She needed protection for herself—and her baby…

Kit Bannack had witnessed a murder and set a killer on her trail. Fortunately, the sexiest cowboy she’s ever seen has kidnapped her for safekeeping. And while her handsome bodyguard has kept her and her child out of harm’s way, Luke St. John has surely stolen her heart…forever.

By night, Luke showers her with tender caresses. By day, he is consumed by his need to right a wrong. And Kit knows he is everything she could want…need…in a husband and father. But before they can be a family, they’ll have to catch a killer….

Previously Published.

Dear Reader,

Three of your favorite Intrigue writers have joined together to bring you this special, brand-new LOST & FOUND trilogy.

Three women go into labor in the same Texas hospital, and shortly after the babies are born, fire erupts. Though each mother and baby make it to safety, there’s more than the mystery of birth to solve now…

Last month Amanda Stevens led off with Somebody’s Baby; this month it’s B. J. Daniels with A Father for Her Baby. B.J. loved going back to Texas, even if it was only for the book. She says, “I loved the smell of the Gulf sea air, eating some gumbo and sitting under an oak in the shade. I’ve never forgotten my Texas roots or lost all my Southern accent. I have relatives in Texas who make the greatest gumbo and brag that Texas is bigger than Montana. But, like my characters, my home is Montana, not far from Big Sky, where I can snowboard in the winters and boat in the summers. I do miss the gumbo, though.”

Don’t miss the exciting conclusion to LOST & FOUND next month in Carla Cassidy’s A Father’s Love.

Happy reading!

Debra Matteucci

Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

Mills and Boon

300 East 42nd Street

New York, NY 10017

A Father for Her Baby
B. J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is for my brother, Charles Allen Johnson.

Here’s wishing all your dreams come true. A woman you

can love. A life that makes you happy. And above all the

freedom to enjoy what you love most. Good luck, little

brother. I’m rooting for you.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Kit Bannack Killhorn—She’s running for her life with only one thought in mind—protecting her baby.

Luke St. John—He has sworn to avenge his brother’s death, and Kit Bannack Killhorn is going to help him one way or another.

Derrick Killhorn—He will stop at nothing to find Kit and the baby and bring them back to Montana.

Jason St. John—What kind of trouble did he stumble into that he just couldn’t walk away from?

Lucille Johnson—She’s the best cook in Texas and is cooking up something for Kit and her baby.

Belinda Killhorn—Is Derrick’s ex-wife telling the truth or does she have her own ax to grind?

Sanders Killhorn—He’s always been his brother’s keeper. But could even he save his brother this time?

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Back Cover Text

Dear 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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Don’t tell me you haven’t found her,” the angry voice bellowed on the other end of the phone line.

That was the last thing Sanders Killhorn wanted to tell his brother, Derrick.

“A woman that pregnant can’t have just disappeared into thin air,” Derrick snapped.

But Derrick’s wife had done exactly that. Disappeared. Seven months of searching, and Sanders had found no trace of Kit. He crossed the room to the motel window, dragging the phone with him, and peered out. The sun hung on the Dallas skyline, fiery red. As red as Kit’s hair.

“What about the guy who said he’d seen her in Texas City?” Derrick demanded.

“I talked to him.” Behind Sanders, only the flickering television screen lit the nondescript motel room as another day dissolved into darkness and defeat. “He was only interested in the reward. He didn’t know anything.”

Derrick swore loudly. “I won’t rest until I find my son.”

His son? Sanders felt a chill. Derrick had no way of knowing if Kit had given birth to a boy. His brother’s obsession with having a son scared him—just as it had Kit. Was that why she’d taken off?

“Someone has to have seen her,” Derrick said. “Maybe she’s cut her hair or dyed it.”

Sanders couldn’t imagine Kit doing either. But then, he couldn’t imagine her taking off like she’d done, at nine months’ pregnant. Hadn’t she known Derrick would never stop looking for her? Especially with her carrying his baby?

Sanders had tracked her from the Bozeman, Montana bus station, where she’d abandoned Derrick’s truck, as far as the Dallas, Texas bus station. After that, she had vanished.

He’d checked every bus, train and airplane. And all the hospitals within a two-hundred-mile radius. No Kit Bannack Killhorn had given birth. At least not under her real name. Nor had anyone matching her description.

He’d also checked birth certificates for a two-month period. No Bannack. No Killhorn. Even the private investigator his brother had hired had come up empty-handed.

Sanders had grown weary of looking for his sister-in-law and wanted more than anything to return home to Montana. Especially with Christmas just days away.

“Something has to have happened to her,” Derrick was saying. “Maybe she was in an accident and can’t remember—”

The rest of his brother’s words were lost as Sanders caught a familiar image out of the corner of his eye. He turned to stare at the television screen.

Kit’s face stared back.

* * *

IN A MOTEL ROOM across from Sanders’s room, Luke stared at the same newscast, the same face on the TV screen, the same woman he’d also been chasing for seven months.

Just moments before, Luke had been electronically eavesdropping on Sanders’s conversation with Derrick Killhorn and calling himself a fool. All this time, he’d been shadowing Sanders, hoping the man and his resources would lead him to Kit. But he was beginning to doubt even the great Killhorns could find the woman. And even if they did, Luke couldn’t be sure she had the answers he so desperately needed.

He was ready to give up, admit he’d been wrong. He was sick of motel rooms, rental cars and eating out of foam containers. He was sick of tailing Sanders, and he damned sure hadn’t done any good finding Kit on his own.

When her face flashed on the television screen, Luke gaped in disbelief, adrenaline singing through his veins. I was right. Dammit, I was right. He felt a jolt of satisfaction, followed quickly by fear and regret so strong that he could taste it. Dear God, I was right.

He kicked up the volume on the TV.

“…after an arsonist started a fire that destroyed the small private Galveston hospital last June.”

Kit sat wrapped in a hospital blanket, the blazing building behind her. Her eyes caught the camera; her hand went up to shield her face from view. The image lasted only a few seconds, then was gone.

Luke cursed as he realized the newscast wasn’t about Kit, but about a woman whose kidnapped baby had been returned to her.

What did any of that have to do with Kit?

A doctor came on the screen. Dr. Bernard explained that three women had given birth on June third at the Galveston hospital just before the fire broke out. The mothers and their babies had been evacuated separately. It wasn’t until later that authorities realized one of the babies had been kidnapped. The arson was still under investigation.

Luke felt his breath rush out of him. Kit. She had to be one of the mothers who’d given birth that night. That’s why her face had been on the old file tape about the hospital fire back in June.

Luke shook his head in amazement. No wonder he and Sanders hadn’t been able to find her. A hospital fire. That explained why no one at the area hospitals remembered Kit Killhorn.

Luke turned off the TV and stared at the empty screen, his heart pounding. He couldn’t get the image of Kit out of his head. The stark terror in her eyes. The way she’d tried to hide from the camera. This lady was running scared. But what was she fleeing from? What had sent her hightailing it out of Montana? He couldn’t wait to ask her.

* * *

ACROSS TOWN, Kit leaned over her son’s crib and lovingly pulled the soft blanket up to Andy’s dimpled chin. With warm fingers, she brushed his blond hair back from his angelic face and smiled down at him. She loved looking at him, and spent hours doing just that.

He’d had a big day today and she knew he must be exhausted. She was, after following him in all his explorations. It amazed her how quickly he learned, how quickly he changed. Over the last six and a half months she’d watched him grow, marveling at it all from his first smile and laugh to the first time he’d rolled over and crawled.

She’d named him Andrew, after her father. Unfortunately, she’d been unable to give him her father’s last name, Bannack. Nor had she used Killhorn. Either name would only have led Derrick to them. So she’d lied, providing fake names for the birth certificate to keep her baby safe.

Kit turned on the television in the room she shared with her son, hoping to catch the news and see if the predicted storm off the gulf had materialized.

But when the news came on, she found herself staring in confusion at the screen. Her face. What was she doing on TV? Old footage from the night of the fire! She remembered her terror that night when she’d seen the television news crew. Surely they hadn’t ever shown this particular news clip before, or Derrick would have found her.

Her heart thudded. Why in God’s name were they showing it now? Had the arsonist been found? Or was this about that poor woman whose baby had been kidnapped?

“After almost seven long months, Nina Fairchild and her son Dustin have been reunited,” the newscaster said.

Kit felt a wave of relief. She’d silently feared that the kidnapper had taken the wrong baby the night of the fire—that Derrick had tracked her and Andy, and mistakenly stolen Nina’s son.

Now the Fairchild baby was safe. Kit felt such gratitude that she hadn’t caused the poor woman’s pain. But at the same time, the newscast shattered any illusion that Kit could evade her past.

All these months, she’d hidden, terrified that Derrick would find her and Andy. As she’d watched her son grow and flourish, she’d convinced herself she’d done the right thing. Including lying to Dr. Bernard to get her job as a nanny. And lying to Tim Anderson so he’d pay her cash and there’d be no record of her employment.

