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Stranded With The Suspect
Cindi Myers
They’re both in way over their heads…Pregnant heiress Andi Matheson is being targeted by two killers. She also possesses evidence that Officer Simon Woolridge needs to make an arrest. Through a ferocious blizzard, the pair go on the run, reigniting a passion the agent never saw coming…


They’re both undercover...
And in way over their heads.
To arrest a powerful cult leader, Officer Simon Woolridge needs evidence former group member Andi Matheson doesn’t know she has. But the pregnant heiress is being targeted by two killers—and hiding even more secrets. Now as she and Simon go on the run through a ferocious Colorado blizzard, her resourcefulness ignites a passion the cynical agent never saw coming...and a trap they have only one shot to survive.
The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Also by Cindi Myers (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Murder in Black CanyonUndercover HusbandManhunt on Mystic MesaSoldier’s PromiseMissing in Blue MesaStranded with the SuspectColorado Crime SceneLawman on the HuntChristmas KidnappingPhD Protector
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Stranded with the Suspect
Cindi Myers


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07868-9
STRANDED WITH THE SUSPECT
© 2018 Cynthia Myers
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#u225fc9a5-4e7d-5cb4-b7ed-319f890dfa5d)
Back Cover Text (#u19f6380d-fc27-5ecf-b2b3-39ae34700cc4)
About the Author (#ua4be4cb6-d4a5-5115-aebc-6b5e7dd9e3cb)
Booklist (#u3826015d-6e69-55fa-af11-850c4beb0f1f)
Title Page (#u2ebc927b-8f19-58cf-8db6-b23bb37f77d3)
Copyright (#ua4c39152-6b7e-5602-9cc3-85359ed97500)
Chapter One (#u4d04c09e-adc6-52b4-bd7e-7e15a3a9701b)
Chapter Two (#udb709e03-df8c-5d17-ba79-6c545a2545f3)
Chapter Three (#ue760d2c4-8307-5208-9cc7-dc7173e3c2c1)
Chapter Four (#u78c14804-49f0-5f7f-a2f1-4d60b25882e0)
Chapter Five (#u1e53f5cb-1a6b-5081-a366-e0405fd80d87)
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)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any messages for you, Ms. Daniels. I promise to put any calls or other communications through to your room at once. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The desk clerk at the Brown Palace Hotel smiled as she spoke, as if she really was concerned that Andi have everything she needed.
“No. Thank you.” Andi tried to return the smile, but it wasn’t something she was used to doing anymore. The past year hadn’t given her much to smile about.
“Did you enjoy your visit to our spa this morning?” the clerk asked, after a quick glance at her computer screen, which no doubt showed every spa treatment, room service meal and other amenity Andi had enjoyed during her stay at one of Denver’s oldest luxury hotels.
“Yes, it was lovely.” Everything about the Brown Palace was lovely, from the richly patterned carpet beneath her feet to the stained-glass skylights in the main lobby. Towering fresh flower arrangements and elegant artwork shared space with photographs of the many celebrated personages who had stayed at the hotel, from the Beatles to US presidents. But none of it impressed Andi. For one thing, she had seen it all too many times before, when she stayed here with her father, Senator Pete Matheson.
That seemed a lifetime ago. Now all of this—the opulence and grand sense of history—wasn’t her world anymore. She craved simplicity over elegance, reality more than comfort. This felt so phony.
“If you need anything at all, please let me know, Ms. Daniels,” the clerk said.
Andi nodded and turned from the desk. Her name wasn’t even Daniels—it was Matheson. But Daniel Metwater had thought it amusing to register her under a variant of his Christian name when he had brought her here three days ago. He was supposed to have contacted her before now, to let her know he was coming to get her and take her home.
She reached up and put her hand over the pendant at her neck, the rose-cut diamond in the old-fashioned gold setting a comforting weight at the base of her throat. Daniel didn’t know that she had taken it before she left to come to Denver, but after all, he had promised it to her baby, so why shouldn’t she have it now? If he asked about it when he arrived, she would tell him she had been keeping it safe for him. He might not be pleased with that explanation at first, but he would come around. Daniel wanted her to be happy.
She waited for the elevator, her ankles swollen, feet hurting. Absently, she rubbed at the bulge of her abdomen, the baby kicking inside her. She tried to imagine what the little one looked like right now, recalling pictures in the tattered copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting that one of the women in camp had loaned her. She had no idea if she was carrying a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter—she would be happy with either. Part of her was anxious for the child’s arrival. Another part of her wanted to put it off as long as possible. She hadn’t seen a doctor since the public clinic had confirmed her pregnancy months ago, so she had no idea of her due date. But the other women in camp had assured her that the baby would come out when it was ready, and that she would be ready then, also.
Since she wasn’t ready for the birth, the baby must not be either, which was reassuring in a way. She didn’t want to have her child alone in this city that no longer felt familiar to her. She wanted to be back in the camp in the wilderness in southwest Colorado, with the women attending her and the men waiting outside, chanting for her and the baby’s health.
“Ms. Matheson? Andi Matheson?”
She turned toward the speaker before she could stop herself. A lean, athletic man with a blond goatee smiled at her. “So good to see you again,” he said, with just a hint of a foreign accent. Austrian? Russian?
“I... I’m sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.” She turned to face the elevator once more, but she could feel his eyes on her.
He stepped closer, brushing against her arm. “Oh, but I am sure I am right. I would never forget such a beautiful woman.”
She said nothing, teeth clenched, willing the elevator doors to open so she could make her escape.
“You are living with the evangelist, Daniel Metwater, now, are you not?” the man asked.
Daniel wasn’t an evangelist. Not in the sense most people used the word. He was a prophet and a teacher.
The man touched her arm. “I would very much like to meet your boyfriend. Perhaps you could arrange it, no?”
She jerked away. The gilded doors of the elevator opened and she hurried inside. The man started to follow, but a dark-haired man shoved him out of the way and slipped in after her, immediately hitting the button to close the doors. “What floor?” he asked, his back to her.
“Fourteenth,” she said, still shaken from the encounter with the blond.
He pressed the button for fourteen, then turned to face her. She gasped as she recognized his face, and pressed her back against the railing on the inside of the elevator car. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
The vertical line between his dark brows deepened as he frowned at her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
She wasn’t afraid of him. Not exactly. Officer Simon Woolridge wore his disdain of her and the other members of the family she belonged to on his face for all to see, especially his contempt for the man who led them, their Prophet, Daniel Metwater, but he had never given Andi reason to be afraid of him. He had never tried to befriend her the way some of the members of his organization, the Ranger Brigade, had. After a lifetime of dealing with frauds and posers, she could appreciate that kind of honesty.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to the Prophet?”
The elevator door opened and Simon touched her elbow. “Let’s go to your room, where we can talk.”
He walked beside her to her room at the end of the hall, a tall, commanding presence at her right elbow. She was used to seeing him in uniform, but today he wore jeans and a black Western shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The clothes made him seem less familiar and more...intriguing. She hadn’t bothered to look much past the uniform before, but now she was aware of him as a man most women would give a second—or a third—look to. He waited while she slipped her card key from her purse, slid it in the lock and opened the door. Then he followed her inside.
She braced herself for him to make a disparaging remark about her luxurious suite, a sharp contrast to the tent she had been living in since she had joined Daniel Metwater and his followers five months previously. But he only gave the room a cursory glance before turning to her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. “I’m fine,” she said automatically.
