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Christmas Justice
Robin Perini


The new Sheriff in Trouble, Texas, had a lot to prove. The last thing needed was a gorgeous CIA analyst getting in his way - at Christmastime no less! Trouble’s newly minted sheriff, Garrett Galloway, is determined to move on from his traumatic past. But when Laurel McCallister tracks him down and begs for help, he can’t say no to the smart, beautiful CIA analyst. She’s desperate to find the assailant who killed her niece’s family - and now wants her dead. On the run, Garrett, Laurel and her young niece escape to a Texas ranch, but danger follows. Garrett’s courage lessens Laurel’s initial distrust of the mysterious lawman and sparks fly in the remote cabin. Now he must succeed for more reasons than avenging Laurel’s family.









“I can tell when you’re lying, Garrett. Your eyes grow dark, and the right corner of your mouth tightens.”


Would his mouth be hard or soft, passionate or gentle against hers when they kissed?

“I don’t want you,” he said as he moved closer to her lips.

“You’re bluffing.”

“You’re too trusting.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “But I don’t have the strength to pull away.”

She smiled. “Now you’re telling the truth.”

With a groan he fastened his lips to hers. She didn’t hesitate. She clung to him and let his mouth drive away the memories of the past week. For this wonderful moment all she could think about was his touch.

He lifted his head. “Be very sure, because I won’t let you go all night long.”




Christmas Justice

Robin Perini





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


Award-winning author ROBIN PERINI’s love of heart-stopping suspense and poignant romance, coupled with her adoration of high-tech weaponry and covert ops, encouraged her secret inner commando to take on the challenge of writing romantic suspense novels. Her mission’s motto: “When danger and romance collide, no heart is safe.”

Devoted to giving her readers fast-paced, high-stakes adventures with a love story sure to melt their hearts, Robin won a prestigious Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award in 2011. By day she works for an advanced technology corporation, and in her spare time you might find her giving one of her many nationally acclaimed writing workshops or training in competitive small-bore-rifle silhouette shooting. Robin loves to interact with readers. You can catch her on her website, www.robinperini.com (http://www.robinperini.com), and on several major social-networking sites, or write to her at PO Box 50472, Albuquerque, NM 87181-0472, USA.


With love to my aunts, Gayle, Earlene, Sissy (Lynn) and Barbara. I’m blessed to know you are always there.

No matter what.


Contents

Cover (#u8703efc5-0b7a-572d-a092-f13bde8c71d4)

Introduction (#ue9b610d0-e8f5-597b-b695-2c44f9d4dc2a)

Title Page (#u8d8372c3-1247-5ddb-a82b-9cad07aad0cc)

About the Author (#u44378ddb-034d-5fad-af09-80354b1a4a5e)

Dedication (#u02859f3a-6bac-5e1c-a126-a017c2c7a1a3)

Prologue (#uc7bedded-7100-572b-9d79-2aeb69410822)

Chapter One (#ua83cfbaa-5b8c-51d1-a9cb-73dba7058a08)

Chapter Two (#uf11805b5-6ee3-58fa-a37f-8e56b9b26680)

Chapter Three (#u3b77eb14-4e7e-5893-b694-563558b898f7)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_b1b48149-5ccb-5215-9578-ae1168309452)

Today was no ordinary day.

Normally Laurel McCallister would have adored spending an evening with her niece Molly, playing princesses, throwing jacks and just being a kid again, but tonight was anything but typical. Laurel let the wind-driven ice bite into her cheeks. She stood just inside the warm entry of her sister’s Virginia home, staring out into the weather to see the family off to the local Christmas pageant. Her fist clutched the charm bracelet Ivy had forced into Laurel’s hand.

A gift from their missing father.

He’d been incommunicado for over two months. Then suddenly the silver jewelry had arrived in Ivy’s mailbox earlier that day. No note, only her father’s shaky handwriting on the address label, and postmarked Washington, D.C. Laurel squeezed the chain, quelling the shiver of foreboding that hadn’t left her since Ivy had shown her the package. Her sister had told her they needed to talk about it. Tonight. The news couldn’t be good, but it would have to wait.

Bracing against the cold, she met her sister’s solemn gaze, then picked up her five-year-old niece. Laurel snuggled Molly closer. At the end of a bout of strep throat, the girl had insisted on waving goodbye to her mother. Ivy returned the farewell wave from across the driveway, apprehension evident in her eyes. And not typical mom-concern-for-her-youngest-daughter’s-health worry.

Laurel scanned the rural setting surrounding Ivy’s house. With the nearest neighbors out of shouting distance, it should be quiet. And safe. Laurel might only be a CIA analyst, but she’d completed the same training as a field operative. She knew what to look for.

Nothing seemed off, and yet, she couldn’t stop the tension knotting every muscle, settling low in her belly. For now, her sister and brother-in-law refused to let the trepidation destroy Christmas for the kids, but Laurel had recognized the strain in her sister’s eyes, the worry on her brother-in-law’s brow. Too many bad vibes filtered beneath the surface of every look her sister had given her.

Laurel touched the silky blond hair of her youngest niece.

Molly stared after her mother, father, brother and sister, her baby blues filled with tears. “It’s not fair. I want to go to the pageant. I’m supposed to be an angel.”

The forlorn voice hung on Laurel’s heart. She placed her hand on the little girl’s hot forehead. “Sorry, Molly Magoo. Not with that fever.”

Ivy bundled Molly’s older brother and sister into the backseat of the car. Laurel sent her sister a confident nod, even though her stomach still twisted. She recognized the same lie in her sister’s eyes. They were so alike.

One of the kids—it must have been Michaela—tossed a stuffed giraffe through the open car door. Ivy shook her head and walked a few paces away to pick up the wayward animal.

Laurel started to close the door. “Don’t worry, Molly. They’ll be back s—”

A loud explosion rocketed the night, and a blast of hot air buffeted Laurel. She staggered back. The driver’s side of the SUV erupted into flames. Fire and smoke engulfed the car in a hellish conflagration. Angry black plumes erupted into the sky.

God, no! Laurel’s knees trembled; she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. Horror squeezed her throat. She wrenched Molly toward her, turning the little girl away from the sight, but Laurel couldn’t protect Molly. Her niece had seen too much. Molly’s earsplitting screams ripped the air.

No sounds came from the car. Not a shout, not a yell.

Laurel had to do something.

“Stay here!” She scrambled through the door, racing across the frozen yard. She glanced back; Molly had fallen to the floor in tears. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut against the heart-wrenching cries, then snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Help! There’s been an explosion.”

Blazing heat seared Laurel’s skin. It wasn’t a typical car fire. It burned too hot, too fast. Laurel choked back the truth. This wasn’t just any bomb. This was a professional hit. A hit like she’d read about in dossiers as part of her job with the CIA.

Unable to look away, she stared in horror at the interior of the car. In a few minutes, nothing would be left. Just ash. They wouldn’t even be able to tell how many people had been in the car.

The phone slipped from her fingers.

Ivy’s family was gone. No one could have survived. Frantically, Laurel searched for her sister. Her heart shattered when she saw the smoking body lying several feet away from the car. She ran to Ivy and knelt next to her sister’s body, the right side blackened and burned beyond recognition, the left blistered and smoldering.

“Laur—” the raspy voice croaked.

“Don’t talk, Ivy.” Laurel couldn’t stop her tears. She could hear her niece’s wails from inside the house, but Ivy. God. Her clothes had melted into her skin.

Ivy shifted, then cried out in agony. “Stupid,” she rasped. “Not c-c-careful enough. Can’t...trust...”

“Shh...” Laurel had no idea how to help. She reached out a hand, but there wasn’t a spot on Ivy not burned. She was afraid to touch her sister. Where was the ambulance?

Ivy coughed and Laurel bent down. “Don’t give up. Help is coming.”

“Too late. F-find Garrett Galloway. Sheriff. Tell him...he was right.” Ivy blinked her one good eye and glanced at the fire-consumed vehicle. A lone tear pooled. “Please. Save. Molly.” The single tear cut through the soot, and then her eyes widened. “Gun!”

Laurel’s training took over. She plastered herself flat to the ground. A shot hit the tree behind her. With a quick roll, she cursed. Her weapon was locked up in the gun safe inside the house. A loud thwack hit the ground inches from her ear. The assault had come from the hedges.

“Traitor!” Ivy’s raspy voice shouted a weak curse.

Another shot rang out.

