Abducted_ Reconnaissance Team ( - Archer, T.C_

Abducted Texas Rangers: Special Ops Reconnaissance Team

T. C. Archer

AmazingBooks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 T. C. Archer http://www.tcarcher.com Cover art by Rebecca Poole dreamss2media Photos: Hot Damn Designs

Broken Arm Publishing

Contents Acknowledgements 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 Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two From the Authors CHAIN REACTION CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO

Acknowledgements Many, many thanks to Rebecca Poole for a spectacular cover. You’re the best. Words aren’t sufficient to thank Kimberly Comeau. Your help is priceless.

Chapter One Nina Bruno Designs caters to the modern woman. The mature woman who knows that life begins after forty. Liz mentally repeated the litany as she blinked at the strobe of photoflashes illuminating the night outside the limousine. The car slowed behind a line of other limos entering a circular drive and Francis Remmey’s estate came into full view. Spotlights crisscrossed the Edwardian columns and stone façade of

the mansion. Only a few hours ago, she had been giddy at the prospect of getting caught on camera by the reporters that now crowded each approaching vehicle and lined both sides of the walkway leading to the hacienda’s steps. It seemed the entire state of Texas had converged on El Paso for the fashion event of the year, the fifth annual G International Gala hosted by Larissa Remmey, owner of G International fashion magazine. Now, however, getting noticed was a double-edged sword.

Liz shifted her attention to the two co-workers sitting across from her. Richard Anderson, VP of Marketing of Nina Bruno Designs, and Brenda Pierce, Head Designer. “This is a bad idea,” Liz said. “You and your dress are going to be a hit,” Richard said. “Stop worrying.” The knot in her stomach cinched tighter. “What in God’s name were we thinking? We have an arsenal of models, any of whom would pant at the opportunity to debut the first design in our winter collection. Just because Lisa

wasn’t able to accept our offer to replace Tanya didn’t mean we couldn’t find someone else. Why didn’t we try?” “Name someone else who lives in El Paso,” Richard said. “Even better, name someone old enough who would fit into that dress. You’re the one who’s been selling the idea that older women don’t want to see teenagers modeling the clothes they buy.” Liz tugged the bustier top higher. She had to remember to make the darts deeper for women her size. “My attributes aren’t enough to warrant me

modeling this dress.” “Yes they are,” he replied. “But the point is moot. We had no choice.” Liz tamped down on the panic that began three hours ago upon watching the news report that their New York buyer Genevra had declared bankruptcy. That meant the three hundred thousand dollar payment they were expecting in sixty days wasn’t coming. An hour after they’d learned about Genevra, they got a call from a local reporter that the model they’d hired to debut their winter-line dress had just been seen getting into a

limo outside her downtown El Paso hotel wearing a layered chiffon flamenco-style dress that screamed Jorge Estonia—their direct competition in Dallas. In a span of three hours, Nina Bruno Designs—the company she had poured her life savings into—had gone from the verge of financial independence to teetering on financial ruin. The worst part was that the employees and investors now expected her to pull off what Tanya could have accomplished in her sleep.

When Brenda had approached Liz with the design early that spring, she’d fallen in love with the strapless, bustierstyle leather bodice and chic gathered skirt design. But the thought never entered her mind that she might be forced to wear the twenty-seven inch dress in an effort to keep the company from going under. Another Xenon-flash flared, jarring her from her thoughts. Brenda leaned forward and straightened the strap on Liz’s three-inch heel sandal. “You look as good as Tanya

in that dress.” Liz pursed her lips. “We promoted Tanya as the model for this dress. People are expecting her, not a replacement ten years older, and certainly not a company executive.” “You’re only seven years older,” Richard said. “But you don’t look a day over her thirty-seven.” Liz shot him a dry look. “If that’s meant to boost my ego, it doesn’t.” Richard returned the look. “Get your priorities straight, Liz. You want our first invitation to Larissa’s gala to be

our last? Without this event, our winter collection ends up in bargain stores and we don’t get invited to another major fashion show this year.” Liz knew he really meant, ‘We won’t be in a position to go to another major fashion show this year—maybe no other fashion show ever.’ The company no longer had the luxury of growing slowly. This was Nina Bruno Designs’ only chance to stay in business. “Damn that bitch,” he muttered. “Richard,” Liz admonished. He shook his head. “Don’t start with

me. You hired Tanya.” “She’s the best model in her age bracket,” Liz said. “And, as you pointed out, one of the few who would fit into this dress.” His eyes lowered to her chest. “Not anymore.” *** From the corner of his eye, Ben saw another limo stop in front of the estate and turned his head in time to see the rear door open and Richard Anderson emerge from the vehicle. Anderson turned and extended a hand into the car’s

open doorway. A slim arm reached toward him and cameras flashed in quick succession as a long, shapely leg stretched toward the paving stones. Elizabeth Monahan’s face came into view, illuminated by camera lights. Ben lifted an eyebrow in appreciation as she rose to her full five foot nine—no, he dropped his attention to her three-inch heels—her six-foot height. He raised his gaze up those long legs, then the pleated skirt that brushed toned thighs, and blew out a silent whistle. Whoa. Her breasts nearly

spilled over the bodice of the leather top —the dress that was kicking off the winter collection for Nina Bruno. His appreciative mood vanished. What was the Creative Director of Nina Bruno Designs doing wearing the dress Tanya Xavier—his date—was supposed to be modeling? NB Designs had hired him as Tanya’s escort. He was the arm candy that said, Buy this dress and land a man like me. Something had gone wrong for Elizabeth Monahan to be wearing the

main attraction. Was he to escort her or did the change of plans include another escort? Maybe she decided that Tanya would wear another dress. He didn’t like surprises. She should have called. But why would she? He was just the hired help. Richard Anderson slipped Ms. Monahan’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the steps. Toward Ben. She glanced left, and the press snapped photos and thrust microphones toward her. Then she spotted him. Her brow furrowed.

Understanding hardened her expression and Ben read in her eyes a mirror image of his thoughts: What the hell are you doing here? He’d bet a thousand bucks someone forgot to call him to cancel. Damn good thing, too, because he’d have come no matter what. They reached him. “This isn’t going to work,” Elizabeth hissed under her breath. She had that right. Was that a hint of nipple peeking over the bodice of her dress? The damn thing was scandalous, even for these over-the-top designers.

“You knew Adam was going to be here, Liz,” Richard said in a low voice. “You hired him.” Adam Billings. His alias. She flashed a dazzling smile that caught Ben off guard before he caught sight of a reporter pointing a camera at them. The camera flashed and her smile didn’t falter when she said under her breath to Anderson, “You know goodand-well I forgot he was going to be here, and you conveniently forgot to remind me.” She darted a glance over her

shoulder, clearly worried her whispered words might have been overheard by a reporter who had edged closer. Not much chance of that happening amid the babble of other reporters. She really couldn't ask him to leave, but he had to play the part of a pliant employee. Ben angled his head away from the reporters in case any of the vultures could read lips. “I can leave, if you prefer, ma’am.” “Liz, half of Texas is watching us,” Anderson said. “Make a scene now, and it’ll be all over the state before the

evening is over. We need him.” Something Ben couldn’t quite define flickered in her gaze, then she shot Anderson a look to kill. “I sleep with the CEO, Richard. You’re fired.” Ben bit back a laugh. Anderson nodded. “Sure thing, Liz. As soon as the party’s over, I’ll pack up my desk.” He transferred her hand to Ben’s arm. “She’s all yours. Good luck.” The determination to get to know her better had formed two days ago, during a photo shoot with him and Tanya

after the Thompson Agency sent him in to replace the model originally hired to escort Tanya. Ben glanced at her legs, then reminded himself not to combine business with pleasure. So what if he hadn't expected to see her tonight dressed in an outfit that heated his blood? He had to get inside the Remmey’s mansion. Business now. Pleasure later. Liz gripped his arm and he had the feeling she was considering a quick getaway. Ben covered her hand with his

—if nothing else to keep her from bolting. Liz Monahan was his ticket through the door. He led her up the stairs and a man dressed like a British soldier opened the door at their approach. They entered the foyer and the door closed behind them, cutting off the voices. Ben squinted against a glow of chandelier light bouncing off the white marble floor. A sweeping staircase to their right led to a gallery that encircled the foyer. Directly ahead, three arched doorways opened to the rear of the estate. An escape route if

anything went wrong. But Liz Monahan as his date might ensure nothing went wrong. Slipping away from her would be easier than ditching Tanya. If Liz was all business as she had been during their shoot two days ago, she wouldn’t miss him. He steered her left, toward the music wafting through an arched doorway. They reached the room and he turned Liz right in the direction of a dancefloor near a twelve-piece orchestra. Ben waited until they’d passed a

man and woman talking in low tones before whispering to her, “Is that true?” She looked up. “What?” He leaned closer. “Do you really sleep with the CEO?” Frustration flickered across her features. “No, but I’d give him a go if he really would fire Richard.” Ben laughed. He just bet she would. “He’s right, you know. You are the one who hired me.” Her eyes narrowed. “You I can fire —and don’t think your good looks will stop me.”

So she had noticed. During the photo shoot she’d appraised him like a prize horse. Ben shrugged. “I’m an independent contractor, if you recall. I don’t have to work for Nina Bruno Designs again.” “Nina Bruno Designs is the best designer this side of the Mississippi. You’d be a fool not to want to work for us again.” She actually sounded offended. “Maybe that means I should sleep with you,” he said. She shot him one of the looks she’d

given Anderson. “I don’t rob the cradle.” “Then I guess we have a deal.” She opened her mouth for a retort but, instead, smiled at a large group they skirted a large group “Not that I’m disappointed,” he said, “but where is Tanya, by the way?” She slowed and her smile wavered. “Over there.” He looked across the sea of bodies in the direction she stared. Tanya stood surrounded by a group of men. The man on her left shifted so that his face came

into view and Ben’s heart jumped to a hard hammer. Carlos Sanchez. The human traffics dealer wasn’t supposed to be in Texas.

Chapter Two Liz stood stock still until Tanya’s attention caught on her. The model’s gaze flicked to Liz’s dress, then her eyes swung back to her face in wide-eyed surprise. “She seems surprised to see you— or to see you wearing that dress,” Adam whispered. So he’d noticed that, too. Liz, Richard, and Brenda had been so consumed with finding a replacement for

Tanya that they automatically concluded she jilted them because Jorge offered her more money. Tanya’s reaction, however, suggested something else. She hadn’t expected to see the dress at all. Disbelief turned to fury. Tanya hadn’t dumped them for a better offer. She had sabotaged them. “She decided to play for another team at the last moment, didn’t she?” Adam said. Liz snapped her gaze up to meet his. His attention shifted from the couple to her. She thought she discerned tension in

his jaw, but it wasn’t there now and he lifted a brow. “By the look on your face, I’d say I’m right. Who’s the competition?” he asked. Liz hesitated, but realized the news of Tanya’s defection was likely scheduled for the next print run of every gossip column in Texas. “Jorge Designs.” “Is that who she’s with?” Liz shifted her attention to Tanya’s escort. He was tall, early forties, absolutely gorgeous, with jet black hair

and honey brown eyes. The poster boy for the South American gigolo. “Not Jorge Estonia,” she murmured aloud. “And he’s too old to be a model.” “So are you.” Liz cut Adam a narrow-eyed glance. “You really know how to sweet talk your boss.” He shrugged. “I’m not the one who said a woman isn’t attractive after twenty-five.” “You’ll likely think differently when you reach thirty.” He smiled and her heart skipped a

beat. His smile could stop traffic. Suddenly, she wondered if she’d been going about selling clothes the wrong way. This man was a dynamite package. His blue eyes smoldered—a stunning combination enhanced by his black tux. Six-foot-four of pure male. No contacts, no drug-induced biceps, just good oldfashioned Mother Nature at her everloving best. But despite his looks, it was his smile that truly set him apart from the other models. It didn’t matter who wore the dress, only that when a woman wore it, this man would smile at them.

“Why didn’t you smile like that for the photo shoot?” Liz asked. Amusement lit his eyes. “Now that I know you like my smile, I’ll be sure to do it more often.” Liz nodded. “You’re going to sell my dress for me.” “That’s what I’m here for. But you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re going to give Tanya a run for her money.” He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed her ear as he whispered, “What do you say we go on the offensive and say hello to her and her date?”

Liz imagined Adam’s full mouth pressed against her ear. She jarred from the thought. Good Lord, the man was sixteen years her junior—and she was his boss. And he was staring expectantly. “What?” she blurted. A very young female model on the arm of a high school graduate slowed as they passed, and Liz realized her outburst had caught their attention. Liz became aware she was squeezing Adam’s bicep and started to pull away. He covered her hand with his. “Nope,” he said. “We have to look like

we can’t live without each other.” Liz glanced down at his hand on hers. The light scratch of calluses against the top of her hand surprised her. Odd. Most male models were as big a prima donna as their female counterparts and seldom lifted a finger for fear a drop of sweat would spoil their looks. But Adam had a down-to-earth quality. Yet tonight, he exuded a dangerous edge that hadn’t been present during the photo shoot. She glanced at Tanya, who had turned her back and was speaking with a

group of people. Tanya clutched her date’s arm, and Liz knew she was sending a signal: I don’t need Nina Bruno Designs. She would regret that decision. A waiter passed in front of Liz. Adam released her and snagged two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Liz. She took a large swig. A woman at least sixty years of age raked her gaze down Adam’s body. He seemed not to notice and slipped an arm around Liz’s waist. Warmth spread through her stomach. Champagne did that to a

person. Her second drink nearly emptied the glass. Liz spotted Larissa Remmey just as the woman turned and met her gaze. The older woman’s eyes lit. Attention fixed on Liz, she said something to the man on her right, then started across the room. Liz smiled and kept her gaze on Larissa as she whispered to Adam, “You get me through this night and there’s a bonus in it for you.” “Is it the bonus we discussed earlier?” “Earlier—” She jerked her gaze

onto his face. “I told you, I don’t rob the cradle, nor do I mix business with pleasure. Understand?” “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “No business with pleasure. I’ll be sure to keep them separate.” Liz blinked and wondered whether he had noticed her reaction to him a moment ago. Dammit, she had no one but herself to blame for that. Before she could say more, Larissa reached them and extended her arms. “Darling,” she said with the barest hint of a Russian accent.

Liz shot Adam a quelling look as Larissa pulled her into a cheek hug. *** Ben kept his expression casual. He didn’t typically like surprises, but Liz Monahan as his date and Texas’ most wanted human traffics dealer showing up in El Paso tonight were two surprises he could live with. It looked like he wasn’t going to have to go snooping around the Remmey’s mansion, after all, to discover their connection to Carlos Sanchez. He could go straight to Sanchez. If he could get the man alone.

Liz slipped her hand through the crook of Ben’s arm. Before he could corner Sanchez, he’d have to slip away from Liz Monahan. He shifted his attention and found himself staring straight down her cleavage. He jerked his gaze up as Larissa said, “So this is the dress we’ve all been waiting to see.” The older woman nodded approval. Liz laughed, low and sensual, and Ben’s groin surprised him by giving a hard salute. He hadn’t been this intensely affected when he’d met Laura five years ago. He’d been crazy about her, had

even considered marriage. But after two years of dating, he still wasn’t home enough to ask her to marry into an empty house, and she simply fell out of love with him. Staying closer to home won’t be a problem with Liz. The thought brought him up short. He’d thought about her a lot these last two days, but when had he decided he wanted to spend more time at home with a woman? Liz released his arm and Ben resisted the impulse to grasp her hand and put it back. Tonight was about

business—for both of them—and he couldn’t afford to let her get in his way. “I doubt you’ve been waiting all season to see a Nina Bruno design,” she said to Larissa. “On the contrary,” Larissa replied. “Your lineup last year was impressive. I’ve been watching you, as have others. I’m intrigued by the fact you chose to wear the debut dress yourself. Very bold. The leather top fits you to perfection—or I should say, you fill it out to perfection.” Pink tinged Liz’s cheeks. “We use

the gifts given us,” she said. “And why not?” Larissa said. She turned to Ben. “And who is this luscious thing?” “Mrs. Remmey, meet Adam Billings,” Liz said. “Adam—” “No introductions are necessary,” he cut in. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Remmey.” Larissa’s eyes lit with pleasure. “Ohh, a charmer.” She stepped closer and curved her fingers around his arm. “I think you’ll be my pet for the evening.” “Pet for the evening?” a female

voice said. Even as Ben registered the familiar voice, the speaker stepped into view. He froze. The last person he expected to see was Assistant DA Sheila Antonio. He couldn’t allow her to discover that Carlos Sanchez occupied the same room with her. Ben snapped from a brain freeze and said, “You’re Sheila Antonio.” He extended a hand. “Adam Billings. I’m a big fan.” Her brows lifted in an expression of polite curiosity. She slid her hand into

his and gave a hard squeeze, intended to remind him of their last encounter. He felt the curious gazes of Liz and Mrs. Remmey and flashed his most charming grin. “You made big news last year when you prosecuted that drug dealer the Border Patrol caught with two kilos of cocaine. The guy put out a hit on you, but that didn’t stop you from putting him away for twenty years.” “Not Border Patrol,” Sheila said. “The Texas Rangers caught him.” “What’s the difference?” “There’s a world of difference.” A

glint appeared in her eyes. “They didn’t catch the man contracted to kill me.” They weren’t supposed to. He was the hitman, and she knew it. “Isn’t he delicious?” Mrs. Remmey interjected. Sheila nodded. “Yes, he is.” “But he’s spoken for.” Mrs. Remmey glanced at Liz. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?” “My escort is your escort,” Liz replied. Ben glanced at Sanchez. The man laughed at something another guest said.

Ben had to break free of the women. He couldn’t chance Sanchez leaving the party. “We’ll talk later, Sheila,” Mrs. Remmey said. “I have to show off Liz to my other guests.” “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Antonio,” Ben said. She inclined her head. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to talk more later?” “I wouldn’t count on it,” Mrs. Remmey said. “I plan to keep him to myself.” She started away and Ben turned his attention to her. “Come along,

Liz,” she said. “I believe tonight is going to be your lucky night.”

Chapter Three Liz’s excitement grew as Larissa Remmey worked the room. Two small but respectable boutiques fawned over the dress—after Larissa informed them the dress was sure to be a hit. They begged appointments early next week and Liz promised her assistant would call them first thing Monday morning. Larissa then left with Adam to, as she said, “show off my newest friend” and make all the other women at the

party jealous. Liz released a silent breath and accepted a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter as she milled about the room. The evening’s rocky start might just end in financial salvation. No thanks to Tanya. Liz scanned the room until she spotted Tanya on the dancefloor. She sipped her champagne and stared until Tanya’s eyes met hers. Their gazes locked no more than a second before Tanya’s date whirled her, but the anxiety in Tanya’s eyes said she had gotten the message Liz telepathed: I know you

sabotaged us. Liz jarred from her thoughts when Adam came into view, dancing with Sheila Antonio. Liz recognized Sheila’s interest in him. In her job, Liz watched women fawn over male models, but Sheila Antonio’s attitude bordered on proprietary. Lust came in all forms and, in this case, the form was five foot eight with blonde hair coiled atop her head, and an hourglass figure that would make any full-bodied model jealous. She’d draped an arm around Adam’s neck like a familiar lover and

now stared at him as if intending to eat him on the spot. Adam stared politely down at her, though Liz was certain she detected frustration in his expression. Sheila’s hand slid from Adam’s neck and she flattened her palm against his chest. He maneuvered a turn and Liz realized he would see her gawking. She whirled away and snatched a shrimp appetizer from the tray of a passing waiter. “Ms. Monahan.” The male voice startled Liz and she turned to face the speaker. The tall, dark-haired man flashed a

smile. “I’m Reid Lowman.” He extended a hand. Liz shook his hand and didn’t miss the flick of his eyes to her chest. If buyers noticed his attention, they would buy the dress and promise to make their customers the belle of the ball in this latest Nina Bruno design. “I had no idea Nina Bruno’s Creative Director would be modeling this year’s winter debut design,” he said. That made two of them. “Life is full of surprises.” She tried to pull her hand

free. He held fast. “Who are you representing tonight?” she asked. “Larissa invited me—which means I’m free for the evening.” “Ms. Monahan has a date for the evening.” Liz turned at the sound of Adam’s voice, and Reid released her hand as Adam slipped an arm around her waist. Reid gave Adam an assessing look and a corner of his mouth lifted. He returned his attention to her, reached inside his front jacket pocket, and handed her a card. “Give me a call when

you drop off the help this evening. I’m a night owl.” She took the card. “I’ll put you in my contacts for future reference.” His smile suggested a personal contact instead of a professional one. He left and Adam’s hand shifted to her spine as he urged her in the opposite direction. “Is sex really how you sell designs?” he asked. Liz shifted her gaze to his face. “Why do you think women wear designer clothes?” “Because the fashion industry

convinces women they have to pimp themselves out.” “You’re very naive, Mr. Billings. Women have been pimping themselves out since the first male showed interest in a female.” Something undefined flickered in his eyes and was replaced by grudging respect. “That dress’ll get the job done,” he said. “But do you really need that guy?” She laughed. “He’s just another model trying to get a leg up.” “Trying to get your leg up,” Adam

said. “I suppose that’s a requirement for getting the job?” Liz’s amusement died. “That’s not how I hired you, if you recall.” “True. But maybe you didn’t like me.” “I like your looks just fine.” He grinned. “Ms. Monahan, I do believe I’ve made you angry.” It was her turn to be surprised. He had pushed her buttons—twice in fact— a feat not easily accomplished. Which meant she was the one who hadn’t separated business from pleasure. Liz

spotted a dress she was sure had been copied from another designer’s previous winter collection. That eliminated them from the competition. “How did you manage to escape—” she started to say ‘Ms. Antonio,’ realized he’d know she’d been watching them dance, and managed, instead, “— Larissa?” “I told her I had to save you from the wolves.” Liz riveted her gaze onto him. “Wolves?” Her outburst earned her a curious look from a man to her left. She

urged Adam two paces away, then whispered, “That’s not your job description. You’re supposed to make me look good.” “Then I’d better get to it.” He grasped her hand and she startled at the gentle pressure or his fingers on hers as he worked his way through the crowd. They neared the orchestra and she registered the waltz they played—and Adam’s intentions. “Mr. Billings,” she began, but he turned and slipped a hand around her waist.

Adam drew her into a tight turn and her pulse quickened as her breasts flattened against his chest. She glanced down and couldn’t halt a small gasp at seeing her breasts straining against her bodice. Liz looked up to find him staring down at her, one brow raised. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to get us arrested.” He gave a low chuckle that carried with it something indefinable. “There’s a first time for everything.” The firm pressure of his fingers on her back tightened as he deftly steered

her away from a couple dancing too close. “You’re enjoying this,” she said under her breath. Another laugh. What was up with this man? She had seen a lot of shameless flirting and blunt propositioning in her years in the fashion industry—not to mention, the three years as Creative Director for Nina Bruno Designs—but she had never been… What? Accosted? Worse, she had to admit, was the fact that it had been some time since a man held her so intimately. Adam sidestepped another

couple, executing an expert turn. Liz’s grip on his back tightened and her fingers brushed the soft hair at his neck. A shiver raced down her spine. She grimaced inwardly. It really had been too long since she’d done anything except access men for their ability to make a model look good. The song ended and relief kicked in. A slower song began and Liz hurried to pull away, but his hold tightened. “We haven’t gotten everyone’s attention yet.” He pulled her closer and slipped his leg between hers.

Her head swam when the steely thigh muscles pressed her leg as he swayed with the music. Eyes locked with hers, he placed her hand against his chest. “Relax, Ms. Monahan, you’re the gem of the ball. You’re supposed to be enjoying the party.” “I’m supposed to be working.” “That means playing the part of a woman who’s full of life, who knows she’s adored. Isn’t that what Tanya would be doing if she was wearing that dress?”

He had a point, damn him, but she answered, “As you pointed out, I’m no model.” He leaned close and pressed his jaw to her cheek. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His voice, low and deep, sent another shiver down her back. “You’re a real woman,” he said. “Not one of those made-up paper dolls.” His thigh brushed the juncture between her legs. Liz became aware of the warmth of his hand on her back. She held her breath, half expecting his fingers to slide down over the curve of

her buttocks. But his gentle pressure remained confident and warm on the small of her back. “Those made-up paper dolls sell dresses,” she managed in a voice that came out low and breathy. “Trust me, you’re the best advertisement Nina Bruno could have gotten for this dress.” “I won’t be propositioned, Mr. Billings.” She closed her eyes and gave thanks that her voice held more conviction than she felt. “When I proposition you, Ms.

Monahan, you’ll know it.” “I’m old enough to be your mother,” she said. “And don’t say but you’re not my mother. I am your boss.” “Two points we’ll discuss later,” he said. She snapped her head up. He smiled and her stomach flipped. Had she lost her mind? She dealt with gorgeous men every day. Why did this one evoke such giddy flutters? The smile. That’s what did her in. That smile will sell dresses, she admonished herself. Remember that and

nothing else. “Right now we have more pressing issues.” he said. “Excuse me?” Liz bumped into a hard body behind her. She whirled and something hard struck her hip. Adam turned with her, not missing a sway to the musical beat. She’d bumped into Tanya’s date. “Forgive me,” Tanya’s date’s cultured Mexican accent caught Liz’s attention. He made eye contact while still dancing with Tanya. “I hope I did not hurt you.”

Liz smiled. “Not at all.” Was that a gun she’d struck? “My fault completely,” Adam interjected. “I was distracted.” The man’s eyes remained fixed on Liz. “I see why.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Tanya purse her lips. “Nice to see you, Tanya,” Adam said. Tanya flashed a bored smile. “I don’t recall your name.” “Adam,” Liz cut in, “you were just about to get me some champagne. If you

will excuse us.” She nodded at the couple, then pulled free of Adam and led him from the dance floor.” “What was that all about?” she demanded once they were several paces from the nearest guests. His gaze returned to the couple. “What do you mean?” “You intended to confront her.” Adam looked at her, brow furrowed. “All I did was say hello.” “You purposely bumped into them.” “I’m an excellent dancer. He bumped into us.”

“You said you were distracted,” she hissed. He shrugged. “I was being polite. I didn’t peg you as being so easily intimidated.” “I’m not. But I have some sense.” Liz caught sight of Larissa. The older woman’s eyes shifted to Adam's face. She smiled and crooked a finger in a come here motion. “Seems your benefactor is requesting our presence,” he said. “Your presence,” Liz corrected. “We’ll work that to our advantage.”

He grasped her hand and started toward Larissa. He held her hand lightly, but firmly. If she tugged free it would be obvious she wasn’t pleased. “I promised a bonus if you got me through the night,” she said under her breath. “Make a scene with Tanya, and I’ll bury you.” His head snapped in her direction. Finally, she’d gotten his attention. “I believe you mean it,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he was worried or amused. “Don’t try me,” she said. “I think it would be worth seeing

you try,” he replied. “What the—I’ll do more than try—” She broke off as Larissa stepped away from the woman she’d been talking with and took three steps to meet them. “Darlings,” she cooed, “I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine. Martin,” Larissa called to a man standing a few feet away. “Come here, darling.” Liz turned her attention to the short, wiry man who joined their group. He reached Larissa’s side and said in a British accent, “The party is

marvelous, Larissa. And you look smashing.” He kissed her cheek. “Where is that granddaughter of yours? You promised she would be here. I brought her something special from London.” “Christina is under the weather,” Larissa replied. “Poor thing,” Martin said. “Nothing serious, I hope.” “Just a cold, but I insisted she rest.” “Of course. I’ll have the gift sent round tomorrow. It’s an outfit designed by Chelsea that will look smashing on her. Don’t worry,” he quickly added,

“it’s appropriate for a fifteen-year-old.” Larissa laughed, but Liz thought she sounded tired. “I trust you completely,” Larissa said. “And I’m sure she’ll love it. Now, I want to introduce you to the designer I was telling you about last month. Liz Monahan with Nina Bruno Designs. Liz, meet Martin Stayes, head buyer for LaRouche.” For a heartbeat, Liz couldn’t think. Martin Stayes...LaRouche? LaRouche—one of the most exclusive boutiques in London? She

resisted an impulse to leap and shout yes! and barely managed a casual, “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Stayes.” “Well, any designer friend of Larissa’s is a designer friend of mine,” he said. “And, Martin, darling,” Larissa said, “in case you didn’t know it, Liz is wearing Nina Bruno’s newest confection.” “The dress you told me about?” he asked. “The one and only.” He turned his attention to Liz and

ran his gaze down her body. “The dress is stunning, and she fills it out beautifully.” “Of course she does.” Larissa winked at Liz. “Now, I’m sure you two have business to discuss and, as we all know, Liz never mixes business with pleasure. I, on the other hand, have no such compunctions. So I’m stealing this young man from you again, Liz dear. I think, this time, I’ll keep him.”

Chapter Four “Very nice of you to introduce Ms. Monahan to your friend,” Ben said once he and Larissa were out of earshot. Her lips twitched in amusement. “Do you know who he is?” “No. But I’m betting you wouldn’t waste your time introducing her to a nobody.” “I don’t know any nobodies,” she said. Ben laughed. “I’m sure you don’t.

Did you see Tanya?” “Oh, yes. She’s with Carlos Sanchez.” “I don’t believe I know him, either.” Larissa slanted him a curious glance. “I don’t believe I know you, darling.” Ben flashed a smile, one he knew had stopped more than one woman in her tracks. “I’m just one more working model.” “I know every working model in this town. You’re not on that list.”

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked. “I’m the soul of discretion.” “I’m working on my masters in biotechnology at the University of Texas.” He shrugged. “Education is expensive. A friend suggested I do a bit of modeling to make ends meet.” Her brows rose. “Biotechnology?” “Are you saying a man can’t have looks and brains?” he asked. “On the contrary, I suspect you have a great many brains.” “You’re a terrible flirt, Mrs. Remmey.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “My husband isn’t the jealous type.” “Lucky me,” Ben said. “Indeed,” she replied. “So, shall we find out why Tanya is here with Carlos Sanchez and wearing Jorge Estonia’s dress instead of that delicious confection Liz is wearing?” Ben smiled. “You are a troublemaker, Mrs. Remmey.” She squeezed his bicep. “Then I am in good company.” The problem, Ben realized twenty

minutes later as Larissa hugged yet another model, was escorting a woman everyone liked. He didn’t blame them, but even two minutes was enough time for Sanchez to slip through the door. Ben had considered excusing himself from Larissa and simply walking up to Sanchez and talking with him. In the end, though, what he had to say demanded privacy. If Sanchez gave him any trouble, being in a crowded room could get Ben killed. Larissa murmured something to the young model then faced Ben. “I’m sorry,

darling. I know you’re anxious to be done with this business.” Ben flashed a smile. “There’s no business more pressing than you, Mrs. Remmey.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Larissa, and, please, we can be honest with one another. Wouldn’t you agree?” She drew him away at a sedate stroll. “Of course,” he said. “They make an interesting couple, don’t they?” “Who?”

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Honesty, remember?” Ben knew better than to hesitate. “All right, Larissa, why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?” She looked at him, her smile wide. “The direct approach. I like that. I have in mind us solving one another’s problems.” Ben lifted a brow in question. “I will take care of her.” Larissa angled her head discreetly to the right. He didn’t have to look to know she meant Tanya. Larissa smiled as if they

were sharing an intimate moment. “If you take care of him.” Ben’s mind snapped to full attention, but he managed in a casual tone, “Take care of him?” “You know I am Russian, yes?” “Yes, ma’am. The slight accent gives you away.” Her voice softened. “When I came here, I was a sensation. I was very beautiful, which is why Francis married me.” “You are still very beautiful.” She laughed. “I was right. You are a

charmer. Well, what you do not know—I think—is that my father was Russian mafia.” “No,” Ben admitted, “I didn't know that.” “It was long ago,” she said. “But you never forget such a life.” Ben was startled to detect pain in her words. “One lasting effect,” she went on, “is that I still recognize one of their kind quite easily.” His step nearly faltered and a hot rush charged up his spine, the kind felt when one steps on a nail. It doesn’t hurt

so much at first, but the shock and anticipation of yanking that nail out turned the stomach. “Mrs. Remmey—” She looked at him. “I love my husband, young man.” Ben paused. “I’m sure you do, ma’am.” She wrinkled her nose. “That makes me sound so old.” Ben blinked, then couldn’t help a smile. “Forgive me, Larissa.” She beamed. “Now, then. I will take care of her. You take care of him.”

Ben kept his voice neutral. “What do you suggest I do?” “I will arrange privacy. But first, we must do something with that pistol strapped to your ankle.” This time he blurted, “I beg your pardon?” “Young man, I can just as easily recognize an officer of the law as I can a member of the mob.” They reached a private corner of the room and Ben stopped cold. He glanced around. The nearest guests conversed fifteen feet away. He shifted his attention

back to Larissa. “You’re very observant, Mrs. Remmey.” “As I said, one never forgets.” He nodded. “Have you confided this information to anyone else?” “My husband.” “What is his connection to Mr. Sanchez?” Ben asked. This he had to know. She released a tired sigh. “Carlos has something very important that belongs to us.” “What is that?” “Our granddaughter.”

“The sick granddaughter?” he demanded. She gave an almost imperceptible nod and moisture appeared in her eyes. “Our son and his wife died in a car accident when she was four. We have raised her this last eleven years. She is the world to us.” A Mack truck of memory struck and propelled Ben a month into the past to the day he found two dead girls on the El Paso/Juarez border. His heart thudded. He headed the Ranger Reconnaissance Team that had tracked their kidnappers

into the desert. The blood that had pooled beneath the young women on the hard ground had turned thick and sticky inside of two hours. Now, the man ultimately responsible for their deaths stood twenty feet away chatting with some of El Paso’s most upstanding and influential citizens. Fury fermented into rage and Ben saw himself walking up to Sanchez and arresting him. The twenty-two strapped to Ben’s ankle would keep the human traffics dealer in check—despite the gun Sanchez hid beneath his coat. Ben

stuffed a hand into his trousers pocket and unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d made. He couldn’t arrest Sanchez without the half dozen South American bodyguards who roamed the ballroom slaughtering every guest in the room in order to save their boss. And arresting Sanchez wouldn’t save the Remmey’s granddaughter. Ben had to stop her from becoming another of the thousands of girls who ended up in a rich sheik’s harem or as a rich businessman’s sex slave—or worse, a prostitute in one of

the brothels that served hundreds of men daily. “Is there someplace we can go where you can fill me in?” Ben asked Larissa. “Smile, darling,” she said. For an instant Ben wasn’t sure what she’d said, then the rough edge that had leeched into his voice registered. Dammit. He had to maintain control. “Mr. Sanchez is watching us,” she whispered. Ben flashed a smile and leaned close as if in intimate conversation.

“Why would he be watching us?” “Because my husband is talking to him about a meeting with you.” Anticipation ramped up like a live electrical wire. “I suppose you’d better give me the rundown now, then.” Something occurred to Ben. “Why is Sanchez escorting Tanya?” “That came as a surprise to me,” Larissa replied. Ben didn’t like that. “All right. What does Sanchez want from you?” “He wants my husband to smuggle women across the border when he buys

textiles.” Suddenly the missing pieces all clicked into place. When the FBI showed up on the Rangers' doorstep three days ago, they demanded information on Sanchez’s contacts in Texas. Millionaire Francis Remmey had just appeared on the Rangers’ radar. No one knew why an upstanding citizen was suddenly in bed with a human traffics dealer. The Feds planned a sting operation intended to uncover the connection, but the whole thing came to a screeching halt twelve

hours later. The high-brow world of fashion didn’t welcome outsiders. They needed someone who would be accepted at a moment’s notice—and they needed that someone fast. Ben’s good looks put him at the top of the list. The pressure the governor applied to the Feds to catch the girls' killers forced them to partner with the Rangers. In the space of an hour, Ben had Sanchez in his sights and discovered the connection between the slaver and Remmey. The FBI would take Sanchez

into custody once the Rangers arrested him. But first, the Rangers could extract some important information in the process. And that’s exactly what Ben planned on doing tonight. *** “I’ll be back in London next Monday,” Martin told Liz. “Have your assistant call me to set up a conference.” “I’ll do that,” Liz replied. “I will let Brenda know to expect your call,” he said. Liz's excitement soared, but she forced a casual smile and murmured,

“Thank you, Mr. Stayes.” He shook his head. “No thanks necessary. Nina Bruno is a small firm, but I'm sure there isn't a model here who doesn't know who you are.” She was surprised by the sudden change in topic, but gave a deferential cant of her head. “I've worked with a fair number of models.” “I'm sure you have,” he said, “but the looks they're giving you have nothing to do with wanting jobs. And they're not the only ones who have noticed you.” Liz glimpsed a mature man with a

beautiful young woman on his arm glance at her chest. Thank God Richard wasn't here to witness their victory. He would likely insist that she wear the damn dress to every scheduled event through the remainder of the season. LaRouche was the break Nina Bruno Designs needed. One exclusive international buyer had the potential to skyrocket them to success—and bail them out of the crippling debt they now faced. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and smiled at

Martin. “You're very kind.” “If the rest of your winter line is half as provocative as that dress, we'll be doing a lot of business,” he said. As Liz sipped the champagne, her attention caught on Adam. He stood in a corner, his ear bent toward Larissa Remmey's mouth. Larissa was clearly enjoying his company, and he was doing his job by making her feel like the only woman in the world. If Larissa was happy, she would tell everyone that she had discovered Nina Bruno’s jewel of a debut design. Tonight had exceeded

expectations. “If I was you, I would smile, darling,” Martin said. Liz shifted her gaze to follow his stare and her heartrate kicked up at sight of the woman looking at them. Michelle Alvarez, the top fashion reporter in the country. Beside her, Jason Wells, the only photographer Michelle ever used, held his camera pointed at them. Liz smiled in time for the flash. “Your dress will likely appear on every fashion blog and twitter feed,” Martin said. “With you wearing it.”

Liz snapped her gaze onto him. Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “You have a mean streak, Mr. Stayes.” “You aren’t the first to point that out. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I see someone I know.” He started away, then paused and said, “Call me Martin when you phone next week.” Before she could reply, he walked away. Liz took a swig of champagne. She would likely need another glass. Sheila Antonio step up beside her. “He’s absolutely scrumptious, isn’t he?”

Sheila said. Liz didn’t have to look in the direction Sheila stared to know she referred to Adam Billings. “He was the perfect choice for the job,” Liz said. “You and he aren’t...friends?” Sheila asked. “I met him at the job interview.” “I don’t know how you can resist in this case.” She couldn’t forget the seventeenyear age—difference despite his stunning looks. “You learn,” Liz said. Sheila returned her attention to her.

“He’s a free agent, then?” “He will be after tonight.” Liz smiled. “This is a paid assignment. Our contract specifies the models are not to mix work with pleasure.” The younger woman angled her head. “I fully understand. Might I ask how you came to hire...Adam, was his name?” Liz kept her expression neutral. It never ceased to amaze her how women would practically fall into bed with a young, gorgeous model without knowing more than his name. In this case, the

woman wasn’t even sure of that. “He came to us through one of the agencies we use.” “I’ve never seen him before,” Sheila said. “I would remember a face like that.” And the body and—the smile. That smile. “He’s modeled in Paris and London,” she said. “This is his first big job in the States.” “I see.” Sheila took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I understand you aren’t a professional model. You’re Head of Creative Designs

for Nina Bruno. Isn’t it unusual for an executive to model? Aren’t you taking a risk?” Liz wanted to thump the woman upside the head. Leave it to a lawyer to ask all the right—or wrong—questions. “Our model had a last minute conflict.” She resisted the urge to dart a glance at Tanya, who was surrounded by several older men. Without a doubt, Ms. Sheila D.A. Antonio would notice. “What brings you to the gala?” Liz asked, and instantly regretted the question. Young, male models could be

what brought her to the gala. “I met Larissa a year ago. We share a mutual friend, Senator Ross Pierson.” “Roos the Boos Pierson?” Liz asked. Sheila nodded. “You know him?” “I do. He went to law school with my father. I didn’t realize he had a home here in El Paso. How do you know him?” “One of the partners of the law firm I worked for in Houston is friends with the senator. I saw him at parties. We became fast friends. He’s a straight

shooter.” “He is,” Liz agreed, and grudgingly admitted that Sheila Antonio had some strong, good qualities to be close friends with Senator Pierson. Of course, there was always the chance Sheila overstated their friendship. She wouldn’t be the first woman to cozy up to Roos the Boos Pierson. At sixty, he was still an attractive man. Sheila reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a card and a pen. She set her drink on a nearby table, then jotted down a phone number and handed the

card to Liz. “The senator has a party planned tomorrow for some of the local pro football players. I’m betting he would love to see you.” “I’m returning to Dallas tomorrow,” Liz said. “But I’ll give him a call. It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with him. Thank you, Ms. Antonio.” “Call me Sheila. We’re practically old friends ourselves.” There it was. Sheila’s version of friendship. Liz laughed. “Sheila. Thanks.” “Thank you,” Sheila said.

“For what?” “For bringing him to the party.” Liz looked in the direction Sheila nodded and watched Larissa slide her hand into the crook of Adam’s arm. They entered the crowd, headed toward the foyer. “It looks like Larissa knows a good thing when she sees it,” Sheila said. Shock froze Liz’s gaze on the doorway Larissa and Adam had stepped through. Surely, Adam Billings wouldn’t fraternize with the woman hosting the fashion event of the season?

Chapter Five A minute later, To Liz’s relief, Sheila excused herself and Liz started for the foyer. Before she’d taken ten steps, a saleswoman who worked with exclusive boutiques in the south stopped her. Liz listened for a moment, then promised to call next week and broke away with the excuse of finding the ladies room. She hurried the final half dozen paces to the foyer. She slowed and scanned the guests

milling about the room. From the corner of her eye she caught movement on the second floor and glanced up as Larissa disappeared through an arched opening behind a man. Was that Adam? Liz hesitated, then crossed the foyer and entered a small room. French doors opened onto the rear grounds. When she didn’t see Adam in the back garden, she searched the rear patio, but he wasn’t there either. Her heart pounded. In her wildest worst-case scenarios, she wouldn’t have imagined her escort slipping away for

privacy with Larissa Remmey. Was that what had happened? When she thwarted his overtures, had he switched his attention to Larissa? If Larissa’s husband discovered his wife cavorting with Adam, not only would he never work in the fashion industry again, neither would Nina Bruno Designs. Goodbye LaRouche. Anger rammed through Liz. Anger at Adam, anger at Tanya, and anger at herself. Her judgment always had been impeccable—until now. And the worst part was, no matter which way she

turned, Nina Bruno Designs was screwed. Larissa wasn’t going to appreciate a confrontation with Liz any more than Francis Remmey would appreciate learning his wife had fraternized with the help. There was always the chance Francis Remmey wouldn’t find out about his wife and Adam. There was always the chance he didn’t care. No, that was wrong. Everyone knew that after fortyfive years of marriage, he was still crazy about her. Maybe he looked the other way. Still, that wouldn’t stop him from

crushing Nina Bruno Designs. Liz started up the stairs, then slowed. Which was the worst monster, Larissa or her husband? *** Ben lowered himself onto the overstuffed leather chair opposite where Carlos Sanchez sat on a couch in Francis Remmey's private study. Agreeing to any kind of business deal with Carlos Sanchez meant prison time for Remmey. Ben met Remmey’s eyes and read in them a determination to take that risk, even if it only improved the odds of

getting his granddaughter home safely. “Carlos,” Remmey said as he sat on the other end of the couch, “this is Mr. Billings.” “Yes, we met on the dance floor.” Ben angled his head in acknowledgement. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Sanchez. I was, shall we say, distracted.” “She is a very beautiful woman,” Sanchez said. “She is,” Ben agreed. “Adam is in a unique position to help us,” Remmey said.

Sanchez blew out smoke from his cigar. “How so?” “I know every inch of the El Paso/Juarez border,” Ben said. “That's how.” Sanchez pinned him with a hard stare. “I’m not certain how that can help me. The only men who can make such a claim are Border Patrol.” “Border Patrol and me,” Ben said. Sanchez looked at Remmey with a condescension born of the belief that he was untouchable. “Who is he?” Remmey didn't flinch. “I’ve been

doing business between El Paso and Juarez for nearly forty years. Do you think I don't know everyone of consequence?” “I do not care if you know the president himself,” Sanchez replied. “I am interested only in how you know this man.” “The president isn't in a position to know the right kind of people to help us,” Remmey replied. “The man who recommended Mr. Billings sits on the State government and is very well connected. Don’t ask his name, Carlos,”

Remmey added when Sanchez opened his mouth. “You must know I can no more tell you who he is than I can refuse your business offer.” Business offer. Ben kept an impassive expression. Even the Remmey’s compliance might not save their granddaughter. Sanchez's unwritten contracts always bent to his advantage and were lifelong. The Remmeys must know that. Once Sanchez released their granddaughter—if he released her— anyone else they loved would be in danger the instant Remmey stopped

helping Sanchez transport people across the border. Their lives here in El Paso— in Texas—were over. Only a miracle was going to save their granddaughter. Despite their desperation to get her back, Larissa had made it clear that they couldn't reconcile themselves to dooming other girls to the very fate from which they were frantic to save their granddaughter. The days were numbered before Sanchez realized that truth. The human traffics dealer took a long drag on his cigar while he studied

Ben, then said to Remmey, “I had no idea you knew people in my line of business.” “You asked for my help,” Remmey replied. “Our business is transportation, Francis,” Sanchez said. Remmey didn't miss a beat. “Mr. Billings' specialty is transportation. He can see to it that shipments move.” Sanchez's eyes shifted onto Ben. “How do I know I can trust him?” “Because you know you can trust me,” Remmey said.

Sanchez looked at him. “I trust your motives. I do not know you well enough to trust your judgment.” “I'm anxious to finish the first part of our business, Carlos. Rest assured I won't make mistakes. You can decide against hiring Mr. Billings, but I suggest you hear him out.” Sanchez puffed on his cigar, then blew out smoke and pointed the business end of the cigar at Ben. “How am I to know you can do the job? You are very young.” Ben laughed. “Looks can be

deceiving. I know the border better than any man in El Paso—including Border Patrol and your men.” Sanchez's gaze sharpened. “You're saying you know the patrols?” “To the second.” Carlos knocked the ash into a crystal ashtray sitting on an end table. “Do you have connections with Border Patrol?” Ben shook his head. “Connections with Border Patrol are unreliable. What I know is every rock along that border.” “Only a snake can know every rock

along that border.” “Or a man who has the desert in his veins.” *** Ben glanced out the limousine’s tinted window, relieved that he hadn’t encountered Liz on his way out of the mansion. Larissa had kept her promise to divert Liz’s attention while he and Sanchez left. How would she react when he eventually appeared at her office and confessed the truth about himself? No woman liked being deceived. If her compassion matched her smarts, she

would understand. If that didn't work, he wasn't above begging forgiveness for leaving her at the party—and lying about who he was. Catching the most notorious human traffics dealer in Texas might make him look enough like a hero to dazzle her—for about five minutes. Then he'd likely have to beg again. “I warn you, Mr. Billings, I do not like liars.” He shifted his attention onto Sanchez, who sat between two of his line-backer-sized bodyguards opposite Ben. “Neither do I,” Ben said.

“I’m not a man who cares for surprises.” Then he wasn’t going to like the surprise waiting for him at the end of this ride. Ben wasn’t disobeying orders, not strictly. Yes, he’d discovered the connection between Remmey and Sanchez. Yes, he should have called for backup. But the possibility of saving a young woman from Sanchez’s bordellos trumped orders. Ben had promised Larissa he would try to find *out something, anything, about her

granddaughter’s location and condition, and he intended to keep that promise. The Feds wanted Sanchez. They needed to show the American public that they could catch the man behind the murder of two innocent girls, the man who had enslaved thousands of men women in the course of his career. But they hadn’t said a damn word about plugging the hole he would leave in his organization. The organization wouldn’t miss more than a day’s transportation of victims across the Texas/Mexican border. But Larissa had put him in a

position to learn something about Sanchez’s organization. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass. “What would you like from me?” Ben asked. “I have some special cargo that needs to be transported across the border. I want no mistakes.” Ben lifted a brow. “You mean like the mistake two months ago?” Surprise flickered in Sanchez’s eyes. “I recognize your signature, Mr. Sanchez.”

“I haven’t been in Texas in seven months,” he replied. Ben nodded. “I hope you disciplined those men. Killing those girls was messy and wasteful.” Sanchez’s eyes narrowed. “I know how to deal with my men.” “Choose the right men for the job and you won’t have to deal with them.” Sanchez studied him. “Are you saying the Border Patrol wouldn’t have caught you?” “The Border Patrol wouldn’t have known to look for me,” Ben said.

“You are very certain.” “I am.” “Then you feel you are the man to handle special shipments?” “Yes, though I’m surprised you would trust a stranger with such an important task.” “You have not yet been entrusted with the task, but if you are, you will have passed a test that will ensure your sincerity and loyalty.” “What test might that be?” “Do you care as long as it gets you the job?”

“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Sanchez. I understand business risks. If I’m awake, I’m calculating risks. And you don’t have to worry about me asking the wrong kinds of questions, I have no desire to run your business. I also have no desire to find myself in a federal prison because of someone else’s mistake.” “You’re cocky,” Sanchez said. “Careful,” Ben replied. “Just as you are.” “Will you discuss business with me over dinner?”

“I assume you know a good restaurant?” “You will not find a better chef in El Paso.” Ben snorted. “That’s a cockier claim than any I’ve made tonight. El Paso chefs are among the best in Texas.” Ben caught the flicker of amusement in Sanchez’s eyes as he said, “Yes, but are they among the best in Mexico?”

Chapter Six Liz paused outside a door, the first that she’d found ajar. Faint light shone through the two-inch crack between door and jamb. If—when—she found Larissa and Adam, she would thank Larissa for inviting Nina Bruno, then usher Ben from the mansion. Her best chance of extricating Nina Bruno Designs from this situation was to act as if nothing was wrong. She tightened her grip on her

evening bag and peeked through the crack. The edge of a desk came into view. “Hello?” Liz inched open the door and stared into an empty room lit by a small desk lamp. Straight ahead, floor length curtains wafted and she glimpsed a balcony beyond two open doors. Anger rose, but this time the anger was directed at herself. When Adam Billings had modeled for the job, he’d been laid back, quiet, not at all forward like he’d been tonight. Her only consideration was whether or not he would make Tanya

look good in their dress. But tonight, despite his oddness—despite the fact he’d flirted shamelessly with her—she had taken a liking to him. Worse, she took his betrayal personally. Betrayal? Is that what he’d done, betrayed her? Professionally, yes. He was on a job and she expected him to conduct himself in a manner above reproach. So why did she feel as if he’d reached inside her chest and twisted her heart? Liz started to turn, then paused at a sound from the balcony. She took two

steps forward. A muffled animal cry entered on the breeze. She froze. What was that? She crept to the doors and eased aside the curtain to find the balcony empty. She slipped through the curtains and crossed to the wrought iron railing. In the distance, El Paso lights lit the desert nearly to the Juarez Mountains, which rose high against a star studded sky. Directly below the balcony, ground lights illuminated a rock garden that stretched into dim moonlight. Movement a hundred feet away caught her attention.

Her breath hitched. Was that a cat—a large cat? Liz squinted at the shadow that seemed to glide across the ground. She released a slow breath. Maybe she was approaching this situation from the wrong direction. If Larissa Remmey entertained men outside her marriage, that wasn’t Liz’s business. As long as she and Adam were discreet, Nina Bruno Designs wouldn’t be pulled into any problems. Tomorrow, Liz would fire Adam—permanently. “No arguments.” Liz stilled. The man’s voice came

from the room behind her. The click of a door shutting followed. “We had an arrangement,” came the same male voice. “Arrangements change,” replied a man with a heavy Mexican accent. “Carlos wants the girl moved tonight,” the first man said. “Too hot,” the other man said. “He knows that. His men caused the problem.” “Fuck Carlos over and you’ll be as dead as those girls,” the American replied.

Liz couldn’t halt a gasp as she whirled toward the doors. “What was that?” the Mexican demanded. Liz’s heart clutched. She groped for the railing behind her, then turned, wildly scanning the ground. The balcony loomed two stories above ground. She worked out four times a week, ran two miles a day. She was in great shape, but could she survive a sixteen-foot jump? Survive, probably. But a broken leg would prevent escape. She yanked off her high heel shoes.

“What the fuck?” She swung a leg over the railing, but iron hands seized her shoulders and yanked her against a massive body. Liz opened her mouth for a bloodcurdling scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. “Bring her inside,” the American ordered. Liz grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to pry his fingers from her mouth as she kicked. He lifted her off the ground and turned. The other man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind

him. He stepped aside as the Mexican dragged her inside. The American stepped into view. “I know her. She came with Billings.” “A cop?” the Mexican said. The American stepped closer, hard gaze glued to hers. “He’s going to let you go. Make a peep and I’ll knock you senseless. Understand?” He motioned for the Mexican to let her go. The Mexican removed his hand from her mouth but kept his other arm clamped around her waist. Liz released his wrist.

