“You make it a habit to propose to strangers?”

“Not generally. But I’ll make an exception in your case.”

Lyla shook her head. “Men like you don’t even ask out women like me.”

Wyatt frowned. “Men like me and women like you?”

“Hot guys who know they’re hot,” she clarified. “Don’t you dare say you don’t know you’re hot. And I’m the opposite of hot.”

“Oh, you’re hot, all right.”

And he so wished he hadn’t blurted that out. He knew how to keep things close to the vest, and he darn sure shouldn’t be saying something like that to Lyla. Especially since it was the truth.

Wanted

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

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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 Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Excerpt

Chapter One

Marshal Wyatt McCabe adjusted his binoculars and studied the woman. Lyla Pearson. She was leading a roan mare into the barn just behind her small ranch house, and from what he could tell, she appeared to be talking to the horse. Maybe even singing to it.

She sure didn’t look like someone on the verge of committing a felony.

Not yet anyway.

One thing was for certain—he’d never met her. If he had, Wyatt was pretty sure he would have remembered her even though there was nothing much about her that stood out.

Five foot seven or eight. Average build. Brown hair that she’d gathered into a ponytail.

She was wearing no-frills jeans and a weathered buckskin coat—practically a uniform for someone working with horses. Something he knew a little about, since he worked his own family’s ranch.

Wyatt checked his watch. A little past seven in the morning, which meant Ms. Pearson would soon change her cowgirl uniform for her job as assistant director of the San Antonio Crime Scene Unit. He had every intention of following her there, too. In fact, he didn’t intend to let her out of his sight until he figured out what the heck was going on.

He would get answers.

And those answers extended to the baby she was carrying.

There was no baby bump that he could see. Probably too early in the pregnancy for it, but Wyatt wasn’t a baby expert. However, from everything he’d read about her, Lyla had wanted a baby for years even though she was single and not in a relationship.

What Wyatt needed to know was why she’d wanted this particular baby.

She disappeared into the barn, probably to stable the mare, and when she came out, she stopped and looked around as if she sensed someone was watching her. Wyatt ducked lower behind the pile of boulders, though he figured he was hidden well enough. He’d had a lot of experience doing surveillance duty in rural settings during his six and a half years as a marshal.

The sharp January wind slapped at her, and it was cold enough that when her breath mixed with the chilly air, it created a split-second foggy haze around her face.

Still, she didn’t move.

She continued to glance around.

Even though she wasn’t a cop, she had cop’s eyes. Maybe a cop’s instincts, too, which Wyatt hoped didn’t kick in. He needed to figure out what she was up to before she even realized he was on her trail.

Finally, she moved, walking toward her house, and Wyatt was so caught up in watching her that he nearly missed the movement on the back side of the barn. It was just a blur of motion. Maybe a horse. But with everything else going on, that seemed too much to hope.

Wyatt volleyed glances between her and the barn, and he saw it again. This time, he got more than a blurry glimpse. No horse. It was a man, and he was lurking behind the barn. Wyatt watched, wondering if Lyla knew about her visitor. Maybe he was even her partner in crime.

But the man didn’t call out to her.

And she didn’t seem to notice him.

Hell.

This was not a complication he needed right now.

If the guy wasn’t her partner, then Wyatt needed to know why he was there. Because he figured someone skulking around a barn didn’t have the best of intentions. Unless he was a lawman, that is.

Wyatt took a harder look. The guy was dressed in camouflage clothing. There was no sign of a lawman’s badge, so Wyatt drew his Colt from his shoulder holster and eased onto the top of the boulders. Wyatt started hurrying toward Lyla. Anything he did right now was risky, but the risk went up a significant notch when he saw the man dart from the barn to the back of her house.

The guy was armed.

Lyla didn’t appear to be.

And worse, she was smack-dab out in the open. If this wasn’t her partner, then why was he there, and did that gun mean he was going to try to kill her? Maybe this was someone opposed to what Lyla had already set into motion, and if the man killed her, Wyatt would never know the full truth.

Plus, there were other reasons to keep her alive, and the biggest reason of all was that baby she was carrying.

“Get down!” Wyatt shouted to her.

She whirled around as Wyatt had expected her to do. And froze again. The gunman darn sure didn’t freeze. He darted out from the barn and took aim.

At Wyatt.

Wyatt dropped to the icy ground. “I’m Marshal Wyatt McCabe,” he shouted.

The guy ducked back behind the barn, but Wyatt didn’t see or hear anything to indicate he was on the run. Too bad, because if there was a gunfight, then Lyla could be caught in the cross fire. Definitely not something he wanted.

Even worse, Wyatt couldn’t call for backup. He’d checked his phone shortly after he’d parked his truck on the hidden curve of the road—not far away at all—and the whole area was a dead zone. No reception whatsoever.

“Get down!” Wyatt called out to her again.

Thankfully, this time she got moving and did as he’d ordered. Lyla landed on the dead winter grass, yards from her front porch and the safety of her house. There was nothing she could use to hide behind or for protection, and that meant Wyatt had to get to her, fast.

He levered himself up but kept as low as he could. He also kept his Colt aimed and ready. And he started running. He braced himself to dive back to the ground if necessary, but when the gunman peered out from the barn, he didn’t fire.

“Drop the gun!” Wyatt ordered.

He was close enough to Lyla now that he heard her make a sound of surprise mixed with a whole lot of fear. Her reaction made Wyatt think she hadn’t known that an armed man was less than thirty feet away from her.

An armed man who clearly wasn’t listening to a thing Wyatt was telling him to do.

The guy didn’t drop his gun. He stayed put, just tossing out the occasional glances. Once Wyatt had Lyla safely inside, he was going to do something about this nonlistening moron. That didn’t mean killing him. No. That was the last thing Wyatt wanted, because he wanted answers from him, too.

“Don’t move,” Wyatt reminded Lyla when she lifted her head. She dropped back down but looked at him as if trying to figure out who he was.

Or rather, pretending to do that.

Since her pretense and the reaction to the gunman could all be a ruse, Wyatt kept his attention on both her and the gunman. He made his way across the narrow dirt road that stopped directly in front of her house. Each step was a victory because there were no shots being fired at them. He really wanted to keep it that way.

Wyatt hurried the last few yards to her, and he moved directly in front of her, making sure he was between her and the gunman.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaking as hard as the rest of her.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” He took aim at the barn and stood. “Is your front door locked?”

“No.”

Good. Though he’d figured she hadn’t bothered to lock it. Not usually much crime out in the rural part of the county. Of course, usually wasn’t the norm right now.

“Stay behind me,” Wyatt instructed. “We’re going inside.”

Where he hoped she wouldn’t try to kill him. But then, he figured her plan didn’t include murdering him.

Nope.

She or someone else had put too much in motion to outright kill him.

