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  She tried to pull away, but his hands kept a firm grip on her hands. Her head remained downcast.

  “Look at me, Rachel,” he ordered.

  Her hair, left in a loose braid, swung over one shoulder, leaving her nape bare.

  Stryker looked down at the vulnerable strip of flesh. Skin like soft pink silk that never saw the light of day. He felt her tension under his fingertips and knew he was the cause of it. But he knew if he backed down now he would never learn the truth about her past.

  “Look at me,” he said gently.

  Her face glanced upward. Only the slight trembling of her lower lip betrayed her inner turmoil as she stared back with eyes resembling dark purple pansies. Her cheeks betrayed a faint pink flush.

  Could ghosts blush? Or cry?

  After the Midnight Hour

  LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

  Books by Linda Randall Wisdom

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  No More Secrets #640

  No More Mister Nice Guy #741

  In Memory’s Shadow #782

  A Stranger Is Watching #879

  Mirror, Mirror #1049

  Small-Town Secrets #1131

  Roses After Midnight #1235

  After the Midnight Hour #1367

  Silhouette Romance

  Dancer in the Shadows #49

  Fourteen Karat Beauty #95

  Bright Tomorrow #132

  Dreams from the Past #166

  Snow Queen #241

  Silhouette Special Edition

  A Man with Doubts #27

  Unspoken Past #74

  Island Rogue #160

  Business as Usual #190

  A World of Their Own #220

  LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

  grew up never imagining being anything other than a writer. In high school, her journalism instructor encouraged her fiction writing, but in college, her journalism adviser told her she wouldn’t get anywhere in fiction writing while women were needed in the newspaper field. She wasn’t totally derailed, just delayed for a while until the day she wrote her first two novels, Dancer in the Shadows and Fourteen Karat Beauty, which she sold to Silhouette Romance on her wedding anniversary in 1979. From that day on, she never looked back.

  She lives in Southern California with her husband, a spoiled rotten terrier/Chihuahua mix named Bogie, who’s also on her Web site, four parrots, five Siamese fighting fish and a tortoise named Florence. All of her pets have shown up in her books. She also likes to include at least one true incident in each book. Many of them have come from friends and prove that truth is stranger than fiction!

  She can be contacted through her Web site www.occrwa.com/lindawisdom.

  Many thanks to my editor, Susan Litman, who keeps me on track, understands my insane moments or at least pretends to .

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Prologue

  “You’re doing it again, Stryker.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are!”

  “I’m just standing here having a drink!”

  “Dammit, you’ve got your cop face on! What are you trying to do, put me out of business?”

  Detective Jared Stryker pulled off the bar towel that had just been thrown at his face and dropped it on the bar. His expression was about as innocent as any bad boy’s could be. Which meant he didn’t look innocent at all.

  “Darlin’, I can’t help looking like what I am.” He rested his forearms on the bar’s scarred surface. A half-empty bottle of beer sat in front of him. Since it had been sitting there for the past hour, it was obvious he wasn’t there to drink.

  A gray haze hovered over the pool tables, proof that no one obeyed the no-smoking laws in this place. That was why Jared liked The Renegade. A longtime biker bar, it didn’t serve frou-frou drinks. No candles decorated the scarred wood tables. No plants hung overhead, no Happy Hour specials and no tiny tacos and meatballs on a toothpick were offered to the clientele. If you didn’t drink beer or whiskey you didn’t belong here. And if you didn’t ride in on a badass bike, or at least own a heavy-duty pickup truck, you might as well ride on past, because tourists weren’t welcome.

  The customers were also picky about their drinking partners. Jared Stryker might have a badge that declared him a cop—not one of their favorite types—but he owned one of the baddest of the bad Harleys made, and his pedigree hadn’t allowed him to live the life of a good guy. He was grudgingly accepted.

  Jared looked more bad boy than cop, just brushing the six-foot-two-inch mark, with sun-streaked brown hair that always looked a little shaggy, and deep, golden-brown eyes that belonged on a wildcat. The comparison was appropriate, since he preferred to walk on the side of danger.

  A small scar zigzagged across one eyebrow and his nose had been broken more than once, but the imperfections only added to his appeal. Men noted he was an admirable foe, while women viewed him as the kind of man they wanted to bring home to Mom and Dad—when Mom and Dad were out of town.

  He didn’t hassle anyone for the sheer pleasure of doing it, and he didn’t abuse his authority. If you left him alone, he’d leave you alone. If you made trouble, he made sure to set you straight.

  He was also a close friend of Lea Raines, The Renegade’s owner. Rumor among the scruffy clientele had it anyone giving Jared trouble for no good reason would be banned from the bar for life. So far, no one had tested that theory, along with the one that Lea kept a loaded shotgun behind the bar alongside her trusty Louisville Slugger baseball bat. There was no doubt she would use either if necessary.