But the moment she saw her face on TV, she knew she hadn’t hidden well enough. She couldn’t take the chance that Derrick hadn’t seen the newscast somehow. Or at least hadn’t heard about it.

She looked down at her son sleeping peacefully in his crib. Her heart thrummed with the sound of his rhythmic breathing. Tears welled in her eyes—tears of fear, anger and regret. She wiped at them, filled with another emotion, this one stronger than all the others put together: the need to protect her son. It felt almost primitive. She would give her life for Andy’s.

She covered her son with a blanket and wondered if she would ever be able to find a place where they would be safe. As she began to pack, the answer chilled in her heart, filling her with terror.

As long as Derrick Killhorn was after her, no safe place existed.

Chapter Two

Luke wasn’t surprised the next morning when he tailed Sanders to the office of Dr. Bernard, the obstetrician who’d probably delivered Kit’s baby.

Only minutes later, Sanders came out smiling. And Luke had to give him credit. He’d gotten the information—and fast. Luke figured Sanders had greased a few palms: that would be the Killhorn way.

Luke waited, knowing the moment Sanders got into his rental car that he’d call his brother.

“I’ve got her,” Sanders said excitedly into the cell phone. “She’s working as a nanny in Galveston. I’m headed there now.”

Luke would have loved to hear what Derrick was saying, because he was obviously giving Sanders instructions—long, detailed ones.

“Well, you know her better than I do,” Sanders said, sounding dubious. “Okay. Sure, I can do that. Huntsville? No, don’t worry, I can convince her. All right, I’ll meet you up at the airport, one way or the other.”

Convince her to what? Luke wondered. Whatever it was, he didn’t like the sound of it.

He followed Sanders at a safe distance into an old Galveston neighborhood with its neat rows of oncelavish houses. The sun hung high, the day was hot and humid, a sure sign of an approaching storm. But that was the least of Luke’s worries. He had to get to Kit—before Derrick did.

Luke parked where he could watch Sanders approach the house and ring the doorbell. The house was large and sat on at least an acre of wooded land. Secluded, Luke thought. Ideal for his purposes.

And Sanders’s?

He watched Sanders ring the bell again and wait. No one appeared at the door.

Luke swore under his breath. What if Kit had also seen the news program on television last night—and had taken off again? And just when he was so close.

Luke saw Sanders turn as if he’d heard something in the backyard. As Sanders started around the side of the building, Luke climbed out of the car with his equipment and headed into the trees beside the house.

The oaks had grown large and thick, making a perfect place to hide. Luke put on the headset and picked up the sound of a baby whimpering.

Through the branches, he could make out a woman with two infants in a double baby stroller on a patio in the shade of a large old oak. She was bent over, cooing softly to the fussing infant, when Sanders walked up behind her.

“Hi, Kit,” Sanders said.

The woman jumped as if he’d touched her with a cattle prod. She spun around, fright evident in every line of her body. Even from this distance, Luke could see that she was ready to run. What in God’s name had happened in Montana to make her this afraid?

Luke feared he already knew the answer.

* * *

“WHERE’S DERRICK?” Kit cried, fighting back a scream as her gaze leaped to look behind Sanders. “Where is he?” She reached for the stroller, her only thought to get the babies inside to safety.

“Kit, I’m here alone.” Sanders had moved toward her, but stopped and held his hands out, palms up. She tightened her grip on the stroller, ready to run if she had to. “I’m here to help you.”

“Help me? Derrick sent you to find me.” She knew that Sanders acted as mediator, keeping peace and settling little problems for his older brother, and had since they were boys. Why else would he be here now?

“Kit, I’ve been worried sick about you,” Sanders said. “I’m so glad I finally found you.”

“How did you find me?” she said, glancing past him, afraid Derrick would appear at any moment.

“I saw you on TV last night.”

Just as she’d feared. “I’d hoped Derrick had stopped looking for me.”

Sanders smiled sadly, as if her innocence amazed him. “Kit, why did you run away in the first place?”

Didn’t he know? She edged a little closer to the house.

“I’m not here to hurt you. You can tell me what’s going on. I’m your friend.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the same kindness she’d always seen there. Sanders had been her only friend in Big Sky. The only one Derrick allowed her.

“Are we friends?” she asked. “You’re Derrick’s brother. You work for him. I’m sure that’s why you’re here.”

“That’s not the only reason.” He glanced into the stroller at the baby in blue. “I heard I have a nephew. He’s adorable, Kit.”

She nodded, her pride in her son hard to contain. At one time, she’d been excited at the prospect of Sanders being an uncle to her baby. She’d wanted Andy to have the family she’d never had.

“What’s his name?” Sanders asked.

“Andrew. After my father.” She saw disapproval in Sanders’s eyes. Derrick had been determined the baby would be a boy—and would be named Derrick Killhorn Junior.

“Derrick’s out of his mind with worry.”

“I’m sure he is,” she said. “But not for the reasons you might think.”

“Kit, what’s going on? The last time I saw you was at the clinic. You were thrilled because the doctor had said you’d be having the baby within the week. The next thing I know, you’ve taken off without a word.”

Kit’s young charge began to whimper again, and she knelt down in front of the stroller to check her, at the same time watching Sanders out of the corner of her eye. What did she think he’d do? Grab Andy and take off with him? That was more Derrick’s style than Sanders’s.

She straightened to find Sanders smiling at his nephew as if he’d never seen anything quite so amazing. Her heart ached with the need to trust him, to trust someone. She reminded herself of the time Derrick had wanted her to have a risky test late in her pregnancy to determine the sex of the baby. She had refused. Sanders had sided with her, saying it was too dangerous. Derrick had been furious but he’d backed down. From then on, she’d trusted Sanders to be on her side when it really mattered.

“I left the doctor’s office that day to go to the construction site to see Derrick,” she said. Killhorn Condominium Complex, the largest development in the history of Big Sky, Derrick had bragged.

“Why didn’t you let me drive you?” Sanders asked now.

Did he really not know what happened that day? Kit felt a chill and glanced toward the oak grove behind the house. Sunlight caught in the branches and dropped shadows into the dense undergrowth. She had the horrible feeling that someone was out there, watching, listening. Derrick.

She shifted her gaze back to Sanders. Seven months ago. That’s when her life began to unravel. The day her husband’s ex-wife, Belinda, showed up at her door.

Belinda had stared at Kit’s swollen abdomen in shock. “I heard Derrick had a new wife but—”

“Derrick and I are expecting in June,” Kit had said quickly.

Belinda laughed. “I can see that you’re expecting, but that baby isn’t Derrick’s. I ought to know. I saw his test results. Derrick’s sterile.”

Sterile? Kit felt the earth crumble beneath her. She was one of the few people who knew Belinda could be telling the truth. Not even Sanders knew that the baby Kit carried wasn’t Derrick’s.

“That’s ridiculous,” Kit had said, fighting months of uneasiness about the odd circumstances surrounding her marriage. She clung to one statement her new husband had made. Derrick had promised her more babies, as many as she wanted. “What about the child you lost, the miscarriage?”

“What miscarriage?” Belinda gave Kit a pitying look. “I left Derrick because he tried to get me to secretly adopt a son for him. The man’s obsessed. He thinks not being able to father a son makes him less of a man.” Belinda shook her head. “And now he’s conned you into telling everyone this is his baby. He really got him an innocent this time.”

Kit had been stunned. Did Derrick want a son badly enough that he’d lie to her?

When she’d questioned him about Belinda’s claim that evening, he’d adamantly denied it, calling Belinda a liar. Kit had wanted to believe him. But the next day, when she’d seen Belinda at the doctor’s office with a black eye and a cut lip, she’d known the cause before Belinda even confirmed her suspicions. Derrick had done it because of what Belinda had told her.

“Why did you go to the job site without me?” Sanders asked again.

“I wanted to talk to Derrick about Belinda,” she said.

“Belinda? What lies is she spreading now? She’d do anything to hurt Derrick. I’m sure if you’d seen him on the job that day, he’d have straightened this whole thing out.”

“I did see him.”

Sanders frowned. “Derrick said he hadn’t seen you since that morning at the house.”

It came back in a flash of memory. Walking through the skeletal frame of the partially built block building, ducking beneath scaffolding, at first calling for Derrick, then moving forward silently as she followed the sound of raised voices. Deeper and deeper into the empty interior, she went, until she stood above the two men, looked down on them arguing below her.

And later, stumbling as she tried to flee, knocking over the stack of lumber. Her husband looking up at her. Had he really not seen her? “I saw him. I saw them both.”

Sanders looked confused. “Them? It was after quitting time. Was one of the crew still there?”

She nodded. “A young man. I heard Derrick call him Jason.”

Sanders closed his eyes and shook his head as if understanding had finally dawned. “Oh, Kit, you must have overheard the argument Derrick had with some college kid he’d fired.”

“It was more than an argument.”

“Come on, Derrick said the kid took a swing at him. But it couldn’t have been much of a fight, because it was over by the time I got there, and I couldn’t have been far behind you.”

