About the Author

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 Texas 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.

Wild Stallion

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prologue

San Antonio Maternity Hospital

“Shhh,” Bailey Hodges heard someone say. “If they find you, they’ll kill you.”

Bailey tried to open her eyes to see who had just spoken that warning, but her eyes didn’t cooperate. Neither did the rest of her. Everything felt thick and sludgy.

“Who are you?” Bailey managed to mumble. But someone quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t let them hear you,” the person whispered. It was a woman. But why had she said that? “If they find you, they’ll kill you.”

Bailey heard someone else call out her name. Not a woman this time, and the person sounded angry. Or something.

What was going on?

She was in the San Antonio Maternity Hospital. There shouldn’t be anyone shouting for her. She shouldn’t be in danger.

Bailey forced herself to think. It wasn’t easy. She’d just come from surgery where she’d had a C-section because her baby had been breech. The doctor had tried to give her an epidural, but when it hadn’t taken effect, she’d been given a general anesthetic instead. It had knocked her out completely.

“My baby!” Bailey tried to say, but the hand stayed clamped over her mouth.

Bailey struggled as much as she could, but her arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Your son is safe,” the woman said.

“Son,” Bailey mumbled. She had a boy.

“Stay quiet,” the woman warned. “They’re close to us now.”

Bailey didn’t know who “they” were, but the man calling out her name was indeed nearby. He sounded right outside the door. Oh, God. Was he really going to try to kill her? If so, she couldn’t fight back. But she had to do something to protect her baby.

“I have to leave,” the woman said. “It’s the only way I can keep your baby safe. Do you understand?”

“No.” Bailey didn’t understand. “What’s happening?”

“Gunmen have taken the entire ward hostage. If I don’t get out now, they’ll find the baby. They might hurt him to get to you. Hush, or you’ll get us all killed.”

Bailey shook her head and managed to force her eyes open. She still couldn’t see clearly. Everything was swimming in and out of focus, and she could barely make out the woman, or rather, her outline. But Bailey couldn’t see her face.

She heard the sound then. Not the man yelling for her. Not the woman. It was a kitten-like cry, and she instinctively knew it belonged to her baby.

“My son,” Bailey mumbled.

The woman slid her hand away from Bailey’s mouth and hurried toward the door. She didn’t tell Bailey where she was going, but Bailey could see that the woman had something in her arms.

A baby wrapped in a blue blanket.

The woman ducked into the hall and disappeared.

Bailey tried to scream, to tell her to bring back her son. But she remembered the warning.

“Hush, or you’ll get us all killed.”

That robbed her of what little breath she had, and she felt the tears burn as they slid down her cheeks. She was helpless. Too weak to move. Too drugged to do anything to stop this nightmare.

Bailey had no choice. Her eyelids drifted down, and the darkness took over.

Chapter One

Four Months Later:

The Malone Estate, Copper Creek, Texas

Jackson Malone watched the woman from the surveillance monitor on his desk. She was either the most inept Christmas tree decorator in the state, or else …

Jackson didn’t want to go there yet.

By nature, he wasn’t a trusting man, and now that he had become a father his distrust was stronger than ever. That probably had something to do with the threat he’d received just that morning.

He glanced at the letter, the warning spelled out in letters cut from magazines.

“Jackson Malone, I won’t forgive and forget. Watch your back.”

It was the third one he’d received in the past month. No name. No postmark. The others had been placed on his car windshield, but not this one. This particular letter had been left on the sidewalk outside his downtown San Antonio office building. It’d been a blind spot for security cameras, so there was no footage of the person who had left it for the night watchman to find, but Jackson had some ideas. After Christmas, he’d deal with it.

Or maybe sooner.

His attention went back to the surveillance monitor and the inept tree decorator. The leggy brunette was still trying to untangle some Christmas lights, a task she’d been at for the better part of an hour. She was perched on the lower rung of a ladder next to the ten-foot-tall blue spruce. She had a wad of lights in her hands, but her attention was everywhere but on the task she’d been hired to do. Unlike the others who had accompanied her.

On the split screen, Jackson could see there was a crew on the grounds, decorating the trees and shrubs of his country estate. Another woman was in the great room arranging greenery and crystal angels around the massive stone fireplace. Another pair was on the porch dealing with the door and white marble columns.

So who was this woman on the ladder?

And was she doing surveillance for a robbery, or God knows what else?

He looked through the names of the work crew that his groundskeeper had provided. Her name was either Marita Hernandez or Ann Reeves. Since she wasn’t Hispanic, he was betting she was the latter.

Jackson grabbed the phone from his desk and called Evan Young, his business manager. It was three days before Christmas, and Malone Investments was closed for a two-week holiday break, but as Jackson expected, Evan was in his office because he gave new meaning to the word workaholic.

Jackson had once given Evan a run for his money in the hours-at-work department, but since his son, Caden, had come into his life, Jackson had cut way back, not just on the hours, but on his commitment to the job. These days no one could accuse him of being married to his company.

“Evan,” Jackson greeted, and even though he was eager to get down to business, he paused and waited for Evan, just in case the man wanted to mention the significance of this particular date.

“No need to call and check up on me,” Evan stated. His voice was void of any emotion. “I’m doing fine.”

