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“I got a call from the stalker today.”

A sharp intake of breath as Mac leaned forward was his only reaction. Pretending his nearness didn’t affect her, she relayed the conversation.

“Are you sure that was wise? What if this person has grown more unstable? What if she’s dangerous? You know she said you would pay.”

“I’ve always known this person is unstable.”

Agitated, as much by how badly she wanted to touch him as she was by the situation, she jumped from her chair and began to pace.

“Why do you think she’d be breaking in to my house and calling me?”

A muscle worked in Mac’s jaw. “You do realize you are putting yourself in danger?”

Swallowing hard, she boldly met his gaze. “It’s time to end this, once and for all. I’m counting on you to keep me safe.”

Dear Reader,

Losing someone is difficult and painful. I can’t imagine losing my spouse and then almost immediately after, my child. But that’s what Mac Riordan goes through when his wife is killed in a car accident and their newborn baby is stolen from the hospital. He will stop at nothing to find his son and get him back.

Loving someone means wanting what’s best for them. And when Mac finds the child he believes is his with a woman who clearly loves him, how can he rip the boy away from the only mother he’s ever known? Add a pinch of danger from someone else who believes the child is hers and you have an emotional story fraught with danger.

Writing this story was a lot of fun. I adored exploring the various emotions of Mac and Emily as they dance around each other, learning to trust, daring to dream, hoping to love. And when danger threatens all they hold dear, watching as they joined ranks to protect the little boy they both love was thrilling and inspiring.

I hope you enjoy reading The Cop’s Missing Child as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Sincerely,

Karen Whiddon

About the Author

KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty that surrounded her. Karen now lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing. You can e-mail Karen at KWhiddon1@aol.com or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182. Fans of her writing can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.

The Cop’s
Missing Child

Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my family, because they are above all the most important part of my life.

Chapter 1

The bright sun felt warm on his skin. If he’d been here for no reason other than a desire to enjoy the weather, Mac Riordan would have stopped and turned his face up to let the bright rays try to heat blood that these days always seemed chilled. Instead, he glanced around while keeping his quarry in sight, taking in the lush greenness of the park crowded with citizens enjoying the early spring air.

He couldn’t believe the hunter’s rush he felt at this planned-for encounter. Finally, after all this time, he’d meet the woman who had, inadvertently or not, stolen everything he had left to live for.

He’d planned this carefully, just happened to take a stroll along the tree-lined, paved walking path when the very woman he’d come to town to find strode past him on her daily walk—Emily Gilley. He’d been watching her for a week, after all, and figured an accidental meeting in the park would be a great way to meet her.

True, if he wanted this to appear unintentional, keeping up with her confident pace without looking as though he was stalking her might prove difficult, though not impossible.

He doubted she’d find him suspicious. From what he’d heard about the east Texas town of Anniversary, everyone was friendly and trusting and looked out for each other. If this was true, then Emily Gilley would have no reason to worry about a friendly stranger.

He allowed himself the slightest of grim smiles. If only she knew.

So far, he’d been careful. After all, he’d only been in town for three weeks. It was just long enough to establish his brand-new trucking business and to put out a few feelers about her, the woman he’d spent several years trying to locate: Emily Gilley, twenty-nine-year-old widow of one of the most notorious drug dealers on the Eastern Seaboard. She’d changed her name, taking back her mother’s maiden name Gilley, and altered both the cut and the color of her hair, all to help her disappear. But for someone with the far-flung resources to which he had access, finding her had been a matter of time and a tenacious effort. He was fortunate to still have a lot of the tools from his law enforcement days at his disposal.

Her long, blond locks were now dark, short and spiky. Instead of designer fashions, she wore clothing that looked off the rack at a big bin department store. She’d gone from a glamorous life in Manhattan to this: a tiny lakefront community ninety miles east of Dallas.

As he hurried around a bend at the end of the trail, trying not to appear in too much of a rush, he nearly ran into her. She’d stopped at the weathered wooden bench that marked the entrance to the paved parking lot of Sue’s Catfish Hut, which was crowded with lunchtime patrons.

She was stopped and turned to face him, apparently willing to wait for him to catch up.

This was going even better than he’d hoped, he thought with some satisfaction. And then he got a look at her annoyed expression.

Hands on her hips, she glared at him, her brown eyes full of anger mixed with only the barest hint of fear. “What do you want? Stop following me! If you’re trying to creep me out, you’re succeeding admirably.”

He dipped his chin, sending her an abashed smile he hoped she’d find reassuring. “My apologies. I had no idea this was a private trail.”

Instead of growing flustered, she shook her head, sending her shaggy spiked hair rippling. “It’s not. But I walk here every day on my lunch break, and I know almost everyone in town. Every time I look up, you’re right behind me. You never pass me or fall back. And while this is the first time I’ve seen you here, you have to understand how such behavior can make a woman feel threatened.”

“Threatened? Interesting choice of words.” He crossed his arms. “I’m new here, and I mean you no harm. I wasn’t aware being a newcomer and taking a walk were crimes.”

Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, apparently not buying his too-easy, confident patter. In his experience, overly suspicious or outright paranoid people usually had something to hide. But then again, she had a point. He was a stranger who was following her, and her former husband had been a drug dealer. No doubt, looking over her shoulder had been deeply ingrained in her psyche. She’d be foolish not to worry. And one thing he’d learned about Emily Gilley, formerly Cavell, was that she was anything but stupid.

Finally, she took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

“Look,” she said, her tone reasonable this time rather than furious, “you’ve been following me way too closely. What matters is that you’ve made me very uncomfortable.” Swallowing hard, she studied him, her caramel gaze unflinching. “And even though this is a small town, one can’t be too careful.”

It was especially true for a woman like her, with so many secrets to hide.

He nodded, feigning chagrin. “Again, I apologize. If I’d known I was frightening you, I would have dropped back or—” he grimaced ruefully “—I would have tried to pass you.”

Rather than accept his apology, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You said you’re new in town, right?”

“Yes.” Relieved and slightly surprised that getting to know her was going to be this simple, he gave her a practiced, easy smile, holding out his hand. “Mac Riordan.”

Instead of a handshake, she simply continued to stare him down. Only when he’d dropped his hand and frowned did she speak again in a cool, measured tone. “Welcome to Anniversary, Mac Riordan. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but in the future, please leave me alone.

Tamping down shock, he feigned confusion instead. “Ma’am, I—”

Backing up slightly, she tilted her head and peered up at him. “Let me ask you something. Are you the one who mailed me the note? It was postmarked Dallas. Is that where you’re from?”

“Note?” He eyed her warily. Had someone tipped her off about his arrival? “What note? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t send me an anonymous note? Cut out letters on white paper?”

Was this a joke? Then, as he realized what she’d said, his former cop instincts made him ask, “Is someone sending you threatening notes?”

Again he got the sharp, brown-glass stare, as if she thought if she tried hard enough she could read his mind. Since he’d been looked at all kinds of ways by all sorts of people in his previous life in law enforcement, he let her. Silence was often the best interrogation method of all.

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you from Dallas?”

“No,” he fired back. “Albany, New York. Now tell me about this note.”

“That’s none of your business,” she said calmly, her spine so rigid he thought it might snap. Then, apparently considering he might in fact be harmless, she swallowed, still eyeing him warily.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’ve got to go.” She mouthed the words, sounding anything but. Without another word, she marched off, her spiky dark hair ruffling in the breeze.

Watching her slender, lithe body as she went, he couldn’t help but respect that she knew enough to be wary. Because if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done exactly the same. People on the run from former lives couldn’t afford to befriend curious strangers.