The bullet struck true, hitting Ivy right in the temple.

Horrified, Laurel scampered a few feet, using the fire as a shield between her and the gunman. She panted, ignoring the pain ripping through her heart. She would grieve later. She had one job: protect Molly.

Sirens roared through the night sky. A curse rang out followed by at least two sets of footsteps, the sound diminishing.

Thank God they’d run. Laurel had one chance. She flung open the door and grabbed a sobbing Molly in her arms. She hugged her tight, then kicked the door closed.

Through the break in the curtains, she watched. A squad car tore into the driveway. No way. That cop had gotten here way too fast. Laurel pressed Molly against her, then locked the dead bolt.

She sagged against the wall. “Oh, Ivy.”

“Aunt Laurel?” Molly’s small voice choked through her sobs. “I want Mommy and Daddy.”

“Me, too, pumpkin.”

Laurel squeezed her niece tighter. She had two choices: trust the cop outside or follow her sister’s advice.

After the past two months... She slipped the bracelet from her father into her pocket, then snagged a photo from the wall. Her sister and family, all smiles. She had no choice. The high-tech bomb, the cop’s quick arrival. It smelled of setup.

Laurel raced through the house and grabbed Molly’s antibiotics and the weapon from the gun safe, half expecting the cop to bang on the door. When he didn’t, Laurel knew she was right. She peeked through the curtains. Her sister’s body was gone. And so was the police car.

The flames sparked higher and Laurel nearly doubled over in pain.

The sound of a fire engine penetrated the house. No time left. She snagged the envelope her father had sent and stuffed it into a canvas bag along with a blanket and Molly’s favorite stuffed lion.

She bundled Molly into her coat, lifted her niece into her arms and ran out the back door. Laurel’s feet slapped on the pavement. She sprinted down an alley. Shouts rained down on her. Smoke and fire painted the night sky in a vision of horror. One she would never forget.

She paused, catching her breath, the cold seeping through her jacket.

“Aunt Laurel? Stop. Mommy won’t know where to find us.” Molly’s fingers dug into Laurel’s neck.

Oh, God. Poor Molly. Laurel hugged her niece closer. How could she explain to a five-year-old about bad people who killed families?

Laurel leaned against the concrete wall, her lungs burning with effort. She wished she didn’t understand. She wished she could be like Molly. But this wasn’t a child’s cartoon where everyone survived even the most horrendous attacks. Reality meant no one had a second chance.

Laurel had to get away from the men who had shot at her, who had killed her sister and her family.

But Laurel didn’t know what to believe. Except her sister’s final words.

Which left her with one option. One man to trust.

Garrett Galloway.

Now all she had to do was find him.


Chapter One (#ulink_5203fc50-096b-5557-89e1-95f93f7273df)

Normally Trouble, Texas, wasn’t much trouble, and that was the way Sheriff Garrett Galloway liked it. No problems to speak of, save the town drunk, a few rambunctious kids and a mayor who drove too nice a car with no obvious supplemental income.

Garrett adjusted his Stetson and shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to ward off the December chill. He’d hidden out in Trouble too long. When he’d arrived a year ago, body broken and soul bleeding, he’d trusted that the tiny West Texas town would be the perfect place to get lost and stay lost for a few months. After all, the world thought he was dead. And Garrett needed it to stay that way.

Just until he could identify who had destroyed everyone he loved and make them pay. He’d never imagined he’d stay this long.

But the latest status call he’d counted on hadn’t occurred. Not to mention his last conversation with his mentor and ex-partner, James McCallister, had been much too...optimistic. That, combined with a missed contact, usually meant the operation had gone to hell.

Garrett’s right shoulder blade hiked, settling under the feel of his holster. He never left home without his weapon or his badge. He liked to know he had a gun within reach. Always. The townsfolk liked to know their sheriff walked the streets.

He eyed the garland-and tinsel-laden but otherwise empty Main Street and stepped onto the pavement, his boots silent, no sound echoing, no warning to anyone that he might be making his nightly nine o’clock rounds.

James McCallister’s disappearance had thrown Garrett. His mentor had spent the past few months using every connection he’d made over his nearly thirty-year career, trying to ferret out the traitor.

Big risks, but after a year of nothing, a few intel tidbits had fallen their way: some compromised top secret documents identifying overseas operatives and operations, some missing state-of-the-art weapons. The door had cracked open, but not enough to step through.

Garrett didn’t like the radio silence. Either James was breaking open the case or he was dead. Neither option boded well. If it was the first, Garrett contacting him would blow the whole mission; if the second, Garrett was on his own and would have to come back from the dead.

Or he could end up in federal prison, where his life wouldn’t be worth a spare .22 bullet.

With his no-win options circling his mind, Garrett strode past another block. After a few more houses, he spied an unfamiliar dark car slowly making its way down the street.

No one drove that slowly. Not in Texas. Not unless they were up to no good. And no one visited Trouble without good reason. It wasn’t a town folks passed through by chance.

His instincts firing warning signals, Garrett turned the corner and disappeared behind a hedge.

The car slowed, then drove past. Interesting.

Could be a relative from out of town, but Garrett didn’t like changes. Or the unexpected. He headed across a dead-end street, his entire body poised and tense, watching for the car. He reached the edge of town and peered through the deserted night.

Nearby, he heard a small crack, as if a piece of wood snapped.

No one should be out this way, not at this time of night. Could be a coyote—human, not the animal variety. Garrett hadn’t made friends with either one during the past year.

He slid his Beretta 92 from his shoulder holster and gripped the butt of the gun. Making a show of a cowboy searching the stars, he gazed up at the black expanse of the night sky and pushed his Stetson back.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cloaked figure ducking behind a fence: average height, slight, but the movements careful, strategic, trained. Someone he might have faced in his previous life. Definitely. Not your average coyote or even criminal up to no good. James McCallister was the only person who knew Garrett was in Trouble, and James was AWOL.

The night went still.

Garrett kicked the dirt and dusted off his hat.

His muscles twitchy, he kept his gun at the ready, not wanting to use it. This could be unrelated to his past, but he needed information, not a dead body on the outskirts of his town. What happened in Trouble stayed in Trouble, unless the body count started climbing. Then he wouldn’t be able to keep the state or the feds out.

He didn’t need the attention.

He could feel someone watching him, studying him. He veered off his route, heading slightly toward the hidden figure. His plan? Saunter past the guy hiding in the shadows and then take him out.

He hit his mark and, with a quick turn on his heel, shifted, launching himself into a tackle. A few quick moves and Garrett pushed the guy to the ground, slid the SIG P229 out of reach and forced his forearm against the vulnerable section of throat.

“What do you want?” he growled, shoving aside his pinned assailant’s hood.

The grunts coming from his victim weren’t what he’d expected. With years of experience subduing the worst human element, he wrestled free his flashlight and clicked it on.

Blue eyes full of fear peered up at him. A woman. He pressed harder. A woman could kill just as dead. Could play the victim, all the while coldheartedly planning his demise. He wasn’t about to let go.

The light hit her face. He blinked back his surprise. He knew those eyes. Knew that nose.

Oh, hell.

“Laurel McCallister,” he said. His gut sank. Only one thing would bring her to Trouble.

His past had found him. And that meant one thing. James McCallister was six feet under, and the men who wanted Garrett dead wouldn’t be far behind.

* * *

THE PAVEMENT DUG into Laurel’s back, but she didn’t move, not with two hundred pounds holding her down. He’d taken her SIG too easily, and the man lying on top of her knew how to kill. The pressure against her throat proved it.

Worse than that, the sheriff—badge and all—knew her name. So much for using surprise as an advantage.

She lay still and silent, her body jarred from his attack. She could feel every inch of skin and muscle that had struck the ground. She’d be bruised later.

Laurel had thought watching him for a while would be a good idea. Maybe not so much. Ivy might have told her to trust Garrett Galloway, Sheriff of Trouble, Texas, but Laurel had to be cautious.

The car door opened and the thud of tiny feet pounded to them. “Let her go!” Molly pummeled Garrett’s back, her raised voice screeching through the night in that high-pitched kid squeal that raked across Laurel’s nerves.

He winced and turned to the girl.

Now!

Laurel kicked out, her foot coming in contact with his shin. He grunted, but didn’t budge. She squirmed underneath the heavy body and pushed at his shoulders.

“Molly, get back!”

