Книга - In This Together

In This Together
Kara Lennox


Travis Riggs is way past desperate.With time running out to overturn his brother’s wrongful murder conviction and stop his niece’s adoption, Project Justice is Travis’s last hope. But when his request for an interview is denied, he resorts to drastic measures – kidnapping the founder’s personal assistant Elena Marquez. Travis hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, least of all the chemistry between him and Elena. If they had met under different circumstances they may have had a chance at something great. However, the last thing he wants is to drag her down with him, which is exactly what will happen if he agrees to let her help.Not that Elena is giving him much of a choice…







Desperate times call for desperate measures…

And Travis Riggs is way past desperate. With time running out to overturn his brother’s wrongful murder conviction and stop his niece’s adoption, Project Justice is Travis’s last hope. But when his request for an interview is denied, he resorts to drastic measures—kidnapping the founder’s personal assistant, Elena Marquez.

Travis hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, least of all the chemistry between him and Elena. Under different circumstances, they may have had a chance at a relationship. However, the last thing he wants is to drag her down with him, which is exactly what will happen if he accepts her help. Not that Elena is giving him much of a choice….


Travis enjoyed the playful conversation way more than he should have

It was almost as if they were on a first date…flirting. With each snippet Elena revealed about herself, his admiration for her grew.

He suddenly wished he had met her at some other point in his life, instead of this desperate moment. When was the last time he’d flirted with a woman? Had to be Judith.

Had he ever even known what it felt like to simply enjoy the company of a woman? He’d spent his youth staying alive, keeping his brother on track. Then there was the army, prison, his business…and Judith. Nothing about his ex-wife had been simple. Every encounter with her had been fraught with the stress of trying to meet her expectations.

His heart ached unexpectedly with what could never be—not with Elena, and probably not with anyone. By the time he got out of prison this time, he’d be an old man, and Elena would be married to someone else with a houseful of children, even grandchildren.

Another Project Justice story where fighting injustice can lead to finding love!


Dear Reader,

Being kidnapped would have to be in my top five fears. Maybe I’ve watched too many serial killer true crime shows. But I wanted to do a book where the heroine was kidnapped, tapping into my own primal emotions.

The kidnapping romance plot is an oldie but a goodie; the trick is to make it fresh for modern readers. I chose to place most of my focus on what happens after the hostage situation ends. How do two people who had such an unpromising start ever forge a relationship?

I have to give credit to my feisty heroine, Elena, for going after what she wants despite everyone in her world telling her she’s wrong. I’m not sure I’d be as determined, or as forgiving. But then, if I wrote about a heroine who was me, it might not make a very good book. (I don’t have much drama in my life!)

Hope you enjoy Elena's and Travis’s adventure!

Kara Lennox




In This Together

Kara Lennox







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kara Lennox has earned her living at various times as an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. She’s been an antiques dealer, an artist and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has ever made her happier than writing romance novels. To date, she has written more than sixty books. Kara is a recent transplant to Southern California. When not writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of hobbies. Her latest passions are bird-watching, long-distance bicycling, vintage jewelry and, by necessity, do-it-yourself home renovation. She loves to hear from readers. You can find her at www.karalennox.com (http://www.karalennox.com).


For my writing support/brainstorming group: Tessa Dare, Laura Drake and Susan Squires. You all have no idea how much you inspire me.


Contents

Chapter One (#u2708a7f3-3f64-5696-9c29-7755a6690776)

Chapter Two (#u5673cb64-e721-56d8-8940-82bc2c09ad99)

Chapter Three (#ue94708ee-9961-57df-9464-df262b87ccce)

Chapter Four (#u8f77dabf-0154-517f-b4f7-08c0d63fb4a9)

Chapter Five (#uf755a411-188a-52be-9d9b-cf7ddd31a54d)

Chapter Six (#ubc30436c-823f-5246-bf05-a11ed39f4acf)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

TRAVIS RIGGS LOOKED up at the imposing wrought-iron gate, and for the first time in his life he knew what the word awe truly meant. Who the hell had a gate like this? Who needed a gate like this? What was Daniel Logan protecting? This ostentatious show of wealth didn’t jibe with the Daniel Logan he’d heard about, the one who’d spent six years on death row for a murder he didn’t commit, the one who’d devoted his life to helping other men and women who’d been falsely convicted of serious crimes.

He wondered if this was some wild-goose chase.

Still, Travis had come too far to turn back. Whoever Daniel Logan was, he was the last hope for saving Eric. Travis had put on his best shirt and his newest pair of jeans, the ones that weren’t yet paint spattered. His work boots weren’t exactly classy, but it was that or beat-up athletic shoes. He didn’t have much call for dressing up in his normal life.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the buzzer.

“Yes, may I help you?” The husky female voice was unexpected. Whoever she was, she had an accent, not strong but exotic nonetheless. A picture came into his mind of a sultry Spanish flamenco dancer.

“Yes, my name is Travis Riggs. I’ve come to see Daniel Logan.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Every time he thought about his unsuccessful phone calls to Project Justice, his blood boiled. I’m sorry, you’ll have to fill out the online form. No matter what he said, he got the same response. Even when he’d gone in person to the foundation’s physical address in downtown Houston, he still couldn’t get anywhere. An elderly dragon of a woman had barred his way and insisted the online form was the only method open to him.

“I’m very sorry,” the flamenco dancer said, “but Mr. Logan’s schedule is full. To see him, you have to have an appointment.”

“I tried to make an appointment.” Travis kept a death grip on his temper. “But they kept telling me I had to go online and fill out a form.”

“Oh...you’re here because of Project Justice?”

“Yes, ma’am.” If he could just keep the mystery woman from cutting him off, he was sure he could talk his way through this impenetrable gate. He was hopeless with online forms, but he could be very persuasive with women. Younger ones, anyway.

“So, may I ask why you didn’t fill out the form?”

“I did. At least, I think I did.” He’d gone to the public library to use their computer, but computer skills weren’t his strong suit. “I got stuck in a loop that kept taking me back to the same page, and then I kept getting these error messages...” By the time his thirty minutes were up, he’d been ready to bash his head through the computer screen. He’d hit the submit button, but he still wasn’t sure exactly what he’d submitted.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad experience.” The funny thing was she actually sounded like she was sorry. “Maybe you could get someone to help you?”

Like who? All of his many friends? He’d pretty much lost touch with everybody he’d ever been close to, except Eric. Eric was the one constant in his life. And he was not going to abandon his cause. Ever.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I’ve kind of run out of options. I’m up against a deadline. My brother’s going to lose his little girl.” Travis realized then there was a security camera above him. The woman with the sexy voice was probably watching his every move, yet he had no idea what she looked like.

“You have a friend or loved one who is in prison?” she asked, sounding curious.

“Yes, ma’am. My little brother, Eric. I can promise you on a stack of Bibles he didn’t do it. He would never kill his wife. He loved her. He never raised a hand to her, and he certainly would never do what they said he did.”

“Has he exhausted his appeals? Is he on death row?”

“He was sentenced to life in prison without parole. And he’s still appealing—but like I said, he’s about to lose his daughter. She’s going to be adopted by her horrid foster parents. MacKenzie is the only link he has to Tammy. I have to do something. It’s not fair.”

Travis had intended to keep his emotions out of it. But every time he thought about MacKenzie moving on to new parents, calling some other people Mommy and Daddy, his throat closed up and his eyes burned. Eric had been the best father in the world. From the time baby MacKenzie had come home from the hospital, Eric had changed her diapers and fed her, helped with 2:00 a.m. feedings, gone with Tammy to take the baby for doctor visits. The sun had risen and set with that little girl. And now he couldn’t even see her, except for sporadic and very brief visits with a glass partition between them.

“Just a minute,” Ms. Sexy Voice said. “I will talk to Mr. Logan and see if he can spare a few minutes. Your brother is Eric? Eric Riggs?”

“Yes.” She probably recognized the case. The entire trial had been televised on some cable station.

“Please be patient. Sometimes it takes a while to pin Daniel down to a conversation.”

Travis would be patient. He would stand outside this house all day and all night if he had to. But somebody had to listen to him.

* * *

ELENA MARQUEZ TURNED OFF the mic, but she continued to regard their visitor on the monitor. He was a man of uncommon handsomeness—not like a pretty-boy movie star, but more like a cowboy riding the fences—dark, glossy hair, rugged, tanned. A face of harsh planes and angles that somehow fit together pleasingly.

But the world was full of handsome men. It was the emotion in his voice—and on his face—that moved her. Normally, if some stranger came to the gate, security turned them away—period. Daniel Logan, with his extreme wealth, was a target for all kinds of kooks and terrorists. Today, however, Elena was sitting in for their regular security guy while he was on his lunch break. They were short staffed; it was holiday season, and the flu was running rampant among the employees. She’d just gotten over it herself.

She would talk to Daniel.

Abandoning her post by the front-gate monitor, she made her way through the house to the elevator, then descended to Daniel’s lair. That’s what everyone called it. Down here he had his office, which looked something like NASA’s Mission Control. He sat in the middle of a horseshoe-shaped desk he’d had custom-made out of some exotic wood. A minimum of three computers lined up on the desk. Then he had TV screens all around on the walls, tuned to the news and weather channels. And he always had at least three or four cell phones—why anyone needed to have that many, she wasn’t sure. He only had one mouth, but she supposed he could text with one, talk with another and check email with the third.

When he wanted to take a break, he had his own fully equipped workout room. There was even a dining patio with faux sunlight that looked as if it could have been transported from a Tuscan sidewalk café.

Daniel’s commanding voice drifted toward her as she strode down the hall. “I can see this is something I have to take care of myself. Give me an hour.” He sounded thoroughly vexed about something, so this probably wasn’t the best time to approach him with a request. But what choice did she have?

He was hanging up the phone as she rounded the corner and tapped on his open office door. “Daniel, can I have a word with you?”

“You can have ten words, as long as you can walk and talk at the same time.” He stood and went to the antique armoire in the corner, where he had several sets of clothes on hangers—suits, tennis clothes, polo clothes. He grabbed one of the suits at random, pulled it out and hung it on the door. Then he started peeling his clothes off.

Elena was used to this sort of thing from him. She turned around and faced the wall. “Is something wrong?” Dumb question, Elena. Of course something was wrong. And she’d just wasted three of her ten words. She never knew if Daniel was serious about things like that. She’d always had a hard time deciphering his dry sense of humor.

“You could say that. There’s a possible leak in Reactor Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” That was all Daniel needed—some kind of radioactive leak in the new power plant Logan Oil had recently acquired. Logan Energy, she reminded herself. The corporation had changed its name as it refocused on alternate forms of energy.

“I’m almost positive it’s an equipment malfunction and not an actual leak,” he said, more to himself than her. “But it’s something I feel the need to micromanage.”

“Understandable. But, Daniel, there’s a man here who really needs to talk to you.”

“You’ll have to reschedule his appointment. Is it that guy about the intern program?”

“No, he’s coming later. This man doesn’t have an appointment. But—”

“They why are we even talking about him? Tell him to make an appointment.”

“He tried, but apparently the online form tripped him up, and Daniel, he seems so desperate. I feel you should listen to him.”

“Desperate about what? You can turn around.”

She did. He was in the process of tucking a crisp white shirt into his suit pants. Without being asked, she searched in the bottom of the armoire for an appropriate pair of shoes. It was one of the things she was good at—anticipating his needs. She enjoyed her job, but it was demanding, and she was always glad that, at the end of the workday, she could clock out and his wife, Jamie, could take over. Not that he ordered Jamie around the way he did Elena.

“His brother is in prison for killing his wife, and—”

“This is about Project Justice? Did you tell him to go online—”

“He said he’s done that. But he had trouble with the form, and there’s a deadline involved—”

“Death row?” Daniel knotted his tie without even using a mirror.