Jackson doubted that was anywhere near the truth. It was the six-month anniversary of Sybil Barnwell’s death. She was Evan’s fiancée. Evan might be cold-blooded in business, but Jackson knew that the couple had been in love, and even though Evan had refused to take much time off, he’d been devastated by Sybil’s death.

And Jackson suspected that, deep down, Evan blamed him for what had happened. Hell, Jackson blamed himself.

“I have a possible problem,” Jackson explained. Best to get right onto the business at hand, rather than dive back into those memories of Sybil’s death. “Tap into the security feed here at the estate and zoom in on the Christmas tree decorator in the foyer. That’s camera eight. Have security run the facial recognition program. I want to know who she really is.”

“You think she’s connected to the threatening letter left for you this morning?” Evan asked.

“Could be.” And that’s what he intended to find out.

Jackson ended the call, got up from his desk and headed to the foyer. It was nearly two p.m., which meant Caden would be up from his nap in a half hour or so. Waking time was Jackson’s favorite part of the day, and he wanted this possible situation with the decorator resolved by then.

He went through the maze of corridors and smiled when he thought of Caden again. In another two years or so, his little boy would no doubt be riding a kiddy tricycle around the mansion on these now pristine hardwood floors. He’d be laughing, making noise, and Jackson couldn’t wait.

There’d been a dark cloud over this place for too long.

Jackson kept his footsteps light, and paused at the top of the stairs so he could look down at the decorator and observe her in the flesh. She had finally made it to the point where she was actually stringing lights, but her gaze was still firing all around.

She wore jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater. Both nondescript. She definitely wouldn’t stand out in those clothes. He could say the same for her short, light-brown hair and her lack of makeup.

“Looking for something?” he asked, his voice echoing through the foyer.

She gasped, obviously startled, and nearly fell off the ladder. Jackson started down the stairs in case he had to pick her up off the floor, but she managed to keep her balance, even though she dropped the lights. Some of the bulbs shattered when they smacked against the glossy marble, and bits of colored glass scattered everywhere.

“I’m, uh, decorating, of course,” she said, sparing him a glance. She got off the ladder and onto her hands and knees to gather up the glass bits. “You scared me. I thought you’d be at work.”

“I’m working at home today,” he volunteered. In fact, he’d been in a business meeting with a client when the decorating crew arrived. It was the reason he was still wearing a suit.

Jackson walked across the foyer toward her, and glanced up at the security camera tucked in the corner behind a sconce. Evan was no doubt watching them, and probably trying to get a good shot of the woman’s face so he could process it through the facial recognition program.

“Leave the glass,” Jackson instructed, so she would stand. It’d give Evan a better angle of her face. “The housekeeper will take care of it.”

But the woman shook her head and stayed down, and she didn’t look at him when she spoke. “My boss would fire me if I didn’t clean up after myself. Besides, we wouldn’t want to have the floor messy when you bring your baby boy in to see the tree for the first time.”

Everything inside Jackson went still.

Maybe it was the latest threatening letter, or maybe this was just his paternal instincts yelling out for him to keep Caden safe. Either way, he wanted to know who the hell this woman was.

“Who said I’d be bringing down my son to see the tree?” he challenged.

Her hand froze over a bit of broken glass, and Jackson saw her fingers trembling. That was his cue to reach down, catch onto her arm and haul her to her feet. Her expression froze, caught somewhere between shock and fear.

“I asked you a question,” he reminded her.

He put his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it to force eye contact. Finally, here was something that wasn’t nondescript. Her eyes were a cool ocean blue. Definitely memorable.

And disturbing.

Jackson didn’t exactly step back, but he didn’t approve of the way she or her eyes made him feel. There was that hit of attraction, something he didn’t intend to feel when it came to her or any other woman he distrusted.

She tried to shrug. “It’s in all the newspapers that you’re in the final stages of adopting a baby.”

“I am.” And he left it at that.

“He’s four months old, I heard. The right age for really noticing the lights and decorations. Since this is his first Christmas, I just figured you’d bring him down to see the tree as soon as we were done.”

That was the plan. But it wouldn’t happen with this woman around.

She stepped out of his grip, turned away from him and discarded the bits of glass into a trash bag hung alongside a box of ornaments. “I hope this doesn’t sound too personal, but what made you choose adoption?”

Oh, this conversation seemed well beyond personal. “Let’s just say I recently had a life-altering experience, and it put things in perspective.”

“Yes,” she agreed, as if she knew exactly what he meant. “You survived a plane crash about six months ago. I read about that, too.”

“You read a lot about me.” Though he knew his survival had been a front page story in all the state’s newspapers.

He’d been the only survivor among the eight people who’d been on his private jet when it had to make a crash landing. Evan’s own fiancée, Sybil, who was one of Jackson’s attorneys, had been killed. So had two of his department CEOs and other employees. They were all on that plane because he had insisted they accompany him to a hostile takeover meeting in Dallas. Jackson, on the other hand, had literally walked away, but he’d walked away a changed man.

A lot of lives had changed that day.

“I need to get something out of the work van,” the woman mumbled.

Jackson didn’t intend to let her get away that easily. He caught onto her arm again. “Who are you?”

“Ann Reeves,” she quickly supplied. Again, she broke his grip.

He stepped in front of her and blocked her path. “Ann Reeves?” he repeated. “Why were you looking around the place as if you planned to steal something?”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head. A thin breath left her mouth. “I would never take anything that wasn’t mine. Never.”

