brought to me, and my ear caught a whisper of it.

  —Job 4:12

  Chapter One

  Glancing over my shoulder, I crossed the parking lot. I didn’t see them but that didn’t mean they weren’t close. They were always close, but I’d found a place where they wouldn’t follow me. One hour a week—when you had nothing, it was something.

  I breezed into the last pew and kneeled just long enough to cross myself. I wished the gesture still held some significance but I’d stopped believing three years ago. The thought of three years ago made the familiar panic surface. Sweaty palms, shortness of breath, heart clamoring to get out from under my ribs. They were all a precursor to the terror. I dug my nails into my palms, desperate to take my mind away from the past.

  Maybe tonight had been a bad idea. I should’ve stayed hidden in my apartment. Then I wouldn’t be here, studying the side exit, counting the steps, wondering if I slipped out the back how long it would take before they found me. Because they always found me. I wasn’t stupid enough to go far. I glanced at the exit again. No, tonight, I was going to be just stupid enough to give them something to do. I grabbed my purse and stood.

  He stopped in the aisle and fear more familiar than my own name prickled across my skin. His deep, quiet voice hit me a fraction of a second before his scent.

  “This seat taken?” Soap and musk mingled with old chur
ch, and blue eyes the color of winter ice stared down at me.

  My stomach in my throat, I shook my head, and he stepped into the pew. When he focused his attention forward, the air whooshed out of my lungs. He wasn’t one of them. They never got this close, not in public, but the fear was ingrained—three years ingrained.

  My exit strategy shot, I set my purse down and snuck a glance at the wall of muscle next to me. Legs slightly apart, hands clasped in front, he stood perfectly motionless. Square jaw, chiseled cheekbones, his features were too harsh to be beautiful and too beautiful to be harsh. His close-cropped haircut screamed military, but the bottom of a tattoo peeking out from his shirt sleeve was the giveaway. USMC.

  For one impossible moment, I closed my eyes. He smelled amazing, like freedom and strength and security—everything I’d never have again. Resigned, to my one hour, to my life, I glanced at the stupid exit and swore under my breath. “Damn it.”

  Quick, precise, the marine turned and locked his gaze on me. Heat hit my cheeks, my mouth went dry and the sweater over my shoulders fell to the seat. Shit. Shit. I quickly looked away but the damage was done. I’d drawn attention to myself.

  For the next forty-five minutes I tried to go through the motions of the service, but the closeness of the marine was making me want to crawl out of my skin. Vibrating with raw power, he was so distracting I wanted to shove him into the aisle...or cower under his huge biceps and hide. And that would be disastrous. Fuck-my-whole-life-up disastrous. I came here for an hour of peace, not soapy musk and unleashed strength. I didn’t have time for bullshit fantasies. I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have time at all. My hour was almost up.

  I reached for my purse. Black boots, worn but polished to a high shine, had caged it in. And because I’d done nothing right since I’d walked through the church doors, I let my traitorous eyes sweep up. Hard muscles strained against black cargo pants. A fitted T-shirt skimmed a flat stomach and stretched across impossibly wide shoulders. A cut jaw ticked and cold, knowing eyes waited.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  My leg began to bounce.

  “Everything okay?” he whispered.

  Okay? No, everything was not okay. I was sitting next to a marine who made me wish I was anyone else besides who I was—utterly alone yet followed everywhere. Nothing about that was okay. But before I could do something really stupid, like acknowledge him, the haunting sounds of the organ filled the church and mass ended. I grabbed my purse and shot to my feet.

  But the marine didn’t step out of the pew. He rose to his towering height, blocked my escape and waited for every single person to file out of the church. Then he stepped out and back a foot.

  I told myself not to. I really did, but it was as if this complete stranger had destroyed all of my self-control. So, I glanced up.

  And the marine glared at me.

  Struck dumb, I stared for two heartbeats before self-preservation kicked in. Then I scrambled forward and tripped. Viselike heat gripped my upper arm and I was immediately righted. Stunned by the strength in his hand, I jerked away and rushed out of the church.

  The priest’s crinkly face smiled in my direction then looked past me with concern. “Sergeant Johnson, good to see you. How is your mother?”

  “Not well, sir.”

  I flew down the steps. The last words I heard were his.

  “Who is that, Father?”

  Chapter Two

  I didn’t bother looking for the men that’d been following me since I’d moved to Gainesville. I never should’ve left Miami but I couldn’t breathe for the memories. Fumbling through my purse, searching for my keys, I didn’t recognize the name being called behind me.

  “Ms. Blair.”

  Where the hell were my keys?

  “Ma’am.”

  My hand palmed my keys the instant recognition hit. Layna Blair was my new name.

  “Ms. Blair, you forgot something.”

  Damn it. I never should’ve told the priest my name. Tempering my rising panic, resigned to getting this over with, I turned around.

  “Your sweater, ma’am.” Anger gone, arm outstretched, the marine studied me.

  I silently took the sweater.

  “In a hurry?” Patient, deep, his voice was almost cathartic.

