“Are you coming on to me, McKennon?” Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CAST OF CHARACTERS 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 Teaser chapter Copyright

“Are you coming on to me, McKennon?”

“Yes.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Frankie lifted her head to reply. He kissed her lips. A soft tender kiss, the barest press of flesh to flesh.

His answer pleased her, but deepened her guilt. With her sister in danger she could afford herself no pleasure. “Bad timing.”

“In more ways than you know.” He pressed a finger to her chin and urged her to look at him. Feeling suddenly shy and strangely vulnerable, she resisted. “When we get your sister back, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

She cracked a smile. “What if I said you’re not my type?”

Chuckling, he curled his hand around the back of her head and drew her forehead-to-forehead with him. His embrace accomplished what reason could not. Hope feathered upward from deep in her belly.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He kissed her again.

She couldn’t have resisted him if she’d tried. She explored the texture of his lips and tasted the sweetness of his mouth.

“Is it a date?” he asked.

She sensed in him the power to make her believe in loyalty and goodness again. “Sure,” she whispered. “It’s a date.”

Dear Reader,

Sexy and sweet, tough and tender. These are the men of ELK RIVER, COLORADO. The men who still stand tall and know how to treat a woman. The men whom Sheryl Lynn writes about with emotion and passion in her new duet.

You may remember the legendary Duke family of Colorado, whom Sheryl first introduced in a duet called HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY a few years back. These titles—#424 The Case of the Vanished Groom and #425 The Case of the Bad Luck Fiancé—are still available. Send $3.99 ($4.50 CAN.) for each title ordered, plus $.75 shipping and handling ($1.00 CAN.) to Harlequin Reader Service: 3010 Walden Av., Buffalo, NY 144269, or P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ontario L2A 5X3

And be sure to be on hand next month when ELK RIVER, COLORADO continues with Undercover Fiancé.

Happy Reading!

Debra Matteucci

Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

Harlequin Books

300 East 42nd Street

New York, NY 10017

The Bodyguard
Sheryl Lynn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my grandmothers, Evelyn Roberts and Alma Hawk,

gifted storytellers who inspire me to dream.

Love you, ladies.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Frankie Forrest—She’ll protect her baby sister even if it means going to prison or forsaking the man she loves.

J. T. McKennon—A bodyguard torn between doing his job and saving the woman he loves.

Penny Bannerman—She’s all grown up and loves her new husband to death.

Julius Bannerman—This playboy causes more problems dead than he ever did alive.

Max Caulfield—He wants his wife’s money, and too bad for anyone who gets in his way.

Belinda Bannerman Caulfield—Julius is her boy, and heaven help any woman foolish enough to get between her and her son.

Bo Moran—He’s about to make the score of his life.

Chuck and Paul Cashorali—Bumbling brothers who are crooks without a clue.

Chapter One

“Stop the wedding!”

Frankie Forrest’s cry echoed through the thin mountain air and towering pines. A blue jay screamed in raucous reply. As Frankie slammed the car door and lunged toward the chapel, she stepped on a patch of ice. Feeling herself sliding, she shifted her weight, overcompensated, lost her balance and fell onto her right knee. Her teeth clacked, jarring her skull.

Pain jangled from kneecap to hip. Stars burst before her eyes. Arms outspread, her back at an awkward angle, she lifted her face to heaven.

A very bad sign, she thought in dour superstition. Dark forces conspired to keep her away from her sister.

Wary now, she got to her feet. She gingerly tested her right leg. Her knee throbbed, but it bent the way it should and she could walk.

A long, white limousine idled in the parking lot. The exhaust formed crawling clouds. The driver most likely kept the interior warm for the bride and groom. Frankie shivered. It had been a mild forty degrees when she left her apartment in Colorado Springs, but here, at an altitude of eight thousand feet, the temperature hovered in the low twenties. She wore a fleecy sweatshirt, but the cold pierced the thick cotton and pricked her flesh. Her blue jeans might as well have been made of nylon net—already her thighs were tingling. She glanced toward the chapel. Its roof and spire were visible through the trees. She jammed a key into the trunk lock and gave it a hard twist. The trunk snapped open. She grabbed her parka and shoved her arms into the puffy sleeves.

Her sister hated this parka and urged Frankie every year to buy a new coat. Frankie had owned it since high school and hadn’t found another that felt as good. Its age showed in faded blue nylon, permanent stains and numerous small tears. She had repaired the big rips, but used whatever thread was handy, so clumsy stitches in black, white, red and green marred the ragged fabric. Penny called it the Frankenstein coat.

She noticed logos printed on the driver’s-side doors of two vehicles in the parking lot. A blue circle with a bugling bull elk, its rack of antlers overlapping the circle perimeter—Elk River Resort.

“Traitors,” she growled. She’d learned about the wedding only a few hours ago. A terse, anonymous voice on her answering machine had said, “Penny is marrying Julius at Elk River Resort today. Are you going to let it happen?” She’d be damned if she would let it happen.

She limped up the path to Sweet Pines Chapel. With each step her hurt and anger swelled. Penny knew exactly how Frankie felt about Julius and his family, and Penny knew why. Despite all her promises—her lies!—the brat had gone behind Frankie’s back and married that perverted loser anyway.

As she neared the chapel, she grudgingly admitted that winter was a good time to hold a wedding. She’d been to this chapel twice before, once for her cousin Ross Duke’s wedding and then again for her cousin Megan’s. Those weddings had taken place in the summertime when wildflowers popped through the forest floor, and the scrub oaks and aspens were bright green with leaves. Snow, however, turned the forest into a magical place, a study in charcoal with blacks, whites and grays brushed by green and framed by a porcelain sky.

Magical, that is, if this were a wedding that should take place. Which it wasn’t. If Frankie had any say in the matter, it wouldn’t.

A man stood on the chapel stoop. He wore a black cashmere greatcoat over a black suit. Black wraparound sunglasses shaded his eyes. Black hair glinted in the sun. She recognized J.T. McKennon and stopped dead in her tracks.

McKennon’s presence meant Max Caulfield attended the wedding. An image of her ex-fiancé’s smirking face swam before her vision, and her calves itched with the urge to run. Tom between saving her sister or saving her dignity, she hunched inside the parka.

McKennon nodded. A slight gesture, noticeable only because she was so intently staring at him.

Determined that not even Max Caulfield could stop her, she continued up the path. McKennon stepped to the center of the chapel’s double doors. At the base of the steps she waited for him to open the door and welcome her inside. He stood as rigidly as a solider guarding a post.

“Move over, McKennon,” she ordered. “I’m stopping this charade.”

Swarthy and unsmiling, McKennon looked like a mob enforcer. Two years ago, when she’d first met him, she’d dismissed him as the tall, dark and stupid type. Tall and dark fit, but it hadn’t taken long to figure out he was in no way a stupid man. He had an engineering degree and was an expert in electronic security. He’d served with valor in the marines and for a while had operated his own martial arts studio. He was an expert marksman with firearms ranging from pistols to grenade launchers.

He possessed a dry sense of humor and an oddly appealing detachment from the world, as if he were an alien observing the natives. Frankie used to marvel over his cool head and objective world view—his mild temperament was so very different from her own hot-headed impulsiveness. Nothing rattled McKennon.

It looked as if that much hadn’t changed in the past six months. “I said, move, McKennon.”

“I can’t do that, Miss Forrest.”

She huffed. She kicked a chunk of snow. “You’re guarding the door? Who do you think you are?”

His aristocratic mouth thinned. “I have my orders. Nobody goes in.”

“She’s my sister! I have a right—”

“Especially you.” He folded his arms over his chest.

McKennon’s sunglasses reflected her angry image. From far away a jay screeched a mocking note. Frankie clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Her jaws ached. The corners of her eyes watered, and her cheeks felt brittle. She strained to hear what was happening inside the chapel. She couldn’t hear any music—another bad sign.

“Come on,” she pleaded. “We’re friends. You know me.” As soon as the words emerged she felt stupid. Of course he knew her, since they’d worked together for almost two years, but they were not friends. He still worked for Max, and Max had dumped her like yesterday’s garbage, which McKennon had witnessed in all its humiliating glory. They would never be friends.

Embarrassment settled like a lump of dough in her throat. Countless times she’d replayed The Big Dump in her head, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. She’d come to the conclusion that Max had insisted McKennon stay in the room because Max enjoyed making her crawl in front of an audience.

She climbed another step. She stood five feet, ten inches tall. Few men physically intimidated her. Unmoved, McKennon gazed down at her. She sized him up. He had five inches and at least sixty pounds advantage, plus, she’d seen him in action at the gym.

She lifted her chin in an attempt to look down her nose at him. “I want to speak with Max right now.”

“Mr. Caulfield isn’t here.”

One of Max’s biggest ego trips lay in having his very own, personal, trained ape following him wherever he went. McKennon’s quietly deadly presence made Max feel like a big shot. In dark moments Frankie imagined McKennon accompanying Max to the toilet, holding the newspaper for the boss while Max did his business.

“You’re lying. I know he’s in there.”

“No, he’s not.”

His calm assurance irritated her tattered nerves. “If Max isn’t here, why are you here?” She paused, but received no response. “Have a heart. You know what Julius is like. Penny can’t marry him. He’ll ruin her life.”

“I have my orders, Miss Forrest.”

His smooth baritone held a faintly lyrical hint of a Southern accent. Frankie imagined she heard a note of distaste. Perhaps he despised Max’s stepson, Julius, as much as she did.

Which didn’t matter, since he wasn’t moving. She backed off the steps and plunged her icy hands into the parka’s deep pockets. She peered suspiciously at his face and wished he’d take off the sunglasses. She didn’t believe him about Max not being here. Yet, it made no sense for McKennon to lie about something so obvious. “Did you screw up, and baby-sitting is your punishment?”

The taunt failed to move him.

She tossed him a glare of pure disgust and went in search of another entrance to the chapel. The tiny building, built of logs and stone, contained a native-stone apse and a double row of pine pews. She walked completely around the building, but the stained-glass windows were too high off the ground for her to see through or even to pound on. She debated throwing rocks at the windows to catch the attention of the people inside, but the windows were handcrafted antiques, and if she broke one, she’d never be able to replace it. The door was her only hope.

McKennon watched her stomp her feet to clear snow off her boots and jeans. Goon, she thought hatefully. Nothing but a hound, following orders.

Then a solution occurred to her. She filled her lungs with winter air and let rip with her loudest, most blood-curdling scream.