His gaze swept over her, his dark eyes intense, making her want to cover herself, even though she was fully dressed. He reminded her of a sleek cat, preparing to pounce on its prey. “You look pale,” he said. “Your ankles are swollen and you keep arching your back, as if it hurts.”
She put a hand to her lower back, which did ache, as did her swollen feet. She didn’t know whether to be flattered he had noticed so much in such a short time, or to be unnerved by his scrutiny. “I’m fine,” she said again.
“You’re a lousy liar. Who was the man you were talking to by the elevator downstairs?”
“I don’t know.”
“He acted as if he knew you.”
Yes. And that had been unsettling. “He knew who I was,” she said. “He called me by my name—my real name.”
“I heard him ask about Metwater.”
“Yes. He wanted to meet him. Maybe he was simply a fan.” Yes, that was probably it. The Prophet attracted many followers wherever he went.
Simon turned away from her to prowl the room like a restless predator. “Metwater must be doing pretty well siphoning money off his followers,” he said. “If he can afford to hide you away here.”
There was the cynicism she had been expecting. “I’m not hiding,” she said. “And the Prophet has money of his own. He inherited it from his father.”
Simon paused in his circuit of the room and looked back at her. “Then why does he need your money?”
Andi didn’t answer.
“You signed the agreement, didn’t you?” Simon asked. “The one that gives Daniel Metwater all your assets—now and in the future, as long as you remain with him.”
“The money goes to the Family,” she said. “We pool our resources so that no one has more than anyone else.”
“The money goes into Daniel Metwater’s personal bank account. I have the records, if you don’t believe me.”
The Rangers had no business looking into the private affairs of the Prophet, though of course, they thought their badges gave them the right. “He decides the best use of the funds for the Family,” she said.
“I guess this week, stashing you in a suite in the Brown Palace was the best use of the funds.”
Again, she said nothing. He had obviously made up his mind. And what business was it of his how the Family spent their money? She opened her mouth to ask him, but he cut her off.
“Whose idea was it to come here?” he asked her.
“The Prophet’s.”
“He wanted you here so that you couldn’t tell us anything we could use against him,” Simon said. “But it’s too late for that now. We already have everything we need to put him away.”
“Are you saying you arrested him?” She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, but failed. For months, the Rangers had been harassing Daniel Metwater and his followers. The Family, as they called themselves, got the blame for every crime that occurred on the public lands the Ranger Brigade patrolled.
“When was the last time you heard from him?” Simon asked.
“I haven’t heard anything from him since he brought me here three days ago,” she said. “Why? Where is he? What have you done to him?”
“We haven’t done anything. We don’t know where he is.” Simon’s eyes met hers, black and hard as coal. “I was hoping you did.”
She shook her head and sank onto the sofa, fearful her legs would no longer support her. “What’s happened? Why are you looking for him?”
“We found your friend Starfall’s baby.”
“Hunter!” Fear clogged her throat. Her tentmate’s child had disappeared from camp two days before Metwater drove Andi to Denver. Starfall had accused the Prophet of taking her child, but Andi knew that couldn’t be true. “Is he okay? Where was he?”
“He’s fine. He was with a couple of guys named Smith. Two brothers. Sound familiar?”
She shook her head, relief flooding her. “Then you know Daniel didn’t take Hunter,” she said. “Why are you still looking for him when you know he’s innocent?”
“The Smith brothers told us Daniel Metwater paid them to take Starfall’s baby,” Simon said. “Metwater said he wanted to teach her a lesson.”
Andi shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Then why did he kidnap Starfall and try to kill her? He tried to kill Ethan Reynolds, the Ranger who was trying to help her, too.”
“You’re lying. The Prophet would never do anything like that. He promotes peace.”
Simon stood over her, his shadow falling across her face, his bulk making her feel even smaller. “Why are you defending him?” he demanded. “What has he done for you but take your money and sleep with other women?”
She cringed at the words. “He’s trying to teach me not to be possessive.” Wanting the Prophet of their people all to herself was her personal failing, one she struggled with.
“A truly good man wouldn’t treat you this way,” Simon said, his voice gentler. “He would cherish you and protect you, not lie to you and use you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His expression hardened. “Maybe not. But I know you’re in danger if you don’t get away from him.”
“Danger?” The word shocked her out of her despair. She sat up straighter. “What kind of danger?”
“Daniel Metwater is running for his life right now. Every law enforcement agency in the country is hunting for him,” Simon said. “He knows sooner or later we’re going to catch him. When we do, he doesn’t want you around to testify against him.”
“I would never testify against him,” she said, horrified at the idea.
“You’re not married to him. You can be compelled to tell what you know.”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“I think you do,” Simon said. “You’re closer to Daniel Metwater than anyone. You may not realize the significance of the information, but it’s something big enough that he took care to hide you away here, under an assumed name.”
“If that’s true and he’s so terrible, why didn’t he just kill me?” she asked. “That’s apparently the kind of man you think he is.”
Simon’s expression didn’t change. “He has to keep you alive until your twenty-fifth birthday, when your trust comes under your control. If you die after that, the money all goes to Daniel Metwater—am I right?”
He was, though she had no intention of confirming this. “The Prophet would never harm me,” she said.
“I’ll bet Starfall thought the same thing, until he beat her and stole her baby.”
Andi pressed her hands against her belly, feeling the child shift inside her. “You need to leave,” she said.
“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I won’t be far away.” He headed toward the door. “I have a feeling Metwater is going to come back for you, and when he does, he’ll find me waiting.”
He left, closing the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, rage and fear and sickness swirling through her. Simon Woolridge was a horrible man. How could he make such terrible accusations against a man who spoke words of peace and caring? Daniel Metwater had saved her, and so many others.
Simon was a hard, abrasive cop who had no concern for her or her feelings.
But Daniel Metwater, despite all his goodness, had lied to her more than once. As far as she knew, Simon had never lied to her, even when telling the truth hurt.
Chapter Two (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Simon prowled the hallway outside Andi’s room, immune to the appeal of well-upholstered chairs and elegant chandeliers. He viewed the hotel like a battleground, noting positions from which to mount an offensive, and the many places a fugitive might hide.
His conversation with Andi hadn’t gone as he had hoped. He had meant to come down hard on her, to insist that she come with him to a shelter or another place of safety. But one look at her beautiful, weary face had melted his resolve. Maybe it was better for her and her baby if she stayed here, where she would at least be comfortable. He would guard her and wait.
Metwater was going to come for her; Simon was sure of it. The man preached poverty and the simple life to his followers, but he had used the very people who depended on him to amass assets in excess of sixty-eight million dollars. And that was only the accounts Simon had managed to locate. There was probably more stashed elsewhere.
But he was a fugitive on the run now, his bank accounts frozen and unavailable to him. He would need money to leave the country, to run out of the reach of US law. Andi had money, and Metwater could be confident she would give it to him. All he had to do was get to her. A different type of man might have gotten by on wits and cunning alone, but Metwater was used to paying his way out of trouble.
He was the son of a man who had made a fortune manufacturing plastics in Chicago. He had a twin brother, David, who had reportedly embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars from the family business before Metwater Senior’s death. Without his dad to reign him in, David had really gone off the rails, racking up gambling debts, dabbling in the drug trade and getting in deep with the Russian mob. He had died under mysterious circumstances, supposedly killed by organized crime members he had tried to double-cross.
