Beyond Reason

Book 1: Texas Trilogy

by Kat Martin

Genres: Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

"I love her books!" --Linda Lael Miller New York Times bestselling author

Kat Martin raises chills as danger stalks a woman determined to make it in a man's world...

Five weeks ago Carly Drake stood at her grandfather's grave. Now she's burying Drake Trucking's top driver, and the cops have no leads on the hijacking or murder. Faced with bankruptcy, phone threats and the fear of failure, Carly has to team up with the last man she wants to owe-Lincoln Cain. Cain is magnetic, powerful, controlling-and hiding more than one secret. He promised Carly's granddad he'd protect her. The old man took a chance on him when he was nothing but a kid with a record, and now he's the multi-millionaire owner of a rival firm. But Linc's money can't protect Carly from the men who'll do anything to shut her down, or the secrets behind Drake Trucking. If she won't sell out, the only way to keep her safe is to keep her close...and fight like hell.

Release date: May 30, 2017

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Iron Springs, Texas

For the second time since her return to Iron Springs, Carly Drake stood in a graveyard. On the opposite side of the coffin, between rows of granite headstones, the Hernandez family huddled together, a wife weeping for her husband, children crying for their father.

Carly bowed her head, her heart aching for the loss of a man she had known only briefly. With her grandfather’s recent passing, she understood the pain Miguel’s family was suffering. Joe Drake, the man who had raised her, the only father Carly had ever known, had died just five weeks ago.

But unlike a heart that had simply worn itself out, Miguel Hernandez, Grandpa Joe’s number-one driver, had been shot in the head, the criminals who had committed the truck hijacking still on the loose.

In the weeks since her grandfather’s death, Carly had been doing her best to run Drake Trucking, to keep the company afloat and its employees’ checks paid. She was putting in twelve-hour days, but Miguel had been killed on her watch and Carly felt responsible.

The harsh Texas wind kicked up, whipping blades of grass in front of the casket draped with a blanket of bloodred roses. The end of September weather was fickle, hot and humid one day, rainy and overcast the next. Strands of heavy blond hair tore free from the tight bun at the nape of her neck. As Carly smoothed the strands back into place, her gaze paused on a man at the far edge of the mourners, a head taller than the men in Miguel’s Hispanic family, taller than most of the truckers or any other man in the crowd, big and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair, and a strikingly handsome face.

Carly leaned over and spoke quietly to the woman beside her, Brittany Haworth, a willowy brunette who had been her best friend in high school. As if it had been just days instead of years, their friendship had resumed the day Carly had returned to Iron Springs.

“The man across from us . . .” Carly said. “The tall one? He was also at Grandpa Joe’s funeral. I remember him going through the line to pay his respects, but I was hurting so much I barely paid attention. Do you know who he is?”

Brittany looked surprised. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t recognize him? Obviously you don’t read the gossip rags. He’s in the newspapers all the time. That’s Lincoln Cain. You know, the multimillionaire?”

Carly’s gaze swung across the casket on the mound above the grave to the big man in the perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. “That’s Cain?”

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes swung to hers, remained steady on her face. Carly couldn’t seem to look away. There was power in that bold, probing stare. She could actually feel her pulse accelerate. “So what’s Cain doing in Iron Springs?”

“He owns a ranch here. He was born close by—Pleasant Hill, I think. He left to make his fortune, came back a few years ago megarich. It’s a fascinating story. You’ll have to Google him sometime.”

“I still don’t understand why he was at Joe’s funeral, or why he’s here today.”

“For one thing, he was one of Joe’s competitors. Texas American Transportation is one of the biggest trucking companies in the world.”

She nodded. “Tex/Am Transport. I know that, but—”

“Cain credits Joe Drake as one of the people who put him on the path to success. The Iron Springs Gazette published a couple of articles about him and Joe.”

Guilt swept over her. She’d been gone so much. Off to college at the U. of Texas in Austin ten years ago, which her grandfather had paid for, then a job in Houston as a flight attendant.