Jackson expected her to break the eye contact, to try to move away from him again, but she didn’t. She held her ground and stared at him. “Can you say the same?” she asked.

Now that was a question he hadn’t expected. “Would I take something that wasn’t mine?” he clarified. “It depends.”

She blinked, her memorable blue eyes narrowing. “You know what I’m talking about.”

No. He didn’t. Nor was he sure why he’d given her that “it depends” answer. The old Jackson would have said that. And in the past he would have meant it. There’d been a time in his life when he would have acquired property, or whatever he wanted, not through illegal means exactly, but he hadn’t been above stooping to down-and-dirty business tactics.

That was before Caden.

Before he’d held his son and had his world and his heart turned upside down.

Jackson was about to ask her to explain her last comment when his phone rang. While still blocking her path, he took the cell from his pocket and answered it.

“Evan,” he responded. “What do we have?”

“Well, she’s not Ann Reeves,” Evan quickly provided. “Her driver’s license photo is a match to a woman named Bailey Hodges. She’s thirty-four, and her address is on the north side of San Antonio.”

Bailey Hodges. The name sounded familiar, but Jackson couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it before.

“I’ll have her background in a few minutes,” Evan added, and he hung up.

Jackson put away his phone and got right in her face. “All right, why are you here in my home, Bailey Hodges? Did you leave that threatening letter for me?”

She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind. “What threatening letter?” And she was too surprised and concerned for that not to be a real question.

He continued to study her. “The one I sent a copy of to the San Antonio Police Department so they could investigate it.” That was all Jackson intended to tell her about that matter. “Why are you here?” he repeated.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took out a folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket. For a moment, he thought it was another threatening letter, but it was a pair of photographs that looked as if they’d been copied from the computer. She thrust the paper at him.

“Do you know either of these women?” she demanded.

He glanced at the two photographs. They were both strangers. “What does this have to do with you being here at the estate?”

“Everything,” she whispered. A moment later, she repeated it.

Tired of this confusing conversation and whatever game she was playing, Jackson stepped out of her way. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“No.”

“No?” It wasn’t often anyone said that to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time. The woman was gutsy. Or maybe not very bright.

“Look at the pictures again, please. Perhaps the hair color isn’t the same. They could have done something to alter their appearances when or if you met them. So look hard and tell me if you know one or both of them.”

Jackson didn’t bother looking at the photos again, and he handed the paper back at her. “I don’t know them. Or you. But I do know you’re lying about who you are, and I know I want you out of my house now.”

She hesitated and then turned as if she might just do as he’d ordered. But she stopped. “What kind of letter did you receive?”

He mentally groaned. “I don’t intend to discuss that with you.”

More hesitation. “Was the threatening letter a warning about me?”

“What?” This conversation had just taken a more confusing turn. “Why would it be?”

She seemed relieved. Or something. And she waved him off. “I’ll go, for now. But I can’t stay away. I have to know the truth about him.”

Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dumbfounded, but he sure as hell was now. He watched her walk to the double entry doors and wondered if he should stop her and demand an explanation. But his phone rang again.

“Evan,” he said, answering the call.

“I found out some things about Bailey Hodges,” Evan started. “She’s single. A graphic artist who designs promotion brochures and such. She’s actually done some work for us. She was engaged, and her ex-fiancé was her business partner, but things must have soured, because he moved to Europe nearly a year ago, and she removed him from her business records.”

“She did work for us,” Jackson mumbled. “Maybe that’s why her name sounds familiar.”

“Maybe. But it’s probably because she was one of the San Antonio maternity hostages.”

Now that did more than just ring bells. Four months ago, a group of pregnant women, new mothers, medical staff and even some babies had been taken hostage by two masked gunmen. They’d been held for hours.

Several people had died that day, including a cop’s wife.

That instantly gave Jackson a connection with her. They’d both survived something that others hadn’t. It’d been the top news story for weeks, even after the two gunmen and their boss had been captured.

But then Jackson remembered something else about that hostage situation.

One of the newborns had gone missing.

He remembered the Amber Alert that had been issued, mainly because he had been involved with the preliminary adoption process at the time. Even though he’d yet to hold Caden or even know of his existence, Jackson was now fully aware of how heart-crushing it would be to lose a child.

A child that had come into his life just two weeks after the hostage situation and the Amber Alert.

“Yes,” Evan said, as if he knew exactly what Jackson was thinking. “Bailey Hodges’s baby is the one the cops couldn’t find after they rescued the hostages.”

Jackson’s stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot.

“A coincidence,” Jackson mumbled.

“Could be. Caden’s four months old. The age is right, but the adoption lawyer you’re using is reputable.”

Still, it was a private adoption, and there’d been room for some loopholes. None that he knew about.

But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been some.

That’s the reason he’d been checking and double-checking the paperwork. In fact, he’d had a conversation with Ryan Cassaine, the attorney, just the day before. Jackson hadn’t wanted to have a problem arise down the road. He wanted to confront any possible issues now, and work them out before the adoption became final in less than a week.

“The lawyer wouldn’t have dealt in stolen babies,” Evan added. “Ryan Cassaine went to law school with Sybil, and she had nothing but high praise for him.”

“Make sure everyone else feels the same about him,” Jackson insisted. And he cursed. This couldn’t be happening. Caden was his son in every way that mattered.

