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San Antonio Secret
Robin Perini
A San Antonio rodeo may hold the key to finding the truth behind two missing people! When Sierra Bradford's best friend and goddaughter are abducted, she vows to find them at any cost. Even if that means teaming up with former Green Beret Rafe Vargas, who's come to her aid…and not for the first time. But their powerful attraction is growing out of control!


A San Antonio rodeo may hold the key to finding the truth behind two missing people
When Sierra Bradford’s best friend and goddaughter are abducted, she vows to find them at any cost. Sierra—shot at the scene of their kidnapping—checks in to a motel to treat her wounds. It’s there that she encounters former Green Beret Rafe Vargas, who’s come to her aid…and not for the first time. As his best friend’s sister, Sierra is off-limits. But that hardly stops a powerful attraction from growing as they work together on an undercover sting operation to find her friend’s adbuctors. Under the guise of a rodeo cowboy and his pregnant wife, Rafe and Sierra come to find out that the rodeo may be the key to their investigation—and their possible future.
Her eyelids snapped open, expression foggy with sleep.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep.
She blinked. Her hand gripped his chest hair. She moved her leg slightly against his hip. Her eyes widened; her cheeks reddened.
The pulse at the base of her throat accelerated. Her pupils dilated.
She didn’t move. She pressed closer.
His heart leaped away. The burn simmering inside his gut exploded. He shook with the effort to maintain control.
He couldn’t look away. She’d captured him with her gaze. He held his breath.
“Rafe,” she whispered. Her tongue dampened her lips.
“You should move.” He cleared his throat. “Or I should.”
She lifted her hand from the bare skin of his chest. She nodded in agreement, tossing a wave of disappointment and resignation through him.
He allowed his hands to fall back to the sheets. All for the best. But right now he had to get away from here. He needed that shower or to dunk himself into a tub of ice. “I think I’d better—”
“Don’t think,” Sierra whispered.
San Antonio Secret
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. 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.
For my agent, Jill Marsal, and my editor, Allison Lyons.
I’m blessed to have you in my corner during the good times and the bad.
Thank you. For everything.
Contents
Cover (#ubbe76a21-6800-5074-a50b-b8b45bf54079)
Back Cover Text (#u18931818-d74d-562f-aa16-cff7961521fd)
Introduction (#ucfdb24b3-c38a-51bf-89fc-ac04814decfc)
Title Page (#u875f804b-1ba8-51f5-b3d1-092693509b7b)
About the Author (#ud29886cd-87ae-5cda-b0f9-4c8bcc06b495)
Dedication (#u4af151ba-c734-5c18-a31b-cee3cf2df707)
Prologue (#u171b75e3-2aa4-577b-8a4d-7529fe7a2d7b)
Chapter One (#u9cddf357-1610-5af6-af02-0af2178d8e3c)
Chapter Two (#u38a17bf2-04ad-5899-81bf-08c893956c0e)
Chapter Three (#ub5a6a1a7-0bed-516f-94e8-beb9f93cb6e3)
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)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u74658c77-9505-53bc-8f18-7d7dafc5aec2)
Two months ago, Denver, Colorado
Dreary November clouds hung low and menacing, blocking out the clear blue of the Denver sky. Small pricks of ice laced the air, but Rafe Vargas didn’t feel the cold, even as a puff of visible breath escaped his lips. His focus lasered on the door of the warehouse.
Most of the block was deserted, but orange caution tape and cones peppered the streets. Not surprising. Rafe didn’t have to walk inside the building to know dynamite and detonator cords crisscrossed the location. This entire block of downtown had been scheduled to be dust in a matter of minutes. Covert Technology Confidential’s resident geek, Zane Westin, better be right about the target’s coordinates.
Rafe tugged the stocking cap around his ears to camouflage his identity, bowing his head to avoid providing the surveillance camera a clear image of the patch covering his left eye. That psycho serial killer Archimedes needed to believe the man currently sneaking into the building was Rafe’s best friend and fellow CTC operative, Noah Bradford, otherwise two women might die: the woman Noah guarded and had fallen in love with, and the one Rafe had flown across the country to rescue, Noah’s sister, Sierra.
Archimedes was attempting to use her as leverage to stop Noah’s investigation. Rafe wasn’t about to let that happen, but if he had a prayer of getting her out alive, he had to locate her first.
Then again, if he found Sierra in time to save her life, he might have to kill her. Or kiss her until neither one of them could breathe—the way he’d wanted to from the day they’d met.
Either choice made his gut ache. Best friends’ sisters were off-limits for one. Secondly, and more immediately, Archimedes liked to play deadly games, and he didn’t give a rip about collateral damage. He might just murder Sierra for the satisfaction of proving he could.
Rafe palmed his Kimber 1911 and slipped through the warehouse door. He eyed a camera and ducked behind a large concrete support in a visual dead zone. That ominous and all-too-familiar tingle skittered down Rafe’s spine. He had no doubt Archimedes was watching. The man was a sick voyeur, and the moment Rafe showed himself, the serial killer would know.
“We’re clear,” a worker in a yellow hard hat called across the room to the blaster.
“Then let’s get out of here. This sucker’s going to collapse like a pancake.”
The men hurried out, slamming a metal door behind them. The clang echoed through the empty building.
Rafe checked his GPS and surveyed the open area. Yep. Drilled holes stuffed with dynamite dotted columns throughout the place. No one knew the order was on hold.
They had to keep it that way. Until he found Sierra.
He followed the trail from one of the dynamite cluster’s detonation cables until a second set of wiring caught his attention.
Well, damn and double damn.
Archimedes had been here.
Military grade dets, not used for civilian demolition. No wonder the serial killer had oozed that smug, I-know-more-than-I’m-telling arrogance during their last communication. He’d rigged the existing wire to give him complete control. Even if the demolition expert didn’t set off the charge, Archimedes could. And would.
Sierra.
Rafe’s heart thudded hard against his chest. He glanced at his watch. Hell, no. Five minutes.
If he shot out the cameras, Archimedes might detonate early. Rafe tapped his earpiece. “Zane, you’re sure about those coordinates?”
“Unless Archimedes spoofed them. And he could have. I’d give it fifty-fifty.”
“Not good enough.” CTC’s surveillance expert was the best Rafe had ever worked with. There had to be a way. “If the place doesn’t blow, Archimedes is going to set off the dynamite. Can you jam the detonation signal?”
“I don’t have the time to crack his encryption.” A curse erupted from Zane. “He’s one step ahead of us. Again.”
“What about the cameras?”
“If I disrupt them, he’ll know.” A drumming sounded through the phone. “Maybe...okay, it’ll just be a minute, but I have an idea.”
“You don’t have a minute,” Rafe snapped.
A blur of tapping sounded through the phone. “If I loop the camera feed—”
“He won’t know I’m here. Very Hollywood thriller of you.”
“I try. It’s not going to be pretty, though. If he’s watching closely enough, he’ll be able to tell.”
“Do it.”
“I already started,” Zane said. “A half minute more.”
The seconds ticked by. Rafe studied the path to Sierra’s coordinates, timing it in his head.
“That’s as good as it’ll get,” Zane said. “Go.”
Rafe catapulted from his hiding place and raced across the large concrete building. He skidded to a halt in front of a closed metal door and turned the knob. Locked. “Sierra. I’m coming for you,” he shouted.
He backed up and slammed his foot against the barrier with all his weight behind him. The door bent, but didn’t open. Another kick. A third. A fourth. It wouldn’t give way.
A loud ticking echoed in his head, his internal clock counting down the seconds. This wasn’t working, and Archimedes could discover the deception at any moment.
A large spread of debris littered the floor nearby. A piece of rusted rebar stuck out from one heap. Rafe clutched it in his hand and wedged the end in a small crack created by his assault. With a loud groan he pried the door open.
“Sierra?”
He peered through the opening.
Empty. A mound of wiring and debris filled the small room.
What the hell?
“She’s not here, Zane. Am I even in the right warehouse?”
“According to my data, she has to be within a few feet,” he said.
Ninety seconds.
Normally Rafe’s body grew ultracalm the more perilous the operation, but this was Sierra. His palms grew damp, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple. Where the hell was she?
