Книга - Solitary Soldier

Solitary Soldier
Debra Webb


THERE IS ONLY ONE MAN WHO CAN HELP YOU. IF HE'LL TAKE YOUR CASE."–Victoria Colby of the Colby Agency to Rachel Larson, desperate motherShe'd heard his heart was as hard as his honed body and as cold as the steel of his gun. But the man called Sloan was Rachel Larson's last hope. She had nowhere left to hide from her son's father–a cold-blooded assassin, and Sloan's deadliest enemy. So she would face this lone wolf in his lair and plead for his help… .Ex-agent Sloan lived only to take down the man who'd killed all he loved. Now a desperate, desirable woman offered him that chance on a silver platter. Vengeance was his–if he could keep Rachel and her son from invading the fortress around his heart….









Sloan had nothing to offer her


She was a client, nothing more. When this was over, Rachel and her son would go back to their lives. And Sloan…well, he would return to his usual existence.

He watched Rachel trudge across the courtyard. She looked beat. She couldn’t have had more than two hours’ sleep last night.

Sloan caught himself. He would not feel any sympathy. No way. He had to rebuild that mutual dislike that had first stood between them.

When he was sure Rachel had retired to her own room, he finally went inside. The house was quiet. No sweet, feminine laughter. No pitter-patter of little feet. Already he missed the kid’s questions, and Rachel’s singsong voice as she played with her son. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He had sworn that no one would ever get this close to him again.




Solitary Soldier

Debra Webb





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




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345.










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Rachel Larson—She cannot allow Angel to get his hands on her son. She will do whatever it takes to protect the child from his father.

Trevor Sloan—The last thing he wants or needs is a woman and a child reminding him of all he has lost.

Josh—Rachel’s four-year-old son. Can she protect him from his own father?

Gabriel DiCassi, aka “Angel”—A highly paid assassin. He wants his son and he will stop at nothing to get him.

Victoria Colby—The head of the Colby Agency. She sends Rachel and her son to Sloan. Despite Sloan’s mercenary mentality, Victoria knows that he is Rachel’s only hope.

Tanya—Angel’s longtime lover. She wants Angel all to herself, but can she risk his wrath to accomplish her heart’s desire?

Ric Martinez—Colby Agency’s newest field operative. He has attitude and charm, necessary skills to get the information he needs to fulfill his mission.


First, I must thank Greyhound bus lines for the ride of our lives, and God for providing the snow that trapped us in Cleveland on our way to New York. Had I not been stuck on a bus with my partner-in-crime for thirty-one hours, this story might not have been born.

This book is dedicated to a dear friend and fellow writer. She is my partner-in-crime, just as Ethel was to Lucy. We began this journey together—may it always be as fun, exciting and “bizarre” as it was in the beginning when we couldn’t wait for “the call.” Cheers, Rhonda, we made it.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue




Prologue


“I’ll pay anything you ask,” Rachel Larson insisted.

Victoria Colby regarded the woman across the wide expanse of her oak desk for a long moment before she responded. “Miss Larson, this is primarily an investigations agency. We accept clients who require personal protection on a case-by-case basis, and generally by referral only.”

Disappointment shadowed Rachel’s pale features. Dark circles beneath eyes that contained as much wariness as fear, and the ill fit of her clothing told Victoria that this young woman had not slept or eaten well in too many months. Her overall look of extreme fatigue signaled her proximity to the edge. The ability to size up a client had facilitated Victoria’s climb to the top in this business. And right now, every instinct told her that this young woman was more than simply desperate.

“I’ll need to know a great deal more before I can make a decision as to whether the Colby Agency will take your case,” Victoria explained.

Rachel drew in a shaky breath and squared her shoulders. “Detective Clarence Taylor sent me. He was a police detective here in Chicago before moving to New Orleans.”

Victoria considered the name for a moment. “Yes, I remember Detective Taylor. He left three or four years ago I believe.”

Rachel nodded, hope kindled in those dark brown eyes. “That’s right. He knows that I’ve exhausted every other possibility, including the police.” Rachel leaned forward and clutched Victoria’s desk like a life-line against the violent waters churning her obviously troubled soul. “You have to help me, Mrs. Colby. He’s going to take my little boy.” A single tear slipped down her colorless cheek before she could swipe it away with the back of her hand. “I can’t let him do that.”

Sympathy tugged at Victoria’s softer side—the side that hadn’t hardened over the years in this cutthroat business. She knew all too well that kind of fear, that kind of pain. She blocked the memories. If Clarence Taylor had sent Miss Larson to her, Victoria would certainly do all she could to help her. “All right,” she offered. “I will consider your case, but you have to tell me everything, Miss Larson.”

“Thank you.” Rachel’s voice cracked with emotion.

Victoria opened her notepad and removed her gold pen from its holder. “I’ll need to know as many details as possible about the stalker.” She glanced up from her pad. “First, do you know his name?”

Rachel licked her lips, then swallowed visibly. “I believe your agency has worked on a case involving him before. His name is Gabriel DiCassi. They call him—”

“Angel,” Victoria finished for her, the name barely more than a whisper. She shuddered with remembered dread. Several years, but not nearly enough, had passed since she heard that name. Not since…Sloan left.

“Detective Taylor thought that one of your investigators might have experience dealing with…him,” she said uncertainly.

Taking her time, Victoria placed her pen on the blank notepad, then leveled her gaze on Rachel’s. “Unfortunately, I do know him.”

Despair reigned supreme in the young woman’s features. “Then you know that this is no ordinary situation.”

“Yes,” Victoria agreed gravely. “Angel is a highly paid assassin whose reputation boasts a perfect record of kills. He’s ruthless. If you’re his target, he won’t stop until you’re dead.”

“Please tell me you’ll help me.” Desperation weighed Rachel’s weary tone. “I have to find a way to protect my son.”

A frown tugged at Victoria. Somehow the part about the child didn’t quite gel. “Why would Angel want to take your son?” Victoria thought briefly of the small dark-haired boy sitting in her outer office under her secretary Mildred’s watchful eye.

Rachel looked away for a moment. “Because he’s Josh’s father.” Her lips trembled with the effort it took to force her next words. “Five years ago, we were…involved.”

“Involved?” Victoria heard the contempt in her own voice, and immediately regretted it. Humiliation clouded Rachel’s expression.

“I was very young. It was a mistake.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slowly from side to side. A soul-deep pain clouded her gaze when she opened her eyes once more. “He used me to get to my father.”

“Yet you’re still alive.” Victoria arched a speculative brow. “That’s not Angel’s style. He never leaves loose ends.”

“He would have killed me…” Rachel blinked furiously at the tears gathering, then shrugged. “I was lucky to escape. I’ve been running ever since. Later, he found out about Josh, and now Angel wants him.”

If her story were true, Rachel Larson was as good as dead. Angel allowed nothing to stand between him and what he wanted. Anyone who tried to stop him was accepting a death sentence. Though Victoria employed the very finest in their fields, tracking down a man like Angel would take resources she simply could not risk. She had learned that lesson too well seven years ago.

Victoria braced herself for what she knew had to be said. “Regrettably, Miss Larson, the Colby Agency cannot provide the services you have requested.”

Rachel stiffened. “You won’t help me?”

“I don’t mean that at all.” Victoria pulled open her right desk drawer and flipped through her files. She removed a manila folder and scanned its contents. Satisfied with what she found, Victoria turned her attention back to Rachel. “There is only one man, to my knowledge, who knows Angel well enough to be of any assistance to you, and he doesn’t work for me anymore.” Victoria copied the name and address from the folder onto the back of her business card. “I can’t guarantee that he’ll be willing to take your case, but he’s your only possible hope at succeeding. Tell him I sent you.”

Rachel accepted the offered card. “Who is he?”

“Someone who used to work for this agency.” Victoria leveled her gaze on Rachel’s. “Someone I would trust with my own life. His name is Trevor Sloan.”

“He must be the investigator Detective Taylor mentioned.”

Victoria dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Sloan was the best investigator the Colby Agency has ever had the privilege of employing.” Regret trickled through her. “As I said, he doesn’t work for me anymore. Although this agency has utilized his services from time to time over the past couple of years, Sloan is very selective in the offers he takes these days.” Victoria paused before continuing. “Considering the circumstances, he might not want to take your case at all.”

Rachel searched Victoria’s gaze. “If he’s willing, how can he help me?”

Memories Victoria would rather not have recalled played in the private theater of her mind. “He knows Angel. He knows how the man operates and what motivates him.”

Frowning, Rachel hesitated at first, but then asked, “How is it that Sloan knows Angel so well?”

