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The Baby Pursuit
Laurie Paige


FBI agent Devin Kincaid is assigned the urgent task of tracking down the abducted grandson of the rich and powerful Ryan Fortune. A determined loner whose grit and tenacity make him the best man for the job, the last thing Devin needs is the help of the boy's aunt, Vanessa Fortune.First, she's too emotionally involved, and second, she's way too much of a temptation he doesn't need.A criminal psychologist, Vanessa can't sit on the sidelines while her family lives its worst nightmare. She's not running from the fierce attraction between them, but knows Devin is doing everything he can to convince himself that a Fortune heiress and a street-smart cop don't mix. But as tensions rise, passions flare and soon dangerous situations call for desperate measures–and a willingness to trust all they've got.












THE TEXAS TATTLER





All the news that’s barely fit to print!

Search for $50 Million Dollar Baby Continues

Federal agent Devin Kincaid arrived on the massive Fortune estate this week to spearhead the kidnapping case of the century. Baby snatchers have stumped local law enforcers, and pitiful progress has been made as to the whereabouts of “golden child” Bryan Fortune, who vanished from his bassinet into thin air two months ago.

Sources report that Vanessa Fortune, aunt to missing Bryan, is playing right-hand gal to the rugged Kincaid. But can this intense “older man” keep his mind on the case if his hands are investigating a certain feisty heiress? Maybe this big gun is shooting for a promotion, as in Special Agent Son-In-Law….

Forget about Kincaid’s roaming hands—looks as if family patriarch Ryan Fortune is sitting on his. Maybe to prevent himself from wringing the neck of his estranged wife, Sophia. Will this be the year that Ryan breaks the shackle on that fourteen-karat, diamond-studded ball and chain?


About the Author






LAURIE PAIGE

“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for best traditional romance and has won awards from Romantic Times for best Silhouette Special Edition and best Silhouette in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list. Recently resettled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will send her on.




The Baby Pursuit

Laurie Paige







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






















Meet the Fortunes of Texas




Vanessa Fortune: The beautiful virgin has rebuffed her share of money-hungry suitors. Can her true love come in the form of a handsome lawman just arrived in town…?

Devin Kincaid: The dedicated FBI agent thought nothing could ruffle him…until feisty Vanessa entangled herself in his kidnapping investigation. The tough loner claims the heiress is a royal pain—that he doesn’t need anyone—but his tender actions tell a different story….

Maria Cassidy: The youngest daughter of Lily Cassidy is surely hiding something. What secrets lie behind her return to Texas and her sudden interest in baby Bryan’s disappearance?

Cruz Perez: The handsome wrangler’s motto is “Love ’em and leave ’em.” But his bachelorhood is soon put to the test by an all-too-appealing new arrival on the Fortune ranch.


This book is dedicated to the romantic-at-heart: to Mary-Theresa, who told me she has an “old Irish soul” but I know her heart is forever young; to Jo in Illinois—yes, I have an idea for the children born in the Wild River series to have their own stories, but it will be a while before I get to all of them; to DL in Japan—yes, after over fifty books, I still love to tell stories; to Rick, the bachelor—tomorrow the world!; to Heather, Holly, Jim, Kim and Nick—let’s do the steepest streets in San Francisco again; to Natalie, visiting relatives in Italy—I cried for Sissy, too; to Leigh in London—hope the Russian translation went well; and to Clara in Kansas who sent the other verses for Barbry Allen.




Contents


Chapter One (#ud4168003-5e3b-5fe3-a2d8-67750f96c131)

Chapter Two (#u9a9d3b32-ebf8-5729-8a8d-b178c102da2b)

Chapter Three (#u2a04a4b4-73ed-5b3d-886a-2a22c6f85b8e)

Chapter Four (#u7d587839-520c-506e-b3e3-9c79c6680c1d)

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)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)




One


Devin Kincaid swore and cut the wheel sharply to the left as the huge red horse broke from the trees to his right. For a second he thought the animal was a runaway, then he realized a slender figure was astride the beast.

His next impressions whipped through his mind at Mach speed—that the rider was female, that she was young and lithe of frame, that her hair, lashing across her shoulders with each lunge of the stallion, was the same shade of red as the mane that tangled with her locks as she bent low over her mount’s neck…and that she was racing him!

He glanced at the speedometer. Fifty miles an hour.

The primitive urge to win at all costs surged through him. He pressed the pedal downward and felt the kick of the powerful engine concealed beneath the hood of the nondescript SUV push him against the seat.

The youngster glanced his way, then she urged the horse faster. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three.

The car pulled ahead, leaving horse and rider behind. A brief flare of triumph brightened the heat-laden August afternoon. It was short-lived.

Frowning, he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing, racing a kid on a horse at fifty miles per hour. If the horse had stumbled, if the girl had fallen…

Ryan Fortune would have his hide if anyone on the Double Crown Ranch was hurt because of him and a momentary foolishness left over from a childhood that had forced him to fight back or die trying.

He glanced into the rearview mirror but the horse and rider had vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Maybe he ought to tell Fortune that some ranch hand’s kid was playing games with cars, probably on a prize stallion with a mile-long pedigree. On the other hand, a kid and her pranks weren’t his main concern at present.

The baby kidnapping was.

With this somber thought, Devin parked under a tree a short distance from the ranch house, an adobe hacienda of both awesome dignity and inviting warmth. As he walked up the sidewalk along the green sweep of lawn shaded by the oaks native to the Texas hill country, he heard the pounding of hooves on gravel and turned to face the road.

The huge red beast bore down on him. He gauged the distance between him and the rapidly approaching animal. Energy poured into him as he prepared to dive out of harm’s way. Six feet away, the rider pulled up.

The beast pivoted, then rose majestically on his hind legs, front hooves pawing the air. Backlit by the afternoon sun, horse and rider blended into one dazzling portrait of fiery splendor, so bright he had to shade his eyes, so alive and fierce and powerful, he felt an answering force within himself.

The rider studied him intently, and Devin felt a visceral thrill of recognition, as if he and the unknown young woman—she was definitely a woman, not a kid—had already met, as if this turbulent moment spoke of latent passions that had once flared between them…and would do so again.

She nodded once, as if acknowledging the mysterious connection. Then the great red horse seemed to gather himself on his powerful haunches before lunging forward into a ground-eating stride of unbelievable strength and speed.

Devin watched until horse and rider disappeared around the corner of the hacienda. At that moment, he realized his body was rock-hard and he was filled with an unquenchable hunger to follow wherever she led—

“You the FBI agent?”

He took a deep breath and fixed his attention on the man who stood at the edge of the lawn, looking him over with a critical eye. Ryan Fortune, patriarch of the Fortune clan, net worth one and a half cool billion, give or take a million or two, crossed the yard. He was dressed in typical cowboy work clothes—boots, jeans, long-sleeved shirt. A sweat-stained Stetson hat shaded his eyes.

Devin walked forward. “Yes, sir. Devin Kincaid.” He shook hands with the rancher and sized him up.

The older man was muscular and tall, standing about an inch less than Devin’s own six feet, two inches. Dark brown hair with gray sprinkled through it. Brown eyes. Laugh lines evident yet subdued by a deep frown that cut two creases across his tanned forehead. He looked as tough as whit leather, more the working cowboy than the rich man.

“It took you long enough,” Fortune said in a low, harsh tone, the anger controlled but urgent.

Devin had dealt with families locked in despair. He understood the agony and the fear, the anger that tried to hide both but never quite succeeded.

“I checked in with Sheriff Grayhawk before driving out.”

Devin knew more about the Fortune clan than the tight-lipped sheriff had revealed in his briefing that morning. Thanks only to lots of newspaper and magazine articles on the famous Fortune spread—the second largest ranch in the state—and to Sam Waterman, a long-time acquaintance who had a detective agency in San Antonio.

At the mention of the sheriff, Fortune nodded. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he squinted against the sun and surveyed the area as if looking for the cavalry to ride up any moment, bringing his baby grandson back.

Seeing the man’s expression soften slightly, Devin followed the dark gaze to the object of his attention. A young woman, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, approached them. Devin recognized the rider of the red horse. The tightening in his gut said he knew her. Logic said they had never met.