The little girl hesitated, sending a shiver of fear through Laurel. Why couldn’t her niece have stayed asleep in the car, buckled into her car seat? Ever since that horrific night four days ago, she couldn’t handle Laurel being out of sight, knew instinctively when she wasn’t near.

Suddenly, Garrett rolled off her body, slipped her gun into his hand and rose to his feet with cougarlike grace. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt either of you.” He tucked her weapon into his pants and stared her down.

She sucked in a wary breath before her five-year-old niece dived into her arms. “Are you okay, Aunt Laurel?”

She wound her arms around her niece and stared up at Garrett, body tense. “You’re my hero, Molly.” She forced her voice to remain calm. At least the little girl hadn’t lost the fire in her belly. It was the first spark Laurel had seen from her since the explosion.

Molly clutched at Laurel but glared at Garrett.

He struggled to keep a straight face and a kindness laced his eyes as he looked at Molly.

For the first time in days, the muscles at the base of Laurel’s neck relaxed. Maybe she’d made the right decision after all.

Not that she’d had a choice. There’d been nothing on the national news about her family. No mention of gunfire or Ivy being killed by a bullet to the head. There had been a small piece about an SUV burning, but they’d blamed a downed power line. That was the second Laurel had known she was truly on her own.

Until now.

She hated counting on anyone but herself. She and her sister had been schooled in that lesson after their mother had died. With their father gone, Ivy and Laurel had been pretty much in charge of each other.

But Laurel was out of her league. She knew it. She didn’t have to like it.

She held Molly closer and studied Garrett Galloway. Something about him invited trust, but could she trust her instincts? Would this man whose expression displayed an intent to kill one moment and compassion the next help her? She prayed her sister had been right, that he was one of the good guys.

Garrett tilted back his Stetson. “I could have...” He glanced at Molly, his meaning clear.

Laurel got it. She and Molly would be dead...if he’d wanted them dead.

“...already finished the job,” he said harshly. “I’m not going to.”

“How did you know my name?”

He raised a brow and slipped his Beretta into the shoulder holster and returned her weapon. “I know your father. Your picture is on his desk at...work.”

His expression spoke volumes. She got it. Garrett had worked with her father in an OGA. While the CIA had a name and a reputation, her father’s Other Government Agency had none. Classified funding, classified missions, classified results. And the same agency where Ivy had worked. Alarm bells rang in Laurel’s head. Her sister had sent Laurel to a man working with the same people who might be behind the bomb blast. And yet, who better to help?

Garrett held out his hand to her. “You look like you’ve been on the road awhile,” he said. “How about something to eat? Then we can talk.”

Laurel hesitated, but what was she supposed to do? She’d come to this small West Texas town for one reason, and one reason only. To find Garrett Galloway.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. He could have stepped off the set of a hit television show in his khaki shirt, badge, dark brown hat and leather jacket. Piercing brown eyes that saw right through her.

If she’d imagined wanting to ride off into the sunset with someone, it would be Garrett Galloway. But now that she’d found him, what was she going to do with him?

He didn’t pull back his hand. He waited. He knew. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet. Molly scrambled up and hid behind Laurel, peering up at Garrett.

He cocked his head at the little girl. Laurel sucked in a slow breath. Molly’s face held that fearful expression that hadn’t left her since they’d run from Virginia, as if any second she might cry. But then her eyes widened. She stared at Garrett, so tall and strong in his dark pants and cowboy boots, a star on his chest.

He was a protector. Laurel could tell and so, evidently, could Molly.

Garrett met her gaze and she recognized the understanding on his face. “Come with me,” he said quietly.

“I have my car—”

He shook his head. “Grab your things and leave it. If anyone followed, I don’t want them to know who you came to see.”

“I was careful. I spent an entire extra day to get here due to all the detours.”

“If you’d recognized you had a tail, you’d already be dead.” His flat words spoke the truth of the danger they were in. He walked over to the vehicle and pulled out the large tote she used as a suitcase, slinging it on his shoulder opposite his gun hand. All their belongings were in the bag. “Until I’m certain, we act like you have one.”

Laurel stiffened. In normal circumstances she could take care of herself and Molly. As if sensing her vulnerability, Garrett stepped closer.

“You came to me,” Garrett said. “You may have blown my cover. You need to listen.”

He was on assignment. She should have known.

She prided herself on her self-reliance, her ability to handle most any situation, but his expression had gone intense and wary, and that worried her. Ivy had been a skilled operative. She had always been careful, and she was dead. Laurel had to face reality. She’d jumped into the deep end of the pool her first day on the run and Garrett Galloway was the lifeguard.

She swallowed away the distaste of having to rely on him, nodded and lifted Molly into her arms. “How far?”

“Across town,” he said, his gaze scanning the perimeter yet again.

“A few blocks, then?” Laurel said with an arch of her brow.

Garrett cocked his head and one side of his mouth tilted in a small smile. His eyes lightened when he didn’t frown.

“Let’s go.”

One block under their feet had Laurel’s entire body pulsing with nerves. She’d never seen anyone with the deadly focus that Garrett possessed. He walked silently, even in boots, and seemed aware of each shadow and movement.

Suddenly he stopped. He shoved her and Molly back against the fence, pulling his gun out. Then she heard it. The purr of an engine. It grew louder, then softer. He relaxed and tilted his head, looking from Laurel to Molly. “Let’s move.”

Molly gazed up at him, her eyes wide. She looked ready to cry. He tilted the Stetson on his head. “You ready for something to eat, sugar?” He gifted her with a confident smile.

Just his strong presence soothed Molly. For Laurel, his nearness had the opposite effect. She wanted to pull away, because the draw she felt—the odd urge to let herself move into his arms—well, that was something she hadn’t felt before. She’d never allowed herself to be this vulnerable. Not ever.

He could snap her neck or take her life, but he might also do worse. This man could take over and she might lose herself.

A dog’s howl broke through the night, followed by more barking. As Garrett led them through the town in silence, Molly clung to Laurel. Her eyes grew heavy and her body lax. The poor thing was exhausted, just like her aunt.

Garrett matched his steps with hers. “Whatever brought you here, it was bad, wasn’t it?” He bent toward Laurel, his breath near her ear, the words soft.

She couldn’t stop the burning well of tears behind her eyes. She had no reserves left. She wanted nothing more than to lean closer and have him put his arm around her. She couldn’t. She recognized her weakness. Her emotions hovered just beneath the surface, and she’d be damned if she’d let them show.

In self-preservation, she tilted her head forward, expecting her long hair to curtain her face, to hide her feelings, but nothing happened. She ran a hand through the chopped locks. Gone was her unique titian hair, and in its place, she’d dyed it a nondescript brown that stopped at her chin. She had to blend in.

“I understand,” he said, his voice gruff. “Better than you know.”

Before Laurel could ponder his statement, he picked up the pace. “My house is ten minutes away. Across Main and around a corner two blocks.”

With each step they took, the blinking lights and garlands, then the tinsel, came into full effect. He paused and shifted them behind a tree, studying the street.

Molly peered around him, her small mouth forming a stunned O. “Aunt Laurel, lookie. It’s Christmas here.” The little girl swallowed and bowed her head until it rested on Laurel’s shoulder. “Our Christmas is far away.”

Laurel patted her niece’s back. “Christmas will follow us, Molly Magoo. It might be different this year, but it will still happen.”

Molly looked at her, then at the decorations lining the town, her gaze hopeful. “Will Mommy and Daddy come back by then?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Laurel whispered. She didn’t know what to say. Even though Molly had seen the explosion, she still hadn’t processed the reality that her mother, father, brother and sister were never coming back.

She gritted her teeth. As a grown woman, she didn’t know how long it would take her to accept her family’s death. That she was alone in the world. Except for Molly.

“We need to move fast.” Garrett held out his arm. Main Street through Trouble wasn’t much. Two lanes, a single stoplight. “Go.” They were halfway to the other side when an engine roared to life. Tires squealed; the vehicle thundered directly at them.

Garrett pushed them behind a cinder-block wall, dumped the tote, then rolled to the ground, leaving himself vulnerable.

A spray of gunfire ratcheted above Laurel’s head as she hit the ground. Molly cried out. Laurel covered the little girl’s trembling body and pulled her weapon. She lifted her head, scooting forward. To get a clean shot, she’d have to leave Molly. Bullets thwacked; concrete chips rained down. Laurel tucked Molly closer, gripping the butt of her gun.