Victoria sighed her own hesitation. What would it hurt to tell her? If Sloan could help the woman, Victoria rationalized, understanding would make dealing with him somewhat easier. “Seven years ago Angel assassinated two very prominent businessmen here in Chicago,” she began. “The Colby Agency was called in to consult on the case.” Victoria tamped down the guilt that quickly surfaced. “I assigned Sloan to support them. He possesses an uncanny ability to read people. He studied Angel’s case, tracked him for months.” Victoria met Rachel’s unsuspecting gaze knowing that what she would say next would only add to her growing fear. “When Sloan got too close, Angel retaliated in a particularly ruthless manner. Recognizing the kind of man Sloan was and what would hurt him most, Angel murdered Sloan’s wife and took his three-year-old son.”

Rachel gasped and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh God.”

“The child’s body wasn’t discovered for a while, and during that time Angel taunted Sloan with telephone calls of his son’s recorded cries for Daddy…” Her voice drifted off as the painful memories of that seemingly endless year of tracking Angel sifted through Victoria’s thoughts. Sloan had pushed himself beyond any man’s physical and mental limitations, and found nothing. Then, finally, they’d discovered the small body burned beyond recognition. Something had snapped inside Sloan then and he’d simply disappeared. Months later, Victoria learned that he’d resurfaced as a private contractor in Mexico. He hadn’t allowed her close since. But he was still the best in the business of tracking and protection.

Rachel’s complexion turned a whiter shade of pale. “How will I ever stop him?”

Victoria studied her a long moment before answering. Perhaps Angel had some sort of twisted reasoning for allowing Rachel to live just as he had when he spared Sloan’s life. Living with the loss was much more difficult than dying. Gabriel DiCassi was evil incarnate.

Victoria pointed to the card in Rachel’s hand. “Talk to Sloan.” If even a small part of the man she once knew lived behind that hardened, go-to-hell armor he wore, Sloan would never be able to turn this woman and her child away. And maybe the opportunity would allow him to lay his own demons to rest. “And don’t let his attitude scare you off,” Victoria added. “If there is anyone who can help you, Sloan can.”



RACHEL STOOD ON the street corner in downtown Chicago and stared at the card in her hand. Los Laureles Cantina in Florescitaf, Mexico. That’s where she would find this man named Sloan. What sort of man used a cantina for his business office? Maybe she didn’t want to know. Rachel shivered despite the August sun beating down from the clear blue sky. No amount of heat would ever make her feel warm inside knowing what lay ahead of her.

But she had no choice…she had to do something.

No matter how far and fast she ran, Angel always found her. He wanted her son. Angel only allowed her to take care of Josh for the time being because he felt the boy needed his mother. He had said those very words to her on more than one occasion. One day though, he intended to take Josh. Rachel shuddered at the thought. She had to do something before that day came.

“I’m hungry, Mommy.”

Rachel’s attention jerked back to the here and now. She smiled at the little boy whose hand she held tightly in her own. “I’m sorry, honey. We’ll have lunch soon.” Satisfied, Josh smiled back at her. Somehow she had to find Sloan and convince him to help her.

No matter what it took.




Chapter One


Thank God.

After searching all afternoon beneath the blistering August sun, Rachel Larson had finally found the place no one seemed to know about. Or perhaps it was her poor excuse for Spanish they didn’t understand. Rachel surveyed the run-down building before her. Located in an unsavory part of an obscure little Mexican town called Florescitaf, the cantina known as Los Laureles looked even more forbidding than she had expected. Maybe that’s why no one would admit to knowing its location.

Squaring her shoulders against the uneasiness skittering up her spine, Rachel reminded herself of why she was here. She had to do this. There was no other alternative. Besides, the place was named after some sort of flower, surely it couldn’t be so bad.

Instinctively Rachel tightened her hold on Josh’s hand when he peeked around her skirt to watch the children playing in the alley between the cantina and the equally run-down, open-air meat market next door. Rachel glanced down at her son and smiled when his eyes widened in wonder at the goats the children appeared to be tending. Barefoot, and faces bright with smiles, the local children stared back at Josh with that same wonder in their dark eyes.

Josh seldom played with other children. They were never in one place long enough to make friends, and even if they were, ties to anyone was just another risk Rachel and Josh couldn’t afford. Rachel sighed. Would their lives never be normal?

Rachel stole one last, lingering moment to savor the children’s innocent faces, the warmth of the merciless sun, and the pungent smells of raw, drying and roasting meat from the nearby market. After today, one way or another, her life would never be the same.

Today things were going to change.

Drawing in a deep, bolstering breath, Rachel took the first step toward that end. The stench of stale tobacco, alcohol and sweat enveloped her as she entered the disreputable-looking cantina. Overhead ancient fans slowly stirred the fetid air. Before her eyes adjusted to the dim, smoky interior, Rachel felt one narrowed gaze after the other scrutinize her as if she were the latest addition to the menu. Uncertainty warred with the desperation that was her constant companion.

You can do this, Rach, she reminded the part of her that wanted to run as far away from here as possible. Angel had warned her that he was growing impatient with her useless measures to elude him. What would he do when he discovered that she had come to this man named Sloan? Rachel shivered, and pushed away the thought. She couldn’t think about that now.

This was the only way.

Still holding Josh’s hand in her left and with her right clenched tightly around the strap of her over-stuffed shoulder bag, Rachel weaved her way between the tables and to the bar that extended half the length of the room. She hated to bring her four-year-old son into a place like this, but what else could she do? She didn’t dare allow him out of her sight. And she had to find Sloan.

Their lives depended upon it.

“Excuse me,” Rachel said as politely as possible with fear pounding through her veins. “Do you speak English?”

“Sí. What is your pleasure, señora?” Propped against the worn smooth counter, the bartender’s examining gaze lingered on Rachel’s breasts before he looked up and smiled.

Heavyset, with thick dark hair and a wide mustache, the man oozed what he likely considered charm. Rachel swallowed the fear clawing at her throat and manufactured a tight smile of her own. “I’m looking for a man called Sloan.”

One bushy eyebrow quirked the slightest bit, but the smile stayed in place. “And why would such a pretty lady look for such a dangerous man?” he asked in that heavily accented voice, putting emphasis on the words pretty lady.

“A friend sent me.” What if he wouldn’t tell her where Sloan was? What if Sloan wasn’t even here? He could be working some other case in God knows where. What would she do then? Rachel’s heart pounded so hard she felt sure the man behind the counter could hear it.

“It’s very important that I find him,” she forged ahead, her voice faltering despite her best efforts to keep it firm. Rachel moistened her lips and held her ground as he took his time considering her request.

“El solitario.” With a jerk of his head, the bartender gestured toward the darkest corner of the establishment. “The one who sits all alone.”

Rachel nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

Before she could turn, his next words stopped her. “Do not thank me, señora. It is not my habit to send sheep to slaughter, but you asked.” He picked up a grimy cloth and absently wiped the counter, his gaze still leveled on hers.

Rachel stared at him, uncertain what to do with his offhanded warning. Should she run now and cut her losses? Her hand tightened around Josh’s. Maybe Victoria had been wrong about Sloan.

“It’s very important.”

The bartender shrugged. “Perhaps, pretty lady, you should come back later.” He darted a look at the faded plastic clock on the wall. “It is just four o’clock, his mood will be nasty for a while yet.”

“I’ll…” Rachel backed up a step. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly. She glanced down at Josh and said another quick prayer before starting in the direction the bartender had indicated. Surely the bartender was exaggerating. Sloan couldn’t be as fearsome as all that. Victoria Colby had recommended him. He was a former employee of hers. The Colby Agency had come highly recommended to Rachel. She trusted Detective Taylor’s judgment implicitly.

Ignoring what were most likely lewd Spanish remarks tossed in her direction, Rachel walked straight to the far end of the room. She would show no fear. She was not afraid, she chanted like a mantra with each step she took. Rachel paused a few feet away from her destination and pulled out a chair from an unoccupied table. After settling Josh into the seat, she crouched in front of him and forced a wide smile she didn’t in any way feel.

“Josh, I want you to stay right here until Mommy speaks to the man just over there.” Rachel pointed out the table only a few feet away. “Okay, sweetie?”

Josh bobbed his head up and down, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and even a little fear. Rachel’s heart squeezed in her chest. Josh would start school next year. How many of his classmates will have experienced a place such as this? Then again, how many of them could claim the devil himself as a father?

Rachel pushed aside the painful thoughts and ruffled her son’s dark hair. She pulled a coloring book and small box of crayons from her bag and placed them on the scarred tabletop. “I want you to color Mommy a pretty picture and I’ll only be a minute.”

Josh nodded once and flipped the coloring book to a fresh page. Satisfied, Rachel stood. She forced herself to turn away from the child she loved more than life itself. She looked back twice as she took the few remaining steps, each time hoping to comfort Josh with the halfhearted smile her trembling lips managed to maintain.

