“I want you and Caleb to stay for as long as it takes.”

Grace stared at him, feeling the heat in his touch as it pulsed along her arm in an intimate connection she could feel growing between them.

“I’ll find a way to neutralize the creep stalking you.” There was absolute seriousness in the set of Nick’s mouth and the slight narrowing of his intense blue eyes.

A blade of fear knifed through her. “Be careful, Nick. He’s got friends with badges who don’t seem to mind helping him. He’s been able to trace me everywhere I’ve been for the past three years.”

“That’s when you ran?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he, Grace?”

Her emotions locked up, strangled with tension that wound tight like a cord inside of her. The whole truth could drive Nick away when she needed his help the most, but she couldn’t live with herself if she let him walk into a trap because he hadn’t been forewarned.

“He’s my ex-brother-in-law.”

“Your ex-husband’s brother?”

“My dead husband’s brother.”

Camouflage Cowboy
Jan Hambright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jan Hambright penned her first novel at seventeen, but claims it was pure rubbish. However, it did open the door on her love for storytelling. Born in Idaho, she resides there with her husband, three of their five children, a three-legged watchdog and a spoiled horse named Texas, who always has time to listen to her next story idea while they gallop along.

A self-described adrenaline junkie, Jan spent ten years as a volunteer EMT in rural Idaho, and jumped out of an airplane at ten thousand feet attached to a man with a parachute, just to celebrate turning forty. Now she hopes to make your adrenaline level rise along with that of her danger-seeking characters. She would like to hear from her readers and hopes you enjoy the story world she has created for you. Jan can be reached at P.O. Box 2537, McCall, Idaho 83638.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Nick Cavanaugh—A former army ranger and member of Corps Security and Investigations, Nick is grateful for the second chance he has been given by CSaI founder Bart Bellows. But the object of his special assignment, Grace Marshall, could prove to be his toughest mission yet.

Grace Marshall—Given up for adoption as an infant, Grace is now desperate to find her birth mother in order to save her ill son’s life via a bone marrow transplant. Can she locate the woman before time runs out for her little boy, Caleb, and before a maniac from her past threatens both of their lives?

Caleb Marshall—Four-year-old Caleb was born with aplastic anemia. He needs a donor, but his rare blood type has narrowed his chances of finding a suitable match. Can one be found in time?

Wes Bradley—The soldier was reported killed in Iraq by an IED, but his name has surfaced in connection with some of the attacks against Governor Lila Lockhart. Could he still be alive?

Rodney Marshall—Bent on vengeance, he’s determined to make Grace Marshall pay for what she did.

Governor Lila Lockhart—Texas loves her, but a scandal from her past could destroy her chance of ever becoming the president of the United States. Only Nick Cavanaugh, her hand-picked CSaI agent, stands between the discovery of that truth and the highest office in the land.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Nick Cavanaugh rose from one of the park benches perched on the perimeter of Freedom’s town square, checked the traffic in both directions and jaywalked across Main Street, careful to keep his pace nonchalant.

Anticipation skated over his nerves, etching certainty into his brain. He’d learned it hard and solid on the battlefields of Iraq: stay one step ahead of your enemies, or two steps back for a clear shot.

His heart rate notched up.

The door of Potter’s Drugstore swept open just as Nick made the curb half a block to the east.

Funny. His target didn’t look like much of a threat. The observation gelled in his brain as he watched her step out into the early afternoon sunlight. She casually looped her arm in her purse strap and deposited it on her shoulder. She turned to her right and moved along the sidewalk, her blond ponytail swaying back and forth between her shoulder blades as she moved away from him.

Nick increased his rate of follow, backing off only when she paused in front of the Talk of the Town Café to study something in the window before proceeding due north again.

He knew her beat-up silver Toyota Camry was sucked up next to the curb half a block away.

Tension braided his muscles into a knot. Had he pegged her correctly? Or was he headed for an ambush? He wrestled the questions to the back of his mind and looked at his watch. C’mon, c’mon, he thought. He had to get to Grace Marshall now. Another minute and she’d make it to her car and escape.

Focused on her alone, he narrowed the distance.

On his left, a man wearing a black hoodie, black sweatpants and running shoes brushed past him and broke into a sprint.

Time slowed as Nick listened to the jogger’s pounding footsteps echo off the sidewalk and ping against the brick-and-mortar storefronts that lined the quaint main street of Freedom, Texas.

Grace Marshall’s high-pitched shriek slammed against his eardrums. The man in the black hoodie and Grace were engaged in a tug of war over the purse.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Nick took aim at the would-be purse-snatcher and charged.

Stressed, the metal ring anchoring the strap to the purse broke.

Grace still clutched the handbag, but the force of the sudden release sent the bag flopping across the sidewalk as the strap slipped through the purse-snatcher’s fingers.

He took off down the street at a dead run and vanished around the corner at 4th and Main.

Car keys, pill bottles, a hairbrush and a wallet were scattered across the sidewalk next to her. She went to her knees on the concrete.

Nick shuffled to a stop and knelt beside her.

“I saw what happened. Are you okay?”

She turned wide blue eyes on him for a second before reaching for the contents of her purse. “Yeah.”

He reached out and picked up one of the prescription pill bottles, glanced at the name on it, then handed it to her. “I’ll call the police. I got a good look at him. I think I can give them a description—”

“No! I mean…” Grace tried to force the lump in her throat to go down, but it wouldn’t budge. The last thing she needed was local law enforcement poking around in her business. “I still have my purse and its contents. There’s no reason to involve the police. He’s probably halfway to the next county by now.” She shoved the last item into her handbag and pulled the zipper closed before staring eye to eye with the handsome stranger who’d come to her rescue.

His irises were electric blue, his stare leveled on her with pulse-zapping heat that made her cheeks light up. “But thank you for offering. I’m not sure I could have held on much longer. If you hadn’t spooked him, he might have gotten away with this.” She squeezed the brown leather bag she gripped like a lifeline and realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Oh. I don’t feel so good.”

