FROM SOLITARY COWBOY...

TO PROTECTIVE DADDY

His Texas ranch has been a refuge for Jared King ever since tragedy tore his life apart. But when the widowed rancher is reunited with the one-night stand he never forgot and meets the child he never knew existed, he quickly learns just how much danger they’re both in. Now, with Courtney Jamison trusting him to keep her and their son safe, will the city girl who invaded his heart stick around once the danger has passed?

Award-winning author ROBIN PERINI’s love of heartstopping suspense and poignant romance, coupled with her adoration of high-tech weaponry and covert ops, encouraged her secret inner commando to take on the challenge of writing romantic suspense novels. Robin loves to interact with readers. You can catch her on her website, www.robinperini.com, and on several major social-networking sites, or write to her at PO Box 50472, Albuquerque, NM 87181-0472.

Also by Robin Perini

Finding Her Son

Cowboy in the Crossfire

Christmas Conspiracy

Undercover Texas

The Cradle Conspiracy

Secret Obsession

Christmas Justice

San Antonio Secret

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Cowboy’s Secret Son

Robin Perini

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07918-1

COWBOY’S SECRET SON

© 2018 Robin L. Perini

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

Five years ago

The Texas night sky broke open with the boom of thunder and sizzle of lightning, splitting the heavens with a malicious hand. Oblivious to the violent rainstorm, Jared King stood on the end of the pier at Last Chance Lake, a large duffel at his side. Peering through the curtain of water streaming off his Stetson, he searched for any sign of his wife. Was this just another cruel twist in the kidnapper’s perverse game?

Where was she? Where was Alyssa?

His phone rang, piercing the roar of the torrent. He grabbed the cell and tapped the screen. “King,” he snapped.

A spine-chilling and all-too-familiar chuckle sounded through the line. “You look upset, Jared.”

His chin shot up and he spun in a 360. The guy was watching.

Jared squinted into the darkness, searching for any indicator to the kidnapper’s location, shunting the full-blown terror that had gripped his heart and soul in a dark place.

Why had he ever left her alone?

When she’d taken the chance of marrying him and coming to live in the middle of nowhere, he’d promised to take care of her. Always. And look what had happened.

She’d been taken by a madman.

Another quick flash illuminated the large lake and his heart picked up the pace, thudding at the clip of a galloping stampede. Was that a boat near the swimming platform at the center of the lake?

Was it them? It couldn’t be the sheriff. He’d agreed to stay out of sight until Alyssa was safe. Jared refused to take chances with her safety.

Before Jared could focus, the world went dark again. He could see nothing. The entire lake had morphed into an endless black hole.

“Where is she?” he asked, desperate to keep his voice steady.

“Do you have the money?” the kidnapper countered in a guttural whisper.

Jared snapped on his flashlight and lifted the duffel, sweeping the beam along the large bag.

“Good. I bet that emptied out your bank account. Did you follow my instructions?”

His unwavering focus probed the storm. If only he could catch a glimpse of the kidnapper or Alyssa. “I told you I would.” Jared ground his teeth at the taunting tone, but inside a niggle of something not quite right set off alarm bells. “Where is my wife?”

“You sound nervous. You should be.” A low laugh filtered through the phone. “I told you not to lie to me. You failed. You didn’t follow all of my instructions,” the man said, his voice unidentifiable. “You contacted the law. I warned you I’d be watching.”

Jared stilled. Oh God. How had the kidnapper found out? He clutched the duffel’s strap with a death grip. Jared had called Carder, Texas, sheriff Kevin Redmond when Alyssa had first been kidnapped. He’d had no choice. He couldn’t raise the cash the man wanted. Not after sinking everything into that new quarter horse stud last week. With no time to liquidate, he’d needed help. He and the sheriff had been careful, though. They’d never met in person.

Obviously they hadn’t been careful enough.

What had he done?

Jared’s knuckles whitened around the phone. “Please—”

“Too late for apologies. You broke the rules. Now you pay the price.”

“Wait!”

“Just remember, this is all your fault.”

The line went dead.

“You hear that, Kevin?” Jared whispered into the small microphone hidden beneath his shirt, fighting against the panic squeezing his heart.

“He could be bluffing,” the sheriff said, through the earpiece.

But Jared recognized the uncertainty lacing Kevin’s voice.

A motor roared to life from the middle of the lake.

“That’s got to be him,” Jared shouted. “He’s on the water.”

“N-no! Please!” a woman’s pleading cry sounded from somewhere in the inky darkness.

“Alyssa?” Jared shouted.

“What the hell—?” Kevin cursed.

A splash sounded. The motor kicked into gear.

“Sounds like he’s heading to the far side.” Jared squinted, trying to make out any movement in the night. “I can’t see a damn thing. Alyssa!”

She’d called out to him. She had to be close.

“I’ll head him off.” Another motor rumbled. The sheriff’s boat. “Keep the comm open,” Kevin yelled over the engine.

Jared had no chance of beating the boat to the other side of the lake in his truck, but he had to try. He shined his high-powered flashlight across the water to catch the direction of the boat’s wake. Maybe, just maybe.

The beam swept past the old wooden platform and he jerked it back. He froze. Two pale hands gripped a post, blond hair shining against the water.

Alyssa.

“I see her,” he shouted.

He tugged off his boots, dove into the icy water, and sprinted toward her. He made it to the structure in record time and stopped, treading water in the twenty-five-foot-deep man-made lake. He spun around, desperately searching for her, barely acknowledging the engine from Kevin’s boat closing in.

She was gone.

“Alyssa!”

Jared dove beneath the surface, but with no moonlight shining down, he couldn’t even see his hands in front of him, he could only feel. Frantic, he whirled in the water, reaching out, searching for something, anything to hold on to, to bring her to safety.

Something long and thin brushed his side. He clutched at it. His fingers clasped the rough surface of bark. A branch. He shoved it away.

His lungs ached. Just a few seconds more and he’d find her. He could feel it.

The water burned his eyes. His mind grew fuzzy. Damn it. He had no choice. He needed air. If he drowned, he couldn’t save his wife.

He kicked to the surface, sucked in a large breath, and submerged beneath the water, but all he could feel was cold, dark and empty. He had no idea which direction to search.

A circle of light illuminated the darkness above him. The sheriff. Thank God.

An odd blue-green aura lightened the water around him. At least Jared could make out shapes and shadows.