Her son waved shyly and Rachel felt a real smile spread across her lips then. Yes, she could do this. She would do it for Josh. Confident in her decision, Rachel turned back to her objective.

The man sat alone, an empty tequila bottle on the table before him. El solitario reverberated through Rachel. A solitary soldier. A mercenary for hire. Just the kind of man she needed. He didn’t look up when she stopped an arm’s length away. He seemed fascinated with the gold liquid in the glass he was turning between his thumb and forefinger.

Rachel’s first up-close impression of the man was dangerous, just like the bartender said. Sloan looked like he would be tall, and he was definitely solidly built. His too-long tawny hair brushed his broad shoulders. The sleeves had been cut from the faded shirt he wore, displaying muscled arms. He looked very strong, and for one fleeting moment Rachel felt a little safer in the knowledge that this was the man who could help her.

But then he spoke…

“Unless you’re selling your wares, I’m not interested.”

Rachel shivered at the husky sound of his deep voice. Disregarding his crude remark, she summoned her waning courage and asked, “Are you Sloan?”

He lifted his gaze to hers then, and Rachel’s breath caught. Icy, translucent blue eyes cut a hole straight to her soul. His square, beard-shadowed jaw reaffirmed her first impression. Dangerous.

“Unfortunately—” He tossed back the last of the tequila in his glass without taking that piercing gaze from hers. Rachel jumped when the glass clunked down onto the table. “—I haven’t had enough to drink to be anyone else.” He licked the taste of liquor from his lips. “But it’s still early.”

Mustering her scattered courage, Rachel forced herself to speak. “I’ve come a long way and—”

“You do know,” he interrupted as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “that this is no place for children.” His gaze darted past her to where she had left her son.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to make sure Josh was okay. She swallowed back the mushrooming uncertainty. “I know,” she replied slowly, her resolve crumbling beneath his stony, emotionless glare. “My name is Rachel Larson. I…I need your help.”

In one fluid motion he stood and towered over her. She battled the urge to flee. Absolute silence screamed around them for the space of two heartbeats before he responded.

“Then you’ve wasted your time, Miss Larson.”

Her heart lurched. “Please, you have to hear me out.”

One side of his mouth quirked upward. “The only thing I have to do is die. And between now and then, all I plan to do is drink tequila and get laid. Anything else is uncertain.” He cocked his head and made a sound, more growl than laugh. “So unless you plan to help me with one of those two things, I would suggest that you don’t waste any more of your time or mine.”

A new surge of fear shot through Rachel’s veins. She could not allow him to dismiss her so easily. He was her only chance. “Victoria Colby sent me,” Rachel announced in a stronger voice than she had thought herself capable. “She said you could help me.”

Something flickered in that cold, remote gaze, then vanished as quickly as it came. “Victoria made a mistake.”

Before Rachel could protest, he turned and started toward the bar, his smooth stride unhurried and making her think of a panther as it stalked its prey.

Watching her only hope slip through her fingers, desperation tightened Rachel’s chest. She had to do or say something to convince him to help her.

Now!

“Angel intends to kill me,” she blurted. “If you won’t help me, what am I supposed to do?”

Sloan stopped and turned to face her. He stared at Rachel for a long moment with those pale, empty eyes, his unrevealing expression unchanged. What felt like a lifetime later, he spoke, “Get your affairs in order.”

Stunned by his indifference, and frightened beyond reason by his refusal, Rachel watched him walk to the bar and order another drink. The bartender filled a clean glass with tequila, the sound echoing around her, drowning her last shred of hope with its golden appeal.

Desperation exploded inside Rachel. She glanced at Josh to see that he was still occupied with his coloring, then she strode straight up to the bar, anger and frustration building almost as fast as the fear. She glared at Sloan’s unyielding profile and summoned the courage to defy his dismissal.

“I know what he did to you,” Rachel told him, her voice quaking with emotion she could no more hide than she could stop breathing. “I know about your wife and son.”

He stilled, the drink almost to his lips. A muscle flexed in his rigid jaw and his knuckles whitened around the glass. Slowly, with exacting precision, Sloan placed the untouched liquor back on the counter. He turned and stared at her, the full impact of his size slamming into Rachel for the first time. He was tall, with massive shoulders. He was more man than she had ever been this close to before. A new kind of tension zipped through her, adding to her already unbearable apprehension.

“Since you seem to know so much about my experience with Angel,” Sloan suggested with equal measures sarcasm and contempt, “why don’t you tell me what fascination you hold for the son of a bitch.”

Rachel’s throat constricted. She swallowed, but it didn’t help. “He wants my son.”

Sloan glanced at Josh. Josh was busy selecting another crayon from the well-worn box. Rachel’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. Would this man help her when she told him the rest? Please God, she prayed, please don’t let him turn us away. Not now. They had come so far.

Distrust or maybe disbelief flickered in Sloan’s otherwise emotionless eyes. “Why would he want your son?”

Everything inside Rachel stilled as she stared into the eyes of the only man on earth who could help her. And what she was about to tell him would likely be the very reason he would not.

“Because Josh is Angel’s son, too.”



IT TOOK A FULL ten seconds for the words Rachel Larson uttered to fully assimilate in Sloan’s brain. His gaze shifted to the dark-haired boy seated a couple of tables away. As if feeling Sloan’s gaze on him, the boy looked up. Wide, curious eyes stared back at Sloan. The same black eyes that haunted Sloan whenever he tried to sleep without getting half wasted first. A tremor started someplace deep inside him, like an earthquake before it reaches the surface of the earth. Sloan’s right hand shook and he curled his fingers into a tight fist. Something dark and ugly filtered through Sloan’s mind, but he pushed it away.

This was Angel’s son. Sloan didn’t need to see a birth certificate; the proof was written all over the boy’s face. He was a mirror image of his father. Sloan averted his gaze and blinked to dispel the image that somehow evolved into a full-grown version of Angel. Sloan reminded himself that this was only a child, innocent of his father’s heinous crimes.

“What do you want?” Sloan heard himself say, his voice so cold and hard that he barely recognized it as his own.

“I need your help,” she repeated, her tone low and pleading.

Sloan blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, you said that already.” He leveled his gaze on huge brown eyes that made his gut clench with an old feeling that was familiar yet alien to the man he had become. He squashed the protective instincts that rose automatically at the sight of this needy young woman and her son…. Angel’s son.

Sloan swallowed. Hard.

“Exactly what kind of help is it that you think you need from me, Miss…”

“Rachel Larson,” she told him again.

Sloan studied the woman as she worked up the nerve to spell out what she wanted from him. She was a real looker if a guy liked his woman a little on the skinny side. From the dark circles under her eyes though, Sloan would lay odds that she didn’t sleep long or often. But all that thick brown hair hanging around her shoulders was her saving grace…and the lips. She had those full, kissable lips that any man breathing would lust after. The blouse and long flowing skirt were too loose and concealing to determine if there were any curves at all hidden beneath them. Strappy sandals with sensible heels adorned her feet. It wasn’t until his gaze collided with hers again that Sloan realized she hadn’t spoken yet because she was too busy fighting the urge to turn tail and run. His blatant appraisal had seriously disturbed her shaky bravado.

“No matter where we go,” she finally burst out, then caught herself. She took a calming breath. A combination of frustration and fear danced across her pretty face. “Or how many times we move, he always finds us.” She clasped the shoulder strap of her bag more tightly. “The last time he found us he told me that he was tired of my running and that very soon he was going to take Josh…and…and then he would have no further use for me.” She blinked furiously to hold back the tears threatening. “I don’t know what else to do. You’re our only hope.”

Sloan mentally stepped back from what every instinct urged him to feel. He refused to feel any of this. It was a hell of a sad story but it had nothing to do with him. Angel’s former lovers held no interest for Sloan. Besides, this sounded too good to be true. That someone Angel might care about, with his son in tow, would waltz into Los Laureles looking for Sloan’s help seemed a bit too pat. This had setup written all over it. Still, she had said that Victoria sent her.

“Sounds like a domestic problem to me, Miss Larson,” he suggested, testing the waters of sincerity. Sloan pressed her with a steely glare intended to intimidate. “And I’m no social worker.” She faltered, but didn’t scurry away as he fully expected.

“I don’t need a social worker,” she said with determination, and a hefty dose of bitterness. “I need someone who can protect my son from Angel.”

Still skeptical, Sloan cocked his head and eyed her speculatively. “Call a cop,” he offered.

The flash of anger that brightened her eyes took Sloan by surprise. He almost smiled, but he was too busy watching the metamorphosis in Rachel Larson.

“You know the police can’t help me,” she returned with barely controlled fury.

“Then tell me, Miss Larson,” he goaded. “What is it you think I can do that the police can’t.”