A series of shots roared from behind the wall.

Skidding tires took off.

At the sound, Laurel eased forward, weapon raised. She half expected the worst, but Garrett lay on the ground, still alive, his gun aimed at the retreating SUV. He squeezed off two more rounds, then let out a low curse.

She couldn’t catch her breath. They’d found her.

“What’s going on out there?” An old man’s voice called out, and the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun seared through the dark.

“I’m handling it, Mr. McCreary,” Garrett called out. “It’s Sheriff Galloway. Get back inside.”

A door slammed.

Garrett held his weapon at the ready for several more seconds, then picked up his phone. “Shots fired just off Oak and First, Keller,” he said to his deputy. “Activate the emergency system and order everyone to stay inside. I’ll get back to you when it’s clear.”

He shoved the phone in his pocket and ran to Laurel. “Everybody safe?”

Molly sobbed in Laurel’s arms. She clutched the girl tighter. Laurel didn’t know how much more her niece could take.

“Come on.” Tension lining his face, he scooped up Molly. His boots thudded on the ground; Laurel carried their belongings and her footsteps pounded closely behind. He led them down an alley to the rear of a row of houses. Then, when he reached the back of one house, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “We’ve got to get out of sight. Plus, I have supplies to gather. Then we need a safe place to hole up.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I brought this to you.”

He gave a curt nod. “Who knew you were coming to Texas?”

“No—no one.”

“Who told you about me? Your father?” Garrett said.

“My...my sister.”

“Ivy?” Garrett’s brow furrowed. “She worked for the agency, but we never tackled an op together.”

Laurel bit her lip. “My sister said your name with her dying breath. She said to tell you that you were right.”

* * *

THE SUV THUNDERED down the highway and out of Trouble. Mike Strickland slammed his foot on the accelerator and veered onto an old dirt road leading into the hellish West Texas desert. When he finally brought the vehicle to a halt, he slammed it into Park and pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Son of a bitch. Who was that guy?”

“The law,” his partner, Don Krauss, said, his tone dry. “You see the badge?”

Krauss could pass for everyman. He was great to have on the job because he excelled at blending into the background. His medium brown hair, medium eyes, medium height and nothing-special face got lost in a crowd.

Strickland had a tougher time. A scar from his marine stint and his short hair pegged him as ex-military. He could live with that. He tended to work the less subtle jobs anyway. But Krauss came in handy for gathering intel.

“No sheriff has reflexes like that,” Strickland said. “She should be dead. They both should be.”

“The girl avoided us for four days, and she’s just an analyst, even if she does work for the CIA. She’s smart. Switched vehicles twice and never turned on her cell phone.” Krauss tapped the high-tech portable triangulation unit.

All this equipment and a girl in a beat-up Chevy had driven over halfway across the country and avoided them. “She got lucky.” Strickland frowned.

Krauss let out a snort. “No, we got lucky when she used her ATM for cash. The only stupid move she made, but she cleaned out her account. We won’t be lucky again. And now she’s got help.” He hitched his foot on the dash. “If Ivy talked—”

“I know, I know.” Strickland scratched his palm in a nervous movement. In four days the skin had peeled, leaving it red, angry and telling. Not much made him nervous, but his boss... He forced his hand still and gripped the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching his fists against the vinyl. “We can fix this. Forensics will be sifting through what’s left of that car for weeks. I made sure it burned hot, and I’ve got friends in the local coroner’s office. If they stall long enough for us to provide two more burned bodies, no one will ever know. Everyone will believe the woman and girl died that night along with the rest of her family.”

“You blew her head off,” Krauss said. “Cops had to notice.”

“It hasn’t been on the news, has it?” Strickland said with a small smile.

Krauss shook his head. “I figured they were holding back details as part of the investigation.”

“Hell, no. First guy there threw her into the fire. Everyone else is keeping mum. They think it’s national security.”

“Lots of loose ends, Strickland.”

“I got enough on my contacts’ extracurricular activities. They won’t be talking anytime soon. They know the rules.” Strickland slid a glance at his partner. “You read the paper? Remember last year, that dead medical investigator? I had no choice. He was a loose end. Like the boss says, loose ends make for bad business.”

Krauss tugged a toothpick from his pocket. “Guess the boss was right in choosing you for this one, because we have two very big loose ends.” He turned in the seat, his normally sardonic expression solemn. “You ever wonder how we ended up working for that psycho? ’Cause I’m starting to regret every job we do.”

“For the greater good—” Strickland started, his entire back tensing. He cricked his neck to the side.

“Yeah, I might have believed that once,” Krauss said.

“Don’t.” Strickland cut him off. “Don’t say something I’ll have to report.”

“Says the man who’s hiding his screwup.”

“I don’t plan to be on the receiving end of a lesson,” Strickland said. “You talk and we’re dead. Hell, we’re dead if we don’t fix this.”

“I know,” Krauss said, his voice flat. “I got a family to protect. Let’s get it done fast, clean up and get the hell out of this town. I already hate Trouble, Texas.”

“No witnesses. Agreed?” Strickland turned the motor on.

“The sheriff, too? Could cause some publicity.”

“This close to the border, this isolated, there’s lots of ways to die.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_8519897a-12ae-5063-9647-c67759d3d86b)

“I was right. Great, just great,” Garrett said under his breath, cradling a sobbing Molly in his arms.

He rocked her slightly. She tucked her head against his shoulder and gripped his neck, her little fingers digging into his hair. He held her tighter while his narrowed gaze scrutinized the alley behind his house. A chill bit through the night, and Molly shivered in his arms. He needed to get them both inside and warm, but not in the place he’d never called home.

Another thirty seconds passed. No movement. The shooter probably didn’t have an accomplice, but he couldn’t assume anything. Assumptions got people dead.

A quick in and out. That was all he needed.

He led Laurel into the backyard of the house James McCallister had purchased on Garrett’s behalf and closed the gate. He wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. His time in Trouble had ended the moment he’d tackled Laurel to the ground.

But he needed his go-bag and a few supplies. On his own, it wouldn’t have mattered. He shifted Molly’s weight in his arms. These two needed more shelter than to camp out in the West Texas desert in December.

Molly clung to him tightly. He rubbed her back and his heart shifted in his chest. God, so familiar. The memories of his daughter, Ella, flooded back. Along with the pain. He couldn’t let the past overcome him. Not with these two needing him. He led them to the wood stack.

“Give me a minute,” he whispered. “Stay out of sight, and I’ll be right back.”

He tried to pass Molly to Laurel, but the little girl whimpered and gripped him even tighter.

“It’s okay, sugar. Your aunt Laurel will take good care of you.”

With one last pat, he handed Molly to Laurel, his arms feeling strangely empty without the girl’s weight. Laurel settled her niece in her arms, her expression pained. He understood. “She’s just afraid,” he said.

“I know, and I haven’t protected her.” Laurel hunkered down behind the woodpile. She pulled out her pistol. “I won’t fail again.”

Laurel McCallister had grit, that was for sure. He liked that about her. “I’ll be back soon.”

He sped across the backyard, slipped the key into the lock and did a quick sweep of the house, eyeing any telling details. He couldn’t leave a trace behind. Nothing to lead any unwelcome visitors to his small cattle ranch in the Guadalupes or to his stashed money and vehicle.

Garrett pressed a familiar number on his phone.

“Sheriff? What happened? Practically the whole town is calling me.” Deputy Keller’s voice shook a bit.

“Old man McCreary’s not putting a posse together, right?” Garrett had a few old-timers in this town who thought they lived in the 1800s. This part of Texas could still be wild, but not that wild.

“I talked his poker buddies out of encouraging him,” Keller said. “It’s weird ordering my old high school principal around.”

Garrett pocketed a notebook and a receipt or two, then headed straight for his bedroom. “Look, Keller, I’ll be incommunicado tracking this guy. I don’t want to shoot anyone by mistake. Keep them indoors.”

“You need me, Sheriff?”

“Man the phones and keep your eyes out for strangers, Deputy. Don’t go after them, Keller. Just call me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garrett ended the call. If the men following Laurel and Molly had a mission, his town was safe. Assassins tended to have singular focus. He probably wasn’t the target, except as an opportunity. Still, Ivy had known his name. She’d said he was right. He couldn’t be certain how much of his identity had been compromised.