“Who are you?” the American asked. Liz’s mind raced. Murder. These men had discussed a murder. She swallowed panic. Think. Could they be sure she’d overheard them mention a death? It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t take the chance she hadn’t heard. They were going to kill her. *** Ben murmured thanks to the maid who set a plate of food before him and looked across the dining room table at Carlos Sanchez. When the limo eased

across the US-Mexican border half an hour ago, Ben knew that entering one of the most dangerous cities in the world in the company of a Mexican Mafioso could be considered a bad idea. Sitting in a modest but expensively furnished villa on the outskirts of Juarez with two of Sanchez’s bruisers standing eight feet away, he had to admit that things had gone well beyond a bad idea. He took a bite of the Puerco con Pina. “You didn't lie, Mr. Sanchez.” Ben lifted his glass of wine in salute. “You do know the finest chef in Texas—

probably in Mexico, too.” Ben took two large swallows and set the wine glass back on the table. “I currently make one shipment a week across the El Paso border,” Sanchez said. “I want to make four.” Ben looked up from his plate. Quadruple the number of women smuggled across the border? “That’s ambitious.” Not only was it ambitious, but Ben wondered why Sanchez shared this important bit of information. There wasn't a chance the mobster trusted him

yet. Sanchez dug into his meal with gusto. “I am tired of the Texas Border Patrol impeding my profits.” Ben wanted to ask how much of a kink Border Patrol was putting in his business, but there was no good reason Adam Billings would ask that question. Instead, he asked, “What preparations have you made to implement the increase in shipments?” “My organization on both sides of the border is prepared to provide merchandise.”

Merchandise. That’s all human beings were to him. Ben nodded and took another bite of pork. “I pushed through two shipments every week this month and attempted a third,” Sanchez said. “The two girls found by Border Patrol,” Ben said. Sanchez took a long drink, then set the glass on the table. “How would you deal with the unexpected appearance of the Border Patrol?” “There would be no unexpected Border Patrol, if I had been taking those

girls across the border.” “You're very certain of yourself, Mr. Billings.” “I have to be.” Ben took another sip of wine to wash down the pig. It wasn’t tasting all that good anymore. “You have intelligence?” “As a businessman, I am on good terms with everyone.” Sanchez wasn’t taking chances by admitting anything. They’d patted Ben down at the Remmey’s, but Sanchez had to know not all wires were detectible with a pat down.

“But Border Patrol wasn’t the problem,” Sanchez said. “Texas Rangers intervened. I have yet to discover how they knew those men were crossing the border.” They knew because an undercover Ranger got a lead that the kidnapped girls were still in El Paso. Ben and his team went on alert in hopes of catching them in the act of smuggling the girls across the border. Ben shrugged. “Probably a lucky shot for the Rangers. The El Paso border is heavily patrolled.”

Sanchez shook his head. “The men were tracked.” Ben paused. “What do you mean?” “Border Patrol can track. Wouldn’t you know if they were on your trail?” “I would.” Ben studied him as if just reaching a conclusion. “The Rangers were looking for your men before they tried to cross the border?” Sanchez leaned back in his chair and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Now, one month later, I have the good fortune to meet a man who swears he can help me transport goods.”

“Life has a way of bringing us what we need when we need it.” “I do not believe in coincidence.” “Life is filled with coincidence,” Ben replied. “It’s coincidence that you happened to be where you were when you met your wife.” “True,” Sanchez replied. “But meeting you is a very convenient coincidence.” “Certainly not the only convenient coincidence in your life.” “One that makes me nervous.” Ben leaned back in his chair. “I’m

not sure how to alleviate your fears.” Sanchez took a bite of pork. “My fears will be alleviated once I receive a report that says you are who you say you are.” Ben hoped the Feds had been thorough when they created Adam Billings.

Chapter Seven The Mexican’s arm tightened around Liz’s waist as he demanded, “Who are you?” “L-Liz Monahan,” she stuttered. “I work for Nina Bruno Designs.” “Why were you hiding on the balcony?” the American demanded. Her heart thundered. “I wasn’t hiding. I was waiting for Mrs. Remmey.” “Who’s Adam Billings?”

That was a question she was asking herself. They’d said ‘cop.’ “He’s a model, my escort for the night. What’s going on? Where is he?” “Why were you eavesdropping?” the American said. “I told you, I was waiting for Mrs. Remmey. She and I have business.” “She couldn’t have known we were going to use this room,” the Mexican said. His hot breath sent a prickle of gooseflesh over her ear and Liz fought tears.

The American’s gaze bore into her. “We’ll have to let Sanchez figure this out.” Liz’s thoughts raced. Sanchez. Who was Sanchez? “Maybe we should dump her in the desert,” the Mexican said. She gasped and he clamped a hand over her mouth. “One word, and I break your neck.” He turned to the American. “Check the hallway.” Liz stared as the man headed for the door. Surely they couldn’t forcibly remove her from the mansion without

being seen? The American reached the door and eased it open. He peered outside then looked back at them. “All clear. Let’s go.” Liz’s captor hugged her close as he drew her toward the door. Her legs moved like rubber and she feared her knees would buckle. She commanded her legs to remain strong, but the thought seemed to be an echo traveling through a tunnel. They reached the door and the American slipped out first. They turned

away from the main staircase, which was hidden beyond a bend. They took another quick right down a set of narrow stairs. Liz stumbled on the second step. The Mexican lifted her feet off the stairs and her heart jumped to a gallop. Dear God, why hadn’t she kept up the selfdefense courses she took in her twenties? Think, she commanded. Who were these men? They knew the layout of the house. What were they doing in a private room of the Remmey’s home? What did Larissa Remmey have to do with thugs

who discussed murder and kidnapped guests? They approached the landing and a door came into view, located in a small service entryway. They had to be in the rear of the house. The American stepped onto the landing and headed toward the door. An instant later, she and her captor reached the bottom of the stairs. Liz spotted a closed door on the right. A kitchen? A pantry? Hope surged. Liz kicked at the door as they passed and gurgled a scream through the Mexican’s fingers. He yanked her aside. Her foot

only grazed the wood, and she flailed in an attempt to lunge for the door. He drove her back against the opposite wall and Liz froze when the point of a knife dug into the flesh of her neck. Blood roared through her ears. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “Try that again and I’ll slice your neck,” he hissed. “Understand?” She didn’t reply and he gave her a hard shake. “Understand?” Liz whispered, “Yes.” He withdrew the knife and pulled her away from the door. She cast a

glance back and strained for sounds of activity, but the pounding of her heart reverberated in her ears. The American opened the rear door and the Mexican clamped a hand over her mouth again. In another moment they would have her outside. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Go around to the side,” the American said. The Mexican stopped beside him at the door. “Get the car. I’ll meet you there.” The American glanced at Liz.

“Maybe we should stick together.” “We have to separate to get the car. I’ll hold her here for five minutes, then meet you around the side.” He wrenched Liz’s head back against his chest and said into her ear, “The chica won’t make a sound, will you, bonita?” He nuzzled her neck and she seized his arm with both hands. Liz startled to discover that she still gripped her small clutch bag. Tears blurred her vision. Two years ago, After Nina Bruno’s brother went down in a small plane in Arizona, Nina ordered all company

employees to carry a Modu phone, a tiny telephone with a locator. That phone might save Liz’s life, just as it had Nina’s brother. All she needed was a moment alone to make a call—before they killed her. *** Sanchez shifted from business to small talk about Juarez, El Paso and food, and Ben listened for an opening in the conversation that would give him a clue to Christina Remmey’s whereabouts. The kitchen door swung open and a

man entered the dining room. A smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. Like Sanchez, he wore an expensive suit, but unlike Sanchez’s other lackeys, this man exuded an air of authority that sent a prickle of unease down Ben’s spine. The man reached Sanchez, bent and whispered in his ear. Gaze locked with Ben’s, Sanchez listened. The man straightened and Sanchez nodded. The man sent Ben a sideways glance as he passed. When the door closed behind the man, Ben said, “I don’t think your man

likes me.” “He is paid to be cautious.” Sanchez took a bite of his pork, then said, “You’re a wanted man.” Ben grunted a laugh. “If by ‘wanted’ you mean the authorities want to see me behind bars, then you’re right. But the cops don’t have enough to issue a warrant for my arrest.” “Why did you kill Roger Davis?” “I didn’t kill anyone.” “If you had killed him, why would you have killed him?” “If he made the mistake of

mentioning my name to the cops.” Sanchez forked more of the pork into his mouth and nodded. “Then he is the man who told the District Attorney you killed his partner, David Caldaron?” Ben’s mind came to a screeching halt. Either Sanchez was testing him, or the FBI screwed up and didn’t fill him in on all the details of his background. He shifted his gaze from his plate to Sanchez. “I wasn’t aware Caldaron had been murdered.” “No?” Sanchez said. “I was told you were questioned concerning both

deaths.” Ben shook his head. “Your information is wrong.” Sanchez shifted and Ben sensed the tension in the two men standing behind him. He forced his body to stay relaxed. Sanchez’s gaze flicked to his bodyguards. He reached for his wine glass and said to Ben, “You were not a stranger to the police.” “They didn’t know about that particular deal.” “Mr. Davis moved drugs into the US?” Sanchez asked.

“Roger was an importer of Mexican pottery,” Ben said. Sanchez laughed. “I suppose your time in Huntsville Penitentiary for weapons smuggling was a case of mistaken identity?” Ben shrugged. “Wrong place, wrong time.” The human trafficker lifted his glass in salute. “I cannot argue with that.” He took a large sip of wine, then set the glass on the table. “You don’t seem nervous about working with me.” Ben laughed. “You mean the way

you’re nervous about me?” “Yes.” “I’m certain you’re not a cop.” “Straightforward,” Sanchez said. “Very good.” Ben looked at Sanchez as if something had just occurred to him. “I work strictly by referral, and Francis Remmey came highly recommended. The recommendation gave me a certain sense of security. I understand caution, but it suddenly occurs to me that you’re overly nervous about working with someone Mr. Remmey recommended. That makes

me nervous, and I don’t like being nervous. Do you have reason to suspect he might set you up?” “I trust no one,” Sanchez said. “There’s a difference in not trusting someone, and distrusting them.” Ben paused. “Maybe we’re not destined to do business.” “Destiny?” Sanchez laughed. “What has destiny to do with men in our business?” “Call it what you like. I’m thinking, I would call it a bad feeling.” A moment of silence passed and

Ben could hear the wheels turning in the man’s head. Sanchez wanted what Ben was selling. “Who referred Francis to you?” Sanchez finally asked. Ben laughed. “I don’t know the government man who Remmey told you referred me, but the man who called me is Juan Soto.” When Larissa Remmey told Ben her story and said she would introduce him to Sanchez, Ben made a quick decision and told her that their contact must be a politician, and he would take it from

there. Juan Soto was a drug dealer to the wealthy. He didn’t move drugs across the border, so he wasn’t in Ben’s jurisdiction, but the El Paso DEA knew him, and let him stay in business because he sometimes passed information. Two months ago, Ben dealt with Soto concerning a large shipment of heroin crossing the border. Ben knew Soto was currently out of the country, which meant Sanchez couldn’t contact him. “You know him?” Ben asked. “I know who he is and I am wondering who the government official

is who gave Francis your name.” Ben grunted. “I asked Juan that same thing and he laughed. I couldn’t help wondering if there was no politician.” Sanchez frowned. “You mean Francis knows Juan directly?” Ben shrugged. “Why not? You can see why Remmey wouldn’t want to own up to the association.” “Francis is what you Americans call a straight arrow.” “Yeah,” Ben said. He’d been ready for—hoped for—this response. “He’s a real Boy Scout.”

A corner of Sanchez mouth turned up with a condescending twist. “They like to act superior, as if they are better than us.” Bingo! Ben had him. “But they’re all the same.” He paused for effect. “I must admit, Remmey doesn’t strike me as a man to shop for a woman.” “I am not supplying Francis with merchandise. He is going to do some transporting for me.” Ben lifted a brow. “He’s not a Boy Scout at all, is he?”

“I gave him, shall we say, a reason to do business with me.” Ben nodded. “The business offer he referred to.” He snorted. “Money talks every time. Being in the textile business, he must have some big trucks that cross the border on a consistent basis. That means he has a relationship with the border guards.” “A very good relationship,” Sanchez replied. “How many shipments can he handle?” “One a week,” Sanchez replied.

“How long can he maintain a weekly shipment?” “Indefinitely.” Ben didn’t believe that. In order for the Remmeys to comply for any length of time, Sanchez would have to return their granddaughter. Once he did, they would ship the girl off to some obscure European country—and Francis Remmey would probably insist that Larissa go with her—then he would tell Sanchez to go to hell. Sanchez had to know that. Sanchez leaned back in his chair. “Your police record indicates you do

more than transport. Perhaps I can interest you in some business on the US side of the border.” “I don’t do sales.” “Sales isn’t what I had in mind. I need to make sure the shipments from the US continue.” Ben gave him a penetrating stare. “You’re talking enforcement.” “Motivation,” remove extra space Sanchez said. “Motivation as in Francis Remmey?” “You are very perceptive.”

“Stupid people don’t last long in this business. What kind of motivation do you have in mind?” “If you pass my test, I will show you.” “Test?” Ben repeated. “One simple test,” Sanchez said. “Then I will show you exactly what I want.” *** In her worse imaginings, Liz couldn’t have envisioned the night ending with her abduction and transportation to one of the most lawless

cities in the world. She hadn’t noted any diplomatic tags on the Mercedes the Mexican drove, but they had been waved across the border as if entering a friend’s driveway. That might have been a good sign, if not for the revolver pressed against her hip. The American’s arm tightened around her shoulders. She looked in the rearview mirror as they passed a streetlight and caught the Mexican’s eyes on her. “Eyes straight,” the American ordered. “I don’t want to get pulled over because you drifted into opposing

traffic.” The Mexican grinned. “Nothing to worry about. The police here are my friends.” “I don’t much want a head-on collision, either,” the American shot back. “Forget her. I told you. We don’t make a move until we talk to Carlos.” “Carlos will fuck her himself,” the Mexican grumbled. “Maybe. But if you fuck with him, he’ll kill you—then me for allowing it.” Liz closed her eyes and forced back the panic that had her heart pounding

ninety miles an hour. The men had taken her clutch-purse. If they left her somewhere and drove off, the locator would lead to the car and not to her. How long would it take for someone to notice she was missing? Didn’t a person have to be missing for forty-eight hours before a report could be filed? Richard didn’t expect her back at the hotel until the early hours of the morning, and wouldn’t look for her until brunch. Would Larissa notice her absence and ask questions? Liz bit back tears. Not if she was entertaining Adam.

When the American connected Liz with Adam, the Mexican had said ‘a cop.’ It hadn’t been a statement, but a question. The Mercedes turned onto a private drive and passed through a grove of palm trees. Her heart beat faster— something she hadn’t thought possible. Why would these men suspect Adam of being a cop? Why would a cop model at a fashion party? Maybe trying to catch the criminals that now held her hostage? The car left the trees and stars spread across the sky as far as the eye

could see. The Mercedes’ headlights washed across the white adobe of a single story house with an arched doorway. Beyond the house, Liz glimpsed tall palms. A chill sliced deep through her trembling insides. She was about to die. You’re not dead yet. Think. Was Larissa involved in criminal activity? More likely, her millionaire husband was involved. He wouldn’t be the first man to have made his fortune on the wrong side of the law. Adam being an undercover cop

would explain much about his behavior. After twenty-five years in the fashion industry, she knew models—their attitudes, their sense of self-importance. When Adam modeled for the job, he’d done nothing untoward to set off alarms. But tonight he’d acted more like a date than an employee. Then he’d disappeared with Larissa. The Mercedes stopped in front of the hacienda. Liz’s heart jumped into her throat. The American shoved open the door, then grasped her arm, pulled her

from the car. “You go ahead and scream now, if you like. No one will notice. But you’ll piss off Carlos and you won’t like the consequences.” “What?” she snapped. “He’ll kill me twice?” “A lot can happen before death.” He dragged her toward the house. Liz kicked his shin. He cursed and she twisted free. As he raised his hand, she slammed her knee toward his groin, but the back of his hand smacked her cheek. She spun and hit sand. Numbing pain spread across her face. The

American yanked her to her feet. Hysterical laughter bubbled up. If Adam Billings was an undercover cop, she hoped like hell his real name was Rambo.

Chapter Eight The man who’d spoken with Sanchez earlier entered the dining room and Ben sipped his wine as he crossed to Sanchez and whispered in his ear. Sanchez’s gaze shifted onto Ben, and cold dread seeped through him. Sanchez nodded and the man left, pulling the doors closed behind him “Perhaps you can explain something,” Sanchez said. “If I can,” Ben replied.

Sanchez rose. “Come with me.” Ben stared. The bodyguard standing nearest the door took a step forward. “Have I offended you?” Ben asked “Not yet.” Ben glanced at the goon, then followed Sanchez down a short hall. The goon trailed him. Sanchez stopped in front of the third closed door on the left. He opened the door and Ben caught sight of a queen-sized bed covered with a Southwestern style quilt in reds and greens. His heart hammered when the traffics dealer motioned him inside.

“What am I getting myself into here?” Ben kept his tone casual. “A simple explanation.” A strong shove propelled him into the room. Liz Monahan stood to the far right of the bed, a man gripping each arm. Her expression mirrored his: What the hell are you doing here? Her hair was disheveled and Ben detected a slight swelling on the upper left hand corner of her mouth. One of the goons had slapped her. Rage tightened his insides. She didn’t look or act like a woman who’d been raped. That thought

kept him from pummeling the two goons on the spot. But he would arrest them before this operation was finished. Ben riveted his gaze onto Sanchez. “What’s she doing here?” “She was caught eavesdropping on my men.” Eavesdropping? He hadn’t heard right. “What are you talking about?” “We caught her on the balcony,” the man to her left said. Ben shifted his gaze onto the muscular Mexican and demanded, “What

balcony?” “What difference does it make?” the man said. Ben turned toward Sanchez. “Tell your man to answer my question.” Sanchez nodded and the other man, an American, said, “We went into one of the upstairs rooms to talk business and caught her out there listening.” Ben looked at Sanchez. “Don’t your men know to check a room before talking business?” Before Sanchez could reply, Ben added, “This woman isn’t some kid who won’t be missed for a

couple of weeks. She runs a top design company. Her colleagues will be expecting her back at her hotel tonight. Your men stepped in it this time, Sanchez.” “You are so sure?” Sanchez asked. “If you’re foolish enough to think that the disappearance of any woman won’t put the cops on alert, then you’re not the businessman I thought you were. Those two dead girls got national media attention. Reporters are aching for more action from the Border Patrol. You can bet calls for the Rangers won’t be far

behind. You’ll have to transport your cargo fifty miles south of Juarez, maybe even move to Laredo—though that’s damn close for my taste after this fuckup. Chances are, you’ll have to work strictly out of California for a while.” “I have no intention of giving up the Texas border,” Sanchez said. “You’re a fool if you think Remmey’s transports will get across the border without inspection after this. She —” Ben nodded at Liz “—disappeared from Remmey’s party, which means the cops will watch everything he does like

a hawk. As for your other transports, they’ll get caught and you’ll have Federal Police crawling all over this nice little hacienda.” “I own the police,” Sanchez said. “That’s a big claim, but we both know you don’t own them all— especially your Chief of Police, who’s doing his damndest to rid Juarez of our kind. He’ll jump at the chance to team up with US authorities, and even your friends are going to be hard pressed to find their loyalty.” Ben shrugged. “But that’s your problem. I said I wouldn’t

interfere with your business and I meant it. You can figure out how to deal with this. Have your driver take me back to El Paso.” Liz gave a small cry, but Ben kept his expression passionless. “Perhaps this is the perfect test to cement our trust,” Sanchez said. Ben snorted. “You’re talking murder.” “It wouldn’t be your first,” Sanchez said. “You’ll never get away with it,” Liz blurted. “I’m already late. By now, my

friends are down at the police station filing a report.” Ben looked at her. “We all know it takes forty-eight hours before a missing persons report can be filed.” “Not when you have connections,” she shot back. Damn, the woman had backbone. “Connections won’t do you a damn bit of good now.” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not what you’re telling him.” Ben laughed. “No, what I’m telling him is that he’s in a shit load of trouble.

You, on the other hand, are dead. Big difference.” Shock widened her eyes and guilt twisted through Ben. He hated doing this to her, but she needed to be scared—to look scared. Sanchez shifted his gaze onto Liz. “Why were you eavesdropping?” Ben snorted before she could answer, and said, “Looking for me, I’d say. I was her date for the evening. I guess she doesn’t like being ditched. That’ll teach me to accept a date unseen.”

Liz lifted her chin. “You overestimate your charms, Mr. Billings.” “I doubt it.” He gave a single shake of his head. “What a waste. You can’t do anything with her. She’s too old.” “I beg your pardon?” Liz burst out, and Ben bit back a laugh. Only a woman would be outraged by an insult intended to save her life. “Yes,” Sanchez replied. “She would never submit.” Ben raked his gaze down her body. Damn her. She looked even better than

she had at the start of the evening. There was something about a woman whose clothes and hair were tousled. “The attempt would be one helluva ride, though,” he murmured. Her eyes widened. Ben looked at Sanchez. “I’ll deal with her—my way.” Sanchez’s brows rose. “What is your way?” “You and your men get out. I don’t like witnesses. Once I’m done, I bury the body—alone.” Sanchez nodded. “Do you need a

weapon?” Ben gave a small smile. “No.” Liz’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better take the gun. You’re going to need it.” Ben laughed. The woman was either stupid or the most courageous female he’d ever met. He hoped for courageous. Otherwise, they were both dead. *** Liz’s heart thundered in her chest as the door clicked shut behind the four men. Before she could utter a peep, Adam shoved her against the wall. She cried out an instant before his body

crashed into hers. His hips pressed heavy against her abdomen, and she shoved at his chest. The immovable wall of muscle forced her palms flat against his chest. Liz became aware of the powerful thump of his heart. His gaze bore into hers. “You shouldn’t have gotten so nosy, Ms. Monahan.” A shiver slid down her back in the heartbeat before she remembered he was a police officer. Liz narrowed her eyes. “And you shouldn’t have used me as your cover.”

He blinked. “What the—How did you figure it out?” he demanded. “When those men caught me, the first thing they said was ‘cop?’” “They know I’m a cop?” Liz shook her head. “Not know. It was a question.” “Dammit.” He glanced back at the door and Liz registered the hard thigh that pressed against the juncture of her legs. “I think you can let me go,” she said. He looked back at her. “I’m

supposed to be terrorizing you.”” Liz released a shaky breath. “I’m pretty scared.” His mouth turned down. “Yeah.” He released her, then backed up, and she realized her pulse was pounding. “What’s the plan?” she asked. “Damned if I know.” He started toward the curtain that covered the balcony door beside the bed. He reached the curtain, eased aside the fabric, and peered out. “Come here.” She forced her legs to cross the

room to him. “Is that Mercedes the car they drove here?” He motioned for her to peek through the gap in the curtain. She leaned in front of him and looked through the paned glass doors, past the small balcony to a car parked behind a black limo. Liz straightened. “Yes. He left the keys in the ignition. I thought maybe I could steal the car.” “I’m sure Sanchez has a couple of well-placed guards somewhere on the grounds,” Adam said. “We’re lucky they didn’t put you in a second story room.

We can make it to the car—” Muffled voices sounded outside the door. Iron fingers gripped her arm and Adam threw her onto the bed. His knee slammed her side as he straddled her. She screamed. He seized the bodice of her dress and yanked. Leather raked her nipples. She cried out and threw her arms over her breasts as the door flung open. Liz glimpsed the leer on the Mexican’s face an instant before Adam twisted and looked over his shoulder. The American stepped into view behind

the Mexican. “Get the fuck out!” Adam shouted. “You’re taking too long, amigo,” the Mexican said. “Get in my way and I’ll kill you both.” The American stepped away from the doorway and the Mexican muttered something Liz couldn’t distinguish above the pounding of blood through her ears, then he left and closed the door behind him. Adam faced her. His eyes didn’t stray to her arms. “You okay?” he asked.

She couldn’t move. “He didn’t see a thing,” Adam said. “What?” “I blocked his view.” Tears threatened. “Then why did you…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. “You prefer that he rape you?”

Chapter Nine Liz lay beneath him, trembling like a seven point earthquake. He’d never lifted a hand to a woman and he’d sure as hell never scared a woman like that. When Larissa had seen through his cover, he should have scrapped the night. But he’d wanted Sanchez. Now Liz might die because of him. Like hell. “Come on.” Ben pulled her to her feet and turned toward the window. “Fix

your dress.” Rustling of clothes followed, then she whispered in a tremulous voice, “Done.” Ben turned around, grasped her shoulders and pulled her close so that he could whisper, “Scream—and make it real.” She startled him by beating at his chest. “Bastard,” she cried. “Let me go!” “Shut up, bitch,” he hissed, and slapped his thigh. She quieted, eyes wide. He leaned close. She jerked back.

His gut wrenched, but he whispered, “Whimper.” Startlement flashed in her eyes. He nodded. She whimpered, then moaned a long, ‘Nooo.’ He caught her hand and hurried her toward the patio door. Ben eased aside the curtain, scanned the grounds, then opened the door and pulled her the three steps to the wrought iron railing. He swung her into his arms, lifted her over the railing and set her on the ground. “Get down,” he ordered.

She dropped to a squat as he hopped the fence and landed beside her. He scanned the property, his gaze locking on a small cottage to their right. Bars on the windows had snagged his attention when he’d arrived. He’d hoped to get a look inside. Ben hesitated. He wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it now. He couldn’t chance Liz’s life to satisfy his curiosity. Ben grasped her hand and looked her in the eye. “Run like hell to the Mercedes. I’m driving. You get in the back and down on the floor. Stay there

no matter what. Understand?” She nodded, and he pulled her up and into a run. They reached the car in four seconds. Ben released her hand, and she jumped in back and he in front. He turned the key. The car purred and Ben slammed into reverse. “Hold on,” he ordered, and hit the accelerator. The front door of the house burst open as the car careened backwards along the circular drive. “Motherfucker,” the American shouted, and a shot sounded a bare

second before the glass on the passenger side window shattered. Liz screamed. “Stay down!” Ben yelled. He hit the brake and the car spun, facing the driveway. He rammed into drive and jammed the accelerator to the floor. Tires squealed and the car fishtailed, then jettisoned forward. Three shots in succession ripped through the rear window. Ben jerked left. The rear skidded right. He straightened out. Liz drew a sharp breath. “Hold on,” Ben ordered.

He looked in the rearview mirror. The Mexican stood in the middle of the circle drive, a handgun aimed at them. Ben veered right and four shots missed them. Two more shots sounded. He left the palms and spun the wheel left, fishtailing onto the street. In the corner of his eye, he saw the limo racing down the driveway after them. “You all right?” he demanded. “Yes.” She sounded shaky but okay. The squeal of tires drew his attention to his driver’s side mirror. The limousine had

reached the road and was headed after them. “We’re not done yet,” he said. “What?” “They’re on our tail.” “Oh dear,” she said as if he’d suggested, We’re going to be late for the opera. Ben couldn’t help a laugh. “Lady, you have a knack for understatement.” “There’s a gun underneath the seat.” “What?” he demanded. A gunshot ripped through the air.

Ben yanked the wheel hard left onto another street. The back end of the car slid. Tires squealed in unison with a muttered ‘oof’ from the back. “Good Lord,” she muttered. “Give me the gun,” he ordered. Movement flashed in the rearview mirror and Liz’s face came into view. “Dammit, Liz, I said stay down.” “You asked for the gun.” “Give me the gun and get down.” “How can you shoot when you’re driving?” she demanded. He glanced in the mirror and met

her gaze. Lights flashed in the mirror as the limo took the turn like a jackrabbit. The Mercedes should have been able to outrun the limo, but leave it to Sanchez to have installed special get-away modifications. A car whizzed past them going in the opposite direction. Ben scanned the street. Four streets up, he could make another left that would spill them onto Chihuahua-Juarez 45, headed north to the border. The limo was losing ground. Another few seconds and he and Liz would be out of danger. A car turned onto the road ahead and slid to a stop

sideways, blocking the street. “What the hell?” The sons-ofbitches had called in reinforcements… and there were no turns between them and the car. “Give me that gun, Liz, and buckle up.” In the rearview mirror he saw her eyes flick onto the car blocking the road. “Now.” She thrust the gun over the seat. Even without looking at the weapon, the weight suggested a magnum. At least they’d saved the best for him. “Keep your head down.” Ben gripped the gun with his right hand.

“This is going to be a hard landing. You ready?” “As ready as I’ll ever be.” “Good girl.” *** Good girl? Maybe that meant she would go to heaven—because today she was going to die. Liz glanced down. Her small evening bag slid from under the front seat. She'd forgotten about the purse—and the Modu phone. Liz looked up and saw two men standing outside the black Mercedes she and Adam sped toward. Her heart thudded. The men

aimed guns—big guns—at them. The car jettisoned forward as if a rocket had ignited, throwing her against the seat. She grabbed the seat belt, clicked it into place and bent as low as the safety belt allowed. This can’t be real. A second later, the roar of three shots caused her to duck. Adam had fired, she realized. A volley of shots ripped through the air. Bullets penetrated the metal of their car in a succession of thwangs. She cried out. The car slid sideways.

Liz jammed her eyes closed and clutched the seatback. Her body jolted and her seatbelt locked an instant before the rear of the Mercedes spun and crashed into something. Her stomach lurched. Another crash sounded with another hard jolt. Tires squealed and she snapped open her eyes to see smoke rise from the front wheels as the car rocketed past the roadblock. “Are you all right?” Adam demanded. Her head swam. “What?” “Liz.”

The sharp note in Adam's voice snapped her attention onto his reflection in the rearview mirror. She nodded. “Just a couple more minutes and we’ll lose the limo,” he said. Limo? Liz glanced back. The two men who had been pointing guns at them, were now scrambling up from the side of the road. Her chest tightened. The limousine had become a heat-seeking missile with their car its target. How could the huge vehicle travel that fast? Adam made a sudden right turn. Liz slammed into the side door. The seat belt

cut into her shoulder as she caught sight of an overhead sign that read ChihuahuaJuarez 45. A car horn blared and Adam swerved. Another car sped past. A siren split the air. “Dammit,” he cursed. “Police?” She glanced back. “Yeah.” A black and white truck with a blue and red flashing police light followed two car lengths behind. “This is good. Those thugs won’t dare hurt us with the police around.” “Depends on whether we get a cop

Sanchez doesn’t own. I'd say it's a fiftyfifty chance.” “He owns the police?” This was a bad dream. “We’re five minutes from the border.” The siren blared closer. The police car drove so close, she couldn’t see its front bumper anymore. Liz faced forward. They passed another overhead sign that read United States Border. Two cars in the right lane had slowed in order to avoid them. “They must think we intend to run

the border,” she said. “They must have called ahead.” “Yeah, about now, US Border Patrol will have the border locked down. They’ll have a blockade up and waiting for us. “Maybe you should call them.” “Sanchez took my phone for safekeeping,” he said. “But don’t worry, once the US cops are in sight, I’ll slow down. They won’t shoot us as long as I stop.” Shoot? Her stomach clenched. “You can use my phone.”

His eyes riveted onto the rearview mirror. “You have a phone?” She pulled the phone from her purse and held it up. “Do you have a signal?” She flipped it open. “Two bars.” “Dial for me.” He threw out numbers. She input them, then hit send and pressed the phone to her ear. A dial tone sounded. “It’s ringing.” She handed him the phone. A second later, he said, “Joe, it’s Ben.”

Liz snapped to attention. Ben? “I know,” he said. “Hold up. You got a speeding car headed your way with a Juarez cop on its tail. That’s me.” A pause. “I can’t explain, but I have a civilian in the car, Elizabeth Monahan, so I’d rather you didn’t start shooting when I reach the border.” Flashing lights to the right drew both their attentions. Another Juarez police car raced along an access road that merged with Highway 45. Adam muttered and Liz’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Make that two Juarez cops,” he said into the phone, then, “What is it?” A heartbeat of silence passed and he said, “Yeah, Adam Billings and Elizabeth Monahan.” A three second silence drew out and Liz thought she would go insane with the blare of multiple sirens. Adam gave a cold laugh. “Warrants for our arrest? Sanchez is fast. Sorry, buddy, you’re going to have to clear the road. If we stop on this side of the border, it’s hasta la vista, baby.” Her breath caught when his eyes

flicked onto her from the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’re going to have to run the booth.” She knew he was speaking as much to her as to the man on the phone. His gaze shifted back to the road. “Get Medina on the line and let him know. See you in two minutes.” He flipped the phone closed. The police car behind them veered left as the merging patrol car entered the highway. Liz realized their intention to sandwich their car between them a

second before he said, “Hold on.” The two cars closed in on each side and Ben’s words echoed through her head, hasta la vista, baby. *** The clock on the dashboard read 12:14. A car in the second lane pulled onto the shoulder as they approached. Thank goodness, traffic on a Saturday night headed to the US from Juarez was usually slow. The cop on the left edged closer as the cop on the right veered toward them. The speedometer pointed at one hundred miles per hour. The top

speed was one twenty, but Ben guessed he could push it to one fifty. That’s what the cops would expect him to do. They hadn’t opened fired, and Ben figured Sanchez wanted them alive. The human traffics dealer had to be frothing at the mouth to have been taken in so easily, not to mention, scared by the question of exactly which law enforcement agency Adam Billings worked for. The front fender of the car on the right inched alongside the passenger door. Another second and the fender was

even with the Mercedes’ front tire. Just one more second… Ben glanced left. The driver smiled, then yanked the wheel right. Ben tapped the brakes. The two cars shot past, sideswiping one another. They bounced off each other like two giant metal toys, then veered in opposite directions. Ben jammed his foot down on the accelerator. They rocketed past and the lights of the toll came into view. Ben had crossed this border more times than he could count, but never at a hundred miles per hour. The police car to their right

had straightened and again gave chase. Ben gave a low laugh. “Can’t US Border Patrol stop them?” Liz asked. He hated the tremble in her voice. “I’m sorry, Liz. They can’t. We have to cross through the booths onto American soil.” He glanced in the mirror. They passed beneath a streetlamp and he saw her drawn expression. “We’ll be okay. There isn’t much they can do now.” He should have known better than to voice his hopes. Ben felt the weapon pointed at him almost before he caught

the movement in the corner of his eye as the car pulled up alongside them. “Get down!” He yanked the wheel right. Two shots fired as Ben sideswiped the car. He whipped his gaze forward and yanked his foot off the accelerator as the booths loomed closer. Beyond the booths, blue and red US Border Patrol vehicle lights bounced off the white buildings. Liz murmured, “Good God,” as they sped through the narrow booth at eighty miles an hour.

*** The car slowed. So did time. Liz blinked as they passed a Border Patrol SUV. A second vehicle went by in an eerie blur of white, black, and colored lights that raced across her vision even after Adam passed them. He finally stopped after what seemed minutes instead of seconds. She sat, unable to move. No movement came from the front seat and she pictured Adam dead. She knew the thought was ridiculous, but unreasonable panic caused a tremor in her stomach that quickly escalated into a

body shake. Liz registered the opening of her car door. A large body blocked the opening. She screamed. He reached across her and she struck at his face. He grunted, then grasped her shoulders and dragged her from the car. Red and blue lights bounced off her retinas. She beat his chest. “Liz.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Liz.” The deep voice caused her to yank her head up. She winced at the glare of

the blinding streetlamp. Adam pulled her close and she collapsed into the solid warmth of his arms. Liz fisted his shirt and tears blinded her. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’re all right.” A murmur of voices penetrated the haze. “She’s in shock,” he said. “Get me a blanket.” Liz commanded her mind to clear, but the roar in her ears only thundered louder. Her legs turned to rubber. Her feet left the ground and she threw an arm

around Adam’s neck to keep from falling. “I’ve got you, Liz,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” She buried her face in his chest and escaped into blackness.

Chapter Ten Ben caught sight of his boss, Captain David Medina, when Medina stepped off the elevator in the hospital waiting area. Ben rose as he approached. “How is she?” the captain asked when he reached Ben’s side. “No injuries. Just shock. They haven’t let me see her yet. The doctors gave her something to help her rest.” Medina nodded. “She was lucky.” “We both were.” “How the hell did she end up in the

middle of your operation?” “Ms. Monahan showed up at the party in Tanya’s place.” “What happened to Miss Xavier?” “She was there,” Ben said, “with Sanchez.” Medina frowned, but said with his usual deliberation, “I’d say you let the operation get away from you, Hunter.” Ben nodded. “You wouldn’t be wrong.” He filled Medina in on the details, ending with, “There’s this guy, he gave Sanchez the rundown on my background. He isn’t one of Sanchez’s

lower level goons. He’s someone more important.” “No name?” Medina asked. Ben shook his head. “I can get together with one of our sketch artists and get a drawing. Plus, I’ll see if I can ID him in the system. If we can get the Juarez Chief of Police’s help, I can give him directions to Sanchez’s hacienda. I’m betting Loyola won’t find him there, but there might be some clues to the whereabouts of Christina Remmey.” Medina nodded. “I’ll speak with him. You get Davis to do some research

on this guy with Sanchez. Now, the big news. The Mexican police are demanding that Adam Billings and Ms. Monahan appear to answer charges of attempted murder and evasion.” “Sanchez works fast,” Ben said. “If we go back, he’ll kill us. He won’t do it nicely, Captain. He won’t do it quietly. If my escape with Ms. Monahan didn’t convince him I’m law enforcement, my running the border without getting shot to pieces had to. The fact I’m a Ranger will rub salt in the wound. He’ll go out of his way to make an example of us. I’m going

to have to get him first.” Medina lifted a brow. “If you’d done that first, boy, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. How do you propose to get him? He’s in Mexico—where he doesn’t have to hide.” Ben nodded. Question was: what was Sanchez more afraid of, not knowing the name of Ben’s employer, or the risk he'd have to take to come after him in the US? *** “A warrant for my arrest in Mexico?” Liz stared at Captain Medina.

“And a warrant for Mr. Billings—” not Billings “—Hunter,” she corrected. “Ranger Hunter. Him too? I don’t understand. It’s—” “How is this possible?” Richard broke in. Liz had woken with morning sunshine pouring into the room to find him seated next to her hospital bed. “Liz was kidnapped,” he said. “She’s the victim.” “That’s right,” the captain replied. “And we’ve already communicated that to the Mexican government. However, I wanted to make you aware of the

warrant.” “This is ludicrous,” Liz said. “I know Mr. Sanchez is a powerful criminal, but how did he get the police to issue a warrant for my arrest? There’s just too much proof to the contrary.” “Not the police,” Captain Medina said. “We know the chief of police, Ramon Loyola. He’s a good man and isn’t connected with the charges. The warrant was issued by the Juarez district attorney. Keep in mind, at this point, it’s not as much about the evidence as it is your word against theirs.”

Her heart thudded. “Are you saying there’s a chance I might actually go to prison?” The captain shook his head. “No, ma’am. The Mexican authorities can’t enter the US and arrest you. The Juarez district attorney would have to initiate an extradition order, which would detail the evidence against you. The US district attorney would then have to find that the evidence held water. That’s not going to happen. All this warrant means is that you can’t return to Mexico. But taking you to court isn’t what the warrant is

about. This is a strategic move on Sanchez’s part. He’s going to figure that you told us that he ordered Ben to kill you and that’s got him worried. So, if he throws mud first, that’ll make you and Ben the criminals, which casts doubt on your statements.” Liz’s head whirled. “I don’t understand. Adam—Mr. Hunter—said the man is a notorious human trafficker. Isn’t he a wanted criminal?” “He is, and we believe that if we can lay our hands on him, we can put him in jail. His discussion with Ben

concerning your murder is solid evidence.” She didn’t like the words ‘we believe,’ but released a slow breath, then said, “Of course I’ll testify.” Captain Medina’s expression hardened. “He’s not getting away from us, Ms. Monahan.” “So this Sanchez is sending Liz a message,” Richard said. “That’s right.” She snorted. ”What message, I want to kill you? I already know that.” “Yeah,” the Captain replied. “But I

want to kill you isn’t the same as I am powerful enough to kill you. That’s a message that would scare anybody, and people who are scared make mistakes.” She frowned. “What kind of mistakes?” “Running,” he answered. “That would put you out in the open.” Fear tightened her stomach. “Is it possible he knows I’m here, in the hospital?” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I talked with admissions. You’re listed as Cheryl Jones.”

“And we moved you to a different hotel,” Richard said. Liz jerked her gaze onto Richard. “Per the captain’s suggestion,” he said. “Brenda packed your things.” Liz looked at Captain Medina. “Things are that bad?” “I read Ranger Hunter’s report. He says the Remmeys introduced him to Sanchez. Sanchez is going to figure they doubled-crossed him. Moving you to another hotel allows them to tell him where you were staying. That keeps Sanchez thinking they’re giving him

honest information. There is a method to our madness. Trust us on this one.” “Am I Cheryl Jones at the new hotel?” “No ma’am. Debbie Adams. It’s best Cheryl Jones doesn’t leave a trail.” “Is Mr. Sanchez really that powerful?” she asked. “We estimate Sanchez’s organization to be worth about twenty million dollars.” Liz gasped in unison with Richard’s, “My God.” “He owns many law enforcement

officers in Mexico,” the captain said. “I can assure you, that’s not the case here. But we’ve never had a bona fide run in with him before, so we can’t know who he might have on the payroll.” Liz looked down at her hands resting on the sheet that covered her legs. “I’m so sorry, Captain. This is all my fault. If not for me—” “We should have been told Ranger Hunter was undercover,” Richard interrupted. “Richard—” “No, Liz. I’ve already spoken with

Nina, and she agrees.” Richard shifted his attention to the captain. “We can appreciate the fact that you want to catch this man, but using civilians without their knowledge isn’t kosher.” “Mr. Anderson, it is kosher, and more common than you probably realize. However, I’m happy to give you the number of the two Federal agents running this operation, if you’d like to discuss the matter with them.” “Those agents aren’t the ones who put Liz in danger. Your Ranger—” “Richard,” Liz cut in.”

“Liz—” “Don’t Liz me,” she said. “I know you’re looking out for my best interests, but you’re way off base. You weren’t there. So stop before I get really peeved.” She looked at the captain. “Am I in any danger?” “We don’t think Sanchez knows where you are, if that’s what you mean, but we have to make sure you stay safe until we catch him.” She nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. I assume you have a plan?” “We’re working on that. Sanchez is

going to be worried. We plan to use that to our advantage. None of this means you should relax. In fact, I’ve arranged for someone to escort you to your hotel.” Her pulsed jumped. Was that someone Ben Hunter? As the dust settled and last night’s events came forward, the recollection that persisted was of Ben’s arms around her when he’d pulled her from the car, then the warmth that surrounded her as he lifted her into his embrace. “I’ve got you, Liz,” he’d said. “You’re safe.” And she’d believed him.

Of course, she’d been in shock, at least that’s what she’d told herself a thousand times. But the memory of his arms around her had remained. She pushed aside the distraction as she had every time it had surfaced and said, “Thank you, Captain.” “I can take you to the hotel,” Richard said. “In fact, we can take a plane directly back to Dallas.” “Returning to Dallas isn’t possible just yet,” Captain Medina said. “We need Ms. Monahan to give formal statements to us and the FBI and, when

you return to Dallas, arrangements have to be made for your protection until this is over.” “You go on,” she told Richard. He started to shake his head and she cut off the response she knew was coming. “Richard, what are you going to do if someone comes after us? You’ve never shot a gun in your life.” “That’s not true,” he said. “If you recall, Nina has a nice collection of guns. We’ve done plenty of shooting.” “That little Smith & Wesson revolver you shot disappears in your

hand. It doesn’t count as real shooting— and neither does target practice. I’ll get things worked out and be on the first plane home.” And she would put this nightmare— which included Ben Hunter-- behind her.

Chapter Eleven Later that morning, as Liz packed a few incidentals Richard had brought to her, a knock on her hospital door brought her head up and around. Adam Billings —no, Ben Hunter—stood in the doorway. In a flash, she took in the white shirt buttoned to just below the collar, the Ranger badge pinned over his left breast, Levis that hugged long, lean legs, and brown cowboy boots. Then she froze. This wasn't the man who, dressed in a tux, had escorted her to the gala last night. This was the Ranger who had

taken on sex-trafficking mobsters and saved her life in a high-speed car chase through Juarez, Mexico. She couldn't help another glance at the badge. Yes, in full Ranger tradition, the badge was cut from a Mexican coin. It suited him. Liz lifted her gaze to his face. A corner of his mouth lifted in an uncertain smile and butterflies flitted across the insides of her stomach. This was the first time she’d seen him since admission to the hospital last night. The nervousness was nothing more than uncertainty over how to react to the man who had saved

her life—and seeing him looking like— “The only thing missing is your Stetson,” she heard herself say. “The Stetson's in the truck,” he said. Liz flushed. “Can I come in?” he asked. She broke the stare. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Come in.” He crossed to where she stood. “You look good.” She laughed, thankful the sound came out natural. “I’m a bit better than I was the last time you saw me.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

A strange tremor replaced the butterflies. “You saved my life.” He gave a deprecating snort. “It's a damn good thing, seeing as I'm the one who put you in danger. When you showed up instead of Tanya, I should have bagged the operation.” “Tanya? What has she got to do with this?” “Strictly speaking, nothing. But when she canceled out on you, then showed up on Sanchez’s arm, I should have known things were out of control.”

“I see.” Liz dropped a small tube of toothpaste into an inside pocket of her overnight bag, then sat down on the chair beside the bed. “Tanya wouldn’t have liked being deserted, but she wouldn't have come looking for you.” “No.” “I put a big kink in things, didn’t I?” He smiled. “If you’re the worst kink I run into, life won’t be so bad.” She flashed a small smile, but the warmth evaporated too quickly. “I blew your cover and nearly got us both

killed.” “It was a tough spot.” “I understand there are warrants for our arrests in Mexico,” Liz said. “I’m sure the captain told you that we’ll deal with it.” Despite Captain Medina’s assurances, she planned to talk with her lawyer. She was nervous—truth be told, she wasn't quite over last night’s harrowing events—but she said, “If you’re worried I might go back to face the charges in an attempt to expose that man, no need. I’m not that naïve.”

Ben’s expression sobered. “I’m glad to hear that. That would force me to come for you.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “Being on the run in Mexico once is quite enough, thank you.” “If anyone questions you about the arrest warrants, don't talk about it.” He gave an apologetic smile. “The warrants are for Elizabeth Monahan and Adam Billings.” She frowned, and he added, “Adam Billings doesn't exist. Technically, Ben Hunter isn't wanted.” “So Mr. Sanchez doesn't know who

you really are?” Ben nodded. “It's ridiculously unfair and the irony isn't lost on me, but we're hoping it gives us an edge.” Liz nodded. “The irony would have been me mucking up your investigation a second time by accidentally revealing your identity.” He advanced two steps and squatted eye level with her. “Not one drop of this is your fault. Nothing you do could be wrong.” “But it could hurt you.” He flashed that same smile he had

last night and her heart stopped for an instant. “Nothing you do could hurt me.” Liz tapped a finger to his skull. “You need to have your short term memory checked.” He grasped her hand. Her gaze snagged on his long, tanned fingers, and the warmth that seeped from his flesh caused a shiver. “I'm not an undercover agent by trade,” he said, drawing her attention back to his face. “I agreed to this assignment because I was the best choice for the job on such short notice.”

He grinned and released her hand. “Kind of like you.” She snorted. “You don’t seem to be any better at it than I am.” His brows lifted. “You looked spectacular in that dress. You got noticed.” That she had. Now she hoped that notice didn't extend to the media. The attention could damage Nina Bruno. A memory struck. “Wait a minute, your identity. Last night when Mr. Sanchez told you to kill me, he said, ‘It wouldn’t be your first.’

You told him you had murdered someone? What is that, a plus on your resume?” Ben laughed and stood. “A big plus, as a matter of fact. I denied it, of course.” He winked. “That’s what criminals do. But he didn’t believe me because that’s what turned up when he checked me out, which is exactly what we wanted.” Liz shot to her feet. “You have a criminal record? Why didn’t that show up on the background check the Thompson Agency ran? The background

checks on all models include criminal records. How did they miss the fact you’re a murderer?” “The Feds kept my record clean when I applied with Nina Bruno.” Ben grinned. “But don’t forget, Ben Hunter is straight as an arrow. It’s Adam Billings who isn’t a nice guy.” Liz eyed him. “What is Adam Billings’ current criminal record?” “Smuggling illegal weapons into the US comes to mind.” “Illegal weapons?” she exclaimed. “Easy, Liz. I’m not guilty of the

charges.” She nodded. “I know. It’s just this reads like a bad novel.” “Not too bad of a novel, I hope. I was a pretty good escort the first half of the evening.” “You were a terrible escort,” she replied. “You argued with me all night.” Liz recalled Adam Billings’ portfolio. “That explains why most of your work took place in Eastern Europe.” Ben nodded. “It was the only thing the Feds did right.” “What do you mean?”

“We aren’t seeing eye-to-eye with the FBI on this case. Speaking of the suits, have you spoken with them yet?” She shook her head. “No, but your chief said he would set up a meeting. He doesn’t want me going to their offices here in El Paso, in case they’re being watched.” A ripple of fear clenched her stomach, but she kept her voice level, “He said they are particularly interested in Tanya.” “We’re interested in her ourselves.” Liz said, “He asked me about her.”

“What happened?” Ben asked. “Why did she ditch Nina Bruno Designs?” “At first, we thought Jorge made her a better offer. But she seemed surprised to see me wearing the dress at the party, so I suspect it was more.” “More?” he asked. “Someone didn’t want us to show up with the dress. It could have been Jorge. Who knows?” “Isn't her not showing a breach of contract or something?” “It's not straightforward,” Liz

replied. “Tanya's contracted for a movie and asked for a stipulation that allowed her to bow out of the event if a conflict arose.” “That doesn't sound like a good deal for you,” Ben said. Liz rose and picked up the chewing gum sitting on the bed and put it in the bag. “We wanted Tanya to model that dress and we’d never had any problems with her in the past.” “Sounds to me like Tanya was keeping her options open.” “I think that's exactly what she was

doing.” Liz zipped up the bag. “Come on.” Ben smiled and the butterflies made another pass along the insides of her stomach. “I'll take you to your hotel.” She picked up her phone from the bedside table. “Is that necessary? Captain Medina said I’m registered under an alias. Mr. Sanchez can't know I’m here.” Ben shrugged. “I have to protect you.” She didn't miss the sensual note in his voice. A fuzzy feeling that came from

knowing that an attractive man found her attractive sent a ripple of warmth through her. But she wouldn’t go there. Despite his skill in saving her life last night, a twenty-eight-year-old man was just too young for her forty-five-year-old brain—probably for her forty-five-yearold body, too, if she were honest. A mental picture flashed of him standing in front of her, naked, tanned shoulders going on forever. Did he have a smooth chest, or downy soft hair that trailed downward into—she broke from the vision and knew a moment of confusion

when her gaze fixed on the patch of dark skin visible through the opening in his collar. “Liz?” She jerked her head up. He stared, eyes so intense her mouth went dry. “Ben, I—you would be better off with a woman closer to your age. Sheila Antonio, for example.” Amusement appeared in his eyes and she realized she’d given away her thoughts—and he hadn’t said a word to solicit her response. “I’m not interested in Ms. Antonio,”

he drawled. “She clearly found you attractive.” “Yes, and she is nice,” he said with startling conviction. “But she isn’t my type.” “Not your type?” Liz said. “She’s stunning.” “Do you think that’s my only requirement? And by the way, if it was, you could give Sheila Antonio a run for her money.” “She’s got to be twenty years younger than me.” “Not quite,” he replied.

“So you two got to know one another well enough to discuss your ages,” Liz said. Why did that depress her? “She offered plenty of information.” He shrugged. “Don’t fault me for being a good listener.” The nurse appeared in the doorway, a clipboard in hand, and saved her from answering. She smiled. “Am I interrupting?” “No.” Liz squashed the urge to look in Ben’s direction. “Please come in. You’re here to sign my release papers?”

She nodded and approached. At the bed, she halted. “You ready to go home?” “Never been more ready,” Liz replied. “Good.” The nurse scribbled something on the clipboard. “Is your friend taking you home?” “I am,” Ben said before she could reply. Liz shot him a recriminating look. The nurse smiled. “You’re all set. I hope we don’t see you anytime soon.” “You and me both,” Liz said.

She nodded to Ben. “Take good care of her.” “You got it.” Liz waited until the nurse left, then faced Ben. “Let’s get something straight.” She didn’t miss the ghost of a smile that lifted a corner of his mouth. “I don’t date twenty-eight-year-old men.” “No ma’am,” he said. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t patronize me. I’m old enough to be your mother.” “You’re not my boss anymore,” he said, and she remembered his response

last night about her being old enough to be his mother and being his boss: Two points we’ll discuss later. “One out of two is enough to cancel a contract,” she said. “So you won’t date a man young enough to be your son.” “It’s icky,” she said. He laughed. “Liz, somehow, I don’t think you find me icky.” “No,” she admitted. “But it could get there.” He grabbed her bag. “We’re good to go, then.”

“Mr. Hunter—” He stepped closer. “Liz, I’m thirtyfour.” “What?” Thirty-four? He was eleven years younger, not seventeen? That meant— that meant nothing. Thirty-four was still young, even if he was a too-smart thirtyfour, who read every thought in her head. She pinned him with a stare. “You lied on your application?” He shrugged. “Would you have hired me if I’d said thirty-four?” “Maybe.”

