The Coltons of Shadow Creek series comes to a shocking Christmas climax in two heart-pounding stories

Special Agent Cowboy by Regan Black

When hackers strike Colton, Inc., they put executive Marie Meyers in their crosshairs. FBI agent Emiliano Ortega is charged with protecting the beautiful city girl on his ranch. But keeping their mutual attraction professional under the mistletoe is impossible...

The Marine’s Christmas Case by Lara Lacombe

When Dario Ortega meets Felicity Grant, the lovely marine-turned-PI spurns his advances. Instead, Dario offers his tech expertise to help Felicity solve the Colton, Inc., hacking. Working the case together softens Felicity’s steely heart and makes Dario rethink bachelorhood. But can they catch a killer Colton in time for Christmas?

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Regan Black

“Black seamlessly blends romance and mystery, infusing enough tension to heighten the suspense. Filled with heartbreakingly tender moments, this story is both touching and entertaining.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Stranger She Can Trust

“A Stranger She Can Trust is just about as good as it gets when it comes to romantic suspense.”

—Buried Under Romance

“The early connection between the hero and heroine was nice to see before all of the adrenaline-packed action. The hero’s backstory was touching and added depth to the story.”

—RT Book Reviews on Heart of a Hero

Praise for Lara Lacombe

“Aggressive action, terrifying suspense, delightful and dreamy romance in a well-written story.”

—Book & Spoons on Enticed By the Operative

“An enjoyable romantic suspense, with plenty of danger and spice to keep a reader happy.”

—Fresh Fiction on Killer Season

“With smart dialogue and a solid, intriguing mystery at its center, this story will draw readers in. Add two vulnerable characters with great, electric chemistry, and this story is one fantastic read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Killer Exposure

* * *

The Coltons of Shadow Creek:

Only family can keep you safe...

REGAN BLACK, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes award-winning, action-packed novels featuring kick-butt heroines and the sexy heroes who fall in love with them. Raised in the Midwest and California, she and her family, along with their adopted greyhound, two arrogant cats and a quirky finch, reside in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where the rich blend of legend, romance and history fuels her imagination.

LARA LACOMBE earned a PhD in microbiology and immunology and worked in several labs across the country before moving into the classroom. Her day job as a college science professor gives her time to pursue her other love—writing fast-paced romantic suspense with smart, nerdy heroines and dangerously attractive heroes. She loves to hear from readers! Find her on the web or contact her at laralacombewriter@gmail.com.

Special Agent Cowboy The Marine’s Christmas Case

Special Agent Cowboy

Regan Black

The Marine’s Christmas Case

Lara Lacombe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Special Agent Cowboy by Regan Black

The Marine’s Christmas Case by Lara Lacombe

Extract

Dear Reader,

Happy holidays! It’s Christmastime in Shadow Creek, Texas, but the town’s jovial holiday spirit is threatened by Livia Colton, a manipulative killer everyone believed was dead.

Like you, I’m a huge fan of the many branches of the Colton family tree and it’s an honor as an author to add this story to that world—at Christmastime, no less—with two special characters who have ties to the incredible Colton dynasty.

Emiliano Ortega grew up in Shadow Creek surrounded by a nurturing family, and though he leaves frequently for his FBI assignments, he always knows home is there, waiting for him to return.

For Marie Meyers, family is an elusive concept. Having grown up in the Dallas foster care system, life has taught her the only person she can count on is herself.

You might not find two people more different in their view of family, friendship, work and the holidays. But when Marie becomes a central target in Livia Colton’s most recent game of revenge, Emiliano is tasked with keeping her safe until his team can resolve the threat.

Emiliano and Marie face an uphill battle of shedding their expectations in order to cooperate and reveal a criminal. Is it possible that in each other they will also find the genuine, lasting love they’ve both been quietly seeking? Fortunately, this is the season of miracles.

Live the adventure,

Regan Black

SPECIAL AGENT

COWBOY

Regan Black

For Mark, Jordan and Robert.

The three of you fill my holidays with more joy, love and laughter with every passing year.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 1

Livia Lives!

Marie Meyers cringed at the headline alert on her phone, the sugar-sweetened coffee in her mouth going bitter. It couldn’t be true. A headline like that was an exercise in sensationalism. Click bait. Livia Colton, ruthless killer and crime boss of Shadow Creek, Texas, had died on her way back to jail when her car was washed into the river. True or false, this was almost the worst news Marie had ever heard.

As the chief digital officer for Colton, Incorporated, Marie defined her primary goal as creating a superb online experience for their customers and she worked to keep that positive experience a priority in long-term corporate growth strategy. Not only did that require her to collect data on their customers’ habits, it meant being aware of what was trending in the media and analyzing the corresponding data to better anticipate their subsequent interactions with the company.

Marie’s thumb hovered over the link on her cell phone, resisting the inevitable. She had to open the article, had to know what kind of message, rumors or facts were circulating out there, so she could be informed during the inevitable crisis meetings at the office today.

She set aside her coffee and held her breath as she clicked the link, half expecting her phone to explode. Or implode. Didn’t matter, as the result would be the same.

The banner for Everything’s Blogger in Texas had been updated to reflect the top, scintillating story, and the article boldly declared Livia Colton, criminal mastermind presumed dead, was in fact back among the living. The blog promised to deliver every juicy detail of the hunt for the Queen of the Coltons in real time. There was a convenient link to subscribe for updates.

“Lovely,” Marie muttered. A quick search proved Everything’s Blogger did have the jump on other gossip sites and traditional news outlets. They posted quotes from victims and people connected to Livia’s prior crimes and were weaving the story as they went along, connecting dots that might not even be related. The other sites were merely reporting the shocking news and waiting for confirmation, making them appear half a step behind.

Marie didn’t expect the lag to last, and the more reporters covering this development, the tougher things would be at work. Her appetite gone, she skipped breakfast and headed into the office, the news following her on every station as she scanned the radio channels during the drive. Her grip tight on the steering wheel, she cursed the way one high-profile bad apple could ruin the whole bushel.

For Marie, Colton, Incorporated, was more than a career choice. The company had embraced her and she returned that welcome with a loyalty and affection as powerful as family ties. Now, thanks to one evil woman’s machinations, her family of coworkers would be cast into a glaring spotlight as the authorities investigated Livia’s connection to the company.

She’d seen it happen elsewhere. The most innocuous decisions and comments would be scrutinized for use as potential evidence, and as those details reached the press, the court of public opinion would weigh in first. Doubts crept into the customer mind-set quickly, and regardless of damage control, it could take years to restore confidence.

In the digital age, nearly everything lasted forever. Usually that worked in her favor as a CDO, sifting through data for patterns, identifying influencers and tailoring experiences for their customers. This process was known as data mining, but companies that mishandled the wealth of information had given a valuable process a bad name. She feared this kind of headline would work against her beloved company.

As she pulled into her parking space near the office, the radio went silent midbroadcast as if the station had lost the signal. In the next moment a new voice broke the quiet, speaking through an alteration device that hid the speaker’s gender and identity. “The Cohort will prevail. We can and will expose everyone colluding with Livia Colton. We will see true justice is served.”

“Not good,” Marie murmured to herself as the normal radio hosts came back on air, apologizing for the strange interruption. The Cohort, a notorious hacktivist group, claimed to work collectively for pure transparency, holding the powers that be accountable. In college, her professors had built several lectures and case studies on the organization’s methods, recruiting and most successful hacks. Unfortunately, they were often as destructive as Livia had been, despite their noble claims.

At thirty, Marie had experienced her share of bad days. Mentally, she shuffled today into her top ten list of worst ones, though there was serious competition in her history. She turned off the car and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to run flat out into the office and stay locked inside the building she loved until they stopped whatever the Cohort had planned. A thriving corporation connected by name and bloodlines to Livia would be an irresistible target.

Glancing around the parking area, she imagined someone hacking into the cameras and flashing her panicked race to work all over the internet with another headline full of negative insinuations about the company.

With that unpleasant image in mind, she forced herself to move with deliberate, calm purpose, belying the dread knotting her stomach. Purse over one arm, computer case over the opposite shoulder, she strolled into the gleaming twenty-five-story glass tower, hoping the lingering panic inside was hidden by her professional confidence and perfect posture.

The Cohort had a global reputation for following through on its threats. She knew Zane Colton, as head of security, would have precautions and heightened alerts in place, and the cybersecurity division would be shoring up firewalls and such to protect the company from a digital assault. As soon as she got upstairs, she would do everything possible to help ward off an attack.

The lobby door had barely whispered closed behind her when a wave of jitters surrounded her like a sudden storm. The air in the soaring atrium practically buzzed with nervous energy. She hustled to the elevators and upstairs to her office, just in time to pick up the phone ringing on her assistant’s desk. “Marie Meyers. How may I help you?”

“Good—you’re in.”

“Zane?” she asked, startled by the obvious relief in his normally composed tone.

“You’re needed in the conference room,” he said.

No sense in wasting time with questions. “I’ll be right there.” The urgency was surely related to the Cohort broadcast. She wouldn’t know how bad it was or how best to help until she got down there.

If she’d thought the building had a jittery vibe downstairs, it paled in comparison to the action in the conference room. A grim resignation pulsed through the air, as various people sat around the long oval table, murmuring stats and updates as they studied laptop monitors. At the head of the table, Fowler Colton, company president, stood with his brother T.C. and their stepbrother Zane. Today the company’s top men wore similar expressions of anger, frustration and grave concern.

Had the Cohort made an attempt on the company already? It seemed impossibly fast, considering the news had just broken.

At a colorful oath, her head swiveled toward the presentation screen along with all the others in the room. Feeds from half a dozen computer monitors, presumably projections from those around the conference table, were displayed for everyone to see.

She walked closer to the screen, disbelief and alarm going to war with that knot of dread in her stomach. Under a black-and-white banner the names of the highest-ranking officers of Colton, Incorporated, were posted, including hers. Alongside each name were personal details, ranging from partial home addresses and phone numbers to bank accounts and social security information. While some of the information was shown for each name, other fields had been completed with Click for More links.

“What site is this?” she asked the room at large.

“Does it matter?” Fowler asked.

“It does,” she replied, thinking of customers and their viewing habits. “We need to get it shut down—”

“Too late, Marie. The first successful breach of the firewall occurred just after five this morning and we’ve been scrambling to stop the digital bleeding ever since.” Zane gave a nod to a young man at the table. “Show her.”

