The Strong, Silent Type Read online

  I’d know those eyes anywhere

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Jule McBride

  Title Page

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  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

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  I’d know those eyes anywhere

  She couldn’t wait for an ambulance.

  Gently, Alice turned over the body of the man struck by a car. Even as she probed the gash on his head, she couldn’t help but notice the silken texture of his raven hair, or that his face was devastatingly handsome. He suddenly groaned, his lush lips parting, his thick jet eyelashes fluttering. And then he opened his eyes.

  For the second time that day, everything in Alice stilled.

  She’d never seen this man. But she knew the eyes. They belonged to a man accused of murder. A man she loved. A man whose voice she’d only thought she’d heard tonight It was this man whose disappearance had filled her heart with so much terror—and whose reappearance now filled her eyes with tears.

  “Dylan,” she gasped. “My God, it’s Dylan.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  In 1993 Jule McBride’s dream came true with the publication of her debut novel, Wild Card Wedding. It received the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Series Romance. Ever since, the author has continued to pen stories that have met with strong reviews and made repeated appearances on romance bestseller lists.

  Books by Jule McBride

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  418—WED TO A STRANGER?

  HARLEQUIN LOVE & LAUGHTER

  23—WHO’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED?

  46—HOW THE WEST WAS WED

  HARLEQUIN ANTHOLOGY

  BRIDAL SHOWERS

  “Jack and Jillian’s Wedding”

  HARLEQUIN

  AMERICAN ROMANCE

  500—WILD CARD WEDDING

  519—-BABY TRAP

  546—THE WRONG WIFE?

  562—THE BABY & THE BODYGUARD

  577—BRIDE OF THE BADLANDS

  599—THE BABY MAKER

  617—THE BOUNTY HUNTER’S BABY

  636—BABY ROMEO: P.I.

  658—COLE IN MY STOCKING

  693—MISSION: MOTHERHOOD*

  699—VERDICT: PARENTHOOD*

  725—DIAGNOSIS: DADDY’

  733—AKA: MARRIAGE*

  753—SMOOCHIN* SANTA**

  757—SANTA SLEPT OVER**

  *Big Apple Babies minisertes

  **The Little Matchmaker minisertes

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  The Strong, Silent Type

  Jule McBride

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Alice Eastman—Ever the “good girl,” she will make enemies to discover the truth about the man she loves.

  Dylan Nolan—No matter his identity, he can’t disguise his love for Alice.

  Nancy Nolan—She’d take her secrets to the grave.

  Sheriff Sawyer—Judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one.

  Jan Sawyer—Hers was the only unsolved murder in Rock Canyon, Wyoming.

  Leland Lowell—The wiry cowboy was rumored to have a hair-trigger temper.

  Louie Santiago—The Bel-Air detective had no patience for small-town ways.

  Lang Devlyn—What did the aged rock icon’s death have to do with Alice and Dylan?

  Dr. Clark—He shielded many a secret behind the costly walls of Highland Home.

  Prologue

  Oleander, cinders and wet leaves.

  With the unexpected scents came a rush of queasiness, a feeling of suffocation, and Dylan Nolan stilled his steps, tilted his head and listened over the sound of his hammering heart for...

  For...

  He wasn’t sure what.

  Sometimes, when he was herding cattle in the mountains, he got this same feeling, as if a predator had been watching him a long time, waiting for the right second to pounce. Later, he’d usually discover bear or bobcat tracks on the trails. Now he simply paused, feeling uncomfortably conscious of his new jeans’ scratchy denim, the confining pull of his sports coat and the pinch of stiff black goatskin ropers; they were so unlike his broken-in work shoes, with their supple leather that molded his feet like gloves.

  Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes watchful and tried to shake off the uneasy feeling, but the quiet church hallway, with its connecting auditorium and public rooms had definitely unnerved him. It was suddenly too quiet. Eerie. Hard to believe his and Alice’s wedding reception was in full swing so close by.

  Just a dang case of nerves, Dylan assured himself, taking in the vague outline of the door to the choir’s robing room. Hell, any cowboy’d feel jittery on his wedding day, right?

  But the feeling lingered. Dylan had just changed into traveling clothes and had been racing toward the reception, anxious to get started on his and Alice’s honeymoon. Now he tightened a finger around the hanger that held his tux, letting the long transparent plastic dry-cleaning bag trail behind him. Suddenly the plastic fluttered. Had something moved? Was somebody in the choir room? Dylan listened past the sound of plastic, waiting for...

  For...

  Something bad to happen.

  For a second, he smelled something more elusively disturbing in the air than the oleander. Something metallic. Minerals or sulfur, maybe.

  Blood.

  Hairs rose on his nape.

  But no, there was only...an odd feeling of déjà vu. And what might have been a memory. Dylan envisioned a lawn, sloping to a lake rimmed by mud-caked leaves and poisonous white-flowering oleander bushes. There was a swing set facing the lake, and hanging from chain hooks, two empty swings blew back and forth over the grass. In his mind’s eye, Dylan watched them move until he could almost hear the soft, protesting groans of the unoiled chains.

