Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set
Author: Addison Fox; Cindy Dees; Justine Davis; Regan Black
Date: 2020-12-01 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Suspense; Fiction; Contemporary; General; Thrillers
Description: Looking for heart-racing romance and breathless suspense? Want stories filled with life-and-death situations that cause sparks to fly between adventurous, strong women and brave, powerful men? Harlequin® Romantic Suspense brings you all that and more with four new full-length titles in one collection! Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown ( A Colton 911: Grand Rapids novel ) by Addison Fox When Grand Rapid’s most beloved CSI investigator, Sadie Colton, is in danger, the only one who can protect her is Lieutenant Tripp McKellar. She’s always had a soft spot for Tripp but she treads carefully, given his
Publisher: Harlequin
Rights: Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Looking for heart-racing romance and breathless suspense? Want stories filled with life-and-death situations that cause sparks to fly between adventurous, strong women and brave, powerful men?

Harlequin® Romantic Suspense brings you all that and more with four new full-length titles in one collection!

COLTON 911: ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN (A Colton 911: Grand Rapids novel)

by Addison Fox

When Grand Rapid’s most beloved CSI investigator, Sadie Colton, is in danger, the only one who can protect her is Lieutenant Tripp McKellar. She's always had a soft spot for Tripp but she treads carefully, given his tragic past—and hers. Can she hide her feelings as the threat against her comes bearing down on them both?

COLTON IN THE LINE OF FIRE (A Coltons of Kansas novel)

by New York Times bestselling author Cindy Dees

While investigating a cold case, lab technician Yvette Colton finally tells overbearing detective Reese Carpenter to back off her work. But Reese is beginning to realize his frustration may have been hiding softer feelings toward Yvette. As the the cold case suddenly turns hot, he'll have to help manage an invisible threat and protect Yvette at all costs…

OPERATION MOUNTAIN RECOVERY (A Cutter's Code novel)

by Justine Davis

A random stop leads Brady Crenshaw, a tough, experienced deputy, to a shocking accident. As he fights to bring Ashley Jordan back from the brink of death, he discovers an even greater danger than an icy cliff. It's unclear whom exactly she needs protecting from—and how deeply Brady might be involved.

ESCAPE WITH THE NAVY SEAL (A Riley Code novel)

by USA TODAY bestselling author Regan Black

Navy SEAL Mark Riley was almost excited to finally face the man targeting his father—until an innocent civilian was taken along with him. He didn't expect to brave close confines with Charlotte Hanover—or the bond they forged together. Now he and Charlotte must escape a prison island with only their wits and his military experience to help them!

Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set

Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown

Colton in the Line of Fire

Operation Mountain Recovery

Escape with the Navy SEAL

Addison Fox

Cindy Dees

Justine Davis

Regan Black

Table of Contents

Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown
By Addison Fox

Colton in the Line of Fire
By Cindy Dees

Operation Mountain Recovery
By Justine Davis

Escape with the Navy SEAL
By Regan Black

“Get your weapon.”

Tripp turned back to the closet, pulling out his service revolver before reaching deeper inside. He pulled out an extra gun and handed it over. “You still know how to use one of these?” he screamed.

She avoided the eye roll—and was well aware it would be barely visible through the smoke anyway—and took the gun. “I’m all set.”

It was only then that the lights in the house flickered before going fully out.

Tripp’s hand on her wrist shifted, his fingers lacing with hers. “Get on the floor and stay close to me.”

In the thick, dark smoke they began to crawl for the interior of the house. It was the exact opposite choice of every instinct she possessed to get outside.

But deep down Sadie knew it was their only shot at survival.

* * *

Colton 911: Grand Rapids

Where there’s danger—and true love—around every corner…

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Grand Rapids and the intense adventure and suspense to be found with the Colton family. The Colton siblings are still reeling from their sister Sadie’s kidnapping and the hunt is on to find the CSI expert. But no one is more determined to get her back than GRPD lieutenant Tripp McKellar.

Sadie is still dealing with the fallout from a very personal discovery. She’s had a lot of time to think, spending the past month in a police safe house for protection, and she can’t stop the self-recrimination and embarrassment from sinking in. A fact that is only made worse when her ex discovers her location and kidnaps her. It’s only Tripp’s quick thinking that ultimately saves her and puts the two of them in very close proximity.

Sadie’s had feelings for the emotionally battered lieutenant for years. She’s always pushed those feelings aside, well aware Tripp’s tragic past has caused him to believe he’ll never love anyone again. But she never expects that he’s had secret feelings for her in return.

With Sadie’s kidnapping, Tripp is convinced there’s no one else who can protect her from her escalating ex-fiancé. Tripp knows he can remain professional and see to her safety, but he never counted on the deep, emotional pull of his feelings as he and Sadie spend time together.

I hope you’re enjoying Colton 911: Grand Rapids. I’ve had such fun being a part of this series and hope you enjoy Tripp and Sadie’s love story.

Best,

Addison Fox

Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown

Addison Fox

Addison Fox is a lifelong romance reader, addicted to happy-ever-afters. After discovering she found as much joy writing about romance as she did reading it, she’s never looked back. Addison lives in New York with an apartment full of books, a laptop that’s rarely out of sight and a wily beagle who keeps her running. You can find her at her home on the web at www.addisonfox.com or on Facebook (www.Facebook.com/addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox).

Books by Addison Fox

Harlequin Romantic Suspense

Colton 911: Grand Rapids

Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown

The Coltons of Mustang Valley

Deadly Colton Search

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

The Colton Sheriff

Midnight Pass, Texas

The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission

Special Ops Cowboy

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Deadly Engagement

The Coltons of Shadow Creek

Cold Case Colton

The Coltons of Texas

Colton’s Surprise Heir

Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

For April, Carley, Christine and Roxane.

Sisters of the heart. Always.

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Author’s Note

PROLOGUE

It’s called a safe house for a reason.

Sadie Colton had told herself that endlessly and she was no closer to liking it or believing the seriousness of the words. And she was sick to death of being cooped up with nothing but her awful thoughts and even worse self-recriminations.

How could she have been so stupid?

And not just sort-of-flighty-edging-toward-stupid stupid. Oh no, she was in that special league of foolishness that bordered on too ridiculously stupid to live, nullified only by the whole safe house thing.

That meant she was stuck. Physically and emotionally.

She tossed a few paperbacks into a packing box. How could she not have known? Was she so desperate for a relationship that she’d ignored every single sign her fiancé was a piece of crap? Worse, that he was the head of an entire criminal empire, a loan sharking organization called Capital X.

And she’d had no idea.

Not. One. Single. Clue.

She was a freaking crime scene investigator, for heaven’s sake. That—hello?—meant she hunted clues for a living. Clues she uncovered and then used to solve crimes with the most minimal of information…

But if she tried to solve for “X” in Capital X, all she got was Capitally Duped. Worse, she was obviously clueless about her own life.

The same scenes that had kept her company flooded her mind once more. The time she’d spent with Tate, so convinced he was the man she’d waited her whole life for. Followed by the stunning realization the man she’d been so close to binding her life with was not only a bad guy, but had only been with her to get close to the Grand Rapids PD and her family’s business.

Colton Investigations was one of the premier private investigative firms in the country and did work for both the Grand Rapids PD as well as private citizens locally and nationally. It was painful to acknowledge, but she now knew her family name and connections had been the only things Tate Greer had seen when he’d looked at her. And he’d preyed on her deep-seated desire for love and a family of her own as his way in.

Only now it had all blown sky-high. One of Tate’s top goons at Capital X, Gunther Johnson, had been pulled in by the GRPD a few months ago. And now the team was after Tate. Sadie had gone from dupe to target, as kidnapping her would give Tate a huge bargaining chip against her family. Both the biological one and the metaphorical one she shared with the GRPD.

So here she was, squirreled away in some hidey-hole while others were doing the real work of catching Tate and taking down his criminal empire.

Her mind drifted to what her colleagues in CSI as well as the broader GRPD might think of her. Men and women who worked so hard to keep the good citizens of Grand Rapids safe and who were, even now, dealing with a criminal enterprise that had roots that went deeper than anyone really knew.

What did Tripp think?

Although she’d avoided personal flights of fancy since the faint stirrings of attraction she’d tamped down on in her early days with the force, Lieutenant Tripp McKellar helped run a tight ship at the GRPD. He’d also always had the uncanny ability to make her pulse kick up a few notches when she was in his presence. Even once she’d fallen in love with Tate, she’d never been fully immune to the lieutenant’s appeal. She’d never do anything, of course—Tripp fell firmly in the off-limits category and always had—but she couldn’t fully ignore that little flutter she kept secret.

Now he likely thought she was a ridiculous fool, not to mention a drain on department resources. All while he’d been working overtime on the RevitaYou case. The very case that had brought Tate’s shady dealings into the light.

What was supposed to be a virtual miracle worker of an antiaging supplement, turning the clock back ten years for anyone who took the product, had been exposed for its dirty underpinnings. RevitaYou not only wasn’t a miracle, it was a dangerous one at that. Its “restorative” properties came with a nasty side effect—death due to castor oil in the product that turned into ricin. It gave RevitaYou its functional properties but had horrifying side effects. The product inventor, Landon Street, had already been caught, but the damage his product had wrought was already extensive. Add distribution via a pyramid scheme masterminded by Capital X, and Tripp was dealing with an incredibly vile business.

Her family had been helping however it could, but the shady powerbrokers behind the scenes had been running her eldest brother, Riley, ragged as he tried to manage the investigation, help their foster brother, Brody Higgins, who’d gotten mixed up in it all, and run Colton Investigations.

And here she was, the proverbial princess in a tower, locked away and unable to help anyone.

A princess who was about to go on the move.

Again.

Her family had decided she needed to relocate to a new safe house and, having been out of the loop for the past month, she’d agreed.

At least she got to see her twin, Vikki.

“You said you were thinking you’d re-up for another five years.” Sadie looked around the room, marveling at how relieved she was to be leaving the small space.

Her twin was a JAG paralegal and had always taken her military service seriously. But Vik juggled a lot and Sadie was surprised to realize how much she hoped her sister would slow down a bit and remain closer to home.

“I know I did. I’ve so loved the Army job, but it’s time for me to make a change. I want to focus exclusively on CI. This way I can support Riley without always feeling so torn between my active duty time or working for CI.”

“I never looked at it that way,” Sadie said. “You really haven’t had a break in a long time, have you?”

Sadie understood that battle. Riley was regularly trying to recruit her full time to the family cause. And while there were definitely appealing aspects to working for the family business, she loved her work in CSI and wasn’t ready to give it up.

“No, but I get fun in where I can,” Vikki said.

Fun.

Sadie remembered fun. Once upon a time. Before she’d fallen in love with Tate Greer and had believed a bright future still awaited her.

The low growl of her stomach had her glancing in the direction of the kitchen. She didn’t skip meals.

A fact she’d worried over while engaged to Tate.

She actually liked her curves, but Tate had a way about him that had always left her a little intimidated. Like she should count herself lucky, somehow. Not lucky like how-great-is-it-I-found-the-love-of-my-life lucky, but more of a my-luck-is-going-to-run-out-if-I-do-something-wrong lucky.

And really, she admitted to herself, that wasn’t any sort of lucky at all.

A fact that only added one more check in the box on the list of self-recriminations over why she’d ignored the small but insistent voice in the back of her mind.

Seeking a diversion from her low thoughts, Sadie pressed Vikki about the man she’d fallen in love with. “Speaking of fun, what have you heard from Flynn since last week’s takedown?”

“I won’t talk about it anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie felt that small flash of anger that flared whenever she had an argument with her twin, but the misery that hovered deep in Vikki’s gaze had Sadie holding her tongue.

Vikki and Flynn had been through a lot. The RevitaYou case was personal to Flynn and she had to imagine the man was dealing with a lot. Especially the news that his family member was instrumental in the development of the drug. “I still think I’m right. Landon was his half brother, for heaven’s sake. That’s a huge family deal. I’m sure Flynn needs time to process, and to do all the Army paperwork for why he was involved in the apprehension while he was on leave. Then you’ll hear from him. When he knows it’s right for both of you.”

Sadie didn’t get the sense Vikki agreed with her but she let her twin talk it out a bit before shifting gears to more inane topics like how she was going to keep busy.

“Time to go, Sadie.” Her brother Riley walked into the room, his impatient gaze scanning the luggage. “You sure have collected a lot of stuff for being locked down the past several weeks.”

“We’ll get it in the car ourselves, don’t you worry,” Vikki batted back at their brother.

Riley scanned the room. “I’d rather wait until the FBI gets here. Give it five minutes. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the house and use the restroom.”

Sadie knew they needed to be careful. The threat was real, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. But all this process…

Moving to a new safe house. Waiting for an FBI escort. She let out a small sigh as the sound of vehicles echoed from outside the door. It was all too much.

“That’s our cue.” Vikki picked up a box.

Whether it was the desire to taunt her brother or just the mindlessly boring stretch of time yawning in front of her, Sadie picked up another box and tilted her head toward the door. “I’d love to have the truck packed before Riley’s out of the bathroom.”

As usual, her twin was in sync and Vikki pushed through the door, propping the screen with her foot. Sadie juggled the box, walking through the door as a low growl registered from behind Vikki’s shoulder.

“Don’t move or your sister’s dead, Vikki.”

Sadie saw it happen. She heard the words and registered the press of a gun to Vikki’s temple, all while the carefully packed box dropped with a thud on the front porch of the safe house.

The same man stared pointedly at Sadie. “Either of you make a sound, you’re all dead.”

“Take her. Now!”

Sadie felt big hands close over her shoulders but wasn’t able to do anything but stare. She was shocked stone-cold still by the voice of her ex-fiancé, echoing in the cold December air. Her feet finally moved as she registered the hard press of a gun to her back, pushing her forward.

“Hi, honey.” Tate Greer grinned at her from where he stood beside a large SUV. The menace lacing that smile was only matched by the equally threatening sight of the semiautomatic held high in his right hand. “You’re coming home with me.”

CHAPTER 1

Tripp McKellar rubbed a hand over his growling stomach, the only acknowledgment he gave to the long hours he’d put in these past two days.

Sadie Colton was missing.

He’d sworn to her family he’d find her, but the continuously ticking clock—one that came with no answers to her whereabouts—had him working overtime with no solution in sight.

And the increasing fear he wouldn’t get to her in time.

As dark images flashed through his mind, Tripp pushed them aside, just as he had for the past few days. Just as he had pushed aside his attraction for Sadie these past several years. His full focus needed to be on finding her.

Despite the increasingly dark thoughts that clouded his mind, he remained equally hopeful Tate Greer was playing a bigger game. Why kidnap her if the man wasn’t going to use it to his advantage? Sadie was only a bargaining chip if she were alive, and Tripp held on tightly to the fact that Greer knew that.

Only, Greer hadn’t reached out yet, outlining his demands. Nor had he given any indication he was going to.

That left Tripp right back at square one.

Sadie was missing, in the hands of a dangerous madman, and he was no closer to finding her than he had been thirty-six hours ago when she’d been first taken.

Her sister Vikki had fired the warning shot over the bow, convinced her twin was in trouble despite the repeated checks the GPRD had made on Sadie in that safe house. Although he trusted his team, he trusted the Colton family, as well, and Vikki Colton was known for her cool head and her love of her family. Tripp and his team had moved in the very night Vikki had sounded the alarm and were too late.

Too damn late. He uttered a dark curse before he stood and marched over to his office wall and the oversize map of Grand Rapids and the surrounding county. No matter how scared he was for Sadie’s safety, he had to think. Really think, instead of giving in to the continued self-recrimination that had kept him company for two days.

He’d been working the RevitaYou case for several months now; the various marks on that map reflections of what he’d already learned. “Think, McKellar,” he muttered to himself. “What do you know?”

His gaze scanned the map once more, following a radius around the safe house. He still hadn’t figured out how Greer had found it, which would be his next order of business once he got Sadie back. He’d already dealt a few months ago with a corrupt cop in his department. Joe McRath’s death had sent some serious ripples through the GRPD, and they were still dealing with the emotional fallout and loss of trust.

Corrupt cops had a way of doing that.

And now he had a problem with a department safe house? How the hell were some of the worst criminals in the county getting their hands on sensitive information like that?

It was an urgent problem, but one he had to deprioritize until he found Sadie. And while he’d like to bring in help to uncover the mole, he didn’t know whom he could trust to ferret out the answer.

A problem for a different day, he reminded himself as the frustration threatened to swamp him. In the meantime, he had to go on the information he had.

Several points on the map were marked with red pushpins, representative of Capital X crimes. The thugs rarely took out hits in public. Rather, they enjoyed preying on their victims then taking them to a secure location to rough them up. That was how the Coltons had gotten involved in the first place. Brody Higgins, a young man who’d been a part of their family after moving through the foster care system, had gotten in with the Capital X crowd. He hadn’t known the depth of Capital X’s depravity until it was too late. What started as a demand for money a mark had inevitably borrowed with no ability to pay back, slowly morphed into an exercise in torture and abject pain.

But it also meant there was very little creativity with respect to where the bodies were dropped.

Thinking about their torture methods—and the immediate danger to Sadie, who had been engaged to their boss—had his stomach curling, but Tripp pushed it back. What was on this map he could use? With that foremost in his mind, he evaluated the red pushpin locations again. Once they’d narrowed in on Capital X as a crime organization, they’d begun to understand some of their patterns. With each layer of investigation, they’d added more pushpins to their map.

There were three clusters. One near the spot where Capital X henchman Gunther Johnson had been captured. One in a run-down public park on the outskirts of the city. And one at a large lake outside of Grand Rapids.

Was it possible?

Tripp quickly calculated the distance between the safe house and the lake, and estimated there couldn’t be more than about fifteen miles between them.

Had Sadie been that close all along?

With an image of the lake and surrounding area filling his mind’s eye, Tripp snagged his coat off the back of his chair and slipped it on, covering the holstered weapon strapped to his back. The clutch piece at his ankle was an additional weight of security as he headed for the door.

They still had one of Capital X’s henchmen in custody. It looked like it was time to have a little talk with Gunther Johnson.

* * *

Sadie stared at the walls of the small room she’d been in for who knew how long and counted off what she knew in her head. Tate’s unexpected arrival had been the start of this ordeal. She’d been fed three meals since then, and another two today, so two full days hadn’t yet passed.

Nor had she seen Tate.

A tactic or something else? Was he out making misery on others? Worse, was he plotting and planning against her family? Against the GRPD?

Thoughts of her coworkers filled her mind’s eye, from the dispatch staff to the detectives’ squad to her fellow crime scene investigators. She meticulously cataloged each of them in her head, saving the best for last.

Tripp McKellar.

Whether it was the despair of the past few days or an inability to hold her mind back any longer, she’d finally given her thoughts of their tall, imposing lieutenant free reign in her mind.

She cared for him and always had. Perhaps he was unattainable, but that didn’t make her feelings any less real. Or her attraction to him any less powerful. How funny that with Tate’s true nature revealed, it only served to highlight even further what a good man Tripp McKellar was.

No flashy persona or bad-boy good looks like Tate. Instead, there was raw honesty, framed out in a square jaw, dark blond hair and blue eyes that had seen sadness yet had never become bitter. He was full of strength without being hard-edged. There was power in that, Sadie acknowledged to herself.

Real power.

It also left her with a very real, very tangible, counterpoint to Tate Greer. The pill of his betrayal had been terribly bitter to swallow, but she’d spent a lot of time thinking about their relationship during the long, lonely days in the safe house. She’d dissected it, forcing herself to really look deeply at what choices she’d made, voluntarily.

It had also given her time to think about the things she’d overlooked.

* * *

“You couldn’t have known, Sadie. No one could have.” Vikki’s voice was gentle but the grim set of her face carried the same conviction Sadie had felt since the moment Tate’s true nature had come to light.

“I’m a trained cop. I should have known,” Sadie shot back.

“How? Is clairvoyance in the job description for either role?”

“No, but I do know how to consider the angles. How to evaluate data and pull clues from it, no matter how little evidence I have to go on. Yet I allowed Tate Greer into my life—” Sadie flung a hand wide “—into all our lives. And for what? Because I was so damn happy to finally have a man?”

That look of fierce protection on her twin’s face shifted, remolding itself into a mask of pure and utter fury.

“Don’t talk about yourself that way. I won’t hear of it or tolerate it. You’re a good person, Sadie. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. More, I know you. Know who you are and how you see the world. Do not let some jerk like Tate Greer, a man who has proved himself to prey on others, taint that. Or make you question yourself.”

* * *

The remembered conversation winked out of her mind, replaced by the breath-stealing fear she’d never see her sister again. Although their conversation at the safe house suggested Vikki and Flynn had a lot to figure out, her twin had fallen for Flynn Cruz-Street, the US MP who worked on the same Army base as Vikki did. After he was attacked on base by his captain, who had discharged his weapon, Vikki had been immersed in the case as the JAG paralegal.

All because of RevitaYou…

Sadie considered that, turning it over in her mind.

Some wonder drug. A supposed miracle pill that was killing people.

A shady operation helmed by her ex-fiancé, masterminding it all.

And all of it unraveling, right here in the hands of Colton Investigations and the Grand Rapids PD.

Sadie let out a hard sigh.

How had they missed it for so long? A question Tripp was no doubt asking himself. They didn’t know each other well, but she had no doubt this case was causing him lost sleep and a level of personal heartache only someone who demanded so much from himself professionally could manage.

Even now, she could picture the hard set of his jaw as he worked through the problem. She’d talked to him a few times since the RevitaYou case had broken, her own family deeply integrated in the investigation. Her oldest brother, Riley, the head of Colton Investigations, had been working the case since former foster kid Brody Higgins had come to them for help.

The Coltons had taken the misguided eighteen-year-old in after he’d aged out of the foster system but wasn’t quite ready to be on his own. Her father had believed in Brody’s innocence of a deadly crime, but had been murdered before he could prove it. Even with Graham Colton’s pull as the district attorney, it had been a hard fight to see Brody proven innocent. It had been a tough road, but it had made them all appreciate their father’s life’s work that much more.

And, whether by accident or fate, it had led to the formation of Colton Investigations.

It might now be her brother’s life’s work, but all of the children of Graham and Katherine Colton took part. The fight for justice, instilled in them by their father, ran deep in the blood.

So when Brody had come to Riley back in July, confessing his part in the RevitaYou scheme, their collective, underlying desire was to berate the young man they’d all come to see as a brother. But as the case wore on, and Brody had disappeared after being attacked by Capital X—Tate’s—goons, Sadie had come to realize it was something else entirely.

RevitaYou was not only a pyramid scheme, it was killing people. Good people, like Teri Joseph, the wife of Flynn’s former captain. And several other victims whose names had been linked to the drug and whose photos, even now, she was sure were pinned to Tripp’s crime board at the police station.

Brody had found out about the negative aspects of RevitaYou far too late. He’d fallen for the sales pitch and the mind-bending results the drug produced in the first few weeks of use. Because of it, Brody had rushed to invest, taking funding from Capital X to support his “investment.” Only there wasn’t any investment to be had, only a pyramid scheme and a violent organization waiting at the other end to collect. One that used the darkest corners of the internet to do its work.

Sadie shuddered, the image of Brody being brutalized at the hands of Tate’s men spearing through her.

He was still alive—it was hard to get money out of a dead mark—but Capital X sure loved making life miserable for those who couldn’t pay. Since that was the essence of their business model—either pay back a loan at exorbitant rates or get your fingers broken, one by one—their operation was never at a loss for capital.

Or, apparently, marks to do their bidding.

And she’d missed it all. Missed Tate’s romancing her to get close to Colton Investigations as well as the GRPD.

Missed the fact that he’d disappeared for stretches at a time that she’d chalked up to a businessman needing the space to run his business.

And she’d sure as hell missed every single sign that suggested he was a violent sociopath whose need to control everything and everyone around him went bone deep.

Now she was here, and her family knew she was missing, and Tripp was trying to solve the case, and it was all a raging mess. One with violent undertones that—as the hours passed—she convinced herself had no pathway to a good end.

“Way to be a defeatist, Colton,” she muttered to herself. And just as tears threatened, she heard her father’s voice in her head.

What do you know, Sadie Pie? Not what you think, but what you know…

With her father’s reassuring voice still ringing in her head, Sadie pushed down—hard—on the idea that she’d never see her twin sister or her family or anyone else she cared about. Instead, she forced herself to go through what she knew.

Because she might not be guaranteed a happy ending but she sure as hell wasn’t going to willingly proceed even further into a nightmare.

That meant she had to think. She had to be smart. And she had to quit worrying about all the reasons she was in this mess and start thinking of ways to get herself out of it.

Although Tate and his henchmen had subdued her the other night at the safe house, they hadn’t drugged her. That had given her a rough estimate in her mind of how long it had taken them to arrive at wherever she was now. She wasn’t any more than fifteen or twenty minutes from the safe house.

With a map of the county spreading out in her mind, she worked it through, the safe house the epicenter of her mental images. Fifteen to twenty minutes one direction took her to downtown Grand Rapids, but it had been too quiet outside for her to think they were in the city. With one direction checked off, she analyzed the others. As she worked it slowly in her mind, a vague memory of the drive to summer camp shot up to surprise her.

She hadn’t wanted to go that first year and the drive to Sand Springs Lake had seemed over before it had barely begun. Her mother had assured her that not only would Sadie have an amazing time at camp, but if she needed anything, her parents were only twenty minutes away.

Twenty minutes away…

Was it that easy? Was she really that close?

Willing her pounding heart to slow, she ran the map through her mind’s eye once more, following the various directions to the land formations that stretched out. And came up with the same conclusion the second time around.

She remained absolutely certain she wasn’t downtown. And she’d bet anything she was nowhere near the suburbs that speared off in another direction from the safe house. That only left Sand Springs Lake or more distant suburbs broken up by farmland in the final direction. A secluded lake in December made a heck of a lot of sense.

Sadie searched her memory for any conversation she and Tate might have had about the area surrounding Grand Rapids, her summer camp experiences, holiday vacation cottages, or anything else that might have been said in passing conversation. In retrospect, that should have been another clue—that she and Tate really hadn’t talked about anything. As the urge to berate herself welled up again, the tiniest fraction of a memory hit her full-on.

* * *

“My loathing for the great outdoors started early in life. Summer camp to be exact.”

Tate smiled before running the tip of his finger over her hip. “Not a nature girl?”

“So not a nature girl.”

“Like I couldn’t have guessed that.”

Sadie heard the slight sharpness through the joke but pushed it down. Did she have to take everything so seriously? Ignoring the prick of discomfort, she laid a hand over his, lacing their fingers. “Well, you can thank Sand Springs Lake for beating any sense of natural adventure out of me. From archery to rowing, I hated it all. I can still imagine all the creepy things floating on the bottom of that lake, just waiting for me if we accidentally tipped our canoe.”

“There’s not much in that lake. A few secrets, maybe.” He leaned in then, pressing a kiss to her neck and distracting her from the conversation.

* * *

He’d done that a lot, she’d realized in her month-long, mental, deep-dive dissection into the sad, tragic tale of Sadie Colton’s engagement to Tate Greer. If he hadn’t been asking her questions, he’d been distracting her with sex. And in her naïveté she hadn’t even been aware it was happening.

She’d had a lot of time to think about that, too. It was uncomfortable emotional work, but she’d made herself look at her responses to Tate—and her willingness to ignore signs—assuming it was due to her lack of prior relationships. While it had become comforting—and way too comfortable—to wallow in those memories, she had to acknowledge this one paid dividends. Not only had they discussed Sand Springs Lake and Tate had made that weird comment about secrets, he had swung back around to that discussion after sex. And he’d mentioned loving the lake and spending time there as a kid.

If he’d loved it then, it stood to reason he’d love it as an adult. And he’d equally recognize that a lake used by summer camps didn’t have a lot of need for the area once the weather turned cold.

A secluded lake would be highly beneficial for his purposes. It kept him close enough to Grand Rapids to get in and out of the city for business, and it kept him secluded enough to manage his dirty deeds far away from the notice of law enforcement.

A heavy thud echoed through the walls and Sadie heard the harsh laughter of Tate’s goons. She still hadn’t gotten names for either of them so had dubbed them Fred and Barney for lack of anything better. The names had fit if for no other reason than one was big and brutish-looking and the other was spark-plug short, with a round barrel chest and empty eyes.

She’d filed away other details, too. They spent minimal time with her, bringing in her food and ignoring any question she asked. It was eerie how they were able to be present yet completely absent.

As if they’d been brainwashed by Tate to do nothing but carry out his orders.

For all her upset at how Tate had played her, there was a bigger part of Sadie that recognized those same lifeless eyes and automatous countenance could have been her if she’d ended up with Tate Greer. Much as it pained her to imagine it, the thought also gave her strength.

And much needed purpose.

The door swung open and Barney walked in. He barely glanced at her as he crossed the room to set a plate of food on a small table. Sadie could see the outer room beyond the door, and wasn’t sure if it was an accident that Barney had left the door open or a small offering from the universe, but decided worrying about it only wasted time.

She had to move.

So with speed born of desperate purpose, she did.

* * *

Tripp raced toward Sand Springs Lake, located on the outskirts of Grand Rapids. It was known around the state as a summer destination, with a variety of kids’ camps populating the perimeter as well as a canoeing outfit that had become quite a draw in recent years. Despite a swelling population when the weather warmed, the entire area remained fairly isolated in the winter.

As each mile ticked past, Tripp vacillated between the satisfaction that he was right, and he’d get Sadie back, and the horror that if he was wrong he’d only add more time to the hours she’d been missing without discovery.

Just like Lila.

Tripp shook his head.

It was nothing like Lila.

Nothing at all like knowing someone he’d cared for had been gunned down in cold blood by someone with a vendetta. Not against the pregnant woman at the end of the bullet, but against the man she’d loved, cared for, and had chosen to spend her life with.

Tripp scrubbed a hand over his face, the two-day-old beard scratching against the tips of his fingers.

Focus. Don’t let the memories come. Don’t listen to the lies they weave beneath the truth you know.

Wasn’t that what his therapist had told him? The professional he’d finally given in and gone to see at the urging of his chief, Andrew Fox. He’d given it an honest shot, despite his skepticism, but in the end, other than a few coping mechanisms for times of extreme stress, Tripp could hardly call the sessions time well spent.

What could a therapist do, really? A criminal Tripp had put away, but whom the justice system had set free on a technicality, had gunned down his pregnant fiancée. Instead of coming after Tripp to settle the score, the bastard had found another way.

One far more meaningful and destructive.

Other than coping day to day through life, there wasn’t anything else to do.

That was why he had to help Sadie. He’d made a promise to her family. Moreover, he’d made a promise to her and each and every member of the GRPD when he’d sworn he’d fight to protect them.

And if there was that small matter of how he’d always noticed her, a small shot of attraction he refused to act on simmering just beneath the surface, well, he’d accept it. Use it, really, to keep himself focused.

Because damn it, he was getting her back.

His cell rang, penetrating the urgent thoughts. He hit the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel just as he made the last turn onto the two-lane road that led to Sand Springs Lake. “McKellar.”

“Where the hell are you?” Detective Emmanuel Iglesias’s voice shot through the car’s speaker. “Michaela just told me you put out a call for backup.”

Although playing a hunch, Tripp hadn’t been foolish enough to go in alone and had called Dispatch before leaving. But he had refused to wait around for anyone to join him. Every second was precious and Sadie didn’t have any to waste.

“I did.”

“Out to Sand Springs Lake? You think that’s where Sadie is?”

Tripp had endless respect for the detective, but also knew he was on sensitive ground. With Emmanuel planning a wedding to Sadie’s sister Pippa, he wanted to give them hope without overpromising.

Even if he felt this hunch clear down to his marrow.

“It’s a hunch, but it’s a good one. I triangulated all of Capital X’s victim drops over the past five years. And there’s a lot to be said for an isolated lake in winter.”

“Damn it.” Emmanuel swore again, harsher this time. “She’s been under our damn nose for two days?”

“That’s what I’m betting on.” Tripp slowed and cut his lights. He’d get out and walk if he thought it would help, but the area around the lake was big enough he’d waste precious time on foot versus risking the possibility of someone seeing or hearing a random car.

“Listen. I need you to work with Michaela on the coordination with the team. She’s working on it but we need more cops on the perimeter if these jerks cut and run.”

“There are three entrances to the lake area.”

“Then let’s get going and put teams on all three.”

Tripp cut the call, his sole focus on what was visible through his front window.

The hollow husk of a summer camp came up on his left. The main building came first; a long, nondescript structure silhouetted by the moon. Small cabins were also discernible in the distance beyond the main outbuilding. Although the location was private, Tripp ruled it out for now. Based on Capital X’s former crimes, he figured they’d need a private place of their own to shake down their victims. Squatting in an existing structure—even in the off-season—would risk unwanted attention.

He rolled down his window as he drove on, the dirt path going a long way toward muffling his approach. Despite the temperature, he wanted a shot at hearing anything that might carry on the cold night air. The path took him on a curving route around the perimeter of the lake and he passed the turnoff for one of the entrances Emmanuel had mentioned. GRPD didn’t have men in place yet, but he had confidence in Iglesias that they’d be there.

For now, all Tripp could do was focus on Sadie.

Unbidden, a memory of coming upon her one evening came to mind. He’d run down to CSI himself to check on some ballistics results he needed and she’d been dancing around the room, oblivious to anyone else. He’d been captivated, happiness seeming to flow from her as she bopped along to whatever noise filled her earbuds.

He’d backed away, wanting her to have her privacy instead of possible embarrassment at being discovered by the boss, but the memory had stuck with him.

And the feeling of standing, for the briefest moment, in all that bright, vivid sunlight.

Willing that she’d find that happiness again, Tripp pressed on, the leafless trees allowing him to navigate easily with only the moon. A blast of frigid December air blew through the window but he ignored it. Chill was a small price to pay if it got him to Sadie.

It was only as he navigated another bend in the road that he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot ricocheting through the clear night air.

CHAPTER 2

Sadie screamed as she caught sight of Tate, standing over Fred’s body. The grisly scene had her stomach leaping into her throat and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her crime scene training. It couldn’t erase the fact that her ex-fiancé was standing over the body of a man he’d just killed, but it did go a long way toward helping her keep a steady head.

A fact that nearly vanished when Tate swung the gun toward her. “Going somewhere?”

“You surprised?”

She had the slightest moment of triumph as she saw genuine shock cross his face before it winked out. Just like any bit of decency or goodness he might have once possessed.

With the shock gone, it left room for that cold sneer she resented with everything she was. “When did you grow a spine?”

How had she missed this?

And in what world was there a human who thought Sadie Colton lacked a spine? Yet even as the thought flashed in her mind, she had an answer ready to rise up and meet it.

She’d done that. She’d been so enamored of finally having her “true love” that she’d sublimated everything about herself for him.

It was such a useless, circular path, yet she found she couldn’t stop treading over it again and again. How had she been so incredibly blind to who this man was?

A liar. A cheat. And now confirming what she’d already suspected, a killer.

“I’ve had one. You’ve just been too busy crushing me beneath your boot that you never took the time to look.”

Tate’s sneer—and the slow, lascivious slide of his gaze down her body and right back up—had her skin prickling in disgust. “I looked plenty, baby. And I never heard you complaining.”

“Why did you kill him?”

That sneer turned even darker, twisting the face she’d once found bad-boy handsome into something downright devilish. “He’s useless. And he let himself be followed here. I just got word disp—” he broke off, saying no more. Only Sadie didn’t need more.

“We’re not exactly hard to find. You think you’re the only person who knows about Sand Springs Lake?” Her gamble was rewarded with Tate’s near growl as he stared down at Fred.

“The bastard give you that information, too?”

“I figured it out all on my own. You didn’t take me that far. Where else is this secluded this time of year? And who’s working inside the GRPD for you?”

For the second time in a space of minutes, Tate’s gaze flashed with that mix of surprise and something just a tad bit more. She wouldn’t go as far as to say respect—he clearly wasn’t capable of feeling that for anyone—but there was something there.

And Sadie took heart that maybe Tate might have the slightest indication he’d underestimated her.

Well aware she had little to lose, Sadie kept on pushing. “How do you manage to find people to work with you if you go around shooting them for telling you the truth?”

“I shot him for incompetence. The truth was just an inconvenience.” That subtle sense he saw something new in her seemed to hover between them once more before he added, “And with the right tech, baby, you don’t need to find squealers anymore.”

Sadie eyed the gun still leveled at her chest, even as she filed away that tidbit for the GRPD. “Would you mind putting that down?”

“I very much mind.”

Any shred of smug satisfaction she might have felt evaporated, faced with the very real knowledge Tate cared as little for her as he had for Fred. Up to now, she’d believed she was an asset to him, but she might have been overestimating the degree to which their former relationship might influence his decision to keep her alive.

“It dawns on me that you’re uniquely positioned to help me out, despite Fred’s incompetence,” he said.

That gun never moved, nor did Tate’s gaze.

“And how would I do that?”

“What does the GRPD know about Capital X? And—” Tate leaned in closer “—what does your brother know?”

She knew he meant Riley and his role running Colton Investigations. Riley had earned a place of respect from the GRPD, his willingness to work with them and support their efforts going a long way toward fostering a good working relationship between the two.

Because she’d let him into her life, Tate knew that, too.

And the fact that he was asking meant his “all seeing” tech wasn’t quite as mighty as he’d want it to be.

An aggressive bark from another part of the house drew her attention and was enough to remove Tate’s scrutiny. He swore before moving toward the other room in the direction of the dog. “I’ll be right back.”

Although her instinct was to stay as far away from the gun and that ominous sound as possible, after two days, Sadie still didn’t have a good sense of the house. The chance to learn a bit more of the layout wasn’t something she could pass up.

Besides, she’d prefer to avoid staying anywhere near Fred’s body.

So she followed Tate, not caring if it pissed him off. She needed as much information as she could get and sitting around like a wilting flower was not that way.

Tate had moved into a larger combined kitchen and living area, his attention momentarily focused on the dog. The German shepherd was gorgeous but dangerous-looking. A reality that only heightened when the dog caught sight of her, his ears perking as his lips quivered with clear threat.

Sadie was so shocked to see the dog holding still at Tate’s command, the words were out before she could stop them. “Since when do you have a pet?”

Tate kept the dog in place, but shifted his attention to her. “One more thing you don’t know about me because you weren’t meant to know. But Snake and I go back a long way.”

“You named your dog Snake?”

Tate’s flat expression wasn’t amused. “What does the GRPD know about Capital X?”

Sadie considered how to play this. While she wasn’t proud of her time with Tate, she had learned how to handle him. She could only hope that she knew enough tactics to buy herself a bit more time.

“You’ve been tracking them for months, securing intel off your informants. You likely know more than they do.”

He hesitated for the briefest moment and Sadie sensed her compliment had hit the mark. Tate wasn’t going to back off, but the subtle distraction was a help.

Every moment counted.

And she made the most of this one. Through the kitchen, visible beyond the dog, was a door. The heavy wood had a glass-paneled top half. She could see no bars or trappings through the panes to suggest it was further blocked by an outer door.

That door had to be her goal.

“I want to know what you know.” Tate had dropped the gun during the interaction with the dog but he quickly lifted it again. “Now!”

“I don’t know anything.”

The gun never wavered as Tate moved closer. “You were never straight with me. Always hiding behind your family and their connections and the big bad badges at the GRPD.”

“I wasn’t the one who spent our entire relationship lying.”

“Oh no?”

His audacity—the fact that he could stand there and suggest she hadn’t been honest with him—was a joke. “You got with me for no other reason than to ferret out information you could use for your criminal activities. I never meant anything to you.”

“Not like you ever gave me anything. You and your brothers and sisters are so tight. Colton Investigations.” He nearly spat the name. “You’re thick as thieves, only you’re all so damn pure you’d never put a hand on a piece of anyone’s gold.”

“While I’d hardly apologize for that to anyone, I’m sure as hell not going to apologize to you.”

Sadie had no idea where it was coming from—especially with that gun still in dangerous range—but she simply couldn’t stand there and take it any longer. Maybe a month in a safe house, with nothing to do but ponder all the ways she’d lost part of herself to Tate Greer, was finally finding its due.

And maybe she might even get a few of those pieces she’d given away back.

“What the hell do you know, Sadie!” The harsh shout spilled out of Tate like a violent waterfall. The dog never moved, but she sensed the tense set of his body—ready to leap at the slightest signal—even as Tate stepped closer.

Sadie knew she should keep her gaze on the gun but she was unable to look away from the veneer of sheer hate that covered Tate’s face. The dog whined beside him, a small growl that affirmed all she suspected about the animal’s training. And still, that gun remained leveled at the center of her chest.

A hard slam echoed through the house along with a rush of winter air as the door in the kitchen flew open. Despite the gun, her gaze shifted to the door and the possibility of a new threat, only to find Barney stomping into the kitchen.

“Cops found us.”

Tate swung around to face his other goon as Sadie saw another man tromp into the kitchen. He was as big as Fred had been, with hulking shoulders and a lethal-looking semiautomatic hanging from one meaty hand. Although Sadie had minimal exposure to the black market weapons trade in Michigan, she’d reviewed enough crime scenes and studied enough wounds to know what that type of weapon did to the human body.

An involuntary shiver skated down her spine as she weighed what she had to do.

Tate was shouting at Barney over the announcement there were cops, and the new henchman was adding his perspective, suggesting how to handle the threat. All three men were right there—along with their weapons—but so was the open door.

While she knew it was a suicide mission to try to run, it was still a better option than staying put.

With one final glance at the door, Sadie focused on the dog. He’d stayed in the position Tate had put him in, his training so absolute he hadn’t moved. Sadie hoped that rigid training would be enough to give her the head start she needed.

Without giving herself one more moment to think, she bolted, her unerring focus on the door and the freedom just beyond.

* * *

Tripp held his position, the small copse of trees about fifty yards from the house his hiding place. The crystalline air had aided his listening in on the argument being waged inside the house, while also giving him time to assess their firepower and position.

He knew Sadie was in there.

He might not be able to see her, but he knew she was there. He’d heard her, her sweet voice floating through that cold night air. She’d been kidnapped and locked away by a madman, but what he’d been able to make out had held steady and solid. Tripp fought that sense of helplessness—the one that kept threatening to drag him under like a massive wave at the beach, complete with deadly undertow—and kept his attention on the house. This wasn’t the same as losing Lila, he reminded himself over and over.

It. Wasn’t. The. Same.

Instead, he needed to find a way in. But based on the two goons he’d already seen enter, he knew he was outnumbered.

Damn it, how had they missed this? An organization like Capital X, operating right under their noses. He was well aware organized crime was a consistent bane of police squads the world over, but the fact that Capital X had managed to stay under the radar for so long was a concern.

And Sadie Colton had somehow landed right in the middle of it all.

His mobile phone buzzed at his hip and Tripp picked it up, hoping for news that backup was on the way. Iglesias hadn’t disappointed.

Team in place. Lake surrounded. Waiting for your Go.

Tripp tapped a message quickly in return to update the detective on his status.

Confirmed location. Sadie inside house on southwest corner of lake. I’ve got eyes, 50 yards out.

He typed a few more commands, until they ultimately agreed to surround the house from all angles. In under ninety seconds, Tripp felt the sensation of movement from behind him.

“Right where you said you’d be, McKellar.”

“Took you long enough,” Tripp muttered as Iglesias’s tall form came into view.

The detective held up his hands. “You just put together a major op in less than an hour. Not all of us are superhuman, McKellar.”

Tripp took grim satisfaction in the compliment. “The only goal is to get her out.”

“I know, man.” Iglesias patted Tripp’s back. “I know. Pippa is beside herself. And since I already promised my fiancée I’d bring her sister home, you know I’ve got your back.”

It would be little comfort until they had Sadie back, but it was a solid reminder that the entire department was invested in getting her home safe and sound. Iglesias had an added personal connection in his engagement to Sadie’s sister, but he was as committed as the rest of the GRPD.

Sadie was one of their own.

Tripp pointed to the house. “Two guys went in a few minutes ago, armed to the teeth. Semiautomatics strapped to their sides and firmly in hand. Assumption is that Sadie is in the house, along with Greer. Gunshots echoed from inside, but I’ve heard her fighting with Greer, which suggests he targeted a different victim.”

Iglesias shook his head. “He is one nasty bastard. Pippa said she and her sisters all got a bad vibe on him from the jump, but this goes way beyond not liking your sister’s boyfriend.”

Tripp wasn’t sure why the word boyfriend chafed so badly—especially since he already knew the bastard in question had been Sadie’s fiancé—so he ignored it. He needed his full focus on the mission. “We all get played from time to time.”

“Yeah, I suppose we do,” Iglesias said.

Tripp quickly outlined his observations from the past half hour.

“How many gunshots did you hear?”

Tripp fought to keep his voice clinical, with minimal inflection despite the personal nature of the op. “Just the one, and then I heard Sadie’s scream. Then I heard the fighting.”

“What does he want with her?”

“What he wanted before—access.”

Tripp knew it for the truth. Sadie Colton was in a prime position to help Greer. Between her CSI role in the GRPD as well as being a member of the Colton family, and therefore connected to Colton Investigations, she had a lot of information a criminal could glean.

And Tate Greer knew it, too.

“Greer saw her as the way in.” Tripp continued his assessment.

“Damn it.” Iglesias shook his head. “Pippa was afraid this might be the reason he got close to her so fast.”

“She thought Greer was trying to infiltrate?”

“No, nothing like that. But she was concerned with how quickly Sadie had fallen for the guy. As Pippa told me, it was like one day he just sort of showed up and within a matter of weeks her sister was smitten and talking of love and marriage.”

While Tripp had never personally bought into it, he knew that people did fall in love quickly. In an instant, some said. If he was honest with himself, he had felt a spark of attraction for Sadie from the very first day they’d met.

He could still see her, the eager recruit joining the GRPD, determined to make her mark. She had done well enough and he had been impressed by her hard work, her dedication, and her unwillingness to rest on the laurels of the Colton name. But in the end, she’d really found her calling with crime scene investigation. She had showed an early knack, identifying some key evidence in a case she had worked her rookie season. She’d finished out that first year, giving her all to the force, but after her full commitment, it hadn’t taken her long to ask for a transfer into CSI.

And she’d thrived there.

Although he no longer saw her every day, as a lieutenant in the department, he got regular updates from her division. Sadie was well respected and that work ethic they’d all recognized from the start proved itself over and over. She had uncovered a major piece of evidence that had put a large drug ring away within a matter of months after her joining CSI. She’d followed that up with some careful tech work that had put away a child predator. And just this past spring she’d worked round-the-clock to help uncover evidence to catch a serial killer.

Sadie Colton had found her calling in CSI. Their department, and more broadly, the entire city of Grand Rapids, was better for it.

“Rest of the team is in position.” Iglesias interrupted Tripp’s wandering thoughts.

“Tell everyone to hold the perimeter. You and I are moving in.”

Iglesias relayed the information and Tripp heard a series of affirmatives through the detective’s comm device.

The low level of persistent adrenaline that had haunted Tripp’s system since the discovery Sadie had been taken spiked sharply as they moved from their hiding place. With determined steps toward the house, his sole focus was on getting her out safely.

“You ready for what’s on the other side of the door?” he said softly to Iglesias.

“Damn straight.”

Tripp figured there weren’t many more on the team who would be as committed and he was glad Iglesias had his back.

Tripp pointed to the entrance to the cabin still about twenty yards away. “They both went through that door, but the gunshot came from the back of the house. Assume we’re entering the kitchen and need to push through into a living room or great room of some sort.”

“Got it.”

They had closed the distance, the door nearly in sight, when loud barking echoed from inside the house. It wasn’t the excitement of a chase or a game of fetch, but the harsh, violent bark of a dog on the scent of its quarry.

Tripp braced for that new dimension as he anticipated a large, aggressive attacker prepared to take them down at all costs.

And that’s when he saw her.

Hair that he knew was just a shade darker than strawberry blond streamed behind her as she ran hell-for-leather out the door that had held their full focus. She was headed straight for the dock at the edge of the lake. Two hulking men were just behind her, oblivious to Tripp and Emmanuel’s presence, struggling to catch up. Moonlight illuminated the deadly glint of waving weapons in each of their hands.

Tripp went into motion, racing toward her pursuers as he ignored the very real threat of that barking dog or the additional risk there might be more goons exiting the house. He ignored it all; his only focus on getting her back. All with the element of surprise in his favor.

But even he couldn’t hold back a shout when Sadie jumped into the ice-edged water that surrounded the end of the dock.

* * *

Shocking cold pierced her skin with all the finesse of a thousand ice picks. She knew it would be cold. Had braced for the loss of breath as she’d plunged into the water.

But hell, damn, and all the really good curse words she and her sisters practiced behind her brothers’ backs, was it cold.

The ice picks quickly gave way to sledgehammers and Sadie wondered how it was possible to even think let alone find a way to survive in this.

Only she did. She would.

Somewhere between the leap into the lake and the impossible cold, her mind went on autopilot. She’d gotten the jump on Tate and his henchmen and taken it as a small stroke of luck that they’d been so absorbed with their infighting it gave her a head start. It wasn’t much, but the few precious seconds was all she’d needed to get a move on the footrace. But it had been a split-second decision to head for the lake.

If her memory served—and the trauma of going to summer camp had haunted her far longer than she wanted to own—there was a large dock at the edge of the lake. She’d also remembered the way the water eddied around the base, creating a small pocket of air between the wooden planks and the water.

That air pocket was her goal. If she could get in there, she could continue to breathe and hide until Tate, his henchman and the dog moved on. If…

Damn, it was cold, those icy sledgehammers doing their job. She could see the wooden dock. Could feel the water lapping around her, only instead of it feeling gentle as it did in summer, it felt like thick, heavy sludge as she fought her way across the lake.

Focus, Colton.

The order snapped through her mind, her own voice threading with that of her father. And her brothers.

Focus.

Battling the cold, she pushed herself on. She had no choice.

In a battle between hypothermia or her psycho ex-fiancé, she’d take the cold all day and twice on Sunday.

Assuming, of course, her body would cooperate.

She ignored the heavy pull in her limbs and forced herself forward.

The dock is your goal. The dock is your goal. Over and over, she kept that thought in place as she pushed on. The icy water dragged at her limbs, making her lethargic, while the drag of her wet clothes added to the thick pressure against her skin.

She would make it.

She had to make it.

Snake’s frantic barking seemed to waver, growing dimmer as her full focus remained on propelling herself forward.

Her arms were so heavy. And she was going so slow.

The water was black around her, the bright moonlight that had illuminated her run toward the lake falling behind the clouds.

Was she even going in the right direction? Confusion had her stopping for a moment, her arms thrashing as she fought to catch her breath. Why was it so hard to draw air?

For the first time since jumping on impulse, something hit her chest with a swift fist.

What if she didn’t make it?

What if…

“Sadie.” The deep voice drifted toward her, bouncing off the water with a weird echo. “Sadie!”

Why did it sound like Tripp?

Sadie flailed her arms once more, shocked when she felt the hard edge of a dock pylon.

Did I make it?

She willed herself to focus, her gaze sharpening as her hand fought for purchase against the base of the dock.

And that’s when she heard her name again.

“Sadie!”

As she looked up, large hands came around her upper arms, dragging her from the water. “Are you okay?”

I wasn’t wrong. That thought dimly registered in the back of her mind as Sadie took in the broad, reassuring form of Tripp McKellar. His chiseled features and firm jaw were the last things she saw before her body convulsed in a hard shiver.

And then she felt nothing except the strong arms that came around her and the tight press of his body against hers.

CHAPTER 3

She’s safe.

Tripp held tight to Sadie’s small, shivering form and ignored the oppressive wetness that soaked his jacket. He’d survive. And, damn it, so would she. They hadn’t come this far to accept any other outcome.

But she was so cold. And the shivers racking her body were nearly convulsive, she was shaking so hard. He had to get her out of her clothes and into something warmer.

The rest of Tripp’s team had moved in on the cabin and grounds, the shouts of Greer’s men still littering the air. All fought loudly against the bonds GRPD officers had already put on them. The two goons Tripp had seen going in had been captured as well as two lookouts discovered on the back side of the property.

But nowhere in the melee near the cabin could he see Tate Greer.

There was no way Tripp could have come this far and missed his quarry. Yet to go after him meant he would have to leave Sadie, and that was unacceptable.

When another hard shudder had her shaking against his chest, he knew the decision was made. With determined steps toward the cabin, his only goal was to get her somewhere warm. It was only the hard clutch of her hands against his forearms that had him stopping. “No.”

He glanced down, the blue tingeing that heartbreaking face more than evident in the unclouded light of the moon. “We have to get you warm, Sadie.”

“I… I-I’m n-not going b-back in there.” Although it was a struggle to get the words out, her desperate desire to stay out of that cabin was clear in the stiffness of her body.

“We need to get you out of those clothes.”

“No c-cabin.” Her grip tightened on his forearm. “Car. Y-your car is f-fine.”

The battle to take her someplace warm might be his goal, but there was no way he could ignore her distress. Knowing an ambulance would be there soon weighed even more in her favor. With quick movements, he swept her up in his arms. He thought there might have been a slight protest on her lips but it died as he carried her toward his vehicle.

“Where?” she finally asked, the lone word seemingly stuck in her throat.

“We’ll go to my SUV until the ambulance gets here.”

“Th…thank y-you.” She whispered the words before laying her head against his shoulder.

All the adrenaline that had carried him for the past two days shifted somewhere deep inside him. That insistent, driving need to save morphed into something new: the desperate, fervent desire to protect.

He knew that feeling. He’d had it once—so long ago he’d forgotten the sensation until Sadie’s head had come to rest against his shoulder. The desire to keep those he cared for safe and secure.

Until he’d failed at both.

Those long hours of therapy his chief had suggested had ultimately helped Tripp find closure and acceptance in one part of the truth: he and Lila had only gotten engaged because of the baby. He’d still loved her, in his way, and he’d been wildly happy about their child. But in the long run, they’d likely not have made the most stable environment for a kid.

A truth he could accept now but couldn’t go back and change no matter how often he beat himself up over it. He’d been committed to seeing things through, determined to make a life with Lila once they welcomed their baby. What he still had never fully worked through was the reality that Lila and their unborn child had died because of his life’s work.

Yet he still chose to do it day after day.

And he’d never fully reconciled what that said about him.

The department-issued SUV he drove was just where he’d left it, and Tripp set Sadie gently on her feet as he opened the driver’s-side door. He quickly turned on the engine, blasting the heat before he swung around to the rear door to retrieve his first-aid kit. He also had spare clothes in the back, but the first step was to get her out of the wet ones she wore.

“I’m going to help you with these,” Tripp said, moving to her side where she leaned against the open driver’s-side door, tossing the first-aid kit onto the seat behind her. He kept his tone careful—neutral, even—but knew that to help her he had to strip her of every article of wet clothing.

Her soft grunt was all he heard in return as she fumbled with the hem of her sweater. The thick wool clung to her and flopped against her fingers where she struggled to grab hold.

Tripp took her hands in his. They were ice against his palms and he fought to keep his voice steady against the rising panic he still might have been too late, even with Dispatch’s call into 911. “Let me.”

With careful movements, he lifted the sweater up and over her head. Her skin had that same bluish tinge as her face, visible in the dome light, but he kept going.

Next he reached for the waistband of her jeans. The denim was thick and heavy, and he ignored the brush of soft skin beneath his fingers as he undid the button and released the zipper. He worked the material down her hips and held each calf as he removed the denim from her legs. It was only then he realized she wasn’t wearing shoes, just a thin layer of socks.

Everywhere he touched, her skin was that horrible, clammy cold. He removed the socks then shifted to her underwear. His job was to help people no matter the circumstance. He could, and more importantly he would, do that.

But he was also acutely aware that he was going to see Sadie naked, which set off something strange deep and low in his gut. Something that reminded him when this was all over, and she was warm and well, he wanted to see her again.

Ignoring the flash of need that welled at the thought, Tripp put his arm around her and focused instead on reassuring her. “Hang on. I have a blanket in the kit.”

He reached around her to the first-aid kit he’d tossed onto the seat. The thin solar blanket in his extensive supplies was right where it should be and he ripped the packaging off to unfold the thin yet effective material. Moving to stand in front of her, he wrapped the material around her shoulders. “I’m going to remove your underwear now. Okay?”

She stared up at him, her grip tight on the edges of the blanket, and nodded. “Okay.”

With deft fingers, he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, making sure to keep his gaze on hers. Once the material sprang free, he reached down and removed her water-soaked panties. Leaving all her clothes in a pile beside the SUV, he opened the back door and set her against the seat. “I’m going to go around the other side, then pull you onto my lap. We need to get you warm.”

Once more, she nodded, but it concerned him she didn’t even put voice to an “Okay” or a “Yes.” Hurrying around to the opposite side, he slid into the rear passenger seat then reached across the space for her shoulders. The small figure huddled beneath that wash of silver material tugged at his heart, but he willed it aside.

His only goal was to keep her warm until the ambulance arrived to take over.

Tripp gently pulled her onto the backseat so that she settled on his lap. His shirt and coat were still wet from where he’d held her, but the solar blanket ensured she wasn’t touched by any of it. He gently tugged her long hair out from where it lay against her neck, determined to remove any bit of wet or cold from her skin.

Just like when he’d carried her, she settled against his chest. Heat blew heavy out of the SUV’s front console and he positioned her so that she was in the direct line of the vent. He then settled his chin on the top of her head and rubbed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, willing circulation and much needed heat to return to her body.

Then it was time to wait.

And hope like hell he’d acted fast enough.

* * *

The uncontrollable chattering that had gripped her since emerging from the lake finally subsided. She still felt bone-deep cold, but that sense of her body turning on her, taking on a mind of its own, finally faded.

With each stroke of Tripp’s firm, flat palm against her body, Sadie felt a bit of herself return.

And with it, the dawning sense that she was basically naked in Tripp McKellar’s lap. A fact that was mostly immaterial to her situation—he was the consummate professional—but was still one that had burrowed deep and decided to unfurl with heat.

And need.

It was amazing, really, how she could even think of that in this moment, yet if she were honest with herself, it was there.

Her attraction to Tripp had always been there. Yes, it had been muted and, basically, ignored when she’d become engaged to Tate, but it had never really died. Now that she’d distanced herself from Tate’s influence, she’d had plenty of time to acknowledge that the allure of the GRPD lieutenant had never really gone away.

And what was to be done about that?

The large male body that fitted around hers was the epitome of safety and protection. Even more, there was a gentle, caring quality to his ministrations that pulled at her. Tripp McKellar was a good man. She’d always known that, but to actually be on the receiving end of that tender gentleness was impossibly wonderful.

Even as it felt impossibly right.

“I’m getting you wet.” Sadie was surprised by how small and croaky her voice sounded.

Tripp shifted, his arms tightening around her. “I’m fine. Are you starting to feel warmer?”

“A little bit.” Although she was still chilled to the bone, sensation was coming back into her limbs.

“The ambulance should be here soon. We’ll get you fixed up and make sure that dip in the lake didn’t do any damage. Iglesias is with me and by now he’ll have called your family, too.”

“I wasn’t in there that long.”

“It’s December. Any amount of time is too long.”

He was right, of course, but she still wouldn’t have changed the decision. The chance to break away from Tate had been too good to pass up and she’d taken her shot when she’d had it. She was just thankful that Tripp and his backup had been waiting for her.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I think a better question is why did it take me so long.”

Sadie didn’t miss his use of the word me, despite the fact that he had an entire department working behind him.

“No, I think my question is the right one. How did you figure out it was Sand Springs Lake?”

“I triangulated all of the offenses that we could identify as Capital X over the past several years. I’ve done some more work and I have realized that the crimes seem to fit into three distinct clusters in the county.”

“And this was the most isolated of the three?” Sadie asked.

“Exactly.”

Sadie considered it, struck anew when Tripp mentioned Capital X’s crimes—as in plural—that her ex was behind it all. Would she ever get over this feeling of how badly she’d been played?

Stupid much, Sadie?

Yes, she’d had a month to think about it, to digest it, and try to come to some bit of reason for it all. But it remained nearly impossible to hear anything over the constant pounding of self-blame she couldn’t seem to shake off.

Or drown out.

Or ignore.

Her entire family had been leery of Tate from the start, her twin sister, Victoria, most of all. Vikki had been kind about it at first, pressing Sadie often to know how the relationship was coming along and if it made her happy.

Since she and her sister had always known what the other was feeling, the continued questioning had finally taken its toll. No matter how large a smile Vikki had pasted on or how innocent her tone, Sadie had known the truth. It had all been an act. All designed to try to figure out what Sadie had seen in Tate.

And she was happy. Or had been.

For a few precious months, at the start of the relationship, she’d been practically giddy. Falling in love with a man she’d never expected to meet. Tate had the sexy, bad-boy look she’d always found appealing in movies yet had never imagined for herself. And as she’d gotten to know him, she’d seen that the sexy façade was only the beginning. They’d talked of so many things and, after every conversation, she’d been certain there was so much more to him than what was visible on the surface.

And she’d equated each of those conversations to herself and the woman no one seemed to see beneath her surface.

Yes, she was good, sweet, hardworking Sadie Colton. She was the baby of the family, her birth minutes after Vikki’s ensuring she was the youngest Colton. Whether it was her status as youngest or her eagerness at work or her relatively upbeat personality, everyone saw her as the sweet, cheerful, girl next door. But no one seemed to see her as a woman. One with needs and desires and ambitions of her own.

But Tate had.

Only instead of falling in love with those qualities, he’d twisted them and used them to his own ends.

“Hey there. You okay?” Tripp’s voice whispered over her ear, the light tickle sensation enough to pull her from the dour direction of her thoughts.

“Yeah.”

He shifted until he could tilt his head just so to look directly at her. And in his vivid blue gaze Sadie saw a flash of redemption from the ugly direction of her thoughts. It was quick and fleeting, but it was there all the same.

Maybe—maybe?—this man saw her as a woman, too.

The flash was gone in less than a heartbeat, but that lingering idea took root somewhere deep, helping to warm her from the inside out.

“You sure about that?”

“I am. I’m starting to warm up. The heat helps.” She swallowed hard, once again aware of the fact that nothing but a thin layer of blanket separated her naked butt from his lap. And with it, the heat that had slowly worked its way back into her body crept up her neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

The edges of those compelling eyes crinkled with his gentle smile. “All in a day’s work.”

In that moment, Sadie realized she could stay there forever. Right there, wrapped in his arms, warm and secure. Whatever emotional damage Tate had done, it would never be enough for her to believe that Tripp McKellar was anything but a good and decent man. There was no pretense here, no false front.

Only goodness and truth.

Sure, he had a past. She knew about the woman he’d been engaged to shortly before Sadie had started on the force. Knew the sadder end that had seen her gunned down by a criminal let out of the prison system too early.

She’d watched from a distance as Tripp had dealt with it all. The pain that came from survival and the will a person needed to move on, day by day.

But he’d done it. He’d moved on, focused on his work, the city of Grand Rapids and ensuring his team had all it needed to do the job.

It was how he’d known how to find her.

Suddenly tired, Sadie laid her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She could never be with this man romantically, but she could admire who and what he was. And she could quietly, without anyone knowing, use him as her own personal lodestone, showing her the way to true north. There were good men in the world. Good, decent men who didn’t use others or betray them.

If that was all Tripp McKellar could be to her, then she’d take it. Because it was a hell of a lot more than she’d ever had before.

* * *

Tripp held tight to Sadie and wondered over the mix of emotions he’d seen in her eyes. Despite the jump in the lake and the harrowing ordeal of the past few days, there was something so resilient about her. Something so warm and open.

Even as he clearly saw the pain she lived with.

Was it due to the stark truth that her former fiancé was a scumbag?

Tripp suspected that was part of it, yet not all. He’d watched her for a long time, quietly observing her at work or out in the field, and there was something else buried deep below that compelling green gaze. It was like a river of solitude flowing beneath the woman who always seemed to be in the thick of things. She was the first to arrange an impromptu, interdepartment pickup game of soccer in the park or an after-work round of drinks.

Yet through it all, he’d always sensed there was something she held back. Some inner longing that no one except him seemed to see.

Not like he could talk to anyone about it. Even if he wasn’t so maniacal about privacy, determined to give others theirs even as he fiercely guarded his own, it wasn’t exactly coffee conversation with his coworkers.

Did you notice that Sadie Colton looked sad today after the soccer game?

Did you see Sadie Colton, head bowed down over her lab desk, earlier this afternoon?

Sadie Colton’s big smile never quite seems to reach her eyes, does it?

So instead he’d filed all those questions away, keeping them to himself almost like a warning. He had no right to dig into her business and even less to pry into her personal life. That meant his questions went unanswered and his observations were nothing more than a curious pastime.

Lost in thought, it was a surprise when Sadie suddenly struggled in his arms, shifting hard against his lap. He ignored the sudden jolt of discomfort as her body came into intimate contact with his and instead fought to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

“Tate. He’s gone.”

He briefly considered downplaying it, waiting until he had a full report—and full confirmation—from his team that Greer had gotten away. But he couldn’t do it. Regardless of his need to protect her, she was a cop and she deserved the truth.

“I think he is.”

Sadie’s focus remained on the activities taking place beyond the SUV’s window. “I can see some of what’s going on over there and it struck me that I can’t see Snake.” Tripp nearly asked who or what Snake was before she added, “The dog.”

“Greer has a dog?”

“‘Pet monster’ is a more apt term. He’s huge, ruthlessly trained and clearly lethal.”

It was new information on Greer that was helpful, but it also made what Sadie had endured that much worse. He’d envisioned Greer’s tactics would be harsh and unyielding once he took anyone prisoner. Adding the power of a trained animal into the mix only further supported that assessment.

“Did he turn the animal on you?” Tripp asked. He hadn’t seen any evidence of abuse when he’d removed her clothes, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been intimidated or taunted. A fact that had his vision hazing as the image formed in his mind’s eye.

“Tate’s been gone since the night they kidnapped me. I’ve only seen his goons at mealtime since they stuffed me in that cabin.”

The anger faded slightly at the news she’d been largely ignored since her capture. “And he came back today?”

“Tonight. That was the first time I’d seen him since he arrived at the safe house. The first time I’d seen the dog, too.” She shook her head, a small, rueful laugh filling the space between them. “I had no idea he even liked animals.”

From her description of Snake, Tripp wasn’t sure he’d lay “animal lover” at Greer’s feet, but he kept the observation to himself. They had to focus on what they knew and that empty sense of remorse in her tone wouldn’t benefit from him piling on more questions she obviously didn’t have answers to.

Nor would this overwhelming sense of anger he couldn’t quite rein in. There would be time for it all later. Right now, he had to concentrate on getting Sadie safely to the hospital and on the road to recovery. As if to punctuate that thought, the lights of the ambulance suddenly filled the night, flashing red and blue as the vehicle pulled up into the clearing beyond the house.

In those flashing lights, Tripp knew something else with terrifying clarity.

Every minute they didn’t have Tate Greer in custody was another moment Sadie was in danger. Because after tonight, there was no way Greer would be willing to let her live—and no way that Tripp would let him get to her.

CHAPTER 4

Sadie kept her gaze on the cabin in the distance as the medics prepared to strap her onto the gurney. She knew Gus and Gage, the two medics who treated her now, and appreciated their attention to her modesty as they covered her with more blankets before helping her onto the flat bed.

There were things to say to Tripp, starting with a thank-you for saving her life, but they’d have to wait. For now, she had to think.

Where had Tate gone?

If he’d gotten away so quickly, there had to have been another hidey-hole nearby. That meant once again they’d underestimated just how well set up he was and the depths of his network.

He obviously ran a successful business. It might be a criminal enterprise, but she’d do well to start thinking of it through a new lens: as a business enterprise.

And corporations, she knew. After watching her brother build an incredibly successful business, she had firsthand knowledge and a strong sense for how a solid enterprise ran.

Well funded. Check.

Well resourced, with provisions for any number of scenarios. Check.

Well led. Check.

While she hated to think of Tate as a leader in the traditional sense, she needed to view him that way. It was yet another facet of his talents and personal charisma, and it was something she was uniquely qualified to assess.

“You doing okay, Sadie?” Gus’s smile was gentle as he settled her into place. He had a blood pressure cuff in hand and was already gently shifting the thick blankets to get to her arm.

“Getting there.”

“You’re lucky Lieutenant McKellar was there. He did everything right, getting you out of those wet clothes and into the warmth of the SUV.”

“He did.” It was a memory that would live with her forever, the tender way he’d cared for her, with no thought to his own comfort. One she’d take out at quiet moments and remember with fondness.

It was only as Gus went to work in tandem with Gage, checking all her vitals and directing her to follow the movements of his finger or to stick out her tongue, that Sadie forced herself back to the problem at hand.

She had no doubt Tate’s henchmen would remain silent and uncooperative with the GRPD. If Tate didn’t already have them quaking in fear, Fred’s death would provide added incentive. The PD needed to shift gears and approach the problem from a new angle.

The bright lights of the ambulance as well as Gage and Gus’s conversation faded into the background as Sadie let the idea of Tate-as-leader into the forefront of her thoughts. It was a talent she’d had since she was a small child—the ability to shut out the world as she worked through a problem—and she took full advantage of it now.

Her body still ached, a fact that was increasingly clear as her circulation and warmth returned, so she’d let her mind go somewhere else. Somewhere useful. A place she hadn’t been in far too long.

With that driving sense of purpose filling her thoughts, Sadie barely felt the shift as the ambulance began to move, headed for the hospital.

* * *

Tate watched the flashing ambulance lights fade away into the darkness and considered his next move. The one that would take his meddlesome, irritating ex-fiancée down a few more pegs.

He’d initially thought to just kill her, removing her as nothing more than an irritating nuisance. Quick. Effective. Easy.

But that was too good for her now.

For all she’d just pulled and the trouble she’d caused him, she deserved a lot worse. And he was hell-bent to be the man to give it to her.

Sadie had been the perfect mark, he thought as he ordered Snake into the large kennel he kept at his personal safe house. Sweet and innocent, those big cow eyes lighting up with interest and affection and—just as he’d planned—love in short order. It was just too bad she was such a damn goody-goody, his expected access to both the GRPD databases as well as Colton Investigations severely limited by her by-the-book personality.

She kept her work files on serious lockdown—an IT director’s dream employee. She changed her password regularly and she made the damn thing impossible to figure out. No “Tate1234” for her. No way. She hadn’t even used his name once in her password updates.

Nor had she given many details about her family. Oh, he’d heard the sob story about how her brother Riley, in lockstep with his siblings, had started Colton Investigations after the tragic deaths of their parents. How they’d banded together to help Brody Higgins, an innocent foster kid her late father had taken a special interest in.

It had been particularly sweet to know that same dumb kid was one of Tate’s biggest dupes in the entire RevitaYou/Capital X scam. A scam that had been going smoother than silk before the Coltons had gotten involved.

Now it was all upside down. His number two, Gunther Johnson, was sitting in a jail cell, the cops had figured out how deadly RevitaYou was and Tate’s cover had been blown.

He had contingency plans, of course, but there was no foolproof plan that could make up for how quickly it had all collapsed. That was why he was going to make sure Sadie went down with him. He’d given her the perfect role. Loving fiancée to one of the city’s most successful businessmen. And she’d betrayed him.

It was unforgivable. And because of it, she was going to pay.

* * *

Tripp glanced around the waiting room at the county hospital and wondered how the Coltons had seemingly managed to multiply overnight.

The eldest, Riley Colton, had been the first to arrive with his pregnant fiancée, Charlize. He had been quickly followed by the rest of Sadie’s siblings, each with their own significant others. They were all there except for Sadie’s sister Kiely, who apparently couldn’t get a babysitter on short notice. The entire Colton family seemed to have coupled up lately, and while Tripp wouldn’t consider himself on the pulse of local gossip, it had been impossible to ignore the heavy strikes of Cupid’s arrow on this one family.

Working with Emmanuel, he’d seen firsthand the man’s relationship—and hard fall into love—with Pippa Colton. And Sadie’s twin, JAG paralegal sergeant Vikki, had recently fallen in love with Army Sergeant Flynn Cruz-Street.

They were all there, concerned about their sister and equally concerned at the news Tate Greer had gotten away yet again.

Tripp was already expecting the quiet outreach when Riley approached him. The family had settled in, anxious for news of Sadie’s condition. Coltons were scattered across the waiting room, and the moment he left to get a cup of coffee, Riley followed.

“Can I buy you a cup?” Tripp gestured toward the large machine.

“Yeah, thanks.” Riley seemed to hesitate for a moment before diving in. “I know she’s going to be okay. She’s young, and strong, and I know that all works in her favor. But I also need to know what happened to her.”

Tripp knew that need, understood it intimately, and so he would play it straight with Riley. “She’s fine, physically. Greer didn’t get a hand on her, and for that we can all be grateful.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”

“Because the psychological is going to be a lot harder. She spent a month in the safe house, mostly alone, and even that wasn’t safe enough.” That same raw anger and fury-fueled frustration welled up once more. “And that’s on me.”

Riley took the cup Tripp handed to him, his eyes wide. “On you?”

“Damn straight. I put her there, and it’s my responsibility to make sure she stays safe.”

“I could say that right back at you. She’s my sister. My family. It’s my responsibility to make sure she stays safe, too.”

“In a government safe house?” Tripp shook his head, no intention of getting into a pissing match with Riley. “Greer found her on my watch. I need to get underneath the why and the how.”

“You can count on me to help, however I can. This isn’t on you, man. Greer and Capital X’s tentacles run far deeper than we know. And they’ve been burrowing in for a lot longer than any of us realized.”

The comment might have been meant to make him feel better, but Tripp took minimal comfort. Nothing could change the fact that Sadie had been kidnapped from an environment he’d controlled. And he was going to make it his personal mission to find out who had facilitated that access.

After, of course, he put that bastard Tate Greer behind bars.

“I do want to talk to you about some ideas we’ve been working up for RevitaYou,” Riley added. “I think we may have a way to get Wes Matthews back on US soil.”

Tripp’s mind flashed to the crime board in his office. If Tate Greer was the man behind Capital X funding RevitaYou, banker Wes Matthews was the linchpin in the operation. He was the centerpiece of their investigation. Get him and they had a chance to get to the bottom of it all—and they’d get Tate, too. “That’s gotta take some doing. Matthews doesn’t have a lot of incentive to come back.”

“That’s where my new soon-to-be sister-in-law, Matthews’s daughter Abigail, has been a tremendous help.” Riley tilted his head in the direction of the waiting room. “She talked to Griffin about trying to help, and he convinced her to bring her ideas to all of us. She and her father have always been estranged and I get the feeling she’d have been just fine ignoring him for the rest of her life. She has helped us immensely.”

Tripp considered what he knew of Sadie’s siblings, and the news that Griffin was cooperating so closely was something of a novel development. Falling in love with Abigail and her foster daughter, Maya, had changed him. Clearly for the better. “I’m glad to hear it, man. But I guess I’m a little surprised to hear Griffin is helping out the family business.”

“It’s amazing, actually.” Riley clearly warmed to his subject. “I feel like I have my brother back. I know it was hard for him, an adopted child in the midst of five more kids, but we love him. We’ve always loved him. All of us. And now it feels like we might have him back.

“I guess it’s the beauty of having an amazing woman in his life.”

At that comment, Tripp couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She was an amazing woman. Hadn’t tonight proved that? Not just what she’d survived, but the gumption and the attitude that had carried her through it all.

Vikki poked her head in the door, her excitement palpable. “Riley. The doctor just came out to see us. We can go back and visit with her.”

Tripp gave Riley a solid pat on the shoulder. “Go. Go see your sister. We can pick this up later.”

Riley didn’t wait, just headed for the door. It was Vikki who hesitated, calling after her brother as he passed through the door. “You go on. I’ll be right there.”

She moved forward, coming right up to Tripp and laying her hands over his. “Thank you. Thank you for finding and saving Sadie.”

The steady need to protest that he’d nearly been the one responsible for losing her died in his throat. Vikki was so earnest—so determined—and for the first time he let himself slightly relax that Sadie was safe. He still wasn’t convinced that Tate Greer wasn’t going to try again, but for the moment, she was safe.

Now, all he had to do was make sure she stayed that way.

* * *

Sadie battled the mix of exhaustion and impatience that fought for purchase in the back of her mind. She was thrilled that her family was there and took deep comfort in the presence of all of them. But she also wanted to see Tripp.

She needed to see him.

It was the strangest thing, but ever since the doctor had given her the news that she was going to be okay, she’d wanted to see Tripp. To tell him herself.

It was because of him that she was going to be okay.

If left to her own devices and Tate’s demented criminal activities, she could’ve drowned in the lake. And deep down inside, she recognized the truth of that.

Yes, if given the chance she would run from Tate Greer all over again.

But she also couldn’t deny she’d made a narrow escape, all because of Tripp’s quick thinking and amazing police work that had put him at the lake in the first place.

Vikki must’ve sensed her exhaustion, because she finally put an end to the fun. “Okay, loved ones. I think Sadie’s had enough. We can come back tomorrow morning. And since Kiely couldn’t get a babysitter on short notice, Flynn and I will swing by to see her and Cooper and let her know our girl’s okay.”

Her siblings hugged her, each in turn, Pippa hanging on an extra few beats before she let go with a promise. “I’ll bring the donuts first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Sadie smiled. “And there’d better be chocolate-frosted ones.”

“Why bother buying donuts if you don’t buy chocolate-frosted?” Pippa shuddered in mock horror before moving to stand with her fiancé, Emmanuel.

“Clever girl.” Abigail leaned in to give her a quick hug. “And it also ensures that your brother will be here bright and early, too. Assuming Maya doesn’t wake up when we get home and pay the babysitter.” Sadie’s future sister-in-law said it all with a smile, before jokingly giving Griffin the lightest edge of her elbow to the middle of his stomach. Griffin used the shift in position to wrap his arms tightly around her, and it made Sadie’s heart happy to see them together.

To see all her siblings, together with their significant others.

“Come on, come on. The donut mandate has been laid down. Now it’s time Sadie got some rest.” Vikki maneuvered them all out with a drill sergeant’s precision, before walking back over to stand by her bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re all right.” The stern voice vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with a quaver Sadie rarely heard coming from her twin. “I’ve been so worried.”

“Vik, I’m okay. Really, I am.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but Sadie wasn’t silly enough to think there wouldn’t be repercussions. But right here, right now, gathered up in the love of her family, she simply refused to focus on any of it. “Now get out of here and go kiss that hot guy of yours.”

“You’re my sister! You’re my priority and I’m worried about you.”

Sadie waved a hand. “Well, I’m fine now. And I’m ordering you to go kiss Flynn. If I had a man like him, that’s what I’d be doing.”

The tease was enough to bring a smile to Vikki’s face, removing that crestfallen, ashen look that had been there only moments before. While there would be plenty more to say, for now, Sadie knew that had to be enough.

She kept her smile bright until Vikki was out of sight and then let it fall. She was happy for her brothers and sisters. Deeply happy, and so pleased that they had found such wonderful men and women to share their lives with.

But it did hold up a mirror to all she didn’t have.

She hated thinking that way. It was so against her nature to begrudge anybody anything, especially those she loved as much as Riley, Griffin, Pippa, Kiely and Vikki.

Yet, try as she might, their happiness was also a counterweight to all the pain she was dealing with over Tate. She’d believed herself happy, as well, preparing for an upcoming wedding, only to find it all had vanished. And in the worst, most embarrassing—and dangerous—way.

She felt the first tear well up as a light knock came on the door.

“Hey. You up for a little bit of company?”

Tripp McKellar stood in the doorway, tall, broad, and exactly what she needed. “Hi. Yes, that would be nice.”

She quickly brushed away that last tear, refusing to let him see such an embarrassing bit of selfish emotion, before meeting his gaze across the room. “What are you still doing here?”

“I wanted to see how you were. I didn’t want to interrupt when your family was here.”

“So you’ve been waiting this whole time?” It was absurdly touching, the idea that he’d hung around, waiting to see her.

“I just needed to see you for myself.”

“That’s funny, because you were the person I wanted to see, too. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. And it’s all because of you.”

Those compelling blue eyes shot to the floor and with it his face settled in harsh lines before he seemed to compose himself. “You saved yourself. Don’t forget that, Sadie.”

“As nice a thought as that might be, I think we both know it’s not true. If you hadn’t been there, my jump into the lake would likely have ended very differently.” It was strange to say it—that knowledge that a split-second decision could have had such a horribly different outcome—but that didn’t make it any less true.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Sadie wasn’t quite sure where the impulse came from, because it was probably better just to let him leave, but she waved him forward. “Why don’t you stay a few minutes?”

He didn’t hesitate, just nodded as he walked into the room and took the seat beside her bed.

“I’d like to ask you a question, but I need you to promise that you’re going to tell me the truth.”

“Of course I’ll tell you the truth.”

“You haven’t heard my question yet,” she said with a smile.

He answered that with a smile of his own, one of those rare ones that lit the depths of his eyes. “Okay. Fair. What do you want to ask me?”

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Tate Greer.”

“Sadie, come on. What good is going to come from that?”

It was basically the answer she had expected, which was why she’d pressed for honesty. “The good is that I’ll finally know. The good is that I’ll finally understand what I got myself into.” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “I need to know.”

“You’re still a member of the GRPD. This case isn’t exactly a secret.”

“Not something out of a case file, but in your own words, Tripp. Please.”

Whether it was the urgency in her voice, or the personal nature of her touch, she wasn’t sure. But Sadie knew the moment she got through to him. Resignation painted his face before he took a deep breath. “He’s not a good guy, Sadie. But I suspect you already know that.”

“Yes, I do.” It was only as her eyes shot down that she realized she still had her hand over his. She pulled it back, even as she couldn’t deny how nice it had been to touch him.

“From all we’ve been able to figure out based on the most recent evidence, Tate has been revealed to be the head of the Capital X organization. Likely its founder, too. They engage in some really nasty loan-sharking and do whatever they have to to enforce their rules.”

“And murder?”

“When it serves their purposes.”

Just like Fred, she thought. “I’m sure your team has already found him, but Tate shot one of his henchmen when I was there.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that. We did find him, but we didn’t yet know the reason why he was dead.”

“Tate claimed Fred had been followed and that the cabin was being closed in on. Tate shot him for sharing the news.”

The memory sent a shudder through her and those earlier tears she had managed to hold back welled up once more.

“I called him and the other guy who was looking after me Fred and Barney. He was the big one, Barney was the little one, and they seemed to be a duo, you know?” She sniffed hard, even as a few more tears dropped silently down her cheeks. “I have no particular affinity for either of them and I know they chose their paths. But the man I was going to marry, to bind my life with, shot one of them in cold blood. I don’t know how to reconcile that in my mind.”

All the tears she had been so determined to hold back finally fell with all the finesse of a dam overflowing in spring. It felt like she kept traveling the same ground—endlessly—yet all she could ask herself was how she could’ve been so stupid. How she could’ve missed it all.

She was so wrapped up in her emotions that it took a minute before she realized Tripp had shifted some of the wires and her IV to settle in beside her on the bed. His big arms came around her, just as they had in his SUV, and he pulled her close.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“It’s definitely not okay. I’m a cop. And CSI. I should’ve known better.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s something I don’t tell anybody.”

She twisted a bit in his arms so she could look at him, curious about what he was going to say. “What secret?”

“Much as we try to be, no one in this job is omniscient. No one’s a mind reader. And no one can anticipate another human being’s every move. It’s just the way of things, as hard as it is to accept.”

“I should have known.”

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Someday, I promise you, you’ll understand and accept why you didn’t.”

It didn’t make sense, and Sadie wasn’t even quite sure she believed him, but sitting there in his arms she felt better. For the first time in weeks, she could see the real possibility that, someday, she might feel like herself again.

And she had Tripp McKellar to thank for it.

CHAPTER 5

Tripp held tight to Sadie, for the second time in less than twelve hours, and marveled at how good she felt nestled in his arms. He’d only meant to comfort and care, yet somewhere between pulling her from Sand Springs Lake and pressing a kiss to her forehead, something inside him had broken wide open.

And the balance between his rigid self-control and the interest he’d had in her for years had decidedly shifted.

Attraction or not, he was still a leader in the Grand Rapids PD and she was not. Her CSI role meant she didn’t directly report to him, but he was still her superior as far as departments went.

It was time he remembered that.

He carefully disengaged himself from the wires, gently settling her back against the pillow. “I think it’s probably time for you to get some rest.”

Those pretty green eyes were dazed, her brow knitted in confusion, before she nodded. “I probably should.”

“I want you to think about what I said. You don’t need to keep beating yourself up, Sadie. You couldn’t have known. Really, you couldn’t.”

He sensed her protest, her lips opening, before she closed them. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Now, get some rest. I’ll come back and visit in the morning. I’ve even heard a rumor there might be donuts.”

The mention was enough to get a smile out of her. “Oh, there will be donuts. If I know Pippa, there will be enough to feed the entire hospital.”

“Well then, I’ll definitely be back for that.”

“Oh!” Her sleepy eyes went wide. “I did get something else.”

“Got what?”

“Tate believed Fred was followed because he heard it on GRPD dispatch. When I pressed if he had someone inside he mentioned how good his tech was.” She yawned, her sweet face scrunching up at the involuntary motion. “And that’s all I got.”

All?

That was huge and it went a long way toward answering how Greer might know about the safe house, too. But looking down at Sadie Colton’s sleepy countenance, Tripp knew now wasn’t the time to get into it all.

He patted her foot underneath the blankets, the move silly and awkward after what they had just shared, and figured that was his cue to leave. He’d nearly made it to the doorway when she spoke behind him. “Thank you, Tripp. For everything.”

He turned at the doorway, surprised to see how small she looked amid the sheets and the big bed and all the monitors. It was such a counterbalance to a woman who always seemed so alive. So robust. “Sleep. Feel better. I’ll be back in the morning.”

When her eyes drifted shut as she nodded, Tripp took it as a good sign. She needed to sleep. To heal. Even with the doctor’s excellent prognosis, she had been through a traumatic ordeal. Escaping from it all into sleep would do wonders.

He walked down the hall, nodding to the cop placed at the entrance to the ward. He recognized the man, an eager second-year who continually impressed everyone with his hard work and dedication to the job.

Sadie was in good hands.

Even if the fact they’d needed to post a guard at all was a bigger problem. As she’d accurately assessed even before they’d put her into the ambulance, Tate Greer was still out there. And for as long as he was, Sadie wasn’t safe.

Making his way along the corridor, Tripp glanced into the waiting room. It was now empty of Coltons, but had turned over with a few new families, all as equally anxious to see their loved ones as the Coltons had been to see Sadie.

Tripp considered them all and couldn’t help but remember his own time in one of those waiting rooms. He had sat in one of those seats once. The night Lila had been brought in, he had waited, like those families were waiting, only the news at the other end had been the worst of his life.

We’re sorry, Lieutenant McKellar. We did all we could…

Sustained blood loss from the severity of her gunshot wounds…

At only fifteen weeks of gestation… We were unable to save the baby…

It played through his mind on a loop, the memories shockingly easy to rise to the surface, even so many years later.

The real surprise: how hard they hit and the fact that he needed to take one of those seats now for a few minutes to gather himself. Tripp stared down at his shaking hands, unable to believe he could still be so affected by the memories. Hadn’t he worked on this? Hadn’t he believed himself past this?

Would the grief and the guilt ever fade?

Taking slow, deep breaths, he willed the air in and out of his lungs, calming himself the only way he knew how. As he slowly came back to himself, Tripp had to admit that this was only partially about Lila and the baby.

It was also about Sadie.

He cared for her. Had cared for her for a long time. No matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t, he did care for her. And tonight he had almost lost her. That shook a man down to his core.

Was it finally time to tell her how he felt?

It all felt so futile, yet at the same time his ability to deny his attraction was rapidly fading. Because even beyond basic attraction, he had deep feelings for her.

That was the most dangerous thing in the world.

Hadn’t he made a vow to himself? He’d never risk someone’s life again because of his job. He’d cared for Lila and it had been hard enough to lose her. But even without spending any real time together, he knew his feelings for Sadie ran far deeper than they ever had for Lila.

And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

Rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the scratch of a day’s worth of beard, he got up and headed for the vending machines. He didn’t need any more coffee, but the jolt it provided would be enough for the drive home. Besides, what would a little caffeine hurt? He didn’t sleep very well anyway, so what did it matter?

He walked down the hall, following the same path he had taken with Riley Colton earlier. Step by step, he willed the old hospital memories away until they were locked in that quiet place he kept them. He dug out some coins and pressed the directions on the coffee machine, then shoved his hands in his pockets to wait.

It was only as he turned, an oh-so-brief matter of a split second of overlap, that he saw a big frame pass by the alcove for the vending machines. There were still people in the hospital, coming and going. Yet there was something in that slithering form that captured his full attention.

Coffee forgotten, Tripp moved.

And feared that Tate Greer had come back to finish the job.

* * *

Sadie shifted and tried to get comfortable, but between the wires and the lightly beeping machines and the lingering troublesome thoughts, she wasn’t having a lot of luck with sleep. She knew she could ring her call bell and a nurse would give her something to sleep, but she never cared for medicine of any kind. Something about artificially induced sleep just felt wrong. Off-putting, somehow. It worked for some, but she was just afraid it was one more way to lose control over her situation.

She’d had enough of that lately, thank you very much.

And then there was Tripp.

Had she been imagining things?

It was sweet that he had stayed to check on her to see how she was. If that had been all, she would tell herself she had just been imagining things. But the way he’d settled next to her on the bed and held her close…

Well, it was everything.

Did she dare hope that he had feelings for her, too?

Damn it, Sadie Colton, dream much?

It was silly. This was silly.

And still, she couldn’t help feeling…something.

On a heavy sigh, she readjusted and tried to get comfortable. “I will sleep,” she whispered. “I will sleep.”

She had nearly done it, too, the world going dark around her, when something she couldn’t identify made her eyes pop wide open.

The lighting was set to dim, but it was still easy to make out any and all movement. And the large, hulking form that had just slipped into her room was definitely moving. A scream crept up her throat, nearly spilling out when Tate’s firm, unyielding hand came over her mouth.

“Shut up or I’ll kill you now.”

She struggled against his hand, but the dark, dangerous look in his eyes brooked little argument.

“Now, we are going to finish what we started back at the cabin. I want to know what you know. And I want to know what the GRPD knows.”

She kept her gaze on his, calculating as quickly as she could what to do about the situation. If he’d gotten this far, it meant he’d quickly—and silently—dealt with the guard positioned outside. Tripp hadn’t made a big deal about it, but Riley had, stressing there was police presence on-site to watch out for her.

So what had happened? She might have been drifting off to sleep but she’d have heard something if there had been a fight. She even knew the officer they’d put in the hallway, remembering him when he’d come in to introduce himself.

“Nod once if you understand me,” Tate snarled.

She nodded, still trying to buy herself time. He’d see it if she tried to buzz the nurse, and she’d prefer to avoid dragging any innocents into this if she could.

He removed his hand but it meant little when he lifted his other hand and a gun glinted in the dim lighting. Brandishing it to make his point crystal clear, he hovered even closer, like the brute he really was. “Now tell me what the cops know.”

The gun seemed to dance before her eyes, but she refused to cower in the face of this relentless evidence that he was a horrible human being. “They know the same as I do. That you’re a monster.”

The hard slam from the butt of the gun against her jaw was swift and immediate punishment, the contact enough to make her bones rattle and stars cloud her vision.

“Bull. I know you know more than you’re telling me. Unlike all the time you spent with me when you knew nothing. You didn’t even know who I was, Little Miss Crime Scene Investigator. What a top-notch worker bee you must be.”

Since the words matched a bit too closely to what she’d already berated herself for—endlessly—over the past month, she forced herself to ignore them. She also ignored the pain coursing through her jaw, refusing to show him anything but disdain. “Believe me, I’ve caught up.”

Tate leaned in even closer and Sadie scrambled frantically for something to do. While she didn’t want to endanger a nurse, she needed some way to issue a panic alert. Her hand fumbled along the inside of the bed, desperately trying to find the small red button they’d told her about earlier when suddenly Tate went flying.

Shock morphed quickly into a desperate desire to help when another person bodily removed Tate from her bedside. It was Tripp. Even now, the two men lay on the floor, struggling in a death grip for the gun in Tate’s hand. She scrambled for the call button by touch, hitting the small panic alert before she sat up.

With an eye to the rolling stand that held her IV fluids, she figured she could use it as a weapon if she needed to. Only Tate gave her an easier opening. As he and Tripp rolled on the floor, Tate managed to maneuver himself on top. Sadie watched in horror as he lifted his gun. She didn’t think, only acted. With a hard push to the heavy wheeled tray beside her bed, she shoved it as hard as she could into Tate’s back.

It was awkward and not nearly heavy enough to do damage, but the recently filled pitcher on top added some advantage. Aside from spewing water over both men, the entire pitcher also hit Tate in the back of the head as the tray fell on him.

Tripp didn’t waste time, using the shift in momentum to slam the gun from Tate’s hand. The weapon clattered to the floor and both men grunted as they continued their physical battle before Tripp reached out blindly, trying to drag the fallen table to hit Tate once more.

Sadie screamed as she struggled to put her feet on the floor. She would be of minimal help in a fight, but she’d already begun looking around the room for something to strategically up the stakes in Tripp’s favor. The vase of flowers her sister had set earlier looked like a good option and she walked toward the small desk that held the arrangement.

Pain swam in her head from Tate’s pistol whip to the jaw, but she kept moving. Tripp needed her. So did the cop Tate had gotten past in the hall.

Shouts echoed from outside the room and she knew help was coming, but still she pushed on. With the vase in hand, she moved back to the struggling, wrestling men on the floor and waited for a clean shot to drop the vase on Tate’s head. When an opportunity presented itself, she didn’t wait, slamming the heavy vase into the back of Tate’s skull.

It made a satisfying thud but barely slowed him down as her ex suddenly struggled off Tripp, rolled away and headed for the door. The sudden shift in direction was so abrupt, it took Tripp a minute to react. By the time he’d reached the door, he collided with two incoming nurses.

“Ms. Colton!” one exclaimed as the other nurse took firm hold of Tripp’s shoulders.

“Let him go.” Sadie waved at them, but the second nurse wasn’t having any of it.

The throng of shouts finally died down enough for Tripp to point toward his hip. “My badge is in my pocket. I’m a lieutenant with the GRPD.” His teeth were nearly clamped shut as he continued to grind out directives. “And you’re letting the perpetrator against Ms. Colton get away.”

The nurse finally stood down, releasing him, but Sadie knew it was too late. With a resigned sigh, she nodded at Tripp. “Go. I’ll explain what happened here.”

He ran off and she turned to face the two surprised women.

“There should be an officer in the hallway. We need to get him immediate help.”

* * *

For the third time in less than twenty-four hours, Tripp cursed himself for the unrelenting danger that continued to find Sadie. It had been bad enough that she’d been taken from the safe house. Worse, that she’d nearly died in the lake. But this? To be nearly snatched right out from under him?

There was no way he was willing to trust her safety to anyone else. Not anymore.

He’d given chase after leaving Sadie’s room but Greer had a significant head start.

And Greer was crafty, he’d give him that. The bastard had felled the cop on the ward with a quick pressure syringe and basically kept on moving. Straight into Sadie’s room. If Tripp hadn’t stopped for that cup of coffee…

If he hadn’t had that moment of quiet remorse in the waiting room…

He didn’t want to think about it.

Just like that moment she’d jumped in the lake to escape, Tripp knew the vision of that hulking form hovering over Sadie, alone and vulnerable in her hospital bed, would stay with him forever.

He slammed back into Sadie’s room, his badge now visible high on his jacket. Backup was on its way and he’d already spoken to security for the hospital. The nurses had taken his officer into an exam room and had assured Tripp he’d be all right after they woke him from the sedative.

Now he just needed to convince Sadie that there was no way she was staying here.

Tripp came to a halt as he crossed the threshold. She was no longer huddled on her hospital bed in her hospital gown. Instead she was sitting on the bedside chair, having changed into a fresh set of clothes. One of her sisters must have brought them to her, because they certainly weren’t the wet ones he had removed from her a few hours ago.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m not staying here.” She dragged a boot onto her right foot. “I’m not sure why I’ve remained this long.”

“You can’t go home.”

“Then I’ll go to Vikki’s. Or to one of my other siblings’. But I’m not staying here. I already had one of the nurses remove my IV.”

The lights were fully on in her room and underneath the harsh fluorescence, he could see the dark bruise on her jaw. “What happened?”

“Tate decided to introduce me to the butt end of his pistol.”

Once more, Tripp shook at the evidence of what could’ve happened to her. Hell, based on that dark bruise, what had happened to her… It was too much.

“You’re coming home with me.”

She stopped as she slipped on the other boot and stared up at him. “What?”

“You’ll stay with me. I know how to keep you safe and I have my place well outfitted.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know how to take care of myself. I’m a lieutenant in a major city’s police department. Believe me.”

He did know how, and he had also gotten better since Lila’s death. Between extra security on his home and his own rigorous self-training, he felt certain he’d do a better job caring for Sadie than one of her siblings.

“Tripp, this is crazy talk. I can’t stay at your house.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” She stopped before standing to her full height. “Because I’m not your responsibility. I’m a grown woman. I’m also a cop, or I was one, before I shifted into my field. I know how to take care of myself.”

Although the past month had seemingly suggested otherwise, she did know how to take care of herself. And to her larger point, she was trained. She knew how to handle a weapon, she knew self-defense and, most of all, she wasn’t required to accept his help.

But he didn’t know how he could live with himself if something happened to her.

“I know all those things. And I believe them, too. The last month has been anything but normal, but your situation isn’t indicative of your ability to defend yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“But I would feel better if you were with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to see anything happen to you.” Because I care about you. Because I’ve always cared about you.

He didn’t say those things. He couldn’t say those things. But somewhere way down deep inside, that was all he wanted to say to try to convince her.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” She pressed on, but he could see her conviction wavering ever so slightly.

“You’re not a burden. More than that, you have more knowledge of this case than anyone else. Even if you didn’t, I would help you. But, selfishly, I’m going to ask for your help. I need all I can get right now.”

“You want my help?”

“Of course I do. You know Greer better than anyone. I bet if we sit and think about it, you can point to certain times when you may have picked up information. Windows, or gaps in our knowledge, you may be able to fill in. If he was in or out of town… If he told you he was traveling… Or even casual conversation that didn’t mean anything at the time but might be beneficial to us if you look at it now.”

And if it meant Tripp had to listen to details about the quiet, intimate evenings she’d spent with her former fiancé, then so be it. He needed the help and, more importantly, he needed her safe. If it took a few uncomfortable conversations to ensure that, he’d deal.

“I was thinking about it before.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe we’ve been considering him and Capital X all wrong.”

Immediately intrigued, Tripp prodded her. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s easy to think of him as just a criminal. But he’s a businessman, too. Heck, that’s what I thought he was up until the big reveal.”

He almost laughed at her description of finding out who Tate really was, but decided it wasn’t quite the right moment. So he went with honesty instead. “That’s what I’m talking about. That kind of thinking. That’s what I need right now.”

“And I’m not going to be a burden?”

“No.”

“And you’re not just saying that?”

“No.”

A small grin edged the corner of her lips before she winced, laying a hand on her jaw. “Ow. Don’t make me smile like that.”

He knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but at the sign of her pain, he made one more internal vow.

Whether he liked it or not, the RevitaYou case had become personal. And when he finally got his hands on Tate Greer, there was no way he was going to give the man any mercy.

No way in hell.

CHAPTER 6

Sadie yawned and ignored the shooting pain in her jaw as she tried to remember the last time she’d been this exhausted. She’d pulled some all-nighters when she was in the police academy. She’d studied overtime and in every free moment she could find when she was learning the ropes for CSI. But none of it had felt so all-consuming.

And so emotionally draining.

Neither had it come with that bone-deep chill that still lingered from her dive into the lake.

“We’re almost there,” Tripp said. “The turnoff for my neighborhood is in two more lights.”

“Sorry. I guess I yawned out loud.”

He grinned, the smile visible in the light of the streetlamps. “It was hard to miss.”

She had always wondered about where he lived. Now that she had the chance to see his home, she could admit to some excitement. Tripp had always been a mystery at work. He was kind, a hard worker and a true champion for his people, but he kept himself aloof.

Separate.

It made him mysterious and, she admitted to herself, even a little bit sexier than he already was. Which was silly, because not knowing about people didn’t necessarily mean that lack of knowledge was a good thing. Look at all she didn’t know about Tate, for example.

“What’s the frown for?”

“Nothing.” Goodness, she needed to stop this train of thought. Not only was it frustrating and repetitive, but clearly those negative feelings were stamped all over her face.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other incredibly well, but I’m a good ear. I don’t really talk to others, and I certainly don’t share confidences.”

He made the turn at that second light he had referenced, pulling into a nice older neighborhood on the outskirts of Grand Rapids. Sadie had been here before, she realized. A friend of hers from high school had lived nearby and she’d visited often when she was younger. Although the trees were bare now, the neighborhood boasted huge oaks and the most gorgeous fall foliage when October came around.

It suited him well, she thought. There was something solid and sturdy about the neighborhood. Just like Tripp.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, or anyone, really.” Sadie started in, stopping as she tried to think of the right words. “I mean, I have my sisters, and we talk about pretty much everything pretty much all the time.”

“I’m not trying to pry into the sisterhood.”

She smiled at that and his sweet attempt at lightening the mood. “I promise I won’t make you pinky swear on anything, nor will I make you do my hair. But that’s not actually what I meant.”

“I can do a mean braid, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She hesitated and wondered if she dared to say what was on her mind.

Oh, what the hell.

“It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about what a bad decision I made. And how horribly duped I was. It’s embarrassing, you know? Like, really embarrassing. Like, I-jumped-into-a-freezing-cold-lake-to-escape-the-jerk-I-thought-I-was-going-to-marry embarrassing.”

Now that she’d gotten into it, the words wouldn’t stop.

“I realize I should be incredibly upset because he tried to kill me. And I am. Don’t get me wrong, I really am. But it’s like one more example of how shortsighted I was. How stupid I was. And all that keeps going through my mind, over and over, is one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Was I so happy to finally have a relationship and someone who wanted to marry me that I didn’t pay any attention to what was actually going on?”

Tripp navigated the neighborhood streets until they reached his driveway and he hit the opener for the garage door. He pulled in, his attention on the rearview mirror until the door closed fully behind them. It was only then that he turned off the ignition and turned to face her.

“I don’t know how you feel. I haven’t been in that situation and I won’t insult you with some dumb platitudes designed to make me feel better, not you. But I will tell you something and I hope you take it to heart.”

When she’d started in on her tirade, she’d expected he’d do nothing more than politely listen to the pressure cooker he’d unknowingly unleashed.

But the serious look in his eyes, visible in the dome lighting, told another story.

“What’s that?”

“You’re a remarkable woman, Sadie Colton. I’ve thought it since the first time I saw you at the academy and I’ve thought it every day since. You’re sharp and smart and you care about people. You believe in people. And because of it, you’re one of the finest members of our department. You do right by others and you want to see justice brought for all who deserve it.

“I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how others see you. And I can tell you how I see you. And it’s not as some helpless damsel in distress or some silly duped woman. Tate Greer is a criminal and he behaves like a criminal. And you, unfortunately, were collateral damage. That’s his fault, not yours.”

He flipped off the dome light and reached for his car door handle, admonishing her before he got out. “Stay where you are. I’m going to come around and help you.”

The normal urge to argue or to tell him she was fine never made it past her lips. Because she was still so shell-shocked over his speech.

He thought she was remarkable.

Her.

She was still trying to make sense of those words when he came around and opened her door.

* * *

Tripp wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but now that the rush of words was out, he wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or pleased by Sadie’s response.

Or lack thereof, if the fact that she hadn’t moved from her seat was any indication.

“Once you’re ready, step down carefully. If you place your foot on the running board, I’ll help you from there.”

Sadie did as he asked, planting her feet as she shifted herself out of the passenger side. Her movements were slow, but he was pleased to see she seemed to have full range of motion as well as some pink color back in her cheeks.

Even if that rosy glow competed with the purple bruise lining her jaw.

Ignoring the hot rush of anger, Tripp took hold of her hands and helped her step down. Just like earlier, the gesture was simple and meant to help, but Tripp couldn’t help but feel there was something more to it. Something monumental.

That was a train of thought he definitely needed to pull off the tracks if she was going to be living with him for the next few days.

“There are just two steps up to the garage door. If you wait, I’ll help you up them and into the house.”

He went around to the back of the vehicle to pull out a few of his work items as well as the small bag her sister had brought to the hospital. But by the time he closed the rear door to his SUV, Sadie was already at the steps.

“Hey there. I told you to wait for me.”

She turned to him, perched on the second stair. It basically made them eye level, but she had the slightest advantage in height. From her perspective, she looked down on him, a small smile at her lips.

“I want to do this, before I lose my nerve.”

Before he could even register her words, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was a quick kiss, and rather chaste, but something inside him imploded.

Unable to stop himself, his free arm wrapped around her, holding her in place. Without questioning if he should, or even if she’d welcome the gesture, he returned his mouth to hers. She hesitated for the briefest moment and he nearly pulled back, but her arms came around his neck, her lips opening beneath his.

Desire and a delicious sort of shock rippled through him as the kiss spun out. Heat, need and the culmination of what felt like endless years of wanting combined to create something he had never felt before. A soul-deep desire that made all the principles he held on to so tightly seem almost silly.

He didn’t need or want a relationship in his life…right?

Somewhere a small voice inside kept trying to remind him of that, but Tripp disregarded its steady drumbeat. And then he ignored it completely as he dropped the bags from his one hand, lifting that arm to join the other at her waist. With the additional leverage, he pulled her closer, reveling in the way she seemed to melt into his arms.

Her lips were playing over his, pulling sensation after sensation. Like that runaway train he had worried about, the emotion sparking between them was electric.

And wildly raging out of control.

It was Sadie who finally broke the kiss, her pretty green eyes hazed with passion. “I guess that means you didn’t mind.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She reached behind her for the doorknob. “I should probably go in now.”

As she still fumbled for it, Tripp reached past her, his forearm brushing her waist, to turn the knob. “You should. I can help you, if you need it.”

She shook her head, sudden shyness taking over her normally ebullient personality. “I’m good. A friend of mine from high school used to live in this neighborhood, and I think your house has the same layout. I can find my way.”

He bent to pick up her bag, handing it over. “The bed in the spare room is all made up. And there are towels in the attached bathroom.”

“Thanks.”

She turned then and slipped into the house. While he hated to see her go, Tripp was strangely relieved. In the cooling aftereffects of their kiss, reality was rapidly coming back.

He’d kissed Sadie.

Well, she’d kissed him, but then he’d kissed her.

The dangerous swings of emotion he had carried for the last several days had erupted at the touch of her lips. It was a distraction he didn’t need. More, with the threat to her well-being still out there, it was a distraction that could prove lethal.

Yet no matter how hard he admonished himself, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to touch her. To kiss her.

He gave her one more minute and then followed her into the house, setting the alarm behind him.

As he heard the light creak of someone walking over the floors above his head, Tripp acknowledged he couldn’t deny how he felt at all.

It was good to have Sadie here with him.

Even if having her here, close enough to touch, would be the hardest test of his life.

* * *

Sadie came awake the next morning in a rush, the same way she had woken up every other day of her life. Only this day, she was different. Wildly different. Because last night she’d kissed Tripp. More, she had initiated the kiss with Tripp.

Although he had caught up quickly, she thought, unable to hold back a smile.

She hadn’t intended for things to go quite so far and, if she hadn’t been so exhausted, likely wouldn’t have worked up the courage to kiss him at all. But her guard had been down and he had said those lovely things in the SUV, so she’d gone for it.

And then been beyond surprised to find such a willing partner in the kiss.

Oh, could he kiss. Whatever she’d imagined, the strong lips with their gentle-but-firm pressure and the warm, secure feel of his arms around her had been beyond anything she’d imagined. And over the past several weeks, she’d imagined plenty.

Only to find that reality had been so much better.

Sitting up, Sadie tested her body, curious how many aches she would find. She was lightly sore all over. Yet, all things considered, she felt pretty good. But oh, her face. She raised a hand to lay it against her cheek and felt the tender, warm-verging-on-hot skin beneath.

Damn it, Tate had done a number on her. She could only imagine what her face looked like and was dreading her first glance into the mirror. If it appeared half as bad as it felt, she was prepared to look pretty awful.

Hitting her had been a nasty move, designed to make her feel small. And it had worked. Only now, with the bright sunlight of a winter morning streaming through the windows, it made her angry. She meant what she had said to Tripp the night before. She did want to help him. And in light of what he had suggested, working together through a timeline of the past several months in the investigation into Capital X, she likely did have something to contribute.

Tate had thought he was so clever, concealing everything he did from her, but there had been some cracks. They had spoken of travel and he’d mentioned a lot of the places he had been to. He had almost bragged about it, really, talking about the things he had done and seen.

She could use that. If they could triangulate some of the locations, they might have a better chance of tracking where Capital X’s interests might lie.

Regardless of what they turned up from her memory, she was also a pretty decent whiz with the computer. She could dig as much as the next person, and she was determined to help Tripp find what he needed. They would put Tate away. And she was first in line to be part of the team to do it.

With that resolution keeping her company, she got out of bed and crossed to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she moved before the mirror, offering up a small prayer as she went.

“May it not be too bad,” she whispered before opening her eyes. And watched them widen in her reflection as she took in the purple and blue that ran down the edge of her jaw.

Wow. She breathed out, shocked to realize that it actually looked worse than it felt. That was saying something.

Determined to find the silver lining—and realizing it was rooted in the fact that her jaw wasn’t broken—Sadie quickly washed up and headed back into the bedroom. She put on a fresh change of clothes then headed for the kitchen. Coffee would make it better.

Then she’d hunt up a pad of paper and start writing down what she knew.

It was only as she came into the kitchen that she found Tripp at the table a few steps ahead of her. He had his laptop open and a series of photographs laid out on the kitchen table. He was also scribbling notes on a legal pad beside his computer.

“You’re up early.”

He glanced up from his notepad. “I could say the same about you. Have you had enough sleep?”

“I’ll probably crash again later, but right now I’m good.” She pointed to the coffee maker on the counter. “Can I get you a refill?”

Tripp stood at that, snagging his mug from the table. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

“It’s coffee. I think it’s okay.”

He’d left a mug out for her on the counter and she filled it before turning with the pot to replenish his. It was only as she turned, morning light streaming through the window, that she caught his dark glare.

“What?”

“That bruise on your cheek.” Tripp came closer, ignoring the outstretched carafe in her hands and instead setting his mug on the counter with a hard thud. He then reached for her, tilting her face so he had a better view in the light.

“How sore is it?”

“It hurts, but I’m fine.”

He ran tender fingers over her jaw, from just beneath her ear all the way down to her chin. The light touch sent shivers down her spine and Sadie had the abstract thought that if given the chance she’d happily stand there with him every morning for the rest of her life.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Tripp gestured with his mouth, his movements reminiscent of the Tin Man after a dose of oil. “Can you move it back and forth?”

Sadie followed suit, nearly laughing out loud at the image.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m waiting for you to pull out your oilcan, Dorothy.”

It was enough to break the moment and he dropped his hand from her jawline. “Very funny.”

“I’ll be fine. Nothing’s broken and, while it hurts, it’ll heal.”

“We should get some ice on it. I should have thought to do that last night.”

Last night.

When they’d kissed.

If she’d been even half thinking when she’d come into the house, she’d have thought of it herself. She’d fallen into bed, so exhausted from the day, that it had never crossed her mind.

“I’ll do it in a bit. Right now I want to enjoy my coffee and see what you’re working on.” She turned to refill his mug before setting the coffeepot back on the burner. “I’ve been out of the loop on everything for the past month. Fill me in.”

He looked about to argue before grabbing his mug and following her to the table. “What has Vikki told you?”

“We communicated by burner phone when I was in the safe house, so I know a few things. But why don’t you give it to me through a cop’s eyes?”

She took a seat, reaching for one of the photos he’d placed on the table. A name was pinned to the bottom: Landon Street. Sadie turned the photo over, curious to the details. “This is Flynn’s brother, right?”

“Half brother. He’s the man who came up with RevitaYou.”

That meant he would soon be Vikki’s half brother-in-law.

“We’ve got him in custody,” Tripp continued, “but he’s not saying much.”

“He probably knows what’ll happen to him if he snitches on Tate’s organization.”

“Possibly. He’s also likely biding his time in hopes he can work a deal. He’s a scientist, after all. He probably doesn’t see himself in the same criminal class as the group he went all-in with.”

Sadie figured a deal was highly unlikely, but at this point, the entire RevitaYou case was like something out of another dimension anyway. The depths of depravity as well as the strange layered mess of it all was tough to navigate.

Sadie took a sip of her coffee, a new idea playing in her mind. “It’s weird, you know. How intertwined my family has become with this case.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, the inventor of RevitaYou is Landon Street. And his half brother is now my twin sister’s fiancé.”

“Funny coincidence?”

“A happy one, too. But curious, don’t you think?”

“People find their way to each other in any number of ways.”

Sadie knew he was right, but even so, it struck her as odd. Her five siblings had all reached the age of maturity and none of them was married. And now here they all were; after just a matter of months working the RevitaYou case, all were coupled up with people intimately involved.

“It’s still a bit odd. Vikki’s engaged to Flynn, whose brother invented the product. And Griffin is engaged to Abigail, whose father was the banker behind the pyramid scheme. And even Kiely found her true love, Cooper, because they were working the case together at the FBI.”

“They also dealt with the kidnapping of Cooper’s son because of it.”

Sadie thought of sweet little Alfie and how excited she was to see her soon-to-be nephew again. “They did. Which only adds to my point. My family is so deeply layered in this case and has been from the start.”

“Riley told me about your family’s relationship with Brody Higgins. That personal connection is why you’re all involved. And things have progressed from there.”

He was right. Trying to find some weird connection made little sense when it was clear how her siblings had met their significant others.

“Okay. So personal connections aside, things have been moving forward. And between you and the GRPD, Colton Investigations, the JAG investigation that solidified Landon Street’s involvement, and the FBI, it stands to reason this would be locked up by now. Yet the sands keep shifting. Every time it feels like there’s a lead that will wrap the whole thing up, a new dimension opens up.”

“You’re on point with that one, Colton.”

“Thanks, McKellar. So what do we know and where are the gaps?”

Over the next hour, Tripp walked her through the case. Every detail he had, from what had actually happened all the way through to his personal theories. He showed her his notes and replayed a few of the interviews they’d done with both Landon Street as well as Tate’s henchman, Gunther Johnson, in custody.

“Then Street and Johnson are where we need to begin today.”

“We?” Tripp glanced up from where he’d scratched another note on his legal pad.

“Sure. You said you wanted my help. Gunther Johnson is our first stop.”

“You’re not going to talk to him.”

“Sure I am.” Sadie made a point to keep her voice light and breezy, even if steel had gathered in her gut.

The RevitaYou case had lingered too long. They needed answers and they were losing precious time before key criminals either cut bait and got away or more people died from the drug.

Or both.

“You know how deep Greer’s tentacles go. Johnson only ratted him out to get out of Murder One charges. He’s not going to give up anything else.”

“Then we gently persuade him to.”

“I’m not sure gentle and Gunther Johnson belong in the same sentence.”

“I just want to ask him a few questions about who and what he knows. He’s one of Tate’s lead guys, which means he knows where the money is and where the bodies are buried.”

Tripp reached for his mug, setting it back down when he realized it was empty. “Which amounts to further ratting out Greer. Sadie, this isn’t going to work.”

Sadie stood to get the pot of coffee, returning to the table to refill both their mugs. “Sure it will. I have an ace up my sleeve. Tate didn’t tell me anything, but Johnson doesn’t know that.”

“You’re going to play him.”

Even with the pain in her jaw, she couldn’t hold back the big, broad smile. For the first time in months, she began to feel like herself. “Like a well-tuned fiddle.”

CHAPTER 7

Tripp unlocked the door to his office and wondered, not for the first time since waking up, when he’d lost his mind. Was it when Sadie had kissed him? Or before? Maybe when she’d huddled in his arms in the SUV after jumping in the lake? Or maybe it was those quiet moments in her hospital bed.

Or hell, maybe it had been that very first day he’d seen her, rookie-crisp in her uniform.

Whether or not he could pinpoint the moment, it really didn’t seem to matter. The woman was in his blood and she made a damn fine argument to boot. And he was about to expose her to a one-on-one interview with Johnson. So far, the man had been a rock. Unchanging and absolutely unwilling to talk on almost anything related to Capital X.

Sadie followed in behind him and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite his desk. “Run through it with me again, will you?”

Tripp closed his door then turned to her. “Shoot.”

“Gunther thinks he’s being loyal by not spilling on Tate’s activities. And he’s been here for—what?—about two months.”

“About two and a half.”

“So he’s out of the loop.”

“He is. Although…” Tripp stilled, a new thought taking root. “What if he’s the one who got Tate access to the safe house?”

“You think he influenced somebody here?”

“Possibly. I’ve been racking my brain but I never once considered that Gunther could have been his way in.”

“It’s an interesting angle. Who here has access to him?”

Tripp mentally ran through the roster. Although he knew most members of the department, he didn’t know everyone. And it was impossible to know everyone’s personal situations, which were usually the key. He had long believed in the fundamental decency of his fellow cops. But if someone fell on bad times, it was not difficult to be taken advantage of by a persuasive criminal with nothing to lose.

“I need to look into it. Check anyone who has been with him.”

“I can help you with that later. If you get the files, I’m happy to cross-reference them with the team.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do. Gotta earn my keep. And we’ll add in the tech angle Tate let slip to me, too. See if we can figure out what or maybe who he’s hacked.” She winked at him, the move positively cheeky. It was refreshing to see, especially after her confession in the SUV last night. Tate’s betrayal had done a number on her and while Tripp didn’t fully understand what she was going through, he was human. He could imagine how something like that would put a boulder through her self-confidence.

That made it all the nicer to see Sadie safe and excited about the case.

And while he might not fully understand, he meant what he’d said. He was impressed with her every day and knew how talented she was, as a cop and as a lead investigator for CSI. She had skills and smarts, and the GRPD was lucky to have her.

He wasn’t crazy about putting her in front of Johnson, but maybe it was what she needed. An emotional shot in the arm to begin to heal some of the damage Greer had caused.

“You ready to do this?” Tripp asked.

“Let’s do it.”

“All right, then. Like we agreed, I want as few people as possible to see you.”

She nodded. “I know. Head down all the way to the interrogation room.”

“And you wait in the viewing room until you get my signal.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Okay, Ms. Colton,” Tripp said as he stood from his desk. “Get ready to lead the witness.”

* * *

Tripp waited until Sadie was settled into the viewing room before he opened the door to Interrogation Room One. Johnson was already in the room, having been brought up by one of Tripp’s detectives.

“Mr. Johnson, Chief Fox told me you’re waiving the right to counsel.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Gunther sprawled in his chair with that special sort of disdain only a young man could truly manage. Tripp had read Johnson’s file so many times, he had it memorized, but he’d still refreshed himself while briefing Sadie.

Johnson was only twenty-two and, by all accounts, had been working for Greer at least four years. He’d worked his way up to being one of Greer’s deputies in that relatively short period of time. The only reason he’d even given Greer up was that he was facing a murder rap.

Tripp would do his job—he always did—but it killed him to see young men like this, their lives wasted before they’d even begun.

Sad situation or not, the kid was scary. His hulking frame had to be at least six-three and, for as big as he was now, he’d likely still fill out further over the next year or two. He was bald, with ice-blue eyes that seemed almost devoid of life.

Resigned to the fact that this one was likely beyond saving, Tripp got to work. “Your rights were read to you, but I will ask you again, do you understand them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you continue to waive those rights?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Let’s begin. You’ve already shared with me and my team that you work for Tate Greer. That correct?”

“Sure is.”

The minimalist answers were what Tripp had expected, so he pressed on. “In the course of doing your work for Mr. Greer, when did you learn about the product RevitaYou?”

“I didn’t learn about it.”

“You don’t know anything about it?” Tripp prompted.

“No.”

“Have you heard of it?”

“No.”

Tripp recognized the blocking and the bravado for what it was, so he kept on. “Surely you had to know something. You’re one of Tate’s lead guys. If his pyramid scheme did well, didn’t you stand to get a cut of it?”

For the first time, he saw the ire rise in Gunther’s cold eyes. “I keep my head down and I do my job.”

“Killing people?”

Gunther finally looked up, that ice flashing hot before the kid banked it. “Making sure Mr. Greer’s business interests are seen to.”

It was a new angle, but Tripp had to give the kid credit. He was hardly incriminating himself by making that claim. Taking the “I’m just a lowly employee, I keep my head down and do my job” angle was surprisingly smart.

Had he thought of it on his own? Or had he been coached?

“I think we’ve established that Mr. Greer’s business interests aren’t aboveboard.”

“Guy runs a business, man. You got a problem with that?”

“Last time I checked,” Tripp said, “most businesses don’t require murder in order to be successful.”

Gunther crossed his arms but didn’t respond.

“You’ve been in here awhile, Gunther.”

“Yep. Getting moldy.”

“While that businessman you’re so loyal to has been out running free and clear.”

Once more, Tripp saw that little shot of heat frisson through Gunther’s gaze. He didn’t say anything, but Tripp took satisfaction he’d hit his mark with the image that Tate was still out while Gunther sat around. It was all the prep Tripp needed and he gestured at the two-way glass for Sadie.

Gunther’s attention shifted toward the door as it opened. Tripp didn’t miss the shot of appreciation that filled the young man’s gaze when Sadie walked in.

“I’ve asked my colleague to join us, Mr. Johnson. May I introduce you to Sadie Colton.”

Gunther lifted his hands as high as he could, the cuffs that encased his wrists limiting his movement as the chain slid through an anchor attached to the table. “Hey.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” Sadie said. She didn’t say anything else, just settled herself beside Tripp at the table. As she did, she angled her head so that her bruised jaw was visible to Gunther.

It didn’t take any time at all for the kid to comment. “Quite a bruise you got.”

“Hurts like hell, too.” Sadie added a fierce grin to punctuate the point.

“You run into a wall?”

“No. I took the butt end of your boss’s gun.”

Although Tripp hadn’t pegged the kid for much compassion, he didn’t miss the way those broad shoulders stiffened at Sadie’s news.

“Do you know who I am, Mr. Johnson?”

“I just met you.”

“And I, you. But that wasn’t my question.”

Just like with the comment on her face, she let her question hang there, more than willing to wait him out.

“Sure, I know who you are. You’re the boss’s fiancée.”

“Ex-fiancée.”

Once again, Gunther didn’t respond and it gave Sadie the opening she was clearly waiting for.

“You know, it’s funny how it all worked out. You ratted him out and then I was forced to realize what a nasty-ass criminal he really is. You know—” she leaned forward conspiratorially, getting into it “—my family tried to warn me about him, but I didn’t listen.”

“I don’t rat people out.”

“Right. You just happened to tell the Grand Rapids PD that Tate Greer is the head of Capital X.”

The kid struggled to sit straight, that lazy slouch gone. “I didn’t tell anybody anything they didn’t already know.”

“I’m not quite sure Tate would see it that way. In fact, based on my conversation with him just yesterday…you know—” she tapped her jaw “—the one where he gave me this? He’s still pretty steamed about it all.”

She kept up that low, steady conspiratorial tone. “Between you and me, I think he’s starting to panic.”

“Dude doesn’t know how to panic.”

“Oh, sweetheart, everybody knows how to panic.”

Just as she had played the conversation from the start, Sadie let those words hang there. And like a fish swimming past a baited hook, Gunther took it. “You think you can touch him?”

“I think we already have. I think that’s why he’s panicked.”

Tripp watched as Sadie spun her argument, her demeanor sweet as cotton candy yet layered with threads of steel.

“That’s why he hit me. He knows the cops know something. And between you and me, he’s right.”

Although the rest of him might remain frustratingly stoic, Gunther’s eyes said all they needed to know. “Cops don’t know nothing.”

“Sure.” Sadie nodded. “You keep thinking that.”

“If they do know something, why isn’t Greer rotting away in here, too?”

“You’ve worked for Tate long enough to know that. He always has a hidey-hole or two set up. He’d never expected we’d find that one at Sand Springs Lake. I’m sure he thinks you gave him up on that, too.”

The explosion came exactly on cue. Gunther slammed a hand down on top of the table. “I didn’t do that!”

“You sure? It would be easy enough for Tate to think that.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“He’s a man of action, isn’t he? Shoot first, ask questions later. That’s what he did to one of his goons. The big guy was shot dead on the floor.”

“Tommy’s dead?” Like a balloon popping, the air flew out of Gunther’s bravado. “Big guy? Dark hair? Always wears a suit.”

“That’s the one.”

“He was identified as Thomas Brackett.” Tripp took the opportunity to layer on the details of Tommy’s death. The description drew Johnson’s attention from Sadie and gave her time to catch her breath. All while she waited like a patient tiger, ready to strike.

Sadie shrugged, the move deliberately casual. “He never gave me his name, so in my mind I named him Fred and the short guy who works with him I named Barney.”

“Little guy’s name is Rick.” Gunther’s words were flat. “They were a team. Worked for Greer for a long time, too.”

“And clearly that loyalty was rewarded.” Sadie’s voice was low and quiet, and there was something beneath her words that had Tripp turning to look at her.

It was in that moment that he saw the truth. She had put on the casual charm and ready bravado for the meeting, but she wasn’t unaffected.

Not his Sadie.

“What do you want from me? I don’t know anything.”

“Sure you do. But I respect the fact that a man needs time to think about things. Why don’t you do that?”

With that, Sadie rose and walked out of the room.

It was inspired and Tripp had to give her a lot of credit. He had seen many an interrogator press too hard or go too long. Sadie had done neither. Instead, she was leaving Gunther with plenty to contemplate.

Tripp raised his hands. “I’m done, too.”

When Gunther didn’t respond, Tripp stood and walked to the door. He opened it and gestured one of the cops waiting outside into the room. With a last look at Gunther, he said, “You can take him back to his cell. We’re done in here.”

* * *

Sadie flipped through Gunther Johnson’s file once more as she waited for Tripp in his office. Although she had read it already, after meeting the man face-to-face, she was hunting for any new perspective she could find.

How could someone’s life be so ruined, so young?

It was a question that had haunted her since walking out of that interview room. One she hadn’t been able to shake since.

Though she still considered herself young, not even yet thirty, she felt light-years away from Johnson. She had a job helping others. She had a family she cared about. And while things had certainly gone beyond sideways with Tate, her gaze had been firmly on her future.

Yet young men like Gunther traded their futures for violence and some sort of temporary accolade from an employer who couldn’t care less about them. Worse, one who found him disposable. It was a strange sort of belonging, doing business in an organization like Capital X. It didn’t make sense. And on a bigger level, she knew it would never make sense to her.

With that sobering thought, her mind drifted to Brody. For far too long, she’d only seen him not as a foster brother, but as the young man her father had been helping before her parents had been senselessly murdered. Although the cases weren’t related, she’d conflated them in her mind in a sort of resentful stew that had taken her several years to get past.

A fact that shamed her now.

Especially because all her siblings had pretty much taken to Brody. He hadn’t been ready for the pressures of real life, nor had he had any resources. Save one.

Her father, Graham Colton.

In his role as district attorney, her father had taken an interest in Brody’s case, determined to prove his innocence in a murder trial. It was a crime her father had been convinced Brody hadn’t committed. His tenacious work ethic had ultimately proved the young man innocent.

It was Graham’s belief in Brody—and her siblings’ desperate need to find some meaning after their parents’ deaths—that they’d taken Brody in as their own.

And ensured that he would have a better shot at a future than being left to his own devices.

It had mostly worked. Brody had built himself a future, ultimately going to college and law school and working hard to make something of himself. He was only a year younger than she and Vikki, but he’d always seemed younger, somehow. And when she wasn’t being stubborn, frustrated and—she’d own it—acting like the baby of the family, she knew he deserved better.

Something she’d come to understand since the RevitaYou case had been cracked wide open. Brody wanted more out of his life, but it was his investment in RevitaYou that had knocked him down.

Terribly.

And every step he’d worked for and pushed for over the past decade had seemingly vanished overnight.

She knew her feelings about Brody weren’t simple—especially the quiet one that liked to sneak in and claim he’d taken precious hours of her parents’ time in the months leading up to losing them—but she knew she needed to think differently.

Vikki’s voice echoed in her head—just like it did every time Sadie mentally went down her Brody rabbit hole. You can’t live his life for him, Sadie. And you need to cut him a break every now and again.

Although she had spent a lot of time working toward Vikki’s approach to Brody, she couldn’t deny he still had a future. And a rather bright one, in fact, once they got past this RevitaYou mess.

Something Gunther Johnson would never have.

Tripp closed his office door behind him, their continued secrecy at Sadie’s presence in the office still in full effect. “Why the sad face?”

“Just a lot to think about.”

“Gunther Johnson?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I was thinking about Brody, too.”

Tripp’s gaze narrowed. “Brody Higgins?”

“That’s the one.” She waved a hand. “It’s complicated emotions.”

“I know I said it before, but I’m a good listener.”

He was, but in this case she wasn’t quite ready to share. She wasn’t proud of how she felt about Brody and wasn’t quite sure how to put voice to those frustrations without her own biases coming out.

“Maybe some other time. What I was really thinking about was Gunther Johnson. And the fact that he’s basically traded every bit of his future.”

Tripp took the chair next to her, one of the two seats opposite his desk. “I was thinking along the same lines as we talked to him. He’s set his future on a boss and an organization that see him as disposable.”

“But he doesn’t see it,” Sadie said.

“No, I don’t think he does.”

“It puts one more check mark in the Tate-is-a-world-class-jerk column.”

Tripp cocked his head, and she saw the thoughts playing through his mind. Curious, she pressed on. “You don’t think so?”

“Oh, I won’t argue the world-class jerk point. In fact, I’ve used a few more choice descriptions. But I’m not sure I would let Gunther off so easily, either.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He was a kid when he started at Capital X. Now he’s a young man. Let’s not lose sight of the choices he has made and continues to make.”

“You mean like not helping us?”

“That, yes. He’s been in here for two and a half months and, other than seeing a shot at reducing a Murder One charge, he hasn’t done a whole lot to help himself.”

While she didn’t want to give her bleeding heart too much credit, she couldn’t ignore Tripp’s counterargument. And it would be highly perilous to give too much sympathy to a dangerous criminal like Johnson. “Something to think about.”

“Yeah, it is. One of the unexpected bonuses that come with this job.”

She heard his light chuckle, one without any trace of humor, before she continued. “Does it ever get to be too much?”

“Some days.”

“What do you do about it? On those days when it gets to be too much.”

It was something, Sadie realized, she really wanted to know. How did Tripp manage the pressures of his job? Both the dangers he put himself in, and the human depravity he saw on a regular basis.

“Believe it or not, a burger usually helps.”

Whatever she was expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. “Thinking of your stomach?”

“Always.” He leaned back and patted his delectably flat abs. “But, seriously, a beer on the back porch as I get the grill going? It usually helps.”

They hadn’t talked about their kiss the night before. In fact, they had both sort of silently agreed to ignore it. But in that quiet moment of camaraderie and solidarity, Sadie couldn’t resist a bit more human touch.

Extending a hand between their chairs, she turned it palm up. “Want to go home and make a burger?”

He hesitated, and she thought he might be looking for a way to avoid making contact. Until his large hand came out, taking hers firmly in his own. “I think that’s an outstanding idea. Let’s go.”

* * *

Gunther Johnson stared up at the ceiling of his jail cell and considered the conversation with Sadie Colton. He figured Tate was pissed about the whole Capital X thing, and the exposure Gunther had unleashed, but he’d done right by the boss, hadn’t he?

He was the one who’d got Greer the address to the safe house. And he was also the one who’d kept his ears wide-open since he’d been inside this hellhole.

But killing Tommy?

It sent a shudder through him. And, damn it, it made a man think, too. Tommy had been a big man in the organization. Tate had always joked with him, making it seem like Tommy was indispensable.

Then he’d killed the guy?

Gunther’d had the briefest suspicion that Sadie had been lying about that, but her description of Tommy was spot-on. And there was no way she had made up that bruise on her jaw. While he didn’t have sympathy for the cops, he’d never taken Greer for one to go around hitting women, either.

And damn, the boss had played her. Gunther had watched it all from afar and knew way more than he had let on to the cops. Tate had worked her and worked her, making her feel so special, telling her how important she was. And all the while he’d kept poking around in her files, trying to get more details on the GRPD and on her family.

Yeah, Gunther knew who the Coltons were. Everybody in this part of Michigan knew who the Coltons were. And that was what Tate had wanted when he’d gone after their precious baby girl. Information from the easiest in he could find.

Gunther had quietly listened when Tate would laugh about her, mentioning an upcoming “date” or weekend trip she was all excited about. Greer had laughed and laughed, like she was the dumbest mark he’d ever seen.

Only she hadn’t seemed dumb today. In fact, if he had to guess, she was smart as hell and was now nursing a serious vendetta against Greer.

It made her dangerous. And, he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself, sort of hot. Those sexy green eyes had sized him up and he’d liked it. But he wasn’t dumb enough to let his dick do the thinking. Sadie Colton was in that interview room today for a reason and he had to figure it out.

Before he ended up as dead as Tommy.

CHAPTER 8

Tripp took a long drag on his beer as he checked the temperature of the grill. He could already feel some of that relaxation and sense of calm returning, just like he’d told Sadie.

Even if the woman was driving him a little out of his mind.

He glanced down at his hand where it rested on the edge of a chair that went with his backyard dining set, and could feel the way her smaller one had fit so neatly in his earlier. He’d nearly held back when she’d stretched out her hand, but after the day they’d had and the underlying sadness of their conversation about wasted futures, he hadn’t been able to resist.

A situation he continued to find himself in, more and more.

Determined not to dwell on the things he couldn’t have, Tripp considered the conversation with Johnson. Sadie had been impressive, her interview skills incredibly advanced. Whether it was her role as the youngest of six that had made her a good negotiator, he wasn’t sure, but she’d hit all the right notes.

She had also left him something to think about when it came to whom Johnson had had ready access to.

Tripp had pulled the log files for the past month before they’d left his office and included anyone who had been on duty at the prison or had checked in for any reason. He wanted to settle into them after dinner.

Sadie came through the back door and out onto the porch. Even though it was December, he had set up heaters at both ends and it made for a cozy space outdoors.

“You’ve got quite a setup out here.” She looked around. “Those space heaters are incredible. I never would’ve expected you could sit out here, no matter how many heat sources you put up.”

“It’s a bit of an oasis. Add that I like to grill and needed to find some way to do it year-round.”

She slid a plate of uncooked burger patties beside the grill. “Nicely done. And proof that one should never underestimate a man’s ingenuity when it comes to his ability to cook meat outside.”

“You’ve made a study of it?”

“My brothers love it. Griffin, especially.” Sadie smiled at that, and he saw the clear and genuine affection on her face. “Though I suspect he’s grilling less now that he’s got Abigail and baby Maya in his life. I’ve really missed seeing that little one for the past month. She’s got to be changing every day. And I missed her first birthday.”

Tripp saw the brief bit of sadness and tried to cheer her up. “You’ve got two things in your favor on that count. First, she likely didn’t realize it was her birthday. And second, a well-placed gift from a doting aunt is always a happy occasion.”

“You’re right.” Sadie picked up the beer he’d left for her on the table and took a sip. “You’re also surprisingly optimistic. I’m not sure I would’ve thought that about you.”

“You think I’m a downer?”

“No.” She seemed to consider her words. “But you are serious. And I think I’d likely misjudged that seriousness for negativity.”

“I have my days.”

“We all have our days. But here you are in the midst of a highly stressful case and yet you’ve still found numerous opportunities to make me feel better.” She lifted her beer to his in a toast. “Thank you for that.”

He clinked his bottle to hers. “You have to admit, you kinda make it easy. You are the sunshine of the Colton family.”

She set her beer down, a look of horror on her face. “Oh no, that’s what you really think of me?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Sunshine? The next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m cute like a baby kitten and should be patted on the head for my efforts.”

“That’s not what I meant. Although, what’s wrong with being cute?”

“At the risk of borrowing too heavily from Susan Sarandon’s rant in Bull Durham, let me tell you, a woman would far prefer to be called sexy than cute.”

“Can’t you be both?”

“In my experience, people tend to prefer to put you in one category and leave you there.”

He suddenly realized they weren’t talking about cute or sexy, but something that ran far deeper. Something that felt a lot like the lifelong expectations others carried for you.

“It’s hard to be the youngest?”

“Probably no harder than being the oldest or the middle or anywhere in between. But when it’s your life, it does have its challenges.”

“Your family cares about you.”

“Yes, they do.” She smiled, with a benevolent sort of acceptance. “And I love them back. But it doesn’t change the fact that we drive each other nuts on a regular basis.”

“It’s nice to have that.”

“You don’t?”

He didn’t, and while it wasn’t something he thought about often, faced with someone who had five siblings, it was interesting to compare. “No. I was a late-in-life baby and it was just me.”

“I would imagine that has its challenges, too. We may have our fair share of sibling spats, but they’re there for me. And I can’t imagine life without them.”

“Like you said, we know what we’ve lived. I don’t think about it all that often. Mostly, in conversations like this one, when it’s hard to really picture myself in your situation.”

She studied him, keenly interested in what he was saying. Although he got that sort of ready acceptance at work, it was rare to have a personal conversation with someone so present, so thoroughly in the moment.

“What situation is that?” she asked.

“The assumption that because they dote on you, they don’t see you as a fully capable person.”

He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, nor was he sure why he felt it was his business to butt in. But that hadn’t seemed to stop him with any conversation they’d had so far. In fact, an odd intimacy had sprung up between them, where he didn’t really feel the need to hold back the things he was thinking.

“It’s not an assumption, to be honest. It also comes from their actions and the things they say.”

“What do they say?”

“About what? My job? My personal life? Where I’m going to live? Who I’m going to live with? What my future looks like?” She stopped, a broad smile suffusing her face. “Gee, that’s sort of whiny, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t use that term.”

“Then your mother clearly raised you right. But even if I quit my bitching, I can’t say I’m entirely in the wrong about them. My brother Riley had a really difficult time when I went out for the force. And Kiely and Pippa, as the older set of twins, love playing mother hen to Vikki and me.”

“You don’t do the same for them?”

Her eyes went wide at the suggestion. “Of course not. Like they would take that from me.”

“Then you didn’t see what I saw. Last night at the hospital, for instance. I was waiting out in the hallway and I could hear the way you maneuvered the end of the conversation. You were quick to shoo everybody on after they’d hovered too close. They listened to you.”

She reached for her beer, her gaze fully focused on him. “There you go again, making me feel good. And seen.”

“Because you are.”

“So you say. But I think it’s something else. You see a lot, Tripp McKellar. It’s interesting and affirming, and a little unnerving.”

There was that idea again, about being seen. He’d gotten the sense the night before that he’d touched her with his words in the SUV. Statements that he took as simple fact, about her competence and her capabilities. Yet she clearly saw it as so much more.

“That’s probably because I’m prying again.”

“No, I wouldn’t put it that way. You see things, because you’re an observer. Things that sometimes the person in the middle can’t see very accurately or without being clouded by their own judgment.”

“Only-child observer syndrome?”

“Maybe.” She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe it’s something more.”

“Too many years on the force, being suspicious of anyone and everyone?”

“That one probably has a bit of merit. But it makes you a good detective.”

He saw the split second of hesitation, curious as to what she held back. Every moment they had spent together over the past twenty-four hours had suggested Sadie hesitated over very little. Yet even with his curiosity, he couldn’t quite reconcile that with the serious way she looked at him.

Ducking away from her close observation, he tilted his head toward the edge of the patio. “I should probably get the burgers on.”

He moved to the grill but stopped when her hand reached out and settled on his forearm. “I do think it’s something else, Tripp.”

Without his even asking, she continued. “I think you’re a good man. An all-the-way-down-deep good man. And I’m afraid there aren’t nearly as many of you as I had believed there would be when I grew up.”

“I don’t know. I think your brothers are pretty good guys. I also know a few of the guys your sisters are marrying and they seem like fine men, too.”

“I agree. I think there’s good in all of them. But right now, I’m talking about you. And what I see.”

Captivated, Tripp couldn’t resist asking, “And what do you think you see?”

“I don’t think. I know.” Her hand fell away, but that serious gaze never left his. “You’re the man who does right by others, no matter the cost to himself. It’s heroic. And absolutely unusual.”

Her words struck a chord and, while a very big part of him was grateful for the way she saw him, an even bigger part refused to believe her. It was sweet that Sadie saw him that way, but he knew the truth. If he truly was a hero, Lila would still be alive. His child would be alive and in kindergarten by now. And he wouldn’t carry around this endless emptiness in his heart.

But he didn’t say those things.

Even if, in that same place in his heart, Tripp knew he was right.

* * *

Sadie sensed that she’d overstepped but had no idea why. She’d meant what she’d said and had been as complimentary of Tripp as he’d been of her the night before.

Yet somehow she felt the genuine praise had fallen flat.

It was tempting to think the intimacy they had developed over the past twenty-four hours was a mirage. It was something she might’ve let herself believe, even a few days ago in the safe house while berating herself over her failed relationship with Tate.

But Sadie refused to go there, allowing that self-defeating behavior to define her reaction.

She hadn’t imagined the quiet moments that had passed between them, which meant Tripp’s denial was steeped in something else. But what?

She knew he had something tragic in his past. Although she hadn’t been on the force when it happened, personal details always had a way of coming out. Was he still mourning and grieving the loss of his fiancée? Because if that were the case, then she had overstepped.

And the intimacy she had pressed for had been ill placed.

She would do well to remember it and focus instead on the reason she was staying with Tripp. It was a protective measure, nothing more. Tate Greer was still out there and she still had a target on her chest.

With the excuse that she needed to go back in to set the table for dinner, Sadie headed inside. She puttered around in the kitchen, pouring them both drinks and hunting up some fixings for salad. By the time he came in ten minutes later with the cooked burgers, she had a big bowl on the counter and plates set out for them.

She kept her smile bright and her tone equally light and airy. “Those smell delicious.”

“Making burgers is one of my few skills. I feel pretty confident in telling you that they will be.”

“With a sales pitch like that, how can I resist?”

They settled in at the table and Sadie sank into small talk. It was a skill she had honed over the years with her family and she was pretty good at it, if she said so herself.

Although they had begun to find their way as adults, especially over the past year or so, there had been plenty of tension between the six Colton siblings after their parents died. Adopted as a child, Griffin had always battled feelings of being separate from the rest of them. And she and her sisters, while there was deep love between them, had the typical ups and downs that a group of four women could have for one another. From drama to secrets and back to drama again, often in the course of one conversation.

And then there was Riley.

The oldest, the head of Colton Investigations, and by default, their resident leader. There were times they loved him for it and there were times they resented him for it. Often, Sadie thought ruefully, at the same time.

But through it all, they’d each figured out a way to deal with one another. And for Sadie, that had meant lighthearted conversation and a way to navigate through all the emotional land mines that lay beneath the surface of their family unit.

With that skill firmly in hand, she put it to good use over dinner.

For his part, Tripp seemed to take the conversation in stride. He laughed when she talked about various members of the CSI team. Who was overly serious and who was working on the side to become a stand-up comic. Even one who came in each Monday with a dating story that could make a person’s hair stand on end.

Tripp listened to it all, laughing and offering his own version of events when they shifted gears to discuss other colleagues. But nowhere during dinner did they get back to that easy intimacy and layered conversation they’d shared before.

It was like a switch had flipped off, Sadie thought as she rinsed dishes before putting them into the dishwasher. And she had no idea how to get the old Tripp back.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine. I’m one of six kids, Tripp. Every one of us rotated through cleanup duty.”

“Back to sibling politics again?”

She didn’t miss the curiosity in his question. “It’s been drilled into me since birth. I guess I never really realized, though, how much I depend on them. Or mention them, for that matter.”

“It’s nice.”

Tripp’s phone went off, putting a pause to their conversation, and Sadie finished loading the last few dishes as he answered the call.

“Riley. How are you?”

“Speak of the devil,” Sadie muttered. What was her brother doing calling Tripp? The two men knew each other and worked well with one another when it was required, but, best she knew, Riley didn’t make it a habit to call GRPD members after hours.

Was he checking up on her?

Although she didn’t need anyone’s permission to stay at Tripp’s, she had given Pippa an early morning heads-up. Not only was she her calmest sister, but since Pippa was also on the hook for the morning donuts, Sadie had wanted to save her the trouble. Pippa had promised to spread the word about where Sadie was staying, especially since Sadie was still without a cell phone.

“Your brother’s coming over, along with Ashanti Silver,” Tripp said as he put his phone away.

“CI’s tech expert?”

“Yep. They’ve got an idea for how to draw out Wes Matthews once and for all.”

Although Sadie knew the players broadly in the RevitaYou mix, a month out of the loop had been a bit too long to go without new information. “I know Wes is the man behind the pyramid scheme. His daughter, Abigail, was embarrassed but honest about that from the get-go as she got to know Griffin. What’s their idea?”

“It was suspected for a while that he was still in Michigan, but the FBI has officially debunked that. Latest intel suggests he’s hiding out in the Bahamas.”

Realistically, Sadie knew the man needed capture. But as she thought about Abigail and Griffin creating their new life with baby Maya, there was a part of her that wanted to spare them the upheaval. All while keeping Abigail’s father at a distance.

“I hate what this must be doing to Abigail.”

“Your brother has an idea and if it works, she will be able to put it behind her soon enough.”

But would she?

It was a nice dream, to think that you found closure. And focusing on Maya’s future would undoubtedly help Abigail in the healing. But looking to the future or not, the reality of her father’s crimes would have their day. They’d have to.

Wasn’t that the root of what she was experiencing over Tate? Realistically, Sadie knew she was better off without him. Far better off.

But the embarrassment of being so wrong, coupled with the betrayal of genuine feelings, wasn’t something that was so easily healed.

In the end, Sadie admitted to herself, it just hurt. More than she could ever have imagined.

* * *

Tripp settled Riley and Ashanti in his living room before returning to the kitchen to get drinks for everyone. Riley had already hugged Sadie and affirmed for himself that she was okay, insisting she sit with them and recount the events at the hospital.

The drinks had given Tripp a polite excuse to escape. And also think about Sadie.

Something had shifted during dinner, before taking a decided left turn over the dishes. He’d thought they were getting along, but something had clearly spooked her. Although he knew the events of the past day, as well as the entire month before, were likely catching up to her, it seemed like something else was bothering her.

So much more.

And he felt wholly responsible for whatever “that” was.

Tripp brought the requested drinks into the living room, passing them out when Riley spoke up.

“I realize my sister is probably downplaying what happened last night. Which is why I want you to know that this comes from me and all the rest of my siblings,” Riley said. “Thank you for being prepared and for making sure that she’s okay.”

“I’m fine, Riley.” Sadie laid a hand on his arm, in that way of hers that was so warm and natural. “Truly, I am.”

“Because of Tripp.”

Sadie looked about to argue before her jaw snapped closed. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, it looked like she might be biting down on her back teeth. Although he hadn’t ignored what she’d said earlier—We may have our fair share of sibling spats, but they’re there for me. And I can’t imagine life without them—watching the byplay between brother and sister gave Tripp a new appreciation for what she must deal with as the youngest in the family.

Anxious to change the subject and take the spotlight off her, Tripp shifted gears. “What is this idea you have to pull Wes Matthews out of hiding?”

“He fancies himself as something of a playboy,” Ashanti started in, clearly as happy as Tripp to divert attention off the family politics. “We’ve been working with Cooper and the FBI, and we’re going to use that weakness to catch him.”

Sadie looked to Riley for confirmation. “We’re talking about Abigail’s father?”

“Yep.” Riley nodded. “He’s quite the ladies’ man. Kiely learned that firsthand when one of his discarded women, Meghan Otis, kidnapped Alfie out of some weird need for revenge.”

“Which only reinforces my point,” Sadie said. “Is he really going to be dumb enough to risk extradition?”

“No extradition needed,” Ashanti said. “I put a few feelers out and he’s nibbled on every one of them. If he’s so dumb to go diving into a honeypot while in the midst of fleeing, he deserves what he gets.”

It was hard to argue with Ashanti’s logic. And while a big part of him was determined they play every bit of this by the book, Tripp couldn’t deny the fact that it made a lot of sense for Colton Investigations to handle this part of the work. As a private enterprise, CI could function in a way that neither the Grand Rapids PD nor the FBI could.

A little coloring outside the lines, as it were.

He was still glad to know the FBI was involved. Cooper Winston was one of the best agents the Bureau had. The man was solid, aboveboard and, as of recent events, also engaged to Sadie’s sister, Kiely.

Even with his reassurance that Cooper was on the case, Tripp was concerned that the team followed all proper protocols. Especially if they didn’t want Matthews getting off on a legal technicality later.

“You’re not doing anything illegal to capture him, are you?”

Ashanti warmed to her subject. “I’ve done nothing to coerce return contact.”

“What have you done?”

“I started with the suggestion I had a rather sizable fortune from my older late husband that I was looking to invest.”

“And he bought it?”

Ashanti smiled as she took a sip of her soda, her warm brown eyes taking on a decidedly fierce quality. “At the risk of undervaluing my mad skills, he didn’t just buy it, he swallowed the whole damn hook.”

“Unbelievable,” Tripp muttered. They’d spent the past three months trying to think of any number of ways to lure the bastard out and maybe they never really needed such schemes at all.

“Or highly believable,” Sadie argued. “Looks like no matter how smart Wes Matthews thinks he is, he’s still dumb enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book.”

Ashanti tilted her soda toward Sadie’s, clinking glasses. “Score another one for an old classic. Because once again, the honeypot does its job.”

CHAPTER 9

Sadie sat beside her brother and willed her teeth to unclench. To her credit, she’d tried doing that all evening, but Riley was making it difficult. Since he was also oblivious to how much he was annoying her, she was seriously considering adding bodily harm to her to-do list.

That only made her feel guilty when Riley pulled her in close for a hug after Tripp and Ashanti left the room to go into the kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Riley, I’m fine.” His hold remained as tight as a python’s but, strangely, she didn’t care. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

He let go at that, pulling back to stare down at her. “Now you’re just lying to me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sure you are. But since it’s a family trait to keep one another in the dark about anything bad, I’ll try to forgive you.”

Sadie thought about that, especially in light of her earlier conversation on the back porch with Tripp. “Do you think we do that?”

“Of course.”

“Lie is a rather harsh word choice.”

Riley patted her knee. “I’ll do you one better, then. How about ‘gloss over the details’?”

Now that one she’d buy.

“It’s the Colton love language. Make sure no one else knows just how bad the situation is.”

Sadie laid her head on his shoulder and let out a small sigh. “How is Brody holding up in all this?”

“On the rare occasions we hear from him, not very well.”

She lifted her head at that news. “What do you mean when we hear from him?”

Riley got that look on his face—the one that said he was about to gloss over details—and she put her foot down before he could go there. “Riley, come on. I know I’ve been out of the loop for the past month, but you have to tell me.”

He let out a sigh, but based on his head nod and the serious look on his face, Sadie knew she was about to get the truth. “I think he’s scared and I think his situation is pretty bad. We know he’s hiding out.”

“From?”

“Greer. And Wes Matthews. He put money into that pyramid scheme and because it’s a big fat lie, he hasn’t made a profit. Now they want their money back and made that abundantly clear with their usual starting point of broken fingers.”

Once again, Tate’s real job reared up and slapped her in the face. Capital X didn’t take kindly to investors who couldn’t pay them back. They were willing to make large loans, but they wanted payback in full, in a timely manner, and with serious interest.

In spite of her earlier, confused thoughts about Brody, she couldn’t understand his reasons for staying away. “He came to us for help when this all blew up. Why won’t he stay with one of us? We can help him and keep him safe.”

“When any one of us has been able to talk to Brody, that’s what we’ve tried to tell him. Vikki has got a couple of texts and Pippa got a phone call. But that’s about it.”

“I don’t understand this.” Sadie thought about the young man who’d been a presence in their life for nearly a decade. Despite her uncharitable moments, she loved him. They all did. Didn’t Brody know how much they cared for him? And that they were his family? “Why won’t he let us help him?”

“My money is on embarrassment, which, before you tell me I’m wrong, you know is true.”

“I don’t know any such thing.” Sadie pushed back, surprised that was how Riley saw the situation. “Why should he be embarrassed?”

Riley stared at her dead-on but his voice was gentle when he spoke. “Why have you been embarrassed? About Greer?”

She sat back on the couch, that family urge to brush it off welling up sure and strong. “I’m not.”

“Sadie—”

“Come on, Riley, it’s not the same.”

“How is it different? Greer is an ass and he took advantage of you. Why should you feel any embarrassment about that? At all?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty. What I don’t understand is why you seem to think you’re responsible.”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She certainly didn’t want to have it here, with Tripp a room away. And she really really didn’t want to have it with her brother. But Riley wasn’t backing down and it seemed like Ashanti had Tripp occupied in the kitchen.

“Because it is embarrassing.”

“The man is a criminal.”

“And I almost married him!” Sadie caught herself and lowered her voice. “Do you have any idea how awful it is to think about that? To think that I had almost run off with him to Vegas and bound my life to a criminal. A man who murders people, Riley.”

She felt the tears working their way up and did her best to swallow them back. “Where would I be right now if Vikki hadn’t caught wind of it all?”

Riley pushed back, unwilling to back down. The paternal role was one he took often as the eldest sibling, but there was something different this time. He seemed more insistent. And even more determined than usual to make her see reason. “She did catch wind of it. And Kiely got Johnson to spill the details on Greer’s involvement with Capital X. Disaster averted.”

“Hardly. I still lost over a month of my life, stuck in a safe house because of him. And believe me, I had plenty of time to think about my poor judgment.”

“He played everyone, Sadie. Why is that on you?”

“Because ‘everyone’—” she made air quotes around the word “—wasn’t desperate enough to rise to his bait. And everyone wasn’t so freakishly eager to be married that they missed every sign that he’s a horrible person.”

“None of us knew the real Tate Greer.”

“Yeah, but none of you liked him, either. Only, I refused to see it or even acknowledge it. That’s all on me. Every time one of you tried to tell me that there was something off about him, I ignored it. And instead, I kept pushing forward, thinking how lucky I was and how in love I was. That I finally blossomed from that nerdy little kid who shoved her nose in books and had long stringy hair and now here I was, finally getting my man. My hot man who loved me. How wrong I was.”

Tripp and Ashanti chose that moment to return to the living room. If either of them noticed the heated conversation, they were polite enough to ignore it. Sadie was grateful for that, but she couldn’t deny her sense of social equilibrium had been badly blown off course.

Falling back on a polite excuse—she refused to use the word lie—Sadie stood, effectively ending the conversation with her brother. “I’m sorry to do this, but I think I’m going to wrap up for the night. I’m still a little tired.”

“We should probably get going,” Riley said, standing, as well. “But before I leave, let me give you your new cell phone.”

Sadie made all the polite niceties, oohing and aahing over the phone her brother had procured for her, but all she really wanted was the quiet of her own room. She nearly had it, too.

She made it through an extra-long hug at the door with her brother, along with his promise to bring Charlize over to visit later in the week, and then he and his tech expert were off.

That left her and Tripp awkwardly standing together in the foyer as if they’d just waved off their guests, which they had just done. Only, there was no “they,” nor were the two of them a couple, jointly entertaining visitors.

Seeking to break the awkward silence, Sadie returned to their earlier conversation. “What do you think about the plan to draw Matthews out?”

“I was skeptical when Riley first said CI was working on something, but it sounds like they’re on to a plan that has a shot at working.”

“There aren’t many who are as good as Ashanti.”

“The same can be said for your brother. He runs a good shop.”

“That’s high praise, coming from a cop.”

“I mean it.”

Sadie backed up a few steps, fumbling for something to say. “Riley said we’re supposed to get snow tonight.”

“News is calling for about six inches overnight.”

Since she was dangerously close to fumbling her way through a conversation about the weather, Sadie opted to cut bait. “Okay…well then, I’m going to go up.”

“Sure. Let me know if you need anything.”

She nodded before heading up the stairs.

It didn’t take a genius to know that she needed something. But she’d be damned if she was going to ask for it.

* * *

Tate stood out past the edge of Tripp McKellar’s property and watched the headlights as the car pulled out of the driveway then vanished down the street.

Interesting.

What was Riley Colton doing visiting the good lieutenant?

Since running from the hospital the night before, Tate had spent his time trying to figure out where they’d moved Sadie. He knew hospital security would be looking for him if he showed his face there, but that hadn’t stopped him from calling the main switchboard to talk to her, playing like he was a concerned friend.

The volunteer who’d answered the phone had seemed confused when he’d continued to insist that Sadie was a patient there. He’d used that confusion to his advantage. The woman finally gave in after he’d pressed and prevaricated, becoming more and more frantic when Sadie couldn’t be found. The ploy had worked and the woman had finally told him that Sadie had been checked out.

That information had affirmed his belief that the GRPD was once again looking out for her.

He hadn’t bothered going back to the safe house. Between the destruction he and his men had wrought as well as the fact the site had been compromised, there was no way they would take her back there. So he’d spent the rest of the day casing out Coltons, which hadn’t produced Sadie, either.

It was only when he’d replayed the battle with McKellar over again in his mind, and all that had gone wrong in the hospital room, that it struck him.

The cop was watching out for Sadie.

Police officers might not normally list their personal information in the local telephone directory, but he had ways to find the information he needed. And getting an address hadn’t been that hard.

Imagine his surprise at seeing his sweet little ex giving big, wide-eyed glances to the cop as they merrily cooked up dinner on the back porch.

Tate had no lingering feelings for her, but he sure as hell couldn’t believe the little bitch had moved on so quickly. She’d barely known how to act on a date when he’d first started hitting on her. She’d been so nervous and awkward. She’d learned—quickly, too—but it wasn’t like she was the soul of experience.

And here she was already with someone else?

Tate shook his head at the irony, laughing to himself before he muttered, “Once you get a taste for it, sweetheart, you just can’t help yourself.”

He’d done that.

Given her the taste for a real life and a real relationship, while giving her a taste for sex, too.

Sadie was cute enough—she’d even tried to be sexy and playful once she was comfortable with him—but in the end, none of it had been about her anyway. She’d been a sweet diversion while he’d gleaned the information he’d needed, and now he was done with her.

The practical part of him knew he’d be better off just taking her out. He knew her whereabouts and he really needed to just take his shot.

But something held him back.

His goals hadn’t changed. He still wanted her to pay for the sheer trouble she’d caused him. But watching her tonight, out on the back patio with McKellar, he realized he wanted something else, too.

There was still something wholesome and honest about Sadie Colton and he had the strongest need to crush it. To obliterate it so that she didn’t just die, but that she ended so badly no one would ever be able to talk of anything else.

She could have avoided it. If she’d only played along and done his bidding, she wouldn’t be in this situation. But in the end, she’d been weak, listening to that damn meddlesome family of hers. And there was no way he’d let that insolence and disobedience pass without punishment.

Sadie had to pay.

And after she did, the rest of the Coltons would, too.

Every one of them would know, every single day for the rest of their lives, that their precious sister died because of them. It was the only way he’d walk away from Capital X a winner. And Tate Greer always won.

Always.

* * *

Tripp stared at his laptop, but the names blurred together on the screen.

He hated this. Hated thinking there was something going on with someone in his department. But there was no way around it. Someone had given Tate Greer the information to the safe house and Tripp was determined to find out who had put Sadie—hell, all of them—at risk.

“Are you still working on that?” Sadie padded into the kitchen, thick, fluffy socks on her feet. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun and Tripp admitted to himself that she had never looked more beautiful.

“What are you doing up? I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I tried.”

Tripp understood the ways a person’s body could betray them under stress. “It’s a difficult time. Even when you’re exhausted, sleep doesn’t always come easily.”

“I suppose.” A small smile drifted across her face. “Even setting up my new phone didn’t tire me out enough.”

“Technology. The great distractor.”

She shrugged. “Not this time. Anyway, I’m just going to get some water. Do you want anything?”

“I’m good.”

Tripp tried to focus on his screen, but his gaze kept drifting to where she puttered around the kitchen. An oversize GRPD sweatshirt covered her to mid-thigh and underneath it she wore yoga pants. She looked like the girl next door.

Although he never considered himself someone with a type—and his limited dating life since Lila’s death had been more about quietly seeking a mutually willing partner for an evening of comfort and sexual release—he had to admit the look worked for him.

That meant he needed to focus on his computer and off Sadie. He didn’t need to be attracted to her. He needed to protect her.

Even if he was still curious about what she and Riley had talked about earlier, it hadn’t escaped his notice that the conversation had been intense. Sadie had looked on the verge of tears. That, based on the stress she had experienced over the past month, and particularly the last few days, wasn’t necessarily a surprise.

But still he wondered.

Sadie came over to the table and took a seat. “Are you finding anything?”

“No, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“It would be a really tough blow to think that someone in the department had given up the safe house address.”

“Especially coming on the heels of Joe McRath.”

Tripp knew he couldn’t take McRath’s betrayal solely on himself. He had a captain and an entire team of people to work with. But it was difficult to know that a man he had respected had been dirty.

“After it happened, Pippa said Emmanuel was struggling with it, too.”

“It’s hard enough knowing a cop you worked with and trusted wasn’t who you thought he was. But the stakes are life and death in our business. McRath traded on the wrong side of that.”

That same anger that had accompanied him for the past few months—ever since Emmanuel and Pippa had brought the situation with McRath to light—flared high and bright. It was like a hot coal he’d held on to for endless weeks now. He’d gotten used to the steady pain, but every once in a while something forced him to really think about it again.

To acknowledge the reality of what they’d dealt with as a department.

“You doing okay with it?” Sadie asked.

“I have to be.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, I’m not fine with it. Not at all. I hate looking at my fellow officers with questions. I hate thinking that one of them could have fallen on hard times and is even now making a bad decision. Just like Joe McRath.”

“Don’t forget good, old-fashioned greed. Sometimes a person doesn’t need hard times as an incentive.”

Based on when Sadie started as a rookie, Tripp had always pegged her about five or six years younger than his own thirty-three. But in her comment, he heard all the pain and suffering that had narrowed that gap far faster than the standard passage of years ever could.

“You’re right.” On a hard sigh, Tripp pointed to his computer. “This little exercise doesn’t help. I need to trust the people I work with, and combing through names, considering each of them, doesn’t instill one iota of belief or conviction.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. And you know as well as I do that the world isn’t black and white.”

“No,” she sighed. “It isn’t.”

Maybe it was because the world wasn’t black and white. Or maybe it was just because he wanted to know…

“It looked like you and your brother were having a pretty serious conversation earlier.”

It was curious that she didn’t immediately stiffen or turn defensive. Though Tripp did hate that his question seemed to make her sad.

“It was pretty serious. I know he’s worried about me, and I appreciate that. I worry about him, too. I worry for all my siblings. We look out for each other, because we’re family. But none of us can walk the other’s path. We can’t take away the realities and the pain of living.”

“I’m sure Riley understands that.”

Sadie snorted. “Understanding and practice are two different things.”

Tripp knew it wasn’t his business. At all. Yet still, he nudged. “Is that all?”

Sadie stared down at her glass of water before that pretty green gaze settled squarely on him. “For someone who doesn’t answer a lot of questions, you sure do ask quite a few of them.”

“I can stop.”

“I’m not asking you to stop. But I want to make sure you’re ready and able to accept the answers.”

He sensed he was standing on the edge of a very shallow ledge. But that didn’t stop him from pushing for an answer.

“Try me.”

* * *

Sadie knew this was her shot. On some level, she’d been waiting for it since her first day as a rookie at the GRPD. Even then, she’d been captivated and awed, and yes, attracted, to the impressive leader that was Tripp McKellar. As the years had passed, after she’d transferred out of the squad room and into CSI, she’d watched him.

And always, she’d harbored that little flame of attraction.

She’d believed herself unable to act on it. The nerdy kid image of herself that she’d carried into adulthood often did a number on her self-confidence. Add that they were both in their place of work and Tripp appeared to keep his personal life deeply private, and she’d never felt she even had a shot at a relationship with him.

So she’d kept her feelings to herself.

She’d waited, year after year, until Tate Greer had found her, alone and vulnerable and the perfect foil for his dirty deeds.

Tracing a finger along the rim of her glass, Sadie shared some of what was racing around in her mind. “The past month has given me a lot of time to think. To dig deep into who I am, what I want out of life, and how I see myself.”