That put the breach two solid hours before Everything’s Blogger in Texas posted the story that Livia wasn’t dead. Marie was trying to make sense of that when the screen flooded with a scroll of more names. She pressed her hand to her lips to smother the alarmed gasp. The Cohort hadn’t just compromised the executives or those with the last name of Colton. It had systematically captured the personal records for everyone in the company.

“How can I help?” she asked, determined to fight back.

“You’re looking at a dark website where the Cohort has started an auction,” Zane told her. “We’ve contacted the FBI. They should be here any minute.”

An auction for this kind of data would be irresistible to thieves, smugglers and human traffickers. The criminals who could afford the information wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Although she had concerns for herself, she was only one person. Her heart sank for the employees and their families over the terrible consequences of identity theft of this magnitude.

How ironic that the Cohort, supposed champions of personal privacy, had just compromised the data of innocent people while she worked relentlessly to protect the information gained by her efforts.

“We have to move quickly and get an identity protection plan in place for everyone.” Each of them faced more than just immediate inconveniences. With just a few hours’ head start, bank accounts and retirement funds were already in jeopardy.

“We are,” Zane said. “There’s more, Marie.”

“I’ve got it here,” a tech offered.

“No,” Zane said. “Send it to my office.” He exchanged a stormy look with his family. His expression softened only slightly, his gaze holding hers while he crossed the room. “Come with me,” he said, holding the door open for her.

What couldn’t he say in front of the team? Her knees went watery under the combined weight of everyone staring at her. They couldn’t possibly believe she had anything to do with this. A breach like this could end her career, even though it wasn’t her fault. Her position as CDO had been a dream come true, allowing her to hit the pinnacle of her professional goals two years earlier than she’d planned. The Coltons had to know she would never jeopardize the opportunity.

To quell the worst-case scenarios stampeding through her mind, she turned her gaze to the stunning view of the city from the uppermost windows of the tower. Dallas sparkled below, rolling with glittering confidence toward the horizon. She remembered school field trips as a kid, standing on the sidewalk, tipping her head way back and staring up at this tower and others nearby. More than the glossy shine of excellent architecture and construction, she’d seen the security and stability she longed for as she watched executives, assistants and employees serving all levels of the businesses inside. Those field trips solidified her personal goals and she set out to achieve what many of those people probably took for granted—a place to belong. A place to make a difference.

“Marie, you should have a seat.” Zane gestured to the visitor’s chair in front of his desk.

She didn’t realize how far afield her mind had wandered until she noticed him politely waiting for her to sit down first. Perching at the edge of the chair, she waited for whatever he didn’t feel he could say in front of the others.

“As I said, the FBI is on the way,” Zane began. “I’m sure once they arrive, we can come up with the best possible solution.”

“Count on me to help out.” She cleared her throat when he frowned. “Security is your area, of course, but whatever I can do to...” Her voice trailed off at his raised hand.

“I appreciate the offer.” Shifting in his chair, he reached for his monitor and turned it so she could see the display, though it remained blank. “Unfortunately, I feel it’s best for you and the company if we keep you far away from this particular situation.”

“Pardon me?” Please don’t kick me to the curb so close to Christmas.

“Our cybersecurity protocols folded almost instantly,” he said, clearly disgusted. “Though we’re chasing down the breach, the FBI will soon take over. We’ve switched our efforts to covering everyone who’s been compromised with identity theft monitoring and protection.”

“Good. You’ve seen the latest blogger headlines?” Her voice sounded weak and she straightened her shoulders. Social media and online trends were only a small aspect of her role. If Colton, Incorporated, wanted to manage the rumors and innuendo and keep customers content, they needed her analysis and assistance with the strategy to overcome this crisis.

Zane scowled. “Yes. It’s ridiculous, though it’s likely to get worse before it’s over.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Marie.” He tapped something on his keyboard and more data from the piracy site flooded the monitor. Names and personal records scrolled through in alphabetical order, much as it had on the screens in the conference room.

When it reached the Ms, the scrolling slowed, rocking a little as the information came to a stop. The process reminded her of a jackpot on a slot machine. Her name on the left. Her social security number dead center, her bank account and balance on the right. In bold red lettering, centered under those pertinent details, her job title was listed along with her salary and a call to action with a link.

Data mining is dangerous! Stop the snooping, CDO!

Okay, that was rough. She didn’t appreciate her information being spotlighted by the Cohort simply because her job involved data mining to make customer interaction more engaging and valuable. Yes, the process was controversial, but unlike the hacktivists, she never publicly shared or broadcast the details she gathered. She performed her job with pride using the highest standard of security.

Leaning forward, she tried to make sense of the implications. It boggled her mind. “Where does that link lead?”

He clicked it, revealing a rant on the dangers of data mining ending with an input box. “I’m hoping the FBI can tell us what this is. My primary concern is for your safety.”

Surely she would be safe if she stayed here until the FBI shut down that page and the links. “The breach and mitigating the effect on our employees should be our primary concern.”

“Your loyalty is refreshing,” Zane said with a half smile. “And valued. I want you to be the CDO here for years to come.”

That was the first comforting thing she’d heard. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but what exactly are you saying?”

“This reads like a personal threat against you. Your information isn’t in the auction—it’s already been broadcast. I fear the Cohort has targeted you for some specific action.”

Meaning what? She couldn’t wrap her head around his assessment. Groups like the Cohort didn’t go after people in person. They struck from the safe side of their probing computers, exposing and embarrassing their targets to promote the agenda du jour.

“I don’t know anything about Livia Colton,” she said, recalling the Cohort radio broadcast. Only what she’d read in the press or heard from her coworkers. “My only tie to the Colton family is my employment.” Unless the Cohort knew something she didn’t. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from rubbing that tiny burn behind her sternum. Not again, not now. Calm, blissful years had flowed by without that annoying flicker of hope that she might eventually learn her father’s name. How frustrating it was to discover no amount of crushing disappointment would extinguish it permanently.

“Regardless, the Cohort changed tactics. By definition, your job fundamentally offends the Cohort. Until we sort it out, I feel it’s best if you take a leave of absence.”

Those last three words reverberated in her head. She wondered where she could go and how she might fill her time. Zane explained the cybersecurity team’s instructions for managing the identity breach issues. Password changes and notifications to her bank, credit cards, landlord and the IRS topped the list. Just when she wished she’d brought in a notepad, he slid a short stack of paperwork across the desk to her. “This is the packet going out to all employees by noon today.”

Fast work, she thought, flipping through the comprehensive guide. “With all due respect, I’d prefer to stay and help.”

Her coworkers were bound to be worried and the cybersecurity department would be flooded with calls and questions. Not to mention what they needed to do as a company to reassure customers that their data was safe. When she added up the tasks and the personnel, she knew they needed her here.

Zane leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, debating something. “Handle the notifications,” he said, “then come back to the conference room.”

“Thank—”

He interrupted her gratitude. “I’ll let you stay on one condition. You’ll cooperate with the FBI’s assessment of your safety. Whatever they decide, no arguments.”

“Yes, sir.” She hurried out of the office before he changed his mind.

As she walked to her office at the other end of the hall, she flipped through the guide, squirming at the long list of things she would now need to keep in mind. At least she didn’t have a spouse or children to worry about. In her situation, not even extended family was a concern, since she’d been a ward of the state of Texas since her birth.

Marie’s lips twisted and her throat went dry as those old questions tried to rear up from her past. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the Cohort had discovered who her father was or even where her mother had gone after she’d abandoned her newborn with nothing more than a name?

Distracted, her head down as she passed the elevator, the doors parted, and she found herself tangled in the group entering the hallway.

She nearly bumped into the man in the lead and he steadied her with a light touch at her elbow. The dark suits and serious expressions identified them as FBI, even without the badges they wore in plain view.

“Excuse us,” the first man said, his touch sliding away.

“No, pardon me.” She offered a tight smile and stepped aside. In her heels, she wasn’t quite eye level with him, though he wasn’t the tallest of the group. With dark brown hair, straight eyebrows over deep-set brown eyes and a stern mouth framed by a trim beard, he radiated authority and he gave her a long study that put heat in her cheeks as he passed by.

What did he see? she wondered, striding away. Did he think he knew her? She couldn’t shake the strange sensation that he had come to some immediate conclusion about her with only a light touch and one long look.

* * *

Special Agent Emiliano Ortega recognized Marie Meyers as he steadied her when she brushed by them. Her picture and résumé were in the initial briefing documents he’d skimmed when his boss called him to Dallas early this morning.

The FBI had assembled the fast-response task force Emiliano served on to investigate cyberattacks all over the country. They could even reach destinations overseas at a moment’s notice to protect US interests. Reporting to Dallas meant a particularly short commute in this case, getting them on scene quickly and reducing the window of time in which the hacktivists could erase their tracks.

He hadn’t had much time to delve deep into the file but he knew the key points on the top executives at Colton, Incorporated. Thirty, never married, Miss Meyers had earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in computer science and minored in psychology. No debts beyond a minuscule credit-card balance.

Everything about her appearance, from her glossy dark brown hair curling softly around her shoulders to the pricey designer high heels, shouted that this woman valued order and discipline.

He glanced back down the hallway, but she was gone. Why wasn’t the CDO headed to the conference room? A cyberattack of this magnitude usually brought all hands on deck.

When his team reached the conference room with the obligatory massive table, monitors and floor-to-ceiling windows, the introductions were swift. Everyone seemed eager to hand over investigative control to the FBI. A typical reaction with attacks as aggressive as this one seemed to be.

He kept glancing to the door, waiting for Miss Meyers to join them as he and the team listened to the rapid-fire updates from the technicians and executives on hand.

The Cohort had claimed responsibility immediately: not the first time Emiliano and his team had encountered that strategy. Another stroke of luck, as the verification was swift and put them on the right track immediately.

As he and the team systematically peeled back the first layers of the breach, Emiliano soon realized the Cohort had employed a brand-new tactic. The trail of links from Marie Meyers’s information led to a private message board called Campus Martius, where Cohort Principes were encouraged to share ideas on how best to make an example of her.

“We have a problem,” Emiliano said as he kept digging. He shared his display on the presentation screen and conversation around the room halted in stunned shock.

He spotted Zane Colton standing with his family near the wall of windows. “Where is Miss Meyers?”

Zane started to answer and stopped short. “Right here.”

* * *

The notifications took longer than Marie expected, so she wasn’t surprised to discover the FBI team had turned the conference room to crisis central by the time she returned.

Seeing her name and face plastered across the big presentation screen—that unnerved her all over again and she hesitated at the doorway.

Zane motioned her closer. “Marie Meyers, our CDO,” he stated. “This is the FBI’s National Cyber Investigative Joint Task Force.” He gestured to the presentation screen. “They just drilled through the rhetoric to this direct death threat against you.”

