A Night Without End

  The king-size bed was big enough to hold them both.

  Carlie saw no reason for either of them to spend an uncomfortable night.

  She sat up and slipped her hand into his. “We’ll both sleep in the bedroom.”

  Sean’s eyes went wide. “But you don’t remember me.”

  “I won’t put you out of your bed.”

  “I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  Carlie refused to believe he wanted her to leave him alone. Although Sean seemed to be a lone wolf, fit and capable of taking care of himself, she wanted to help him ease his grief.

  “Even if I can’t remember our wedding vows, we are husband and wife.”

  Sean took her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Let me get this straight. You want to share my bed tonight.…”

  Dear Intrigue Reader,

  A brand-new year, the launch of a new millennium, a new cover look—and another exciting lineup of pulse-pounding romance and exhilarating suspense from Harlequin Intrigue!

  This month, Amanda Stevens gives new meaning to the phrase “men in uniform” with her new trilogy, GALLAGHER JUSTICE, about a family of Chicago cops. They’re tough, tender and totally to die for. Detective John Gallagher draws first blood in The Littlest Witness (#549).

  If you’ve never been Captured by a Sheikh (#550), you don’t know what you’re missing! Veteran romance novelist Jacqueline Diamond takes you on a magic carpet ride you’ll never forget, when a sheikh comes to claim his son, a baby he’s never even seen.

  Wouldn’t you just love to wake up and have the sexiest man you’ve ever seen take you and your unborn child into his protection? Well, Harlequin Intrigue author Dani Sinclair does just that when she revisits FOOLS POINT. My Baby, My Love (#551) is the second story set in the Maryland town Dani created in her Harlequin Intrigue book For His Daughter (#539).

  Susan Kearney rounds out the month with a trip to the wildest American frontier—Alaska. A Night Without End (#552) is another installment in the Harlequin Intrigue bestselling amnesia promotion A MEMORY AWAY.…This time a woman wakes to find herself in a remote land in the arms of a sexy stranger who claims to be her husband.

  And this is just the beginning! We at Harlequin Intrigue are committed to keeping you on the edge of your seat. Thank you for your enthusiastic support.

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Associate Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

  A Night Without End

  Susan Kearney

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Susan Kearney likes suspense-packed romance with an unforgettable twist. She’s also more than fond of feisty heroines and heroes with soft hearts and hard heads. Sue lives in Florida with her husband, two children and two Boston terriers.

  Books by Susan Kearney

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  340—TARA’S CHILD

  378—A BABY TO LOVE

  410—LULLABY DECEPTION

  428—SWEET DECEPTION

  456—DECEIVING DADDY

  478—PRIORITY MALE

  552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Carlie Myers—A policewoman whose murky memory couldn’t call up the previous two years. She’s determined to discover her past so she can have a future.

  Sean McCabe—An educated man who is just as experienced in a rough mining camp, a sophisticated boardroom or the bedroom. Sean claims he’s Carlie’s husband. So why does he seem like a stranger?

  Jackson McCabe—The murder victim and Sean McCabe’s adopted father. Jackson was a back woodsman with a heart big enough to take in a homeless boy.

  Roger McCabe—Jackson’s angry and grieving brother. But is Roger really grieving or does he have something to gain by his brother’s death?

  Ian Finley—A rich banker with a stake in Sean’s mine. He’s prosperous and has his finger on the pulse of the small mining town.

  Tyler—Were his dreams of gold a delusion? Caught between boyhood and manhood, Tyler has a propensity for showing up at the scene of a crime.

  Marvin—A gambler always ready to play his hand. With a poker face and a flashing gold tooth, Marvin stands back and watches events unfold—with seemingly no reason to commit murder.

  Sally—Jackson’s lady friend who is ready to move on. Did she really love Jackson or was it his money she wanted?

  For Angela Catalano, my editor,

  whose invaluable help is very much appreciated.

  And for B.C., who gives excellent advice. Thank you.

  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

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prologue

  “Did I hear right? Did you say Alaska?” Carlie Myer propped one hip against the kitchen counter, twisted the phone cord and tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

  Her husband, Bill, preoccupied and even more secretive than usual, hadn’t been himself lately, but now his former bubbling enthusiasm returned to his voice and came in loud and clear from his car’s cell phone. “I want to show you Chikosh Pass in summertime.”

  Perhaps she’d let him talk her into going on an Alaskan vacation, after all. Besides, relief from the tropical heat of August in Tampa, Florida might not be so bad.

  If she didn’t know better, from the way he described Alaska, she’d have thought he longed for his old job back. He was practically crooning into the telephone with his husky bedroom voice that he knew she had difficulty refusing. “You haven’t lived until you’ve kayaked blue glacial rivers and climbed Mount Kiska—”

  “You know I don’t like the cold.” Or the wilderness. She was a city girl, born and bred in the Sunshine State. And nothing relaxed her better than Florida sun, palm trees swishing in a seventy-five-degree breeze and the aroma of suntan oil on a white-sand beach.

  “Come on, Carlie. It’ll be romantic. The aurora borealis is unbelievable at night.”