Concern crossed his features and settled around his mouth in the granite-hard line of his lips. She was suddenly sure this man, if asked, could and would trail the thug to hell and back.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside somewhere.” He stood up and helped her stand by putting his arm around her waist. Pulling free from him wasn’t as option, she realized as her stomach roiled, roiled again and settled down with several deep gulps of air.

Perhaps she should have eaten breakfast…or lunch for that matter, but her son Caleb’s treatment days were always like this. Next time she’d be sure to put a banana or something in her purse.

“I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” Her declaration seemed to fall on deaf ears as he steered her toward the door of the café.

“You’re suffering from mild shock. It’ll pass in the time it takes you to let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

She couldn’t argue with his assessment. Her knees trembled, her feet tingled, and if his strong arm weren’t wrapped tightly around her waist, she wasn’t sure she’d be standing right now. She had half an hour before she had to pick Caleb up, and Holy Cross Hospital was only ten minutes away. She could make it in plenty of time.

“You’re right. I suppose the surprise of almost having my arm jerked off by a stranger is a good reason to sit down for a minute.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” He chuckled deep in his throat, a soothing male sound that made her smile as he reached out with his free hand and pulled open the door to Talk of the Town Café.

She stepped inside, absorbing its cool retro 1950s interior, complete with red-and-white upholstered booth seats, and a black-and-white checkerboard tile floor. It was a novelty she could get used to—if the Help Wanted sign in the window managed to come down after she applied for the job. And maybe, if she were lucky, the man with his arm around her would come in every once in a while so she could buy him a cup of coffee as thanks.

Nick zeroed in on a booth in the rear of the establishment, away from the noise of the regular afternoon crowd.

This was his orchestrated break in his assignment, and he didn’t plan to waste an iota of it. He might not get another chance at a one-on-one conversation with the target of his investigation.

The café’s owner, Faith Scott, waved to him from behind the counter and raised the steaming coffeepot in her hand.

He nodded and grudgingly let go of Grace to help her into the booth’s seat before taking a spot across from her with his back to the room.

“Coffee?” Faith had already turned their cups upright in their saucers before Nick realized he was staring at the woman sitting across from him.

“Yes. Please. And for you?”

“Just water, no ice,” Grace said. “I’m not sure my nerves could handle a shot of caffeine right now.”

He watched a tentative smile curve her full lips as she considered him through eyes tinted a shade-of-heaven blue. This wasn’t the army way of conducting an interrogation, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view.

“Would you like a piece of pie? I just took a cinnamon-apple-crumb out of the oven ten minutes ago,” Faith said from next to their table.

Nick broke eye contact with Grace Marshall and immediately felt his blood pressure drop a fraction. “Not for me, but maybe…” He glanced back at Grace, anxious to prompt her response. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Grace.”

“Maybe Grace would like a piece.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ve got to run in a few minutes.”

“I’ll get your water.” Faith turned and headed for the counter, leaving them alone in silence.

Reaching across the table, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Nick Cavanaugh.” The moment she put her delicate palm into his, a jolt radiated through him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around Freedom before.”

Her gaze dropped for an instant. “I spend most of my time at home, or at work.”

He released his grasp and leaned back into the booth seat just as Faith put a glass of water in front of Grace.

“Thanks,” she whispered, locking her fingers around it for an instant before raising it to her mouth and taking several deep swallows.

Nick sensed her caution, saw it in the way her nails blanched against the glass in her hand as she lowered it to the table.

Trust. He needed to establish a level of trust between them, and fast. He was losing her with every tick of the second hand on his watch, and for some reason, that mattered to him.

Rocking slightly to the left, he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I know you’ve got to leave soon, but I want you to have this just in case you need to contact me.” He opened his billfold and pulled out a Corps Security and Investigations card with his name and cell number on it.

“If you change your mind and want me to describe the purse-snatcher to the police, just give me a call at this number.” He slid the card across the table to her.

She picked it up and stared at it for a moment before nonchalantly putting it in her sweater pocket. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m fine. I have my purse, and its contents. It might be better if we drop the matter entirely.”

Curiosity jetted across Nick’s mind and he focused his gaze on Grace’s beautiful face. How was it she’d managed to avoid giving him anything more than her first name? Sure, he had an entire paper file amassed on her: he knew where she worked, where she lived, what she drove and damn near what she’d had for dinner last night, but his desire to glean it from her own lips was falling flat. The woman was playing it safe, a fact that intrigued him and bothered him at the same time. What was she hiding?

“I really need to get going.” She took another quick swallow from her glass, put it down, snagged her purse and slid out of the booth.

“Thanks again for your help, Nick.” She gave him a sweet smile, turned and walked to the café counter, where she spoke to Faith Scott for a moment.

Nick turned slightly, watching Faith reach under the counter and pull out a sheet of paper, hand it to Grace, then return to her customers.

He turned back around and waited for the jingle of the bell on the café door to signal Grace’s departure from the establishment.

Reaching into his jean jacket, he pulled an evidence bag out of the inside pocket. Grace may be tight-lipped with personal information, but DNA held no such pretenses, and he planned to make a mitochondrial comparison with the sample the governor had already given him. He grasped the glass at the bottom where she hadn’t touched it, dumped the remainder of the water into her unused coffee cup and eased the glass into the bag.

“Uh-huh.”

The sound of a throat being cleared raked over Nick’s nerves. He stared up at Faith and the coffeepot in her hand.

“What are you up to, Nick?” she asked as she topped off his java.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

She grinned. “Does this have anything to do with your secret assignment for Governor Lockhart?”

Nick shook his head and slipped out of the booth. “You know the things we do at CSaI are hush-hush.” He winked at her as he tucked the evidence bag inside his jacket. As long as no one knew what that assignment was, the secret was safe.

“That’s stealing, Cavanaugh.”

“Not if I bring it back. Washed.”

Faith shook her head and grinned. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“While we’re telling secrets—” Nick pulled out his wallet and put a five on the table “—mind if I ask what you gave Grace at the counter a moment ago?”