Well, unless the plan had changed and someone was trying to cut their losses and make sure there were no loose ends with equally loose lips. If that was the case, then both Lyla and he could be targeted to die.

She didn’t argue about going inside with him, and Lyla slid her hands over her stomach and practically pressed herself against his back as they inched across the yard. Wyatt could feel the tight muscles in her arms. Could feel her warm breath hit against his neck.

And he could feel her fear.

He shifted his position a little as they went up the steps. He had to keep Lyla shielded, but he also had to make sure the gunman didn’t try to go in through the back of her house.

That led him to his next problem.

If someone was trying to nix a plan that was already in motion—like this one—there might be another attacker waiting inside. Or maybe this was all part of Lyla’s plan—get him inside so she could move on to the next step.

Whatever the heck that was.

Despite the don’t be stupid warning echoing through his head, Wyatt opened the door and stepped inside, keeping her next to him. His attention and gun slashed from one side of the living room to the other.

Nothing.

Well, nothing that he could immediately see anyway. It wasn’t a large room, but there was a dark red sofa and two chairs. Not easy hiding places, but he checked anyway. Then he checked for what could pose the most immediate danger.

Lyla Pearson herself.

“Are you armed?” he asked, but didn’t wait for her to answer. Wyatt shoved his hand inside her coat and gave her a quick pat down.

She gasped and tried to push him away, but Wyatt held his ground. “I don’t carry a gun,” she insisted.

“Maybe not, but you have one registered to you.”

Her eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”

Wyatt just tapped the marshal’s badge clipped to his belt.

Lyla still looked confused by all of this. Heck, maybe she was. After all, if she’d truly set up the gunman pretense, she would’ve had to have known that Wyatt would be there at that exact moment. He’d kept this visit secret. Not even his five foster brothers knew, and they were all marshals, too. He hadn’t wanted to tell them anything until he’d figured out what was going on.

The figuring out started now.

“Back door locked?” he asked. He pulled her inside, keeping her against the jamb.

“I’m not sure.”

“Stay put,” Wyatt snarled, and he hurried into the kitchen. If anyone was hiding, they would have to be in the fridge, because the pantry door was wide-open and he could see inside. He turned the dead bolt on the door to lock it.

She didn’t ask why he’d done that, but he could feel her fear go up a notch. Or maybe she was faking that, too. At any rate, she was breathing through her mouth, and the pulse on her throat was skittering a mile a minute.

Wyatt went back to her, waited. Listened. But he didn’t hear anyone inside, or out, for that matter. So, he grabbed the cordless landline phone and handed it to her. “Call 9-1-1 and request backup.”

Her hand brushed against his when she took the phone, and for just a split second, their eyes met. Hers were brown, just as her file had said, but what wasn’t in her file was they were deep and warm.

Oh, man.

He didn’t need to be thinking of her eyes. Or anything else, for that matter. She could be one of the most conniving criminals he’d ever met.

Or maybe an innocent pawn.

Until Wyatt knew which, her eyes and the rest of her were off-limits.

While she made the call, Wyatt got her all the way inside and kicked the door shut. He locked it. But he didn’t move. He stayed put, waiting to make sure they were indeed alone. Waiting, too, to see if she’d make some kind of move.

She didn’t. Lyla called 9-1-1 just as he’d asked.

The window on the east side of the room was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed Wyatt a decent view of the back side of the barn. The last place he’d spotted the guy with the gun. But that window was also a danger, since the gunman could see them and shoot right through the glass.

“A deputy’s on the way,” Lyla relayed once she’d finished the call.

Good. But the nearest town, Bulverde, was a good thirty minutes away, and he was on his own until then.

“Who’s out there?” she asked.

“You don’t know?”

Her breath rattled in her throat. “I have no idea.” She shook her head and caught onto the door, maybe because she didn’t look too steady on her feet. “He can’t shoot me. I’m pregnant and he could hurt the baby.”

If this was an act, she was damn convincing.

Wyatt glanced around, looking for the safest way to approach this—for both him and her. “Get down on the floor in front of the sofa.”

It wasn’t a perfect location. Not by a long shot. But it would get her out of direct line of fire of that window, and with her on the floor, she wouldn’t be able to attack him.

She moved to do just that but then stopped and stared at him. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t have to lie about this. “You’re going to tell me that after I take care of the guy by the barn.”

Her stare tightened into a glare, and with that glare aimed at him, she eased down onto the floor.

That freed him up to hurry to the hall entry, where he spotted three doors. Probably two bedrooms and a bath. All the doors were open, but unlike with the pantry, he didn’t have a clear look inside any of them.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “How did you know there’d be a gunman at my house?”

Tricky questions, both of them. If she didn’t truly know the answers, then they were both in some Texas-sized trouble.

“I’m involved in an investigation, and you might have something to do with it,” he settled for saying.

“I don’t understand. What investigation?”

Wyatt knew he couldn’t dodge her questions for long, but he really had to make sure another gunman wasn’t inside the house. “Don’t get up,” he warned her, and he hurried into the hall for a quick check of the bedrooms and bath.

“What investigation?” Lyla repeated.

Even though he’d stepped into her bedroom, Wyatt had no trouble hearing her. “Jonah Webb’s murder.”

She mumbled something he didn’t catch, but Wyatt ignored her, had a look under the bed and in the closet. Everything was neat and in its place. Definitely no smoking-gun evidence that he could use to arrest her on the spot.

When he was satisfied they were alone and there was nothing immediate for him to find, he hurried back to the living room and met Lyla’s glare. It was worse than the other one she’d aimed at him.

“Jonah Webb,” she repeated. “He was the man from the orphanage who was murdered years ago.”

Sixteen and a half, to be exact.

She studied his face. Then his badge. “You’re one of the marshals who were raised at the orphanage.” Again, he couldn’t be sure if her surprised tone was fake or not.

“Rocky Creek Children’s Facility,” he supplied.

He tried not to go back to those bitter memories. Failed. Always failed. But bad memories weren’t going to stop him from doing his job. Wyatt went back to the center of the living room so he could keep watch to see what the bozo with the gun was going to do.

“Webb’s body was found, what, about six months ago?” she asked.

“Eight. The Rangers are still investigating it.” He paused, to try to figure out if this was old news to her, but he couldn’t tell. “Webb’s wife, Sarah, confessed to the murder, but she had an accomplice. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to say who her accomplice was, because she’s in a coma.”

And Sarah had been that way since she’d tried to kill his brother Dallas and Dallas’s wife, Joelle. Dallas had had to shoot the woman, and she’d been in a coma ever since.

“Your foster father is a suspect,” Lyla whispered. “I remember reading that in one of the reports.”

Yeah. Kirby Granger was indeed that. And worse, he might have actually done it, though Wyatt never intended to admit that aloud.