  Tonight was one of those nights where Jared wanted nothing more than to sit at the bar and enjoy his beer. A few women had broadly hinted he was more than welcome to come home with them, but he politely refused each invitation, much to their disappointment.

  “So what really brings you out here if not the ambiance?” Lea asked as she efficiently parted a bottle from its cap and slid it down the bar to a waiting customer.

  Jared hesitated before he picked up his beer and finished it. “It’s my birthday, Lea.”

  Her eyes widened in pretend shock at his muttered announcement. “Really? And to think I thought that watch I gave you was for my birthday.”

  “You think you’re such a smart-ass.”

  “Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black.” She took his now empty bottle and set a new one in front of him. “You’re cut off after this one, lover. So tell me what else is bothering you besides being a year older.”

  He looked off into the distance as he confided, “Trust me, your watch was better received than the damn card my old man sent me.”

  Lea winced. She was familiar with Jared’s history of being raised by an abusive parent. The only good thing that could be said about his father was that the man spent more time in prison than out. “Don’t tell me. He signed it ‘Love, Dad.’”

  Dark golden-brown eyes narrowed with emotion Jared normally kept tamped down. He had no fond memories of his father and he would have been happier if he never heard from the man again.

  “Maybe he wants me to know he’s still in one piece? I don’t know. Maybe he’s feeling his age or got religion or something. He thinks sending me a card will make it all better.”

  “We both know that won’t happen. He’s not getting out of there, babe,” she gently reminded him.

  Jared looked off
toward the pool tables that were set along one end of the tavern behind the small dance floor. He studied one man with dirty blond hair who wore old, faded jeans ripped at the knee and a black T-shirt that strained over a massive chest and bulging biceps. Fancy steel tips decorated the toes of his boots. Jared swore he could have been looking at his father fifteen years ago. Damn. More memories he didn’t need. Some nights his shoulder ached from injuries his old man had inflicted.

  He should have stayed home.

  He would have preferred to sit at the bar and get roaring drunk. But since he knew Lea wouldn’t let him use alcohol as balm as his father did it wasn’t going to happen. Besides, he’d learned the hard way that alcohol only caused pain. Usually, his own.

  Did his old man seriously think that Jared would forgive and forget his cruel treatment after all these years? The elder Stryker was in Pelican Bay for life because his temper had got out of hand and he’d beaten a man to death. After more than ten years he wanted to make amends. Jared didn’t see it happening.

  He considered it pure luck he wasn’t sitting in the next cell.

  “Jared?” He felt cool fingertips on his arm. He looked up to see Lea’s look of concern. He managed a brief smile.

  “I’m okay, babe.” He reached for his jacket, which lay on the stool next to him, and shrugged it on.

  She didn’t look convinced. “Maybe you should stay here tonight. It’s raining pretty hard out there. Mud and Harleys don’t always go well together.”

  He knew the invitation was for the guest room, not to share her bed. He also knew she never invited a man to stay over. He wasn’t the only one with issues.

  Jared took a quick glance around the room. “Any reason why you want me to stick around?” he asked in a low voice, wondering if something was going on he wasn’t aware of.

  Lea shook her head. “No one’s gotten out of hand lately. And the only thing I’ve heard are some rumors there might be a new meth lab nearby, but I haven’t heard anything concrete. They’re usually pretty careful about saying anything around me.” Her rules about no drugs sold or consumed on the property were as strict as the ones she held for no fighting.

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. A couple of county deputies had shut down that one lab a couple months ago. It’s about time for another one to start up. As for gettin’ home, don’t worry. It’s not the first time I’ve ridden home in the rain. Since I moved into the house I don’t have as far to ride than if I had to go all the way into Sierra Vista.” He leaned over the bar and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for the watch.”

  “So you’re doing it? You’re really moving into the house?”

  Jared nodded. “Tonight will be my first night staying there. I’m taking my vacation time to put the place into shape now that the plumbing and wiring is up to code. I’ll just be up the road about five miles or so. We’ll practically be neighbors,” he joked.

  “He’s never coming back, you know,” she repeated as he started to leave. “The judge put him in there for life, with no possibility of parole. He’ll die in there.”

  Jared didn’t show any reaction to her words. He’d walled himself off years ago when it came to the son of a bitch who’d fathered him.

  He stepped outside of the building and stood for a moment, breathing in the clean night air that smelled of more rain coming.

  It appeared to have stopped for the time being. He hoped it would hold off until he arrived home. Nothing worse than riding a motorcycle in the rain, where one slip on the road could do serious damage to a man’s bike, not to mention his body. He sidestepped puddles as he headed for his wheels. “Whoever said it never rains in California never lived up this way,” he muttered.

  Jared was so deep in thought he didn’t sense he wasn’t alone until it was too late. Before he could react, something connected with the back of his head and he fell to his knees. Nothing more than sheer willpower kept him conscious.