“That’s no secret. Molly Alden left for college months ago. Gloria and I have been taking up the slack, but between taking care of Kaleigh and adjusting to having a man around again, I’m pooped. I need someone to fill in a couple nights a week. I gave Grace an application. I just hope she fills it out and gets it back to me. I like her.”

Nick grinned. Faith had recently won the heart of fellow CSaI agent and friend Matt Soarez. “I’d offer to help around here, but I’m not sure some of your regulars wouldn’t break me and cause me to spill the state secrets I have along with their coffee.”

“Stan Lorry and Fred March could probably pull it off,” Faith said with a chuckle, referring to her cranky elderly regulars. “The trouble would come when they told Allen Davidson and he aired it on his radio show.”

Nick did a fake shudder. “Spooky. I’ll see you later.” He headed for the door and stepped outside, where he immediately spotted the top of Grace’s head as she ducked into her car half a block up the street.

He fell into an easy stroll as she pulled away from the curb, headed due north. Probably to the hospital was his guess. He’d learned that she had a four-year-old son named Caleb who received some sort of treatments at Holy Cross every couple of weeks. The prescription drug bottle had confirmed it, but there were holes in Grace’s background history. Holes he’d yet to plug.

The sound of a revved engine caught his attention as he spotted a late-model black sedan with Montana license plates pull away from the curb and roll in a car’s length behind Grace.

Caution raked over his nerves. From his observation point on the park bench earlier, he’d seen the same car just after she’d arrived. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the driver exit the vehicle.

He took a right onto 4th Street and dug the keys to his pickup out of his pocket. Was it possible the beautiful and cautious Grace Marshall was being followed by someone other than him? He decided to keep an eye out in order to confirm his suspicion.

NICK WALKED INTO Corps Security and Investigations headquarters still mulling over his and Grace Marshall’s brief encounter.

Harlan McClain sat behind his desk minus the black hoodie and sweatpants he’d used to disguise himself for the purse-snatching ruse.

“Thanks, buddy,” Nick said as he tossed his keys onto his desk and leaned against the edge. “Your timing was spot-on.”

Harlan swiveled his desk chair. “Did you get what you needed from her?”

“Yeah.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the evidence bag. Holding it up to the light streaming in through one of the loft windows, he could see the clear imprint of Grace Marshall’s lips on the rim of the glass. Grace’s lips. Her perfect, kissable lips.

“You’re not going to tell me what the hell is going on, are you?” Harlan rocked forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Can’t, but suffice to say it’s an assignment that came down personally from Governor Lockhart.” Nick put the bag down on his desk and went around to the other side. He pulled open the file drawer, took out a lab form and sat down in his chair. The results of the DNA test on the lip impression would come in from their private lab in a week. It was the definitive piece of evidence he needed. He didn’t particularly like the method he’d been forced to use to obtain it, but in this case, the end did justify the means, and he’d be able to tell the governor conclusively whether or not Grace Marshall was her illegitimate daughter.

Nick filled out the paperwork, aware of the modulation of Nolan Law’s voice as he stepped out of his office, still talking on his cell phone.

“Is he awake yet?” A measure of excitement materialized in Nolan’s tone. They’d yet to catch a break in the case of a shooting at Governor Lockhart’s ranch, and their only link was Trevor Lewis, a man lying in the ICU, breathing with the help of a ventilator. The man Harlan McClain had so expertly perforated before he’d been able to hurt Stacy Giordano.

Nick looked up, watching Nolan pace back and forth as he talked to the team member assigned to guard Trevor Lewis, their only suspect in the war someone had instituted against Governor Lila Lockhart and her bid for the U.S. presidency.

“Who’s watching Lewis today?” Nick asked Harlan.

“Matteo. I take over at five.”

“Is Lewis still on a ventilator?” Nick turned in his chair to face his fellow team member.

“Yeah, but the doc is going to wake him up around four this afternoon. Nolan wants us there so we can persuade him to give up the name of the shooter who infiltrated the party at Twin Harts Ranch wearing a stolen deputy’s uniform. We need to nab the guy before he tries again.”

Nick couldn’t agree more, but he’d been an outsider on the case from the start. Forced instead to focus on his special assignment for the governor.

Nolan closed his phone and headed toward them. “Let’s go. The doctor told Matteo that Lewis is stable enough to breathe on his own. He’s going to remove the tube. He’ll give us five minutes to get some answers before they prep him for medical transport to the hospital in Amarillo.”

Anticipation clung to Nick’s nerves as he taped the lab request to the evidence bag and stood up, then on a whim, he picked up his pen and put an X next to the fingerprint-lift request, as well. Maybe Grace’s prints on the water glass could lead him to the holes in her life story if he decided to run them.

CSaI receptionist Amelia Bond glanced up from behind her desk near the front entrance, catching wind of the hustle being stirred up as Nolan hurried for the door.

On the way out, Nick put the evidence bag on Amelia’s desk for processing. He knew her efficiency would have the sample out today and the results back to him before he could stop thinking about Grace Marshall’s perfect lip impression on the edge of the glass.

Chapter Two

Nick pulled his vehicle in next to Nolan Law’s sleek black Mercedes. He’d never cared much for hospitals, cared even less for them now. He’d seen too many men perish in them and had come close to being a casualty himself not too long ago—before CSaI founder Bart Bellows gave him a reason to breathe again.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled as he climbed out and locked his pickup. He took a quick scan of the parking lot, searching for the source of the hinky feeling climbing all over his nerves. They were being watched. He’d bet his best horse on it.

A pair of nurses chatted as they walked toward the main entrance to Holy Cross Hospital. A single male dressed in green scrubs was in the process of getting into his car while he held a cell phone plastered to his ear and spoke into it at just below a yell.

Nick’s stare locked on Grace Marshall’s beat-up silver Camry parked in a slot near the front doors. He hadn’t anticipated coming in contact with her here. Still, he wasn’t sure he could attribute her presence as the source of his agitation.

