By Honor Bound Read online

  Micah had thought he knew this woman he’d been hired to protect—but she kept catching him by surprise.

  Like that moment when they’d accidentally collided, and he’d felt a quick rush of heat at her touch. That touch had disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

  He had his work cut out for him. He was going to have to stick to Prudence Street like glue until this was over.

  And if it killed him, he was going to have to put that little collision out of his mind. The thought of the way she’d felt pressed against him still grabbed him by the heart. Not a good thing when he was being paid to see to her safety.

  He’d have to remind himself, often, that he’d been hired as her bodyguard—not her lover….

  Dear Reader,

  The year is almost over, but the excitement continues here at Intimate Moments. Reader favorite Ruth Langan launches a new miniseries, THE LASSITER LAW, with By Honor Bound. Law enforcement is the Lassiter family legacy—and love is their future. Be there to see it all happen.

  Our FIRSTBORN SONS continuity is almost at an end. This month’s installment is Born in Secret, by Kylie Brant. Next month Alexandra Sellers finishes up this six-book series, which leads right into ROMANCING THE CROWN, our new twelve-book Intimate Moments continuity continuing the saga of the Montebellan royal family. THE PROTECTORS, by Beverly Barton, is one of our most popular ongoing miniseries, so don’t miss this seasonal offering, Jack’s Christmas Mission. Judith Duncan takes you back to the WIDE OPEN SPACES of Alberta, Canada, for The Renegade and the Heiress, a romantic wilderness adventure you won’t soon forget. Finish up the month with Once Forbidden… by Carla Cassidy, the latest in her miniseries THE DELANEY HEIRS, and That Kind of Girl, the second novel by exciting new talent Kim McKade.

  And in case you’d like a sneak preview of next month, our Christmas gifts to you include the above-mentioned conclusion to FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Royal, as well as Brand-New Heartache, award-winning Maggie Shayne’s latest of THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS. See you then!

  Yours,

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  By Honor Bound

  RUTH LANGAN

  Books by Ruth Langan

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  Harlequin Books

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  The Coltons: Brides of Privilege

  “Colton’s Bride”

  Harlequin Historicals

  Christmas Stories 1990

  “Christmas at Bitter Creek”

  RUTH LANGAN

  is an award-winning and bestselling author. Her books have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award. Over the years, she has given dozens of print, radio and TV interviews, including some for Good Morning America and CNN News, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as the The Wall Street Journal, Cosmopolitan and the Detroit Free Press. Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and raised.

  Bryon, this one’s for you.

  And as always, for Tom, my own special bodyguard.

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Washington, D.C., 1981

  The windows of the limousine were tinted so no one could see the occupants inside. Twelve-year-old Micah Lassiter sat on the seat facing his mother and grandfather. Sandwiched between them was his five-year-old brother, Cameron, who was staring out at the crowd with wide-eyed wonder. On either side of Micah were his ten-year-old brother, Donovan, and his eight-year-old sister, Mary Brendan.

  Nobody spoke. And except for Cameron, nobody seemed to notice the long lines of uniformed men who stood at attention as the limousine came to a halt at the curb. The door was opened, and Kate Lassiter was helped out, followed by her father-in-law, Kieran, who turned to his oldest grandson.

  “Micah, you see to your sister and brothers.”

  “Yes, sir.” Taking charge was second nature for Micah. Firmly grasping his little brother’s hand, he followed his elders up the steps of the cathedral, signaling for Bren and Donovan to follow.

  As they climbed the steps, they passed through a tunnel of dark uniforms, men who had served with their father, whose faces were familiar to them, and yet on this day, oddly different. Today there were no sly winks, no wide smiles. Instead, the faces reflected pain, sadness, even anger.

  At the entrance to the cathedral, they halted. The flag-draped casket was wheeled into position. And then, while the organ began the opening notes of a majestic hymn, they walked up the aisle, past relatives and friends, past strangers, some of them wearing shabby street garb, others honored dignitaries who had come to pay tribute to the man who had given his life for his friend and partner.

  The service for Riordan Lassiter, son, husband, father and much-decorated police sergeant, was long and somber in tone. There were endless speeches about his courage and heroism. But his twelve-year-old son Micah couldn’t keep his mind on the speakers. He found himself thinking about the man behind the badge. The handsome Irish face, with that shock of jet-black hair and eyes bluer than a summer sky. Eyes that could twinkle with humor or freeze the heart of an errant child. The silly jokes Riordan Lassiter had shared with his wife and children. Pizza at midnight, just for the fun of it. Root-beer floats in the summertime on the big front porch. He’d had a way of lightening the burden of
a young boy with just a wink and a nudge of his elbow.