Meanwhile, Daniel kept on managing the family business, serving on the boards of various charities and cleaning up the mess his brother made. David’s death, he told the press, cut him deeply, to the point where he sold the family business and took to the road, preaching peace and poverty to a growing list of followers, who eventually followed him to the public lands of Colorado, where they set up camp in the Rangers’ jurisdiction.
The good twin and the bad twin. A classic cliché. Simon didn’t buy it. He figured Daniel had been every bit as corrupt as his twin, but managed to hide it better. Nobody was the saint the press made Daniel out to be.
Simon knew a few real saints—nuns who lived real vows of poverty and worked to save children in border-town slums, doctors who used their own money to fund clinics for the indigent, police officers who faced down corruption and paid the ultimate price when they were assassinated for refusing to look the other way.
But Simon was no saint. Working for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, he had sent widows and orphans back to uncertain futures and poverty because they had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of the border. He didn’t believe in mercy for those who broke the law, and he had little patience for whiners and weaklings.
And he knew there was a special place in hell for men like Daniel Metwater, who took advantage of the lost and lonely.
Beautiful Andi Matheson was a little of both. She had the kind of ethereal beauty that drew the eye. The first time Simon had seen the blonde there in Metwater’s camp, he had a hard time not staring. She had been born into privilege and by all accounts was a spoiled socialite who had never been denied anything—all reasons enough for him to dislike her, which he had been prepared to do.
Then he had looked into those sapphire eyes, and the hurt and fear in them had hit him like a sucker punch. Stripped of her beauty-queen gowns and protected privilege, he had seen her for the lost, struggling soul she was. From that moment on, Simon had appointed himself Andi’s guardian. Which is why he patrolled the hallways and public areas of the hotel, alert to anything that might signal danger.
He was torn between the desire to station himself outside Andi’s door, and the need to find and question the man who had spoken to her at the elevator. Simon sensed a threat from that man. If he could deal with the stranger, then he could focus on Metwater.
In the hotel bar, The Ship Tavern, he spotted a familiar blond head—the man who had approached Andi outside the elevators. He entered the bar and was immediately engulfed by a wave of noise—a dozen conversations rising over the blare of two TVs and the clink of glasses. The gleam of brass—brass railings, brass light fixtures, brass ornaments on the wall—caught and reflected back the light from old-fashioned ship’s lanterns and faceted chandeliers. Simon squeezed past a shapely brunette in a sequined cocktail gown. She smiled warmly and looked him up and down. “Hi, handsome,” she breathed.
He ignored her and continued on until he reached the bar, and eased in beside the blond man, who immediately turned to see who had joined him. Simon nodded in greeting. The blond returned the nod, and gave no indication that he recognized Simon. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Fat Tire,” Simon said. When the bartender had walked away, Simon turned once more to the blond. “I saw you talking to Andi Matheson earlier,” he said. He seldom wasted time with subtlety. In his experience, a direct confrontation was more likely to catch people off guard.
The blond tensed, one hand slipping inside his jacket. “Who are you?”
“Are you going to shoot me right here in this bar because I made a simple remark?” Simon kept his voice even as he turned to accept the beer from the bartender, who flicked a glance at the blond.
The blond brought his hand back out in the open and nodded to the bartender. “My friend thinks he’s so funny,” he said, his English very good, but definitely with a hint of a Russian accent.
The blond waited until the bartender had walked away before he spoke again, keeping his hands outside his coat. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“I’m a friend of Ms. Matheson’s,” Simon said. “Who are you?”
“You’re the man in the elevator.” Understanding lit his eyes.
“Who are you and what do you want with her?” Simon asked.
“I am also a friend.”
“That’s not what she says. She says she never saw you before.”
“She doesn’t remember.” He sipped his drink—something dark and thick in a small glass. “It was at a party, with a lot of people.”
“When? Where?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“It’s my business to be interested.”
The blond studied Simon more closely. He tensed again, eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop,” he said.
Simon didn’t deny or confirm, but met the blond’s glare with a hard look of his own.
“I don’t like cops,” the blond said.
“I don’t like people who bother Ms. Matheson. She said you asked her about Daniel Metwater.”
The blond contemplated the liquid in the glass. “Her boyfriend. He’s putting her up here, isn’t he?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I have a connection at the front desk.” He cut his eyes to Simon, his expression wary. “Are you after her for something—or is it Metwater you want?”
“Right now, I’m interested in you.”
“I’m a man having a drink in a public bar.” He drained his glass and set it down on the bar with a hard thunk. He pulled a heavy gold money clip from his pocket, peeled off a twenty and laid it on the bar. “Good night.”
“Leave Ms. Matheson alone,” Simon said.
“Watch your back,” the blond said softly, but loud enough for Simon to hear.
Simon started after him, only to be blocked by a group of men and women who pushed toward the bar. By the time he got free, he reached the door just in time to see the blond pushing through the glass doors of the hotel lobby to the street.
Simon returned to the bar and paid for his beer, then walked back into the lobby. A quick scan satisfied him that the blond hadn’t returned. But Simon had added the Russian to the short list of people who might be a danger to Andi.
He made his way back to the fourteenth floor and the room two doors down from Andi’s. His bosses were going to scream when they got the bill for the suite, but it couldn’t be helped. If Daniel Metwater—or the Russian—tried to get to Andi, they would have to get past Simon first.
* * *
SIMON’S VISIT HAD banished all hope Andi had of resting. Not that she had been sleeping much lately anyway. She missed having other women around to talk to—that had been one of the best things about joining the Family. An only child, she had never realized how comforting it could be to have other women around you—sisters who understood your concerns and were always willing to listen or offer advice. Casual acquaintances you didn’t live with could never understand you as well as family. A check of the clock showed it was only eight thirty, so she dialed the number for her former tentmate at the Family’s camp, Starfall. She would have to remember to call her Michelle, now that she had left the group and decided to go by her birth name once more.
“Hello?” Michelle answered.
“Hi. It’s Andi.”
“What do you want?” Michelle’s voice wasn’t exactly angry, but it wasn’t friendly either.
Andi grimaced. She had forgotten that the two of them had argued the last time they had spoken. “I heard they found Hunter safe,” she said. “I wanted to tell you how glad I am about that.” Michelle must have been half-crazy with worry when her little boy disappeared.
“No thanks to Daniel Metwater,” Michelle said. “He was the one who hired the guys who kidnapped him. And then Metwater tried to kill me. He tried to kill Ethan too.”
So it was true. Not that Andi had really doubted Simon’s words. “I heard,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Who told you about it? You’re not with Metwater now, are you?”
“No, no. I haven’t seen or spoken to him. Simon Woolridge told me. He’s one of the officers with the Ranger Brigade.”
“I know Simon. When did you talk to him?”
“A little while ago. He came to Denver—I guess he’s hoping he’ll catch the Prophet when he comes to pick me up at the hotel. But I don’t think he’s coming. Why would he risk it?”
“Besides the fact that he thinks he can get away with anything?” Michelle asked.
“Why did he try to kill you?” Andi asked. “Why would he want to kidnap Hunter? None of that makes sense to me.”
“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “Most of what he said didn’t make sense—but Ethan thinks it’s because I know something that could get him into trouble.”
“Ethan is the officer who was helping you?” Andi asked.
“Yes. He’s been great.” Michelle’s voice softened, her tone almost wistful. “I can’t believe how great he’s been.”
“What does he think you know that could hurt the Prophet?” Andi asked.
“I wish I knew what it was—I’d shout it from the rooftops.”
“Simon says he thinks I must know something that could hurt Daniel, too,” Andi said. “That’s why he hid me away here in Denver.”