This was exactly the reason he had to make sure he gained her trust—no matter what it took.

Even as she hurried away, Emily Gilley felt the tall, dark-haired stranger’s gaze boring into her back. She felt flushed and hot, though not entirely from her brisk walk. Instead, she worried about the man with the striking cobalt eyes. At first glance, the tinge of gray in his hair had made him look older by at least a decade. But up close, his rugged face appeared to be only a few years older than she. Mid-thirties, perhaps, a handsome, muscular man who moved with easy grace. Any other woman would have been intrigued by his blatant masculinity, his self-confident virility.

Not she … she knew better. Sex on the hoof didn’t last past the morning, and men like him were nothing but trouble. After all, she’d been married to one once.

This man singled her out. Why? She couldn’t help but wonder if this attempt to appear older was deliberate, an effort to camouflage who he really was—or what he was.

He was a threat. She couldn’t believe his sudden appearance the same day after getting her first threat since moving here was a mere coincidence. How could it be?

The unsigned note that had appeared in her mailbox that morning had been similar to the ones she used to get back in New York. Letters cut and pasted from a magazine, the three sentences read exactly like the ones she’d received before. Her stalker—and Ryan’s, for the note always mentioned her five-year-old son by name—had somehow found her here, in an innocuous small Texas town.

This meant it was time to move on.

She considered, suddenly exhausted by it all, she could run again. Or she could stay—and fight.

Because quite frankly, she liked living here in Anniversary, Texas. She’d made friends, and while her receptionist job at Tearmann’s Animal Clinic wasn’t glamorous, she loved the sheer ordinariness of it. All in all, she’d made a cozy home for herself and her son here.

Damned if she would give that up without a battle. She’d paid enough for crimes she hadn’t even committed. Never mind that she’d been completely clueless about her husband’s nefarious activities. A lot of people thought she should still be held equally responsible, especially now that Carlos was dead.

Without any idea why, she’d always assumed the threatening notes had come from one of Carlos’s mistresses. She knew of two, and there’d probably been more. Any one of them could have viewed his death as a breach of promise and his wife as the rival who got everything—especially since Emily had always suspected one of those women had been the one to birth her son and give him up for adoption, no doubt at Carlos’s urging. She could only hope he hadn’t forced the issue, which would mean there was another woman out there mourning the loss of her son.

Even though Emily could definitely sympathize if that was the case, she was Ryan’s mother now, and she’d made a good home for him here. The only thing she wanted to do was pretend her former life had never happened. All she’d brought with her from that life was her son. He was all that mattered.

Hurrying from the walking trail and across the parking lot to Sue’s Catfish Hut, she refused to look over her shoulder at the man. She sensed him still standing where she’d left him, watching her. She could feel his gaze burning into her back.

“Afternoon, Letty.” Lifting her hand in a friendly wave to the elderly cashier, Emily slid inside the empty booth. She spent quite a few of her sixty-minute lunches exactly the same way—a brisk walk around the park and then a bite to eat at Sue’s with her friend Jayne Cooper.

“Hey, lady.” Jayne plopped into the seat opposite her. Jayne’s normally frizzy blond hair had been tied back in a ponytail. She worked in the police station down the street, one of three dispatchers. “Who was that man you were talking to in the park? He looks like that new guy who moved here from up north somewhere. I can’t remember his name.”

Surprised, Emily tensed and then forced herself to relax. Good grief, she was tired of being suspicious of everything and everyone. She’d honestly believed she’d gotten over that, until the stalker’s note timed with the appearance of the strange man had brought all her old fears back to life.

“He said his name is Mac Riordan. He said he’s new in town.”

“That’s right, he is.” Snapping her fingers, Jayne nodded. “Everyone in the sheriff’s office has been talking about him. Apparently, he and Renee Beauchamp go way back. He moved here a couple of weeks ago and opened a trucking company. He bought the Stamflin place out on FM 3356.”

Emily simply nodded. “So he’s legit then?”

Now Jayne studied her closely. “As opposed to what? Some crazed serial killer? You are the biggest worry-wart I know.”

Somehow, Emily managed to effect a careless shrug. “That comes from living in Manhattan. You can’t be too careful there.”

As Jayne was about to speak—no doubt to launch into her favorite topic, the bliss of bucolic existence in Anniversary—their friend Tina appeared with two tall glasses of iced tea. “Here you go, ladies. Are you both having the usual today?”

“Yes,” Emily and Jayne answered in unison.

“Good.” Grinning widely, Tina winked. “I already put in the order ticket. Lord, help me if you ever decide to walk on the wild side and try something else.”

Just then, the front door opened, and the noisy dining room went abruptly quiet for a moment before the noise level resumed. Emily’s heart sank. Mac Riordan’s large frame filled the doorway and he scanned the room.

When his gaze connected with hers, Emily tensed, resisting the urge to duck under the table. Just because the man decided to have his lunch at the same place didn’t make him her stalker. Right?

“Oooh, my,” Jayne breathed. “Emily, honey, why didn’t you mention that he is absolutely gorgeous?”

“You saw him in the park.”

“From a distance, Em. Only from a distance.”

“Emily? You know him?” Tina asked sharply.

When Emily shook her head, Tina narrowed her heavily made-up eyes. “You’re blushing,” she pointed out. “Why is that?”

Blushing? It was true that her face felt warm, but Emily never blushed. “I just met him a few minutes ago in the park, that’s all,” she said, aware she sounded as if she was trying too hard to be casual.

“Uh-huh.” Clearly believing there was more to the story, Tina nodded. “I’m calling an immediate lady’s night this Friday. Mexican food and margaritas. I can’t wait to hear all about this.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Emily began. “I …” The words caught in her throat as Mac began slowly making his way toward her booth, drawing the gaze of every busybody in the restaurant—in other words, just about everyone.

Jayne and Tina grew wide-eyed as he approached them. Idly, Emily wondered why it seemed every woman in the restaurant appeared to be drooling, then pushed the thought away.

Her skin prickled as he dipped his chin at Tina, then Jayne, before facing Emily. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind,” he said in a quiet yet authorative voice.

“I’m about to eat lunch,” Emily told him firmly, refusing to look at either of her friends, though she could feel them staring in astonishment.

“Fair enough. How about after?”

Most of the other patrons in the restaurant made no attempt to hide their avid eavesdropping. Slightly desperate, Emily hesitated. She hated to think that this one chance encounter could undermine all of her attempts to fit in this town.

“Fine,” she finally said, just to make him go away. “Now please, let me eat my lunch in peace.”

For an answer, he dipped his chin again, then moved away to take a seat at the bar. She couldn’t help but notice he’d chosen his stool with care, claiming the one closest to the front door so he could stop her if she tried to make an escape.

“Well, well, well,” Tina said. “I think there’s a lot more to tell us about than a chance meeting in the park.”

The kitchen chose that moment to ring the bell, signaling Tina that she had an order up. Relieved, Emily watched her go, aware she’d been temporarily spared from answering. Not that there was anything to tell, though she knew her friends would never believe that.

As Tina left to fetch their lunch, Jayne regarded Emily curiously. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look a bit pale.”

Keeping her hands under the table so her friend wouldn’t see her wringing them, Emily frowned. “I don’t understand why he wants to talk to me. I’ve already said everything I need to say when I ran into him in the park.”

“Which was?” Jayne prompted.

“Basically, to leave me alone.”

“Wow. Way to win friends and make enemies.”

“Oh, come on.” Irritated, Emily eyed Tina making her way toward them with their lunch. “You would have done the same if you’d been walking alone and some man started following you.”

