Efraim Aziz lowered his rein hand and let his horse pick his own path through the acres-wide gash of eroded red-and-beige rock. Wind whistled through the formations and battered his face, incessant and strong. A few sticks of sagebrush twisted through kinks in the rock to stretch their silver-green leaves to the sky, the only living thing for what looked like miles. These badlands, the high plains, the mountain ranges to the west and north—it was a harsh landscape populated by hard, arrogant people. And somewhere in this hell Amir Khalid was struggling, dying…if he wasn't already dead.
Efraim had to find his friend.
"Sheik Efraim! Wait!"
He recognized the voice immediately, its sound shivering over his skin like the warm breath of a lover. He knew someone would come looking for him, but he'd never guessed it would be her.
He glanced over his shoulder.
She rode toward him through the badlands astride a palomino quarter horse. Her long blond hair glimmered in the Wyoming sun like the golden beaches of his island nation of Nadar.
Efraim tried his best to ignore the spike in his blood pressure, the acceleration of his pulse.
He didn't even know her, this Callie McGuire. They'd engaged in a few polite discussions when he'd arrived in America, and only glances in the stressful days since. But whenever she was near, he had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. It was as if she was the only person in the room. Magnetic. And as hot as the sun itself.
Whoever sent her to collect him was shrewd, indeed.
"Sheik Efraim. Please."
He scooped in a deep breath of hot horse and leather and braced himself before turning his mount back to face her.
She'd come to talk him into going back, holing up like a coward. And even though he didn't intend to follow her advice, he knew he would listen to her every word with the attentiveness of a teenage boy enslaved to his hormones. Embarrassing for the leader of a country. Shameful.
She came to a halt in front of him, but her eyes darted around, taking in the sagebrush, the crumbled rock out-croppings, the mountains on the horizon. "Where's your security?"
He thought of his cousin Fahad and the men who worked under him. "At the Wind River Ranch."
"You're out here without protection?"
"Who sent you after me? Fahad?"
"I like to ride, clear my head." She gave him a doe-eyed look, all innocence.
A sure sign he was being handled.
He raised a brow. "So is this the job you expected when you chose to work for your country's Office of Foreign Affairs? Babysitter?"
She rested her rein hand on the saddle horn, her blue eyes squinted against the glare. "You shouldn't be out here, sir. It's too dangerous. Whoever planted that car bomb to kill Sheik Amir will be trying to kill you, too."
"So Fahad did send you. My head of security?" Efraim knew it. Kateb must have run to his brother this morning as soon as he'd trailered Efraim and one of the Wind River Ranch's horses to the rural road where the explosion had occurred.
"I haven't heard from Mr. Bahir." She let out a breath, as if giving up. "Actually I was hoping he was out here keeping an eye on you."
"Yes, I wouldn't be surprised if he is." Efraim took his own glance around the landscape but saw no sign of his cousin. "So if it wasn't Fahad, who sent you?"
"That's not important."
"It is to me." He wasn't sure if he was more disturbed by the thought that someone believed Callie McGuire could protect him better than he could protect himself, or by the indication that whoever had sent her knew of his powerful attraction for the fresh-faced blonde.
If it was one of his men, he'd be on the next plane back to Nadar.
"You need to head back to the resort. Sunset comes early in these parts because of the mountains." She stared him down, her jaw as set and determined as it had been yesterday.
That was it. Her jaw. The flash in her eyes. That was what drew him. He was a sucker for strong women. Being from a country where women weren't allowed to be strong around men, this feistiness was novel and obviously the source of his fascination with Callie McGuire. "You're worried about me?" he said in a dry tone, but he couldn't pretend there wasn't a note of teasing interest under his words.
"You're very important to the coalition."
In the past few weeks, he'd heard enough about the Coalition of Island Nations, or COIN, to last him a lifetime. He wasn't even sure it was in Nadar's best interest to be part of it. With each day that had passed since the explosion, his doubts had grown. "Nadar's offshore oil fields are important to the coalition. The shipping lanes are important to the coalition. Not me."
"Then why did Prince Stefan call me?"
So it had been Stefan Lutece who'd thought he needed a babysitter and had chosen Callie McGuire for the job. Humiliating that the Prince of Kyros could see his interest so clearly, but at least he wasn't a subordinate. "He shouldn't have bothered you."
"If anyone knows about the dangers all the members of the coalition face, it's Prince Stefan."
"Or Amir. And finding him is why I'm here."
"You think you're going to find some sign of him out here on the BLM?" She gestured to the surroundings with her free hand.
As Efraim understood it, the barren canyonlike area he was now searching in was called Rattlesnake Badlands, a part of public land controlled by the Bureau of Land Management. The locals just referred to all of it as the BLM.