He fell in behind Nolan and Harlan, keeping his senses on high alert as they headed for the main entrance. Trevor Lewis hadn’t acted alone, and Nick couldn’t help but feel no one was safe in Freedom until his accomplice was identified and captured. He wouldn’t relax until they were inside the hospital and out of the open.

The double set of extra-wide automatic doors ground open and Nick’s gaze connected with Grace Marshall’s on the other side of the gap. A moment of recognition passed between them and she smiled.

Nolan and Harlan walked past her, headed for the elevator bank on the opposite side of the hospital’s lobby. A wave of attraction swelled inside of Nick as he approached Grace and stopped.

“Grace.” He focused a degree of surprise in his voice. He was glad that Harlan had ditched the black hoodie and sweats. He was convinced that along with her level of caution there was no doubt a level of observation she practiced on a regular basis.

“Nick Cavanaugh. I had no idea you were following me.”

A stream of guilt flooded his insides, but he forded it with a grin. The elevator bell chimed in the background and he glanced up to where Nolan and Harlan waited for him. Making eye contact with Harlan, he nodded slightly, certain that Harlan had recognized his purse-snatching target from earlier in the afternoon and was more than happy to duck for cover inside the elevator.

“I’m checking in on someone. Visiting hours and all.” He took the opportunity to look down at the little boy sitting in the wheelchair that Grace had been pushing to the exit, and now clung to.

Her sweet smile faded as she reached down to brush her hand across the top of the little boy’s head. “Caleb, this is Mr. Nick Cavanaugh. Nick, this is my son, Caleb.”

“Hey, buddy.” He bent over, reached out and grasped the little boy’s hand, giving it a gentle shake. The child’s line of sight started at his boot-clad feet, went up his jean-encased legs and eventually ended with Caleb staring up at him with eyes the same heavenly blue as his mother’s.

“Are you a cowboy, Mister Nick?”

Nick straightened, amused by the little boy’s power of observation. “Hmm. Yeah. You could say I’m a cowboy.”

“Gotta horse?”

“A few.”

“Can I ride one? My friend Zachary-G says it’s fun. He rides horses all the time.”

Caution raked over Nick’s nerves. He hadn’t considered the connection that might exist between Zachary Giordano and Caleb Marshall. They did both attend Cradles to Crayons, and Grace did work there part-time as a preschool teacher. Maybe he should have enlisted another team member besides Harlan McClain to pull off the ruse, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

“Maybe sometime your mom will bring you out to the ranch and I’ll saddle one up for you.”

“Really?” Caleb’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. “Wait till I tell Zachary-G!”

The air was suddenly charged with vibes Nick could almost feel. He straightened, dialing in on Grace’s face, on the way she pressed her lips together as if she were about to cry. His heart twisted in his chest. Instinctively he reached out and brushed his hand against her upper arm—a mistake, he realized, when a jolt of heat passed between them. She pulled away.

“Let me.” He was glad when she stepped aside and allowed him to take the handles of the wheelchair. “Where’s your car?”

She pointed to the Camry and fell in next to him as they pushed through the sliding doors, across the breezeway and out into the parking lot.

Caleb began to hum, his tiny voice picking up the vibrations from the asphalt as the wheelchair wheels bumped over the uneven surface.

Nick swallowed hard, sucked into the emotion coming from the woman next to him. Caleb Marshall was a very sick little boy. How sick? He didn’t know. But he intended to find out.

“Here we are, tiger.”

Grace moved past them to unlock the car, then pulled the right rear passenger-side door open.

Nick eased the chair to a stop, stepped around to the front, squatted down and flipped up the footrest pads. “Need some help?” he asked, studying Caleb’s handsome little-boy face.

“Nope.” Determination gripped Caleb’s features as he put his tennis-shoe-encased feet firmly on the ground, grasped the armrests and pushed up from the seat, where he promptly wobbled and fell forward into Nick’s arms.

Grace let out an audible gasp and was next to them in a heartbeat. “Caleb, you know you need to take it easy after your treatment.”

“I want to do it myself.”

“Come on, buddy, I’ll help you.” As if he were holding a fragile sheet of glass, Nick guided Caleb into the backseat of his mother’s car and supervised him as he buckled himself in his car seat.

“What color is your horse, Mister Nick?” he asked, staring with a huge grin on his face. “I wanna tell Zachary-G.”

“He’s a bay.”

“Bay?”

“It’s a reddish-brown color, with a black mane and tail. Beautiful.”

Caleb nodded and laid his head back against the seat. “A bay,” he said again as he closed his eyes. “Red-brown.”

Nick stepped back and closed the car door before turning to face Grace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, some of the tension visibly leaving her body in a shoulder shrug. “He always overestimates his strength after every transfusion. It takes a day or so for him to bounce back.”

“You can’t fault him for trying.”

She swallowed and shook her head. “Sometimes I marvel at his will to survive, to go until he can’t go anymore.”

“What’s wrong with him, Grace?” Caution brought her chin up as she studied him and he witnessed the battle between suspicion and trust as it warred across her delicate features and settled in her blue eyes.

“He needs a bone-marrow transplant. He has aplastic anemia and has to have a blood transfusion every two weeks, but his doctor informed me this afternoon that his condition is worsening. We need to find a bone-marrow donor as soon as possible or he’s going to…” Her voice faltered.

Die? Nick mentally finished the horrific statement and reached out for her, folding his arms around her slender shoulders. Sympathy leeched from his insides, but he felt her stiffen and pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This isn’t any of your concern.” She went around to the driver-side door. “But thank you for your help.” She climbed into the car and fired the engine.

Nick stepped back as she maneuvered out of the parking space and drove away. He stared after her for a moment, snagged the empty wheelchair and turned for the hospital entrance.

Grace Marshall was clearly desperate. Hell, he’d be desperate, too, if he had a dying child, but desperate people did desperate things. Was it possible the donor she was seeking for Caleb was the governor? He didn’t know much about donor matches, but Lila Lockhart stood a good chance of being a blood relative to Caleb Marshall.

