“You know you can trust me,” Steve said.

“How? How do I know that, after everything that’s happened?”

“Maybe because I want to get Rory back as much as you? Didn’t you find anything in here,” he whispered, touching her forehead, “to support my side of things?”

Afraid that the closeness of his body had impaired her speech, she could only shake her head.

“How about here?” He touched her breastbone, just above her heart.

It was an innocent enough connection, but he was so close and leaning closer that it set her thoughts off balance. His warm breath caressed her ear, sending a tremor through her senses.

“If you didn’t really trust me, why did you ask for my help, Janie?”

Janie. She’d always loved it when he called her that. She felt her knees weaken, then mentally shook herself to get her wits back.

“I shouldn’t have asked, but I thought you would help find…” Dear Lord, she’d nearly said “your son.”

“Before we can go forward, Janie—” he probably knew what that name did to her “—you’ve got to believe I’m the only person who can help you.”

Hill Country Holdup
Angi Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Tim, thank you for encouraging me to follow my dream.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angi Morgan had several jobs before taking the opportunity to stay home with her children and develop the writing career she always wanted. Volunteer work led to a houseful of visiting kids and an extended family. College breaks are full of homemade cookies, lots of visitors and endless hugs.

When the house is quiet, Angi plots ways to intrigue her readers with complex story lines. She throws her characters into situations they’ll never overcome…until they find the one person who can help.

With their three children out of the house, Angi and her husband live in North Texas with only the four-legged “kids” to interrupt her writing. For up-to-date news and information, visit Angi at her Web site: www.AngiMorgan.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dr. Jane Palmer —With no roots of her own, she sought the security of a family for her son. But before she can introduce him to his father, Rory is kidnapped. She’s willing to do anything to rescue her son—even run from the FBI.

Special agent Steve Woods —He refuses to let the Brant abduction end as badly as the case that haunts him. In order to save Thomas, he first must save Jane’s son. Can he save both children and repair the broken relationship damaged by years of secrets?

Rory Palmer —Jane’s son inherited her special gift, but needs his father’s help to survive. Why is he the key to the Brant kidnapping?

Thomas Brant —The three-year-old son of a computer mogul kidnapped for a two million dollar ransom.

Special agent Roger McCaffrey —The leader of the CARD Team is on the hunt for a grieving mother involved in the kidnapping of Thomas Brant.

Agent George Lanning —Steve’s partner is torn between their friendship and his job.

Agent Selena Stubblefield —Steve’s former partner is willing to help Steve, but at what cost?

Dr. Hayden Hughes —Jane’s closest friend. He’s more than willing to play the role of Rory’s father.

CARD Team —The FBI’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

Steve Woods focused on the woman pushing a million dollars through the Fourth of July spectators in Williams Square. They hadn’t identified her yet. She’d taken possession of the stroller—and the hidden money—only four minutes ago.

Musical notes from the orchestra’s “Baby Elephant Walk” faded into the background along with the chatter of the Texas crowd. His target swerved to the right so Steve ducked behind a double-wide plaid shirt, keeping out of her line of sight.

With the ease of a longtime mother, the suspect fussed over an imaginary baby. The Mustangs of Las Colinas sculpture loomed in the background as she stuffed the large bills into a pack she flung onto her shoulder.

The gut instinct that kept him alive through ten years of FBI fieldwork pumped adrenaline through his veins. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. But he would. Heart pounding, he searched for any sign of a weapon while wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Everyone count off.” No one around him took notice that he spoke into a hidden microphone built into his earpiece. The bystanders appeared intent on following their noses, drawn by the aromas of funnel cakes, hamburgers and roasted corn. Or in grabbing the free samples of Starbucks coffee before the portable store packed up shop and went home. No one here knew that a little boy had been kidnapped.

“Greenback Two in position with a lock.” George Lanning began the count. Only four out of the five followed.

“Where’s Stubblefield? Does anyone have eyes on her position?”

“She was by the corn dog stand two minutes ago.” Even without the help of his powerful scope, George had the best vantage point of the entire field from atop the north parking garage. “I can’t find her ponytail.”

“Greenbacks scramble. Switch to Bravo Tango Alpha,” Steve said. The team changed frequencies to exclude Stubblefield in case her radio was compromised. “Granger, search her last position. I’m staying with the target.”

The sun sank fast behind the surrounding buildings. Darkness was just as much their enemy as the kidnappers. Once the fireworks began, it would be hard keeping the woman in sight. They had to stay alert and not lose the target in the crowd, even while restrained to the meandering pace set by the woman pushing the stroller.

Wouldn’t she be in a hurry to leave?

The money headed toward the middle of the activities, the center of a field of picnic blankets, lawn chairs and kids with glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Steve had his agents in place, but the large perimeter stretched their coverage. Their target was cut off completely by a man-made lake on the southeast side of the field. The kidnappers had chosen an ideal time and place to run their game.

“Where the heck is she going?”

“I’ve got nothing,” George answered. “The monorail blocks my view of the other side of the lake. Who builds a lake in the middle of a business district anyway?”

“Apparently the city of Las Colinas,” Winstrop mumbled.

“Cut the chatter,” Steve commanded. “Keep your eyes open. Our area is overextended, and you guys know the Irving cops and highway patrol already have their hands full monitoring the crowd. Anyone see Stubblefield?” Blast it. Her first assignment after moving back to his team, and she wasn’t following protocol. Terrific.

He needed to sort the facts and disconnect from the team’s challenges. Thomas Brant Jr., son of the computer mogul, age twenty-nine months, had been snatched July 3 from his mother’s arms just outside their Dallas home. One computer-generated note—free of fingerprints or any other identifying marks—left next to her unconscious body and broken arm. Intentionally broken by the monster abducting her son.

One million. Large bills. Unmarked.

Packed in small bag in kid’s stroller.

Cover with blue blanket.

Williams Square, Irving Fireworks, 8:00 p.m.

No payment and he gets the same as the mother.

Their only lead was to follow the money.

Three adults and two children blocked Steve’s view of the target. She stood five feet from the lake. He stood fifteen feet behind her, within his reach, but the sky was completely dark.

Time was up.

“Any word on Stubblefield?” Everyone rose or stopped walking as the national anthem began. Some placed their hands over their hearts, and some sang their pride off-key, especially the guy in front of him. Pushing his respect aside, he concentrated on the target. He could see the white of her knuckles from her tight grip on the guide bar of the stroller.

“I’m here,” Stubblefield said, out of breath. “I’m trailing a suspicious teenager and lost radio contact.”

“I no longer have a lock on the target,” George interrupted. “Too many civilians in the way.”

Steve inventoried his target—small frame, hair stuffed under a floppy hat, a drawstring bag looped over both shoulders, flip-flops, and a red, white and blue oversize shirt that hung to the edge of her tight, blue jean shorts.

Flip-flops?

Why would someone prepared to grab the money and run wear flip-flops?

The first rocket exploded. The hushed awe now shattered by the pops, sizzles and crackles of fireworks. Steve didn’t let the noise distract him. He stared at the woman’s slender ankles and bright red toenails. They moved.

Closer to the lake.

“She’s going in the water!” he shouted to his team.

Shoving through two cowboys, he snatched the stroller. Frightened blue eyes turned to him. Familiar eyes.

It couldn’t be…

A prick burned his forearm. He heard “I’m sorry” from a voice he remembered only too well. Her hands grabbed at his belt before he realized his knees had buckled and he crashed into her body. The ground meeting his shoulder didn’t cause him pain, which was odd. There should have been a jolt.

Had he been shot?

A blurry image waved off the concerned men. The world swirled around him, lit by the white and silver rockets exploding over his head. Her hands shifted from his chest to the bag of money, where she unrolled…a hose? No, a breathing tube. She replaced the bag on her back as quickly as the shoes came off her feet.

“George.” He struggled with words, unable to force his mouth or hands to move.

“He just collapsed,” she told the men around her. Then she forced something into his hand. “I’m really sorry, Steve. Here’s the antidote. The paralysis is only temporary.”

Damn, it was his Jane. What was she doing here?

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” she said, but he knew she wouldn’t.

Dr. Jane Palmer, chemist, genius, ex-lover. Not exactly who he thought he’d be tracking tonight.

Barely able to turn his head, he caught sight of her sliding into the lake. No one paid any attention. The men were still shaking him, attempting to get a response. He couldn’t move his pinkie, let alone follow. Jane disappeared in the water as the two guys trying to help him drew a crowd.