  “So are the mosquitoes that suck a human being dry in half an hour—”

  “Think of camping with the scent of spruce in your hair. Fresh salmon baked the way you like it—”

  “What about grizzlies?”

  Even if she accompanied him to Fairbanks, his intention to revisit his old haunts raised issues she preferred to forget. He made the trip sound so sentimental and appealing, but he had almost died in those frigid mountains he loved.

  “You can sleep with your gun under the pillow,” Bill teased.

  In spite of her suspicions, Carlie allowed a smile to surface. A seven-year veteran of the Tampa Police Department, she considered her sidearm as necessary as most women did a tube of lipstick. However, on their wedding night, Bill had insisted he wasn’t sharing her with a .357 Magnum and urged her to leave the weapon on her nightstand—a small compromise she’d made after the happiness he’d given her. That she was considering a trip to practically the North Pole was a testament to how much she loved him.

  Every so often she had to remind herself that even the best marriage required compromises. If he wanted to return to Alaska, she’d go along with his request, but not before making one of her own.

  “This is strictly a vacation, right?”

  “And what else would it be? I’m a happily married man.”

  The thought of running into one of his old girlfriends was the least of her worries. And he knew it.

  “No digging into unsolved cases?” she asked. Bill had worked for Customs in Alaska before he’d received a promotion and transferred to Florida. And he was damned secretive about his work. For all she knew he was still on the same case that had almost taken his life. Fear curdled in her gut. “Promise me, you’ve put the past behind you.”

  “Now, honey, we’re just taking a little visit, and I may check out a few things. You aren’t going to lose me. There’s nothing to fear—”

  Through the receiver, car horns blared in her ear. Metal screeched. Glass shattered.

  “Bill? Bill! Talk to me, damn it.”

  His car phone went dead.

  “God, no. Please, please, please don’t do this to me.”

  With frantic fingers, she redialed his number, but the call wouldn’t go through. Pain and panic slammed into her. Numbly, she tried the police department next.

  But she didn’t need anyone to tell her he was dead. Every cell in her body shuddered as the special connection they had shared was brutally severed.

  He was gone. She would never again see his warm smile, never again hear his husky laughter or feel the comfort of his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking, but the gesture did nothing to halt the tears raging down her cheeks or the shivers crawling over her soul.

  Bill was gone.

  And deep in her heart she knew the fear had just begun.

  Chapter One

  Fifteen months later

  The herd of elk spooked, taking off on a mad run, and, on the alert, Sean McCabe instantly froze. He read danger in the Alaskan bush easily, rapidly and expertly. While many Alaskans were at home in the woods, his senses were more acute than most, and years in these mountains had endowed him with almost a sixth sense. His ears picked up not just normal animal activity—but the lack of noi
se. An arctic warbler in the willow thicket had ceased to sing.

  Sean did not move, all senses keenly focused. The abnormal stillness spoke to him. In the bush, game could be frightened by an angered grizzly, an approaching storm, a forest fire or an imminent earthquake. But he didn’t see any bear signs, didn’t smell smoke, and though he expected snow within hours, the sky remained blue and clear. Still, his neck prickled with an acute perception of danger and he shifted his stance with vigilant caution.

  Well aware wildlife could sense vibrations in the ground long before people felt an earthquake, Sean dumped his heavy backpack of supplies and sprinted toward the Dog Mush Mine. If a tremor were to hit, he might have only moments to warn Jackson, who was most likely prospecting deep in the cave and unaware of the unusual stillness on the mountain.

  A Sitka black-tailed deer bolted past Sean into a stand of white spruce and disappeared behind a hummock. A woodchuck dived for its burrow while a snowshoe hare bounded through the gooseberry bushes. Forcing his feet faster along the steep, well-trod trail, he redoubled his effort to reach his partner. And friend.

  Jackson was family, the father he’d never had. Twenty years ago when Sean had been a lost and lonely eight-year-old brat, he’d run away from the very thought of a foster home, and the old prospector had taken him in. At first he’d been afraid of the miner, but he soon learned Jackson’s gruff exterior hid a heart of melted gold nuggets. He’d taken in a hungry and defiant boy, fed him and educated him, given him the tools to make a living.

  An eagle wheeled in the sky with a cacophony of cries. With a primal caution, Sean rounded the last bend in the trail, his boots pounding the hard-packed dirt. A bone-chilling gust pummeled him, but as he dashed into the mine past Jackson’s bivouac site, the sheer rock pinnacle cut the wind. An eerie stillness made the hairs on the back of Sean’s hands stand on end.

  “Jackson! Get out! You hear me, there’s an—”

  Sean skidded to a halt. In the dim light of the mine, two bodies lay in the dirt. He had no trouble spotting Jackson’s yellow Arctic parka.

  “Jackson? You okay?”

  Heart jackhammering, Sean reached out and touched the old prospector’s neck, searching for a pulse. His body still warm, Jackson didn’t let out so much as a moan. Sean couldn’t find any reassuring evidence of a heartbeat.

  No!