“No. Life in prison. But—”

“An impending execution is the only excuse for anybody not going through the proper channels. Elena, you know the rules. Frankly, I’m surprised that you’re bothering me with this.”

She felt properly chastised. But if Daniel could just talk to him for five minutes... Okay, she was pulling out the big guns. “I’d consider it a personal favor.” She didn’t ask him for much. He worked her hard, but he also paid her well and demonstrated his concern for her well-being every day.

That made Daniel stop. “Elena. I can’t today. This isn’t an ordinary crisis. If we can’t get the new power plant on line, on schedule, it will cost us millions of dollars. And if this is more than a gauge malfunction—well, it could be a lot worse.”

Logan Energy’s foray into alternative energies was a gamble, but Daniel thought it unwise to keep all his eggs in the fossil fuel basket. He wanted to do his part to reduce carbon emissions, too. Naturally he was more anxious than usual.

“Tell this man that if he can’t manage the form on his own—though frankly a trained monkey could do it—he can ask for assistance. If someone really needs Project Justice’s help, they’ll persevere.” With that, Daniel strode toward the stairs, leaving her in his wake. “Call Randall and have him get the Town Car ready.”

Clearly this conversation was over.

She hated the thought of going back to Travis Riggs and telling him that a meeting with Daniel was impossible. It made her boss sound so unfeeling, when really he wasn’t. He just had so many demands on his time that he couldn’t accommodate everyone; he had to set priorities.

Well, Elena wasn’t going to give Travis the bad news over the intercom. That was just too cold. She understood what it was like to be desperate. At a tender age, she’d experienced the real risk of her father going to prison simply for speaking his mind. How much worse must it have been for Eric Riggs’s little girl to lose her father to incarceration?

Brandon, one of Daniel’s security guys, had come back from lunch, and now she could take her lunch hour. She threw a blazer on over her dress and exited the house through the massive front door. She made her way down the driveway, belatedly recalling that cobblestones and high heels didn’t mix very well. She ended up taking off her shoes and walking in her bare feet. As she approached, she saw he was still standing there. How long would he have waited?

* * *

TRAVIS WAS GETTING himself worked up. Who did this guy think he was, making him stand at the gates like this, not even letting him onto the property? Travis wasn’t some criminal planning to steal the silverware.

Daniel was probably inside his climate-controlled mansion finishing off his filet mignon and caviar lunch, planning whether to spend his afternoon playing polo or tennis. Travis had heard that he actually owned his own string of polo ponies, like freaking Prince Charles or something.

Who cared about some poor schmuck standing out in the street? Let him wait. How long did it take to ask someone whether he could see a guy for five minutes? If Daniel was going to turn down Travis’s request, why couldn’t he just do it already? Then Travis could move on to his next strategy.

He wasn’t sure what that strategy would be, but he wasn’t giving up. Maybe he would go to the media, point out how cold and heartless the supposedly philanthropic Daniel Logan really was.

He saw a flash of blue coming toward him and refocused his eyes. It was a woman in a blue dress and a blue jacket. Carrying her shoes. A tall, shapely woman with long, golden-brown hair and the bearing of a queen. Could it be? Could this be the owner of that incredible, exotic voice from the intercom?

The closer she got, the more sure he became. Her looks were as exotic as her voice. Was she Brazilian, maybe?

She raised her hand in a little wave, but he was too transfixed to wave back.

“Mr. Riggs?”

“Still here.” He was amazed his voice sounded so normal. “You’re letting me in?”

“No. I’m letting myself out.” She unlocked the gate with some kind of magnetic card plus a numeric code she quickly typed in on a keypad. The gates began to open, swinging almost silently inward. As soon as the gap between the gates was wide enough, she slid through. The moment she was through, the gates halted and then reversed direction.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Her behavior seemed strange, to say the least.

“I wanted to talk to you face-to-face. I’m Elena Marquez, Daniel’s personal assistant.”

“You could have let me in, instead of walking all the way down here. What is it, a quarter mile?”

She ignored the question. “The staff isn’t allowed to let anyone onto the property who doesn’t have security clearance.”

That told him all he needed to know. “Son of a bitch. He’s not going to listen.”

“Please, try to understand. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

“Oh, and I don’t? My whole family’s been torn apart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Some lowlife is out there walking free while my brother rots in prison. His little girl is so traumatized she won’t talk about what happened, and she’s about to be adopted by a couple of loons who actually like it that she hardly talks. I think the only reason they want her is because she’s going to inherit a bunch of money from her great-grandmother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, sorry doesn’t cut it. I’ll stand out here all day and all night. I’ll chain myself to these damn ridiculous gates.” He gestured toward the wrought-iron monstrosities. “What kind of egomaniac has front gates with their six-foot initials worked into the design?”

“Daniel didn’t do that—his father did. Look, Mr. Riggs, I wouldn’t recommend that you take up some kind of vigil here. It won’t work. Daniel takes a dim view of people who use extreme tactics to try to pressure him into doing something. The result will be the opposite of what you want. He’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Travis was so frustrated that he could have easily put his fist through the stone column he stood next to. But all that would accomplish was a broken hand, which would mean he couldn’t work. He settled for giving one of the shrubs a vicious kick. It broke off at the ground, leaving a raw stub.

Elena’s eyes widened. “Excuse me, but there’s no reason to destroy private property.”

“Will you have me arrested for that, too? Why don’t you go back to your insulated little world with your manicured shrubs and your Rolls-Royces?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He wasn’t exactly in a financial position that he could afford to throw money around, but there was the matter of the bush he’d just killed.

He held it out to her. “This ought to cover the dead shrub.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Take it. I don’t want it on my conscience.” After he’d left prison, he’d sworn he would never break the law again.

Not unless he had no other choice.

Hell, he shouldn’t be taking this out on Daniel’s underling. It probably wasn’t her fault. Unless...unless she’d never actually talked to him in the first place. With that thought, his frustration rose again. What did it take to get his message across? All he wanted was an audience. A few minutes. He didn’t think he was asking too much, yet this woman did.

He had to get out of there, before he said or did something he’d regret.

Travis had parked his truck on the street. Although it was in top running condition, it was old, and there was so much paint spattered on it that the original color was impossible to tell. He’d parked off to the side because he hadn’t wanted the high-and-mighty Daniel Logan to see it, to realize Travis was a working-class guy. How stupid, to be ashamed of his truck.

“You haven’t heard the end of this,” he said as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Maybe the Chronicle or one of the TV stations will be interested in how Daniel Logan acts when he’s not in the public eye.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Riggs, please, please don’t do that.” She hobbled after him, still in her stocking feet. The concrete was strewn with sharp gravel, and it must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You really don’t want to get on Daniel’s bad side. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man—compassionate, really—and he helps a lot of people. But if you cross him, he can be a dangerous enemy. Bad publicity only harms Project Justice’s reputation, and then everyone has to waste resources doing damage control. It won’t help anyone, least of all you.”

“Did they teach you that speech at spin school?”

“I... Excuse me?”

“I was just thinking you sounded a lot like a PR spokesperson just now, spouting some carefully worded sound bite intended to appeal to my emotions. Well, lady, I’m not getting help anyway. What have I got to lose?”

“Just don’t do anything rash,” she begged as they reached his truck. “Think about it overnight. You do have other options.”

“Oh, really? What might those be?”

“Well, the online form—”

“I tried that, remember?”

“You didn’t try hard enough, apparently. People fill that form out every day. Somehow, they manage to do it.”

Oh, that was it. He’d reached his tolerance for this bullshit.

“So, Daniel won’t respond to pressure tactics, huh? Well, I’d like to see him ignore this.” He opened his truck’s rigid cargo cover and, in one swift motion, he scooped the woman up and thrust her into the truck’s bed. He got the fleeting impression of her soft, womanly body against his, a photo-flash image of the look of surprise and hurt on her face.

And fear.

“Duck,” he said. Then he slammed the cargo cover down and locked it.


CHAPTER TWO

IT TOOK ELENA’S brain a few long, terrifying seconds to realize what had just happened. She’d been abducted. Kidnapped. That seemingly nice man, who moments earlier she had sympathized with, had just thrown her into the back of his truck like so much dirty laundry.

Her heart hammered in her ears and her breath came in quick, short gaps. Okay, okay. She had to calm down and think clearly. She had to take stock of her situation and then formulate a plan.

First off, was she injured? She knew from her freshman biology class at Saint Thomas University that adrenaline could mask pain, and judging from how fast her heart was beating, her body had been flooded with the stuff. But she didn’t think she was seriously injured. In fact, though Travis had practically thrown her into his truck, she distinctly remembered her head cushioned against his muscular forearm even as the rest of her landed with a thunk on the carpeted truck bed.

Her hip hurt. She felt around with her hand and realized she’d landed on a tool of some kind—a wrench, she decided, as she explored the cold steel item with her fingers. She shoved it out of the way.

Her prison was utterly dark. Although the vehicle was a pickup truck, it had a cargo cover. One made of granite, apparently, because it wouldn’t budge no matter how she kicked and shoved.

The truck was moving fast—at least it seemed that way. Travis took a corner on two wheels, and a slew of tools slid against Elena. She shoved them aside, irritated. “Hey, watch the driving,” she yelled.

“Doing the best I can,” he yelled back, his voice muffled but understandable.

Dios mío, he could hear her! She kicked against the cargo cover. “Let me out! You let me out of here right now!”

“Simmer down back there.”

“Hijo de puta!” she yelled, because she couldn’t think of anything else. “Daniel is going to kick your ass.”

He muttered something that sounded like, “I don’t doubt it.”

So the cargo cover didn’t come off. Maybe she could get the tailgate open? Didn’t modern vehicles have latches that could be worked from the inside? Granted, this truck was probably ten years old, but that counted as modern in her book. Her uncle Cesar still drove a 1976 Monte Carlo.

She felt around for a latch and found something near her elbow that was lumpy and bumpy, but no matter which way she pressed and squeezed, she couldn’t make any parts move.

She had to face it: she wasn’t escaping from the truck. She needed a new plan.

Travis was taking her someplace. Where? Before hiring her as his assistant, Daniel had required Elena to take a personal self-defense course for just this reason. He was a powerful man, and some people hated him and might try to get to him through her. Plus, she was an attractive woman, he’d said in a matter-of-fact, nonflirtatious way, and she needed to be able to fend off unwanted advances.

She’d been the worst student in the class. Her attempts to defend herself against her well-padded “attackers” had been pathetic. But she remembered her instructor stressing one thing: never let an assailant get you into his vehicle. If he did, your chances of survival diminished considerably.

That depressing thought wasn’t helpful. What if Travis was driving her to some isolated woods, where he intended to rape her, murder her and bury her in a shallow grave?

Her one chance was to fight back—before he tied her up with duct tape and put a plastic bag over her head and skinned her alive— Oh, Dios, she had to stop watching those true-crime shows. She absolutely refused to believe Travis was the skinning-alive type of guy. He was a man who loved his brother, and he’d done something out of desperation. She’d seen that in his eyes. She hadn’t seen the dead eyes of a psychopathic serial killer, right?

Still, she wouldn’t just meekly go along with whatever his plans were. She’d fight back. Her best weapon was surprise—and tears. She hated the idea of using tears to manipulate a man, but like it or not, she’d found that when she cried, men would bend over backward to do whatever it took to make her stop.

She was too terrified to actually cry right at that moment, but she could do a good job faking it. She started in with a few sniffles, a quiet sob or two; then she started bawling like a hungry calf.

“Hey. Hey, stop that!” Travis objected.

“I d-don’t w-want to d-die!”

“Did anyone say anything about dying?”