Jayne shook her head, dislodging pieces of her ponytail. “Sweetie, he’s drop-dead, to-die-for hot. What’s wrong with you?”

“And he followed me relentlessly. Even in here. Tell me you don’t think that’s weird.”

This prompted Jayne to snort inelegantly. “That kind of weird is like a gift from heaven. I mean, look at him!”

Tina reached their table and set down their catfish in front of them. “Here you go, girls. Have you noticed every single woman in here is eyeing your Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?”

“He’s not mine.” Picking up her fork, Emily stabbed a corn bread hush puppy with her fork, popping it into her mouth to discourage further questions. As she chewed, she studiously avoided looking in the direction of the lunch bar.

Jayne and Tina had no such compunction.

“Well, if you don’t want him, mind if I have a try?” Tina finally drawled, her east Texas twang as thick as syrup.

“Go right ahead,” Emily answered once she’d finished chewing. “Just be careful he doesn’t murder you in your sleep.”

“Emily!” both women chided.

“You’ve got to get over that paranoia.” Shaking her head, then her hips, Tina sashayed away. Emily picked at her food, her appetite gone.

“You really are upset about this, aren’t you?” Jayne asked, taking another bite of the crisp golden fish.

“I’ll be fine.” Her automatic answer, made even now to a woman she counted among her friends, meant she wasn’t. But her self-protective instincts, awakened after the craziness that had followed her husband’s death, refused to stay dormant for long. Experience had taught her nothing was ever as it seemed.

“Are you going to talk to him after we eat?”

Emily took a long drink of her iced tea. “I guess so. Hopefully, I can convince him to leave me alone.”

“Maybe he just wants to ask you out on a date.”

Emily’s forced laugh told her friend what she thought of that idea. “No. He doesn’t. Believe me.”

From her expression, Jayne clearly didn’t. “Do you want me to come with you when you talk to him?”

Surprised and grateful, Emily touched the back of Jayne’s hand. “No, but thank you for offering.”

The sympathy in Jayne’s eyes made Emily’s throat close up. Trying to regain her equilibrium, she stabbed a piece of fish and forced herself to chew it.

“Sometimes you remind me of Rocco,” Jayne said. “When we got him from the Boxer rescue, he was terrified of every move we made.”

At her friend’s analogy, Emily had to smile. “You’re comparing me to your dog?”

“Believe me when I say that’s the highest compliment I could pay you. It took Rocco six months to begin to trust me. I’ve known you four and a half years, and I still wonder if you’ll ever stop being shocked at the kindness of others,” Jayne mused. “I know you don’t like to talk about your past, but you seem to be wound a bit too tight. If you ever need someone to lend an ear …”

This line of conversation, while hardly new, had the potential to go on for hours. Over time, she’d told both her best friends about her past, at least the part before Carlos. Unlike Ryan, she hadn’t been fortunate enough to be adopted. Due to poor health and a variety of childhood diseases, she hadn’t even been shuttled from foster home to foster home. Instead, she’d spent her childhood in an orphanage, venturing out into the world alone as soon as she turned eighteen. She’d met Carlos shortly after that, and the whirlwind courtship and marriage had seemed exactly what she’d needed.

Ah, the naivete of youth. Emily checked her watch. She had ten minutes left before she had to return to work.

Tapping her watch face and shaking her head at her friend, she ate a couple more bites of her fish before blotting her mouth with her napkin.

“I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late,” she said, tossing her payment on the table.

“What about him?” Still eating, Jayne jerked her head in Mac Riordan’s direction. “You told him you’d talk to him. And since you can’t get out the door without going past him …”

Though she already knew the time, Emily made a big show of checking her watch once more. “I hope he can make this quick and painless.”

Still, despite her misgivings, her mouth went dry the closer she got to him. Mac stood as she approached, placing his money on the counter and falling into step with her as they headed out the door. Though her heartbeat immediately started racing, she kept her face expressionless and waited until they’d emerged into the bright spring sunshine before speaking.

“All right,” she told him. “I work down the street, and I have five minutes left on my lunch break. What do you want?”

Instead of answering, he took her arm. Immediately, she tensed, causing him to drop his hand. He shot her a look but didn’t comment on her defensive body language.

“Let’s walk and talk,” he said.

Without responding, she set off at a brisk pace for the vet clinic. She hated the way she felt hyperaware of him, hated the way a single glance at him made her insides go all weak and warm.

When they’d covered half the distance without him telling her what he wanted, she finally stopped and turned to face him. “Why do you need to talk to me?” Though she spoke in a soft voice, she made sure a thread of steel ran through it. “I don’t know you, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You mentioned a threatening letter,” he began.

“I never said it was threatening.” Despite the alarm bells clanging inside her head, she still felt an insistent tug of attraction.

“Cut out letters? Come on. Why else would you ask if I mailed it to you?” he said in a reasonable tone. “I’m new in town, and we’ve never met before today, so that’s the only way your question makes sense.”

Put that way, he sort of had a point. But his supposed concern didn’t excuse his odd behavior. At one time, she would have allowed herself to feel flattered. Now she could only feel threatened. “Look, you’ve been following me. First on the walking path, then you came into the restaurant and made a public scene.”

Now he tilted his head. “That was not a scene. I have nothing to hide. Do you?”

She shuddered, unable to conceal her reaction. “If that’s not creepy, stalkerish behavior, I don’t know what it is. So I’ll ask you one more time, what do you want?”

“To help you.”

“Of course you do.” Unable to rein in her sarcastic response, she crossed her arms. “Out of the goodness of your heart, right? You don’t even know me. And I sure as hell don’t know you.”

“Cop instincts, I guess. I used to be a detective in the Albany Police Department. Your sheriff’s department can vouch for me.”

Wearily, she nodded. Jayne had said something of the sort. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“I’d like to offer my services,” he said, his gaze steady.

“No, thanks.” She shook her head.

“For a fee, if that will make you feel better. If you need protection, I can help.”

Dumbfounded despite herself, Emily looked away. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been this. The idea of having help of some kind—any kind—felt so seductive that she nearly swayed with relief.

But she didn’t … because she knew better. Despite his movie-star good looks and the tug of sexual attraction she felt when she looked at him, she couldn’t afford to trust him. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of letting her guard down. The sins of her husband’s past were too numerous.

“Look, I appreciate your offer.” Softening her voice, she tried to appear as if she meant it. “In reality, I had a couple of blind dates with a guy who liked me way more than I liked him. I’m pretty sure that’s all this is.”

Devilishly handsome, he studied her. With his hawklike features and his too-sharp blue eyes, everything about him spoke of inherent strength. Ah, but she knew better than most how appearances could be deceiving.

“Give me his name, and I’ll talk to him,” he said. “If it is him, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

She recoiled, unable to help herself. Her late husband had been such a man, promising to take care of her, keeping her shielded from the rest of the world. At first, she’d found this charming. It wasn’t until later that she’d realized she’d been slowly suffocating.

And when she’d found out her entire marriage, her entire life had all been nothing but a pack of lies, she’d known she shouldn’t have been surprised. But she was. And hurt and betrayed. She’d vowed she’d never be so blind again.

This was why, even though this man’s rugged profile made her want to melt inside, she wanted to play it safe and send him away—with a smile, if possible.

Because the last thing she needed was to make another enemy. God knows she had made enough of those already, thanks to Carlos.

Chapter 2

Careful not to flash a confident smile, Mac waited for Emily to accept his offer. Though he’d never been anyone’s bodyguard, he felt he’d do a superb job. Being a former cop had its advantages.