If anyone had associated Derek Bradley with Garrett Galloway before today, he’d already be dead. He might still have surprise on his side, but he couldn’t count on it. And if he’d been right...well, that was all fine. It didn’t make him feel any better. There was a traitor in the agency, and he didn’t know who. Ivy’s message hadn’t identified the perp.

Garrett grabbed his go-bag from the closet, then opened a drawer in his thrift-store dresser. He eased out an old, faded photo from beneath the drawer liner.

“It’ll be over soon.” He glanced at the images he’d stared at for a good two hours after his shift earlier. Hell, it was almost Christmas.

Tomboy that she’d been, his daughter, Ella, would have been after him about a new football or a basketball hoop, while Lisa would’ve rolled her eyes and wondered when her daughter might want the princess dress—or any dress, for that matter. His throat tightened. He’d never know what kind of woman Ella would have become. Her life had ended before it had begun.

Garrett missed them so much. Every single day. He’d survived the injuries from the explosion for one reason—to make whoever had murdered his family pay. He wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved his goal. He’d promised them. He’d promised himself.

He ground his teeth and stuffed the photo into the pocket of his bag. The perps should already be dead. He and James had failed for eighteen months and now...what the hell had happened? Now James’s daughter Ivy had paid the ultimate price. And Laurel was on the run.

James was... Who knew where his mentor was?

The squeak of the screen door ricocheted through the house. He’d been inside only a few minutes. He slipped his gun from his shoulder holster and rounded into the hall, weapon ready.

Laurel stilled, Molly in her arms. “She has to go to the bathroom,” she said with a grimace.

“Hurry,” Garrett muttered, pointing toward his bedroom. “We can’t stay. I wore my uniform and badge tonight. If they saw it, they’ll find this place all too easily.”

Laurel scurried into his room and Garrett headed to the kitchen. By the time they returned, he’d stuffed a few groceries into a sack. “Let’s go.”

Gripping his weapon, he led them outside. The door’s creak intruded on the night, clashing with the winter quiet. Pale light bathed the yard in shadows. A gust of December wind bit against Garrett’s cheeks. A tree limb shuddered.

He scanned the hiding places, but saw no movement, save the wind.

Still, he couldn’t guarantee their safety.

“Where are we going?” Laurel asked, her voice low.

Garrett glanced at her, then Molly. “I have an untraceable vehicle lined up. We’ll hole up for the night. You need rest. Then after I do a bit of digging, we’ll see.”

Laurel had brought his past to Trouble. No closing it away again. If his innocent visitors weren’t in so much danger, Garrett would have welcomed the excuse to wait it out. His trigger finger itched to face the men responsible for killing his wife and daughter. Except a bullet was too good for them. They needed to die slowly and painfully.

Garrett might have failed to protect his family once, but he wouldn’t allow their killer to escape again. He didn’t particularly care whether he left the confrontation alive, as long as the traitor ended up in a pine box.

He just prayed he could get these two to safety before the final battle went down.

* * *

LAUREL STOOD ALONE just behind a hedge at the end of the alley, out of sight, squeezing the butt of her weapon in one hand, balancing Molly against her with the other. Garrett had risked crossing those streets to retrieve his vehicle, putting himself in the crosshairs in case the shooters came back.

Every choice he’d made focused on protecting them, not himself. She shivered, but it wasn’t the winter chill. She’d made a choice eighteen hundred miles ago to come here. Garrett’s immediate response to their arrival had frozen her soul. Now instinct screamed at her to run, to disappear, to try to forget the past and somehow start over.

Maybe she should. He knew what they were up against. He was worried. Maybe vanishing would be easier. She didn’t see Garrett Galloway as a man who would give up easily. But sometimes accepting the reality and moving on was the only way to survive.

A dark SUV pulled into the alley, lights off. Garrett stepped out. “Laurel?” he whispered, searching the hedges with his gaze.

She almost stayed hidden, frozen for a moment. She had some cash. People lived off the grid all the time. So could she.

She could feel his penetrating gaze, compelling her to trust him. What was it about him...?

With a deep, determined breath, she stepped out from behind the hedge. Beads of sap still stuck to her pants from hiding in the firewood pile. The scent of pine flashed her back to memories of camping and fishing and running wild without a care in the world. Her heart broke for Molly. Could Laurel help her niece find that joy after everything that had happened?

Laurel was so far out of her element. She’d taken a leap of faith coming to Trouble and to Garrett, trusting her sister’s final words. Her sister had known she was dying; she wouldn’t have steered Laurel into danger. Laurel could only pray she had understood Ivy correctly.

She carried Molly to the vehicle. Garrett didn’t say anything, but his dark and knowing eyes made Laurel tremble. Did he know she’d almost taken off?

“You decided not to run,” he said, opening the door. “I pegged it at a fifty-fifty chance.”

He could see right through her. She didn’t like it. “I almost did,” she admitted. “But I can’t let them get away with what they’ve done.” She pushed back a lock of Molly’s hair and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Our lives have been turned upside down. Can you help us?”

She didn’t usually lay her vulnerabilities out so easily, but this was life and death. She needed his help. They both knew it.

He gave her a sharp nod. “I’ll do what I can.”

She placed Molly in the backseat and buckled her up. Laurel climbed in beside her. She tucked the little girl against her side. “Where to?”

“I contacted a friend. We need food for a few days. He runs the local motel and does some cooking on the side.” Garrett paused. “I don’t know how long we’ll be on the road. His sister is about your size. I noticed that Molly has a change of clothes, but not you.”

Laurel could feel the heat climb up her face at the idea he’d studied her body to determine her size. But he was right. They’d left so quickly, she hadn’t had time to do more than purchase a few pairs of underwear at a convenience store. How many men would even think about that?

Garrett didn’t turn on the SUV’s lights. He drove the backstreets, then pulled up to the side of the Copper Mine Motel behind a huge pine tree, making certain the dark vehicle was out of sight from the road. A huge, barrel-chested man with a sling on one arm eased out of the side door. His wild hair and lip piercing seemed at odds with his neatly trimmed beard, but clearly he’d been on the lookout for them.

Garrett rolled down the passenger-door window. “Thanks, Hondo.”

The man stuck his head inside and scanned Laurel and Molly. The little girl’s eyes widened when she stared at his arm. “Who drew on you?” she asked.

Hondo chuckled. “A very expensive old geezer, little lady,” he said. He placed a large sack on the seat, then a small tote. “You’re right, Sheriff. She’s about Lucy’s size. These clothes are brand-new. Just jeans and some shirts and a few unmentionables.” His cheeks flushed a bit.

Laurel scrambled into her pocket and pulled out some bills. “Thank—”

Hondo held up his hand. “No can do.” He looked at the sheriff. “If you want them to stay here—”

“After what happened last time, Hondo, I won’t let you risk it. Thanks, though.” Garrett handed Hondo his badge. “When folks start asking, give this to the mayor.”

“Sheriff—”

Laurel clutched the back of the seat, her fingers digging into the leather. She wanted to stop him from giving up his life, but she’d brought trouble to his town. She’d left him with no choice.

“We all have a past, Hondo. Mine just happened to ride in tonight. Something I have to deal with.”

Hondo nodded, and Laurel recognized the communication between the two men. The silent words made her heart sink with trepidation.

“Keep an eye on Deputy Keller. He’s young and eager, and he needs guidance.” Garrett drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Come to think of it, you’d make a good sheriff, Hondo. You’ve got the skills.”

“Nah.” Hondo’s expression turned grim. “I won’t fire a gun anymore, and I couldn’t put up with the mayor. He’s a—” Hondo glanced at Molly “—letch and a thief.”

“And willing to take a payoff. I should know. It’s how I became sheriff.”

Hondo’s eyebrow shot up. “You still did a good job. Best since I’ve lived here.”

Garrett shrugged and shifted the truck into Drive. “Goodbye, Hondo.”

A small woman with wild gray hair shuffled out of the motel, a bandage on her head. “Hondo?” her shaky voice whispered. “Cookies.”

Hondo’s expression changed from fierce to utter tenderness in seconds. “Now, sis, you’re not supposed to be out of bed. You’re just out of the hospital.” He sent Garrett an apologetic grimace.

“But you said you wanted to give them cookies,” she said, holding a bag and giving Hondo a bright smile.

Laurel studied the woman. She seemed so innocent for her age, almost childlike.

The older woman’s gaze moved to Garrett and she smiled, a wide, naive grin. “Hi, Sheriff. Hondo made chocolate chip today.”