That was good news at least. “I’ll do whatever you say—just don’t hurt me.” She kept sniveling, though not quite as loudly as before. When he finally got to wherever he was taking her, he would expect to find a terrified, cowed, cooperative hostage. Her hand closed around the wrench. Was he in for a surprise.

* * *

ONCE TRAVIS WAS a couple of miles from Daniel Logan’s estate and on the freeway with a lot of other cars, he could breathe again. There were no red lights or sirens behind him.

He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Had he lost his mind completely? Kidnapping was a felony. With his record, he would end up in prison for sure, and a good, long stint this time, in a state penitentiary. Not the cushy county lockup.

For a second he wavered. His brother wouldn’t want...Hell, no going back now. He’d done it. Might as well make it count for something.

He wasn’t sure his actions hadn’t been caught on video, but his car had been parked some distance from the gate, so he might have lucked out. Of course, Daniel would know soon enough that his pretty employee had been kidnapped. But Travis wanted to orchestrate exactly when and how Daniel found out. First, he had to stash Elena someplace where she couldn’t escape and where her screams for help wouldn’t be heard. He couldn’t take her home—that was the first place the police would look.

Travis thought about it for a few minutes until the perfect solution came to him. There was a house he’d recently started work on, a foreclosed property in a five-year-old gated community just off Bissonet in swanky Bellaire. The former owners had trashed the place before vacating—out of frustration and spite, he supposed. It had to be tough, losing your home and everything you put into it. The developer had hired Travis to fix it up before they put it on the market.

The house, on picturesquely named Marigold Circle, sat on a double lot in a cul-de-sac and backed up to a creek. There were no close neighbors. The walls were thick, the windows triple-glass thermals. You could set off a bomb inside and no one would hear. Anyway, this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where people gave a crap what their neighbors did. Most people there didn’t even know their neighbors’ names.

Another advantage of this location was that it couldn’t be connected to Travis by any paper trail. He didn’t write anything down. His schedule, the address of the house, everything was in his head. He hadn’t yet received any written work orders. His client was logged into his phone, but so were a hundred other contacts the police would have to check out.

He only needed one day, maybe two. If this harebrained plan hadn’t worked by then, it wasn’t going to work at all. Either way, he’d be off to jail when it was over.

Travis had a passkey to get him through the neighborhood gate. He entered the back way, where there wasn’t a guard. The fewer people who saw him here, the better.

The trickiest part would be getting Elena from the truck to the house. The garage wasn’t accessible; the former owners had stripped the house of everything valuable that wasn’t nailed down, and some things that were, including the garage door opener. The door was too heavy to lift manually.

Travis pulled around to the back of the house. Elena had gone awfully quiet; he was worried about her. Though he’d tried not to be too rough with her when he’d grabbed her, he’d been in an awful hurry. What if she’d hit her head when he was driving so crazy, making all those sharp turns?

He got out and unlocked the hatch, then slowly opened it. “Elena?”

Suddenly something flew straight at his face. A crescent wrench? He tried to duck, but it whacked him on the forehead and he was stunned for a moment. Unfortunately, during that moment, his hostage rolled out of the truck, gained her feet and started running and screaming for help.

Travis was after her like a dog after a rabbit. She hadn’t gone five steps before he grabbed her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“No, no, Elena, shhh!”

She tried to bite his hand as he dragged her toward the back door. God, she was all sharp elbows and heels and...and breasts. Yes, as he’d grappled with her, trying to get a more secure grip on her, he’d accidentally copped a feel. Nice. Let’s add sexual assault to the charges.

She grabbed on to the door frame as he tried to pull her inside. A brief tug-of-war ensued, but her muscles were no match for his and her grip gave way. They both tumbled into the hallway onto a damnably hard tile floor. He took the brunt of the fall.

“Would you just knock it off? You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

“I’m supposed to just let you kidnap me?”

He wanted to reassure her that she was in no danger, that he’d never harmed a woman in his life and he wasn’t about to start with her. But he resisted the temptation. He needed to keep her scared and cooperative.

Somehow he regained his feet. Before she could wiggle out of his grasp he leaned down, placed his shoulder against her midsection and hoisted her up into a fireman’s hold.

She was still kicking and screaming, but her arms were flailing against his back where they couldn’t do much damage, and he had a firm arm around her legs. He also had an enticing view of her rounded bottom, but he felt guilty as hell about his attraction to a woman he was using in such an ill way.

What to do with her now? He didn’t want to tie her up. That seemed so unnecessarily cruel, so Snidely Whiplash. He needed to lock her up in a room with no windows, so she couldn’t escape or break a window and scream for help. The walk-in pantry could work. With a chair, and maybe a pillow and blanket, she wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. He carried her into the kitchen.

Damn it. One of the pantry doors was broken. Even if he latched it from the outside, Elena could probably collapse the door if she threw herself against it a few times. And what if she needed to go to the bathroom?

Then he had a thought. The master bath—it was huge. Luxurious. And it had no windows except the skylights, which were far too high for her to break.

Elena’s movements had all but stopped. “The blood is rushing to my head. Figure out where you’re going to put me and do it already.”

Hmm. She didn’t really sound that scared anymore. In fact, she sounded mad. Had she seen through him? Had she figured out he wouldn’t hurt her?

He carried her through the living room, where red paint stained the carpet and someone had defaced the marble fireplace with a hammer and chisel.

“What happened to this place?” Elena didn’t sound like a terrified hostage should.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t want to get chummy with the woman. He didn’t want to get to know her. If he started to see her as a person, rather than part of the system keeping his brother in prison, he would find it impossible to mistreat her like this.

“This isn’t your house, is it?” she tried again. “Hey, you know, this is really uncomfortable. Maybe you could let me walk. I won’t try to run again. Obviously, I can’t get away from you.”

She was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He’d give her credit—she wasn’t stupid. He suspected the tears and hysteria had been calculated to manipulate him, too. Well, no dice. He wasn’t falling for it.

The master suite was down a short hallway off the living room. This was the first room Travis had worked on, and it was pretty much finished. He’d replaced several sections of the hardwood floor, which the former owners had gouged with an ax, and installed a new light fixture. The walls had required a gallon of paint to get rid of stains left by permanent markers. Now that he’d repainted it in the neutral off-white his client had requested, it didn’t look half-bad.

The bathroom was in pretty good shape, except for a chunk broken out of the sink, probably with a sledgehammer. Travis was going to try his hand at porcelain repair rather than replace the whole sink. He’d heard about a new product that produced amazing results.

Hell, why was he even thinking about that? He’d never get the chance to finish this job. He’d be in jail.

Travis set Elena down. She balled up her fist and hit him in the shoulder, rightfully pissed off. But as she shook off the pain in her own hand—it had probably hurt her more than it had hurt him—her face instantly transformed from anger to dismay.

“You’re bleeding!” She sounded horrified.

“What?”

“Look at your face!” She stood aside so he could go to the mirror and look, and damned if he didn’t almost do it. She would have slipped out the door right behind him.

Instead, he put his hand to his forehead and felt moisture. When he drew it back, his fingers were indeed covered with blood.

“Well, what do you expect when you throw a wrench at someone?” He realized now that his forehead still throbbed where the wrench had hit him.

“You are not making me feel one bit guilty. I would have hit you with a hundred wrenches if I’d had them.” She winced. “Does it hurt?”

“What do you think?” He caught his reflection in the glass shower enclosure; he did look like a horror movie victim. Revenge of the Wrench Throwers. He probably should clean the cut and patch it up. Lord only knew what sort of germs had been lurking on that wrench.

He joined Elena in the luxurious bathroom and closed the door. Then he sat down on the carpet with his back to the door. She would have to go through him to get out.

“How about you see if the people who used to live here left anything behind in the way of first-aid supplies.” The guy who’d hired Travis said the former owners had moved out in the middle of the night, taking whatever they could haul or carry that was valuable but leaving behind some cheap furnishings. Travis had already cleared out most of the furniture and sold it to a used furniture dealer.

So maybe the former owners had left something useful.

“You think I’m going to play nurse?” Elena huffed. “Think again.”

“You don’t have to play nurse. Just hand me the stuff. I’ll do it myself. The sooner you help me, the sooner I’ll leave you alone and go take care of business—the business that will get you released.”

“Fine.” She went to the linen cupboard first and found a clean washcloth, which she soaked with warm water and handed to him. “You can use that to clean off the blood, at least.”

He scrubbed his face and neck with the washcloth while she rummaged around in the cabinets and drawers. Then he gingerly dabbed at the cut. Now that his adrenaline had spent itself, he was feeling the pain. She’d really walloped him. He was lucky she hadn’t knocked him unconscious.

“If you find any aspirin,” he said, “I’ll start with that.”

“Aspirin will make you bleed more.” She handed him a bottle of Tylenol. “Try that.”

“Thanks.” He shook out a couple of the pills and swallowed them dry.

“I was going to get you some water. But I don’t see a glass.”

“It’s okay. What did you find? Any first-aid cream or bandages?” What he needed was stitches. The cut was still bleeding.

“Found some alcohol.”

Not what he was hoping for. That would burn like hellfire. But he supposed he better bite the bullet and use it if he didn’t want an infection.

“What else?”

“You’re in luck. Butterfly bandages.”

Except how was he supposed to apply them to himself?

She dumped everything she’d found on the floor beside him, including some cotton balls. Then she closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, her arms folded, pointedly ignoring him.

He started with the alcohol, soaking a cotton ball and swabbing the cut. He did his best to remain stoic, because his ego wouldn’t allow him to cry like a baby in front of a woman. But she had to hear his sharp intake of breath. It was like being branded.

“I hope it hurts terribly,” she said.

“It does. Thank you for your concern.”

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Good.” But she looked worried. And as he tried to apply a butterfly bandage, squeezing the cut closed with one hand and maneuvering the bandage with the other, she frowned at his ineptitude. The cut ran close to his hairline, making it even more difficult.

She stood up and took off her jacket. “Oh, for pity’s sake, just let me do it.”

He should have said no. Letting Elena get her hands on his injured self when she seemed to enjoy his pain wasn’t a logical move. But blood was dripping down his forehead and he wondered if the injury was more serious than he’d thought. And he certainly wasn’t having any luck himself. He’d already wrecked two of the four available butterflies.

Elena brought a box of tissues with her and knelt beside him. She used a wad of tissues to wipe away the blood, and then quickly, efficiently closed the cut with the butterflies.

“It’s not too bad, only about an inch long.” She sounded like a concerned nurse. “It’s not bleeding very much now. I’m going to put this big bandage on it, but you might want to apply pressure for a little longer.”

“Okay.”

She did as promised. She had surprisingly gentle hands. Her breasts were right at his eye level, and he studied them leisurely. Not overly large, but not small, either, they were about the size of large, ripe peaches. Her blue dress was fairly modest, not displaying much in the way of cleavage, but he could still see the outline of those luscious breasts. She smelled good, too, like cinnamon and nutmeg.

If he focused on the pleasant sights and scents of Elena, he found that his head didn’t hurt too much.

“I get the feeling you’ve patched up people before,” he said, hoping to get her talking. Her voice was pleasant, too—as long as she wasn’t yelling at him.

“When I was younger, I had to deal with lots of injuries. My dad and older brothers would come home from the sugarcane fields with scratches and cuts, and my mother and grandmother and I would get out the iodine.”

“Iodine. Now that stuff hurts.”

“It was what we had on hand.”

“Was this in Mexico?”

“No, idiot. Cuba. You can’t tell a Mexican accent from Cuban?” Then she rattled off something that he actually understood. He’d picked up some Spanish from working construction, and from when he was incarcerated, too.

“I might be ignorant, but I’m not a pig,” he said.