He rounded a corner and on the opposite wall facing the room he’d just entered, he found another door. The metal was bent, slightly off center.
He jammed in the rebar and pried it open. Sierra lay in the small, cramped closet, feet bound, mouth duct-taped, her shirt splayed open, and blood trickling from a carving of the infinity symbol on her upper left breast.
Her eyes widened.
“Got her,” he said into his comm. He knelt beside her, tugging her shirt closed and slicing through her bindings with his Bowie. “You’re one tough woman to find.”
Her body trembled, and she shrank from his touch.
“Easy does it.” As carefully as he could, he pulled off the tape. “Can you walk?”
“I can try,” her husky voice croaked. She swiped at her eyes and fought to sit up.
“We can’t wait to find out.” He scooped her into his arms and pushed out of her tiny prison. He bolted toward the door. She clung to his neck. A few feet from the exit a loud explosion shuddered the building. Smoke billowed at him, rolling in the waves of a nightmare.
Visibility went nil.
Rafe felt for the handle of the door and clutched the metal. He yanked it open. The ground shook beneath him. Legs pumping hard, he carried Sierra as far as he could.
They wouldn’t make it.
The building pancaked behind them, a sonic boom knocking him off his feet. The force slammed them to the ground.
He landed on top of her, and she grunted at the force of his weight. Before he could check on her injuries, a deluge of debris shot out with the force of an artillery bombardment. Rafe shielded her with his body, hoping his Kevlar was enough protection. Dirt, dust, metal and glass battered them both, pummeling them as if they’d been tossed into the heart of a tornado.
The world had turned to hell, and he had no idea if they’d survive or end up buried alive.
Archimedes might very well get exactly what he wanted.
* * *
THE MOTEL ROOM was a dump. Clean, but still a dump. Rafe lay on the rickety, regular-size bed and stared at the water-stained ceiling, his Kimber within reach on the bedside table. A glint of early-morning light peeked between the cheap blinds, providing just enough visibility for Rafe to study, yet again, the odd patterns the discolorations had created. He needed the distraction.
His body thrummed with tension, with unrelenting longing. Sometime during her sleep, Sierra Bradford had worked her way across the too-small bed and settled on top of him, her soft, toasty body pinning his legs and chest to the mattress.
Nestled against him, she was killing him with every curve, every inch of flesh. Her warm, even breath burned a hole in his chest. Her brown hair, luxurious to the touch, cascaded over his shoulder. The clean soap and hint of lilac lotion she favored danced a seduction on his senses.
Just one small movement of his hand and he could caress her silky skin. He didn’t know how much longer he could take the torture.
He fisted the rough sheets and closed his eyes against the temptation. He wanted to groan aloud, wrap her in his arms and lose himself in her. He longed to touch her, hold her, kiss her, make love to her.
Plain and simple, he wanted her. Bad. Even if he tried, his body refused to hide his need. The moment she stirred, she’d feel him. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, short of getting out of this bed.
And damned if Rafe could force himself to move. Even if he should.
He could tick off a hundred reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to give in to the urge. Sierra deserved a forever kind of man, a forever kind of love. The kind Noah had found with Lyssa. The kind her brother Mitch shared with his wife, Emily.
Not a man whose scars—both inside and out—made him damaged goods.
Rafe breathed in deep and slow, taking in every scent, every touch, burning the memory of the moment into his brain for the long, lonely nights to come. He’d never imagined he’d be this close to her. But here they were. Together. In a small room, in a small bed, with nowhere to go.
Every minute for the last forty-eight hours he’d hoped Sierra would reveal a flaw, something that would drag him down to earth, prove that the dreams she’d inspired since they’d met were unrealistic and impossible fantasies.
His prayers had gone unanswered. She was everything he’d imagined. Brilliant, resourceful, courageous, and passionate in her loyalty and love for her family.
He’d only identified two imperfections. She was Noah’s sister, and the woman was the most stubborn and tenacious person he’d ever met. Rafe had practically had to sit on her since they’d arrived to keep her in this room, safe and sound.
Unable to go to a hospital for fear Archimedes would discover she had survived, he’d treated her wounds and located this out-of-the-way motel that would take cash only.
Two solid days had passed since the explosion. The wait was grinding on both of them, but they were stuck here until Noah caught Archimedes. Personally, Rafe hoped his best friend killed the murdering psycho.
Until then, Rafe was trapped. With a woman who challenged and attracted and intrigued him more than anyone since... Rafe shoved aside the comparison. He couldn’t dwell on what he couldn’t change. Only learn from it.
Sierra shifted on top of him. His entire body turned rigid. He fought back his shuddering response. Maybe she’d move off, and he could escape into the tiny bathroom for an ice-cold shower before she realized—
A small moan escaped her, a whimper. She trembled, her nails biting into his chest.
Oh, Sierra.
He glanced down at her face, the long lashes resting against shadowed eyes, frantic movement just beneath her eyelids. He recognized the signs.
Another nightmare.
She dug her nails deeper into his skin. “Please, no. Please don’t.”
Rafe wrapped his arms around her. “Shh,” he whispered, rubbing her back, careful not to jar her injured shoulder. “You’re safe.”
Sierra shook her head and with a sleep-limp fist pummeled his chest. “Rafe!” she shouted. “Help me!”
“I’m here. I’m not letting you go.” He cupped her cheeks, stroking the smooth skin. “Wake up, darlin’. Let me see those baby blues.”
She squeezed them shut even tighter. Obstinate even in the midst of a nightmare.
“Come on, Sierra.” She was entangled fiercely in a memory, and he tried to tell her it was only a dream. “He won’t hurt you. Not ever again.” His thumb traced the pale translucence of her skin. She’d been through so much.
Her eyelids snapped open, expression foggy with sleep.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep.
She blinked. She moved her leg slightly against his hip. Her eyes widened; her cheeks reddened.
The pulse at the base of her throat accelerated. Her pupils dilated.
She didn’t move away. She pressed closer instead.
His heart leaped. The burn simmering inside his gut exploded. He shook with the effort to maintain control.
He couldn’t look away. She’d captured him with her gaze. He held his breath.
“Rafe,” she whispered. Her tongue dampened her lips.
“You should move.” He cleared his throat. “Or I should.”
She lifted her hand from the bare skin of his chest. She nodded in agreement, tossing a wave of disappointment and resignation through him.
He allowed his hands to fall back to the sheets. All for the best. But right now he had to get away from here. He needed that shower or to dunk himself into a tub of ice. “I think I’d better—”
“Don’t,” Sierra whispered, straddling his hips. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember. I want what you’ve been promising me for the last two days.”
Sierra sank into him, pressing her lips to his, demanding a response.
Rafe couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. His heart racing, he shoved aside the doubts and let his body take over. With a groan, he wrapped Sierra in his arms, giving in. The world melted away. Heat and sweat and want and need overwhelmed them both.
But lingering, in the still small place deep inside, Rafe knew he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life.
Chapter One (#u74658c77-9505-53bc-8f18-7d7dafc5aec2)
Present Day, San Antonio, Texas
Nightmares weren’t supposed to invade twice—not in the daytime, anyway.
That way-too-familiar, incessant, head-knocking throb thudded against Sierra Bradford’s temples in time with her pulse. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but ignoring the truth had never worked out well for her, so she squinted and tried to remember.
Her cheek pressed against the cool metal of a half-rusted floor. She attempted to raise her hand to ease the pounding in her head, but she couldn’t move her arms. Thick rope cut into her wrists.
Her mind whirled in confusion. No. Archimedes was dead. He had been for over two months. This must be a nightmare. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
“What was she doing with a gun? Who the hell is she?”
The man’s harsh words skewered past the pounding at the back of Sierra’s head. She twisted to identify the man to match the voice. All she could make out was a utility belt against a dark blue uniform. Her gut tightened. She followed her line of sight, and there it was. A badge. Before she could see his face, he turned his back and walked away. Military cut, dark hair. About five-ten, one seventy-five.
“Please. Don’t hurt us.”
A voice she recognized all too easily. The past couple of days careened through her mind. Her best friend’s phone call asking for help. A few computer searches yielding more questions than answers.