Her eyes were as green as the grass he stood on. Her hair was tousled and as fiery as a Texas sunset. She was the promise of everything he’d ever wanted from life. Longing and lust raced through him in equal parts.

“My daughter, Vanessa,” Fortune said. “This is the FBI agent we’ve been expecting.”

“Devin Kincaid,” Dev added. He held out his hand.

Her grip was firm, her fingers slender and warm in his. Though he couldn’t see it, he was certain an arc traveled from the point where their palms connected all the way up his arm and down his chest to join forces with the primitive hunger she aroused.

Her eyes locked with his as an emotion flitted over her face too fast for him to read. She smiled briefly—as if in acknowledgment of the attraction, lust, whatever, between them?—her eyes never leaving his.

Devin dropped her hand as if it were the proverbial hot potato. He had studied pictures of the Fortune clan, but nothing had done justice to the vibrant life he sensed in this slender, shapely young woman. Her entire aura was one of subtle intelligence and willful spirit.

The youngest child—along with her identical twin Victoria—of a very rich man, Vanessa Fortune was twenty-five years old, a dabbler in psychology who had once helped the local police nab a serial killer. One lucky break, Dev mused, and she probably considered herself an expert on the criminal mind.

She was also twelve years younger than he was and as bright and shiny as a new penny. And as tempting to pick up and slip into his pocket. Ha. The Fortune heiress would be a pretty penny, indeed, for someone like him.

“It’s a hundred and two degrees in the shade,” the daughter informed them. “Let’s go inside.”

Dev followed her into the hacienda when her father gestured politely for him to precede him. He was aware of the other man’s eyes on his back and had a feeling the father had correctly read his reaction to the daughter.

He wasn’t here to get involved with a redheaded siren, he reminded himself sternly. Getting seriously entangled with any woman wasn’t part of his future. Period.

The wrought-iron gate, wide-open in a friendly welcome, and tan adobe walls that had once protected the family from intruders gave way to a small courtyard that had been transformed into a garden of paloverdes and native plants. Various-size stones had been used to effect a dry creek. A curving walk led to the steps to a massive wooden door with black iron hinges of conquistador design.

Inside was a typical great room and, beyond, an inner courtyard where the family would have entertained friends and often taken their evening meal in days of old. The courtyard, too, was an inviting expanse of trees and flowers, as well as a fountain and an overhead trellis covered with flowering vines. Under the trellis sat a cozy arrangement of chairs and an old-fashioned yard swing.

Crossing the great room, a dining room was visible to the left through a tall archway. Its glass-paned doors were closed. He surveyed the stucco walls and beamed ceilings. The house looked solid, stable… A good place to raise a family.

The wings on either side of the original hacienda had been constructed for the two sons of Kingston Fortune. However, Devin knew that Cameron, the oldest son, had built his own place near the main house after his marriage. His widow, Mary Ellen, still lived there. Ryan Fortune had stayed on in the main house. Dev wasn’t sure where the ranch workers lived. But he would find out.

Just as he’d find out all the secrets of the Fortune clan and who would take the baby grandson and why. He had already concluded there was more than one person involved and that it was an inside job in spite of the many guests who had been present at the child’s christening party. The grab had been too smooth, too easily carried out under the noses of the collective family members and their long-time friends and neighbors for an unknown trespasser to achieve.

“Iced tea?” the daughter asked.

At his nod, she used an intercom to relay the order—phrased as a request—to the kitchen and the many servants he knew worked there. The size of the ranch and its numerous employees might make his job a little tougher than usual, but not impossible. Criminals always made a mistake. There was always a weak link or an unplanned incident—

“Please, have a seat,” Ryan Fortune invited.

Devin chose a leather chair at right angles to the matching sofa. From this angle, he could observe the entrance and the inner courtyard. He noticed a maid leave one room and enter another. She pushed a trolley much like those used in hotels. Another maid entered the great room, a tray in her hand. She served him first, then Ryan Fortune, who indicated the daughter should be next. Devin stored that bit of information away under “protocol of the rich.”

The tea looked refreshingly cold. A sprig of mint and an orange slice decorated the rim of the glass. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to remove the mint and orange slice and put them in the saucer that came with the tea or just drink from the other side of the glass.

He picked up the glass and waited to see what his host and hostess did. They ignored the refreshment, each watching him as if waiting for a brilliant deduction, Sherlock Holmes style, on the kidnapping. Feeling distinctly foolish, he sipped the flavored tea, then replaced the glass on the saucer which, he noticed, matched the leaf design of the three glasses.

“How many men do you have working with you?” Vanessa Fortune demanded, perching on the arm of the sofa closest to her father, who had taken the chair that faced Devin across the coffee table.

He snatched a number from thin air. “Twenty thousand.”

Dev didn’t know why he’d chosen a smart-ass answer, other than the fact that Vanessa Fortune got his dander up. Among other things.

“I didn’t mean the entire force of the FBI,” she said, not taking offense. “How many from the district office came with you and how many from the local office are assigned to the case?”

“I’m it,” he announced, checking both father and daughter to see how they took this news.

“One man?” she questioned.

Her lips tightened. The bottom lip was fuller than the upper, he noted, and she didn’t wear a smidgen of lipstick. He wondered how that mouth would feel under his and was immediately irritated at the thought.

“The field office will supply any additional help I need,” he continued. “For now, I want to explore on my own.”

“Explore where?” This from the patriarch.

“Here. The house and ranch.”

“That’s about five hundred thousand acres,” Ryan Fortune stated dryly, the impatience controlled but visible.

“I’m aware of that.” Dev’s tone was equally dry.

“What exactly are you looking for?” the daughter broke in. “Don’t you think all the clues will have been eradicated by now? It’s been two months since the kidnapping.”

“I’m aware of that, Ms. Fortune.”

“You had better call me Vanessa, otherwise you’ll have several people answer when the rest of the family is present,” she informed him crisply.

Devin caught the subtle nuance of arrogance in the correction, the demand that he do something now. He saw the father’s gaze shift to her, to him, then back to the daughter. The man saw more than Dev wanted him to.

An uncomfortable flash of heat hit him someplace deep inside. He maintained an impassive expression with an effort of will. But the hunger didn’t let up, nor the longing.

“My daughter will be available to answer any questions,” Mr. Fortune informed him. “I’ve asked her to take you any place on the ranch you want to go. You will have complete freedom to investigate as you wish.”

Another complication in an already complex situation. He ignored the woman and spoke to the father. “I understand Ms. Fortune is in school—”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from my studies,” she informed him. “A Ph.D. is nothing compared to finding my nephew.”

He thought of days spent in her company. Fate had never been kind, not to him. “I don’t have time for an amateur.”

The verdant eyes flashed. “I won’t get in your way.”

He didn’t argue, knowing the decision had been made before he’d appeared on the scene.

“You may go anywhere, question anyone, search any building,” Mr. Fortune assured him. “If anyone gives you any trouble, refer them to me.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dev breathed a little easier about his job. With Fortune’s approval, there was no doubt in his mind that he would get the cooperation he needed.

“Vanessa, take Mr. Kincaid to his room. He might as well get settled in—”

“I have a place in town, but thanks anyway,” Dev quickly put in.

“Staying here will be more efficient,” she told him in the same tone the father had used—as if no one would dare question the decision.

Before he could refuse, Mr. Fortune asked, “Are you by any chance related to the Montana Kincaids?”

“Not that I know of.”

As if he were kin to anyone with money. He was willing to bet the Montana Kincaids were another rich ranching family. Maybe he should tell Mr. Fortune and his snooty daughter about growing up in the Houston slums with a drunk for a father and a beaten-down mother—

“I was in Vietnam with Wayne Kincaid. A good man.”

“Yes, sir.” Dev wondered if the older man’s mind was wandering. People said and did strange things when they were under unrelenting stress for long periods.

“A lot of men didn’t come back.”