“How did Derrick seem when you arrived?”

Sanders shrugged. “He was upset. He’d left the keys in his pickup and when he saw it was gone, he thought Jason had stolen it.”

“That was all he was upset about?”

“Well…” Sanders paused, then continued with a shrug, “You know how he feels about that truck. He was afraid the kid would wreck it. But then he realized you must have taken it.”

“What made him think that if he didn’t see me there?”

Sanders raised a brow. “The kid’s motorcycle was gone. And so were you. I’d told him you’d left the clinic before I’d arrived. Who else would dare to take Derrick’s new pickup?”

“You didn’t see anything at the job?” she asked hopefully.

He frowned. “Like what?”

Tears filled her eyes. She shook her head slowly. Derrick had told Sanders just enough to cover for himself. “I know what I saw.”

“What did you see, Kit?”

She blurted it out, desperate to say the words aloud, to finally tell someone. “I saw Derrick kill that man.”

Chapter Three

“What?” Sanders stared at her. “Why would Derrick kill one of his employees?”

“I don’t know why,” she cried. “But I saw Derrick hit him with something.” She started to describe the tool.

“A crowbar,” Sanders interrupted, frowning.

“After Derrick hit him, the man fell to the ground.” Her body began to tremble, her breath came hard and fast, her mind filled with the horror of the memory. “Then Derrick lifted him and dropped him in a tank filled with water.” Tears coursed silently down her face. “The man struggled, but Derrick held him under. I saw the whole thing.”

Sanders said nothing for a few minutes. “Kit, Derrick told me the same story but with just a little different ending. He said he tossed the kid into the tank to cool him off, letting him up as soon as he quit fighting. Then Derrick ordered him off the job site, and the kid left. And he told me about the fight before he knew you had taken off.”

“He’s lying. Don’t you see—he made up that story after he saw me. I stumbled into some lumber. He looked up. He knows I saw what he did.”

“Kit, I’m telling you, he didn’t see you. And he certainly didn’t—”

“Is everything all right, Kit?” asked a male voice from the house.

Kit turned to find her boss, Tim Anderson, in the doorway. “Fine, Tim,” she said, unable to hide her relief that he’d come home early. “But would you mind taking the babies inside? I’ll join you in just a minute.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Sanders said after Tim had closed the door.

She shook her head. “I haven’t told anyone. Just you.” She glanced toward the grove of trees, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched.

“I understand now why you ran, Kit.” He sounded sympathetic, but also sad. “I just can’t believe you’d think Derrick could kill someone. Let alone that he’d somehow gotten away with it.”

“Everyone knows how powerful the Killhorns are in Big Sky—in the whole county.”

“Do you really think my family has that much power?”

“Yes,” she admitted, knowing that had been part of the reason she hadn’t gone to the authorities once she reached Texas. “Your father’s a judge, your uncle’s the sheriff.”

“You can’t think they’re in on it?”

It did sound ludicrous. It made her doubt herself. Hadn’t Derrick always said she was foolish, young, incredibly naive? She replayed the memory of the last time she’d seen her husband. She studied each detail, looking for something, anything that proved Derrick’s story, anything that proved her own vision somehow faulty. Sanders had explained it so well. Just a foolish misunderstanding by a pregnant woman. And yet…

“Who was the man, the one Derrick fought with? Jason what?”

“St. John,” Sanders said. “Jason St. John.”

“Has anyone seen him since?”

“Derrick has. He caught Jason sabotaging the job less than a week ago, but Jason got away.”

Why didn’t she believe that? Because she’d seen Derrick kill Jason seven months ago.

He must have seen the doubt in her expression. “Kit, I wouldn’t be here trying to get you to come back if I thought Derrick was a killer. I think you know me better than that.”

She felt in her heart that was true. She even started to concede, started to bend to his will the way she’d bent her whole life. But then she looked toward the house, thinking of her young son, and felt that jolt of motherness, that iron-strong will of protectiveness. “I believe you, Sanders. But I need you to find Jason St. John.”

She knew he’d never locate him. Not alive, anyway.

“Find Jason St. John?” he repeated. “That’s no small order. There’s an APB out on him for sabotaging the job site, so I would imagine he’s hiding.”

Kit held her ground. “I need you to prove to me that Derrick isn’t a murderer. Or help me to prove that he is.”

Sanders looked at the toes of his shoes for a moment. “Kit, there’s something I have to tell you. I called Derrick right after I saw you on television, then again this morning when I knew you and the baby were safe.”

“You told him where I was?” she cried. Just the thought of her husband terrified her.

“Why wouldn’t I tell him? I had no idea you thought he’d killed someone.”

“Where is he, Sanders?”

“I’m meeting him up at the airport in less than two hours.”

A shot of pure terror drove Kit back a step. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Frantically, she turned and started for the house, but he stopped her.

“Where will you go?”

She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears.

“You can’t have saved much money,” Sanders reasoned. “Do you know anyone in Texas you can stay with?”

She shook her head again. She had no one, no family. Derrick had cut her off from her friends, but she wouldn’t have involved them in this, anyway, not with a murderer after her and Andy.

“What about the baby?” Sanders asked. “You won’t be running alone now.”

“I know,” she said, hearing the panic in her own voice.

“Kit, be reasonable. How long can you and the baby last on the run? That isn’t any kind of life for your son.”

She knew he was right, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here. And she couldn’t go to the authorities. Derrick Killhorn and his family were too powerful.

“You need some place to stay until Jason is found or I can prove your story. Somewhere you feel safe,” Sanders said. “Maybe…” He seemed to hesitate.

Kit looked up at him hopefully.

“I know someone who has a place near Huntsville,” he said after a moment. “She’s a friend from college.”

Kit wanted to grasp on to the idea as if it were a life raft in a stormy sea. But she hesitated. It seemed too easy. “Does Derrick know this friend?”

Sanders looked disappointed in her. “Kit, you have to trust someone. If you can’t trust me, then who do you have?”

The truth of his words hurt. She had no one but Sanders—and he knew it.

“All right,” she said, praying she was doing the right thing.

He looked relieved. “I’ll take you myself.”

“No, you’re supposed to meet Derrick at the airport. You’re the only one who can convince him to leave me and Andy alone.”

“All right. Then I’ll hire a limo to take you to Huntsville.”

“I don’t need a limo.”

“I want you and the baby to be comfortable,” Sanders said, sounding a little hurt.

She nodded, ashamed for being so ungrateful.

“When can you be ready? I think the sooner you leave, the better, don’t you?”

Just knowing Derrick would be flying in made her want to be out of Galveston as quickly as possible. “I don’t have much. Besides…I’ve already started packing.”

Sanders nodded as if not surprised. “I’ll have the driver pick you up in an hour-and-a-half.”

“Thanks.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Here, I want you to have this so I can make sure you’re all right on the trip to Huntsville.” He pressed the phone into her hand. “Keep it turned on in your purse.”

She nodded, touched by his gesture.

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’m taking care of everything.”

Chapter Four

When the limo pulled up in front of the house early, Kit was ready. She’d said goodbye to Tim and his daughter, as difficult as that was. Tim thought she was reconciling with her estranged husband. It was best to let him think that. She didn’t want to involve him and his daughter anymore than she already had.

He’d insisted on carrying her bag out to the waiting car. Kit felt as if she were always saying goodbye to the people she cared about.

But now that Derrick had found her hiding place, she had no choice. She wouldn’t be safe at the Andersons. Nor would the Andersons be safe from Derrick if she stayed.

She picked up the baby carrier, with her son sleeping peacefully inside, and, praying she’d made the right decision, headed for the waiting limo.

As she walked, she found herself glancing around, still feeling uneasy. She was relieved, however, to see no unfamiliar cars parked along the wide, treelined street. Knowing Derrick would be flying in terrified her more than she’d thought possible. What if he’d taken an earlier flight?

As she and Tim approached the long, sleek black car, the uniformed driver emerged from behind the wheel. Kit watched him move to the rear and open the trunk, unable to hide her surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this man didn’t fit her inexperienced image of a chauffeur. He looked too fit, his shoulders too broad, his arms too powerful, his body too compact and controlled. No, this man looked less like a chauffeur than a bodyguard—or a hired thug.

Her heart suddenly seemed a drum that she could not quiet. Did Sanders think she needed protection on the way to Huntsville? Was he worried that he wouldn’t be able to talk Derrick into returning to Montana? All too easily panicked, she felt the way she had the day she left Montana. Here she was again. Running for her life. But this time with her baby son. What would she have done without Sanders here?

She hugged Andy to her as the driver took her single bag from Tim, placed it in the trunk and closed the lid.

“You’re sure you’re going to be all right?” Tim asked.

She nodded, dragging her gaze away from the limo driver to reassure Tim with a smile, to reassure herself. “We’ll be fine.”

The driver touched the brim of his cap as he moved past Kit to open the rear door. He looked strong and capable as both a driver and a bodyguard. He turned toward her, reaching for the baby carrier and diaper bag.