McKennon jumped like a burned cat. “Stop that!”

“Help!” she hollered. “Rape! Fire! Murderers! Help! Help!”

McKennon bounded down the steps. His speed startled her. Men his size rarely moved so fast. She darted away and screeched loud enough to bring down the heavens. McKennon lunged for her left arm; she danced to the right Too late, she recognized a feint. He snatched her right wrist in an iron grip.

“Ra-a-a-ape—”

He twisted her against his solid body and slammed a gloved hand over her mouth. His chest heaved against her back. “You’re acting outrageously, Miss Forrest. Stop it.”

She called him every filthy name she knew, but his hand effectively muffled the words. The leather glove tasted unpleasantly metallic. She slammed a foot down, aiming for his instep, but he anticipated the move and she struck gravel. The arm around her chest could well have been carved from oak. He practically lifted her off the ground. She fought to regulate her breathing. No easy task considering that the cold had stuffed up her nose. She snuffled desperately and hated him even more.

“I have orders. No one interrupts the wedding. Not even you. Do I need to contact the police?”

She mouthed murderous threats against the leather glove. She squirmed, attempting to slip from beneath his arm, but he held her tighter, crunching her rib cage.

A commanding voice rang from the chapel door. “What is the meaning of this?” Her uncle, Colonel Horace Duke, decked out in a black tuxedo, his silver hair shining, glared at the scene below. “Francine? Is that you? Mr. McKennon, unhand my niece at once.” The Colonel closed the door firmly behind him.

As soon as McKennon removed his hand from her mouth Frankie yelled, “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Colonel! But first, stop the wedding!” She managed to wriggle one arm free and rammed her elbow into McKennon’s gut. His surprised woof gave her a small measure of satisfaction. She sprang away from him, whirled and put up her fists. “I’ll get you for that, you big bully.”

He tugged his lapels and used a knuckle to slide his sunglasses higher on his nose.

The Colonel marched down the steps. “What are you doing here, Francine? The latest report showed you deployed to Europe.”

“Europe?” That gave her pause. The farthest she’d ever traveled had been camping trips to Arizona, Utah and New Mexico. “What would I be doing in Europe? Oh, never mind. Let me into the chapel. I’ve got to stop the ceremony.”

The Colonel placed a hand on her arm. “They’re speaking their final vows. You can’t interrupt.”

Taking on McKennon was one thing, but the Colonel, her late mother’s brother, was another matter altogether.

“If Penny said I was in Europe, she lied. I can’t believe she roped you in. Let me inside the chapel. Then I’ll explain everything.” She beseeched him with her eyes.

Organ music filled the still, mountain air, the bass tones rumbling through the heavy doors. Frankie groaned and covered her eyes with a hand. When the colonel took her arm and hustled her away from the steps, she made no protest.

Penny and Julius, legally wed—her worst nightmare had just come true.

The chapel doors were flung wide. Seconds later, a bride and groom appeared. Frankie took in the bridal gown, yards and yards of creamy silk encrusted with glittering crystals and gleaming pearls. A headdress rose from the bride’s pale hair like a frothy crown trailed by an endless swath of pearl-dotted tulle. For a disconcerting moment Frankie felt she’d made a horrible mistake. No way could Penny have come up with a dress like that on such short notice. But no, that was Penny, looking radiant. She seemed to glow.

Frankie felt certain the top of her head was about to blow off.

Penny’s smile switched off like a blown lightbulb. Next to her, slick as an oil spill, Julius Bannerman clutched his bride’s elbow. He smiled greasily at Frankie.

Frankie knew McKennon always carried a sidearm, and wondered if she could get it away from him. Spending the rest of her life in prison seemed a paltry price to pay in order to rid the world of Julius Bannerman.

Behind the bride and groom, the Duke family gathered. Aunt Elise and her children, Janine, Kara and Ross and his wife, Dawn, were dressed in full finery, a further indication that this wedding had been no mere impulse. The Dukes—traitors all!—had helped Penny.

“I do not believe this,” she said, each word clipped.

Aunt Elise hurried to the fore. Arms outstretched, she skipped down the steps toward Frankie.

“Francine, dear! I am so glad you were able to return home from Europe. Penny said—”

Frankie threw up her hands, backing away from her aunt. “I never went to Europe. I can barely afford the gas to get up here.” Unable to take her eyes off her sister, she shoved her fists in her pockets.

“What diff does it make, now?” Julius said. “We’re sister and brother. Isn’t that peachy? Welcome to the family, Frankie darling.” Full of false cheer, each note rasped across Frankie’s nerves like sandpaper. Julius’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a convulsive swallow. “Aren’t you happy for us? Now that you’re here, we can all celebrate in proper good form, what hey?”

Penny snuggled closer to her new husband. Her face had lost what little color it possessed, but her eyes glinted with pure rebellion. “Go away, Frankie. I’m married and there’s nothing you can do about it. Stop trying to ruin my life.”

The words struck with the force of a punch. Frankie opened her mouth, but air refused to move past her throat. For the past eleven years she’d sacrificed everything for Penny. Loved her, mothered her and nurtured her. Now Penny accused her of trying to ruin her?

The Colonel reached for Frankie’s arm. She twisted out of his reach. Disgusted and heartsick, she trudged toward the parking lot. She heard Penny say, “Let her go, Aunt Elise! I don’t want her wrecking my wedding day.” The words stung like an arrow piercing her back.

“Frankie!”

At the sound of her cousin’s voice, she stopped and turned. “How could you do this to me, Ross? How could all of you do it?”

Ross Duke placed a hand on her shoulder. His brow and mouth twisted with confusion. She hadn’t seen him since his sister’s wedding last summer. He was the hell-raiser of the Duke clan—or had been up until the day he’d married Dawn. He’d always been her favorite cousin, but at the moment she wanted to punch out his lights.

“What’s going on? Penny said you were in Europe and couldn’t get back in time.” He huffed, exhaling a long, white cloud. “You’re opposed to the wedding, I take it.”

“I can’t believe that little brat sneaked around behind my back like this.” In frustration, she shoved at his shoulder. “I can’t believe your mom and dad went along with it! She’s only nineteen.”

He shrugged, showing his palms. “She’s an adult. Besides, Julius seems okay. He’s kind of a wimp, but he’s harmless enough.”

Frankie wanted to howl. “You, of all people, should be able to see right through him.” She held up a hand and ticked off a finger. “One, he’s forty-three years old. He’s old enough to be her father.” She ticked off a second finger. “Two, he’s been married three, five, maybe six times already. Not one of those marriages lasted more than a year.” She shoved at his shoulder again. “He’s a stinking drunk and probably does drugs, and God only knows what kind of diseases he’s picked up from all the women he runs around with.”

Frankie clamped her mouth shut before she spilled the part about how Max had dumped her so he could marry Julius’s mother. The only redeeming factor of the entire affair was that she hadn’t told the Dukes about her engagement to Max. She was in no mood now to rehash the nasty details.

Ross raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

“Didn’t it give you a clue when Penny said I couldn’t make the wedding? God, Ross, I’ve devoted my whole life to her. I’m working my butt off to keep her in college. If I thought for one second she was making a good marriage, a herd of polar bears couldn’t keep me away.”

“Oh.” He looked as guilt-stricken as a puppy caught chewing shoes.

She idly kicked clots of snow. “She told me, she promised me she wouldn’t see him anymore. But she dropped out of college and didn’t even tell me. She’s been living with him.”

“I—we didn’t know. I only learned about the wedding last week.”

She glanced at the limo, which still idled on the other side of the parking lot. “She’s been planning this a lot longer than a week.”

“What can I say?”

Unable to bear looking at him one more second, she hurried to her car. Once inside, with the door locked, she rested her face against the steering wheel.

“Damn you, Penny,” she muttered. Their mother had wrested a deathbed promise from her eldest child: take care of Penny. She’d prevailed against the social-services bureaucrats who had stated that since she was only nineteen years old she couldn’t handle the guardianship of an eight-year-old. She’d gone to war and won, when her father’s ne’er-do-well relatives had learned Virginia Forrest had left a sizable insurance policy for the care and education of her daughters. She’d given up her dreams of attending medical school. She’d given up the university and a social life in order to mother Penny full-time.

She drew in several long, soothing breaths then fished her car keys from her pocket. She’d given it her best shot, tried to save Penny from making a horrible mistake, and in gratitude received a kick in the teeth. She fumbled with the keys, but her fingers were stiff from the cold. She dropped the keys on her lap and slammed the heels of both hands against the steering wheel.

Leave, she told herself. Drive away, forget this mess and wait a few weeks until Penny came crawling in search of forgiveness. She kept envisioning that look on Penny’s face, kept hearing the accusation that Frankie tried to ruin her life. She rested her face against the wheel again.

Irony tweaked her. Because of Penny, she’d gone to work for Max Caulfield. He owned the largest private security firm in the state of Colorado. He’d offered health insurance and flexible hours—benefits her age, experience and schooling hadn’t warranted. She’d started work as a researcher and gofer, which meant she could do some of her work at home so she could be there when Penny got out of school. Max had taken her under his wing, praising her intelligence and affinity for details. When graphology became popular as a useful tool in hiring employees, he’d paid for Frankie’s education in the field. To her delight she discovered that handwriting analysis was something she was good at. She’d made a lot of money for Max by helping his clients weed out dishonest employees.

In her wildest dreams Frankie had never thought she’d fall for her boss—or that he’d fall for her. Her worst nightmares had failed to prepare her for the Bannermans. Belinda and Julius, mother and son, two of the most greedy, self-serving people on earth. Max had fallen in love with Belinda’s vast wealth. Julius had taken one look at Penny and put her on his list of amusing little conquests.

Her life had been in the toilet ever since.

She opened one eye and peered at the dashboard clock. If she hurried, she’d make it to work on time.

Soft tapping on the window startled her. She jerked up her head. McKennon had removed the sunglasses.

She rolled down the window. He had unusual eyes, like emeralds shot with gold—bright and piercing against his dark face. Frankie couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so concerned. Her throat choked up.

“My apologies, Miss Forrest. It wasn’t my intention to get rough with you. But I had my orders.”

“Stick your orders where the sun doesn’t shine. I don’t need your apology.” She sniffed and groped through the mess on the front seat for a tissue. “Or your pity.”