A flash of white caught his attention. Nearly out of air again, he swam toward the unusual object.

His heart skipped a beat. Gauzy white material floated past him in a ghostly blur. He lunged at it but grasped nothing but fabric.

It must have come off her.

He swept his arms right and left, each movement more and more desperate. She had to be here. He bumped into something and clutched at it. Another branch?

No. Not rough wood, but soft skin. A hand. An arm.

He grabbed at Alyssa and tugged. She wouldn’t budge. He pulled again.

Still nothing.

Panic rose in his throat. Lungs nearly bursting, he propelled himself lower, running his hands over her torso and legs until he grasped a thick braid of rope. Sliding his hands down the line, he followed the trail to a large tire.

The bastard had weighted her down.

Jared shoved his hand into his pocket and gripped his knife with numbing fingers. Holding it with a death grip, he snapped it open and sawed through the hemp.

In his head, the seconds ticked by. He couldn’t see. He needed to breathe. The knife slipped and sliced across his thumb. He hardly felt the sting.

After what seemed an eternity, the last fibers of rope gave way. Alyssa didn’t move.

He clutched her close. Kicking with everything he had, he catapulted toward the light above.

Jared broke the surface a few feet from the sheriff’s boat. He sucked in more air. “Help her.”

Kevin Redmond leaned over the edge of a small boat. “Got her.” He pulled Alyssa in.

Jared crawled on board.

“Guy took off in a truck,” the sheriff said. “I lost him.”

Didn’t matter. Jared would kill the guy later. With shaking hands, he turned his wife over. Her eyes were wide-open, sightless, the white gown draped across her gently swelled belly.

“Don’t die on me, Alyssa!”

Jared leaned down and rested his cheek against her mouth, his finger on her neck, but no breath escaped, no pulse throbbed under her skin. Rain pelted them. He ignored it. He pressed his hands against her chest, rhythmically, frantically trying to revive her.

He’d heard her call out just moments ago.

“We’ll get her to the hospital,” Kevin shouted. “Keep at it.”

The boat skidded across the surface of the lake toward the pier.

A crack echoed through the night when her ribs gave way. Wincing, Jared hesitated for a bare second but kept going.

He pressed his lips to hers and pushed one breath, two breaths into her lungs.

The boat stopped. An ambulance would never make it way out here in time.

“Get the truck started,” Jared didn’t even look up until he heard his beat-up Chevy purr. The headlights shined at them.

He gazed into his wife’s face, ghostly white. His body went numb. This wasn’t happening.

“Fight, Alyssa. Please, fight.” He pressed his lips to her cold, wet mouth and puffed in once, twice, praying she’d cough up water.

She remained still, unmoving.

Jared scooped her into his arms and raced down the pier. “Don’t give up.” He jumped into the back of the truck and continued performing CPR, willing her to live, willing the family he’d always longed for to survive.

“Don’t give up. Please, Alyssa. Don’t give up on me, and I promise, I’ll never give up on you.”

Chapter One

Present day

If today’s clear skies had reflected the turmoil twisting Courtney Jamison’s heart into a quivering mass of uncertainty, the forecast should’ve indicated hurricane-gale winds, kiwi-sized hail and lightning slicing between skyscrapers across the city.

Instead it was a perfectly wonderful day. For most.

Courtney loved New York. The twenty-four-hour energy, the fashion, the events and especially her position as curator of her grandmother’s legacy—one of the most prestigious art museums in the city.

She never would have anticipated the last eighteen months, but she’d found a joy she’d never expected. Then, one week ago her world had capsized. Whatever happened in the next hour, she had no doubt her life would never be the same.

The heavenly scent of brewed coffee laced with a touch of cinnamon wafted through the shop’s air. The churn of blenders and mixers cut through the sounds of engines and horns piercing the door. She waited in this very ordinary setting for news that could destroy her world.

Maybe she’d been mistaken. After all, she hadn’t been thinking clearly that night eighteen months ago. Just feeling. Maybe her memory of his face, the contour of his cheek, the quirk of his lips when he smiled...maybe the man she’d seen on the news hadn’t been him at all.

It could happen. No need to borrow trouble when there was enough to be found in the world. The valuable advice had been one of the last bits of wisdom her mother had imparted before cancer had stolen her away from a ten-year-old who’d still needed those loving arms. Unfortunately, today was too critical not to worry.

Hers wasn’t the only person whose life could change forever.

A bell’s ring announced another patron. Courtney glanced up and her stomach flopped. The man’s military haircut screamed his thirty-year Marine career. She’d hired him because he didn’t frequent her family’s social circles. No one would think Courtney, Edward Jamison’s high-society daughter, would hire a private investigator who didn’t boast a Fifth Avenue pedigree.

That fact alone made Joe Botelli precisely who she needed.

He gave her a quick nod and crossed the room toward her. “Ms. Jamison.” He placed the folder between them and slid it across the table. “I found him. You were right. He stayed at the Waldorf that night.”

She closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself for the rest. “Tell me.”

The PI flipped open his notebook. “The highlights?”

She nodded. She could read the rest later, in the quiet of her penthouse, where she didn’t have to maintain such rigid control on her emotions.

“Jared King, thirty-two years old. Until about three years ago, desperate to keep his family’s Texas ranch in the black by training rodeo horses and raising stock.”

Jared. She rolled his first name around a few times, attaching it to the all-too-sensual dreams that invaded her sleep much too often. The moniker suited him. From what she’d seen on television, his apparent career was anything but expected.

“Jared King.” She tested it aloud for the first time. “So he really is a cowboy?” Courtney sagged in her chair, her body going limp with disbelief. That’s one she wouldn’t have guessed until she’d seen his image a week ago. And definitely not based on the Armani suit he’d worn all too perfectly that weekend at the Waldorf Astoria. The Stetson, flannel shirt and well-worn jeans had been her one holdout of hope that she’d been wrong.

“Yes and no. He lives on a ranch that’s been in his family for generations. It’s on the outskirts of a small town called Carder in the southwestern part of Texas.” Joe Botelli shifted in his seat. “Several years ago oil was discovered on his property. He went from scraping by to being one of the wealthiest men in Texas. The money didn’t change his lifestyle much from what I can tell. He still spends most of his time working the cattle ranch and supplying stock to rodeos.”

She could hardly wrap her brain around his words. Cattle, rodeo? The closest she’d ever been to either was flipping through channels on late night television and landing on an old 1940s Roy Rogers movie.