Vanessa laid a hand on her father’s shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture that expressed, more than words ever could, her love for her family. For the instant between two heartbeats, Devin let himself wonder how it would feel to be included in that circle of love and loyalty, the inner warmth that spoke of family and forever…

“I’ll take Mr. Kincaid to his room,” she said, “then show him around. Drinks around six?”

Ryan Fortune patted his daughter’s hand. “Yes. I have to return a call to my attorney. I’m sure you’re aware…” He hesitated, then shrugged, his expression grim as he glanced at Dev. “It’s common knowledge that I’m involved in a nasty divorce case. I suppose you’re aware of that.”

“I have the general details,” Dev admitted. At the other man’s assessing glance, he added, “Sam Waterman is a friend. He was in Intelligence when I was in the Marines.” Waterman was now a private investigator and had been hired by Ryan Fortune to protect his family after the kidnapping.

Devin exchanged a glance with Fortune that spoke of common experiences, of friendships forged and proven in the heat of battle, whether that was in the jungles of Nam, the deserts of Kuwait, or endangered embassies in various parts of the world where he had served.

As an embassy guard who had figured out an assassination scheme on an ambassador before it happened, Devin had reported his findings to CIA Agent Waterman. The higher-ups had transferred him to Intelligence, which was how he’d ended up in the FBI when his tour of duty was finished.

“If you’re ready…” the daughter said, making it obvious she was by rising.

Dev also stood. He thanked the tall rancher for his cooperation, then followed the daughter across the room to the covered and enclosed flagstone sidewalk that extended around the inner quadrangle and served as the hallway to the rest of the house.

“Except for the windows, this was part of the original structure. So was the great room, the rooms off it on either side and the wall enclosing the compound,” she explained, seeing his interest. She pointed toward the back wall. “The stables are garages now. Grandfather—that was Kingston Fortune—remodeled the main house, enlarging the dining hall and installing a modern kitchen. Later, he added the wings on each side for his sons’ families. This is my father’s side. He and Sophia… He has a suite.” She indicated a door as they passed.

Devin stopped. “I’d like to see it.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll ask my father.”

“He’s already given his consent.” He tried the door, then walked in.

The suite opened into a sitting room—a combination man’s study and woman’s parlor. An ornate recliner, gold-trimmed with red silk upholstery, seemed out of place among the obviously antique heavy Spanish desk and leather chairs. A white-and-gold table on spindly legs held a telephone and a pedestalled gilt mirror. The table and red silk recliner were placed so the occupant could view the inner courtyard with ease. The antique desk and two comfortable chairs, backed by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled the corner and wall nearest the entrance door. An open door revealed a bedroom.

Devin quickly inspected the area, including the adjoining bath with its whirlpool tub and fancy fixtures. He checked all doors, finding mostly closets—closets bigger than his bedroom at the house where he’d grown up in Houston.

“Okay, we can go.”

“Just what are you looking for?” she demanded, the impatience—Dev thought it must be a family trait—visible in a frown that nicked a line between her eyes. She stared at him without blinking.

For a second he forgot the question and became lost in those verdant depths. He wondered what her passion would be like, if she would be as impatient to get to a climax as she was to get on with the investigation.

He reined in the hunger. A woman, especially this one, had no place in his life. Control was his strength; logic his métier. That’s why he succeeded in cases that other law enforcement officials had given up on. Why he had been sent on this job—to solve a kidnapping, not to fall for the daughter of the house.

“What?” he said, vaguely recalling a question being asked, not sure if it had come from him or her.

She looked away. This time he sensed confusion behind the other emotions she tried to hide.

“Nothing.” She led the way into the hall.

There were four other doors in the east wing. She paused at the first one and looked at him with a question in her eyes. He explored the room, checking it as he had the main suite. One door revealed a nursery.

The small room contained a combination dresser diapering station, a crib, bassinet and a rocker. There was a daybed—for a nanny, he assumed—and chest of drawers along one wall.

“Is this where the child was sleeping?” Dev asked.

She nodded. “Bryan. His name is Bryan. Claudia had put him to bed in here after the christening—” Her voice wobbled on the last word and she stopped speaking abruptly.

Devin sensed her distress and felt a tightening inside, as if what she felt, he did, too. This was a case, he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford to get emotional.

“Okay, let’s move on,” he said, ushering her out. He glanced into the other bedrooms, noting that each had a door that opened to the inner courtyard, an ensuite bath, and the usual compliment of closet space the rich seemed to require.

The next-to-last door was her room. He smiled at the jumble of books, clothes, jewelry and other female “junk” spilling over the dresser, tables and chairs. The room was just what he would expect from a spoiled kid. This knowledge put her back on an even keel where he was concerned, and he relaxed somewhat, his libido easing up.

There were four doors in her room—one to the courtyard, one to a bathroom, another to a walk-in closet. The fourth door led to the room next door.

“Whose room is this?” he asked, annoyed by the connecting door and the possibility of having a lover close by, then was annoyed with himself for thinking of it.

“Yours,” she said, her manner indicating it should have been self-evident.

He couldn’t hide his surprise.

Amusement flashed through her eyes. “I thought this would be convenient since we’ll be working together on the case.”

For a moment he was tempted to kiss the arrogance out of her, maybe throw a little scare into the overconfident debutante for taunting a male she didn’t know. He erased the idea with difficulty.

“I’m here to do a job. You get in my way, and you’re in trouble,” he warned, trying to find the right ground for them, a neutral place without emotion or attraction.

“I’m going to help. I’ve read every book that has been written on kidnappings like this one.” She gestured toward the books littering her desk. There were others on the criminal mind, he noticed.

Stubborn, interfering female. He could see she meant business. Okay, he could handle that. He was a great believer in using whatever came to hand to solve a case. He would give her something to do to keep her out of his hair.

Passing close to her on his way to check the rest of her quarters, he caught a whiff of her scent. He was reminded of the outdoors, of sunlight and the sweet, spicy scent of wildflowers, of wind and the fresh smell of the earth after a summer shower, of nature and the powerful thrust of the stallion she had ridden….

Unbidden, unexpected, the hunger swept over him, as strong as the tornadoes that bore down from the northwest, destroying everything in their path. He fought the battle and won.

This he understood. It was passion, no more, no less. But the undercurrents between them whispered of something else. In the nursery, he’d seen the vulnerable side of her, the love for her nephew, the worry and despair that had shone briefly in the depths of her eyes. His partner’s wife had looked like that after they had buried Stan.

From those two, Dev had learned what a real marriage was supposed to be, the give and take, the sharing of the good and bad, the raising of their kids…

The pain hit him as it always did—rising from his soul, tormenting him. Love, he had discovered early in his life, was a hurtful thing. It lifted the heart on wings of hope, then dashed it to the ground, shattered and struggling.

“Why haven’t they contacted us again?” Vanessa asked suddenly, interrupting his inner tirade of guilt and blame. She clenched her hands at her sides. “I should have looked in on him. I started to, but I let myself be distracted. Maria had returned and I stopped and talked to her. After that, I forgot to check on Bryan. I should have. I meant to…”

When she looked at him, the pain was in her eyes. He knew that feeling and the guilt that went with it.

He looked away, refusing to give in.

“If only I had gone to the nursery—”

“And done what?” he asked harshly. “Surprised the kidnappers and gotten yourself killed?”

Vanessa shook her head, angry with herself for failing her nephew. “I don’t know.”

She swallowed hard against the knot of emotion that filled her throat, the agony in her spirit. “He was so tiny. Claudia was good about sharing him. She let me hold him and rock him. He liked patty-cake. And funny songs. He was our future, the next generation of Fortunes…” Her throat closed and she had to stop for a second. “It’s so difficult, not knowing if he’s alive and well. Or if…if…”

“In ransom cases, it’s in their interests to keep him alive,” he said tersely.

“Help me find him,” she begged, the despair rising. She instinctively knew this man would do his best to find the baby. There was something about him that she trusted.

No, it was more than trust. The moment she had looked into his eyes, had viewed the steadiness in him when he had faced her as the horse reared and pawed the air, she had known there was something between them, something deep and personal and eternal. She said his name. “Devin.”