The look that passed between them proved immensely more telling than the words that followed. “Angel will come for his son. I want you to do whatever it takes to stop him.”

A long silence followed, but her fiery gaze never wavered. She was dead serious, Sloan realized then. Rachel Larson wanted him to do the one thing he had longed to have the opportunity to do for seven endless years. She wanted him to kill Gabriel DiCassi.

Time had not dulled his fierce desire for vengeance, only the urgency of it. His wife and son were dead. Nothing could change that. Sloan set his jaw hard against the paralyzing emotions that wanted to surface even now, after all this time. The finality had crashed down around him long ago, after almost a year of nonstop searching for Angel. Grief and the need to avenge his wife and son had kept him looking when everyone else had given up. The realization that nothing he did would matter, it sure as hell wouldn’t bring them back, hit him eventually. Then there was nothing. He stopped feeling anything at all.

But now anticipation surged anew through Sloan’s veins. The mere notion of killing Angel made him almost giddy. His gaze traveled back to the boy. The woman was even providing the perfect bait. How far would a piece of crap like Angel be willing to go for his own son? A strange calm settled over Sloan then. He knew just how far any man would go. And he wouldn’t have to do anything but wait Angel out. Long buried sensations bombarded Sloan. A dozen snippets of memory flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes in overwhelming despair when the sound of his son’s cries echoed through his soul. Sloan wanted to kill Angel more than he wanted to draw in his next breath. For the first time, Sloan had the perfect means by which to lure him.

Sloan opened his eyes to the woman standing before him. Self-disgust abruptly made him sick to his stomach. Uncharacteristic moisture stung his eyes. Had he fallen so very far? He shook his head. What kind of man would use a woman and child to assuage his own savage thirst for revenge? Sloan swallowed the answer that welled in his throat, the answer he didn’t want to acknowledge. But it was there, it had always been there. The urge was so strong that Sloan could taste it. Not one doubt had ever existed in his mind that, if given the opportunity, he would do anything, give anything, within his power to make Angel pay for what he had done.

But not this.

He would not use a child. He could not. Not even Angel’s child.

He leveled his gaze on Rachel’s and with his next words affirmed his decision, “I’m not the man you need for the job.”

Sloan walked away without looking back.

He pushed through the swinging doors and into the harsh light of day. He lifted his face to the sun’s warm kiss and drew in a ragged breath. No point wasting any effort on regret. There would be a day of reckoning, he had no doubt. He would take Angel down, Sloan had made that vow long ago. But he would never stoop to Angel’s level to do it. Sloan could not—would not—use a child.

Cool, soft fingers touched Sloan’s arm. He pivoted and glowered down at the woman who had followed him from the cantina.

“I told you I’m not the man for the job,” he growled. The little boy cowered behind his mother now, cautiously peeking past her skirt. Sloan swore under his breath. Now he was scaring small children.

Rachel held her ground, meeting his lethal glare with lead in her own. “You’re the only man for the job,” she insisted with quiet strength.

“Lady, you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve coming to a place like this.” He gestured at all that surrounded them. “Do you have a clue the kind of men you walked past in there?” He stepped closer to her, putting himself in her personal space now and forcing her to acknowledge his superior physical strength. “Florescitaf is the bottom of the barrel down here. There are sleaze-bags here that would sell their own mother for their next drink. Any one of them could eat you alive and not blink. I’m surprised you made it this far.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. “I had to come here,” she said finally. “This is where you are. And I need you.”

Sloan shook his head. Victoria had no business sending this woman and her son to him. He wasn’t a do-gooder anymore. Sloan took the jobs no one else wanted to take. The ones too dangerous for a man who cared whether he lived or died.

“I’m no knight in shining armor, Miss Larson. In fact, I’m so far from it that most women who know my reputation wouldn’t consider themselves safe this close.” He allowed his gaze to rove the length of her once more for good measure. “You’re sure it’s me you’re looking for?”

Uncertain now, she shifted nervously. “Victoria said you’re the best. She said you know Angel.” She licked her full lips. To Sloan’s irritation, he followed the movement with growing interest. “She said,” Rachel continued, “that if there was anyone who could help me, it was you.”

“Like I told you before, Victoria made a mistake.” He started to turn away, but something in those big, pleading eyes stayed him.

“You know what he’ll do,” she murmured. Tears slipped past those long lashes and streamed down her cheeks. “Can you turn your back on us knowing what he’ll do?”

Sloan looked away. He didn’t want to see or hear any of this. He wanted to go back into the cantina and finish off that bottle he left on the bar. He wanted to forget the name Gabriel DiCassi. He wanted to erase the image of this woman and her son from his mind. But he could never do either of those things.

“Josh!”

Sloan jerked his attention back to Rachel. She whirled around, calling her son’s name. Josh was nowhere in sight.

“Oh God, where can he be?” Rachel rushed forward, then hesitated as if unsure which way to go. “He was right behind me…. Josh!”

Sloan’s heart pumped hard in his chest. The vivid memory of endless days and nights of searching for his own son broadsided him with the force of a runaway train. The first moment of realization that his little boy was not at home…not at the neighbor’s…not anywhere. A cold sweat coated Sloan’s skin. The final gut-wrenching instant when he had to admit defeat. His son was dead…murdered. Sloan shuddered, then trembled with remembered pain so sharp that nausea burned the back of his throat.

“Josh!” Rachel cried out, her voice riddled with hysteria and the panic no doubt tightening like a steel band around her chest. She zigzagged in and out of the throngs of people milling from shop to shop.

Siesta had long passed and the streets were filled with shoppers and peddlers going about their business as the heat of the day slowly subsided with the retreating sun. Children played in the alleys and the streets. Dogs barked and sniffed about, looking for handouts. The occasional car horn honked to clear the way as it inched past on the cluttered cobblestone street.

Sloan scanned face after face, each distracted with his or her own agenda. Another handful of children skipped past, chattering and laughing. But none proved to be the one he was searching for.

Josh was gone.

Sloan moved toward Rachel, then caught her by the elbow and pulled her around to face him. He pinned her with a steady gaze, hoping to calm the fear dancing in hers. “Stay right here, out in the open where Josh can see you.” Another tear streaked downward. Before he could stop himself Sloan reached up and swiped that tear from her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I will find him,” he promised, then turned away.

Josh couldn’t have gone far on his own….




Chapter Two


Rachel’s frantic search stalled in the middle of the street. Sloan’s warning to stay where Josh could see her belatedly echoed in her ears. She watched in utter despair as Sloan came out of the last shop empty-handed. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest ached with each heavy thud. She wanted to run through the streets screaming her agony, but her arms and legs felt like useless wooden clubs. This couldn’t be happening. The nightmare she feared most had reached long bony fingers from the blackest depths of her subconscious and climbed into her reality.

Josh was gone.

They had looked everywhere.

Sloan paused near a group of children and spoke to them in fluent Spanish. All other sound except his voice faded into insignificance. The children shook their heads in a sort of surreal harmony. No, they had not seen an American boy. Rachel blinked, once, twice. This was her fault. She had taken her eyes off Josh for just one moment and—

A horn blasted behind her. Strong hands jerked her forward and against a hard wall of muscle.

“Dammit, woman, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Sloan growled, the sound rumbling from his massive chest.

Beyond caring whose strong arms were around her, Rachel wilted against him. The tears she could no longer restrain flowed from her, bleeding out the last of her resolve in salty rivulets. She fisted her fingers into the soft cotton of Sloan’s faded shirt and fought to hold on to consciousness. She could not give in to the relief her exhausted body propelled her toward. She had to find Josh. She couldn’t live without her son. She had to find him…to protect him.

With renewed determination Rachel pushed away from Sloan, oddly bereft without his powerful arms around her now. But she had to do something. She couldn’t just stand here. She swiped the moisture from her cheeks and stared up into those piercing blue eyes. “He has to be here…”

“I told you I would find him and I will. But I can’t look for him and keep you out of trouble at the same time.” The irritation in his voice manifested itself in a line between his eyebrows.

The look of concern that emanated from Sloan’s gaze frightened Rachel all the more. If a man like Sloan was worried, then the situation must look pretty hopeless. A tremor shook her. No. She wouldn’t believe that. Josh couldn’t have gone far. He was just curious that’s all. Sloan was right. He was probably exploring and had wandered out of sight. The goats had captured his attention earlier. And the children…

“I have to look for him, too.” Dragging in an uneven breath, Rachel averted her gaze from the one watching her so very intently. She dug furiously through her bag until she found a recent snapshot of her son. Armed with the only weapon she possessed, her determination, she hurried to catch up with the children who were slowly meandering down the street. With both of them looking they could cover more ground.