Despite the shock rattling through her system, she forced herself to stride forward.

The man with the dark eyes who’d studied her so intently in the hallway extended a hand in greeting. “Special Agent Emiliano Ortega.”

She grasped his hand, momentarily distracted by the calluses on his palm. “A pleasure to meet you.” She kept her eyes on him, rather than the presentation screen. His square jaw offered a much better view anyway.

His mouth tilted in a skeptical half smile before he introduced the three other members of their task force as Special Agent in Charge Selene Dashwood, Special Agent Finn Townsend and malware analyst Tristan Staller.

Despite the suits and no-nonsense attitudes, the task force was a study in contrasts, from the sleek Dashwood, tall and lean with flawless ebony skin and no accessories beyond her wedding band, to the not-quite-rumpled Staller, who seemed reluctant to tear his gaze from his monitor. She knew his type well. In between were Townsend with his curling light brown hair and friendly smile and Ortega, who watched her closely.

“We’re aware this isn’t a good day,” Ortega said.

Not her worst, either, though she kept the thought to herself. “How can I help?”

As Dashwood resumed her conversation with Fowler and T.C., Agent Ortega planted his hands on his lean waist. “Sometimes attacks like this one resemble battering rams. This attack, while large in scope, had some precision elements.” He pointed to the screen. “As you know, they took everything in order to inflict the most chaos and damage to the company as a whole.”

“Obviously,” she agreed.

“Underneath the obvious, we believe the strategy was meant to blur their particular focus on you.”

She bit back the rash of protests. It wouldn’t help to point out she wasn’t a Colton, had no connection to Livia or the horrible crimes she’d inflicted. Pressing a hand to her lips, she stifled an inappropriate and untimely laugh. This was absurd. Didn’t the Cohort see the double standard of wrecking her career and threatening her life in their quest to safeguard privacy with criminal actions?

“The language is specific, Miss Meyers,” Agent Townsend said. “The complaints target your abuse of privacy expectations and overreaching corporate authority. The Cohort is revved up and motivated against you.”

She gaped at the FBI agent as she struggled for an appropriate reply. Was he actually accusing her of doing something wrong because she was good at her job? Her gaze drifted to Zane, who was scowling at the back of Townsend’s head.

“Townsend.” Ortega silenced him with a look. The other man returned his attention to the computer in front of him.

“Miss Meyers.” Ortega pulled out a chair for her. “We need to walk you through these threats and review your options.”

Marie sat down and the agent showed her what they’d unraveled. As if broadcasting her personal details and the vicious conversation in the message board weren’t enough, the group had posted a new banner front and center where they were auctioning the stolen data from Colton, Incorporated.

Reward! Share your plan to end CDO Meyers and take a stand for consumer privacy!

The message board was exploding with real-time comments. She stared, horrified as the potential consequences drifted around her. Since when did groups like this offer rewards for real-life attacks? With every passing hour this day moved up the list, squeezing into her top five worst of all time. Not an easy feat, considering her rocky path through the foster-care system.

On the upside, if there was any credibility to the threats from the Cohort, she wouldn’t have much of a future to dwell on it. The gallows humor didn’t erase the icy rivulets of fear trickling down her spine.

Chapter 2

Emiliano studied the Colton, Incorporated, CDO, simultaneously impressed by her composure and wondering when the dam would break. No one could hold up indefinitely to the news of being hunted, online and in real life. Whatever had incited this attack, Townsend was right; the Cohort had zeroed in on Miss Meyers and they weren’t letting up.

Why? During his work on this task force, he hadn’t seen anything quite like the vitriol they were spewing at this particular woman. She seemed nice enough. Polite and competent. Pretty, too, though that was irrelevant. Nothing he’d heard so far gave him any insight as to how she’d landed on the bad side of one of the most dangerous hacktivist groups in existence.

Yes, the core of her career was at odds with the Cohort mandate on privacy, but why were they determined to incite direct violence?

She had courage in the face of the clear, physical danger, he’d give her that, and he had to assume integrity and commitment as well, based on how the executive staff treated her. And she was watching him expectantly from those wide, intelligent brown eyes shot with gold and framed with long lashes. He cleared his throat and got on with his job. “You can see the Cohort claimed responsibility immediately,” he began.

Her gaze held his, serious and steady. “Because they think they can bring Livia Colton to justice? It’s as if they believe hacking our personal records will prove the company is hiding her.”

He’d expected the outburst, though she’d delivered it with admirable control. “It’s a better reason than hackers usually offer,” he said. “Public opinion will swing their way on this one.”

Temper flashed in her eyes. “They’ve exploited innocent, hardworking employees. I’d think public opinion would go against them.”

Across the table, Finn, one of Emiliano’s best friends in the FBI, gave a snort. “Not with Livia Colton alive and on the loose. Do you have any idea—”

He held up a hand and cut him off again, wondering why Finn was so determined to terrorize Miss Meyers. They could cover the basic information without running the risk of sending her into a paralyzing tailspin. Her expertise might prove valuable on this case, assuming she wasn’t in league with the Cohort somehow.

Her gaze shifted to Finn. “You believe the Cohort has turned the city against me, personally?”

Finn nodded, looking less than sheepish. Emiliano barely swallowed his aggravation. “Miss Meyers...” He waited until her gaze swung back to him. “Our team can unravel the digital details. We have methods to root out those responsible for the breach here. For your safety, it’s best if you take a leave of absence. We’ll assign a protective detail to keep an eye on you.”

Her dark eyebrows arched high. She turned to the Colton executives gathered at the other end of the long table. “You’re okay with this?”

“For the duration of the investigation, yes,” Fowler Colton said. Beside him, Zane nodded emphatically. “This isn’t a typical hack, Marie. Ignoring these threats could be a grave mistake.”

“Shouldn’t the FBI be keeping the Colton family safe?”

“We’re taking precautions,” Zane replied. “As you can see, the most immediate threats are aimed directly at you.”

A fact that made this case more intriguing than any of the others he’d recently handled.

“You won’t consider another option?” she implored. “I know I can help.”

Almost in unison the men shook their heads. “We agree it’s best to suspend your normal operations until the investigation is complete,” T.C. said. “Don’t want to give the hacktivists more ammunition.”

“It’s December, Marie.” Fowler gave her a wan smile. “Get into the Christmas spirit. You haven’t taken a real vacation this year. Take the rest of the month. We look forward to seeing you in January.” He glanced around the room. “Surely she can resume her work by then.”

Emiliano noticed no one on the task force made that kind of promise. Watching Marie, he caught the flash of panic in her eyes and the quiver in her lip before she dropped her gaze to the table. When she looked up, only a steely calm remained, her lips set in a tense smile.

In full investigative mode, he wondered what the woman was hiding. Most people would appreciate extra time at the holidays. He made a mental note to take a closer look at her file. Nothing indicated she’d be sympathetic to the Cohort, though he’d seen stranger things and known women who excelled in hiding their true natures.

Finn stood up and came around to stand at the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, thank you.” Although her lips curved upward, the expression couldn’t be considered a smile. “I’ll need my car to make the most of my unexpected time off.” The resigned, almost sad glance she aimed at her bosses made Emiliano flinch inside. “Happy holidays, Zane, Fowler, T.C. Give my best to your f-families.” She hurried away without waiting for a reply, leaving Emiliano and the rest of the room a bit stunned in her wake.

“We can’t let her leave. Not alone,” Finn appealed to SAC Dashwood. “She might be the access point the Cohort needed.”

The brash remark drew everyone’s attention. Astonished incredulity radiated from the faces of those who weren’t FBI. Emiliano glared at him. They didn’t publicly call out a suspect that way without evidence to back it up. Then again, Finn had been working for nearly an hour and he was one of the best at rooting out hacker signatures within computer code.

“Did you find something?” he asked.

“Call building security,” Dashwood ordered before Finn could reply. “Have them hold her at the door.”

“I’m on my way.” Finn pulled his keys from his pockets and started for the door.

“No.” Dashwood’s stern gaze stopped Finn cold. “I need you here, Agent Townsend. You have the most experience with the Cohort and their primary hackers.”

Temper moved over Finn’s boyish face like a thundercloud, but he didn’t argue as he returned to his seat. When Selene used that tone, none of them argued.

“Agent Ortega, you’ll stick with Meyers until we can mute these threats. Her safety is your first priority as we work this case.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emiliano closed the laptop he’d brought along and stowed it in his computer bag, no happier than Finn with the new orders.

Smart and gorgeous, all signs pointed to Marie Meyers being a difficult woman for him to keep an eye on. He’d done his best to clear drama and difficulty from his life. Guarding a suspect or potential victim was the least favorite part of his job description.

He hurried down the hall to Marie’s office. She was already gone.

“Hang on, Ortega,” Dashwood said, catching him at the elevator.

“So she is a suspect?” Emiliano kept his voice low.

“I didn’t say that.”

He waited for her to clarify.

“We both know this isn’t typical Cohort strategy,” she said. Only her narrowed gaze revealed her frustration. “I want to stop this before it becomes a trend. We’ll work it from this side while you keep working it off-site. With or without the CDO’s cooperation.”

He understood what she wouldn’t say outright in this building. They had to protect Miss Meyers based on the credible threats. In doing so, he would be close enough to catch her if she was cooperating with the hacktivists.

“When did you put her in the suspect category?” He knew some cyberattacks were assisted by insiders, but this felt like a big leap in judgment against Miss Meyers.

Selene spread her hands wide. “We’re just getting started. I’m not ready to rule out anything.”

“Let’s move fast. I’m not looking forward to spending Christmas in my truck.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“If it does, you can explain it to Scrabble.” His beloved corgi would be grumpy if he wasn’t home soon and she could hold a grudge. “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

With a brisk nod, she strode back down the hallway to the conference room.

Alone in the elevator, Emiliano smiled as he thought of his dog patiently waiting for him back at his family ranch in Shadow Creek, several hours away. She had plenty of care and company out there; he didn’t worry about that. It was the idea of being stuck in the city for the holidays that put a pinch between his shoulder blades. There was a fresh sincerity in small-town life he’d never found in the major cities he’d worked in. Only gone half a day, he already missed the rhythm and routine of the ranch that kept him grounded.

Dallas, in particular, set his teeth on edge. Despite the gloss and polish that impressed so many residents and tourists, he saw the unsavory elements lurking just under that pretty surface. And whose fault was that? he wondered with a sigh.

He stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and walked right into the unwelcome glare of Miss Meyers.