He struggled to keep his eyelids open. The guys shook him harder, as his team screamed “man down” and called for an ambulance. George shouted that the target was underwater and someone needed to follow her.

“Get out of the way!” Windstrom reached him first. The grass swished near Steve’s ear before a friendly hand landed on his chest. “Woods? Can you hear me? Lanning, where are the EMTs? He’s barely breathing.”

“Where’s he shot?”

“I can’t find a wound.” He pried Steve’s fingers away from whatever Jane had placed in his fist. “Wait a minute. It’s a note addressed to Zaphod? God, it’s instructions to administer an antidote. There’s a hypo here. Should I do it? George?”

Zaphod?

Steve heard the voices. Everything in his brain seemed to work, but he couldn’t focus past the blur in his eyes or force his mouth to move.

He wasn’t about to die until he figured out why and how Jane was involved in this kidnapping.

THANK GOD SHE COULD FIGURE out the breathing apparatus. If she had more than four minutes to make the underwater swim, Jane would question the motives of the universe. Question why the one man she prayed would rescue her, lay paralyzed from her drug 9RW6.

Special Agent Steve Woods. It had been almost four years.

She capped the flood of emotions that would block her from thinking clearly. She couldn’t breathe from the pony tank and cry at the same time anyway. She kicked harder. Suppressed anger and frustration made her stronger with every stroke.

Rory needed her. Those bastards wouldn’t hurt her son because she’d made a mistake. Following the kidnapper’s instructions, she continued through the dark water.

The kidnappers had kept her and Rory for the past two days, keeping her awake and drilling their plan into her mind. The only chance Rory had was for her to follow their instructions. They’d taken her formula and forced her to use it against whoever chased her from the plaza. And great, it had to be Steve and the FBI. Did they know about Rory’s kidnapping? Was that why Steve was there?

Maybe he’d be taken off the case, and she wouldn’t have to deal with him. Anyone but him. She couldn’t handle his explanations or accusations. Not now. She hadn’t expected Steve to be there tonight but maybe they’d understand the note faster if he was involved. He would know what her cryptic message meant.

Wouldn’t he?

They were the FBI, for pity’s sake. God help me. She prayed with each stroke that carried her closer to one of her son’s abductors.

Fear nipped at her system and caused her breath to hitch. Not good while trying to breathe underwater. Better to concentrate on the rhythm of her strokes, on her strength. On how she would methodically tear the kidnappers limb from limb if they harmed her little boy. They would wish they had killed her if anything happened to Rory.

Any time now. Bringing the illuminated diving compass closer to her goggles, she cautiously surfaced at the instructed coordinates. Exploding fireworks cast enough flickering light to see a black-clad figure steering a small rowboat about fifteen feet away.

A man wearing a pull-on President Clinton mask hauled her over the side. She wasn’t seated properly before he threw a towel in her direction and wrenched the heavy bag from her back. His deranged laughter made her spine shudder.

“I don’t care what the money is for, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t hurt Rory. I’ll do anything to get my son back.” Anything.

“Clinton” ignored her plea and threw a lumpy grocery sack at her feet. Huddling under the dark towel, she pulled yet another tight stretchy shirt over her head. For the second phase in this nightmare to work, she needed to appear dry while driving away.

Separate yourself from the emotion, Jane. Her mother’s voice rang clear. Panic never resolved anything. The one time she’d thrown caution to the wind, her sense of freedom had left her pregnant and raising a child alone.

She ignored the putrid pond stench and the rubbery feeling in her legs from swimming the race of her life. Once they reached shore, her captor held a Glock in his gloved hand. There weren’t too many people on this side of the lake by the parking garage. None close enough to notice her or the man in the Clinton mask.

Now that they had what they wanted, she assumed the gunman wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. So she obeyed her instructions by not calling out for help or drawing attention to herself.

They climbed over a half wall that formed the ground floor of a dimly lit parking garage. A car sat three spaces from the exit.

Judging from the vivid colors bursting in the sky and the John Philip Sousa melody echoing across the lake, the program had reached its finale. She needed to be in traffic when the fireworks ended.

“Clinton” tossed her the keys. Without a grunt in her direction, the guy took off. She had no idea what he looked like. She couldn’t identify anything about him except his average height and slender build.

Helpless.

That summed everything up. She couldn’t prove anything, give the police anything to go on, or assist in any way. The creep hadn’t even spoken to her. The abductors’ instructions were burned into her memory.

She popped the trunk and settled a long blond wig complete with dark roots onto her head. The walk alongside the car took a minute with new bright orange flip-flops on her feet. She pulled the seat forward as others began loading their cars with lounge chairs and coolers.

Adjusting the mirrors, she tried to achieve a bored look, and desperately tried to slow the beat of her heart. No use. She pulled out of the Omni Hotel’s garage. Despite her best efforts, her protective bubble of self-control lay close to shattering. Willpower alone kept her alert, despite appearing relaxed behind the steering wheel. Her insides churned as if she were the contents of a giant milkshake.

The stream of automobiles thickened. She passed policeman after policeman directing traffic. The urge to scream for help grew until she had to cover her mouth with a shaking hand.

The cars came to a complete stop in all directions, and an ambulance siren screamed through the intersection. Guilt rattled her, creating another crack in her discipline. Steve. They must be moving him to a hospital, but he’d be okay. He had to be okay.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold on to the steering wheel. Follow directions. She steadily moved her hands to a ten-and-two position on the hard cool plastic.

Everything will work out. Follow the plan.

With or without Steve’s help identifying her, the FBI would connect the antidote to Dr. Jane Palmer, research scientist. During the past two days, she hadn’t been given an opportunity to contact the police or Steve. Now she was a fugitive, part of the kidnappers’ plan. If she called anyone for help, she couldn’t save Rory.

Every person she knew would be interrogated. Her home would be invaded, and everything she owned would be searched. They’d find the book. Now that Steve was part of this, there was a good chance they’d understand the clue that much sooner.

Please God. Bring my little boy back to me. She prayed over and over and over.

Heading westbound on Highway 114, she eased her foot off the accelerator as she passed a black-and-white. The lake house would be there no matter how fast she drove.

“You have to pull through this, Steve. We need your help.”

THREE HOURS IN THE HOSPITAL and still no one knew what had happened to him. He’d been informed they’d found another antidote vial locked in a safe at her apartment. Antidote for what? Everyone wanted to know but Jane held all the answers. It was her serum.

Determined to leave, he’d forced his doctor to admit that nothing was seriously wrong with him. He pulled his shirt over his head just as George came through the curtains.

“Has the Brant kid shown?”

“We lost her.” His partner dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head.

“You’ve got a team finding out where she’s working?” he asked and tucked his shirt into his jeans.

“You ordered that as soon as you could talk.” George frowned and scratched his scalp. “Of course, we followed through. We know she rented a car yesterday.”

Steve slipped his left foot into a boot and bent to pull it on. He nearly lost what little was left in his stomach but wasn’t sharing that bit of info with anyone. He wanted out of the hospital and on the trail of the kidnappers. And Jane.

He pulled on the second boot and sat straight again, forcing a shaky hand to smooth back his hair before he slipped on his Stetson.

“Palmer sure caught us with our pants down,” George said. “It was like she knew we were shorthanded.”

“Maybe. But…” He couldn’t believe it. Jane wasn’t a kidnapper.

“But?”

But with a stick from her needle, she’d paralyzed him and left. What should he believe? “Just find her.”

“I’m driving you home.” George dug his hands into his jeans pockets and shifted from foot to foot. “Come on, Steve. We’ve got this covered.”

“I know Jane Palmer.”

“You didn’t even know she was back in town, man. According to the landlord, she’s been here six weeks.”

No, he hadn’t known she was back. And he didn’t know where she lived, but he did know Jane. He knew every inch of her body, every inch of her soul. She couldn’t be a part of the kidnapping. But she had to be since she’d picked up the ransom. He had very little time to determine why.

The doctor warned him to take it easy for the next several days as he left the hospital. As if he actually would. A kid was still missing. And his ex-lover was climbing the FBI’s most wanted list.

George punched the unlock button for the F150. “I can’t take you anywhere but home, Steve. Orders.”

“Who’s in charge?” He climbed in, still stiff from the drug.