“So, you understand Spanish. Am I supposed to be impressed? There, your wretched head is fixed for now. I think you’ll live, unfortunately.”

Her tone sounded closer to teasing than hateful, which pleased him no end. God, he was stupid, looking for crumbs of good humor from a woman he’d kidnapped. He was stupid for being attracted to her, too, but no one had ever accused him of being smart.

He’d been an idiot to shove Elena into his truck. More than likely, his ploy would only succeed in landing him in prison and wouldn’t help Eric at all. But nothing else had worked. This plan was all he had, and he was determined to get as much out of it as he could.

As Elena gathered up the trash and threw it into a wastebasket, Travis pushed himself to his feet. His eyes swam for a moment, but then the world righted itself.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. You can’t escape from here, and no one can hear you, so your best bet is to just stay calm. If your boss is a reasonable man, he’ll give me what I want, and I’ll let you go.”

“And if he doesn’t give you what you want? I doubt he will. Daniel doesn’t negotiate with people like you.”

“I’m willing to bet your welfare is important enough to him that he will.”

And if he doesn’t?

He would let her go anyway, of course. Then he would turn himself in and take his lumps.


CHAPTER THREE

“WAIT. CAN’T WE talk about—”

Travis slipped out the door and slammed it in her face. He couldn’t listen to her. He couldn’t look into those chocolate-brown eyes without feeling his resolve softening. It was time to contact Daniel Logan.

The bedroom was empty except for one straight-back chair in a corner. Travis remembered dragging it in there to stand on so he could open an air-conditioning vent. One of the chair’s slats was broken, which was why he hadn’t tried to sell it.

He could fix it; he hated throwing away perfectly good stuff that could be repaired and provide many more years of service.

The broken slat wouldn’t affect the use he put it to. He grabbed it and shoved it under the bathroom doorknob.

“Don’t leave me in here!” Elena screamed at him through the door. “Please, please, I can’t stand it.”

He turned resolutely and walked out the door.

He’d turned his cell phone off the minute he’d nabbed Elena so he couldn’t be located by the phone’s ping. He wasn’t sure how fast Daniel Logan could mobilize whatever people and resources he had, but probably pretty damn fast. The guy was powerful. Still, it was possible Elena hadn’t even been missed yet. If she had a lot of autonomy on the job, her absence might not be unusual.

Travis got in his truck and drove. He’d been driving for twenty minutes before he realized he should have gotten Daniel’s private number from Elena. The only number Travis had was for Project Justice. Well, that would have to do.

Once he was miles away from the repo’d house, in some nameless, nondescript neighborhood, he pulled over, got out his cell, turned it on, took a deep breath and dialed.

“Project Justice, how may I direct your call today?” The woman who answered had a tone of voice that didn’t match the polite words. She sounded like an older lady—probably that dragon who’d manned the front desk the time he’d dropped in at their offices, hoping to convince someone to listen to him.

Celeste, that was her name. “Good afternoon, Celeste. My name is Travis Riggs.” There was no point in trying to hide his identity. “Please listen carefully, as I’ll only say this once. I’ve kidnapped Daniel Logan’s assistant, Elena.”

“You did what?” Celeste shrieked.

God, the woman could shatter eardrums. “Please, don’t talk. Just listen. She’s safe and unhurt—for now. My demands are simple. Project Justice must take on the case of Eric Riggs, my brother, who was unjustly convicted of his wife’s murder. Have Daniel Logan personally call this number and leave a message, indicating that he agrees. Have him provide me with this detail—What piece of the victim’s jewelry went missing?—to convince me he really did investigate the case. When he does that, I will return Elena unharmed and turn myself in to the authorities. Do you understand?”

“Now, you listen here, young man. Daniel Logan doesn’t negotiate with—”

“Do you understand?”

There was a long pause before Celeste answered. “Perfectly.”

“I’ll check my messages in twenty-four hours.” He disconnected and turned off his phone. Despite the cool fall weather, he was sweating. He opened the window and cursed. Making that call had sickened him. But he had to keep thinking about Eric, sitting in that six-by-eight jail cell. And little MacKenzie, who was so traumatized by her mother’s death that she had withdrawn from the world. Now her father was gone, too.

Travis could have accepted temporary custody of MacKenzie. His brother had tried to get him to do just that; MacKenzie seemed fond of her uncle Trav, and there weren’t any other relatives except Tammy’s aged grandmother, who was in a home. But at the time decisions were being made, Travis had thought MacKenzie would be better off with foster parents who could spend time with her and help her adjust. A single construction worker who worked seven days a week—and who intended to spend any spare time he had helping Eric prove his innocence—wasn’t a fit guardian for a three-year-old.

Even if Travis had been willing to take MacKenzie, Social Services probably would have nixed the idea. Ex-cons were hardly considered prime parent material.

Now he wished he’d at least tried to take responsibility for his niece. Her foster parents were moneygrubbing lowlifes who only wanted to adopt MacKenzie so they could get hold of her future assets. Eric had been financially comfortable when Tammy was murdered, but Tammy came from serious money. When that aged grandmother died, her wealth would pass directly to MacKenzie. Without a trust fund in place, her “parents” would get control of the money.

Travis’s own brief experience as a foster kid had been positive, and he’d based his decision on that. He hadn’t counted on the foster parents from hell.

Travis got his truck moving again. He needed to get back to Elena. It just now occurred to him that if something happened to Travis—say, a fatal car accident—no one would know where to find his hostage. It could be months before anyone went through that house. She could starve to death.

He didn’t take another full breath until he pulled onto Marigold Circle and everything looked quiet and peaceful. No cop cars or news crews lurked in the cul-de-sac. Even as he pulled around to the back of the house, he half expected cops to spring out of hiding, guns drawn, as he exited his vehicle. But nothing happened.

He let himself in the back door. Hi, honey, I’m home.

* * *

ELENA TOOK STOCK of her situation once again, as it had evolved. It could be a lot worse, she conceded. She had no serious injuries; she hadn’t been molested. And as far as prison cells went, this one wasn’t bad. The sink provided running water, the toilet worked and she could even take a whirlpool bath if she wanted to.

But there was no way out. The door wouldn’t budge; she’d thrown all of her weight against it several times and nothing had happened. She couldn’t reach the skylights, and even if she could, she doubted they would break easily. She’d found a can of hairspray and had attempted to throw it with enough force to break the glass, but those windows were designed to withstand hail. Even if she broke one, what then? She couldn’t magically fly up to it and escape.

She wondered what Daniel would do when he found out she’d been abducted. He was loyal to his own people; she couldn’t believe he would allow her to be killed just to make a point that he didn’t negotiate with criminals. And Travis wasn’t asking for the world; he only wanted someone to take on his brother’s case. But currently Daniel was dealing with something more urgent than his personal assistant’s life. What if the new Logan power plant was in imminent danger of a meltdown? That was the sort of global disaster that would definitely take precedence over one person’s welfare.

If Daniel didn’t respond to Travis, would Travis understand why?

She heard a door open and close and immediately got to her feet and went to the door. “Help! Help me, please! I’m trapped in the bathroom!” It was probably Travis, returning from wherever he’d gone. But just in case it wasn’t...“Help!” she shouted again, slamming her palms against the door. Her right hand still hurt where she’d hit Travis’s shoulder.

“I’m back.” It was Travis’s voice. She slumped with disappointment even as her heart lifted slightly. It was really odd, but despite everything, she still felt sympathetic to Travis’s cause—more than when she’d first listened to his story. Was this what they called Stockholm Syndrome, when a hostage started to feel affection for her captor? Surely it wouldn’t happen this quickly.

“Hey,” she yelled. “Are you going to feed me? Because I skipped lunch. While I was supposed to be eating lunch, I was trying to get you some time with Daniel.”

“And I appreciate that. Really, I do,” he said. “I’ll get you something to eat. Sorry, I hadn’t even thought about food. I guess when your stomach is tied up in knots you don’t notice if you’re hungry or not.”

“Well, I do. And I’m hungry.”

“I’ll see what the people who lived here left behind in the way of food.”

Great. It sounded like she was in for a tasty meal of stale saltines, and maybe a can of cold soup if she was lucky. Travis didn’t seem the type who could whip up a four-star meal out of nothing.

She waited a long time. She stood, she sat, she recited poetry to herself, verses memorized years ago in school. “Listen, my children, and you shall hear...” When she ran out of poems, she paced the bathroom, counting the steps from one end to the other and back, and then multiplying by each circuit she made. How long did it take to check the pantry? Maybe he’d gone out for fast food.

She was almost to five thousand steps when an incredible smell reached her nostrils. What was that? Oregano? Garlic?

Travis tapped on her door. “I brought some food.”

“Are you waiting for me to give you permission to enter?” she asked incredulously. “I’m a prisoner, not a princess.”

“Just because I’m a kidnapper doesn’t mean I don’t have any manners.” He opened the door and entered the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him, but at that moment she probably wouldn’t have run even if she could have. She wanted to know what was on the tray, covered by the dishcloth. It smelled amazing.

He looked around, trying to figure out where to set it down.

“On the vanity,” she suggested. Earlier, she’d found a sponge and some bathroom cleaner under the sink and had given the place a thorough scrub. If she was going to be held prisoner, at least her cell would be clean. “What is that?”

“Lasagna.”

“Like, a store-brand frozen-dinner kind, or the homemade kind that someone froze the leftovers?”

“Does it matter? I already had a taste of it. It’s not half-bad.” He set the tray down on the pink marble vanity and whisked the cloth off. He’d served her a good-size square of the lasagna on a china plate with a knife, fork, spoon and cloth napkin. There was also a serving of broccoli. A cold soft drink and a glass full of ice completed the picture.

“You forgot the vase with a rosebud.”

“Huh?”

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her smile. “Never mind. This looks delicious.” Then she added a grudging, “Thanks.”

“Holding you hostage is bad enough. I don’t intend to mistreat you while you’re in my custody.” He gestured toward the tray. “Go ahead. Sorry there’s not a chair.”

She didn’t care. She ate standing up.

“Whoever lived here sure could cook,” she said after a few hasty bites had dampened the worst of her hunger. She slowed down so she could appreciate the subtle spices and tangy tomato sauce. “Is there more of this?”

“This isn’t enough?”

“For later, I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah, there’s a whole pan.”

“Tell Daniel he can take his time meeting your demands.”

When he looked at her like she’d gone raving mad, she shrugged. “I’m kidding, of course.” She toyed with a broccoli floret. It wasn’t as good as the fresh stuff Cora always served at Daniel’s table, but with a little bit of lemon butter on it, it wasn’t terrible. “So what’s going on? Did you talk to Daniel?”

“I didn’t have his number. I called Project Justice. Figured they’d get him a message.”

She took that news with some alarm. “Depends. Who’d you talk to?”

“Celeste. The dragon lady?”

“Oh, I know who Celeste is,” she said grimly.

“You don’t think she’ll get word to Daniel?”

“She might. Or she might try to launch some kind of pseudo-SWAT-team rescue on her own. You never know about Celeste. I took a road trip with her once to Louisiana. Made the mistake of letting her drive.”

Travis laughed. “That bad?”

“She wanted to stop at a bayou crossing and look for an alligator because she needed a new pair of boots. And she wasn’t kidding.”

“She doesn’t strike me as a fool. She’ll do what needs to be done.”

“I wish I shared your certainty. When will you know?”

“I gave Daniel twenty-four hours to leave an answer on my voice mail. All he has to do is convince me he’s looked into the case.”

“That’s it? He just has to say, ‘Travis, you’re right. There’s been a miscarriage of justice. I’m going to make everything right for your brother’?”

“That’s a start. I also demanded proof he really has looked into the case. He’ll have to provide a detail that’s never been released to the public.”