* * *

Marie could hardly contain her frustration. The FBI had ordered security to hold her here until an agent arrived to escort her. She had been taking care of herself, and doing a fine job of it, since turning eighteen.

She wished she could take back her promise not to argue this decision. Who would they send? Not the woman in charge, and probably not the rumpled-looking Mr. Staller. The idea of Agent Townsend hovering over her life turned her palms damp with nerves.

Agent Ortega stepped off the elevator and relief flooded her system. There was a kindness in his gaze, a compassion that she wanted to trust.

“Thanks for your patience,” he said.

“They said I didn’t have a choice.” She gripped the handle of her purse with both hands, her computer bag over her shoulder. “How exactly will this work?”

He gave her a hesitant smile. “With your patience and cooperation you won’t notice me at all.” She almost laughed. Overlooking this handsome agent in any environment was unimaginable.

“The goal is your protection, not inconvenience,” he said, holding the door for her. “We work quickly and should have your life back to normal by the holidays.”

He couldn’t know how little comfort that was—the holidays were always a study in loneliness for her—but she thanked him anyway.

“We’ll take my truck to your car, and then we’ll head to your place and make a plan.”

Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement and she noticed he slowed his pace just enough that she didn’t feel rushed. The heels put her at nearly eye level with him and she appreciated the sense of equality.

“A plan?” she echoed after a moment. “The FBI considers house arrest a plan?”

“You think you should be under house arrest?”

“No.” Exasperated with the entire day, she puffed her long bangs up off her forehead.

He unlocked the truck and let her settle into the seat before he closed her door. After stashing his computer bag behind the driver’s seat, he climbed in and started the engine. “Where are you parked?”

She gave him directions and then closed her eyes, silently counting to ten. There was a logical way out of this nightmare. When the truck didn’t move, she opened her eyes and found him watching her intently, his lips tilted up at the corner.

“My mother used to do that when she got fed up with my brother and me.” He pulled away from the parking space, his gaze on the road.

The man had a striking profile. “You have a brother?”

He nodded without volunteering any information. She got the impression he didn’t make a habit of sharing personal details. A tactic she could respect. What people didn’t know about, they couldn’t judge.

“I could help this investigation, you know,” she said as he pulled up behind her car.

The full weight of that dark, enigmatic gaze landed on her and she resisted the urge to fidget or plead. Would nothing convince his team or her bosses that she could be an asset? Didn’t the FBI have safe houses or something outside the Cohort’s reach where she could help?

“Right now the best way to help is to stay safe and give us room to work,” he replied.

“This is outrageous.” She pulled her car key from her purse and shoved out of his truck before her temper snapped and she said something she might regret.

* * *

Emiliano noticed there had been no searching or rooting around for her key. The woman was organized. He appreciated efficiency, focused on that trait rather than her lush feminine curves and lovely legs.

Both ranch life and FBI experience had taught him that calm was the best option when tempers turned hot. He braced for the slamming door. It would be easier to get a read on her once she relaxed.

Suddenly she turned back, her eyes flashing.

“I’ve never jeopardized or abused customer information the way the Cohort does.”

He listened to her words and studied her body language. Hard to believe she’d willingly let in a hacktivist group.

“We do not share or sell personal information,” she continued, in that staccato pattern that reminded him of her high heels on the pavement.

“Good.”

“I knew programmers with hacktivist ideologies and skills. In school.” Those dark eyes met his, held. “I didn’t agree with them then and I don’t support their criminal behavior now.”

“All right,” he said.

She sucked in a breath as if his acceptance offended her. “Do you know my address?”

“Yes.” Her address, along with her cell phone number and the make, model and license plate of her car, was in her file. He plugged the address into his navigation app on the truck’s dashboard. “I’ll follow you over.”

“Are you planning to stay in my apartment?”

He wasn’t sure yet how they would work that out, only that he had orders to keep an eye on her. “Let’s get over there and we’ll talk.”

Her lips twisted, though she didn’t speak as she finally closed the truck door. The spunky Mini Cooper suited her, he decided. Painted creamy white with a dark green rocker stripe, it would be useless anywhere but the city.

And why was he analyzing her car? She put her purse and computer bag behind her seat and slid behind the wheel. He prepared to move his truck so she could back out, when she opened her door and peered at the windshield.

He powered down the passenger window. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. A flyer or something.” She stretched an arm out and he ordered her to stop.

“Let me see it first.”

He grabbed his phone and hustled around the front of his truck to her car. Tucked low under the windshield wiper was a small square of white paper.

“Not a flyer,” he said as much to himself as to her. He took pictures and used the flashlight app on his phone to peer under the hood. He dropped to the ground and checked the undercarriage.

She crouched beside him. “What are you doing?”

He deliberately kept his focus on the car rather than her legs. “Looking for any obvious signs of tampering or tracking devices.” On his feet again, he called Dashwood and gave her an update.

“Tampering? You’re a bomb expert, too, I suppose.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not an expert.” He dusted off his palms and smacked at the dirt on his trousers. Why couldn’t he remember he was in a suit on the job, rather than in his work jeans at the ranch? “The FBI does keep us trained.”

“Of course.” She tucked a lock of hair, teased loose by the breeze, behind one ear. “I’m not handling this well,” she admitted softly. “My work is everything to me and I don’t appreciate strangers interfering with that.”

There hadn’t been any mention of a spouse or other family in her file and he’d assumed the rest of her background was in process. Now Emiliano wondered what that background would reveal. “May I?” He pointed to the note.

She shrugged, arms folded again. “Go ahead.”

Using the end of a pen, he freed the note and unfolded it there on the windshield.

The image of a Guy Fawkes mask filled the top half of the letter-sized paper. Underneath, one sentence in all caps threatened her.

YOU WILL PAY FOR TRADING PERSONAL PRIVACY FOR PROFITS

Emiliano took a picture of the note and sent it to his boss by text message. Within two minutes she replied that an evidence team was on the way. The only hope for a lead was a camera on the parking area or fingerprints on the paper itself. The standard copy paper and black-and-white printing would be impossible to track down. Anyone could have printed this at home, an office or a copy store.

It took a little more than an hour for Emiliano to sign over the scene to the crime-scene unit. Miss Meyers wasn’t happy about leaving her car to the investigators, but he convinced her it was temporary.

“That’s one thing settled,” he said as they drove away.

“One thing?” Another huff of frustration lifted her bangs.

“You can’t stay in Dallas.”

She gaped at him. “I certainly can’t leave. Not without my car and not while the investigation is ongoing. Sooner or later you’ll discover I can help.”

“We’ve got it under control,” he said. The woman had plenty of nerve to think they’d share information before they made a determination on her involvement.

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving town.”

She was wrong. “You’re under my protection, so that choice is out of your hands.”

“Third-worst day,” she muttered. “Special Agent Ortega.” She said his name with such respect it startled him. “I can manage on my own.”

He believed her. “Since these circumstances aren’t normal, I’m transporting you to a safe place until we sort this out.”

He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard himself suggest to Dashwood or that he was about to say it again. “The FBI has decided you’ll stay at my family’s ranch until we’re sure it’s safe for you to return to Dallas.”

Chapter 3

Marie was sure she’d misunderstood Special Agent Ortega. Yet here she was again in his pickup truck, her suitcase stowed in the bed and the city she loved well behind them already. It was all she could do not to ask him how much longer they’d be on the road.

He’d stated in that infuriatingly calm tone that he was taking her to Shadow Creek, Texas. She’d done a quick search on her cell phone while she packed. Thank goodness, too, since he’d surprised her by confiscating her phone and laptop before they left Dallas. He’d made it clear that she would not be allowed any internet access during the investigation.

Located in the Texas Hill Country, the area’s primary claim to fame was a quaint town center giving way to businesses surrounded by acres of cattle ranches. The idyllic pictures of rolling grassland, clear rivers, green hills and livestock dotting the landscape made her nervous. Checking the street-view pictures provided for Main Street didn’t help. Not a high-rise in sight. The closest thing to a city-like feature was the Shadow Creek Memorial Hospital. She’d found it odd that a local hospital would feature so prominently on the search results until she read that it had been built by Livia Colton, hot story of the day.

As they passed through Austin and the landscape on either side of the highway gave way to the wide expanse of ranch land, she suspected they were getting close.

At the first sighting of a longhorn cattle herd grazing well back from the road, her palms went damp. She didn’t do rural and couldn’t imagine staying anywhere close to a heavy animal with horns like that. A city girl at heart, she’d only been camping once, though she suspected her experience wouldn’t qualify in Special Agent Ortega’s book. The excursion had only gone so far as pitching tents at the edge of the wooded greenway behind the youth center. Already the quiet beyond the low rumble of the truck’s engine pressed in on her.

“Not much longer,” he said.

She jumped on the first words he’d spoken in over an hour, needing the conversation. “How can you be a rancher and an FBI agent?” she asked, hating the nerves making her voice tight.

“Family effort,” he replied.

He glanced her way and the look of contentment on his face launched a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. “You’re moving me in with your parents?”

His eyebrows flexed into a scowl. “They’re out of town right now,” he said. “Plenty of room even if they were home. It’s not like we’ll be tripping over each other.”

She gazed out at the wide-open landscape, wishing for the clear boundaries of a stable city structure. “I doubt anyone out here has that problem.”

“Shadow Creek and the surrounding area will also make it harder for anyone wishing you harm to succeed.”

She supposed he would know. Protection protocol wasn’t her thing. “The note on my car can’t really mean anything.” If someone wanted to attack, wouldn’t they have waited for her to show up? Although restating her earlier protest wasn’t likely to make him turn around now, she felt she had to try. “The Cohort posted all my information for free already. Good grief, they knew my pay rate. Knowing what I drive and where I park is the least threatening aspect of this nightmare.”

Without a word he exited the highway at the sign for Shadow Creek. Under other circumstances she might let herself enjoy his handsome, stoic profile.

“I’d really rather deal with this in a familiar area,” she added.

“So you’ve said.”

“Can you blame me?” she asked. Were all FBI agents so unyielding? Townsend’s face flashed through her mind. Initial charm aside, he clearly hadn’t liked her and he might even suspect she was involved in the cyberattack. Investigators often looked for an inside source. Marie quickly counted her blessings again that Dashwood had assigned Ortega to watch over her.

“Not at all,” he said. “What you’re going through is very common. People don’t like to be yanked out of the familiar routine. Not even FBI agents.” He spared her a quick glance, then put his gaze back on the road stretching endlessly in front of them. “The FBI doesn’t like for those same people to get hurt while we’re investigating.”