Not to her.

Not to anyone.

Especially if it turned out that Lyla Pearson was living proof that Kirby was not just innocent but that someone else was willing to do pretty much anything to cover their own guilt.

“You’re a suspect, too,” Lyla added. Her breathing kicked up a notch, and she got to a crouching position. Maybe because she was just now realizing she could be in danger—from him. Heck, she might even be thinking of running.

Wyatt nodded, watching both her and the window.

She blinked, and he saw the doubt in her eyes. Lyla shifted her position again. Oh, yeah. Definitely planning to run.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” he said. “But I suspect you know a lot more than you’re saying.”

The remark had no sooner left his mouth when Lyla leaped to her feet and started toward the hall. Probably to get the .38 that was somewhere in her bedroom. Wyatt hadn’t seen the gun, but he figured it must be in the house.

Wyatt latched on to her, trying to stay gentle, but it was hard to do when she brought up her knee to ram into his groin. He had no choice but to drag her to the sofa and pin her body with his.

It didn’t put him in the best of positions. He could no longer see the window or the gunman, but it stopped her from getting away.

Lyla frantically shook her head and tried to punch him. “Why are you doing this?”

He dodged her fist, barely. “Why are you doing this?” And Wyatt dropped his gaze to her stomach.

“I don’t understand.” The words rushed out with her breath.

Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. But Wyatt decided to test a theory or two. “I think you got pregnant so you could manipulate this investigation.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “My baby has nothing to do with Jonah Webb’s murder.”

“You sure about that?” he countered.

“Positive,” Lyla mumbled, but there it was. The doubt that slid through those intense brown eyes. “Why would it? Why would my baby have anything to do with this?”

Wyatt took a deep breath. Had to. “Because that baby is mine.”

Chapter Two

Lyla figured either Marshal Wyatt McCabe was insane, or someone had told him some huge lies. Either way, she had to get away from him.

She put her hands against his chest and gave him a hard shove. She might as well have been shoving a brick wall, because he didn’t budge. He wasn’t exactly what she would call muscle-bound, but he was solid.

“Please.” Lyla tried to reason with him. “Let me go. Neither me nor my baby has anything to do with you or the murder investigation.”

The marshal made a yeah right sound, but he did move off her. Not far, though. He levered himself up but continued to loom over her. Continued to volley glances out the window, too. Did that mean the man with the gun wasn’t working with Marshal McCabe?

Lyla wasn’t sure.

She wasn’t sure of anything any longer except that she wanted to get away from both men. Her keys were already in her car, which was parked in the garage. If she could get to it, she might be able to escape.

Might.

But she couldn’t risk getting shot. Of course, these men might have something much worse in mind than just hurting her. They might want to kill her.

But why?

She shook her head. Marshal McCabe obviously wasn’t the only one with questions.

“Who’s the gunman?” she asked him again. Maybe now that the facade of the helpful lawman was gone, she’d get some straight answers, because the ones she’d gotten from him so far hadn’t made a lick of sense.

McCabe lifted his shoulder. “I don’t know. Your bodyguard maybe?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.” But she rethought that. “At least, I didn’t until twenty minutes ago. Clearly, I need one now to protect me from you.”

He studied her as if trying to decide if that was a lie or not. It wasn’t. In fact, everything she’d told the lawman had been the truth, but he obviously didn’t believe her.

Lyla tried to remember everything she knew about Marshal McCabe, but other than the sketchy details about the Webb murder investigation, she drew a blank.

“We’ve met before?” she asked, though she was certain they hadn’t. McCabe was the sort of man a woman tended to remember. Tall, good-looking. Dark brown hair and gunmetal-blue eyes.

Yes, definitely the sort to be remembered.

“No,” he answered. “But you know me.”

“I don’t,” she insisted.

That baby is mine, he’d said, but he had to be wrong about that.

Well, maybe.

“I used in vitro fertilization to get pregnant,” she explained, though judging from the flat look he gave her, he already knew.

“Yeah. At the Hanover Fertility Clinic in San Antonio,” he supplied. “You had the procedure done two and half months ago, on your thirty-first birthday, and it worked on the first try. You got the news two weeks later that you were going to be a mom.”

A chill went through her. It was downright creepy that this stranger knew such private things about her, but it chilled her even more to know he might have told the truth about the baby being his.

“The clinic assured me that the donor I used would be anonymous,” Lyla explained. “In fact, I insisted on it, because I intend to raise this baby myself.”

“Yeah,” the marshal repeated. “Old baggage. I know about that, too.”

Lyla snapped back her shoulders, ready to blast him for invading her life and privacy this way. It wasn’t any of his business about her failed relationships.

She had to get her teeth unclenched so she could speak. “I want you to get out of here now. The deputy’s already on the way, and if you don’t leave, I’ll have him arrest you. I don’t care if you’re a marshal or not.”

“Oh, I’m a marshal, all right, and I believe you manipulated that in vitro procedure so you could force me to cooperate.”

Lyla tried to throw her hands in the air, but McCabe pinned them to the sofa. “And how could I possibly have manipulated it?”

He glared at her. “By switching mine and my late wife’s embryo with the one you should have received.”

Oh, yes. He was crazy.

“I didn’t switch anything. There was a slim-to-none chance that I’d get pregnant the old-fashioned way, because my body rarely produces eggs, even with fertility treatments. So, I used the donation the clinic gave me.” She paused just long enough to gather her breath. “And what possible proof do you have that it was yours?”

“All the proof I need.” But McCabe paused, mumbled some really bad profanity. “Four months ago I hired a surrogate to have a baby, using the embryo that my late wife and I’d stored at a clinic. Not Hanover,” he quickly added. “Another one in San Antonio. But then the surrogate changed her mind and decided not to go through with the pregnancy.”

Lyla mentally went through all that. “And you think I somehow got yours and your wife’s embryo instead of the anonymous one I requested.”

“I know you did,” he fired back. “Last month, the clinic called me and said the embryo was missing. They said maybe it’d been stolen or accidentally donated, and I followed a very hard-to-follow paper trail that eventually led to you.”

Oh, mercy. Maybe it was true, then, but Lyla wasn’t just going to take this man’s word for it. “I want to see this paper trail.”

Marshal McCabe tipped his head toward the barn. “After I hear what your gun-toting friend has to say.”

“He’s not my friend!” she practically shouted. “And so what if the clinic accidentally gave me your embryo? It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you in my life, and I don’t want you part of my baby’s life.”

Except there was the possibility about this being his late wife’s embryo. No. Did that mean he’d have some kind of legal claim?

That couldn’t happen.

“The switch wasn’t an accident,” he insisted. But then he shook his head. “At least I don’t think it was. I think there’s something bad going on here and that you’re a key player in this wrongdoing.”