  For years, this place—the lake, the swing set, the oleander—had appeared in his dreams and nightmares. But was it real? And if so, why couldn’t Dylan ever recall where exactly he’d seen it? Or when?

  Even after the scent of oleander vanished, replaced by wood polish and fresh spring air, Dylan didn’t want to move. Dammit, why was the placid lake scene he’d remembered so strangely menacing? And why would he recollect it on his wedding day? Why, at this particular moment? Was it because...

  Because...

  The memory still eluded him.

  Shrugging, Dylan shifted the tux hanger on his shoulder and started walking again. To take his mind off the unsettling thoughts, he checked his inner sports-coat pocket. “Plane tickets to Hawaii,” he murmured. “Cash, credit card...” After a moment, a fledgling smile tugged at his lips. Boy, his new father-in-law would kick Dylan’s sorry butt if he forgot something.

  So would Dylan’s mom.

  And his bride.

  The thought of Alice with her fine blond hair and grass-green eyes chased away any remaining demons. This afternoon, while Alice had calmly t
aken her wedding vows, she’d looked as untroubled as she had ten years ago when Dylan had first met her. Difference was, they weren’t teenagers anymore. They were grown now.

  And she was his wife.

  Not that the honeymoon could begin for a few more hours. Hell, before they left the truck in the airport’s long-term lot, they’d have to wash it. Too bad shaving cream would ruin the Ford’s paint job, because the Just Married sign filled Dylan with so much pride he’d just as soon leave it. He didn’t mind the spurs and beer cans tied to his bumper, either. They were a testament to the most important thing in his life—his love for Alice.

  “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. What had come over him a minute ago? He was such a worrier! He had been, ever since he was a kid. This was the best day of his life, which didn’t necessarily mean something bad was bound to happen. Why was he always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

  At least Alice wasn’t that way.

  No, there wasn’t a hint of darkness in Alice East-man, no shadows or moodiness. She was tremendously positive, which was only one of a thousand reasons Dylan loved her. Now he silently vowed, come hell or high water, he’d never bring her a speck of trouble. Ever since he was a teenager, he’d lived for the sound of her soft voice, and more recently, for the quiet precious moments they shared, the naked cuddling and whispers...

  Suddenly, his heart stuttered. There it was again! That infernal smell. Was someone here? Behind him?

  Spinning around, Dylan gasped, “Who’s—”

  But he didn’t finish. Swiftly, an unseen hand was thrust from the darkness, lifted the dry-cleaning bag and flung the plastic over Dylan’s head like a hood. A hard male body slammed against Dylan’s back, just as strong fingers clamped around his neck, holding the plastic tight and grasping the gold chain Dylan wore. The hand looped the chain, tightening it so it cut into Dylan’s flesh, stealing his breath. For a confused second, Dylan thought he was drowning in the menacing lake from his dreams. No, oh, no. It can’t be.

  But it was. Everything went black.

  Coming to, Dylan clawed at the man’s hands, at the plastic against his face. Don’t take the medallion, he wanted to say; the masculine smooth gold locket on the chain was a gift from Alice and it held her picture. But Dylan couldn’t speak; wheezing breath was suctioning the plastic bag against his lips, pulling plastic into his mouth. He gagged. He had to fight! To hurt this guy! Kill him! But the fingers of his attacker sank deeper, pressuring Dylan’s larynx while the man’s lips settled on Dylan’s plastic-covered ear.

  “Leave now or she dies.”

  Who dies? Who dies? Tell me who!

  But no words came, just more breath that pulled plastic deeper into Dylan’s mouth and brought moisture into the bag, making it fog. Don’t shut your eyes. Don’t ever shut your eyes. Keep them open or you’ll die! Behind that, came another more horrifying thought. Oh, God he’s got a knife.

  A razor-sharp blade wiggled against the plastic, flicking at the artery in Dylan’s neck. What was happening? Who would attack him in a church on his wedding day? Whose lips were pressed against his ear? Dylan strained to hear the sick, droning voice.

  “Prom night...when you got a call your mother was in the hospital in River Run? Remember how you ran out the door and couldn’t take Alice to the prom?”

  There was something so familiar about the man’s voice. Where had Dylan heard it? His mind raced, but now to the prom. It had been seven years ago when the official-sounding phone call sent him fleeing to his mother’s side. He’d been lied to. Told his mother was in a car accident, near death, and he’d rushed out...

  As the man rambled, Dylan remembered other times. The hang-up calls. The call that made him miss a football game that cost him his college scholarship... And with the recollections came the sudden, horrifying realization that this attacker might have been stalking him for years. “What do you want from me?” Dylan managed to croak through the bag.

  “To see you suffer.” The strangling hand tightened, forcing blackness to cloud Dylan’s mind again.

  “...follow you all the days of your life,” Dylan suddenly heard. “I’ll make sure you’re nothing. That you have nothing. That you come to nothing.”

