The White Mountain: A Romantic Thriller

By Tiffany C. Johnson

A fast-paced Romance Thriller with suspense, mystery, and passion.

Helen Roberts moves to a new town under witness protection after testifying in a drug trial that sentenced her former husband, Nathan Jackson, to life imprisonment. As Nathan was taken away, he swore that he would find her and kill her.

 

Now, in the little town of Telluride, close to the snowy mountains that Helen always wanted to visit with her parents, she has finally begun to live her life the way she wanted. With the help of a handsome Iraqi war veteran, Nick Harris, she manages to conquer some of her fears and starts feeling happy again.

 

But how long will this happiness last?

 

Nathan's escape from prison puts Helen on edge again. Will she and Nick be able to figure out where Nathan is headed before he gets there so that the feds can take him back into custody? And will Helen ever tell Nick what he has come to mean to her? Will she tell him how she has longed for him since the day they met? 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ocean Light Publishing
• Release date: Mar 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201662042

Book preview

Prologue

Helen Roberts sat on a bench at the back of the courtroom and watched the man in the stand as he placed his hand on the holy book and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He was built like an ox, to say the least. Standing up on that platform, his tall and stocky physique had him towering over the guard who held the Bible. His dark eyes were cold and emotionless and his lips were curved in a sort of smirk. Helen watched as he sat down and a lawyer proceeded to speak. She remembered the day, two years ago or so, when she had stood across the room from him, dressed in a beautiful white gown, fresh flowers in her hair, and slowly walked down the aisle to say I do. She was in the prime of her life, working for a major newspaper as their head investigative journalist. She had the smarts, talent, and insight for the job. She could see through people’s lies almost immediately and knew exactly how to squeeze out the truth. There was no fooling her. At least, that’s what she used to think. Nathan Jackson was not who she thought he was.

She had filed for divorce after the first time he hit her, but he had so many of the cops and lawyers in his pocket that nobody seemed to take her seriously. One day, when she had packed her bags and was ready to leave for good, he beat her unconscious and when she woke, he made it clear that the only way she was leaving was in death. I guess he was wrong about that, Helen thought as she watched the man who made her life hell, in his orange overalls and chains.

After a drunken night out following some bad business decisions and a loss in profits, Nathan came home one morning looking to pick a fight and landed Helen in hospital for about three weeks. She had a split jaw, three broken ribs, a concussion, internal bleeding, a broken leg, and a fractured arm. It was at this time that a young woman claiming to work for the FBI visited her and left her card. Helen didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but she had a feeling that this was a way out of her miserable life. She called the woman when her jaw was finally healed enough not to hurt when she talked, and set up a meeting at a local café the day after she was discharged from hospital. It turned out that Nathan Jackson was a well-known drug lord who supplied to the dealers in the better half of the country. His so-called customers that would regularly visit or sometimes stay over, who he told his wife were business associates in the construction industry, were drug dealers, mules, handlers, and his wholesale team. Helen almost felt relieved that she did not bring a child into this unhappy life.

Now, here was the man who had broken her, sitting on that stage and thinking about how all the evidence they had was circumstantial. Worst case scenario, he would be held for another couple of days before the feds would have to release him for lack of substantial evidence. Wrong.

I’d like to call my first witness to the stand, your honor. The state prosecutor turned and faced the back of the room before motioning for the witness to come forth. Helen stood slowly, her mouth dry and her knees shaking, and began to walk down the aisle. As she walked past her husband, the look of surprise, terror, and fury in his eyes just then would haunt her dreams to come.

Chapter 1

Helen got out of the Jeep and looked up and down Porter Street. The house was situated at the end of the cul-de-sac, the perfect vantage point for any kind of intrusion or foul play. It was a pretty house; the white picket fences on the edge of the lawn looked freshly painted and it took a few blinks for Helen’s eyes to adjust to the brightness of them in the sunshine. Rhett Warren, the FBI agent in charge of getting Helen settled in, unlatched the gate and led the way. The cobblestone pathway led directly from the pedestrian gate to the front door and the yard looked well maintained. The lawn was mowed, the trees were pruned neatly and the hedges underneath the bay window straight ahead were shaped like little lollipops.

As they walked down the path, Helen looked to the right where the main driveway was situated. The driveway went right to the back of the house, from what she could see, and the beginning was just an opening in the fence.

Is there any way we could have the entrance to the driveway gated? Helen asked nervously, looking at how exposed that side of the yard was. And maybe just raise the fence a little while we’re at it, she continued, now turning to Rhett who had already made it to the front door.

Helen, Rhett began, compassion in his eyes as he walked back to where Helen stood, Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea. It’s been a long road getting here, but I can assure you, this is the safest place you could ever be. Rhett was a 59-year-old African American with one of those raspy voices and formal overtones, but still a sense of kindness in his demeanor. From what Helen could tell, he always dressed formally. Every time they had met, Rhett had worn a three-piece suit with a tie and a top hat, like a jazz musician who would sit at those shoe-shining booths in the olden days and read the newspaper. The man was as tall as a basketball player and as sturdy as an old racehorse.

Tea sounds nice, replied Helen, as Rhett led her into the entryway of her new home.

The house was simply beautiful. As Helen entered her gaze was drawn to the high ceilings and crystal chandelier in the entryway. The hazel-brown wooden floors covered with a maroon and cream Persian runner, that ran the length of the hallway, gave the house a sense of warmth and coziness. She took off her shoes and felt the softness of the runner under her toes. She hadn’t done this in what seemed like forever. When she was younger, her mother would tell her that if she ever felt stressed or scared, she should take off her shoes and scrunch her toes over the soft rug in the living room and just soak up what true happiness felt like. She smiled to herself at the thought of her mother. It had only been about two years since her parents had died in a tragic car accident on their way home from dinner one night.

Rhett led Helen into the kitchen where he put the kettle to boil on the stove as he opened each cupboard to show her where everything was.

And finally, Rhett said with enthusiasm, this is the pantry, stocked with everything you would ever need. He opened the door to the pantry and looked in, then began calling out what he could see.

You’ve got pasta and canned beans and peanut butter and roasted almonds and oh, my, my, my, He said as he stepped in and disappeared from view. You’ve got some fancy Jamaican coffee beans. I’ve got to have a look at the budget for these places. He brought the beans out of the pantry and placed