She had always wanted to see the world, so instead of coming home to help Grandpa Joe, she’d gone to work for Delta. She’d been transferred here and there, worked out of New York for a while, come back to Iron Springs a couple of times a year, but her visits never lasted more than a few days before she was gone again, flying somewhere else, off on another adventure.

Six weeks ago, she’d quit her job, given up her apartment in San Francisco where she had been based, and come home to stay. Joe’s heart condition had worsened. She’d started worrying about him, decided to come back and help him run Drake Trucking, take over some of the responsibilities, and lessen the stress he was under.

She’d only been in Iron Springs a week when Joe had suffered a massive heart attack. He’d died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. By the time she’d received the call, rushed out of the office, and driven like a maniac to Iron Springs Memorial, Joe was gone.

She hadn’t been there for him when he needed her.

Just as she had so many times before, Carly had failed him.

“Carly . . .”

She glanced up at the sound of Brittany’s voice. The service had ended. The mourners were breaking up, people walking away.

“He’s coming over,” Britt whispered. “Lincoln Cain.”

Carly honed in on him, at least six-five, a man impossible to miss. She straightened as he approached.

“Ms. Drake? I’m Lincoln Cain.” He extended a big hand, and as she set hers in it, felt a warm, comforting spread of heat. Since being comforted only made her feel like crying, she eased her hand away.

“We met briefly at your grandfather’s service,” Cain said, “but I doubt you recall.”

His eyes were green, she realized. The color of money, she thought, with gold flecks in the center. He had a slight cleft in his chin and a jaw that looked carved in stone. “Yes, I remember seeing you there. I don’t recall much else. It was a very bad day.”

“Yes, it was.”

She turned. “This is my friend, Brittany Haworth.”

He made a faint nod of his head. “Ms. Haworth.”

“Nice to meet you,” Britt said. She’d always been shy. The way she was looking at Cain, as if the year’s sexiest man alive had just dropped by for a visit, Carly was surprised her friend was able to speak.

Cain’s gaze returned to Carly. “I realize how difficult it must be, going through all of this again so soon. Once more you have my condolences.”

“Thank you. It’s been difficult. But my grandfather lived a long, full life. I can only imagine how terrible this is for Miguel’s family.”

A muscle in Cain’s jaw tightened. “Maybe catching his killer will ease some of their pain.”

“You think they will?”

“Someone will.”

There was something in the way he said it. Surely he didn’t intend to involve himself in catching the men who’d murdered Miguel.

“I didn’t realize you were a friend of my grandfather’s.”

His features relaxed as if a fond memory had surfaced. “Joe Drake was a good man. One of the best. He gave me my first job. Did you know that?”

Her eyes burned. That sounded so like Joe. Never a hand-out but always a hand-up whenever one was needed. “I wasn’t around much after I got out of high school. I should have come home more often. You’ll never know how much I regret that.”

His expression shifted, became unreadable. “We all do things we regret.” Up close he was even better looking than she had first thought, his dark hair cut a little shorter on the sides, narrow brackets beside his mouth that only appeared once in a while, not dimples, but something more subtle, more intriguing. “Your grandfather loved you very much.”

A lump swelled in her throat. She had loved him, too. She’d never realized how little time they would have. “Thank you for saying that.” She needed to leave. She was going to cry and she didn’t want to do that in front of Cain. “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to say good-bye to Miguel’s wife, Conchita, before we go.”

He nodded. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. After Joe died, I waited. I wanted to give you time to grieve, but after what happened to Miguel, it can’t wait any longer.”

She tried to imagine what Cain wanted. Something to do with Joe, she thought. “All right. You can reach me at the office. I’m there every day.”

“I know the number. I’ll be in touch.”

She watched as he turned and walked away, wide shoulders, narrow hips, long powerful legs striding across the grass as if he had something important to do. What could one of the wealthiest men in Texas possibly want to talk to her about?

Carly watched as Cain slid into the back of a shiny black stretch limo waiting for him at the edge of the graveyard.

“I wonder what he wants,” Brittany said, voicing Carly’s thoughts.