“Is...is he married?” she asked, trying not to reveal her nerves—or her fear. After her mother had died, she’d learned never to expose her thoughts or emotions, to maintain control and dignity at all times. Hopefully the skill would keep Botelli with the discerning gaze from realizing her true vulnerability. She’d taken a huge risk asking a stranger to investigate Jared King. Right now she had to wonder what she’d opened in the proverbial Pandora’s box.

“Widower.”

Jared had lost his wife. Her heart quivered in sympathy—and foreboding. What if he wanted...? She couldn’t let her mind go there.

The PI leaned back in his chair as if he couldn’t care less about her or the devastation his information had caused. “Do you want me to continue digging?”

Courtney gripped the folder in her hand as if her future depended on its content.

In truth, it did. Every fact she digested from the dossier would make Jared King more real. More dangerous. But she couldn’t fall apart here. “His address is inside?” she asked.

At the man’s nod, Courtney opened her three-year-old Prada purse and slid an envelope of cash across the table. No need to create a record of this transaction. She didn’t plan on seeing the private investigator again. She’d shred his card when she arrived home. “Thank you.”

The PI’s brow arched, but he pocketed the money and stood. “If you need anything else—”

“I won’t.”

At her terse response, he gave a sharp nod, rose from the table and exited the coffee shop. Courtney barely noticed him leaving. She couldn’t stop staring at the folder. For so long she’d dreaded—and wished for—this day.

Her phone dinged. A text came through.

Come home. Trouble.

The oddly curt message from her housekeeper closed her throat. Courtney clasped her neck. She couldn’t breathe. The barista called out her order, but Courtney ignored the announcement. She had to get home. Without a backward glance, she raced out of the coffeehouse and flagged a taxi.

Panicked, she dialed home.

No answer.

Without a second thought she called her assistant to inform her she wouldn’t be returning to the museum.

The cab swerved through traffic. Courtney took in a slow, deep breath. Perhaps she was overreacting. Since recognizing Jared, she’d been a rigid ball of nerves.

Despite logic trying to convince her everything was fine, her heart raced, slamming against her chest. She fought through the dread and clutched the door handle.

Luckily traffic was lighter than normal. The moment the taxi stopped in front of her building, she threw a hundred-dollar bill at the surprised cabby and jumped out.

“Good day, Ms. Jamison,” the doorman commented, holding the heavy glass open for her.

Unlike normal, she couldn’t muster a smile or chitchat. Ignoring Reggie’s furrowed brow of concern, she hit the button for the elevator.

She slipped the key card into the penthouse lock, but the familiar click didn’t sound. The door silently eased open.

“Marilyn?” she called. “What’s wrong?”

Courtney skidded to a halt. Her sitter lay on the living room floor, eyes staring unblinking and lifeless at the ceiling. Blood pooled around her head, seeping into her gray hair.

She dropped to her knees, her finger slipping through the blood when she searched for a pulse.

Nothing.

Only a split second passed before the shock leached into Courtney’s throat. “Dylan!” Courtney tore through the living area, searching frantically. Where was her son? She grabbed the fireplace poker and gripped it tight before racing into her baby’s bedroom.

She froze.

The crib had been overturned, the chest of drawers upended, clothes strewn across the floor.

Courtney whirled around. Her gaze landed on the closet door. Her stomach rolled and bile rose in her throat. Was the murderer still there? Did he have her baby?

She picked her way through the chaos, clutching her makeshift weapon with both hands. She reached out, barely able to breathe.

Terrified of what she’d see, unable to stop the horrifying images flying through her mind, she yanked open the door and flipped on the light.

Her knees gave way.

Empty.

“Dylan, where are you?”

She begged for a jabber a laugh, even a cry, but nothing. Within minutes she’d searched the rest of the apartment. Only one room left. Her room.

She slammed through the door and froze. In the center of the perfectly pristine bed lay her nine-month old son, pillows penning him in a makeshift crib on the bed.

He wasn’t moving.

Courtney’s heart stopped. She raced over to her heart and soul, terrified of what she might find. She leaned over the peaceful countenance and her body went limp.

“Dylan?” Courtney’s hand shook. The fireplace iron thudded to the floor. She reached out to touch her baby boy’s face.

Her son’s chest rose and fell. He was alive.

Choking back a sob of relief, Courtney scooped up her son with noodle-like arms. The movement caused Dylan to screw up his face and let out a loud yell.

“What happened, baby?” She glanced around the room, but nothing else appeared to be out of place.

Her gaze landed on Dylan’s stuffed lamb sitting on one pillow. A sheet of paper was pinned to the toy. She scanned the words in horror.

If we wanted to kidnap him, your son would be gone.

If we wanted to kill him, your son would be dead.

When we come back, we WILL take him. We WILL kill him.

Unless we receive $3,680,312.00.

We will call you with instructions.

If you contact the police or FBI, he will die.

If you don’t get us the money within 72 hours, he will die.

Don’t try to be smart. You can’t hide from us.

With a shuddering breath, Courtney tried to comprehend what she was reading. The strange amount of money, the taunting threats. Nothing made sense.

She gazed into Dylan’s one brown eye and one green eye, trying to smile with reassurance, all the while backing toward the door. “We have to get you out of here.”

Bundling up the diaper bag, Courtney raced out of the apartment with one last sorrowful glance at Marilyn. What kind of monster would kill the sweet woman who loved Dylan so much?

She hugged her child close. “I’ll keep you safe, Jelly Bean. I promise.”

* * *

ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, the car service’s Mercedes pulled up in front of her father’s Greenwich, Connecticut, mansion. Courtney turned her cell phone over and over in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the emergency key. For the thousandth time on the ride there, she considered calling law enforcement.

Something had stopped her once again. Maybe it was all those television programs that showed how easy it was to hack a phone call. She couldn’t take the risk. Not with Jelly Bean. The kidnapper had come into her home. Had touched her baby boy. Had killed Marilyn.

A shiver vibrated down her arms. Part of her kept telling herself this couldn’t be happening. Threats like this were the stuff of crime novels and television shows, and yet every time she reread the note and pictured poor Marilyn lying on the floor of her penthouse, she knew it was her reality.