Worry needled him all the way back into the hospital and followed him into the elevator. Was it possible Grace knew the governor could be her birth mother? Was she willing to blackmail Lila into donating bone marrow to her dying grandson, or she’d…she’d what? Sabotage Lila’s shot at a presidential bid?

Nick’s sense of right had gone into battle with his sense of duty by the time he stepped off the elevator on the third-floor ICU unit and into the jaws of chaos.

“Code blue…code blue. Paging Dr. Karnahan, Dr. Mark Karnahan to ICU, stat.” The request rang out over the unit’s PA system.

Nick sidestepped a nurse as she rushed a lifesaving crash cart down the corridor to where Nolan and Harlan stood in the hallway. She spoke with them for an instant before wheeling it past them and into the room. Trevor Lewis’s room.

Nick hurried toward them. “Nolan! What’s going on?”

Nolan Law shook his head, his gaze going to the floor for an instant before he made eye contact again. “Lewis coded. One minute he’d agreed to tell us who the shooter was at the governor’s ranch, and the next I was performing CPR.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Nick’s blood churned in apprehension. Trevor Lewis had been stable up until this point. Stable enough to talk. Was it possible someone had a hand in changing his condition so he’d never say another word? What if that someone had been the source of the hinky feeling Nick had had in the parking lot when they’d first arrived?

Nick got his bearings in the east-west hallway and bolted for the window at the end of the corridor overlooking the parking lot below. Nolan and Harlan followed close behind.

“What’s going on?” Nolan asked from next to him as he stared out of the window three floors above the myriad of cars.

“I should have said something, but when we arrived, I had the feeling we were being watched.” Nick put his focus on a man jogging through the lot wearing blue scrubs and a tan jacket with the hood pulled up. “There.”

“I’ll be damned,” Harlan said. “We passed him getting into the elevator when we got off.” Harlan banged his fist against the ledge in frustration. “I barely got a look at him with his head down.”

They watched the man disappear into a bank of trees and shrubs on the outer perimeter of the parking lot. There wasn’t a chance they could catch him at this point.

“We better hope Trevor Lewis survives, because he’s our only link right now.” Nolan pushed away from the window, but Nick and Harlan remained, picking out each car that moved from its space on the tree-lined street beyond the hospital entrance.

“Red compact…Ford Focus. Dark-gray SUV…Tahoe. Black pickup…Dodge.” Nick called out the vehicles. “White…pickup…Dodge.” Anyone in a hurry to clear the area would be long gone by now, but odds were if he’d driven away from the scene in the past ten minutes they’d have a make on what he drove.

Harlan wrote the last vehicle description down on the small notepad he held in his hand. “It’s a long shot, but I’ll see if Sheriff Hale will plug the makes and models into the system. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“We don’t even know if the guy drove a car. He could have been on foot the entire time, could have been standing in this very window when we arrived and timed his escape accordingly. I’m going to check and see if the hospital security cameras caught a visual of his face at some point.”

Harlan nodded. “I can tell you he was tall…six foot, give or take an inch. Powerful build. I’ll see if any hits on the autos produce an owner who matches his physical description.”

“Let’s hope we catch a break.” Nick glanced down the corridor at the empty chair next to the entrance of Trevor Lewis’s room and realized he hadn’t seen Matteo. “Where’s Matt?”

“He wasn’t here when Nolan and I arrived. The charge nurse said she saw him head for the vending room to grab a soda.”

“That takes what, three minutes? He should be back by now. Let’s have a look.”

Together, he and Harlan hustled along the hallway, focused on the vending-machine cubical on the right at the end of the corridor, marked by an information sign hanging above the entrance.

He had a bad feeling about this. First Trevor Lewis; now Matteo? What the hell was going on?

Nick slowed his pace, raised his right hand and motioned Harlan to the other side of the entrance before he sucked up next to the door frame and glanced inside.

The small room was empty except for a row of soda and snack machines ablaze in fluorescent light.

“Nothing,” Harlan said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know how, but he must have gotten past us.”

Relaxing his stance, Nick stepped through the entrance and surveyed the room for hidden nooks and crannies, still unable to shake the worry surging in his veins. Where was Matteo Soarez? He’d never leave his post.

Frustrated, Nick pulled out his cell phone and dialed Matt’s number.

Over the drone of the machines, he swore he heard a muffled ringtone. “Do you hear that, Harlan?”

Harlan stopped in his tracks. “Yeah.”

“Where’s it coming from?” A wave of desperation floated Nick along the bank of vending machines as he listened to the familiar ringtone grow louder. At the end of the processional, a cooler filled with premade sandwiches stood silent and dark. Unplugged?

In an instant, reality jolted through Nick on the heels of one last ringtone before a beep signaled one missed call.

“Damn,” he whispered as he stared into the corner between the cooler and the wall. Into the narrow gap where Matteo Soarez was crushed against the wall with a black hood over his head.

“It’s Matt! Help me move this!” Nick and Harlan worked in unison, holding on to the cumbersome machine, pulling and rocking it until the space opened several inches.

Nick reached in and snagged Matt’s limp arm where it hung at his side.

“Matt, buddy. Can you hear me?”

Matteo groaned.

A good sign in Nick’s mind. “We’re going to get you out of there. Hold on.”

Harlan jockeyed the cooler case, opening the crack another inch, just enough that Nick felt Matt’s body give in the tight space.

“That’s it! A little more.” Inch by inch, he dragged Matteo out of the crevice and lowered him to the floor.

Fingering the knot of cord that held the bag in place over Matt’s head, Nick prayed that it hadn’t also strangled his buddy in the process. How long had he been pinned? How long had he been deprived of oxygen?

The knot came free and together he and Harlan pulled the bag off Matteo’s head. He blinked against the overhead lights and mumbled underneath the strip of duct tape over his mouth.