“McCaffrey. He knows about your history with Jane. You’re on official medical leave until they know exactly what that serum did to you. Among other unanswered questions.”

Like how he was involved. “Are they through at her apartment?”

“Don’t do this to yourself, man.”

“What would you do?” He yanked the Stetson to his lap and rested his throbbing head against the seat.

“She left you, Steve. She packed up and moved after two words—good and bye.”

George started the engine. A light rain distorted the on-coming headlights. Steve leaned his aching forehead on the cool side window.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” he said quietly, his thoughts being thrust back four years to a time he’d rather block from his memory.

“You can come with me,” Jane had said calmly. He could hear the disbelief in her voice. Disbelief that he encouraged her to follow her dream, to take a job offer that didn’t come along twice in a lifetime.

“It’s not that easy, honey. I’d have to wait for an opening to transfer. I’d lose my place on the team. You know what’s coming up. This is the undercover break I wanted. It may be months before you hear from me, and I can’t let you—”

“Don’t say it, Steve. Don’t tell me I’ve got to live up to my potential. Don’t say you won’t stand in my way.”

“What kind of a life would we have here? I’m gone months at a time. You’d spend hours in a lab doing mindless work. You’d choose that kind of life over your dream job? You’ve been dying for this opportunity.”

“You figured all this out on your own. No discussion?”

“I belong here, hon.” He pulled her into his arms.

“And what about us?” Her hands went around his waist, holding on to him like a lifeline.

He held her, never wanting to let go, but knowing it was the best he could do at the moment. “We can’t forget about everything we’ve both worked—”

She cut his stupid words off with a kiss. One that released every emotion bottled up inside him. Their lovemaking was exquisite, unhurried and all night.

And in the end, she’d left.

The opportunity at Johns Hopkins was too important and prestigious to pass up. If she’d stayed in Dallas, she would have regretted it the rest of their lives. He’d gone undercover posing for the next five months as a husband desperate to adopt a child. His team had run the sting trying to stop the illegal sale of abducted children.

Nothing had gone right. His cover had been blown. They’d lost track of the kids. He still wasn’t over that.

But their breakup had been for the best. Jane hadn’t written from Baltimore. He hadn’t heard from her. Not even an e-mail. He couldn’t blame Jane for leaving. He’d pushed her out the door.

Another person gone. But this one had come back and hadn’t called. She’d made her choice.

Enough said.

It took twenty minutes to get to his house, but only ten to get Jane’s address from George. It was close to the University of Texas campus in Arlington. Close to where she’d lived when she’d been in school. Close to where they’d met.

Okay, pal. Build a bridge and get over it. Keep a level head or you’ll give the brass a reason to keep you off the case even longer.

Feeling like warmed-over cow patties, he should have stayed home. But this was Jane.

His gut told him two plus two just didn’t add up to four. Flashing his badge at the officer still at the scene, he ducked under the crime scene tape and entered the totally wrecked apartment. There hadn’t been any reason for his team to be gentle.

Stacks of empty cutesy frames that had filled every nook of her apartment four years ago were dumped from boxes as if she hadn’t unpacked. Jane loved pictures, but she had a habit of buying the frame and forgetting to print the picture to fill it. The knickknacks cluttering the top shelves matched everything he remembered. Nails, but no pictures on the walls. Nothing on the lower shelves.

One bedroom remained completely empty. Odd. The desk was in the living area. Why get a two-bedroom if you’re going to put your desk inconveniently by the patio door? Didn’t make sense. Jane was a scientist and couldn’t live without having access to her files and external hard drive. So where was the computer? She hauled the entire PC with her on a kidnapping?

He still couldn’t believe she was involved.

The same comforter she’d had since she was eleven lay bunched in the middle of her bed. That was more like her—a creature of habit. During their three months together it had been hard to get her to change any routine.

That uncomfortable feeling crept up the back of his neck again. The feeling he got when things were about to go from bad to worse.

Upturned bureau drawers cluttered the floor. Clothes were piled under them. He picked up a picture of a very young Jane with her mother. She still had big sad eyes, as if she carried the fate of the world on her shoulders. Just one lone picture?

It didn’t make sense.

Still slender with dark auburn hair, she hadn’t changed. Well, her bangs were dark. That was all he’d seen under that cap. He ran his finger over her lips. They’d still be soft and luscious.

Opening the drawer in the nightstand, he found the book. Just one. A very used copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Jackpot.

It had been a challenge to find a book she’d never read. A book she couldn’t quote by heart. He didn’t need to open the cover to see the words written inside, but he did anyway. “My favorite book is yours. Love, Steve.” He’d struggled with the words long enough, wanting them to be meaningful, yet casual.

He’d come here specifically to find this, just in case the reference to one of its characters in his “antidote note” hadn’t been a fluke. He flipped through the pages, finding a Valentine’s Day card with last year’s date and a “Love, Hayden.”

Who was Hayden?

Under the card was a picture of Jane and himself at his parents’ lake house. He flipped it over. Austin Lake Country where Steve assured me I wasn’t alone in the galaxy.

She’d kept the book and his picture.

Dr. Jane Palmer closely guarded a secret about herself. He’d given her his favorite book for her birthday present, then found out she had an amazing memory. She could recite chapters of books she’d read in college.

Shoot, he couldn’t go down memory lane right now. But he could go exactly where Jane had pointed him. Lake Buchanan, near Austin.

He pulled out his cell and had his thumb over the speed dial for George. It was more than a hunch now. Jane had deliberately left him a trail. She needed him.

But why not call the FBI? Why not write on the antidote note that she was in trouble? Why “Zaphod”? Because he’d understand immediately, and no one else would.

What if he were wrong? McCaffrey would have his head if he misdirected the team. He didn’t want to be permanently relieved of duty. Right?

He brought up the directory and retrieved the number for Southwest Airlines. If he were lucky, he could catch the first plane to Austin and bring Jane in alone. It was the safest way to get her to turn herself in and sort out why she was working with kidnappers.

What did he have to lose?

NINE TEDIOUS HOURS and Jane was losing her patience. Driving to Lake Buchanan through heavy rains had been a nightmare. Unexpected flooding in south Texas shut down roads and delayed her by four hours.

Her uncanny recall for details had set her apart for as long as she could remember. But an eidetic memory didn’t help in storms that obliterated the road signs or detours due to flooding.

How she’d wished for her ability to go away so she could be like normal little girls. A normal life full of dolls, playtime and friends. Full of stability instead of university studies. That “special” part of her everyone admired had contributed to her exploitation by her parents, losing her dream job and now the kidnapping of her son.

The formula stored in her unique memory had drawn criminal attention to her. Guess she didn’t blend in well enough after all. If she had, Rory would be safe at home instead of in the hands of coldhearted kidnappers.

Thunder echoed across the landscape, jolting her back to the driving rain beating against the windshield. It had started storming south of Stephenville and never let up. Kingsland had received its share, too. Although it was nearly seven in the morning, the sky remained shrouded in darkness as the rain continued to pour.

She drove past two barricades on the last turn and parked the car in a drive leading to an unused field. The ground was normally a mixture of small pebbles and dirt, but was now mainly water and mud. A couple of steps from the car and she slid to the ground, losing the flip-flops in the dark. She walked the last quarter mile to the lake house, falling time and again.

Her luck had to change. If the FBI understood her message, she could wait for their help here, away from the kidnappers’ view.

If they didn’t show, she’d get a message to them. Somehow. But she was too exhausted to think after driving all night. And if Steve decided to come, what then? She’d thought about how to break the news to him. He deserved to know. But how did you tell a man he was a father and that his son had been kidnapped in the same sentence?

I can’t think anymore. She finally sloshed up the muddy walkway thankful the heavy rains had placed the lake country in a flash-flood warning. There weren’t any cars along the road or in the driveway. No lights on in the house. Hopefully, the family was still at the ranch.

Amanda Woods, Steve’s mother, usually hid a key so her kids could use their weekend retreat at a moment’s notice. Jane hoped it would be that way now, or she’d spend a horrible wet day in the boathouse. She hooked the soggy strands from the wig behind her ears, wearing it just in case someone saw her or if she was stopped.

She pulled the key from under Brandon’s Texas-shaped stone near the roses, meaning Steve’s brother had been the last one here. They each had a cement rock with their handprint and initials from when they were five.

Walking along the veranda-style porch, she wondered what it would have been like to have a loving family with traditions and roots. Her parents had done what they thought was best, protecting her from…well, everything. Yet exposing her to one university study after another and keeping her from a normal childhood.