Which was why she was about to make an unprecedented request. Courtney rubbed her eyes. She’d never gone to her father with an open hand, but she didn’t know where else to turn. Her job, the penthouse, everything but her salary was part of her grandmother’s trust specifically created to fund the museum. She didn’t have the money to pay the murderer what he wanted.

She had to believe her father would give her what she needed. He had to. Even though he’d been furious—not to mention disappointed—when she’d found herself pregnant and had refused to name the father.

She’d been too embarrassed to tell him she didn’t know the man’s name.

“You getting out or what?” the driver asked from the front seat.

Courtney nodded and unbuckled the car seat. She rounded the vehicle to retrieve Dylan, and the driver met her at the door. He opened it and she grabbed the carrier, careful not to jar the baby.

“How much do I owe you—?”

The man shook his head. “It’s been taken care of. I was asked to give you this when we arrived.” He handed her a padded envelope. Before she could open it, he jumped into the Mercedes and screeched out of the driveway.

One look and her gut sank. She recognized the handwriting on the label. She lowered Dylan to the ground and gently tore open the envelope. She pulled out a phone with a sticky note attached.

Keep the phone with you.

Keep your silence. Especially from your father.

And don’t forget, you can’t hide from us. We’ll always find you.

The note crinkled in her grasp. How did he know so much? The words blurred on the paper. Her knees shook; her legs quivered. She nearly sank to the ground. Her gaze whipped to the now empty driveway. Was the driver blackmailing her? She shook her head. Somehow she doubted it. He wouldn’t have wanted to show his face. Besides, he’d said someone else had paid him.

The blackmailers had made their point clear, though. She’d better follow his instructions exactly. No police, no law enforcement. She couldn’t imagine what the cops would think when they found Marilyn. She’d considered phoning in an anonymous tip, but she couldn’t risk being arrested. Not before she was certain Dylan was safe.

“Okay, you can do this. You can do anything for Dylan.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and stumbled through the front door of the mansion. The eight-thousand-square-foot home had been in the family for four generations, the money originated from more than a few deals with Andrew Carnegie.

Courtney had never ruminated on her family’s money much. It had always just been there. She’d never been more thankful for the privilege than she was today.

She glanced at her son. Today the money she’d always taken for granted would save Dylan.

She refused to consider that the first payment wouldn’t be enough to get rid of the blackmailer. One step at a time.

The foyer’s Baccarat chandelier glittered high above her, though the butler didn’t appear out of nowhere like he usually did.

“Fitz?” she called.

No response. How strange.

“Clarissa? Burbank? Anyone here?”

Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Where was the rest of the staff?

A horrific possibility hit her squarely in the chest. What if the killer had come here. Oh God.

She started to run from room to room. No. This wasn’t right. Bare rooms, boxes, paintings missing.

“F-father?” she called, her voice shaky. She opened the door to her mother’s old sitting room. The blank space on the wall slammed into her. The Degas painting her mother had purchased just before her death was gone.

“Father!” she shouted again.

“In the library.” Her father’s voice filtered through the deserted hallways.

Something was wrong. He sounded strange, his words slurred. Courtney hurried through the double doors. A stack of boxes littered the floor. He huddled behind his mahogany desk, staring across the room as if in a trance. A half-empty bottle of cognac sat at his elbow, an empty old-fashioned Waterford glass directly in front of him.

Carefully, she set Dylan down on the floor and ran to her father. “What’s going on?” Was he actually leaving their family home? It didn’t make sense.

He shoved his hand through his already mussed hair and cleared his throat. “I should’ve called you sooner.” He let out a long sigh.

She studied his bleary gaze. Drinking again. Why wasn’t she surprised? “Father, I don’t mean to be rude, but right now I need your help. For Dylan. We need three million dollars.”

He blinked up at her, confusion lacing his eyes. He reached for the century-old bottle, poured four fingers and swigged it down. “No.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. “You don’t understand. Please. I’ll move out of the penthouse. I’ll find somewhere else to live. But I need that money.” Panic raised her voice. He had to help. She didn’t want to reveal the threat. She couldn’t afford for her father to contact the FBI or the cops. He always wanted to fix everything. Had made it his mission to protect her from the time her mother had died.

“It wouldn’t matter,” he said. “I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” She gripped the lapel of his coat. “I haven’t asked for anything since I started working. I make my own way—”

He pressed a finger over her lips and gazed at her with bloodshot eyes.

“I’d give you the money if I could, Courtney. You don’t know how much I wish I could, but I can’t.” He looked away. “All the money is gone.”

Chapter Two

Spring didn’t bring new beginnings to Last Chance Ranch; it choked ’em dry in the West Texas sun. Jared King had learned long ago that his family’s cattle spread richly deserved its name. It had for six generations.

Now, he even had to fight his north-side neighbor, Ned Criswell, for water that was rightfully theirs. A never ending feud he’d tried to escape for years.

When Jared had volunteered for the Army at eighteen, he’d been convinced he would never succumb to the ranch’s bad karma. What a young fool he’d been. After being discharged he’d brought home a beautiful young wife and pretended he could find hope where only despair had dug in roots. After Alyssa’s death, he’d finally given in to whatever mojo the half-million acres possessed. He wouldn’t try to buck destiny again.

He tilted his Stetson against the afternoon glare and hooked his boot on the sturdy rail of the bull pen. He leveled the dead-cold stare that would have sent his ranch hands quaking and running for cover on Ned Criswell and his no-good son. The two burley men refused to back off. “You can’t keep that river dammed up. Last Chance Lake is down several feet already.”

Ned’s face turned beet red, and he stuck out his barrel chest. “The water stays on my side of the property line until you stop those company men from traipsing across my land.”

Jared head throbbed. They’d replayed this scene countless time over the years. The bad blood between the families stretched back decades, but Ned Criswell had become even more ruthless. And relentless. He might actually do it, just to get back at Jared’s father, even though he’d passed away years ago.

The son, on the other hand, Chuck Criswell was all about the money. And the power.

“The water’s running low for my cattle,” Jared said, fighting to keep his tone reasonable for the moment. “You don’t want to take this fight any further, Ned. You know I’ll win.”

“My father has as many friends in Austin as you do. We want what’s coming to us.” Chuck spit a wad of tobacco on the ground.

“Shut up,” Ned said, glaring at his son.

Even with the same goal, the two men couldn’t show a united front. A sure way to lose. Jared was fine with that.

A loud snort sounded from the enclosure next to them. Chuck scooted away from the fence. “That bull is a menace.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t have saved him.”