“No, thank you,” she said instead and then turned and hurried inside Tearmann’s Animal Clinic, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk. Scratching his head, he grimaced, wondering why he’d even thought this would be easy. Years of experience should have taught him that nothing ever was.

Turning, he headed back toward the parking lot where he’d left his pickup truck. The other day he’d been talking to his friend and former partner Joe, who still worked for the Albany P.D. Joe had speculated that someone like Emily Gilley was a chameleon. She could change everything about herself to suit the place and the occasion. Now that he’d met her, Mac thought Joe might be dead-on accurate about this.

He’d have to regroup and replan. His quarry was nervous and wary—and rightfully so. He’d been watching her from a distance ever since he’d arrived in Anniversary. Despite the time he’d put in learning about her and her routine, he’d yet to catch a glimpse of Ryan, the boy she passed off as her son.

This, he vowed silently, would become his number one priority.

Heart pounding and hands shaking, Emily walked over to the front desk, summoning a smile for Sally, the gum-chewing redhead who covered the reception area every day while Emily had lunch.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?” Sally asked, tilting her head and peering at Emily with concern.

“I’m fine,” Emily lied, managing a limp smile. “It’s kind of hot outside, and I think I got kind of dehydrated, that’s all.”

Immediately, the older woman’s frown cleared. “I’ll bring you a bottle of water from the back.” She hurried off, leaving a trail of strong perfume in her wake.

As soon as she was gone, Emily sank down in her chair. She fought against instinct—the urge to run away, to quit her job, drive home immediately, pack her and Ryan’s things and get the hell out of Texas. She wanted to run … again … away from anything she perceived as a threat … away from him.

She took a few deep breaths. Sally returned, bearing the promised water. As Emily opened her mouth to speak, the phone rang. Waving her thanks to Sally, Emily answered, keeping her voice steady and professionally polite.

After she completed that booking—a morning spay—some clients came in: the Jones family with their three pugs. After that, a steady stream of phone calls and customers kept her busy. Somehow the afternoon flew by without her once thinking about Mac Riordan and the danger of his beautiful, casual smile.

Finally, the last appointment left and Emily locked the front door. She rushed through her normal closing duties, straightening the waiting room magazines and making sure the front door glass was smudge free. If she hurried, she’d make it to Mim’s Day Care where her son attended the after school program half an hour before closing time, and she and Ryan could swing by the grocery store and pick up the boxes of macaroni and cheese she’d been promising to make him, along with his beloved hot dogs, for supper.

The next morning, Emily woke with a renewed sense of purpose. She refused to allow herself to be run out of town. She just had to figure out the best way to fight. Sure, Mac Riordan was handsome and a charmer, but Carlos had been the same. She knew how to deal with men like him, even if it meant pushing away the simmering attraction she felt for him.

Feeling strong, she went to wake Ryan.

She sat down on the edge of his rumpled bed and watched him sleep, her heart bursting with love. As usual, seconds after she touched his shoulder, her son opened his eyes wide and held out his arms from a hug. Her throat clogged and her eyes filled as she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in the shampoo scent in his clean hair.

“I love you, mama,” he murmured, his voice full of sleep and sounding younger than his five years.

She cleared her throat, smiling mistily. “I love you too, Ryan.”

As she poured him cereal, a good compromise between the sugary one he’d wanted and the totally healthy one she had chosen, she found herself taking comfort in the familiar routine. No matter what kind of day she had at work, sharing her mornings with Ryan and looking forward to the evening ahead kept her motivated to have a positive day.

After breakfast, she followed him to his room to check out his clothing choices. Once she’d approved those, which happened more and more often these days, she grabbed the car key, buckled her son in his car seat and left.

“Have a good day.” Leaning down to kiss her squirming son’s cheek, she breathed in the apple juice and soap scent of him and wished the knot in her chest would ease.

“I will.” Ryan shifted from one foot to the other, clearly eager to hurry inside his kindergarten classroom but equally loathe to abandon his mother.

“Go on, then.” She gave him a tiny push, smiling as he tore off without another glance at her.

Looking at her watch as she left the elementary school, she waved at Mrs. Parsons, the assistant principal who always took morning duty at the front door, before hurrying to her car. The small gray Honda had been old when she’d purchased it, but it was clean, dent-free and it ran well, which was all she cared about. Every day she had to get Ryan to school and then pick him up from day care after. That, combined with her job and weekly trips to the grocery store, didn’t seem to be more than the little car could handle.

Now though, she had one more errand she wanted to run before she had to be at work. Emily planned to pay a visit to the sheriff’s office. One thing she’d learned being married to Carlos had been that the squeaky wheel got the grease. If she didn’t push, she knew they’d ignore her worries over the anonymous letter. They had no idea of her life story and the reason she took such things seriously, and if she had her way, they never would. That said, she had no intention of ending up one of those horrific stories you see on the evening news.

She’d make sure the Anniversary Police Department viewed her threatening letter as … well, as threatening as she did.

Already in her office, Renee Beauchamp looked up as Emily approached. Though her brown eyes appeared bright, the faint dark circles under told a different story.

“Good morning,” Emily said firmly, stepping into the sheriff’s office uninvited and taking a seat in one of the two chrome-and-cloth chairs facing the desk. “I’d like a moment of your time.”

Renee nodded, her expression showing nothing but professional interest. “What can I do for you, Ms.

Gilley?”

“I’m here to find out what you’ve learned about the letter.” Another trick Emily had learned was to state things as though they were fact, rather than ask questions. This conveyed both a sense of confidence and of purpose.

“Nothing, actually.” Renee steepled her fingers on the desk in front of her. “We’ve had very little to go on, and since there was no specific threat—”

“Oh, but there was,” Emily interrupted firmly. Pulling her copy from her purse, she read the relevant line. “I know what you’ve done. You’ve stolen what is mine and you’ll pay for what you did. Tell the truth, or risk everything.”

Nodding, Renee leaned forward. “While I appreciate and understand your concern, the letter is too vague. If, for example, it read ‘I’m going to plant a bomb in your garage’ or something, we’d have cause to act. But the wording ‘you’ll pay’ conveys nothing.”

Biting back an instinctive response, Emily swallowed back her anger. Just because the sheriff spoke factually didn’t mean she didn’t have a private, visceral reaction. As a woman, she must. Emily knew she had to appeal to this if she wanted help.

“Do you have children, Renee?” Emily asked softly.

A quick shadow appeared in Renee’s eyes, then vanished. “No, I don’t.”

She held up her hand as Emily opened her mouth to speak. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get where you’re coming from.”

“Then how can you tell me it’s not a threat?”

“Because the letter did not directly threaten you or your son,” Renee said gently. “And if you read it again, you’ll see there is absolutely no specific threat in there—at all.”

Incredulous, Emily had to force herself to close her mouth. “You honestly don’t believe ‘you’ll pay for taking him’ puts me—or him—in any danger?”

“Ms. Gilley—”

Bulldozing through whatever platitude the other woman was about to offer, Emily stood. “Ryan is adopted, Renee. I know you had no way of knowing that, but I can’t help feel this letter is somehow related to that.”

A tiny frown appeared between the sheriff’s perfectly arched eyebrows. She sat up straighter, giving Emily a piercing look. “All right. I’ll check it out. I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course.” Emily watched while Renee grabbed a pen and pad.

“Did you go through a service, or was the adoption privately arranged?”

“It was private.” Emily managed to sound confident. “My former husband—I’m a widow—handled everything. But I located all the records he gave me back then and would be glad to provide you with copies.”

“I’d like that.” The sheriff stood, holding out her hand. “Just bring them by at your earliest convenience.”

