Tourist Trapped (34 page)

Finally the doors opened and light from the lobby spilled in, washing out Matt’s complexion even more. The paramedics rushed the gurney over the marble tile and out the main entrance. They stopped beside the ambulance to arrange the lines connected to Matt. Amanda kissed his icy forehead. “Hang on sweetheart. You can’t leave me—not like this.”

* * *

Police rerouted traffic
on Randolph Street, forcing Chad to double-park two blocks away from Amanda’s building. He slammed the car door and bolted down the street. He couldn’t catch his breath, and not because Chad hadn’t exercised in five years. No doubt, Harding’s henchmen had found Amanda.

Ambulances and police cars clogged the pavement in front of the entrance to Amanda’s building, their flashing lights bouncing off the sides of the skyscrapers. Tinny voices crackled over radios hanging off the officers’ jackets. A gust settled the scent of sulfur over the teeming scene. Chad’s saliva turned to paste. He ran for the main door, but a cop intercepted him and instructed him he couldn’t enter unless he offered proof he lived in the building.

“I have to get to Amanda Sloane’s apartment. I need to know she’s okay.” Chad tried to push past, but a second officer blocked his path. Chad tried her cell phone again, but it went to voice mail.

Amanda would have fought back—which a scumbag like Jonathan Wallace would have enjoyed. How much did she endure?
Please, be alive, Amanda.
I can’t lose you.
The turkey on rye he had eaten for lunch rose, burning its way up his esophagus.

The doors opened and a gurney rolled out, with a blood-covered Amanda walking next to it. Relief washed over Chad and he was about to yell to her when he caught her tortured expression. She kissed the victim’s forehead and murmured something to him. The profile of the patient came into view: Matthew Baird.

Another gurney rolled out the entrance, with none other than Gordon Harding.

Matt had stepped in and saved Amanda from the CEO of Evil. Her fiancé had been there for her when it counted. Chad’s boss survived, but she belonged to someone else. The turkey on rye continued to threaten escape.

Chad’s cell rang, a call from Jaz. He let it go to voice mail and walked back to his car.

What's Next?

Thank you for
reading
Tourist Trapped.
I hope you're like many of the readers I've heard from, who want to know what's next—and when!

I put my heart and soul into
Tourist Trapped.
I strove to offer a book with multi-dimensional characters who took you on a wild ride, one filled with twist and turns—and hopefully a few surprises. I spent two years perfecting the manuscript. In the process of publishing
Tourist Trapped,
I've learned so much. I'm looking forward to incorporating my new-found knowledge into the rest of the trilogy.

If you want to continue with Amanda and Chad's story—and I hope you do—Book Two of the Trapped trilogy will be available the summer of 2015.

To give you a taste of where the story picks up, I'm sharing Chapter One. Warning: it ends with a cliffhanger, as it is the first chapter of a new adventure. Beware, my friend!

Enjoy!

Karlie

ONE

Sunday, December 20, early morning

The meds lessened
the pain of her gunshot wounds, but the hole in Amanda Sloane’s hindquarters complained every time she sought a comfortable position on the hospital bed’s unforgiving mattress. Every inch of her ached, including her heart.

Terry Myers snored, draped over one of the chairs. The smell of uber-strength cleaning solution overpowered the scent of a bouquet of roses and lilies that sat beside her, delivered by Lauren Kessler—along with an overnight bag of clothes. Lauren and Terry had raced to the hospital and hadn’t left her side. Old friends rescuing the rescuer.

The quiet offered Amanda time to gather her thoughts. Her mind had cleared of the anesthesia, but a queasy stomach remained.

She had assumed the battle had ended when she located her half-sister, Rebecca, in the wilds of Cozumel—until yesterday, when Gordon Harding and Marty Jackson broke into her Chicago condo and tried to kill her and her assistant, Jasmine Peters. So much for “home sweet home.”

Lauren strolled in and plopped a Starbucks cup and a paper sack on the hospital table, next to a tray that hosted a mound of cold Cream of Wheat, a warm carton of milk, and two slices of soggy wheat toast. The aroma of a blueberry muffin wafted out of the bag and mingled with the antiseptic odor. Amanda’s stomach quivered.

Lauren settled into the chair next to Terry. “The nurses said no change. Matt’s still unresponsive.”

Amanda blinked back tears. Less than a day before, Harding blew a hole in Matthew Baird’s abdomen. A thick puddle of blood had pooled on her living room rug, below her fiancé’s body, as Amanda tried to stem his hemorrhaging. She shuddered with the memory. Ruby-red blood against ivory-white skin.

Although unsure if she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Matt, he needed to survive. He had tried to rescue her with nothing more than a baseball bat and a big heart. Unfortunately Gordon’s gun won out.

“He can’t die—I’d never forgive myself.” Amanda plucked a tissue out of the dispenser.

“How did he know about Gordon?” Lauren asked.

How did he?
Amanda sat up, her butt cheek protesting. Her left arm bumped into the table, eliciting a pulsating ache from another wound. “I don’t know. I hadn’t been able to reach him since he left Cancun.”