  I didn’t say anything. What was the point? I’d be gone in ten seconds and I’d never see him again. I flipped the sweater over my shoulders and got one arm shoved in before he reached out to hold the other sleeve. When his fingers brushed over my shoulder, I shivered.

  He frowned. “You’re cold.”

  This was taking too long. Sucking in a breath, I forced out polite words. “Thanks for the sweater.” I turned back toward my car.

  He moved with me. “You’re not from here.”

  I scanned the parking lot. He’d been talking to me too long. “No. Good night.”

  His eyes narrowed and without moving, he seemed to come closer. His voice went even, quiet. “Everything okay, ma’am?”

  “Yeah, fine. Thanks again.” I unlocked my car and reached for the handle.

  The marine’s hand shot out, bracing against the driver’s door. “Wait,” he commanded in a hushed whisper.

  “Is there a problem?” an accented voice asked.

  Shit. Shitty shit shit. I’d lingered too long. Play it off, play it off, I silently chanted. Maybe they wouldn’t do anything to him. I took a deep breath and turned around to face the men who followed me.

  “That depends,” the marine said in his even, quiet voice.

  The shorter of the two men laughed and my skin crawled. They were like all the rest over the years. Hispanic, muscled, too non-descript to be anything but purposeful and they always traveled in pairs. But I’d found out this past week what Shorty was capable of, and he was a hundred times more dangerous than the others. He nudged the taller one.

  “Depends on what, G.I. Joe?” Shorty smirked.

  The marine’s hand dropped from the door and closed over mine. As he squeezed, my keys dug into my palm.

  The act didn’t go unnoticed by Shorty. His forced humor instantly disappeared and his face twisted with venom. “So it’s like that, huh?” he spat out.

  “Step back,” the marine warned as he slowly took my keys from my hand.

  “Or what?” Shorty asked, casually lifting the front of his shirt a few inches to reveal a gun tucked in his waistband. “You’ll bench press me?” He grinned eerily.

  The marine didn’t blink. “You won’t be alive to know what I did to you.”

  A cold, sick dread rose like bile in my throat.

  Shorty turned to me. “You even know this joker, girl? Cuz I ain’t seen him before and we both know I know you real good.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him where to shove it when my hand was squeezed hard in warning. I snapped my mouth shut and the marine took a step forward, shoving me behind him.

  “Disrespect her again and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  Shorty shook his head. “Hope he was worth it, girl.” He reached for the gun.

  Faster than I could scream, the marine moved. His left arm shot out, elbow first, as his right hand grabbed Shorty’s gun. With a sickening crunch, the tall one’s face erupted with spurting blood, his eyes rolled back in his head and his arms went limp. Before his knees even buckled, the marine had twisted Shorty’s arm and jammed the barrel of the gun back into his stomach.

  The tall one hit the pavement face first with a nauseating thud as the marine clamped his left hand down on Shorty’s throat. Three successive pops sounded and Shorty let out a choked howl as his broken hold went slack.

  “Get in the car, Layna,” the marine said calmly.

  I stared at the bloody carnage on the ground.

  “Layna.”

  I looked up. Shorty’s good hand was futilely clawing at the marine’s death grip on his throat.

  The marine spared me a glance. “Passenger side, get in.”

  I snapped out of my stupor and s
crambled around the car. Still pointing the gun at Shorty, the marine let go of his throat and executed a merciless knife strike to the side of his neck. Shorty crumpled to the ground.

  Hands shaking, I tried twice before I got the car door open and fell into the seat. Thirty seconds later we were doing seventy in a forty-five zone, putting distance between us and them.

  The marine leaned forward, tucked the gun in his back waistband, and scanned the rearview mirrors. “Are there more?”

  There were always more. I concentrated on breathing. “No.” Jesus, were they dead?

  He glanced at me. “You’re lying. Why?”

  For some reason, having him call me on my bullshit was calming—like a-syringe-full-of-Valium calming. My breathing evened out and I looked out the window. I should’ve been taking stock, figuring out how to lose the marine, but I wasn’t. I was drowning in the surreal feeling of not being alone and wondering why he’d protected me with no questions asked. I fixated on his superhuman soldier skills and a dangerous sense of relief washed over me. I leaned back in the seat. “Did you kill them?”

  “No.”

  Did I believe him? “The tall one didn’t look like he was breathing.” Facedown, blood everywhere, he’d stopped moving after a twitch and a gurgling sputter.

  “I broke his nose and some surrounding facial bones and knocked him unconscious. He’s not dead but he’ll need surgery,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I swallowed. “And Shorty?”

  “Unconscious, broken wrist, broken hand.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was trying to figure out if I was glad or mad.

  “Should I have killed them?”

  I whipped around in my seat. Surreal jumped ship and insanity came crashing down like a ton of bricks. “You in jail for second-degree murder would be a waste of tax payers’ dollars, not to mention what the Marine Corps spent training you.” I was incredulous. This soldier’s life wasn’t worth mine, no way.

  He completely ignored what I said. “They were in their car when I went into church, they circled the parking lot twice while we were talking and they seemed intent on making me go away. What’s the deal?”