“You were dealt a tough blow with Greer’s deception. I see what we’re dealing with as a department, and it’s not nearly as personal as what happened with your relationship.”

“Maybe not,” Sadie said, considering. “But just like you said, it’s discouraging to think of our fellow officers as potentially not being who we think they are. It makes us question ourselves.” She briefly hesitated, but knew it was up to her to finish. “Imagine how much deeper that goes when the subject is personal.”

Sadie wasn’t sure why she had started down this path, yet somehow, she knew it was the right one. Whatever these feelings were that she had for Tripp, she also trusted him. Saw him as a friend. More, saw him as a confidant.

“It’s the things in our personal lives that have the power to cut us down at the knees. And when you have spent much of your life feeling awkward and unlovable, I can tell you, it cuts you off at the waist.”

Whatever Sadie expected, Tripp’s immediate protest wasn’t it. “Unlovable? Sadie, that’s not true. Not even close.”

“It’s completely true. I did have those feelings and I had them for a long time. I felt that way about myself and Tate was able to use that.”

“But you’re a beautiful, confident woman,” he argued. “I don’t see how this connects.”

He had no idea how much those words meant, but Sadie refused to be diverted from her point. “While that’s nice to hear, it doesn’t change the way we see ourselves inside. I was the proverbial nerdy kid, with my nose always buried in a book. I wasn’t athletic and, outside my family, I didn’t have a lot of friends. You carry that with you, Tripp. It doesn’t go away just because you pass a certain age.”

“But you just said it, you were a kid. You’re not one anymore. I’ve watched you since you were a rookie. You’re one of the hardest working people I know. You’re competent—highly competent—in your job. And you go after what you want. I’m not dismissing how you feel, but I’m also telling you what I see now. Here. Today.”

Although her family, particularly her sisters, had tried to tell her the same, the words did have more impact coming from Tripp. But should they?

Yes, it was wonderful to have affirmation from a man. Particularly one she was attracted to. But hadn’t that been what had happened with Tate? He had showed her a bit of positive reinforcement and she had mistaken it for love.

Tripp was different. She held on to that, even as she searched for the real lesson beneath all the heartache.

Because whatever emotional lessons she was supposed to take out of this experience, she knew for a fact that one of them was not comparing Tripp McKellar to Tate Greer.

Still, the thought had taken hold. It was wonderful to be told that she was competent. Confident. And beautiful. Especially by a man that she cared about. But she had to believe those words. She had to find those feelings within and believe them for herself. Not because they were said to her by someone else.

But because she really, truly believed them.

CHAPTER 10

Tripp was still thinking about Sadie’s late-night confession the next morning as he put coffee on. She’d headed back up to bed shortly after their discussion, leaving him to his endlessly roiling thoughts once she was gone.

While that’s nice to hear, it doesn’t change the way we see ourselves inside… You carry that with you… It doesn’t go away just because you pass a certain age.

He was well acquainted with emotional baggage. Admittedly, he’d never imaged Sadie Colton as having any. That was monumentally unfair, but true all the same.

Yet wasn’t he the same? He still carried myriad feelings about Lila and their baby. But even before that, he’d had conflicted mindsets on his family and his upbringing. He’d been loved—he never questioned that—but they’d lived a quiet life. His parents had only been able to have him. Many families thrived with only one child, but he’d always felt his mother harbored a low-burning resentment she hadn’t been able to have more kids. By the time he was old enough to understand it or to even ask her about it, she was gone.

That brought him back to Sadie. She was one of the brightest lights he knew. And he’d always thought that about her, regardless of his secret feelings for her. She seemed like someone who tackled life head-on and kept a cheery disposition all the while.

But now, in the cold light of their conversation, he was forced to wonder if he’d not only done her a disservice, but had also failed to see her as a whole, fully feeling person.

He knew the story of the Colton family. Her parents, Graham and Katherine, were killed in a story that had grabbed headlines for months. Her father’s role as Michigan DA had ensured the story remained top of mind for everyone in Grand Rapids, from the point it happened all the way through to the trial that had put the murderer away for life.

The pain of losing a loved one was hard enough. He knew that and lived it every day. And he also knew that those feelings only grew more intense when the loss came from such senseless violence.

He still struggled with the reality of moving on. And yet he hadn’t given Sadie the same consideration.

The woman who’d dominated his thoughts suddenly filled his kitchen and he watched, curious, as she padded into the room. She was freshly showered, her strawberry-blond hair in loose, damp waves around her head. She walked to the counter where the coffee was finishing the last few moments of its brew. She blew out a breath when it was evident she had to wait, before turning in a huff. “Do you sleep?”

“Of course I do.”

“Because I’ve seen no evidence of it yet.”

He wasn’t sure what had brought on the rush of frustration but opted for humor to deal with it. “You’re cheery in the morning.”

“I’m horribly grumpy in the morning.”

“You weren’t yesterday.”

“I was happy to be alive. Today I’m just irritated.”

The coffee maker made its final gurgle, indicating it had finished, and Sadie turned back to the counter, reaching for the pot like a lifeline. To her credit, basic manners had her taking two mugs out of the cabinet and pouring him one, but he was still thinking over what she’d said.

I was happy to be alive.

In the midst of his musings, he’d set that one aside. And it was jarring to have it shot back at him, and so matter-of-factly.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Hmm?” She was busy doctoring her coffee, pouring in copious amounts of cream.

Suddenly frustrated, Tripp walked over and snatched his mug off the counter. She wasn’t wrong, but the fact that she could say it so casually over a cup of coffee was a surprise.

“That yesterday you were just happy to have your life.”

“What?” Genuine confusion marred a few subtle lines into her forehead, while a small furrow dug in between her eyebrows. Her reaction also seemed to magnify the purple and blue bruise that ran down the length of her jaw, a dark, lingering souvenir from her hospital stay. “What are you talking about?”

“You, Sadie!” The words were out like a shot, coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug as he slammed it on the counter. “You. And the fact that you almost died this week and you’re casually assessing it like writing out a grocery list.”

The coffee that spilled over was still piping hot and he moved to the sink to run cold water over his hand. The heat covering his knuckles had nothing on the rising ire that filled him.

“I’m not casually assessing anything.”

“Could have fooled me.” Tripp grabbed a kitchen towel to dry his hands before tossing it back on the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He whirled on her, well aware it wasn’t the right moment for this conversation. But he was frustrated, and all of it had bubbled over, needing a place to land. “It means what it means.”

“That I’m not taking this seriously? That I don’t value my own life? That I’m not aware of what’s going on around me like the clueless woman I’ve been for the past six months?”

Her voice rose with each question and Tripp had the first flicker of recognition that he might have an equal partner in the battle clearly brewing between them.

He knew he needed to stop. Knew it, down to his bones. Yet no matter how that thought beat in his mind, thrumming in time to his racing pulse, he couldn’t pull back.

“We’re back to that again? That you’re some poor, clueless woman because your boyfriend was an ass?”

Shock waves rippled through the room, radiating out from where he stood. Only, this pulsating disturbance had a directed target, and he saw Sadie nearly stumble in place before something hard and stubborn seemed to lodge in her spine. She set her coffee cup down, oh so carefully, on the counter, before standing to her full height.

“I knew you were cold, Tripp. But I didn’t know you were an ass.” She turned to leave, the easy camaraderie they’d had for the past thirty-six hours vanishing with her, when Tripp moved.

Just like the words he hadn’t been smart enough—or hell, capable enough—to hold back, he wasn’t able to stop himself. His hand snaked out, grabbing her elbow to keep her from leaving the kitchen. His touch was light, meant to stop her versus hold her in place, but battle lit her green gaze as she turned to face him.

“Leave me alone, Tripp.”

He let go immediately, even as those hard breaths continued to build in his chest.

He needed to back off.

He needed to take control of himself and the situation.

He needed…her.

The already heated air between them shifted instantaneously, the hum of battle transmuting into something so full of need his own knees nearly buckled.

And then they moved. Both of them in unison. United in the same goal.

Tripp wasn’t sure if he pulled Sadie into his arms or she moved into them, but as his mouth came down on hers, he knew it didn’t matter.

They were both exactly where they belonged.

* * *

Sadie fought to catch her breath, but the press of Tripp’s shockingly impressive chest against hers, as his mouth kept up that delicious pressure, made steady breathing an impossibility.

And she didn’t care.

All she wanted was him. And this sense of belonging that went beyond her deepest fears, straight toward something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Somehow, some way, in the midst of some of the worst days of her life, Tripp had found a way to restore the one thing she’d never realized she’d been living without.

Only she knew it now.

And she was desperate to keep the feeling going.

Although she wasn’t a short woman, his tall, muscular frame seemed to dwarf her where he wrapped her in his arms as he pressed her against the counter. Her hands had gone to his waist and it was with excitement she realized that their close proximity meant she could explore that impressive physique to her heart’s content.

Never one to waste an opportunity, she did just that, her hands drifting over the thick sinews of his back before tracing the hard lines of his shoulders as his mouth continued to ply hers with long, sumptuous kisses that pulled at something deep inside her.

Something real and raw, and completely amazing.

Sadie opened herself up to him and, as she fervently drank him in, recognized something else.

She needed him.

It was a rogue thought that was just heady enough to pull her from the moment.

Tripp sensed the shift and lifted his head. “Sadie?”

“I—” The urge to sigh was strong but she held it back. “How did that happen?”

And how do we make it happen again? Not because we’re fighting but because it’s as natural to us as breathing.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said, his gaze still stark and hungry with unmet need.

“But you were so angry.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself before he nodded. “I was angry. But you just seemed so laid-back about everything. The current situation. And then you went right back to that place where somehow it’s your fault.”

Sadie stepped out of his arms and away from the counter, increasingly aware that thinking was difficult in such close proximity.

“Nothing about my life or how I feel is laid-back. Of all people, I thought you understood that. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Sadie. Don’t walk away. You asked me why I was angry.”

“And now I know.”

His bright blue eyes clouded over, that crystalline gaze going cold. “You can be mad if you want, but I’m not wrong.”

“You enjoy sitting on that high horse?”

The anger that had tinged his words before was nowhere in evidence. Instead she felt the chill slash through her with each syllable. “I’m not sitting anywhere. I’m staring at a woman who is bright and wonderful and who needs to quit feeling sorry for herself and start realizing that she’s in danger.”

“Your compassion absolutely spills over.”

“You don’t need compassion. You’ve got five brothers and sisters as well as a host of soon-to-be in-laws to give you that. It’s my job to give you the truth. To keep you safe.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Tripp. Say it as often as you like. In the end, you’ll realize that they’re just words. Safety. Security. Sanctuary. It’s all an illusion anyway.”

Before he could reply, she shot out of the kitchen and up to the spare bedroom. It was time she got to work on not needing him so much.

* * *

“He’s so hot.” Vikki’s voice rang with authority and, since she’d said the same thing at least four other times in the past half hour, Sadie was getting close to kicking her twin. Lightly, of course, and only hard enough to push her off the double bed she sat at the end of.

“You’re not listening, Vik.” Kiely interrupted from her perch on the rolling desk chair in the corner of Tripp’s spare bedroom. “Because attractive or not, Lieutenant Hottie can’t be bothered to listen to Sadie.”

Vikki waved a hand, seemingly unconcerned. “He jumped straight to doing, and that goes a long way in my book.”

“There is something to be said for doing.” Pippa’s smile was dreamy, hearts and unicorns practically circling the air above her head where she sat on the floor. “All the doing.”

“Fat lot of help you three are.” Sadie added a satisfying harrumph before slamming back onto the pillows she’d propped against the headboard.

“We might be more helpful if you came up with some argument other than ‘Tripp McKellar is an ass,’ baby sister.”

“I’m the same age as you, Vikki,” Sadie shot back. It was an argument as old as they were, but it never stopped Vikki from using it in times of discussion. Or family disagreements. Or, well, ever.

“She’s a stickler for those extra minutes,” Kiely said before adding, “A fun fact you can use when you turn forty.”

“In twelve years. I’ll be sure to wait with bated breath.” If I make it that long.

Sadie fought off the terrible image that came to mind at the dismal thought. She was here now. She was with her family now. And Tripp—despite his ham-fisted way of dealing with whatever this thing was between them—was determined to see her stay that way.

Now.

If only her loved ones could see how crazy he made her…

“Much as I’m enjoying how readily we all feel we can and should—” Kiely eyed Vikki “—deliver love advice, we’re here to game-plan.”

Leave it to Kiely to get down to the heart of the matter, Sadie thought. Her sister had earned her stripes as a freelance private investigator, working with Colton Investigations, the FBI and any other qualified organization that could afford her. She had her finger on the pulse of just about everything and she had a way of subtly pulling everyone in line.

“Riley filled you in on how we’re going to try to take down Matthews.” Kiely directed the statement at Sadie, even as all her sisters nodded in unison.

“He was here last night with Ashanti.”

“It’s a good plan. But one that is going to take some really tight planning and flawless execution,” Pippa added, her dreamy-eyed stare vanishing as that of a hard-nosed attorney took over.

Although Sadie had been somewhat skeptical of the idea last night, she was even more so in the cold light of a new day. “Do you all think it will work? Is Wes Matthews, mastermind behind RevitaYou, so dumb to fall for a honeypot?”

“Yes,” all three of her sisters said in unison.

The unanimous agreement was swift, followed by all three of them talking at once.

“He’s a total pig,” Pippa said.

“Abigail’s trying to hold up under all this, but even she agrees her father can’t stay away from a beautiful woman,” Kiely added. “That horrible Meghan Otis just one terrible example in apparently a long line of them.”

“He’s a man,” Vikki scoffed in the loudest voice, as if her answer said everything, even as the gaze that landed on Kiely was clearly sympathetic. They’d all come to love Alfie in the short time Cooper Winston and his small son had been in their sister’s life, and everyone knew how dangerous Meghan Otis had really been.

It was that last remark that Sadie keyed in on. “We know I’m no expert on men, so maybe you’re right.”

Sadie saw the judgment flash across Vikki’s face before her sister firmly tamped it down. The urge to press her was strong, but Kiely had already launched in. “Cooper’s on the FBI task force focused on bringing Matthews in. They missed him twice in the Bahamas, but they’ve got tabs on him. The outreaches Ashanti has made so far have worked. We’ve got him nibbling on a baited hook. And if Matthews behaves as he has in the past, it’ll work again.”

“What are the next steps?” Pippa asked.

“Ashanti’s begun to make subtle outreaches on how to meet in person. She’s added a few…ahem—” Kiely’s normally indefatigable demeanor flagged a bit. “A few choice stock photos to sweeten the deal.”

Although she’d had limited sexual experiences before Tate, Sadie was well aware men were visual creatures. Obviously the added incentive of suggestive photographs was needed to get Matthews to give up his hiding spot.

And still, it seemed like they were missing something.

“You still don’t look convinced, Sadie,” Pippa noted.

“It’s not that I’m not convinced. Matthews is a pig and, if his own daughter believes this is his weak spot, it’s well worth pressing the advantage. But it feels like we’re missing something.”

Alert, Kiely leaned forward from where she sat on the desk chair. “Go on.”

“So, Brody got pulled into this relatively early on. The pyramid scheme had been active long enough that some people had a successful outcome, which was a plant to entice more investors. But it was also in place long enough to start tanking results for the next round of investors.”

“Which was Brody,” Pippa added.

“Exactly. And he got the loan from my scummy ex-fiancé to finance his way in.”

“But we know all this, Sadie. That’s why Brody came for help in the first place.” Vikki blew out a hard breath. “Even if he refuses to take it now.”

Brody’s disappearance had been a sore point for Vikki from the start. Sadie knew that, but she’d already warmed to her point, her CSI training to look beneath every surface kicking in. “And we’ve got Landon Street, who made the product effective but highly deadly.”

Her sisters nodded in unison, still seeming to follow where she was going.

“So in the planning of all this, who’s supposed to get out of here with the big score? Matthews works up the pyramid scheme but Tate is the funding and the muscle? Yet now Matthews is gone? And despite Tate’s sick focus on me, he has to be thinking about pulling up stakes. There’s no way he can stay here any longer.”

“That’s true,” Pippa agreed. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but you’ve got something here. It’s like Wes is off scot-free and Tate’s stuck holding the bag.”

“And we also already know the product has its limits.” Sadie continued with her argument. “Even if they get a few million so far off of investors, it’s all Tate’s loan money to begin with. Where’s the real cash coming from?”

“Not everyone needs funding from Capital X,” Kiely said. “Some of it came from people with genuine money to burn.”

“That’s it!” Sadie sat forward, the next layer of the scam they were about to create coming to life in her mind. “That’s how we get them both.”

“Both?” Kiely pressed her.

“Wes and Tate. Keep going with the honeypot because it’s obviously a powerful lure. But we need to turn the two of them against each other, too. There’s only so much money at play because a lot of it was Tate’s to begin with. He’s going to want even more than his criminal interest rates to get out of this deal with a profit. Especially since it’s blown his entire operation to hell and back.”

“You don’t think either of them has an exit strategy?” Vikki asked.

Sadie considered the question, even as she used what she already knew about Tate to form her opinion.

“I think each of them thinks he’s smarter than the other. So they might have an exit strategy, but it’s predicated on each thinking he has all the money in play. And that’s where we come in.”

Pippa stood to pace. “This is good, Sadie. Really good. If we can get them to turn on one another, we can tug all the loose threads. How it started in the first place. How they’re finding their so-called investors. And where they’ve been hiding the funds they already have in hand.”

“We can even get Brody’s money back.” Sadie sat back hard against the pillows, an image of Brody’s dejected face in the front of her thoughts. Although she’d been hard on him at first, assuming he was too focused on money instead of making strong choices, she’d come out the other side of that line of thinking. Brody had unfortunately been duped, on a project he’d believed couldn’t fail. As someone who’d been duped herself, through a “grand romance” with Tate Greer, she was hardly one to judge.

And maybe that was the bigger lesson anyway. Maybe it wasn’t about judgment but about helping someone out of a tough spot. One they hadn’t asked to be in, nor actively sought out, but one they’d ended up in despite their best efforts.

Kiely’s phone dinged and she frowned, staring down at it. “I need to go pick up Alfie from day care. He’s got a fever.”

She was out of the chair immediately, her sole focus on leaving. Sadie rose and walked to her sister, quietly excited to see Kiely’s concern and obvious love for her soon-to-be stepson. And, if recent discussions were any indication, actual son once she and Cooper were married and she could adopt Alfie as her own.

Wrapping her in a soft hug, Sadie pressed a kiss to Kiely’s cheek. “Text me and let me know how he’s doing.”

“I will.” Kiely hugged back—hard—before stepping away. “I’m sorry to rush out.”

“Go.” Sadie smiled. “Now.”

In a matter of minutes, Kiely was gone and Pippa was up and readying to leave, too. “I’d rather stay and talk, but I’ve got a judge I still need to see to get a case on the docket before the holidays.”

Sadie hugged Pippa before her sister could talk herself out of leaving. “You get out of here, too.”

With no one left but her twin, Sadie turned to Vikki. “You’re holding out on me.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“A lot the past six months. Before that…” Sadie made a scrunched-up face before lightly scratching her temple in a mock gesture of thinking really hard. “Never.”

“I’m not holding out on you.”

“You are and I’d like to know why.”

Vikki patted the bed, a clear invitation for Sadie to sit. “I’m worried about you.”

“Now? But I’m safe.”

“At this moment, yeah, sure. For good?” Vikki took her hand once Sadie sat. “I’m not so sure.”

“Vik—”

Vikki squeezed her hand, the motion enough to stop Sadie from saying more. “Hear me out.”

“Okay.”

“I love you and I know you’ve been through a lot. Way more than anyone should ever have to go through.”

“I hear a but in there.”

“I told you to hear me out.”

Sadie blew out a harried breath but shut up. Vikki had her “older sister” voice on and she knew she needed to listen.

“I did hold out on you. I did it a lot while you were dating Tate. I never liked him and it’s not because I didn’t want you to be happy.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I couldn’t say all I wanted to. I know I told you to be careful and I was hesitant about the engagement, but it was more than that. I never liked him. But—” Vikki broke off, her voice choked with tears. “I never thought he’d be such a monster. Or that he’d try to hurt you like this. If I’d had any clue, I’d have said something. Hell, I’d have run him out of town on a rail myself.”

“None of us knew.”

“Yeah, but my twin sense never stopped tingling around him. And I held back on you. I’m sorry.”

Vikki pulled her into a tight hug and Sadie held on just as strong. She’d held back her own tears up to that point but let them fall as the heavy emotion of the moment finally caught up to her.

“I’m sorry, Vik. So sorry I was so blinded by him.”

Vikki squeezed her once more before pulling back. “You really need to stop apologizing for him. For your feelings. For all of it.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Vikki shook her head and wiped away tears. When she finally spoke, her voice rang strong and true. “I’m not holding back now, either. Not now, not anymore, and not about this.”

“Not about what?”

“You didn’t do this, Sadie. You didn’t bring it on yourself and it didn’t happen because you didn’t have a lot of dating experience.”

“But I—”

Vikki shut her down, barreling through the conversation like a GRPD cop hot on a chase. “Experience has nothing to do with a manipulative bastard like Tate Greer. He saw a way into our lives and he took it. I hate to break it to you, but it could have just as easily happened to Pippa or Kiely or me. You were the one he somehow flagged as his mark.”

“I don’t think the three of you would be so stupid to fall for him.”

“Then you sorely overestimate a woman’s power to overlook an attractive man who shows her attention.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? If he was ugly, I’d have ignored him?”

“No, no. What I meant was that I remember those first few weeks the two of you were dating. You talked about your conversations and the way he made you laugh. How kind he was and how much thought he put into each date. I was jealous.”

“Of me?”

Although Sadie had built some level of confidence, she’d always seen Vikki as the glamourous one of the two of them. She had the blond hair and more slender figure, taking after their mother, while Sadie had thicker curves and the less flashy strawberry version of blond.

And until this moment, she’d never had reason to think any other way.

“Yes, of you. So were Pippa and Kiely.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes. We all did.”

“So when did you stop feeling that way?”

“When I saw how he spoke to you. It was like after he’d done the work to get you to fall for him, he’d stopped trying. And the real him began to peek out from the edges.”

“I know.”

And she did know. Hadn’t that been the most puzzling part of the relationship? Those early, halcyon days had been so much fun. Tate had been sweet and attentive, kind and considerate. But the veneer had eventually begun to crack. She’d told herself it was because they’d moved into a new phase of their relationship. One where things weren’t quite so new and where they’d begun to settle into life without the bright, shiny haze of new love.

But it had bothered her all the same.

Only she’d ignored it. She’d convinced herself that it was inexperience. That she had no reason to be discontent. Or to complain.

Or to feel she deserved something more.

“Which is why I like Tripp so much,” Vikki said.

The change in topic was swift and, if Sadie knew her twin, deliberate. “This has nothing to do with Tripp.”

“It does if you let Tate Greer stand in the way of something amazing with Lieutenant Hottie.”

“Stop calling him that.”

Vikki reached out and brushed Sadie’s hair over her ear. “Okay then. I’ll call him something else.”

“What’s that?”

“A shot at happy-ever-after.”

CHAPTER 11

Sadie thought about Vikki’s words long after her sister had left. Long after the afternoon light had faded into a dark winter night. And long after the scent of dinner had drifted up the stairs.

Tripp had left her alone and, somewhere deep down, Sadie knew she needed to be a decent houseguest and go talk to him. Yet still, she’d stayed put in her room.

Part of her felt slightly childish, but a bigger part of her needed the time alone. The discussion with her sisters had been good for her. The time together and the comfort that always came from being with them had given her a chance to see things in a new light.

But with that light, she’d been forced to examine some of the things she would’ve preferred to keep buried. For the past month, every thought of Tate had been equated with personal inexperience. How odd then, to have Vikki suggest something else. A new view Sadie hadn’t considered before.

Up until now, she’d taken the situation fully on herself. And while she suspected she would never be entirely free of the sentiment—and the embarrassment seemingly intertwined within—her sisters had also helped her look at what had happened with fresh eyes.

Tate had done her wrong. And rather than allow that battering litany to run in her head that she’d somehow allowed it, or somehow asked for it, Vikki and Pippa and Kiely had helped her to see things differently.

The knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come in.”

Tripp poked his head into the room and as she caught sight of his face—that firm jaw and serious blue gaze—Sadie was surprised to realize she had missed seeing him. Oh sure, they’d talked about him all day, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him again.

That took her right back to the morning and how it had felt to be wrapped in his arms.

To have that firm chest pressed against hers.

To have those lips caress her own.

“I just wanted to check on you. I made some dinner.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t come down, but I—”

“It’s okay. I’m glad your sisters were here. That the four of you had a chance to spend some time together.”

“Me, too. Their visit gave me a chance to, um, process a few things.”

“That’s good.” His brow furrowed. “Right?”

“Yes, very good. It also gave me time to work my way up to that apology I owe you.”

Tripp opened the door more fully, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. “I think I’m the one that probably owes you an apology.”

“Nope. I think this one’s all on me. And I need to say a few things.”

He considered her for a moment but said nothing.

Just as she had earlier, Sadie felt so completely seen by him. The way his gaze drifted over her. The way his attention was fully on her. It was heady. And it was real, somehow. But it also reinforced all the reasons why she really did owe him an apology.

“I didn’t want to listen to what you were saying earlier. But you were right.”

“About what?”

“About Tate. About what happened with him, because of him.”

“No, Sadie, I overstepped.”

“For the record, I don’t think you did. But I am curious why you tried to convince me otherwise.”

He never moved off the door frame, but the casual nature of his pose belied the fierce light that leaped into his eyes. “Because I think you’re pretty great. I always have. And it galls me to see how somebody who isn’t worth your time could make you feel so badly.”

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tripp looked about to say something but held back. Instead of speaking, the two of them continued to stare at each other, the pulsing need that had arced between them in the kitchen this morning filling the air once again.

A part of her wondered if she should turn away, yet another part of her—a much bigger, deeper part—knew she couldn’t.

This was Tripp. A man she had feelings for. And, if their kiss in the kitchen was any indication, feelings that weren’t entirely unreciprocated.

But what to do about it?

With all the other stresses in her life, it would be so easy to simply reach out for it. To take the physical comfort she knew she would find in his arms.

Only, she was scared of what she’d find on the other side. The part that came after they got through this battle with Tate Greer and Wes Matthews and the whole RevitaYou mess. When life went back to normal and he went back to being Lieutenant Tripp McKellar and she went back to being CSI expert Sadie Colton.

When they had to see each other at work and handle cases together and find a way to live a normal life again.

The danger that was so awful right now had also created a fake intimacy. One that hadn’t had a place in the real world before and likely wouldn’t again.

Because how did you make a go of a relationship that started in the midst of a crisis? Sure, her siblings might be walking proof that you could come out the other side happily in love, but she just didn’t see that for herself. She’d known Tripp a long time and it hadn’t happened for them. She’d be a fool to think that would change after the danger died down.

“I do still have dinner downstairs. I can heat up a burger for you. Throw some frozen french fries in the oven.”

“You don’t need to go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Besides, I have a few things I want to show you. I’ve been digging through files all day, and I want to get your opinion on a few theories I’ve put together.”

She sensed it was a bit of an excuse to get her out of the room, but Sadie didn’t care. A burger and fries and Tripp sounded like a nice way to finish out her evening.

She was strong enough to handle it. More, she could remember that the situation was temporary and enjoy it anyway.

As she got off the bed to follow Tripp downstairs, Sadie decided she would do just that.

* * *

Tate stood in the shadow of Tripp’s house, the cold air that swirled around him sharpening his senses. The scent of gasoline rose from the container by his feet. The night was cold, bitterly so, and the snow that had been predicted on the day before hadn’t disappointed.

He’d likely do better to wait but he was running out of time. He needed to do this now.

It was time to end this.

Everything he had built, worked for, planned for; all of it had vanished in a matter of days. And the bitch sitting inside was at the root of it all.

It was shocking on some level. He’d run his business for a long time. He recruited carefully and he knew how to get around the cops and the Feds in equal measure.

And in a matter of weeks it had unraveled so badly, he’d be lucky to get out of Grand Rapids with nothing more than the money he’d stowed down in the Caymans.

Damn Matthews.

Tate huffed out a harsh breath, the air in front of him steaming with it. The bastard had been so slick and sure of himself. So convinced they’d make a good long go of this RevitaYou crap. And the results had been impressive. Hell, he’d looked at the users himself. Some of them actually looked ten years younger. The transformation had happened quickly and before they were even done with the first bottle, people were lining up for more.

As that line grew, Wes Matthews had spun quite a tale of profit beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings.

Tate had spent most of his life convinced the straight and narrow path wasn’t for him, but even he had thought about going legit on the product. It was too good and too effective not to think about actually putting it out to market and running a business to widely distribute it. The money would print itself.

Until it started killing people.

Because, as it turned out, you can’t turn back time, no matter how hard you try to engineer it.

Now Matthews was gone, Gunther Johnson and Landon Street were in jail, and his traitorous little ex-fiancée was spilling her guts to the cops. And while the Caymans were looking better and better, he wasn’t going anywhere until he dealt with all those damned loose ends.

Tate patted the box of matches safely tucked away in his pocket before he bent to pick up the gasoline can.

It was time to start recouping his investment.

* * *

Tripp knew something had changed, even if he couldn’t fully put his finger on what it was. The tension that had hovered between him and Sadie this morning had vanished. Instead, what had replaced it was a spirit of collaboration from his partner, who seemed to have turned an emotional corner.

It was the only way he could characterize the “something” in his mind.

Even as he had to admit to himself that Sadie wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

Her stormy exit from the kitchen that morning had left him with a lot to think about. More than a lot, if he were honest with himself.

And he didn’t entirely care for some of his conclusions.

She’d said many things that made him think, but her parting shot had been the most effective.

In the end, you’ll realize that they’re just words. Safety. Security. Sanctuary. It’s all an illusion anyway.

Was that the case?

He made his life under the working assumption that his job was to keep people safe. Yet her words had made him reconsider that and all he’d believed about himself.

If safety was an illusion, then maybe his job wasn’t about keeping people safe at all. Maybe it was about holding back the dark so they remained just safe enough.

And so the dark remained just far enough away.

The exact opposite of Tate Greer, Capital X and the entire RevitaYou case that had consumed them all for the better part of six months. As the case had grown deeper, its secrets unfurling lead by lead, the dark had crept closer.

The capture of cop Joe McRath.

Followed by the uncovering of Capital X.

And then Sadie’s kidnapping.

He’d believed he was doing his job, but was this all a lesson in dealing with the dark? In learning how to handle it when it inevitably came?

He’d been there before. Lila’s death had decimated him, from the sheer violence of the act, the loss of their unborn child, and the unrelenting knowledge that it had happened because of him. A man he’d put in prison had gotten out and exacted the worst revenge anyone could imagine.

Tripp had borne its consequence every minute of every day since.

Yet even with that experience, he had never seen his role as defender and protector a useless act. He’d always believed in his ability to do his job and keep others safe.

And Sadie had upended that with a few well-placed jabs.

Only they hadn’t been jabs. They’d been the serious assessment of a woman in the midst of a crisis. But they were also the words of someone who’d given her professional vow to serve and protect.

She wasn’t a civilian, untrained in the world of criminal minds and the violent acts that stemmed from those places. She also wasn’t ignorant of what went into his life day by day. The TV cop shows had it wrong. What looked like a life of swift action on a screen resembled that far less often in real life. Instead, he made his life on the tiresome reality of repeat offenders, avoidable crimes and endless reams of paperwork.

All while praying like crazy he’d avoid too many experiences like the rescue at the lake and the subsequent attack at the hospital.

The oven timer dinged and Sadie pulled out the cookie sheet of french fries. “These smell delicious.” She smiled. “A most excellent idea for dinner.”

“I have a few every now and again.”

Sadie had already fixed her burger and, after scooping some fries into a bowl, met him at the kitchen table. He was pleased to see her navigate her way around his home, comfortable even if she didn’t fully realize it.

He snatched a fry, happy that she’d salted them perfectly.

“So what did you want to show me?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to eat?”

“I can eat and listen at the same time.” She dipped a fry in ketchup. “I want to hear your theories. See if they match any of my own.”

“Okay.” He pulled his empty plate from earlier closer and grabbed a further handful of fries for himself. “I feel like catching Matthews is the key to all this.”

“Abigail’s father is the linchpin.”

“You think so, too?”

“I do.” Sadie set down her burger and wiped her fingers on her napkin before continuing. “I talked to my sisters about it. Vikki in particular, who’s the closest to Brody and knows how scared he is, is putting a lot of hope in the scheme Riley and Ashanti have cooked up.”

“It’s good. They know what’s needed to both reel him in and do it in a way that makes sure Matthews can’t get off on a technicality later.”

“My brother does good work.”

“He does.”

Tripp considered the man he’d come to know since joining the GRPD. Riley Colton was rock-solid. He’d started Colton Investigations after Graham Colton’s murder and, like many others in local law enforcement, Tripp had carried a bit of skepticism the job choice was fully altruistic. The trauma of one’s parents’ murders would leave anyone raw, wounded, and seeking a path for vengeance.

Only, Colton had done the opposite. He’d built a strong business, steeped in preparation, an ability to follow procedure, and exceedingly good instincts.

Tripp had seen it firsthand—and had been forced to eat a rather large serving of crow—on one of the first cases Riley had helped GRPD with, about four months after founding CI. They’d had a low-level drug trafficker who’d suddenly increased business a thousandfold. The entire PD, out en masse, had been trying to figure out where the thug secured his access and his supply. It was Colton who’d traced the details back to a dealer in Chicago who’d set Grand Rapids in his sights as part of an expansion effort.

And it was Riley Colton who’d uncovered the information in a careful and methodical way. One that had allowed the GRPD and the Feds to put the trafficker and the dealer in Chicago in prison for life.

“Colton Investigations is a top-notch organization,” Tripp added. “I’ve always thought so, but the respect he commands from the rest of the GRPD as well as the FBI is all further proof of that.”

“As the oldest, Riley remembers more of my father’s stories than the rest of us. He knew the cases that made our dad so mad. The ones where a criminal got off on a technicality or a lapse in procedure.”

“That’ll shape a person.”

“It certainly did shape Riley.”

Without knowing where the question came from, Tripp pressed her. “And what about you? What shaped you and made you want to join the GRPD?”

Sadie stared down at her plate, toying with a fry before looking back up at him. “My parents were still alive when I went into the academy. So I can’t say it’s their deaths that gave me any sort of calling to law enforcement.”

“What did give the calling?”

“I’m not sure.” Her gaze dropped back to the fry, which she swirled in ketchup. Although Tripp could only see a partial view of her face, he didn’t miss the emotions that furrowed her brow. And when she finally looked back up, he sensed a change in her.

Just like earlier, he felt it once more. As if she’d come to some sort of decision and was ready to share it with him.

“That’s not entirely true. I do know. I was a bit aimless after high school. I was a good student. One of the best, actually. But I was mousy and my head was always buried in a book. I was sort of your classic nerd.”

“I’m struggling to believe that.”

“Well, believe it. I had a glamourous twin and I was the proverbial ugly duckling.”

Tripp couldn’t see it, but he knew he had no place to argue with her. He also knew the ideas she carried contributed to who she was. How she saw herself. And while she might no longer look like that forlorn teenager, the experience was no less real to her.

While he simply waited for her to continue, those emotions continued to play over her face. For as open and caring as Sadie was, Tripp realized that he very rarely saw her emotions. She had a surprisingly strong poker face, easily conveying her concerns for others while keeping her own emotions firmly locked down.

“Anyway, I was a nerdy kid and I wasn’t ready to go to college. I wanted to, but something kept holding me back.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Tripp sensed it wasn’t his place to ask. But he wanted to. And in the wanting, he realized just how badly he wanted to know her. All of her.

That was why, once again, he kept his thoughts to himself. He didn’t share the intimate details of his life and he had no right to pry into hers.

But that didn’t make the wanting less intense. Or make the interest fade away.

“Vikki was all excited about going into the Army and I wanted to share that excitement, only I didn’t have it. I had the grades, but not the gumption.”

“Gumption for what?”

“To leave Grand Rapids. To go out in the world. Even if it were just a few hours away at a state school. So I stayed. I took community college courses on subjects I really didn’t care about and all the while wondered when I’d finally find something I did care about.”

“What flipped the switch?”

“I started working out at the community college. I had a three-hour stretch between two of my classes. It didn’t make sense to come home, and the classes weren’t hard enough to bother with studying in the library. So I went to the gym. I started on the treadmill and worked my way up to weights. And the whole time, there was this woman there who was about my age. And she was always working really hard and seemed really focused. We struck up a conversation one day and she mentioned that she was applying to the academy.”

“Who was it?”

“Rosie Archer. Now Rosie Santorini.”

Tripp knew Rosie. She was one of his best detectives. She’d fast-tracked into her role as detective, a product of that hard work and determination Sadie mentioned. “That’s an outstanding role model if I’ve ever seen one.”

“She was. And she introduced me to a new career path. Every time I’d thought about college, it was through the lens of accounting or finance or something in the legal field. It never crossed my mind that I could make a go of things on the other side, focused on law enforcement.”

“So you applied to the academy?”

“I did, but not at first. First, I was determined to get the education I needed. Now that I had a different purpose, I shifted into civics classes. If I was going to catch bad guys for a living, I wanted to make sure I understood the legal reasons why. And after I did that, I applied to the academy.”

“Yet you ended up in CSI.”

Sadie smiled at that, the first real smile he’d seen since they’d started their discussion. “Just one more tumbler in the lock.”

“How so?”

“So I mentioned I was a reader…”

“Sure.” He nodded, not sure where she was going but also recognizing what might appear aimless to others was all part of a definitive path for Sadie Colton.

“Once I realized that there was a way to use my love of mysteries and clues in my job. I was a goner.”

“Nancy Drew’s got nothing on you?”

“Something like that.”

Sadie’s smile fell, her expression changing so fast that Tripp’s pulse kicked up several notches. “What is it?”

“Do you smell it?”

She was already on her feet, moving toward the sliding glass doors that led to the back patio, when Tripp scented the mix of fire and gasoline. But it was the bright flicker through the window, visible over her shoulder, that had Tripp standing, as well.

“Tripp!” Sadie turned from the window. “The house is on fire!”

CHAPTER 12

Sadie struggled to get her bearings, the scents of gas and smoke so overwhelming she fought off a wave of dizziness. How had it happened so fast? One moment she and Tripp were talking and the next, they were simply overpowered. Tripp had already moved, his chair overturned where he’d pushed back from the kitchen table. After assessing the situation out the kitchen window, he’d gone to the front of the house to evaluate the damage.

All while she continued to stare out the window into the backyard.

There was something out there. Something more than fire. She knew it deep down in her bones.

Tate was out there.

“The fire’s surrounding the house.” Tripp raced back into the kitchen, the vivid flames outside the window tossing an odd glow over his features. “Sadie. Did you hear me?”

“Tate is outside.”

“What?”

“Tate. He did that. That’s why the fire is everywhere. Front and back in equal measure. He set it, Tripp.”

She’d barely finished the words when Tripp’s hand closed over hers, pulling her toward the front door. “We have to get out of here. Wrap up in a blanket and I’ll carry our coats.”

Sadie felt herself being led, the firm grip of his fingers like a vise over hers. He barreled through the living room toward the front foyer, pulling a blanket off the couch as they moved before stopping at the closet to drag out their jackets. With deft movements, he wrapped a thick scarf over his hand to open the front door.

Thoughts swimming, Sadie heard a voice almost outside of herself. “Tripp! No!”

With a force she had no idea she possessed, she clamped her free hand down over his wrist, dragging on their joined hands to keep him from opening the front door.

“Sadie! We have to get out of here.”

“You can’t go that way.”

Smoke already filled the room and Tripp’s gaze darted from her to the door and back again. “We have to get out.”

“That’s what Tate wants. There’s no way he’s letting us out of here. Either we burn inside or he’ll smoke us out and take us down in plain sight. That’s why the flames are all over. We can’t go that way.”

“Then we’ll go out the back.”

“How do we know his goons aren’t with him?”

It was a factor they had to consider. Although the takedown at Sand Springs Lake had also secured several of Tate’s goons, they had to assume he had more.

And if he had more, they had to assume those men were also waiting outside the ring of fire consuming the house.

“The basement.”

Tripp shook his head. “We don’t have time.”

With the smoke already impossibly thickening, they’d have to crawl into the center of the house to reach the basement door.

“It’s our only way. You’ve got storm doors to get outside, right?”

It was a silly fact but one she’d thank herself for later if they got out of this alive. Sadie had always been intrigued by the idea of storm cellar doors that closed into the ground. The houses in this neighborhood were known for that feature.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll get outside that way. They won’t expect us and you can get a better lay of the land.”

“And if the fire’s outside the perimeter of the cellar’s storm doors?”

“We’ll take our chances.”

He looked about to argue but Sadie rolled right over any objection, screaming to be heard over the roar of the fire, “Get your weapon.”

Tripp turned back to the closet and pulled out his service revolver before reaching deeper inside. He pulled out an extra gun and handed it over. “You still know how to use one of these?” he screamed.

She avoided the eye roll—well aware it would be barely visible through the smoke anyway—and took the gun. “I’m all set.”

It was only then that the lights in the house flickered before going fully dark.

Tripp’s hand on her wrist shifted, his fingers lacing with hers. “Get on the floor and stay close to me.”

In the thick, dark smoke, they began to crawl for the interior of the house. It was the exact opposite choice of every instinct she possessed to get outside.

But, in her gut, Sadie knew it was their only shot at survival.

* * *

Tripp mentally counted off the distance from the foyer to the basement door. It was off the hallway to a downstairs bedroom and, while it likely wasn’t more than twenty feet, it felt like a mile. Smoke billowed so thick above them, he could only marvel at the fire’s deadly speed.

But he took comfort from the steady presence of Sadie by his side where her arm brushed against his calf as they crawled toward their goal.

The noise and heat of the flames whirled around them, the blaze angry and shockingly loud. Along with the furious lap of the flames, the sounds of his house breaking and burning around him echoed in his ears like a raging nightmare. Still, he moved forward, determinedly onward toward the basement door and what he hoped was safety.

His shoulder hit the corner of the wall, but Tripp ignored the pain. That corner meant they’d turned the last few feet into the correct hallway. Reaching back, he felt for Sadie’s shoulder so he could lean in as close as possible.

“We’re at the door. I don’t know how long the frame will hold, so you have to move across the basement as fast as you can.” He shouted the words and still wasn’t sure she’d heard them all through the rushing and whirling of flame. But he had to hope she understood. And what she’d missed, he’d manage himself, weaving a path through his basement.

With the scarf wrapped around his hand, he turned the knob. Darkness yawned beneath him but he had the sense of fresh, albeit musty, air. “Hold the handrail.”

He felt Sadie brush past him in the dark before he reached out and closed the door behind them. The fire was gaining and it was only a matter of a few minutes before the house collapsed in on itself. Tripp was determined not to focus on that. The air was cleaner here and they’d make it.

They had to.

“I’m at the bottom.” Sadie’s voice floated over him, a disembodied sound that echoed off the thick concrete of the basement. Tripp took the last step, his feet touching the reassuring strength of the concrete. He grabbed her hand once more, his fingers tightening over hers just as a loud crash echoed above them.

The floorboards above their heads groaned with the weight and Tripp tightened his grip. “Let’s go.”

“Can we follow a wall?”

“We have to walk straight through the center. The stairs leading up and outside are directly opposite. It’s the quickest way.”

As if to punctuate his point, the floorboards groaned again, the wood above them coming to life with fire. It wasn’t much—and the flames only added to the danger—but they also added the slightest bit of light.

“Come on!”

Tripp navigated them through the dark, desperately trying to picture the items he had scattered around the basement. There was a weight bench, which he remembered only as his shin connected with a rack of hand weights. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he moved Sadie deftly around the object and toward the stairs.

That terrible groaning continued above them and as the fire spread, the flames added light to their way. Tripp could finally see the stairs in front of them, the concrete at their feet devoid of any further obstacles.

“There, Sadie!”

“I see it.”

With the way visible, Tripp ran them toward the stairs, the heavy creaking finally growing too much. He heard the cracking house above him, shuddering as the structural damage finally caused the wood frame to give way.

Sadie screamed and he practically threw her into the stairwell as the burning house fell into the basement around them.

Smoke rushed into their alcove along with an intense heat Tripp had never felt before. It was like being inside an oven, and he knew they wouldn’t be able to withstand it for much longer. Pushing past Sadie up the concrete steps, his hand hit the underside of the storm door and he felt around for the latch to unlock it.

“Tripp!” Sadie shouted from behind him as the flames leaped further into the stairwell, lapping at them with hungry hands.

Tripp dropped the coats he still carried onto the top stair. He fumbled with the metal lock that kept the storm doors barred from external intruders, working it with frantic fingers when the bolt didn’t want to budge. The frigid temperatures outside had made it hard to move and the lock seemed impervious to the heat steadily climbing behind them.

“Tripp!”

As Sadie’s panicked scream washed over him once more, Tripp felt the latch give way. On a thick, heavy squeak, the door lifted in his hands. The snow that had lay more than a foot deep on the ground added to the weight, but Tripp ignored it all as sweet, fresh air swept into the ever-widening opening.

“Here. Let me help.” Sadie came up beside him, her arms stretching beside his to push the door up. “But we have to do it slowly. We don’t know who’s out there.”

“Yeah, but we do know what’s in here. And we have to take our chances.”

Tripp used the opening to look out into his backyard. Although little had gone as he’d hoped, the one thing in their favor was that the fire was lapping against the frame of the house. The path out of the basement was free and clear of flames.

Bastard knew he couldn’t keep that blaze going in the snow, Tripp thought grimly as his eyes tried to adjust to the dim light in the backyard. Sadie’s warning still echoed through his mind, nearly as loud as the fire, that Tate and his goons would be standing guard wherever they chose to flee.

While that danger might be real, they had to get out. Much of the house had fallen inward, but a few walls were still standing. He and Sadie weren’t safe where they were and, worse, they risked being locked in if one of those walls fell the wrong way.

“We have to move,” Tripp whispered urgently.

“What if he’s out there?”

“Then we take our chances. They’re still better than where we are. Do you have the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Here.” Tripp fumbled for the coats on the step. “Put this on. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but the moment you get beyond the blaze, you’re going to be freezing.”

“From a frozen lake to a fiery inferno.” Sadie’s laughter came out slightly manic. “The man is a lunatic.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got the element of surprise on our side. It’s possible he’s thought we didn’t make it out since the moment the roof fell in.”

It was a small hope, but Tripp decided he’d take it anyway. Even the smallest advantage of surprise was something and since his house was blazing like the fires of hell, there was no way his neighbors hadn’t called it in already.

The danger might be real, but he’d bet his life Tate and his goons wouldn’t stick around once the fire company arrived.

That meant he had only a few more precious minutes to take the bastard down. With a burst of strength against the heavy door, Tripp used the momentum of his body to walk up the last few concrete steps, pushing the door high and wide. He was going to take down Tate Greer.

Finally.

* * *

One minute she was bracing herself against absurdly misplaced laughter and the next Tripp was on the move. The basement door creaked and groaned on its metal hinges as Tripp lifted it wide and high before running up the last few steps and out into the yard. She called after him but it did nothing to slow him down.

Nor did he even acknowledge he’d heard her.

Instead he just kept moving, farther away from the house and into what could only be Tate’s crosshairs.

“Damn fool man,” she muttered before adding one of her favorite curses for good measure. And then she focused on her own situation, the increasing collapse of the house a steady reminder she needed to move, too.

Sadie checked the gun, the piece familiar to her, as it matched the one she’d carried as a rookie, and followed Tripp into the cold. The house kept making those horrible wrenching noises, its remnants’ continuing fight to stay upright rapidly waning in the bitter night air.

Deep snow sucked at her feet, cold against the sneakers she’d had on all day. The temperature was a shock against the oven-like warmth she’d experienced in the basement, but she didn’t have time to analyze the changes. All she could do was move.

The urge to get away from the house was strong, but her gaze swung like an arc over the property. Outside lights were on at the neighbors’ on both sides but she saw no lights reflecting from windows or people coming out onto the street. She vaguely remembered a few comments Tripp mentioned about the people who lived on either side of him. An elderly couple, who were in Florida this time of year, flanked one side, and a young couple without children, who were rarely home in the evenings, the other.

That meant no one would be observing through windows, watching the flames engulf the house. Nor would they have any sense of intruders sneaking around the grounds.

While she wouldn’t expect someone to risk themselves for her—and as a law enforcement professional she sorely wanted them to remain inside—an extra pair of eyes or a shout from a window that they’d called 911 would be more than welcome at this time. Since she’d get neither, she moved on, trying to get a sense of where Tripp had gone.

The footprints she’d seen in the snow faded at the edge of the house, the heat of the fire melting the ground cover. So instead, she moved back and away, sweeping in steady arcs just as she’d learned at the academy.

Tripp’s backyard was long and deep, the snow-covered grass ending as it ran into a stretch of woods. As she stilled, considering those woods on her next sweep, she realized how easy it had been for Tate to hide there and lie in wait.

A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

And everything to do with the knife she felt pressed against the thin and tender skin behind her ear.

* * *

Tripp saw it all play out before him. He’d made a full perimeter around the house and it was only as he made the final turn into the backyard—giving the collapsing house a wide berth—that he saw his mistake.

The large, hulking form of Tate Greer had come up behind Sadie, one arm wrapping around her neck while the other held a wicked hunting knife up to the sensitive area just beneath her ear. The shout had already risen in his throat when Tripp pulled it back by sheer force of will.

Greer had played them.

There was no one else waiting with him. He’d done this all on his own. Tripp knew there were any number of clinical terms for it. Escalation. Psychopathy. Violent tendencies. But to his mind, the situation was far simpler.

Tate Greer was determined to finish what he’d started.

The first whirl of fire engine sirens echoed in the distance and Tripp knew there was no room to wait.

Greer was no doubt counting down, as well, and it would be the closing bell to whatever horror the man had in mind.

Sadie had stilled the moment the knife touched her body and Tripp knew they were at a collective disadvantage. She couldn’t see him and he had no way of knowing how her own rush of adrenaline was affecting her.

Could she react with the speed he needed?

Would she fall or fumble?

And could Tripp line up a shot in a way that had Tate’s reflexes moving the knife away from Sadie’s body instead of into it?

He considered himself a good marksman, but he was no sniper. So aiming for Greer’s head was out of the question. The risk was too damn great.

And as the sound of sirens bore down, there was no more time to think about it.

Resetting the safety and placing the gun in the back waistband of his jeans, Tripp moved forward. The snow-covered ground had a layer of ice and the only thing keeping him from sounding an alert was the continued shriek and whine of fire behind him. That, coupled with the wail of sirens, did enough to hide the steady crunch of his boots on icy snow.

Despite the surrounding noise, Tate’s voice rose over the din. “You were supposed to be so easy. You were my ticket into every damn database I needed. To the police. To Colton Investigations. I had it all planned and you ruined it.”

“Go to hell.”

Tripp smiled in spite of himself, Sadie’s swift retort affirming that the empty laughter that had concerned him while they were still in the basement had given way to pragmatic disdain.

It was the first glimmer of hope they’d get out of this.

She just had to stay strong.

And he needed to make sure Greer had no idea he was closing in.

With careful steps to ensure the snow didn’t make any additional noise, Tripp moved closer. An idea formed and he dug the gun from his waistband, turning the butt side out. As soon as he was in range, Tripp raised his left arm and slammed the butt of the weapon on Tate’s head while using his dominant hand to hold his knife arm still.

“Sadie! Drop and move!”

Sadie did as she was told, falling to her knees in the snow.

The force of Tripp’s revolver hit its mark, but only served to anger Greer further. The man whirled, using some fancy footwork of his own as he spun around to face Tripp, the knife blade glinting sharply in the light of the flames. Even with the solid blow to the head, the man never lost his balance. An excessively neat maneuver that left Greer on his feet and still in full, controlled possession of the knife.

Tripp had learned early on in his rookie year never to underestimate an opponent. Some of the smallest men he’d taken down had near superhuman strength and a larger criminal often lost ground to the inevitable inertia that kicked in once a body started moving in the wrong direction.

Tate Greer fit neither description. He was a big man, with the large proportions of a heavyweight fighter. And he had the quickness and speed of a lightweight.

A lethal combination.

Tripp reared back as Greer’s knife arm shot out, slicing through the air nanoseconds before Tripp got out of the way. While the force of the movement would have put any normal person off balance, Greer retained his, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “She’s not getting out of here alive, man. And neither are you.”

He slammed forward again, an angry grizzly with sharp claws, his arm waving that blade through the crisp night air.

The very tip of the blade sliced through the thick sleeve of Tripp’s coat. Fire shot up his arm at what would no doubt be a deep cut, but he ignored it, instead channeling the pain toward his foe.

Tate Greer was the enemy.

He and his thugs had terrorized the good people of Grand Rapids for years. Long before RevitaYou had even been a glimmer of an idea, Greer had been harming people by lending money illegally and then siccing his thugs on them.

And then he’d turned his sights on Sadie.

Using her. Manipulating her. And then kidnapping and trying to kill her.

Whatever vows Tripp had made to serve and protect seemed inadequate for the moment.

Greer was his prey.

And any and all pretense of capturing the man, through proper channels as a leader in the GRPD, had vanished. Tripp wanted vengeance and had no illusion it would be sanctioned by his employer.

Greer slashed out with the knife once more and Tripp leaped away from the blade before going on the offensive. He still had his gun and wanted to use it, but the brutal, near hand-to-hand-combat style of his opponent meant the weapon could either work for him or just as easily be turned against him.

As the wail of the sirens grew louder, Tripp knew he only had another minute at most. He feinted to the side before pivoting and bringing the butt of the gun down once more on Greer’s body. He’d aimed for the head but the gun grazed just off of the guy’s shoulder. Despite missing his target, the blow did finally dislodge Greer’s footing. Only, instead of stumbling back from the force of Tripp’s strike, the man windmilled his arms, the knife once more flashing in the light of the flames.

Greer used the change in momentum to his advantage, thrusting forward. His knife struck the heavy padding of Tripp’s coat before plunging through the thick wool and into his waist. The jab was quick, the pain a piercing nuisance, before Greer pulled back, still trying to regain his balance in the still-fresh snow.

Tripp saw the knife rise, streaked with blood this time and ready to strike again, when blue and red lights flashed from the street, the sirens keening into the night.

Sadie shouted, racing closer to them, her gun extended and pointed directly at Greer. The man seemed to hover for an endless moment in indecision until she shot off a round, the bullet going just wide of him. It was enough to push Greer into motion. He turned tail and ran for the woods.

Orange flames still sparked into the sky behind them but Tripp ignored them and gave chase, Sadie’s heavy footsteps audible behind him while the thick snow dragged on his feet. He saw Greer stumble with it, too, but the man had a large enough head start that Tripp wasn’t able to reach him. Registering once more that he had a gun in his hand, he stopped and took aim.

Pain ran a searing path from his arm to his elbow where Greer’s blade had sliced him, but Tripp held his position, lining up his shot. Without giving himself another moment to think—or to reconsider aiming at another’s back—he fired off his shots.

Six in a row, all directed at the weaving figure heading for the woods.

On the fifth shot, he saw Greer jerk and stumble, but still, the man never lost his balance. Or his momentum. He just kept moving into the woods.

“Tripp!” Sadie moved up behind him, hanging on his arm and holding him still.

“I have to go after him.” Tripp tried to run but she seemed surprisingly strong, her hold able to root him to the spot.

“Tripp! You’re hurt.”

Her words registered dimly in his mind as he looked down to where she held tight to his forearm. He stared at her hand and the vise grip she had on his body, curious as to why her hand felt so heavy where it lay. And then his gaze drifted to the drops of red coloring the snow at his feet.

As the blood registered as his own, the adrenaline that had carried him through his backyard gave out. Along with the dizzying drop in blood pressure, a searing pain lit up his side. He saw the ground rise up, swift and immediate, before he felt Sadie’s arms wrap tight around his chest, slowing his momentum.

And then the world went black.

CHAPTER 13

Sadie glanced around the emergency waiting room, her siblings assembled in the various chairs nearest her. They were all there. Riley and Griffin held court at the doorway, refusing entry to anyone who didn’t pass muster. Pippa and Kiely took point on conferring with the hospital staff and getting updates on Tripp’s condition while also peppering the GRPD with questions every time an officer came in to pay respects.

Vikki sat by her side, her hands clutching Sadie’s as she crooned over and over that they’d find Tate and put him away forever.

“That bastard is going to pay.”

Vikki had said the same thing, in a variety of ways, with a variety of colorful descriptions, for the past hour. Sadie was grateful for the comfort but all she wanted was to see Tripp.

“Hey, Vik. Why don’t you let me take over for a minute?”

Vikki stared up at Riley hovering in front of them. Sadie felt her twin’s hesitation in the clutch of her hands before Vikki nodded. “I guess I could use some disgusting coffee out of a machine that’s nearly as old as I am.”

“That’s my girl.” Riley dug some change out of his pocket. “Would you mind getting me one, too?”

“Sure.”

Sadie saw the subtle communication pass between Riley and Vikki. Under normal circumstances, she’d be annoyed they were communicating about her when she was right there. But, all things considered, she could hardly say she wouldn’t be doing the same right now if the roles were reversed.

Riley took Vikki’s seat, his arm going around Sadie’s shoulders. She took the moment to snuggle into her brother, amazed to realize how good it felt to let down her guard.

To ease the burden that had hung over her for more than a month now.

She’d believed herself moving past the pain of Tate’s betrayal, especially after the time she’d spent with her sisters, but now she had a new agony to deal with. One that went far deeper, even if she’d only spent a few days with Tripp.

What if he’d died?

Tate’s stealth attack had caught them both off guard and they’d both inhaled a lot of ash and smoke. Now Tripp was dealing with a deep knife wound on top of it.

The fire had left her throat raw and scratchy but it had nothing on the tight ball of pain that lodged there as tears welled up at the thought of losing Tripp.

On her hard sob, Riley pulled her close. “Hey now.”

“I can’t—” She broke off, another sob shaking her body.

“Shhh.” Riley let her cry it out, all the fear and tension, layered over the helpless uncertainty of whether or not Tripp would be okay.

“This is getting to be a habit with us,” Riley said once her storm of tears had passed.

“A habit that’s, once again, my fault.”

“We’re back to that?”

“Yes, we’re back to that. Because the man I nearly married tried to kill me and the good lieutenant tonight. Because he damn near succeeded and even right now Tripp is in an OR and his house is in ashes.”

“He’s getting a blood transfusion, a serious shot of meds, and a round of stitches. No one’s operating on him.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“No, actually it’s not.”

Another set of tears welled, quieter and hotter than the first. While she wanted to regain some control, Sadie knew the key was letting it all out.

Something she hadn’t done in the sheer rush of events. Instead, she’d watched as the paramedics transferred Tripp from the freezing cold ground onto a stretcher. She’d protested when they’d wanted to strap her onto one, too, but had finally relented when one of them forced oxygen on her. The pure air had felt too good in her battered lungs and suddenly she’d been too tired to argue.

Even if she hadn’t been too tired to watch the still-leaping flames from the back window of the ambulance as they’d rushed her—for the second time in a week—to county hospital.

She’d been checked out and, despite being offered a chance to be monitored overnight, she’d refused. She had no interest in being hooked up to monitors and an IV, and confined to a bed again. Tate was still out there and he’d already proved a hospital entrance wasn’t enough to deter him.

She’d be damned if she was going to put herself in danger again.

Because, once more, he’d escaped. Like a cat with nine lives. Every time they were close to taking him down, the man vanished. While Sadie understood she and Tripp had been at a disadvantage this evening with Tate’s surprise attack, they’d still been serious opponents. Two trained cops, both armed.

Yet Tate had still escaped.

Riley spoke once more, his voice strong and firm and full of conviction. “It’s not your fault, Sadie.”

“I brought this. On all of us.”

“Like Dad brought his and Mom’s murders on himself? Like Abigail brought on her father’s crimes when she came into Griffin’s life? Or maybe it’s like Flynn’s being responsible for his half brother Landon’s bad choices?”

Riley kept going before she could even get a word in. “The RevitaYou case has blown wide open and every one of us has been doing our level best to fight it with all we’ve got. Don’t you dare go taking this on yourself.”

“Real nice to use our parents on me.”

Riley smiled down at her. “I’ll use whatever it takes. You’re not at fault here. None of us is. But we are all in control of what we do about it.”

“When did you get so smart, big brother?”

“I’ve always been smart. It’s just that no one wants to give me any credit for it. And that includes a very pregnant Charlize, who’s been texting me nonstop for the past hour for updates.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. “Consider it a public service.”

“How’s that?”

“As your siblings, we’re honor-bound to make sure your head doesn’t get too big.”

The laughter started down low and deep and Sadie could feel her brother shaking against her. It was only as she pulled back and looked up at him that she saw the mischief filling his eyes. “Consider it a family condition.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. Now go call Charlize,” Sadie ordered.

A doctor came into the waiting room. “Is there a Sadie Colton here?”

She stood abruptly, smoothing her shirt against her hips. “That’s me.”

“Lieutenant McKellar has asked to see you. He’s been quite insistent, as a matter of fact.”

Riley, still holding her hand, gave it a tight squeeze before releasing it. “Go on. We’ll all be right here.”

“Thank you.” Sadie bent to kiss Riley on the cheek. “For everything.”

* * *

Tripp reached for the small cup of water on the rolling table that fit across his hospital bed and winced at the sharp pain that radiated down his side. He knew he was more than lucky to be alive with nothing more than some stitches and enough antibiotics to fell an elephant, but the pain irritated him all the same.

Greer had vanished. And the shooting pain lancing through Tripp’s side seemed like one more mocking example of how he’d let the man get away.

Again.

He was well acquainted with slippery criminals. Hell, the majority of police work was hunting them down and doing your level best to catch them. But Greer’s ongoing vanishing act had reduced Tripp to the level of a keystone cop. He’d had the man in his hands, for Pete’s sake.

You also nearly took a stomach full of hunting knife, the more reasonable part of him chided through the self-recrimination. A fair argument that gave little comfort.

Or none at all.

“Tripp.” Sadie appeared at the door, her voice gravelly and still layered with smoke when she spoke again. “You up for a bit of company?”

She’d changed clothes, the oversize sweatshirt rolled up several times at her wrists drowning her in the heavy material. The soot that had marred her skin—the last thing he remembered seeing before he’d passed out—had been washed off and, somewhere over the past few hours, she’d taken a shower. Her strawberry-blond hair shone under the recessed lighting of his room.

She was beautiful. And perfect. Something clenched hard and tight deep inside him at the realization that she was okay. And at the even bigger realization that she might have been killed tonight.

Sadie took a few steps into the room but remained near the door. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

A small frown marred her lips, matched by the slight furrowing of the brow he’d come to adore. “I don’t believe you.”

“I am fine. But I can admit that I’ve also felt better.”

“You were stabbed. And you inhaled so much smoke.” She took a few steps closer. “When you fell down in the snow, I didn’t know if you’d be okay. Or if—” She broke off, a hard sob escaping from her throat.

“Sadie, I’m fine.” His heart broke as sobs racked her shoulders, dwarfed beneath the thick cotton of her sweatshirt. “Come here. Talk to me. I promise you, I’m okay.”

She continued crying, the tears she seemed unable to control continuing to quake through her body. But she did move closer, coming to stand beside the bed. He ignored the pain that seared through his side as he sat up, readjusting so there was room beside him on the bed. He pulled her close, into the spot he’d made, before wrapping his arms around her. “Shh, now. It’s fine.”

She nestled into his arms, her body slowly calming. They both faced the doorway and he fitted his chin just over her head, holding her through the storm of tears. Even the pain in his side seemed to fade as he sank into the quiet with her, content to simply hold her.

To assure himself she was safe.

They’d made it through together. That was some sort of miracle, if he were honest with himself. Between the fire and the fight, the fact they were both here and relatively whole was…well, it really was a miracle.

That was a concept he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Miracles. Wonder. Maybe even divine intervention. He’d stopped believing in all of it a long time ago, the reality of losing Lila and the baby too much to bear.

Or to continue to hope.

Yet, somehow, in the midst of all he’d experienced over the past few weeks, Sadie Colton had returned that to him. He did have hope that they’d get out of this. That Tate Greer and Wes Matthews would get their due. And that Capital X would, once and for all, be vanquished right along with the pure evil that was the RevitaYou supplement.

A fountain of youth that killed people. Vanity might be a sin, but Tripp was determined that no one else was going to die for it. And the people who had brought the drug to life would go down with the ship.

“Am I hurting you?” Sadie struggled to sit upright but he held on, holding her still.

“I’m fine.”

“You just tightened up. I thought maybe you were in a lot of pain.”

Tripp realized that he had tightened his hold as he’d thought about Capital X and RevitaYou, and relaxed a bit. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

“Of what?”

He breathed in deep, the light, fresh scent of her adding to that unfurling hope in his heart. “Thinking about the day this whole RevitaYou thing is behind us all.”

She laid a hand over his. “Do you think that will happen?”

“I do. We’re close and getting closer every day. Make no mistake about it, today’s incident was because of how close we are to arresting Matthews and Greer.”

“Maybe.”

Tripp heard the hesitation and let it go for a minute, curious if she’d continue. When she didn’t, he prodded her for more. “Maybe? That’s all you’ve got?”

She shifted then, gently moving out of his arms. He wanted her to stay—nearly asked her to—but it was only because he realized that he wanted her in the same place forever that he held back.

Had he really gone there?

What right did he have to even think that way? Sadie had her entire future in front of her. She would heal from the pain Tate Greer had caused and she’d move on. She would and she deserved to.

And she deserved it with someone who wasn’t damaged and broken. Like him.

He might have found a few vestiges of hope these past few days, but he knew who he was and he knew his lot in life. Marriage and a family weren’t a part of that.

Sadie Colton was designed for marriage and a family. It was written in every pore. Seemed to halo her, shimmering as clear as if he could reach out and touch that future himself.

“I say maybe because Tate is still out there. So’s Wes Matthews. My family hasn’t found Brody yet, no matter how many text messages my sisters have sent him. I’d have added to their number if I hadn’t just lost my second cell phone this week.”

She sighed heavily, the hair framing her face blowing in the light gust. “All I’m saying is that while I hear you, I’m not sure we’re going to get a neat bow wrapped around this one.”

“Who said anything about bows?”

“You were getting dangerously close.”

Tripp wasn’t sure if he was offended or ready to laugh. In light of all they’d been through, maybe that was a good thing. It meant that they could still feel something. Could still render emotion and find topics to argue about. To learn from one another and debate the facts.

For now, it would have to be enough.

His body might want more, but his mind knew better. He needed to stay strong and resist these inconvenient feelings for Sadie. Because no matter what she thought, he knew in his bones that this would end. Sooner rather than later, in fact.

Greer’s days of running free were numbered.

And once that monster and his fellow villains were off the streets, life would go back to normal.

It would.

Because it had to.

* * *

Sadie felt the exhaustion down to her very marrow, yet sleep still eluded her as she struggled to get comfortable in the guest chair in his room. Tripp had finally dozed off about an hour before. She’d wanted to go say goodbye to her family, still hanging out in the waiting room, and send them home, and knew it would be an acceptable excuse to leave Tripp for a few minutes. As she’d hoped, by the time she’d returned to his room, his eyes were closed and he was snoring.

It was a sweet sound, which really meant she’d gone around the bend for this guy. She’d groused at her brothers for years for snoring like grizzlies, yet here was Tripp, likely just as loud, and she thought it was a symphony.

Because you’ve got it bad, Colton. B-A-D bad.

A fact she’d struggled with earlier when she’d left his arms. It had felt so good to lay there with him, practically intertwined on the small bed. She’d felt safe and secure, and in the cocoon of his arms she could let her fantasies go. There, with the masculine, woodsy scent of him surrounding her, she could pretend this wasn’t temporary. More, she could believe that somehow they would find their way.

Together.

That was why she’d had to step away. Pull herself from that warm embrace and take the seat opposite his hospital bed. She’d stared at the beeping machines, the confirmation that his heart was still beating and blood still flowed in his veins. And she took heart that they’d survived yet again.

Because she’d rather be in a world with Tripp alive.

Beyond that truth, not much else mattered. Not her feelings for him or the increasingly urgent need she had to tell him—which was the path to disaster.

Yes, they’d grown close over the past week.

And yes, the feelings she’d always had for him had reawakened with the close proximity and intense experiences.

But it couldn’t be anything else. And it was up to her to find acceptance in that.

“Sadie.” Vikki whispered her name from the doorway and Sadie turned to find her twin standing there, her expression inscrutable. That was odd since she and Vikki always knew what the other was thinking.

Yet Vik’s expression gave nothing away, even as Sadie sensed her sister had quite a lot to say.

She gave one last look at the monitor, then at Tripp, before standing and following Vikki out into the hallway. “What is it, Vik? I thought you and Flynn were heading home with everyone else?”

“We were. But—” Vikki stilled, her green eyes clouding. Their eyes were the one match they shared as twins.

“What is it, Vikki?”

“We were already in the car and Flynn was almost out of the parking lot when I asked him to come back.” Vikki’s arms went wide before pulling Sadie close. “I almost lost you tonight and I just—” Vikki let out a long, hard sigh. “And I love you and I needed to see you again. Hold you again.”

Sadie clung to her sister, the bond they’d shared their entire lives even stronger than the tight grip that held them in place now. It felt good to hold her sister. To feel the solid lines of her body and know that she was alive and well and whole.

“First the kidnapping from the safe house and now tonight.” Vikki sighed again as a shudder seemed to echo through her body. “I can’t lose you, Sadie. I just can’t.”

“You didn’t, Vik. I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.”

“I know.” Vikki took a step back and shook her head. “I know. I’m looking at you and I know you’re fine. And I keep telling myself that. And then I think about what might have happened and it washes through me once more.”

Flynn let out a discreet cough before moving down the hallway. The GRPD had put two guards on the ward this time. They’d been apprised of who could come in and out, and allowed Flynn to pass. He moved up beside Vikki and wrapped an arm around her. “We’re both so glad you’re all right, Sadie.”

“I know.”

Although she hadn’t spent much time with Flynn since her sister had fallen in love with the Army MP while Sadie had been in the GRPD safe house, she knew he was a good man. He had the ringing endorsement of her family and she’d never seen Vikki so blissfully happy.

But seeing them now—their mutual support and affection for each other so obvious—made Sadie’s heart happy. She knew the love Flynn felt for her sister—saw it in Vikki’s love in return—and was beyond grateful.

It was proof that love could find its way in the darkest of times.

“You having a party out there?” Tripp’s normally deep voice was still tinged with the husky aftereffects of smoke inhalation.

Sadie turned back toward his room. “Are you okay?”

He stared at her from the bed. “Sounded more interesting out there than in here.”

Sadie walked into the room, gesturing Vikki and Flynn with her. “Do you need anything?”

“I’d like an opinion, actually.”

“An opinion about what?” Sadie asked.

Vikki had already moved into motion, pouring Tripp a fresh glass of water from a pitcher on the counter. She brought it over, removing the older one that had likely grown warm.

“Thank you.” Tripp used the controller on his bed to sit up and take the water from Vikki. After drinking deep, he eyed Flynn before setting the glass down. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Something we can help you with?” Flynn asked.

“I think so. I need a few days to heal and Greer has already proved he can move around undetected. I’d feel a lot better if Sadie and I got out of town.”

“I can’t go anywhere—” Sadie started to protest.

But Vikki had already moved closer to Tripp. “You had me at ‘out of town,’ Lieutenant.”

“I’ve got a private place. A small cabin. Hell—” Tripp laughed, the sound hoarse “—I usually have to use my GPS to find it. It’ll be a great spot to lay low for a few days. Give us some time to analyze Greer’s moves and what he might do next.”

“I think it’s a great idea. Inspired.” Vikki was already turning to Sadie, her excitement crushing whatever it was Sadie wanted to say.

A few days out of touch from everyone…but with Tripp?

Sly fingers of need beckoned her forward, willing her to say yes to the idea, while the more pragmatic side of her was convinced she should say no.

A cabin so remote he needed GPS to find it?

“I can’t just run away again. That’s what I’ve been doing for more than a month now and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’m no safer now than I was before all this started.” Sadie heard the arguments coming from her own lips and knew them for the lies they were.

Sure, on principle, she didn’t want to turn tail and run from Tate Greer. But Tate had little to do with the silky voice that continued to keep her company in her head, suggesting that she’d actually like nothing more than to run away with Tripp for a few days.

Forever, really.

“It’s a great idea, McKellar.” Flynn nodded. “We can feed you any information you need out of Colton Investigations’ HQ. And I’m sure Emmanuel can keep you apprised of whatever GRPD data you need.”

“I’ve got full digital capabilities at my place,” Tripp added, reinforcing that the transition would be both easy and seamless.

“But I—” Sadie stopped as Vikki appealed to her once more.

“Sadie, please. Go away for a little while. Help Tripp get better, and get off the grid for a few days. You’ve both been through so much. You need time away from this mess. From the fear and the sense that there’s another shoe waiting to drop.”

She knew she should argue. Or stall. Or demand a few days to think it over, but really, what was the point?

Tripp McKellar had just invited her to run away with him. He might not understand what that meant to her, but really, how often was a woman offered a chance to make her dreams come true?

CHAPTER 14

Tripp watched Sadie putter around his cabin’s kitchen from the comfort of his well-worn couch and wondered what he’d possibly been thinking inviting her up there. Sure, there’d been copious amounts of painkillers involved, but really, the drugs hadn’t clouded his thoughts that much.

No, instead they’d blunted his ability to think three steps ahead of himself.

That was where he now found himself, healing with all the comfort of a riled grizzly while sporting a near constant erection.

It hadn’t been this bad at his house. Maybe because she’d hid out much of the time in the guest room? Or maybe because her family had dropped in several times, effectively diminishing his more lustful thoughts about their baby sister?

Who knew?

All he did know was that after three days his side hurt like a beast, the stitches itchy as they healed, and Sadie Colton flitted around his cabin like his own personal angel of mercy.

She made his breakfast.

She refilled his coffee.

She plumped his pillows.

And all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, drag her down onto the old lumpy couch and make love to her until both of their eyes crossed. His desire was so great he’d even gotten over feeling embarrassed he had condoms in his gym bag. It was an oddly hopeful purchase he’d had no reason to make doing last month’s shopping, yet had anyway.

Hopeful and now a taunting reminder from his worn-out GRPD duffel.

Tripp groaned at the injustice of it all.

“Tripp? Are you okay?” Sadie turned from where she stood at the kitchen counter, concern written across her face.

“I’m fine.”

“You sounded like you were in pain.”

“No.” Unclenching his teeth, he tried to come up with something plausible. “I just moved the wrong way.”

“Are your stitches okay?”

“I’m fine, Sadie.”

The words came out sharper than he’d intended, but really, what was a man to do? Her light and sweetness and, hell, just her, was slowly driving him mad.

The computer Tripp had settled on the coffee table rang, an incoming video call lighting up the screen. He tapped the button to answer it. Literally saved by the bell. “McKellar here.”

As the video came up, he saw several of his team members in one of the GRPD meeting rooms. Riley was also visible in the shot, along with Ashanti Silver.

“Looks like a full house,” Tripp drawled.

“You better believe it, McKellar.” His chief started right in. “We’ve got a lead on Matthews.”

Sadie entered the living room, coming fully into view on screen. “Chief Fox. How are you?”

“Sadie. Good to see you.”

“You, as well. Please tell us you’re calling with some good news.”

“You bet we are, little sister,” Riley told her. “Matthews took the bait.”

Although Tripp wouldn’t go all the way to admitting to skepticism, he had definitely had his concerns that the honeypot plan to capture Wes Matthews wasn’t going to pay dividends. Not because it was a bad idea, but because the notion that Matthews could still think about sex in the midst of his pyramid scheme going bad seemed like an impossible stretch.

Clearly, he’d underestimated the male libido.

Not that his was doing him any favors.

“Tell us what you’ve got.”

Ashanti took over the video call, using the sharing feature to run through the most recent emails her “character” had shared with Matthews. A few of the images were quite graphic and Tripp couldn’t help but side-eye Sadie.

To her credit, she was completely focused on the discussion. A true professional, all while that very libido Tripp was so busy condemning in Matthews was distracting him with Sadie.

“But the best was the conversation we had last night.” The images on the screen fell off as the GRPD meeting room once again came into view. And then Ashanti played the recording of her call with Matthews.

Tripp listened as they talked of deals and investments and some money Ashanti’s “character” wanted to invest. She purred a little, letting off the throttle when the discussion of investments shifted toward a face-to-face meeting.

“I don’t believe he fell for this,” Sadie said to Tripp, but added under her breath and low enough it didn’t interrupt the replay, “But Abigail said it would work and she was right. She even suggested they pepper in big words and reference a few old movies that he loves. Listen to how smoothly Ashanti slid all of that in there. He’s putty in her hands.”

Matthews certainly was, Tripp thought to himself. He remained quiet, listening to the rest of the recording before interjecting. “Has he committed to a meeting yet?”

“Not yet,” Ashanti said. “I think I’ll get him on the next call, though.”

“Do we still think he’s in the Bahamas?” Tripp asked.

“That’s still the latest intel from the Bureau,” Chief Fox affirmed. “They’ve worked well with us on this and Agent Winston has played more than fair with me.”

Tripp suspected that might have something to do with how well Kiely was working with her new fiancé, but who wanted to quibble? While he understood the situations that often dictated one side or the other to behave territorially, they were all after the same end goal. And Tripp had had little time or acceptance in his career for the politics that often existed between the Feds and the local government.

Part of why he’d always respected Cooper Winston was his willingness to do the same.

Taking down Capital X and Wes Matthews needed to be priority number one. It was good to know that everyone collectively felt that way.

As if reading his thoughts, Fox added, “Sadie, your sister Kiely has been a huge help on this, too.”

“Thank you, sir. She wants to see this wrapped up, just like we all do.”

“Without question.” Fox changed gears, his next question deftly shining a spotlight directly on Tripp. “How are you feeling, McKellar? Healing up well?”

“Yes, sir. Feeling good as new.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Chief Fox chuckled.

In minutes, the call had ended, Tripp’s computer screen once again dark.

“That is encouraging news,” Sadie said. “I really wasn’t sure this was going to work. But it’s so weird, it’s just like Abigail said. Her father is highly susceptible to this approach.” She shook her head before gesturing in the direction of the now dark computer screen. “I didn’t want to believe it but it’s hard to deny that sort of response.”

“It’s hardly a surprise.”

Sadie stood and had only taken a few steps toward the kitchen when she stopped, cocking a hand on her hip. “What’s not a surprise?”

“Men. Their egos. And body parts farther south. It’s a cliché for a reason.”

“Maybe,” she said and shrugged. “I guess I wanted to give him a little more credit, though. I may hate his criminal line of work, but the guy did work hard to build up his pyramid scheme. Seems like an awful big waste to lose it all just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“That’s still to be seen.”

“I suppose.”

Tripp continued, all that lingering frustration still roiling in his gut. “Besides, guys like him? Like Greer? They all think they’re above getting caught.”

“Are you okay? Your voice sounds strange.”

Was he okay? Up until a few days ago, he would’ve said he was fine. More than fine. And then Sadie Colton had come into his life like a hurricane.

Yes, he had been attracted to her before. But it was hard to believe how quickly that slow burn had turned into an inferno.

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that, and yet each time you do, I’m finding I believe you less and less.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth.”

What did she want him to tell her? That he cared about her? That he suspected he felt more strongly toward her than he should or than he ever wanted to feel for another human being ever again?

Or maybe she wanted him to tell her how she decimated his willpower with the barest glance.

Perhaps what she really wanted to know was that she was in his blood and, no matter how much distance he put between them or how many times he told himself he couldn’t touch her, they were racing toward some sort of inevitable cliff.

And it would take barely a glance to push him straight over the edge.

“At the risk of paraphrasing a movie line, I’m not sure you can handle this truth.”

Whatever patience she was hanging on to vanished in an instant. “You have some nerve, treating me like my ideas have no place here, with this surly dismissal. This was your idea, may I remind you. Your idea to come sit here and hide out from Tate Greer.”

“I know.”

“So why are you acting like this? We just got some good news. Hell, great news.” She heaved out a heavy breath. “And all you can do is sit there being an ass about it all.”

“I’m not—” He got to his feet, the tug of pain in his side nothing compared to the desperate need that twisted and churned inside him. “You know what, I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what, Tripp?”

He was nearly out of the room when her question stopped him. The confusion, yes, but something else.

The hurt.

And with that small note of hurt something inside him broke wide open. His resistance vanished and, with it, any and all ability to stay away from her.

He pivoted, marched straight back to her and pulled her into his arms. One minute they were on opposite sides and the next she was right in the moment with him, her mouth fused to his, kissing him back like her very life depended on it.

It was what he’d wanted. What he’d yearned for.

And as his hand slid down her back to settle on her hip, Tripp finally quit fighting it.

* * *

Finally.

That lone word rang over and over in her mind as Sadie held on to Tripp.

How long had she wanted this? Wanted him?

There had been times when it had felt like forever. She knew she’d been someone before the day, as a rookie, that she’d been introduced to Tripp. But so often she’d forgotten what life had been like before she’d met him. Before she’d lived with the reassuring knowledge that there was someone in the world as good and decent and honorable as Tripp McKellar.

And hot, her subconscious reminded her as Tripp deepened the kiss further. Never forget wildly attractive and hot. Because to her, Tripp was the perfect man.

“Sadie,” he whispered against her lips.

She ignored it, especially since most of what had come out of that lush frame in the form of words over the past hour had only served to annoy her. She much preferred what they were doing now.

Maybe if they stayed like this, mouths fused, they could get past whatever irritation had somehow found its way beneath his skin.

“Sadie.” He said her name more firmly before matching the words with a fixed hold on her shoulder, stilling her.

“What?”

“We shouldn’t—”

She lifted a finger and pressed it against the lips that had so recently ravaged her own.

“If you say we shouldn’t do this, I’m going to slug you. And I have two brothers, so don’t think I don’t know how to deliver a rock-solid punch. Both because they taught me how and because I’ve used it on each of them with considerable effectiveness.”

“But we—”

She pressed harder. “No. I’m sick of excuses for why this is a bad idea.”

He shifted one hand from her shoulder, capturing her finger in his. “Would you listen to me?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be responsible here. You’re here in my home at my insistence. And I’m your boss. And less than five minutes ago we were on a work call with the chief of the Grand Rapids Police Department. And your brother,” he added in what felt like a low-blow afterthought.

“I’m not sure what my brother or, come to think of it, the chief, has to do with us having sex.”

“Who said we’re having sex?”

“I did. And I want to. Unless you don’t want to.”

“Sadie—”

“Yes or no, Tripp. I’m not interested in any other answer you can possibly come up with. That goes for excuses, too. Or any other half-baked reason that comes out of those impressively creative lips of yours. It’s a question with a binary answer.”

“‘Impressively creative’?” A lone eyebrow quirked over those endless pools of blue.

“Yes.”

“We shouldn’t do this. And those reasons you’re brushing off so easily are actually real reasons.”

The light of battle was no longer reflected in his eyes. Instead, all Sadie saw was a very real, impossible-to-ignore vulnerability. And she understood it, because in that blue gaze she saw herself.

“I want you, Tripp. Right here, right now. I don’t care what comes after this time. Or what might happen once we’re back in the office. We’re two adults. And I’ve known you long enough to know that if we make love, you won’t hold it against me at work.”

“But I—” He stopped, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yes or no, right?”

“That’s it, Tripp. Yes or no.” She kept her hands on his shoulders, but otherwise remained still. And in the waiting, recognized he needed the same from her. “My answer is yes.”

He looked down at her for one inscrutable minute and she waited, not even daring to breathe. He wanted her. She knew that. Recognized the same need she felt in herself for him.

But still, she waited.

Because whatever held him back went far deeper than worrying about work. Or a boss/employee relationship that barely held water as an argument since Tripp had minimal, if any, sway over the CSI team.

No. This was something more. Something that went far deeper than desire between a man and a woman. Something she’d sensed in him for so long. Something deeply felt that held him back.

“Yes.”

That word was practically a growl, guttural with need, as he pulled her close. His mouth closed over hers and Sadie thrilled to the heat that rose once more between them. Pressing herself against him, delighting in the hard lines of his body and how they complemented the far softer lines of hers, she put everything she was into the kiss.

Into her yes.

The couch that had been his work space for the past few days suddenly seemed as good a choice as any, the two bedrooms they’d each been occupying down the hall much too far to walk.

She was done with waiting.

She wanted him here. Now. And there was no more time to lose.

The clothes they wore—his well-used gym gear sporting GRPD labels from a bag in his trunk and hers, more loaners from her sisters—vanished in moments, falling to the side of the couch with gentle thuds as one piece followed the next. With a soft sigh, she pressed her now naked chest to his, the heat of his skin warming her despite the cold that howled outside the door.

Her breasts ached for his touch, her nipples sensitive points where they rubbed against the coarse hair of his chest. Sadie ran her hands over it, that male covering tapering to a narrow line just below his stomach. She was careful to avoid the bandage that covered his healing stitches, instead following that line of hair where it trailed to something even more male, more impressive. And as her hand closed over the firm length of him, Tripp exhaled heavily against her lips.

“Sadie.”

The heat of him branded her, hot and hard and pulsing with life in her palm. She moved then, tentative stroking motions from base to tip, growing bolder when his breath grew more ragged, his hold on her tighter.

Without breaking that steady pressure, Sadie continued the sweet battle between them. His hands roamed over her body, drawing sensations as his thumbs brushed her nipples before both hands fully cupped her breasts. She stilled briefly, her chest arching into his hands as her head fell back, his ministrations shooting molten need to her core. It was only as he grew bolder, the press of his own hands more urgent, that she resumed those steady strokes.

“Wait.”

He nearly stumbled as he stepped away, cursing as he crossed the room. Although she immediately missed his touch, she could hardly argue with the sight of his taut butt and muscled back and thighs as he crossed the room to his gym bag. “What are you—” She stopped as she recognized the box he came up with after digging deeply in the bag, another round of curses bulleting from his lips.

A giggle started deep in her belly, rumbling to life as he stomped back to her. His face still bore the unmistakable signs of sexual tension, which only served to make her laugh harder.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.” His mouth dropped as he caught sight of her, but she rushed on. “The cursing and that petulant little frown is too cute for words.”

“Cute wasn’t quite the look I was going for.”

She reached for the box, digging out a condom and tossing the container onto the coffee table as he continued to stare down at her. She tore the foil before looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Ruggedly handsome work better?”

“Much.”

“Then sit that ruggedly handsome yet still-healing body down on that couch and let me get to work.”

The surly look vanished as he took a seat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sadie settled herself over his lap, straddling his thighs with her own. “Did you just ‘ma’am’ me?”

“I’m afraid I did.” He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples once more as he nipped kisses along her jaw. “Ma’am.”

“You’re going to pay, McKellar.” She unrolled the condom over him, with deliberate, agonizing slowness, amazed that sex could be as much about laughter and fun as it was about pleasure.

And as she centered herself over his sheathed body and began to move, Sadie realized something else.

Sex was also about joy. And fun. And, as her pleasure crested, unleashing wave after wave of sensation through her body, she knew it for love.

* * *

Tripp held Sadie in his arms, his breathing still harsh and ragged against her neck. He’d buried his face there as he’d poured himself into her, holding her body tight against his.

They’d just had sex on his old, lumpy couch that had likely been constructed during the Kennedy administration and it was the best sex of his life.

No bed had ever been as comfortable and no woman had ever been as sweet. Or as utterly all-consuming as Sadie Colton.

She’d decimated him.

As he struggled to regain his breath, he was already thinking about when they could do it again. Because one taste of Sadie wasn’t enough. A lifetime of Sadie wouldn’t be enough.

And that was a sobering enough thought that he lifted his head from her neck and dropped it back against the couch.

He’d given in.

On some level, he supposed it was inevitable, but he’d believed himself strong enough to withstand her. Or, if not her, his maddening feelings for her, which he knew were misplaced. Because despite all evidence to the contrary, he and Sadie didn’t have a future.

Even if he could see past the lessons he’d learned with Lila’s death, he was still Sadie’s boss. She might not directly report to him but he was still a superior in the department.

And besides, he wasn’t past Lila.

He’d made a vow never to put another person’s life at risk for his job. If Sadie was harmed because of him…

He’d never survive.

Sadie still straddled his lap but she shot him a warm, satisfied smile—clearly oblivious to his thoughts—as she slipped off to sit beside him. Reaching behind them, she dragged a blanket off the back of the couch and covered them both.

“How are your stitches?”

“Fine.”

She gave him a dark side-eye as she settled the blanket into place. “Back to ‘fine’ again?”

Unwilling to pick a fight with the taste of her still on his tongue, he added, “Really, I’m good. The stitches are fine and I actually forgot they were there.” Tripp patted the bandage, pleased to find the area tender but no worse for wear.

“Good.”

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, absurdly pleased when she snuggled into his side.

That, considering the direction of his thoughts, was the last thing he should be thinking. Yet there he went, lifting his arm to cradle her shoulders, snuggling her more tightly into the crook of his body. He felt himself fading lightly, the quiet rhythm of her breathing steadying his into the same cadence. His head nearly fell forward in sleep when she spoke once again.

“I’m glad we did that. And I’m counting the minutes until we can do it again.”

Tripp’s eyes popped open, his body immediately on full alert at the bold declaration. “You think we’re going to do that again?”

“I sure as hell hope so, because one time is most certainly not enough.”

He wanted to argue. Knew, really, that he should argue. But he felt too damn good to do anything but agree with her. “No, one time isn’t nearly enough.”

“Since I’m still smarting from the ‘ma’am,’ I’ll do you one better and tell you I told you so.”

Amused at the fact that sex had unleashed “chatty Sadie,” he shifted so he could look down at her. “When did you tell me so?”

“How about every day since the day you rescued me? I can’t believe you haven’t seen the come-here-big-boy looks I’ve been throwing or felt the longing glances that bore into your back every time you turned around.”

Come here, big boy? Maybe “chatty” wasn’t quite the right term.

“For the record, I felt no longing glances and I’m not dignifying the ‘big boy’ comment with an answer.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

He supposed she was right, but he still wasn’t going there. That made her abrupt leap off the couch, fully naked as the blanket fell away, enough to steal his breath away. But it was when she turned, giving him a full view of her gorgeous body, that he knew he was lost.

He’d made love to Sadie Colton. And it had been better and even more amazing than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined often and in great detail.

So yes, he couldn’t wait to do it again.

Even if, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he registered that she was talking to him.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ll make us a snack and then we can get to doing it again.”

A snack?

The same page?

What page?

She continued, oblivious to his confusion at the rapid change in direction. “After all, once we get back to Grand Rapids, we have to give all this up. So I plan on getting my fill every possible moment until we do.”

CHAPTER 15

Tripp hefted the ax and slammed it against the block of wood, Sadie’s words still rattling around in his mind like loose marbles.

After all, once we get back to Grand Rapids, we have to give all this up.

Give it up?

Hell, they’d barely started and she was already talking about giving it up? Not that it had stopped him from making love to her once again after their quick snack of peanut butter on crackers. Nor had it stopped him from taking full advantage of that lush body in the shower, either.

But now, out here in the freezing cold an hour later with a few split logs beside him, Tripp brought her words back in vivid detail.

I plan on getting my fill every possible moment until we do.

Get her fill? What was he, some stud pony here to do her bidding?

Even if you’ve been exactly that all afternoon, McKellar, an exceedingly unhelpful voice volleyed right back in his mind, you were the one who told her this couldn’t be real. Why are you so upset she recognizes that?

Because, damn it.

Because she matters.

“Damn it,” he muttered, sick of the circular argument.

And even more sick of arguing with himself.

“Tripp McKellar!” Sadie shouted his name as she marched toward him. She’d dragged on a pair of large fishing waders he kept in the cabin’s closet and the oversize boots had her high-stepping because they were made to fit him, not her. “What in the hell are you doing out here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He hefted the ax once more, banging it down on a fresh, unsuspecting piece of wood.

“You’ve got stitches in your side, you jackass. You want to rip them all out?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, well aware his use of that phrase had reached monumentally ridiculous proportions. He reached for another small log but she had already moved up beside him and kicked it out of range.

“You really are a jackass. And that’s plenty of wood. Especially since there’s already more than enough in the metal stand beside the fireplace. Get inside.”

“You’ve got no right to order me around.”

“And you’ve got even less right to test my crappy nursing skills when those stitches come loose.”

It was the hitch in her voice as she said that last part that stilled him.

He was being that exact jackass she accused him of being and there was no logic for it. But for some reason, three epic sessions of sex had left him emotionally raw instead of satiated and practically comatose.

That made even less sense than the anger that continued to roil and seethe at her dismissal of anything between them once they left the cabin.

Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? No strings attached. Someone who recognized and understood he wasn’t meant for a relationship.

Right?

Tripp tossed the ax back into the small shed alongside the house and followed Sadie back inside. His gaze alighted on the stack of wood beside the fireplace before quickly bumping away to stare at something else—anything else—that wouldn’t make a liar out of him.

Only, his gaze caught on Sadie’s lush body and the rounded curve of her ass and, once again, he was trapped.

Trapped with all these thoughts and feelings he had no business possessing. Worse, that he’d sworn would never be for him.

She whirled on him, unaware of his perusal. “Do you want to tell me why you were out there putting your health at risk?”

“My health is fine.”

“You know, I saw a nearly full bottle of whiskey in the pantry. I think I’m going to start a drinking game. Every time Tripp McKellar says the word fine, I’m going to take a shot.” She moved up right in his face, hers set in dark, dangerous lines. “I should be good and drunk by noon.”

“I am fine. And you sure as hell weren’t worrying about my stitches in the shower.”

Those gorgeous green eyes went wide about a half second before flames shot through them, lighting her up like the winning screen on a video game. “Don’t flatter yourself, baby cakes.”

Tripp had no idea where it came from. He’d never been one to even mention sex to a woman before and here he was taunting Sadie with what had transpired between them. And then had to stand there while she shot it all straight back at him like a little firecracker, more than able to hold her own.

That flickering anger that had gnawed at him every time she’d mentioned Tate Greer over the past week flamed to life, white-hot and pure. It had broken his heart to see how Greer had left her feeling less than.

But looking at her now, Tripp saw a new truth. The woman standing before him was empowered. Bold. And he still wanted her more than he’d ever thought possible.

Without knowing who shifted first—and in the end, maybe it never mattered anyway—they moved into each other. The light of battle winked out, floating away like a wisp of smoke as they came together. Nothing in the world but the two of them.

She welcomed him with her mouth, opening beneath him as his tongue sought hers. As his hands molded her skin, a masterpiece coming to life beneath his fingers. As their breaths met and mingled, growing heavy with need.

“I want you,” she whispered, half challenge, half plea, and he felt an answering response rise up deep from within. “Now.”

“Yes.” He reached for her, walking backward toward the bedroom as he held her against him. His hands were already at the hem of her sweatshirt, his fingers plying the warm skin at her waist. They’d barely reached the doorway when Sadie stumbled into him. His tight hold was the only reason they remained upright and he suddenly had an armful of woman as something cold and heavy brushed against his foot.

“Whoa.” Tripp steadied her, his mind still hazy from her kisses. “Are you—”

He never got the question out as laughter shook her shoulders. Even as he tried to catch up, she nearly doubled over with it, one hand reaching out for balance on the bedroom door frame.

He had a momentary flash of good, old-fashioned, red-blooded male fear that she was laughing at him.

And then he saw it.

The huge fishing waders still clung to her feet, the thick soles planted against the floor, extending her feet to nearly double their size.

“Where did you even find those?”

His question only had her laughing harder. “Hall closet.”

The catch-all box in the base of the closet drifted through his mind’s eye. “It’s a sexy look.”

Tripp bent to remove them, his hands roaming over one firm thigh as he dislodged the boot. He did the same with her other leg, lingering longer than absolutely necessary, his pinky finger flicking against the sensitive skin at the very top of her thigh. He heard her quick rush of breath, the laughter fading away as if it had never been.

And once the boots had been removed, kicked and discarded into the hall, Tripp returned his hands to her waist, his mouth lingering over hers. “Now. Where were we, baby cakes?”

He felt her lips widen into a broad smile against his own as her arms wrapped around his neck. The storm of one battle ended just as a new, more delicious one took its place.

* * *

Sadie contemplated the cool air against her naked backside and realized that, for as generous a lover as Tripp McKellar was, the man was a serious blanket hog. Like a conquer-and-gather-up-all-the-covers sort of guy. But since the large body that shielded her front was practically a heater, she snuggled in closer and decided in the moment that it didn’t matter.

Her thoughts were as lazy as the first rays of dawn filtering through the window, flitting from subject to subject with little effort. It wasn’t a time of day she usually saw and it was a novel idea to simply lie there for a bit, enjoying the moment. And being wrapped up in Tripp.

How had this happened?

Well, she knew how it had happened. But the bigger question was why? And an even bigger one than that—why now?

They’d gone from colleagues to friends to lovers in the span of a week. And while she was wildly happy with the outcome, she knew it couldn’t last.

Hadn’t that been the real root of their fight?

The pitched battle they’d waged from the wood stump outside, through the living room and on into the bedroom, may have changed tone and tenor along with location, but she was smart enough to know its cause.

This couldn’t last.

Hadn’t she tried to acknowledge that? To be mature and open and honest, proving to Tripp she didn’t have expectations about what was happening between them beyond these few days locked away from the world?

It had been rather broad-minded of me, really, she thought with no small measure of disgust. Until he’d picked a fight with her. And that only added to her confusion because wasn’t that what he’d wanted?

So how had saying it somehow pissed him off?

Much as she wanted to lean back on her inexperience and blame it for their argument, she knew his reaction had had nothing to do with how many men she’d slept with. Instead, it’d had everything to do with putting a timeline on how long she’d sleep with him.

He’d even used that stupid excuse about being her boss.

Suddenly restless, Sadie slipped out of bed. Tripp never moved, the thick covers still clenched in his arms as he slept. She found her clothes in a pile near the door and silently pulled them on before closing the bedroom door behind her and heading out to the living room.

The cabin wasn’t large but it had a spacious feel, with high beamed ceilings that gave a sense of openness in the main gathering area. She curled up on the couch, still restless with her thoughts as her gaze darted around the room. She could watch TV but she wasn’t in the mood for news or any of the old reruns to be found this early in the morning. It was only when her gaze alighted on the various computers Tripp had set up that she decided to email Kiely.

Her older sister was a badass private investigator, full of what her twin, Pippa, had always classified as vim, vigor and a solid dash of vixen. Kiely had never been a shy, retiring sort of woman and she’d be the perfect person to talk to about Tripp’s out-of-line response to Sadie’s magnanimous declaration of sexual freedom without strings.

Sadie loaded up her email, doing a quick scan of what had come in overnight. Pippa had sent the sisters a silly meme about Michigan winters and Sadie replied with a smile and a snowman emoji before opening a new window to type her note to Kiely. That made it all the more surprising when her video chat kicked in two minutes later, Kiely on the other side.

Her sister’s face came to light on the screen, a small boy wrapped in her arms. Similar to the big man Sadie had left sleeping in the bedroom, the little guy had his arms wrapped around a blanket, only his eyes were wide-open and blinking in that sweet, chubby little face.

Alfie.

“Hey there.” Sadie gave the camera a little wave. “Hi, Alfie.” She didn’t quite get a smile but she saw interest light in that little face.

“I saw you were online,” Kiely said. “And since we were up, I thought we’d give our aunt Sadie a call.”

Something clenched in her heart at the use of the word aunt. It was still so new, her sister’s romance with Cooper bringing Alfie into their lives. She felt the same about Abigail and Griffin’s baby, Maya. In a matter of months, Sadie had gone from not even being an aunt to having two little ones in her life with Riley and Charlize’s baby on the way in the new year.

“I’m glad you did.”

They talked for a few minutes, Alfie growing more animated and involved in the conversation. He was already talking and, while she missed a few things, Sadie managed to get most of what he was saying. And what she’d missed, Kiely easily filled in.

“You’re getting good at this,” Sadie said, her heart full.

“Good at what?”

“Toddler speak. You understand everything he says.”

Kiely looked down at the baby as Alfie looked up and in that quiet glance, Sadie saw the truth. Her sister had, in a matter of a few short months, become a mother. She was changed—transformed, really—and it was beautiful to see.

Kiely beamed back, kissing the baby on the crown of his head. “That’s because Alfie’s so smart.”

The small boy settled in Kiely’s arms, his eyes blinking with tiredness.

“I can let you go.”

Kiely shook her head. “He’s a good sleeper and once he’s out, noise doesn’t bother him. Talk to me. I know something’s going on, especially since you’re never up at this hour unless you haven’t gone to bed.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s completely true and you know it. Spill.”

Sadie let out a small sniff at being nailed so easily, but it was for show only. She desperately needed to talk and was beyond grateful Kiely was there to listen. And, just as her sister had promised, Alfie’s eyes had already closed, his little head nestled against her sister.

“I slept with Tripp.”

Kiely’s answering grin was immediate and tinged with those solid hints of the vixen Pippa had always accused her of being. “I knew it wouldn’t take long.”

“Kiely!”

Part of her wanted to be shocked but really, how could she be when her sister was right.

So very right.

She and Tripp hadn’t lasted that many days in confinement before giving in to the attraction between them. The three days had felt like an eternity but really wasn’t.

“He’s an attractive man and you’re a beautiful woman. And the air practically combusts around you. How could I have been wrong?”

“The air combusts?”

“Yeah, it does. Which is yet another reason Tate Greer was never right for you.”

“I thought it was because he was a killer and a criminal.”

Kiely waved a hand. “That, too, of course. But if I suspend all that for the briefest moment—”

Sadie tried to stop her—how did you just suspend criminal activity?—but Kiely steamrolled over it. “Seriously. If you hold that part of it for just a minute, you’ll understand what I’m saying. None of us knew who or what he was and, really, how could we? But we all knew there wasn’t a spark between you. That was what we all kept pushing up against when we tried to talk to you about him. We wanted to know if you were happy.”

“I still say him being a criminal makes sparks a moot point.”

Kiely eyed her through the video chat camera before cutting to the chase once more. “If you’re having what I presume is amazing sex with Lieutenant Hottie, what are you doing emailing me so early in the morning?”

“We had a fight last night.”

“Did you get makeup sex?” When Sadie said nothing, Kiely only smiled again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m still mad at him.”

“Why?”

“Because I gave him a no-strings out to this whole thing. The world is upside down and this place is like a cocoon. But the real world is still outside. Tate’s still not caught and neither is Wes Matthews. I’m a big girl and I know the score.”

“And you told him all that?”

“I was much more eloquent.”

“No wonder you pissed him off.”

The solidarity and support she was so convinced she’d find from her sister was nowhere in evidence. Instead, Sadie’s mouth dropped and she nearly shouted into the screen before she remembered the sleeping baby as well as the sleeping man in the next room.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she hissed instead.

“It means he wants to think he has no strings. But he sure as hell doesn’t want you to actually tell him that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not what he really wants.”

Sadie flopped back on the couch, utterly confused and rapidly losing the thread of the conversation. “This is stupid. And not the regular sort of stupid but the multiple-O stoooopid.” She elongated the middle of the word, pleased when her sister finally seemed to agree.

“Totally. But that’s men for you.” Kiely kissed the top of Alfie’s head again before looking down at him. “I have no idea how they start out this way but end up that way. But somehow they do.”

“Tripp is a grown man. He knows what he wants and I’m trying to respect that. He had that awful thing that happened to him with his fiancée dying…” Sadie searched her sister’s face. “I have to be okay with it if he doesn’t want a relationship.”

“For him?”

Sadie shook her head, the truth crystal clear. “For me. Or it’ll decimate me.”

Kiely’s gaze softened, her tone quiet. “Only you can decide that. But I will tell you one thing. Don’t let him off the hook too easily.”

Sadie heard the stirring from the other room and stared at the closed door before turning her eyes back to her sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your feelings matter, too. What you want matters, too. You need to believe that, Sadie.”

The clear sound of another human moving around came from the bedroom. “I’ve got to go.”

“Think about what I said?” Kiely added.

“I will.”

Then the screen went dark and Sadie shut down her email just as Tripp came into the living room.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Everything okay?” His eyes were alert, even through the lingering vestiges of sleep.

“Yeah. Fine. My sister Kiely called me. The baby was up, so it gave them something to do.”

Tripp nodded. “I thought I heard voices.”

Before she could respond with some sort of excuse, he headed for the kitchen, seemingly unconcerned she was already up or that she’d talked to her sister. She heard him open the fridge and the light scrape of a tin can against the countertop when he set it down to prep the coffee maker. Then she caught the sounds of water being added and coffee grounds hitting the filter.

How was it all so normal?

She got off the couch, not sure what she wanted to say yet deeply aware of the need to say it. And as she came upon him in the kitchen—his shoulders broad beneath a navy GRPD T-shirt, gray sweatpants riding low on his hips and his hair mussed from sleep—her sister’s parting words rang loud and clear.

Your feelings matter, too. What you want matters, too.

“I’d like to know about before.”

Tripp’s gaze lifted off the coffee maker, the sleep fading a bit more. “Before what?”

“I’d like to know about your fiancée.”

* * *

Tripp wanted to be angry. Somewhere down low and deep, he wanted to find some ire to blunt the pain and surprise of Sadie’s words.

Only nothing came.

Not fury or frustration, or even the smallest rub of irritation.

Funny, how he’d felt all of those emotions yesterday during their argument and now he couldn’t find a bit of them. Couldn’t conjure them up, no matter how hard he tried.

“You know about Lila?”

“Yes, Tripp. I’m sorry, but I’ve lived in Grand Rapids my whole life. Even if I hadn’t joined the force, I’d have heard the story.”

“But you did join the force.”

“Everyone there knows what happened to you. To her.” Sadie’s voice was gentle, but there was something insistent there, too.

Or maybe it was something insistent inside him.

A driving need to get it all out. Maybe, by finally speaking the words, he’d remove the ashy taste from his tongue and the bitter remorse that always steamrolled him when he thought about Lila and the baby.

Maybe.

“I had a girlfriend named Lila. We’d been dating about six months when we found out she was pregnant.”

Sadie’s eyes went wide at the news of the baby but she remained silent. It was the proof he needed, though, that he had managed to keep that part of the story as his own. The entire GRPD might have known what happened to him but no one had known about the baby.

That seemed monumental, somehow. Like there actually was still something completely private about his grief.

“I’d already made detective a few years by then and had several cases under my belt. I made enemies. And one decided to enact his vengeance when he got out of jail on a technicality.”

“Tripp.” She laid a hand on his arm but he slipped away, moving to the cabinet to pull down a few mugs. Her touch felt good—too good—and there was no way he’d get through this if he let her touch him. So he made himself busy with the mugs and taking spoons from a drawer and even moving to the fridge to get milk.

All while telling her about the day that changed his life.

“We got engaged after we found out about the baby. Lila had a checkup that day and I was going straight to the doctor to meet her.”

He paused, images of the day still so fresh in his mind. The hints of spring in the breeze. The sun that beat down, warming the still cool air. And the dark, nondescript car that rattled without its muffler, moving through the medical center’s parking lot like a shark preying the waves.

He’d seen it, of course. Heard it first, really. But he’d had no idea what evil lay inside. Or the desperate heart that beat for revenge.

Tripp told Sadie those things as he leaned back against the counter sipping his coffee.

“We were at a medical center and I kept hoping that would be enough to save her. I rationalized it to myself. That by having doctors close by, she’d have to be okay.” He stopped then, the images that were never too far away seeming to fill all the open kitchen space, pushing out the air so that his breath came hard and fast. “But I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are. Everyone’s sorry.” Tripp finally glanced up, surfacing from the depths of his memories. “Everyone always is. But no one is sorrier than me.”

With that, he set down his mug and walked out of the kitchen. He didn’t really care if she had any questions or if there were any other details she needed to know. None of it really mattered anyway.

* * *

Tate extended a hand, issuing a series of commands to Snake as he took a deep breath of the bracing cold air. They hadn’t had any more snow, but it had remained frigid. The freezing temperatures seemed to hone the dog’s reactions, his movements swift and immediate.

Which was exactly the response Tate needed right now.

Sadie and her police officer had vanished again. He’d called in every favor he’d had and no one had seen them or known where they’d gone. The two of them had basically disappeared four days ago and Tate had no idea where.

After three fruitless days spent trying to hunt them down, he’d had a vision overnight. An inspiration, really.

Snake returned when called, his back ramrod straight as he stared up at his master.

Tate flicked his gaze down to the dog, curious how a creature not nearly as smart as a human could be both tool and companion. He’d thought it before, until he’d had an epiphany while training Snake so many years before.

Discipline was nothing more than training with purpose.

All he needed to do was to use what the dog wanted as the reward to keep him in line. Praise. Food. Shelter. Pack. Whatever it was, identify that carrot and then dangle it at the end of a very long stick.

Each and every time, the dog responded in kind. It was time to do the same with Sadie.

She could hide, but all he really needed was the proper point of leverage. A lone carrot to immediately pull her out of hiding.

He issued another command to Snake. And as he watched the dog bound over the cold ground as instructed, Tate considered the perfect place to snatch Sergeant Victoria Colton.

CHAPTER 16

Tripp avoided the wood-chopping routine again, even as he knew there was nowhere inside the cabin that would put him far enough from Sadie.

But he tried.

After he left her unceremoniously in the kitchen, he’d walked off to the bedroom, taking a shower and adding plenty of time to shave, too. Even with meticulous swipes of his razor, he was still done too quickly, so he’d finally opted to sit quietly on the couch and focus on his computer.

Sadie had obviously sensed his reticence to talk further, keeping to herself and focusing on the other department laptop he had with him.

Somehow they made it through most of the morning before she finally spoke. “We should probably start thinking about how to get out of here.”

Tripp glanced up from the report he was reading. “Greer’s still out there.”

“Yeah. And we’re stuck in here. I read Riley’s report this morning and Ashanti’s getting closer on the work with Matthews.”

“So we stay put until it’s done. Until we know you’re safe.”

She ignored his point and kept on pressing hers. “I still keep going back to the bigger idea that the only way we end this is to pit Tate and Wes Matthews against each other.”

“Tate’s trying to kill you.”

“So we make sure he doesn’t succeed.”

He’d spent enough time with Sadie now to know that she wasn’t nearly as flippant as the comment suggested. But still, he couldn’t understand how she could be so blasé. Tate Greer was a threat. Tripp had several GRPD team members hunting for the man even now, trying to find him in any possible location anyone had ever placed him. All to no avail.

He’d ghosted them once again.

And Tripp didn’t want Sadie anywhere near him when the man decided to reappear.

“It’s not like we set you up as bait in the hospital or at my house. You were hidden away and that didn’t stop him.”

“I need to go back to living my life. Between a month in the safe house and now another week of running, I need something different.”

Or she needed away from him.

Underneath, Tripp wondered if that was the real truth here and it drew a harsh stab of pain low in his gut.

He’d believed himself unable—and, more to the point, unwilling—to care for anyone again. But somehow, some way, Sadie had gotten to him. Having sex with her had made it all more real, more tangible, somehow.

But it was being with her. Spending time with her and seeing her at her most personal and intimate that had allowed him to really see her.

Yes, he’d been fascinated before. And he’d even been smitten. But now?

The word love played through his mind, consuming him with all the impact of an avalanche.

He couldn’t be in love with Sadie. Not now, not ever.

“You can go back to living your life after Greer’s caught.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

Although the declaration was pointed, there wasn’t a trace of anger in her tone. Yet it was as effective as waving red before a bull. “Don’t brush me off or dismiss me like I don’t matter, Sadie. It’s my job to keep you safe and I’m going to do it.”

“It’s my job to keep myself safe. I got myself into this and, while I appreciate all you’ve done, it’s time to go home.”

“And what if something happens to you?”

“Then I’ll face the consequences.” She set the computer down on the coffee table and turned to him, eyes pleading. “I’ve spent the past five weeks hiding from my life. I haven’t worked. Haven’t seen my family for much of that. I haven’t even been inside my own home.”

You were with me, that small, traitorous inner voice taunted, before going in for the kill. Where you should be, always.

Only, to hear her now, that time away hadn’t been enough. What was between them wasn’t enough to make her stay. That was rich, coming from a man who refused to admit he cared for her. Maybe even loved her.

But, like always, he fell back on what he knew. What was tangible to him. “You said something to me the other day. About safety being an illusion. Do you believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you make my life’s work and the work of everyone else at the GRPD a lie.”

“That’s wildly unfair.”

“Why? Isn’t that what you’re saying? If there’s no such thing as safety and security, why does any of the work we do matter?”

Although she’d remained calm and measured up to now, Tripp saw her fight for composure. “My parents were murdered. Your fiancée and child were murdered. I almost married a man who wants to kill me. What safety is there in a world where any of those things can happen?”

Once again, a brick wall of disagreement seemed to have sprung up between them. “So you acknowledge it. Work with it. You don’t go putting yourself in the crosshairs of a killer.”

“No, Tripp. Instead, you deny any and all happiness in life. You deny yourself love and someone who cares for you because something may happen. You’re accusing me of wanting to get back to my life but you refuse to live one.”

Tripp’s phone went off, the heavy ring interrupting the still rippling waves of her accusation. He saw Emmanuel’s name on the caller ID screen at the same time a text came in from Cooper Winston.

“McKellar,” he answered.

“Is Sadie with you?” Iglesias’s question was out without preamble.

“Yeah. She has been for several days.”

“Is Vikki with you?”

Ice pitted in the center of his stomach as Tripp shot a glance at Sadie. “No. Why?”

“She hasn’t been seen since this morning.”

Tripp glanced at the sun filtering through the window. “It’s barely noon.”

“Flynn is going out of his mind. They were supposed to meet for an early lunch and when she didn’t show, he got worried. She hasn’t been to work all morning.”

“What’s going on?” Sadie moved beside him, her gaze intent.

“Put me on speaker,” Iglesias ordered.

Tripp did as asked, setting his phone on the table. He reached for Sadie’s hand, not caring about the argument or their philosophical differences on life and love. She was going to need every bit of support he could give her.

“Tell her,” Tripp ordered, willing everything he felt—and all he couldn’t say—into their joined hands.

“Vikki’s gone.”

* * *

Sadie heard the disembodied voice of her future brother-in-law float off the coffee table and tried to process what Emmanuel was saying.

Vikki was gone? She’d never made it to work or a lunch date with Flynn. Nor was she answering her phone.

She wanted to ask questions—knew she should be asking questions—yet nothing came to mind.

Her sister was gone.

They were twins, damn it! Shouldn’t she have felt something? Shouldn’t she have known?

But she’d been here, hidden away. It was just like she’d told Tripp, only now, somehow, it seemed worse. She hadn’t just run from her life, she’d put her sister in the crosshairs of a killer.

Because while she had no questions, she had plenty of self-recrimination.

“It’s Tate Greer.”

“That’s what we think,” Emmanuel affirmed.

“I know it is. He couldn’t find me, so he’s gone after the one person he knew could draw me out.”

While the same would be true of any of her siblings, Sadie had no doubt it was deliberate and purposeful to take her twin.

“Are there any leads on where she is? Any traffic or street cams?” Tripp took over the conversation.

“The team’s been scouring anything they can find,” Emmanuel said. “But nothing’s hit yet.”

“We’ll be there in an hour,” Sadie interjected into the conversation. When Tripp did nothing more than look at her and nod, she pressed on. “There are going to be a limited number of places Tate can take her. Have Gunther Johnson brought up to Interview.”

They ended the call, even as the face of Tripp’s phone continued to light up with messages. Cooper texted again, followed by her brother. She made a quick call to Riley, assuring him they were headed back to the city. When he’d tried to argue with her to stay put, she’d hung up on him.

And in under a half hour they’d packed up and were on their way to Grand Rapids.

The sun was bright in the sky as they drove toward the city. It was mid-December and it dawned on her as Tripp turned onto the interstate that it was coming on Christmas and she hadn’t even thought about it. She’d spent so long locked in the safe house, whisked away from her life and her family, that when it had become too overwhelming to think about the holidays—and missing everyone—she’d shut it all out.

Only now, it all came flooding back.

“You’ve been quiet. How are you doing?” Tripp asked.

“Thinking about Christmas.”

“It’s so soon. Hard to believe it’s here again.”

“I made a deliberate effort to put it out of my mind in the safe house. And with all that’s been going on, I continued to forget. But that doesn’t mean it’s not almost here.” On a hard sigh, she remembered something else. “Oh, Tripp. Your poor house. What are you going to do?”

“Get a new one. It wasn’t like I spent that much time in the old one.”

She heard the flat assessment and recognized that he wasn’t making up the casual response. Losing his house—his home—didn’t seem to have that big an effect on him. “You don’t sound that upset.”

“It’s a house.”

She had no idea why she kept pressing the subject, but suddenly it seemed important. Huge, actually. “But you won’t be in it for the holidays.”

“I usually work through the holidays, so I don’t bother with a tree or decorations.”

Sadie thought about the small tree she put up each year in her apartment. She’d dubbed him Herman because he had a square, boxy shape that reminded her of Herman Munster. It was silly and stupid, but she smiled each year when she pulled Herman out of the storage closet and set him up in her front window. And each January, when she carefully nestled him back in his box, she knew that she’d see him again.

Tripp had none of that. Whether by choice or now by habit, it didn’t make things any less bleak. Or true.

But as she stared down the possibility that her sister would be hurt, or worse, Sadie understood it. She’d been so angry at Tripp’s refusal to see all that could be, between them and, more broadly, in life. And then she’d been sad when he’d simply walked out of the kitchen this morning after sharing the details of Lila’s death.

But now? Now she understood.

If something happened to her twin, Sadie had no idea what she’d do. It had been hard enough to lose her parents, but she and her siblings had found a way forward.

Yet Vikki’s life being in danger was entirely different somehow.

The inability to believe in a world that contained light and love, and only risk if you tried for those things, suddenly made sense.

And with it, Tripp’s determination to avoid it all.

* * *

Tripp stood outside the interview room, Sadie at his side. She’d been quiet since their odd diversion of a conversation in the car about the holidays and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Sadie was strong enough for this, of that he had no doubt. Steely determination poured from her and he had no qualms about putting her in front of Johnson again.

It was the fact that she had to that still chewed him up.

How had it come to this?

And how had they never even considered the possibility that by leaving town, Tate would turn his sights on a new target.

The ever-petulant Gunther Johnson was brought into Interview and Tripp and Sadie entered shortly after him. One of the guards who’d escorted Johnson to the room fitted the handcuffs to the table locks and, in moments, the young man was seated, his careless sneer firmly in place.

“Look who’s back.”

Since Gunther had showed little but sullen attitude for the past few months, it was something of a surprise to see him initiate the conversation.

“We’ve got more questions for you.”

“Why else would I be here?” Gunther said before turning his attention to Sadie. “That bruise has nearly faded away.”

She touched her jaw. “How sweet of you to show you care.”

Something dark and unexpected flashed across his face. “I don’t go around beating women.”

“Never said you did. But your boss certainly has no problem with it. Which is why we’re here.”

Although Tripp and Sadie hadn’t overly prepped for the meeting, they had talked broad strategy. The idea was to put Johnson on the defensive and then pepper in how Greer and Matthews were going to take the score and run for the hills.

All part of Sadie’s continued push to pit one of them against the other. So it was strange to see her employ such a risky tactic as empathy.

“You still haven’t caught him yet?”

“You know we haven’t, Gunther.” Sadie leaned in. “Because if we had, your life in here would’ve gotten a lot harder. Isn’t that right?”

“Tate and I are square.”

“Until he pegs you for the one who gave him up to the GRPD.” She traced a small pattern on the table. “I can see to it that he finds out that little detail.”

“You don’t know jack, lady.”

“I know plenty. And since I’m about to become the bait to get my sister back from the bastard, I’d say I know a hell of a lot more than you.”

“What about your sister?”

“When he couldn’t get to me, he took my twin sister. For revenge. To draw me out. His set of twisted reasoning really doesn’t matter, does it? Because I’m here. And I need your help.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Because I’m asking. Because an innocent woman’s life is at stake. But if those aren’t reason enough, I’ll give you one more.”

Gunther didn’t respond though his interest was unmistakable.

“Wes and Tate don’t deserve to get off scot-free in this whole thing, while you’re stuck in here. I’m just a worker bee in CSI, but I’ve been around this place for a long time and I know how it works. The lawyers are going to go to town on what you know, who you know, and what you were part of. Especially if Tate and Wes get away and they don’t have them to play with.”

“That’s B.S.”

“No, it’s not. It’s truth. My father was a lawyer and my older sister followed in his footsteps. I know how hard she works to make sure guilty people pay.” Sadie eyed him, never breaking her intensity. “And no one’s going to cut you a break if they know you had an opportunity to help and didn’t take it.”

Just as in her first meeting with Gunther, Tripp was impressed with how smoothly Sadie handled the interview. And in her approach, he saw something else. For all her efforts to get answers and get through to Gunther, she never dismissed him. He’d observed a lot of interviewers through the years and knew it was unfortunately all too easy to forget the person sitting opposite you actually was a person. Instead, it was easier to create distance with labels like “perp” and “criminal” as a way to deal with sad wastes of life.

Only, Sadie didn’t do that.

And it was fascinating to see how Gunther responded to her willingness to see his humanity.

“You’re not playing me?”

“No, I’m not. I want my sister back and I need your help.”

Tripp chose that moment to step in. He’d observed the young man for nearly three months now, unable to understand how Gunther would trade his life for such a dead-end choice as working for Capital X. What he hadn’t done in all that time was see Gunther as anything other than a criminal.

It was time to change his approach.

“Gunther, this is your chance to step up.”

“What’s in it for me?” Gunther’s ice-blue eyes assessed him, but for the first time they appeared to actually be considering the conversation instead of actively projecting contempt.

Tripp refused to drop into his historic default and assume the guy would make a poor choice. “You’ve got a chance to do the right thing.”

Gunther stared down at the table and gave no indication one way or the other. Tripp shot a side-glance to Sadie and felt his heart stick in his throat at the desperate hope that lined her face.

She was depending on whatever possible shred of decency might still be in Gunther Johnson’s heart. When they’d walked into the room, Tripp would have said that was impossible.

Now, after the guy had been exposed to a few rounds with Sadie Colton… Tripp wasn’t so sure.

He reached out under the table, extending his fingers so they just brushed against hers. It was silent support, but as he touched her skin, Tripp recognized the comfort he was taking in return.

“Guy has a few old warehouses just outside of town.”

“Where?” Tripp prompted before tossing out a few main thoroughfares that ran out of town toward the suburbs.

Gunther nodded on the last one. “You know it then. He’s had ’em for years. Bought them on the cheap when they got all sad and abandoned. He…” Gunther hesitated before huffing out a low sigh. “He uses them when he needs to rough people up.”

Tripp considered Gunther’s description and the truth beneath it all. Greer, and by extension, Capital X, had been close all along.

Tripp glanced at Sadie but she was already rising, gratitude rolling off her in waves. “Thank you, Gunther. I won’t forget this, and I will make sure my family doesn’t forget it, too.”

Tripp stood as the kid nodded, his eyes still that cool, calculating blue. Tripp didn’t miss the way they followed Sadie as she rushed from the interview room. “I know I’m no prize, but women don’t deserve that crap.”

“What you did today, Gunther? It matters.”

Although Tripp knew the young man’s deeds wouldn’t be erased by one act of decency, he also had hope that this could be the beginning of something new. Assuming the kid had played straight with them, Tripp would do what he could to ensure Gunther was treated fairly.

But for now he had to follow Sadie.

And this ridiculous idea she had to set herself up as bait.

* * *

“I’m not arguing with you.” Sadie stared Tripp down before turning to her brother. The high, wide windows of the refurbished warehouse about a mile from Tate’s hideout eclipsed Riley, the purple light of a winter afternoon filling the space behind him. “Either of you.”

“You can’t trade yourself for Vikki.” Tripp had tried the argument several times and now Riley had started in. Despite his concern, Sadie steamrolled the argument.

“I’m the only one who can. Tate wants me. And he’s using Vikki to get to me. His behavior keeps escalating and we know he’s desperate. This will end it.”

“What if we can’t get to you?” Tripp asked.

It broke her heart a little to hear the hitch in his voice. But still, she remained strong.

“What do you think all these people are going to do?” Sadie pointed to the assembled police teams prepping and planning around them. The GRPD had commandeered the refurbished warehouse space, the home of a design firm that would be out all afternoon for its annual holiday party.

It had been sheer, blind luck that one of Tripp’s detectives had known the owner of the warehouse and had asked to use the space, only to find out during the call the extra stroke of good luck that the place would be empty.

Sadie kept telling herself that stroke of good fortune was the proof that it would all work out.

That Vikki was okay.

And that she’d be okay, too.

“You don’t have to do this, squirt.” Riley pulled her close, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “You really don’t.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Riley only hugged her harder before moving off to ask more questions of the two SWAT leads managing the op.

Once he was gone, Sadie was left alone with Tripp. Or mostly alone, if she ignored the fifty or so people milling around them, all preparing for the meet with Tate.

“Your brother’s right.” Tripp stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “SWAT’s here. We can get eyes in there and get Vikki out.”

“This is quicker. And it’s the easiest way to get what we want.”

“And if Greer suspects you’ve got backup?”

“Tate’s known for a while I’ve got backup. Part of me thinks that’s what all this is about. He knows as well as I do that this needs to end, and he wants to show off how strong he is.”

“That is why the professionals need to handle it.”

“The professionals are handling it.” Sadie strode closer and ran the tips of her fingers over his knuckles. The touch was light—as light as his had been in the interview room when they’d spoken with Gunther—and that made it all the more powerful.

“I can do this. And more to the point, I need to do this. I’m a trained cop and I know how to handle myself on an op. And my sister is inside that warehouse.”

Sadie took some comfort from the fact that surveillance had confirmed Vikki was in the building and alive. But Sadie had grown impatient with waiting, ready to move in and get this done.

She’d let Tate into her life. And while she was coming to accept that she didn’t need to emotionally flog herself over that fact for the rest of her life, she did need to act.

To save Vikki.

And, maybe, to save herself.

CHAPTER 17

Tripp ignored the unrelenting fear that gnawed at him with the sharpest of teeth and focused on the team. Everyone had fanned out into their prearranged spots, with SWAT taking point on another warehouse rooftop a building’s width away. A sniper, two GRPD detectives and a K-9 trainer capable of handling Greer’s dog were also positioned behind the warehouse, determined to catch Tate or his henchman should one of them run out the back.

The intel on the building was solid. Heat sensors had mapped out three people inside as well as the dog. What was presumably Tate and Vikki, based on how one body never moved while the other wove in and around it, were in the center of the building, the dog pacing in time. A third heat signature was positioned near the back entrance.

SWAT had tried to get eyes on that last individual to assess what they’d be up against, but the figure remained stubbornly in place, not moving or making rounds.

It was that third figure that scared Tripp. They were ready for Tate and had a properly trained handler focused on the dog. But the third person was a wild card.

“She’s moving in.” The comm device in his ear signaled that Sadie was on the move.

Tripp watched from his position, hidden at the edge of the same building SWAT had commandeered.

And prayed this wasn’t the last time he’d see her alive.

* * *

Sadie had considered how she was going to play this meeting with Tate ever since she’d discovered Vikki had been taken. She’d downplayed the risk to Tripp and her brother and the rest of her family, but never once had she downplayed it to herself.

Tate Greer was dangerous. And there was no way he was going down without a fight.

He’d lost all he could lose and that made him even more deadly than he’d been before. As the head of Capital X, the risk in his life was matched only by all the pieces he controlled. His staff. The people he roughed up when they didn’t pay. And all those under the thumb of his criminal enterprise.

But the RevitaYou scam had seen it all vanish, cracking his organization wide-open.

Now he had nothing left to protect. Except his pride.

It was for that reason Sadie had finally settled on her approach. Since she’d spent the past six weeks with her own pride in shambles, it turned out that that was the hill she was willing to die on.

The warehouse had a large, covered entrance and she stood there, laying hard on the doorbell that buzzed for after-hours visitors. The GRPD and the Feds had not been able to contact Tate, every call in to him going to voice mail. But he had allowed Vikki a tearful call out to Flynn. Sadie’s future brother-in-law had nearly chewed through the phone. It was only through sheer dint of will and his extensive military training that he’d finally been talked into waiting in the SWAT van. If given the chance, he’d have fought Sadie to meet Tate himself, but it was SWAT who’d finally helped her win the argument.

The team leader’s report on the interior layout, perimeter access and available sight lines, not to mention the minimal but still existent traffic in the warehouse district, meant they wanted as few extraneous people involved as possible. Anyone other than Sadie risked riling Tate up instead of getting Vikki out.

Sadie lifted her finger then laid it on the buzzer again. The distant sound of a dog barking registered and she nearly stopped the buzzing, having no interest in meeting Snake face-to-face again.

But then she thought better of it.

This was as much a mental game as a physical battle and she needed all the advantage she could get.

The door cracked open, a large gun pointing directly at her face spearing through it. The sound of the dog’s whining filled the air, but at least the barking had stopped.

“About damn time you got here.” Tate’s hand snaked out and covered her wrist, dragging her inside. She’d barely cleared the door when he re-aimed the gun at her. “Take the coat off. Empty your pockets and your purse.”

“I don’t have a gun.” She kept her tone flat and even, unwilling to rise to his bait no matter the subject.

“Yeah, right.”

She held up her hands before moving them slowly to her coat to strip it off, letting it drop to the floor. She did the same with her bag, dumping it over first so the contents fell out—her wallet, a brush and a pack of gum.

The items had been deliberate choices, all designed to keep Tate thinking she’d subserviently come to save her sister. What he had no way of knowing was that the gum was a sweet little listening device Ashanti had cooked up about a year ago, or that a Taser had been neatly embedded in the material of the purse. A small switch in the handle would turn the purse into a lethal game changer the moment Sadie confirmed Vikki was okay and was within proper range of Tate.

She considered how easy it had been to enter as she bent to stuff the items back into the purse. It felt like the tide turning in their favor, but was it too easy?

The last briefing from SWAT ran through her mind. The only real identified unknown was the third person in the warehouse. No one had put eyes on the guy and a quick run of Tate’s known associates hadn’t turned up anyone not already captured. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Tate had eluded arrest for so long, there was no telling how many tentacles he had stuck in any number of places around Grand Rapids.

So she’d keep watch and stay aware. He didn’t know she knew there was another goon in the place and she needed to keep it that way.

She stood and Tate moved behind her, pushing her forward with the tip of the gun against her back. She stepped forward quickly, arching away from the gun as her gaze discreetly roamed the warehouse.

Where was Tate’s henchman?

And then she saw Vikki and all thoughts of anyone else vanished. Her psycho ex, the gun and the dog were all forgotten as Sadie raced to where Vikki sat, strapped to a wooden chair, her green eyes wide pools of fear in her face.

“Vikki!” Sadie wrapped her arms around her twin, pulling her close and whispering as fast as she could, “It’s going to be okay.”

Vikki’s hands and feet were bound but Tate hadn’t gagged her and Sadie felt the press of lips against her cheek and a hard shudder when Vikki exhaled. “You’re okay.”

“You are, too.” Sadie stepped back, concerned by her sister’s pale face and fear-filled eyes. Vikki was terrified, which only served to give Sadie’s anger a laser-sharp focus.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything and I thought he had you.”

“Shh, now.” Sadie tried to pull Vikki close but Tate had already come between them, pushing Sadie out of the way.

“Aww, isn’t this sweet?”

“I’m here now, so you can let her go.” Sadie clutched the strap of her electrified bag and refused to cower. She wanted Vikki out of there and then she could distract Tate or subdue him until SWAT found an opening.

Tate pointed the gun at Sadie again, waving it in her face before using it as a pointer against her chest. “You aren’t the one giving orders.”

“I’m the one you wanted here. Let Vikki go.”

Tate’s lips curled, an evil mockery of a smile.

God, how had she ever thought herself in love with this man? The very idea of touching him made her skin crawl.

For the past six weeks, thoughts like that had dragged her down, making her feel less than. But in that moment, staring Tate down, Sadie felt the sands shift.

She knew what love was. Real, true love. For Tripp.

Funny how simple it all was now that she had the single-minded clarity to see it.

Tate had betrayed her. If it were simply a case of a romance gone bad, she’d have had to live with that. But it wasn’t. He’d proved beyond any doubt that there was nothing good inside him. She could continue to wallow in that, or she could revel in the fact that she’d found this man’s antithesis.

Thanks to Tripp McKellar, her faith in other people had been restored. He was good and decent and honest. And while she might think his theories on not forming attachments were stupid, in the end, it didn’t matter.

Because she loved him.

And in the loving, she’d found herself again.

* * *

Tripp swore as he stared at the front of the warehouse, the quiet drone of comms humming in his ear. They’d cleared all unnecessary chatter off the line, leaving it mainly to SWAT and the department’s hostage negotiator. And despite the fact Sadie had been in there for over ten minutes, no one could see her or even think about getting a shot off.

But they could hear her.

The GRPD’s tech wizard had connected the interior comm units to the small listening device Ashanti had created and planted in Sadie’s bag, all while keeping the department’s comms open and working so everyone had the same intel.

Right now, it was all they had.

Tate hadn’t given them anything to work with when he’d opened the warehouse door. He’d handled it by the book, minimizing any exposure to himself as he kept Sadie firmly in front of him, effectively blocking himself.

No matter how well trained the sniper, some shots were still impossible.

The deep-seated desire to run in there was maddening and Tripp wondered how he’d let her do this. As lieutenant, he had a fair amount of say in the ops the GRPD ran and how they were executed. Yet he’d let her go barreling into this situation like John Wayne at her own personal High Noon.

Only…

Only it wasn’t about letting her do anything. She was a grown woman with a strong mind and a high degree of capability. They hadn’t sent a civilian in to manage this.

They’d sent a cop.

He’d do well to remember that.

And he’d damn near convinced himself she’d be okay when the voice of one of the SWAT leads came through his earpiece. “Third heat signature is moving. Out of the back of the warehouse and into the main. Moving slow but heading toward the cluster of people in the middle.”

The wild card they didn’t know what to do with.

Tripp’s hands curled into fists and he stared at the warehouse door, willing the events inside to go Sadie’s way.

He knew he should wait.

Knew that Sadie and Vikki’s lives depended on it.

But he was a cop, too. They might have sent a cop, but there was no way he could let her do this alone.

Before anyone could stop him, Tripp raced toward the warehouse.

* * *

Sadie knew she couldn’t use the Taser bag too quickly, but everything inside her screamed to get it done. Get Tate and the dog. Deal with the third man. Get Vikki out. Backup was so close, the moment she gave the shout, her little pack of gum would alert SWAT to move in.

But Tate’s gaze was unrelenting, the gun never moving from where it targeted her chest.

For a split second, all the hope she’d carried inside and on into saving Vikki died. What was she doing there? She had no gun. No body armor. And she was staring down a madman.

Had she really thought she could do this?

Tate had outsmarted her at every step. From their first date on through to the house fire the other day. Did she honestly think she could win now?

“Why’d you do it?” She had no idea where the question came from, but once it was out, there was no holding it back. “Why me?”

That dark grin never faded, but Tate did cock his head, assessing her. “I thought you’d be an easy mark.”

Thought?

“You thought wrong.”

“Yeah, I did. You never gave me the intel I needed. You protected your family and the damn police department like their secrets were gold. And—” that grin grew darker even as the gun seemed to grow steadier “—I never wanted to be married anyway. I guess I’m really a lifetime bachelor, after all.”

“Let my sister go. This is about you and me.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Then prepare for the full force of the US military to hunt your ass when you take one of their own. And you can put her sergeant fiancé at the front of that line.”

Despite the truth of Sadie’s words, Tate only laughed. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart.”

“So this is the end?” Sadie’s hand clenched tighter on her purse and she calculated how she could rush Tate with it and still prevent him from taking a shot.

And realized she couldn’t.

Because she hadn’t fully calculated the risk to Vikki. And, for all her planning, a man with a gun still trumped a woman with a Taser.

“It sure is, sweetheart. Good thing I still have the credit from our canceled honeymoon in Aruba. I think I may take that trip once this is all over.”

Tate’s hand never wavered and Sadie eyed her sister, desperate to communicate all her love. She wasn’t going down without a fight, and there was no way she was leaving Vikki to Tate’s sick and twisted goals. Because once she was gone, she had no doubt he’d turn the gun on Vikki before SWAT could get inside.

“You’ll take that honeymoon over my dead body.”

Tate nodded. “That’s the whole idea.”

Sadie moved then, flipping the small switch on the purse just as Ashanti had taught her. The bag hummed in her palm and she swung wide as she moved, determined to hit Tate with the broadside of the fabric.

As she moved, a gunshot rang out and, despite the near deafening sound, her forward momentum never slowed with the bullet’s impact. Instead, she connected with the large figure that raced toward them, even as her body continued onward. Tate seemed to disintegrate in front of her, his large frame crumpling to the floor as her own body tangled with Tripp.

Tripp who took the brunt of Tate’s bullet, his heavy body slamming against hers from the force.

The dog moved, too, but Ashanti’s invention was Sadie’s saving grace. She swung the bag wide, hitting the full left side of the animal. An immediate whine went up as Snake stiffened before falling to the ground in convulsions.

Sadie dropped the bag, twisting to hold on to Tripp’s shoulders, all while trying to assess where the shot that hit Tripp had come from.

And saw Brody twenty feet away, a gun in his outstretched hands.

“Brody!” She shouted to him as the SWAT team rushed the warehouse.

But it was Vikki’s warning that filled the room, intent on stemming the tide of firepower moving in.

“Don’t shoot! That’s our brother!”

* * *

Tripp registered the shouts of the sisters and put every bit of force and command he could into his voice from his position on the floor. His chest streamed with fire from where Greer’s bullet had hit his vest, but he struggled to his feet. “Stand down! Do not shoot!”

He kept repeating himself, his voice echoing through the warehouse and on back into his ear via their comms.

As the adrenaline-fueled shouts of SWAT calmed, Tripp’s gaze swung frantically. And found Sadie huddled over her sister as one of the snipers worked on removing the ties holding Vikki in place.

Brody Higgins stood beside them both, his hands in the air and his eyes wide in his face as they kept shifting to Tate Greer’s lifeless form on the floor.

Flynn flew past Tripp into the warehouse, going straight to Vikki. The hostage negotiator working with SWAT was on his heels, moving to Brody. Tripp could do nothing but stand there, taking it all in even as the edges blurred so there was nothing to see but Sadie.

She’d done it.

She’d brought down Tate Greer and whatever was left of Capital X, and saved her sister. She’d known it was the right move and he’d doubted her.

Just like he’d doubted all along. Himself. His feelings. And all that was between them.

Sadie walked to him, moving in close but not touching. “It’s finally over.”

“All thanks to you.”

“And to you.” She tapped the vest. “I know a bullet to the vest isn’t lethal, but it hurts like hell.”

He laid a hand over hers. “I’m good.”

“Tripp. It’s over.” She dropped her hand and turned to survey the room that, in a matter of minutes, had transformed with several teams from the GRPD as well as the FBI. And, mixed in with them all, was a bunch of Coltons. “Brody killed Tate.”

“He did. And you were amazing.” Tripp could only stare at her, all the things he wanted to say stuck somewhere in the middle of his chest. He loved her.

And he wanted to be with her.

But hadn’t this showdown proved him right?

The world was dark and dangerous, and if he’d lost her, he would have been lost himself.

“I want to thank you, Tripp. For everything. You’re the reason I got out of Tate’s clutches at the lake. And you made sure I was safe after the hospital and the fire. Thank you.” She moved in closer, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

It was more chaste than any they’d shared so far, but it packed a far greater punch.

Because in this kiss, he’d felt her goodbye.

* * *

Sadie was breaking apart inside as she stepped back, but she refused to give in. Refused to take it easy on Tripp and accept a relationship that was half measure. She loved him and she wanted a life with him. A whole life, not one loaded with strings or laden with fear.

They were strong and they were capable. And they channeled those qualities into doing a job that mattered. If there was danger tied to it, they’d both long accepted the personal risk. Each was entitled to be a person. To having a personal life.

And to finding and keeping love.

But she couldn’t tell him that. He had to find it all on his own. Had to understand it in his bones.

Riley rushed up to them. Oblivious to the quiet moment, he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug before stepping back and turning to Tripp. “McKellar. Wes Matthews bit.”

“Ashanti said she was close,” Sadie interjected.

“Closer than we realized. Matthews is smitten and decided to surprise her. He’s on a private plane landing in an hour in Florida. Ashanti’s already on a plane with the FBI. Chief Fox has a team already coming together to watch the takedown. He wants you there if you’re up for it.”

Tripp nodded at her brother before turning to Sadie. “I’m sorry.”

“Go. We’re done here.”

His gaze narrowed and she knew he’d heard exactly what she’d meant.

They were done.

Because she wasn’t living half a life any longer. She deserved better.

And so did he.

* * *

Tripp stared at the large screen in the GRPD’s biggest conference room, communications flowing fast and furious from the speakerphone in the center of the oversize table. Matthews’s plane would arrive in Florida in ten minutes. Air traffic control had already granted permission to land and the small aircraft was in final descent now.

He should feel triumphant. Satisfied. The RevitaYou case was nearly closed.

We’re done here.

Who knew Sadie’s comment would be so prophetic? Or as much about them as the case?

“Ashanti’s in position.” The announcement flowed through his comm unit, Cooper’s voice calm as he relayed directives from inside the private terminal.

The takedown was all mapped out. Matthews was on US soil but he had to willingly go with Ashanti. Any appearance of coercion wouldn’t look good when this case finally went to trial.

Tripp had every confidence Ashanti could pull it off. She looked the part of a wealthy investor, her pretty skin set off to perfection against a winter-white suit.

“Plane’s on the ground.” Cooper affirmed through the comms.

And then they let it all roll.

Tripp listened to Ashanti’s smooth purr as she met Matthews for the first time. The lighthearted lines she drawled so effortlessly played to his ego and his intense love of old movies. She had a ready reference from Casablanca as they strolled from the terminal toward the waiting limousine outside.

And she was more than happy to channel Citizen Kane once she got him to the car.

But it was her last and final reference—to The Wizard of Oz—that put the Feds in motion. Just like they’d planned, the moment Ashanti confirmed they weren’t in Kansas anymore, Cooper and his team moved in.

Tripp wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to revel in the reality that this was all finally behind them.

Come Monday, he’d go back to his old life.

One that didn’t include spending his days with Sadie.

He heard the words flow through the speakerphone. Saw the video feed that matched up on the west wall. And cheered with the rest of the team when Cooper’s boss held his badge at eye level in Matthews’s face. “Wes Matthews, you’re under arrest.”

“Wh-what?” the man sputtered, his eyes shooting to Ashanti before swinging back to the large man standing much too close for comfort. “This is ridiculous. I’m here on a personal matter.”

Ashanti smiled then stepped back a few feet. “Actually, you’re here at the government’s request. I’m just doing my patriotic duty.”

Before Matthews could sputter out another word, Ashanti turned on one very fine heel and walked away.

Tripp knew her husband waited in another SUV a few feet beyond. A beloved Grand Rapids teacher, he was equally loved by his wife. And despite the thousand plus miles of distance, Tripp also knew what awaited Ashanti when she reached him.

Support.

Mutual respect.

The absolute certainty another had your back.

And, damn it, he’d had that. With Sadie. He’d had all of it and he’d thrown it away because…

Because of Lila?

The FBI read Matthews his rights and informed him of the charges.

Because of the baby?

The man spluttered and cursed the whole time as several FBI team members moved in and secured him in cuffs.

Because he was stupid.

It was the only answer left. Because he’d finally found forever and he would be the world’s biggest fool to let it go.

* * *

Sadie looked around the small library of the home she’d grown up in and wondered how she’d ended up back here. Not the literal here, since she regularly visited her brother or came over on CI business.

But since she’d already been given one of the guest bedrooms for the night and even had a toothbrush set out on the sink, the proverbial “here” seemed pervasive.

The house doubled as CI headquarters and Riley had already pulled her aside to discuss how he wanted to further expand the business. Ashanti’s successful work on the Wes Matthews situation had further confirmed Riley’s instincts.

Colton Investigations frequently worked with law enforcement, and the more skilled individuals he carried on his payroll, the more cases the firm could work.

That was why he wanted Sadie to come work for him. As CI’s first crime scene investigator.

Sadie rolled the idea around, more and more convinced it was the right choice. As an ex-FBI agent himself, her brother had vast resources, and she’d already told him that he’d need to invest in state-of-the-art equipment if she was going to even consider it. Riley had not only said yes, he’d given her a budget she could work with, and she was already dreaming of the great new tools she could buy.

But it also meant coming home.

She’d keep her apartment and continue living on her own, but making this choice meant she would be tying her life even more tightly to her siblings. And while part of her questioned if she lacked independence, a bigger part of her thought it sounded nice.

Better than nice, actually, especially with Vikki joining CI full time, too. To be part of the family business and use her knowledge doing a job she loved.

She and Vikki had spent about an hour together earlier, talking through what had happened and how happy they were to be back together. By the end, Sadie had known how badly Vik wanted to get to Flynn and she’d sent her off then wended her way through the house to a quiet room not full to bursting with Coltons.

She loved her family, but a bit of quiet was welcome.

“Sadie.”

Vikki was back and stood at the door. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Her twin slowly backed out of the entryway as Tripp filled it. And in that moment Sadie finally understood what she’d been feeling.

Like Vikki had wanted the comfort of being with Flynn, all Sadie wanted was Tripp. And she’d accepted that what she’d wanted wasn’t possible.

Only, he was here. Now.

And that feeling of safety only intensified, wrapping her in its tight, warm arms. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I heard the FBI took down Matthews.”

“It was textbook, thanks to Ashanti. And that is good, since we’re going to need every advantage when this goes to trial. And Brody is home and safe.”

Sadie nodded, well aware of the risks if things hadn’t been handled to the letter. Namely, that Wes would get off and find some way to replicate the project elsewhere.

Tripp continued to stand there, discomfort riding his shoulders like a cloak. “So, um, look… You said something to me. After we talked last. About it all being over.”

Hope fluttered once more in her chest but Sadie pushed it down. She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t let herself believe things might be different for them. “Because it is.”

Tripp stepped into the room, carefully closing the French doors before turning back to face her. “Did you mean Greer and Matthews and RevitaYou? Or did you mean you and me?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does.” He moved closer. “To me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m done hiding, Sadie. I’m done living half a life. And I’m done believing that having no one in my life is better than risking loving someone.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He stared at her, those steady blue eyes never leaving hers. “Does that mean you’ll give me another chance?”

“At what, exactly?”

“At us. At being a couple. At making a life together.”

She wanted nothing more, but she couldn’t quite let him off that easily. “You’re not still upset that it might be awkward at work?”

“No.”

“And you need a place to live. You thinking of freeloading off of me for a while?”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips. “If you’ll have me.”

“And what about a Christmas tree?”

“What about one?”

“I’m putting up Herman once I get home. I’m not living without a Christmas tree.”

“Herman?” His eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

“The tree.”

“Oh. Then I won’t, either.”

She opened her arms. “Come here, Tripp. Please.”

It was only once he pulled her close that she let him off the hook. “Even if you feel weird at work or leave your clothes laying around my apartment or hate the Christmas tree, I’m going to love you anyway. I hope you know that.”

“Good. Because I’m going to love you, too. Because I do love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

“I love you, too.” She pulled him in for a kiss, reveling in the fact that he was there and they were together.

It was only long moments later, when the kiss had faded and they had their heads pressed together, that she remembered her news.

“I do have one more thing to tell you.”

“Oh?” Interest sparked in those blue depths. “What is it?”

“I quit. Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”

EPILOGUE

Christmas Eve

Alfie raced through Riley’s living room as fast as his toddler’s gait would carry him. He had speed but was still a bit wobbly on his feet. Sadie let out a quick sigh of relief as she saw Tripp put a steadying hand on an antique manger set that had been her grandmother’s.

Now that there were small children in the house, it looked like they’d need to reconsider the placement of some of the holiday decorations. An idea that only made the smile she couldn’t seem to stop grow wider.

Then she smiled even more broadly when Tripp reached down and plucked Alfie up, holding him high above his head. The little boy giggled. “Uncle Tip! Airplane, Uncle Tip!”

“Uncle Tip” obliged, moving the boy around in the air before walking him to the tree so he could touch one of the more precious ornaments on a high branch.

“Watch out, Tripp,” Kiely admonished as she walked into the living room with a large tray of desserts. “Those little fists are quick.”

“Good thing I’m quicker,” Tripp said, closing a hand over Alfie’s just before his fingers made contact with crystal.

Tripp then leaned in and made raspberries against the boy’s belly, sending Alfie into gales of laughter and effectively distracting him from the tree.

Cooper, following behind Kiely, extended his hands for his son. “Is this one making trouble?”

Tripp gave the boy a quick kiss on the head before he passed him over. “Only the best kind.”

“There’s a best kind?” Kiely asked.

“When you’re two, it’s all the best kind.”

With his precious charge deposited in his father’s arms, Tripp came and took the seat beside Sadie. Just like they always did now, his hand covered hers, their fingers linking. It felt so right—and so natural—Sadie couldn’t believe how quickly that simple touch had become a necessity.

Just like Tripp.

The time had seemed to pass in a blur, the RevitaYou case wrapping up with record speed. With Tate Greer dead and Wes Matthews in federal custody, the work had shifted to the federal prosecutors who’d taken over.

It had also left the two of them some quiet time together to settle into their relationship. As part of that, they’d also spent time with her family. Tripp had settled in well to the “Colton Chaos” as she liked to think of it, taking all of them in stride. It helped that he knew so many of them through work, but Tripp had seamlessly moved into a more personal relationship with each of them. Riley, in particular, had warmed to Tripp, their already strong work friendship morphing into a more brotherly relationship.

As if she’d conjured him, Riley entered the room, his hand on Charlize’s extended belly before he gently situated her in a chair by the fire. Once he was satisfied she was comfortable, he turned to face them all.

“I think he’s going to make a speech,” Sadie leaned over and said to Tripp. “Settle in.”

Tripp pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’m ready to be inspired.”

Sadie couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at her brother before whispering back to Tripp, “You’re a traitor to the cause.”

Riley waited as everyone quieted, his gaze slowly moving around the living room. Sadie’s eyes followed and, despite her teasing over Riley’s assumption of de facto elder statesman, she understood his pride. It was an awesome sight to see them all there.

Griffin and Abigail sat on the floor, Maya nestled in Abigail’s lap, a stuffed reindeer in her small hand. Vikki and Flynn sat beside Pippa and Emmanuel on one of the large couches that bookended the room, while Kiely and Cooper kept Alfie occupied between them on a matched love seat. And Brody had taken a seat on the end of the couch where Sadie and Tripp sat, opposite to Riley.

Sadie gave Tripp one last kiss before scooting over to sit beside her brother in spirit. Brody had saved her and Vikki. He’d finally decided to take things into his own hands, ending the threat Tate had posed, determined to keep them all safe.

“If I haven’t said it lately, thank you.” Sadie tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “For everything.”

Brody blushed but nodded. “I did what I had to do for my family.”

“You did.”

Riley raised his glass. “As we approach the holiday, we’re all here and all together. Our family has faced innumerable challenges this year, but as we come to the close of it, we’re stronger than ever. All while growing quite a bit.”

“Colton world domination!” Kiely shouted at her brother, eliciting a laugh all the way around. But she was the first to lift her glass in return, everyone else following suit.

“To family!” Riley said, his glass high.

“To family,” they all responded in kind.

Sadie gave Brody a large hug before shifting back to extend her hand to Tripp. As his fingers closed over hers, she knew she’d found her place. She’d always had one as a Colton, but now she had another one.

With Tripp.

The man she loved.

As the lights of the tree shone down on all of them, Sadie settled into the joy and beauty of her present.

And knew the future had never been brighter.

* * * * *

AUTHOR’S NOTE

For those of you familiar with the Grand Rapids area, you’ll know that Sand Springs Lake won’t be found on any map. While we tried to use many real areas in and around Grand Rapids in this series, I sought out a fictional location to place Sadie at the opening of the story. I hope you’ll forgive the artistic license and agree with me that it would have been a lovely place to go to summer camp!

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ISBN-13: 9781488064319

Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown

Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Addison Fox for her contribution to the Colton 911: Grand Rapids miniseries.

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“You have a bit of marshmallow on the corner of your mouth. Right here.” Using the pad of her thumb, Yvette rubbed the corner of his mouth lightly.

“Did that get it?” Reese asked, his voice noticeably huskier than usual.

“No. Hmm.” She leaned forward slowly, her gaze locking on his. “Guess I’ll have to get it this way.”

She closed the distance between them very slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. But he didn’t. He sat perfectly still, unable to believe that this beautiful, fey creature was leaning in toward him, closer and closer.

Gently, so lightly he barely felt it, her mouth touched the corner of his. Her lips were soft and plump, and then—

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That’s her tongue.

She licked the corner of his mouth. It was a quick little flick with just the tip of her tongue against his skin, but there was no mistaking it. All of a sudden, there wasn’t nearly enough oxygen in his living room. Either that or he was no-kidding hyperventilating.

“There,” she whispered. “That’s better.”

* * *

The Coltons of Kansas: Truth. Justice.
And secrets they can’t hide.

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

Participating in one of the Colton continuities has always been a big deal for me. I love getting to play with a bunch of my esteemed fellow authors on what is usually a very lonely job. Plus, it’s exciting to see the great things they come up with as we flesh out a new series together.

But I have to confess I was terrified when asked to write the final book in this installment of the Colton family saga. It’s a big responsibility to give you, awesome reader, a satisfying story in its own right, but also to tie up all the loose ends of a whole family full of unfolding happy-ever-afters.

Thankfully, the authors who went before me in this latest collection gave me the most amazing cast of living, breathing characters to play with as I crafted my own story within the world of the Colton clan. Truly, they made my job easy, and for that I am extremely grateful. Almost as grateful as I am to you—for making it possible for me to tell these wonderful stories of love and family conquering every challenge set before them with laughter, grit and grace.

Without any further ado, I’d like to invite you to sit back, relax and enjoy this story. Happy reading until the next time we meet between the pages of a book!

Warmly,

Cindy

Colton in the Line of Fire

Cindy Dees

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Cindy Dees is the author of more than fifty novels. She draws upon her experience as a US Air Force pilot to write romantic suspense. She’s a two-time winner of the prestigious RITA® Award for romance fiction, a two-time winner of the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award for Romantic Suspense and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee. She loves to hear from readers at www.cindydees.com.

Books by Cindy Dees

Harlequin Romantic Suspense

The Coltons of Kansas

Colton in the Line of Fire

Runaway Ranch

Navy SEAL’s Deadly Secret

Mission Medusa

Special Forces: The Recruit

Special Forces: The Spy

Special Forces: The Operator

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton Under Fire

Code: Warrior SEALs

Undercover with a SEAL

Her Secret Spy

Her Mission with a SEAL

Navy SEAL Cop

Visit Cindy’s Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com for more titles.

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 1

Bedroom eyes.

Detective Reese Carpenter had no-kidding bedroom eyes.

And he was flashing them at her right now, leaning his elbows on the high counter at the front of her crime lab. How was a woman supposed to get any work done with a guy so flat-out sexy hanging around? It was all she could do not to stop, stand and stare at him. And maybe drool a little.

“Have you got anything for me?” he asked.

His hair was dark, his eyes bright, movie-star blue, brimming with sultry charm, sophisticated intelligence, wry humor and a hint of mischief. Totally made her think of sex—great sex and lots of it.

“Earth to Yvette Colton. Come in.”

She blinked rapidly, clearing the image of her sister’s cop-partner naked and in her bed, taking her to the stars and back. Darn his bedroom eyes, anyway.

“What do you want, now?” she asked in an aggrieved tone. “Or are you finally going to give up telling me how to do my job and just take over the forensic lab yourself?”

As pretty as he might be, Reese Carpenter was also an almighty pain in the tuchus. A know-it-all who got all up in her business and was forever telling her how to do her job. This might be her first time running her own crime lab, but she’d trained with the best forensic scientists in the business, thank you very much.

“You gotta help me out, here,” her unwanted visitor declared. “I need something concrete I can pin on Markus Dexter. Give me a smoking gun. I know he did it.”

“It” being the double murder of a woman, Olivia Harrison, and a private investigator, Fenton Crane, twenty-six years ago. Their bodies had been hidden in the walls of the Crest View warehouse in Braxville, Kansas, and discovered during a renovation last summer. To complicate matters, the entire warehouse had been blown up by a saboteur last month.

“I can only process evidence so fast, Detective. And it’s not like that’s my only case. In fact, at the moment, I’m running tests for arsenic on the remains of the Crest View warehouse.”

“Did you find any?” he asked.

“Not in this sample. It appears the arsenic-laced wood was used only for framing walls. The floor joists didn’t contain arsenic, but their wood was sourced in North America. Only the batch of wood from China was contaminated.”

“As we thought,” he responded with a brisk nod.

She turned her attention back to the test tube in her hand, but he huffed audibly. She looked up once more, surprised that he was still hovering in her lab. He declared, “I have to find something to tie Dexter to the bodies in that warehouse.”

“I thought your job was to be a dispassionate investigator and go where the facts lead you, and not go looking for facts to support your theories.”

He huffed harder, turned on his heel and stomped out of her lab, his business-suit-clad physique entirely too tempting to be legal.

* * *

An hour later, Reese was back. “Anything?” he asked without preamble.

“No. And I won’t find any answers if you keep interrupting me,” she snapped at him and his bedroom eyes. This time he’d lost the coat and tie and wore only slacks and a white dress shirt that showed off shoulders in no need of padding to make them appear athletic. He wasn’t a bulky guy, but he definitely was in great shape. Moreover, his sleeves were rolled up to reveal leanly muscled forearms still holding over a bit of tan from last summer.

A flash of irritated blue was all she glimpsed of his expression as he turned and stomped out…again. She totally knew the feeling.

* * *

Another hour passed. This time he merely poked his head in through the hallway door and called out, “How about now?”

“Go away, Carpenter!” she called back. At the moment, she was bent over a spectrometer trying to recalibrate the stupid thing so she could run the last batch of wood slivers from the Crest View warehouse explosion.

She added for good measure, “And don’t come back until I call you or you’ve got a darned good reason for interrupting my work!”

* * *

Exactly one hour later, her lab door opened again.

She didn’t even bother to look up. “Reese, I could set my watch off your visits down here. Are you setting an alarm for every hour on the hour to remind yourself to come to my lab and bug me?”

“Yeah, actually. I am.”

That made her glance sidelong in his direction. “You do know that pestering me incessantly isn’t doing a blessed thing to speed up my work, right? I’m handling all this evidence as quickly as I can, and you poking at me isn’t going to make the work go any faster. It’s only ticking me off.”

He shrugged and grinned without a shred of remorse.

Man, his smile was nearly as lethal as his eyes. It was all boyish charm and manly sex appeal. She looked down at her workstation hastily, not seeing a thing on her computer screen. “At least turn your alarm off,” she muttered. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I can work with crazy,” he purred. “I would only be worried if you didn’t have any opinion at all about me.”

That made her head snap up. New tactic from him, perhaps? If badgering her didn’t yield the proof he needed to convict Dexter, was Reese going to try to seduce it out of her? Gulp.

Right now, she was dissolving mortar scraped off bricks at the Crest View crime scene into a solution she would run through the spectrometer. She was hoping to find the chemical composition of the explosive used to demolish the building, and while she was at it, look for arsenic that might have seeped into the walls from the contaminated wood that was used to frame the structure.

“Go. Away. And quit bugging me. You’re a pest.”

“Aww, come on. I’m not that bad. Let me help with something.”

She pointed a long glass pipette at him like a magic wand, waving the pencil-thick stirring stick at him and intoning, “Begonus pain-in-the-assikus.”

He laughed, and darned if that mischievous sparkle in his eyes didn’t get even more pronounced. “Admit it. I’m a cute pain the ass, though.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Toddlers are cute. But that doesn’t mean I want one running around my lab wrecking everything in sight.”

“Did you just call me a child?” he asked darkly.

“I might’ve,” she replied defiantly. Dang it. Her and her big mouth. It was forever getting her into trouble. And now an intimidating cop was abruptly staring at her in cool challenge, his eyes as hard and cold as chips of sea ice.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured. “I’ll bet I can change your mind fast enough.”

“Oh, yeah? How?” she blurted. Dumb, dumb, dumb. The first rule of dealing with alpha males was never, ever to throw down a dare in front of one.

Reese moved swiftly around the front counter and he loomed over her, six feet tall to her five feet, five inches on a good day. In socks. Thick ones.

All that crackling sex appeal was suddenly back, pouring off him in tangible waves. Dude. How did he do that? One minute he was a total pro—just the facts, ma’am—and the next he was this smoking-hot chick magnet, all come-hither looks and irresistible, masculine charm.

It was those cursed bedroom eyes of his.

One thing she knew for sure, this man was strictly off-limits. No way was she sleeping with a guy who could kiss and tell to her big—protective—sis. And given that Reese and Jordana spent hours and hours together every single day at work, Reese would surely end up spilling the beans. Her sister was an excellent cop and talented interrogator. Jordana would pry every sordid detail out of her partner.

God, what she wouldn’t give to be able to manage this infuriating man the way her sister did. As it was, he was a constant thorn in her side, continually commenting on her procedures, calling her out for every corner she dared to even think about cutting, watching her like a hawk, down to the most minute detail of her job.

It wasn’t that she minded being held to a high standard or even to perfection. It was the insufferable way he did it that drove her around the bend. More than once in the past year, she’d seriously considered killing him. And she did know how to hide his body.

Honestly, she had no interest in dating any cop. Not only would it be it tricky at best to date someone she worked with, but cops were not her jam. They tended to be so confident. Assertive. Convinced of their rightness at all times.

Nope. Reese Carpenter could take his bedroom eyes and seductive smile and flash them both at some other poor soul who had no idea what an irritating man lurked behind them.

She took a step back and carefully released the deeply annoyed breath she realized she was holding. “Why are you here, Detective?”

“My name is Reese. Feel free to use it, dar—”

She interrupted his drawl. “Do not call me darling. Or honey, or anything pertaining to sugar. And if you call me little lady, I will have to shoot you.”

He grinned. Lazy, sexy, knowing. What the heck did he think he knew about her that she didn’t?

Nope, nope, nope. Not getting personal with this guy. She would not lob even a hint of encouragement in this supremely arrogant male’s direction.

“How’s the evidence processing coming from the bodies in the wall?” Reese asked in an abruptly impersonal, professional tone.

Whoa. Mental whiplash.

Something in her tummy fell in disappointment. Well, shoot. She wanted him to quit flirting, and now she was upset when he did? Yikes, she was a hot mess.

She cleared her throat, stood as tall as she could and tried to sound marginally like the expert in her field that she was. “Umm, I just got back the analysis of the insect carcasses found in the wall with the bodies.”

“Are they twenty-six years old, too?” he asked dryly. “We already know Olivia and Fenton were killed that long ago because of when the building wall they were hidden in was built. I can’t understand why you wasted department money sending out some dead bugs to tell us that.”

“Because I’m good at my job,” she replied tartly. “And because I noticed right away that the types of bugs found in the walls with each body were different. But I’m not a forensic entomologist, so I spent some of your precious police budget on having an expert examine them.”

“And?”

“And, the insects found with the woman were primarily mosquitoes, flies, and interestingly, earwigs.”

“What’s so interesting about earwigs?” he asked.

“They’re predominantly spring insects.”

“So?”

“The insects with the male remains included spiders, fleas, and notably, stink bugs.”

“Stink bugs.”

She nodded. “Stink bugs. They’re predominantly a fall insect. We can conjecture from the different species of insect remains that our bodies in the walls were murdered some months apart. Something like six months. Ms. Harrison was closed into the wall in the springtime. Mr. Crane’s corpse wasn’t entombed in the wall until the fall.”

She waxed enthusiastic, as she usually did when her job yielded fascinating results. “If we assume the killer or killers hid the bodies quickly after time of death, we can conclude that they were murdered months apart.” She finished in triumph, “We’re looking at two distinct and separate homicides.”

Reese groaned.

“What?” she blurted, startled. She’d expected him to be excited by her find.

“The department is stretched thin as it is investigating one murder. And now you want to double the workload?” he groused.