"I'm not going to cower at some luxury resort ranch while Amir might be out here dying."
"There are people searching."
"Who? The police? Some honest ones, or just the ones taking money from organized crime?"
She scrunched up her nose, and he noticed for the first time that she had a sprinkle of freckles across the top of her cheekbones. Fascinating.
He concentrated on a large clump of sage just past her right ear. "Amir didn't disappear. He has to be somewhere."
"So don't rely on the authorities. Let your own people do the job. You don't have to do this personally."
But he did. It was that or go crazy. The Wind River Ranch and Resort was a luxurious place, that was for certain, but he couldn't enjoy it knowing Amir was out there, maybe dying, maybe dead. "There's no argument you can make that Fahad has not already made."
The hard line of her lips softened. "I know the two of you are close. I know you're worried about him."
Whereas her passion had been arousing, the softness and empathy in her eyes mesmerized him and for a moment, he found himself physically leaning toward her in his saddle.
He caught himself before he swooned like a lovesick teen. "When Amir is found, I will stop searching." He laid a spur to his horse's side, and the animal broke into a jog. He wasn't wild about much of what America had to offer, but he might make an exception for its quarter horses and its women.
At least this woman. "Then I'll help—"
A gunshot cracked through the air, cutting her sentence short.
Efraim grabbed for his pistol and tried to gauge where the shot came from. The report bounced off rock and mixed with the whistle of the wind.
So much for finding Amir. Hemmed in by canyon walls, he and Callie would be lucky if they got out of the Rattlesnake Badlands alive.
Try as he might, Tyler Davis was not what anyone would call an expert gift shopper. And if anyone on this snow-covered earth needed proof, here it was, wrapped up in Christmas paper and tied with a big-ass bow.
He tried to tune out the jangle of department store Christmas music and warring scents from the army of perfume pushers and focus on the pair of oversized slippers that resembled a dog's paws clutched in the three-year-old's hands. Even with his deep-seated shopping deficiency, Ty had doubts whether this was the way to go. "You're sure she's going to like those?"
Connor nodded, his tousled red hair flopping over one side of his forehead.
Ty raked his hand through his own cropped, spiky hair. If this was any other kid he'd taken Christmas shopping as part of his small city police department's Shop with a Cop program, he'd find the choice funny. He might even encourage the kid, just for a chuckle. But Megan had been through a lot. And the whole reason he insisted on taking Connor out shopping—secretly on his own dime, since the department's official Shop with a Cop program was already over—was to give Megan a good experience for a change. "I don't know, Connor. Moms usually like things that make them look…I don't know…pretty. Not like a dog."
The inside corners of Connor's eyes reddened. His lips pulled together into what was fast becoming a pout and could any minute cross the line into crying.
Oh, hell.
He must be out of his mind to take his old flame's son shopping. And when he thought about the world of hurt he'd be in if the chief found out he had misrepresented this as an official department program, he knew he'd crossed to the far side of crazy. It was just that when he'd heard how Meg's ex had dragged her through the shredder and seen the dumpy apartment the smartest girl in his high school class was now living in, he'd wanted to do something for her. She couldn't afford a nice Christmas for herself and her young son, but he could. And she never had to know where the money came from.
And besides, it gave him an excuse to see her again.
Of course, he hadn't considered that the success of his brilliant plan all hinged on a three-year-old's taste.
He pulled in a deep breath of patience and let it out slowly. The last thing he wanted was to make the kid cry. Now that would really impress Megan, returning with a tear-sodden little boy who could tell her all about what a jerk Officer Ty was. Not that she didn't know that already.
He picked up the slippers and pretended to examine them, turning them over in his hands. "Oh, look here. They're slippers. I didn't realize that. Well, that changes everything. You're right, man. Your mom will love these." He eyed the kid, hoping Connor wouldn't pick up a false note in his voice.
Big green eyes flicked up to his face. A twitch settled over the little lips, not exactly a smile, but something less than a pout.
Crisis mitigated.
Ty handed the fuzzy things back to Connor along with a grin. So Megan would be wearing dog paw slippers this winter. Interesting. "What next? Can you think of something else your mom might like?"
Connor shook his head.
"Should we look around?" His arms were already weighed down with Legos, books and a Hot Wheels set for the kid. But he couldn't leave the mall with nothing but a pair of dog slippers for Megan. He had to find something nice.
He did a 360, gaze skimming over the clothing racks and colorful Christmas displays in the mall department store. His eyes fixed on racks of lacy bras and thongs in the lingerie department nearby.
Hmm. Now he could much more easily picture Megan wearing something in satin or lace. If he hadn't given up his right to play Santa—officially—that's what she would find in her stocking come Christmas morning.