“So, what do you know?”
“Nothing. I swear. I can’t think of anything.”
“You spent the most time with him and were closest to him,” Michelle said. “I’ll bet you saw a lot of things you shouldn’t have.”
“No.” In spite of all the time they’d spent together, she really didn’t know much at all about Daniel Metwater. He had kept her ignorant, changing the subject whenever she asked about the past or his plans for the future, or even what he did in the hours she wasn’t with him. She knew only what he wanted her to know, and that wasn’t anything beyond his public image as a sincere, wise teacher and leader.
“Stay away from him, Andi,” Michelle said. “He wants people to think he’s good and has their best interests at heart, but that’s not true.”
“I’ll be careful,” Andi said.
“Stick with Simon,” Michelle said. “The Rangers had Metwater figured out a long time ago. I wish now we had listened to them.”
“It’s a little strange, hearing you, of all people, talking about trusting the cops,” Andi said. The Prophet had always taught that law enforcement officers were not their friends, and Michelle, who had apparently had her share of run-ins with the police, had agreed wholeheartedly with this assessment.
Michelle laughed. “And now I’m in love with one. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“I’m glad things are working out so well for you,” Andi said, ignoring the stab of jealousy that lanced through her. Michelle sounded so happy. As if she lived in some alternate universe different from the one Andi occupied. It didn’t even seem possible to be that happy in her world.
“Take care of yourself,” Michelle said. “And keep in touch. Let me know when your baby is born.”
“I will.” They said goodbye and Andi hung up the phone. She had hoped talking to a friend would soothe her, but the conversation had only reinforced the reasons she had to be worried and afraid. All this emotional upheaval couldn’t be good for the baby. She needed to find a way to stay calm.
She phoned room service and ordered a cup of warm milk. That had been her mother’s remedy when Andi struggled to get to sleep as a girl. She set down the phone, tears pricking her eyes at the memory of her mother. Cancer had taken her almost ten years ago. Everything had changed after that—Andi’s father had become more focused on his political career, more concerned with power and prestige than with his daughter, except when she could be an asset to his image.
If her mother had lived, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Andi wouldn’t have fallen for her father’s bodyguard—a man who turned out to be married. Already pregnant, Andi had discovered the bodyguard’s deception and her father’s corruption. Wanting to escape the dishonesty and shallowness of her life, she had found solace in the teachings of Daniel Metwater. She was sure he was a man she could respect and love, and she hated men like Simon Woolridge for making her doubt her beliefs.
Now Michelle was telling her Simon was right, and she didn’t know what to think. Had her judgment really been so poor? Or was Daniel Metwater extremely gifted in deceiving people?
A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts, and she checked the peephole and recognized the livery of the hotel staff. Relieved, she opened the door, only to find herself shoved backward into the room.
Daniel Metwater tossed the tray with the cup of milk aside and grabbed Andi by the wrists. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”
Chapter Three (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Simon paced the length of the hotel room, too unsettled to sit still. When he had booked the room, he had imagined using it as a base to keep an eye on Andi’s suite, but the layout was all wrong. He couldn’t see her door clearly from here, and the walls were too thick, the carpeting too plush, for him to hear anyone approaching.
Under other circumstances, he could have worked with hotel security to set up a surveillance camera to monitor her door. But that kind of thing took warrants—and it took time. Time Simon didn’t have.
Metwater was running, and he was desperate. Maybe he would leave town, or even leave the country and forget about Andi altogether, but Simon didn’t think so. For one thing, he didn’t have the resources he would need to make a getaway. For another, he had already proven he didn’t like loose ends or unfinished business. He had hidden Andi away here—or thought he had—when the Rangers began closing in. He didn’t want the cops talking to her.
And Metwater would know that Andi’s twenty-fifth birthday was only a few days away. Once her trust—several million dollars—passed to her, he could use his power over her to control the funds. A man as greedy as Metwater wouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity to have that kind of money.
Simon had the Russian to consider too. He had seen the man leave the hotel, but he could have easily circled around and come back in through another entrance. Though the man hadn’t directly threatened Andi, Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a danger to her.
Not on my watch, Simon thought, and stepped back into the hallway. He could station himself outside Andi’s doorway as a guard, but Metwater would see him and avoid approaching. That might keep Andi safe, but it wouldn’t trap Metwater. Simon wanted to stop the Prophet before he hurt anyone else. That meant staying hidden and getting the jump on him when he did approach.
He scanned the hallway, his gaze coming to rest on a recess that housed a decorative plant. A real plant, he noted as he squeezed in behind it, not a silk one. The space was cramped and uncomfortable, but he settled in as best he could, gun drawn, eyes focused on the doorway to Andi’s room and the hallway leading up to it.
The events of the past two days dragged at him—the rescue of Hunter Munson, the search for Michelle and Ethan, their safe return and then the long drive to Denver to get to Andi before Metwater could reach her. He fought sleep by focusing on the Russian. Where did he fit into the picture? Metwater’s twin brother had supposedly been murdered—rather, assassinated—by the Bratva, the Russian mob, though the Chicago police had never found enough evidence to formally charge anyone with the crime. The case was still open.
When Russians had shown up in Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park and two people associated with them had ended up dead, Daniel Metwater had panicked and demanded protection from the Ranger Brigade, though he would never say why he thought the Russians were after him. The Russians turned out to be part of a smuggling ring that was trying to move into the park, and not after Metwater at all, but the cool, sophisticated mask of the Prophet had slipped for those few days, allowing Simon to see how frightened he really was.
Did he know the blond Russian was asking about him—possibly looking for him? Or was the man, as he had said, merely someone who had met Andi before who wanted to renew the acquaintance? After all, she was a very attractive woman—her pregnancy didn’t detract at all from her beauty.
The elevator opened and a man in hotel livery stepped out, carrying a tray. He moved past Simon without noticing him, head down, a bored employee on the late shift, with hours to go before he got off work. He approached the door and knocked, and after a moment it opened and he stepped inside.
Simon waited. One minute. Two. How long did it take to deliver a tray, collect the tip and leave? His heart started racing, anxiety knotting his stomach. Something about the waiter wasn’t right. Something about the way he walked was a little too familiar. His blood went cold as he realized why.
He exploded from behind the plant and raced for Andi’s room, praying he wasn’t already too late.
* * *
GONE WAS THE SERENE, confident Prophet who had mesmerized Andi so. The man before her was unshaven and dirty beneath the clean clothes he must have taken from the real room service waiter, his hair greasy and smelling of sweat. She tried to pull out of his grasp. “Let go, you’re hurting me!” she protested.
He released her, but his attitude didn’t soften. “Call for a taxi. Tell the driver to meet you across the street, in front of the bank. What have you got that I can wear? And I need a scarf for my hair. I’ll be your sister, visiting from Grand Junction.”
“Daniel, wait! What’s going on?”
“You’re going to help me get out of here, that’s what’s going on,” he said.
“What about Starfall, and that cop—Ethan? And Starfall’s baby, Hunter? Did you really try to hurt them?” She hadn’t meant to say anything about any of that, but the words tumbled out. Simon and Michelle had planted all these doubts in her head and she needed the Prophet to allay her fears.
“Who have you been talking to?” He turned on her, rage contorting his face, and before she could draw back he hit her, hard, snapping her head back and leaving her cheek stinging.
She gasped, tears filling her eyes. No one had ever hit her before—no one. “Shut up and get moving,” Metwater said. “Or I’ll make you wish you’d obeyed me when you had the chance.”