“Excuse me.” Rachel displayed Josh’s picture. Maybe they would remember seeing him if they knew what he looked like. A half-dozen sets of dark expectant eyes looked first at Rachel then at the picture she held in her trembling hand. “My son…my niño is lost.” Rachel moistened her lips and forced herself to take a breath. The blood roared in her ears. She wanted to cry again. Her mind whirled, making concentration difficult, but she had to focus on finding Josh. The children only looked at each other, then at her and shook their heads. Frustration twisted inside Rachel. Surely someone had seen him.

He couldn’t have simply disappeared into thin air.

Unless…Angel was here already. Overwhelming dread pooled in Rachel’s stomach. No…he couldn’t have known she was coming here. He couldn’t have found her so quickly.

Rachel felt strangely detached from her surroundings. She squeezed her eyes shut to chase away the black spots and to slow the spinning in her head.

“Mommy!”

Sloan was the first to spot the boy. Josh stood on the other side of the street. To Sloan it looked as if someone had just left him there. Instinct pricked him. This didn’t feel right. Sloan waited for a rusty old truck to chug past then he ran to the boy. He crouched in front of him and surveyed him for injury. Profound relief raced through Sloan’s veins, chasing away the suspicions niggling at him. The kid was fine.

Josh’s lips protruded into a pout. “I want my mommy,” he muttered, tears welling in his dark eyes.

Rachel was suddenly on her knees next to Sloan. She hugged her son so close Sloan was sure the kid couldn’t possibly be breathing. Rachel was crying and kissing Josh and telling him how much she loved him.

Sloan stood and looked away.

What the hell was he doing with this woman and her child? They aren’t your problem, he told himself firmly. It wasn’t his fault that Rachel Larson had herself in a no-win situation. Sloan would just send them back to Victoria on the next flight out of Chihuahua. The last thing he needed or wanted was complications. And this lady and her kid were definitely complicated. They reminded him too much of the past…of what he had lost. And even if Angel did care enough about his kid to come for him, Sloan had no desire to start a war with a woman and child caught in the middle.

No way.

“Josh,” Rachel said hesitantly. “Where did you get this bear?”

Sloan’s gaze swung back to the boy. Rachel pulled Josh’s hand from behind his back. He quickly hugged what appeared to be a small brown bear to his chest.

“It’s s’posed t’be a secret, Mommy,” the boy whispered too loudly. His doubtful gaze darted up to Sloan, then widened with distrust.

“Look at me, Josh.” Rachel held him firmly by both shoulders. “Where did you get the bear?”

Josh huffed a big breath. “It’s a present from my daddy.” He turned the bear to his mother then so that she could see his prize. “See.”

Recognition slammed into Sloan. The bear with its big button eyes and red ribbon tied neatly around the neck mocked him. Sloan’s son had cherished a bear very much like this one. The bear had been found with his…body. Sloan had buried the toy with his child. Sloan tugged the bear from Josh’s grasp and inspected it more closely.

Josh wailed his protests. Rachel pulled him to her and tried to quiet him, her face stricken with a mixture of fear and desperation. She was thinking the same thing Sloan was. He could see it in her eyes.

As if in slow motion, Sloan turned all the way around, his gaze searching every face, every shop window, every shadow.

Could Angel be this close?

Anticipation ignited the adrenaline already flowing with the wild hammering in his chest. His attention still tracking every move around them, Sloan passed the bear back to Rachel.

“Let’s go.”

Rachel stood, Josh clutched tightly in her arms. “What do you mean?” Hope flashed in her eyes.

Sloan shot her a look that quelled any other questions she might have asked, “You’re coming with me.” A new kind of evil just rolled into town, he didn’t add.



RACHEL FELT COMPLETELY drained. She glanced over the seat at Josh who was preoccupied with his new bear. Fear twisted inside her each time she recalled Josh’s words. It’s a present from my daddy. The more distance they put between them and the town the calmer Rachel felt.

Once Sloan had ushered them into his Jeep the interrogation had begun. Sloan wanted to know every detail of every moment Josh had been out of their sight. It didn’t seem to matter to Sloan that a four-year-old had no concept of time. Josh explained that he had followed one of the children who was chasing a dog and had gotten lost. When he couldn’t find his mommy he simply sat down and cried. A nice dark-haired lady, according to Josh, had come along and told him not to cry and that she had a gift for him from his daddy. Then she had led Josh to where he could find his mommy.

The lady’s description matched most every woman in this country, including Rachel’s. She consoled herself with the belief that perhaps some kind lady had offered comfort to a lost child and then helped him find his way back to his mother. Maybe the woman hadn’t had time for pleasantries, or didn’t care about being thanked.

Sloan was far more skeptical of Josh’s story. He had his own theory, though he hadn’t felt compelled to share his thoughts as of yet. But Rachel knew he was convinced Angel had something to do with it. Whatever motivated him, Rachel was grateful that he had changed his mind and decided to help them. The concern he had shown when she couldn’t find Josh warmed her, and gave her hope that Sloan wasn’t really as bad as he pretended to be.

But then, Rachel was a die-hard optimist.

She stared out at the passing landscape. The desert seemed to swallow them up almost as soon as they left Florescitaf. The sun was dropping even lower now, casting purple and pink hues like a halo around the descending ball of fire. And with it went the oppressive heat. Rachel shivered and chafed her bare arms with her hands to warm them against the cooler wind whipping through the open Jeep now.

“There’s a jacket in the back seat if you’re cold.”

Rachel glanced at Sloan’s unyielding profile. He could have been carved right out of the rugged Sierra Madre mountains that jutted skyward before them. How odd that he would show concern for her comfort when he had scarcely spoken a word since they left town except to question Josh. She couldn’t decide which persona she liked best. The Sloan who defined indifference, or the fleeting moments of the other man who obviously lay beneath all that bitterness and attitude. He hadn’t even named his price for the services he apparently intended to render. Now that Rachel thought about it, the fact of the matter was she had no idea where they were headed. His home, she assumed. A rustic cabin or a tent were the first images to pop into her mind. Sloan didn’t appear the type to put much stock in personal possessions.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said, in response to his offer of the jacket. Rachel focused her attention on the dusty road in front of them and asked, “Where are we going?”

“My place.” The answer was curt, and spoken grudgingly.

Iceman was back. Instinct told her that Sloan didn’t want anyone close to him. It would behoove her to keep her distance. His momentary lapse of concern had obviously passed.

“Our things are at the hotel,” Rachel realized aloud, only now remembering that they had checked into a hotel when they arrived the day before. With no idea how long it would take her to find Sloan or to persuade him to take her case, it had seemed like the right thing to do. But with Josh getting lost, sensible thinking had gone out the window.

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He said nothing. Determined to ignore his lack of social grace and to listen to her own instincts, Rachel leaned back into her seat and tried to relax. After two days without sleep, she was spent physically. She had no idea when she had eaten last either. In all honesty, food no longer held any appeal for her. Eating equated to survival. She survived for one reason and one reason only, to protect her son. Nothing else mattered at this point.

Sloan slowed and took a left, heading directly into the more rugged terrain that led to the foothills of the Sierra Madre. The Jeep bumped over the rough road for another mile or so before Sloan slowed once more. The mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks rising to the clouds to greet the darkening sky. The landscape that lay ahead sharply contrasted the sprawling desert land they had covered so far. Desert scrub and cacti eventually gave way to trees that sprouted up from the towering mountainous terrain.

Rachel saw the wall first, then the roof of the house that lay beyond it. She bent forward slightly, and stifled a gasp. The place looked like a modern-day fortress. A towering wall, at least ten or twelve feet high, surrounded the house. A huge iron gate stood before them when Sloan stopped the Jeep. He pressed a series of buttons on a keypad by the gate. The massive iron gates opened immediately, then closed automatically behind them. Rachel watched in a sort of surprised bewilderment as they drove away from the intimidating entrance.

Sloan parked before the double doors at the front of the southwestern-style house. The exterior was a stucco finish, painted a pinkish tan like the wall surrounding the property. The roof was a rustic red tile. One of the front doors suddenly opened and a short, thin man stepped out to meet them.

“This is where you live?” Rachel asked, then winced. God, what a stupid question. Of course this was where he lived.

“Ever since I ran off the local drug lord,” he said before hopping out of the Jeep.

Rachel frowned. Was that supposed to be a joke? Did she really want to know? Too tired to consider the remark any further, Rachel unfastened her seat belt and leaned between the bucket seats and released Josh’s. The boy, teddy bear in tow, scrambled out of the seat and into his mother’s arms. Rachel settled Josh onto the ground once they were out of the Jeep. Sloan was speaking to the other man in Spanish. Rachel couldn’t quite get the gist of the conversation. Something about a room, and trouble.

She and Josh were the trouble, of course.