Lyla couldn’t argue with the something bad theory. He was there, right in her face. But she’d done nothing wrong and had taken no shortcuts in getting pregnant with this baby.

“I don’t know where you got your information about me, but there’s no reason whatsoever that I’d want to have your baby.” And she didn’t bother to say it nicely, either. “I want you arrested and out of here. That’ll happen as soon as the deputy arrives.”

Soon couldn’t be soon enough, though. Lyla prayed that whoever the sheriff had sent out was speeding to her ranch right now.

“If I explain to the deputy what I’ve learned, maybe he’ll arrest you,” McCabe threatened right back. “Because one way or another, you will tell me what’s going on.”

“I have no idea,” Lyla insisted, but she was talking to the air, because the marshal’s attention was fastened to the barn now. He practically jumped to his feet and snapped in that direction.

Alarmed at the concern that she saw in his eyes, Lyla jumped up, as well, and followed his gaze. There wasn’t one man but two out there now. Both wearing camouflage fatigues. Both armed.

Oh, God.

Now she had three armed men on her ranch.

“Either your second bodyguard just showed up, or you’ve done something to piss off someone other than me,” McCabe growled.

Even though she didn’t trust the marshal, that didn’t mean Lyla could ignore what he’d just said. Maybe she had riled someone. After all, she was the second in charge of a huge crime-scene-unit lab, and processed all kinds of evidence.

“You think those men are here to hurt me?” she asked, peering out at them.

“Hard to say.”

She was tired of the vague answers. “Then guess,” Lyla demanded. She pinned her attention to the gunmen, too. If they moved one inch, she’d have to move as well. She prayed they didn’t start shooting into the house.

McCabe shook his head. “Maybe there’s someone who doesn’t want you involved in this.”

Well, she certainly fell into that category. Lyla didn’t want to be involved even if she had no idea what this was. Still, that was something she would have to work out later. After she had some way to protect herself.

Lyla moved, ready to race toward her bedroom to get the .38 she had in the back of her nightstand drawer.

“I don’t think so,” McCabe snarled.

He hooked his left arm around her waist, dragged her to him and anchored her against his body. She’d only known him a matter of minutes, and it was the third time he’d put his hands on her. Lyla wanted to do something about that.

Actually, she wanted to punch him and run.

But she couldn’t risk hurting the baby. No. As angry and scared as she was, her best bet was to wait for the deputy and maybe try to reason with this man, who claimed to be the father of her child.

A father who might be a criminal.

Lyla tried to think back through their entire conversation. Not easy to do, with her heart and mind racing and with McCabe plastered against her. It was hard to think or breathe with him so close. Still, she forced herself to do just that, and she went back to the part of their conversation before he’d dropped the embryo bombshell.

“Why did you think I had anything to do with the Webb murder investigation?” she asked. Lyla also kept watch on the two gunmen.

“You don’t...yet,” McCabe said.

Despite the clear danger outside, that caused her attention to snap to the marshal. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be put in charge of compiling the final investigation, the one that’ll determine who’s responsible for Jonah Webb’s murder.”

Lyla was shaking her head before he even finished. “Not possible. The Texas Rangers have their own crime lab, one of the best in the country.”

“And soon the governor will say there’s a conflict of interest, that the head of the Ranger lab once worked on a case with one of their prime suspects, Kirby Granger.”

“Your foster father,” she mumbled. “It’s true?”

McCabe nodded. “True that they worked together. Not true about the conflict of interest.”

That probably wouldn’t matter. Appearance was everything in this sort of investigation. The sixteen-and-a-half-year-old murder had drawn national attention, and the governor and the Rangers would want to make sure the right people were held responsible for the crime.

Still, there was something about this that didn’t make sense.

“Even if the governor transferred the investigation to the San Antonio Crime Scene Unit, they wouldn’t put me in charge of the case. He’d choose my boss, Dean Mobley.”

“Your boss will excuse himself and insist that you take over,” McCabe said without hesitation or doubt.

Not likely. Mobley and she didn’t see eye-to-eye on much. “Why would he do that, huh?”

“I don’t know, but he will.”

Lyla huffed. “He won’t.” And she would have added more to that argument if she hadn’t heard a welcome sound.

A police siren.

Thank God. The deputy was nearly there. And she hoped he had plenty of backup.

McCabe cursed again, and for a moment she thought it was because of the siren. Maybe it partly was. But he didn’t even spare the front of the house a glance, despite the fact that the police cruiser would soon arrive there. He still had his attention on the two men by the barn.

“Stay inside,” McCabe ordered, and he started for the back door.

Lyla didn’t intend to let him leave. She wanted him arrested. She reached to latch on to his arm, but then she saw the movement.

The two gunmen.

They were no longer behind the barn. They were running. Getting away.

McCabe threw off her grip, and with his gun aimed and ready, he hurried to the back door. Lyla followed him, but there was no way she could stop him. Not with that rock-hard strength.

He’d barely made it to the door before one of the men stopped. Pivoted.

And fired.

Chapter Three

The sound of the bullet blasted through the house.

“Get down!” Wyatt shouted to Lyla.

Wyatt got down, too, but he stayed near the back door so he could keep an eye on the gunmen. One was already racing across the pasture, away from the house, and the other didn’t even take aim before he fired another shot and then took off running, as well.

Hell.

Wyatt couldn’t let them get away, but he also couldn’t risk one or both circling back around and coming after Lyla. He had no idea if she was innocent or not, but by damn, he was not going to let her get gunned down.

“What’s happening?” Lyla asked. She was on the floor, thank God, one hand over her head and the other over her stomach. He hoped she stayed that way, though her hands would be a paltry shield for bullets.

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” Wyatt relayed to her. “Or maybe you.”

But there was something off about this attack, if it was indeed a murder attempt. For one thing, the men had waited way too long before shooting. In the twenty minutes or so that Lyla and he had been in the house, two gunmen could have torn the place apart with a shower of bullets.

Maybe that meant they’d wanted her alive.

Or scared.

If so, they’d succeeded in doing both. Lyla was trembling on the living room floor, but she hadn’t been hurt, and that meant the baby was safe.

Wyatt tried not to think about that. Tried not to think about the deception that had gone into creating this child. He just focused on the job, and right now the job was keeping Lyla and the baby safe and stopping those gunmen.

The moment that Wyatt heard the cop car brake to a stop in front of the house, he bolted out the back door. Not because he was afraid of being arrested. No, he could handle that. But now that Lyla had someone else to protect her, it was time to see what he could do about the gunmen.

Wyatt had to go after them.

Both of the men were running, their backs to Wyatt. He considered shooting but dismissed it. If he hit one, the other could return fire, and he was still too close to the house to risk that.