“I still think the two murders were committed by the same person. Both were struck in the back of the head by a person about six feet tall and right-handed, using similar force and similar blunt objects for each blow. You’re still only hunting for a single killer. But two murder scenes. Two sets of motives.”

“We’ll never find the murder scenes. They were erased a quarter century ago. There won’t even be trace evidence left by now.”

A pang of grief stabbed her in the heart. Her best friend in middle school, Debbie Boyd, had been murdered almost fifteen years ago. Any evidence from her death was also likely degraded and long gone. Like her killer. Yvette’s own frustration at having never solved Debbie’s murder was the main reason she hadn’t strangled Reese Carpenter already. She actually understood his burning drive to solve the Harrison-Crane murders.

“Speaking of murder scenes, how goes the processing of the materials we brought in from searching Markus Dexter’s home?”

Dexter—one of the two main partners in Colton Construction, which built the Crest View warehouse—was the prime suspect in the cold case killings after he had mysteriously disappeared from Braxville shortly after the bodies were uncovered last summer.

She answered, “I’m digging through everything you brought in as quickly as I can, but I’m a one-woman lab, and it’s going to take me some time to get through it all.”

The number of evidence bags brought in from the home numbered in the hundreds, and some of the contents would require scientific processing. She was still entering a description of the contents of each one into a database along with the date, time and place it had been collected. She had yet to even begin examining the evidence inside the bags.

“Have you found anything to link Dexter to the murders?” Reese asked. She detected an underlying note of desperation in his voice that actually provoked answering sympathy in her gut.

“Not yet.”

“But you’ll keep looking? You gotta help me out, here, Yvette. I need a positive link between Dexter and the murders.”

Lord, that man was pushy. “It’s not as if the guy left a candlestick in his desk drawer with a card taped to it saying, ‘Murder weapon used in the library by Professor Plum,’ if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you always so prickly?” he demanded.

“When people interfere in my work and prevent me from doing my job, always.”

He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. I’ll get out of here.”

“Did you actually have a specific reason for coming down here this time? I did make that a pre-condition for you coming back to bother me, as I recall.”

Her lab was in the basement of the new Braxville Police Department building. It was as snazzy a facility as she’d ever worked in, and the new lab that came with it was first-class. She just wished there was funding for a second forensics technician to go with all the fancy, state-of-the art equipment.

Although, truth be told, Braxville wasn’t normally a hub of violent crime, or much crime at all. The suburb of Wichita was usually a quiet, pleasant little place. She’d thought this would be a nice, quiet job when she’d come home to take the position after cutting her teeth in forensics at the big FBI lab in Quantico for a couple of years.

Reese was speaking. “…on my way out when these boxes of files were messengered over from the Colton Construction firm.”

Boxes, plural? She mentally groaned.

He continued, “Fitz Colton’s assistant sent them over. Apparently, you asked for these?”

He stepped out into the hall and dragged in a handcart with four, three-foot-long cardboard boxes stacked on it. He hefted each one onto the counter between them. From the weight of them, she gathered the things were stuffed from end to end with all of Markus Dexter’s office files from nearly thirty years with the firm.

She groaned aloud this time. There went her evenings for the next month. No social life for her, no matter what Jordana and Bridgette said about her needing to get out more. She’d even made a New Year’s Resolution at her sisters’ urging to expand her life beyond the lab, maybe even date a little, this year.

Admittedly, it was a half-bottle-of-wine-induced resolution. But her sisters were not wrong. They’d both taken a chance and found love recently. In fact, they bordered on downright annoying to be around in their mutual, delirious bliss.

She supposed it wasn’t a bad ambition to find for herself a tiny sliver of the happy glow that clung to both women these days. Not that the dating pool in Braxville was anything to write home about. Even though the town was growing and gentrifying fast, it was still a small town at its core. There were still plenty of country music, pickup trucks and dirt roads to be had here.

Funny, but it had taken going to the other side of the country to finally appreciate her hometown. As a restless teen, though, she hadn’t been able to get out fast enough. Hence, Washington, DC.

It hadn’t just been the offer of heading up her own lab that lured her back. Although, very few twenty-five-year olds got an opportunity like this. Her original plan was to stay here no more than three or four years and then head for another large city and a high-powered crime lab as a senior investigator. Maybe Denver, or even New York City, next time.

But now that she was back, she was finding that Braxville wasn’t half as bad as she’d made it out to be when it was the only place she’d ever been.

She wasn’t sure where the future would take her, now. Advancing her career would still take her to a big city. But reconnecting with her family might just convince her to put down roots here. She was torn…and she didn’t like being uncertain about anything.

Meanwhile, she’d been back here almost exactly a year and had yet to go on a single date. It wasn’t that she was horrible in the looks or personality department. Granted, she was a known workaholic. But she liked to think the right man could coax her out of her lab and into a better work-life balance.

Although, at this point, any work-life balance would be an improvement. Her social life was completely nonexistent. Her gaze refocused regretfully on the huge, dusty boxes of files sitting on the counter in front of her. And it was about to stay that way for a while.

Apparently, her New Year’s Resolution to get out more, or at least date a little, would go the way of most resolutions, scrapped within a week of its making. Ahh well. It had been a nice dream while it lasted.

“You need some help going through these boxes?” Reese surprised her by asking.

“Umm, no. That’s okay. I’m sure you’re plenty busy chasing down leads of your own and doing detective stuff.”

A slight frown gathered between his perfect angel-wing brows. “You sure?” he asked quietly. “That’s a lot of files.”

Cripes. He had a bedroom voice to go with those blasted bedroom eyes of his. Her heart pitter-pattered at the low, sexy rasp. But to be honest, it was the hint of gentleness, concern even, in his voice that did her in.

Nobody ever worried about her. She was smart, collected, organized. Had her life together. She didn’t need anyone to help her out with anything. At least, that was what they all saw when they looked at her.

None of them saw the lonely young woman who often felt like an outsider in her own family. The Coltons had big personalities—big lives, big loves, big fights, big laughter. She was the quiet one of the bunch. An afterthought baby—an accident after the arrival of the triplets. An afterthought child, growing up in the background as the triplets took the lion’s share of care and attention from everyone else in the family. A too-young afterthought when social outings were planned for her older siblings. Mostly, just an afterthought.

“If you change your mind and want some help with these files, let me know, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever,” she mumbled.

Reese turned and left the lab, his frame lean and athletic in the way of a tennis player, or a martial artist. He was one of those naturally graceful people. And she was…not. She could find a way to trip over a crack in a sidewalk. Heck, the shadow of a crack in a sidewalk. Klutz was her middle name.

She sighed and reached for the nearest box of files. Yep. Almost too heavy for her to move down to the floor without dropping it. Sheesh. How did Reese make lifting this onto the counter look so easy? The guy might not be bulked up, but he was stronger than his frame suggested at a glance. The stupid boxes were crammed to the gills with what must be thousands of pages of documents. And it was her job to look at every last one. Ugh.

Depressed, she sat down at her computer to log the boxes of files as evidence and start a trail of custody so they couldn’t be altered or tampered with. She was nothing if not a stickler for proper handling of evidence. Her private nightmare was the ever-present specter of mishandling or contaminating a piece of evidence and a killer going free because of her mistake.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon cataloguing the hundreds of fingerprints lifted from the Dexter home search. Not surprisingly, most of them came from Dex. Yvette had to give his wife, Mary, credit for being a heck of a housekeeper, though. The woman had left only two full sets of prints behind in the entire house. Given the size of the Dexter mansion, that was impressive. Talk about being a thorough cleaner. Her kind of woman.

Quitting time for the nine-to-five employees in the police department came and went, and she heard the police shift change over her head with a half hour or so of scraping chairs, clumping footsteps and vague sounds of laughter and talking. But, by six o’clock, silence fell over the building.

Wednesday was half-price beer night down at Dusty Rusty’s Pub, and a lot of the cops liked to meet up there after work. Ever since she’d come back to Braxville she’d had a standing invitation to join the crew at Rusty’s. Apparently, a bunch of the force was going there tonight to toast surviving New Year’s Eve—the worst working day of the year for police.

She might’ve considered going—chasing after her New Year’s Resolution—except she was wearing an old shirt and a pair of jeans that had gotten too loose in the past few months as she’d clocked too many hours on the Harrison-Crane murders and forgotten too often to eat. Not to mention, she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, and this morning, she’d twisted her wet hair up into a bun that would still be damp if she let it down, which meant it would hang in sad chestnut strings around her face.

Goodbye New Year’s Resolution, hello long night at the office digging through dusty, dull construction contracts.

Might as well get comfortable. She turned off the bright, institutional overhead lights and turned on the lamp at her desk, an antique she’d brought in to lend a tiny touch of femininity and personality to the antiseptic lab. It had a printed silk shade with pink cottage roses on it and pretty crystal bead fringe all around its scalloped bottom.

After kicking off her shoes, she slipped on a thick pair of fuzzy socks, pulled up a streaming classical-music channel on her laptop and brewed herself a cup of hot tea while Chopin piano nocturnes played soothingly in the background. “Well, Earl Grey, you get to be my date tonight,” she murmured. “Here’s to us, your lordship.”

She’d been at it for a couple of hours, long enough to know that these boxes of files were going to be pure, unadulterated misery to slog through, when the lab door opened without warning.

She looked up, startled.

“You again! What do you want?” she complained as Reese Carpenter poked his head in.

He stepped all the way inside, carrying a large, flat cardboard box balanced in his left hand, and a six-pack of beer in his right hand. “Figured I’d find you here. I saw Jordana and Clint at Rusty’s, and they guessed you’d still be here slaving away.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got an annoying detective riding my back day and night, demanding that I magically process weeks’ worth of evidence with a wave of my magic wand.” She gave the pen she’d been taking notes with a swish and flick in his general direction.

“Man, I hate it when cops throw their weight around like that,” he commented wryly.

“Hah!” she responded. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“What are you still doing here?” he demanded. “Aren’t you a nine-to-fiver?”

She shrugged. “I’m working. I really am up to my eyeballs in evidence to dig through.”

“Right. Enter moi to save the day. Or the night as it were.”

“Seriously. What do you want, Reese?”

“You and me. We’re having a date. Pizza and beers over a pile of Markus Dexter’s files.”

Her jaw sagged.

What. On. Earth?

CHAPTER 2

Sheesh. Did she have to look quite that shocked at the notion of him being a datable male of the human species? He wasn’t a complete troll. Multiple women had told him over the years he had a bad-boy vibe. Apparently, that was a huge turn-on for many women. Never mind that he was a cop and committed to protecting truth, justice and the American way at all times.

Reese stepped fully into the lab, relieved as hell that it didn’t have the same reek of chemicals and death that always pervaded the morgue.

“Mood lighting? Soft music? Were you expecting somebody, Yvette?”

She abruptly yanked her cute fuzz-clad feet off her desk and sat up straight in her chair. “No! I would never—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he interrupted. “If you want to bring your dates down here, go for it. I mean, it’s a little kinky. Crime lab and all. But it’s still no skin off my nose.”

“What dates?” she muttered under her breath.

His eyebrows shot up. Yvette wasn’t dating? At all? Color him shocked.

“Really? You’re not in a steamy relationship with some smoking-hot guy?” he asked as he set the pizza and beer down on the high counter across the front of the lab and walked around it.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not about to start discussing my personal life with you.”

He shrugged. “You could if you wanted to. Tell me about your personal life, that is. I can keep a secret. I know all of your sister’s dirty little secrets, for example.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He grinned. “Nice try, but my lips are sealed.”

“Can’t blame a girl for testing an assertion like that.”

“What are you up to so late?” he asked, scanning the piles of papers filling the entire surface of her normally pristine desk. As he’d suspected. She was elbow deep in files from the ginormous boxes he’d brought her this afternoon.

She looked up at him with those huge, meltingly dark eyes of hers and he felt his knees go a little wobbly. “You didn’t answer my question, Reese. Why are you here?”

Her skin was like literal velvet, pale and perfect, dewy looking. And he wasn’t a guy who thought about skin being dewy, like ever. But hers was. She was so damned beautiful. He couldn’t understand why every unmarried guy in the department wasn’t down here sniffing around, but it was their loss if they didn’t see her. He bloody well did.

He pulled over a chair from the conference table and sat down at a right angle to her at her desk before he answered her question. “I’m here because I thought you might need sustenance. And another pair of hands and eyes.”

“But…why?” she asked blankly.

“Why not? Doesn’t anyone ever help you just for the hell of it? Because you could use a little assistance?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, kid, your luck has changed.”

A smile started slowly on that lush, kissable mouth of hers. Her chin ducked a little, and she glanced up at him sidelong, shy pleasure glinting in her gaze.

Good grief, how didn’t every guy in town see how sexy she was? Not that he was complaining. Their loss. Less competition for him…

Whoa, whoa, whoa. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and certainly not with his partner’s baby sister. Down that path lay nothing but drama and misery. No way was he going to get himself trapped between two of the Colton sisters.

“What’s your system?” he asked briskly.

“System?” Yvette looked up at him blankly.

“Surely you’re not planning to study each and every piece of paper in this giant pile one by one, are you?” he asked incredulously.

She leaned back, looking mightily irritated. “How would you do my job? By all means. Enlighten me.”

“Well,” he said, scanning the folders on the table between them. “I assume most of the papers in there are construction related. Sales receipts. Contracts. Drawings. Permits. That kind of stuff.”

“That has been the case so far,” she said frostily.

“None of that is likely to have a damned thing to do with murder. I’d make one stack of files that have nothing but dull, boring construction junk in them. Then, the ones with correspondence, complaints, personal stuff—I’d make another pile of those. That one I’d take a closer look at, first. Then, if any clients jump out of that pile, I’d track down the construction files pertaining to them out of the bigger pile.”

She looked annoyed, but shrugged in acquiescence. “That might be slightly faster,” she allowed.

Slightly? It would shave days…weeks…off the process. But he was prepared to win gracefully. “How about you take a preliminary peek at the contents of each folder and then pass each mundane one to me? I’ll alphabetize them by client name.”

“Sort them by year first and then alphabetize within each year,” she directed him.

He shrugged. “Fine. Let’s rock and roll. We should be able to blast through these suckers in a few hours.”

She squared her slender shoulders and reached for the nearest stack of files. “I’ve already looked at these. Nothing interesting in them. You can start organizing those while I get started on the next batch.”

They fell into a rhythm, eating while they worked, her pulling fistfuls of folders out of the cardboard packing boxes, and then passing them to him one by one to put back in the boxes, sorted by date and name. They actually made a decent team. They were both focused and disciplined when it came to work.

After about an hour, though, he called a halt. “Break time. Do you need another piece of pizza or a beer?”

“Pizza,” she said promptly.

He passed her a slice of Torrentino’s finest with extra pepperoni.

“What does it say about me that I went to elementary school with Gus Torrentino?” she asked. “I’m feeling old all of a sudden.”

“His older sister Mia was in a couple of my classes in high school. Nice girl.”

“Her brother was a jerk. Used to pull my ponytail.”

“Did you deck him?” he asked humorously. Gus had been a big kid and was a big man now. He rather relished the mental image of tiny Yvette standing up to the guy.

“As I recall, I kicked him in the shins. I didn’t know yet to aim higher.”

“Violent child, were you?” he asked dryly.

She scowled. “People had—still have—this annoying tendency to pat me on the head and treat me as if I’m some helpless little thing.”

He twisted the top off a second beer and took an appreciative swig from it. “Duly noted. The lady is not helpless.”

She made a face in his general direction. “Thanks for not trying to convince me that Gus liked me because he pulled my hair.”

He frowned. “Bullying is bullying. Any boy worth getting to know would’ve treated you better than that. Been nice to you. Not tried to yank your hair out by the roots. My mama taught me to act like a gentleman around girls whether I liked them or not. My daddy taught me that the whole ‘boys will be boys’ excuse is just that. An excuse for bad behavior.”

“I like your parents,” Yvette declared.

“Have you ever met my parents?”

“No. But I already like them. They raised you right, or at least they tried. I’m now going to have to try to figure out where you went off the rails so badly.”

He grinned at her, unfazed by her insults. Cops teased each other all the time, and his two younger brothers had made it their mission in life to try to get a rise out of him when they were kids. They’d rarely succeeded.

Shock of shocks, she smiled back. It was an intimate moment, made more so by the cozy lighting and pretty piano music playing softly. Glancing around the dim lab, he commented, “Who knew this place could actually be romantic?”

She shrugged. “It’s the people in a space who create romance. Not the place itself.”

“What’s your idea of perfect romance?” he asked, his voice unaccountably rough. Weird. He didn’t have a crush on this woman…right? “Let me guess. An expensive restaurant, a bottle of wine, candles and sparkly gifts.”

She seemed startled that he’d pegged her. As if it was any challenge. Not. She’d hightailed it out of Braxville to the East Coast and a big urban center the day she’d graduated from high school.

“What about you?” she asked. “What’s your idea of romance?”

“I like to be outdoors. I like mountains and beaches and campfires in any combination.”

She laughed a little. “Then why on earth do you still live in Kansas? We have neither mountains nor beaches, here. Just mile after mile of pastures full of cows or fields full of crops.”

“Eastern Kansas is a little hilly,” he said defensively.

“Emphasis on little,” she retorted, grinning.

“Yeah, but it’s home. Family and friends are way more important than having a beach or a ski resort nearby. I can take a vacation to see those. But I like to be able to visit my loved ones easily and often.”

He caught the frown that twitched across her brow. She didn’t think family was the most important thing? Okay, that surprised him. She came from a big, loud, warm family. He’d have thought that, as a Colton, being close to family would have been something she identified strongly with.

“What’s wrong with your family?” he asked curiously.

She looked startled at that abrupt question. “Nothing’s wrong with them,” she answered defensively. “They’re fine.”

What wasn’t she saying about her family? He sensed a mystery. And it wasn’t as if he’d ever walked away from one of those.

She reached for another stack of files at the same time he did, and their hands bumped. A jolt of…something…passed through him. Hyperawareness of her and of how close they were sitting, their shoulders practically rubbing, and their knees bumping into each other from time to time as one of them turned in their seat.

She spoke briskly, with what sounded like false energy. “We’d better get back to work.”

Trying to distract him, perhaps? Or maybe hiding something. Which seemed out of character for her. She didn’t strike him as the least bit secretive. Was she more shy than she let on? He had a hard time buying that explanation. She came across as supremely self-assured. But then, he’d only ever talked with her about forensics stuff before.

He leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “What do you like to do when you’re not here and chained to your desk?”

She looked up, a startled expression on her face. “Umm, I like to garden.”

Made sense. Her white cottage, with its wide porch and gabled roof, was neat as a pin and flanked by beautiful landscaping full of bright flowers. No matter what time of year he drove past her place, it looked like a postcard.

“What else do you like to do?” he demanded.

“Not much.”

His radar for evasiveness fired off hard. “Nothing else?” Dammit, the interrogatory was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Her gaze slid off to one side. “Well, I, uhh, play some computer games to wind down after a hard day at work.”

“Get out! Which ones?”

She named a couple of the popular ones that millions of players congregated on, but not the overtly violent ones. No surprise. Like him, she saw the results of violence often enough in her work not to find it entertaining.

“We’ll have to get online together sometime and adventure,” he declared.

She blinked, looking downright stunned. “You play computer games?”

“They’re good for my reflexes and the dopamine dump of defeating bad guys helps me deal with stress from the job. Next time I’m online, I’ll text you.”

“That would be fun,” she responded doubtfully.

“I guess we have a second date lined up, then.” Color him possibly more surprised than she looked. She was so not his type. He was a flannel-shirts-and-fishing kind of guy. She was a big-city woman all the way, sleek and polished…way out of his league.

He reached for the file folders she held out to him and glanced up at her in time to catch her staring at him. She looked away fast, and rosy pink climbed her cheeks. She was blushing? For him? Well, well, well. Not completely immune to his charms, after all, was she? Glad to know he hadn’t completely lost his touch with the ladies. He’d been starting to wonder after her continuous cold-shoulder treatment.

After another hour or so of slogging through files, he called for another break, and this time didn’t ask her what she wanted. He merely opened a bottle of beer and passed it to her. She sipped daintily at it, which made him grin.

“You’re supposed to just tip it up and slug it down,” he commented.

“If you’re a sweaty from working outside on a hot day, maybe. I drink for the taste of it, not to get plastered, thank you very much.”

“Let me guess. You’re a wine-cooler type,” he said dryly.

“Actually, I like a good single-malt scotch.” She added, “To sip. And to savor.”

“Okay then. Good to know. I gotta say, I’m surprised.”

“I grew up in the Colton house. It was what the adults drank and what my older siblings snuck into when the adults weren’t looking.” She shrugged. “I used to ask to try it when I was a kid. Developed a taste for it over time.”

“Your mother drinks whiskey neat?” he blurted. He’d met Lilly Colton, and she didn’t strike him as a hard-liquor, hard-drinking woman. For one thing, she was a nurse. For another, she seemed the type to put kale in her smoothies and work out five days a week. For a woman with six grown children, she was fine looking and in great shape. Yvette reminded him a lot of Lilly, in fact. Yvette had her mother’s auburn hair and porcelain skin. But where Yevette’s dark brown eyes had come from was a good question. Both Fitz and Lilly Colton had blue eyes.

“When my mother drinks, which isn’t often and takes something or someone literally driving her to drink, she has been known to toss back a shot of scotch.”

“I’ll be damned. You Colton women never fail to surprise me.”

Their gazes met and that…something…passed between them again. A spark. Awareness.

Cripes. Who’d have thought he would find anything at all in common with this sophisticated, classy, intellectual woman, so unlike down-to-earth him?

That pretty pink color was climbing her cheeks again. He smiled a little at her and damned if she didn’t smile back. Her gaze dropped to where their hands nearly touched on the file folders. Sonofagun. Yvette Colton not only knew how to flirt but was doing it with him. Well, go goose a moose.

She put aside her half-full beer and went back to work. “One last box,” she announced. “With both of us working, we can kill it off tonight.”

He had more paper cuts than he cared to count, and his eyes were crossing before she finally passed him the last folder, more like three hours later than two.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “That was a bitch. How many folders did we pull out with personal information in them?”

“Only about thirty,” she answered. “A far cry from the five hundred or so we started with.”

He held out his closed fist and she stared at it in obvious confusion. “Fist bump?” he suggested.

“Oh.” She shook herself a little. “Right.” She reached out with her delicate, girly fist and touched her knuckles lightly to his big, callused ones.

“I hope you don’t punch with a fist like that,” he commented teasingly. “Didn’t one of your brothers ever teach you not to stick your thumb inside your curled fingers?”

“They didn’t teach me much of anything. The triplets were always more interested in each other, and my oldest brother, Tyler, was much older than me. I was mostly a nuisance to be tolerated by him.”

He reached out and uncurled her fingers, guided her thumb to one side and recurled her fingers gently. “There. Now you’re ready to properly punch someone.”

“Good to know?”

He smiled lightly. “You never know when you’ll need to haul off and defend your honor.”

“This is Braxville. It’s not exactly the wild, wild West.”

“Take it from me. It has its dark underbelly. I would know.”

She met his smirk with one of her own. “In case you forgot, I work for the same police department you do. I’m as aware as you are of the crimes that take place in this town.”

So prickly, she was. Like a cute little kitten with its claws out.

“I didn’t forget that you work for the department. It’s just that you don’t get out of this dungeon much. You don’t roam the mean streets like I do.”

She laughed, and the sound was rich and warm. It welcomed him to join in with her, in sharp contrast to her usual cool, distant demeanor. He tilted his head to one side, studying her as her humor faded.

“What?” she demanded.

“I’m curious about you.”

“Nothing to be curious about,” she retorted quickly.

“See? That right there. You don’t want people getting to know you. When someone makes an overture, you push them away immediately. Why is that?”

“I do not!”

“Honey, I’ve been coming down here with evidence for the past year, and I don’t know one, single personal thing about you. Not one.”

“I told you not to call me honey,” she mumbled.

“Fine. I don’t know one damned thing about you, Miz Colton.”

“My mother is Miz Colton. Not me.”

“Can I call you Yvie, like your sister does?”

“No!”

She was working so hard to distract him—which was informative in its own right. She really didn’t want anyone to get close to her. But he wasn’t a detective for nothing. He wasn’t an easy man to distract from his main objective, once he had one. And right now, he wanted to know more about her. “All right, Yvette. Tell me something no one in the department knows about you.”

“This is work. It’s not like I’m going spew every detail of my life to my colleagues. That would be wildly unprofessional.”

“I get that. But we’re not in the FBI, and this isn’t Quantico. It’s Braxville. Everyone knows everybody else. It’s a tight community. And here in the department, we’re family. But you hold yourself separate from the rest of us. Do you think we’re not good enough for you?”

“Of course not. That’s absurd!”

“Then what’s the problem?” he persisted. Why he felt compelled to poke at this particular bear, he had no idea. But she’d bugged him ever since she’d come to work here. She was a mystery surrounded by a riddle wrapped in an enigma. Maybe it just went against his detective’s soul not to understand what made her tick.

“I’ve got no problem. I think the problem may be yours, Reese. Perhaps you’re just nosy.”

He laughed easily. “Of course, I’m nosy. I’m a detective. It’s in the job description.”

“Well, I haven’t committed any crimes and I’m not under investigation, so you can just take your nose and poke it somewhere else. In fact, you should go home. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“We can look through the thirty files—”

“Go on. Get out of here. Scram.”

Huh. This was a novel sensation. It wasn’t often a woman kicked him out of anywhere. He stood up, collecting the remaining pizza. “You want the leftovers?” he asked gruffly, holding the box out to her.

“No, thank you.”

“Cool. I’ll have it for breakfast in the morning.”

“Yuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Bachelor food.”

“I suppose you have eggs benedict, toast points and fresh-squeezed orange juice every morning?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I’m lucky to remember to drink a cup of coffee sometime before midafternoon most days. I’m so busy with these two cases that I barely have time to eat or sleep, let alone cook.”

“I know the feeling,” he responded fervently. The whole department had been working overtime to try to solve the baffling mystery of two dead bodies hidden in the walls of a building decades ago and to investigate the arsenic poisoning of a half-dozen Colton Construction employees.

He headed for the door and was almost through it before she called out softly, “Thanks for the help with the files. And thanks for the suggestion on how to sort them.”

Wow. He didn’t expect her to be civil after she gave him the toss like that. Strange creature, Yvette Colton. Cross between a fuzzy bunny and a prickly porcupine. Which he supposed made her a hedgehog. Good thing he liked hedgehogs.

CHAPTER 3

Yvette rolled out of bed Thursday morning feeling inordinately cheerful. What was up with that? It was a cold, gray day outside—that raw in-between of not quite cold enough to snow, but miserably cold and wet. Felt like a storm was coming. And the forecast on her phone bore that out. Temperatures were supposed to fall through the day and snow should roll in, tonight. But she still bounced out of bed full of energy and excited to get to the office.

Weird. Since when was she jonesing to dive back into the overwhelming workload piled up everywhere she looked? As she finished putting her hair up into a loose, attractive style, French braided in big chunks on the sides and ending in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, she reached for makeup and froze, staring at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? She never gooped up for work. Yet here she was, primping as if she was getting ready for a hot date.

Reese. This was all his fault. Him and his bedroom eyes.

What was wrong with her? Since when did one tiny scrap of attention from a man send her into orbit like this, crushing like a fourteen-year-old? He wasn’t even a man she would have chosen, left to her own devices. More often than not, he was insufferable and infuriating, forever telling her how to do her job and not minding his own business. A wannabe cowboy, for crying out loud. He was basically everything that drove her crazy in males of the species.

Although, to be fair, he was also a walking advertisement for procreation. The kind of man who would give a woman beautiful children…

Whoa. Full stop. She was only twenty-five years old. She had years to go before her biological alarm clock started jangling warnings to get busy making babies. She didn’t even want a serious relationship right now, let alone a permanent one. Her New Year’s Resolution had been to get out. Go on a few dates. Not go looking for true love and forever after.

But it would be nice to feel this sense of excited anticipation a little more often. To look forward to trying new restaurants, checking out local hangouts, having the occasional adventure. Her life since she’d gotten back to Braxville had settled in a routine of pure drudgery. Work, sleep and more work. When had she gotten so boring?

When she’d lived in Washington, DC, she’d done something fun pretty much every weekend. She’d visited museums, gone to the theater, hiked, biked, hung out with friends…and she’d had tons of friends in DC. Here, she had her family. Her sisters. And both of them were head over heels in love and too involved in their own relationships these days to spend more than the rare free moment with her. Not that she blamed them or even begrudged them their delirious happiness. But she’d come home and more or less turned into a hermit.

She opted to wear a simple white Oxford shirt and a pair of khaki slacks today, lest she look like she was trying entirely too hard. Stomping into a pair of fleece boots, she grabbed her puffy down jacket. A certain chill that her furnace couldn’t quite knock out of the air in her house announced that the cold front was already here.

She’d spent so long fussing in the bathroom that she had no time to stop for even a cup of coffee this morning on her way to work. Ugh. She was going to be stuck drinking the acidic sludge the beat cops brewed up and euphemistically called coffee.

The morning briefing was just breaking up when she arrived at the police department, and officers milled around being social before they headed off to their various assignments.

“Yvie!” her sister called out from across the jumble of desks in the squad room.

She made her way over to Jordana’s desk, which butted up against Reese’s, so the two faced each other. Her affectionate and outgoing sister, so unlike her, gave her a hug. “You look fantastic, sis. Any reason for getting all shined up?”

She frowned. Count on Jordana to call way too much attention to her. “Can’t I put on a little makeup without getting the third degree around here?”

“Okay, okay.” Jordana threw up her hands. “Never mind.”

Reese arrived at his desk and set down a steaming mug of coffee. “Hey, Yvette.”

She started to smile at him but stopped herself in alarm when she remembered her nosy-as-heck sister was standing there observing the two of them.

On cue, Jordana looked back and forth between them shrewdly. “How’d your date go last night?”

Yvette stared. “How on earth do you know about that?”

“Oh, I’m the one Reese lost the bet to.”

“What bet?” she asked ominously. She started around the end of the desk to confront Reese. Surely, this bet thing had been his idea.

Jordana chirped behind her, “I bet Reese that I could beat him at darts. Loser had to come back here and help you dig through files last night.”

She reached Reese and glared up at him. “You lost a bet? That’s why you helped me last night?” Hurt and betrayal swirled in her gut. It had nothing to do with liking her? Or flirting with her? Or just being decent? It was some stupid bet?

And here she was, painted up like a clown for him because she’d thought he actually liked her. Might even be interested in her. But no. She was a freaking pity case! Humiliation roared through her.

He shrugged down at her. “What does it matter? We got a lot done.”

Self-control had never been her strong suit in life. In fact, she was downright impulsive by nature. Maybe that was why she cocked back her fist, hauled off and punched him in the stomach as hard as she could. Which wasn’t actually all that hard because she was puny, and his abs turned out to be made of tempered steel. Her fist basically bounced off his stomach.

But pain still exploded in her metacarpal bones all along the back of her hand, a sharp reality check in the face of having done something colossally stupid. She stared up at Reese in horror as he stared down at her in shock.

More furious at herself than at him, she ground out, “Thanks for teaching me how to make a proper fist. Jerk.”

She spun and marched out of the squad room, her face on fire. Silence had fallen all around her, and her face heated up with every step as she crossed the broad space amid stares from everyone.

* * *

Reese stared after Yvette thoughtfully. Normally, he would not take the least bit kindly to anyone up and slugging him. But he’d seen something in her eyes just before she’d hauled off and hit him.

Hurt.

She’d thought he brought pizza and offered to help her because he liked her. And she was hurt to think he’d only done it because he lost a bet. And as she’d turned away, he’d seen something else. A glint of shame in her dark eyes as they’d brimmed with sudden moisture.

Aww, hell. Tears were his personal kryptonite when it came to women. Now he felt bad. She was right. He’d been a thoughtless jerk. The second his partner brought up the bet, he should have made it clear immediately that he’d enjoyed working with her last night. But he’d been so startled by the violence of her reaction and the quickness of it that it didn’t occur to him to correct her impression until just now.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Truth was he had only helped her because of that bet. But he’d had a nice time with her. Enjoyed getting to know her a little. He’d definitely enjoyed slipping past that cool-and-distant exterior of hers.

A low, angry sound like a threatening cat might make in the back of its throat made him look up sharply. His partner had moved over to stand exactly where Yvette had just been. Damned if Jordana’s hand wasn’t curled into a fist, too. Cautiously, he kept his abs flexed. She snarled, “What did you do to my baby sister?”

“Whoa, there, Jordana. Slow down. Nothing happened between us. I didn’t lay a finger on her. I only came over here and helped Yvette sort through Markus Dexter’s work files. I swear. You can go down and look at the boxes we went through.”

His partner’s threatening stance eased slightly, but her fisted hands still didn’t fall down to her sides.

Lord, these Colton women were firecrackers.

“Go ask her if you don’t believe me,” he added desperately, eyeing Jordana’s clenched fists cautiously. “Nothing happened.”

She stared at him a moment longer and then nodded once, tersely. He stepped back quickly and changed the subject. “So. Where are we with tracking Dexter? Any hits on his credit cards?”

She sighed, and praise the Lord, shifted into cop mode, as well. “No hits at all. He’s gone completely off the grid.”

“Which is suspicious as hell,” he commented.

“Oh, yeah. I seriously want to sit down with him and have a long conversation.”

He’d bet. The man’s gun had been used to shoot her brother, and Jordana was nothing if not protective of her family. Dexter’s wife claimed the weapon must have been stolen by the shooter, and no doubt Markus would corroborate that story.

Frustration rolled through his gut. The police were missing something. A link, a bit of evidence, to prove that Markus Dexter had killed the young woman found hidden in the wall, Olivia Harrison, and the older man beside her, Fenton Crane.

The police guessed the private investigator, Crane, had come to Braxville looking for the murdered woman, and that was what had gotten him killed. But they had yet to find a solid motive for her murder. Reese’s working theory was that Dexter and the woman had been having an affair.

Jordana interrupted his train of thought with, “I talked with another one of Mary Dexter’s friends from her church, yesterday.”

“Did this one also know about the rumors that Dex fooled around on his wife a lot?”

“Sure did.”

“Did she give up any names?”

“No,” Jordana answered in exasperation that matched his. “Dexter was careful. It’s purely rumors and hearsay that he was having affairs all over the place. Apparently, everyone but Mary suspected he was stepping out on her.”

“How does a woman miss years’ worth of cheating? She struck me as a reasonably intelligent and aware woman.”

Jordana shrugged. “Maybe she stayed with him for the money. Or maybe she knew about the other women and was relieved she didn’t have to sleep with him. Maybe Dexter’s epically lousy in the sack.”

“Possible.” It was as valid a theory as anything else they had to go on, right now. “How do we prove he was sleeping with Olivia Harrison when she died?” he asked.

“No idea. Did Yvette have anything new for us any of the forty-two times you’ve gone down to the lab to ask her this week?”

She’d noticed that, had she? In light of last night’s date and this morning’s disastrous aftermath, he should probably lay off forensic lab visits for a while. Jordana was a formidable woman and not one whose bad side he cared to be on.

“Your sister got the insect results back from the burial sites. It appears the Harrison woman was killed in the spring and Crane in the fall.”

Jordana nodded. “That tracks with our theory that Crane came looking for Olivia after she’d been missing for a while and that he found her killer.”

“We just need that one piece of conclusive evidence to identify the killer,” he declared.

“Or a confession. If we can find Dexter and bring him in, I’m sure we can get him to spill his guts. He’s no hero.”

“Not fond of your daddy’s partner, are you?” he asked.

“Dex is the one who first thought it would be a good idea to use arsenic-laced wood from China. I think he’s a cheat and coward who took off as soon as the consequences of his crimes caught up with him,” she replied sharply.

“Your father gonna testify against Dexter in the arsenic case?” he asked. He already knew the answer to the question, but it was a secret that he’d been involved in the plea negotiations, so Reese pretended ignorance.

She nodded. “His lawyer has nearly finished up the paperwork on a plea deal.”

“Is Fitz gonna get any jail time?”

“Not the way I hear it. He’s going to testify against Markus, and the DA is going to agree to let him sell his company and turn over all the proceeds to the victims of the arsenic poisoning and their families by way of a fine.”

“Ouch. That’s a big hit.”

She shrugged. “My parents have plenty of money without the company. They own a bunch of land and real estate. And with Braxville growing the way it is, the value of all that is skyrocketing.” She added, “If we can’t nail Dexter for murder, we can at least charge him with illegally using arsenic-laced construction materials.”

“If Dexter knows what’s good for him, he’s halfway to Tahiti by now,” he commented.

She shrugged. “Here’s hoping Dex doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

Reese sank into his desk chair thoughtfully. He also knew what wasn’t good for him, and that was messing around with Jordana Colton’s baby sister. His partner had flared up like a mama bear at the mere idea of him hooking up with Yvette.

Too bad. Yvette was one of the most fascinating women he’d met in a long time. He never could resist a good puzzle, and she was definitely more puzzling than most women.

CHAPTER 4

Yvette literally ran for her solitary lab in the basement of the police building to hide from the indignity of what she’d just done. Cripes. She’d just slugged a cop in a room full of cops. As soon as the police chief, Roger Hilton, heard about it, she had no doubt he would summon her for a well-deserved chewing out.

Dumb, dumb, dumb! She knew better than to let her emotions run away with her like that! She’d gotten away with stupid stunts like that as a kid, but she was an adult, now. Allegedly a professional.

Kicking herself mentally, she opened a random box of evidence seized from the Dexter home in a recent search of it. Peering inside, she spied a pile of datebooks, each with a year embossed on the cover.

She picked one up and opened it. The pages were starting to yellow with age and the handwriting was in Markus Dexter’s messy scrawl, which she knew well, now, after having stared at thousands of pages of his personal documents last night. She turned the book over. In faded gold, the year was stamped on the cover. She glanced through it and noticed right away that all of Dexter’s appointments and meetings were identified only with initials. Never a name. She thumbed through a few more of the annual planners, and the same thing was true of all of them. The man never used names in his datebook.

Odd. Secretive.

Out of curiosity, she pulled out a random file from the year group that Reese had so carefully organized last night. What a jerk…

Focus, Yvette. Don’t let some jackass man distract you from catching a murderer.

This particular file was paperwork associated with an apartment complex Colton Construction had built. She riffled through it until she found Dex’s notes from a meeting in April. The date and time were noted at the top of the paper. Perfect.

Noting the client’s name, Randall Pardo, she opened Dexter’s planner to April. Huh. On that particular date and time, the notation was for O.Q. Did Dexter actually use a code in his own planner?

Paranoid much?

She sat down at her desk and fooled around with how to get from R.P. to O.Q. It didn’t take her long to figure out that if she reversed the initials to last name first and then first name, she got P.R. Then, she backed up one letter in the alphabet—P went to O, and R went to Q.

She checked a few more appointments in that year and the code held true. She poked around and found the datebook for the year they thought the murders had happened and tried the same code on a few construction appointments. But it didn’t work. She tried all the other datebooks, and that particular replacement code only worked in a single year.

He changed his code every year? Holy cow. What was the man hiding, indeed? This was the sort of behavior indicative of someone living a double life. What’s your other life, Markus Dexter?

She did note that, particularly in the oldest calendars, many of the “appointments” took place at night, some late at night. The year after the Harrison-Crane murders, however, even the times for appointments began to be coded also, and she couldn’t tell anymore if he was setting up late-night assignations.

She picked up her phone and dialed her sister. “Hey, Jordana.”

“Hey, Yvette. Are you okay? What on earth happened between you and—”

She cut her sister off sharply. “This is a work phone call. I found Markus Dexter’s appointment calendars, and I thought you’d like to know he never used names, just initials. Furthermore, he used codes to record even the initials. And, he appeared to use a new code each year to refer to whomever he was supposed to meet and when. I’ll try to work out the codes if I can.”

“Wild. Give me a shout-out if you need help deciphering them.”

“Will do. Also, were you on the team that searched the Dexter house?”

“No, but Reese was in charge of the search. Why?”

“I’m curious if any secret hiding places were discovered. Secret compartments, false bottoms in drawers, hollows under floorboards, that sort of thing.”

“I have no idea. I’ll ask Reese and have him get back to you.”

“Or you can just relay his answer to me.”

“What on God’s green earth happened between you two last night?” Jordana demanded.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He showed up with pizza and beer, and he alphabetized files while I separated them into useless files versus files of interest.”

“He didn’t come on to you? Make any advances?”

As mad as she was at Reese and at herself, she certainly wasn’t going to throw him under the bus by claiming he’d been anything other than a perfect gentleman. “No, Jordana. Nothing like that. At all.”

“Then why did you punch—”

“I’m up to my elbows in alligators down here. I really don’t have time to gossip.”

“Fine. Look. While I’ve got you on the phone, would you like to go to Dusty Rusty’s tomorrow night with me and a bunch of the gang from the department? Lou Hovitz is having his retirement party.”

“No way—”

“Before you say no,” Jordana interrupted, “You kind of owe it to Reese to go. After that stunt you pulled this morning, you need to be seen in public making nice with him. And not punching him.”

Making nice with Reese Carpenter was the last thing she wanted to do. But darned if Jordana wasn’t right.

She huffed. “Fine. I’ll go to your stupid party at Rusty’s.”

“Great! I’ll tell Reese.”

“Jor—”

Her sister disconnected the call before she could stop her from telling her partner. She honestly couldn’t tell if Jordana was merely trying to patch things up in the police department or trying to throw her and Reese together to see for herself what kind of chemistry they had.

Good luck with that, sis. She and Reese weren’t even oil and water. They were fire and dynamite.

At least Reese’s harassment campaign of hourly visits ceased today. She was vastly relieved for the first few hours of undisturbed, tomb-like silence in her lab. But as the worst of her embarrassment wore off, she actually found herself glancing up every hour and waiting for the hallway door to open.

The day passed, hour by endless, agonizing hour, with no sign of Reese. Her shame morphed into disgust at herself for actually missing the supremely irritating detective. She missed insulting him and throwing him out of her lab, and she missed his teasing and constant suggestions on how to do her job. And darn it, she missed his bedroom eyes.

She spent the afternoon digging through Dexter’s home evidence, looking for any notations by the search team of secret hiding places they’d found. Nothing of the like was indicated anywhere. Which led her to believe the search party had missed something. Any man who created a whole new code every year for writing down his appointments, many of which happened at night, well after work hours, had secrets and lots of them.

The interview with his wife, Mary, had indicated she knew nothing of his extracurricular activities with the ladies. Which meant Mary was lying or else he was hiding a major part of his life from her. At a minimum, he must have a hiding spot in his home where he left his wedding ring when he went out. Maybe cash or dedicated credit cards he used to finance his dating habits. A man as careful as Dexter surely wouldn’t charge anything to a credit card whose bill his wife might see.

She was startled to realize it was nearly ten o’clock when she finally pushed back from her desk to call it a night. She’d broken the code on a few of the most recent appointment books—they’d been relatively simple substitution codes. But a quarter century ago, in the time frame of the murders, he’d been more cautious with his codes. More to hide, perhaps?

Was it ageist of her to expect that a man in his late thirties might fool around more than a man in his sixties? Either that, or Mary Dexter might have been more suspicious back then. If only she knew more about the couple’s relationship.

In the meantime, her suspicion that the search of the Dexter home could have missed something important intensified. Of course, it wasn’t as if Reese would listen to her if she told him he’d messed up. After all, he not only thought he knew how to do his own job, but also hers.

She would really love to put that man in his place for once. How awesome would it be to tell him how to do his job for a change? Even better, to show him up at being a detective.

In fact…

She grabbed her purse and coat eagerly. How cool would it be to shove his superiority in his face by finding a secret hidey-hole in the Dexter house that he’d missed? Excited at the prospect, she went up to the evidence locker to find out if Mary Dexter had given the police a key to her home so the police could check it while she was out of town. The police had apparently asked her not to return to the home until her husband was apprehended. Whether that was because they thought Marcus was a threat to his wife or they thought Mary might aid and abet him in fleeing the country, Yvette had no idea.

Indeed, the department did have a key to the Dexter house. She signed it out and hurried out to her car.

It was a frigid night and the wind was bitter as she crossed the parking lot. Snow scudded across the beams of light her car cast into the darkness, and the roads were treacherous with patches of black ice. The forecast storm had definitely arrived. The police were no doubt going to spend all night pulling cars out of ditches. She certainly didn’t need to be one of them. Driving carefully, she guided her little car across town to the predictably ostentatious Dexter home and parked in the circular drive.

A surveillance detail had been set up to keep an eye on the house in case Markus Dexter came back, but no police SUV was parked out front. The unit assigned to the job must have been called out on some kind of emergency. No surprise with the roads as bad as they were. The Braxville PD was not a big outfit, and didn’t always have the spare manpower to dedicate to this surveillance detail.

She hustled to the front porch, unlocked the door and slipped inside. Where to look for Markus’s hidey-hole? The obvious place to start was a space he would consider his. An office or man cave.

His office was just to the right of the foyer behind a pair of French doors. The space was undeniably masculine, with dark paneling and heavy leather furniture. She took her time searching the furniture—desk, tables, cabinets—and then the room itself—bookshelves, walls, even the floor and ceiling. Nothing resembled a secret hiding place.

She walked through the rest of the ground floor and found no other room that stood out as a place Markus would consider his. She headed upstairs and found a billiard room, which she searched thoroughly. Nothing. She headed for the master bedroom. It was a shared space, but there would be dressers, maybe a closet, dedicated to his stuff. Still nothing.

Darn it. What if she was wrong? Relief took root in her belly that she’d gone on this wild goose chase alone, late at night, without telling anyone about it. She would hate to give Reese Carpenter even more fodder to tease her with.

She stopped in the middle of the master bathroom to think. What was she missing?

What about spaces in the house that weren’t used often, like an attic or basement? The latter weren’t common in this part of the world. The clay soil tended to heave and have terrible drainage, both of which made a slab foundation more practical than a full basement. Which she knew, compliments of growing up with a contractor father.

An attic, then. The house had a steep roof that surely had space under it for one. It took her a few minutes of searching to find a door tucked at the end of a hallway. She opened it and there was a narrow stairway leading up into blackness. Cold poured out of the unheated space.

Yes.

She felt around for a light switch on the wall but didn’t find one. Fishing in her purse, she pulled out the fist-sized titanium flashlight she always carried. That was her. Little Miss Preparedness. More like Miss Afraid-of-Catastrophes. Ever since Debbie’s murder, she’d always carried something hard and heavy that she could improvise with as a weapon. In some ways, she was still that kid, terrified that the boogeyman would come for her, too.

She pointed her light at the wooden treads beneath her boots, and spied a layer of dust on them. Several sets of footsteps had recently disturbed it. No doubt those came from the police who’d searched the place.

She pulled the door shut behind her and started up the stairs.

With each step it grew colder, and a couple of the stair treads squeaked noisily, just like in a bad horror movie. She emerged into the cavernous space under the eaves. It had a finished floor, but the eaves were exposed. Shelving was installed in the area in front of her, stacked with plastic bins neatly labeled: Christmas decorations, door wreaths, seasonal decor, summer clothing. One whole side of this area was filled with hanging-clothing racks full of garment bags.

The half of the attic behind the stairs was a jumbled mess of cardboard boxes, broken lamps, old furniture and general junk that looked straight off the set of a stalker movie. All the area lacked was a creepy doll staring back at her, or maybe a dude in a mask holding a chain saw.

A chill shuddered down her spine and she clutched her coat more tightly around her throat. The good news was this was exactly the kind of space she would expect Markus Dexter to hide something in.

The organized section of the attic smacked of Mary Dexter’s highly structured home management. Which meant Markus would likely not have hidden anything in the bins.

Gingerly, she made her way into the pile of junk. The dust was thick back here. Thick enough that she doubted the search party had even gone through any of this stuff. Of course, maybe they’d taken one look at the thick layer of undisturbed dust on the floor and decided no one had been up here for so long that it wasn’t worth their time to search it.

Not that she blamed them. It was painstaking work, going through the mess one object at a time, feeling each item, peering underneath it for something taped to the bottom, examining everything for secret spaces. She shoved her hands into the seams of chairs, lifted cushions, opened drawers and boxes and generally hunted for a needle in a haystack.

She’d been at it for long enough that her nose was numb and her fingers ached from cold when she thought she heard something downstairs. She paused, listening. If the furnace fan had been off, she would have put the hollow bump down to the heat turning on. But it had been running continuously since she came into the house. Maybe the police returning to their surveillance post? They’d probably seen her car and were coming in to say hello.

She opened her mouth to call out a greeting but a chill of foreboding across the back of her neck stopped her. Or maybe it was just the general creep factor up here that silenced her.

She made her way over to one of the dormer windows to peer out at the front of the house. That was weird. A sedan was parked at the curb, but no police cruiser was parked in the driveway behind her little car. Maybe they’d gone around back. Which made sense. It made the police less conspicuous in the upscale neighborhood and maybe they would catch Dexter unawares. She picked her way through the clutter to a window facing the back of the sprawling property. Only snow stretched away below her, pale and undisturbed in the darkness. No police cruiser.

Then who was downstairs?

A door closed somewhere below her feet.

Okay. There was definitely someone in the house. And it didn’t appear to be the police.

Her heart exploded into panic mode, sending blood surging into her ears, roaring a warning at her to run. Now.

A door opened nearby. Was that the attic door?

A surge of adrenaline made her entire body feel light and fast, desperate to move.

She heard a creak. That was a stair tread! Someone was coming up here.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

She looked left and right. There was only the one exit from the attic. No way to creep out of here stealthily, then.

A hiding place. She needed to hide.

Frantically, she hunted for a spot shrouded in darkness, large enough to hold her but small enough to avoid detection. Tiptoeing, she eased back into the corner of the eaves where the roof angled down close to the floor and wedged herself behind a rusty metal rack with outdated seventies and eighties clothing stuffed on it. She turned off her flashlight and crouched in the darkness.

Quickly, she pulled out her cell phone, shielding the glow with her body. She texted 9-1-1.

This is Yvette Colton. Am inside Dexter home with intruder. If cops, tell them to identify themselves. If not, send backup ASAP.

If it was police in the house, the emergency dispatcher would contact them and tell them to call out.

Another stair tread squeaked loudly, this one practically at the top of the staircase. She peered around the end of the clothes fearfully. Please, God, be a uniformed police officer. She was breathing so fast she was starting to feel lightheaded as a bulky figure cleared the stairwell.

That was a dark wool overcoat. Not a cop. The figure turned away from her and turned on a flashlight. She suppressed an urge to cringe away from the light. Human eyes were much better at catching movement than making out still shapes, so her only hope to remain undetected was to stay perfectly still and hope she’d picked an adequate hiding place.

The sounds of boxes shuffling and something heavy sliding across the floor interrupted the cold and dark.

She measured the distance from herself to the stairs. Nope, she couldn’t make a run for it unseen. The flashlight was hard and warm in her fist, and she gripped it so tightly her fingers ached. The shadow across from her in the dark was large. Undoubtedly male. She had basic self-defense training, but she didn’t relish a hand-to-hand fight against that much bigger an opponent. Especially alone, in the dark, with no one nearby to help.

Whatever the intruder was looking for was taking him a while to find. The occasional grunt and muttered curse were audible as the scraping and shuffling of junk continued. What on earth was he looking for? She hadn’t searched that side of the attic yet, which was both good and bad news. The good news was her footprints and handprints weren’t all over the stuff over there. The bad news was she hadn’t found whatever this guy was searching for so diligently.

Her nose tickled. An urge to sneeze built in her sinuses. No, no, no! She eased her hand up to her face and pinched her nose tightly, praying for the sneeze to go away. She held her breath for interminable seconds of terror until finally, blessedly, the urge to sneeze faded.

Something fell over loudly across the attic, and she jumped at the abrupt crash.

“Dammit,” the intruder bit out in a deep, gruff voice.

Was this Markus Dexter? In the flesh? Or maybe a friend he’d sent in to find something? Or was this a simple thief?

The sound of a vehicle’s engine outside interrupted the deep silence of the night. She saw the bent-over shadow straighten sharply and freeze. No doubt listening as hard as she was. Was that a police car pulling up? Normally, they would come in with sirens screaming in a situation like this to scare off an intruder without harming the civilian caught inside the house.

The shadow threw open a trunk lid and tossed out the contents behind him with thuds and clangs. He scooped up something and turned, picking his way fast toward the stairs.

Drat! He appeared to have found what he was looking for and was now going to flee with it. Whatever that thing was, she desperately wanted to see what he’d come for. What if it was the exact hidden thing she’d been searching for? She couldn’t let this guy just waltz out of here with it. And she had no idea who’d pulled up out front. It could as easily be this burglar’s accomplice as a police officer.

The guy cleared the pile of junk and raced for the stairs. He was getting away! Panic and urgent need to stop him spurred her to her feet.

She stepped out of her hiding place and turned on her military-grade flashlight, yelling, “Halt! Police!”

The man lurched violently and threw one arm up, shading his eyes and casting a deep shadow over his face, which totally obscured his features.

“Hands up! Lock your fingers behind your neck!” she shouted, moving quickly through the junk pile. What she wouldn’t give to be carrying a firearm right now. As it was, she scooped up a long candlestick in her off hand as she passed where it sat on top of a cardboard box.

But the intruder had other ideas. As she approached, still shining the light in his face and hopefully obscuring hers—so he wouldn’t see how young and small she was—the figure backed away from her.

She moved to block his access to the staircase, but he charged forward holding something square and bulky in front of him. He slammed into her, knocking her down hard on her back. Her head hit the floor hard enough to daze her and she dropped both her flashlight and the candlestick.

As he kept on going, more or less charging right over her, she grabbed at his ankle, hooking her left arm around it. He stumbled, forced to stop. Kicking violently, he freed his leg but dropped the object he was holding.

A voice shouted from somewhere below. “Yvette! Where are you?”

The intruder, who’d started to turn around to grab whatever he’d dropped, jolted. For an instant, he hesitated. Then, he abandoned whatever he’d dropped and raced down the attic stairs, taking the steps three at a time. She pushed up to her hands and knees but her head swam with dizziness and nausea rolled through her gut. No way could she stand, let alone give chase.

“Up here!” she called weakly.

And then she did throw up. Blessedly, her stomach was empty due to her failure to eat pretty much anything all day, and only dry-heaved.

She heard running footsteps. Doors slamming. A car motor revving behind the house. And then silence fell once more. She lay with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, her head spinning, and failure roiling in her gut.

The intruder had gotten away from her. She should’ve been strong enough, fast enough, to stop him. But he’d run right over her. She hated being weak and small and vulnerable. It was all of her worst fears come true, save the part where she was murdered like Debbie. Panic still roared through her and realization that she’d just come very close to dying made her hyperventilate.

“Yvette! Where the hell are you?”

“Attic,” she managed to call back.

Light spilled into the stairwell from below, and running footsteps approached her. She braced automatically for another attack.

“Yvette?”

Well, fudge. She recognized that voice. Reese.

She exhaled a wobbly breath, and all of a sudden, tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She’d lived. For a few minutes, there, she’d been pretty sure she was going to die.

Big, gentle hands rolled her over. Sat her up. She surprised herself almost as much as she seemed to surprise Reese when she flung herself forward into his arms and let the tears flow. She clung tightly to his waist, absorbing his warmth and strength gratefully, inhaling the crisp scent of his aftershave as snowflakes on his coat melted against her cheek. It wasn’t that she liked him for a second. It was just that…he was…well, safe.

“I’ve got you. The intruder’s gone,” Reese murmured into her hair. Then, “What the hell happened?”

“I… He… Ran… Fell…” she was gasping too hard to talk and her chest was being squeezed so tightly she couldn’t breathe. And just like that, she was sobbing and shaking. No words at all came then. Just total relief that help, any help darn it, was here and that she hadn’t died.

“Aftershock. Panic attack. Got it,” Reese murmured. His arms tightened around her and he waited patiently for her to calm down.

He really was being half decent. But she still hated his guts.

Eventually, he tried again. “Tell me what happened up here. Did he hurt you? I need you to use your words.”

Slowly, her terror receded in the shelter of his embrace. She shook her head.

“Can you talk, now?” he tried again.

She finally nodded against his chest.

Words. Right. She could do this.

She pushed back from his chest, and his arms fell away from her. The air was cold and unfriendly where his arms and chest had just been. She tried unsuccessfully to stand up, but Reese grabbed her shoulders lightly to hold her down.

“Let’s take it slow. Where does it hurt?”

“My head.”

Fingers passed over her scalp and neck carefully. “Jeez, short stuff. That’s a nice bump you’ve got going, there. Did he hit you?”

She blinked, and it was her turn to stare into the blinding glare of a flashlight. “Could you get that light out of my face? My head already is killing me without having to look at it.”

“Sorry.” The beam tilted up toward the ceiling, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she made out his features. They were tight with concern. “Glad you’re talking, again. Walk me through what happened, okay?”

“An intruder. Heard him downstairs. Then he came up here. I called for backup, but they—you—hadn’t gotten here yet. He found something and started to leave with it. I had to stop him, but he slammed into me, and he—” She broke off, not only because she was babbling, but also because a terrible thought had just occurred to her.

“Did he take it with him?” she asked urgently. It hurt like heck to move her head, let alone focus her gaze to look around for whatever he’d been clutching to his chest when he’d charged her.

“Take what?”

“A box, or something big and hard about the size of a bread box.”

“You mean this? It looks like a wooden jewelry box.” Reese straightened from his crouch beside her and moved to an overturned box on the floor beside the top of the stairs.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s what the intruder was here to find.”

“Who was the intruder? Did you get a good look at him?”

“No. I never saw his face. It was too dark and he hid it from me when I shone my light at him.”

“What happened to you?”

“He charged me. Knocked me down. That’s when I hit my head. I grabbed his leg, though. He dropped the box. Then he kicked free and bolted. Did you see him?”

“No. I came up the front staircase, but he must’ve taken the back staircase and run out through the kitchen. By the time I figured out he’d gone around me and I got back downstairs, I only saw taillights retreating in the distance. I didn’t even get a model and make of vehicle, let alone a license plate,” he said in disgust.

Another wave of nausea rolled over her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. No way was she barfing in front of Reese Carpenter.

“You don’t look so hot, Yvie.”

“Don’t feel so hot,” she mumbled.

“Let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?”

She honestly didn’t know if she could stand. Reese reached down to her and lifted her by her armpits, then set her on her feet. She swayed as angry little men with jackhammers went to work trying to escape from her skull. She must have groaned, for Reese moved quickly to her side and looped his arm around her waist.

“Can you put your arm across my shoulder?” he murmured.

“You’re hilarious. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a wee bit height challenged.”

He chuckled and shifted his arm to grip her shoulders, instead. “There. Now you can put your arm around my waist.”

“What? Are you that desperate to have me put my hands on—” She broke off. Do not initiate banter with the hot detective when you’re in no shape to make it down these stairs yourself.

His waist was hard and narrow beneath her forearm. She’d always been a sucker for a fit guy, darn it. She was a runner, herself. Although, the weather had been so bad the past few weeks and the workload at the lab so massive she hadn’t even been out for a jog since Christmas.

“Easy does it,” he murmured as he guided her down the steps. “Take your time. And let me know if you need to stop and rest.”

She had to give him credit. For once, he wasn’t being a total jerk. Gently, he all but carried her down to the second floor and guided her to a love seat in a reading nook. “Will you be okay here by yourself if I go get you a glass of water?”

She started to nod, but her head throbbed at even the slightest movement. “Yes,” she sighed.

He moved away from her swiftly, and the panic from before surged forward again. She was alone. Vulnerable. And this big, empty house was creepy as heck. She was relieved when he approached her swiftly carrying a glass brimming with water.

“Here you go. Sip it slowly.” She took the glass he held out of her and did as he ordered. While she worked on getting down the cold water, he pulled out his cell phone and asked for a patrol car to be dispatched to the Dexter home immediately. He told the dispatcher he would stay in the house until it arrived.

But given the weather and condition of the roads, “immediately” turned out to be more like a half hour. Long enough for her to start feeling a tiny bit more human and for her stomach to settle sufficiently for her to contemplate walking out of here under her own power. She listened as Reese ordered the uniforms to lock up the house, post no-entry tape and let nobody inside until he could get back here in the morning with a crime-scene kit.

And then he was back, standing in front of her, the jewelry box from before tucked under his left arm. She noticed for the first time that he was wearing jeans and a Kansas State University hoodie that made him look younger and infinitely less intimidating than the dark, severe suits he wore to work.

“Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you out of here?” he asked.

She looked up at him to see if he was making fun of her, but she saw nothing in his eyes to indicate that he was joking. Only worry shone in his baby blues. “I can make it on my own, thanks.”

But, as soon as she stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she swayed a little. On cue, he stepped close and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

“I said I can walk.”

“I heard you. But I really don’t want you falling down the stairs and hitting your head again.”

“I can do it—”

He cut her off. “Yvette. I’m sure you can do it all by yourself. But let me help you, okay?”

“But—”

“Humor me. It’ll make me feel better to steady you. I’m gonna feel like a complete jerk if you tumble down the stairs and break your neck when I could’ve lent you a hand.”

How was a woman supposed to say no to that?

“Truce, okay? Just for tonight. You can go back to slugging me in the gut for no reason tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth to declare that she had a reason for punching him, but then he would ask what it was, and she wasn’t about to confess that she had a crush on him and was upset that he hadn’t thought of their evening in the lab together as a date.

Seriously. How lame was that? When she thought the words through, she sounded like a total stalker.

She closed her mouth, kept her silence and let him guide her down the long hallway, down the stairs and out the front door. But when he guided her toward his pickup truck and not toward her car, she protested, “I can drive myself home!”

“I feel you trembling. You can barely walk. No way am I letting you drive. Besides, the roads are treacherous. My truck can handle the ice and snow worlds better than that shoebox on wheels you drive.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he pinned her with a look of concern that made the words die on her tongue, unspoken. Well okay, then. She let him open the passenger door of the truck, set the box inside, then put his hands around her waist and bodily lift her into the vehicle. The ease with which he hoisted her into the truck was a little shocking. He was so much stronger than he looked—and he looked pretty darned fit.

He went around to the driver’s side, and the glow of the dashboard illuminated his profile. “How did you end up here at the Dexter house, tonight?” she finally got around to figuring out to ask.

“Dispatcher called me. I live about ten minutes away and all the other units were out on calls.”

“Lucky for me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there before the intruder hurt you.”

“You got there in time to scare him off and make him drop whatever this is.” She touched the wooden box sitting on the seat of the truck between them.

“Any idea what’s inside it?” he asked.

“None. I’m eager to take a close look at it and its contents.”

“First, I’m taking a close look at you.”

Her gaze snapped up to his face, but he was staring out at the road and his expression gave away nothing. What on earth did he mean by that?

CHAPTER 5

Reese pulled into the attached garage beside his tidy little log cabin on the edge of town. He loved this place. Had bought the land raw and built this place with his own two hands. It took nearly three years to complete, and privately he was damned proud of it.

He came around to let Yvette out of the truck. She looked tiny and lost in that oversized fluffy coat, tucked inside his big heavy-duty truck. He’d about had a heart attack when he’d charged up those stairs to find her lying on the floor of the Dexter attic. She was lucky the intruder hadn’t shoved her down the stairs or killed her outright.

He reached for her waist to help her down from the high truck seat, and she was slender even through her thick coat, but she recoiled.

“Truce, remember?” he murmured.

She nodded and let him lift her down from the high cab to the concrete floor.

“This way,” he murmured, leading her around his truck and into the kitchen of his rustic home.

His sister-in-law called his taste mountain-lodge-bachelor decor. Whatever. It was comfortable and made him feel at home.

“Wow. This is nice,” Yvette commented, looking around the open living-dining-kitchen area. “Did it come like this or did you remodel?”

“I built the place,” he mumbled. It had been a labor of love, and he was proud of the end result.

“From scratch? All by yourself? Impressive.”

“I bought this piece of land when I joined the Braxville Police Department and worked on it bit by bit as I had the time and money.”

“Wow. How did you get those giant ceiling beams up there?”

She was staring up at the vaulted ceiling and huge log rafters that supported the roof.

“Took a whole keg of beer to bribe enough guys from the department to come out one weekend and help me hoist all those big logs up there.”

“I had no idea you were the DIY type.”

He shrugged. “I like to make things, work with my hands. But I don’t get much time for it in my current job.”

“Especially not with a murderer running around on the loose,” she murmured.

“Exactly.” He reached for her shoulders. “Let me take your coat. Why don’t you go sit by the fireplace and I’ll make you something hot to drink. Tea, isn’t it?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “That’s right. How did you know?”

“You’ve been bringing a cup of hot tea to staff meetings for a year. I’d be a pretty terrible detective if I hadn’t noticed that by now.”

“Fair.”

He filled a kettle and put it on the stove to heat while he rummaged in his cupboards for tea bags. He had a box buried somewhere in the back of one. Bingo. He pulled out the semicrushed cardboard box and prayed that tea didn’t go stale fast. No telling how long this stuff had been in his kitchen. He thought his mom had brought it over sometime last summer.

“Mind if I build a fire?” Yvette asked from across the large living space.

“I’ll do it. Gimme a sec to get your drink pulled together.”

“I can do it, for crying out loud.”

He rolled his eyes as he put two tall mugs, sugar and creamer on a tray. He poured the hot water, plunked in a couple of tea bags and carried the whole affair over to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. This was about as fancy as he got in his house.

Yvette sat on the raised stone hearth beside the big fireplace, leaning down and blowing on a small fire she was nursing to life.

“Why don’t you use the bellows?” he asked, reaching for the tool and passing it to her from where it hung on a hook beside the mantel.

She rolled her eyes and commenced squeezing the bellows, sending puffs of air into her little fire.

He sat down on the sofa to watch her play pyromaniac. “Tell me something, Yvie. Why don’t you want anyone to help you with anything?”

“I let people help me with stuff.”

He snorted. “You were barely conscious and didn’t want me to help you stand up, let alone walk out of that house. And just now. You wouldn’t let me help with the fire.”

She frowned in his general direction but didn’t make eye contact.

“I have a theory on it,” he announced.

“Do tell.”

“You’re the baby of the Colton family, right?”

“I hate that term.”

“Exactly! I’ll bet everyone in the clan treated you as if you weren’t capable of doing anything by yourself.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled. “How do know that?”

“Hello. Detective, here. Student of human behavior.”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t it get exhausting having to know everything about everyone and everything all the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you ever sit and oh, read a book or watch a movie—or do anything—without analyzing it to death?”

“When I’m off duty.”

“Oh.” The syllable came out as a soft sigh of breath as she turned her back on him to stare into the fire, which was starting to lick up around the medium-size sticks nicely. It would be ready for a small log in another minute or two.

He frowned at the back of her head. What had he done wrong to make her disengage all of a sudden? For as surely as he was sitting here, he’d managed to hurt her feelings. Was it because she thought he’d gone off duty to bring her to his—

Oh.

She’d hoped him bringing her here was a sign of personal interest and concern.

God, he was an idiot when it came to women. He’d totally missed that one.

“So, here’s the thing,” he said. “I need to ask you a few questions about earlier and do the whole cop thing for about five minutes. Then, I’d love to hang up my badge for the night to just chill and hang with you. Is that okay?”

“Umm, sure.” She gifted him with one of those sexy-as-all-get-out sidelong looks of hers that made her eyes look even more exotic than they already were.

Whew. Nice recovery, my dude. Close call, there, with being a total ass.

“Okay. How about you start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened tonight.”

He listened with interest to her theory that Markus Dexter was secretive enough to have hidden things in his home. Made sense. He was less thrilled when she got to the part about deciding to go have a look for herself in Dexter’s house to see if she could find something he and his search team had missed.

He bit back a sarcastic comment about her trying to do his job for him. Truce, man. Remember? You declared it. Even if she is a bossy little thing.

Well, hell. Is that how he came across to her whenever he tried to give her suggestions about how to run her lab? He was just trying to help. He knew this was her first gig running her own crime lab, and he had a master’s degree in forensics, which meant he’d spent some time in crime labs while he was in school. He’d picked up a few things here and there that might be helpful—

He broke off his train of thought, yet again.

Was he actually the know-it-all she accused him of being? When had that happened? He’d always hated bossy bosses who got all up in his business.

“Are you okay?” Yvette asked, startling him.

“Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”

“You tuned out on me, there, for a second.”

He sighed. “I was having an epiphany that you might have been right all along.”

“About what?”

“That I’ve turned into my old man.”

“Meaning what?”

“He’s a dyed-in-the-wool know-it-all. Always butting in with advice and suggestions.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Just ahh.”

He had to give her credit for winning benevolently. She could’ve rubbed his nose in what a giant idiot he was, but she seemed willing to let it go without any gloating or I told you so’s. For which he was immensely grateful.

He mentally gave himself a shake. “Okay. So you went to the Dexter home and started searching it.”

“Right. But I didn’t find any false walls or hidden compartments anywhere on the first two floors. So, I headed up to the attic. I was poking around when I heard someone enter the house.”

“Did you call out?”

“No. I checked outside through the attic windows and didn’t see any police cars, so I concluded there might be an intruder.”

“Is that when you called 9-1-1?” he asked.

“Technically, I texted 9-1-1. And yes, I asked for backup.”

“Then what?” he prompted when she fell silent.

“The intruder came up into the attic,” she paused, then confessed in a rush, “and I hid.”

“Good call.”

“Really?” she asked in a small voice.

“Absolutely. You had no way of knowing if the intruder was armed, violent or homicidal. I assume you weren’t carrying a weapon of your own?”

“I may be an employee of the Braxville Police Department, but I’m a forensic scientist, not a gunslinger.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Go on.”

“While I waited for help to arrive, I watched him poke around as if he was looking for something specific. When he found that box, he immediately headed for the stairs, and I panicked. I was worried he was going to get away with whatever I’d gone there to find.”

“So, you thought it would be a good idea to confront this stranger…and do what? Demand that he hand over his prize?”

“I didn’t get that far. I yelled for him to freeze and identified myself as police.”

“You’re not technically a police officer—” he started.

“I know that,” she interrupted. “But he was about to leave. I had to stop him somehow.”

“But instead of stopping, he rushed you, knocked you over and fled,” Reese supplied. “How did you get him to drop the box, again?”

“I grabbed his leg as he ran past me. He stumbled and dropped it then. That was right when you yelled my name. He’d started to turn to pick up the box, but when he heard you calling out, he bolted.”

“What are the odds the intruder was Markus Dexter?” he asked.

“I never saw his face. The man was about six feet tall and wore a long wool coat. It was bulky, as if he had layers of clothing under it. He had on a black knit hat, and gloves. He could be anyone. It’s entirely possible Markus hired someone to come to the house and fetch that jewelry box. It would explain why the intruder took a while to find it.”

“Dang it all,” Reese muttered under his breath.

“I know you’re jonesing to pin something on Dex, but I can’t give you an ID I didn’t make.”

“Of course not,” he agreed firmly. “We’ll get him fair and square, eventually. Are you feeling up to looking with me at the box he dropped? I’m curious to see what all the fuss was about.”

“We ought to take it back to my lab.”

He glanced up at the windows. “Weather’s getting worse. Roads are going to be nigh impassable soon. I say we have a look at it, here.”

“Stubborn man,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Practical man,” he replied dryly.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Sorry. Good hearing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Duly noted. Have you got a tool set with a small screwdriver, a magnifying glass and tweezers? Maybe a bright lamp? Oh, and a fingerprint kit?”

“Affirmative to all of the above. I’ll assemble them at the kitchen table.”

“I’ll go get my cell phone,” she replied.

“Why?”

“Pictures. Have to take them to enter the box properly into evidence. Assuming you plan to actually open it tonight,” she added wryly.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely want to see what all the fuss is about. Bastard better not have hurt you over nothing.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“But you could’ve been. A few steps closer to the stairs and you could have taken a bad fall.” The way his gut clenched at the idea of her lying broken and in pain—or even dead—at the bottom of that narrow staircase was shocking. He’d learned a long time ago how to distance his emotions from his work, but that skill seemed to have abruptly deserted him.

She seemed startled at the vehemence in his voice. Did she really have no idea that he thought of her as—his train of thought crashed off the end of the rails and plunged into a mental abyss.

How did he think of her? She was certainly more than a colleague. A friend? A challenge? A potential love interest? Darned if he knew.

They reconvened at Reese’s wood-plank kitchen table. It was a single slab out of what must have been a massive tree when it was alive. She ran her palm over the satin-smooth surface. “Seems a shame to kill a tree this magnificent just so you can have a kitchen table.”

Reese smiled a little. “This table’s been in my family over a hundred years. And my great-granddaddy planted some of the first trees in the Kansas prairie. Trust me. The Carpenter family has helped many more trees grow than we ever cut down. You can put away your environmental outrage.”

She rolled her eyes at him while he clamped a bright work lamp with a telescoping arm to the edge of the table.

He turned on the light and Yvette’s whole demeanor changed. He was fascinated to watch her focus her entire attention on the damaged wooden box. Did she do that with her lovers, too? Concentrate all of her attention like that? It was sexy as hell.

One corner of the inlaid mahogany box was crushed, no doubt where it had hit the floor, and she took several pictures of that.

She photographed it from every conceivable angle, including having him turn it upside down. When she was satisfied with the lighting and the shots she’d taken, she finally nodded to him. “You can open it, now.”

Except the lid was locked tight. He tugged on it to no avail.

“Can you pick the lock?” she asked, “Or do you need me to?”

“I can, but I don’t think this is a regular locking box. It looks like a puzzle box to me,” he answered.

“How’s that?” she asked quickly.

“See this piece in the lid? It slides slightly to one side in these tracks.” She leaned in closer to stare at where he was pointing, and he smelled the sophisticated warmth of her perfume. Or maybe that was her hair. Either way, she smelled like old money. Class. Way out of his league, for darned sure.

“So, slide it,” she said impatiently.

“The thing with puzzle boxes is you have to move the parts in the right order to get them to open.”

“Will we hurt it if we move various parts and pieces while we try to figure it out?”

“Not unless there’s some sort of booby trap built into it. In which case, a wrong move will usually break a small vial of acid or solvent that destroys or dissolves the treasure in the middle of the thing.”

“What are the odds we can get this thing to open on the first try?” she asked in quick alarm.

“Zero.” He studied the box for a moment more and added, “This looks like a tricky one. The first order of business is to get an idea of how many moving parts it has and where they are.”

She nodded, leaning close to his shoulder to study the box as he tugged and poked at each side. They found various panels, springs, hinges and connection points, and over time got a feel for the thing.

“Check out that piece right there,” she murmured. “Does it look like the flower would move independent of the surrounding inlay?”

“Looks like it. You have a discerning eye.”

“Forensic scientist, here. You may be a detective and answer why everything happens, but I make my living spotting subtle details that will tell me how it happened.”

“Logical,” he murmured. “Ready to give opening the box a try?”

“One sec.” She photographed the box with various panels moved enough to one side to create a tiny crack in the exterior wood panels. “Okay. Go for it.”

His gaze snapped to hers. Now there were words he’d been waiting to hear come out of her mouth for a very long time.

“What?” she asked quickly as she stared back at him.

His mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Never mind. If you don’t get it, I don’t plan to be the one to explain it to you.”

“What? You mean the innuendo of me telling you to go for it? Exactly what ‘it’ are you referring to, Mister Carpenter?”

“Ugh. If you flatly refuse to call me Reese, I’ll take Detective Carpenter over Mister. Mister Carpenter is my father.”

“You’re still on duty,” she murmured. “That makes you Detective Carpenter.”

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered. He commenced fiddling with the box. And fiddling. And fiddling some more.

Nothing worked.

“Wanna give it a try?” he asked, passing it to Yvette. Might as well share the misery and have equal-opportunity frustration around here.

She worked on it for a while before passing it back to him. “I may need a drink stiffer than tea before we get to the end of this mystery,” she declared ruefully.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back in camaraderie. It was nice. Really nice.

“We could always just take a hammer to it,” he suggested.

“Perish the thought! It’s evidence. We can’t destroy it because we got impatient!”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “It was just a suggestion.”

“Worst case, we can take it back to the lab and x-ray it. It sounds like there’s metal rattling around inside it, somewhere. If we can get a good look at that, we should be able to figure it out.”

“Cheater,” he teased. “Giving up so easily, are you?”

She shrugged. “I’m pragmatic. I know when to cut my losses.”

“And run?” he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, her eyes big and dark and serious. He could fall into those eyes and lose himself for a few decades if he wasn’t careful. “Sounds like you’re hanging up your badge and shifting to off-duty questioning, Detective.”

“Guess I am. Let’s take a break from that beast, shall we?” He lifted his chin at the box. “I’ve got a bag of marshmallows in the cupboard. Can I interest you in roasting a few of them over the fire? It’s burned down to just about perfect embers.”

Her whole face lit with joy, and he about fell over his own feet in shock. She was pretty all the time. But she’d just turned into a raving beauty right there in the middle of his kitchen. Holy moly. How did everyone miss how drop-dead magnificent this woman was when she smiled like that?

An overpowering need to make her do that again swept over him.

They carried the marshmallows and two long metal roasting sticks over to the hearth. They sat knee to knee and poked the sweets onto the sticks. He commenced carefully rotating his marshmallow, keeping it just the right distance from the glowing coals to gradually puff and turn a perfect golden brown. He watched on in horror as Yvette shoved hers close enough to the coals to catch on fire almost immediately.

She yanked it out and blew on it to put it out.

“Do you need a new one?” he asked.

She looked up, startled. “No. This is exactly how I like mine.” To that end, she pulled the blackened, gooey mess off her stick, blew on it to cool it, and popped it into her mouth.

“Of course, that’s how you like yours,” he muttered, carefully withdrawing his evenly browned, perfectly puffed marshmallow from the fireplace and blowing on it to cool it.

“You mean because I’m not an anal-retentive over-roaster like you are?” she teased.

“No, because you’re an impulsive, impatient sugar-burner,” he replied.

“You live your way—I’ll live mine,” she retorted.

He shook his head and popped his marshmallow into his mouth. Mmm. Yummy.

Yvette had already put another marshmallow into the fire and incinerated the poor thing. She glanced up at him, catching him blatantly staring at her perfect profile. His cheeks heated. Hopefully, she would think it was the warmth from the fire doing that.

“Tell you what, Reese. Why don’t you try one my way for a change? See if you like it.”

“Only if you’ll try one of mine.”

“Deal,” she replied, her eyes glinting in challenge.

She blew out the charred remains of her marshmallow and pulled it off the stick. “Open up,” she ordered playfully.

He opened his mouth for her, and it was damned sensuous having her slip that glob of crispy-crusted goo into his mouth. He closed his mouth and captured her fingertips between his lips. She froze, her gaze lifting to his before she pulled her hand free. Slowly. Sexily.

“Like it?” she asked.

He liked the sweet softness of her fingers very much. He nodded, his mouth too glued together by melted sugar to speak.

“The burned part gives it a sharp undertone that nicely contrasts with the sweet, don’t you think?” she said.

“I guess. But I still prefer my steaks with a char and my marshmallows without.” He poked a new marshmallow on his stick. “Okay. My turn.”

He carefully roasted the bit of sugar to puffed, golden perfection. “Try this.”

He held it out and she leaned forward. She grasped his wrist with her light, slender hand, and took the marshmallow delicately from his fingers. Did she mean to run her lips over the ends of his fingers like that? She was certainly taking her sweet time sucking his fingertips.

His groin lurched to attention as her lush, rosy lips finally slid sensually off the ends of his fingers. She sat back, her head tilted to one side and her eyes closed as she savored the treat. “Good Golly, Miss Molly.” Yvette Colton was a closet hedonist.

He could just imagine her eyes closed in ecstasy exactly the way they were now, her head thrown back, her entire body arched and relishing the pleasure he would give to her—

Dude. Don’t be an idiot. Jordana would kill him if he laid a hand on her, let alone went to bed with her. This was his partner’s baby sister, for crying out loud. His partner’s very grown-up, very sexy, and if he wasn’t misreading her, very flirty sister. They weren’t exactly snowed in, but a storm was raging outside, and they were cozy and alone in front of a crackling fire in the dead of night. It didn’t get too much more romantic than this. And she seemed to feel it, too.

She startled him out of his lascivious thoughts with, “You have a bit of marshmallow on the corner of your mouth. Right here.” Using the pad of her thumb, she rubbed the corner of his mouth lightly.

“Did that get it?” he asked, his voice noticeably huskier than usual.

“No. Hmm.” She leaned forward slowly, her gaze locking on his. “Guess I’ll have to get it this way.”

She closed the distance between them very slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. But he didn’t. He sat perfectly still, unable to believe that this beautiful, fey creature was leaning in toward him, closer and closer.

Gently, so lightly he barely felt it, her mouth touched the corner of his. Her lips were soft and plump, and then—

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That’s her tongue.

She licked the corner of his mouth. It was a quick little flick with just the tip of her tongue against his skin, but there was no mistaking it. All of a sudden, there wasn’t nearly enough oxygen in his living room. Either that or he was no kidding hyperventilating.

Cripes. He hadn’t done that around a girl since he’d been about thirteen and first started noticing them as anything other than annoying not-boys.

“There,” she whispered. “That’s better.”

Moving as slowly as she had, giving her fully as much time to withdraw as she had given him, he lifted his right hand to the back of her head. Threaded his fingers beneath that heavy, warm twist of hair gathered at the base of her neck, and gently, gently, urged her forward.

He brushed his lips across hers lightly, more an invitation than an actual kiss. She lifted her chin a bit and he tucked his a bit, and their lips met again, this time fitting together a little more firmly, a little more definitely a kiss.

Her mouth was softer than the marshmallows and tasted every bit as sweet. The fire was warm on the right side of his face, the room cool on the left side of it. Light and dark. Hot and cold. Yin and yang. As opposite as Yvette and him. And yet, they fit each other.

Not one to overdo on a first kiss, he lifted his mouth away from hers a few inches and whispered. “There. Now, that’s better.”

Danged if she didn’t reach up, this time her fingers twining into his hair, to tug him forward once more, murmuring a little breathlessly, “Where do you think you’re going? Come here, cowboy.”

CHAPTER 6

Profound relief came over Yvette as Reese swept her into the circle of his arms and drew her all the way into his lap. He might be big and strong, but he was infinitely gentle with her. His jean-clad thighs were muscular under hers, and the bulky sweatshirt cushioned the hard physique beneath it just enough to make her new seat imminently comfortable. The overall effect was one of being surrounded in safety and warmth.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmured. “It feels like I’m holding a hand-blown crystal bird when you’re in my arms.”

Thank God. He didn’t call her small, or heaven forbid, childlike. “I assure you, I won’t break.”

“Good to know,” he sighed as his lips closed on hers. He didn’t go in for the slobbery tonsillectomy, thank goodness. Rather, he kissed with finesse, his mouth alternately brushing across hers and moving more deeply against hers.

He kissed really well. Or maybe she was just really out of practice. Oh, God. Did a person forget how to kiss properly? Was she being a total geek?

He lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch away from hers. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You tensed.”

He’d felt that? Dang. The man was tuned in to her big time. Oh, right. Observant detective in the house. Note to self: for once, the detective’s intense observational skills were delightful. Fantastic, even.

“I was wondering where you learned to kiss like that,” she murmured.

“Behind the gym in tenth grade, I suppose.”

“First girlfriend?”

“Not exactly. Best friend’s older sister. She wanted to practice kissing and only dragged me out behind the school to perfect her skills.”

Yvette snorted. “That’s what she said.”

He grinned against her mouth, and it was the most delicious sensation having his lips curve against hers, warmth and humor permeating the kiss. She ran her fingertips over the short hairs at the back of his neck. They were as neat and orderly as the rest of him.

But then he tilted his head slightly and deepened the kiss. The humor drained from him, and something darker, hotter, sexier emerged from him. Her breathing accelerated, and excitement at the sudden danger of him made her tingle.

She’d always had a thing for bad boys, which was why she was single now. As maturity and common sense had invaded her dating choices, she had no interest in the drama and heartbreak that came with immature bad boys. Which left her knowing to choose sensible, boring men. Emphasis on boring. Single seemed like the better option for her.

But Reese apparently was both sensible and had this hidden other side. Who knew?

His arms tightened fractionally around her, and he made a faint noise in the back of his throat that sounded a whole lot like frustration. As in male, sexual desire being tightly reined in. Regarding her? Bless the man. No male had looked at her with anything other than the most passing of interest ever since she’d gotten back to Braxville.

His big hands moved, one sliding down to her waist, and the other up to cup the back of her head. Still, he was slow and careful in his movements, as if he cherished this moment and wanted it to be perfect.

She grew a little impatient and took the lead, kissing her way across his jaw until she reached his ear. She nipped his earlobe lightly and then swirled her tongue into the shell of his ear. He groaned aloud, then, and his arms tightened significantly around her. She shifted her weight, throwing her thigh across his hips until she straddled his lap. Better. Now she was at the right height to kiss him without having to tilt her head back.

Oh.

And to notice the hard ridge behind his zipper that she was now straddling in the most suggestive possible way.

She probably ought to climb off the poor man before she made him any more uncomfortable. She lifted herself to her knees, but Reese swiftly pulled her back down with effortless strength that stole her breath away altogether. He did turn to one side, though, shifting her far enough off his lap to remove the wildly intimate contact of their nether regions. Fair. But all the while, he never broke the kiss that had become blatantly sexual, now.

He ran his tongue along her lower lip, and then caught its plumpness lightly between his teeth. She gasped into his mouth and was shocked to realize she was arching her back, lifting her body up and into him eagerly. Thankfully, his forearm tightened across her shoulder blades and supported her because she was starting to feel more than a little boneless, here.

He slid his mouth down the column of her neck, and she threw her head back, giving him unfettered access to her throat. His mouth was fiery hot against her skin as he kissed the frantic pulse there. His lips slid lower, into the vee where the top of her shirt unbuttoned.

The hand at her waist came around front and fiddled at her neck for a moment and her shirt opened a little more. He took advantage of the exposed skin to kiss a little lower on her chest. He stopped at the upper reaches of her cleavage, though, and kissed his way back up to her throat and then across her collarbone as far as her shirt would allow. An urge to rip the garment off completely surged through her.

Her palms slid restlessly across his neck, under his chin, traced his jaw and cheeks. Flesh. She wanted flesh. To that end, she slipped her hands under his sweatshirt. Darn it. T-shirt. She tugged at the soft cotton impatiently.

Better. Warm, smooth, male skin.

Dang. The man had no body fat. At all. She felt only muscle and more muscle under her hands, hard and unyielding. Like the man himself. She might not always agree with him, but she could respect his certainty of who and what he was.

Reese slid off the hearth, taking her with him, and stretching out at full length on the thick, soft flokati rug in front of the fireplace. His body was a warm wall of man and muscle and she gloried in pressing into him. Their legs tangled together and his forearm was a living pillow beneath her ear as he leaned down to kiss her again.

She welcomed him with open arms, loving the way his sweatshirt rubbed lightly against her chest as he braced himself above her. He kissed her long and slow, taking his time, in no rush to advance his cause, for which she was incredibly grateful.

So many guys just fell on her. Kiss, tongue, grope, go for the bra hooks…as if it was a checklist to be hurried through en route to equally hurried sex. But Reese… Reese took his time, savoring every step along the way. She actually had no idea if sex was even his end goal here. She got the impression that possibly this was all he had in mind tonight.

Honestly, she loved how it took the pressure off her to put out, how she was able to just relax and enjoy the moment without having to mentally steel herself to say no and be blasted by accusations and recriminations about being a cock tease.

Eventually, Reese propped himself up on an elbow and smoothed her hair back from her face. He murmured, “I could look at you all day and all night and never get tired of doing it.”

“I don’t know. After a while your eyeballs might start bleeding.”

“Why do you put yourself down like that?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Saves other people the trouble of doing it, I guess.”

He smiled a little. “Spoken like the baby of a family that engaged in a lot of teasing.”

“Spoken like a man who knows my siblings.”

“I know one of them quite well, and Jordana teases and makes jokes to lighten stressful situations.” A look of concern flashed across his face. “This isn’t a stressful situation for you, is it?” He sat up quickly.

She sat as well, but more slowly. “Not at all. In fact, I have been thinking about how nice it was not to feel pressured to end up in bed with you, tonight.”

“For real?” he asked quietly.

“For real,” she answered firmly. “You’re a gentleman, and I really, really appreciate that.”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “I’ve been called old-fashioned a time or two. Women looking for a hookup don’t appreciate my desire to get to know them before I sleep with them.” He shrugged. “First, I want—” He broke off.

“What?” she asked, dying to know what he wanted before having sex. Not that she was looking to—

Oh, who was she kidding? She was totally looking to have sex with him eventually.

“I want to get to know a woman. Have a personal connection. An actual relationship.”

“Wow. That’s enlightened of you.”

He glanced up quickly as if checking to see if she was being sarcastic or not. She smiled and added, “I mean it.”

She leaned forward, placing her hand on his cheek which was warm and smooth with just a hint of razor stubble starting to roughen it. She kissed him chastely, but found herself lingering over the kiss. Never in her life had she liked kissing a man the way she liked kissing this one.

He sighed and dropped a light kiss on the end of her nose. “It’s getting late, and the roads have to be awful by now. I shouldn’t have kept you this long. I’m sorry. It was selfish of me.”

“Do you see me complaining?” she asked tartly.

He smiled and rose smoothly to his feet, then held a hand down to her. She laid her hand in his bigger, callused one, loving how his grip swallowed her whole hand. He tugged her to her feet. “Give me five minutes to warm up the truck and put the chains on my tires, okay?”

He went outside and she carried the mugs and marshmallows back to the kitchen. She studied the puzzle box sitting on his kitchen table. What secrets did it hold?

Reese came into the kitchen on a blast of cold air and commented, “I’ll bring that box into your lab in the morning for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Bundle up. It’s getting nippy out there.”

Nippy hardly covered the way the cold hurt to breathe in and made her face feel stiff and numb. Frigid was more like it.

Reese followed her around to the passenger side of his truck and put his hands on her waist to steady her as she climbed in. She loved how his big hands spanned so much of her waist. Huh. Normally, she hated feeling small. But she liked it with him. Maybe because he seemed to like it so much.

He closed the door carefully behind her and then climbed in the driver’s side. He backed out of his garage and turned out into the street, or rather the white sheet of snow roughly where she estimated a street to be.

Snow blew horizontally through the beams of his headlights, like crystalline diamond dust. She was silent, letting him concentrate on his driving. But after he made a left turn where he should have turned right, she piped up. “The Dexter house is in the other direction. That’s where my car is parked.”

“Do you have chains for your tires?”

“No.”

“Exactly. I’m driving you to your house tonight. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you to your car, then. Assuming the storm has blown through by then and driving conditions have improved.”

“That’s way out of your way. It’s too much trouble—”

He cut her off. “I didn’t ask your permission. I told you what I’m doing.”

“You’re so high-handed!” she exclaimed. “And stubborn! And a know-it-all.”

He shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “Do you have a safer idea?”

Safer? No. More convenient? Absolutely.

He must have taken her silence for consent to his plan because he said, “What time should I pick you up? Is eighty thirty too early? I have a meeting at nine.”

“I—no. I mean yes. You can pick me up at eight thirty.” She added with a huff, “That’s fine.” How did that man always seem to get the best of her? It was infuriating!

He pulled into the driveway of her Cape Cod cottage with its long porch and peaked roof covered in a thick blanket of white. He put the truck in Park but said, “Don’t get out. I’ll come around and help you.”

“Reese. I can walk to my front door all by myself.”

“And yet, I’m going to help you. My boots have cleats, and I can see the sheet of ice on your sidewalk. Last thing I need is for the forensic scientist working on my big murder case to break her leg.”

There he went again, being right. Darn him.

He lifted her out of the truck, set her on her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. In his big, fleece-lined rancher’s coat, he felt like a bear giving her a hug. She was chagrined when a big gust of wind hit, and her feet did slide out from under her about halfway to her front door. Reese caught her and steadied her until she regained her balance, and they made it up the steps and to the door without further incident.

She unlocked the door and, hand on the knob, turned to thank Reese.

He beat her to the punch, though, and said, “Thanks for tonight. Get some rest and call me if you develop any dizziness, nausea, vomiting or disorientation.”

She recognized a list as warning signs of a concussion. “Will do.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He leaned down, gave her one last lingering kiss and then gently pushed her inside.

In the morning, indeed.

She was shocked to realize she was practically floating through her house as she hung up her coat and got ready for bed. Man. She had it bad for him. She even set her alarm a half hour early so she’d have extra time to get up and get ready.

Her bed was icy cold when she climbed under the covers, and she missed the warmth of his embrace as she settled down to sleep and dream of marshmallow kisses.

* * *

The storm was still howling around her house when her alarm jangled, waking her from a delicious dream of a certain hot detective and his amazing kissing skills. Well, fudge. She’d been hoping to wear something cute to work today, but instead, she was going to have to go full Michelin Man.

She pulled on thin wool long johns, jeans, a white turtleneck and a thick sky-blue ski sweater with a ring of snowmen around the yoke. She pulled her dark hair back in a long clip at the back of her head and took extra care with her makeup this morning. She stomped into a pair of thick-soled after-ski boots and laid out her puffy down-filled coat, light blue hat with its jaunty white pom-pom, mittens and a long scarf.

Exactly at eighty thirty, Reese’s big silver truck turned into her driveway. She could set a clock by that guy. Although, truth be told, it was reassuring to know he would always be exactly where he said he would be, when he said he’d be there. She’d dated enough flakes in her life to appreciate a punctual man.

She hurried into her cold weather gear as he walked up her sidewalk and opened the door for him just as he hit the front porch. “Hi there,” she said brightly.

“Good morning. Are you always this chipper first thing?”

“Not usually before a cup of coffee,” she answered, laughing. “I just happen to love a good blizzard. Always have.”

“Were you the type to build a snowman and make a fleet of snow angels?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“Absolutely. You?”

He climbed into the warm cab of the truck. “I was more the snow fort and piles of snowballs type.”

“You have brothers, don’t you?” she asked.

“Two younger ones. It was usually me in the fort with my brothers tag-teaming me from outside.”

“In our house, snowball fights usually lined up girls against the boys.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” he protested.

She shrugged. “We girls usually lost, but we also usually got even by dumping snow down the collars of the boys’ coats.”

“Wow. Vicious.”

“The motto of the Colton women is, Don’t Get Mad. Get Even.”

He grinned over at her. “Duly noted.”

They drove a few minutes in silence, and it dawned on her that he wasn’t heading toward the Dexter house and her car this morning, either.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My nine o’clock interview cancelled. Thought you might like a cup of coffee, or maybe some breakfast, before we go pick up your car.”

“Why Mr. Carpenter,” she teased in a thick southern belle accent, “are you asking me out on a date?”

He glanced over at her, his eyes unaccountably hot. “What if I am?”

“Well, I do declare.” She fanned herself with an imaginary fan.

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

They pulled in to the local diner, which was blessedly open and surprisingly busy. Apparently, a number of businesses had either closed or were opening late today, and given the number of children in the joint, schools were obviously closed, too.

A couple got up to leave just as they stepped inside, and the waitress waved her and Reese over to the table as she cleared it. They slid into the booth, and Yvette was abruptly aware of lots of stares, some surreptitious, some open, in their direction.

She murmured, “Why are people looking at us? Do I have mascara running down my face or something?”

“No. You’re perfect. They’re all staring because I’m with the prettiest girl in town.”

She smiled shyly at the warmth in his voice. “Flatterer. Actually, I think it’s because they’re jealous of me being with the most eligible bachelor in Braxville.”

He snorted. “I think one of your brothers probably holds that title.”

“All my brothers are officially off the market these days. Or hadn’t you heard?”

“That’s what Jordana said. I’m happy for them.”

“Or maybe it’s just the dozens of women you’ve dated before, pitying me for being your next conquest.”

Reese gave a wholly satisfying snort at that notion. “I don’t date local women.”

Really? Now, that surprised her. “Why not?” she asked.

“What if I have to investigate one or arrest one, someday? How awkward would that be?”

“So, you don’t plan to date me, then?” she asked in a small voice.

“You’re different. You’re on the force.”

“Hmm. You strike me as the type who wouldn’t date someone you work with.”

“Yes, but I don’t really work with you. Our paths cross in our individual jobs from time to time, but you’re not in my chain of command, and I’m not in yours.”

“How do you know I won’t commit a felony, someday?”

He tilted his head to study her for long enough that she had to suppress an urge to squirm. “Do you think of yourself as capable of committing a serious crime?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I suppose in the right circumstances. Like if someone I loved was in mortal danger, I might be capable of violence. Or if a child or helpless animal was being hurt, I might go after the abuser.”

“Those would be classed as justifiable crimes. I doubt you’d be prosecuted in either scenario.”

“What about you?” she asked curiously.

“Same. I’ve been known to be protective of my friends and family.” He paused, then added, “Unfortunately, engaging in a certain amount of violence is a potential part of my job. My least favorite part of it, in fact.”

“Have you ever…you know…shot anyone?” She asked the last part in a hush.

“Thankfully, no. But I have to be prepared mentally to do it.”

“Does the idea bother you?” she asked.

“Of course, it does. I hate the idea of taking a life. I would consider it a complete failure on my part if I couldn’t talk a person out of the thing that would force me to shoot them. My job is to prevent violence, not meet violence with violence. That’s the last resort.”

“That’s a progressive view, Detective.”

He shrugged. “It’s the ethical and moral view. Has nothing to do with being progressive.”

“That’s you. Mr. Ethics-and-Morals.”

Darned if his eyes didn’t get that sexy glint in them again. “I’m not always an uptight good guy, you know.”

“Do tell.” She leaned forward with interest to hear this one. “When, exactly, do you set aside your white hat and superhero cape?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Challenge accepted,” she declared immediately. Their stares met, and sexual lightning crackled back and forth between them. It was a wonder they weren’t blowing this place apart with it.

Sudden awareness of being in a very public locale with half the town looking on burst over her. She broke the stare and looked away hastily.

“How’s the back of your head feeling this morning?” Reese asked neutrally enough.

“Sore where I hit it, but I took a couple of aspirin when I woke up and the headache’s mostly gone.”

“Good. Means you probably didn’t get a concussion. I was worried about you last night. You looked on the verge of puking, there, for a while.”

“I was on the verge. But I was determined not to barf in front of you,” she confessed.

He smiled. “In my line of work, I’ve seen most of the human bodily functions any number of times.”

“Have you ever delivered a baby?” she asked.

“Two. Messy, but totally cool.”

He leaned back and took a sip from his water glass before changing the subject. “How’s your family doing? Y’all have been through a rough time recently, what with the arsenic thing and then the murdered bodies in a building the Colton Construction Firm built.”

“If only that was all we were dealing with,” she sighed.

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” He sounded genuinely interested, and not just like a nosy neighbor. Maybe that was why she gave him a baldly honest answer. That, and he would just ask Jordana what she was hinting at if she didn’t go ahead and tell him herself.

“My parents aren’t exactly doing great. They’ve had some sort of major falling out, but I’m not sure what it’s about. It seems serious, though. They treat each other like polite strangers these days. Mom’s totally giving Dad the cold shoulder.”

He frowned a little. “Your mom is capable of giving anyone the cold shoulder? No way. She’s one of the warmest, kindest people I know.”

She shrugged. “At least my siblings seem to be happy for the most part. The whole gang seems to have found true love.” She added wistfully, “Except for me, of course.”

“Maybe you’ve already found it and you just don’t know it, yet.”

Her gaze snapped up to Reese’s, and his eyes were shockingly serious. Was he talking about himself? They barely knew each other. They’d made out once over marshmallows. Holy moly.

A friendly looking older woman wearing an apron approached the table. “Hey, Reese. Some weather we’re having, isn’t it? How are the roads?”

“Hey, Lola,” he answered. “It’s bad out there. Forecast calls for it to clear up around noon, though. I expect it’ll take the snow plows a few hours to clear the major roads after that.”

“Great. Maybe by quitting time I’ll be able to get home without risking my neck. What can I get you kids to eat?”

“The special,” Yvette and Reese said simultaneously.

“How do you want your eggs?” the waitress asked, pencil poised over a pad.

“Sunny-side up,” Yvette answered.

“Over hard,” Reese supplied.

“Bacon or sausage?” Lola asked.

“Bacon,” Yvette answered promptly.

“Sausage,” Reese chimed in.

It figured. The two of them never agreed on anything. Yvette mentally rolled her eyes.

“Toast or biscuit?”

“Wheat toast, buttered,” Reese supplied.

“Can I substitute a bagel?” she asked.

“You bet.”

Lola moved over to the pass-through window to the kitchen and shouted out their order.

Yvette smiled ruefully at Reese. “We’re pretty much opposites in every way, aren’t we?”

He shrugged. “We both wanted the special. That’s agreement after a fashion. And, honestly, I like the fact that you’re confident enough to do your own thing without feeling a need to imitate me.”

“Keep that in mind the next time you’re in the lab trying to tell me how to do my job,” she retorted.

He grinned and poured her a cup of coffee from the steaming pot Lola set on their table. “Black?” he tried.

Yvette threw him a withering look. “Cream and sugar, of course. You can pretty much think about what you’d choose, do the opposite, and you’ll get me right.”

He rolled his eyes as he passed her the pitcher of cream and sugar dish. “I should’ve guessed you’d want your caffeine to taste like ice cream after the way you enjoyed those marshmallows last night.”

She smirked knowingly. “The way I liked them best was on you.”

Abruptly, his blue eyes were smoldering, the color of a flame burning super hot. “See? We agree again. I like marshmallows best on your lips, too. Or on the tip of your tongue. Or in the sweet, dark recesses of your mouth. Remind me next time to try out some marshmallow crème on other parts of your anatomy.”

Suddenly it was her turn to be unaccountably out of breath. “Uhh, sure. That sounds—” she searched for a word. Sticky didn’t convey the romantic vibe she was looking for. “—amazing.”

“It’s a date.”

Wowsers. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just agreed to have sex, or at least sexy foreplay with the hot detective.

Thankfully, their breakfast arrived before she burned to a cinder where she sat, charred to nothing by the heat in Reese’s eyes. They ate quietly. Maybe he was as disconcerted by the direction of their conversation as she was.

She insisted on paying for the bill, both in thanks for last night’s rescue and in gratitude for the rides he was giving her in his big, safe truck. The looks and side-eyes continued as they left the diner, and she was vividly aware of the light touch of Reese’s hand on the small of her back as they reached the door. Was that just common courtesy, or was he sending a subtle signal to the single men in the room that she was taken? Either way, her heart pitter-pattered at the light, possessive touch.

“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked as they pulled into the parking lot of the police department.

“Getting this rascal open.” She patted last night’s puzzle box resting on the seat between them.

“Shout out if you get stuck,” Reese offered.

“Will do. What about you?” she asked as they walked carefully toward the building. “What are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have that interview this morning?”

“I’m going to go back and review the whole murder case one more time. See if anything jumps out at me in light of the recent information you provided about the murders happening at different times of year. That, and the fact that Markus Dexter has been paranoid and secretive for a long time.”

“Shout out if you get stuck,” she offered.

“Will do.” He opened the building door and held it for her, saying as she slid past him, “Oh, and Yvette, would you mind dropping by my desk at some point to make a formal report about last night? I already filed a preliminary report, but I’ll need a statement from you to make it official.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

They traded quick smiles and parted ways in the lobby of the building. Reese headed for his desk in the squad room, and she headed downstairs to her lab. What a great way to start a day. She felt refreshed and energized after her meal—and conversation—with Reese. She counted it a victory that they seemed to have moved past their bickering to a more flirtatious brand of teasing. Marshmallows and making out would do that with a guy, apparently.

CHAPTER 7

A quick X-ray of what she was starting to call That Blasted Box down at the morgue revealed one fascinating piece of information. Nestled in the exact center of the puzzle box was a metal key.

The rest of the box was made of wood, however, and the X-ray was not helpful in showing her how to open it. Which sent her to the internet and a deep dive into how Chinese puzzle boxes were built. She figured out quickly enough that this one had been handmade, which was not good news. It meant that the builder could have constructed it to open unlike any traditional puzzle box.

But she did learn enough about how the boxes were built in general to begin moving panels and pressing hidden buttons. Reese’s suggestion to just smash the thing resonated through her mind ever more frequently as the day aged.

She was hunched over the stupid thing concentrating intently, her neck and shoulders cramping, and only sheer, cussed stubbornness keeping her poking and prodding at the box when a hand landed on her shoulder without warning. She jumped violently, leaped out of her seat and spun around, hands coming up defensively in front of her before she was even conscious of moving.

“Easy, Yvie,” Reese said, stepping back and holding his hands up in the air.

“Sorry,” she muttered, chagrined at her overreaction.

“That’s some startle reflex you’ve got, there.”

She winced. Unfortunately, she knew exactly where it came from. She’d had a coworker at Quantico who’d gotten excessively handsy with her until she’d taken an intensive, weekend-long self-defense class. The next time he’d snuck up on her and wrapped his arms around her waist, he’d gotten a nasty surprise in the form of a donkey kick to the groin and bloody scratches across his face.

He’d tried to press charges, but the senior lab supervisor had seen Yvette’s attack as self-defense and promised to tell authorities about the guy’s ongoing harassment of Yvette if the guy made a formal complaint. The handsy coworker had backed off. Soon after that incident, he’d transferred to another lab.

While she’d been grateful for the support, the jerk had gotten off with a stern warning to leave the female employees alone, and she was left with a hair-trigger startle reflex over being touched at work.

She sighed. “It’s not you. I’ve had problems in the past with a male coworker grabbing me.”

Reese’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. He asked tightly, “Who is it?”

He thought she meant here in Braxville. “I had the problem in Virginia. Not here.”

Reese relaxed fractionally, but the thunderous set of his brows didn’t ease. “If anything like that ever happens to you here, you tell me about it. Okay?”

“It’s all right. I can handle—”

“Stop being so cussedly independent, woman. If someone harasses you or does or says anything the least bit inappropriate to you here, promise you’ll tell me.”

“Umm—”

“Promise.”

It was her turn to throw up her hands. “All right, already. I promise. But I’ve had a self-defense class. I can protect myself.”

“I believe you. But I can kick someone’s ass into last week. And if someone around here lays hands on you without your consent, it’ll be needed.”

Who knew Reese would go all caveman over protecting her right to consent? And who knew she would find it wildly attractive to have a man go all macho and protective on her behalf like this?

She gave herself a mental shake. “Change of subject—I found out what’s inside the puzzle box.”

“You opened it?” he exclaimed. “Show me how it works.”

“No, I x-rayed it. There’s a key inside. I haven’t figured out the whole mechanism, yet. I think I’ve got it about half solved, though. Stupid thing is built in layers—puzzle boxes nesting inside puzzle boxes. Whoever built it was freaking diabolical. Maybe you can figure out the next layer?” she asked.

“I’d love to stick around and help you, but I’ve got that interview from this morning in about fifteen minutes. I thought I’d pop down to see if you’d eaten today.”

Food? Oh, right. She glanced at the big clock on the wall over the door. It was going on three o’clock. She shrugged. “I’ll grab something when I get hungry.”

“No wonder you’re no bigger than a hamster. You don’t eat enough.”

“A hamster?” she squawked. “I remind you of a rodent?”

He grinned. “A cute, cuddly rodent that you really want to pick up and hold and pet, except it’ll bite the shit out of your hand if you try.”

“I should punch you in the stomach again.”

His grin widened. “You can try. But now that I know you’re the impulsive type, I’ll be on my guard.”

“For the record, I don’t generally run around attacking people.”

“Good to know.” He held out a paper sack. “I went to a deli for lunch, and I grabbed an extra sandwich. Just in case.”

“If that’s your afternoon snack, I’m not taking it.”

“No, Yvie. I got it for you. Jordana said corned beef on rye is your favorite. I ordered it with extra mustard and light sauerkraut, exactly the opposite of how I would order it for myself.”

“That’s perfect!” she exclaimed. “Exactly how I like my corned beef sandwiches.”

“Of course, it is,” he replied wryly.

Whoa. He’d found out what her favorite sandwich was? In her experience, men didn’t go to that kind of trouble unless they were seriously interested in a woman. “Umm, thanks.” She took the brown paper bag and smiled up at him. “This was really sweet of you.”

“I’d love to help you with that puzzle box, but I’ve got to run. Don’t forget to come up and make a report about last night.”

“I won’t.”

Except, after she ate the sandwich and went back to work on the box, time got away from her again. The next time she looked up it was nearly five o’clock. Rats. She locked the lab and hurried upstairs. Shift change was approaching, which meant not only were the day shift cops still at their desks, but the night shift guys were also milling around. She wound through the crowd to Reese’s desk. He looked up from a file and his eyes lit with pleasure.

Warmth filled her belly as she smiled back at him.

“Here to make that report?” he murmured.

“Affirmative.”

“Have a seat,” he said formally.

She perched on the hard wooden chair beside his desk, and he pushed a yellow legal pad toward her along with a pen.

“I need you to write down what happened last night at the Dexter home in as much detail as you can remember.”

“I can remember a lot of detail. I’m a forensic scientist after all.”

“Then it’ll be a long report.”

“Okay,” she said doubtfully, anticipating a bad case of writer’s cramp. Biting her lower lip, she started to write. Out of the corner of her eye, she was vaguely aware of other cops checking out what she was doing at Reese’s desk. Gradually, she became aware that Reese was starting to scowl. The longer she wrote, the grumpier his expression became. Finally, she looked up directly at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not at all. Continue.”

“Then why do you look ready to rip the heads off bunnies with your bare hands?”

“Bunnies? I would never!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Don’t worry about it, Yvette. Finish your statement.”

She put her head back down and wrote the last few lines, the part where Reese scared away the intruder and came upstairs to rescue her. As she laid down the pen, she heard a ripple of laughter behind her and turned to check it out. The laughter cut off abruptly, and a cluster of cops across the room looked away from her hastily, coughing conspicuously.

She looked back at Reese who did, indeed, look ready to commit homicide. “What am I missing?” she asked him under her breath.

“You’re missing some of the young guys being jackasses behind your back. Ignore them.”

“Jackasses how?”

He sighed. “They’re making faces at me because you’re sitting at my desk.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“They think you’re attractive and are harassing me about having a thing for you.”

“Oh. Well, then. I can take care of that,” she said breezily.

She stood up and moved around the corner of the desk as Reese watched her warily. Before she could lose her nerve, she took his face in both of her hands, leaned down and planted a smoking-hot kiss on him, complete with passion, heat and tongue.

Reese froze initially, but as his mouth opened against hers and she deepened the kiss, he abruptly kissed her back. His tongue sparred with hers and it was a duel to see who gave whom a tonsillectomy first. His hand came up and slid under her hair at the nape of her neck, urging her even deeper into the kiss. She melted into him, loving the way their mouths fit together, the deep, drugging suction, the carnal intensity of their lips and tongues clashing and blending.

Blood surged through her veins, her heart pounded, and honest to goodness, her knees went weak. Hot dang, that man could kiss the stripes off a zebra. She could fall into him and blissfully drown—

They were in the middle of the squad room, for crying out loud!

She tore her mouth away from his and jerked upright, panting. His hand slipped from her neck as she pulled away. For his part, Reese stared up at her, his blue eyes glazed, looking rather hectic, himself.

“Right then,” she managed to choke out. She made eye contact with him for the briefest moment and then her courage failed her. She turned and fled. It was all she could do not to break into a run as she scurried across the squad room.

But as she passed by the group of now slack-jawed beat cops, she did gather herself enough to say cheerfully, “Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen. Oh, and he kisses like a god.”

She made it out into the hall before she sagged against a wall to catch her breath. When was she going to learn to control her wild impulses? Lord knew, they got her into trouble more often than not. She could not believe she’d just kissed Reese Carpenter in the middle of the squad room. And he’d kissed her back.

Thankfully, she made it all the way back to the basement without running into anyone in the hall. Her face felt as if it was on fire, and her hair was falling out of its bun where Reese hand plunged his fingers into it. She must look like a complete mess. A well-kissed, complete mess.

Oh, God. She’d just completely blown it with Reese. No way would he forgive her for embarrassing him like that. What had she been thinking? She liked him. Really liked him. He was the first man in a long time that she’d been seriously interested in, as in potential long-term relationship material. They were so different from each other, but also shockingly compatible. And she’d had to go and humiliate the man, in front of his coworkers, no less. She was the biggest idiot ever.

If possible, her cheeks burned even more.

The worst of it was she knew better. If she’d learned nothing from having three mischievous older brothers, it was not to rise to the bait when they dared her to do anything. But today, she’d taken one look at those leering cops, and it was as if they’d dared her to do something outrageous to wipe those smirks off their faces.

She ducked into a ladies’ room to redo her hair, but there was nothing to be done about the razor burn around her mouth, the faint swelling and rosy color of her lips, nor about the rather dazed look in her eyes. Enjoy it for the last time, girlfriend. Because as sure as you’re standing here, you chased that man far, far away from you.

Reese Carpenter might have a secret wild streak of his own, but not while he was at work. Never while he was on the job.

Depressed and disappointed in herself, she peered out into the hallway. All clear. Mortified, she ran for her lab, sighing in relief to make it inside without being seen by anyone.

But no sooner had the door closed behind her than her personal cell phone rang. Grimacing, she pulled it out of her pocket to see who was calling.

Jordana.

She would love to ignore the call, but her sister knew where to find her and wasn’t the sort to let go of a bone once she had it firmly between her teeth.

“Hey, sis.”

“What in the heck did you just do?”

Summoning her best innocent voice, Yvette responded, “What are you talking about?”

“You kissed Reese Carpenter? In the freaking squad room?” Her sister’s voice rose in pitch with every syllable. It was not often that Jordana Colton actually screeched.

“Oh. That. Yeah.” God, she hoped the words sounded easy-breezy. Truth was, her stomach was in a total knot, now.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the guys making fun of him and me deserved to be put in their places and shut up.”

“And you thought kissing my partner was the way to do that? Do you know nothing about cops? That kiss is already the talk of the whole department!”

Yvette closed her eyes in chagrin. Jordana was right. Police departments were as rife with gossip as any other workplace. Maybe more so. “Okay, fine. You’re right. I should have realized it wouldn’t shut anyone up.”

“I thought you two hated each other’s guts. Is there something going on between you two that I should know about?” Jordana asked suspiciously.

“God, no.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew them for the lie they were. Well, partially a lie. Yes, there was something going on. A truce, apparently. The mother of all truces, in fact. But no, she had no interest in her sister knowing about it.

Reese was like a brother to Jordana. Which, by default, somehow made her and Reese siblings in Jordana’s mind. At least, that was how she’d described it to Yvette some months ago when Reese and Yvette had gone through a particularly bad patch of sniping at each other, and Jordana had intervened to referee. She’d told them that she loved them both and wanted them to get along like her other siblings.

That seemed a lifetime ago. And yet, now that she thought about it, she’d thrown him out of her lab in no uncertain terms a mere two days ago. All of a sudden, there definitely was something going on between her and the man who’d driven her crazy—not in a good way—for the past year.

What was she thinking? Two days ago, she would have laughed her head off at anyone who suggested that she kiss Reese Carpenter, ever, let alone in the squad room.

“Could you dial back on kissing my partner, Yvie? Your behavior reflects on me, too, you know.”

“I’m sorry, J. I knew better. But I just got so mad when they all laughed at him and me.”

Jordana laughed a little. “It’s not as if you’ve ever had great control of your temper.”

“Gee. Thanks. Love you, too, sis.”

“Aww, c’mon, Yvie. I love you to death. But you and I both know you can fly off the handle when properly provoked.”

She sighed. “Guilty as charged. I’ll apologize to Reese the next time I see him.”

“That’s between you two. I’ll do what damage control I can. I’ll call it a joke. Make sure they all know there’s nothing going on between you two. That you two can’t stand each other.”

“Umm, right. Sure. Thanks.”

“You’re still coming to Lou’s retirement party, right?”

“I don’t think so. Not after this—”

“Chicken.”

Coltons were a lot of things, but chickens were not one of those things. In fact, it was a long-held family tradition that no Colton ever backed away from a dare. It had gotten her and all of her siblings in trouble from time to time over the years. And apparently, it was about to get her in trouble again, now.

“Fine. I’ll go to your stupid party,” Yvette declared.

Jordana hung up before she could call the words back.

Tonight, she had to correct her sister’s mistaken impression of whatever was going on between her and Reese. Convince Jordana they were…

They were what?

Friends?

Friends with benefits?

Two people who hated each other’s guts but were wildly attracted to each other?

Heck if she knew what they were.

One thing she did know. She did hate not being completely honest with her big sister. But honestly, it was none of Jordana’s business what went on between her and Reese off duty…except that it was. Reese and Jordana were partners. They needed total trust, complete honesty, and to trust their lives to each other.

She had no right to interfere in their working relationship. She sighed and started to call Jordana back. Except a text came through to her phone that made her fingers freeze on the numbers. A text from Reese.

I’ll be down in ten minutes to get you. Be ready to go.

Gulp.

CHAPTER 8

That man could be so bossy! So infuriating! Who did he think he was, ordering her around like that?

She interrupted her own tirade with a dose of cold reality. She owed him not only an apology, but a reckoning. If he wanted to come down here and chew her up one side and down the other, he had that right. She’d acted completely inappropriately and had embarrassed him. Time to face the music for her reckless behavior.

Glumly, she put away the puzzle box, powered down the lab equipment and locked the place up. Reese had barely opened the door before she turned off the lights, joined him in the hall and locked the door behind herself.

“Let’s go,” he said tersely.

At least the man had the good grace to get her out of the building before he ripped into her. That was classy of him.

Saying nothing to her, he strode out of the basement, leading her out the back way to a police-only parking lot behind the building. It was dark outside and his strides were so long and quick that she had to half jog to keep up with him.

He opened the passenger door of the truck for her and closed it behind her without comment. In fact, he drove out of the lot, turned down the street and made it all the way to the Dexter house, where her car was still parked, without breaking his stony silence. Was he that furious at her?

He pulled to a stop in the circular drive behind her little car and she blurted, “I’m sorry, Reese. I got mad that they were laughing at you—at us—and I didn’t stop to think. I’m sorry I embarrassed you, and I shouldn’t have done that in our mutual work environment. It was unprofessional and stupid. And given that I’ve been sexually harassed at work before, I should have known not to do the same to you—”

He leaned across the truck swiftly and kissed her hard as he swept his arms around her. He pulled her tight against his body and kissed her every bit as passionately as she’d kissed him earlier.

Shock stilled her in his arms. What did this mean? Was this some sort of revenge kiss? Or could it possibly mean he wasn’t as mad at her as she’d thought? Was he punishing her? Saying goodbye? Showing her what she couldn’t have in the future?

But then the kiss itself commanded so much of her attention that the little voices in her head faded into the background of his mouth moving against hers, his body moving against hers, his arms going around her and drawing her close.

His mouth was hot and wet and dark, and tasted of coffee. She threw herself into the kiss, gladly losing herself in him. In the moment.

Even now, he made her feel desired. Sexy. Beautiful. She reveled in the hardness of his chest, loved the strength of his arms. His breathing was fast and light, and she delighted in doing that to him as he kissed his way across her jaw and took the lobe of her ear lightly between his teeth. If this was a last kiss goodbye, she was going to miss this more than words could express.

“Next time you want to kiss me like that, do it in private, okay?” he murmured against her neck, just below her ear.

She froze. Had she heard him correctly? Next time? He was prepared to kiss her again, as in continue a relationship with her?

“Of course,” she panted. She tilted her head back to give him better access to her throat, and he took immediate advantage of it to kiss the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her throat.

His lips moved on the delicate skin there. “Because I don’t want to have to stop kissing you again once we get started like that.”

She leaned back far enough to look at his shadowed face as he lifted his head to stare down at her. His eyes were hard to see in the dim interior of his truck. “Does that mean you forgive me?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yup.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

He continued to stare down at her in the electronic glow of the dashboard for a long moment. “Yes. I’m sure.”

She smiled up at him tentatively. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I was terrified I’d blown it with you.”

He smiled crookedly. “Are you kidding? I’m a hero, department-wide.”

“Why?” she blurted.

“You’re generally considered to be the unattainable ice queen. The gang was pleased to discover you’re human after all.”

“Don’t BS me. They’re teasing you like crazy over it.”

“Absolutely.” A smile started with an upward curve of the corners of his mouth and spread slowly across his face. “But they’re all jealous as hell of me.”

“Why?”

“That was some kiss you laid on me.”

“Mmm. It was, wasn’t it?”

His mouth descended toward hers again. “Yes, ma’am. It was.”

The windows of his truck were completely steamed up when Reese finally pulled away from her with a sigh. “I’m not making love with you in the cab of my truck. At least not the first time. But if we don’t stop soon, that’s exactly where we’re headed.”

She looked around, measuring the distance between the seat and the dashboard. “If you push your seat all the way back and I straddle—”

“Stop.” There was enough pained discomfort in his voice that she took pity on him and didn’t finish describing what she had in mind for christening his truck.

“You going to Lou’s retirement party?” he asked casually.

Crud. She’d totally forgotten about that. “I think I’ll skip—”

He cut her off. “I could really use you to show up, even if just for a few minutes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your, umm, attention to me over the past couple of days is causing a lot of talk. It’s interfering with me doing my job.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“It’s okay. I just need you to show up at the bar, be casual around me for a few minutes while I’m casual around you, and then you can split. But Chief Hilton’s asking questions about whether or not you and I can work together professionally or not. I’d hate to have the, umm, recent incidents impact our performance reports.”

Gulp. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Reese’s career or chances at promotion. And goodness knew, she didn’t need any reprimands in her permanent file about harassing a coworker. Not if she wanted to get hired by a big, prestigious forensics lab in a year or two.

“I get it. Not to mention I owe you one for saving my neck at the Dexter house.”

“You don’t owe me for that. I was just doing my job,” he protested.

“Nonetheless. I’m the one who’s caused you problems with the boss. It’s up to me to fix it.”

She climbed in her car and followed him downtown to Dusty Rusty’s. The parking lot was close to full with the muscular pickup trucks a lot of the cops favored, and she winced as she parked her little car among them.

She spotted Reese parking and waited for him to go inside ahead of her. Giving him enough of a head start that nobody would suspect they’d arrived together—she hoped—she took a deep breath, climbed out of her car and trudged toward the bar.

Casual. She could do this. They still hated each other’s guts and were just enjoying a temporary truce. Reese was an uptight jerk. He made her crazy.

Yeah. Crazy to kiss him senseless and get inside his pants.

Drat. The I-hate-Reese pep talk was a total flop.

Plan B: go inside and ignore Reese. It was what she would have done a few days ago.

Okay. She could do that. She stepped inside and was bombarded by heat and noise and the overwhelming smell of beer. And man sweat. Ugh.

Did the fire marshal know this many cops were all crammed into Rusty’s tonight? She was half tempted to call the fire department and report a building capacity violation. Until she spotted the fire chief bellied up to the bar. Sigh.

“Hey, Yvie!” Her sister’s voice rose above the din.

She turned toward the sound but couldn’t see Jordana in the press of big bodies. Lord, she hated being short, sometimes. She stood on her tiptoes, craning to see around the crowd and finally spotted her sister’s auburn hair between the shoulders of a couple of big guys hunched over the bar.

“Beer?” Jordana’s boyfriend, Clint, shouted at her when she finally reached the bar.

“Hate beer,” she shouted back. “I’ll have a seltzer water with a twist of lemon.” Not booze but it looked like a drink. Saved a whole lot of explanations about how she had so little body mass that she was a complete lightweight when it came to drinking. And besides, she made a practice of never drinking with her colleagues.

Eventually a glass was passed to her filled with clear, fizzy liquid, ice and a lemon section. Jordana and Clint had their heads pressed together and appeared to be having an intense conversation, so she picked up her drink to leave.

“Don’t go,” Jordana shouted. “We have something to tell you.”

She turned back to the couple, who looked so in love they practically glowed. A frisson of jealousy shivered through her belly. Must be nice to find that great a guy and have him fall head over heels for you. She noted the way Jordana leaned into Clint’s side and how he angled his body protectively beside her. Yeah. That. Having a little of that would be nice, someday.

“What’s up?” She leaned in close to avoid having to shout at the top of her lungs to be heard.

“I’ve decided to move to Chicago to be with Clint. His vacation is over and he has to go back to work. I’m going with him.”

She stared, shocked. Of all her siblings, Jordana seemed the most connected to Braxville. She was a cop, here, and everything. “What about your job? You love being a cop.”

“Tyler has offered me a job in his company.” Tyler was their oldest brother and a partner in a high-end security firm.

“It’s based in Wichita, not Chicago,” Yvette responded, confused.

“He’s opening an office in Chicago and wants me to head it up.”

Yvette looked back and forth between Jordana and Clint, who were still doing that glowing thing, darn it. “Well, of course, I’ll miss the heck out of you, but I’m happy for you guys.”

Jordana reached up to push her hair back and Yvette spied a sparkle on her sister’s left ring finger. She squealed and grabbed Jordana’s hand. “Lemme see! He proposed? When did this happen?”

“This afternoon. After I accepted Tyler’s offer and it was official that I’m moving to Chicago.”

The diamond was big and beautiful, surrounded by a ring of smaller baguettes and more diamonds across the band. “Dang, sis. That thing is a lethal weapon. Punch someone with that and they’re going down.”

“Hopefully, the security business will be slower paced than police work.”

Yvette grunted. Not bloody likely.

Clint grinned ruefully at her. “I keep trying to tell her to ease off the pedal a little, but I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon.”

Yvette laughed. “Good luck with that. We Coltons tend to live life at ninety miles an hour with our hair on fire.”

“I’d noticed that,” Clint replied dryly.

Yvette leaned forward and hugged her sister. “I’m so happy for you two. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find your partner and act casual around him so Chief Hilton will stop asking if Reese and I can work together like adults or not.”

She turned away fast to avoid being quizzed by her sister and plunged into the crowd. The trick at a party like this, where she knew a lot of people but none of them were close friends, was to keep moving and always appear to be headed across the room toward someone.

She kept an eye out for the police chief, Roger Hilton, and for Reese. If she could catch the two of them together, or at least in visual contact with each other, she could stroll up to Reese, act casual for a minute or two and then get out of here.

Rusty’s opened up in the back to a big seating area with dartboards along one side and a dance floor taking up the back half of the party space. TV screens mounted along the ceiling opposite the dartboards played several different sporting events at the moment. Thankfully, they were muted and weren’t competing to be heard over the noise of the whole police department, most of the fire department, most of the off-duty EMTs from the county hospital, and a host of other people from around town who knew Lou Hovitz.

Dang. Popular guy. If she retired tomorrow and threw a party, maybe a couple of her siblings might show up—if they weren’t busy doing laundry or something equally important. She supposed her mom would come. Lilly was loyal that way.

Yvette continued to move back and forth through the crowd in search of her twin targets, to no avail. Funny how lonely it was possible to feel in the middle of a big crowd. She’d left behind all her friends of the past several years in Virginia when she’d moved back to Braxville, and she felt that loss keenly now.

“Why the long face?” a male voice shouted in her ear.

She jumped and spun around to face Reese. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been playing darts. Your sister just kicked my ass, again.”

“We have a dartboard in my dad’s billiard room. Jordana’s been throwing darts her whole life. She’s the Colton family champion.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“God’s honest truth,” she shouted back.

He swore under his breath and then said to her, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Do you know where Roger Hilton is? He’s the one guy who needs to see us getting along tonight.”

“He’s dancing with his wife. Been out there a while.”

She turned her gaze to the mass of people currently boot scooting their way around the dance floor. It was so crowded she couldn’t spot the Hiltons at all. She leaned in close to ask Reese, “Should we wait for him to come off the floor and then go over together to say hello to him or something?”

“I have a better idea. Dance with me.”

Reese grabbed her drink and set it down on the nearest table along with his half-empty beer. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her out onto the dance floor before she even had a chance to say no.

The music was just changing into a country song made for two-stepping, and Reese confidently began shuffling around the floor with her. She hadn’t two-stepped in years, but she relaxed and let him guide her around the floor to the quick-quick-slow-slow rhythm. As it came back to her, she let her feet move on autopilot.

Reese wore a crisply starched white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal fine dark hairs on his forearms. His jeans were probably pressed and starched within an inch of their life, but she didn’t dare glance down to find out.

His hand was firm on her waist as he guided her smoothly around the crowded floor, his thigh occasionally rubbing against hers. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him which threw her more than a little off-balance. More than once, she had to catch herself by tightening her hand on his shoulder.

After two or three of those balance checks, each of which pulled her closer to him, she realized she was more or less plastered against him, her chest rubbing against his, her belly rubbing against the zipper of his jeans. Her breath came faster, and it had nothing to do with the dancing. Nope, her dance partner made her think about doing all kinds of hot, naughty things to his delicious body.

The song ended and the next one was slow and sexy with sultry vocals that melted her from the inside out. At least she hoped it was just the song. Otherwise, it was Reese having that dramatic effect on her.

He stared down at her, his normally blue eyes black in the dim light of the bar. Or maybe his pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared black. Either way, his gaze smoldered with intense heat. Oh, dear. Was he feeling the incendiary attraction between them, too?

His hand pressed against her back, drawing her even closer against him until her thighs nestled on either side of one of his. They were in intimate contact from her knees to her shoulders, and everywhere she touched him, he was hard and burning hot.

Her right hand rested on his shoulder, and her left hand curled around his waist, where she noted there wasn’t even a hint of an inner tube. Nope. This man was hard and lean, all muscle and restless energy.

And right now, that energy was aimed squarely at her. It vibrated through her, breaking the bonds between the molecules of her body until she felt like nothing more than a mass of tangled, separately tingling nerves. Taken all together, she was one giant hot mess.

Reese turned her in a slow, swaying circle, gradually spiraling her through the couples dotting the dance floor until the two of them were tucked in the back corner of the room, in the darkest, most heavily shadowed bit of the floor.

His head dipped down toward hers, and his mouth brushed against her temple. It was the lightest of kisses. It could even have been an accident. But then he murmured, “Is it just me, or is something definitely not casual happening between us?”

She pressed her eyes shut in chagrin. It was all she could do to stop herself from crawling all over his big, yummy body, right here, right now.

“We’ve got to dial this back,” he muttered. “You know. For our careers.”

“Right. Careers.” Good grief. When did she get so breathless? All they were doing out here was swaying back and forth in slow motion. Nothing athletic that would steal all the air from her lungs like this.

She realized she was leaning in to him, craving the heat of his body, reveling in the feel of it pressed tightly against hers. They fit together perfectly. He was taller than her, but not so much so that her small stature made her feel like a half-grown child next to him.

His arms surrounded her, holding her snugly against him. Given the quick rise and fall of his chest against her breasts she surmised he was relishing the contact between them as much as she was.

Casual. Careers. Truce. The boss.

Nope. Nothing was distracting her from her pool of liquid heat forming in the pit of her belly, yearning toward the hard, sexual promise of Reese’s body to fill that hungry void.

He turned to put his back to the room, effectively hiding her from everyone else in the joint. One of his hands left her back and reached between them, tilting her chin up. He leaned down and kissed her carnally, his tongue plunging into her mouth in a rhythmic imitation of sex. She surged up into the kiss on her tiptoes, her own tongue swirling around his. The smooth glide of lips on lips, the wrestling tangle of their tongues, the mingling of breath, stole what little breath she had left.

Gasping, she dropped back to flat-footed on the floor, burying her face against his shirt. He smelled of man and something tangy and citrus and delicious. Even the scent of him sent waves of need rolling through her.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured against her temple.

“Right. Yes.” Her mind skipped like a needle jumping to another track on an old vinyl album. “But, umm, casual. Boss. We have to be seen by Roger.”

“Screw casual.”

“I won’t wreck your career.” Ta-da. She was capable of forming a complete sentence!

“Screw that, too. Let’s go.” He surprised her by pushing her backward toward the wall behind her. She stumbled, shocked as it gave way and a blast of cold slammed into her shoulder blades.

A door. Rear exit, apparently.

Reese spun her outside and the door closed behind them.

“My coat—”

“I’ll text your sister to pick it up,” he muttered against her neck.

She threw her head back, loving the feel of his mouth on her bare skin. “Oh, that’ll go over great with her.” She stopped speaking while a head-to-toe shiver made her momentarily incapable of speech, then continued breathlessly, “No way will you be able to convince her there’s nothing going on between us if we flee the scene of the crime without even grabbing our coats.”

“I don’t care what she thinks,” he murmured as he caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently.

“You say that now. Have you ever seen my sister get a bone between her teeth and refuse to let go?”

He laughed a little, a sexy rumble in his chest that she felt through her whole body. “Yeah, actually. I have.” He straightened, throwing his arm over her shoulder and tucking her tightly against his side. “C’mon. It’s freezing out here.”

He hurried her over to his truck and piled her inside. From behind the bench seat, he pulled out a thick wool blanket that he threw over her and tucked in around her.

Moving around to the driver’s side, he climbed in, started the engine and pointed at a rotating dial. “Give the truck three minutes and then crank that all the way to the right. It’ll start throwing heat out at you.”

He opened his door again.

“Where are you going?” she blurted.

“Inside to get our coats.”

“Mine’s cream wool with a belt—”

He interrupted gently. “I know. I work with you. I’ve seen you come and go from the office every day for the past year. I’m familiar with your various coats.”

“You know my coats?” she asked incredulously.

“My favorite is the light blue ski jacket,” he commented casually as he climbed out. She stared, openmouthed as he shut the door and jogged off into the darkness. He paid attention to her coats? What did it mean? Was he merely observant, or did his attention to detail related to her mean…more?

No answers had come to her by the time Reese blew back into the truck cab on a gust of frigid air.

“Man. It’s getting cold out there,” Reese commented, pushing her coat across the now warm cab at her. “Feels like another storm may be blowing in.”

“I should drive my car home,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

“I’ll drive you. Roads will already be getting icy.”

“I have to get my car home, sometime,” she replied dryly.

“It won’t hurt anything spending the night here. I imagine a bunch of vehicles will end up being here overnight. Lots of cops inside are drinking and will know better than to drive afterward. Local rideshare guys are gonna get some good business out of Lou’s party.”

“You had a beer when I first saw you. Should you be driving?” she asked.

He ducked his chin a little. “I always buy one beer and dump half of it down a toilet. Then I carry it around the rest of the night.”

“You don’t drink?” she asked in surprise.

“Not often. And certainly not when I have to drive home. How about you? What was that in your glass?”

“Selzter water and a lemon,” she confessed.

He laughed a little. “Who knew we were such a couple of stick-in-the-muds?”

“Speak for yourself, Detective,” she replied tartly.

He grinned broadly at her. “I’ll keep the secret if you will.”

“Deal,” she replied, smiling back.

Honestly, she was relieved not to chance the bad roads in her lightweight car without four-wheel drive or chains for her tires. Her father and brothers had been trying to talk her into trading her fuel-efficient little car in for something bigger and heavier, suited to the bad weather that was known to blow in at this time of year. But to date, she’d resisted. She’d forgotten how bad these sudden blizzards could be out here on the Great Plains.

Ruefully, she said, “I’m trying to repair my reputation in the department. Leaving my car here in a blatant advertisement that I’ve gone home with someone else isn’t going to help matters one bit. As much as I appreciate your offer to drive me home, I need to get my car out of here.”

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll follow you to your place. If the roads are too bad for you or you get in trouble, I’ll be there to help. And, be careful. There are black ice patches on the roads.”

Black ice was the bane of Kansas roads at this time of year. The sun warmed snow and ice during the day into wet puddles. Then, at night, when temperatures fell below freezing, the puddles froze into sheets of clear ice that allowed the black pavement to be seen below. Hence, the name. The stuff was glass smooth and treacherous to drive on. Braking on a sheet of it was impossible. A car might as well be on an ice-skating rink.

“Will do.” Reluctantly, she shrugged into her coat, climbed out of the truck and tromped through drifts of snow already a foot deep to her car. Reese helped her brush the snow off her windshield and windows while the interior of the car warmed up.

When she was ready to go, she flashed Reese a thumbs-up and he trudged back to his truck and climbed in. With him following a safe distance behind, she did, indeed, drive home exceptionally cautiously and arrived without incident in her driveway. She trotted out of her garage to Reese’s truck, and he rolled down the window as she approached.

“Would you like to come inside? It’s not late. Have you eaten? I can cook for us,” she offered.

“Do you know how to cook?”

She snorted. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. I’ve made it into my midtwenties, which means I’ve been eating for years all by my little self.”

He rolled his eyes and turned off the ignition. “Yes, but is it edible?”

“Come in and find out. I dare you.”

“You really have to stop daring me to do things. One day, you’ll get in over your head.”

“Never,” she replied stoutly, opening the door from the garage into the house and kicking out of her boots in the mudroom.

“Big words, little girl,” he teased as he followed her into her cozy kitchen.

“Who are you calling little?” she demanded as she turned on the lights and started pulling out food.

Grinning, he backed her up against the wall beside her refrigerator and kissed her long and leisurely. Goodness. She could not get enough of kissing that man. Belatedly, she realized her hands were full of lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and celery. He stepped back, and she plunked the food onto the counter, then pulled out a cutting board and knife.

“Can I help?” he offered.

“Sit.” She pointed the big knife at the kitchen table.

Grinning, he threw up his hands and sat. “Truce. It’s still in effect, right?”

“As long as you don’t make fun of my cooking, it is.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned cheekily at her.

Those bedroom eyes of his were at it again, sparkling sexily and making her think about things she’d like to do with him on the kitchen table that had nothing to do with food. Dang, that man was lethal.

She forced her attention to the task at hand. Supper. She had a couple of nice steaks in her fridge, and she put a cast-iron skillet on the stove to heat up. When it was sizzling hot, she dropped in butter and seared the steaks quickly on both sides to seal in the juices. Then, she put the whole pan in the oven to finish off the sirloins. While they cooked, she boiled eggs, chopped romaine lettuce, ham, carrots, celery, onions and bacon, and put together a decent Cobb salad if she did say so, herself.

She put Reese to work snapping green beans and steamed those with garlic and butter after he was done. Just as she set the salad on the table the oven timer went off. She peeked at the beans, which were bright green, aromatic and tender. Yes. She whisked the steaks out of the oven to rest, plated them and the beans, and set the meal on the table with a flourish.

It was pure luck on her part that everything came together at once, but she was totally willing to take credit for it with Reese.

She sat down beside him and smiled. “Bon appétit.”

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet.”

He cut into his steak, and juice mingled with the butter. It was medium rare, succulent and tender. Again, sheer luck. But what Reese Carpenter didn’t know about her hit-or-miss cooking skills wouldn’t hurt him.

He groaned with pleasure. “Oh. That’s a fine piece of meat.”

His gaze snapped up to hers, startled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

She stabbed a piece of her steak daintily with her fork and waved it at him airily. “Never fear. I take no offense at the double entendre. I’m nobody’s piece of meat.”

“No kidding,” he replied heartily.

“Meaning what?” she demanded. “Don’t you think I’m attractive enough to be seen as meat?”

He put down his utensils and threw up his hands. “You are totally meat-worthy. But I in no way think of you like that—”

She burst into laughter. “I’m just messing with you.”

He scowled momentarily but then dissolved into a grin. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Duly noted. Just remember, payback’s a bitch.”

“Bring it, buddy.”

Clearly, he planned to delay his retaliatory teasing for he fell to his meal with enthusiasm and little talk ensued.

Near the end of supper, she finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been bugging her ever since Reese forgave her in his truck. “How bad was the razzing after I left the squad room today?”

He looked up from his last bite of steak and grinned. “Actually, it went dead silent. Everyone was so shocked they didn’t know what to say. First time I’ve ever seen that bunch speechless.”

She winced. “I’m so sorry.”

He leaned back with a sigh of pleasure. “That was a helluva good steak. Thank you.”

“I don’t have anything snazzy to offer you for dessert. I do have ice cream and some fresh strawberries I can slice over it.”

“I’m stuffed. Nothing for me, thanks,” he replied.

She leaned back, as well. “How did Jordana find out about our, umm, squad-room kiss so fast? She called me about thirty seconds after I got back to the lab.”

“I expect somebody texted her.” A frown crossed his brow. “Was she mad?”

“At me? Oh, yeah. She said it reflects on her and that she considers us both to be her siblings…which makes it weird, apparently.”

“Hmm. Gonna have to have a chat with her about you, I guess.”

He didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect.

The elation she’d been feeling at his forgiveness evaporated. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing already,” he interrupted. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Well, I did lay a big wet one on you in the middle of our mutual workplace.”

“Which I willingly—correction, eagerly—participated in. That kiss took two people, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

She answered sarcastically, “I had noticed, thank you.”

He snorted with laughter. “I do love a woman with a dry sense of humor.”

“That’s me. The Sahara Desert.”

She started to get up to do the dishes, but Reese reached out, grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down into her chair. “Oh no, you don’t. You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

“If that’s how you roll, I’ll cook dinner for you every night.”

This time it was her gaze that snapped to his, startled and chagrined.

Darn her mouth! When was she going to learn to think about what she said before the words just popped out?

“It’s my pleasure to clean up,” he responded blandly enough. But she caught the look of—something—in his eyes as he turned away. She couldn’t tell if that was speculation or cold, hard terror in his eyes at her crack about doing this every night. Behind his back, she squeezed her eyes shut in chagrin. She was a total mess around him.

Sleeves rolled up and sponge in hand, which was possibly the sexiest look she’d ever seen on him, he said over his shoulder, “I forgot to ask if you’ve gotten into that puzzle box yet.”

“No, but I’m close. I think there’s only one layer of the puzzle left. Sucker has four layers to solve.”

Reese murmured, “Which begs the question, what does that key open that’s so important?”

“Dexter—assuming it was Dexter and not his wife—went to a whole lot of trouble to hide the key, that’s for sure.”

Reese replied, “Using the X-ray image of the key that you emailed me, I did a little preliminary research on it. My guess is that it’s some sort of a safe-deposit box or locker key.”

“Interesting.”

“I showed the image of the key to the guys at all the local banks in Braxville, and they said it’s not one of theirs.”

“A bank in Wichita, maybe?” she suggested. “Or possibly Kansas City?”

He nodded and picked up a dish towel to start drying. “I had time to check with a few Wichita banks, today. I’ll email the image to the rest of the Wichita banks tomorrow.”

“If you don’t get a hit, let me know. The FBI maintains an exhaustive key database that I have access to as a forensics investigator.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and nodded. “Thanks. Will do.” He put the last plate onto the dry towel he’d spread out beside the sink. She had a perfectly functional dishwasher, but she’d enjoyed sitting here watching the hot, macho man washing dishes. There was something unbelievably attractive about a man doing a domestic chore with ease and comfort.

She stood up and went over to the sink to wrap her arms around his hard, lean waist from behind. “Thanks for doing the dishes. And thanks again for forgiving me about the whole kiss thing.”

He turned in her arms and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Resting his chin on top of her head, he said quietly, “I’m not the giant ass you seem to think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a giant ass. Maybe just a little one. Sometimes.”

His chest rumbled with silent laughter. “I love how you call me out. Keep me honest.”

“I thought you were the one who always calls me out. You pick on how I do my job and how I run my lab all the time.”

“I don’t pick on you,” he disagreed. “And I don’t tell you what to do. I make helpful suggestions.”

She laughed aloud at that. “Right. Forcefully.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk. I just really wanted to see you succeed.”

Startled, she leaned back in his arms to look up at him. “Come again?”

“There was a lot of skepticism in the department about hiring a woman, and so young a woman, for your position. I was on the hiring review committee, though, and you were by far the most qualified candidate for the job. I’ve been in your corner since before you were hired.”

“For real?”

He flashed that crooked smile of his again that was so endearing and irresistible.

She said softly, “And here I thought you were busting my chops and trying to chase me out of the department.”

“Nope. Exactly the opposite.”

She reached up and laid her palm lightly on his cheek. “Thank you, Reese.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You earned the job, and you’ve been knocking it out of the park ever since you got here. All the credit goes to you.”

“Well, shoot. Now I’m embarrassed,” she confessed.

“Don’t be. Own the space you’ve earned.”

“When did you become such a feminist?” she queried.

“Since my partner on the force showed me that women are every bit as good at police work as men, and since her sister showed me women make first-rate forensic scientists, too.”

“Surely, your mother had something to do with this enlightened attitude.”

He chuckled. “She would blister my butt if I was anything less than respectful to any woman. And I don’t mess with my mama.”

“I hear you. I wouldn’t ever cross mine, either.”

“Your mom is a sweetheart. She took care of my dad in the hospital after his heart attack. She gave him just the right combination of kindness and tough love he needed to get back on his feet and change his eating and exercise habits.”

Yvette smiled fondly. Her mother had often been a distant figure in her life, with a big family to care for, her husband’s career to support and demanding career of her own. But she never for a moment doubted that Lilly loved her as fiercely as she loved all her children. Her mother had always called her My special gift and My littlest angel.

Reese commented casually, “Did anybody tell you your dad’s coming to the police department tomorrow to turn himself in?”

“No.” She’d temporarily forgotten about the arsenic case in the kerfuffle over the puzzle box, her mad crush on Reese and the whole kissing-in-the-squad-room fiasco. “Is it going to be bad for him?”

He shrugged. “There could be press. When is it ever good when reporters and cameras are around?”

Yikes. Not encouraging.

She led Reese into her sitting room, which she’d decorated like an English country cottage. The furniture was casual and cozy, a blend of old and new. The sofa and curtains were a buttery-yellow floral print, but their femininity was balanced by the masculine weight of the massive stone fireplace.

“Pretty room,” Reese commented.

“It doesn’t give you hives to be surrounded by all this girly stuff?” she asked doubtfully.

“I happen to like girls quite a lot. In my experience, they tend to come with girly stuff.”

She smirked. “Sort of like men come with smelly socks, empty beer cans and butt-crack scratching?”

“You really don’t like men much, do you?”

Her gaze fell away from his. “I like you.”

“Why don’t you like men in general?”

She sighed. “You’d have to be a single, reasonably attractive woman of dating age to understand.”

“Try me.”

“In high school and college, too many guys I knew were hopelessly immature and focused mainly on getting laid as often as possible. The word no wasn’t always in their vocabulary. Some of them got angry and aggressive.” She shrugged. “A girl learns to be cautious.”

“Cautious how?”

She shrugged. “You don’t take drinks or food from strange men in case they’re drugged. You don’t go to parties alone—always go with a couple of girlfriends—and for goodness’ sake don’t leave alone. Take a girlfriend to the bathroom with you. Don’t engage with guys who smell like booze—I could go on, but you get the point.”

“Didn’t you meet any education-focused guys interested in pursuing serious careers and whose parents taught them how to treat a woman right?” he asked.

“I probably did, but I was so turned off by the other kind that I couldn’t see the good ones hiding among the bad ones.”

“We’re out here. You just have to look for us.”

“No offense, but you were the biggest jerk of all when I got to the department. Although, in your defense, you never came on to me.”

“I’m sorry if I came off like a jerk. I just wanted you to make it, here. I should have trusted you to be able to handle being the first woman in your position.”

“Is there still resistance to me in the department?”

“Not after today.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’d prefer to be judged on my professional merits and not how I kiss.”

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingertips traced the rim of her ear lightly. “Never fear. Everyone thinks you’re scary smart and darned good at your job.”

Thank goodness. “That’s a relief, at least.”

He smiled warmly at her.

“Why was it I hated you, again?” she asked.

“Because love and hate are only a hair’s breadth apart?” he offered.

Love? Whoa. That was a big word. But he had a point. The sizzling friction between them this whole past year had morphed into something much more sexual and intimate in the blink of an eye. That wouldn’t have happened if a lot of that simmering tension hadn’t already been driven by attraction, unconscious or otherwise.

She cast about for a more neutral topic of conversation and ended up blurting, “What are you going to do for a partner once Jordana leaves the department?”

Reese froze, staring at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Surely, she told you first. She’s moving to Chicago to open up an office for my future brother-in-law’s security firm.”

“I…she…sonofabitch.” He whirled away, shoving a hand through his dark hair, standing it up on end.

“Ohmigosh. She hasn’t told you, yet. God. I’m so sorry.” She stepped forward and touched Reese’s arm tentatively.

He whirled, all but knocking her over with the violence of the movement, and ended up having to wrap his arms around her tightly to keep from knocking her right off her feet.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, I’m sorry. I just assumed. I’m so stupid—”

He kissed her ferociously, and she absorbed his anger, and what felt like something akin to grief, into herself in silence. But then his anger shifted. Intensified. Turned into something dark and sexy and dangerous.

He surged against her, kissing her with his whole body, and she flung herself at him in return. She couldn’t get enough of this man. He backed her up against the front door and planted his thigh between hers, effectively pinning her in place. Not that she minded one bit. Her nether regions rubbed against the rough denim and her breath caught at the delicious sensation.

His hands plunged into her hair and his tongue plunged into her mouth, and she returned the favor, inhaling him even deeper into their kiss.

He must have realized he was crushing her for he turned suddenly, dragging her with him until his back was against the door and it was her turn to press into him, kissing him with all the pent-up intensity that had been building between them for months.

His mouth slashed across hers and she met him halfway. Their kiss was wet and hot, a sparring match between two aggressively attracted people who were rapidly spinning out of control. And it was glorious. The ridge behind his zipper was big and hard, and she pressed her belly hungrily against it. The peaks of her breasts rubbed against his chest, and her entire body felt light and energized, tingling and eager for more.

Gradually, Reese’s mouth eased away from hers, and his hands stilled their roaming path across her back. She leaned back to look at him questioningly.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have fallen on you to take out my frustration.”

She smiled a little. “Depends on what kind of frustration you’re talking about.”

He smiled reluctantly. “I just—losing another partner—it was a surprise—didn’t see it coming.”

“Another partner?” she echoed. “You’ve lost one before?”

She was still sprawled all over him, so she felt his entire body tense. His eyes shut down as if he’d just flipped an off switch in his brain. Whoa. She stepped back quickly, snagging his hand and pulling him away from the door and over to the sofa.

“Sit down. Talk to me, Reese. What giant nerve did I just hit?”

He shook his head and started to stand up, but she pushed on his shoulders, pressing him back down to the cushions. Not that she could brute force him into doing anything, of course, but he went along with her pressure.

“Talk.”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were bleak. “I lost my first partner a few years back. She died. Shot in an arrest gone bad. I saw the gun. Too late. Tried to draw my own weapon. Wasn’t fast enough. She went down.” He stared over her shoulder at nothing, obviously seeing the whole thing again in his mind’s eye. “So much blood. Bullet hit her aorta. She died in under two minutes. No time for an ambulance to get there. No backup. Just me holding her as her life slipped away…”

“Oh, Reese. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’m such an idiot.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

She said in a more upbeat tone, “Well, Jordana isn’t dying. She’s just moving away to be with her fiancé. Clint proposed today, by the way.”

“Good for them. I hope they’re happy.”

She said dryly, “They’re freaking delirious. It’s disgusting.”

Hah. That got a tiny smile out of him, at least.

She said, “She’ll be back to visit all the time. Her whole family is here in Braxville. You’re family to her, too.”

“She’s the irritating sister I never had,” Reese said ruefully.

Thank goodness it was Jordana who’d been relegated to that role and not her. She channeled her mother for a moment and asked him, “Can I get you a cup of tea? Or a stiff shot of whiskey?”

He snorted. “You are a Colton, aren’t you? When in doubt, offer food or drink.”

“That’s us. Always stuffing our faces.”

“Then how do you stay so tiny?” he asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

Yep. He was doing better. The first shock of finding out his partner was leaving the force had passed, and he was going to be okay. She waved a casual hand at him. “I only dine on the souls of my enemies and drink the blood of small children. Keeps me trim.”

That made him laugh reluctantly. “You don’t fool me. You’re not the evil ice queen folks in the department make you out to be.”

“Don’t tell them that!” she exclaimed in alarm. “I’ve worked hard to cultivate that image.”

“Why’s that?” Reese asked.

“Have you counted how many single, horny men there are in the Braxville PD? This is a small town, and eligible women are few and far between. The last thing I needed was for the whole police force to try to date me.”

“Jeez. I’m sorry—” he started, moving to rise.

She grabbed his arm quickly. “You’re fine. We have a truce, remember?”

“Right. Truce. You’re sure you don’t want to stop this—whatever this is—before it goes any further?”

“Positive,” she answered immediately. More hesitantly, she asked, “How about you? Do you want to call things off?”

“Absolutely not.”

They traded looks that were by turns warm and abashed. He cleared his throat. “Well okay, then. I’m glad that’s settled. And now, I really do need to get out of here.”

“But if we just decided to extend the truce—”

“If I stay any longer, we’re going to pass way beyond a truce to a full-blown peace treaty,” he interrupted.

“What’s wrong with that?” she demanded.

He stood up, moving swiftly for the door. “I’m not a one-night-stand kind of guy. If we do this, we’re going to do it right.”

She frowned. “We’re not doing anything right now.”

“Patience, Yvie.”

“Have you met me? I don’t have a patient bone in my body!”

He laughed low and husky. “Ahh, this is going to be a fun ride.”

She scowled darkly at him. “You’d better buckle up, buster.”

“Roger that.” Grinning, he reached for the doorknob.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked rhetorically.

“You’re going to come over here so I can kiss you good-night and thank you for that delicious dinner, and then you’re going to show me out. Otherwise, the neighbors are going to wonder whose truck is in your driveway in the morning.”

“I barely know my neighbors’ names. Stay.”

“Don’t tempt me. I make it a policy never to sleep with a woman on our first date.”

“I thought sorting files in my lab was our first date.”

He laughed a little, sounding pained. He drew her into a hard hug and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Ahh, you are a firecracker. You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?”

“Baby, I’m no firecracker. I’m a tactical nuclear bombshell.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he replied, grinning.

She did, indeed, walk him to her front door. A soft glow came from outside, peachy light from the streetlamps illuminating the blanket of fresh snow that had fallen in the past few hours.

Reese drew her into his arms, kissing her slowly and thoroughly. She kissed him back, throwing herself into the kiss with abandon. She loved everything about how he felt against her, his body hard and fit, his mouth warm and resilient, his tongue wet and sexy and impudent.

She sucked at his tongue, pulling it deeper into her mouth, and he groaned in reaction. Just when she thought she might have broken down his resolve to leave and convinced him to follow her back to her bedroom, he straightened all at once and took a hasty step back.

“Lord, woman. You’re more temptation than I can stand up to.”

And yet, he’d just backed away from her.

“Stay,” she said softly.

“Not tonight. But soon. When we’re more sure of each other.”

What more was there to be sure of? She was totally sure she wanted to sleep with him.

“Dream about me, tonight,” he said quietly, dropping a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

“Maybe I won’t dream about you,” she tossed out.

“I’ll bet you a dollar you do,” he tossed back.

“You’re such a know-it-all,” she groused, smiling.

“It’s not being a know-it-all if I actually do know what I’m talking about.”

Laughing, she walked to the edge of the porch where the snow got deep and his footprints sank deep into the fluffy blanket of white on her sidewalk. “You keep telling yourself that, big guy.”

“God, I love smart-mouthed women.”

“Smart being the operative word.”

He turned and strode back to her swiftly, kissing her hard and fast one more time. “Dream of me,” he ordered her.

Darned if she didn’t dream about him that night, too. Lovely dreams about dancing in the dark, smoking-hot kisses and laughter. Lots of laughter.

It was hard to be mad at him for being right, or for owing him a dollar, though, when she woke up the next morning with a smile on her lips.

CHAPTER 9

Reese looked around the lobby of the police building, which had been set up for this morning’s press conference. A raised dais held a podium and several light stands. In front of it, a dozen reporters already milled around, and more were coming into the building every minute. Broadcast vans lined the entire perimeter of the parking lot, their satellite-uplink dishes already pointed skyward.

He recognized several of the journalists from national news shows and winced. This was going to be a circus—a big three-ringed mess of one. He’d tried to warn Yvette obliquely last night, but he doubted she’d caught the hint as to how bad this was going to be.

Chief of Police Roger Hilton strolled up to him. “Everything ready to go? Colton knows what to do?”

Fitz Colton was turning himself in this morning to face charges in the arsenic-poisoning cases. The plan was to allow him to make a statement to the press first. Then, the police chief would speak. And then Reese would drop the bomb. A bomb he would’ve been fine lobbing a few days ago. But now that he’d gotten to know Yvette better, he was hating himself for having volunteered to be the bad cop in this scenario.

Fitz and his lawyer were in on the plan and had agreed to participate in it as part of his plea deal, but none of Fitz’s kids had any idea what was coming, today. It was important that the family’s reactions be authentic and believable if this little charade was going to work.

The lobby continued to fill as the nine o’clock start time for the press conference approached. Two of Yvette’s brothers, Brooks and Tyler Colton, walked in together and stood near the back, taking in the crowd with less than pleased expressions. Brooks’s fiancée, a schoolteacher, wasn’t here this morning. But Tyler’s fiancée, Ashley Hart, walked in with Bridgette Colton—Yvette’s other sister besides Jordana—and the two women made their way over to the Colton brothers. Neil Colton walked in with his girlfriend, Braxville mayor, Elise Willis, but they separated immediately as she headed for the press corps to say hello to some of the more famous journalists here this morning.

Jordana was at her desk right now, unaware of the circus forming out here. He would text her in a few minutes to come out if she didn’t wander out on her own to check out the rising din of close to fifty journalists milling around chatting with one another and making last-minute adjustments to makeup, lighting and camera angles with their crews.

Yvette was the only other child of Fitz Colton not here yet. And she should walk in any minute expecting to go to work. He hated ambushing her like this, but the plan required her to walk in unprepared for this fiasco.

Honestly, he was surprised she wasn’t here yet. Her workday technically started at nine in the morning, but she often could be found in the lab before seven o’clock. Perhaps his prediction had been true and she’d slept in late, dreaming of him. He smiled a little in anticipation of teasing her about it later.

A hand touched his elbow and he turned, startled. Jordana.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded under her breath.

“I guess word got out that your father was going to turn himself in, today.”

“Jeez Louise. What a mess. Can we get all these people out of here? It’s five degrees outside. They won’t stick around for long if we can move them outdoors. I’ll call my dad and tell him to delay coming in—”

“He’s due in any second. You need to let this play out.”

“The news cycle is as much about entertainment as facts. They’ll nuke him!”

“It’s too late to stop this thing,” he responded. “If you send away national media outlets at this late moment, they’ll make a story out of that and accuse the Braxville Police Department of a cover-up on behalf of your rich, powerful father. For your old man’s sake, you have to let this press circus happen. His arrest has to appear fair and unbiased.”

“I know that. But this sucks.”

He couldn’t resist giving his partner a tiny warning of what was coming. “Brace yourself. The worst thing you could do is intervene on his behalf with the press. Today—as long as the cameras are rolling—you have to be a police officer first and Fitz Colton’s daughter second.”

“God, I hate this,” she said fervently.

At least she didn’t argue with him about not intervening in the coming proceeding. It had been a calculated risk not to brief her on the plan, but Roger Hilton and the district attorney had agreed with Reese’s assessment that Jordana wouldn’t agree to play along with it.

He said quietly, “Call Clint. Ask him to come over and give you some moral support. And in the meantime, a bunch of your siblings have gathered in that back corner. Why don’t you go hang out with them? I’ll handle the questions from the press directed at us police that Roger can’t answer. It would probably be best if a non-Colton detective fielded questions about the Fitz Colton investigation.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks for taking the bullet.”

He winced. A bullet indeed. He had no doubt she would want to empty a whole clip of ammunition into him by the time this press conference was over.

Whew. One Colton sister handled. Now, if only Yvette would get here so he could coax her to go down to her lab and avoid this whole show. Because a show was exactly what they had planned for today.

* * *

Yvette turned in to the police department’s parking lot and stopped her car. The entire lot was crammed with vehicles, and the whole front of the thing was lined with television broadcast vans with network names sprawled over their sides. Many of them were major national news outlets.

Oh, God. This had to be about her father.

Panic erupted under her breastbone. Not good. So very not good.

She drove around to the auxiliary parking lot behind the building and found a spot in the very back of the lot, tucked in a corner next to a huge snowbank that butted practically right up against the side of her car. Good thing she was tiny and could squeeze out of the few inches she could get her door open.

She slipped and slid across the icy parking lot, skating her way into the police building. She was sorely tempted to bolt down the back stairs and hide in her lab, far from the cameras and noise. But her whole family would no doubt show up to support her father, and her absence would be glaring, not to mention disloyal.

Reluctantly, she headed toward the front of the building. Fitz had always been an intimidating figure in her life. She didn’t know him very well—he worked long hours through her childhood building his beloved company, and he had a naturally gruff personality. He hadn’t been a bad father. He just hadn’t been a good one.

As she emerged into the main lobby, she gaped at the mob crammed into the large space. Good grief. She recognized every face in the entire front row of reporters crowding the podium. All the national news shows were here. Ugh.

Why couldn’t a tsunami have hit or a volcano have erupted somewhere else in the world today to sweep the Colton Construction arsenic story out of the news cycle? Not that she wished a disaster on anyone else, of course, but she hated this with every cell in her being.

She spied Reese’s familiar back in front of her and moved toward him. He turned as she approached, his worried eyes lighting with a brief, intimate smile for her.

“There you are,” he murmured. “I was wondering if you were going to get here before the big show begins.”

“This is awful. Isn’t there anything we can do to get these people to go away?”

He shrugged. “It’s a free press. They can cover whatever they deem newsworthy.”

“And the fall of a rich, powerful man makes for a great headline,” she said bitterly.

“I’m sorry about all of this, Yvette. I would shield you from every bit of it if I could. In fact, why don’t you just go on down to your lab? I’ll text you when this is over—”

“I’m a Colton. We stick together.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. It was worth a try, though. Your brothers and sisters are gathered in the back.” He pointed toward the left back corner of the room. “That way.” He added, grinning slyly, “Since you can’t see them over the crowd.”

“You’re hilarious, Jolly Green Carpenter,” she shot back, grinning.

She stepped away from him and her petite frame was swallowed by the mob. He was still trying to verify that she’d made it back to the cluster of Coltons when a ruckus erupted by the front door behind the crowd. Lights went on, cameramen turned their equipment to face the back of the room and journalists talked into their microphones.

He spied Lilly Colton’s red hair first, as she was climbing out of a black Town Car. He did feel bad for her. She was a kind person, and this scandal had to have been hard on her. Her natural compassion couldn’t have been at ease with the idea of her husband and his partner sickening and killing some of their employees.

Fitz climbed out of the car behind her. The vehicle pulled away from the curb. They must have hired someone to bring them down here. The blackout windows would have kept rotten vegetables from being lobbed at them as they drove through Braxville, at any rate.

Predictably, the press rushed Lilly and Fitz as they headed for the building, stopping them from even reaching the front doors of the police department. Reese sighed and spoke into the microphone clipped to the collar of his suit coat. “Can we get a few uniforms outside to usher Mr. and Mrs. Colton into the building?”

Quickly, several cops cleared the way, and the couple stepped inside. Lilly peeled off to join her children—thank God. At least she would be surrounded by loved ones when the feces hit the fan. Of course, unlike her children, she knew what was coming.

The district attorney hadn’t wanted to tell her what was going down today, but Fitz had rebelled at the idea of keeping her in the dark. He’d complained that his marriage was already in the toilet and keeping this secret from her might push Lilly over the edge. The DA had caved, but only if Fitz made sure Lilly swore not to warn her children about it in any way. This plan relied heavily on genuine reactions out of the family.

Fitz made it to the dais and stepped up to the podium. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his suit coat and spread it out before him. The room went expectantly silent as he cleared his voice.

“Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentlemen, although I hardly think this moment warrants such attention. At any rate, as you all know, Colton Construction, in which I’m co-owner, stands accused of using arsenic-laced wood products, obtained from China some years ago, in one of its construction projects. In the ensuing years, several employees have become sick, and a few have passed away from complications likely related to exposure to this toxic wood.

“I am here today to turn myself in to the police to face charges relating to these sad events. Furthermore, as the majority partner in the firm with a fifty-one percent stake in the company, I would like to announce that I have decided to sell Colton Construction. In accordance with a plea deal I have struck with the Braxville District Attorney’s office…”

Reese tuned out as the statement droned on. He’d been in the room when Fitz’s statement was drafted and agreed upon, and he knew that a detailed explanation followed of how the proceeds from the sale of the business would be disbursed through a neutral, third-party attorney agreed upon by Fitz and the DA.

While Fitz read on, Reese craned to see over the crowd, to find Yvette’s face in the melee, to check in on her and make sure she was doing all right. Of course, this wasn’t the part where things would get ugly.

