Special Agent's Surrender

Carla Cassidy

About the Author

CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books. 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. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Special Agent’s

Surrender

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Chapter 1

It had been another long, quiet day at the real estate office. In the current economy nobody was buying or selling property in the small town of Black Rock, Kansas.

Layla West shuffled her feet beneath her desk, seeking her newest pair of navy sling-back heels. If there was one thing in the world that Layla loved it was shoes. There was also the fact that she’d been left with an inheritance that allowed her to remain calm despite the fact she hadn’t made a sale in a month.

With high heels in place, she rose from the desk and grabbed her coffee mug. As she carried it into the back room where there was a bathroom, she noted that darkness had fallen outside.

At least it hadn’t snowed yet, she thought as she dumped the last of the tepid coffee down the sink. Early-December often brought winter weather to the small prairie town.

Coffee mug rinsed, she returned to the front office and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. It was time to get home to her cat, Mr. Whiskers, the only male who seemed content to stick around with her for the long run.

With her coat around her shoulders and her purse in her hand, she locked up the office and stepped outside. She looked around to make sure nobody was lurking nearby and then headed down the street where her car was parked against the curb.

She’d stayed late in hopes that somebody might call, and because she’d been reluctant to go home where lately the silence, the loneliness, had begun to press in around her.

The streets were deserted, most of the stores having closed not long before. She picked up her pace, uncomfortable with being out alone after dark.

She noticed that the streetlight above where she’d parked had burned out and made a mental note to mention it to Sheriff Tom Grayson. The candy cane decorations hanging from all the streetlights reminded her that it was time to get her little fake Christmas tree out of its box and go wild with all her other seasonal decorations. She loved Christmas and always went nuts decorating her house.

Eager to get inside and get the heat blowing, she started to open the car door and realized she’d left her cell phone on her desk in the office.

“Nobody is going to call you,” she muttered aloud. Besides, she had a landline at home if anyone really wanted to get in touch with her.

Deciding to get the cell phone in the morning when she returned to work, she quickly unlocked the car, slid in and punched her key into the ignition.

Before she could turn the key an arm snaked around the back of the seat and against her neck. A scream tried to escape her as the arm applied pressure to her throat.

For a moment she thought it was some kind of a weird joke, an old boyfriend trying to scare her, a friend playing a prank, but that momentary thought fled as the pressure on her throat increased, cutting off her airflow.

Wildly, she glanced at the rearview mirror, but realized it had been flipped up so she couldn’t see who was in her backseat, who was trying to choke her.

Her first instinct was to grab at the arm, to scratch and claw in an effort to get free. A searing fear gutted her as she thrashed against the seat. Her head pressed against the headrest as the arm tightened; her attacker did not make a sound as he squeezed the air from her lungs.

This isn’t a joke, her mind screamed as her vision was narrowed by encroaching darkness. The candy cane decoration hanging from the nearest streetlight began to blur and fade as first tears, then stars danced in front of her eyes.

She tried to scream again, but it came out only as a strangled sob. He was going to kill her. He wa