“At least you get to do your job.” She couldn’t fathom filling the hours she normally spent at work. “What am I going to do out here?” Too afraid of the answer, she couldn’t voice the bigger question: How long would she be stuck out here?

“You might be surprised by how busy we are on a working ranch.”

“If you’re expecting me to herd cattle, you’re in for a big disappointment,” she said.

His low laughter was unexpected. “We do have a modest herd, thirty head of longhorn cattle, and plenty of help with that. There are also horses, goats, dogs, cats and an ever-changing variety of other animals. My parents are both veterinarians, and because we have space and staff, they tend to rescue more than their share of needy animals.”

She kept her mouth shut. They might as well be from two different planets. One of her foster families had had a big orange tabby cat that wasn’t a fan of children. There’d been a year of mutual hatred between her and a yappy little Chihuahua at another stop on her route through the foster-care system.

He lifted a finger off the steering wheel and aimed it toward a point in the distance she couldn’t see. “We’ll head down Main Street, give you a feel for the town.”

Did that mean he’d allow her out of his sight long enough to come back into town? Was this a test? She understood she’d been threatened online and in real life. Understood no one wanted her help, which could only mean the FBI believed she might have assisted the Cohort’s hack of her company’s defenses. Things had spun so quickly out of her control today and she didn’t grasp the new rules of the situation.

She wanted to ask him to be clear about his expectations for her, of her. Why couldn’t she get the words out? Simple questions, really. What are my chores? Where is my room? Is there a lights-out rule? Am I under house arrest? Questions she’d learned to ask upon her arrival at a new foster home. Well, except for that last one.

They passed a beautiful white church spearing up from the landscape, backed by a lovely cemetery. She imagined the weddings, baptisms, funerals and weekly gatherings of families into a larger community that created generations of history. Her nose stung with tears she’d learned long ago to suppress. Tears were rather useless against loneliness.

As if inspired by that first church, Shadow Creek stretched out before them, buildings and businesses, and neighborhoods holding the vast Hill Country at bay. Bigger than she’d expected, it was merely a speck in comparison to Dallas or Austin. Still, something inside her relaxed as they passed bed-and-breakfasts and a sign for a farm called Hill Country. That sounded like a friendly place.

With the tidy buildings and well-maintained facades exuding charm, Shadow Creek might as easily have been found in Hollywood serving as a backdrop for a Western movie. A movie set at Christmastime, she amended. Evergreen garlands climbed lampposts and draped over railings. It seemed every business had a different festive wreath at the door. She assumed tiny white lights sparkled delicately through it all at night.

Christmas. In her head she always emphasized the word with the same dismay Indiana Jones used when he said the word snakes.

She tried to give her spirits a boost as they passed businesses like the Shadow Creek Mercantile, the Cozy Diner and the Secret Garden floral shop near a thoroughly modern bank, a salon-spa and a printing shop. A lovely spot for a weekend getaway, she thought. Too bad she didn’t bother with those.

Catching a glimpse of the tall, modern hospital was a harsh reminder of the Livia Colton announcement and the serious nature of Marie’s trouble.

“Claudia Colton owns a shop you might like down here on Main Street.” Agent Ortega pointed. “Honeysuckle Road. From the way the women around here talk, they love that she brought some New York City style to Shadow Creek.”

“You’re saying I’m free to walk around and go shopping here like a normal tourist?”

“You’re not under house arrest, Miss Meyers.” He glanced at her feet. “Although you won’t want to walk from the ranch back into town in those heels.”

“Call me Marie.”

“Marie it is,” he said, giving her another of those long looks while they were stopped at a traffic light. “And Emiliano is fine.”

She tested his name silently in her mind and decided the sensual cadence fit the sexy man perfectly.

“The FBI is simply trying to keep you safe,” he continued. “We can do that more easily out here.”

“Where strangers stand out?” She should be used to the feeling. There were so few times in her life when she hadn’t been one of the new faces on the fringes, looking at groups with established routines and hierarchy, waiting for her to prove if she could fit in.

“Where neighbors aren’t afraid to take a stand,” he corrected. “It’s a good-sized town, and the community isn’t crammed up together like Dallas. Look around.”

She had been. The businesses on Main Street sparkled as if the sun itself was happier shining here, reluctant to say farewell for the day. Sidewalks were clean and wide, and it seemed as if everyone smiled, a few people waving as Agent Ortega—Emiliano—drove by.

“Plus, with no ties to the area, no one will think to look for you here.”

No ties anywhere, she thought, craving the safe anonymity of the city. Surely one of the gazillion hotels in Dallas would have been sufficient to wait out the hacktivists. Here, she suspected people knew where everyone else came from and would never forget about a foster kid’s science project that caused a kitchen fire. Seeing a sign for another bed-and-breakfast, she felt her stomach twist. Although she’d learned long ago to deflect questions about her personal history, she’d rather not put that to a small-town hospitality test.

Dusk was falling, the sky growing heavy and deep, and as she’d suspected, those holiday greens started to sparkle. She was discomfited by the joyful, carefree vibe in town, and the space and distance of the ranch suddenly held far more appeal. “Tell me more about the ranch.”

“It’s quiet, not as big as some other ranches in the area.” He stopped for another traffic light and pointed to Big Jim’s Burger Shop. “Best burgers in town, in my opinion.” He hitched his thumb back the way they’d come. “Aldo’s vies for the same honor. We’ll try both and you can weigh in.”

Dinners, plural, with Emiliano? “Is the plan to show me around Shadow Creek?” Maybe he wanted to use her as bait to lure the hacktivists. It wasn’t a pleasant idea, though she kept saying she wanted to help.

“Plan?” His straight eyebrows snapped together. “Just an option,” he said, not looking at her. “The ranch is self-sufficient.”

Contrite that he misunderstood her real concern, she tried to apologize. “Shadow Creek is lovely. I just wondered...” As his scowl deepened, she fell silent.

“You’re wondering if I’ll hang you out like a worm on a fish hook,” he finished for her, a muscle in his square jaw twitching.

She wasn’t quite as eager to cooperate when he said it like that. “It’s a valid option.”

“It’s reckless,” he countered, turning off Main Street. Within minutes the evening sparkle of Shadow Creek was a dwindling image behind them as he gained speed on a two-lane blacktop road.

Twilight crept across the landscape, the last rays of the setting sun painting the western horizon with bold streaks of fiery oranges and muted indigo. She felt small and alone in the world without the buffer of Shadow Creek between her and all that wide-open space.

He slowed to take a turn off the paved road onto a gravel driveway. They passed under an archway that declared their arrival at Ortega Ranch with a sign for veterinary services, as well.

She couldn’t see much beyond the road in the fading light, just the rails of a fence and the shape of several buildings as he named them. “The drive splits here and circles around to the veterinary offices,” he said.

She’d take his word, searching for anything familiar and latching on to the one-story stone house with a big chimney at one end caught in his headlights. A faint light glowed from a window deep inside the house.

“The cattle are farther out,” he explained as he parked the truck.

Lights, apparently on motion sensors, flooded the immediate area in a bright glow. “Where will I be staying?” At last, she managed to voice one of the questions she should have asked earlier.

“At the main house with me.” He left the cab to get their bags out of the truck bed.

She hopped out and her heels sank into the dirt. He’d been so eager to get on the road he hadn’t given her time to change. This would not be the place for heels and skirts. Thank goodness she’d taken his advice and packed her sneakers and jeans, along with easy-care T-shirts and a couple of older sweatshirts.

What a mess, she thought, coming around to help him with her luggage. Moving in with an FBI agent, temporarily exiled from her work and distanced from the city life she loved.

“Plenty of room and all the modern conveniences. You’ll hardly know you’ve left Dallas.”

She jumped and turned at the sound of a soft woof. Uncertain of her options, she looked to Emiliano for guidance as a tall dog with a shaggy golden coat trotted out of the darkness from the direction of the barns.

Emiliano crouched down. “Hey, Gordo,” he said, giving him a scratch between his ears.

“Gordo?”

“Short for Flash Gordon. My dad was in a mood that day. He found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health after a broken pelvis. Gordo used to race up the drive as soon as he heard my dad’s car. He’s slowed down some.” Emiliano stood up, smiling at her across the truck bed. “Come say hello.”

“I don’t know how.”

He simply came to her, Gordo at his hip. “Sit.” The dog complied, his ears cocked as he stared up at her. “Gordo, this is Marie. She’s our friend. Shake.”

Gordo lifted a paw and, at the agent’s encouraging nod, she bent down and gave it a quick shake.

“Great job,” Emiliano said.

She chose not to ask if he meant to praise her or the dog. Either way, she took an immediate liking to Gordo, and Emiliano’s obvious pleasure at being home put her at ease.

“Let’s get you settled in.” He picked up the luggage, leaving her to manage only her purse as he walked along the wide covered patio that fronted the house. It was decorated with planters between each column and had padded benches set back against the firm stone wall of the house and separated by small tables, and she felt the warm welcome, even as a stranger.

Hearing the staccato barking inside, she stutter-stepped. “Another dog?”

“As I said earlier,” he replied.

“Right.” She gave Gordo a tentative smile. “I’m not used to being around animals,” she said. “I’ll figure it out.” Blending in was the key to successful transitions. This was just one more temporary transition.

“As the son of two veterinarians, I can’t imagine it any other way.” The barking grew closer and a long white snout tipped with a black nose poked aside the curtains at the front window as they passed by. Bright brown eyes shone with happiness from a reddish-brown face, split by the stripe of white that narrowed as it flowed up between the large perked ears.

A broad smile transformed Emiliano’s face. “That’s my corgi, Scrabble.”

“Another rescue?”

“Of sorts. She’s one of our best herders.” He stopped abruptly and she had to as well or run into his back. He turned, blocking the walkway. “Don’t move.”

At the window, Scrabble raised her voice again, her eyes on Emiliano, ears straight up and her small paws patting the sill. She seemed to bounce a little with every sound, as if desperate to tell him something.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He didn’t answer as he set the luggage down and drew his gun. He was in full federal-agent mode again as his gaze swept the area while he put his back to the house and the barking dog.

“Stay right there,” he ordered.

A thousand terrible thoughts ran through her mind as he crept closer to the front door. Another note? A robbery? Something worse? No one knew until a few hours ago that she would be coming here, so it couldn’t be related to her, could it?

Gordo wandered up beside her, leaned a little against her leg. She didn’t care about dog hair on her skirt, taking comfort from the mutt’s presence as she rested a hand on his head.

“Ace?” As quickly as he’d drawn his gun, he holstered his weapon, kneeling as he’d done to greet Gordo.