Sometimes Jared agreed. Angel Maker had earned his name. He’d nearly gored a half dozen of Jared’s best hands. The black bull from hell pawed at the dirt, giving Jared the evil eye. He’d saved the bad-tempered beast from being put down after a deadly episode at the San Antonio Rodeo earlier this year. The bull’s bloodline would solidify Jared’s place as the premier stock supplier for the Professional Bull Riders rodeo circuit. His money might come from oil and gas now, but at his heart he was still a rancher, and the rodeo was in his blood.

Besides, Jared had a penchant for lost causes...at least those that didn’t touch his heart.

Angel Maker butted his head against the fence. This time Ned joined his son, away from the pen. Jared bit back a smile. If the animal had wanted to do any real damage that pen wouldn’t stop him. “He likes you.”

The older man bit out a curse. “You gonna say something to those oil guys or not?”

“You signed a contract. They have a right to cross your land on the road.”

“I changed my mind.”

Yeah. He wanted more money. Jared recognized the gleam in Ned’s eye. The Criswells had a weakness for gambling—and Chuck had developed a rep for being particularly unlucky. Rumor had it that between the football play-offs, Super Bowl and the latest NCAA basketball tournament, the Criswells had cleaned out their bank accounts.

“If you don’t knock down that dam, Ned. I’ll do it for you.”

“I don’t like threats. You’re worse than your old man, King. And he was an SOB.”

“You took advantage of him and nearly cost Dad our land,” Jared said, with a bite. “But I’m not the pushover my father was. The Army taught me how to fight.”

Ned’s face paled, but like most cowards, he didn’t face a battle, he ran.

“This isn’t over.” He turned to his son. “Start the truck.”

Chuck ran over to the brand-new F-350 and jumped in. Ned followed and heaved himself into the front seat. “I’m keeping the dam.”

Chuck gunned the accelerator, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Jared rubbed his brow where the headache had erupted just beneath the surface. Ned had to know he was on thin ice diverting a waterway that flowed across more than his own property. Problem was, bureaucracy could take months to deal with it and the spring livestock needed that water.

“I say we send some equipment in and bust a hole in the dam.” Jared’s foreman sidled up to him. “The Criswells won’t give in,” Roscoe Hines said under his breath. “They’re getting desperate.” He glanced at their newest hand. “Tim, try to distract Angel Maker.”

Jared kneaded the base of his neck in exasperation. “Ned was a bully when he screwed my dad. He hasn’t changed. He won’t back off even if it’s in his own best interest. Using water as a leverage to change our deal is a mistake. He’s doing a lot of damage and he won’t win. Our contract is ironclad.”

The clatter of wooden planks and the banging of metal clamored from Angel Maker’s pen.

“Speaking of bad blood...” Roscoe raced to the bull’s pen. “Get out of there, Tim.”

The eighteen-year-old hand jumped over the fence and out of the pen. Angel Maker rammed the wood, and it creaked under the two-and-a-half-ton bull’s weight.

Tim’s freckled-face had gone red with exertion. He bent over and sucked wind, but his eyes gleamed with challenge.

Roscoe shook his head in incredulity and sauntered back over to Jared. “That kid’s either going to be a hell of a good hand, or he’s going to wind up dead.”

“I’m betting the former,” Jared said. “Reminds me of Derek the first time you guys drove up to the ranch after Dad hired you.”

“That son of mine was some daredevil, that’s for sure.” Roscoe smiled, that proud grin only a father could have for his son. “He said he’d come visit soon, but every time he makes plans, work interferes.”

“We need to get him out here, see if he’s forgotten how to ride.”

Man, they’d had fun together as kids on a ranch with no fences, no boundaries. The moment Derek had arrived on the ranch he and Jared had been inseparable. There’d been hard work and a lot of chores; they’d gotten into their share of trouble, but Jared hadn’t minded. They’d faced the discipline together. From junior high rodeo through high school football, up through and including enlisting at the Army recruitment office. Strange how life had taken them in different directions. Their paths had diverged so much, he hadn’t seen Derek in a couple of years.

“He likes his new job?”

“He seems to. Makes more money than I ever dreamed.” Roscoe shook his head in befuddlement. “Not sure how exactly. Something to do with computers.”

“He was always book smart,” Jared said. He’d have to give his old friend a call. Roscoe had been looking a little under the weather lately. Jared couldn’t convince his foreman to see the doc. Maybe Derek could.

The roar of an engine broke into his thoughts just as a baby blue Mustang drove up to the main house about fifty or so feet away.

“You expecting someone?” Roscoe asked, eyeing the vehicle.

“Not that I know of.” Who’d drive a dang fool car like that onto his ranch?

“Maybe someone else on the hunt for all those greenbacks you got stashed in the bank.”

Jared scowled at his foreman. A few five-times-removed relatives had come out of the woodwork once word of the oil went public. Jared had tried to help until they’d made it clear they hadn’t wanted a leg up, but a perpetual handout. Once he’d cut off the money, they’d disappeared once again.

The car stopped and the engine went quiet. It sat there for several moments until one long, shapely leg, then another, stepped out.

The woman ran her fingers through her hair. The sun gleamed off the blonde locks. Roscoe let out a long, slow whistle.

Jared couldn’t move. He blinked once. Then again.

It couldn’t be. Not her.

She stood still, in her four-inch heels and tailored dress, looking like a city girl who had been dropped into a foreign land. She tucked her short hair behind one ear and hesitated, turning in a circle, taking in the lay of his ranch.

He fought the urge to wash the dirt away and waited, his breath quickening as the lines of her back then the curves of her front came into view. It was her, all right. He didn’t know her name, but what he did know made his libido perk up and his heart thud to attention for the first time in the eighteen months since he’d held her in his arms.

Unable to stop himself, Jared crossed the yard. The closer he got, the more he noticed the fidgety movement of her hands.

At least she couldn’t hide her nerves. Made him feel a bit better, because his damn hands were shaking too.

About ten feet away from her, he paused.

She faced him and lifted her gaze to his.

His breath caught. It was her. She was here. On his land. Exactly like he’d dreamed more times than he could count.

Her cobalt blue eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe it was him.

Well, ditto.

The rumblings of a tractor, the whinny of the horses, the snort of Angel Maker faded into the background. The world melted away; his heartbeat whooshed inside his head.