“Be honest, you wanted a young buck.” “Thirty-four is a young buck!” “Not as young as twenty-eight. Not even in the same league.” “Wait a minute,” she said. “It’s more likely you’re lying now. You don’t look thirty-four.” Ben grinned. “I don’t, do I? One of the reasons I was perfect for the assignment.” Being drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt, either, she thought. And that smile. “What was the other reason?” she

asked. “My need to stop Carlos Sanchez from enslaving more young men and women.” Liz startled. “You? But you can’t be the only officer who can stop him.” “I don’t work alone. I’ve got a whole team behind me.” “A whole team?” “Didn’t the captain tell you?” Ben asked. “Tell me what?” “I head the Ranger Reconnaissance Team.”

She stared. “The Recon Rangers?” His grin widened. “You’ve heard of us.” She recalled the article in the Fort Worth newspaper that reported on the new Texas Ranger team. They trained at Texas military bases and were as much Green Beret as Texas Ranger. The pictures in the newspaper showed men who had turned in their jeans and felt cowboy hats for camouflage, helmets, and bulletproof vests. They wore sidearms, shotguns, and assault rifles, and ranged from mid-thirties to mid-fifties.

No twenty-eight year old men. This explained his skill in getting them out of Mexico. The man knew what he was doing. “I thought the Recon Rangers were supposed to stop drug traffickers along the border,” she said. Ben cupped her elbow. “We do.” He led her toward the door. “But we figure a human traffics dealer deserves a little of our attention.”

Chapter Twelve When Ben glanced in the mirror of his Chevy Silverado for the fourth time, Liz said, “Is someone following us?” His gaze shifted from the mirror to the road ahead, but she didn't miss the thinning of his mouth before he replied in a casual tone, “Nope.” “I think you're lying,” she said. “Which makes me want to turn and look.” His head whipped in her direction.

“What makes you think I’m lying?” “It doesn't take a mind reader to see you aren't happy I asked the question.” “I have to remember how observant you are.” “I guess that's a yes,” she said. He shook his head and returned his attention to the road as he slowed for a car stopped at a red light. “No. I didn't lie. No one is following us. I just didn't realize you caught on to the fact I was watching.” “I don't know,” Liz said. “Coming from a man who lies for a living…”

He laughed. “You have me confused with the FBI. Rangers are a more straight forward breed of law enforcement.” “You've been lying to me since I met you.” “Until last night, yes. But remember, I'm a Ranger, not FBI. I'm usually chasing the bad guy in real time. I did plan on telling you the truth face-to-face once that modeling gig was over.” “If things went as planned, I wouldn't have known the difference,” she replied. “Until I tried to hire you

again, I guess.” He glanced at her, his smile lighting up his handsome face. “You would have hired me again?” “I hired you once. Why not?” His smile widened. “You like me.” She rolled her eyes. “It would have been business.” “What about now?” he asked. “What?” “Is it business now?” The light turned green and he accelerated behind the other car. “I could easily throw some work

your way,” Liz said. “There's good money in modeling for a man like you.” Ben shot her a curious look. “A man like me, huh? Would it mean dancing with you again?” She grimaced. “One night of modeling was quite enough for me, thank you very much.” “Then I guess we'll both skip the modeling and go straight for the dancing.” “Ben—” “Liz, I planned on asking anyway.” “You're talking nonsense,” she said.

“I wouldn't have been around for you to ask.” “El Paso to Dallas is a ninety minute flight. Piece of cake.” She blinked, startled by the unreserved response. Youth, she thought. That's what it was. She remembered those days, when she'd fallen in love with Jack. She'd been twenty-seven— even younger than Ben—and jumping on a plane was easy. Not anymore. Shoot, the overnight stay at the hospital had required that Richard bring her a few essentials. Well, maybe not. He'd called

and said they were coming, and asked if she wanted anything. She could have gotten by. But the idea of a long-distance relationship where she had to take a plane…was it the plane ride or the relationship that made her hesitate? “I am sorry.” Ben's apology drew her back from her thoughts. “I knew I would have some explaining to do, but I honestly didn't think I'd see you again until I showed up on your doorstep in Dallas,” he said. What would she have done if he had

shown up in Dallas? “I barely have time for a relationship close to home, much less one separated by a nine-hour drive,” she said. “A ninety-minute flight,” he corrected, then, “Is there someone at home?” “No,” she admitted, knowing he'd interpret her answer as a green light, but believing she'd never get away with lying. She was bad at lying and he was good at detecting lies. “I like Dallas,” he said. “I'd come to you.”

Liz wanted to say What then? but that was definite confirmation of a green light. “Tell you what,” he said, “we'll start with an early supper. You're here, so there's no commitment in me driving a few miles to pick you up at your hotel.” She was going to say no, then realized she had to say yes because she needed more answers. *** Ben stepped into headquarters, spotted Sheila Antonio sitting in the chair beside his desk, and slowed. Her

attention remained focused on her phone’s display. He checked a spike of frustration and continued forward. Sheila looked up as he rounded the desk. She tapped the screen of her phone and it went dark as he lowered himself into his seat. She slipped the phone into her purse. “Interesting party last night.” Ben tapped the enter button on his computer keyboard to wake up the machine. “I was surprised to see you there. I didn’t know you were into fashion.”

“You really know how to romance a girl.” “I’m not romancing you, Sheila.” “You once did.” “We had a casual thing. Your words, if you remember.” “In the beginning,” she said. “As you know, I changed my mind. As I’ve told you a dozen times.” “And I’ve told you each time that had I known you were interested in more, I wouldn’t have begun even a casual relationship with you.” “Am I that bad?”

“You know better than that, Sheila. There’s just nothing of substance between us.” “Like there is between you and Liz Monahan?” Ben jerked his gaze from the computer screen onto Sheila. “That was business. You obviously guessed I was undercover.” “Adam Billings. I did a little digging. He’s a pretty shady character. Does he have anything to do with Carlos Sanchez?” No one could accuse Sheila Antonio

of being stupid. “It’s part of a federal investigation. I’m not at liberty to talk about it.” She gave a nod that, to someone who didn’t know her, could be mistaken for acquiescence. But in the year Ben had known her, he’d never known her to give up on anything, including, getting him into her bed—again. “Liz Monahan wouldn’t be part of that investigation, by chance? A woman with mob ties could come in handy when dealing with a human traffics dealer.” “Mob ties?” Ben repeated. “You’re

mistaken.” “At twenty-four, she was arrested for racketeering, money laundering and illegal gambling. Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova, was the name of the mobster she was involved with.” Ben was startled into silence. “There’s got to be more to the story,” he finally said. She lifted a brow. “I thought she was just business.” Bingo! She’d nailed him. “It is,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. So far, their relationship had been strictly

business. “But the woman didn’t strike me as mob material.” Sheila shrugged. “All charges were eventually dropped, but you and I know the average woman isn’t involved with the mob.” Liz Monahan wasn’t the average woman. “This goes a little too far, even for you, Sheila.” “You think so?” she said in a nonchalant voice that Ben didn’t believe for an instant. She didn’t like being taken to task.

“You figured you’d dug up some dirt on a woman I was interested in and would stir up trouble.” “Don’t hate the messenger,” she said. “You just have my best interests at heart,” he said. “I care about you. You know that.” “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” he asked. “No. Want to get together for a drink tonight?” He shook his head. “I’m busy.” “Liz Monahan?”

“Work,” he said. Captain Medina stuck his head out of his office and called, “Hunter, I need to see you.” Ben rose. “Keep last night to yourself, Sheila. This is a serious investigation.” “I never talk about work. You know that.” That was true. Ben nodded, then headed to the captain’s office. Medina motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. “Close the door and sit.” Ben did as ordered, and Medina

said, “The Feds are claiming you jeopardized the operation.” “Look, Captain, I take full responsibility for what happened, but no one could have known Ms. Monahan would go looking for me—the Feds included. Let Braxton and Masters tell their boss back at FBI headquarters different, but it’s a hard sell.” “You not knowing Ms. Monahan would show up doesn’t change the fact those boys are gunning for you,” Medina said. “It's not the first time we've locked

horns with the Feds. What can they do about it?” Ben asked. “They can get Dendy to call for an investigation.” That caught Ben off guard. “The Chief won’t cow tow to the Feds. He isn’t any happier about their interference than we are.” “Maybe not,” Medina said. “But they've mentioned going above his head to the DPS Director.” Ben considered that for a minute. “This is a grudge match, plain and simple. Braxton and Masters resent that I

went undercover without them.” “Would they go so far as to put you out of business over it?” Medina asked. “Those girls' deaths made big news,” Ben replied. “The pressure's on to catch the animals who murdered them. We know catching the murderers isn’t that easy. The Feds know it's not that easy. But I think that if it takes blaming me for the killers not being caught, well…” He shrugged. “That would solve their public relations problem.” “Yep,” Medina said. “And you made it easy.”

Ben studied him. “Do you agree with them?” The captain released a breath. “No. But they're making a lot of noise about the fact that a murder charge has been brought against a Ranger. The fact that the victim is a Mexican law enforcement officer makes the crime worse.” “Murder charges?” Ben blurted. “Last I heard, it was attempted murder, and I thought the supposed victim was one of Sanchez's men.” “An officer in the second patrol car died in the hospital two hours ago.”

“Not from a magnum bullet,” Ben fired back. “I never shot at the police officers. I shot at the tires of one squad car. Forensics has the weapon. It's all in my report. They can confirm the rounds fired.” “They can't confirm what you shot at or hit,” Medina replied. “Come on, Captain, you know this is trumped up. This is the first they've mentioned an officer being shot.” “The police claim they were keeping quiet until the family was notified.”

Understanding struck, then anger rocketed through Ben. “This dead officer wouldn't be a cop that wasn't on Sanchez's payroll, by any chance? Someone who wasn't part of the set-up and needed to die?” “I haven’t been made privy to the particulars, yet.” Ben shook his head. “Loyola would never go for this. He's the best Chief of Police Juarez has ever had. What's he got to say about this?” “Loyola didn't issue the warrants. It's the DA.”

A chill settled in Ben's belly. “What about Ms. Monahan, were the charges against her bumped up to murder?” “The charges against her are now accessory to murder, instead of accessory to attempted murder,” Medina replied. “The FBI says Ms. Monahan will remain in protective custody until such time as there's a trial, then they will escort her to Mexico.” Ben stared. “You're joking. They would actually send her back to stand trial? Her only crime was being a little too nosy. She didn't fire a single shot.”

“Her fingerprints were lifted off the magnum.” Ben’s temper mounted. “You read my report—I know the Feds read my report—she handed me the gun. What the hell's going on? None of this makes sense. If I didn't know better, I'd say Braxton and Masters worked for Sanchez.” “Have you considered the possibility someone besides Sanchez wants you back in Mexico?” Medina asked. “Like who?”

“Like someone higher up the food chain. If you and Ms. Monahan return to answer the charges, details about what really happened would come out in a courtroom.” It took a second, then Ben understood. “Are you saying someone over there believes our testimony will convict Sanchez? That's the craziest thing I've heard yet. Aside from the fact that he's not the one on trial, we would never make it to the courthouse. We'd be dead half an hour after entering the country.”

“Security would have to be tight.” “Even if Dendy agreed to send me back, he'd never send Ms. Monahan,” Ben said. “He knows it's a death sentence.” “I haven't spoken with the chief yet.” “Thing is, if I believed we could get Sanchez this way, I'd be there in twenty minutes,” Ben said. “But Ms. Monahan doesn't have to do a damn thing the FBI tells her to.” “They won't protect her if she doesn't cooperate.”

Ben gave a mirthless laugh. “Good, that leaves me to take care of her.” “Like you did last night?” Medina asked. “Better.” “You won't be much good without your badge.” “So that's how it is?” Ben leaned forward “I go back or our Federal buddies go to the director.” He rose. “That's just fine. I don't need a badge to take care of her.” Or to get Sanchez.

Chapter Thirteen Liz dropped her overnight bag on the chair in her hotel room. She needed room to breathe. Her close brush with death last night—and perhaps the close proximity with Ben Hunter five minutes ago—had jumbled her thoughts. Of course, the one unanswered question that nagged her wasn’t helping. Liz figured if she was going to get any answers before she left El Paso—and before Mr. Sanchez discovered where she was

staying—it had to be now. Liz glanced at her watch. Twelveoh-three. Ben said he would pick her up at three for an early supper. She suspected he didn’t trust her out of his sight. Three hours was more than enough time to get some answers. She picked up her purse and left the room. If a Ranger stopped her on the way out of the hotel, she would tell him to keep a discreet distance while following her, but go she would. She made it out of the lobby and into a cab without being stopped.

Tension tied her stomach into a pretzel by the time she reached Larissa Remmey’s office at G International half an hour later. She was taking a chance showing up without an appointment, but going back to Larissa’s home wasn’t an option. For all Liz knew, mobsters had commandeered the Remmeys’ home. Liz’s intuition told her that Larissa Remmey didn’t like rubbing elbows with mobsters. Liz’s intuition also told her that Larissa had something to do with whatever Ben wasn’t telling her. She prayed she hadn’t miscalculated.

Liz now waited on a couch in the waiting room across from Larissa’s personal assistant. One of the big double doors to the right opened and Larissa stepped into the waiting room. Liz rose as she approached. “Liz.” She extended her arms and pulled her into an embrace, then drew back. “This is a pleasant surprise. Come into my office.” She led Liz inside and they sat on a leather sofa in a corner of the massive office. “You disappeared last night.” A twinkle entered Larissa’s eyes. “You didn’t perhaps spend the

evening with one of the young models?” “As a matter of fact I did.” Larissa laughed. “I’m not surprised. That dress was delicious. No man could possibly resist you. Who was the lucky man?” “Adam Billings.” Startlement flickered in her eyes, then melted into understanding. “What did he tell you?” So Larissa knew about Ben. Did she know his real name? “He didn’t tell me anything,” Liz said. “He didn’t have to. The jig was up

when two of your guests kidnapped me and took me to Mexico where my date was instructed to kill me.” Larissa straightened. “My God, Liz. What happened?” Liz related the story and Larissa grew pale. “I’m going to be blunt,” Liz said. Larissa gave a short laugh. “Have you been holding back, my dear?” Liz laughed. “No. Let’s just agree, we won’t pull punches.” Larissa nodded. “Agreed.” She grasped Liz’s hand and squeezed. “I am

truly sorry. I had no idea.” Liz offered a soft smile. “I don’t believe you intended for me to be abducted.” Larissa released Liz’s hand. “What I intended was for Mr. Hunter to find my granddaughter.” When Larissa finished her story, Liz fought back tears. She’d really mucked things up. It was a sure bet that Carlos Sanchez was now on the hunt for Ben, which meant Ben’s chances of returning undercover were nil. Not only had she ended his investigation, she’d put

Larissa’s granddaughter in peril—not to mention, endangered the Remmeys. Mr. Sanchez couldn’t be certain they knew Ben was a police officer, but a man like Mr. Sanchez would kill them out of spite. What was the saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold. Yeah, but why had Carlos Sanchez kidnapped the Remmeys’ granddaughter? Liz held Larissa’s gaze. “What exactly can your husband do for Carlos Sanchez?” Larissa didn’t flinch from her gaze. “Help him transport slaves across the

border.” *** As Ben drove toward Liz’s hotel, he knew dinner wasn’t going to go as planned. Aside from the curve ball Sheila had thrown him about Liz’s past, Liz was already proving to be the handful he’d suspected her to be. After leaving headquarters, he’d made a few phone calls that he hoped would fill him in on her past—then told himself to turn off the cop instincts and wait for answers. Concealing his thoughts wasn’t the

problem. Liz figuring out that he had something on his mind was the real danger. After all, she had figured out that something was going on with the Remmeys—and kept quiet, which fooled him into thinking she wasn’t going to interfere. Then Larissa called and described Liz’s visited. Now Ben didn’t have the slightest idea what she intended to do with her newfound knowledge. He parked in front of the hotel and got out. The valet took the keys and Ben headed into the lobby. She almost hadn't agreed to dinner. He wondered if her

agreement included plans to ferret out the Remmeys’ involvement with Carlos Sanchez. And maybe even find out what she’d stumbled into and what kinks she’d put into his investigation. The woman did keep busy. Damn, he hoped she didn't give him trouble when he reached her room. Despite the very real possibility she was connected with Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova, Ben wanted badly to see her. Just as importantly, however, he needed to keep her in his sights until Medina got back to him. Ben was certain Chief

Dendy wouldn't allow Liz to return to Mexico, and Medina was in agreement, but if the Feds managed to convince her, Dendy might not be able to stop her. Ben wasn't sure he could either. They needed to find Sanchez before the Feds had a chance to come to any real decision, then apply pressure. Sanchez scorned the American justice system, and the way Ben figured it, he wanted Ben—and Liz —badly enough to stay close by in Juarez. Despite the fact that Ranger Lance David had been assigned to keep an eye

on Liz, Ben hated letting her out of his sight. The tall man sitting in one of the lobby chairs lifted his eyes from the newspaper he was reading and telepathed an all okay. Ben allowed himself to relax a notch. If Braxton and Masters had paid Liz a visit, Lance would have let him know. The ranger stretched long, jean-clad legs out in front of him and Ben knew the big man would be gone by the time he and Liz made it down to the lobby. Ben took the elevator up to the fifth floor and, a minute later, knocked on

Liz’s door. No one answered. He knocked again. Silence followed and his heart rate notched up. Lance was good at his job. If Sanchez’s men had walked through the front door, Lance would have spotted them in a heartbeat. A second Ranger monitored the delivery entrance. No one had believed Sanchez would make a move this quickly, but Medina had agreed with Ben; they couldn’t chance that Sanchez would get lucky and find her. Ben knocked—pounded—this time. The door opened so abruptly that he took

an unsteady step forward before catching himself. Liz stood before him. She lifted a brow and he knew she’d figured out exactly what he was thinking. She confirmed the thought by saying, “I guess you’d better catch him.” Yeah, he guessed she was right. Ben had told her the evening would be casual so, like him, she wore jeans. Her short-sleeve, peasant-style shirt slipped off one shoulder, and the flash of skin made her look just as good as she had last night in the tiny designer dress. Good enough to eat. How was it

possible this woman could be connected with a mob boss? He smiled. “I’m glad you decided to keep the date.” “I figured you’d track me down if I didn’t.” He would have. Then he would have turned her over his knee for good measure. That idea had serious merit. “Come on in.” She released the door and turned back toward the room. Ben hurried across the threshold, letting the door swing shut behind him. Liz crossed to the chest of drawers and

picked up a keycard lying there. Ben brushed past her as she picked up a small purse. He stopped at the curtained window that spanned the far wall and pulled the curtain back enough to peer outside. “See that pond?” she said. “Very quaint. Reminds me of a little fishing hole I use to go to as a kid.” He glanced at her. “You fish?” She slipped the keycard into her purse then looked at him. “I was a master fisherwoman by the time I was ten.”

He released the curtain and faced her. “By age ten?” She shrugged. “Best bamboo pole and bobber fisherwoman you ever saw.” Ben laughed. “I would like to have seen that.” Her mouth scrunched in a grimace. “I was a funny looking kid, and even funnier with that pole propped over my shoulder.” He could see it, a cuter version of Huck Finn. “What did you catch?” “Primarily croaker and perch. Catfish, if I was lucky.” She slipped the

purse strap over her shoulder. “Ready?” “Yes, ma’am.” They started toward the door. “Did you do any other fishing besides the local pond?” he asked. “Surf fishing. I never developed a taste for deep-sea fishing. The fish are too big. I did fish for steelhead, though.” “Steelhead? You didn’t fish for steelhead in Texas.” They reached the door and Ben opened it, then stood aside as she preceded him. “The pacific northwest,” she

replied. “It was fun, but too much work.” Ben laughed. “You obviously fish for the peace and quiet.” “Fresh fish can’t be beat. I never fished unless I intended to eat what I caught.” “I was a trout and bass man myself,” he said as they started down the hallway. “None of the little guys for you?” she said He laughed, but she added before he could respond, “Trout fishing is more work than steelhead.” “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Her head snapped up and her gaze met his. He grinned and she rolled her eyes, then looked down the hall. “Where are we going?” “I know this great steakhouse on the south side,” he said. “You’ll love it.” She remained silent until they reached his truck. When he flipped on his turn signal and waited to merge into oncoming traffic, she said, “I agreed to your invitation because I want to talk to you.” Ben flashed an innocent look, but caught the almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes in the instant

before she said, “You know I spoke to Larissa.” It wasn’t a question. He joined the traffic flow. “You’re going to be damned hard to hide anything from, Liz.” “I’ve been told that.” He just bet she had. “You didn’t find out anything about Larissa’s granddaughter, did you?” she asked. He stopped for a light and looked at her. “I didn’t find out much of anything.” Sadness darkened her expression. “It’s not your fault, Liz.”

“Maybe not,” she replied. “But it’s still heart wrenching.” Ben couldn’t argue that point. “We’re not done with Sanchez.” “After last night, He'll be cautious about dealing with people he doesn’t know.” “Yes.” Likely, he’d be more than cautious. He would go into deep hiding —after he got revenge. If that happened, it would be a long time before the Rangers got another shot at catching him. “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

The light turned green and Ben accelerated. “We’re going to get Larissa’s granddaughter back and shutdown Sanchez’s operation.” Even if Ben had to chase him to the southernmost point of South America. She looked at him. “You make it sound easy.” “All in a day’s work.” The last thing he wanted was to discuss business. Tonight was supposed to be about pleasure. But if he didn’t share what the FBI planned for them, tomorrow she would find out he hadn't told her. “You

never did tell me exactly what you heard on the balcony, Liz.” She looked at him. “Is this why you asked me out?” The indignant lift of her brow made him regret the question. He’d fallen into his own trap. “No. Strictly speaking, you don’t have to say another word to me about what happened.” “We might as well get it out of the way,” she replied. “The American said they had an arrangement and the Mexican said that arrangements change. The American said that Carlos wanted the

girls moved and the Mexican said it was too hot and Mr. Sanchez's men were the ones who had caused the problem. That's when the American told him that if he fucked Mr. Sanchez over they would be as dead as those girls.” Liz shrugged. “That’s it. I was so startled that I made a noise and they found me.” She flashed an embarrassed smile. “I wouldn't make a good undercover agent.” “I'm impressed you didn't go into hysterics,” Ben said. She snorted. “I came pretty close.” Ben had experienced a bit of

hysteria himself. He'd never been more scared than when Sanchez opened the door and he saw her standing in that bedroom. “You did good,” he said, remembering her calm while surrounded by some of the nastiest criminals in Mexico. Was her courage born of experience? “Real good,” he added, despite the sudden doubt. “I think that's a compliment,” she said. He braked behind a car at another traffic light. “It is.” “You're being too serious, Mr.

Hunter.” Ben reached for her hand and covered it with his. “Liz, it's no joking matter.” Her mouth parted in surprise and she dropped her gaze. He knew she wasn't being coy, which made the feminine response all the more compelling. Arousal hit like lightning. “It's over, Ben,” she murmured. “We can put it behind us.” He squeezed her hand, then released her. “Not quite over, honey.” Her head lifted and she met his

gaze. “What is it?” Ben followed a car through the intersection and began telling her about the FBI's latest and greatest plan. When he finished, she said, “Sounds insane.” “That's what I think. Just remember, they can't make you do anything.” “I'm assuming they can't actually make you do anything, either,” she said. “But they can cause you a great deal of trouble.” “They can try,” Ben said, as he passed a car to his left. “Which isn't to

say they'll succeed. It's a shame, but we butt heads with the Feds more often than not. This could be one big bluff, or even part of some bigger plan they're not letting us in on. We'll know more once my boss talks with the chief.” She didn't answer and he added, “I won't let them hurt you. And I sure as hell won’t let Sanchez hurt you.” Liz gave a small laugh. “Catch Mr. Sanchez without getting yourself killed and that'll solve our problems.” “Yes, ma'am. Now, no more business talk for the rest of the evening. I

think we both deserve a night off. Right now, I want to talk about you. What got you into fashion design and why don’t you have a husband?” “Are you always the detective?” “Sometimes I play a fashion model.” He flashed his most winning grin. She grimaced. “But not very well.” “I fooled you,” he said. Had she fooled him? “You didn’t fool me for long,” she replied. “I studied architecture in college. Fashion is all about line and art

and holding stuff in place, so the move was a natural one for me.” He’d wondered how she had held herself in place in that dress last night. Every time he’d looked her way, he half expected her to fall out. “I guess that’s the point.” “What point?” “Never mind,” he said. “You were telling me why you're not married.” “I met a guy, he was ROTC, and that was it.” “It?” “He graduated and I followed him

to officer training, and then to Fort Bragg. Then he shipped out.” Ben caught the hitch in her voice. Damn, he hated unhappy endings. He could picture it. A young soldier, officer, and his fiancé saying goodbye right before he boarded a big gray airplane, maybe at Eglin or Travis. The man wore fatigues and Liz a summer dress. “I’m sorry, Liz.” “It was a long time ago.” She studied him. “You look a little like Jack. Funny, I hadn’t noticed that before.” Ben slowed and turned into the

restaurant parking lot. “I’d have to find out what happened before I know if that’s good or bad.” “It’s good.” The soft note in her voice pulled at his heart and heated his blood enough to make him wish they were back in her hotel room. “Jack came back from that deployment and we married,” she said. “He got shipped out, came back, shipped out, came back, and one day he shipped out and didn't come back. He was going to start a new career

in law enforcement. I wanted to breed Basset Hounds.”

Chapter Fourteen When they entered the restaurant, the hostess smiled and asked if there would be two for dinner. Ben nodded, then caught sight of two men sitting at a table near the kitchen. He fleetingly wondered if he could get Liz out of the restaurant before the men spotted them, but the one facing them looked up. The other twisted and looked over his shoulder. A determined light glinted in the second man’s eyes and Ben cursed

his rotten luck—and his judgment in choosing a restaurant he knew his cousin favored. Both men rose and Ben slipped an arm around Liz’s waist. “Brace yourself, honey.” She looked at him. “What?” The men approached and her attention shifted from Ben to them. “Well, well,” the second man said. “Fancy seeing you here.” “How are you, R.W?” Ben looked at the other man. “Hal.” R.W. studied Liz. “I don’t recall

seeing you around El Paso, sweetheart.” “That’s because I’m from Dallas.” He shifted his attention to Ben. “You haven’t returned my calls.” “I’ve been busy. It’s good to see you, R.W., you too, Hal, but Liz and I have plans that don’t include you two.” Ben steered her toward the waiting hostess. “Is everything all right?” Liz asked. “Who are those men?” “Didn’t Ben tell you, darlin’?” “R.W.,” Hal said in a low voice. Ben tightened his hold on Liz’s

waist, but she twisted to look back at R.W, and Ben gave in. “Hold that table,” he told the hostess, then turned. R.W.’s gaze settled on him. “I’m the man who’s going to inherit his daddy’s ranch if Ben doesn’t quit fooling around and get himself back home.” Ben opened his mouth to reply, but Liz said, “Does fooling around refer to his law enforcement career?” R.W.’s eyes slid back to Liz. “That’s what it means.” She looked at Ben. “Is this joker serious?”

Ben couldn’t prevent a laugh. Hal didn’t successfully stifle his laughter, either. “He’s serious,” Ben said. “This joker has a message from your daddy.” “R.W.,” Ben began. “He wants to see you.” “I’ll stop by in a week or so,” Ben said. “I don’t think that’s the answer he wants.” Ben shifted his attention onto Hal. John ‘Hal’ Halloway was second in

charge of the Lazy F Ranch—after R.W. He was a straight shooter and wasn’t prone to R.W.’s dramatics. “Talk to him, Hal. I don’t intend to ruin this evening with a public brawl.” Two patrons entered the restaurant and the hostess motioned them to follow her. Ben urged Liz a step forward as the two guests brushed past…and noticed a black SUV pull into a parking spot in the outside lot. “What is it?” Liz asked. The SUV’s door opened and a tall man got out. The hint of a bulge in his

waistband confirmed what Ben instinctively knew. The man started toward the rear of the vehicle and seconds later a second man appeared from the driver’s side. They weren't the men he’d met last night, but he would bet a month’s mortgage they were Sanchez’s men, which meant they'd followed him and Liz from the hotel. How had Sanchez found her? Maybe followed her from Larissa’s office? Damn it, that had to be the answer. Ben made a mental note of the license plate number, then turned his

attention to R.W. “Let’s go right now.” He looked at Liz. “You won’t get a better steak than at the Lazy F.” “Then why did you bring me here?” “I’ve really got to remember how smart you are.” He faced R.W. and Hal. “I’m talking now.” R.W.’s eyes narrowed. “Who you running from, boy?” “Men you don’t want to tangle with. Men who will hurt Liz.” “Wouldn’t be those boys who just got out of that black Suburban, would they?”

“That’s them. Now get her out of here.” “Nope,” R.W. said. Ben started to argue. “You’re coming with us. I’m not telling your daddy I left you to get shot. Besides, you can’t fight them in this restaurant. “ “Did I ever tell you that you’re a pain the ass, R.W.?” “Yep.” “You want to meet us around back?” Ben said. “Hal,” R.W. said, but Hal was

already pulling some bills from the front pocket of his jeans. “Honey,” he said to a passing waitress. “We'll send someone for your truck,” Hal said. “Hold up on that,” Ben said. Hal raised a brow, but Ben shook his head. He didn't want to explain anything and, more important, those two men might provide the lead they'd been hoping for. Hal shrugged and Ben grasped Liz’s arm. “Come on.” He started toward the rear of the restaurant. R.W. followed.

“I really wasn’t planning on meeting the family,” she said as Ben hurried her down the aisle. “You’re already halfway there.” They reached the kitchen door and pushed through. “R.W. is my cousin and Hal is the brother I never had.” R.W. grunted. “You didn’t think you were the brother I never had, did you?” Ben asked R.W. The chef paused, a steak held suspended over the fire grill, and frowned at them.

“Where’s the delivery entrance?” Ben asked. The chef’s frown deepened. “The back door?” Ben said. He nodded to a door to his far right. “That door leads to the rear parking lot.” Ben grasped Liz's hand and hurried to the door with R.W. close behind. Ben eased open the door and saw Hal turn the corner in his Blue Silverado. He pulled up and Ben loaded her in the back seat, then pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket as he climbed in

after her. R.W. got in the front seat and they took off. Ben hit the number for Captain Medina, then put an arm around Liz and pulled her low in the seat when Hal turned the corner of the building. She laid a hand on his chest and his heart jumpstarted. He concentrated on the phone’s ring. Medina picked up on ring three. “Medina.” “Captain, it’s Hunter. I just spotted two men I’m sure work for Sanchez. They’re at The Charcoal Grill on Gateway Boulevard.”

Hal left the parking lot and Liz tried to straighten. Ben tightened his hold and gave Medina the rundown, along with the license plate number. Medina said he’d have two Rangers track the men. Ben started to tell his boss not to let the Feds in on this new development, then thought better of it. Medina wouldn't hand over information to the FBI any sooner than he had to, and the last thing Ben needed was his family to know he had federal law enforcement on his tail. “Where are you headed?” the captain asked as they reached a light.

Ben glanced in the mirror. No sign of the SUV. “I’ll fill you in on that later.” He loosened his hold on Liz and she sat up as Hal accelerated through the light. “I figure they followed us from the hotel,” Ben said into the phone. “I didn’t see a tail, but that's the only answer. They might have followed her from Larissa Remmey’s office.” Ben hoped that was the case. He didn’t like the idea that Sanchez had enough connections to have tracked her there on his own. But, he realized, Sanchez could as easily have someone on Larissa Remmey’s

staff on his payroll. “I'd say about now they're running your plates,” Medina said. “Good thing I'm driving the truck registered to Adam.” “I'll be sure to thank those Federal boys. We'll have to let the truck get towed. You can't chance going back for it. There's no telling who might report to Sanchez.” “Right, Captain.” “Don’t make me come looking for you,” Medina said. “You’ve got this number,” Ben said.

“I want to know anything you find out about those two. If there’s any chance they’ll lead us to Sanchez, I want in on it.” “I’ll call you.” Medina hung up. “Carlos Sanchez.” R.W. said before Ben had the phone back in his pocket. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” “He’s going to catch a human traffics dealer,” Liz snapped, as if talking to a child, then looked at him. “I guess it was a mistake to go see Larissa.” He started to say he wasn’t sure that

her visit to Larissa had tipped off Sanchez to their location, but she was too smart for that lie. “Probably,” he said. She released a sigh, and he added. “I guess the date’s ruined.” She nodded. “I wonder why they didn’t just wait for us to return to the hotel. Maybe they know you have someone watching. When you picked me up, they might have figured this was their best chance to get us.” R.W. twisted in his seat and looked at her, then Ben. “You sure she’s not a Ranger?”

“She would make a good one,” Ben said. Her mouth twisted. “Just because I don't know who you had watching me, doesn't mean I didn’t know you had someone there.” “Damn,” Hal muttered, and Ben had to agree. “It’s a damn good thing she’s on your side,” R.W. said. His eyes shifted to Liz. “You are on his side, right?” She kept her attention on Ben, ignoring R.W. “That still doesn’t explain why they didn’t wait for us somewhere

less conspicuous than a restaurant.” “It’s hard to say,” Ben replied. “They might have figured I wouldn’t peg them as Sanchez’s men, or they might have hoped to catch you alone.” She gave a slow nod. “If I visited the ladies room…” “It could be they were just going to have a look around,” he said. “If we hadn’t been standing at the front of the restaurant, I wouldn't have seen them in the parking lot.” She gave him a penetrating look and surprised him by saying, “I'm a minor

annoyance. It's you they really want. Mr. Sanchez has got to be furious that you duped him.” Before Ben could comment, she added, “But if they had me, that would be a way to get to you.” “It would tip Sanchez's hand in his favor,” Ben answered carefully. “But that's not going to happen.” She snorted. “You won't get any argument from me. Being kidnapped once in a lifetime is once too many. So what do we do now?” Ben grinned. “Have that steak.” ***

Liz had known the evening wasn’t going to be as simple as having a steak. It wasn’t the massive ranch house or the large den they entered that confirmed the nagging suspicion, but the man who rose from the leather couch as she and Ben approached. There was no doubt this was Ben’s father: Tall and muscled like his son, with a liberal dose of gray in his dark hair. She estimated him to be fiftyfive-years-old, a man who easily could have been her date tonight. The man she should have been with tonight. Ben’s arm tightened around her

waist in an encouraging squeeze and she could have killed him. He’d known all along she would be meeting his father. “Dad.” Ben nodded at him. “This is —” “Liz Monahan.” Her pulse sped up. “Your connections are good, Dad, but not that good,” Ben said. “How’d you know?” “It’s all over the news.” “The news?” she blurted. “What are you talking about?” Ben demanded.

“Your race across the border, hit the local news half an hour ago,” his father replied. “I haven’t checked CNN yet.” “My God.” Liz looked at Ben. His mouth thinned, but before he could respond, his phone rang. He pulled it from his jeans pocket, glanced at the display, then said, “My boss. Excuse me.” He turned away and accepted the call as he stepped from the room, pulling the door closed behind him. “Would you like to sit down, Ms. Monahan?” his father asked.

Liz thanked him and sat on the couch, glad to be off her legs, which suddenly felt like rubber. “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “A drink sounds just right about now.” “Brandy all right, or would you prefer white wine?” “Brandy, please,” she said. He crossed to the sideboard. Her attention snagged on three photographs hanging over the large fireplace. The succession of photographs from left to right created one large panorama of a

rugged, snowcapped mountain range beyond an expanse of brush-covered desert floor. Thick, cotton-white clouds created a stark contrast to the sharp angles that jutted skyward. Ben's father returned and handed her a crystal tumbler of brandy. “Thank you,” Liz said. He sat on the far end of the couch and she took a healthy swallow of her drink. The slight burn as the liquor slid down her throat was welcome. She leaned back against the cushion. “Your work?” She nodded toward

the photographs. “They're spectacular.” “Not mine,” he replied. “Ben's.” “Ben?” she blurted, then flushed. “Surprising, isn't it?” he asked. Warmth spread up her cheeks. “I haven't known your son long, but yes, you don't expect a law enforcement officer to be an artist.” She smiled. “Ben didn't tell me your name.” “Brandon Hunter.” “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunter.” “Call me Brandon,” he said. She smiled. “Call me Liz.”

“Fair enough. I gather there's a special reason Ben brought you here,” he said. Liz nodded, but before she could go on, R.W. and Hal entered. “Looks like you're a celebrity,” R.W. said to her. “News travels fast.” She started to take another sip of her drink, then stopped. “Oh, my God.” “What is it?” Brandon asked. “The news story means Mr. Sanchez knows Ben's identity.” “Ben is named as Adam Billings,” his father said.

“Adam.” She nodded, relieved. “That was the name he gave Mr. Sanchez.” R.W. snorted. “That's the name the cops gave when they leaked the story, you mean.” Liz frowned. “Ben didn't say anything about a newscast.” “Course not,” R.W. said. “He's one of 'em.” She shook her head. “I don't believe it. He was as surprised as I was.” “You haven't known him very long, have you, sweetheart?”

Liz opened her mouth, then shut it. He was right. She'd known Ben just long enough to see him play the part of a model convincingly enough to get hired. He had saved her life, but wasn't that what cops did? Wasn't that the kind of thrill they lived for? And leaking her name to the press didn't increase her danger. Mr. Sanchez knew her identity. Leaking the story—and her role in that story—was a win/win for the police. But a losing proposition for Nina Bruno.

Chapter Fifteen “Captain,” Ben began as he closed the study door, but Medina cut him off. “I saw the video. It's all over the news.” “How bad is it?” Ben crossed the hallway to his father's private study and stepped inside. “Your car was caught flying through the booth with you big as life at the wheel. They also got good footage of you pulling Ms. Monahan from the car.”

“Damn,” Ben muttered. The video would cement Sanchez’s belief that Ben was law enforcement. “I already spoke with Sara Romero at Channel 9,” Medina said. “She says a Leonard Nunez handed over a video made with his cell phone.” Ben stopped beside his father's desk and leaned his butt against the edge, reliving the moment he stopped the car and pulled Liz out. “I don't remember seeing anyone recording us.” He did recall Liz’s soft weight in his arms and her tears wetting his shirt. “Though I

admit I was distracted.” “According to Sara, Nunez is a low level member of the Familia cartel,” Medina said. “Familia cartel?” Ben repeated. “Damned convenient that one of Sanchez’s kissing cousins just happened to be in the right spot to catch us on film. What do you bet someone called ahead and one of the Juarez border cops made the video?” “Yep,” Medina said. “Sara says the camera angle makes it easy to place as someone on the Juarez side.”

“Which means they leaked the tape hoping someone would ID me.” “That's my guess,” the captain replied. “Are you somewhere safe?” Ben glanced out the window and into the far pasture where a paint and a quarter horse grazed. “For now.” “And Ms. Monahan?” “Same,” Ben said. “Anything on the two men who followed us to The Charcoal Grill?” “By the time our boys got there, they were gone, which didn't please Braxton and Masters. They want Ms. Monahan's

statement ASAP, by the way.” “I just bet they do—and they probably plan to use that time to pressure her about returning to Mexico.” He still hadn't figured out their angle. “Fact is,” Medina said, “they're talking about coordinating with the Juarez District Attorney to arrest Sanchez in Juarez, then follow up with extradition.” “What?” Ben straightened from the desk. “Just this afternoon they wanted us to return to Mexico. This must be a ploy to get Liz down to their office so they

can take her into protective custody.” Which would remove her from his protection. He didn't trust them to keep her safe longer than it took them to purchase a new pair of Ray Bans. “There's been a warrant for Sanchez’s arrest in Mexico for three years. What makes the Feds think they can get the Juarez D.A. to serve the warrant now?” “Dendy called,” Medina said. “He believes Sanchez's need for revenge might draw him out into the open where we can get our hands on him.” Regret stabbed through Ben. “I

should have arrested him last night when I had him close enough to touch.” “No one could have guessed that Ms. Monahan would end up in Mexico with you.” “That one caught me off guard,” Ben admitted. In all the scenarios that had played out in his head, the possibility that Liz would be kidnapped by Sanchez's men hadn't even deserved a glimmer. “But it doesn't change the fact that I didn't get Remmey’s granddaughter or Sanchez.” The Feds weren't all wrong. When it came right down to it, he

had jeopardized the operation. “Sanchez has to find you,” Medina said. “It's not just revenge. He's got to save face. If he lets this pass, it's a sign of weakness. That's how we'll get him.” Ben remembered his original concern. “I'll paint a bull's eye on my chest, if that's what it takes,” he began, “but—” “Relax, Hunter, even the FBI doesn't use civilians as targets. We’ll let Sanchez think you and Ms. Monahan are returning to Mexico, but she won’t be anywhere near the action. He won't try to

shoot you himself, but whoever tries might lead us straight to him. Dendy is making it clear to the Feds that we'll coordinate with them, but this is our operation. They don’t like it, but we've asked the Juarez Chief of Police to make it clear that he's more likely to play nice with us than with them.” Ben allowed the idea to sink in. “Too bad the Feds weren't smart enough to think of this from the start. Would have saved us a lot of trouble. I'm not going to forget their threats against me anytime soon.”

Medina surprised him by chuckling. “Braxton and Masters voiced their threats directly to me. I'm just the captain of Company E in little old El Paso. I'm nobody. I got the call from Dendy half an hour after the video aired. He had just gotten off the phone with Masters.” Ben could hear the amusement in his boss' voice. “I imagine that when the video hit the news, they realized Sanchez was on the offensive. That put an end to their playtime.” “Dendy's going to get everything in detail from them?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” Medina said. “Just hold on for a few hours. We need to give the FBI yours and Ms. Monahan's statements, but I want everything in place before you two move. Last thing we need is for someone who knows you to turn up and tell Sanchez who you are before we're ready. Our best bet to catch him is if his hit man comes after you in Mexico.” Ben grunted. “Always happy to serve.” “By the way,” Medina said, “we got a lead on the man you saw at Sanchez’s place. Your sketch comes close to fitting

a picture we have of Ray Barrero. Born in Mexico City and a graduate of The National Autonomous University of Mexico with a degree in economics.” “Sanchez recruited a college graduate?” Ben had heard it all. “He didn’t look like an accountant, Captain.” “He’s not. The Mexican police questioned him in connection with prostitution and drug running. He’s new to Sanchez’s outfit.” “Upwardly mobile,” Ben murmured. “Yes, and he’s lucky enough to now be on our radar,” Medina said. “I want

you to sit tight until we decide on our next move. Don’t take Ms. Monahan into public.” “We’re safely tucked away, Captain.” “Stay that way. I’ll get back to you.” Medina hung up and Ben headed back to the den. When he reached for the knob of the den’s partially open door he stopped at hearing R.W. say, “He's willing to sacrifice his family to catch some slime ball.” “It strikes me rather strange that you're so angry that Ben opted for a law

enforcement career over ranching,” Liz said. “Does it now?” R.W. replied. “Yes. You backed him up at the restaurant. Not to mention, if I understand correctly, you're going to get the ranch he would have gotten.” “Where you come from in Dallas, everything may be about money, but here in El Paso, we put family first,” R.W. said. Liz gave a laugh that implied his jibe was juvenile and he was stupid for thinking she'd take the bait. “Is that so?”

The condescension in her voice only emphasized her obvious amusement, and when R.W. replied, “That's so,” Ben knew his cousin was too thick-headed to realize he’d met his match. “Seems to me it's about family as long as family is supporting your point of view,” she said. “You're not supporting Ben's choices. Instead, you're trying to coerce him into doing what you think he should be doing. That's not supporting family, Mr. Hunter. That's being a bully—not to mention, a jerk.” “What do you know, R.W.?” Hal

said. “She's known you half an hour and already knows you inside out.” “You might just be defending a man who sold you out, sweetheart,” R.W. said Anger tightened Ben's insides. He yanked the door open. “Maybe,” Liz's assertion stopped him in the doorway, “but he's not my cousin.” The room went quiet and Ben said, “Looks like she's got you there, R.W.” R.W.'s eyes snapped onto him. He opened his mouth, but Ben's father

interjected, “R.W., shut up or get out.” Liz turned to Ben. “It's time I get back to Dallas.” He crossed to the couch. “Actually, I was thinking you'd stay here for a few days.” “What? I can't. I have a company to run. Larissa introduced me to a buyer in London. I have a conference call—” Her mouth thinned. “Why didn't you tell me you planned to leak the story to the press?” Ben shot R.W. a dark look and said, “We didn't leak the story.”

“If you didn't, who did?” “Someone caught us on video with a cell phone.” Liz's “What?” came in unison with R.W.'s “Shit,” and Hal's “Damn.” His father just gave a small shake of his head. Ben addressed Liz. “I don't have any real details, and—” R.W. snorted. “You can't talk about it.” “That's right, R.W., I can't.” Not with R.W., Hal, and his father listening. He intended to fill Liz in—privately.

Ben returned his attention to her. “There was never any doubt you would have to enter protective custody. You're a witness to attempted murder.” “My murder,” she retorted. “And you were supposed to be my murderer.” “True,” Ben said with a laugh, but was interrupted by Hal's, “Whoa.” “It's a long story,” Ben said, then to Liz, “Your testimony can put him away for life. If you're not around, he could walk.” All true, but more important, if they didn't catch him, she would be dead within a week after leaving Ben's sight.

Her brow lifted. “So you're protecting a witness?” “I'm protecting someone that animal will murder the first opportunity he gets.” She paled and guilt rolled over him. The thinning of R.W.'s mouth and Hal's sympathetic glance her way didn't help. Her expression cleared. “Catching him could take a very long time, Mr. Hunter.” Ben shook his head. “Not this time.” Her eyes narrowed. “You plan to go

into Mexico after him. That's suicide.” R.W. opened his mouth and Ben said, “Another word from you, R.W., and I'll run you in for interfering with an investigation.” He didn't wait for a reply, but said to Liz, “Going back to Dallas like nothing happened is suicide. I plan to do my job. That doesn’t include going off half-cocked.” She lifted her brows, and he added, “If you recall, I went with Sanchez because I was looking for someone.” Liz looked stricken. “That's right. I'm sorry.”

Ben started to reach for her hand, then caught himself. He cursed the glint that entered R.W.’s eyes, and the curiosity on his father's face. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. She released a sigh. “Richard must be in fits. LaRouche won't want anything to do with us after this. Nina Bruno is finished.” “I doubt it's as bad as all that,” Ben said. Liz met his gaze. “It is. With a video on the news of our running the border, how long do you think it'll be before

word gets out that I'm wanted in Mexico for—what was it?— accessory to attempted murder and evasion?” He hated to admit it, but she had a point. Even if they managed to conceal the fact that she was supposedly returning to Mexico to face charges, the media was sure to uncover the warrant for her arrest. The truth wouldn't matter one damn bit. Nina Bruno Designs wouldn't be able to keep her on as Creative Director. Ben fleetingly wondered if they could leave her name out of the operation. Worry ratcheted up

the tension in his shoulders. He had to lose the audience so he could brief Liz on what Medina had planned. “I've got to call Richard,” she said. Ben nodded, glad for the reprieve. “Just don’t mention where you are. And, Liz, no promises on when you’ll return to Dallas. You can't just waltz back like nothing's happened.” She pursed her lips and he feared she would argue. “Please,” he said, “make the call, but be careful. We'll talk after dinner.” Determination hardened her expression and he knew their discussion

was going to be a doozie.

Chapter Sixteen Liz hadn't thought the situation could get any worse. She'd been wrong. The door between the den and the covered patio opened and she turned from the railing with her cell phone pressed against her ear to see Ben stepping through the doorway. “Richard, I have to go. I’ll call later. Promise.” She ended the call. “You have an uncanny sense of timing,” she told Ben.

He closed the door behind him and joined her at the railing. “Yeah, I've heard that before.” He reached for the small of her back. “Let's sit down.” Ben directed her the few steps to a massive metal patio table and pulled out the nearest chair. She sat down and he took the seat to her left. “You look like you just took a punch to the stomach.” She set her phone on the table. “I don’t think I can go back to my hotel.” “Considering the men who followed us to the restaurant, I'd say not. Did you think differently?”

“I guess I hadn't thought about it. I have now. Richard was leaving the hotel when I called. Apparently, reporters are swarming the hotel looking for me—for us.” Tension cramped her stomach. “I warned you Sanchez wouldn't let you walk back to your life,” Ben said. “He wants us badly and he's making it impossible for us to show our faces in public. The hotel is a perfect example.” “But how did they find me? I was registered under an alias.” She shook her head. “Will word reach Dallas?” Regret appeared in his eyes. “It's

only a matter of time.” If it hasn’t already, she read in his thoughts. “I'm sorry, Liz.” “I doubt you had the slightest idea I would end up in Mexico with you.” The memory of her kidnapper’s breath on her neck sent a shock wave through her. “Liz.” She started and saw Ben’s face before her. His brows furrowed in concern. “You all right?” “How will this end?” she asked. There was the barest of hesitations

and she realized he was choosing his words. “It'll end with Sanchez in jail and you safe.” She shook her head. “Until we testify at his trial and he's put behind bars, we're in danger. That can take years.” Even then, would she be safe? “Not years,” Ben said. “Please,” she cut him off, “don't lie to me. My career will be over—if it isn't already.” “One day at a time, Liz.” “That's easy for you to say, you're —” Liz broke off, realizing what she

was about to say. “I'm younger?” he finished. “I still have most of my career ahead of me?” “That's not what I meant.” She shook her head. “This is finally sinking in, and I'm at a loss at what to do.” “It is what you meant,” he replied. “Don't be sorry. You're not completely wrong. Though, according to a recent article in Scientific American, women outlive men by about six years. That puts my career where you were at forty, which means you're only four years ahead of me. Not that much, when you

think about it.” Liz stared. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about my career ending just when it was taking off? Or am I to believe that the eleven year age difference between us really isn't that much?” He shrugged. “It's not about the difference. It's about me being able to do what I say I can do. I am capable of protecting you, and,” he flashed a small smile, “and I won't die on you as early as an older man will.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless I

kill you first.” His eyes darkened and her breath caught. “There are worse ways to go,” he murmured. She broke the stare and shook her head as much to ward off the effects of his gaze as to emphasize her words. “Even if we lived in the same city, you couldn't watch me twenty-four hours a day.” “I could give it a go.” She snapped her head up and met his gaze.

The amusement—and desire— vanished from his expression. “I'll get him, Liz.” At what cost? she wondered. “You don't think he's discovered your identity yet?” “I'm hoping not.” “‘Hope isn’t certainty. I would hate to see him get away after all we've sacrificed.” Ben leaned back and gave her a direct look. “What did Anderson have to say? Did he fire you?” “Of course not.”

“He knows about the warrant for your arrest in Mexico, right? You told him before the video hit the news?” She nodded. “He plans to consult the company attorneys.” “I imagine you plan to talk with your personal lawyer.” “Yes. This is new territory for me. I want all the information I can possibly get.” “So don't hold a funeral for your career just yet,” Ben said. “I know it looks bad, and we have our work cut out for us, but I won't let you down. Listen,

Liz—” The door opened and they looked over their shoulders. Hal stood in the doorway. “Brandon wants to know if John should saddle up the horses.” Liz gave Ben questioning look. “You ride, don't you?” he asked her. “Sure, but—” “Dad suggested we take a ride before dinner. We have about an hour. Just enough time to clear our minds.” She started to decline, but he interrupted.

“We have some of the finest horses around. You’ll have a little down time to mull things over.” Something was up. She was half afraid to find out what it could be, but said, “All right.” Ten minutes later, she stood in a barn next to a Chestnut and an American Saddlebred, wearing a borrowed felt hat. Ben stepped from the tack room carrying a rifle in a leather saddle holster. “Expecting trouble?” she asked when he reached her. He shook his head and stepped up to

the American Saddlebred. “No, but you don’t take even a short ride in these hills without a rifle. We run into a bobcat, we’ll be glad for the firepower.” Liz had a feeling there was more to his caution than protection from fourlegged hunters. “You don’t really think Mr. Sanchez knows I’m here, do you?” Ben strapped the holder into the saddle, then grasped the hat he'd hung from the pommel and put it on his head as he turned. “If I thought that, we wouldn't be taking a ride.” “But you're not taking any

chances.” Regret flickered in his eyes. “I've taken enough chances, don't you think?” Liz sighed but didn't argue. They mounted and she followed him out of the stables. She came up alongside him and her gaze caught on the powerful thigh hugging the horse's ribs. Memory flashed back to last night’s dance, those thighs pressed intimately against hers. Warmth rippled through her. What would those muscular thighs feel like beneath her fingers…between her legs, his arms wrapped protectively around her?