His hand clenched at his side. “Dev,” he said, his voice dropping to a low roughness that both soothed and thrilled her. “My friends call me Dev.”

She heard the reluctance in his tone. He had been trying to distance himself from her and the feelings between them. She knew that. He didn’t want to be friends with her. He didn’t intend to get that close. She understood all that in an instant, and it didn’t matter…because she knew it wouldn’t work. Whatever this was, it was too strong for denial.

“Hold me,” she said softly. It wasn’t a request or even an order. It was stark need.

He rammed his hands into his pockets. His glare should have withered any expectations she might have, but it didn’t.

“Hold me,” she repeated.

“You’re playing dangerously, just as you did when you pitted that red stallion against a car. If you had fallen—”

She shook her head, cutting off the reprimand, and felt her hair shift around her shoulders as if it, too, sensed the restless need of her spirit. “I’d been watching for you. I saw you turn off the highway. I wanted to be here when you arrived. I wanted to be the first person you met.”

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Why are you so anxious to keep tabs on me?”

The question was meant to startle and disarm. It did neither. “I want to help with the investigation. The baby, Bryan—” She stopped and took a ragged breath. “He’s so little, only three—no, four—months old now. An innocent baby. He’ll be frightened. How could anyone take him?”

Tears filled her eyes. She stepped forward, reaching for him, needing the strength she sensed he could offer. She sighed wearily as she felt his warmth enclose her like a sweet, welcome embrace although he refused to touch her.

“Money,” he replied, his tone hard. “That’s the usual reason people commit crimes.”

She laid her hands on his chest. She felt small and fragile next to his great strength, although she had never considered herself either. His breath sighed gently on the top of her head as he stared down at her, his stance wary.

“I’m not your father,” he said. “I’m not here for your comfort.”

When she didn’t step back, he put his hands on her shoulders as if he would push her away, then paused, as if he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel.

“There’s compassion in you,” she murmured. Desperation and despair churned in her. “I’m afraid. I know the chances of getting my nephew back alive lessen with each passing day,” she whispered, guilt forcing the words from her. “If I had gone to the nursery, they might have taken me in his place.”

She was glad when he didn’t murmur the usual platitudes that offered scant comfort.

“If he’s alive, I’ll find him,” he said in a deeper, huskier tone. A promise.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “I know. The moment I saw you, outside, when you arrived, I knew—”

She stopped, the explanation dying on her lips. He bent slightly, then pulled back, a stunned expression flashing into his eyes, replaced immediately by one of fierce, angry control. And something more—a darkness that spoke of regret and a bitter knowledge of life that excluded anyone else.

“Yes,” she whispered, knowing whatever they felt toward each other was right, her and this dark knight with eyes like the morning sky.

He sucked in a harsh breath.

She realized with something akin to shock that she wanted him to kiss her, to act on the impulse he had subdued. Instinctively she arched against him and felt the shudder that tore through his big, strong body.

She barely heard his low curse as he backed against the door frame, taking part of her weight as she was thrown off balance. Her own breath became ragged and filled with an urgent need she’d never before known.

A roaring filled her ears. A Texas tornado, she realized vaguely. It was coming toward them…

“What the hell is going on?” a male voice said savagely.




Two


“Matthew,” Vanessa murmured, reluctantly turning from the warmth. Coldness rushed in when Dev released his grip on her shoulders. However, her heart was touched at the haggard appearance of her oldest brother and she suppressed her own needs and fears. “Have you heard anything?”

Matthew brushed her question aside with the usual Fortune impatience. “I need to talk to the FBI agent. Where is he?”

Vanessa gestured toward Dev with her free hand. “This is Devin Kincaid.”

“You know him?” Matthew demanded.

She saw the puzzled suspicion in her brother’s eyes as he stared at them. She stepped away from the solid comfort of Dev’s warmth.

“Yes,” she said simply, and realized there was no need for further explanation. In her heart, she knew this man well. She’d acknowledged that from the first contact. A moment ago, touching him, it had been like coming home.

“We met earlier,” Dev said, covering for her. “You must be the baby’s father.”

“Yes. Have you found anything?”

“Not yet.”

The brother cursed and stalked restlessly to the window that opened on the courtyard.

“It must have been an inside job,” Vanessa told them.

When the men looked at her, she realized there was a similarity between them. They both had blue eyes and brown hair, Matthew’s hair being somewhat darker. His features were more refined, aristocratic while Dev’s were rugged.

She thought Dev’s nose had been broken at one time. He sported a thin scar along his chin. His eyes were watchful, his stance wary, alert to danger. There was goodness in him. Caring. A sense of responsibility toward others. Again she was reminded of Matthew and his manner at times.

Matthew had chosen medicine after watching their mother die of cancer. The FBI agent had chosen police work, another field that demanded patience and a protective, nurturing personality for those with idealistic traits. She wondered what forces had influenced his life and knew she wouldn’t rest until she found out.

“Why do you think that?” Dev asked.

She sensed his reluctance to accept anything at face value. “There were too many people around, too many friends and neighbors who know the entire family, for a stranger to walk in, then out, with a child.”

“On the other hand, every bedroom has a door leading into the courtyard,” he pointed out.

“And from the courtyard, it’s easy to get outside,” Matthew added. “There’s an exit through the original wall at the end of each wing, plus the old stable doors.”

“If someone left the nursery with the baby, they could easily slip into any of the bedrooms if need be—” she conceded, pointing toward her door and the adjoining room assigned to Dev. “From there, it would take only a second to slip down the steps into the courtyard, around the corner and out through the gate.”

“If everyone’s attention was toward the great room balcony where Dad was proposing a toast, it would have been an easy feat,” Matthew finished. “Especially since the trellis partially blocks the view.”

Vanessa could read nothing in Dev’s face as he listened to their theory of the kidnapping. The familiar frustration welled up in her. She wanted to do something…now.

“I’d like to tour the entire compound today. I want to know who lives where—ranch hands, family, everyone.”

“Yes,” she said, reining in the impatience in the face of Dev’s calm questioning. His quiet, impassive manner was a facade that covered a man of deep feeling. She had sensed that in him when he’d responded to her despair.

Or was she overreacting to the situation? Her emotions had been on a seesaw since the disappearance.

The unfamiliar sense of helplessness, of being jerked around at the whim of someone who wanted to harm her family, swept over her. She turned instinctively to Dev, wanting the succor of his warmth around her once more. She paused when Matthew sighed, then clenched his hand into a fist.

“Someone called,” he said. “I was in the doctor’s lounge at the hospital. She said the baby was fine and that she was taking good care of him. Then she hung up.”

“Oh, my God,” Vanessa whispered. “We didn’t think of putting a tap on that line.”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Dev demanded. “If you have any idea at all, speak up. Nothing and no one is too vague to be discounted.”

Matthew shook his head. “The voice was a whisper. I could barely hear her—”

“How do you know it was a woman?” Dev asked.

Vanessa found herself staring at Matthew with the same intent look that Dev turned on him. She saw surprise, then doubt, rush through her brother’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I just thought…it seemed to me…” He shook his head. “It could have been a man.”

“No,” Dev said. “A person’s instincts are usually right. Something tipped you off, something too subtle to be recalled consciously.”

Matthew continued to look troubled. “Instincts have been wrong before.”

“So has reasoning,” Dev said dryly.

Vanessa gazed from one man to the other. “We know one female who wants to hurt us.” She didn’t say the name aloud.

“That bitch,” Matthew said, echoing her feelings.

“If you’re thinking of your stepmother Sophia,” Dev said, “why would she want to reassure you about the child?”

“So we would pay the ransom,” Vanessa told him. “If Bryan is…” She couldn’t say it.

“Dead,” Matthew said hoarsely. “If he’s dead.”

“But he’s not,” Vanessa said quickly, unable to stand his agony. “That’s why they’re keeping us waiting. They think we’ll pay more if they string us along so we’ll be more anxious.”

“Would you?”

Vanessa frowned as Dev prodded and questioned, casting doubts on their reasoning. She and Matthew had discussed the case a thousand times. “My father will pay whatever it takes.”

“Other than the original note for fifty million dollars and the one call, you’ve heard nothing?”