Standing also, Emily shook hands. It was almost time for her to head to work. “Thank you. I will.”

“Have a good day.”

“Oh, I have one last question.” Turning in the doorway, Emily tried for both a casual expression and carefree voice. “What do you know about Mac Riordan?”

To her surprise, Renee laughed. “He’s an okay sort of guy. He’s new in town, and I don’t know him that well, though my friend Joe speaks highly of him. Mac used to be a cop, up in Albany, which is where Joe works. I heard Mac kind of spooked you a bit.”

“He did, a little.” With a cheery wave and a manufactured smile, Emily let herself out, sighing. The damn letter had succeeded in erasing nearly four and a half years of security, all at once. Mac Riordan’s appearance had made things even worse. After all, Albany was only several hours north of Manhattan.

She didn’t just have her own security to worry about. She had to keep her son safe. Clearly she had a decision to make—and quickly.

Once at work, Emily pushed the letter from her mind … and Mac Riordan, as well. Though as her lunch hour approached and she prepared to head out for her daily walk, she couldn’t help but think of him. Surely he’d taken the hint and wouldn’t show up in the park today.

If he did, she’d have to accept that he was stalking her. And then she’d have to quit her job, pick up Ryan and go home and pack, running away in the middle of the night without a single goodbye to anyone.

Heart pounding and feeling queasy at the thought, she shook her head. Maybe if she tried to think logically, it was possible the man simply liked her. She’d felt a sort of electrical connection, despite having all her barriers up. From the way he’d looked at her, blue eyes dark and full of promise, he’d felt it, too. Exhaling, she laced up her sneakers and nevertheless prayed he wouldn’t be there.

He wasn’t. The pressure in her chest and the sick feeling in her stomach eased a little as she enjoyed a quiet, uninterrupted walk. The sun shone brightly; a few white, fluffy clouds dotted the sky like sheep; and birds sang, dogs barked, and people all around her enjoyed the bright spring day.

After, perspiring slightly and feeling pretty good, she stepped into Sue’s Catfish Hut and greeted her friends. As she took her usual seat, she couldn’t help but do a quick scan of the restaurant for a sight of those broad shoulders and dark gray hair.

Again, Mac Riordan was conspicuously absent. For the first time all day, she allowed herself to relax, even though a tiny part of her felt disappointed at his absence. She enjoyed her meal, chatting with Jayne and Tina and sipping iced tea.

She went back to work with a light step, allowing herself to believe everything just might turn out to be all right. By the end of the workday, she felt almost normal.

After helping close up the veterinary clinic, she hopped in her car and headed over to the day care.

As soon as she arrived, Ryan flung himself at her, holding on to her legs with a fierce grip.

“Finally,” he groused. “It took you forever to pick me up. I’m all played out.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words. The after school programs at Mims’s Day Care tended to lean toward organized games, most of them physical. The tall trees made the heavily shaded playground the perfect place for youngsters to run off pent-up aggressions or simply play.

“Well, now you get to rest,” she said. “Grab your stuff and we’ll go.”

He did as she asked, snatching up his camo backpack and waving goodbye to his friends.

Once she’d buckled him into his booster seat, she climbed in the front and started the engine.

“How’s a tuna casserole sound for dinner?” This should be a sure hit since he always loved the one she made, using the leftover mac and cheese from last night and adding a can of peas and a can of tuna.

“No. I want a Good Times meal.” Looking mutinous, little Ryan crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “With fries. No tuna.”

Tired as she might be, still Emily managed to summon a smile for her son. “Rough day at school?” she asked, leaning over the backseat and ruffling his hair.

“Yep. And at Mim’s, too. I’m tired of playing.”

This was a new one. “Tired of playing? You? Why?”

“Because they always make me be the bad guy.”

Emily blinked. “Really? Why?”

He looked away, his lower lip quivering. “I dunno. Mommy, can we please get a Good Times meal?”

Though she’d planned on making the casserole and eating it for a couple of days, she relented. “Sure, I guess I’ll just get a salad or something.”

Apparently everyone’s children wanted Good Times meals. The drive-thru line had six cars already waiting. Emily debated going inside, but judging from the crowded interior, she’d be better off waiting in her car—especially since Ryan kept fidgeting, whining and protesting he was too big for a booster seat, even though the law stated he had to weigh a hundred pounds before graduated to just being buckled into the seat belt.

“You’ve still got some growing to do,” she informed him.

“I haven’t been weighed lately,” he said huffily. “Now I’m a big boy. I bet I weigh a hundred and five now.”

Considering him solemnly, she somehow kept from smiling. “Okay,” she finally said. “When we get home, we’ll check.”

He pumped his little fist up in the air. “And next time I go in the car, I can buckle up like a big person?”

“If you weigh over one hundred.” Which she knew he didn’t.

“And I can ride in the front with you?”

“We’ll see.” Finally, they reached the window. Placing her order, she glanced back at her son, who’d finally fallen quiet. He was staring at something in the parking lot. As she followed his gaze, she recoiled. Mac Riordan stood next to a large white pickup truck, talking to another man. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t seen her.

Struggling to hide her fear, she handed the money to the window cashier, accepted her order and put the car in Drive. Heart pounding, she pulled away, using only her rearview mirror to make sure she hadn’t been spotted.

All the way home, jumpy and unsettled, she kept checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and they pulled into the driveway slowly.

Not for the first time, Emily wished she could afford an automatic garage door opener. How much simpler and safer it would be to just hit a button, pull into the concealed garage and close the door behind you, all before even getting out of the car.

If she stayed in Anniversary, she’d have to put money aside to buy one.

Parking, she gave the rearview mirror one final check before unlocking the doors. The smell of fast-food made her stomach growl, and she was glad she’d opted for a grilled chicken sandwich instead of a salad. She needed something a bit more substantial today, especially since she knew she wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

Making decisions had never been her strong suit. She literally had to force herself to act at times—especially if she didn’t have a clear picture of potential repercussions.

She wished she could be one of those kinds of people who could go with their gut, trusting their instinct. Not her … she always required the facts.

Helping Ryan out of the car, she took his hand. Together, they walked up the sidewalk to the front of their circa 1960 rental house. Then she realized something was wrong.

“Hold on.” Grasping Ryan’s hand firmly, she stopped. “Don’t move.”

Though she’d locked it securely that morning, the front door was slightly ajar and obviously unlocked. Someone had been—or was still—inside her house.

Chapter 3

Since Emily wouldn’t hire him as her bodyguard, Mac knew it was time to go to plan B. He sauntered into the Anniversary Police Department, intent on asking Renee for a job. To his surprise, she sat at the front desk in the receptionist’s chair, typing up something on a decrepit manual typewriter.

“You got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure.” Pinning him with her direct gaze, she dragged a hand through her short hair. “Perfect timing, Riordan. I’ve been meaning to call you and ask you to come in. Follow me,” she ordered, jumping to her feet and giving Mac a hard look as though she thought he might run off.

When they reached her office, she took a seat behind her desk and indicated he should sit in what he thought of as the suspect’s chair … interesting.

Taking a seat, he leaned back, crossing his arms. He’d let her go first, since obviously she had something on her mind.

In typical cop fashion, Renee got right to the point.

“How well do you know Emily Gilley?”

“I’ve only met her one time, in the park.” It was a truthful answer—especially since Renee didn’t need to know about all the research Mac had done to find her, and more importantly, to find Ryan.

“You seemed very interested in her.”

He spread his hands. “What can I say? She’s a pretty lady.” Again, he only spoke the truth.

Renee seemed to sense this—or at least, he hoped she did. “You know, Riordan, I’m just doing my job. I actually believe you.”