  “Keep him down,” a rough voice ordered as a booted foot planted itself in the vicinity of his right kidney.

  Jared swore out loud and lashed out at his attackers, grinning when he got one of them in the crotch. But his victory was short-lived when his retaliation earned him another blow to the skull.

  His head was spinning when he was picked up and thrown into the back of a van, which took off the moment the door was slammed shut, tires spinning in the mud. After that, his existence was nothing more than punches and kicks from what felt like ten men, but was probably only two or three. He absently noted a familiar chemical smell in addition to the usual smell of unwashed male, beer and cigarette smoke.

  These guys were definitely not leaders of the community.

  What seemed like hours later the van stopped and he was carried into a building. He could barely see out one swollen eye, but he instantly recognized the surroundings.

  Happy birthday to me, floated through his mind before blackness took over.

  Chapter 1

  The crippling pain working its way through his body was unrelenting. He couldn’t understand how it had happened. For years he’d managed to avoid too much damage to his person. He was no longer ten, and his abusive old man was spending the rest of his miserable life in prison. He was in the habit of stalking danger, not attracting it.

  Jared opened his eyes a mere slit and discovered dawn was just breaking.

  “Okay, Doc, you can just put me out of my misery now,” he groaned.

  “There is no way to bring a doctor here to treat your injuries.” The matter-of-fact Hispanic voice spoke words that weren’t at all soothing to his ears or to his peace of mind. “But I would not worry, señor. You seem to have a hard head that can take much. I think you will be fine.”

  “Oh hell. I feel like I’m going to die.” He immediately passed out again.

  Jared had no idea how much time went by between when the voice invaded his nightmare and the moment his eyes opened again.

  The room was growing dark—it looked as if night was just falling. Mindful of the tornado whirling inside his head, he carefully turned his neck to get a better look. A candle flickering nearby allowed him to get a better look at the woman who knelt by his side. His fuzzy brain noted that her delicate features could have graced an old-fashioned cameo.

  Now he knew he had to be dead. The woman who’d spoken to him before was older and Hispanic. He wasn’t going to complain about this hallucination one bit. She was a soothing sight to his battered self.

  The cannons from the 1812 Overture were shooting off inside his skull, his stomach felt as if it wanted to empty its contents, and last but not least, his jaw and chest throbbed with almost unbearable pain. Just another typical night in the life of Jared Stryker.

  He peered through the dim light to study his Florence Nightingale. He guessed her to be in her early-to mid-twenties, with dark brown hair coiled neatly on top of her head. Her delicate features formed a face so beautiful that just looking at her made him feel better than any amount of aspirin could have accomplished. Even with the muzzy sensation going on inside his head, he couldn’t help wondering why she was wearing a heavy cotton dress with one of those bustle things on her lower back. She looked as if she had just come from the local Frontier Days celebration, except the western-style festival wasn’t for another two months. But the dress did show off a slender figure and looked as if it was the same deep purple color as her eyes. Delicate lace edging the cuffs and collar was the only hint of femininity to the severe tailoring that clothed the slight form. He also noticed that her big eyes appeared to hold a great deal of sorrow for one so young.

  He coughed, then winced as the grinding pain squeezed his ribs and stole his breath away. It took him a few minutes to think coherently again. “What happened…?”

  “Some men left you here. I gather you were beaten,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, nice of them, wasn’t it?” he rasped. “Especially since they were the ones who did the beating.”

  Her expression c
hanged from one of concern to one of alarm. “I know they were rough when they handled you, but I had no idea they were the guilty ones.”

  “Not something they’d admit to just anyone, I’m sure.” He looked up at her because he couldn’t imagine looking at anything prettier. “They didn’t see you, did they?” He knew if they had she wouldn’t be here with him, but he still felt the need to ask.

  She shook her head. “They were swift in leaving here.”

  “Good thing they didn’t try anything with you. I would have had to whip their asses if they had.” He winced as he tried to shift position. She shook her head and immediately reached down to help him.

  A light exotic fragrance teased his nostrils as she drew closer.

  “So tell me, beautiful angel, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Shh.” She laid her hand on his brow. “You must stay quiet. You need to rest. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

  He tried to smile at the idea of this sprite of a woman assuring him he was safe, but he could feel fatigue start to take over. He wanted to tell her that, no offense, but he doubted she could protect a fly. As for the word safe, his vocabulary didn’t include it. But he couldn’t find fault with her suggestion about the resting part. Not when sleep seemed like an excellent idea. He felt the gentle touch of her hand, cool and soft on his brow. He closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep.

  The next time Jared opened his eyes the pinkish-gray light of dawn was shining through the dirty windows, depositing faint bars of light across the dusty floor. Before he tried moving a muscle, he took a mental inventory of his injuries and decided he’d live, after all. He felt a few twinges, but no severe pain that meant something serious was going on. He didn’t need to look around to know the room was empty except for him.