She blinked and glanced over her shoulder into the vehicle.

Her movement shocked him back to reality. He strode toward her, forcing himself not to hurry too fast.

“I’m surprised,” he said, determined to keep his tone nonchalant.

“As am I,” she said.

Her voice was a bit huskier than he remembered. He studied her face and detected tension around her mouth, redness staining her eyes.

They stared at each other, the awkward silence continuing far too long. What was he supposed to say? I came back to the hotel room but you were gone? Or maybe the more appropriate, So, we slept together a year and a half ago and the earth moved. What’s your name?

At that moment, Velma marched down the steps of the main house, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Not much gave away her age, except her silvered-auburn hair and her devil-may-care curiosity. She wasn’t shy about inserting herself into almost any conversation either.

She shot him a piercing stare and tilted her head. He could see her interest building. A small curse escaped under his breath. His housekeeper was more like his grandmother than anything. She’d worked for the King family as long as Jared could remember. She knew him too well, and unfortunately, she’d developed a sixth sense whenever Jared found himself in a situation that could turn awkward at any moment.

Her gaze alternated between him and their visitor. “Quite a set of wheels, boyo. You must be drooling.”

She sent him that knowing gaze she’d used when she knew he wanted something in the worst way. She had no idea. Unfortunately, Jared could feel the heat flooding his cheeks.

“And who might your friend be?” Velma asked with a satisfied grin, walking boldly over and sticking out a hand to introduce herself.

“I’m Courtney Jamison,” the woman responded. A nervous smile tilted their visitor’s lips.

Courtney Jamison. He let her name settle across his mind. It suited her. It screamed New York and the Waldorf Astoria where they’d met. It definitely didn’t suit the Last Chance Ranch. Not by half.

A cry sounded from the car.

“You have a little one?” Velma asked, her smile lighting as bright as the West Texas sun on a clear day.

“His name is Dylan.” Courtney reached into the backseat, fiddled with something in the car and pulled a baby from the vehicle.

“Almost a year?” Velma asked.

“Nine months,” Courtney said softly, looking straight at Jared.

“A big boy then.”

Nine months. That meant she got pregnant about eighteen months ago. New York.

It couldn’t be. It was just one night. One...

As if in a trance, he closed the distance between him and Courtney. He stared into the little boy’s eyes. One brown. One green. The baby had heterochromia. Just like him.

Jared held out his hand. It shook. Dylan leaned against his mother’s chest and dipped his face into her neck.

“Dylan,” Courtney whispered. “This is your daddy.”

The words struck Jared harder than Angel Maker’s most vicious charge. His mind whirled in denial even as the truth peeked at him from beneath long, baby-fine lashes. He couldn’t deny that he stood face-to-face with the one thing he’d never believed he’d have.

Dylan tilted his head and a smile lit his face. He leaned forward with outstretched hands. Jared bent closer. The baby grabbed his hat and threw it to the ground, chuckling.

“Takes after you, boyo,” Velma said. “That’s plain to see.”

A strange white noise buzzed in Jared’s ears. He shook the static away. “How did you find me?” he asked, barely able to croak out the words.

He didn’t want to say more. Velma and Roscoe both had big ears, and they were obviously curious. He’d be fielding a whole lot of questions before sunset hit anyway.

Jared picked up his hat and held it toward Dylan. He couldn’t take his eyes off the baby. The little guy grabbed the brim and tugged.

Strong grip, his son had.

His son.

What was he supposed to do about that?

“I saw a news story about the bull you saved. That’s how I found you.” Courtney nodded toward Angel Maker, who appeared to be eyeing Tim for a second soul-fearing battle. “That’s him?”

“In the flesh.”

He wouldn’t be diverted by that animal. He had a million questions, but he’d start with one. “Why are you here, Courtney?”

Her name caressed his tongue, and he lingered on the taste for a moment.

She glanced away, not meeting his gaze. Something didn’t feel right. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened to attention. She chewed on her lip and seemed to be searching for the words.

“You could’ve called,” he said. “Or had a lawyer contact me. Instead, you traveled halfway across the country with our son with no way of predicting my reaction. Why?”

She straightened her back and lifted her chin. At this angle, he could take in every detail of her reddened eyes and tightly drawn lips. Something was definitely wrong.

“I came for your help. Someone has threatened to kill our son.”

* * *

COURTNEY HAD NEVER seen anyone react so fast. The words had barely left her lips when Jared’s gaze scanned the perimeter. The muscle in his jawline pulsed, and a flat, dangerous stillness settled through his body.

“Come with me,” he said, gripping her arm with a firm hand.

He didn’t take a second look at Dylan, didn’t hesitate. He pulled her toward the sprawling ranch style house and glanced over his shoulder. “Roscoe, check in with the hands. I want to know if anyone’s seen anything...off.”

“But we’ve already doubled security because of—”

“Triple-check everything,” Jared snapped.

The grizzled cowboy didn’t hesitate. He gave a curt nod and hurried into a huge barn past the pen holding the angry-looking bull.

Courtney had never experienced a more surreal moment. Jared didn’t question her; he didn’t look at her like she was crazy. He simply acted.

He shuffled her up the steps and across the wide wooden porch. He opened the screen door and held it while she disappeared inside. She couldn’t quite accept the foreign place where she found herself. On an actual Texas ranch in the middle of nowhere after a too long drive from an airport that had taken all of ten minutes to walk from one end to the other.

Not to mention she currently stood only a short city block away from a vicious-looking bull, several stereotypical cowboys, a bevy of horses and a large barn. If it hadn’t been for the beat-up pickup truck she’d parked besides, she’d have wondered what century she’d landed in.

“Velma, lock the front door, shut the curtains and stay inside,” Jared ordered the woman hurrying behind them. “I don’t want either of you out in the open until I know exactly what’s going on.”

The housekeeper didn’t pause or argue, but moved in a whirlwind to follow his instructions. Jared tugged on Courtney’s arm. Normally she would have resisted the manhandling, but he’d stunned her. She hadn’t even showed him the note yet.

“My luggage—”

“I’ll bring it in later.”

The curt words brooked no argument. At Jared’s tone Dylan squirmed in her arms, whimpering a bit. She bounced him, holding him closer. “It’s okay, Jelly Bean. We’re going to be fine.”

She could only pray she wasn’t lying.