To be normal was all she wanted for Rory. And now? One step at a time. Or one hurdle.

The door swung open without a squeak. Now breaking and entering could be added to her list of fugitive accomplishments.

Trembling from nerves more than the damp, she grabbed a towel from the shelf in the mudroom and buried her face in its softness. A good sleep was far beyond her reach without Rory in her arms. But she’d been up for days and craved to stretch out with a pillow under her head. Just for an hour or so.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Jane screamed, dropped the terry cloth, and looked up to see Steve. A very alive, strong, healthy Steve. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh at the intensity of his stare. She took a deep breath, calming her racing blood.

The T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest. He looked great. Too perfect for words. But she could come up with a few: absolute, excellent, flawless, hunk, masterful. Not to mention archaic, pig-headed and loner.

Steve’s brow wrinkled, and the tiny laugh lines around his eyes were emphasized. She’d been gaping at him, but couldn’t help another look down his long, lean torso and back up again to his lightly whiskered face. Another gaze at the last and only man she wanted to see.

But, dear God in heaven, she’d missed everything about him. The shape of his once-broken nose, his deep brown eyes, how his dark hair curled out from under his hat—even his boots. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but couldn’t. He’d made his choice four years ago. Having him hold her wouldn’t change that.

“You look surprised to see me.” He blocked the door leading into the rest of the house. He was dry and immaculate except for that little bit of stubble that drove her crazy. “Didn’t you leave me a note?”

Technically she’d left two. “I expected someone else.” She wasn’t up to verbally sparring with him. She wanted to warm up and dry off. Curl up and cry. Turn everything over to the FBI and be certain they’d find Rory.

“Yeah, well, that knockout juice left a heckuva hangover.” He rubbed his forehead while continuing. “But I managed to make a plane.”

“Just you? None of your team is here? Why wouldn’t they come? You never work alone.”

“I take orders from the FBI, or at least I think I do.” He rubbed his temples again. “They put me on medical leave after I was stuck with an unknown drug.”

“You were obviously injected with the antidote so you have nothing to worry about.” She needed to sit down. She pushed at his chest, attempting to get around him, but he held his ground, not budging from the mudroom.

“You know, for a genius you’re not making much sense. You left a note for me to follow, but you’re surprised to see me.” He shoved the dripping blond wig off her head, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on, Jane? If something’s wrong, why not just tell the authorities everything?”

“It was the only thing I could come up with. There wasn’t a way to write a note.” She didn’t dare look at him again. She kept her eyes focused on the scuff marks on his boots. She was just too shaky to think straight. “The picture was already in the book, so I decided to come here and hope.”

“Why tell the FBI where you were going at all? Kidnapping has serious consequences. Tell me where the boy is and where you stashed the money.”

“What are you talking about?” She’d kidnapped someone and had the money? “The kidnappers said they’d give him back if I did what they asked.”

His hands stilled and created two pools of warmth through her wet T-shirt.

She opened her mouth to ask about Rory but couldn’t. He let her go and turned away. But not before she’d seen the disappointment on his face. The same disappointment she experienced for not having enough courage to tell him about Rory.

Steve pulled his cell from his belt. “I’ve got to call McCaffrey and let him know I’m bringing you in.”

“I can’t go back to Dallas!”

“Oh, yes, you can. I don’t know how you got involved, but—”

She tried to take the cell from his hand. His grip was too firm so she kept her fingers wrapped around his. “Please, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”

“It’s a kidnapping.” He shook her hand from his, but didn’t dial the phone. “Every minute counts if we’re going to find the kid.”

“The kid? His name is Rory.” So he didn’t know. But why was he there? She couldn’t tell him about his son like this. She needed to think. Plan what and how. She hadn’t really slept in three days. Everything was getting jumbled in her head.

“Rory?” He wrinkled his brow. “You collected the ransom for Thomas Brant. The kid you and a couple of monsters abducted yesterday morning.”

Another kidnapping? A second little boy was missing? She stumbled against the washer and slowly slid to the floor.

Sweet mother of God, would she ever see her son again?

Chapter Two

“Are you okay?” Steve’s first instinct was to kneel down and pull Jane into his arms, but he couldn’t. She was a fugitive.

Wanted for kidnapping.

And no longer his.

“I’m so stupid.” Her hands covered her face and she burst into tears. More than tears. Her body shook from the force. She rocked back and forth like a woman keening for a lost child.

This near hysterical person was not the woman he had known four years ago. Jane hadn’t shed a tear as they parted ways or at any point in their relationship.

“I’ll never see…him…again,” she hiccupped.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“My son, Rory. He’s gone. They took him. I can’t believe I… Oh, my God.”

When he couldn’t watch the stream of tears any longer, he knelt until she looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think I heard you right, Jane. You keep saying your son. The little boy that’s missing is Thomas Brant.”

“And Rory. They have Rory.”

“You’re saying they kidnapped two kids and one is yours?” He got back to his feet.

Her bottom lip trembled and her head dropped as she pulled her knees in close to her chest again.

Steve couldn’t have heard her correctly. He’d been up all night, drugged yesterday and his brain wasn’t working right. Were her words just the result of a drug-induced hallucination?

She had a son? Jane? His Jane?

Her dark auburn hair was plastered to her scalp, she was soaked to the skin, but she was still beautiful with those tear-filled eyes staring up at him. And very real.

Leaning on the doorjamb kept him upright, but he couldn’t think. He forced his hand to reach out. After a few seconds her shivering fingers wrapped around his and he pulled her to her bare, muddy feet. Then he moved, taking the short tiled hall in four steps with Jane following. He tossed his phone onto a chair, sinking onto its match. All his energy had been zapped right out of him when he heard those words.

She had a son.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He croaked the question past a very dry throat, wanting to head to his dad’s wet bar and the bottle of Jim Bean hidden from view. “When did you get married?”

That guy was lucky. Jane was smart, beautiful and crazy in bed. He couldn’t think of her like that. The hell he couldn’t. She’d been with him first. Her kid was missing on top of being involved with the Brant kidnapping. Pull yourself together, Woods. You made your choice four years ago.

“His father is… He’s… I wanted to call you, Steve.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you. They said not to involve any police or the FBI. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Wait, slow down. Let’s start at the beginning.”

If he couldn’t have a shot of whiskey, he might as well make it aspirin. Where did his mom keep them? He pushed out of the chair and stretched his stride to its limit, but stopped short of the kitchen.

“The beginning? Rory and I were going to the park.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?”

“Why do you think you had the right to know? I thought it was better to just keep things the way you wanted.” She sat on the couch, looking as completely worn-out as he felt, but the words still managed to sting. “You were undercover and couldn’t be reached.”

Undercover for almost three years. A lot had happened to her while his life had been on hold.

“I thought we were friends.” Yeah, he knew the futility of the words as they left his mouth and didn’t need it confirmed by her look of you’re-just-being-stupid. “Don’t you think a significant thing like having a kid warrants a phone call?”

“The phone works both ways, buddy. You never called me, either.”

The truth flicked him like a bullwhip, inflicting small sharp pangs of guilt. Yeah, he could have found her. He had ways, contacts. But he’d avoided admitting his culpability, and then it seemed too late for a relationship.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I couldn’t call you while I was undercover. You knew that.”

“I tried to write several times, but what could I say? You made your feelings very clear when you asked me to leave.” Sniffing, she draped a worn afghan around her, like a protective wall between them.

“Who’s the father? Could he be involved?” Probably some genius guy she worked with. It had to be. Maybe that Hayden fellow?

His desire to think superseded the need for aspirin so he skimmed the perimeter of the room, pacing as far away from the afghan and what it covered as possible. He didn’t want to recall the disappointment he’d experienced and just how much he’d wanted a letter during that first assignment. If he did admit it, that would mean he’d been wrong. No, his work over the past four years had been important. It wasn’t a waste.

Jane’s hand peeked from under the blanket to brush her hair back. “His dad’s never been involved with him. And he’d be the last person to kidnap a small child.”

So, the guy had been after sex and not the consequences. Jane deserved better.

As if she thought the same, she pushed off the couch, dragging the afghan around her shoulders to the window. “We have to find Rory.”

Lightning glistened off the phone in the chair, beckoning him to do his job. He should call his team. It was important to let McCaffrey know he had the suspect. Or he could get Jane’s story, then make the call since the FBI needed information on her son’s kidnapping.