Bailey Hodges’s lost child had nothing to do with them.

Jackson replayed the look in her eyes. The cryptic warnings. The strange conversation. And he prayed he was right—that this was all just some bizarre coincidence that could be explained away.

“There’s more,” Evan continued. “The cops are concerned about Miss Hodges. She’s apparently been conducting her own investigation into her son’s disappearance. She’s hired someone to hack into files. She’s been following the suspects, so much so that one of them got a restraining order.”

Jackson shrugged. “Her behavior is understandable. She wants to find her son.”

“I agree. But there’s more. Not long after the hostage incident ended, someone tried to kill her. The cops think it was the gunmen or their boss.”

This wasn’t helping his decision to go after her. It was only creating more sympathy for the woman. “But the threat is over, now that the gunmen and their boss are dead, right?”

“Maybe.” And Evan paused, the moments crawling by. “The last time she spoke to the cops, she said someone was still following her.”

Hell.

“Was the threatening letter a warning about me?” she’d asked.

Now, he understood why she wanted to know. But she’d also told Jackson that she couldn’t stay away, that she had to know the truth about him.

Him.

Had she meant Caden?

Cursing even more, Jackson headed for the door so he could try to figure out what was going on. But he got there just in time to see Bailey Hodges driving away in the work van she’d ridden into the estate.

Jackson clicked off the call with Evan so he could phone Steven Perez, his estate manager, and have someone shut the front gates. Bailey Hodges probably wasn’t headed to the address on her driver’s license, and with her suspicions about someone following her, she likely wouldn’t be an easy woman to find. Jackson didn’t want to lose her.

But he was damn concerned about who she might really be.

His house manager answered, but Jackson didn’t get a chance to issue the order to shut the gate.

“We have a problem, sir,” Steven said. “An exterior sensor was tripped, so I checked the security feed. We have an intruder.”

That didn’t ease the knot in his stomach. “You don’t mean the decorator in the van, do you?”

“No, sir. I mean the person who just scaled the west fence on the back side of the property. He’s armed, and he’s making a beeline for the estate.”

Chapter Two

Bailey blinked back the tears. She couldn’t cry. She’d save those tears for later. For now, she needed to get off the Malone estate and away from whoever had been alerted because of Jackson Malone’s suspicions about her.

Her face had no doubt been caught on a security camera. She’d anticipated cameras of course, but she hadn’t anticipated that she would alarm the estate owner to the point where he would have her investigated.

It’d been a huge mistake to come here today.

She wanted to kick herself for not being able to resist the chance to see the baby that Jackson Malone was adopting. Now, her weakness had put her in a position where she had to regroup. Heaven knows how long it would be before she got another opportunity to get back on the grounds and see the baby.

The estate road leading to the highway was a series of deep curves, and she had to ease up on the accelerator. She certainly couldn’t risk crashing into one of the massive pecan trees that were on each side of her.

An injury could delay her search.

Bailey spotted the wrought iron gates just ahead. In only a few seconds she’d be on the highway where she could turn onto one of the side roads and get out of sight of anyone that Jackson would send to follow her.

But the gates started to slide shut.

Her heart went to her knees, and despite the danger from the trees, she hit the accelerator. She had to make it through them before they closed. If not, Jackson might have her arrested for trespassing.

Bailey took the last curve, the tires squealing in protest at the excessive speed, and for just a moment she lost sight of the gates. When she came out of the other side of the turn, her heart did more than drop.

The gates closed right in front of her.

Bailey slammed on the brakes. She smelled the rubber burning against the asphalt. Her body lurched forward, the seatbelt digging into her stomach and chest. And then there was the sound. Metal slamming into metal when the front of the van collided with the wrought iron.

The airbag deployed, smacking into her and pinning her against the seat. Bailey didn’t take the time to determine if she was hurt. She had to get out of there now. There was a footpath gate next to the wrought iron ones, and she might be able to leave that way.

She fought with the airbag and managed to shove it aside. Maybe because her hands were shaking, getting out of the seatbelt was no easy feat either. She finally got her fingers to cooperate and she disengaged the lock. Ready to run, Bailey threw open the door.

But she didn’t get far.

A rail-thin young Hispanic man came bursting through the shrubs and trees. She recognized him. He was with the estate gardening crew who had told them where to put some exterior lights.

He was dressed in work clothes, jeans and a dirt-splattered denim shirt, and with his breath gusting, he caught onto her arm. “Mr. Malone says you’re to come with me,” he told her. “A man just climbed over the security wall. An intruder.”

Oh, God. “Where is he?”

He started to run with her in tow. “He’s headed to the main house.”

Bailey didn’t know how she managed to hold on to her breath after hearing that. Was the intruder after the baby? Was that what Jackson’s threatening letter was all about? He was a very wealthy man, and someone might be attempting to kidnap the little boy for ransom.

She had to help keep the baby safe, even if he wasn’t hers. And even if it meant putting herself in danger.

Bailey didn’t ask where the man was taking her, but she did make sure he wasn’t armed. There was no visible weapon, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to be hired muscle. If she had to, and she might, she was fairly certain she could fight him off if he turned out to be someone who wasn’t concerned about the baby’s safety.