Reluctantly, she handed the carrier to him, watching closely as he leaned into the back of the car. He quickly strapped Andy into the rear seat, as if he’d done this sort of thing dozens of times before, and she began to relax a little.

As he stepped back, she noticed he wore a pair of worn brown cowboy boots. Only in Texas, she thought. Or Montana.

He stood back to hold the door for her, waiting, his eyes downcast, his demeanor subservient. And yet, Kit sensed a wariness in him that seemed to confirm her suspicion that Sanders had hired her a lot more than a limo driver.

“Good luck, Kit,” Tim said. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Andy.”

She had wanted to say more, but afraid she’d cry, she quickly ducked into the back seat of the car beside her son. She was even more afraid she’d break down and tell Tim the truth. The last thing she would do was put any more lives in jeopardy.

The driver closed the door and hurried around to slide behind the wheel. Kit looked back through the dark tinted glass—one final goodbye to Tim and the sanctuary she’d found in Texas—as the limo pulled away from the curb Beside her, Andy fell into the sleep of angels and babies.

“Please let me know if there is anything you need, Mrs. Killhorn,” the driver said.

“Thank you,” she said, surprised by how deep yet soft his voice was, and how completely free of a southern accent.

Kit quickly dismissed the driver from her thoughts, confident that Sanders had seen to her safety in every possible way. As the car sped down the street, she didn’t look back again.

“I’ll give you and the baby some privacy. Just use the intercom.”

The driver hit a power switch, and a tinted window went up between them, leaving her in the silent darkness of the back seat with only her sleeping son and her cell phone.

Kit watched the houses along the wide streets of old Galveston blur by: gleaming white works of art, ornate with spacious verandas and gentle roof lines, lounging in the shade of live oaks and palms under the Texas sun.

But the sky was filling with ominous dark storm clouds.

She closed her eyes, trying not to worry. About the past. Or the future. Sanders had seen to it that she and Andy were safe for the time being, she thought, glancing toward the privacy window that hid the limo driver. She snuggled against the deep leather of the seat. Warm and safe in this quiet cocoon, she drifted off.

* * *

SANDERS GOT the page just as Derrick’s plane touched ground at the airport. He hurried to the nearest phone and picked up, half expecting to hear Kit’s voice, afraid she’d changed her mind or there’d been some sort of problem. He’d thought he’d covered everything. By now Kit should be safely in the limo and on her way with Derrick Jr. to Huntsville.

“Uh, this is Maury with Unlimited Chauffeur Service, and, you know that pickup you ordered? Well, I’m at the address, only she isn’t here.”

“What do you mean, she isn’t there?” Sanders demanded.

“I was supposed to pick up a redhead and a baby, right? Well, I got here and the guy in the house says she left in another car with another driver about twenty minutes ago.”

Sanders stared in stunned silence at the gate Derrick would be coming out of at any moment. “Someone else picked her up?”

“A chauffeur in a limo,” Maury said.

Sanders swore. “Unlimited sent two cars and drivers to the same address?”

“Afraid not,” Maury said. “The other limo wasn’t from Unlimited. The guy at the house saw an A-1 Rent-a-Ride sticker on the rear of the vehicle..”

“A-1-Rent-a-Ride?”

“It’s a place near the pickup address. So unless you called two limo companies, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Kit must have gotten cold feet, decided to take off and had called her own limo and driver. Only Kit would never do that even if she could afford it. She’d jump on a bus. Maybe even splurge and take a train or plane. But she’d never hire a limo and driver. Not Kit.

So what had happened? He’d been so sure he’d convinced her to go to Huntsville, or he would never have left her alone.

He spotted Derrick coming through the arrival gate and cursed his bad luck. Derrick stopped, caught sight of Sanders and no Kit or the baby, and scowled angrily, obviously unhappy that Sanders had had to go to Plan Two: Huntsville.

Wait until he heard that something had gone wrong with both plans and that Kit and baby were missing. Again.

Chapter Five

The sound of a phone ringing pulled Kit from a less-than-peaceful sleep. She sat up, disoriented, instantly afraid. Then she remembered where she was and realized the phone she heard was the cellular Sanders had given her. She reached into her purse.

“Hello?” Her son stirred beside her, stretching, his small fists reaching out, his sleep-wrinkled face so adorable and sweet. She leaned over and kissed his warm cheek.

“Kit.” Sanders sounded far away. “Where are you?”

She glanced out at the passing landscape, at what appeared to be a tiny fishing village. She sat up a little straighter, surprised by what she was seeing. “I’m not sure.” The sun had sunk beyond the front of the limo into scrub and sand. Off to her left, she caught a glimpse of a large body of water beneath a bank of dark clouds. The Gulf of Mexico? But Huntsville was to the north.

“Kit, I don’t want to alarm you, but—”

She heard a thunk, then another voice.

“Is my son all right? What’s going on? Where are you?”

Kit recoiled. “Derrick.”

“Yes, your husband. I’ve been worried about you. You and the baby.”

She swallowed, unable to force down the fear that threatened to choke her. And the revulsion. He was acting as if nothing had happened. “I told Sanders I didn’t want to see you,” she said.

“I know. Kit, you’re confused. I don’t want to argue about it. I want to see my son.”

She closed her eyes. “No, Derrick.” Her voice came out hoarse. “I saw you kill that man.”

Silence. “You’re wrong. You just made a mistake. But we can fix it. As soon as I see you.”

“I want you to leave me alone,” she demanded, glancing at the driver’s outline through the privacy window. He had his back to her, his head facing forward, and seemed unaware of the drama being played out in the back seat. He must have the intercom turned off.

“Leave you alone?” Derrick repeated, sounding calm. Only someone who knew him the way Kit did could hear the rage behind his words. “For months you’ve denied me my son. You’ve made me look like a fool, marrying a woman who’d run off like you did.” He took a breath. “And yet, I’m willing to forget and forgive, for my son’s sake.”

“He’s not your son,” she snapped, tired of the charade.

“Like hell.” All pretense of calm was instantly gone from his voice. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but my father’s a judge. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince him that my wife’s unstable and an unfit mother—a woman who takes off nine months’ pregnant, then starts spreading some insane story about her husband being a murderer.”

She could barely hear her own voice above the thunder of her heart. Hadn’t this been her worst fear—that Derrick would somehow get Andy? “Running away from you wasn’t insane and you know it.”

He laughed; the sound had a bite to it. “It was insane for you not to take the limo Sanders hired for you. We could have worked this out.”

She closed her eyes. What game was he playing now? “You know I took the car he sent.”

“You stupid woman. You got into the wrong limo.” He sounded confident that she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life. “Now who knows where you are or where you’re going or what’s going to happen to you. But I promise you this, Kit. I’ll end up with my son.”

Her gaze flew up. She stared at the back of the driver. He tugged at the collar of his white shirt with his index finger. Alarm knifed through her as she remembered the way his uniform looked on his powerful-looking athletic build, the jacket too snug in the shoulders, the pants too short. But it wasn’t just the ill-fitting uniform, she thought, remembering the cowboy boots, the way he moved, the hidden power beneath his clothing and the wariness she’d sensed in him.

She noticed now that his dark blond hair needed trimming. It fell beneath the back of his cap to plaster damply against the tanned nape of his neck. And his hands—large, sun-browned, weathered and worn, like a pair of used leather gloves. Not the hands of a chauffeur.

She felt panic race through her veins. Hadn’t she thought he looked like a bodyguard—or a thug? Only she’d believed Sanders had hired the man to protect her and Andy. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Who hired this limo?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Derrick made a pitying sound. “You were so busy trying to save yourself from me, you’ve gotten yourself into even worse trouble.”

She turned her face to the side window and looked out at the miles of sand spit, feeling hot tears scald her eyelids. The line of clouds she’d noticed earlier now hung on the horizon above the darkening waters of the gulf. The driver had been following the coastline, not heading north, not going to Huntsville.

“Are you ready now to put all this foolishness behind us?” Derrick demanded as the telephone connection grew more faint. “Otherwise, what do I care what happens to you?”

He was just trying to scare her. He’d hired this limo and driver to confuse her, to bully and berate her—to frighten her into coming back to him, into forgetting she’d seen him murder a man.

She glanced over at her son. His eyes sparkled as he smiled up at her and waved his dimpled arms in the air. Anger, and her inborn need to protect her child at all costs, overpowered her fear and gave her a false confidence.

“You’d better hope nothing happens to me,” she snapped. “I can prove that you murdered Jason St. John.” The lie passed her lips before she could stop it. “I have evidence. And if anything happens to me or Andy—”

She didn’t hear the privacy window slide down, didn’t even realize the driver had seen her on the phone, not until he reached back and ripped it from her fingers. With a curse, he turned it off and tossed it onto the seat beside him as the window closed again.

She sat in stunned silence for a full minute, her anger spent, fear making her tremble.

“Who are you?” she demanded, pressing the intercom button. “What do you want with me and my baby?”