Neither Sierra nor Mallory had expected to be stopped by the police and ambushed, though.
The sound of a vicious smack reverberated around her. Mallory cried out in pain. Desperate, Sierra struggled against her bindings and rolled to her back. Her gaze flashed through the corroded interior of an old van, landing on Mallory’s terrified gaze. The corner of her mouth bled. Even worse, five-year-old Chloe clung to her mother, terror engraved on her face.
No way was Sierra letting anyone be kidnapped—especially not her goddaughter and best friend.
Okay, Sierra. Think.
Chloe whimpered, burying her head against her mother’s side. Hands and feet bound, Mallory scooted her daughter behind her as best she could, away from the man looming over them, a bandanna hiding his face.
“Please,” Mallory said, begging. “Let us go. We won’t say anything. Chloe’s just a little girl.”
“We ain’t letting no one go without the boss’s say-so.”
Sierra shifted just slightly. If she could only get enough leverage. With a shout, she bent her knee and rammed her foot as hard as she could against the guy’s side. The force carried her back. She lost the follow-through.
He grunted and leaped at her. With a loud curse, he let loose and slugged her. Hard. The blow snapped Sierra’s head against the van’s metal floor. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?”
She blinked back the tears of pain. She wouldn’t give these guys the satisfaction of knowing she could barely see after that last crack across her jaw.
He climbed on top of her. “I’ll enjoy teaching you a lesson,” he uttered, his fetid breath close to her ear, wrinkling her nose.
She stilled, staring into his nondescript brown eyes.
He slid the cold metal knife along her throat before tugging the weapon away. “Not so tough now, are you?” He nicked her, and warm blood trickled along her skin.
She stiffened. A wash of white noise enveloped the world, overwhelming her senses. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. Nothing. Oh, God. Nothing.
Sierra fought to stay focused, fought the roar overwhelming her. She blinked, shaking her head against the terrifying, claustrophobic memory. The horrifyingly small closet. No escape. Trapped.
She couldn’t lose herself. Mallory and Chloe needed her. She squeezed her eyes tight and silently recited a half dozen letters of the alphabet backward. The fog cleared a bit.
He checked the rope around her wrists and heaved her across the van’s floor. “The boss’ll want to talk to you.”
“Judson, I didn’t sign up for kidnapping a kid.” A shaking voice filtered from the front of the van.
“Shut up, you idiot.” Judson opened the back of the van. “Get comfortable, you three. We’re going for a one-way ride.”
He chuckled and slammed the door shut. Sierra struggled to a seated position, moving closer to Mallory.
Who are they? she mouthed to Mallory. Buddies of your ex? Would he go this far?
Mallory blinked back tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I thought he was setting me up at work, but this...?”
“No talking!” Judson shouted.
A slide and click echoed behind Sierra. He had a bullet in the chamber now. She’d recognize the sound of a Glock anywhere. Her brothers’ favorite gun.
“Say another word and I won’t wait for the boss.”
“No!” Chloe screamed.
“Shh, Button,” Mallory said. “We’ll be okay.”
“Keep her quiet or I gag you all.”
Judson turned to the driver. “Get us out of here. Slow and steady until we’re outside of San Antonio. We don’t own every cop.”
The engine roared to life. Over Chloe’s head, Sierra met Mallory’s gaze. They had one chance. Sierra’s feet were still free. They couldn’t stay in this van. If they did, she had no doubt they wouldn’t make it out alive.
She edged toward the rear doors.
“Call the boss. Tell him we’ve got an extra passenger. He don’t like surprises.”
The van started forward. They were out of time.
Be ready, she mouthed to Mallory.
After Mallory’s quick nod Sierra pressed herself against the side of the van. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She needed the leverage, or they were all dead. She’d only have seconds to kick open the door before Judson killed her.
Tucking her legs, she aimed for the door and hit the lock with the heel of her boot. Once. Twice. The metal snapped. The door flew open.
“Come on!” Sierra rocketed out of the moving van, taking a roll, scraping her arm on the asphalt.
She looked up. Mallory struggled to nudge Chloe out with her body, but the girl didn’t move. Desperation painted her mother’s face.
“You can do it, Chloe,” Mallory cried, squirming to the van’s edge. “Jump.”
The little girl shook her head. Fear froze her.
Sierra stumbled to her feet, racing toward the van. “Come on, Chloe!”
The van screeched to a halt. Mallory and Chloe tumbled backward.
“Go, Sierra!” Mallory yelled. “Run.”
Sierra kept coming. She had to help them, but the two men jumped from the van, their feet hitting the highway. They slammed the door closed. Mallory and Chloe were trapped.
If Sierra went back, they’d all be caught. A gunshot exploded into the night. A bullet struck near her feet, then a hot burn pierced her thigh. She had no choice. She zigzagged down the highway, away from her best friend, praying her movements would offer Mallory another chance to escape.
Veering to the side of the road, she dived into a patch of tall grass. Headlights flashed. A semi sounded its horn at the van blocking the road. The big truck slowed.
The van took off with a squeal of tires, its mud-covered license plate useless.
Sierra fought against the pain and stumbled back to the asphalt. She ran to the edge of the road yelling, praying the trucker would see her. He drove past. She sank to her knees, blood covering her right leg.
A hiss of brakes sounded, and the semi pulled over.
She looked up as a man ran toward her.
“Mallory. Chloe,” she whispered. And passed out.
* * *
MERTZON, TEXAS, WASN’T on the way to anywhere. Just the way Rafe Vargas liked it. He pulled his truck past the town’s three restaurants. Each window had gone dark, a large Closed sign blinking the news. Sunday night. He should’ve known better than to think he’d find a restaurant open.
Rafe’s stomach rumbled. After a day of training to keep his combat moves sharp, he’d been hankering for a greasy burger with onion rings. Nothing better at a small-town diner. Oh, well. Not as if he wasn’t used to disappointment. He turned off toward the Mertzon Inn, a small hole-in-the-wall motel. He appreciated the location several blocks off Highway 67. Out of the way, not obvious.
He’d situated himself a couple hours from Carder, Texas, the headquarters for CTC. He liked working for Covert Technology Confidential. He liked helping people in trouble who had nowhere else to turn. He liked using the deadly skills Uncle Sam had drilled into him for the right reasons. But he also appreciated staying far enough away from headquarters that he didn’t have to socialize much. Besides, lately many of his colleagues had found their soul mates. They were too damn content and satisfied. Not that he wasn’t happy for them...and envious. But he didn’t need the reminder of what might have been.
Of course there happened to be another reason to locate himself a good distance from an airport, be it CTC’s private strip or a commercial facility. Rafe couldn’t fly to Denver on a whim.
To see her, the biggest mistake of his life.
Sierra was not someone he should be thinking about. Not now. Not ever.
Rafe parked the car across from the motel, scanning the lot’s perimeter. He’d stayed alive this long by being cautious, not doing the expected. This was his last night in Mertzon. He was getting too comfortable. Too recognizable. He’d move on tomorrow. Find another town, another motel. Another temporary home.
His first stop, to verify that the small slip of paper he’d inserted into the doorjamb earlier in the day hadn’t been moved.
He probably could’ve used some of CTC’s electronic toys, but sometimes low tech did the job better. And safer. No one could jam a paper’s nonexistent, electronic signal.
His gaze slid above the Do Not Disturb sign. Still there. Good. He rounded the building. The motel’s small office had hung out the Closed sign and locked the door. Evening church. Being in Mertzon was like going back in time fifty years. Rafe didn’t mind. Fewer people; fewer questions.
Once he’d completed his surveillance, and satisfied he hadn’t been located, he unlocked his small room and snagged a can of Texas-style chili out of a paper bag sitting in the corner. His movements smooth with practice, he disengaged a can opener from his utility knife and punctured the top, then headed back outside. He rested his dinner on the truck’s engine to heat up. Not exactly gourmet, but filling enough on an unusually warm January night.
Rafe pulled out a longneck bottle of beer from his ever-ready cooler and waited for his dinner to heat. He had this particular meal down to a science. At least he wasn’t living on protein bars. Or worse.