“Liz?” She jerked her head up and met Ben's gaze. “You ready?” he said. “For what?” she blurted, then realized her mistake. The amusement in his eyes said he had a pretty good idea what she'd been thinking. She looked straight ahead, glad for the hat that cast enough shadow on her face—she hoped—to hide her expression. Then she realized a second mistake. To the west, orange streaked the sky in a blazing sunset above the

Franklin Mountains. A breeze blew across the brush-covered desert and along the rolling hills. The waning day was spectacular. Perfect for a ride with an attractive man—no, a gorgeous man. This ride had been a mistake. “A ride, then dinner, Mr. Hunter,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the view. “That's all I ask, Ms. Monahan,” he said, but she heard in his voice, that's all I'll need. The canter turned into a gallop that

brought them to the summit of the tallest hill they’d taken yet. They slowed and a poppy field came into view. Liz cried out. Wind rustled desert brush growing among the bright yellow flowers. “It's beautiful,” she murmured. “I thought you might like it,” Ben said. She looked at him. “Thank you.” He smiled and touched his hat. “Happy to oblige, ma'am.” A tremor radiated through her. He's young, she reminded herself, too young to realize that the thrill of chasing an

older woman would vanish once the conquering is done. And she was too old for a one-night stand—or a wild fling. May/December, her mind began, but she grimaced inwardly. The very idea made her feel every day her age. “You want to walk for a bit?” Ben asked. Liz returned her attention to the flowers and nodded. “I would love to.” They rode to the bottom of the hill and dismounted. “I haven't seen poppies in bloom like this in forever,” she said as they

began to stroll among the flowers. “Unless we have a particularly dry year, this spot tends to bloom well,” Ben replied. “Have you photographed this spot?” she asked. “As a matter of fact, I have.” She didn't miss the surprise in his voice. “My father told you?” he said. “I saw the pictures over the fireplace. The mountain range isn't the Franklin Mountains, is it?” “No.” He nodded toward the mountains in the distant north. “The

Organ range.” Liz bent and picked a poppy. “You're quite good.” He smiled. “I consider that a real compliment, coming from you.” “So why law enforcement over photography?” she asked. “The world doesn't need another photographer.” “But there is a shortage of good law enforcement officers?” He laughed. “There's a shortage of law enforcement officers, period.” “Your cousin isn't thrilled with your

choice. How does your father feel?” “About the same as R.W.” “He seemed to be defending you,” she said. “He told R.W. to stay out of it.” “Dad doesn't like to air dirty laundry.” “Is that what your career choice is, dirty laundry?” “No,” Ben replied. “That was unfair. He's a private man.” “I can't blame him there,” she said. “Neither can I.” “It must be difficult for him knowing

his son won't work the ranch.” Ben gave her a sharp look. “You think he's right?” She shook her head. “I didn't say that at all—and I wasn't thinking it, either,” Liz added when she saw the question in his eyes. “I'm a big believer in walking your own path. What I’m saying is, it might be easy for him to take your decision personally.” “Maybe,” Ben said. “But he'll have to learn to live with it.” “How many more years you think it'll take him?”

Ben laughed, a full rich sound. “My father isn't known for giving in. Could take a long time.” “He's proud of you.” Ben's head snapped in her direction. He studied her for a heartbeat. “That's an interesting observation and not one most people would agree with.” “Your photographs are hanging over the mantle. Your accomplishments matter to him.” Ben looked away. “He never minded me having a hobby.” “He didn't hesitate to support you in

letting me stay here.” “Never let it be said that Brandon Hunter turned away a lady in distress.” “Is he really that cold?” she asked. “In a way,” Ben replied, “but it's not the whole truth. Any law abiding citizen would want to see Sanchez put out of business. You can make that happen.” “I can help make that happen if Mr. Sanchez returns to the US. What are the chances he'll do that after what happened last night?” “Sanchez getting caught in the US isn’t our only choice,” Ben said.

Liz put a hand on his arm and brought him to a halt. “If you chase him into Mexico and don't make it back what will I do then?” Curiosity glinted in his eyes. “What would you want to do, Liz?” “What I want is to not have your death on my conscience,” she answered. “Not to mention, Mr. Sanchez would still be alive.” “Would you miss me?” he asked. “Even a little?” The question caught her off guard. “I don’t want you getting killed.”

“I have no intention of getting myself killed.” “We never do,” she replied. He glanced at the ground. “Look, there's something you need to know.” Her heart sped up. “Something's happened.” “Dammit, Liz, you can't keep jumping one step ahead of me. I'm a man, I can't take it.” “What is it?” she demanded. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second and her fear mounted. “Everyone agrees that Sanchez is

probably still in Juarez,” Ben said. “You and I are a problem he has to solve, and fast. It's being considered that if Sanchez believes you and I are returning to Mexico to face the charges—” “What?” she blurted. “Hear me out, Liz. It's not straight forward.” “You think I should go back?” He shook his head. “No.” “What do you think?” “I probably will go back.” She drew a sharp breath. “You'll end up dead.”

“Not if we handle things right.” Liz felt lightheaded. “Even if that maniac doesn't get you, you’ll never survive in a Mexican jail.” His brows drew down. “You don’t think much of my ability to take care of myself.” She stared. “You're insane. You'll probably end up dead, yet all you can do is defend your manhood.” “You're cutting me to the quick here.” Unexpected tears threatened to spill. “This isn't funny.”

He laughed, “Liz, honey, you have me all wrong.” She shook her head, suddenly feeling a strange surge of hysteria. “I don't have you wrong at all.” A tear slid down her cheek and she was shocked to realize she was crying. “Liz.” Ben dropped the reins and grasped her shoulders. She blinked through the tears and resisted when he pulled her against his chest. “Don’t cry, honey. It'll be okay.” She wanted to stop crying, wanted

to tell him he wasn't going back to Mexico while telling him to go to hell. Instead, she blubbered into his shirt. “You can't stay in protective custody forever,” he said. “Although, if I’m the officer protecting you, that idea isn’t all bad.” Liz could imagine his idea of 'protection' and felt certain she was getting a taste of it right now. She hadn't been wrong. His arms made her feel safe, and that only meant she wasn't safe at all. “You're tying me in knots, Liz.”

“What?” she hiccupped. “I'm going to break the rules,” he said. “Fraternizing with a witness is a big no-no.” “I have no intention of allowing you to fraternize.” She intended to break free of his hold, but froze when he put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face upward. He wrapped his other arm around her waist. “You weren't supposed to be a witness.” He drew her so close she was forced to lean her head back in order to see his face.

Her mind muddled. “I-I didn't mean to be.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “I think you couldn't help yourself.” “Hey, wait a minute—” “Birds of a feather,” he murmured, and pushed her hat from her head. It hit the ground as his mouth reached hers. Liz drew a breath, and caught the scent of…masculinity, as their lips touched. The tremor in her stomach exploded. Her knees weakened and she grasped his arms for support. Beneath her fingers, steely muscle strained

against the fabric of his shirt. Ben slipped a thigh between her legs and her mind whirled at the pressure of his erection, hard and demanding, against her abdomen. She gasped and his tongue slipped past her lips. Her nipples responded by stiffening to hard peaks through the soft cup of her bra. He groaned and swept his tongue across hers. Her tongue thrust back before she realized the response. Ben's arm tightened around her waist. A beat thrummed in her head in unison with the ache between her legs.

Liz told herself to pull away, but her body didn't follow the command. She whimpered. He growled back. She slid a hand up his arm, around his neck, and fisted his hair. The thick, soft hair between her fingers was a strange aphrodisiac that turned her insides to jelly. His kiss grew fierce, then his mouth slid down her jaw and along her neck— He abruptly broke off and yanked her head against his chest. The gallop of his heart made her head spin. “Another minute and I'd have to touch you,” he said in a hoarse voice that

bled with desire. Liz's mind snapped to attention. And she would have let him. She couldn’t remember having responded to a man with such intensity—or the last time a man had responded to her with such passion. Had to be his age. She'd simply forgotten how quickly men his age could respond to a woman. This, she realized with an unexpected panic, was dangerous territory. Ben released her and for an instant she thought she would fall to her backside. Liz remained frozen as he bent

and picked up her hat. He placed the hat on her head, then gave her a lopsided smile. “In my defense, I have been waiting three days.” He grinned. “A lifetime when you want something.” “What?” “You don't think this attraction started last night?” He laughed. “When I met you at the photo shoot three days ago I decided I'd come after you once the job was over.” “Come after me?” she repeated. “Yep.”

Butterflies skimmed the insides of her stomach. “That's silly,” she said. “I would have left El Paso today.” “I did say that Dallas isn't that far away,” he said. Liz snorted. “Easy to say when I’m standing here.” She shook her head. “You're still fraternizing. You said you weren't supposed to do that.” His gaze remained fixed on hers. “You said you wouldn't let me.” “And I shouldn’t have—just as you shouldn't have—” “Tempted you?” he finished the

sentence. “Caught me off guard,” she corrected. Ben laughed. “Liz, I doubt you've ever been caught off guard.” He was so wrong. He had caught her off guard last night at the party, then in Mexico…and here in a field of poppies. She'd lost her balance the moment she laid eyes on him at the gala. She had to get a grip on the situation— which meant getting a grip on herself. “You're only proving my point, Ben.”

“How's that?” he said. “Your youth is showing in your inability to remain professional.” He laughed again, hard this time, and without rancor. “You tell yourself that, honey. Then show me a man of any age who would keep his hands off you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Hunter, I won't deny I find you attractive.” “You can't deny it,” he said. “It's rude to keep interrupting.” He canted his head. “You're right, Ms. Monahan. I apologize.”

Liz shook her head. “You can't expect me to take this seriously.” He caught their horses' reins and handed her hers. “You will.”

Chapter Seventeen They reached within sight of the ranch when Ben's phone rang. At least whoever called had the good timing to wait until after he had filled Liz in on what he knew about the plan to return to Mexico. He hadn't liked the shock on her face when he described the charges against them in Juarez had been bumped up to accessory to murder, but he hadn't been surprised. She would be a fool not to take the situation seriously, and Liz Monahan was no fool. She'd recovered enough to say she

wasn't agreeing to anything the FBI proposed until she'd spoken with her lawyer. That was smart, but Ben suspected her insistence had as much to do with wanting to learn how bad things really were as showing good sense. Liz thought that if she didn't go back, maybe that would stop him from going. He didn’t have that option. And he didn't want her anywhere near Mexico. The only reason he hadn't sent her packing out of El Paso was because he didn't know anyone he trusted to watch her. Even the Rangers in Dallas weren’t

able to keep tabs on her 24/7. He had to tuck her away somewhere safe, and the ranch was the safest place. A few days was all he needed to get to Mexico and catch Sanchez. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? Liz was right. Even from prison the human traffics dealer could order a hit on them. Anger rocketed through Ben. The only way Liz would be safe was if Sanchez died. “Ben.” Liz's sharp tone yanked him from his thoughts. “Aren't you going to answer your

phone?” The phone gave another shrill ring. “Got lost in thought,” he said. She gave him a penetrating look that said she knew exactly what he'd been thinking. Ben pulled the phone from his jeans pocket. “You'd think they knew I just came within range.” “It's tough being popular,” she said in a dry tone. He looked at the display and didn't recognize the number. Only close friends, family, and work had his cell

number. Ben flipped open the phone. “Hello?” “Good evening, Mr. Hunter,” came Mrs. Remmey's greeting. Ben heard the strain in her voice and pulled his horse to a stop. “Sanchez contacted you, didn’t he?” Ben caught the startled glance Liz sent his way. “Yes,” Mrs. Remmey answered. “May I ask where you're calling from? I don't recognize this number.” “My husband’s downtown office.” Ben nodded toward the ranch and mouthed ‘Go’ to Liz. She shook her head

and he gave her a narrow-eyed warning that said ‘do as I say.’ She only raised her brows. “I see,” he said into the phone. “Very secure, I take it, and maybe not monitored by the FBI?” When Ben filed his report, he let the Remmey’s know the FBI would be contacting them about their granddaughter—and Sanchez. “Certainly more secure and private than the phone in our home,” she replied. “What did Sanchez say?” Ben asked. “He wants to know where Ms.

Monahan is staying. As arranged, we gave him the name of the hotel. He knew she visited me earlier today.” So Sanchez had someone watching the Remmey’s as Ben suspected he would. “Mrs. Remmey, is it possible he has a mole on your staff?” “I would like to say no, but we both know that's not realistic.” “Is there anyone in particular you would suspect?” Ben asked. “There are those I can say with certainty would not, but I suspect no one. Yet, everyone has a price.”

“I'm very sorry,” Ben said. “Don't be sorry, Mr. Hunter. Just get my granddaughter back.” Before he could say that was exactly what he intended to do, she added, “He wants to know who you are. He made a point of mentioning that you were on the news today.” So the video hadn't yet given Sanchez Ben's identity. “Do you think he's fishing or does he have some way of knowing that you colluded with me?” Ben asked. “He knows you’re a law

enforcement officer, but Francis believes he doesn’t know what agency you’re with. He demanded to know who referred you to us. Our quick plan last night did not prepare us for this.” Ben’s gut twisted. The Feds were right. He’d screwed up this operation, but good. “So Francis improvised,” she said. Ben startled and his horse shifted in reaction. Ben tightened his hold on the reins. “Francis said his contact was Mr. Soto, and explained that he used Mr.

Soto to buy drugs for clients. Francis told Mr. Sanchez that he hadn’t wanted to admit to the association, so made up the story about a government contact.” Ben recalled Sanchez’s belief that Francis Remmey was hiding a connection with Soto. “Mrs. Remmey, you couldn’t have done any better if we’d planned it.” “I certainly hope you’re right because he threatened to kill Christina after—” her voice broke “—after he passed her around to his men.” Anger whipped through Ben.

Sanchez would make good on his threat, even if the Remmeys complied with every demand he made. Men like Sanchez didn’t give second chances, even for honest mistakes. “He let us speak with her.” Ben jarred. Had he heard correctly? “You spoke with her?” “Yes… Mr. Hunter, she’s so frightened. The men, they look at her and…she’s only fifteen,” Larissa ended in a whisper. Ben jumped when warm fingers touched his fist. He swung his gaze up to

Liz’s face. She gave his hand a squeeze, then released him, and his mind centered back to Mrs. Remmey. “Sanchez made sure she was good and scared by the time she talked to you,” he said “I believe so.” “But no one has hurt her yet?” he asked. “No.” “Mrs. Remmey, your granddaughter is alive and well. As long as she’s with Sanchez and he needs you, she’ll not be harmed or sold. Keep that in mind.” “Yes,” Larissa said as if just

understanding. “If he’s with Christina, that means he’s probably not in El Paso. But that only makes finding her harder.” “No,” Ben corrected. “Knowing she’s near Sanchez is better than having no idea where she is at all. This is a step forward. I assume the FBI knows everything you told me?” “Yes, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. This is their job and they’re good at it.” If Masters and Braxton weren’t in charge of the kidnapping, that is, and Ben was sure they weren’t.

Larissa gave a laugh, small though it was, and Ben was glad. “I thought you didn’t like them,” she said. “We’re not bosom buddies,” he admitted. “But they will do everything possible to bring her back safely. We have a better chance of saving her if we work together.” “They said nothing about informing you of this latest development,” she said. “I imagine not. I’m low man on the totem pole. They’ll fill Captain Medina in on the details. Now tell me where you

left things with Sanchez.” “We received a second phone call from him ten minutes after his first call. He knows Ms. Monahan isn’t at the hotel and wants to know where she is—of course, you are his top priority. He wants to know who you really are.” “Does that mean he wants you to speak with Juan Soto?” “No. He said to leave Soto to him.” “Larissa, if Sanchez questions you about Soto, tell him that your husband approached him a week ago, right after Sanchez kidnapped Christina. This is

very important. Soto is out of the country, which means Sanchez can’t get in touch with him immediately. That also means you couldn’t have spoken with him recently. Don’t offer any information, but if Sanchez asks, have the answer ready. Tell him that your husband spoke with him immediately after Sanchez kidnapped Christina and Soto said he would send Adam Billings to you. Your husband can say that he didn’t want to say anything until he’d met me.” “Speaking of meeting you,” Larissa

said, “Mr. Sanchez wanted to know why you were Ms. Monahan’s date.” “What did you tell him?” “She needed a date, and we believed it was a good way to make your presence at a fashion designer party seem natural.” Ben grinned. “Mrs. Remmey, you’re a natural.” “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Mr. Sanchez is a persistent man. He has reason to question everything, at this point. I fear Francis and I are no match for him.”

“You’re not facing him alone,” Ben said. “Do you have any idea where he is? Any clues at all? Any background sounds? Did he say anything about meeting with you?” “No.” Ben hadn’t thought so. “Remember, he won't harm her as long as he believes you're of use to him.” “There is one other thing,” Larissa said. Ben braced himself. What else could there possibly be? “Sanchez is insisting that we prove

our loyalty by beginning with a shipment of women across the border.” “He can’t be serious,” Ben said. “He’s got to know the cops will be watching every move your husband makes.” “Yes. He made it perfectly clear that if not for the fact that he needs us to find you, he would have already killed Christina. Here’s the thing, Mr. Hunter, Francis can easily arrange a shipment with another exporter.” “You mean bring someone else in on the operation?” Ben asked.

“Not exactly. That would be too dangerous. But we can use another exporter’s trucks. The shipment would look like it’s coming from the other exporter, but it would be our goods that are transported. In truth, we’ve known all along we could do this, but we didn’t tell Mr. Sanchez. The last thing we wanted to do was give him another way to use us.” “But Sanchez finally figured out that angle,” Ben said. “Yes.” Her voice broke. “How can we possibly doom other girls to the

same fate from which we are trying to save Christina? But if we don’t agree…” “I don’t think you’ll have to send other girls to their doom,” Ben said. “I believe I know how to handle this. Can you give me a few hours?” “Yes,” she replied. “We are not to call Mr. Sanchez until tomorrow morning.” “That’ll do,” Ben said, and hoped like hell Medina agreed with Ben’s idea. *** By the time Ben disconnected the

call, a hundred questions swirled through Liz’s head, but she bit her tongue and listened to his summary of Larissa Remmey’s news. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but Liz agreed to wait for answers until after he called headquarters. After dinner, Ben led her into the den. His father excused himself and took R.W. and Hal with him, leaving them alone. Ben sat on the couch beside her and said, “I'm going to have to leave you here. Officers will be assigned to guard you.”

She'd expected this. Throughout dinner she'd fought off the memory of his kiss by running through a dozen scenarios, all of which ended with Ben leaving and her hidden here at the ranch. She didn't like what either of those elements implied: that she was a prisoner, and Ben had to risk his life to free her and Christina. “What does your father think about my being here?” she asked. “He's agreed to keep you safely hidden here at the ranch.” “He's not worried about the danger

to his men?” Ben gave an impatient shake of his head. “The boys can handle Sanchez’s goons if they show up.” “I told Richard that me filling in for Tanya was a bad idea,” she muttered. That earned her a small smile. “You're going after Mr. Sanchez, aren't you?” she said. “It's likely I'll enter Mexico under the guise of facing the charges.” What had changed in the last hour? She didn't know Ben Hunter well—she didn't really know him at all—but she

wouldn't be surprised to learn that her not going back was his plan, not the FBI's. “I thought the FBI wanted us both to return,” she said. “There's absolutely no doubt Sanchez will come after me in Mexico,” Ben said. “He won't wonder why you're returning alone?” “We have someone to play your part.” Liz blinked. “Who did you get that can pass for me?”

His brow furrowed. “You don't worry about it. The only thing you're going to worry about is staying put in this house.” She shook her head. “Can't do that.” He looked nonplussed, then his expression darkened. “You're going to do it, even if that means I have to hogtie you and—” “Whoa, there, cowboy. There will be no hogtying, and no more orders.” “Liz—” She laid a hand on his arm. “Ben,

it's not what you think.” He hesitated, clearly torn between making good on his threat and listening. “What is it, then?” he demanded. “I won't stay here—” He started to interrupt. “Hush,” she ordered. “I won't stay here. There’s no need. I can go to another hotel.” Ben shook his head. “I’m not leaving you in public without me.” Liz couldn’t stop a laugh. “You said I would have protection.” “You will. Here at the ranch.”

“A safe house, then,” she said. He stared as if not understanding. “Too cliché?” she asked. “What do you call it?” “You'll agree to protective custody, but won't stay here? Why?” “Because I won't involve your father and his men. Don't argue,” she said. “We'll get him, Liz.” She nodded. “I have no doubt you will. But you're assigning officers to me anyway. Much as I hate putting them in danger, I understand that's their job. I

simply won't agree to involve anyone else.” Ben grasped her hand. “Give me a couple days. The Feds are putting together an operation. This could be over fast.” “We need it to be over fast, and since Mr. Sanchez doesn't yet know where you are, it's better I'm tucked away somewhere before he discovers your identity and tracks you here to the ranch. Once you go to Mexico, he'll know who you are and he's sure to send someone to the ranch looking for me.

Not to mention, it's very possible he'll find out who you are before you return from Mexico. One way or the other, once he discovers your identity, this will be the first place he looks.” For an instant it seemed he would argue, then he released her hand and nodded. “All right.” She released a breath. “I'll need to fill Richard in as much as I can. I'll need my laptop and things from the hotel.” A gentle smile softened his face. “This has been an eventful twenty-four hours. Call Anderson and I’ll make a

few calls of my own. Then we’ll have a drink. That’ll make you feel better.” She doubted that. She wasn't going to feel better until the Remmeys’ granddaughter and Ben were safely back home…and Carlos Sanchez was behind bars.

Chapter Eighteen “Stop worrying,” Liz ordered Richard. The door opened and she looked up from the notes she'd made to watch Ben enter the den. “Catch your flight to Dallas,” she told Richard. “I'll be all right.” “You’re to do everything the police say,” Richard said. “You got that?” “I’m not arguing,” she replied. Ben lifted a brow as he sat on the couch beside her and she wanted to

throttle him. He would pick this moment to return. “I know how you can be,” Richard said. “Hold on,” she began. “No,” he cut her off. “I've already spoken with Nina.” Liz groaned inwardly. She'd hoped to talk to her before Richard did. “She agrees. We can handle everything until this is taken care of.” “There's no telling how long this will go on,” Liz said. “I can work remotely, so there's no need to worry.”

“You're due some time off,” he said. “Time off?” She caught the look of interest on Ben's face. “That's ridiculous,” she said. “We're in the middle of preparing the fall line and Mrs. Remmey introduced me to—” “We're well aware of the situation,” he interrupted. “The fall collection’s progressing smoothly, and Brenda and I will handle LaRouche.” Liz's heart sped up. “Brenda's great, but she doesn't have the experience to handle a client like LaRouche. Not to mention, they're expecting the Creative

Director, not the Head Designer. We can't take a chance that they think this problem will get in the way of our ability to deliver.” “That's right,” he agreed. “Which is why I’ll be working closely on the project with her.” Liz’s heart fell, but before she could say any more, he added in a gentle tone, “This is a temporary solution, Liz. I know how much LaRouche means to you. We're not cutting you out.” Her heart constricted. “Of course not.”

“No one here could live with the knowledge that work jeopardized your life. You understand, right?” “Of course,” she answered. “Look,” he said, “we likely won't meet with LaRouche for a month. I'll talk to the authorities. If they think that this Sanchez lacks the resources to track you remotely, I'll talk to Nina about allowing you to access the files online. You can review everything, give your okay just like you would if you were here. Let's hope that by the time we meet with LaRouche, this'll be tied up.”

She looked at Ben and started to say 'things better be tied up by then' but realized the mistake. He didn't need any more guilt. Pressuring him to resolve the case quickly could lead to carelessness —or desperation. They’d been lucky once. She wouldn’t risk his life a second time. “You're right,” she said. “We can't take a chance on any snags with LaRouche. If everyone feels it's safe, I'll contribute plenty from here.” She smiled as much for Ben as to put conviction into her words. “You know me, I don't hold

back.” “We'll work it out, Liz,” Richard replied, and she heard relief in his voice. She'd really mucked things up when she went looking for Ben at Larissa's party. In hindsight, the idea seemed about as stupid an idea as she'd ever had. “I won't be able to tell you where I’m staying,” she told Richard. “But that won't matter. If you need anything and can't get a hold of me, you know who to call.”

“I'll get word to you about work,” he said, then, “Liz…” “Yes?” “Be careful.” She released a breath. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. Let me know any news once you find out.” “Will do. Bye.” She said bye and tapped the phone screen to end the call. “Bad news?” Ben asked. Liz set the phone on the coffee table. “Just business.” He covered her hand with his and

squeezed. “We'll get him, Liz. I promise.” “Just be careful,” she said. “Right now, you're the Remmeys’ granddaughter's best chance.” And hers. Ben smiled. “I'm the soul of caution.” “Sure you are.” His large palm still covered hers. An embarrassing warmth rippled through her. “The sun isn’t even down yet.” She shifted and he removed his hand. Liz met his gaze. “How can things have gone so wrong in less than a day?”

“Sanchez isn’t going to give us breathing room.” Liz nodded. “What's the word on my accommodations?” “We have a place in Las Cruces.” “New Mexico?” she blurted. “That's fifty miles away. How did you go from me staying at the ranch to leaving the state?” “You did say you didn't want to involve anyone.” “I think—” She stopped as realization struck. “You're responsible for this.” His jaw tightened, and she

realized he thought she was blaming him for the situation. “Me going so far away,” she quickly clarified. “I won't involve your family, so you're sending me away.” “The captain feels it's safer if we get you out of El Paso,” he said. “But what if something happens?” His expression softened. “Like what?” Her mind raced. “I don't know. It just seems so…far away.” She should like the idea. Instead, it scared her—a lot. Maybe she should have agreed to

stay at the ranch. “Getting you far away is the idea,” Ben said. “There's nothing you can do to help. You have to trust us to catch Sanchez.” “Yes,” she said with dawning realization. “Being far away, out of touch, doesn't change anything for me, does it?” “I think you'll miss me, after all.” Worse, she was worried about him, more worried than she should be for a man—a young man—she'd only just met. “I will be immensely glad when

you're back safely,” she admitted. “Me too. Come on.” He stood and extended a hand. “Time to go already?” she said. His faint smile faded. He grasped her hand and pulled her up—and into his arms. Liz stared at the expanse of white cotton shirt taut across his chest and her stomach did a flip. She didn't dare look up. “Ben.” She shook her head and pushed at his chest. His arms tightened around her. “It's

not time to go just yet.” The husky note in his voice caused her to raise her eyes. He stared down at her, blue eyes dark with desire. Her knees went soft, betraying her again. “I know you're scared, honey.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face and a flutter skittered across her insides. “If I had my way, I would lock you up here at the ranch—with me.” A heartbeat of silence passed before she said, “But you won't be here.” He gave a single shake of his head. “Ben,” she whispered, “this can't go

anywhere.” “There you go again, getting caught up in numbers, Liz.” Her reply was cut off when his mouth covered hers. She was scared. Scared Sanchez wouldn't get caught, scared the Remmeys’ granddaughter wouldn’t come home, and scared Ben would end up MIA…scared he would come back and then… She gave into the warmth and security of his arms. She would regret it five minutes from now, but five minutes was a lifetime. Liz flattened her palms on his chest

and slid her hands up and around his neck. Ben's tongue plunged inside her mouth. She sparred with him, thrust her tongue deeper, then sucked his tongue into her mouth. His hold turned fierce. Her breasts flattened against his chest. He groaned and her head spun. Liz felt as if she were falling, then realized he was lowering her onto the couch. She sank into the cushions and his weight settled on top of her. Shock ricocheted through her at the strength of his erection. The warm pressure of his palm on

her ribs sent a shiver through her. His mouth slid from hers downward along her cheek to her neck as his hand moved upward. His lips found the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder and he sucked as his palm covered a breast. Liz arched into him, lost in the sensations of his mouth and hands. He gently kneaded her breast and the ache building in the rigid peak traveled downward where it collided with the throb between her legs. If she shifted just a little, he would settle between her legs and… Ben seemed to read her mind and

undulated his hips against her. The rigid length of him dug into her and she suddenly ached to have him closer, feel his skin on hers. He lifted his head from her neck and her heart thundered even louder when his mouth lowered to the breast he'd been kneading. He nipped at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and soft cup bra. Pleasure streaked through her and she gasped. Ben froze and Liz threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and urged him closer. He groaned, then levered onto his

elbows and looked down at her. “You're damned beautiful.” Her cheeks warmed. “That blush only makes you more beautiful.” He released a slow breath. “I want you, Liz, and God knows, I'd take you any way you would have me. But our first time won’t be a quickie— especially given that I won't be in your bed to follow up. I'm not going to chance you thinking that's all I've got to give— or all I want.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I do have some sense.” Ben shoved to his feet, pulling her with him. He tucked her under his arm

and started toward the door. Liz noticed a slight limp and glanced at his legs. “That's your fault,” he said. She jerked her head up. They reached the door and he stopped and looked down at her. “When this is over, I'm going to finish what I started.” Liz's mouth went try. One way or another, she was in trouble.

Chapter Nineteen Fifteen minutes later, Ben hit the number three on his phone, then kept his gaze locked with Liz’s while the phone rang. Captain Medina picked up on the third ring. “Medina.” “Captain, it’s Hunter. Sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Monahan just got a call from her boss with an order for her to meet with the FBI. They’re insisting on her statement now.” “I just got off the line with Agent Phillips, head of the El Paso FBI office.

The order came down from him. They’ll meet you at the safe house we use.” “That’s a pretty slick end run,” Ben said. “She has to talk to them,” Medina replied. “Might as well get it over with.” Ben wanted to argue, but said, “Yeah,” and hung up. “Looks like you got your meeting, Ms. Monahan.” Ben borrowed his father’s truck and, ten minutes later, they were on the road. Ben could see that Liz was

determined to meet with the Feds. He wasn't a fool. She planned on using the meeting to fill in the blanks she was sure he was hiding. She was too damn smart. He'd known three days ago, when he met her at the photo shoot, that he was going to get to know her better. Looking back, he saw that he was hit harder than he’d realized. He liked her. More than liked her, if he was honest. Something about her got under his skin, and he liked what it did to him. He cast a covert glance at her in the passenger seat of his father’s truck, then returned his attention

to the street. “I know when a man is looking at me, Mr. Hunter.” Yeah, she was too smart. Dammit, why hadn’t she agreed to wait an hour before meeting with the FBI? The sun sat low in the horizon. In early August in El Paso, it didn’t get dark until after eightthirty. He liked the idea of leaving the Feds after sundown—just in case they decided to follow him after he and Liz left the meeting with them. He could lose them a lot easier in the dark. He also grew increasingly nervous over the

video that played and replayed on the news. The more he and Liz were out, the greater the chances someone would spot them. The meeting place came into sight: A safe house they sometimes used, located less than two minutes from the Pebble Hills Park police station. Ben slowed, then turned into the driveway and parked. He turned off the engine and Liz reached for the door handle. “Remember what I told you, Liz. Don’t tell them we're going to Las Cruces.”

She nodded. “And, Liz.” She shifted and looked at him. “You’re not going to Mexico with me.” “So that's what this is about,” she said. “This—” he jabbed a finger toward the house “—is about us having our ducks in a row. I don't like this—I want you safely away from here—but we need your statement.” Despite his misgivings, that was the truth. She nodded. “That's what I'm here for, to give my statement.”

“And to find out what's going on.” “I want to know what the FBI has to say,” she replied. “I do have that right. After all, there is a warrant for my arrest in Mexico.” “We'll get the charges dropped,” Ben said. “I know you will. But I don't like flying blind any more than you do. You can understand that, can't you?” “I haven't lied to you, Liz.” “The sin of omission is the same as a lie.” He shook his head. “I haven't

omitted anything. I told you the Feds want you to go back.” “True. But you're trying to convince me it won't matter if I don't go back with you.” Ben recalled thinking it would matter if she didn't return with him. He'd told Medina that, but wasn’t going to admit that he’d even had the thought. “I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he said. “You're a grown woman. I might want to grab your hair and drag you into my cave, but I know better.” She barked a laugh, then clamped a

hand over her mouth, eyes wide with laughter. Ben stared as she lowered the hand. Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to laugh. “That's a very vivid picture,” she said. The mental picture appeared full force in Ben's mind: him tossing Liz onto a pile of animal furs, then coming down on top of her. The vision sent the blood rushing from his head to his groin. He knew exactly what he would do to her in his cave. “Who do they have to take my

place?” she asked. “What?” Her eyes narrowed and her question registered in his brain—as did the fact that she'd guessed what he'd been thinking. “She's an FBI agent, so I don't know her.” Liz hesitated, and he figured she was deciding if she was going to pursue what had been on his mind, but she said, “You’re confident that Mr. Sanchez will believe she's me?” The house’s front door opened and Masters stepped onto the porch.

“They've guessed I’m giving you last minute instructions,” Ben said. “No matter what happens, Liz, you're not going anywhere with them. They can't be trusted.” “They're the FBI, law enforcement like you.” He shook his head. “Not like me.” *** Ben hadn't exaggerated when he said the FBI agents weren't like him. Agents Masters and Braxton were distant and sterile, and Masters, in particular, exuded an edge that made Liz

think there was more to this meeting than getting her statement. “You’ll have to wait here, Ranger Hunter,” Agent Braxton said when they reached the living room. Ben’s expression darkened and Liz thought he would argue, but he lowered himself onto the couch without replying. “This way, Ms. Monahan,” Braxton said. She followed them into a small den one door down the hall from the living room and sat down on a chair at a small table located near the left wall. Agent

Masters turned on a recorder and asked her first to state her name. She complied and they asked her to recount what happened last night when she was kidnapped from the Remmeys’ home. She retold the story, then agent Masters turned off the recorder. He made a few final scribbles on a document in the open file before him and then looked at her. “You realize there's a warrant for your arrest in Juarez.” She nodded. “Captain Medina told me about the warrant.” He lifted aside a couple sheets of

paper and read, “Accessory to murder and felony evasion,” then returned his attention to her. “These are serious charges.” “Yes, they are,” she replied. Masters shot Braxton a look that made her think she wasn’t supposed to know about the upgraded charges. “If Mexico decides to extradite you, we'll be forced to comply,” Masters said. “Extradition doesn't happen overnight,” she said. “True. But you’ll be arrested here in

the US and held in custody until extradition.” Her heart jumped into overdrive. Surely, that couldn’t be right? “I'll be out on bond in two hours,” she said. “If events even escalated to that degree. I understand that Mr. Sanchez is a powerful criminal, but I doubt his ability to control the Juarez District Attorney, who would initiate extradition. The District Attorney would have to provide proof to the El Paso District Attorney that the charges hold water. If the El Paso District Attorney doesn’t agree,

then the extradition order isn't worth the paper it's written on.” Masters nodded. “We hope that's how it goes.” Liz kept her gaze fixed on his. “You know as well as I do that the El Paso District Attorney will never honor an extradition order. I'm a civilian, an innocent bystander, who got caught in an undercover operation run by you—the FBI—and the Texas Rangers.” “You seem to think you know a great deal about how extradition works, Ms. Monahan,” Masters said.

Anger began to creep through her professionalism. “Is that a threat, Agent Masters? Because if it is, and by some bizarre chance the El Paso District Attorney honors the extradition, I can assure you my lawyer will go public with the story.” Fury had her insides shaking now. “I can see why you didn't want Mr. Hunter present for this conversation.” Masters' jaw visibly tightened. “Really?” “I'm guessing he would plant his fist in your jaw.” She regretted the words the

moment they left her mouth, and the malicious glint that appeared in the agent's eye confirmed her mistake. “You and Hunter have gotten close,” he said. She flashed a cold smile. “Mr. Hunter wants to be sure I don't end up dead.” “You're in danger because of his mistake,” Masters fired back. “He created this problem.” Liz lifted a brow. “My understanding is that he went undercover for you.”

“That was our mistake,” the agent snapped. “And not your last mistake, either.” She kept her gaze level. “I don't like games, Agent Masters, so I suggest you get to the point.” He leaned back in his chair. “All right, Ms. Monahan, you want it straight.” “Will—” Agent Braxton began. “Forget it, Jason.” His gaze remained fixed on her. “She wants it straight, that's how we'll operate. You see, Ms. Monahan, Hunter left us a big

mess to clean up. That means tucking you away somewhere safe, while we get that asshole Sanchez. And we have to get him, because if we don't, then you, Ms. Monahan, are dead.” “Does cleaning up this mess mean sacrificing Mr. Hunter?” The malicious glint she'd seen earlier reappeared in his eyes. “If he's as tough as he is pretty, he'll be all right.” Fear lanced deep, followed hard by a cold, burning anger. “I imagine he'll do just fine as long as you aren’t in charge of the case.”

Masters straightened. “He's the one who fucked up—not us.” “Will,” Braxton said in a hard tone. “What do you care what happens to him?” Masters demanded. “I don't want to see anyone murdered,” she replied. Masters shrugged. “He's just doing his job. If he'd done it right last night, he wouldn't be in any danger.” “I'm alive as a result of his actions last night.” “You shouldn't have been there in the first place.”

“Are we done?” she demanded. “We have your deposition,” Agent Braxton began. “Then we're done.” Liz rose. Masters shot to his feet and caught her arm as she turned toward the door. “We can't let you walk out of here.” She lifted a brow. “Am I under arrest?” His mouth thinned. “No. But we're responsible for you. If we let you go, you're dead.” “Captain Medina has made plans to ensure my safety.”

“You're our responsibility,” Masters said. “As I said, Captain Medina has already made arrangements.” She tried to disengage her arm, but his grip tightened. “Pretty boy isn't going to be here to protect you,” Masters said. “So just get that idea out of your head. We're taking you into protective custody.” He started toward a door on the left side of the room. “Let me go,” she ordered. “Let's take a minute—” Braxton cut

off when the entry door swung open. Masters whirled around, pulling Liz with him. Ben stood in the doorway, eyes glued on Masters' fingers wrapped around her arm. “Let her go,” Ben ordered. “You don't have jurisdiction here,” Masters sneered. “Our orders are to take her into protective custody.” “Why?” Liz asked. The question stopped the men cold. “Why are you insisting upon protective custody when I told you Captain Medina made arrangements?”

she demanded. “Those are our orders,” Agent Braxton said. Liz looked from him to Masters. “It is my legal right to refuse protection. But that aside, I will be just as safe under Captain Medina's protection.” “That's not the problem,” Ben said. “Is it, Masters?” “What do you know, pretty boy?” the agent replied. Liz turned her attention to Ben, who said, “If we keep you, they’re afraid you’ll show up at the right time and put a

kink in their plans.” “Show up—” She shook her head. Then realization dawned. They didn't want her to get in the way like she had last night. Embarrassment washed over her and she dropped her gaze. “It’s not your fault, Liz,” Ben said, and she returned her gaze to him. “They're blaming everyone but themselves.” He shifted his attention onto Agent Masters. “I said, get your hands off her.” He stepped forward and Masters reached inside his coat. Liz glimpsed the gun he pulled from

a shoulder holster. Agent Braxton shouted, “Will!” as she shoved Masters as hard as she could. Liz hit the floor beside him. Stong fingers closed around her arm and dragged her up into Ben's arms. He shoved her behind him, then seized Masters’ lapel and dragged him up. “Hunter!” Agent Braxton shouted as Ben drove his fist into Master's stomach. Masters doubled over and Agent Braxton lunged toward them as Ben swung an uppercut to Master's jaw. Liz’s

heart jumped into her throat. Braxton grabbed for Masters’ arm but missed, and Masters slammed into the wall, then fell to the carpet Ben took two steps back. Liz yanked her attention onto Masters as his hand closed around the gun that had fallen onto the carpet. “Snap out of it, Will,” Braxton ordered. Masters stilled, his eyes on Ben, who glared at him. “Take it easy, Hunter,” Braxton said. Masters dabbed the back of his hand

against his bleeding nose, looked at the blood, then shifted his gaze up to Ben. “You're going to jail, Hunter.” “You pulled your gun,” Liz said. His head snapped in her direction. “Self-defense.” “See if that story flies with your boss.” Ben turned his attention to Agent Braxton. “If you're smart, you'll get your stories straight. Ms. Monahan is a credible witness.” He shoved Liz toward the door and backed out of the room. In the hallway, Ben whirled and

grasped her arm. “Come on.” Seconds later, they jumped into his truck and he backed out of the driveway. He slammed the transmission into drive and stomped on the accelerator. Tires squealed and the truck shot forward. He didn't stop for the stop sign at the end of the block, but made a right turn as he grabbed his cell phone from the cubby hole in the dash. Liz sat silent as he spoke with his captain. The conversation was short and sweet.

Chapter Twenty No one knew Liz’s identity, not the two Rangers assigned to protect her or the cops in Las Cruces, and only Ben and Medina knew about the plan to relocate her to the safe house in Las Cruces. Yet Ben wanted to keep driving until they reached Canada, where Sanchez would never find them. “Where are you going?” Liz's question broke into his thoughts. He kept his attention on the road. “How about Canada?” From the corner of his eye, he saw

her shift, then felt her hand on his arm. Her gentle squeeze startled him and the warmth that seeped from her fingers through the fabric of his sleeve heated his blood in a way he'd never experienced. “Pull over at the nearest parking lot.” Ben jerked his gaze onto her. Evening shadow hid her face. She laughed. “Don’t tell me you think I have a make-out session in mind.” “One can hope,” he ventured. She squeezed his arm again and he

wanted to take her into his arms so badly it hurt. Fact was, he needed comforting. He also needed to hear her whisper his name…then cry out when he brought her to climax. Her hand left his arm. “There's a station up ahead,” she said. Ben slowed and pulled into the lot, then parked the truck in the corner spot. He turned off the engine and faced her. She released a breath. “You were right. They're nothing like you.” “I wish I'd been wrong.”

“Are you in much trouble?” “Masters is the one who pulled a gun on me.” Liz nodded. “Your captain wasn't happy.” “No, but he knows I won't lie to him. He'll get it worked out. Until then, he wants us to stay out of trouble.” “Does this mean you're not returning to Mexico?” she asked. “Unless you're willing to live in Canada, we have to get him, Liz.” Liz laughed quietly. “Stay out of trouble, you say?”

“It's probably best we don’t return to the ranch just yet. I don't want a confrontation if the Feds decide to show up there. I'll call my father and let him know there’s a possibility they might show up, then get us a motel. I can pay with cash, keep us below the radar.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. “Don't worry, I'll sleep on the floor.” Ben reached to turn on the ignition. She shook her head. “That's not what I was going to say.” He froze, his fingers gripping the keys. Was she going to suggest he sleep

in the bed…with her? “What were you going to say?” She glanced at her watch. “Nine o’clock. Not too late. I have a phone call to make.” “Liz, you can't—” “Trust me.” She pulled her phone, a pen, and a business card from her purse, then tapped the phone screen. A loud dial tone sounded. She smiled and Ben thought he'd lose himself in that smile. A voice answered the call. “Hello. May I speak with the senator, please? Tell him it's Liz

Monahan.” Ben frowned, but she only nodded. A moment later, she said, “Hello, Senator. How are you?” A beat of silence, then, “Yes, it has been some time. I'm sorry to interrupt. I know you have guests.” She laughed. “Yes, word does get around, but that's to be expected when Iron Horse is the guest of honor.” Iron Horse? Had he heard right? The Heisman Trophy winner from Texas A&M two years in a row? “Come now, Senator, surely you don't think that a woman can't know

about football?” Liz said. He replied, but Ben couldn’t discern the words. Liz laughed again. “I can see why you're so well suited for politics. I'm calling for a special reason. This is forward, but I'm in town, and I’m wondering if you can accommodate two more guests for the evening? I'm with a friend—” The voice cut in and surprise appeared on her face. “So you've seen the news. Yes, he’s the friend.” She halted and listened intently for another

moment, then said, “Of course, I hadn't thought of that. I'm relieved we've only made the local news.” She paused, then, “Yes, sir, you've hit the nail on the head, but I don't want to put your other guests in an uncomfortable position. The idea is to keep a low profile.” He replied. Her brows rose. “I'm thankful you said that and not me, Senator. I would be accused of sexism.” The man's laughter sounded through the phone, and Liz said. “I can't thank you enough. Can I get your address?”

In the light of the streetlight, Ben glimpsed Sheila Antonio’s name on the card as Liz flipped it over. Warning bells sounded in his head. Liz jotted down the address, then said, “We're on our way.” She tapped the screen to end the call and looked at him. “What did you just do?” he asked. “I got us a place to lay low.” “What has Sheila Antonio got to do with this?” Liz frowned. He added, “Isn’t that her business

card?” Her expression cleared. “Oh yes. As it happens, she knows the senator, who’s a longtime friend of our family.” “It sounds like you and Sheila got chummy.” Liz regarded him and he realized his mistake. “I see,” she said slowly. “She knows you—Ben Hunter. That explains a lot. You and she have a history.” “Professional history,” he answered a little too quickly. Liz raised her brows. “She was

draped over you as if she owned you.” “Doesn’t mean she does—or ever did. I told you, Sheila isn’t my type, so forget about her. Now, as for the senator, I think it's best—” “I’ve known Senator Pierson since I was twelve. If he assures me that there's no place safer in El Paso short of the police station, then he’s right.” Ben stared. “Ross the Boss Pierson?” She smiled. “I thought you might like him. Now we'd better get going.” “Hold on,” Ben said. “He saw the

video on the news. Ross the Boss might be able to keep quiet, but what about his guests? You mentioned Iron Horse.” “He's one of the guests from their ’76 championship team.” She ticked off on her fingers, “Ross the quarterback, Iron Horse the running back, Legs Lipinski, the tight end, and the whole front line. The senator says they've been at the mansion the better part of the day, so probably haven't seen the news, and they're likely not interested in the local news anyway—his words, not mine. Had the video aired in ESPN, he said

we might be in trouble.” Ben laughed. “He's probably right about that.” “Are you an Aggie fan?” Liz asked. “What Texan isn't?” he said. She dazzled him with a smile and Ben was struck with a thought. “I could easily have gotten us a hotel. Why go to the trouble of wrangling an invitation from the senator?” “A hotel clerk could recognize one of us,” she replied. “I have a few friends,” he said. She shrugged. “We need a break and

I thought you might enjoy meeting Iron Horse.” “If it were any other time—” “It isn't any other time,” she interrupted. “And you're looking a gift horse in the mouth, Mr. Hunter.” Ben held her gaze for a moment, then turned and started the truck. “You'd better be careful, Ms. Monahan.” “Why?” He shifted the truck into reverse, backed out, then shifted into drive. “Because you're starting to like me.”

Half an hour later, Ben and Liz entered the senator's home. “Senator Pierson,” she said, “meet Adam Billings.” The senator extended his hand and they shook. “Good to meet you, Senator. I'm a real fan.” The senator released his hand and winked at Liz. “A little flattery goes a long way. I ought to know.” “We appreciate your hospitality,” Liz said. “It's been a long twenty-four hours.”

The senator's expression sobered. “So I gathered.” He shifted his attention to Ben. “The reports don't say why you two were running the border, but I assume you're law enforcement?” Ben nodded. He slapped Ben on the back. “Are you an Aggie fan, son?” “I am.” “Good, then come meet Iron Horse and Legs.” The senator led them to the largest den Ben had ever seen. A wet bar drew his attention to the left hand wall.

Opposite were located an eighty-inch TV, a sound system and three leather sofas arranged in a semi-circle. What looked like highlights from the ’76 season played on the TV, but a 70’s disco song played on the sound system. And Sheila Antonio… Ben stopped, as did Liz, as Sheila turned and saw them. A shadow flitted across her face and Ben said, “I see a friend, Senator. Will you excuse me?” “Certainly. I’ll take Liz and introduce her around.” Ben nodded and did his best not to

hurry toward Sheila. When they met halfway across the room, he smiled and said, “Ms. Antonio, you probably don’t remember me, Adam Billings. We met the other night at a party.” She smiled and extended a hand. He accepted, as she said, “Of course I remember. How are you, Mr. Billings?” Ben knew he could count on her to go along with the ruse. When it came to men, she was a man-eater, but it was people like her who took the law seriously and kept El Paso one of the safest metropolitan cities in the US.

“Call me Adam,” he said. She angled her head. “Adam.” They strolled nonchalantly out of earshot of the two men standing nearby. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he whispered. “Same here. I saw the news report. Does that relate to last night?” He nodded. Sheila sipped the drink she held. “How does Ms. Fashion fit in?” “I can’t go into it. Just remember, as far as you know, I’m a model.” She took another sip of her drink.

“So what are you doing here tonight?” “Laying low.” “Do you need anything?” “No, but thanks. I better get back to the senator.” She nodded and he left. *** Being from Dallas, Liz was a Dallas Cowboys fan. But her commitment to the team didn’t extend past hanging out with friends for a game or two during the season. Sheila Antonio, on the other hand, knew all the players, the stats, even the plays. She

seemed to know as much as the players. Ben sat on the couch between her and one of the quarterbacks and a linebacker. He was clearly enjoying himself. Why not? He deserved a break. More than that, he needed a break. No one could run on adrenaline without eventually crashing—and making a mistake. Sheila Antonio seemed to put him at ease. He’d told Liz that he and Sheila had a professional history. Sheila took every opportunity to stay close to him. Ben didn’t seem to mind. He caught her looking at him and

flashed a dazzling smile. Liz smiled back, but the pleasure didn’t reach her heart. She glimpsed concern in his expression, but Sheila said something to him, and he returned his attention to her. He smiled and Liz realized that was the same smile he’d just given her. Anger flashed, then died as quickly as it came. He was young, attractive, and unattached. He could smile at as many women as he wanted. But the admonition didn’t halt the memory of their afternoon interlude. The weight of his muscular body

lying atop hers had felt better than she liked to admit. Better than it should have been. When he’d kissed her—she broke off the thought. Dwelling on those memories could—would—lead to trouble. Ben reached into his pocket, drew out his phone, and glanced at the display. He said something to Sheila and Liz tensed when he rose. His gaze caught hers and he gave a reassuring smile as he passed. He left the room and her anxiety ratcheted up. The call had to be from his captain. She couldn’t just sit

there and wait to find out what was going on. She rose, but knew she couldn’t follow him. It would be too conspicuous and he wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Liz meandered to the large window and gazed at the hills beyond the city. Behind her, the men argued over a play. She crossed to the food table. The senator had put out a spread worthy of a king. She and Ben had already eaten, but she needed something to do. Liz took a small plate and selected a couple of cookies. She turned and couldn’t help a

glance at the door Ben had exited. The men in the room cheered. Some jumped to their feet and pumped their fists. Liz turned her attention to the big screen, but glanced at the door a moment later. What was taking so long? “I'm sure he'll return shortly.” Liz turned toward Sheila Antonio. “He’s always like this,” Sheila said. Liz bit into a cookie and lifted a questioning brow. “Secretive.” “It’s the nature of his business,” Liz said.

“True, but he thrives on it.” He did. “You have reason for concern,” Sheila said. That was also true, but she hated Sheila pointing it out. What she hated worse was that she cared. The door opened and Ben entered. Liz noticed the curiosity in Sheila’s gaze and for an instant thought she would act upon that curiosity. Ben caught Liz’s eye and satisfaction surged through her when he seemed not to notice Sheila. It was

stupid and petty—and there was no way it meant anything. But she was glad the gravity of their situation took precedence over a flirtation. Is that all it was, a flirtation? “Excuse me,” Liz said, and started toward him. “Everything all right?” she asked when she reached his side. “Yeah,” he said. “Let's step outside.” He opened the door and she preceded him out of the room. He shut the door behind him, then grasped her elbow and urged her a few paces from the door. “That was Captain Medina.

The two agents assigned to protect you will be in Las Cruces early afternoon the day after tomorrow. Once they give the okay, we'll head over.” “You were on the phone for ten minutes. That's a sixty-second instruction. What else?” “Nothing that concerns you, Liz.” “Until Mr. Sanchez is in jail, all of this concerns me. What did he say about your altercation with Agent Masters?” He shook his head. “Nothing happened—or rather, they're not reporting it as an altercation. Emotions

are high, they were concerned about not having you in protective custody. They're talking like it was nothing more than a heated discussion.” “That's not true,” she said. Ben shook his head. “It's better this way. We won't accomplish anything by forcing the matter.” “He pulled a gun on you,” she insisted. “Technically, he didn't.” Ben said. “You think I'm wrong? You think I didn't see him grab the gun?” Ben grasped her shoulders. “Relax.

The fact the gun ended up on the floor means he had it out of his holster.” “Then we have to tell the truth.” “We've got bigger fish to fry. I have to keep you safe until we reach Las Cruces.” “Then you're going to Mexico?” “The plan hasn’t changed, Liz.” Fear lanced through her. “I don't like this.” He grinned. “Yep, you like me.” Embarrassed warmth washed over her. “I saw you looking at me.”

“What—” “I know when a woman's looking at me, Ms. Monahan.” She suddenly became aware of his fingers grasping her shoulders, but narrowed her eyes. “You have a healthy ego, Mr. Hunter.” “Yep,” he replied. The door handled turned. Ben released her and stepped back as the door opened. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the party. Liz marveled at how at ease Ben

appeared to be. Anyone who didn’t know what he was hiding would believe he was completely engrossed in the party. He sat on the edge of the couch, attention fixed on the game playing on the seventy-inch TV. A member of the opposing team fumbled the ball and Ben leapt to his feet alongside another of the guests and whooped. Both men dropped back onto the couch, and Ben grabbed a chip from the platter on the long table in front of them, scooped up ranch dip and ate the chip in one bite. His gaze caught hers. He grinned,

then stood and her pulse quickened when he headed toward her. Heat spread up her cheeks and she feared he would notice her embarrassment. He reached her chaise lounge near the sliding glass patio door and Liz tensed when she thought he intended to join her on the chaise. A corner of his mouth twitched as he grasped the straight back chair behind her, pulled it up alongside the couch, and sat down. She willed her heart to still when he leaned on the arm of the chaise. His attention returned to the TV as

he said, “Enjoying the party, Ms. Monahan?” “I am,” she replied. “You seem to be having a good time.” “As good a time as can be had,” he looked at her, “in a group.” She rolled her eyes. “I should have fired you when I had the chance.” He laughed and Liz found herself torn between desire and affection. What would it be like to grow old with this man? What would he be like ten years from now…twenty? Like his father. No. She liked Brandon Hunter. He was a no-

nonsense man. But Ben was warmer, less aloof...at least with her. The thought brought another wave of heat across her cheeks. “You’re thinking,” Ben said. Liz gave a half-smile. “There’s a lot to think about. Wouldn’t you agree?” His gaze turned speculative. “Yes, but the look on your face suggests your thoughts are personal in nature.” She glanced at the guests whose attentions were glued to the TV—even Sheila seemed not to notice them—then murmured, “There’s that healthy ego.”