He pushed back his cap and met her gaze in the rearview mirror. A pair of startling steel gray eyes glared at her from a ruggedly handsome male face. His good looks surprised her. But the fury she saw in his expression left her stunned.

Her terror escalated. She was trapped in the back of a limo, racing along the two-lane at sixty-five miles an hour, with this man, who was no hired bodyguard, headed where? “Where are we?” she pleaded. “Where are you taking us?”

“We’re almost there, Mrs. Killhorn.”

She felt a fresh wave of panic. “That isn’t what I asked you. Stop this car right now and let me out. Do you hear me?”

He didn’t look back. Nor did he answer. She saw him reach for a car phone and begin speaking into it. She couldn’t hear what he was saying.

She pushed the intercom again. But when she spoke into it, pleading with him to, please, not hurt her baby, she realized he’d turned it off.

“Damn you!” she cried, beating her fists against the window between them. “Damn you, stop this car! Let me and my baby out! Now!”

Andy began to scream, a high thin wail. Kit quit screaming, realizing she was only frightening the infant. She leaned over him, stroking his face, cooing softly as she soothed his cries. She had to try to quell her own panic. If she hoped to get them out of this, she had to keep her head.

Raindrops splattered the windshield as the storm moved inland. Through a break in the clouds, she could see the gulf, its surface a gunpowder gray. The driver had hung up the car phone.

Having calmed Andy, she gained a little control herself. She tried the intercom again. “Can you just tell me this—” she asked. “Did Sanders Killhorn hire you?”

She thought for a moment that he wouldn’t answer, that he still couldn’t hear her. But then he looked back in the mirror, his eyes almost silver in the darkness of the storm.

“No one hired me,” he said.

Music suddenly filled the back of the limo. Soft but at the same time deafening to her. Christmas music.

Kit felt sick inside. Somehow, she knew, Derrick had outwitted his brother. Her mind refused to accept the possibility that Sanders had been in on this kidnapping all along.

Derrick had said she’d made a terrible mistake. And now he had her right where he wanted her.

* * *

DERRICK SLAMMED the pay phone receiver against the wall until the plastic flew in all directions. Slowly, he hung up what was left of the phone.

“Call her back,” he commanded. “I have to talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sanders said, noticing that people were watching. “Come on, let’s get your luggage and get out of here before someone tells security about the phone you just destroyed.”

Derrick handed his brother another receiver. “Call. If I can just talk to her, I know I can make her understand. She’s just got it all wrong.”

Sanders started to argue, decided it wouldn’t do any good, and dialed.

He hung up when he got a recording saying that she was unavailable. She’d turned off the phone. “I still can’t believe she rented a limo and driver.”

Derrick swore. “She didn’t, you moron.”

Sanders stared at his brother. He had to admit he’d never seen Derrick this crazy over a woman. Not even Belinda could put him in this kind of a frenzy, and if there was one thing Belinda loved to do, it was set Derrick off. “She didn’t rent the limo?”

“Someone’s kidnapped her and the baby and she said that if anything happened to her—” He slammed a fist against the wall, once again drawing attention to them.

“Who would kidnap her?”

“How would I know that?” Derrick snapped.

Sanders reached for the pay phone. “We have to call the police—”

Derrick grabbed his wrist. “Are you crazy? We can’t chance calling the cops. I won’t risk my son’s life. We have to wait until we hear from the kidnapper and see what his demands are. He’ll call me back in Montana. I’m sure of it. I’ll have to take the next flight home.”

Sanders blinked. “You’re going to just leave Kit and the baby in the hands of some kidnapper in Texas and go back to Montana?” He couldn’t believe his brother. Couldn’t believe Kit had been kidnapped. How had the kidnapper known where she was, let alone that she’d be taking a limo?

“I’m not just leaving them,” Derrick snapped. “You’re staying here. You track that limo and driver and call me as soon as you know something.”

Sanders felt sick as he left the airport. Who would kidnap Kit and the baby? Only one man he could think of. The same man who’d known the address where Kit worked, who came up with the idea of a friend’s secluded ranch in Huntsville, who anticipated Kit would insist on Sanders meeting him at the airport instead of driving her, and who’d suggested hiring a limo and driver to take her.

Derrick could easily have set up this whole kidnapping thing. To scare Kit into coming back to him.

* * *

THE STORM SUCKED the last of the light from the day, making the sky as gray as the gulf. Rain streaked the windows of the limo as it sped along the coast. Kit fought the urge to scream and pound again on the window. She knew it would only upset her son—and accomplish nothing.

She glanced at her watch, trying to calculate where they were. She had no idea. She didn’t know Texas, never having ventured out of the house, let alone Galveston, for fear of running into Derrick. Through the rain, she glimpsed a highway sign: Brownsville, 170 miles. Dear God, they were headed south along the gulf toward Mexico.

Andy began to whimper. Kit unsnapped him from the carrier and changed his wet diaper, her hands trembling. She tried to stay calm, to think clearly, for the baby’s sake.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said to him as she took a bottle from the warmer in the bag and put the nipple to his mouth. Andy took it greedily. She looked down at him, studying his precious face, promising him silently that she would get them out of this. Whatever she had to do.

Her head jerked up as she felt the car slowing. Her pulse was deafening in her ears as she fought to see beyond the rain. Why were they stopping? She quickly unsnapped Andy’s car seat and buckled her son back into it as the driver turned onto a narrow shell road that ran through high dunes and scrub brush. Dense fog socked in the gulf. Fog and rain and night cloaked the car in darkness.

From what Kit could see, the area appeared seedy and deserted. The few shanties they passed stood on stilts like shore birds, but they too looked empty, boarded up as if anticipating a bad storm.

The driver pulled off on an even narrower side road and stopped between two tall dunes. He cut the engine. Kit grabbed for the door, planning to leap out with her son and run. The door was locked.

Her gaze jumped to the driver as she heard the whir of the privacy window and saw him turning toward her.

Chapter Six

Kit hurriedly rummaged through her purse, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. She found nothing. Not even a metal nail file or a set of keys. For the first time in her life, she wished for a gun and the knowledge to use it.

The driver reached back and grabbed her arm, taking the purse from her with his free hand. She had the impression that he could have crushed her arm with the strength in his fingers alone, but he didn’t. His grip was almost gentle, but firm. He left no doubt in her mind who would win if push came to shove.

“Take it easy, Mrs. Killhorn,” he commanded as he dropped the purse on the seat beside him, but kept his hold on her arm.

“Don’t call me that.” She jerked free, as angry as she was afraid. “Derrick Killhorn hired you, didn’t he?”

“I told you, no one hired me.”

“Someone hired you to kill me and take my son,” she cried in exasperation. “It had to be Derrick.” Or Sanders.

The driver held up one of his large, weathered hands. “Hold on, I didn’t bring you here to kill you or steal your son. If anything, I probably saved your life.”

“What?” She glared at him. He didn’t look like a crackpot.

He took off the chauffeur’s cap, tossed it on the seat beside him and raked a hand through his full head of dark blond hair.

“I know you aren’t a chauffeur,” she said as she watched him shrug out of the uniform jacket and loosen his shirt collar. She remembered the anger she’d seen in his eyes—anger aimed at her. “Who are you?”

“I’m a carpenter.” He met her gaze. “I make furniture.”

What kind of answer was that? She felt her head spin. “Why would a carpenter want—”

“There was another limo and driver who were to pick up you and the baby. It was to come thirty minutes later than I did. That’s the one Sanders hired.”

Derrick had told her she’d taken the wrong limo. For once the man wasn’t lying.

“If you’d gotten into the other limo, I doubt anyone would have ever seen you again,” he said matter-of-factly.

She shuddered at the calm certainty in his voice. “How do you know that?” And for that matter, how did he know who she was, that a limo was going to pick her up, that Sanders had hired it?

He held up his hand and shook his head at her as if he found her lack of patience daunting. “I overheard Sanders making the arrangements. You were to go to Huntsville to an out-of-the-way ranch. Derrick would have been waiting there for you. All the arrangements were made before Sanders even talked to you. It was Derrick’s plan. Sanders just carried out his orders.”

She felt sick inside but still didn’t want to accept it. “And you just happened to overhear all this?”

He nodded. “I’ve been following Sanders for seven months.” He sounded weary. “I’ve also been listening to him through the wonders of modern technology.”

She frowned. “You bugged him? Isn’t that illegal?”

He raised a brow as if to say that he’d done other things much more illegal than that. That scared her.

“Seven months?” The man was determined, she thought. “Why?”

He shrugged as if it should have been obvious. “I couldn’t find you myself. I knew Sanders was looking for you. I thought with the Killhorn resources he had a better chance than I did.”

She felt hesitant to ask the next obvious question. “Why did you want to find me so badly?”

“To talk to you.”

She raised a brow. “You went to all that trouble just to talk to me?” He was a crackpot. Oh, God, could things get any worse? She held tightly to Andy and the baby carrier and glanced out at the fog and darkness. Rain fell in a thick gray sheet and drummed on the roof of the limo. How was she going to get away from this man?