Another animal? She assumed this one was wounded based on Emiliano’s tone.

Gordo whimpered and she absently stroked the dog’s ear, soothing them both while Scrabble continued her efforts to communicate with Emiliano. Why had she ever agreed to this? Coming out here gave too much weight to the hacktivist threats. She gazed out over the dark fields between the house and the deserted road and wondered what she could do to regain control of her life.

“Marie! Call nine-one-one.”

“You have my phone.” Was there an emergency response team for animals out here? She hurried toward him, only then seeing the man in the doorway. “Oh, no. He’s not... Is he...is he dead?”

Chapter 4

“Ace!” Emiliano’s heart kicked hard in his chest at the sight of Ace Gregor slumped against the front door. He pressed his fingers to the man’s throat, searching for a pulse. Finding it steady, if slow, Emiliano drew his first deep breath of relief.

No sign of blood or wounds aside from scraped knuckles, which could mean anything for a man working on a ranch. Had he had a heart attack or a stroke? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. At sixty-three, Ace had been part of life at Ortega Ranch since before Emiliano was born. The man was as good as family and reliable as sunrise. He’d never done anything so uncharacteristic as passing out in a doorway.

Carefully, Emiliano felt around the man’s head and neck for any obvious injuries. There was a large goose egg at the back of Ace’s head, but no blood in the thin blond hair going gray at the temples.

Nothing out here on the porch would have caused that kind of injury and left Ace in this position, unless the man had fallen into the doorknob. An unlikely scenario. Emiliano looked around, seeing no signs of a struggle, which baffled him even more. Had the man knocked himself senseless and passed out before he could get into the house? Again, unlikely. Knowing the first-aid supplies were in the kitchen, Ace would have gone to the back door, not the front.

“Ace. Come on.” Emiliano jerked out of his jacket and eased the older man flat on his back, pillowing his head. Stretched out, Ace seemed to breathe easier. Emiliano shook his shoulder gently, praying he’d come around.

Inside, Scrabble was going nuts, as if she was encouraging Ace to wake up. The antics didn’t surprise him, as his dog and the ranch hand had a tight bond. Ace often used her to help with the cattle and he took the brunt of her care whenever Emiliano had to travel for work.

“You know him? He’s alive?”

Emiliano turned, looking up into Marie’s worried face. “Yes. He’s our ranch manager.”

“Do you still want me to call an ambulance?”

He let his gaze drift down her compact body, from her lovely face, over the shapely legs bared by her tailored skirt, to the heels that wouldn’t last a day out here. His job was to keep her safe while they assessed the hack and her potential culpability, not catalog her finer attributes.

“Let’s give him a minute. Help me get him inside.” Dragging her out of Dallas and promising her safety, only to find a body in the doorway, probably didn’t instill much confidence. It certainly left him rattled and wondering.

“Shouldn’t you check for intruders or a break-in?”

“If someone was inside, Scrabble would’ve told me by now.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Predictably, his stocky little dog squeezed through at the first opportunity and turned a happy circle at his feet before snuffling around Ace’s face and neck.

She jerked back and sneezed, then startled him by growling at the older man. “Settle. Back it up, Scrabble.”

The dog stepped aside and plopped onto her rump at his left foot. Her ears cocked for his next command, Emiliano saw her curious gaze drift toward Marie.

“In a minute,” he said to his dog. He’d make introductions as soon as he got Ace inside. As gently as possible, he hauled Ace over the threshold and settled him on the nearest couch in the central room.

Marie followed with Gordo and the luggage, and closed the door.

“Kitchen’s that way.” Emiliano pointed. Scrabble put her nose under Ace’s hand in a move that usually earned her an ear rub. Ace remained still. “Can you find a towel and wet it with cool water, please?”

Marie hurried off while Emiliano continued evaluating Ace. The older man didn’t reek of alcohol and wasn’t known to get sloppy drunk. The next guess was drugs, though that too would be out of character. Emiliano searched the man’s pockets, found his cell phone and checked for any incriminating messages or callers, coming up empty.

Marie handed him the cool, damp towel and stepped back while Emiliano pressed the cloth to Ace’s cheeks and forehead.

Scrabble studied the woman between her attempts to rouse Ace.

“We should call an ambulance,” Emiliano muttered. “I just don’t know what to tell them.” Suspicions of heart attack or stroke wouldn’t help a paramedic diagnose anything. With Ace breathing and a steady pulse, he decided to give the man another minute or two to come around.

They had a security system in place, but it was primarily aimed at protecting the vet practice. It hadn’t been armed here when he’d opened the door, which told him Ace had been working nearby today. Wouldn’t Scrabble have been out there with him?

Ace’s hand twitched, his fingers sinking into Scrabble’s ruff. The dog gave a soft woof and another nudge. The man’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked around, winced and closed his eyes tight.

“Ace?”

“Emiliano?” he rasped. He coughed a little and tried to roll to his side.

“Easy, friend.” Emiliano turned to Marie. “Water?”

She dashed to the kitchen, her heels snapping on the slate flooring between the thick area rugs.

“What happened?” Emiliano asked when she was out of earshot.

“How did I get in here?”

“I carried you,” Emiliano said. “I’m calling a doctor.”

“No. That’s silly.” Ace pushed himself to a seated position and clapped a hand to his neck. Scrabble hopped up, growled at the spot. “I’m good, sweet girl.”

“Let me see.” Emiliano pulled back Ace’s work shirt, tugged aside the collar of the T-shirt underneath. “This looks like a bruise from a needle with a scratch to go with it. You need the hospital.”

“No.” Ace coughed. “I’m awake. I’ll be fine.”

“Here.” Marie held out a bottle of water.

Ace squinted up at her. “Who are you?”

“Marie Meyers, CDO of Colton, Incorporated,” Emiliano answered for her.

“You’re pretty.” Ace accepted the water, drank deep. “What’s a CDO do?”

“Ignore him. Our Ace is an incurable flirt,” Emiliano deadpanned. He pushed back to sit on the edge of an ottoman. “Give me a reason not to take you over to the hospital, old man.”

“That’s where I was,” Ace said. He blotted his face with the cool towel and let it fall to his thigh as if that small movement exhausted him.

“You were at Memorial?”

“No, no. The vet hospital. Tires on the driveway.” He closed his eyes. “It doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows your parents are out of town.”

Ace was right. Everyone in Shadow Creek knew the veterinary offices were closed because his parents were taking a long-overdue extended vacation before the holidays. No one should have been driving around that part of the ranch. “Come on.” Emiliano pulled his keys from his pocket. “I think the doctors should take a look at your head.”

“My head’s just fine,” Ace protested. “Call in Dr. Ramirez if you want,” Ace said stubbornly. “I’m not going to a damn hospital.”

Considering the injection, Emiliano decided Ramirez was better than nothing, so he made the call. If Ace didn’t have a clear recollection of the events that landed him in the doorway, they needed to be sure he wouldn’t be dealing with any lingering side effects. “Why wasn’t Scrabble with you?”

Ace smiled at the little dog resting her chin on his boot. “We’d gone out for a romp and I brought her in, gave her a treat.”

“What time was that?” he asked.

“Around two, I think. That’s normally when we go out.” Under his sandy eyebrows, his pale blue eyes shifted to Gordo. “Then this one went with me to the back pasture to check on the horses.” He took another pull on the water. “The tires on the driveway were too loud. Whoever it was came in too fast.”

Emiliano checked the big clock over the archway between the great room and kitchen. It was a quarter past six, so Ace must have been out for the better part of four hours. It had been too dark for Emiliano to have seen any obvious skid marks in the gravel where the driveway split off to the offices. He’d have to take a closer look once Ace was steadier.

* * *

Marie couldn’t help feeling like an interloper, no matter that she was here at the FBI’s insistence. She wished there was something to do besides worry as the older man answered Emiliano’s questions.

“The alarm sounded on your mother’s office. I remember running that way. The back door was open.” Ace rubbed his neck again. “A man stepped out, wearing some weird mustache mask thing.” He waved a hand around his face. “I tried to confront him and got clocked. He must have drugged me, but why drag me over here?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Emiliano promised.

Marie wanted to wallow in his sheer confidence. The determination in his deep voice made her feel better despite everything that had happened today.

Emiliano reached for his phone as Ace described the mask. “Did the mask look like this?”

Marie caught a glimpse of the image of the Guy Fawkes mask used by more and more protesters in real life and online.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Ace confirmed. “What’s this about?”

“Cohort,” Emiliano murmured.

Although he was the investigator, she knew they couldn’t dismiss the cyberattack in Dallas and the attack on Ace a few hours later as coincidence.

“They’re a hacktivist group,” Marie explained. “They attacked Colton, Incorporated, this morning. They breached the database and stole a great deal of private information on our employees.” And posted a reward for her capture or death. Although she was here, it was still too bizarre for her to say it aloud.

“Huh.” Ace’s gaze moved slowly from Marie to Emiliano and back. “Why would they come out here looking for you?” he asked her.

“They wouldn’t,” Emiliano snapped. “The decision to bring Marie here for her protection was only made hours ago.”

She bit her lip to hide the nervous trembling and followed his gaze as he stared at the needle mark on Ace’s neck. Had this man been hurt because the Cohort was after her? The thought made her stomach pitch.

Emiliano stood up and drew his gun. “I need to check the drug inventory at Mom’s office.”

Marie almost told him to be careful, but this was his property, his job. She was certain he knew how to handle himself.

“You two wait here,” he said. “I’ll set the alarm system behind me.” He looked at the dogs. “Scrabble, stay. Gordo, come.” Scrabble sat up a little straighter between Ace’s boots. Gordo lumbered to his feet and followed Emiliano. “We’ll be back before Dr. Ramirez arrives.”

Marie turned to Ace. “More water?”

“I’d rather have coffee,” he said, in a hopeful tone.

She wasn’t sure that was smart. “I’ll brew some for you if the doctor says it’s okay.”

“Fine.” Ace sighed and sat back. “You can tell me what a CDO does while we wait.”

She would certainly do her best to keep him distracted.

* * *

As Emiliano jogged up the drive, he added up the various factors without any comfort in the preliminary solutions. His FBI career was no more a secret than his parents’ vacation. Why would the Cohort come here? And if they could strike down Ace on Ortega property, was there any place where he could possibly hope to keep Marie safe?