A hank of thick hair had fallen over his forehead, softening somewhat the hard angles of his face. His sympathy embarrassed her. She’d never been particularly nice to him. When they worked together she’d been a tad jealous of his close relationship to Max. Even more, she hadn’t liked the effect he had on her. Any man who, through simple actions such as holding a door or offering a cup of coffee, could make her insides turn mushy had to have something seriously wrong with him. She hated the way he invaded her more sensuous dreams. She was a one-man woman and wasn’t about to let a hulking mercenary turn her head. Sarcasm and thinly veiled insults had always kept him at bay before.

At the moment all she could do was miserably return his gaze and wish somebody, even McKennon, would hold her and assure her that everything would be all right.

“Want to talk?” he asked.

His compassion annoyed her. He had no right to feel sorry for her. He certainly had no right trying to make her feel better.

“Julius is your brother-in-law now. If you’re going to have a relationship with Penny you need to be polite to him.”

She fumbled the key into the ignition. “Thank you very much for the advice, McKennon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home.”

He laid a gloved hand on her parka sleeve. “You’ll lose her.”

Damn him to hell and back for being right. Penny was as prideful as Frankie. “She could have at least finished college.”

“She has to make her own mistakes.”

In the rearview mirror she glimpsed approaching figures. Her cousins walked in a knot, all of them looking at Frankie’s car. She loved her cousins, but at the moment she wished a spaceship would swoop down and abduct the lot of them. She shoved McKennon’s hand away and exited the car. She searched the path for any sign of Penny.

Janine Duke took command, as usual. She gave Frankie a perfunctory hug, then stepped back. Garbed in a dark blue silk suit with cartouche trim, Janine looked like a fashion photographer’s dream. All her cousins looked great, Kara and Ross, Dawn, too, all were dressed like movie stars. Frankie was not merely an interloper, she was an oversized, lunkish mess wearing ragged jeans and the Frankenstein coat. She must look as wild as she felt.

She glanced surreptitiously at McKennon. He’d put back on the sunglasses and his strong-as-steel facade. She guessed he was thinking Frankie was the family nut. The family loser.

“Penny won’t leave the chapel as long as you’re here,” Janine said.

“Why am I not surprised?” She turned back to the car. “I have to go to work, anyway.”

Ross slid an arm around his wife’s waist. He and Dawn exchanged knowing glances. “If you leave now, you and Penny will have a harder time patching things up. Come to the lodge. We’ll get Penny calmed down. You two can talk.”

She needed to leave. She wanted to leave so she could hide and lick her wounds in peace. She thought about how she needed to go to work, and her cat was probably starving by now, so he’d be looking for a few books to shred in order to vent his frustration. She had a video to return. Like McKennon said, Penny needed to make her own mistakes. “None of you understands what’s going on here.”

“Try us, Frankie.” Kara, the youngest of the siblings, stepped to the fore. She took Frankie’s cold hand and rubbed it briskly between hers. “Why is Penny so angry with you?”

Startled, Frankie caught her breath. Angry? Penny had no reason in the world to be angry with anyone, much less with Frankie. Yet...she’d seen the look in Penny’s eyes as she stood on the chapel stoop. There had been a strange hardness in the girl’s expression, a glint of something deep and dark and hurtful.

“She has no reason to be angry,” Frankie said hotly. “She knows I’d do anything for her.”

Kara shrugged. “Okay, maybe she isn’t angry. Maybe she’s just embarrassed. You know, about—”

“She should be embarrassed. Julius is old enough to be her father.” Frankie didn’t like the way her cousins shared knowing glances. “What? You all know something. What is it?”

Silence hung heavily over the parking lot. The idling engine of the limousine began to sound very loud, like a rumble of distant thunder, and the stench of exhaust clashed with the clear mountain air. Frankie searched their faces one by one. Ross averted his gaze. Dawn stared at the toes of her pumps. Janine twirled a strand of her lustrous hair around her fingers. Kara clamped her arms over her bosom and shivered. McKennon appeared to meditate upon the distant mountains.

“Sheesh,” Kara said. “Penny didn’t—”

“Shut up,” Janine interrupted. “Penny will tell her.”

“She should have told her already.” Kara reached again for Frankie’s hands. “She’s pregnant.”

Chapter Two

Frankie wanted to leave more than ever. She wanted to go home and forget she even had a sister. She really, really wanted to snatch Penny by the throat and shake some sense into her fluffy blond head. She decided to talk to Penny. She’d be reasonable, she wouldn’t yell, but she’d let the girl know exactly where she stood: Penny could have Julius or she could have Frankie, but not both. Then she would leave.

She allowed Ross to drive her to the resort lodge. He guided her to the family’s private dining room and fetched a carafe of hot coffee. The coffee chased away some of the chill. She wrapped both hands around the mug to warm them. Her face felt crackly, as if it might break if she moved too fast. She lifted her gaze to Ross.

“She isn’t pregnant. No way. She’s too smart.” Frankie knew the pregnancy had to be a lie. Penny probably used it as an excuse for a hasty wedding.

Ross sat at the table and folded his hands atop the surface. The pity in his gray eyes scratched her bones.

“She has plans,” she insisted. “She’s going to travel the world.”

“Stuff happens, plans change. You girls need to talk.”

Snorting in disgust, Frankie turned her glum gaze on the trophy wall that chronicled her uncle’s long and distinguished military career. She wondered again how he and his family could have betrayed her like this. A glance at a wall clock showed that even if she left now, she’d be late for work. “Is there a phone I can use?”

He brought her a cordless telephone, then moved to the other end of the table to give her some privacy. She dialed the number of her neighbor. Sally answered with a syrupy hello.

“This is Frankie,” she said. “Can I ask you a big favor?”

“Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“I’m fine.” Sally’s concern lifted her spirits somewhat. They’d met on the day Frankie moved into her apartment and had been good friends ever since. Wait until Sally got an earful of this debacle. “I’ve got a...situation. I’ll tell you all about it later. Can you feed Cat?”

Sally didn’t answer right away. Frankie groaned inwardly. The cat, whom she called Cat, had shown up a few months ago and stayed. He was neither pretty nor sweet tempered, and he had a bad habit of shredding her books, magazines and newspapers when he lost his temper. He also attacked people on occasion. Frankie let him stay because he seemed like the one creature in the universe whose life was in worse shape than hers.

“Please,” Frankie said. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll take an oven mitt for protection.” She sighed dramatically, then laughed. “That animal belongs in a zoo, you know. When will you be back?”

“Very late tonight. I owe you one, girlfriend.”

“You owe me two.”

After she finished that call, she dialed another number. She hoped anyone but Bob answered. A scratchy, petulant voice answered the phone: “Martha’s Pie House, may I help you?”

“Hi, Bob,” she said, “it’s Frankie.” She waited a beat, then added, “I can’t come in to work tonight. I have an emergency.”

“What do you mean you can’t come in? You know I’m shorthanded.”

Frankie dropped her face onto her hand. Bob ruled the pancake house as if being assistant manager made him emperor. The little twit. “It’s an emergency. Call Julie.”

“I know who to call. It’s my job to know. I keep the schedules, you know.” Papers rustled. “You’re working Saturday, then.”

“Fine.” She noticed he didn’t ask about the nature of her emergency.

“From now on I need at least twenty-four hours notice.”

“I’ll plan more carefully for my emergencies, Bob.” She hung up and placed the telephone on the table.

“Everything okay?” Ross asked. Questions lurked in his eyes.

Frankie hadn’t told the Dukes about her recent situation. Since Penny was acting so sneaky and self-absorbed, it was doubtful she had told them, either. Guilt crept through her. Ever since Max had dumped her, she’d shut out her family. Ross and Dawn lived in Colorado Springs, perhaps twenty minutes from Frankie’s apartment. Embarrassment and pride had prevented her from running to them with her tales of woe.

“I don’t work for Max Caulfield anymore,” she said.

Ross cocked his head and assumed an expression that invited confidences. He’d always been easy to talk to.

Explanations caused a traffic jam of words in her throat. Even after six months it hurt to talk about Max. “Things got intense,” she finally said. “I’m waiting tables until I can figure out how to market myself as a freelance graphologist.”

“Self-employment is the best.”

Grateful he didn’t probe too deeply, she nodded.

“Julius is related to Caulfield.”

His statement made her wince. She stared at her hands. The redness had faded, leaving them looking paper-white against the chestnut hue of the tabletop. “Max married Julius’s mother. She’s rich.” She wished she’d never voiced Max’s name.

“Does that have something to do with you disliking Julius?”

She winced again. Ross knew. Not everything, but he suspected something heavy lurked beneath the surface. “Penny knows my reasons. We settled all this months ago.”

“Apparently not.” He topped off his coffee mug and offered her the carafe. “Maybe you kept her on too short a leash, Cuz.”

“Not short enough.” She waved away the offer of more coffee. “Apparently.”

“You’re a lot like the Colonel, Frankie.”

She knew Ross didn’t mean the comparison as a compliment. She scowled into the steam rising from the mug. “Contrary to what that brat says, I am not trying to ruin her life. Or run it for that matter. But she has no business getting married at her age.”

Elise Duke’s high heels clicked softly on the polished wood floor. “How are you, dear?”

Frankie shot a glare at Ross to let him know she didn’t appreciate his insinuation that she was a control freak like his father. “Where’s Penny?” She pushed away from the table, starting to rise.

Elise placed a gentle hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “It might be best if you kept your distance. She’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

Somehow, Frankie felt no surprise. Her entire chest ached as if she’d been walked on by an elephant. She slumped on the chair and sipped from the coffee mug.

“Penny and Julius are spending the week in the Honeymoon Hideaway.” Elise settled on the chair next to Frankie. Despite four grown children she looked youthful, slim and beautiful. Her serene demeanor had a calming influence. Her soft hand touching Frankie’s arm chased some of the cold from Frankie’s soul. “Stay the night with us, dear. We can have a nice visit. I haven’t seen you in far too long. Tomorrow, you and Penny can talk.”

She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to go home to her nasty old cat and sulk in peace. “Is she really pregnant, Aunt Elise?”

Elise shrugged delicately and flashed a wan smile at her son. “The child shall have two parents.”

Frankie groaned. “You don’t get it. None of you gets it. If she’s really pregnant then she’s in big trouble.”

“Now, Francine, aren’t you being a wee bit melodramatic?”

“What do you know about Julius? Did Penny tell you he’s been married before?”

“Well, no. But divorce isn’t exactly shameful—”

“It is in his case. He’s been married several times and he has kids. He doesn’t have anything to do with any of them. It’s all because of his mother. She won’t let anybody get between her and her baby boy.”