Courtney kissed his forehead and breathed in his baby powder scent. She touched her cheek to Dylan’s soft hair and closed her eyes. The blackmailer had forced her to keep his cell phone. She wasn’t stupid. He had to be tracking her. He had to know she’d flown to Texas. She’d believed him when he’d promised she couldn’t hide.

She’d needed help and law enforcement was off the table. She’d risked everything coming here. The blackmailer had been perfectly clear. He wanted money. Since she didn’t have any and neither did her father, she had no choice. Jared was her only option to protect her son.

After a glance through the shutters in the front window, he faced his housekeeper. “Velma, show Courtney into my study. I’ll check the back door.”

Brow furrowed, Velma crossed the stone foyer to a set of large mahogany double doors. “Come along, dearie.”

Courtney followed, trying to keep her increasingly unhappy son calm. She rubbed his back in slow, circular motions. Velma snapped closed the curtains on three large windows before flipping on a series of track lights to brighten the wood paneled room.

Dylan clutched at the neck of Courtney’s Louis Vuitton dress, his mouth drooling, his face reddening.

“I know what you want,” she whispered, gently pushing his light brown hair off his forehead. She settled into a large leather sofa and zipped open the diaper bag, pulling out a teething biscuit.

Dylan grabbed the treat in both hands and stuffed it into his mouth, gnawing with gusto. He sagged against her, content for the moment.

“You know your boy well,” Velma remarked with approval.

“He’s my son.”

“And mine.” Jared stood, outlined by the dark wood door frame, a rifle crooked over his bent arm. “The house is secure. I’ve instructed four hands to keep watch. Velma, I could use some of that coffee cake you made yesterday.”

“Go easy, boyo,” she cautioned with a small pat on his arm.

Courtney shivered at the warning. Jared didn’t respond, but firmly closed the doors behind Velma’s retreating figure. The catch clicked into place.

Slowly he faced her, his tall figure and broad shoulders shrinking the large room. Most New York apartments would fit comfortably into a tiny corner of his home.

She squirmed in her seat, feeling at a distinct disadvantage. If Dylan hadn’t been so comfortably settled on her lap, she would have faced Jared standing instead of him looming above her. The weapon didn’t help.

As if reading her mind, he propped the gun in the corner, squatted down in front of her and stared unblinkingly at Dylan. The baby gazed back, still working on his biscuit. Jared thrust a hand through his short dark hair. It shook slightly and a flash of insight struck Courtney. He may have gone all alpha on her, but their son had Jared King spooked.

Cautiously, gently he touched Dylan’s leg, then clasped his tiny hand. The little boy grabbed his finger and squeezed. A small smiled tilted Jared’s lips. A sad sigh escaped him and reluctantly he pulled away.

“Who wants to hurt our son?” he asked with a frown, his focus still glued to Dylan.

Despite some misgivings, Courtney had no choice but to trust Jared. That’s why she’d come. She tugged a sheet of paper from the zippered pocket of the diaper bag and handed it over. “I found this pinned to one of Dylan’s stuffed animals yesterday. Someone was in my apartment. They k-killed...”

Her voice broke as she relayed what little she knew.

He read the note and with each word of her explanation Jared’s eyes grew icier. His jaw muscle pulsed. “Did you call the police?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk their involvement with that note. I had to protect Dylan.”

“I see.” Jared stared at the floor, his gaze thoughtful. “Leaving was your only option.”

His words were a statement of fact, not a question and the vice around her heart eased a bit. Maybe she’d done the right thing after all.

Who else could she trust after everything that had happened? Her entire body shook as her mind rewound yesterday’s horror.

“I left Marilyn. On the floor. Alone. Her family lives in Maine. They don’t even know what happened.”

Courtney pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes to keep back the tears. The guilt tore through her. “I was so afraid they might come back, I went to my father’s house. I thought I’d be safe there, but whoever did this knew I’d hire a car. The note warned me, and I believe them.”

She’d never felt so alone.

On the drive from the airport, each time she’d passed a police car, she’d considered flagging him down, and every time she’d let the vehicle pass her by. “I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder the entire trip here. I kept imagining every person I encountered was following me.”

She clutched Jared’s arm. “I won’t involve law enforcement. It’s too risky. He knows too much.”

Would Jared agree? Was she being foolish? They’d killed Marilyn in cold blood. She couldn’t bear it if Dylan... A stark shiver skittered through her. No, she was doing the right thing. She had to be.

“Hey there.” Jared touched her knee and squeezed gently. “I understand, more than you know.”

Relieved Jared seemed to see the situation her way, Courtney’s shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. “Good.”

“Courtney, do you think the blackmailer knows who I am? Is he aware Dylan is my son and that you’ve come to me?”

“They can’t know. I didn’t know your name until a week ago.” She bit her lip. She had to tell him everything, but if he turned her away... She let out a long, slow breath. “I only learned where you lived yesterday, but...” Her gut twisted and she pulled the cell phone from her purse. “They ordered me to keep this phone with me at all times. If they can track it, they know exactly where I am.”

Jared didn’t speak for a moment. Courtney held her breath, every muscle in her body taut with apprehension.

“There goes any advantage we might have had.” He shot to his feet and paced, “Okay. Let’s minimize your exposure as a precaution. Where did your plane land?”

“San Antonio.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Why hadn’t she thought this through more? “I should have driven, shouldn’t I? I used our real names to board.”

“It’s not easy to get passenger lists unless you’re with law enforcement or a hacker,” Jared said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Most rental company cars have GPS tracking, though.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t even consider that possibility.”

“Why should you? One of my hands will return the vehicle to the airport, but we should still assume they know you’re here and will contact you.”

Jared settled across from her and leaned forward. “Let’s get down to the real question. Are you asking me to help catch whoever wrote the note or do you want to pay the ransom?”

Panic rose in her gut and she clutched tighter at Dylan. “I’d do anything to protect him.” Courtney avoided his piercing gaze. “The thing is, I could scrape together maybe fifteen percent of it, but I don’t have the kind of money they want.”

“They were very specific in their request. Are you telling me that not only does the ransom amount hold no meaning to you, you don’t have enough to pay?” Jared stilled. “I don’t know much about New York fashion, but that’s a very expensive designer dress you’re wearing and the Waldorf doesn’t come cheap. What kind of game are you playing?”

His narrowed look pinned her to her seat. She averted her gaze.