“Not to blow holes in your plan, Travis, but Daniel can learn every detail about that case, inside and out, in about ten minutes. He has teams of researchers who can get the information in front of him so that he can provide the details you want.”

“That’s good. That’s all I’m asking for. That, and his word that he’ll take on Eric’s case, that he’ll assign investigators and give it his best shot. I understand Daniel is a man of his word.”

“Well, he is that.”

“I believe once he looks into it, he’ll see what I’m talking about. He’ll see Eric really was railroaded by an overzealous D.A. and a gutless defense attorney.”

“You do realize Daniel is married to the Houston D.A., right?”

“I know. The trial took place well before she took office.”

They fell silent for a few minutes. Elena finished up her soft drink. The cola was cold and sweet. She didn’t normally drink soft drinks because of the sugar; she’d forgotten how good they were.

“Doesn’t it bother you that even if you free your brother, you’ll take his place in prison?”

“Eric’s life is worth saving.”

“And yours isn’t?”

“Believe me, I don’t want to toss my life away. But Eric is my little brother. I promised our mother I would take care of him.”

The emotion in his voice was impossible to miss. He loved his brother. How could Elena continue to think of Travis as a villain when he was so devoted to his family?

She quickly changed the subject. “Why are you hanging here, watching me eat?” she asked when she was done. She blotted her mouth with the napkin.

“Actually, I’m keeping an eye on you. That plate is pretty heavy, and I haven’t forgotten the damage you did with a wrench.”

“Not to mention the knife and the fork,” she pointed out. “The knife is rather dull, but a fork in your jugular would hurt a lot more than the wrench did.”

He actually turned pale as his hand went protectively to his throat. Clearly this man hadn’t ever taken anyone hostage before. He didn’t know the first thing about it.

If she actually believed her life was in danger, she would use any means available—knife, fork, fingernails, teeth. But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t.

“Before Daniel makes a single concession, he’s going to want to know I’m alive. How are you going to prove that to him?”

“I’ve thought of that. I’m going to have you record a message for him. I’ll send it to him as a text attachment.”

“You can do that?”

“What, you think I’m too stupid to master some pretty basic cell phone functions?”

“Stupid? No.” That wasn’t the word she had in mind. A little crazy, maybe. “It’s just that...you said you had trouble with the Project Justice online form. I assumed that meant you weren’t very...you know, tech savvy.”

“I’m not when it comes to computers and...typing.” He shuddered as he said the word. “But voice recordings—that, I figured out.”

That seemed a little strange to Elena. The first thing most people figured out with a new phone is how to send a text or take a picture. “You can read and write, though...right?”

“Not my strong suit.”

She thought back to his difficulty with the form. “Do you have a learning disability?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Dysphasia, dyslexia, dysgraphia, attention deficit disorder... Take your pick. Counselors have labeled me with all kinds of big words over the years. Including ‘just plain pigheaded.’ So who the hell knows?”

No wonder the computer application had defeated him. But why was she concerning herself with that? Travis had a cell phone! It was probably in his pocket right now. Yes, she could see the rectangular outline on his thigh. His taut, muscular thigh. Dios, the man had a good body.

Elena had spent most of her youth around men who engaged in intense physical labor, day in and day out, either cutting sugarcane or working in the oil fields. All of her male relatives and family friends were strong and muscular. But Travis gave new meaning to the term “hard body.”

How humiliating to have to admit that she found her kidnapper handsome. And sexy. And how strange that, in the span of a couple of hours, she’d gone from terrified to... Well, she wasn’t afraid of him. He might be a desperate man, but deep down he was gentle, and he wasn’t going to hurt her.

“Tell me about your brother,” she said. “We’ve got some time to kill. Since I am a pawn in your little power play, I’d like to know why you are so positive that your brother is innocent.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Because he’s my brother. I practically raised him. As kids, we were together constantly. When the state wanted to split us up into different foster homes, we kicked up such a fuss that they found someone who would take both of us.”

Foster care. It sounded like he didn’t have an ideal childhood, then.

“Don’t go looking at me like I’m some sort of charity case. It wasn’t like that. Our mom was a good mom. But she went through a rough patch when she didn’t have a job. We were in foster care for only about six months.”

“So you were very close to your brother when you were children. But people change, you know.”

“I’m still close to him. I spent a lot of time with him and Tammy. Eric loved her and MacKenzie more than anything in the world. He would have died for either of them without a second thought. There is no way he killed her, under any circumstances. No way.”

Elena’s heart ached for him. Whatever faults he had, Travis did love his brother. That was apparent.

“I believe you,” she said softly. “But Project Justice requires more than belief, because it takes more than that to get a case overturned.” Although Elena didn’t work directly for Project Justice, she’d learned a thing or two about how the foundation operated just from being Daniel’s assistant. “There has to be some kind of evidence that’s been overlooked or ignored—like a witness that was never interviewed or physical clues that weren’t properly analyzed—that sort of thing.

“Do you have anything like that in your brother’s case?”

“Not exactly. But I think there’s evidence that could be developed. There is one element of the case that was never brought to light.”

“And what is that?”

“Tammy was having an affair.”

“And this wasn’t brought up during the trial?”

“It was never investigated at all.”

“You think the man she cheated with might have killed her?”

“It’s an obvious theory that should be ruled out, don’t you think? Because the evidence they had on Eric was all circumstantial. There was no sign of forced entry into the house, Eric didn’t have an alibi, and they’d had an argument earlier in the day. In the absence of any other suspect, Eric looked guilty.”

As he went over some of the facts of the case, Elena started to remember more about it. Although she’d never been much interested in news coverage about violent crime before she’d started working for Daniel, since she’d been in his employ she’d started watching true-crime shows. Tammy Riggs’s murder was the kind of sensational event that attracted attention—well-to-do lawyer stabs his beautiful blond wife to death in the kitchen while their toddler is in the house.

“The daughter—MacKenzie, is that her name?”

Travis smiled fondly. “Yeah.”

“She was home when her mother was killed?”

He nodded. “She was only three. Eric came home and found MacKenzie there with Tammy...her mother’s blood all over her clothes. But she was never able to tell what happened. Now that she’s six years old, she says she doesn’t remember, that she didn’t see what happened. She might have been in another room, asleep.” Travis shrugged.

Elena nodded. “Project Justice has a psychologist on staff. She’s a nationally recognized expert on hypnotic regression and recovering lost memories.”

“You see? I know Project Justice can help. If only they’ll take on the case.”

Elena was very afraid that, no matter what Travis did, the foundation wouldn’t take on the case. There were many deserving cases, and Project Justice had only so many investigators, so many resources. That’s why the application process was important, so that the most urgent cases, the most obvious miscarriages of justice, were given priority.

Daniel would never cave in to Travis’s tactics, because it would send out the wrong message. Other desperate people might resort to violence if the tactic worked for Travis.

The best Travis could hope for was that this stunt would attract media attention.

“If Tammy was having an affair,” Elena said, “why didn’t the police look into it?”

“Because they didn’t know about it. Eric absolutely refused to believe it was true, and he refused to even bring up the possibility. His lawyer told me to keep my theories to myself because even the suggestion of cheating would give Travis a strong motive for murder.”

“And you knew about it...how?”

“I saw the signs. I know what it looks like when a woman is cheating.” He said this with no small amount of bitterness, indicating to Elena that some woman had cheated on Travis in his past. “But Eric was blind to it. Tammy was a saint. She could do no wrong—especially after she was dead—and that was that.”

“So I take it Eric is not in favor of looking for the man his wife was cheating with.”

“He wasn’t. Not for a long time. But now that he’s had time to think about it, and MacKenzie is about to get new parents—he says he won’t oppose me. He still doesn’t believe his wife was unfaithful, though.”

Elena had to admit, it was an intriguing case. Under other circumstances, Daniel—who had final say on which cases the foundation took on—would have at least done some preliminary digging around.

“The fact that MacKenzie’s about to be adopted is bad enough,” he said. “But the foster parents who are adopting her—they don’t take care of her properly. They just ignore her. And I think they take away the clothes and toys I give her.... Hell, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Elena knew: because she was willing to listen. She got the feeling no one had actually listened to his story before...at least nobody with an open mind.

He picked up the tray, apparently intending to take all those potential weapons out of Elena’s reach. As he did, her empty soda can rolled off the tray and onto the floor.

“I’ll get it.” She leaned down at the same time he did. She bumped her head on his shoulder, and everything on the tray spilled to the ground. “Oh, I’m sorry, that was clumsy of me. Here, let me help.”

What followed was an awkward dance as they both tried to pick up the fallen dishes, bumping into each other several times in the process.

“For God’s sake, I’ll get it, okay?” he groused. “Keep your hands off the fork.”

She backed off and sat down on the closed toilet. Once he’d collected everything and put it back on the tray, he left her alone. She heard him wedge something under the doorknob, trapping her again.

She took a deep breath and reached under her thigh to the object she’d hidden there. All of that clumsy bumping together hadn’t been entirely accidental on her part. As a six-year-old on the streets of Havana, she’d been a damn fine pickpocket.

She now had Travis’s phone.

How soon before he missed it? How much time did she have? And what would she do with it, now that she had the chance to call for help?


CHAPTER FOUR

SHE HAD TO call someone. Of course she did. Travis Riggs had kidnapped her! What was she supposed to do, hand him back the phone with a polite, “Excuse me, I think you dropped this”?

Lord only knew what he might do when he found out he’d been pickpocketed. Thus far, he seemed pretty harmless. She didn’t sense violence in him. But what did she know? Not everyone broadcasted their true natures. He was obviously unbalanced. One little thing could set him off like a firecracker.

She could call 911, but then she would have to do a lot of explaining. Travis had undoubtedly told Daniel not to call the police, and Daniel’s natural inclination was to rely on his own resources first. All those years he’d spent fighting the murder charge against him had left him with a healthy skepticism toward law enforcement. He had a lot of respect for certain, individual cops. But for the institutions, he didn’t.

Decision made. She’d call Daniel. With trembling fingers, she dialed the number.

He picked up almost before it rang. “Daniel Logan. You listen to me. If I don’t have Elena back unharmed within the hour, I will personally—”

“Daniel, it’s me,” she whispered. God, she’d never heard him so angry, and she’d heard Daniel angry plenty of times.

“Elena? Thank God. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He hasn’t hurt me and he’s not going to. It’s all bluff.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t really know. Daniel, please listen, I don’t have much time. Could you just give him what he wants?”

He paused just long enough that Elena knew he didn’t have an easy answer for her. “I won’t do anything to endanger you. If that were the only way to get you back unharmed—”

“He’s not going to harm me.” Well, she was pretty sure. “There’s a child involved. His brother is going to lose his little girl forever. That’s why he’s so crazy. The wife, Tammy, she was having an affair that was never investigated.”

“I will give him precisely what he asked for—no more, no less. And once I have you back safely, I will nail his ass to the wall so thoroughly he’ll never see daylight again.”

Oh, boy. Daniel was really, really bent out of shape. “How’s the power plant?”

“Why are you asking me that? You’ve been kidnapped! Who cares about a power plant?”

“Everybody, if there’s a radioactive leak.”

“It was a false alarm. The safety team resolved it long before I got there.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Keep talking, Elena. I’m going to work with his provider to see if we can triangulate your location.”

“You don’t have to do that. He’s not going to hurt me.”

“You think I should just roll over and do whatever he wants? Do you want every two-bit gangster out there with a friend or relative in prison to think they can get me to—”

“In this particular case, yes—give him what he wants. If you do find me, if you come in here with guns blazing, I’ll be in more danger than I am now.”

“You’re being held hostage by a maniac. I don’t think it could get much worse than that. You don’t know this guy. You don’t know what he’s capable of. And I’m capable of conducting a proper hostage extraction, thank you very much.”