They cut through a garden on the east side of the property. The man didn’t stop running. Neither did Bailey, though the icy December air was knifing through her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She hadn’t put on a coat for her escape, and the chill was slowing her down.

She finally spotted the estate, but the man stopped next to some thick shrubs and checked around them before they ran the last hundred yards across the lawn to an east entrance. It was a sunroom decorated with plenty of lush green plants and pristine white furniture.

“Miss Hodges,” someone said the moment they entered.

Jackson Malone was standing there in the opening that divided the sunroom from the main house. Unlike when she’d seen him earlier in the foyer, he’d ditched his perfectly tailored midnight blue business coat and loosened his tie. His storm black hair was rumpled. His eyes were troubled.

And he had a gun pointed at her.

Bailey wanted to scream at herself. How could she have been so stupid? She’d bought the gardener’s story about an intruder, and in doing so, she’d come right back to the lion’s den.

Jackson looked at the gardener who’d rescued her. “Thank you, José. Now go back to your quarters and lock the door. I don’t want anyone out on the grounds until we know what we’re up against.”

The man gave a shaky nod, mumbled something in Spanish and hurried away, leaving Bailey alone with an armed man.

“I would have gone after you myself,” Jackson said, as a threat, “but I didn’t want to leave my son.” He motioned for Bailey to follow him.

She didn’t. Bailey stayed put. “Is there really an intruder?”

“There is.” His tone left no room for doubt. He held up the sleek, multifunction cell phone he had in his left hand, and on the tiny screen she saw what appeared to be video feed from security cameras. The man was dressed in camouflaged clothing and a ski mask.

And he was carrying an assault rifle.

“My advice?” Jackson added. “Bullets can go through glass, so if I were you I’d move.”

She glanced at the sunroom, three sides of which were indeed glass. Still, Bailey didn’t budge. Going inside could be just as dangerous as staying put. Jackson didn’t have his gun aimed at her exactly, but it was angled so that aiming it would take just a split second.

“Is this some kind of trick?” she asked. “Do you want me dead and out of the way?”

Jackson just stared at her. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Bailey shook her head. “The last thing I want is you dead.” And she meant it.

He stared her, those ice-gray eyes seemingly going right through her. “Get inside,” he ordered. “You might not value your life, but I’d prefer you stay alive so I can figure out who the hell you are.”

She debated it, but in the end she couldn’t dismiss the part about bullets going through glass. Yes, despite his comment that he preferred her alive, Jackson Malone might indeed have murder on his mind, but right now Bailey felt safer with him than she did with the ski-masked intruder. She only hoped she didn’t regret trusting her instincts. She certainly didn’t have a good track record in that department.

Bailey stepped out of the sunroom and into the main part of the house, and Jackson immediately closed the double doors and locked them. He pressed some numbers on a security system keypad, and then stepped in front of her to prevent her from going any farther.

“We’ll wait here,” he insisted.

Here was a casual living room with a butter-colored sofa. Floral chairs. A fireplace. There were toys in a basket on the hardwood floors.

That caused her breath to catch.

“Who’s the intruder?” Jackson asked her, checking the phone again.

Bailey pulled her attention from the toys and that phone so she could shake her head. “I don’t know, but maybe he came here to kidnap the baby.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Jackson mumbled, making it sound like profanity. He shoved the gun into the back waist of his pants, crossed the room, pressed some buttons, and a bar opened from the wall. He poured himself a glass of something from a cut crystal decanter, tilted back his head and took the shot in one gulp.

“You have someone after the intruder?” she asked. “Someone who can stop him from getting inside?”

“I do. And my son has been taken to a panic room where no one can get to him. We’ve called the sheriff, and he’s on the way. Now, what does the intruder want?”

Because her legs felt shaky, Bailey stepped to the side so she could lean against the wall. “I don’t know.”

“Then guess,” he demanded. “And while you’re guessing, try to figure out how this intruder could be linked to you.”

“To me?”

“You,” he verified.

He walked back to her and got close. Probably to violate her personal space and make her feel uncomfortable.

It worked.

Everything about him, from his clothes to his scent, to the liquor on his breath, screamed expensive, but that look he was giving her was from a powerful man who knew how to play down-and-dirty.

An attractive man, she reluctantly admitted to herself.

That’s the first thing Bailey had noticed about him when she saw his photo in the newspapers. With his perfectly cut, but a little too-long hair, Jackson Malone looked like a bad boy rocker turned billionaire. He was drop-dead handsome, and despite the lousy circumstances and her personal feelings about him, her opinion about his looks didn’t change. He was the kind of man women noticed, and she apparently wasn’t exempt from that.

He glanced at her jeans pocket. “Why did you ask me about the two women in the photos?”

It was a simple question; and unlike many questions, Bailey actually knew the answer to this one, but she had to debate how much to tell him. She could just come clean about everything. That could cause him to gather up his soon-to-be adopted son and go deep into hiding, where he could keep the baby away from her.

Bailey wouldn’t blame him for that.

But she couldn’t risk Jackson leaving with the baby. She had to know the truth.

“Four months ago, when those men stormed into the hospital and took everyone hostage, I was in recovery. I’d just had a C-section.” Bailey had to take a deep breath. She didn’t remember much about that afternoon, and what she did remember wasn’t good. Just blips on her mental radar. “I didn’t know at the time, but the gunmen wanted to kill me.”

“Because they thought you could identify them,” he supplied. “I read about that.”