At the fork where the gravel driveway split off toward the vet offices, he saw Ace was right. Someone had taken the turn too quickly. Near the office itself, he found skid marks where someone had pulled to a stop and left again in a hurry. He took a few pictures, though he’d have to take more in the better light of morning. At the office door, he took pictures of the broken lock. He would review the security system video after he checked the inventory. To drop a man as big and tough as Ace, the attacker likely went for xylazine, one of the tranquilizers his mother used in her equine practice. Like all reputable vets, Natalia Ortega kept careful records of the controlled substances. She used computer logs as well as a handwritten chart on a clipboard near the cabinet to track when each patient received what kind of dosage and why.

Sure enough, the locked cabinet had been busted off its hinges and two vials of xylazine were missing. Emiliano swore. It was a safe bet she was short a box of syringes, as well. A quick search confirmed that. He noted the signs of a brief struggle. Ace was tall, strong and wily. How had he seen the thief’s masked face and still been overpowered?

On hands and knees, he found a syringe under the desk with a few milliliters of fluid in the barrel. His mother didn’t keep controlled substances predrawn, which meant there had to have been two people here, one fighting Ace and another to prepare the drug. Emiliano pulled on exam gloves and dropped the syringe into a plastic bag, hoping to preserve any fingerprints.

At the security system panel, he checked the time of the alarm that had brought his ranch manager into range of the thieves. He and Marie had just gotten on the road out of Dallas when Ace was attacked here. Did that mean the incidents were connected or coincidence? He pulled out his phone to send a text message to his boss and changed his mind. Better to get more facts together. He could share this development on the team video conference scheduled for tomorrow.

Emiliano tucked his phone away. Knowing his mother’s security codes, he moved the remainder of her controlled substances into a cabinet that locked properly. He was going to have to open a Food and Drug Administration report on her behalf, as well. With luck, being an FBI agent would make that process run a bit smoother.

He should probably call her, but he didn’t want to interrupt their holiday cruise. It was the first big vacation they’d taken in years. The least he could do was handle things in their absence. Satisfied the meds were secure, he managed to get the door to stay closed with the dead bolt so he could reset the alarm. Tomorrow, he could make a decision about repairing or replacing the door.

He returned to the house just as Dr. Ramirez’s sedan turned into the driveway. He and Gordo waited for the older man to climb out of the car with his bag. Together the two men and the scruffy dog walked inside, where Marie and Ace were chatting like old friends in the great room.

Emiliano opened his mouth to make introductions and stopped short. Scrabble hadn’t met him at the door. She was sitting on Marie’s lap in one of the leather armchairs, her canine grin expressing delight and pride in finding a new friend.

Huh. His dog was an excellent judge of character. It was uncharacteristic for her to become so friendly with anyone so fast, especially in light of Marie’s inexperience with animals. Having her take that relaxed, affectionate stance toward a woman he hadn’t completely removed from the suspect column made him reconsider Marie’s position within the investigation.

“Who’s the patient?” Ramirez asked. “You both look well enough to me.”

“Ace is the patient,” Marie said, gently stroking Scrabble’s long back when the dog refused to relinquish her place.

Emiliano explained how and where they’d found Ace and the missing supplies from the vet office. Ace chimed in with what he remembered of the incident. “I’d appreciate you keeping this quiet,” Emiliano said when the basics were complete.

“Assumed as much.” Ramirez’s thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows knit into a frown. He took blood and urine samples to verify the suspected xylazine and, after some additional evaluation, told them Ace had a mild concussion and would recover with a few days’ rest.

“You’ll be here, Emiliano?” the doctor asked, packing up his bag.

“Yes.” This time of year the ranch ran on a skeleton crew so everyone had more time with family, although they would all pitch in and make sure Ace had enough help.

“Good.” He snapped his bag closed and tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket. “I’m counting on you to be sure he doesn’t overdo it or the recovery will take twice as long.” He aimed a meaningful look at Ace. “I mean it.”

“I heard you,” Ace said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Meyers,” Dr. Ramirez said. “Enjoy your time in Shadow Creek.”

Emiliano walked the doctor back to his car. “Ace had to be out for close to four hours,” he said.

“I did the math,” the doctor agreed. He unlocked the car and set his bag on the passenger seat. “That works in his favor in this case.”

“How so?”

“Because being unconscious, his body was able to purge the drug without as much of a fight,” Ramirez explained. “Once I have these labs back, I’ll know if he needs more attention. In the meantime, water and rest will do him the most good. If he were in real trouble, it would be obvious in his breathing and heart rate.”

It was small comfort, but he’d take it. “Do you think his assailants dragged him to the door?”

Ramirez chuckled. “Knowing Ace, he stumbled there on his own, trying to find help. He’s too stubborn to let a head injury or sedatives have all the advantages.”

While the last part was true, Emiliano was sure Ace would’ve gone for the back door over the front. It was habit. Then again, between the head injury and the drug, he couldn’t have been thinking clearly. Maybe more details would come out as he recovered.

“I found a syringe in the office,” Emiliano said. “I’ll let you know what the evidence lab finds.”

Emiliano watched the doctor drive away, the bagged syringe in his back pocket for the evidence team to process later, and his thoughts scattered.

At the sounds of small paws on the gravel, he turned to see Scrabble racing his way, Marie hesitating under the soft glow of the porch light. “Is Ace okay?”

“Just fine,” she said. “He’s hungry and I wanted to check with you before I invaded your kitchen.”

Emiliano knelt down and patted his chest and Scrabble bounced into his arms, a trick he’d taught her when she was just a puppy.

“Impressive,” Marie said as they joined her.

“Corgis are more athletic than people think at first glance,” he said, his mind on more complicated issues. He was about to walk inside when she hesitated. “What?”

“Do you think your team will sort this out quickly?” she asked.

“Missing Dallas already?”

“Not exactly.” Her mouth turned down as she frowned at him. “I told you Shadow Creek is lovely.”

“You’ll see more of it,” he replied without thinking it through.

“But the Cohort,” she pressed. “Do you think they hurt your friend because of me?”

“Time will tell. It’s hard to believe these incidents are unrelated.” He rubbed at the tension in his neck. “The Cohort isn’t easy to crack, even when its motives are clear,” he admitted. “Then again, the FBI is investigating and Christmas is the season of miracles.”

She stared up at him for a long, silent moment.

Under her puckered brow, he read the doubt in her big brown eyes. She didn’t have to say the words aloud for him to recognize she was a woman who didn’t have much faith in people, the FBI or miracles in any season.

Chapter 5

Once things had settled down last night, Marie had been shown to the guest bedroom. Decorated in a soft color palette that reminded her of the sunset, the space was fresh and scented with a bouquet of dried lavender. A warm, inviting space she couldn’t seem to get comfortable in.

It had been a typical first night in a new house for her, rife with those old uncertainties she’d worked hard to bury or eliminate from her life since turning eighteen. She wasn’t that girl anymore, blowing from place to place like a brittle leaf in a hard wind. This was temporary.

At Emiliano’s insistence, Ace had spent the night on the couch, and she suspected Emiliano had slept out there as well to keep an eye on his ranch manager. The men shared a close camaraderie only time could bring. A camaraderie that had tripped her up emotionally when she’d thought she was past all of it.

Back in high school English class there had been a poetry unit she’d enjoyed. Though she no longer remembered the poet’s name, she recalled the sentiment of his poems that described the way people interacted with each other. Some stuck and took root in a life and others drifted by, only involved for a time or a short purpose. The foster system had made her a drifter, and from the moment she’d left, she’d done everything possible to take root where she wanted to stay.

And yet, thanks to circumstance, here she was, drifting again. Not the same thing. She had friends at the office back in Dallas. Friends she couldn’t contact while Emiliano kept her phone and other devices for the sake of safety and the investigation.

A pale dawn teased the edges of the curtains at the window and, hearing the men stirring elsewhere in the house, she rolled out of bed. She gathered her things and a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom Emiliano said was hers to use during her stay.

Showered and dressed, she went to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, anchored by the savory scent of bacon and spices. Emiliano stood at the stove, pouring pancake batter onto a griddle. No dark FBI suit today, he wore faded jeans that hugged his legs and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves pushed back to his elbows. Both looks fit the man like two sides of a coin and left her a little breathless.

Ace, sitting at the table tucked into the bowed window, sent her a winning smile. “Well, good morning, gorgeous.”

He was incorrigible. Helpless against the friendliness in his eyes, she smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty near perfect,” he said. “Hard to feel bad when Emiliano’s dishing up breakfast and the loveliest lady around is about to join me.” He patted the seat beside him.

“Take it easy, Casanova.” Emiliano shot him a look as he stepped back from the stove and gave a pancake a perfect flip.

The man had surprising skills. “Need a hand?” she offered.

“I’ve got it,” he replied without looking at her. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee.”

She didn’t know what to do with herself when no one needed her. She splashed a little cream into her cup, added hot coffee and joined Ace at the table.

“Where are the dogs?” The distraction would be welcome, while she figured out where she fit into this new scenario.

The older man grinned and tipped his head toward the back door. “Scrabble and Gordo are outside. Scrabble likes to count heads before we do. That one thinks she knows it all.” Ace chuckled. “Gordo’s just along for the stroll.”

“Count heads?” Marie asked.

“She’s a herder,” Emiliano replied. “She believes it’s her job to confirm everyone is in the right place. Stables, paddocks and chicken coop, she makes the rounds with us every day.”

Emiliano brought over the pancakes and bacon, set the platters in the middle of the table one of them had already set with plates, cutlery, butter and syrup. He went back to the oven and returned with a piping-hot pan of diced potatoes.

Ace didn’t hesitate. He filled a plate and surprised her by setting it in front of her. “Dig in.”

She didn’t argue. The hearty food was delicious. As Emiliano and Ace discussed the day, she listened with avid curiosity.

“I’ll finish up around here, and Scrabble and I will head out to check the cattle,” Emiliano said. “Ace can give you the full tour around here.” He crumpled his napkin in one hand and picked up his coffee mug. From across the table he caught her gaze and held it. “Sound good?”

She brightened, picking up on the unspoken message. He wanted to be sure the ranch manager didn’t overdo it. At last—a way to help. “Yes, thank you.”

Pushing back from the table, he started to gather up the dishes.

“Let me do that,” she said quickly. She took the dishes from him and her fingertips tingled when they bumped his. She swallowed. “Ace can help me out if I need it.”

One of those dark eyebrows lanced upward. “All right.” He poured coffee into a thermos before heading to the door. “There’s a conference call in a couple of hours to review the investigation,” he said. “I’ll be back in time for that.”

He walked out before she could ask if there had been any developments.

“He’s grouchy when his mind is on a case,” Ace said, bringing dishes to the counter.