Dios, he was in a snit. She’d made a mistake. She shouldn’t have called Daniel. “I have to go. If he realizes I took his phone, he’ll move me.”

“I’ll find you, Elena.”

She turned off the phone, sick to her stomach. What if Daniel made good on his threat? She doubted Travis even had a gun, but she feared he might be dangerous when cornered, weapon or no. He could end up getting himself killed.

Her eyes burned with tears. Why was she like this? She’d outsmarted her kidnapper; she’d gotten a message to Daniel. She should be elated. But she was frightened, and she felt as though she’d done something wrong. Really wrong.

Suddenly the bathroom door burst open, and if she’d been scared before, she was terrified now. Travis filled the door, looking very large, and if he could have shot lasers from his eyes, he probably would have. He looked like an avenging dark angel.

He came toward her, and for one horrible moment, she thought he was going to hit her. But he snatched the phone out of her hands.

“I didn’t even turn it on,” she said.

“You had my phone for five minutes and you didn’t turn it on?”

All he had to do was check the call history to know she was lying. “Okay, yes, I turned it on, but I just wanted to tell Daniel I was okay. I asked him to give you what you want.”

“I’ll just bet you did.” He took her arm. “Come on. We have to go.”

“We do?”

“I suppose you think we should just sit here and wait for the cops to come and arrest me?”

She tried to reason with him as he dragged her through the house. “I didn’t tell him where we were. I couldn’t, because I have no idea.”

“The cops can locate me by the GPS. They can get within a hundred feet, and once they do that, they’ll figure out we’re in the vacant house.”

She knew that, but she was surprised he did. She’d assumed when he said he couldn’t manage a simple online form that he wouldn’t understand how the GPS tracker on a phone worked.

He took her through the back door. It was only a few feet to the truck, which was already open. No chance of her making a break for it, not that she’d have given herself even a small chance of escaping him. He was strong and fast. He’d recovered awful damn quickly after she’d bonked him with the wrench.

He pulled her to the rear of the truck.

“Oh, come on. Do I have to ride in the back again?”

“Of course not, princess. Your limo should be here in a few minutes. Yes, you have to get in the back. I know you think I’m stupid, but do you really think I’d put you up front with me where you can jump out at the first stop sign? Or open the window and scream for help?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” She sighed as he opened the cargo cover and the tailgate.

“Will you get in, or do I have to stuff you in there? I don’t want to hurt you. I really, really don’t. But I’ll do what has to be done not to get caught. Not yet.”

She could fight him. He’d have a helluva time getting her into the back of the truck if she kicked and clawed and screamed, and maybe a neighbor would hear her this time. But in the end, she’d probably hurt herself worse than him. He’d get her inside the truck—no doubt about that—and be gone before the cops arrived.

She looked him in the eye and made sure he looked back. Then she gave him the evil eye, something her abuela had taught her. She’d reduced more than one grown man to quivering jelly with this look.

“I’m keeping score. I’ll make you pay.”

“I don’t doubt it. Get it through your head, Elena. You can’t talk me out of this. The only thing that matters is that someone gets Eric out of prison so he can get his little girl back and try to salvage what used to be a good and productive life.”

She looked away. Then she sat on the tailgate and swung her legs up. Travis held her hand, helping her wedge herself into the truck bed as if he were assisting her into Cinderella’s carriage.

“Oh, comfy.” She patted a folded blanket he’d put in there so she’d have a cushion for her head. Just before he shut her in, she handed him his cell phone, which she’d pickpocketed again.

“Son of a bitch!”

“You might want to stop carrying it in your front pocket,” she said sweetly.

“How did you do that? Do you moonlight as a magician or something?”

“Trade secret.”

He closed the tailgate and cargo cover. The last she saw of him, right before it went dark, he had the strangest, most perplexed look on his face, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.

She could have kept the phone. She could have turned it on again once she was out of his sight. His provider would track the pings and follow them right to whatever new location he drove to. But she hadn’t.

Some part of her really didn’t want Travis to get caught.

* * *

DANIEL HAD ASKED Randolph, his chauffeur, to drive him directly to the Project Justice offices downtown, where everyone had been put on notice. Elena had been kidnapped. And when it came to his people, no effort was too great.

Celeste was in her usual place at the front desk. A former Houston cop, she was the building’s first line of defense—and a formidable one at that. Her wild-colored clothes and big dangly earrings were a deceiving affectation. No one got past her if she didn’t want them to.

She got to her feet. “Daniel. Any word since she called?”

“No.” It didn’t surprise him that news of Elena’s call had reached Celeste. She always seemed to know everything that was going on. “Celeste, thank you for your quick and decisive actions when the kidnapper called.”

“I knew he was serious. I tangled with him once before, when he tried to get in here without an appointment.”

“You’ve met him, then? What’s he like. Tell me every detail you remember.”

“He’s over six feet, muscular build, working man’s hands. Dark hair, kinda shaggy. Blue eyes. Nice looking, can’t deny that. Any other time—”

“Irrelevant, Celeste.”

“Right. He was very polite but insistent. And stubborn. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, no matter how many times I explained that his first step was to fill out the online form. Once he realized I wasn’t going to budge, he left. Not in a happy mood.”

“Did he seem unbalanced?”

“No, not at all. He stated his case in very clear terms. I remember the case he was talking about, the Tammy Riggs murder.”

Daniel remembered it, too, though not in great detail. He followed a lot of crimes, sensational or not.

“He had a sort of noble bearing. Looked me right in the eye. Never used any coarse language, didn’t lose his temper.”

“Thank you, Celeste. If any more calls come through from him, put them—”

“Directly through to the conference room. Yes, sir.”

God, he loved Celeste. He suspected he was the only person in the world she addressed as “sir.”

From the lobby, he went directly to the main conference room. He could hear the buzz of conversation behind the door before he opened it; his team was on the case.

Conversation stopped as he entered.

“Daniel.” The speaker was Ford Hyatt, his most experienced investigator. “Any new developments?”

“Not on my end. Bring me up to speed.” He pulled out a chair at the head of the long mahogany table. Usually he ran Project Justice meetings from home, via video conferencing. But for this matter, it was important to be there in person—if only to make sure his people knew this was no ordinary operation.

“We have copies of the security video from the front gate,” said Mitch Delacroix, who was in charge of anything involving computers, video or audio.

“You caught the abduction on video?”

“Unfortunately no. Elena walked down the driveway and went outside the gate to talk to him.”

Why had she done that? Elena was quite proficient at discouraging nuisance visitors. Then, she had seemed unusually troubled by the man’s plight—not her usual ruthlessly efficient manner.

“What about his vehicle?”

“Also not caught on video.”

Daniel made a mental note to add some extra surveillance cameras outside the gate to include more of the street in front of his house.

“We do have a vehicle description,” Hyatt said. “Riggs owns a black 2001 Ford F-150 pickup.”

“What else do we know about him?”

“Travis Brandon Riggs. Thirty-three years old. He and his brother, Eric, were raised by a single mother, now deceased. Father unknown. He did a short stint in foster care when he was ten. Dropped out of high school when he was sixteen. Since then he’s worked in construction on and off. Three years in the army. Honorable discharge. Married to a Judith Evans, divorced a year later. Did a stint at the Harris County Jail for assault. Haven’t found out the particulars yet, but I’m working on it.”

So, he did have violent tendencies. That was bad news.

“No trouble since he got out—that was almost ten years ago. Currently he owns a small construction company doing home repairs, remodeling and renovation.”

“Home address?”

“It’s a one-bedroom apartment in Westridge, nothing special.” Mitch brought up a picture of a blocky, 1970s-era building on the video screen. It was small but tidy—neatly trimmed lawn, freshly painted, freshly raked. “We’ve already got it under surveillance,” Mitch continued. “He hasn’t been there.”

And he probably wouldn’t be dumb enough to show his face there, either. He’d made no attempt to hide his identity, and he had to know there was a good chance the authorities or Project Justice people would come looking for him.

“Mitch. What’s the word from Reynolds?” David Reynolds was Daniel’s contact at Riggs’s cell phone provider. For a hefty fee, he would check the GPS data and report back.

Daniel had already sent another investigator to check out the first location, the place from which Riggs had made his first call, but it hadn’t looked promising and had probably been only a temporary stopping point. Daniel was counting on Elena’s call yielding more fruitful information.

“Reynolds is still working on it.”

“Griffin,” Daniel said, addressing another of his best, a former investigative reporter who had become one of his most skilled operatives, especially when it came to working undercover. “As soon as you have a location nailed down, I want you and Jillian to go there. Take the fake utility truck—uniforms should be inside it. Once you confirm it’s the right place, we’ll figure out our next move.

“Raleigh,” he asked another senior investigator, who was also his top-dog lawyer, “are you ready to brief me on the Eric Riggs case? You know what I’m looking for—a piece of jewelry missing from the victim, a detail never released to the public.” He needed something to appease Travis Riggs, to lull him into believing Daniel was knuckling under the pressure.

“It was a necklace,” Raleigh said. “A gold locket.”

Obviously Travis hadn’t done his homework, or he’d know that Daniel did not knuckle under to anyone. He would do whatever it took to keep Elena safe, of course. But she said she didn’t think she was in any danger. Daniel was banking on that being true. He just had to keep stringing Travis along until he made a mistake. And he would. When he did, his ass was Daniel’s.

Mitch murmured something into his headset and then turned to Daniel. “We have the location nailed down to three houses in a subdivision in Timbergrove.”

“Let’s roll.”

* * *

FORD HYATT, DRESSED in full SWAT-like gear, showed Daniel a satellite map on his phone. “It’s these three houses, at the end of the cul-de-sac.”

Daniel spoke into a radio. “Anyone have eyes on those houses?” Jillian and Griffin were already inside the complex in their fake utility truck.

“Affirmative,” came Jillian’s response. “We can rule two of them out. I’ve seen people going in and out, no kidnapper types. The third one appears unoccupied.”

“That’s our target, then. Hyatt, Kinkaid and I are right behind you.”

Daniel and his two operatives were in a taxi with tinted windows. Daniel, behind the wheel, was dressed as your average cabdriver. Hyatt and Kinkaid were in back. Taxis seemed to have no trouble getting in and out of gated communities. Mitch simply faked a call from a resident to the guardhouse requesting a cab. Five minutes later, Daniel and his party were inside. The guard barely looked at them as they passed through. They would be on camera, if a question ever came up, but with shades and a hat, Daniel wasn’t recognizable, and the taxi’s license plates wouldn’t trace back to anything.

Moments later, he pulled up behind the utility truck and spoke into the radio again. “Griffin and Jillian, make entry at the rear.” He didn’t bother using code names; their communications were encrypted. “Hyatt and Kinkaid will come through the front. On my signal.”

He watched as the utility truck slid into the driveway of the house in question, which did not appear lived in. That was good news. Less chance that they were breaking into the home of an innocent family.

Daniel gave Griffin and Jillian a few seconds to get situated and then signaled Hyatt and Kinkaid. They exited the taxi and ran noiselessly to the home’s front porch. Daniel hoped to hell the neighbors didn’t see; this was the sort of highly illegal maneuver that he and his people could get arrested for. He’d considered letting the police make the extraction, but no cops could mobilize as fast as Project Justice could. And this was Elena they were talking about.

Daniel remained in the taxi. He didn’t have the same training as the others, and if he tried to play macho cop he could put himself and others in danger. But as soon as they had the kidnapper subdued, he would be there.

“On my signal,” he said. “One, two, three, go.”

Without hesitation, Hyatt broke the glass in the front door, reached in and opened the door, yelling out a warning to anyone who might be inside to get on the floor. They looked like cops and sounded like cops, but they never identified themselves as such. Posing as a cop brought additional criminal charges.