“He’s in the transportation business, so it must have something to do with Drake Trucking.”

“You’re probably right. But Tex/Am Transport is only a small part of his company. Cain owns half of Texas American Enterprises, which means it could be anything. Or maybe it’s something personal, something to do with your grandfather.”

“Maybe. I guess I’ll find out.” Carly started making her way through the tombstones. Up ahead, Conchita Hernandez and the rest of Miguel’s family stood on the church steps, accepting condolences. Carly squared her shoulders and kept walking.

She wasn’t what he had imagined. Oh, she was as pretty as the pictures her grandfather had proudly shown him: late twenties, taller than average, with big blue eyes and wavy golden blond hair past her shoulders. Joe had shown him a photo of her playing volleyball on the beach so he knew what she looked like in a bikini, knew she had a dynamite figure.

She didn’t seem concerned with her appearance the way he’d expected. He thought she’d be more aloof, more self-absorbed. He hadn’t expected her to be grieving her grandfather so deeply.

He’d been sure he wouldn’t like her. Not the young woman who had accepted so much and returned so little.

And yet as he had watched her with Miguel’s family, as he read her sorrow, the depth of her concern, he had been surprisingly moved. She felt responsible in some way for her employee’s death. She blamed herself, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

Linc had made a vow to her grandfather. He’d promised Joe Drake he would look after Carly, make sure she was okay. Linc planned to keep that vow. And the best way he could take care of Carly was to send her packing—before she ended up as dead as Miguel Hernandez.

Carly turned the corner and pulled up to the curb in the white F-150 pickup she was driving. DRAKE TRUCKING gleamed in dark blue letters on the doors, along with the logo of a stylized male duck in flight—a drake.

“Thanks for the ride.” Britt cracked open her door.

“Thanks for going with me.”

“Miguel was a really nice guy. I can’t believe someone killed him.”

Sadness rolled over her. Such a senseless murder. Why hadn’t Miguel cooperated with the hijackers? A piece of equipment, no matter how valuable, wasn’t worth his life. Or maybe he’d given them what they wanted and they had murdered him anyway. Maybe they were just cold-blooded killers.

“I’m calling Sheriff Howler as soon as I get back to the office,” Carly said. “I need to see if he’s made any progress on the case.”

“I hope they catch whoever did it.”

Carly hoped they sent the bastards straight to hell, but she didn’t say that. “So do I.”

“You want to come in, have a glass of iced tea or something?” Brittany asked.

“I need to get back. I’ve got a ton of work to do.” Including writing paychecks. Not easy when you had to juggle accounts, borrow from Peter to pay Paul, try to keep all of the balls in the air so none of the checks would bounce.

“Okay, I’ll call you later.” Britt slammed the pickup door, turned and headed up the sidewalk to the front door of the small gray brick house she rented. It had a white picket fence, white shuttered windows, and a perfectly tended lawn. Flower beds overflowed with yellow and purple pansies.

Britt was a homebody, always had been. As a substitute teacher at Iron Springs Elementary, her dream was to marry and have a family. So far that hadn’t happened.

After a five-year engagement, Britt had come home early to find her fiancé—what was the legal term?—in flagrante delicto with the voluptuous neighbor who lived down the block.

Britt had been devastated, but Carly hadn’t been all that surprised. Being a flight attendant, she had met and dated men from all over the world. In her experience, guys were fun for a while, but as soon as you fell in love with one, he was gone, looking for another conquest.

Britt might seem as if she’d weathered the heartbreak, but inside she was still hurting. Carly wasn’t sure how long it would take her tender heart to mend.

It wasn’t going to happen to her—not again. She’d been engaged two times. Both had ended in disaster when the man she thought loved her had found someone to replace her.

For the last several months, she’d been taking a break from men. She’d had enough disappointment to last a lifetime. She wasn’t ready to jump into the dating world again.