He turned back toward the door, but it burst open. Simon Woolridge didn’t hesitate; he hit Metwater hard, dropping him to his knees. He pulled flexi-cuffs from his belt and reached for the Prophet’s wrist. “Daniel Metwater, you are under arrest.”
Metwater shook his head and rose up with a roar, shoving Simon backward. Andi screamed.
“Get out of here!” Simon shouted at her. “Go to the lobby, where you’ll be safe.”
“No.” She couldn’t leave him. For that matter, she couldn’t leave the Prophet. She had to stay and see how this played out.
Metwater lunged at Simon, swinging hard. Simon dodged the punch, but crashed into an end table, sending it toppling. The Tiffany-style lamp that had been sitting on it slid to the floor and shattered into a kaleidoscope of bright shards. Andi screamed again and looked around for anything she could use to defend herself. Simon staggered to his feet, reaching for the gun in the holster at his side. A vision of him shooting the Prophet filled her head. “No!” she sobbed, and started toward him.
He turned at the sound of her voice, which gave Metwater the opening he needed to grab Simon’s arm, trying to get at the weapon. “Don’t kill him!” Andi pleaded, not even sure which man she was defending now.
The men reeled away from her, grappling, and crashed into a second table, sending more fragile ornaments cascading to the floor. Glass crunched under her feet as she backed away. She spotted the telephone on the table at the end of the sofa. She should call someone. Not the police—they were looking for Daniel. But the front desk? Housekeeping, to clean up the mess?
Fighting back hysterical laughter, she reached for the phone, just as someone pounded on the door. “Hotel security!” boomed a man’s voice. “What’s going on in there?”
Daniel Metwater jerked his head toward the door. “Don’t open it,” he growled.
“Open the door!” Simon ordered.
“If you don’t open up in five seconds, we’re coming in!” the voice on the other side said.
Andi started toward the door. She had taken only two steps when Metwater rushed past her. She reeled away from him, but he scarcely noticed. He jerked open the door and, as two uniformed men rushed in, he ran past them and down the hall.
Simon tried to run after Metwater, but the two men who had just entered the room held him back. “What’s going on here?” the first man, tall and broad-shouldered, demanded.
Simon, whose shirt was half out of his jeans and who was bleeding from his mouth, still managed to look dignified as he presented his credentials. “Agent Simon Woolridge, Ranger Brigade,” he said. “The man who ran out of here is Daniel Metwater, a wanted fugitive.” He tried to move past them again, but the men—who were dressed in the uniforms of hotel security—held him fast.
The first guard studied Simon’s credentials for a long moment before returning them to Simon. “What’s your fugitive doing in this hotel?” he asked.
“Probably getting away,” Simon said, as he tucked the leather folder back into his pocket. He shoved past the two guards, who let him go this time. He rushed out the door, footsteps pounding down the hall.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” asked the second security guard, who was short but muscular.
She nodded, and pushed her hair out of her face. “I... I’m fine,” she managed.
“We had a report of screams and crashing,” said the second man. “Sounds of a struggle.” He surveyed the broken glass and overturned tables. “Can you tell us what happened?”
She shook her head. What exactly had happened? Had the Prophet really hit her? Had he really threatened her? The violence was so unlike him. He would never want to hurt her, would he? “He burst in here, and he was terribly upset,” she began. “He’s desperate, I think. And afraid...”
Simon stepped into the room once more, breathing hard. “He got away,” he said. “We’ll need to block all the entrances and conduct a search of the entire hotel.”
The two guards blinked at him. “We don’t have the authority to do something like that,” the first man said.
“Don’t you need a warrant or something?” the second man asked.
“Do you want to wait until he kills one of your guests before you do more than stand around twiddling your thumbs?” Simon snapped.
“I don’t really think the Prophet would kill anyone,” Andi protested.
“He could have killed you,” Simon said. His eyes met hers, searing her with their anger. He turned back toward the security guards and she started to protest, but a sharp cry out of her own mouth cut off her words.
She cradled her abdomen and tried to brace herself against the sharp pain that tore through her. As she blinked back tears, she realized the three men were staring at her. Simon was the first to reach her side. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just...gas or something.”
“She needs a doctor,” Simon said, helping her to the sofa.
“We have a physician on call.” The older security guard pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers.
“No. I’ll be fi—” But another sharp pain cut off the words. Andi closed her eyes. She couldn’t be going into labor. Not now. Not when so much was unsettled.
Simon took hold of her ankles and swung her feet up onto the sofa. “Lie back and close your eyes,” he said. “Breathe deeply and try to relax.” He had removed her shoes and was rubbing her feet. She ought to object, but it felt so good she couldn’t force the words past her lips.
“What about your felon?” one of the security guards asked.
“His name is Daniel Metwater,” Simon said. “Thirty-two years old. Six foot two inches, one-hundred sixty-five pounds, curly dark hair and eyes. Contact the police and alert the rest of your staff, but if you see him, don’t try to deal with him yourself. He’s dangerous and may be armed. But he has enough of a head start that he’s probably already left the hotel.”
“We’ll get someone up here to clean up this mess once the doctor is done,” one of the men said.
“It can wait until morning,” Simon said. “I don’t want any more strangers in here than necessary.”
Andi kept her eyes closed and let herself drift. Simon’s hands were warm, his fingers strong and soothing. Where had he learned to give a foot massage like that? As he dug his thumb into her aching arch, she had to bite back a moan. She may even have fallen asleep.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when someone squeezed her hand. “Hello, Ms. Daniels,” said a smooth, lightly accented voice. “I’m Dr. Johar. I understand you’ve been experiencing some discomfort.”
She opened her eyes and stared into the face of a handsome, brown-skinned man. She looked past him, searching for Simon. “Where’s Simon?” she asked.
“He’s in the hallway, talking to the local cops.” The older security guard stepped forward.
The police. They would be after Daniel. He wouldn’t stand a chance now. She struggled into a sitting position. “I’m fine now,” she said, hoping the words were true. She needed to talk to Simon, to plead with him not to be too hard on Daniel. Yes, he had hit her, but it must have been because he was out of his mind with fear. Ordinarily, he would never do anything like that.
Then Simon’s face came into view, hovering over the doctor’s left shoulder. “She had at least two moments of pain that were strong enough to make her cry out,” Simon said. “I did what I could to help her relax.”
“Are you her husband?” the doctor asked as he felt for Andi’s pulse. “Or boyfriend?”
Andi waited to see how he would answer. “No,” he said and turned away. “I’m a cop.”
“Perhaps you would like to step away and give us a little privacy,” the doctor said. “Ms. Daniels, would it be all right with you if I examined you? I want to check on your baby.”
Andi consented, and with less embarrassment and discomfort than she would have thought possible, the doctor made a thorough examination. When she was dressed and seated upright once more, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Everything looks good,” he said. “You are not yet in labor, though you are effaced two centimeters.”
Her face must have betrayed her confusion, because he added, “Your body is preparing for the upcoming delivery. The baby is shifting into position for birth and your cervix is getting thinner.”
“How long before the baby is born?” she asked.
“I take it this is your first child?”
She nodded.
“It could be a couple of weeks or a few days.”
“What was the pain?” she asked.
He glanced around the room, at the overturned tables and broken glass, at Simon standing by the window, his back to them. “The person who telephoned me said there had been an altercation. I assume the person who did this—” He nodded to indicate the mess “—is gone now?”
“Yes,” she said. Daniel was gone, though she wondered if Simon was right, and he would return.