Ross cleared his throat. His eyebrows raised in a skeptical quirk. “Julius is old enough to make his own decisions.”

“He’s weak. His mother isn’t. She’s rich, spoiled and selfish. Julius always does exactly what she says. If she can’t buy off his wives, she scares them off.”

“Come on.” Ross rolled a hand as if urging her to get to the punch line. “She can’t be that bad.”

“She’s worse,” Frankie insisted. “Julius is weak, but Belinda is twisted. She’ll eat Penny alive.”

“CHUCKIE?” Paul’s voice strained in the darkness. “I can’t see nothing.”

Chuck paused with his shoulder pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He panted like a racehorse and his lungs ached. The trail where they’d parked the car was less than twenty feet away, but he felt as if he’d run a marathon. The lights of Elk River Lodge were visible through the trees. Still, on this moonless winter night, a blank world seemed to stretch away into eternity. The darkness squeezed him. An unconscious shudder rippled down his spine. What the hell was he doing?

He focused a flashlight in Paul’s direction. The thin beam flashed over tree trunks and made the snow glitter like diamond dust. He found Paul’s face. Eyes bulging like boiled eggs, mouth wide-open, nostrils flared, the kid looked as scared as he sounded.

“Easiest ten grand you’ll ever make,” Bo Moran had assured him.

The job sounded easy the way Bo explained it. That was before, in the warmth of the bar while he ate big, greasy cheeseburgers and the jukebox played old Eagles songs. Now here he was in the middle of nowhere, tromping through snow, five minutes away from possibly making the biggest mistake of his life. And he’d dragged Paul into it. He was supposed to take care of Paul, not set him up for a fall that could land him in prison for the rest of his life.

“Quit acting like a baby,” he whispered.

“It’s dark, Chuckie.”

“Of course it’s dark, you geek. We’re in the mountains.”

Up ahead, Bo Moran made an impatient noise. Chuck’s shoulders tensed. Chuck had talked long and hard to convince Bo that his baby brother would be an asset not a liability. Paul had the mind of a six-year-old, but he was strong and quick, and he did anything Chuck told him to do, no questions. He wondered if it was too late to change his mind, get back in the car, return to the city and forget this mess. Maybe he’d even get a real job.

“I keep hearing things, Chuckie,” Paul whined. “Bears.”

“Ain’t no bears. Come on, kid, check it out. You can see the lodge right over there. Lots of lights. Bears don’t dig lights. Right, Bo?”

“Yeah, no bears. It’s wolves that like light.”

Chuck turned the light in Bo’s direction. The man’s deep-set eyes flared red, like an animal’s. Nearly swallowed by the army fatigues he wore, his head obscured by a fur-trimmed hood, Bo looked like a kid playing soldier in the woods.. Skinny, unkempt, with sunken cheeks and a pigeon chest, his mouth pulled perpetually in a sullen scowl, he appeared easy to dismiss. Chuck knew better than to dismiss Bo Moran. Around Bo Moran, Chuck’s skin always itched, his spine always crawled. He doubted there was much in the world Bo wouldn’t do—he doubted there was much he hadn’t done already.

Chuck shifted his attention between Bo and Paul. Now that he and Paul were in, they stayed in. Life in prison would be a sweetheart deal compared to what Bo would do if crossed. “He’s just messing with you, kid,” he said. “Ain’t no wolves. Nothing bigger than squirrels around here. We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

“I can’t see nothing. I wanna go home.”

A heavy breath deflated Chuck’s chest. Paul stood over six feet, four inches tall and had a body a pro wrestler would envy, but he acted like a little kid. Chuck wondered if maybe he babied his baby brother too much.

Chuck grabbed Paul’s arm. “Hold on to my coat. Stick with me.” He kept his voice low. “And quit your griping. You’re gonna tick off Bo.”

“I’m cold.”

Chuck fished in his pockets for the silk ski masks Bo had provided for the job. Thin, but warm, they were guaranteed not to itch. “Put this on.” He waited until Paul fumbled the black mask onto his head. He helped him get the eye holes lined up properly. “Better?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like the dark,” Paul whispered in reply.

He cast a worried glance in Bo’s direction. “There’s worse things, kid. Trust me on that.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “If you’re really good, I’ll make you a milk shake, okay? Peanut butter. Your favorite.”

Paul grinned behind the mask. “Okay!”

Praying Bo hadn’t heard that idiotic exchange, Chuck focused the flashlight forward and tromped onward through the snow.

“I RESPECTFULLY TENDER my resignation...” J.T. snorted and tossed down the pen. He crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball. A hook shot dropped it neatly into the waste can. It settled atop the other crumpled papers in the can.

He shoved away from the desk. Resting his elbows on his knees, he glumly surveyed the room. On the top floor of the lodge, it was small but luxurious. Tatted doilies on the dresser and folk art on the walls gave it a homey air. The bed dominated the room, looking like a gigantic pastry beneath its European-style down comforter. A bed in which he hadn’t slept well last night.

When he hadn’t been brooding about how much he hated his job, he’d been brooding about his son. Spending the week baby-sitting a pair of honeymooners wasn’t the dumbest job he’d ever had, but it ranked right up there in the top ten. It meant he couldn’t see Jamie, and that he resented deeply.

His thoughts kept traveling back to the other day when he’d visited Jamie. Dr. Trafoya, Debbie, the head nurse, and a neurologist had triple-teamed him, seeking permission, again, to remove Jamie’s feeding tube. Sweet Jamie, so shrunken and still, only half the size of a normal six-year-old, lost in a coma’s black hole.

“Even if he awakens, Mr. McKennon,” Dr. Trafoya had said, “his brain is permanently damaged. He’ll be forever an infant. He’ll never speak or walk or recognize you.”

Maybe the good doctor believed that crap, but J.T. didn’t. They had said Jamie would never breathe on his own, either, but when they took him off the respirator he’d breathed just fine. He responded to physical therapy to keep his limbs from atrophying. Sometimes he opened his eyes, and once he’d even made a noise which to J.T. had sounded very much like “Mama.”

The doctors and nursing staff at Carson Springs hospital gave Jamie excellent care, and he understood they feared Jamie suffered for nothing. J.T. knew better. Miracles happened every day, and he had a lifetime to wait for one.

He wanted to see Jamie now. He liked visiting in the early-morning hours when the hospital was quiet, and he could spill out his heart in peace. He checked his watch. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours. No telling when the newlyweds would be up and about, but it would take two hours to drive to the hospital and two hours back. He’d be missed.

“I hate this crappy job,” he muttered.

Technically, his job title was security systems engineer. After Caulfield married Belinda, J.T.’s duties had shifted. Since Caulfield now devoted the majority of his time to his wife’s interests, J.T. had hoped he’d be promoted to head the corporate office. Instead, Caulfield had appointed him head of private security. He was qualified as a bodyguard and he was competent to keep thieves and vandals off the Bannerman estate, but he didn’t like it.

He especially didn’t like the real reason he’d been stuck with this particular duty. Julius didn’t need a bodyguard. He was too much of a bug to have real enemies. Bottom line, Mrs. Caulfield needed a spy. He suspected that for the first time in her life she’d met her match. Cute little Penny Forrest held the power, as no other woman before her, to drive a solid wedge between Mrs. Caulfield and her darling boy. The old lady wasn’t going down without a fight.

J.T. understood, somewhat. He’d go to the ends of the earth and back for his son. He supposed every parent was the same. Still, he resented the hell out of having to use his time to gather ammunition for the old witch to use in a war against her daughter-in-law.

Caulfield asked too much this time. J.T. turned back to the desk and snatched a fresh sheet of resort stationery. He wrote down the date and a polite greeting, then stopped. He could not quit his job.

He wandered to the wide bank of windows. He pressed his forehead against the icy glass, staring into the darkness below. Resentment deepened, blossoming with spiny petals.

Money, it always boiled down to money. “No good thing ever comes of anything done solely for money,” his wife used to tell him, usually with a grin while she tried to figure out yet one more way to stretch their already-squeaking budget. Nina hadn’t cared about cars or fancy houses or new clothes. All she’d cared about was loving him and loving Jamie. When she’d been alive, he hadn’t cared about money, either.

Now money meant everything. Money meant more time to wait for Jamie’s miracle.

Caulfield paid too well for J.T. to even consider quitting. He had no choice except to resign himself to baby-sitting newlyweds and collecting information for a paranoid woman with no life of her own.

Shaking away the dour thoughts, he showered, shaved and dressed in jeans, boots and a wool-lined flannel shirt. Despite the early hour he hoped he could rustle up a cup of coffee.

An employee ran a vacuum cleaner in the lobby’s lounge. A sign on the front desk asked guests and visitors to ring a bell for service. A whiff of coffee aroma caught his attention. He followed his nose to the source. Near the doorway to the dining room a table held a large coffeepot, mugs and a plate of freshly baked muffins.

The vacuum cleaner stopped. A woman spoke softly. In the dim light he hadn’t noticed the woman seated in the lounge. He recognized the red curls belonging to Frankie Forrest. He paused in the shadows, uncertain if he wanted Frankie to see him. Guilt tightened his gut.

He still carried a nasty taste in his mouth over the way Caulfield had treated her. In his opinion, Caulfield never had any intention of marrying Frankie. He had played her the way he played all women. He doubted if Frankie knew Caulfield had been seeing other women while supposedly engaged to her. She wasn’t the type to suffer a philanderer.

And now this. For the second time he’d been party to her humiliation. Self-loathing mingled with hatred for his job.

Hell with Caulfield, he decided. He had an opportunity, in some small way, to make up for the past. Frankie deserved that much.

He filled two mugs with coffee. The dark, rich aroma made his belly rumble. He picked up two muffins, too.

Frankie watched him make his way through the arrangements of potted plants, sofas, club chairs and low tables. “Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly. She looked him up and down, her expression neutral. “I didn’t recognize you without the goon suit.”

Her insult took him back to the good old days. When they worked together, she used to bait him like a kid poking a stick at a caged bear. He’d liked it. She’d made him laugh.

He set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Hungry?” He offered a muffin. She shook her head. Slouched on the chair, shoulders hunched, she looked tired. He wondered if she’d slept at all. He peeled the wrapper off a muffin and inhaled the spicy scent of apples and cinnamon.

“So, how’s Max doing these days?” Her tone was too carefully casual.

He wanted to make her happy by telling her Caulfield had gained weight, was losing his hair and Belinda was making him miserable. Except, that would be a lie. Caulfield was having the time of his life. “Okay.”