She nodded. She’d read all about it, too—after the fact. “Apparently, the two gunmen tried to break into the hospital lab the day before, and they thought I’d seen them without their masks. I might have,” she admitted.

“You don’t remember?” he questioned.

“No. I was there for some pre-op tests, and my mind was on the baby I was going to have. But they didn’t know that. They thought I was a threat. So they found out who I was and made a bogus call for me to come to the hospital for a bogus appointment. But I was already at the hospital because my labor started early.”

He checked the phone monitor again. “Why didn’t the gunmen just go into the recovery room after you?”

Bailey heard the question, but she had to know what was going on. Jackson kept looking at the phone, but he was giving her no clues as to what was happening. “Where’s the intruder?”

“Still at the rear of the property. My men are closing in on him. Now, back to the question. Why didn’t the gunmen go into recovery after you?”

“Because someone hid me, and my baby. I don’t know the person who did that, but I think it might be one of the two women in those photos. Both of them worked at the hospital at the time of the hostage incident.”

He made an impatient circling motion with his finger when she stopped. “Keep going.”

“The woman told me she had to take my son because the gunmen might hurt him.” Bailey had to pause again when she relived those last moments with her baby. “She took him and disappeared. I’ve been looking for him ever since, but I think someone doesn’t want me to find him. There have been three attempts on my life.”

Jackson made a sound of mild interest. “I read the gunmen are dead now, and the person who hired them is in prison.”

She nodded. “But I’m pretty sure someone has continued to follow me. I don’t know if it has anything to do with my missing son, or if it’s just someone who wants to do a news story. Some of the former hostages have been hounded by reporters.”

No sound of mild interest this time. He groaned, a deep rumbling in his throat, and cursed. “Still, someone tried to kill you, but you decided to come here anyway?”

“Those attempts on my life have nothing to do with this visit.” She couldn’t say it fast enough. “It’s been days, weeks even, since anyone has followed me. That’s why it was time for this visit. I thought I should come here today… .”

“Say it,” Jackson demanded when she stopped.

Bailey wasn’t sure she could. She’d searched for so long, and it was bittersweet to think she might be this close and still be so far away from having the life she’d planned.

“I thought if I could see the child you’re adopting,” she whispered, “that I would know if he was—well—mine.”

There it was. She’d just let him know that Caden James Malone could be the child who had been stolen from her.

And in Jackson’s mind that meant she was the enemy.

She’d read all about him. The ruthless business practices, the endless string of properties and businesses he’d acquired, often through hostile takeovers. His failed marriage in his early twenties to a woman who’d turned out to be a gold-digging opportunist. Rumors were, the sour relationship had embarrassed him and his family and had cost him millions. And it had also caused him to vow to stay single for the rest of his life.

Obviously, that vow hadn’t extended to fatherhood.

Bailey had poured over every article she could find, and it seemed as if, more than the money and his billion-dollar portfolio, the one thing Jackson Malone wanted most was children.

Now he had one.

And God knows what he would do to hang on to the baby.

“Do you have any proof?” he asked. There was pure skepticism in his tone.

“Some. I’ve researched all the adopted baby boys who were born in Texas on his birthday, and Caden is the only one I haven’t been able to exclude.”

He gave her a flat look. “Who says your son was adopted? He could have been taken to another state, or across the border. His adoption could have been illegal. Or maybe there was no adoption at all.”

Yes. And that possibility had caused her many sleepless nights. Not knowing what had happened was the worst.

“I have my son’s DNA,” she continued. “I got it from the umbilical cord that had been saved after his delivery. The police kept that quiet so no one in the media would report it. They wanted to be able to use it when and if they found a baby matching my son’s description. But the police also gave me a copy of those test results, and I was hoping you’d let me compare that DNA to the baby you’re about to adopt.”

His right eyebrow lifted, and he gave her a cold, hard stare to let her know that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“It’s best for all of us if we know the truth,” Bailey said, still trying.

“Really?” he challenged. “Here’s what I do know.” But a sound cut off whatever he’d been about to say.

It was a loud bang.

A gunshot.

Jackson’s attention went straight to the phone, but he turned the screen so that she couldn’t see.

“Because you came here today, you might have endangered my son,” he continued, with his gaze fastened to the screen. “If what you’ve told me is true, someone could still be trying to kill you. So why the hell would you want to involve an innocent child in all of this?”

Her eyes burned, and Bailey tried to blink back the tears. She wasn’t quite successful. “Because I don’t think anyone is still trying to kill me. Besides, I had to know if he’s my son.”

“And then what?” Jackson snapped. He glared at her.

That was the hardest question of all, because she couldn’t just walk away until she’d learned the truth.

She swallowed hard. Even if Caden was indeed her son, Jackson Malone wasn’t just going to let her claim him. He no doubt approached fatherhood like he did his business, and that meant she was in another fight for her life.

“Caden’s adoption is legal,” Jackson concluded. “No one stole him from you. His birth mother is an unmarried college student from Austin who couldn’t raise him, so she contacted a private adoption agency after he was born.”

That was info that Bailey hadn’t been able to uncover. But it didn’t mean it was true. Maybe it was a story concocted by the woman who’d stolen Bailey’s newborn.

His phone buzzed, and Jackson glanced down at the screen. He pulled in a deep breath and used the device to make a call. “Well?” he said to the person who answered.