The curtain fluttered in the window of the room next to his. Rafe set down the beer and tensed, his hand easing toward his weapon. He’d stayed alive by never making any assumptions.
Seconds later the door cracked open, and a small head peeked through the opening.
Rafe relaxed and settled back against the truck. “Hi, Charlie.”
The seven-year-old boy looked down the row of doors one way, then the other, before tiptoeing out of the room, his eyes wide, staring at the chili bubbling on the engine.
“Whatcha doing, Mr. Vargas?”
“Fixing dinner. The diner’s closed.”
“Yeah, I know. Mama had to close up, then she went to clean the mayor’s house. She won’t be home until late.” The boy’s stomach growled.
“Wait here, Charlie,” Rafe said. He paused, raking his gaze up and down the kid in speculation. “Don’t go near the engine. It’s hot.”
Rafe strode back into the dingy motel room, with its Spartan furnishings. Digging into his supplies, he grabbed two spoons and a bowl.
The boy stood on his tiptoes peering at the chili, balanced precariously near the engine.
“Charlie,” Rafe’s voice warned, quiet so as not to startle the kid, but firm. “What did I tell you?”
He grimaced and scooted back. “I didn’t know you could cook like this. When we lived in our car last summer, we ate cold stuff.” He wrinkled his nose. “Cold peas don’t taste good. They’re mushy.”
“Better than being hungry.” Rafe snagged the chili with a napkin and poured half the meal into the bowl before handing it to Charlie.
“I guess,” the boy said, stirring the meal. He couldn’t quite take his eyes away from Rafe’s face. “Why do you wear a patch?”
The words sped from his mouth as if he’d been warned not to ask the question but couldn’t help himself.
Rafe blew on the chili and swallowed a bite. “Well, I got used to wearing it on the pirate ship...”
Charlie’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Really?”
Rafe adjusted the eye covering. “Nah. I was in the war. I got hurt, and it messed up my eye. It’s taking a long time to heal.” That was the fairy-tale version, of course. Fifteen men had died during the operation that had damaged his eye. It might never heal completely, but Rafe considered himself lucky to make it out alive.
“Are you a hero?” Charlie asked.
“No.”
“Oh.” The boy stared down at his dinner.
Rafe had disappointed the kid, but what could he say? The truth was much too complicated, so Rafe settled for another bite of dinner. The mild heat didn’t give him the kick he liked. He tapped in some Tabasco Habanero Sauce. Another bite. Now that was more like it. He glanced over at Charlie’s rapt expression. “Want some?”
Charlie grinned and held out his bowl.
Rafe hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Rafe dropped a smidgen onto the chili nestled in the boy’s spoon. Charlie swallowed a big bite. Immediately he started coughing. His ears turned red; his eyes widened. Rafe bit his inner cheek to hide a rare grin. He patted Charlie on the back and handed him a cold bottle of water from the cooler.
The kid chugged it down. “I don’t like that stuff,” he squeaked, shoving the chili at Rafe.
“I think you got the worst of it.” Rafe ignored the boy’s outstretched hand. “It’s safe. I promise.”
With a suspicious gaze into the bowl, Charlie stuck out his tongue, swiping the meat and beans for a tentative taste. “It’s okay.”
“Eat up.”
“Thanks, Mr. Vargas.” Charlie downed half the bowl, then stared at the remainder. “I’ll save the rest for Mama. Her boss wouldn’t let her bring leftovers home tonight.”
“Tell you what, Charlie. You finish your dinner. I’ve got enough for your mom.”
The little boy grinned and ran back to his room. Charlie was a good kid. Rafe sighed. He just prayed the next few years gave Charlie and his mom a few breaks. Rafe knew from firsthand experience how easy it could be to go down the wrong path.
Charlie returned with a chocolate snack cake. “Today is January 31. I’m seven today, and Mama bought me a couple of cupcakes.” He tore one in two and handed it to Rafe. “This is for you.”
“Thank you, Charlie.” Rafe didn’t know if he’d be able to choke down the cake, but Charlie’s proud expression decided for him. “So, do you go for the frosting or the filling first?”
“Cake first.” Charlie bit at the bottom of the dessert.
“I’m a filling man,” Rafe said.
A few bites later the dessert was gone. “Your birthday, huh?” Rafe turned to his SUV and reached into the glove box. He pulled out a yo-yo and turned back to Charlie. “Happy birthday.”
The boy reached out his hand and touched the toy with tentative fingers. “It’s mine?”
“Someone gave me one when I was a little older than you.” Rafe wedged his finger into the slipknot and executed a couple of throw downs. He went into a Sleeper, then Rock the Baby. “Now you try.”
Rafe coached Charlie for a half an hour. A car rattled into the motel parking lot. Charlie looked over and bit his lip. “It’s Mama. I’m not s’posed to leave the room.”
A tired-looking woman exited the clunker vehicle. “Charlie Ripkin, exactly what do you think you’re doing?”
“Look, Mama. Mr. Vargas gave me a birthday present.”
She ruffled her son’s hair. “Thank Mr. Vargas. You have to go to bed. School tomorrow.”
Charlie walked over. “Thank you for the yo-yo. Can we play again tomorrow?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be around tomorrow, but you keep practicing. Here are some extra strings.” Rafe tucked a hundred-dollar bill into the packet and placed it in Charlie’s hand. “You might want to change the string before you play with it again.”
The boy’s grin widened. “Thanks, Mr. Vargas. This is the best birthday ever.” Charlie gave Rafe a huge hug and disappeared into the motel room.
“I hope he didn’t bother you, Mr. Vargas,” Elena Ripkin said in an exhausted voice. She pushed her ash-colored hair away from her face.
Rafe took his card and wrote a phone number on the back. “I have a friend looking for help. It pays well. Give him a call. Use my name.” He handed her a CTC card with his boss’s name and number.
Elena’s hand trembled when she clutched the bit of card stock. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” Rafe said. And he did. The background check had revealed a woman whose husband had been killed in an oil field accident. Within months, she and Charlie had been evicted from their apartment. They’d lost everything.
A lot like Rafe’s family. And their story had not had a happy ending.
If he could give Charlie some hope...maybe he wouldn’t end up like Rafe’s brother, Michael. Dead at seventeen on the streets of Houston, executed by a rival gang.
* * *
THE WIND SHOOK the rickety trailer. Mallory huddled in the corner of the small bedroom’s makeshift cot, wrapping her arms around her daughter. Her heart still raced. Somehow she had to save them, but the trailer’s window had been boarded up and the door locked from the outside. Mallory’s fingers were bleeding from working at the thick planks of their prison. She let out a frustrated sigh. There was no escape.
At least the cowboy had untied them, even if Judson had cursed while the younger man removed the binding. It gave them a shot. She rubbed her wrists. The rope burns would heal. If they got out of here alive.
Mallory had no idea where they were. Far from San Antonio, though. They’d been locked in that van for hours, driving intermittently, occasionally stopping for Judson to make a phone call.
Whoever their kidnapper had contacted, it hadn’t put him in a good mood.
“Mommy,” Chloe whimpered, burrowing deeper into her mother’s arms. “I want to go home. I want my kitty. Princess Buttercup will get scared if I’m not there.”
With a gentle motion, Mallory hugged Chloe closer and kissed her head. “Hush, Button. Everything will be fine.”
The door opened, and Judson stepped into the bedroom cradling a sawed-off shotgun in the crook of his arm. “It’s not nice to lie to children.”
Mallory pressed Chloe up against her, praying she could keep her daughter safe. “She’s only a little girl. Please, let her go.”
“That’s the boss’s decision. He wants to see you. Alone.”
Mallory hesitated.
The man pointed his weapon toward Chloe. “I won’t ask again.”
Mallory kissed Chloe’s forehead, then shifted to get up, but Chloe clutched at her arm, her tiny fingers digging into Mallory’s skin in panicked desperation. “Mommy. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry I didn’t jump.”
Chloe’s face was streaked with tears. Mallory’s heart breaking, she stroked her daughter’s cheek, wiping away the dampness. She stood and fought to smile down at her daughter. “It’s okay. Be brave. No matter what happens. I love you, Button. Always remember that.”
Chloe whimpered, clinging to her mother.