“Good evening, Señora Larson,” the man said, his smile wide and pleasant. “I am Pablo. I am very sure that you are hungry. Come in and I will prepare a proper feast for such honored guests.”

Rachel took an instant liking to the man. She returned Pablo’s smile and followed as he led the way into the house. Rachel could feel Sloan behind her. She didn’t have to look, his formidable presence was unmistakable. There was an aura about the man that entailed much more than his air of danger.

Details flooded her senses. Muted colors, thick upholstered furnishings. Rachel had to admit that she had been way off base about the man’s taste in accommodations. Sloan’s home was elegant in an understated sort of way. Her artist’s eye was drawn to the clean lines and sparse but inviting furnishings of each large room she passed. The expansive hall cut through the middle of the house, flowing both left and right about midway. Pablo turned right and continued until they reached the third room on the left.

He gestured for Rachel to enter before him. “If there is anything you need, señora, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Pablo,” she said tiredly.

“I’m hungry!” Josh piped up.

Heat scalded Rachel’s cheeks. Josh was always hungry. “Josh,” she scolded.

“The boy needs to eat,” Pablo agreed. “Come with Pablo, little man, and we will prepare the feast together.” Pablo winked when Josh eyed him hesitantly. “You may taste as we go.”

Josh was ready to go then. He took Pablo’s offered hand and told him about his new bear as they disappeared down the hall. Rachel was amazed at how easily Josh befriended the strangers he met. She thought of the woman and the bear and decided that a long talk with her son was in order.

With Josh and Pablo gone, Rachel had no choice but to acknowledge her host’s brooding presence. She turned hesitantly to face him.

“I don’t know why you changed your mind,” Rachel began, trying hard not to allow that icy blue gaze to undo her. “But I—”

“You should eat and get some rest,” he said, his words an order rather than a suggestion.

He turned to go but Rachel stopped him with a hand on his arm. He stared first at her hand then at her, as if her touch were somehow offensive to him. But the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips was anything but offensive to Rachel. She jerked her hand back when a mild shock radiated through her, but caught herself before she frowned.

“I’d like to discuss your plans,” she managed in a surprisingly even voice. “I don’t want to be left in the dark. I need to know what you have in mind.”

For one long moment his gaze held hers and something intense passed between them. For Rachel, it felt all too much like sexual awareness. Sloan was handsome, in a fierce, rugged way. He was big and muscular and with eyes that could unsettle her with just a look. He frightened her, yet drew her on some level that Rachel could never hope to explain. Maybe it was simply the need to feel protected by someone who was strong enough to go up against Angel.

“I don’t have a plan.” His gaze remained unreadable, as seemed customary for him. “I’ll let you know when we have anything to discuss.” He brushed past Rachel and sauntered in the direction into which Josh and Pablo had disappeared.

Rachel leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms over her chest and sighed wearily. The man’s attitude infuriated her. How on earth would she ever tolerate his rude indifference? Rachel was too tired to contemplate the issue any further at the moment. She was so tired she wasn’t even sure she would make it through dinner. For Josh’s sake she would have to muster up the energy to at least show up, then see to her son’s bath and to get him tucked into bed. And just maybe, she could manage a leisurely bath of her own.

She glanced around the spacious room she and Josh were to share. She thought of the property’s elaborate security system, and then of Sloan himself. Despite her enigmatic protector’s personality, or lack thereof, Rachel felt safe for the first time in nearly five years.



SLOAN STARED AT the bottle of tequila on the table before him. He knew there would be no sleep for him tonight, no matter how much he drank. His mind was reeling with bits of information he didn’t want to remember. Faces he didn’t want to see. Voices he didn’t want to hear. But there were certain points he had to allow himself to recall. He had waited too long, planned too often for this very moment, yet feared it would never come. Not once since pulling himself from the gutter pain and depression had hurled him into had he allowed a glimmer of real hope. Anticipation was one thing, but hope entirely another. He’d learned the hard way that hope was only for those too weak to acknowledge defeat when it had them by the throat.

Sloan had faced defeat, but he hadn’t wallowed in it, at least not for long. He couldn’t change history, but he sure as hell had some say in the future. And he would make Angel pay. Very soon.

To Sloan’s supreme irritation the vivid mental image of Rachel Larson suddenly loomed large in his mind. He could still hear the fear and panic in her voice when she called out for Josh. That same desperation had haunted his own voice seven years ago. The euphoria still lingered from the profound relief he had felt this evening when Josh was in his mother’s arms once more. The relief he had been denied seven years ago. Then the realization that Angel might be close by.

Too close.

Sloan shook off the feelings nagging him, but he couldn’t completely shake the picture of Rachel. The fear in those big brown eyes, the way her lips quivered with uncertainty. If anyone he had met in this business had ever needed protecting, she sure as hell did. But Sloan wanted to do more than protect her, he wanted to know her as a woman. That simple touch this evening in her room had sent fire raging through his veins. For the first time in more years than he cared to admit, Sloan yearned for more than mere physical release.

Ire burned in his gut. He couldn’t feel this way.

It was nothing more than his exaggerated instinct to protect. That’s all, he assured himself.

Angel flickered amid the other tangle of images and thoughts involving Rachel Larson. Sloan swore. His attraction to a woman who had once been involved with Angel made Sloan’s gut clench. Those feelings were a betrayal to the memory of his wife and son. He must be losing his mind to entertain such a fantasy. Hell, he had already lost his mind. He had brought Angel’s son into his own home.

Sloan swore repeatedly.

He hated himself for what he was doing. But it was the ultimate goal that made it all worthwhile. Angel would come for his son. It was the basic concept of possession. The kid belonged to him. Angel would want him back, so he had to come. When he did, Sloan would be ready.

And Angel would die.

Then Rachel and Josh would be safe.

That wasn’t supposed to be what counted to Sloan…but somehow it was. Somehow their welfare already meant entirely too much to him. And that didn’t sit well with him. But he would not let either of them any closer. He would stay in control—no matter what it took. All these jumbled feelings were nothing more than his deeply entrenched need to protect those weaker than him.

The way he couldn’t protect his own wife and son.

“Excuse me.”

Sloan’s head shot up at the softly uttered greeting. Rachel Larson hovered near the door. Hesitantly she stepped out onto the patio and approached him, her bare feet soundless on the cool tile. His gaze followed her movements, his body automatically responding and he silently cursed himself again. He was a fool. Sloan leaned back in his chair and leveled an impatient gaze in her direction.

“I prefer drinking alone, Miss Larson,” Sloan said tersely. “So if you’re looking for company, you’ll find Pablo’s more to your liking.”

Rachel hesitated a few feet away from the table. “I…I just wanted to thank you for helping us. I realized after I put Josh to bed that I hadn’t properly thanked you for allowing us refuge in your home.”

Sloan tossed back the tequila in his shot glass and set the empty glass down next to the bottle. The last thing he needed was her gratitude distorting the already fuzzy scenario taking shape in his head. “Don’t thank me, Miss Larson, I’m not doing it for you.” He poured himself another shot. “I’m doing it for me.”

Rachel nodded mutely. “Of course,” she murmured. “Well, good night then.”

Before she could turn away, and to Sloan’s royal irritation, he stopped her. “There is one thing you can do for me,” he said, his words dripping contempt, his senses already piqued in anticipation of her response. “You can tell me how you managed to get yourself intimately involved with a lowlife scum bag like Angel.”

Rachel visibly faltered. She seemed to struggle with her answer for so long that Sloan felt certain she didn’t plan to tell him. She shoved a handful of that thick dark hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. When her gaze finally connected with his again, her eyes were suspiciously bright. His gut clenched. Sloan swore another silent oath.

“I was very young, just nineteen,” she began slowly. “He tricked me into believing he was someone he wasn’t.” She swallowed, the effort required displayed along the delicate column of her pale throat. “My father died because of what I allowed to happen. If I hadn’t…” She fell silent, her eyes downcast.

Sloan’s chair scraped across the tile as he pushed back from the table and stood. Her head snapped up and she shivered as he walked deliberately toward her. When he stopped, he stood only inches from her. She tensed, and her breath caught with a little hitch. Damn him, he wanted to touch her. Anger swirled around him, inside him. He didn’t need this.

“You allowed yourself to be seduced by the bastard while he was plotting to kill your own father?” Sloan hurled the words at her like missiles intended to wound, intended to push her away. Hadn’t he done the same damned thing? Seduced by the challenge of the hunt, he had dogged Angel’s every step until the animal retaliated. Years of pent-up rage unleashed inside Sloan at the thought.

He leaned closer to Rachel, directing that unforgiving energy at her, widening the emotional gap between them. “I guess that makes us both pretty stupid, huh? Neither one of us were smart enough to know what we were up against until it was too late.”

She trembled, but held her ground. “He tricked me. I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, well that was a tough break for your old man, wasn’t it?”