“That’s right,” Matthew answered.

“Where were you when the alleged kidnapping took place?” he asked Matthew.

Vanessa couldn’t believe the implication behind the question. “Matthew didn’t take his own child,” she declared hotly.

Dev continued to watch Matthew with his impassive gaze.

“I was… After the christening, I stayed close to my wife. We were outside—”

“You were near the fountain,” Vanessa added. “You and Holden were talking. Claudia and Lucinda were close by.”

The blue gaze swung to her. “Where were you?”

“I was on my way into the house and saw Maria standing under the trellis. I stopped and welcomed her back. We talked for several minutes. She seemed embarrassed at seeing me. She wouldn’t look at me. I think she was worried about facing her mother after leaving the way she did and staying gone so long.”

Matthew frowned, his gaze on the middle distance. “I remember now. We christened Bryan with water from the fountain. Rosita said the spring that feeds the fountain is the life source of the Fortune clan—”

Vanessa stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on her brother’s arm when he stopped abruptly.

“I think I could kill whoever did this with my bare hands,” he said after a few seconds.

Vanessa had never seen her brother’s eyes so filled with murderous intent. While her other brothers, Zane and Dallas, had often threatened bodily harm to her and her twin Victoria, who had tormented them about their dates, Matthew had always been the quieter brother, the kinder, gentler one, while they were growing up. He had comforted her and her sister when their mother had died, although he had been seventeen at the time, only five years older than the girls.

She was also aware that Devin Kincaid took in every word, every nuance of emotion that was taking place. For a second she resented his cool detachment. But he had a job to do, and she understood that. She wanted to help him.

“I have the guest list from the christening,” she told him, adopting his business-like manner. “Do you want it?”

“Sheriff Grayhawk gave me a copy. He also gave me a list of everyone who works here at the house. I want to talk to those people first. Do you know who was on the premises?”

“Yes. With so many guests, everyone worked that day.”

Dev nodded, then dismissed Matthew. “You’ll leave numbers where you can be reached at all times?”

Matthew handed over his card after scribbling his cell phone and hospital numbers on the back. After he left the room, Vanessa went to her desk. She picked up the list she had been working on earlier.

“I want to know where everyone that you noticed was around the time of the kidnapping,” Dev said.

“I’ve already done that.” At his glance, she smiled grimly. “I do know something about criminal investigations.”

“Huh,” was his succinct comment.

He obviously didn’t take her seriously. She stifled the urge to argue with him about it. He would, given time, she vowed. Devin Kincaid, tough FBI agent, would take her very seriously before they were through with each other.

“Let’s go over your lists,” he said, his tone patient, polite. Sergeant Joe Friday, on the job.

Cruz Perez was angry. Vanessa could identify with the feeling. She wasn’t very happy, either.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” he demanded.

“The FBI,” she snapped, in no mood to put up with his temper as well as her own irritation at being excluded from the questioning. Dev had set up office in her father’s study and allowed no one in while he questioned witnesses. She had been relegated to the role of gofer as he finished with one person and wanted the next brought to him. She had no idea what questions he asked that took so long with each person. And no one would tell her.

“That’s my mother in there,” Cruz snarled. Cruz was the horse trainer at the ranch. His mother was the housekeeper.

As if she didn’t know. Personally Vanessa had been shocked when Dev had handed her the list of people he wanted to question when he’d arrived back at the ranch first thing that morning. She’d also been miffed that he hadn’t taken advantage of their offer of a room. Surely that would have speeded things along.

“If he thinks he can connect her or anyone in my family to the kidnapping, he can think again.”

Cruz glared at her, his dark good looks dangerous and exciting as his anger erupted. However, since she had known him all her life—he was four years her senior—she wasn’t at all worried or impressed.

“No one thinks that—”

The door opened. “Thank you, Mrs. Perez,” Dev said in his even tone. His gaze went from the housekeeper, who had been on the ranch since before Vanessa was born, to slide over Vanessa and on to Cruz.

“I’ll send lunch in,” Rosita promised warmly.

“That would be kind of you.” Dev spoke to Cruz. “Cruz Perez? Please come in. Thank you for coming.”

The door closed in Vanessa’s face. For the fourth time that morning.

Dev had first talked to her father at length and without her presence, then Ruben Perez, Rosita’s husband and the ranch foreman, then Rosita, and now Cruz. She was nearing the screaming point—

“Come,” Rosita said, her dark eyes filling with amusement. “He wants to have lunch with you.”

Vanessa’s chin dropped in surprise. “He does?”

“You know he does,” Rosita said wisely.

She led the way to the kitchen where two women busied themselves between the huge stove and wall of double ovens. The smell of baking bread filled the air as usual on Friday morning. By Monday, the fresh loaves would be gone and new ones would be baked to get them through the week.

The kitchen had been the twins’ favorite place after the death of their mother. Rosita had taught them to cook everything from crown roast to homemade tortillas. She had also taught them that grief could be bearable when shared.

“Whole or half?” Rosita asked, referring to the loaf of bread she was slicing.

“Half,” Vanessa said.

While Rosita prepared a whole sandwich for Dev and a half one for her, Vanessa arranged their dishes on a tray, including the salads and cups of tortilla soup for each of them. She wasn’t sure if she should allow herself to be mollified at being included during lunch or if she should give him the silent treatment for not letting her take part in the questioning.

She sighed heavily.

Rosita poured tall glasses of iced tea. “Next time you have hot tea, I will read the leaves for you.”

“Do you think you’ll see anything?” As a child, Vanessa had always wanted to know the future.

The housekeeper had finally told her she was a very mysterious person and nothing could be seen in her future, except that it would be fun and filled with adventure.

But that had been Victoria’s future. Her twin, a pediatric nurse, was the one off on an adventure, teaching health and helping children on some tiny island republic off the coast of South America. Vanessa liked things closer to home.

Carefully carrying the tray back to the study, Vanessa had a sudden yearning to see her twin and confide all the hopes and misgivings of her heart. Only Victoria would understand completely…

“Come in,” Dev called when she tapped the door with the toe of her shoe.

“I can’t open the door,” she muttered, and heard the note of complaint in her tone. Right. How to win friends and influence your enemies: be a grouch.

The heavy portal opened. She entered the study. “Clear the desk,” she ordered.

He stacked his papers neatly to one side. She balanced the tray on the corner of the desk and spread the feast on the open space. She pulled the chair to the side and took her place. Dev took his position behind the desk.

“You look quite at home there,” she told him. “My father might get jealous. The lord of the manor used to sit there and dole out justice to my brothers and us.”

“Us?” he said.

“Victoria and myself.”

“You were always a pair?”

“Of course. We were twins. What one did, the other did, too.” She grinned. “We thought we had it all worked out when we decided that one of us should study for the biology test and the other for English finals when we entered high school. Since we had been assigned to different classes, we thought we could simply swap and each take the same test twice.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes.” She grimaced. “But about halfway through our freshman year, the English teacher caught on when someone spilled milk on Victoria. My dress was dry when I went in to take the test right after lunch. My dad grounded us for the entire semester after that.”

“Tough,” he said. He even looked sympathetic as well as amused. He took a bite out of his sandwich.

Vanessa ate, too, aware of the quiet that surrounded them. Her father was in town, probably visiting Lily. Matthew and Claudia had moved out of their house in town and back to the ranch to escape the prying eyes of the paparazzi who had hounded them since the kidnapping. There was still speculation on prime time news about the situation. The couple had taken up residence in the wing formerly occupied by Uncle Cameron’s family before he and Aunt Mary Ellen had built their own house.

“Why isn’t Savannah Clark’s name on the list?” Dev asked, breaking into her musings.

“I forgot about her,” Vanessa admitted. “She wasn’t on the guest list for the christening since I had invited her down to visit with me for the week.”

“Did she date any of your brothers?”

“Heavens, no. She and I were roommates in college. She didn’t know my family before then. I wouldn’t wish my brothers on any unsuspecting female.”

He didn’t seem to see the humor in her statement. His thick black brows drew closer over the beautiful summery blue of his eyes.