“The pain was probably a stress reaction. A particularly sharp kick, a tension in the muscles.” The doctor shrugged. “What matters now is that you don’t worry about it, and try to get some rest.” He patted her hand. “You are young and strong and everything looks as it should be. When is your due date?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t comment, merely stood there. Simon turned toward them. “How is she?” he asked, though Andi was certain he had been eavesdropping on their conversation.
“She is fine,” the doctor said. “All she needs is rest and no stress.”
“Would you mind waiting with her here for a few minutes?” Simon asked.
“For a few moments,” the doctor agreed.
Simon left the room. The doctor looked down at Andi once more. “This cop—he is a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly,” she said. She was sure the doctor was curious, but she refused to elaborate—not that she could have found words to explain the bizarre situation in which she had suddenly found herself.
Simon returned in less than five minutes, carrying a black backpack. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor. “You can go now.”
As soon as the door shut behind the doctor, Andi sat up. “What happened to the Prophet?” she asked.
“He got away,” Simon said. “But the Denver police are looking for him. And hotel security will be watching for him.”
“When you find him, promise you won’t hurt him,” she said.
He glared at her. “He didn’t have any problem hurting you.”
She flinched at the anger in his voice. “He’s terrified. He’s never been in a situation like this before,” she said. “I’m sure when he calms down he’ll cooperate.”
“Save your breath,” Simon said. “No matter how much you want to believe it, Daniel Metwater isn’t the saint he’s been pretending to be. My guess is this isn’t his first run-in with the law.”
Was Simon right? How much did she know about the Prophet, really? But he had always been so gentle and kind to her. She couldn’t make the crazed, angry man who had confronted her tonight fit with her previous experience with him. “What are you doing?” she asked as Simon set the backpack on the floor at the end of the sofa.
“I’m staying here tonight.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
“I don’t want you here,” she protested.
“Maybe not, but you need me.”
She swallowed down the fear his words kindled in her. “He left,” she said. “He won’t come back.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” He sat on the sofa, only a few inches from her feet. “He won’t give up that easily, and when he returns, you’ll be glad I’m here. What did he say to you while he was here?”
“He wanted my help to get out of here. He planned to dress up in some of my clothes and pretend to be my sister.”
“Did you refuse to help him? Is that what set him off?”
She put a hand to her cheek, remembering the sting of the slap. “I asked him about Michelle and Hunter. I asked if it was true that he tried to hurt them. He became very angry and slapped me. Why would he do that? He’s never done anything like that before.”
“He knows we’re closing in on him,” Simon said. “I think he’s trying to destroy everyone who could provide evidence against him.”
“But what do I know that could possibly hurt him?” she asked.
Simon regarded her coolly. “You’ve lived with him how long now? About six months?”
“Five.”
“You’re closer to him than anyone else.”
They were the same words Michelle had used. But they weren’t true. “He isn’t really close to anyone.”
Simon angled toward her, one arm along the back of the sofa. Weariness pulled at his eyes, and the dark shadow of beard showed along his jaw. If he had driven from Montrose this morning, that meant he had been up for hours. “Help me understand,” he said. “What is it about Metwater that attracted you? Why leave everything to live in the middle of nowhere with him? Seems to me you had it pretty good before you hooked up with him.”
“That’s because people like you think money solves everything,” she said. “My life was shallow and meaningless before I met the Prophet and heard him talk about what really matters.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Living in community. Being close to nature. Focusing on things of real worth, not merely those of monetary value.”
She braced herself, prepared for him to mock her, but he only nodded his head thoughtfully. “Those things are certainly important,” he said. “The problem with Metwater’s approach is that his idea of community is to live apart and isolated. He didn’t contribute to society, he only took from it. He liked to pass himself off as a giver, but really, he’s just a user. He used you.”
She hugged her arms across her chest and glared at him. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “You don’t care about me. You only want evidence for your case.”
His expression hardened. “You’re right. I want to build a case that will put Daniel Metwater away for years. He’s the worst kind of criminal—he pretends to care about people, then he takes advantage of the most vulnerable.”
“You’re wrong! You haven’t seen how he’s helped so many people. He’s helped addicts quit drugs and ex-convicts go straight.”
“Yeah? At what price? He takes everything they have and makes them believe they need him to survive.”
“Maybe they do,” she said. “Not everyone is capable of living in normal society.”
“Then that’s sadder still,” he said.
She turned away from him, not wanting him to read the confusion and hurt in her eyes. She wasn’t an idiot. She recognized that some of what he said was true. But why couldn’t he see that the good Daniel had done outweighed the bad? Yes, he had struck her, but that was only one more sign of how afraid and desperate he was. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that he was a violent man.
Simon stood. “Try to get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’re headed back to Montrose.”
“You can go,” she said. “I’m staying here.”
“You don’t have a say in the matter,” Simon said. “As of now, you’re officially in protective custody.”
Chapter Four (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Simon shifted on the hotel suite sofa, unable to get comfortable. Not that he was expecting to sleep—he had his gun on the coffee table within easy reach, ready in case Daniel Metwater returned. Though the local police and hotel security were looking for the Prophet, Simon didn’t have confidence that they would find him. The two patrolmen who had responded to the hotel security call earlier had treated the incident as a domestic dispute between a woman and her boyfriend. They hadn’t taken Simon’s assertion that Daniel Metwater was a dangerous fugitive seriously.
But Simon knew better. Now that Michelle Munson—Starfall—and her child were out of his reach in a safe house elsewhere in the state, Metwater was focused on Andi Matheson. He only had to get hold of her and keep her alive two more days, until her twenty-fifth birthday, and he would have everything he wanted—her money and her permanent silence after he killed her.
Simon had stretched the truth a little when he told Andi she was in protective custody. He couldn’t force her to accept his protection, but it was the only way he could think of to make sure she was safe.
She refused to see the danger. Even after he had struck her, she still thought of Daniel Metwater as a prophet who only wanted to do good. Metwater had spent a lot of money cultivating that image, but Simon knew scum when he saw it. His line of work put him on a first-name basis with the worst of the worst—coyotes who took every dime a poor laborer ever made, then abandoned him and his family to die in the desert far from home. Men who promised to protect a young girl and find her a good job across the border, only to sell her into slavery in an illegal brothel in the city. Metwater was no better than those kind of abusers. He had managed to make Andi believe the best she deserved from him was to be one of many women he slept with, privileged to work as his unpaid secretary and be at his beck and call.
Maybe the other men in her life—her father and the man who was the father of her unborn child—had made her think she didn’t deserve to be treated better. They were both dead now, and as far as Simon could determine, no great loss there.
If he had a woman like Andi in his life, he would treat her with the care she deserved. He would make her his partner, not his servant, and protect her with his own life, if necessary.
Not that he’d ever have anyone like Andi. She was used to men with money and power and sophistication. Simon had none of those things. He was a hard man who spent his life doing hard, sometimes ugly things. Somebody had to do the things he did, but Andi deserved better. She deserved someone as good as she was.
He sighed and closed his eyes once more, willing himself to rest. He had done everything he knew to protect her. He had done what he could to make it tougher for Metwater to get to Andi.
But not impossible. That small room for doubt was what made every cop’s job a walk along a razor’s edge. There was always some aspect of the situation he couldn’t see, some action he couldn’t plan for.
The phone at his belt vibrated. He withdrew it and frowned at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?” he answered, speaking softly so as not to wake Andi in the next room.