Since this was likely about the intruder, Bailey tried to listen, but she couldn’t hear the explanation that Jackson was getting. She held her breath, waiting.

“My men have the intruder,” Jackson relayed to her when he hung up.

Relief flooded through her. “He’s alive?”

“For the moment. He was wounded when he tried to run. That was the shot we heard.”

But he was still alive. Bailey went to Jackson and caught onto his arm. “Have your men question him. Find out why he was here. You’ll learn that he didn’t come here because of me. He’s probably a would-be kidnapper after the baby.”

“The sheriff just arrived,” Jackson said, not addressing anything she said. He stared at the grip she had on his arm, and didn’t continue until Bailey drew back her hand. “And here’s what I’m offering. You have two choices. You can leave now and look elsewhere for your missing baby. That includes you never attempting to contact me or my son again.”

Her relief over the intruder’s capture was short-lived. Bailey shook her head. “But don’t you want to know the truth?”

Jackson shrugged. “I already know the truth, and Caden is not yours. He’s mine. Leave now, and someone on my staff will drive you back to San Antonio.”

She couldn’t leave. She might be just a room away from her baby.

“And if I refuse to leave?” Bailey challenged.

Another shrug. “Simple. The sheriff will arrest you for trespassing and take you to jail. Your choice, Miss Hodges. Which will it be?”

Chapter Three

Jackson rarely bluffed, but that’s exactly what he was doing now.

Part of him, the paternal part, wanted this woman as far away from Caden as possible. He didn’t want to believe a word she was saying. He wanted to dismiss those photos she carried around like emotional baggage.

But he couldn’t.

He wasn’t the type of man to live in denial.

“Okay,” Bailey said. She nodded, drew in a long breath. “Have me arrested, but I’ll pay the fine, or whatever, and keep coming back. I’m not going away. I will learn the truth.”

So his bluff had failed. She hadn’t backed down on her story. Still, that didn’t mean she was Caden’s birth mother. It didn’t mean anything other than she was a woman who didn’t give up easily.

Well, she’d met her match, because he didn’t give up at all. Ever.

He checked the phone to see the progress going on outside. His men still had the intruder pinned down, and he could see the sheriff and his deputies approaching the ski-masked man.

Jackson wanted to be out there. He wanted to be the one who got answers from this SOB who had dared to break in to the estate. But he had to stay put. He certainly didn’t want to leave Bailey in the house with Caden. The first thing she would do is go look for the baby. She wouldn’t find him, but he didn’t want his staff to have to deal with containing her.

In the distance, he could hear the siren of an approaching ambulance. It wouldn’t be long before the sheriff came inside to give him an update. By then, Jackson had to decide what to do about the brunette in front of him.

“If this is some kind of scam,” he said to her, “I’ll destroy you.” Best to put that out there right up front. He might have toned down his ruthlessness, but he’d resort to a few old habits if this woman was out for money.

“It’s no scam. I just want to know if he’s my son.”

Jackson moved closer to her again, because he knew it made her nervous. The last time he’d gotten in her face, her bottom lip had trembled. He didn’t get any satisfaction at the idea of frightening her, but it might be the fastest way to get to the so-called truth that she claimed she wanted.

He slid his gaze over her. All over her. And he mentally pulled back a little when he felt that punch of attraction again. Hell. Hadn’t his past taught him anything? He couldn’t live his life thinking below the belt.

“Caden doesn’t look like you,” he pointed out.

She touched her hand to her short, spiky hair. Yep, she was trembling all right. “This isn’t my natural color. I dyed it after the attempts on my life. I have black hair, like yours.”

Like Caden’s.

But he kept that to himself.

“What color are his eyes?” she asked. Despite the trembling, she no longer seemed afraid. She seemed—well—hopeful.

“Blue.”

Similar to Bailey’s.

But many people had blue eyes, he reminded himself. Not that shade though. When he’d first seen her eyes, he’d thought they were memorable. And they were. Because they were a close match to Caden’s.

“Blue,” she repeated, smiling. The smile quickly faded though. “You said he was safe? Are you sure?”

“Positive.” To prove it to himself, he used his phone to scan through the security cameras, and he zoomed in on the panic room. Caden was there, still asleep. His nanny, Tracy Collier, was holding him.

“May I see him?” Bailey’s voice had so much breath in it that it hardly had any sound. Also, there was that hopefulness in it again.

But Jackson didn’t show her the images on his screen, and he wouldn’t. Not until he’d done some investigating, and even then it might not happen.

He used the phone to call Evan again, and, as expected, his business manager answered on the first ring.

“Is everyone okay?” Evan immediately asked.

Jackson settled for saying, “They caught the intruder.”

“Yes. I was watching the security feed, but I’m on my way out to the estate now. I figured you might need some help.”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” His gaze met Bailey’s, and he didn’t think it was his imagination that she was holding her breath. “I need you to get the contact info for Caden’s birth mother.”

Evan didn’t answer for several moments. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

A lot of money had gone into that private adoption. Well over a million dollars. The attorney had said it was to expedite the process and to pay the birth mother’s expenses, both medical and the cost of her return to college. Jackson hoped that was all the money had been used for, and that it wasn’t part of some illegal process.

“Anything else?” Evan asked.