“I guess...marriage agrees with him?”

He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He bit into the muffin. Rich and heavy, it tasted as good as it smelled. Head down, he watched Frankie from the corner of his eye. Slashes of eyebrows framed her strikingly pale eyes. Strong cheekbones and a square jaw gave her face interesting angles. Even seated and still she vibrated with energy. He liked her mouth. Some might say it was too wide for her face, her lips too full, but he appreciated the supple mobility and the sensual depth of color.

He bit into the muffin, savoring the texture. An idle thought clipped the back of his brain—holding Frankie, making love to her, would be as exhilarating as racing down a mountainside. Her body would be long and lean, muscular, but soft in the right places. He’d plunge both hands in that mass of fiery hair and hang on while he ravished that incredible mouth. Disturbed, he wondered about himself. He hadn’t been interested in any woman since his wife died.

“So, uh, have you...talked to Penny?” Still the too-casual tone as she pulled the coffee mug to her face as if to hide her expression. She stared at the floor.

“No, sorry. I’m just the hired goon.”

“Right,” she muttered.

“What are you doing with yourself these days?” he asked, though he knew the answer already. Two months ago Caulfield had ordered J.T. to find out where Frankie lived and where she worked. He had assumed the boss needed her graphology skills and was conceited enough to think she might come back to work for him. After turning in his report, though, Caulfield never mentioned her again.

“Just working,” she replied. “What about you?”

“Just working.”

She grinned. “A couple of working grunts. Real exciting.”

J.T. liked her smile. He also liked her bare face. At the office she’d worn far too much makeup for his taste. Her skin was creamy with a light dusting of coral freckles along the ridge of her cheekbones. A funny urge filled him to reach for her face, to test her skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. He broke a piece off the muffin.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Doing my job.”

“Yeah, right. Since when does Max give a rat’s behind what happens to Julius?”

“It’s not my place to ask questions.”

“ ‘Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do or die.”’

She leveled a glower at him that struck him as both funny and sexy. Beautiful mouth. He imagined kissing her would be like riding a shooting star.

“Serious now,” she said. “Is there some kind of threat? Is Penny in danger?”

Only from her nutty mother-in-law, he thought, unable to hold her gaze. Guilt raced through him again, leaving prickly trails on his nerves. “No danger.”

“I don’t believe you. Max doesn’t do anything without a reason. Tell me the truth, why are you playing bodyguard? I have a right to know.”

“I swear,” he said, “no threats, no danger. My presence is nothing more than an ego trip. Julius gets to look like a big shot for his bride.” The not-quite-a-lie tasted sour.

“Figures.” She set down the coffee mug. “I forgot my watch. What time is it?”

He turned his left wrist. “It’s 5:47 a.m.”

“Penny’s an early riser.”

He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t doubt for a second that Frankie would go charging into the honeymoon cabin, invited or not. “Don’t disturb them, Miss Forrest.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life of my own. I need to talk to Penny, then get back to town. I’m wasting my time hanging around. Thanks for the coffee.” She jumped to her feet and snatched up the parka that lay across another chair.

He pondered the particulars of his job description, uncertain as to whether guarding a body meant preventing the bride’s agitated sister from barging in on the honeymooners. Frankie might take a swing at Julius. She’d done it before, after he’d made a crack about what kind of wedding present she ought to give Belinda. She’d given him a bloody nose. He wondered if part of the reason Julius married Penny was to get even with Frankie. Julius’s capacity for spitefulness rivaled his mother’s.

He watched her long-legged stride carry her across the lobby to the rear entrance. At the office she’d always worn suits with tailored jackets and short skirts that showed off a pair of world-class legs. He missed looking at her legs, though her pert backside in the tight jeans made a worthwhile show.

He grinned at his unruly thoughts and the stirring low in his groin. It occurred to him, with some discomfort, that he hadn’t harbored lustful thoughts in a long time. Despite being only thirty-five years old he lived like a prissy old man. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything even resembling fun. Between Caulfield’s demands and taking care of Jamie he didn’t have much of a life at all.

He downed the remains of his coffee in one long smooth swallow and rose to follow her.

As soon as he stepped outside, icy air slapped his face. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and back, itching against his woollen shirt. Noting the speed with which Frankie traveled the gravel path to the Honeymoon Hideaway, he decided to forgo running upstairs for a coat.

The path between the hideaway and the lodge was well tended and well lit. In the predawn darkness, the trees along the path formed a black, blank wall. He caught up to Frankie at the fountain between the four honeymoon cabins. Drained for winter, the fountain glistened under a dusting of snow. Each cabin was angled so its entrance had privacy from the others. Pinkish lights glowed next to the doorways, but all the cabin interiors were dark.

Frankie tossed him a look askance. “I’m surprised they don’t have you sleeping in front of the door.”

He realized her dilemma: she didn’t know which of the cabins housed her sister. He shoved his cold hands in his pockets. “I’ve thought about it, Miss Forrest. If you want to wake up your sister I won’t stop you. That is, if you can assure me you aren’t carrying a weapon.”

The pinkish light agreed with her, turning her eyes large and dark and softening the lines of her face. She looked like a creature stepped from the forest who would soon disappear back into the trees. “I don’t have a weapon.”

“I better frisk you to make sure.”

She put up her fists. “Touch me and die, McKennon.”

Dying might be a fair price to pay to find out what she had underneath her clothes. Cold seeped through his jeans. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to muster some heat. “I’m kidding. Go ahead.”

Even in the darkness, he saw her thoughtful frown. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t startle Julius. Why don’t you knock for me so he knows it’s okay.”

She was good, he thought admiringly. “You won’t startle him. He sleeps heavy. You won’t even wake him up.”

She threw up her hands and huffed loudly. White plumes marked her breath. “Which cabin are they in?”

“You don’t know?”

She growled. He bit back a laugh.

“I don’t and you do. So tell me.”

He thought his natural bent toward devilment had died with Nina, but orneriness flexed its rusty wings. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you. But, you have to kiss me first.” That he said such a thing aloud shocked him. He swallowed laughter.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

He shrugged. “You’ve got a twenty-five-percent chance of choosing the right cabin on the first shot. Or, you can go back to the lodge and see if the night clerk will give you the cabin number. Or, you can wait until your sister is awake.” He smiled. “Or, you can kiss me.” She wouldn’t, he knew, but he liked the flashing fire seeming to shoot from her every pore. Any second now she’d get the joke and laugh. Making her laugh seemed a small step toward easing some of the pain he’d inadvertently caused her.

Glaring daggers in his direction, she took a step toward the nearest cabin. Years of training had taught him to control his body language. If she hoped for a clue she wouldn’t get it from him. She abruptly switched direction. He tensed instinctively, prepared for battle. She grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands, jerked him forward and kissed him fully on the mouth.

Chapter Three

Frankie meant to give McKennon a noisy smack on the lips. Then she would shove him and hope he slipped on the icy gravel and fell on his butt so he would end up looking like the big jerk he actually was. Then she’d laugh in his face and prove his idiotic kidding around had absolutely no effect on her whatsoever.

That’s what she’d meant—

Electricity sparked from his lips to hers, melding her to his heat. He wrapped both arms around her shoulders and hugged her to his chest. Breath deserted her; thought deserted her. She clung to his shirtfront as if she drowned and only he could save her. Mingled aromas of soap and shaving cream and healthy male swirled through her brain like an intoxicating drug. He smelled so good. His lips were so supple, so warm. When he slid a hand through her hair and grasped the back of her head in a possessive hold, she became lost in the erotic feeling of his fingers against her scalp.

This kiss superseded all other kisses in her life. She’d kissed him a thousand times in her dreams, but this was better. McKennon touched her soul. She parted her lips and greedily accepted the thrust of his tongue. Noises slipped away one by one, the rustle of her jacket, their boots crunching gravel, the faraway whisper of a breeze through the pines, until all she could hear was her pounding heart. She kissed and kissed him, tasting, testing, no longer present, but lost in her dreams, submersed in the solidity of his big body, entrapped and enthralled by the power of his embrace.

When he broke the kiss, a cry rose in her throat. A cry of protest, of yearning. Her eyelids flew open, and she stared into his eyes. They were black, fathomless, smoldering. His hot breath fanned her cheeks.

Dizzy now, she tried hard to muster outrage. Unable to do that, she settled for indignation, but even that wan emotion failed her.

He slid his hand from beneath her hair. Released from his hold, if not from his spell, she dropped her hands from his shirt. In her head she saw herself flinging her hair in a haughty gesture and sniffing in disgust; she swiped her mouth; she laughed in his face.

In her head.

In reality she backed a step and lowered her face. Her cheeks burned, but she shivered inside the parka. A single kiss had never set her on fire before. She’d never lost her head like that. Bemused and troubled, she peered warily at him.

“Cabin B,” he said, and pointed. His voice sounded suspiciously gruff.

Oh, yeah, Penny, she thought. She took a step in the direction he indicated and paused. She half expected him to take her arm, to stop her and kiss her again. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders. Annoyance tweaked her.

Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at him, she strode determinedly to Cabin B. She knocked softly on the door, then listened. She raised her hand to knock again, but hesitated. All night long she’d rehearsed conversations with her sister. Angry words, loving words, forgiving words and spiteful words. She doubted now that anything she said could change the situation.

Forget speeches and arguments, then. She would assure Penny that no matter what happened they were still sisters, but she’d never be able to accept Julius. Then she’d say goodbye.

She knocked a rapid tatoo Penny should recognize from the countless mornings Frankie had awakened her to get ready for school. After a few seconds she knocked again. The knocks echoed behind her in a fading swirl.

“No answer?” McKennon asked.

His nearness startled her. She hadn’t heard his approach.

“Something’s wrong,” Frankie said. She knocked harder. Her cold knuckles ached with every blow.

“She’s probably been up most of the night.”

She flinched. No way, no how, did she want a picture in her head of her baby sister and that creep Julius having sex. “She’s a college student. Or was. She doesn’t need sleep. There’s something wrong.”

He lifted his gaze to the star-studded sky. “Even if I could open the door, which I can’t, I wouldn’t. Let them sleep.”

“She has to talk to me.” She pounded on the door with her fist, ignoring McKennon’s whispered warnings about disturbing the other guests. She grabbed the doorknob. It turned easily, startling her. “The door’s unlocked.”

McKennon glided up the steps on silent feet.

She pushed the door open. Thin pink-tinged light formed a rectangle on the floor. The rest of the interior was pitch-black. And quiet.