Prying her daughter’s fingers off her arm, and with one last kiss on Chloe’s cheek, Mallory straightened and stepped away from the bed. “I’m ready.”
Her captor smiled, his eyes cold and dead. “I doubt that. But if you tell the boss what he wants to know, he might be lenient.”
She took one last look at Chloe, sent up a prayer and followed her captor through the narrow hallway into a living room. She glanced through the crack between the curtains at the front of the trailer. Night had fallen, but a bright spotlight illuminated the chaotic yard, strewed with trash and unidentifiable junk alongside several rusted-out car bodies. The place appeared abandoned, with a sea of darkness as far as the eye could see. No sign of civilization. No clue as to where they were.
A police car pulled up. The passenger-side window lowered.
“Judson. Get out here,” a voice called.
“Damn,” the guy muttered. He nodded at the man at her side, his weapon resting in the crook of his arm. “Watch her.”
Judson walked down the stairs. With tentative steps he approached the car. What kind of monster made a man who would kidnap a child that nervous?
One second later, a bullet slammed through Judson’s head and he fell backward.
Mallory froze in horror. She turned her face away from the dead body. “Why?”
The cowboy turned to Mallory, his face grim. “Judson let your friend escape.”
Did that mean Sierra was alive? Please let her be alive. Please let her find us.
The car door opened. The man beside her clutched his weapon with shaking hands. “Lady, if you want to stay alive, do exactly what he says and tell him what he wants to hear. If you don’t, you and your kid won’t make it out of here in one piece.”
* * *
THE LONELY WHISTLE of a locomotive chugging through town pierced the night. Rafe handed Elena the last two cans of chili and directions to CTC before the exhausted women disappeared into her room.
Rafe locked his motel-room door and flopped onto the bed, not bothering to remove his boots. He took a long swig of beer and flicked on the television.
Charlie didn’t know it, but he’d given Rafe a gift. A welcome interruption. Because today would have been his fifth anniversary.
Except Gabriella had died a month before the wedding.
The mission had gone so wrong so fast. Gabriella had taken a spray of bullets. She’d had no chance. Because Rafe hadn’t seen the betrayal coming. He hadn’t protected her. He’d let emotions overrule his judgment.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Rafe’s knuckles whitened around the beer bottle. Never again.
Regret for what had happened would never leave him. He’d learned his lesson. A lesson he should’ve learned as a kid, but hadn’t. A lesson he prayed Charlie would never have to learn. Never let your heart rule your head. You’ll get your head bashed in and your heart crushed.
Words he lived by. Except for one night. With Sierra Bradford.
It had taken one kiss for him to forget the lessons of the past. He still couldn’t believe he’d loved her, like he’d dreamed of from the moment he’d met her.
That one intimate encounter with Sierra had scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t risk caring for her. Caring meant allowing his emotions to rule him once more. He couldn’t do that. Sierra deserved someone who would give her everything. Heart, mind, body and soul. Not a man who not only didn’t know how to be a part of a family but whose heart had been used up and destroyed.
Yeah, Sierra deserved someone whole, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming about each kiss, every caress, or the way she’d held him tight against her as if she’d never let him go.
He dug into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small velvet pouch. He opened his hand, and a thin gold chain fell into his palm.
Sierra’s. It had broken during their night together. A very passionate night he would never forget.
Don’t go there. He tucked the chain back into his pocket.
He didn’t need another night of dreaming about her.
He flipped channels, searching for another distraction. His cell phone rang. Blocked number. Hopefully a CTC job. No one else called him. “Vargas.”
“It’s Noah. I need your help.”
It would have to be Noah. One of the few people he trusted. One of the few people who trusted Rafe. At least Noah would trust him until he found out Rafe had seduced his sister. And worse, run out on her. Even if it was for her own good.
Bracing himself, Rafe took a swig of beer. “What’s up? I thought you hung up your spy suit.”
Noah had been CTC’s best of the best. Now he worked as a consultant, making cool gadgets to use in covert ops. He’d been almost as quixotic as Rafe—until he’d found someone to love him and a reason not to risk his life.
“Sierra’s disappeared.”
Chapter Two (#u74658c77-9505-53bc-8f18-7d7dafc5aec2)
Fighting the adrenaline rush, Rafe carefully set the bottle on the rickety nightstand. This wasn’t happening. Not again. Right before Thanksgiving he’d searched for her. He’d barely gotten her out alive. He didn’t like the twisting in his gut, the uncomfortable panic driving his heart to race.
“When did you last see her?” He fought to stay calm.
“A couple days ago. She left a cryptic message about not making it to Sunday lunch. She’s been so reclusive since the attack, we gave her the space, but I went by her house to check on her. She’s gone with at least one suitcase, bed unmade, dishes in the sink. That’s not like her. I’m worried about her, Rafe. She hasn’t been the same since—”
“Archimedes. Damn him.” His teeth ground together. Good thing Archimedes was dead. Rafe would have taken great satisfaction in killing the psycho for what he’d done to Sierra. “You tracked her cell phone?”
“She knows how to block her signal. Or someone else does. That’s what I get for having a sister who’s better than I am at electronics. Even if she doesn’t believe it.”
“Zane might be able to hone in on her location.”
“He’s at CTC headquarters. I don’t want the boss thinking she’s gone off the deep end.” Noah hesitated. “I know we don’t want her working for CTC, but when Ransom put her on indefinite leave after Archimedes—at our insistence, if you remember—the light went out of her eyes. We screwed up there.”
Rafe adjusted the patch over his eye and rose from the bed. “No, we didn’t. The job’s too dangerous. She could get hurt. Or worse.” He’d be damned if Sierra put her life on the line any longer. She’d almost died once. If anything happened to her...
Rafe grabbed his duffel from the top of the closet. “I’ll find her, and I’ll bring her home. Then it’s your job to keep her there.”
“Just make sure she’s okay. She’s not herself these days, Rafe. She can’t sleep. She’s got circles under her eyes. I don’t want to lose my sister. You and I both know how the nightmares can take over your life.”
Yeah, Rafe knew. He’d had his fair share. He also had up-close-and-personal experience with Sierra’s demons. Her bad dreams had led to the best—and one of the worst—night of his life.
Spending time in Sierra’s arms had made him want more. That’s when he’d known he’d fallen way too deep. She’d ripped a hole in the Kevlar protecting his heart. She’d made him want forever. Except Rafe had learned all too well that love destroyed. He didn’t matter, but he couldn’t bear to hurt her more than he already had. So he’d walked away—for her sake—and instead had taken to watching her from afar. To make certain she was always safe.
She’d nearly caught him more than once, and he’d begged Ransom for another assignment. Something that would get her out of his constant thoughts. He’d believed he’d wanted distance, but he never should’ve ended his surveillance. If he hadn’t, he’d know exactly where to find her. “Did you check the buses and airlines?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I’ll call when I find her.” Rafe stuffed his 1911, a Bowie and his P-11 with its ankle holster in his bag, along with ammunition, a secure satellite phone and some of Noah’s more interesting tracking devices.
Now all Rafe had to do was find her.
He tapped a few keystrokes into one device and started the search. He had a bad feeling. He didn’t know if his gut was warning him of trouble or if he simply dreaded seeing Sierra again. Once he found her, could he resist her? Could he walk away again...and did he even want to try?
* * *
ILLUMINATED SIGNS DOWN the San Antonio street kept the road brightly lit even though night had fallen. The 18-wheeler’s engine rumbled in idle. Sierra clutched the door handle and shoved it open.
“Thanks for the lift,” she said, easing out of the truck.
“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” the driver asked.
When her foot hit the ground, a shot of pain pierced her thigh. She couldn’t stop the wince.
“I’m fine.” And doing a lot better than Mallory and Chloe. First she had to take care of her leg. She’d be no good finding them if she passed out and ended up in the ER. Gunshot wounds at the hospital meant cops. Cops meant trouble.
She forced a smile and turned to look up at the man who’d saved her life when he’d stopped. She dragged the bag containing her laptop, extra money and credit card from the seat. She’d stashed it in the trunk when she and Mallory had left to pick up Chloe. Even though the car keys had vanished sometime during the abduction, luckily Sierra had been able to pop the trunk release just inside the driver’s side door and retrieve her belongings. “Thanks again.”