“When did you get back to Dallas?”

There hadn’t been any evidence of a child living in Jane’s apartment. Could he be wrong? Could all this just be a ruse to throw him off? After all, he hadn’t seen her in years. But why leave a note he was certain to follow?

“Ten days ago.” Jane leaned against the window frame and looked expectantly out toward the lake.

Her landlord had told them six weeks.

“No one else is coming,” he said. At least no one I’m expecting. “Why would someone kidnap your son? What would they gain?”

“I wasn’t looking for anyone.” She seemed more resigned, more somber if that were possible. “The new drugs I’m developing are very valuable. The sedative is what I used on you yesterday.”

“It has a heck of a kick.”

“It’s not fully developed. I wasn’t scheduled to begin at the lab until Monday. Copies of the formula and several vials were still at the apartment. They took everything.”

Wrapped tightly in the afghan, she took small steps back to the couch and perched on the edge.

“How would they know about it?”

“My money’s from the private sector. It came after my paper was published in the Journal of Anesthesiology. Anyone could know about it.”

“What about your dream job at Johns Hopkins? Did they have any right to the research?”

“Actually, that job didn’t work out. I’ve been privately funded with the understanding that my research belongs to me. So I have a lot of control over the development of the drugs. At least for the time being.”

“Was there a bidding war? Did someone get pissed off because you cut them out of the deal? Maybe another partner?”

“I worked alone and approached a friend at Foster Pharmaceuticals. It wasn’t associated with anyone or any company.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Tell me what happened with your son.”

Taking a deep breath, she dropped her head onto the back of his mother’s old couch cushions, closed her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears. “God, I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Another deep breath and a long pause. He wanted to ask a million questions, but his Bureau training held firm. He slowly sat back in the chair across from her to wait on the story. Waiting was the worst part of his job.

“Mrs. Newinsky, my neighbor on the floor below, greeted us when the movers pulled up to the building last week. She constantly came over and offered to watch Rory. We were going to grill hot dogs at the park July second, but she forgot to buy a package of buns.”

A tear fell from her right eye, and she swiped it away as if it never existed.

“I didn’t think twice. I just thought it would be quicker if I went to the store and she stayed with Rory.” Jane sat forward and picked lint from the afghan with trembling fingers, avoiding his gaze. There was a small sniff. Then her eyes met his, but she quickly looked out the window where the rain continued to pour.

“I…um…” She struggled, swallowing hard. “I got back and they were inside my apartment. At least two of them. With guns. They never spoke, wore masks and shoved typed notes in front of me.”

Steve forced himself not to interrupt and then pried his short nails from the palms of his hands. He stood, needing to relax, keep a clear head and not tear her story apart. Just let her finish.

“Mrs. Newinsky and Rory weren’t there. The note had instructions telling me they had Rory and they’d take me to him if I didn’t make a scene.”

“So that happened two days before I followed you at the fireworks.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to do what they said. They had Rory. I got into the side door of a black van and didn’t see the plates. They blindfolded me—”

“Did you count the turns? Any unusual smells or sounds?”

“As much as I would like to believe I could re-create the ride, I tried to keep track but I can’t tell you anything significant. It was a building with no visible address. I couldn’t see the surrounding skyline. Nothing. All I know is that forty-something turns later I still wasn’t with Rory.”

“What did they want?”

“Not much the first day. Being separated from Rory drove me insane. It was the same for most of July third.”

“Wait a minute. You rented a car on the third.”

“Not me.” She shook her head and pulled the afghan tighter. “The last note said the car was in my name and to avoid the police. It also stated to find the stroller by the Mustang sculpture at the fireworks. Everything I needed, including clothes, was in the car. One man drove me to the hotel parking garage.”

Images of a little boy floated into his mind, a toddler with short chubby legs and a patch of light brown hair the shade of Jane’s.

Why was he unable to concentrate? He was a federal agent. He should be able to keep his head, be able to think about this situation rationally. He diligently concentrated on the tile where each boot fell as he paced.

“How many men were there?”

“I think two, but it’s hard to be certain.”

“Could you recognize any of them?” His boot hit a cracked tile. An accident he and his brother were probably responsible for. Concentrate.

“They wore full head masks and never spoke.”

“Since they didn’t do anything to you and didn’t need you earlier than the fourth, why not wait and take you just before the fireworks? Why take your son? Why this elaborate scheme to collect ransom money?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t shrug or move. Then her chin quivered.

He felt like an ass.

“So tell me about last night.”

“They watched everything I did during the fireworks. The one time they spoke, their voices were altered somehow. One guy met me in a boat, took the money and took me to the car. I needed to hide, so I came here on the way to San Antonio.”

“San Antonio?”

“That’s what the instructions said to do. I need to meet them at the Alamo on the sixth and I’ll get Rory back.”

No spoken instructions? Disappearing notes? Secret formulas and threats to her child? This was so farfetched he didn’t know where to begin to tear her story to shreds. It didn’t make sense.

And what happens if she’s lying to you, pal? A niggling voice kept gnawing at his thoughts. There weren’t any pictures, no kid clothes, no toys.

“I went to your apartment, Jane.” Confronting her was easier than playing guessing games. “There isn’t any evidence to support what you’re telling me.”

“What do you mean?”

Like he would with any suspect, he watched for tells. Subtle expression changes, a shifting of her eyes to indicate she was lying.

All he could see was Jane. Holy cow, she wasn’t lying. She had a son. Rory was real.

“The team wasn’t gentle when they searched your place, but they were thorough. I think I would have noticed if a child lived there.”

Jane looked confused. “Why would they take his things? It was the only room I’d finished unpacking.”

The tip of Jane’s nose turned red from holding back the tears she refused to surrender to again. Her lip trembled as much as her clasped hands. He clenched his jaw tighter to withhold his sympathy and drew on a reserve of professionalism he’d never tapped before.

This wasn’t a normal abduction. It didn’t fit any profile, any standard he could focus on. His gut told him the kidnappers didn’t have any intention of returning her son. It didn’t make sense.

“Who are these ghosts?” He didn’t hold back his frustration, letting his voice boom through the room. She flinched. He didn’t expect Jane to answer, but she shrugged and choked back a sob.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them.” She dropped her face into her hands, thought better of it and looked into the far corner. “Details scream at me every moment of my life. I don’t forget anything. Ever. But I can’t remember what they didn’t expose me to.”

“I want to believe you.” But he wouldn’t let his wants get in the way of reality. As much as he wanted to accept everything she said, he still hadn’t heard a viable reason why she would be anyone’s target. The Brants, yes. They had a million dollars’ worth of reasons—that Jane didn’t have with her anymore.

“How did you know I’d find your message?”

“Actually, I hoped they wouldn’t have to involve you, Steve. I assumed the police would discover who I am and hoped. I hoped that someone would look inside the book.”

Dang it! Did all her actions imply she was innocent or did he want her to be? “Why not just write details about the kidnapping and let the police know about your son?”

“They handed the note to me when we arrived in the parking garage. I found the stroller, then found a free pen when I passed by a booth. I barely managed to write ‘Zaphod’ on the top before the fireworks began. I hoped by mentioning a character from your favorite book, it would draw your attention to the case. What if they don’t follow through, Steve? I need your help to make certain I’m the one at the Alamo.”

With McCaffrey in charge, there wasn’t much chance of him helping with the exchange. He had serious doubts anything he said would be taken into consideration.

“Driving here wasn’t the smartest thing to do, Jane.” The rain had probably played in her favor, or she would have been apprehended in that rental. Which was probably what the kidnappers had wanted. “You should have called me, the police, anyone who could have helped you.”

With her body covered with the afghan, he couldn’t pick up any abnormal nervousness. She had just as much apprehension as any parent he’d interviewed after a child went missing.

“When we were together, Steve, you spoke of your last case. The reason you were on medical leave. The parents didn’t follow the kidnappers’ instructions—” a choked sob caught in her throat “—and the child…”

Died.

He remembered Kevin Haughton every day. He couldn’t avoid seeing the scar on his chest from the bullet that had nearly killed him. There wasn’t any way on earth he could argue with her reasoning. He’d given it to her.

“I couldn’t take the chance to phone on the way here. What if they were following me? I thought I was doing the best thing.”