There she was. She looked pale, her features drawn in stress. Did she feel bad for her part in proving the wood from the Colton project was the source of the arsenic that had poisoned the Colton workers? He sincerely hoped she didn’t feel guilty for helping put her father in this uncomfortable situation. He’d done that to himself when he’d gone along with Markus’s plan to cut financial corners and use the cheap Chinese wood that was known to be treated with toxic chemicals.

The arsenic acted as a pesticide to protect the wood from insect damage, but was outlawed for use in the United States for precisely the reason that it caused cancer in the people who handled it and worked with it.

He tuned back in to see where Fitz was in his statement.

“…and all remaining proceeds of the sale will be put into a trust fund administered by a neutral third party. Its funds will be available to pay for medical bills and expenses for the affected employees and their families, including the survivors of deceased employees.

“I will also personally be establishing a scholarship fund for the children of the affected employees to defray the costs of their higher education. I regret the decisions that led to this tragedy and accept responsibility for my part in it. I promise to do everything in my power to make it right for the affected Colton Construction employees and their families.”

Fitz had balked at promising anything, but the DA had stood firm and insisted that the verbiage be in the statement. He wanted Fitz on the record with his word of honor.

Assuming that’s worth anything. Reese wasn’t so sure of that, anymore. At least Yvette didn’t seem to have inherited her father’s…flexible…sense of right and wrong. Besides, it wasn’t like Fitz could ever make it right for the employees who’d died.

As soon as Fitz stopped speaking and looked up from the paper before him, the journalists shouted all at once, yelling questions about how much money would go to the employees, whether or not he was going to serve jail time, and whether or not the plea deal included any further admission of guilt.

To Reese, standing just to one side of the podium, the din was deafening. And it wasn’t even directed at him. Dang. No wonder people talked about the press going into feeding frenzies.

The police chief stepped up to the podium and held up his hands for silence. It took a while for the reporters to settle down. He made a brief statement that the Braxville Police Department was committed to seeing the law enforced and investigating the charges fully and impartially. Then he said, “I’ll pass any questions you have to the officer in charge of the investigation, Detective Reese Carpenter.”

That was his cue. Reese stepped forward. Here went nothing.

He spoke into the microphone. “The arsenic investigation is an active case, and therefore, I’m not going to be able to answer any specific questions about evidence or the details of the case. I can tell you we have passed the case to the district attorney for review and that Mr. Colton has cooperated fully with the investigation so far. Before I take any questions, I would also like to speak for a moment about another major investigation the Braxville Police Department is involved in. As many of you are already aware, several months ago, the remains of two individuals, a man identified as Fenton Crane, and a woman, Olivia Harrison, were discovered hidden in the walls of another Colton Construction project. Today, not only will we be arresting Mr. Colton for the arsenic poisoning, but we will also be arresting him in connection with those murders—”

He was drowned out by a shout of surprise and a spate of questions that erupted from the crowd in front of him.

More important, many of the cameras swung around to capture the reaction of the Colton family to that shocking announcement. It was exactly why he hadn’t told Yvette or Jordana what was coming today, and why only Lilly had any warning at all in advance of the announcement of Fitz’s arrest for murder.

Predictably, the family looked equal parts shocked, alarmed and furious. Their expressions of dismay were everything he and the district attorney could have hoped for. Lord, he hoped those reactions were enough to convince Markus Dexter that Fitz Colton had really been arrested for the Harrison and Crane murders.

Otherwise, he’d just put that poor family through hell for nothing.

Eventually, the lights and cameras swung back to him.

He squinted into the blinding lights, trying desperately to see the Colton family’s reactions, trying at least to find Yvette’s petite silhouette in the cluster of siblings, to give her what silent moral support he could. But he couldn’t pick her out at all. All he saw were black silhouettes before him. He couldn’t make out any faces past the front row of reporters.

Someone called out, “Do you have proof that Fitz Colton killed that couple? What is it?”

Reese answered, “The Harrison-Crane case is also an active investigation, and I’m not at liberty to comment on any specific evidence we’ve collected regarding the case. Also, I’d like to remind everyone that, while we know the identities of the two victims, we know very little about their past lives or what circumstances brought them to their tragic ends. We cannot speculate on whether or not they were a couple or even if they knew each other. The Braxville Police would like to ask anyone in the public with information regarding the final days of Ms. Olivia Harrison or Mr. Fenton Crane to contact the Braxville Police Department.” He recited the phone number for the tip line and gave out the general email address of the department.

He spent the next fifteen minutes repeating himself over and over that he couldn’t share any details of the evidence on either investigation while reporters tried every way they could to trip him up and get him to reveal some new morsel of evidence.

Finally, the question he’d been waiting for was asked. A reporter called, “Where’s Fitz Colton’s partner, Markus Dexter? Is he going to be charged in the arsenic investigation and murder case, too?”

Reese leaned in to the mike. “Fitz Colton is the majority partner in Colton Construction, and with regard to the arsenic case, the responsible party for any actions taken by the company as a whole. As for the murder investigation, we’re uncovering new evidence on a daily basis. Dexter is not the person we’re looking into right now with regard to the Harrison-Crane murders.”

“And that evidence implicates Fitz Colton?” the reporter followed up. “Hence his arrest?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I can’t comment on that. I can only repeat that Mr. Colton will be questioned after this press conference with regard to the Harrison-Crane case.” He made darned sure to give the answer in a tone indicating that the evidence did, indeed, point to Fitz as the killer.

Time to wrap up. “Thanks for coming today, everyone. If you have any further questions, you can contact the public affairs officer for the City of Braxville.” He turned off the microphone and stepped off the stage, craning to search over the crowd for Yvette.

He didn’t need to see her face to know exactly how she would have responded to the surprise arrest of her father for the Harrison-Crane murders. She would be livid. She knew better than anyone that the evidence so far didn’t point at her father, but pointed squarely at his business partner.

Fitz had agreed to play along with this charade in an attempt to coax Markus Dexter out of hiding. If Dexter believed he’d been cleared, the hope was that he might return to Braxville, or at least show his face to law enforcement wherever he was. A nationwide BOLO—be on the lookout—for Dexter had already been issued.

As it turned out, Fitz had been eager to help smoke out his old partner. He was pissed as hell at Dex for getting him and his beloved company into the arsenic mess by talking him into purchasing the tainted wood, and he wanted to see Dex hang if he’d actually committed the two murders and used a Colton building to hide the bodies.

Predictably, Reese was mobbed after the press conference by reporters trying to get a scoop and to trick or bully him into revealing something he hadn’t during the press conference. He finally resorted to answering every question with a blunt “No comment,” as he pushed through the crowd toward the back of the lobby.

He had to find Yvette.

CHAPTER 10

Yvette’s face was on fire. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest had an iron band around it.

Holy cow. This was a panic attack. She had to get out of here, away from all these people. And at all costs, she had to avoid Reese. What in the heck was he doing, accusing her father of murder? She knew all the evidence in the murder cases—she’d personally logged in most of it in the stupid investigation. Even though she’d passed the most important testing off to other labs to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest and to avoid accusations of her tainting the evidence, she did know the results of all that testing.

And one thing she knew for sure: n o way was her father the killer.

It was a wild miscarriage of justice.

Her brothers and sisters murmured angrily among themselves, and she became aware that they weren’t talking with her. Of course not. To them, she was the Judas. The forensic scientist who’d apparently—and secretly—set up their father for a crime he hadn’t committed. She felt their emotional withdrawal as acutely as she felt their physical withdrawal from her.

It was subtle, but all of her siblings had moved away from her, circled around Lilly, turned their backs to her just enough to shut her out of their mutual circle of concern for their dad and of support for their mom.

Miserable, she turned and wriggled into the crowd, using her small stature to slip between reporters in the crush of bodies. She had no idea where she was headed. Just…away.

“You’re Fitz Colton’s daughter, aren’t you?” a reporter asked, shoving a microphone under her nose. “Do you have a comment on your father’s arrest?”

“Uhh, no,” she stammered.

Another journalist closed in on her. “Hey, aren’t you the forensics chick for the Braxville Police?” To the first reporter, the second one said, “She’s Fitz Colton’s kid, you say?”

Both journalists turned on her. “You investigated your own father? Proved he’s a murderer? How does he feel about that?”

“No comment.”

“Hey, guys! Colton’s own daughter is the one who put him in jail for the double murders! This is her!”

And it was on. The press corps mobbed her, hemming her in so tightly she couldn’t move and could barely breathe. Lights glared in her eyes, microphones were shoved in her face and a cacophony of voices shouted in her ears until she couldn’t make out anything anyone said. Which was probably just as well.

She put her head down and did her puny best to push through the crowd, but to no avail. She might as well have been standing in a cage made of arms and elbows and microphone wires.

The panic from before magnified until she was breathing so fast and shallow she started to see black spots and feel lightheaded. The questions and accusations bombarded her mercilessly, and she felt as if she was drowning. An urge to shout for help nearly overcame her.

How could Reese have done this to her? Heck, to her family and her father? It was wrong on so many levels. Fitz didn’t kill those two people. Of that, she was completely convinced. There was no evidence whatsoever to tie him to the murders. He wasn’t the one who’d fled town when the bodies were uncovered. Nope, that had been his partner, Markus Dexter.

As for her, she totally wasn’t so dumb as to process the evidence in a case against her own father like these reporters were accusing her of doing. She knew better than that. She’d mailed all the important evidence having to do with the Harrison-Crane murders to other labs to process. She only catalogued evidence as it came in and then figured out what tests to run and where to send it. It was Forensics 101. Never create even the appearance of a conflict of interest.

However, she also knew that, having been identified as a Colton, her only choice was to say nothing—nothing—to the press. Her professional reputation, her entire career really, rode on her keeping her mouth shut right now.

She looked around frantically for help in escaping the aggressive attention of the journalists, and saw Reese step down off the dais at the front of the room. He plunged into the crowd, and it looked for all the world like he was headed straight at her.

He might be able to help her get out of here, but he was the last person she wanted to see. She made a right turn and hooked her arm around the smallest journalist she could find, urgently pushing the woman aside. Must get away from Reese. But fleeing him in this mob was like swimming in peanut butter for all the progress she made.

Without warning, a hand gripped her elbow and she turned sharply to give Reese Carpenter a piece of her mind over his ambush of her father, hack, her whole family. Except it wasn’t Reese.

The man before her was older than Reese, a bit taller, with brown eyes and dark blonde hair. In great physical shape for a man in his fifties, this man held himself crisply upright.

“Oh! Uncle Shep,” she blurted. “When did you get here? And why are you here?”

Quickly he led her toward the back of the building, away from the crowd of reporters. “I got here in time to catch the end of the press conference. And as for why I’m here, it’s to lend moral support to my brother and my favorite niece. Are you okay, Yvie?”

“No, actually. I’m not.”

The former navy officer and Fitz’s younger brother wrapped her up in a big, warm hug that was exactly what she needed right now. His cashmere coat was soft against her cheek and warm from the heat of his body.

“It’s all wrong,” she mumbled against his chest. “He didn’t do it.”

“I know, kiddo. My brother may be a giant jerk at times, but he’s no killer. Of course, you’re in a position to help prove that. Is there anything I can do for you? Bring you food? Take you out for a coffee? Slip you out the back and get you away from this zoo?”

She looked up at her uncle gratefully. Over the years, he’d had a way of always being there for her when she needed him. Even though his navy career had taken him all over the world, he’d stayed in contact with her, calling her from ships to tell her stories of the exotic ports he’d seen. Now and then she randomly got a package in the mail from him with some pretty trinket from far away. He’d been good to all his nieces and nephews, but the bond between the two of them had always been special.

When the triplets took up all the oxygen in the house, and quiet Yvie had been mostly ignored, he’d come home on leave and taken her to Kansas City on a special adventure, just the two of them. They’d gone to a baseball game, visited a museum and he’d even taken her to high tea in a fancy restaurant. He’d been the one who’d seen her when everyone else did not.

He’d made it home when she broke her leg falling off a horse when she was thirteen. He’d coaxed her back into the saddle by riding behind her and holding her in his arms until she wasn’t afraid anymore. He’d taught her how to drive the car whose keys her father had carelessly tossed across the breakfast table and then left for work when she turned sixteen.

Uncle Shep had even been there for her senior prom. He’d walked her down the stairs from her room and sent her off with a kiss on the cheek and a whisper about how beautiful she was and how proud he was of her. Fitz had worked late that night.

She smiled up at her uncle in gratitude. “Thanks for always being here for me when I need you most. You’re the best.”

He responded as he always did, “Nope, that’s you. You’re the best.”

They traded fond smiles.

“Where are you off to now, Yvie?”

“Down the rear stairwell.”

“Not the parking lot to get away from the jackals?” he asked as he eyed the wall of bodies in the front lobby.

“I’m swamped with work in the lab. And a bunch of it pertains to the murder cases.”

“Fair enough. Go prove Fitz’s innocence. The whole family’s getting together for supper tonight, though. You’ll be there, right?”

Gee. This was the first she’d heard of it. Talk about feeling left out.

“Yeah. Sure,” she answered dejectedly.

Just what she needed. To be interrogated by the entire Colton clan about what evidence the police had on Fitz. Especially since she couldn’t talk about it any more than Reese had been able to. Maybe Jordana would back her up if the whole gang came at her hard.

Shep gave her one last hug. “You head on down to your lab and I’ll run interference up here so nobody follows you.”

“I love you so much, Uncle Shep.”

His eyes brimmed with warmth. “I love you, too, Yvette. I’m so proud of you. Now, scoot. I see a few reporters straggling this way.”

“Bye.” She turned and made a beeline for her lab.

She made it inside and leaned her back against the door while she caught her breath. Safe.

Well, not entirely safe.

As sure as she was standing here, Reese was going to try to barge in here and talk to her about her father’s arrest. She had nothing to say to him, however.

Not only was it a gross miscarriage of justice, but he’d gone behind her back. As the department’s forensic scientist, that offended her, and as the woman he was allegedly dating, it infuriated and hurt her in about equal measures.

As a deep sense of betrayal set in, so did certainty that she never wanted to see him again.

To that end, she locked the lab door from the inside and scrunched a towel along the bottom of the door so no light would shine out into the hallway. There. Now maybe everyone, especially Reese, would think she’d gone home for the day. Just maybe she could work in peace.

She turned around to face the tall shelves stuffed with evidence from the original Dexter house search, the boxes of files from the man’s office, and that cursed puzzle box taunting her on her desk. Somewhere in that mountain of evidence, there had to be something to prove Dexter had killed Olivia Harrison and Fenton Crane.

Sheesh. Now she was doing exactly what she’d accused Reese of—deciding who the killer was and then looking for evidence to prove it.

She was a scientist. Dispassionate. Factual.

Let the evidence speak for itself.

Deep breath.

She strode over to her desk, determined to open the puzzle box today or just resort to smashing the thing.

It took about an hour, but at long last, a flat wood panel slid to the side, and a small black-velvet-lined compartment in the middle of the box was revealed. Nestled inside it was a metal key. After photographing it and donning latex gloves, she picked it up and turned it over, looking for any identifying marks. Nothing. It was just a key.

But to what?

Obviously, it was important, or at least secret, for one of the Dexters to have gone to all this trouble to hide it. She couldn’t rule out the wife having hidden this key, but it was much more in keeping with Markus Dexter’s character to carefully hide a secret key.

First things first. She dusted the key for fingerprints and lifted a partial of what looked like a thumbprint. It was a nice, clean print, though, and had enough arches, loops and whorls that she ought to be able to make a positive match with it.

She pulled out the sample prints of both Markus and Mary Dexter. It took her under a minute to verify that the partial print was Markus’s. Yep. That was his key…to something.

She made a wax impression of it and then bagged and tagged the key as evidence. Meticulously, she wrote out the steps she’d used to open the puzzle box. That done, she reassembled, bagged and tagged the box. It was too big to fit in the safe she used for valuable evidence, but she did put the key in the safe.

Time to dig into the evidence collected from the Dexter house search. The first bag she opened contained a men’s wooden hairbrush with black bristles. Gray hairs threaded through them. Given that Mary Dexter was blonde, it was a good bet the gray hairs were Markus’s.

He hadn’t given a DNA reference sample before he skipped town, so she was pleased at the prospect of getting one now. If any old DNA evidence was found on the bodies, they could compare it to Dexter’s. Both corpses were currently being examined by a forensic archaeologist who specialized in old crime scenes.

She extracted several hairs from the brush that still had follicles attached to them and bagged them carefully. Although she was trained and qualified to process DNA, her lab in Braxville didn’t have the proper DNA-sequencing equipment, let alone certification by the FBI. She boxed up the sample for shipping and quickly walked it down the hall to the mail chute. She hurried back to her lab and locked herself in once more.

It was cowardly to hide from Reese like this, but she was so mad at him right now she didn’t trust herself not to punch him in the nose when she saw him. How dare he accuse her father of a crime there was no evidence to tie him to?

How could she have trusted him? She thought he was a good cop, an honorable man. Apparently, he was neither. Jerk. And to think, she’d been halfway to falling a little in love with the man. Last night, she’d even dreamed of them married and happy together. Gah!

She threw herself into her work with a vengeance, plowing through most of the remaining evidence from the Dexter house. The two seized laptops were both password protected, so she packed them up and mailed them off to a computer forensics lab in Chicago. Not that she expected Markus Dexter to have been dumb enough to leave behind a smoking gun on his computer. He didn’t even put names in his address book. He surely wouldn’t incriminate himself any other obvious way.

The five o’clock shift change started overhead with stomping boots, scraping chairs and faint voices talking and laughing. Reluctantly, she packed up for the day and headed out.

She cringed at having to face her family tonight. They would no doubt demand to know everything about the investigation of Fitz, and all she could say was that she had no idea what evidence the Braxville Police had. She prayed the clan believed her. She would hate to have them think she’d betrayed them and Fitz by trying to prove he was a killer behind his back.

She peeked out into the corridor. Clear. She literally ran for the back staircase, scurried up it and raced across the parking lot. She nearly spun out on a patch of ice in her haste to get out of the lot, but finally, she turned onto the street and breathed a sigh of relief. Lord, she hated sneaking around like this.

Debating whether or not to go home and change before heading over to her folks’ place, she ultimately opted to procrastinate a little longer and change into more casual clothes. Once home, it became even harder to force herself to leave the security of her little house to go face the music. She dawdled over changing into jeans, letting down and brushing out her hair and redoing her makeup.

Eventually, the moment arrived when she could think of nothing else to do to get ready to go to her parents’ house. With a sigh, she scooped up her keys and trudged out to her car.

As she approached her parents’ massive estate, she caught herself slowing down more and more, well below the speed limit.

Ugh. When had she turned into such a chicken?

Since Reese Carpenter had put her in an impossible situation. That was when.

She decided that, if things got too nasty, she would claim to have an early meeting in the morning and flee the family gathering. It wasn’t great as escape plans went, but it was a plan.

The entire circular drive and the concrete pad between the main house and the carriage house were crammed with cars. Oh, joy. The whole clan was here in force tonight. Her gut and her jaw both tightened.

If she was lucky, she would be able to slip into the kitchen and blend in with the crowd without anyone realizing she’d only just arrived. Goodness knew, she’d done it enough times over the years.

When she opened the back door, the smell of her mom’s world-famous chili and a wall of noise assaulted her. It sounded like everyone was talking at once while crowding the huge kitchen and hanging around the massive island in the center of it.

“Hey! Look who the cat dragged in!” her brother Neil exclaimed.

Darn it. Busted. An assortment of her siblings and their significant others stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at her. “Hey, everyone,” she mumbled. “Carry on with what you were doing.”

After a brief chorus of hellos, the whole gang went back to talking and laughing, and her moment in the spotlight blessedly passed. She was ridiculously relieved, but she was also perplexed. She’d fully expected to be jumped and interrogated within an inch of her life the second she showed her face. What was up with them not having anything to ask her about Fitz’s arrest?

Also, everyone seemed surprisingly cheerful for a bunch who’d just found out their father had been arrested for murder.

Weird.

Her mother came over from the stove and gave her a hug. “How are you holding up, darling?” her mother asked sympathetically.

“Umm, fine. I’m just buried at work.”

“I can imagine. It’s not often Braxville has two big criminal investigations going at one time.”

“How are you doing, Mom?”

Violet smudges under her mom’s eyes gave away the strain that Lilly was operating under. Yvette also recognized in her mom’s face a certain transparent quality to the porcelain skin she’d inherited from her mother. Her skin did the same thing when she was exhausted and stressed out.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Are you sure? No offense, but you look tired.”

“It’s been a little rough. But all bad things pass eventually.”

“How can you say that? Dad was just arrested for murder!”

“Fitz texted to say he’ll be here any minute. He’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Fitz is coming?”

“Yes, dear. He’s out on bail.”

The whole idea of her father having to be out on bail for anything set Yvette’s teeth on edge.

“Talk to him when he gets here, honey. He has already spoken with the other children, but nobody could find you this afternoon and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I had a lot of work to do,” she mumbled.

“I’ll let him explain.”

Yvette frowned. That was an unusual undertone of steel in her gentle mother’s voice. Great. What had her dad done now? Fitz and Lilly had been on precarious marriage footing more than once over the years, usually because Fitz was being an ass. Most of the time it had to do with him ignoring Lilly and/or the kids and choosing his company over his family.

The second-to-last person on earth she wanted to talk to right now was her father. Tonight’s gathering was obviously going to be a casual affair as evidenced by the big pot of chili on the stove, a huge pan of baked potatoes on the counter and a buffet of stuffed-baked-potato fixings in bowls beside that. Because it was a work night, family members would undoubtedly come and go based on their work schedules.

But apparently, everyone would be expected to stick around at least until Fitz arrived. He was the patriarch of the whole clan, after all.

Yvette had just finished eating a stuffed spud and was rinsing her plate in the sink when the kitchen door opened on a gust of freezing-cold air. Two men burst inside and she turned around to greet her fath—

Reese. What on God’s green earth was he doing here? He wasn’t family! And he certainly wasn’t welcome here the very same day he’d arrested the head of the family for a crime he didn’t commit!

“Hey, shortcake,” Fitz said casually, giving her and the wet plate a perfunctory hug before stepping around her to grab a plate of his own and load it up. He added, “Eat up, Reese. There’s plenty of food.”

Yvette moved over to Reese’s side and muttered angrily, “You have some gall, showing your face around here.”

Surprisingly, it was her father who responded. “Take your foot off the accelerator, there, ’Vette. Reese gave me a ride home from the police station. Least we can do is feed the boy by way of thanks.”

Thanks? Thanks? Her father didn’t owe Reese Carpenter thanks for anything!

Reese murmured to her father and she caught part of what he said. “…looks like she wants to kill me…should go…”

“Gimme a second to talk her down off the bridge and get a bite to eat. Then I’ll take you up on that ride to the airport you offered.”

What ride to the airport? And how was it her father managed to sound so condescending to her all the darned time? Sometimes, she got really tired of being treated like she was twelve years old around here. She turned away from both men with a huff and stomped out of the kitchen. Her father might have just told her in not so many words to cool her jets, but it didn’t mean she had to stay in the same room with a Judas.

“Wait up, ’Vette.”

God, she hated it when he called her that. She was neither a retired soldier nor a car. She stopped in the hallway without turning around to face her father.

He stepped into her field of vision and she looked up at him reluctantly. He was a big man, and she was the only one of her siblings who’d inherited nearly none of his features. They all teased her about being made of the leftovers after the rest of them were created.

“Before you go off half-cocked, there’s something you need to know,” he declared.

“What’s that?”

“As part of my plea deal, I agreed to participate in a sham arrest. The cops are hoping to draw out Dex. If he thinks I’m being charged with the murders, maybe he’ll come out of hiding.”

“You…they…what?”

“That whole business of me being arrested for the murders was an act. The press conference was a setup. I’m as eager as the next guy to see that bastard partner of mine’s sorry ass behind bars, so I agreed to help. Your mom knew in advance, but the cops wanted to be sure the rest of the family reacted in genuine surprise this morning.”

“Did Jordana know? She’s a cop.”

“Nope. Nobody but me, your mom, the district attorney and Reese. Oh, and my lawyer, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed dryly.

But Reese had known. And he hadn’t said a thing about it to her. He’d let her go into that press conference and get blindsided, and then get jumped by a pack of rabid reporters. Her family had turned on her, her police colleagues had turned on her and he’d abandoned her to face all of their silent blame alone.

As if his casual pronouncement explained everything and made it A-OK, Fitz turned away from her and headed toward the stairs. “I’ll be down in a sec, Reese. I’m already packed.”

Packed to go where? Why now, in the middle off all these messes involving his precious company? What business could possibly be more important than being here in Braxville to support his family? All of her siblings were involved in the events of the past six months at Colton Construction in one way or another.

She looked over at Reese and asked tightly, “Where’s he going?”

“The airport.”

She huffed. “And flying to where?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Are you lying to me?” she snapped.

“No!”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’ve never lied to you, Yvie.”

“Hah! You sure as heck didn’t tell me about this morning’s circus.”

“That’s not lying. That’s omitting telling you something. And I did suggest there might be press present when he turned himself in.”

“Same difference.” She drew breath to lay into him more, but Fitz came downstairs just then carrying two big suitcases. As in big. The kind of bags a person could live out of for weeks or months.

Lilly rounded the corner form the kitchen and asked Fitz coldly, “Do you have everything you wanted from the house?”

“I left instructions with my assistant on where to ship the boxes in my closet.”

“Fine.” Lilly turned and left, her expression as icy as Yvette had ever seen it.

What on earth?

She stared back and forth between Fitz and Reese. “What am I missing? What’s going on?”

Fitz answered lightly, “Oh. That. Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”

“A…what?”

“Your mom will explain. I have to go. Don’t want to miss my flight. Reese? You ready to roll?”

Reese took a step toward her. “Is there a time soon when you and I can talk?”

She looked up at him frigidly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

He winced fractionally but replied evenly enough, “Fair. But I have things to say to you.”

“Like what?” she snapped.

“Not here. Not now. Be with your family tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough for what I have to say.”

Hah. As if.

Reese sighed and grabbed one of Fitz’s big suitcases. He didn’t make eye contact with her again. Fleeing the scene of the crime, was he? Along with her coward of a father? She was so speechless with shock she just stood there as the two men strode down the hall and out the back door.

The door closed, leaving behind only the distant din of her family talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. As if her family had not just imploded before her eyes.

Her feet felt like blocks of wood as she stumbled into the kitchen. Her mother and Jordana were standing side by side at the sink, rinsing dishes and loading them in the dishwasher.

“Mom?” Yvette asked in a small voice. “Dad just told me. Are you okay?”

Lilly turned around and dried her hands on a dish towel, leaning a tired hip on the counter. “I’ll be fine, darling. Really.”

“But—” she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, hugging her tightly. Still slender and athletic, her mother felt strong. Stronger than she’d expected. In fact, it ended up being her mother hugging and comforting her and not the other way around.

When the shock abated enough for Yvette to think again, she leaned back to stare up at Lilly. “What happened? Was it the arsenic thing and the murder thing?”

“Oh, honey. It’s been building for a lot longer than that. Years. Decades, really. Maybe since even before the triplets came along. Your father always loved work more than family. He has never been…emotionally available. I stayed in the marriage for you kids. And to be honest, because it was more convenient to stay than to go. But in the past six months, the situation has changed.”

“So, it was the investigations and the bodies?” Yvette pressed.

“Not exactly.” Lilly continued, her voice tightening, “I did agree to stand by your father through the arsenic investigation. His attorney felt strongly that a show of family unity would be important in gaining enough public sympathy for Fitz to avoid going to jail. But now that the whole fiasco is concluded, I’m free to move on. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Yvette studied Lilly intently. Her mother looked almost transparent she was stretched so thin. She stepped forward once more to embrace her mother. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

Lilly accepted the hug but turned away soon enough, her eyes suspiciously moist, and left the kitchen.

“Way to go, Yvette,” Jordana muttered, hurrying after Lilly.

She stood alone in the kitchen feeling like a heel for making her mom cry. She’d been trying to comfort Lilly. But as usual, she’d zigged when she should have zagged with her family. She purely sucked at being a Colton.

“Hey, kiddo. Why the long face?”

Uncle Shep. On cue. There to look out for her when no one else saw her.

“Oh, Uncle Shep. Mom just told me about the divorce. You do know that just because your brother is divorcing my mom, you’ll still always be family, right?”

He smiled crookedly at her. “You always did have a giant heart. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m just worried about your mother. She’s been through so much…”

She reached out and gave Shep’s hands a squeeze. “You’ll be there for her, won’t you?”

“If she’ll let me.”

“She loves you to death. Of course, she’ll let you,” Yvette assured him.

A strange look flashed through her uncle’s dark brown eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was hope or something else altogether, more akin to chagrin. “Go be with your mom and your brothers and sisters. I’m going to head back to the carriage house and not intrude tonight.”

“But—”

He turned her by the shoulders and gave her a little push toward the living room. “Go.”

CHAPTER 11

Saturday morning dawned gray and damp, the clouds low and pregnant with snow. The forecast was for more snow, and possibly lots of it, starting in late morning. Perfect. She could get to the lab, hunker down, and as the weather deteriorated, nobody would be dropping by to bother her. Nobody, as in Reese.

She finished going through the evidence collected from the Dexter house without finding a single thing of interest, let alone anything that pointed at Markus Dexter as a murderer. But it wasn’t as if the guy was going to keep around the blunt object he’d killed two people with after all these years.

She continued working on cracking the codes he’d used for his address books and managed to decipher about half of them. It was clear the man had a thriving nightlife. An almost continuous string of initials dotted his evenings, many with late-night meeting times beside them. How could his wife have had no idea he was going out so much to meet other women?

She ate the lunch she’d packed for herself and finished up her final report on the arsenic investigation in the afternoon. Her final findings were moot now that the plea deal with her father was complete, and she could’ve just written up a few paragraphs and called it good. But she finished the job to the best of her ability anyway. She’d always believed any job worth doing was worth doing well.

Ugh. She was starting to act like Reese. His persnickety procedures were rubbing off on her. She corrected herself: she’d been careful and professional long before he’d come along and tried to tell her how to do her job, thank you very much.

At long last, the two big work tables in her lab were cleared off. All the Dexter evidence was sorted, labeled, cataloged and shelved. The samples from the arsenic investigation were analyzed and packed up, and she was even done with the massive collection of files from Dexter’s office. Well satisfied that order had finally been restored in her lab and in her life, she closed up shop, turned off the computers and lights and headed home.

She was surprised to realize it was nearly eight at night and that close to a foot of snow had fallen since this morning. Man. Kansas was really getting clobbered this winter. More snow was falling lazily now, thick enough to be pretty but not a blizzard.

The parking lot was blanketed in a thick layer of white, and her little car looked like an overfrosted cupcake with mounds of snow on the hood and roof. She wasn’t even going to be able to start it and defrost the windows until she cleared the snow away from her tailpipe.

She trudged around the back of her car and bent down to start pulling snow away from her car’s exhaust with her mittened hands.

The shadow came at her fast, a flash of black out of the corner of her eye, barreling at her in snow-muffled silence. She started to turn. Started to fling up her hands. Started to shout. But the attacker was on her too fast, tackling her hard and driving her to the ground.

It turned out that the snow wasn’t thick enough to cushion her from slamming hard into the pavement beneath. Her shoulder hit hard and her head snapped to the side, slamming into the concrete with enough force to make her jaw ache from the impact.

She saw stars, dazed.

The weight on top of her was massive, and she tried to draw a breath, but nothing happened. Her diaphragm was paralyzed, the breath knocked out of her. Panic shot through her as she sucked ineffectively at the cold air. The stars turned into bright lights before her eyes and then narrowed down to a gray tunnel.

“Bitch,” a male voice snarled.

She vaguely saw something dark and long—an arm maybe—lift up over her and then swing down fast toward her face. She managed to turn her face away from the blow, but the impact caught her over her ear on the left side of the head.

The explosion of pain inside her skull was absolutely excruciating. So that was what it felt like to have her head split open like a melon.

Blackness rushed toward her. Blessed oblivion, and she embraced it. Anything to escape the spearing agony roaring through her head.

And then there was only darkness and silence.

* * *

Reese straightened up, leaning on the snow shovel for a second to catch his breath. The streetlights cast soft pink circles of light, and the heavy blanket of white lit the night with a soft glow that was beautiful and quiet. He loved the silence of a good snowfall.

He’d already finished shoveling his driveway and that of his neighbor across the road, an elderly widow. He’d just made a quick run across his driveway again with the shovel to push aside the inch of snow that had fallen while he was working on Mrs. Weintraub’s drive. He went on call at midnight and needed to be able to get his truck out of his garage by then.

The vigorous exercise had helped work off some of his frustration at Yvie for being unreasonable last night. He reminded himself that she had good reason to be mad at him for not telling her about the sham press conference. He really wished he could have been the one to tell her it had all been an act. Fitz hadn’t been exactly gentle or sensitive about breaking that news to her. But it was what it was. All he could do now was get her to listen to his sincere apology and do everything in his power to make it up to her until she forgave him.

It didn’t help matters that her old man had sprung the news of his divorce from Lilly on her like that, either. He really wished he could’ve been there to comfort Yvette last night, but she wanted nothing to do with him at the moment.

It looked like the snow was letting up a little. He hoped Yvie was okay, that she’d remembered to go shopping and lay in groceries before this storm hit. The forecast was for as much as a couple of feet of snow, all told. The town was going to be completely snowed in soon—assuming it wasn’t already.

He was tempted to run by her place to check on her, but she’d been so mad at him last night he figured he’d better give her a day or two to cool off before he tried to reason with her. A passionate woman, she was.

That, and he suspected some of her ire last night was directed at her father and not actually at him. He probably ought to let her sort that out on her own. One thing he knew, though. Unlike her old man, he was not about to abandon her.

He’d never liked Fitz Colton much—the guy had strutted around acting all self-important and as if he was the sole benefactor of the entire town for as long as Reese could remember. Granted, Colton Construction had provided a lot of jobs over the years. But that didn’t make Fitz some kind of hero to Braxville.

This latest move of Fitz’s, though—divorcing his wife and leaving his family to face the fallout of his screwups—that was massively selfish. A serious jerk move.

How was Yvette even his daughter? She was nothing at all like him—

His phone vibrated inside his coat. Crud. The department wasn’t so overwhelmed that it was already having to call him in, was it? It was barely nine o’clock.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the caller ID in a combination of shock and profound relief. Yvette was calling. Thank goodness.

“Hey, Yvie. I’m so glad you called—”

“It’s not Yvette. This is Lilly Colton. Is this Detective Carpenter?”

Alarm slammed into him. Why was Yvette’s mother using Yvie’s phone? Something bad had happened, as sure as he was standing here. Oh, God. Not Yvie.

“Yes. This is Detective Carpenter. What’s wrong?” he asked sharply. “Why are you calling me on Yvette’s phone? Where are you? Where is she?”

“I’m at the hospital. Yvette was brought in a little while ago. You might want to come down here.”

He was already sprinting for his garage, slipping and sliding on the fine sheen of snow left over from shoveling the drive. “What happened? Is she okay? How bad is it?”

“We don’t know much. She’s unconscious. She appears to have suffered blows to her head.”

Blows, plural? What the hell? His detective radar fired off hard. Had she been attacked? An image of Olivia Harrison’s desiccated body flashed into his head, the entire back of her skull bashed in. And that was when the panic hit him. He asked with faint hope, “Did she fall?”

Lilly’s voice lowered, and it sounded as if she was cupping her hand around the phone. “The ER doc thinks someone hit her. That’s why I’m asking you to come down here. I think maybe the police should get involved.”

He leaped into his truck and it roared to life. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m already pulling out of my driveway.”

“Then hang up and drive carefully. I’ll meet you in the ER waiting room and take you back.”

The strain in Lilly’s voice was palpable. It was bad, indeed, if an experienced nurse like her was that freaked out.

It was all he could do not to floor the gas pedal as he made his way across town to the hospital. Only the deep snow and impaired visibility held him even close to the speed limit.

Yvie attacked? By whom? Where? How? How bad was it? Unlike in television, he knew that most people regained consciousness relatively quickly after being knocked out. But she’d been out long enough to be found and brought to the hospital. And she was still unconscious. That was not good. Not good at all.

Hang on, Yvie. Don’t you die on me. And then he started praying.

He parked outside the hospital and ran, slipping and sliding, to the emergency room. When he burst through the doors, he immediately spotted Lilly waiting by the double doors leading to the examining rooms. Without a word, she turned and swiped her identification card to unlock the doors.

He followed her swiftly down a hallway to a small room full of quietly beeping monitors. In a bed in the middle of all kinds of equipment lay Yvie, small and pale, covered in tubes and electrodes.

His heart literally skipped a beat. If there was any way he could trade places with her right now, he’d do it in an instant.

“What’s her condition?” he asked low.

“Guarded. She’s going down for an MRI in a few minutes to check for swelling or—” Lilly took a deep breath, “—or brain damage.”

“What happened? What do you know?”

“Someone found her unconscious in the police parking lot, lying on the ground behind her car. It appeared she’d been digging out her tailpipe. There were, umm, tracks in the snow. I gather it looked there might have been a scuffle. An ambulance was called. She was dangerously chilled when she got here, and the officer who found her said there was snow accumulating on her coat. So, she might have been there for a while before someone found her.”

His pulse was racing faster and faster as Lilly spoke and he had to talk around a lump in his throat when he asked, “Is she warmed up, now?”

“Yes. They put an electric blanket on her in the ambulance, and we’ve got one on her now.” Lilly glanced at one of the monitors. “Her body temperature is almost back up to normal.”

His impulse was to reach out and take Yvette’s hand, which lay limply outside the covers with a clip over her index finger, but right now Yvette needed him to be a cop, first.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and then asked briskly, “You said she had been hit in the head?”

“Yes. There’s a small bump on the right side of her head, here. It’s consistent with a fall.” Lilly pointed out the bump visible under Yvette’s still damp hair.

He nodded.

“And then there’s this much larger bump on the left side of her head, over her ear. It’s elongated and consistent with her having been struck by—” Lilly’s voice cracked, and she paused for a moment before continuing in an admirably professional tone, “—consistent with a blunt object like a club or a pipe.”

He swore under his breath. “Right. Do you mind if I take a few photographs of the wounds?”

“Not at all. It’s why I called you down here, Reese. Somebody attacked my baby.”

He paused in the act of taking out his phone to wrap his arms around Lilly in a brief, hard hug. “I’ll find out who did this to her.” She shuddered in his arms for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped back, smiling bravely at him.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “It has been a rough week.”

“Yeah. You’ve been through it, haven’t you? I’m sorry about everything that’s happened, Mrs. Colton.”

“Please. Call me Lilly.”

“Lilly. Call me Reese.”

They traded brief smiles, and then he turned to the business of documenting Yvette’s injuries. He mentally girded himself and asked, “Are there any other injuries?”

“Minor scrapes on the right side of her face, but that’s it. Nothing else.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. Thank God. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted. “Was anything taken? Her purse? Her car?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t have her purse on her when they wheeled her in. I don’t know if it was left behind in the parking lot. I found her cell phone in the pocket of her jeans.”

He reached for his phone to make a call, but another nurse came into the room just then. “We’re ready to take her down for the MRI. Do you want to come with her, Lilly?”

“Of course.” Lilly looked up at him apologetically. “You won’t be able to come with us. Do you mind waiting in the lobby?”

“How long will the MRI take?”

“About an hour, all told.”

“I think I’ll run over to the police station, but I’ll try to be back by the time she gets out. Call me if there’s any change in her status. Any change. And if she wakes up, I want to know immediately.”

Lilly nodded, already unhooking monitors and helping the other nurse prepare Yvette to move. He stood back watching helplessly. He hated not being able to do anything to help, but he was completely out of his element here.

Lilly and the other nurse wheeled Yvie’s bed out of the room and headed off down the hall quickly. He had a lot to do in the next hour, so he hurried out, determined to be back by the time Yvette’s MRI was finished.

He headed for the police station and didn’t have to ask where Yvette was found, because several cops were in the parking lot, using bright flashlights to examine the ground behind Yvette’s car. The area was already taped off, and he noted with approval that the police were staying outside the taped area to conduct their search.

“Howdy, guys,” he said tersely. “What have we got?”

Joe Brennan came over to join him. “Hey. Did you hear what happened to Yvette Colton?”

“Yeah. I just came from the hospital.”

“How’s she doing, man?”

“Still unconscious. They’re doing an MRI now to check for swelling or bleeding in her brain.”

The other cop swore. Police in general took it hard when one of their own went down.

“What happened? Who found her?” Reese asked.

“I did,” Brennan answered. “I came out to my SUV because I forgot the sandwich my wife packed, and I saw a big pile in the snow behind Yvette Colton’s car. It looked weird, so I went over to check it out. And it turned out to be her. She was covered in about an inch of snow and out cold. I called for an ambulance and then carried her inside.”

“What was her condition then?” Reese asked tersely.

“She was a freaking popsicle and bleeding from a gash in the side of her head. Her pulse was thready. I yelled for some guys and they brought blankets and we lay down on either side of her. Made a human sandwich to try to warm her up.”

“It looked like that gash was more than just a fall, so I went ahead and taped off the area behind her car as a potential crime scene, and then I dragged Eric’s ass out here to help me take some pictures of the tracks and the blood and look for any evidence.”

“Find anything?” Reese asked.

“No sign of a weapon. But I’ve got a good blood-splatter pattern on the rear fender of her car. Looks to me like some asshole hit her with a short object.”

“Did you find her purse?”

“No. Does she usually carry one?”

Reese nodded. “It’s pink. With little leather butterflies on the flappie thing and butterflies going up the shoulder strap.” He held his hands about eight inches apart. “It’s about that big.”

“Haven’t found it. Her car’s still locked but we looked in the windows. Didn’t see it there, either. Maybe she left it in the lab?”

“I’ll run in and check. Thanks for being on top of all of this. And thanks for taking care of her, Joe.”

“She’s one of us,” the cop intoned grimly.

Reese catalogued pleasure that the guy counted Yvette as a full-fledged member of the department, but his overriding emotion was panic. Yvette had been attacked and left to freeze out here. Had Joe not happened to stumble upon her, who knew how long she’d have lain out here. Would she have frozen to death before someone found her?

A cold, hard kernel of fury formed in his gut. He was going to find her attacker and by God make whoever it was pay for doing this to her.

He jogged down the stairs to the basement and spied the open door to the forensics lab as soon as he reached the long hallway. He swore under his breath and unsnapped the holster holding his pistol under his left armpit. Approaching the lab carefully, he stood to one side of the door and shoved it wide open.

No movement.

He spun inside low, reaching for the light switch and throwing the lights on.

Ho. Lee. Cow.

The entire crime lab was in shambles, ransacked from top to bottom. He scanned it quickly for any sign of movement. Nothing.

Moving as fast as he could among the wreckage, he made a circuit around the room, clearing it. Nobody was hiding in here. Without touching anything, he backed out of the room and pulled out his cell phone.

“Hey, Joe, it’s Reese. Looks like Yvette’s lab has been broken into. I need you to come down here and tape it off as a second crime scene.”

He examined the door carefully, paying close attention to the lock and card scanner outside the door. There were no signs of tampering or violence against the locks. Then how did the intruder get in—

Of course. Yvette’s ID card. It would have been in her purse. Her missing purse. The assailant mugged her in the parking lot, knocked her out, stole her ID and came in here looking for something. But what?

They would have to do a complete inventory of the lab and figure out what, if anything was missing. But later. Now that he knew Joe Brennan had things well in hand here, he needed to get back to the hospital.

Joe arrived with a fat roll of yellow crime-scene tape and glanced in the lab. The guy whistled. “Wow. That’s a right royal mess. I assume Ms. Colton didn’t leave it that way?”

Reese laughed reluctantly. “She’s as big a neat freak as I am.”

“Damn. That bad, huh?”

“Tape it off. Don’t let anyone in. The whole lab’s gonna have to be inventoried to see if anything’s missing.”

“This what her attacker was up to, you think? Robbing her lab?”

“Looks that way.”

“She keep anything in here like medications or controlled substances?” Brennan asked.

“Nope. Anything like that would be checked into the evidence locker.” Which was upstairs and untouched.

“Want me to get started cataloguing the damage in there?” Brennan asked.

“If you don’t mind. I’m going to head back to the hospital and wait for Yvie to wake up and give me a statement.”

“Give her my best,” Joe called after him as he spun away and hurried toward the stairs.

He only prayed she woke up to receive the well-wishes of her colleagues. Afraid like he couldn’t ever remember being afraid, he headed back toward the hospital and Yvette.

CHAPTER 12

Yvette might have faded out in blackness, but she faded back into featureless, blindingly bright white light. Loud, pounding noises echoed all around her until her head literally felt like it was splitting in two. So excruciating was the pain that she willed herself to fade back out into blessed oblivion.

* * *

The next time she regained consciousness, it was quiet with only a faint, steady beeping noise to interrupt the deep silence. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was lying semiupright in a dim room. It looked like a hotel at first glance, but then the IV tower beside her with a tube leading to the back of her wrist registered.

Hospital.

Ahh.

She was cold. Was there another blanket? She told her hands to reach down to her thighs to check, but they only lifted weakly and fell back to her sides.

Something big and dark moved swiftly out of the shadows, startling her badly. She flinched away and her head exploded into the worst headache she’d ever had the bad fortune to experience. She heard a faint moan, presumably from her own throat. But she hovered in this strange place of detachment, her body present but seemingly far away from her. All except that pulsating, daggerlike pain stabbing the backs of her eyeballs. It was all too real and present. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for unconsciousness again. But this time, her body didn’t cooperate. She was becoming more alert, more aware of the pain in her skull by the second.

“Easy, Yvie. It’s just me. I won’t hurt you.”

Reese. Hurt her? Of course, he wouldn’t hurt her. What was he talking about?

He approached her bed, his hands held out away from his sides in what she presumed was some sort of show of no intent to harm her.

She blinked in an effort to clear her vision—her right eye was a little fuzzy—to no avail. Two of him stood in front of her. She noted idly that if there had to be two of any man, he was a good one to duplicate.

“Hey, Yvie,” the twin Reeses murmured gently. “How are you feeling?”

She felt like crap on a cracker, to be honest. Weird. Her thoughts weren’t reaching her mouth. There was some sort of disconnect in her brain. Or maybe this was all some strange dream. What was he doing here? How did he get here? Confusion coursed through her fuzzy thoughts.

“Do you need me to call the nurse?”

Why would she need a nurse? What was wrong with her? How did she get here? Still, the questions didn’t make it out of her head into verbal speech. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she talk? Fear blossomed in her belly as she nodded, but the pain of moving her head was so excruciating that she stopped doing it right away.

Thankfully, Reese seemed to figure out that she needed some blanks filled in and obliged. “You’re in the hospital, Yvette. You’re going to be fine. You’ve had an MRI, and there’s no bleeding in your brain. They’re monitoring you here overnight as a precaution to make sure no more swelling develops in your brain.”

Whew. This not being able to talk thing would be scary as heck, otherwise. As it was, it was annoying as heck. Was there some swelling already? Was that why she couldn’t talk?

Reese continued, “As far as we can tell, somebody jumped you in the parking lot of the police department and hit you in the head. Joe Brennan found you lying behind your car covered in snow. Your mom is here. She was on shift when you came in and has been popping in to check on you all night.”

All night? What time was it? How long had she been here? Had Reese been sitting here with her the whole time? That was actually really sweet of him.

“Do you feel up to answering a few questions for me? We’re trying to piece together what happened to you. Figure out who did it.”

Oh. Never mind. He was here on police business. He wasn’t here as a man who cared about her. This was Detective Carpenter. Disappointment coursed through her, and she felt moisture fill her eyes. Was she actually crying over Reese? Cripes. She was a mess.

He reached out gently with the pad of his thumb and wiped away a tear that escaped to track down her cheek. “You’re safe, Yvie. Nobody’s going to hurt you again. I promise.”

He seemed to think she was afraid, but honestly, she wasn’t.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” he asked with gentle insistence.

She had to give him credit. He had a decent bedside manner while interrogating a girl. But that was all this was. He needed information from her. He leaned down over her, his blue eyes sparkling like bright sapphires, his lashes dark and long. Lord, his eyes were beautiful.

“Do you remember leaving the lab?”

She closed her eyes, thinking back. Did she remember anything about whatever had happened to land her here? An image of clean work tables came to mind. Right. She’d finally gotten through the mountain of evidence from the Dexter investigation. She recalled feeling satisfied at the cleanliness of the tabletops. She would have shut down the computers and turned off the lab equipment, then turned out the light, locked the door behind her and headed out. Although she knew what her usual routine was, she had no memory of actually doing it last night.

“Were you carrying a purse when you left the lab?” Reese asked.

She opened her eyes to look up at him. A purse? She had no idea. Think. She hadn’t packed her lunch yesterday morning. Which meant she’d have grabbed snacks out of the machine down the hall to nibble through the day. It also meant she probably would have grabbed her cute little purse with the butterflies. Not that she had any actual memory of doing so, darn it.

As for carrying it when she left the lab, of course, she would have taken it home with her. It would’ve had her wallet and keys in it along with her cell phone and various other bits and pieces.

But she didn’t specifically remember anything about last night after that image of the work tables. Did they find her purse in the parking lot, or had it been stolen in a mugging? Was that what this was? A mugging?

Frustration at having been the victim of a crime coursed through her. She had all the training she needed to defend herself. But she’d been mad at Reese—more interested in sneaking out of the precinct and avoiding him than in being aware of her surroundings. This was her own stupid fault.

The one thing she hated most in the whole world was feeling small and helpless. Yet here she was, lying in some dumb hospital bed because she hadn’t been paying attention and someone had taken advantage of her being a complete idiot.

She was so mad at herself that the tears in her eyes welled up even more out of sheer frustration.

“Hey. Don’t cry. I’m here. I won’t leave your side. I’ll protect you.”

What? Oh. He still thought she was afraid. He didn’t realize she was angry at herself. She opened her mouth to try to force words out, to explain his mistake to him, but a spill of light from the hallway made her turn her head toward the door.

Mistake. Screaming pain ripped through her skull, and she groaned wordlessly.

Her mother moved over to the bed and picked up her hand. “Hi, sweetheart. Is your head hurting a lot?”

She nodded fractionally, but even that much movement sent the bad men with knives to work on the backs of her eyeballs again. She pressed her eyes shut against the pain.

“It has been long enough that you can have another ampule of morphine. Would you like to take it now?”

For the relief of a powerful painkiller, she was willing to nod one more time. Her mother fiddled with the IV tower out of Yvette’s line of sight for a moment.

“There, darling. Give that a minute or two to hit your bloodstream, and you should feel better. It may make you sleepy, though.”

Yvette got the impression that the comment about her getting sleepy was aimed more at Reese than at her. And indeed, Reese commented, “I promise I won’t bother her if she falls asleep.”

“Good,” Lily answered tartly. “My baby needs her rest.”

Amusement coursed through Yvette. Gentle Lilly turned into a mama grizzly bear when one of her kids was upset or hurt.

Reese murmured, “She’s not talking at all. Is that normal?”

Lilly glanced down at her, and Yvette knew her well enough to see the worry hidden at the back of her mother’s gaze. “She did take a blow on the part of her skull just where the speech center lies. If there’s even the slightest swelling in that part of her brain, it could impede brain function in that area. It would explain why she may not be able to talk just yet.”

Her mom must have realized Yvette was hearing that with alarm, for Lilly looked down at her and added, “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s a totally temporary thing. The MRI showed no brain damage or bleeding in your brain. As soon as the anti-inflammatories in your IV kick in, you’ll be talking up a storm.”

“Good. We need to know what she can tell us about who did this to her as soon as possible,” Reese added.

“Cool your jets, Detective. The first priority is her health. And right now, she needs to rest.”

He threw up his hands in surrender, and Yvette smiled faintly as the cool relief of the morphine flowed into her bloodstream and her eyelids drifted shut.

* * *

Reese waited until Yvette had been asleep long enough to be sure she wasn’t going to wake up again soon and then stepped out of her room. He headed down the hall to an empty seating area and pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Jordana, it’s Reese.”

“What’s up? What time is it?”

“Umm, it’s about five thirty in the morning. Sorry to call so early, but I figured your mom hasn’t had a free moment to call you what with pulling a shift here at the hospital and trying to stay on top of Yvette’s condition.”

“What condition?” Jordana sounded a whole lot more awake all of a sudden.

He filled her in quickly and finished with, “Look. I know it’s none of my business, but Yvette is feeling a little…ostracized…by all of you, right now. My impression is that she thinks you’re blaming her for not catching whoever murdered the bodies in the wall and for her dad having to get arrested to try to smoke out Markus Dexter. Hell, it’s possible she’s blaming herself for your folks’ divorce.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Just sayin’. She could use a little Colton love.”

“Got it. Thanks. I’ll call in the troops.”

Alarmed, he added quickly, “But not right now, eh? She just got a morphine drip and passed out. Later today will be soon enough.”

“But she’s gonna be okay, right?”

“According to your mom, her loss of speech is temporary until the anti-inflammatories kick in. Other than that, she appears only to have a smashing headache.”

“Any leads on the mugger?”

He lowered his voice instinctively, not wanting Yvette to hear him, even though she was a full hallway away from here. “Whoever mugged her appears to have swiped her Braxville PD identification card and broken into the forensics lab. The perp totally trashed the joint.”

“Anything stolen?” Jordana asked quickly.

“Nobody can tell yet. It’s a war zone. We’re gonna have to go through and straighten out everything and then inventory every single piece of evidence in the whole lab.”

“Ugh. What a nightmare that’ll be.”

He grimaced. “That’s an understatement.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I know what I’m doing after I round up the siblings and drag them all over to the hospital to shower Yvie in TLC. I’ll head over to her lab after that and have a look around. See if I can figure out if anything was taken.”

“I’m sticking around the hospital in case Yvie wakes up and can talk. I’m going to need a statement from her about what happened.”

Jordana’s silence was just a breath too long. She knew full well he didn’t need to stick around the hospital for her sister to wake up. A nurse could call him just as easily if Yvie regained the ability to speak.

“Okay, then. Call me if her condition changes?” Jordana asked lightly.

“Will do.” He debated for a moment and then added, “By the way, Yvie let it slip to me that you’re moving to Chicago. She felt terrible about mentioning it when she realized I didn’t know yet.”

“Ohmigosh,” Jordana said softly. “I’m so sorry. It should have come from me. It’s just that I’ve loved working with you so much and I hate to leave the department behind.”

“Tell you what. You have my blessing to go to Chicago and make lots of beautiful babies with Clint if I have your blessing to date Yvie.”

“Hah! I knew there was something going on between you two!”

“Do we have a deal?” he pressed.

“Just so long as you know I’ll have your head on a platter if you break my baby sister’s heart.”

“I’d expect no less of you,” he replied dryly.

“Deal.”

He disconnected the call and pocketed his phone, shaking his head. Jordana was not kidding. She would tear him up if he ever messed up with her baby sister. He hated to think what the Colton brothers would do to him if he broke Yvie’s heart.

But it was worth the risk. She captivated him in a way no other woman ever had. He was thirty-one years old for crying out loud. He’d dated enough women to know how special she was, and furthermore, to know how perfect she was for him. He would like to think he was right for her, too. His steadiness and organization seemed like a good foil for her impulsiveness and creative chaos. If nothing else, she made him laugh and was endlessly interesting to be around.

Before the siblings got wind of it, he definitely owed her an apology for not telling her about the fake arrest plan for her father. Surely, she would forgive him for that. She was a smart woman and would understand that they needed all of the Colton kids’ reactions to the announcement to be genuine and unrehearsed. Television cameras caught everything, after all.

He approached her door and was startled to hear voices coming from inside Yvie’s room. He stopped outside, unsure of whether or not to barge in. If it was a doctor doing an examination or something, maybe he should wait out here—

“…swear she’s going to be all right?” a male voice said from inside.

“I swear. I’ll take care of our little girl.”

That was Lilly Colton. Had Fitz flown back from wherever he’d jetted off to when he’d heard Yvette was hurt? But how was that possible? Reese’s impression was that Fitz had headed outside the United States.

“She’s all I have, Lilly. I can’t lose her,” the man said.

Lilly answered low, “We’re not going to lose her. And you have me, too.”

“Thank God.”

Okay, then. Obviously, Lilly Colton had known for a while that Fitz was leaving and had already moved on to a new relationship. He hoped this guy treated her like gold. The way he heard it from Jordana, Fitz valued his business above all else in the world, including his family, and definitely more than his wife.

Reese heard rustling sounds as if Lilly and the man had moved together and were embracing. Definitely not a doctor, then. Who was this mystery man? And why was Lily calling Yvette their baby girl? Reese cleared his throat loudly and gave it a few seconds before he rounded the corner.

Surprise coursed through him, and just in the nick of time, he stopped his eyebrows from sailing up. Shepherd Colton? He and Lilly Colton were a thing? Since when? He sensed family skeletons lurking in the Colton closet. Ah, well. Every family had its own secrets and scandals.

“Any change?” he asked Lilly, lifting his chin toward the bed where Yvette slumbered in morphine-induced unconsciousness.

“No. If you want to go home and get some sleep, I can have the floor nurse call you when she wakes up.”

“That’s okay. I’ll stick around. It’s urgent that I speak with her the moment she’s alert enough to answer a few questions. Even if all she does is nod or shake her head yes or no.”

Lilly shrugged. “It’s your neck and back in a bad chair.”

Except no sooner had Yvette’s uncle and mother left the room than an orderly wheeled in a pretty decent recliner chair for him, saying that Lilly had asked to have it brought in. He kicked off his shoes, covered himself with the blanket the orderly had left in the chair, leaned it back and closed his eyes.

But his brain didn’t shut down right away. He replayed the conversation he’d overheard between Shep Colton and Lilly. The man had called Yvette all he had, and Lilly had referred to Yvie as our little girl.

Was it possible? Was the uncle actually Yvette’s father? It would certainly cast a new light on the recent divorce announcement between Fitz and Lilly. Not that Reese cared one way or another who’d slept with whom in the Colton family. Given his own opinion that Fitz was more of a scumbag than not, he couldn’t blame Lilly for stepping out on her business-obsessed spouse.

Did Yvette know?

She’d never once hinted at anything like that, nor had Jordana.

Nah. His money was on nobody knowing that. Assuming he was even interpreting what he’d heard correctly. Thankfully, it shouldn’t impact the active investigation into the twin murders in the wall of the Colton-built warehouse. The case didn’t require him to tell anyone that juicy little detail about Yvette’s family.

Yep. That was one secret he would happily take to the grave. No way did he want to kick the foundation of her family out from under Yvette’s feet. What she didn’t know about her parentage wouldn’t hurt her. He only prayed he was interpreting what he’d heard all wrong.

But in his gut he knew he wasn’t wrong.

He tossed and turned for a long time in search of sleep.

* * *

The next time Yvette woke up, stripes of diffused light came through the vertical blinds covering the window and the clock on the wall across from her bed said it was nearly ten o’clock. Based on the sun, that would be ten in the morning.

Reese was stretched out in the recliner in the corner, asleep. A blanket was draped over him, and his shoes sat on the floor beside the chair. Relaxed in sleep, his face looked younger. Less intimidating. She would have liked to get to know this Reese, the one who set aside his cop persona to relax and just be a guy. A good-looking guy with enough kindness in his heart to sit in the hospital with her.

She knew the second he woke up, though, his eyes would harden, he would don his badge and he would start in with the questions about what had happened last night.

What did happen? She thought back, and still was able to retrieve nothing beyond that one image of her work tables being cleared off.

She did remember details from before that, though, including taking her cute pink butterfly purse to work. It was a sure bet she’d taken it out of the lab with her. She never left her purse at work. Which seemed to indicate that she had, indeed, been robbed.

She had to give it to the mugger. It took guts to target someone coming out of the police department.

Too warm, she kicked off one of the blankets and found the remote control for her bed and the television. The pictures on the controls were self-explanatory, and she pushed the button to sit the bed more upright. The whir of the motor woke Reese, and he sat up quickly, rubbing his face.

“Good morning, Yvette. How are you feeling? Can you talk yet?”

She opened her mouth to try. “Hi,” she croaked.

“She speaks!” He kicked the footrest down and padded over to the side of her bed in his socks. “I never thought I’d be glad to have a silent Colton woman commence talking at me, but dang, I’m glad you’re able.”

“That is the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard,” she snapped.

He grinned. “Like I said. Welcome back, Yvette.”

She scowled. “Is there a glass of water around here? My throat is parched.”

“Lemme get a nurse. I don’t know if you’re allowed to have anything like that. I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm you when we’re just getting you back.”

He stepped out into the hall and was back in a second. He put on his shoes, folded the blanket he’d been using and shrugged into his suit jacket. She sighed. Detective Carpenter had shown up for duty.

She said, “I took my pink purse to work yesterday. It has little butterflies all over it and going up the shoulder strap. If it wasn’t on me when you found me, then it was stolen in the mugging.”

He nodded briskly and pulled out his cell phone. He stepped out into the hall, presumably to call the station, while a nurse helped her go to the bathroom and return to her bed, hauling her IV tower with her.

The headache was a constant, dull ache, emanating from a line of sharp pain above her left ear. She reached up and encountered a bandage on the side of her head. “Do I have stitches?” she asked the nurse.

“They weren’t necessary. But you do have butterfly bandages holding your head wound shut. If you mess with those, the doctor might put a couple of sutures in.”

“Got it. No messing with the bandages.”

Reese stepped back into the room still on the phone. “Is there anything else you can remember, Yvette? Anything you can tell us about your attacker?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything about it. The last thing I remember is looking at the tables in my lab and being happy they’re finally clean.”

Reese snorted. Whether that was directed at her or something the person on the other end of the phone said, she couldn’t tell.

He finished the call and came back into the room. He asked the nurse, “Any idea when Miss Colton can be released?”

“The neurologist wants to see her later today, and assuming she’s doing well then, I should think he’d send her home.” The woman turned to Yvette. “Do you have a roommate? Live with someone?” The nurse cast a suggestive glance in Reese’s direction.

“No, ma’am,” she answered.

“Well, you can’t stay alone for a while. You’ve had a serious concussion. You’ll need someone to keep an eye on you, watch out for dangerous symptoms to develop. While you rest today, you might want to think about who you’d like to arrange to stay with you.”

“That’s covered,” Reese said briskly. “I’ll be staying with her. Or rather, she’ll be staying with me at my place.”

CHAPTER 13

Yvette whipped her head around to stare at Reese, which was an exceedingly bad choice. Blinding pain ripped through her head and she had no choice but to collapse back on the soft pillow and close her eyes, breathing in short, shallow gasps until the worst of the pain passed. By the time she opened her eyes, the nurse was gone.

“I’m not staying at your house,” she declared.

“Who will you be staying with, then? As I recall, all of your siblings are in relatively new romantic relationships, and you don’t strike me as the type to play third wheel comfortably. Your parents are in the middle of a divorce and are stressed out to the max. By your own admission, you haven’t made friends in town since you’ve moved back. Except for me, of course. And besides, I want to do it. I can take care of you, and I can see to it you’re safe.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Don’t tell me you can take care of yourself.”

Her mouth closed. That had, indeed, been what she’d been about to say.

“You heard the lady. You can’t be alone for a while. Discussion closed. You’ll stay with me. I have plenty of room, and I figure you’ll get in less trouble at my house than you would in your own home.”

She frowned at him, but she had to admit he was probably right.

They were saved from any more debates by the arrival of her sister Bridgette, who looked as gorgeous as always. She was a golden person, golden skin, golden hair, golden, shining personality.

“Hey, Yvette. How are you feeling?”

“Like warmed-over mush,” she confessed.

“I brought you a few little things—some mascara and gloss. A little blush. Oh, and a hairbrush and a toothbrush. A girl’s gotta have a little confidence to face the whole Colton clan, eh?”

“The whole clan?” she echoed in dismay.

Bridgette leaned down and murmured, “Jordana has called out the troops and ordered all of us to stop by and visit you today. Which we’re glad to do, of course. You should have called last night to let us know you were here. We’d have come by then.”

“I was unconscious most of last night, I’m told.”

Bridgette’s blue eyes, so like their mother’s, widened. “Just how badly were you hurt, Yvie?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” The last thing she needed was to have the whole family clucking over her like a bunch of worried chickens with their feathers all fluffed out. “Please, for the love of God, call off the reinforcements.”

“Too late,” Ashley Hart called from the doorway. She was Neil’s fiancée and fully as gorgeous as Bridgette. A socialite and philanthropist, she’d have been stunning even without the best beauty care money could buy.

Yvette groaned under her breath.

“Tyler’s parking the car. He’ll be in shortly,” Ashley commented, breezing into the room. “And I think I saw Brooks and Neil pulling into the parking lot.”

This time, Yvette didn’t bother to muffle her groan.

“How’s the new house coming?” Ashley asked Bridgette.

“Luke thinks it’ll be done before Easter, but I’m betting it’ll be at least Memorial Day before we’re into it.”

Tyler, the oldest and most serious of the siblings, came into the room and dropped a fond kiss on Yvette’s cheek before moving to stand beside Ashley and looping his arm around her slender waist. Neil, the criminal attorney came in right behind him.

Yvette grumbled at her lawyer sibling, “Don’t you have to be at court or something, Neil?”

“Nope. No big cases pending at the moment.”

“Drat,” she grumbled.

Everyone laughed as Brooks, one of the triplets, rounded the corner and demanded, “What did I miss?”

Yvette rolled her eyes as he came over and yanked on her big toe through the blankets.

She looked over at Neil in chagrin. “No wonder you were so hot and bothered to get out of the hospital before. I get it now.”

Tyler piped up with, “Hey. At least you weren’t shot, Yvie.” He was fully recovered from the gunshot wound he’d suffered a few months back, thankfully.

“Nah. I was just mugged. Garden-variety crime. Nothing fancy like you,” she retorted.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around her with her siblings laughing and talking about their jobs and homes and general gossip. It turned out Ty and Ashley were planning to take a vacation soon, and a spirited debate over where they should go ensued with Venice and Maui emerging as the two front-runner choices.

When the conversation lagged, Yvette commented, “Gee, it’s too bad Jordana’s not here to enjoy this gathering of the troops that she arranged.”

“Yeah. Where is she, anyway?” Neil demanded.

As if conjured by the question, Jordana turned the corner into the room no more than a minute later. “I see everyone’s here,” she commented. “That’s great. I have an announcement to make. I’ve told Mom, and Yvie already knows, but I’m moving to Chicago to be with Clint, and I’m going to open up an office there for Ty’s security firm.”

Exclamations and congratulations were forthcoming, and Yvette was delighted not to be the center of attention as the others focused on Jordana. It was great of her family to show up like this, but frankly, the whole Colton clan at once could be a little exhausting.

Perhaps two minutes passed with nobody else coming into her now crowded room, but then one more body filled the doorway. Reese. The gang greeted him, and he joined in to the conversation easily.

Yvette noted that he and Jordana seemed to have come to an understanding, for the two of them were relaxed and joking with each other. Thank goodness. She would have hated to put a rift between them with her thoughtless revelation of Jordana’s plan to leave the force and move away.

One by one, the siblings started to drift out, citing jobs and other obligations. Jordana was the last one left. She came over to Yvette’s bed and leaned down, looking concerned. “Do you have any idea at all who could’ve jumped you in the parking lot, sis?”

“None.”

“No enemies? Disgruntled exes?”

“You have to have exes for them to be disgruntled,” she retorted.

Jordana smiled but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m worried about your safety, Yvie. If last night’s attack is related to a case you’re working on, the attacker may not have gotten what he wanted.”

“Meaning what?” she asked her older sister sharply.

Jordana sighed. “He might have meant you more serious harm than this.”

“Are you tiptoeing around saying the attacker might have meant to kill me?” Yvette demanded.

“Well, yes,” Jordana allowed reluctantly.

“I’d already thought of that,” Yvette confessed.

Reese jumped into the conversation. “Don’t worry, Jordana. I’m taking her back to my place and not letting her out of my sight. I’ll see to it she’s safe going forward.”

Jordana nodded in relief. “Call me if you need help or you need me to spell you. Yvette can be a bit of a pill, especially when she’s not feeling good.”

“Hey!” Yvette exclaimed. “I’m an angelic patient.”

Reese and Jordana both laughed at that.

A wave of fatigue washed over her and Yvette closed her eyes.

Reese murmured to Jordana, “Yvette’s looking a bit droopy. Maybe we should let her rest a bit?”

Her sister took the hint, planted a quick kiss on her cheek and left.

“Thanks for kicking her out,” she murmured to him.

“I knew it meant a lot to you to have your family rally around you, but you need your rest.”

For the first time since she’d come back to Braxville, she felt like she was really home. She reached up to touch the bandages on the side of her head. “It’s a heck of a way to finally reconnect with my family.”

He smiled gently. “Maybe you can go a while without hitting your head again? It would help my blood pressure immensely.”

Worried about her, was he? Okay, that made her insides feel even warmer and squishier. “I forgot what it’s like to be part of a big family. Or at least, I forgot for a while what the best part of being a Colton is.”

Reese did a strange thing. He frowned for a moment. His lips parted as if he was going to say something in response to that, but then he closed his mouth and turned away. What on earth?

Without looking back at her he mumbled over his shoulder, “I’m going to arrange for a police officer to stand outside your room. Once he gets here, I have some stuff to do. But, I’ll come back in a little while to check on you. Get some rest, eh?”

“Umm, yeah. Sure.” What was up with him? He kept blowing hot then cold with her, and it was confusing as heck.

The door closed behind him and silence fell around her. Alone at last. Her eyes drifted shut.

She dreamed of running after Reese as he strode away from her, calling for him to come back, and him never once turning around to even look at her.

She woke with a lurch, feeling lost and alone, abandoned by everyone she loved. Startled by how powerful her reaction to some stupid dream was, she reached up with both hands to dash tears off her cheeks. Sheesh. Since when had she become so sappy and sensitive?

From the doorway, a male voice boomed, “Yvette? Are you awake?”

Well, duh. She would be now if she hadn’t already been. “Hi, Dr. Jones.”

“I came to have a look at you and see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling ready to get out of here.”

The doctor smiled as he shone a blindingly bright little torture device of a light in her left eye. “All my patients say that.”

She responded dryly. “You mean not everybody loves being poked and prodded awake every hour on the hour around the clock?”

His grin widened. “Well, I can see your ornery wasn’t hurt in your mishap.”

Not hardly. She was still ticked off at herself that she hadn’t had more situational awareness when she went out to her car last night. She’d been so relieved not to run into Reese that she’d forgotten everything she knew about self-defense.

Another male voice spoke from the doorway. “What’s the verdict, Doc? Can she go home today?”

She peered around the physician to see Reese leaning against the door frame looking long and lean and sexier than any one man had a right to.

“She can go home if and only if she’s got someone with her around the clock for the next twenty-four hours. She’s going to need to be woken up every couple of hours for at least one more day—”

Yvette groaned. “You’re killing me with all this interrupted sleep. Is it really necessary?”

The doctor looked down at her sternly. “You have a serious concussion. Immediately after a serious head trama, there’s a risk of you falling unconscious and slipping into a coma. You have to be woken up periodically to make sure that hasn’t happened.”

“Oh, please. I’m fine.”

Reese spoke over her. “I’ll see to it she’s woken every two hours like clockwork. Any other care instructions?”

“I’ll send her home with painkillers and antibiotics, and I need her to stay on anti-inflammatories for at least a week to prevent any swelling in or around the brain.”

“Got it,” Reese said briskly.

“Complete bed rest for the next day. She can only get up to go to the restroom. After that, limited activity for another three to four days. It goes without saying that she mustn’t do anything that will shake her head or move it abruptly. No sports, no vigorous activity, no exercise.”

“Party pooper,” she mumbled.

Reese grinned at her and she gifted him with her blackest scowl.

The doctor left the room and Reese commented, “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“Did you just call me cute? Now, I’m going to have to kill you. As soon as I can engage in vigorous activity, you’re a dead man.”

His grin widened. “I can think of a few vigorous activities I’d like to engage in with—” He broke off. “Sorry. That was out of line.”

Her cheeks heated up until they felt on fire. He was thinking about sleeping with her, was he? “There’s still the matter of you lying to me to deal with, mister.”

“Me? I’ve never lied to you.”

“What do you call not telling me about my father’s fake arrest?”

“That’s an omission, not a lie. I would never lie to you. We couldn’t tell any of the Colton kids about it because the cameras were there to record your reactions. They had to be real.”

She huffed. “I still don’t like it.”

“I didn’t like doing it if that makes you feel better,” he said soberly.

Actually, it did. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him until he groveled a little more.

“I swear, Yvette. I will never lie to you—”

The doctor stepped back into the room and Reese broke off.

The neurologist boomed, “I’ve had a nurse send all your prescriptions over to the drugstore. They should be ready for pickup by the time you’ve finished the release paperwork and you’re ready to get out of here.”

For a man who worked around people with head pain a lot, the guy sure was loud.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said politely. She opened her mouth to forgive Reese for not telling her about the fake arrest of her father, but a nurse came in and shooed Reese out of the room.

The woman had a clipboard and shoved it under Yvette’s nose. It took a half hour to wade through a mountain of documents with print too small for any reasonably sighted human being to read, but at long last, the woman held out a large plastic bag. “Here are your clothes and personal effects. Do you want me to help you get dressed?”

“No. That’s okay. I can dress myself.” Just how helpless did they all think she was?

She was dressed and seated on the edge of the bed, reluctantly admitting to herself that she had the beginnings of a monster headache coming on, when Reese came around the corner into her room.

“Let’s spring you from this joint,” he said jauntily.

“Thank goodness.” She jumped off the edge of the tall bed and knives stabbed her brain from about fifty directions at once. Whoa. She paused until the pain subsided enough for her to actually see—

A hand gripped her elbow and Reese loomed beside her. Man, that guy was fast. That, and he could read her well. He must’ve seen the pain on her face and jumped over to support her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly enough not to send the knives back through her skull.

“Yeah. Sure,” she mumbled.

“Liar.”

“Just get me out of here. I hate hospitals.”

He paced himself beside her as a nurse pushed her to the elevator in a wheelchair. When it opened on the ground floor, he jogged ahead and was waiting at the exit in his truck by the time she arrived. He helped her into the cab, shut the door gently and climbed in beside her. “I promise to drive like Grandma’s soup and a couple dozen crates of fresh eggs are in the back of my truck.”

“Thanks,” she sighed.

He navigated out of the parking lot.

“I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. If you could just take me to my car, I’ll go home and stay out of your hair for the next couple of decades.”

Reese’s frown was immediate and intense. “Did you not listen to the doctor? You can’t be alone. The only reason he let you out of there was because I agreed to look out for you.”

“Which I appreciate you doing. Deeply. But I’ll be fine—”

“I swear to God, Yvette. If you tell me you can take care of yourself and don’t need help one more time, I’m going to shout at the top of my lungs.”

“Please, no,” she blurted. Her head was already pounding.

“You’re coming to my house. And that’s that.”

“You are so stubborn.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replied dryly.

She huffed and crossed her arms, sitting back in irritation as he drove past her house—literally past it—on his way across town to his place. Oh, he was just taunting her now.

However, by the time he pulled carefully into his garage and turned off the engine, she actually felt wilted and in need of painkillers and a nap, in that order. He opened her door and she moved to get out, but he stepped forward and shocked her by scooping her up into his arms.

“Reese! What are you doing?” She flung her arms around his neck to regain her equilibrium.

“I should think it’s patently obvious what I’m doing,” he said, using his hip to shut the truck door, and heading for the kitchen. He leaned down a little for her to turn the doorknob and entered the house with her. Another hip check to close the kitchen door and he strode through his house to—ohmigosh—his bedroom, where he deposited her on his bed and left to get her meds.

His room was neat and masculine. His bed looked handmade out of logs sanded smooth. She would bet he’d built it. There was something intensely intimate about lying in it, knowing he’d made it with his own two hands.

He came back, setting down several prescription bottles with her name on them and a tall glass of water. He’d picked up her medications for her? When? He must have raced out while she was filling out the discharge paperwork and gotten them.

He reached out again to pick her up so she could pull the blankets out from underneath herself. He set her back down on the soft mattress gently. Her arms still rested around his neck, and their faces were about a foot apart. Her heart fluttered at the sexy proximity of this man.

“I’m glad you’re going to be all right,” he murmured. “When I got that call from Lilly that you were hurt—” Reese’s voice cracked.

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“You don’t have to be tough for me, Yvie. I’ll take care of you and keep you safe.”

“You can’t always be there for me.”

“I can try.”

Their gazes melted together, hers in gratitude and his in concern. His eyes were so blue and beautiful she could lose herself in them forever.

“Kiss me, Reese.”

His lips curved up. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“You were waiting for me to ask?”

His hand slipped out from behind her knees and he ran his fingers across her forehead ever so gently. “You don’t seem to have had much luck with men. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“And here I was, worrying that I’d scared you off.”

He frowned slightly. “Why would I be scared of you?”

“I think it’s safe to say I’ve proven I’m a bit of an accident risk.”

His frown dissolved into a wry smile. “Truth. But I’m generally pretty good at anticipating trouble and heading it off.”

She smiled up at him. “You obviously haven’t hung out around me for long.”

His mouth lowered slowly toward hers. “No, but I’m looking forward to doing so.”

His lips touched hers lightly, preventing her from responding. Which was just as well. She was totally speechless. Did he just admit to wanting a long-term relationship with her?

His lips pressed against hers a little bit more firmly, and she threaded her fingers into his hair to tug him closer. He resisted, and she finally mumbled against his lips, “I won’t break.”

“Still. Not gonna risk hurting you,” he mumbled back, stubbornly refusing to increase the pressure of the kiss.

He did take his time, however, brushing her lips with his mouth, kissing his way lightly across her cheekbone to gently nibble her right earlobe. When she was panting a little and starting to feel more than a little hot and bothered, he lowered her shoulders to the stacked pillows and straightened. Took a step back from her.

“Lord, you’re tempting,” he murmured.

“Then don’t stop.”

“Doc said no vigorous activity for a week. If I don’t stop now, there are definitely going to be vigorous things going on in my bed.”

“Well…hell.”

He laughed down at her. “Can I get you something to eat? Maybe a drink?”

“How about a stiff shot of vodka?”

“Can’t mix your pain meds with alcohol.”

“You’re such a buzzkill.”

“That’s me. The old stick-in-the-mud.”

She looked up at him quickly. “You’re not a stick-in-the-mud. Far from it.”

“That’s not what you’ve spent the past year telling me.”

“I didn’t know you for the past year.”

“And you think you know me now?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Then how can you blame me for not telling you about your father’s staged arrest? Not only was I doing my job, but I’m trying to catch Markus Dexter and solve a murder. You know Gwen Harrison. It’s agony for her not to know who killed her mother and if that killer is still alive. I would never do something like stage your dad’s arrest just to harass your family. The Coltons have been through plenty in the past year.”

She sighed. “I believe you. I was just so shocked and angry at the unfairness of the accusation I didn’t stop at the time to think about why you’d have done it.”

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt when you did stop to think about it.”

“Don’t thank me. I was trying to avoid running into you when I raced out into the parking lot last night and didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me any apology for that. I’m the one who didn’t trust you. I’m sorry.”

“If I accept your apology, will you agree to accept mine?”

“I guess so.”

“Grudge holder, are you? Good to know,” he teased.

She answered seriously, “Actually, I’m the least grudge-y of all my siblings and me.”

He smiled warmly at her. “I’m glad the air is cleared between us. Now, I’m getting out of here so you can take a nap. You look exhausted.”

She actually was, but she said stoutly, “I’m fine.”

“Yvie.” His voice was reproachful. “We’ve been over this before. You don’t always have to be fine for me. You can show weakness or fear or sadness—or anything, really—and I won’t think any less of you. I’m not your brothers. More importantly, I’m not your father.”

And on that note, he turned and left the room, leaving her to stew in her own thoughts. He wasn’t her father? That was an astute observation. How did he know that Fitz only seemed to value strength in his children? Although, she supposed to meet Fitz was to recognize that about him.

She did wish her father had paid more attention to her when she was a kid. Maybe told her, or at least shown her now and then, that he loved her. She wished he’d been at least a little proud of her. Heck, Uncle Shep had told her more often that he loved her and was proud of her than Fitz ever had. Sigh.

She dumped a pain pill out of the bottle on the bed stand and swallowed it with several gulps of water from the glass. As the sweet relief washed over her, she closed her eyes and let the deep silence of Reese’s cabin in the woods envelop her.

CHAPTER 14

Reese cracked open his bedroom door to check on Yvette, but she was out cold. Good. She needed the rest. From watching her in the hospital, he knew she would likely sleep for several hours after taking one of her pain pills. He set an alarm for her next wake-up check and backed out of the doorway.

He went to his kitchen at the far end of the house and called the precinct. “Hey, Jordana. How goes the clean-up of your sister’s lab?”

“Slow. The intruder really trashed the place.” She added, “Oh, and speaking of which, we checked the logs, and it turns out Yvette’s ID badge was used to gain access to the forensics lab.”

“So the mugger knocked her out, stole her ID out of her purse and got into the lab?”

“Looks that way.”

“Anything missing?” he asked.

“Yeah. That big puzzle box Yvie’s been sweating over.”

His partner might as well have punched him in the gut. That box again? What was so danged important about it? Or rather that key hidden inside it. “And the key?”

“It is logged into Yvie’s database as being locked in her wall safe. Which, I’m pleased to report, the robber did not break into. So, the key should still be safe in there.”

That was great news. “Any luck figuring out what that key unlocks?” he asked his partner.

“Nope. I’ve got emails out to every bank within a three-hundred-mile radius of Wichita. If it’s a safe-deposit box, someone will respond.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“Nobody except Yvette or Chief Hilton knows the combination to the safe. He’s at his hunting cabin this weekend, and Yvette has been unconscious, so nobody has opened the safe to verify that the key’s inside.”

“If her paperwork says it’s there, it’s there,” he replied confidently.

“How’s Yvie?” Jordana asked.

“Tired. In pain. Trying to be tough.”

“That sounds like her. Thanks for taking care of her. I’d have volunteered to take her to my place, but it’s in chaos right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Packing for the move,” Jordana admitted.

He frowned. “I didn’t realize you were going so soon.”

“If you’d found the love of your life, would you mess around for long getting to her side?”

He envisioned Yvie, pale and beautiful against his pillow when he’d left his bedroom. “Nope. I’d get her as close to me as possible and keep her right there.”

“There you have it.”

“Holler if you need help packing,” he offered.

“You’re doing plenty looking out for Yvette. That’s an enormous weight off my shoulders.”

He disliked the idea of Yvie being perceived as a weight of any kind to her family. She was a lovely person and independent as all get-out. She hated being a burden to anyone. But it wasn’t his job to fix the Colton clan’s family dynamics.

Thoughtfully, he pulled out vegetables and a pot roast and got to work making a big pot of beef stew.

Surely, Markus Dexter was the intruder who’d bowled over Yvette in the attic of the Dexter home. There’d been no sign of forced entry to the house, which indicated someone with a key had been the intruder. Of course, Yvie might have left the door unlocked when she’d entered. He would have to ask her when she woke up.

If Dexter had been the intruder who’d gone looking for the puzzle box in his own attic, it stood to reason he was also the mugger in the parking lot and thief of the box from Yvie’s lab.

And, if that logic was correct, the attack in the parking lot also indicated that Dexter was not averse to violence against others. Now that he thought about it, the mugger had hit Yvette in the head…which was the same way both Olivia Harrison and Fenton Crane had died. Blunt trauma to their skulls. Was her recent attack further proof that Dexter was the killer of Harrison and Crane?

He woke Yvette at the two-hour mark after she’d gone down for her nap, disturbing her just long enough for her to mumble at him to go away.

Smiling a little, he backed out of the room to let her sleep. About supper time and almost time for another two-hour check on Yvette, headlights coming up his driveway flashed through his front windows.

Who’d driven all the way out here after dark? He wasn’t expecting anyone. He shrugged into his holster and unsnapped the flap over his service weapon as the car parked in his driveway.

Standing to one side of his front window, he was startled when Lilly Colton got out of her car and headed up his sidewalk. He opened the door for her and she thrust a big deep casserole dish at him.

“What’s this?” he asked. “And please come in.”

“It’s my world-famous banana pudding. Yvette’s favorite.”

“It’s kind of you to think of her.”

“She is my baby,” Lilly said a bit tartly, sounding just like her daughter when Yvette was irritated. He grinned at the resemblance between mother and daughter.

“I’m glad someone remembers that,” he retorted.

“You don’t like us Coltons very much, do you?”

“I like most of you just fine. But to be brutally honest, I’m not a huge fan of your husband.”

“Neither am I. That’s why I’m divorcing him.”

Interesting. She was divorcing him and not the other way around? “I’m sorry about that—”

She waved a brisk hand. “No condolences necessary. I should have done it years ago. I waited until all the kids were grown and settling down into their own lives. But now I wonder if I should’ve done it long ago and saved them having to put up with an absent father—” She broke off. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask to hear about my marital problems.”

“I don’t mind. You were my dad’s nurse a few years back when he had a heart attack, and my family credits you with whipping him into shape and convincing him to finally take better care of his health.”

She laughed a little. “Oh, dear. I hope I wasn’t too hard on him.”

“Not at all. You gave him exactly the kick in the pants he needed.”

“Mom? I thought I heard your voice.”

He whipped around to see Yvie standing in the doorway, her hair tousled, squinting at the bright light in his kitchen. “What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded.

“I’m not dead for crying out loud, and my legs aren’t injured. I can walk.”

Lilly threw him a commiserating look and said gently, “Sweetheart, you have a serious concussion. I’m sure Dr. Jones told you to stay in bed for several days and rest.”

“I can’t sleep twenty-four hours a day, Mom.”

“No, but you can rest twenty-four hours a day.”

“Thank you,” he chimed in. “You heard your mother. Back to bed with you, Yvie. I’ll bring you a bowl of my mother’s world-famous beef stew, and if you eat all of that, you can have a bowl of your mom’s world-famous banana pudding.”

“Banana pudding?” she exclaimed, and then immediately winced. Her voice much lower, she continued, “Thank you, Mommy.”

Lilly moved over to kiss her on the cheek and give her a gentle hug. “You’re welcome, darling. If you need anything, you call me, okay? And, Reese, if you need a break from her, I’m happy to come over and sit with her while you escape for a bit.”

“I’m not that awful a patient,” Yvette complained.

“Then what are you doing out of bed?” he asked wryly.

“Fine. I give up. I can’t fight both of you. I’ll go back to bed, if just to get some peace and quiet.” She called back over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall, “And a bowl of my mom’s pudding.”

He took the opportunity to turn to Lilly and ask quietly, “How are you doing? I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve really been through the ringer these past few months.”

“It’s kind of you to ask, and I’m surprisingly good. I have more support than I ever knew I had, and I’m at peace with my decision to leave Fitz.”

Was Shepherd Colton part of that surprise support network? He was sorely tempted to ask Lilly why she and Shep hadn’t told Yvette that he was her actual father, but it was emphatically none of his business.

Lilly left quickly after that and Yvette called out that she was starving, so he put the matter of her parentage from his mind.

* * *

Yvette had a secret. She loved sleeping in Reese’s bed. Not only was it huge and comfortable, but it smelled like him. She could snuggle down under the thick comforter and feel completely surrounded by him even when he wasn’t there.

He’d wanted to send a patrol car out to watch the house when he had to go in to work, but she’d argued nobody except her family knew she was out here, and she was perfectly safe by herself for a few hours. Reese hadn’t liked it, but he’d eventually given in.

He made quick trips in to work after her first twenty-four hours of constant wake-ups ended, but he refused to talk about anything that was going on at the department with her. Which she took as a bad sign. He was avoiding stressing her out.

Gradually, her headache eased, and by day four it had mostly disappeared. She felt pretty good and was starting to get bored and housebound. When Reese went to the office on day five, she declared herself sick of being sick and got out of bed and dressed as soon as he left the house.

She picked the place up, raided the kitchen and discovered that he had all the ingredients for homemade spaghetti from scratch. She set to work pulling together a big pot of sauce and setting it over very low heat to simmer all day. Then, she built herself a fire in the fireplace. It was impossible not to remember the kisses they’d shared in front of it before. And yes. She wanted more.

To that end, she hunted around in his pantry and found some candles. She set the table for two and made a centerpiece of pinecones and some bright holly berries she brought inside. She stood back to observe her work. Considering that she was working within the limits of a bachelor pad to create a romantic atmosphere, she declared her efforts not bad.

She heard his truck pull into the garage, and she checked her makeup and hair in the bathroom mirror quickly. Thankfully, her mother had brought over a bag with some of her clothes and toiletries the day after she brought over the pudding.

She swept out into the living room just in time to see Reese step into the kitchen and stop cold. “What have you done? You’re supposed to be resting!”

“This was restful. I’m bored to death, and cooking a nice dinner was relaxing. Think of it as therapy for me.”

He hung up his coat and came over to kiss her leisurely. He confessed, “I like coming home to you like this every day. I look forward to seeing you the whole time I’m at work. Is that weird?”

“Not weird. No weirdness at all.” In fact, it made her insides jump with pleasure and little warm fuzzies skitter across her skin.

He held her chair for her at the table. “You sit. I’ll serve us.”

She smiled when he set a plate heaped with a giant pile of spaghetti and sauce in front of her. “Fattening me up so no other guys will look at me?” she murmured.

He slipped into his seat, grinning. “What if I am?”

“Then I’d say we’re getting serious with each other.” Whoops. All of a sudden, the light humor of the moment evaporated, leaving the two of them staring awkwardly at their plates.

“Forget I said that,” she mumbled. “I’m an idiot and my mouth frequently gets ahead of my brain.”

He smiled a little. “In my experience, your brain moves at light speed most of the time.”

They dug into the meal and didn’t talk much for a few minutes. But then Reese said, “If you’re bored, maybe I could bring home something from your lab for you to work on a little? Nothing strenuous. If you promise not to overdo—”

“That would be amazing!” she exclaimed. “My laptop, maybe? That way I could get emails and keep up with correspondence on various pieces of evidence I’ve sent out for analysis.”

“I’ll bring it home with me tomorrow.” He added carefully, “Seeing how you’re feeling better, maybe now would be a good time to tell you that whoever mugged you in the parking lot also stole your ID badge and broke into your lab.”

She gasped. “Was anything stolen?”

“The puzzle box was taken. And, umm, your lab was, well, trashed.”

“What? How bad?”

“Jordana and a couple of the other guys have spent this week putting it back together as best they can. The department’s insurance is paying for replacing the lab equipment that was damaged.”

“What equipment? How damaged?”

“It’s a few machines. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

She sat back, staring at him. The wreckage must have been bad, given the way he was avoiding her questions. “Was any other evidence taken?”

“Unknown. Jordana has been going through your database of logged evidence and trying to match it to stuff in the lab. But she’s no forensics expert. I’ve been helping out where I can, but some of what you do is beyond my training.”

“Gee. I’m glad you finally admit that maybe I know more about my job than you do.”

He rolled his eyes.

“When can I go to the lab to check it out? Will you drive me in tomorrow?”

“The doctor said to rest.”

“The doctor said three days after a day of bedrest. It has been five days since the incident. I’m fine.”

Reese raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. “If I could erase the word fine from your vocabulary forever, I would do it in a minute.”

She rolled her eyes back at him. “All right, then. I’m fully recovered, have no headache and am sick of being marooned out here in the middle of nowhere. I want to get back to my work. My important work that will help nail a murderer.”

“You don’t like it out here? I thought you’d find my cabin restful and quiet.”

Darn it. He sounded hurt.

She sighed, her indignation broken. “I love it out here. I love the quiet and the trees, and your place is incredibly comfortable and pleasant. But I have a job to do, people depending on me. I need to get back to it. How would you feel if you were in the middle of a murder investigation and had to stop working on it for a week?”

“Which is pretty much what has happened this week,” he said with a sigh. “I ought to be putting in sixteen-hour days on the Harrison-Crane case, and instead, I’m going into work a few hours a day in and around making sure you don’t overdo it. Which I wouldn’t have any other way, mind you.”

She stared at him in dismay. “I don’t want to keep you from your job. What you do is important.”

He looked up quickly, meeting her gaze with surprising intensity. “You’re more important. Hands down.”

She stared back, stunned. More important to him than his precious career? Wow.

“And you’re not mad about me taking you away from your work?”

He frowned. “Of course not. Family always comes before work no matter how important the work might be. It’s not even an issue for me.”

Oh. Huh. Maybe it was an issue for her because her dad had always put his work above his wife and kids. “You’re sure about that?” she asked in a small voice.

He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “When I saw you in that hospital bed unconscious, my world…ended. And it didn’t begin again until you woke up and spoke to me.”

“I… You… We…” It wasn’t often she was at a complete loss for words, but she was now. She reached out and laid her hand over his on the table. He flipped his hand over beneath hers and twined their fingers together.

“Yeah. That,” he muttered in response to her stammering.

“We haven’t even…we hardly know each other…it’s too soon…” she tried.

“I know.” He finally lifted his gaze to hers. “But there you have it. I fell for you like a ton of bricks.”

Panic at how fast he’d fallen for her and she for him roared through her. “I have all kinds of quirks and flaws you don’t know about. I’m a basically terrible person.”

“Perhaps I should be the judge of that?” he suggested wryly.

“Easy for you to say. You’re perfect,” she snapped.

He laughed at that. “Oh, my dear Yvette. I’ll never be half good enough for you. I’m just a hick cop from a small town in Kansas. You…you’re royalty around here.”

“God, I hate being a Colton, sometimes.”

His gaze shuttered and slid away from hers. The same thing had happened once at the hospital. What had they been talking about then? Something to do with her father—

Reese stood up abruptly, carrying their empty plates over to the sink.

“I made a pie,” she said tentatively.

“You bake?”

“I do. It’s apple pie. It was the only kind I know how to make that you had the ingredients for. I didn’t know if you’d like that or not.”

“Apple pie is my favorite,” he said in a muffled voice.

“Of course, it is.”

“I guess that means you hate apple pie?” he asked.

“Nope. Love it. Warm with ice cream melting all over it.”

“Glory be. We agree on something for once.”

She looked over at him sharply. “How can you declare that you’ve fallen for me and then be snarky over how we don’t agree on anything?”

“Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?” He turned around, sleeves rolled up, wielding a towel as he dried the big pot she’d cooked the pasta in.

“I’ve also heard that opposites combust when combined, ultimately consuming and destroying each other.”

He shrugged. “That may be true in a science experiment, but I think people whose weaknesses and strengths compensate for each other can be the strongest couples of all if they can learn to accept each other’s differences.”

“It didn’t work out for my parents,” she said sadly.

Reese replied tartly, “When the difference between two people is that one’s an asshole and one isn’t, that’s not a great foundation for a relationship.”

“You really don’t like my dad, do you?”

“Nope. Not one bit. He let his partner talk him into doing something that would get people killed, and he knew it. He had a great family and chose to ignore it, and now he has bailed out on all of you and left you guys holding the bag for his crimes. The rest of you Coltons have to walk around this town bearing his name and his blame, while he’s taken off.”

“Do you know where he went?” she asked.

“I have an idea.”

“Well? Where?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. One of his conditions for signing the plea deal was he didn’t want anyone in his family to know where he’s going to settle down next.”

She sat back, shocked to her core. She realized her jaw was sagging open but didn’t have the wherewithal to shut it.

Reese turned to look at her. He must have seen how that bombshell had hit her for he moved over to her side swiftly and pulled her out of her chair and into a big, tight hug.

Dishes forgotten, he bent down, scooped her off her feet and carried her into the living room, which was lit only by the light of a sluggish fire burning hot and slow. He sat down on the overstuffed sofa in front of the fireplace with her still in his lap.

“I’m sorry you had to find that out from me,” Reese murmured against her temple. “I’m a jerk for just springing it on you.”

“I recall springing Jordana’s move to Chicago on you, so I’d say that makes us even. Do my siblings know? Oh, God. Does my mom know?”

Reese winced and she put her palms on each side of his face and forced him to look at her. “Does my mom know?” she repeated.

He sighed. “I believe it was your mother who asked for it. She wanted a clean and complete break from your father.”

She stared up at Reese in dismay. “What did he do to her? She’s not a vindictive person. She doesn’t cut anybody out of her life like that.”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them, their blue depths swam with pain. “You’d have to ask her.”

“You know more than you’re saying,” she accused.

To his credit, he replied candidly, “I do have an idea why she did it. But that information is not mine to share. You’ll have to ask her.”

“I will! Right now!”

“Maybe right now you should rest and relax a little after overdoing way too much today.”

“I made a pot of spaghetti,” she said scornfully.

“And the rest of a nice meal, and you baked, and cleaned if I’m not mistaken.”

“Well, maybe I did dust and straighten up a little.” She paused, and added, “And do a couple loads of laundry.”

Her gave her a withering look.

“I swear. I feel fi—” She broke off. “I feel great.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” Reese replied.

“Does that mean you’d kiss me in front of the fire again if I asked you to?”

Reese laughed against her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“You can ask me, too, you know.”

“Cool. Wanna make out?”

She swatted his arm as she laughed at him. “You can do better than that.”

“Hmm. Let’s see. How about this? It feels like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Now that I’ve finally found you, I can’t get enough of you. I love the feel of you in my arms, the softness of your mouth, your passion, your intelligence, your humor. Would you do me the great honor of consenting to make passionate love with me?”

Making love? Well, then. “Wow. That’s, umm, much better.”

“Are you swept off your feet?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed up at his ridiculous expression. “Blown away.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you accept my offer?”

“Oh. That.” She pretended to think about it for a few seconds. Then she said all in a rush, “Yes, you romantic man. Of course, I accept.”

He wasted no time lowering his mouth to hers, capturing her lips for a lingering, cinnamon-and-apple-flavored kiss.

“You taste good,” she murmured against his mouth.

“So do you.”

“Remind me to keep an apple pie in the house at all times,” she replied.

He kissed his way down the column of her neck and back up. “I could go for chocolate cake, or maybe brownies, too. You’d taste good flavored chocolate. The creaminess of your skin and the tartness of your tongue would pair perfectly with that.”

She gazed up at him as she reclined in his arms, more relaxed and at ease that she could ever remember being with any guy. “Oatmeal cookies,” she announced.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’d taste great with oatmeal cookies. Not a bland one. A really good one with lots of spices and flavor. It would have to be a cookie because you’re practically a walking milk commercial, and you remind me of whiskey or maybe rum. The raisins and spices in an oatmeal cookie would go perfectly with that.”

“And here I was, thinking I was pure vanilla.”

Her lips curved wickedly, “I certainly hope not. Personally, I prefer a little spice in my life.”

His eyes smoldered with interest. “Do tell.”

“I’m a show, don’t tell, kind of woman.”

“My kind of woman.” He stood up, setting her on her feet in the flickering light of the fire. He ran his hands across her shoulders and down her arms to her hands, which he grasped lightly and brought up to his mouth for a kiss.

When he released them, she laid her palms on his chest, measuring the width of his shoulders and the bulk of his pectorals as her hands slid down his ribs to his waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “All woman.” He trailed his fingers through her hair, pulling long strands forward over her shoulders. “Your hair feels like silk.”

She touched his jaw with her fingertips. “Yours feels like sandpaper.”

“Do you want me to go shave?”

“No. I like you this way. A little scruffy, very masculine. I like you best when you’re not all buttoned down, polished and starched. Relaxed, off-duty you is the man I fell for first.”

“Are you admitting you’ve fallen for my cop self, too?” he asked with a little smile.

“Maybe.”

He tilted his head to one side, studying her quizzically, and she relented, saying, “Okay. Fine. I’ve fallen for that side of you, too. I like everything about you.”

He let out a long, slow breath as her words sank into him, becoming part of him. His gaze went dark and serious. “I like everything about you, too.”

“Everything you know, maybe. There’s still a lot about me you don’t know.”

“I’d like to learn, Yvie.”

Very slowly, she rose on her tiptoes, never breaking eye contact with him. She paused when her mouth was only a few inches from his and whispered, “I’d like that, too.”

He closed the gap between them, kissing her slowly at first, reverently, even. It was so easy to sink into him, so natural. She loved losing herself in a kiss like this, with him. She felt absolutely safe with him, but she loved the edge of danger that clung to him, a promise of more passion than met the eye, of an alpha male to be unleashed.

She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth, doing everything in her power to draw out the dark and dangerous side of this man. She rubbed her chest lightly against his, relishing the way her nipples had tightened and become so sensitized that she gasped a little at the brushing contact.

The only light in the cabin was the flickering glow of the fire, and the darkness was sultry and mysterious around them. Reese reached for the hem of her sweater and paused in the act of starting to lift it over her head.

“Ground rules for tonight,” he said quietly. “If you get a headache at any time, you’ll tell me immediately. Yes?”

“But if I do that, you’ll stop. And maybe I won’t want you to stop, umm, whatever you’re doing.”

“Which brings us to the second ground rule. The doctor said no vigorous activity. You are to sit back and enjoy and not exert yourself. At all.”

“Well, that sounds like no fun.”

“Have a little faith. I believe you can have fun without overdoing.”

“Challenge accepted,” she said jauntily.

He shook his head. “You have to learn to turn down a dare now and then.”

“I’m a Colton. We don’t know how.”

His eyes glinted. “Fair enough.” He gently lifted the sweater over her head carefully avoiding her bandages. The laceration on the side of her head was healing nicely but she appreciated his caution with the wound.

She ran her fingers across the fine cotton of his dress shirt, reveling in the hard muscles beneath it as she reached for the small buttons and one by one pushed them through the starched fabric. The fabric peeled back to expose the base of his neck, a few dark chest hairs poking up, hinting at more below. She continued to unbutton the shirt, shoving it aside as she went, loving the feel of his smooth skin and crisp chest hair beneath the pads of her fingers. His heat and hardness drew her in and excited her deep in her core in a feminine place that responded powerfully to him.

She unbuckled his belt and slowly pulled it from around his lean waist. When it came free, she dropped it to the floor.

He lifted her cotton turtleneck over her head next, and her face popped free all at once,

“Is your head okay?” he asked in quick concern.

“I would tell you it’s fine, but you would get mad. It doesn’t hurt, and as far as I can tell, I’m not bleeding.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if anything hurts your head at all,” he murmured.

“Will do.”

“And tell me if you don’t like anything we do.”

“All right already. Any other rules of engagement, Officer?”

“My badge is in the kitchen. I’m not a cop in here.”

“Just the way I like it best. No work between us and you fully in the moment with me.”

“I’m right here. All yours.”

She reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Same. I’m here, and yours.”

He started at her right ear, kissing his way slowly down her neck, across her shoulder and down into the warm valley between her breasts. He reached the lace of her bra and dropped to his knees, then resumed kissing a path down her stomach to the top of her jeans.

He paused there, unbuttoning her waistband and unzipping the denim pants. He tucked his fingers into each side of her jeans and slowly shoved them down, skimming his hands over her hips and down her thighs.

She planted a hand on his shoulder for balance as he guided her feet clear of her pants legs. And then he kissed his way back up the outside of her right thigh to her hipbone, and then back up her stomach.

He stood and unzipped his own trousers, stepping out of the pooled wool at his feet. As she’d suspected, he was lean and hard all over his body. His abs were ridged with muscle, his thighs more powerful than they appeared at a first glance, wrapped in long slabs of muscle.

His skin retained a faint golden cast left over from what must have been a dark summer tan. Unlike her. She’d inherited Lilly’s porcelain skin that burned at even the slightest exposure to sun, and hence she lived in hats and sunscreen nearly year round.

“You look like a statue of a Greek goddess,” he murmured.

“Yep. That’s me. Stone cold and hard as rocks.”

His mouth curved up into a smile against her shoulder. “I meant your skin is alabaster and perfectly smooth. Also, I meant that you’re an image of female perfection.”

“Me? Not hardly.”

He sighed, a gust of warm breath against the base of her neck. “When will you stop putting yourself down? Do you realize that every time you insult yourself, you’re also insulting my taste in women? I chose you. Out of all the women I could have fallen for, I fell for you. If you can’t honor yourself, at least honor that.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I’m sorry. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

His head jerked up and he stared down at her. “Why are you uncomfortable? Are we moving too fast for you?”

“Goodness, no. If anything, we’re moving too slow! I’m impatient as heck to get naked and horizontal with you. I’m uncomfortable because I’m self-conscious about…how I look,” she finished lamely.

He smiled a little. “Every woman I’ve ever known is self-conscious about how they look. But here’s the thing. You’re going to have to take it on faith that I find you beautiful. Beautiful and sexy and desirable above all other women.”

Wow. That was nice to hear.

He continued to skim his hands across her skin lightly as he spoke. “If I wanted to be with another woman, I would have pursued this hypothetical other woman and not you. But the fact is, I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. And now that you’re here, I have no interest in any other woman. None.”

“You make it all sound so easy.”

He laughed aloud. “Honey, you’ve been anything but easy. You’ve thrown up every roadblock in the book at me, and I’ve had to find a way around every last one. You’ve been a challenge like no other.” He added, leaning in to drop a light kiss on the end of her nose, “Totally worth it.”

She didn’t bother arguing the point. He was right. “And you still want me?” she asked in a small voice. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He took her face gently in both of his big callused hands, cupping her cheeks as if they were the most delicate crystal. He kissed her sweetly to prove the point, ever so slowly deepening the kiss until her head slanted to one side, his to the other, and their tongues swirled together in a sexy tangle of wet, hot need.

Without breaking the contact of their mouths, he bent down slightly, reached one arm behind her thighs and scooped her up into his arms. It was one of the best advantages of being petite. Big strong men like him could pick her up and literally sweep her off her feet.

“Protection?” he murmured.

She answered briskly, appreciating his concern for their health and safety, “I’m on the pill and haven’t had sex with anyone since I came back to Braxville. I am so STD-free it’s depressing.”

“Ditto. I haven’t been in a relationship in…longer than I care to stop and count, now. I’m happy to use a condom if you want, though.”

“Fair. And thank you.”

“I’m a safety guy.”

“We’ll see about that before I’m done with you. I plan to shake up all that caution and rule following of yours.”

He laughed. “I look forward to it.”

He strode swiftly down the hall to his bedroom and lowered her carefully onto the mattress. Unwilling to break the yummy contact with him, she kept her arms looped around his neck and urged him down with her. He stretched out beside her, supporting his weight on an elbow as he leaned over her to continue kissing her.

She loved the feeling of him pressing her down deep into the thick comforter and plush mattress, and she wanted more of it. She twined her legs with his and rolled more fully onto her back, dragging him with her.

He laughed a little against her mouth. “Impatient much?”

“Extremely.”

“Good thing I like to take my time and savor the journey, or else this would already be over if you had your way.”

She growled a little in the back of her throat.

“Oho, so the kitten has claws, does she?”

She pushed him onto his back and pressed up onto her elbows on his chest to mock glare down at him. “I’m no kitten, mister. I’m a wildcat, thank you very much.”

“A very tiny, ferocious one,” he teased, rolling her over and reversing their positions. She was aware that he’d made a cage of his arms around her when he’d very carefully rolled her over, protecting her the whole time from taking any of his weight.

“I appreciate your concern for my health, Reese, but I promise, I really am fine. My cut has a nice scab and has fully closed, and my brain is no longer scrambled. At least no more than it was before I got jumped.”

He smiled against her collarbone, his mouth warm and firm. As his kissed his way across it, he ended up in the hollow of her throat, licking and then nipping at the sensitive skin there.

“Come up here and kiss me, you tasty cookie of a man.”

The heat of his mouth left a trail of devastation in its wake as he kissed his way up to her mouth. Tingles raced down her spine, ending in the vicinity of her toes, which curled in tight delight.

She turned into him and buried her nose in his neck. She couldn’t get enough of his scent, mingled with a clean, citrus aftershave. It was the same delicious, masculine scent that rose off his pillowcases and had comforted her through her worst pain this past week. He smelled like safety to her. Warmth. Sun-drenched beaches and lazy waves rolling ashore and hissing back out to sea.

Her bra straps fell loose as he unhooked it in the back and pushed the narrow straps off her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and tossed it aside, sighing with pleasure as his warm hand cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing lightly across the pebbled nipple.

“Cold?” he murmured.

“Turned on.”

“Yes,” he said under his breath in satisfaction. Then, louder, “You’re perfect.”

“Keep telling me that. Maybe someday I’ll believe you,” she replied a little breathlessly, arching her back into the drugging pleasure of his thumb rolling back and forth across that sensitized peak.

He leaned down and his mouth replaced his thumb, making her gasp aloud as electric shocks radiated through her whole body. She reached for him, sliding his briefs off his hips. He kicked them the rest of the way off. The flat plane of his stomach was irresistible, and she ran her palms across it. She followed the well-defined V of muscles lower to the hard shaft of his erection. It filled her fist as she grasped its burning heat. He was rock hard—no need to ask him if he was turned on or not.

His flesh bucked in her hand as she ran her hand up its length to smooth her thumb over the satin tip. Hah. She’d get him to hurry things along, yet.

“Still determined to take all night getting around to making love to me?” she asked archly.

“Tease,” he muttered against her breast. His free hand slid lower, following the inward curve of her waist and the upward curve of her hip, then plunging down to cup her core.

She felt her pulse pounding through the swollen, hungry flesh there as his fingertips stroked her once, twice.

“You’re not the only one in a hurry,” he murmured.

“Ahh, but I make no secret of wanting you right now.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He pushed lightly against her shoulder and she rolled onto her back, her thighs opening to welcome his explorations. His finger stroked her folds, finding the swollen bud within, so sensitive and slick she nearly came up off the bed when his fingertip rubbed across it.

“Please, Reese. Can we get this show rolling? I’m dying, here.”

He laughed, burying his face against her neck for a moment. “We really are yin and yang.”

“Well, if your yang doesn’t get busy soon, my yin is going to throw you on your back and have its wicked way with you.”

“As fun as that sounds, I want you to take it easy tonight.”

“Easy? I don’t want easy! I want it hot and wild and hard, and that’s just the beginning.” She tightened her hand around his cock, tugging it toward her in open demand.

He groaned in the back of his throat, and rolled away from her. She opened her mouth to protest until she realized he was fishing a condom out of his bed stand.

Finally, blessedly, he rolled over her, lowering his weight carefully between her legs. Impatient, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him down to her. He resisted for a moment, reaching between them to position himself, and then he was pressing forward, a slow, careful glide of slick, hungry flesh coming together.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay. Amazing.”

He filled her deliciously. He started to withdraw, and her legs tightened convulsively around his hips. He chuckled a little. “I’m not going anywhere.” As promised, he surged forward a little more forcefully this time.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she sighed.

“Honey, you’re a lot of things, but merely nice is not one of them. You’re spectacular.”

She smiled up at his shadowed face and he smiled down at her. “How did I get so lucky to find you?” she asked.

“Maybe I found you. Lord knows, I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Swear to God. I was beginning to despair of ever finding the kind of woman I want. But I just couldn’t bring myself to lower my standards.”

She brushed her fingertips along his jaw lightly. “Exactly. And then…you.”

Their smiles mingled in a kiss of wonder and shared joy at the minor miracle of having arrived at this moment with each other. It wasn’t one to be rushed through, but rather savored, treasured and remembered for always.

He began to move within her, and she rose to meet him, catching his rhythm quickly. He kept the pace maddeningly slow, but she had to admit it felt great. Beyond great. Her body had time to build layer upon layer of pleasure toward a towering climax unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

And still he moved within her, stroking her even higher. Huh. Had all of this always been possible and her previous lovers simply been too hasty and too selfish to take her here?

On and on their lovemaking rolled through the night, by turns leisurely and tense, but always tender and intimate. He never looked away from her, never hid the pleasure transforming his features into pure joy. And she smiled back at him, hoping he could see at least a little of the brilliance of her joy.

When she’d had at least three orgasms and was building toward number four, he finally sped up the pace a little. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as pleasure clawed its way through her entire body in search of release.

“Harder,” she gasped.

“Don’t want…to hurt you…”

“My head is fi—in no pain.” She added in desperation, “Please. I want you.”

She gripped him tightly with her legs, urging his hips forward, and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on for all she was worth. She tugged his head down for a kiss and sucked his tongue, urging him to plunge it into the dark recesses of her mouth in a matching rhythm to their lovemaking.

He groaned and she felt his entire body tensing. She arched up against him as well, straining with him toward ecstasy.

All at once, her orgasm exploded throughout her being, scattering her in a million directions. She cried out in pleasure and Reese’s entire body shuddered against hers. They rode the wave together, crashing toward a far shore, flinging themselves onto it together, exhausted and sated.

He collapsed against her, but even then, he sagged on his propped up elbows, careful not to crush her.

“Head check?” he panted.

“Whatever’s better than fine.”

He rolled to one side, gently gathering her onto her right side against him.

“You’ve killed me,” he sighed.

“I gather that means we’ve passed the compatibility-in-bed test?”

“There was a test?”

“Well, it was possible that we would have no chemistry at all in this way.”

He laughed a little. “We’ve had chemistry from the first moment we met. It was just extremely flammable chemistry.”

“Explosive,” she agreed.

They lay together in silence, their hearts beating in unison as the wind whispered through the pines outside and rattled together the branches of the deciduous trees. The peace of the moment was complete. She’d never in her life felt so right with another person. This was exactly where she was meant to be. She grew drowsy and limp against Reese’s equally relaxed body.

He murmured sleepily, “How long until I can reasonably ask you to marry me without creeping you out?”

That jolted her wide awake. “Uhh, I don’t know. Certainly not yet.”

Reese didn’t respond. She waited a moment and then gave him a light poke in the side. He let out a light snore. Had he even been awake when he’d asked the question? She fell back to the pillow, blown away. He was thinking about proposing, was he? Even if only at a semiconscious level?

Wow. Double wow.

She was equal parts thrilled and terrified at the prospect. She’d avoided long-term commitments literally her entire life. Was she ready to commit the rest of her life to one man—to this man?

Did he propose to all the ladies in his sleep immediately after great sex? Or was she special? Worse, did he actually mean it? Or was it merely the random ramble of a dreaming mind?

An urge to slide out from under his arm, creep out of the room and flee the scene roared through her.

CHAPTER 15

Reese woke up lazily, more relaxed than he’d felt in months. It took a second for his brain to kick in and remember why he felt so freaking great this morning. Yvie. Sweet, sexy Yvie. He’d guessed she would be a generous, enthusiastic lover, and she hadn’t disappointed him. In fact, he suspected she’d held back pretty hard last night on account of her head wound. She had an adventurous streak that was sheer self-confidence and enthusiastic enjoyment of sex. He couldn’t wait to make love with her when she was fully healed.

He reached out for her and encountered cold sheets. An empty pillow. He sat upright quickly, alarmed. He swung his feet out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans, slinging them on fast. Padding through the cold cabin barefoot, he headed for the kitchen and his truck keys. She hadn’t pulled a runner, had she?

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and screeched to a halt. Yvette stood at the stove, turning over strips of bacon frying merrily in a pan. She wore his dress shirt from last night, and her slender, gorgeous legs were bare in all their sexy glory. His man parts stirred with interest.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, stepping up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. “You should have stayed in bed and let me cook breakfast for you.”

“I thought you had a big meeting this morning.”

“Ugh. Work. Yeah, I do. Jordana and I are going to make one more run at Mary Dexter. Surely, she knows something about her husband that she’s not telling us.”

“Past something like knowing he was sleeping around, or current something like where Markus is hiding out?”

“Either. Both.” He snitched a piece of already-fried bacon from the paper covered plate, and Yvette swatted at his hand.

“You like your eggs over hard, right?” she asked as he turned away to pull orange juice out of the refrigerator and get a pot of coffee brewing.

“Good memory.”

“You’re not the only person around here who pays attention to details,” she replied. “Although, I have to admit I was impressed that you knew what my missing purse looked like. It’s not a guy thing to register cute purses.”

He shrugged modestly and set the table efficiently.

“I assume my purse hasn’t been found?” she asked.

“Nope.”

She sighed. “I had to cancel all my credit cards and order new ones. What a pain.”

“It’s better than the alternative. If that was Dexter who attacked you, he’s fully capable of murder.”

“Who else would it be?” she asked, carrying the frying pan over to the table. She lifted his eggs out onto his plate and two sunny-side-up eggs onto hers.

He held her chair for her, seating her with a quick kiss to the side of her neck. “I approve of your attire, Ms. Colton.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes glinting appreciatively. “And I approve of yours. You can come to breakfast with no shirt on any time you like.”

He sat down and reached out. Their fingers touched in sweet reassurance and affection. How was he going to last for hours without touching her again?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t linger over the meal or make love to her before he had to take off for work. He took a quick shower and rolled his eyes when he discovered that Yvette had already showered before him and managed to get every towel in the bathroom soaking wet.

He grabbed a dry towel from the linen closet, totally willing to put up with wet towels if it meant having Yvette Colton in his life. He dressed and stepped out into the living room—and stopped in shock. Yvette was fully dressed and even wearing a coat. She stood expectantly by the back door of the kitchen and had a determined look on her face.

“I’m going to lose my mind if I have to stay home another day. I promise not to work too long, and my car is still at the department. I can drive myself home.”

His stomach dropped like a lead brick, thudding to the vicinity of his feet. “But I want to keep an eye on you until your attacker is caught. I like having you here with me.”

“I like being here, too. But you must be sick of me by now—”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Of course, I’m not sick of you. If you want to stay at your place, that’s fine. I’ll grab a few things and meet you there tonight.” He added, “If you want me there. I get it if you’d like some time to yourself—”

She interrupted, rushing forward to throw her arms around him. “Of course, I want you with me. I just wasn’t sure you’d want to be seen at my place.”

He threw her a withering look. “We’re in a relationship, now.” He added for emphasis, kissing her between each word, “You. Are. My. Woman.”

“Which makes you my Neanderthal,” she quipped. “I’m nobody’s property.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She laughed up at him. “I know. But you’d hate it if I didn’t keep you on your toes.”

“Truth.” He followed her out to his garage, shaking his head and smiling privately to himself. That woman was surely going to lead him on a merry chase over the next seventy years or so. He made a mental note to ask Jordana what kind of jewelry Yvette liked. Would she be a traditional diamond engagement ring kind of woman, or would she prefer some other stone? A nice sapphire, perhaps, or maybe an emerald.

They arrived at the police department and parted ways after he gave her a quick warning not to freak out when she saw the shape her lab was in. She promised not to have a fit, they snuck a quick kiss in the stairwell and he hustled off to his interview with Mary Dexter.

The woman was punctual to the second, which didn’t surprise him given how neat a house she kept. Bit of a control freak. Which worked to his and Jordana’s advantage. They’d agreed in advance to play softball with the woman and try to trick her into revealing something rather than coming at her hard. To date, Mary had been exceedingly stubborn when confronted directly for information about her missing spouse.

He poured her a cup of tea with a splash of cream and two lumps of sugar, the same way she’d taken it the last time she’d been here. Instead of taking her into an interrogation room like before, Jordana showed her to his desk and then pulled up a second chair to make a cozy little circle of the three of them. His job was to talk. Jordana would sit back and observe body language. Or more accurately, look for tells of lying.

“Thanks for coming in this morning, Mrs. Dexter,” he said warmly. “I really appreciate it. We wanted to let you know there was a break-in at your house a few nights ago.”

“Was anything stolen?” she asked rather too calmly for a woman who seemed obsessed with the tidiness of said home.

“We were hoping you could help us with that. Maybe you can go home, take a look around. Check for any missing valuables. The robber did drop one item on his way out.” He pushed a picture of the puzzle box across his desk to show her.

“That old thing?” she said scornfully.

“What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?” he murmured innocently.

“It’s one of those Chinese puzzle boxes with hidden panels. Markus kept it on his desk. Called it his golden parachute.”

“Is there gold on it or in it?” Reese asked, trying to sound as dim-witted as possible.

“I have no idea. I doubt he even knew how to open the thing. It was bulky. Ugly. I kept trying to get him to throw it out and put something tasteful on his desk, but he always laughed at me and refused.”

“Huh. Did it have some sort of special sentimental value to him?” he followed up.

“Not that I know of.” Mary’s voice took on a note of caution.

Dang, she was sharp. Time to shift subjects.

He leaned back casually. “At any rate, I’ve got permission for you to return to your house. We don’t believe your husband is planning to return to it any time soon.”

“My, my. That’s so generous of you,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he murmured.

His contrite tone seemed to disarm her indignation a bit.

“Also, I wanted to let you know that your husband is now being classed as a missing person.” Missing and wanted for murder, but he conveniently omitted the last bit. “To that end, we’ll be turning our resources in the future to helping you find him. We’re concerned at his continued absence and hope that no foul play has befallen him.”

Myriad emotions flitted across Mary’s face, foremost among them confusion. Interesting. She didn’t know what to make of the downgrade from murder suspect to possible victim.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If I could speak off the record for a moment?”

She nodded her haughty assent.

“I’m worried about the quality of the security system in your home, ma’am. If you’re going to be staying there alone, I would personally recommend an upgrade. Motion detectors, sensors that will let you know when a window or door opens, that sort of thing. If anything should happen to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

A normal human being who’d just found out that their home, their personal sanctum and refuge, had been violated, would show at least a modicum of nerves about being home alone.

But Mary literally snorted down her nose at him before declaring scornfully, “My current security system is perfectly fine.”

She wasn’t the least bit worried about the intruder, huh? Interesting. That lent credence to his theory that it had been Markus himself who broke into the Dexter house to search for that puzzle box. And furthermore, Mary knew it had been her husband.

“At a minimum, ma’am, you should change the security code. We believe the intruder obtained the code, somehow, and disabled your home alarm.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“If you would like patrols to continue coming by your home for a few weeks, please let us know.”

She waved a dismissive hand at that suggestion.

Oh, yeah. Markus had totally been the intruder who’d run over Yvette.

“If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll go fetch your house keys from the evidence locker. Can I get you another cup of tea? It’ll take a few minutes to do the paperwork to get your keys.”

He stood up, leaving Jordana to take over chitchatting with Mary. His partner had known the woman most of her life. If anyone could coax information out of Mary Dexter, it was Jordana.

He signed out the house keys quickly and then loitered by the evidence locker until Jordana texted him an okay.

Mary left the building quickly, and he turned with interest to his partner. “Well?”

“She’s been in Kansas City the past few weeks. Claims to have been visiting a friend but couldn’t produce the friend’s name.”

“You think she was visiting Markus?”

“Possible. Mary gave me the name of the hotel she stayed at. I’ll make a call to confirm her alibi and find out if she had male company.”

He nodded and looked up quickly as a familiar form caught his attention across the room. Yvette’s trim silhouette.

“What’re you grinning like a fool for?” Jordana snapped.

“Yvette’s here,” he murmured.

“Dang, you’ve got it bad for her, don’t you?”

“I’m going to marry that girl.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t know it, yet, so don’t say anything.” He looked up, saw the stunned look on Jordana’s face and blurted, “Don’t you punch me, too.” That was all he had time to say before Yvette reached their desks.

“Hey, guys. I’ve got something you need to see. Do you want the old news or the recent news first?”

“Old,” he and Jordana said simultaneously.

“Right. So, I got the DNA results back from a strand of hair I collected off Markus Dexter’s hairbrush. I’ll have to get a sample from him to confirm that it was actually his hair, and I’d like you guys to get a warrant for that when we find him.”

Jordana frowned. “I don’t understand. Why does it matter if it was his hair or not?”

Reese knew that look in Yvette’s eyes. She was bursting with excitement over something. “Because the owner of that hair is Gwen Harrison’s father.”

All of a sudden, a bunch of pieces fell into place. He blurted, “Markus Dexter is Gwen Harrison’s father?”

“If that hair is Markus’s, yes.”

Jordana jumped in excitedly. “That’s our motive! Olivia Harrison was having an affair with Markus Dexter and it went sour. He killed her over it.”

Yvette beat him to the punch, correcting, “We know he had sex with Olivia at least once to have fathered her daughter. That doesn’t necessarily mean they were having an affair. And Gwen was several years old when her mother died, so he didn’t kill her right away. My guess is she had the baby and started pressing him to leave his wife. That would be why he killed Olivia. Either way, it’s a heck of a motive.”

Reese spoke up. “What’s the new news?”

“I got a hit on the key from the puzzle box.”

He lurched upright in his desk chair. “Do tell.”

“It’s from the Kansas City Freeport.”

His jaw sagged. “The freeport?”

Jordana chimed in with “What’s a freeport?”

Reese explained. “They’re bonded warehouses that accept cargo and shipments from other countries. A freeport can hold cargo indefinitely without ever sending it through customs. The stuff basically sits in lockers, in limbo between countries, as long as it’s inside the freeport building.”

Jordana frowned. “Why on earth would Markus Dexter have a locker inside a freeport?”

Yvette answered soberly, “He’s hiding something. It’s valuable, and he doesn’t want any US authority knowing it exists. He’s either avoiding paying taxes on it or it’s illegal.”

“How do we get a warrant to search it?” Jordana asked.

Reese winced. “That could be difficult. The contents of the freeport are in transit between countries. It would have to be a federal warrant.”

Jordana groaned. “Great. I guess I’m spending the rest of the day doing paperwork, aren’t I?”

“Sorry, sis,” Yvette murmured.

Reese commented, “I wonder if Mary Dexter knows her husband has a daughter.”

Jordana met his gaze sharply. “Could be interesting to find out. But you’re going to have to tread lightly around her. Disarm her.”

Yvette snorted. “That woman always scared me.”

Jordana snorted back. “I don’t know why. You were always the only one of us kids she could stand.”

“Really?” Reese asked quickly.

“Oh, yeah. Yvette was a quiet, mousy little thing who dressed in girly clothes and was always neat and clean. Mary thought she was the perfect child.”

He’d seen Yvette tussled and hectic after they made love, and frankly, it was his favorite way to see her. “Come with me to drop the bomb on Mary?” he asked her.

“Umm, sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Go get Markus’s hairbrush, and I’ll meet you out front,” he answered.

When Yvette slid into his truck a few minutes later, she lifted the center console and slid all the way across the bench seat to plaster herself against his side. “I’ve missed being with you,” she murmured.

“It has only been a few hours,” he replied humorously.

“I know. A lifetime.”

He laughed under his breath. “God, I love you.”

She froze against him.

Oh, crap. Should he retract the statement, or would that make it even more weird? Should he let it stand as nothing more than a casual remark? Pretend he’d never said it? Paralyzed with uncertainty, he ended up doing nothing. The moment passed. Yvette eventually relaxed against his side, and she didn’t make any grand or awkward statement in response.

Mary Dexter answered the front door of her mansion and promptly gave him an earful about cops tromping around her house in muddy boots and ruining her rugs. He finally got a word in edgewise to apologize humbly and ask to speak with her.

In a huff, Mary led him and Yvette into the living room. It was as stuffy a space as its owner and he perched on the edge of a deeply uncomfortable Victorian sofa. Mary and Yvette sat on the matching one across a coffee table.

Yvette opened her purse and pulled out a sealed, plastic evidence bag. She said softly, “Miss Mary, I’m hoping you can help me with something. Do you recognize this hairbrush?”

“Turn it over,” Mary demanded.

Yvette turned the bag, and the elaborate monogram on the back became visible, a large D with an M and a J on each side of it.

“Where did you get that? I gave that to my Markus for his birthday years ago.”

“You’re sure it’s his?”

“I can’t imagine there’s anyone else in Braxville with an imported boar’s-hair brush with the initials MJD engraved on it.”

Yvette nodded. “If you look closely, you can see some hairs in the bristles. Do those look like Uncle Markus’s?”

“Why, yes, dear. You can see the gray roots and that stupid hair dye he uses to cover the gray in his hair.”

Nice touch, calling him Uncle Markus. Yvette was putting Mary more at ease than he’d ever seen the woman.

“Why are you asking me all of this?” Mary asked, pinning him with a suspicious look.

He answered gently, “Ahh. That. Well, we ran a DNA analysis of several of the hairs from this brush. Turns out the hairs come from Gwen Harrison’s genetic father.”

“Markus? He’s the Harrison girl’s father? He and Olivia—” She broke off, visibly pale and stunned.

Yvette reached forward and took Mary’s hand, patting it sympathetically. “Is it possible anyone else used that brush? Any male guests to your home who might’ve gone upstairs and borrowed it?”

“Guests—no—I don’t like other people in my home… I think I feel faint…”

Yvette stood quickly and help her lie back. He grabbed a few pillows and passed them to Yvette to put behind Mary, while he pulled a crocheted blanket off the back of the sofa and laid it over her. “Rest, ma’am.”

“Thank you, young man.”

She wasn’t that old. But if she wanted to play the frail old lady, he would go along to gain her trust.

“Oh, Aunt Mary, I’m so sorry,” Yvette murmured. “You’ve been so brave over the years, looking the other way all that time. It’s not fair that he did this to you.”

“All those women,” she moaned. “And I never said a word. Never confronted him. I kept the peace. I was a dutiful wife.”

“And to have him betray you like this,” Yvette tsked. “It’s disgraceful.”

“How could he?” Mary wailed.

Reese mentally grinned. Here it came. The righteous fury.

“I could kill him,” she declared. “And to think, he wanted me to protect his sorry neck.”

Yvette glanced at him over Mary’s head and he nodded fractionally.

Yvette said sympathetically, “He doesn’t deserve you. You’ve always been too good for him.”

“I’m the one who came from the good family, you know. I had money. He used my trust fund to buy into your father’s company. And then this! Why, I’ll take all the money out of the bank accounts. It should all be mine, anyway. He wouldn’t have a dime if it weren’t for me agreeing to marry him and finance his business ventures. I’m the one who told him to invest in Colton Construction in the first place. Your daddy always had a good eye for real estate. I told Markus to take advantage of that.”

“And then to run away like this and leave you holding the bag,” Yvette made an indignant noise. “I can’t imagine how you’ll face his daughter. Ohmigosh, and all your friends when they find out…”

Mary groaned, and her diamond-clad fingers fluttered to her forehead. “I’ll have to leave, too.”

“You won’t join him, will you?” Yvette asked in horror.

“Goodness, no. Kansas City won’t be nearly far enough away to hide from the shame. But I have no interest in leaving the country, either. Oh, dear. What shall I do? I have people on the West Coast. My sister. We never got along, but maybe I could spend some time with her.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Yvette soothed.

Reese pulled out his cell phone and texted Jordana quickly. Dexter is in Kansas City. Planning to leave the country. Send alerts to customs and TSA to detain him on sight.

“How soon is Uncle Markus planning to leave the country? Maybe if he goes quickly enough you won’t have to leave Braxville and all your friends.”

“Oh, in just a few days.”

“Do you know the details of his trip?” Yvette asked casually.

“No, no. He was going to go alone. He wanted to send for me later, but I hadn’t made up my mind if I was going or not. I’m plenty sick of his shenanigans after all these years and all those women.”

Yvette sat down on the edge of the sofa beside the older woman. She lowered her voice and asked conspiratorially, “Did you know the Harrison woman? Olivia, I think her name was?”

“Beautiful girl. I’m not surprised she caught his eye. She had a friend in town who she used to come visit. They came to church together. That’s where we met her—” Mary’s voice became a hiss of fury. “He picked her up at church.”

Yvette made an appropriate sound of shock.

“I hope he burns in hell,” Mary spat.

“Aunt Mary, I found something strange in a piece of evidence that came into the lab a few days ago. It was a puzzle box with a key inside it. Do you know anything about that key?”

Mary frowned. “What was it a key to?”

“I was hoping you might know.”

“He always was secretive.” Mary’s voice lowered to a hushed murmur. “Once, I found a whole bunch of money in the back of his desk drawer and a fake driver’s license. It was his picture but it had a different name on it.”

“What ever would he need something like that for?” Yvette responded on cue.

“He said it was a joke. But I never believed him. I figured he used it to get hotel rooms for him and his sluts.”

“Do you remember the name on it?” Yvette asked, sounding suitably shocked.

“James McDowell. As if anyone couldn’t see right through that to realize it was his initials scrambled. And his middle name is James for goodness’ sake. It’s not even a good fake name.”

Yvette laughed a little. “You’re so much more clever than he ever realized.”

Mary responded archly, “All men think they’re so smart. But we women…we always know what they’re up to.”

Reese suppressed a smile. He was happy to be the stupid detective who’d brought along the one person on earth Mary would spill her guts to. Yep. He was quite the moron.

He made a hand signal over Mary’s head to Yvette to wrap things up, and she asked Mary if she could call a friend to come sit with her. Someone agreed to come over, and he and Yvette made their excuses and left.

They drove away from the Dexter house, and a few blocks away, he pulled over to the curb. “Come here, you amazing woman.” He pulled her into his arms and gave her a resounding kiss. “You were magnificent. She sang like a bird.”

Yvette threw her leg over his leg and straddled his hips, grinning down at him. “I like interrogating people.”

“If you’d like more training in how to do it, I’d be glad to arrange it.”

“It’s so…bloodthirsty. No wonder you love your job.”

He laughed at her enthusiasm and kissed her again, loving her excitement.

“Can I convince you to christen this truck?” she asked hopefully.

“Soon, darlin’. Right now, I want to drive you home and put you to bed.”

“Oooh, sounds fun. You’ll join me?”

“You need your rest,” he tried.

“What I need is you.”

He sighed. “You are possibly the worst patient I’ve ever been around.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?”

He smiled up at her ruefully and set her off his lap. And it was, indeed, great stripping her naked, laying her down in his bed and making slow, sweet love to her.

But eventually, real life called. Or rather, texted. Jordana had verbal approval on the warrant for Markus Dexter’s locker in the freeport. They needed only to drive to Kansas City to pick up the signed warrant and then they could find out what Markus was hiding.

CHAPTER 16

Yvette woke up with the setting sun pouring in through the window in crimson glory. “Reese!” she called. “Are you home?”

No answer. He’d undoubtedly gone back to work and left her to sleep the afternoon away. Which she, in fact, had. She showered and dressed, and noticed her phone had several text messages when she picked it up in the kitchen.

The first message was from Reese. Gone to Kansas City. Will call you when we arrest Markus.

Perfect. She still had a bunch of emails and paperwork to go through from being out of the office for several days. She’d just settled down in front of a fledgling fire with her laptop when she heard the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive.

Odd. She didn’t see its headlights. Nor did she recognize the sound of its engine. That definitely wasn’t Reese’s truck. One of her siblings, maybe. It would be like Lilly to send one of them out to check on her.

A firm knock at the front door drew her out of her seat to open it, a greeting on her lips.

“Hi—” she started. She stopped. Stared. Blurted, “What are you doing here?”

“Come with me. Right now,” Markus Dexter snarled.

“What? No. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand lifted away from his side. “Wanna bet?”

She stared in shock at the handgun pointed at her belly. “Are you kidding me?”

“I assure you, I’m not. Let’s go. Now.”

“I’m going to need shoes and my coat, Uncle Markus.” She threw in the title to remind him of her lifelong relationship to him. He was sporting a scruffy beard and looked rather more unkempt than she was used to. He had a hard edge about him now, which was new.

“Make it fast.”

She turned, thinking frantically. How to let someone know she was being kidnapped? He followed her into the bedroom where she made a production of fishing her boots out of the closet, strewing all of her shoes around the floor of the closet. She dumped several pairs of socks on the floor as she opened the drawer, too. She threw a huge log onto the fire as she passed by it, confident the thing would burn most of the night. She didn’t close the steel mesh curtains in front of the fire and prayed she didn’t burn Reese’s house down. But he would know something was terribly wrong if she’d made a mess and hadn’t made the fire safe before leaving.

She grabbed her coat off the rack by the door and surreptitiously dropped one of her mittens on her way out. It was the best she could do on short notice.

Markus herded her into the back seat of what looked like a rental sedan, where he zip-tied her hands together in front of her. Sheesh. He didn’t think much of her survival skills if that was all he did to her. But she wasn’t about to complain.

He drove away from the house, and she sat quietly in the backseat, trying to figure out where he was headed. Cell phone coverage out here could be spotty. They went around the city center of Braxville on country roads and appeared to head generally east. She dared not wait any longer to call for help. She reached into her front jeans pocket surreptitiously and pulled out her phone.

It was hard to type while covering its lighted face with one zip-tied hand and trying to press letter keys with the other. It was painstaking work, but she finally typed out a message to Reese.

Kidnapped by Markus. Heading eastish in gray sedan. Not hurt.

* * *

Reese looked away from the window impatiently as his cell phone vibrated. “Take over watching the entrance,” he told the Kansas City detective at the other window in the cramped office. They’d set up a surveillance hide on the freeport across the street from this warehouse’s front offices. He didn’t love the sharp angle to the front door from here, but this building had a second floor that lifted them above street traffic and parked cars.

Darkness was falling and streetlights threw dull pools of light on the slushy pavement. The lights were off in the office, of course, so he stepped back from his window perch to pull out his cell phone.

Shielding it with his hand, he opened the text from Yvette, smiling already.

And then he read her message.

Had he not had so many years of experience on the force, he’d have dropped the phone in his panic. As it was, he yelled, “Come here, Pat! Oh, my God. Call the SWAT task force commander. And the FBI while you’re at it.”

“What the hell?” the other cop said.

It was easier to shove the cell phone at the guy than try to explain.

“Oh, shit,” the other cop responded. “I’ll call the hostage-negotiation guys, too.”

Ohgod ohgod ohgod. Reese paced the office they’d commandeered for this operation as frantically as a caged tiger.

Belatedly, it dawned on him that he should text her back. Let her know he’d received her message. But what if an incoming text made noise? Got her in trouble? Worse, what if Markus turned off her phone?

Pat poked his head into the room. “Come with me. We’re shifting this operation to the SWAT command center, now that we know where Dexter is. What’s the woman’s phone number so we can get a GPS location on it and track it?”

He rattled off Yvette’s phone number quickly as he all but ran from the building. He jumped into the unmarked car with the Kansas City cop, who blessedly drove like Yvette’s life depended on it across town to police headquarters.

Thankfully, it took about two minutes to bring the SWAT operators on call up to full speed. This was not their first rodeo. They called in a full SWAT team and began preparing a briefing for them.

In about two more minutes, a red blip popped up on a large wall monitor. Someone superimposed a road map of Kansas on the screen, and it became clear quickly that Markus and Yvette were headed this way.

Unable to wait any longer for the process to unfold, he asked the SWAT team commander, “Now that we’ve got positive ID on the vehicle, can I text her back? Let her know we’re on our way?”

He waited through a brief, agonizing conference among the tactical experts.

One of them turned to Reese. “She’s a cop, is she?”

“Forensic scientist for a police department.”

“Close enough. She the type to panic?”

“Not at all,” he answered firmly.

“Okay. Tell her we’re tracking her and then ask her to delete the text conversation.”

“Got it.”

He texted quickly, We’re tracking you and need you to delete all my texts after you read them. He hesitated for a moment and then typed quickly, I love you. I promise you’ll be safe. ALL the law enforcement types are here. Hang tough and keep him as calm as possible.

He waited three minutes or so for a response but got none. He hoped she’d gotten his message and merely wasn’t in a position to respond right now. And then he prayed. He’d found her so recently. He couldn’t lose her, now. In what universe would that be fair or right?

When he was sure Yvette wasn’t going to respond immediately, he placed a quick phone call to Jordana.

“Hey, Reese. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a situation. Markus has surfaced. He apparently went to my cabin and kidnapped Yvette. She’s texting me from a car he’s driving toward Kansas City, as we speak.”

Jordana swore colorfully, which was wildly unlike her. “What can I do?” she demanded urgently.

“Pray. If they’re headed for the freeport they’ll arrive in about an hour and a half. I’ll update you as I can. SWAT’s gearing up, and the FBI’s on scene. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

Jordana said soberly, “You can’t promise that, and you know it. But if anyone can make sure she comes through this safely, it’ll be you. Take care of my baby sister, Reese.”

“You know I’d give my life for her.”

“Yeah. I do. How are you holding up?”

“I’m on the ragged edge,” he confessed. “This is way too much like the last time.”

“You mean when Christine was taken hostage?”

“Yes.” He shuddered at the memory of his partner’s lifeless, bullet-riddled body lying in a pool of blood beside the corpse of the man who’d killed her. An image of Yvette dead the same way flashed through his head and he nearly lost it. His breathing sped up until he felt lightheaded and nauseated.

“I can hear you hyperventilating, Reese. Breathe, buddy. Yvette’s smart, levelheaded and resourceful. She won’t do anything stupid and heroic like Christine tried to do.”

Jordana knew the details of his first partner’s death at the hands of a deranged criminal with a bag full of weapons and ammo. The man had been trying to achieve suicide by cop, and had taken Christine Crocker hostage to draw as many police as possible to his home. When he’d tried to shoot at the police outside the home he’d holed up in with her, she’d leaped at him to stop him. He’d panicked and shot her. By the time police dropped the shooter, entered the home and found Christine, she’d bled out.

Reese snorted. “You know as well as I do that Yvette would do something stupid and heroic.”

“All right. Fine. She can be impulsive. But she has you to live for now.”

“Is that enough?” he asked desperately.

“It has to be. Believe in her, Reese. This time will be different. This will end well.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear,” he said fervently.

Jordana said lightly, “By the way, you two are doing a terrible job of keeping your relationship secret. It’s all over your faces any time you’re in the same room together. You two look freaking radiant, for crying out loud.”

“Uhh, I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ll need to go public sooner rather than later that you two are in love.”

“I’m totally in love with her. But I don’t know how she feels about me. I mean I know she likes me. But does she love me?”

“Oh, she’s a goner. I’ve never seen her look at another man the way she looks at you. She’s head over heels, my dude.”

How was it possible to be so elated and so panicked in the same breath? She had to be okay. She had to.

* * *

Yvette’s composure threatened to crack when the text from Reese finally came in. She read it quickly and then deleted it like he’d asked. The car was currently traveling a dark stretch of highway, and she was afraid the glow of her cell phone screen would be visible to Markus from the front seat, so she didn’t dare try to respond to Reese, right now.

She wasn’t surprised that Reese had called out every law enforcement agency in this part of the country the moment he got that text. She took his advice and decided to attempt to strike up a conversation with Markus. Although frankly, she was more interested in throwing him mentally off-balance than in keeping him calm. The calm ship seemed to have sailed a while ago where her father’s ex-partner was concerned.

“So, Uncle Markus. I found out today that Gwen Harrison is your biological daughter.”

The car swerved sharply and then righted itself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I ran a DNA test on some of your hair. You and Olivia Harrison are Gwen’s biological parents. Did you know Olivia had your baby?” She was tempted to add, When you killed her, but there was no need to antagonize him that much.

“I didn’t even know the Harrison woman, let alone have a child with her.”

Riiight. Because DNA lied all the time. Not.

“Aunt Mary’s plenty pissed off about it.”

That made him squawk, “What?”

“She threatened to empty out all of your bank accounts. In fact, she might have already done it this afternoon, she was so mad.”

Markus snorted. “That bitch always thought she had me by the short hairs because of her family’s money. But she never knew I put back money for myself. Squirreled it away in accounts she didn’t even know existed. Bit by bit, I’ve wiped out that old hag.”

Hag, huh? “So, Aunt Mary isn’t the quiet, docile wife she acts like in public?”

That got Markus going but good. He ranted about his wife for most of the next hour. Long enough for her to start seeing signs for the suburbs of Kansas City.

Under the cover of his tirade about how Mary Dexter had everybody fooled, she sent another text to Reese. Approaching Kansas City. And I love you, too.

* * *

He texted her back immediately with the question that had been agreed upon would be asked the next time she contacted him. Are you in imminent danger?

Her response was fast. No.

Thank God. His legs actually felt weak with relief. He replied with, Police following you in unmarked cars. SWAT and FBI mobilized here in KC. Sit tight and don’t provoke him. Don’t be a hero.

She didn’t respond right away. A sinking feeling that she wasn’t willing to agree to that settled heavily in his gut. He tried again. Keep your head down, stay quiet, don’t do anything unpredictable. Let the professionals take care of you.

She responded right away with a single word that made him smile reluctantly. Fine.

If she was cracking jokes right now, she must not feel as if her life was in danger at the moment. That was reassuring. But still. She was the prisoner of an armed and angry man who’d killed before and could kill again.

* * *

“Did you know they arrested Fitz for the whole arsenic scandal?” she said conversationally. “And they’re questioning him about the Harrison and Crane murders. Do you think he killed those two?”

“Definitely.”

“Why, I wonder?” she asked.

“He was the one having an affair with the Harrison girl. Hell, I’ll bet he’s that Gwen girl’s father. You should test his DNA.”

Denial, much? She already had her father’s DNA profile in her database, and it hadn’t been the one that popped up as a perfect parental match to Gwen Harrison’s. But she was happy to play along with the lie if it kept Markus talking.

“Where are we headed, Uncle Markus?”

“To the Kansas City Freeport. You’re going to get my golden parachute out of storage for me, little girl. And then, I’m out of here.”

“What is this freeport place?” she asked innocently.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Yvette. You’re a cop. You know darned good and well what a freeport is.”

“I’m not a police officer—”

“Cut the crap. You swiped my puzzle box.”

“I did not! You’re the one who fished it out of your attic and then dropped it on the way out the door.”

“So,” he commented. “That was you in the attic. I thought I recognized you.”

“I knew I recognized you,” she retorted.

“You found the key, didn’t you?” he accused. “I figure it took you cops about two minutes to figure out it belongs to a safe-deposit box. But I fooled you all. It’s a freeport and not even technically US territory. You can’t touch my stuff in there.”

Far be it from her to explain to him that federal laws still applied to any facility located on US soil.

“How am I going to help you get into this freeport place?” she asked.

“Shut up. I’ll tell you what to do when we get there.”

“Sure. No problem,” she replied evenly.

As they approached the outskirts of Kansas City, she risked texting, Going to freeport. She expected Reese and company would already have anticipated that, but it didn’t hurt for them to have confirmation of Markus’s destination.

It wasn’t too much longer until they pulled up in front of a long, low building that stretched away into the darkness in both directions.

“You’re going to go inside in front of me,” he directed, “and show them the warrant I have.”

“What warrant?”

“I know a guy. He forged one for me.”

“What guy?”

“Quit interrupting. You’re gonna show the warrant and your police ID.”

“I don’t have my police ID—”

“I have it.” He held up her cute pink purse with the butterflies from the night of the mugging.

“You knocked me down in the parking lot and took my purse?” she exclaimed.

“Shut up. And don’t make me tell you to be quiet, again.” He shoved her purse at her. “Show your ID to the guy at the front desk along with the warrant. Make him unlock my storage unit for you. I couldn’t find my key in your cursed police department. Turned the place upside down, but there was no sign of it. Where’d you put it, anyway?” he asked truculently.

“It’s locked in a safe where all valuable evidence is stored.”

He swore in frustration.

He resumed giving her orders. “When the guard leaves, you’ll put everything on the table into this bag.” He lifted a large duffel bag from the front seat of the car.

The bag was clearly empty. Thank goodness. She’d been worried when she glimpsed it as she’d climbed into the car that it might have weapons inside it.

“When I have my stash, you and I will walk out of the freeport. Nice and quiet. Got it?”

“Yes. I like the nice-and-quiet part.”

“If you do anything, try anything, I’ll kill you. Understood?”

“Uncle Markus. I would never do anything to hurt you, and I can’t believe you’d do anything to hurt me,” she said in as innocent a voice as she could muster.

She climbed out of the car and waited patiently while he draped her coat over her zip-tied wrists. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her along beside him, growling, “Don’t mess this up. I’ll shoot you, and I’ll shoot the guard. His life is in your hands, Yvette.”

She refrained from looking around the parking lot. It wasn’t necessary, anyway. She could feel Reese nearby, his gaze upon her. She figured there was probably a whole SWAT team out here somewhere, too, if she knew Reese. Which meant there would be snipers covering every angle. They wouldn’t shoot until Markus did something to threaten her or the security guard inside the lobby of the freeport, or until the commander on scene gave an order to take the shot.

Her guess was they would let this play out as long as she wasn’t in immediate danger. It would help the prosecution if he took personal possession of whatever he’d stashed in the freeport. He wouldn’t be able to claim it had been planted or that it wasn’t his. Not to mention, he would need to remove whatever was in his storage unit for it technically to be on US soil.

The security guard looked up from behind a high front counter. His eyes were hard and even. She would lay odds he was an FBI agent.

Markus nudged her with his elbow. Right. She was up. An attack of nerves startled her as she opened her mouth to speak. Until now, she’d been mostly calm, feeling relatively confident that Reese would take care of her and everything would be fine.

But now, with the hard bore of Markus’s pistol jammed against her side and the security guard looking up at her intently, the reality of her danger slammed into her full force.

“May I help you?” the guard asked.

“Umm, yes. I’m, umm, from the Braxville Police Department, and I’ve got a warrant to search one of your lockers.”

Markus took her ID card from her purse and passed it over to the guard, along with the forged search warrant.

The guard looked at it for a while and passed it back to her. She started to reach for it with her tied hands, but Markus snatched it off the counter quickly.

“Do you have the key?” the guard asked.

“No, we don’t,” Markus responded for her.

“I’ll send a guy with you, then, to unlock it.” A second guard, big and fit looking and also reeking of being a federal agent, stepped out of a door behind the first guard.

“Come with me,” the second guard said.

Frantically, she tried to figure out how to signal this guard, who looked plenty big enough to take down Markus, that her captor had a gun hidden under his coat. But, with Markus’s pistol literally pressed against her side, her options were limited. Maybe when they got to the storage unit she would get an opening.

The guard walked in front of them down a wide hallway lined with doors spaced at even intervals. Other than the concrete floor and walls and dim sconce lighting, this could be a regular office building.

“Here we are,” the guard said. “Do you want to go in alone, or shall I accompany you?”

“Alone,” Markus said quickly. “You first, Yvette.”

The guard threw open the door, and complete darkness was all she saw. Markus jabbed her side with the pistol and gestured with his head for her to reach for, presumably, a light switch.

Everything happened all at once.

She reached with both hands for the wall, Markus shoved her inside and then the guard jumped for Markus. She stumbled and fell as the door slammed shut behind her, landing on her knees and then pitching forward. She rolled and hit the floor with her right shoulder, disoriented.

Markus swore violently in the complete darkness, and she rolled away from the sound of his voice hastily. The light switched on, and she was in a small room, perhaps six feet wide and maybe ten feet long. A single table stood in the center of the room and she lay curled up next to one of its legs. Markus was pointing his pistol at the door with both hands.

She grabbed the table leg in both hands and hoisted herself to her feet. She stared at the contents of the table. It was covered in tall stacks of cash, bundled into rubber-banded packets of twenties and hundreds. She guessed at a glance that at least a couple of million dollars was stacked there. One corner of the table held two passports with New Zealand covers, and an assortment of jewelry—a couple of diamond rings, a gaudy gold watch, a necklace with an impressive emerald in it and a tangle of other pieces.

Markus tossed the duffel bag at her. “Put everything in that.”

She commenced awkwardly shoveling the cash off the table into the big bag as Markus pressed his ear to the door. He swore aloud at whatever he heard.

“Okay. Here’s how this is going to go down. You and I are walking out to the parking lot together and getting in my car. You’re driving me to the airport, where I’m going to get on a charter plane that’s waiting for me. If you don’t mess this up, maybe you get to live. Otherwise, I’ll blow your head off.”

Not while she was driving the car, he wouldn’t. If she was incapacitated, she would crash the car, he wouldn’t get to the airport and he might get hurt. Once they reached the airport, though, that was another story.

Shoving her in front of him, he forced her to crack open the unit’s door a few millimeters. “I’m coming out!” he shouted. “Any funny business, and the girl is dead!”

“Understood,” a familiar voice called out.

Reese? He was out there? A wash of warmth went through her trembling body.

“Open the door wider,” Markus ordered, pressing his pistol to the back of her head. The barrel was hard and cold against her skull.

Nervously, she did so, praying there wasn’t a hair trigger on his weapon. One slip of his finger, and she would be dead. Of course, it was also possible the snipers outside would accidentally take her out in the course of trying to stop Markus from leaving.

“I’m coming out first,” she called. Her ad-lib ticked off Markus, who jabbed her neck painfully with the weapon.

“Let’s go,” he snapped, shoving her forward.

The hallway was lined with men in full tactical gear. Kansas City SWAT, if she had to guess. All of their weapons were trained in her and Markus’s direction, and it was the scariest sight she’d ever seen. All those hard, emotionless faces pressed against eye sights, staring back at her. As she’d suspected, Reese had called in all the law enforcement in this part of the country.

“All of you, stay in front of me,” Markus ordered.

It was a slow procession, waiting for the various tactical officers to move ahead of them toward the exit in an ever-increasing crowd of black uniforms and weapons. The parade spilled outside, and Markus’s car had been repositioned at the side door.

She slid across the passenger seat with Markus’s pistol pressed to her neck, just below her right ear. She crawled awkwardly over the center console, and lowered herself carefully into the driver’s seat of Markus’s car while he climbed in after her, never taking the pistol’s aim off her. He seemed to know that the second he gave all those cops outside even the slightest opening, one of them would take him down. He slouched down below the level of the windows as she started the car, his shoulder against her side and his pistol still maddeningly aimed at her head, now pointing up at her jaw from underneath. She knew all too well that would be a lethal angle from which to take a bullet.

An escort of police patrol cars led her out of the parking lot slowly and drove toward an airport. Their lights flashed, but blessedly, their sirens were silenced. She counted four police cruisers in front of her and a dozen or more trailing behind in a slow-motion parade of flashing lights. She didn’t see the big SWAT vans, but she suspected they’d gone another route to the airport, racing to get there and get set up before she arrived. The cop cars in front of her drove well under the speed limit, lending credence to the idea of giving the tactical folks time to get into place.

Markus was agitated beside her, and the more nervous he got, the more nervous she got.

They were escorted directly out onto the tarmac and up to a low, sleek business jet. This was it. If Markus was going to kill her, now was the time. He could just as easily use the pilots as his hostages. Her usefulness to him would be done the moment he set foot on that airplane.

* * *

“You good, Detective Carpenter?” the SWAT officer asked him after tugging Reece’s shirt collar up a little higher.

“Yep. Let’s do this.”

He jumped out of the tactical van and stepped around it. The Learjet Markus had chartered was parked on the tarmac with its front hatch open and steps folded down. A pair of FBI agents sat in the cockpit, dressed as pilots.

The gray sedan pulled to a stop in front of the jet, and he spied the petite form seated at the wheel. Surely, Markus would use her as a human shield and not shoot her until he got inside that plane. The guy was smart enough to know the cops would take him out the moment he killed Yvette.

Yvette’s door opened. From his vantage point, Reese saw Markus practically lying on her lap. Very slowly, she climbed out of the car, her hands clasped behind her neck.

Reese stepped forward and she spotted him.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, everything around them fell away. There was no crisis, no madman with a gun pointed at her, no SWAT team. Just the two of them. Here and now. In love.

And apparently in sync, for she shook her head slightly in the negative, as if to tell him not to do what he was about to.

He’d had to argue and ultimately beg to be the guy to make the close approach to Yvette and Markus. Through sheer cussed stubbornness, though, he’d prevailed and convinced the crisis team leader to let him do this.

He walked forward slowly, his hands held well away from his sides.

“Stop right there!” Markus shouted at him. “Don’t come any closer. I’ll shoot!”

“Hey, Mr. Dexter. How are you doing, sir? I’m sure you remember me—I’m Reese Carpenter of the Braxville Police Department.”

“What are you doing here?” Dexter demanded.

“Well, you’re from my town. I thought you might be more comfortable talking to somebody you’ve met before than to a total stranger.”

“What do you want?”

This was a good sign. The man was rational enough to follow the conversation and ask logical questions.

“Well, I’d like to make a trade with you, Mr. Dexter. Myself for Miss Colton.”

“No!” she cried.

He smiled ruefully at her and continued, speaking over her protests. “I’ll be your hostage in her place. Let her go and you can have me. She’s a civilian and has no part in all of this.”

“Like hell she doesn’t,” Dexter sneered. “She’s the one who kept turning up evidence that closed the net around me. First that damned arsenic thing, and then those bodies. Nobody was ever supposed to find those. But Fitz. He wouldn’t listen, would he? Had to renovate. Couldn’t be satisfied with the building he had. Always wanted things to be bigger and better. The man’s ambition knows no limits.”

Reese made a sympathetic sound. “I have to admit, it was really satisfying to arrest Fitz Colton and take him down a peg. Did you happen to see that on TV?”

Dexter devolved into a rant about how overdue the arrest had been, and Reese let him vent to his heart’s content. And while Markus monologued, Reese eased closer and closer until he was practically within arm’s length of Yvette.

He saw the pistol against the back of her neck, jerking and sliding around as Markus raged. Terror tore through him that Markus’s finger would slip and pull that trigger, ending the life of the woman he loved.

No more time to wait.

No, she mouthed.

Trust me, he mouthed back. Dammit, her life depended on her letting him help her in this moment. She had to let go. Just once in her life. Let him take care of her.

“Yvette, step to your right so I can take your place,” he said easily.

“No!” Markus yelled.

Reese made eye contact with her, silently begging her not to question him. To trust him. To do exactly what he asked of her.

She nodded very faintly.

He said merely, “Drop.”

* * *

Yvette relaxed all her leg muscles at once and let gravity take over. She plunged toward the ground, falling without warning. Time slowed as the tarmac rushed up at her, and all she could think was that with her body out of the way, Markus would have a clear shot at Reese.

A scream started in the back of her throat, and by the time her body slammed into the ground, it burst out of her in a piercing shriek.

A gunshot exploded above her head at extremely close range deafening her and vibrating through her almost as if it had hit her. Reese grunted in front of her, staggering back. A blackened hole in his white shirt, directly in the center of his chest told the tale. Markus Dexter had shot him at point-blank range.

“Nooo!” She screamed. Rolling to her hands and knees, she launched herself forward at Markus’s knees as hard as she could spring.

She slammed into his legs, knocking him backward just as the pistol fired again. Markus fell backward hard, slamming down to the tarmac with her sprawled across his legs. She scrambled to push up, but something big flashed past her, moving fast.

Reese. He landed on top of Markus, both of his hands gripping Markus’s wrist just below the butt of the pistol. The two men wrestled for control of the gun, and she rolled to one side to get out of Reese’s way. On her knees, she looked for an opening to help, and when Markus rolled away from her with Reese still plastered to his front, she slammed her fist forward as hard as she could at the spot just over Markus’s kidney.

He groaned, and she punched him again. He jerked his hands down and the pistol disappeared between Markus’s and Reese’s torsos. It exploded once more, this time the report of the gunshot muffled.

Both men collapsed with Markus on top of Reese.

“Nononononono…” She moaned as she lunged forward, grabbing at Markus’s shoulder and yanking at him with all her strength. Reese couldn’t be dead.

She’d just found him. He couldn’t be dead.

They hadn’t had enough time together. He couldn’t be dead.

She wanted so much more with him. He couldn’t be dead.

She would die without him. She was already dead…

CHAPTER 17

Pain.

As if someone was splitting his chest open.

Unable to breathe. Unable to speak. Unable to move.

And then there were hands. So many hands, lifting away the massive weight from his chest. Picking him up. Standing him on his feet. Tearing open his shirt.

A SWAT guy saying jovially, “Good thing you had a vest on, man. That bullet would have gone right through your heart. Reese looked down, and a flattened disk of lead was half embedded in his Kevlar vest.

“That must hurt like hell,” the SWAT guy continued casually. “Close-range shot like that. You’re lucky it wasn’t any bigger caliber of pistol or a shot like that could’ve busted a few ribs. As it is, I’ll bet you get a wicked bruise on your chest.”

“Yeah. No doubt,” he managed to gasp past the pain.

And then something new barreled into him, warm and soft and fierce.

Yvette.

“Hey, babe,” he managed before she half choked him to death with her arms wrapped around his neck too tightly for him to breathe.

“A little air,” he gasped.

Her arms loosened. But not much.

There was a flurry of activity as the SWAT guys climbed off Markus, handcuffed him and hauled him away, escorted by a bunch of armed police.

“Don’t you ever scare me again like that,” Yvette declared against the side of his neck.

He turned his head and captured her mouth with his. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her so tight he actually lifted her off the ground.

“I died when you told me to drop,” she confessed. “You were going to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Yes, but I knew I was wearing a vest and you weren’t.”

“But what if he’d shot you in the head?”

“Yvie, Markus Dexter is a lot of things, but a good shot is not one of them. During one of his interviews with the district attorney, Fitz griped at length about what a crappy hunter Markus was and how he scared away all the wildlife because he was such a lousy shot.”

“Still—”

He cut her off gently. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine! You just got shot and are going to be seriously bruised!”

He grinned down at her as he let her slide down his torso until her feet touched the ground. “Now you know how I feel when you tell me you’re fine.”

“All right. We’re agreed that neither of us will ever be fine again, then?”

“Deal,” he replied, laughing.

* * *

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity for Yvie. She had to give a statement to the police, a statement to the FBI and more statements than she could count to the press.

Markus was arrested and being held by federal authorities. After Mary testified that it was her husband’s intent to flee the country, a judge declined to set bail for him, so he was cooling his heels in a prison cell in Kansas City.

He was forced to give a new DNA sample, and when confronted with the confirmed DNA evidence that Gwen Harrison was, in fact, his daughter, he finally confessed to having had an affair with Olivia Harrison.

Yvie was able to use Markus’s own datebooks to show assignations with Olivia over the span of three years. He claimed that Olivia insisted on getting married, but that Mary wouldn’t grant him a divorce.

Mary, no longer interested in protecting her husband, confirmed that Markus had, indeed, asked for a divorce right around the time Olivia Harrison was murdered.

As for Olivia’s and Crane’s bodies ending up hidden in walls, Yvette and Reese went through Dexter’s files again and found orders for fake construction delays in Markus’s own handwriting. Those delays would have emptied the job site and allowed him to sneak the bodies into the building and hide them in the walls.

When confronted all the evidence, Markus finally broke down and confessed to killing Olivia Harrison and hiding her body in the wall of the Colton warehouse.

Given that Fenton Crane’s cause of death was identical to Olivia Harrison’s, it wasn’t difficult to get Markus to admit to killing the private investigator, too.

On top of all of that, Markus was formally charged with attempted murder in the shooting of Tyler Colton. Seemingly broken by the earlier confessions, he admitted to shooting Ty immediately when asked about it.

Practically the first chance Yvette had to be alone with Reese was when he picked her up in his truck two weeks after the kidnapping to drive to Kansas City, where they attended a touching memorial service for Olivia Harrison. Yvette’s brother Brooks made a moving eulogy about Olivia and the wonderful daughter she’d given the world.

After the service, Yvette noticed Brooks having an earnest conversation with Gwen’s grandmother, Rita. At the end of it, the two exchanged a warm hug. Yvette murmured to Reese, whose arm she hadn’t let go of since they got out of his truck, “I’ll bet Brooks just got approval to propose to Gwen from her grandmother.”

“Good for him,” Reese replied warmly. “I was annoyed with him when he kept butting into the murder investigation of Gwen’s mother, but I get it now. The man was drowning in love and so dumb with it he couldn’t help himself.”

“Is that why you decided to take a bullet for me?” she asked tartly. “You were dumb in love?”

He grinned unrepentantly. “Guilty as charged.”

No surprise, at the conclusion of the gathering, Brooks got down on one knee and proposed to Gwen—who tearfully and joyfully accepted. Everyone applauded, and it was a happy note to end a somber event on. Yvette was delighted for the two of them. After everything Gwen had been through, she’d surely earned a happy-ever-after. And Brooks couldn’t quit beaming. She’d never seen her brother happier.

The congratulations and socializing wound down, and while Gwen and Brooks elected to spend the night at her grandmother’s house to start the more joyful project of planning their wedding, the rest of the Colton clan headed back to Braxville for a family supper.

It would be their last time together for a while, since Jordana and Clint were about to head out for Chicago. Yvette sat back and enjoyed the noisy meal, letting the conversation flow around her full of laughter and warmth. This was the sound of family. And she loved it.

Reese reached under the table for her hand, and she smiled at him as their fingers twined together. He knew how much it meant to her to be part of all of this. He squeezed her hand, and the brand-new engagement ring on her left finger bit into her flesh. She was still getting used to it being there, but it wasn’t coming off again for the rest of her life. They hadn’t set a wedding date yet, but she was thinking about something small, maybe next summer.