“Cancun? Matt went with you?”

Amanda shook her head. “No…he just showed up. Out of the blue. He wanted me to fly back to Chicago with him right away. He acted odd—scared, actually. He mentioned trouble with a campaign donor.”

A wave of nausea washed through her fragile gut. “Before I flew down to Cancun, I spotted Harding’s henchman, Jonathan Wallace, at one of Matt’s fund-raisers. When I asked Matt about it, he had commented that anyone who paid the price tag could attend—but when I ran into Peggy Armstrong, she mentioned that someone influential had started backing Matt.”

“You think Matt accepted Gordon Harding’s support for the senatorial campaign?”

“Maybe. When Matt showed up at my door in Cancun, he didn’t act as if he knew about my sister’s kidnapping…but he told me to be careful.” Had Matt betrayed her? Another wave of nausea flooded over her. “I’m going to be sick.”

Lauren jumped up and grabbed a basin off the counter and rested it on Amanda’s legs.

Muscles constricted Amanda’s stomach and esophagus, forcing up bile that burned as her body ejected it. Lauren pulled Amanda’s hair out of the way and rubbed her back. Another series of contractions ripped through Amanda’s belly. More bile burned a path up her esophagus. The spasms sapped her strength, leaving her weak and shaking. A sour taste lingered in her mouth.

Lauren pressed the call button.

“Amanda, are you okay?” Terry leaned forward while adjusting his glasses.

“No. No I’m not. I’ve got more holes in me than a Wiffle ball and my dying fiancé may be involved in Gordon Harding’s antics.” With trembling hands, she passed the disgusting basin to Lauren. “And I’m stuck in a hospital bed while Jonathan Wallace is probably planning to finish me off—or worse yet, my family or Chad Cooper’s.”

A smiling nurse bustled into the room. “How are we feeling?”

“She vomited,” Lauren said. “Can we get her some ginger ale?”

The smile faded as the nurse assessed Amanda. “Of course. One minute.” She disappeared out of the room.

“We’re not letting you out of our sight,” Terry said.

“Where’s Claire? Is she home alone?” Amanda asked.

“My better half’s in Cabo. When I commented to her about your trip, she decided to head to Mexico with her parents. I’m supposed to meet up with them Tuesday,” Terry said.

Amanda thanked the Lord that her new friend and police officer, Lucia Vargas, promised to watch over her stepmother and sister while her father, Don Sloane, recuperated in Cancun. “Glad Claire’s not in the Yucatan,” Amanda said. “Until they track down Wallace, I won’t feel that I’m safe—or anyone who knows me.”

* * *

“Ouch, Kate. Quit
squeezing my arm,” Chad Cooper said as his sister forced him through the hospital doors. His bicep throbbed beneath the pressure of her death grip.

“You’ll have a lot more to worry about than that bullet hole if you don’t get your butt up to see Amanda. I can’t believe you haven’t spoken to her—especially after all she’s done for you,” Kate Dalton said.

“A few days ago you were upset about that crater in my arm.”

“That was before you started acting like a donkey’s posterior.” Kate pulled off her knit cap and gloves.

“An ass’s ass?”

“Precisely. Without Amanda’s assistance, Danielle and the kids might still be on the run.”

Chad had wanted to reach out and thank Amanda for rushing to Portland to help retrieve Jason and Skye, but he couldn’t erase the image of her, standing on the street in front of her condominium complex, bent over an injured Matthew Baird before the paramedics whisked them both off to the hospital. Chad’s inadequacy embarrassed him. Amanda helped rescue his kids, but he failed to protect her when she needed him. He’d never forgive himself for not connecting Gordon Harding with the kidnapping sooner. Before Amanda fought for her life in her own home.

A couple of adolescents ran down the hospital hall, their dad trailing them as he demanded they slow down.

Normal kids. Happy kids.

“Jason and Skye. Will they heal, Kate?”

“You’re a good father. They’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t know…five years of hiding, of caring for Danielle as she lost touch with reality. How do you recuperate from that hell?” They looked so lost when they moved back home—and their sadness permeated the house. It felt lonelier now than when Chad lived there alone.

“Jason and Skye have the Cooper genes, they’re made of tough stuff,” Kate said. “We’ll get them through this, you’ll see—I bet a year from now they’ll act like typical teenagers.” She pressed the elevator button. “Now, on to other matters. It’s time to face the music.”

“Fine. As long as it’s not ‘Ring of Fire.’”

Two police officers rushed past, their radios crackling with a steady stream of chatter.

Chad’s heart raced. He shoved open the stairwell door. “I can’t wait for the elevator—I’ll meet you on third. I have to know if Harding got to Amanda again or if she’s all right.”

* * *

Amanda sipped the
soft drink. It settled her stomach, but not her mind. She couldn’t shake the dread that Matt knew more about Gordon Harding than he had indicated. Had Matt made a deal with the devil?

Terry returned from a trip to the cafeteria, holding a fresh coffee. “I caught the news. Jonathan Wallace is still on the loose.”