“I have eyes, Ms. Monahan,” he replied but, to her relief, returned his gaze to the TV and said, “You don’t seem interested in the game. Not your favorite teams?” “I like football,” she said. “Though I don’t know as much about the game as the rest of you.” “By ‘the rest of you,’ you mean Sheila Antonio.” Liz started at the astute response, and lifted her shoulders in what she fervently prayed was a nonchalant shrug. “She knows the game.”

Their team intercepted a pass and Ben gave a shout of triumph in unison with several of the other men. Then he leaned toward her and said, “Knowledge of football isn’t a relationship requirement.” He looked at her, eyes stern. “I’m no boy, Liz. I know what I want.” “Ben—” “Is this the first time you’ve been to El Paso?” he asked. Liz hesitated. He’d purposely ended the conversation. That, she admitted, was the mature thing to do. So why, then,

did she want to throttle him? “I make a trip here once a year for a small but significant fashion show.” “I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.” She laughed. “This was your first modeling job, remember?” ”I’m not likely to forget. But we would have met one way or another.” “Don’t tell me you believe in fate.” “All the best moments are fate.” He groaned when the opposition made a touchdown, then asked, “Have you seen much of El Paso other than hotel rooms

and fashion shows?” “No time.” “I need to take you to the National Border Patrol museum,” he said. “It’s small, but impressive. The memorial for the agents who lost their lives guarding our borders is something everyone should see.” “I believe you’re right,” she murmured. He looked at her, eyes intense. “Guarding our borders is an important job,” she said. Gratitude softened his features and

Liz suddenly wondered how she was going to leave him behind when all this was over. The clock hit ten past midnight and half the guests still remained at the party. “Where do you two plan to stay this evening?” the senator asked. Liz started to answer, but Ben said, “A hotel.” “Nonsense,” he said. “You'll stay here.” Liz glanced at Ben, then said, “You have a houseful as it is. We don't want to

impose.” “Young lady, this house has six bedrooms, and a mother-in-law cottage a hundred feet from the main house. The cottage sleeps ten. I have Iron Horse and the offensive line in the cottage. My wife convinced Sheila to stay the night so they can go riding in the morning. That leaves four vacant bedrooms.” Before Ben could refuse, Liz said, “That’s very kind of you, Senator. We accept.” Half an hour later, the senator's maid showed Liz to a bedroom one door

down from Ben’s guestroom. She stripped, turned on the shower, and stepped beneath the warm water. Ben hadn't said anything more about his plans to return to Mexico, but she had been unable to think of anything else. Try as she might, even the shower didn’t relax her. Liz dried, put on bra and panties, slipped between the sheets, turned off the bedside lamp, and listened for sounds of movement in Ben’s room. All was quiet. In the silence, she envisioned Ben emerging from a police car at the Juarez courthouse and being shot through

the head before he reached the steps. Her mind rolled back to last night, to rough hands restraining her arms as the Mexican forced her into the Mercedes in the darkness outside the Remmeys’ mansion. Her heart rate kicked up. She snapped open her eyes and blinked in the bedroom’s darkness. Had it only been a day since this nightmare started? It seemed years ago and only moments ago all at once. Breathe, she told herself. She turned over and tried to concentrate on the luxuriously cool sheets. Instead, her

stomach dipped with the sway of the car as if she and Ben once again raced over a hundred miles an hour to escape bullets that thwanged as they penetrated the car’s metal. What was wrong with her? She was safe, the danger past. That knowledge didn’t stop the clenching of her stomach in remembered fear. A tiny sound caused her to bolt upright and grab for the lamp. Liz fumbled the switch, but managed to twist it to the ON position and sat panting as if she’d just been pulled from the car after

she and Ben crossed the border. Only, Ben wasn’t here to wrap her in protective warmth. Liz threw back the covers and swung her legs off the bed. Then stopped. Her heart pounded. She closed her eyes. She wanted so badly to go to Ben’s room. Would he think her a coward for being afraid? Liz remembered Sheila. Maybe Ben had invited her into his bed. She strained her ears for sounds in the next room, but heard nothing. That didn’t mean anything.

He’d spent the day making sure she stayed safe. He didn’t need her keeping him awake. Liz laid back and pulled the covers to her neck. She left the light on and eventually drifted into troubled dreams full of exquisitely designed dresses stained with the blood of a faceless man.

Chapter Twenty-One Ben felt as if he’d only just dropped off to sleep when his phone pinged an incoming email. He turned on the lamp, grabbed the phone off the nightstand, and pressed the email button. A message from Larissa Remmey appeared on the screen. Mr. Hunter, we received another message from Mr. Sanchez. As you know, the FBI is monitoring our calls in hopes of finding clues to Christina’s whereabouts, so I thought it best that I email you this information. The

following is his message. Francis, I am deeply disappointed that you have not found the information I need. Perhaps the video I attached will motivate you to find the answers now. Ben’s heart jumped to a thunderous beat as he tapped the screen to view the attachment. The video loaded and he stared, chest tight, fingers gripping the phone so hard his knuckles blanched. Stucco walls, yellowed with time and

filth, provided the only backdrop to the activity taking place on a dingy-sheeted bed. A man gripped a young woman’s wrists above her head while he rammed into her. The girl’s eyes, scrunched closed, suggested an effort to distance herself from the ordeal. The sound was off—a blessing Ben was thankful for—but the picture was crystal clear. The girl’s hair, once a rich brown, was now matted with dirt. Tracks on her arms told of heroine injections used by brothel masters to subdue and control the girls. This girl

wasn’t Christina, and Ben couldn’t deny the relief and guilt that rolled over him. No one had saved the young woman in this video. A single sentence had been superimposed at the bottom of the screen. You will never find her. Despite the hour, Ben didn’t hesitate. He dialed Medina’s number. The captain, wide awake, answered on the second ring, and Ben told him about the email. Ben ended with, “How soon before

the female cops are ready to enter Remmey’s associate’s trucks?” “I’ve got six female officers assigned to the sting operation. We should be good to go tomorrow morning.” “Maybe you should call Remmey tonight,” Ben said. “Let them give Sanchez the good news.” “Slow down, Hunter. They aren’t supposed to call him until tomorrow morning.” “Captain, they won’t be sleeping tonight. They need to know there’s a

light at the end of the tunnel.” “There’s no guarantee this will help locate their granddaughter,” Medina said in a quiet voice. “They need hope,” Ben said. A moment of silence passed, then Medina said, “All right. I’ll give them a call. “ “Thanks,” Ben said, and hung up. *** Liz jerked awake, aware she’d heard a sound. Her heart pounded as she blinked the room into focus. The sound, she realized, came from Ben’s room. He

was talking on the phone. She glanced at the clock. The red LED lights read 3:34. She couldn’t discern his words, but a call at this hour couldn’t be good. The call lasted another four minutes, then Ben went quiet. Liz rolled over, but didn’t bother closing her eyes. After twenty minutes, she got dressed, crossed to the door, opened it, and peered down the empty hallway. She slipped from the room and hurried to Ben’s door. She gave three soft taps. The door opened two seconds later. Ben stood in the doorway and Liz

took a startled step backward at coming face-to-face with the broad expanse of his tanned chest. “Liz, what’s wrong?” His deep voice jarred her from the trance, but before her head cleared, Ben grasped her arm and pulled her into his room. She caught sight of the revolver he gripped, hidden behind the door. He stepped into the doorway and Liz’s gaze snagged on the firm curves of his jeancovered butt. She shifted her gaze to the chiseled flesh of his back and her heart skipped a beat. Ben glanced both ways

down the hall, then backed into the room. She stepped out of the way as he closed the door. He turned and demanded, “What’s wrong?” Liz shook her head, unable to find her voice. His brow furrowed. “You all right?” She nodded. “I—What are you doing with that?” She pointed at the gun. “Just a precaution.” He went to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. “I don’t remember you having a gun,” Liz said as he placed the weapon

in the drawer and slid it shut. “I put it on before the meeting with the FBI.” “Put it on?” He faced her. “Ankle holster.” “Oh.” “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you asleep?” “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked. “I asked first.” “I heard you talking on the phone.” He frowned. “I would think a fancy place like this would have thicker

walls.” “Blame the building code. Who are you talking to at three-thirty in the morning?” “Business.” “Mr. Sanchez business?” “Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosey?” Liz wanted to laugh, but sadness tinged the impulse. When a man told a woman she was nosy, the romance was definitely over. Better this way, she told herself. Ben had romanticized a relationship with her.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said. “A call at three-thirty in the morning isn’t good.” “Sometimes that’s when the best news comes in.” “Ben, what’s going on?” He walked around the bed, leaned his butt against the footboard and crossed his arms over his chest. Liz couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight. She recalled again those arms around her when he’d pulled her from the car, the insistent passion when he’d kissed her-“I think you like me.”

“What?” she said. A speculative light glinted in his eyes. “You’ve come for a little comforting.” Another minute and I'll have to touch you, he’d said. An urge to cry rushed to the surface. What was wrong with her? “Liz.” Ben straightened from the bed and started toward her. She took a startled step back. He caught her arm. “Don’t cry, honey.” Cry? Liz drew a stuttered breath and realized that tears were trickling down

her cheeks. He tugged her against him and her cheek met the warm flesh of his chest. Her head whirled with the sensation of muscle flexing as his arms tightened around her. “I shouldn’t tease you so much,” he said. His voice washed over her like a smooth whisky down her throat. “It’ll be all right,” he soothed. Memory of the bloody dream returned. It wasn’t going to be all right. “Mr. Sanchez won’t hesitate to shoot you in broad daylight.”

Ben drew a deep breath and she sniffled as he released the breath. “I can’t risk him coming back for you, and I can’t leave that girl in his hands.” Her heart constricted. “It’s just such a mess. I’m so sorry.” He leaned back and looked down at her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This became a mess the day Sanchez kidnapped the first woman. Remember, I was chasing him before you came along.” “Before I came along and messed

things up, you mean.” Ben stared down at her for a long moment and she became aware of her legs pressing his thighs. He offered a gentle smile. “This is what I do, Liz. That’s never going to change.” The urge to cry resurfaced. His hands slid from her waist to her arms as he took a step back, and Liz had the impression that he, too, was close to the edge. A light knock on the door caused Liz to jump. Ben tensed, but to Liz’s

surprise, he didn’t seem worried. “Don’t move,” he whispered, then crossed to the door. He opened it and Liz glimpsed Sheila Antonio in the hall. Sheila’s eyes lowered to Ben’s chest, then slid up to his face. “I thought you might like some company.” “Sheila,” he began, but her gaze cut past him to Liz. She looked back at Ben. “Business, huh?” “That’s right,” he said, and closed the door in her face. He whirled and reached Liz in three

paces. “What did she mean by that?” Liz demanded. A cloud passed over his face. “It means you and I are in this together and have to work together. Let her think that.” He passed her and flipped back the bedcovers. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. You need a good night’s sleep.” She realized with startling hurt, that he wanted to get rid of her before she cramped his style. Liz nodded. “Yes.” She started toward the door, but his

grasp on her arm stopped her. She gave him an inquiring look. “A good night’s sleep means in that bed.” He stabbed a finger toward his bed. *** Liz stared out the window of the truck. Morning sun burned off gray clouds as Ben pulled into the driveway of his father’s ranch. “I know you don’t want to stay at the ranch, but it’s only for the day,” he said. “I can’t leave you alone, and headquarters—or any other law

enforcement agency’s office—is out of the question. We have to assume that Sanchez has men watching all law enforcement offices, and we can’t know who his contacts are. When I get back this evening, we’ll move to a hotel for the night.” A tremor rippled through her stomach at the thought of being alone with Ben in a hotel room. Last night— after he’d turned away Sheila Antonio— he’d herded her into his bed, then pulled the covers up over her breasts and tucked them around her. When he

pressed warm lips to her forehead, she grasped his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. Liz had felt the shudder in his body and she’d come close to begging him to crawl into bed with her. But he turned out the light and his warm hand had covered hers before she passed into sleep. He’d woken her with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and tucked her under his arm in their walk back to her room. She couldn’t see his face in the early morning shadows, but he lingered long enough to brush his lips against hers

and she knew it had been as hard for him to leave as it was for her to let him go. Letting him go today was even harder. She was sure that his sudden decision to leave her at the ranch had something to do with the phone call last night. If Mr. Sanchez had discovered Ben’s identity, Ben wouldn’t return to his father’s ranch. Liz envisioned her two abductors running into R.W. and Hal. She’d like to see that. Those boys would catch them and—a thought struck. “Ben, what would happen if Mr. Sanchez’s men thought I was here at the

ranch?” He shook his head. “Nothing. They would discover you’re not here and leave.” Excitement streaked through her. “That’s the answer. If he finds out who you are and sends someone to look for me, you can follow the man back to Mr. Sanchez.” Ben glanced at her. “Liz, crossing the border is the hard part for Sanchez’s men. It’s more likely the hit man would simply call and tell him we’re not at the ranch.”

Liz started to reply, then slumped. He offered a gentle smile. “I’m delivering you to Las Cruces tomorrow, then I’m going to Mexico. End of story.” She wanted to argue so bad it hurt, but he wasn’t about to abandon the Remmeys’ granddaughter and she wasn’t going to ask him to. But that didn’t stop the terror that he might not return. She barely knew the man, yet couldn’t imagine him disappearing from the world—and her life—so soon. How did the women who married these men live with this fear every day?

*** Ben knew Liz was worried, but he sensed her hurt too. He was torn between taking her in his arms and assuring her he would return this afternoon, and wondering if she would forgive him for abandoning her at the ranch. Hal and R.W. entered the family room, quashing the idea of kissing her. “It’s only for the day, Liz. You understand?” Dammit, he felt like a fifteen-year-old schoolboy hoping his first love wouldn’t think him a complete idiot.

R.W. reached the sofa and stopped. “You make it sound like you might not come back.” Liz’s eyes widened in fear. “It’s only a meeting, Liz,” Ben quickly said, then scowled at R.W. “R.W., you make any trouble while I’m gone and I’ll arrest you and leave you in lockup for the week.” “I’ll keep him in line,” Hal said. “And you can count on us to watch over Liz.” “If you have a computer where I can get online, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You’re not in our way, darlin’,” R.W. said. She gave him a dry look. “Then let’s just say that’ll keep you out of my way.” Hal laughed. “She’s too smart for you, R.W.” “Yeah,” he said. “That’s why I never got married. They’re all too smart for me.” “There’s no arguing with that,” Ben said. He squeezed Liz’s shoulder. “You have my cell phone number. If you need anything, call.” She nodded and he forced himself to

walk from the room and straight to his truck. Leaving Liz was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. Hal and R.W. would protect her with their lives, but Ben wasn’t going to forget the fear in her eyes. Only it wasn’t fear for herself, but for him. The woman was tying him up in all kinds of knots. Ben arrived at the same safe house where he and Liz had met with Braxton and Masters the night before. He recognized Medina’s Dodge Ram truck parked in the driveway. Ben parked

behind the captain, then went to the door and knocked. A moment later, Braxton let him inside. Medina and Masters occupied opposite chairs at the kitchen table. “Sit down.” Medina motioned Ben to the chair opposite him. Ben obeyed, and Braxton sat in the last vacant chair. “First,” Medina said, “as an FYI, we’re set up for what Sanchez will believe is the first shipment of kidnapped women across the border.” “What’s the chance this will lead us

to Sanchez?” Ben asked. Medina shrugged. “Not great. Mostly, we’ll get a look at the local operation. We’ll follow the truck through its locator. Then the Juarez Chief of Police will get lucky and find the women when they reach their destination.” “You think Sanchez won’t take it out on that little girl when his shipment gets confiscated??” Masters said. “Loyola plans to make it clear that he was on the lookout for human shipments,” Medina said.

Masters snorted. “All you’re doing is pissing him off.” “Then he’ll make a mistake,” Medina said, and turned his attention to Ben. “The El Paso Police Department sent word to Juarez D.A. Bryan Gomez that you and Ms. Monahan have agreed to cooperate with the warrants for your arrests. We’ve leaked news that Ms. Monahan has dyed and cut her hair. That gives Sanchez’s men the idea that she looks different than any pictures they have.” Ben nodded. “They’ll actually be

looking for differences.” “If we’re lucky,” Medina said. “We’ll give them one hole in our dragnet where they can best take a shot at you, then a second, less obvious hole. We’ll have both places staked out. When Sanchez’s guy takes his shot, we’ll stick to him and hope he lands in Sanchez’s lap.” “What about the Remmeys’ granddaughter?” “You may have just gotten her killed —or worse,” Masters said. Ben ignored the agent and said to

the captain, “I’m wondering if a direct trade isn’t a better idea.” Masters straightened. “You’re not in charge of this operation. The only reason you’re here is because we can’t find another agent pretty enough to play your part.” Ben shifted his gaze onto Masters. “Push it, Masters, and this pretty boy will make the run-in we had last night look like a tea party.” Masters’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t you threaten—” “That’s enough, Will,” Braxton cut

in, along with Medina’s “Hunter, you’re out of line.” Medina took a breath. “We considered an exchange,” the captain said, “but we don’t think Sanchez will show up personally. We all want to save the Remmeys’ granddaughter, along with every other man and woman he’s kidnapped, including the ones he’ll kidnap tomorrow and the next day if we don’t get him. Not to mention, as long as Sanchez runs free, Ms. Monahan won’t have a real life.” “There’s no guarantee Sanchez gets close enough to his hit man to give us

any idea where he is,” Ben said. “That’s why we have a backup plan,” the captain said. “If Sanchez’s guy doesn’t lead us to him, then we leak the news that you’re not dead.” Ben thought for a minute. “You mean, put me in a hospital and let someone come for me there.” “Yep.” “Isn’t that too convenient?” Ben asked. “He’s got to figure it’s a trap.” “Maybe,” the chief agreed, “but Sanchez wants you pretty bad. Maybe even bad enough to take chances. Loyola

is in on the deal. As chief of police he can have his men nearby to keep things looking real.” Ben nodded. “I’ll be ready to go late tomorrow morning.” “Tomorrow morning?” Masters said. “Medina, you agreed that Hunter would leave with us now, and we place Ms. Monahan into protective custody.” “What?” Ben jerked his gaze onto the captain. “Sir, you know—” “We can’t risk a leak,” Masters said. “You’re not getting anywhere near

her,” Ben snarled. “You boys demanded those terms,” Medina said. “We never agreed. Hunter will be here tomorrow morning at ten a.m..” The captain rose and everyone followed suit. “You don’t have the last say in this, Medina,” Masters said. “Don’t need it,” he said. “Give the Director a call.” “The Director doesn’t have the last say.” “Then I imagine he’ll refer you to the governor. You want to go over his

head, be my guest. He went to college with the Secretary of State. I imagine that’ll go high enough to suit you. I suggest you make sure the agent you have to play Ms. Monahan’s part is here tomorrow morning at ten sharp. The Juarez Chief has wanted Sanchez a lot longer than we have, and he’s on very good terms with us, so he’ll be real happy to move forward with this operation with or without federal participation.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but motioned Ben to follow and they left.

They reached Medina’s truck and Ben said, “I don’t trust him. For all we know, he’ll feed Sanchez information.” “If that’s the case, then it’s already too late,” Medina said. “But I’m betting he’s just the disgruntled employee he appears to be. He won’t be part of the Mexican operation.” Ben barked a laugh. “That explains his antagonism.” An uncharacteristic smile tugged at the corner of Medina’s mouth. “He doesn’t know yet.” “Captain, I’ll pay a month’s salary

if you let me tell him.” *** An hour later, Ben parked his truck in the downtown garage where he kept a beat-up Corolla, and watched the mirror for anyone who might have followed him into the garage. All remained quiet. He got out, walked down half a dozen spots to the Corolla, and got in. So far, he’d been luckier than a man had a right to be. No one he knew had leaked his identity. That couldn’t last— especially if he poked around in the wrong hole. But he needed information.

Barely two days had passed since he and Liz escaped from Mexico, and he hadn’t had an opportunity to put his ear to the ground. Today was his only chance before everything went to hell—and, one way or another, hell was where they were headed. Ben cruised by the little bar his snitch Anthony Rath frequented and spotted Rath’s car parked in the usual spot beneath a street lamp. Seedy bars, pawn shops and local delis lined the street. Ben parked a block down in front of a convenience store and waited. Half

an hour later, Tony emerged from the bar. Ben left his car and came up behind Tony just as he reached for the car door handle. “Let’s take a walk, Tony,” Ben said. Tony spun, eyes wide. “Man, I can’t be seen with you, Hunter.” “Then we’d better get going.” Ben grasped his arm and started walking. Tony glanced toward the bar, but complied. They reached the end of the block, turned the corner, and Tony whirled on him. “Look, Hunter, I’ve always done what you wanted, but

there’s nothing I can do for you this time.” “You saw the video,” Ben said. “All of Texas, and probably New Mexico, saw the video. Hell, probably even Arizona.” “And?” Ben urged. Tony peered both ways along the street, then said in a stage whisper, “There’s a hundred thousand dollar bounty on your head.” “You weren’t tempted to turn me in for that kind of money?” Tony grimaced. “Jackie is as badass

as I ever want to know. Being in business with a man like Carlos Sanchez means I die before collecting the hundred large.” “How about your boss? Is he looking for me?” Tony snorted. “Jackie doesn’t confide in me. But he doesn’t know you, so I doubt you’re on his radar.” “Whose radar am I on? How is Sanchez getting the word out?” “I heard about the bounty from some guy I never met before. He came into Jackie’s place yesterday morning.”

“Is he connected with Sanchez, one of his boys looking for information?” Ben asked. “I can’t be sure, but I say he’s just another scumbag looking to score big.” Ben held Tony’s gaze. “Have you heard anything about Sanchez kidnapping a young girl, someone he didn’t ship off to be sold like the others? He’s got her stashed somewhere.” Tony shook his head. “I ain’t heard nothing like that.” “Any idea where Sanchez is?” “You got me confused with Victor,”

Tony said. “You want that kind of information, talk to him. He’ll sell his own mother for the right price.” “He’d sell me,” Ben said. A car turned the corner. Tony hunched low in his jacket, turned his back to the street and spit. The car passed and Ben said, “Do you know any of Sanchez’s men?” He hesitated. Ben grabbed his shirt. “Don’t hold back on me, Tony.” Tony nodded and Ben released him. “There’s a guy, lives on west side near

the border, goes by the name of Pauly. I seen him around a couple times. He’s another messenger boy, like me.” “The west side is big.” Ben cocked his head. “You got something more specific?” “There’s a little bar, a stink hole...El Toro. I picked up some information for Jackie there, about a month ago. The guy was there.” “What kind of information does he carry?” “I don’t know. We’re not connected.” Tony wiped sweat from one

temple. “Word is, he’s got some connections with local law.” “Law?” Ben blurted. “As in cops?” “As in Border Patrol.” Ben mashed his lips together. “What’s the guy look like?” “Five ten. Wears a little pony tail.” “Is the bar the only place you’ve seen him?” “He’s got a place on the west side near the border. He might run with Victor’s crowd. Those assholes are mean.” Victor worked for Bobby Wilkes, a

bookie known to break legs if payment arrived five minutes late, and Victor relished breaking those legs. Human trafficking was a move up the ladder. “Why didn’t you tell me about this a month ago?” Ben asked. Tony shrugged. “If I chased you down for every scrap of information that came my way, you’d have to put me on the payroll, and I already got a job.” Ben poked Tony with a forefinger. “Anything you hear that concerns law enforcement, I want a call.” “Now you want me calling you,”

Tony muttered. “You don’t like it, get a job as a bag boy at the local Albertsons.” Tony poked his lip out like a disgruntled kid. “We done?” “Unless there’s something else you forgot to tell me.” “You might watch out for that lady friend of yours.” Ben tensed. “I plan to.” “Sanchez has a hundred thousand dollar bounty on her head, too. He wants her alive,” Tony said. “He’s got plans for her.”

Ben grit his teeth. “I have plans for him.”

Chapter Twenty-Two The digital clock on Liz’s computer clicked over to five p.m.. She rolled her shoulders and stared at the wall. Concentrating on work was impossible. All she could think about was why Ben hadn’t returned. She rubbed her neck, looked back at the monitor, and managed to slog through four more emails before the study door opened and he entered. Liz shoved to her feet before checking an impulse to throw herself into his arms.

She waited, frozen, as he stared at her from the doorway. “Ah, Liz,” he said. “You really were worried I wouldn’t come back today.” She kept her voice level, “I had some concerns.” He stared for another long moment and she had the distinct impression he was debating whether or not to take her into his arms. “How did your day go?” she asked. He flashed a smile. “Productive. Her heart jumped as much because

of his smile as the possibility he might have news that he didn’t have to return to Mexico. “Care to elaborate?” “Sanchez may have someone in Border Patrol in his pocket.” She drew a sharp breath. “This is bad.” Her heart thumped. “There’s no other way, is there?” He crossed the room and, before she could stop him, pulled her into a hug. “No, there isn’t.” She nodded against his chest, afraid to speak. He pulled back and looked down at

her. “I plan to come back. I have something to live for.” “Oh no,” she tried to pull free, but he held her firm. “You have plenty to live for—and that doesn’t include me.” “Honey, you’re at the top of the list.” She shook her head, “Ben, I told you —” “Don’t argue with a man who’s about to go into battle.” That stopped her short. She placed a hand on his stubbled cheek. “You have to live so that you can rescue the Remmeys’

granddaughter.” His expression sobered—for an instant—then he flashed that heartstopping smile. “I’m the one who’s got a lot on his plate this time, huh?” She laughed and his second hug melted her clear to her toes. Then they both stepped out of the embrace—her on shaky legs. “Did you make any headway on your work?” he asked. Liz glanced at the monitor, then shook her head. “I was too distracted.” He hesitated, then said, “Are you

still dead set against staying here another night?” She’d asked herself that a hundred times today. Truth was, she was afraid to be alone with Ben in a hotel room. So far, she’d managed to control the need to touch him. Next time, she would likely shame herself by begging him to make love to her. “It’s one night. At this point, I suppose it’s safer than going to a hotel. The senator offered to let us stay at his place again if we needed.” “Really?” Ben said. “You didn’t

mention this before.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen today.” He nodded, and she suspected he hadn’t been all too sure himself. “We’ll have a nice quiet dinner, then head out early tomorrow morning. Is five in the morning too early for us to leave?” Liz laughed. “Not at all. I’m usually up by 5:30.” “You hungry?” he asked. She was surprise to realize she was, and said so.

“I passed Dad on the way in and he said supper was pretty much ready. I hope you like barbeque.” “I love barbeque.” He laughed, then grasped her hand before she realized his intent. Butterflies skittered across the insides of her stomach. God help her, she hadn’t felt like this since Jack. Ben led her to the dining room where a feast fit for a king lay spread across the table. Baby back ribs, barbequed brisket, corn bread, green beans, potatoes and salad. If she filled up, she would probably fall asleep

five minutes after dinner. Thankfully, the men of the house, including R.W., provided good dinner company. Liz began to relax—despite Ben’s hungry looks that said he’d like to eat her for desert. She wondered that he didn’t have women knocking his door down, then realized he did—bright, ambitious, lovely women like Sheila Antonio who were many years younger than her. The thought reminded her that he didn’t really understand the ramifications of their age differences.

She understood, but that didn’t stop her from remembering how his tan chest went on for miles, and how the muscle of that chest pressed against her breasts. But she wasn’t the first woman to find him irresistible and she wouldn’t be the last. “Liz.” R.W.’s voice brought her back. “You all right, darlin’?” She realized the men at the table were all staring at her. “You looked like you were somewhere else,” Ben said.

Liz flushed. “I have a lot on my mind.” His gaze sharpened, then amusement sparkled his eyes. He knew she’d been thinking of him. “You’re a woman with a lot on her plate,” he said. “Maybe after dinner you’d like to take a stroll with me.” “I would not,” she blurted, then felt a deeper, hotter heat that indicated her cheeks were flaming. “I see,” he said with such obvious relish that she wanted to throttle him. “Don’t pester the lady,” R.W. said.

“She’s too good for you.” “That won’t stop me,” Ben said. “Are you two set for your trip tomorrow?” Ben’s father asked. “You need any help?” Ben shook his head. “We’ve got it covered. We’ll be leaving at five in the morning.” Brandon nodded, but the crease across his brow told Liz he was worried. “You sure you wouldn’t rather stay here, Ms. Monahan?” he asked. She smiled. “I appreciate the offer,

but I will feel better knowing there are as few people as possible involved.” He nodded. “I understand. But if you change your mind, we’ll be here.” “Thank you.” Liz lifted her wine glass to her lips, then froze when the doorbell rang. R.W. and Hal shoved to their feet. “Easy,” Ben said. “Sanchez won’t ring the bell. R.W., see who it is. I’ll have a look out back.” They left the room and, moments later, a woman’s voice sounded in the hallway outside the dining room. “You

look like you’re ready to fight a bear, R.W. Don’t worry, we’ll let you finish your supper.” Brandon rose. “That’s Linda, my sister.” A woman and teenage girl entered the room with R.W. trailing. “Sorry to barge in on you, Brandon,” Linda said, “but I just found out the pipe that burst two weeks ago caused a mold problem in the downstairs walls. We had to get out. Allie can’t go back until they get it cleaned out. Her allergies—” The woman’s gaze caught on Liz and she

stopped. “I didn’t realize you had company.” Ben entered the room. “I have company. Linda glanced at him, then looked back at Liz. “You’re the woman on the news who ran the border at Juarez.” She looked back at Ben. “And you’re Adam Billings. For God’s sake, Ben, what kind of assignment are you on this time?” *** “Just doing my job,” Ben answered. His aunt cast a recriminating glance at Brandon. “And you let him do this?”

Brandon sat down. “If you figure out a way to stop him, let me know.” Linda turned to Liz. “You’re Liz Monahan, Creative Director for Nina Bruno Designs. Is that your real name?” Ben started to tell his aunt that was none of her damn business, but Liz said, “I’m part of an ongoing investigation that Ben is involved in.” Linda’s gaze cut to Ben. “Ongoing investigation?” “Ms. Monahan is a witness.” “A witness to what?” “Attempted murder,” Ben said.

“Hers.” For the first in his life, Ben saw his aunt speechless. “No joke?” she said. “No joke,” he replied. “Maybe Allie and I should get a hotel room.” “No need,” Liz said. “Ben and I have plans to spend the night elsewhere.” “There’s no need for anyone to leave,” R.W. said. “Liz is right,” Ben said. “It’s better Linda and Allie stay here.”

Linda shook her head. “I don’t want to push you two out.” “You’re not,” Liz said. “I insisted that I didn’t want to stay at the ranch. This is a good reason for Ben to comply.” Linda looked at Ben. “Is that right?” “It is. You and Allie should stay. She looks pretty washed out.” “She is,” Linda said. “We didn’t realize there was mold in the walls. You know how allergic she is.” Ben nodded. “Any headaches,

honey?” he asked Allie. “Only a little bit,” she said. “You hungry?” he asked. She shrugged and Ben pulled her into a hug. “Fifteen-year-olds are always hungry.” He gave her a squeeze then he released her. “Sit down and eat,” his father said. “Hal, scrounge up plates for Linda and Allie.” “Cora will skin me alive if I step into her kitchen,” Hal said. “Then ask her nicely to bring plates and silverware for two more.”

Hal rose as everyone seated themselves at the table. “If I don’t come back, you’ll know she stuffed me in the oven.” He returned a moment later, following the housekeeper into the dining room. “Cora,” Linda called, “are these boys treating you all right?” The housekeeper set a plate and silverware in front of Allie. “Not too bad.” She set a plate and silverware in front of Linda. “R.W. says you have mold in your house. Allie, are you doing

okay?” She nodded. “Just a little headache.” “The mold is in the study only,” Linda said. “But once I found out it was there, we got out. Sorry I didn’t call, Brandon. I figured you wouldn’t care one way or the other.” He shook his head. “I don’t mind. Cora, can you make sure two more bedrooms are ready?” “Already sent George to take care of it,” she said. “Do you need anything, Allie?”

She shook her head, but Ben was glad to see she’d taken a healthy helping of ribs and cornbread. The girl was too thin. Cora left and Ben caught a gleam in his aunt’s eye an instant before she said, “So what’s all this about you running the border, Ben?” He didn’t miss Liz’s amusement as he finished off his wine. Staying for dinner had been a mistake. He set the empty glass down. “Business, Linda, like I said.” “It’s not something you want to talk

about with Allie here,” R.W. said, and for once Ben was thankful for R.W.’s brutal frankness. “It involves Carlos Sanchez,” he added. Linda snapped her gaze onto Ben. “I’m not liking this.” Ben wasn’t either, and he suddenly realized what a big mistake he’d made. He had no reason to think Sanchez had a lead on his identity, but, at any time, Sanchez could learn the truth. What if he had goons on the way to the ranch? He cringed from the idea of Linda receiving a video like the one the Remmeys’ had

gotten, only the girl in the bed was Allie. Fear seized his insides. “Maybe a hotel might be a good idea,” he said. Liz had gone white and he realized his tone had given away his thoughts. Linda broke the silence. “Should we go now?” “Finish dinner,” Ben said. “Liz and I are about to leave.” And tomorrow he was going to find Carlos Sanchez. *** When Ben decided it was a risk for his young cousin to stay at the ranch, the

evening’s illusion of safety shattered. None of them were going to be safe until Carlos Sanchez was dead. Even worse, Liz noted a new determination in Ben that told her he knew the same thing— and planned to do something about it. Once Linda and Allie left, Ben joined Liz in the den. “I’ve got a motel in mind for us,” he said. “You mean like the hotel where Captain Medina registered me under an alias?” “Big hotels mean lots of employees,

which means bigger risk. The place I have in mind is respectable and small.” “How about some place where there’s no chance they’ll find us?” “You’re thinking the Senator’s house,” he said. Liz nodded. “He returned to Washington today. The only people there are the permanent staff.” Ben agreed and, an hour later, they were shown to the same rooms they’d occupied the night before. Liz was relieved to have Ben in the next room, and at the same time wished with all her

might that she had the willpower to sleep in his arms without asking him to make love to her. But she didn’t, which was why, after laying awake for an hour imagining him killed by a bullet, knife or speeding car, she finally resigned herself to the truth: she couldn’t let him go without touching him, without having him inside her. She would accept nothing less than his promise to come back in one piece, and he had to accept that tonight was about two people needing each other for the moment. Nothing more.

Liz stripped off her bra and panties and slipped into the robe she’d been given. She went to the door and peeked into the hallway. Deserted. Liz stepped out, clicked her door shut, then hurried to Ben’s room. She reached for the knob, then stopped. Ben would be out of his bed and have her on the floor before he realized the intruder was the woman he was supposed to protect. The idea had some appeal, she owned up with a silent laugh, but she was too old to be thrown to the ground —and then perform with any finesse.

She knocked and in two seconds, the door opened. Ben stood as he had last night, jeans-clad and shirtless. Her heart jumped to a gallop. “What’s wrong, Liz?” “I’ll show you.” She brushed past him into the room. Ben closed the door. As he turned, Liz let the robe slip from her shoulders. He stopped cold. Liz stepped close and flattened her palms on his chest. “Don’t you read too much into this. I’m scared. We both need some rest and God knows we need to

relieve the stress. So you just remember that—” He cut her off with a kiss. Before she could respond, he turned her, pinning her to the door with his body and crushing her breasts against his bare chest. Heat rocketed through her. His mouth ravished hers and her head whirled when he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He twirled his tongue with hers and undulated his hips. Her head spun and she moaned. He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Liz, I’ve resisted, God

knows, I have, but another instant—one instant—and I won’t be able to stop. If you don’t want—” She pulled his mouth down to hers. He kissed her long and hard. When her knees went weak, he swept her into his arms and crossed to the bed. Ben lowered her onto the mattress, coming down on her in a wall of yielding muscle, pressing her into the bed in a delicious warmth that stole her breath. The juncture between her legs throbbed with every beat of her heart. He broke the kiss and raked his

teeth over her jaw, moving lower, down her neck and collarbone to the swell of her breasts. When his lips grazed a hardened nipple she drew a sharp breath and he gently sucked the bud into his mouth. He rocked his hips and the brush of his skin sent a skitter across her flesh that collided with the erotic warmth of his mouth around her nipple. Desire streaked through her. Too much and not enough, all at the same time. She wanted all of him—now—but feared the end, and wanted the end to remain in the future, always in the future

where he remained safe. Ben’s hand skimmed her thigh, her stomach, shoulder, then neck, all the while his mouth teased one nipple then the next until she couldn’t tell where his hands ended and his mouth began. Her flesh caught fire and she seized his shoulders. He laughed low against her breast, then his mouth trailed a wet kiss toward her ear. “I love the way you feel.” His breath warmed the sensitive flesh and he nipped her earlobe. A tremor rocked her stomach and

she knew an instant of fear. Fear for how this man made her feel. Fear for the power he could exert over her. Fear for how deeply she was starting to care for him. He gave a low laugh, as if reading her thoughts, and Liz shuddered. Then he reached between her legs. His fingers dipped into her channel and a wave of embarrassment swept through her at the realization of how wet she’d become. His fingers grazed her sensitive sex, she arched into him before thinking. His scent—their scent—hung thick and

sweet in the air and left her dizzy with need. He stroked her with sure fingers until she couldn’t stand the pleasure any longer her body exploded and she tensed with pleasure. She groaned, then threw her legs around his hips and rocked against his erection until the orgasm faded. “Liz,” his hoarse whisper sent a shiver of desire through her. She reached for his shaft. Her mouth went dry at the weight of his velvety steel in her hand. Liz couldn’t wait. She fitted him to her. He started to ease in,

but she grasped his buttocks and arched as she pulled him inside hard and fast. He drew a sharp breath and she knew exactly how he felt. She drew back, then arched again. He didn’t hesitate, but thrust—hard. Her breath caught, and she buried her face in his neck. His ragged breath tickled the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder and she felt another orgasm begin to build. Liz nipped at his shoulder and tasted the salty tang of his skin. He growled and drove deeper into her. A violent wave broke over her and

pleasure tensed her body. He burst apart inside her and his arms tightened around her so that she could barely breathe. This was the way to go. He groaned again, deep, long, and with male satisfaction that sent a wave of pleasure clear to her core. When he stiffened, his buttocks hardened beneath her fingers and another orgasm swept through her. He thrust slowly, stroking until the orgasm passed, then relaxed on top of her. Gradually, she became aware of the beat of his heart against hers. He slid off

her and pulled her to him, chest to chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m reading a helluva lot into this,” he said. “Ben—” “Hush, Liz. You’re not going to change my mind.” He traced lazy circles on her leg. Her heart beat fast again and she wondered if he would make love a second time. After a while his hand stilled, then twitched, and for a long time she lay awake listening to his shallow, even breaths.

Chapter Twenty-Three Ben woke in the night and they made love again. Sometime before dawn, Liz fell asleep with her head on his arm and Ben watched her sleep, his body aroused for the third time that night. At some point, he dozed off, and woke to find the sheets beside him empty. He found Liz dressed and sipping coffee in the breakfast nook off the kitchen. The cook and housekeeper bustled in and out and he couldn’t do more than greet Liz and ask for coffee. If he hadn’t known better—and he didn’t—

he would almost think she had planned the situation so she could avoid a discussion of what had happened between them. And he planned to discuss it before they reached Las Cruces. When they got in the truck, he waited until he’d pulled onto the road before saying, “I don’t regret last night.” She looked at him, brows raised. “You seemed satisfied. There’s nothing to regret.” He shot her a reproachful glance. “That’s not what I meant and you know

it.” “I told you not to read too much into it.” He braked at a stop sign and looked at her as the car to his left started through the intersection. “Do you regret it?” Her expression softened. “Of course not.” Ben released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then accelerated through the intersection. “I suppose there’s not much else to say right now, then,” he said, surprising

himself. “When I get back—” Liz laid a hand on his arm. “Just come back, Ben.” He squeezed her hand. “Count on it.” She pulled her hand free of his grasp and he wondered how he was going to leave her. A silver SUV pulled up on the right as he slowed at the light. He shifted his gaze past Liz, but movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head as a black Hummer pulled up alongside them in the opposing left-hand lane.

“What in the world?” Liz said, but Ben shoved her head toward the console. “Stay down!” he shouted, and slammed the accelerator. The truck shot forward through the red light and the deserted intersection. Rubber squealed and the Hummer and SUV jettisoned after them. The glint of a large-bore handgun flashed outside the passenger window of the Hummer. A staccato of shots sounded. Liz screamed and threw her arms over her head as Ben hunched low in the seat. The driver’s and passenger’s windows

shattered. Nuggets of glass sprayed them. Ben straighten enough to recon the situation. Cracks and holes spattered the windshield. The SUV pulled alongside on the right, then blew past and skidded to a halt at an angle in front of them. Ben slammed the brakes and yanked the wheel hard left. His seat belt clamped down. Tires skidded in a high-pitched wail. His truck slid sideways, closer, closer, not stopping. The side of the truck bed slammed into the SUV with a bone-deep jolt. The

front end reversed direction upon impact, pinning the SUV. Liz cried out. The truck ground to a halt. Ben yanked the gun from his ankle holster as something hissed like a blown tire. Ben clicked his belt free, then released the latch on Liz's belt. “Get on the floorboard.” He grabbed the door handle. “Try it, motherfucker,” came a voice through the passenger window. Ben froze. The voice belonged to the American goon who had kidnapped Liz. Ben slowly turned and faced him.

He held a 9mm semi through the passenger window, aimed at Liz. The Hummer pulled up on his side of the truck. A door opened. An instant later, the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed his neck. “Give me your gun,” said the Mexican who had helped kidnap Liz. Ben rotated slowly. The barrel pressed harder against his neck. “Give me your gun, now,” the man said. Ben jerked when the American yanked open Liz's door.

“Don't move,” the American growled. He seized Liz’s arm, pulled her up and hugged her to his chest. Her breasts rose and fell in quick breaths, then stilled when he pressed a curved filet knife to her neck below the right ear. Ben's heart hammered. One swipe of the razor-sharp knife would sever her jugular and windpipe. He met Liz's gaze and read in her eyes the same question that burned inside him: how did they find us? He willed her to stay calm.

“Sanchez needs me alive,” Ben said. “He needs to know who I am.” He hoped like hell that was still true. The fact his men found them could mean Sanchez already knew the truth. “You don't know what Sanchez needs,” the American snapped. “We can kill you here.” “Nope,” Ben said. “If that was true, we’d already be dead. You need us.” The man's mouth twisted in a satisfied smile and he hugged Liz tighter. “Sanchez doesn’t need her.” The muzzle pressed deeper into

Ben's neck and blood roared in his ears on a tidal wave of fear. Easy, he told himself. Panic will get Liz’s throat cut. He still gripped his weapon. Ten years as a sniper. He was the best. But was he good enough? Could he get the gun up fast enough to shoot the American before the gun digging into his neck fired? And could he hit Liz’s assailant and not her while making that quick a shot? *** The razor-sharp blade dug into Liz’s

neck. Her heart pounded. If she panicked and fought, the American would hurt her, and Ben wouldn’t restrain himself. The Mexican would pull the trigger. Hot breath filled her ear and she cringed. Her captor chuckled. “You feeling what I’m feeling, baby doll?” He licked her neck from shoulder to ear. Her stomach roiled. Ben’s jaw visibly tightened. Stay calm, Liz pleaded with her eyes. The forearm tightened around her waist and her stomach churned harder. “The gun,” the Mexican hissed to

Ben. Ben lifted the gun, which hung from his forefinger though the trigger guard. Fear caused Liz’s stomach to convulse. She swallowed and tried to ignore her captor’s hot breath. Once Ben handed over his weapon, they were dead. The Mexican reached for the gun. The American pulled her backwards. The knife blade shifted against her neck. She backpedaled on the truck’s floorboards in hopes of taking the strain off the knife and maybe loosening his hold.

Ben lashed upward with his gun, now fisted like brass knuckles. He hit the Mexican in the face and, with his free hand, grabbed and lifted the barrel of the man’s gun. Blood spurted from the Mexican’s nose as he shouted. Ben swung a leg onto the seat and launched himself through his door. A gunshot blasted. Both men disappeared in a tangle on the pavement. The American yanked Liz out of the truck and her heels hit the ground. She scrambled for purchase. He spun her around and she glimpsed the back of his

hand an instant before it cracked against her cheek. The force of the blow staggered her, but he yanked her against him. She gasped for breath amid the throbbing pain in her face. Breathe, she ordered her body, but her lungs didn’t seem to work. Memory flitted of the time she’d fallen off her uncle’s horse and had the wind knocked out of her. That had been nothing like this. This time, she couldn't seem to catch her breath. The sound of a fist crashing into bone caused her to cringe.

Ben. A siren wailed in the distance. The American snapped his head in the direction of the sound. Liz clawed at the arm that restricted her breathing. He turned and she caught sight of the Hummer and a young man standing beside the open driver’s side door. The American dragged her toward the vehicle. “Where’s Jorge?” the young man shouted. She twisted, clawing her captor’s eyes and raking his flesh.

“Bitch.” He grabbed her arms and yanked them down so hard her left shoulder felt as if it detached from the socket. “I'm going to kill your boyfriend, then fuck you until you scream.” He pinned her elbows to her sides with one arm and dragged her toward the Hummer. “Where’s Jorge?” the youth demanded. “Open the fucking door,” the American ordered as Liz twisted in an effort to break free. The young man cast a glance past

them. “Now,” the American shouted. “Fuck up your first job and I’ll kill you myself.” The young man jumped to open the passenger door. The American shoved her inside. Her head struck the doorjamb. She gasped in pain. Darkness blanketed her brain and, the next second, her cheek contacted the seat. “Drive,” the American ordered, then jumped into the back with her. Car doors slammed. She scrambled to the far side of the vehicle, suddenly

confused as to where she was. The engine roared to life as she remembered Ben. She had to get out. Her head whirled amidst a chaos of prickle points that felt like a thousand tiny needles. She fumbled for the door handle. Her fingers closed around the armrest, then froze. The American aimed a gun through his open window. The vehicle jumped forward. Ben and the Mexican came into view near the truck. The American’s gun leveled on them as the Mexican landed a hard blow to Ben’s jaw.

“No!” she screamed. Liz lunged, landing against the American’s shoulder as the gun blasted. Pain lanced her eardrums. A siren penetrated the ringing in her ears. Her heart leapt. Police. The American twisted and shoved her so hard that she slammed against the door. Liz cried out. The siren grew louder. The police are close. Liz fumbled for the door handle, found purchase and pulled. She yanked harder. Harder. Harder. Nothing. Child safety locks. The vehicle was outfitted

with child safety doors? The Hummer swung hard right and the door handle slipped from her grasp as she swayed left. She caught sight of Ben lying on the asphalt between the truck and the SUV, the Mexican a few feet away. The siren drew closer. The Hummer accelerated like a rocket. Liz struck the seat back as Ben disappeared from view.

Chapter Twenty-Four A siren screamed and Ben thought his head would split. Pain stabbed bone deep in his ribs. He blinked his surroundings into focus and stared across a sea of asphalt. He managed to lift his head off the pavement and shove to one knee before he faltered. He caught himself with a hand on the asphalt and pushed to his feet. That’s when he saw the Mexican lying on the road near the hood of his truck. And remembered.

Liz. Ben spun a three-sixty. His surroundings blurred and he grabbed for the open door of his truck to steady himself. Gone. She was gone. His heart pounded. The SUV sat where it had when he’d crashed into it, but the Hummer was nowhere in sight. Fear rammed through him like thunder. Sanchez’s American goon had Liz. A skid of tires on asphalt screeched behind him and the wail of police siren penetrated the deafening roar of blood in

his ears. “Put your hands on your head,” an officer shouted. Ben turned to face a black and white squad car twenty feet away. Two police officers crouched behind the open doors of the car, pistols trained on him. Ben forced calm. He had to get the cops moving in order to have a chance of saving Liz. “I'm Ben Hunter, Texas Ranger.” “Hands on your head,” the officer shouted. Ben complied.

The officer on the left slowly rose, gun steady, and approached. “On the ground,” he ordered. “Take a look at the badge on my wallet,” Ben said. He was suddenly thankful he hadn’t worn the badge this morning. Sanchez’s man would had seen it, would have known he was a Ranger—if they didn’t already know. “On the ground,” the cop repeated. Ben lowered himself onto the asphalt, belly first. The officer flicked a glance at the Mexican, then advanced

slowly—too slowly—gun pointed at Ben. “My back pocket,” Ben said when the cop reached him. “Easy, buddy,” the cop said. The other cop approached, weapon trained on him, but stopped five feet away as his partner holstered his gun and bent on one knee beside Ben. He reached around for the handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt. “I'm a Texas Ranger,” Ben said. "Check my wallet for my badge." "In a minute,” he said.

“Check my damn badge,” Ben said, “or you two will be telling my boss why you let the human traffics dealer Carlos Sanchez's men escape with another kidnapped woman.” *** Liz fought rising panic. This time, she was going to die. The last time she'd been in a high-speed car chase she'd been in too much shock to consider what she would miss by dying. This time she saw the career she loved and the possibility of growing old with a man she loved, both gone. No family would

miss her. Mom had died first, then dad five years later, and that had been ten years ago. There were Alyssa and Mary Ann, two friends who came to replace the family she’d lost. Richard, Brenda Pierce, and her boss, Nina Bruno, would miss her, but their lives only crossed with hers. They would go on. No husband, no kids, no one for whom her death meant a lingering sorrow. Except Ben. Liz closed her eyes and swallowed. He was alive. He had to be alive. She

hadn't seen any blood. Ben would be all right. Except for the guilt. For him, a man who barely knew her, her death would linger far longer than it would for those who knew and cared for her. He would feel responsible. Her actions last night ensured the guilt. That made her want to cry almost as much as knowing that her life now counted down in hours and minutes. Liz hugged the door, as far away from the American as she could possibly get. She cast a covert glance at the young driver. Light blond, shoulder-length hair

and a medium build. He couldn’t be more than twenty. How in God’s name had this kid gotten involved with Carlos Sanchez? He’d asked about the Mexican, Jorge, but the American hadn’t cared. The American heard the police sirens and ran. Might the kid help her? Liz discounted the idea as quickly as it came. He was aiding a kidnapping. Whatever he felt for the man they’d left behind, he wouldn’t feel for the woman whose testimony would send him to prison. Tears blurred the stucco houses that

passed by like desert scabs. She concentrated on the question that pounded in her head like a jackhammer: how had they known where to find her and Ben? How had they known to intercept them on this street at this early hour? Had Ben told someone or—she swallowed—had the senator or one of his staff disclosed their location? Liz shifted her gaze from the window to the American sitting in the back seat with her. Two long scratches ran from his brow to the middle of his cheek. “What do you want?” she

demanded. “You've caused a lot of trouble.” He seized her wrist and yanked her so close she could taste the spearmint gum on his breath. She would never be able to chew spearmint gum again. The idea made her want to laugh. “Tell me who Billings works for or I'll start by ripping that shirt off you.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. The morbid amusement vanished. Her heart pounded harder. The Hummer took a hard right, throwing her closer to the spearmint.

“The Thompson agency sent him to us,” she said. “What were you doing with him?” The American viciously twisted her wrist and she cried out. “I met him five days ago when he auditioned as a model.” “He’s no model.” He twisted her wrist. “Who is he?” Aside from the truth, only one answer might convince him. “My boyfriend.” “You’re fucking him?” He barked a laugh. “Not anymore.” He grabbed her

hair and fisted it. “That just leaves you and me, baby.” She fought back a sob, but kept her gaze locked with his. “Take your hands off me.” “Don’t play tough,” he said. “I don’t like balls on my women.” “Good thing I'm not your woman.” “You will be.” He yanked her close and mashed his lips against hers. Liz blindly swung a fist at his groin, struck his thigh. Her knuckles grazed something hard. A gun? No. Maybe a pocketknife.

He broke the kiss, seized her arms, and jammed her back into the corner. “Now you want to tell me who he works for?” She stared, breath coming in heavy gasps. He shifted closer and she blurted, “The Thompson Agency.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Max and I could be real nice to you.” Liz glanced in the rearview mirror. The kid’s eyes stared back at her. Gone was the wide-eyed fear she’d seen when the American threatened him. Sexual

interest glinted in his eyes. Her stomach roiled. The fingers in her hair tightened. “Look at me.” She yanked her eyes back onto the American. “Who’s your boyfriend?” Fear made her heart race. “I never saw him before the Thompson Agency sent him to us two days before the gala. He was supposed to escort Tanya to the party.” “The bitch with Sanchez?” he demanded.