“I don’t doubt you thought you were right. But this makes no sense. Kidnappers don’t work this way. Why involve another person? Why you? Why force you to pick up the ransom from a second abduction?” He walked the length of the living room.

Stopping at the window, he watched the steady downpour of rain. Rising water would soon be their enemy, just like time. The longer the kidnappers took to return her son, the less likely he’d be found.

God, he was convinced. It surprised him how easily Jane had persuaded him. Yet, he knew she was holding something back.

“What’s next?” he asked her. “You said you were waiting to surface in San Antonio. When?”

“I need to be at the Alamo tomorrow morning at ten. They’re supposed to give me Rory,” she said.

Steve heard another choked sob, and his chest constricted tighter.

During their whirlwind romance, Jane had never cried. Their days and nights had been completely filled with laughter and love. Keeping his back to her now and maintaining his distance was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He tightened his grip on the window frame, but could only focus on her reflected image in the glass as she slipped the blanket from her shoulders. No woman’s tears had ever affected him this way.

“Steve—” her voice shook near the point of breaking “—you said the other little boy hadn’t been returned. Does that mean they won’t…that they may hurt Rory?”

Turning to her, he tried to reassure her, refusing to think about the possibilities connected to this strange MO. He wouldn’t stop until he found both boys. “He’ll be fine. We’ll find them both.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’ll leave as soon you can get some of Mom’s clothes and shoes, before the flooding gets worse.” He looked pointedly at the towel around her neck and smiled as reassuringly as he could. “The phone is out. I need to try my cell again since I couldn’t get a signal earlier.”

“What will happen if the police think I kidnapped the Brant child?” Her eyes widened and pleaded as she shook her head. “You can’t tell them I’m with you, Steve. Promise me. Rory needs me.”

“I promise to do everything I can to find him.”

She rose and the towel fell behind her as she walked to him with her shoulders back and face tilted to look him in the eyes. Her small hand flattened on his chest covering his heart. The rest of her body followed until he could rest his chin on the top of her head. He wanted to kiss her so badly he could barely get air into his lungs.

Would he ever be able to think straight around her?

“Please tell me I’m doing the right thing by trusting you,” she whispered. “They said not to let the FBI know, but I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

He put his arms around her, loving every miserable minute of agony it caused him. At that moment he didn’t care if it would jeopardize the operation. He didn’t care if his attachment was too strong and would cloud his judgment. He wanted Jane right where she was.

“We’ve got to call. It’s our only choice, Jane. Dallas doesn’t have any leads except you.” He let his words hang in the air a moment, but she didn’t respond. “They don’t know your neighbor is missing. If we find her, she may be able to give a description of the kidnappers.”

“I can’t let you take me back.” Barely shaking her head, she tightened her grip on his shirt. “Not until I’ve done what they said I have to do.” Her body trembled, an imperceptible tremor that could be associated with tears.

“It’s okay to cry, Jane,” he whispered in her ear.

“No, it’s not. It achieves nothing and keeps me from thinking. But I miss Rory. What if he’s scared and is crying for me?”

“You can’t think of that.” He could say the same for himself. It impaired an agent’s judgment when he got too involved. Like he was right now, cradling Jane. “We have to concentrate on getting him back. And we will. I promise.”

But he couldn’t make promises that excluded the best way to find the Brant kid. Somehow, he’d contact his team and protect Jane. By harboring and abetting a suspected felon? Him. Steve Woods, hard-nosed, by-the-book FBI agent.

Yeah, shot down with one look from the only woman who’d ever meant anything to him.

Chapter Three

The storm raged outside. Whitecaps on the lake splashed over the boat dock. A perfect scene for Jane’s turbulent feelings and emotions. She was drowning in guilt. Guilt over leaving Rory, guilt over not telling Steve straightaway he was a father.

Even now, she couldn’t wrap her mind around any words good enough to explain why she’d waited so long to tell him. Nothing she formed in her mind convinced her to say the words aloud.

“What’s he like?” Steve asked near the top of her head.

“Rory?” She couldn’t breathe. Of all the things he could have asked, she wasn’t prepared to describe his son to him. Not right now.

“Yeah, Rory. Your son.”

Your son. Simple words she didn’t know how to correct. The lie gave her a nauseous feeling. His son, too. Was it too late to tell him?

Just do it. Say, “Steve, you’re Rory’s father.” Tell him why you kept his son away from him for almost four years. Tell him you were an idiot and scared to death of losing everything. Tell him why you came back to Texas.

Tell him!

“I thought you said you needed to make a call,” she said instead, too much of a coward to try to convince Steve of anything else.

“Calling will wait.”

Jane searched his face for Agent Steve Woods. He was as reliable as a Swiss Army knife when it came to the Bureau. He’d never put off work before. He’d chosen his job over a possible future with her.

Granted, four years ago they’d only been together several weeks and he’d been between assignments. But the fervor he’d used when talking about his job made her more than a little envious.

She’d yearned for that passion. It was part of what drew her to him. It would be so nice to get lost in Steve’s enthusiasm for life. To forget about all her worries for just a little while. But Rory’s kidnapping was her first priority.

Lightning lit the sky and thunder shook the windows. The weather wasn’t working in her favor. The longer she waited to tell him the truth, the less he’d believe her. What would he say when she admitted she’d kept knowledge of his child from him?

“Maybe this conversation should wait. It’s getting worse out there.” He nodded his head toward the window. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll hit my mom’s closet for some clothes. You can at least start out mud-free before we take off again.”

His breath moved tendrils of hair across her face. It tickled her skin, but she wasn’t about to move from his arms. She needed to feel connected to someone, anyone, but was grateful it was Steve.

“What’s going to happen?” She tried to remain calm, to keep the shakiness from her voice. “If they have the money and the formula, why not give Rory back?”

“I don’t know, Janie. I really don’t know.”

“WE HAD…LEAD…OPERATIONS…moved…San Antonio.”

“I’m only getting every other word, George.” He was soaked to the skin after standing on the covered porch, but it was the only place his phone halfway worked. Steve glanced through the window to an empty living room as he spoke into his cell. “Can you hear me? She’s innocent.”

“I can have a team…evacuation point…approximately two hours…local PD to pick her up.” George’s distorted voice punched through the static on the connection.

“No.” He hated the thought of Jane in handcuffs. “George, trust me. I don’t need any help to get her to San Antonio. Set up around the Alamo like I asked so we can catch these bastards.”

“You…way over your head. You know…and McCaffrey hit the roof…you were gone.”

“I’m losing the connection, man. We’ll meet you in San Antonio. Give me your word.”

“You’re wrong. You can’t trust…”

“Just check it out for me.”

“You…the river has crested…evacuated your area.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Son of a…” He resisted the impulse to throw the state-of-the-art piece of crap into the soggy yard. Before his broken phone call the lake had been a couple of feet from the house. Now it was creeping into his mother’s flowers.

The homes on the north shore of Lake Buchanan had been evacuated since yesterday. Even though the lake was flood-regulated, it didn’t stop the creeks that fed it from becoming dangerous flash-flood zones. The river had already crested and the rain kept coming down in sheets.

They’d lost time talking about the kidnapping. His job of helping victimized children had suddenly become grimly personal. The lake water rushed by, but he couldn’t seem to get moving. He had one of those feelings of dread stuck in the pit of his stomach. He just couldn’t pinpoint what Jane was lying about and the whole scenario of her son’s kidnapping made no sense.

He was blown away. Jane had a kid. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on track. They needed to leave. Now. Steve had driven around the barricades to get to the house so they could use his rental to get back out.

Heeding his sense of urgency, he walked back into the house and straight to his mother’s workroom. Straight into a table with his mother’s scrapbook junk that he knocked to the floor. Crap. He knelt to pick up the pictures scattered on the carpet.

Baseball. First grade. Bobby Joe Hill.

Big as day, there was his friend with his arm around Steve’s shoulder and two teeth missing.

The fear and confusion from that summer slammed his body, forcing its way into his mind. Shutting him down to hear his breathing echoing in his head.

If he hadn’t thought he’d done the right thing by calling George, his memories confirmed his actions. Bobby Joe had disappeared without a trace. That wasn’t going to happen to Jane’s son.

He slammed the picture on the table, got a sweat suit and T-shirt from the back of the closet and left it on the bed in the guest room. Opening the bathroom door a crack, he said, “I’ve left some of Mom’s clothes here. We need to head out.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“The Colorado is already out of its banks. It’s sure to cause problems and detours on the way to San Antonio.”