The diesel revved before the truck’s horn blared and the vehicle rumbled down the road. Sierra walked away from the motel, limped down several long blocks and hurried as best she could across four lanes of traffic. If anyone asked the trucker about her, they wouldn’t locate her easily.
After a quick stop at a convenience store for bandages, a burner phone and a few other supplies, she trudged another mile before locating the perfect, most nondescript motor inn on the street.
The place reminded her of another motel, another time. Another place.
She’d learned a lot from Rafe Vargas that week. Most lessons she preferred to forget. But how to disappear in plain sight, that was a skill she would find useful tonight.
Ready to collapse, she pushed through the motel’s office door, causing a dangling bell to chime. Within a few minutes, Sierra had laid down the last of her cash in exchange for a key. Once she’d locked herself inside the room, she sagged against the door.
She dumped the medical supplies on the rickety table and unbuttoned her jeans. She slipped them over her hips. The material stuck against her thigh. She hissed and froze. The blood had dried.
Closing her eyes, she slowly, gingerly tugged the denim away from her wound.
A sharp burn sliced up and down her leg. She whimpered. Maybe she should just rip it off, like a stuck bandage.
“One, two, three—”
A quick tug and the pants dropped to the floor. Sierra’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor, biting down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.
That hurt. Bad.
Her thigh throbbed, blood dripped from the reopened wound. For a moment she simply sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. When the spots stopped spinning in front of her eyes, she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom.
Propping herself against the wall, Sierra irrigated the wound with hot water, picking out denim fibers and dirt, stopping every so often to lean her head against the wall and suck in several deep breaths before starting again.
A pounding knock sounded at the door.
Sierra limped to the table, wishing the kidnappers hadn’t taken her gun, and grabbed the scissors she’d purchased. As fast as she could, she crossed the room and slipped behind the door, knuckles white, her teeth biting into her lip.
“Mrs. Jones?”
The motel manager’s voice called through the door. He knocked again.
She said nothing. Surely he’d go away.
Her thigh throbbed in time with her pulse. She could hear every breath. She waited. After a minute or two, her muscles relaxed.
Urgent whispers filtered through the door, but she couldn’t make out the words. The doorknob jiggled. Metal on metal scraped. Damn. No one knew she was here. Had the men who kidnapped Mallory and Chloe found her?
Sierra skirted into the bathroom, gripping the scissors even tighter. If someone came in, she wanted a good look at him before she attacked.
“Mrs. Jones?”
Silent, Sierra peeked between the crack of the bathroom door just below the hinge. She made out the manager’s stout figure first.
The man frowned at the towels and trash scattered around the room. “She’s not here,” he said. “You’ll have to come back.”
The door creaked. “I’m her husband.”
She clutched the doorknob with a death hold. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, the deep rumble, the smooth velvet baritone, but she couldn’t believe those three words had escaped his lips.
“Rafe?” Sierra nearly rushed into the room before she stopped herself. Parading around in her underwear wasn’t an option. She peeked around the door.
“Hi, honey,” Rafe said, his expression grim, his voice soft and deadly. “I’m home.”
Before Sierra could contemplate how he’d found her, Rafe shunted the manager out of the room with an excuse, grabbed a bloodstained towel from the floor and wrenched open the bathroom door. He shoved the cloth at her. “What the hell is this?”
She snapped a clean bath towel from a rod and wrapped it around her waist to hide her high-cut panties and naked legs. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s a bullet graze,” he said, ignoring the question. He tugged the terry cloth back to reveal her injury, and before she could say a word, swept her into his arms. Gently, carefully he laid her on the small bed.
He straightened and tossed his Stetson on the chair beside the table.
With his six feet four inches of pure muscle and outlawesque eye patch, he looked like a hero who’d walked straight out of a romance novel. He’d certainly featured in more than one of her own fantasies. At least until the morning after one very passionate night. She’d dropped her guard, flayed open her heart and he’d stomped all over it.
“I don’t need the help. I’ve got the situation under control.” She propped herself up on her elbows and tried to shift to the other side of the bed.
He grasped her arm and held her in place, pushing aside the towel. He didn’t speak, but probed at the angry skin surrounding the wound, then arched his brow as he met her gaze.
Sierra squirmed under his lingering, enigmatic look. Rafe shook his head and rummaged through the supplies. He returned to her side with antiseptic, bandages, antibiotic ointment and tape.
He straightened her leg and held her down with a firm hand. “Let me do this. I’ve had a lot of practice.” He tilted the antiseptic onto a large gauze square. “Brace yourself,” he said, and dabbed at the flesh.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her leg jerked.
“Easy does it.” He bent over the wound and blew, easing the sharp sting.
Sierra glanced away, her cheeks burning as he poked and prodded close the top of her thigh. He was nothing but professional, even distant. In fact he’d acted as if it were nothing but business as usual.
They hadn’t seen each other since a very awkward Thanksgiving dinner at her father’s house the week after he’d rescued her.
One look and her heart had leaped at the memory of the way he’d touched her, the way he’d driven away her nightmares. At least for a few hours.
Until he’d vanished from their bed. And then walked away without a word after the family gathering he clearly had only attended to out the fact that she worked for CTC to her family. Noah in particular.
Sierra’s dreams had returned with a vengeance. Rafe hadn’t come back. A time or two she’d imagined she’d recognized him in a crowd, that he’d found her, that she’d been more than a convenient and willing night of passion, that he hadn’t simply used her.
She’d been wrong. A second glance and the imaginary figure had vanished. So had the rose-colored glasses.
How had she allowed herself to be duped? That she’d trusted a man who could so easily walk away.
Well, she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced again. By his memory, by her fantasies. She couldn’t trust him. Not with her heart. She’d learned her lesson. And she was an excellent student.
He pressed the final strip of tape against her skin but didn’t move his tan hand from her thigh. A tingling of awareness rose across her skin, settling deep in her belly.
Now if she could just convince her body to listen to her mind.
Rafe simply looked at her, the muscle in his jaw pulsing, holding her gaze hostage.
Despite her decision and best of intentions, she couldn’t control her response to his closeness. Being in her underwear on the receiving end of Rafe Vargas’s hot stare was a bad place to be. The man could still make her heart flip-flop. Even when he was obviously furious, like now.
She blinked, breaking the spell, and quickly tossed the bedspread over her naked legs.
Only one way to handle him. Get on the offensive and don’t back down. “In what fantasyland are you my husband?”
* * *
IF THE MOTEL owner hadn’t been so damn protective of Sierra’s room number, Rafe wouldn’t have had to resort to the lie. He wasn’t about to dwell on why the statement had crossed his lips all too easily, nor was he willing to apologize for it.
He’d dreamed of having Sierra in his bed for the past two months. His hand stroked the bandage on her thigh gently. But not like this. Never like this. When Rafe had first entered the room and had seen that bloody towel on the floor, his knees had nearly buckled.
A few inches and the bullet would’ve nicked her femoral artery. She’d have bled out.
She’d come too damn close to dying. Twice.
But she was alive. And mostly well. She lay propped up on the bed, shadows beneath her eyes, her cheeks pale. He cataloged the injuries he could see: the scrapes, the bruise darkening her jaw and cheekbone. She must be black-and-blue.
Someone needed to pay.
At his silence, a flash of blue fire erupted in her eyes. He’d witnessed the flame more than once: usually when someone crossed her, but also when she’d wrapped her arms and legs around him.
Her very presence drew him in. The small motel room’s walls closed in on him. He had to let the past go.
Every instinct inside him fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, breathe in her scent and just hold her close. If he closed his eyes, he knew he could feel the silk of her skin beneath him, smell the clean scent of her hair, remember her generosity as he held her, giving him her heart and soul.
And he’d been stupid—or smart enough—to throw it away when all he’d wanted was to stay with her.
He’d done the right thing. He had to believe that. The alternative—well, he just wouldn’t consider the alternative.