“She did a shoot with him,” Liz said. “Ask her.” She forced herself to keep eye contact. “None of that matters. I don’t want a damn thing to do with him.” His eyes narrowed. “You said he was your boyfriend.” “And look what it got me.” “Hear that, Max?” he said. “We got us a woman with brains.” “Why should we believe her?” the kid asked. The American stared down at her. “That's a good question.” He grasped one of her breasts and

squeezed. Liz clawed at his face. He seized her wrists and shoved them against the passenger window. She willed—prayed—the door would swing open and they would tumble out. She wouldn’t survive the fall, but neither would he. “Convince me.” He mashed his mouth against hers. His wet tongue stabbed her lips. Liz wrenched her head aside. He stuck his tongue down her ear. “Convince me, baby. Just like you did Billings.”

Liz whimpered. “That’s it.” His hot breath filled her ear. “Fuck,” Max cursed. The American's head snapped up. “What?” Before the kid answered, Liz heard the siren. “Police,” Max said in unison with the American’s, “Motherfucker.” He released her and hope surged. If the police drove one of the new Dodge Chargers, the Hummer didn’t stand a chance of outrunning them.

The American twisted to peer through the back window. She looked past him and through the passenger window. Barred windows and doors marked every dusty house they passed. Lacquered stores advertising porn and check cashing services interspersed auto repair garages, junkyards, tattoo parlors, and discount cigarette marts. Most had lit signs announcing We Buy Gold. Where were the police? “Goddamit,” the American cursed. “Where are they?” He faced forward. “Get a move on, Max.”

“Let me go and they won't chase you,” Liz said. They slowed and she couldn’t believe her luck. They were going to ditch her. Then Max made a hard right, then a quick left, and another right. The American glanced over his shoulder. The siren grew fainter. The kid made two more turns and she couldn’t hear the siren anymore. The American faced forward and slammed his back against the seat. Liz bit back a sob. They'd lost the cops. “They know your car,” she said.

"You can't get far." “Far enough,” he muttered. A harsh ring jangled her nerves. “Toss me the phone, Max,” the American said. The kid reached onto the seat beside him and passed the phone as it rang a second time. The American flipped it open and said, “Yeah.” He listened for an instant. “We got her, but Billings is dead.” Liz bit her lip and strained to hear the caller’s response. “What do you want from me?” the

American snapped. “Did you expect him to hand over his gun and beg us to kill him?” Another response, then the American said, “Fine, you do that. I’ll take care of her.” He flipped the phone closed and looked at Liz. “You and I are going to party.”

Chapter Twenty-Five Ben paced the floor in front of Medina’s desk in the Central Regional Command Center, where the police had loaned him a desk. Helpless frustration washed over him in waves. Medina was making phone calls while Jorge Alvarez, the Mexican who took part in the attack, sat in a holding cell. Ben wanted to talk to him, to beat out of him any information that would lead them to Liz. Hours ago, she’d lain in his arms.

For those few hours, the world—Carlos Sanchez—hadn’t existed. He’d known her less than a week and already he couldn’t imagine life without her. Now those animals had her—He broke off the thought. If he gave into fear he would be useless to her. The captain hung up the phone. “Sit down, Hunter.” “Captain—” “Sit,” Medina cut in. Ben did as ordered and the captain said, “We’ve got half the El Paso force, along with Rangers and FBI, scouring the area

where the Hummer was last seen. Loyola sent some trustworthy men to watch the Juarez side of the border.” “It’s been an hour. They’ve left Texas by now,” Ben shot back. “We’ve issued an interstate APB on the car and the men, as well as Ms. Monahan. Sanchez needs to keep her alive until he gets you. That could mean he’ll keep her nearby.” “That won’t stop those animals from harming her.” Ben was working overtime in an effort to keep his mind busy, to prevent his imagination from

gaining the upper hand. “Maybe not,” Medina said. “But his desire to catch you might buy her some time. You won’t be any good to anyone if you lose your cool.” “Let me see Alvarez.” Medina shook his head. “I told you. He’s already lawyered up.” “Sheila can find a way to keep him locked up,” Ben said. “She’s smart.” Medina regarded him. “You going to shoot him in his cell?” That’s exactly what Ben wanted to do. But he shook his head.

“Let’s try this again,” the captain said. “Sanchez won’t want him in custody any longer than he has to be. He’ll post bail. That might be another avenue for tracking him.” “The senator, then,” Ben said. “Either he or someone in his household tipped off Sanchez.” “Robson and Ogden are working with the FBI to get that sorted out.” The door opened and Wilt James entered. Wilt’s dark brown eyes and somber expression made it hard to tell what he was thinking, which made him a

good undercover man. Ten years Ben’s senior, the giant black man was calm as a mountain lion and just as deadly. “We got a message from the Juarez DA for Adam Billings to call him.” Ben jerked his gaze onto the chief. “Gomez is looking for me here? That means Sanchez has an informant here at Central.” He shoved to his feet. “Keep your cool, little buddy.” Only Wilt, three hundred pounds of muscle standing six foot ten in his bare feet, could call Ben little buddy and mean it. He must have been a large baby for his

mother to name him after Wilt Chamberlain. “The bad news is, we now know Sanchez has eyes at Central,” Wilt said. “The good news is, Sanchez called in some big favors to get Gomez involved. That means Sanchez took the bait, which probably means your lady friend is still alive.” *** Liz hugged herself as the Hummer slowed and a tall wooden fence came into view. Max turned into the driveway and Liz caught sight of a nondescript, single-story house with bars on the

windows. Max followed a cement driveway around the house and stopped at the rear. The tears she had controlled now burned the corners of her eyes. The house blocked all view of the street. There was no chance the police would spot the vehicle if they happened past the house. No lights shone in the two neighboring homes, which meant a neighbor probably wouldn’t see her—if they even cared to know what went on. Max got out of the car and started around the hood. The American reached

across her and she jumped as he yanked on the door handle. He pushed her out the door and followed. She drew a breath to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and her back struck his chest. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “We’re way past teaching you a lesson, bitch. I am going to hurt you. But keep up this shit and I’ll choke you with my cock while Max fucks you right here in broad daylight—and no one will help you.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but dragged her toward the half a dozen

steps that led down to a basement door. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Once they were inside she would never escape. She twisted with a burst of terror-driven strength that wrenched her arm. Her captor released her mouth, grabbed her right breast and twisted. Liz screamed. “Scream louder,” he urged. “It gets me hot.” He pumped his erection against her butt muscle. “Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse, “scream.” Lines and details of the house

melted into a watery blur as he started forward again. They hadn’t killed or raped her yet. She could escape if she keep her head. If Ben was alive, he would find her. Tears dripped off her chin. They neared the basement. Max charged down the steps, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. He started down stairs that descended into darkness. The American followed, holding her so tight that she struggled to breathe past the vice lock of his grip. His erection rubbed her butt with every

step he took. Liz’s insides began to tremble. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he intended to rape her in the basement. They reached the bottom. A moldy smell underlay the stench of urine. The American propelled her forward into darker shadows. Liz cried out as she struck a concrete floor, skinning her hands and knees. Her head reeled, but she scrambled to her knees, then shoved to her feet. She spun, stumbled toward the stairs, seized the railing, and started up. Halfway to freedom, the door banged

shut and the lock engaged with a loud click. Hands trembling, she felt her way up the wood railing, reached the door, and groped for the knob, but found none. “Help!” She pounded on the door. “Help, someone! Anyone.” She ran her hands all around the door, but found no knob. In a frenzy, she threw her shoulder against the metal, then recalled that the door opened inward. She wasn’t strong enough to push the door past the jamb. Tears burned her eyes. Liz clawed at the

junction between door and frame. The crack was only wide enough for her fingernails and she could gain no purchase. She pounded harder and screamed until her breath came in gasps. At last, she slumped onto the top step with her back against the door, heart pounding and ears ringing. She could see nothing. The room could be as big as the house or as small as a closet. Would there be obstacles? Boxes, tools, chairs? Minutes later, the ringing in her ears began to quiet and she was certain she heard breathing.

*** Twenty minutes later, Ben waited with Wilt in the chief’s office as Medina talked on the phone with the El Paso surveillance team. Medina hung up and looked at Ben. “The boys in ESAT said the location of the phone number is camped on a cell tower on the border west of town.” “Is ESAT set up?” Ben asked. Medina nodded. “The boys are ready to go. You just keep the line open so they can triangulate Gomez’s cell phone location.”

Ben hit the speakerphone button on the cell phone the Feds had registered to Adam Billings then dialed Gomez’s number and set the phone on the desk. The phone rang twice before a man answered, “Hello.” “This is Adam Billings. I have message to call here.” “Mr. Billings, this is Bryan Gomez. Do you know who I am?” “You’re the Juarez District Attorney,” Ben replied. “Yes. According to the El Paso Police Department, you agreed to

cooperate with the warrant for your arrest here in Juarez. If you will come willingly into custody now, you will have the opportunity to prove your innocence and put this matter behind you. Are you willing to enter custody?” “I want to speak to Sanchez,” Ben said. “I am sorry, but I do not know Mr. Sanchez personally.” “Find him. I’ll call back in one hour. I want an exchange. Both women for me.” There was a moment of hesitation,

then Gomez said, “It is best if you do as I say, Mr. Billings. I know you are a law enforcement officer. I have already requested confirmation of your identity from the El Paso District Attorney. By law, the El Paso DA must comply with our request to verify your identity. Once my office has that information, we will pursue this case to the highest authority within your department, or higher, if necessary. We take very seriously when law enforcement officers murder our citizens. I assure you, I will see to it you are given a fair trial.”

“First, I talk with Sanchez,” Ben said. “One hour, then I’ll turn myself in.” “I cannot guarantee anything,” Gomez said. “I talk to Sanchez or no deal,” Ben said, and before he could say another word, the line went dead. Ben snapped his gaze onto Medina and Wilt hit the talk button to end the call on their end as Ben said, “Was that long enough to get a fix on his location?” “We’ll find out in a minute or two,” Medina said.

Ben glanced at the phone. “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” The captain nodded. “Dealing with kidnappers is never easy. Just stick to the plan. That’s our best bet for beating them.” Two heartbeats later, Ben’s cell phone chimed a text. He snatched the phone from the desk. The ESAT leader had texted a snapshot of a map with a pushpin located south of the border on the busy Bulevar Oscar Flores in Juarez. He showed the message to

Medina, then Wilt. “He’ll be lost on that busy street by now,” Wilt said. “Not that it matters. He could be standing on the Juarez side of the Del Norte waving at us, and we couldn’t cross the border to get him.” Ben shoved to his feet. Wilt grasped his shoulder and eased him back onto the seat. “Breathe, little buddy,” Wilt said. “Sanchez wants you as bad as you want your lady friend.” Ben hoped like hell the big man was right.

*** Liz rose, reached for the hand railing and cautiously felt her way down the stairs. After eleven steps, she discerned a hint of light she realized seeped through a small black-painted window. She reached the basement floor, then stopped and cocked an ear, straining to hear past the beating of her heart. The breathing had quickened. Who —or what—was in the room with her? She took a step forward. “Hello.” There came a muffled whimper— female.

Liz froze. Was it possible? “Christina?” she said. “Who are you?” The young voice trembled. Tears sprang to Liz’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Christina, I’m Liz Monahan. I was kidnapped just like you.” “How do you know my name?” the girl demanded. “I know your grandparents.” “How?” “I met them at a party three days ago.”

“How’d you end up here?” Christina demanded. “I’m acquainted with one of the law enforcement officers looking for you.” “So they kidnapped you to blackmail him like they’re doing with my grandparents?” “That’s right. They think he’ll leave them alone if they threaten to kill me.” “They’re going to kill me.” Christina’s voice cracked. “But they’ll do things to me first.” She began sobbing. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Hands outstretched, Liz eased toward the girl until she touched a cinderblock wall. The crying came from the right. Liz inched along the wall. Her knee hit a bench. Liz sat down and gently reached out. She struck the girl’s arm. Christina flinched and Liz drew her hand back. “You’re not alone anymore,” Liz said. A body unexpectedly collided with Liz and she caught the girl. Liz found her shoulders and drew her close, holding her tight.

Christina wailed and Liz stroked her hair. “Shhh,” Liz whispered. “We’ll be okay.” She rocked the slight frame until her sobs subsided. “Can you talk a bit?” Liz finally ventured. Christina nodded against Liz’s chest, then pulled away. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Liz asked. “I think we’re in Mexico,” she said. “I was somewhere else, but they moved me here yesterday. I was tied up in the back of a van, but the men stopped

somewhere and when the driver got out I heard a man’s voice—like maybe we were at a gas station or something. The guy spoke Spanish and I heard a radio playing Spanish music.” “My kidnappers didn’t cross the border when they brought me here,” Liz said. “And a lot of El Paso radio stations play Spanish music. Do you remember anything else?” “They drove on circles, but we weren’t on a highway for long. They had me blindfolded the whole time.” “So you don’t know where you

were before this?” Liz asked. “No, but they brought other people there, girls, mostly. They brought a boy once.” “Did they bring many?” “Five, maybe six times the last couple weeks.” Liz’s heart broke at the thought of those young girls sold into slavery. “Is there a light switch here?” she asked. “No light or running water,” Christina replied. “It sucks. Do you have a phone? Can you call for help?” “No, but I’m sure help will come.”

“Are you the woman whose boyfriend they’re going to kill?” “What?” Liz blurted. “They don’t know I speak Spanish. On the way here I heard them talking. They’re going to kill some woman’s boyfriend. Is that you?” “Not if I can help it,” Liz murmured

Chapter Twenty-Six When Ben redialed the number an hour later, the phone rang three times before someone answered the call. “Adam Billings,” Sanchez’s smooth voice came over the line. “Or would you like to tell me your real name?” “Where are the women?” Ben demanded. “I know many women.” A flush of anger heated Ben’s neck. “One way or another, I’m coming to

Mexico. Either I’m coming for you, or coming as your prisoner.” Medina’s eyes narrowed, but Ben ploughed on. “The first way, I’ll find you and kill you. You choose.” “Your life for the old one,” Sanchez snapped. “I will have the district attorney drop all charges against her.” “Both women—Liz and Christina Remmey—or no deal,” Ben said. Sanchez laughed. “You think yourself valuable, no?” “You have more to lose than I do,” Ben said.

“You come across the border and I will release the two women.” “You bring the women. They walk across the border while I walk across.” “The Del Norte,” Sanchez said. “I’m not stupid,” Ben said. “You can have someone shoot all three of us while we’re crossing the footbridge.” “You are a suspicious man, Mr. Billings.” “My way or no deal,” Ben said. “You know the Onate crossing?” Sanchez said. Ben knew it well. The U.S.

government wanted to construct a fence there, near the site of the first Fort Bliss, and activists didn’t want to see another fence go up at the crossing where the Spanish explorer Don Juan de Onate crossed the Rio Grande in 1598. “The Rio Bravo is nothing more than small pools and marsh there,” Sanchez said. “You and the women can cross, and the district attorney will be there to take you into custody.” Then Ben would disappear into an unmarked grave—if he wasn’t gunned down on the spot by some ‘unknown

assailant.’ “Midnight, tonight,” Sanchez said. The line went dead. Ben pressed the end call button on his cell phone. “He hung up just in time to keep us from tracing him,” Wilt said. “A pretty slick deal, when you consider it. Sanchez involved Gomez to make the trade look legit, but there’s no mention about how Liz Monahan and Christina Remmey came to be in District Attorney Gomez’s custody.” Ben looked at Medina. “Can the Juarez Police Chief talk to Gomez?”

“Gomez doesn’t answer to Loyola, but I can see what he thinks.” “You might be careful there,” Wilt said. “If Gomez or Sanchez thinks anyone on their side is getting nosy, they might not show.” Medina nodded. “Maybe Loyola can assign a couple of plain clothes officers.” “Talk to him,” Wilt said. Ben rose. “I have to get my team to the Onate crossing. I want to know how many men Sanchez sends in and where they’re placed before I get there.”

“Just remember, your team can’t shoot into Mexico,” Medina said. “But you can get shot making the exchange,” Wilt interjected. “All Gomez has to say is that some bad guy got you and he doesn’t know a thing about it. But I got a few guys who can help out,” he added with a grin. Ben scooped up his phone and dialed the first call to his team. *** Liz scraped her fingernail along the basement’s painted window until the ache in her arm reached her shoulders.

Then she scraped harder. Her finger skidded to the side and a sharp pain tweaked the digit. She leaned her head against the wall, breathing hard. A third nail broken, and no progress in scraping away enough layers of paint to reach the windowpane. “It’s no use,” Christina said, and Liz had to, at last, agree. Her earlier examination of the basement had only turned up a piss pot and two small windows painted shut. Her efforts to pry them open with her fingers hadn’t budge them even a hair.

Even the bench they sat on was bolted to the floor. Their abductors weren’t taking any chances. The door to the basement opened. Liz whirled as a bag came flying down the stairs. She took two steps before the door slammed shut on the afternoon sunlight. “It’s our food,” Christina said. Rustling sounded, and she said, “Wow, you must really rate. It’s burgers and fries.” Liz felt her way back to the bench and sat down. “You don’t normally get

burgers and fries?” “Sometimes I don’t get anything.” Paper rustled. “Here.” Christina’s hand bumped Liz’s arm and heat told her Christina held the warm burger. “You go ahead,” Liz said. “You gotta eat,” Christina said.” “I’m not hungry.” He stomach churned too much to think about food. “You sure? Christina said, but Liz heard the hope in her voice. “Positive. You go ahead, honey. Eat it.” While Christina ate, Liz racked her

brain for something that might give them an edge, some way to get them out of this basement. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from turning to Ben and the strength of his arms around her last night; the warmth of his mouth on hers. The way she’d felt safe when he was inside her. When she’d woken that morning and crept back to her room, she’d lain in bed wondering how she could return to Dallas as if nothing had happened. Something had happened. She didn’t understand how, but she’d started to care for him. And his responses

seemed more than a young man’s crush. Liz released a breath and returned to the present. There had to be a way out of this basement. Ben would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. That was worse than if she broke his heart by leaving as if nothing had happened between them. It took some doing, but half an hour later, Liz boosted Christina up and she unscrewed the one light bulb in the middle of the ceiling. Their abductors would be expecting light in the

basement, which would be their first surprise. Their second surprise would come when they opened the door. Now, hours later, they waited as the light around the painted window grew fainter and floorboards creaked in the house above them. Muffled voices as if in argument drifted down to them. “Have you ever heard voices before?” Liz asked Christina. “Nope.” “Something’s happening. We better get ready. You think you can go ahead as we planned?”

“Yes.” Christina’s voice held a small tremble. “I don’t want to die.” Liz slipped an arm around the girl’s slim shoulders and squeezed. “Me either.” Liz grabbed the piss pot and, in the darkness, led Christina across to the stairs, then up to the door. They both pressed into the tiny space on the hinge side. They waited for what seemed like an hour before Liz whispered, “You all right, Christina?” “Yeah,” she whispered back, and

fell silent again. The sudden rattle of the door latch caused Liz to jump. She lifted the pisspot over her head with a jerky motion and tensed. She prayed Christina was bracing to bang the door closed on whoever came though. What if this was Ben or one of his men? The door swung toward them and Liz wanted to cry when moonlight illuminated the stairs. “Pendejo,” a man said. “What’s wrong with the light?” he asked in Spanish.

“Mija,” the man called. “Come out,” he said in English. “We are letting you go free.” When Christina didn’t answer, he cursed and started down the stairs. Footfalls followed behind him. Liz waited until the first man stepped into view on the step below them then shouted, “Now!” They shoved the door, which slammed into the second man with a jarring thud. Liz whirled and swung the pot down where she’d last seen the first man’s head. Christina cried out in unison

with a man’s curse and Liz spun. The second man had pushed the door back, trapping Christina between the door and wall. Iron fingers seized her arm. She swung the pot, but her attacker knocked it from her grasp as if she were a child. Christina screamed. Liz’s captor drew back and the back of his hand collided with her cheek. Pain splintered across her face and her surroundings blurred. She staggered back, but he held her upright. Her vision cleared and she glanced up the stairs to see the other man

emerge from the basement, dragging Christina, who beat the hand that gripped her arm. “Stop it.” The man shook her. They reached Liz and her captor. “We’re letting you go.” “Liar!” Christina screamed and the man yanked her against him and clamped a hand over her mouth. “I’ll beat you, bitch. Shut your fucking mouth.” The men started toward a white van parked in the driveway. Liz “dragged her heels. “Why would you let us go?” she

demanded. “Your boyfriend made a deal. Him for you.” Relief and fear tangled in a chaos of emotion. Ben was alive! He was alive. But he was trading himself for her and Christina. Christina whimpered and Liz snapped her gaze around to see her captor nuzzling Christina’s hair. “I’m going to taste you first, Bonita,” he said. Liz strained against the iron grip on her arm. “You said you were letting us go.”

“Leave her alone,” the man holding Liz snapped. “You promised me,” the second man replied. They neared the van. “Where are we going?” Liz demanded. “Shut your mouth,” the man holding her ordered. They reached the van. Liz’s captor yanked open the rear doors and shoved her inside. She banged her knee, but bit back a cry. Christina’s captor swung her around to face him and grabbed one of

her breasts. Christina screamed and clawed his face. Liz lunged for him, but his comrade yanked Christina out of his grip and shoved her inside. She fell into Liz’s arms, crying. The man who’d held Christina said something Liz couldn’t discern, and the other man replied in Spanish, “They’ll be dead soon anyway.” Then the doors slammed shut. *** At midnight, Ben stood on the Texas side of the Onate crossing. A full moon illuminated the marshy Rio Grande

where brush grew as high as his chin in some spots. Beyond the riverbed, cars zipped along Bernardo Norzagaray Boulevard. He scanned the quiet neighborhood that faced the busy street. Only the most skillful sniper could shoot from that range and kill someone making the crossing. Behind Ben, on the other side of the canal, his best sniper waited on the roof of one of the two apartment buildings built on the site of the old Fort Bliss. But as good as that sniper was, he couldn’t stop a shooter he couldn’t see.

For the right price, US militarytrained ex-special ops mercenaries could always be found. Sanchez hadn’t had much time, but he might have a sniper on the payroll who was as good as Ben’s man. Ben had wished like hell for clouds, but the Texas night sky shone down in all its blazing glory. Liz and Christina Remmey had to traverse two hundred feet of ground, from the edge of the Rio Grande to the riverbed center, where an imaginary line demarked the Texas-US border. Ben’s men, hidden in the brush,

waited to pull the women into the foliage once their feet touched US soil. Another half dozen team members had crawled through the grass to ensure no enemy crouched there, then took up concealed positions throughout the riverbed. Wilt and two of his best undercover officers waited with Medina in the third floor apartment of the nearest building, watching, and monitoring the mike attached to Ben’s collar. They’d all agreed to leave the Feds out of this operation. Ben hadn’t informed the

Remmeys of the possibility they might get their granddaughter back for fear the Feds would get wind of the operation. A black car pulled off the boulevard and parked, then the headlights shut off. Minutes later, a white van pulled off the road a few feet behind the car and parked. Two men got out of the van, while one man got out of the car and approached the van’s front fender. Ben tensed when the two men went around to the side of the van and disappeared from view. A moment later, they came around the front of the vehicle with two smaller

figures between them. One of the men turned on a flashlight and they started toward the bank. Ben’s phone rang. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and tapped the receiver. “Yeah.” “Mr. Billings.” Ben recognized Bryan Gomez’s voice. “Two police officers will escort the ladies to the border. Please proceed forward now.” “We cross the border at the same time,” Ben said. “Of course,” Gomez said. “All charges have been dropped against Ms.

Monahan. She is free to go.” Ben quashed a demand to ask how Gomez justified Christina Remmey’s detention, said, “All right,” and closed the phone. “Here we go folks,” he murmured for Medina and Wilt’s benefit as he shoved his phone into his back jeans’ pocket. He flicked on his own small flashlight and started toward Mexico. Ben kept his gaze on the approaching figures as he picked his way across the soft riverbed. Like him, they sometimes disappeared into the

shoulder-high grass, and Ben trampled the overgrowth in an effort to keep the women in sight. In two minutes, he reached the incline that demarcated the central riverbed and slowed to make sure they were keeping pace with him. As Ben drew closer, he envisioned Liz’s gaze fixed on him. Keep walking, honey, he mentally ordered. No delaying, no pleading, no crying, no begging me to turn back. Ten feet from the border, the Mexicans halted among waist-high grass. Ben stopped. Both men lifted their

hands and pointed weapons at the back of the head of each woman. Christina whimpered. “Drop the flashlight,” the man who held Liz ordered in a thick Mexican accent. “Then take off the jacket and put your hands in the air—and keep them there. If you make a bad move, both women die.” Ben tossed the lit flashlight. It disappeared into the grass. He stripped off his jean jacket, then let it drop. In the darkness, he counted on the Mexicans not being able to discern the bulk of the

bulletproof vest he wore under his button-down shirt. He raised his hands, palms out. “Let them go.” The man holding Liz grabbed Christina’s arm and shoved both women toward the border, left of Ben’s location. “They will walk across there,” the man said. “You walk to me.” Christina stumbled and Ben saw Liz reach for the girl’s hand. Ben started forward with the second man’s gun trained on his chest as the first man walked forward with the women. Ben

kept one eye on the women, waiting for the moment one of them stepped onto Texas soil. They neared Ben and the man pointing his gun at Liz growled, “Vamanos,” as she slowed. Liz shifted her gaze onto Ben. He ached to go to her, to drag her into his arms, and saw the same longing on her face. Then he saw something else. “Easy, Ms. Monahan,” he said. “Do what they say and keep going.” The man pointing his gun at Ben took a threatening step forward.

“Callete!” They reached the border. Ben entered Mexico as the man with the women shoved them toward Texas. The man aiming his pistol at Ben lunged for him. A gunshot roared and Christina screamed. Ben glimpsed Liz shoving their kidnapper’s arm heavenward. Ben dove toward Liz as she, Christina, and their kidnapper fell onto Texas soil.

Chapter Twenty-Seven The women disappeared into the tall grass as Ben crashed through the foliage with the closest kidnapper on top of him. A man shouted far away. Ben’s assailant rammed his fist into his ribs. Despite the bulletproof vest, the crushing blow radiated pain through Ben’s ribs. The man thrust his gun into Ben’s face. Ben seized the man’s gun arm. A gun fired. For a split second, Ben wondered if he had been hit. He shoved the man’s arm skyward. Ben’s opponent threw his weight onto him. Grass tangled

in Ben’s fingers and he lost his grip on the man’s arm. His assailant slammed the butt of the gun down into Ben’s ribs. Ben rammed his knee into his assailant’s gut. The man sprawled across Ben with a grunt. Ben clamped his arms around the man and rolled through the wet grass. Suddenly, iron fingers seized his ankle and yanked. Ben kicked viciously. The barrel of a gun jabbed his forearm. Ben head butted the man. Spots raced across his vision, but he released one arm and drove his fist into the man’s temple. Ben’s attacker groaned, and in

the next instant, was yanked up and off of him. Before Ben could comprehend what had happening, he was pulled to his feet and a soft, warm arms encircled him. Liz! He jammed his eyes shut and squeezed her tight. Her scent filled his nostrils and his chest tightened. He’d come so close to losing her. “Ben,” a male voice jarred him. A strong hand grasped his shoulder and the face of Jason Davies, a team member, snapped into focus. “We’ve got to get her out of the open,” Jason said.

“Mother fucker,” a man growled, and Ben recognized the voice of his assailant. Ben instinctively shoved Liz behind him. His mind registered the man five feet away. “Let’s get a move-on” Medina stepped up beside Ben as another Recon member pinned Ben’s assailant’s arms. The click of handcuffs closing around the man’s wrists followed. Ben grasped Liz’s arm and he hugged her to his side in an effort to shield her body from potential sniper

fire. He started forward through the grass with Medina alongside. “Are you all right?” Ben demanded of Liz. “Yes,” she replied. “Where’s Christina?” he asked. “Andrews has her.” Medina nodded to the road beyond the crossing. A large figure carried the girl toward the riverbank. He had nearly reached the footbridge that separated the canal from the banks of the Rio Grande. The Ranger who handcuffed Ben’s assailant walked past, half dragging the

man. “You cannot arrest me,” the man hissed. “I am a citizen of Mexico. You broke the law when you grabbed me from our side of the border.” The Ranger ignored him and kept going, headed for the footbridge. Ben looked at Medina. “He’s right. What happened? One second we were fighting, the next you guys were here.” Medina shrugged. “Your boot was on US soil. It’s not our fault your attacker didn’t let go when we pulled you back into Texas.”

*** Captain Medina insisted that Liz and Christina go to the hospital. Liz balked, but when Ben’s eyes narrowed on her leg, she knew he’d spotted the limp she’d attempted to hide. She shook her head as he opened the door to the silver Ford Expedition. “It’s a minor ankle twist. Two hospital admissions in three days is too much.” “Get in, Liz,” he ordered. “We don’t want to linger out here in the open.” Ben cupped her elbow. “I don’t like taking chances. Let’s get going.”

She nodded and got into the back seat of the car. He closed the door, then joined his captain in the front seat. “Can I see my grandparents?” Christina asked in a small voice. “Oh, honey.” Liz wrapped an arm around her. “Ben—” “Already on it,” he said. Christina cried into Liz’s shirt through Ben’s phone call to her grandparents and didn’t stop until they reached the hospital. Liz and Christina settled into chairs in the waiting room, and were there when a woman’s sob

broke the quiet. Liz looked up and saw Larissa Remmey and her husband rushing toward them. The officer guarding them glanced at Christina. She stared, clearly uncertain what to do. When Larissa opened her arms, the girl sprang from her chair and launched herself into her grandmother’s embrace. Larissa stumbled backwards and Liz’s heart leapt into her throat with the fear the older woman would fall. But she steadied herself without the help of the hand her husband extended. Christina sobbed. Larissa stroked her hair and

repeated assurances that everything would be all right while tears slid down her own cheeks. When Francis Remmey bowed his head, Liz was forced to look away for fear the tears that had pushed past her resolve would appear an intrusion on the family reunion. Ben approached and sat down in the seat Christina had vacated. Her heart tugged at the sight of his drawn face. “They say they’ll get to you in a couple minutes,” he said. “We got lucky. It’s a slow night. No one here but us.” He covered her hand with his. “Liz, I

—” “I know what you’re going to say, Ben. In fact, if anything, this situation is my fault. I’m the one who suggested we stay at the senator’s home.” He released a breath, but his expression remained grim. “You suspect the senator?” Liz shook her head. “I’ve known him too many years. I can’t believe it’s him. I suspect someone at his party or in his household.” “Are you really all right?” he asked. “I really am. They scared me, but

that’s all.” He nodded, but remained grim. “What about Christina?” “They didn’t beat or rape her.” He brushed the tender spot on her upper left cheek. “Looks like they did beat you.” Liz grasped his hand and squeezed. “It could have been so much worse.” He nodded and pulled his hand from hers. “Did you learn anything that might lead us to Sanchez?” “I’m sorry, no.” “Nothing to be sorry about,” he

said. “It would have been a lucky break if you had.” “This changes everything, doesn’t it?” she said. “What do you mean?” “Mr. Sanchez has to know who you are now. That means he doesn’t have to wait for you to enter Mexico. He can come after you here in Texas.” “I will return there before he comes after me here. Either way, you’re going to be safely tucked away before anything else happens. They’ll give you a good once-over here, then we’ll head to that

safe house. You’ll have to talk to the FBI, Texas DCW, and our guys. A child was kidnapped. Detectives and reporters will line up down the block to get a shot at questioning you.” She wanted to ask a dozen questions herself. Did he really have to return to Mexico? What would she do if he didn’t come back? Did he regret last night? Instead, she nodded and said, “I figured as much.” Sadness—and guilt—made his gentle smile all the more heart wrenching. “It’s going to be a long

couple of days, but at least Sanchez can’t get near you. He’s sure to come after the Remmeys. They’ll likely send their granddaughter far away, but what kind of life can they live here? This has to end.” But it could end with him dead. “Ben—” “Liz Monahan.” Liz shifted her gaze to a nurse standing expectantly inside an open doorway. “The doctor is ready to see you.” Liz and Ben rose. Her bodyguard stood, ready to follow Liz to the

examination room. Ben took her arm and walked with her to the nurse. The discomfort in her ankle had lessened, but Ben said, “You’re still limping.” “It’s just a sprain, and the pain has eased since it happened. I’ll be okay.” He left her with the nurse, and Liz followed her to an examination room. As expected, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health, along with instructions to keep her ankle elevated as much as possible and to apply ice to control swelling. An hour later, Liz returned to

the waiting room and sat with Ben as they waited for Captain Medina, who had stepped out to answer a phone call. She dreaded leaving the hospital, which placed Ben one step closer to Mexico. Did the Rangers’ plan to lure Sanchez into the open still have potential? Liz half wished tonight’s events made the plan unviable. She dropped her gaze when Ben’s warm fingers closed around her hand and squeezed. “You and Christina are back home safely,” he said. “Things are looking

up.” “Where is she, by the way?” “She’s lost weight. The doctors want to monitor her overnight.” Liz smiled. “I wonder that Larissa can leave her.” Ben chuckled. “She can’t. Mr. Remmey talked the hospital into letting them stay in her room.” “Good. I think—” The trill of his phone interrupted. He frowned and pulled the phone from his back pocket. Ben glanced at the display and his expression hardened.

He tapped the screen. “Hello.” An instant of quiet passed, then, his mouth thinned. “Your officers made the mistake of trying to kill me and the women.” Ben paused for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I said I’d turn myself in, and I will. I think we’ll skip the midnight meeting this time. You speak with the El Paso DA and he’ll make the arrangements.” Liz’s heart pounded. “That’s right,” he said after a moment of listening. “I’m with the Rangers.” Fear rammed through her. They

know. “You make the arrangements and I’ll come today. I want the chance to prove that Carlos Sanchez is a human traffics dealer and a murderer.” Captain Medina rejoined them as Ben said into the phone, “You’ll have to talk to my attorney about that, but I imagine so. Ms. Monahan is critical to my defense. This conversation is over, Mr. Gomez. Contact the El Paso DA. They’ll bring me into custody, then deliver me to you.” He hung up the phone, and said, “Be sure to thank the FBI for Adam Billings’ cell

phone. I think he’s on the Juarez DA’s speed dial. That was Gomez.” “I just got a call from the El Paso DA’s office,” the captain said. “Looks like they got a call from Gomez as well.” “I don’t understand,” Liz said. “How can the district attorney in Juarez demand anything from a U.S. District Attorney? What government law enforcement agency makes midnight trades the way he did?” “You’re confusing Juarez law enforcement with every other law

enforcement agency in the free world,” Ben said. “Juarez is one of the most lawless cities in the world. There are a few good guys there—the current chief of police, is one—but the rest don’t play by the same rules the rest of us do.” “I knew Juarez was bad,” Liz replied, “but this is a bad movie. It just can’t be real.” “You’re right,” he said. “It is a bad movie. It is quite real, however.” Captain Medina’s gaze shifted past her, and Liz twisted to watch Agents Masters and Braxton approach.

When the agents reached them, Masters said, “I’m surprised at you, Medina. You know better than to approach Sanchez without us.” “We managed the safe return of the two women he kidnapped,” the captain replied. “That makes the operation a success.” “We’ll see if your director agrees.” The agent shifted his attention to Liz. “We need your statement, Ms. Monahan.” He frowned. “Where is Christina Remmey?” “With her doctor and grandparents,”

the captain said. “You’ll have to talk to them about interviewing her.” Agent Masters opened his mouth to reply, but Agent Braxton said, “We’ll need a statement from you, as well, Ranger Hunter. Then we’ll want to move ahead with the operation in Mexico. You may wonder how we knew you were here at the hospital.” “Considering I just got off the phone with the Juarez DA and he informed me he knows I’m a Ranger, I’m guessing the man we brought in tonight made his one phone call to Sanchez. Gomez followed,

then our DA, then you.” “That’s about it,” Agent Braxton replied. “We’ll have to move fast in order to get you to Juarez before Sanchez gets lucky enough to find you in El Paso.” “Would later this morning do?” Captain Medina asked. Braxton glanced at his watch. “It’s two-thirty now. How about ten o’clock?” Ben looked at his boss. “What do you think, Captain?” “I’ll call Chuck. He’ll make sure

everything in the district attorney’s office looks legit.” “Gomez said he already spoke with Chuck’s office,” Ben said. Medina nodded. “Good. Let Sanchez think he’s one step ahead of us. Since Gomez already spoke with the DA —” His phone rang. He pulled the cell from his jean jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Medina.” An indistinguishable voice replied and the captain went stock still. “When?” A long moment of silence passed, then he said, “Have them call me the minute they know anything. Let the

fire chief know I want a call from him ASAP.” He hung up the phone and looked at the agents. “We’ve got to get the Remmeys and their granddaughter somewhere safe.” “What happened?” Agent Masters demanded. “There’s been a fire—two fires. The Remmey mansion and Nina Bruno Designs’ headquarters in Dallas.” “What?” Liz blurted. Had she heard right? “Our manufacturing plant’s there. My God, Richard and Brenda—and

several other employees—often work late.” “No one’s hurt,” Captain Medina cut in. “Not in Dallas, anyway. Two people are unaccounted for at the Remmey’s.” The room spun around Liz. Ben slipped an arm around her. “This is why you don’t handle men like Sanchez on your own,” Masters snapped. “We’ve been handling men like Sanchez since before Texas became a state,” Ben said.

“Are any of our people at either location?” Agent Braxton asked. “Not that I know of,” Medina replied. “I’ll get on that. First, let’s get a guard on the Remmeys.” To Liz’s surprise, Agent Masters said, “I’ll get someone to both locations.” As he reached into his front suit coat pocket, he turned and walked a few feet away, his phone pressed to his ear. “Hunter, you keep an eye on Ms. Monahan,” his captain said. “I need to fill the Remmeys in on what’s

happened.” He looked at Agent Braxton. “I’ll stay with them until one of your men gets over here. I don’t want the Remmeys left alone.” Agent Braxton nodded and the captain left. “Maybe we should get Ms. Monahan to a safer location than a hospital waiting room,” Agent Braxton said. “I agree,” Ben said. “My company SUV is parked in the lot. The windows are tinted and it’s armored.” The agent’s brows rose. “You

Rangers come prepared.” “When you’re dealing with drug runners and human traffickers, you want an armored car now and then. I’m going to take Ms. Monahan to a designated safe house. Can you give the captain a ride?” He nodded. “I’ll see to it.” Ben nodded and Liz was grateful when he kept his arm tight around her waist and led her from the hospital… until she remembered he was leaving.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Ben felt a tremor go through Liz and it was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms. He guided her through the well-lit parking lot to the far corner where he’d parked the SUV in a spot large enough to accommodate the mammoth beast. Ben pulled the keys from his pocket and disengaged the alarm with the remote, then helped Liz into the passenger seat and got in behind the wheel. He slipped the key into the

ignition. The interior light dimmed, then left them in shadows cast by lamplight that bled through the tinted windows. “I need to talk to Richard.” The shakiness in her voice revealed how close she came to tears. “I have to make sure everyone is all right.” Ben dug his phone out of his pocket and extended it toward her. “This isn’t going to end, is it?” she asked. Ben heard the sob in her voice. He tossed the phone on the floor and reached for her. She melted into his

embrace as he pulled her across the armrest onto his lap. “We’ll get him,” he soothed. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I have some experience catching bad guys.” “That’s not funny,” she cried. “I know, and I’m dead serious. Honey, I’ve been military and law enforcement my whole life. I was Special Forces at twenty-two, then served behind enemy lines in Afghanistan. My father was Green Beret, and my cousin is a Navy SEAL. He’s the odd one in the family. This won’t be the

first time I’ve been shot at.” He started to say it wouldn’t be the last, but that was sure to work against him. He wanted to keep this woman in his life for a long time. Too much information too early on would scare her. “I don’t know how to process all this,” she said. “Four days ago I was attending a party and my biggest worry was whether or not we could pay off a company debt.” She gripped his shoulders. “You’re too young to die.” “We’re all too young to die at the hand of a man like Sanchez,” he said.

“Ben, what if—” She sobbed. “Liz, honey.” He hugged her close. She tensed and he thought she would resist, then she turned her face into his chest and cried in earnest. Blood roared in his ears and the fear he’d kept at bay since her disappearance unleashed like a whip of lightning. He wanted to lock her away where no one could possibly hurt her. Make love to her until she couldn’t think of any other man but him. He closed his eyes. What would he have done if they’d really harmed her? She shifted and he froze when she

slid an arm around his neck. “Ben.” She began to tremble. “Easy, Liz. You’re going into shock.” She tugged his face close. He brushed a kiss across her mouth, then eased her head back to his chest. “It’s shock, that’s all. Try to relax.” She buried her face in his neck and her tears bathed his flesh. Ben swallowed and held her close, stroking her hair, thinking of anything but the fact those animals had their hands on her. Anything but his need to assure himself

she was all right… anything but the need to make love to her. He relived last night: her legs wrapped around his waist when she came to her pleasure, and the way he’d exploded inside of her. He wanted that again so bad it hurt. But he kissed the top of her head and held her, stroking her back and neck and shoulders, until the trembling ceased and her tears dried. “I still don’t want you to go,” she finally said. He released a breath. “I know, honey.” Every woman who loved a

Ranger faced the same dilemma. He’d put Liz in this position before their first real date. He could only tell her the truth. “There’s no one else in a better position to stop him.” “If Mr. Sanchez is focused on getting you,” Liz said, “does that mean he’s not kidnapping women right now?” Ben remembered the truckload of six undercover female agents who had crossed the border yesterday afternoon under the guise of being kidnap victims. “I wish I could say it has stopped him,” Ben said.

“Oh,” she said. “We’re not down for the count, Liz. The Rangers are known for getting their man.” “Less than one percent of men who serve as Rangers die in the line of duty,” she said. “You did more on that borrowed computer than answer email,” he said. “I think I’m flattered.” “Is that how many Rangers have set themselves up to be shot by snipers? One percent?” she asked. Ben couldn’t prevent a smile. “No.”

“I don’t want you to be part of the one percent. I can start a life somewhere else.” He startled. “What do you mean?” “I mean, Mr. Sanchez isn’t God. If I leave the state, change my name, start a new career, he’ll never find me, and you won’t have to enter Mexico.” “What about the Remmeys?” he asked. “What about all the other parents who are lying awake right now, praying for a call from their missing daughter or son? What about me? Sanchez won’t let me walk away. I can’t stop being a cop

any more than you can stop creating things. I have no intention of letting him steal our lives.” He rested his cheek against the side of her head. “What about your plans?” “Plans?” “Plans. Goals. Dreams. What do you want to be besides a highly sought after dress designer?” “I don’t know,” she said. “Sure you do. I plan to make Captain.” “Captain? I thought you were happy being head of .the recon team? “That

would take you out of the action, wouldn’t it?” “Some.” “How is being captain better that the recon rangers?” she asked. “I don’t know that I’d say it’s better,” he replied. “Just a different phase. A captain can affect certain changes that I can’t.” “You want to affect change?” “I would like to see some of the Rangers’ tactics taught in other branches of law enforcement,” he said. “We are the best of the best.”

She laughed and he was relieved to hear genuine pleasure in her voice. “Come on, Liz, you’re an accomplished woman. How do you define success?” “I want to see Nina Bruno become a household name.” “A contender,” Ben said. “Very nice. Then what?” She relaxed against his chest and released a breath. Some of the tension eased from Ben’s shoulders. “You’ll laugh,” she said. He gave her a squeeze. “Never.”

Several heartbeats of silence passed and he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she said, “It’s been a dream of mine since I was a teenager to spend a summer in the Australian outback.” “Now that’s a dream I can get behind. I would make a great Australian cowboy.” Her chest rose with a deep breath, then slowly contracted. “I suppose you really do have to stop him,” she said. “After you let me go, that is.” Ben hugged her tight. “I don’t plan to ever let you go, Liz.”

*** Liz ended the call and released a breath. “Richard says no one’s hurt and the damage isn’t too bad. We got very lucky. The security company that patrols the property spotted a flickering light inside the corporate office. They discovered the fire and called it in.” Ben glanced from the highway to her. “Did you lose anything important?” “Paper records,” she said. “But we backup everything on computer. It’ll take some time to reconstruct, but it can be done. I’m surprised they didn’t go for the

manufacturing area. It’s small, but if we lost production, we would have no way to fill orders.” He slowed for a car and merged into the middle lane. “Most of these thugs aren’t that intelligent.” Unlike Ben, who was smart as a whip and drop-dead gorgeous. Ben Hunter had gone to her head—and she’d lost her mind. When this was over, how was she going to make him understand that they’d simply needed each other during a crisis? How was she going to convince herself?

He merged onto US 85N toward Las Cruces as his phone blared an oldfashioned rotary ring. She handed him his phone. He flipped it open and pressed the receiver to his ear. “Hunter.” A male voice spoke in indistinguishable tones and the tension in the air suddenly thickened. “Completely off the grid?” Ben asked in a tight voice. “What about Loyola? He’s been straight with us up to this point. Is it possible Sanchez got to him?” Another response Liz couldn’t

hear, then Ben said, “Someone had to have told Sanchez, Captain. There’s no way—” He broke off. He listened for a minute, then said, “All right,” and hung up. “What’s wrong?” Liz demanded. He slipped the phone into his jeans’ pocket. “I can’t explain, Liz, but it’s got nothing to do with you.” “It has something to do with Mr. Sanchez,” she said. “Yeah, but he encompasses a lot.” She started to reply, but he said, “Leave it alone, Liz.”

She hesitated, then nodded, and decided now was as good a time as any to talk about something she’d been considering before the call came in about the fires. “I’m not going to Las Cruces.” Ben glanced sharply at her. “What are you talking about? It’s settled. There are officers from levels of law enforcement that go all the way to God himself waiting there to debrief you.” “Where will the Remmeys go?” she asked. “I don’t know.”

“Send them to Las Cruces.” “You’re going to Las Cruces,” he said. “No. I’m staying here.” “Here? At this late date, I can’t get another team set up. The Rangers are spread thin as it is, and I don’t trust the Feds. Dammit, Liz, I can’t go to Mexico and worry about you.” “What about R.W. and Hal?” Ben shook his head. “You said you didn’t want to involve them.” “I don’t like the idea. But like even less the idea of being fifty miles away.”

“It’s an hour’s ride,” he said. “It takes longer to get to some places in El Paso during rush hour.” “Maybe, but I’d rather stay close to El Paso.” “Why?” “I don’t have to give a reason. It’s my prerogative.” “You like me.” “Yes,” she agreed. “But that has nothing to do with this.” “No, Liz, it doesn’t. You have to go to Las Cruces. Let me do my job.” “I’ll let you do your job, but I’m not

going.” He shot her a frustrated look. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?” “No.” “I’ll authorize the boys to use whatever force is necessary to keep you in check,” he said. “R. W. might be an ass, but he’s tough. You won’t put one over on him.” “I won’t try.” “I’m serious, Liz. He’ll lock you in your room if he has to. R.W.’s good that way.” “No need to worry. I’ll be a lamb.”

Ben merged into the right lane and slowed for the exit. “You don’t know how to be a lamb.” “Maybe not,” she agreed, and hoped to God she did know how to keep from going insane until he returned home. *** Ben called his father and warned him that Sanchez now knew his identity. Then he took Liz to a small diner owned by an ex-cop. They had a quiet, safe, breakfast, then at seven thirty, Ben settled Liz at his desk, and went to Captain Medina’s office. He knocked on

the open door, and entered when the captain looked up. Ben took the seat opposite his desk and said, “Any word on the missing officers?” Medina leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Loyola has a few trusted men searching. We’re sending three of our men in the team that’s crossing the border with you. They’ll break off and meet with Loyola to coordinate the search. They’ll stay in touch via secure cell phone.” “It’s my fault,” Ben said. “How

could I have been so wrong?” “You know better than that,” Medina said. “Those officers knew what they were getting into when they agreed to pose as kidnap victims. And you’re taking credit that isn’t yours. You had an idea—a good one—and people who know more than you do arranged the operation.” “If I hadn’t come up with the idea, they wouldn’t be missing.” “I think you’re being a little sexist,” Medina said. Ben frowned, then shook his head.

“You know I respect female officers.” “Yeah, but if this was a group of men, you’d be thinking they had a chance of fighting their way out of trouble. Are you saying half a dozen female officers can’t take on some low-level thugs?” “Men can be killed as easily as women,” Ben said. “So you’ve given them up for dead?” Medina said. Ben released a slow breath. “You’re right. This case has gotten to me.” Medina’s phone rang. He answered

and the few grunts he gave in response to the caller were enough to tell Ben something more had gone wrong. “Keep me posted,” Medina said, and replaced the phone on the receiver. His mouth turned down even than it had been when Ben arrived. “A young woman died in the Remmeys’ fire, and one of the burn victims is in intensive care.” Pain slashed through Ben. “For every one we save there’s a price.” “A man like Sanchez never lets anything go for free.”

“Any word on the Nina Bruno fire?” Medina shook his head. “I’ve got a call into the chief there. If I don’t get a callback later this morning, I’ll call again. We know Sanchez didn’t set the fires himself, but I’m following the trails anyway to see what we can rustle up. As for you, the El Paso DA is handling your transfer to Mexico. That way, it looks legit to Gomez. The Feds will be there under the guise of El Paso homicide detectives. A little unorthodox, but Gomez set up the deal with Chuck’s

office, so this isn’t an actual extradition.” He paused, then added, “Why is Ms. Monahan here and not in Las Cruces?” Ben glanced through the open mini blinds of the office’s glass wall at Liz, who sat in a chair at his desk. “I would rather she went, but she refuses. She had a point about us needing a place to put the Remmeys, and it would have been crowded in that small house with the four of them. We could have done it, but I recruited R.W. and Hal to take care of her. They’ve got a line on a place and I

expect to hear from them any minute. They’ll keep her safe until I get back.” “And then?” Medina asked. “Sanchez will be in jail.” Medina studied him for a moment. “That’s where he should be.” “As long as they throw away the key,” Ben said in all honesty. “We do our job right and they will. You going to be able to work with Masters all right?” Ben shrugged. “He’s only escorting me to the border.” Medina nodded, then a knock came

to the door and his gaze shifted past Ben. “Yeah?” Medina said. The door opened and Ranger Wright stood in the doorway. “We got a member of the press out here who says he heard about a midnight trade.” Ben jerked his gaze onto Medina. “How did anyone find out?” “I would say someone working for Sanchez leaked the news. He’s turning up the heat. Who is it?” Medina asked. “Jonathan Meyers with El Diario,” Wright replied. “Tell him we’ll get back with him.”

“He wants to talk to you, Captain,” Wright said. “Says he’ll go with what he has if he can’t confirm details with you.” “That would be interesting,” Ben said. “I’ll talk to him,” Medina said. “Hunter, you get on the line with your boys and find out where they’re taking Ms. Monahan. It’s seven-thirty now. We said we’d meet the FBI at ten.” Ben nodded and he pulled out his phone as Medina left. Ben shifted his gaze onto Liz and paused without hitting

speed dial for R. W.. She concentrated on the screen of her phone. As if sensing him, she looked up and met his gaze. She smiled, and Ben was certain he would never grow tired of seeing her smile like that. A flash of turquoise blue in the corner of his eye jarred him from the thought. He turned his head as Sheila Antonio entered the open room where the desks were located. Her gaze fixed onto him. Ben cast another glance at Liz to find her attention on Sheila. Ben rose as Sheila continued toward the captain’s

office, and he started toward the door. She reached the door before he did and stepped inside, forcing him back a pace. She closed the door, then grasped the handle to the mini blinds and twisted. Ben glimpsed Liz’s stare and her furrowed brow in the instant before Sheila closed the blinds. “What do you think you’re doing?” Ben demanded. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said. “No,” Ben snapped, “you can’t.” She advanced until she had to look

up to maintain eye contact. He retreated a pace and was stopped when his butt struck the desk. “Going to Mexico to answer to murder charges,” she said. “What the hell is this about, Ben?” “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “The DA’s only role in this operation is to tell Juarez DA they’re handing me over.” “Guess who got that job?” “It’s not a job. It’s paperwork.” She shook her head. “That’s not how we work. I’m thinking we need to

take a closer look at your paperwork, make sure everything is in order before turning you over to the Juarez authorities.” “You don’t have the authority to do that,” Ben said. “But I do.” He forced back frustration. “The Feds will step in.” “My understanding is that they aren’t officially involved.” Ben leaned his butt against Medina’s desk and folded his arms over his chest. “Sheila, I’ll lock you in the

holding cell myself if you hinder this investigation in any way.” “I’m not sending you to Mexico to get killed.” “It’s not your decision and, in case you haven’t noticed, I know my job. I have no intention of getting killed.” She snorted. “No one does. Here’s an FYI: I have carte blanche on this case.” “No, you don’t. You’re not the least bit involved.” “You’re doing this because of her, aren’t you?” Sheila demanded.

“I’m doing this because Carlos Sanchez is killing young men and women and selling them into a life of slavery we can’t begin to imagine.” She opened her mouth to say something, then released a sigh instead. “I don’t want you getting yourself killed. Contrary to what you might think, I do care about you.” “I know you do. But it was never like that between us, and even if it were, I’m never going to stop chasing men like Sanchez.” “It could be like that between us.”