Too quiet. Every nerve in her body went on alert. The atmosphere stifled her with its tomblike silence.

“Penny?” she called softly. “It’s me, Penny. Hello?”

“Step back,” McKennon whispered in her ear. He found a switch and flipped it. A wall-mounted lamp filled the cabin interior with a golden glow.

Frankie blinked, momentarily blinded. As soon as her eyes adjusted she saw the bed. The king-size four-poster bed practically filled the room. The posters looked like Roman columns carved with twining leaves. A canopy frame made of wrought iron echoed the leafy bower theme. Julius lay squarely in the center of the bed. A thick comforter was drawn to his chin. His mouth gaped and his eyes were open. Creepy claws skittered up and down her spine.

Not right, not right, this is bad, this is very bad, intuition screamed in her head. “Penny?” Moving only her eyes, she searched for her sister. “Penny!”

“Don’t move,” McKennon said. “Don’t touch anything.” He hurried to the bed and leaned over Julius.

This is not happening, Frankie thought, watching the big man press two fingers beneath the bridegroom’s jaw. A weary-sounding curse husked from McKennon’s mouth, and she knew. Julius Bannerman was dead.

Frankie clamped her arms over her chest. She planted her feet at a stubborn angle and glared at her brother-in-law. She willed him to rise, to speak, to breathe. The creepy claws ran races along her spine. “What is wrong with him, McKennon?”

He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, and his eyebrows nearly touched in the middle. “Dead.”

“He isn’t dead,” she insisted. “He’s faking it. Shake him. Give him CPR. Do something.”

McKennon tossed her a gee-you’re-dumb look. “Raising the dead isn’t in my job description.”

She strode to the opposite side of the bed. Julius’s face was a peculiar mottled gray color. Dried saliva crusted on the corners of his mouth. His eyes were as dull as dirty china. Stomach churning, she poked Julius’s cheek. His skin felt like wax and she jerked her hand back and scrubbed it on her parka.

“Leave him alone. I told you not to touch anything. Especially him.”

She held up her hands, showing empty palms. “Okay, okay. Where’s my sister?” She sidled away from the corpse. “Penny? Penny!” Ignoring McKennon’s orders to stop, she jerked open a closet door. Penny’s bridal gown hung from the rod with the skirt and train stuffed into the closet like a massive wad of cotton candy. But no Penny. Fighting down panic, Frankie rushed for the bathroom.

McKennon snagged her parka hood, jerking her backward. She gagged and stumbled. He wrapped his arms around her body and held her still. “Stop, or I will throw you out. This is possibly a crime scene. You cannot touch anything.”

Her heart tripped painfully, making breathing a chore. Blood rushing in her ears made thinking difficult.

“Take a deep breath,” he soothed. He rocked her gently, back and forth. “Calm down. We’ll find Penny. She’s okay. Settle down.”

“I am okay now,” she muttered.

He maneuvered her about to face him. Like a stiff doll, she allowed the manhandling. She knew him well enough to know that if he said he’d throw her out of the cabin, then he would do so.

“Stay right here. I will check the bathroom. Do not move.”

He entered the bathroom. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. Frankie could almost see the tension vibrating from his body. She finally found something that rattled him—and she didn’t like it one little bit.

“She isn’t here,” he announced. He unhooked a slim cellular telephone from the holster affixed to his belt.

Frankie’s gaze fell on an envelope propped against a lamp on the bedside table. “Julius Bannerman” was written on the front in bold, block lettering. She snatched up the envelope and tore off the end before he could stop her.

“I told you not to touch anything!”

She hunched protectively over the envelope. She shook out the paper inside. She fumbled the folded paper open. “It might tell me where Penny went.”

“That does it, you’re out.”

It said: “Dear Mr. Bannerman, we have your wife—”

Frankie gasped. McKennon grabbed the paper from her hand, but she had seen that first horrible sentence. “She’s been kidnapped!”

“Don’t jump to con—” His mouth clamped shut and his eyebrows rose. Eyes wide, he stared at the note. “Ah, hell.”

Strength drained from Frankie’s knees; her heart constricted in her chest. “You liar,” she growled. “You said she wasn’t in danger. Now she’s gone.”

“Be quiet.” Some of the color faded from his cheeks, leaving him gray. He rattled the sheet of paper.

Thin, college-ruled notebook paper, she noticed, the same kind she used at home because it was cheap and hole-punched. It heartened her. Surely real kidnappers would use twenty-pound bond or newsprint covered in letters clipped from magazines, not common, loose-leaf notebook paper. Her throat felt full of cement and she swallowed hard. “What does it say?”

He cleared his throat and read:

“Dear Mr. Bannerman,

We have your wife. This is nothing personal, we have no hard feelings toward you personally. This is strictly business. We know you are a good person and your wife is a good person. We will not hurt anybody as long as you do exactly what we say. All we want is money. You and your family are very rich and will not miss the paltry amount we demand. We demand three million dollars for the return of your beautiful wife. You and your family have forty-eight hours to raise the money. We are not unreasonable people. As long as you give us the money, we will not harm your wife. Do not call the police. We will know if you do. If you call the police, we will have no choice except to kill your wife. We do not want to do that. Do not leave Elk River Resort. We will know if you do. We will contact you in forty-eight hours to instruct you about where and how to give us the money. As soon as we have the money, we will give you your wife. Do not act stupid in any way. We mean everything we say.

McKennon exhaled heavily. “That’s it.”

She blinked stupidly at Julius’s body. He looked like a little kid tucked in snug and cozy for the night. “If they don’t want to hurt anybody why did they kill him?”

“An accident?” he offered. Head cocked, he studied Julius. “Stay,” he warned her and began to prowl the room. He searched, his eyes quick and alert as a cat’s, but touched nothing. He leaned over a small wastebasket next to the wet bar. “Here we go.”

Holding her elbows with her hands, in order to resist touching anything, Frankie peered inside the wastebasket. It contained several empty minibottles of scotch, foil candy wrappers and two syringes.

“Looks like they came prepared,” he said. “One for Julius, one for Penny.”

“Some preparation,” she muttered. “The idiots OD’d him.” A horrifying thought occurred to her. “You don’t think they overdosed Penny, too?”

He shook his head in firm denial. “She’s young and strong. She hasn’t been wrecking her health with bad living for the past thirty years, either. I doubt very much they meant to kill him.” He held the note out to Frankie. “Are you one hundred percent positive this isn’t Penny’s handwriting?”

Offended by his implication, she bristled. “Watch it.”

“If she and Julius were partying with drugs and she got scared—”

“Even if she weren’t as straight-up as they come, she’s vain about her body. She doesn’t eat sugar or red meat or drink liquor. She certainly won’t risk fooling around with drugs. Besides, if Julius conked out she’d call for help. She wouldn’t write a stupid note!”

He patiently held out the paper.

To prove her point she perused the handwriting. Her analytical mind kicked in. The block printing was even and smooth, and the note contained no misspellings or cross outs. She focused on the letters K, M and N. Penny always added feminine little curlicues, even while printing. The letters were light textured, but soldiers-at-attention straight.

She noticed the writing nearly hugged the pale blue line of the right margin, indicating a personality that clung to the past and security. The left margin wavered, swooping in and out, almost hesitant in contrast to the rigidly upright lettering. A criminal who feared taking chances?

“Penny definitely did not write this.” She wanted to jump on the bed, jerk Julius upright and scream in his face. She jammed her hands into her pockets. Threads snapped.

McKennon placed the note on the bed, face-up. He brought out his telephone again.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

“Like hell you are!”

“This is a murder, accidental or not. We can’t keep it quiet.”

“Oh, yes we can!” She hurried to the control panel for the heat inside the cabin. She turned the switch to Off. “It’s like fifteen degrees out there. We open the windows, keep him cold. He’ll be okay.” She struggled with a wooden window sash.

“Frankie.”

“Don’t just stand there. Help me.”

“Stop it, Frankie.”

That he used her nickname rather than the more formal Miss Forrest gave her pause. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth and closed her eyes.

“Think about it,” he urged gently. “We can’t pretend nothing is wrong. Your aunt and uncle love Penny, too. And what about Mrs. Caulfield? Julius is her only child. We can’t keep his death a secret from her. It’s not only wrong, it’s cruel.”

If he’d said anything else, she’d be able to argue. But concealing a son’s death from his mother was worse than cruel, it was evil. “We can’t let them hurt Penny,” she pleaded. “If they find out they killed Julius, they’ll kill her, too.”

“We have an advantage.”

Eager for any tidbit of good news she lifted her eyes hopefully.

“Elk River is fairly isolated. We can manage the media and keep news of this off television and the radio. The kidnappers are bluffing. They aren’t watching.”

“You don’t know that.”

“This ransom note is straight out of Hollywood. Don’t call the cops, blah-blah-blah. It’s a bluff.” He pointed his chin at Julius. “He hasn’t been roughed up.”

“You don’t know that. Look under the covers. Maybe he’s been shot or stabbed.” She knew she argued an invalid point. Other than being dead Julius appeared perfectly fine.

“Fetch your uncle. I’ll wait here.”

“Don’t call the police.”

“I won’t do anything except wait.”

“Penny is my responsibility. I won’t let you do anything that can harm her.”

His green eyes gleamed. “You have my word, Frankie. I will do everything in my power to get Penny back safe and sound.”

INSIDE HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY Cabin B, Colonel Horace Duke stood with his hands locked behind his back. He studied Julius’s corpse. The Colonel was shaved and groomed and dressed in a dark blue sweatshirt, pressed-and-creased blue jeans and a fleece-lined denim coat. Despite having left the army years ago, the old man still rose every day at 4:30 a.m. His mind was always as sharp as his appearance.

“Might I see the note, Mr. McKennon?”

McKennon placed the paper on the bed in a position where the Colonel could read it. “The fewer people who touch it, the better, sir.”

“Understood.” He scanned the note. His mouth compressed into a thin, unyielding line. “Humph. We shall assume, then, these miscreants are both serious and dangerous.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have we any indications as to the identity of the miscreants? Or where they may have taken Penny?”

“Not yet.” McKennon pointed at the floor in front of the door. “There’s no sign of a struggle. Frankie and I stayed on the gravel, so we didn’t track mud. The tracks belong to the kidnappers. They come in, they go out. No smearing. They left the door unlocked.”