“Good to know.” He allowed a slight smile. “I did offer to be her bodyguard. She turned me down flat.”

Staring, Renee narrowed her eyes. Then, apparently deciding he was serious, she dipped her head, grinning. “I should tell you that I ran a check on you and talked to your former partner back in Albany. Joe and I go way back. He had nothing bad to say about you.”

It was unsurprising. Joe was his best friend, and Mac had been a very good police officer. He would still be, if he hadn’t left his job. But Joe had understood that finding Ryan had become more important to him than anything else.

“And on top of that,” Renee continued, “Joe put me through to your lieutenant. Just like our mutual friend Joe, your former boss speaks very highly of you.”

“Good to know.” Aware of his precarious position, he debated whether or not now would be a good time to broach his proposal. On the one hand, if Emily and Ryan were in serious danger, then he couldn’t afford to wait. On the other, he didn’t want to do anything that would make Renee even more suspicious of him.

To his surprise, Renee broached the subject for him. Dragging her hand through her cropped blond hair, she tapped her pen several times on her pad of paper. “Emily’s scared. I’m beginning to think she might have a good reason to be. Unfortunately, we’re really short-handed here.”

Though her words kick-started his heart into overdrive, he held himself perfectly still and merely nodded.

Appropriately encouraged, she continued. “I know you have a trucking business to run and all, but would you consider coming to work for me part-time? Like a few hours a week?”

While he pretended to consider her offer, she tossed out what for him clenched the deal. “I’d really like you to handle the Emily Gilley case exclusively.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Emily’s mind. First and foremost, she had to keep her son safe.

“Don’t move,” she repeated.

“But I’m hungry,” Ryan started to whine, raising his face to hers. Something he saw in her expression must have gotten through to him, because he instantly went silent.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” he whispered, his blue eyes huge in his small face. “Is everything okay?”

No, everything was not okay—though she didn’t say that out loud to her five-year-old. “I don’t know yet,” she said instead, moving them backward. “I think we need to get back in the car and call the sheriff.”

She wouldn’t panic. She couldn’t, even though she knew if her front door was open that someone had been in her house.

Backing out of her driveway, she drove to the corner gas station and mini-mart and parked.

“Go ahead and start on your Good Times meal, honey,” she told Ryan, handing the brightly decorated box back to him. “Remember, no toy until you finish your meal.”

She waited until he was happily munching away before taking a deep breath and pulling her phone from her purse.

Keeping the doors locked and the engine running, she made the call. When she asked to be put through directly to Renee, the dispatcher immediately did so—yet another difference between living in a large city and a small town.

Speaking quietly and calmly so she wouldn’t alarm Ryan, she told Renee what had happened. “I didn’t go inside,” she said. “I have no idea if anyone is still in there.”

“That’s a wise move,” Renee said. “Where are you now?”

Emily relayed her location.

“Stay put. We’ll meet you there in less than five minutes,” the sheriff promised. “The car will be an unmarked cruiser. No lights or sirens.”

“All right.” Disconnecting the call, Emily shoved her phone back into her purse and eyed her sandwich. It now looked wilted and completely unappetizing, though probably due more to the circumstances than the actual appearance. Even the thought of trying to eat made her stomach roil.

Law enforcement pulled up just over four minutes later, the unmarked Chevrolet still looking official and police-like. It was not Renee, Emily realized, but another officer, which was unusual since the Anniversary Police Department was so small.

Squinting, Emily tried to make him out. The passenger door opened, and a familiar dark-haired, broad-shouldered man emerged. She squinted, certain she wasn’t seeing correctly. But as he approached, she realized that Mac Riordan, while not decked out in a crisply pressed navy police uniform, wore a police badge pinned to his button-down shirt.

As he walked toward her car, she was struck once again by the way he exuded masculinity. He was one of those men who, with one glance at their steely gaze, could make a woman feel safe and protected.

Foolishness, she chided herself. Nevertheless, her mouth went dry as he approached. Mac Riordan looked … different. She waited in silence until he reached her.

As if he sensed her confusion, he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m working for the sheriff’s office part-time. Renee asked me to handle your case.”

Stunned, at first Emily didn’t know how to respond. “But—”

Interrupting, his rich voice washed over her like waves in a storm. “I can assure you I’m completely qualified. I spent ten years at the Albany Police Department, working my way up from patrol to homicide detective.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said faintly.

Relief warring with trepidation, she opened her door.

But as she started to get out of her car, Mac waved her back.

“I want you to follow me, all right? I’m going to ask you to remain in your car while I make sure your home is safe.”

Swallowing hard, Emily nodded. She had to be careful to hide any evidence of fear from her son, who watched the exchange with wide, curious eyes.

“Why are the police here, Mommy?”

Putting the car in Drive, she again checked her mirrors before pulling away. “Because I think someone might have been inside our house, honey.”

He cocked his head, apparently unable to decide how to take this news. “A bad person?” he finally asked

“Maybe.” She shrugged, as if this was not important. “We have no way of knowing. That’s why we’re letting the police check this out first.”

“Maybe it was a bear!” Giggling, Ryan made a roaring sound. “Or maybe a deer got inside like that video we watched on the computer one time.”

Thank goodness for his vivid imagination and his innocence. “Maybe,” she allowed, even though there were no bears anywhere near their part of the country, unless one counted the bears living in the Dallas Zoo. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Can we take a video of our own, Mommy? Pleeeease?”

“We’ll see.” She gave him a reassuring smile, just in case he sensed her jangled nerves. “Let’s wait until we find out what exactly got inside, okay?”

Nodding, he resumed playing with the little plastic airplane that had come with his meal.

An eternity passed, but finally they reached her street. The police car pulled into her driveway, and Mac motioned to Emily to park in the street one house down. She did as he asked, unwilling to take any chances with her son’s safety.

Heart in her throat, she watched as Mac got out and headed toward her house. As he went around to the backyard, Emily turned around to distract Ryan, not wanting him to notice that Mac had drawn his gun.

“Let’s go ahead and eat, honey,” she urged watching as he tore into his Good Times meal.

While he ate, she alternated between keeping an eye on him and watching her house. Trying to will her heartbeat to slow down, she took a tiny bite of her grilled chicken sandwich. Chewing what tasted like ashes, she managed to choke it down and swallowed hard, setting her food aside.

Ryan had finished his burger and half his fries and was already restless. “Mommy? What is the policeman doing inside our house?” he asked, squirming in his seat. “Can we go inside yet?”

About to answer, she spotted Mac heading toward her car, his large form making her feel ridiculously safe. “Just a minute, sweetheart.”

Rolling down the window, Emily peered up at the handsome man, trying not to hold her breath. “Well?”

“You’ve been burglarized,” he said grimly. “Though I can’t tell for sure what they were after. Your TV, stereo and computer were all untouched.”

“Jewelry, maybe?” A lot of the more valuable pieces in Emily’s collection had been given to her by Carlos, so she wouldn’t mind too badly if they’d been stolen. After all, she had renter’s insurance.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, his professional expression warring with the heat in his blue eyes. He glanced once at Ryan, then quickly back to her, keeping his gaze fixed on her face.

“Is it safe to go inside?” she asked, hating the note of breathlessness that had crept into her voice and hoping he put it down to her being upset about the break-in.

For an answer, he opened her door. “Come on. The house is clear. I’ll have you take a look, but glancing quickly through your things, it doesn’t appear the intruder touched anything.”

“Then why—” Emily started to ask, then looked down, reeling in shock. Suddenly, she knew exactly why the intruder had been in her home.