Daniel counted off the seconds as he listened to the shouting and banging door on the open channel of his radio. No sounds of gunfire, thank God. More good news.

“Clear... Clear... Clear...” That single word came through over and over again. Twenty seconds in, Daniel heard, “All clear.” That meant he could go in. But he had a bad feeling as he sprinted across the front lawn and into the house.

Hyatt met him. “There’s no one here. It appears the house is being renovated.”

“Found something!” Jillian shouted from another part of the house. All eyes looked toward the hallway where she appeared, holding a blue piece of clothing.

“Elena’s jacket. Damn.” How close were they? By how many minutes had they missed rescuing Elena and taking Travis Riggs down? Ten? Five?

“There was also a small amount of blood in the bathroom,” Jillian said, her eyes downcast. “And some blood-soaked tissues in the trash.”

“Damn it! How much blood?”

“Enough to be concerned,” Jillian replied.

Daniel sighed. “I hate to say it, but we’re going to have to call in the authorities. What they lack in speed and precision, they make up for in sheer numbers. At this point, we have no idea where he might have taken her. The cops can get choppers in the air, monitor phones, bank accounts, credit cards.” Project Justice could do all of those things, but they didn’t have the number of people required to monitor it all. “Come on. Let’s clear out of here before the real cops arrive.”


CHAPTER FIVE

TRAVIS COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d gotten hold of his phone. Not once but twice! She must be a magician or a witch or something.

He hated it that he had to find a new safe house. That Bellaire McMansion had been perfect.

Travis sifted through various other possible locations, rejecting each one. Most of his recent job sites were occupied. He’d have to take to the country, find a place to camp. He had little food except the few cans and whatnot he’d grabbed from the kitchen and chucked into his backpack before putting Elena in the truck and heading out. He always carried a sleeping bag and a few essentials with him, but it was going to be rough. Although the climate in south Texas was almost always mild, it would get down into the fifties tonight—cool enough to be uncomfortable without a jacket.

He hadn’t allowed Elena to retrieve her jacket, he realized. She’d taken it off and draped it over the side of the tub at some point.

Several camping spots came to mind, isolated places where you didn’t have to register or reserve a space. A friend of Eric’s had a hunting lease they’d used once, a few years ago. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t run into anyone else. Elena wasn’t likely to try to run away, not in her bare feet. The heels she’d been carrying when he’d kidnapped her were probably still in the truck, but she couldn’t get far in those, either.

That was good. He hadn’t wanted to tie her up. When he went to trial for this crime—and he would—he wanted Elena to testify that he’d shown some concern for her welfare. Photos of bruises and rope burns would make for damning evidence in court.

It took him more than an hour and a half to get to the hunting lease, north of Lake Conroe. He’d left the freeway long ago, following a series of increasingly smaller roads. At one point he’d pulled over and waited, scanning the horizon behind him for the telltale plume of dust rising from the road signaling the passage of a vehicle. But he wasn’t being followed. For the time being, he was safe.

He hoped he remembered the turnoff. The sun was going down; in the dark, he’d never find it.

Wait, there was the dead tree, a black skeleton against sky the color of faded blue ink. Another five minutes and he’d have missed it in the dark.

He swung the truck onto the narrow dirt road. Though he’d slowed to five miles an hour, the bumps and ruts challenged the old vehicle’s suspension. He shuddered to think of how uncomfortable Elena must be. What if one of his tools rolled into her and injured her?

If he had stopped to consider the consequences of his actions, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now and neither would Elena. He’d thought he had mastered his troublesome impulsive streak years ago, but apparently he’d only temporarily stifled it.

It seemed he bumped along the dirt road for hours, but it was only a few minutes before the road widened to a turnaround spot. He was now on the hunting lease, and all appeared quiet—no signs of a campfire or recent tire tracks. He opened the window and stuck his head out to look up. The tree canopy was still pretty thick even though it was full-on autumn. No one would spot his truck from a helicopter. He couldn’t smell any campfire smoke in the air.

He parked just off the road. Later he could camouflage the truck with some brush, but he doubted anyone would come along. Right now he needed to rescue Elena.

With the wrench-missile still firmly in his memory, he stood to the side as he opened the cargo cover and peeked in. She lay there placidly, staring up at him.

“It’s about time. I was almost asphyxiated in there from the exhaust fumes.”

Oh, hell, he hadn’t even thought about that. As slow as he’d been driving, the exhaust fumes wouldn’t dissipate in the wind as they did at normal speeds.

“Lucky for you I didn’t,” she continued as she sat up. “Or you could share a cell with your brother.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Where we won’t be found. Please, please don’t try to run. We’re miles from civilization, and I’d catch you anyway. So save us both the aggravation.”

He opened the tailgate, and she swung her legs out and stood. She’d found her shoes and put them on, he noticed, wondering if she’d been readying herself to sprint for freedom. If she tried to run out here in those heels, she’d break an ankle.

“Are we camping out?”

“Yup.”

She sighed. “I really screwed myself over by stealing your phone. I could have spent the night in that nice bathroom, where at least I had a flush toilet. Now instead I get to relive scenes from Friday the 13th.”

“Sorry about that, princess.” He grabbed his flashlight from the glove box and rummaged around in his truck for anything that might be useful in the woods. He loaded up his backpack with a few additional food items he’d found, a small tarp, matches, a hatchet—

“What’s that for?” she asked with some alarm. She stood quite close to him, watching his every move, apparently.

“Firewood.”

“Oh. Isn’t it risky, building a fire? What if someone sees it?”

“It’s gonna be a small fire. And if I hear any helicopters, I’ll douse it before they see it.” It was a risk; she was right. But very slight. Even if an air search was mounted, they couldn’t investigate every campfire they saw.

He just couldn’t see camping without the small comfort of a fire. It was un-American.

He grabbed his sleeping bag and gave it to Elena to carry. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t hike through the woods in heels. It’s ridiculous.”

She was right again, damn it. He set down the backpack. “Let me see your shoes.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. “You aren’t going to throw them away, are you? Because these are my favorite shoes. Do you know how hard it is to find a comfortable pair of heels?” But she took off one shoe and handed it to him.

He snapped off the heel and handed it back. “There. Flats.”

Fortunately, he couldn’t see the expression on her face. It had grown too dark. But he could feel the anger radiating from her.

“You are going to pay for that.”

“I’ll probably be in prison for twenty years. What can you do that’s worse?”

“Castrate you.” But she gave him the other shoe, and he made his alterations and handed it back. She put them back on without further comment.

Travis led the way into the woods, walking slowly, beating aside the brush with his work boots so Elena’s legs wouldn’t get scratched. At least the weather wasn’t horrible. Camping in August in south Texas could be brutal—you spent the whole night sweating and swatting mosquitos. But autumn was downright pleasant.

“How far do we have to go?”

“’Til I find the right spot.”

Every few steps Travis paused and scanned around him with the flashlight. About the tenth time, he spotted the platform, a rudimentary wooden structure you could at least spread your sleeping bag on, keeping it off the damp ground. And the ground was damp. It had rained quite a bit in the last couple of weeks.

“Thank God,” Elena groused when he announced they were stopping. “How did you even know this was here?”

“My brother and I camped here before, on a hunting trip.”

“What did you hunt?”

“Deer. Supposedly.”

She gasped softly. “You killed deer?”

He laughed. “We never even saw a deer. That hunting trip was just an excuse for a bunch of men to hang out without their wives, exercise bad hygiene, drink gallons of beer in the evenings and do the male-bonding thing. I was relieved I didn’t have to kill Bambi’s mother.”

Travis set the flashlight down and pulled the tarp out of the backpack, spreading it on the platform. Elena had already sat down on a corner of the platform. He took the sleeping bag from her and opened it, shook it out and spread it over the tarp.

“Your bed, princess.”

“My bed?”

“Well, yeah. You didn’t expect me to take the only sleeping bag for myself, did you?”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll manage.” Truth was, he wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately in general as he worried about how to help Eric. He’d like to blame the lack of sleep for his lapse in judgment, but that really wasn’t much of an excuse.

“Is there going to be dinner?”

“Well, let’s see...” He opened the backpack again and extracted the canned goods one by one. “Baked beans, chili con carne, carrots and...pumpkin pie filling.”

“You set the bar pretty high with that lasagna, you know.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “That’d be good.”

“Baked beans. I can eat those cold.”

“But you don’t have to. I’ll build a fire and we can heat this stuff right in the can. Weren’t you ever a Girl Scout?”

“No. The places I grew up didn’t have Girl Scouts.”

Her voice had taken on an edge, and he decided not to pursue that line of conversation for now, though he was curious about her background. She’d said she was Cuban. Had she actually come from Cuba? Or was she of Cuban heritage but born here? Did people come here from Cuba anymore? He knew that at one time many Cubans had fled their homeland and entered the U.S. illegally and then were given asylum.

He made quick work of building a fire. Despite recent rain, there was plenty of dry wood to be found. He couldn’t find any stones the right size to place around the fire, but he cleared enough space so nothing close by would catch. He used his pocketknife to slit the can labels and remove them, and the knife’s can opener to open the chili and the beans.

The beans were ready first, steaming and burbling. He set the beans on a large, flat rock in front of Elena. “Ladies first. Be careful—the can is really hot.” He pulled his pocketknife out and extracted the spoon, but he hesitated before handing it to Elena. “Please don’t get ideas about stabbing me. It would make me grumpy.”

“Duly noted. What else does that knife do? Does it have a parachute? Maybe a bicycle?”

“It has all kinds of things—a screwdriver, a saw, a nail file—”

“Well, that’s useful.”

“Scissors, tweezers, toothpick, corkscrew—”

“If only we had a bottle of wine.”

“I could go for a six-pack myself.” Of course she was a wine drinker. Judith had tried to get him to drink wine, but after hours of instruction, he still couldn’t tell a fine Bordeaux from a cheap Merlot.

Elena held out her hand.

Reluctantly, he handed her the knife. If she went for the blade, he could get to her before she could fold it out, but he really didn’t want to go there.

She gave him a knowing look. “You’re never going to let go of that wrench episode, are you?”

“Not until the scar heals.”

He enjoyed the playful conversation way more than he should have. It was almost as if they were on a first date...flirting. With each snippet she revealed about herself, his admiration for her grew. How many women in her position would have the smarts and the gumption to fight back the way she had?

He suddenly fervently wished he had met her at some other point in his life, instead of this desperate moment. When was the last time he’d flirted with a woman? Had to be Judith. That women had soured him on the entire fair sex. Before her, he had loved women. Couldn’t get enough of them. After his spectacularly short and bad marriage, he had only interacted with women long enough to get them into bed, satisfying an occasional urge to feel human again.

Had he ever even known what it felt like to simply enjoy the company of a woman, to appreciate her beauty, her wit and those feminine ways that were so different from his own, so yin to his yang? He’d spent his youth staying alive, keeping his brother on track. Then there was the army, prison, his business...and Judith. Nothing about his ex-wife had been simple. Every encounter with her had been fraught with the stress of trying to meet her expectations.

His heart ached unexpectedly with what could never be—not with Elena and probably not with anyone. By the time he got out of prison, he’d be an old man, and Elena would be married to someone else with a houseful of children, even grandchildren.

“Do you ever want to get married?” he asked impulsively.

She looked at him curiously, her face a work of art in the flickering light of the fire. But she answered. “I hope I will someday. I have memories of when I was little, having these big family get-togethers with my older brothers and my parents, grandparents, ten or twenty cousins. Here, we have very close friends that we treat as family. So family is very important to me. My parents would be so happy if I gave them a dozen grandbabies. But I wouldn’t get married just to have babies.”