Wyatt leaped off the porch and hit the ground running. Not the easiest thing to do in cowboy boots and winter gear, but the men were weighed down by equipment belts, which no doubt held extra ammo. Maybe extra weapons, too. They’d obviously come prepared for an attack that they’d barely carried out.

The pasture wasn’t that deep, unfortunately, and behind it was a fence and then a heavily treed area. He wanted to stop the men before they could disappear into those woods, but they had too much of a head start on him. When Wyatt saw the first man reach the fence, he knew he had to do something.

“Stop or I’ll shoot,” Wyatt called out.

Still not listening, they didn’t stop. Both of them continued to run, and the one in the lead latched on to the top rung of the wood fence and started to hoist himself to the other side.

Wyatt fired at him.

The shot was off because he hadn’t stopped and aimed, but it got their attention. The guy on the fence turned and fired right back. Wyatt saw the bullet slam into the ground and kick up dirt. Much better than it going toward the house.

Wyatt fired another shot. Ducked. But the one on the fence didn’t take the bait this time. He scrambled over the top and disappeared into the trees.

Wyatt turned to fire at the other one, but the shots began to blast through the air. Obviously, the gunman on the other side of the fence hadn’t run away and left his partner after all. He was trying to save his sorry butt, and to save his own butt, Wyatt had no choice but to dart behind an old cast-iron bathtub that’d been turned into a watering trough.

He cursed, waiting, but knowing this would allow the second man to get away. Wyatt lost count of the number of shots fired, all of them smacking into the trough and the ground around him.

But they stopped just as quickly as they’d started.

Wyatt waited another second or two and then took off running again.

Neither man was in sight now, and since he didn’t know the area, Wyatt couldn’t even predict which direction they’d gone. Maybe he would be able to find their footprints and follow them.

“Stop!” someone yelled from behind him. Not Lyla. A man, probably the deputy.

Wyatt spared him a glance over his shoulder. Yep, a deputy in uniform, all right, and he was standing with his gun drawn on the back porch. It was a risk, because the lawman might shoot him in the back, but Wyatt was so close to the fence now that he took his chances. He barreled over it and dropped to the ground.

There were footprints. Plenty of them, and some had bits of dried leaves and twigs in them, which could mean they were several days old. Later, he’d need to ask Lyla about who had access to this part of the property, but he was betting these weren’t the footprints of a neighbor.

Someone had been watching her for a long time.

He lifted his head and listened for any sound of footsteps. Nothing. Just the wind. But he soon heard something he didn’t want to hear.

An engine starting up.

Wyatt raced toward the sound, weaving his way through the trees and scraggly underbrush, and it didn’t take him long to get to a clearing with a trail. He caught just a glimpse of the black SUV as it disappeared out of sight. He didn’t even have a chance to get the license number.

Oh, man. He didn’t need this.

Without thinking, he yanked out his phone, and he got a quick reminder of why he hadn’t already called one of his brothers. Still no service out in this rural area. That meant he needed to get to a landline ASAP.

He also needed to face that gun-pointing deputy.

Wyatt meandered his way back to the fence and was about to climb over it when he spotted something.

A camera mounted on one of the trees.

He followed the angle of the lens—it was aimed directly at Lyla’s house. Yeah, someone had been watching her.

But who?

Wyatt figured the camera might give him some clues about that, so he ripped it from the tree and climbed back over the fence. The deputy was still on the porch, but there was no sign of Lyla, who was hopefully still inside and on the floor. That was because the gunmen might make a return visit and this time launch another attack.

“Marshal McCabe,” the deputy said as Wyatt got closer. He was a pencil-thin man with pink flushed cheeks and nearly white blond hair. “I’m Deputy Walter O’Neal.”

“I hope you called for backup, because the shooters got away in a black SUV. They used what appears to be an old ranch road.”

The deputy nodded. “Got two other deputies on the way. You can give us a description at the sheriff’s office, ’cause I need to take you in for questioning.”

Yeah, Wyatt had figured that, and he had no plans to resist. Or even argue. The sooner he finished his business with the deputy, the sooner he could have the camera analyzed and figure out the identities of those gunmen.

“Lyla said you accused her of some wrongdoing,” O’Neal added when Wyatt made it to the porch.

“I did.” He held up the camera. “And this might prove it.” However, it was more likely to prove her innocence, since she had no reason to put her own house under surveillance, unless it was part of some security system to make sure no one got too close.

Like him.

“I did nothing wrong,” he heard Lyla repeat, and she stepped onto the back porch to join them. But not for long.

Wyatt took her arm and put her right back inside. “She shouldn’t be out in the open, because of the gunmen.” And he turned to the deputy. “You need to bring her to the sheriff’s office with us.”

“She insisted on coming,” the deputy said, sounding a little uncertain about that. Or maybe his uncertainty was just for Wyatt and the shots that’d been fired. “Though I did suggest she see a doctor while I deal with getting your statement.”

“The men really got away?” she asked, her eyes wide. Lyla grabbed her coat and purse from the peg next to the door that led to the garage.

Wyatt nodded and held up the camera. “Any idea who’s been watching you?”

That didn’t help ease the look of concern on her face. “No.”

He hadn’t expected any other answer from her, but then she stopped. “Three days ago someone from the electric company showed up and said he needed to do some repairs on the lines. He seemed, well, a little suspicious. Like he was nervous or something.”

That was a start. “I’ll make some calls and see if he was legit or not. Also, if there’s a surveillance disk in here, we might get a better look of the gunmen’s faces.” Of course, there probably wouldn’t be a disk. It likely had some kind of wireless feed to another device.

One that the gunmen had almost certainly taken.

Wyatt doubted they were so incompetent that they would have left something like that behind. Still, he might get lucky. He would have a closer look later.

“I take it all of this is part of some official investigation?” O’Neal asked.

“An investigation, yes,” Wyatt answered. “Official, no. Not yet anyway. I’m here for personal reasons.”

He waited to see if Lyla had told the deputy about the in vitro switch, but she didn’t say a word. Wyatt figured that would change, though, when they got to the sheriff’s office. Lyla was a crime scene analyst, bound by the law, and she no doubt trusted this deputy more than she trusted him.

Yeah, she’d tell, all right.

“I’ll let you keep your gun,” O’Neal said, leading them out the front and to his patrol car. “For now.”

Wyatt didn’t like the guy’s attitude, but he had to admit it was a generous concession. If their situations had been reversed, Wyatt wouldn’t have let him stay armed.

Since there was a bulky equipment bag in the front passenger seat, Lyla and Wyatt got into the back. She didn’t say a word to him, but she did shoot him another glare. Wyatt gave her one right back. So far, the evidence was pointing to the fact that she might be a pawn, but until Wyatt knew for sure, he intended to be as wary of her as she was of him.