  Did any of these strangers know Riordan Lassiter, the man? The man his wife, Kate, loved above all else? The man his children adored? The man every one of them wanted, more than anything in this world, to emulate?

  Some would say later that it was one of the most impressive ceremonies in a city known for its pomp and ceremony. The long, long lines of men and women in blue, filling both sides of the street for miles. The mourners trailing the casket to the cemetery under a freezing drizzle. Gunshots echoing in the frigid air as the chief of police handed the flag to Riordan Lassiter’s widow.

  But when it was over, Micah would remember one thing most clearly. His grandfather, the strong, tough ex-cop who had survived gunshots, knife wounds and a gang shoot-out that had left him with a permanent limp and an early retirement from the police force, had broken down and wept like a child. That, more than any other moment, left the young boy with the hard knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t just a bad dream. His father was truly gone. And from this day forward, Micah’s life would be forever changed.

  He bit down hard on the fear and made himself a promise. No matter what path he chose in life, it would be one of service to others. And no matter how tough the obstacles, he would stay the course until he became the sort of man that would make his father proud.

  Washington, D.C., 1998

  “Top Dog is on his way.”

  Word that the president was leaving the May-flower Hotel after his luncheon speech quickly sped through the earphones of the Secret Service.

  It was a perfect spring afternoon in the nation’s capital. Thirty-year-old Micah Lassiter allowed his gaze to sweep the crowd of excited onlookers being held back while the president walked to his waiting limousine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man stretch out his hand. Sunlight glinted off steel. Micah’s reaction was instantaneous. With his gun drawn, he shoved the president to the ground and knelt over him, taking the gunman down with a single bullet.

  All around him were the sounds of screaming and shouting. Men cursed as they issued orders in staccato voices. Unharmed, the president was rushed to his limousine, surrounded by a wall of bodyguards.

  Micah didn’t feel the pain at first. Only an odd numbness. It was then that he realized he was lying on the sidewalk. He tried to get up, but his body refused to cooperate. As he touched a hand to his chest, he felt the sticky warmth of blood and knew he’d taken the bullet meant for the president.

  “Don’t move, Micah.” Will Harding, whose prematurely white hair and military bearing gave him the look of a veteran, knelt beside his friend. “The ambulance is on the way.”

  Micah wanted to ask him about the shooter, but though his lips moved, no words came out. It occurred to Micah that the voices had begun to fade. As had the blur of faces peering down at him.

  He was vaguely aware of being moved to a gurney and lifted into the back of the ambulance. Each tiny movement brought excruciating pain.

  So this was how it felt to die. He’d always wondered just what his father had gone through. He could barely hear the sound of the sirens as they sped down the block. Everything sounded muted. As though filtered through a sea of mud.

  By the time they reached the hospital, the pain was a searing hot flame, threatening to burn away his flesh and melt his bones.

  His clothes were cut away, and doctors poked and prodded. There were questions. Too many questions. He was beyond caring about the answers now. When at last a needle was thrust into his arm, he felt himself slipping down until there was only darkness. He would welcome death if it would just end this vicious, clawing pain.

  Micah lay perfectly still, wondering at the strange sounds. Beeps, blips, and a loud whooshing, like heavy breathing. An automatic blood-pressure cuff tightened at his arm, causing his eyes to flicker, then open.

  “Praise heaven. Look, Katie girl, he’s awake.”

  Micah recognized his grandfather’s Irish brogue, and glanced over to see the old man standing beside his bed.

  On the other side were his mother, his sister, Bren, and his brother, Cameron. The only one missing was Donovan, who was rumored to be somewhere in Central America.

  “Not—” he struggled to make his mouth move “—dead, I guess.”

  “Not by a long shot, Micah my boy.” Kieran Lassiter clamped a hand over his grandson’s. “I told your mother you’re a fighter.”

  Micah saw the tears in his mother’s eyes. That hurt almost as much as the wound. “What’s…damage?”

  “You took a bullet to the chest.” Kate Lassiter forced a smile. “Obviously it missed the heart, or you wouldn’t be here talking to us.”

  “What else?” Micah looked beyond his mother to Cameron, who would, he knew, be brutally honest.

  Cam glanced at the others before saying, “You have a collapsed lung, some broken ribs, some damage to the chest and left shoulder. The doctors think you’ll be in here for a little while. You’re going to need some therapy for that shoulder. But you’ll be good as new in no time.”

