Desperate Intentions

  He lost his family, but he might save another

  Troy Anderson has steered clear of other people since tragedy changed the trajectory of his life. But when Eliza Burke and her children move in next door, he’s unable to ignore the sweet family—especially when it becomes clear there’s more to the house Eliza inherited than anyone suspected. As Troy and Eliza dig up the past, they’ll have to face things they both hoped would stay buried.

  “Let’s see what we can find out about Mitchell Martinson. Oh, good. He’s on social media, too.”

  She pulled up the site and then gasped in obvious horror and pulled her fingers off the keyboard. “That’s Max.” Her voice trembled as her face paled.

  Troy looked at the photo of the scruffy dark-haired man and then gazed back at Eliza. “Max who?” he asked in confusion.

  “Max... He was the man who came here earlier and pretended to be from the power company.”

  The man had pretended to be an electrical technician to get into the house. Why? They had to figure out what the hell was going on. All of a sudden he didn’t smell Eliza’s enchanting scent or feel the warmth of her body close to his.

  All he felt at the moment was a tight twist of his gut as a dark cloud of danger descended over her.

  Desperate Intentions

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Carla Cassidy

  Carla Cassidy is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author who has written more than 120 novels for Harlequin. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write.

  Books by Carla Cassidy

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Scene of the Crime

  Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas

  Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon

  Scene of the Crime: Widow Creek

  Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

  Scene of the Crime: Black Creek

  Scene of the Crime: Deadman’s Bluff

  Scene of the Crime: Return to Bachelor Moon

  Scene of the Crime: Return to Mystic Lake

  Scene of the Crime: Baton Rouge

  Scene of the Crime: Killer Cove

  Scene of the Crime: Who Killed Shelly Sinclair?

  Scene of the Crime: Means and Motive

  Desperate Strangers

  Desperate Intentions

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  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Eliza Burke—Single mother of two children who doesn’t realize the danger she’s in.

  Troy Anderson—Had the murder of his daughter turned him into a monster?

  Leon Decker—A man with a grudge who has promised to destroy Eliza’s life.

  Max Sampson—Was he just an odd utility worker or somebody far more dangerous?

  Frank Malone—Had the dead mobster left Eliza a haunted house? Or was there something more dangerous than ghosts in the house?

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Do-or-Die Bridesmaid by Julie Miller

  Prologue

  He dug the grave deep...and deeper still, not wanting anyone to ever find it. The moonlight overhead was bright, but at one o’clock in the morning in his own backyard he wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing him.

  Troy Anderson leaned against the shovel handle and swiped the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes. Even though it was the middle of the night, the heat was relentless. August in Kansas City always brought high temperatures and thick humidity.

  He stared down into the deep hole he had dug, his emotions curiously numb. The man was dead, setting into motion a plot to murder another man...a man whose death Troy had dreamed about and had yearned for, for a thousand nights.

  This was what he’d wanted for three long years. So why didn’t a delirious happiness fill him? Why didn’t a wild anticipation thrum inside him? The man who had destroyed his life and stolen his happiness now had an expiration date, and all that Troy felt was numb.

  He swiped his forehead once again and got back to shoveling the hard dirt. His T-shirt clung to his chest and the latex gloves he wore smothered the skin of his hands. He couldn’t wait to get them off.

  When he had the hole dug deep enough for his satisfaction, he turned and grabbed the white plastic grocer’s bag on the ground next to him. He pulled out the gun inside and held it for several long minutes in his hand.

  It was the weapon he was supposed to use on this night to kill a man named Steven Winthrop. Troy had never met Winthrop, but he knew the man was responsible for the rape and murder of a woman who had just been doing her job in showing a home to a prospective buyer. Winthrop had beat the system and walked away a free man, even though everyone had known he was guilty.

  Troy had tossed and turned the night before with the knowledge that he intended to take a man’s life. He intended to commit cold-blooded murder. But it was the only path to the vigilante justice he needed...that he wanted so badly.

  He’d awakened that morning with murder in mind only to open the daily newspaper and discover that Steven Winthrop had been murdered the night before. According to the report, the man’s throat had been sliced open in his bedroom.

  So Troy would not be required to commit murder for the plan to continue. He had no idea who had owned or used this particular gun before it had appeared in his mailbox with instructions as to the date and time to kill Winthrop. He had no idea how many other murders the gun might be tied to. The serial numbers had been scratched off, but he knew there were now ways and technologies to retrieve the number. He had to get rid of it, and this was the only way he knew how. He dropped the gun into the hole and then shoveled dirt over the top.