Her anger flared finally, however faintly. “I don’t want to discuss this any more.” She pivoted and started toward the door.

Sloan snagged her by the arm and swung her around to face him. He ignored the electricity that crackled where his hand closed around her bare skin. “You screwed up, just like I did.” He pulled her closer, his body’s response to hers only fueling his building anger. She glared up at him, her own anger taking belated shape. “You’ve come all this way looking for a miracle. And what do you know? I’m fresh out. Maybe you’d better rethink your strategy.”

“You’re our only hope.” Her sweet, desperate breath fanned his lips.

Sloan clenched his teeth and shook his head, every muscle in his body growing harder by the moment. “Maybe you think coming here is the answer to your prayers, but you’re wrong. I’m just a man, Rachel Larson. I’ll take Angel down, but that won’t change what he took from you or me. I’m no superhero, and I’m sure as hell no saint. But if you hang around long enough the one thing I can guarantee you is that you’ll end up in my bed.”

Sloan saw it coming, but he didn’t try to stop her. Her right palm connected with his jaw. He took the blow, because he deserved it. The pain was somehow cleansing. Pain he could handle, these other feelings he couldn’t.

Rachel jerked weakly at his fierce hold on her left arm. “Let me go.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to track me down,” he rasped as he snaked his arm around her waist and hauled her up against him. “Don’t you want to find out if I’m half the man you seem to think I am?”

The dam broke loose then, tears trickled down her face. She pushed uselessly against his chest. “I already know all I need to know.” She was shaking uncontrollably now. “I saw how you reacted when you thought Josh was lost. You’re a good man. I know you are.”

Sloan had no come back for that allegation. He could only stare into those deep brown eyes, watery with the kind of pain he understood all too well. Just when he felt certain that he would have to kiss her…kiss her or die, she wilted in his fierce hold. Startled, Sloan scooped her slight body into his arms.

Damn.

She had been through too much. He had pushed her too hard. All because he couldn’t control his own sadistic impulses.

Sloan considered the sweet, innocent-looking woman lying unconscious in his arms for a long moment. He shook his head in self-disgust.

“I told you I was no knight in shining armor.” He let go a mighty breath. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”




Chapter Three


Rachel moaned contentedly and snuggled into her pillow. Her lids slowly opened to the realization that it was now daylight. The last vestiges of sleep retreated bringing awareness one degree at a time. The fluffy pillow beneath her cheek, the cool sheet over her body, and the slight breeze whispering across her face. She inhaled deeply of a scent that was at once alien and soothing. A pleasant masculine scent, musk and leather.

Sloan.

Rachel’s eyes opened wide. She surveyed the part of the room readily viewable without having to move. This was not the same room Pablo had shown her and Josh to last evening. Her heart pounded in her chest as last night’s heated words with Sloan replayed in her head. She remembered collapsing…

Her attention suddenly lit on the puddle of clothing a few feet away on the carpeted floor. Her blouse, her skirt and sandals. The fact that being on the small side in the bust allowed her to go braless most of the time slammed into her. She sat bolt upright on the side of the bed and looked down at herself. She wore what appeared to be a man’s T-shirt. Too large for Pablo’s. She swallowed tightly. Sloan’s. She looked around the room and realization dawned with unnerving clarity.

She was in Sloan’s room. In his bed.

Rachel spun around to look on the other side of the bed. It was empty.

Where was Josh?

Fear rushed through her limbs to lodge in her chest. She had tucked him into bed in the other room. She blinked, forcing herself to concentrate rather than losing herself to the panic. Maybe he was having breakfast already. What time was it? Her gaze sought out the nearest clock. The LED display on the bedside table read 10:00 a.m. Rachel shot to her feet. How could she have slept so long?

Where was her son?

Laughter floated through the open window. Josh. Rachel bounded off the bed and to the generous windows. She peered out into the backyard. Sheer, gauzy drapes fluttered around her in the gentle breeze. With Pablo watching, Josh chased a bright red ball. His delighted squeals and laughter brought the first relaxed smile to her lips in too long to remember. It felt so good to see her son play without worry that someone would snatch him away from her. Pablo tossed the ball again, and Josh’s enthusiastic race for the brightly colored, bouncing object gladdened her heart. This was all she had ever wanted for her son…for him to feel happy and safe.

Taking stock of the area for the first time in daylight, Rachel amended her earlier impression. This was not a backyard, this was a courtyard. As beautiful as any she had ever seen. And she had seen a few while growing up. Rachel’s smile faded as she considered the bittersweet memories of growing up with her father. Her mother had died when she was only a small child. But her father had made up for the loss many times over. He took Rachel everywhere with him. A well-respected figure in the State Department, they had traveled frequently, abroad mostly. The hotels were always luxurious. But she had yet to view a courtyard any more spectacular than Sloan’s.

Elegant tile or cobblestone pavers covered what was most likely a sandy yard. The house surrounded the courtyard on all sides, adding to the feeling of security. Numerous sets of French doors opened onto the courtyard from the rooms facing it, including the one in which she now stood. Lush foliage, mostly tropical, probably native to the area, nearly camouflaged a sparkling pool. Beyond the house, a water tank towered, supplying the residence with water despite the sprawling desert that surrounded it. The word fortress flitted through Rachel’s mind again. She wondered if there were generators and a bountiful food supply stored somewhere on the grounds, making the place self-sufficient despite the desolation and its remoteness.

Relieved that Josh was safe, Rachel pushed her other curiosities from her mind. She would ask Sloan more questions when the opportunity presented itself. For now, she should get dressed and join her son outside. She had a feeling that Sloan would let her know what he wanted from her, monetarily and otherwise, when he made up his mind or developed some plan. He didn’t strike her as the sort of man one could hurry.

Finding her reluctant host watching from the open doorway, Rachel gasped. That unreadable blue gaze traveled down the length of her, then back to connect with hers. Her state of undress sent a flush of heat up her neck and across her cheeks. She edged closer to the sheer material hanging around her for some sense of protection from his all-seeing gaze.

The sound that rumbled from his chest was more growl than laugh. “Don’t be shy, Miss Larson, I’ve already seen all there is to see.”

He had undressed her last night, then again just now with his eyes. On some level she had already known that Sloan was the one. Though she preferred to undress herself, Pablo having done so would have been a great deal less humiliating alternative. To her chagrin, her nipples tightened at the thought that Sloan had looked at her so intimately. That was not an appropriate reaction, she reminded herself with rising indignation.

“I’d like to get dressed now,” she announced, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

“Your suitcase is in your room. Pablo picked it up this morning, along with a few other things I told him you would need.” A holster, complete with sleek black gun, was strapped to one broad shoulder. He crossed his arms over his mile-wide chest and leaned against the door frame.

Rachel tried not to follow the distracting movement of powerful muscle. She moistened her lips and asked the question that tightened the back of her throat. “Why did you bring me to your…in here?” Surely she would remember if anything happened. She couldn’t have been that far out of it. She shivered at the thought of those strong hands touching her bare skin.

“The boy was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.”

Somehow she sensed that there was more to it than that. He hadn’t wanted to be in the same room with Josh—even for a few minutes, she suddenly realized. “I don’t usually…react like that,” she began in explanation of what he probably considered weakness. She squared her shoulders and stepped away from the meager protection the drapes provided. Somehow she had to learn to hold her own in the man’s presence. “Despite how it may look to you now, I am a strong person.”

He straightened. Rachel jumped, instantly making a liar out of herself. Sloan crossed the room to stand directly in front of her. He stared down at her for a long moment before he spoke. Rachel had the distinct impression he was trying to read her mind. The same scent that lingered on the crisp white sheets of his bed emanated from his big, powerful body. The T-shirt he wore molded to his chest, outlining every ripple and contour. The sweatpants concealed little of his masculine assets.

“Strong willed, yes,” he finally said. “That’s probably what has kept you alive until now.” His gaze slid slowly over her body once more. Rachel shivered. “But,” he continued, “physically you’re weak. That makes all that willpower useless in the end.”

She knew without analyzing his words that she had just been insulted. But Rachel also knew full well that he was right. “That’s why I came to you. You have the strength and the know how to protect us.”

“When Angel comes—” Sloan glanced out the window, his gaze tracking Josh’s energetic romp, then quickly moving to something else “—it won’t be for me.” His gaze returned to Rachel’s. “He’ll come for you and the boy. You have to be prepared to protect yourself.”

Rachel swallowed at the lump of uncertainty clogging her throat. “Isn’t that the service you’re supposed to provide?”

He made a sound of distaste in his throat. “Lady, I’m not about to get myself killed trying to help someone who isn’t willing to help herself.”

Irritation grated her nerves. “I do the best I can. Fighting and eluding madmen weren’t choices on the curriculum in any of the schools I attended.”