When she raised her head again to meet Mac’s gaze, she hoped her expression was calm. “In my office—” she began, ignoring his proffered hand and climbing out of the car.

“What about me?” Ryan asked, fumbling with his seat belt. “I wanna go, too.”

Emily glanced at Mac, receiving a nod of confirmation that it was safe. He seemed to be making a studious effort to avoid looking at her son, which, since it made no sense, was probably a figment of her imagination. “Of course you can come. We’re home, after all. We’re safe here.” She emphasized the word safe, so Mac would not say anything unduly alarming within Ryan’s hearing.

“Good.” Her five-year-old sounded unfazed, cheerful rather than frightened. He jumped out of the car, landing on both feet with a solid splunk.

“Hey, there,” Mac said from behind her, making her start slightly, which Ryan noticed. When he looked up, he saw the unfamiliar man for the first time. Pulling on her leg, her son tried to disappear behind her.

“Honey, it’s all right,” she soothed. “This is Deputy Riordan. He’s here to help us find out who broke into our house.”

Ryan peeked out from around her leg. Glancing from her boy to the man who now crouched down to put himself at Ryan’s level, she was surprised to see a look of naked, awful pain on Mac’s craggy face.

She was about to ask him what was wrong but forced herself to hold her tongue.

“Go ahead and say hello to the nice policeman,” she urged softly.

Holding himself rigidly, her brave little boy eased out and around her and then held out his hand. “I’m Ryan Gilley,” he said politely, exactly as she’d taught him.

Gently taking the small hand, Mac swallowed hard as he shook it. Again, she realized he appeared to be in the throes of some deep, strong emotion, which made her wonder if she’d been right, and he’d actually lost a child.

“Pleased to meet you, Ryan,” Mac finally said, his voice husky. “I like your backpack.”

This was exactly the right comment to make. Ryan had spent hours searching for the perfect backpack. He’d ignored the popular cartoon characters and chosen a green-and-tan camouflage material pack. When she’d asked him why, he’d told her he wanted to be a hunter when he got older. Since he wouldn’t even harm a spider, insisting she carry it outside rather than squishing it, she couldn’t imagine that ever happening, but let it go.

“Thanks.” Glancing up at Emily, Ryan edged closer. “Come on, Mommy. I want to make sure nobody stole any of my toys.”

Exchanging a quick glance with Mac, Emily nodded and held out her hand for Ryan to take. He did so and then began tugging on her, clearly in a hurry to get inside the house.

Stepping into her living room, Emily stifled a gasp. The place hadn’t been merely burglarized—it had been trashed. It was torn up, tossed around and destroyed on purpose. Though Ryan continued to pull her in the general direction of his bedroom, she couldn’t help but slow and try to take in the sheer scope of the damage.

“Hang on a minute, Ryan,” she said sharply. “Stay here with Mommy while I look around.”

About to protest, Ryan glanced from her to the sheriff’s deputy and nodded instead.

While she stood, trying to take in the scope of the destruction, all she could think of was to be thankful she and Ryan hadn’t been home. She could clean up the mess, replace whatever had been stolen, but if anyone had harmed her son … The very thought made her shudder.

Wordlessly, Mac came up beside her, placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder as if he knew her thoughts.

Instantly, she jerked away. “Where’s Renee? I’d really hoped—”

“You do want to find this stalker, right?”

Emily stiffened. “Of course. It’s just—”

“I’m assigned to your case. And I’m good. I promise you that I will find this guy.”

The brief urge that had her wanting to lean against Mac appalled her. She nodded, wondering why she had such a strong, adverse reaction to him. It wasn’t as if the man had actually done anything to warrant her mistrust and suspicion—well, aside from following her into Sue’s Catfish Hut the first time they’d met. Maybe it was her persistent, instantaneous attraction to him.

Could she trust him? Did she even have a choice?

Aware both he and Ryan were watching her expectantly, she forced a pleasant, if humorless, smile. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do about this?”

Spreading her hands to encompass the total trashing of her home, she realized she was perilously close to tears. That knowledge alone was enough to cause her to shore up her shoulders, take a deep breath and lift her chin.

“We’ll find the guy,” he said simply. “I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” She hoped he didn’t notice the catch in her voice. Glancing down at her son, who now seemed engrossed in playing with the toy that had come with his Good Times meal, she sighed. “What now?”

“Take a look around and see if anything is missing,” Mac said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave of calmness.

The sick dread in the pit of her stomach refused to leave, but Emily forced herself to head toward the room she used as an office. Luckily, this was right next to her son’s bedroom.

“Mommy!” Ryan crowed, tugging his hand free and catapulting onto his bed. “They didn’t touch my toys!”

After a quick inspection of his room, including under the bed and in the closet, Emily left him happily playing with his trucks and went to check out her desk.

“They were looking for something among your files,” Mac said quietly behind her. File folders and paper were strewn all over the desk, chair, foldout couch and floor.

A manila folder sat open and empty on top of her desk. Before she even picked it up to read the label, Emily knew what it was.

“Ryan’s adoption records,” she said out loud. “They stole Ryan’s adoption records.”

Spinning, she grabbed Mac’s arm. “You’ve got to help me. Whoever broke in here is after my son. You’ve got to help me protect him.”

Mac’s sharp blue gaze searched her face. “Do you have other copies?”

“Of course.” Punching the on button, she powered up her computer. “I scanned them and saved them, both here and on CD.”

“I’d like copies.”

“Of course.” As soon as the computer booted up, Emily clicked on the folder and printed them off, handing them to him.

“Was anything else taken, besides your son’s adoption paperwork?” he asked.

“Not that I can tell.” Twisting her hands together, she tried to sound unaffected.

“Let’s check the rest of the house,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went down the hall to the next bedroom—Ryan’s room.

It, she reflected thankfully, appeared untouched. Oblivious to his mother’s chaotic thoughts, Ryan cheerfully played with a couple of his trucks, ignoring the adults.

Mac paused at the doorway, watching silently, as though the cheerfully untidy mess was more than he’d expected.

“Do you have children?” she asked softly.

He started, as if her question had brought him out of deep contemplation. “Currently, no.” His abrupt tone made it sound like the topic was both painful and closed.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. “Please excuse the mess. Ryan’s only five, which is why—”

“No need to explain.” His back to her, he stepped into the room the way one might enter a church. Again, she cursed her overactive imagination. There was no logical reason why a man—a sheriff’s deputy and experienced police officer—would act in such a way.

Unless …

She blinked. Though she didn’t know him well enough to ask, again she wondered if he’d lost a child.

“Was anything taken from here?” he asked, directing the question to her rather than Ryan.

“No,” Ryan answered, without looking up from his trucks. “All my stuff is okay.”

“Thanks.” Flashing her son a reassuring smile, he moved close to Emily and spoke in a low voice. “Would you mind taking a quick look around and letting me know if you see anything missing? Just in case?”

“Of course.” Horrified at the thought, she took a step forward, trying to mentally catalog Ryan’s toys. After a preliminary sweep of the room, heart in her throat, she looked at Mac helplessly. “Honestly, he has so much. Do you really think someone would—”

“Probably not.” He touched her shoulder, the gentle grip meaning to reassure her. “After all, your stalker seems more concerned with you and the adoption than with your son himself. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

They were good words, but the idea of someone taking one of Ryan’s toys like some kind of trophy opened up an entirely new world of terrifying possibilities. Again, she felt the strong urge to gather her meager belongings, pick up her son and run as fast and as far as she could.

“Emily?”

Realizing Mac had been talking to her, asking her something, she forced herself to concentrate on him. “I’m sorry,” she said. To her surprise, she sounded relatively normal. “What did you say?”