“It’s not a game.” She twisted the button on Dylan’s clothes, struggling to ignore the suspicious tone in his voice. “I thought my father could give me the money, but his situation has...changed. Last week the bank ran out of patience.”

“So that’s why you’re here.” Jared stiffened and pulled away from her. “You don’t need me. You need my money.”

His tone indicted her, and she couldn’t blame him. Most people would’ve been insulted and deep down the tone stung, but she understood. How many people had come into her life to get what they could? She’d learned a long time ago not to trust so easily. Or let anyone in. It was one of the main reasons she’d chosen not to live off the family money.

That didn’t stop her from bristling at the accusation. “I came here to figure out what to do,” she said. “I can’t deny that you’re the one person who can help me pay the ransom, but you’re also the only one who has as much to lose as I do. I’m out of options to keep my...our son safe.”

Our son. She’d have to get used to saying that.

Jared didn’t speak for a moment. His reproachful gaze burned into her. She met it with unblinking eyes. Obviously he didn’t doubt Dylan was his son. How could he? Their matching eyes were the tell. But the threat, the money, that could be an elaborate hoax. If Jared didn’t believe her, she had no plan B.

She gnawed on her lower lip considering her options. There were none.

“We’re not paying.” The muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I refuse to be blackmailed. They’ll just keep coming and it will never end.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “This is nonnegotiable. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep our son safe. Giving into a blackmailer isn’t the answer. I know—” His voice cracked. “Excuse me.”

He quickly rose, scooped up the rifle and strode out of the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

Courtney stared after him. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. She rocked Dylan against her, staring at the closed doors. Jared King wasn’t what she’d expected. He definitely wasn’t the suave man she’d encountered in the bar of the Waldorf, but she didn’t need that man. She needed a fighter, and she’d witnessed the fury in his eyes.

For the first time since she’d walked into her apartment she felt a slight easing in her breath. Jared King was a warrior. A warrior with money.

A warrior willing to help them.

Whatever he thought of her, something in the set of his jaw gave her a glimmer of hope that Jared wouldn’t fail.

She had to believe that. For Dylan’s sake...and her own.

* * *

JARED SAGGED AGAINST the heavy doors of his study, his entire body shaking. The idea someone might kidnap his son... This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

Though unlike Alyssa, who had been taken without warning, the threat to his son had put them on notice. He would do whatever it took to prevent the abduction.

This time, the outcome would be much different. Only one question ate at his gut. Was Courtney Jamison telling the truth. Was she a victim, or was she after his money? And how could he be sure?

He’d find out which, but it didn’t impact his actions. Whether she was trying to play him or not, he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to Dylan.

The rest...well, the truth would come out. It always did.

Velma exited the kitchen carrying a tray. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s threatened to kidnap my son. They demanded a lot of money or they’ll take him.”

She gasped, set the tray on the foyer table and walked over to him. She pressed her palm to his chest in comfort. “This isn’t five years ago.”

“You’re damned right it isn’t. I’ll be smarter this time.” Jared shoulders knotted as he stood there. He couldn’t meet Velma’s gaze. He gritted his teeth. “It feels the same. I’m shaking, Velma. Like the moment I walked into the nursery and found the message.”

“It’s not the same. It’s not him. This doesn’t have anything to do with you or your past. You didn’t even know about the boy until she arrived.”

“Maybe.” Jared shot Velma a sidelong glance. “Did you see him, Velma? He looks like me.”

She patted his cheek. “I know, boyo. No doubt about who his daddy is.”

Jared stared at the scuffed toes of his boots. “I’m going to lose him, you know. Even if we catch the person threatening my son, Courtney won’t stay. They don’t belong here.”

“Just because Alyssa didn’t fit in—”

“Like you always say, the past is over.” He gently eased away from her. “Have Tim quit messing with Angel Maker so he can bring in Courtney’s luggage. Put her in the room across from mine. I want to be close at all times.” The staccato words came out harsher and more clipped than he intended. He bent down and kissed her cheek in apology. “I’ll be back. I have some plans to make.”

He turned on his heel.

“Jared?” Velma called out. “He needs a safe place to sleep while he’s here.”

He slowed his pace, but didn’t stop.

“Don’t let the past rule the present, boyo. You’ll regret it.”

Did she think he didn’t know that? Did she have any idea how tempted he was to grab that little boy and hug him tight. To take Courtney into his arms and convince her that they could make a city girl–country boy relationship work like a Hallmark movie.

Except life wasn’t a movie. There were no happy-ever-afters. Not in his world.

There was only reality. And bad guys won way too often.

Determined not to let history repeat itself, he strode down a barren hallway. His first order of business was to take care of his son. He veered from the door of the brand-new wing he’d completed just last year and made his way to the end of the original house’s hallway.

He hadn’t opened the door separating the old part of the house since he’d renovated, though Velma kept the place spotless. He stepped through, into the past. A white door loomed at the end of the corridor. His heart pounded, rushing through his ears. He forced his boots to cross the decade-old carpet to the end. For a moment he stood there. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and walked inside.

A never-used crib rested in the corner of the room. A yellow crocheted blanket lay abandoned on the floor. As his gaze took inventory of each item, one after another, pain twisted his heart. He would have bent over in agony if he’d allowed himself to feel. This room represented his failure to protect his family. And the threat that still loomed large over his life, a threat he would never deny.

He let his attention settle on a large hole in the drywall, marring the perfect paint job. A sledgehammer lay beneath the opening, a tool he’d swung with anger and fury and unrelenting grief.

Jared hadn’t ventured inside the room in five years. He almost hadn’t climbed out of the dark abyss after losing Alyssa and their unborn daughter. He couldn’t go through that kind of pain again.

Jared would make it impossible for the blackmailers to harm his son. To do that, he needed to identify the person who wrote the ransom note.

Actually, it was more like a blackmail note. A demand before the kidnapping. Strange. Dylan hadn’t been taken, but he could have been.

Why? What was the end game? To take a nine-month-old baby? To hurt Courtney? The more he considered the note she’d shared with him, the more he kept coming back to the unusual ransom amount. The number had to be the key.

He’d do whatever it took to find out who had threatened his son, and make them pay.

And then what? Jared closed his eyes. The moment he’d recognized Dylan as his child, his soul had threatened to reawaken.

He couldn’t allow it.

After it was over he’d send both of them away, back to the city, where they belonged.

And when they left, Jared had no doubt what was left of his heart would crumble to dust.

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