Anger flickered in his steely gaze then. “Well, maybe it should have been, and just maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he growled, his expression fierce, “that there’s no time like the present to get your act together.” He stopped her with a look when she would have interrupted to argue with his summation. “You and your son need protection. I can give you that temporarily, but long term you need to be prepared to deal with what life throws your way. This ain’t a perfect world, lady.”

Rachel exhaled, forcing her frustration back to a controllable level. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “You’re right. I need to know how to defend myself and Josh.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You can teach me how to do that while we’re here?”

He shrugged. “You wanted a plan. That’s the plan.”

Annoyed by his attitude, she glowered at him. “Is this going to cost extra?”

“I’ll throw this part in for free.” Sloan turned and walked toward the door. “You’ll find what you need to wear for today’s lesson in the other room.” He paused at the door. “Put the swimsuit on under your clothes and be in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”

The man might be barbaric in his manners, but Rachel refused to forget hers. He was doing her a tremendous favor, and she owed him her gratitude, even if she momentarily forgot at times when he made her so angry. Taking care of her the way he did last night wasn’t part of the bargain. “Thank you,” she offered before he could disappear through the door.

Sloan turned back to her. “For what?”

Rachel moistened her lips and summoned the courage to say what needed to be said. “For taking care of me last night. That was above and beyond the call of duty. I appreciate that you didn’t take advantage of me.”

Something changed in his eyes. Something Rachel couldn’t quite identify.

“You were exhausted, not to mention out of it,” he explained. “When I have you, you’ll be very much aware of what’s happening.”

When, not if. Anger washed over Rachel. “That’s comforting,” she retorted, her irritation building once more. She wouldn’t bother to tell him that he could wait until hell froze over and she still wouldn’t allow him to seduce her. She had been a fool once. And it would never happen again. Dangerous men—men in general truthfully—were not to be trusted. “After that remark about my ending up in your bed,” she added quickly, “I only meant that when I woke up I wasn’t sure if…” Her voice trailed off at the renewed intensity in those fierce blue eyes.

The barest hint of a smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Last night isn’t what I meant when I said you would end up in my bed.”

With that warning he disappeared down the hall.

Rachel fumed. She would just see about that. Maybe Sloan was accustomed to having any woman he decided he wanted, but she wasn’t any woman. She had a son to think of. This was a business deal, nothing more.

Never again would she fall victim to any man’s charm, no matter if this particular man stirred some restless feeling deep inside her. She had come here for Josh’s sake. If she was lucky, when she returned to New Orleans, Angel would be dead. She knew with complete certainty that Sloan understood what she wanted. She wanted Angel out of Josh’s life forever.

She wanted him dead.

In that crystalline moment, Rachel acknowledged mentally that she would do anything necessary to ensure her son’s future safety. She considered the man in whose home she now resided, then the wide inviting bed which belonged to him. She drew in a shaky breath and released it slowly. Could she do that if he pressed the issue? Angel had been her first, and there hadn’t been anyone since. Her judgment was obviously flawed. How could she trust her instincts? How could she bring herself to allow another man’s touch?

Rachel frowned when an old memory filtered through her thoughts. There had been a man once who seemed awfully nice, but, of course, she hadn’t been interested. Not really. It was about a year and a half ago, before she and Josh had moved to New Orleans. The man had been their neighbor. He was a widower, and seemed as lonely as Rachel. He had dropped by a couple of times and brought fresh bread from the bakery he owned in town. And she had enjoyed the companionship of his short visits. Her frown deepened. But he died only a couple of months after she and Josh moved there. A car accident of some sort.

A chill raced up Rachel’s spine. Not once in all this time had she considered that Angel might have had something to do with his death. But now, out of nowhere, the revelation broadsided her. And she knew as surely as she knew her own name, that it was so. Angel watched every move she made.

Just like now.

And, just like Sloan said, he would come. For her. And for Josh.

None of them were safe.



SLOAN GLANCED AT the clock on the wall once more as he poured the freshly brewed coffee into a mug. Rachel Larson’s twenty minutes were up. Where the hell was she? He placed the carafe back onto the warming plate, and then the mug onto the table. Patience was not one of his virtues. He hated to wait. Especially unnecessarily. This woman had come to him for help. She would have to learn that it was his way or no way.

Irritated beyond reason, he strode out of the kitchen and in the direction of his bedroom. He slowed in the hall long enough to check and adjust the thermostat as he passed. The previous night’s unseasonably cool temperatures had waned, and the wilting August heat had taken its place.

His bedroom was empty. Sloan crossed the room to close the windows since the air-conditioning had just kicked on. He had already closed the other windows Pablo had raised last night to allow the cool desert air to filter through the house. But he had left these open to keep from disturbing Rachel this morning. She had needed the rest.

The bed was made, he noticed when he turned around. His T-shirt was neatly folded and lying atop one pillow. The one she had slept against last night. He picked up the T-shirt and held it to his face to inhale her scent. His groin tightened when her sweet fragrance filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes and allowed the memory of holding her in his arms while he sat on the bedside undressing her to replay. The sandals had been the first to go. After releasing the button and lowering the zipper, he had dragged the long, silky skirt from under her and then down her legs. Her skin had felt like satin beneath his callused palms.

By the time he released the final button of her blouse, he was painfully aroused. Sloan opened his eyes and stared out the window, seeing nothing but the image of the woman who had been in his arms last night. Even now the memory of seeing her small breasts made him hard. It had taken almost more restraint than he possessed not to touch her. Her nipples had tightened into tempting, rose-colored peaks, as if even in sleep her body responded to his touch.

He hadn’t wanted to cover her, but he had. His fingers fisted in the soft cotton of the T-shirt that had just minutes ago covered her slim body. He could have carried her to the bed where her son slept, but he hadn’t wanted to see the child. He had watched his own son sleep so many nights after a long day at the Colby Agency. Those moments alone with his son had been one of his favorite times. So much innocence. How could anything bad ever touch that sweetness?

But it had. Sloan had brought that evil into their lives.

He repressed the painful memory. That was a long time ago. He would not think about the past today.

The images beyond the window slowly came into focus, bringing Sloan back to the here and now. Rachel needed him and he couldn’t turn his back on her. No matter that each time he looked at her son the agony he had spent seven long years burying was resurrected. As Sloan watched, Rachel, wearing the T-shirt and sweats Pablo had selected, knelt before her son and threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. She drew back and brushed the tousled hair from his face and kissed his nose. Sloan turned away.

He had to keep the past out of the present. Remaining focused would be impossible if he allowed those demons to escape the tightly compartmentalized place he had banished them to all those years ago. Sloan thought briefly of Victoria. His life then, his work with the agency seemed so far away. Almost like someone else’s history. Victoria had sent this woman to him, Sloan owed it to Victoria to do what he could. She, of all people, understood this level of urgency.

He owed it to himself to take Angel down.

The concept of intense physical training during Rachel’s stay here had been borne of necessity. In her current condition, Rachel was as helpless as Josh when it came to defending herself. She needed to build up her strength and endurance, otherwise she would only be a liability when Angel showed up. That wasn’t really the issue here. Sloan would deal with Angel.

But until that time came Sloan needed a distraction, or else he would lose what was left of his mind, then he would be a liability…

Just like before.



SLOAN WAS WAITING in the kitchen leaning against the counter when Rachel, breathless from a few minutes of play with Josh, rushed through the door a full fifteen minutes later than he had instructed.

“Ten-thirty means ten-thirty, Miss Larson. This isn’t Club Med, and playtime with the kiddies is not on the agenda.”

He was PO’d. Impatience and irritation radiated from him like heat rising off that long stretch of desert highway she had traveled by bus from Chihuahua to Florescitaf. He clearly resented her choosing Josh over his orders. His sandy-colored hair was pulled back, revealing the lines and angles of his handsome face.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. “I wanted to check on Josh.”

“Pablo will see to your son while you’re training.”

Rachel started to argue, then thought better of it. No point in antagonizing the man the first day. “I’ll remember that,” she promised. “But you will have to remember that I can’t pretend my son isn’t here,” she added, intending to make her point whether she argued or not.

Ignoring her last statement, Sloan gestured to the table. “Coffee or water.” Both sat on the table, ready to be consumed. “You can eat after this morning’s workout. Tomorrow we’ll start at six in the morning.”

Six o’clock? Trying not to grimace, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Choosing the water over the coffee, Rachel took a long sip. “What’re we going to do first?” she asked in hopes of making conversation. Anything was better than his brooding silence.

His gaze intent on hers, he pulled out the chair directly across from her and straddled it, then propped his arms across its back. “We’ll do some stretches, run a couple of miles, then do laps in the pool. Maybe throw in some strength training.”





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