“Officer Woolridge? This is Owen Pogue—one of the security guards here at the hotel.”
Simon sat up. “Yes? What is it?”
“This might not be connected to the man you’re looking for, but one of the housekeeping staff was assaulted on the third floor about half an hour ago. Whoever did it came up behind her, threw a blanket over her and shoved her into one of the supply closets. He didn’t really hurt her, but he took her keys.”
Simon was on his feet, headed for the door. “Did she get a look at the man?”
“No, sir. He surprised her. Do you think it’s your guy?”
“It could be. You still have the photo I sent you?”
“Yes, sir. I shared it with everyone on staff—not many people this time of night. The housekeeper was the only one on duty in her department.”
“Did you call the police?”
Pogue hesitated. “Did you?” Simon demanded.
“I let them know we had had an incident. But management doesn’t like a police presence here. It upsets the guests. I told them we had everything under control.”
Simon ground his teeth together, holding back a flood of curses. “Put someone at every exit, watching for him,” he said.
“Sir, I only have three people in my department tonight, and the hotel has half a dozen entrances.”
Simon didn’t even waste his breath swearing. “Do the best you can,” he said. “He may have already left, but the fact that he has a set of keys makes me think not. He’s probably hiding somewhere in the hotel. It would be better if we could search the rooms.”
“We could never do that without a warrant,” Pogue said. “Management would fight it, for sure. The guests would throw a fit, especially since, at this time of night, it would mean getting most of them out of bed.”
Simon knew Pogue was right. He was an out-of-town cop chasing a man wanted for out-of-town crimes. No Denver judge was going to agree to kick a bunch of wealthy, and in some cases famous, people out of their posh hotel rooms in the middle of the night for a random search. Bottom line—Simon was pretty much on his own with this one. “Let me know if anything else happens that doesn’t feel right to you,” he said, and ended the call.
He walked to the bedroom and tried the door. Not locked. Was it because Andi didn’t see him as a threat? More likely, she had been too exhausted and upset to think of setting the lock.
She had made a mound of blankets on one side of the king-size bed, illuminated by the glow of the digital clock. Simon stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her body, listening to the soft sigh of her breathing. The room smelled of her perfume—something floral and expensive, and a luxury she apparently hadn’t given up when she had moved to the wilderness. He had smelled it before, on his visits to camp.
After assuring himself she was sleeping well, he slipped across the room to the door that connected this suite with the one next to it, allowing the two apartments to be opened into one larger unit. He verified that the deadbolt was turned and the safety chain in place. Even if Metwater had a master key that would allow him to get into the room next door, he wouldn’t be able to come through here.
He was moving back toward the door when the woman in the bed stirred. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice clear and calm—not the voice of someone who had just awakened.
“I was checking the door lock.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. No sense explaining about the maid and the missing keys and his suspicion that Metwater was still in the hotel. Why frighten her? “I’m obsessive about locks,” he said instead.
“You would be,” she said, and rolled over, her back to him.
The retort almost made him smile. He liked that she didn’t take him too seriously. He returned to his place on the sofa and lay back down, eyes open, waiting.
* * *
ANDI SHIFTED POSITION in the big, overly soft bed for the dozenth time, her mind as restless as her body. She had slept only briefly, awakening to the feel of someone watching her. She had realized right away it was Simon. The tall, edgy cop didn’t frighten her, though his refusal to see any good in the Prophet frustrated her, and the accusations he made against a man she loved confused her.
His words stuck in her head—what he had said about Daniel stealing not only people’s possessions, but their independence. To someone like Simon, autonomy probably seemed like something valuable, but Andi wasn’t so sure.
She had never really been on her own. As her father’s daughter, she had been protected and watched over, scrutinized even, by photographers and gossip columnists and hangers-on who coveted her beauty or her money or her power—none of which she could claim any control over. The beauty was a trick of genetics she had been born with, and the money and power belonged to her father, not her. She had been pampered and educated, groomed for a life as the wife of another rich man or politician like her father. She had never questioned her upbringing or desired a particular career. She had accepted everything she received as her due.
And then she had discovered she was going to have a baby, and something inside of her shifted. She had glimpsed a different kind of future, one as wife to the man she loved, mother to a little girl or boy. But the man she had given herself to hadn’t loved her—not really. He already had a wife and family. Discovering that had shocked all the love out of her—though maybe her feelings hadn’t really been love, but instead the self-deception of someone who wanted so badly to be valued for herself and not merely for her looks or her name or her money.
The Prophet had promised to give her that value. He told her she was special—and he had made her feel special. He didn’t flatter her beauty or measure her wealth or talk about her power. He simply looked into her eyes and told her he loved her.
And she had believed him. Now this cop was telling her different, and she wanted to deny his lies. Except something deep inside her told her that maybe he wasn’t lying. That maybe she was the one deceiving herself.
Her cell phone buzzed, and she fished it out from under the pillow and answered it. “Hello?” she whispered.
“Are you all right, Asteria?” The Prophet’s voice was soothing, full of concern, addressing her by the name he had given her—a name for a goddess, he had said. Her heart beat faster at the sound of it.
“I’m worried about you,” she said.
“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Good is stronger than evil. Haven’t I always told you that?”
“Yes.” But what was evil? Was Simon evil? She couldn’t see it.
“I need you to help me,” the Prophet said.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I know that cop is watching you, but you don’t need to be afraid of him.”
“I’m not afraid.” She had never been afraid of Simon, though she couldn’t say why.
“Because you’re good, and your goodness makes you strong,” Daniel said.
She waited, not sure how to answer this.
“I need you to do one small thing for me,” he said. “But don’t let the cop see.”
“All right.”
“Go to the door that connects your bedroom to the one next door, and open the deadlock and slide back the chain.”
She looked toward the door, the one Simon had checked.
“Can you do that?” Metwater asked.
“Yes. But why?”
“Don’t worry about the why. ‘Only obey and all good will come to you.’” The words were from a chant he had taught them. One she always found especially calming.
“Only obey, and all good will come to me,” she repeated.
“That’s right.”
“What do I do after I open the locks?” she asked.
“Wait.”
He ended the call, and she slid the phone back under her pillow. Then, listening for any movement from the seating area, she tiptoed to the connecting door and carefully turned the knob for the deadbolt, then slid back the chain. It rattled against the doorframe and she froze, heart pounding, not daring to breathe. But she heard nothing from the other room.
She went to the bathroom, then returned to the bed to wait.
She didn’t have to wait long. She felt rather than heard a shift in the air as the door connecting her suite to the one next door eased open. A shadow filled the doorway, and then Daniel was beside her, kneeling on the bed, his lips brushing hers with a soft kiss. She reached up to put her arms around him, but he gently pushed her away.
He put his lips against her ear and spoke so softly that she had to strain to make out the words. “I couldn’t leave without you,” he said. “I risked everything to come back and be with you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” The answer was automatic, but not exactly truthful. Why would he risk capture to be with her? “It’s too dangerous for you here,” she whispered.
“Not with you by my side. You’ll protect me.” He brought his hand up to caress her shoulder, then moved toward her breast, going still when his fingers brushed the locket pendant. “What is this?” he asked, pulling it from beneath her gown, the chain tightening around her throat.
“It...it’s the necklace you told me you would give my baby,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it without permission, but I wanted it to help me feel close to you while we were so far apart.”
She braced herself against his anger, but instead, he kissed her cheek. “Bless you,” he said. “I knew you were my good luck charm.” He reached for her hand and she shied away, remembering when he had struck her not an hour before.