Instead of acting on his urges, he cocked his head to the side. “What am I doing here? Oh, no reason. I get a call from Noah that you’d vanished from Denver without telling your family only months after being held captive by a serial killer. And then, after you use your debit card at a convenience store, I find you a mile away in a barely up-to-code motel room, shot and obviously assaulted. I don’t know, Sierra. Why don’t you guess what I’m doing here? Saving you one more time.”
“A mile would’ve been far enough if anyone but you had been searching,” she muttered under her breath. Her lips flattened in a straight line. “Go home, Rafe. And tell Noah if he wants to send a babysitter, pick someone else.”
The words, though expected, still hurt. No distance would ever be far enough if she was in trouble. “Tough. You got me. And I’m not budging.” He lifted his hand and hovered over the stark mottling on her face. “Honey, who did this to you?”
Her eyes glistened and she looked away. “Don’t be nice. I can’t take it.”
“What are you involved in?” He leaned closer and with gentle fingers clasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “An op?”
“You and Noah got me suspended, remember?”
“And if I remember correctly, you seem to find ways to insert yourself into places you shouldn’t be.”
“The Kazakhstan situation was different. Zane needed help. He just didn’t know it yet,” Sierra countered. “I found the link between the terrorists and that charity, didn’t I?”
“Not the point. I’m not saying you’re not good at your job. Hell, you’re the best. We all know that.”
Her mouth dropped open, but instead of coming back at him like Rafe had expected, she gripped the sheets, twisting the fabric. “I might be good at the keyboard, but not in the field. I screwed up. I should’ve stopped it.”
Her eyes shifted away from his gaze. She seemed to be struggling for words. Finally a sharp curse escaped her. “I want more than anything to kick you out of this room and tell you and Noah to shove your concern where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“Sierra—”
“But I can’t.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, direct, unwavering. “I bought a burner phone to call Ransom. I need CTC’s help, Rafe. Someone kidnapped my best friend and her daughter. My goddaughter.” She paused, pain slicing over her features. “I let it happen, and I need you to help me save them.”
* * *
MALLORY COULDN’T STOP staring at the blood seeping from the dead man’s body. Her insides went cold. She glanced back at the trailer. She had to get Chloe out of here, but how?
“Get rid of the body,” the voice from the passenger side of the police car snapped. “And bring the girl here.”
“Yes, boss,” her guard said.
“No. Please.” Mallory would say anything, promise anything, to keep her daughter safe.
Two men picked up Judson and carried him to the side of the trailer. Mallory’s captor disappeared inside, leaving her alone.
Every instinct screamed to run.
A tall man opened the car door and stood. He wore a cop’s uniform. There was a touch of gray at his temples; his eyes were obscured by sunglasses.
“I wouldn’t advise trying to escape, Mrs. Harrigan. Or your daughter will pay the price.”
The aluminum door fluttered closed.
“Mommy! Don’t leave me anymore. I was scared.”
Chloe pulled at the cowboy’s arm.
“Let her go,” the cop ordered.
Within seconds Chloe raced to her mother. Mallory lifted her little girl into her arms and hugged her tight. She looked over her daughter’s shoulder. “Please let her go. She’s only five.”
“Chloe, do you want to leave?” the police officer asked.
The little girl nodded against her mother’s shoulder. “Princess Buttercup needs me. She has to eat her dinner. Kitties can’t miss dinner, you know. You have to take good care of them.”
The man smiled, a grin that made Mallory’s stomach roil.
“I’ll bring your cat to you, Chloe, but only if you tell me something very important.”
Chloe bit her lip. “I don’t know anything ’portant.”
“I imagine you do. Look at me.”
Twisting in Mallory’s arms, her daughter stared at the man. He stroked his chin. “What’s the name of the woman who tried to help you escape from the van?”
Mallory tightened her hold on her daughter.
“You’re squishing me, Mommy. Not so tight.” She wiggled and stared hard at the cop’s chest. “You have a shiny badge, so you’re not a stranger, but why do you want to know about Sierra? I saw her fall. Is she okay?”
With a silent groan, Mallory closed her eyes.
The cop smiled. “An unusual name. Perhaps your mother would be willing to tell us her friend’s last name.”
Chloe nodded. “Mommy knows it. I know it too. Just like my name is Chloe Harrigan. Sierra’s name is Sierra Bradford.”
The man nodded at his driver. “You get that?”
“Yes, sir.” Within seconds he’d placed a call.
Mallory’s hope sank. Now that her daughter had inadvertently put a target on Sierra’s back, how would her best friend ever be able to find them? She bit her lip, her mind whirling. She was on her own. How could she save them?
The cop crossed his arms in front of him, his smirk too satisfied. “Thank you for the information, Chloe. You’ve been a lot of help.”
“Where’s Princess Buttercup?” Chloe asked with a pout. “You promised.”
“And I always keep my promises,” he said. “Eventually. Right now, Glen will take you to your room. Your mother and I are going to have a little...chat.”
Leaning her forehead against her daughter’s hair, Mallory tried not to tremble.
Glen tugged Chloe from her mother’s arms.
“Mommy!”
The cop grabbed Mallory’s arm. Hard. She had no idea why they’d taken her, but she was afraid she’d soon find out.
“I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Harrigan. If I hear what I want, maybe your daughter won’t have to watch her mother die.”
Chapter Three (#u74658c77-9505-53bc-8f18-7d7dafc5aec2)
The stillness in the motel room made Sierra want to squirm. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, back stiff. She’d filled Rafe in on the van, the kidnapping, everything.
How Mallory had called her after discovering missing money at her job for the San Antonio Rodeo. How Sierra had followed the money trail by digging into a few files and discovering numbers that had been adjusted after Mallory had reconciled her books. How they’d both wondered if her ex’s threats about their custody battle might be related. How that routine traffic stop on the way to pick up Chloe from school had led to the abduction and her getting shot. No point in sugarcoating the truth.
Of course, in typical Rafe fashion, he hadn’t said a word. The muscle in his jaw pulsed erratically, and he just stared. Stone-faced and silent.
His unblinking gaze bored into her. Uh-oh. She recognized the expression and forced herself not to look away. Rafe might be an enigma to practically everyone, but she knew a few things about him. He maintained control 99 percent of the time. She’d only seen him lose it once: their night together. One he obviously regretted—as did she.
Sierra still couldn’t believe Noah had sent Rafe, of all people, to find her. Okay, maybe she could believe it. Rafe was one of the few people Noah really trusted—outside family. Still, she would have preferred to face almost anyone else from CTC.
Her discomfort didn’t matter, though. She’d had no choice but to ask for his help. Mallory and Chloe couldn’t wait. They needed rescuing.
And damn him, Rafe was the very best. CTC called on him when the job was too complicated, too dangerous and required no nerves and even less fear.
And now, she needed him.
With a shaky hand she pushed back her hair over her ear. He was full-on quiet, which meant he didn’t want to speak whatever was on his mind. A waft of the antiseptic he’d used still burned. She wrinkled her nose. She hated the odor. At twelve she’d spent every afternoon at the hospital during her mother’s final illness. That scent did more than make her gut ache, it made her heart hurt. She’d been unable to do anything to prevent her mother’s death. Sierra could do something now...if Mallory and Chloe were still alive.
No. She wouldn’t let herself even consider they weren’t okay. Maybe frightened, but they had to be okay.
“I can’t believe you’ve been kidnapped twice in two months,” Rafe finally muttered with a shake of his head.
“Old news that’s irrelevant,” Sierra said. “And it’s almost kidnapped. If Chloe hadn’t been so scared—”
“You’d all be dead.” Rafe crossed his arms. “This is how it’s going to play. First, I’m calling Noah. He’ll send a plane to take you back to Denver—”
“Not happening,” she interrupted. No way was he pushing her out. She had to make things right. “Not until we find Mallory and Chloe.”
“Sierra—”
“I’m a witness. I know them. You need me.”
“Do you know who kidnapped them?”
She frowned. “They wore masks—”
“Do you have any suspects?”
He rubbed in the obvious with each question. She didn’t have much to go on. “Mallory is getting ready to file paperwork to get full custody. Her ex has been fighting her—”
“Most abductions are committed by someone who knows the victim.” Rafe stroked the stubble on his chin. “He involved other people, though, and that means loose ends. What does he get out of it, unless he plans to keep them prisoner? Or worse.”