Amanda squirmed, in spite of the aches it induced. She wanted out of the hospital. “I feel like a pigeon on a power line. Exposed and vulnerable—but I’d rather Wallace lurked around me, here in Chicago, than in Mexico. Dad, Miriam and Rebecca have been through enough. I want that reprobate in the States, where we can ferret him out.”

She hoped the arrest of Harding and Jackson would stall Wallace. “Any update on the other two?”

“Not much beyond the fact they’re in police custody. Looks like the PR machine at Marco Farms is squelching the buzz about their CEO’s detainment.”

“Based on the damage I wreaked on Gordo’s leg, I’d wager he’s in a hospital somewhere. As for Jackson, his injuries might be light enough that he’s sitting in a jail cell. I doubt if Marco Farms even knows he exists.”

A nurse ran into the room, ashen faced. “Someone shot Matthew Baird. Just now.”

Amanda yanked the IV out of her arm and jumped off the bed, pain blitzing through her legs. Her heart thumped against her chest. “Is he alive? I need to see him.” She started for the door. “Where is he?”

The nurse grabbed her shoulder. “You can’t reach him—the police cordoned off his room. They’re denying access to everyone except hospital staff. Luckily he was already in the ICU. The doctors, they got to him quickly. He’s back in surgery.”

Amanda took a deep breath. “How bad?”

The nurse shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t know.”

“Amanda, if they’re brazen enough to come after him in the hospital, you’re not safe,” Terry said. “We need to get you out of here.”

The nurse shook her head. “Ms. Sloane isn’t well enough to leave.”

“Can you guarantee her safety?” Lauren asked.

“We might be able to post a policeman or a guard at the door.”

“That won’t stop them. It’ll just get others killed.” Amanda grasped her reality: the kidnapping in the Yucatan and the showdown in her Chicago condo merely accounted for rounds one and two. Unless she inflicted a total knockout, the fight had just begun. She grabbed a change of clothing and headed for the bathroom. “I have to gain control of the situation, and I can’t do it here. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Amanda appreciated Lauren’s selection of attire—and the bathroom’s handicapped railings. The sweats didn’t constrict Amanda’s bruised and swollen legs and derriere. Each movement met pain, but finally she donned enough clothing to avoid arrest for indecent exposure.

She threw her stuff into the overnight bag and eased on her coat. “Let’s go.”

Lauren and Terry flanked her as they hurried down the hall. Amanda’s techie-team-turned-bodyguards. Her stomach fluttered as a familiar face came into view, running toward her.

Cooper. She hadn’t prepared to see him so soon. After hightailing it out of Portland once she witnessed his reunion with his wife and kids, she realized she didn’t belong in his life…and yet she couldn’t imagine an existence without him.

“Amanda—thank God—you’re okay,” Cooper said. “I saw the police and…” He scanned Amanda and her makeshift entourage. “Are they releasing you already?”

“They tried to kill Matt, Cooper. It’s not over, it’s just begun.”

Acknowledgments

I began this
book when I hit a wall on another that I had toiled over for many years. Through the writing of both, I developed wonderful friendships and amassed an impressive team of mentors. I can’t name them all, but these folks deserve special mention.

Thank you to my writing partner, Anne Rud Miller, who saw me through hundreds of pages, and hours of character and plot discussions.

Thank you to my dear friend Katharine Kendall for her support and invaluable feedback throughout this effort.

Thank you to my instructors over the years: Marilyn Atlas, Bridget Birdsall, Marshall Cook, Bob Curry, Laurel Mills, Laurie Scheer, Kathy Steffen, Tim Storm, Laurel Yourke, and my toughest critic and biggest supporter, Christine DeSmet.

Thank you to my fellow master class students for their advice: Shannon Anderson, Jennifer Bal, Cheryl Crabb, Lana Douglas, Mercy Loomis, Andrea Ross, EK Schnabel, Kelly Unger, Jessica Vitalis, and Cheryl Woodson.

A big thank you to my beta readers for their insights: Julia Borchardt Rasmussen, Mike Faber, Susan McIntosh, Sharon Luebke, Rosemary Trasser, Anne, Kay, Andrea, and, of course, my mom.

My deepest gratitude to Toni Kroeplin for her beautiful cover design.

A thank you to my family and coworkers for putting up with me as I wrote and edited
Tourist Trapped.

Thank you to randall “Jay” andrews for his inspiration and guidance over the past year. No one could have a better editor.

A special thank-you to my father—who is nothing like Don Sloane! Dad helped me keep the weeds at bay and the house from falling down while I finished the novel. Thanks, Dad!

And, finally, I want to thank you. I am honored that you carved time out of your busy life to read
Tourist Trapped.
I hope you relished every moment of your romp through the Yucatán with Amanda and Chad.

I have a favor to ask: before you begin your next reading adventure, would you take a few moments and share your thoughts through an online review?

If you want to keep tabs on Amanda and Chad’s next escapade, please bookmark
www.kjklemme.com
for future updates, to sign up for quarterly emails, or to leave comments. I’d love to hear from you!

Thank you!

Karlie