“She’s a teacher in Dallas?”

Vanessa paused before answering. “Yes. How did you know that?” She reached for the list.

He moved it out of her grasp.

“Tell me about that day. Start right after the christening and tell me everyone you spoke with and where you were at the time. Picture it in your mind.”

“Perhaps you’d like me to use self-hypnosis and regression?” she suggested, annoyed at his excluding her from his confidence, especially when she had already told him all she could remember at least three times.

“Just what you recall will be fine.” He pulled a legal pad toward him.

He was being very distant and crisp with her this morning. It was a denial of the attraction between them and the magic of those moments in her bedroom.

“How did you know about Savannah?” she asked.

“The sheriff filled me in.”

It was foolish to feel personally rejected, but she did. She knew this was an investigation. He was doing his job. Still, he could have told her what he had in mind.

The terrible despair she’d felt upon realizing the baby was really gone fell upon her. Her eyes ached with unshed tears. She took a steadying breath.

“Savannah and I stood directly behind my father and Lily…Lily Redgrove Cassidy. I forgot to put her down, too. She’s Dad’s fiancée.”

“When his divorce from his present wife—Sophia—is final,” Dev reminded her, his tone without inflection. He tugged his tie loose, then tossed it to the chair that held his jacket.

“Sometimes I wish Sophia would choke on a chicken bone.”

Her comment brought a flicker of emotion to his eyes. It wasn’t fair for a man to have eyes like that, Vanessa thought, eyes so beautiful they made a woman melt whenever he looked her way—even when he was frowning rather ominously, as he was at her right now.

“Just kidding,” she added.

“I wouldn’t,” he said without a smidgen of a smile. “Things sometimes have a way of coming true, and then you’re sorry for your evil thoughts.”

“Were you?” she asked with sudden insight.

“What?”

“Sorry when what you wished came true.”

His face hardened into a mask. “No.”

“What was it?”

“I wished my father would die.”

“And he did?”

“Coming home drunk one night, he ran into a truck. I’d wished for it a hundred times.”

“Did he hit you and your mother?”

His hesitation was noticeable. “Yes.”

She understood the darkness in him now. “It wasn’t your fault. Your mother was the adult. It was her job to protect you, not the other way around. She chose to stay instead of leaving your father.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“I didn’t say it was easy, only that she made a choice each time she could have left and didn’t.”

The muscles tightened in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You won’t always close me out,” she vowed.

“Don’t confuse me with one of your psychology projects,” he advised. “My life isn’t open for study.”

“I don’t have to study it. I know all about you. From the moment we met. Just as you know me.”

She could feel the closing down and shutting out as he gazed at her without speaking. It hurt. She looked away, suddenly unsure of herself.

“I know you as the pampered darling of a very rich father,” he said calmly. “You’re spoiled, impatient and probably think you were put on earth to tell everyone how to live.”

“That’s right. My twin thinks it’s her calling to save the world. I tell people how to save themselves. We’re a good team, don’t you think?” Her tone challenged him to disagree with her.

He shrugged.

She finished her lunch, her eyes ever drawn to him. He glanced at her occasionally, noting her steady perusal, but obviously didn’t let it bother him. He looked over his papers while he ate.

“Let’s go for a ride,” she suggested, overcome with a need to do something. She stacked dishes on the tray.

He stopped her from taking his soup. “I’d like to finish, if you don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got work to do.”

“Being outdoors clears the cobwebs. It helps a person think. There’s a trail along the creek that’s perfect.” She eyed his brawny physique. “Between Dad and Matthew, we should be able to outfit you. Since you’re too stubborn to bring your things out here and stay in your room.”

He leaned back in the chair. “This may come as a shock to your delicate system, but not every person is born with a silver saddle in the stable, so to speak. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.”

Heat slid up her neck. Her face grew hot. “That was terribly rude of me,” she apologized. “I did assume… Wouldn’t you like to learn?”

“I see no reason for it.”

“So we can share all the things we like,” she said, taking her most reasonable tone with him. “I want to show you all my favorite places, the hideaways where Victoria and I played—”

“Hideaways? Where?” he interrupted.

“Along the creek. There’s a bluff where there’s an overhang. We used to pretend we were Indians and try to track animals through the woods. Cruz was really good at it. He could follow deer and rabbits fairly easily. Once he led us to a bobcat. My brother Dallas and my cousin Logan were with us. You should have seen us scatter when the cat snarled.”

“Interesting.” Dev picked up the list of suspects, or whatever he called it, and made some notes. “Was he ever jealous of your brothers?”

“Cruz? Why should he be?”

“He’s the son of a hired hand. Your brothers were the landed gentry. It would be a natural thing, especially since he seems drawn to the land.”

“He wants a spread of his own, but it costs a lot to buy land and start an operation from scratch. He loves working with the horses, and he’s the best cutting horse trainer we’ve ever had. His mother, Rosita, tells him all things will come in good time, but he’s impatient.”

“Now that’s a trait your family should recognize,” Dev murmured.

She wrinkled her nose at him, then continued with her analysis. “Lately, Cruz has been moody. I think Dallas offered him the money to buy a small place near here to start a champion rodeo line, but Cruz got all steamed about it. He seems to have a chip on his shoulder, but I don’t know why.”

Dev gave a scornful snort.

“Cruz isn’t the sort to carry a grudge,” she assured him. She saw the doubt in his eyes. “You don’t suspect…surely you don’t think Cruz…he wouldn’t hurt us,” she ended vehemently, indignant for her childhood companion and friend.

“He had opportunity. He may have motive. That only leaves one thing.”

“What?”

“The drive.”

“Sophia has all three.”

“Your stepmother?”

“Don’t call her that,” Vanessa ordered sharply. “She was no mother to any of us. Aunt Mary Ellen and Rosita filled that gap after my mother died.”

“All right. Give me a motive.”

“She hates us.”

“She stands to gain more from the divorce settlement than from a kidnapping. Why would she jeopardize a sure thing for fifty million in ransom that might also land her in jail?”

Vanessa considered the situation. “You’re right. Sophia isn’t stupid, only greedy. Father has vowed she won’t get more than the Austin town house and the allowance he already gives her. Which is more than enough for ten families to live on.”

“But is it enough for her?”

“Well, I used to hear them quarrel about it when I lived at home full-time. She says she won’t settle for less than half his holdings.”

“A cool billion and a half.”

“Not really. Grandfather set up a trust for all the grandkids. Dad controls everything, though. I haven’t paid much attention to the legalities of it, so I’m not sure how it’s all divided.”

“Hmm,” he said.

She thought she heard condemnation in the word. “What does that mean?” she demanded defensively.

“It means money has never been a problem to you, so you’ve never had to think much about it.”

The truth in his statement hit home. “It means, I would never think of kidnapping to get it. But others would.”

“Exactly.”

“Cruz needs money to follow his dream. I suppose you think everyone who works for us is a suspect.”

“If the boot fits…” he said.

“You’ll find the one who wears it,” she concluded. She smiled beatifically at him. “I know you will.”

“Your faith is touching,” he mocked.

She shook her head and gave him a slow, deliberate grin. “Not faith, my love. You have more than luck on your side. You have me.”

“God help us,” he murmured.




Three


“You’re looking good,” Vanessa said.

“Huh.”

She hid a grin. Dev had arrived at the ranch dressed in jeans, obviously new cowboy boots—the correct kind, not the ones drugstore cowboys wore—and proper headgear, which for summer was a white straw hat. It had a blue band and no eagle feathers, thank goodness.

He was a natural athlete and had adapted his movements to those of his horse, Rusty, quicker than most city slickers. He looked great on the big roan gelding, which was her favorite mount because of his smooth gait. She was riding a gray gelding who was alert and good-natured.

After a weekend of easy riding and some practice at jumping in the ring, on Monday she declared him ready for the trail along the creek up to her secret cave. As usual, that morning he had talked privately with her father, then questioned several ranch hands before telling her he was ready for their ride. If he was saddle sore, he didn’t complain, but rode with the stoic nature she had learned to expect from him.