  Dylan would never know what happened then. His mind snapped. Gave out. Maybe he simply passed out again, since he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, the medallion was wrenched from his neck and the knife was pressed harder to his skin.

  Just as he went limp, Dylan felt the iron grip loosen, lowering him to the floor. And he heard the man say, “Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t take your truck. Walk out of this church. Right out of your life. If you don’t, I’ll kill that pretty little wife of yours. Cut her sweet flesh into ribbons. Cut her until she bleeds like a pig. And while her blood drains, innocent little Alice will think it’s you who’s killing her, Dylan Nolan. I’ll make sure of that. Damn sure.”

  A breath pulled the plastic into his mouth again, but with no oxygen. Consciousness faded. And then everything went black again.

  Dylan felt the cold, hardwood floor against his cheek. How long had he been passed out? Was Alice still all right? Panic seized him. Everything had happened so fast; it didn’t seem real. It was insane! He glanced around. The man was gone. So was the tux. And the plastic...

  Had it really been pulled over his head, suffocating him? Reminding him of the lake in his dreams? Everything seemed so unreal, as if the attack was a nightmare. Or as if he’d dissociated from reality. Even now, he was plagued by that feeling of dislocation. He was here...and somehow not here. In the present...and yet elsewhere.

  Walk out of your life or I’ll kill her.

  Had the man really said that? In the hallway, there was no evidence of what had just happened. Not even a remnant of the plastic bag. No knife on the floor. Half crawling, Dylan managed to rise, clutching at his aching throat.

  What should I do? What should I do?

  I’ll kill that pretty little wife of yours....

  Oh, God, no!

  Blindly, Dylan staggered forward. He had to get out of here! He needed air! He could still smell what he had all his life, whenever terror filled him—poison oleander and burning leaves smoldering into ash.

  And it was a memory! The scent wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. Dylan knew that now. It was how he knew the attacker was serious about murdering Alice. Because now Dylan remembered the day he’d first noticed—really noticed—that cloying scent. He’d been a first-grader. And then, just like today, he’d been fighting, gasping for breath while a strong strangling hand was wrapped tightly around his neck.

  Chapter One

  Summer, 1986

  Thirteen-year-old Alice Eastman would always remember the first time she spoke to Dylan Nolan. Like all the other locals on the main street of Rock Canyon, Wyoming, she was watching the beat-up old Chevy angle into a spot in front of the general store.

  “Here she comes, so hush up,” Alice’s mother said to the three women crowding around the cash machine. “And, Alice, can you please hop down, honey?”

  As Alice slid off the counter, the owner of the store, Val Spencer, turned to Alice’s mother. “Are you crazy? You and your husband can’t just offer that woman a job at the ranch and let her stay in one of your guest cabins. She’s a stranger. Who knows where she and her son are really from? She told people she lost her ID cards, and I heard she still hasn’t bothered to bring the boy’s records to the high school.”

  “How can she?” said Ivory, a waitress from the truck stop. “Everybody says she’s on the run from the boy’s father. Maybe Nancy Nolan’s not even her real name.”

  Val shook her head worriedly. “You’re on the money there, Ivory. What if she’s running from some psychopath? I mean, she’s gorgeous. Maybe she was living somewhere else and she attracted some stalker...”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Alice’s mother reasonably. “And Nancy Nolan’s not running from any husband. She told me her husband died years ago when h
er son was just a baby.”

  Ivory’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “If so, any money the man left her is long gone.”

  “Judging from that ancient Chevy she’s driving,” agreed Val. “But she looks rich, doesn’t she? And her clothes are expensive. At least the older ones. Ernestine took an apple pie over to the rooming house where she’s been staying with her son—you know, just to be social—and Ernestine said the labels in her coats are all from fancy Los Angeles stores.”

  Ivory gasped. “See. She said she was from Des Moines.”

  “Maybe she lived in Des Moines and Los Angeles,” Alice’s mother said in censure. “And you mean to tell me that Ernestine actually went through that poor woman’s closet?”

  Val nodded. “Well, yes. Don’t you think it’s strange that Nancy Nolan’s car broke down here, and she just up and decides to stay? I heard she pawned a big diamond ring, too. Delmar Sorrell over at the pawnshop swore it was damn near two carats. That’s how she paid the garage for fixing the transmission on that god-awful car. I just wonder if her husband—”

  “I really don’t think she lied about having one,” interjected Alice’s mother, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Both her and her son claim the man died years ago.”

  “Well, I know,” said Val with a frown. “It’s just that...that...”

  That Nancy Nolan wasn’t the type of woman whom men left alone for very long. Even at thirteen, Alice Eastman knew that much. “She’s only thirty-four,” chimed in Alice, tossing a long, white-blond braid over her shoulder and absently running her tongue over her new braces. “At least that’s what she says. All the cowhands at the rooming house are sniffing around her, but she’s not interested.”

  Slowly, the women turned and stared at Alice. “Where on earth did you hear such a thing?” demanded her mother.

  Alice blushed. “Around.”