She took a step closer and flattened her palms on his chest. “I could be what you need.” He grasped her hands and started to straighten away from the desk. The door opened. Medina stood in the doorway. Behind him, Liz stood staring. Ben met her gaze. He caught the surprise on her face and the flicker of hurt that vanished an instant later. Don’t you read too much into this, she’d said when he made love to her. And he read in her eyes the conviction that he’d taken her advice. “Am I interrupting?” Captain

Medina’s question shifted Ben’s attention to him. Ben gently, but firmly, eased Sheila back and straightened. “Not a thing, Captain.” “Good. It’s always nice to see you, Ms. Antonio.” He pulled the door closed as he entered the office, then passed them and sat down in his chair. “What the hell have you let your head of the Reconnaissance Rangers get involved in?” Sheila demanded. “Catching Carlos Sanchez,” Medina answered in an even tone.

“What does Ms. Monahan have to do with this?” “I told you the night of the gala, this is a federal investigation,” Ben said. “This is a need-to-know, and you don’t need to know.” She shrugged. “Guess what, sweetheart, I’m involved. Chuck sent me himself. We’re supposed to handle handing you over to the Juarez DA. I get the whole story.” Ben started to reply, but Medina cut him off. “You know we’re hunting Sanchez. He walked into our

investigation at the party the other night, and things got twisted around when Ms. Monahan was kidnapped by his men and taken to Mexico.” Sheila stared. “You’re joking?” “Nope,” Medina said. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hunter saved her life.” She looked at Ben. “And somewhere along the way, the Juarez PD says you killed one of their men, and you have the misguided idea that you can somehow catch Sanchez by going back to Mexico?”

“We’ll catch him,” Ben said. Her expression turned grim. “Even if it means killing him.” Sheila’s insight startled Ben. “There’s always the chance a criminal will get killed, but our aim is to bring him to justice—and we almost always succeed.” “You’d better succeed this time. Our relationship with the Juarez district attorney isn’t so good that we can get you back if you kill one of their influential citizens.” She shook her head. “You have to wonder about a woman

who gets involved with not one mob boss, but two. That’s just too much of a coincidence to be coincidental.” “What are you talking about?” Medina asked. Sheila looked at Ben. “You didn’t tell him?” “There’s nothing to tell,” Ben said, and realized he’d been so absorbed in getting Liz and Christina back safely that he hadn’t checked with Barney to see if he’d come up with any information on Liz’s past arrest. “If you call racketeering and money

laundering nothing,” Sheila said. “Not to mention illegal gambling. She’s stepping things up, though. Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova is a lightweight compared to Carlos Sanchez.” “You just answered your own question, Sheila,” Ben said. She looked at him, brows arched in that condescending, quizzical expression she had perfected. “Why there never can be anything more substantial between us.” Her mouth parted in surprise—a rare look for her—but Ben turned his

back and said to the Captain, “I’m going to see to Ms. Monahan’s accommodations. I’ll be here at ten sharp.” He turned and left.

Chapter Twenty-Nine “It’s not what you think,” was all Ben had said to Liz when they reached the SUV. His phone rang. It was R.W. calling with the address of Liz’s accommodations, and to share the lowdown on the place she’d be staying. Then his father called—R.W. had filled him in on their plans to watch over Liz, and his father offered additional manpower. Lastly, as Ben merged onto the highway, he listened to his only voicemail. Barney had discovered what

Liz’s involvement had been with Sammy ‘the ice pick’ Grekhova. “This has got to be one of the funniest cases I’ve come across, Hunter.” Barney’s laughed his nasally laugh. “Your lady friend was writing a thesis paper on Crime in Middle America. She decided she had to get a firsthand look at the crime underworld, so she went to an illegal gaming house, which was owned by Sammy. He noticed her and spent some time with her. The local police raided the joint one night and she was there. My guess is they

wanted her to testify against Sammy and she wouldn’t, so they brought charges against her to try and make her cooperate. The charges were dropped by the DA. I hope this helps. Oh, and by the way, you owe me big for this one.” The message ended. Ben flipped his phone closed and had to force his gaze to remain straight ahead. If he looked at Liz he would break into laughter. Leave it to Liz Monahan to take her research straight to a crime boss. One of these days, years down the road after she’d married him

and she couldn’t leave, Ben would ask her if she got an A on that paper. He bet she did. They arrived at the address R.W. had given him, and Liz left the truck before Ben could turned off the engine. She headed for the door and went inside without knocking and without looking back. At eight-thirty, Ben slipped through the patio doors and joined Liz at the railing of the borrowed house nestled in the Franklin Mountains twenty minutes from downtown El Paso. The Spanish-

style home belonged to one of R.W.’s friends who wintered in El Paso. The view across the rocky, brush-covered hills into the desert was shadowy beneath dark clouds. Under any other circumstances, this would be the romantic getaway of any man’s dream. Ben would take Liz in his arms and make love to her until they were too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep, tangled in each other’s bodies. Instead, he was leaving her behind and going after a man who intended to kill him, then find Liz and end her life.

“How long do you think I’ll be here?” Liz asked, and Ben hoped like hell that translated to how long will you be gone? “I can’t say for sure. The plan is to put me in the hospital after Sanchez’s man takes his shot. That way, the Feds have a second chance at finding Sanchez if the shooter doesn’t lead them to him. I wouldn’t think more than a day or two at most. Sanchez isn’t going to chance that I’ll talk to someone in Mexico who might listen to me.” She nodded.

“Liz, it’s not what it looked like.” She didn’t hesitate. “My feelings aren’t hurt. I had no expectations.” “Well, I damn well have expectations, and we’re going to talk about them—at length—when I get back.” “You worry about getting back. Nothing else.” He gave her his best grin and hoped it appeared natural. “I’ll be loaded for bear. Anyone who shouldn’t be in my hospital room will be sorry they crossed me.”

She nodded again and his chest tightened. Ben grasped her arm. “Don’t do this,” she said. “I’m not asking you to prove anything. I’m a big girl. I know—” He tugged her close and slid his fingers into her silky, dark hair. “I plan to finish what we started last night.” Her cheeks colored and the blood rushed to his groin so fast he feared he would embarrass himself. He’d better get his head in the game or he would find himself distracted at the wrong time. The admonition didn’t stop him from

brushing his lips against hers. She released a sigh and he slid his hands down the curve of her backside and hugged her intimately against his erection. When her tongue brushed his lips, he could have died and gone to heaven. Ben opened for her and let her explore him to her heart’s content. At last, she drew back and he broke the kiss, breathing hard. “I want you to do that to the rest of my body,” he said. Her head snapped up. He read the

uncertainty in her eyes. “It’s all right to be confused, honey,” he said. “God knows, you’ve kept me off balance.” “Ben—” “Whoops.” Ben turned his head toward the door. R.W. and Hal stood on the patio near the door. “Are we interrupting something?” R.W. said. “Yeah,” Ben said, “but I’d better get going.” He studied Liz’s face as he released her. “You do what they say

without question. Understand?” “I promised,” she replied. He nodded, then strode toward the door. Ben didn’t miss the look R.W. gave him as he brushed past, and wasn’t surprised when R.W. followed him from the house to his SUV. “You’re getting awful friendly with a witness,” R.W. said as Ben got into the vehicle. “It’s none of your business,” Ben said. R.W. shrugged. “If you get kicked off the Rangers, you can always come

back home.” “Then what would you do?” Ben asked. “Does that mean you’d fire me?” “I’d fire you now, if I could.” “You’d be sorry if I went to another ranch and made them richer than you.” “Money isn’t everything.” Ben slammed the door and rolled down the window. “If you run into trouble, you know what to do.” “Yeah, after we kill the man making the trouble,” R.W. said. “If it’s Sanchez, you’ll get a medal,

and I’ll pin it on you myself.” “I think I’d like that,” R.W. said. “Just be sure you make it back to do the honors.” “I have plenty of reason to come home,” Ben replied. More reason than he’d ever had in his life. *** Few Americans turned themselves in to face murder charges in Mexico. There was no extradition, no warrant for Ben’s arrest in the US. He was just a good citizen willing to return to Mexico

and prove himself innocent of the crimes for which he was charged. As it turned out, that was big news. Neither the Rangers nor the Feds had leaked the story. But by two p.m., reporters swarmed the parking lot outside the field Headquarters of El Paso’s Company ‘E’ building. Aside from Agents Masters and Braxton, only Captain Medina, the two Lieutenants, the Staff Lieutenant, and eleven of the fifteen Rangers in their office knew Ben planned to return to Mexico—and no one in the DA’s office

knew about the sting operation. Ben figured the leak came from Assistant DA Charles Mandles’ office. Ben knew enough to be afraid when fear was called for. Nothing in the material world could stop him from going after Sanchez. Still, being handcuffed by the FBI unsettled him. It wasn’t the handcuffs. He’d learned long ago how to get out of them. It was the idea that for the two hours he would be in their custody he would, for all practical purposes, be a criminal, and under Agents Masters and Braxton’s

control. “It’s a damn circus,” Masters said as he and Braxton herded Ben through the horde of reporters outside Headquarters. Ben wondered what the chances were that Sanchez’s man might try to shoot him in the US instead of Mexico when the crack of a gunshot fired. A second shot followed and something slammed into his chest. Ben was thrown back into the crowd. He hit the ground, his head slamming the asphalt. Screams erupted and reporters

raced in different directions, a mass of frenzied terror. An ache radiated through Ben’s chest. Sharp pain stabbed bone deep in his shoulder and his head radiated a dull throb that blurred his vision. Steel fingers grabbed under his armpits and he was being dragged across the parking lot. He commanded a hand to swing a fist, but as his muscles tensed, he realized his hands were cuffed behind his back. He twisted in an effort to break free. “Goddamit, Pretty Boy,” the man cursed.

Ben recognized Masters’ voice and relaxed his muscles, which screamed with the effort of trying to break free. The agent dragged him behind a car, then released him. Ben gave his head a hard shake to clear his vision, but spots raced across his eyes. Masters rolled him onto his side and removed the handcuffs. He again lay flat, and felt pressure against his shoulder. Pain shot from his shoulder clean through to his back. “Hold onto that.” Masters grabbed his hand and pressed it against Ben’s shoulder.

Ben looked down. Master’s folded jacket lay atop his shoulder, under his hand. “Keep it tight,” Masters ordered. “Unless you want to bleed to death.” He forced Ben’s hand down hard on the coat. Ben drew a sharp breath in pain. “Hurts, don’t it?” Masters said, then turned away and peered around the car. “Did you get a visual on the shooter?” “What?” Ben said, then realized the agent must be speaking into the mike hidden in his collar.

“Officer down. Wounds in shoulder and head.” The head? He’d heard only two shots. One got him in the shoulder, and the way his chest hurt, one struck the body armor. Where had the headshot come from? Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone abruptly came into view crouching over him. He recognized Medina. “You just couldn’t wait until you reached Mexico, could you, Hunter?” the captain said. He looked up before Ben could think of a reply, and called, “Over

here.” Medina pressed down on the coat. Sharp pain stabbed through him and he couldn’t breathe for a long moment. “One of our boys saw a man take off,” Medina addressed Masters. “Looked like he had some kind of AR. You might want to get word to your men.” He looked at Ben. “Good thing for you it was small caliber. They were aiming for a headshot. I called it in like that.” The sirens grew louder. Ben’s vision cleared, but he had a splitting headache and the ache in his chest throbbed in unison with his

heartbeat. His head must have hit the pavement. The siren blared. Masters stood up and waved. Seconds later, an ambulance pulled up beside them. An EMT knelt by his side. He fitted a neck brace, then inspected the head wound. The man keyed his mike. “Subject officer down, impact laceration to the head. Bullet wound to the shoulder.” The man called for his companion to bring the gurney. Ben tried to push into a sitting position.

“Stay down, Hunter,” Medina ordered. “You’re supposed to be nearly dead, remember?” He tapped his noggin. “Head wound. I think we can play this up.” Ben grunted. He felt half dead. The medic bent over him with a syringe. Ben swiped at the man’s arm. “No pain killers. I need to stay alert.” Ben almost regretted saying that an instant later when the medic started cutting away Ben’s shirt. The scissors felt like a redhot branding iron against his shoulder. Five minutes later, they slid his

gurney into the ambulance. Medina and Masters joined him, then the vehicle left the parking lot and screamed toward the hospital. “Looks like Sanchez got anxious,” Ben rasped. “Sure does,” Medina said. “Did we get the shooter?” “Randal took off after a guy who might be him. Similar description to the guy your informant told you about.” “Pauly?” Ben rasped. Medina nodded. “That’s all I know.” He looked at Masters. “What

about your guys?” “I haven’t heard anything from Braxton yet. I’m in the dark.” That’s when the lights went out. *** Texas Ranger gunned down outside of Ranger Headquarters…the broadcast words stopped Liz’s heart then blanked her mind. For twenty minutes she sat on the couch, leaning toward the TV, watching the crawler and praying for updates. “Goddammit,” R.W. swore beside her.

Liz shifted her gaze to him. “We need to call the hospital.” “They won’t tell us anything about him over the phone, even if we are family,” Hal said. “R.W., why don’t you try Medina again.” Liz swiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. R.W. picked up the cordless and punched in a number. “Yeah, Captain, this is R.W. Hunter, Ben’s cousin. We just saw the news report. How’s Ben?” A moment of silence passed, then R.W. looked at her and mouthed, He’s

okay. Liz waited, insides trembling until R.W. hung up the phone. “He’ll be okay. Took a bullet in his shoulder that went clean through, so no major surgery. His vest stopped a second round. He’ll be out of the hospital in a couple days.” “Did they catch the man who shot him?” Liz demanded. “Is it over?” R.W. glanced at Hal. “I’m the one who asked, R.W.,” Liz said, “not Hal. What did Captain Medina say?”

R.W. shook his head. “No, it’s not over.” Liz shot to her feet. “What does that mean? Do they know who it was? Did they catch him? What—” He held up both hands, palms out. “Hold on, darlin’. Medina didn’t tell me anything. He won’t. The Rangers are closed-mouthed. Even what little bit of time you spent with Ben must have told you that.” He was right. Ben wasn’t forthcoming with information about work-related operations. “So we just

wait it out?” Liz asked. “That was the plan from the get go.” “He wasn’t really supposed to get shot,” she said. R.W. laughed. “No, but he was prepared for it.” Liz cast him a withering look. “Are you saying you knew he would get shot?” “No. Just logic. A bulletproof vest leaves a lot of exposed body parts. But, he knows what he’s doing.” Liz studied R.W. “I thought you

didn’t like the fact he’s a cop.” “Doesn’t mean he isn’t good at it. He’s a Hunter. We’re good, no matter what.” *** A blur of faces passed before Ben’s eyes. The doctor patched up his shoulder, then orderlies wheeled him from one room to another, one test to another, to ensure the impact of the bullet to his chest hadn’t caused internal damage. The anesthetic made him sluggish, but left plenty of pain. Ben ached all

over. His gurney moved again and they pushed through a door and into a hallway. Harsh overhead lights caused him to jam his eyes shut until, moments later, the glide of the gurney stopped and light no longer bored through his closed lids. Ben cracked open one eye. He lay in a dimly lit room with what looked like some kind of ex-ray machine. He closed the eye and allowed himself to relax for the first time since the roar of gunfire had split the air and a bullet had ripped through muscle. This was the last

test he was going to let them give. He wanted to be put in a room. He needed to call Liz, to hear for himself that she was all right. Then he would wait for Sanchez’s man to come for him. If their luck held, Sanchez would think he lay in a coma. After he got Sanchez, he would take Liz far away, put this nightmare behind them, and get to know her like no other man had even known her. He released a heavy sigh. He was going to end this once and for all. A waft of air jarred Ben to

consciousness. A muffled oof sounded behind him, then a thud. Confusion clouded his mind for an instant before he realized he’d woken from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d taken. How long had he been asleep? Couldn’t be very long. His muscles hadn’t stiffened from lying motionless on the hard gurney. He considered telling the technician to forget the damn tests—he’d had enough and he— Ben froze when the man stepped into view. Five foot ten, hair tight in a

ponytail. Pauly. Pauly grinned. “You’re one tough son-of-a-bitch to kill.” He reached inside his leather jacket. Ben swung his leg up, landing a hard kick to the man’s jaw. Pauly jerked backwards. Ben leapt from the gurney, yanking free the IV needle. Pain ripped through his shoulder as stitches tore, but he drove his fist into Pauly’s diaphragm. Pauly stumbled back with a loud grunt, then lunged, swinging a gun. Ben threw up an arm and the barrel clipped the back of his hand. He rammed his fist

low into Pauly’s ribs, then seized the arm holding the gun and propelled Pauly backwards into the wall. Ben banged Pauly’s arm against the wall in an effort to force him to release the gun. Pauly jabbed Ben’s ribs with his free hand. His blow caught the edge of the spot where the bullet had hit his vest and Ben’s chest constricted in pain. Pauly smashed his fist into Ben’s temple. Spots raced across Ben’s vision. His grip faltered on Pauly’s arm and Pauly shoved him backwards. Ben gritted his teeth and spun, landing a roundhouse

kick to Pauly’s shoulder that sent him crashing sideways into the ex-ray machine. The gun clattered to the floor and slid across the tile. Breathing hard, Ben grabbed the edge of the gurney to steady himself. He drew in a harsh breath, staring at Pauly, then cursed and dropped onto one knee beside the man. Ben seized him by the lapel. “Where are you meeting Sanchez to collect the bounty?” Pauly gurgled a rough laugh and blood seeped from the corner of his

mouth. “Fuck you.” “Fine.” Ben rammed his fist into Pauly’s jaw. The man went limp and Ben nearly collapsed into a sitting position on the floor beside him. Then he caught sight of the orderly lying on the floor near a large x-ray machine in the left corner. Anger tightened his insides. He ignored the blood trickling down his chest and staining the hospital gown, and shoved to his feet, then shuffled across to the man. Ben grasped the machine and winced in pain as he eased onto one

knee next to the man. He felt the man’s neck for a pulse and released a breath when a strong pulse beat against his fingers. Ben rose and returned to Pauly. He yanked open Pauly’s jacket, spotted the side pocket and dug a hand inside. The smooth surface of a phone brushed his fingers and he yanked it from the pocket. He opened the old-fashioned flip phone and found two private numbers he was betting belonged to Sanchez. The voicemails hadn’t been erased. Good ol’ stupid Pauly. The latest one contained

the familiar voice of Carlos Sanchez. “Finish the job or I will finish you.” Ben pressed save and moved onto the next message. The unexpected trill of a cell phone ring caused Ben to jump before he realized it was his phone. His bagged belongings hung from the gurney. Ben pushed to his feet, took three stiff steps to the gurney and grabbed on to steady himself. He fished the phone from the plastic bag and recognized the number Tony used when he called.

Ben hit the answer button and said into the phone, “Hunter.” “Christ, you have nine lives, Hunter,” Tony said. “Yeah,” Ben said. “What have you got?” “Listen, I give you this, then we’re done. Okay?” “You give me what you’ve got or I’ll put out the word you’re my snitch.” “You’re going to get me killed, Hunter.” “Give it to me, Tony, or—” “All right,” he cut in. “Word is, your

buddy Sanchez is in town.” “Where?” Ben demanded. “All I heard was that he was going to close this deal personally.” Ben’s mind raced. But Sanchez hadn’t come for him. In fact, his message to Pauly had been to finish the job—or else. Understanding struck. Sanchez wanted Liz.

Chapter Thirty Using the electrical cord from what looked like a defibrillator, Ben cinched Pauly’s arms to his legs like a roped calf, then rose. He paused. Should he call Medina? No. Call from the road. That way, he could more easily ignore the captain if he ordered him back to the hospital. Ben eased open the door and peered into the hallway. Empty. He stepped from the room, then faltered when pain radiated down his chest where the bullet impacted the vest like a pile driver. He

took shallow breaths until the pain subsided, then did his best to stride down the hallway as if he were a visitor and not a patient who’d barely managed to dress himself. Getting the shirt of Pauly had tired him. But getting into his jeans had proven to be a herculean feat that left him panting for breath. But he’d managed it, only to find his damn phone had died and he couldn’t call R.W. and Hal. Ben had just given thanks that he hadn’t encountered anyone—they wouldn’t have missed the way he listed

to one side—when he turned a bend and spotted a nurses’ station up ahead. Agent Braxton stood with Ranger Carson talking to one of the nurses. He whirled and headed back to the stairs he’d passed. He grimaced at the thought of pitting his body against the stairs, but pushed through the door into the stairwell and started down. His legs worked as well as always. It was the breathing that forced him to slow his half-run down the second set of stairs. Each breath felt like he was inhaling tumbleweed. He went down another two

floors, then entered the hallway on the third floor and chanced the elevator. He feared blacking out if he had to take three more flights of stairs. At the lobby, Ben hurried through the hospital doors out onto the well-lit sidewalk without encountering anyone he knew, then stopped short. The company SUV was parked three rows down along the curb. He’d left the truck in the lot at headquarters. Carson must have driven it. Ben headed for the vehicle. Lightning lit the sky as he reached

the truck. Ben glanced around, then ran his fingers along the inside of the wheel well and found the small magnetic box where they kept the spare key. He got in the truck and dove for the cell phone charging cable stashed in the glove box. Once plugged in, his phone came alive and he hit Liz’s cell number. Thunder nearly drowned out the ring of the phone. When voicemail picked up, Ben said. “Liz, stay put. I believe Sanchez is looking for you. He can’t know where you are, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m on my way. Call me as soon as you

get this.” Ben cut the connection and dialed R.W. Again, the phone went right to voicemail. Who the hell was R.W. talking to now? When the phone beeped its leave-amessage tone, Ben said, “Where the hell are you, R.W.?. Listen, no time to explain. Sanchez is in El Paso. I don’t know how he can possibly find Liz, but it sounds like he thinks he can. Call me when you get this message.” Next, he dialed the captain, and started up the SUV as he hit the

speakerphone icon. Medina picked up on the second ring. “Hunter,” he said. “I was just about to call you. How are you feeling?” “Not bad.” Ben backed out of the space and flipped the wipers onto high speed. “I had a visitor.” He filled Medina in on Pauly as he left the lot, ending with, “I’m on my way to the safe house.” “I’m sending someone for the orderly and Pauly. As for you, turn yourself around and get back to the hospital,” Medina ordered.

Ben slowed for a red light. “Can’t do it, Captain. Have men meet me at the safe house. Once we get Ms. Monahan to another location, I’ll go back.” “If you had called before you left the hospital you’d know that we got intel. Sanchez plans to return to El Paso, and we’re set up to catch him.” “You knew?” “Contrary to what you think, Hunter, we’re good cops, too.” Ben released a breath. “I know. This case is...personal—for more than one reason.” The two dead girls would

have fueled his determination even without Liz who, truth be told, had thrown a kink into things. “This was personal with you from the start,” Medina said. “But you let the situation get out of hand.” “Yeah.” The light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection. “You want to know what’s going on with Sanchez?” Medina asked. Ben said he did, and the captain said, “Our information says that Sanchez plans to sneak into the US at the Onate Crossing this evening.”

“Onate?” Ben repeated. “That’s damned risky.” “May be why he chose the spot. He figures we wouldn’t expect him to hit the same place twice. Truth is, we weren’t keeping a particular eye on the Onate until we got the word. We’ve got men there now.” “Are the Feds in on it?” Ben asked. “Yeah. So, now you’re up to date and you can get yourself back to the hospital.” “There’s no reason to go back.” Ben said.

“The fact you got shot is good enough reason,” Medina said. “I’m all right,” Ben said, but knew the captain might disagree if he’d seen the way he’d limped to the SUV. “Sanchez sent Pauly to kill me. No one else will be there looking for me. Maybe you should break the news that I died in the hospital.” A moment of silence passed before Medina said, “That’s an option. You better turn around. Damn,” he cursed before Ben could reply. “We can’t chance anyone at the hospital seeing you

walking around.” Ben squinted to better see through the pouring rain. “You’re not off the hook, Hunter. You hold tight. I’m going to call Carson. He’s on duty there. I need to know how he let you get past him.” “I’m that good,” Ben said. Medina snorted, then said in a sober voice, “I’d like to know how Pauly got past him—and Agent Braxton. He was supposed to be there with Carson.” He didn’t give Ben a chance to respond. “You sit tight and don’t move until I call

you. Got that?” “Got it, Captain.” Ben hung up the phone, and slowed for the sea of red brake lights up ahead. *** Liz sat on one end of the den couch with Hal on the other and R.W. occupying a chair to their left, everyone’s attention fixed on the TV. The drone of a newscaster dimmed with a clap of thunder and Liz jumped. “He’ll be all right, Liz,” Hal said. “Give the boy some credit,” R.W. said. “Ben’s a Hunter, and we Hunters

are tough.” “I know.” Liz said, then realized how easily the two had discerned her thoughts. She should have been embarrassed, but wasn’t. Being with this family, with Ben, came too naturally. Liz leaned her head against the sofa back, eyes closed in hopes she would fall asleep and wake to find this nightmare had ended. But thunder knifed through the tension, further fraying her nerves. Her mind churned with one question: How would she go on if Ben didn’t come back?

Only one other time had she felt so alone and afraid. After Jack died, months passed before she could function, and years passed before she finally looked at another man. Now, that same pain shimmered on the horizon like heat rising from hot asphalt. Guilt surfaced. Her actions had put Ben in danger. She couldn’t imagine him dead, gone from the world so soon. But the truth was, her fears went beyond guilt. In her heart of hearts, she wanted more. Even if that more was just one more day. He would touch her again.

He’d promised. The thought sent a shiver down her back. The night they’d spent in each other’s arms would haunt her. But she yearned to learn more about the man who intended to make captain. Would he really resign as head of the Recon Rangers? As captain, he would be in less danger. If they traveled to Australia together, he would be out of danger, at least for a time. She envisioned their vacations, the Bahamas, Key West, London. All safe. But they would always come home to the job he loved. “I’ve been military and law

enforcement my whole life,” he’d said. No matter what he might think now, he would never give up being a cop. Could she watch him leave every morning, not knowing whether he’d make it home again to lay safe in her arms? How did a woman cope with the daily fear that the man she loved might never come home? Love? No. Infatuation. A ridiculous infatuation. Is that what she would tell him when he returned…or when she boarded her plane for Dallas? A sob formed in her throat. She hadn’t told him

how she felt. If— “We bring you a special report from Las Palmas Hospital,” said a female announcer, “where a hospital spokesman has confirmed that a Texas Ranger was found stabbed to death less than an hour ago in his hospital bed.” Liz bolted upright, her eyes on the TV, where Sara Romero, the same reporter who had broken the story of her and Ben’s race across the border, faced the camera. “As yet unconfirmed, the Ranger in question is likely Ben Hinter, who this

morning agreed to face murder charges in Juarez, Mexico, and was the victim of a sniper attack as he left the Texas Rangers’ Headquarters.” A video filled the sixty-inch screen showing Ben emerging from Texas Ranger Headquarters, surrounded by Rangers and led, handcuffed, by Agents Masters and Braxton. Liz couldn’t take her gaze off his face. His jaw was set in the determined way she’d already knew so well. They were halfway to a parked van when gunshots fired. Liz jumped, as if seeing the video

for the first time. Ben jerked when the first bullet struck with his shoulder, then was thrown backward with the impact of the second bullet to his chest. Her heart slammed into her ribs when he hit the asphalt and tears filled her eyes before she remembered that the bullets hadn’t killed him. The video returned to Sara Romero, standing under an umbrella with the night-shaded hospital behind her, blazing lights blurred by the pouring rain. “Ranger Hunter was rushed here,” Sara indicated the building behind her, “to

Las Palmas hospital to undergo treatment for gunshot wounds to the chest and shoulder. Now, a Ranger is dead from a knife wound to the heart.” Liz’s head swam. Dead? Ben dead? She’d seen him only this morning, tall, strong, so very alive. He couldn’t be dead. He’d promised. The young never thought they could die. But Sara said they hadn’t confirmed the Ranger’s identity. Was another Ranger injured? Someone stood over her. “Liz.” Hal sat beside her. His face blurred through the tears.

“It can’t be true. Someone would have told us.” She looked at R.W. “R.W.—” “I’m already dialing the number.” He pressed the cordless phone to his ear and stood. Liz dug in her purse for her cell phone. She dialed Ben. “We spoke with Texas Ranger, Captain John Medina, who declined to confirm the Ranger’s identity until next of kin is notified,” Sara said. “But another source tells KDBC Local 4 News that Ranger Hunter was accused of human trafficking and assassinated

by the criminals he worked with.” “That’s not true!” Liz cried. “Ben involved in human trafficking? What’s going on?” Her phone displayed dialing, dialing, dialing but wouldn’t connect. She had no bars. “Let me talk with Captain Medina,” R.W. said into the land-line phone. “You tell him this is R.W. Hunter and he’d better get on the phone or I’m coming down there. He won’t want me to do that —neither will you, son. You just tell him what I said.” Liz stood and the room spun. She

dropped her cell phone on the sofa. Hal rose and grasped her arm. “Maybe you better sit down,” he said. She started to argue, but her legs went weak as rubber and she allowed him to ease her back onto the cushion. She groped, found her cell, and looked at the screen. Still no bars. “Stay tuned for further details as the situation develops,” Sara said before the view cut to a commercial break. Hal grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV. Liz stared at the dark screen, then jarred

when R.W. said, “Captain Medina—” He quieted. “Uh huh. Yeah. That was a big mistake, Captain.” Fear tightened Liz’s chest. “What was a big mistake?” “What’s that you’re saying?” R.W. said. Liz shoved to her feet. “Yeah, I understand. You can count on me to tell him.” R.W. quieted for a heartbeat, then said. “Right.” Then he closed his phone and looked at Liz. “He’s not dead, but they don’t know where he is.”

“Don’t know where he is?” she blurted. “What’s going on? Why did they say he was dead?” R.W. shrugged. “Ben’s a cop, darlin’. I told you he and his kind are willing to do anything to catch the bad guy.” Liz’s thoughts muddled. “But—” Her cell phone rang. She nearly dropped the thing, then recognized the ring tone. That morning, she’d programmed the light jingle with Ben’s number. The phone had one bar that flickered on and off.

She tapped the answer button. “Ben, Ben, where are you?” Relief brought tears. “Are you all right?” “Liz, are y- -rt?” Static crackled across the line with a flash of lightning. “Ben, where are you?” R.W. stepped up beside Hal, who stood in front of her. “Wh-s H- d- W.? Tell them El Paso.” “El Paso? Ben, what happened at the hospital? Why—” The line went dead.

Liz yanked the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. Icons covered the screen. She’d lost the call. She jabbed the screen to redial and pressed the phone to her ear. Nothing happened. She looked at the screen. No bars. “What did he say?” R.W. demanded. Liz lowered the phone and shook her head. “There was too much static. I couldn’t hear but a word here and there.” Her hand shook, and the need to cry pressed like a dam against her eyes. He’s alive, she forcibly reminded herself. Then another thought struck.

She looked at R.W. “What did you mean, they don’t know where he is? Is he in danger?” Her throat constricted. “Carlos Sanchez—” “Nothing like that,” R.W. cut in. “You really don’t know him at all, do you?” She didn’t. “They believe Carlos Sanchez plans to cross into Texas at the Onate Crossing,” R.W. said. “The Rangers and FBI are waiting for him. Captain Medina said they broke the story about Ben so that Sanchez will feel cocky enough to

cross the border.” Anger lashed through her. “They should have called us first. My God, his father must be frantic.” “You’d better give Brandon a call, Hal.” R.W. tossed Hal the cordless. Hall caught it, then turned and stepped a few paces away as he dialed. Liz tried Ben’s number again, but got only dead air. “That’s right,” Hal said into the phone. He turned, made eye contact with them, and gave a slight shake of his head to indicate Brandon wasn’t happy.

“I agree, they should have called. But Ben’s all right.” A moment of silence passed and he said, “We’re fine here. Cell coverage is out, but that happens a lot out here. We’ll let you know if we need anything—or hear any news.” He hung up, then walked to R.W. and handed him the phone. “This is a perfect example of why I don’t like cell phones.” R.W. laughed. “Why don’t I fix us a drink?” He crossed the room to the sideboard. A flash of lightning brightened the

well-lit room. Liz glanced out the patio window as two more quick lightning strikes illuminated the night sky over the mountains. “That’s some storm,” Hal said. She wasn’t usually worried by storms, but she didn’t like this one. It felt like an omen. A roar of thunder caused her to jump. “That was loud enough to split the bedrock.” R.W. laughed. “The day thunder splits this bedrock is the day we head underground. You got nothing to worry

about. There’s nothing more solid than the Franklin Mountains.” Lighting lit the sky. A moment later, a boom shook the windows. The lights flickered, then went dark. Liz tensed when the smoke detector in the hall chirped, leaving the pelting of rain the only sound in the room. “Dammit,” R.W. said. In the next instant, the room lit as the lights came back on. “Maybe I’d better get the candles and flashlights I found in the pantry closet,” Hal said.

R.W. turned, two tumblers filled with amber liquid in hand. “What were you doing snooping?” Hal shrugged. “When the storm started, I figured I’d better look for supplies just in case. I found the breaker box. A storm like this can flip a breaker. I put a flashlight on the mantle.” He nodded toward the fireplace. “You’re a good man to have around,” R.W. said. The room went dark again. They waited. This time, the lights didn’t come back on. The muffled tread of boots on

carpet sounded. Someone banged into something and Liz recognized R.W.’s “Dammit.” A few seconds later, a flashlight beam lit the hearth. R.W. crossed to Liz and handed her one of the glasses he’d held earlier. “The breaker box is in the back office upstairs,” Hal said. “I’ll take a look. Might take me a few minutes to figure out what’s what. First, I need a flashlight from the pantry. ” “I’ll go with you.” R.W. flashed the beam on the couch before locating Liz. “You going to be okay until I get back?”

he asked. “Sure.” She just wished Ben would call back. He heart wanted to burst from her chest. “Have that drink,” R.W. said, then the two men left and Liz sat alone in the darkness. She leaned back against the couch and looked at her phone. One bar. That was enough to make a call. She tried Ben’s number again. This time it rang and she straightened, pressing the phone to her ear. Two rings in, the call dropped. Liz looked at the screen.

“Relax,” she told herself. It’s the storm. He called. He’s okay.” The flashlight beam entered the room, followed by R.W. “Did you have that drink, Liz?” A pounding at the front door caused her to start. She jumped to her feet. “That must be Ben.” “Maybe,” R.W. said. “You stay here until I find out.” He crossed to the corner and Liz set the drink on the coffee table, then came to her feet as he picked up the shotgun he’d placed there earlier. “Are you worried?” she asked.

“Cautious. You stay here.” “Carlos Sanchez wouldn’t knock,” she said. “Probably not,” he said, and disappeared into the hallway. Lightning flashed enough to brighten the room for an instant and she froze with the irrational fear that she could be seen. The room went dark again and the heat of embarrassment crept up her cheeks. She was acting like a kid. More pounding on the front door. Liz started forward and ran her shin into the coffee table. She winced with pain,

then carefully navigated in a limp around the table and armchair. Thunder rolled, then died and she caught muffled voices in the hallway. Liz reached the hallway and edged forward, feeling her way along the wall. The voices grew louder and as she reached the bend she recognized Agent Masters’ voice. “Out of the way, Hunter,” he said. Liz stopped and peered around the corner. R.W. held his flashlight beam in Agent Masters’ face. “How did you find out where we were?” R.W. demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” Masters said. “We don’t want any trouble,” Agent Braxton said. “We’re here to take Ms. Monahan into protective custody.” “She’s in protective custody,” R.W. shot back. “Our custody.” Liz caught the menacing note in R.W.’s voice and glanced at the shotgun he held. The barrel pointed at the floor, but she would bet he could have it pointing at the men in a New York second. R.W. might not like Ben being a Ranger, but he was taking seriously

Ben’s order to protect her. “Mr. Hunter,” Braxton began. Liz stepped into their line of sight and Braxton broke off. R.W. shifted his gaze in her direction. “Liz, you get back in the other room.” She hurried to them. Masters took a step toward her. “Stay where you are,” R.W. warned. Liz reached them as lightning brightened the sky behind the two agents. Rain pelted the pavement beyond the covered porch and she welcomed the

balmy air that whipped across her face. “It’s all right, R.W.” She looked at the two men. “Did Ben send you?” R.W. snorted in disgust. “Ben wouldn’t send these two.” “If we could speak to you.” Agent Braxton stepped up beside his partner. “Alone.” “She doesn’t have to talk to you,” R.W. said. “It’s all right, R.W.,” Liz said. “There’s no reason I can’t talk to them.” She wanted very much to know how they’d found her.

“Why don’t you step outside on the porch?” Braxton said. R.W. shook his head. “She’s not going outside.” Liz had to agree with that. “You gentlemen can come inside.” “No,” R.W. cut her off. “They can talk to you just fine right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” “You can stay, R.W.—but you keep quiet, or I go outside.” He shrugged. “You’re a big girl. You can speak for yourself.” “Keep that in mind when you hear

something you don’t like.” More wind gusted in, driving rain and whipping her hair across her face. Liz looked at the two agents. “You wanted to talk. Talk.” “Carlos Sanchez is in El Paso,” Agent Masters said. “Looking for you.” “My understanding is that he plans to enter Texas via the Onate Crossing,” Liz said. Agent Braxton’s brows rose in surprise. “That’s right. But until we catch him, we have to assume he made it into Texas.” She hadn’t considered that. “He

can’t know where I am.” “We found you,” Agent Braxton said. “How—” Liz narrowed her eyes. “Ben didn’t send you. You tapped my phone.” “Ms. Monahan, please understand, we only did it for your safety.” “Oh yeah, you’re from the government and you’re here to help, but what you mean is you have to keep me alive so I can testify against Sanchez.” “Look, Ms. Monahan,” he said, “Liz, we take kidnapping and human

trafficking very seriously. We also take murder seriously, and that’s how you’ll end up if we don’t take every precaution. Bottom line, the only way you’ll be safe is if he’s behind bars. We intend to see that you stay alive to make that happen.” “It’s a win/win for everyone,” Agent Masters said. “Where’s Ben?” she demanded. “He’s supposed to be in the hospital waiting for Sanchez’s man to make a move,” Braxton said. “Supposed to be,” Liz repeated. “But we both know he’s not.” That’s

why he’d called her, to tell her he wasn’t at the hospital. Did he know Sanchez was in El Paso? Fear caused her heart to speed up. If he didn’t know, that put him in greater danger. She had to reach him. “The last report to us said he was there,” Braxton replied. “You’re a very convincing liar, Agent Braxton. I’ll wait until Ben returns, then, if he thinks its best I go with you, I will.” Agent Masters took a step toward her. “Do you want us to place you under arrest? We can do that.”

“You can try,” R.W. said in a conversational tone. “Hush, R.W..” Liz pinned the agents with a stare. “Then what? You going to keep me under arrest until Mr. Sanchez goes to trial?” “If necessary,” Masters said. “Let’s slow things down,” Braxton said. “Ms. Monahan, we can arrest you, but we would rather you came willingly. Ranger Hunter’s family isn’t going to take lightly us hauling you out of here in the middle of a storm, and we’d rather not do that. You’re compromised. We

need to get you to a place where you have no contact with anyone until you testify. Have you ever been to Boston?” Boston? No contact with anyone until she testified? No work, no friends...no Ben. She couldn’t imagine it. “You’re overreacting. This could be over tonight.” “And if it is, we will release you and be glad for it,” Braxton said. “But even if Ranger Hunter catches Sanchez, there’s still the trial. Even if Sanchez is held without bail, he can contract a hit. You’re going to have to go somewhere

safe. Now is the time.” She started to shake her head, but Masters said, “Do you want more girls to be sold into slavery? Do you want the Remmeys killed, or worse? Sanchez won’t stop at killing Hunter. He’ll get you and the Remmeys, their granddaughter and everyone else involved in this case.” “Ben will catch him,” R.W. said. Liz looked sharply at him and he shrugged. “Like I said, the boy is good at his job.” She nodded agreement, but fear

twisted her stomach. “He’ll be all right,” R.W. said, clearly reading her thoughts. She nodded, but wasn’t so sure. When all was said and done, this was all her fault. If she hadn’t sneaked around the Remmey’s mansion Ben wouldn’t have had to save her and none of this would have happened. “Tell you what,” Braxton said, “how about Agent Masters and I hang out here for a little while? The storm is kicking up pretty good. You can take a few minutes to consider and we’ll see if

the rain lets up. You’ll have to talk your bodyguard into not killing us. Do you think you can do that?” She nodded. “Of course.” She’d try calling Ben again, maybe reach him before the storm let up. “I’m going to grab my phone from the car,” Agent Braxton said. “Then maybe we can sit and talk. I’m sure you’ve got questions.” “All right. But I’m not making any promises,” Liz said, despite the doubt that chipped away at her resolve. The agent turned and ran into the

rain. “You sure about this, Liz?” R.W. asked. “They can sit in the car while you take your time figuring out how to tell them to go to hell.” A car door slammed shut and headlights abruptly cut a swath across their legs. “Damn rental,” Agent Masters muttered. “The headlights automatically turn on when you get into the car.” One of the headlights went dark in unison with the tinkle of breaking glass. “Goddamn,” R.W. cursed in unison

with Masters’ “Get down!” The agent tackled her. She hit the floor with him on top of her as a succession of thwangs bit into wood and wall near her. R.W. threw himself against the wall beside the door. Masters rolled with Liz to the side, away from the door, then shoved to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her mind registered his cologne, High Karate, and the smarting ache in her shoulder. The remaining headlight beam cut off and they were plunged into darkness. “Stay back,” Masters ordered, and

shoved her against the wall to his right. R.W. was pressed against the wall to his left. Her heart thundered. “The driver’s side door is open,” R.W. whispered. “Maybe your partner made it out of the car and into the bushes.” “Get out of the way,” the agent ordered. R.W. scooted around him and Masters slid closer to the door. “Jason,” he called in a loud whisper. No one answered. “Is there another way out of the house?” Masters’ demanded in a

whisper. “A back door off the kitchen and a sliding glass door off the den,” R.W. replied. “We’re on the top of a damn mountain,” Masters muttered. “We go out there and we’ll be even bigger targets than we are in here. You have some place you can hide her in the house?” “What—” Liz began. Her phone rang. She grabbed the phone from her back pocket and looked at the screen. The word private blinked. Liz tapped the

ignore button and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. Lightning flashed and she glimpsed Masters, gun held at shoulder level, barrel pointed skyward as he yanked his head back around the doorjamb. Masters cursed. “Let’s get her to safety, then we’ll search the house.” “What about Agent Braxton?” Liz said. He hesitated. “You’re the priority.” She discerned movement and, an instant later, the door clicked shut, then locked.

R.W. grasped her arm. “Here.” He thrust the flashlight into her hand. “Hold onto this.” He shifted and she realized he had one hand on the wall as he started forward in the darkness. After ten steps, they made a left turn and started upstairs. Agent Masters followed so close behind she could feel the heat from his body. They reached the second floor and after half a dozen steps, R.W. stopped and shoved her against the wall. “Here,” he whispered. The next instant, a door creaked before he said, “Come on.”

The agent grasped her shoulder and gently pushed. Liz felt her way along the wall and around the doorjamb into a room. A hand on her arm caused her to jump before she realized it was R.W.. He pulled her and Agent Masters forward, then opened another door and urged her inside. “Keep the flashlight,” he said. “And this.” He groped her arm, then grasped her hand, lifted it, and wrapped her fingers around the cold steel of a gun. “You ever shot before?” “What the hell are you doing?”

Masters snapped. “Giving her protection. You ever shot before, Liz?” R.W. repeated. “Sure. My dad taught me, and I used to shoot with my husband.” She felt as much as heard the slight pause, and ire rose to the surface. She knew what he was thinking but wasn’t going to correct the thoughts—or answer the questions. “That’s the safety.” He placed her thumb on the switch. “It’s on. You see anyone other than us boys, you shoot first and ask questions later. You stay here

until I come for you. I don’t come, you don’t move until the police show up. Now burrow back behind those clothes.” He eased her back until her shoulders came into contact with hanging clothes. Liz wanted to do anything except hide, but knew she couldn’t endanger these men’s lives like she had Ben’s when she stumbled into his investigation.

Chapter Thirty-One Ben turned the sharp curve on the mountain road, then slowed when the silhouette of the darkened house came into view a hundred feet ahead. Lights had shone in the houses on the hill as he’d driven up. Had the storm knocked out the electricity in seconds it’d taken to navigate the turn? Lightning flashed and he glimpsed a car parked in front of the house—and the open driver’s side door. He cut off his headlights and

slowed. Rain pelted the car with thick drops that made it almost impossible to see even with the wipers on full blast. He pulled the SUV over and switched off the engine. He couldn’t distinguish the car in the rain and dark, but he hadn’t recognized it during the lightning flash. Sanchez wasn’t likely to park out front. It had to be the FBI. They were dumb enough to be so obvious. But how had they found Liz? Ben stuffed the phone in his back pocket, then grabbed the small flashlight stored in the glove box. He reached

beneath the seat and found the Rugar hidden under the seat, then paused. They often kept a Bullpup in the back of all Ranger vehicles. Might he need the rifle? Lightning zig zagged in the distance and the sky brightened for an instant—and Ben decided on the Bullpup. He shoved the pistol into his waistband, then pulled up on the door handle. His shoulder protested with a sharp pain that lanced down his arm and back. Ben gritted his teeth and slipped out of the car. Seconds later, he slung the rifle over his shoulder as thunder roared.

Rain slapped his face in stinging drops. He threw an arm in front of his face to shield his eyes and crept up the graveled driveway toward the abandoned car. Thunder rolled and Ben cursed another burst of lightning that lit the yard like daylight. He reached the car. No interior light burned. Like him, someone had turned it off. Definitely FBI. As expected, the car was deserted. Lightning flashed again and Ben ducked down beside the car. Poised, he counted twelve seconds to the next clap of thunder then shoved into a run. A

wave of dizziness slowed him as he neared the house and he veered left before righting himself. He reached the front porch and flattened himself against the wall near the door, breathing harder than he liked. Carefully he grasped the doorknob and pressed down. Locked. That was better than a deserted car and an open door. He leaned his head against the wood paneling of the house and took a slow, deep breath in an effort to slow his heart. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and tried R.W.’s number. This

time, the phone rang, but went to voicemail after three rings. The storm had to be interfering with the signal. He put the phone back in his pocket. The only other entrances were the sliding glass door at the patio and the kitchen door. If they were both locked, he would break in, then beat R.W. for not answering his phone, then Hal for not carrying one. He straightened from the side of the house and was forced to blink his surroundings into focus. Dammit, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t been

this disoriented when he walked from the hospital or on the drive here. Ben checked an impulse to touch his wound to see if it was bleeding. Blood or rain, they’d both feel the same. The open car door bothered him. So did the fact that the house was deathly quiet. *** Liz’s phone rang. She jumped, then pulled the phone from her back pocket and fumbled it. She scooped it off the floor. The word ‘private’ flashed on the screen. The jingle that identified his call

hadn’t rung, but what if he had a different phone? With a shaky hand, she tapped the screen. “Hello? Ben?” “I am sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Monahan.” Liz’s heart pounded wildly. Carlos Sanchez? “Who is this?” “I think you know who I am.” Panic made the darkness swirl around her. She scrambled backwards to the farthest corner of the closet and yanked her knees up to her chest. How

had Carlos Sanchez gotten her number? What should she do? A clap of thunder caused her to jump. “I understand there was a fire at your Dallas office,” he said. “I hope no one was hurt.” Liz began to shake. “You’re going to jail, Mr. Sanchez.” “And who is going to put me there, your friend Ranger Hunter? I do not fear dead men.” She started to say Ben wasn’t dead, he had called her only minutes ago, but stopped short. What if he’d killed Ben in

the few minutes since she’d spoken with him? Tears burned the corners of her eyes. “You will answer for the murder of the woman who died in the fire at the Remmeys’ home.” “There was a fire there as well?” he said. “I am sorry to hear that.” Dread wound in a cold thread through her. “How did you get this number? Why are you calling me?” “I believe you and I can come to an agreement that will benefit us both.” “I won’t agree to dying.”

He laughed. “I can kill you. However, I do not want to. But I must be sure you will not cause me any further trouble.” What did he want? Liz didn’t believe for a moment he planned to let her live. “I just want to get on with my life.” “Then I suggest we meet and talk.” Her mind raced. Could she promise to meet the human traffics dealer and have the police there to apprehend him? “How can I know you won’t kill me?” she said.

“Easy. I can, if I choose, kill you at any time. If you do not try to harm me, I will not hurt you. I simply needed Ranger Hunter was out of the way first.” “Out of the way?” she blurted, then checked her panic. “The Juarez District Attorney promised to keep him safe.” “Senor Gomez cannot keep him safe in an El Paso hospital. He died there only minutes ago.” Shock rolled over Liz. How did Sanchez know Ben was in the hospital? That was the plan, she forcibly reminded herself. He was supposed to know Ben

was there. But Ben wasn’t at the hospital. That meant Sanchez was lying. He was trying to rattle her. He couldn’t have killed Ben in the short space of time since Ben had called—and Captain Medina said Ben wasn’t at the hospital. They didn’t know where he was. Did that mean—more thunder clapped. “Why do you care if he is dead?” Sanchez said. “He’s a good man.” “Good men die every day. Men like R.W. Hunter.” Liz went cold.

“Don’t do anything, Liz!” R.W.’s shout reverberated through the phone. She heard a grunt and realized he’d been hit. “Do you want to be responsible for another good man’s death?” Sanchez said. Liz closed her eyes. “What do you want?” “I want to talk with you, face to face.” “When?” she asked. “Why not now?” Her heart thudded. “Where?”

“How about here?” “What?” The door swung open and a flashlight beam blinded her. Liz yanked up the gun and fired. *** A single gunshot roared. For an instant, Ben told himself the sound had been thunder. Then he broke into a sprint through the rain alongside the house. With each jolt, pain radiated down his arm. Lightning brightened the sky as he reached the corner. He forced himself to stop and peer around the edge at the

balcony. His heart thundered and the rain pounded so hard on him and the siding that it seemed his ears roared. He heard nothing, saw nothing. He took the three steps to the balcony and vaulted the stone wall, landing in a crouch. Ben stared into the darkened room and discerned no movement. Still crouching, he scurried to the door, then tried pulling back the heavy glass. It didn’t give. Fear rammed through him, causing his heart to work overtime. Liz was inside. He had to get to her. Had to find out what was going on. Who had

fired that shot? And where the hell were R.W. and Hal? He checked the desire— compulsion—to pull the Bullpup off his shoulder and shoot his way in. “Use your head,” he muttered. There had to be another way inside. Something that wouldn’t give away his presence. Then he remembered a window in the half bath off the hallway. The window overlooked this same side of the mountain. Ben reached the wall in two strides. He wanted to jump this side of the balcony as he had the other, but couldn’t

be sure where he would land. He swung one leg over, then the other, and dropped to the ground. Stinging rain caused him to grimace, but he crept forward in the dark, afraid to turn on the flashlight. He reached the place he estimated the window to be and reached up, feeling along the wood. His fingers contacted a screen. Lightning flashed. Ben swung the Bullpup from his shoulder then poised the butt inches from the window and waited. When thunder boomed, he smashed the window. He barely heard

the glass break and hoped no one inside heard. Carefully, he reached up, felt the window, found the screen, then yanked it free of the sill. Glass tumbled down on him. He turned his head aside, and a piece grazed his neck. He tossed the screen, then knocked the remaining glass free and onto the ground. He hoisted himself up and forced back the pain that seared through his left shoulder where the bullet had passed through. Up and over, he dropped, twisting so that he landed on his right shoulder. He hit with a thud and the

Bullpup clattered on the tile floor. Ben felt as if he’d been rammed with a bat to the solar plexus and lay, drawing in half a dozen deep breaths. The pain subsided to a dull roar and his eyes adjusted enough that he could discern shadows in the room. Ben groped for the Bullpup and found it. He shoved to his feet, then crept to the door. Slowly, he turned the knob and eased the door open, then peered into the hallway. None of the shadows moved. The house was too quiet. There should be candles or hurricane lamps, even

flashlight beams, something to show the occupants were alive. Fear rammed through him like a drug. It wasn’t possible that something had happened. No one knew Liz was here. R.W. and Hal were two of the toughest men he knew. So was Carlos Sanchez. *** Liz shoved to her feet and hurled herself past the fallen figure straight into what felt like a brick wall. One iron arm locked her in a bear hug while a large hand seized the gun and twisted. She

cried out in pain and lost her grip. He ripped the gun from her grasps and clamped a hand over her mouth. Liz twisted and kicked while clawing at the hand covering her mouth. She screamed through the hand, but the pounding of the rain against the house swallowed the sound. “Fuck,” snarled a familiar voice in her ear. “Keep up this shit and I’ll gut you before I fuck you.” Fear froze Liz. Sanchez’s American thug. “You shot me, bitch,” another male

voice said. The man also spoke with an American accent, but she didn’t recognize the voice. A flashlight beam swept across the room and the man holding the flashlight stepped into view. “She got my arm,” he growled. He shifted and looked in her direction. Liz couldn’t discern his features in the dark. She lunged toward the door. The American’s grip slipped and she broke free. “Dumb bitch,” he cursed. Her hair suddenly yanked her hair

and she twisted aside. The American seized her shoulders and drove her backwards. She hit the wall and he slammed into her, crushing the air from her lungs. Liz gasped for breath. “I’ve been thinking about you.” He ground his groin against her. Her stomach took a sickening turn. “This time, I get to do anything to you I want,” he said. “All Sanchez wants is you alive.” He fisted her blouse and yanked. Liz cried out as the top buttons ripped free. He grabbed a breast and she clawed at

the hand that painfully kneaded the tender flesh. Her head spun. Where was R.W.? What about Agent Masters? A sob filled her throat. What about Hal? He must have heard the gunfire. “Did you hear that?” the other man hissed. The American stilled. “Sounded like broken glass,” the other man whispered. “You’re hearing things. It’s the rain.” The American crushed his mouth against Liz’s. She wrenched her head aside.