Luke and Bridgette spent much of the meal picking Tyler’s and Ashley’s brains about the best places to eat and shop in Wichita, but near the end of supper, Bridgette called for everyone’s attention. Yvette frowned slightly. Was her sister actually blushing?

Bridgette continued, “Luke and I have an announcement to make. You know when he had to go on that buying trip to Las Vegas a few weeks back? I, umm, went with him, and well, we got married while we were in Vegas.”

Yvette squealed along with the other women at the table, and everyone congratulated them warmly.

Luke grinned, abashed, and said, “Now that your family knows we eloped, does this mean I can wear my wedding ring, now?”

Bridgette laughed. “Why? Are you getting tired of sweet old ladies throwing themselves at you?”

“Yes. Yes I am,” he replied fervently.

“While we’re making announcements,” Neil piped up, “Elise and I have a little news. We found out yesterday that we’re expecting twins.”

Yvette’s face hurt from smiling so much, and she and Reese congratulated them warmly. Of course, being Coltons, the clan did razz Neil and Elise thoroughly over who was going to change the most diapers in their household.

Brooks asked from the other end of the table, “Any more announcements while we’re at it?”

Lilly spoke up from the head of the table. “Umm, yes, actually.”

Everyone fell silent and stared at her, startled that she, of all people, apparently had news.

Yvette was even more surprised when Uncle Shep got out of his seat at the foot of the table and walked down its length to stand beside her. But Yvette about fell out of her chair when Lilly reached up and took Shep’s hand in hers and laid her cheek fondly on the back of his hand.

Lily said simply, “Shepherd and I are getting married.”

Dead silence fell over the table.

Yvette stared in slowly dawning joy.

Reese was the first to break the shocked silence. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations to both of you. Here’s to many happy years. You both deserve it.” He raised his beer glass in their direction.

There seemed to be a collective blink and deep breath around the table, and then everyone was talking at once, congratulating Shep and Lilly, and laughing in surprise…and not surprise.

There always had been a certain something between the two of them. Now that Yvette thought back over the years, Lilly had leaned on Shep many times when Fitz had let her down. The same way Yvette, herself, had.

Shep said quietly, “We have one more announcement to make. By rights, we should do this in private first. But as I’ve come to learn, not much of anything stays private in this family for long. You all seem to operate on the theory of one for all and all for one. With that in mind, I’d like to ask all of you to give Yvette your unqualified support.”

Yvette froze. Everyone was looking at her, glancing back and forth between her and Shep. Reese’s hand tightened reassuringly around her fingers, and she was grateful for his silent comfort.

“What’s up?” she croaked.

Lilly said quietly, “Honey, Shepherd and I have something to show you.” She passed a folded piece of paper to Jordana on her left, who passed it to Clint, who passed it to her. Frowning, Yvette unfolded it.

It was a DNA test. A paternity match. She saw the heading on the sheet of paper. Paternity results for Yvette Elizabeth Colton.

What on earth?

She glanced farther down the sheet and stared. Her jaw fell open. She read the sheet again.

Tears filled her eyes as she shoved the sheet of paper blindly at Reese. She stumbled to her feet and headed toward her mother—

—and her father.

She flung her arms around Uncle Shep’s waist and squeezed for all she was worth. “Is it true?” she asked against his chest. “Are you really my father?”

She vaguely heard a collective gasp behind her.

“Yes, sweetie, it is. I’ve suspected for years. But when you were in the hospital after the mugging, I asked your mother for permission to run a DNA test to prove it. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m more than okay with it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve always secretly wished you were my real daddy.” In quick remorse, she looked down at her mother, whose face was streaked with tears. “I mean, Fitz wasn’t an awful parent. It’s just that whenever I really needed a father, Uncle Shep was always there for me.”

“I know, darling,” Lilly said through her tears. “He was always there for me when I needed him most, too. And now he’s going to be part of the family, officially.”

Lilly looked down the table at the other children. “I hope all of you can forgive me. But Shepherd and I felt that Yvette was owed the truth. Your father and I had a complicated marriage, and I was far from perfect, too. I hope you can be happy for Shepherd and me and that you won’t hold this against Yvette. If you want to be angry, be angry at me.”

Jordana was the closest to Lilly and leaped to her feet to wrap Lilly in a tight hug. “I love you, Mom. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you.”

The other children rushed forward, and before long, Yvette was smothered in a massive group hug that included a great deal of tears and laughing.

Eventually, she started to feel claustrophobic, and using her small stature to her advantage, wiggled free of the whole gang. Reese was standing right in front of her when she popped clear and he opened his arms in invitation.

Relieved, she stepped into the circle of safety and trust and let him wrap her up in his love.

“Are you okay?” he whispered against her temple.

“More than okay. I might even be that F-word.”

“Just this once, I’m okay if you use it,” he replied humorously.

She gazed up at him in adoration. Her life was truly complete, now, all the voids filled. She had the father she’d always dreamed of, and she had the man she’d always dreamed of. Her family was whole and happy. The Coltons had weathered the storm of the past year and come out stronger and happier than ever. Love had seen them all through crisis and disaster, fear and loss.

“Oh, Reese, I’m fine. Perfectly, wonderfully fine.”

* * * * *

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ISBN-13: 9781488064326

Colton in the Line of Fire

Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Cindy Dees for her contribution to The Coltons of Kansas miniseries.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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“Maybe your father couldn’t be helped,” Brady said, then looked as if he regretted saying it.

“And maybe I can’t be, either.”

She sensed him move, then felt the gentle touch of a finger under her chin, tilting her head back.

“I don’t believe that,” he said quietly but firmly.

Ashley looked at him, thinking it amazing that a man in his job could have such warm, kind eyes. She remembered the first time she’d looked into them, as he’d pulled her from the car in the moment before it had slid down the mountain. She remembered thinking then that those eyes promised she would be safe, that somehow he would get her out of this.

And he had. At no small risk to himself.

She couldn’t let him risk himself even more.

* * *

Be sure to check out the rest of the books in this miniseries.

Cutter’s Code: A clever and mysterious canine helps a group of secret operatives crack the case

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

I usually use this space to tell you something about the story, how it came to be or what inspired it, and I will. But as I write this now, my state is in the middle of an extended lockdown for reasons, sadly, the whole world knows. The thing I wanted to make note of, however, is the good news that so many animal shelters are emptying out as people turn to pets to help ease the isolation they feel. I hope every one of them realizes this is what’s been missing in their lives, something that can be provided only by our precious animal friends. And may each of them be the kind of person who will continue to love and care for the creature who has helped them after the crisis is over.

As you can guess from the title, Operation Mountain Recovery is set in…the mountains. I love mountains. I don’t necessarily need to live amid them, but I will always want to be where I can see them, as I am now. Perhaps it comes from being born in flat, flat Iowa—although I was there for only the first six months of my life. When my wonderful editor expressed a wish for a certain type of story, I sat on my deck for a while, looking toward the snow-covered Cascades, and thought. And now you have the result. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy reading!

Justine

Operation Mountain Recovery

Justine Davis

Justine Davis lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two, and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine on her website, justinedavis.com, at Twitter.com/justine_d_davis or on Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis.

Books by Justine Davis

Harlequin Romantic Suspense

Cutter’s Code

Operation Midnight

Operation Reunion

Operation Blind Date

Operation Unleashed

Operation Power Play

Operation Homecoming

Operation Soldier Next Door

Operation Alpha

Operation Notorious

Operation Hero’s Watch

Operation Second Chance

Operation Mountain Recovery

Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com, or justinedavis.com, for more titles.

Black Beauty wasn’t a typical rescue. A vet bargained with a pet store to sell any unwanted puppies. I stopped at the store, just to look. The black ball of fluff, with white on her chest, her toes and the tip of her tail, an Australian shepherd/black Lab, captured my heart. As a puppy, she liked riding in the stroller while my nephew toddled alongside. Black Beauty was supposed to reach only forty pounds but grew to seventy-five pounds. On our walks, people often commented, “Nice guard dog.”

She was a marshmallow. And smart. When I hid her pills in food, she’d eat the meat, cheese and even peanut butter and spit the pill out, unless it was chunky peanut butter. If I did something wrong, she’d ignore me. She’d bring her rag bone to play tug-of-war as her way of saying all’s forgiven. She was my unofficial therapy dog. Seventeen and a half years she graced my life. She’s been gone almost as long.

Someone asked, “When you reach heaven, what words do you want to hear first?” I should want “Welcome, child,” or “Well done, good and faithful servant.” But the first thing I want to hear is “She’s waited so long for you. She’s right here.” I still miss her, every day.

~Judy

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. For more information, visit my website at www.justinedavis.com or Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis.

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 1

“Are you sure you don’t mind not going somewhere sunny and warm?”

Quinn Foxworth gave his wife a glance and a smile, keeping his attention on the mountain road. “You’re here,” he said. “That’s all the sunny and warm I need.”

Hayley felt the burst of pleasure she always felt when her husband of one year to the day made one of those simple declarations. “We’ve got two weeks. It’s January. Maybe we’ll get snowed in.”

“I can but hope,” Quinn said. “I am a bit nervous, though.”

Hayley blinked. “Nervous? You’re a year too late for that, aren’t you?”

Quinn grinned at her. “Not about us. Never about us. Him.” He jerked his head toward the back seat, where their dog, Cutter, was snoozing.

Hayley glanced that way. Some people might think it odd that they had brought their dog with them on their first-anniversary trip. But those people didn’t know Cutter. He looked so innocent, lying there with his dark head on his front paws. People tended to focus on his coloring, black head and shoulders transitioning to russet brown over his back and plumed tail. But they soon learned that behind those pretty looks was an uncanny canine brain.

“He was pretty insistent that we were not to leave him behind, wasn’t he?”

“A little too insistent for my peace of mind.”

“I’d like to ask what trouble could he get us into a hundred miles from home, but that’s tempting fate.”

“And this is Cutter.”

At the sound of his name, the dog lifted one eyelid to look at them sleepily, then closed it again.

“Indeed it is,” she said with a grin. As she said it, she sensed the slightest of slips, and instantly the SUV’s speed slowed. She was glad Quinn had spent yesterday afternoon changing over to snow tires in preparation for this trip. “Ice?”

“Just a patch. All it might take on this road, though.”

She might have been worried if anyone other than Quinn was driving, for the road did wind around the side of a mountain, with a precipitous drop-off on the other side. Alex Galanis had warned them it could get tricky in winter when he’d insisted they use his cabin up here. Hayley knew Quinn normally wouldn’t accept for personal benefit such an offer from someone the Foxworth Foundation had helped, but when the entire Northwest team had united to insist they go, he’d given in.

She looked to her left. Coming back this way, on the outer edge of the road, would be an adventure, though. And if—

Cutter was suddenly fully awake and on his feet. His ears were up and focused ahead. She looked but saw nothing moving, nothing but empty road until it turned out of sight to follow the contour of the mountain. But then a low rumbling and an all-too-familiar sound issued from the dog’s throat. Neither growl nor whine, it was somewhere in between the two—and was a signal they’d learned not to ignore.

“Uh-oh,” Quinn muttered.

“Yes. But what, where?”

Cutter was still staring forward. “Ahead, I gather, since he’s not battering my eardrum to turn anywhere,” Quinn said. They’d learned this as well, that the uncannily clever Cutter was quite adept at getting them to go where he wanted them to go, simply by deafening them until they made the right choice.

The distinctive sound of the studs on their snow tires was quieter at this lower speed. Quinn obviously was taking Cutter’s warning seriously. There was something up ahead, and it wouldn’t do to go barreling around that curve without knowing what.

“Maybe it’s a herd of deer,” Hayley suggested.

“You mean a normal dog reaction?” Quinn asked dryly.

“We can always hope.”

They exchanged knowing grins, because with their dog, it was very rarely that simple.

At first, when they slowly rounded that curve, it didn’t look serious. All Hayley saw in those first seconds was a single, marked sheriff’s SUV pulled to the side of the road. Eagle County Sheriff, she noted. But in the next second, three things happened. Cutter’s low rumble turned into a loud barking, and Hayley spotted the ominously damaged guardrail and a man in uniform at the back of the vehicle, lifting out a coiled rope.

“And here we are,” Quinn murmured. Someone or something had obviously gone over the side. “Looks like he’s going after them.”

The deputy looked over at them but quickly went back to fastening his rope to the push bars at the front of his unit. Quinn was right—he was going to go over the edge, risking his own safety.

Quinn glanced at her. She smiled back at him. Her husband was who and what he was, and driving past something like this wasn’t in his playbook, even if Cutter hadn’t been on his feet and barking insistently.

Quinn pulled over until they were just a few feet from the marked unit, nose to nose. The man in the sheriff’s uniform—not the tailored spit and polish of the city but rugged, heavy-duty gear, with boots that looked as if you could climb a rock face in them—looked up again as Quinn got out. Hayley noted he was as tall as her husband and nearly as muscled. He moved with that same kind of powerful grace that spoke of fitness and confidence. His dark hair was a little ragged around the edges for a cop, and she wondered if perhaps they were short of barbers here in the mountains.

Quinn didn’t waste time on formalities. “Got a winch,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the front of the SUV.

The man glanced toward their vehicle just as Hayley slid out herself. The name patch on his uniform said B. Crenshaw. His eyes were blue like Quinn’s, too, she noticed, but a darker shade. She smiled inwardly at herself and how she compared every man to her husband these days. And the best any of them could ever do was to, as this man did, come close.

She saw him look at the winch on their front bumper. Then he looked at Quinn, assessingly. Quinn was silent, probably because he’d be doing the same thing if their positions were reversed. Whatever the man saw convinced him, because a moment later he nodded sharply.

Quinn turned around without a word and came to unfasten the winch cable. Hayley knew it was rated at nine thousand pounds, so they should be fine, although since it was designed for pulling, not lifting, she wasn’t sure it would be able to pull a car up that steep a slope. But it would get them safely down to it, and that’s what counted now.

“Crowbar?” Quinn asked the deputy.

“Got one. But two might not hurt.”

Quinn nodded, and Hayley ran to the back of the SUV and grabbed theirs from the tool bin. Cutter looked over the back seat at her, silent now.

“We’ll fix it, boy,” she said, and the dog gave a low whine that sounded approving; she’d given up trying not to read humanity into his communications. She grabbed up the chocks next to the bin and brought them, too. She ran back to the man she loved more than life, in no small part because this was who he was.

“Always thinking. One of the many reasons I love you,” Quinn said as he took two of them and slid them in front of the back tires while Hayley put the others to the front.

“On the com,” Quinn said to her. “And get Cutter out of the car, just in case.”

She nodded, picked up her own Foxworth phone and pushed the red button that turned on the walkie-talkie function as he did the same. With a push from the SUV’s base system, they should be in full, live communication.

As she got the tense but calm dog out of the car, she told herself Quinn had done much, much worse than this, but still her pulse picked up as the two men vanished over the side.

* * *

Brady Crenshaw had been a deputy in this mountain country he loved and where he had grown up for nearly ten years now. And this was not the craziest thing he’d done. Some might think so, trusting a man he’d never seen before, and before he’d even spoken to him. But he’d learned to trust his gut on some things, and a man with such nerve and knowledge in his steady gaze was the kind of man you wanted on your team. Even if you were doing something like going down the side of a very steep mountain.

A glance at size of the winch, mounted on a special front bumper designed for it, told him the man understood the physics of this. A glance at his eyes told Brady he’d seen much worse.

The cable had loops near the end, enabling them to slip a foot in before starting down. Brady pulled on his leather gloves and stepped into the lower loop. The man from the SUV held the remote that controlled the winch in his left hand, stepped into the other loop on the other side of the cable and, once they were set, started unwinding it slowly. The winch motor did it without hesitation, their combined weight nothing compared to what it was designed to do—pull the full weight of a vehicle the size of the SUV it was attached to. He wouldn’t be surprised if this guy was smart enough to have it powered by its own battery instead of using the vehicle’s; he had the look of a man who thought of just about everything. The kind who would be a help rather than a hindrance when dealing with the chaos Brady’s beloved mountains could throw at you.

And a man who obviously loved the woman with him, telling her to stay clear in case the worst happened and the car they were trying to get to went down hard and fast and took theirs with it.

He swore silently at his first clear look at the car below. It was perched dangerously on a snow-covered ledge and looked ready to slide the rest of the way—an almost certainly fatal hundred feet straight down—at the slightest breath of encouragement. The guardrail had likely slowed the descent, but that made the current situation no less precarious.

“Well, this’ll be interesting,” his new, temporary partner murmured.

“As long as it doesn’t turn into a thrill ride,” Brady said with a wry grimace, but he gave the man a nod in acknowledgment of his cool. He’d sounded not rattled at all, but just what he’d said—interested.

In the next instant, Brady saw movement in the car below. So somebody who took this sleigh ride was still alive.

“Don’t move!” he yelled downward, and the figure froze. But the car shifted, just slightly, the front end now tilting slightly downward.

“It’ll go that way if it goes,” the man just above him on the cable said.

“Agreed. I don’t think we can risk trying to get it hooked onto the frame, though. Could dislodge everything.”

“Bumper, then. Front or back?”

Brady looked back at the precariously perched car. “Front, I think. If we use the back, it’ll hit with both weight and momentum. Bumper might not hold. Front might not hold, either, but may give us a couple of seconds more.”

“Agreed,” the man said, echoing him. Then he looked from the vehicle to the shadowy figure inside it. Looked at Brady again. “Your scene, your call.”

Brady nodded. “Hook it while I check the doors. Then I’ll see if I can get the driver out.”

He dropped off the cable just above the vehicle and did it slowly and with exquisite care. The last thing he wanted was to send the thing sliding the rest of the way by dislodging whatever was holding it under the snow. His new partner edged just as carefully toward the front of the car and lowered himself very slowly.

Some part of his mind noted he could see the left front tire, because the wheel was oddly angled, but he was more focused on how the passenger side of the car was badly bent. The question was had that tweaked the frame so much the driver’s door wouldn’t open? It looked only slightly bent from here, but that might be enough. And trying to yank free a jammed door would likely send the thing down the mountain.

He inched a little closer. Got to where he could see inside, could see the driver. A woman. Wearing a green puffy jacket and with dark hair pulled back. She was at an angle, braced against the center console. He saw the loose end of a seat belt that had obviously been cut free. So he wasn’t dealing with a nonfunctional, paralyzed-with-fear person—she’d thought to do that and was apparently prepared enough to have the means to do it. She was shivering, from either cold or nerves or both. He didn’t blame her; she was in a hell of a spot.

Then she seemed to realize he was right there, because she turned her head. And looked at him with a pair of eyes that were the most vivid green he had ever seen in his life. Maybe except for his mom’s cat, they were nearly that green.

He gave himself an inward shake. This was no time to get distracted. Those eyes were amazing, but they were also full of terrified understanding of how close she was to death.

“We’ll get you out,” he promised and hoped fate didn’t make a liar out of him.

She frowned, as if she wasn’t sure what he’d said. He pointed at the window with a questioning look. She got there quickly, but moved slowly—so she wasn’t stupid, either—to try to lower it. It went about an inch and jammed, no doubt against the bend in the door. But at least they could hear each other now.

“Are you hurt?”

“A little. Not bad.” Her voice was low and remarkably steady, considering.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ashley. Ashley Jordan.”

“Ashley, we’re going to get you out of there,” he said again. The moment he did, the car shifted again, slid another couple of inches, but stopped sharply. He glanced over and saw his partner backing away from the front end. The man gave him a thumbs-up to indicate the cable was attached.

“Okay,” he told the woman, “we’ve got a cable attached, so you won’t slide the rest of the way.” Optimism is not always your friend. But it worked—she looked a little relieved.

The man from the SUV worked his way closer, but not too close. In fact, he stopped right where Brady would have, making sure his weight didn’t disturb the same section of snow Brady and the car were on.

“Think it’ll pry?” the man asked.

“Judging by the way the window jammed, no.”

“The window, then?”

“Think it’ll have to be. And,” he added, looking at the even more precarious position now, “it’ll have to be quick.”

“Good thing you brought the rope, then. You have a tool?”

Brady nodded. He appreciated the matter-of-fact tone. It confirmed his guess that whoever this guy was, he was the kind you wanted around.

He quickly explained to the green-eyed woman what they were going to do. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly, but she said steadily enough, “All right.”

He gave her a quick, reassuring smile. Then he tied a bowline knot in the end of the rope as he tossed the other end to his temporary partner. Somehow he knew he didn’t even have to suggest how to tie it off on the cable for insurance; the guy would know. And he approved when he saw him tie it to one of the foot loops, so the rope wouldn’t slide down any farther down the cable if the car shifted again.

“We’re going to have to break the window. Move as little as possible, but take your jacket off, put this—” he passed the loop through the window gap “—around you below your arms, put your jacket over your head and shoulders to keep the glass off, then grab the rope.”

She didn’t speak but quickly did as he’d said. If everyone was this cool, his life would be a lot easier.

“We’re going to have to pull you out really fast, so push off with your feet if you can, then just hang on.”

“All right.” It was muffled by the jacket but clear enough. And still steady, even though she couldn’t see a thing. Maybe that helped.

He glanced at the other man, who nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring with the rescue tool on it next to the unit key. He pushed the bolt against the lower left corner of the window and pressed. The bolt shot out, and there was a crack. A small hole appeared, and a split second later, the safety glass shattered.

He tried to get the glass out in a hurry without moving the car and upsetting the delicate balance. He cleared as much as he could before he heard an ominous creak.

“On three,” he said, loud enough for the SUV guy to hear.

“Copy” was all he said as he positioned himself to help pull the rope.

“I’m ready,” the woman said.

Brady counted down, hoping his last glimpse of those amazing eyes wouldn’t be just that—his last.

“Three!”

He pulled, hard. Felt the rope go and stay taut behind him. She moved, and he could feel she’d managed to get some leverage. He went hand over hand on the lead of the rope twice, then was able to get both hands on the loop. He pulled. Felt the strain but kept pulling. He could see her hands, white-knuckled, slender, looking too fragile for this kind of task.

Death grip.

Like hell, he answered that voice in his mind. And put everything he had into the next pull.

Things happened almost simultaneously, the margin between them as slim as the margin between life and death. He was able to reach her arms. Felt the snow slip a little beneath his feet. Heard another creak from the car. Heard the other man’s shouted warning. Grabbed her under the arms. Half pulled, half leaned back, using his body mass to move them both.

His feet went. He hit the ground. But he held on. She came down on top of him, a slight weight.

And in that instant, the car went, sliding clear of the bent tree that had been barely holding it. It swung on the end of the cable, slamming into some rocks. There was a loud creak. Then the wrenching squeal of overstressed metal. His racing brain registered they would have had those couple of seconds, but nothing more.

The bumper ripped free, and the car hurtled down the side of the mountain.

CHAPTER 2

Ashley shuddered at the sounds. She didn’t need to see to know what had happened. How close she had come.

She clung to the man holding her. Pressed to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, slowing now. Could feel the also-slowing rise of his breathing. Crazily, she found herself wondering about the kind of man who chose to wear a badge in this mountain place and thought if he was a typical example, then they were in good hands.

She felt her jacket move, realized he was pulling it off her. She almost regretted it and had to smother a longing to stay in the quiet, warm cocoon of his arms.

“It’s okay. It’s over.” His voice was low, a little rough and incredibly reassuring.

“I know,” she whispered, her head still resting on his broad chest. For a moment, just a moment, his arms tightened, and she felt safer than she ever had in her life since her father had died.

It took every bit of internal nerve she had to move. She realized belatedly she was draped on top of him like a lover. The thought shot the heat of embarrassment—at least she thought it was embarrassment—through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, trying to sit up.

“Whoa,” he said quietly. “If you move too fast, we both may end up down there with your car.” Then, in a wry tone, he added, “And if you move that knee another inch, I’m going to regret it.”

When she realized what he meant, that the knee she had tried to use to get upright was pressing against a very intimate part of him, renewed heat flooded her. She couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she said nothing as he helped her get off him.

And a moment later, the second man spoke from her right.

“I’ve still got the rope, so you won’t fall. You okay, Crenshaw?”

“I’m good. Get her clear.”

The other man—who looked as big and powerful as the deputy who’d saved her life—simply nodded. He spoke into a phone in his hand, telling someone above they were all right, then put it in a pocket and turned back to her. “Keep your hands on the rope. I’ll pull, you just get your feet moving.”

She glanced back at the deputy—it was B. Crenshaw she now saw embroidered on the shirt of his dark green uniform—who was slowly, carefully getting to his feet. He was bleeding from a cut across one cheek and didn’t seem aware of it. “I’ll be right behind you if you slip,” he said, nodding at her.

She wanted to ask who would help him if he slipped but didn’t think it wise to venture the possibility at this moment. Besides, if ever a man had the look of someone who could take care of himself, this one did. He wasn’t just tall and obviously strong, he exuded competence and confidence. She could sense he was a man who knew his job and did it. A man who didn’t quit when the going got tough.

He was also strikingly handsome.

The moment she thought this, she chided herself fiercely. Don’t be an idiot female. This is not the time to swoon like some love-struck teenager.

Besides, her life was a big enough mess already. A man like this would likely have little patience with a basket case such as she was right now. And she couldn’t blame him.

She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until she got to the other man. Looked at him, realizing this would be that teenager’s dream come true—two big, hunky guys saving her.

He’d freed the ripped-off front bumper from the end of the metal cable, and once she had a grip on the cable, helped her free herself from the loop of rope. By then her rescuer was there, and she had to resist the urge to ask him to hold her again. She supposed he got a lot of that if he went around saving people like this often.

Then he almost did just that. He slipped an arm around her, at least, startling her into wondering if she’d asked him without realizing it. Dear God, was she that far gone? Had her grip on reality slipped that much? She shivered, and he tightened his hold.

“Just a little longer,” he said. “We’ll get you up top and on solid ground, and you’ll feel better.”

She didn’t doubt that was true, but it would take a lot more than just solid physical ground to make her feel one hundred percent. There were times when she wondered if she would ever feel whole again, physically or mentally.

He put a foot in a loop that hung off the cable, then guided her to put her foot on top of his.

“I’ll hang on to the cable, and you hang on to me.”

Nothing I’d rather do.

She managed not to say it, thought about saying, “Yes, sir,” but decided another nod was her safest bet. But when she slid her arms around him, and he put his free arm around her to hold her close to him, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking how long it had been since she’d been this close to a man. Especially one who looked like this one.

But when the second man stepped into the other loop on the cable, she couldn’t help asking, “It will hold us all?”

“It’s rated to pull a nine-thousand-pound vehicle,” the man said reassuringly. When he clicked a button on what looked like some kind of control he held, and after an initial jerk as the cable tightened, they rose steadily. Dimly, the moment the cable began to move, she heard a dog barking from above. She clung to Deputy Crenshaw tighter, and his arm tightened around her as if to let her know he had her.

And as they went, she wondered how her quiet, calm life had turned into such never-ending chaos.

* * *

She seemed to be moving all right, Brady thought as they got to the top and he helped her scramble over the edge. As they’d gone up, he’d noticed a little bleeding from a cut on one hand, and a little more that could have come from a cut on her forehead or have been wiped there by that hand. Now he took a better look at her, ignoring the rather nice feminine curves as he stuck to business. He certainly hadn’t seen any indication of broken bones, but if it wasn’t a limb, she might not even be aware yet. When the fear and adrenaline wore off, she might go down like a broken puppet.

“You’d better sit down,” he said, pulling open the door to his SUV. She didn’t argue but sat on the sideboard, so he gave her points for common sense on that front at least. “Any place hurt more than the rest?” It took her a moment, but he was familiar with the confused thoughts after a crisis. Then she shook her head, albeit slowly.

He was aware of the two people approaching, although he didn’t look away from her. The dog that had been in the car was with them; he caught a glimpse of a dark head with alert ears out of the corner of his eye.

Even as he registered it, the dog came forward, not rushing, but clearly intent on getting to her. He almost moved to stop the animal, but his owner arrived beside him and said quietly, “It’s all right. He’ll be good for her.”

He glanced at the man who had, without hesitation or the requirement of duty, risked himself to help. After a moment, he nodded. And watched as the couple’s dog came to a halt a foot away from… Ashley, he remembered. She looked at the dog and, slowly, smiled. He was a beautiful animal with his black head and shoulders turning to a reddish brown from the shoulders back. His coat looked thick and soft, and his tail, up and wagging gently as if to signal no ill intent, was full.

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding a little steadier. The wag increased, and the dog stepped forward. He sat down close to her and gently lowered his chin to her knee in obvious invitation. She lifted the nonbloody hand and laid it on the dog’s head. Her left, he noticed. She must have hurt the right freeing herself, so he went with right-handed. Not that it mattered, but it was just a matter of course that he observed.

The change that came over her the moment she began to pet the dog was nothing short of remarkable. The confusion left her eyes, she straightened and then she was smiling.

“Wow,” he muttered.

“Our little miracle worker,” the other woman said, and he turned to look at them both.

“Quinn and Hayley Foxworth,” the man said, holding out a hand, adding with a grin, “Better late than never.”

As they shook hands, the man’s grip strong but with nothing to prove, Brady locked down his certainty that this was a man you could trust. “Brady Crenshaw,” he said. His wife’s handshake was gentler, but firm, and he had the feeling that she was a power in her own right, in her own way.

He was used to—and good at—making quick assessments. It was a necessity of the job. And the words that came to him about these two were solid, steady, smart, caring…and together. With a capital T.

He felt a jab of…something. Envy? Maybe. His one try at that kind of relationship had ended badly, on several fronts. He wouldn’t say he’d given up, but he wasn’t looking, either. Because he’d pretty much decided that what the Foxworths had wasn’t in the cards for him.

Which right now, looking at them, made him feel pretty damned gloomy.

CHAPTER 3

“He’s wonderful,” Ashley said, still stroking the dog’s head.

“We think so,” Hayley Foxworth said with a warm smile that made Brady like her even more.

He turned back to Ashley. “Ribs okay?” he asked her. “Collarbone? Sometimes seat belts can do a number on you while they’re saving your life.”

She quickly touched the clavicle on both sides of her slender throat. His fingers curled oddly, and he had to stomp down the wish that he’d checked her himself. Then she tentatively reached down and ran a hand—her right, so it wasn’t incapacitated—over one side of her rib cage, then the other.

“Fine,” she said. “It’ll bruise, I imagine, but I don’t think anything’s cracked and definitely not broken.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Over to Snowridge. To pick something up for my mother.”

Perfectly coherent. And it fit; the crash had happened just a quarter mile from the turnoff to the ski town. Another good sign. He pulled his small flashlight off his belt.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did, and he saw the stark white of her face was giving way to more normal coloring. She was pulling out of it, both quickly and relatively soon, considering. Her eyes were genuinely amazing. In fact, she was pretty darn lovely all around. But he’d better shove that right on out of his head. Back to business.

He checked her pupils, found them equal and reactive. She tracked his finger when he asked, up, down and sideways, and gave him her name again, her age—twenty-eight, four years younger than he was—and the date, and she knew where they were. It was enough that anything more could wait for the paramedics, anyway.

“Help is on the way,” he said. “Medics can look you over and be sure there’s nothing hiding. What about your hand?”

She looked at it. “I scraped it on something, I think, getting out.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Sorry?” she said, staring up at him. “What on earth for? If you hadn’t done what you did, risked your life like that, I’d be down there with the car, and I doubt I’d be walking away.”

The impassioned words took him by surprise, but he couldn’t deny they pleased him. Also embarrassed him a little. He didn’t do this job for accolades, although when they came, he didn’t belittle the person’s experience by saying it was nothing, either.

“And the übercalm demeanor was just what I needed,” she added, with a smile that made him smile back. “You’ve got that down, Deputy Crenshaw. Thank you.”

He supposed this wasn’t the time to mention how he’d wondered what would happen if the car went before they got clear or if the cable snapped and took them out like a blunt broadsword.

“Can’t argue with her assessment,” Quinn Foxworth said. “That was some nice work.”

“It wouldn’t have gone so well without your help,” Brady said, meaning it.

Hayley walked over and sat beside Ashley, putting a gentle hand on her arm and smiling reassuringly. Brady took the chance to walk back to the edge and look down. He could still see the car, upside down now, at the bottom of the slope. He shook his head at the near escape, then walked back over to the woman who had taken that hair-raising ride.

“Where do you live?” he asked her.

“In Hemlock,” she said. “With my mother, temporarily. Nan Alexander.”

Brady blinked, then groaned inwardly. This was a headache he didn’t need.

“What happened?” he asked, rather bluntly.

“The back end just slid on the curve. I didn’t see any ice, but there was a layer of fresh snow. Not much, though.”

That matched what he’d seen. And it was a front-wheel-drive car, so if it was going to lose traction, it made sense that it would be the rear.

“I don’t understand,” Ashley said, still stroking the Foxworth dog—Cutter, Quinn had said. “I checked the road reports between home and Snowridge. They said snow tires would be enough.”

“They would be, if you had them,” Brady said, trying to keep his tone neutral. She might be very attractive, but he’d been at this long enough to find lack of common sense unappealing.

“But…the car does have them. They were put on yesterday.”

Brady frowned. Remembered the tire he’d seen and was nearly certain. In the same moment, he sensed Quinn go still. Glanced at the other man, who gave a slight shake of his head. So he hadn’t seen snow tires, either.

“I think your other help is approaching,” Hayley said, looking down the road.

Instinctively Brady glanced at his watch. “Only twenty-three minutes. That’s light speed around here.” He shifted his gaze back to Ashley. “They’ll take good care of you.”

He reached into the front seat for his binoculars, then walked back over to the edge again. He focused them on the car just as Quinn came up beside him. He could see the tires clearly, and there was not only no sign of studs marking them as snow tires or the distinctively more aggressive tread pattern of an unstudded snow tire—in fact they were getting a little short on actual tread.

Silently, he handed the binoculars to Quinn. He took a look, lowered them and with a glance at Brady shook his head.

“‘Put on yesterday’ is pretty specific,” he said.

“Yes.” Brady used the binoculars again, this time tracing the marks in the snow the car had left on its way down.

“Ideas?” Quinn asked.

“Wondering if somebody in Hemlock ripped her off. Which would tick me off something fierce. She could have died. But…that makes no sense. Nobody would.”

“No town’s perfect,” Quinn said, his tone neutral.

Brady held the other man’s gaze and answered what he hadn’t said. “Not saying it is. And although we service Hemlock, I don’t live there. But…” He hesitated, then decided after what he’d done today the man could be trusted with the truth. “I realized who she is.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Realized? Meaning you know of her, but not her?”

“Exactly.” He let out a compressed breath. “She’s the mayor’s daughter.”

Quinn went oddly still for a moment before he asked, very quietly, “Connection, you think?”

Brady liked the way he asked it, as if without even really knowing him he would accept the answer as valid. Truth be told, he simply liked this guy. “All I know for sure is her mother’s a…politician. And,” he added sourly, “she’s fairly tight with my boss.”

Quinn held his gaze steadily. “And is your boss a cop first or a politician?”

Yes, he liked the guy. “That you know to ask that means I don’t really have to answer, right?”

“My sympathies, Deputy Crenshaw. But it could be worse. At least you don’t have to go into town and tell the mayor her daughter’s dead.”

“There is that,” Brady agreed.

“Maybe she’ll hang a medal on you.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “On general principle, I’m much happier when she doesn’t even recognize me.”

Quinn laughed, and it was full of such understanding that Brady found himself wondering who, exactly, this guy was and what he did.

* * *

The lead paramedic finished bandaging Ashley’s right hand just as Quinn Foxworth’s laugh drew her gaze, and for a moment Ashley just looked at the two men. Something about the sight of them, the sound of that laugh and the deputy’s smile, did something odd to her.

“He’s got a great laugh, my Quinn does,” Hayley said softly.

“He does,” she agreed.

“And your rescuer has a great smile.”

“He does,” she repeated, but although the words were the same, they felt different; there was a little catch in her throat as she said them. Two men cut from the same cloth, there was no question.

“Two of a kind,” Hayley said, agreeing with what Ashley hadn’t even spoken aloud. “And that’s not something I say lightly.”

“Deputy Crenshaw,” the woman in the county EMS uniform said, “is a peach. The best kind of cop, and a good man besides. If I wasn’t madly in love with my husband, he’d be at the top of my list.”

Ashley smothered a sigh. It wasn’t that she couldn’t look at Deputy Crenshaw and see and sense all of that was true, it was the way the woman spoke of her husband that made her ache a little inside. Just as Hayley simply saying that about “her” Quinn’s laugh had.

Once, her life was on track to reach that treasured goal, a connection with a man she adored. But now she was in chaos, and Alan had abandoned her for someone closer to his ideal. Which was certainly not a woman who woke up screaming practically every night.

And so here she was, at twenty-eight, broken, broke and living with her mother.

“There you go,” said the medic. “I think you’ll be fine, but remember what I said about any headaches, dizziness, change in vision or numbness.” Ashley nodded. “We’ll transport you to the clinic—”

“No!” It came out a bit high-pitched, and she sucked in a breath. “I mean, I don’t need to go there, do I?”

“Afraid it’s policy. Normally Brady could just take you home, but once we’ve treated you… I mean, you can refuse, but it turns into a big deal, paperwork-wise, if you do. Not that I blame you. If I were you, I’d rather ride with Brady, too,” the woman added with a wide smile. “By the way, he has a weakness for brownies, if you decide you want to personally thank him for saving your life.”

Ashley tried to match the smile but knew she failed. As if her mother would turn her loose in her kitchen. Once upon a time, she’d been a very good baker, but a kitchen fire that had almost gotten out of control had gotten her banned.

The Foxworth dog, Cutter, leaned into her again, as if he’d sensed the despair that threatened. She’d never thought of herself as a stupid or weak person, but in the last six months, her self-perception had been shaken to the core. And she couldn’t blame her mother for not wanting to take any chances, not when she continued to do such brainless things.

She reached out to once more stroke the soft, dark fur. And once more, an odd sense of calm crept over her. Looking into the animal’s amber-flecked dark eyes, she had the oddest feeling that somehow, some way, everything would turn out all right.

Which was far too much to ask of a dog.

As the medics packed away their gear, her rescuer—“her hero” sounded too much like bad dialogue—came back and crouched in front of her. He reached out to pet the dog, instinctively, it seemed. There was a dog, he should be petted. The thought made her smile inwardly. A peach indeed.

Hayley stood up and walked over to slip an arm around her husband as he came back from wherever he and the deputy had gone. But Ashley was focused on the man before her. Which was far from a hardship.

“You said there were snow tires on the car,” he said quietly. She nodded. “Did you look at them?”

Her brow furrowed. “No. I mean, I knew they’d been installed, so I didn’t bother.”

“But…you heard the sound of them?”

“I…didn’t really. I was playing music and didn’t notice.”

“Ashley,” he began, and she was too busy realizing how much she liked the sound of her name when he said it for it to register immediately that he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

“What?”

When he answered his voice was exquisitely gentle. “There are no snow tires.”

She blinked. “What?”

He gestured at the binoculars he’d set down at his side. “Quinn and I both looked. Not only are they not snow tires, but even as regular tires, they aren’t in the best shape.”

She stared at him. For all their gentleness, his words hit her like a bludgeon.

She’d been having a rough time, she knew that. Ever since the nightmares had started months ago, she’d been off balance. Then they had gotten so bad she was afraid to sleep and spent most nights sitting up in a chair. She had chalked up her lapses in memory to exhaustion, but they had steadily worsened until her mother had insisted she move in with her so she could look out for her. The dreams hadn’t improved, but at least she’d felt safer.

Until now.

Now she was face-to-face with reality.

It was true. It was really true.

She was going insane.

Just like her father.

CHAPTER 4

Brady didn’t think he had ever seen a more devastated pair of eyes. The vividness of the green faded just as the color she’d regained in her face did. In mere moments she seemed a pale shadow of herself. She moved, reaching out, and he reacted instinctively, only stopping himself from grabbing her when he realized she was reaching for the dog.

She hugged the animal rather fiercely. Cutter let out a small, low sound that was half whine, half growl. But he didn’t move, and there was no aggressiveness in his demeanor, so Brady just kept an eye on him.

Eventually the dog stood, and Ashley’s arms slipped back to her side. She was trembling slightly, shaking her head as if in denial. Or exhaustion, he thought as he looked again at her eyes. They were bright, but not in color as they had been. It was the gleam of tears, which made his stomach knot. He was no good with crying women. Hadn’t Liz proved that to him?

But the change in this woman, after she’d faced death with such calm and nerve, was really getting to him.

Then Cutter turned and sat at Ashley’s feet. The dog looked up at Quinn and Hayley, standing a couple of feet back. No, not just looked. He was staring. Fixedly. Pointedly?

“Yeah,” Quinn muttered. “I figured.”

“You already knew?” Hayley asked, which made no sense to Brady.

But right now he wasn’t thinking about the couple or their dog. He was trying to figure out what he was going to do about the fact that he never, ever got involved in the cases he came across, he always stayed a step back, but… Ashley Jordan was breaking his heart.

He would bet his badge that she’d been completely convinced the car she was driving had snow tires, so much so that she hadn’t even looked. And if she hadn’t lived here long, if she wasn’t a mountain resident, he supposed she should get some credit for even knowing about snow tires. But that didn’t explain much.

“Who put the tires on for you?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice sounded as dull as she had suddenly become. He drew back slightly.

“Ashley,” he prompted gently, “I need some answers here.”

She appeared to make an effort, but the gutsy, steady woman he’d pulled out of that car was nowhere in sight now. “It’s my mother’s car. She had them installed yesterday. She told me this morning before she left for her office.”

She said it as if reading dry, emotionless words off a page. As the meaning registered, he groaned inwardly. Great. Now he was going to have to deal with Mayor Alexander directly and personally to get to the bottom of this. So much for his until-now successful effort at flying under the woman’s radar.

“Why did you keep going after the car started to slip back there on the bridge?” She blinked, giving him a puzzled look. “I was behind you on the road,” he explained. “Since the falls.”

And he hadn’t seen anything to bother him about the way she was driving for a couple of miles, but there had been a small patch of black ice on the bridge over the creek, and the way the rear end had slipped just slightly had gotten his attention.

“I noticed it, so I slowed down a little more, but when it didn’t happen again, I thought it was just because of the bridge.”

So she knew that was a common problem, that black ice developed on bridges. What had at first seemed like a straightforward conclusion of driver ignorance was getting more than a little cloudy. He should have known the minute he realized who she was that this wasn’t going to be that simple.

The dog made a low sound, a sort of half whine, half rumble. It pulled Brady out of his inner whining, and he stood up.

She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Still no dizziness, even with your head like that?” he asked.

“No, none. What…happens now?”

“They’ll get you to the clinic, and you can call your mother to come get you, since it doesn’t look like you’ll need to stay.” He didn’t think he mistook her wince at the mention of her mother. “She going to be upset about the car?”

“Yes,” Ashley said with a sigh. “But then she’ll be impossibly kind and understanding.”

Not words he would have applied to the status-conscious Mayor Alexander, but he was glad to hear that apparently her daughter got different treatment. That, at least, was as it should be.

He looked over his shoulder to where the medic’s van was parked. “Whenever you’re ready, she can go,” he called out.

“What about you?” she asked, startling him.

Not sure what she was asking, he said, “I need some photos before the tow truck hauls the car up. You’ll probably need a copy of the report for insurance, so barring anything else coming up, I’ll get that done ASAP.”

“I meant your injury.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The scrape on your cheek.”

He flexed facial muscles, felt the slight sting on the left. He hadn’t even realized until she said it, but now a vague memory of dodging a jutting boulder on the way up came back to him. He’d been so busy holding on to her—and carefully not noticing how she felt in his arms—that he’d quickly forgotten.

“It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it later.”

She visibly drew in a long breath. “Then I suppose…all that’s left is to thank you. Again.”

He smiled at her. “You’re welcome. You take care. And take it easy for a few days. You’ll probably be really sore after tomorrow.”

He watched the medic van—with Ashley thankfully sitting in it, not needing the gurney—carefully negotiate the snow at the edge of the roadway and maneuver back onto the road, heading back toward Hemlock. The Foxworth dog was not happy at her departure and made it known with a series of protesting whines.

“They’ll take good care of her, boy,” Brady said instinctively. Then, when Quinn and Hayley came up beside him, he asked, “Does he always get attached to people that quickly?”

The couple exchanged another one of those looks he’d seen—and envied a little—from really close couples before. Then Quinn shifted his gaze to Brady. “You’ve got to wait for the tow truck, right?”

“Yeah,” Brady said, puzzled.

Quinn gave him a wry smile. “Then we have time to explain.”

“Explain?”

“About Cutter. And the Foxworth Foundation.”

Brady drew back slightly. “The Foxworth Foundation? You’re those Foxworths?”

“Guilty,” Quinn said, sounding cheerful.

“Wait… Quinn Foxworth.” It should have hit him before. Must have been the adrenaline surge of the rescue. “You’re the guy who took down that cop killer, the case that just blew up all over again last month.”

“That would be him,” Hayley said, and there was no denying the pride in the woman’s voice.

“I looked you guys up when all that hit. The Foxworth Foundation, I mean. Or tried to. You’re pretty low profile.”

“We work mainly by word of mouth and…a fairly new case finder,” Quinn said.

“So you really do…that? Help people with problems no one else can or will?”

“People with a problem we believe in, yes,” Quinn said. “Which brings us to Ashley Jordan.”

Brady blinked. “Why?”

“First,” Hayley said, “we have to explain—and you have to believe us—about Cutter.”

The tale they told him then was, obviously, unbelievable. A dog who sensed people in trouble, he could buy that, it didn’t seem much farther out there than trained dogs who could sense illness, or impending seizures, or simply pets who knew when their owners were worried or upset and tried to comfort. But what they were telling him went way beyond that. This was a dog sensing not physical things, but things he had no way of knowing or understanding. And that the animal had various ways of letting them know, and his sitting staring at them—and his vocal unhappiness when Ashley had been carted away—were definitely two of them.

“We know how it sounds,” Hayley said.

“And nobody was a harder sell than me,” Quinn added. “But his record stands. Sixteen months of cases now, and he’s never steered us wrong.”

Brady had the feeling there was more, something they weren’t saying, but they probably realized he’d reached the limits of logical acceptance here. Actually, he had gone a little past those limits. But it was clear they completely believed what they were saying. And what he’d learned about Foxworth from his own sources added up to a stellar reputation. The only people who had anything bad to say about them were usually crooks, or even killers, who bitched from the wrong side of the bars of a cell.

Then, belatedly, it hit him.

“Wait…you’re saying when the dog sat there like that, in front of her, staring at you two…that was a signal?”

“It was.” Hayley this time. “That’s his ‘fix it’ look.”

“Meaning…?”

“She has a problem,” Quinn said, deadpan.

Brady looked toward the skid marks and the crumpled guardrail. “Ya think?” he said dryly.

Quinn didn’t take offense—in fact, he smiled. “This is where it gets really strange.”

“I think we passed that a while ago.”

Quinn kept smiling, supremely unruffled. Brady had the feeling he’d been through this before. Perhaps often. Definitely often, if what he’d said about multiple cases was true.

“To clarify, she has a problem Foxworth can help with.”

He knew he was gaping at them now, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re saying your dog can not only tell when someone has a problem, but when it’s a problem you can fix?”

“Pretty much.”

He turned to look at the dog in question. Who sat watching him as if he somehow knew Brady was the one they were trying to convince. Watching him with those dark, gold-flecked eyes in a way that made him think of animals controlling huge flocks of sheep with the simple power of their gaze.

Now you’re off the deep end, Crenshaw.

“But,” Hayley said after a moment when he tried to stare down the dog and lost, “that doesn’t really matter yet. If nothing else, I get the feeling dealing with her mother the mayor isn’t something you’re looking forward to. Foxworth can help with that. We’ve got a bit of a record with politicians.”

The rest of what he’d heard and read about them came back to him in a rush. Including the departure in shame of a governor he’d never liked or trusted in the first place.

“Small-town mayor’s a bit below your weight class, isn’t it?” he asked.

“That’s the best part of being Foxworth and independent. We decide who we help instead of having it decided for us.”

He smiled at that. But shook his head. “Look, I appreciate it, but she’s just a pain, not crooked. She wants to make Hemlock a utopia.”

“Utopia tends to be expensive,” Quinn said dryly.

“Yeah. And Hemlock’s just a typical, decent small town. Nothing big enough to get you guys involved.”

“We already are,” Hayley said, nodding at their dog.

Brady’s brow furrowed. “Let’s put it this way,” Quinn said. “He will give us no peace until we help.”

Brady shook his head again, but this time wonderingly. He just couldn’t reconcile this man with being controlled by a dog.

He heard the rumble of a truck coming down the road, glanced up and saw the heavy-duty tow truck approaching.

“Aren’t you curious about the whole tire thing?” Quinn asked.

“Of course. I’m going to dig into that,” he said, feeling a tiny bit affronted that they’d think he wouldn’t. But they didn’t know him, any more than he really knew them. It was all first impressions, and as good as he was at that, he wasn’t perfect.

“I guessed you would,” Quinn said, and the sting faded. “But I’m also guessing your department’s stretched a little thin, maybe, and you don’t have a lot of time for such things once the initial reports are done. We have resources at your disposal. And we can, perhaps, keep the mayor at bay if you end up treading on her toes.”

That alone made it the most tempting offer he’d had in a while.

“As soon as you’re done here, why don’t we go to the clinic and check on Ashley?” Hayley said. “Then we’ll go—or not—from there.”

That couldn’t hurt, could it? Besides, he’d always had a gut-level feeling that talking to any politician without witnesses was not a wise thing to do.

“All right,” he finally said as the truck slowed and began to pull over.

Cutter barked. Short, sharp and sounding almost like he was indicating it was about time. Quinn saw his glance at the dog, and laughed.

“My friend, this is only the beginning.”

CHAPTER 5

Brady was glad to see Ashley sitting in the waiting room when he and the Foxworths arrived at the small clinic in town. That she was already out here indicated they weren’t going to hold her. She was signing a form one of the staff had apparently given her, since a woman in the clinic scrubs was standing next to her with a clipboard.

She stood up as the woman left, and he noted she did it easily, albeit carefully. Her forehead was furrowed, though, as if she was still upset. Understandable. Whatever the story was behind the snow tire mix-up, she’d had a hell of a ride.

Then she looked up and spotted them. The smile that crossed her face then did crazy things to his pulse. Which made no sense. She was just another citizen he’d helped—there was no reason for her to have that kind of effect.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said when they reached her, and Brady didn’t think he imagined she was focused on him, although she’d nodded at the Foxworths, as well.

“Just following up,” he said in his most professional tone. “They cut you loose?”

“Yes. I’m fine. My mother is on the way. They said I should rest and take these—” she held up a small bottle with some pills “—for the soreness that will be coming.”

“Do it,” he recommended. “It’s a lot easier to stay ahead of the pain than to knock it down once it gets a foothold.”

She gave him another of those smiles. And it had the same effect, damn it. “Voice of experience?”

“Yes.”

A large knot of people came through the glass doors, and all of them seemed to be talking—loudly—at once.

“I think I’d rather wait outside,” she said.

“My feelings about any medical facility,” he said, and when that smile came yet again, he couldn’t help smiling back.

“Now,” Hayley said when they were outside and she and Ashley had taken seats on the bench in the shelter of the portico, “is there anything you need at home? Do you have food that will be easy to fix for the next couple of days? Is there a place that delivers?”

“Benny’s,” she and Brady said at the same instant. And they both laughed. She looked a little startled, as if she were surprised she was able to laugh.

“I’ll be fine. My mother will help. And—” She stopped, turning her head slightly. He’d heard the same thing she had: the insistent barking of a dog.

“That,” Quinn said, “will be Cutter. He’ll need to see for himself that you’re all right.”

Ashley laughed again. And again seem surprised by it. Whatever had turned her ashen back on the road was obviously still eating at her.

Quinn pulled out his keys and hit a button on the fob. The barking stopped. Seconds later Cutter was racing toward them. He must have raised the back, Brady realized.

The dog ignored his people and came to a halt in front of Ashley. He gave a low whine that managed to sound worried. “Oh, you sweet boy,” she crooned, leaning over as she reached to pet him. The moment she stroked the dark fur, her forehead smoothed out, as if whatever it was had receded, at least for the moment. Crazy, the effect the animal had. Petting any dog always made him feel better, but not to this extreme.

She looked up then and seemed almost normal again. At least, as normal as anyone could be after having been through what she had today. “Thank you all for coming. I feel so much better.”

Brady believed her, but better didn’t mean well, and there were still dark, ugly shadows in those green eyes. The whole snow tire thing had hit her hard, and that made him angry. If somebody here in town had ripped her mother off, telling her they’d installed snow tires when they hadn’t, then they’d be getting a visit from him. But he couldn’t imagine anyone in Hemlock being stupid enough to try a stunt like that on the mayor, of all people.

A car in a hurry pulled in under the portico and stopped in a red zone.

“She’s here,” Ashley said just as Brady recognized the woman behind the wheel. He supposed she could be forgiven the parking, given the circumstances. Oddly, he remembered something about her wanting a car and driver but having to forgo it for budget reasons. She must have borrowed this car, since hers was sitting at the tow yard on the other side of town.

Mayor Alexander got out as soon as the car stopped. She was average height, slim, with jaw-length dark hair. Determinedly dark, he’d heard one of their dispatchers say once.

Ashley stood up. And in the same instant, the Foxworths’ dog got to his feet. The animal was staring at the woman approaching. And then his head went down, his hackles went up and a low growl issued from his throat. And he moved slightly to stand between Ashley and her mother.

“Well, well,” Brady heard Quinn murmur, almost under his breath.

“Interesting,” Hayley seemed to agree.

“It’s all right, Cutter, it’s my mother,” Ashley said. Brady thought it said a lot about her that she wanted to soothe the dog after everything she’d been through.

But the dog didn’t appear soothed, and the low, warning growl continued. Then the dog looked up at his people.

“We got it, boy,” Quinn said to him. “Stand down. For now.”

The dog quieted. Sat. As if he’d understood perfectly. But he kept those dark eyes on the woman nearing them now. What the hell was that about?

He backed away as the mayor approached, giving the woman a chance to assure herself that her daughter was all right. Ms. Alexander gave the dog a wary look, although he was still sitting immobile. But then she turned to Ashley and enveloped her in a clearly heartfelt hug.

The two had a muted conversation, out of which Brady could only hear phrases. “…so worried…you were just confused…don’t worry…the car…you could have died.”

And a moment later Ashley was pointing to him.

“This is Deputy Crenshaw, Mother. He and Mr. Foxworth—” she gestured at Quinn “—saved my life.”

The woman frowned for an instant, but it vanished quickly. “I owe you both a debt of gratitude.”

“My job, ma’am,” Brady said.

“Yes. Well.” She glanced at Quinn, and the frown reappeared for an instant. But then she waved Brady to one side, asking to speak to him privately.

“What actually happened, Deputy Crenshaw?”

He gave her what would be a matter of public record anyway and kept his speculation to himself.

“But…where was this?”

“About three miles east on the highway, just before the Snowridge turnoff.”

The woman looked mystified. “But she was only going to the market. Barely a block away.”

He frowned. “She told me she was on her way to Snowridge to pick up something for you.”

“She…did that two days ago.” She gave a sharp shake of her head.

“Could she have gotten turned around? Easy to do if you’re not familiar with the area.”

The mayor shook her head again. “She grew up here.”

Brady’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember if he’d ever encountered Ashley Jordan before. Not that he remembered, but he would have graduated the local high school before she’d even started, so that wasn’t surprising.

“Please, tell me how it happened.”

But by the time he was finished, Ashley’s mother was again shaking her head, slowly this time, and to his surprise, there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes. And he chided himself for forgetting this wasn’t the mayor he was dealing with at the moment, it was Ashley’s mother.

“I was praying this day would never come,” she said, almost brokenly. “It’s her father all over again.”

“Her father?”

Ms. Alexander shook her head as if to clear it. “I must ask you to keep this confidential.”

“Of course.”

“Ashley…has been having trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Mentally. It started six months ago, but it’s gotten worse. She was heading for a total breakdown.”

“That’s…extreme.” And it did not compute, did not fit with what he’d seen today. Surely a woman who could deal so well with what had happened out there couldn’t have such a tenuous hold on sanity?

“She lost her job,” her mother was saying. “Then her apartment, because there were…incidents. A couple of small fires and water overflows, that kind of thing. She’s become very forgetful.”

Okay, that was pretty serious. “What was her job?”

“She was working at one of the resorts over in Snowridge.” She gave him a sad smile. “A friend of mine is a partner there, but I couldn’t ask him to keep her on when she made so many mistakes. I finally brought her here to live with me, so I could see to her safety.” She shook her head again and sounded wrenchingly heartbroken. “She’s seeing a psychiatrist, but there hasn’t been much progress. If anything, it’s all gotten worse, because she’s developed anger issues.”

“Anger at who?”

“The doctor. Me. Anyone trying to help her, actually.”

This was sounding incredibly grim, but Brady was still having trouble reconciling all this with the woman he’d seen today.

“Tell me about the snow tires,” he said abruptly.

Ms. Alexander blinked. “What?”

“Where did you have them installed?”

She frowned. “But… I haven’t. Yet. That’s why we agreed she would stay in town after the snow.”

“Your daughter said it was done yesterday.”

She stared at him. Then realization dawned in her eyes. Eyes that were, he noted, brown, far from Ashley’s vivid green.

“Is that…what happened? She skidded because of no snow tires?”

“I think it was a large factor, yes. So whoever told you they’d installed them, they have some explaining to do. Tell me who it was…”

His voice trailed away as tears welled up and over now. Great. Now you’ve got the mayor crying.

“Clearly she’s become a danger not only to herself now,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Deputy, I told her I planned to have snow tires put on, not that I already had. But she so often hears what she wants to hear. Or what she hears gets changed by the time it gets to her brain. The doctor has a technical word for it, but…”

He drew in a deep breath. Let go of his first perceptions of Ashley Jordan, since clearly they were wrong. Or perhaps it was only because of the high-stress situation that she’d reacted so calmly. Or maybe she was so mentally detached she hadn’t realized what danger she was in. It was hard to believe, but obviously something was very wrong.

He watched them both, Ashley without at least any visible qualm, get into the car. They left at a much more sedate pace, her mother apparently calmer now that she knew her daughter was all right.

“Nan Alexander, went back to her maiden name after being widowed two decades ago, current age fifty-one, second term as mayor. That sound right?”

Brady blinked as Hayley Foxworth quoted all this to him from her phone as soon as the car with Ms. Alexander and her daughter were out of sight.

“I guess,” he said as he fiddled with his keys. “She was on the city council when I started ten years ago. Didn’t know about the name change, although I knew she was a widow.” Something occurred to him. “Ashley’s father?”

“Andrew Jordan.” So she wasn’t married. Not that it mattered. Or maybe she just followed her mother’s lead and went back to her maiden name. Or never changed it. Or—“He committed suicide when Ashley was eight.”

Damn. That sucked. “I didn’t know that part, either,” he muttered. No wonder her mother was so worried.

“Can screw a person up, I would think,” Quinn said.

“Twenty years later?” he asked, rather rhetorically.

“Or maybe all along,” Hayley said gently.

“There is that,” Brady said. He couldn’t share what her mother had told him in confidence, so he said only, “Her mother is concerned about her…state of mind.”

“And the snow tires?” Quinn asked.

He could share that much, he supposed. “Mother says she only told her she was going to have them put on, not that she already had.”

“Hmm. Could be a simple misunderstanding. Unless she makes a habit of it.”

He didn’t speak but saw that Quinn understood that was an answer in itself.

It was tragic, sad, poignant and several other things.

What it was not was his business. Not any longer.

CHAPTER 6

Two days later, Brady cleared the scene of a reported vandalism—after convincing the resident that his neighbor putting snow from shoveling his walk in a pile that spilled over onto his property was not, by definition, vandalism—and gave the disposition to dispatch. The voice that came back held amusement, and Brady suspected she had known all along it was a nothing call. But in return he got cleared for lunch, and while he was conveniently here in town so he could grab something decent. And warm, like maybe a bowl of chili at Benny’s.

On the way there, he passed the Hemlock city hall, a rather stark, modern building just a couple of blocks from the sheriff’s office. And that made him wonder if the mayor was back at work or at home caring for her daughter. Alexander had never seemed the soft, mothering type to him, but what did he know? His own incredibly gentle, loving mother could turn into a wildcat if someone she loved was threatened. Maybe Mayor Alexander was just the opposite.

He made the turn off Mountain View and headed toward Benny’s. He should call his mom; it had been nearly a week since he’d spoken to her. Although she was so busy these days—

His thoughts were derailed when he caught a glimpse of the tow yard down at the end of the street. He could see a silver sedan sitting just inside the gate, the driver’s window missing.

How was she? She could be really hurting today. The second day after a jolt like that was often the worst.

He made a sudden, impulsive decision, even though he’d been reminding himself for forty-eight hours now this—she—was not his problem. Still, a follow-up couldn’t hurt. It was just good PR, and Sheriff Carter was all about good PR. Not that they were in a place that needed it; these mountains generally—his complainant just now aside—bred a tough, hardy lot, and since they only called for help when they really needed it, they tended to respect it when it showed up.

He knew where the mayor’s home was. They all knew, because if a call came in from there, it was immediately high priority. Such were the politics of public service. He wondered if perhaps they’d been called out there since Ashley had moved in and he just hadn’t heard about it. He tended to tune out the gripes and complaints about such things, since whining didn’t change anything. But maybe he’d check when he got back to the station this afternoon. Just to satisfy his curiosity.

When he reached the large, imposing house at the end of Hemlock Hill Drive, he thought not for the first time that it looked like it belonged in the Swiss Alps rather than the mountains of Washington State. He remembered the modest, much smaller house that had once been pointed out to him as where the mayor used to live, before she became mayor. He wondered now if that was the house Ashley had grown up in. The house where her father had committed suicide one dark night, with his child just down the hall.

He knew this because he had looked up the report in the archives. That had taken some doing, since it had been twenty years ago and those files had not been computerized. Sheriff Carter wasn’t fast on the uptake, nor did they have the money for all the latest and greatest or the manpower to maintain it, so they had only input the last ten years or so into the system. He’d almost given up the hunt when he’d realized half the files were out of chronological order, but his stubborn had kicked in and he’d kept looking.

Once he’d read the report, he almost wished he hadn’t. How do you do that to people you supposedly love? If you can’t take any more, fine, but damn, to blow your brains out with your eight-year-old daughter only a few yards away? It had been hard enough when his own dad had died after a long fight with cancer—he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Ashley to know her father had left her by choice. True, the man’s psychiatrist had laid out a diagnosis of various mental issues, but still, to an eight-year-old…

When he got to the door, he almost turned around and left, but again that stubborn kicked in. He’d just check on her and leave. An official visit. Well within his purview as the responding officer, as it were.

When she answered the door, he was sure he probably gaped at her. She looked weary, haggard and much worse than she had after the crash. Her hair was tangled, she wore a sweatshirt so big it came almost to her knees and her eyes, those eyes that had been so vividly green and alive that day, looked…vacant. It took her a moment or two to recognize him, even after he’d reminded her of his name. Her reactions were slow, much slower than they had been that day, and he wondered just how strong those pain pills they’d given her were. He looked at her eyes again, noted the size of her pupils. Could be, he thought. So maybe this was just someone reacting to a temporary medication.

Or not.

Something was nagging at his memory as she hesitantly answered him; yes, she was sore, sorry she didn’t remember much, and was it you who pulled me out?

Yes, she had to be on some strong drugs, he thought. And he’d heard a roughness in her voice that made him wonder if she’d been crying.

And then it hit him, what had been tugging at him. Right now she reminded him of Liz. The onetime fiancée who not only couldn’t handle his job, but had come to hate him for it. The slightest difficulty had seemed too much for her fragile nature, real difficulty reduced her to near hysterics, and she blamed him for all of it. Or as his mother suspected, blamed him for not letting her manipulate him with her tantrums. Either way, it had actually been a relief when she’d left him for some slick sales type and had moved back east.

There was no way in hell he wanted to deal with a woman like that again, even for work, if he didn’t absolutely have to. That helped him shove this right into the slot it belonged in, which was labeled not in my job description. Ashley was obviously alive, if not in good shape, but how she chose to deal with her situation was up to her. If he thought he was going crazy, he might self-medicate, too.

“I just wanted to be sure you were all right,” he said briskly, professionally.

“As you can see, I’m alive.” Her mouth twisted sourly. “Not well, but alive.”

“Have you seen your own doctor?” Not your job, Crenshaw. “An accident like that can rattle you,” he finished neutrally.

“I was…rattled long before that,” she said, so sadly it wrenched at his new determination to stay clear. “Don’t worry about me, Deputy Crenshaw. There’s nothing you can do about what’s wrong with me.”

An out. Take it and run, idiot.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said instead.

She looked up at him, her eyes looking suddenly bright, not because she was any more there than she had been, but with the gleam of tears. “I’m going insane. Just like my father. Goodbye, Deputy Crenshaw. Thank you for…everything.”

And then he was staring at a closed door.

I’m going insane. Just like my father.

Was it true? Her mother thought so, and he knew mental illness sometimes seemed to run in families, but that was about where his knowledge ended. His job was to deal with the fallout, not the causes.

He walked back to his unit, got in and sat there in the SUV for a moment. With an effort he put it—and her—out of his mind and went back to work. One shoplifter in custody, a nightmare of traffic control while a semi that had misjudged a turn tried to get out of town without taking half the streetlights down, two stray dogs taken home and he was done. He signed out, got back in the unit—which he always drove, since you were never really off-duty in a place like Eagle County, where they were stretched so thin—and headed for home.

He stopped at his lookout on the way. He got out of the unit and climbed up to the boulder he usually sat on here. It was his favorite place, this cliff-side vantage point only a mile out of town that had an amazing view of his beloved mountains. It was different at all times of the day and all seasons, whether it was with the sun painting the night sky as it rose, the clouds barreling over the top and down in a storm, or just a quiet day where the massive bulk of them cut a jagged line across the sky. Today, on a severe clear Northwest day, wearing their full winter coat of snow, they looked almost unreal, they were so staggeringly beautiful.

Right now he needed the wonder this place gave him. Needed the peace, the solidity. Because he needed to figure out why the hell he always seemed to be drawn to people who needed rescuing. Or who needed it, but didn’t want it. Or who needed it, but he couldn’t do it.

Hero complex, Crenshaw? Is that what her shrink would call it?

He was staring out over the mountains when he heard a bark. Odd—he usually had this place to himself; there was an official lookout a couple of miles farther down the road, where it was easier to park and there was a marker labeling the peaks you were looking at. He didn’t need any labels, he knew them all by name, not just these but everything from Hood to Adams to Rainier to Baker.

The bark came again, this time sounding oddly familiar. He laughed at the idea of telling one bark from another, but stopped when he looked around and saw an indeed familiar dog running right at him. Cutter.

He slid down from the boulder, having to dodge a spot where the snow had piled up beside it. The dog greeted him with dancing delight, as if he were a long-lost friend. It made him smile despite his mood.

“Well, hi there, my furry friend,” he said and bent to stroke the dog’s head as Quinn and Hayley walked more sedately toward him. Holding hands, he noted, feeling a pang.

They halted beside him, but they were looking out at the mountains. And then Quinn shifted his gaze to Brady.

“Looks like a good place to find it.”

Brady drew back slightly. “Find what?”

“Peace.”

And it came back to him, the certainty he’d had that this was a man who understood. A man who saw the need for it, who had been on that search himself. Brady’s glance flicked to a smiling Hayley, then back to Quinn. “Second only to where you found it.”

Quinn’s smile could carry no other label than that of a satisfied man. “Yes.”

“What made you stop here? People usually head down to the official lookout.”

Quinn lifted a brow as Hayley laughed, a light, loving, beautiful thing. “You answered your own question.” So they preferred the solitude, too.

“And,” Quinn added, “we discovered we’re picky about who we share our anniversary with.”

Brady blinked. “That’s why you’re here? It’s your anniversary?”

“Number one,” Hayley said.

“Of many. Congratulations.”

“You sound pretty certain,” Quinn said with a grin.

He grinned back. “Buddy, it’s written all over both of you. So are you liking my mountains?”

“We’re going to look for a place of our own. Alex said we’d fall in love with it.”

“Alex?”

“Alex Galanis. A friend of ours. We’re staying at his vacation place.”

“He’s my neighbor,” Brady said, and then the pieces fell together. “It was you. Foxworth, I mean. You’re the ones who helped him out a few years ago.”

“We helped, yes.”

“From what he said, it was a lot more than that. You not only got his son out of that terrorist hellhole alive while the freaking officials sat around scratching themselves, you kept his whole family safe while doing it. Two other kids, in different colleges across the country, each of them being watched and under threat from the same ass—”

“Hats,” Hayley supplied with a grin when he cut himself off.

“Yeah,” Brady said with an answering grin. “Them.” Any lingering doubts he had about these people—there weren’t many, and most of those centered on their seemingly exaggerated faith in the instincts of their dog—vanished in that moment. Alex didn’t just swear by them, he damned near lit a candle for them at a church he didn’t even go to.

“Have you seen Ms. Jordan since Wednesday?” Quinn asked.

Brady sighed. “Stopped by there today. She looks,” he said frankly, “like hell. Probably just the pain meds, but…” He shrugged.

Cutter whined, and Brady looked down to find the dog sitting there, staring up at him. Intently. No, not just intent. Intense. He leaned down to pet the dog again. The animal let out a small sound of appreciation, but that look never wavered, the ears never shifted and the tail didn’t wag. He just sat. Staring.

“My dog-ese is a little rusty, my friend, so I don’t get what you want me to do,” Brady told him.

“Fix it.”

Brady straightened to look at Quinn, who had said the words simply, as if it were obvious.

“Like I told you that day, that’s his ‘fix it’ look,” Hayley elaborated. “He’s found the problem, and now it’s up to us to fix it. And in this case, that ‘us’ clearly includes you.”

His brow furrowed. “But what am I supposed to fix?”

“I’m guessing it’s who,” Hayley said softly.

The obvious image came to him, of the woman he’d walked away from a few hours ago. The beaten, haggard-looking woman who had so flatly, openly, told him she was going insane.

The woman he’d sworn was not his problem.

CHAPTER 7

She never should have taken those stupid pain pills in the first place. She was hurting, yes, but they were worse. She hated the disconnected feeling she got from her regular meds, but these made it intolerable. And besides, they made her want to throw up half the time. The half when she wasn’t so groggy she could barely move. Her mother, worried by the fierce bruises that had shown up, had pushed her to take them, but this morning she’d finally put them right back in the bottle and set it aside. It had been four days—it was time to get over it.

If only healing the brain was as simple.

She’d had, at her mother’s insistence—and expense—three different brain scans in the last five months, and they had found nothing. And that alone told her how terrified she was, when finding a brain tumor would be more hopeful than finding nothing.

But all the clean scans had done was prove that it was nothing physical, that the chaos her life had become grew solely out of her own mind. Prove that along with his love for baseball, reading and these mountains, her father had also passed down to her the gene or chemistry or quirk, whatever it was, that was sending her down the same path he’d taken. To pure insanity.

The path to the place she had reached yesterday. The realization that because of her refusal to accept what was happening to her, a brave, good man had had to risk his life to save hers. Two good men, one of them an actual good Samaritan who could have passed right on by. But somehow the fact that it was Deputy Crenshaw’s job to protect made it no easier to accept that it was her fault he’d had to do it.

And for the first time in her life, she understood, on a bone-deep, visceral level, why her father had killed himself. If this was what he’d been facing…

I’m sorry I was so angry at you for leaving me, Dad. I didn’t understand. Now I do.

She not only understood, but for the first time that permanent exit crept into her mind as a possibility. And that was what had her sitting here, shaking like the leaves on a quaking aspen.

She wanted some fresh air. Wanted to be where she could see the mountains, not holed up here in the study like some crazy recluse.

She nearly laughed out loud at herself. “You are a crazy recluse!”

That did come out loud, and it was followed by the laugh, the sad, pitiful laugh she’d stifled before. As the sound echoed in the book-lined room, she gulped in air, trying desperately to beat back hysteria.

She had to get out. She just had to. Surely if she just went for a walk, that would be all right? She wasn’t so far gone she would get lost, and as long as she didn’t drive, just walked, and if she didn’t go in anywhere and embarrass her poor mother by letting anyone see how far gone her crazy daughter was…that would be all right, wouldn’t it? She’d have to be careful, very careful. Her mother had been so kind, so understanding about the car, telling her it didn’t matter as long as she was all right.

If her mother was here, Ashley was certain she’d try to talk her out of this. But she was doing a ribbon cutting this morning, at the new park at the north end, with the new trail up to the falls that Ashley hoped to hike someday soon.

Well, not if she didn’t get herself back in shape. And what better way to figure out how far she’d backslid than to take a nice, long walk around town?

She could do this. She would make an effort to look normal, too. She’d been aghast when she’d awakened this morning and seen her own reflection clearly, without that drug-induced fog, for the first time. It was a wonder Deputy Crenshaw hadn’t had her committed on the spot Friday. It had been Friday, hadn’t it? She frowned. She clearly remembered opening the door to see the tall, strong man in his utilitarian uniform standing there, looking at her with shocked concern.

No wonder he’d left so quickly. Probably thinking if he stayed any longer he’d end up doing that mental health committal. She remembered vividly the first time they’d taken her father away, remember her mother crying, an event rare enough that it had stunned her, and stopped her from screaming at them to let her daddy alone.

It wasn’t until her mother insisted that she move in here with her that Ashley had realized what a nightmare this must be for her. She’d been through it with her husband and had to be strong for her little girl. And now she was watching that little girl heading on the same path.

And what would it do to her if you took the same way out?

Sometimes she thought that was the only thing that kept her from doing it.

She did what she could with makeup she hadn’t used in a while. She dressed with more care than she had in weeks: jeans, but her black ones, a soft alpaca-blend sweater and boots that were a compromise between warm feet and comfortable walking. She picked up the phone her mother had gotten her after she’d misplaced—permanently, it seemed—her own. A bigger disaster than it might seem, since all her contact info for friends was in it, and none of it had downloaded properly when she’d tried to switch over. She’d even had her mother try, only to have her check and sadly say there were no contacts in the cloud to download.

Served her right for not having memorized any numbers except her mother’s, for relying on the phone for that. She’d thought of calling the ski equipment store where her best friend, Caro, worked, but she knew she got in trouble for personal phone calls at work.

What’s the point? What are you going to say? “Just a hello and goodbye before I completely lose my mind”?

She felt better the moment she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. And better yet when she was clear of the house and could really see the mountains. She drew in deep breaths of the crisp, cold air, and to her it was like breathing in rejuvenation. By the time she reached Mountain View and downtown, the fog had completely lifted, and her mind felt clear and sharp. It didn’t seem possible that her life was in such disarray.

She found herself looking at every shop, reading the signs in the windows, as if to prove to herself that she could. Everything seemed perfectly normal to her. She seemed perfectly normal to herself, if she discounted the various aches from her adventure down the mountainside. The shadows in her mind threatened to return whenever she thought of that, of what others had risked because of her. Especially the deputy, who had gone to the trouble to check on her. He—

He was right in front of her.

For a moment she thought a brand-new facet of her mental problem had manifested; think of someone and poof, imagine they were there. But he reacted when he saw her. Almost a double take, which told her how bad she must have looked yesterday.

And told her he was real.

“Ashley,” he said, staring at her. “Ms. Jordan,” he corrected himself. Why? she wondered. Perhaps he thought it was no longer appropriate for him to use her first name. Now that they weren’t in danger of dying together on a steep mountainside. Her gaze darted to his cheek, where she was glad to see only a faint red line where he’d been bleeding that day.

“Ashley, please,” she said. “Let’s not go backward at this point.”

He smiled. It truly was a wonderful smile, just as it had been out on the mountain. He’d come out of the cell phone store, although empty-handed. Perhaps they’d had a theft.

“You look…like you feel better today.”

She smiled back at him. It seemed the very least she could do. “That was very tactful. I know how I looked Friday.”

It was out before she remembered her earlier worry. What if it hadn’t been Friday? What if she really had lost more time, as she had on occasion? But he didn’t look at her as if she were crazy, or even confused, and his smile—no, she couldn’t have seen this smile before; it wasn’t the kind she, or any woman, would forget—just widened.

“You did look a little ragged. Understandably.”

“It was those pills, I swear. I’ve felt better ever since I quit them.”

That smile again. “You seem to be moving okay without them.”

“I am. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so glad to be free of the fog, I don’t care about a couple of aches and pains.”

“Good.” He nodded toward the cell store. “If you were headed in there, they’re pretty busy. They had an attempted break-in last night and got backed up dealing with it.”

“Oh. Thanks for the warning.”

“Phone didn’t survive the crash?”

“No, it’s fine.” She grimaced. “Thankfully, since my mom already had to replace the one I lost. I only wanted to see if they could retrieve my contacts from the cloud, since I couldn’t get them to transfer to the new one.”

The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled, and he said something into the microphone clipped to his shirt. Ten something. Then he looked at her.

“I was going to stop for coffee while I get this report organized. May I buy you a cup?”

She drew back, a little startled; she hadn’t expected that. “Seems I should be the one buying you coffee,” she said, and then, driven by that overwhelming need for normalcy, she added, “But I’d like that. Thank you.”

And that easily, she was in a place she’d never thought to occupy again. Sitting in a coffee shop, across a table from a very handsome man, feeling as if perhaps, just perhaps, she wasn’t really going crazy after all.

CHAPTER 8

Ashley Jordan was in much better shape. She was moving well, and it looked as if her cuts were well on the way to being healed.

She also did not seem in the least bit crazy. Not that he was an expert. He had some training in handling the most common types of issues he came across, and he did his best to get people who needed it help, but that was it.

But she didn’t seem like anyone with active problems he’d ever encountered, on the job or off.

She was funny, amusing and rather sharp. Quick. Steady.

This was the woman he remembered from the crash—scared, but thinking clearly.

Scared.

There was still a trace of that, a vibe he could feel in the moments when she seemed distracted, something he caught glimpses of in those vivid, now thankfully clear again green eyes. And she yelped when the barista dropped a pot and it shattered. But hell, that had made him jump, too. By the time he’d checked on the guy and made sure he wasn’t hurt by flying glass, she seemed perfectly calm once more.

“Does your job run to rescuing everyone?” she asked in a commendably light tone when he came back to the table.

“Funny,” he said. “I spent some time the other day trying to figure that out—if it’s the job or just a misguided rescue complex on my part.”

He was a little startled that he’d said that. He didn’t usually discuss the things he thought about during those times at the lookout. Especially with a near stranger.

Especially one with mental issues?

But she tilted her head and gave him a smile that did…something. He wasn’t sure what, except it was odd. New. “You’ll pardon me if I dispute the misguided part. As a personal recipient, I mean.”

He found himself giving her a crooked grin at the way she put it. “You’re allowed a special dispensation, then.”

The smile turned almost teasing then, and his insides took a crazy tumble. “Thank you,” she said with an exaggeratedly gracious nod.

By then he was grinning so stupidly he made himself look down at the notes he’d scribbled about the attempted burglary. But he couldn’t seem to focus on them and gave it up. His laptop was out in the unit—he’d finish it up there, later.

She took a sip of the latte she’d ordered, basic, no frills or extras—one of the cheaper offerings, he noted, except for his plain black—and studied him over the rim of the cup.

“How did you end up here, Deputy Crenshaw?”

He opened his mouth to ask her to call him Brady, but stopped himself. It would not do to get too personal, not with her.

“I was born here,” he said. “Literally. Snowstorm, and my folks couldn’t make it down the mountain.” His mouth quirked. “In fact, I was born in the back of a sheriff’s unit on the way.”

Her laugh was a light, lovely thing. And it echoed in her voice when she asked, “So your calling was decided that early on?”

“Maybe. My mother thought I’d just heard the story so often it planted the idea.”

She tilted her head again as she seemed to consider that. “Does she ever regret that? It’s not the safest profession. She says with definitive certainty,” she added with another one of those smiles and a glance at his healing cheek.

He nearly shivered. Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he getting sick? He never got sick. And he felt better in winter than any time of the year.

He gave himself a mental shake. “She felt better about it when I got hired here right out of the academy. It’s a quiet place, and most of our problems come from mother nature, not human nature.”

She grimaced at that but then smiled as she said, “I’m sure they snapped you up. Local boy, knows the territory, not to mention great PR with the whole born-in-the-back-of-a-unit thing.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it—he just liked the way she phrased things. “They did like that,” he admitted. “In fact, I was sworn in on the day the deputy who delivered me retired, so they had him do it as his last official act.”

“What a wonderful story,” she said, smiling widely now. “Are your parents still here?”

“Mom spends winters in Arizona since my dad died five years ago, but she comes back every spring for the rest of the year. This place is in our blood, I think.”

“That sounds like a great compromise.” She lowered her eyes to her latte, took another small sip. “I’m sorry about your father, though,” she said quietly.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even told her that, so he only shrugged. But again, he had the thought of how different it must be, for a parent to give up on life—and you—and make that exit by choice. How horrible must it be to feel that lost, that hopeless, that there seemed no other way to end the pain.

“He was the best,” he said simply, as he always did. Because it was true.

She gave him a curious look. “Did they ever fight?”

“They disagreed now and then. Everybody does. But really fight? No. Did yours?”

“Sometimes. I think more than I really remember, because… I don’t want to. I’ve always wondered—”

“Ashley! How wonderful to see you out and about!”

A thin, rather round-shouldered man in an expensive suit strode over to them, a wide smile on his face. Brady felt himself go wary the moment he saw—and recognized—him. He didn’t care for Dr. Joseph Andler. He’d been called as an expert witness in a trial Brady had been involved in, and trial results aside, Brady’s private assessment was the man was both pretentious and arrogant, two qualities he despised more than most.

“Deputy,” the man said with barely a glance at him, and in a much cooler tone. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t kept that assessment quite as private as he’d thought.

But a glance at Ashley shoved all that out of his mind; it was as if the woman he’d seen on Friday was back, her eyes wide and fearful, her posture slumped, as if all the bright cheer and energy had drained away like melted snow.

Belatedly, it hit him. Andler was a psychiatrist. And he doubted very much if there was more than one in a town the size of Hemlock, or maybe even Eagle County. So it followed that this was who her mother had meant when she’d told him Ashley was seeing a psychiatrist. Andler was her shrink.

He used the term purposely in his mind, remembering the man hated it. He remembered the time in court when another witness had used it, and the man had jumped up and called out “Objection!” as if he were one of the lawyers withstanding in the case. Judge Clarence, who was a good guy, had slapped him down hard, and Brady had enjoyed every bit of it. Small of him, perhaps, but he had.

But what kind of doctor had this effect on a patient? Ashley had practically crumbled the instant she’d seen him. She’d gone from cheerful, outgoing, even happy to a cringing, fearful, broken soul right before his eyes. She mumbled something to Andler so quietly he couldn’t hear it even from just across the table.

“You just enjoy your time outside,” the man said with a little too much cheer for Brady’s taste. “We’ll deal with everything at your next session. I’ll see you a week from this Friday, as scheduled. Don’t forget, now. Do you have the reminder card taped to your door, as we discussed? An alarm set on your phone? We don’t want another problem like last time, do we?”

Brady felt himself frowning and relaxed his expression before the man noticed. He was talking to her as if she were a child. And Ashley was reacting like one, chastened, looking as if she wished she could disappear.

“What happened last time?” he asked after the man left. Warnings chimed in his mind even as he asked, reminding him he’d vowed not to get involved in her personal troubles.

“I…got the day mixed up.” He hated the way she sounded. So…tiny. As if she were in fact disappearing. “I put it in my phone. I had the little reminder card he gave me taped up, like he said, where I saw it every day. Every time I looked at it, I noted the day in my head. That day, I couldn’t believe I’d gotten it wrong. I ran all the way home to look at that damned little card that I swear said Wednesday. But it was Tuesday. It was right where it had been all week, saying Wednesday, but now it said Tuesday!”

Her voice rose a little at the end. Instinctively he reached across the table and put a hand over hers. She went quiet and still. Raised her eyes to his. And the sheer terror he saw there gouged deep, somewhere low and gut-level. A bloody sort of pain swirled in him as he realized the full extent of what she was facing, the sheer horror of a mind slipping further and further out of her control. He’d feel the same way. As her father apparently had. And understanding crashed in on him.

Get off your high horse, Crenshaw. You’d blow your brains out, too, facing this.

And in that moment it felt suddenly all too real to him. He’d had himself half convinced in was a mistake. That there was no way the woman he’d just spent the last hour talking with was crazy, or anywhere close to it.

But the woman he sat across from right now? Maybe.

Probably.

He wouldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t. He’d dealt once with a woman who used her supposedly fragile emotions to manipulate him time and again. And while he had no doubts Ashley’s problems were real, not manufactured to that manipulative end as Liz’s had been, it made no difference. He was not going there.

Not. Going. There.

No matter how much he liked her when she was…in balance.

No matter how much she made him smile and laugh.

No matter that she sparked something in him that he’d never felt before.

CHAPTER 9

Ashley sat with her legs curled up in the big leather chair, staring out the window. The carefully landscaped yard looked clean, almost pristine after the fresh snow overnight. It hadn’t been much, maybe an inch. Certainly nothing that ever would have kept her inside before. But now it seemed a good excuse to stay inside, as her mother had suggested.

On the thought, her mother came into the living room, holding the two mugs of the tea she prepared every morning. She handed Ashley one, along with her morning medication. Ashley didn’t care for tea and would rather have had coffee, but it was a ritual her mother had begun with pleasure, saying what a delight it was to have her here to share it with her, and she didn’t have the heart to refuse. Her mother’s schedule was so full it was one of the few times they had to spend together, and so Ashley drank the brew.

“You can have a nice, quiet day,” her mother said, sitting opposite her on the matching leather couch, shifting slightly to adjust the jacket of her neat pantsuit. “Read, perhaps. You’ll be fine.”

“Yes.”

She took a long drink from her cup. “Or you could watch movies. That would be a lovely snowed-in day, wouldn’t it?”

Ashley didn’t bother to point out that they were hardly snowed in, since her mother would be leaving momentarily. She glanced outside again, the new snow just enough to make everything look bright white.

“It’s lovely,” she murmured. And had she thought that before—for that’s how her life seemed to be divided now, into before the nightmares and after—she would have been happily donning warm clothes and boots and going out for a walk in it, loving every aspect of how things looked, smelled, felt.

Her mother took another long drink. As if she were in a hurry to finish. And who could blame her? Why would she want to be here with a daughter who was apparently going the same way as her father?

“Or you could think more about your room, how you’d like to redo it.”

“The room is fine, Mom.”

“But it’s not yours,” her mother said briskly. “I was thinking perhaps a lovely pale yellow. Very cheerful.”

Also, Ashley thought, the color her room had been in childhood. Sometimes she felt as if her mother was trying to go back to that era. As if she wanted Ashley a child again.

And who wouldn’t, if your adult child is going insane?

“Thank you, Mom,” she said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

As if that was all she’d been waiting for, her mother stood. “I’ll see you this evening, then. I’ve got that meeting with the Chamber of Commerce, so I may be late, but there are meals in the freezer. Only the microwave,” she cautioned.

Ashley flushed. “I know.”

“And don’t forget your medication, now.”

Ashley nodded, and picked up the pill her mother had put on the table beside her. She had been quite upset when she realized Ashley hadn’t been taking them since the accident, although she gently forgave her because of the accident and the confusion from the pain pills.

Her mother still stood there watching. Like I really am that child, and she has to make sure I do what I’m told. She popped the pill in her mouth and picked up her tea.

“See you later,” her mother said and swept out of the room in that regal manner she had. She always had had it, Ashley thought. She’d just let it show more since she’d been elected mayor, and more so since she’d been reelected last year.

Ashley lifted the cup, grimacing at the thought of the big swallow it was going to take to get that pill down. She hadn’t missed that in the days since the accident.

A cascade of images and thoughts flowed through her mind. She lowered the mug. Spat the pill out into her hand. Stared at it.

When she’d been taking the pain pills, she hadn’t been taking these. She hadn’t really decided on it—it was just that they made her so groggy she hadn’t been thinking at all. And when she’d decided that morning to stop the pain pills, she’d felt so wonderful, so clearheaded again, she hadn’t taken these. She knew that many of the medications for mental conditions caused such things—fogginess, a disconnected feeling—but she hadn’t realized how much they’d affected her until she’d missed them for a few days. And if she’d had any withdrawal problems, they had been masked by the aftermath of the crash and the powerful medication.

And then she’d had the most wonderful day in recent memory.

Her fingers curled around the pill. In her mind she was back in the coffee shop, looking across the table at Deputy Crenshaw. Kind, brave, handsome, strong, humble, with a grin that could knock down trees…what more could a woman ask?

She could ask to be normal, so something might come of it.

And no matter how loudly her common sense clamored that he was just feeling…responsible for her or something, as if saving her life wasn’t enough, or as if it connected them somehow, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wondering, if she was normal, if something really might come of it.

Or maybe she’d just imagined that spark she’d felt when he’d touched her. Maybe it was all part of the downward spiral into madness, imagining things.

Although she didn’t think she’d imagined how he’d suddenly had to go after they’d encountered Dr. Andler.

Her mood crashed. She’d been so hideously embarrassed by that whole scene. Being treated like such a helpless child in front of a man like the deputy had been utterly humiliating. Especially when she had been feeling so good until the moment when Dr. Andler had shattered the mood.

She should do exactly what her mother had said, stay here, holed up, read a book, binge-watch some movies, something…safe.

Something moved outside, drawing her gaze. She saw a tiny bird on a snowy branch, apparently looking at its reflection in the window. It looked chipper, cheerful, as if this little bit of snow was nothing, even if it was a third its height.

Even this tiny, fragile bird had more strength, more gumption than she did.

She was on her feet and heading for her bedroom and warm clothes before she could talk herself out of it.

And she tossed the pill into her wastebasket.

* * *

When he saw Ashley walking toward him on Mountain View, Brady was torn between the urge to go to her and the urge to run the other way. He would do neither. The decision sounded a bit like a stern order in his head, which made him grimace inwardly. But he was doing his monthly security check with the businesses in town, and that’s what he would continue doing.

But he could see her face, her expression. It was the same smiling, happy look that had so captured him on Sunday. She was walking with confidence, moving with a grace and feminine sway that nearly stopped him in his tracks. She had the demeanor of a self-assured, at-ease woman, enjoying a walk through the crisp winter air.

A demeanor he’d seen from her before.

The demeanor that had crumbled before his eyes when Dr. Andler had arrived to shatter her calm.

He didn’t know what that meant. His gut wanted to make the doctor the bad guy, to believe that instead of helping her he was somehow causing that change, but he was afraid that was because of his own antagonism toward the man. Maybe it was simply that the doctor had reminded her of her problems—maybe she’d been able to put them aside for a few hours. Although he wasn’t sure mental disorders worked like that. And not knowing which type she had, he couldn’t research it to find out.

Not that he would. He’d warned himself off, right? No way he was getting tangled up with someone that fragile, whose mental balance was so delicate the simple appearance of her shrink in an ordinary setting could send her off the edge. He didn’t ever want to witness anyone—especially the lively, funny, smart, beautiful woman he’d been sitting with until that moment—disintegrating like that again.

The sun broke through the clouds, not in a shaft of light but a full, brilliant explosion of illumination hitting the new snow, and instantly the whole world seemed to glitter and dazzle. Pedestrians stopped walking and looked, one of the things he loved about his people. He heard the light, airy laugh of someone taking a deep sort of pleasure in the suddenly gilded world.

He knew that laugh.

He looked back down the street. Saw her again. And that he’d been right; she was the one laughing, smiling, looking around as if she were drinking it all in with delight.

She spotted him. For a moment she went utterly still. Even from here he could see her lips part, and his imagination supplied a deep intake of breath. And then she was walking again, straight at him, and he was the one frozen in place. She was smiling that smile, as if the sight of him was as delightful to her as that burst of sunshine. And he simply could not move.

“Deputy Crenshaw,” she said as she came to a halt before him.

He had to again stifle the urge to tell her to call him Brady. Not that he was certain he could have spoken at all. Her eyes were that rich, bright green again, clear and focused. They were rimmed with thick, dark lashes that had him wondering insanely what they would feel like brushing against his skin.

Okay, maybe insane wasn’t a good word to be even thinking, given the circumstances.

“You look…well,” he finally managed to say. Which was, he realized, one of the greater understatements he’d ever made.

“Thank you, I feel wonderful today.” He heard the deep breath this time. “May I buy you coffee today? I’d like to…apologize.”

He knew what she meant, and that was murky water he did not want to wade into. He reminded himself of his determination not to get in any deeper with her. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

“Then perhaps I should apologize for my doctor, who was less than polite to you and managed to reduce me to a quivering child,” she said, her tone very dry.

It startled him. He hadn’t thought she would have noticed the man’s coolness toward him, or at the least toward the uniform. People didn’t always notice or care about the person wearing it. He sometimes joked that if society ever went to actual robocops, it wouldn’t be much of a change for some people, since that’s what they already thought anyway.

“Not your job to apologize for him, either,” he said. “But he is a bit…much.” He ended with a shrug, keeping his reasons to himself.

“Amazing what putting an Ivy League degree on your wall will do for your ego.”

He laughed. Remembered how often he had laughed that Sunday. And how much time afterward he’d spent wondering what he would have done, if she’d been someone else. If she hadn’t been that fragile woman on a razor’s edge of sanity.

He had a fairly strong suspicion he would have asked her out. Because of how she made him laugh, if nothing else; that was rare enough in his world. Of course, that she had those eyes and that mouth that had him wondering things he hadn’t thought in a long time had nothing to do with it…

“Please?”

He realized he’d never really answered her invitation. And when he did, it wasn’t what he’d intended, which had been a polite, tactful refusal. “Only if I buy,” he said. “It feels wrong to me to let a citizen buy when I’m on duty.”

There. He’d categorized her now. She was a citizen of the county he was sworn to protect, that was all.

“Those are some pretty strong ethics there, Deputy.” She sounded half teasing, but also admiring, and that warmed him more than it should have. “To each our own, then?”

At her lead they went into the bakery this time, and he wondered if she was avoiding the coffee shop her shrink appeared to frequent. Or maybe she simply wanted the banana muffin she bought to go with her drink, today hot chocolate. Which suddenly sounded so good to him he bought one, too, although he passed on the muffin.

“If they could bottle the smell of those cinnamon rolls, I think they’d sell it by the case,” she said as she walked toward a table in the corner.

“But you didn’t get one.”

“Only once a month. Waistline,” she said succinctly.

“Nothing wrong with yours.” Oh, brilliant, Crenshaw. Way to keep things professional.

“Or yours.” He hadn’t expected that. Or her teasing addition of, “You obviously don’t fit the old, tired cop stereotype about doughnuts.”

He grimaced. “If I never heard that one again, I’d be happy.”

He took two long strides around her and reached to pull out a chair at the small table. He gestured her to it then took the other, which faced out into the shop.

“Why do I feel a bit…herded?”

She said it lightly, so he gave her a crooked smile. “Points for noticing. I hate having my back to the door. Occupational hazard.”

It was a couple of minutes and about half a muffin later that she asked, “So how does it work, your job here? I know the sheriff is responsible for the whole county, but is it divided up?”

He nodded. “Into ten districts. The county’s just under two thousand square miles.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a lot. How many of you are there?”

His mouth quirked. “I believe the required answer is ‘Not enough.’”

She smiled. It really was a great smile. “Are the districts all the same size?”

“No. Down on the flats, they’re smaller, because that’s where more of the population is. So there are six districts there, and only four up here in the mountains. Population of the county is just over a hundred thousand, if you’re into numbers. But a lot of the cities down there have dedicated police departments, so our jurisdiction is outside those.”

“Sounds complicated.”

He shrugged. “Only if the maps aren’t clear.”

“What about your district? How big is it?”

“About two hundred square miles.”

She gaped at him. “That’s…huge.”

“Only about fifteen by fifteen miles. And outside town, the population’s a bit sparse, so…” He shrugged again.

“But if you’re at one end and something happens at the other?”

He gave her a wry smile. “And there you have it, the challenge. Try it when there’s another few feet of snow on the ground.”

She went suddenly quiet, her gaze seemingly turned inward. “I…never realized how lucky I was last week, that you were there, behind me, on that road at that moment.”

“I’m just glad I was.”

He meant it. Especially since the other option would probably have been finding her frozen body days or weeks later, if not next spring. And for all her problems, all her confusion, he wouldn’t want to see that.

CHAPTER 10

Brady hated when things nagged at him. Especially when he suspected he was not being completely honest with himself, something he could usually tell by the way his mind skittered away from certain aspects of the problem.

Like when he kept not thinking about the simple fact that Ashley Jordan had mental health issues.

He’d run into her—and he’d swear it was not intentional, but what was he supposed to do when there was only one coffee place in town?—every day this week since Wednesday, and she’d been that charming, witty, together woman every time. It was like that other woman, teetering on the edge, was the product of his imagination, not the other way around.

And yet…the snow tires, the heading through the mountains when she was only supposed to be going into town, the confusion over the doctor’s appointment, the way she’d practically collapsed when confronted with the reminder of her mental state in the person of Dr. Andler, and her family history. And that was only what he personally had encountered. What he’d just discovered now just pounded it all home.

He sat at the computer workstation at the office—their small budget didn’t run to a station at every desk—and stared at the screen. He’d resisted doing the search and had only given in after he’d gotten off duty today because it was a quiet Sunday evening and no one would see him doing it. Why that mattered, when there would be a record of his search on the computer, he wasn’t sure.

Probably, he admitted ruefully, because he’d been afraid he’d find just what he’d found and wasn’t sure how he would react. But apparently all he was capable of was sitting here staring at the incontrovertible evidence. Multiple instances over the last five months, ever since Ashley had come to stay with her mother, that made it clear she was one confused woman. He supposed it was only chance and timing that he hadn’t encountered her personally before that day down the mountain.

She’d been found lost and disoriented by some hikers near the falls. The responding deputy reported that she didn’t know how she’d gotten there. She’d been found a week later walking along the highway a couple of miles from town. Same answer: she didn’t know how she’d gotten there.

Scariest of all was when she’d been cornered by a pair of unpleasant male tourists who’d apparently decided to take sexual advantage of her confusion, until she was spotted by a passing off-duty firefighter who had stepped in.

After that, her mother had realized the seriousness of the situation, and usually she was reported missing before she was found. And as it continued to happen, supplemental reports about her mother’s distraught state started to appear. Whatever polished front she presented as a small-town politician vanished when she was dealing with her daughter’s obvious and steady decline. Somehow that made him like her better. It couldn’t have been easy, being made a single mom by her husband’s suicide. Maybe her brisk exterior was just a defense.

He kept reading, reluctantly because the record was chronicling that decline so clearly. And as the weather changed, cooled toward fall, what had been simple became complex, culminating in her being found in the predawn hours outside city hall, without any jacket or shoes on an early October morning, the day of the first frost of the season. Her story then was that she was waiting for her mother to arrive, that her mother had told her she was on the way.

Her mother, the report said, had been sound asleep at home all night. The officer who’d responded to the house had awakened her.

Ashley had spent the morning at the clinic that time, then was transported to a psychiatric facility for observation. She had been released—after her mother’s tearful intervention and promise to keep her safe—but the incidents continued.

Brady tapped a finger on the table, still staring at the screen. Sometimes having influence isn’t always for the best. Maybe she’d have been better off…locked up somewhere.

He had trouble even thinking it, because the images of the woman he’d seen—the other woman, not the broken, terrified one—kept surfacing in his brain. Her bright, clear eyes, that incredible smile, her quick wit, her way of speaking…how could that woman be mentally crumbling?

But then, maybe that was it. Maybe the woman he’d encountered this week was the upswing side, and the one who’d answered the door two days after the crash was the downswing. Or maybe her problem was some kind of multiple-personality thing. Maybe one side of her was that charmer, and the other side was the…basket case.

He cringed at the phrase.

You just don’t want that to be her. Because for the first time since Liz, you’re actually attracted to a woman. Or are you just attracted to her because she’s…troubled? You become a glutton for punishment, Crenshaw?

Maybe he’d just developed some kind of savior complex.

Does your job run to rescuing everyone?

Her teasing words that had brought on an admission he didn’t usually make played back in his head. Had she, for all her confusion, nailed him that easily?

Maybe he was the one who was confused.

You’re job’s not to save all the birds with a wing down. You’re just supposed to protect this little corner of the world. Maybe you need to take some time to think about who you are—a good cop—and who the hell you’re not—Superman.

But then he thought of the Foxworths. And their dog, supposedly indicating Ashley had a problem. As if he hadn’t already known that. But the Foxworths, who were far from fools, insisted Cutter’s actions indicated the problem was something they—and apparently he, although how he’d ended up in the dog’s calculations he didn’t know—could help fix.

Okay, now you’re believing a dog’s assessment of a situation? Kinda puts your own mental health in question, doesn’t it?

By the time he reached this point, his head was spinning. And on impulse he pulled out his phone and made a call. Sergeant Celeski didn’t hesitate to give him a few days off, but then he shouldn’t; not only were the holidays over, but Brady hadn’t taken a vacation in over three years. And a few minutes after he’d gotten a hearty “Take all the time you need,” he was back in his vehicle, wondering what he’d just done to himself.

At least if he wasn’t patrolling in town every day, he wasn’t going to be running into her.

Nope, just plain running.

He grimaced inwardly at his own self-assessment. He started the motor, despite not knowing where he was going to go. Home? He would, but if he did, there was always something to do to distract him, some repair to be made or maintenance to be done, and he needed to think. Seriously, honestly think. He wasn’t real happy with himself right now, felt like he was heading toward disaster with this whole Ashley Jordan thing, and he needed to get his head straight.

And there was only one place to do that, for him.

The weather had cleared, just as a blazingly brilliant full moon was rising. Moonlight on new snow turned the world silver, and he barely needed the headlights to find his way. The roads were practically deserted on this quiet Sunday night, most of the shops in town closed and most of his people home and safe by now. Celeski always reminded him that when he was off duty, they technically weren’t his people or his problem, but he couldn’t change the way he felt. He loved this place, these people, these mountains, and if somebody was in trouble, it was a gut-level reaction in him to want to help.

But right now, he was the one who needed help. He reached down and snapped off first the radio in the unit, then removed the walkie-talkie and shut it off, too. If they really needed him for some disaster, enough to call him in from off duty, then they could use his cell. He had things to deal with.

The question of the moment was, why was he feeling so compelled to help someone whose problem was way outside his experience? Simply because she had gorgeous green eyes and a great smile? Was he that shallow?

He tried to focus on the beauty around him as he drove the winding road to the lookout. The unspoiled swaths of pure white snow, the stark relief of the shadows of the trees caused by the silver light that gave everything an unearthly feel—it all should inspire awe, wonder, and yet he was so damned tangled up in his head, he was missing the splendor of it.

When he got to the point of thinking maybe he should call his mother for advice, he burst out laughing at himself. Not that Mom didn’t give good—occasionally great—advice, but he knew perfectly well she’d be on the next plane back if she thought he was as…confused as he was.

Thirty-two years old and running to Mom for advice.

The self-chiding didn’t work, mainly because of that realization that his mother was far from a hovering mother type, and she was smart as a whip.

Okay, maybe he would call her. Later. If he couldn’t work through this on his own. Although he had no idea how he would explain.

Hey, Mom, I’ve gone from a fragile flower to a diagnosed crazy lady. Ain’t that great?

With a great effort, he slammed the door shut on his roiling thoughts and contemplated the landscape as he got closer to the lookout. Last thing he needed was to end up over the side like Ashley had because he wasn’t paying attention. It was above freezing tonight, but sometimes it took the ice on pavement a while to get the message.

He slowed, then parked in his usual spot safely off the road. It was above freezing, but not by a lot, so he grabbed his black knit hat and pulled it on. It was one of his most used pieces of equipment during the fall and winter, and he needed to remind his mother, who had made it for him, of that again. She’d done it with some superwarm fiber, knitted in a lining that doubled the warmth and added subtle flaps that covered his ears without making him look like an overaged skateboarder.

It also had a small red heart knitted into that lining, which she’d told him was because her heart was always with him. It had seemed impossibly corny at the time, but every time he put it on, he thought of that, and it oddly made him more determined to live up to her love and faith.

And reminded him of how lucky he was to still have her in his life.

He got out, his breath sending clouds into the night air. He glanced upward. Miss you, Dad.

He didn’t even need his flashlight, so bright was the moonlight. He walked past the front of the unit toward the narrow, short path that led to his spot, the boulder with the odd shape that was conveniently like a seat, positioned for that view out over the mountains that always brought him peace. It was a fluke, he knew, a happenstance of nature, but sometimes in his more fanciful moods, he wondered if some long-ago denizen of these mountains had carved it out and it had just been smoothed over time. But the origin didn’t matter—what mattered was that he could be alone to think here.

Except…he wasn’t alone.

He saw the person the moment he rounded the big evergreen. Standing on the edge a few feet from his rock, staring not at the incredible view but downward, and shivering in clothes far too lightweight for a night in the mountains in January. Something about the posture, the set of the head, the slight sway of the body, warned him. He’d seen it before, on a different edge, but with the same sway, as if the person were fighting inwardly. That time it had ended well, and he’d grabbed the young veteran in time.

But this was a woman.

His gut knew—and knotted—before his brain accepted the fact.

Ashley.

But then she turned, looked at him, and something else crashed into his mind. Her shirt, that too-light, almost summery shirt, was stained with something dark, in small spots on the right sleeve at the wrist.

And although the moonlight leached out all color, he somehow knew this, too.

Blood.

What the hell had happened now?

CHAPTER 11

“Don’t, Ashley. Please, don’t.”

Until he’d spoken she’d half thought she’d imagined him. Why would he actually be here at this hour, on a Sunday night? She supposed she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t help it.

He took a step toward her. Instinctively she backed a step away, to maintain the distance. She couldn’t seem to think clearly when he was too close, and she needed to think clearly now. He froze, and she belatedly realized that step she’d taken had been toward the edge.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I…needed to think. This is my spot to think.”

As he echoed her own thoughts, something curled oddly inside her. “I know. You told me. So I came here. I needed to think, too.”

“It’s the best spot for it I’ve ever found.”

“I…can see why.”

What she couldn’t see was why she was even talking to him. Because while she had come here to think, she had already reached her conclusion before he’d arrived. After what had happened tonight, she really had no choice left. This simply could not go on.

She could not go on. Not like this.

“Don’t ruin it for me, Ashley.” His voice was so soft, so full of pleading it made her ache inside when she thought she had no room for any more pain. “Don’t make this a place I can’t come to anymore.”

She went still. She hadn’t thought of this, had been so wrapped up in her own internal pain that she hadn’t thought of what this might do to him at all. Which seemed beyond unkind, given that he’d saved her once. Of course, throwing away the life he’d risked his own to save was even worse, she supposed.

Odd how her mind seemed to still work so reasonably, so logically on one level while descending into utter chaos on the other, the one she had to live with every day.

“I…wouldn’t want to do that to you.”

He gave her an odd look. “How did you get here?”

The ordinary question startled her. “I…walked.”

“Nearly a mile? Dressed like that?”

“I…didn’t think to grab a coat.”

“Come get warm in my car.”

In that moment she wanted nothing more, but something held her back, some tug of a decision made, of a conclusion reached…oh yes. That. She had made that decision. It was going to end, all the pain, all the confusion, all the horror at an even worse future barreling down on her.

“No,” she whispered. Because if she did that, she would change her mind. Just being with him now was tempting, so very tempting…

“Then take this.”

He was pulling off his own heavy jacket. He held it out, taking a couple of steps toward her as he did. She’d swear she could feel the warmth of it—his warmth—even from here. And it was irresistible.

She took the jacket. It was much heavier than she’d expected. Insanely—God, how often people threw that word around—she wondered what he had in the pockets. Moving on instinct more than anything, she slipped it over her shoulders. And smelled his scent, that mix of pine and crispness, as if he’d absorbed the scent of this place he loved so much. Then the warmth enveloped her, the heat he’d given her, cousin to the heat he roused in her in very different ways, and she couldn’t help herself—she closed her eyes for a moment.

Only a moment, but it was enough.

She heard him move, heard the faint crunch of the snow in the split second before he was there, beside her, his arms wrapped around her as he pulled her gently back from the edge.

And she found herself saying the only words she could find, the only truth she was sure of in this moment. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right. We’ll figure it out, Ashley. Come on.”

It was so soothing, that voice, that deep, solid voice she could almost feel rumbling out of his chest, the broad, strong chest her cheek was pressed against. So soothing she almost believed him, that it was all right, that there was hope for her. But she knew better. Didn’t she? Hadn’t these past few months taught her well enough what was in store for her?

She was vaguely aware they were moving, walking back the way she had come. Vaguely, because all she could really think about was how good it felt to be warm again. Very, very good.

The only thing that felt better was him, and his arms so steadily, strongly around her. And when he urged her into the front seat of his SUV, then left her to get in and turn on the motor and the heater, she missed those arms with an ache she shouldn’t have the capacity to feel right now.

Then he came back around to her side, reached in to adjust the heater vents to blow warm air on her, then leaned in and asked gently, “Where are you hurt?”

“What?” she said, feeling disoriented again.

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Reality slammed back into her mind with the ferocity of a charging bull. “I…it’s not mine.”

She saw her words register in his sudden, rigid stillness. She knew what she sounded like. Begging. Pleading. And what she—what all of this—looked like. Her out here, like this, blood on her shirt. Blood that wasn’t hers. She was certain she was about to be arrested.

That it was this man, of all men, who would do it seemed, in that moment, the most horrible thing of all.

* * *

Brady was swearing silently, mostly aimed at himself for letting her somehow get a grip on him. If he’d kept her at arm’s length, this would be no different than any other case. Potential suicides weren’t frequent around here—the one he’d remembered while staring at her was only the second one he’d ever handled. The first had been an after the fact, when he’d been left to merely wonder how bad it must have been for the man to eat a shotgun shell and be glad he didn’t have to do the actual cleanup. Sometimes gallows humor was all they had to get through things like that.

But he hadn’t kept her at arm’s length. He’d let her creep in. The moment he’d had her in his arms, he’d known, with grim, fierce certainty, that somehow this had gotten much more complicated than a simple urge to rescue and protect. Because what he’d felt when he’d held her was much more than an urge—it was a compulsion he’d never felt before in his life.

Now here he was, looking at bloodstains she said weren’t hers, wondering who they were from, what she had left behind, and dreading the moment he saw heading straight for him when he was going to have to arrest her. He would—

He heard the barking at the same moment he heard the car. Startled, he pulled back out of his unit and straightened up in time to see a familiar SUV, a dark one with a heavy-duty winch on the front, pulling over behind them.

Oddly, the first one there was the dog, who had quieted the moment the Foxworths had pulled off the road. The animal was out of the vehicle—what, did they let him out before they even stopped?—and racing over to them before Quinn, who was behind the wheel, even turned the engine off.

Cutter brushed a nose across Brady’s hand as if in acknowledgment, but he clearly had a different goal in mind. The dog jumped up onto the front floor of the unit, and Brady, remembering how the animal had comforted her before, instinctively moved to give him room in the small space.

Ashley looked bewildered, but when Cutter nudged her hand, she laid it on his head. And as if it were a visible thing, Brady saw some of the dead look leave her eyes.

Damn dog’s a miracle worker.

He nearly grimaced at his own thought. And then Quinn and Hayley were there.

“Let me,” Hayley whispered to him.

“Let her,” Quinn recommended, just as quietly. “She’s got the knack.”

Brady went with his gut—and perhaps a bit of his inner reluctance to see any more of Ashley’s pain up close—and backed away a couple of steps to stand beside Quinn.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the man.

“Cutter brought us.”

Brady blinked. “What?”

“I told you he was…unique.” He explained how the dog had erupted into fierce barking and refused to stop until they got into the car, and then “guided” them by more barking whenever they weren’t going the right direction.

“So…he’s quiet as long as you’re going where he wants, but if you miss a turn…”

“Chaos.”

Brady looked over to where Cutter and Hayley were gathered around Ashley, who looked, amazingly, much calmer. Then he looked back at Quinn. “You’re not saying he…knew, are you? That she was here, about to—”

He cut himself off, unable to form the words even in his mind.

“Was she? That bad?”

“I think so. But there’s more to this, and it’s not good.”

The moment the words were out, he wished he hadn’t said them. He didn’t really know this guy, only knew of him secondhand, and no matter how upstanding he seemed he shouldn’t be sharing details of what was obviously going to have to be an official investigation with him. The bloodstains weren’t extensive, more smears than anything, so he was hoping there wasn’t a body lying somewhere, as yet undiscovered.

The blunt realization drop-kicked him back to reality. “I need to make some calls.”

“I know you don’t know me,” Quinn said, so eerily echoing his thoughts Brady stared at him, “but I guarantee you Foxworth won’t get in the way of your duty.”

“What, exactly, are you saying?”

“That she—” he glanced at Ashley “—needs help. That there’s more to this than meets the eye. That Foxworth specializes in righting wrongs.”

“Look, Mr. Foxworth—”

“Quinn, please.”

“All right, Quinn, I know a bit of your reputation, and I know Alex would swear you’re golden, but this is different.”

“And you’re a straight-arrow cop. I get that.” Quinn kept his gaze on him, although Brady suspected he was very aware his wife had left Ashley and was headed toward them. The dog stayed put.

“I’d love to chat about ethics and duty,” Brady said dryly, “but there’s some urgency involved here.”

“If you mean the blood,” Hayley said as she got to them, “it’s not hers.”

He somehow wasn’t surprised at her quickness. It would take a smart, steady woman to keep up with the likes of Quinn Foxworth. “So she told me. That just means there’s somebody bleeding somewhere else.”

“Her mother.”

Brady drew back, rather sharply. “What?”

Hayley glanced at her husband, who nodded, then back to Brady. “It’s her mother’s blood.”

Brady swore, low and harsh.

CHAPTER 12

Ashley was pondering how odd it was, with everything that had happened tonight, that a dog—well, this dog—could still make her feel better. Although Mrs. Foxworth—or Hayley, as she suggested she call her—was really good at comforting. There was something innately calming about her, not as if she didn’t ever get excited or upset, but as if she’d been through enough that she knew when it was warranted and, more importantly, when it was not.

As she thought it, the woman came back.

“The place we’re staying at isn’t far,” Hayley said. “We’d like to go back there, get you out of the cold and maybe get something warm to drink for all of us? Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Some part of her brain that was hyperaware of what had almost happened, what she’d almost done, laughed rather sourly at how good that sounded. You were about to put a final end to this, in a very cold and painful way, and now you’re wishing for warmth and comfort?

“Brady will follow us,” Hayley said.

Brady. The B in B. Crenshaw stood for Brady. How had she not known that until now?

You almost went to your death not knowing it.

And in this moment, that seemed the greatest shame of all of this.

The Foxworth dog unexpectedly insisted on staying with her. She had the crazy thought that at least that would keep… Deputy Crenshaw from carting her off to jail. She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t already, anyway.

She stole a glance at him as he got into the driver’s seat. Funny how every time she saw him she was struck anew by how…amazing he was. Not just his height and obvious strength, or his breath-stealing looks, but that steady, solid core of him that fairly radiated. It was as if each time she saw him, it was new, as if her tortured mind refused to accept he was real and so was surprised all over again when confronted with the proof that he was.

He didn’t say anything until they were rolling again. Then it was in a low, rough-edged voice that made her think he was fighting to keep it level.

“It’s your mother’s blood?” She nodded, clenching her teeth to keep from letting out a moan of pain, pain that wasn’t in the least physical. “What happened?”

“I don’t…know. Exactly.”

“Ashley—”

“I know, I know how crazy that sounds, but what I remember…makes no sense.”

“Is she dead?”

Ashley gasped, and her chest spasmed into a tightness that made it almost impossible to breathe. She had just enough air to get out a strangled “No!”

“Well, that’s a start,” he muttered.

“I didn’t. I would never.”

“You’d never what? Kill her? Or kill anyone?”

“Unless my life depended on it.”

“But you were ready to jump. To end that life.”

“I’m nothing if not a paradox, it seems,” she said, trying not to sound bitter but not succeeding very well.

He didn’t say anything more. The dog at her feet nudged at her, and she petted him again. And again it was oddly, strangely soothing. That or the warmth blowing out from the vehicle’s heater was thawing her out to where she felt normal again. At least, as close to normal as she ever got these days.

When she saw the Foxworths slow, then turn, she looked around. They were pulling into a long driveway that wound through some trees, toward a lovely, lodge-style home that looked back the way they had come, down the moonlit mountain.

“Nice,” she said.

“Yeah.”

He stopped behind the Foxworths, who had pulled into a large garage that also held an ATV and a skimobile. For some reason Quinn Foxworth gestured Brady to also pull into the garage. After a moment’s hesitation he did, and she suddenly understood this would hide his marked sheriff’s vehicle from any casual passerby.

He turned off the motor and turned in his seat to look at her. “Are you going to run?”

The thought of taking off again into the cold night made her shiver, even though she was warm now. “No. Are you going to arrest me?”

“I’m not doing anything until I know what happened.”

She suppressed another shiver that she knew had nothing to do with the chill outside. He was going to question her, that was obvious. Only to be expected. It was his job, after all. And after he’d now saved her life a second time, she owed him answers, didn’t she?

She’d be more certain of that if she had any answers to give him—answers that would make sense, anyway.

And if she was certain her life was worth saving.

* * *

Brady hung up the phone and for a moment just stood there, staring at nothing in particular, his consciousness turned inward. He’d made the call at Quinn’s request, after doing a news search on a sheriff’s detective from their home county, Brett Dunbar. The name had rung a faint bell, and the instant the first entry popped up, an in-depth article on the toppling of their corrupt governor nearly a year ago now, it fell into place. Dunbar was the man who’d done it, who had unearthed the truth along with a dead body. Brady had read this exact article when it had come out, and he remembered mentally congratulating the man and noting his stellar record.

And wondering whom the civilian assistance he’d mentioned but not named was.

Now he knew. That assistance had been Foxworth. Quinn and his organization had helped take down one of the scum of the earth, a crooked, corrupt and murderous politician.

“I trust them more than I do some cops,” Dunbar had told him in the call he’d just ended.

“I got the vibe.”

“It’s for real. I’ve never regretted trusting them, with whatever it takes. They’re the best help you could have. They want the results, not glory. Helps if you don’t ask every question that comes to you about how they get the job done, though.”

“As in nonofficial channels?”

“That are deep and wide and will get you where you need to go a lot faster. You got Cutter?”

Brady had blinked. “I… He’s here, yes.”

He could almost hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Hardest—and smartest—thing I did was learn to trust that dog. He doesn’t just know what he’s doing, he knows things he has no way of knowing.”

“So they’ve said.”

“Believe it. Your life will be a lot easier if you just quit fighting it.”

And so, as he put the phone back down, it was the dog he looked at. The dog who was once more sitting at Ashley’s feet but looking at him. Steadily. Insistently.

Fix it.

Yeah, he could see it in those amber-flecked dark eyes, even if it did make no sense at all. But that was crazy—he was still a dog.

“I know it’s a cliché about a dog being able to judge, but he knows people. We’ve learned we can trust him,” Quinn said quietly, as if reading his wavering. “And we trust that he’s not wrong about Ashley.”

He turned to look at the man. Quinn held his gaze steadily, without flinching.

Quinn’s the guy you want at your back. He was that in the Rangers, and he’s that now. I would trust him with my life. And have.

Dunbar’s heartfelt words came back to him. There was no doubting he’d meant them. Between that and his neighbor’s oft-repeated declaration that the Foxworths had his undying gratitude, Brady made his decision.

“I need to interview her,” he said, looking across the room to where the woman and the dog sat.

“Of course. Suggestion?”

“What?”

“Let Hayley stay with her. You’ll get more.”

Brady glanced at the woman beside Ashley, then turned back and studied the man for a moment. “How’d you find her?”

He hadn’t meant to say that, but they were so perfect together, not just personally but clearly professionally as well, that he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Quinn gave him a rather devilish grin. “I kidnapped her. And her dog.”

Brady blinked. Glanced at the woman and the dog, then back to Quinn. “A tiny bit of elaboration would be helpful.”

The grin widened. “No choice. Classified operation she stumbled onto.”

Foxworth, it seemed, was even more than he’d suspected.

He walked over to where Ashley was sitting beside Quinn’s wife. He noticed a couple of pillows that looked as if they belonged on the sofa were tossed on the floor as if they’d been in the way, and next to them lay a sweater and a sock tangled together. He guessed what the Foxworths had been up to when Cutter had demanded they follow him. And wondered what it must be like to still be so crazy for each other after a year that you couldn’t make it to the bedroom.

Alarm bells clamored in his brain. Sex on a couch should not be on his mind right now, especially with this woman here on said couch.

He sat on the sturdy, lodge pole–style coffee table across from Ashley. “I’m listening,” he said, keeping his voice low.

She gave him a glance that held as much fear as anything else, and he didn’t like it.

“Why don’t you start with this morning?” Hayley suggested quietly. “When did you get up?”

Ashley looked at the other woman, seemingly surprised by the simple question. But she answered it easily. “Kind of late. I…didn’t sleep well,” she said, with a glance at Brady he couldn’t quite interpret.

“What did you have for breakfast?”

Again she looked surprised. Brady saw what Hayley was doing, both lulling her with the ease of the questions and getting her into the rhythm of answering them. Together with her unthreatening demeanor, he could see it was effective. Just as Quinn had said. Even the dog seemed now content to turn it over to her. Cutter rose and walked over to a bed they’d obviously brought for him, given Alex didn’t have a dog, and plopped down with seeming contentment. Although he kept that rather unnerving gaze steadily on Hayley and Ashley as his chin rested on his forepaws.

“Breakfast? I…a muffin.” She glanced at Brady. As if she were remembering that day at the bakery. Or as if she’d had the muffin because she remembered it. That unsettled him somehow.

Hayley led her through what seemed like a routine, if quiet, day. Brady let her, although he had to rein in impatience for the good of the final goal, which was finding out what the hell had happened with her mother.

Ashley answered a couple more ordinary questions, then Hayley, with a glance at Brady, asked quietly, “Where was your mother today?”

“Oh!” Ashley sounded startled. “I should at least text my mom. She’s probably panicked by now.”

Brady frowned as something occurred to him. He knew from being on the other end how easy it was to track people via their cell phones these days. In fact, he’d be surprised if, under the circumstances, her mother hadn’t made that easily possible.

“Let me see your phone,” he said.

She’d told them the phone, and the house key, had been in her pocket by force of habit when she’d gone on what she’d intended to be that one-way walk. Looking puzzled, she pulled it out and handed it to him. He swiped to the apps display and scanned until he found a version of what he’d been looking for.

“It’s there?” Quinn asked. Brady looked up and met the man’s steady gaze, saw that he knew exactly what he’d been looking for. He nodded.

“And active,” he said.

“What?” Ashley asked.

“A tracking app,” he said.

Her brow furrowed. “A what?”

“To track your phone’s location. Like parents use to keep track of kids.”

“But I never…” Her voice trailed away. Then, in a much smaller voice, she said, “My mother.”

“Probably.” Brady glanced at Quinn again. “Off?”

“For now, I think. Until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Brady nodded, powered down the phone, then pulled out the SIM card. And Hayley repeated her question about Ashley’s mother. He sensed her increase in tension, but she answered easily enough. “She went to a charity dinner event. A fundraiser for the Civic Improvement Fund.”

Hayley continued with a few more ordinary questions about the fundraiser. In the exact moment when he practically bit his tongue to keep from taking over this interview—she was getting answers, after all, and rational, calm ones—Hayley gave him another look and a slight nod, as much as saying, “Over to you.” And in that moment, he envied Quinn Foxworth tremendously.

“When did she get home?” he asked, making certain to keep his voice gentle, nonthreatening, as Hayley’s had been.

Ashley was looking at him now, and in those green eyes, a touch of pleading had joined the fear. He didn’t like that, either. “About eight thirty. I know because I’d just watched…some old video and was surprised at how late it had gotten.”

“Old video?” He wasn’t even sure why he asked, it surely didn’t matter.

“Of…my father.”

There was such heartbreak in her voice, in her eyes, that his stomach knotted up again. He’d long ago had to accept that some sad stories hit him harder than others, but he had no explanation of why hers had nailed him to the wall. Or why her visible steeling herself to go on tugged at him so.

“I really should let her know I’m all right. She worries so much.”

Brady was pondering offering his own phone when Quinn pulled his out. He noticed now it was a rather distinctive device, with a set of physical buttons across the bottom, including a red one. Quinn pressed one of the others, opened an app, then held it out to Ashley.

“Now untrackable,” he explained.

Both Brady’s and Ashley’s brows lifted in surprise. He knew his own reaction was at the equipment, and his guess about hers was confirmed with her shocked words.

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing, except we need time to assess everything before we do anything that leads anyone straight to you.”

“But…my mother?”

“If she’s reported you missing, she may not have control of what’s done any longer,” Brady explained quietly. Not when Ashley would undoubtedly be reported as an at-risk missing person.

“Oh.” Her voice had gone small again. He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like, to have so totally lost control of your own life.

But she input the number and tapped in a message.

The response was almost instant, and Brady guessed her mother had been anxiously hoping for contact. The exchange went back and forth several times before Ashley rubbed at her forehead as if she had a headache.

“Sign off,” Hayley suggested. “Tell her you’ll be in touch, but for now, stop.”

Ashley looked almost relieved and did so. She handed the phone back to Quinn.

Brady wasn’t sure what made him ask, “Do you mind if we look?”

Ashley looked puzzled but merely shrugged. “Go ahead. You won’t see anything you don’t already know.”

Quinn was already scanning the texts. Without a word he handed the phone to Brady.

Hi, Mom.

OMG, honey, where are you?

Somewhere where I can think. And rest.

Whose phone are you on?

A friend’s.

What friend?

It doesn’t matter, Mom.

You need to come home. You need help.

I’m fine.

Clearly you’re not. Don’t be irrational.

I’m perfectly rational right now. I just need to think.

It will be all right. We’ll just forget about what happened.

What happened?

Just come home now. Dr. Andler is here.

Brady guessed that had brought on the headache.

I will. In a while. I just wanted you to know I’m okay.

The string ended there. Brady frowned at the screen for a moment, thinking. Then he went back to his questions.

“What happened when she got home from the fundraiser? Walk me through it, step by step.”

“She seemed wound up, but she always does after those things. She has to be on all the time, you know, and it’s hard to come down from that. So I offered to fix her something to eat, because she rarely does at such functions. People are always wanting to talk to her, so she barely eats a thing, even at dinner functions.”

There was a familiarity in her tone that made him ask, “You’ve gone to these with her?”

She nodded. “When I first got here, I went to a couple. Before…” She let out a weary sigh. “Before things got too bad.”

Before I got too bad.

He heard what she’d meant as loudly as what she’d said. But he just went on, listening to her describe fixing the salad her mother had requested, slicing tomatoes, chopping onions.

“After she finished, I started to clean up. I was going to run the dishwasher, then remembered I’d left the knife I’d cut everything up with on the counter.” She stopped then. Lowered her gaze. “I’m…not sure how it happened. We must have both reached for the knife at the same time. It was strange, she kind of grabbed at me when I picked it up. She got cut, and I tried to help her. That’s when I got her blood on me. I let go of the knife, of course…but…she acted like…she backed away, just staring at me with this awful expression.”

She let out a long sigh. And suddenly Brady thought he understood. “You think she was afraid.”

“Yes.” She looked up then, and he saw tears welling up again. “She’s been afraid for me, for a while now. But this was the first time I ever realized she was afraid of me.”

“And that,” he said gently, “is what sent you to the lookout tonight? That had you thinking that was the only way out?”

She nodded, and she looked so utterly broken it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms again. He’d always had the need to protect, to help, but he’d never felt anything like this fierce need to comfort. It was so overwhelming he had to stand up for the distance it put between them.

He had to look away from her as he thought, tried to work through his unexpected emotional response to simple facts. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he was almost grateful when his cell signaled an incoming alert, giving him an excuse to turn and walk away a few steps.

He pulled it out and tapped on the icon for the county alert system. As the app opened, he wondered what could be happening worth a county-wide alert on what should have been a quiet Sunday night.

It was an all-points bulletin. But not one relayed from another agency, as they usually were here. This one had started not only here in this county, but in Hemlock itself. A felony want. Assault with a deadly weapon. One victim, minor injuries.

And he stared as the bulletin scrolled past on the screen.

Her mother’s text had said, We’ll just forget about what happened.

And Ashley had seemed to have no idea what that was referring to.

But this APB was for a knife attack.

And the suspect was Ashley.

CHAPTER 13

Ashley knew something else bad had happened by Brady’s expression when he saw whatever it was that had come across his phone. And then he turned to look at her, and she felt a chill unlike anything she’d felt yet. The Foxworth dog was on his feet in an instant. The animal came back to her and sat, as he had before, at her feet, facing toward the deputy. As if he’d felt the need to put himself between them.

And when she got a better look at the man, at his eyes, she understood why Cutter had moved. Crazy as it seemed, this dog she barely knew was protecting her. Because this was the man bad guys saw, she guessed. Tough, cool, capable and strong enough to do what he had to do.

“What is it?” She hated how quavery her voice was, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Not when he was looking at her like that.

“An APB. All-points bulletin,” he added.

She sighed. “My mother had already reported me missing again before I texted her.”

“Not exactly.”

He took a deep breath, then read what was on his screen aloud. “‘Wanted on suspicion of third-degree assault with a knife, Ashley Jane Jordan, female Caucasian, five two, dark brown and green. Last seen at the scene of the assault, the home of the victim, her mother, Hemlock mayor Alexander. Weapon is in custody, but suspect may still be armed.’”

Suspect may still be armed.

Somehow it was that last sentence that sucked all the breath out of her. That warning of danger. They were warning the people looking for her.

Her.

They were looking for her.

She lifted her gaze to his face, knowing she was probably gaping but unable to care. He’d lifted his gaze from the screen and was looking at her, his expression utterly unreadable to her, his blue eyes frighteningly steady and assessing as he watched her. As if he expected her to…what? Run? Try to escape? Or, more ridiculous, attack him?

Suspect may still be armed.

At least they hadn’t said the old cliché, armed and dangerous. But then she supposed it was implied, if you believed she’d already assaulted someone. Quinn Foxworth had come over to stand beside him, and suddenly Ashley felt very confined.

She felt the creeping advance of panic, but at the same time, she nearly laughed at the absurdity of it; they were ordering everyone to search for her when Deputy Crenshaw already had her practically handcuffed.

Cutter moved then, leaning into her, and she desperately threw her arms around the dog’s neck, hugging him close, seeking, needing that odd sort of comfort he seemed able to give.

After a moment Brady looked back and tapped the phone a couple of times, then held it to his ear. He didn’t bother to walk away, so obviously he didn’t care if she heard.

More likely he just doesn’t want “the suspect” out of his sight.

“This is Crenshaw,” he said into the phone. There was a pause, then, “Yeah, I’m off, but I just copied the APB. I’m familiar with the suspect. What are the circs?”

That’s what she was to him now, obviously. She wondered what they were telling him. Cutter gave a low, sympathetic-sounding whine. And Hayley Foxworth put an arm around her and spoke softly.

“You’re not alone, Ashley. Whatever happens, you’re not alone. We’ll help. It’s what we do.”

Who were these people? They were taking the good Samaritan bit a little far, weren’t they? But more importantly, how on earth had a simple accident ballooned into this? Did the deputies make some crazy assumptions because her mother had reported her missing and had a couple of cuts on her hands? Had they—

He ended the call. Shifted his gaze to her face again as he slipped the phone into his shirt pocket. She saw his jaw was tight again as he walked back and resumed his seat on the table, directly in front of her. When he spoke, his tone was calm, businesslike, and she found that somehow steadying. Which she needed, in light of what he said.

“Your mother reported the assault.”

“She…reported I assaulted her? My mother?”

He nodded. “Claims you came after her with a kitchen knife. That she tried to grab the knife, tried to fight you off, which resulted in her injuries.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. She fell silent, decided he was right, she should hear it all first. “They wanted to go with second degree, which is a class-B felony, but she insisted on third, a class C, saying…you weren’t in your right mind, and you didn’t mean to seriously injure her. Her proof of that was that you dropped the knife and ran when you realized you’d sliced open her arm.”

She’d been wondering what the difference was between class B and C, and wondered how the human race had gotten to the point of needing such classifications when the last thing he’d said registered.

“Sliced her arm? She only had a small cut on one finger from when we both reached for the knife at the same time.”

“So you’re denying you attacked her?”

“Of course I didn’t attack her!”

“Easy,” he said. “I need you to stay calm and think. Is there any way she could interpret what happened as an attack?”

Again she nearly blurted out a denial but reined it in and tried to do as he’d asked—stay calm and think. She ran it through in her mind at least three times before she spoke.

“We both reached for the knife at the same time. I got to it first. I never expected her to try and grab it, like it mattered who put it in the dishwasher. So I kind of jumped, and that’s when her hand got nicked. So there’s no way I can see she should have thought that.”

There was a moment’s silent pause before he said quietly, “Unless it was already in her mind for some reason.”

She was feeling even more bewildered now. “But why would it be?”

For the first time, he hesitated. He even shifted his gaze down to Cutter, making her realize just how tightly she was clinging to the dog, who had made no effort to move and made no sound of complaint. Still, she eased up a little. And the dog swiped the tip of his tongue over her hand. It was unexpectedly comforting, as everything about this dog was.

“Why would it be?” she repeated, and he lifted his gaze back to her face.

“Because, according to your mother…your father went the same way.”

A brutal chill swept over her. The memory, that memory, of the discussion she’d not been meant to overhear. Her father’s—and now her—psychiatrist sadly advising her mother that his violent tendencies and fantasies were worsening, and that her father was having great trouble dealing with them. The very idea of her gentle, loving father having any kind of violent ideas had seemed insane to her, even at her young age.

But he had been insane.

And whatever mental or genetic glitch he had had, she had it, too.

But… “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I didn’t cut her, not like that.”

“She was taken to the clinic for multiple stitches.” He said it almost sadly.

Nausea seized her, violent and sudden. “Bathroom,” she barely managed to get out. Instantly Hayley was on her feet and leading her out of the room. She barely made it, and the waves of upheaval continued to grip her long after her stomach was empty.

* * *

“She’s terrified,” Quinn said.

“I know.” Brady also knew he would never in his life forget the memory of her face.

Brady was still staring down the hallway where the two women—and the dog, glued to her even now—had gone. He tried to shake off the queasy feeling he himself had developed at her expression of pure horror. Whatever her illness was, she knew where it was going. And she was appalled by it. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like. Going deaf or blind would be awful, but there were ways to compensate. How did you compensate for losing reality?

“What was wrong with her father?”

Brady shrugged. “There, I’ll have to show my ignorance. One of those combinations of three different mental disorders, with names I can’t remember or pronounce, from manic this to dissociative that, from what I was able to find. Apparently his suicide wasn’t a surprise to anyone.”

“Except maybe her,” Quinn said softly, also looking down the hall.

“Eight years old,” Brady said, shaking his head. “And now thinking she’s going the same way…”

“It’s amazing she’s functional at all, let alone so normal seeming.”

He nodded. “I just can’t believe…” He stopped himself, knowing what he should have said was I don’t want to believe.

“What do you want to do?” Quinn asked.

“Go back to two weeks ago?” he suggested sourly.

“If only,” Quinn said, but with humor.

“I know what I’m bound to do,” he said reluctantly. Cuff her, take her in, turn her over to the system.

“But that isn’t always what you should do,” Quinn said, in the tone of one who had had to make this kind of decision.

Cutter appeared out of the hallway. He walked over to his master—Brady had the odd thought that a dog like this would have no master except by choice—and sat, looking up at him.

“I know, boy,” Quinn said quietly.

“That ‘fix it’ look you talk about?”

“Yes.”

“And just how are you, or any of us, supposed to fix this?”

“That,” Quinn said with a long-suffering grimace, “is for us less clever humans to figure out.”

Brady grimaced in turn. “Great.”

Quinn turned to look at him. “You’re the only one of us who has seen her on a downswing. How bad was it?”

“Bad,” he said grimly, describing the time he’d gone to her mother’s house, and then her crumbling at the coffee shop.

“Could that have been the pain meds they put her on after the crash?”

“I thought—” hoped “—it might be. But this, tonight…she was going to jump. I could feel it.”

“I believe you. Cutter made it clear it was urgent we get there.” Brady looked down at the dog again. Cutter met and held his gaze as if Brady were some stubborn sheep. “Hayley agrees she meant to jump. Because she didn’t even bring her purse.”

He looked back at Quinn. “Her purse? Seriously? I mean, I know they always carry them around. Never understood why.”

Quinn’s mouth quirked. “I suggest you don’t question Hayley about that, unless you want a full lecture on the lack of pockets in much of women’s clothing.”

Brady studied the other man for a moment. “You were a Ranger, Dunbar said.”

“Yes.”

“And your parents were killed by a terrorist bombing.”

“Yes.”

“A couple of very large doses of reality.”

Quinn smiled. “So why am I doing something so unreal as putting such faith in the instincts of a dog?”

“Exactly that,” Brady said, looking back at Quinn. A pair of steady eyes looked back at him. “You’re saying he’s never been wrong?”

“He’s never been wrong.”

CHAPTER 14

“We’re what?” Ashley looked at Brady blankly as she sat up on the couch in the large great room, where she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. She didn’t know how long ago.

“Staying here for a while.”

She stared up at him. She’d expected him to take her into custody—had in fact thought of herself as in custody since he’d shown up. Expected him to drag her back to town at any moment, had even been grateful he’d allowed her to sleep for a while first.

But he hadn’t done it.

She knew he couldn’t possibly believe her, not when her mental state was so clearly deteriorating. And yet…her memories of last night, of what had happened with the knife, were so vivid, so clear. As clear as her mind had always been before the fog-inducing meds.

She had never understood why people on those medications for mental conditions would stop taking them when they were the only thing keeping their illness at bay. How many times had her mother told her that if her father had started taking them sooner, he might have been saved? But she understood now. She’d do almost anything to stay out of that fog. Except without those meds, it seemed she conjured up innocent explanations for what she’d apparently done. Or severely distorted what had actually happened.

To her own mother.

What she didn’t understand was what this man was doing.

“We’re…staying here?”

“They won’t look for you here. There’s no connection to follow.”

“But aren’t you…they?”

One corner of his mouth quirked almost sourly, and he let out a compressed breath. “Yeah. And believe me, harboring a fugitive is something I never thought I’d be doing.”

Then why are you? she wanted to ask. Almost did. But some combination of hoping he was doing it for very personal reasons and that it might not be the best idea to make him explain and then maybe question his own actions stopped her.

Hayley stepped into the room and gave Ashley a sympathetic look. “I’m thinking you’d like a nice, long shower. And I’ve got some clean things you can put on. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly,” Ashley admitted, getting up quickly. As she did the brightly patterned throw that had been tucked around her slid away. She wondered who had done that. For that matter, the last she remembered she’d been sitting upright. She felt an odd little leap of her pulse as she shot a glance at the man standing there, watching her. Had he done it? Raised her feet and tucked her in like the fragile person he no doubt thought her?

Then she noticed another blanket and a pillow on the floor beside the couch. Her breath caught. Had he slept there? Right beside her? In the first instant her heart leaped, then thudded back down.

Harboring a fugitive.

That was what she really was to him. A fugitive. Whatever his reasons were for not dragging her in immediately, she was still wanted. The phrase made her think of Wanted posters in the post office, and she wondered crazily if everybody who ended up there felt as bewildered as she did. Which didn’t change the simple truth.

He’d stayed here, with her, not out of any desire to be close, or protect. He’d done it to make sure she didn’t run. And that stiffened her spine.

“Is it all right if I accept Hayley’s kind offer, Deputy Crenshaw?”

He looked taken aback for a moment, whether by her words or her very formal tone, she didn’t know. And told herself she didn’t care. “Of course.” Then, rather wryly, he added, “But I think you’d better call me Brady, or it’s going to be a very long…however long this is.”

“All right,” she said, still coolly. “Brady.” She got it out without betraying how good it felt to say by calling herself seven kinds of a fool for feeling that way.

“Then let’s get you going,” Hayley said cheerfully. “And we’ll figure the rest out when you’re ready to tackle it.”

Ashley wasn’t sure what there was to figure out, except how to accept the grim truth that was staring her in the face—that she could no longer trust her own mind, her memories, even her way of thinking. Because she was losing her grip on all of it. It was progressing. Getting steadily worse.

Just as it had with her father.

* * *

Brady glanced up as Hayley came back from the bathroom. He was seated at the granite counter of the large kitchen island, working on his second cup of coffee of the morning. It hadn’t exactly been a restful night for him, and sleeping on the floor had little to do with it. No, it had been the sound of Ashley’s quiet breathing, the constant awakening to check that she was all right—hell, anyone in her situation would be prone to nightmares—and the frequent arrival of Cutter, as if the dog, too, wanted to check on her.

He found himself smiling as he remembered the moment, sometime well after midnight, when the animal had quietly padded over to him, leaned up to sniff at Ashley as if to make sure she was sleeping peacefully, then plopped down beside him and rested his chin on Brady’s chest. He’d instinctively lifted a hand to stroke the dog’s head and immediately felt an odd sense of calm. This must be what she got from this, he’d thought, but almost immediately he had—finally—gone to sleep.

He noticed that Hayley was carrying the shirt Ashley had been wearing. And his training and instincts suddenly snapped back to life. “That’ll need to be saved.”

She nodded. “I assumed. I’ll bag it. Alex has a safe in his den—we’ll put it in there. It registers times of opening and closing, so there’s a record.”

“Still shaky on the chain of custody,” he said wearily. “Good lawyer would get it tossed. And it’d be my fault.”

“Let’s not worry about that just yet.”

He took another long sip of the coffee. Quinn had made it, Hayley had told him, and the man obviously went for a more powerful brew, just as he himself did.

“Where’s the dog?” he asked now.

“Quinn’s outside with him,” Hayley said as she topped off his mug.

“Heck of a way to celebrate your first anniversary,” Brady said, nodding his thanks.

“We’re getting our celebrating in.” She grinned at him. She really was a beautiful woman. “But then, we don’t need an occasion, because every day is special.”

Brady drew in a deep breath. “I envy you. Both of you. You’ve so obviously found it, that holy grail of relationships.”

Her grin widened. “Oh, now that’s the way to put it.” Then she gave him a considering look. “So, haven’t found it for yourself yet?”

“Yet. If only,” he muttered. Then, managing a smile, he said, “Not many women like you around.”

Quinn and Cutter came in the back door in time to hear his words.

“Amen to that,” the man said and walked over to plant a rather fierce kiss on his wife, who reached up to cup his cheek as she returned it.

“Chilly out,” she said.

Brady had felt the brush of cold air as Quinn had passed. When he bent to pat Cutter as he paused beside him, he could feel the chill on the dog’s thick fur. Then he watched as the animal proceeded down the hall and stopped outside the bathroom door. He cocked his head and his ears swiveled forward, as if he were listening intently. Brady stifled a smile. But then he thought of what the dog was likely hearing, which sent him into thinking about what was going on in there, and images of Ashley with water streaming over her naked body slammed into his mind again.

His grip on his coffee mug tightened as he pondered just what he’d let himself in for. Not just violating his oath and his personal code by ignoring an APB, but staying under the same roof with the first woman who’d awakened certain body parts in a long time.

Apparently assured that she was safe, Cutter quietly came back and sat in front of Hayley and Quinn. And then, rather comically, he tilted his head back, back, back until he was looking at Brady. Upside down. He couldn’t help chuckling, and the building pressure in his chest eased a little. The dog’s silly look didn’t do anything for the rest of him, however.

“You have a decision to make,” Quinn said.

Brady’s mouth quirked. “Thought I already did that. We’re still here.”

“Yes. But once we have a detailed conversation with Ashley, and if she wants Foxworth to help, then you’ve got another one. Because our goal isn’t yours.”

He blinked at that. He would have sworn Quinn, and Hayley, too, for that matter, would be the upright-citizen type. As if she’d read the thought, Hayley said quietly, “Your goal, your job, is to uphold the law and follow legitimate, valid orders. Our goal is to help Ashley. They may not always coincide.”

“So you have to decide how involved you want to be.” Quinn lifted a brow at him. “There’s a lot to be said for plausible deniability.”

Brady let out a sour laugh. “Sure. ‘Yeah, boss, I found her about to jump off a cliff, got the APB on her, then turned her over to these folks I met maybe ten days ago and walked away.’ Sounds a bit short on plausibility to me.”

“Point taken,” Quinn admitted, but he was smiling.

“Just how,” Brady asked, “do you think you can help her?”

“We start with the assumption she’s not guilty.”

He opened his mouth to say something pithy about the presumption of innocence in the justice system, but shut it again without saying it. But he couldn’t resist saying rather bitterly, “Why don’t you go all the way to assuming she’s not mentally ill, either?”

“That may well be part of it.”

Brady drew back slightly. “Wait…you think…but she’s got a psychiatrist—”

He stopped when Quinn held up a hand. “What I should have said was that we will verify her exact situation.”

“How? Doctor-patient privilege and all?”

“We’ll work that out if and when Ashley gives us the go-ahead. But let me ask you something. The way she reacted in the crash, did that seem to you like someone mentally incapable of handling herself?”

Brady sucked in a deep breath as Quinn landed upon exactly what had been bothering him the most. “No. And people usually show their true colors under that kind of stress. But how a mental disorder might affect that, I don’t know. I just don’t know enough about it.”

“Exactly,” Quinn agreed. “And so we will dig into that, as well. We have people who do know.”

He didn’t say any of this, Brady noted, like someone who was winging it. He said it like a man with a plan, and more, the wherewithal to carry it out.

“What, exactly, is Foxworth?” he asked warily.

“Just what we told you.”

He thought about that takedown of the governor, and the other cases he’d read about when he’d done that bit of research. Including Quinn’s role in taking out a cop killer. “And you have what, endless resources?”

“Not endless, but sufficient,” Quinn answered. Then, with a half grin, he added, “Let’s just say our finance person is an utter genius.”

He gave the man a doubtful frown. And then Hayley said proudly, “Quinn and his sister founded Foxworth on their parents’ life insurance and built it into something amazing. And now, between that financial acumen and the goodwill and eagerness of those we’ve helped to help others, we have as close to endless resources as is possible for a private entity.”

“Life insurance,” Brady murmured. “The bombing.”

Quinn nodded. Brady thought a little more, searching his memory. Quinn stayed silent, letting him.

“That back-room deal, where they let the guy go back to the warmth and welcome of his terrorist buddies,” he said slowly. Quinn lifted a brow, but still said nothing. “That was…so wrong,” Brady said. “And all his victims couldn’t do a thing about it.”

“Exactly,” Quinn said, nodding his head in apparent approval.

“That’s the kind of thing you fight? Try to make right?”

“It is. The circumstances vary greatly, but that is what we do.”

Hayley offered him more coffee. He thought he might need the jolt to wrap his mind around all this, so he said yes. She poured, and he thanked her. Ordinary. But there was nothing ordinary about any of this.

Then Hayley said with a smile, “As one of our recent clients put it, we help people in the right turn lost causes into wins. And we do it without taking anything more from them.”

It seemed impossible to believe that there were people who made that their business, yet sought no glory or fame for it.

“So, what do you say?” Quinn asked. “In or out? Or do you need time to think about it?”

Brady sighed. Set down his coffee mug. He didn’t really need time. He knew he’d already made the decision when he’d brought Ashley here instead of taking her in.

“I think I’ll go get my civvies out of my unit. Maybe I’ll feel less guilty about this if I’m not in uniform.”

Quinn grinned at him. “Whatever works.”

“You can change in the media room,” Hayley suggested, gesturing to a doorway that closed off a room that was apparently better for the purpose than the multiwindowed great room. “Ashley’s going to take the second bedroom, but there’s a foldout bed in there that’s probably a lot more comfortable than the floor,” she added.

Brady was still shaking his head—whether at the existence of Foxworth or his own craziness at accepting all this, he wasn’t sure—as he opened the back of the unit and grabbed his go bag.

He headed back inside. Saw that Cutter was back down the hall, sitting beside the bathroom door. As if he knew Ashley would be coming out soon.

Brady closed the media room doors behind him and quickly shed his gear and uniform, then got out the jeans and sweatshirt he always carried in the bag. Silly as it was, it did make a difference, he thought as he pulled the jeans on and reached for the sweatshirt.

And tried not to think of possibly similar actions going on just down the hall. Tried not to picture Ashley naked, or in some lacy confection, as she pulled on her borrowed clothes.

He failed utterly, and zipping up his jeans was an interesting proposition.

CHAPTER 15

Ashley felt decidedly odd. As if she were living in the snow globe her father had given her, complete with the snow. A small, contained world where nothing bad could ever get in. Peaceful, quiet and safe.

And remember what happened to it.

It had been the first day she’d truly had to face the truth about her father. She’d come home from school to find her mother cleaning up the shattered globe, giving her the saddest of looks as she explained that Ashley’s father had once more lost control and this time destroyed her most precious belonging, which he himself had given her.

And he had committed suicide barely a month later.

She shook off the painful memory as she stood staring out the window at the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. But that only made room for more painful thoughts—that she was following the same path. That she had lost control enough to have attacked her own mother, then manufactured an innocent scenario that her miswired or off-kilter brain seized upon as reality, so vividly it was impossible for her to believe it wasn’t true.

Delusional. That’s what she was.

She turned around to face where Quinn, Hayley and… Brady were waiting. The Foxworths were seated, but Brady was on his feet, pacing, as if he were too restless to sit. She was startled by how much different he looked in civilian clothes. Minus the bulk of his gear, she was able to clearly see how lean and trim his waist and hips were, and how broad his shoulders and chest. The jeans he’d put on did crazy things to her pulse, and as he turned to go back the way he’d come, she found herself watching those back pockets in a way that would no doubt embarrass both of them if he turned around and caught her.

She yanked her gaze away from him and sat down as Quinn and Hayley started to explain in detail who they were and what they, and their foundation, did. She was puzzled but listened because it was fascinating. Who’d have thought there was a group dedicated to such a thing? Lost but righteous causes?

It wasn’t until Hayley paused and asked if she was with them so far that she realized this wasn’t just getting-to-know-you chitchat—this was specific.

“I’m following. And I think what you do is wonderful. But why are you telling me all this?”

“We’re offering Foxworth help, Ashley,” Hayley said.

She blinked. “To me?”

“Yes.”

“But…nobody can help me.” It sounded so forlorn, it embarrassed her. And that put an edge into her voice. “I don’t have that kind of problem. Don’t you understand? I’m going crazy, just like my father did, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

Brady spun around on his heel, startling her. “Did you get a second opinion?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“First thing you do when you get a killer diagnosis is get a second opinion. Did you?”

“I… No. I mean, we know Dr. Andler. He treated my father.”

“Not very successfully,” Brady said sourly. She stared at him. He couldn’t have chilled her more if he’d thrown her out in the snow. He grimaced and closed his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze. “Sorry. That was a lousy way to put it.”

He meant it. She could hear it in his voice, see it in those clear blue eyes. The chill faded. “Yes,” she agreed. “But you have a point.”

“I freely admit I don’t care for the man.”

“I… You know him?”

“Two years ago I was involved in a trial where he was called as an expert witness for the defense.”

“Mind telling us what bothers you about him?” Quinn asked, his tone casual.

Brady looked at the other man and said flatly, “He manipulated the jury. Cleverly, but still. His testimony was instrumental in getting a rapist off.”

“You were the arresting officer?”

“I was.”

“But if he was found innocent,” Ashley began with a slight frown.

Brady’s voice went harsh then. “He felt invincible after he walked free. So he raped three more women in the first week he was out, one of them a fifteen-year-old girl. And that’s in large part on Dr. Joseph Andler.”

She felt herself go pale. “My God. No wonder he practically ordered me to get a birth control shot after one time I ended up in…a bad place, with two strange men.”

“Of course,” Brady said, still with an edge. “He knew there were men like that out there, because he put one out there.”

“But naturally,” Hayley said sourly, “being only a witness giving his opinion, there were no repercussions for him.”

“Naturally,” Brady said, echoing her tone.

“I…didn’t know this,” Ashley said, sounding as shaken as she felt.

He turned to look at her then. And his voice was gentle, with that soothing tone that eased her fears, when he said, “Not your fault. You trusted his credentials.”

“And my mother’s recommendation,” she murmured, almost to herself. At Brady’s sharper look, she realized how that had sounded. “She said he truly tried to help my father and that he was devastated when he committed suicide. Took it as a personal failure.”

“Maybe your father couldn’t be helped,” Brady said, then looked as if he regretted saying it. She lowered her gaze and softly voiced what she guessed was the reason for that feeling.

“And maybe I can’t be, either.”

She sensed him move, then felt the gentle touch of a finger under her chin, tilting her head back.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, quietly but firmly.

She looked at him, thinking it amazing that a man in his job could have such warm, kind eyes. Beautiful, deep blue eyes. She remembered with sudden vividness the first time she’d looked into them, as he’d pulled her from the car in the moment before it had slid down the mountain. She remembered thinking then—rather inanely, given the circumstances—that those eyes promised she would be safe, that somehow he would get her out of this.

And he had. At no small risk to himself.

She couldn’t let him risk himself even more.

“I can’t tell you what that means to me,” she said softly. “But you’ve already done enough. More than enough. I don’t want to…entangle you in my mess when there’s nothing to do about it.”

His tone went harsh. “Except jump off a cliff?”

She didn’t even wince. “Most of my life I’ve been hurt and angry about my father. Angry at my father, because I thought he was a coward. Because I couldn’t understand why he did it. How he could leave me. Now I do.”

“Ashley—”

“It’s too much, Brady. And if the alternative is being locked up somewhere, drugged up but always knowing every day I’ll lose a little more reality, then…” She ended with a shrug.

Hayley rose and came to her. The woman’s eyes were warm, gentle. “You’ve been alone, Ashley. You’re not anymore.”

“I’ve had my mother. She tries so hard, but—”

“Your mother has your father haunting her, as well,” Hayley said. “What happened has to color her thinking, just as it does yours.” Ashley had never thought about it in quite that way. The tumult inside her calmed a little as Hayley continued. “But it doesn’t color ours. At least let us try.”

“But why? Why would you?”

Oddly, the woman glanced at Cutter. But she said only, “It’s what we do.”

“And what if you conclude I can’t be…fixed?”

Quinn spoke for the first time in a while, and his voice echoed with both certainty and command, just as Brady’s sometimes did. “Then we’ll still be there with you, every step of the way.”

Ashley was certain she looked as doubtful as she felt. But then Brady said, very quietly, “Ashley, if there’s even a chance…you have to take it. You can’t give up until you do.”

Her gaze shifted to him. He was looking at her with those eyes, steadily, with none of the wariness or repulsion she often saw in the expressions of people who knew she was having mental issues.

“Brady,” she began, but her voice faded away as no more words came to her. As if merely saying his name was all that mattered.

“What do you have to lose?” His voice was even softer now.

And he had, she realized, a point. What did she have to lose? She’d nearly made that fatal leap last night—what could possibly be worse than that?

Being locked up somewhere, unable to end the nightmare? Living for years in a drug-induced haze? Unable to end it even if she wanted to?

She heard a faint whine, realized Cutter had once more stationed himself beside her. As if he were showing her he, too, was with her against the world, if need be. The fanciful thought would have made her smile if her mind hadn’t been whirling into chaos.

As he leaned against her knees, she reached out to stroke the dog’s head. And yet again that calm stole over her, as if there were some soothing magic in his soft fur. And something in those amber-flecked eyes calmed the turmoil, until the truth of what Brady had said was all that remained.

What did she have to lose?

CHAPTER 16

Brady didn’t understand the picture that was emerging.

Ashley didn’t fit neatly into any category he knew. In fact, if he had to base an assessment on the last couple of days since they’d been holed up—something that would likely cost him his job if this went sour—in Alex’s place, on the hours on end he’d spent with her, watching her, talking with her, he would say she seemed perfectly normal for the circumstances. There was no forgetting, no confusion, no misremembering. No odd tangents or impossible-to-follow thought processes.

Quinn had asked her to recount her entire life, it seemed, from the time the breaks in her mental state had begun. And she had done it, starting with when the recurring nightmares had started. She’d sadly admitted some days were shrouded in a befuddled fog, and a few hours here and there lost altogether. Yet she still managed to give a reasonable account of the timing of everything, from the onset of the problems, through when she’d begun therapy with Dr. Andler, the medications he’d put her on, to having to leave her job because the confusion was getting worse, until she started blanking out on hours at a time. Finally, after the incident with the potential rapists, having to get the birth control shot for her own sake. That had been a severe wake-up call, and the pressure to come and stay with her mother had become too much and she’d agreed.

It was a sad tale, and one that made him feel this was at best foolish, and at worst a lost cause.

But hadn’t Hayley said lost causes were Foxworth’s specialty?

Just as he thought it, Hayley somehow found something to say that made Ashley laugh. He looked over at them, at Ashley, and was slammed anew with the realization she was beautiful. And that he’d give a great deal for that smile, that cheer, to be her permanent state. When that thought registered, the only words that came to this mind were slippery slope.

He turned away.

Do not go there, Crenshaw. Do not read into that little smile she gives you, those shy glances, that she’s feeling anything more than grateful that you didn’t drag her off to jail as you should have. Because even if she feels the same pull, even if there was genuine invitation there, it’s not one you can accept. Not when her life is in such chaos. Haven’t you had enough experience with a fragile woman to last you a lifetime?

Quinn, who had been standing across the great room on the phone, ended his call and walked over to where Brady stood looking out the window at the snow continuing to fall. It was a good thing the Foxworths had gone on that shopping expedition yesterday, picking up clothes and necessities for both him and Ashley. He’d thought about going back to his place for supplies, but after he’d made that call and mentioned being familiar with the suspect, he thought it might be better to stay out of sight. He might be ending his career by this decision to not take her in, but that didn’t mean he had to hurry it along.

He looked at Quinn, who had just called to let the people back at their headquarters know they wouldn’t be back as scheduled. “Sorry about that.”

“Our people get it. They’re as committed as we are.”

Brady believed it. They had spent these two days talking with Ashley, and he had been amazed. He generally didn’t have time for slow reveals—once the initial case report was done, that was usually the end of it for him—but he was suddenly seeing the appeal of genuine, careful detective work.

“There’s one thing I’m already mostly convinced of, though,” Quinn said.

“What?”

The man looked over to where Hayley and Ashley were sitting on the couch, Cutter plopped on their feet. “That woman is as clearheaded as you or me.”

Brady let out a long breath. “Yes. She is.”

“I haven’t seen a single break in her stability. Have you?”

He shook his head. “Not a one. Her mind seems crystal clear.”

Quinn nodded. “Ty—he’s our dig-deep guy—is going after what we can get on her father. And mother.” The man gave Brady a half smile. “And one of my local guys is working up some info on your favorite shrink.”

Brady drew back slightly. “Is this one of those times Dunbar warned me about, when I shouldn’t ask questions about how you do…what you do?”

“You might be happier if you didn’t. It helps,” Quinn added with a wry smile, “when you don’t have to worry about it standing up in court.”

“Normally I’d protest that. The system isn’t perfect, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“I’d say the concept is, but it doesn’t always work, because people aren’t perfect.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Foxworth tries to help with those times when it malfunctions.”

“All right. No questions. For now.” Quinn nodded as if he’d expected nothing less.

A while later, coincidentally—or perhaps not—when the snow had stopped, Cutter showed in his polite way that he needed outside. Brady, who had been restlessly pacing again—this violating his oath had him on edge—quickly offered to take him.

He hadn’t expected Ashley to jump to her feet and say she’d go with them, that she wanted to go out in the fresh snow. A glance outside at the now solid three feet told him she was unlikely to try to take off, so he merely nodded. And pondered the fact that she sounded…different. He wasn’t sure what it was, but her voice, her tone, seemed different. Maybe just relief at this respite from her troubles, he decided.

They’d been using the back door for the dog, since it opened onto a covered patio that was sheltered from the snow. Still, the flakes had drifted up along the sides, practically enclosing the space in pristine white walls. Cutter plowed forward, undaunted, and disappeared behind a particularly tall drift.

Brady was just thinking that it wasn’t nearly as cold as he’d expected when Ashley said, “It’s practically warm out here. This must be how igloos work.”

Startled, he looked around at the surrounding snow. “I think you must be right. It’s acting as both windbreak and insulation.”

“Do you think we could sit out here for a few minutes?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Cabin fever?”

“More a case of giving Quinn and Hayley some alone time,” she said. “It is their anniversary trip, and I feel guilty about intruding on their celebration.”

“Hayley said every day’s a celebration for them,” Brady said.

She gave him that smile that made it so hard to believe there was anything seriously wrong with her. “I believe it. They’re amazing together, aren’t they? Especially given how they started out.”

They sat down on a bench he brushed clear of the snow that had made it through onto the patio. “Hayley told you, huh? About him kidnapping her and Cutter?”

She grinned then. The doubts her smile instilled were nothing compared to the crazy tumble his insides took at that grin. For a moment he couldn’t even breathe. “Yes. With the proverbial unmarked black helicopter.”

His mouth quirked. Quinn had left out that part when he’d told him how he and Hayley had met. “That’s when I first realized Foxworth is a lot more than I ever imagined.”

“I think they are, too.”

He realized then what he was hearing in her voice, what that different, new note was.

Hope.

He felt a sudden qualm. What if they were building that up in her and it turned out that it was false hope? Wouldn’t that make it all even more devastating? It seemed she had reached, if not peace, at least acceptance, of her condition, before.

So much that she was ready to die to end it.

The memory of that heart-stopping moment when he’d seen her teetering on the edge at the lookout slammed into him, and he knew anything that forestalled that was worth it.

Even false hope.

“Do you ski?”

The unexpected question snapped him out of the unaccustomed emotional turmoil. “What?”

She looked at him, her green eyes looking as serene as he’d ever seen them. “I just thought since you grew up here in the mountains, maybe you skied.”

“I do. Not as much as I used to, but I try to get out a couple of times a season.”

She nodded. “My dad skied.”

Brady went still. Tried to remember if she’d ever brought the man up on her own, without referring to the mental illness that had stolen him from her.

“Did he?” he said carefully.

“He was going to teach me, starting on my tenth birthday.”

A birthday the man hadn’t lived to see.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to disrupt the normalcy of this, the way she sounded like nothing more than someone missing their dead father. He tried to think of something…neutral.

“So he was a good skier?”

“Very. He thought about competing for a while, when he was young, but decided it might take the joy out of it for him.”

“I get that,” Brady said, but he was frowning inwardly. That didn’t sound like a guy with a messed-up brain, any more than she did. But she’d said that came on later.

“He was a wonderful man. Strong. Kind. Loving.” She gave a faint smile then. And he could almost feel it all creeping back in on her. “I adored him and thought he adored me.”

“I’m sure he did,” he told her, thinking it rather lame even as he said it.

“I always believed that. That’s why I couldn’t believe for years, and never, ever understood why he committed suicide. Until the other night.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her hands. Her bare fingers were cold despite what she’d said about the temperature out here. “Ashley,” he began, but stopped when she turned on the bench to look at him straight on.

“It’s all right,” she assured him, as if she were the steady one. And at the moment he wasn’t sure she wasn’t right. “I won’t try that again. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers, trying to warm them. She curled her hands in turn, as if she welcomed the feel of his. That gut-level part of him responded as if hers was the touch of a lover, something that had been lacking in his life for a long time. He tried to quash it, because what he’d thought earlier still held; he had no right to take advantage of the situation. The problem was, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to suppress his response to her.

Afterward, he wasn’t sure how it had happened. He didn’t think he’d done it, but how else had she ended up in his arms? And the way she clung to him, how the hell was he supposed to push her away?

He told himself it was her fragile state of mind that kept him from doing just that, but deep down he knew he hadn’t because it felt so damned good. Not only good, having her warmth pressed against him, it felt right. Very, very right.

And when she looked up at him, something in those green eyes made him want…everything. Everything that was possible between a man and a woman. He wanted to start with a taste of those sweet, tempting lips, but he knew if he did, he would not want to stop there.

You’re an ass, Crenshaw. Three days ago she was on the verge of suicide.

He was not—was not—going to take advantage of the situation, even if it did seem she wanted the same thing he wanted. Because right now she couldn’t possibly be sure what she really wanted. Maybe that hunger in her eyes was simply because she hadn’t taken that jump, because she was still alive. Maybe it was all just reaction to that.