“Originally that had been the plan.”

Originally? The word snapped her attention back to him. Now he wanted more than to talk to her? “Are you a cop or something?”

“I’m Luke St. John. Jason’s brother.”

Chapter Seven

Luke St. John? Sanders stared down at the name on the A-1 Rent-a-Ride rental form. St. John? Someone Derrick had hired? Now he wasn’t so sure. It was too much of a coincidence not to be a relative of Jason’s. Headed for Huntsville? He doubted that. But just seeing the name neatly printed on the paper, Sanders assumed that Luke St. John, whoever he was, knew about the plan to rent a limo and take Kit and the baby to Huntsville. How? But maybe more important, why had St. John used his real name on the rental agreement, as if he wanted Sanders to know that he knew?

No, Sanders thought, St. John wanted Derrick to know. Did Luke also believe that Derrick had killed Jason?

Sanders left, drove to the nearest pay phone and called the private detective Derrick had hired to find Kit when Sanders had failed. It gave Sanders no little satisfaction that the P.I. had been unable to find Kit.

Matthew Rustan, was a slimy, balding former high school basketball star with a paunch, a lousy attitude and a hungry look in his eye that made Sanders nervous. The first time Sanders had seen the man’s office, he could tell that all Rustan’s good years were behind him—in more ways than one. The walls were lined with high school trophies, yellowed newspaper articles and old team photographs. Still, the man was handy—and willing to work.

“I need you to go over my rental car,” Sanders said when Rustan answered. “I think there’s a bug in it.”

Thirty minutes later, the private eye slammed the rental car door and walked over to where Sanders stood waiting. “It’s clean now.”

“That’s it?” Sanders asked pointing to the cellphone size device the P.I. held in his hand.

He nodded. “This type works off a larger receiver, which can pick up pretty good as far away as five miles. Someone’s probably heard every conversation you’ve had.”

At least now he knew how Luke St. John had known so much. “One more thing. Can you run a check on a name for me?”

“Sure.”

Sanders reached into his pocket. He’d copied the driver’s license number off Luke St. John’s A-1 Rent-a-Ride rental agreement. Beside it had been written the word Montana, one of the states where the license number was usually the social security number. “Try this.”

* * *

LUKE ST. JOHN. Kit gasped in surprise at the name and felt herself go cold as she stared at him.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. As he handed it to her, he snapped on the overhead light. Kit looked down at the color photo on his Montana driver’s license, then at the name. Lucas St. John.

He leaned over the seat to flip to a graduation photograph of a young man. Kit felt her throat constrict. Her heart pounded louder than the rain on the roof. She recognized the man in the photo instantly. This was the man she’d seen with Derrick at the construction site. The man she’d seen her husband murder. Jason St. John.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. The young man in the photo had long, light brown hair and pale gray eyes. Intense, penetrating eyes, just like the ones gazing at her now.

“That answers at least one of my questions,” Luke said, taking the wallet from her numb fingers. “It was my brother you saw your husband kill. I figured it had to be something like that. It was too much of a coincidence when you disappeared on the same day as Jason—and you nine months’ pregnant.”

Kit’s gaze jerked up at a sound outside the car. She let out a startled cry as a man’s face appeared beyond the glass. He wore a bright yellow raincoat, the hood up, his features hidden in shadow.

“It’s all right,” Luke said, pocketing the wallet. “He’s getting rid of the limo for me.” He stepped out into the rain, leaving his door open.

Kit watched the man hand Luke two raincoats. She couldn’t hear what they were saying as Luke shrugged into one of the coats then reached back in to toss her the second one. Luke went around the back of the limo with the man, opened the trunk and extracted her single bag. The man took the bag and disappeared into the darkness.

She pulled on the raincoat, chilled more by his words than by the weather or the raindrops that splattered her skin from the wet slick fabric. He was getting rid of the limo because Derrick would be looking for it—and them. Derrick would be tracking her down like a dog. She felt the weight of that thought and knew she could never be rid of the man.

Luke startled her, opening the door and climbing into the back of the limo. “There’s a fishing cottage just over the hill,” he said, reaching for the baby carrier. “We’ll go there.”

Kit glanced out into the night, unable to see a light or a building. She settled her gaze on Luke, wondering why he’d helped her, wondering what he wanted from her, suspecting she already knew the answer to that. She looked down at the baby in her arms. Andy had fallen back to sleep sucking his thumb; this kid could sleep through anything.

“Look,” Luke said quietly, “I’m tired, cold and hungry and the best cook in Texas is waiting someplace warm and dry.” He gave her a faint smile. It did something nice for his face, but it never reached his eyes. He didn’t like her. She felt that from him. It was so strong that it was unnerving, especially since, on the surface, he seemed so affable.

“My Aunt Lucille makes the best crab gumbo you’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice deeper, softer, cajoling.

Kit heard pride and tenderness in his tone at just the mention of his aunt’s name. It warmed her a little to him. She reminded herself that he’d lost his brother. And she’d witnessed the murder and run instead of going to the police. That was the frightening bond they shared. That and the fact that now Derrick Killhorn would be looking for Luke St. John as well as for her and Andy. No wonder this man didn’t like her.

She studied his face for a moment. At first she’d thought him ruggedly attractive, but now in the glare of the limo’s overhead light, she realized that he could have been handsome if his features hadn’t been so rigid, his gray eyes so cold.

“Well?” he asked, glancing out into the darkness with a nervousness she found contagious. “We don’t have a lot of time.” He handed her the diaper bag and her purse from the front seat, then held out his hands again for Andy. “You don’t know the terrain. It would be dangerous for you to carry the baby.”

Still, it was all she could do to put Andy into the man’s arms. But their lives were now in his hands, whether she liked it or not. Luke St. John had seen to that. She told herself that he had no reason to want to harm her or her son. In fact, he had every reason to want to see her stay alive. She hoped.

He covered the baby carrier with his uniform jacket, then he turned and ducked out of the car. Kit followed closely behind. She hadn’t gone far when she heard the purr of the limo engine as it pulled away into the night.

They hurried through the downpour. The air smelled wet from the rain and salty from the sea. As they topped one of the dunes, she could see a shimmer of light in the distance. The light grew as they neared a fishing cottage on stilts, the exterior weathered as gray as the fog. It appeared out of the rain, a single golden light shining from the porch. It pulled them through the darkness, promising warmth and shelter from the storm. And, if Luke St. John were true to his word, crab gumbo.

Kit felt uneasy as they neared the house, questioning why she thought she could take Luke St. John at his word—including the fact that Derrick wasn’t behind this abduction. For all she knew, the other limo would have taken her to Huntsville and safety.

* * *

“LUCAS ALLEN ST. JOHN,” the P.I. said, reading the report off his computer screen as a copy rolled out of the printer for Sanders. “Wow, who is this guy? Graduated at the top of his class from Montana Tech and went right to work as a structural engineer on some pretty impressive buildings around the world.”

Sanders snatched up the sheets from the printer and scanned down what read like a résumé. It was very impressive.

“I wonder what happened,” Rustan said thoughtfully. “Looks like he was good, really good. Then suddenly he drops out. Four years later he’s building furniture out of his shed in Podunkland. Believe me, there’s a story there. Something.” Rustan rubbed his jaw. “Makes you wonder what happened. Want me to try to find out?”

Sanders shook his head. He couldn’t care less about the man’s past. He was more interested in the man’s relatives. A brother named Jason. And Luke St. John’s current address: Big Sky, Montana. How about that?

Sanders carefully folded the papers and put them in his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t you want me to just put it on the bill I send to your brother?”

“No,” Sanders said, pulling out two hundred dollars from the wad Derrick had given him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with my brother.”

Rustan shrugged and took the money. “You say you don’t want me to keep looking for Kit Killhorn, right?”

“Right.”

“But you want me to keep looking for Jason St. John, but you want me to bill you instead of your brother?”

Was the man stupid? “I believe that’s simple enough.”

“Oh yeah, it’s simple all right. Just interesting.”

“Maybe you should try to curb your interest in other people’s affairs,” Sanders suggested.

Rustan laughed in his face. “People’s affairs are my business. It’s how I make a living, digging in other people’s lives. I’ll let you know if I find the answer to Luke St. John’s past.” He held up his hand before Sanders could protest. “It’s on the house. A freebie. Sometimes I just like to satisfy my own curiosity.”

Sanders left, his mind alive with worry. He didn’t like the P.I. and suspected Rustan would call Derrick the moment he left the office and sell him the same information. But he didn’t want any other outsiders involved in Killhorn business. Besides, he had more important things on his mind than Matthew Rustan. Why would this Lucas St. John kidnap Kit and the baby? Was he looking for his brother and thought Kit might know where Jason was? Or did he believe Jason had met with foul play?