Peeling up an edge, Nick stripped the tape off. Matteo let out a stream of profanity that echoed against the walls of the cubical. “Are you okay?” Nick asked, staring at the blazing red mark around Matt’s mouth and the taser burn on his neck.

“I’ll live.”

“What happened?” Harlan rocked back onto the floor.

“Somebody jumped me from behind.” Matt sucked in three gulps of air in a row and sat up. “Got me with a Taser, shoved me into the corner and proceeded to squash me like a grape.”

“Did you get a look at him?” Nick rose to his feet; Harlan followed. Bending down, they each put an arm around Matteo and helped him stand.

“No. It happened too damn fast. One minute my soda was dropping, the next it was me. I did get one punch in, but it felt like I’d slugged an oak.”

“Big guy, huh?” Speculation laced through Nick’s mind. The description of a powerful perpetrator coincided with Harlan’s description of the man he’d seen getting into the elevator. “Could be the guy we saw running across the parking lot.”

Together they helped Matteo out into the corridor.

“I’ve got this,” Matt said as he got his legs working and shrugged off their help. “What’s up with Lewis?” He nodded toward the commotion down the hall.

“Coded half an hour ago. They’re working to save his life right now.” Nick spotted Nolan gesturing in their direction. “Come on. Maybe they’ve revived him.”

They walked back down the corridor and stopped next to Nolan in the doorway of Trevor Lewis’s room. He looked up and shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

From inside, behind a privacy curtain, Nick clearly heard a male voice above the hum of a heart monitor and the whoosh of air being forced into Trevor Lewis’s lungs through a bag valve mask.

“Stop CPR. Check the monitor.”

“Still a flat line, Dr. Karnahan.”

“I’m going to call it. Time of death, 5:41 p.m.”

Chapter Three

Nick fidgeted in his chair as he glanced around the conference table at the CSaI team members: Nolan Law, Parker McKenna, Matteo Soarez, Wade Coltrane and Harlan McClain. They were all officially in battle mode after the events at Holy Cross Hospital, and their motto—For Country; For Brotherhood; For Love—never rang more true. Too bad their boss and mentor, Bart Bellows, was out sick, battling a persistent case of bronchitis.

He swallowed, trying to alleviate the knot of gratitude that squeezed in his chest. He had Bart to thank, along with every man sitting at the table right now. Because of them, he was almost whole again. He reined in his emotions and tried to focus on the case at hand. Trevor Lewis’s autopsy report was decisive. He’d been injected with a large dose of potassium chloride, enough to stop an elephant’s heart, and the hospital’s surveillance footage had confirmed the man they’d seen running across the parking lot had been in Lewis’s room moments before Nolan and Harlan arrived. He’d also been the one who followed Matt into the vending-machine room and tried to make him a human pancake with a sandwich cooler.

“None of the vehicles Nick and I spotted came back with an owner who matched the perpetrator’s height and build. We’ve got nothing.” Harlan leaned back in his chair.

“So what do we know about Trevor Lewis, other than someone wanted him dead before he could talk to us?” Nolan Law questioned from his seat at the head of the table where Bart usually sat.

“From a simple background check we know he spent a couple of years in Iraq,” team member Wade Coltrane said. “Other than that, he’s flown under the radar. Sheriff Hale has agreed to release Lewis’s personal effects to us tomorrow morning since no one has come forward to claim them. It includes his cell phone. We should be able to find out who he’s been communicating with. If we get lucky, a name will pop.”

Nolan nodded. “Good work. Parker, I want you, Matteo and Harlan to double your protection and surveillance efforts on Governor Lockhart. She’s planning to spend a considerable amount of time this month out at Twin Harts Ranch rather than in Austin. She’ll be here right up until Thanksgiving. Bart has given us carte blanche to do whatever it takes to keep her and those around her safe.” Nolan shoved his paperwork into a folder and stood up.

“Nick’s working on a special assignment for the governor, but he’ll fill in where needed on this case. Everyone, stay on your toes. We’re dealing with a determined individual here, and I don’t have to tell you how unpredictable someone like that can be.”

A mutual round of agreement prevailed in the room as each team member gathered their paperwork and their thoughts.

“I want you all back here at 0600 hours on Monday morning to cover discovery and a plan of action.” Everyone filed out of the conference room.

Nick took up the rear and flipped the lights off on his way out. He needed to grab a bite to eat before he headed out to his special reconnaissance assignment. He’d been monitoring Grace Marshall’s movements for the past week since seeing her and Caleb at Holy Cross. She was predictable, but she’d yet to make any attempt to contact Governor Lila Lockhart with a blackmail demand, and considering Caleb’s health situation was growing more desperate with each passing day, he expected her to make a move soon. That was, if she knew the governor’s identity….

GRACE GLANCED IN HER REARVIEW mirror, her stare focused on the headlights of the black sedan following her an eighth of a mile back. A knot cinched in her stomach. She’d seen the vehicle several times this week, but had never gotten a look at the driver inside. Now she was sure the same car had pulled in behind her as she left the parking lot behind the Talk of the Town Café after turning in her employment application to Faith Scott.

There was really only one way to find out.

She stepped down on the gas pedal. The car picked up speed. Hesitation tempered the caution ricocheting around inside of her, but she had to be sure. She couldn’t risk having her and Caleb’s trail picked up again. Not when she was sure she was close to finding the only woman in Freedom who might be able to save Caleb’s life.

Glancing at the gas gauge, she watched the needle bobbing near a quarter of a tank. How far could she go? How fast could she run before her past caught up with her?

Caleb’s voice reached her ears from where he played with his toy truck in the backseat. He sputtered and rumbled, imitating the noise of the motor as the truck made a fictitious trail across his knees and up his leg. The screech of a sudden stop, before the rumbling resumed.

She couldn’t let her son down. Not when she was so close.

If she could lose the car and driver in the confusing confines of the Chisholm Trail subdivision, she could backtrack and make it home undetected. She couldn’t risk ever letting Rodney Marshall get as close to them as he had in Amarillo.