Frankie took a good hard look at her surroundings. The cabin was as luxurious as any five-star hotel, with plush carpeting, wallpaper, antique furnishings, flower arrangements and romantic art hanging on the walls. McKennon’s observation made her realize it was quite neat as well. Julius and Penny had obviously used the wet bar, and their luggage and clothing were tossed about in untidy stacks. Still, other than a few muddy footprints—and a dead groom—the kidnappers had left no sign of themselves.

“No sign of forced entry,” McKennon added.

Frankie easily imagined Julius cringing and cowering before even the mildest threat, but Penny? She looked as fragile as a fairy child; but she didn’t have a timid bone in her body. She’d have fought back. Except, nothing in the room indicated a fight.

“They must have gotten in while Penny was asleep,” Frankie said. “If she opened the door and saw strangers, she’d scream or something. She’d have fought back.”

She crouched and laid her hand lightly atop a muddy footprint. She couldn’t tell if the print was still damp or not, and feared destroying evidence by brushing the nap. “You know this country, Colonel. We can track them down.” She jumped upright and clamped her hands on her hips. “You’ve taken part in search and rescue operations. You have equipment, right? Four-wheel drive vehicles, horses, spotlights. They couldn’t have gotten far—”

“Francine, this is not a search and rescue mission.”

“Penny needs to be rescued!”

Some unspoken communication passed between the men. Frankie wondered if she sounded as panicky as she felt. She gulped in great draughts of air in an attempt to calm herself.

You will not break down, she counseled herself. You will not crack.

“A heinous crime has been committed,” the Colonel said. “We can’t ignore Mr. Bannerman’s murder and go traipsing willy-nilly into the mountains on a wild-goose chase. There are procedures.”

“If the kidnappers find out they whacked Julius, they’ll kill Penny, too. We have to find them first.”

“Ill-advised and dangerous. I must inform the sheriff.”

She resisted pacing, though she wanted to do more than merely pace. She wanted to shout, scream and throw things. “This isn’t some abstract war game. If you call the law, you’ll kill Penny.”

McKennon grasped her arm above the elbow. He faced her impassively. His powerful fingers twitched on her elbow. She tightened her jaw and listened. “These mountains look well populated, but they aren’t. Finding people who don’t want to be found is nearly impossible. Especially since we don’t know who they are or what they look like.”

“Turn me loose,” she gritted through her teeth. As soon as he relaxed his hold, she jerked her arm away and rubbed her tingling elbow. In reply to her furious look, he arched his eyebrows. The expression in his eyes said he’d do it again if she lost control.

The Colonel didn’t seem to notice the way McKennon had manhandled her. He stood ramrod straight, but in his icy blue eyes she read fear. “The sheriff is a personal friend of mine and a man of discretion.”

Frankie wished Julius were alive so she could kill him again.

CHUCK PICKED UP THE COFFEEPOT. Heat seared his palm. Yelping, he dropped the pot. It clattered on the rickety camp stove.

Without looking up from his magazine, Bo Moran said, “Use a pot holder, dummy. It’s hot.”

Chuck suckled a stinging finger and glared at the speckled blue coffeepot. His only experiences with coffee came from restaurants and automatic coffeemakers. The strange percolator gave him the creeps, along with this ramshackle old cabin. A gust of wind made the walls creak and groan. Despite a wood fire blazing in a stone hearth and the camp stove, the place felt like a refrigerator. He shivered.

“I never been camping before,” he said.

Bo chuckled and turned a page. He sat on a bench seat torn from a ’76 Dodge, the only furnishing in the tiny room other than a card table with a ripped vinyl top and a pair of folding stools that sat too low to be used at the table. He had his feet toward the fire and a striped blanket slung around his scrawny shoulders. A Glock 9mm pistol lay on the seat beside him. “This ain’t camping, man. Camping is tents and fishing poles and eating beans out of cans.”

“Sounds like it sucks.” He used a pot holder to lift the coffeepot. He poured a cupful, then wrinkled his nose at the tarry brew. It smelled like coffee, but it didn’t look like any coffee he’d ever drunk. He wished for some milk to cut it.

Cradling the cup to warm his hands, he circled the confines of the room. Outside, the sun glared—a fool’s-gold sun, all brightness, no warmth. Wind battered the tiny cabin, and occasional gusts sliced through the unpainted, plank walls. He couldn’t wait until this was over. He envisioned himself in Vegas—hot, dry, lively, lit-up Vegas, where the sunshine was warm and the air was thick enough to actually breathe.

“So what’s next, Bo?”

“You’ll know when I tell you. Relax.”

Relax... Chuck bit back laughter. He’d robbed liquor stores, run drugs, mugged doofs in parking lots and stolen more cars than he could count. He’d never kidnapped anyone before. It surprised him how scared he felt. The caper hadn’t seemed real until they’d actually entered that fancy cabin. He’d been shaking ever since.

The grab had gone down easy. Too easy. A knock on the door, the doof answered and the girl had been asleep on the bed. Shoot up the doof with dope, then pack the girl to the car. Nothing to it.

Chuck kept playing the grab over in his mind, looking for bungles and wrecks. The whole thing had gone down as sweet as candy. No witnesses, no noise, and they hadn’t left behind fingerprints. It looked like Bo was right, and he was about to make the easiest ten grand of his life.

Except, he’d never done anything easy in his life. Something always went wrong.

He sipped the coffee. It burned his tongue, soured his mouth and slid down his throat like bubbling acid. It hit his gut with a thud and a jolt. He shuddered. Bo had resumed reading his magazine. A travel magazine, the only kind Bo ever read. Bo Moran’s big dream was to buy a monster RV complete with toilet, shower, microwave oven and satellite TV. He wanted to travel the highways and byways.

Chuck paused at a window. Thin curtains printed with yellow flowers and teapots were held back by bits of twine from the grimy glass. He’d covered an ancient Buick, swiped from an old lady too blind to drive, with tree branches. Once they ditched the car nobody could ever trace it to him. Bo’s Bronco glinted in the sun and looked misshapen with its oversized tires and steel bumpers. Trees grew right up to the house, reminding Chuck of the grisly old fairy tales he read to Paul. He half expected to see wolves slipping through the shadows.

Or FBI agents.

In and out, sweet as candy, he thought, trying hard to make himself believe it. Nobody gets hurt, nobody gets caught. In the movies the FBI always caught the kidnappers—usually by gunning them down. The Feds had helicopters, dogs and fancy electronic equipment. Bo said no way would the FBI get involved. Not a chance.

“They always call the cops,” he said.

Bo turned a page.

“How long till the doof wakes up? What if he calls the FBI? They’ll tap the phone. They can trace the call.” He stepped away from the window, with his back to the wall.

“Sit down. You sound like a herd of elephants.”

“He’s gonna call the cops.”

Bo rested back against the cushion and sighed. “I ever tell you a lie, man?”

Always, Chuck thought. He sipped the bitter brew.

“You ever hear the saying, If it looks good, then it is good?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s one of them down-home truths. As long as we look good, we do good. Get it?”

Chuck didn’t get it, but he was stuck. “I’m gonna check on the girl.” He turned for the doorway covered by a sheet of striped cotton. He pulled the curtain aside.

Paul sat next to the bed, hunched over, industriously filling in the designs in a coloring book with a crayon. Chuck grinned. Give Paul a coloring book and he could amuse himself for hours. The kid was a true artist. Maybe instead of a trip to Vegas when this was over, Chuck would get a bigger refrigerator for the apartment. That way he’d have more room to display Paul’s pictures.

The girl appeared to be sleeping. Paul had covered her to the chin with quilts, concealing the duct tape binding her arms and feet. A black-satin sleep mask covered her eyes.

Chuck’s gut tightened. He’d done a lot of crappy things in his life, but he’d never hurt a girl. Easy in and out, sweet as candy. They’d collect the money, give the doof directions, then split. No problem. But Bo hurt people—men, women, girls, even kids if it suited his purpose. Chuck let the curtain fall and wished he’d never met Bo Moran.

A brush of air tickled Paul’s cheek. He stopped coloring the round table of Camelot and noticed the curtain swinging over the door. Wind hammered the thin walls, and he could feel the floor thrumming under his feet. Goosebumps itched his arms. He turned his gaze on the girl. Penny was her name—Penelope. He liked the feel of her name rolling through his brain. Penelope. It made her sound like a princess in a fairy tale, like she belonged in his King Arthur coloring book.

He eased strands of silky pale hair off her cheeks. Pretty girl, Princess Penelope.

She made a small noise. Startled and guilty, he jerked his hand off her face. She moaned and struggled weakly under the covers. She said something he couldn’t understand.

“What?” he whispered. He set the book and crayons on the floor beside him. The dark corners and buckled floorboards housed mice, he felt certain. He hoped they didn’t like the taste of crayons.

Penny groaned, loudly.

Little retching noises bubbled in her throat. Paul understood that sound. Chuck liked his booze even when it made him sick. When he was sick, Paul knew not to let him sleep on his back where he could swallow his own vomit. He eased an arm around her narrow shoulders and helped her upright.

Her retching stopped and he grinned at having done a good job. “It’s okay, Miss Penelope,” he whispered.

He glanced up to see Chuck in the doorway. His brother looked kind of sick himself. “What are you doing?”

“She’s sick. I was helping.”

Bo shouldered Chuck out of the way. He stopped at the foot of the bed. Paul tightened his hold on the girl. She sagged in his arms and whimpered deep in her throat. He petted her soft blond hair.

“Chuck, you better get it through that dimwit’s head.” Bo’s eyes blazed animal fury. “If that mask comes off I’ll cut her throat and his.”

Chapter Four

“Yep, deader than a party at my in-laws’ house.” Sheriff Eldon Pitts used a thumb to cock back his cowboy hat. Staring down at Julius’s body he clucked his tongue. He twisted his lips and blew a long, confused-sounding breath.

Hunched against a wall, Frankie knew that with the sheriffs arrival she’d lost what little control she had over the situation. She chewed her lower lip. Both McKennon and her uncle had warned her to keep her mouth shut and to stay out of the way. Not that she had the faintest idea about what to do, anyway. She couldn’t see past being furious at Julius for getting Penny into this mess and terrified about what the kidnappers might do to the girl.

She studied the sheriff. About her height, he had a big face made bigger by a huge mustache that concealed his mouth. He appeared confused, and she wondered if he’d ever dealt with a kidnapping before. Or a murder for that matter. The county population was almost evenly divided between long-established ranchers and those who catered to tourists. Drunk drivers probably made up the bulk of local criminals.