Sanders felt his heart hammer harder. If Kit repeated that story about Derrick killing Jason…What would Lucas St. John do if he thought Derrick had killed his brother? Would he use Kit to try to get back at Derrick?

The possibilities terrified him. Then a new thought stopped him cold. What if this Luke St. John had kidnapped Kit to protect her from Derrick? Instantly, he rejected that theory as ridiculous. No one had to protect Kit from her own husband, nor the baby from his own father. Derrick might be a little out of control on occasion, but he’d married Kit, so he must have loved her. And more than anything in the world, Derrick wanted his son back.

Sanders glanced at his watch. By now Derrick was in Big Sky, waiting for his call.

* * *

LUKE ST. JOHN led the way up the steep wooden stairs. Before he reached the door, it flew open and a matronly woman wearing an apron took the baby from Luke’s arms and ushered them quickly inside.

Kit stepped into the warmth, surprised to find the place homey. A fire crackled in a woodstove in one corner, surrounded by an odd collection of comfortable-looking chairs. The opposite was lined with built-in bunk beds, with each covered with a worn handmade-looking quilt. Beside the bottom bunk was a white crib.

The kitchen took another corner of the room, where a delightfully spicy scent bubbled up from a huge pot on the stove. At the center of it all, a muchused high chair sat pushed up to a table set for three. Kit remembered seeing Luke on the car phone as they were leaving Galveston. They’d obviously been expected.

“I was getting worried about you,” the woman said as she looked down at the baby. “Oh, what an adorable child.”

Kit reached for Andy, surprised he wasn’t howling his head off. He usually didn’t like strangers, but he seemed to be intrigued by the woman’s wide, open face and her deep southern accent.

Before Kit could take Andy from the woman’s arms, Luke reached for Kit’s wet raincoat. She shrugged out of it, and he hung it on one of the hooks by the front door. “Aunt Lucille loves babies. Aunt Lou, meet Kit Kil—”

“Bannack,” Kit said quickly, surprising herself at the vehemence she heard in her tone.

Luke’s gaze flipped up to hers. “Kit Bannack,” he corrected, studying her. “And her son, Andy.”

“Well, come on in,” Lucille said, eyeing her nephew curiously. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Luke said nothing, but Kit felt her stomach growl. When was the last time she’d eaten? She started to relax just a little. Derrick hadn’t jumped out of any closets, and she was beginning to believe he wasn’t going to. The only question that remained was what Luke St. John hoped to accomplish by scuttling her and Andy off to this place.

“The gumbo is ready,” Lucille said, stealing another look at her nephew, worry on her face.

Andy began to whimper. “He probably needs to be changed,” Kit said.

“Oh, please, let me,” Lucille said. “If you don’t mind.”

Kit looked into the woman’s face and found herself nodding. Andy had taken to her right away. But Kit didn’t miss the look the woman gave her nephew—almost a warning look—before her gaze settled on Kit.

“Why, look at her, this woman is soaked to the skin,” Lucille exclaimed. “Go warm up next to the fire,” she told Kit. “Luke, get her a change of clothing,” she ordered as she headed for the crib with Andy.

Luke obeyed, going to a built-in drawer and pulling out a pair of sweats. He held them up for Kit to inspect. They looked soft and comfortable, warm and way too large.

She went to take the clothes from him, knowing they would swallow her small frame. Which made them perfect. They would hide her figure, which was just fine with her. She’d always been thin. Since the baby, she felt too rounded, too full in places she’d never been full-figured before. She felt at odds with this new body, as if she hadn’t yet grown into it—and might never do so.

Luke pointed her to the back of the house. She stepped through a doorway into what appeared to be a combination artist’s studio and bedroom. Watercolors lined the walls, along with photos of weddings, baptisms and newborn babies. She stopped before a photograph, recognizing the man in the picture as the one now in the next room.

The photo had been taken on the beach—and not that long ago. And what made it so unusual was how different the smiling Luke St. John looked in the photo. The eyes weren’t hard-as-steel gray, but soft, almost seductive. His rugged features weren’t etched in unforgiving granite. He was handsome in a strong, very masculine way that had a strange effect on her. But it was the look on his face that drew her in, in a way she would never have expected. Luke looked happy. And that expression on Luke St. John was the most alluring of all.

Is this what he’d been like before his brother’s death?

Then she saw the photograph next to it, and her heart thudded in her chest. It was of Jason at about age sixteen, squinting at the camera as he held up the huge fish he’d caught. He looked too serious for his age.

* * *

“SHE SAW HER HUSBAND kill Jason,” Luke said the moment Kit had left the room.

Lucille covered her mouth with one hand, and her eyes swam with tears. “Dear God. You’re sure?”

He nodded and reached over to take his aunt’s hand. He squeezed it, then pulled back, as unable to give comfort right now as he was to receive it. “Jason’s dead. Murdered.” His jaw tightened. “And she saw the whole thing.”

Lucille wagged her head, her gaze settling on him like an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, Luke, this must be killing you.”

He looked away. “I have to see that this man gets what he deserves.”

She brushed at her tears. “I know how angry you must be.”

He doubted that. He’d never felt this kind of rage before. It thrummed through his body, vibrating inside him, causing a constant hum inside his head. He’d banked all but his frustration during the months he’d searched for Kit, waiting with infinite patience to find out exactly what had happened to his brother, not letting his suspicion that Derrick Killhorn was behind his brother’s disappearance become any more than that: a strong suspicion.

Although he’d never met him, Luke knew who Derrick Killhorn was, had known people who’d worked with him in construction who’d found him pompous and often ruthless. Luke had seen Killhorn’s photo in the Lone Peak Lookout a few times, where the man was always referred to as a prominent citizen and businessman from an old Montana family.

But Luke had only seen him once in person, outside a motel in West Yellowstone with a woman who was not his wife. Luke didn’t like the man, nor did he like Jason working for him.

But when Luke heard Kit tell Sanders what she’d witnessed, he’d felt something explode inside his head, a time bomb that had been ticking for seven months.

Almost instantly, his rage had splintered, encompassing not only Derrick Killhorn but his wife, the woman who’d run and hid for months instead of going to the authorities. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to remain in the trees when he’d heard her admit what she’d seen. He’d felt such wrath that he’d wanted to burst from his hiding place and—

And what? He balled his hands into tight fists. “I heard her tell her husband that she has evidence that can convict him.”

“Dear heaven,” Lucille said.

Luke nodded as he turned to look again at his aunt. “The woman had evidence and still she didn’t come forward.”

“She must be horribly afraid of her husband,” Lucille said.

“Or still in love with him,” Luke added, finding it almost impossible to hold back the contempt he felt for Kit Killhorn. Fear or love, it really didn’t make a difference to him. Either way, he damned Kit Killhorn for what she’d done, adding her to his dark thoughts and, ultimately, to his plan.

“Luke, I know how upset you are, but do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve kidnapped this woman and her baby. What are you planning to do with them?”

“Whatever I have to.” He could feel her gaze boring into him.

“I know you want justice for this terrible crime, but surely not at the cost of that woman and child.” She sounded uncertain, as if she didn’t know him anymore.

He didn’t know himself anymore. “She’s all that stands between Derrick Killhorn being punished or getting away with murder.”

“Is that how you see her?” Lucille asked in shocked disbelief.

“That’s all I can afford to see. She’s an eyewitness,” he said, fighting to keep his voice down, fighting to hold back his frustration. All these months of looking for her, and for what? He’d finally found her, heard her admit she’d seen Derrick kill Jason, and what good did it do unless he took her back to Montana and made her take her evidence to the authorities?

“Luke, she’s a victim of this Derrick Killhorn just like Jason was. Can’t you see that? A woman who runs and hides all this time isn’t protecting her husband, she’s scared to death of him.”

He didn’t pretend to understand the mind of a woman. And right now he saw nothing but his own rage, his own need for vengeance. “She married him, had his child. Surely she knew the kind of man she was marrying.”

“Maybe not. And what about that child?” Lucille demanded. “My God, Luke, you’ve decided he’s dispensable too because he’s Killhorn blood?”

Luke turned at the sound of the studio door opening behind them. They abruptly stopped their conversation as Kit came back into the room. She halted, her gaze on them, no doubt aware they’d been talking about her. He watched her as she headed for the crib and her son. Derrick Killhorn’s son. Luke clamped down his jaw, looking at her through unforgiving eyes.

“How are the clothes?” Lucille asked, her voice sounding strained to Luke’s. “Oh, they’re huge on you.”

The sweatpants puddled at Kit’s ankles, the sweatshirt billowed around her like a balloon. She looked almost comical, the clothing was so large on her slight form. Then he narrowed his eyes as he watched her pluck at the loose-fitting top, tugging it away from her breasts as if self-conscious about the curves that even the huge sweats couldn’t hide. Her discomfort surprised him. And drew his attention.

He tried to remember what she’d been wearing before. Something bulky. Not that he’d really noticed. He’d been too anxious, too single-minded in his determination, too angry with her to care about anything but getting her into the car and getting away.