One look at Brittany told her she had made the right decision. Add to that, the fact she had inherited her grandfather’s trucking firm, a fleet of fifteen Peterbilt tractor trucks and an assortment of trailers. With a company that grossed in the millions each year and employed twenty-eight people, she didn’t have time to date.

Thinking of the afternoon ahead and the pile of work she faced, Carly pulled the pickup onto Highway 67 and headed back to Drake Trucking.

Returning to his office in Dallas, Linc loosened his tie as he stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor of Tex/Am’s corporate headquarters building, a six-story, mirrored glass structure on the North Central Expressway.

The receptionist, Leslie Bingham, sat behind a sleek teakwood desk that matched the low wooden tables in the contemporary seating area. The smooth, rust-grained wood posed a warm contrast to the nubby texture of the oatmeal fabric on the sofa and chairs.

Linc walked past the desk, heading for his private office.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cain.”

He smiled absently, his mind still back in Iron Springs. “Afternoon, Les.”

She smiled in return, a perky, freckle-faced redhead in her late twenties with a pleasant disposition and plenty of ambition, just what he liked in an employee.

There were only two offices on the top floor of the building, his and that of his partner, Beau Reese. Each of them had a personal assistant who worked in a private area behind the receptionist desk. Staff worked in cubicles nearby, serving both him and Beau.

Linc waved at Mildred Whitelaw, a brunette in her early forties who was one of his most valuable employees, the lady who had kept him organized and on track since he and Beau had first started building the company.

He pulled open the door leading into his private office and walked inside, his gaze going to the wall of windows that wrapped around the room and looked over the busy Dallas streets.

The teakwood theme he had personally chosen for the executive floor continued in here, though the sofa and chairs were caramel leather instead of fabric.

Linc stripped off the black suit coat he had worn to Miguel Hernandez’s funeral, draped it over the valet along the wall, sat down behind his desk, and went to work. He had a four o’clock conference call with the mayor of Ruidoso regarding a road construction project in New Mexico on Highway 48 north of the city. The job was just getting started. He didn’t want any glitches so he needed to be prepared.

He picked up the file Millie had set on his desk, but instead of flipping it open, his mind went back to his graveside encounter with Carly Drake. He hit the intercom button.

“Millie, I need you to set up a meeting with Carly Drake at Drake Trucking. Tomorrow would be best. Whatever time works in my schedule, but the sooner the better.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Millie said.

Linc turned back to the file, but his thoughts strayed again to the pretty little blue-eyed blonde, Joe Drake’s granddaughter. She wasn’t a slender woman, not overly buxom, either. She had more than enough curves to look feminine, but there was something solid about her that gave the impression of strength.

He remembered the first heart attack Joe had suffered. Linc had gone to the hospital to see him, been surprised at how frail the tough old man had looked. Lying in that hospital bed, Joe had stared at his mortality and faced it head on, the way he did everything else.

He had asked Linc a favor that day, as he had never done before, asked that if something happened to him, Linc would look after his granddaughter, make sure Carly was okay.

Joe didn’t give his trust lightly and Linc didn’t make promises he didn’t intend to keep. The day Joe had died, Carly Drake had become his responsibility.

He owed Joe Drake more than he could ever repay. This last small favor was the least he could do.

Carly sat behind the metal desk in Grandpa Joe’s office, a plain twelve-by-fourteen-foot room off an open area out front where the scheduling, record-keeping, and customer service took place.

Attached to the building in a big metal warehouse, there was a truck service department that held replacement and repair parts: tires, batteries, oil, fluids, and anything else a big eighteen-wheeler might need, as well as a maintenance bay where the mechanics did the actual work on the rigs. A huge asphalt yard, surrounded by a chain-link fence, faced the road out in front.

Carly studied the computer screen on her desk, going over account records, scrolling down one column after another, trying to find enough money to pay the employees their two-week checks.

When she’d arrived in Texas, she’d had no idea the terrible financial straits Drake Trucking was in. Joe had been a successful businessman all his life. He’d run the company with a firm hand and an eye on every dollar.