She sighed. Those first moments of meeting, the attraction that had nearly ended in a compassionate kiss between them, might never have been. He kept his distance. She felt thwarted and discouraged on all fronts.

Turning her thoughts to the task at hand, she led the way through the stand of oaks and around the alders that lined the small, rushing creek. Instead of soothing her as a ride usually did, she became nostalgic.

“My twin and I hid out here overnight one time. Dad was going to belt us for riding a half-broke stallion that Dallas said we were too chicken to ride. But Cruz said it was safe, so we did it.”

“You trusted him?”

She twisted around in the saddle to face him. “Yes. I told you he would never harm us.”

“Your unfailing feminine intuition, I assume?”

“Yes.” She stared him straight in the eye, willing him to acknowledge the feelings between them.

He gazed at her without blinking.

She turned toward the trail, annoyed with him. “You won’t always deny it.”

“Yes, I will. Because there’s nothing there.”

“How do you know what I’m talking about if there’s nothing there?”

“Don’t try your psychobabble on me.”

She kicked the gelding into a canter. This part of the trail sloped gradually upward in a series of rolling dips and rises. The gray jumped each low place easily. She knew the roan would follow their lead. She didn’t pull up until the path ended at the rocky ledge leading sharply upward.

Finally she stopped in a small hammock surrounded by wild pecan trees and shrub oak. She and Victoria had sprayed the poison oak out each year so that the area was safe for them to play. Dismounting, she dropped the reins to the ground, leaving the horse ground-hitched.

Dev did the same.

“We walk from here.”

“Which way?”

“Up.”

He took the lead now, his gaze intent on the ground. He bent and studied the nearly overgrown trail and every twig and blade of grass. When they arrived at the overhang of limestone that formed the secret hideaway, he heaved a disappointed breath.

“Nothing,” he said. “No one’s been up here since the last rain. That was four weeks ago.”

“After the kidnapping.”

“Yeah. I thought the kidnapper might have holed up close by, maybe left a clue. But no such luck.”

He searched the cave, looking over the tin tea set she and Victoria had brought up years ago. There was a tripod for cooking over a fire, an iron kettle, a skillet and a trivet.

“Who used this?” he asked.

“Victoria and I, mostly. My brothers did, too, before they discovered girls and dating.”

Dev walked out from under the overhang and stood looking down the three-story drop into the ravine, where the creek ran swift and cold over the limestone boulders.

“A long ways to go for water,” he remarked.

“Not really. Come on, I’ll show you.”

She walked around the ledge that narrowed as it curved past the shallow cavern. Up the trail a few feet was a water seep. She removed a pan hanging on a nail pounded into a pine and placed it so it would catch the drip from the trickle of water. The drops made a friendly patter against the aluminum until the water was deep enough to cover the bottom of the pan.

“All the comforts of home,” she pointed out. “Are you ready for lunch?”

He nodded, his eyes searching the area above the trail.

She returned to the horses and removed food from the saddlebag on her mount. She handed Dev the chilled container of lemonade when he joined her. Back in front of the cave, she divided the food she had prepared for their picnic when he had requested the ride up the ridge.

“How many times have you done this?” he asked.

She weighed the question. “Jealous?”

A flush lit his lean cheeks. “Hardly.”

“You are,” she said softly, wishing he would admit it.

He snorted. She laughed when one of the horses did the same as if mimicking him.

They ate the sandwiches made from roast beef, sliced homemade pickles and spicy mustard, then sipped the lemonade from tin cups taken from a rocky shelf in hers and Victoria’s childhood pantry.

Dev was aware of the quiet that surrounded them. They were alone for all practical purposes, and it bothered the hell out of him. He should have insisted that Cruz Perez or one of the hands show him around the ranch. Being with the daughter was too disturbing for his comfort.

Her gaze stirred something inside him—a place where hope lingered, foolishly believing the promises that life dangled in front of a person. But he knew about promises, knew that, like dreams, they were never fulfilled. He had no desire to be around to see the glow die when life slapped her down one time too many. Then she would know, too.

He concentrated on the details of the case. He had a good idea where everyone had been located and who they’d been with at the moment of the kidnapping. He knew which people correctly remembered events and those who had been mistaken…or had lied. There were loose ends, of course. Not everyone was accounted for by someone else.

Maria Cassidy, for one. However, Vanessa had seen her in the courtyard at the probable time of the kidnapping.

Lily Cassidy, Maria’s mother and the fiancée of Ryan Fortune, said she had spoken to Rosita Perez about serving the champagne for the toast, but Rosita thought that was before the christening, not afterward.

Cruz Perez was also unaccounted for.

The horse trainer had said he’d gone to the stable to check on a mare having difficulty foaling. Clint Lockhart, brother-in-law to Ryan Fortune through the rancher’s first wife, Janine, insisted he’d been outside at the time and hadn’t seen Perez at the stable.

Lockhart had a cowboy who could vouch for him, but the man had finished his temporary job the day before the christening and had been at the bunkhouse only an hour or so to pack up his belongings the day of the kidnapping. Lockhart didn’t know where the cowhand was now. Perez said he hadn’t seen Lockhart when he’d crossed the road to the stable.

One of them was lying, Dev was sure. Or their timing was off. The local cops hadn’t been able to locate the missing cowhand to verify Lockhart’s story.

He was at a stalemate.

“Have you found any clues?”

Dev shook his head, then went back to staring out over the land. In the vast pastures that spread beyond the creek at the foot of the ledge to the horizon, he could see hundreds of cattle grazing peacefully.

Fifty thousand head. Five thousand horses. Anywhere from fifty to a hundred cowboys, according to the season. But most of them were scattered around the half-million acre ranch, too far away to have been involved in the family’s affairs.

When she laid a hand on his thigh, he nearly jumped out of his skin as lightning sizzled through his veins. He pushed her hand away.

“I’ve written a profile of the kidnapping,” she said.

She pulled a slip of paper from her breast pocket and handed it to him. It was warm from her body and burned his fingers with the magic fire that came only from her. He forced himself to read her notes.

Well-planned and executed, indicating insider information.

Two people, possibly three or four, involved.

Leader is crafty and willing to play games for bigger stakes. Controls accomplices who are probably younger and willing to take more risks.

Someone used to children is taking care of baby and may have called Matthew. This could be their weak link.

Her handwriting was neat with evenly looped letters, but the impatience was revealed in the flying slashes that crossed the t’s and the dots that were near the i’s but didn’t line up with them. There was strength and decisiveness evident in the bold strokes, a certain confidence that could edge over into family pride—or perhaps snobbishness, although he admitted that wasn’t really true of her—in the tall capital letters, a gentleness as well as an unexpected vulnerability in the rounded strokes. He would have known it was her handwriting without being told.

And that her background was privileged, that she was used to getting her own way and that she wasn’t for him, no matter what wild imaginings occupied his dreams. He sighed and finished off the lemonade in the battered tin cup.

“Let’s go,” he said, and stood.

She took the cups and rinsed them out in the pan of water from the seep, then replaced them on the rocky shelf. Every move she made was poised and graceful. If he didn’t watch it, he would stare at her, spellbound when he was supposed to be concentrating on finding clues. Vanessa Fortune wasn’t good for his investigative abilities.

She turned and looked at him at that moment. Her eyes were tear-bright. “If we don’t find him, Baby Bryan will never know the ranch or how to ride. He’ll never know his family… He may never grow to manhood or know his first kiss…” She shook her head helplessly.

“We’ll find him.”

“How?”

He looked away from her despair. “We start with everyone who had an opportunity. Then we assign motives, no matter how bizarre, then we see who fits the picture.”

“We look for a pattern.”

He realized she’d had enough psychology to grasp his thinking. “Yes. No one does anything out of the blue, as most people seem to think. There are plenty of warnings. In this case, the puzzle pieces are there. It’s up to us to find them and put them together.”

“So we start with opportunity and motive.”

Her eyes brightened with determination once more. Something in him that he hadn’t known existed, that had been tight and concerned each time he saw her distress, suddenly breathed easier. He pulled back from the emotional brink. “I start. You stay out of my way.”