Now as he watched her move around the living room, studying his aunt’s art work, he speculated about the body that was hidden under the clothing. The sexual nature of the thought amused him, but he reined in his thoughts. He was more interested in what else the woman was hiding from him.

Almost absently, she uncoiled her hair and shook out the waves of fiery red. They tumbled down to the middle of her back, thick and rich, with a texture that at one time would have made him want to run his hand over it, just as he would a fine piece of wood.

She turned, the movement accenting the swell of her breasts beneath the baggy sweats, the rounded curves of her hips. He was stunned by a sudden stab of longing that pierced his angry shell like an arrow.

But he recovered quickly and smiled to himself as he brushed the feeling away, finding it insignificant in light of his other emotions—disdain for Kit Killhorn being at the top of the list. She could call herself “Bannack” but to him she was Mrs. Derrick Killhorn. The name alone damned her.

He’d never before thought of himself as vengeful. But he’d never before dealt with the pain of losing a brother. That loss, coupled with the injustice of Derrick Killhorn going unpunished for the crime, burned within Luke stronger than any desire he’d ever felt—or thought he ever would. And this woman, he reminded himself, stood between him and the vengeance he demanded.

He concentrated on how Mrs. Kit Killhorn was going to help him. One way or the other. With the evidence she had and her eyewitness testimony, Derrick Killhorn would probably go to prison for most of his miserable life. But was that enough? No, Luke thought, as he looked at Kit. Not nearly enough.

Chapter Eight

Kit could feel the tension in the air the moment she walked back into the room. There was no doubt that they’d been talking about her. Lucille looked upset and Luke…Well, he looked even more angry—if that were possible.

“Let’s try some of this gumbo,” Lucille said nervously.

Luke got up and moved to the fireplace to throw a log onto the dwindling blaze.

Kit pretended she hadn’t noticed anything amiss as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and went to the crib where Andy sat surrounded by toys. He looked utterly content. She picked him up, hugging him to her tightly and dug into his bag for the baby food.

As she headed for the table, she noticed more watercolor seascapes lining the walls. “Are these yours?” she asked Lucille.

“It’s just a hobby,” the woman said modestly.

“They’re very good,” Kit said, the cheerful bright paintings warming her all the more to Lucille.

“See, I told you you have talent,” Luke said to his aunt as she placed a huge pot of steaming gumbo in the center of the table.

Kit noticed something odd in the way he moved toward the table, but before she could think of what it was, she heard Luke say, “Mrs. Killhorn is an artist herself. A painter. I’ve seen her work.”

Kit felt as if he’d punched her. All the air rushed from her lungs; she thought she might faint. How could he know that? It wasn’t as if it was common knowledge. And where could he have seen any of her work? She didn’t like him calling her Mrs. Killhorn either, and he knew that—but it was her name, wasn’t it? Did he think he needed to remind her what a fool she’d been to marry Derrick?

“I was at the house,” he said sitting down at the table. “Killhorn’s house. Twice, actually.”

“When could you have—”

He looked up, pulling her down into the gray depths of his gaze until she thought she could see the dark bottom of his soul. “Seven months ago. One of my cousins is a locksmith.”

Kit knew she shouldn’t have been shocked by his confession. Nor by the open defiance in his eyes. The man had spent seven months tailing Sanders, bugging Sanders’s car and his motel rooms, tracking her, then abducted her and Andy. Why was she so shocked that he’d broken into the house she used to live in with Derrick?

Because she was just beginning to understand how far Luke St. John would go to get what he wanted. And that was exactly what he wanted her to know.

She met his gaze with an angry one of her own. Her art had always been private, painted in secret. First, because her aunt hadn’t approved. Later, because Derrick didn’t like her wasting her time painting.

But she had painted, filling the long hours alone in Derrick’s huge house with the one thing she loved. When he’d seen her work before they were married, he’d shown no interest. His only concern was that she might want to hang some of them in the house, the house he’d spent a fortune paying an interior designer to decorate.

“I have a certain position in the community to uphold, you understand,” he’d said. “I can’t have amateur artwork on the walls.”

He’d given her one room upstairs—what he called her sewing room; what she called her studio—and told her she could do with it whatever she wanted. So she’d put most of her paintings in storage. Only two, her favorites, were on the wall in her studio. Since Derrick never went in there, he hadn’t noticed. Nor did he know that she’d begun to paint again.

But Luke had seen her paintings, had noticed they were hers and had probably seen her works in progress in the closet where she kept them. She felt as if he’d gone through her underwear drawer. Her paintings were extremely personal, and now, she realized, Luke St. John, a complete stranger, knew things about her, intimate things, things that made her feel vulnerable. She would have preferred him to go through her underwear drawer.

He raised a brow, challenging her to question his behavior. He’d broken into her house, tracked her, kidnapped her, and yet he still thought what she’d done—witnessing a murder and running instead of reporting it—was much worse than anything he’d done to reach her. He must think her a horrible coward. Or worse.

She dropped her gaze as she slipped Andy into the high chair and sat down at the table.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucille shoot Luke a warning look. He said nothing more as she ladled one of the bowls full of gumbo and handed it to Kit. “This will warm you up.”

Kit took a bite, amazed at the incredible blend of tastes. “It’s wonderful,” she exclaimed.

Lucille smiled. “Food can make anything better.”

“This problem takes more than gumbo,” Luke said as he took the bowl Lucille offered him. “Even your gumbo.”

Lucille ignored him as she served herself. Then she chatted about fishing, Texas, the weather, anything but what they were all doing here and why. Luke ate silently, his gaze on his gumbo, responding only when asked a direct question and then only in monosyllables.

Kit ate, listening to Lucille’s wonderful southern accent, feeling warmed by the woman’s good nature as well as her spicy meal and cozy beach cottage. She fed Andy, who took spoonful after spoonful of baby food without even a whimper, but did pound the high chair tray occasionally and let out loud whoops, just in case anyone had forgotten he was there.

Several times during the meal, she felt Luke’s gaze on her. It seemed fired by both hostility and curiosity. The anger she could feel coming off him like heat waves from the woodstove, but she understood the anger. And it bothered her much less than the open curiosity.

And she didn’t understand the tension that arced between Luke and his aunt. It made Kit wonder what he’d done that had upset the woman. Kit suspected it was more than abducting her and Andy.

Kit found herself studying Luke out of the corner of her eye while she ate. He was no hero who’d come riding up in a long black limo to save her and Andy. She knew that. Maybe he’d temporarily saved her from Derrick. But there was little doubt that his motivations were selfish ones. He’d kidnapped her for his own purpose. The question was: what purpose? To seek justice? Or did he just want revenge and not care who he had to hurt to get it? She worried it might be the latter.

She contemplated him for a moment. He did frighten her, she realized, but on a level that had nothing to do with his hostility over his brother’s murder and the part she’d played by keeping it a secret.

No, what she feared in him was something more…primal. Something more…Luke looked up, his gaze connecting with hers, stunning her with its intensity, shocking her with its intimacy. In that instant she knew exactly what it was about Luke St. John that terrified her.

His lips turned up in a knowing smile and he nodded as if he’d read her thoughts and agreed wholeheartedly that she should fear him.

She looked away, shaken, and tried to focus on eating. But she could feel him, and realized she’d been keenly aware of him from the moment she’d looked into his gray eyes. Since then, she’d known where he was in the room without consciously looking for him. She felt his presence.

It suddenly hit her—the mannerism she’d noticed earlier when she’d watched him walk to the table. She knew, the same way she knew without looking right now that he was kneading his right thigh above his knee with the heel of his large hand. Luke St. John walked with a limp. It was so slight that it was almost unnoticeable, but she had noticed it. Because she noticed everything about the man.

That shocked her. And she told herself that it shouldn’t. Of course she’d be aware of him. He was her kidnapper. He held her and her son’s welfare in his hands. Of course she would try to read this man, to gauge his behavior, the tone of his voice, the subtle meaning of his movements. It was some basic instinct that had been handed down for centuries to women, from a time when a woman’s life depended on her ability to sense whether a man meant her harm.

Something just as basic told her this man wouldn’t harm either her or Andy. Still, the ancient instinct that was making her so conscious of Luke St. John disturbed her. The same way she’d been disturbed when she’d looked at his smiling photograph She glanced at him across the table now and realized that she was uncomfortable because she had the distinct impression that he was equally aware of her.

She took seconds on the gumbo at Lucille’s prompting and concentrated on finding contentment in just being warm, dry and fed. It had never taken much to make her content because she’d never had much. So much of her life had been spent caring for other people, seeing to their comfort, their desires. She’d never given much thought to her own.

“So you’re an artist,” Lucille was saying.

Kit blinked and shot a resentful look at Luke. “No.” She wouldn’t consider herself an artist until her work was seen in a gallery showing. That would not only make her work complete, but make Kit’s dream come true.

“I was a history major in college. Now I’m a…” She recalled the way Luke had said in the car that he was a carpenter, a furniture builder, as if that was who

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