“What will happen now?” she asked, directed not at Wyatt but rather the deputy.

“We’ll start with your statements,” he answered, his attention shifting all around. Wyatt was doing the same thing, looking for those gunmen. “I guess neither of you recognized those two men?”

“No,” Wyatt and she answered in unison. That seemed to annoy her, too. “But the marshal probably thinks I’m lying about that.”

“The marshal figures she’s telling the truth,” Wyatt countered. “About that anyway.” He looked at her for the rest of the explanation. “Those bullets were real, and I don’t believe you’d put the baby at risk by hiring idiot gunmen to shoot at or near you.”

“I wouldn’t.” Her chin came up. Her voice was strong. “This baby is my life, and...” She snapped away from him.

Wyatt could finish that for her. This baby is my life, and you have nothing to do with it.

Or something along those lines.

She’d already said she didn’t want a baby daddy. Wyatt had to make sure that was the truth. Then he’d figure out what to do with that truth and everything else that seemed to be hitting him at once.

“Call ahead,” Wyatt instructed the deputy, “and arrange for Lyla to be checked out by a doctor. Just in case.”

He expected her to argue with that, too, and maybe it was on her mind when she opened her mouth. But then she just slid her hand over her stomach.

“Thanks,” she said under her breath, and the deputy made the call.

While he did that, Wyatt checked his own phone. He finally had service, so he made a call and asked one of his foster brothers, Marshal Declan O’Malley, to find out if the utility company had sent someone to Lyla’s house. With one thing down, he mentally went through the long list of other calls he had to make.

But the ringing of Lyla’s phone stopped him.

“Mr. Mobley,” she greeted the caller. Her boss. “I might not be in this morning. I’m on my way to the Bulverde sheriff’s office....Oh, you heard about the shooting.” She paused. “No, I’m fine.”

Lyla opened her mouth to say more, but Wyatt heard the chatter on the other end of the line. He couldn’t tell what her boss was saying, but it had captured her complete attention.

“What?” she finally said, quickly followed by “Why?”

More chatter, and Wyatt still couldn’t make out enough of it to tell what was going on, but he hoped like the devil it wasn’t more bad news. He’d had enough of that already.

“We’ll talk when I get to the office,” Lyla snapped, and she ended the call. It took several moments, though, for her to look at Wyatt. “Mobley excused himself from the Jonah Webb investigation, and the Rangers want me to take over.”

Not exactly a surprise. “I hate to say I told you so, but I did.”

“It could mean nothing,” she concluded, but the worry in her voice said it was a whole lot of something. “Mobley got another job. A civilian company with much higher pay. They want him to work with a legal watchdog group that’s retesting evidence from old criminal cases.”

“The timing’s suspicious, but it gives me another lead. The person who offered Mobley the new job could be behind the rest of this.”

She swiveled around to face him. “What exactly is the rest of this?” She glanced uneasily at the deputy and moved closer to Wyatt. “If this is some kind of plan to get me to falsify evidence, it won’t work,” she whispered.

“It might be that.” But he just didn’t know.

“The in vitro could have been just an honest mistake,” she whispered a moment later. “Mobley’s new job could be a coincidence.”

“And the gunmen? The camera?” Wyatt pressed. “More coincidences? Because when there are that many of them, we call that a pattern.”

He almost told her about the information trail that had led him to her, but his phone buzzed. Declan.

“First of all, the utility company didn’t send someone to Lyla Pearson’s house,” Declan said the second Wyatt answered. “And second, what the hell’s going on?”

Considering that Wyatt had been about to ask his brother the same thing, this wasn’t a good start to what he needed to be a good conversation. “Are you referring to something specific? Because there’s a lot going on.”

“The Rangers got an anonymous tip that you’re trying to influence the Webb murder investigation.”

Ah, man. He didn’t need this. “No, someone else is trying to influence it.” And maybe already had. “Look, this is too complicated to get into over the phone—”

“Does it have anything to do with Lyla Pearson, the assistant director of the San Antonio CSU?”

That sent an uneasy feeling knifing through him. “It does. Why? Other than the fact that she didn’t get a real service call from the electric company, what do you know about her?”

“According to the criminal informant I just talked to, she’s in big trouble, Wyatt, and you should avoid her at all costs.”

“Too late.”

Declan cursed. “You’re with her?”

“Yeah. Now why don’t you tell me why that’s a bad idea?” Wyatt insisted.

“Because according to the informant, by going to her, you just signed her death warrant.”

Chapter Four

Death warrant.

Those two words kept going through her head, and each time, they robbed Lyla of her breath. Not that her breath was anywhere near steady yet, despite the several hours they’d spent at the sheriff’s office and hospital getting her checkup. All was well with the baby, thank goodness, but it might be a while before she could rein in this feeling of panic. Her racing heartbeat, too. And the adrenaline crash.

Yes, she had that going on, as well.

Despite the clean bill of health from her obstetrician, none of this stress could be good for the baby. But then, neither were those bullets.

It was the too-fresh memory of those bullets and those two words, death warrant, that had made Lyla get in the truck with Wyatt after they’d finished giving their statements to the deputy.

Now she was debating that decision to allow him to place her in his protective custody. She wasn’t thinking straight, but what she did know was that Wyatt seemed to want to keep her alive and safe. And he seemed capable of doing that.

Capable of wrecking her life, too.

But maybe once she got all of this sorted out, there’d be no need for protection. No need to dodge gunmen lurking on her ranch.

“You’re sure this criminal informant was telling the truth about the death threat?” she asked. “Because if he’s a criminal, how can you trust him?”

“He’s getting paid to spill his guts, and if what he spills is a lie, then the payments dry up.” He paused, mumbled some profanity. “Unfortunately, this guy’s reliable, and he said somebody’s got their eye on you.”

“But he didn’t know who.” It wasn’t a question. Lyla had already pressed Wyatt on that when he’d first told her about the threat. “Then how could the criminal informant know anything about the other details if he doesn’t even know the person’s identity?”

“Bad people talk. Sometimes too much, and this guy plays a fly on the wall so he can make money. He says someone’s going to force you to cooperate with altering evidence, and if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll be eliminated. Dead,” he clarified.

Even if the informant had lied, she wasn’t immune to just the threat of it. Mercy, how had things gotten this far out of control?

“I should be in San Antonio P.D.’s protective custody,” she tossed out there. “Not yours.”

He spared her a glance with those intense blue eyes but kept his attention on the rural road that would take them to his family’s ranch.

Which she was certain wasn’t a good idea at all.

“Those guys took shots at me, and that makes this federal now.”

It was weird. Though he’d practically barked that at her, his voice was far from a bark. Everything that came out of Marshal McCabe’s mouth seemed smooth as silk. And genuine. Yes, he was a charmer, all right. Even when he was accusing her of assorted crimes.