This time he ignored the way her expressive eyes darkened with hurt. He had a kidnapping and enough Fortunes to contend with to last a lifetime. He didn’t need her.

Vanessa joined her father and Lily in the courtyard at six o’clock. She poured a cool glass of champagne and took a seat across from Lily. “How are things going for you?”

“Fine,” her stepmother-to-be replied with a kind smile. “You look tired. Your father said there’s nothing new in the case. It must be doubly discouraging for you.”

Her father sat beside Lily on the swing and dropped an arm around her shoulders. Their glance at each other was filled with love and mutual concern. Vanessa felt tears well near the surface. She blinked them back with an effort and took a sip.

“Is Maria living with you?” Vanessa asked. “I meant to ask her out to visit, but with the investigation…” She gestured vaguely to indicate a lack of time. Or interest, she admitted. She had no time for idle social visits. Or Lily’s daughter. She had never been close to Maria.

Lily looked troubled. “No, she’s rented a trailer and is looking for a job, she says. I really haven’t seen much of her since her return. She doesn’t seem to want company.”

“We can’t control our children’s lives,” Ryan murmured reassuringly to his fiancée.

She sighed and patted his hand that rested on her shoulder. “I know, but parents always worry, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

Vanessa saw her father’s concern reflected in his eyes. She wondered if he was thinking of Matthew and Claudia. The tension between them was thicker than cream. She would have thought the tragedy would draw them closer, but she knew that most parents who lost a child ended up separated if not divorced.

Her thoughts drifting, she gazed at the sunset sky above the hacienda roof. She wanted several children. At least four.

At that moment Dev appeared at the great room door with Rosita, who indicated the family gathering under the vine-covered trellis. Her father stood.

“Come join us,” he called. “What can I get you?”

“Iced tea would be fine.” Dev crossed the flagstones and greeted Lily, then Vanessa, in his courteous manner.

He was dressed in the FBI uniform of dark suit, white shirt and conservative tie. She hadn’t seen him in hours, not since their excursion by horseback at midday.

Her father handed him the glass of tea.

“Thank you, sir.” He stood until the older man was seated, then took a chair to her left, a careful distance between them. He was so damn polite she wanted to scream.

“You have news to report?” her father asked.

“Not anything significant. The cowboy who was here but left the day of the kidnapping hasn’t been found. No trace of him on the rodeo circuit, which he said he was going to follow, has shown up, not under the name he used here, at any rate. Mr. Perez said the man hasn’t done seasonal work here before. He didn’t know who had recommended the cowboy. I wondered if you knew.”

She watched Dev as her father explained that the new guy had been sent by another hand who usually worked for them during spring count and the fall selloff, but who couldn’t make it that year. As usual, Dev’s face was impassive while her father recounted the facts.

Finished, her father settled back in the swing and dropped his arm around Lily’s shoulders again. The two were always close, she noted, touching each other, looking to each other for agreement when a decision had to be made. It was very endearing. She found she was jealous.

She wanted Dev to acknowledge their attraction. More than that, she wanted him to accept it and to be glad. She wanted the excitement of kisses and intimate glances and sweet caresses. She gazed moodily at Dev. Her dark knight.

He looked at her, making her realize she was staring. She quickly took a sip of her drink and pretended she hadn’t seen his quelling glance or detected his obvious disapproval of her.

“So what happens now?” her father asked.

“I wondered if you would be willing to hire someone recommended by Waterman, a security expert named Quinn McCoy, to follow the leads on this cowboy? I’d like to find him,” Dev said.

“You think he had something to do with the kidnapping?”

“I don’t know. I could follow up on it myself, but I’d rather stay close. In case we get another call or letter.”

Vanessa listened as her father agreed to hire an investigator to pursue the missing cowboy. When Matthew and Claudia arrived, both looking tired, discouraged, and hardly speaking, she felt her spirits dip lower.

“I thought I would take up the offer of a room out here. I would like to be closer to the ranch for a while,” Dev continued after greetings had been exchanged with the couple and they were seated. “I, uh, could stay in the bunkhouse.”

“Isn’t your room satisfactory?” Mr. Fortune asked.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll stay here. Are you available to have dinner with us tonight? It’s only the family.”

Vanessa was surprised when Devin agreed. She wondered why he felt the need to stay on the ranch. The answer came to her after she went to her room later that night.

To keep a closer eye on the family.

She watched from her bedroom while he walked around the inner courtyard before driving off toward town to get his clothing. Her heart beat hard at the thought of his sleeping in the room next to hers.

“Don’t, ” she said softly to the errant organ. Getting ready for bed, she recalled an old song, something about knowing a heartache when she saw one.

“I believe Vanessa and the FBI agent are interested in each other,” Lily said when she and Ryan were alone in the swing under the trellis with the sweet-smelling vine growing over it.

“Are you serious?”

“Very, darling.” She touched his cheek. “A woman in love is attuned to these things.”

He caught her hand and planted a kiss in the palm. “I’m oblivious to everything but you. I’ve missed you this week.”

“I had things to do. I was worried about Maria. I still am, but she doesn’t want to talk about her future, at least not to me.”

“Kids. They’ll drive you crazy if you let them. Did you feel the tension between Matthew and Claudia?”

“This is so hard on them. They need each other more than ever, but there are problems between them that aren’t resolved.” She hesitated. “There are so many things that can tear people apart… Maria thinks you’re stringing me along. That we won’t marry.”

“Then she’s dead wrong. I promise you this—we’ll marry as soon as I’m free to do so.”

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, believing him implicitly. “I do love you.”

“And I you. I’ll never let you go again, so make up your mind to spend the rest of your life with me.” He turned her face to his and gave her a hard kiss of assurance.

She closed her eyes and tried to think only of the moment. But reality always intruded. “Sometimes I’m afraid—”

“Don’t,” he ordered gently, fiercely. “I’ll be free to marry you soon if I have to strangle Sophia myself.”

She shuddered and shook her head. “Be careful of what you say. Words can come back to haunt a person.” From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement. “Who is it?” she asked.

No one answered.

“What is it, love?”

“I thought I saw someone, but I guess it was only shadows. The wind has come up and the tree branches are moving around.”

“It’s time to go in.” He pulled her to her feet. “I need you in my arms tonight. I’m beginning to get discouraged about my grandson. I thought we would have him back by now. Rosita tells me there are strange things afoot, but she doesn’t know who is involved.”

“I didn’t realize you were a superstitious person,” she teased, bringing them back to a lighter note.

“I’ve known Rosita too long to discount any premonitions she might have. She’s been right in the past.”

“I know. She once told me a snake has a forked tongue so it could tell two different tales at the same time. I should have listened to her. I let…others drive us apart.”

He led her into the house and to his suite. “It doesn’t matter now that we’ve found each other again. We have the future. Forget the past.”

The sadness of past mistakes rose in her, of loving this man and leaving him because of her own stupidity, of listening to the lies of his brother, Cameron, instead of her own heart. She sighed deeply, recalling the pain of being young and in love and terribly unsure of that love. “If only we could.”

“We can. We will. I lost you once. I won’t let it happen again. I mean that, darling.”

She looked away, unable to face the confidence in his eyes, the love reflected there. So much had happened during the years they were apart, things she would have to tell him about…someday. But not tonight. Tonight was for them. Sometimes she felt she had only the moment, that the next one would be snatched from her.

Perhaps she should ask Rosita what she could see in her future.




Four


Vanessa heard the outer door close. She opened the one between her room and Dev’s. “About time.”

He gave her a severe frown. “Does that door lock?”

“There’s a sliding bolt on your side.”

“Good.”

Her confidence that together they would solve the case, that they would grow closer, dimmed and flickered dangerously close to blinking out. His adamant refusal to let down the barriers, coupled with her continued worry over Baby Bryan, gathered into a hard ball of pain inside her.

Stepping back, she closed the door and pushed in the button to lock it on her side. She took a deep breath, then another. For a moment doubts assailed her. Being one of the Fortunes of Texas didn’t guarantee life would be roses and sweet wine. Once she had thought her father commanded the world, then her mother had died. She had learned even the Fortunes couldn’t control fate.




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