  He leaned over Jackson, desperate for a sign that he still lived, straining for the slightest whisper of a breath.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

  Gently Sean turned the man over. Blood drenched the yellow jacket, soaked into the dirt. And now he knew what had spooked the game.

  Death.

  No! Not Jackson. Not the man who meant the world to him. It couldn’t be true.

  A gaping wound and fresh blood on Jackson’s chest indicated that the old prospector had been stabbed just minutes ago. Sean’s vision clouded with a red rage. Spinning on his heel, he slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the pain in his knuckles, wishing it took his mind off the agony of his loss.

  Sean barely glanced at the second body. That Jackson had killed his attacker didn’t satisfy him.

  Jackson was the only father Sean had ever known. Unrelated by blood yet bonded by their love of this wild land, the willful boy and the crotchety old prospector had made a family. And now he was gone.

  Murdered.

  Murdered in the mine he loved.

  Jackson’s open eyes were frozen in surprise, horror and pain. The look of a man betrayed.

  Sean ached to take out his grief and frustration with his fists. Instead, he ruthlessly quashed his anger, sank onto the floor and cradled his adoptive father’s head on his lap. Rocking, Sean smoothed back Jackson’s hair, gently closed his eyes.

  He couldn’t be dead.

  But Sean couldn’t deny the truth of the cooling body in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, old man. I should have been here sooner. I should have been here when you needed me most.” His eyes filled with tears. He could say no more. Just sat in the cold, rocking Jackson, feeling his warmth slip away and his body grow cold.

  Finally, Sean stood on legs grown numb and floated a blanket over the body. Authorities needed to be notified. He pushed his choking grief deep inside and reached for the walkie-talkie clipped onto his belt.

  He pressed the talk button, cleared his throat to make the words come out. “Sean to base.”

  “Marvin here,” answered the radio operator.

  “I’m at the Dog Mush. Jackson’s dead.”

  “Come again. Did you say dead?”

  “Murdered.” The word tasted bitter in Sean’s mouth.

  “I’m sorry. Real sorry. I liked that old man.”

  Jackson and Marvin had played poker every Friday night for years. Was Sean imagining the voice choked with tears coming over the radio or did they have poor reception?

  “Any sign of who killed him?”

  “Looks like Jackson took out the other guy before he died. Send up a couple of men with sleds for the bodies.”

  “Roger that. Anything else?”

  “Notify the authorities in Fairbanks.”

  “Will do. Base out.”

  Sean’s attention turned from Jackson to the smaller man who lay unmoving on his back in the dirt, the bloody knife still in his hand. Who was he? He faced away from Sean and a hood partially covered his face, and Sean didn’t recognize the pea-green jacket or the barely broken-in boots. Perhaps his pockets held identification.

  Sean knelt beside the murderer, wishing he was still alive—so he could slam a fist into his face, close his hands around his throat and kill him again. If his thoughts were vicious and primitive, at least they were honest. He’d spent eight years in the civilized east, learning that an Italian suit and tie could hide men as vicious and deadly as grizzlies. He preferred the uncrowded mountains, the unpolluted air and the sweat equity of his rough-hewn log cabin to the greedy and callous life in the big cities.

  He liked to think of these mountains as pristine and uncontaminated by humanity’s cruelties, a place where man could coexist with nature, not destroy it. Now murder had come to his own neck of the woods, staining the land with a good man’s blood.

  And he could do no more than take Jackson’s murderer to the authorities. While leaving the killer’s body on the mountain for carrion to feed on held a certain appeal, Sean knew the police would need to identify the attacker. But with snow coming, it might be days before anyone in an official capacity could reach the town. Once the weather socked in the remote mountain town of Kesky, the only transportation in or out was by dogsled.

  Before he changed his mind and left the body to rot, Sean snaked out his hand toward the murderer’s front pocket. What he’d assumed was a corpse snapped to a sitting position, yelled and swiped the knife at his gut.

  Sean cursed and with a hunter’s reflexes jerked aside, tumbling away from the weapon. While shock and grief had dulled Sean’s senses, Jackson’s murderer must have been gathering strength and waiting for the opportunity to attack. Sean had broken up enough fights among the miners to know this man was skilled in how to wield a knife or he would stab the weapon—not slice it. Off balance, Sean took a moment longer than he would have liked to recover and scramble upright.

  Prepared and agile but unsteady on his feet, his opponent stood and shifted the knife to his right hand. In the dim light, the bloody weapon appeared almost black. The sneaky little bastard was threatening him with the same weapon he had used to murder Jackson.

  Relishing his jacked-up senses, Sean felt his adrenaline pump. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, grasping for the attacker’s wrist, grappling for control of the weapon. One quick twist of the captured wrist and the murderer dropped the knife to the dirt and would have spun away if not for Sean’s tight grip.

  With his free hand, the man reached into the pea-green jacket, no doubt intent on retrieving another weapon. Like hell would Sean allow that sneaky maneuver. He twisted the surprisingly delicate wrist harder, drawing a grunt of distress.

  And received a sharp kick to his shin, an elbow jammed into the ribs. Sean ignored the biting pain. With grim determination, he hung on, using his superior strength and weight to wrestle the other man to the ground.