An icy chill settled in Sierra’s gut. “The only other lead I have is that she discovered missing money at her job at the rodeo. I looked through some files Mallory brought home with her. I found a few suspicious entries, but I don’t have anything solid. To be sure, I need a look at the accounting system.”
“We need a warrant to do that. CTC has a contact on the San Antonio police force—”
She shook her head. “No cops. At least one helped with the kidnapping. I can’t risk word getting out.”
CTC had dealt with corrupt cops before. It’s one of the reasons the company existed—when law enforcement couldn’t or wouldn’t help. Her father hated that about her career. He’d been a cop until a gunshot wound had put him in a wheelchair, but just because he was no longer on the force didn’t mean you took the cop out of the man.
Rafe shook his head. “I can’t promise anything but to be discreet—”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he placed his finger against her lips. “I’ll call Ransom and request getting Zane out here. He’s got the computer skills. We’ll find your friend, but you are going back to Denver. We can handle this. Let me do my job.”
“And you need to let me do mine.” With a jerk, Sierra flung his hand away and swiveled to the opposite side of the mattress from Rafe. She stalked around the bed and picked up her soiled jeans from the floor. She didn’t look forward to putting them on, but she had nothing else to wear. “I’m staying until we find Mallory and Chloe. If all you’re going to do is put roadblocks in front of me, just go home. I’ll contact Ransom myself and get someone else to help me.” She snatched her burner phone from the table. “Mallory and Chloe don’t have any more time. We’ve wasted too much debating already. I don’t need your protection, Rafe. I need your help.”
Rafe rubbed his temple. “You are so damn stubborn. Fine. I’m in.”
Without a word he stalked out of the motel room, returning in moments with a duffel. He dropped it on the bed, unzipped it and threw a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt at her. “Put them on. At least they’re clean.”
Catching the clothes, she nodded. “Fine.”
Okay, that had been easier than she’d expected.
Surprised he’d given in, Sierra vanished into the bathroom, secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to pull her jeans up over her wound.
She stepped into the huge sweatpants and slid them over her hips. After tightening the drawstring so they wouldn’t fall off, she slipped on the T-shirt that fell to her midthighs despite her five feet ten inches. Rafe’s clothes dwarfed her, but they would do.
Raising her chin, she stared into the mirror. “Are you sure you’re up to this? Maybe Rafe and Noah are right,” she said to the stranger looking back at her, scared, uncertain, despite her bravado in the other room.
No wonder Rafe was skeptical. Look at her. Circles under her eyes. Scrapes on her forehead, bruises darkening her cheek and chin. Where was the strong woman she’d always imagined herself to be? The one who could give all three of her brothers a run.
She knew the answer even if she didn’t want to admit it. Archimedes had ripped something from deep inside her soul. She pulled the neck of the T-shirt lower. The infinity symbol he’d carved into her flesh glared at her, red and angry. A sign of how helpless she’d been in that small room. Completely at his mercy.
He’d gotten the drop on her then, just like the kidnappers had today. Despite her skills at the keyboard, Sierra hadn’t reacted like an agent. Then or now.
But she knew in her gut she could help. Those accounts had made the back of her neck tingle. There was something hidden just beneath the surface. She could feel it.
“So, why didn’t you see the trouble coming? Again?”
She adjusted the soft fabric to cover the scar, bent over the sink and slapped some water on her face. Rafe had instincts. But so did she. “You’ve followed your gut a million times. Numbers don’t lie.”
Right. But this case was more personal than anything she’d ever investigated. “Get a grip, Sierra.” Mallory and Chloe couldn’t afford for Sierra not to be on her A game.
Neither could Rafe. He needed a partner he could count on.
She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. “You can do this,” she lectured the shadow of herself. “For them.”
* * *
THE BATHROOM DOOR had remained closed for too long. What was Sierra doing in there? Rafe rubbed his hands over his face. What the hell was he going to do with her? She’d been through so much, but she’d fought like hell because her friend Mallory was in trouble. He admired the loyalty. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Noah’s sister. But he could also see beneath the bravado, and the anger. Even the strongest could crack under enough pressure. Sierra loved fiercely. But that emotion could boomerang. Rafe should know.
He slipped his secure phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He needed facts, not feelings.
“I don’t have another job for you, Rafe.” Ransom didn’t mince words when he answered. “Not yet.”
Rafe grabbed his duffel and walked outside. “That’s not why I’m calling. I need information from the San Antonio Police Department, and I need it hush-hush.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“We may have some dirty cops. How far do you trust Cade Foster?” Rafe stuffed his belongings behind the seat in his truck.
“If I could tempt him to leave the San Antonio PD, I’d hire him in a heartbeat.”
“Then I need everything you can find on Mallory Harrigan. For a new case.” After a quick glance around, he filled in Ransom on what he knew of Sierra’s friend, but he didn’t mention Noah’s sister. Not yet.
“I’ll get back to you,” Ransom said. “Does this have anything to do with Sierra Bradford flying down there a few days ago?”
Rafe nearly dropped the phone. “How did you know?”
“The same way I know you’ve been holed up in Mertzon,” Ransom said. “It’s my job to worry about my team.” He ended the call.
Sometimes Ransom Grainger could be damned scary. It made the guy the best—and the worst—to work for.
Rafe strode back into the motel room. Sierra hadn’t emerged. He paced back and forth a couple of times. He glanced at the bathroom door. No movement and no way around it. He had another call to make. He tapped in a very familiar number and let it ring.
Once, twice. His grip tightened. Maybe he’d luck out.
“Did you find her?” Noah snapped through the phone.
Or maybe not. “She’s okay.” Rafe winced at the half-truth.
A long silence settled through the phone until a sharp curse escaped his friend.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Noah asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you got a radar for trouble or something?” Rafe rubbed the bridge of his nose and repositioned his patch.
“When it comes to my family, you bet. Spill it, Vargas. What’s going on with my sister?” Worry laced Noah’s voice. “She’s safe, isn’t she?”
How was Rafe supposed to answer that? Noah wouldn’t be put off, so Rafe relayed the situation. He kept a few details to himself. No need to tell big brother everything.
“You’re taking the case,” Noah said. “Good. And Sierra’s coming home?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
“Tell me you’re putting her on the plane first thing tomorrow.”
Rafe shoved his fingers through his hair. “She won’t leave. Not until we find Mallory and Chloe. She blames herself.”
Noah let out a sharp curse. “You can’t convince her?”
“How easy is it to change a Bradford’s mind about anything?” Rafe asked.
“Point.”
“Besides she’s got the skills. You know that.” Rafe could deal with the ex, but if Mallory had been kidnapped because of the money, he could very well need Sierra’s expertise to save the woman and her child.
Noah let out a long sigh. “Well, if she’s going to jump into the deep end, I can’t think of a better man to watch over her than you.”
Rafe winced. If only Noah knew.
“Keep her safe. The family can’t lose her. Dad’s had enough hits the past few years.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, Noah. I promise you that.”
With a quick tap on the screen, Rafe ended the call. He paced the floor several times before hovering outside the small bathroom. Resigned to the reality of the situation, even if he didn’t like it, he tapped gently. “You okay in there?”
A bang followed by a curse erupted from inside. “I’d be better if you weren’t so big.”
A corner of Rafe’s mouth tilted up, but before he could respond his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and moved to the other side of the room. “What do you have, boss?” he asked in a low voice.
Ransom rattled off a series of facts. With each one, Rafe’s frown deepened. What the hell was going on?
“You’re sure about this?” Sierra wasn’t going to be happy about the news. Or how he’d acquired his information.
“I’ll let you know what I hear. Cade’s keeping his ear to the ground,” Ransom said.
Rafe pocketed his phone just as Sierra walked out of the bathroom. He bit his cheek. “The clothes look good on you even though you’re swimming in them.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, ignoring his comment and all business. “Her ex, Bud, had access to Mallory’s house. He could’ve seen the files she brought home. He knows where Chloe goes to school, and the route Mallory takes.”
“That gives him means and opportunity. The motive still feels fuzzy. What’s his endgame?”
“I don’t know.” She grunted in disgust. “I got nothing.”

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