  Micah closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. When he opened them, he saw the way his mother and grandfather were looking at each other. Obviously there were things they weren’t telling him yet.

  Before any of them could speak, there was a commotion outside the room, and the president, accompanied by the Secret Service, was striding toward Micah’s bed.

  The voice, so familiar to all Americans, sounded loud in the sudden silence. “I wanted to be here when you woke. Sorry I’m late.”

  Micah managed to smile, despite the pain. “You’ve got…a country to run.”

  “And thanks to you, I’m still here to run it.” The president put a hand on Micah’s shoulder. Squeezed. “I’ll never forget what you did, Micah.”

  “Just doing my job, Mr. President.”

  “I understand. But there is nothing more humbling than to know that you’re lying here in my place, Micah. For that, your president, and your country, are grateful.” He glanced over and saw one of his aides tap a finger on his watch. “I’m afraid I have to run. I want you to do whatever the doctors tell you, Micah. And when you’re out of here, I’ll find a proper way to thank you.”

  With a retirement medal, Micah thought as the darkness closed in around him. Despite the drugs that had his mind clouded, his body numbed, he was still sharp enough to understand the seriousness of his wounds.

  All the years of training, all the challenges, both mental and physical, had just come to an end with one shooter, one bullet. His dreams of spending a lifetime in service to his country as a Secret Service agent had just gone up in smoke.

  But he knew, as he lay there drowning in pain, that if he were called upon to do it again, he would. Without a moment’s hesitation.

  Chapter 1

  Chevy Chase, Maryland. Present day.

  “Micah. Get your hands out of that bowl of strawberries. They’re for dessert tonight.” Bren Lassiter rapped her brother’s knuckles with a wooden spoon.

  “I only wanted a couple.” With a devilish grin he popped a handful of juicy berries into his mouth before she could stop him.

  “That’s more than a couple. If you wanted to eat some, you should have offered to help clean them.”

  “And deny you the pleasure of your one domestic chore?”

  “That’s one more than I’ve seen you do lately. You’ve a nerve, dropping by Mom’s just in time for dinner, and always managing to leave when it’s time to clean up the kitchen.”

  “That’s right, Congresswoman. You tell him.” Cameron, their youngest brother, who lived above the garage of their mother’s big, sprawling home, ambled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, before lifting a carton of milk to his lips and chugging it down.

  “That’s disgusting.” Bren put her hands on her hips. “You’d think a man smart enough to graduate at the top of his law class would know better than to spread germs like that.”

  “Ge
rms?” Cameron lowered the carton. “Who says I have any?”

  “If that tart I saw you cuddling up with in Farrell’s last week was any indication of the type of women you’re dating lately, I’d say you have plenty of germs to worry about.”

  “At least I have someone to cuddle with, Congresswoman.” Cam stashed the milk and leaned against the refrigerator door. Ever since his sister had been elected to her first term of Congress from the state of Maryland, he’d enjoyed her new nickname. “How’s your love life lately?”

  His sister cuffed him on the side of the head hard enough to see stars. “At least I don’t put my love life on display at the neighborhood tavern.”

  “Oh, I’m betting you would. If you had a love life, that is. By the way, what’re you doing visiting here tonight? Don’t you have a committee meeting or something?”

  “That’s tomorrow night. And I thought I’d drop by so Mom wouldn’t feel outnumbered by all you sweaty jocks.”

  “Sweat’s a good thing.” Micah winked at his brother. “Women love the smell of a locker room.”

  Bren made a sound of disgust. “What kind of women have you been hanging out with?”

  “Obviously not any as interesting as Cam’s.” He leaned close to sneer. “A tart, huh?”

  Cameron gave his older brother a hard, quick shove. “Who says?”

  Micah good-naturedly shoved back. “Bren, for one.”

  Cameron’s fist shot out, catching Micah on the shoulder. “And you’d take her word over mine?”

  “As a matter of fact, I happened to be at Farrell’s and saw for myself.” Micah threw one quick punch that landed on the side of Cam’s head. “I wouldn’t exactly call her a tart. But I did think that if she sneezed, the entire tavern crowd would have seen more of her than the doctor who delivered her. Which couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen years ago, if you ask me, cradle-robber.”

  “Nobody asked you. And she’s twenty-two.” This time the punch thrown was harder, sending Micah back against the kitchen counter.

  He straightened, and was just ready to retaliate when their grandfather came bustling into the kitchen, trailed by their mother, a petite redhead who looked barely older than her daughter. In fact, with their fiery hair and pale, Irish skin, they could have been twins.