But apparently his bad health had taken its toll. He’d been so busy with doctor visits and trips in and out of the hospital that the business had gone downhill. And though he had been on Medicare, there were still outstanding medical bills that had to be paid.

Having only been in Texas a week when Joe died, Carly hadn’t had nearly enough time to figure out what was going on and start trying to solve the problem. Not enough time to save Drake Trucking or her grandfather.

A familiar deep pang reminded her of the loss of the man who had raised her. She should have come back sooner. If she had been there, she could have relieved some of Joe’s stress. She could have made sure he was taking his meds, that he kept his medical appointments. Maybe he would have lived a few more years.

Carly shoved the guilt away. She didn’t have time for that now. She had responsibilities, people to worry about, a company to run.

Late in the afternoon, by holding off on some of the utility bills, some of the suppliers’ invoices, a bill from Joe’s attorney, Willard Speers, for settling Joe’s estate, and a lot of miscellaneous debts she didn’t yet understand, she managed to round up enough to make payroll and had all the checks written.

Tomorrow she would get on the phone and start making cold calls, see if she could stir up some business. She’d do whatever it took to make the company profitable again.

She had failed her grandfather before.

No matter how hard she had to work, Carly wasn’t going to fail him again.

A quick knock sounded and the door swung open. It was Donna Melendez, a Latina who had been Joe’s office manager for years. Donna was in her fifties, with long black hair turning silver and the kind of work ethic money alone couldn’t buy.

“I just got a call from Texas American. Lincoln Cain’s secretary wants to make an appointment.”

Carly thought of their meeting at the cemetery. Cain’s tall, broad-shouldered build and amazing face popped into her head, and a trickle of warmth spread through her.

Recognizing that warmth as attraction, she firmly tamped it down. She wasn’t interested in Cain or any other man. At least not now or anytime in the near future. “I saw him at the funeral. He said he wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time.”

“He didn’t look like a man who wastes time.”

Donna chuckled. “I put him down for two P.M. I told his secretary I’d call her back if that was a problem.”

“Two is fine.” That would give her all morning to make calls and spend a little more time going over the books. There was a lot she didn’t understand about running this business—way too much she needed to learn.

As a teenager, she’d spent hours after school and on weekends with Joe at the yard and she had picked up a lot. The summer of her eighteenth birthday, he had taught her to drive a big rig, which had been a thrill, though she had never left the field they pretended was a road.

Back then Joe had wanted her to work with him, maybe take over the business after he was gone. At the time she hadn’t been interested in staying in Iron Springs. But years had passed; things had changed.

The phone rang. Joe’s direct line. When she pressed the receiver against her ear, the voice of Emmett Howler, Sheriff of Howler County, came through the earpiece.

“Sheriff Howler, I appreciate your returning my call,” Carly said.

“No problem, little lady. I know you’re worried about catching the men who killed your employee. We all are.”

Little lady. The words grated on her feminist nerves. She didn’t mind the ma’am, a respectful term used by half the South, but little lady was pushing it, as far as Carly was concerned.

“So there’s still no sign of the men who murdered Miguel Hernandez?” she asked.

“No, missy, there sure ain’t. But the department’s on top of it. We’ll find ’em sooner or later.”

“What about the truck and trailer?” It was insured, of course, but there was a steep deductible, which at the moment she couldn’t afford to pay. There’d be one less big rig in the fleet for a while.

“No sign of it. Like I said, we’re on it. I’ll be sure to let you know if anything new turns up.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Carly hung up the phone. If anything new turns up. So far the cops didn’t have squat, just a plausible theory based on a .45 caliber bullet wound at the back of Miguel’s head and the disappearance of the truck and semi-trailer it was hauling.

The door swung open again and Donna stuck her head in, her stick-straight, silver-streaked black hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. “So what did the sheriff have to say?”

It wasn’t really Donna’s business. Carly definitely needed to set some rules—or what the hell, maybe not. Before he’d gotten sick, Joe had been extremely successful. He treated the company like one big family. She’d stick with his tried-and-true methods for awhile.