The only thing he wanted more than what she seemed to be offering was to never see regret aimed at him in those vivid eyes. Not that that made it any easier to tamp down his body’s response to her closeness, to that heated gaze. He had to get past this. He had to quit watching her, sneaking looks at her and most of all wishing the situation was different. That she was well and could make rational, fully aware decisions about what she wanted.

And that she’d decide she wanted him.

None of which was reality. And being snowbound here with her was no help at all.

CHAPTER 17

Ashley awoke the next morning feeling better yet again. As she had been every day. Underlying was the lingering, niggling fear that the only reason she was feeling better was that she hadn’t been taking her meds. They were still sitting at home, where they’d been, untaken, since the crash. She’d left them there that night, since she obviously wouldn’t be needing them any longer after…

She calculated the timing. Ten days. Ten days since she’d stopped her regular pill. Minus the days of utter fog on the pain pills, when she’d felt so ill from them that even the pain was better. But once that had cleared…there wasn’t a moment missing since. She remembered it all, clearly.

But are you remembering it right?

What her mother had apparently claimed had happened that night with the knife was so different from what she remembered. Yet the memory was so clear to her. It had to be her that was mistaken, her confused brain that was responsible. Didn’t it? And yet…

Brady hadn’t taken her in. It had been three days since that bulletin naming her as a suspect in an assault she would swear hadn’t happened, and he hadn’t yet arrested her. Even knowing her mind was damaged, and the official version quite possibly true.

Quite possibly? Don’t you mean probably? Definitely?

How could it not be true? She was the one with the befuddled brain, not her mother. But could she really have manufactured such a clear memory? She must have. Her mother would never make up such a thing.

But perhaps somehow she had, as Brady had said, misinterpreted what had happened.

Because she’d been through it before. Had probably been expecting it.

Ashley couldn’t think of anything more grim that watching, waiting for someone you loved to go over the same edge that had cost you someone else you loved.

A polite tap on the door made her finish dressing quickly. It had to be Hayley; Brady’s knock was decidedly more…male. And when she opened the door, it indeed was Hayley.

“I brought coffee,” she said, holding out a steaming mug.

“Bless you,” Ashley said fervently, taking it.

“Thought you might need it before you sit down with Dr. Sebastian.”

She nodded. When they had first suggested an online session with yet another friend of theirs, a psychiatrist, she’d been wary. But Brady had done some research on the woman, and everything he’d found indicated her reputation was stellar. She was on the board of two major hospitals and three mental health organizations and had spent several years on the faculty of a prominent university.

They went into the kitchen, where Brady was working on his own coffee, and to her surprise Quinn was busy fixing up something that smelled luscious.

“Well, that’s unfair,” she said.

Brady gave her a puzzled look, but Hayley laughed. “It is, isn’t it? No man who looks like that should be able to cook, too.”

Ashley grinned at her and once more savored something that had been missing from her life for months now—the ease of simple, uncomplicated interaction, especially with another woman.

“Hey,” Brady protested, “that’s sexist. Or something.”

She looked at him, saw one corner of his mouth twitching. “If you tell me you can cook, too, then I may have to change my assumptions.”

“I’ll have you know I make a great beef stew, better garlic chicken and a truly wicked barbecue sauce.”

She raised her brows at him. “Consider my assumptions changed, then.”

The twitch became a grin. “Might want to hold off on that. They’re also the only things I can make.”

“Just means your looks have to carry more of the load,” Hayley teased.

“Not a problem for him,” Ashley quipped, then looked away quickly before she could see his reaction to her words.

After the breakfast that tasted as good as it had smelled, Quinn led her into the media room, where he’d set up his laptop and mirrored it on the flat-screen television on the wall.

“We’ll run a test when we first connect, make sure everything’s working right, then leave you in private,” he said.

“How do you know her?” she asked as she tried to ignore the fact that Brady had been sleeping in here. There was a small stack of freshly washed clothes on one end, the shirt the Foxworths had bought on top, and that brought on more imagining, like how her pulse had kicked up the first time she’d seen him in civilian clothes. Those jeans, just snug enough…

“We helped her with a family situation,” Quinn said. “Something she needed closure on.”

“Oh.”

“Ready?” Hayley asked gently.

Ashley suppressed a shiver. They had warned her some of the questions Dr. Sebastian might ask could be uncomfortable, and that she would probably ask about her father.

Brady’s words echoed in her head. If there’s even a chance…you have to take it. You can’t give up until you do.

She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She had already signed a waiver allowing the doctor to share all information before starting this. She’d decided if she was going to do this, if she trusted Foxworth—and Brady—enough to do it, she wasn’t going to hold back. And so she said firmly, “Yes.”

Quinn reached out and tapped some keys on the laptop. A moment later, the flat screen flashed to life. And Ashley braced herself for the first question.

* * *

“What’s bothering you the most?” Brady stopped his pacing to look at Hayley, who held out his refilled mug of coffee and…a cookie. She smiled at his expression. “I bake when I’m restless. Quinn cleans. You, apparently, pace.”

“Kind of useless by comparison,” he said as he took both items.

“We’re in one of those stages of a case where it’s up to someone else,” she said, “and at that point, it’s whatever gets you through.”

He bit into the cookie. It was soft, sweet, delicious and still warm. “Wow. That’s really good.”

She smiled. “Thank you. So what is it? That we’re on hold for the moment? Or that you’re afraid it’s all really true?”

“All of that,” he agreed, “but…what’s really bugging me at the moment is that text exchange. I mean, I get that her mother’s worried, but it seemed a little…”

He trailed off, unsure of how to describe what was nagging at him.

“Hasn’t settled into words yet?”

“Exactly,” he said, a little relieved she understood. He finished the cookie, took a swallow of coffee.

“I did wonder why her first question wasn’t if she was all right, but where she is,” Quinn said as he joined them, sipping from his own mug of coffee after popping an entire cookie into his mouth and chewing it with obvious enjoyment.

Brady nodded. “That’s part of it. Although if she’s really afraid of her, I guess that would make sense. But why the need to constantly remind her…of the mental issue? Ashley obviously isn’t so far gone she’d forget that.”

“Impartiality would say that perhaps we haven’t seen her at her worst, but her mother has.”

Brady’s grip on his mug tightened. “But even as bad as she was that day I saw her after the crash, she knew.” It still ate at him, her flat, dull acceptance. I’m going insane. Just like my father.

“I think we should let that rest until we have Dr. Sebastian’s assessment,” Hayley said.

Brady drew in a deep breath and relaxed his hand. Then nodded. And managed not to glance yet again toward the closed door of the media room.

The room where he’d been sleeping on the foldout couch, now that it seemed clear Ashley was not going anywhere. Not that she could, through all the snow.

So in essence, she was in his bedroom. The bedroom he’d claimed, leaving empty the actual third bedroom in the place, because it was the next room beyond where Ashley was sleeping. And no amount of telling himself he’d done it because she’d have to go past the media room door to get out of the house, so he would likely hear her, was really working.

He was glad when Quinn spoke and yanked his brain off that path. “But dealing strictly with physical observations, I would have thought that if it happened the way her mother said, she’d have had more blood on her.”

Brady looked up to meet Quinn’s steady gaze. “Yes,” he said, the same thought having occurred to him the moment he’d heard the description of the altercation. “The physical evidence that we know of supports her story.”

“Then that, combined with her obvious stability right now, gives us inconsistencies that need looking into, explaining.”

Brady nodded. “Although it could well be she dodged the blood somehow and there was a puddle on their kitchen floor,” he said, feeling grimly obligated to point that out. “The report wasn’t final yet, so I didn’t get all the details.”

“And I think you calling back for more wouldn’t be advisable just yet,” Quinn said.

“Kind of like running up a flag to announce I know something,” he agreed sourly.

Quinn gave him a steady but empathetic look. “I realize this goes against the grain.”

“It goes,” Brady said flatly, “against everything I believe in.”

“I know.” Quinn said it like someone who had walked the same path.

Brady rubbed at his eyes. “I’d never even consider it, if I hadn’t…if I didn’t…”

“Think there was more to this?” Hayley said quietly.

He nodded, slowly. “My gut’s yelling there is, no matter what my brain says.”

Quinn smiled then. “Welcome to Foxworth. Sometimes that’s all we have to go on.”

“But it’s not what a deputy sheriff in Eagle County is supposed to rely on.”

Quinn nodded. “If it comes down to you needing a defense to keep your job, we’ve got a guy.”

“It well may, so I hope he’s good.” Even as he said it, a memory jabbed at him, from the stories about the aftermath of the downfall of the governor last year. His gaze narrowed. “Hold on. You’re not talking about Gavin de Marco, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

Brady let out a low whistle. “Yeah, that oughta do it.”

“Gavin has that effect,” Hayley agreed blandly.

Just the thought of having the world-famous attorney on his side was heartening. But then something more important occurred to him. “If they end up pushing the criminal side of this, Ashley might need some legal help.”

Quinn nodded. “She’ll have it.”

And Brady stopped his pacing and sat down, marveling at the whims of fate. The Foxworths’ arrival at the scene of Ashley’s accident had been the most serious case of right place, right time he’d ever encountered.

CHAPTER 18

Brady was glad for the warning Dunbar had given him not to think too much about how Foxworth got things done. But surely Andrew Jordan’s own child would have the right to access his records? And she’d given them permission, so perhaps it wasn’t a violation to be sitting here reading about a man long gone.

But more disturbing, to him, were the similarities between the cases of father and daughter. The same sort of deterioration, from occasional breaks in stability to progressively more serious problems with confusion, memory and perception.

“We’re working on the official report on the suicide,” Quinn began, but Brady shook his head.

“Don’t bother. I read it.”

Quinn gave him an assessing look. “So your gut’s been talking back on this for a while, then.”

He didn’t see any point in denying that he’d dug into this more than he normally would. He just hoped they didn’t push for an answer beyond that gut feeling, because he was afraid he didn’t have one. At least, not an answer that didn’t involve emotions that, in his experience, did more to cloud judgment than hone it.

“Yes. He was found in his den, one gunshot to the head, gun on the floor beside him, only his prints on the weapon.” He hesitated, then realized he was already in so deep it would hardly matter. “It was cut-and-dried. Nothing unexpected or odd. And with the supplemental, it was pretty clear.”

The supplemental report was an addendum to the official report, and it was often held back and kept confidential for varied reasons. In this case it was speculation on the impetus for Andrew Jordan’s suicide. Quinn didn’t push, which made it easier for Brady to go on. “Apparently the shrink—Dr. Andler—was going to have him committed.”

“Involuntary?” Quinn asked. Brady nodded. “He could have fought that.”

Brady sighed. “Maybe he didn’t have any fight left in him by then. He’d been going steadily downhill for nearly a year.” He met Quinn’s gaze then. “Ashley said she could never understand why he did it…until she reached that point herself.”

“There are a lot of similarities between their situations,” Quinn said.

“Yes.”

Logic told Brady that the mental problem that had driven Ashley’s father to take his own life could indeed be something hereditary, some genetic quirk passed on from father to daughter. And with that admission came images, imaginings he could well have done without, of arriving at the lookout too late, of her broken, lifeless body at the bottom of the drop-off.

He suppressed a shudder, a reaction that was a warning in itself.

Just means your looks have to carry more of the load.

Not a problem for him.

If he’d needed any further proof that he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, Hayley and Ashley’s teasing exchange slamming into his mind just then would have sufficed. The simple fact that his pulse had kicked up and his stomach had knotted at the idea that she liked his looks was a warning that screamed far louder than that little voice in the back of his mind.

He felt the sudden urge to bail on this whole thing, to grab his stuff and get out. Go home, where he should have been and stayed. If he’d gone straight there Sunday night, he never would have gotten sucked into this.

And Ashley would be dead. Lying crumpled and broken and probably frozen by now. A lump of dead meat, with no life in those vivid green eyes.

He felt a nudge—a wet one—on his hand. Looked to see Cutter there, staring at him with those uncannily clever eyes. Again the dark nose nudged, harder, until he wasn’t sure if he’d lifted his hand to the dog’s head or the animal had just managed to slide his head under his fingers. And it was second nature to give the dog what he wanted, so he stroked the soft fur.

Only then did he remember his earlier thoughts about how odd it was that petting Cutter seemed to make problems fade. Petting any dog helped, but this one was…different. He felt the peace steal over him, as if the animal were somehow communicating that everything would be all right. As if he had a certainty his human companions lacked about how things would turn out.

“So we follow your lead and everything comes up roses, is that it?” he murmured to the dog.

The dog made a low sound that sounded oddly like approval and followed it with a tilt of his head and a swipe of his tongue over Brady’s wrist. He couldn’t help smiling and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. Cutter sighed happily and leaned into the touch.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Hayley said. “How much better he makes you feel?”

Brady could only shake his head in wonder. “Where’d you find this guy?”

She sat down beside him. “I didn’t. He found me.” He raised a brow at her. “He just turned up one day on my doorstep. At a bad time in my life. I’d just lost my mother.”

“Damn.”

“Yes,” Hayley said simply. “I genuinely tried to find his owner, ran ads, made calls, but by the time it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, I couldn’t imagine going on without him.”

“So he stayed.”

“I don’t think I could have gotten him to leave if I tried.”

“He can obviously be very…determined.”

“And persistent.”

“Like the Colorado River was persistent?” he asked dryly.

“Carving out the Grand Canyon?” Hayley grinned at him. “Exactly like.”

Brady looked back at the dog, who now was looking at him with his head tilted and what looked absurdly like a smile. If he were human, Brady would have said it was a “Good, you finally figured it out!” expression.

But he was only a dog.

* * *

“Dr. Sebastian is…very different,” Ashley said.

“From Dr. Andler?” Hayley asked, and Ashley nodded. “How so?”

She glanced at Brady, whose jaw was tight, as if he were keeping his mouth shut with an effort. It nearly made her smile, because she knew his opinion of Dr. Andler and could only imagine what he’d be saying if he did speak.

She felt a little guilty for saying it, but Dr. Sebastian had impressed upon her the importance of being honest with them. “She listens. Truly listens. Dr. Andler mostly talked. And…he basically assumed he knew what was wrong with me. That it was the same thing as my father. She did not.”

And the woman had made her feel better after one encounter, online, than Dr. Andler ever had. Admittedly, it had been one three-hour session, but still. Ashley wondered what the doctor and Quinn were discussing back in the media room—Brady’s bedroom. She’d given her consent for full disclosure, and the doctor had asked for a private moment with Quinn.

“She’s very aware how easy it is to misinterpret or miss things altogether,” Hayley said. “From personal experience.”

Ashley gave the woman a steady look, wanting her to know she was able to talk about this rationally. “I gathered. She told me about her son. That he killed himself at seventeen.”

Hayley’s expression was sad. “It was tragic.”

“She said she blamed herself for missing the signs. That it’s what led her to specialize in at-risk patients.”

“Yes. And she’s helped a great many.”

“She also told me what Foxworth did for her.”

Hayley nodded. “That was Liam Burnett and Ty Hewitt. They dug deep, Ty online and Liam on the street.” She smiled. “Liam can look like a teenager if necessary, and he used that to good effect.”

“She said they found a friend of her son’s who was able to help explain what had happened, and who told her that the only reason he made it as long as he did was because he didn’t want to hurt his mother. That he’d loved her and knew she loved him. It didn’t make it right, but it helped her heal a little. Gave her a reason she could accept, even amid the grief.”

“And now she’s helping Foxworth?” Brady asked. “Because of that?”

Hayley turned to look at him. “Yes. It’s how we work, since we don’t charge money for what we do.”

“Only in help for someone else down the line?”

Hayley nodded. Ashley found herself watching Brady rather intently, curious what his reaction would be. And felt a sweet sort of warmth when he shook his head almost in wonder, and there was a matching tone in his voice when he spoke.

“That’s enough to almost give me hope for the human race,” he said.

“Another reason we do it,” Hayley said. “So people like you don’t lose hope.”

He blinked. “Like me?”

“The good guys,” Ashley said.

Brady’s gaze shot to her face, but before he could speak, Quinn was there. He walked over to Hayley and brushed his fingers over her cheek. Ashley had noticed he always did that when he’d been away, even if it was only in the next room—he went to his wife and made contact in some way, a hand on her shoulder, a touch to her hand or that brushing of fingers. As if it were his way of assuring the connection between them was still there, still strong. And Ashley felt a hollow sort of ache inside, both at having never known that kind of link with someone and at how close she’d come to throwing away even the chance for it someday.

And she managed not to look at Brady as that thought crystallized, and along with it the acknowledgment that the closest she’d ever come was when she’d been in his arms. Those moments on the patio, in that snow-secluded spot, had become a touchstone amid the chaos. She’d wanted more, so much more. She’d wanted him to kiss her, for starters, and wanted that to be just that, only the start.

But he’d pulled away. And when she protested, asking if he didn’t want what she did, he’d quietly said, “What I want doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m not taking advantage of the situation.”

And she’d known then he was indeed what she’d just called him. One of the good guys.

CHAPTER 19

“Obviously it would take more than one session, but Dr. Sebastian says she would question your situation enough to ask to see your records,” Quinn said.

Brady saw hope flare in Ashley’s eyes again and felt a gut-deep hope of his own, that they weren’t building dreams that would turn into more nightmares for her. Even as he thought it, the flare faded and her brow furrowed.

“But why would she think anything different than Dr. Andler, given my father’s history?”

“That’s just it,” Hayley said. “She didn’t know your father’s history beforehand.”

Brady went still. Said slowly, “So she didn’t go in expecting to find the same thing.”

“Exactly,” Quinn said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not there, but it’s human nature to find what you expect to find.”

“I thought that’s what all that education was supposed to beat out of you,” Brady said dryly. Ashley laughed, and he felt an odd tingle down his spine.

“Dr. Sebastian would agree, I think,” Hayley said with a smile.

“She did say,” Quinn added, “that if she had to judge based on this one session, she would greatly hesitate to put you on medication just now. She believes in spending enough time looking for the source of the problem before deciding on that.”

Ashley’s brow furrowed again. “Dr. Andler put me on meds after our first session. In fact, he had it ready there in his office, he was so certain I’d need it.”

“He dispensed it? Directly?” Quinn asked.

“Yes.”

“He can do that?” Hayley asked in turn.

“Any licensed physician in the state can, and without a pharmacy permit,” Brady said. He grimaced. “It’s a big added revenue stream for a lot of them.”

Quinn looked thoughtful. “Does he charge more than a pharmacy?”

Ashley looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. My mother takes care of the bill and often picks up the pills for me, since his office is right down from city hall.”

Now that was a thought, Brady mused. He wasn’t sure exactly what the possibility meant in relation to Ashley, but it was a blip on the radar, and he noted it. Psychiatrist as drug dealer. Pushing pills for profit. It was a refrain he’d heard before.

“Are you seeing this guy because you trust him or because your mother does?” Brady hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation, but that’s how it came out. He was usually pretty good at questioning people, at taking the right approach, the right tone, but he seemed to have lost the knack with her.

“I…trust him,” she said, but he didn’t miss the hesitation.

“Why?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Why do you trust him? For that matter, why does your mother? He didn’t save your father.”

She drew herself up and faced him steadily despite his tone. And the part of him that wasn’t trying to figure out why he was suddenly pushing her was cheering for that.

“Sometimes there’s no saving someone. Or you’re too late. If you hadn’t arrived in time to stop me the other night, should my mother have blamed you?”

I would have. “That’s different,” he muttered.

“Why? Some would say you both failed at your job.”

“I would say that,” he snapped.

“I know.” She said it softly, quietly, but his anger, or whatever this was, drained away as surely as if she’d punctured him with the words. Somehow she had turned it all around on him.

He heard a low chuckle and looked up to see Quinn smiling. “She’s got teeth. Good to know.”

“Good to see.” He said it as quietly as she had spoken. And he meant it; it was very good to see that spirit in her, see her stand her ground. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that color tinged her cheeks at his words. As if they’d pleased her.

“Now what?” she asked Quinn.

“Dr. Sebastian will be going over your father’s records. Just to see if anything strikes her beyond the obvious similarities.”

“You mean she’s going to decide if Dr. Andler is right in assuming I have the same problem?”

“She’ll give us her opinion, always limited by the fact that she’s only had this short time with you, and not in person.”

“Does that make a big difference, not being in the same room with her?” Brady asked.

“It can,” Hayley answered. “Dr. Sebastian is amazingly adept at reading people, but that’s a talent better utilized face-to-face.” Brady lowered his gaze to his hands, to where his fingers were tapping restlessly on the arm of the chair he was in. “And yes,” Hayley added quietly, “she blames herself for not reading her son in time.”

Brady grimaced. “Was I that obvious?”

“Only to be expected, given your recent…discussion,” she answered, with a glance at Ashley.

He was saved from having to answer by the ringing of his cell phone. It was on the kitchen counter, so he got up to get it while Hayley rose and went to open the door for Cutter, who had been outside.

A glance at the screen told him it was the detective lieutenant. And for the first time in his career, he hesitated in answering a call from a superior. Because usually vacation days were inviolate, unless the interruption involved an active case. And while it could be any of a number of things, the most likely one was sitting across the room from him right now.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he let it ring, his jaw tight as he fought the instincts and training of ten years on the job. The ringing stopped as it went over to voice mail. He tried to tell himself he’d listen immediately, but that didn’t ease the knot in his gut.

Quinn came up beside him. “I once ignored a call from an area commander because I knew it would be a kill order on a guy we’d captured. A guy I was sure we could get more info out of.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. And it saved lives. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”

Brady let out a long breath. “And what did it cost you?”

“I took some heat. Worth it.” Quinn shrugged. “Helped that coms were sketchy in the area. Kind of like cell reception in some spots here in the mountains.”

Brady knew it was the perfect out, but it still took him a moment to quash the guilt. But it helped that Quinn clearly understood how he was feeling. Sometimes you had to make tough decisions.

And take the heat afterward.

Of course, if he was wrong about this, and the county spent a lot of man-hours searching for Ashley when he’d known where she was all along, it would be more than heat. And it hit him anew that he was risking the only job he’d ever wanted, the only thing he’d ever wanted to do in his life.

When the chime signaling a new voice mail sounded, he picked up the phone. A moment later he was listening to Lieutenant Becker’s voice. Which, thankfully, didn’t sound angry.

“Hey, Crenshaw, sorry to bother you on a v-day since you never freaking take them, but word is you’ve had some prior contact with an outstanding missing person. Ashley Jordan. Since she’s the mayor’s daughter, you can imagine the heat. She’s leaning on the boss now, so we’re covering every base. If anything about where she might go comes to mind from your contact with her, let me know ASAP.”

Quinn didn’t ask, but now that he knew what it said, Brady played it back on Speaker.

He heard a low, distressed sound and turned to see Ashley with her hands over her face. That muffled her words, but they were still clear enough. “She must be so worried. I should just go home.”

The only one that beat him to her side was Cutter. The dog leaned in and put his head on her knee as Brady sat beside her. She lowered her hands, but unlike before, she didn’t reach to pet the dog, and he could see tears glistening in those green eyes. It reminded him of how she’d looked before, which emphasized the contrast of how she’d been these last couple of days. It also sparked in him a powerful urge to push back this tide that seemed to threaten to swamp her all over again.

Pushed by an instinct he didn’t question, he took one of her hands in his own and gently tugged the other over to rest on the dog’s head. He wasn’t about to question the animal’s knack for comfort just now. In fact he was fairly convinced it was much greater than his own.

“We’ll do whatever you want, Ashley,” he said. “But there’s something off about this. All of it. Let us figure it out.”

Her expression was anxious as she looked at him. “But won’t you be in trouble if they find out you’ve known where I am all along?”

That she’d even thought of that made him feel…he wasn’t sure what. “Not your problem.”

“You’re doing this for me, so yes, it is.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “As someone recently said to me, some pretty strong ethics there.”

He got a half smile back for that, and it was enough.

CHAPTER 20

Brady felt the tingle at the back of his neck that told him someone was there. His fingers tightened around his cell phone reflexively.

He didn’t need to look. The quickening of his pulse told him who it was. Her voice, that voice that did crazy things to the nerves along his spine, whispered over him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your call.”

“It’s all right.” He tapped the icon that ended the call. “We were done.” He turned around and managed a smile and a gesture toward the snow still surrounding the patio. “It’s weird, sitting here amid this, talking to someone who’s in Arizona in eighty degrees.”

“Some would say they’re wiser.”

“My mother among them,” he said, gesturing with the phone before he slid it back into his pocket.

“You’re close, you and your mother?”

He nodded. “Oh, we had our moments when I was growing up, but since I hit the age where I realized I didn’t know nearly as much as I thought I did, and she knew a lot more, we’ve done great. Especially since my dad died.”

“That part still sucks,” she said.

“Yours was worse,” he answered quietly.

“Because he left me by his own choice? Maybe. The end result is the same, though.”

“I had mine a lot longer, too. I was an adult when he died. You were only a child.”

“Even more pitiful, huh?” she said with a grimace.

“You’re a lot of things, Ashley Jordan, but you’re not pitiful.”

She smiled, although it looked like an effort. “So did you tell your mother you’re harboring a fugitive?” That caught him off guard, and he looked away. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“If this blows up, I don’t want it to touch her.”

He looked back when he heard her gasp. “I didn’t think of that,” she said, her eyes wide. “Could it? It’s bad enough for you, but—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t start worrying about that on top of everything else. She’ll find out eventually, but she’ll be fine.”

“Will she be angry with you when she does find out? Will it damage your relationship with her?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “They couldn’t accuse me of anything big enough to make her turn on me.”

Ashley smiled back, but it was a sad smile. “That’s how I used to feel with my dad. He told me once I could never disappoint him.”

He felt one of those clicks in his mind. “Why?”

“What?”

“What brought on him saying that?”

“Oh.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “I got into a fight with a girl at school. My mother was furiously upset because I made a scene, but my dad just said he’d have been angry if I hadn’t stood up for myself.”

“Was your mother always…critical?”

“Kind of,” she said, although she sounded uncomfortable. “Back then, anyway. But like you and your mom, after my father died, we did much better.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the analogy. He and his mother had bonded together because they were all they had left. But he wondered, given the way she’d said her parents often argued, if her mother hadn’t been glad. But that didn’t seem quite fair, either. If her father had already been well into his mental decline, he couldn’t imagine what her mother had endured—maybe she had the right to be relieved when it was finally over, even in that ugliest of ways.

Cutter suddenly appeared at the edge of the patio and sat in the snow, looking at them rather assessingly.

“Ready to go back in?” Brady asked the dog, then laughed inwardly at himself for having picked up the habit of talking to the animal as if he understood. Cutter merely tilted his head, watching them intently. And never moved. Which Brady supposed was, in effect, an answer.

“He’s so funny,” Ashley said.

Brady chuckled, then looked back at Cutter. “You’re going to give new meaning to the phrase freeze your ass off, dog,” he said wryly.

Ashley laughed, then looked back over her shoulder as someone else came out. “He’s just sitting there, watching us,” she said to Hayley.

“What he’s doing,” the other woman said with a grin, “is gauging whether he can lure either of you into a snow fight.”

Brady drew back slightly. “Okay, if you’re going to tell me that on top of everything else, he can make snowballs and toss them, I’m going to have to jump off this train.”

Quinn had stepped outside in time to hear that and laughed. “No. The snowballs are your bailiwick. He catches and eats them. And when it’s his turn, he just digs up snow in a big spray at you.”

Ashley laughed again, and for a moment it was as if they were simply a gathering of four people and a clever dog who seemed like a person, a group that liked each other and were content to just spend time together. Friends. And he was startled at the sudden tightness in his chest as he sat there stupidly and wished it was true.

* * *

Ashley paused in the entryway to the great room. Brady was on the couch, his long legs stretched out with his sock-clad feet on the coffee table—his boots were on the floor next to him—and what looked like Quinn’s computer on his lap. She stood there for a moment, just looking at him. Which, she thought with a wry inward smile, she could happily do for a very long time.

Cutter, who had been stationed outside the bathroom when she came out—and probably would have been inside if she hadn’t laughingly shut the door on him—nudged her as if to prod her forward. She stroked his head, marveling anew at the comfort the simple gesture gave.

“Did I hear a car leave?” She thought she’d heard the sound of tires crunching on snow.

Brady looked up and smiled. She had the crazy thought she should freeze that image in her mind so she could hang on to it in more desperate moments. It was the best smile she’d ever seen.

He put his feet down and set the computer on the end table at his elbow. “The snowplow finally made it up here, so Quinn and Hayley decided to see if they could get to town. And if they can, then I can try to make it to my place up the road here. I’d like to see how it did in the snow.”

She blinked. “You live up here?”

He nodded. “About a half a mile farther up.”

“I…didn’t realize.”

The smile again, a little crooked this time. “Believe me, my place is nothing so grand as this. Alex Galanis pulled out all the stops.”

She walked toward him, paused and looked around at the great room. “So you know the guy who owns this?”

“I do. He’s half the reason I trusted the Foxworths, because I knew what they did for him.”

“What did they do?”

“His son ran afoul of some terrorist cabal down in Mexico. They held him for ransom. The government was ‘negotiating’ when he got a finger sent to him, with threats that they’d take his other two kids. Foxworth got his son out and kept the other two safe even though they were in college two thousand miles apart.”

She knew she was probably gaping at him. “I… Wow.”

“Yes.” He gave her a wry smile. “Amazing what you can do when you’re not crippled by regulations.”

And she had these people on her side?

Cutter came up behind her, between the couch and the coffee table. The dog apparently misjudged the distance, because he bumped her rather hard behind the knees, and she half sat, half fell onto the couch. Beside Brady.

But not too close. Not as close as she’d like to be.

“What’s with you?” she asked the dog. “Cranky because they didn’t take you with them?”

“I gather that was his decision,” Brady said, his tone amused. “They asked if he wanted to go, and his answer was to go lie down outside the door of the bathroom where you were.”

Ashley laughed. “He is…unique.”

“They said he’ll be watching over you for the duration.”

Will you? Or will the call of duty overwhelm you and make you do what you should have done the moment that wanted bulletin came out?

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

He blinked. “What?”

“Helping me has put you in an awful position.”

He let out an audible breath, and his lips compressed for a moment, telling her how accurate her observation had been.

“It’s a first, anyway,” he muttered.

She couldn’t help herself, she reached out to brush her fingers over his unshaven jaw. His hand came up, caught her wrist. But instead of pulling her hand away as she’d expected, he held it there. He closed his eyes, and she felt a muscle jump under her touch. Her breath caught, held.

There was a sudden movement as Cutter jumped up on the couch. It threw her off balance once more, pushed her toward Brady. His eyes snapped open. They were mere inches apart.

“It was the dog,” she explained. Or tried to. Her voice broke in the middle as his closeness seemed to swamp her. Things she’d never felt before were swirling through her. Heat, urgency and a kind of need she couldn’t even name.

He was just looking at her, staring, his blue eyes overwhelming, fierce somehow, as if he were feeling the same kind of turmoil she was.

“Ash,” he murmured, as if the second syllable was too much. She liked the sound of it. Face it, she liked everything about this man, from his looks to his ethics. If he’d had no second thoughts about what he was doing, she doubted she would be so attracted. She was nothing if not a contradiction.

“Yes,” she whispered back, and as soon as the word escaped, she realized it was the answer to just about anything he might ask of her.

And then he was kissing her, his lips warm and as fierce as that look in his eyes had been. She realized everything she had been feeling had been merely prelude. His mouth on hers was the spark, and her body responded with an explosion of sensations that was nearly overwhelming. Deep, powerful, irresistible. This, this was what all the fuss was about. It made sense of so much even as it threw her into chaos.

He deepened the kiss, and at the first touch of his tongue against hers, she felt another surge of heat, and the only thing she could think was that if this was what a kiss did, sex with this man would shatter her completely. And right now she wasn’t sure what, if anything, would be left of her afterward.

She wasn’t sure she cared.

With a low, rough groan, he pulled back. He swore under his breath, as if helpless to stop it. For a moment he stared at her, and she saw all the same fire and tumult she’d been feeling in his eyes. He swallowed visibly, as if his throat were as tight as hers.

“That,” he said, his voice none too steady, “should not have happened.”

She understood. Why would someone like him want to get involved with a basket case like her? No matter how much better she was feeling, she had to remember that it was only temporary. That her life—her miswired brain was too much for her to handle, so she could hardly ask someone else to deal with it.

None of which changed the wonder of what she’d just experienced.

“You’re right,” she said, a little amazed at how steady her voice was. “But forgive me if I’m not sorry it did.”

His eyes widened for an instant before he said, rather grimly, “I think I likely will be.”

CHAPTER 21

He took his sweet time refilling his mug of coffee. And he needed every second of it.

Getting up and walking into the kitchen had been an interesting proposition. It had been a long time since he’d been that aroused, and he didn’t think he’d ever been that hot over just a kiss. He lectured himself that it was only a kiss and it wasn’t helping. Neither was remembering what she’d said about Andler making her get a birth control shot, just in case. Although it should, since it was a reminder that she was not in control.

You can really pick them, can’t you, Crenshaw?

He kept stirring the coffee, although the teaspoon of sugar had dissolved at least a minute ago. He was stalling. He knew that. And it irked him. He wasn’t usually a coward about facing situations. But this was different, and on some deep, buried level, it scared him.

You couldn’t just fall for Ginny at the coffee shop. No, you have to get tangled up with a woman whose life is an utter mess.

Steeling himself, he walked back into the great room. Ashley was still where she’d been on the couch, petting Cutter, who had sprawled out and plopped his head in her lap.

An enviable position, dog.

He nearly groaned out loud at his own thought.

But unlike him, Ash seemed to have regained her equilibrium by the time he came back. No, Ashley, he told himself firmly. Another barrier between them, not using that too-familiar nickname he’d let slip out.

As he set down his refilled mug, she gestured at the laptop on the table. “What were you looking for?”

He glanced at the screen as he sat down, hesitated, then shrugged. “I was looking up the medication Dr. Andler had you on. For side effects.”

“Dr. Andler gave Mom a flyer, the kind that comes with a prescription. She showed it to me.” She sighed. “It might account for some of my…symptoms, but far from all of them.”

“I know. I read the list.” He picked up the laptop, resumed his former position with his feet up again and denied to himself that he was using both computer and position as a barrier. “I know those drugs help people, but…”

“I hated taking it. It made me so foggy all the time. Not like the pain meds did, but constant. Like there was a layer of gauze between me and the world. Even the colors weren’t right. The sky wasn’t as blue, the trees as green or—” she gestured toward the patio “—the snow as white. Not like they are now.”

“And that’s when you started having memory problems,” he said, remembering the chronology she’d written out at Quinn’s request. “After you started taking it.”

“Yes. But Dr. Andler said I’d be having those anyway, as things…progressed. Just like my father did.”

“Just like he expected you to have,” he corrected, thinking of what Quinn had said about Dr. Sebastian and not going into this with any preconceived ideas.

Ashley got it. “Do you really think she’s right?”

The hope welled up in her voice and her expression as she looked at him. He hated to quash it, but he felt required to point out the obvious. “I’m not qualified to judge that.”

“But you have instincts. Good ones. Those gut feelings, right?”

“Yes, but they’re unhelpfully nonspecific. All they’re telling me is that there’s something off about all of this.”

Cutter’s head came up, and he let out a short, sharp yip that sounded weirdly like agreement. Ashley obviously thought so, too, because she smiled and said, “He agrees, I think.”

“I’m getting to the point where I don’t put anything past that dog,” Brady said. Then, after a few moments while she stroked the dog and leaned over to nuzzle him, and he fought down the wish that she’d do the same to him, he asked, “It’s been how long off the meds now?”

“Today is day twelve.” She gave him a rather wan smile. “I guess I was lucky about the pain pills. If I had any withdrawal symptoms from the other meds, they were hidden.”

“Traded one fog for another, huh?”

“Exactly,” she said, relieved he understood.

“And you haven’t felt…worse? Shakier? I mean, you don’t seem at all confused, or uncertain, but I’m not in your head.”

For an instant her eyes widened and her breath caught. As if she’d stopped herself from saying something. After a moment, steady now, she answered. “No. I feel…wonderful, all things considered. Mentally I feel sharp, clearheaded, and my memory’s been fine.”

He nodded. “That’s how it seems.”

She grimaced, and from her tone when she spoke, he guessed she was feeling compelled to be honest, just as he had been. “But Dr. Andler told me if I stopped taking the medication, it would seem that way…until my next break. Which would likely be worse than ever before.”

“Are you feeling like you need to go back on them?”

“No!” She grimaced, as if the very thought made her shiver.

He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.” She gasped, and her eyes widened even more this time. “I didn’t mean… I…”

He waved off her protests. But inwardly he was acknowledging that he was slipping downhill like a skier on the downhill course over at Snowridge. Because he was wishing she’d meant that “anything.”

“Not going there,” he muttered.

“I’m still not sorry,” she insisted.

“I never should have…kissed you. I had no right, not when you’re mired in such chaos. I was taking advantage of your situation.”

“You were not. I didn’t stop you,” she pointed out. “And I know that much about you, Brady Crenshaw. If I’d asked you to stop, you would have.”

He frowned. “Of course.”

“And that,” she said with emphasis, “is why I didn’t.”

He blinked. Cutter made a low sound, something he’d have sworn in a human would be a chuckle. “That made sense to you, dog?” he asked wryly.

“Obviously,” Ashley said, and she was smiling now, a small, sweet smile that nearly undid him all over again.

“Then he’s better at understanding the female mind than I am.”

“I think he’s better at understanding people than most people.”

“That, at least, I understand,” Brady said.

Her smile widened. And after a moment she asked, her voice fairly level now, “Promise you what?”

He drew in a deep breath. Met her gaze and held it. “If you have the slightest thought about hurting yourself, about ending it, if it even flits into your mind, even if it seems like the most logical, most obvious solution…tell me?”

She looked startled. “I haven’t,” she said. “Not since that night.” She paused, then added almost shyly, “Not since I’ve had you all on my side.”

“But if it comes back,” he began.

“I promise,” she said.

She lowered her eyes, as if she couldn’t hold his gaze. He understood. That damned kiss had rattled everything, and her balance was already so precarious, she could lose it at any moment.

She looked around, seeming almost desperate, then latched on to the laptop screen as a likely distraction. “What did you say were you looking up?” she asked as she studied the photo on the screen.

“Just your meds,” he said.

She frowned and leaned in closer. He saw her read the caption under the small picture on the right side of the column of text. She stared at it for an oddly long time.

“Ashley? What is it?”

“Can you enlarge that?”

He tapped at the touchpad. The image of the two small pills snapped out to fill the screen. One side of the small round pill showed a number he knew was an identifier, and the other showed a score at the midpoint, making it easier to break the pill in half for a smaller dose.

She looked at him then, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.” She gestured at the image. “I know what it says, but…that is not the pill I’ve been taking.”

“What?”

“It’s not the same size or shape, and it’s not scored like that.” She gave a shake of her head. “I must have been taking a generic version. Although I’d think Dr. Andler would have mentioned that.”

Brady noted that she spoke in the past tense, as if she had no intention of starting the medication again. But that didn’t matter now, not yet. His voice was tense when he asked. “You’re certain?”

One corner of her mouth quirked. “Every day for five months? Yes, I’m sure. My pills are bigger—uncomfortably so—oval and unscored. So it must be a generic.”

Brady quickly rescanned the entry, down to where he’d read what he was looking for. Confirmed what it said. Then he shifted to look at her straight on. “Ashley, there is no generic. It’s still protected. Whatever you’re taking, it’s not what he told you it was.”

CHAPTER 22

“There it is.”

Ashley’s voice was tiny, and even she hated the sound of it. Cutter suddenly abandoned his relaxed pose and sat up on the couch cushion. He nudged her to pet him, but at the moment she didn’t have the energy for even that.

“There what is?” Brady didn’t look at her as he spoke, he kept studying the computer screen, as if looking for something, anything, that would make this not true.

“What I’ve been waiting for. Afraid of. Proof that… I’m not okay.”

His head snapped around, and he did look at her now. “What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just like with the knife, I’ve replaced reality with my own version. Taken something I’ve done every day for months and the glitch in my brain changed something as basic, as simple as what the pill looks like.”

Brady drew back slightly. She didn’t blame him. “That’s what you think?” he asked.

“What I think,” she said wearily, “is that the last two weeks, two weeks of clarity and functional memory, were a dream. A hope I manifested just like I did with what those pills look like. I even imagined they were big enough to hurt going down.”

Cutter nudged her again. She didn’t oblige; there was nothing the dog could do to make her feel better right now.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why would what the pills look like matter enough for you to…mentally change what they look like?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “If only it made that kind of sense. But it doesn’t, Brady. That’s why they call it crazy.”

He stood up abruptly. Set the laptop back on the table. Stepped out into the open room and began to pace. She still didn’t blame him for wanting some distance between them. He was probably regretting kissing her even more now.

On top of the flood of weariness, the feeling of inevitability that had returned, she felt an aching sadness at never having known what could really happen between a man and woman before. Never having known what it could feel like, what the songs and symphonies and poetry were about. He’d given her a taste of it with that kiss. But only a taste. She still didn’t know what slaking that urgent, imperative need would be like.

Now she never would.

This time when Cutter nudged her, she gave in, but only because she thought he could be an anchor that would keep her from flying apart right here, as her world—and the hopes she never should have allowed herself—were flying apart. And stroking his soft fur was soothing, beyond soothing, but as much as she’d come to like the dog, she would trade all his comfort for being in Brady’s arms again.

His words came back to her. You don’t seem at all confused, or uncertain, but I’m not in your head.

And what she’d nearly said aloud rang in her ears now as if she had. The heck you’re not.

She watched him pace, some part of her reeling mind vividly aware of how much she liked the way he moved, the long-limbed, well-muscled grace of him. She couldn’t help picturing the body beneath the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, wondering if he could truly be as beautiful as she imagined. Wondered what it would have been like, if they’d gone beyond that kiss.

Now she would never know. Now—

He spun around abruptly, cutting off her unruly thoughts. “Why do you assume that?”

“I…don’t understand. Assume what?”

“That you’re wrong about the pills.”

Her brow furrowed. She gestured toward the laptop. “Because that’s from the manufacturer, right? They obviously know what the pills they make look like. I’m the one who has the…the malfunction.”

He crossed the room in two long strides, and sat on the coffee table right in front of her. “You’re doing exactly what we talked about, what you said Dr. Andler did.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You said he assumed you had the same disorder your father did.”

“Because there’s research showing it can be hereditary.”

He waved that off. “But now you have the opinion of an even more qualified doctor who didn’t make that assumption.”

She knew she was slipping again, because she couldn’t seem to grasp what he was getting at. “Brady, whatever you’re trying to say, please just say it.”

“The picture of the pills doesn’t match your memory. So you assume your memory’s wrong.”

She sighed. “Because it so often is. I’d hoped, when things were so clear the past couple of weeks—”

She stopped when he reached out and put a hand over hers. The heat of him seemed to radiate through her, even from that small connection. She stared at their hands, wondering how that was possible.

“What if,” he said quietly, “you didn’t make that assumption? What if you instead assumed your memory was right?”

She lifted her gaze to his face. The intensity of those blue eyes was nearly as heat-inducing as his touch. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but his closeness, his touch, was making it difficult. She was further gone than she’d thought.

“If my memory was right,” she said slowly, to make what seemed obvious to her clear to him, “then I was taking something else. But that can’t be. I even have the printout he gave me.”

“Is there a picture on it?”

“No.”

“Was it from the drug company?”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to bring the image of the sheet of paper to mind. “I don’t think so. There was no logo or anything on it. And he printed it right there in the office. Of course, he could have downloaded it from the company.”

“Did you ever fill the prescription at a pharmacy?”

She shook her head. “He said he was happy to do it for me, so I didn’t have to…try and interact if I was having a bad day. And it was so easy for Mom to just pick it up, I never questioned it. Why?”

He pointed at the image still up on the laptop screen. “What other explanation could there be, if this isn’t what you were taking?”

“That…he made a mistake? Gave me the wrong meds? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Not exactly.”

Before he could go on—and likely confuse her further—Cutter’s head came up and he gave a rather rhythmic bark that was clearly one of welcome, not warning. Quinn and Hayley must be back.

After greetings and putting away the supplies they’d brought back—including, to Ashley’s amusement even now, carrots that were apparently for Cutter—they returned to the great room. Hayley looked at them both assessingly and glanced at her husband, who lifted a brow. She nodded. Ashley had never really observed that kind of nonverbal communication between spouses before, but these two clearly had it down pat.

“So,” Quinn said conversationally, “want to tell us what you were deep into when we got here?”

She let Brady explain, hoping perhaps as he did she would figure out what bone he’d latched on to. He did it in the manner of a police report: short, concise and impersonal. That her meds had always come directly from Dr. Andler, that her mother had usually picked them up, that the flyer she’d been given had no image and that they had just discovered her memory of the pills she’d been taking did not match the image from the manufacturer.

At that, Hayley picked up her cell phone and rose. “I just want to check something.” She walked into the kitchen.

“Do you have any of the pills with you?” Quinn asked Ashley.

Ashley grimaced. “No. I didn’t expect to…” To ever need them again. She heard a low sound from Brady, and his expression looked as if he’d heard her thought.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice nearly hoarse. “Don’t ever think that again, Ashley.”

Crazily—that word yet again—the first thing she thought was that she didn’t like that he’d gone back to her full name. She much preferred that taut, urgent way he’d whispered “Ash” in the moment before he’d kissed her. She wished he would say it again.

She wished he would kiss her again.

Hayley came back, stopping her from doing something unwise like kissing him. “Dr. Sebastian told me treating mental illness with drugs is always tricky. Finding the right medication, or combination, at the right dose. That sometimes the wrong medication is worse than no medication.”

“She have anything to say about giving out one medication and saying it’s another?” Brady asked sourly.

“She did. And it was rather colorful. But she can’t say what effect the wrong medication might have without knowing what it is.”

“And I heard from Ty.” Quinn’s tone was grim. “I may have a couple more things to add to that list. One, Dr. Andler gets paid an exorbitant amount for being an expert witness.”

“They usually do.” Brady grimaced. “Unless they’re testifying for the prosecution.”

“Well, he’s high priced for a small-town guy.” Quinn looked at Ashley and asked, “Who was paying him for your therapy?”

Her mouth twisted sadly. “My mother’s paying for it. I should at least text her again. Let her know I’m still all right.”

“I don’t think turning on your phone again is wise,” Brady said.

Tracking. She’d forgotten. But then Quinn spoke. “You can use one of our phones again, with all ID and location masked. It might be useful to know what’s going on on that end. All we heard in town is that the search is on and the mayor is nearly hysterical.”

Ashley felt a horrible jolt of guilt. All her mother had ever done was try to help her, and she was putting her through this.

“Please, yes,” she said, almost breathlessly.

“All right,” Quinn said.

* * *

Brady felt a little qualm at reading over her shoulder, but not enough to look away. He needed to think of this as part of an investigation, not snooping into the private business of a woman he…what? Was worried about? Sure. He had been since he’d found her in that car. Cared about? Of course. He’d care about anybody who was going through the hell she was going through.

Wanted? Oh yeah.

He tamped down his body’s instant response to just the thought. Maybe there was something to that old saying about if you save someone’s life, you’re connected forever. Maybe that’s all it was.

Sure, that’s all it is, Crenshaw.

He focused on the screen on the phone she was holding. After a greeting where he could almost hear the other woman’s cry of relief, the exchange rolled on.

We’ve been searching everywhere, honey. The sheriff, the fire department. Where are you?

I’m safe. Call them all off, it’s a waste of time and money.

Brady found it interesting that she thought of that, considering the stress she was under.

You need to be home with me. I’m the one who has your best interests at heart.

I know that, Mom.

I’m the only one who truly loves you.

Brady frowned but kept reading.

I just needed to get away for a little while.

You shouldn’t be alone.

I’m not.

He frowned at that, too. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.

What? Who are you with? You have no friends. You know they couldn’t deal with your condition.

That was cruel.

Brady’s jaw tightened. It was more than that.

You’re too sensitive. And defensive. I wish you could discuss this calmly, rationally.

I just wanted you to know I’m with friends, and I’m fine. I’ll be home soon. We can talk then.

You’re being irrational, Ashley. Making things up again. Like about the snow tires.

She rubbed at her forehead, and Brady guessed her head had started to ache, because so had his. And the next line was an abrupt sign-off from Ashley.

He looked at her. “Is this how it usually goes with her?”

She nodded. He glanced at Quinn and saw an expression he guessed probably mirrored his own. He had a suspicion now, and it wasn’t one he much liked.

* * *

Ashley had the feeling the others had seen something she hadn’t. But that was hardly surprising these days. They didn’t say anything, and right now she didn’t have the energy to ask. After she had ended the text conversation with her mother—who would give her a lengthy lecture on manners and parental respect the next time she saw her—it had been all she could do to hold off a tension headache.

Quinn had booted up his laptop, that industrial-looking thing that appeared as if it would have survived a drop down the mountain much better than her mom’s car had. And after a moment of moving through whatever program he’d opened, he went very still, reading intently. Then he looked up and spoke.

“Ty discovered the doctor has a sizable offshore account.” Ashley didn’t know much about such things, but they’d always sounded faintly illicit. “Which in itself isn’t suspicious, but the fact that there have been big deposits after cases he’s testified in is…interesting.”

“But you said before he gets paid a lot,” Ashley said.

“Yes. And his agreed-to payment for that is deposited in a bank account here. Openly.”

Brady went still. Stared at Quinn. Ashley wondered briefly how on earth Quinn had found that out. Clearly Foxworth had many sources and resources, in many places. Brady was right—they were a lot more than she ever would have imagined. And belatedly the actual meaning of what they’d discovered hit her.

“Wait…you mean he was secretly paid over and above what he got for testifying?” she asked.

Quinn nodded. “It was all masked fairly well, several layers deep, and it wasn’t the only money in the account, but at the end of the trail, in large part the money came from either attorneys or agents for the people he was testifying for.”

Brady swore under his breath. “Bribed. The ass—he was bribed for his testimony to go a certain way.”

“Looks that way. Including in that case you mentioned, the rapist.”

Brady spun around to look at her. Ashley saw an odd glint in his eye, an almost triumphant gleam. Not surprising, after what he’d said about Dr. Andler at that trial and what had so awfully happened afterward.

But when he spoke, it wasn’t about that at all. It was about her. And he nearly spat out the connection she, still reeling a little, hadn’t quite made yet.

“So there you have it. Your doctor, the guy who declared you mentally ill, is a damned, crooked liar.”

CHAPTER 23

Ashley was stunned, Brady could see that. Understandable, of course, given she’d just learned the man she’d trusted her very sanity to was a lying, corrupt bastard.

“We can’t prove any of this yet,” Quinn cautioned. “Right now this is mostly speculation.”

“Based on fact,” Brady said flatly.

“Yes. But not enough fact for a court.”

“I’m not worried about a court right now,” he said, and something like surprise flickered in Ashley’s eyes. What did she think, that he was going to be strictly by the book here? Hell, he was so far off even the last page of that book now that he’d be lucky to not end up in jail himself. And he didn’t care about that, either. Which should rattle him a lot more than it did.

“Lay it out,” he said to Quinn, trying to keep from sounding as angry as he was. “All of it.” He wanted her to hear it, every bullet point, in succession.

Quinn seemed to understand, and began the list. “He has an offshore account. Not huge, but sizable. He was given additional payments by entities and parties who had already paid for his testimony, so it was possibly to influence that testimony, since that money and the sources were hidden. If we are correct in that assumption, he played a part in the release and/or exoneration of not only that rapist, but an embezzler, a disbarred attorney and a driver accused of manslaughter. In which case, by the way, he testified that the victim was in such a state of confusion he should not have been allowed out by himself at all, let alone onto a busy street.”

“‘Keep her home, Nan. Don’t let her out alone.’” Ashley whispered what were obviously remembered words, but Brady heard them. And the anger he was trying to suppress ratcheted up another notch. His suspicions were growing, and he was beginning feel the urge to hunt down this slimy excuse for a human and take him out.

“We’re digging deeper, going back further,” Quinn said, “but as good as Ty is, it still takes time.”

Brady gave the other man a glance. “I’m really glad I was warned not to think about how you get things done.”

Quinn smiled easily. “For somebody used to going by the book, it’s usually best.”

“I don’t mean to sound selfish here,” Ashley said, “but I still can’t help wondering what this all has to do with me.”

“You’re not being selfish at all,” Hayley said reassuringly. “We need to tie this in to you and your situation.”

“But I don’t see any connection. I mean, it’s disgusting and devastating to learn the truth about Dr. Andler, but that’s just money. Does it mean he’s a lousy psychiatrist?”

Brady spun around. “Do you really want to take the word of somebody who can be bought off to let a rapist go free about your mental state?”

“But it’s not just his word. I was having trouble before I ever started seeing him.”

“The nightmares.”

She nodded. “It was so bad I was afraid to go to sleep. I was awake most of the night most nights.”

“And lack of sleep can cause half those problems,” Brady pointed out. “We had a horrific brushfire the entire county was called in on a few years ago. I didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two for nearly seventy-two hours. By that time I was loopier than a drunken ferret. I was surprised I knew my own name.”

She was staring at him rather oddly. “Sometimes,” she said softly, “I think we all forget.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“How much we owe men like you.”

“Amen,” Hayley said.

“Not my point,” Brady said with a shake of his head. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Ashley said. “But since you won’t trumpet your laudable acts, somebody needs to do it for you.”

“She has a point,” Quinn said mildly.

Brady gave him a look over his shoulder. And took a stab at what he guessed was probably fact. “Drag out all your medals to wear on special occasions, do you, Foxworth?”

For the first time since he’d met the man—damn, was it really only two weeks ago?—Quinn appeared nonplussed. And Hayley was laughing.

“Gotcha,” she said cheerfully. “Nicely done, Brady.”

The immediacy of his anger drained away; it was impossible to maintain in the face of Hayley Foxworth’s grin. Even Ashley was smiling, which under the circumstances was amazing. And once the anger had ebbed a little, his brain kicked back in. And something that had been tickling the edge of his memory for a while surfaced.

“You have an appointment with Andler tomorrow, don’t you?”

She nodded. “At four o’clock.” There was no confusion, no forgetting, he noted.

He turned to look at Quinn. “He’s got to know she’s not showing up.”

“I’m not?” Ashley asked.

His gaze snapped back to her. “Hell, no. You don’t really want to go, do you?”

“No. I don’t.” Her expression turned very odd, almost wondering. “It’s been a long time, or feels like it, since what I wanted had anything to do with…anything.”

“Well, it does now,” Brady said rather fiercely.

The smile she gave him then made every last bit of his fury fade away.

* * *

The snow was starting to melt. Not quickly, since it was still in the thirties, but it was several degrees above freezing and so the trickles were appearing, and bare branches here and the green of an evergreen bough there were beginning to show through. Ashley felt unexpectedly sad about that as she sat on the patio bench, realizing this spot would soon be just a normal patio again, open and no doubt with a lovely view, but no longer with this feeling of privacy and seclusion.

She’d been glad when Hayley had suggested she take a break from it all. She’d gratefully come out here, followed by Cutter, who was now sitting at her feet with his chin resting on her knee. The dog really was an amazing comfort and a stalwart companion as she tried to sort out the mass of information and emotions that had enveloped her.

His head came up, and she saw the wag of his tail. A moment later the patio door opened, and Brady stepped out. The dog had no doubts about Brady, obviously. But then, neither did she. Not about who he was at the core, a good, decent, brave and on occasion heroic man. It was no surprise that she was attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be?

She saw he was carrying two steaming mugs. He sat down on the bench—close, but not too close, meaning not close enough for her taste—and held one out to her.

“I think I may be coffee’d out,” she said; she’d had several cups trying to jolt her brain into moving faster on all this.

“It’s not coffee,” he said. “Hayley seemed to think chocolate was called for, so she picked some up when they were out.”

“Bless her,” Ashley said, meaning it as she took the proffered cup.

She took a long, slow sip, savoring the rich taste, then the warmth as it went down. He took a swallow of his own, then cupped his hands around the mug. She thought of how his hand had felt on hers. Which led to how his lips had felt on hers. And in that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to taste his mouth again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She blinked. He’d already apologized for kissing her, an apology she’d hardly felt necessary. “I lost my cool in there, and I shouldn’t have.”

Ashley felt color rise in her cheeks, and she looked down into her mug as if the rising steam could mask it. He’d probably long forgotten that kiss, while she couldn’t seem to get it out of her mind. But then the sense of what he’d said registered.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since anyone was angry on my behalf? How long it’s been since anyone thought of me as anything except someone to be pitied or avoided?”

“Too long,” he said gruffly.

“Yes. So please, don’t apologize for that.” She took another swallow of the rich, sweet brew before she asked, “How did you know Quinn had medals?”

He snorted, meeting her gaze with a grin that warmed her more than the chocolate. “Seriously? That guy? He’s got hero painted all over him.”

“Yes, he does.” She waited a moment before adding quietly, “Just like you.”

He looked startled, then shook his head. “I’m just a guy trying to do a job in a place where it’s not usually too hard.”

“But when it is, you’re there and you deal. What else is a hero?”

Brady lowered his eyes, as if embarrassed, but Cutter let out a short, sharp bark that she supposed would be called a yip but sounded crazily like “Yep!” She’d never realized dogs made so many different kinds of sounds, and how expressive they could be.

Brady reached out to give the dog a scratch behind the ears. To do it he had to lean over her, and his arm brushed over her breast. Even though the touch was clearly accidental, it sent a jolt through her, leaving her very skin tingling.

And that quickly she was thinking about that kiss again. He might regret doing it, but that didn’t change what it had been. Not for her, anyway. Maybe it simply hadn’t been that hot, that consuming for him. Maybe he kissed women all the time. Maybe he kissed one particular woman all the time.

No. He would never have kissed you if there was a permanent partner in his life. That’s not the kind of man he is.

And she was more certain of that than she’d been of anything in her chaotic, ridiculous life lately.

CHAPTER 24

“You’ve got two choices,” Brady said, sounding more grim than he’d meant to. He was pacing again, now that they were back inside. It had started to rain, accelerating the melt, and they’d managed to get back in before they—or the dog—got too wet.

“Only two?” Ashley said rather dryly.

He turned back to look at her. Smiling despite the problem they were chewing on. Because more and more sparks of humor and wit were breaking through, and he liked seeing it.

“Two that lead to all the rest,” he elaborated.

“Naturally.” She sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Either Andler knew or didn’t know. About the meds.”

She nodded slowly. “If he didn’t, he’s incompetent. But if he did… I don’t know what that means.”

“We need to know what he did give you before we can guess at that.”

“And how do we do that?” Ashley asked. “There must be hundreds of plain, big, white, oval pills out there.”

“We need a sample,” Hayley said. “We have people who can figure out what’s in them.”

“Of course you do.” Ashley gave the other woman a smile. “Have I mentioned how glad I am you’re all on my side? Even if…nothing changes, it’s a wonderful feeling.”

Her gaze flicked to Brady. Only for an instant, but it was enough to make his pulse jump. And suddenly he was remembering that kiss that never should have happened.

I’m not sorry it did.

Her words echoed in his head, and it took an effort to rein in a body that was suggesting rather hotly that he pursue that.

“I could go back home and get them,” Ashley said.

“No!” Brady snapped, so sharply she drew back slightly. He reined in the sudden bolt of alarm that had shot through him. “I just mean you shouldn’t risk it until we know exactly what’s going on.”

“Risk?”

It was Hayley who said gently, “Ashley, you’re a wanted felon in the eyes of any law enforcement except Brady.”

She paled. She turned a shocked gaze on him. “I didn’t look at it that way. I didn’t think about what would have happened if someone else had found me. Some other deputy who…wouldn’t listen. Or believe.”

“That’s not important now. What is is how do we…”

His voice trailed off as something occurred to him. She started to speak but stopped when he held up a hand, his brow furrowed as he thought. Then he focused on her again. “Where are your pills?”

“In my bathroom, in the medicine cabinet. Bottom shelf. It’s the only thing on that shelf.”

“Prescription bottle?”

She nodded. “Labeled as…the real thing.”

“That key you had on you…it’s the house key?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to leave the house unlocked.”

Something tugged at him deep inside. And without thinking about it, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands. He heard her suck in a breath at the touch, felt the sudden heat rising in himself at the feel of her soft, smooth skin beneath his fingers. Ignored it for the more important thing at this moment. “Even then, you were thinking that clearly. Remember that, Ashley.”

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t realized that. It was one of the harder things he’d done in these last four days, but he broke the contact. He turned to look at Quinn, trying to think of how to explain the idea that had come to him.

“It might work,” Quinn said before he could speak. “But maybe you should let us do it. Nobody would recognize us.”

Brady didn’t question how the man had guessed. “And therefore would likely call you in as a burglar,” he pointed out. “Besides, what if someone’s there? Her mother, even?”

“What are you talking about doing?” Ashley said, staring at them both.

He turned back to her. “I’m going to go get those meds.”

She stared at him. “You’re going to break into the house?”

“No, because you’re going to give me that key.”

“But what if my mother is there, like you said?”

“Then I’m there officially. Looking for signs you might have snuck back to the house for something, since you took nothing with you. Nobody else knows I have any connection other than prior contact. Which I could play as enough to explain why I’m…interested.”

“But she needs to know I’m all right,” Ashley said. “I know she has to be half out of her mind with worry.”

He hesitated then. Glanced at Quinn, who nodded, then said, “And once her relief fades, if she finds out Brady has known where you are all along and let her worry, her first instinct will likely be to hang him out to dry.”

“And,” Hayley added, “given her connection to the sheriff, it’s likely she could make life very ugly for him if she’s upset enough.”

“But if I begged her not to, she’d call it off—”

“That’s not a bell you can unring,” Brady said flatly.

Ashley looked away for a moment, then got to her feet and hurried out of the room. Brady watched her go, wondering if this was simply too much for her, if he just should have snagged the key somehow and done it. He saw Quinn say something softly to Hayley, who nodded and took out her phone and walked toward the kitchen, apparently to make a call. But then Ashley was back. And she held the ring with the house-shaped fob and the single key.

“She put them on that so I’d remember what it was for,” Ashley said with a grimace when she saw him looking at the little silver decoration. “She told me I was confused enough to forget.”

That suspicion he’d developed stirred anew, but Brady kept it to himself for the moment. He took the key. “Thanks. And for trusting me.”

“I think you have that backward.”

Hayley came back before he could answer, a relief since he didn’t know what to say. “The mayor’s office says she’s out, they don’t know where or when she might be back. They explained she’s had a family crisis.”

Ashley winced at that. Brady said briskly, “So she could be home or somewhere else.”

Quinn nodded. “If you have the option of getting in and out unseen, I recommend you leave everything else as it is. Just grab a pill out of the bottle and leave it.”

He nodded. Hayley got up and went quickly to the kitchen, coming back with a small zip-seal baggie, which she handed to him.

“Once you’ve got it,” Quinn went on, “we’ll get it to our guy and find out just what we’re dealing with.”

Brady thought about asking just how they would do that, but he decided it didn’t matter just now. Besides, why would he doubt that the people who apparently had the likes of Gavin de Marco on speed dial could do anything they said they could?

“And Quinn will be in the area,” Hayley said. “We’ll give you a Foxworth phone, which has a walkie-talkie function, so we can all be in direct, live contact, just in case.”

Brady frowned. That would leave Hayley here alone with Ashley.

“I’m trusting you,” Ashley said softly.

He looked at her. Realized what she meant, that she was trusting him, so he should trust her in turn. And she had a point. He was in this now—he’d already violated everything he believed in, so what was a little thing like leaving a wanted felon in the custody of a civilian? Although he had a feeling Hayley Foxworth could more than take care of herself. In fact, he knew it, now that he thought about it, because there was no way in hell Quinn would leave his wife in a situation she couldn’t handle.

“All right,” he said softly. He glanced at his watch. It was late afternoon, and Lieutenant Becker would be off duty soon. “I should call my lieutenant back. See if there are any new developments that might affect this…idea.”

Quinn nodded. “Speaker, if you don’t mind?”

Brady nodded. “Save time.” He pulled out his phone and made the call.

“Crenshaw? About time.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been…in the mountains.” Not exactly a lie.

“I figured when I had somebody go by your place and you weren’t there.” So he’d been right not to go home. Brady saw Quinn raise a brow as if to say “Good call.” Becker went on. “Seriously, though, sorry to bother you on vacation. Although why you’d take one in the dead of winter is beyond me.”

“Just crazy, I guess.” Definitely not a lie. “So what’s the status?”

“Suspect is still missing. Couple of sighting reports, but nothing that panned out.”

He glanced at Ashley, at her worried expression. “How’s the victim?” he asked.

“Physically, she’s on the mend. But she’s worried sick about her daughter. Fought us on going with the higher charge.”

“Does she have any idea where—” he had to stop himself from saying Ashley “—she might have gone?”

“A couple, but they all turned up negative. I just thought since you’re the only one on the department who’s had recent contact with her, and with your…experience with Liz, you might have picked up on something.”

He’d forgotten Becker had known Liz. Had warned him about her, in fact. He hastened to head that off before his pitiful romantic past got broadcast to the room. “Not that I can think of right now. I’m going to head into town in a bit—maybe that’ll jog something loose.”

“Anything,” Becker said, sounding very harassed. “The mayor can be a pain in the—”

“I’ll bet.” He said it quickly; it might be true, but Ashley didn’t need to hear it. Not now, with everything else she had to deal with.

He looked at Quinn as he ended the call. “A go?”

“Your call,” Quinn said.

Brady nodded. “I’ll go change. Better in uniform, I think. That’ll be expected.”

Quinn nodded, then looked at Ashley. “Can you draw him a layout of the house, where to look?”

She nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Brady had turned to go when Quinn spoke again. “I know how this feels, Brady.”

He looked back. Saw the understanding in the other man’s face. And he guessed Foxworth did know, in a very personal way, what it felt like to go against all your training, all your beliefs.

“The only thing I can tell you,” Quinn said quietly, “is that injustice feels worse.”

“Good enough,” he said. And went to suit up.

CHAPTER 25

“He’s a very special man,” Ashley said to Hayley as the other woman watched her husband from where they were sitting at the kitchen counter. She caught herself before reaching for yet another of the delicious cookies Hayley had baked.

“He is. And,” Hayley added, with a rather pointed look at Ashley, “so is Brady Crenshaw.”

“I know.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why he decided to help me. I don’t know why any of you did.”

“Because of those things we believe in and stand for,” Hayley said. “We may not get the results we’d like to see for you, but what we will get is you being treated fairly.”

She said it with such solid confidence Ashley shook her head in wonder. It had all seemed insurmountable to her such a short time ago, but now…she dared to hope. And then, although she hadn’t wanted to, she asked aloud, “I wonder who Liz is. Or was.”

Hayley gave her a steady look. “Do you really want to know?”

Ashley blinked. “You mean…you do?”

“Told you Ty was the best.”

“You…investigated Brady?”

“I wouldn’t say it went that far, but Quinn always likes to know who he’s dealing with.”

“Oh.”

“And Brady is exactly the kind of man Foxworth looks for. The best kind.”

She knew if she didn’t push, Hayley would leave it there. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. “And… Liz?”

“The woman he was engaged to, three years ago.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t surprised—there would have to be someone he was serious about. And what woman in her right mind wouldn’t be serious about a man like Brady?

In her right mind…

She nearly laughed out loud. Because being of right mind had nothing to do with being attracted—okay, beyond attracted—to Brady Crenshaw. She was living proof of that.

“It ended a couple of months before the wedding date. Any more than that is his to tell you, or not,” Hayley said. “Assuming you’re interested.”

Ashley sighed. “If there’s anything I’m sure of in all this, it’s that I have no business even thinking about him that way.”

Hayley gave her a rather amused smile. “I think it may be time to tell you about Cutter’s other talent.”

Ashley leaned down over the dog and kissed the top of his head. Cutter swiped his tongue over the tip of her nose, making her laugh. “I think his existing talents are quite enough.”

“Yes,” Hayley said with a wide smile. “But there is another one. With an equal track record.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a matchmaker. And a very successful one.”

Ashley blinked. “What?”

“Counting Quinn and me, he’s brought together, or brought back together, ten couples.”

“He…what? He brought you and Quinn together? I thought Quinn…kidnapped you.”

“He did. But the only reason I was there to be kidnapped was Cutter. He fell in love with Quinn at first sight and led me right into it.” Hayley grinned. “I, on the other hand, took more convincing.”

“I’ll bet,” Ashley said, thinking this was the craziest thing she’d heard yet.

“So far he’s brought together or reunited four of our clients with their perfect match. And two of our Foxworth guys, plus our friend Detective Dunbar. And my brother. Oh, and Gavin de Marco.”

Ashley knew she was gaping at the woman now. “Cutter brought them all together…how?”

“He has his ways.” Hayley smiled sweetly. “Has he nudged you into sitting next to Brady? Maybe herded Brady toward you?”

“I…” She looked back down at the dog, who looked up at her with those dark, amber-flecked eyes, eyes that suddenly seemed ancient and wise. “Yes.”

“I thought so.”

“Wait, are you saying he’s trying to matchmake us?”

“And he has a one hundred percent success rate.”

Ashley felt a little leaping sensation inside. Wishful thinking. She quashed it. “Believe me,” she said, “Brady deserves a lot better. Cutter should look elsewhere.”

“Did I mention he never gives up?”

Ashley shook her head as she shifted her gaze back to Hayley. “You know what a mess I am,” she said miserably. “Why would he wish me on a good man like Brady?”

“I know what a mess your life is right now,” Hayley corrected. “And that’s as far as I’ll go until we have some answers.”

And all Ashley could think was what a sad state of affairs her life was when that was a hope worth clinging to.

* * *

He would never make it as a burglar, Brady thought, because even with the key and permission of one of the residents, he didn’t like this. He was more of an up-front, out-in-the-open kind of guy.

Of course, the fact that that resident was a fugitive and the other was the mayor of this place might have something to do with it. Which thought brought him back to what he’d seen when they had, at Quinn’s suggestion, stopped near city hall for Quinn to make a second call to see if the mayor had returned. They’d taken his marked SUV to further the story of this being official if necessary. He hadn’t ridden with a partner since his days as a trainee, but he couldn’t think of a better choice than Foxworth. The guy was the kind of man who would always have your back.

And in the moment when he’d been told she had just left again, Brady had looked up and seen the woman, exiting the front entrance. She had turned left at the bottom of the steps and proceeded down the street with obvious purpose. And she had looked, to Brady, not worried but angry.

But he’d said nothing. Nor had Quinn, even when he’d pulled the binoculars out of the unit’s equipment box and focused them on the woman striding down the sidewalk. What had begun as a hunch became a certainty when she turned at the two-story building halfway down the block and vanished inside.

His jaw had tightened as he lowered the binoculars. “The shrink’s office,” he had muttered to Quinn. Who had been not in the least surprised.

“At least we know she’s not at home,” he’d said mildly as Brady started the unit and they headed for the house. But Brady had guessed the man was pondering the likelihoods just as he was.

Ashley had told him the key would also work on the back door, and given that area was much more hidden from general view than the front, he and Quinn had agreed on that approach. The seven-foot wooden fence that surrounded the backyard wasn’t much of a challenge, and within seconds of clearing it, he was at the back door and blocked by the shape of the house from the neighbor’s line of sight. He slid the key into the dead-bolt lock and turned it. It was a little stiff, as if this door didn’t get used much, but with a little bit more oomph, it went.

He stepped inside quickly and shut the door behind him. He looked where Ashley had told him and saw the alarm panel. He felt a brief qualm as it flashed red at him; if this was where Ashley’s mind hit a new glitch, he was going to have some hefty explaining to do. But he quickly keyed in the pass code she’d given him—It’s the date she was first elected—and the lights turned green. Well, that figured. If there was a date that woman would be unlikely to forget, it was that of her rise to local power.

There would be a record of the entry, but he hoped this would be over by the time anyone thought to look. Unless she’d put a watch on it, of course, and the alarm company had instructions to call her at any unscheduled entry. He could only hope she hadn’t thought of that and get himself out of here in a hurry.

Ashley’s drawing of the layout was as accurate as the code had been. He tried not to dwell on what that might mean and focused on the task at hand. A minute later he was upstairs and at the door to her bedroom. He paused in the act of reaching for the knob. Looked back over his shoulder at the two other doors in this hallway. Saw that they were a rustic, iron style that matched the rest of the hardware in the house. But this knob was round, shiny, brass, and looked brand-new. His brow furrowed, then cleared as he understood it had probably been changed so Ashley could not lock the door. Her mother would want to be able to check on her. With a shake of his head at having to live that way, he opened the door.

For a moment he just stood there. The rest of the house looked like something out of an interior decorating magazine: fancy furniture and accessories, all color coordinated, carefully placed and likely expensive things on display, and the kitchen had looked like the set of a cooking show. All of it was way too elegant for his casual taste and seemed to him out of place here in the mountains.

But here, in Ashley’s room, it all changed. He was willing to bet there was more color and personality in this single bedroom than in the entire rest of this house. Not so much in the walls or furniture, which matched the rest of the house, but in the art on the walls, photographs of wildlife that frequented these mountains, from a dramatic wolf in the shadows of the trees to a less dramatic banana slug, and including a shot of a river otter that could be a twin to the one that occasionally hung out in his own backyard. And what he thought of as a touch of humanity in the shoes kicked off on the floor, the jacket—the green one he’d seen her wearing the day of the crash but that she had not put on that night, because her distressed mind had told her she soon wouldn’t be feeling cold, or anything else—tossed over the back of the chair by the window, the book left at an odd angle on the nightstand next to the bed. The bed he had been trying not to look at.

It was tossed, the covers looking as if they’d been kicked aside after a restless night. As if she had tried to sleep, given up…and decided to kill herself instead. He had wondered if he would feel some kind of sexual jolt at the sight of her bed, if he would start imagining her in it, imagine joining her in it, as he’d done more than once at Alex’s place. But all he could think of was how desperate she had been that night, and it made him ache inside in an entirely different way.

Get moving, Crenshaw.

He crossed over to a closed door and pulled it open. It was a small walk-in closet, tidy, the only sign of haste a couple of hangers that were at an angle. He closed the door and quickly crossed the room to the second door that opened into the room. The bathroom was tidy as well, towels hung neatly, and on a hook on the back of the door the sweatshirt he’d seen her in that day he’d come by and been shocked by her appearance. It was hard to believe she was the same woman, so far removed from that was she now.

There was only a comb lodged in a hairbrush on the counter. Everything else—lotions, hair clips, makeup, a couple of things he didn’t recognize—was on a tray to one side. He only noted this in passing, because he was focused on the mirror above the sink, the one that was hinged and clearly the door to the medicine cabinet he was looking for. He reached out, already mentally searching for the standard orange plastic prescription bottle she’d described. The door to the cabinet swung open easily. He looked at the bottom shelf.

It was empty.

CHAPTER 26

“But…it’s always there.”

Ashley stared down at the phone in her hand, from which Brady’s voice had issued over the link Hayley had activated with the red button, the link that connected them and Quinn and Brady live.

“The shelf is empty. Only thing in the cabinet is a toothbrush and paste, and little bottle of…some hair stuff.”

“You’re sure you’re in the right room?”

“I’m looking at your banana slug. And your jacket’s on the back of the chair by the window.” He recognized her jacket? Trained observer, that’s all. She heard him move over the live connection. “What were you reading?”

“The first of the…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered she had retreated into a childhood treasure, the first of the tales of a boy with a miserable life who found out he wasn’t who they’d told him he was at all. “A kid’s book,” she ended lamely.

“It’s okay, Ash. I grew up on them.”

Her throat tightened fiercely at the gentle understanding in his voice. And at the nickname he’d whispered in the moment before he’d kissed her that first time. The name she hadn’t gone by since her father had used it, despite her mother insisting on the formality of her full name.

Cutter nudged her hand, and Hayley smiled at her. She swallowed and pulled herself together. “You’re in the right room, then. But the pills should be there.”

“I’ll check around.”

She heard the sound of movement, of doors closing, and the sliding of drawers. For a moment it flitted through her mind to worry about whether he’d find anything embarrassing, but it seemed a ridiculous thing to worry about right now. Not that there would be anything, not with the dark, swirling mess her life was right now. And if he found them somewhere else, in some odd place, then it only meant this was a pointless exercise, because it would prove her memory really was malfunctioning.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “Checked the bathroom and all the drawers in the bedroom.” Well, there you go, Brady Crenshaw digging through your underwear. Somehow that wasn’t nearly as unsettling as she thought it should be.

“What if it was dropped and rolled?” Hayley asked.

“Good point. I’ll check the floor.”

But he came back again a long moment later. “Nothing.”

“This makes no sense,” Ashley said.

“Unless they were removed.”

That was Quinn, and Ashley frowned at the suggestion. And then was even more puzzled when Brady said, “Just what I was thinking.”

“But why—”

“Where’s your mother’s room?”

“The opposite end of the hall, but she wouldn’t take them. Unless…unless she wanted to keep count, track whether I was taking them.”

“Which you weren’t. Maybe she suspected that. I’ll check.”

There was more movement, the sound of a door opening. Then Brady’s voice, sounding a bit sour. “You sure a human lives here?”

Ashley laughed in spite of her nerves. “She is a bit compulsive about neatness.”

She heard another door, then what sounded like drawers opening, then a pause, then another drawer; she guessed he’d crossed back into the bedroom to check that nightstand. A moment later, the negative came—no sign of the pills in her mother’s room, either. Ashley was utterly confused now. “I don’t understand. There was at least half a bottle left, fifteen pills or more.”

“Damn,” she heard Brady mutter. “We need to know what those pills really are.”

“Better clear out of there,” came Quinn’s voice.

“I’ll check the kitchen cabinets just in case, but yeah, I think—”

“Wait!” Ashley yelped as a memory hit her.

“What?” came Brady’s voice.

“Look, I know this is gross, but it might be the only…go back to my room. I started to take the meds again a week ago, because my mother was pushing. I actually put a pill in my mouth, but changed my mind after she left and spat it out. I tossed it in the wastebasket by the bed. The housekeeper’s been there since, but there was nothing else in there, so she might have missed it.”

There was a long, silent moment, some more sounds of movement and then a door, and then, “Got it!” Ashley let out a breath. “Good memory,” Brady added.

“Well, that’s something I’ve not been accused of lately,” she said rather wryly. “And sorry you had to pick it up when it’s gross—”

“Not. I’ve tasted your sweet mouth, Ash. Nothing gross about it.”

Her breath caught. Had he really said that, on this open line where everyone could hear?

“I see you’ve done it again,” Hayley whispered, and Ashley realized she was talking to Cutter. Who looked rather…smug? Could a dog really look smug?

“Points to you, Cutter. Again.” That was Quinn, sounding nothing less than amused. He believed this, too, this…matchmaking thing? The ex-military man seemed far too cool and tough for such fanciful thinking.

But it was only a fleeting thought, because Brady’s simple, almost unbearably touching declaration was expanding inside her until there was no room for anything else.

* * *

“Foxworth,” Brady said as he and Quinn came back in the house, “has some pretty cool toys.”

“Necessities to get the job done,” Quinn corrected, but he was grinning.

“Oh, absolutely,” Brady said, grinning back.

“I gather you met Teague?” Hayley said, and her smile was wide. This was clearly a woman who didn’t mind her man buying toys.

“I think it was more that he met the helicopter and, oh yeah, there’s a pilot,” Quinn quipped.

Brady shrugged, still grinning. The black helicopter coming in to land at the snowy baseball field just outside town had been quite a sight. And he had been a little boggled by the sleek machine and had only belatedly reacted to its pilot. He’d liked the guy right off, though. Quinn had said Johnson was an ex-marine—if there was such a thing—and he could see it in the other man’s bearing and demeanor.

He was also clearly a heck of a pilot, setting the thing down without a jolt, even amid the snow he’d set flying. And once more he’d been impressed with Foxworth, not just for the helicopter but because of the fact that Quinn had called for it to pick up one small pill. And had promised they’d have results by tomorrow, if not sooner.

“Boys and their toys,” Hayley said, so lovingly Brady half expected them to vanish into their bedroom momentarily.

“And,” Quinn added with a pointed look at his wife, “he and Laney have set a date.”

Hayley’s smile became one of utter delight. “About time. They’ve been engaged nearly a year. When?”

“May. And he asked if they could do it at Foxworth.”

“Perfect! The flowers will be glorious, and we can use the same setup we did for our wedding and—”

Quinn held up a hand in mock self-defense. “You and Laney can plan your hearts out when we get back.”

Ashley had gotten very quiet, but then, he had no part in this particular conversation, either. As he’d had none when the other Foxworth…operative, for lack of a better word, had informed his boss of the news. Other than noticing Teague Johnson’s besotted grin and feeling a bit…envious.

But then she spoke, hesitantly and more than a little wary. “Is this one of… Cutter’s successes?”

Hayley laughed. “Indeed it is. His…third. Second for a Foxworth person, counting us.”

Brady’s brow furrowed as he looked at the two women. He had no idea what that was about. Wondered if he was better off that way. Ashley looked at him then, and there was something different in her expression, in her green eyes. But it wasn’t anger, although he’d half expected she’d be mad at him for what he’d said on that open connection. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that Quinn and Hayley were listening. He’d only wanted her to stop sounding so shaky. He hadn’t thought about what he was saying, and admitting.

Hell, he hadn’t been thinking right since she’d crashed into his life.

He admitted to himself that she wasn’t the only one on tenterhooks about what the Foxworth analysis of the pills she’d been taking would turn up. Although he did wonder if she had wrapped her mind around what all the implications were. He kind of doubted it, given she’d had so much to deal with in such a short time.

The only thing he was sure about was he was getting damned tired of keeping himself on a short leash around her. There were guys, he even knew a couple, who would take advantage of her situation, her need for help and comfort, or her mental state to get what they wanted, which would be her in bed. More, they’d walk away afterward whistling happily, without a second thought. He’d never, ever understood that. He’d been told he’d been lucky to have his parents, who had loved each other until the day his father had died and beyond, as an example, but it was more than that. It was something he didn’t analyze but knew was bone-deep in him. You just did not treat another person that way.

But that did not seem to be helping him stop thinking about doing just that. About kissing that mouth—which had indeed been sweet—again, about kissing every inch of that silken skin, about tangling his fingers in that long fall of dark hair, about feeling it slide over his own skin, and—

He jerked on that mental leash. Again.

It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER 27

Ashley sat looking out the big front windows of the cabin into the night. The remains of the fire that had warmed the room during the day still glowed on the hearth, and the room was still comfortably warm where she sat on the end of the couch nearest the big stone fireplace.

It was a clear night, with a nearly full moon, and outside everything seemed to glow almost eerily. It was cold, she guessed, judging by the way what had been snow melting and running off the eaves had frozen into a jagged yet oddly beautiful line of small icicles.

She was very aware of what was happening. That her mind was racing in that careening way it always had when she’d been faced with a big problem, from possibility to possibility. This was one of the things the drug—whatever it was—had dulled. And when she’d finally given up on sleep and come out here, she’d been worrying if this meant she really did need the stuff.

A sound from the hallway made her head snap around. She’d tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to disturb anyone, although Quinn and Hayley’s room was at the back of the house.

Okay, Brady. You didn’t want to disturb Brady. He’s worried enough about you. And he’s already risking so much.

Even as she thought it, he came into the room. She drew back, as if this shadowy corner of the room could hide her. And then she froze, unable to breathe, as he stepped into a shaft of that silvery moonlight coming in through the big window.

He’d just pulled on his jeans, and those were only half zipped, giving her a full view of him down to where a narrow trail of dark hair arrowed downward over abs she’d just known would be rock-hard. With that moonlight pouring over his bare torso, he looked like some Greek statue come to life, powerful, muscled…beautiful.

She thought she’d smothered her gasp, but clearly not, because he spun around. And clearly his vision was well adapted to the dark, because he spotted her instantly.

“I thought I heard something,” he said, very quietly.

“I tried to be quiet. I didn’t want to disturb…anyone.”

“You were. I almost convinced myself I hadn’t really heard anything.”

“But you had to be sure,” she said.

“All things considered, yes.”

“Afraid I’d sneak out in the night and run?” She hadn’t really meant to say that, didn’t believe it, but he had her so disconcerted, standing there, looking like he looked.

“No.”

He said it with a quiet firmness that surprised her. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you have help now. And hope. You’re not alone anymore, Ash, and you won’t give that up easily.”

How on earth had he come to know her so well? The real her, not the woman who had been crumbling to pieces. “No. I won’t.” Then, with a sigh, she said, “No one’s called me that since my dad.”

“Do you mind?”

“From you? No. I…like it from you.”

He smiled at that. She could see it even in the dark. Then he was sitting beside her, and she could more than see him—she could feel him, the heat of him, and smell that impossible scent, that mix that reminded her of sitting outside on the patio here, with the snow-covered pines all around.

“No matter what we find out, you won’t be alone again, Ash. I promise you that.”

And this man’s promise, you could take to the bank, as her father used to say. She knew it was true, on some gut level that didn’t need her brain to process—it simply was. And her throat tightened at the fierce gentleness in his voice, at the way he was looking at her, so steadily that she could almost feel it. Even in this shadowy corner, she could see the determination in his face, in the set of his jaw. And the strength to carry it out in the muscle of his body, his arms, his neck, his broad, powerful chest…

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to brush at her cheek with his thumb. Only then did she realize tears were starting to spill from her eyes. “Don’t, Ash. Please. It’ll be okay. One way or another, it will be okay.”

She couldn’t seem to stop, and the next thing she knew, he was pulling her into his arms. And with his solid warmth wrapped around her, she found the strength to speak. “It wasn’t that. It’s just…it’s been a long time since I’ve been so sure that someone will keep a promise.”

He went very still for a moment. She looked up at him, so very, very aware of his bare skin beneath her cheek, aware of her palm pressed to the flat, hard ridges of his belly. She could feel the power of him as if it were suddenly made tangible, and heat blasted through her as she thought of what it would be like if she slid her hand downward, if she caressed that hardened flesh she could feel pressing against her thigh.

That proof that she was not alone in this wanting seared her to the core.

And then he was kissing her, hungrily, deeply, as if he’d longed for it as much as she had. She opened for him, wanting to taste him, to trace the even ridge of his teeth with her tongue, even as every nerve in her body blazed to life as they never had before this man.

She moved, pressing against him. Never breaking the kiss, they slid down until they were lying on the couch. She was practically on top of him, but he was holding her, so tight, so close she was barely aware of it. The shaft of moonlight that had poured over him fell across them here, and he seemed more beautiful to her than ever. More everything. Yes, more, she wanted more, she needed more. She needed all of him, in every way she could think of and a few she couldn’t—yet. She wanted to—

He broke the kiss. She heard him suck in a breath as if he’d forgotten how until now. She knew the feeling.

“We’ve got to stop, Ashley. You don’t want this.”

She didn’t like him going back to her full name. Wondered if it was his way of putting a barrier between them. But then the sense of what he’d said registered. And reality slammed back into her. A bitter reality. “Oh, I want it. But I see why you don’t.”

“Stop it,” he said, rather fiercely. “I want it, want you, more than I’ve ever wanted…anything. But it’s not right. Not now.”

“How can this—” she reached up to trail a finger over his mouth, felt with satisfaction that he shuddered slightly under the touch “—be not right?”

“Your life’s in chaos right now, and it’s not right, not fair to you to…go where we were going.”

“But you said it will be okay.”

He grimaced. “Hoist with my own petard,” he muttered, and despite herself, despite everything, she laughed. It startled him—she could feel it. That quickly the mood changed. The fire was banked. Far from out, but banked. She was afraid that he would get up, that he would leave.

“All right, we’ll wait,” she whispered. “But please. Stay.”

“You have a lot of faith in my restraint.”

“I have a lot of faith in you, Brady Crenshaw.”

She felt his arms tighten around her. He shifted them until they were spooned together and pulled her into the curve of his body. She’d never felt safer, more protected.

And after a few minutes of simply savoring his closeness, she slipped into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

“You’re up early,” Brady said, glad he’d gotten up from the couch and headed in here to start coffee. Otherwise Quinn would have found him draped all over their client, half-naked.

And hard as a rock, don’t forget that.

He was glad the kitchen island was masking him from the waist down. But all thought of anything else fled when he saw the expression on Quinn’s face. It was grim.

“I got the report from the lab.”

Brady glanced at the clock on the microwave. “At 6:00 a.m.?”

“What is it?” Ash asked as she joined them. Her long hair was tousled, her eyes still a little sleepy. She had slept, at least, and he was grateful for that. Even if lying there awake, holding her in his arms for hours without pursuing the impossible heat that flared between them, had been more exhausting than his highest-level workout.

“I think we’ll all need coffee for this,” Quinn said. “Hayley’ll be here in—”

“Two seconds” came Hayley’s voice from behind him, the promised two seconds before she came into the room.

Quinn got mugs, and Hayley poured, as if they were truly welcome guests and not people in trouble who had been foisted upon them by chance.

Or chance and a dog.

He nearly laughed at his own thought, especially when he glanced at the animal and found him…smiling back at him. Which was impossible, he realized, but that’s what the dog’s satisfied expression looked like.

When they were all seated around the dining table, Quinn set down his laptop, which was already on. He glanced at Brady, but when he started to speak, his gaze was fixed on Ash, as was Hayley’s.

“These—” he gestured at the document showing on the screen “—are the test results on the pill. There are two things of crucial importance. First, it was a combination of drugs not commercially available.”

Ash’s brow furrowed, and Brady frowned. “You mean…what? This was some kind of custom-brewed thing?”

Quinn nodded. “The shape and size aren’t unusual for an illicit pill factory.”

Ash’s eyes widened. “Illicit…you mean they were what, some kind of homemade thing? He gave me some crazy drug he made up?”

Her voice started to rise a little, and Brady reached out to put a hand over hers. “Let’s hear it all, then I’ll blow up with you.”

She sucked in an audible breath, but nodded.

“The second thing, and the most important,” Quinn said, looking at Ash steadily, “is that this combination of drugs, in a healthy person, would likely cause every one of your supposed symptoms.”

* * *

“You’re not crazy. You never were.”

Ashley sat, still feeling stunned. She was back on the couch, Hayley beside her. Brady was up and pacing, but he had stopped in front of her to declare the words once more. And all she could manage to do was look up at him.

He began pacing again. “I knew it. Deep down I knew it all along. Because the woman I saw that day at the accident was no way on the edge the way you thought you were.”

How had he seen past the surface others saw, the craziness others saw? Because when it came down to it, she had sensed from the beginning he doubted she was truly mentally ill. He had doubted it even when she had been convinced. He had always had that expression of puzzlement when the subject came up, as if he just couldn’t accept it. She’d recognized it because in the beginning, she’d worn the same expression all too often.

“But…” Oddly, she felt more at sea now than she ever had when she’d believed it. Her processing speed seemed to have slowed to a crawl.

“I always thought the haze, that layer between me and the word, was…me. That it was just made worse by the meds, because I’d read where that wasn’t unusual.”

“But it’s been gone since you quit?” Hayley asked.

She nodded. “I was worse for a while, when I was on the pain pills from the accident, but since I never started up the…whatever this was again, yes, the fog is gone.”

“What you thought was the effect of the pain pills could also have been withdrawal from the others,” Brady said.

Even as she acknowledged the sense of what he said, her mind was spinning. This was—She cut off her own thought when she realized she’d been about say it was crazy. She doubted she would ever use the word casually again. Wondered if that was how people who truly had mental health problems felt when they heard people toss the word around so easily.

People who truly had problems.

She was not one of them.

It still seemed impossible. She was reeling nearly as much as the first time she’d had to believe she was one of them.

“I don’t understand,” she said, almost desperately. “Why? Why would he do this?”

“Right now I don’t give a damn why,” Brady snapped.

“There’s a word for this,” Hayley said, and she sounded furious.

Brady nodded, then turned around to look directly at Ashley. And when he spoke, his voice was flat, yet fierce. “You’re being gaslighted.”

CHAPTER 28

“That’s impossible.” Ashley looked more stunned than ever. Brady hated to see that look on her face, but he understood. And he was, inwardly, feeling a tiny, growing kernel of relief.

She wasn’t mentally ill.

It rang over and over in his head, like some cacophony of mountain squirrel chatter. But this was not the time to even think about the fact that what had been holding him back with her had just vanished. Right now she was even less ready for that than before. He resumed his pacing, needing to burn off at least some of this pulsing, raging anger.

“Why would he do such a thing?” She sounded bewildered.

“Because the psychiatrist needs a psychiatrist?” Brady suggested sourly.

“But…why?” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just some drug he was trying, thinking it might help.”

“Using you as a guinea pig?” Brady’s jaw clenched, and he had to consciously relax it. “That wouldn’t move him up much in my book.”

“But why else would he do this?”

“For one thing, it kept you coming to him,” Hayley said.

“Because you trusted him.” Brady practically spat it out, the thought of how that trust had been abused made him so livid.

“I know.” She said it as if he’d accused her.

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking on her. “Ash, don’t. This is not your fault. None of it.”

“He’s right,” Hayley said, gently. “You had no reason not to trust him.”

“But…he has a lot of patients. And all that money you said he has. Why would he need to make sure I kept coming?”

“Now that’s an interesting question,” Quinn said.

Brady was glad the other man sounded calm and collected, because he knew he himself was not. Not by any stretch. Pacing wasn’t enough to keep his growing anger in check. What he needed was about a five-mile run. Uphill. Through the snow. But as he turned to stride back across the great room, he risked another look at Ash. And stopped dead again.

She was sitting there, looking dazed, and…shivering. Tiny little shudders were visibly rippling through her. In that moment Cutter, who had been quietly on his bed in front of the fireplace, watching intently, got to his feet. He walked over to Ashley, sat at her feet and, as he did whenever he apparently sensed she was on the edge, rested his chin on her knee. She automatically lifted a hand to stroke the dog’s head, and the shivers subsided.

Nice trick, dog.

Except it should have been him. He should be the one offering support, comforting her.

His gut knotted. It was true, the main thing that had held him back was gone now, but that didn’t mean everything was magically resolved. He told himself he didn’t even know who she really was, who she would be without this cloud hanging over her. Neither did she.

Cutter shifted then, turning his head to look directly at Brady. Then he got up and walked to him, gave his right hand a rather adamant nudge with his nose and then continued over to sit politely by the back door, at first staring at Brady, then shifting his gaze to Ashley, then back again.

Brady was moving again before he even thought about the absurdity of taking directions from a dog. And when he did think it, he quickly jettisoned the thought; he’d seen enough police K-9s work to know some dogs had extraordinary skills, both mental and physical. Maybe that was it—he just needed to start thinking of Cutter like one of them.

He walked over to her and held out a hand. “Come with me. We’ll take him outside. Just for a little while, until your mind slows down.”

She looked up at him, then glanced at Cutter, as if despite her turmoil she’d understood what the dog was doing.

“Good idea,” Hayley said.

He saw Ash glance at the other woman, who was giving her an oddly amused smile. And even more oddly, Ash was…blushing? His brow furrowed. Women, he thought, were sometimes impossible to understand.

But she took his hand.

* * *

“Don’t think about it, just for a few minutes. Just look at the snow and try and picture what it’s like here in spring, when everything’s coming back to life.”

Brady’s voice was soothing, and she felt more of the tension drain away, just as it did when she petted Cutter. She gave an inward laugh, wondering how he’d feel about her comparing him to a dog.

“What?” he asked, and she realized something must have shown outwardly.

“Just thinking how…calming you and Cutter are.”

She saw him glance at the dog, and for a moment she wondered if he really would take offense. But then he was looking back at her and said, with a crooked grin she found endearing, “I’ve been compared to worse.”

She laughed. And his expression changed.

“Damn, that sounds good, Ash.”

She knew what he meant. It was the first time she’d laughed and not felt that sense of confusion afterward, that sense that she had no business laughing, or that people would think her even crazier for laughing in her condition.

“It feels good,” she admitted. And it felt even better with him right here, on her side, as he’d essentially been since he’d pulled her out of the car on the side of the mountain. She just hadn’t known it. “It’s strange, though. All your pacing, the finger tapping—you shouldn’t be calming. Are you always wound so tight?”

“Only when something really matters.”

She studied him for a moment. “Would you tell me…about Liz?”

He frowned. Then shrugged. “Not my favorite subject. She was my fiancée, but she hated my job and, eventually, me.”

“She couldn’t handle your work?” She could understand that, Brady risking his life for a job few would.

“She was…fragile, I guess.” He grimaced. “Although my mother said manipulative. Among other things.”

“She didn’t like her?”

He let out a long breath. “She said she didn’t want a partner, or even protection. She wanted a servant.” His mouth twisted wryly. “And she was right.”

And looking out for her child, no matter how old he was. Like a mother should. Her mind wanted to veer back into the chaos that had descended on her, so she was grateful when Cutter came back from his ramble through the snow, his nose and muzzle decorated with the white stuff.

“Find something interesting out there?” she crooned to him, gently brushing the snow away. Then she leaned down and kissed the top of the dog’s head.

“If I go roll in the snow, will you do that for me?” Brady asked. Startled, her gaze shot to his face. “With the kiss somewhere other than the top of my head,” he elaborated.

“I…” She couldn’t get out another word, because the images that shot through her mind had stolen all her breath. And then it hit her, amid all the roiling of her emotions, that perhaps, just perhaps, her imagination wasn’t out of control. Because maybe now, she had a chance to truly grab at that gold ring. Because if she truly wasn’t going mad…

Joy at even that chance shot through her, and she said recklessly, “I would kiss you…anywhere.”

Shock registered on his face, his usual somber expression vanishing, but then it was replaced with something she couldn’t put a name to except…hunger. It took away the breath she’d momentarily regained, and she felt her heartbeat in a way she never had before as it kicked up and began to hammer in her chest.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Quinn’s voice called from the doorway, “but Ashley, there’s something you need to hear.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll be good news,” Brady muttered with more than a touch of sarcasm. When she looked at him rather sharply, he shrugged. “Nothing that interrupted what you just said could be good enough news.”

She felt her cheeks heat, and her worry about his tone vanished. “Hold that thought,” she whispered.

When they were back inside, Quinn wasted no time in niceties, for which Ashley was grateful.

“Dr. Sebastian has gone over your father’s records.”

Ashley opened her mouth to ask how they’d gotten them so quickly, even after she’d given permission—which she had been sure would clash with her mother, who had once said she never wanted the world to know how bad her father had been—then shut it again, remembering Brady telling her something about not asking too much about how they got things done.

“According to those records, he was prescribed the same medication you were supposedly on.”

“I remember he was taking something. Mom was always reminding him to take his—” Belatedly it hit her. “You think it was the same fake stuff?”

“Don’t suppose you remember what it looked like?” Quinn asked.

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Twenty years ago,” Brady said briskly. “And you were only eight.”

“And scared to death for my daddy,” she whispered. “My God, he did it to him, too, didn’t he?”

“Can’t be sure, but it’s very possible,” Hayley said. “And if he succeeded once, he’d likely be more willing to try again.”

“With me.”

She turned around, rather wildly looking for someplace to sit down before she fell down. Before she could decide, Brady was there, wrapping his arms around her, holding her, enveloping her in his strength and warmth. She trembled, feeling as if she would like to burrow into this safe haven and stay forever.

“My father wasn’t mentally ill,” she whispered.

“And neither are you,” Brady said roughly. His tone was underlaid with something else it took her a moment to recognize. Anger. Again. For her.

He was angry again, on her behalf. And that stopped the reeling of her mind. Then her head came up, as the inevitable conclusion hit her. “If this is right…then he…that bastard is responsible for my father’s death.”

Brady’s arms tightened around her. When he spoke, his voice was grim. “As responsible as if he’d pulled the trigger himself.”

CHAPTER 29

“Why?” Ash asked, sounding bewildered.

They’d gone back to the table, in part for the quick coffee access. But also, Brady suspected when Hayley, with help from Cutter—or maybe the other way around—had shepherded them there, because it felt more…official to Ash. More like a meeting to decide what to do rather than just constantly being hit with things she had to absorb and process. So he didn’t protest, just took the chair beside Ash. Which, he noted with a touch of amusement, Cutter seemed to have herded him to.

“I suppose there are those who just get some twisted, evil need satisfied,” Hayley said as she filled mugs. “But…”

“Otherwise, follow the money,” Brady said acidly.

“Usually,” Quinn answered, his tone more mild. But he didn’t have the personal stake in this that Brady had. His future didn’t depend on the outcome.

And yours does?

Even as the question rang in his mind, he knew the answer. Because the possibilities were there, glowing in the distance, and it did all depend on what happened, depended on his gut feeling, that instinct he’d had since he’d first looked into frightened but steady green eyes, that Ashley Jordan not only wasn’t mentally ill but was much, much more than she first seemed.

“But I still don’t understand why he would do this,” Ash said. “I mean, taking extra money for testifying, I sort of get that, that’s simple greed, but what could he possibly get out of…making me believe, and my father believe, we were mentally ill?”

“Assuming you’re the only ones,” Quinn said.

Ash’s eyes widened. “You mean he could be doing it to other patients? Making them think…they’re going insane? What a horrible thought.”

“Indeed,” Hayley agreed.

“What on earth would he get out of…doing something like that?”

“That,” Quinn said, sounding just as grim, “would likely be something for Dr. Sebastian to analyze.”

Brady, who’d fallen silent but had kept pacing, suddenly stopped and looked at Quinn. “Or your Ty.” Quinn gave him a quizzical look. “You said there was money in that offshore account that didn’t correlate to Andler being paid for his court testimony, right?”

Quinn’s expression went suddenly unreadable. But after a moment he let out a low whistle. “Now that would make him a real piece of work.”

“Yeah,” Brady muttered.

“But it would make sense of it.”

“Yes.” Brady’s voice was beyond grim now, just like he felt.

“The question is, by who?”

“The why would be easier to find, I’d think.”

Quinn nodded. “I’ll get him started.”

“Someone want to explain to us non–mind readers in the room?” Hayley suggested as the two men finally stopped.

“Thank you,” Ash muttered.

Brady grimaced as he looked at them. “You mean those of you who don’t have twisted imaginations?”

“That, too,” Hayley said, but she smiled at him when she said it.

Quinn answered. “What Brady wants us to consider is the possibility that Andler isn’t getting paid over and above just for his testimony, but for doing to other patients what he’s done to Ashley and quite possibly her father.”

Brady saw the horror in Ash’s eyes. They looked more shocked and terrified than when her own life was in danger, when he’d pulled her out of the car on the mountainside. He found that significant, but this was not the time to analyze it.

Ash whispered. “Why would anybody do that?”

“Follow the money,” Brady repeated sourly.

“We are,” Quinn said.

“You mean people would pay a psychiatrist to convince someone they were crazy?” Ash sounded beyond shocked now.

“Or convince someone else,” Brady said grimly.

“You mean…like a court,” Hayley said slowly.

“Exactly.”

“Good way to get someone out of the way,” Quinn said.

“Wait,” Ash said, coming out of her apparent shock enough to think now. “Are you saying someone paid Dr. Andler to do this…to me? Who?”

Brady thought there was only one obvious answer, but Ash clearly wasn’t there yet. But Quinn was, he noted, seeing the man exchanging a glance with his wife, who then looked at Ash with a world of sympathy in her eyes as she got there, too.

“Whoever has something to gain,” Brady said bluntly, feeling there was no room for subtlety here, and no amount of careful wording was going to lessen the jolt for her.

“But—”

She stopped when Quinn held up a hand. He picked up the laptop and turned it around so Ash could see the screen. “I need you to read that list, see if anything looks even vaguely familiar.”

“What is it?”

“Please, Ashley, just read it, then we’ll talk about it.”

Her brow furrowed, but she began to read. Brady watched her, somewhat cravenly wishing for Quinn to be the one who dropped the final bomb on her, because he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want her to think of it every time she looked at him.

There was only one very brief moment when her expression changed, when the furrowed brow cleared and the tiniest smile flickered for an instant. But then she went on, until she reached the end of the page. She looked up at Quinn, slowly shaking her head.

“I don’t see anything I recognize. What is it?”

“A list of where the deposits to Dr. Andler’s offshore account came from.”

Brady let out a low whistle. “I do not want to know how you managed that.”

“Did he not mention his massively intimidating sister is a financial genius, with contacts all over the world?” Hayley said lightly.

“And that’s all anyone needs to know,” Quinn put in.

Brady shelved his curiosity and turned back to Ash. “If you don’t recognize any of these people or entities, what did you react to? You almost smiled there for a second.”

She looked surprised. That she’d shown a reaction, or that he’d noticed? “I… It was just one of the things listed here is the Amalfi Group, like the Amalfi Coast in Italy.”

“And that’s significant?”

“Not to this,” she said. “It’s just that’s my mother’s favorite place. I think her family’s from there, way back. Alexander was originally Alessandro, I think.”

And here they were. A glance at Quinn told him the other man had reached the same conclusion. He understood why Ash didn’t see it, however. What he suspected was the truth was horrible. He tried to imagine finding out the same thing himself, but couldn’t. He supposed she felt the same way. And he was not looking forward to the moment when she realized.

But he was dreading the possibility of having to tell her.

“Let’s look at this from a different angle,” Hayley said, her voice taking on such a gentle tone Brady thought she must be thinking the same thing. “All we truly care about right now is you, so let’s focus on that.”

Ash gave her a fleeting smile. “Thank you for that.” She glanced at Quinn, who had retrieved the computer and was typing something, then settled on Brady with that vivid green gaze. “All of you.”

He put a hand over hers where it rested on the table. He felt the little snap he always felt when he touched her but tried to ignore it. It wasn’t easy, not when she looked at him as if she’d felt the same thing.

“I know this whole thing is terrible, but you need to think, Ash. Who would have something to gain by you being declared incompetent?”

“You mean financially? No one. I mean, there’s a trust I’ll get access to when I turn thirty, but it’s not huge. Certainly not worth the kind of machinations you’re talking about.”

“There’s a trust?”

She nodded. “My father set it up. There was a bit of family money.”

“You didn’t think to mention this before?” Brady asked, his voice tense.

Her brow furrowed. “Why would I? It has nothing to do with…anything.”

Was she really that naive? Or was it just so foreign to her nature that it would never occur to her the lengths people would go to to get their hands on a chunk of change? He guessed it was the latter. Because he knew, down deep, that at her core Ashley Jordan was that basic building block of civilization—a decent human being.

“Just how big is it?”

“I…haven’t looked at it in a long time, but a couple hundred thousand or so, I think.”

So a lot, but as she’d said, not a multimillion-dollar prize. “Who’s in charge of that trust until you turn thirty?” he asked.

“My mother, of course. She makes the investment decisions, and she’s good at it. Why?”

Brady took a deep breath, then said what had to be said. “And who gets the money in that trust if something happens to you?”

“I… She’s my beneficiary, so…” He saw by her expression that she had at least gotten the implication, but he could also see that she was a long way from accepting it as fact. “No. No, Brady. She wouldn’t.”

“I get it, Ash. She’s your mother. But—”

“She may not be the warm, comfortable, homebody sort of mother, but she loves me. Ask anyone. She’s always made that clear.”

“I’m sure she has,” he muttered.

It was Hayley, still in that gentle voice that told Brady she knew exactly what they were doing to Ash and how much it was going to hurt, who said, “That’s very often part of the gaslighting process, Ashley. The front of being loving, caring, so that no one will believe what they’re really doing.”

“But…she’s always looked out for me, worried about me.”

“And told others how worried she is about you?” Brady suggested. “Afraid that perhaps you’ll go the way your father did?”

He saw by her expression he’d hit home. So he pushed harder. “Those texts. There was something…off about them.”

Hayley nodded. “I showed them to Dr. Sebastian. She said they were nearly classic gaslighting, telling you she’s the only one who really cares about you, that you have no friends, nowhere else to turn, belittling you.”

“Does this trust have a name?” It was the first time Quinn had spoken since he’d taken the laptop back, and he did it in that businesslike tone that seemed to pull Ash out of the murk. She gave the man a smile that looked half sad, half almost embarrassed.

“The Murphy Trust. He named it after our dog at the time.”

“Ah,” Quinn said. “That explains why it didn’t come up in our initial searching.”

Quinn typed in something else, as if he were telling someone—probably the redoubtable Ty, or maybe the genius sister—what she’d said. Silence descended around the table as they waited. Brady belatedly realized he was still holding Ashley’s hand. And again had to corral his mind, which wanted more than anything to shout that the barrier between them was gone. But this wasn’t the time any more than it had been before.

But he didn’t let go of her hand.

After a few silent minutes, Quinn looked up from the screen. There was more, Brady could sense it. Could see it in the way the man was looking at Ash, as if deciding how to say it.

“Just do it,” Brady muttered.

Quinn grimaced, but apparently agreed. “My sister, Charlie, happens to be in our headquarters office today, so she’s made some calls. When, exactly, was the last time you looked at that trust?”

Ash seemed embarrassed. “A very long time ago. I tried to ignore it, partly because it hurt to think about my dad, and partly because I didn’t want to be…one of those trust-fund kids who knew they didn’t really have to earn a living.”

Brady smiled. “Good for you.”

She smiled back, then said, “Besides, I knew it was in good hands, so I didn’t bother about it, since it would be years before it would be mine. Foolish, huh?”

“That trust has grown,” Quinn said. “By a factor of about twenty-five.”

Ash blinked, clearly shocked. “It’s worth millions?”

“Five, at the moment.”

Brady drew back slightly. When he’d said follow the money, he hadn’t expected it to be quite that much. But he had no time to dwell on it, because Quinn was continuing, and his voice was ominously grim.

“And those investments you mentioned? One of them is more than an investment, it’s wholly owned.”

“Meaning?”

“The trust—and the administrator of it—controls it completely.”

“You mean the trust owns a business? What kind of business?”

“Ty hasn’t got down into it enough yet to determine the details. But Charlie has a name.” Quinn’s voice turned nearly as gentle as his wife’s had been. “It’s the Amalfi Group.”

CHAPTER 30

Ashley felt a chill envelop her, oddly from the inside out. Was aware of the cold sweat and the touch of queasiness, but as if from a distance, as if she were observing, not feeling.

And then Brady spoke, and his voice was so full of barely suppressed fury it broke through her shock.

“The perfect solution,” he bit out, “if you draw your twisted line at murdering your own daughter. Just have her declared incompetent and committed to a psychiatric facility.”

She registered his tone. Once more he was angry on her behalf. And she clung to that, as if it were a physical thing she could touch. As if it were an anchor keeping her from flying apart.

“This is…guesswork, right?” she asked Quinn, desperately.

Brady grabbed both her hands. She shifted her gaze to his face, saw the wrath in his vivid blue eyes, in the set of his jaw. “Ash, it’s a trail lit with freaking neon lights, and it leads straight to her.”

“But…my mother?”

She saw and heard him suck in a breath. His voice was gentler then, as if he’d reined in the anger. “I know it’s hell to process, that your own mother would do this to you, and for money.”

“For any reason,” she said, still shaking her head in disbelief.

“But Ash, don’t forget the good news.” His voice was almost urgent. “You’re not mentally ill. Not crazy. Not going crazy. Not losing it. None of that was real.”

A tiny spark of joy kindled within her. But it was not enough to lighten the burden they had just dropped upon her. At least, not yet. She stood up suddenly. Brady rose the minute she did. He looked ready to fight. Someone, or something, although there was nothing he could do. Still, he was ready to, and that meant so much, and in a strange way added to the pressure she was feeling.

“I…need a minute alone,” she said. “No, several minutes. I have to think and I can’t. I need…”

What she needed was for all of this to go away. But it wouldn’t. And if she didn’t get some room to breathe in the next instant, she just might burst.

“There are lots of decisions to make,” Quinn said. “But none that have to be made this instant.”

“Go outside,” Brady said. “But put your jacket on, it’s snowing again.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s what I need.”

“Take Cutter. Or rather,” Hayley amended, “don’t fight him going with you, since he’s already made up his mind.”

She glanced down to see the dog at her feet, looking up at her determinedly. She wasn’t certain that, even with his uncanny ability to comfort, the animal could help her with this, but he certainly couldn’t hurt. Nor would he expect her to talk, to make sensible thoughts out of the bedlam in her mind. And she marveled for a detached moment at how sanity could possibly seem more chaotic than her mind had been for the last few months.

But it wasn’t. Not really. Because one key element was missing. She was shocked, possibly in shock. She was reeling from possibility of the worst imaginable betrayal. She was feeling crushed by the weight of it all. And the thought of those decisions Quinn had mentioned was far beyond daunting.

But she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

* * *

“None of this will stand up in court, will it.” It wasn’t really a question, because Brady already knew the answer.

He was pacing again, pausing at one end of his established track to glance outside and make sure Ash was all right.

“Cutter will see to her,” Hayley had assured him. “And make her come back inside if she gets too cold.” At Brady’s look, she had laughed. “He knows what shivering means.”

“Some will,” Quinn said in answer Brady’s observation. “Methods won’t.”

Brady rubbed the back of his neck. “I never liked the mayor much, but this…”

“Is beyond the pale? Unnatural?” Hayley suggested, her tone overflowing with revulsion.

“I was heading for perverted,” Brady said with a grimace. He turned on his heel to head back across the room and found Quinn in front of him.

“I need your opinion. Of all of us, except maybe Cutter, you’ve got the best read on Ashley.”

He blinked. “I do?”

One corner of the other man’s mouth quirked. “You do. For reasons you will eventually understand. But I need to know how much you think she can take.”

Brady drew back slightly. “Hasn’t she taken enough already?”

“More than anyone should have to, yes. But what I need to know is if the relief of learning she’s not descending into a mental hell is enough to counterbalance what we suspect about her mother.”

Brady’s brow furrowed as he studied the man who apparently had more expert resources at his fingertips than Brady had known existed. “To what end?” he finally asked. “Those decisions you mentioned?”

Quinn nodded. “If she wants to take legal action, we need to go one way. If she doesn’t, then some things become not a concern, and the goals change.”

Brady considered that for a moment. “You’re saying it’s her decision.”

Quinn nodded. “Which is why I gave you the chance to opt out. Because that’s not the way you would do things. Not by the book.”

“Right now,” Brady said grimly, “I’m ready to throw that book into a snowdrift, because I know damned well what would have happened if you people hadn’t come along when you did.”

“I think,” Hayley said, giving him a warm smile, “she would have had help the moment you knew something was off about her situation.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Brady said, “but there’s no way I could have marshaled the forces you guys have.”

Quinn only smiled. Then said, “Speaking of forces, it might be helpful to know what the official status of the search is. Anybody you could get that from without giving yourself away?”

Brady thought for a moment. “Yeah. Hang on.”

He pulled out his phone and called up the number for Rich Larios, one of their half dozen detectives and a good friend. Rich answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Crenshaw, how’s the life of leisure?”

I wish I knew. “Great. I should try it more often.”

“As I keep telling you. So what’s up?”

“Just wanted the name of that ski run in Snowridge you were talking about.”

“The Ridge Route Run. If you can’t say it, you’re too drunk to ski it.”

Brady managed a laugh. “Thanks, man. What’s up there?”

“Quiet. Except for pretending there’s a chance we’ll find the mayor’s daughter alive.”

“No trace yet?”

“Got a vid of her walking past Benny’s at 7:55 p.m. on Sunday, but then poof. So after a week, you know the chances when you’re dealing with someone with her mental history. But the mayor being the boss’s good buddy, you know the drill.”

“Yeah. Sucks. Don’t put too much energy into it.”

“Copy that,” Rich said, clearly heartfelt. “Enjoy the skiing.”

He ended the call and looked once more at Quinn. “They’re expecting to find a body, if anything,” he said grimly, trying not to think of how close that had come to being reality.

“And would have,” Hayley said, “if not for you.” She looked at her husband. “Can we give her time to process and make up her mind? Until Sunday, maybe?”

Quinn was silent for a long moment, clearly considering. “I don’t like making your colleagues spin their wheels,” he said to Brady.

“This is a pretty quiet gig,” Brady said. “They might be pissed, but it won’t hurt them any. The budget, on the other hand…”

“Foxworth will see to that.” He looked back at his wife. “All right. We’ll hold off, make decisions on Sunday and start—” he glanced at Brady “—marshaling those forces you mentioned on Monday morning.”

“Go tell her,” Hayley said. “Tell her not to think or worry about it for tonight. It will take some pressure off her, something she surely needs right now.”

Brady wasn’t sure how you stopped thinking about something like this, but maybe she could at least stop worrying about it for a while.

* * *

Brady’s words, as they so often did, rang in Ashley’s head as she lay in bed staring into the darkness.

Try not to think about your mom. Just think about being well.

Could you?

He’d paused then, and answered honestly. As she’d known he would.

No.

Somehow that honesty made it possible for her to at least try what he’d suggested. Although it had put her in another complicated position, because the only thing strong enough to jolt her mind out of that rabbit warren of thoughts was…him.

The memory of how he’d held her, so gently, helped, but it was the memory of his kisses, and of the feel of that long, strong body pressed against her, that was the only thing powerful enough to shove everything else out of her mind, at least for a while. And his restraint, his refusal to pursue what had flared to life between them when he felt it was unfair to her, perversely only added fuel to the fire. The fire in her, anyway. He seemed too busy tamping it down or trying to ignore it. For very noble reasons, yes, but—

Reasons that didn’t exist anymore. He’d held back because of something that she now knew wasn’t true. She wasn’t delicate, fragile, on the edge of crumbling.

Suddenly something new, strange and wonderful was coursing through her. As if someone had put her fate back into her own hands. As, in fact, they had. The Foxworths, true, but it was Brady who had saved her for them to do it. Brady who had seen something wrong, or something in her, enough to inspire him to go against everything he believed. For her.

Her restlessness had transformed from an exhausted merry-go-round of fruitless, careening thoughts to a sort of energy she hadn’t felt in…maybe ever. And abruptly she simply could not stay here, curled up in the dark, another second. She rolled out of the bed and pulled on the socks she had been using as slippers against the chill and the sweatshirt on the foot of the bed since she had no robe.

She would go back out to the great room and sit by what was left of the fire again. She wanted to be there, where he’d come to her. Not because she hoped he would do so again—no, Brady had made up his mind, and he would not risk that again—but so she could savor the memory, there, where he’d kissed her so fiercely and things had nearly spiraled out of control. She wished they had. Because just the thought of Brady Crenshaw out of control, over her, gave her a thrill she’d never experienced before.

The reality would be…overwhelming. In the best possible way. She—

She stopped dead in the hallway when she saw a shadow move. Smiled when she realized it was Cutter, standing outside the media room door.

Brady’s door.

“Hello, furry one,” she whispered as she bent to pet him. “Making your rounds?”

Hayley had told her the dog often did that when he was on a case. It had sounded so funny to her she’d almost laughed, but she was beginning to realize it had not at all been a joke.

Cutter swiped his tongue lightly over her fingers. “Want to come out and sit with me?” she asked him, still whispering and very aware that they were right outside where Brady was sleeping. Another memory arrowed through her, searing her as if it were aflame. Brady, bare-chested, jeans low on his narrow hips, stepping into that shaft of moonlight. When she caught herself wondering if he slept naked, she knew she had to move or she was liable to do something stupid.

But when she tried to move, the dog got in her way. She smiled at him and stepped around him. Or tried to, but he was there again. A third time, and this time she was watching him, saw that he moved the instant after she did, and she couldn’t see how it was anything but purposeful.

“You don’t want me to go out there?” she asked, feeling silly. She had the thought that perhaps Hayley and Quinn were out there, and the dog was protecting their privacy. They certainly hadn’t had much chance to enjoy their anniversary trip alone, although they had had some time before all this had descended on them.

Cutter moved again, this time gently nudging at her. Not, as she had half expected, back down the hall toward her room but…toward Brady’s door.

“Oh, don’t tempt me, dog,” she muttered. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

“Than what?”

Brady’s sleep-roughened voice came from barely two feet away, where he’d just opened that tempting door. He wasn’t naked, as she’d imagined, but the snug-fitting knit boxers were damned close. For a moment that seemed to spin out forever, she stared at him, and the broad, strong expanse of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that arrowed downward like an invitation.

And feeling reckless for the first time in her generally staid life until now, she answered him honestly.

“Than you.”

CHAPTER 31

The hunger in her eyes, visible even in the shadows of the hallway, nearly did him in. But then she whispered, “Wanting you is the first thing I’ve been utterly, absolutely sure of in a long time,” and he was lost.

But still, feeling he had to, he only stood aside, leaving the decision to step through to her. She made it without hesitation. He caught a glimpse of Cutter, who oddly had plopped down in front of the doorway as if it were his place. Or like a guardian.

But then she was in his arms, and all other thought fled. It was all he could do to close the door quietly instead of slamming it in his haste.

The reasoning side of his brain gave one last warning, to remember what she’d been through and take care. But it was the last cogent thought he had before his body took charge. He would take care and give more than he took because that’s the way it should be, but take he would. He felt as if he’d been holding back since the first moment he’d looked into those green eyes of hers, and now he was done with it.

She came at him so hungrily it became elemental in an instant. The slow savoring he’d on occasion imagined would have to wait; this was an urgency beyond anything he’d ever felt. It was impossible not to respond in kind when the woman you’d been panting for made it so damn clear she was as hot for this as you were.

As hot for you as you were for her.

She was kissing him, not hesitantly but ardently, sliding her tongue over his lips and then farther, licking, tasting, until a vision of her doing that to other parts of him nearly put him on his knees. He tasted her in turn and felt his entire body tighten even more.

Her hands slid over him, her fingers stroking over his chest and down his belly, and for the first time in his life he realized how utterly arousing it could be to be the one who was practically naked, while she was still clad in a sweatshirt and heavy winter socks.

And then she was doing exactly what he’d imagined, following the paths her hands had traced with her mouth, her tongue leaving trails of fire over his skin. He had to slow her down or this was going to be, humiliatingly, over before it really started. He knew the perfect way. He reached for the hem of that sweatshirt and tugged. He hated the simple logistics that said to get it off her he’d have to break that kiss, but the temptation of baring luscious female curves topped all else. And then she was helping him, pulling off not just the sweatshirt but the T-shirt beneath it.

He groaned aloud as her breasts were bared now to his gaze, and for his hands. With a split second of thanks that she’d already shed her bra and he didn’t have to deal with it, he reached to cup them. She sucked in an audible breath the moment he did, and when he ran his thumbs over her nipples, she moaned. Then she slid her hands down his back and beneath his waistband. Almost without his volition, he lowered his head to take her mouth again in the instant her hands cupped his ass in a possessive way that snapped the last thread of his restraint.

He ripped off the pajama bottoms she had on and an instant later had his boxers on the floor beside them. And then she was backed up to the door, pressed against him from lips to knees, and he knew he couldn’t wait another second. When he reached to lift her legs she practically climbed him in her effort to help. He barely managed to stroke her with a finger, and when he did, it was so obvious she was slick and ready for him, he swore under his breath.

“Ash,” he whispered.

“Hurry,” she whispered back.

“Those shots you were getting,” he began.

“From a real, honest doctor. It’s all safe. Please. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

He broke. Drove forward, surging into her to the hilt. This time the oath wasn’t under his breath—he nearly shouted it in the same moment she cried out his name with a resonance that echoed in his ears. She was hot, tight and fit him perfectly. And he realized he’d underestimated the power of being wanted so fiercely in return.

He began to move because he had to, stroking her from within as he held her against the door. She wrapped her legs around him, shifting to take him deeper, adding the motion of her hips to his thrusts until it took everything he had to hold back the boiling tide.

And then she cried out his name again, then again in a tone of wonder, and her body convulsed around his, gripping, squeezing until that tide breached his control. Even his vision dimmed, and he was barely aware of holding on as waves of incredible sensation billowed through him, and with an echoing groan of her name in turn, he poured himself into her.

Nearly drained of strength, it was all he could do to keep her safe as they slid downward. His heart was still hammering, and he heard another low moan from her as, limbs entangled, they collapsed on the floor.

And he’d never wanted anything in his life more than to simply live in this moment endlessly.

* * *

“Morning-after regrets?”

Ashley gave him a sideways look as he lay on his side next to her, his head propped on one hand, studying her rather intently. It was morning, barely—she could tell by the light. Although the sun rose late here this time of year, so timewise it was probably later than it felt like. The foldout bed in the media room was more comfortable than she would have expected. More importantly, it had served their purposes sufficiently after he’d gently picked her up and brought her to it, making love to her all over again, the second time slower and more gentle. The third time had been a sleepy, cuddling affair that turned heated quickly, so quickly it had taken her breath away.

“I should be asking you that.”

“After the most amazing night of my life?”

She let out a relieved breath. “It was all that and more.”

“If it got any better, every circuit would be burned out instead of temporarily fried,” he said with the crooked grin she had seen far too little of.

“But you were the one who…wouldn’t. Before.”

“It wasn’t right.”

And there was Brady Crenshaw in a nutshell. “Thank you.”

“For what? Waiting?” The grin again. “If I’d known what I was missing—”

“I meant for the first nightmare-free sleep I’ve had in longer than I can remember.” She grinned back at him then, delighting in the feeling of lightness that she’d awakened with. “For what time we slept, I mean.”

“Well, if I’d known it would help that much…” he said with a suggestive leer.

She reached for him then, unable to quite believe her life had turned around so completely that this beautiful man was hers to touch, to stroke, to kiss. And this time, with a boldness she had never expected to feel again, she took the lead, doing that touching, stroking, kissing, until tough, strong Brady begged her to end it and she straddled him, taking him as deep into her as she could, savoring the stretching, the fullness, moving until all control shattered and he grabbed her hips and locked her to him as he arched up beneath her with a groan of her name in the same moment she gasped out his.

When she could move again, after collapsing atop him, he held her gently in place. “Stay there. It feels…perfect.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It does.”

For a few long, silent moments, she just lay there, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the heat of him warming her enough to make up for the fact that the covers on the bed had long ago been tossed aside.

And then he spoke quietly into the dim, dawn light. “Tell me about the nightmares.”

A little to her own surprise, she didn’t cringe at the thought. Telling Dr. Andler—her mind sparked with anger at just the name, but she set it aside for the moment—about it had been beyond difficult, but now, to Brady, it came out easily.

“It’s really only one, with slight variations. In it I’m a child again, in a dark house, and down the hall I see a monster walking toward my father’s den. I know it’s bad, that I need to warn him, but I’m frozen, I can’t even scream.”

Brady muttered an oath under his breath and pulled her tighter against him, and it comforted her more than anything had since this living nightmare had started. More than anything had ever, she realized. It felt more than right, it felt perfect.

“What does the monster look like?” he asked.

She gave a weary shake of her head. “I never see more than a shadow.”

“But you know it’s a monster.”

“In the dream, yes.”

“Is it an animal? Like a tiger or a snake? Or something unreal, like a dragon or hydra?”

“A troll or an ogre, maybe,” she said dryly.

“So it’s a human shape? Or could be a human exaggerated by a child’s fear?”

She blinked. She hadn’t really thought about it in that way. “I…suppose so. But whatever it is, it freezes me to the spot, and I can’t move or even scream.”

He hugged her again. “I’m sorry, Ash. I can’t imagine going through that every night.”

She shook off the chill that thinking of the nightmare always brought. “Not last night,” she said with a smile as she stroked a hand down his rib cage and savored the way he sucked in an audible breath and clenched his jaw. And using everything she had learned of him during the night, every way he liked to be touched, every caress that drove him wild, she pushed him to the edge until he rolled them both over and drove into her fiercely, just as she’d wanted. Craved. Needed. As she never had before.

And then, amazingly, she slept again. And the nightmare did not come.

CHAPTER 32

“That,” Quinn said, “is a nice sound.”

Brady, who had just come out of the shower in time to hear the laughter from the kitchen, looked that way in time to see Hayley and Ash grinning at each other over the rims of two coffee mugs.

“Yes,” he said. “The best.”

“I don’t even care if we’re the subject.”

Brady blinked. “You think we are?”

“Given how things changed overnight, I’d say it’s a good guess.”

“Changed—” He broke off when he realized what Quinn meant. He knew, which meant Hayley also knew, where Ash had spent most of the night.

The other man was looking at him steadily, but there was nothing of accusation in his gaze. “Not a surprise, Crenshaw. I am amazed—and impressed—that you waited until she had herself back again.”

Brady stared down at Cutter, who had arrived to sit at—actually on—his feet and grin. There was no other word for the dog’s expression. “Had to,” he muttered. “Would’ve been…wrong.”

“Yes. And that you waited says a great deal about you. You ever get tired of wearing that badge, come see me.”

Brady’s head came up sharply. Saw in Quinn’s level gaze that he meant it. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “I like what you do.”

He looked over at Ash again and this time caught her watching him. And the smile on her face brought last night crashing down on him until all he wanted to do was grab her and cart her back to his bed.

Quinn laughed. And at Brady’s sharp look, he merely gave a half shrug and said, “Cutter told us this was coming almost from day one.”

Brady looked down at the dog again. It wasn’t only a grin, it was a smug grin. An expression he would have laughed at applying to a dog just…two and a half weeks ago.

He looked back at Quinn. “What are you talking about?”

Quinn proceeded to tell him of a one hundred percent track record Cutter had in another realm besides helping and comforting people. If it had been anyone other than Quinn Foxworth, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. Even then he couldn’t help saying, “You’re as reality based as I am, but you believe it?”

“Ten for ten is pretty solid evidence.” Quinn grinned at him. “Make that eleven for eleven, now.”

“But he’s—”

“A dog. Yeah. I noticed.” Brady gave him an exasperated look. “I get it. I know how hard it was for me to believe. And,” he added pointedly, “how much better I felt when I just gave in to the inevitable.”

Quinn was having far too much fun with him over this. “Why do I get the feeling you enjoy this?”

“Because it reminds me of what it was like to find Hayley.”

Quinn’s voice had gone quiet, and the expression on his face as he looked over at his wife sent a flood of memories through Brady. Memories from last night, accompanied by a rush of heat. It had been the most amazing night of his life, and he wanted a long, unbroken string of them. Nights spent with Ash in his arms, the woman who had come to him last night, wounded but whole, the heavy burden she’d been carrying shifted, free of the fear at last. True, she had an entirely new ordeal to deal with, and he couldn’t imagine a worse betrayal. Except the kind she thought she’d been dealing with, the betrayal of her own mind.

But now he knew she had the capacity to do it.

More importantly, she knew she had the capacity to do it.

* * *

“Hope they don’t get stuck somewhere,” Brady said as the Foxworths drove off into the snow that had just begun to fall again. “So Hayley just suddenly wanted to go skiing?”

“They don’t even ski.” Ashley said it blandly, smiling inwardly as Brady looked bewildered.

“But she said—”

“They wanted to give us some time. Alone.”

He went still. She saw his expression change, saw the sudden anticipation. But he only said, “Oh.”

She wondered why, then understood he, being Brady, wouldn’t assume anything. Given the situation, that her life was so tangled, he was still leaving the decision to her. He wouldn’t make the first move. And she found herself longing for the day he did; then she’d know the worst was over.

But for now she merely said, “And they left Cutter in case we…needed direction.”

Brady glanced over to where the dog was plopped on his bed, watching them alertly. After what Ashley had told him about how the dog had practically herded her to his door last night, he wasn’t sure he doubted anything he’d heard about the animal anymore.

“I’m beginning to think that dog isn’t really a dog,” he muttered.

“Hayley says she won’t be surprised if they find out one day he’s an animagus.”

Brady blinked. “A shape-shifting wizard?”

She smiled, widely. “You really have read those books.”

“You didn’t believe me?”

She lowered her gaze. “I thought maybe you just wanted to make me feel better.”

“Well, I did, but it’s true.”

“How about now?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

She looked up at him again. “Want to make me feel better now?”

The heat that flared in his gaze sent her pulse racing. “I’ve been wanting that since we got up.”

He might not make the first move, but once she had, he wasted no time. And she was suddenly reminded—as if she’d needed it—just how strong he was when he swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the bed they’d vacated just a couple of hours ago. And he proceeded to prove to her that he knew exactly how to make her feel better, taking his time until there wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t feel treasured. Loved.

She shied away from the word even mentally, in her own version of not wanting to assume. She simply gave herself over to the pleasure of his touch, the stroke of his hands and the feel of his mouth as he sucked at her nipples while stroking the very core of her, which was already hot, slick and ready. But when he moved next, it wasn’t as she expected. He replaced the fingers that had been caressing her with his mouth and tongue, until she was biting back a scream at the sheer intensity of it. And then she remembered she didn’t have to hold back—the house was empty except for a dog who’d made it clear this had been his plan all along.

She screamed Brady’s name as she burst into heat and sensation. And she had never felt anything more perfect than when he slid into her as her body was still convulsing, driving her upward again before the last throes had even faded. And when he let out a low, heartfelt oath as he shuddered above her, she grabbed him and held on, wanting him so deeply inside her that he would stay forever.

* * *

Brady woke to Ash curled up in the curve of his body, his arm around her just under the soft curve of her breasts. To his amazement, after the day they’d spent, his body made clear it was ready for more. He’d thought the need would slow down now that it had been sated a bit, but obviously he was wrong.

Or he had underestimated the power of the attraction between them.

But she was sleeping so soundly that he didn’t move, didn’t want to wake her. Peaceful sleep had been nonexistent for her for a very long time. So he lay still, only shifting his head so that he could look out the window, where he could see snow was still falling, albeit lightly.

He wondered what Hayley and Quinn were really doing, since the skiing was evidently a pretense. Maybe, when this was over, he should offer to take them skiing, if they had any real interest. He was no instructor, but he’d taught a youth class once and it had gone fairly well. Maybe—

There was a loud, sudden crack of sound, familiar to mountain-raised Brady as a branch overloaded with snow giving up under the weight. But he had only a moment to categorize the sound before another wiped all other thought from his mind.

Ash screamed.

The sound of it was a physical thing to him, stabbing him as if it were a blade. He pulled her hard against him, wrapping around her as it came again.

“Ash, it’s all right. Wake up, it’s all right.”

She went rigid against him. He shifted so he could see her face. Her eyes were wide-open, and the look of horror in them stabbed him all over again.

“It’s all right,” he repeated. “The noise was just a branch breaking with all the snow.”

“The nightmare.” She shuddered, and he felt it ripple almost violently through her. Apprehension began to steal over him; there was more to this, he could sense it. But he tried again to calm her.

“It’s okay, Ash. There’s no monster, it was just your dream.”

She looked directly at him then, and he felt an even deeper qualm when none of the horror in her gaze faded. She lifted her hands, steepling them in front of her face as if praying, but pressing them to her mouth as if to stifle another scream.

“It wasn’t a monster,” she whispered. “It never was.”

“Ash?” he said gently when she stopped.

“And it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. It was real.”

He was afraid to say anything that might disrupt this. He didn’t have to hear the words to know how critical, how crucial this was. So he just held her, and waited.

“It was real,” she said again. “I was really in that dark hallway. Outside my room. I’d heard Dad in his den in the middle of the night and was worried, so I got up to go check on him.”

At eight years old, she’s looking after her father. The thought roiled his gut even more. Still, he waited. She went on in a sort of numbed tone that told him she was barely hanging on.

“I opened the door and saw her go into the den.” He didn’t ask who—he knew. “Brady,” she said, and he could hear the heartbreak in her voice, which damned near broke his in turn. “She had a gun. I don’t think I recognized it back then, it was just a shape in her hand, but now I remember.”

The branch breaking, he realized. It had been almost as loud as a gunshot. It must have triggered this, this flood of memory.

“Ash—”

“He didn’t do it. Brady, he didn’t do it!” She was clutching at him now. “He didn’t kill himself.”

He was familiar enough with the way people grasped at things when they were in shock, the way they fixated on anything except the ugly core of what had happened. And he supposed in the end this would be what would be most important to her. At least he hoped so; much better for this realization to be the most important to her. This one, not the other.

Not the ugly fact that her mother had murdered her father.

CHAPTER 33

“Quinn? Where are you, really?”

Brady’s voice was sharp, commanding. As he must sound snapping out orders in an emergency. Ashley knew she was seizing on this to avoid thinking about the rest, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Her mind was darting around, looking for anything to think about except the reality she was now face-to-face with.

He listened to Quinn’s answer. “Good. Head back. Now.”

He ended the call—was it a call if he’d made it using the Foxworth phone they’d left for them, the one with the walkie-talkie function?—before Quinn could have done anything more than agree. She wondered—seizing on this now—how many people there were in the world who would dare give a man like Quinn Foxworth orders like that. Not many, she guessed. And yet Brady had, and Quinn had apparently accepted it. Which said as much about Brady as it did about Quinn.

“They’re on their way back.” He set down the phone and resumed his pacing. And Ashley resumed watching him, the way he moved, the long, powerful strides, the barely leashed strength of him. He looked fierce, almost dangerous, and she realized that he could be, if necessary, just that. And she found that of all the things, all the places her desperate brain had darted off to, the only one that had to power to truly distract her was Brady, and the wonder they’d found together.

“Brady—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Wait until they get here. I don’t want you to have to go through this more than once.”

She lapsed into silence, but it was with a sense of realization, of how different this felt, Brady’s protective instinct, compared to…others. Her mind shied away from it so vigorously it almost made her dizzy, and she knew he was right. Getting through this once would be about all she could handle. Even Cutter’s comforting only took the edge off.

Hayley and Quinn didn’t waste any time once they arrived. They all sat around the table, and Quinn looked at Brady and said simply, “Go.”

Brady sucked in a breath. “Details of how later, but the bottom line is, Ash’s nightmares were born in reality. She saw her mother go into her father’s den with a handgun and moments later heard the shot.”

Hayley gasped, but Quinn’s expression shifted to one very similar to Brady’s—fierce, determined. And somehow, hearing it said flatly like that, with utter conviction, by the one man she trusted above all others, made it real. Truth. And suddenly her mind settled, quit caroming around and arrowed toward the undeniable truth. And something new, something hot and fierce, began to bubble up inside her.

“Well, that tears it open,” Quinn said. “Lay it all out,” he said, his order as clear as Brady’s had been. And as quickly, Brady showed the same respect and complied.

“My theory is this. Her mother realized from the description of the recurring nightmare that started six months ago that Ash had witnessed her going in to murder her husband. And so she started this…campaign to have her declared mentally ill, so if she remembered completely, it would be dismissed.”

The memory of all she’d gone through, all the treatments, the crippling drugs, all the fear and horror at what was happening to her, rose up and tried to swamp her. But it hit the rapidly rising wall of that new factor, that thing she’d never felt during this entire ordeal until now. Cutter nudged her, and she looked at the dog. Oddly, his expression seemed almost approving. And she remembered suddenly that day at the clinic, when her mother had arrived and the dog had growled and put himself between her and Ashley. You knew even then, didn’t you? She leaned over and kissed the top of the dog’s head.

“And incompetent to manage the trust fund,” Quinn said grimly.

“Especially that,” Brady said, sounding just as harsh. “Bottom line, the murder was for the money, but gaslighting Ash was to save herself from getting caught.”

“I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t just kill me, too.”

Everyone stopped dead and stared at Ashley as she spoke icily. She didn’t wonder why; they’d been dealing with such a broken soul, this cold fury must have startled them all.

“Ash?” Brady said after a moment. “I know this is horrible, but we have to—”

“What it is is evil.” She said it in that same icy tone. “That…woman murdered the sweetest, most loving man in the world, for money, and it wasn’t even that much at the time. Worse, she made it look as if he’d killed himself, which to an eight-year-old means he hadn’t loved her enough to stay. And she got away with it, for twenty years. But when there was just a chance she might be found out, she tried her best to destroy her own daughter’s mind and heart.”

Brady was staring at her, with a touch of what she could only call awe. And that warmed her as much as that new force growing within her. “She put you through the worst kind of hell. That you’re even still functioning is a miracle and testament to your strength.”

“I haven’t been strong, but I am now.” She finally gave a name to that new, solid wall of emotion that was holding everything else—pain, misery, fear, all of it—at bay. “And I am furious.”

The slow smile that lifted one corner of Brady’s mouth—that luscious, wonderful mouth—showed her there was still room for one more emotion in her newly fierce heart.

“What you are,” he said in a tone that matched the smile, “is glorious.”

* * *

Brady wondered, for just a moment, if he’d known. If somehow, on some level, he’d known this Ash existed. If he’d sensed that beneath the pain, the anguish and the nearly broken spirit, this fierce, strong woman lived. Maybe that was what had drawn him. Maybe it wasn’t that he hadn’t learned his lesson with Liz—maybe he had, and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter if he’d known. What mattered was that his fear that this ugly truth would destroy her was not only unfounded but seemed absurd in the light of the way she’d come back fighting. Now that she knew, now that she was sure of herself, Ashley Jordan seemed…indomitable. The kind of woman who could take what life threw and spit back in its face.

The kind of woman he’d never expected to find.

“What do you want done, Ashley?”

Quinn’s quiet question snapped him out of the reverie he’d slipped into, visions of last night and this afternoon spinning out into a lifetime of the same sweet wildness filling all the days of the rest of his life.

“What are the options?” Ash said, so briskly it almost made him smile all over again.

Quinn answered in the same way. “Firstly, you do have the option of doing nothing. We can build you a package of proof that you’re mentally fine and help you get started somewhere else, if that’s what you choose.”

Brady stared at Quinn, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. Quinn turned his head as if he’d felt it, and said quietly, “This is one of those points where our goals diverge. We do what Ashley wants.”

“Just let her get away with it? She murdered my dad!” Brady felt relieved at Ash’s reaction. Just the sound of her outrage at the idea reassured him she was going to be okay. He relaxed again.

Quinn looked back at Ash. “It’s just one option. And one I didn’t expect you to take. So, next. I’m not certain we could prove your mother guilty in a court of law of the murder of your father. Gavin is the best, so anything’s possible, but a twenty-year-old crime where it’s entirely reasonable that her DNA would be all over anyway, and with the only new evidence an eight-year-old’s suppressed memory, would be a difficult challenge.” Quinn’s mouth quirked. “Of course, that’s what Gavin likes best.”

Brady had to rein in what he was sure would be a silly grin as Quinn talked so easily of Gavin de Marco. The guy had written the book on blowing up criminal cases.

“I hate thinking she’ll get away with it,” Ash said.

“There’s a court of law,” Brady said, drumming his fingers on the table restlessly, “and there’s the court of public opinion. And from what I’ve seen, in your mother’s case, the latter might be almost as bad.”

Ash looked at him and after a moment nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Her image has always been paramount to her. If we can’t put her in jail for murder, that would be the next best thing.”

“Gavin can see to that. He’s got an incredible amount of juice, and the media will have what we couldn’t prove spread around as quickly as what we can prove. Which is that she paid and probably planned what was done to you, her own daughter.”

“And take out that disgusting excuse for a psychiatrist in the process?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Hayley said determinedly. Then she looked at Brady. “A wild card in this is your boss. You’ve said he’s tight with Mayor Alexander. How tight?”

Brady stopped his tapping. A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Not tight enough to go down with her, if that’s what you’re asking. Once the torpedo hits, he’s more of an every-man-for-himself kind of guy.”

“Good to know,” Quinn said with a grin. He glanced back at Ash. “Is there anybody else we need to worry about? Extended family or powerful friends?”

Her brow furrowed. “My grandparents died before I was born. She has a brother she doesn’t have any contact with, but that’s it.”

“By his choice, if he’s smart,” Brady muttered. Ash glanced at him, and he thought he saw a flash of…something, appreciation maybe, in her eyes before she went on.

“She has the usual sort of political friends, but no one she’s really close to.” She grimaced. “She always said taking care of her job and me took all her time.”

“Another layer to the guilt and confusion,” Brady said, feeling the anger surge in him again. He turned and covered Ash’s hand with his own. She instantly turned hers to wrap her fingers around his. Even that small gesture had the power to steal his breath, and it was a moment before he could speak. “Do you want the confrontation, Ash? Do you want to face her down and tell her you know it all, what she’s done, what she is?”

He thought he already knew the answer. And then he saw it in the narrowing of her gaze and the tightening of her delicate jaw in the moment before she spoke.

“Damned right I do.”

And Brady couldn’t help but smile widely as he nodded at her.

CHAPTER 34

Ashley thought she’d understood the power of Foxworth, but by Monday afternoon, she knew she’d underestimated.

The amount of background and research and evidence they’d put together in such a short time astonished her. The arrival of Gavin de Marco Monday morning was the icing; that a man with his reputation came immediately when Hayley had called spoke volumes. Even Brady had appeared a little awed when they’d shaken hands.

The man wasn’t just dramatically good-looking—he radiated competence and charisma and got up to speed so swiftly she understood why he’d become famous around the world as the man to go to if you were in a jam. She’d never heard why he’d quit the world of criminal defense, but she was sure his years on the top of that heap probably gave him great insight into what the more twisted denizens of the world—including her mother—might do. And yet he was kind, tactfully making sure she knew what she was in for.

“There’s enough to put her away for a while,” he told her. “Perhaps long enough for us to come up with further evidence about your father’s case. But I can’t promise that.”

“I understand.” Then, hesitantly, she glanced at Brady before looking back at the attorney and saying, “I don’t want Brady in trouble over this.”

Gavin only smiled. “He won’t be. He saved them a lot of humiliation, saved a life, uncovered a crooked, drug-dealing physician and solved a cold murder case, all of which got by them because the sheriff succumbed to political pressure. I dare them to try and twist him up over that. And I’ll be happy to take them on if they do.”

She took a deep, relieved breath.

The lawyer studied her for a moment. “How bad do you want this meeting to be?”

Her mouth twisted. “The loving family reunion, you mean?”

He nodded. “Right now, do you want to do this publicly, see her broken and humiliated in front of witnesses and the media, or do you want a private confrontation? It will all become public, but do you want to become public yourself? It’s your call.”

Ashley blinked. Foxworth was definitely different. “I just want…to say what I need to say to her. As tempting as the other sounds… I don’t want to be an act at the circus.” Gavin smiled in understanding.

“I wouldn’t have your restraint,” Brady said from where he sat close beside her. Wonderfully close. “But that would show her you know she’s the crazy one, not you, and that you’re far above her level. And that she didn’t, could never break you.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Yes. That.”

“Then we’re agreed?” Gavin asked, with a glance at Hayley and Quinn. “We take her down now for the gaslighting and bribery and fraud, let her know we’ll be turning over what we have to the authorities to reopen Ashley’s father’s case—she doesn’t need to know that might come to nothing, let her worry about that, too—and that her daughter will be under Foxworth protection until she’s safely locked away?”

Ashley nodded, although she hadn’t really thought of that—that her mother might try to do away with her after all. But she had little doubt, not anymore, that Nan Alexander would do anything she thought would save her.

“I don’t want you alone with her,” Brady warned.

She looked at the man in whose arms she’d spent the last three nights, feeling magnificently light and free despite it all. And from that new, unshadowed intimacy, she’d drawn all the strength she needed.

“I don’t need to be,” she said. “And I’m angry enough it’s probably best I’m not.”

“I’ll be there,” Gavin said. Then with an assessing look at Brady, he added, “And you, I think.”

“In uniform?” Brady asked.

Gavin grinned as if he’d read his mind. “Absolutely. And if you could get me a few minutes with your boss, I’ll see to that, too. As Ashley said, we don’t want any of this rebounding on you.”

“That’ll be the biggest name-drop of my career,” Brady said with a laugh. Clearly he wasn’t worried.

“You’re sure it won’t?” she asked anxiously. “Because if it could hurt Brady, I won’t do it.”

Brady’s head came around, and he stared at her. “What?”

“I’ll just take option one and go away.”

“Ash—”

“No, Brady. I won’t have her hurting someone else I love.”

She saw the shock spread across his face. It wasn’t the way she would have wanted to say it, but she wouldn’t take it back. And then he lowered his gaze to stare at their clasped hands. But he was smiling. Almost embarrassedly, but smiling.

She looked at the others. Gavin showed no reaction, but she would have expected that. Hayley and Quinn were both smiling as if she’d only confirmed something they already knew.

And Cutter simply gave her a look she could only describe as smug. And in that moment, she believed every word they’d told her about this uncanny dog.

* * *

Brady felt odd in full dress. He’d been going to go simply for the standard working uniform, but de Marco had said go full-bore dress uniform, complete with honors. So his badge, gleaming name tag, top-ranked marksmanship medal, training officer pin and the two medal of valor pins were on display. He’d even dug out his hat, pulling off the plastic rain cover for better effect.

It had also felt odd, going back to his place to get the gear. He’d found himself looking around his home critically, wondering if Ash would like it.

I won’t have her hurting someone else I love.

The words that had been circling wildly in his mind since she’d said them made another round. He hadn’t had the chance to really respond, and maybe that was just as well. There might be a better time for it.

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel of his marked SUV. Stared at the front door of the house where he’d been once before and had been greeted by a haunted, tortured woman who bore little resemblance to the woman who had warmed his bed, his body and his heart. The woman who deserved so much more than she’d been dealt, who had been nearly broken but had come back fighting with a courage that humbled him.

The Foxworth phone beside him beeped. He glanced at the screen, saw the texted Ready. No trouble with the boss, then, but he hadn’t really expected any, not with the arrival of Gavin de Marco. The man had instilled dread in better men than Sheriff Carter.

He sent back Copy. Contact in two.

He got out of the vehicle, settled his uniform jacket and drew himself up to his full six feet. Then he walked to the door of the mayor’s house, where she had been in essence imprisoning her daughter. The woman had arrived about a half an hour ago, after sucking up some oxygen at a meeting of the local merchants.

She answered the door herself. He might have expected at least a maid, such were her delusions of grandeur, but Ash had told them no one lived in. Now that made sense. Don’t want any witnesses around while you gaslight your own daughter.

He reined it in and put on his best I’ve got bad news face.

“Mayor Alexander,” he said, taking his uniform hat off politely.

Then he spotted something over her shoulder that nearly blew everything up. Packing boxes, full of what appeared to be clothing and other personal items. And on top of one was the same jacket he’d seen in Ash’s room. She was packing up her stuff? She didn’t even know where her daughter was, if she was even alive, and she was packing up her stuff?

It took every bit of determination he had to keep his expression even when she spoke. “Deputy…Crenshaw, isn’t it? You helped my daughter the day she had that awful accident.”

“Yes. And I’m afraid she’s why I’m here now.”

He was watching carefully for her reaction to his phrasing. There was just enough delay, and a fraction of a second’s calculation in her expression, to tell him she’d been expecting this. An instant later her face showed nothing but distress.

“You’ve found her.”

“I’m afraid so.” And you should be afraid. Very afraid.

“She’s dead, isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t think he was wrong about the split second of relief that flashed in her dark, cold eyes.

“We need you to come to the sheriff’s office.”

She actually did pale at that. “Why?”

“I’m afraid there will be some details to handle.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“I will drive you, Madam Mayor. I’ve been instructed to offer you every courtesy.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but his loathing grew at her preening reaction to that ploy. And as he drove the vicious woman, he allowed himself a brief fantasy about dropping her off—literally—the lookout where Ash had nearly jumped. But what was coming would be even better, and he had to smother a smile of anticipation as they pulled into the back parking lot and he escorted her into the building.

“We’ll be using the sheriff’s private conference room,” he said, thinking he’d arrested and brought in fried meth heads and drunks who had puked all over themselves with less repugnance than he felt now. Being obsequious to her was turning his stomach.

He pulled open the door to the conference room, seeing that his boss had decided to vacate the area. Covering his bases, Brady guessed, in case this didn’t go as planned. But there were two uniformed deputies standing at the other door, and he gave them a nod.

But it would go as planned. He knew that the minute they stepped inside and the two men already there stood up. One, holding a folder, was Gavin de Marco, whom the mayor gave a puzzled look, as if he were familiar but she couldn’t place him. The other was Dr. Andler, who gave her a look Brady could only describe as terrified as, at a word from de Marco, he scurried out that other door into the hands of the two deputies.

He felt the woman beside him falter just for an instant when she saw the doctor run. But then she steadied herself, and he could just imagine how her mind was racing, trying to think of how she was going to turn this away from herself.

“You notified my daughter’s doctor before me?” she said, going on the offensive with her tone.

De Marco didn’t even look at her. Instead he spoke to Brady. “This is her?”

Brady almost smiled at the disdain in the man’s voice. “It is.” And then, dropping the formality and letting a little bit of his glee about what was about to come at her show, he said, “Nan, meet Gavin de Marco. You may have heard of him? And of who he works for, the Foxworth Foundation?”

She looked utterly shocked. De Marco didn’t offer to shake her hand, didn’t even nod at the introduction. Instead he said, in a voice that gave even Brady a chill, “Yes, that Foxworth. The ones that helped take down a corrupt governor. So let me say up front, a small-town mayor is no challenge at all.”

Nan Alexander sank down into a chair at the small conference table, looking shaken at last.

Oh, we’re just getting started, you pitiful excuse for a human being.

At de Marco’s nod, Brady walked to the door the doctor—who he knew had poured out his guts in the hope of lighter consequences—had used and opened it. Ash was just outside, looking a little pale but determined.

“You can do this,” he said softly. “I don’t have a doubt in the world. Just remember you’re fighting for yourself, and for the father who can’t, because of her.”

She drew in a deep breath, steadied herself and nodded. Took a step toward the doorway, but stopped when he spoke again from right behind her.

“Oh, and Ash?” She looked back. “I love you, too.”

CHAPTER 35

Her mother rose to her feet, one hand pressed against her chest. Ashley knew better than to believe it was in relief at seeing her, but there was a split second when she wavered.

You’re fighting for yourself, and for the father who can’t, because of her.

Brady’s words about what she was facing, and the fact that he was solidly at her back, steadied her.

I love you, too.

And those words made her able to smile in the face of her mother’s treachery and evil.

“Hello, Madam Mayor.”

She was delighted that it came out evenly, almost casually. Gavin de Marco gave her an approving nod and sat down as if content to watch. Brady looked as if he were stifling a grin.

“Ashley, I don’t know what they’ve told you, but—”

“Don’t bother.”

“But—”

“I remembered, Mother. Just as you were afraid I would.”

“Honey, you’re just confused—”

“Do not even try. Sit down.”

Her mother looked as if she would protest, and Brady took a step toward her as if to enforce the order. She sat.

“I’m going to give you a list. You will stay silent until I’m done. Is that clear?”

Ashley had the pleasure of seeing her mother’s uncertainty for the first time. “There’s no need to be rude, dear.”

Ashley nearly laughed out loud at that. She glanced at Brady, who was again stifling a grin. And then he winked at her, and she knew she could, as he’d said, do this.

She walked to the opposite side of the table from her mother, put her hands down flat on the surface, leaning toward her.

“One, I know you and Dr. Andler have been drugging me with some home-brewed concoction that caused my symptoms—”

“Don’t be—”

“—and I have the chemical analysis to prove it.” There, Ashley thought, she’d winced at that one. “And the tea you’ve been forcing down me is being analyzed as we speak.” Bingo, Ash thought as the woman’s expression flickered again. She went on. “Two, you conspired with him to further the illusion that I was mentally ill, with things like the missed appointments—changing the date in my phone and on an new appointment card he gave you—and the fire in the kitchen, the snow tires and a dozen others I could name. Three, I know you intended to have me either declared incompetent or committed to an institution.”

“For your own safety—”

“I said silence. Four, I know about the payments from the Amalfi Group.” Nan Alexander went white then. And glanced fearfully at Gavin, who allowed himself a small smile. “Yes, Mr. de Marco and Foxworth are very, very thorough. So I think we can do away with the farce that this was out of any concern at all about me.”

“Ashley—”

Ashley cut her off again. “Fifth, and now we’re getting to the really good stuff, I know you did the same thing to my father.”

The woman—for that was how Ashley was now starting to think of her, that or just Nan—gasped. “You know he was unstable!”

“You mean he wouldn’t dance to your tune?” Brady said, the first time he’d spoken. Nan frowned as she glanced at him, as if she were trying to figure out exactly how he fit into all this.

He’s the man who saved me. And if I get some kind of justice for my father, it will be because of him.

“You meant for me to overhear that discussion with Andler, didn’t you? You were setting me up to believe he was becoming violent. Violent enough that he would have to be sent away.”

“Of course not.”

“My snow globe,” Ashley said as it suddenly occurred to her.

Her mother blinked. “What?”

“You’re the one who smashed it. Tell me, was it to further the perception that Dad was becoming violent, or simply to hurt me because you knew I treasured it so?”

Nan didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter—she could see both were the truth. When she did speak, she said only, “This is all absurd. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t prove any of this.”

Ashley straightened up at that, and Gavin moved. He took a group of pages out of the folder he held and silently slid them across the table. They came to rest neatly in front of the woman, and Ashley wondered with an inward smile if he’d had to practice that or if he was just naturally that good. She knew what it was, a copy of the offshore account records showing the Amalfi deposits to Dr. Andler. And then he took out another, thicker sheaf, these stapled together, and did the same. They edged the others to one side as they hit, and she decided he was just that good.

Gavin still didn’t speak, and when she glanced at him, he merely nodded. This was her show, unless and until she’d had enough and wanted out, then he would take over. But she hadn’t had nearly enough yet.

“That,” she said with no small amount of enjoyment, “is Joseph Andler’s full confession. That he was paid by you to help gaslight my father, and then me. That he helped you perpetrate the fraud that he was unstable and suicidal. And that later he did the same thing again, to me. Nothing to say now, Mother?”

She resumed her position with hands on the table, leaning in even closer now. And her voice was harsh as it came out through nearly clenched teeth. But this had been building for twenty years under the surface, and it erupted now. “But I haven’t gotten to the very bottom of your nasty, evil soul yet, have I? You tried to drive my father to what I nearly did. You tried to drive him to suicide. But when that didn’t work, when he was too strong for you to break, you made the ultimate decision.”

“I never wanted you to die.”

“If you’re expecting gratitude, forget it. Because remember what I said before? I mean it. I remembered. You were afraid I would, from the moment I told you about the nightmare. And then you saw me watching those videos of Dad, so you guessed it would surface soon. That’s what started all this. You didn’t realize until then I’d seen you, did you? You didn’t know I’d seen you with that gun, going into the den to kill my father.”

Her mother shot to her feet. Brady took one step forward. “Please,” he said. “Please do something truly stupid. I really want to see you destroyed in a court of law, when your brilliant, gutsy daughter takes you apart publicly. And Gavin de Marco makes sure it’s front-page news.”

Through the glow in her heart caused by his words, Ashley saw the moment when the woman who should have been the one to protect her and instead had been the one to try and destroy her, broke. She sank back down into the chair. It was as if whatever propped up her twisted psyche had collapsed. And suddenly it was enough. She had seen the nasty truth in her mother’s now flat, expressionless, almost inhuman eyes.

There was nothing left to do except move on.

* * *

Brady stood at the kitchen island as Hayley poured coffee, watching Ash as she, Quinn and de Marco sat in the great room of the lodge discussing what came next. Her mother—although she didn’t deserve the term—was in custody facing a multitude of charges, none of which were murder. Yet. But Brady had the feeling if there was any way it was possible, Foxworth would pull that off, too. They wouldn’t give up until they found a way.

“Quinn is still hunting down a mole who nearly got us killed on the mission where he and I met,” Hayley said, apropos of nothing. Except his thoughts, and he gave her a startled look.

“Was I that obvious?”

“No. I just know both of you want her to pay for her worst crime, Ashley especially. And I wanted you to know we don’t quit.”

“I’m glad.”

It was a moment before Hayley said quietly, “She’s going to need some time.”

“I know.”

“She needs to know she can stand on her own.”

“She went through six months of pure hell and came out fighting. She’ll be all right.”

“Yes, she will. But…”

Brady turned to look at her as she hesitated. “Are you telling me to leave her alone? That…what happened between us isn’t, wasn’t, real?”

“Oh, I know it’s real. I’ve been there myself. Besides, Cutter says so.”

Brady glanced over to where the dog was sprawled on his bed, looking utterly relaxed for the first time since this had started. Obviously the dog considered his work done.

“I swear, you’ve got me believing he’s what you say he is.”

“He is. And the only thing I’m saying is give her time to level off. She’s been in the pit, and now she’s flying high. It will take her time to find her own normal.”

“I can’t let her go through this alone.”

“Of course not. But keep in mind you’re also a major witness in this.”

“Oh.” He had to admit he’d forgotten that aspect.

“Gavin will run interference on that, but it might be wise to keep the true nature of your relationship under wraps until her mother is locked up.”

How they were going to manage that, he didn’t know, but he only said, “You sound certain she will be.”

Hayley nodded. “Oh, I am. We’ve got the evidence, and Gavin will lay it out so completely that all the prosecutor has to do is show up. Not to mention just the sight of his face in a courtroom still has a very powerful effect for whichever side he’s on. And in this, he’s on Ashley’s.”

Brady smiled at that, although underneath he was wondering how he would get through this if he had to take a step back from her. But as he watched her, as he saw the clever, quick, beautiful woman who had blossomed since that moment she’d realized the truth, he realized he had to look at the long game here. And for him, that meant the rest of their lives together.

And for that, he could—and would—do whatever it took.

CHAPTER 36

Ashley looked out over the incredible vista and drew in a breath of air that carried the crisp scent of new snow and not even a hint of the spring that would arrive officially in just over a month. The Foxworths, including Cutter—who, oddly, seemed just an ordinary dog now, taking a last roll in the snow before leaping into the back of their vehicle soaking wet—had left Monday, heading home after their unexpectedly extended anniversary trip. They, and Gavin, had stayed until it was clear her mother, now clearly broken, would not be fighting the charges, although they promised they would be back and at her side at the hearing that would be coming, or if she needed them. As had Gavin when he’d left yesterday.

More importantly, she knew the man at her side now would be there, and that was all she really needed. She had been worried for a while, when he seemed to have pulled back, but there had been so much to do in the aftermath, she’d had little time to think about anything else. And then she had realized that was exactly why Brady had backed off—to give her room to come to grips with the complete wreckage of what had been her life. Yet he had still been there, every step of the way, radiating such utter confidence that she could do whatever was necessary that she couldn’t help but believe it. It had been a long ten days, but she had plowed through all the grim detail work, made the decisions necessary and at last, today, had called a halt.

It was, after all, Valentine’s Day. And so she asked him to bring her here, to where her life had hit its lowest point…and turned around so miraculously.

“You know the biggest irony in all this? That night, when you found me here, I thought about what I was doing, how it would hurt my mother to go through another suicide,” she said as she leaned against him where they sat on the stone seat. She felt him go very still, as if even thinking about it made him tense. “But that wasn’t what stopped me long enough for you to grab me.”

“What did?” His voice was low and a little rough.

“I didn’t want to do what you said—ruin this place for you. You’d done nothing but be kind to me, and I simply couldn’t do that to you.”

He went still. “You didn’t—and don’t—owe me anything, Ash.”

“And that you say that and mean it is why I knew, even then, that there was a reason to hang on.”

His arm tightened around her. For a moment he didn’t speak, as if he couldn’t. And when he finally did, his voice was light, teasing. “And here I thought it was because you fell in love with me on the spot.”

“That, too,” she said, only she said it with utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

She sighed sadly. “Once I’d had my say, once I saw in her face it was all true, I wanted to walk away. I took no pleasure in seeing her crushed when the formal charges were filed.”

“Even though she tried to destroy your life and you yourself?”

“I thought I would enjoy it more.”

Again his arm tightened. “You needed it, Ash. But that doesn’t mean you wanted it. You’re not anything, not an iota like her. And you proved that. And how strong you really are. I am so damn proud of you.”

She looked up at him then, his words filling her with a joy she’d never felt in her life. “Thank you. That means more to me than anything she ever did or said. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

It was a long silent moment before he asked, “Have you decided what you want to do with her house? You know it’ll be yours in the end, as damages, if nothing else.”

She grimaced. “Is burn it to the ground on the option list?”

Again he gave her that one-armed hug. “I can make that happen if you really want it.”

She sighed. “No. That would be a waste. But I will not live there.”

“Maybe you could put it to another use.”

She leaned back to look at him more directly. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe a halfway house for people really going through what she made you think you were.”

Her eyes widened. And then, with a dawning smile, she held his gaze and said, “I love you, Brady Crenshaw.”

He blinked, as if he didn’t realize what had made her say it. But that was Brady—he just went about the business of helping people and thought it was nothing special. “I love you, too,” he said after a moment.

They sat there until the wind kicked up and with it the chill. They got back in his car—his personal vehicle he’d picked up at some point, a smaller SUV—and he started the engine and turned on the heat. But before putting it in gear, he turned in the driver’s seat to look at her.

“If you’re not going to live in that house,” he began.

“I know. I’ll have to find someplace else.” She looked out the window, back toward the lookout. “But I don’t want to leave the mountains. I won’t let her take that away from me.”