“We can’t say no to Hondo’s famous cookies, Lucy.”

Garrett’s smile tensed, and his gaze skirted the streets. Did he see something? Laurel peered through the tinted windows. The roads appeared deserted.

Lucy passed the bag to Hondo. An amazing smell permeated the car through the open window.

Molly pressed forward against her seat belt. “Can I have one, Sheriff Garrett?”

Hondo glanced at Laurel, his gaze seeking permission. She nodded and Hondo pulled a cookie from the bag. “Here you go, little lady.”

With eager hands, Molly took the treat. She breathed in deeply, then stuffed almost the entire cookie into her mouth.

Lucy giggled. “She’s hungry.”

Hondo placed a protective arm around his sister. “They’ve got to leave, Lucy. Let’s go in.”

She waved. “’Bye.” Hondo led her back into the house, treating her as if she were spun of fragile glass.

Garrett rolled up the window, lights still off. He turned down the street. “She was shot in the head a couple months ago. We didn’t think she’d make it.”

Laurel wiped several globs of chocolate from Molly’s mouth. “You’ve made a place for yourself in this town.” She resettled the sleepy girl against her body. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say?

“They’ll find someone else. Things will continue just as they did before I came to Trouble.”

The muscle at the base of his jaw tensed, but Laurel couldn’t tell if he really didn’t mind leaving or if something about this small town had worked its way under his skin. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, so she kept quiet and studied the route he took. Just in case.

He headed west down one of the side streets almost the entire distance of town.

Laurel couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Where are we going?”

Garrett met her gaze in the mirror. “I’m taking the long way to the preacher’s house. The church auxiliary keeps it ready, hoping they can convince a minister to come to Trouble. It’s been empty for almost a year.”

“We’re just hiding across town?”

“Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight,” Garrett said. “Besides, I want to do a little searching online. See what I can discover about your sister.”

“There was never a news report on the car bomb,” Laurel said quietly. On the way here, she’d searched frantically at any internet café or library she could. She kept expecting some news story on an investigation, but she’d seen nothing except a clipping about a tragic accident. In fact, they’d simply stated the entire family had perished in a vehicle fire.

She hugged Molly closer.

They’d lied.

“That tells us a lot.” Garrett stopped in the driveway of a dark house, jumped out and hit a code on a small keypad. The garage door rose.

“Small towns,” he said with a smile when he slid back behind the wheel. “I check the house weekly.”

“Is it safe?”

“The men who took the shot will assume we’re leaving town. I would. And I don’t want to be predictable.”

He pulled the SUV into the garage. The automatic door whirred down behind them, closing them in. Laurel let out a long breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.

“We’re safe?”

“For the moment,” Garrett said, turning in his seat. “We need to talk.” His gaze slashed to Molly, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. Alone.

“I know.” Laurel bit her lip. She didn’t know much. She’d hoped Garrett would somehow have all the answers, that he could just make this entire situation okay.

It wouldn’t be that simple. She clutched Molly closer. Laurel had no idea how they would get out of this situation alive.

* * *

THE INKY BLACK of the night sky cloaked Mike Strickland’s vehicle. Stars shimmered, but it was the only light save a few streetlights off in the distance. Trouble, Texas, was indeed trouble.

“They couldn’t have just vanished.” Strickland slammed his fist onto the dash of the pickup he’d commandeered. He’d switched license plates and idled on the outskirts of town, lights off, in silence. He tapped a number into his cell.

“They come your way?” he barked.

“Nothing,” Don Krauss said through the receiver, his voice tense. “There are only two roads into town.”

“But a lot of desert surrounding it,” Strickland muttered in response to his partner’s bad news. “We need satellite eyes.”

Krauss let out a low whistle. “You request it, the boss’ll wonder why.”

Strickland activated his tablet computer. The eerie glow lit the cab. “You see the history on this sheriff? Garrett Galloway?”

“Yeah,” Krauss said. “So?”

“It’s perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, his backstory is perfect. He grew up in Texas. Went to school at Texas A&M. Joined the corps there. Got a few speeding tickets. Headed to a small town, ran for sheriff.”

“Like a thousand other Texas sheriffs.”

“Everybody’s got something. No late taxes, no real trouble. It feels wrong,” Strickland said quietly.

Silence permeated the phone. “What are you thinking?”

“You saw his moves. He didn’t learn those in college. Maybe Laurel McCallister didn’t get here by chance. Who comes this close to nowhere on a whim?” Strickland glanced around. “And we’re at the frickin’ end of the earth.”

“Still doesn’t help to explain if the boss asks about using the satellite.”

“I’ll say it’s a hunch.”

Strickland could almost see his partner’s indecision. “You gotta learn to take risks, Krauss. If we don’t get rid of those two, we’re dead. But if my hunch is right, and Garrett Galloway isn’t just some hick sheriff, we might be able to feed the boss something new.”

“And save our skin. I like it.”

“Keep digging on Galloway. Even the best slip up sometimes.”

“I’m on it. What do we do until then?”

“I’m contacting headquarters. I want to see a sweep of this part of Texas from the time we arrived until now. This place is dead at night. I want to know who’s been moving around and which way they went.”

“This could go to hell real fast, Mike.”

Strickland scratched his palm. “We just need one break, Krauss. One opening, and our targets won’t live long enough to disappear again.”

* * *

A DIM LIGHT illuminated the preacher’s garage. A plethora of boxes provided too many invisible corners and a variety of spooky shadows along the walls. Laurel shivered, but slid out of the car anyway. She bundled Molly into her arms before following Garrett into the preacher’s house. He carted in the supplies while she scanned the kitchen, studying each corner, each potential hiding place, each possible weapon. One thing she’d learned in her job: details mattered.

Laurel stepped into the living room. A front door and a sliding glass back door. Not exactly secure. And, of course, doilies everywhere.

The muscles in her shoulders bunched and she cocked her hip. Molly grew heavier and heavier with each movement. She walked back into the kitchen. The decor erupted with grapes and ivy.

So very different from Garrett’s house. She’d seen enough of the place to know it hadn’t been a home to him, just a way station.

With a sigh, she sat down at the table, shuffling Molly in her lap. She and Garrett needed to talk, but not with Miss Big Ears listening to every word. Molly let out a small yawn. The girl had to be exhausted, but she wouldn’t be easy to put down. Even then, the nightmares came all too easily. “Do you have any milk?”

“Warm?” he asked, searching through a couple of cabinets. He pulled out a small saucepan before Laurel could answer.

She nodded. Molly sat up and rubbed her eyes, a stubborn pout on her lip. “I don’t want milk. This isn’t home. I want my mommy and daddy. I want Matthew and Michaela.”

Laurel froze. Molly hadn’t mentioned her brother’s and sister’s names since they’d left Arlington. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat. “I want them, too, honey. But we have to hide. Like a game.”

“I don’t like this game. You’re mean.”

The girl’s lower lip stuck out even farther and her countenance went from stubborn to mutinous. She crossed her arms, and all Laurel could see in her niece’s face was an enraged Ivy. Some might think she could wait Molly out, but her niece could be as tenacious as...well, as Laurel herself.

“It’s late, Molly.” Her tone dropped, words firm and short. She didn’t want to have another drawn-out adventure getting the little girl to bed. Before the car bombing, it had taken some cajoling, at least two stories and two tiny glasses of water before she could get the child to close her eyes. Now...Molly didn’t fall asleep until her poor body simply rebelled. “It’s time for bed.”

“Then why aren’t you having hot milk, too?” Molly scrunched her face and crossed her arms.

Garrett turned around. “We’re all having warm milk, and I made you a very special recipe,” he said, adding a dash of sugar and a little vanilla and nutmeg to the cups he held.

He set a plastic cup in front of Molly and a glass mug in front of Laurel, then brought over a plate of vanilla wafers. The aroma mingled in the air around them, and Laurel sighed inside. It smelled like home and family. She swallowed briefly, her eyes burning at the corners.

Garrett took a seat, the oak chair creaking under his weight. His large hands rounded the cup. He raised it to his lips, sipped and stared at Molly. She glared back, but when he licked his lips, dunked a vanilla wafer into his cup and bit down, she leaned forward and took a small sip from her cup.

Molly’s eyes widened a bit and she tasted more. “Wow. That’s yummy. But I want chocolate chip.”

“Glad you think so.” He slid one of Hondo’s cookies toward the little girl and she gifted Garrett with an impish smile.