“So far, Howler has come up with a big fat zero. There’s not a lot of crime out here. I think he’s in over his head.”

“Too bad the murder happened in the county.” Which was the sheriff’s jurisdiction. “Oh, Gordy asked if he could have tomorrow off to take care of some personal business. What do you think?”

Her shop foreman had worked for Joe for twenty years; he was the man who helped her keep things moving along.

“He’s been a real trooper. A day off shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay, then.” Donna swung the door closed and went back to work.

Carly returned to scanning the computer screen. How had her grandfather lost track of his finances so badly? She began scrolling through old accounting files. She needed to go through every month of the past year. If she still didn’t have an answer, she’d keep going back month by month until she did.

With a sigh, she went back to work.

The pilot landed one of two Tex/Am Bell helicopters on the pad outside the main house at Blackland Ranch, Linc’s property north and east of Iron Springs. The rotors slowed, but didn’t completely stop spinning.

“Have a good weekend, Mr. C,” the pilot said.

Linc slid open the heavy door. “You, too, Dillon. I’ll see you next week.” Jumping out of the chopper onto the asphalt, Linc kept his head low as he ran toward the palatial mansion.

Fifteen thousand square feet constructed entirely of stone, the house stood more than two stories tall, with arched, paned windows and formally landscaped grounds broken only by the long ribbon of driveway leading up from the road.

Linc hated the place.

A monument to extravagant bad taste, the mansion had been designed by his ex-wife, the former Holly Springer, a Miss America beauty pageant finalist. Linc loved the ranch, had hoped that building Holly a house would convince her to spend more time at the 2,500-acre property that was his personal retreat.

The house had taken two and a half years to finish—just six months shy of their three-year, completely unsuccessful marriage.

Linc didn’t bother to go inside, just skirted the house to the seven-car garage, passing one of the gardeners in a floppy-brimmed straw hat along the way. Linc waved and Pedro waved back.

Standing in front of the gray stone garage that matched the house, he punched in the code to bay number three and waited for the door to slide up. A black, fully loaded, extended-cab Sierra Denali 2500 GMC pickup gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open garage door.

Linc tossed his briefcase into the backseat, opened the driver’s door, slid in behind the wheel, and fired up the big diesel V-8 engine. He didn’t want to be late for his two o’clock meeting with Carly Drake.

It was Friday. After the meeting, he planned to work the weekend from the ranch, which he did as often as he could.

Linc hit the gas and headed for the Drake Trucking yard at the edge of town, not too far away. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, only that he’d let Carly know her problems were solved.

Linc was sure she would be grateful.

Sitting behind the desk, Carly pressed the phone against her ear.

“You’ve always been a loyal customer, Mr. Jensen. But I’ve been going over the freight contracts for the last few months and I don’t find any recent deliveries for Jensen Manufacturing. If there’s been some sort of problem, I’d certainly like to get to the bottom of it.”

“The freight hauling business is highly competitive,” Mr. Jensen said. “I found cheaper prices somewhere else, that’s all.”

“Was the service as good? Because you know you can count on Drake to get your products delivered on time and in excellent condition.”

“Times are tough, Ms. Drake—”

“Carly, please.”

“Like I said, Carly, times are tough. I had to make a decision and I couldn’t get hold of Joe.”

“Well, I’m here now and available whenever you need me. And we’ll match whatever terms you got on your last contract.”

Silence fell. Carly closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.

“I feel bad about Joe. He was a really good guy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ve got a couple of loads coming up the first of the month. We’ll see if Drake can do as good a job without Joe as it used to do when he was there.”

Carly grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Jensen. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” The line went dead and Carly leaned back in her chair. Her hands were shaking and she was perspiring. The ceiling fan rotated above her. She lifted her hair up off the back of her neck to catch the breeze, took a deep breath, and slowly released it.

She had made calls all morning and again after lunch. Jensen Manufacturing was her first real success.

She glanced at the clock. Crap, it was almost time for her two o’clock appointment. She’d hoped to have a chance to run back to the house and change into something more profes. . .