He said, sounding a bit hesitant, “I know a place up the road from Alex’s.” Her breath caught. His words came back to her instantly…my place up the road. Was he saying what she thought he was? “It’s not as grand, but it’s solid and comfortable. With a big fireplace like you loved there. Kitchen probably needs a few newer amenities, but—”

“Does it have the most important one?” she interrupted.

He blinked. Asked with a slight frown, “What’s that?”

“You.”

His expression cleared. And his slow smile was as brilliant as any sunrise she’d ever seen or ever would see in the future. “Yes.”

She smiled back at him, letting everything she was feeling show. “I’d better pack, then.”

And then he was leaning over and kissing her, fiercely, possessively, and she reveled in it, kissing him back just as fiercely.

“So,” she said when he finally put the car in gear, “is there room for a dog at your place?”

He flashed a grin at her then. “Our place. And yeah, I’d say there is.”

“Good,” Ashley said.

Although she seriously doubted there was another dog in the world like Cutter Foxworth.

* * * * *

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ISBN-13: 9781488064333

Operation Mountain Recovery

Copyright © 2020 by Janice Davis Smith

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“What can I do? There has to be something.”

Mark reached through the narrow gap and touched Charlotte’s fingers, the closest they could come to holding hands with his still handcuffed. “This.” He sighed. “This helps. Knowing I’m not alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Charlotte whispered.

“That’s the best part of a SEAL team. Someone has your back.”

“I’ll help you any way I can.”

“You’ve made that clear. At this point, I think it’s best if we let things play out.”

“How much can you take?”

“The SEAL training drummed all the quit out of me years ago.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I know you’re scared. I’m sorry. We just have to stay tough. This is a performance. An attempt to prove he can best a Navy SEAL, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not even B-movie material.”

He sputtered a small laugh. “Let him have his fifteen minutes of fame. I can take whatever he dishes out.”

“How?”

“Mind over matter. When I get an opening, I’ll jump on it no matter how bad I look right now.”

“We’ll jump on it,” she said.

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

Mark Riley has been making waves almost since birth. The older twin, he was known for being outrageous and outspoken. He even went so far as to buck the Riley family tradition of serving in the US Army by joining the Navy and becoming a SEAL.

Reputation and military rivalries aside, Mark’s notorious curiosity ignites when he sees an old family friend, Charlotte Hanover, in a new light as a woman and a rising star in the art world.

But the man who has been tormenting the Riley family interrupts Mark’s attempts to reconnect with Charlotte, and Mark must rely on all of his skills and training to protect her.

This wild adventure was a joy to write. I loved discovering the balance between Charlotte and Mark as they worked to escape an unimaginable crisis. I hope you come to love these two characters and the rest of the Riley family as much as I do.

Live the adventure!

Regan

Escape with the Navy SEAL

Regan Black

Regan Black, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes award-winning action-packed novels featuring kick-butt heroines and the sexy heroes who fall in love with them. Raised in the Midwest and California, she and her family, along with their adopted greyhound, two arrogant cats and a quirky finch, reside in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where the rich blend of legend, romance and history fuels her imagination.

Books by Regan Black

Harlequin Romantic Suspense

The Riley Code

A Soldier’s Honor

His Soldier Under Siege

Escape with the Navy SEAL

The Coltons of Mustang Valley

Colton Cowboy Jeopardy

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton P.I. Protector

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton Family Showdown

Escape Club Heroes

Safe in His Sight

A Stranger She Can Trust

Protecting Her Secret Son

Braving the Heat

The Coltons of Shadow Creek

Killer Colton Christmas

“Special Agent Cowboy”

Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

For Melanie and her mother, Patty, two amazing women who exemplify everything beautiful about what family means. I am thankful every day for your friendship, laughter, wisdom and guidance. The world is a better place because you’ve shared your joy of art through the color, perspective, light and shadow that creates the unique canvas of a life well lived and well loved.

CONTENTS

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 1

Alone in the central room of the art gallery, Charlotte Hanover turned a slow circle, surrounded by her canvases. A year’s worth of work about to go on display for anyone with eyes and an opinion to critique. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose. If she ignored the murmur of voices from the side rooms, it was almost like being in the peaceful, muted light of her studio at home.

In minutes, the gallery doors would open to the VIP guests for her first solo showing. Approximately an hour after that, any interested art lover in Virginia Beach would be welcome to wander in and take a closer look, as well.

She pressed a hand to her belly to smother another wave of jitters and felt the rich silk of her dress under her palm.

Almost like home. Almost like home.

She almost believed it. In her studio, she’d be in a soft T-shirt and her favorite jeans that were held together with more paint than denim after all these years. She imagined the light pouring through the skylight and windows of her cabin at the edge of an inlet north of town while her heart rate settled.

There. She could hold that feeling close and let that sweet security buoy her through the night ahead. Although the next few hours would be a challenge, her agent promised it would absolutely be worth the energy drain. She opened her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you a vision!” Charlotte’s agent, Marisol Collins, swept into the space and the air vibrated in a happy response. She was a petite powerhouse in an expertly tailored black suit and glossy black heels. Her dark hair was swept up and back in a perfect twist and her porcelain skin glowed. She wore onyx drops at her ears and an intricate onyx ring on her right hand. The overall effect was pure feminine elegance.

Marisol had never met an objection she couldn’t overcome or a situation she couldn’t fix to her client’s advantage. As opposite as they were in both appearance and personality, Charlotte was perpetually grateful to have signed with her.

Marisol fluttered her hands, urging Charlotte to turn, despite the fact that she’d already danced at least one circle around Charlotte. “Lovely.” She gave a decisive nod. “I knew this was the right look for tonight.”

Charlotte’s dress was deceptively simple, a soft sheath falling from a network of thin straps that crossed in the back. The silky fabric rippled with color and movement from the neckline to the hem in shades of pale seafoam to deep aqua. Marisol slipped her arm around Charlotte and took her on another tour of the gallery, chattering about each of the bar and food stations. The effort should have put her at ease; instead, those jitters climbed to new heights.

“We’re ready, sweet girl,” Marisol said, giving her a squeeze. “On my signal, they’ll open the doors to the VIPs and you’re on.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Being on required grace and charm and enduring the same questions over and over with only mild variations thrown in. Tonight she must keep up the full-watt smile until her cheeks ached and then some, pretending she knew how to excel at social events.

She understood people wanted to feel a connection to the person behind the art that moved them. Was it so much to ask to connect from a respectable distance? A continent between her and this gathering felt about right.

“Any changes to the VIP list?” Charlotte asked, quickly doing a mental rundown of the coaching Marisol had provided about each of the elite guests who were eager to meet her and, with luck, be inspired to purchase the paintings on display tonight.

Normally, she didn’t mind selling her work. Part of the joy of her art was sharing it with others. Turning a profit was the practical side of the miracle of making a career from her view of the world. The private sales seemed more personal than a gallery show, as if she was sending her work to a good home. A nonsensical feeling really, since she had no idea how, where or if her paintings were displayed when they reached the buyer.

More than one pragmatic art instructor through the years encouraged her to find the balance between creative joy and creating marketable work. “Da Vinci never starved and neither should you!” Marisol had preached a similar motto from their first introduction. “How can you create to your true potential when you’re worried about bills, overhead or even groceries?”

Truly, Charlotte had never worried about food, having been raised by practical parents with a strong work ethic. They’d led by example, teaching her to budget, save and invest wisely in the present to secure a future. Still, believing Marisol’s predictions about the evening meant Charlotte’s bank accounts were about to get a serious infusion of cash.

“And miraculously, all before I’m dead,” she muttered under her breath. Like so many creatives before them, she and her fellow students had often joked that artists and poets made for rich soil, having little value until they were six feet under and could no longer create.

“Here now, you’re still nervous.” Marisol drew her attention back to the present and pressed a filled champagne flute into her hand. Taking one for herself, she raised her glass for a toast. “To your first solo show.” She tapped Charlotte’s glass, the crystal ringing with a merry chime. “You just slay them with that smile.” She arranged a loose wave of Charlotte’s hair over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of the sales.”

Taking a sip of champagne, she braced herself as the gallery doors opened to the VIPs.

It wasn’t all strangers who surged in with smiles ranging from reserved to enthusiastic. Her parents and older brother were here to lend their support. Several close friends had also been invited to help ease the pressure. Many of her friends who lived within driving distance were happy to come out for her, as well. Marisol’s office had handled the official invitations and responses so Charlotte wouldn’t stress over the numbers.

The friendly faces muted a bit of the immediate overwhelming feeling she encountered with the press of people swirling around, each seeking a moment to ask a question or offer congratulations. Hopefully that steadying sensation would hold her when the doors opened for the next wave of curious gallery patrons.

Already she was counting down the minutes until she could duck out for a break and a breath of fresh air. She checked her wrist and remembered too late her watch had been ruled out by Marisol.

“People want to believe you have all the time in the world for them. It’s just one night,” she’d added when Charlotte had argued. “Only a few hours of one night. I promise you’ll have the breaks you need.”

Charlotte dutifully kept up the smile, the answers that had her feeling like a broken record and the litany of thanks. All the while, her quiet-loving soul clamored for an expansive view of a sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean.

“Congratulations,” a mellow baritone voice said from just behind her.

She turned, baffled enough that her smile faltered as the man attached to the voice exchanged her empty champagne flute for a full one. “Mark?”

What on earth had brought Mark Riley here tonight?

Adult Charlotte was sure she was hallucinating, while the love-struck teenager she’d once been now danced in happy pirouettes to see his handsome face. His perfectly tailored dark blue suit emphasized his breathtaking physique from his broad shoulders to his trim hips. The ivory shirt was open at the collar, giving her a tantalizing view of his tanned skin. Surely he should be doing something dangerously heroic on the other side of the world. Navy SEALs were too tough and far too busy to visit old friends at art galleries, weren’t they?

He smiled and her knees turned weak at the mischievous sparkle in his light brown eyes and the single dimple winking in his cheek. “You’ve come a long way, Lottie.” He used her childhood nickname as he raised his champagne glass, saluting her. “It looks good on you.”

She had no idea if her reply was even remotely coherent or if the smile she attempted resulted in a pleasant expression or an off-putting grimace. She lifted her glass in response and he politely moved on before she melted into a puddle of longing and wishful thinking at his feet.

* * *

Having done his self-appointed duty of refreshing Charlotte’s champagne glass, Mark wandered through the gallery, studying the paintings on display. The range and variety of her work surprised him, from wild to wistful, vivid landscapes and subtle skylines, works large and small. From the time she could hold a crayon, she’d been drawing, filling notebooks and sketch pads with her take on the world around her. Sometimes as accurate as a photograph, other times otherworldly. He’d never given a thought to what she might do with her talent and creative energy. Art and Charlotte simply went hand in hand.

From the far side of the room, he looked back, studying the artist. Her strawberry blond hair was styled in loose waves, lending an untamed, carefree vibe to the colorful curve-hugging dress that reminded him of the Caribbean Sea. The presentation probably fooled the people who weren’t as observant, but he recognized the flash of nerves in her big blue eyes when he’d said hello. She’d been shy with strangers as a kid, quieter than any of the Riley siblings, but she was holding up under the pressure tonight.

He turned away to admire a haunting painting of a valley blurred by fog. The Blue Ridge Mountains in the fall, if he had to guess at the location she’d used for inspiration. It was impressive how well she’d grown into herself, her career. The last time he’d seen her in person she’d been in college, bright and happy and discovering where her art would take her. And the pictures of her college graduation, the family Christmas cards in the years that followed hadn’t done justice to the woman she’d become.

When his mother had invited him to join the family for Lottie’s first solo showing, he’d prayed for a diversion. He would have welcomed the chance to grab a high-value target and help end violence in one corner of the world. A pirate takeover of a cargo vessel in international waters would have sufficed. He would have eagerly accepted the chance to observe a training exercise on the West Coast. Better than all of those options would have been the news that investigators needed his help taking down the man who’d been pestering his family with one manufactured attack after another.

In short, he’d thought anything would’ve been more entertaining than spending hours staring at art, even art created by a dear family friend. How wrong he’d been.

The paintings, as well as the beautiful woman behind them, were actually a fascinating diversion. Good entertainment had been sorely lacking from his life while he was stuck working on administrative tasks due to an ongoing vendetta against his father, which left the entire Riley family on edge.

For several months, a man dubbed the Riley Hunter had been hiring mercenaries to put Mark’s older siblings, Matt and Grace Ann, in dreadful, life-threatening situations. He’d caused all kinds of havoc for Matt until Matt survived a death trap. Then he’d abruptly shifted his focus to Grace Ann. She too had survived a series of events designed to break her mentally and physically. Since the hunter seemed to be attacking in birth order, all of the precautions were now cast over Mark, temporarily removing him from his team for the safety of the group.

All of the Riley children remained under a protective watch. Although investigators were working overtime, they’d only learned his name, John Eaton. They had yet to pin down his location and were only beginning to understand how he hired and paid the men who carried out his orders. Whenever they got close, a lead dried up or died—often literally.

Everything indicated that Eaton was bent on revenge and torment more than outright murder, seeking to inflict as much suffering as possible on their father, Ben. While the men had been serving in the army overseas, General Riley had been forced to bust Eaton for a criminal act during an operation. Eaton blamed the general, rather than accept responsibility for attacking civilians. He’d lost his career and his family in the fallout. Apparently the man’s wife divorced him and took his daughter away, changing their names in an attempt to find peace and a normal life.

Eaton’s tendency to shift focus didn’t make him or his mercenaries any less of a threat. The whole situation made Mark’s shoulders itch. As a Navy SEAL, he preferred to meet danger head-on and would do anything to flush out Eaton once and for all.

Setting his unfinished champagne on a tray, Mark shoved the Riley Hunter out of his mind, refusing to allow the specter of the vengeful madman to undermine a happy occasion.

Finished cruising through the gallery rooms on the main level, Mark wandered up the stairs, a clever, curving design that perfectly showcased the displays in the central gallery, as well as the artist of the evening. Watching Charlotte, Mark struggled to reconcile his memories of the introverted little girl with the woman deftly managing the crowd gathered to celebrate her work.

He remembered meeting Charlotte when she was a baby. Her mother and his were best friends, having met through their army-officer husbands. Back then the Hanovers lived just down the block. As a five-year-old, he’d been unimpressed by the strange squirmy face peeking out from a cocoon of blankets. He didn’t see much benefit in having a baby around, until the Riley boys and her older brother realized she was an effective distraction, giving them all more leeway in their never-ending quest for trouble.

Upstairs, his mother joined him near the balcony railing. Side by side, they silently admired an enormous canvas on the floor below. He couldn’t speak with authority to the style or interpretation, but he saw a storm raging on the sea, slamming into a rocky coastline with great force that he could practically feel. Somewhere in the Pacific, he thought. He couldn’t decide if the painting left him feeling empowered or cowed.

In his layman’s opinion, a painting with that much life and power would only fit in a library or museum setting. Or maybe the house he’d once imagined owning, a place with clean, modern lines, soaring ceilings and windows that let in tons of natural light where he and his wife would raise their kids. He really needed to let that vision go, at least while he was on active duty.

His gaze drifted back to Charlotte. It was far more enjoyable to study the artist rather than review the way his career had tanked his past relationships.

“No,” his mother said, low enough that she wouldn’t be overheard.

“No what?” he asked.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten your face?” she queried.

Unsure what that meant, Mark gave her his most innocent expression. “I think you’ve thought I was Luke more than once, whether you’re mom-enough to admit it or not.” The long-standing family joke referencing his twin was the best diversion he could offer with his mind on the stormy scene.

Patricia Riley had left her career in the army nursing corps to raise her five children and keep house and home while her husband moved up through the ranks to become one of the army’s most admired generals. She had bright eyes, a wicked sense of humor and a smile that could slice to the bone or soothe any heartache. Never once had her husband or children doubted her devotion, wisdom or courage. Her standards were high and, in Mark’s mind, disappointing her was the worst consequence a kid could suffer for a mistake or poor choices.

“You look nice tonight,” he added for good measure. Since his father retired, she’d sworn off dressing up and fancy occasions. For Charlotte, she’d made an exception. In a trim black dress and classic pearls, she didn’t look like the mother of five adults with intense military careers.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, Patricia angled away from the gallery below to pin him with an unflinching gaze that cut straight to the point. “I am mom-enough to speak candidly to my son, a young man I admire and respect. And whom I love dearly,” she added after a brief pause.

“Young?” He cocked an eyebrow. He supposed thirty was young if you were looking at it from the parental side of the equation. In his line of work, he’d passed young several years ago. These days, he was almost to the top of the hill, and occasionally peering over the edge.

He’d noticed the changes in recent years. It required more discipline and effort, extra reps and fewer beers to stay in peak mental and physical condition for himself and his team. His experience was valued, but a SEAL who couldn’t keep up with the demands was quickly shuffled into a less active role. Just when he’d thought a change was right, he’d been sidelined against his will thanks to the recent attacks on his family. The situation had had the unexpected benefit of revealing he wasn’t ready to make that shift yet.

“You are too jaded for Charlotte,” she said baldly.

What did that mean? She was a family friend. He wasn’t here to stalk through the gallery and carry Lottie off, her long, silky strawberry blond curls trailing over his arm. The notion was far more appealing than it should’ve been. And recognizing the tension in Charlotte earlier, he wondered if she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Once she got over the heavy-handed approach.

“Mark.”

“Mom,” he said, mimicking her exasperated tone.

She wasn’t impressed. “Promise me you won’t do something foolish.”

He supposed he’d earned that, having embraced his role as the gregarious son, always happy to flirt outrageously or crack a joke, often at his own expense to put others at ease. On top of that, he was the only Riley child to buck his army upbringing and join the navy. Still, he gave her an arch look on principle. “Being expertly trained in a variety of subjects, I find myself offended.”

She aimed her eyes heavenward in that way she’d developed whenever he and his twin brother, Luke, gave her grief. “Stop it. Stuffy and overblown doesn’t suit you.”

“Good. Interfering and nosy doesn’t suit you,” he countered.

“It does too.” Grinning, she patted his cheek. “Expertly trained mother at your service.”

She was, that was true. Always there to celebrate, soothe or redirect them as needed. “Well, no need to worry. I don’t have any romantic designs on Lottie.”

“Hmm. Is that an attempt at reverse psychology? I know you have too much free time right now and the two of you are in the same city.”

“Make up your mind, Mom.” Laughing, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I thought you wanted me to find an intelligent, caring and pretty girl to settle me down.” He’d been close to succeeding once. Now he wasn’t so sure all three traits existed in the same woman. “Isn’t Lottie all of those things?”

“Are you implying you’re ready to settle down? That would be music to my ears.” She rubbed his back as she’d done countless times throughout his life. Here he was, part of an elite team of operators and he still appreciated that sweet maternal affection.

He hadn’t missed the way she dodged his question. Obviously, Charlotte was pretty and she was definitely intelligent. Caring? That wasn’t an easy one to answer. Who knew what made a woman start or stop caring about a man?

His mom was right; he was jaded, and being the wife of a career army officer, she understood the risks he’d overcome better than most. But those experiences piled up, putting much more than a five-year age difference between him and the sunny, vibrant Charlotte. While he couldn’t deny he found her attractive, she wasn’t a woman to flirt with lightly.

“I’m closer,” he admitted, giving his mom a winning smile. “But there isn’t anyone in particular on my radar. Not even Lottie.”

Hope, concern and disappointment rippled across his mother’s face in rapid succession. He had no idea how to interpret or respond to any of those reactions. It all came from love, he supposed. And he knew she only wanted the best for him.

For Charlotte too. The Hanovers, Sue Ellen and Ron and their children, were as much a part of the Riley family as any of his blood relations. So it stung a little that his mother seemed to think he wasn’t good enough for her honorary niece. He battled back a surge of irritability, the result of being off the active operations team for too long.

“I should get going. Early PT,” he lied.

“We’ll see you at the beach house soon?” she asked.

“Sure.” There wasn’t anything better to do with his weekends now that he was riding a desk and running training simulations thanks to the Riley Hunter. “I’ll definitely come down for the Fourth of July.”

“Great.” She beamed. “Caleb will be thrilled to hear it.”

Mark scanned the crowd milling about on the main floor, searching for his nephew. “I’ll let him know on my way out.” It was a good way to reassure his mom he wouldn’t back out of the promised visit.

“Love you.” She kissed his cheek. “Be safe.” The final words chased him as he strode away. She’d made that particular farewell a habit when he and his siblings started driving on their own. These days she’d put it back into use because of the ever-present threat hanging over the family.

By leaving, he was probably increasing the safety factor at the gallery. There was no telling when Eaton would make another attempt to embarrass, undermine or flat-out kill one of the Riley children. Though Mark hadn’t received any overt threats like Grace Ann and Matt, everyone involved believed he’d be the next target, since he was next in the birth order. Even if he wanted to settle down, this would be the worst time to bring a woman into his life. Catching sight of Charlotte, her hair glowing under the perfect lighting, he was grateful for the protective detail hovering inside and out.

Mark had read through the security plan earlier. A patrol team was posted on the rooftops of neighboring buildings and another team cycled through the gallery with the guests. If anyone stepped a toe out of line, they’d be subdued and questioned, with the primary goal of gathering information on Eaton’s location.

Restless and uncharacteristically grumpy after his conversation with his mom, Mark decided on a little recon of his own.

* * *

Charlotte had never been entirely comfortable in the spotlight, but having Mark in the gallery made her big night a thousand times worse. She was too aware of him, always had been. She couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t been charmed by his quick wit or the laughter lurking in his eyes. And that dimple when he smiled… It made her melt.

The man was a serious threat to her peace of mind. Inwardly, she scolded herself for giving only half an ear to her conversation with a lovely couple, longtime clients of the gallery, while keeping tabs on Mark. Her gaze seemed drawn to him when he was upstairs, when he paused to pick up a beer at the bar, when he circled through the smaller gallery rooms. It was like being in the throes of her crush as a teenager all over again.

Long before her first real kiss, she’d daydreamed about kissing Mark, holding his hand on vague romantic dates. Outrageous fantasies, considering the age gap, but her young heart was stuck on him. Back then, five years might as well have been a century. Eventually, he drifted out of her life and into his career. She grew up and gained a more realistic framework of dating and relationships, though none of her boyfriends had completely exorcised her image of Mark as the perfect guy.

And being the target of his charming smile was all it took to bring that image back to the top of her mind. What awful timing.

For weeks, she’d been envisioning this night the way an athlete might visualize a critical performance or important game. Tonight had the potential to change everything. These connections could propel her name into the right circles, open more doors and launch her career as an independent artist. She loved working as an art therapist, but taking this past year to stretch herself had revealed a new facet of her passion. What she wanted more than anything was to develop a retreat for artists and creatives, maybe even hold camps for students. Tonight could be the first step on that path.

To prepare, Marisol had employed role-playing conversations and drilled Charlotte in the art of graciously accepting compliments. None of her practice scenarios included an appearance by Mark. Naturally, her agent wouldn’t have thought about the possibility because she didn’t know about Charlotte’s lifelong infatuation with the man. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he would even be available to attend.

Having him here threw everything off-kilter. She wanted to put the world on pause or hide in the back room until she could adjust to being in the same vicinity as his perfect body and devilish grin again.

She hadn’t seen him in person since a summer party a few years ago when the families had rented cottages in Cape May. Mark had brought his girlfriend on that trip. In the Riley family, that kind of move indicated a serious commitment. Charlotte had done her best to be a supportive extra sister, ignoring the last of her teenage heartbreak. She’d vowed to be happy when the wedding announcement arrived, but it never had. She hadn’t asked for any details, too worried that her crush would be revealed.

He hadn’t brought a date tonight.

As he strolled by, for what must have been the third time, she felt like a shipwrecked sailor, helpless against the circling of a hungry shark. Every time her gaze landed on him, temptation swelled through her. This wasn’t good, couldn’t be healthy.

If she asked, would he kiss her? An experiment between friends was all she needed. If he agreed, she could finally stop wondering and know what his lips felt like against hers. Then she could put an end to this fixation.

Losing track of yet another conversation, she covered the gaffe with a smile. “Please excuse me.” She apologized for interrupting the older gentleman quizzing her about a painting and stepped into Mark’s wake. Hopefully her intent to catch up with him wasn’t too obvious.

She found him chatting with a teenage boy she didn’t recognize. “Pardon me—”

“Perfect timing,” Mark interrupted her. “Caleb, this is the artist of the evening, Charlotte Hanover.” He winked at her over the boy’s head. “Charlotte, my nephew, Caleb.”

The relationship raised a dozen questions, but she kept them to herself. How and why had her mother never mentioned the next generation of Rileys was in the works?

“He’s Matt’s oldest,” Mark said cheerfully, his warm brown eyes alight with mischief. “It’s a great story.”

“I’m sure it is.” Charlotte could see the Riley genes in the boy’s eyes and smile. Better to keep her nose out of it than ask the wrong question. “Is this your first art show, Caleb?”

He nodded. “Other than school or museums.”

“I’m honored you’re here,” Charlotte replied. She enjoyed talking with kids more than adults. Younger people were typically more direct and willing to share an honest opinion once they warmed to the topic. Or her.

“They said it was a family event.” He shrugged one shoulder, his cheeks coloring a little. “Not that it isn’t great.”

She liked him immediately and she got the sense that he didn’t mind family things as much as he let on. “Are you bored?”

Caleb’s gaze brightened. “I thought I would be, but it’s actually cool.”

High praise, she thought, and more sincere than some of the conversations she’d had this evening. As she and Caleb walked toward one of the smaller rooms, he candidly shared his opinion on various pieces. Following a hunch, she mentioned comic books. He jumped at the topic and they discussed pros, cons and his favorite comic book characters and artists. By the time they met up with Caleb’s mom, Bethany, and Matt, Charlotte felt as if she’d made a new friend. Possibly created a new fan of art, in general.

“Well, he’s hooked for life,” Mark said from just behind her. “Nice job.”

She managed to keep all the fluttery tremors on the inside. “Thank you,” she replied in the same friendly tone she’d practiced in the mirror for the past month. “Some lucky girl down the line will be grateful that such a cutie can talk about something other than sports or pizza.”

Mark tilted his head. “Is that some kind of jab at my lousy conversational skills at fifteen?”

“Not at all. If memory serves, you could talk bark off a tree at his age.”

“Someone had to be the chatty twin,” he pointed out.

She laughed, hoping the sound came out more like an amused, accomplished woman than a giggly, bubbleheaded girl. That was forever her trouble with Mark. He was approachable, friendly and though he teased her on occasion, he was never unkind. The hang-up had always been on her side, in her heart and mind where hormones and daydreams twisted up the friendly signals, weaving them into a delectable, impossible world that revolved around that handsome face.

“Actually Luke was chatty enough with me earlier,” she said.

Mark’s dark eyebrows snapped together. “About what?”

“Hmm? Oh, Italy. He vacationed in the same region where I studied abroad for a semester.” What was it about Mark that got her all wound up while his twin easily fit into the brotherly category? It made zero sense to her when they looked so much alike.

She made an effort to study Mark objectively. He currently wore a close-trimmed beard that flattered his strong jaw and highlighted the lone dimple. His dark suit was typical of those worn by the majority of the men in attendance. But to her, he wasn’t typical at all.

Mark inquired about Italy, then asked her how she’d prepared for this show. She found herself inexplicably at ease as the party swirled around them, a blur of color, light and sound. Thank goodness. It was high time adult Charlotte showed up for these interactions.

While they chatted, she caught Mark scanning the room, his gaze occasionally settling on one person or another. Was he expecting someone? Please, not a date. Before she could ask what or whom he might be looking for, Marisol appeared and tugged her away to speak with an interested patron and a gallery owner visiting from the West Coast.

She didn’t recall invitations going that far out of the area, but there was no time to ask for clarification. Marisol made introductions and Charlotte smiled through the poorly veiled condescension as the two men grilled her about her alma mater, her mentors both here and abroad and her brush techniques. Marisol abandoned her to the not-quite-polite interrogation with a bolstering thumbs-up behind their backs as she darted away to sweet-talk someone else on Charlotte’s behalf.

To her immense relief, Patricia Riley drew her away from the men a few minutes later. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” she replied. Mark’s mother had a knack for seeing right to the heart of any person or issue. “Thanks for the save, Aunt Patricia.”

“They sounded like a couple of jerks.” Patricia cast a glance over her shoulder.

“To paraphrase my agent, jerks with money must not be ignored,” Charlotte whispered.

“Maybe they should be. On a case-by-case basis, of course.” She aimed a subtle glare at the pair. “Earlier, that snobby gallery owner overheard Caleb talking about your redwood landscapes and had the nerve to correct his opinion,” she said. “It’s art and he’s a kid.” Patricia shook her head. “Ben kept me from putting the snob in his place.”

Charlotte smothered a snort. “That would have been fun to watch.”

“That’s what I said.” Patricia winked. “My overprotective mother-bear mode only seems to intensify with age.” She waved the observation aside. “You’re handling this evening with amazing grace and patience. We’re all so proud of you.”

“Thanks. That campground by the lake in Florida is my happy place,” Charlotte confessed. “I think about it when I’m stuck in the more challenging conversations.” Her current challenge was how to casually inquire if Mark was seeing anyone. She wanted a kiss—to get over him—but she wouldn’t ask if he was currently involved with someone.

Patricia beamed. “Those weeks with your family were some of my favorite summer vacations. We’re planning a big bash for the Fourth of July at the beach house. Everyone is coming. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh.” Yes! Yes! Yes! Teenager Charlotte was doing back handsprings; adult Charlotte wasn’t so sure. As much as she loved the Rileys, more time around Mark could undermine her efforts to leave her crush in the dust. Especially if he agreed to her fantasy-ending kiss tonight. “I don’t know…”

“No entitled jerks with more money than taste, just the family, I promise,” she added, making Charlotte grin. “It’s an ocean view rather than the lake, but we have plenty of room and a decent stretch of the beach all to ourselves. And no one will hassle you about your inspiration and influences.”

It sounded like the most wonderful adult version of the best parts of her summer memories. “Are my parents going down?” A much safer question than inquiring about Mark’s love life.

“They will if I have my way about it,” Patricia replied with a conspiratorial grin. “There’s plenty of time between now and then. Even if you can’t make it for the holiday, you’re welcome anytime. We’re a relatively short road trip from here.”

“Thanks.” A tide of sincerity and gratitude washed over her.

They’d managed to find a small gap in the crowded gallery and Charlotte caught a whiff of fresh air coming in from the rear doors. Her body instantly relaxed.

“Go take a break,” Patricia urged. “You’ve earned it. I’ll tell Marisol you went upstairs to mingle.”

“You’re the best.” She gave the woman who’d been her second mother a quick hug and then dashed for the back room and outside.

The night air, salted with the nearby Atlantic Ocean, brushed away the odor mash-up of people and perfumes, wines and hors d’oeuvres. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, the tension flowing out of her shoulders.

Out here, no one asked her the same question in forty different ways. No one pressed her for an educated opinion on masters like Picasso or the potential of their first grader’s latest finger painting. The solitude was marvelous, restorative bliss.

Until she noticed she wasn’t alone.

CHAPTER 2

Mark had been headed back inside the gallery after speaking with the security team monitoring the perimeter when he heard the back door open into the alley. He stopped short, holding his breath until Charlotte emerged. She’d always craved quiet and solitude, needing more of both than anyone else he’d known. Not wanting to disturb her hard-earned break, he paused, unmoving, in the shadows.

The way she tipped back her head and lifted her arms as she stretched back put him in mind of the legends of beautiful sirens that lured sailors to their deaths. Fanciful but true. And yet more proof he needed to get back to doing the real work with his team.

She shook back those lush waves of her golden red hair and he immediately felt guilty for lying to his mother. No, he didn’t want to settle down, but he suddenly had Charlotte on his radar. He tried to shove the foolish thought away, but there was something different about her tonight. Less quiet kid and more enticing woman.

His mother thought his hard experiences made him all wrong for Charlotte. She saw the beauty in the world; he saw the violence. But maybe, if she was amenable, they could have some fun before those differences caught up with them. Just thinking of how to phrase that suggestion left him feeling like a jerk. She deserved better than a friends-with-benefits fling to pass the time.

He cleared his throat, cringing when she whirled around. “Easy. It’s just me. Mark,” he added, when she squinted at him.

“What are you doing out here?” she queried.

“Same as you,” he said. “Enjoying the extra elbow room.”

“Bliss, isn’t it? Your mom is covering for me.” She gathered her hair up in her hands, lifting it off her neck and sighing a little.

His pulse stuttered and he couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. It was like the drowning drills in SEAL training, but way more rewarding. Her purely casual move wasn’t a deliberate temptation, yet the way her dress gathered and dipped across her sumptuous curves made it an alluring display.

The devil dancing on his shoulder taunted him, dared him to reach over and caress that vulnerable nape of her neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was seeing anyone. Which was irrelevant. He couldn’t give into this strange, amped-up attraction. He liked her, respected her. She deserved more than a temporary fling with him, a man whose only art was war.

“From what I hear, that kind of crush is a good problem to have,” he said.

“Crush?” she echoed. “Oh, sure. My agent is thrilled by the turnout.” She let her hair tumble down, her hands falling limp at her sides. “What I wouldn’t give to get out of here early.”

“Why?” He was genuinely curious. “You’re the star. Even the snobs are praising you.”

She plucked at the front of her dress, fanning herself. “You know I’ve never liked being the center of attention.”

No, she hadn’t. Her tendency to avoid attention had been a foreign concept to him when they were young. He and Luke had always been striving to keep up with or outdo their older siblings. “After tonight, I think you’d better get used to it. You’re a celebrity waiting to happen.”

“Maybe,” she said with more than a little regret. “I might be the only person desperate to avoid my fifteen minutes of fame.” Her gaze locked with his. “If you tell Marisol or anyone else I said that, I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

He laughed. Charlotte was definitely a habitual good girl. “Anything I can do to help?” He’d step up and be her buffer—as a friend.

She tipped her head back again, her hands on her hips as she studied the inky sky above. “Yes.”

He took a step closer. “Name it.”

“Buy out the gallery so I can go home and get some sleep?”

Her warm smile dazzled him. The urge to agree was on the tip of his tongue and it had nothing to do with helping a family friend. He had a crazy, primal motive to please her, body and soul. Mark mentally took a step back, rattled by this sudden, pressing response. How had a few random thoughts led him here?

“Relax, I’m kidding.” She smoothed her hands over her dress. “It’s good to have your support. Good to see you,” she said, pacing away. When she turned back, she was nibbling on her lip. “Did you see a painting you liked? Wait.” She waved her hands as if she could erase the words. “Don’t answer. It’s not a fair question.”

Her nerves were climbing, giving Mark pause. She wasn’t the type to fish for compliments, though he was flattered she might want his opinion of her work. How to answer without gushing and embarrassing them both? “You have one with the view of the ocean from a cliff,” he began. “Several, actually,” he added. “But I’m talking about the smaller one in the series.” He held his hands about a yard apart. “That would—”

“You saw a whole series?” she interrupted.

“Yes.” The way she stared at him, as if she didn’t quite recognize him, raised a prickle along the back of his neck. Maybe he’d been wrong and the biggest canvas and the smaller paintings weren’t all variations from the same setting. He barreled on anyway. “The painting I mentioned reminds me of sunsets in Monterrey,” he explained.

“Most people don’t realize that’s the same setting,” she said. “They take one look at my headshot and decide my wild mermaid hair is the origin of an ocean fixation.”

Mermaid hair. He liked that. The description suited her. “You shouldn’t trust people who don’t like the ocean.”

“Says the Navy SEAL who started out as an army brat.” She laughed, the merry sound washing over him as sweet and light as the stars winking overhead.

It would’ve been nice to kiss her, to taste the bright energy surging through her. Charlotte was oh, so tempting, but his mother was right. He was all wrong for her. All he could offer any woman at this point was a fling with an eventual end date. His career came with serious pressures and so far, he couldn’t seem to hold a woman’s loyalty and trust.

Kissing Charlotte would only twist things up within the family. This burst of attraction would pass. Tonight was an anomaly, something wonderfully intriguing about seeing her as an accomplished woman. She was familiar to him and yet brand-new. He wanted desperately to take her hand, to feel the strength and tenderness that must be an integral part of how she transferred those dynamic scenes to the canvas. “We should get you back inside.”

Her lips parted, but the reply was cut off by the noisy rumble of a heavy engine approaching. Immediately, he went on alert. Who would be coming down this alley at this hour at that speed? Something wasn’t right.

He turned, blocking Charlotte from view as two men jumped from the rear door of a cargo van at the end of the alley. Both were dressed in black from head to toe, with black ball caps pulled low, shielding their faces.

“Mark Riley?” the man in the lead asked. He was lean compared to his barrel-chested partner.

To Charlotte, Mark whispered, “Go back inside.” To the slim man coming toward him, he said, “Who’s asking?”

“Come with us.” Slim approached while the second man remained with the vehicle, a handgun visible in a tactical holster at his belt. “There’s a security issue at the base and we need your assistance.”

That was a load of crap. He wasn’t active on any team right now. If there had been real trouble, his commander would’ve called him. “Show me an ID,” he demanded.

The leader reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun instead of a badge. Eaton’s men. Had to be. He started calculating how to get out of this without putting Charlotte in danger. She hadn’t moved.

“How can I help?” she whispered from behind him.

“Go find Dad or Matt,” he replied.

He kept his gaze on the leader’s gun while her high heels clicked rapid-fire against the pavement. She’d be clear in a few seconds. Instead of the door, he heard a startled scream. He swiveled around to see a man dressed in the catering uniform blocking the door to the gallery and holding a gun aimed at Charlotte.

Where in the hell was the security team?

Jumping forward, Mark caught Charlotte around the waist and twisted, shielding her before the waiter could take an accurate shot. “Stay close to me,” he ordered.

She tucked up behind him, her hands on his waist as he angled his body, putting her between him and the brick wall of the building. The odds favored the three armed men, but they couldn’t possibly want to open fire and draw more attention. The security patrol must have noticed the van. He expected backup any second now.

“Walk away while you can,” Mark said evenly to the aggressors. “Walk away and there won’t be anything to charge you with.”

The waiter and Slim advanced.

Mark swore under his breath. Charlotte couldn’t escape in either direction without going through at least one of the men who’d come for him. “Whatever Eaton’s paying you, I’ll double it if you leave now,” Mark offered, just to test the reactions.

None of the men reacted to the mention of Eaton’s name or the money—but who else would know his name and pull this kind of stunt? Being outnumbered didn’t faze him. Alone he’d take them down fast, but if Charlotte got hurt simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he’d never forgive himself.

“Mark?” she queried.

“Trust me?”

“Yes.”

That single confident syllable empowered him. Solutions rolled through his mind. He had to get her safely away.

“Into the van.” Slim motioned with his gun. “Both of you.”

“No,” Mark said. “I’ll come without a fight, as soon as you let her go back inside,” he countered.

Behind him, Charlotte gasped a denial.

“Come on.” He spread his hands. “She’s irrelevant and it’s her first solo showing. Have a heart.”

“Cooperate and we won’t kill her,” the waiter said, closing in from the side. “That’s heart.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Charlotte snapped, and brandished one of her high heels as a weapon.

Both the waiter and the leader closed in on them. Mark sized up his opponents and options. The fact that they’d not fired a shot told him they were afraid of drawing attention to themselves. They must have just figured he’d go along with their thin ruse. He would use their poor planning against them. Taking out the waiter gave Charlotte a path to escape. He lunged, grasping the waiter’s shirt. Hauling him close, he shoved him hard into the leader. The momentum knocked the gun from the waiter’s hand and blocked any shot the leader had.

“Run!” Mark barked at Charlotte, driving the men toward the alley opening to give her time to safely reach the gallery door.

The waiter recovered and came at Mark with lightning-fast punches and kicks. He recognized the type—a martial arts enthusiast with more confidence than sense. Blocking most of the blows, Mark lost his breath when a kick connected with his ribs. He had to twist under another flurry of flying limbs, and took a kick to the shoulder that would have knocked him out cold if it had landed on his jaw. He had to get on the offensive or he’d take a severe beating.

Where was the perimeter team? He wasn’t fighting off kidnappers in stealth mode out here. Mark now assumed the lack of response meant this crew had taken them out somehow. At least Charlotte would raise the alarm inside.

Seeing an opening, Mark shot out his leg and tripped the waiter, following the man to the ground as he fell. He used his size advantage, driving his knee into the man’s rib cage. The leader shouted and the waiter groaned, curling into himself protectively. Mark bounded to his feet to deal with the man in charge.

“Get in the van or I kill her right now,” Slim said in a snarl.

Mark spun around to see the man guarding the van had caught Charlotte while Mark was preoccupied with the fight. The guard had her pinned against the wall of the building with a meaty fist around her throat, the pressure clear by the pain etched on her face. Mark’s vision hazed red around the edges.

Charlotte’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Sorry,” she rasped. Barefoot, her toes reached for the ground while her fingers scraped at the man’s arm in her struggle to breathe.

Good grief. She’d gone on the attack, tried to help him fight, rather than run for safety. He could sort out why later. Right now, he had to make sure she didn’t suffer any further pain or humiliation.

“Move,” the leader demanded.

Mark held his ground. “Let her go.”

The leader fired once, the bullet slamming into the brick inches from Charlotte’s head. The blood iced in Mark’s veins. “We’re all going.” The man raised his gun again. “Will she be riding along dead or alive?”

Mark raised his hands, surrendering. He couldn’t win here without risking Charlotte. “Lead the way.” The man holding Charlotte hurried her into the van and Mark obediently followed.

She was shoved to the end of a bench and the guard cuffed her hands to a long chain looped around a bar bolted to the panel behind the bench. Mark was led farther down the bench and handcuffed the same way beside her. It was uncomfortable, but both of them could move the length of the bench and almost rest their hands in their laps.

The leader hauled the groaning waiter to his feet and dumped him in the back of the van, as well. Sliding the cargo door shut, he then climbed into the passenger’s seat up front while the guard took the driver’s seat. Moments later, they were speeding away from the gallery.

A clock started in Mark’s head as he gauged distance and direction. He had to bide his time. Mentally, he tallied every rough gesture or rude word Charlotte had endured, vowing to make each man pay.

From his place on the van’s floor, the waiter sat up, glaring at them as he recovered from Mark’s brutal tactics.

Next to him, Mark felt Charlotte’s body trembling, though her eyes were dry now and her jaw was set. “You wanted a way out of the evening,” he said to Charlotte, trying to distract her.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she murmured. “I’ll be more specific in the future.”

“Clarity is best,” he agreed, giving her a confident smile. “I’m betting our limo was once an ambulance. Maybe they’ll wind up the siren.” He wasn’t counting on it. As he scanned the vehicle, he also noted the interior door handles had been removed.

“Why are you so calm?” she wondered aloud, easing back to study his face.

He wished he could put his arm around her, give her real reassurance. “Because it’s too soon to panic,” he said breezily. “Would it help if I broke his nose?” He tipped his head toward the waiter.

“Shut up.” The man’s command held zero authority.

The driver jerked around a corner and Charlotte was tossed into him, landing on his battered shoulder. The cuffs jerked against her wrists and she cried out.

“You okay?” he asked, gritting his teeth against the spike of pain.

His anger was mounting over failing her and allowing the waiter to land some solid blows. He could score his lousy performance later; the pressing issue was finding a chance to get her out of here.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“No worries,” he replied. He used his body to leverage her back into place so the cuffs wouldn’t tug on her hands. On the plus side, her supple body had been a warm and sweet distraction, if only for an instant. Under the silky dress, there had been strength to match the warrior-like spirit that compelled her to fight off gunmen with a shoe. He had to take the positives where he found them.

Mark waited for the next swerve and used the momentum to slam a foot into the waiter’s shin. “Whoops.”

He slid out of Mark’s reach. “Do it again and I’ll shoot you.”

“Yeah? With what gun?” Mark sneered. “Oh, that’s right. It’s back in the alley.” He gave Charlotte a smile. “Someone will find it soon. Marisol noticed you were gone ages ago. This crew is amateur hour. I’m sure security is already scouring the surveillance video.” Assuming the security team wasn’t incapacitated.

“I’ll take your word,” she said, her blue eyes full of worry.

Mark had to believe help wouldn’t be far behind. “You’re the star tonight, Lottie. They miscalculated when they brought you along.” He caught the waiter’s cringing reaction to that and pressed his point. “We can hang tough until the cavalry arrives.”

She snorted at his joke. “A SEAL rescued by the cavalry. I like it.”

“You would.” He was glad she saw the humor. There was a certain Riley pride in army service that he’d bucked by joining the navy. His twin, an army ranger, would never stop gloating about the best branch of Special Forces operators if Mark didn’t find a way out of this predicament.

* * *

Charlotte took great comfort in Mark’s steady presence and persistent humor. He wasn’t nearly as blithe about this situation as he seemed, but he wasn’t posturing or giving her useless platitudes either. Without him, she’d be panicking or dead. Her throat was tender from the grip of the guard who’d caught her and her cheek stung in several places where the brick had splintered when the leader had fired his gun in her direction. At least her ears had stopped ringing from that blast.

Mark was right that Marisol would miss her. On more than one occasion at past appearances, her agent had tracked down Charlotte when she’d shied from the spotlight. She latched on to that ray of hope and refused to let it go.

She was more than scared, but she had to find her courage, find a way to be more than a weakness Mark had to worry about. Catching the waiter glaring at her again, her fingers twitched as she imagined sketching him in various vignettes and pieces.

“Easy,” Mark murmured.

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“I can almost hear you plotting his demise,” Mark said, loud enough to be heard. “I’m sure it’s a creative ending.”

He was far too observant. “Positively gory,” she admitted. Turning her attention toward more appealing topics, she studied the precise line of Mark’s short beard.

She’d drawn his profile and face countless times through the years. Though he’d caught her at it a time or two, he’d never said a word or given any indication of his thoughts. He’d be appalled if he knew how many sketchbooks she’d devoted to him. She found it fascinating the way he’d changed and matured from those sharp angles of his teens to the powerful elegance he sported this evening.

Mark and his twin brother, Luke, were identical, except for the location of the dimple, and the boys had used it to their advantage more than once. She’d never understood how they’d fooled anyone. Even as a girl, she had an innate tendency to focus on the details that made faces, even identical faces, different.

“Keep staring at me like that and I might catch fire,” he said. “You’re not thinking of my demise now?”

“Never.” She might not understand the full scope of what was happening, other than she seemed to have terrible timing tonight, but she knew she wouldn’t get out of this without him.

“Then what were you thinking about?”

Meeting his gaze, she saw the spark of humor in his brown eyes and the flicker of that dimple in his cheek. This was the flirtatious side of him that typically brought women in for a closer look. She understood the draw and thought again of that kiss she’d been hoping for.

“Luke,” she answered. It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Liar.”

How did he know? Heat flooded up from her neck, into her cheeks, and she was grateful for the poor lighting in the back of the van. Various colors from traffic signals and street lamps strobed across them from the cab windshield, hiding her ridiculous blush.

Except he was so observant and he’d known her all her life. He’d been around in those moments when she got flustered because her mother gushed over her prizewinning artwork or her brother teased her about something going on at school. Thinking back, she recalled the way he’d crack a joke with his brother or stir up a diversion that she’d use to escape the unwanted attention. Was it possible he’d done it on purpose?

“I was thinking of Luke,” she protested a little too late. “His jaw is heavier than yours on the right. He could hide it if he wore a beard.”

“He’d look silly with a beard,” Mark joked. “His dimple’s on the other side too.”

“True.” Despite the dire circumstances, she grinned. “No one remembers that detail.”

“It’s shocking,” he agreed. “If I’d been thinking, I would’ve told them I was Luke.”

“Shut up!” The waiter pulled a small revolver from a holster at his ankle.

The tremors Mark had soothed returned with a vengeance. She’d been around guns all her life, mostly at firing ranges. Target practice wasn’t as calming for her as a nice long hike, but she enjoyed shooting. The first lesson her father had taught her was never to point a firearm at another person. Until tonight, she’d never been on the business end of a loaded gun.

Every instinct said to hide, but there was no escape back here. Her heart pounded and the chain linking her handcuffs rattled across the bar as fear took hold.

“Quit scaring her, you jerk.” Mark blocked her with his body as much as his handcuffs allowed.

The snub-nosed barrel of the gun was now aimed squarely at Mark’s chest. No surprise that only terrified her more. In the confined space, the odds of the bullet missing were nil. At this man’s whim or a bump in the road, either of them could wind up seriously wounded or worse.

“You’re slow, aren’t you, buddy?” The waiter spoke with obnoxious deliberation. “I’m in charge. You behave.” He stood up and yanked her away from Mark’s shelter, pressing the cold barrel of the gun to her skin, just under her collarbone. “Are we clear?”

Mark changed before her eyes. Gone was the carefree, good-natured guy she knew from their family vacations. His jaw set into a hard line and his warm brown eyes went flat. Cold. She was almost glad he was out of reach, afraid that any touch would set all that coiled strength into action.

The entertainment industry loved portraying Navy SEALs as invincible. She knew they were trained to believe they were invincible. As much as she wanted to embrace the myth and believe Mark could overcome any obstacle, how could he take down three armed men while handcuffed to the van?

From the moment these men appeared in the alley, he hadn’t shown an ounce of fear. In fact, if the guard had any sense of self-preservation, he’d stop goading Mark right now. Belatedly, she realized she was the only reason he was holding back. Whatever was going on, she refused to be a pawn they used against him.

“Back off,” she demanded. The pressure of the gun against her skin eased abruptly as the man compensated for the driver’s acceleration. “What’s your name?”

“John Doe.” Standing over her, the waiter’s gaze dropped to leer at the low neckline of her dress. “You ever paint nudes?”

She’d heard the same sleazy question all through college. Every guy thought they were the first to ask. “Did you see any nudes on display in the gallery?”

“I wasn’t really looking,” he said.

“Of course you weren’t.”

Mark bumped her knee with his foot. “Don’t let him get under your skin.”

“We have what we came for.” He lowered the gun and twirled a finger through a loose curl of Charlotte’s hair.

Bile rose up into her throat.

“That makes you a bonus.” The man licked his lips. “Maybe he’ll let us share you like we’re gonna share the ransom money.”

Her stomach clenched and she struggled to hold his gaze against a new wave of fear. But the waiter smiled, and she hated herself for being so transparent.

“That will not happen.” The tone, low and lethal, wasn’t one she’d ever heard out of Mark.

Abruptly, the man was down, his feet kicking the air and the gun he held clattering on the metal floor of the van. Thankfully no bullets erupted. Beside her, Mark simply shifted in his seat, compensating for the next turn as the leader swiveled around in the passenger’s seat.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Your guy lost his balance,” Mark said with laughable innocence. To Charlotte he added in a whisper, “The hammer wasn’t cocked.”

She dipped her chin in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice. He’d taken down an armed man with his hands cuffed. She hadn’t even seen him twitch, just a slight movement of his leg.

“I never would’ve taken the risk otherwise,” he added earnestly.

She believed him, she did. Unfortunately the awareness did nothing to slow her thundering pulse or erase the tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t want to have this meltdown, not when he needed her to be strong.

At their feet, the waiter groaned as he came around. Reclaiming his revolver and shoving it back into the ankle holster, he retreated to the opposite side of the van, embarrassment and fury rolling off him in waves. Blood dripped from a wound on his chin, staining his white uniform shirt.

“You might need stitches,” she observed.

Mark made a weird snorting noise that she assumed was suppressed laughter. The waiter didn’t even acknowledge her. That was fine by her. More than fine. It would be a long time before she forgot the feel of that cold gun barrel digging into her skin.

As the driver took the next turn, she grabbed the chain of her cuffs to keep from sliding into Mark’s side again.

“Don’t worry about hurting me,” Mark said. “Just stay tough. I’ll figure this out.”

Fear surged anew and all she could do was ride it out as the van approached a nondescript warehouse. As the driver inched forward, a black metal door rolled up to grant them access. The warehouse interior was shrouded in darkness and shadow. Charlotte caught a whiff of the ocean under more abrasive notes of grease and metal and…

“Tires,” Mark said, as if he could read her mind.

Yes, that was it.

He leaned forward, trying to get a better look or blocking her view, she wasn’t sure.

The waiter, on his feet again, shoved him back. “You’re awful eager to meet your maker.”

“It’ll be a pleasure to take you with me,” Mark snarled.

The van doors parted and she winced under the assault of a bright light. As her eyes adjusted and lights came on in the warehouse, she took stock of the man holding the flashlight on them. He was average height, almost skinny, with unremarkable short brown hair going gray at the temples. His eyes were also brown, but his cold-blooded gaze left her shivering as he looked her over, head to toe.

He turned his back on them. “What the hell is this? I sent you for Riley.”

She stared at the blood on the floor of the van. The tread of the waiter’s shoe had tracked through the mess, creating an abstract. As a kid, she’d searched for shapes in the clouds; tonight, she searched for shapes in the blood smears to keep her mind away from the terror of dying.

She’d expected to have more time. There were a thousand things she might never get to do. She wanted to travel to Africa, take an Alaskan cruise and build a retreat for artists. She’d never fallen madly in love. Crushing on Mark didn’t count. At least her artwork would increase in value after this. How often did an artist get kidnapped from her first solo showing?

“Your men can’t tell the difference between a famous artist and a SEAL?” Mark tsked. “Good help is so hard to find.”

“We had to bring her along or she would’ve blown our escape,” said the leader, who’d done all the talking in the alley.

Damn right she would have.

“An artist?” The man in charge studied her for several long moments before speaking to Mark. “How is she related to you?”

“She isn’t.” Mark dismissed her as easily as swatting away a buzzing gnat. “I was trying to get lucky when your brilliant team grabbed both of us.”

Was she supposed to play along? She had no idea how to help him so she kept quiet. The man in charge eyed her again and she started to sweat. She swallowed an automatic, pitiful plea for mercy, certain that anything she said to this man would be twisted and used against her.

“Come on. Let her go,” Mark said. “You’ve scared the poor woman enough for a lifetime.”

The man held up a cell phone, snapped a picture of Charlotte and slammed the doors. A small amount of light filtered through the windshield. She heard footsteps fading and then the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

All she could hear was Mark’s slow, even breathing. All she could feel was the hard seat beneath her, the cool metal circling her wrists. Though Mark was at the other end of the bench, he seemed a hundred miles away.

Tears threatened again, but this time she kept them at bay. Mark was here. He’d get them out of this mess. There was a scraping sound of metal on metal, followed by a loud bang and the van shook.

Mark cursed, a colorful combination she could almost visualize on a canvas as a stream of angry red and muddy purples flowing into a black horizon, as he pounded his fists against the side panel. It took her a minute to make sense of his ranting.

“You know who that was?” she asked.

“Yes.” Another slam of some hard body part against the unyielding van. “That was John Eaton.” He swore again. “Now that you’ve seen his face, it’ll be harder than ever to get you out of here tonight.”

That was the name he’d mentioned in the alley. “What does he want with you?”

“He’s the man out to destroy Dad, one kid at a time.”

She told herself he couldn’t mean that, hoped he was exaggerating, yet here they were, prisoners in a van. Whoever Eaton was, he had resources and manpower. They had…a Navy SEAL. She curled her bare toes into the ridges of the van floor. Mark would come up with an escape plan. Her fingers gripped the chain the cuffs were linked to and she pressed her knees together, trying to quell the tremors so he wouldn’t feel her fear. “What do we do?”

She had to believe in him, had to stay positive. Every problem had a solution. Every single one. Mark would get them out of this; she had absolute faith in him.

Mark subsided. “We bide our time,” he said, his voice flat. “And then we leave.”

She bit her lip, not liking step one so far. She patiently waited for him to explain the rest of his plan, her unease growing with every beat of silence that followed.

CHAPTER 3

Mark didn’t need good lighting or an outright admission to know Charlotte was terrified. And who could blame her? It was common sense of course, but he could also hear the fear in her shallow breaths, the slight rattle of the handcuffs.

In a matter of minutes, she’d gone from lovely artist in the spotlight to threatened prisoner in the dark, thanks to him. It would’ve been bad enough if she’d been a stranger, a woman he only wanted to flirt with or possibly hook up with, but she wasn’t. Charlotte was special. Not just to their families, but to him.

When they were kids, the uniquely quiet way she soaked up the world, as if she could bring everything she wanted closer to her, had fascinated him. She was a direct counterpoint to his tendency to charge into the fray, be it a friendly game of tag football or a counterterrorism mission. Having her in harm’s way went against everything he believed, against all of his training.

Yes, logically, Eaton was to blame. He’d come after Mark, and Charlotte had just been in the wrong place. But Mark had let down his guard in the alley, been distracted, and now she could pay the price. He should have pushed her through the gallery door, not just told her to go, before any of the action started. He should have forced her out of the way.

He slammed his good shoulder into the rail. Where was a loose bolt when he needed one?

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Charlotte warned. “Please. You said we had to bide our time.”

He admired her effort to hide her fear. “I’ve said a lot of things,” he muttered. “Every restraint has a weakness,” he said. “If there’s a way to get out, I’ll find it.”

“Then what?”

“One step at a time.” If he was free when that van door opened again, surprise would be on his side. “Do you have a hair pin or something I could use to pick the cuffs?”

“I don’t. Sorry,” she replied. “Marisol wanted my hair all loose and crazy tonight. She rambled on about Bohemian chic or something along those lines.”

He twisted around on the bench, leaning back as far as the cuffs would allow. “She made the right call on the hair and the dress,” he said. “Everyone was falling in love with you.”

Finding the point where the bar was bolted to the side panel, he kicked and stomped and nothing budged. Whoever made dress shoes for James Bond deserved a medal. His shoes were completely useless. He swore again. “Sorry.”

“For the salty language?” she asked.

He heard the smile, wished he could see it. “Yes.” He was apologizing for the language, along with everything else he’d done wrong, though he’d rather not itemize his every failing of the evening.

“Please. I heard worse on our family vacations.”

He shushed her quickly. “Someone might be listening. I don’t want Eaton to know you’re connected to the family.”

“Okay,” she murmured.

“Please, don’t be afraid.” He scooted close to her now, keeping his voice low. “With a little luck, I can convince him to let you go. I think you’d be an excellent ransom-delivery messenger.”

“Every artist needs a fallback.”

He appreciated the attempt at levity. “That’s the spirit.”

Mark stood and tested the full limits of the cuffs. The sound of the chain sliding back and forth across the bar made him feel like a restless ghost in the dark. “Would it help to know this isn’t the worst predicament I’ve been in?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“If my fast talking doesn’t work, be ready to follow my lead when an opportunity presents itself. This isn’t over until we’re safe.” Or at least until she was safe.

“I believe in you.”

Her declaration of faith nearly did him in. It was exactly the reply he’d hoped for, yet the pressure mounted like never before. His career demanded the best of the best at every position. He’d been in tight spots before, in situations that felt insurmountable at the time. In those cases, his team had been in his ear on the comm link, watching his back, talking him around or through any glitches.

This was different, so far removed from the controlled chaos of those operations that his confidence kept flickering like a light bulb about to blow. He knew how far he could push himself. He didn’t know how far he could push Charlotte.

“When you seize an opportunity, don’t expect me to go alone,” she said. “We get out of here together or not at all.”

“That’s the ultimate goal,” he replied. He refused to open a debate with her by explaining why she might have to leave without him.

“I mean it, Mark.”

“Understood.” The sound of approaching footsteps cut off any further discussion. The lights in the warehouse brightened, filtering through the windshield. “Be ready,” he whispered.

They heard a key slide into a lock and then the doors were flung wide. Eaton smiled, and a man at his side aimed an assault rifle at Mark’s chest.

“Mark Riley,” Eaton said. “Your service record is impressive. You are here because you’re a son of General Riley, US Army–retired. I give you credit for bucking the old man and going into the navy, but that doesn’t exempt you from my plans.”

Mark stared at his enemy, unflinching. It took tremendous willpower to remain equally unmoved as Eaton’s calculating gaze shifted to Charlotte.

“And you are Charlotte Hanover.”

Inwardly Mark winced.

“An acclaimed artist and dear, dear friend to the Rileys,” Eaton continued. “He didn’t mention you when I served with him, but a quick perusal of your background and recent publicity makes me believe he’ll be very distressed that you’ve gone missing.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “I am going to enjoy getting to know you better.”

“Let her go,” Mark said. “This isn’t about her.”

“Isn’t it?” Eaton asked, studying Charlotte. “She means something to your family.” He reached out and caught a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Beware, young lady, the Rileys will always let you down.”

Mark’s pulse thundered. He would rip Eaton apart for touching her, for scaring her, for interfering with her big night. Only the threat of the gun kept him still. He couldn’t help Charlotte if he were dead.

Eaton leaned closer to her. “General Riley, your honorary uncle, took everything from me. Everything.” He put a razor-sharp edge on each syllable. “Now his children will do penance for his betrayal. So far two have been tested and passed. I let them live because I am the better man.”

Was Eaton implying he’d shown restraint? “No,” Mark argued. “They outwitted your traps and survived.” He had to draw Eaton away from Charlotte. He wouldn’t let this bastard’s ugly words tarnish her opinion of his father. “And I will too, no matter what you’ve cooked up this time.”

Eaton’s gaze finally shifted to Mark. “Your father ruined my career, crushed my reputation and destroyed my family. My wife and daughter are gone!” he shouted. “I’ll never see them again. You think these men at my back are friends?”

“Friends or enemies, they’re a pack of idiots to stand behind you,” Mark said.

Eaton snorted. “Hardly. They’re skilled soldiers and loyal to me, the source of their money.”

“We’ll see how loyal they are when the authorities get here.” He stretched as far as the cuffs allowed so Eaton’s men could hear him clearly. “Did he tell you that we’re all under surveillance? Before long, they’ll swarm this warehouse and round up everyone who helped your fearlessly delusional leader.”

The only faces he could see were Eaton’s and the gunman’s and neither man flinched. Didn’t matter. Eaton might pay well for his private army, but when the crazy started to show, a mercenary’s survival meant walking away. Quickly.

“I expected better.” Eaton shook his head. “You didn’t follow blindly in his footsteps. I’m hoping you’ll provide a more devastating kind of trouble for your father.” He stepped back, reaching to close the doors.

“Wait!” Mark said. “Let her go. An act of good faith.” He pitched his voice so it sounded more like a plea than an order. “She’s not military. She isn’t even a Riley,” he added, feeling like a jerk. “It’s not like Dad raised her.”

Of course, she had the mettle to be a Riley. His parents and hers had been inseparable, and they’d brought up the kids as if they were all cousins. But he was trying to use Eaton’s definition for revenge to get her out of here.

Eaton studied him. “They told me you were together when they found you. She stays.”

“Together? No. Not like that.” The idea of together with Charlotte stuck in his head. He could see her art on the wall in the house of his dreams where a little girl with strawberry blond curls and a sweet dimple in her cheek danced in a bright sunbeam. “No,” he said again, as a chill slid through him. Eaton had proven he didn’t mind putting innocent lives at risk in his sick games.

Eaton’s gaze slid from Mark to Charlotte and back again. A knowing smirk creased his weathered face. “She stays.”

The door slammed and the lock turned.

“I’ll go ahead to make room for her,” Eaton said to his men. “I want this place cleared within the hour. No trace…” His voiced faded as he and his men trooped off.

Charlotte’s breath hitched. Damn it. He had to do something. “Charlotte—”

“I hate this dress,” she said, wrestling with the neckline. “This is the worst time to feel like a girl.”

“You are a girl,” he pointed out.

“A frilly, useless girl,” she amended. “Vulnerable.”

“Hardly,” he argued. “You’re strong. And the dress is killer.”

The driver’s door opened and the van rocked as a burly man they hadn’t seen settled behind the steering wheel. The engine started and they were backing out of the warehouse.

Mark heard her sniffle and wished there was something more he could do. “Lottie.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

He sputtered, barely containing an outright laugh over the obvious lie. “I will get us out of here.”

“I know.” She pulled again at the neckline of her dress. “You’ll squash that creep like a bug and I’ll give you a big round of applause.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a frilly girl would say.”

“I wish I could do the squashing,” she said. “Your sisters could squash him.”

Mark didn’t want to mention how Eaton had nearly destroyed Grace Ann. “In a fair fight, my money’s on you, honey.” He’d rip out the man’s eyes for making Charlotte feel like a helpless object rather than a capable woman. And what would he do to himself for making her feel less important to him and the family? Once they were safe, he could work on making amends for that. “Try to relax,” he murmured. “He has the advantage now, but everyone makes mistakes eventually. You know I didn’t mean all that about—”

“Forget it,” she said, her voice small. “It’s okay.”

He’d hurt her feelings when he should be a source of strength and hope for her. He wanted to be comforting, but he didn’t have the luxury right now. Hope was fragile and wouldn’t hold up long against whatever Eaton had planned for him.

Charlotte needed more than comfort. She needed the jaded, cold warrior the navy had carved out of him through the rigors of training and operations. Only his well-honed, lethal skills would get them out of this alive.

* * *

Charlotte was not okay.

In fact, this entire night was the polar opposite of okay. From the moment they’d been attacked in the alley until now, she felt she was living a nightmare. Her fears for her own life were pushed behind ones for Mark’s. Even if she were let go, what would happen to him? Her breath came fast, and she felt her pulse race, as anxiety flooded her.

And yet all she could think about was how much her heart ached. She supposed she should thank Mark for momentarily distracting her from the paralyzing fear of being kidnapped by a madman who had some perverse idea of revenge.

Her plans for a kiss were trashed, but worse, her fantasy of being his had popped like a bubble. A sphere of gleaming rainbows in the sunlight impaled on a blade of grass. That’s what happened to lifelong crushes when exposed to the harsh light of reality.

She would never be a Riley. It was completely irrational to hurt this much over a few words tossed out in an attempt to protect her. Mark had no idea she’d imagined their wedding day in her head a thousand times. A silly figment of her imagination. Thank goodness she’d never shared that nonsense with anyone. She fought against another wave of tears, thoroughly annoyed with herself.

A kiss wouldn’t have changed anything, even if she had pulled it off. He had five years on her and a career that included pressures and dangers she couldn’t even fathom. In contrast, her life had been a cakewalk. Her biggest career challenges were snobby critics, obstinate patients and the occasional travel delay.

If they’d met as strangers, would they have any common ground? Would he have given her a second look? She had to get control of her reactions and regain her perspective. Had to find a way to help him.

“I’m sorry this man hates your family.” All her life, General Riley, his wife and their five children were a natural extension of her family. Her memories of all of them together created a vibrant canvas, infused with bold color and light and love.

“Not as sorry as I am that his hatred spilled onto you.” He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling of the van. “He didn’t bother concealing his face.”

“That’s a problem?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.

“It shows a troubling degree of arrogance.” Mark muttered an oath. “You shouldn’t be here. He knows that. What is he thinking?”

“You shouldn’t be here either,” she pointed out. He seemed to be forgetting they’d both been kidnapped, only one of them on purpose.

“If I hadn’t been out there flirting with you, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He glanced toward her bare feet. “And you’d still have those sexy heels you were wearing.”

Had they been flirting? He’d recognized the connection between several paintings, but the rest was a blur, thanks to Eaton. Her hopelessly romantic heart fluttered in her chest knowing that Mark found her heels sexy. She preferred to think of that rather than the situation they were now in. The idea of flirting with him, on purpose, was enticing. Tempting. She’d wanted him to look at her like a woman—an interested, available woman—for so long, it seemed too good to be true.

She wondered what Mark would say if he knew that’s where her mind had wandered. She suddenly despised Eaton for intruding on her first real chance to connect with Mark as a consenting adult. Mark had noticed her heels. He liked the dress. Those were moments she’d thought beyond her reach. “Can I put in a request for when we get out of here?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He slid closer, a sexy tilt to his lips. “It’s smart to have something to look forward to.”

She cleared her throat and went for broke. “When we get out of this, I’d like to have dinner with you. Just you, not the family. It doesn’t have to be fancy—”

“Why not? You deserve fancy.”

The statement made her smile, something she’d thought beyond her a few minutes ago. “Thanks. In that case, bring on the candles and good wine.”

He chuckled. “Count on it.” He shifted on the bench. “Want in on a secret?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, echoing him.

“I walked into the gallery tonight expecting to be bored. Then I saw you. All the color and movement of your art faded into the background. I suddenly wanted to steal Dad’s new boat and take you out for champagne on a sunset sail.”

“You thought all that?” Was this a new tactic to keep her calm? “About me?”

He nodded and she felt his gaze drifting over her as distinctly as if he’d touched her with those strong, long-fingered hands that mesmerized her almost as often as his face.

“It was the dress.” His voice was quiet and warm and completely at odds with their surroundings. “Those blues and greens remind me of a Caribbean beach. You looked so…you. Grown up, confident, amazing. And your hair. If that isn’t champagne-worthy hair, I don’t know what is.”

No one had ever said anything so romantic to her. Not even the fascinating guitarist she’d dated for a few months in Paris. Even better, she believed Mark. Those words resonated as true. The awareness was liberating, empowering and a bit unnerving. She could practically hear the water against the boat’s hull, feel the wind teasing her hair while the sun sank slowly into the horizon. See the glint in his eyes just before he kissed her.

She was probably reading way too much into the moment. Flirting was one thing. Mark, older and more experienced, with his intense career, couldn’t possibly be satisfied with her, a woman frequently lost to an image no one else could see. Not in the long term. Although, considering their situation, long term was relative.

If she asked, would he kiss her now? Pondering those odds and possibilities, she nearly slipped off the bench when the van driver took a corner too fast. Mark caught her before the cuffs could jerk her arms and chafe her wrists again.

“You’re quiet. What are you thinking?” he asked, still holding her steady.

It wasn’t easy to speak with his warm hands on her skin. Even in this dangerous situation, his nearness both roused and soothed her.

The van took another turn and she grabbed his strong forearm, feeling the strength under the fabric of his suit coat. “Someone up there could use a safe driver refresher course,” she said, loud enough to carry to the driver.

Mark grunted in amused agreement. “Seriously,” he said at her ear, as the ride smoothed out. “Before that.”

She could hardly admit she’d been thinking of them together in the setting he’d described. “Dinner on the water would make a beautiful painting,” she said. “Planning a canvas sometimes helps when I’m stressed or uncomfortable.”

Once Mark got them out of this, she would go back to her studio and paint. For days. Only breaking for dinner with him. She would paint a sun-soaked ocean and layer in all of her longing for Mark. All of her romantic wishes could float safely there, just under the surface of the water and she’d never have to face the likelihood of his rejection. He’d be kind and let her down easy, but that wouldn’t change the result.

Obviously it would take a series of paintings to address the wealth of emotion she carried for him. On the canvas, only the sunset, the water and the effervescent champagne she dreamed of sipping while stretched out under the muted light of an endless sky would show. Endless. Yeah, that about summed it up. Endless fantasies, endless hope, endless what-ifs. She wasn’t so sure that dinner after this crisis was a good idea after all.

“Must be some painting.”

She was glad the light was dim and irregular back here, so the blush heating her cheeks wouldn’t be as easy to spot. “I guess we’ll see if I can pull it off when I get back to my studio.” Maybe then she would work up the courage to grab a little piece of her dream of Mark.

“I’d like to see that.” He shifted a bit, his hands still on her, lighter now. “Do you ever invite people to watch you work?”

“No. The idea of painting in front of an audience makes me queasy.” Her hands cramped and her muse skittered out of reach, hiding until it was safe to come out. “Every artist has a process that works for them.”

“That makes sense.” He sighed and moved away from her. “I’m so sorry, Lottie. I can’t tell you how badly I want you out of here.” His voice was so low she barely heard him over the engine and tires. “No stops lately. We’ve been on a highway for a while. I don’t like it.”

Remarkable she hadn’t even noticed. Apparently he could effectively distract her without losing his focus. His features were hard to pick out in the near darkness. “How can I help?”

“It would be great if you had a magic wand handy. Barring that, I’m open to ideas,” he said.

He slid farther away from her until he was at the end of the bench behind the front seats. Slowly, he stretched his arms, then his legs, but the restraints kept him far from the metal screen between them and the cab of the van. He couldn’t interfere with the driver at all. “Eaton is a stickler for detail,” he grumbled.

Following his example, she slid to the other end of the bench, straining for the rear door. They couldn’t get out because the door handle had been removed, but she just realized that what she’d been hearing sliding around in the back were her shoes. Maybe if she could reclaim one or both shoes they could use the high heels as weapons.

It was a balancing act and far from graceful, but she stretched full-length, trying to catch her toe in one of the straps.

Obviously they weren’t alone out here on the road. If they could find a way to make a scene, surely another driver would notice and possibly call for help. When their driver pulled over to deal with whatever scene they made, they could attack him with her shoes.

“Charlotte?” Mark said softly. “I can use the point of the buckle on your shoe on these cuffs.”

“Almost there.” She was sure she could stretch another inch or two. She was wrong. The stupid sparkly heels remained just out of reach. She slumped onto her back on the bench, willing herself to stay positive. That’s when she saw the hatch overhead.

If they could get that open it might garner attention from other drivers, as well. Getting her feet under her, she stood on the bench.

“What are you doing?”

“Creating a diversion,” she said. “Or trying anyway.” She was disgusted, but not surprised, that the cuffs didn’t give her enough slack to stand upright on the bench. Frustrated beyond bearing, she screamed and stomped her feet.

She startled the driver and he twisted in his seat, shouting about the commotion, and jerked on the steering wheel in the process. His curses blended with Mark’s and hers too as she lost her balance, tumbling to the bench. Horns blasted from either side of them as the van swerved all over his lane.

Unfortunately, there were only near misses, no collisions that might have helped them escape.

Mark helped her get situated again on the bench beside him. “I’d rather you didn’t break your neck before I have a chance to get you out of here. What was that?”

“Dashed hope, obviously,” she replied. Pain sang up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders. “I thought opening that hatch might get some attention from another driver.”

“Not a bad plan,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really.” He looked toward the hatch. “I should’ve thought of it.”

Was that admiration in his voice? She gathered herself and rolled her shoulders. “The swerving probably wasn’t enough.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. “Can you get your shoe back on and hook the heel into the handle of the storage bin?”

With all the swerving, one of her shoes had come within reach. She got it on her foot and then followed his gaze to the bin under the bench seat they shared. “I can,” she said, determined to be useful.

She had to fidget and twist a little and ignore all the places that ached from her last attempt to raise havoc, but at last she hooked the heel of her shoe through the handle. A few seconds later, she had the right angle and the door popped open.

“Nicely done.”

She felt a flush of pride. “What’s there?” She couldn’t see into it as well as he could. “Anything we can use as a weapon?”

“Looks empty.”

She shook her head. Not even a scream would help this time. “What now?”

“Now you start banging that door back and forth.”

She scowled at him, though he probably couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t think making noise would do them any good, but trusting him, she did as he asked. “We could’ve just stomped,” she said.

Under the flash of a streetlight, she saw him shake his head. “This is better. Keep going.”

Time and again, she did as he asked. The driver took his sweet time reacting, but finally he slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder.

The van rocked as he came to a hard stop. He was muttering to himself as he put the gearshift in Park. An overhead light came on and he turned in his seat to yell through the screen. “What’s that noise?”

Charlotte held out her cuffed hands and Mark did the same. “It’s not us,” she said. She kept the bin closed with her foot so he wouldn’t see the trouble immediately.

He glared at Mark. “What did you do?”

“Not a thing,” Mark said. “Maybe you ran over something in the road.”

“No. You’re the trouble. Kidnapping is always a bad plan,” he muttered to himself. “Unpredictable.” He shoved out of the car and a blast of air rushed in as a big truck sped by.

He’d resorted to colorful swearing by the time he yanked open the back doors. Charlotte was prepared to jump him, distract him or otherwise assist Mark until she saw the gun.

“Stay back,” the driver ordered. “One move and you’re dead.”

When she met his gaze, she believed he would happily follow through on the threat.

“He’s bluffing,” Mark said. “Eaton would kill him if he hurt either of us and wrecked the grand plan.”

She noticed he’d angled himself to be more visible in the glare of headlights from passing cars. While the driver looked for the source of the noise, Mark’s gaze went to the shoe, and he nodded, motioning for her to give it to him.

She raised her knee and the guard’s attention snapped to her. “Don’t you move.”

She froze, once more finding herself on the business end of a gun. “I had an itch,” she claimed. Catching Mark’s movement from the corner of her eye, she chattered in an effort to hold the driver’s attention. “What can I do anyway? You’re holding the gun. Do you have any water?” she asked. “I’m so thirsty.”

An object flew at the driver’s head. The shoe, she realized as it connected with the man’s head and he stumbled backward. She’d never wished so hard that a person would fall in front of a truck.

No such luck. On a tempestuous roar, the driver launched himself into the van with them. Grabbing Mark by his lapels, he hauled him forward, to the limit of the cuffs. He raised a big hand and brought it down hard across Mark’s ear.

“You will sit still until you are told to move.”

“Pardon?” Mark tilted his head. “Can’t hear you. My ear’s buzzing.”

His face mottled with rage, the driver shoved Mark back to the end of the bench and rounded on her.

His hand came up, palm open. She braced for the impact.

“Don’t touch her,” Mark said.

“I’ll do what I please.” He reached out, his hand clammy and rough as he dragged his palm down the length of her throat. His thumb and fingers circled the base of her neck, squeezing just enough to let her know he was in complete control.

A blast of icy fear coursed through her. He could snap her neck at will.

“Cooperate,” he said, applying more pressure. “Behave.”

“Hey!” Mark stomped his foot against the floorboard. “Were you expecting friends?”

The driver spun as a car coasted up behind them on the shoulder. He hurried out of the van and slammed the doors closed again.

Charlotte coughed and tried to rub away the feel of the driver’s hand. “I should’ve hit him when he was distracted,” she said. “We’re right back where we started.”

“Hardly.”

She lifted her gaze and caught Mark grinning at her. “Why are you smiling?” There was an imprint of the driver’s fist on his cheek and a trickle of blood seeped from his ear. She’d expected to see something closer to anger on his face.

“You’re fierce, Lottie,” he said. “Looks good on you.”

Fierce. The surprising compliment sent a ripple of warmth through her bloodstream, melting away the dreadful chill from the driver’s touch. “I can think of better ways to spend an evening,” she admitted.

“Sure. But misery is always more fun with good company,” he joked. “More importantly you aren’t huddled up crying in the corner. You’re a variable they don’t know how to solve. I think they’ll figure out they should let you go, and you should grab the chance when it comes.”

Despite everything, there was a glimmer of happiness in her heart. He’d called her fierce. “I’ve cried plenty tonight,” she pointed out. She felt so much weaker than him. Fragile. None of her yoga or hiking or other fitness endeavors had prepared her for this. “He could’ve snapped my neck.”

“Could have. Didn’t.” Mark worked his jaw side to side. “He has weight to his punches, I’ll give him that.”

The dome light in the cab came on as the driver resumed his position. A moment later, the light over their heads winked out. It seemed the Good Samaritan who’d stopped had been sent away. So much for the miracle she’d been hoping for.

Resigned, she curled up on the bench seat and Mark invited her to lean on him. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a wonderful comfort to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Do you remember that summer we turned Mom’s minivan into a fort?” Mark asked.

“We? That was all you and Luke.” She closed her eyes, recalling those sweet days.

“You were there,” Mark said. “Guilt by association.”

“Maybe so.” She opened her eyes. “This place could do with some pilfered couch cushions and a hanging sheet or two.”

Mark chuckled. “And gummy bears.”

“Yes.” She rolled her wrists, trying to get some relief from the handcuffs. “What made you think of Fort Van…whatever it was?”

“Fort Van Dodge,” he supplied. “You slept in there. I remember your eyelashes.”

She sat up and blinked said lashes, wishing for better light to read his expression. “What are you talking about?”

He rested his head against the panel. “Your eyelashes turned into little gold fans on your cheeks when you slept. Still happens, I bet.”

Weary and uncertain, she drew his words straight into her heart. She should probably find something witty to say or a memory to share, but her adrenaline spikes were giving way to pure exhaustion. Better to stay quiet than say something that made him feel obligated to take on more of her stress.

“Sleep if you can,” Mark said, as if he’d read her mind. “I won’t let anything happen.”

He clearly wanted to spare her, and she appreciated his efforts, but she had a feeling it would take both of them, working together, to escape this mess.

CHAPTER 4

With Charlotte leaning into him, her head resting awkwardly on his shoulder thanks to the cumbersome handcuffs, Mark kept watch. Not that he actually saw much, but he took in all the information available from the sound of the pavement to the brief glimpses he caught through the windshield.

He had to get her out of this mess. It was his fault she was stuck in this dangerous situation with him, and he wouldn’t let an innocent suffer on his watch. Especially when that innocent was Charlotte.

A shame they hadn’t been kidnapped in the daylight. That would’ve made things much easier. Of course, in the daylight, he’d have been behind the gates of a military installation, putting him out of Eaton’s reach.

The effort to pick up on any location clues helped divert him from the enticing woman leaning against him. Whatever she’d used in her hair smelled amazing and her skin felt as silky as her dress. At first glance, she might be mistaken for soft or fragile. She wasn’t. Charlotte had shown tremendous fortitude under pressure. He wondered how long she would hold up, wishing it didn’t have to be a concern for either of them.

He could smell the ocean nearby, though that didn’t necessarily mean anything since they’d started the evening in Virginia Beach, just a few blocks in from the coastline. When the rear doors had been opened earlier, he hadn’t seen much of their surroundings, but he guessed they were headed south and though traffic had been steady, it seemed the driver had been routed away from the major thoroughfares.

Having been read into the ongoing investigation and search for the man harassing his family, Mark decided Eaton enjoyed putting Rileys into ridiculous situations. The man had mastered how to provoke and divert and he went out of his way to fabricate high-visibility moments that would create havoc and blow back on General Riley.

Mark’s dad had been candid about why Eaton had been removed from the unit during a deployment. Several evaluations had been conducted at the time and all of those professionals concurred that Eaton had snapped. Every step had been taken to ensure Eaton got the care he needed, that his family was provided for, but somewhere along the line his wife had walked out, taking their daughter.

Consequences happened. It was a standard by-product of living. Rather than take responsibility for his actions and the fallout, Eaton pinned all the blame on the general and set in motion an elaborate plan of revenge.

The file on Eaton was frightening. Led by army investigator Hank Lawson, the team was uncovering a history of odd jobs that led Eaton to work with mercenary teams abroad. It seemed a superior sniper without a conscience was always in demand. Through the years, he’d found and cultivated a network of people willing to carry out his orders. He used that time for planning and fine-tuning his revenge against Mark’s dad. As of the last update, no one had an accurate location for Eaton’s home base. Somehow the man had effectively fallen off-grid.

Mark couldn’t help but wonder if Eaton had managed to compromise someone inside the investigation, someone who’d taken out the eyes and ears of the team running security at the gallery. What else explained the lack of response?

He was debating the wisdom of faking another crisis to further interfere with whatever timeline Eaton had in place when the sound of the engine changed and roused Charlotte.

“Mark?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Did I sleep?”

“Not well,” he replied. “It’s just an exit ramp. No worries.”

“If you say so.”

The doubt in her voice made him want to crush Eaton. She shouldn’t even be here. He tried to tamp down his rage at the man who’d taken them prisoner, or at least channel it into how he’d use it to crush Eaton. Going after the Rileys was bad enough. Snagging Charlotte in his snare was stupid and cruel. He thought of the sunset cruise he’d described in an effort to give them both a diversion from the crisis. A flash of curiosity left him wondering how her voice—all grown up now—might change with a bit of healthy flirting. Jaded or not, he couldn’t deny his attraction.

Assuming she harbored a similar interest in him, maybe they could spend some time together. Picturing his mother’s concern for Charlotte, he would be crystal clear with her about his limits and expectations. He didn’t want anything fun to hurt either of them. Charlotte was the kind of woman who would eventually find someone, a lover and partner to share forever. Not him. Life, in the form of Maria, his near-miss fiancée, had taught him he wasn’t the kind of man who stirred that kind of lasting devotion.

Of course, that was assuming a great deal. He had no illusions about the severity of the situation. Surviving Eaton’s plan was likely to require hard decisions and ruthless action Charlotte might not appreciate. Though he admired her determination to help them escape, she wasn’t equipped. He didn’t doubt her loyalty, but she didn’t have the training necessary to go toe-to-toe with their notoriously vicious captor.

His first priority was to get her safely out of this mess, and to protect her every step of the way. Not a hair on her head would be harmed if he could help it. She’d already suffered too much.

When she’d dozed off, he remembered her the way she’d been as a kid in Fort Van Dodge. Even back then, he’d found her determination more adorable than annoying as she and his younger sister, Jolene, tried to keep up with the older kids. That willpower and cleverness were still evident in her sky blue eyes, despite the fear. Those intangibles, wrapped up in the beauty she’d grown into, left him wishing he were a different man.

A man who could inspire a woman to wait for his return, to put up with an unpredictable schedule for just a few more years. A man confident in his ability to be a content civilian after a high-action career.

“We’ve reached a town,” he said, as the red haze of a street light glowed through the windshield.

“Near a wharf or dock.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “There’s a smell you never forget.”

“You don’t like the scent of the ocean?” That could be a deal-breaker for a long-term involvement. Good thing he wasn’t looking for one of those.

“Of course I do,” she said, clearly exasperated. “We must be close to another industrial area. Instead of salt water, sunscreen and candy, I smell stale oil and grease.”

“That’s a good nose on your face,” he teased. “No tires this time,” he said.

“Painting isn’t just about what I see. The real trick to making it come alive is layering in all the cues about other senses in that moment.”

He could imagine the passion shining in her eyes. Her enthusiasm for her work wouldn’t be muted, not even in this grim van on their way to who-knew-where. He wanted to kiss her, to taste the excitement evident in her voice. Suddenly, in the moment, she was everything. Air, light, movement. Everything.

Blaming the reaction on a wayward surge of adrenaline, he shifted as far from her as he could get and rubbed at his chest. The combination of new attraction, danger and old memories had inexplicably ripped the cover off a void near his heart and Charlotte poured in something he didn’t know he needed. Maria’s betrayal had left him feeling unbearably weak and full of self-doubt. To get through, he’d deliberately closed himself off from intense emotions. On a mission with his team, second guesses were a land mine waiting to blow the operation apart. He hadn’t let them down. He wouldn’t let down Charlotte.

“Are you hurt?”

Not in a way he could explain. “It’s nothing.”

Thankfully the van came to a stop before he had to drum up a better explanation. He prepared himself for another confrontation with Eaton, but there was no sign of him when the doors opened. Four men faced him, not one of them familiar. How many men did Eaton trust? This team was dressed head to toe in muted black from their knit sweaters to their thick-soled black boots that didn’t make a sound as they approached.

“Take me to Eaton,” he demanded.

The burly bald guard at the door shifted, making way for another man who carried a ring of keys. “You’ll see him soon enough.”

The second man had pale blond hair, fair skin and a wiry build. He withdrew standard handcuffs from his back pocket and slapped them on to Charlotte before freeing her from the cuffs chaining her to the van. He picked up her shoes and, with almost reverent care, he handed her out of the van.

Mark clamped his mouth shut against the urge to demand where they were taking her. Divide and conquer was a classic tactic for a reason. He had to stay focused on the big picture and the primary goal of escape. Patience is key, he coached himself. He’d find an opening, make it wider and get her free and clear of this nonsense.

The wiry guard returned, the cuffs in his hands clinking lightly. The driver must have tattled on their antics during the drive because he removed Mark’s shoes and put on leg shackles before tightly cuffing his wrists and then freeing him from the bar set into the van wall.

“Where did you take the girl?”

The man shoved him out of the van without any of the care he’d shown Charlotte. “You know who she is, don’t you?” Mark asked under his breath. “The star of that party you dragged us away from. People are searching for her. Your boss won’t care if you’re a casualty in that fight. Maybe think of that and let her go.”

The guard halted, his strong fingers digging into the tendons and muscles of Mark’s arm just above the elbow. It was an effective pressure point and the nerves in Mark’s hand tingled. Someone had trained this man well.

Mark looked around. They appeared to be in an oversized garage. They’d pulled the van in and put the door down. Nearby he heard the unmistakable creak of boats and bumpers against docks.

“You’re now the property of John Eaton,” the bigger, bald guard said. It seemed he was the one in charge at this site. “From this point forward, you won’t take so much as a breath without his permission.”

Mark slowly filled his lungs, proving the ridiculous nature of the statement. He got a big fist to the rib cage for his trouble. “The girl?” he asked, grinning. If they were hitting him, they weren’t bothering her.

“Not your concern.”

“You should let her go. Keeping her will backfire,” Mark said. “Ask the skinny guy here.” He tilted his head toward the blond man. “She’s adored by tons of fans. Taking her from her own showing will bring the police down on you with more force and sooner than you expected. There’s a good chance most of you won’t make it out alive in that fight.”

“You Rileys should start minding your own business.” Eaton emerged from the shadows. “We’ve planned for every contingency and we are experts at tactical adjustments. We’ve anticipated every outcome, run all the scenarios. You will not win,” he finished.

Mark shook his head. “I didn’t get goose bumps. You can try the speech again if you want.”

Eaton didn’t reveal any reaction, merely glanced down at Mark’s feet. “I see you’ve lost your shoes.”

“Art showings get wild,” Mark said. The floor was cool under his socks. “You talk a big game, but we both know you weren’t expecting two hostages.”

“Your reputation as a ladies’ man precedes you, so we created a contingency for two prisoners.” Eaton smiled. “My team is the best.”

Mark didn’t care for the man’s confidence and matched it with bravado of his own. “You’re a fool to keep her,” Mark said. “Do what you want with me, but you’d be smart to let her go before your game gets cut short. If something happens to her, nowhere on earth will be safe for you or your hired hands.”

Eaton chuckled. “After the drive, I thought you’d have a better argument prepared. I guess what they say about SEALs is true. You’re only the tip of the spear, not the brains behind it. Rest easy, you’ll have a chance to show me your skills.”

Mark was increasingly unsettled, though he’d never let it show. “Tip of the spear, huh? That’s unfortunate,” he mused. “I didn’t expect to have anything in common with you, sniper.”

Eaton slapped him. Mark didn’t care. It was satisfying that he’d hit a nerve. At some point, one or more of the team would figure out this wasn’t worth it. He would turn that into an advantage as Eaton’s plans played out.

“Tell me you’ve sent Charlotte home,” he said, glancing at the closest guards. “Letting her go doesn’t spoil his plans for me. My family and team already know I’ve been taken. Letting her go will be save your sorry asses though, because you won’t be responsible for anything that happens to her. A smart boss would operate from wisdom rather than pride and spare his team the risk and embarrassment.”

Eaton’s confident grin would only have been more terrifying if he’d added clown face paint and a red wig. What was the man up to?

“Didn’t you get the memo, Riley? I’m in control. This is my world. Neither you nor your pretty friend have a say in how things will go here.” He cocked his head. “However, I do believe in fair play.”

“Fair play?” Mark echoed. Mentally he took a step back. This guy wasn’t teetering on the edge of insanity—he’d embraced the free fall. “Then why am I restrained?”

“Because our game is just getting started.”

Eaton stared at Mark for a long bone-chilling moment. Turning on his heel, he began barking orders to his men. Pausing, he cast a look over his shoulder. “Do cooperate for my team, Riley. An injury will only delay the inevitable.”

Mark had a few inevitable ideas of his own. “Where is Charlotte?” he shouted.

Eaton raised a hand and Mark sensed movement behind him. He didn’t have time to turn or dodge before a heavy blow struck the back of his head. He staggered under it, seeing stars, but he wasn’t completely out as two men hooked him under the arms and dragged him away.

He fought to stay conscious, seeking out any pertinent details as they hauled him out of the garage, over a gangway and down to a waiting boat.

“Charlotte!” In his mind and heart, he’d shouted it. Based on the guffaws around him, it had been more of a whimper.

That was fine. Let them laugh. If they were convinced he was too weak to fight, he’d have his opening sooner than expected. And he’d seize that opening just as soon as he found Charlotte.

He heard the rasp and rattle of a lock on a door and felt the sharp nip of a needle at his neck before everything went dark.

* * *

His son was missing.

The thought lodged in Ben Riley’s mind, making it impossible to think of anything else.

He stared out the window of the hotel room. His wife was behind him on the phone, quietly speaking to Charlotte’s mother, Sue Ellen. When it had become clear Charlotte had ducked out of her first solo showing, they’d all covered for her. No one was surprised. The girl was immensely talented, but she was shy, had always struggled with being the center of attention.

Then another scenario circulated. The consensus was that Charlotte had left with Mark. Ben didn’t find that cause for much concern; the kids had been friends all their lives, though Patricia had been inexplicably disappointed.

No, the real worry hadn’t set in until another hour had passed, another hour for the kidnappers to take Mark and Charlotte farther out of reach.

Ben scrubbed at his hair, freshly trimmed for Charlotte’s big night. He’d long since shed his suit coat and tie and rolled his shirtsleeves back to his elbows. He was ready to do something, to take action, but the authorities had told him to stand down.

Ben had been assured retirement would be relaxing. His wife and friends who had retired ahead of him told him it would be great, that they enjoyed themselves immensely. It all rang hollow now.

He’d barely had time to acclimate to their new beach house when John Eaton came out of his past, targeting the Riley children as revenge for Ben putting an end to the sniper’s army career.

Why couldn’t they drop a net over the bastard?

A hitch in Patricia’s voice drew his attention. He turned, ready to comfort, but she waved him off with a brave smile and continued her conversation with her best friend. His wife had always been a rock in a crisis and he’d always been honored and grateful for her partnership, loyalty and love.

What Ben wouldn’t give to have a unit at his back. He was ready to lead an all-out assault to track down Mark and Charlotte and put an end to Eaton. Being sidelined was hell.

On the verge of losing his temper, Ben walked into the bedroom and closed the door. The view through this window wasn’t any different. A dark Atlantic Ocean stretched out under a deep sky and foam-tipped waves gleamed under the pale moonlight. He’d planned a romantic evening with his wife after they’d showed Charlotte their support. Instead the evening was a disaster.

Once the team running security at the gallery had recovered from Eaton’s coordinated attack, they’d done their best to pick up a trail. So far no one could say for sure that Mark and Charlotte were still in the city. He and Patricia had left the gallery in a daze, returning to the hotel room to wait for information.

Ben had never felt more defeated than he did right now. Considering some of the places he’d served, that was quite a statement. He’d let down his family, exposing them to a threat he wished he could have anticipated.

His hands curled into fists as he ran through his memories of Eaton, a skilled sniper who had snapped in a startling display of cold-blooded violence. There had only been one way to deal with a scenario most commanders never faced. Get him out of the service. Somehow, despite the army’s disciplinary actions, Eaton had recovered and spent years recruiting aggressive mercenaries to harass and endanger his family.

Not for the first time, he wished the man would come straight at him, instead of taking aim at the kids.

All five of his children were capable adults. He and Patricia had seen to that by setting high expectations and giving them the best foundation they could provide. And Hank, the soldier he’d taken under his wing early in his career, was considered family now, and fully capable of leading this investigation to a just conclusion.

But would they lose Mark and Charlotte in the process?

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he started to text Hank and caught himself. Pestering would be more of a hindrance than a help. Hank would update him when there was news to share. He took a deep breath. That was the crux of it; there was nothing for him to do but wait. He’d given Hank all the details he could recall about Eaton’s habits as a soldier and his basic demeanor and attitude as a man.

Ben never anticipated the man could organize and pull off the stunts he’d accomplished against the family so far. His vengeance had almost been the end of both Matt and Grace Ann. He’d set traps for both of them, and used those stunts to torture Ben.

The bedroom door opened quietly and Patricia joined him at the window, sliding her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek to his back. “Everyone is doing all they can to find the kids. We’ll have them home again soon.”

“And here I stand, useless.” Hank and the local authorities had expressly prohibited him from joining the search. “We can’t even give a statement to the press.”

“Can you imagine how Eaton would gloat if we did? His team managed to snag a Navy SEAL.”

He turned his back on the view to study his wife. Stronger now, lovelier than she’d been the day they’d met. Her unruffled calm shouldn’t be a surprise. “He took your child.”

“Two, really.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “I’m as furious as you are. The man is a monster and, given a choice, I’d have him drawn and quartered for coming after our family.”

Ben traced her cheek and brow, smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t do helpless.”

“I never would’ve stuck around this long if you did.” Her lips tilted into a small smile.

“There must be something we can do.” He caught her hands in his. “Waiting with no information is worse than all the pictures he’s sent before.”

“Knowing Eaton, he’ll send us something soon,” she noted.

“Charlotte’s parents will never forgive us,” he said.

“Mark won’t let anything happen to her.” Patricia stepped into his embrace and he hugged her close. “Our boy will bring her back.”

Neither one of them could voice the thought that Mark wasn’t alive, alert and able to protect Charlotte. “Are you concerned they’re more than family friends?” he asked.

“No,” Patricia said with a soft laugh. “Although I caught him looking at her with something more than friendship in his eyes. If I hadn’t assumed he’d swept her away from her own party, we might’ve recognized the trouble sooner.”

“Mark’s an incorrigible flirt,” Ben said. “He gets that from you.”

She swatted his chest lightly and wriggled out of his embrace. “I can’t help thinking Charlotte could be just what Mark needs,” she said. “I’m not sure the reverse is true after what Maria did.”

She never failed to surprise him. “So you finally admit you have a favorite child and it’s Charlotte.”

“I should’ve thought of that answer ages ago.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s no secret relationship between them, Ben. I learned that much. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she probably tried to help him.”

“True.” He hadn’t considered that angle. “She has spunk.”

“She’s so quiet it’s easy to overlook.”

Ben sat down hard on the end of the bed. He gazed out at the night, racking his mind for any stray thought that could prove helpful. “Tell me what to do.”

“We do as Hank asked,” Patricia replied. “We wait.”

He swore.

She shook her head. “If we jump the gun, we only cause more problems. We’ll wait, together, and think positively until it’s time for us to do more.”

“You amaze me.”

“Up close or from a distance?” she teased.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“Oh, honey, I know you are.” She sat beside him and rubbed his shoulder. “Whenever you were overseas, there were times I thought the waiting would do me in.”

He laced his fingers with hers. “I took you for granted.”

“Of course you did. That’s part of the deal. My job was keeping the house and family going while you did your job. Now, at least, I can wait with my best friend rather than for my best friend.”

“That’s not as comforting as you might believe.”

“Maybe not for you.”

She rested her cheek on his shoulder, his wife of more than three decades. In Love and Life Together had been their motto from the beginning, whether they’d been in the same room or thousands of miles apart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She turned, taking his face between her hands, hands that had raised five children, too often alone. “Don’t be. Eaton’s quest for revenge is not your fault. He’s a criminal and you did what was necessary. These attacks are on his head, not yours.”

He closed his eyes so she wouldn’t see the guilt churning inside.

Her hands gripped his shoulders and she gave him a little shake. “Benjamin Riley, you know I’m right.”

She was. Still. He pressed a hand to his gut. “I can’t shake this sense of dread over what Eaton has in mind this time. I want to get out there.”

“Then we will. As soon as Hank has a solid direction, we’ll find a way to help the search.”

“Together,” he said emphatically. He didn’t trust himself to get out there and look without her at his side.

“Always.” She touched her nose to his. “There’s no other way for us, my love.”

* * *

Charlotte sat on the end of the narrow bunk in a tiny cabin. She’d been led onto the boat and down to this room by a guard who’d shown surprising courtesy and compassion. He’d removed her handcuffs, thankfully, but she was still barefoot in a dress she was ready to be done with, despite Mark’s compliments.

What had they done to him?

The courteous guard had locked her in and she’d heard him order someone else to stand watch outside the door. She was still a prisoner with no idea what might be coming next. Her fear was on the rise again, tightening her chest and making her palms damp.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes. Inhale calm, exhale panic. She heard a noise in the corridor and her eyes popped open. Mark had been emphatic the search for them was already underway. He’d told her to grab a chance if she could to get away. But how could she leave him, knowing he was in danger?

When he didn’t charge through the door, she tried the calming breath again. Inhale, exhale. It wasn’t working. She jumped up from the bunk and shook out her hands, trying to imagine herself at her studio or at the campsite by the lake.

Nothing worked. Panic had been perched on her shoulder, ready to pounce long before they’d separated her from Mark. Now, calm was a vague concept she couldn’t grasp. Like algebra. Or cubism. Well, she understood cubism—she just didn’t like it much.

She tapped her hand against her forehead. That was a perfect example of freaked-out, useless thinking. Mark would be searching for a way out, and she could do the same. Giving up on the breathing exercise, she kneaded the muscles in her hands and forearms, avoiding the abrasions on her wrists from the handcuffs. Something in the room might be useful. Had to be if she was going to escape and find Mark.

They were on a boat, still at the dock. No sounds of an engine or the noises or motions that indicated they would soon be underway. If she set the bunk mattress on fire, someone would have to come in to put it out. A quick search of the room proved futile. Anything that might help her start a fire had been removed. She looked at the light switch, wondering if she could get that to spark and flame. Knowing her lousy track record with most things mechanical, she’d electrocute herself before she worked the switch plate off the wall. Besides, how would she control the blaze before help came?

The space had a functional, if miniscule, bathroom. She supposed she could flood the space. She opened the faucet and stifled a groan at the tiny trickle. No water pressure and no stopper for the sink. She could tear apart her dress to clog the sink drain, but even then, flooding the room would take days. Did she have days?

Shying away from that slippery slope of despair, she continued her search for anything that could become a weapon. Lifting the mattress from the bunk and removing all three drawers from the dresser one by one, she came up empty again. “Come on, Charlotte. Think.”

The closest thing to a weapon was a drawer. Not an item easily hidden if, say, she coaxed the guard into opening the door. “I could ask nicely,” she muttered to the empty room. “Please lie down and be nice enough to pass out the first time I strike you.”

Even if that absurd scenario worked, there were at least four other guards she’d seen around the boat and dock. Odds were good they wouldn’t all be as accommodating as the guard in her imagination.

Frustrated, she flopped back onto the bed.

What would Mark expect of her? He’d asked her to trust him. To hang in there. Both trust and the hanging-in were easier when he was in sight and within reach. She didn’t even have a good idea of how much time had passed while they were locked in the van.

Mark had called her fierce and she did her best to cling to his view of her. Just because she couldn’t see any action to take right now didn’t mean there wouldn’t be an opportunity. A fierce artist. She liked the sense of empowerment that surged through her along with the images dancing through her mind. Closing her eyes again, she imagined herself strong and determined, standing against the bullies holding her and the man she loved.

The man who had no idea she loved him.

Well, he knew she loved him like family. He just had no idea she’d been in love with him for as long as she could remember. The idea of him anyway. She wondered what he’d say if he knew he was the star of her fantasies that had grown from a crush to infatuation to something no other guy could possibly live up to.

Knowing Mark, he’d be flattered. His ornery grin would flash before it melted into a warm and sincere smile. And then he’d dash off to do something athletic or heroic or date someone more beautiful and confident, and she wouldn’t see him until the next holiday or family event.

Life was precious; the past few hours proved how quickly things could change. It shouldn’t matter if he left her for a new assignment or because he didn’t return her feelings. She wanted to be fierce, to seize the moment, but she couldn’t shake the potential fallout. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t managed that kiss. That would’ve changed things between them too much and he needed to focus. She’d do everything in her power to help them escape and then channel all her love for him into her art.

Though she longed for that fancy dinner, it wasn’t the smart move. As well as she knew Mark, she knew herself better. A fancy night out would turn romantic in her mind and another decade of her dating life would slip by in a blur of men who weren’t Mark.

Even if he did look at her in the romantic way she longed for, he wasn’t ready to leave his career and his SEAL brothers. She certainly wasn’t ready to do the military-wife-and-family thing, despite the example set by her mother and his. Throwing away a good, solid friendship on a dream that couldn’t come true made no sense.

Her heart could go back to all that wishing and yearning later. Right now, survival was paramount. If they didn’t escape this situation—together—Eaton would make sure neither of them would be yearning for anything ever again.

She stood at the narrow bathroom door, wondering if she could dismantle a pipe or the towel bar. Her hands slipped and slid for purchase as she tugged at the towel bar. She was reconsidering the drawer as a weapon when she heard the slide of the lock and the door opened. She froze and then her knees started to quake. So much for Mark’s fierce artist.

“Hello? Is this a bad time?”

Eaton. She stepped out of the bathroom and glared at him. “Is there really a good time for kidnapping?”

He spread his hands wide and smiled. “Welcome aboard, Miss Hanover. You’re satisfied with the accommodations?”

“Where is Mark?”

“He’s close.”

She didn’t care for the sly glint in the man’s eye. “You killed him.”

“No.” Eaton’s brow flexed into a frown. “He isn’t my true target.”

“He told me you’re pursuing some revenge thing against General Riley.”

“That would be more accurate.”

She folded her arms over her chest, trying to hide her nerves. If she could get some information, maybe she could also leave a clue for anyone who found their trail. “Is it accurate to say you’ve caused harm to innocent Riley children?”

“No.” He was emphatic. “General Riley is not innocent. His children, adults in the military, are not innocent. My wife and daughter were absolutely innocent. Whatever pain I manage to inflict on the general, it will never be enough and never be equal to the pain he caused them and me by hurting them.”

His rage filled the room. She wasn’t sure madman was the right term for Eaton. He was calculating. Remorseless. And he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Out of words, pretty painter?”

“Not yet.”

His sneer brought to mind crocodiles rising from the murky water to assess their prey.

“I’m listening,” he said.

She’d planned to make another plea for their lives, but she could see there was no point in wasting her breath. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” She could give him compassion without throwing General Riley under the bus. He would never do anything to intentionally harm anyone under his command or that person’s family. Whatever Eaton had done, she was sure the general had responded appropriately. “I’m sorry your family was affected.”

“Affected?” Eaton cocked his head. “Their lives were ruined.”

He didn’t shout. It would have been easier to deal with him if he had. Instead it was as if the bitterness had settled into his skin and lodged itself even deeper into his bones, altering his entire framework.

“That’s horrible.” She clung to compassion when she wanted to shout and rail at him. He probably expected her to fly into hysterics. Lulling him into complacency might be what she needed to escape.

His gaze narrowed and he stared at her as if he could see under her skin. At least he wasn’t leering down the front of her dress this time. Maybe he’d done that to draw a reaction from Mark.

“Please reconsider and let Mark and me go.”

He acted as if she hadn’t spoken. Checking his watch, he planted his legs wide and folded his arms over his chest. He presented himself to the world as an average man, easily overlooked or forgotten. She was sure he’d cultivated that effect during his service as a sniper. When she looked, the man she saw wasn’t average or forgettable. His righteous self-assurance was terrifying.

“I was furious when I saw you in the van,” he said conversationally. “It took some time to warm up to the unique opportunity you present.”

Opportunity had never sounded so frightening. The motors rumbled and the boat lurched under her feet. She lost her balance for a moment and caught herself on the bunk before she pitched forward into Eaton. He didn’t strike her as the chivalrous type.

“Won’t you please let us off this boat?” she asked.

“Eventually, yes. In the meantime, rest and enjoy the ride.” He gestured to the bed. “You’ll be provided with all the necessities in due time.”

He walked out and she heard the lock slide back in place. The small window high in the wall of the cabin had been covered, but she didn’t need the visual. They were leaving the dock and he could take them wherever he pleased.

Her only consolation was that Eaton’s presence meant Mark was on this boat too. He might have let someone else drive the van that brought them here, but he wouldn’t relinquish control over the current prize in his revenge game.

She considered pounding on the door or tearing apart the cabin. None of it would change the reality. For the immediate future, she was stuck. A captive in a war she didn’t understand.

CHAPTER 5

Mark came awake with a bad case of cottonmouth and a terrible whining in his ears. Mosquitoes? Bees? A flock of drones? He blinked away the fog muddling his brain and found himself handcuffed and chained like a dog to a loop of rebar bolted into a cement pad. He’d been stripped to his slacks and dress shirt. They’d even taken his socks. He tugged on the restraints, tested the grip of cement on the rebar as he worked himself into an upright position so he could get his bearings.

An industrial fan mounted in the ceiling was the source of the sound. Naturally, it wasn’t blowing at him, but rather toward an old metal desk, currently unoccupied, at the opposite end of a long, narrow room. A modified shipping container, he realized after further study. The air was hot and the humidity high. How far south had Eaton taken him? And how?

He recalled the drive and the marina. After Charlotte had been escorted away, Eaton and his men had harassed him. Drugged him. He didn’t need to touch the back of his head to feel the knot there. His scalp was tight from swelling and probably more than a little dried blood.

“Charlotte?” His rusty voice sounded pitiful in his ears. Clearing his throat, he shouted her name.

The only response was his rumbling stomach.

Mark twisted as far as the restraints allowed, trying to get his bearings. There was remarkably little to go on. Rusting corrugated walls and one door. When his eyes landed on a bottle of water near the wall, he didn’t even try to stretch for it. It was either out of reach or laced with drugs. Let the games begin. Mark scanned the windowless room again and spotted two cameras. Was Eaton already sending out the feed meant to torture his father?

“Charlotte!” he called again. What had Eaton done with her? Mark forced back the swell of panic. He had to stay calm. One step at a time, just like he’d told Charlotte.

Eaton had to know the army investigators were closing in on him. Why else would he go to such extremes with this elaborate kidnapping?

The man wanted to get caught, everyone agreed on that. More specifically, he wanted to get caught on his terms, after he’d accomplished his goal of ruining the general. Hank’s team had managed only a few successful interrogations of people they’d connected to Eaton. Still, Hank and his team were piecing together a picture.

Power was Eaton’s drug as much as control and impact. Whatever misfortunes he blamed on General Riley, Eaton intended for the general to suffer and keep on suffering as everything he valued dissolved into a wasteland. He blamed the general for the destruction of his family and seemed intent on dealing the same crushing blow to the Rileys.

“Charlotte!” Mark shouted her name again.

“Mark!” The faint response motivated him. If she was within earshot, they still had a chance. He hauled himself to his feet and tried to budge the cement pad. The door opened and Eaton walked in, followed by a man tall enough that he had to duck to get through the doorway. The man was bald and a wall of muscle. His uniform, likely in deference to the humid climate, was a black tank top with black cargo pants and black jungle boots.

If he was part of Eaton’s plan, Mark anticipated a great deal of pain in his own future.

“We’re glad to hear you’re back in fighting form,” Eaton said. He propped a hip against the desk, staying well clear of Mark, and folded his arms over his chest.

Mark stilled, refusing to give any hints about his condition. “Where’s Charlotte?”

Eaton looked at the muscle man. “So predictable.”

“Just as you said,” Muscle replied.

“What did you do to her?” Mark demanded.

“We’ve shown her every courtesy,” Eaton said. “Haven’t touched a hair on her head.” He took two strides forward, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Yet.”

Mark strained toward him, wanting a piece of Eaton more than a gallon of water. “I’ll get free,” he vowed. “You’ll pay.”

“You will get free,” Eaton agreed. Then his eyes narrowed to slits and his nostrils flared. “When I’m ready for you to be free.” To Muscle, he said, “Go on and introduce yourself.”

Mark watched the big man advance, learning what he could in the few brief strides it took the thug to reach him. He dodged the first ham-sized hook aimed at his jaw and, thanks to the restraints, got caught with an upper cut. Wheezing, cuffed, he couldn’t do more than offer a few weak blocks against the rest of the beating.

“That’s enough for today.” Eaton gave the order just before Muscle’s boot connected with Mark’s rib cage.

The big man pulled the kick, sparing his ribs, and Mark smiled. His teammates always claimed he lived a charmed life. He was starting to believe it.

Eaton walked over and unlocked the cuffs linking Mark’s hands to the rebar and Muscle shuffled him out of the room.

Definitely a modified shipping container and not pinned down well, Mark noted as the floor gave a bit under their feet. He hoped it wasn’t just his imagination that beyond Muscle’s body odor and the smell of rust he caught a whiff of clean salt air nearby.

“Tack up some plywood, add a window or two and the place won’t be half-bad, Eaton,” Mark mumbled through a swollen lip.

“Something to think about,” his captor replied. He stepped in front of Muscle and led the way to a second heavily reinforced door. “Why don’t you consider the color palette for me and we’ll discuss it at our next meeting.”

“Sure. I’ll bring color swatches.”

Muscle walked through the opening first, dragging Mark through the doorway and tossing him into a cell that resembled a dog kennel with plywood on one side. The cell door clanked shut and Muscle locked it with a standard sliding bolt before walking out of the room and slamming the reinforced door closed with a loud bang. Eaton and Muscle had to know his ears were ringing.

Swiping away the blood trickling from his eyebrow, Mark took stock of the surroundings. He looked around for a camera and didn’t see one. That didn’t mean it wasn’t here, he thought, leaning on the cage door. The bolt held firm and there wasn’t enough space to get his hand through to manipulate it. He gave his captors points for confidence.

Wire fencing made up the walls and a ceiling of the cell that was a few inches too short for Mark to stand up straight. The jerk knew how to make a prisoner miserable.

He kicked at the gap at the bottom of his cage door. A convenient food slot, though Eaton probably wouldn’t bother feeding him. Next, he poked through the chain links at the plywood pressed against the outside of one of the cage walls. When it didn’t fall, he assumed it was there to block his view of anyone in the next cage.

“Mark? Is that you?”

Charlotte’s voice, stoic and clear, erased every pain as relief surged through his system. “Charlotte, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Well, I’m terrified, but they haven’t hurt me.”

Mark sat down hard, as close to the plywood as possible with his back to the cage door. She sounded all right. He just had to keep her that way. He rapped a fist against an upright support post and the sound reverberated all around. “Good acoustics in here,” Mark muttered. Eaton or the guards would hear every movement.

“If you say so. What did they do to you?”

“Nothing serious,” he replied. He didn’t expect the reprieve to last, but no point in talking about something neither of them could control.

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s rude.” He tried to laugh, but it turned into a wheeze. “Where’s the trust? I’ve never lied to you.”

“Mark, I’m serious,” she pleaded. “Have they hurt you?”

He couldn’t ignore her plaintive tone. Maybe knowing the facts would keep her vivid imagination in check. “They drugged me at the dock. Typical tactic, but it’s out of my system now. A big bald guard roughed me up a bit. I’ve had tougher training sessions.” He knew he was in for it later if Eaton had devices in here to pick up this conversation, but Charlotte’s peace of mind was more important. “Now it’s your turn to be honest with me.” He remembered the way the older man had ogled her in the van. “Has he hurt you?” He held his breath.

“No.”

Her voice was firm. She wasn’t lying to him. Thank God. He exhaled slowly. He heard her shifting closer and envisioned the flow of that dress over her body.

“He locked me in a tiny furnished cabin on the boat for the duration of the trip here.”

“How long were you on the boat? Did you stop anywhere?” How many days had he been unconscious? “Did you recognize anything on the way here?” He paused, listening. She didn’t respond. “Charlotte?”

“Oh, I’m here, just making a list. Did you want those answers in order?”

“Ha ha.” He was glad to hear her spirits were still good. But he needed information to make a solid plan.

“We left the same night we were kidnapped. We were on the water all through the next day and night. Then we arrived here in the afternoon. There’s a dock and this building we’re in. I saw a generator, but not much else.”

“Okay, good.” Her voice grew stronger with every bit of information shared. He used his shirtsleeve to blot the sweat from his face, ignoring the smear of blood. One more stain on a shirt that wouldn’t last much longer. “It’s hot in here. Has he fed you anything?”

“They’ve given me bottles of water and meal bars. It’s better than starving.”

She wasn’t wrong. “Unless you have a fake-food allergy,” he quipped.

“You know that’s not a thing.”

“Maybe not.” He did know she’d rolled her eyes and that made him smile. The smile tugged his busted lip and made him wince. It was worth it.

“Have you seen any cameras in here?” he asked.

“Not in here. There might have been a camera near the dock.”

That made sense. “What else can you tell me?”

“There’s a narrow beach near the dock and we walked through a wide path. Sea grasses and palms, and thicker trees farther inland. You and I are the only two people in this room.”

“Good job.” He’d had less intel on combat operations and the team had still succeeded. He had to assume Eaton knew his service record, so why allow her to tell him any of this?

It could be a test, but more likely it was one of the mind games Eaton liked. On his quest to destroy the general, he demonstrated a pitiless determination in setting up ordeals designed to create as much pain as possible for General Riley’s children. And their father had been kept apprised of every grim moment via text messages, photos and live videos.

“Charlotte, you’re amazing.” She’d wanted to help and she had. “They’ll find us soon. Whatever he does or says, remember good people are out there looking for us.”

“I’m uncomfortable but I think you’re in more danger,” she said. “He talked to me that night on the boat, Mark. He’s organized and deliberate. He has something very specific in mind.”

“We’ll get our chance,” Mark promised. He was more concerned with the improvising Eaton had in the works now that Charlotte was here. Mark couldn’t deny she was a weakness Eaton could use against him. He didn’t care. He’d do anything to spare her pain or humiliation.

“Charlotte—” He snapped his mouth closed, feeling the footfalls through the metal floor a moment before they were audible. The door opened and Muscle appeared again.

He sneered at Mark and walked right past him to Charlotte’s cage. Mark wanted to coach her, to encourage her and reassure her he’d find a way to get her out.

Muscle’s body blocked most of his view of her as she crossed in front of his cage, but he could see she’d been forced to change out of her dress and into hospital-like scrubs in a drab olive green color. Her high heels were gone and in their place she wore slip-on prison-issue shoes that were a little too big for her feet. Mark clutched the front of his cage. Willing her to hear all the things he didn’t dare say.

Muscle hurried her along. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and she craned her neck to look at him as she walked by.

Her eyes went wide and she dug in her heels. “You are hurt.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. No matter how bad he looked, he was strong enough, smart enough to get them out of this.

He had to be.

* * *

Charlotte’s heart hammered and pulses of terror zipped through her system. She paced the length of her cage, tripping over the floppy shoes. Taking them off, she shoved them into the back corner. What were they doing to Mark?

She’d known he was worried for her, but the big guard had escorted her to the other room and parked her in a chair in front of the desk, not before she noticed the drops of blood on the floor near where they must have secured Mark. Eaton had asked her several vague background questions about her association with the Riley family. She couldn’t figure out what he expected to accomplish with her. He’d seemed to be killing time, and she hadn’t had the courage to ask him why. Eventually he’d sent her back here.

Her cage door had barely locked before they were dragging Mark away. In the hours since, she’d heard only angry shouts and the occasional pain-filled cry. From the vent cut into the top of the wall, their only source of fresh air in here, she watched the light fade as night fell.

Feeling helpless, she piled her hair on the top of her head and scraped her knuckles on the wire fencing that created a ceiling. It dawned on her then that Mark wouldn’t be able to stand up straight unless his cage was taller. Eaton wouldn’t bother to do anything to make a Riley more comfortable. She pressed her cheek to the cage door, but she couldn’t get the right angle to see anything helpful about the height of his cell on the other side of the plywood barrier.

For reasons she couldn’t articulate, learning the answer became imperative. At the plywood side of the cell, she gave the fence wall a hard shake and then climbed it, shoving her fingers through in an effort to reach over the barrier.

No luck. Hopping back to the floor, she stifled a curse. She would just ask Mark when Eaton brought him back. Because Mark would come back. She had to believe it. She rubbed her arms against the chill of doubt that chased that thought. Negative thinking wouldn’t help either of them.

Frustrated and desperate, she rattled her cage door again. Outside, a light winked on and gave her enough brightness to search again for any structural weakness in the cage. The wire fencing wasn’t exactly top-of-the-line security, but she couldn’t make any useful progress where it was strapped to the floor and walls of the container.

At the sound of the door unlocking, she hurried to the front of her cage, hoping for a glimpse of Mark. The door opened and the bare bulb overhead flashed on. She squinted at the flare of light. Despite pressing her cheek close to the cold fencing, all she saw was the smaller of the two men who had alternated guard duty. “Hey!” she called out. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t acknowledge her. She listened to the footsteps. Someone was dragging something. Please, please, please don’t let that be Mark. With a grunt and a curse, the big guard shoved the heavy object or person into Mark’s cell. Her heart sank.

“Is that Mark?” she asked, demanded. “Mark, talk to me.”

The only response was a pained groan.

“What did you do to him?” She shook the door of her cage, slammed her body against it.

The big bald guard suddenly stepped in front of her. “Back up, missy.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. The smell alone had her wishing for a fan. A stench of blood and something hot, like melting wires, hovered around him like a thick fog. “What did you do to him?”

The guard’s hard eyes glittered and he traced the hasp of the lock on the door. He had the key and they both knew it. “Be glad the boss put you off-limits.”

“L-leave ’er…’lone.”

Mark’s words were slurred, but he was alive. The guard’s attention shifted and she watched, horrified, as he hauled Mark out of the cell and pinned him to the wall in front of her.

“You don’t give the orders,” the guard said.

“You either,” Mark retorted.

Charlotte’s breath caught in her chest. He looked dreadful. One side of his face was swollen from jaw to brow bone and blood trailed over the terrain into his beard. They’d replaced his suit with a pair of thin pants like the scrubs she wore. His feet and chest were bare.

“Mark,” she whispered, afraid for him. His appearance didn’t put her off; it made her want to help, to comfort, to soothe. “Oh, Mark.”

His gaze flitted to her and his lips curved into what was probably intended to be a grin. “Hi, Lottie.”

She shook her head. With the damage to his face, he was a caricature of himself. What was she supposed to do now? Priority one was not to blurt out she loved him. That was a declaration and a moment best not shared here.

Better to focus on solutions to the immediate trouble. It looked as if the only thing keeping Mark upright was the guard’s meaty hand. She was livid with Eaton. At the first opportunity, she’d attack the jerk, to hell with the consequences.

Furious and afraid for Mark, she shook the cage door. “You’ve made a huge mistake. Open this door and I’ll kill you myself.” Senseless, likely impossible, but she wanted the chance.

“She’ll do it too,” Mark said. “Fierce.”

The guard muttered something unintelligible and shoved Mark back in his cell. He locked them into the room and the light overhead went dark again. Charlotte pressed her forehead against the side of the cage that bordered his.

“Do you have any water or food?”

“Both,” he grunted, sounding surprised.

“Good.” She’d been trying to figure out how to help him. “Don’t talk, just take care of yourself.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She heard the wrapper tear as he opened a meal bar, then a short bark of laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“Hard granola bar. Sore teeth.”

His words were still a bit slurred, but she understood. “That’s mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

A moment later, she heard the crinkle of plastic as Mark drank the bottled water. “You should drink more,” she said when he was quiet.

“All gone.”

She felt so bad for him. Worse when she realized he would’ve been dealing with this by himself. She had four more bottles in the corner of her cage, along with three soft oatmeal breakfast bars. “I hate John Eaton.”

A snort came from Mark’s cell.

Now that she was looking for them, she’d noticed the cameras in the office where Mark had been beaten. Clearly they were doing a number on him to make the general miserable. Mark had told her that was Eaton’s strategy, but seeing it play out was dreadful. “We have to do something.”

“In time,” Mark said.

“Tell me how to help.” There had to be something more she could do here.

“Can’t.”

Not what she wanted to hear. Beating up Mark seemed to be Eaton’s only goal, anything to make General Riley suffer while he watched. A man like that would want verification that his tactics were effective. “How does Eaton know your dad’s watching?”

“Dunno,” Mark replied. He sounded half-asleep.

Maybe he was conserving his energy to heal while he could. His training would’ve prepared him for this kind of situation. Charlotte knew he wouldn’t cave to the torture anytime soon. Her heart broke for Mark, his father and the whole family. The next time Eaton hauled her in for a face-to-face, he wouldn’t find her so cooperative.

“This is intolerable.” She slumped to the floor and leaned against the barrier between them, wishing her presence offered him the same reassurance that being near him gave her.

“Life sucks sometimes.” Mark’s voice was a bit clearer now. “We’ll get through it.”

Would they? She tugged at the fencing, stretching her fingers through to touch the plywood. The fence panel was looser at the middle and the barrier between their cages didn’t reach the ceiling. Maybe she couldn’t fight back directly, but she could help him recover.

“I have an idea.” She grabbed a bottle of water and one of the soft meal bars. She tried to lift the plywood and slide the water through, but she couldn’t get the barrier quite high enough.

“Not up. Forward,” Mark said.

She heard him move toward the back wall and hurried to follow. Together, using their fingertips through the chain links, they pushed the plywood far enough out of the way for her to pass him an oatmeal bar and another bottle of water.

Her fingers brushed against his and, despite the crisis and his injuries, that familiar combination of awareness and longing zinged up her arm and straight into her heart. She couldn’t suppress the gasp.

“Don’t worry about me, Lottie,” he said, misunderstanding her reaction. He opened the meal bar. The homey scent of oatmeal was a strange counterpoint in their makeshift prison.

“Of course not,” she said, trying to follow his habit of keeping things light. “You’re obviously doing fine.”

“I am,” he whispered, his voice low. “This helps.”

Through the narrow gap, she watched him wolf down the food and guzzle another bottle of water. She took both the wrapper and the empty bottle into her cell to hide that they’d shared resources. “Do you want more to eat?”

“Better not,” he replied.

“What can I do?” she asked again. “There has to be something.”

He reached through the gap and touched her fingers, the closest they could come to holding hands with his still handcuffed. “This.” He sighed. “This helps. Knowing I’m not alone.”

She wished she could see his face, but it was too dark again. She almost lifted his hand to her lips, as she had so many times in her imagination. Her mind would always go there with him, whether they were in a dark cell or surrounded by his family at one event or another. “You’re not alone,” she whispered.

“That’s the best part of a SEAL team,” Mark said after a few minutes. “Someone has your back.”

Oh, how she wished she could have his back here. “I’ll help you any way I can,” she said.

“You’ve made that clear.” He turned his head and even in the low light, she caught a bit of that familiar grin. “At this point, I think it’s best if we let things play out.”

“How much can you take?”

“The SEAL training drummed all the quit out of me years ago.”

Not exactly quantifiable. “I’m serious.” She wanted a timeline, something to track or prepare for.

“So am I.” He turned his whole body toward her. “I know you’re scared. I’m sorry.”

For you. For herself too, but seeing him bloodied and exhausted, she was terrified Eaton would kill him. She kept the revelation locked up tight behind her closed lips. How could she convince Eaton to let them go?

“They’re looking for us,” Mark said. “We just have to stay tough. This is a performance,” he said. “An attempt to prove he can best a Navy SEAL, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not even B movie material.”

He sputtered a small laugh. “Let him have his fifteen minutes of fame.” He raised his hands and bumped into the fencing, as if he’d meant to touch her cheek and forgotten the barrier and restraints. “I can take whatever he dishes out.”

“How?” she blurted the question aloud.

“Training,” he said. “Belief.”

“Hope,” she summarized.

“In a word.” He squeezed her fingers. “Mind over matter. When I get an opening, I’ll jump on it no matter how bad I look right now.”

“We’ll jump on it,” she said.

She heard the brief hesitation before he agreed. No matter the compliments about her being fierce, he must see her, an artist without any survival skills to speak of, like a millstone around his neck.

If she proved herself valuable here, in this pressure cooker, would he look at her differently once they were rescued? See her as an equal rather than someone he needed to shield, even from his own life choices? It was a ridiculous twist of logic to think if he could believe them out of this ordeal, she might employ the same tactic and believe him into an integral part of her personal life when they were free.

And still her hopelessly romantic heart insisted that anything was possible.

CHAPTER 6

Mark’s head weighed a ton as he came around. Resting his cheek on his raised arm, he instantly regretted this latest return to consciousness. It wasn’t a nightmare; he was still in Eaton’s office, his body serving as a heavy bag for Muscle and the guard Mark had labeled Quick-Punch Kid. The two had strung him up by his wrists to a loop mounted to the ceiling and had worked him over until he’d passed out.

For hours on end.

For the first time in his life, Mark wished for painkillers. A lowering admission, but there it was. Thankfully Eaton’s cameras couldn’t expose his weak thoughts.

Two things kept him going: Charlotte needed him to keep breathing; he was going to have fun retaliating when the opportunity came; and his dad was surely watching.

Whoops. That was three things.

The more motivation, the better. Eaton didn’t want him dead, which he found interesting. He wanted him weak. Mark supposed it was okay to lose these skirmishes as long as he eventually won the war. And he would. Strange thoughts flitted through his head as he hung there waiting for the next round. Eaton must be afraid of the reputation and strength of Navy SEALs. Mark smiled, making a mental note to keep that fear fresh in Eaton’s mind.

All the way up to the moment when he killed the man.

“Is that a grin of the damned?” Eaton asked.

Mark hadn’t heard the door open. Oh, right. One of his ears was full of blood from a punch or a cut. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “No,” Mark managed. He focused on the smell of the ocean somewhere outside this pocket of hell.

Eaton carried a white paper bag to his desk and sat down. He opened a rugged laptop computer and then the bag. The savory aroma of a Philly cheesesteak sandwich filled the room. That scent would linger in the humid air. Mark’s stomach growled. Eaton’s bark of laughter was low and mean.

“Tell me about Miss Hanover,” he said.

“No.” It had been the first question every time for the last two days. Eaton wanted to know what Charlotte meant to Mark and the Rileys. He asked about her family, her career, her artwork and where she’d studied.

Mark had been grateful he didn’t have too many details about Charlotte’s recent choices to blot from his mind when Muscle and Quick-Punch Kid pummeled him during the interrogations. On the flip side, a piece of Mark that resided dangerously close to his heart had other questions about Charlotte.

Would she have let him kiss her behind the gallery? Was every kindness she’d shown him since the kidnapping rooted in concern as a family friend? Would she ever forgive him for this fiasco? Would they ever enjoy champagne on a sunset sail?

Mark struggled to catch his breath, a significant challenge when hanging like a side of beef on a hook. Eaton asked another question about Charlotte.

“I will kill you,” Mark replied, the words lacking in volume, but full of conviction.

Eaton approached, carrying a chunk of his sandwich. The savory aroma taunted Mark. It took all his willpower not to beg for a bite. “Tell me about Charlotte and I’ll give you my sandwich.”

Mark didn’t want to think about the condition of the sandwich he’d receive if he played along. “Not hungry.”

“You would be if she stopped feeding you from her stash.”

Mark wasn’t surprised Eaton had cameras in the cage room. The man enjoyed his live surveillance feeds the way most people enjoyed chocolate. Mark was more curious about why Eaton allowed Charlotte to help him. The man had a reason for everything he did.

“I don’t condone torture,” Eaton said, gesturing with the sandwich, sending that aroma floating around Mark’s face. “Always my preference to strike first and let the vultures clean up the mess.”

The beef and peppers and mushrooms made his mouth water. Proper nourishment would go a long way about now. Where had he even come up with fresh hot takeout? From what Charlotte had said, based on the little she’d seen and heard, Mark was sure they were on an undeveloped island. Maybe he kept a chef chained to the stove on that boat.

“Tell me about Charlotte,” Eaton ordered.

“No.”

Eaton threw the sandwich to the floor and stomped on it.

“I knew it,” Mark mumbled.

“Knew what?”

“Knew you were crazy,” he said. “That smelled like a great sandwich.”

“You…” Eaton threw several punches into Mark’s gut, but after Muscle and Quick-Punch Kid, the strikes felt more like a deep tissue massage than a beating. Mark’s laughter enraged Eaton.

“Not personal,” Mark said, gasping. “Pain response.”

Eaton lit into him again.

A phone rang and, with an annoyed curse, Eaton stalked back to his desk.

An island with cell service? Charlotte described it as little more than a forested sandbar, yet with the generator and phone, Mark wondered if it was a time-share for criminals. He wheezed out a laugh. His pain-addled brain came up with an infomercial script and sales pitch. His body creaked with the ensuing giggles and the chain holding him jerked and clanged.

“Shut up!” Eaton hissed.

For a man in charge, Eaton behaved as if he was reporting to a boss. Weird. Mark watched the body language and regretted it when a reptilian smile creased the other man’s face.

“We’ll have two ready for you,” Eaton was saying. “One in prime condition and the other less so.” He paused, eyeing Mark. “Yes, wounded animals do make for delightful unpredictability.”

Eaton swiveled in his chair, listening again. “The island is low on creature comforts, but we have the basics in place.” He smiled. “Yes, more motivation to complete the hunt quickly, I agree.”

Mark’s blood chilled as the situation crystalized. Eaton was inviting a hunter to the island and he and Charlotte were the trophies. Had this been his plan for Mark all along?

Eaton finished the call and polished off the rest of his sandwich, treating Mark like a sculpture in the corner.

“Charlotte is talented and young,” Mark blurted. “She’s not a survivalist. Let her go.”

“I most certainly will, in due time.”

“Don’t do this, Eaton. Take her out of the equation. Please,” he added, though it cost him. “You can’t let some jackass with too much money and no soul snuff her out.”

“How much is her freedom worth?”

“Anything,” he said. “I’ll give your hunter a good chase. She won’t. It’ll be shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Maybe that’s what my client wants.”

“No hunter worth his ammo wants that. It’s the thrill of the chase.”

“Not for everyone,” Eaton countered. “For some, a live capture is the thing.”

Mark strained against the chain holding him. Did he mean the hunter wanted to take Charlotte alive? “What do you want? Let Charlotte go and you’ll get anything,” Mark pleaded. He had to spare Charlotte. He knew he was being manipulated by a master and didn’t care. He didn’t know if the room was wired for sound, or if his father could only see his struggle, but that wasn’t important now.

During his military service, it was rare for Mark to meet the people their operations saved. As a kid, it had been difficult for him to understand why his dad left home to help strangers. Sure, he’d connected with others through various service projects and as an adult he’d worked in tandem with military personnel from other countries. When he and his team made rescues, they chatted briefly with survivors.

None of that was the same as knowing Charlotte would be the victim if Eaton had his way. She was too close, too precious. His stomach twisted at the thought of any harm coming to her.

“Anything sounds good, but I want more than you can give.” Eaton advanced on Mark once more. “I want your father on his knees, begging me to spare your life. I want to stand over the precious, decorated, idolized General Benjamin Riley and see that he’s broken. The way I was broken when he ended my career, destroyed my family.”

Eaton had lost his career and family because he’d gone off the rails and slaughtered innocents. He’d brought every rotten consequence down on himself. “Never happen. He won’t give you the satisfaction.”

Eaton knocked Mark off balance and for a moment all his bodyweight was suspended from his wrists. The cuffs bit into his skin and his shoulders burned. “Look at you,” Eaton taunted. “You’re in no condition to stop me.” He rested his palm on his gun and his trigger finger drummed against the holster.

Mark clung to the last shred of dignity, refusing to be cowed. He’d beg for Charlotte’s life, no problem, but he wouldn’t show any fear for himself.

Eaton took a step back, reaching for the radio on his opposite hip. “Take him back to his cell.”

Quick-Punch Kid walked in alone and Mark had a flash of hope. Even cuffed and exhausted, he had enough to take this guy. Muscle was looming just outside the door and Mark had to bide his time. Again. At least he’d learned that Eaton didn’t intend to toy with them indefinitely, in or out of the cages.

He glanced down, eyeing the contrast between Quick-Punch Kid’s forearm and his own. They’d only been here a few days, but the man’s skin showed a deeper tan every day. “Good genes, man,” he said.

“Huh?”

Mark repeated himself, with excruciating slowness. “You’re tanned,” he added. “Weather’s been clear?”

“Gorgeous,” Quick-Punch Kid replied. “Last night I slept out under the stars in the hammock. The breeze off—ow!” Muscle cut him off with a hard pop to the back of his head.

“He’s fishing for intel, you idiot.”

“That’s harsh,” Quick-Punch Kid complained while Muscle unlocked the cage room.

Seeing a chance to get in a few licks, Mark head-butted Quick-Punch Kid, hearing the man’s nose crunch as Muscle pulled the key from the lock.

The door swung open and Quick-Punch Kid, reeling from the pain, stumbled through first, tripping over his feet and landing hard on his backside. Mark drove a shoulder into Muscle’s midsection, sandwiching him in the door frame. The man doubled over, gasping like a fish out of water and Mark went for the keys.

Charlotte shouted a warning a beat too late. Mark dodged the kick to the head, but Quick-Punch Kid advanced with a series of punches and another kick, this one aimed at Mark’s knee.

Mark tucked and spun, and took the blow in the back of his leg. It didn’t feel great, but it beat the alternative of not being able to walk. Just as he twisted back to make another dive for the keys, Muscle caught him by the throat and squeezed until Mark’s vision hazed.

He heard Charlotte and Eaton yelling. Mark coughed and sputtered as the big man dumped him back into the cage. Another win for Eaton. Mark didn’t mind letting them think they had the upper hand. He couldn’t show it, but he was just as satisfied with that exchange as they were.

“Are you okay?” Charlotte asked when they were alone.

“Okay enough,” he replied. “Looked worse than it was.” Except now that he was in this cramped cell, he could feel the price he’d paid in every tight muscle and aggravated nerve ending.

She scooted the plywood back. “Here.”

He looked over and smiled at the sight of her fingers reaching through the fencing. “I’ll be fine.” In an hour or two. Maybe a week.

“Maybe I’m not,” she admitted.

He caught her fingertips and held on. “I just made my move too soon. Do you have an oatmeal bar?”

“Of course.” She released his hand.

For a moment, he felt entirely alone, though he knew it was a silly reaction. Remembering that Eaton knew about her sharing her stash, he took a closer look at the ceiling and still couldn’t spot the camera. Not much point in worrying about it now. He dragged himself back to lean on the wall where he could see her better.

He rolled his shoulders. Slamming into the wall of muscle that was the big guard after a daylong beating might not have been the brightest move.

“Here.” The oatmeal bar came through the space they’d made, followed by a bottle of water. He downed the bar in greedy bites, his mouth too full to talk.

He was torn between telling her about Eaton’s likely plan and just letting things play out. Knowing would only scare her more. If he had a chance, they’d get out of here before it became an issue.

If. Was he actually relying on something as flimsy as if now? “Since we’ve been here, have you seen anyone other than those two guards with Eaton?” he asked.

“No.”

“And none of them have threatened you?”

“No.” She urged him to drink the water. “He talks and postures. But I don’t think he knows what to do with me.”

He wasn’t about to correct that assumption. “What do you know about survival in the wilderness?” he asked.

“Obviously I’m not a SEAL,” she said. “But I’m not useless. If we escape—”

“When,” he corrected.

“Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “When we escape, I’ll be an asset.”

“Of course, you’re an asset.” There would be challenges, and more of them, if he didn’t give her a few tips. “Are you up for a crash course?”

“Absolutely,” she said, scooting as close as she could get. She listened attentively, urging more water on him as he relayed the basics of surviving in an environment she didn’t know.

“You’re talking like you won’t be with me,” she said quietly, as he drained another bottle of water.

“I’ll be with you,” he promised. “I feel better knowing you’re as prepared as possible in case Eaton does something to separate us.” Something like kill him outright, maim him or sell her off.

Once the trials of the day caught up to him, the aching started in earnest. Every time he dozed off, he slid closer to the nightmare of the plans Eaton had for Charlotte.

“Mark? Can you hear me?”

He jerked, his hand seeking hers and coming up against the plywood. She must have moved the barrier back into position at some point.

The room was completely dark now. He focused on the soft sound of her breath, matched his to hers. He couldn’t help her plan paintings, but maybe there was another way to carry her away from this place, temporarily. “When we get out of here, I’m taking you to the nearest five-star hotel.”

She moaned. “Clean linens,” she said. “I can almost smell them.”

“Soft mattresses. Room service,” he said, continuing the list.

“Roomy hot showers,” she said. “And a massage.”

“Fluffy towels and robes. A swanky bar and good whiskey.” He started laughing and ignored the pain that followed. “Did we say room service?”

“You did, but it deserves to be on our list twice.” She giggled.

The sound rolled over him, warm as sunlight, simultaneously soothing and arousing. The game had helped him. Had it helped her?

“Do you remember that time we had to abandon our campsite after the hail storm?” she queried.

The sound of her shifting around filled him with a sudden urge to pull her into his lap. He wanted to discover how her curves felt under his hands. “That was the summer we were in Colorado,” he recalled.

“Right. You tried to convince Grace Ann to imitate Aunt Patricia and order room service for us.”

“Dinner had been washed out,” he said defensively. “We were all hungry.”

“Your dad tried to make the MREs sound like an adventure in fine dining,” she reminded him.

“For the record, navy food is better.”

She giggled again. Maybe hysteria was setting in, but he couldn’t get enough of the sound. Or maybe laughter really was the best medicine. He certainly felt better when she did the laughing.

“I’ve loved your family forever,” she said, her voice wistful. “You were all so bold and loud and a good influence on a shy kid like me. You remember how aggravated Adam would get when he couldn’t pull me away from my sketchbook. Being with all of you was good for both of us.”

“Don’t forget ornery.” They’d all taken turns involving her. “Why wasn’t Adam at the gallery?” Her brother wouldn’t have missed that kind of event without a good reason. Mark was sure Adam would be at the head of the long line of people ready to kill Mark if he didn’t get Charlotte out of here safely.

“He’s overseas, working with Doctors Without Borders. He called the day before and I gave him a private tour over the phone.”

“That’s good.” He wished he could see her expressive face. “You were such a quiet kid. I admit it mystified me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not a bit. At my house, the volume was cranked to ten from morning to night.” It seemed she’d appreciated being around his rambunctious family as much as he’d appreciated being in her quieter orbit. “Did Adam ever tell you what happened the day you came home from the hospital?”

“The day I broke my arm?” she asked. “Were we still neighbors then?”

“No.” He should stop talking before this turned too sappy. “I meant when you were born. Mom dragged us along to play with your brother. I wasn’t impressed with baby you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You looked like a doll until you cried,” he continued. “Then you were so loud the moms were distracted and we snuck outside to climb a tree. Luke got stuck and Adam and I got grounded for daring him to go too high.”

“Hellions.”

“Every chance we got,” Mark agreed easily. “But not you.”

“A natural-born observer,” she said. “That’s what my mom called it.”

That wasn’t how he remembered her as a kid. “Oh, you dive in. You just need the right motivation.”

“Maybe,” she allowed.

The wistfulness was back. He nudged the plywood so he could hold her fingers. “Your mind is wandering again.”

“There are things I’ve left unsaid. When I’m in here alone I… I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance. I know it sounds depressing or weak, but—”

“Lottie.” Her words tore him up.

“I know. Ignore me.” She cut him off before he could reassure her. “I get moody when I’m away from the creative process too long. Drawing in the dust isn’t the same thing.”

“Anyone in this situation would feel those things. It’s normal. We’ll get out of here. Trust me.”

“I do.” She coughed a little. “I’ve always trusted you…and your family.”

And he’d sucked her into his family’s trouble. Guilt was an unwelcome guest in the cage. “What was your favorite of the vacation trips we took as kids?”

“Monument summer in DC.”

Her immediate answer startled him. “Why?” He’d been sure she would’ve mentioned a quieter place. “The museums,” he said, answering his own question. “You would’ve spent days in the Smithsonian American Art Museum.”

“Weeks, really,” she admitted.

That was the summer after his high school graduation. He’d been eighteen and so sure of himself. That would’ve made her thirteen. Funny, when he thought of that day he didn’t remember her that young.

Adam had been so exasperated with her for wandering off or falling behind that Mark volunteered to track her down. Like her brother, he’d been eager to move on to a museum with more action. In his opinion, the exhibits ranged from nice to interesting, but it was art. It didn’t do or change anything, no matter how much their parents lectured them about culture and enrichment.

Then he’d turned the corner and found her on a bench in the center of a room, gazing intently at a painting of New York City at night. Light poured through a skylight overhead, turning her hair to spun rose gold. In that gallery, she’d looked nothing like the young cousin reluctant to join their more boisterous adventures. He didn’t know how long he watched her, so still and intent, before he finally sat down beside her.

If he closed his eyes, he could see them there now, sitting together in a safe and tranquil quiet, far from this cage and the danger to come.

“You asked me why that painting,” she said.

He nodded, the memory granting him exquisite comfort. “You said it was the light and shadow.”

He heard her breath catch, a small sound that seemed much bigger in this terrible, uncomfortable room. “How do you remember that?”

He shrugged, belatedly recalling it was too dark for her to see his reaction. “Guess it stuck with me.” She’d stuck with him.

“Me too.” She sighed. “Mom lectured me about getting lost.”

“You knew exactly where you were,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I did.”

Her breathing, the softness of her fingers in his, the pleasant recollections lulled him, easing the aches and pains. “I’ll take you back,” he promised. “Stay for days or weeks. I’ll stand guard so no one bothers you.”

He was floating at the edge of consciousness, savoring that sweet memory of Charlotte spotlighted by the sunbeam, dozing at last as the peacefulness carried him away from his throbbing bruises.

That’s where she belonged, in the light. Then and now.

He’d get her back there just as soon as he caught his second wind.

* * *

Ben slouched in the desk chair in the hotel suite, staring at his phone. He gave Eaton credit for knowing how to wreak havoc in a man’s soul. It was nothing short of agony watching Eaton’s thugs beat and torture his son day in and day out, yet Ben felt an obligation to watch. To know.

Mark, the perpetual charmer, never talked about negative experiences. Somewhere along the line, Mark had decided that rehashing trouble didn’t help unless it revealed a solution. Once they were rescued, Mark wouldn’t bring it up again. Unless it was to testify against Eaton.

Ben didn’t want to be surprised in a court of law. Bad enough that Eaton was only feeding them the pieces he wanted Ben to see. This time around, they weren’t getting so many live feeds. As much as he wanted to believe the videos were edited for maximum effect, he knew better.

Time and again, he watched the replays, desperate to help, praying for Mark to stay strong. Hank and his investigators picked apart the same videos, searching for the smallest clue about where Eaton was holding Mark and Charlotte.

Eaton had shared footage of both kids through the past few days. When Charlotte was on screen, she was always seated in front of a desk and engaged in what appeared to be a conversation with Eaton. Oh, how Ben and Hank wished for audio. Other than looking a bit weary, with shadows under her eyes, it seemed she was in fair health.

Hearing Patricia’s soft footfalls behind him, he lowered the phone. Her hands landed on his shoulders, rubbing at the knots of tension there. “You have to stop, sweetheart.”

“I can’t,” he confessed. His fingers itched to pick up the phone and hit Replay again. “He’s hurting.”

“We all are,” she said. “He’s strong. All of us need to be,” she reminded him. She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Isn’t he the one who pestered us day and night about how perfect the SEAL training is?”

Ben chuckled. His wife had a way of knowing just what to say. At sixteen, when Mark had decided to pursue the SEAL program, he’d been a nuisance, touting all the ways the navy’s elite teams out-performed the army elite forces. Those years had been an exercise in parental patience and Ben couldn’t deny he’d been happy to be overseas for part of that time.

“Did you ever get your medal for grace under the assault of youthful arrogance?” he asked.

“They call it motherhood.” She smoothed her hands up to massage his neck. “And it keeps an entire cosmetic industry in business.”

“We have another meeting with Hank in the morning,” he said. “He’ll update the Hanovers at their house afterward.”

“Probably smart. Sue Ellen is a wreck and rightly so. Ron is desperate for a target.” She sighed. “Staying up all hours and wishing you were taking those blows doesn’t change a thing.” She brushed her lips to the top of his head. “You’re not doing him or me any favors, Ben.”

She was right, though he was reluctant to voice the admission.

“We should go home and wait.” Leaving the area was the last thing he wanted to do, but every inch of the waterfront had been searched along the trail they’d pieced together from traffic cameras. A kidnapped SEAL had brought out the best in community cooperation from civilians on up through the police departments and military to local stevedores working the docks that night.

No one believed Mark and Charlotte were still in Virginia and the trail had gone cold.

“Ben.” Patricia nudged the chair, swiveling it so he faced her. “If this were happening in a container yard nearby, we’d know. You need real rest if you’re going to be any use once we do have a search area.”

“How is it you’re so calm?”

“It’s an illusion, love. One you need to embrace right now. Plus, I’ve had practice saving my breakdowns for after the crisis.”

“It’s a nursing thing?”

“And a military wife thing,” she confessed in a whisper.

He pulled her into his lap and held her close. She kissed his brow and relaxed into his embrace. “The enemy isn’t supposed to be over here,” he said.

“I know.”

Too many emotions to name were winding around his heart, gripping tight. “The enemy isn’t supposed to be one of our own.”

“I know that too.” Her fingers combed through his hair.

“When they find Eaton, I’ll kill him for this.”

“I know you’ll want to.” She sat back, holding his gaze. “But Mark’s team will probably beat you to it. They’re so big and strong and perfect, you know.”

His heart eased with her humor, even if the laughter itself got bottled up in his throat and caused his eyes to sting. “What would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to find out.” She kissed him again and slipped out of his arms. “Come to bed now.”

Dawn arrived a few hours later and Ben felt marginally better, though hardly well rested, plagued by the lingering images of his son suffering. He and Patricia both picked at their breakfast before giving up on food. Her lack of appetite was the only obvious sign of her distress.

When they reached the temporary office Hank had established on the nearby naval base, the young man they considered a son was waiting outside the door, his expression grave. Ben caught Patricia’s hand in his and held on tight. They’d get through this together.

Hank looked as if he’d been up all night and just changed into a clean uniform. He probably had. “Come on in.”

Patricia paused to hug Hank before they walked into the room. Ben saw a series of still shots, apparently from the video, taped to a whiteboard and moved to shield his wife. With a tiny shake of her head, she stepped around him and studied the images.

“Why isolate these?” she asked, turning to Hank.

“The lip readers,” Hank replied. A day or two ago, he’d told them he was bringing in specialists to pick apart every video for clues to Eaton’s plan and location. “We still don’t have enough to create a search grid, but we’re getting closer.”

None of the videos Eaton sent showed even a sliver of a window in view of either camera in the area where Mark was being tortured. “Did the lip readers pick up anything?”

“Pictures have been too fuzzy to get an accurate read,” Hank said. “But we’re working on it.”

“The sandwich indicates lunch or dinnertime?” Patricia put her back to the pictures and took a seat at the long table in the center of the room.

“Or just what was available at the time,” Hank replied. “There’s been no rhyme or reason to the food in any of the shots with Mark.”

“It’s a tactic,” Ben said.

“Yes, sir. I believe it is.” Hank urged Ben to sit as he did the same. “We’ve gone over everything from the first live broadcast, moving forward. Eaton seems most consistent and conventional when he brings in Charlotte.”

It had been a blessing that Eaton hadn’t done anything physical to her so far. Ben knew all of them were holding their breath every time another video came through, waiting for Eaton to cross that line. They’d done all they could to keep her parents informed without worrying them unnecessarily.

“Using the best timeline we have,” Hank was saying, “I’m thinking he’s holding them somewhere south of here.”

Ben lurched to his feet. “So let’s go.”

“Not so fast, sir. That’s still too much coastline, private and commercial, to search.”

“Why not north?” Patricia asked.

“There have been storms north of us that most likely would have knocked out the live feeds that have come through. At the least we would have seen signal interference and poor video quality.” Hank stacked his fists on the tabletop. “Other than that, it’s a guess.”

“How far south?” Ben queried. He wouldn’t put it past Eaton to stage this somewhere close to their beachside home in North Carolina.

“I sent a team to search the immediate area around your beach house,” Hank said. Clearly his thoughts were similar to Ben’s. “It’s clear.”

Catching Hank’s gaze, Ben asked, “Is there something we can add to your investigation or search effort?”

“Not yet,” Hank said. “He has help on the technology side. I have experts countering that. None of the mercenaries who’ve worked with him can shed any light on this site.”

“He keeps them compartmentalized.”

“Yes.” Hank pressed his thumb to the furrow between his eyebrows. “The money has been almost untraceable.”

“Almost?” Patricia sat forward.

“We’ve learned he didn’t go straight into mercenary work. We have people dedicated exclusively to unraveling the money trail from the legitimate business he sold a few years ago to the present. I’m hoping that will give us more clues to his current location.

“One last thing,” Hank continued. “Based on the bits of conversation we think we’ve interpreted correctly, Eaton is about to change up their routine. Hopefully that means we’ll have some external clues that will allow us to search properly.”

“And make a rescue,” Patricia said.

“Yes,” Hank confirmed.

The door burst open and they all turned. “The live feed is back and we have some audio,” a young man in uniform announced. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he added, his eyes wide when he recognized the retired general.

Ben waved off the interruption.

“Stay here,” Hank said. “I’ll forward what I can.”

Less than a minute later, Ben’s phone hummed as the live feed came through. Damn Eaton for being so persistent with this tactic.

“He knows it bothers you,” Patricia said.

“It’s hardly original. This would bother anyone,” Ben grumbled. “You shouldn’t watch.”

“You shouldn’t keep trying to protect me, Benjamin Riley. I’d rather deal with facts than speculation.”

As the video began, Ben and Patricia both sucked in a breath at the sight of Charlotte chained to the rebar embedded in the pad of cement.

“Any last requests?” Eaton asked from off camera.

The audio quality was excellent. Patricia clutched Ben’s free hand as they watched.

“Let us go,” Charlotte said.

“You’ll be free tomorrow.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Free?”

“Yes.”

“You’re setting us free tomorrow?”

Patricia covered her mouth. They both knew it had to be a trap.

“That’s the plan,” Eaton confirmed. “No more cuffs or cages. You can walk right out the door.”

“What’s the catch?”

Eaton laughed and the vile sound struck hard against the corrugated metal walls and bounced back. “You are the clever one, aren’t you?”

Charlotte only glared at him.

“I hear you miss your creative process.” Her eyes went wide, but she kept quiet. “I have a proposition for you,” Eaton was saying. “Before I let you go, I want a Charlotte Hanover original painting. It’s an investment sure to increase in value.”

Patricia gasped at the veiled threat that her art would be worth more when she died.

“You and Mark had such a nice conversation last night,” Eaton continued. “Vacations, antics, family fun. It was very enlightening.”

“Go to hell,” Charlotte snapped. “That was private.”

“Little girl, nothing is private in a prison. I’m surprised Mark didn’t share that tip with you.” Eaton circled behind her, motioned for something to move or adjust. “Your feelings and devotion to the Riley clan is nauseating. Still, it got me thinking.”

A thin guard dressed in black from head to toe set up an easel within Charlotte’s reach, adding a canvas and a small folding table of supplies. Through it all, Eaton droned on, talking about the vacation he’d taken with his family to Hawaii after a deployment.

“I want you to give me a painting of that time when I had a family,” Eaton said. “Before General Riley destroyed us.”

“It can take weeks or more to finish a painting,” Charlotte said, clearly resistant to his demands.

“You have today if you want to walk free tomorrow.” Eaton handed over what appeared to be an old photo. “Use this for reference. Better get busy. If you don’t finish to my satisfaction, you both stay.”

“I knew there was a catch.”

“Oh, there is. If you stall, Mark will pay the price.” Eaton walked out of the camera view and Charlotte took stock of the provided supplies.

Hank returned, putting the live feed up on a wall-mounted monitor. They all watched in silence as Charlotte began to work.

Occasionally they heard noises from Eaton, presumably at his desk, but it was too far from the microphone to be useful.

“That’s not the right vegetation for Hawaii.” Hank cocked his head. “She knows she’s on camera and she has the picture for reference right there.” He pointed to the corner of her canvas. “I think she’s painting in trees that she’s seen recently. This is helpful.” Hank dashed out of the room, leaving Ben and Patricia to watch over Charlotte as she painted a landscape wildly different from the photo Eaton had provided.

CHAPTER 7

Charlotte prepared a palette and her canvas in silence, though her back already ached from sleeping on the cage floor and her range of motion was limited by the handcuffs. These shoes had zero support and the artificial lighting posed another challenge. Dark splotches and spatters decorated the area, bloodstains from abusing Mark in this very spot.

This didn’t have to be her best work, but it had to be good enough to convince Eaton she’d tried.

“You refused to let me go so I would paint for you?” she asked, glancing at him from around the canvas.

He frowned. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I decided to capitalize on the opportunity.” He flicked his fingers, indicating she should get busy. “Be grateful I liked your work when I looked you up online.”

She didn’t have much confidence she could pull this off. He’d done nothing but ask her questions about the Rileys and though she’d kept her answers vague, she had the sense she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

Being confined—literally—to this space and this canvas was bad enough. Creating a painting for the jerk holding them captive, threatening to hurt Mark if she didn’t paint well, compounded the issue a thousand times over. Could she paint fast enough to please Eaton and slow enough to keep Mark safely in his cage for the entire day? He needed time to recuperate.

She wondered who monitored the cameras Eaton had installed, wondered if there was audio as well as visual. Did anyone edit the videos Eaton sent the general to torment him or was it all just a raw feed? She couldn’t imagine the pain of watching a child endure the beatings Mark had taken. He played off the pain, but she could see his recovery took longer every night.

She hated being party to a system that brought pain to Ben and Patricia, though it would be worth it if she could use it to their advantage. “Where did you get the painting supplies?” she asked.

“I have means and men at my disposal,” Eaton replied. “I assume the quality is sufficient to the task.”

“Yes.”

“Then shut up and paint.”

Ignoring that, she studied the adorable face of his daughter, alight with joy as she held a bright pink flower in her hands. It was a lovely scene, Charlotte thought with some regret. As much as she despised whom she was painting for, she appreciated the time to paint at all. The tropical paradise in the photograph was lush and green with a soaring blue sky. The rich, verdant landscape surrounding the little girl bore little resemblance to the trees and path she’d seen on the walk here from the dock.

Still, there was some resemblance, in size and scope, with the tall trees that framed the photo. Enough to give the investigators Mark believed were searching for them a clue to their location. She used a blank space of the canvas and painted the leaves from trees she’d seen on the hike in from the dock. There had been stubby palms and swaying grasses and the ocean had been deep and clear under the dock.

Quickly she sketched out the path she’d walked, the plants and leaves she’d seen. Later she would add layers and depth to build the painting into what Eaton requested. She had no idea if the cameras caught any of her work or why Eaton would even give her this chance to put out a cry for help, but she did it anyway.

If he noticed and challenged her, she’d simply explain it away as a warm-up exercise. It hardly mattered. She didn’t believe that he would set them free tomorrow, not by any reasonable definition anyway.

With no window, she had no idea how much time passed as she covered the quick beach scene here with the deeper blue-greens of the Hawaii landscape. She only knew her hands and neck had cramped and her feet were wishing for thick, warm sand rather than more of this unyielding floor.

“Could I walk a bit?” she asked, rolling her neck. “Just around the office would be helpful.” Normally she’d take breaks for food, stretches or a long walk outside. She’d give her eyes and hands a break by reviewing inspiration boards or doing whatever she needed for the next burst.

From behind the desk, Eaton narrowed his gaze. “Is that part of your process?”

“Well, my process would be to go for a run or take a yoga break outside. Painting the outdoors isn’t the same as breathing fresh air.”

“No.”

“Exactly. I didn’t think you’d grant either of those requests.”

“I won’t take the cuffs off either.”

“You do know the law of diminishing returns?”

“As well as I know you’re running out of time,” Eaton said, his gaze on his laptop.

She rocked back and forth on her feet, then twisted her shoulders side to side. Anything to get the blood moving. The girl in the picture had the sweetest expression and despite her aggravation with Eaton, Charlotte couldn’t purposely botch that precious face. She wasn’t particularly well known for her portraiture, but she didn’t really have much of a choice.

His mention of the painting increasing in value hadn’t escaped her notice. The prevailing joke among artists was that death was the best way to boost sales and gain fame. All she’d really wanted from fame was the means and reputation to eventually create a retreat that would give artists and other creatives a place to rejuvenate and recharge.

She peeked at Eaton again. What did he have planned? He wasn’t going to let them walk out of here because he’d had a change of heart. He’d been too hard on Mark for her to believe that.

“Do you think you’re in love with him?” Eaton asked, interrupting her speculation.

He’d asked her that question, or a variation of it, each time he’d had her brought in. The significance escaped her.

“I’ve loved Mark all my life.” She gave the same honest answer as she had previously. If these were her last hours, she wouldn’t hold back. “He’s family.” Though she kept her gaze locked on the canvas, she heard his chair scrape against the floor as he pushed back from his desk.

“He doesn’t love you,” Eaton said, his cold eyes stared at her from over the top edge of the canvas.

A bug under a microscope would have more confidence and definitely more space. Between his intimidation tactics and the cuffs changing the weight of her brush strokes, she was close to ruining the painting. There couldn’t possibly be time to start over. She took half a step back.

“I’ve watched this family for years. Learned their patterns, strengths and weaknesses,” Eaton bragged. “It’s clear to me, and it should be clear to you, the Hanovers don’t factor in their lives.”

Then he hadn’t done any deep research at all. The Hanovers and Rileys were inseparable in spirit even when they weren’t in the same geographical area. Patricia and Sue Ellen had decided nothing would minimize their friendship and they’d built those values into the family dynamic.

One more reason Charlotte had never confessed to her unrelenting crush on Mark. She wouldn’t be the wedge that interrupted how well the families clicked or that made any of them feel awkward.

She lowered the brush so he didn’t see her trembling. “Does that mean I’m free to go?” It was worth a try.

“No.” He shifted a bit and she decided if she ever painted him, he’d be a snake, lurking and ready to poison any perceived happiness.

“The handcuffs are a hindrance,” she said. “I’d like to honor your daughter by capturing the sparkle in her eyes. That’s delicate work.”

He came around to view the canvas from her angle. Watching him, she caught his first unguarded reaction to the painting. The meanness faded from his expression, softening as he took in the photo coming to life on the canvas.

A gratifying moment for any artist, to know the work makes an impact. Inwardly she sighed. If it was going to be her last painting, she should give it her best effort. Who knew taking pride in the work would be so frustrating?

He pulled a key from his pocket and released the cuffs. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t.” She shook out her hands and circled her wrists one direction and another, releasing the tension. “May I walk a bit?”

Eaton scowled. “Stay clear of the door and my desk.”

Since he’d put the easel on the opposite end of the room, it wouldn’t be a problem. She plucked the photograph from the clip at the edge of the canvas and paced the width of the office. Back and forth, letting her hands and mind rest. Using the wall for support, she stretched her back and legs too.

Eaton worked at his desk, ignoring her. Like the other times she’d been in here, she couldn’t decide whether to be offended or relieved that he didn’t see her as a threat.

Straightening, she came around to view the canvas from several paces away. Glancing between the photo and the canvas, she looked for a way to leave a clue that she’d painted this one under duress.

The only option that would possibly escape Eaton’s notice was the foliage that wouldn’t be found in Hawaii. She could leave in that live oak branch under the tropical canopy. And it really wouldn’t matter unless Eaton sold the painting.

She studied the picture, creased and worn at the edges from being in his wallet.

Despite his blustering, he’d never sell this painting of his daughter.

She returned to the canvas and picked up her brush, determined to bring the girl’s eyes to life before either the cuffs or reality paralyzed her. She’d stepped back again, almost satisfied when an outburst erupted from the other end of the building. The screech and scrape of metal dragging against metal hurt her ears.

Eaton was on his feet and out of the room in an instant. Was he having Mark tortured in the cage today?

Her eyes darted to Eaton’s abandoned desk and then to the camera at the opposite corner from her easel. If Eaton was broadcasting the camera feed, someone was likely monitoring it.

Did she dare try to send out an SOS? After everything Mark had endured, she had to take the chance.

Another shout sounded from the direction of the cage room and she set aside her paint and brushes and scurried to the desk. She had no idea what she was looking for, only that she needed to find something helpful. He’d always kept the bulletin board behind his desk covered when she’d been in here. She pushed aside the rolling chalkboard and stepped back, aghast.

He had pictures of the Riley family organized almost like a police investigator, with facts and links and comments about each of the five siblings and Hank too.

Although it sure looked as if he’d hoped to kill Matt and Grace Ann, he’d clearly moved on when they survived, focused now on Mark. Beneath Mark’s official navy headshot was a long list of potential attacks.

Disconcerting—fine, terrifying—but nothing she could use right now.

She reached for the bulletin board, intending to hold it up for a camera. It was secured to the metal wall. On an oath, she carefully untacked the plans for Mark and held them up to the camera, praying only Eaton monitored the broadcast. Since he was gone, she might stand a chance of this information getting through to the proper authorities.

Once the bulletin board was restored to its previous condition, she turned to the computer.

There had to be a way to send out a distress call of some sort.

Eaton, despite the bare bones set up, hadn’t slacked on security for his laptop. She quickly discovered the device was password-protected and she had no idea what the code might be. She couldn’t even see what he’d been working on before the noises drew him away.

Outside the door, voices were raised in anger. She could hear Quick-Punch Kid—the name Mark had given to one of the men—Eaton and Mark himself. If he was vocal, he couldn’t be hurt too badly. It wasn’t much comfort. She used the precious opening to search each of the drawers in Eaton’s desk.