  He buried the weapon and when he was finished, once again he leaned on the shovel and fought against a bone-deep weariness. He needed to take a long shower and then go to bed. He needed the sweet oblivion of sleep to quiet the demons in his head.

  He straightened up and his gaze swept to his neighbor’s big three-story house. He froze. Silhouetted in a second-floor window was somebody. Somebody watching him...somebody who had seen him bury the gun.

  Chapter One

  “Mommy, I want to wear my pink shoes but I can’t find them,” Katie called from her upstairs bedroom.

  “The school bus is going to be here in five minutes. I don’t care what color shoes you wear, but you must have shoes on both feet.” Eliza Burke drew in a deep breath to find patience.

  Every morning for the past week since school had started, it was the same chaotic scramble to get both her children on separate school buses. Her daughter, Katie, went to second grade at one school, and her son, Sammy, went on a little yellow bus to the Kansas City school for the blind.

  “Katie,” she called up the stairs. “We have to go.” She turned to Sammy, who sat at the kitchen table. “I swear, your sister is going to make me old before my time.”

  Sammy giggled. “But we still love her.”

  “Yes, we still love her,” Eliza agreed.

  “I’m coming,” Katie called. Her footsteps rang out as she came down the stairs. She appeared in the kitchen, a blue shoe on one foot and a pink one on the other. “Shoes on both feet,” she proclaimed proudly. Eliza sighed.

  “Grab your lunch bags and let’s head to the bus stop,” she said. “We don’t want to miss the buses.”

  Together the three of them left the house. Sammy held her arm more for comfort than for guidance. He had astounded her with his quick acclimation to the new house and neighborhood.

  An edge of grief swept through her as his hand warmed her forearm. Sammy had the most beautiful blue eyes with stunning dark lashes, but something had gone wrong and he’d been born without sight. Still, he was smart as a whip and a very happy child.

  Katie was her seven-year-old drama queen. She loved fashion and all things with bling. She also loved her younger brother with a fierce intensity. There was only one year between the two and they were very close.

  They had just reached the bus stop a block away from the house when Katie’s bus rumbled to a halt before them. With kisses given, she disappeared up the stairs and onto the bus.

  Minutes later Sammy was gone as well and Eliza started the walk back home. Home. The unexpected gift of the huge three-story house had been a happy, shocking surprise that had gotten them out of the crummy apartment building where they had been living.

  It had been left to her by her ex-husband’s grandfather, a man Eliza had barely known. But it was paid off, and a month ago she and the children had moved in.

  She entered the house and went directly to the kitchen to check on the slow cooker meal she’d started an hour earlier. She could already smell the chicken and tomatoes cooking.

  She then went into the room that was now her office. It was an odd-shaped room, as many of them were in the big home. This one was a disproportional octagon.

  She grabbed a hair tie and pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail atop her head, and then sat at the desk. When Sammy was two years old her husband, Blake, had left her...had left them.

  She’d desperately needed a job and yet also needed to be home to take care of a blind child. That was when she’d begun her web design business, and thankfully it had flourished and grown to the point she was able to keep up with the bills and see that her children were well-fed and clothed.

  Of course moving into this house where there was no rent or mortgage was going to help out tremendously. Not only did she need to start saving for college for the kids, she also wanted to get Sammy a guide dog when he turned sixteen. For the first time since Blake had walked out on them she had the real hope that those things would happen.

  However, nothing was going to happen if she didn’t get down to work right now. Mentally shoving her thoughts of her children away, she opened up her email. Reading her email had become an unpleasant task since Leon Whitaker had entered her life. Today was no different. There were three emails and two texts from the man threatening to destroy her life.

  She sighed, wondering when Leon would finally move on and leave her alone. She deleted them, and at the same time her doorbell rang. She jumped up and hurried to answer.

  She opened the door to find her smoking-hot next-door neighbor standing on the porch. She hadn’t officially met him yet, but had watched him mowing his lawn on more than one occasion, his broad bare back gleaming in the sunshine.

  “Hi.” He smiled, showing teeth that were straight and white. He set down the large flowering plant he held in one arm. “I thought it was about time I came over to officially introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Troy Anderson.”

  “Hi, I’m Eliza... Eliza Burke.” She looked down at the plant. “It’s gorgeous.” Huge flowers in a beautiful shade of deep pink adorned the sturdy green stalks. She fought the impulse to reach up and do something with her messy hair.

  “It’s a peony. I thought it might look nice right there next to your porch.” He pointed to a bare spot and then looked at her expectantly.

  “What a nice thought. Uh, would you like to sit and have a cup of coffee?” She gestured to the porch swing. It would be nice to get to know her neighbor, although it would be much more comfortable if he weren’t so darned good-looking. A wild flutter of butterflies had taken wing in her chest the moment he’d first smiled at her.