He winked at Molly, who downed another gulp. Laurel couldn’t resist, even though she detested the drink. She chanced a taste. The nutmeg and vanilla hit her tongue with soothing flavors. “Mmm. How’d you come up with this recipe?”

“My wife invented it, actually. Put our daughter to sleep.” A shadow crossed his face, then vanished just as quickly. “They’re gone now.”

“My mommy and daddy and brother and sister are gone, too,” Molly said with a small yawn. “I hope they come back soon.”

Laurel bit her lip to keep the sob from rising in her throat. “Is there someplace I can settle her down?”

Molly’s body sagged against Laurel. A few more minutes and the little girl wouldn’t be able to fight sleep any longer.

“Pick a room,” Garrett said. “I’ll check the perimeter and secure the house.”

He strode toward the door.

“Garrett,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Laurel. Thank me when this is over. Until then, I may just be the worst person you could have come to for help.”

* * *

GARRETT STOOD SILENTLY in the kitchen doorway as Laurel padded into the living room.

“She asleep?”

Laurel whirled around. Then her head bowed as if it were too heavy for her shoulders. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, the utter exhaustion in every step.

“She was bushed. It’s been a rough few days. She just downed the last of her medicine, so hopefully the strep throat is gone.”

He tilted his head toward the sofa. “You look ready to collapse. Have a seat. My deputy’s been busy tonight calming the town. He received a report of an SUV speeding out of town early tonight. I told him to keep out of sight but watch for it. If they’re smart, they’ll dump the vehicle.”

“But they won’t give up,” Laurel said.

“I doubt it.”

Laurel lowered herself to one end of the sofa, twisting her hands on her lap. “You work for the agency? With my father?”

Garrett sat in the chair opposite her. “In a way.” No need to volunteer that he was off the roll. If the agency didn’t think he was dead, he’d probably be awaiting execution for treason.

Just one of many reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to get too close to Laurel.

But even as he faced her, he felt the pull, the draw. And not because she was gorgeous, which she was, even with that horrible haircut and dye job. Beauty could make him take notice just like any man, but that didn’t turn him on half as much as how she’d fallen on top of Molly to protect her.

She was a fighter—a very good thing. She’d have to be for them to get out of this mess alive.

Which put her off-limits. That and the fact that she was James’s daughter.

“Your father trained me,” Garrett said, trying not to let himself get lost in his attraction for her. “He saved my life, actually.”

Laurel tucked her legs beneath her. “I thought it had to be something like that. I used to watch Dad train in the basement when I was a kid. I recognized that move when you dived to the ground.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Ivy worked every night to perfect it. In spite of Dad.”

“I heard about the destruction to his office. I don’t think James wanted her to join up.”

“He was furious, but Ivy has...had,” she corrected herself, “a mind of her own.” Her voice caught and her hands gripped her pants, clawing at the material. “Dad raised us to be independent. She wanted more than anything to follow in Dad’s footsteps. She wanted to make the world safe.”

Laurel’s knuckles whitened and she averted her gaze from his. Every movement screamed at him not to push. Garrett could tell she was barely holding it together, and if she’d given him the slightest indication he would have crossed the room and pulled her into his arms and held her. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, studying her closely. He hated to ask more but he needed information. He had to know. She might not even be aware of the information she possessed. “Where’s James, Laurel?”

Her breath shuddered and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know. He stopped calling or emailing two months ago. Then out of nowhere a package arrived this week. He sent a charm bracelet to Ivy.”

This week. So if James had really sent the package, he’d been alive a week ago. Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “Did you bring it?”

Laurel pulled a silver bracelet from her pocket. She touched the small charms and the emotions welled in her eyes. Reluctantly she handed it to him. “Ivy shoved it into my hand as she was leaving that night...” Her voice broke. “She said it was important.”

He studied the silver charms. Nothing extraordinary. A wave of disappointment settled over him. Surely there was something here. He studied each silver figure, looking for a clue, a message from James. A horse, a dog. A seashell. Several more. Nothing that Garrett understood, but he’d bet Laurel had a story to tell about each one. The question was, did any of those stories have a hidden message? He handed her back the treasure.

“Tell me about the figures.”

She walked through a series of memories. A trip to the ocean with the family right before her mother passed away. Their first dog and his predilection for bounding after fish in freezing mountain streams just to shake off and soak everyone. A horse ride that ended in a chase through a meadow. Her voice shook more with each memory, but the hurt didn’t provide anything new. Garrett couldn’t see a connection.

He let out a long, slow breath. He had to ask. “How did Ivy die?”

Laurel stared down at the floor. He knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes even looking at another human being could let loose the tears. After Lisa and Ella, he hadn’t allowed himself to give in to his emotions. He’d shoved the agony away, buried it in that corner of his mind where it wouldn’t bring him to his knees. Garrett had focused on revenge instead. He’d had to in order to survive.

But since Laurel had landed underneath him on the streets of Trouble, the pain he’d hidden had begun scraping at him, digging itself out.

She didn’t look up. She simply twisted the denim fabric in her fists. “The explosion burned Ivy almost beyond recognition. She lived. She gave me your name. Then they shot her in the head.”

Her voice strangely dispassionate, she went through every detail. When she told him about the single cop’s arrival, Garrett closed his eyes. At least one law-enforcement officer on the take. Probably more.

Asking for help was out of the question. And with James AWOL, they were on their own. She knew it. So did Garrett.

Laurel lifted her lashes and silent tears fell down her cheeks. She wouldn’t be facing this alone. In a heartbeat, Garrett knelt at her feet. He pulled her into his arms and just hugged her close.

She clung to him with a desperation he understood. Her fingers dug into his arms. The tiny tremors racing through her tore at his heart. Laurel’s heart was broken, and she had a little girl who needed her to be strong.

Laurel needed him, but his body shook as the memories assaulted him. How many nights had he dreamed of his wife and daughter calling out to him, begging for him to save them? But Laurel’s pleas were real, in every look, in every touch as she clung to him.

The similarities between Ivy’s death and his wife’s and daughter’s couldn’t be denied. He’d find the culprits this time. They wouldn’t get an opportunity to hurt anyone else.

Garrett stroked Laurel’s back slowly, but she didn’t let him go. Her grip tightened.

His pocket vibrated. With one arm still holding Laurel close, he tilted his phone’s screen so he could see it. He blinked once at the number. The country code was too familiar. Afghanistan.

“Hello?” He made his greeting cautious, unidentifiable. This was Sheriff Garrett Galloway’s phone and number. No one from Afghanistan should know it. That was a life he’d hidden away.

“Garrett?” A weak voice whispered into his ear. A voice he knew.

“James?”

Laurel froze in his arms.

“Garrett, listen to me. The operation has been compromised. Go to Virginia. Get my daughters to safety. They’re in danger.”

“James, Laurel is with me. What’s going on? Where have you been?”

“Oh, God,” James cursed. “Ivy knows too much. You have to get her out of there.”

Garrett nearly cracked. He didn’t want to tell his old friend the worst news a man could receive. Garrett knew the pain of losing a child. Your heart never recovered.

Laurel snagged the phone away from Garrett. “Daddy?” she shouted.

“Laurel, baby. Don’t believe what anyone tells you,” James said, his voice hoarse. “Promise.”

Shouts in Arabic reverberated through the phone. “Find him!”

“Laurel,” James panted. “Remember. Ivy’s favorite toy.”

A spray of gunfire exploded through the speaker.

The phone went silent.


Chapter Three (#ulink_9b5fa633-d14d-5922-9317-0d3a1ce2356c)

The phone slipped from Laurel’s hand. Her father couldn’t be gone. “Daddy?” Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor. She looked up to Garrett. “Get my father back, please.”

Garrett scooped up the phone and pocketed it. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her. Laurel grasped at him. Her mind had gone numb. She couldn’t feel a thing.

With silent steps he carried her to the sofa and sat down on the smooth leather, anchoring her beside him. “Laurel.” He used a finger to force her to meet his gaze. “Stay with me, honey.”

Her body shuddered, and she couldn’t stop the trembling. This couldn’t be happening. She wanted to bury herself in Garrett’s arms and just forget everything. Pretend the past few days hadn’t happened. But she couldn’t.

Molly. Molly needed her.

She fisted the material of her jeans, fighting to calm the quake that threatened to overtake her. She had to know. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My father? H-he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Laurel hated the words coming out of her mouth. The last bit of childish hope, that her father would rescue her and Molly, disintegrated into a million tiny pieces.