Like stealing the embryo that belonged to him and his late wife.

“You can’t possibly want me at your family’s home,” she reminded him.

“I don’t. But I don’t want you dead, either. And right now, I’m your best shot at not being dead.”

Even that came out as an easy drawl, but it still slammed into her. She couldn’t die. Couldn’t be shot. Because anything that happened to her, happened to her precious baby, as well. But somehow, someway, she had to distance herself from this silver-tongued cowboy lawman. Once she was at the ranch, she’d need to start making calls to arrange for some private security. And a bodyguard or two.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he added a moment later. “If I hadn’t uncovered what was going on, the person behind this wouldn’t have ordered a hit on you. At least not until you’d done everything they want you to do.”

None of that was reassuring, especially the last part. “But what do they want me to do?”

“I don’t know yet. But it won’t be legal, and doing it won’t necessarily keep you alive. Right now, I’m your best shot for staying in one piece.”

Again, not reassuring, since it was obvious he distrusted her. Probably hated her, too, because he still had his doubts about her involvement in all of this. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to address that or just make those calls to get her out of there.

Wyatt took the turn toward the ranch, and moments later the house came into view. Except, house didn’t seem the right word to describe something that size. She’d heard of Kirby Granger’s spread, of course, but she hadn’t expected this. Miles and miles of pastures. Hundreds of Angus cows. And she spotted four barns, along with a small house and another massive brick one that looked as if it’d recently been built. Yet another one was under construction.

Heaven knew how many people and buildings were on the parts of the property she couldn’t see.

Wyatt pulled to a stop directly in front of the main house, where there were several ranch hands milling around, all armed. A middle-aged woman with graying red hair stepped out.

“Declan called,” she greeted them, the worry obvious in her voice. “He said someone shot at you.”

But Wyatt just shrugged. Like his voice, it seemed to be an easy drawl, too. There was certainly no crazy panic in his body language, but Lyla was sure there was plenty in hers.

“The others call Wyatt a bullet magnet,” the woman added, glancing at Lyla.

Lyla’s gaze whipped to him. “Why do they call you that?”

Wyatt frowned. “Why do you think?”

“Oh, God,” she mumbled.

“God’s probably the only one who hasn’t taken a shot at me yet.”

The woman gave him a scolding look. “His brothers say he’s a bullet magnet because someone’s always trying to mess up his pretty face. But they don’t say that around me. They know I don’t like joking about stuff like that.”

She came closer when Lyla and Wyatt made it onto the porch, and she slipped her arm around Lyla’s waist. “I’m Stella Doyle, a friend of the family. I take care of Wyatt and the others when they let me.”

“The others?” Lyla asked.

“Wyatt’s foster brothers. Dallas, Clayton, Harlan and Slade. Mine and Kirby’s own son, too—Declan. They’re all marshals like Wyatt here, and they’re all my boys.”

Wyatt brushed a kiss on the woman’s cheek. “Where’s everyone?”

“Dallas took the womenfolk and Clayton’s baby to his and Joelle’s place.” She tipped her head in the direction of the new house, which Lyla had noticed. “He said he talked to you about that.”

“He did. I just thought it’d be better if there were fewer people here tonight. Is Harlan with them?”

Stella nodded. “Slade, too. You’re expecting some kind of trouble?”

“Trying to prevent it.” Wyatt glanced at the curvy dark-haired woman who was sweeping the porch. A maid, no doubt. “When’d you hire her?” he asked Stella.

“Last week. Why?”

“I just want the ranch on lockdown for a while. Give her and any other new help a few paid days off. That includes ranch hands.”

Stella gave an uneasy nod, and she wasn’t the only one who was uneasy. It hit Lyla then. If someone had been watching her, then maybe they’d done the same to Wyatt. With all the activity going on, it would be easy to get someone onto a ranch this size.

“And now I need help with our guest,” Wyatt continued. “This is Lyla Pearson, and she’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Stella volleyed glances at both of them. “Your girl?” she asked Wyatt.

“Yes,” Wyatt said at the exact moment that Lyla blurted out, “No.”

Lyla was about to ask why he’d told such a lie, but Wyatt just shot an uneasy look at the woman sweeping, took Lyla by the arm and got her inside.

“Later,” he added to her in a whisper when Lyla opened her mouth to ask about that whopper. He looked at Stella again. “I need a couple of the ranch hands to go out to Lyla’s place and take care of her horses.”

“I can do that myself,” she insisted.

“Those gunmen might return.” And that was all he had to say to put her heart in her throat. She loved her little house. The only home she’d ever had, and now she couldn’t go back.

Maybe ever.

It might never feel safe there.

“Her address is in the glove compartment of my truck,” Wyatt explained to Stella. “But tell the ranch hands to go there armed. Just in case.”

Stella’s eyes widened a little, but Lyla didn’t think it was so much from surprise as from fear or dread. Heaven knew how many incidents like this the woman had gone through, living with six active marshals and a retired one.

“Come on,” Wyatt told her. And it took Lyla a moment to realize he’d shifted the conversation to her. “You’re staying with me until further notice.”

Wyatt didn’t give her time to disagree with that order. With his grip still firm on her arm, he ambled them through the maze of halls and to a home office. His, judging from the way he ushered her inside, closed the door and eased down in the seat behind the desk.

“Right about now, you’re thinking of running,” he said, and he proceeded to go through some emails on his laptop. “But you can’t.”

Lyla huffed. She was tired of this knight-in-shining-Stetson routine, especially since Wyatt didn’t seem the knight type. More like a pirate. A hot one.

Something she wished she hadn’t noticed.

Hard not to, though, with those rock-star looks and that devil-may-care attitude. This was exactly the kind of man she avoided.

But was attracted to anyway.

Lyla shoved that attraction aside, put her hands on his desk and leaned in to get right in his face. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

He held up his finger in a wait a second gesture and finished reading the email. “All my brothers are tied up with this shooting and the investigation. My brother Declan sent the camera to the crime lab,” he said when he finished reading whatever was on the screen. “I was right about it not having a memory card, but we might get some prints or trace. Plus, Declan might be able to track down who bought it. It’s not something available at the corner store.”

Good. That was a start, to find out who was behind this, but Wyatt went on to the next email, ignoring the fact that she was right in his face and wanting an explanation about his yes answer to Stella about her being his girl.

And why he believed she was carrying his child.

“My other brother Clayton is looking into who just hired Dean Mobley for his new civilian job with the watchdog group,” Wyatt went on. “But his new employer is actually a dummy corporation. A good front, though, and it won’t be hard to break through the layers, especially since it was probably set up just to hire him. It’ll disappear as soon as they’re finished with Mobley and you.”

She thought about that a moment. “How’d you know my boss would be offered this new job?”