“You’re holding out for love, huh?”

“It makes sense, right?” She spooned up some of the beans and blew on them. “Who wants to spend fifty or sixty years with someone they don’t love?”

“The problem with marrying for love is feelings change.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.” She took a bite of the beans, chewed, swallowed and nodded toward the can. “These aren’t too bad.”

He supposed he had let a note of bitterness creep into his voice. He’d thought he was over being angry about the Judith thing, but maybe this reminder about all he didn’t have—would never have—had stirred up some old, buried feelings. Ridiculous, really.

“I married for love. Felt like love, anyway, at first. But she thought I was someone else—or that she could make me into someone different, someone better. I guess I was a pretty hard case, because she gave up, moved on to greener pastures. I kept trying to make her happy, and, meanwhile, she was lining up her next project.”

“I’m sorry. I guess it must be hard to believe in love after an experience like that. But I’ve seen real love, lasting love, so I know it’s out there. My parents have been married more than forty years, and my mother’s eyes still light up whenever my father walks into the room. He still gives her flowers for no reason, just because.”

Travis must have looked skeptical, because she added, “What about your brother? I know it ended tragically, but didn’t he love his wife?”

“He did, and I used to think she loved him, until I realized she was cheating.”

“Oh. Right. You mentioned that.” She returned her attention to the baked beans.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in true love and happy endings; it was just that such perfect pairings were exceedingly rare. Certainly didn’t happen for his mother. His father hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see Eric born.

The temperature was dropping. The chili was steaming now, so he used a folded T-shirt from his car as a pot holder, took the can off the fire and set it on the flat rock.

Elena offered the spoon to him. It seemed oddly intimate, sharing one spoon. But he could see she hadn’t eaten much.

“I’ll wait until you’re done.”

“No, really. I’ve had enough.”

He accepted the spoon and then dug into the chili. It wasn’t too bad. “This stuff reminds me of childhood. You know, that chili they served in school cafeterias?” The school lunch programs had provided Eric and him at least one good meal a day.... Sometimes the only meal they got.

“I wouldn’t know. I always brought my lunch.”

She’d probably had a lunchbox with some Disney princess on it. He smiled at the thought. “Want to try it?”

“Sure. Might as well broaden my horizons.”

When he presented her with the can of chili, like a waiter at a four-star restaurant presenting a sirloin steak, she took the spoon and helped herself to a hefty bite.

“So, you never eat canned food?” Though Travis knew how to cook, these days he seldom bothered with anything more elaborate than a can of soup or tuna fish.

“Daniel doesn’t allow canned food in his house. Everything is made fresh. And my mother cooks everything from scratch.”

“Something about being out in the woods makes even canned stuff taste better. When you’re hiking or canoeing, a peanut butter sandwich can be ecstasy.”

She was staring at him. He turned away from her self-consciously.

“You’re very handsome when you smile. You should do it more often.”

“Don’t have much to smile about lately. You about done with that?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot for a moment that I’m hogging the only spoon.” She handed the utensil back to him. Now that her hunger was satisfied, she might have more incentive to threaten him with the knife, so he was relieved she didn’t try anything.

Elena surrendered her spot next to the rock, and Travis took it over. The ground was still warm where her bottom had rested, and he enjoyed the sensation, the secondhand contact with such an attractive part of her body.

Wow, he was obviously hard up.

He finished up the chili and the beans and set the cans aside. There was no trash bag, but he would carry the trash out when they left. Just because he was a desperate felon was no reason to litter.

“You want dessert? The canned pumpkin might be tasty. Or I have some granola bars.”

“No, thanks. I’m full. I have to, um, use the bathroom.”

He’d been dreading this moment. Once out of his sight, she could run. It might seem the smart thing to do, from her angle. But they were a long way from help. She might find her way to the road in the dark, but he would catch up to her if she did that. And if she went deeper into the woods she might elude him, but she risked wandering all night and becoming hopelessly lost. With no jacket, no proper shoes and no water, she could come to harm.

But what else could he do? He wasn’t going to stand over her while she peed behind a bush. The situation would be humiliating for both of them, and her friendly, cooperative mood would come to an abrupt end.

“Don’t go far.”

“Can I take the flashlight?”

“Nope.”

“Great. You better hope a snake doesn’t get me.”

“Snakes are hibernating this time of year.”

With a backward malevolent glance at him, she stalked off into the darkness. Travis took a couple of bites of the pumpkin, but it had a chemical aftertaste—too many preservatives, or maybe it simply tasted of the can. He listened to the sounds of the woods at night. It was peaceful here, just him and Elena and the crickets.

And the coyotes. A long, mournful cry drifted on the night breeze—a coyote seeking its mate. Soon another cry joined the first, then a third. They weren’t too far off; maybe a mile.

Elena hurried back to the campsite, her feet crunching noisily in the leaves. “What is that?”

“Uh, coyote?”

“It’s enough to chill my blood.” She looked around fearfully, as if carnivorous monsters might appear from any direction at any minute. “They sound close.”

He opened his mouth to reassure her that they were safe, that the coyotes were just calling to each other and wouldn’t bother them. Humans were far too big to be prey for a small critter like a coyote unless the animals were really desperate.

But then he realized he could use her fear and ignorance of the woods to his advantage. If she was afraid of coyotes, she was less likely to wander off in the night and try to escape.

He looked around, feigning worry. “They are close. And they sound hungry. They howl like that when they’re hungry.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“A gun? No. Why would you even think that?”

“Well, you’re a kidnapper. I just thought you might have a gun.”

“No. But they won’t bother us so long as we keep the fire burning. Coyotes are afraid of...wood smoke.”

Elena scurried back into the clearing, standing close to the fire. “Do we have lots of firewood? Should we collect more?”

Travis eyed the meager pile of deadwood he’d collected, most of which had been lying around within twenty or thirty feet of their campsite. He’d been planning to let the fire die down; it wasn’t so cold that they really needed the warmth. But after the whopping lies he’d just told, he was going to have to keep it burning. Well, he hadn’t intended to sleep much tonight anyway.

“I’ll go get more.”

She picked up one of the smaller logs and held it, club fashion. “Don’t go far. If I see anything move, I’ll scream.”

Now he felt a little bit guilty for making her so afraid. She hadn’t shown that much fear toward him, and he had the capacity to do her a lot more harm than a scrawny coyote.

Travis spent about ten minutes collecting more wood, occasionally checking on Elena to make sure she wasn’t pulling another fast one, using the distraction of the coyotes to get him out of the way so she could make a break for it. Then he moved the tarp to the ground closer to the fire and spread the sleeping bag on it again. “You can sleep here. It’s not the Ritz, and you’re probably used to a feather bed and silk comforter at Logan’s house, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

She shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Really? When?”

She sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag and pulled one end of it around her shoulders for warmth. “How about in the bottom of a leaky dinghy?”

Yes, that sounded worse. “When did you—”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s something I don’t think about often, let alone talk about.”

Now he was consumed with curiosity. She’d dropped a few hints that she hadn’t always lived a privileged existence, but now he wondered how bad it had been.

“Elena, how did you learn to pick pockets?”

“It’s a gift.”

A pat answer. “So, you don’t want to talk about that, either?”

She shook her head. The coyotes howled again, and she shivered.

“I promise not to let the coyotes get you, okay?”

Elena nodded, but she looked as if she didn’t completely believe him.

“Is there anything you do want to talk about? It’s kind of early to go to bed.”

She hesitated, staring at him intently as if seeking to see beneath his skin. “Why are you willing to exchange places with your brother, to go to prison for him? Isn’t your life worth saving, too?”

So, she didn’t want to talk about bad times in her life, but his life was fair game? He supposed he could say no. But he didn’t. “Look, I don’t relish spending the next few decades behind bars. But Eric... You’d have to know him. He was a special kid even before he could walk and talk. He had this wild, curly blond hair and inquisitive eyes, and as soon as he could talk, he wanted to know everything. His curiosity knew no bounds. He was smart, too—absorbed everything like a sponge. You’d tell him something once, he’d remember it. You’d show him how to do something and he’d pick it up immediately, and pretty soon he’d be doing it better than you. I taught him how to tie his shoes in five minutes.

“He made straight As in school. The teachers loved him. The other kids loved him. Yet nothing ever went to his head. He was exceptional in every way, and he knew it, but he still managed to somehow be humble.

“The girls were all over him, but he always treated them nice. He had a few different girlfriends over the years, but he was loyal to each one while he was with her.

“He got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford, and then he went to law school. He was courted by some pretty big law firms, but he didn’t want to leave Houston, so he went with a smaller firm. He could have been a very successful trial lawyer—he was something to watch in the courtroom. But he chose real estate law instead because he didn’t like the confrontational aspect of the courtroom or the unsavory nature of dealing with criminals. He’s basically too nice to be that kind of lawyer.

“When he met Tammy, he was positive she was the one. They seemed to be the golden couple living the perfect life. They had a gorgeous home, and when MacKenzie was born it was the icing on the cake.

“Eric didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. I never once in my whole life saw him lose his temper. Which is why it’s so ludicrous that he would kill Tammy.

“We used to go fishing as kids, but I noticed that Eric never baited his hook right. He was hoping a turtle would steal his bait so he wouldn’t have to catch anything—so he wouldn’t have to clean it. That was how much he hated knives. Can’t see him picking up a knife and stabbing someone.”

“Did you testify at your brother’s trial? As a character witness?”

“No. His attorney was afraid I’d do more harm than good, seeing as I’m an ex-con. He thought I would have no credibility.”

A wariness came into her eyes. “Oh. You’ve been to prison?”

“Assault. It was self-defense, but I couldn’t prove that, so I pled out. Did eighteen months.”

“Excuse me for saying so, but Eric’s lawyer was an ass. If a jury had heard what you just told me... Well, let’s just say it would have made them think.”


CHAPTER SIX

ELENA COULDN’T BELIEVE this was happening to her, but she was actually taking Travis’s side. She’d always had strong feelings about the work Project Justice did. Her family had come to this country to find freedom and fairness, and it had appealed to her sense of honor that even when the justice system made a mistake, there was still recourse. Her family had left Cuba when they did because her father was being threatened with jail simply for expressing an opinion that wasn’t popular with the government.

Her father had trained as a doctor, but for reasons Elena never fully understood, he hadn’t been allowed to practice. Instead, his fine mind had gone to waste in the cane fields and his family had lived in a tin shack. And even that had been threatened.

Their first few years in America, they’d still been relatively poor. But they’d been free—free to speak their minds, to live and work where they wanted, and free from the constant threat of jail.

She was proud to work for the man who had created a foundation that defended people who’d been unfairly imprisoned.

But this was the first time she had been so up close and personal with the pain and devastation a false conviction wreaked on the prisoner’s family. If her family had not left Cuba when they had, she could easily be the one left on the outside, mourning an innocent person’s life being wasted behind bars. She could easily see herself in Travis’s place—powerless to help, desperate to make someone—anyone—listen to reason.

Still, she couldn’t overlook the fact that Travis had himself committed a crime. He’d kidnapped her and was still holding her against her will, though her will had weakened considerably over the past few hours.

How she felt didn’t really matter, she supposed. The course had been set. Nothing would happen until tomorrow, when Travis checked his voice mail to find out Daniel’s response.

The whole thing would be over before too long. Travis would let her go—she felt pretty sure about that. Then he would be arrested. But something good would come of it. Daniel would be forced to take a look at Eric’s case. And when he realized Eric’s lawyer had been weak, that he hadn’t pursued certain avenues that he should have, that he hadn’t let Travis testify, Daniel would have no choice but to do something. His conscience wouldn’t let him ignore the situation, no matter what he said about proper channels and priorities.





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