The water cut off. He quickly pulled the door closed. No matter how much he wanted to be close to Jane, missing the kidnapper’s deadline wasn’t an option. He rubbed his aching head and found aspirin in the kitchen cabinet. He tossed back two tablets and half a can of soda.

A muffled thump had him reaching for his weapon—that was in his pack.

A couple of sporadic whacks outside got louder as he approached the mudroom and opened the door. The water covered the road leading to the driveway. He yanked his boots from his feet and let the door slam behind him.

JANE SEARCHED THE UNFAMILIAR room for a clock and confirmed she’d been in the shower less than ten minutes. She never should have let him convince her to clean up, but getting the filth off her skin helped regain control of her thoughts.

Loud thunder rumbled through the house as she pulled Amanda’s sweats around her waist. Her feet tangled in the long pants, slowing her progress as she vaulted from the bed toward the window. Another strange thudding outside along with a string of colorful curses carried through the storm. Water lapped at the base of the porch. Steve’s rental car floated in the flooded driveway, bumping into the sides of the detached garage.

There wasn’t any way to get back to her rental which had probably washed away, too.

They’d lost their transportation, but couldn’t wait around for rescue workers to get to them. She had to be in San Antonio ready to get Rory back tomorrow. Pulling the drawstring around her waist tighter, she ran down the stairs and pulled the porch door open just as Steve dove off the dock.

The downpour drenched her in a matter of seconds. The sky was dark and menacing. It was hard to see even though it was nine-fifteen in the morning.

They had another six or seven feet before the water would reach the first floor. But the contents from the garage—level with the lake—joined the rest of the flotsam.

Debris, trash, beach toys, a foam cooler and lots of tree limbs made it not only disgusting but very dangerous to swim through.

“Steve!” Was he crazy?

Then she saw the rope tied to the corner post of the porch. Her heart slowed just a bit from its rapid beat. With her eyes, she followed the rope toward the floating boat dock and prayed Steve had enough sense to tie the other end around himself.

“Steve!”

“I’m okay, Jane.” He waved and swam farther away. He was crazy. “Wait there.”

Another lightning flash, with an almost immediate crack of thunder, helped enough with the horrible visibility to see Steve swimming back with a Jet Ski in tow. Jane went to the rope and pulled the loose end from the water, tossing it to him when he got close.

“Grab my pack and shove my boots inside,” he shouted through the rain. “They’re in the laundry.”

She should let him have a piece of her mind for scaring her half to death, but she didn’t argue. She ran through the house and found his boots, shoving one worn shoe inside the bag, but something prevented the other from fitting. Rearranging things, she jumped when her hand connected with the cold metal of Steve’s gun handle.

Calm down. He’s FBI. He wouldn’t go anywhere without this thing. Shoving the second boot inside, she tugged the too-big sweatpants up as she ran back to the porch.

Steve finished a couple of hitches around a post and turned his back on the Jet Ski. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“So am I.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” he shouted sternly, placing his fists on his hips. “You’re staying here.”

“This is our only way out.”

“It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t get to the life vests. The rain’s coming down so hard I can’t see twenty feet in front of me. The evacuation point will have rescue boats. I’ll come back for you after I’ve gotten across to the south side.”

“No.” She shook her head, running a hand across her eyes only to have the rain replace the water as fast as she’d removed it. “We go together.”

“Don’t be so dang stubborn.” Creases between his eyes emphasized how much he believed he was right.

“Me?” All the fright she’d experienced in the past three days surfaced faster than she could control. Words tumbled from her heart that she’d wanted to say for over four years. “You are the biggest, most stubborn, hardheaded, jackass of a man I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, yeah? This Jet Ski is twelve years old. This hard head of mine might just survive getting across ten miles of lake on my own. The seat might just be big enough for my stubborn ass, but there’s no way two of us can make it in this weather. Shoot, it’s probably going to run out of gas anyway.”

“You can’t leave me behind.”

“Yes, I can. It’s too dangerous to take you with me. Now hand over my pack.”

Although she’d experienced it only once, Jane knew that tough look he threw her way. He’d used the same one when he’d told her she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work for Johns Hopkins. But she wouldn’t let him make decisions for her.

Not again.

Never taking her eyes from Steve’s, she slipped one arm through a strap, then the other.

“Aw, hell,” he moaned as lightning splintered across the sky. The storm wasn’t backing off. It was getting worse. He stomped barefoot across the porch and angrily grabbed her shoulders. “You aren’t a strong enough swimmer for this, Jane. No one’s a strong enough swimmer for this.”

“I’m going. Rory’s depending on me.” Stubborn? He only thought he’d seen stubborn before. Jutting her chin out, she gritted her teeth and prepared to fight him if necessary. He could stay here. She’d take the Jet Ski. Her mind raced to the self-defense book she’d read once.

Pictures flooded her mind. Steve’s tall lanky frame would topple if she had the right move, but she didn’t want to hurt him on the slick porch.

Then he freed her, pushed his hair out of his eyes and released a long sigh. “Get on.”

Not waiting for a second invitation, she grabbed the sweatpants around her waist, inching the material from under her feet, then carefully walked the steps leading to the rising water and Jet Ski. She waited as Steve untied the rope from the post, wrapped some around his hand and followed her.

Standing on the slope with the lake rising around their calves, Steve tipped her chin to face him. The wind whipped the rain in stinging pelts against her skin, but she could barely feel it after his warm touch.

He wrapped and knotted the end of the rope around her waist. “I won’t lose you, Janie.”

His lips brushed hers firmly and much too briefly to be considered exciting. Yet all the euphoric sensations she’d experienced four years ago rushed back, making her light-headed.

Maybe it was just a lack of sleep.

The other end of the rope now hung around his waist. He waited for her to climb on, then led the Jet Ski away from the house.

With the rain assailing their bodies, Steve shoved them farther from shore, mumbling about her hardheadedness all the while. Then he pulled himself onto the ski and turned the starter.

“I wish I’d been more stubborn and kept you from pushing me away four years ago,” she whispered softly into the back of his shirt.

He couldn’t have heard her. The roar of the Jet Ski coming to life combined with the thunder and water crashing the muck against the porch drowned her whisper. But his hand squeezed her thigh and pulled her closer to him on the seat. He drew her arms tighter around his broad chest before he gunned the gas and headed into the gray, murky horizon.

Tell him.

The nagging voice kept pestering her to tell Steve he was Rory’s father. But how? It wasn’t possible on the back of a Jet Ski. She’d missed the opportunity to calmly inform him. He already thought she was half-crazy and would never believe she was telling the truth.

Jane had no choice but to trust that he’d help. She had to get to San Antonio and find Rory. Then she’d worry about telling Steve everything she should have a long time ago.

TRAVELING THROUGH A thunderstorm that could be classified as a mild monsoon and getting to safety should have been the most important things on Steve’s mind. Well, they were priorities. Along with dodging the debris swept downstream by the Colorado River. He jerked the Jet Ski around another bobbing tree limb as thick as his thigh.

But Jane hung right there at the top of his problems. She hadn’t moved an inch, still hugging his waist as tight as when they’d started out. He wanted to reassure her.

Better to just concentrate on getting across the lake.

It would be safer to stay near shore, but that wasn’t an option. Too much debris, too much shoreline, too little gas. He knew of one possible evacuation site—the dam on the southwestern point of a hundred miles of shoreline. It was the only place people were still likely to be, and high enough that cars could still get to the roads.

It might as well have been pitch-dark for all the visibility he had, so he crept along like an old hound dog hunting for a scent. With no windshield on the Jet Ski, not even fools took these machines out in a mild rain. Especially with no life vests. The dang things had floated away before he could get to the boathouse.

Jane should have stayed at his parents’ home where she’d be safe. But he couldn’t risk making a mistake that might cost them finding her son. She would never forgive him.

He could beat himself up all day. It wouldn’t do any good. They’d find Rory, the Brant kid and the money. He spied an unidentifiable floating object ahead and released the throttle.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked, shouting into the wind.

“Nothing. We’re fine.” They bumped into a lounge chair cushion and Steve pushed it away with his foot. He wiped the water from his face using the tail of his wet T-shirt and flexed his stiff fingers several times. “You doing okay?”

“How far do you think we’ve come?”

“A couple of miles.”

“I’m glad you can make out where we’re going. I can’t see a thing.”