“I asked you if you could walk with me to the other rooms.”

With her heart skipping a beat, she couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan. Loath to leave her son, conversely she didn’t want to alarm him.

“He’ll be fine,” Mac said. “Let him play.”

“Just a couple of bathrooms and the laundry room.”

He stepped into the hall and gestured. “Lead the way.”

Heartbeat far too rapid, she headed for the hallway and her bedroom, with Mac following. While she’d begun to think Mac Riordan might be an okay kind of guy, something about him still felt a bit off, though she’d be hard-pressed to specify exactly how.

He searched her room first. She noted how he moved with a brisk efficiency, treating her home and her belongings with respect. Appreciating that, she felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease somewhat.

When they’d finished, they wound up back at the front door. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is there anything else you need?”

Considering, Mac cocked his head. “Now that we’ve finished checking out your house, I have a few questions. I’ll need a minute or two of your time.”

“You’ve got it.” Though she knew he wanted to ask her about her past, which normally would have caused her to shut down completely, she also realized she’d need to answer honestly. Otherwise, there was no possible way on earth that this small-town sheriff’s department could even remotely understand what they might be up against.

Making an instant decision to tell the truth, though not all of it, Emily led the way to the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’m guessing this might take a while.”

“That depends on how much you have to tell me.” When Mac’s humorous tone failed to produce an answering smile, he grew serious. “Why don’t you start with what you know was actually taken? Why Ryan’s adoption records?”

She considered her words carefully, an actual ingrained habit since she’d chosen this way of life.

“I was married to a … criminal.” Wincing as an expression of understanding filled Mac’s sky-blue eyes, she held up her hand. “No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t know about him until after he died. My husband is dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did he die of natural causes?”

No one but a cop would have thought to ask such a thing. “No.” She debated whether or not to elaborate, then realized with a bit of internet research he would learn the truth regardless. “He was murdered.”

Silently, Mac waited.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “My name wasn’t always Emily Gilley.”

“I see that.” Tapping the copies of the adoption papers he’d been handed, he eyed her with a law enforcement officer’s intent stare. She’d become very familiar with that look in the months immediately following her husband’s death.

Steeling herself, she continued trying to relive a past she’d hated. “After the investigation, I learned some things—a lot of things—that I hadn’t known about my husband.”

“Go on.”

“My husband was Carlos Cavell. I had my name legally changed to Gilley after his death.” She did this right before she and Ryan had vanished from their old life.

Immediate comprehension dawned in Mac’s face. After all, everyone knew of Carlos Cavell. The name had been blazed everywhere in the news after his particularly gruesome murder. Though she’d tried to stay out of the spotlight, inevitably photos of her and Ryan had appeared. Since then, she’d changed her appearance quite a bit. So far, that had been enough.

“Not a bad disguise,” Mac commented wryly. “But you still haven’t told me why you felt the need to disappear.”

“Whoever killed Carlos—and the police were unable to determine even a reasonable suspect—came after me and my son.”

Agitated, unable to sit still, she began pacing. “I think it might have been one of his mistresses. I told the police that and they investigated, but they couldn’t find anything. So I did the only thing I could. I sold everything, took whatever cash was left after paying the debts and ran.”

“Here, to Anniversary.”

“Yes. Until now, we were settling in nicely. I really liked it here.”

Mac immediately picked up on her use of past tense. “Liked? Are you planning on leaving?”

Chewing on her thumbnail, she forced herself to stop. “I’m not sure. If this keeps up, I have no choice.”

“You don’t even know if this incident is related.”

“How can it not be?” Emily protested. “This intruder took Ryan’s adoption records. That was the crux of the threats to begin with. Something about the way Carlos got our son.”

“Did he use an adoption service?”

“No. It was a private adoption. Apparently lots of money changed hands. I’m guessing, though I don’t know for sure, that whatever channels Carlos went through weren’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

“As long as both parties signed the necessary paperwork and the documents were filed in a court of law …”

With her throat closing up from the panicked feeling in her chest, she debated whether to go on. In the end, she couldn’t risk Mac not understanding the awful truth she suspected—that Ryan was her husband’s natural son with one of his mistresses. No way was she letting anyone take her son away from her. She’d die first.

In a quiet voice, she relayed her suspicions.

“I’ve tried to trace the adoption,” she admitted. “Any records beyond what I had were completely destroyed. It’s possible—though not certain—that my husband may have obtained Ryan’s birth certificate illegally.”

To his credit, Mac showed no reaction—as if he heard stories like this every day. Then again, maybe he did.

“So what you’re telling me is that you aren’t one hundred percent sure you have a legal right to your boy.”

Just hearing the words made Emily feel as though she’d been punched in the stomach. She wanted to double over, and only a supreme act of willpower kept her standing upright.

“I—” briefly she closed her eyes “—I don’t know.”

Now Mac pushed back his chair and stood. As he moved closer, she figured he meant to shake hands and held hers out accordingly.

Instead, to her complete and utter shock, he wrapped his muscular arms around her and gave her a quick hug.

“I’ll keep this information between us for the time being. Right now, our focus is on finding whoever wrote you that letter and broke into your house.”

Blinking back tears, she stepped out of his embrace and nodded. “Thank you.”

Expression enigmatic, he simply watched her, as though waiting for her to say something else.

Chapter 4

Not reacting as Emily bared her soul to him was one of the most difficult things Mac had ever done. Only years of training and working on the streets enabled him to keep his face expressionless. When he’d impulsively hugged her, he half expected her to shove him away and order him to leave.

Instead, she finally nodded and thanked him. He felt thankful that she had no idea of the emotions swirling inside him. He couldn’t stop marveling, amazed and humbled by the way he felt now that he’d finally gotten to see his son—after five years, three months and twenty days of missing him and wondering what had happened to him.

One look and he’d known. Even though he hadn’t yet taken the DNA test, he knew Ryan was his. Gazing at the dark-headed boy, he saw his wife, Sarah, in the boy’s chin, the tilt of his head. And Ryan had Mac’s eyes and nose and the full head of dark hair, exactly as Mac had when he’d been a child.

Maybe soon he could reclaim what he’d lost, and they could be a family together.

Then he glanced at Emily, painfully aware of the way she and Ryan interacted. She clearly loved the child she considered her son, and the feeling was mutual. For the first time, Mac wondered what kind of damage he would cause if he tried to take Ryan away from the woman he called Mommy.

Emily cleared her throat, bringing him out of his tangled thoughts. “Well, then. What’s your plan?” One brow raised, she waited, a study in contrasts. Her delicately carved facial structure seemed at odds with her lush, passionate mouth. Her short, spiky haircut didn’t go with her faded jeans and high-collared blouse.

Eyeing her with as much professional dispassion as he could muster, he cleared his throat. “I have a few more questions about your life before you moved here.”

“I see.” Appearing resolute, she indicated the kitchen table. Graceful and willowy, her exquisite beauty made her appear both fragile and wild. “Go ahead.”

“I need to know …” He paused, searching for the right words. The question he wanted to ask her was one he’d wondered ever since he’d learned she’d adopted the infant he believed was his son. “I need to know if you knew there was something unusual about where your son came from.”

Was that guilt that flashed across her mobile face or sorrow?

“No,” she said.

He decided to continue to press her. “You never questioned your husband?”

“I never had a reason to, before all this started.” Her careful, measured movements spoke of the depths of her agitation. “You have to understand that being married to a man like Carlos Cavell came with some benefits. One of these seemed to be the ability to cut through a lot of red tape. When we originally applied to adopt an infant, we were told it could take up to three years.”

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