“May I?” McKennon asked. At a nod from the sheriff, McKennon used one finger to lift the comforter high enough to see Julius’s body. “No sign of violence.” He then directed the sheriff’s attention to the wastebasket. “I think analysis will show those syringes contained a barbiturate. Miss Forrest claims her sister doesn’t drink alcohol, so Mr. Bannerman drank the scotch.”

“Booze and downers, a lethal combo.”

“But accidental. They expect him to pay the ransom.”

“Is he rich enough to pay three million?”

“His mother is.”

“Hmm, we have ourselves quite a situation.” The sheriff clucked his tongue again. “Might be a bad thing if those crooks find out they murdered this man.”

Brilliant deduction, Frankie thought sourly. She turned her gaze out the window. Her hope of mustering these men into organizing a search party was dying fast.

“What is your connection to all this, Mr. McKennon?”

“I’m employed by Maxwell Caulfield, Mr. Bannerman’s stepfather. I was assigned as Mr. Bannerman’s bodyguard.”

A twinge of sympathy tightened Frankie’s throat. McKennon couldn’t very well sleep in the cabin with the newlyweds, but Max and Belinda were going to blame him, anyway.

“You didn’t see anything? Hear anything?”

“I slept in the lodge last night.” He’d assumed his mob-enforcer impassivity, but Frankie suspected it cost him dearly to admit this failure.

“I better call the coroner then. State police, too.”

“No!” Frankie pushed away from the wall. “We can’t have cops crawling all over. The press will find out Julius is dead.”

The Colonel touched her arm. “The sheriff has assured me that he will do everything in his power to keep the press from learning of Mr. Bannerman’s demise. We will cooperate with the kidnappers and ensure Penny’s safe return.”

“Not good enough. We have to find Penny right now. We can’t take any chances.”

McKennon cleared his throat, loudly. Frankie pointedly ignored him, but like a gorilla in a house, he was impossible to ignore. Before she could react, he had her by the arm and hustled out of the cabin.

“You squeeze my arm again and I’ll punch you in the nose.”

Shoulders hunched, he tucked his hands beneath his armpits. The wind ripped past them. A tree limb cracked, making Frankie jump. She fumbled with the zipper on her parka.

“You have got to calm down,” McKennon said. “I know you’re scared, but spouting off doesn’t improve the situation.”

“If it was your sister, I’d like to see how calm you’d be.” She narrowed her eyes against the wind slicing her face. Be warm, Penny, she prayed. Be safe.

“We will get Penny back, safe and sound. I promise.”

She didn’t want to trust him; he worked for the man who had ruined her life. He touched her chin with a finger. His warmth startled her.

“I promise.”

His jungle-cat eyes snared her, entrapped her and stilled the breath in her lungs. She tried hard to remember that he worked for Max, he was loyal to Max, and he’d do whatever Max told him to do. Instead, she thought of the way he’d kissed her. He’d meant it as a joke, and so had she, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Like that kiss, his promise seemed real.

Footsteps crunched gravel. Deputy Mike Downes approached the Honeymoon Hideaway. Pressing a fist to her aching chest, Frankie studied the other cabins. She wondered if the occupants noticed the commotion.

Frankie and McKennon followed the deputy into the cabin. The deputy’s parka was mud splattered, and his shoes and lower trouser legs were damp and muddy. Clots of snow fell to the floor and melted into dirty little puddles. He stopped on a rug near the door. Frankie had met the deputy before. As a friend of the family he’d attended weddings of the Duke siblings. She liked his combination of shy boyishness and sharp intelligence.

“They came through the woods, sir,” Downes told the sheriff. “Three of them. Looks to be two men and either a boy or a woman. Three tracks lead away. One looked to be carrying Mrs. Bannerman.”

There had been no moon last night, which meant the kidnappers had trekked blindly through the forest. Imagining such determination gave her chills. “You can tell all that from their tracks?”

He flashed a shy smile Frankie’s way. “I do a lot of hunting, ma’am. They parked about a hundred yards from here on the trail above the lodge. The tracks lead straight to and from. They knew where they were going.”

“Tire tracks?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, sir. I radioed in for another deputy to guard the scene until the crime techs can get here. If we can set up lights out there we can get photographs. But we best move fast. It’s fixing to snow. I can smell it coming.”

The sheriff looked at the mud oozing off the deputy’s shoes. “All right, everybody out. This scene is past contaminated. Mike, you wait here until the state boys arrive. Nobody else comes in.”

“Wait a minute!” Frankie cried. “He knows how to track. We’ll track the kidnappers. We can find Penny.”

She may as well have been shouting at the wind. The Colonel grasped one arm and McKennon took the other. They bullied her out of the cabin.

“LET ME GUESS,” McKennon said. “The first words out of your mouth were, ‘I hate Julius Bannerman.’” Arms folded, he rested a shoulder against the doorjamb leading to Elise Duke’s office.

Frankie turned an unhappy glare on McKennon’s knowing expression. Of course she’d told the police how much she hated Julius, but McKennon needn’t be so smug about the inevitable results. The state police investigator who’d questioned her about the kidnapping had been solicitous, to a point. He even apologized for requesting she submit fingerprints, shoe print samples and a handwriting exemplar. When Frankie, however, launched into a diatribe about how opposed she’d been to the wedding and how Julius Bannerman had been the lowest scumball to ever prowl the earth, he’d turned hostile. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out her big mouth placed her in the top ten on the suspect list.

Her insistence that the police launch a massive manhunt had gone largely ignored. The only thing her arguments accomplished was getting her banished to Elise’s office. There she sat, alone, frustrated, scared and helpless.

McKennon picked up a carafe from Elise’s desk, filled a mug and offered her the steaming coffee. She accepted with an ungracious grunt. “What time is it?”

“A few minutes after two.”

“What are the cops doing now? Does anyone have any idea where Penny is?”

She settled on a love seat carefully, well aware she’d been wearing the same clothes for days. She felt dirty, exhausted and very much out of place in Elise Duke’s feminine office. Despite it being the dead of winter, fresh flowers were arranged in vases. Elise could find fresh flowers in Antarctica if she had to. The delicate furniture, shining under coats of wax, made Frankie feel even more lost and out of place.

She blew on the steaming brew, forming concentric circles on the surface. “Did the cops call in the FBI?”

McKennon’s pained exhalation told her all she needed to know. This kidnapping was going from awful to ludicrously horrible at warp speed.

“They’ll get her back.”

“How are they keeping this from the media? Elk River looks like it’s hosting a cop convention. What if the kidnappers are watching? What then?”

“I assure you they were bluffing. No way would they hang around.” He poured coffee for himself. “Did the cops ask to search your car?”

“I gave permission.” Seething, she sipped the coffee. “But I told them no way about searching my apartment. Can you believe it? They want to waste time digging around in my stuff. If they want to look that bad they can get a warrant.” The coffee made her belly rumble. Hunger flared, annoying her. “What about you?”

“I gave them permission to search everything.”

She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Are you nuts?”

“You should let them search your place, too.”

“It’s a waste of time and manpower.”

“It’s an inside job, Frankie. The cops know it.”

She almost spilled the coffee. She clutched the cup with both hands. Traces of fingerprint ink smudged the ceramic surface. “What are you talking about?”

He sat beside her and placed a hand on her arm. Bemused, she stared at his hand. An overwhelming need for comforting disturbed her. She’d always been strong and able to cope with any situation. That circumstances had forced her into helplessness alternately frightened and angered her.

She meant to jerk her arm away from his hand. She would stop staring at his long, muscular fingers, as well, and stop studying the way raised veins traced patterns under the skin. She meant to—every intention was there—but she couldn’t rouse the energy to do anything except gaze unhappily at his hand upon her arm.

“For one thing, the kidnappers knew exactly where to go. The tracks led directly to the cabin.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, a limited number of people were aware that the wedding and honeymoon were taking place at the resort.”

A creepy sensation slithered through her body. Anonymous thugs were one thing. Like being struck by lightning, crime by strangers was scary, but impersonal. Being attacked by a friend, though, gnawed holes in the very idea of personal safety. “How limited?”

His brow knit. “The Dukes and the Caulfields, of course. Whoever arranged the reservation for the chapel and honeymoon cabin. Two of Penny’s friends attended the wedding and dinner along with one of Julius’s. They returned yesterday to the Springs. I have no idea who Penny or Julius might have told about the wedding, but since so few were invited I imagine they kept it quiet. All in all, I suspect the number of people who knew about the wedding is small, and the number who knew the details is even smaller. Those are our suspects.”

The man who left the message on Frankie’s answering machine knew. She sat straighter. Her heart thudded heavily.

“What is it?” he asked.

She set down the coffee mug and shifted on the seat to face him. “Who tipped me off about the wedding?”

“What?”

“Some man left a message on my machine. Why did he call?”

McKennon shook his head. “I’m not certain what you’re talking about.”

Fist pressed to her mouth, she concentrated on remembering the exact words the caller had used. “I got back from the grocery store, and there was a message on my answering machine. A man said Penny and Julius were getting married here, and I had to stop it. I called Penny’s dorm, and that’s when I found out she’d dropped out of college. So I got up here as fast as I could.” She stared fiercely into his eyes. “Was it you?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation. “You didn’t recognize the voice?”

“Uh-uh.” Fear crawled through her bones. Somebody knew her well enough to know she would drop everything and race to Elk River. If that somebody was the kidnapper then he was no friend of hers. “But you’re here. There must have been some kind of threat.”

He grunted irritably and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands laced loosely. Frankie rubbed idly at the spot where he’d been touching her.

“Well?”

He snapped his head up and she caught the tightening of his jaw and the heat in his eyes. His show of emotion comforted her. It proved he cared.

“Mrs. Caulfield needed a spy. She tried to buy off Julius and it didn’t work. She couldn’t scare Penny, either. My job was to discover something Mrs. Caulfield could use against Penny.”

“That’s disgusting.”

He lowered his face. “Mrs. Caulfield could have had one of her staff call you. Maybe she thought you’d succeed where she failed.”

The idea of Belinda stooping so low as to need Frankie’s help seemed absurd. “She’s that desperate?”

“Penny’s a serious threat. I overheard several arguments where Julius took Penny’s side rather than his mother’s. From Mrs. Caulfield’s reaction I’d say that was a first. Julius moved out about a month ago. Again, judging by how hard she took it, that was a first, too.”

“Could...?” Frankie paused, loath to speak aloud her deepest fear. She swallowed hard. “Could Belinda be behind this?” Her courage failed her. She couldn’t bear thinking the kidnapping might be a cover for making Penny permanently disappear.

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