The speedometer climbed as she floored the Camry and raced out of town, past the turn that would have taken her to her condo complex.

Gearing down into Third without touching her brake pedal just like she’d practiced, Grace made the sweeping corner into the subdivision without slowing. Ahead of her on the road she could see a set of taillights similar to her Camry’s.

The squeal of brakes behind her made her heartbeat kick up a notch and the car’s taillights screamed red in her left peripheral. He’d failed to anticipate her quick move. It would take him thirty seconds to turn around.

Buoyed by her success, she took a hard right and killed the car’s lights as she aimed for the eastern side of the subdivision with its rows upon rows of unfinished homes and dark streetlamps.

She’d taken the route a hundred times during the day. Memorized every turn, so she could use it to evade him if the day ever came. That day was here.

In her rearview mirror she saw the black sedan zip past as she made the corner and drove parallel with him, but she didn’t let up. She would only have a few minutes before he discovered she’d given him the slip.

Gearing down into Second, Grace turned at the fifth house on the right and shot past the unfinished garage and onto the worn path that led across a field and onto her street.

Hope stirred inside of her, but it was quickly dashed when she spotted a set of car lights coming around the corner on the north end of the street.

Silently she prayed the dust rolling out behind her would settle before he could pick up her trail.

Focused on the last hundred feet, she nosed the car in between the first couple of condo units and drove out onto the paved street. Turning sharply to the right she reached up and hit her garage-door opener before gearing down to a crawl and slipping inside. Only then did she apply the brakes and hit the close button. She didn’t take a deep breath until she heard the overhead door lock in place behind her.

“Where’s the light, Mommy?” Caleb’s tiny voice sliced through the fear holding her in place. She released her seat belt and turned toward him.

“In a minute, I’ll turn it on. Can you hold on?” She reached out and touched her son’s leg to reassure him. She wasn’t sure how determined the maniac following her was, but even a hint of light could alert him to their location inside of the garage.

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” She patted his leg and listened to him start up his toy-truck sounds again.

Above the rumbling, she listened, but it was the brief flash of light outside in the street that made every muscle in her body tense.

Had he discovered where they lived? Fear slid down her spine and spilled into her body. Rodney Marshall had vowed to kill her for what she’d done. She didn’t doubt that he would, if he got the chance.

Chilled to the bone, Grace shuddered and shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweater, where she came in contact with the business card Nick Cavanaugh had given her at the café a week ago. She closed her fingers around it and slowly pulled it out of its hiding place.

Maybe there was hope after all.

WHAT THE…? NICK HELD his position, curiosity welding him to the spot. He’d parked his pickup on Grace’s street of identical condo units, one after another, until they all looked the same. He’d seen her car roll past him without the headlights on, then slow and disappear into the open garage compartment of her condo unit.

The door had instantly come down, moments before he spotted lights in his side mirror.

Caution welled inside of him as the black sedan crept past his location, braking every so often, before driving forward again. The same black car with Montana plates he’d seen a week ago on Main Street, the day of the purse-snatching ruse.

Nick picked up the notepad he kept on the seat in the truck and jotted down the license-plate number. If he’d doubted it before, he didn’t doubt it anymore.

Grace Marshall was being followed. And she knew it, judging by the practiced evasive move he’d just witnessed.

The car coasted past her house without stopping, flipped a U-turn in the cul-de-sac several blocks ahead and came back for a second pass.

Reaching down, Nick flipped on his lights and caught the driver in the face with his high beams. Just before he dimmed them, he got a good look at the man behind the wheel. White male, mid-to-late thirties, dark brown hair. He stored the description in his memory as he turned the key and fired the engine.

He pulled out into the street, headed in the opposite direction. With any luck he’d pick up the sedan’s trail once he made the cul-de-sac and came around to the main road. That should put some distance between them to avoid the driver’s suspicion.

Nick saw the car’s brake lights come on along with his left-turn signal. He was heading back toward Freedom.

A zip of anticipation buzzed over Nick’s nerves, reminding him of his glory days as a U.S. Army Ranger. He’d been good at his job, one of the best, until a mistake had cost several of his buddies their lives.

His mistake.

Gripping the wheel until his fingers stung, he braked at the stop sign and watched a single car pass, then he pulled out behind it. The added buffer would assure that his pursuit went undetected.

He loosened his stranglehold on the steering wheel, but the emotions inside of him refused to relent. Sucking in a deep breath, he focused on the taillights of the black sedan, determined to follow it. Out-of-state plates probably meant he’d make a beeline for one of the half a dozen motels scattered along the main artery into Freedom.

Nick’s suspicions were confirmed when the sedan’s blinker popped on. He braked and took a right into the parking lot of the Sundown Motel.

Nick rolled past just as the man exited the car. Satisfied, he decided to call it a night, and headed for the ranch on the other end of town. Whoever the man was, he’d at least been able to peg the general location of Grace and Caleb’s home. Concern adhered to Nick’s nerves. Whatever the guy wanted, it couldn’t be good.

A sudden and insatiable need to protect Grace and Caleb Marshall welled from deep inside of him.

Half a mile down the road, he turned around. He headed back out to her street, relieved to see the black car still parked in the motel lot as he cruised past.

He could afford to spend the next couple of hours watching over her…just in case the man in the black sedan decided to take another pass. Besides, there wasn’t a chance he’d be getting much in the way of sleep tonight anyway. Not with the brutal images from his past now playing inside of his head.

“ROUGH NIGHT, CAVANAUGH?” Nolan asked as he pulled out his chair at the head of the conference table and sat down.

“Monday morning at 0600 hours is always rough, sir,” Nick said, trying to blink the grit out of his eyes. Watching over Grace and Caleb was beginning to take its toll, even though Grace Marshall hadn’t left her home the entire weekend. Or opened the blinds, or stepped outside for that matter. Conclusion?

Grace Marshall was scared.