He stepped a little closer. Images of Christmases— back when they were dating in high school and college— danced through his mind like some kind of damn sugar plums. He could imagine what it would be like now. A quiet Christmas Eve, sitting in front of the fire running his fingers through Megan's silky auburn hair. He'd choose something like that black number with the lace that was cut down to there. Or maybe the teddy on the mannequin, green to go with her eyes. Yeah, that was the one. He could imagine her filling it out.
And right after that, he could imagine taking it off.
He shook his head, trying to remove the thought, but he had little luck with that. Seeing her this morning when he'd picked up Connor had been like the return of a delicious dream after five sleepless years. She'd been nervous about taking him up on the shopping offer, he could tell, even without knowing the money was actually coming from him. But when Connor had started jabbering about reindeer and presents and stockings filled to bursting on Christmas morning, the loving smile that had transformed her face had left Ty feeling like Santa himself.
After that, he hadn't stood a chance.
The cloying clash of perfumes in the department store had only reminded him of how good and pure she'd always smelled. The taste of the soft pretzel he'd forced on Connor in the food court had only made him think of how often he and Megan had pooled their change to buy one at the convenience store after school. And each memory brought back thoughts of the cold lump that had formed in his gut when he'd come home from the police academy one weekend and learned she was planning to marry—of all people—Doug Burke.
Oh, hell.
He had to get his focus back on shopping. He was with her kid, for God's sake. He needed to focus on taking Connor "Shopping with a Cop," not on his personal history with the boy's mother.
Getting the hell away from the lingerie section would be a good first step.
"Let me guess, you're looking for a gift for someone."
The voice came from over his left shoulder. He glanced down to see a woman wearing too much eyeliner smiling at him as if he was the most fascinating man in the world.
He didn't buy it. "Thanks, but I need to get back—"
"It's not a problem. My friends call me the Giftina-tor." She giggled, the bubbly sound more suitable coming from a fifteen-year-old girl than a grown woman. "Get it? Like The Terminator?"
"Funny." He forced a smile. In other circumstances, he might have a little fun joking around, maybe even flirting. But today, it didn't feel…right. "I hate to be rude, but I—"
"Then don't be. Let me help. I'm seriously good at the whole Christmas present thing. I should get a job in a store. Or maybe start my own business as a personal shopper. Not that I could do something like that in a town with only one decent mall. But I really think shopping is my true calling."
Rude or not, Ty glanced back toward the pajamas, stockings and fuzzy footwear. Dog-paw slippers lay on the waxed tile floor. A woman pored over a rack of flannel drawstring pants. A tinny version of "Silver Bells" tinkled in the air.
Great. He'd only been ten or fifteen feet from Connor, but that was enough for the boy to feel like he could wander away. Ty couldn't blame him. He'd probably gotten bored waiting for Ty to quit talking…well, listening would be more accurate.
He gave the woman a cursory glance and a mumbled excuse me, and strode back to the slipper rack. "Connor?" His gaze landed on a family of four over in the shoe department, an older couple shopping for jewelry and a woman parked at the makeup counter wearing a sweater covered in Christmas trees. No little boy with tousled red hair.
His breath stuttered in his chest. "Connor?"
Nothing.
He bolted across the aisle and circled the rack of slippers. The kid had to be here somewhere. Didn't he?
The aisle behind the rack was vacant.
"Connor?" He let his voice boom this time. Maybe he was off looking at something for Megan, or playing with another kid. Ty did another scan of the store. The woman who had tried to monopolize his attention was gone. He spotted nothing but lingerie, women's pajamas and formal dresses tucked far in the corner.
"Did you lose someone?" The woman absorbed in flannel pj's gave him a sympathetic, if slightly amused, smile.
Ty was not finding this amusing in the least. "Little boy. Three years old. Red hair. Have you seen him?"
"No. But maybe he's hiding in one of those circular clothing racks. My kids always liked to do that at a certain age."
Hiding. Great. Ty strode to the pajamas and peered inside the ring of clothing. Nothing. He moved from rack to rack; all of them in the area were empty. "Connor? Connor Burke? You need to come out right now."
Nothing. No answer. No movement. No boy.
He grabbed for his cell phone and flagged down a store employee. It was time to call for backup. Store security, shoppers, the entire Lake Hubbard police department, the damn FBI. Whatever it took. He had to find Connor, and he had to find him now.
Staring at the parking garage's concrete wall, Nick Raymond gripped the steering wheel of his pickup to still his shaking hands. He'd spent half a fortune on a private investigator, mortgaging the ranch to pay his bill, and had come up with nothing. Not a trace.
Until yesterday.