“Criminal informant. The same one who said I’d signed your death warrant.”

The new info whirled through her head like a tornado, and even though Lyla wanted to appear strong and resolute, she wasn’t. To make matters worse, she had a sudden dizzy spell and would have sagged to the floor if Wyatt hadn’t caught her.

But he didn’t just catch her.

He scooped her up in his arms and deposited her on the leather sofa positioned in front of a massive wall of books.

“You need me to call a doctor?” he asked, going to the small fridge in the corner. He brought her back a bottle of water, and he opened it for her. The man certainly knew how to take control.

Something she had to put a stop to.

“No doctor. I just get dizzy sometimes.”

She wouldn’t mention the occasional morning sickness and these strange hormonal changes in her body. Sometimes she felt like crying her eyes out, and other times she felt like a randy teenager.

Heck, she hadn’t been a randy teenager even when she was in her teens.

Her body was playing one of those stupid hormone tricks on her now. Probably because Wyatt was there, just inches away, with his drop-dead-hot face looking down at her.

Like her earlier thoughts, she pushed that hormone surge aside, too.

She had help with that. Also practically right in her face was the photo on the end table. A beautiful woman in a wedding dress. Smiling from ear to ear, and her dreamy smile was directed to her equally dreamy husband.

Wyatt.

“My wife,” he explained, following her gaze. “Ann passed away two years ago from a rare blood disorder.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyla said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Words wouldn’t help the hurt that she still heard in his voice. But since he’d brought up his wife, it was time to start addressing the thousand-pound gorilla in the room.

“Why do you think I got your embryo?” she asked.

He did another of those effortless shrugs. “It went missing, and the theft was well hidden. The clinic didn’t discover it until last month. Since then, I’ve tried to locate every woman in the state who used a donor embryo to get pregnant. Only twenty-three.”

“That you know of,” she argued. “Maybe some clinics keep that private, since the law requires it.”

He gave her a flat look. “I am the law, and I was looking for something that belonged to me.”

Yes, and he’d obviously been tenacious. “There’s no proof I’m carrying your baby.”

“You’re the only one who makes sense. There was the wife of a high-level D.A. looking for a donor embryo, but the Webb investigation couldn’t have been shifted to him. You’re the only one who could affect the outcome of this case.”

She shook her head. “That still doesn’t prove it.”

“No, but a test would, and we’re lucky that you’ve already had an amnio.”

Lyla flinched. “How’d you know that?”

Another flat look. “I had someone look into your medical records.”

“You hacked them.”

“Yeah,” he readily admitted, and he wasn’t apologizing for it. “You had one done three weeks ago to rule out a uterine infection. You didn’t have an infection, but at your request the doctor didn’t provide you with other info.”

“I didn’t want to know if it was a boy or girl.”

“That’s fine. That’s not important anyway, but what is important is that test would have given me confirmation that you’re carrying my child.”

It would. And that suddenly terrified her. If this was his baby, there was no chance this man would just back away. “I can call the doctor and ask for the results.” Even though that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She really had to get out of there, and she reached in her purse for her phone.

Wyatt stopped her again. “Your test results were stolen.”

Lyla looked up at him, blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Stolen,” he repeated. “The doctor hasn’t told you yet because I’m not sure he knows. The results went missing from the lab, but there’s another sample of the amniotic fluid. The thief didn’t manage to get that, because it was stored at a different location in case the doctor wanted it retested.”

Oh, God. All of this had gone on, and she hadn’t even known about it.

“I’m having that second sample of amniotic fluid tested,” Wyatt explained. But he wasn’t so calm and cool right now. A muscle flickered in his jaw. “And I should have the results in a day or two.”

“I should be the one to get those results,” she challenged.

But that was as far as her challenge got, because his phone rang. Maybe because he thought she might bolt, Wyatt kept his eyes on her while he took the call.

“Declan,” he greeted, and even though she couldn’t hear what his brother was saying, it caused his forehead to bunch up. “I’m putting you on speaker so Lyla can hear this.”

Please, not another death threat or news of some other violation to her privacy that she was just being informed about.

A moment later, his brother’s voice began to pour through the room. “As I said, the lab lifted a print off the camera, and we got a match. Nicky Garnett. He’s got a record a mile long.”

Lyla shook her head. The name meant nothing to her. “You know him?”

“We know him,” Declan confirmed. “He works muscle for a rich rancher, Travis Weston. No record for him, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have one. The man’s dirty and with plenty of money to cover his dirty tracks.”

Another head shake. “What does this Travis Weston have to do with me?” she asked.

Declan didn’t jump to answer that time. “I’ll let Wyatt finish the explanation, and I’ll get started on bringing Travis in for a little chat.”

“Do that,” Wyatt agreed, and he ended the call and looked at her. “Travis and Jonah Webb were old friends.”

Oh, she didn’t like the direction this was going. She’d just been put in charge of the evidence gathered from Webb’s murder, and now his old friend had ties to a man who’d not only spied on her but had fired shots at Wyatt?

“Webb used to send some of the boys from Rocky Creek to work on Travis’s ranch,” Wyatt continued. “Including me. At best the arrangement was shady, probably illegal, and there were rumors that Travis used some of the boys to move illegal weapons in and out of Mexico.”

She pulled in her breath. “He used you for that?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Probably because Kirby was looking out for me. Kirby was a marshal at the time. A good one. And they wouldn’t have wanted him to have an insider like me in on their schemes.”

Lyla tried to make sense of all of this, but she couldn’t. “So, maybe Travis wants to make sure I help prosecute his friend’s killer? Maybe he doesn’t want me dead after all.”

Wyatt made a soft grunt. “Webb and Travis had a falling-out. No one’s sure about what exactly, but they were bitter enemies before Webb was killed.” He paused. “Travis is a suspect in his murder, and the Rangers have been questioning him along with keeping any evidence they might have against him close to the vest. I’m sure Travis would like nothing more than the head CSI to clear him of any possible charges.”

She swallowed hard. Lyla had thought it would help if she had a name to go with this mess, but from the sound of it, that wasn’t a name she wanted associated with her.

“Travis is a killer?” she risked asking.

“Oh, yeah. If he hasn’t killed already, it’s only because he hasn’t had to. He usually hires muscle like Nicky Garnett to kill for him.”

It felt as if a chunk of ice had settled in her stomach, and Lyla pressed her fingertips to her mouth to try to steady the trembling. “How do we get out of this?”

“For starters, we lie. And not some little white lies, either. Big ones. We turn this con right on them and eliminate their reason for wanting you involved in any of this. That’ll keep you and the baby safe.”

Maybe it was the dizziness, but Lyla wasn’t following him. “How do I do that?”

Wyatt stooped down, going onto one knee so they were literally eye to eye. “You’ll marry me—today.”

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