“I know this is strictly your assignment, Nick, but we’re a team, and if there’s any way we can help—”

“I’ll let you know.” He nodded to Nolan, knowing full well that he meant every word of it. But his assignment for Governor Lockhart was sensitive. The fact that team member Parker McKenna was involved with Bailey Lockhart, the governor’s daughter, and would soon become Lila Lockhart’s son-in-law, only added to the need for a discreet investigation. The kicker: Grace Marshall worked for Bailey Lockhart, her possible half sister, at Cradles to Crayons.

Nick rubbed his eyes again and took a swallow from his coffee mug as one by one the team members settled at the table.

Amelia brought a couple of thermoses of coffee into the conference room and put them down in the middle of the table before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

“Sorry about the 0600, but I’ve got an early flight out to D.C. for the preliminary on Governor Lockhart’s December fundraiser there. I’ll be gone until Thursday.” Nolan trained his attention on Parker McKenna. “I’d like you to run point on the governor’s security while I’m gone.”

“Sure thing. I’ve already had our tech beef up the cameras at the ranch, and extended the visual coverage perimeter around the property. We’re in good shape.”

“Excellent work. We can’t relax our vigilance until she’s safely back in Austin at the end of the month.” Nolan scribbled something on his notepad and turned his attention to Wade Coltrane. “Anything on the contact list from Trevor Lewis’s cell phone?”

“He damn sure liked pizza,” Wade said. “Called for takeout twice a week for months. He also called Stacy Giordano on a regular basis. One name did come up half a dozen times in the last month. A Wes Bradley.”

“Sound familiar, anyone?” Nolan asked as he scanned the faces of his team members.

Nick mulled the name and he shook his head. “Never heard it before.”

“Sheriff Hale is working on a court order to obtain the phone records,” Wade said. “Using cell-tower pings to see if Wes Bradley was in the area.”

“Great work. Let’s run Wes Bradley through the database and see if we get a hit. Lewis wasn’t in this alone. Whoever takes the assignment, be sure to get ahold of the information Harlan has on Lewis’s connections to the anarchist group who protested at the governor’s fundraiser. See if we can make a connection between Bradley and the group, as well.”

“I’ll take that assignment,” Matteo Soarez said as he jotted the information down.

“And I’ll volunteer to check out Stacy Giordano.” A wide grin spread on Harlan’s face as his jest rubbed everyone’s humor bone and scrubbed the tension off of the serious conversation for an instant.

“Hell, you’ve been checking her out since the first time you met her.” Nick laughed, watching his buddy’s features soften. Harlan McClain was 110 percent in love with Stacy Giordano. And he’d come within a heartbeat of losing her because of Trevor Lewis.

“All right, you guys, knock it off.” Nolan chuckled under his breath. “We’ll hold another briefing on Friday morning at 0800 hours. Let’s make some progress. Governor Lockhart isn’t safe until we nail Lewis’s accomplice.”

Nick’s cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and stared down at the number, then flipped it open.

“Sheriff Hale. Good morning.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, wanting to put some distance between himself and the other team members.

“Good and early,” Hale shot back.

Nick relaxed. He liked Bernard Hale. “Better get your coffee on.”

Hale snorted. “I ran the plate number you gave me. Came back registered to a Mamie Ashbury in Dillon, Montana. I gave her a phone call and low and behold, the plate belongs on her husband’s old pickup. Trouble is, he’s been dead for three years, and the truck is parked in their barn. She hustled out there and discovered the front and rear plates are missin’.”

“Not anymore. They’ve turned up on a late-model sedan.”

“About that black car, Nick. One of my deputies found it abandoned in a ditch along Highway 83 this mornin’. Ran the plates and found my inquiry. Ran the VIN number, as well, and it came back to an owner in Amarillo, a Mr. Maxwell Brewster. He claims he sold the car through a newspaper ad three weeks ago.”

Worry sliced across Nick’s nerves like a razor blade. “Can you give me his contact information, Sheriff?”

“Sure.”

Nick grabbed his notepad off the conference table. “Go ahead.”

Hale rambled off the phone number; Nick wrote it down. “Thanks. I’d like to follow up and get a physical description of the man he sold the car to.”

“No problem, son. Good luck. Let me know if you need any more assistance.”

“Thanks, Bernard.” Nick closed his phone and turned back to an empty conference room. He tossed the pad onto the table and rested both of his palms on the edge. One step forward, three steps back. At least he’d been able to make the car tailing Grace Marshall. Now he’d have no way of knowing if the guy was still following her until he spotted his new wheels. If he was able to spot them. The guy was cunning. He’d left a dead end when he dumped the black sedan. Hell, Nick would even bet the interior of the car had been wiped clean of any fingerprints.

“Nick?” Amelia stood in the doorway of the conference room.

“Yes.” He looked up.

“There’s someone here to see you. Shall I show them in here?”

Nick straightened. “Sure.”

Amelia disappeared as he shuffled his paperwork into the file on the table. Who would visit him at CSaI headquarters? Most of his work was accomplished in the field, without the trappings of a storefront that could overexpose the CSaI team. He’d only given out a couple of business cards with the information on them since he’d become a part of the group….

His muscles tensed between his shoulder blades as he stepped around the table, listening to Amelia’s voice in the outer office as it amplified.

“Right this way, Miss…?”

“Marshall. Grace Marshall.”

Nick braced himself for another face-to-face with the unsuspecting focus of his investigation for Governor Lockhart. Rarely did a mark come to him, and a measure of curiosity zipped across his nerves.

Did she know he’d been watching her home this weekend? Had she made him and believed he was some sort of crazy stalker? Was she here to tell him to flake off, or that she planned to call the cops?

Every scenario he could use to justify her visit vanished from his mind as she stepped into the conference room.

She looked beautiful this morning with her long hair let loose in sexy blond strands, her tentative blue-eyed gaze locking with his.

He was in some serious trouble.

“I’ll let you two speak in private.” Amelia stepped out and pulled the door closed.

“I’m sorry to just show up like this,” Grace said as she fingered his business card in her left hand. “But I desperately need your help.”

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