“Come on,” the other man said. “I don’t like this. Let’s go.” He shined the light on the American’s face. The American cursed, but yanked her so close she could taste his breath. “Make a peep and I’ll beat you so hard even your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. Then I’ll kill your R.W. friend.” Liz gave a small gasp. “That’s right,” he said. “He’s alive. But only if you do what I say.” The other man started for the door and he followed, dragging her alongside.

Her heart raced. R.W. wasn’t dead? Where was he? With Sanchez. Sanchez had R.W. Why keep him alive, why not kill him? And what about Hal? No one had mentioned Hal. The thug railroaded her out the door and down the hall to the stairs. She stumbled on the stairs and he held her upright. They reached the first floor and started around the stairs toward the kitchen. Liz swallowed against a throat that felt like sandpaper. How many men did Carlos Sanchez have at the house? She wished Ben was there, then wished

he wasn’t. He was far away, safe. Right? Tears pressed against her eyelids. She didn’t know if anyone was dead. Maybe —God, they couldn’t be dead. They reached the kitchen and she realized they were taking her outside. Where were they going? Where was Carlos Sanchez? He’d been with R.W.. What had they done to R.W.? They went through the pantry and the American’s companion hurried through the outside door. The American followed. Liz stiffened. “Remember what I said,” he

growled. “How do I know you haven’t already killed R.W.?” she demanded. He gave a gritty laugh. “You don’t.” They stepped off the porch and rain pelted her. Liz dug her heels into the sod. “Then why should I go with you?” she shouted over the rain. He began dragging her. In seconds, her hair plastered across her face. Up ahead, the flashlight bobbed in the darkness. In the far distance, lights dotted the mountainside. Not everyone

had lost power. Was it possible Sanchez and his goons had cut their powerline? No, not unless they could climb power poles. Liz became aware that she was slipping from her captor’s grasp and realized the rain made her arms slick. He jerked and, in the next instant, they went down. Her head hit the ground. Stars burst before her eyes. She shook her head, then vaguely realized she was free of her captor. Liz pushed up onto an elbow. Lightning flashed, then left her in dizzying darkness.

A weight clamped around her waist and large hands shoved her shoulders against the ground. Rain beat down on her face. He released her shoulders and yanked on buttons of her jeans. Liz struck his back with a knee. He grunted but didn’t stop. Rain and terror blinded her. She flailed, body twisting, fists pounding. Her right fist smashed his ear and her self-defense instructor’s voice played in her head. “A knee to the groin will stop every men. But if you can do that, can rip off the man’s ear. Grab that ear and don’t let go.”

Liz latched onto his right ear and yanked as hard as she could. He released her jeans with a howl of pain and slid sideways. The ear slipped from her grasp. Her heart thundered. She went for the ear again but his hand covered it. “Motherfuck. You fucking cunt.” Instructor Wo must have been wrong. She caught his other ear in her right hand. He gave a feral growl. Her grip started to slip at the first pull. “Don’t let go, and pull like you’re zipping up those tight jeans.” She threw all her

strength into zipping up that ear. It seemed to slip more, then the ear ripped free. Her hand banged against the ground with the force of her yank. A clap of thunder drowned out the incessant pounding of the rain along with the American’s scream. He rolled off her, and her stomach churned when she realized his ear lay wet and limp in her hand like raw bacon. She dropped the ear, then shoved to her feet. Wo said it only took five pounds of force to rip off an ear. She thought him crazy—until now. The American

moaned. Adrenaline pumped through her. Wo had also told them to flee an attacker, but this attacker had come back too many times. She distinguished his outline in the dark. He rocked on his knees. Liz drew back a leg and kicked his head. He cried out, then went silent. *** A man screamed. No doubt about it. Ben had heard a man scream—outside. Dammit. First a shot inside the house, now a man’s scream outside. What the hell was going on? Pistol in his right hand, he extended his left hand forward

and hurried as best he could through the kitchen to the mudroom. He stopped short two paces into the room when the sound of rain and the rush of wind told him the door stood open. He crept forward, reached the door, then slowly edged down the two stairs to the ground. Rain hit in big drops, but Ben was certain the storm had eased. Movement up ahead caught his attention. Weapon at ready, Ben shook rain from his eyes in an effort to better make out shapes in the darkness. Something made hard contact with

his belly. The wind rushed from his lungs. He swung his gun left, half doubled over, wheezing in a painful breath. Something rammed into his shoulder. He stumbled right—thankful it was his left shoulder that had taken the blow—then dove to the left and tackled his attacker. They hit the ground. The pistol flew from his hand as they rolled in the mud. His attacker struck out at his face and Ben realized he had his arms around a woman. Liz.

Ben clamped his arms around her and hugged her tightly to him. “Liz.” It really was her. Finally. “Liz.” She twisted and grunted, still trying to break free. A kick to his knee proved it. “Liz,” he said more firmly. She stilled, then threw her arms around him. His head pounded and his shoulder ached, but he felt as if the weight of the world had lifted from him. She began shaking. “Are you injured?” he demanded, then regretted how ingrained training had

forced such a clinical question. She shook her head. They both were soaking wet. He had to get up and get her into the house. “Are you okay?” he asked. “How sweet,” said a male voice over the rain. Liz stiffened and Ben’s eyes flew open. A flashlight beam captured them in its circle of light. “Finding you two together makes being in this pouring rain worth the trouble,” Carlos Sanchez said. A whimper sounded in the darkness

somewhere to their right. “Get up,” Sanchez ordered. “Easy,” Ben whispered to Liz. He pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. In the shadow cast by the flashlight beam, Ben glimpsed the barrel of the Bullpup lying on the ground to his left. The weapon must have fallen off when Liz attacked him. Sanchez held a large-barreled pistol aimed at them. No way he could dive for the Bullpup before Sanchez shot Liz or him. Had Liz been his partner, the one closest to rifle would go for the weapon while the other

took out the thug. But Liz wasn’t trained for combat. In a hostage situation with a civilian, the book said, talk first and look for an opening. Don’t risk innocent lives. A shadow shifted behind Sanchez. Friend or foe? Friend. One of Sanchez’s goons wouldn’t skulk behind his boss. “You lied, you bastard,” Liz snapped. Ben startled at her outburst, then realized she, too, had seen the shadow. Where had she gotten a copy of the Ranger training book?

“You said he was dead.” She took a step forward as if to confront Sanchez. Ben grasped her arm and pulled her back. “What did you expect, Liz? He’s a liar.” The hand holding the flashlight shifted to illuminate the Bullpup. “Do not try to grab your weapon,” Sanchez said. The shadow figure held an arm raised as if to strike. Then the figure took shape, arm not raised in a strike as Ben had thought, but pressing a hand to his head.

“Shoot her. That cunt ripped off my ear,” the man said. Sanchez spun. Ben yanked Liz to him and dove for the ground. They hit the slippery grass and slid. Pain from his wound stuttered his breath. She screamed. Ben shoved her away and grabbed the Bullpup. Sanchez whirled and fired. The bullet pounded into the ground inches from Ben’s face. Ben rolled away from Liz, the light beam tracking his movement. Pain and anger tunneled his vision. Another report

boomed from Sanchez and a round zinged past Ben’s head. Liz screamed his name as Ben brought the rifle to bear on the blurry form holding the light. He squeezed off one round. Missed, but the man with no ear doubled over. Ben rolled again, this time in control, first slamming his rifle on the ground, then rolling over it, shouldering the pain, centering the flashlight in his vision. The earless man collapsed into Sanchez’s legs. Sanchez fired again. A wild shot. The recoil jerked his aim

toward Liz. His balance wavered as the other man slumped. Ben rolled to a kneeling position. Taking the hip shot, the flashlight went airborne. Ben squeezed off another shot. Sanchez went down. *** Liz realized the screams she heard were hers. Soaking wet with rain and mud, she tried to rise, but her legs gave way as if made of rubber. Strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her up. She fell against Ben and he wrapped her in his arms, solid and warm, a wall of

protection. “It’s okay, honey.” He hugged her tighter. “You’re all right.” Was she really all right? Ben had shot Sanchez. But was it over? In bad movies, the villain kept coming back and coming back. Liz shook her head, her face pressed against Ben’s chest. It wasn’t all right. It would never be all right. “Shh,” Ben soothed, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Rain continued to beat down on them. Tears began to fall and she didn’t

think they would ever stop. She tasted salt. Then Ben hugged her close against his uninjured shoulder. “What happened?” a male voice said. “Braxton?” Ben said. “What the hell are you doing here?” “He’s helping me.” Hal rose from his squat beside Sanchez and Liz cried harder. Hal was alive. “He won’t be bothering us anymore,” Hal said over the rain. Ben guided Liz toward the house. “We’re taking shelter,” he said.

“Braxton, grab that flashlight and come inside. You too, Hal.” Liz didn’t think she breathed until the rain cut off and Ben was urging her to sit. She tightened her arms around his neck, but she then caught sight of a flashlight beam and the man holding the flashlight. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She sat settled on the couch. Something banged her hip and she realized with a start that Ben had a rifle slung over his back and she had bumped the butt. Liz checked her waistband. She’d

buttoned up her jeans without realizing it. Was it her imagination or could she still feel her attacker’s fingers clawing at her panties? Ben sat down beside her. “You’re safe, Liz.” He twisted and looked at Agent Braxton. “There’s a hurricane lamp in the kitchen pantry closet.” “I know where it is,” Hal said. They left and the room went dark. Ben’s arm encircled her. “Are you all right?” he asked her. She wasn’t, not really, but she knew what he meant, and said “Yes,” despite

the tremor working its way through her body. “Where’s R.W.?” The quiet words belied the concern evident in his voice. “Oh, Ben.” Liz began to cry. “Mr. Sanchez had R.W.” “Where?” Ben demanded. She shook her head. “I don’t know. He—Sanchez—called me while I was hiding. R.W. and Agent Masters hid me in a closet upstairs. Mr. Sanchez called me.” She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop. “How did he get your number?” Ben

asked. “I don’t know. But he had R.W.. I heard him in the background when Mr. Sanchez called. The American and the other man found me. They knew I was hiding in the upstairs closet. How is that possible?” “I don’t know,” Ben replied. “They took me outside, then you came.” “You have no clue where they took R.W.?” Ben asked. “Probably somewhere outside the house,” he said before she could reply. “If they had him

inside they wouldn’t have gotten you outside. And they couldn’t have him in a car. I would have seen it. Where’s Masters?” “The last I saw of him was when he and R.W. hid me in the closet. Someone was shooting at us. Agent Braxton went to the car and they shot out a headlight. Hal went to check the fuse box upstairs.” Ben shifted, then his cell phone lit up in his hand. “No bars,” he muttered. “What about the land line?” “It’s on a modem,” she said. “It’s out with the electricity.”

He shifted again and she realized he was straining to see something in the direction the men had disappeared. He wanted to go and look for R.W. “Go look for them,” she said. “I’ll be okay.” Though the thought of being alone in the dark started her insides trembling again. “You’re trembling.” He pulled her tight against him. “I’ll look for the boys as soon as Hal and Braxton get back.” His cold, soaked shirt pressed against her chest where her shirt lay open, and she shivered. “Is he really

dead?” she asked. “Two bullets to the heart. You’ve got your life back, Liz.” Did she? What did her life consist of now? Behind Ben, in the hallway, light crept toward them, then Agent Braxton and Hal appeared in the doorway. Ben released her as they approached. Hal set the lamp on an end table and Ben’s gaze locked onto her bared chest. His eyes yanked up to her face. “What happened?” “I’m all right.” Her teeth began to

chatter. “The American—” Ben seized her shoulders. “The American what?” She began to shake. “Nothing happened. No time. I—” She felt cold. So cold. “You what?” Ben demanded. “I pulled off his ear.” Ben blinked. ”That’s what he was saying?” “It’s laying out there in the rain,” she said through chattering teeth. “She’s going into shock,” Ben said. “Hand me the afghan from the chair near

the window.” A moment later, Agent Braxton draped the afghan around her shoulders. “You’ve got to get out of this wet shirt, Liz.” He pulled the sleeve from her left arm, then wrapped the blanket around that arm, then did the same with the other arm and snugged the afghan tight around her. “Better?” he asked. She nodded, then she cried, “You’re bleeding.” “It’s just the stitches I got earlier. They pulled free.”

“You’re not—” “No,” he cut in. “I’m not hurt.” “Don’t move.” He rose and stepped away with Agent Braxton and Hal. “Want to give me the run down?” Ben said to them. They filled him in, and Liz learned that the agent had been wounded, though not seriously, and lost consciousness. He awoke and encountered Hal outside after Hal discovered the house was empty and began to search outside. Neither had no idea where Agent Masters or R.W. were. Liz realized she was crying again. Ben

reached her side an instant later. “Shh, honey.” He pulled her close and she couldn’t halt the flood that followed. “Can you get backup?” Ben asked the agent. “No signal. You got this?” he asked. “I’m going to start searching for my partner and your cousin.” “Yeah,” Ben said. “I’ll keep trying to make contact with headquarters. Hal, give him a hand.” They left and she was alone with Ben.

He held her close and her heart began to slow in rhythm with the beat of his heart. “I’m sorry, Liz,” he finally said. “I don’t know how Sanchez found you. I didn’t think—” “No more sorrys,” she cut in. “You were right. He was determined to end our lives. He was a maniac. It’s over. I hope R.W.—” Her voice broke. “Don’t give up on R.W.,” Ben said. “Like I said, he’s tough.” Bootfalls in the hallway caused Liz to jump. Ben grasped his rifle as the

beam of a flashlight came into view. Ben stood. “R.W.?” “Who else?” R.W. replied, and Liz began to cry again.

Chapter Thirty-Two Ben stared at Medina in shock. “Me? My phone call to Liz is how Sanchez discovered her location?” “That’s right,” Masters said before the captain could reply. “Will--” Braxton began, but Medina interrupted. “If you boys hadn’t gone behind our backs and tapped Ms. Monahan’s phone, none of this would have happened.” Medina’s gaze locked with Masters’. “Seems to me that makes the fact Sanchez found her as much your fault as

ours.” Masters snorted. “That wouldn’t have stopped your boy here from calling her and Sanchez would have still tracked the call. That’s what happens when a case becomes personal.” “That’s what happens when there’s a mole in the ranks,” Medina answered mildly. “Your ranks.” That shut Masters up, but Ben couldn’t get it out of his head that if he hadn’t called Liz, if he’d just stuck to the plan, her life wouldn’t have been endangered. He nearly got her, R.W. and

Hal killed. Not to mention, two federal agents. “He’s right, Captain. I screwed up.” Ben looked at Masters and Braxton. “But that doesn’t mean you should have gone behind our backs.” “You went behind our backs and tucked her away,” Masters shot back. Ben nodded, too tired to fight. “Yeah, we did. And my call is what tipped off your informer. Now what are you going to do about it?” “Catch him,” Braxton said. “With Hunter’s help,” Medina said.

Ben started. “Captain—” “This comes down from the Chief,” Medina cut in. “Dendy’s already spoken with the governor. He agreed. It’s time we played nice together. A lot went wrong on this operation—because the Rangers and the FBI wanted to run independent operations. Let’s not forget, we have half a dozen law enforcement officers to find.” “No word?” Ben asked. “No. But it’s only been twelve hours. However, we’re wondering if their disappearance might not have

something to do with the mole who tipped Sanchez off to Ms. Monahan’s whereabouts.” “Catch him, find them,” Ben said. “Maybe.” Medina shifted his gaze to the two agents. “I think you boys will be hearing from Phillips anytime now.” Masters’ mouth thinned, but he kept quiet. Ben didn’t give a damn what Masters or Braxton or Phillips—their boss—thought. He didn’t care what Medina or Dendy had to say. He was going to see Liz. He’d nearly gotten her killed. She might not want to see him,

but he had to try. He had to apologize. He had to tell her— “There’s something you might want to know, Hunter.” “What’s that?” “Word is, Manny Alvarado has already stepped into Sanchez’s shoes.” “Alvarado?” Ben felt as if he’d taken a baseball bat to the gut. “What’s so special about Manny Alvarado?” Masters demanded. He looked from Medina to Ben. “You’ve got a history with Alvarado.” He snorted. “This is too good.”

Ben slowly turned his gaze onto the agent. “Why did you save my life?” Masters’ brow furrowed, then understanding glimmered in his eyes. “Saving pretty boys like you is my job, and I’m good at it. You didn’t think that meant I liked you, did you?” “Not for a minute,” Ben said, then turned his attention back to Medina. “Alvarado is more violent than Sanchez. If he discovers those six kidnap victims are law enforcement agents he’ll strip them naked and let every one of his men rape them in public, then leave them for

anyone else who wants them. I’m in, Captain.” *** It took four days for the FBI, the Texas Rangers, State Department, Homeland security, and the doctors to release Liz. During that whole time, she had seen Ben only twice in passing. Medina said she and Ben couldn’t be allowed to compare stories. This was such a high profile case, he said, he couldn’t chance the appearance of collusion. Even Masters and Braxton were sequestered somewhere in their

secret underground complex. That had made her laugh for about a second to think the FBI had more secrets than the military or the secret service. Finally free, Liz took a cab to the airport, glad to have come to her senses during those four days. The cabbie got her carryon out of the trunk, accepted the fare and a large tip with a bow before taking off. She had researched a bit about the Stockholm syndrome and it fit her attachment to Ben. It wasn’t his fault. Their lives had been in danger and he

looked up to her as more mature and down to earth. Besides, one night of lovemaking didn’t make a relationship. At the time, she needed him just the way he was: young and in lust. Even now, the thought of a man like him wanting her sent a wave of heat up her cheeks. But it was time to go home. According to her staff, the bad Bond girl mystique created as a result of her kidnapping and race across the border had gone viral. It seemed that every hot chick, and chicks who wanted to be hot, were crying for the outfit she’d worn at

the party. Of course, many would pay more to have one made in custom cuts and leather. All the details made her head spin. Liz paused and glanced back across the airport at the buildings on the horizon. She had gotten to like this town. But she wouldn’t return. Next year, she would send Brenda. It hurt too much. That much, she couldn’t deny. *** Liz arrived home to find a dozen messages on her phone. She pulled pen and paper from a small desk in her

living room, then settled on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and began listening. She reached the last message and her fingers tightened on the phone when Ben’s voice came loud and clear through the line. “Hey, Liz. I guess you haven’t gotten home yet. I’m sorry I missed you before you left. They didn’t tell me you were leaving and, well, I’ve been in meetings. Not much of an excuse, is it, honey?” Liz couldn’t stifle a sob. “I’ll try again later.” A pause followed, and she thought he’d hung up,

then he said, “I miss you.” A click sounded. Liz hugged the phone to her chest, then curled up on the couch and cried. *** In the new Nina Bruno Building in Dallas—bigger and better than the one Carlos Sanchez had burned--Liz’s office door opened and she looked up from the design she studied. “You’ll want to see this,” Becky, her assistant, hurried to Liz’s desk, picked up the TV remote, and pointed it at the TV on the right hand wall.

She changed the channel and the tail end of a toothpaste commercial filled the screen. As the close-up of dazzling white teeth and catchy jingle vanished, a young, pretty reporter appeared on the screen. “To continue our late breaking news, we’re at Las Palmas Hospital in El Paso where we have learned that Texas Ranger Ben Hunter has just been released after rescuing six undercover police officers from Juarez’s human trafficking underworld.” Liz stared. Ben back in Juarez? He’d killed Sanchez, but someone had

surely taken his place—and that someone would kill Ben just as quickly as Sanchez would have. But this is what Ben did: rescue people. Liz unexpectedly remembered the conversation Ben had with his Captain when he took her from the hospital to the safe house. “Completely off the grid?” Ben had said. He also said something about someone telling Sanchez something. He had to have been talking about the missing officers. Suddenly she

understood. The undercover police officers had been sent as the first transport on Francis Remmey’s trucks. “Are you all right, Ms. Monahan?” Liz started at the sound of Becky’s voice. “What? Yes, Becky. I’m fine. Would you give this back to Lisa?” She handed Becky the design she’d been studying. “Sure.” Becky took the papers, then walked back to the door. She glanced at Liz as she reached to close the door behind her. The camera panned from the

reporter to Ben as he emerged from the main entrance of the hospital, followed by three very young, very beautiful women, and started down the walkway toward reporters gathered there. Liz’s heart pounded. He wore jeans and a white shirt—what he’d worn in the hospital that day. His Texas Rangers badge covered the pocket over his left breast. Her heart ached. He looked as good as she remembered. But she’d had little chance to forget. Promotions for their upcoming line were riddled with pictures of the two of

them at the gala. Pictures from the photo shoot he’d done with Tanya sat on Becky’s desk waiting for his approval to be used for other promotions. Their communications to him had gone unanswered, and when Liz had her assistant call Captain Medina, he’d told her that Ben was away on assignment and he didn’t know when he would return. But worse than their promotions was the four calls he’d made to her following that first message. She hadn’t answered or returned his calls. When no

other calls followed, she should have been relieved. Instead, hurt had surfaced. She was unreasonable, and knew it, but that didn’t change her feelings. Ben and the three women neared the reporters and the camera shifted back to the young reporter. “Texas Ranger Ben Hunter headed the operation to rescue six undercover agents missing during an operation to infiltrate accused human traffics dealer Carlos Sanchez’s organization.” Ben and the women reached the reporter and she thrust a

microphone toward him. “Ranger Hunter, can you tell us how the agents are doing?” Ben nodded toward the women who accompanied him. “As you can see, these three officers are doing just fine.” The camera zoomed in on the three beauties who stood beside him. The reporter shifted the mike to the closest woman, a tall, voluptuous blonde. “Can you tell us how Ranger Hunter found you?” She grunted. “He burst in when I was interrogating a prisoner. He

completely blew my cover.” The reporter swung the mike back to Ben. “Is that true, Ranger Hunter?” Ben nodded. “Fortunately, Officer Kelley had pretty much finished interrogating the suspect.” “We understand that one of your agents was killed in the operation,” the reporter said. “Yes,” the blonde said. “Officer Pulaski. She died saving a fourteenyear-old boy from a gang rape.” The reporter blinked, clearly caught off guard, but then she broke from the

shock and said smoothly, “She must have been an outstanding police officer.” “The best,” the blonde said. “And she would have considered her sacrifice well worth the cost. Aside from the boy, we saved two dozen young women and men from lives as slaves.” “Will these young people be returned to their families?” the reporter asked. “The ones who have families,” the officer replied. “Some, like the boy, have no one.” “What will happen to them?”

“The underage kids will enter Mexico’s Social Service system. The rest will try to return to normal life. The young boy might be one of the lucky ones. Officer Harerra over there,” she pointed to the officer to her left, “believes she knows someone who will foster the boy.” “Someone in Mexico?” the reporter asked. She nodded. “Yes.” Officer Harerra nodded to Ben and the blonde, and they pushed their way through the reporters to a waiting sedan.

He opened the door and the female officers slid into the back seat, then he closed the door and got into the front passenger side. Liz stared at his profile as the car rolled forward. He twisted in his seat and looked back at the female agents, his left profile toward the camera. His mouth lifted in that same smile that haunted her. Her heart twisted and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. If he had pursued her, she would have sent him home. But none of that changed the fact she cared for him— despite her best efforts. And the

knowledge didn’t stop the pain. *** Liz set the vase of Prickle Poppy, Indian Paintbrush, Bachelor’s Button and Firewheel on the sideboard in her office beside the other flower arrangement she’d received an hour ago. She ran a finger over the burnt orange of the Indian Paintbrush then lifted the card from the arrangement and read, Liz, We received the dress. Our Belinda will be wearing it tomorrow night as

planned. She looks smashing. We already have customers begging for Abducted by Desire. There has even been a bit on the news about the story behind the dress’ name. Of course, only the most discerning of customers will be allowed to purchase the dress. Abducted by Desire is a hit. Martin Liz shifted her gaze to the dress hanging from a hook on the wall, left of the glass wall looking out across the admin and designers workspaces. Martin

was right. Abducted by Desire was a hit. A big hit. As much as she wanted to believe the instant popularity was due to the design—it was a damn good design —she knew they’d struck gold because of the notoriety of her kidnapping. When LaRouche had ordered the dress with the stipulation that it be named Abducted by Desire, Liz had been caught between laughter and tears. The name was just too ridiculous not to laugh, but she couldn’t escape the memory of Ben the dress evoked. The kidnapping and near death at the hand of

Carlos Sanchez seven weeks ago seemed like a distant dream. But Ben remained clear and ever-present in her mind. Too often, tears still got the best of her. Her chest tightened with the memory of seeing him on the news two weeks ago. She’d told herself a thousand times her feelings were ridiculous, but that just didn’t matter anymore. With a sigh, Liz laid the card on the table. Her gaze caught on the card in the other arrangement. She reached for it, then let her hand drop to her side. Today’s

delivery of flowers made seven since LaRouche let slip the fact they were the only boutique to sell the coveted Nina Bruno design. Other boutiques were begging for the dress and any other Nina Bruno design they could get their hands on. Her office door opened behind her. “If there are more flowers, Becky, just leave them on the desk,” Liz said without turning around. “I was kind of hoping to give them to you personally,” Ben said. Liz spun. He stood in the doorway,

a bouquet of red roses cradled in his left arm. “What are you doing here?” she blurted. “I told you I would come for you.” “You went back to Mexico,” she said. God, what was wrong with her? He lifted a brow. “I would have told you I was going away on assignment, but you didn’t return my calls.” She stared, unable to think of another thing to say, and wished he were anywhere but there; wished they were

alone together anywhere but here. She was going to embarrass herself by crying. “You look good, Liz.” Her cheeks warmed and she became uncomfortably aware that her assistant and two designers stood at a nearby desk staring. He started toward her and Liz froze. He reached her side and laid the roses on the nearby table. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch you before you left. I was sequestered by a dozen agencies.” She shook her head, unable to

speak. “Did you miss me?” he said. “I saw the news report and was worried,” she managed. “Only worried?” He grasped her shoulders. Her mind went blank when his warm fingers touched her skin. “I missed you like crazy,” he said. “You couldn’t have missed me. You were working.” “I missed you.” He tugged her closer. “You can’t do that again, Liz.” “Do what?”

“Not return my calls. It had me distracted, and that’s bad when I’m in the field.” “You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “I’m being serious,” he replied. “You’re too young for me,” she blurted, and couldn’t stop from adding, “and a long distance relationship is out of the question.” “Two points we’ll discuss later.” “There’s nothing to discuss. I—” He cut her off with a kiss. Her mind muddled with the press of his warm mouth against hers. He drew her closer

and her heart began to pound faster. She’d worked hard to forget the night he’d made love to her, but when her breasts pressed his hard chest, her knees weakened and her desires—and fears—brought a threat of tears. His tongue flicked her lips and she threw her arms around his neck and pressed closer as she opened for him. His tongue swept inside as his arms tightened around her and Liz was sure she couldn’t breathe. He turned her and backed her up until her shoulder met the cool surface of the wall. Ben slid a hand

into her hair and fisted it, then gently tugged as he slid his mouth down along her neck. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she whimpered, “They’re watching.” He flicked his tongue against the hollow of her throat. His erection pressed into her belly and she couldn’t think. Ben abruptly broke the kiss and her head whirled. He leaned his arms against the wall on each side of her. “Another minute and I’ll have to touch you, Liz.” She wanted to scream, ‘Why are

you stopping?’ but couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the courage to give into what he was offering. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed her staff. They had turned away, giving her the privacy they thought she needed. She allowed her head to fall forward onto his chest and waited several heartbeats before saying, “You’re too young for me, Ben. That’ll never change.” “That wasn’t the kiss of a woman who thought I was too young for her.”

She shook her head “You’re damned hard to resist.” He laughed, the low, rich sound she’d longed to hear again and again these past weeks. “Honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” “I won’t do a long distance relationship,” she said. “Who said anything about a long distance relationship?” Liz snapped her head up. “You’ve come all this way for a one night stand?” Amusement tugged at the corners of his full mouth. “I want a bit more than

that.” “A weekend? Sorry, I can’t do that.” Her heart was already breaking. “A weekend’s not enough?” he asked. Not nearly enough, she wanted to say. She had to stop now before she couldn’t turn back. Before she agreed to a weekend that would haunt her for the rest of her life. “No long distance relationships. No one night stands. No wild weekends—or weeks,” she quickly added. “I agree,” he said.

“Then what are you doing here?” she whispered. “I’ve come for you.” Then she understood. “You think I’ll come to El Paso? You think well of yourself, Mr. Hunter. Go home.” She tried stepping out of his arms, but he didn’t budge. She met his gaze and lifted a brow. “I’m not going anywhere, Liz.” “What do you want?” she demanded. “You.” “I’m not going to El Paso.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyes like tiny needles. “Then what are you asking me?” “I’m asking you to give me a chance.” She shook her head, aware the tears had finally broken through. “So that my heart will break?” He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “So that I can love you.” Liz blinked. “What?” Her heart pounded and she glanced at the open

door. “Don’t even think about running, honey. You can’t hide from a Texas Ranger.” She swung her gaze back to his face. “It seems romantic now, but after six months or a year of us snatching a day here and a weekend there, you’ll grow lonely and then you’ll feel guilty when you cheat on me.” “I told you, Liz, I want more than a weekend here and there.” “I can’t give up my career,” she said. “I can’t leave Nina Bruno.”

“I wouldn’t think of asking you to. That’s why I transferred to the Dallas office.” “What? You what?” He straightened from the wall. “Meet the new head of the Dallas office Reconnaissance Team. I’ll be training new recruits.” “You gave up field work?” she demanded. “Have you lost your mind? You love that job. Plus, even under the best of circumstances, most relationships don’t work out. The chances of us working out is even less.”

“So, you agree there’s an ‘us’,” he said. “Yes—no. It’s just a figure of speech.” He shrugged. “I’m here, Liz. I’m not going anywhere. I told you that. Now, are you free for dinner?” “You’re crazy,” she said. “Crazy about you,” he said. She started to shake her head, and he said, “I know I’m moving fast, honey, but sometimes that’s just the way it goes. It’s all right if you’re not sure yet. I’m willing to give you forever to figure it

out, as long as you figure it out with me.” He leaned closer. “I’m prepared to stand here until you agree to have dinner with me.” Liz knew exactly where dinner would lead. “Now, just in case you get any ideas, Ms. Monahan, I want you to know that I can be coerced into kissing on the first date. What do you say, you ready to have that steak I still owe you?” “You’re insane,” she said. “Probably. That’s a point we’ll discuss later.” He pulled her flush

against his body. “I’m about to kiss you, Liz.” Before she could reply he kissed her. Liz wrapped her arms around him and melted into his embrace. Then she wished she’d installed blinds on her glass walls.

###

From the Authors We hope you enjoyed Liz and Ben’s wild ride. We had loads of fun uncovering their story. More is in store for our Texas Rangers. Next, is Hijacked. For your reading pleasure, we have a couple chapters from the first book in our Phenom League series Chain Reaction.

Enjoy! Evan and Shawn T. C. Archer

CHAIN REACTION For love of country and a woman, Jordan Pierce must sacrifice his humanity. Former Chicago Detective Jordan Pierce put his life on hold in order to protect America's secret weapon against the Nazis; The Manhattan Project. But he can't protect himself against the disease eating away at his humanity. Jordan

discovers how much of his soul this infection has devoured when he falls in love with the woman who could destroy America. Choosing her, means choosing the monster he's becoming, making him the most powerful man he's ever known.

What you won't find in the history books.

CHAPTER ONE October, 1942 Tension fermented in the air like a sour mash whiskey. By chance, skill, stealth, and deceit I had kept my secret. But tonight I strode down the halls of Chicago University's Eckhart Hall with a feeling my time had run out. Every evening I reported for duty as The Manhattan Project's head of nightshift security not knowing what I missed during those midday hours when I lay dead to the world. Along with the

bizarre sleep that immobilized me, the strange infection raging through my body made me dislike food and drink, stopped my smoking habit cold turkey, and switched me into permanent high gear. The worst part was the dread I barely kept at bay, knowing the people I worked for would turn me into a lab rat if they discovered the truth. My gut coiled tighter as I entered Security Chief Lopez's office at six o'clock sharp. Lopez stood in front of his desk, hat in hand, while rifling through a stack of files. He looked over his

shoulder and our eyes met. I halted. His bloodshot eyes told me something was wrong even without the uncharacteristic loose tie and rumpled black suit. He straightened and raked strands of greased hair over the bald spot in the back of his head. "Pierce," he said, "there's been a security breach." Relief washed over me. This had to be a repeat of the one and only security breach we'd had a couple of weeks ago. In a fit of depression, Miss Therese Hance, a mathematics major

here at Chicago University, had written a poem. I still recalled the verse verbatim: Dear little neutronian who lives on a nucleus in an atom of my knee, if you do not stop jumping around, you are going to cause an atomic blast and blow up the universe. With the top-secret race to beat the Germans to the first nuclear chain reaction going on at Chicago University, the poem hit too close to home. When Miss Hance's professor, Dr. Albert,

found the poem on her desk here in Eckhart Hall—Dr. Albert had some vague awareness of the research going on—he passed the poem along to Oppenheimer, and Oppenheimer panicked. Lopez and I barely prevented the scientists from having a collective nervous breakdown. I gave Lopez a not this again look. "Which student wrote another poem? Miss Hance didn't know a thing. It'll be the same this time." Then I added before he could reply, "Don't tell me you bought into the story about how her

studies in group theory gave her a subconscious knowledge of the scientific research being conducted here." Lopez shifted and I caught sight of the bright red, Eyes Only, top-secret folder beside the pile of folders he had been thumbing through. I started. An Eyes Only report could only have originated with General Groves, head of The Manhattan Project. This was no student poem. "We intercepted a radio message north of the Ontario border last night." Lopez grabbed the folder and extended it

toward me. "The code-breakers say the message contains the correct amount of Uranium 235 needed to sustain a chain reaction." "The true U-235 amounts?" I blurted, mechanically reaching for the folder. Our big edge over the Nazis was the knowledge of how little Uranium 235 was needed to start a chain reaction. Of the two isotopes of uranium, U-238 and the rare U-235, the Nazi's head scientist, Werner Heisenberg, believed they needed a uranium concentration of ninety

percent U-235 to build an atom bomb. According to our head scientist, Enrico Fermi, only a twenty percent concentration of the rare isotope would reach critical mass. The disparity was enough to keep the Germans busy doing nothing but enriching uranium until we drove them back to Berlin. But we had to attain the first nuclear chain reaction to ensure victory. I dropped my stare to the folder and forced my fingers to close around it as Lopez's hand fell away. A bona fide breach here at Chicago Pile One? No

one in the outside world knew what was really going on in Eckhart Hall's Metallurgical Lab. The real liability lay a block away at Stagg Field. The scientists were building an atomic pile in an abandoned squash court beneath the field's west grandstands. Damn it, I'd warned Lopez someone would get suspicious at seeing scientists constantly running between Eckhart Hall and Stagg Field, briefcases clutched so tightly their knuckles turned white. Suddenly Miss Therese Hance's poem didn't seem so farfetched. Who else had noticed strange

activity at Eckhart Hall? "Who else besides the CP-1 scientists have this information?" I asked. Lopez's mouth thinned. "You, me, and General Groves." Groves and Lopez were above suspicion. The transmission had to have come from one of the fifty-two scientists working on the project. They all understood the ramifications of an atomic weapon in the hands of a madman like Hitler. I couldn't believe any of them capable of selling out their country,

much less the rest of the world. I swung my gaze up to Lopez's face. "If the Nazis find out Heisenberg's equations are wrong…" "And the Nazis get their hands on the correct equations…" We both let the unsaid words hang: The US could lose the war. "Any leads?" I asked. "Nothing. I rang your apartment an hour ago when the report hit my desk, but you must have been out." I nodded. Here was the reason for the dread I'd experienced tonight. A

crisis like this could draw attention to the fact I was always out during the height of daylight hours. My service during the Great War combined with my position as a detective on the Chicago Police Force had gotten me through the security check for this job. Keeping a low profile had kept my secret safe— until now. "What are our instructions?" I asked. "Sit tight and observe until the spooks finish their investigation." He nodded at the folder. "It's all there. I've

already requested a list of the scientists who have access to the U-235 information, as well as a few other topics so the librarians can't guess who or what we're after." "When will the report be available?" I asked in a tone I hoped didn't show my disbelief. Waiting for our counter intelligence experts to mull over mounds of information wasn't General Groves’ style. Groves was the kick-ass type who single-handedly spearheaded the construction of the Pentagon, the world's largest office building.

"When they're ready," Lopez said. "We've got to catch this guy, but can't chance alerting the scientists to the possibility we have a spy. Any panic, and the university might discover this isn't the harmless metallurgical laboratory our government claims. Those bleeding heart academics will strip us naked and toss us ass first to the media wolves. In the meantime, we go on alert. Our inside network is working to pinpoint where the information originated." Suddenly, the folder felt like it

weighed a ton. I'd never expected to be holding one of these super secret reports. My thirty-nine years of age made me ineligible to fight this war, so I'd consoled myself with the knowledge Chicago cops were needed to keep the streets safe here at home. When I'd been attacked in the alley eight months ago, I'd put my life on hold while I hunted for the fiend who attacked me. Now, I'd set aside my search in order to aid the war effort because I was even more afraid of Hitler's Nazis and Mussolini's fascists gaining control than I was of what I had

become. The longer I put off finding out who infected my body with this sickness, the less likely the chances I'd be able to reverse the disease. I hadn't allowed myself to think about what I might become if the disease ate me alive. "We can't let those bastards win the war," I said. Lopez's mouth thinned. "I have to fly to Washington. You're in charge while I'm gone." "Me?" I forced back shock. "What about Banks? He's your dayshift second in command."

"You're head of nightshift. Groves says you're in charge when I'm not here." My mouth went dry. Lack of seniority enabled me to do this job. I wanted to ask when he would return, grill him on every tiny detail in the red file I gripped, anything, to keep him talking and here at CP-1. His gaze bored into me. "You got this handled?" "Yeah," I replied. Without another word, he donned his hat and disappeared out the door.

I stared at the open doorway and muttered to the empty room, "As long as I can find the leak before sunrise."

CHAPTER TWO I had read only eight of the eleven pages of the Eyes Only report when I got the call. Two minutes later, I stood outside the closed office door of Dr. Leonard Heinrick, stopped by the smell of cold blood seeping from the room. A lot of blood. What stopped me wasn't the heightened sense of smell that aroused boyhood memories of the way my father smelled when he returned from the slaughterhouse where he worked, but the stomach-churning odor of decaying

blood. I fought back a rising panic. Why the hell hadn't Lopez caught a plane an hour later? As head of security, he should be standing here instead of me. At the very least, he should have locked down the lab and given me authority to run my own investigation. Instead, he'd tied my hands and left me waiting for information from the eggheads. Movement on the other side of the door's frosted glass startled me from the dread and I recognized the blurred form of Officer Of the Day, or OOD,

Colonel McHenry. I opened the door. He stood near the desk in the cramped office and turned, revealing the mutilated body of Leonard Heinrick. He lay on his back, arms at his side as if at attention. Blood had pooled in his right eye socket. Crimson stained the front and sides of his starched white shirt where his throat had been cut, and over a quart of blood had puddled on the floor under his head. A chill snaked up my back. The precision throat slice reminded me of the way Lawrence 'Lucky Larry' Fiato liked to kill—when he had the time to enjoy

his work. "You didn't touch anything?" I asked in reflex as I forced my legs to carry me forward. The stench of dead blood made me want to vomit. Week-old hamburger would smell better. McHenry marched to the door, quietly shut it, then faced me, hands clasped behind his back. "I secured the crime scene, then called you from the office next door." I didn't know what secured the crime scene meant—the Army wasn't known for doing things like the Chicago

PD. I swallowed back rising revulsion as I unbuttoned my suit jacket and squatted beside the body. The disease flowing through my veins made me crave warm, living blood. Dead human blood made my gut roil as if I'd taken a nosedive in a Douglas A-24 Banshee. I made as close an inspection of the body as possible without disturbing anything. Nothing obvious was missing. Heinrick's wallet bulged in his front pants pocket and the Prexa Swiss-made Chronograph Manual watch he wore was still strapped to his left wrist. No

other wounds were visible, but forensics would have to tell me what his backside looked like. The rotting odor I knew Colonel McHenry couldn't smell forced me to choke back a gag. I'd seen my share of blood and death. At fifteen years of age, my six-foot height and sprouting beard got me into the Army during the Great War, where I saw enough death and dismemberment near Maginot Line in France to last a lifetime. Now I couldn't get past the violent aversion to cold, dead blood. But I'd have to deal with my

loathing in order to find the killer. The stabbing to Heinrick's eyes indicated torture and the slice to his neck was professional. A trained killer had infiltrated the sterilized ranks of Chicago Pile One. I had to work fast. Espionage, torture, and murder mounted a greater problem than being out of communication during the midday hours when I lay unconscious. We couldn't afford to draw attention to the lab with the kind of security found on military instillations, so we kept security light. I'd strapped on

the Colt .45 General Groves had insisted Lopez and I keep in our desks in case of emergency, but neither McHenry, nor any of his civilian-dressed officers—we had to make the daily business look like a typical university operation—carried weapons. A policy that had to grate against McHenry's military mind. Yet strangers didn't enter Eckhart Hall without notice. So how had someone waltzed into Heinrick's office noticed? I stood and walked a circle around the corpse. More important than the how was the why? Scientists had

reasons to be jealous of one another: status, projects, publications, and occasionally romance created friction among them. But these motives seldom led to murder. Was Heinrick's murder related to the security breach or another matter altogether? The easy answer was that Heinrick had passed on the priceless U-235 information, then outlived his usefulness. But I had a feeling there'd be no easy answers. I steeled myself against the nausea, squatted again, and drew the stench deep into my nostrils. In two

seconds, I knew Heinrick had been dead approximately four hours. "You were killed around quarter after six, Heinrick," I murmured. "How can you tell?" McHenry asked. I looked up, having forgotten him. "Hypostasis." I drew an imaginary circle around Heinrick's eye with my forefinger. "See how pink his skin is here? That's an indication the blood is settling in the lowest parts of his body. The pinker the skin, the earlier the time of death." I glanced at McHenry, not

adding that hypostasis commenced approximately six to eight hours after death and isn't fully pronounced for eight to twelve hours. Truth was, I couldn't explain how I knew the age of dead blood, and I'd grown tired of trying to understand the strange ability. I dropped my gaze back to the bloody neck. "Just a guess. The coroner will have the final say." "Security is on full alert," McHenry said. "We're on lockdown. If the killer is still here, we'll find him." I nodded, not saying, If he isn't

one of the staff or military personnel. Inside jobs were the hardest for military police to accept. Traitors in the midst of patriotic zeal hit hard. I rose. "I assume none of the evening staff are missing?" "No." "You have someone checking on the day crew?" If the murder turned out to be an inside job, he could be in Canada by the time the day shift showed up and we discovered him missing. "Banks is on it," McHenry replied.

"How about the office?" I asked. "Anything missing?" "Don't know. Security still has to inventory the contents of the safe." I glanced at the combination safe by the desk where Heinrick stored his classified documents. What McHenry called a safe was a fortified steel file cabinet with a combination dial about the size of my fist with a sturdy lever type handle. Every scientist had a similar safe. Some had two drawers like Heinrick's, others four. If the thief had accessed the safe, he wanted us to think

otherwise: the drawers were closed and the cabinet looked unmolested. I took two steps to the safe and pulled my handkerchief from my back pocket. Using the handkerchief to cover my fingers, I jiggled the handle and yanked. Locked. "I'll have the contents inventoried and dusted for prints," McHenry said. Spies preferred photographing documents instead of stealing them. Missing documents were always assumed to be in foreign hands, and

steps taken to discredit, invalidate, or obfuscate the secrets within. The killer had made no efforts to hide the fact he was a professional, so why hide the fact he'd stolen documents? Now everything in the safe would be considered compromised. My gut said because he hadn't been interested in the safe's contents. "Who found the body?" I asked as I scanned the sides of the safe. "Dr. Nichols." Dr. Gladys Anne Nichols, thirty years old—seven years younger than me

—had four degrees from Vassar, Wellesley and Cornell. I had reviewed her personnel file a week ago when she arrived, but hadn't met her. I thought she worked dayshift. "Where's she now?" "Roma's office." "I'll have a chat with her. Let me know when the Chicago PD arrives." "General's orders are he talks to you first." I jerked my gaze onto McHenry. "Chicago PD hasn't been notified?" "You have to talk to General

Groves first." The implacable set of McHenry's jaw said he wasn't saying more, but I wasn't in the habit of leaving dead bodies lying around. "You haven't reported the murder yet?" "The Army doesn't report to local police." "This isn't a military installation," I said. "You were going to talk to Dr. Nichols." He turned to the side, indicating I should precede him out of

the room. I stared for a long moment, but knew he wasn't going to budge until I left the crime scene. I strode from the room, McHenry closing the door behind us and taking up guard in front of the door as I kept going. "Damn Army by-the-bookboard-up-their-asses attitude," I muttered as I turned the corner in the hallway. I used to like that about the Army when I served. I guess I was young and dependent back then. A moment later, I halted in front of the closed door where Dr. Nichols

waited. The name painted on the glass read: Dr. Enrico Roma, the alias of the great scientist and Nobel Prize laureate Enrico Fermi. The alias didn't fool anybody but the ignorant. Light shone through the milky glass window. I blew out a breath. The last thing I wanted to do was interrogate a hysterical woman. I opened the door and stopped dead at the sight of a shapely blonde leaning against Fermi's mahogany desk. I stared as realization sunk in that the Veronica Lake look-alike standing there was the same egghead pictured in her

personnel file. The glasses she'd worn were absent and, despite the red-rimmed eyes and drawn expression, the single overhead light warmed the creamy complexion that had looked bland and colorless in the photo. Thick blond hair slid across her face in a broad wave and flowed down slim shoulders. Suddenly, I understood the reasoning behind the functional bun in the picture. Despite the legs that mesmerized a man all the way down to the high heel straps, the tweed skirt and blazer she wore emphatically stated the

bombshell figure was off limits. But the moment a man laid eyes on her luxurious hair all bets were off. My breath caught with bloodlust as I drew in her scent from across the room. Gray-blue eyes stared from behind the drape of blond hair. Her gaze flicked to my waistband and I realized she'd glimpsed the colt holstered beneath my suit jacket. "You wear your gun like a gangster," she said. I startled. Her voice, low and sultry, held a shaky note, but I knew the

remark was payment for my staring. "This incident requires I carry a weapon." My drill sergeant used to berate any reference to the word gun. "Your gun is between your legs, son. Your pistol or rifle is called a weapon." She continued to stare and guilt stabbed at me. She'd discovered a colleague who'd been brutally murdered, and I stood in the doorway gawking at her. I swallowed, feeling like a school kid. "Dr. Nichols, I'm Agent Pierce, head of nightshift security." Her fingers

tightened around a lace handkerchief gripped in her right palm. I didn't want to step closer, but had to. Her pheromones were making my blood, or what was left of it, crave an infusion from her veins. "What happened?" Her gaze dropped to the hankie and she began working the fabric with both hands. "I was working late and needed Leon to come to the lab. I couldn't get the Geiger counter to calibrate. I knocked. When no one answered, I opened the door and…" Her eyes swung up to meet mine. "So much

blood." Her gaze remained locked with my eyes as if demanding a response. "I'm sorry," I offered. "I thought you were assigned to dayshift." She swiped at the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief. "I switched shifts yesterday so Leon and I could calibrate the new equipment." I nodded. The scientists worked a twelve hours on, twelve off schedule seven days a week. We were in a race against Nazi scientists while men died in Europe, North Africa, and the Pacific. "Did you notice anything unusual

tonight?" I asked. "Nothing." "Hear anything strange on the way to Dr. Heinrick's office, pass anyone in the hall?" She shook her head. "Maybe he's still here." Something in the way she stared at—through—me, searching for answers and fearing what she might find, threatened to tip me off balance. "The murderer is gone," I replied in a level voice. "How do you know?"

"A hunch," I said, and meant it. "Why kill Heinrick?" she said. "Why not Compton or Fermi? But Heinrick…" Her voice trailed off. "Are you saying Heinrick didn't know anything worth killing for?" "I suppose we all know something worth killing for. Each scientist on this project is top in his or her field. But the project will go on without Heinrick. If we lost Oppenheimer, or Fermi, the project would be delayed, if not brought to a standstill."

"Did you enter Heinrick's office?" "No, I took one look and ran." The response, given without hesitation, or guile, made me wonder if this woman ran from anything. "This was the first office I came to," she said. Her story made sense, and my instincts said she was telling the truth. I had learned to trust my sixth sense, especially the last eight months. This ability was another one of those things I couldn't explain, like being conscious of

the way her pheromones where working on me double-time. "Are you staying in the dorm?" I asked. She nodded. "I'll have someone escort you there." Desire to go with her shot to the surface with the heat of a volcano. I pictured white skin, full breasts, and blond hair between perfect thighs. I forced my breathing to remain even, and the swelling in my shorts abated. I'd never experienced such sudden, intense

lust. If I escorted her back to her room I would drink her blood—and God only knew what I would do to her afterward. My pulse jumped with the thought of her warm blood flowing past my tongue down my throat… and her tight walls closing around me as I entered her. "I have to complete my measurements before the day shift," she said. I jarred from the erotic thought. "There's not enough equipment to go around," she added. I nodded. "Of course." Clipped footsteps sounded

almost noiselessly on the linoleum floor of the hallway and I recognized McHenry's walk two seconds before Dr. Nichols's eyes shifted over my shoulder. "Pierce." I glanced back to see him standing in the open doorway. "The general wants to talk to you." A measure of sanity reasserted itself. I had to get away from her, now. "Could you escort Dr. Nichols back to the lab?" His expression lightened. "No

problem." He stepped aside and motioned toward the door with an open hand. "Dr. Nichols." She cast me a farewell glance and headed toward the door. I tried tearing my eyes from the gentle sway of hips as she walked past, but couldn't, and felt the heat swell to the surface again. I had to find one of the small rodents whose blood I drank to keep my thirst for human blood at bay, or go back to Heinrick and hope the congealed blood in his decaying body would make me forget the craving. Rising desire

twisted my insides and I feared even Heinrick's dead blood wouldn't work against the warm, pulsing blood of Dr. Nichols. I waited until their footsteps receded down the hall, then started forward. My gaze caught on Fermi's portable chalkboard on wheels, and I stopped. Equations filled the board that would have looked like Greek to me in my former life. Now, they sparked a story in my mind. Differentials, integrals, and algebra flowed in an almost perfect melody. The first time I

saw calculus after becoming infected with this disease, I stared, fascinated. After flipping through a text on advanced mathematics I found in the small but well stocked CP-1 library, I could visualize the differential as rates of change, the integrals as sums, and functions as shapes and movement. I stared at the puzzle of Fermi's equations, one side of my brain working the numbers, the other side stuck on the murder. Heinrick's eye had been stabbed in a careful, deliberate manner to inflict maximum pain without killing. Yet no

one had reported the screams, which must have penetrated his office walls. Why? Like the equations on the board, the evidence didn't fit. Except, equations could be fixed. Heinrick would be dead forever. I stepped up to the chalkboard, picked up a stick of chalk, and tapped down the chalkboard alongside the offending column of calculations. Halfway down, I fixed an exponent and turned a minus sign to a plus, then fixed the equation below, which didn't equal zero as Fermi had written. I circled the

answer and connected the derivation on the right hand side of the board to the bottom equation on the left, which now equaled each other. I stood back. Harmony now flowed between the equations. I didn't know what they represented, but they were now correct. The first time I stood in front of this chalkboard and recognized a mistake, I had walked away. If anyone discovered my abilities, I would be consigned to hell in some biological laboratory I dared not contemplate beyond the knowledge of its existence.

Later that night, I found a communiqué on my desk from General Groves reporting ninety-eight men had died, including Rear Admiral Daniel Judson Callaghan and Captain Cassin, when the USS San Francisco sank during the battle of Guadalcanal. Groves had handwritten a single sentence on the Teletype page: This is why we're doing this. I had rushed back to write my solution, but found Fermi had erased everything. Since then, I didn't chance leaving Fermi's mistakes uncorrected. I set the chalk back in the tray

and brushed my hands on my trousers. As for my personal problem, even if I found a cure for the need to drink blood, I would still never be the same after this war, no one would. Yet, whatever I was, I would still be alive. Many men wouldn't be.

Shop T. C. Archer’s other Titles Full Throttle Chain Reaction Book One in the Phenom League Sasha’s Calling Fontana’s Trouble The Pickle My Little Friend

Kursoval Scourge series Winter in Paradise

Yeoman’s Curse Blood Angles series Knot of the Slain

Coming Soon Texas Ranger: Special Ops series Hijacked Special Response Team Sin series Sin Revisited Sin Reborn

About the Author T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story The Pickle My Little Friend, and has evolved into nearly a dozen works, which includes their new series The Phenom League, and the Daphne Du Maurier winner, romantic thriller For His Eyes Only.