Little did she know he couldn’t see anything, either. He steered as best he could, keeping the cascade over his right shoulder. If the wind direction and slant of the rain were consistent, he just might manage to get them to the other end of the lake.

There wasn’t much room on the seat. Reaching behind him with one hand, he scooted Jane’s hips closer to his own. Half of him was glad for the close contact. The same half that loved the crazy thump-thump-thump his heart made whenever they were together. The other half kicked himself for letting her come along.

“Ready?” he asked, leaning forward to grab the throttle again.

“Yeah.”

Jane’s arms tightened once more, and she placed her face against his shirt. Back in his life a few hours, she made him feel more alive with one casual touch than any rush his current life provided.

Steve braced himself. He couldn’t turn and avoid an impact with the object in front of him. The Jet Ski rammed into a log and the side of his head slammed into the handle. He lost his grip and flew off the seat.

Water rushed up to meet him. He lost all sense of direction and inhaled a gallon of water as he sank deeper each second.

Some long-forgotten training finally clicked on in his subconscious. He fought the impulse to save all his air and let some go, watching the bubbles rise. He kicked his legs hard and struggled back to precious air on the surface. A weight pulled at his midsection, making it more difficult to stay above the water.

He had to hurry and began to pull himself through the rough waves. He couldn’t lose the Jet Ski several yards away.

His eyes stung from the water and the rain made it more difficult to see. He could breathe again, but just barely with whatever was jerking him down.

God, the weight was Jane.

Chapter Four

Jane crashed through the surface and sucked air into her lungs, thankful she hadn’t been thrown too deep. It was difficult to tread water with the baggy pants and heavy backpack pulling her down. Then a yank around her waist brought her head underwater again. Her breath turned to a choking terror until she broke the surface a second time.

“Jane!”

“I’m…fine…” She coughed. “Stop pulling. I’m… You’re going to drown me.” She tugged at the drawstring and kicked free of the sweatpants, making it much easier to stay above water.

“Thank God. You scared the crap out of me.” He let the rope go slack. “We’ve gotta catch the ski.”

“Go on, I’m right behind you.”

Steve’s pack made her movement through the water awkward, slowing her progress through the choppy waves. She barely had the strength to keep the rope slack between her and Steve.

He caught the Jet Ski and pulled himself precariously onto the seat. Getting behind him required balancing worthy of any high-wire act she’d seen. She rested her head on his shoulder and he reached behind her, pulling her tight against him. He kept one of her hands anchored around his waist while he steadied the Jet Ski in the waves and wind.

The surprise of hitting the water still had her breathing hard. It had absolutely nothing to do with the lingering effect of Steve’s hands on her backside or the reassuring squeeze his fingers had given her hand.

“Lucky we weren’t going faster. We might have been in serious trouble,” she said.

“You don’t think of this as serious trouble?” he asked, wheezing on a deep breath, looking as exhausted as her body told her she was.

“I’m attempting to look on the bright side of things.”

“And that is?”

“We’re not unconscious or drowning.” She coughed to clear more water from her lungs. “And we didn’t lose our only way of getting across this lake faster than the backstroke.”

His easy laughter was music to her heart. It made her want to forget everything that had happened and laugh, too. She loved having a reason to be squished next to him. To experience the thrill of their bodies close together like she imagined so often.

“What happened?” she asked to distract herself from thoughts about Steve.

“A very large tree limb. I’ve been dodging them. But this one got by me.” He wrung out the corner of his shirt and lifted it to his face, coughing for several seconds.

“Are you okay?” she asked and pounded on his back.

“As soon as you stop beating me to death.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m all right. I was just kidding.”

He hadn’t sounded as if he was kidding. Her judgment of people didn’t have a great track record though. The book definition of sarcasm was locked in her brain, but she admitted her application needed improvement.

Steve put the key in the ignition and pushed the start button, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. Even with the storm pounding and thunder reverberating through the air, the excruciating silence of the engine dropped a black curtain. All her hopes died.

“Come on, baby,” Steve coaxed.

Then, with a couple of sputters the engine sprang to life, letting Jane breathe again. Her arms encircled Steve’s body, probably clinging too tightly in her relief, but she didn’t care. Her chest flattened against the ripcord muscles in his back, his labored breathing a comfort to her frayed nerves.

Even with the Jet Ski going as slowly as the throttle allowed, it was still horribly noisy for conversation. And what would she say? Steve couldn’t afford to be distracted. As evidenced by their incident with the tree limb.

For the second time in an hour, the thought of losing Steve crossed her mind. First his crazy dive off the dock, now this. She forced herself to remember that he wasn’t hers to lose. That had happened almost four years ago.

Their relationship had been intense from the start. A casual glance one moment and a flirtatious conversation the next. She rarely dated. She never had time.

Then or now.

But while awaiting word from research facilities and with the last of her classes finished, she couldn’t tell Steve no. She’d turned off every control button programmed to keep her in check and threw caution to the wind.

They’d seen each other every day and every night for six weeks. Then Johns Hopkins called and he’d gone into full retreat. Of course, she hadn’t realized the extent of his withdrawal at the time.

She’d analyzed his every move over the past four years. Comparing him to many case studies in the volumes of psychology books stored in her head. Steve Woods couldn’t depend on anyone but himself. On the surface he appeared to be a guy not ready for a commitment.

More than once she had hoped there was something else. Something he hadn’t shared with her. A deep dark secret that would explain why he’d pushed her aside. It didn’t seem that way.

She’d grown to accept the rejection of herself, but she couldn’t snuff a spark of hope for Rory. Her son needed stability and roots. She’d moved back to Dallas to be closer to Steve and his family. In case anything happened to her, family was an anchor Rory needed. And Steve had plenty of family. She wanted to be settled, then introduce his son.

Right now she needed his help to find Rory without distractions—without the truth. After they found their son, she’d tell him everything and then they could determine what to do. She and Rory had managed without him once. If that was what he chose, they’d do it again.

The going was slow, even slower than before. She hadn’t thought it possible to be this cold in July, but the northern rain kept beating down on them, chilling her inside and out with each painstaking minute of progression.

It stung her cheeks and exposed skin. So she buried her face between her arm and Steve’s back. She didn’t know how he managed to see where they were headed.

To take her mind off everything, she drew The Missing Years of Merlin from a shelf in her memory and skipped through the pages to her favorite scene. She’d recited parts of this story to Rory. He seemed to enjoy the words—or the excitement in her voice.

God, please keep him safe.

She couldn’t think about him kidnapped, afraid, perhaps hurt. She wanted to remember holding him, fluffing his soft downy hair and kissing the side of his neck to hear his laughter. But it hurt too much. So she continued to read, hold on tight to Steve’s waist and take comfort in his warmth.

“WAHOO!” STEVE THREW HIS head around, his laughter full of relief. “There it is, Janie. There’s the LCRA.”

“Wonderful.” She ventured to peek around Steve’s right to see where they were going.

Still thirty or so yards from the buoys, she couldn’t distinguish figures. But one image leaped out. A policeman in a bright yellow slicker stood near his car while the red and blue lights turned in a silent warning.

“We can’t go there, Steve. Turn around. Please.” She tugged on his shirt and he released the throttle so the ski would idle in the water.

He turned to her with a questioning look. He must’ve thought she was crazy. Well, she thought that about herself regarding this entire ordeal. With every development she wanted to wake up and find it was all a horrible nightmare.

Each wave carried them closer, but no one seemed to have noticed yet.

“If you don’t want to go to the shore, Jane, where do you suggest we go?”

“I can’t walk up to a police officer and ask for help. Can’t we go somewhere else and walk to the road?”

“Walk? Make our way through the swamp that’s become the lakeshore? Barefoot through the cactus and God only knows what else? Just so we can get back to the very place we can see a few yards away?”

His voice rose with every ridiculous question, turning his deep baritone into an angry tenor. The tension sang through his body, transferring to Jane’s hands at his waist. She let go, but his stress continued to zing through the air, as apparent as the lightning still above their heads.

“I can’t take a chance on being incarcerated.” She began untying the safety rope.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Steve said as he stilled her fingers with his own. “You aren’t swimming to shore alone. Why don’t you trust me, Jane?”

“I can’t.” Emotion like she’d never experienced with another person crossed his face. Anger, hurt, confusion. They were all there and she was causing his pain. “I mean, I want to, but…”

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