Jackson looked at Bailey again. “Yes. Get me a detailed report of the hostage incident at the maternity hospital. I want everything the cops have, including info on employees they might have suspected in the disappearance of Bailey Hodges’s newborn.”

Evan made a sound of disapproval. “That sounds like a messy can of worms you’re opening, Jackson.”

Yes, it was, but this particular can was already open, and the proof was standing in front of him.

“I have the women’s names,” Bailey volunteered the moment he ended the call with Evan. “And I’ve ruled out everyone else who was on the maternity ward that afternoon. Well, hopefully. There’s always the possibility that the woman who took my son wasn’t on any official records. She could have come in with the gunmen.”

And if that were true, then there’d be no way to trace her. That would mean no definitive answer for Bailey. That, in turn, meant she wouldn’t make a hasty exit out of his life. The fastest way to end this was to figure out what had happened to her son.

“Give me the photos,” he instructed.

She pulled the folded sheet of paper from her jeans and handed it to him. But not without touching him. Her fingers brushed his. She was still trembling.

Hell.

He didn’t want her fear and emotions—or his reaction to them—to have any part in this. He wanted a cool detachment between Bailey and himself while he helped her, and himself. But that zing of heat didn’t equal anything cool. Jackson was betting the detachment wouldn’t go far, either. And that meant he had to do something about it.

Bailey jerked back her hand as if he’d scalded her, and she dodged his gaze when she spoke. “The first woman is Shannon Wright, an RN who was on the fourth floor of the hospital that day, but no one remembers seeing her after the gunmen arrived. She claims she hid.”

It was possible Shannon Wright was telling the truth—hiding would be the logical thing to do—but Bailey was right to suspect her.

“The second one is Robin Russo. She works in records in the administration section. The other floors of the hospital were evacuated after the gunmen arrived in the maternity ward, and someone saw Robin leave her office, but no one, including the police, actually saw her leave the building.”

Jackson gave that some thought. “You have a motive for either of these women?”

She shook her head. “Well, unless they got money from selling my baby to someone.”

And that was something Jackson couldn’t rule out—yet—but he would.

“What about your son’s father?” Jackson asked. “Maybe he’s the one who had your son taken?”

Another headshake. “My baby’s father broke off things with me when I told him I was pregnant. He took a job in Europe, and I haven’t heard from him, other than an email to remind me that he wanted nothing to do with the child.”

Jackson tried not to have any visible reaction to that, but her story only made him feel more sympathy for her. And empathy, because of his own bad relationship. He had to keep his distance from her, because empathy and attraction were a lethal combination.

“If I find out you’re lying about any of this …” he reiterated.

“I know. You’ll destroy me. And if I find out you knowingly stole my son, all your money and power won’t stop me from coming after you.”

He almost smiled. Almost. Considering her predicament, she still had some fight in her.

That wouldn’t mix well with the attraction, either.

“The sheriff will come inside any minute,” he reminded her and himself. “If you’re here, he’ll want to know why. Are you prepared to answer his questions?”

Jackson didn’t want her out of his sight, but he also didn’t want to risk her being underfoot. He would have her followed when she left, so he could keep tabs on her until he had more information about her and her missing child.

“I’m prepared. Well, as prepared as I can be. The last time I was in protective custody, I was nearly killed.” She paused. “I suppose it could happen again. That’s the reason I’ve avoided the cops, but I’m too close to turn back now.”

It was what he expected her to say. So he had to do whatever was necessary to speed up this process and get her out of his and Caden’s lives.

“May I see Caden?” she asked.

“No.” Jackson didn’t even have to think about it.

She nodded, and paused as if she might challenge that. But she didn’t.

The intercom system made a slight buzzing sound. A moment later, his household manager, Steven Perez, spoke through the tiny speaker built into the wall. “Sheriff Gentry is out front waiting for the ambulance. He says once he has the man on the way to the hospital, he wants to speak to Bailey Hodges if she’s still on the grounds.”

The color drained from Bailey’s face. “How did the sheriff know I was here? And how did he know my name? Did you tell him?” She still didn’t look ready to bolt, but it was possible she might faint. Or hyperventilate.

“No. I didn’t tell him your name, but you can trust the sheriff,” Jackson told her. “I’ve known Alden Gentry my whole life, and he wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

Still, Bailey shook her head … and then she tried to grab his gun. He snagged her wrist, but she tried to get the weapon with her left hand.

Jackson finally just caught onto her shoulders and put her against the wall. Body-to-body. Not the brightest idea he’d ever had, but it stopped her.

“Please,” she said, her warm breath brushing against his mouth at the same time her breasts pressed against his chest.

That “please” wouldn’t work, but Jackson knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep touching her like this.

“Why does Sheriff Gentry want to see Miss Hodges?” Jackson asked, directing his question to the intercom so that Steven would hear him.

“Because she might be involved with the intruder,” Steven answered at the same moment that Bailey issued a denial.

“I had nothing to do with this,” she insisted.

“Not according to the sheriff,” Steven contradicted. “When Sheriff Gentry approached the man, he said Bailey Hodges brought him to the estate with her.”

Her breath was gusting even harder now, and she frantically shook her head. She also struggled to break free of his grip. But Jackson held on.

“Did the intruder say why she brought him here?” Jackson asked.

“He did.” Steven paused again. “He claims Bailey Hodges paid him to kill you.”

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