The Hero 2 - One Night With a Hero,
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//-->One Nightwith a HeroLaura KayeThis book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or areused fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.Copyright © 2012 by Laura Kaye. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form orby any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.Entangled Publishing, LLC2614 South Timberline RoadSuite 109Fort Collins, CO 80525Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visitwww.brazenbooks.com.Edited by Heather HowlandCover design by Heather HowlandISBN 978-1-62266-803-8Manufactured in the United States of AmericaFirst Edition October 2012The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarksmentioned in this work of fiction: The Godfather; June Cleaver; Red Bull; Ford; Land Rover; Target; Reddi-wip; Trojan;Macy’s; iPhone; Wi-Fi; Tylenol; Pepto-Bismol; Popsicle; Frosted Flakes; Facebook; Goldfish; Velcro; Angry Birds; Ben &Jerry’s; Mustang; Realtor; Kodak; Tootsie Roll; Power Rangers; Twilight; Toys for Tots; Jell-O ; Washington BridalShowcase.To all the everyday heroes,thank you for all you do.Thank you for acting despite your fear.Thank you for serving with no expectation of reward.Thank you for helping because it’s right.Thank you for inspiring each and every one of us.Chapter OneBrady Scott ran down the Mount Vernon trail, the breeze off the Potomac River offeringlittle relief from the late afternoon sun. The rush of blood through his ears, the rhythmicdull thud of silenced dog tags against his bare chest, the constant overhead roar ofairplanes landing at Reagan National Airport—none of it was any use. He couldn’t get thetherapist’s most recent assignment out of his head.Get closure with your father.Stationed back in the country three months with orders to get his head on straight if hewanted to go up for promotion, and it all came down to daddy issues.Son of a bitch.As if it wasn’t bad enough being forced to see a therapist. There was no makingyourself okay with the things Joseph Scott had done. Every mark Brady’s little sister,Alyssa, had worn on her skin, every tear she’d spilled in fright, every wide-eyed help megaze she’d ever thrown his way had sliced into Brady’s heart until he was certain it layshredded in his chest. He’d been old enough to fight back and defend himself, but Alyssanever stood a chance against their dad.His stomach soured and churned at the memories. If that was the shit “love” led to, hewanted no part of it, thank you very much.The trail dumped him into Old Town Alexandria, which was nicer for the shade thebuildings and trees along Union Street provided, but more challenging for the crowds ofpeople that thronged the sidewalks, and the rush of traffic that paid no heed topedestrians. Brady bit out a curse as he dodged a minivan circling for parking and crossedthe street, where the sidewalk brought him along Founders Park, a long strip of greenthat bordered Alexandria’s waterfront. The park was crowded with groups staking out realestate in the grass with lawn chairs, blankets, and coolers.Brady slowed to a jog, then to a walk as he came up behind a family pushing a stroller.“What’s going on tonight?”The father glanced at Brady’s ID tags and gave him a smile. “Labor Day fireworks atsunset.”“Oh, yeah?” He was halfway through the ten-mile trail he’d sketched out. Maybe he’dcome back down after grabbing a quick shower. Assuming he could find towels. And theshower curtain. He hadn’t exactly unpacked after moving in to his new town house lastnight. And then it had been the ass crack of dawn before he’d gotten home fromcelebrating his new digs with the guys.He was about to kick it back into a run when he saw her.A woman sitting on a blanket removed from the mass of people. Arms around herknees, chin resting on an arm, forgotten book at her side.She was all long lines and sun-kissed skin, and Brady couldn’t stop looking. Wavy darkhair twisted on top of her head. A wide-necked white shirt exposed a long column ofthroat and most of one shoulder. Crossed at the ankles, the part of her legs not coveredby the long skirt were tanned and toned.
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