He switched off the ignition and glanced into the backseat of his king cab. The seat belt was hooked into the booster seat. The DVD player was loaded with Disney movies for the long trip home, and the gas tank was full. He'd stocked up on snacks and juice boxes and had even picked up a stuffed buffalo. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
He yanked the keys from the ignition. They jangled in his fingers and dropped to the floor mat.
He was a mess.
Leaning his forehead on the steering wheel, he pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hadn't been this nervous since the trip home from the hospital after Jason was born. Heart pounding and palms sweating, he'd been sure something horrible would happen to the little tyke on the road back to the ranch. Gayle had laughed at him, though she was just as anxious.
Gayle. A dull ache centered in his gut. He'd imagined finding her for three years, mapped out every bitter word he'd throw at her, every curse he'd level for stealing his son. And now, he'd forgive it all if she were here.
If she were still alive.
He still couldn't absorb that she'd been bludgeoned to death by a man who'd tried to rob her late at night in her own apartment. He hadn't even thought of funeral arrangements. He couldn't think of them now. Now he only wanted to focus on reuniting with Jason. On bringing his four-year-old son home.
He retrieved his keys and dismounted from the truck. Hitting the lock button on the remote, he strode through the parking structure, the thud of his boot heels echoing off concrete, heading for the nearest red exit sign. This nervous quake that had a hold of him was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop it.
Jason probably didn't remember his dad or the Circle J. Had he ever ridden a horse? Did he like horses? After spending the past three years in the city, would he hate living on the ranch as much as his mother had?
Nick made his way down two flights of stairs. Of course, he was getting ahead of himself where Jason was concerned. There was a lot to think about before he'd get a chance to introduce his son to life in Wyoming. A lot to sort out with the Denver police. A lot to move beyond. But no matter how long it took to cut through the red tape, Nick wouldn't be going back to the ranch alone. He would be bringing his boy with him.
And nervous as he was, that fact brought a grin to his face and a warmth to his chest that he would make sure he never lost again.
Breaking out onto the street, he squinted against Denver's mile-high sunshine. Even the day seemed to be celebrating his fresh beginning. The air felt dry and a little crisp, a taste of fast-approaching fall. The sky was blue. The city pulsing with energy. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it.
It had to be.
He'd memorized the map he'd printed out from the hotel's Web site, but he pulled the paper from his back pocket just the same. It rattled in his hand as he looked over the familiar two-block distance he'd walked in his mind countless times on the drive down from Wyoming.
A truck roared past spewing black exhaust into the air. A dog yapped from an apartment window. A dark blue car full of young tattooed men blasting music from open windows pulled to the curb behind him. He could see all of it. Hear all of it. But he couldn't seem to focus on anything. His mind was tuned totally to the hotel rising on the corner ahead, its colorful flags flapping in the breeze.
This was it.
For a second, his legs felt weak. Maybe he should have waited, met his son at the police station, the way the detective who'd called had wanted. But that had seemed so official. So dry. In that setting, Jason might be afraid of this man he didn't remember. And Nick didn't want to start out that way.
But now he wasn't sure this idea was better.
He glanced around. So much noise. So much bustle. This would confuse the boy for sure. And after all Jason had been through in the past few days, he'd probably had enough confusion. Nick needed to find a way to make things easier.
He was still more than half a block away when the light shifted on the glass doors leading into the hotel lobby. A broad-shouldered man wearing a sports jacket pushed his way out. He glanced from side to side, the sun sparkling on his gray hair and the nearly white mustache tickling his upper lip. At first he looked like a regular businessman, then a wind gust blew back his jacket, revealing a holster on his hip.
Nick's pulse spiked. The detective. It had to be. And that probably meant…
The man reached behind his back and grabbed the door handle, holding it open. A woman with golden-blond hair brushing her shoulders stepped out behind him, a small brown-haired boy at her side. Another woman followed behind, also dressed professionally, but Nick was no longer looking at the people surrounding his son.
His son.
A hum rose in his ears and the whole universe seemed to scope in until it included no movement, no sound, no city smells, nothing but him and the boy he'd been looking for for so long.
His son.
Jason's eyes flared wide as he took in the city street. From this distance, they looked blue, like his mother's. But everything else—the slope of his nose, the cleft in his little chin, the way his ears stuck out from his shorn head—all of it looked so much like photos of Nick at age four, that for a second he couldn't quite breathe.
His son.
He dodged around the few people on the sidewalk until no one was between him and his boy but the three people with him. A roar rose from somewhere far away. Something dark glided past him on the street. Someone shouted. But all he could see was Jason. All he could think about was reaching him. Hearing his voice. Taking him in his arms. Holding him and never letting him go.
He was still thirty yards away when the shooting started.