She only smiled, knowing better than to comment on Emiliano’s mood. Shifting the topic to other things while she dealt with the dishes, she got Ace talking about life out in the Hill Country and on this ranch in particular. The man’s love for his work and the Ortega family came through loud and clear, and she relaxed more than she thought possible as he told her how things had grown and changed through the years.

“The boys had their ornery moments for sure,” he said of Emiliano and his younger brother, Dario, as they walked outside. “Brothers do that, y’know.”

She didn’t, but she nodded along. Her friends often fussed about siblings, yet she’d always envied the unbreakable bond of true family ties.

Ace guided her through the barn nearest the house, where the family’s horses were kept in big, airy stalls. He told her about horses and goats, rescue dogs and cats. They found Gordo snoozing in a patch of sunlight, a small kitten snuggled beside him. “Aurelio and Natalia raised ’em right. They put a love for the land and all the animals on it into those boys.”

“Neither of them stay to work the ranch?”

Ace looked almost offended. “They’re capable of it, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t.

“It’s a big world and young men have things to do.” He ducked into a small office and opened an ancient refrigerator. He pulled out a couple of carrots and handed them to her. “Besides, if those boys were here all the time, what would I do?”

“Give ranch tours to city girls?”

He laughed loud enough to wake Gordo. “Allow me to introduce our horses.” He stuck out his elbow and she looped her hand through it.

He guided her around the house to the fenced paddock that bordered the driveway. Under the clear blue December sky, three horses were enjoying the morning sunshine. Ace propped a boot on the lowest rail of the fence and pointed to each of them in turn, giving Marie the names. “Brandy is that solid brown mare. She’s as sweet as they come.” He clucked his tongue and Brandy started their way along with a colorful horse. “Where Brandy goes, Picasso follows. He’s a pinto and the boy never misses a treat since Natalia rescued him years back. Now, that fair color is called palomino. Our gal Rapunzel has a bit of sass.” When he whistled for the horse, she only flicked her tail. “See what I mean?”

Marie laughed. As Brandy and Picasso reached the fence, she started to ease back. The beautiful animals were so much bigger up close. Until today, horsepower was something she only related to cars or the Dallas mounted police. Definitely city girl to the bone, she thought ruefully.

“Don’t be shy,” Ace said to Marie. “And don’t be pushy,” he told the horses. “There’s enough for everyone.”

The old ranch manager showed her how to touch the horses and she reveled in the textures between their soft noses, the sleek coats and the tickle of lips as they plucked chunks of carrot from her open palm. Eventually Rapunzel got jealous enough, or curious enough, to join them. “I haven’t been this close to a horse since a field trip to the zoo as a kid. They’re wonderful,” she said. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Guess that means you don’t ride.”

“Never had the chance to learn,” she replied. She didn’t want to offend him with the truth that she’d never been interested. Her limited knowledge of ranches and rural environments came from entertainment venues like books or movies. Being out here in it gave her a new appreciation for why those characters loved it so much.

“You should ask Emiliano to teach you,” Ace said as they started back to the house.

“Oh, I doubt I’ll be here that long.” Though she couldn’t deny that she found the peaceful area almost as enticing as the man who’d brought her here.

“Time will tell.” Ace gave her a wry smile, as if indulging a child’s idealism while knowing the real world would clear things up soon enough.

There was something she wanted Emiliano to teach her. She needed to learn how to defend herself. In light of the attack on Ace, she decided to approach her FBI protector at the first opportunity.

* * *

Emiliano returned from his circuit of the ranch and caught sight of Ace and Marie with the horses out front. If by chance he’d missed them, Scrabble’s alert would have corrected the lapse. His faithful companion had fallen in love with Marie, effectively the newest rescue on the ranch. The dog often showed more caution around new rescues and the attitude shift baffled him.

More unexpected was the undeniable attraction and connection drawing him toward Marie. Her delighted expression when he’d flipped that pancake had made him feel like a hero. And she’d immediately understood why he wanted Ace to show her around.

He’d had a busy morning, taking and sending clear pictures of the tire tracks near the vet offices to both his boss and Shadow Creek’s new sheriff, Knox Colton. He’d ridden out to check the property lines and the herd for any signs of trouble or weakness. Scrabble was thrilled to be out and about, and she’d alternated between bounding alongside and riding up in the saddle with him.

Through it all, he mulled over Marie, the Cohort threats against her and the threat she might pose to the investigation. It was hard to look at her and think enemy when those dimples creased her cheeks and a smile lit up her big brown eyes.

He checked his watch, knowing he was cutting it close before the scheduled update conference call. Guiding his black-and-white gelding, Domino, into the corral behind the barn, he’d just removed the saddle and propped it on a rail when Ace walked up.

“Let me take care of this,” Ace said.

Emiliano shook his head, removing the rest of the tack. Ace should be resting. “I’ve got it. Where’s Marie?”

“Out front with another cup of coffee, I think.”

“You think?”

Ace hooked his thumbs in his belt, rocked back on his heels. “I thought you had her babysitting me, not the other way around.”

“Either way, you should both be here,” he pointed out, inexplicably annoyed. “Scrabble, find Marie.”

Ace snorted and reached for the saddle as the dog raced off.

“Ace,” Emiliano warned.

“I’ve had as much rest as I can stand.” He yanked the saddle off the rail and stalked off toward the tack room.

It wasn’t until he was well away from the house that Emiliano had realized his mistake in leaving her with Ace, who, despite the declarations to the contrary, wasn’t at the top of his game today. She might have done anything while he was gone, tampered with his computer, contacted the Cohort, tried to walk into town. Or found a ride back to Dallas.

And as she followed Scrabble to join him at the corral, a cup of coffee in hand, winter sunlight on her hair and that wide smile flanked by dimples, he knew all those possibilities were baseless. Mentally, he removed her name from the list of possible Cohort accomplices.

He’d done more background research last night after Marie had gone to bed and Ace had fallen asleep. He supposed being a foster kid explained her lack of ties to anything other than Colton, Incorporated, but it still bothered him. Who lived that way, without support or backup? No pets, as she’d said, a minimal social life and completely career-oriented.

When Scrabble sat, gazing up at him expectantly, he praised her and bent to give her a good ear massage. It gave him a moment to pull himself together. “How was your morning?”

“Great. Ace gave me the full tour. He showed me how to give the horses out front some treats.”

“Good.” Emiliano shuffled his feet and stared out over the acreage. She was almost too fresh and pretty to look at with her hair pulled up into a ponytail, her snug jeans too dark to have seen much use, and the half-zip sweatshirt with the faded football team logo over a long-sleeved shirt. She was in tennis shoes instead of high heels, so he had a better sense of how petite she really was, with those feminine curves balanced perfectly on her small frame.

At one time, she might have been exactly his type of woman. Thank goodness his work kept him traveling from one cyberattack to the next, effectively killing his chances to repeat the relationship mistakes of his past.

“I’m headed inside for the conference call,” he said.

“Could I please join you?”

No. “Sure.”

In the study that overlooked his mother’s vegetable garden, he pulled another chair around to the working side of the desk so they could be seen on the call together. It wasn’t exactly protocol, but it wasn’t a breach, either. Scrabble stretched out on her belly between the chairs, her feet sprawled out like a furry compass star.

When Dashwood, Townsend and Staller were all online with Emiliano and Marie, Dashwood gave the preliminary general update that they didn’t have a definite lead yet. Staller filled in the blanks on the malware that kept the firewalls vulnerable, adding his expectation of fixing the issue by the end of the day.

Beside him, Marie nodded thoughtfully. The others couldn’t see the way her hands relaxed at the news that Colton, Incorporated, would soon be secure again.

Finn Townsend appeared as frustrated today as he had when Emiliano had left Dallas. “This code is definitely Cohort. I’ve found the standard references to their so-called leader, Sulla. Nothing so far that points us to a local Princeps.”

One more deviation from standard Cohort behavior. The workhorses of the Cohort, the Principes often clustered near a cyberattack site to launch red herrings and other distracting challenges at investigators.

“There are typical tools and procedures within the signature, but the technique isn’t on par,” Finn added.

“Meaning what?” Emiliano wanted to hear something more substantial, something that would give them a hard target.

“Someone new.” Finn scowled at his notes. “I’ll keep digging.”

“And you?” Dashwood asked Emiliano.

He reported about the attack on Ace and the xylazine theft. “Whoever it was killed the camera on approach, so no identifications. I’m still working out how they managed that. It’s probably a local crime of opportunity,” he finished. Pulling the bagged syringe from the desk drawer, he held it up for his team to see. “The sheriff will send this to the lab in Austin. Hopefully we’ll get prints and a lead.”

“Keep us in the loop on that. The timing doesn’t feel like coincidence,” Dashwood said, astute as ever. “In the meantime, be vigilant and let’s all keep playing to our strengths.”

Emiliano’s strengths ran to computer forensics and research, and it seemed he would be spending the rest of the day on both.

“One more thing.” Finn’s gaze was brittle as he looked straight into the camera. “Going through the wreckage, I found trashed emails that someone at the company has been in recent contact with Hugh Barrington.”

Emiliano didn’t recognize the name, but it was clear from the horrified expression on Marie’s face that she did.

“That’s impossible.” She turned to him. “He was a lawyer for the Colton family. When his rampant corruption was exposed, the company cut all ties with him.”

“I’m looking at evidence to the contrary,” Finn said with a shrug. “It’ll be in the cloud for everyone to evaluate.”

Dashwood wrapped up the meeting, leaving Emiliano wishing for the first time ever that he was in Dallas rather than on his ranch. Although he wanted to see Finn’s new evidence firsthand, it was too risky. He couldn’t take Marie back where the Cohort was hunting for her and he couldn’t be that far away in case they managed to track her to Shadow Creek.

He’d barely ushered Marie out of the office when his phone hummed with an incoming text message. His boss was particularly irritated he’d allowed Marie to be on the call, and when Emiliano saw the accompanying screenshot, he understood why.

The emails Finn had found were between Marie and Barrington. The content summary revealed a clandestine privacy breach the opponents of data mining were always warning against. His team considered her a suspect.

On a soft curse, he looked down at his dog. He just couldn’t make himself believe the electronic evidence over his dog’s judgment. Digital files could be fabricated while Scrabble didn’t get distracted so easily.

No way would his team accept a canine opinion as fact, though.

“Something’s off and we need to find out what it is,” he said to the dog. After the break-in at the vet’s office, he wasn’t sure they had much time.

Scrabble rolled to her back and he rubbed her fluffy white belly while he considered his next step.

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