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I would never let any harm come to you.”
This time she let him take her hand. As much as experience told her not to trust him, her memories of how good things had once been between them beguiled her into cooperating.
“Come on,” he urged. “We have to hurry.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“A safe place. I promise.”
The bed creaked as she shoved herself into a sitting position on the side, and stretched out her feet to find her shoes.
Metwater pulled her roughly up while she was still searching, and she made an involuntary cry of protest.
The bedroom door opened, spilling light into the room. Simon stood in the doorway. “Andi, are you all right?” he asked.
Before she could answer, Metwater clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her tight against him. Something stung her throat and she gave another cry. Light flooded the room, and Metwater’s voice filled the silence. “Drop the gun, or I swear I’ll cut her throat and she’ll bleed to death right here.”
Chapter Five (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)
Time slowed, every sense magnified as the two men faced off. The blade of the knife glinted in the glow of the crystal chandelier overhead. A single crimson jewel of blood slid down Andi’s pale neck. Simon focused on the strong beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, and his own heart matched its rhythm.
“Drop your gun,” Metwater ordered.
Simon crouched and laid the weapon on the carpet, Andi’s gaze fixed on him.
“The other one, too,” Metwater said. “In the ankle holster.”
Simon complied, then straightened. He glanced toward the connecting door, which stood partially open. He should have stationed Pogue or one of his men there.
“What are you looking at?” Metwater shifted and Andi gasped, a fresh bead of blood forming.
Simon looked into Metwater’s eyes. Gone was the handsome, arrogant man so assured of getting away with whatever he wanted. He didn’t have an army of followers and lawyers protecting him now. It was only him against Simon. Metwater had the woman and the knife, which he thought gave him the advantage.
Simon shifted his gaze back to the door. “Pogue, now!” he shouted, and dropped to the floor.
Metwater jerked toward the door. Andi’s scream bounced off the walls in the small room as Simon scooped up his Glock and fired. But in trying to make sure he didn’t hit the woman, he caught Metwater in the shoulder.
Not a killing shot. But enough to make him drop the knife. Simon aimed again as Metwater lurched from the bed toward the door.
Andi’s screams changed pitch, interspersed with sobbing. “I’m bleeding to death!”
If Simon pursued Metwater, he could probably catch him, but at what cost?
He moved toward the bed, where Andi sat, clutching her throat, the sheets and her gown stained crimson. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 as he crossed the room. He identified himself and explained the situation as succinctly as possible.
“Yes, sir. I’m dispatching an ambulance. Please stay on the line.”
But he had already hung up and pocketed the phone. Andi stared at him, eyes huge in her pale face, hands clutched to her throat. She was still conscious—that was a good sign. “Let me take a look,” Simon said. He took both her hands in his and gently tugged them toward her lap.
She resisted. “It’s all right,” he said. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She lowered her hands, and he studied the two six-inch long slashes where blood was already beginning to clot. Relief flooded him. “The cuts are shallow,” he said. “You’ll be sore, but you shouldn’t even have a scar once they heal.”
“But there’s so much blood.” She looked down at her hands.
“You have a lot of blood vessels in your head and neck,” he said. “But he didn’t sever any arteries. The ambulance is on its way to check you over and make sure everything is okay.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “He tried to kill me,” she said. “Why?”
He could go over the old arguments about why Metwater wanted her dead, but now wasn’t the time. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” he said.
“Where is he now?”
“He ran. But he won’t get far.”
“You shot him.” He couldn’t tell if the idea frightened or comforted her.
“I did. That will slow him down. He’ll have to get help, and when he does, we’ll bring him in.”
He had already gotten through to a supervisor at the Denver Police Department. He hoped this second attack would shock them into real action. They were sending over a senior officer, and soon every cop in the city would be looking for the man who had tried to kill a young woman at the Brown Palace. Simon would try to keep Andi’s name out of the news, but the information was bound to leak eventually.
Andi Matheson had been one of the beautiful people who had been a fixture at every prominent social function in Denver and DC. Her disappearance five months ago, and subsequent reports that she had become Daniel Metwater’s most devoted follower, had kept the interest in her alive. News that she had resurfaced—and that she had been almost killed by the man she had given up pretty much everything for—would be enough to send the media into a frenzy.
He pulled out his phone and called Pogue. “An ambulance and the Denver Police are on their way over,” he said. “Direct them to Ms. Daniels’s suite.”
“Is she okay? What happened?”
“Metwater came back. She’s frightened, but she’ll be okay.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. But he’s wounded and he’s got a knife.”
“I’ll let my men know.”
The room phone rang, the bell loud and jarring. Simon answered it. “Ms. Daniels?” The woman on the other end sounded unsure.
“This is Officer Woolridge. I’m with Ms. Daniels.”
“This is Cami at the front desk. There’s an ambulance here, and two police officers.”
“Send them up.”
Five minutes later, the room was full of people—three EMTs, two police officers, Pogue and another man who said he was with hotel management. Simon started to move away from the bed, but Andi grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me!” she pleaded.
“I won’t go far,” he said. “But I need to let the EMTs examine you.”
One of the emergency medical technicians moved in alongside Simon. “It’ll be all right, ma’am,” he said. “You’ll feel a lot better once we get this checked out and cleaned up.”
Simon stepped back, and a wiry black man in uniform tapped him on the shoulder. “You Simon Woolridge?” he asked.
“I’m with Immigration and Customs Enforcement.” Simon showed his badge.
“Sergeant Tyson Daley.” Sergeant Daley glanced at the bed, where two EMTs were bent over Andi. “She an illegal?”
“I’m on special assignment with the Ranger Brigade, working out of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. We’re a federal task force focused on crime on public lands.”
“You’re a few hundred miles out of your territory, aren’t you?” Daley asked.
“I came to Denver to apprehend a fugitive, Daniel Metwater,” Simon said. “He’s the one who cut her.”
“We had a report of a domestic dispute here earlier,” Daley said. “This the same guy?”
“It is. He must have hidden in the hotel until he saw his chance to get at her again.”
“Tell me what happened,” Daley said.
“I shot him—got him in the shoulder, I think.”
Daley didn’t look happy about this news. “So now we’re looking for a wounded crazy guy with a knife. What do you want him for, anyway?”
“Kidnapping and attempted murder, for starters. But he may be connected to several other crimes.”
Daley pulled out a tablet computer. “Okay. Let me get some particulars and we’ll put out an APB and alert the local hospitals and emergency clinics. I’m gonna need a statement from you and from Ms. Daniels.”
Simon didn’t bother telling him he would have to wait for his statement. As soon as Simon was satisfied that Andi was safe, he was going to follow Metwater’s trail himself. While he wouldn’t be upset if the locals caught up with the Prophet before he hurt anyone else, Simon wanted the satisfaction of being the one to track him down.
He gave Daley the information he needed, then excused himself. “I need to call in to my commander,” he said.
Though it was after two in the morning, Commander Graham Ellison of the Ranger Brigade answered on the fourth ring. “Ellison.”
“It’s Simon. I’m here with Andi Matheson at the Brown Palace in Denver. Metwater tried to get to her. I wounded him, but he got away.”
“I’m listening.” Simon pictured the commander moving from his bedroom to his home office, transitioning from family man to cop. “Tell me everything.”
Simon summed up all that had happened since he had arrived in Denver. “I’m going after Metwater,” he concluded. “But first I need to make sure Andi is safe.”
“Do you think she’s still a target?” Graham asked.

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