  “I’d love a cup of coffee,” he replied. He stepped past her, trailing the scent of sunshine and an attractive woodsy cologne on his way to the swing.

  “Uh, I’ll be right back.” She stepped back inside and locked the door behind her. She never lost track of the fact that she was a woman living here only with her two small children.

  While Troy appeared to be a decent, law-abiding citizen, she didn’t feel comfortable enough to invite him inside, at least not yet. Still, it had been very nice of him to come over and bring the plant.

  Darn, she should have asked him if he used cream or sugar in his coffee. She placed a pod in the coffee machine and waited for it to whoosh out Colombian caffeine into the mug.

  When it was finished she hurried back outside. “I didn’t think to ask you if you wanted anything in your coffee.”

  “Black is fine,” he assured her as he took the cup from her. She sank down in a nearby wicker chair.

  “So, I’ve seen some children in your backyard,” he said.

  “Yes, Sammy and Katie.” She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she thought of her children. “Katie is seven and Sammy is six.”

  “And Mr. Burke?” His eyes were an intense blue as they held her gaze.

  “There is no Mr. Burke,” she replied, deciding to be honest. Thoughts of Blake always made her angry and sad at the same time. “What about you? Is there a Mrs. Anderson?”

  “No, I’m divorced. No wife and no children.” A darkness crept into his eyes. It was there only a moment and then vanquished by another one of his heart-stopping smiles. “So, Ms. Eliza Burke, what do you do for a living? the nosy neighbor asked.” He raised his cup to his lips and took a sip.

  “I have my own web design business,” she said. “And I assume you’re Troy Anderson as in Anderson Lawn and Landscaping. I’ve seen your truck parked in front of your house.”

  The butterflies continued to fly. What on earth was wrong with her? She hadn’t had that kind of a reaction to a man for years.

  “That’s me,” he replied. “Maybe we can trade services. I’ll take care of your lawn and you can update my website.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out.” Actually she hadn’t thought about the lawn, since right now everything was summer brown and needed no tending.

  “And I’ll be glad to plant the peony for you.”

  “That’s too kind of you,” she protested.

  “Nonsense, I brought it, so I’ll plant it. I’ll get it taken care of sometime tomorrow.” He took another sip of the coffee. “I couldn’t help but notice when you opened your door that something in there smells wonderful,” he said.

  “I’ve got chicken cacciatore in the Crock-Pot.”

  “Oh, that’s one of my favorite dishes.” Once again he appeared to be looking at her in expectation.

  “If you’d like to join us this evening we usually sit down to eat around five.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she was going to speak them.

  “That sounds great. I’d love to join you.” He took another drink of his coffee and then stood and walked toward her to hand her the cup. “I should get going, but I look forward to seeing you again this evening, Eliza. Thanks so much for the coffee and the invitation.”

  She stood and watch ed him until he disappeared into his house. Only then did she turn and go back inside. She returned to her desk and frowned thoughtfully. The short conversation had been rather strained and she felt strangely manipulated into the dinner invitation...and strangely excited at the same time.

  * * *

  TROY HEADED BACK to his house, his mind working overtime to process what he’d just learned. Eliza Burke was definitely a stunner. Her dark hair pulled up in the ponytail had showcased beautiful gray eyes and prominent cheekbones.

  But he hadn’t gone over there to check out the physical attributes of the new neighbor. He needed to find out who had stood in the upstairs window and watched him bury the gun. He now knew she didn’t have a husband, but was another adult living with her? Was there somebody else besides her and the two children in the house? Somebody who had seen what he had done?

  Worming his way into a dinner invitation had been absolutely perfect. Hopefully he’d know tonight what had been seen and by whom. In the meantime he had other concerns whirling around in his head.

  Somebody had killed Steven Winthrop and that meant somebody was playing by their own set of rules. He knew Nick Simon had encountered a similar problem and even though it was against the terms they had all set up among themselves, Troy wanted to meet with Nick.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Nick’s phone number. Nick answered on the second ring. “Nick, it’s Troy.”

  There was a long pause and Troy knew he was probably the last man on earth Nick wanted to hear from right now. “Hey,” Nick finally replied, his voice obviously strained.

  “I want to meet with you,” Troy said.

  Again a long pause followed. “Do you think it’s really necessary?”

  “I think it is,” Troy replied. “Please, Nick.”

  A deep sigh filled the line. “When?”

  “Now, if possible.”

  “I’ll meet you in thirty minutes at the usual place,” Nick said, and then hung up.