The voices swelled and she turned, caught in the harsh, cold gaze of Muscle. “What are you doing?” he asked.

His tone was too reasonable as he closed the door behind him. Locked it.

A fear bigger than anything she’d experienced so far gripped her joints as he advanced on her. She couldn’t even stand up. So much for being an asset to Mark’s escape plans. She was about to die.

A tear rolled down her cheek. She’d wrecked everything, doomed them both, since Mark was too honorable to leave her behind. Oh, she’d blown it.

“Stand up,” Muscle ordered.

She managed it, barely.

“How did you get out of the cuffs?”

“Eaton took them off so I…” Survival instinct kicking in, she edged around the far end of the desk. “So I could paint without them.” His eyes tracked her like a predator. She froze. The desk wasn’t enough of a barrier and they both knew it.

“You’re not painting.”

“No.” Her chin came up. Cowering only gave him more power. And pleasure. She could see the malicious intent in his gaze. “I needed more paint color. Your boss keeps the supplies there.”

He shoved the desk aside and lunged for her and she darted for the area where she’d been painting. Maybe he’d think twice about damaging the canvas Eaton had commissioned.

He was quicker than he looked and she found herself knocked face-first to the stained floor. She struggled to breathe and he easily flipped her to her back, pinning her under his massive body. The eager, sinister gleam in his eyes was enough to vaporize her moment of bravado. He flexed his pelvis and his evident erection made her stomach cramp.

This couldn’t be happening. Could. Not. Recalling her self-defense classes, she aimed her forehead at his nose, missing when he moved out of reach. “You’ve got spirit.” He chuckled. “I like that.”

She resisted with every fiber of her being as he pushed her arms overhead. He clasped both her wrists in one unbreakable grip. The pose thrust her breasts higher. Wanting to squirm, she held as still as possible, unwilling to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

“You’re hurting my hands.”

“Don’t care about your hands,” Muscle said.

“You should.” Eaton’s voice carried a clear threat.

Relief coursed through her. Salvation shouldn’t wear Eaton’s face, but she’d take it. The moment Muscle released her, Charlotte scurried out of his reach, back to the easel.

The respite didn’t last. “What did she do?”

Muscle pulled himself to his full height. “Found her snooping around your desk.”

“I was looking for more paint. To capture your daughter’s eye color,” she spit out, glaring at Muscle. “I told him that.” She knew he could contradict her, but she relished planting doubt about him in Eaton’s mind.

Eaton’s dark eyes shifted to her. “I take it you were planning to punish her?”

Muscle stood tall, lips compressed, apparently smart enough not to answer that question.

“Go be useful and guard the dock,” Eaton ordered.

Muscle’s chin dipped once in the affirmative and he hustled out of the office, a little cowed in Charlotte’s view.

As Eaton made way for the bigger man, Charlotte saw Quick-Punch Kid holding Mark, his handsome face a fixed blank mask.

“I’ll kill you,” Mark vowed, as Muscle walked by him.

“You’re nothing but a little fish without your team.” Muscle made a barking seal sound and then he was gone.

A chill slid down her back as Mark’s gaze collided with hers.

Eaton walked over and slapped the cuffs on to her wrists. “Finish.”

He turned on his heel, escorting Mark away with the other guard’s help, and she feared she’d ruined everything.

* * *

Mark’s fury wouldn’t subside. Charlotte’s face had been so pale, her blue eyes huge with fear, her hair a tangle from the scuffle. He prowled his cage, mentally tearing Muscle limb from limb. He could practically hear the man’s dying breath.

Charlotte must hate him by now. He was the only reason she’d been swept into this mess. His failure to outmaneuver the guards had given Muscle the opening to take advantage of her.

She’d been attacked, nearly raped, and he’d done nothing about it. All because Muscle was right—Mark couldn’t get out of here without his team.

Patricia would get no argument from him now. He was as wrong for Charlotte as a man could be.

He couldn’t get the scene out of his head. She’d been on the floor, utterly helpless beneath a man oozing violent intentions. He wouldn’t ask forgiveness, but he’d feel marginally better once she told him she was okay, assuming she would even speak to him.

Mark dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups to burn off the sense of failure.

She would. Charlotte had a temper, but she didn’t harbor grudges. Growing up, she’d always been willing to overlook his less-than-stellar moments. Hopefully that tendency would apply to this most recent error that ended with her pinned under a nasty excuse for a man.

She must have talked her way out of the handcuffs and used the opportunity to search Eaton’s desk. She deserved a medal for that alone. Mark couldn’t wait to learn if she’d found anything, unless Eaton kept them apart tonight.

He’d been so close to breaking out, taking advantage of just the smaller guard, when Eaton had stormed in to help Quick-Punch Kid subdue him.

Mark heard the bolt slide back on the door and popped to his feet. Please let this be Charlotte. He waited at the front of his cage, eager for a good look at her, a chance to see her accept his apology.

Unfortunately, Quick-Punch Kid walked into the cage room alone. That was a shock since the last time Mark had nearly overpowered him. “I can’t decide if you’ve got an abundance of guts or a lack of brains,” Mark observed.

Quick-Punch Kid didn’t say a word. Eaton must have given him a lecture about being baited by the hostage.

“Tough getting a beatdown from the boss,” Mark said with sympathy. “Does he issue demerits? What hoops do you have to jump through before he trusts you with a gun again?”

A bottle of water and a plate of real food, spaghetti with red sauce and a big meatball, were shoved at him. Mark did his best not to fall on the bounty like a starving dog. Quick-Punch Kid would like that too much. Then he noticed the lack of utensils.

Points to Eaton for always finding a way to disappoint.

“Carb loading? Is the annual Criminal Island marathon tomorrow?”

“Something like that,” Quick-Punch Kid muttered. “Eat while you can, tough guy.”

Mark took a small bite of the meatball, half-worried the food was drugged. “Did someone take food to Charlotte?”

Quick-Punch Kid refused to answer.

Feeling no immediate ill effects, Mark sloppily scooped up some noodles with his fingers. “Where’s your pal?”

Quick-Punch Kid deliberately looked at the door.

Mark didn’t much care about the mess he was making. Red sauce wouldn’t be much different than the blood stains on his pants. His more immediate concern was whether or not he needed to save any of this for Charlotte.

“How’d you get roped into this gig?” he asked conversationally.

Quick-Punch Kid shook his head. “Just eat, man.”

“You were more than happy to take shots at me yesterday and the days before, verbal and otherwise. What changed? You look like someone gave you an ice-cream cone and then knocked it out of your hand.”

“Shut up, Riley, or I’m taking that food.”

“Come in here and try it,” Mark challenged.

On an exasperated sigh, Quick-Punch Kid walked out of the room. Mark slid the plate of food aside and though he would have drained the water, saved half of it as well, just in case.

The change in routine made him nervous. When Eaton was busy wearing him down, he couldn’t pester Charlotte. Today though he’d taken her to the office, left Mark alone and ordered Quick-Punch Kid to remove the plywood divider from between their cages. They’d be able to see each other now, if Eaton would just let her come back.

Mark had been worried all day that Eaton would knock her around and dump her in the cell, forcing Mark to witness the damage he’d inflicted. A form of torture that would be a thousand times worse than taking a beating. He stood up to pace, remembering too late he was too tall for the cage. Aggravated, he sat down and looped his hands over his drawn-up knees.

There was a solution here, a way out—he just had to find it before it was too late.

He’d work on Quick-Punch Kid for a start—try to wear him down. He was a weak link, and maybe Mark could get him to see he was better off on the Riley side of the equation. If even the smallest doubt led to the man hesitating before striking a blow or pulling a trigger, it was worth the effort.

He’d given Charlotte some fast and dirty advice on surviving in the wild when what she’d really needed was a crash course in self-defense. Although very few moves, unpracticed, would’ve been effective against a man the size of Muscle.

He had to get them out of here. He rolled to his back and kicked the corrugated wall. They were probably on a barrier island based on what Charlotte had seen. He didn’t hear voices or much activity once the men left this modified container. So they either returned to the boat or had a camp elsewhere. A camp made more sense. He hadn’t once heard sounds of any boat or plane bringing in supplies and Charlotte had implied the walk from the dock was lengthy.

Which meant a big enough island that escape was worth the risk.

Cameras or not, he used his hands and feet, working to bend or unravel the links of the fencing, until—finally—he heard the lock open. Eaton nudged Charlotte into the room ahead of him. She looked weary and desperately unhappy and she kept her gaze on the floor as Eaton marched her along to her cage.

Obediently, she stepped inside when their captor opened the door. He set a plastic carryout bag on the floor just inside the door and then closed and locked the cage.

She turned his way and did a double take when she saw him rather than the plywood barrier. The new visibility didn’t seem to please her.

“Charlotte?”

She shook her head and sat down, her back to him, as she poked at the food in the bag.

“You should eat,” he said.

Her shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe later.”

“I saved some of mine for you, just in case.” He scooted closer, but she didn’t turn around. “We can eat together.”

He wanted to hold her and tell her it would be okay. She looked absolutely opposed to that sort of gesture, even if the fence hadn’t been in the way. His heart raced as he considered the reasons for her silence. Had they hurt her?

She’d never been so cool and distant with him. For as long as he could remember, she’d greeted him with warm, occasionally shy smiles. The girl had always been different enough to make him curious and open enough to let him talk. He was at a loss for how to help now that she shut him out.

Asking if she was okay seemed like a woefully inadequate and superfluous start. Clearly she wasn’t okay at all. In his mind, all he could see was her on the floor, upset and panicking with Muscle sprawled over her.

“Charlotte, I’m getting us out of here tonight,” he promised.

She paused in the act of taking foil off a steaming plate of spaghetti. Just when he thought she’d turn and talk with him, she went back to her food.

Eaton had given her utensils. He withheld comment and finished his food instead. As he drained the last of his water bottle, he took a good hard look at the fencing again.

Usually, when up against this kind of barrier, the team had bolt cutters. Once one link was clipped, it was easy to unravel. Nothing he could get his hands on in here was strong enough to unwind or cut through a link.

“What happened earlier?” She set aside her food and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why was Eaton bringing you to the office?”

What lies had Eaton fed her? “I picked a fight with Quick-Punch Kid and almost got his gun.”

“You did?”

She sounded impressed. “You don’t have to sound so shocked,” he teased. “I’ve been telling you I have skills.”

“I’ve heard you,” she said, sounding thoroughly defeated now.

Why wouldn’t she look at him? “Charlotte, I was going crazy in here. He’s never kept you that long. I heard the first scream and that was it. I almost got out. The idea of you suffering because—”

“I never screamed.” She rubbed at her wrists. “Eaton didn’t hurt me or touch me like that.”

A red haze fell over his vision. “How did he touch you?”

“To remove the cuffs, that’s all.”

She faced him, inched closer. He wanted to hold hands as they’d done on nights prior, but she stayed out of his reach. “Who screamed? I never heard anything like that.”

“I suppose that was my test today. He must have piped in a soundtrack that I assumed was you being tortured. I’m not sure if it backfired on him or me.”

He’d call it a win for getting under the guard’s skin, but he hadn’t made any progress on getting them out of here. “Charlotte, whatever happened, you can tell me about it.”

“What you saw wasn’t my best moment,” she said, massaging the palms of her hands. “I’m not very good at snooping. Can we leave it at that?”

“Over here,” he said, motioning for her to come back to the wall where her hand would fit through the gap in the fencing.

Her hand was so small in his and he was mindful of the pressure he applied to the tight spots along her fingers and particularly at the base of her thumb. She felt fragile. Precious. Muscle could have crushed her. “Did you sprain a wrist?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“No. It’s just the hours with a brush in hand and no real break.”

“I know you were eager to sketch, but being forced to paint can’t be the same thing.”

“Yes and no. Creating is creating.” She flinched.

He bent his head and brushed his lips to the tender spot. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said on a sigh. “It feels great.”

The compliment, delivered in her languid, almost mesmerized tone did things to his body that were a challenge to ignore. Instantly aroused, he barely managed to resist the urge to press a kiss to her palm and slide his tongue across her flesh to taste her. If—when—they got out of here, he could ask if she was interested in him that way. If she was willing to take on something that would have to be temporary. He hoped like hell she said yes, so he could discover other methods of drawing out that seductive sound.

He turned her hand over, running his thumbs between the tendons from the base of her fingers to her wrist. Her eyes closed and she practically purred. The long, even strokes meant to soothe her had him hard and aching, eager to learn what else she liked.

“Thanks.” She pulled her hand out of his abruptly.

He reached for her other hand, but she scooted away. “I asked him to take off the cuffs so I could do some delicate work,” she volunteered. “Then Muscle caught me snooping around the desk and…”

When her voice trailed off, it was like taking a kick to the chest. She’d been attacked, subjected to Muscle’s brute force, and now she seemed reluctant to confide in him.

No one should have to go through that, but especially not Charlotte. She was everything light and good. She had a tremendous future as an artist and deserved to live out her dreams without this kind of trauma.

He returned to the corner where he’d been working on the chain and started wrestling it again.

“Mark, stop.”

“We have to get out of here tonight.” Now. Before anyone could hurt her again. He pried at the fencing, drawing strength from his anger. If he could get out, he’d find a way to pick the lock on her cage and go from there.

“Mark, listen to me.”

He paused long enough to meet her gaze.

“We’re being released in the morning.”

“What?”

Her chin bobbed up and down. “I doubt it will be as simple as Eaton implied.”

“What did he say?”

“Paint that canvas for him and we get out of here tomorrow.” She hesitated, looking around and peering up at the corners. “I don’t believe it will be a good thing.”

“That’s common sense.” He could tell she’d found something else. Something that put deep fear in her gorgeous blue eyes. He hoped she hadn’t found out that Eaton was going to let them be hunted, but that discovery would explain her reactions. “Eaton didn’t bring us here for straightforward or easy.”

“Clearly not.”

Oh, how he wished she knew sign language or the coded phrases his team used that would give him a clue to her distress. As if on cue, the lights went out. With the plywood gone, he could see it was dark on the other side of the vent cut into the wall.

“Try to sleep,” he told Charlotte. “I intend to employ my definition of freedom at the next opportunity.”

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice flat.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were Charlotte stretching out for the night, her breathing not as even as it had been on previous nights. A day without a beating left him restless. He imagined her lying next to him on a fluffy mattress in that five-star hotel and savored that delectable scenario until her voice came out of the darkness, teasing him.

“Mark, can I ask a favor?”

“Anything.”

“When we do get out of here, will you kiss me? Please?”

Of all the things she might’ve asked, that one floored him. It was a challenge to hold back the enthusiastic response she deserved, but Eaton was eavesdropping. “I look forward to it,” he said as casually as possible. Did she want to use him to erase the memory of Muscle’s hands on her? Did he care? He could overanalyze the request or just be happy to have the opportunity.

One more motivation for survival.

He heard her moving around again, trying to get comfortable on the metal floor. She sounded much closer when she spoke again. “Do you mean that?” Her voice was so low he wasn’t sure any mic could pick it up unless it was down here on the floor between them.

“Probably more than is wise for both of us,” he replied.

“Thank you.”

She was quiet after that, her breath steady, and he was grateful she’d fallen asleep. Like her, he didn’t believe for a minute that Eaton would let them walk out of here. Based on the bastard’s reaction when he’d seen her pinned to the floor under Muscle, Eaton’s ultimate plan for Charlotte wasn’t good at all.

CHAPTER 8

After the note she’d found in Eaton’s desk drawer yesterday, Charlotte had only slept in fits and starts. Still, as the faint light filtering through the vent woke her, she knew she’d dreamed of Mark’s kisses. Sitting up, she pressed her lips together gently as if she could preserve the dream kiss.

It hardly mattered what Eaton overheard or saw on the cameras now. According to what she’d found, their path was set. As if the universe concurred, she heard the engine of a small plane overhead.

“Too small for a rescue,” Mark said, coming to his knees. He scowled at the ceiling. “Supplies?”

Her pulse skittered. She should tell him what she’d found and what she suspected. Before she could start, Quick-Punch Kid walked in. He unlocked her cage and led her out of the room.

He escorted her to the latrine. “Take a shower,” he suggested. “And I recommend you use what Eaton brought in to look your best.”

She glared at him and saw the pity in his gaze. He knew the plan. “Would you want to look good for a potential buyer?”

“Better to be seen as valued than disposable,” he said. “Get going.”

She quickly made the most of the facilities, fully aware it could be her last chance for some time. Or ever. Eaton had provided fragrant soap and shampoo and a deep conditioner, as well. A glimpse of heaven before they were tossed into hell. She kept the scrap of fabric she’d torn from the hem of her scrub top and used it to tie her hair into a ponytail.

More guilt surged through her as she brushed her teeth. She should have told Mark what she’d seen in the desk, given him time to prepare.

Quick-Punch Kid led her outside into a morning so bright she shied from the sunlight. He clamped her wrists in a heavy restraint. These cuffs had a solid bar that kept her hands about a foot apart and what appeared to be an electronic lock in the center. He tested the lock, then removed the other handcuffs.

“What are you doing?” Panic was a hot spark under her skin at the back of her neck.

He shook his head, completely unsympathetic. “Deal with it.”

“No.” The regular cuffs had been bad enough. She tugged one wrist and then the other, only to feel a small jolt of electricity that made her pinky fingers numb. “What’s going on? Please, please take these off.” She couldn’t survive in or out of the cage with her hands in this contraption.

Muscle walked up from the direction of the dock and laughed. “Go on and get the other one,” he said to Quick-Punch Kid. He aimed a Taser at her. “I’ll keep her in line.”

Being alone with Muscle again made her whole body quiver. She shifted her gaze slightly, keeping him in view, but deliberately focusing on the beautiful day. This was perfect weather for a picnic on the beach and here she was on what might be the last day of her life.

“You noticed the new cuffs have a sting?”

She cursed her knees for wobbling. She could not expect Mark to fight all of her battles or be her sole source of courage. Unpleasant as it was, she stared directly at Muscle and rolled her shoulders back. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her tremble or cower. Not today.

“I can drop you with the press of a button and do whatever I please.” He tapped her temple. “You’d have to watch, trapped right there in your head.”

The door opened and Mark appeared just ahead of Quick-Punch Kid. His electronic cuffs were already in place and he wore a small backpack. She had no idea how he would reach it. They’d given him clean scrubs, including a shirt this time, and slip-on shoes. His beard hid some of the bruising on his face and the shirt covered the damage Eaton’s guards had done to his torso.

“You’ll never touch her again,” Mark said to Muscle.

“Shut up,” Quick-Punch Kid responded. “He’s all talk,” he said to Charlotte. “He knows if he messes up the merchandise, he’s a dead man.”

As the horror of that statement slid through her, she watched Mark’s expression go from fury to the blank mask she knew was even worse.

“Don’t try anything, tough guy.” Quick-Punch Kid shoved Mark to stand beside her, close enough that his shoulder bumped hers.

Just having him close gave Charlotte a boost of hope, though she still had no idea how they’d find a way out of what was coming.

“Merchandise?” Mark asked under his breath as the guard walked away.

“Eaton arranged for us to be hunted,” she whispered. “I saw the note in his desk.” She swallowed. “And the negotiated price.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His lips barely moved as he answered his own question. “You didn’t want him to know you found out.”

“I heard the plane this morning, but by then it was too late.”

“Ah, Lottie.” He rubbed his shoulder against hers. “That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

She sniffed back the tears that stung her eyes. Was that admiration she heard in his voice? “It certainly fixed any cash flow issues.”

“Let’s hope the check bounces,” he replied. “It’s not a shock to me. I heard him take the call and haggle over the price.”

“And you didn’t mention it either.” She rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

They were a pair, each of them too willing to protect the other.

A trio of men approached along the path she’d walked from the dock. The man in the lead carried a rifle, with a handgun in a holster at his hip. He wore forest camouflage pants and boots, a khaki long-sleeved shirt and a vest that matched the pants. Take away the weapons and put him in business attire and he could be mistaken for an accomplished executive. The men flanking him were similarly dressed, but neither was visibly armed.

The man with the rifle stopped beside Muscle and smiled at her. She forced herself to be strong and not shy away.

“Miss Hanover. A pleasure to meet you at last.”

“You know this guy?” Mark whispered.

She shook her head. “Only by name. Mr. Zettel reached out, asking me to paint one of his dreadful trophy kills.”

“Your agent was dreadful, if you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Zettel said politely. “Before our host arrives, I’m compelled to offer you an alternative, Miss Hanover. I am here to hunt a SEAL. I have, in fact, paid dearly for the privilege.”

She tipped her head. “Is that some sort of declaration of decency?”

“You must choose,” Zettel continued. “Choose now to be hunted or spared.”

There was no choice. She wasn’t leaving Mark. He’d been a fixture in her life from day one. She was fully aware he wanted her out of harm’s way, but Zettel was not what any sane person would consider a safe alternative.

“No, thank you.” She’d rather be hunted than taken for a fool. Being spared wouldn’t end well for her.

“I don’t lose these games, Miss Hanover. Please take a moment to reconsider.”

She pretended to indulge him. “If I choose to be spared, can I go home? You’ll allow me to return to my family, resume my career and spend time with my friends too? Naturally, you’ll have me sign a nondisclosure agreement or something similar to prevent any discussion about what’s happened here. We wouldn’t want to risk any tarnish on your reputation.”

“Admittedly, your life would be different. You would remain in my company,” Zettel said. “But you would be alive. You would be provided for and free to paint and travel. You will, in time, make new friends and, hopefully, a new family.”

Her stomach twisted at the idea of bearing Zettel’s children. She didn’t know what would happen next, but anything was preferable to the life he offered. “No, thank you,” she managed, her throat dry as sand.

Mark shifted as though he were bored, his shoulder brushing hers again. The unspoken support bolstered her courage.

Eaton came out of the office-prison, smiling. “Did you get your girl, Zettel?”

“No.” His displeasure only fueled her will to survive whatever Eaton threw at them next.

“That’s a pity. She’s so talented. You should see the painting she did for me yesterday.” His calculating gaze landed on Charlotte. “That’s your final answer?” At her nod, he continued, “Not surprising, though it is unfortunate. I liked you, Miss Hanover. I’ll console myself with the increased value of your final painting.”

She silently vowed the painting she’d done for Eaton would not be her last. They would find a way to survive.

Eaton eyed his phone, then walked over and shifted Mark and Charlotte closer to the trees near the modified container. “Yes, perfect.” He stepped back and did something with his phone. A moment later, he smiled as if he’d won the lottery. “We’re live, gentleman.” He tipped his head. “And lady.”

Once more, Eaton had put them on display to continue tormenting Mark’s dad. Apparently that was more important than exposing their location. Beside her, Mark twitched. He must be looking for the camera too. Eaton was talking, but Charlotte was too overcome to listen. Fury was scorching away her fears and for the first time, she felt absolutely capable of killing someone. If she’d had a gun, she would have aimed and fired and hit her target square in the chest. No regret, no guilt. Eaton and Zettel and their evil-minded cronies needed to die.

“Breathe.” Mark said the word so quietly she thought she’d imagined it. “We’re almost out of here.”

This time she believed him.

* * *

Ben walked along the beach behind the house, periodically checking his cell phone to be sure he had a good signal. He did. Unfortunately no calls, texts or pictures were arriving on the device.

The live feed had been cut off shortly after Charlotte started painting. Hank’s opinion of the clues she’d provided on the canvas had been backed up by the investigation team. Everyone was in agreement that Eaton was holding them on a barrier island south of Virginia.

That still left a great deal of coastline to cover. Ben and Patricia had returned home immediately to prep the sailboat for an extended cruise to help search. He wasn’t leaving the fate of those kids to strangers—no matter how qualified or capable. The more eyes scouring the area for any sign of Eaton, Mark and Charlotte, the better.

Charlotte’s parents would arrive this evening and the four of them would set out. Unlike previous trips, this time it wouldn’t be as simple and pleasant as a long weekend with their best friends.

“Dad!”

Ben turned toward the shout and saw Luke coming down the steps from the deck. He carried a mug in each hand, but he didn’t look happy about bringing out the coffee this morning. Matt, Grace Ann and Jolene were keeping tabs on the situation from their respective locations, all of them planning to gather here as soon as Mark and Charlotte were found.

“Mom wants me to tell you that staring at the ocean won’t bring him back,” Luke said.

“She should talk. The whole time Mark was in training, she’d watch the surf, shake her head and say a prayer.”

“I did the same thing.” Luke grinned. “Praying he’d scrub out.”

At times like this, Ben was sure Mark went into the navy just to stir things up. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”

“I doubt she’d be shocked,” Luke said. “Mark was all SEALs rock, Deltas suck when you were deployed. The weeks while he was out of touch in training were so peaceful.”

Ben sipped his coffee. “Your mother and I have always wanted each of you kids to achieve your own goals and dreams.” He wrapped his cup in both hands. “Did we push too hard?”

Luke eyed him as if he’d sprouted a third eye. “Push us? Yes. Push us toward the army? No.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, well, four out of five kids made the smart choice,” Luke joked. “That’s a pretty good success rate. If one of us had to buck the system, it makes sense it was your favorite kid.”

Ben arched an eyebrow. “You know your little sister is my favorite.”

Luke nearly choked on his coffee. “Wow,” he said, recovering. “I’d be offended by that if I didn’t know about her psychology experiment in high school designed to favorably influence parents. Guess it finally paid off.”

Ben couldn’t quite manage the laughter over the old joke, consumed by a sudden image of his youngest girl caught in Eaton’s net. They needed to put the man behind bars where he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

“We’ll get him, Dad,” Luke said confidently. “Mark won’t quit until Charlotte’s home safe. His team is on standby, as is mine.”

Eaton had been part of a team once, an excellent sniper Ben had counted on. “He’s not the first soldier to snap under combat pressure,” Ben mused.

“He’s a disgrace to the uniform and the mission,” Luke said. “You didn’t send him off the rails. He did that on his own. Right mind or not, there are consequences.”

“True,” Ben agreed. “This feels all wrong with Eaton. It’s unimaginable to be sure, but this entire ordeal has been too organized to blame on a broken mind.”

“No one sane does what this guy has done to our family,” Luke countered.

Ben stared out at the ocean, turned south as if he could see far enough to spot Mark and Charlotte. “However he’s justifying his actions, his goal is to break me, to destroy our family.”

“The Rileys stand together. We won’t let him break any of us.”

Ben was afraid Eaton was closer than ever with this game he was playing with Mark. The thought alone felt like a defeat. He had to stay strong. For all of them.

They finished their coffees and were headed back toward the house when his phone chimed. It was a text with a video attachment. Exchanging a wary look with Luke, he pressed the arrow to play the video.

The twenty-second clip showed Mark and Charlotte standing in front of a modified shipping container. They both wore hospital scrubs and slip-on shoes and it looked like Mark had a light pack on his back. They were confined by bulky handcuffs that appeared to have electronic locks in the center of the bars.

“You’ll have an hour head start,” Eaton’s voice said from somewhere off camera. “The cuffs will open in five minutes. Evade the hunters for three days and you’re both free. Good luck.”

Mark and Charlotte hurried out of the frame and the camera followed their movement into the tree line.

“We have to get this to Hank right now,” Ben said, as he forwarded the message. Then he and Luke raced for the house.

It was time for action.

* * *

Mark could indulge his temper later. Anger was a perk reserved for survivors. At the moment, all of his focus was on keeping them both alive. He’d watched Quick-Punch Kid fill the pack before settling it on his back. Several bottles of water and meal bars were more than he expected. If only the guard had included an inflatable raft and radio.

The hour’s head start was almost fair, if Mark had been alone. Always harder to hide with multiple people, but he wasn’t about to suggest he and Charlotte split up. Having the cuffs programmed to fall off at an appointed time wasn’t as fair. He kept expecting the cuffs to zap one or both of them, but the hunter’s money probably kept Eaton’s urges under control.

He suspected the handcuffs, pack and clothes were tagged with trackers of some sort, yet Zettel had seemed all about a pure test of skill. Technology would go against his competitive nature.

Did the man hunting them have more favorable ethics than the man who’d kidnapped them? There was a curious thought. Philosophy was for survivors too, Mark decided, shifting to the west.

“You holding up?” he asked Charlotte, as they scrambled over a fallen tree.

“Hasn’t it been five minutes?” she countered, shaking the cuffs.

“Probably. That’s one reason I’m circling the starting point, so I’m sure we stay in range of the signal.”

She shook her head and peered up at the blue sky peeking through the treetops. “I hadn’t noticed we were circling.” Her freckled nose wrinkled.

“That’s not your job,” he said, as they kept moving.

“What is my job?”

“I’m working on it.” His fierce artist. He couldn’t shake the possessiveness or protectiveness he felt for her. Sure, he’d want to protect anyone from Eaton, but this was new and specific. Something had shifted for him at the gallery, when he realized she was so much more than the neighbor he’d known as a kid.

In the days since, stuck in this impossible crisis, he’d really dialed in to both her and his gut instinct. Thinking about her was the sweet mental retreat he’d needed when he was pummeled by Eaton’s men. Growing up, she’d always drawn him in. Not through any one moment or action, just by being herself. He’d always loved Charlotte; now he found himself almost willing to admit—to himself—that he’d fallen in love with her.

He couldn’t say it; what woman would believe those words in this situation? It was a burden she didn’t need. He wasn’t even sure he could live up to what that meant. His first commitment was still to the navy and his team. Whether or not they had a future beyond one kiss and a sunset cruise, he could put his professional skills to use and get her off this island safely.

“Follow in my footsteps as closely as possible,” he said. “It won’t make a big difference, but every little advantage will help.”

They zigzagged through the trees, loosely circling the starting point. Once the cuffs unlocked, he could get more aggressive about their escape. He hadn’t seen any sign of a camp beyond the container where they’d been held. The underbrush was as thick as the humidity and the live oak, pine and palm trees told him they weren’t as far south as he’d first thought. Good news on both counts.

He moved around a fluffy pine sapling, careful not to bend the branches, and helped Charlotte do the same. “You didn’t see anything in the office that resembled a map or location?”

“No. His computer was password-protected. I saw the board with all your faces and found the note with Zettel’s name and sale price. And a couple of pictures similar to the one he was having me paint.”

“I wish you hadn’t kept that to yourself,” he said, aching for her all over again.

“We were being observed,” she began.

“I get it,” he said, cutting off any explanation. “I can still wish.” She had such a big heart and so much compassion. Despite her incredible inner strength, it felt grossly unfair for her to bear that information alone.

Suddenly a loud whistle sounded from their handcuffs. The shriek was surely magnified by their proximity to each other and likely the origin of the signal. No, Eaton wasn’t playing fair at all.

The restraints fell away, and he and Charlotte were finally free. Or they would be in three days, unless Eaton changed the rules. Mark didn’t plan on sticking to any rules other than his own, not when saving Charlotte was paramount. He picked up both sets of handcuffs and threw them, one at a time, in opposing directions. Odds were slim that anyone would believe they’d split up, but it was worth a try.

He pressed a finger to his lips. She nodded once. From here until they found a hiding place, they had to stay quiet.

Standing out there while Zettel and Eaton postured had given him time to get his bearings. From Charlotte’s description, he knew the ocean and dock were east of where they’d been held. The way most of the barrier islands were formed, he had a fair idea of the terrain they’d find to the south. The island had to be of a decent size or the hunt posed no challenge. He’d caught the disappointment in Zettel’s eyes when Charlotte refused his offer. Though the hunter wanted her for himself, he’d also wanted an exciting hunt. Zettel doubtless believed Charlotte would slow Mark down and dull the thrill of tracking and killing a Navy SEAL.

Mark would give them a chase, but they wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy the memory.

He led Charlotte almost due west now, pausing occasionally to listen for Zettel or his trackers. They were still alone, but he didn’t expect it to last much longer. Hearing moving water, he smiled to himself. A fresh-water creek could be a great resource. It could also indicate the island was bigger than he’d hoped or even closer to the mainland.

He glanced over his shoulder. The trees provided decent cover. A person in the right camouflage would disappear a few yards in. Although the scrubs they wore were a drab olive, he knew they’d stand out to the men with the guns.

Zettel and Eaton were accomplished marksmen who knew how to spot their prey. Mark and Charlotte needed to find not only a place to hide but some effective camouflage. He touched her knee where she crouched beside him and felt the now-familiar current of desire zip along his arm. “This way,” he said soundlessly, moving only his lips.

They reached the creek and he dipped a hand in to smell and taste the water. Brackish and slow moving and no help if they ran out of the bottled water in the pack. The good news was that they were definitely on a barrier island. The mainland, and an escape route, might be within reach.

Provided they didn’t encounter any aggressive or territorial wildlife along the way.

He shrugged out of the pack and stripped off the scrub top, stepping into the creek. Mud squished under his soft shoes. Dipping the top into the water, he pressed it under his feet, getting it good and muddy.

He rinsed out the worst of it and twisted the fabric in his hands, working the dark stains in.

Shaking it out, he liked the mottled result that would make it easier for them to blend into their surroundings.

He held out a hand for Charlotte’s top.

Instead she waded into the creek on her own and slowly sat down in the muck. The water wasn’t deep and she leaned forward, picking up mud and rubbing it into the scrub top. Her hands moved under the water and he assumed she was pushing the grime into her pants, as well.

When she stood up, the cotton clung to her, making it evident she wasn’t wearing a bra. It made sense considering the dress she’d worn to the gallery. As she bent over to rinse the mud from her hands, he discovered he could see the outline of lacy panties.

This was the wrong moment for a bolt of lust to distract him, but his body had other ideas. He turned away to muddy up the backpack and hide his immediate and obvious response to her. They were both a mess when they came out of the creek, but the end result would work in their favor.

“What about my hair?” she asked.

His fingers itched to touch those wild curls and find out if they felt as warm as the rosy sunset they made him think of every time he looked at her. If he told her to, she’d muddy up all that glorious color. He couldn’t do it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ve done all we can.”

Her lips canted to the side. “Give me one more second.” He watched, caught somewhere between curiosity and regret, as she muted the light of her hair with mud and water. Her fingers deftly wove a braid through the long locks and she tied it off with a scrap of fabric.

“Better?”

She had a smudge of mud on her cheek, another on her chin. He couldn’t explain why those imperfections drew him in or reminded him of the promise he’d made to her last night.

He wiped away the mark on her chin as he tipped up her face. He moved in slowly, watched her eyes go wide as his intent registered. He gave her room to change her mind, to say no. Instead her lips parted ever so slightly as he set his mouth gently to hers.

After holding her fingers each night, he’d anticipated the flash of heat and welcomed it. From the moment he’d seen her in the gallery, an island of beautiful calm surrounded by the sea of color and noise, he’d longed for a place where it was just the two of them. No distractions, no expectations.

One mistake out here with Zettel and it could all be over. If this was his only chance to keep his promise, he’d take it. He seized the moment, let it roll through him, and it was more than he’d known he could have. He breathed her in, finding her scent under the muck of the creek. Her fingers curled into his damp, muddy shirt and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She moaned as her body came flush to his and his tongue slipped into that soft heat to twine with hers.

What he hadn’t expected was how fast and deep the first flash would burn through his system. All he could think was more, all, everything, right now. He cupped her face in his hands and forced himself to reel it in, to ease back. This wasn’t the time or place to indulge in every vivid idea pounding through his bloodstream.

Safety was one hell of a motivation. Safety and that five-star hotel with clean linens and a big bed he and Charlotte had fantasized about while trapped in the cage. An hour ago, he’d been ready to sacrifice himself to save her. That option was still on the table, and odds were good it would come down to that. But now, after this taste of his glorious, fierce artist, he couldn’t let the hunter win.

He rested his forehead to hers. They were both breathing hard. When he leaned back, he saw her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils and smiled. That kiss had rocked her world too.

There was something special between them. It would be a travesty if they never had a chance to learn how great they could be together. Everything inside him laid claim to her, clamoring that she was his. Today, tomorrow, always.

The new awareness prickling through his system pushed his past failures aside, redefined the limits and decisions he’d made. It was as if one kiss with Charlotte reset his view of the future, but they had to survive the immediate danger before he could figure out what came next.

“We have to get going,” he whispered.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Neither of them moved. “I wanted to keep my promise,” he said.

“I’d say you um…you definitely did that.” Her gaze was fixed on his chest.

He grinned. She’d turned shy on him. “You know, in case something else happens.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Did you know all of that was lurking under the surface?”

“N-no.”

“Charlotte—” he tipped up her chin “—I’ll make you another promise.”

She stared at him, her blue eyes wide and waiting.

“That wasn’t our last kiss.”

CHAPTER 9

Wow. The man knew how to keep his word. It was Charlotte’s only clear thought as she followed Mark, matching his footsteps as closely as possible. Not an easy feat considering that the whole world felt off-kilter and her lips tingled every time her mind strayed to that kiss.

Kissing Mark had fulfilled a fantasy she’d harbored deep in her heart for more than a decade, since the first time she and her friends had giggled over the mystery of kissing boys.

It had been worth the wait.

She wasn’t motivated to think of other things. The immediate danger wasn’t a pleasant diversion and so far there didn’t seem to be much she could do to assist in Mark’s escape plan. Far more enjoyable to trail after him, keeping her eyes on his broad shoulders and strong back while the anticipation mounted for their next kiss.

He stopped short and she almost ran into him on purpose just so she could touch him. She’d been too stunned and pleased and enthralled by the feel of his mouth covering hers to let her hands get in on the action.

What were the rules? They’d held hands every night when they’d been in the cages. Could she reach out and touch him whenever and however she wanted? A crazy new worry popped into her head. Did he expect her to make the next move? Probably best to pull herself together and focus on surviving this crisis than whether or not they’d just started a romantic relationship.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered, standing with him at the edge of the trees.

A marsh stretched out before them in all directions with no sign of civilization anywhere. The air smelled different and she couldn’t hear the ocean at all anymore. Swathes of green-and-gold grasses were highlighted by the glint of sunlight on the water. It was a brilliant landscape full of wonders both seen and hidden, above and below the surface. She tried to commit it to memory so she could paint it once they were safe again.

“Can we cross it?” She’d never tried to cross a marsh on foot.

“I’m thinking.” His rugged profile set in stern lines. He was listening and assessing, and though he had yet to suggest anything, she believed he would find a solution. That was a combination of her faith in his skills and expertise, as well as her lifelong affection for him.

She listened as well, trying to convince herself they’d found this place during a day sail and all she had to do was appreciate the wind in the trees and the birds calling back and forth. A great blue heron glided down into the marsh, settling near a wedge of grass to wait for an unsuspecting frog or fish.

Mark slipped the backpack off his shoulders and pulled out a water bottle for her. “Quick-Punch Kid packed this,” he mused, showing her the contents.

About to take a sip, she sniffed the water first. It smelled normal enough. “Did he booby-trap it?”

“No, he made a point of opening a fresh case of both,” Mark said.

“You’re kidding.”

“It was a shock to me too. Drink up.” He opened a second bottle for himself. “It threw him when Muscle attacked you. I get the feeling this assignment hasn’t been what he expected when he signed on.”

“Please.” At his quizzical look, she explained, “He was too well-trained to be a rent-a-cop and he was more than happy to use that training against you.”

“Attacking women and hunting people for sport is a big leap from kidnapping or roughing me up.”

“True.” She thought about her interactions with the skinny guard. “If he has grown a conscience, maybe he’ll notify the authorities.”

“Personally, I’m hoping the live feed was enough for Hank and his team to find us.” He gave a nod to the far side of the marsh. “We’re on a barrier island. If we got through the marsh, we could swim for the coast.”

“I have no problem wading through the marsh,” she fibbed. This wasn’t the time to get squeamish about snakes and other creatures that lurked in the thick grasses and dark water.

“I don’t think so. We’d be sitting ducks.” He laughed softly. “Big targets, easy to see. No, I’m trying to figure out how we make it look like we tried to cross the marsh.”

“We could loop the pack around a clump of grass.”

“I’m not ready to leave it behind,” Mark said, brow furrowed in thought. “Eaton thinks he knows how I operate.”

She recalled the bulletin board in the office. “He only sees you through the scope of your military service, if that helps.” She closed her eyes and gave it more thought.

“You saw his notes on me?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes still closed. “The bulletin board behind his desk had pictures and notes on all of you from Matt to Jolene. He even included Hank.”

“The man’s crazy if he thinks Dad will sit by while he tries to plow us all under.”

She opened her eyes. “Agreed.” She’d do everything possible to ensure Mark didn’t become Eaton’s first Riley kill. “I only had a minute or two to look, but I got the impression he wants to pit his skills against yours. When they dragged me along, it threw a wrench into the works.”

“One he profited from.” Mark massaged one palm with the opposite thumb. “If he wanted to go head-to-head with me, why sell that opportunity to Zettel?”

“Maybe it came down to cash flow.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. For several minutes, they listened to the sounds of the marsh together. “I’m not that good,” Mark muttered, breaking the silence.

She knew he wasn’t talking about kissing. “What do you mean?”

“I’m good at hiding a trail, but not the best. And with two of us together, they should be on us by now.”

“Are you complaining that we haven’t been found?”

“I guess I am.” His gaze drifted over the marsh as a flock of egrets rose in a cloud of white and squawking calls. “Anyone in our situation would consider the marsh a viable escape route.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m in,” she said.

He turned to her and his thoughtful gaze sharpened, lingering on her lips. “That’s great news.”

She could see he wasn’t referring to their escape. Her heart did a happy twirl in her chest. “Um. Yesterday, painting for Eaton, I changed up the trees from those in the picture to those I’d seen out here. If he did have a live feed going to your dad, maybe someone on the investigation caught those clues.”

“That was really smart.” He gave her a quick squeeze. “And brave.”

She felt the heat rising into her cheeks at his praise. Why did he compliment her for the smallest things? Throughout high school and college, she’d been scolded by her peers for watching the world pass her by instead of diving in and participating. It wasn’t entirely true, though she did like to watch and ponder. “Well, then I definitely hope that painting was a live performance.”

“Me too, though it had to be hard on you.” His smile warmed her straight through. “We can count on Hank.” He caught her hand. “They’re out there looking for us, Lottie. And you helped guide them in.”

“We’ve done all we can, haven’t we?”

“To help the search teams, yes,” he answered. “Thanks to you. Now, let’s leave a clue here for Zettel and keep moving.”

He reached for the hem of his pants and tore off a generous piece of the fabric. It was already muddy from the creek. “Be right back.” He stayed low as he left the trees and waded into the marsh.

She could hear the muck of the marsh bottom sucking at his shoes. It was the only sound as he moved slowly and stealthily toward the first curve of tall grasses.

A rifle shot cracked through the air and another flock of water birds rose in a startled flurry.

“Go!” Mark shouted. Then he disappeared under the water. He couldn’t mean that she should actually leave him out there alone against Eaton and Zettel. He surely didn’t mean for her to try to navigate this island without him.

Moving as little as possible, she tucked the water bottles back into the pack and shrugged it over her shoulders. Mentally, she begged Mark to resurface. Staying low, she pressed her back to the nearest tree trunk, away from the sunlight flooding the marsh. The shadows were the safest place right now.

Where was Mark? She didn’t hear any movement from the marsh. Holding her breath, she listened for any sound of the hunters.

She would not panic. She’d been kidnapped, handcuffed and kept in a cage for days. She would not allow terror to wreck whatever Mark had planned. If she got caught, it would make Mark’s job of getting them off this island that much harder.

Where was he? She stayed in the low crouch, doing her best impersonation of a scrappy strawberry blond palmetto palm. He had to resurface for the sake of her sanity. Or if not her sanity, for the sake of more kisses.

A twig snapped behind her and she jumped, swallowing the startled cry.

“This way, Lottie.”

His scrubs were soaked through and with the moss and grass stuck in his hair and clothing he resembled a B movie monster. He’d never looked better to her. She would have leaped into his arms if Zettel weren’t out there looking for large sudden movements.

As they distanced themselves from the edge of the marsh, she realized he must have snapped that twig on purpose. He’d lost his shoes in the marsh and not one of his steps fell wrong or created any noise. She was the one most likely leaving a loud and visible trail as they moved toward the center of the island.

Mark didn’t seem to care. He just kept pressing forward.

They came across the creek again and Mark paused to drink from a water bottle and rinse his hair.

His confidence that they were momentarily clear rubbed off on her. She stepped close and wrapped him in a big hug, resting her cheek against his damp chest, ignoring the muck as she breathed him in.

“I thought…” She couldn’t say the rest, could only cling, grateful the worst hadn’t happened. “I know you’re trained and used to dangerous situations.”

“Not quite like this,” he admitted. His arms came around her, melting away a layer of fear. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

“Thank you.” It was silly and felt like a woefully inadequate sentiment. “The rifle shot shouldn’t have surprised me.” She forced herself to back up and give him room.

“It is why we’re out here,” he agreed with a small grin.

“We need to find shoes for you.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, his gaze aimed at the trees. “It can wait. We’ll keep moving,” he said, his voice pitched low.

They headed out, in the same pattern as before with Mark in the lead and her trying to follow without leaving a trail. Thick patches of vegetation that hid their passing also made for slow going and tough hiking. When they stopped again for a water break, they rested against a live oak tree green with resurrection fern and dripping with Spanish moss. As he opened one of the meal bars and gave her half, it dawned on her.

“You,” she said quietly. She broke off a piece of the bar so she wouldn’t wolf it down.

“What about me?” Mark’s gaze scoured the area they’d just traveled.

“You are the answer to that silly what-would-you-bring-to-a-deserted-island question. I’d bring you.”

He turned all of that intense survival focus on her. “Gee, thanks. I’d rather you take me to a five-star resort.”

“Obviously.” A delicious little shiver of anticipation skated over her skin. Were they still going to do that? “But you have all the survival skills, and a great sense of humor. Plus, you smell good when you sweat.”

His dark eyebrows arched toward his hairline. “You don’t have to flatter me to keep my spirits up. We’re out of those damn cages.”

“But not quite out of danger.” The conversations in the cage room had been introspective and emotional and still she had more to say. More he should know. That kiss had gone straight to her heart. “And it’s not flattery, Mark. It’s the truth.”

She didn’t want to dwell on worst-case scenarios, but if something went wrong, he should know what he meant to her. Except this wasn’t the best time to confess her feelings. Even Mark, a man who knew she wasn’t the grasping or clingy type, would run away if she said I love you after one kiss.

“I think this mess has altered your logic. Or you’ve had a heatstroke.”

“In this shade?” She’d never known him to be so humble. “I don’t think so.”

“A humidity stroke?”

She covered her mouth before she gave away their position with a loud laugh. As it was, her shoulders shook so much she probably set the tree at her back swaying. “That’s possible,” she whispered, plucking her muddy top away from her skin.

Shaking his head, Mark tucked the empty water bottles and the wrapper from the meal bar inside the pack. Standing, he held out a hand. “Come on. We need to find shelter.”

* * *

Mark glanced up at the midafternoon sky as thunder rumbled. He wouldn’t mind a good drenching rainstorm to reduce visibility and make Zettel and his spotters miserable. If he and Charlotte could get through this first day and night, their chances improved exponentially.

Not that he expected Eaton to keep his word about letting them go. That was a problem for later. A problem that might not even come to pass. Hank and a rescue team were out there closing in on their position. Mark couldn’t afford to believe anything else.

Charlotte was a trouper. She hiked, carefully and quietly, without complaint. Her strength and grit weren’t a surprise. It took serious courage to put herself and her art on display for the world to judge. No, the real surprise was the tumult in his gut, twisting him inside out.

He told himself he’d feel this way no matter who was out here with him, but it was a lie. Charlotte was more. Her beauty and personality spoke to him, despite the mud and stress and lousy timing. Part of him wanted to park her somewhere as if she was a priceless treasure and just go nuclear on their enemies.

That option, aggressive and straightforward, tempted him. Even banged up, he knew he could get the drop on Zettel or anyone else. But he sensed that was what Eaton expected him to do. If he went on the offensive and one of the hunters or mercenaries got lucky enough to wound him, or worse, Charlotte would be at their mercy.

Her doggedly positive outlook under these dreadful circumstances was a huge help. She’d demonstrated remarkable ingenuity and pluck necessary to survive. Though he hated to admit it, he needed the tenderness and faith she kept pouring out for him. More kisses wouldn’t hurt.

Despite her overwhelming relief when he’d returned from the marsh, she’d been careful with him, one of the toughest operators on the job. It was as if she’d had a map in her head of his bruises and wounds and found the one path that got her close without hurting him more.

He’d hugged her before. That embrace had been different in a thousand ways. Ways that moved him. Shaking it off, he kept searching the terrain for any sign that Zettel was flanking them.

Thunder rolled again. The sky was dark to the west. They needed to find some kind of shelter. With luck, the rain would last all day and they could hide until morning. The driest place would probably be on the ocean side of the island where the breeze kept the weather over land. Of course, the men hunting them would know that too. Someone had anticipated he’d move west and attempt to escape through the marsh to the mainland.

“How do you feel about rain?” he asked.

“I won’t melt.” Her bright smile was a beacon. “At this point, I could use the shower.”

He grinned. There was an image he wouldn’t soon forget. From a practical standpoint, she’d be cold, but he’d happily keep her warm. “If you get clean, you’ll only have to go mudding again.”

She shrugged. “Whatever it takes to get us out of here.”

The dark clouds came in fast and the first fat raindrops started to fall. He led her under the shelter of the heavy sprawling branches of another live oak tree, doing his best to block her from the wind and rain as the storm came in.

“Do you remember our trip to Disneyland?” he asked. He’d been fifteen going on know-it-all and she’d just turned ten.

She shot him an arch look. “As if I could forget the way you and Luke snuck up on Jolene and me on Tom Sawyer Island.”

“You screamed like little girls,” he said, savoring the memory with pride.

“We were little girls.” Her eyes filled with smug satisfaction. “I also recall that we got even in the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse. Now that was a scream.”

“You’re right.” He’d forgotten that part. “I jumped and knocked Luke into a post. His nose bled for days.”

“Minutes,” she corrected.

“His nose was still dripping blood when your mom bought him that pineapple ice-cream thing,” Mark said with dark glee. “That was great.”

“It was gross.” She giggled now as she had then, the sound muffled by the patter of rain on the canopy of leaves. “I had to go buy him another one with my own money.” Her knees pulled to her chest, she rocked into him and away again too quickly. “Still don’t regret getting even.”

“Mom was so mad at us that trip.”

“Well, you were hellions,” she said, a glint of humor lingering in her blue eyes.

“You and Jolene were easy targets on that trip.”

She sobered. “I don’t want to be an easy target out here.” Her teeth were chattering, from cold or fear, he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t want to be a liability to you.”

“You’re not.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I don’t know where you picked up that idea, but you’re no burden.” He tipped up her face, holding her gaze and giving her no room to doubt his words. “You’re everything brave and good, Lottie. Remember that.”

She licked her lips and need surged through his system. He let her lead this time, let her draw his head close for a kiss. He groaned, sinking into her, thoroughly lost.

The pop and hiss of a flare gun jerked him back to attention. Twisting around, he saw the colorful shot of red smoke sailing right over their position. “Damn it.”

There was no way they’d been spotted by chance. He could tell by the angle that the flare had been shot from a point perpendicular to their route, not by someone who’d trailed behind them or had come around to cut off their suspected route to the coast.

A shout carried through the rain and a response followed. Zettel wasn’t wasting time on subtlety.

Mark urged Charlotte to the far side of the wide tree trunk. They didn’t have much time to escape, but he was determined to find out how they were being tracked. Nothing obvious had been put into the pack when Quick-Punch Kid loaded the supplies. He supposed some new tracking tech could be on the scrubs, but the devices he knew of that could withstand the marsh and the creek were big enough to be noticed.

Cameras. Regardless of Zettel, this was Eaton’s game and he loved nothing more than live video. He’d probably had the entire island covered in a closed-circuit network while planning this scheme.

Where was it? He crouched low, scanning their surroundings for something too straight or clean, or a telltale light that a device was active. Come on, come on. His gut told him he was right about this. He moved and caught the flicker of a red dot. Motion-activated recording. Clever.

Rounding the wide tree trunk, he clasped Charlotte’s hand. The rain was coming down hard enough to mask their trail. They ran, somewhat blindly to the north and east. It didn’t really matter, especially if Eaton’s camera network did in fact cover the whole island.

Once again, he wished he had his team at his back. As a unit, they were unstoppable. Although they’d all had the same training, each of them had specific strengths. Mark wasn’t the top guy on the team when it came to the tech stuff, but he was no slouch.

He pressed the pack into Charlotte’s care. “Wait here.”

“Mark, no.”

He hesitated, hating the worry in her beautiful eyes. “Eaton posted motion-activated cameras around the island.”

Her auburn eyebrows snapped into a scowl. She let loose a colorful, creative string of oaths that would’ve made his SEAL team blush.

“Agreed.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “I’m doubling back to take out the camera near that tree. Wait here.”

She grabbed for his arm. “What do I do if…”

“Zettel doesn’t actually want you dead. Work that to your advantage if he finds you before I get back. Remember, the cameras are motion-activated. Stay low and don’t move.”

“All right.”

He crawled several yards away from her on his belly and then popped up, ready to lead Zettel and Eaton’s cameras on a merry chase. All the while, his mind was on Charlotte, on the consistencies and contrasts of her. How could her lips taste so sweet while a tempest brewed in her big blue eyes?

“No one likes a cheater, Eaton,” he murmured. He’d been inclined to take out the camera nearest her hiding place, but if he did that, it was as good as shooting off another flare. It was time to get unpredictable.

One of Zettel’s men was loitering not far from the oak where they’d been hiding, his movements keeping that red dot on the camera lit. He didn’t appear to be armed with anything more than the flare gun.

Mark’s first instinct was to step up behind him and snap the man’s neck: one less thug blocking his escape. If he did, the brutal act would be caught on the camera.

At Eaton’s discretion, the video could be leaked and the world would see a trained Navy SEAL killing a man standing around, minding his own business. The stain on the Riley name would be permanent and his father’s reputation forever attached to the disaster. That kind of thing would leave the navy and SEAL program scrambling under the resulting media scrutiny, as well.

Thinking it through, he was 99 percent sure that was Eaton’s goal out here. Bringing in the hunter only gave Mark more victims to destroy. No way would Mark play right into Eaton’s hands.

Mark picked his way around, moving with the gusty storm, until he was behind the camera.

As Zettel’s man continued to pace and watch, Mark pulled the plug connecting the device to the battery pack on the supporting stake. It was a clever design and now that he knew what to look for, it would be easier to locate more cameras and undermine the effort.

That still left the problem of Zettel’s spotter.

He could sneak away, but he’d rather not. It was a golden opportunity to even the odds. Mark shoved the camera under some scrubby plants and took the stake in hand. Anger and indignation pushed him. He wanted to kill the man, but this guy had nothing to do with the kidnapping. He was nothing more than a pawn. A nasty pawn, working this hunt with Zettel, but maiming him and taking any helpful gear was the smarter move.

Standing tall, he cleared his throat. “Looking for me?”

The man spun around and his jaw dropped. It was the split-second advantage Mark needed. He charged as the other man scrambled for the flare gun. Applying pressure to the man’s neck, Mark subdued his opponent before he could put up any resistance.

Mark let the man drop to the ground with a hard thud. “Ouch. That’ll leave a mark.” He searched the man’s vest and pants for weapons or a radio and found only the flare gun and flares.

When he stripped off the man’s boots, he found a good knife. He set the blade next to the flare gun and tried to get his bare feet into the man’s boots. Too small. He’d take them anyway. The boots might fit Charlotte and would be an improvement over the flimsy shoes Eaton had given her.

Thinking of Charlotte, he considered his options. He couldn’t leave the man to get up and walk back to camp for more gear. He’d be back on their trail in no time.

Mark didn’t overthink it. Tucking the stake and flare gun into one of the boots, he picked up the knife and sliced the man’s foot near his heel.

The pained screams and a smidge of guilt followed him for several minutes. When he was confident no one was tailing him, he returned to where he’d left Charlotte waiting.

This time he initiated the hug, taking all the warmth, comfort and relief she offered.

CHAPTER 10

Charlotte had been surprised Mark hadn’t been stealthy when he returned to her hiding place. She’d been downright shocked when he dropped several items to the ground and pulled her into his strong arms. His heart pounded and his breath sawed in and out of his lungs. He might as well be her personal furnace in the chill of the heavy rain.

What had happened? She decided the details were irrelevant at this point. He was here and in one piece. Stepping back, she ran her hands lightly over him to check for injuries. He didn’t seem to have a scratch, but his gaze was grim.

“I took one of Eaton’s motion-activated cameras down,” he said. “Got the spotter with the flare gun too. Any sign of trouble here?”

“Someone was close. I heard footsteps over that way,” she said, pointing.

“To the west,” Mark supplied with a quirk of his lips.

Without the sun, she had to take his word. “I was sure they’d see me, but then they turned back and hurried away.”

“West again?”

“Mostly, yes. I think.” She wrinkled her nose at her less than helpful answers. “It is raining pretty hard and I was trying not to get caught.”

“Fair enough.” He caressed her cheek, and his dimple flickered as he smiled. The expression was so tender butterflies soared through her belly. But he didn’t kiss her again. “Try on the boots.” He sat down and moved them toward her. “They’re too small for me.”

“Muscle’s boots might fit you,” she said, distracting herself from the idea of wearing a stranger’s shoes. A stranger who’d cooperated with Zettel to hunt them.

“Got a good look at his feet, did you?”

“Actually, yeah. Sizing up people is part of the job.” She routinely studied her environment as a puzzle, fitting together what she saw and how she would focus it on a canvas.

“When?”

The boots were a little too wide. “When what?” She set to work on the laces to see if she could improve the fit.

“When exactly did you size up Muscle?”

She peered up at him through the dripping rain. His jaw was set and his hands, tender a moment ago, were curled into fists now. “Are you jealous?”

“He had no right to touch you.” Mark surged to his feet and paced away from her.

A bright red dot of color caught her attention. Another camera must have gone live. “Mark,” she said.

“That one I’ll kill,” he muttered. “You’re innocent. Off-limits.”

She could see the rant brewing in the tight muscles flexing under the scrub top plastered to his skin. She didn’t want to recall those terrible moments in Eaton’s office and she certainly didn’t want a burst of misplaced rage to bring Zettel and his men straight to them.

“Mark,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Stop. Moving.”

He halted. She wondered that the rain, growing heavier again, didn’t just steam off his shoulders. Mark’s contempt for Muscle and the others was understandable. And despite the odds against them, being under his protection made her feel treasured and adored.

That kernel of romantic optimism that they might have a future, the secret dream she’d harbored for most of her life, was ready to explode like a fireworks finale on the Fourth of July. She had to keep it under wraps long enough to get off this island.

“There’s a camera at my eleven o’clock,” she said.

He stared at her and then turned. She watched him stalk straight over to the camera and dismantle it. With luck, that view would give Eaton a long-overdue moment of terror. Mark added the stake to the first one he’d secured through a loop on the pack. The camera he dropped at her feet.

“Stomp it.”

She obliged, putting her borrowed boots to good use, and was rewarded with a hot, lingering kiss that left her speechless. He picked up the smashed camera and walked away, toward the east side of the island. At least that was her best guess.

“Are you looking for the dock?” she asked after several minutes of his broody silence.

He grunted. “Might as well. Whoever didn’t go out to help the spotter I wounded get back to camp is probably warm and dry, waiting out the weather on the boat.”

Granted, he was the experienced part of their team, but she thought that sounded like an excellent reason to avoid the area. “And we’re going to do what? Walk in and stage a mutiny?”

He stopped short and swiveled around to face her. “Boats have radios and charts. We can call for help, pinpoint our position or steal it outright.”

Hope swelled; his confidence was her own personal rainbow in the gray, miserable day.

She’d painted rain-soaked cityscapes in Paris. Lightning storms in the Midwest. Foggy valleys in the Appalachian Mountains. Weather could be both treacherous and inspiring. She hadn’t decided if she could do this weather justice. As a victim, she was too conflicted about the entire situation.

Despite Mark’s presence, fear dogged her heels, enough that she wasn’t sure she could find the beauty in all these layers of gray and green. On the flip side, with Mark right here and those kisses keeping her warm, she ran the risk of turning this hazy scene into a wondrous fantasy world. Neither portrayal was the whole truth.

“Why didn’t you and Maria get married?”

He stubbed his bare toe on a root and she winced.

“I thought we were talking about stealing a boat,” he said. “Why does it matter?”

They hadn’t been talking about anything for several minutes. “I was curious. Our mothers are best friends,” she replied. She’d tried her hardest not to hear about his dating life, but there were times, before she’d cut herself off for the show, that it was impossible to tune out. “You brought her out to Cape May and she was with you again at Labor Day the year before last.”

He slid a look her way. “You weren’t there.”

No. She’d canceled when she’d heard he wouldn’t be alone. “Mom mentioned it.” She should drop it, but as she’d said, she was curious. The first kiss had changed everything for her. The fact that he didn’t want to talk about Maria seemed important.

“We had different expectations,” he said, his voice hard and tight.

Maria had hurt him, and Charlotte was filled with an outrageous urge to track her down and make her apologize. Everyone was so sure nothing really troubled Mark, but she’d learned early on, by watching him, that his humor was often a protective measure.

She didn’t have time to ask for details. They’d reached a jagged line of wind-shaped palms leaning more than usual under the weight of the rain. On the other side of a ridge of tall grasses, a small cove welcomed the Atlantic. There was no dock in sight. Relief and disappointment warred for dominance.

“Guess we keep walking,” she said. With the ocean in sight as a reference point, she had a better sense of direction. Based on where they’d been, she assumed the dock would be farther south.

But Mark didn’t move. He pushed his toes into the sandy soil under his feet. “I meant to. Propose to Maria,” he clarified, his gaze on the cove. “I shopped for diamonds and settings.”

With her heart aching at the pain constricting his voice, Charlotte knew that given a canvas and time, she’d paint sorrow into the gray surrounding them. “What happened?”

He wiped the rain from his face. “Marriage isn’t right for everyone.”

“It’s right for you,” she blurted without thinking. With the right person. Of course, she wanted to believe she was that person, but even if she wasn’t, Mark was built for commitment and a forever kind of partnership. The same core values held both of them upright as surely as bone and muscle. There was something more to the story, something she probably shouldn’t poke at.

“What happened?” she asked again, despite her misgivings.

His gaze touched on her and then slid away. “We broke up.”

Mark claimed to be the extroverted twin and he embraced the assumption that he was carefree, a slave to wanderlust. She’d watched him and loved him long enough to know better. She laced her hand through his and repeated her question one more time.

He didn’t move, but his whole body seemed to slump, defeated. “She left me while I was deployed.” He didn’t turn from his study of the water. “I thought she was pregnant, but didn’t ask before I left.”

Charlotte’s heart clutched at the pain in his eyes.

“I spent that whole operation grinning like a fool. I rushed home, ready to pop the question.”

A hard shudder rippled through him and Charlotte held his hand, rode it out.

“Maria wasn’t there,” he continued. “I was so excited to go home. So damn sure she’d be showing. Eager to tell me.” He cleared his throat. “And she… She was gone. Moved out. A few hundred phone calls and texts later, she finally agreed to meet with me.”

Charlotte held her breath and prayed, for his sake, that she’d misunderstood what was coming next.

“She was pregnant when I left.” Mark’s big voice, all his normal vitality, faded on a shaky sigh. He’d had more life in the cage. “While I was gone, she got scared about being a single mom. In her mind, SEALs weren’t good daddy material.”

“She said that to you?” Charlotte couldn’t suppress the indignation.

He squeezed her hand. “The divorce rate among Special Forces is pretty high.”

Charlotte snorted. “She must’ve been pretty high if she couldn’t see how you are different from a lousy statistic.”

His lips twitched. “Ever the loyal one,” he murmured. He finally dragged his gaze away from the ocean to look at her. His rough thumb wiped the rain from her cheek.

“That’s right.”

“Thanks for that.” He seemed to pull himself together, though he still held tight to her hand. “Long story short, she ended the pregnancy. Ended the relationship. I just got the memo a few months too late.”

“She…” Charlotte couldn’t say it. It took several seconds for her to absorb what he’d said. Her heart broke for him and the child he never met. “You never told anyone?”

“Where would I start?” he asked. “Hey, Mom, you’re not having a grandkid after all.” He slid his hand free and raked his hair back from his forehead, scattering raindrops. “At the time, sympathy wasn’t what I needed.”

Sympathy was exactly what he’d needed. He should have had support and love and the reassurance from his amazing family, and hers by extension, that the woman had been heartless, cruel and all wrong for him.

“Luke must have suspected something,” she said.

“We were on opposite sides of the country at the time,” Mark said. “The Continental Divide messes with the twin telepathy thing.”

“Stop,” she snapped, startling them both.

“Stop what?”

“Belittling what you went through.” Her temper was running away from her and she couldn’t quite catch it. “When we’re out of here, I’m going to track down that woman and kick her butt for hurting you.”

“My fierce artist.” He laughed, the sound rather strangled. “You’d do it too.”

“You bet I will do it,” she said. “It’s one more thing to look forward to.” She was angry enough that if Muscle jumped out and attacked her now, she was sure she could take him down.

“I hate to disappoint you, but it’s long over,” Mark said. “I’ve moved on.”

Right. He didn’t speak about it like a man who’d moved on at all.

She was still fuming when he slipped an arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple.

“Thank you for listening,” he said. “I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

She thought of his words to her this morning. “You’ve carried that secret long enough all by yourself. Even with your amazing shoulders, it had to be getting heavy.”

This time his soft chuckle sounded more amused and less pained. “Guess so. You won’t mention it to anyone?”

She didn’t want to keep something that big to herself, but it was his secret and therefore she would. “Not a word. It’s not the kind of gossip artists are into,” she promised.

Tears prickled in the backs of her eyes and she looked up at the sky. The breeze off the ocean kept the worst of the rain behind them. It was damp here, but they were no longer in the downpour. Out on the beach, it looked almost dry. And if they strolled out there to dry out and enjoy it, they’d be sitting ducks.

She plopped down and leaned back against a palm tree. “Do you think they’ve stopped for the day?” she asked.

“I imagine the injury I inflicted gave them something to consider. Why?”

“It’s caught up with me,” she admitted. “We can keep moving if that’s best, but I wouldn’t argue with just sitting here for a while.”

“Wherever you are, it’s a paradise,” he agreed, dropping to sit beside her.

The quiet companionship was lovely, but she could tell he was antsy, deliberating over their best next move. “You’d like to leave me here and just go handle things, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But you haven’t.”

“Those cameras changed the equation,” he said. “Eaton loves a show and a SEAL on a rampage without any context would ruin me, Dad and put a significant dent in the program.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense in a sick way. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t have any helpful suggestions.

“Does death really increase the value of an artist’s work?” he asked. “I hated that Eaton said that to you.”

She nodded. “It’s the law of scarcity. The painting I did for him won’t be my last,” she said. “And there are some pieces in my studio that I didn’t think were ready for the show.” She cocked her head, studied his striking profile. “Don’t tell me you have one of my paintings.”

“All right, I won’t.” She gawked and he chuckled. “Just hypothetically, how much would it be worth if you died?”

“Far more than it’s worth now.” Which painting had he bought and when? “Hey, maybe we should use the cameras and fake my death so we can all be rich.”

“I’d give you a cut,” Mark teased. “Of course, Eaton’s rich enough thanks to Zettel’s perverted hunting habit.”

“True.” She picked at the mud under her fingernails. “Even before Zettel, if you think about it. He had to have capital to set this up. Are snipers that well paid?”

Mark shook his head. “Eaton went into mercenary work after he blew up his army career. He’s made some powerful and ugly friends in the years since.”

An understatement if ever she’d heard one.

“I think,” Mark said, rolling to his feet, “with some scouting and planning, I can make this cove a safe place for tonight.”

“If you disable the cameras we find, won’t it be obvious we’re here?”

“They’re motion sensitive. If we block the lenses, they would come on when the wind blows, but they wouldn’t show us moving.”

“That’s brilliant,” she exclaimed, jumping up. “How can I help?”

He smiled. “We’ll start with the closest camera and then I’ll scan the cove for others. Then if there’s enough light, we can see about finding the dock and a boat.”

The encouraging plan gave her the second wind she desperately needed.

* * *

“Mark and Charlotte are being hunted?” Patricia didn’t shout. She didn’t panic. There were no tears. She spoke with the quiet, contained calm that was far more dangerous than any outburst.

Ben had been dreading this conversation from the moment the video clip had hit his phone. He and Luke had managed to get the information to Hank first, but as the day wore on and the plan came together, there was no keeping Patricia out of the equation.

He’d brought his wife into the office and prayed she wouldn’t ask to see the video. It helped to know Hank, still working the investigation in Virginia, was on standby to answer any questions he wasn’t comfortable with.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

If he knew that, they’d be having this talk on the boat and underway. “Based on the information from Charlotte’s painting and the video clip Eaton sent this morning, Hank is narrowing it down. It is likely Eaton has them on a barrier island south of here.”

“And when are we joining the search?” she asked.

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

She pursed her lips. “Sue Ellen and Ron are in town. I have our gear and food packed. We’ll leave tonight.” She stalked out of the office, giving him no chance to argue.

He didn’t want to argue. Like her, he wanted to get out there and find the kids.

For the first time since Mark and Charlotte had disappeared, Ben hoped he and Patricia wouldn’t be the first to find them. His wife would happily kill Eaton with her bare hands and then Ben wouldn’t have a chance to beat the man senseless before the authorities locked him up for life.

* * *

Mark felt pretty accomplished by the time the storm blew over. It had rained inland all through the afternoon, which only made it easier to screen the two cameras he’d found.

They had a base camp, if woefully underequipped, but feeling safe in this protected corner of the island perked up Charlotte so much he didn’t dare point out what it lacked in amenities. She made an adorable picture in her borrowed boots with her hair braided back and her muddied scrubs. He had to work not to stare.

Between the steady sound of the ocean rolling in and the quiet task of searching for the cameras, he’d shaken off the embarrassment of telling her about his ugly failings with Maria. Of all people to confide in, he wasn’t sure why he’d unloaded on Charlotte.

Luke had pestered him a bit when he’d heard about the breakup. Mark had tried more than once, but he just couldn’t bring himself to talk about it at the time. And, after several months had passed, bringing it up felt like wallowing. It was done, she was gone and no amount of picking it apart would change anything.

Blocking the cameras also gave him time to realize Charlotte was right. At the core, he was built for traditional family dynamics. A wife and kids, and that house he kept picturing in his head. He still had a few years in an intense career, but maybe someday that vision would come to pass.

This was a strange time and place for epiphanies.

He’d honestly thought Maria had been the one. Someone who could commit, love and compromise as they built a life together. Hurt by her rejection and devastated by the loss of a child he would never meet, he’d locked away those wounded pieces of himself and vowed never to let anyone in again. Charlotte made him want to reconsider, to break that vow and try one more time.

Did he have the guts for that?

As they split a meal bar, conserving their resources, he watched the sky. Dusk was falling and lead-colored clouds were breaking apart to the north. In a few hours, he could head out for some recon, maybe impair a few more spotters.

“You’re thinking of leaving me here again, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes,” he replied. She’d see right through any attempt to lie.

“You have to stop doing that.”

“Can’t. Keeping you safe is my primary objective.” Her lips tilted in a way that made him forget all about looking for an escape. He started to lean in to kiss her and pulled back.

He couldn’t keep kissing her and expect to survive. Outwitting Eaton was enough of a challenge. With Zettel on the island, their odds of escape dwindled considerably.

“Don’t go alone. I can help,” she said. “Be a lookout or whatever.”

“I’m sure you’d be an incredible lookout,” he said. “I’m second-guessing the whole idea to find the dock right now.”

“Why?”

“Ideally, I’d stay right here and forget about everything but you.” She blushed and his blood heated. With a weapon and ammunition, it was a defensible position. Unfortunately they only had a flare gun, a knife and two ground stakes.

“You had a valid point earlier. If the boat is at the dock, everyone else is likely there too. No reason to have more than one guard at the office. Eaton must be using the boat as a staging point. How else would he have been able to pick up painting supplies or bring in the hot fresh food he tortured me with?”

“If Zettel did give up the hunt for today, I doubt he’d settle for a lousy outdoor camp when he could be warm and dry on the boat,” she said. “He thinks he has all the time he needs. I’d rather not walk right into his rifle sight.”

“I don’t know the man, but I know the type. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty or suffer for the sake of the hunt.”

Her eyebrows flexed into a frown. “You realize that’s not exactly comforting?”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “I said it mostly to remind myself what’s at stake.”

She pulled the tie from her hair and started untangling the mass of rose-gold waves with her fingers. The rain had washed away the mud she’d used to dull the color earlier. “I think we’re better off sticking together.”

“You don’t approve of how I disabled the guard dog with the flare gun?”

“Of course I do.”

She shook back her hair and then began weaving it into a fresh braid. It was all he could do not to help. He’d seen his sisters do the same countless times. Her too, but not like this. Not when all he could think about was how it would feel to unwind that braid again.

“You do what’s right, no matter who or what you’re up against,” she said.

The all-encompassing confidence made him want to live up to her high opinion. “That’s flattery,” he teased. “You’ve only seen me at my worst. Ninety-nine percent of the good work I’ve done is classified.”

She tied off the braid with the dirty scrap of fabric. Given a chance, he would dote on her and spoil her with the best of everything. But solid family values or not, he wasn’t sure he was her guy. Not yet. There was still more he wanted to do with his career and his SEAL team. Could Charlotte be patient through that, or would she have second thoughts on lonely nights like Maria?

Charlotte wasn’t Maria, but it would be worse to make the wrong moves with her. A mistake between him and Charlotte would have repercussions through both of their families. Did they have anything in common beyond a talent for kissing and a mutual belief that he could do anything? She was built to create and develop and celebrate life. He was trained to kill. She deserved a man who would be home for her every night, a man who could give her a real relationship.

What had she planned for her career? He knew about the art therapy, and the year in her studio, but what was next? He caught himself before he asked. The idea that her work or her heart would carry her out of his reach was a hard pressure in his chest.

He had to be overreacting. Pain, stress, lack of sleep and the emotional conversation about Maria’s choices were obviously impairing his judgment. Feelings weren’t his strong suit. Better to focus on what he did right.

“Are you fishing for compliments?” She tossed her braid over her shoulder.

“What?” It took him a second to pull his thoughts back in order. “No.”

“I’ve seen you play just about every sport either casually or competitively. I know what you can do. And I watched you repeatedly draw Eaton’s attention from me.”

“Yeah, that worked so well,” he grumbled.

“Worked well enough that we’re both still alive,” she said. For a quiet girl, she suddenly had a lot to say. “I know you took every beating Eaton dished out, all the while thinking about how you’d save me.”

“That’s a no-brainer. You’re precious—”

“So are you, Mark.”

Shocked by her declaration, he gaped at her.

“Yes, I said it. You’re precious to me and plenty of other people. Looking for the dock on your own is too risky. We don’t have a way to communicate if one of us gets hurt or found,” she said. “Leaving me sitting here fretting over you won’t do either of us any good.”

And there was his answer about the future. Leaving her sitting at home fretting while he was deployed would drain her wonderful, vibrant and creative spirit. He wasn’t the guy for her.

“If we go together, we could just as easily be caught together.” He felt obligated to point out the obvious.

She spread her hands wide. “So far, we’ve made together work in our favor.”

He knew when to compromise. “All right. Let’s go.” He caught the flash of victory in her blue eyes before he ticked off the ground rules. She listened attentively, promising to follow his directions and bolt if he told her to go. He carried the pack, though they left half of the remaining water and meal bars hidden at the camp. Better odds for her survival if they did get separated.

“The general plan is to follow the coastline to the dock,” he explained. “That way all you have to do is retrace the route if there’s trouble.”

Her lips pursed. “Relax. I’ll only send you back if absolutely necessary.”

“And what if you’re the one who has to retreat?” she asked.

He supposed such a scenario was possible, but the idea made him queasy. “I’ll do it,” he promised.

They left the cove in silence, both of them on high alert for any sound that didn’t belong in the maritime forest or the sloping beaches where the island met the ocean. He made note of the first camera they found on their route, but he didn’t block it. It was aimed inland and they were able to maneuver around it.

“Do you think he has someone watching the beach?” she asked in a whisper.

She never ceased to impress him, though it was odd to hear her voice the question that was at the forefront of his mind. “It would be the best way to keep an eye on these open stretches. I looked for camera gear in the trees around the cove. Either the person who staked the cameras on this side is afraid of heights or the breeze off the ocean renders them useless.”

They walked on and he resisted the urge to take her hand and pretend they were just two people out for a stroll.

At the first sound of voices, he stopped moving and tucked Charlotte behind him. The speakers were too far away for him to pick up particular words, but there was definitely more than one person. Under the voices, he heard the break of soft rollers coming in from the ocean and the random squeak of plastic bumpers designed to protect boat hulls from a dock. He crouched low, signaling Charlotte to wait. Inching forward, he crept to the edge of the trees to see who was there.

Mark had to give Eaton a gold star for organization and planning. The dock was sheltered from open water on one side by a sandbar. He’d used the island topography to great advantage. The odds of being noticed from anyone out on the ocean were slim and day travelers cruising between the mainland and island would never see it.

Eaton had guards posted at both ends of the dock and Mark smiled. The man had prepared for an assault from the water. So he was smart enough to respect Mark’s training.

The boat tied up now wasn’t the glamorous yacht he’d expected to see. Maybe Zettel would prefer camping to the cramped and worn cabin cruiser that would benefit from some serious maintenance and a fresh paint job.

Looking back, he motioned Charlotte forward. She soaked up details like a sponge. “Is that the boat you arrived on?”

“Yes.”

His body came to attention as she stretched out beside him, brushing against his leg, hip and side. Her cheek was close enough to kiss and if he leaned in just an inch or two, he could bury his nose in her hair.

“We won’t get on that boat tonight,” he whispered, focusing on their immediate crisis. They’d wasted time and energy on this hike after all.

“What about the modified container? If everyone’s here, we could send an SOS through the cameras there.”

“I’m not convinced everyone is here,” he replied. “That’s Muscle at the ocean end of the dock. I’ve never seen the guy closest to us, have you?”

She paused, studying the scene. “An extra from Zettel’s team?”

“Possibly.” Eaton seemed to have a steady supply of mercenaries ready and willing to cash his checks. “The spotter I wounded needs a doctor. They wouldn’t have been able to get him out by plane during the storm.”

“I never heard the plane leave after Zettel arrived.”

He’d been thinking the same thing. “But where did they land? There must be a clearing on this side of the island.”

“Or it’s a seaplane. Either way, he’ll have it heavily guarded.” She wriggled, her hip bumping his. “The supplies must be on the boat,” she said. “They weren’t in the container where we were held.”

“Then we must be close to a good-sized city for Eaton’s men to keep things stocked. In a small town, that crew would stand out too much.”

She nodded her agreement. Resting her chin on her stacked hands, she watched the activity on the dock. “I have this urge to ask you to go all covert ops and take that vessel.”

He smothered his laughter in his arm. “The kiss was that bad that you’d send me on a suicide mission?”

She turned her head and met his gaze. He was instantly lost in those blue depths, deeper in the fading light. “I would never want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Same,” he said. He forced his gaze back to the dock and watched for a few more minutes. Was there anything he could do tonight without getting captured, killed or putting Charlotte in grave danger?

“What I wouldn’t give for binoculars.” He eyed the worn footpath from the dock, across the dunes and into the trees. The trek wasn’t a total loss. He now had a mental map of this segment of the island, but could only guess as to the full length, breadth and location. Having actual coordinates would mean a faster rescue if they could snag a radio or phone.

As far as Mark had seen, Eaton didn’t trust anyone else with the radio. That posed a problem for Mark, who wanted to steal it, but it made things challenging for Eaton, as well. His men couldn’t call for backup or to clarify orders if they got in a bind. Mark intended to put them all in a bind in the days ahead.

His pulse settled as a loose plan took shape in his mind. Before he and Charlotte retreated, he’d give Eaton something to think about overnight.

“I’m taking the flare gun,” he said, reaching into the pack she wore. “You start back—” He stopped talking as someone approached.

“I want the cameras disabled,” Zettel was saying.

“No,” Eaton replied. “If you want a fair hunt, don’t look at the feed or read the movement reports.”

Charlotte trembled and Mark rested his hand between her shoulder blades, keeping her still, offering reassurance.

“That’s impossible,” Zettel roared. “Your men gossip like schoolgirls.”

He pointed to the camera stake nearby. It wasn’t facing them or the bullets would be flying by now.

Mark embraced the familiar battle calm, shifting into fighting mode. At his side, he felt another tremor ripple through Charlotte. What he wouldn’t give to have her anywhere else right now. He pressed his leg to hers in silent reassurance. She stilled.

The light was nearly gone and the men were little more than loud shadows among the thick brush and trees.

“You never said anything about watching the hunt,” Zettel bit out in a tone bordering on petulant. “I can track the man without this junk you’ve tacked up everywhere.”

One of the shadows bent and struggled with something. Leaves rustled and Eaton swore.

“Put back my equipment, Zettel. If you don’t like the parameters here, get out of the game.”

“I wanted a hunt, not a shooting gallery. I have a reputation.”

“So do what you came to do,” Eaton said. “Enjoy your hunt, make the kills and no one will be alive to speak ill of you or your reputation.”

“You have a reputation too,” Zettel countered, his voice full of threats. “I should have listened to the naysayers before wiring the money.”

“If you’re unhappy, leave.”

“I am unhappy with the cameras.”

“Will you continue to disable them?” Eaton asked.

Mark cringed. That was a trick question if he’d ever heard one. Although it was nice to know Zettel was interfering with Eaton’s observation tactics, this wasn’t going to end well. Eaton was addicted to the power high and looking for another hit. No way would he allow Zettel to mess with his ultimate plan for vengeance against the general.

Mark had a flare loaded in the chamber and the hammer cocked. He aimed the flare gun at the men, prepared to offer a temporary end to the argument.

“I paid for a fair hu—”

Two quick gunshots cut Zettel’s words short before Mark could fire the flare. The man slumped to the ground. Eaton used the radio and snapped out orders. Mark wondered who would answer. He’d never seen a radio on Quick-Punch Kid or Muscle.

The answer became evident as a man stepped out of the boat’s bridge and shouted to the man posted at the near end of the dock. Mark and Charlotte had to get out of here before they were spotted. He signaled her to back up slowly, keeping to the darkness created by the trees’ shadows.

Every foot of distance gave Mark options and Charlotte a chance. Another few yards and they could make it out unnoticed.

Eaton was muttering at Zettel’s lifeless body when his radio crackled. He toggled the switch. “Say again?”

Mark knew they’d been spotted. Zettel must not have disabled the camera when he pulled up the stake and when it fell, the field of view must have changed.

Mark shot the flare, aiming for Eaton’s feet. The signal projectile wasn’t known for accuracy and it floated and tumbled through the air in a shower of sparks and a trail of smoke. A split second later, it flared as designed and simultaneously lit up the area. The red plume burned and skittered across the ground, creating a bank of foggy smoke.

Eaton’s night vision would be compromised and the sizzling flare made enough noise to cover their escape. Mark urged Charlotte up and into a run. “Go! Go!” Yes, their rapid retreat meant they’d leave a trail. They might even get picked up by a second camera, but he’d blow up that metaphorical bridge when he got there.

One gunshot, then two more sounded. Fired from the dock, based on the sound. None of the bullets landed close enough to worry him.

“Keep going.” They were almost out of range.

Charlotte tripped and went down, sprawling across the ground before he could do anything to keep her upright or cushion her fall. He helped her up. “Go straight to the cove,” he said. “Don’t argue,” he added. “I’ll hide our trail and then I’m right behind you.”

CHAPTER 11

Charlotte didn’t want to leave him, but did. She’d promised to run if he told her to, though it made her legs heavy and her heart ache. What if Eaton caught him again? The beatings and lack of food and care had taken their toll on Mark.

She tripped over a root, hauled herself up and kept going. What if, by some miracle, she survived and had to tell his parents he didn’t make it?

She ran harder, scolding herself for doubting his skills. They were in this together and they’d get out of it together. She had to trust him to stay alive just as he trusted her to find her way back to the cove. As long as she kept the water on the right, she couldn’t miss it.

He must have known where they were when he sent her on, because she reached the cove sooner than expected. She bent over, hands braced on her knees, breathing as deeply and quietly as possible.

Trusting him to come back to her was different than trusting him as a person. Fear did that. She had to be stronger than the fear. Instead of pacing and wringing her hands, she sat down and waited, listening for any movement.

Her mind fought back, racing in wild, panicked circles.

Zettel was dead. The man was awful. The world was surely safer without him. So why did her hands shake and her eyes fill with tears? It was dumb to grieve a man who would’ve killed Mark at the first opportunity. A man who’d wanted to own her.

She hugged her knees to her chest and tucked her head to muffle the scream she knew she couldn’t suppress much longer. Where was Mark? If she hadn’t fallen, they wouldn’t have lost precious seconds. Now Mark was out there putting himself at risk to hide their trail.

Charlotte was inept out here and it could cost them their lives. This wasn’t roughing it for a weekend with the family, even with a Riley present. This was life and death and she was ill-equipped to manage it.

Mark had given her survival tips, but she had no confidence that she’d get through this without him. At the sound of footsteps nearby, she crouched low, out of sight, her entire body braced for trouble.

“It’s me, Lottie.”

Mark’s low whisper brought an enormous wave of relief. Her knees nearly gave out as she leaped up and rushed into his arms. He smelled like safety and every bright hope she’d ever had. If she could have, she would have held him forever. Mind-blowing kisses or not, that would lift clingy to an all-new level.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked and she stepped away from him. “For tripping,” she finished.

“Don’t apologize, honey.” His lips brushed over her temple, her hair. “They won’t find us tonight, even if they make time to come looking.”

She nodded at that, before she remembered he couldn’t see her. The moon was almost full, but heavy cloud cover moving across the sky made the low light unpredictable. “Okay.”

“That was quite a tumble,” he said. “Are you hurting anywhere?” His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs gliding along the slope of her throat as if he could see her best with his touch.

She couldn’t answer. His hands were soothing and electrifying in turns. She wasn’t even sure how she was still breathing. He enticed and tempted even as he reassured.

“Charlotte, are you hurt?”

“N-no.”

She would be if she didn’t pull herself together. She wanted Mark. She’d lost count of the nights she’d dreamed of being in his arms, savoring his kisses and more. How could life be so cruel as to give her a few of her sweetest dreams amid this dreadful nightmare? Art had taught her beauty and pain walked hand in hand, that light and shadow must coexist for the work to have depth and purpose.

She wanted him, even though wanting felt so selfish when she wasn’t sure if his feelings went any deeper than the surprising physical attraction. Wanting in silence hadn’t gotten her anywhere. In the days since they’d been kidnapped, she’d been plagued with thoughts about the worst-case scenarios.

If this was her last night, she wouldn’t leave anything unsaid, though speaking up scared her almost as much as Eaton himself. “We’re safe tonight?” she asked.

“Yes. There’s no trail to find and Eaton is putting out fires, literally and figuratively, since he shot Zettel. You went down hard. Tell me where it hurts.”

She rubbed a hand over her heart where all the aching had settled. “Feels like I only scraped my palms and knees.”

His hands coasted over her shoulders, sliding the straps of the pack down and away. She’d forgotten it was there. He’d thrust it at her when he’d told her to go ahead of him. He dropped the pack and it landed with a muted thud on the sandy ground. He continued to trace her arms all the way to her hands. He turned her palms up and bent his head close.

She had no idea what he thought he could see in the darkness. Her fingers curled in protectively. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s everything.” His voice was soft and rough, like velvet. He stroked his thumbs across her palms to open her hands.

Her breath caught, not from pain but anticipation. Every nerve ending surged toward that point of contact, eager for more of his touch. They could have been anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered. This was her fantasy, her sweetest, most impossible dream, coming to life in the darkness.

“These are your tools,” he murmured. “A treasure.” His lips brushed her palm. “Precious.”

This time when her fingers curled, it was to caress his scruffy bearded cheek. She relished the texture, the whiskers a delicious rasp against her skin.

He leaned into her touch and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Mark?” The move was so unexpected she worried he’d been injured. “What’s wrong?” His arms came around her waist and he pressed his face to her midriff. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I’m so damn relieved you’re okay.” He gave her a squeeze. “We need to rest. Eaton will come on strong tomorrow.”

Rest? She’d been anticipating another kiss, her body primed and ready. She ran her hands over his hair, the back of his neck. His arms banded even more tightly around her. She stroked his shoulders. He was a feast for her hands, all these sculpted swells and angles. Knowing him all her life, her mind filled in the details her eyes couldn’t see well in the dark.

“I need—” She bit back the words. They weren’t the last two people on earth. Hank and his investigators had clues. They would be rescued. Together. She had no business begging for more than he wanted to give.

“That need is just adrenaline,” he murmured, easing back to sit down.

She dropped down beside him. “Oh, it’s more,” she admitted, though it would be best to turn this back to friendly territory. She thought of the woman who’d left him. Was Charlotte doing Mark any favors if she pushed for a connection he wasn’t ready to make?

No.

Even if her body was brimming with desire, his body had been put through the wringer for days. He needed the rest. “Do you think it’s safe to go down to the water?” she asked.

“Why?”

“I thought a moonlight swim might feel good.”

He cocked his head, his expression too shadowed to read. “More five-star resort fantasies?”

“Something like that,” she said, as if she extended this sort of invitation all the time.

He rolled to his feet and reached back to help her up. “I’m game. We can do some reconnoitering.”

They walked down to the water, side by side, without touching. The world seemed so still, only the movement of the clouds overhead and the waves lapping at the sand made the moment real.

She saw Mark gazing intently up and down the coastline, to evaluate their surroundings. He’d get a better view once they were in the water, so this little respite would refresh and provide them with information.

She sat down to take off the boots and Mark stripped out of the scrubs and waded into the water, wearing only knit boxers. What she wouldn’t give to share this moment on a sunny day to enjoy the view of him. At least the low light camouflaged the worst of his bruises. The sand squished under her toes as she wriggled out of the pants but when she reached for the hem of her top, Mark balked.

“What are you doing?”

“I’d planned to swim.”

“But you—” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have a swimsuit.”

She swallowed her surprise and a flash of annoyance. “That didn’t stop you.” She tossed the top back on the sand and walked into the water.

“Charlotte.” He groaned and ducked under the water. Coming up again, he scrubbed at his face.

She submerged herself for the sake of his newfound modesty. “When did you get so sensitive?”

“I’m not.” The clouds parted and the moonlight spilled over them. “It’s just…it’s you.”

What did that mean? This was the perfect time to confess her crush, to tell him he’d always been loved, he just didn’t know it. “I get it. Go on and swim. Relax. The water must feel good.”

“It does,” he admitted, lying back to float. “We’re safe here. I don’t see anything indicating trouble. We can grab a few moments to relax. We need it.”

She waded deep, scolding herself for expecting too much. She willed her thoughts away from what wouldn’t happen tonight, trying to think of how she would resume her old life. That’s how it felt. Old. Before. She already knew these days had changed her irrevocably, would change how she painted, how she interpreted the world. Recovering from this ordeal would show up on the canvas, but her artist retreat seemed more important than ever.

“Charlotte?” Mark floated closer to her. “When you were getting muddy in the creek, I thought I’d lose my mind wanting to touch you.”

She stared at him. How had he kept that to himself? Then again, she’d been holding on to a pretty big secret herself.

“If we were at the five-star resort, how would this play out?” he asked.

Returning to the diversion they’d used before made it easier. “You’d kiss me.”

The words were barely past her lips when he laid claim to her mouth. Nothing gentle or easy this time, just pent-up need and desire. His tongue stroked across hers and she ached for more. Drawing her body flush against his, he boosted her up. The new angle put her in charge. She wrapped her legs around his hips and gasped at the feel of his erection at her core.

That alone was enough to take her right to the edge. She was shocked the thin layers of fabric between them didn’t simply dissolve.

He arched her back and trailed kisses down her throat, lower to her breasts until he was circling her nipple with his tongue, drawing the tight bud into his mouth. “You’re glorious,” he said against her skin.

He made her feel glorious.

She reveled in the sensual onslaught, as he teased and pleasured her body. Careful of his injuries, she sought out the caresses that made him groan with desire as the night ocean flowed around them. She wanted him inside her but he held back, bringing her to a peak with his hands and the most astonishing kisses.

After her second climax, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. She wanted to take him deep inside, to feel him filling her, but she suspected the past sorrow haunted him. Following her intuition, she wrapped her hand around his erection, refusing to be distracted or diverted this time. His hips flexed into her touch as she stroked him until he found his release.

She touched her nose to his and feathered kisses across his lips. He held her close and leaned back, letting the waves nudge them toward the shore. Neither one of them spoke until they were back in the shelter he’d fashioned for them earlier.

“Would you just hold my hand?” she asked. “Until we fall asleep?”

“Sure.” His husky reply scraped over her senses and gave her chills. This close to him, she couldn’t hide the shiver.

“Cold?” he asked, curling his body around her and pillowing her head with his arm.

“Not exactly.” She was still on fire, for him. It felt amazing, and absolutely right, to lie here with him. Maybe it was the endorphin rush, but she was done holding back. “I want to make love to you.”

“I think we’ve crossed enough lines burning off the adrenaline tonight,” he said.

“That wasn’t just adrenaline.” She took a deep breath. He’d bared his soul; it was her turn. “I’ve had a crush on you for more than half my life,” she began. “I might never have told you, but if something happens tomorrow or the day after…well, I don’t want to carry regrets. I love you, Mark. I’ve felt that way long enough to know my heart will always be yours first whether we’re friends or lovers, in the same room or on opposite sides of the world.”

He didn’t reply. She waited, but he didn’t say a word. If his body hadn’t gone so still, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep.

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes tight so she wouldn’t cry. No regrets. Things might be difficult and awkward, assuming they survived tomorrow, but it was better for him to know.

* * *

Mark told himself he was hallucinating. She did not just say what he thought he’d heard.

She loved him?

He couldn’t make that fit. Attraction, healthy desire between two consenting adults was understandable. But love? No way. She wouldn’t have kept that bottled up all this time.

It had to be the situation. He was all wrong for her, with a chronic sarcasm habit, and he took pride in his job on a team of warriors. He gently shifted her in his arms, wishing for better light to see her eyes.

“You’re mad,” she whispered.

He kissed her, helpless to do anything else. “Shell-shocked is a better word.” He focused on what made sense. Physical pleasure and needs. He wanted to make love too, but they weren’t actually in a five-star resort. He wouldn’t take that risk out here without protection or the basics, like a bed.

“This isn’t a living-in-the-moment thing.” Her voice drifted around him, as soft as a fog bank. “I’ve held back my true feelings for you for too long. You deserve to know.”

“Lottie.” His lips found hers again. “You…” He didn’t want to offend her, but he couldn’t accept this, couldn’t encourage something that was wrong for her. “You’re everything light and joyful. I’m too much of everything you don’t need.”

“That’s not how I see it. You’re warm and kind under all the skills and distance you need for your career. You’re one of the most balanced people I know,” she said. “Every artist knows light needs the dark to really shine.”

“You can’t mean it,” he insisted.

“I do. I’ve traveled, dated, been in relationships. No one else is you.”

“Luke is practically me,” he joked, hiding behind the humor while he sorted out this pressure building in his chest.

She didn’t laugh. Her only response was to trail a finger over his lips. She rolled over and snuggled her back to his chest. “You were right. We need to rest.”

He wrapped himself around her, sheltering her, but he didn’t sleep. That hard emptiness he’d been dealing with since Maria’s betrayal seemed smaller. Letting Lottie in wasn’t soothing. His heart kicked, resisting the risk and danger that came along with the pleasure and comfort he found in her arms.

What if Lottie suddenly came to her senses one day and walked away? That would destroy him, not to mention the strain it would create for two generations of friendships.

And what if, as she so deftly avoided mentioning, they died tomorrow?

Tomorrow he had to get aggressive and proactive. Once they were safely out of here, they could talk rationally about whatever she thought she felt for him. He felt her body relax and while she slept, he kept watch and made plans.

Hours later, as the first glow of sunlight appeared on the horizon, Mark was up and alert. He dealt with the necessities and then woke Charlotte with some soft kisses. Blinking, she stared up at him, then looked around as if trying to decide which part of the morning was her imagination and which was real.

“Yes, we’re still stuck.” He handed her a bottle of water and a meal bar. “But I have a plan.”

She sat up, brushing at the salt that lingered on her arms after last night’s swim. “Did you sleep?”

“I did more plotting than sleeping,” he admitted. “But I’m ready to go.” She was adorably kissable first thing in the morning, so he indulged himself. Her big blue eyes were full of affection and it humbled him.

He wasn’t sure if she’d be aloof or distant today since he hadn’t given her loving words in return last night. It wasn’t as if she could just go her own way out here. Not safely. Just before dawn, he realized he should’ve told her he loved her too. But he couldn’t say it now when they were under such ridiculous pressure.

When he gave her the words, he wanted them both to be sure he meant it.

She returned from taking care of herself, seemingly enamored with the view of the sun rising over the ocean. As she ate her meal bar, he heard her chuckle. “At the gallery show, all I wanted was a quiet sunrise on the beach,” she explained.

“Happy to oblige,” he teased.

“Really?”

“Hey, we built this hideout,” he said. “I’m not letting Eaton take any credit for the good things.”

“I can get on board with that.”

His delight with her reply was muted when a seaplane engine whirred from somewhere nearby. A few minutes later, they saw it fly over their position. He waited, worried that would be Eaton doing an aerial search, but the sound faded and didn’t return. “That must’ve been Zettel’s men with the body.”

“Evens the numbers, I hope.” She glared at her water bottle. “Will the five-star resort have coffee?”

“Definitely.” He was missing the hit of caffeine too “They’d lose a star and be disqualified from our fantasy if there’s no coffee.”

“Something to look forward to,” she said, without much conviction.

He understood the doubts she must be feeling, but he was confident enough for both of them that today they would turn the tables on Eaton. “Make sure your laces are tied and double-knotted,” he said. “We’re going to be on the move.”

She brightened, her eyebrows arching. “You have a plan.”

“We’ll take the boat today.” He’d thought about it in great detail through the night. After hearing the plane leave, he felt even better. With Zettel dead and his men gone, Mark expected Eaton to send out every man he had to scour the island for them. “Barring that, we’ll take the radio.”

She stared up at him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that means going after Eaton directly,” she said.

“It does,” Mark replied. “It’s high time he realized who he invited to this fight.”

She rolled to her feet and the smile she gave him was unexpected. Radiant. Caught off guard, he didn’t know quite what to say. Thankfully, she did.

“Lead the way.”

He’d never been quite so inclined to kiss a teammate before a mission. The woman had facets and layers he’d never get enough of. That would be a new danger to assess once they got out of here.

“First stop, the container where they held us,” he said, as they set out. “I want to look for any supplies or weapons we can use against them.”

Two ground stakes and a knife would be tough going against a renowned sniper who could pick them off from hundreds of yards away. The terrain was the only thing working in their favor. In addition to weapons, Mark wanted to find a workable pair of shoes and some real food.

He set a brisk pace, pleased that Charlotte kept up. After yesterday, he had a good feel for the pattern of the camera network Eaton had planted. Today, he had no intention of avoiding or disabling all of them.

Every guard sent to intercept him and Charlotte meant less protection at the locations he planned to attack. Only a few minutes after purposely ignoring a camera, Mark heard someone closing in behind them.

At his hand signal, Charlotte ducked behind the wide trunk of a live oak tree, leaving him free to handle the threat. He pulled the knife and waited for the man on their tail to charge.

The fight was over before it began. The grossly unprepared guard came straight at Mark and within seconds Mark slammed him into the ground, knocking the wind out of the man. He stared up at the sky, gasping like a landed fish.

Using the guard’s Taser, Mark incapacitated him and cuffed him to the nearest tree. This guard’s boots were too small for him, as well. Were his feet really that big? Irritated and hungry, he roused the guard. “Where are we?”

The man shrugged and Mark shook him hard. “Tell me.”

“G-Georgia coast.”

Progress at last. “How many of you are out here?” he demanded.

The guard shook his head. “Dunno.”

Mark raised his fist and the guard mumbled a reply, his words nearly unintelligible thanks to the jolt of the Taser. “How many?” Mark repeated. “I know about Eaton, the big guy and his skinny friend.” He ticked off the opposition on his fingers. “How many more?”

“Th-thr-three,” the man managed at last.

“Counting you?”

The man nodded.

Satisfied, Mark used the man’s sock as a gag and then flung his boots into the brush.

“Us against six?” Charlotte asked, emerging from her hiding place.

Mark nodded. “Five now.” And he wanted to save Muscle for last. Not because he was afraid of the fight. No, he wanted to take his time with that nasty brute.

They made it to what passed for a headquarters without further trouble. As he’d expected, Eaton had abandoned the office and cage room, leaving the doors unlocked. Sensing a trap, Mark didn’t go inside. He didn’t care about the bulletin board. If Eaton and his laptop or radio were here, the man would be gloating and throwing out challenges by now.

Someone had tried to disguise a path leading from the container where they’d been held into the trees, but they found it. Cautiously, they followed the trail to an established campsite. Two hammocks were still strung up between trees. A box of trash, a cooler and a small locker were all that was left. No weapons, food or boots.

Charlotte turned in a circle. “You think they’re coming back or did they leave in a hurry?”

“Probably left in a hurry,” he said. “No reason to stay out here during the storm when they had the boat.”

“There’s a soda here,” Charlotte said, rooting through the cooler. “Do you want to share some caffeine?”

“Yes, please.” He didn’t care that it was lukewarm, the carbonation felt great on his sore throat. The only items in the locker were a black T-shirt and a pair of flip-flops. He shoved his weary feet into the sandals and decided some protection was better than none.

The hair on the back of his neck lifted and although he couldn’t spot the threat immediately, he obeyed his instincts. “Let’s get to the dock.” They were too exposed out here in the clearing.

Mark hiked along, Charlotte just behind him, his flip-flops slapping against his feet.

“Why aren’t you worried about the noise today?”

“Because every one of us on the island knows the score,” he replied. “Eaton has the matchup he wants, a SEAL with a code of honor and a family friend to protect. He wants to goad me into becoming a killer and catch me in action on one of these cameras.”

“But you’re not doing that.”

“You and I know that, but he won’t stop trying.” The only man he wanted to kill was Eaton, to ensure Charlotte and his family could be safe from now on. That didn’t mean he’d do it on camera. Or kill him at all. He did work from a code and had no plans to take lethal action unless it became a matter of survival. “I’d rather see Eaton prosecuted and jailed for the rest of his life.”

He veered away from the established paths, staying within the shelter of the trees as they neared the dock.

Charlotte grabbed his arm. “Where’s the boat?”

“I’m guessing it’s anchored out of sight. Makes sense to send it away so we can’t steal it.”

“You aren’t worried he expected us to come here?”

“No,” Mark replied. “I’m disappointed, but it’s simple logic.” Surely by now Hank or his dad had enough information to narrow down a search area. The investigators would pore over every pixel from every image available. “We just have to hang on until the rescue party arrives.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Charlotte’s grip eased and she rubbed his arm. People were looking for them. He had to keep believing it, keep reminding her to believe, despite the lack of evidence.

Charlotte tensed as the guard patrolling the empty dock turned toward them, his gaze skimming over their position in a standard watch cycle. He was another one of the new guys. He had a pistol in a holster on one hip and a radio on the other.

Eaton wanted clear communication today. Good.

That left one new face still unaccounted for, likely someone watching the camera feeds and reporting their movements to Eaton. Didn’t matter. Nothing short of a nuclear strike would derail his plans to get Charlotte safely off this island.

No boat posed a problem. What did he need to do to bring that boat back into the dock?

“Mark?”

“I’m thinking.” No boat meant no easy access to a long-range radio. It was time to get aggressive. Hard to believe Eaton was fool enough to strand himself out here with a highly trained navy weapon.

“Eaton isn’t the type to work without an exit strategy,” he said. “There must be another boat or a specific rendezvous time.” He watched the guard continue pacing his watch.

Mark wanted that radio. Was it a trap? “We’re off the Georgia coast,” he said, thinking out loud. “We have one boat and one new guy unaccounted for. Eaton and the two guards we know are still around somewhere.” He shook his head. “We need to find an advantage.”

“You’re the real advantage,” Charlotte said.

He took his eyes off the guard long enough to admire the soft curve of her cheek. Despite the stress, the tangled hair and smudges of ocean salt and island grime, her beauty struck him. Her consistent demonstrations of resilience and grit were even more attractive.

She caught him staring, arched an eyebrow. “What?”

The answer was a list way too long to enumerate here and now. “We are the advantage,” he said. “Us, together. They underestimate you. We also have surprise, will and sneakiness on our side.”

She held his gaze, one eyebrow arched as if she was waiting for the punch line.

There wasn’t one. Together they could do this. “They don’t expect us to split up,” Mark said, jerking his mind back to the issue at hand. “I want you to stay right here and watch the dock. I’m going to draw the guard away.”

“And reduce the odds.”

“Exactly.” He caught her chin lightly and kissed her. Creeping away, he moved with the breeze until he was ready to be seen.

He looked back, pleased that he had to work to spy Charlotte, though he knew where she was hiding. She’d adapted quickly to the survival game and he hated that he hadn’t been able to spare her this craziness.

Despite it all, she kept her fight and inner glow. That was her real strength. She’d given him so much through this ordeal. Her engaging conversations had carried him through the worst of some painful beatings. Kissing her was a new adventure in desire every time their lips touched. And last night, her words had undone him. He’d been so tempted to make love to her, even without any protection, just to show her everything he didn’t dare say out loud.

She’d made being kidnapped by a madman almost a good thing.

When they got out of this, he expected her to come to her senses. Knowing that, he kept the mushy, needy words locked down tight. His career would definitely kill the sweet family-filled future his heart wanted to promise her.

Charlotte deserved better. A man who would be there for her, put down roots and build a life without darting away to carry out lethal actions around the globe. He still had a few years of tactical operations and combat missions ahead of him. He’d seen worry and doubt ruin marriages, not to mention the mess he’d made with Maria. He’d watched men give up choice assignments and take administrative paths to please their wives. He didn’t want to be the source of her worry and he didn’t want to push paper, so where did that leave them?

First things first, he thought, as the guard turned his way again.

Mark stumbled forward and let out a cry as if he was in pain. The poor sap fell for it, rushing up the dock, gun aimed at Mark’s chest, shouting into his radio.

Mark raised his hands, swallowed his pride and begged the guard not to shoot.

“Stop moving.” The guard kept his gun level with Mark’s chest. “The boss wants you alive. On your knees. Keep your hands up.” The barrel of the weapon remained trained on the same spot, center mass, as Mark complied.

“Do you have any water?” Mark had noticed the top of a water bottle poking up from one of the pockets on the leg of the man’s cargo pants.

“Not for you.”

“Please,” Mark begged, adding a dry hacking cough for good measure. “Please. I’m so thirsty.”

The man stared a moment and then handed over the bottle. It hadn’t even been opened yet. He didn’t know it, but that small kindness just saved his life.

Mark sipped greedily, watching the guard search the surrounding area. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“John Doe,” the guard replied.

“Right.” Did Eaton give his hired muscle a training manual? “I’ll call you J.D.,” Mark said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it if you help me get out of here.”

J.D. sneered. “I’ve been paid, thanks. And there’s a bonus waiting when we’re done. Get up.”

Mark made a production out of standing up, judging how to make a clean grab for the radio. “Come on, I don’t even know why I’m here. Your boss is playing a really sick game.”

“Shut up, Riley.”

Being addressed by his name caught him off guard. J.D. jabbed him in the chest with the barrel of his gun and Mark stumbled back. “Turn around and let’s move.”

“Can’t we sit out here?” Mark asked.

“Not your call, is it?” This time the gun caught him in the shoulder, twisting his torso and jabbing a particularly sore spot. “Move.”

“You know who I am, so you know the navy will want me back. Name your price, J.D. Be rich by this time next week.”

The guard snorted, but Mark could tell he was thinking it over. “Man, anything you want, I’ll give you. Just get me out of here alive.”

The guard jerked his head back toward the dock. “Are you blind? The boat’s gone. We’re all stuck on this glorified sandbar until further notice. Now, where’d you stash your pretty friend?” J.D.’s gaze searched the immediate vicinity for Charlotte.

“We got separated,” Mark lied. “She’s probably dead by now.”

“Nah. They told me you were some kind of hero.” J.D. circled his finger in Mark’s face. “I think she’s close. Call her out and I’ll let you both go. Give you a good head start before the boss uses you for target practice.”

Mark wasn’t about to expose Charlotte to any further harassment or pain. “I told you, I don’t know where she is. She was rambling about getting to the creek and…”

The guard toggled his radio, asking for orders that didn’t come. He shoved Mark forward. “I’ll just take you back and dump you in a cage.”

Mark dragged his feet and stumbled away from the dock and closer to Charlotte’s hiding place. He had the terrain memorized, knew exactly where he wanted to make his move once they were past her.

The path between the dock and the cage room meandered around the bigger trees. At a sharp bend, Mark spun around and grabbed the gun. He jerked J.D. face-first into the tree trunk and followed up with a driving blow of his elbow into the guard’s sternum.

Done correctly, the move would shock an opponent’s heart and incapacitate them. Either Mark missed or hadn’t put enough force behind the blow. J.D. fell hard but didn’t stay down. They wrestled for control of the gun in a life-and-death game of tug-of-war. In peak condition, it wouldn’t have been a fight at all, but the abuse and stress had dulled Mark’s edge.

J.D. twisted around and swept Mark’s legs out from under him. Mark scrambled to get some distance, only to be caught around the ankle. He landed a kick to J.D.’s shoulder and even without a boot, the guard howled in pain. The other guards would descend on them in a hurry, but this wasn’t where he wanted to make his last stand.

Riding a burst of adrenaline, Mark jumped to his feet and went for the gun again, but J.D. wrenched it out of his hands. Mark plowed a foot into one of J.D.’s knees, but the kick lacked enough power to do any real damage. He picked up a rock, determined to put this guard down permanently, when a scream lanced through the air.

Charlotte.

Mark reacted. He dropped the rock and then grabbed the guard’s ankle, twisted his leg awkwardly around a tree. J.D. screamed. Too bad. Mark had to be sure the man couldn’t follow him.

He grabbed the gun and the radio that had been broken in the fight. Heedless of his bare feet, he raced toward Charlotte’s cry.

CHAPTER 12

Swinging upside down, tethered to a high limb by her ankle, Charlotte cursed every useless tear dripping into her hair. Furious she’d been caught, angrier still that she’d screamed, she tried again and again to reach the knotted rope around her ankle. Calling herself names, she thought she might as well have sent Eaton or anyone else on the island an engraved invitation to her demise.

Following Mark’s instructions, she’d been watching the water beyond the dock for any activity while listening for Eaton and the others closing in on him from the island. The only voices had been Mark’s and the guard he nicknamed J.D. She hadn’t heard any radio response to the guard’s calls. Since the night they’d been kidnapped, she’d seen firsthand a wide range of Mark’s skills and tolerances. His acting skills impressed her as much as all of the others as he manipulated the guard, luring him away from the dock.

He’d told her to stay put and watch. She’d meant to do only that. But when she noticed the stack of crates near the trees on the other side of the path, she couldn’t help but take a closer look. The promise of bottled water and the potential of finding a weapon was a draw she couldn’t resist.

She’d walked right into a trap. And because she’d screamed, she knew Mark would do his best to get to her. They might both be caught again. Recalling the cages and the brutality Mark endured, guilt swamped her. She didn’t want any more of his blood on her hands. She resolved to get herself out of this snare. Mark couldn’t be expected to do everything for her, not even out here.

The pack thumped against her back as she twisted, trying to get a hand on one of the stakes to cut herself down. A bloodcurdling scream sailed through the air and Charlotte froze. Praying that hadn’t been Mark, she jackknifed at the waist in another effort to escape. It wasn’t enough. She swore under her breath. Anything to give release to the frustration.

“Easy there, love.”

She twisted around to see Mark step into her upside-down view. “I’m sorry.” She flung a hand toward the crates. “Water and a gun… They’re probably empty,” she grumbled.

“I get it. Would’ve done the same.” He walked a circle around her predicament while she swung like a sack of potatoes. He was barefoot again and she wanted to cry. He must have tossed the flip-flops in order to run to her aid. Guilt was a rash of sharp prickles under her skin while he searched for a secondary trip wire.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered again. “How’d things go with J.D.?”

“He won’t be taking any long walks for a while.” Mark set the gun down and pulled the knife out of the backpack. “The effort wasn’t a total loss.”

“Yay,” she cheered with fake enthusiasm. “Is anyone else headed this way?”

“Not so far,” he replied.

“You should go,” she said. “Hide until they come for me.”

“Not a good play.”

She disagreed completely. He could hide and pick off whoever came for her.

He gazed above her at the rope. “Let me make sure cutting you down doesn’t trigger some other trap. How’s your head?” he asked.

It took a second to follow the conversational leap. “Aches.” In fact, her vision was starting to blur. “Hazy.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I should have spent more time on abs at the gym.”

“Your abs are fine,” he said, laughing a little. “I saw them just last night.”

Stopping directly under her, the snare kept his face just out of kissing range. But she could touch him, so that was a bonus. She ran her fingertips across his beard, swaying a little with the motion, unless that was only an effect of her blurred vision. “Are there two of you?”

“You wish.” His lips twitched.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she ordered.

“Lottie, you put the cute in life-and-death situations.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she said.

“It doesn’t.” He seemed to say it more to himself than to her. His gaze tracked up the length of her body to the rope again and presumably to where the line was anchored. “I bet you’d do just about anything for this knife right now.”

“Stop teasing and get me down.” She was terrified Eaton would catch them both and the nightmare would start over again. “Better yet, just leave me here and capture Eaton when he shows up.” Had she said that? Becoming bait wasn’t the worst idea. She’d finally be an asset rather than a burden.

“You’ve suggested that.”

“I did?” It was getting harder to think clearly. “Did you like the idea?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Think about it,” she urged, twisting to try to keep him in sight.

“Hush.”

He went perfectly still. Or she thought he did. It was hard to tell when a breeze caught the tree and set her in motion again. The pounding of blood in her ears made it harder to hear anything else. Was it too late for Mark to set a countertrap?

“Hide.” She waved her hands for him to run, but as she twisted around, she couldn’t see Mark at all.

In the distance, she heard Eaton barking out orders. It was impossible for her to determine if he was talking to someone directly or using the radio Mark wanted so badly. She couldn’t make out his words, though that didn’t matter to her as much as making sure Mark got away safely.

Fighting the tunnel vision and pressure from hanging upside down, she vowed to fight back, stall or otherwise impede Eaton’s plan. She’d do whatever was necessary to give Mark a chance to escape.

Suddenly the ground surged up to meet her and a big drab olive shadow blocked her vision. Mark’s leg, she realized slowly. He’d added his weight to the snare line. She could touch the ground with her fingertips, but she wasn’t free.

“Almost done. Protect your head and neck,” he whispered. “Going down,” he continued like an elevator operator.

She did her best, willing him to hurry. In a moment, her body dropped and she curled in on herself as she hit the ground. What were a few more bruises among friends?

Before she could stand, Mark was at her side, cutting away the rope knotted around her ankle. He helped her up, giving her a steady anchor point as her blood flow resumed a normal healthy pattern away from her head. Her vision still fuzzy, she had no idea where he was taking her until the blast of sunshine caught her in the face. She winced and shied away.

“Keep going, you’re doing great,” Mark encouraged. “They probably know by now that I have the guard’s gun and radio. It will give them something to think about.”

Believing him took less energy than arguing and it was far more pleasant to think she really wasn’t the problem child out here.

She heard a shout behind them and this time the sound was clear, close and furious. Either her hearing had improved or Eaton was practically on top of them.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mark said.

She could smell the brackish water of the creek and knew what he intended. “Beats death by madman,” she quipped, following him into the murky water. Once more the creek bought them precious seconds.

When Mark gave the all clear, she climbed to the opposite bank, grateful they had several hours of sunshine to dry their soggy clothes.

“Why didn’t you just kill Eaton back there?”

“I thought about it,” he admitted. He used his hands to squeeze the water from her hair.

His gaze turned possessive as he studied her face. Suddenly, the sunlight wasn’t the source of the heat coursing through her system. It was a wonder her clothing didn’t instantly steam dry. When his thumbs glided over her cheekbones, she thought she’d melt from the tenderness in his touch. “You were fading,” he said. “Besides, if I’d missed, you would have been hurt.”

“You don’t miss.”

His lips kicked to one side. “Your confidence notwithstanding, I couldn’t take that kind of chance with you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Charlotte. When we get off this island, you will be in one piece.” He kissed her, a sweet, gentle assurance for both of them. “You’ll be able, mind and body, to return to the life you’ve made for yourself. Anything less is a failure in my eyes.”

“Mark…” She couldn’t articulate everything his words and hands and lips stirred up inside her. Not when he touched her with so much love while at the same time he spoke of going their separate ways when this ordeal was behind them. It hurt that he seemed so determined to walk away from the connection and passion she felt growing between them.

Love was patient, she reminded herself. And love didn’t look anything like she thought it might or should. Her infatuation with him had only been the first spark. What she felt now was something so different and deep. It was a fresh and unexpected view of the man she thought she’d known. She started to try again, but she could tell by his narrowed gaze that he’d snapped back into survival-guide mode.

“We need to dry out and find a safe place for the night.”

“It’s not even noon yet.” She tipped her head back, trying to peer at the sun’s position in the sky.

She trudged after him, feeling another stab of guilt that he was barefoot again. As much as she’d previously protested the option, she was more and more convinced that he should park her somewhere and just finish this on his own. When he looked at her, he couldn’t see anything more than an obligation. A pretty one, by his words, but still an extra person he had to keep track of. She was making his survival harder. Maybe now that they had a gun he would implement the stash-the-inept-girl plan. She could defend a secure position with a loaded weapon.

“Promise me something?” She wanted several promises from him, but this time the most important one was about making sure he’d take care of himself.

“Whatever you need,” he replied without looking back at her.

“When we get out of here, promise me you’ll get a pedicure and then never go barefoot again.”

“That sounds…”

“Delightful?” she supplied when he was lost for words. “Luxurious? The right thing to do for your poor, abused feet?”

He turned, a grin spreading across his face and the dimple flashing in his cheek. “Horrific. Besides, according to those cheesy romantic movies my sisters watched, walking barefoot on the beach beats paying someone to exfoliate. Plenty of room to do that right here.”

She remembered a line like that from a movie she and Jolene had watched on one of their boisterous dual-family vacations. “But you have to follow up the exfoliation with hydration and preferably shoes,” she said.

“One step at a time,” he teased.

When he looked at her that way, those silly youthful fantasies of Mark sweeping into her life like those teenage heroes filled her head and carried her away to a sweet place without cages, guns and men bent on violent revenge.

Until a chunk of the tree on the other side of Mark’s head exploded.

* * *

Mark gathered Charlotte into his arms and took them both to the ground, his body covering hers.

All this time, Eaton had let others do the dirty work. Finally the man was pulling the trigger himself. Of course, that was little comfort considering he was a world-class sniper, willing to take the hard shots.

They were too far from the creek now for that escape route. Putting himself between the gunfire and Charlotte, he pushed her along ahead of him, deeper into the trees. In this area, it was impossible not to leave a trail through the ferns and fallen leaves and needles of scrub pines.

Sure enough, bullets followed their movement, biting into the bark here and there. The man was missing on purpose. The movement they made scrambling through the trees might as well be a beacon to a shooter of Eaton’s skills.

Charlotte’s body jerked with every shot and Mark’s temper rose in response. She didn’t deserve this. No one did, but especially not a woman so full of talent and light. The world needed the hope and beauty she could offer.

Mark’s mind worked through what he knew of the island. Based on the angle of the first shot and those following them now, Eaton was trying to herd them into the marsh where they’d be completely exposed. The trees were their only defense and at the same time telegraphed their movements too well.

Spying a gap created by a tree recently felled by a storm, he nudged Charlotte over the rotting log and into momentary safety. “You okay?” he whispered.

Her blue eyes were round with fear and full of worry. “I’m not wounded if that’s what you mean.”

“It is.” Mark paused, listening for any evidence that Eaton’s men were trying to flank them. “He’s pushing us to the marsh.”

Her hands gripped his tightly. “I don’t want to hide in that water.”

“I know, sweetheart.” A bullet whizzed overhead, punching through a small limb. Mark covered Charlotte, letting the debris rain down across his back. He barely felt it, his mind shifting to operator mode while his body catalogued her long legs and soft curves tucked under him.

“He’s guessing now,” Mark said. “Do you know where we are?”

“Hell,” she replied in a weary whisper.

He chuckled. “Close enough. I meant specifically.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked up at the sky and the trees overhead. He knew she was mentally retracing their route away from the dock.

Another bullet grazed a tree nearby. Charlotte tensed and trembled. If they’d been on the move, Eaton would have guessed their position with distressing accuracy. It also confirmed Mark’s theory that the man wanted to push them to the marshes.

“The marshes are on the west side. So we must be heading in that general direction,” Charlotte said, her voice pitched low. “These are live oaks and they grow thicker inland.”

“You’re brilliant.” He smiled, more pleased than he cared to admit. “Can you get back to our camp at the cove from here?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting to his lips. Yeah, he had a long list of things he wished they’d done last night too.

“You’ll need to move north and east,” he said, trying to focus on saving them.

Sitting up a little, she glanced around, getting her bearings. “I can do it.”

“Good. Go back there and hide behind that screen of palm leaves we made.” He pressed the gun into her hands. He knew she could shoot and was familiar with a weapon like this.

“What about you? You’ll need this.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled out the radio. “I might be able to get a signal. Either way, I’ll stroke Eaton’s ego and let him drive us toward the marshes.”

Her long fingers curled around his, gripping hard. “Please don’t do that. It’s too open.”

“Shh.” He cupped her cheek, giving her all the tenderness he could offer. Once they parted, he had to be ruthlessly focused on taking out the enemy. “Alone, I can get him where he wants us and come back to you.”

“What about the others?”

“Dwindling numbers,” he reminded her. “Someone is with the boat. It will be months before the guard from the dock can do anything after I tore up his leg.”

“That still leaves Muscle and Quick-Punch Kid helping Eaton. They’re rested and you’ve been physically punished for days. What if they’re armed?”

Mark hated the fear in her eyes. Fear for him. A prickle of unease slid along his skin. He didn’t know what to do with it. Did she want him thinking about failing her?

“This is what I do, baby,” he said, mustering every drop of arrogance and bravado he had left. “I need you to take the gun and wait this out at the cove.”

Her gaze narrowed and her full lips thinned. He held on to that annoyance, leaned into it. This was survival. “Wait until he’s following me, and then go.”

“Sure.”

He gazed into that lovely face, regretting his tactic immediately. He didn’t want her harboring any doubt about how much he cared. Stealing a fast kiss for luck, reassurance or both, he popped up and started running.

When bullets followed him, he grinned like the fool he was.

* * *

Charlotte gazed up at the star-studded sky overhead and couldn’t help thinking the island at night would be a beautiful place to unwind. Especially if she could remove the terrors seeking them out and add spa-quality bathrooms and a well-planned picnic basket complete with good wine.

She was ridiculously proud of herself for finding the cove without getting lost. She hadn’t even had a heart attack while she worried and waited for Mark to return to the cove. The occasional gunshots had done more than rattle her. She was sure her stylist would find her hair had turned gray after this.

When Mark had returned to the cove at twilight, he’d been a muddy mess, and full of himself for sending Eaton on a wild chase. His only regret had been that he hadn’t been able to get the radio working to ask for help. She’d launched herself into his arms when that dimple had winked at her, not caring if he’d thought she was a worrywart. She hadn’t been able to help it. He wasn’t just her best hope of getting out of here alive. He held her heart and always would.

No amount of that brusque-and-brave-warrior routine could change that.

After going for a swim and downing a meal bar, he’d stretched out beside her, but he wasn’t asleep yet. She’d promised to keep watch, but she didn’t think he could actually shut down. He’d done everything short of building a raft to escape. Knowing him, he’d probably thought of it and rejected the idea because it would make them easy targets as they floated out to sea.

She continued to watch the sky, debating how best to get all those layers of darkness to sink into the canvas and reach back out again. In the sky at full dark, she saw the immense, limitless beauty. “I’ll paint this sky when we’re home,” she murmured. To purge the dread and reclaim the good, she would paint this sky.

“You want to remember this place?”

“Why would I want to forget your bravery and courage?” she countered. She’d never forget his kiss or his touch, the exquisite pleasure he’d given her. She surely wouldn’t forget the way he kept putting her safety and well-being above his own. “You’ve taught me tactics and directions and other things I didn’t know I wanted to learn.”

“You wouldn’t need to learn any of it if I hadn’t followed you into the alley.”

The idea of him out here, coping with Eaton alone, sent a fresh spike of icy fear down her spine. “Sounds like it’s my turn to remind you that someone is looking for us. We need to stay positive.”

“But will they find us in time? I’m sorry.” He sat up a little, his silhouette blotting out a chunk of the sky and filling her creative mind with more ideas for another series of nightscapes. “I can’t help wondering that if someone was coming to help, they’d be here by now.”

“We took out the cameras, with good reason,” she added hastily. The less Eaton could use against the general, the better.

“We have to end this,” Mark said. “I can’t ask you to deal with this for one more day.”

“It would be over by now if the boat had been there,” Charlotte reminded him. “We’ll make it.” She flopped to her back once more. The deep velvet-black sky, dotted with stars, winked overhead through the swaying palms as the wind picked up.

The breeze through the palm fronds was constant, just like the steady beat of the ocean against the shore or her boundless love for the man beside her. She turned her head, admiring Mark’s strong profile. This man was a constant, as well. Take away the guns and the madman and there were worse things than being stranded on an island with a sexy, affectionate man.

“Charlotte?” he asked, turning to her. “You with me?”

Always. In any time or place, she was his. Following the welcome distraction, her artist’s memory filled in the details of his face that the shadows blurred. “I’m with you,” she replied. She might not be survival trained like he was, but even she recognized they wouldn’t last out here indefinitely. “Are we planning our five-star resort or a way off the island?”

He didn’t laugh. Instead he rolled to his side, facing her, almost nose to nose. “I’m thinking we need to surrender. It would draw Eaton in and we could negotiate to get you out of here.”

“No.” He had to discard this plan immediately. “I am not leaving this island without you.” Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought of returning to civilization without him.

“Even if it’s the only way to save your life?” He trailed a finger along her jaw.

She reached up, covering his hand, holding the touch close as though she could absorb still more of his courage through her skin. It stung a little, acknowledging how much she must be holding him back, though she’d done her best to keep up. “If we go to the dock and surrender, he’ll kill you from a hundred yards out and not bother to ask me questions later. He’s not going to give me up just because you want him to.” At his sigh, she added, “You know I’m right.”

“It’s still four against two, Lottie, and the one radio I stole was busted.”

“We’ll make another plan, Mark.”

He rolled to his back again and he was quiet for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Eaton intends to survive at all costs,” he said.

“Obviously.” She reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his. “So do we. We have a gun, a knife and two stakes. I think the odds are in our favor.”

“I like your ruthless side.”

She heard that sexy, unrepentant grin in his voice. “Thanks. Now, without a boat, how do we make tomorrow our last day in paradise?”

“He isn’t leaving until I’m dead or until I break and kill a bunch of people on camera. Can you think of a way to fake either of those scenarios?”

She knew he didn’t expect her to have an answer, but still she tried to come up with something. “What about the flare gun?”

“Who would we signal?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about what Eaton would do if we set the dock or part of the island on fire. It’s not ideal, but I think our lives outrank nature in this scenario.”

“Tell me more,” he urged.

“Well, if we successfully set something on fire, it might be seen from a boat out on the water.”

“That’s a plus for as long as the fire burns,” he said.

“You mentioned Eaton had an exit strategy. He obviously won’t let anyone else kill you. Today while he thought we were together, no one came anywhere near me.”

“If Muscle was helping Eaton hunt me, he was in stealth mode,” Mark said, propping up on an elbow. “Quick-Punch Kid is the only other person I saw.”

“Maybe Muscle took the cabin cruiser in for supplies or reinforcements. And where would that leave the third man on the new team?”

Mark was nodding now. “Guarding a second boat, maybe? It would be easy to hide something like a rigid-hull inflatable in another cove on the eastern side.”

“Surplus military issue, no doubt,” she said, peeved. Eaton was such a scumbag.

“No doubt.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Talking it out helps.”

She was immensely pleased with the praise. “So how do we win?”

“We stick together this time,” Mark replied, subdued again.

Guilt swirled through her mind like a wisp of smoke, leaving a bitter scent of failure behind. No matter what he said, her misstep in that trap today had cost them a good chance to gain any real advantage. Though he was kind enough not to blame her outright, she blamed herself.

He pressed a kiss to her palm, the gesture equally comforting and stimulating. She scooted into his embrace, momentarily forgetting the threats and consequences currently out of sight.

As his lips slanted over hers, she surrendered to the marvelous distraction of being in his arms. When he eased back, she was breathless, her pulse thundering in her ears. She laid a palm over his chest and felt his heart racing, as well. It was wonderful to be wanted by the man she loved, even if he continued to hold back. Maybe that five-star resort would be where she broke through the last of his shell.

“About that plan,” he said after several long minutes.

She smothered a giggle. It wasn’t at all where her mind had been. “Yes?”

“We’ll wing it. You’re practically a SEAL now anyway.”

She curled into him, smothering her laughter over such an enormous exaggeration. His breathing settled as his amusement faded, but she knew he wouldn’t sleep deeply. A part of him had kept watch from the minute they’d been kidnapped. She wished there was something she could say or do to convince him to really sleep.

That too might have to wait for the resort.

“Charlotte?” He stroked her hair back over her ear in a motion that never failed to knock her out. “Sleep while you can.”

She took a long, measured breath and let it out, repeating the process a few times, but her mind was restless. However this ended, did she dare hope for some kind of romantic future?

What would that even look like? Would they go back to Virginia and start dating until he deployed again?

If they took Eaton down, she assumed Mark would be free to get back on the regular rotation with his SEAL team. Where he belonged, based on how well he’d endured these past days. She couldn’t deny that.

Regret was a cold vise around her heart. In the light of a normal day, would Mark be able to look at her and not think about these days of torture and abuse? What kind of Special Forces operator would build a life with a woman so closely tied to his worst memories?

Sure, they were physically compatible, obviously, but that wasn’t the kind of foundation for the relationship she wanted anyway. He hadn’t given her any indication of his feelings for her, not even echoing the loving words she’d given to him. Which was absolutely fine. She appreciated that Mark didn’t plant false hope when it mattered most.

His actions showed how much he cared. Caring would have to be enough for her.

She loved him. Not a fleeting trial-by-fire sort of affection either. No, she loved him enough that she wouldn’t say it out loud again. When they were rescued and back in the real world, she’d walk away from him with her dignity so he wouldn’t feel forced to push her away.

As she’d told him, her heart would always be his.

Despite the fear and terror of the ordeal, new paintings were already filling her mind and she focused her thoughts on what she wanted to create. Small and cramped canvases to challenge the audience. Open soaring views tethered to nothing but hopes and dreams. Those would likely challenge even more people. A direct encounter with death changed a person. There was no going back to the woman and artist she’d been a week ago.

If only she had the courage and skills to slip away and take out Eaton while Mark dozed.

She didn’t.

She was an artist, stranded with the man she’d dreamed about for over a decade, and she had no tangible skills or recourse to help them survive.

CHAPTER 13

Early the next morning, before the sun was much more than a glow at the edge of the ocean, Mark roused Charlotte so they could move out. He regretted his decision to take another run at the boat almost immediately. The stress and chaos of Eaton’s antics had taken a toll on Charlotte. She was trying valiantly to keep up with him, running on sheer adrenaline and desperation.

Holding her in his arms last night, the words had been on his heart. I love you. He couldn’t push them past his lips. Not yet. If they got off the island, there would be time to make it up to her. If they didn’t, there wasn’t any point in declaring feelings he couldn’t back up with actions.

And, as much as he prided himself on his bravery and self-confidence, he had no idea how she’d react. Would she even want to waste another minute with him after this?

He didn’t hold out much hope.

Creative problem solving was a hallmark of his career, yet he’d failed her in a spectacular manner when it had mattered most, back in the alley before things had really gone south.

They kept to the thickest part of the tree line and found the dock empty again as the sun inched over the horizon. While Charlotte stood watch, he carefully gathered up dried palms, stuffing them into an empty crate. He carried the crate to the dock and using the flare gun, he set the mass on fire. With a little luck, the fire would burn a good long time. At the very least, it should create a smoke plume and potentially catch a search party’s attention.

Or the attention of the boat, bringing it closer to shore where they could more easily try to commandeer it.

Mark was kneeling at the edge of the trees with Charlotte when he heard raised voices. South of the dock, on a small crescent beach, he spotted Eaton and Quick-Punch Kid.

Eaton was the only one with a radio.

They wouldn’t get that radio as long as Eaton continued breathing. The man was armed and motivated by a vast, inexorable sense of vengeance. Worse, he’d shown a remarkable lack of remorse over his actions.

Mark had no doubt that should Eaton get the chance, he’d kill Mark and Charlotte and never look back to this island. He started to give the hand signals for how he wanted to advance and realized he didn’t have the team. Only Charlotte.

She’d held up, but she didn’t magically know the code and signals. “I’ll take out Eaton,” he said, his voice barely audible as he eyed the best way forward. “Quick-Punch Kid will try and intervene, but he isn’t armed, and there might be a limit to how involved he wants to be.”

“I can handle him.” Her voice was intense, ready. She had the gun in her hands and he had the knife ready. “I’ll keep him distracted,” she promised.

“Shoot him if you have to.” Mark was relieved he didn’t have to ask her to distract Muscle, though he had no doubt she’d happily find a reason to put a bullet in the big man. He kissed her. Fast and quick. Not a last kiss, more of a promise there would be more once the work was done.

“You do that with your SEAL team?” she teased.

“They wish,” he quipped.

She clamped her lips together, her eyes dancing with laughter. In that moment, he was suddenly sure everything would work out.

He picked up a rock, hefted it in his hand and waited for the right time to strike. He hurled it, pleased when it struck Quick-Punch Kid solidly on the side of the head. The man stumbled and fell forward to his hands and knees.

Eaton turned back and Mark charged forward from the dappled shadows of the trees, the knife in his grip. He used the downed man as a springboard and launched himself into Eaton, knocking the man to the ground before he could fire. His weapon flew across the sand toward the surf.

Mark drove a knee into Eaton’s gut, once, twice and a third time. The man gasped for air while Mark scrambled to get the radio off Eaton’s belt. He couldn’t manage it with one hand and Eaton knew it.

Eaton twisted around, landing an elbow to Mark’s jaw that sent him reeling. He dropped the knife. That never would’ve happened before being caged and tortured and manipulated by the threats to Charlotte. Excuses didn’t make a SEAL strong; adversity did. Mark blocked the next punch and bucked his hips, rolling Eaton over and finally pinning the man to the shifting sand.

Protective concern tempted him to glance over his shoulder and check on Charlotte’s progress. He had to trust she could manage on her own. Eaton was too dangerous and would capitalize on the smallest opening. Distraction equaled disaster here. Mark would not let him land another blow. Would not give him another minute to exploit Charlotte or inflict emotional abuse on his family.

He dug his knees into Eaton’s sides, squeezing his rib cage and impeding his breathing. Eaton wedged his body into the loose sand to get relief. It was enough to throw Mark off balance and he rolled away and up onto his feet. Eaton reached the knife before he did.

Holding the man’s attention, Mark moved to put his body between Eaton and the rest of the island. If Charlotte had failed, he was now vulnerable to a sneak attack from Quick-Punch Kid. Mark didn’t peek over his shoulder, he kept his eyes on Eaton.

The older man’s face was red from sunburn or exertion or a combination of the two. Didn’t matter. Winning this fight for Charlotte’s life mattered.

“You think you’re special, Riley?” Eaton taunted.

Mark ignored his taunting. The sly gleam in Eaton’s eyes was enough proof that they both understood the stakes here. Only one of them would walk away from this beach.

Mark stalked closer to his prey, not giving a damn who currently had control of the knife.

Eaton lunged, Mark spun, felt his shirt give as the blade sliced through the thin fabric and his skin. The sting and burn were only more motivation. Using his momentum, he caught Eaton around the hips and threw him back toward the encroaching surf, farther away from Charlotte.

Eaton struggled to break Mark’s hold and his rusty hand-to-hand combat skills made it clear why he liked to stay behind a gun. If the man hadn’t had the knife, Mark wouldn’t have any injuries worth mentioning as they grappled for dominance of the weapon.

The surf was sucking at the sand under their feet, challenging his balance as the water foamed up around his ankles. His hands, slippery with blood, made it hard to get a good grip. At last Mark succeeded and tossed the radio up toward Charlotte as he fell to his knees.

Eaton, yammering on with nonsensical threats and insults, let loose a violent scream of frustration as Charlotte sent out the Mayday call, just as he’d instructed her earlier.

She’d survive. It was like taking his first breath after a long dive. One way or another, she would get off this blighted island and resume the life she was meant to have, the work she was meant to give.

Eaton turned, knife raised high over his head as if he was auditioning for a remake of Hitchcock’s Psycho. Charlotte screamed. Mark focused.

Dodging to the side, he used Eaton’s power against him, driving the blade deep into the man’s thigh. Shocked, mouth open, eyes glazed with pain, Eaton fell forward into the surf.

Gripping fistfuls of Eaton’s shirt, Mark hauled him deeper into the water. The whole way, the man continued tossing out dire threats against all Rileys. Despite everything he’d done, with Charlotte watching from the beach, Mark might have been compelled to grant mercy if Eaton had asked. Thankfully he didn’t.

Mark walked out farther, still dragging the man who’d put his family through so much fear and grief in recent months. The surf swirled around Mark’s knees, buoying more of Eaton’s body. The ocean was Mark’s element, soothing and centering, even as the salt water illuminated every open wound.

Though Eaton thrashed, Mark held on, dragging him deeper. The man tugged to free the weapon from his leg. Blood tinted the water—his or Eaton’s, Mark didn’t care. He started shouting more nonsense and threats. Mark shoved his head under the water and waited. Eaton came up sputtering and cursing.

With both hands, Mark shoved him hard in the chest. Eaton stumbled backward as the surf moved over the sand. For the first time in days, Mark was grateful for the thin scrubs and his bare feet. Eaton’s heavy boots and clothing were waterlogged, making it impossible for him to fight the ocean’s pull.

Now, it would be man versus nature. Mark watched with detached curiosity to see who won.

Eaton flailed in the next wave and went under the surface.

Mark kept his eyes on the spot as the surf flowed out from under him and he let the rollers buoy him onto the beach, away from the blood trail flowing out of Eaton.

The man’s head didn’t clear the water again.

Nature had won this battle.

He hoped a shark wouldn’t be injured by the knife in the man’s leg.

* * *

Watching Mark in the gently rolling surf, Charlotte held her position just out of reach of the groggy Quick-Punch Kid. She’d trussed him up, using the cord of his survival bracelet to bind his hands together behind his back. She’d cinched his ankles together with his belt. He didn’t put up much of a fight, either due to the head injury or simply the realization that he couldn’t get out of this, she wasn’t sure. He was too heavy for her to move him to a shady spot. She assumed after the coast guard arrived, sunburn would be the least of his worries.

She had control of the gun now, as well as the radio. While Mark had wrestled Eaton, she’d considered shooting their tormentor, but held back, afraid she’d hit Mark by accident.

Her hero, she thought, her heart swelling with pride and love as Mark rode the waves back to shore. Alone. Gripping one item in each hand, she held her ground, waiting for a signal from Mark that it was safe. She assumed Eaton was dead. Remorse didn’t even flit through her mind.

She focused instead on Mark. He exhibited an ease in the water she’d always admired. She took a halting step toward the water. A swim might do them both some good, but she’d prefer to find a place where Eaton’s body wasn’t lurking under the waves.

Suddenly it was as if everything caught up with her. Her knees felt stiff, her feet sore and her entire body begged for a warm soaking bath, fragrant soaps and a head-to-toe massage. Her hands ached with the stress of staying out of Mark’s fight with Eaton. Her pulse pinged oddly and her stomach clenched as if she might be sick. After everything they’d endured, this seemed like the wrong time for her body to stop cooperating. Shouldn’t they be celebrating?

Forcing herself forward on wobbling knees, she went down to the tide line to meet Mark, staying clear of the bloody ruts in the sand. “Mark? Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

Now she could see his shirt had been sliced and blood seeped from a long thin cut across his shoulder blade. That would leave a big scar across those perfect muscles as it healed. She didn’t mind the potential imperfection. No, she struggled against the idea of another woman seeing it years from now. They’d faced impossible odds and survived. They had a shared history of sorts as family friends and they’d certainly explored a passion that had both startled them and saved them during the crisis.

She’d told Mark she loved him, but still she couldn’t seem to find the courage to ask for what she really wanted. Forever had been a clear and tangible end point when Eaton was in control. Now it seemed like a wisp of something she couldn’t grasp.

Life and freedom. They had both now. The wide-open possibilities of the future created a new kind of fear in her heart. Fear that these were her last moments with Mark. Her breath caught as the incoming tide swirled between her toes.

The urgent need to tell him what she hoped for most faded much as the foam skittered away to rejoin the ocean. He’d been through enough, saving them both. She wouldn’t take the risk that he might see her feelings as yet another burden.

Offering only comfort, she rested her hand on the top of his shoulder, well away from the injury. “This needs stitches.”

“If you say so. You can see it better than I can.” He tilted his head up, blocking the sun with a hand. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Dumb time to lose it, I know,” she said.

His long fingers circled her wrist and a new shiver went through her at the touch. He tugged her down beside him in the sand and pried the radio from her grasp. “And the gun,” he said, holding his palm open.

“Is he dead?”

“Unless he had oxygen tanks tethered right where I dropped him.”

After what she’d seen, she wouldn’t put it past him. “You’re not serious?”

“No. Logically, he’s fish food.” Mark cocked his head, his gaze on the soft rollers rising and breaking. “Although I wouldn’t have minded watching a shark frenzy in this particular instance.”

“He didn’t deserve the fanfare,” she said.

Mark chuckled. “I do like this bloodthirsty side of you.”

Relief and need overwhelmed her. She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs. Gently, gently, knowing he was sore and there were likely plenty of injuries she couldn’t see, she took his face into her hands.

She was about as useless as could be with survival and fighting, but she knew how to bare her soul, to open that window and give back the beauty she saw in the world. With every heartbeat, she willed him to accept everything she offered, whether or not he could reciprocate.

Right now, she only wanted him to feel this astounding awareness that life was new again, all options open. Where there had been terror and fear, she would have him embrace hope and love.

When her mouth met his, when his hands cruised up and over her hips and stroked heat up the length of her spine, she started to believe the worst was done. Fresh need spiked her system and bright energy sparkled along her skin at every place their bodies touched.

“I called for help,” she said as his lips and tongue glided down her throat. “On the emergency frequency.”

“I heard. I knew you could do it.” His voice rumbled against her skin and she trembled. “How long do we have?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t care. Her hips rocked against his arousal. Yes, adrenaline was a contributor here, but it wasn’t the only factor. She needed all the physical affirmation she could get that they’d made it.

His hands stilled her hips, holding fast when she tried to move.

“You didn’t get an answer to the Mayday?”

“I did.” His grip eased. “The coast guard answered. I told them what we know of our position.” She dropped her head to his shoulder and just breathed in the scent of him. If this was all he could give, she’d savor it. “I described the cabin cruiser and Muscle.”

“What did they say?” he asked. “Exactly.”

“Someone saw smoke from the fire we set. Help was coming since this is supposed to be an uninhabited island.” She would paint the feelings of this moment and their ordeal for years to come. All the ugliness they’d endured and the glorious passion they’d shared was imprinted on her mind, body and soul. Already she knew her brush would touch the canvas differently. She could hardly wait to explore the new facets this experience revealed.

“Anything else?”

Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. She could cry later. When she was home and Mark was gone, out of her day-to-day life. “I don’t know. You were fighting and I…I…” She just couldn’t put her deepest fear into words. Not even with Eaton gone.

Mark had said she was light and joy and he was too dark, too jaded for her. Should she try again to explain the essential compatibility of light and shadow? As her first professor in Paris had said at the end of her time there, this interlude is at an end, but the memories would carry her as she reached for new stars.

For once it would be nice if the journey toward new stars didn’t feel so lonely.

“Shh, it’s all good.” Mark smoothed a hand over her hair. “You’re amazing. Just amazing, Lottie.” He shifted her to sit beside him again and then seemed to melt into the warm, damp sand. “Let’s just breathe here for a minute.”

“You need water. First aid.”

“Later. Just be here with me.”

She stared into his face, still handsome under the mosaic of cuts and bruises Eaton had dished out. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Now I know you’ve had a heatstroke.” His lips twitched in a faint echo of the teasing smirk he used to flash all the time. His eyes flew open, alert and ready once more. “Or hit your head. Did Quick-Punch Kid hurt you?”

“Easy,” she soothed him this time. “I’m fine.” Especially now that she knew he was mostly okay. “You’re the one still bleeding.”

He’d taken the brunt of Eaton’s vengeance since that first moment in the alley behind the gallery. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“A scratch,” he insisted.

“If you’re sure.”

He reached up and cupped her neck, bringing her face close for a kiss. She lost herself in the gentle affection and now-familiar heat of desire. Until she recognized the bone-deep weariness that echoed her own.

Lifting her head, she bumped her nose to his, then rolled to her back. Her hand found his and they stared up at the impossibly blue sky. “We’ll rest and breathe until the coast guard arrives.”

It was the best plan they’d made in recent days.

Hours or minutes passed. Quick-Punch Kid shouted and was summarily ignored. The shadows from the trees shifted as the sun moved higher into the sky. And the two of them rested, breathing it all in until at last the radio crackled to life and the commanding voice of General Riley asked for confirmation of their position.

Mark handled that call while Charlotte tried not to cry.

At the unmistakable sound of a helicopter rotor, she sat up and waved at the orange coast guard rescue helicopter overhead. A few minutes later a coast guard cutter came into view, trailed closely by the Rileys’ sailboat. Her emotions simply overflowed and she was laughing and crying with relief and joy as Mark pulled her to her feet and held her close, keeping her steady.

Rescued! They could finally rest easy, completely safe for the first time in far too long.

If only she didn’t feel as if her first steps toward rescue and freedom meant walking away from loving Mark.

CHAPTER 14

Mark watched Charlotte’s parents hustle her away, toward a guest cabin on the ship where she could clean up and a doctor would tend to any wounds. With each bit of distance, the ordeal they’d survived pressed heavier on his shoulders. He thought it would have been the opposite.

When she was out of sight, his breath just stalled in his chest. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. He didn’t want to be apart from her; he’d grown too close during their ordeal. Why now, when she was out of reach, did he finally have the courage to give her the words? As if tethered by some invisible bond, he lurched after her.

His dad clapped him on the shoulder, steered him down a passage and into another room. “Clean up. Let the medic deal with the mess you’re in while we talk.”

He didn’t want to talk. Not to his parents and not about the man he’d hauled into the ocean to die. He wanted Charlotte all to himself for a month in Fiji. Even in his mind, he sounded petulant.

Alone in the shower, he indulged in a fantasy of Charlotte in a skimpy bikini the same color as her eyes, reclining next to an infinity pool. She’d give him that slow smile and joke that any shot at fame had been wrecked by the rescue.

His hand trembled as he reached for the soap dispenser. If she was here with him, where she belonged, she’d take his trembling hand in hers and steady him. The woman was a rock. Through it all, she’d been his touchstone, his focal point. Keeping him grounded and boosting his determination.

He wondered if she felt as lost without him.

Clean up now. Break down later. He showered off the days of grime, watching blood and dirt and sand swirl around and down the drain. He toweled off, regretting the streaks of blood his wounds left on the white terry cloth towel. He avoided the mirror as he brushed his teeth. There was no need for a visual to know where the bruises were. He trimmed his beard, careful around the tender spots on his jaw. His ribs would ache for another week at least.

With the towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom. His father and a medic were waiting in the cabin.

“Feel any better?” his dad asked.

“Ask me again after you give me a beer.”

Ben laughed. The medic directed him to a chair and worked swiftly, taking a quick inventory of his wounds and treating each in turn.

“You did well, son.”

Well. Not the word he’d put to it. He’d killed a man, a former soldier, on American soil. He couldn’t work up an ounce of sympathy for John Eaton. However the man had started his military career, he’d lost his way and turned into a monster.

“How’d you get to us so quickly?”

“Your mom insisted we leave a half day earlier than Hank suggested. We were cruising up and down the shoreline, looking for likely hiding places when the coast guard arrived and organized the full search.”

“Eaton chose a good one.” Mark winced as the medic prodded the knife wound that creased his shoulder blade. “It didn’t hurt that bad in the shower.”

The medic game him an unconvinced hum. “Needs stitches.” Of course it did; Charlotte had told him so.

“Is that really necessary?” Mark argued. “Won’t glue do it?”

“Too deep,” the medic replied.

Mark grunted his assent.

“Hank moved on the compound Eaton built in Arizona,” his father said. “We should have an update in a few minutes.”

“We’re a long way from Arizona.”

Ben agreed with a slow nod. “Each layer we pull back proves the man had quite a reach.”

Footsteps in the hallway rushed closer, followed by a rapid knocking on the cabin door. “Ben? Mark?”

Mark caught the worry in his father’s gaze as he opened the door to Patricia. “He’s fine,” Ben said.

“Good.” She peered around Ben. “You’re good?” At Mark’s nod, she looked back to her husband. “It’s Hank.”

Mark jerked at the pain in her voice and the medic grumbled as the movement tugged on the stitches he was trying to finish.

“Easy,” the medic said.

“Wrap it up,” Mark ordered. His mother hadn’t uttered another word, collapsing into his father’s embrace. The rare display of emotion and despair rattled him.

“What happened?” Ben asked, holding her close.

“He was shot.” The words were muffled in Ben’s chest.

Mark’s stomach twisted.

“I don’t know how badly yet.” She leaned back a little and fanned her face. “He didn’t make the call. One of the other investigators did.”

Ben glanced at Mark over her head.

“Go,” Mark said. “I’ll find you as soon as this is done.”

It seemed to take forever for the medic to wrap things up. When the young man started to give him directions on wound care and pain relief, Mark shooed him out of the cabin.

Dressing swiftly in shorts, a loose T-shirt and the deck shoes his mother had brought along, he bounded up to the cutter’s bridge to find his parents and get the facts on Hank. His heart rate steadied when he recognized Hank’s voice, tight with pain and temper, on the other end of the radio.

“It will take us weeks to sort through this material,” Hank was saying.

Mark went to flank his mom, who was still leaning heavily on his dad.

Their bond was remarkable. Whether they were standing side by side or with half a world between them, their unity was a tangible force. Mark had taken their commitment to each other and to family for granted growing up. It was only after being out on his own that he’d realized not only the treasure of his parents’ bond but the beauty of it.

He’d given up on finding a woman worth the effort and commitment, until he’d looked at Charlotte differently. Until, in the middle of the unimaginable, she’d given him a priceless gift. Now he couldn’t shake the idea that she could be that partner for him.

Distracted with thoughts of how he might become the man she needed, he only caught bits and pieces of Hank’s report on Eaton’s compound.

“In the meantime,” Hank continued, “Luke, Jolene and I can’t let down our guard.”

“Wait. Why?” Mark asked.

“Mark?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“How are you doing?” Hank asked. “Looked a little grim there for a while.”

“Chicks dig scars,” Mark joked, dodging a glare from his mother. He leaned closer to the speaker. “Better now that Eaton’s dead. Why would you still be on guard?”

“Thanks for handling that, by the way,” Hank replied. “I guess SEALs get the win this time around.”

Mark laughed. “Always.”

“We’ll see,” Hank replied. “I’m hoping your success there will be enough.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mark queried.

Patricia gripped Mark’s hand, careful of the scrapes on his knuckles. “Eaton put a bounty on Luke, Jolene and Hank too,” she said.

“What the hell? No one will follow through if he’s too dead to pay them, right?”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Hank said. He coughed a little. “But I don’t want to assume anything just yet. You’ll understand when you see what I’m looking at.”

“Fine.” Mark believed him, though he wasn’t eager to take a deeper look at anything else they gathered on the scumbag. “Have someone else take over, all right? And let a medic take a look at you. Mom’s eyes are bugging out over here.”

“I beg your pardon,” Patricia said.

Her tone earned a pained laugh from both Mark and Hank, while Ben managed to keep a straight face, assuring her Mark was exaggerating.

“It’s not that serious, I promise,” Hank said.

“Come on. She won’t believe you until she sees you with her own eyes.”

“I know.” Hank managed to sound greatly inconvenienced. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

The update over, Mark walked out on deck, hoping to find Charlotte, but apparently she was still being treated below. She was safe now. That was the important point. They would see each other at family events and he could always ask his mom about her.

“How are you really feeling?” Patricia asked, joining him at the rail.

Inadequate and guilty. “Sore,” he answered instead. He noticed the look in her eye. He had to give her something close to the truth or she’d press him harder. He didn’t want to face any of the tough questions about being caged, beaten and hunted.

Neither his confidence nor skill would change the fact that Charlotte had been exposed to outrageous danger and trauma.

“Do you want me to go check on her?” Patricia asked.

“No.” It would take time for her to recover from their ordeal. “She’ll come up when she’s ready.”

“You love her.”

Mark stared out at the island they’d escaped. Eaton had been a monster, no doubt there. Quick-Punch Kid and the man Mark had cuffed to a tree were in custody. The coast guard expected to apprehend Muscle and the injured man presumed to be on the boat with him in due time. All of that should make Mark feel better.

He didn’t. No matter the jokes Charlotte had cracked about dying increasing her value as an artist, he’d let her down. Deliberately he shifted his gaze to his parents’ sailboat, bobbing in the swells aft of the coast guard cutter. “How long until you and Dad head back?” he asked.

She sighed at his diversion. They both understood she wasn’t fooled and he wasn’t ready to share.

“Sue Ellen and Ron and your father and I agreed it was best to stay here with you and Charlotte through the morning at the very least.”

“In case one of us falls to pieces? It won’t be her,” he said.

She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re in a safe place,” she said. “It’s not the worst idea to relax and enjoy it. What Eaton did—”

He didn’t need his mother to run that down. “I’m good, Mom.” He stared out at the island. From this vantage point all he could see was the beauty. In his mind though, he kept reliving the horror through Charlotte’s eyes. “He didn’t beat us.”

“Rileys are a tough lot.”

Mark agreed with her. Rileys were tough and as she’d so recently pointed out, far too jaded for an artist with mermaid hair and a gift for finding the beauty in everything. Including him.

“Come in out of the sun,” Patricia said. “You need to hydrate.”

“Mom.” He shook his head, cutting her off. “It was only a week.”

“A week in hell from what we saw.”

He winced at her choice of words. Charlotte had felt the same way. “I’m all right. I know the drill. I’ll have water even though I want a beer. And I’ll get something to eat in a bit.”

Just as soon as he was sure his stomach would tolerate real food. He understood his physical limitations. He was having a harder time accepting the boundless and unfamiliar emotions that being with Charlotte had dredged up.

He walked toward the stern of the cutter, letting the breeze from the ocean blow over him. Could he live without her?

Of course.

Did he want to?

No. Unfortunately he was certain she’d be better off without him underfoot, forcing her to consider the less beautiful side of life. That was the crux.

Eaton might be out of the picture, but the end of one crisis didn’t change Mark’s career path. His office wasn’t in a sleek high-rise with normal hours and holidays off. He didn’t wear a suit—he wore body armor and carried weapons as needed.

“Mark?”

Charlotte’s voice interrupted his internal reality check. He turned, thankful she was alone.

She’d washed her hair and left it loose. That damp strawberry blond cloud flowed in waves past her shoulders. Mermaid hair, he thought again, half expecting her to dive into the water and disappear with a flash of a glimmering tail.

“How are you feeling?” they asked each other in unison.

“You first,” he said, gripping the rail. If he moved, it would be to wrap her in his arms. If she rejected the advance, it would be the catalyst of a breakdown his mother was braced for.

Charlotte swallowed, her lips twitching to one side.

His body jerked, wanting desperately to bury his nose in her hair and breathe in the love and peace she’d once offered. Instead he held his ground. He could handle whatever rejection or blame she dished out.

He deserved that and so much more.

* * *

Charlotte wanted to burrow close, but he stood there so stiff and aloof. He looked clean and fresh and strong as if the scrapes and bruises she could see weren’t real. And whatever soap he’d used smelled so tantalizing she had to work to keep her distance.

“I’m tired,” she admitted, answering his question at last. “In a weird I-don’t-want-to-sleep way.”

“I get that. It will pass.”

His guarded expression bothered her. Though he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How many stitches did you need?”

“Maybe a dozen. I was too annoyed with the ham-fisted medic to keep track.”

She wanted to turn him around, lift his shirt and see for herself. She had a ridiculous urge to inventory his wounds as she kissed each one. But this wasn’t the man who teased and joked and showed her tenderness while saving her from certain death on a deserted island. This was the guy no one could get close to. He was the warrior again, eager to be done with the niceties and get back to work.

Would he push her away if she admitted she needed a hug? His hug. She shouldn’t ask this man for just one more minute of listening to his steady, reassuring heartbeat under her ear. Fighting tears, she turned her face to the breeze and did her best to breathe through it. Pain would fade.

“Charlotte?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you needed stitches.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t heard him, so lost in her own agony. “No. Nothing worse than a scrape.” She tugged a strand of hair away from her cheek. “You.” Her breath caught. “Thank you for taking the brunt of—” What did you call the ordeal they’d survived? “—everything out there,” she finished.

“I’m sorry you were caught up in Eaton’s vendetta against my family.”

Looking at him, she could almost see the shiny new walls he’d rebuilt to protect himself. Though he would say he was protecting her from him. Hadn’t he learned anything about her?

She wasn’t half as fragile as he thought. Being an artist was no picnic. Something deep inside her clicked. She couldn’t let him off that easy. He might turn her aside, but she wasn’t going without a fight.

“I love you, Mark. Whatever else is going on in your head or heart, I hope you can hear that much.”

“Charlotte.”

She knew that tone. “Careful,” she said, holding up a finger. “Don’t give me lines about survival and stress-induced confusion. My feelings for you were clear before this mess, during the mess and they remain crystal clear now. It would be nice to know how you’re feeling.”

She felt her heart crack when he hesitated. Her pulse seemed to slow down, reverberating in her ears.

“Charlotte, it isn’t that simple.”

The fight of a moment ago faded out of her. “It is, actually.” She’d been so sure he’d seen her as an independent, separate woman. Not an extended family member, more than a friend or a damsel in distress. “This isn’t an ultimatum or a challenge. It’s just love.” She stepped closer and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “And it’s all for you. Be well, Mark.”

He needs more time, a small voice in her head whispered through her mind as she walked away. After all, he hadn’t been crushing on her half his life. Even so, waiting for him to come around felt weak and pathetic.

“Charlotte.”

“What?”

“I am in love with you.” He rubbed his sternum as if the admission caused him physical pain. How was that any better than saying nothing? “The part of me that wants what’s best for you isn’t so impressed by what I feel.”

He looked so confused she almost relented. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with my opinion of what’s best for me?”

“Probably.” His lips twitched. “Definitely.”

She stepped close to him again and eased his hand from the railing, lacing her fingers through his. She lifted their joined hands to her lips and kissed his battered knuckles. The smallest of his injuries, those scrapes signified so much more to her. His determination, his fight, his courage. His ability to coax the best from her in the worst circumstances. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Thank you for never giving up on me,” she said.

He drew her close, finally, his body warm and solid as his arms surrounded her. He was her perpetual safe place. “I could say the same to you,” he murmured into her hair.

“Please don’t let this be the end.” She couldn’t regret the small plea. Her entire reason for seeking him out before he slipped away was to be honest and open and leave no room for misunderstandings.

“Being a military wife is enough of a challenge. Being married to a SEAL takes it to another level. You’ll resent me for leaving, always at the worst times, and just when you’re comfortable in an area, the navy will send us to a new base.”

Was that a proposal? Did he hear what he was saying? “Your parents and mine have both managed military careers,” she pointed out.

“You’re not them. You’re special. Precious.”

Her temper flared. “Be very careful with your next words, Mark Riley.”

“You’re an artist. You need good light and time and a cheering section.”

She eased back, just enough to get his attention and keep her focus. “Love is its own kind of light,” she said. “Trust, commitment and joy add color to the world and to my work. Which piece of that do you think I’m lacking?”

“None of it.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m in love with you, Charlotte.”

“And I love you too. Doesn’t that put us ahead of the game from the start?”

He shook his head and a swell of sympathy washed over her. “Then what are you afraid of?” she asked gently.

“I’m terrified of the day you walk out on me, fed up with the life I sucked you into.”

Her heart ached anew. “That’s not giving either one of us much credit.” She stroked his windblown hair back from his forehead. “We’re better than that and much better together. Look what we accomplished with a few bottles of water and a flare gun.”

His brown eyes filled with grief and doubt rather than laughter as she’d hoped. “You need to be able to realize your dreams, Charlotte. Galleries, showings and healthy, beautiful inspiration. I’ve been too scared to ask what you want next.”

“Mark, you are my inspiration. Long before we wound up on that island.” She laid a hand over his heart. “Choosing to make a life with you isn’t any risk in my mind. The thought of weaving my future with yours only fills me with confidence. Your goals or mine, we can reach them together.”

“Are you proposing to me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Why not? I have to say I think it’s better than the antiproposal you made a few minutes ago.”

He frowned. “You’d really want to be my wife?”

“I’ve stated my case,” she said. “My heart’s yours, Mark Riley. It’s been yours for so long that together or apart won’t change things.”

He heard the combined voices of their parents approaching and leaned over to the aft rail. “Do you trust me?”

She did, despite the wicked spark in his eye. “You know I do.”

He clasped her hand and led her down a narrow stairwell. “Go, go,” he said quietly. He hurried toward the lifeboat and helped her into it.

She smothered a giggle as she realized what he was doing. “You’re stealing your dad’s sailboat?”

“And you are my accomplice.” He winked and gave her a quick kiss. “I warned you that life with me would be trouble.”

At the sailboat, he helped her up the ladder, and tied the lifeboat to the line so the coast guard could reel it in.

“How will our parents get home?”

“They’re smart. Let them solve their own problems. You and I need some time alone, to recover from our ordeal.”

She looked around. “Are you sure the two of us can handle this?” she asked, a little overwhelmed by the unfurled sails, the tall mast and the various lines.

“A SEAL and his future bride can handle anything.”

She liked the sound of that.

He started the motor quickly and put some distance between them and the cutter before turning back and coming alongside.

“Are you stealing my boat?” his father called out in his booming command voice.

“Yes, General, I am,” Mark shouted. “We’ll meet you at the house in a few days. Maybe a week.”

“Take your R&R,” Charlotte’s dad said with a laugh.

“But don’t you dare elope!” her mother added.

“Yes, sir. Ma’am.”

Charlotte blew kisses to their parents as her future husband sailed away, leaving laughter in their wake.

Hours later, with the sun setting over the Florida Keys, offshore and alone, they finally made love and gave each other the words and touches that mattered most. It was better than any of her fantasies.

Afterward, brimming with happiness, she snuggled under a blanket, her back to Mark’s chest as they shared a bottle of good wine under the stars. Loving him, telling him, was the best thing she’d done with her life.

“I’ll resign if you want,” he said abruptly.

She twisted around, startled that he’d brought this up again. “Why would I want you to leave a career you love? You wouldn’t ask that of me.”

“Your career doesn’t put you in the crosshairs,” he pointed out.

She arched an eyebrow.

“Well, hopefully not ever again,” he allowed.

“I’ll make you a promise,” she began, pleased when his eyes sparkled. “Whatever comes our way, we’ll go on as we’ve started. There isn’t any challenge we can’t overcome together.”

“As long as we celebrate every joy the same way,” he said.

“Now you’re getting it.” She kissed him tenderly, her heart full to bursting. Despite everything she’d imagined, it was even more wonderful to feel her lifelong crush blooming into a lasting love.

* * * * *

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ISBN-13: 9781488064340

Escape with the Navy SEAL

Copyright © 2020 by Regan Black

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Colton 911: Ultimate Showdown

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