Garrett’s face resembled a stone statue. He gave nothing away from his expression. He didn’t have to say anything.

A burning crept behind her eyes and she pressed the heels of her hands against them, trying to curtain the emotions. “God.”

James McCallister had always been invincible. But after the past few months, when she and Ivy had been braced for the worst, for a few brief moments tonight Laurel had gotten her father back.

Now she’d lost him again. Maybe for good this time.

“So many bullets flying,” she said, her voice hushed. “How could he possibly survive?”

He hugged her close. “James is smart. And resourceful. If anyone can survive out there, your father can. Right now, I’m more worried about you.”

Garrett pulled a small leather case from his pocket and unzipped it before grabbing a small screwdriver. He pulled his cell from his pocket and opened the phone. Quickly, he popped the battery and a small chip from the device and tossed it onto the coffee table before tucking his kit back in his jacket.

“You removed the GPS.” The truth hit her with the force of a fist to the chest. “If they’re tracing his calls, they know our location. That’s what I do for the CIA. Track locations from cell towers and satellites.”

“Then you know we can’t stay here.” Garrett stood.

Laurel swiped at the few tears that had escaped. “How long do we have?” She wasn’t stupid. She made her living analyzing data. A price came with being connected at all times. Cell phones, computers, tablets, internet—everyone left a trail. She rose from the couch, her body slightly chilled once she left the warmth of his. She shouldn’t get used to it. She knew better. “I’ll get Molly.”

At her turn, Garrett touched her arm, stopping her. “I’ll see you through this.”

Laurel paused. “I’ve driven clear across the country, and a phone call from Afghanistan is bringing whoever killed my family down on top of us...and you. How can it ever be all right? How can I ever keep Molly safe?”

The question repeated over and over in her mind. She knew better than most people how easy it was to track virtually anyone down. Biting her lip, she hurried into the bedroom and wrapped the blankets around Molly. There was no telling where they’d end up.

Molly squirmed a bit. “Aunt Laurel?” she whispered.

“Go back to sleep, Molly Magoo.”

“I had a bad, bad dream,” she said.

“I’ve got you,” Laurel whispered. “I won’t let you go.” She hugged Molly tight, humming a few bars of “Hush, Little Baby.” Thankfully, Molly snuggled closer, yawned and settled back to sleep.

Laurel exited the bedroom, hurrying to the garage door. It squeaked and she paused, praying Molly wouldn’t wake up.

Her niece didn’t budge. The dim garage light shone down. Garrett shoved a few last boxes into the back of his SUV and opened the back door, a tender expression when he looked at the sleeping girl in Laurel’s arms pushing aside the intensity of just a moment ago. “You better do it. Better if she sleeps.”

Laurel gently settled Molly onto the backseat, snapping the seat belt around her.

Garrett closed the door, his movements almost too quiet to hear. “Watch her. I’m going to wipe the house down.”

Laurel gave him a quick nod and he disappeared into the house. When he returned, he stuffed a microfiber cloth into his jacket pocket, hit the garage-door opener and slid into the SUV beside her. “Fingerprints would make it too easy for them,” he said. “You’re on file with the FBI because of your clearance, and so am I.”

With a quick turn of the key in the truck, the engine purred to life. He quickly doused the automatic lights and pulled out slowly.

After pressing the outside code, the garage door slid down. The house appeared vacant again.

Laurel looked through the windshield, right, then left, then behind. Tension shivered between them.

Garrett maneuvered onto the deserted street, still without headlights. Trouble had gone to sleep. He didn’t plan on anyone waking up as they left town.

He didn’t need lights to see anyway. The church auxiliary had gone and wrapped every lamppost and streetlight with garland and twinkle lights, ribbon and tinsel. With each gust of wind the decorations clattered against metal, leaving his neck tense and his hair standing on end.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. God, he hated Christmas. Hated the memories it evoked. But at least the bulbs lit their way through Trouble.

“Where are we going?” Laurel asked, still alert and searching the surrounding landscape for anything out of the ordinary.

“The middle of nowhere,” Garrett said. “Even though some consider Trouble just this side of nowhere.”

The vehicle left the city limits, only a black expanse in front of them. This part of West Texas could seem like the end of the world at night, the only light the moon and stars above.

“They’ll keep looking for us,” Laurel said. “They want us dead.”

“No question.” Garrett watched the rearview mirror, but no lights pierced the black Texas night. So far, so good.

Laurel shifted in her seat beside him, peering out the front windshield. “It’s so—”

“Dark?” Garrett finished.

She glanced over at him, her face barely visible from the light of the dashboard dials. “I’ve never seen the sky so black.”

“When I first moved here from the East Coast, I couldn’t get over how bright the stars shone or how dark the countryside could be.”

“You didn’t grow up around here?”

Garrett quirked a smile. “I was an army brat. I’m from everywhere, but we were never stationed in Texas.”

Laurel’s eyebrow quirked up. “I’d have taken you for a Texas cowboy.”

“I was for a while.”

But not anymore.

Garrett focused on the white lines of the road reflecting in the moonlight. No lights for miles around. The tension in his back eased a bit. They were alone.

“It’s spooky,” Laurel said, her voice barely a whisper. “No sign of civilization.”

“You lived on the East Coast all your life?” he asked.

“Dad’s job has always been headquartered in D.C. He’d leave town...” Her voice choked. “Someone has to know where he was,” she said.

Garrett had been mulling that over. James had been his sole contact since Garrett’s attack. He had no backup. No one he could trust.

“What about Fiona?” Laurel’s voice broke through the night.

“You know about her?”

“I’m not supposed to. Dad tried to keep his personal life separate, but a few years ago, we caught them at a restaurant. They looked really happy. I’m surprised he hasn’t married her. From what we figured out, he’s dated her for at least five years.”

“More like six,” Garrett said. “Though I’m surprised he took her out into public. They work together. That was a huge risk.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Fiona might be the only person we can trust. She could get at his travel records.”

“She could get him backup.” Laurel flipped open a cell phone. “He needs help.”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s prepaid,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

Garrett snatched the phone from her. “Not from here. I have equipment we can use to call her. It’s more secure. For both of us. We don’t want to place her in danger either.”

“Dad needs help now.”

“James either made it out of that situation alive and is hiding, or there’s nothing we can do to help him.”

A small gasp escaped from her. Garrett cursed himself, lowering his voice. “Look, I don’t mean to be callous, but your dad wanted you safe. That meant more to him than his life or he wouldn’t have called. We have to be careful, Laurel. We’re alone in this right now, and we have to choose our allies carefully. One slipup...” He let the words go unsaid.

One mistake and they’d finish the job on him and Laurel and Molly would vanish without a trace.

“I understand,” she said finally, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t have to like it.” She twisted in her seat. “So, this place we’re going... How’d you get a secure system?”

“Your dad set it up while I was...incapacitated.”

Almost dead.

A small dirt road loomed at the right. Garrett passed it by, drove another ten miles, then pulled off onto a county road heading toward a mine.

“Are we getting close?”

“As close as things get in West Texas,” Garrett said. He turned off the lights and the motor. The residual heat would keep them warm for a while.

“We’re stopping? We’re not that far from town.”

Garrett leaned back in his seat and turned his head. “We’re waiting. If your tail followed, they should show up soon enough.”

Thirty minutes later, the air in the vehicle had chilled. Molly whined in the backseat, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. Garrett cast one last look down the desolate road, then turned the key, and the engine purred to life. He pulled onto the highway, heading back in the direction they’d come.

“You’re cautious,” Laurel said.

“I’m alive when I shouldn’t be.” Words more true than he could ever articulate.

“Who are you? Really.” She shifted and moonlight illuminated her suspicious expression. “Why did Ivy send me to you?”

The tires vibrated over the blacktop. Garrett refused to let the question distract him. The men following her were good, and he couldn’t risk them being seen. Besides, he couldn’t tell her. He knew James wouldn’t have mentioned his new identity, and if Garrett revealed his previous name, she’d recognize it. As a traitor and a spy.

James had given testimony about Garrett’s many infractions. The world had believed the agency’s statements. Congress and the covert community trusted James McCallister. Without fail. He might not be a man the public would ever recognize, but in the intelligence community, James McCallister was a legend. The man’s lies had saved Garrett’s life. And made it so he could never go back. Not unless he wanted a target on his back.




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