Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: To Honor and To Protect\Cornered\Untraceable (37 page)

He nuzzled her nose with his. “Months and months.”

She grabbed his face and held it in front of her. “No more informal dating.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Not with you.”

“I knew I liked you from the beginning.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him in closer.

His laugh had someone outside the door hesitating for a second. The person stood there and then moved on.

“Now be honest,” he said with a smile. “You didn't like me all that much for a long while.”

That was probably fair. The beginning part, anyway. The fear had come first and quickly dissipated. The driving need and blinding attraction had seemed to settle in and refuse to go, even after they'd slept together. “But the second I got to know you, I was hooked.”

He leaned down, almost climbed into bed with her. “And I plan to keep you that way.”

She rubbed her hand up his arm. “I like your style, Cameron Roth.”

“And I like everything about you, Julia White.”

“Then let's get me out of here and to that hotel you promised.”

He winked at her. “Done.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Holt and Shane sat down in the bar nearest to the clinic. Watching Cam fall deserved a beer. Maybe a bottle of gin. The good thing about this island was they had plenty of those. Seemed something about the cool, wet air got people drinking.

Law enforcement had swooped in and started investigating everything. It looked as though Sandy was in big trouble going forward. Ray hadn't rolled, but Shane and Holt had a bet he would.

Neither Ray nor Sandy was the type to thrive in prison. They both had skills, but their egos were problematic. The prosecutor was already offering a deal for testimony. Ray would be dumb not to take it.

Shane lifted his beer in salute. “We lost another one.”

“And Cam.” Holt felt he should say a prayer or something. “He was pretty clear that he was out when it came to the long-term-girlfriend thing.”

“That vow lasted all of four seconds after he met Julia.”

“She is hot.” Holt had to be fair about that. She was off-the-charts pretty and probably way out of Cam's league, or at least that was what Holt planned to tell him all the time.

“And she didn't spook when guys died in front of her. She held on.” Shane nodded. “Yeah, you're right. She is hot.”

“It's like a disease in the office.” Holt touched his chest because the idea of hooking up and getting married gave him pain. “Any chance there's a vaccine?”

“I'd ask, but then I'd accidentally insult one of them.”

Made sense, since the
entire
office was now taken except for him and Shane. Connor and his wife had been estranged, but the rest of them had found women and in record time went from confirmed bachelors making fun of the married agents to one of them. The traveling team had vowed to stay out of the fray, but now that deal was busted, as well.

Shane lifted his half-empty glass. “I'm going to need another one.”

“What if Ms. Right is here tonight?” Holt looked around, scanned one table after the other. But he never saw what the others did. He got pretty. He liked smart and resourceful.

“If the right woman comes in, I'll know because she'll buy me a beer.” Shane stared at the door. When it remained closed and he didn't have a new beer in front of him, he shrugged.

That was the Shane Holt loved and admired. “Romantic.”

“We need a new pact,” Shane said. “Except...”

Holt knew this was going to be bad. “What?”

“I bet you're next.”

“Double or nothing.” Holt was willing to hand over his house to win that one.

“We'll see.” Shane downed the last of the glass. “We'll see.”

* * * * *

Look for SHELTERED, the next book
in HelenKay Dimon's
CORCORAN TEAM:
BULLETPROOF BACHELORS
miniseries,
next month. You'll find it wherever
Harlequin Intrigue books and ebooks are sold!

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE GUARDIAN by Cindi Myers.

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.

You crave excitement!
Harlequin Intrigue
stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.

Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Other ways to keep in touch:

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

Chapter One

Abby Stewart was not lost. Maybe she'd wandered a little off her planned route, but she wasn't lost.

She was a scientist and a decorated war veteran. She had GPS and maps and a good sense of direction. So she couldn't be lost. But standing in the middle of nowhere in the Colorado wilderness did have her a little disoriented, she could admit. The problem was, the terrain around Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park tended to all look the same after a while: thousands of acres of rugged, roadless wilderness covered in piñon forests, and scrubby desert set against a backdrop of spectacular mountain views. People did get lost out here every year.

But Abby wasn't one of them, she reminded herself again. She took a deep breath and consulted her handheld GPS. There was the shallow draw she'd just passed, and to the west were the foothills of the Cimarron Mountains. And there was her location now. The display showed she'd hiked three miles from her car. All she had to do was head northeast and she'd eventually make it back to her parking spot and the red dirt two-track she'd driven in on. Feeling more reassured, she returned the GPS unit to her backpack and scanned the landscape around her. To a casual observer, the place probably looked pretty desolate—a high plateau of scrubby grass, cactus and stunted juniper. But to Abby, who was on her way to earning a master's degree in environmental science, the Black Canyon of the Gunnison was a treasure trove of more than eight hundred plant species, including the handful she was focusing on in her research.

Her anxiety over temporarily losing her bearings vanished as she focused on a gray-green clump of vegetation in the shadow of a misshapen piñon. She bent over, peering closer, and a surge of triumph filled her.
Yes!
A terrific specimen of
Lomatium concinnum
—desert parsley to the layman. Number four on the list of species she needed to collect for her research. She knelt and slipped off her pack and quickly took out a digital camera, small trowel and collecting bag.

Intent on photographing the parsley in place, then carefully digging it up, leaving as much of the root system intact as possible, she missed the sounds of approaching footsteps until they were almost on her. A branch crackled and she started, heart pounding. She peered into the dense underbrush in front of her, in the direction of the sound, and heard a shuffling noise—the muffled swish of fabric rubbing against the brush. Whoever this was wasn't trying to be particularly quiet, but what were they doing out here, literally in the middle of nowhere?

In the week Abby had been camped in the area she'd seen fewer than a dozen other people since checking in at the park ranger station, and all of those had been in the campground or along the paved road. Here in the backcountry she'd imagined herself completely alone.

Stealthily, she slid the Sig Sauer from the holster at her side. She'd told the few friends who'd asked about the gun that she carried it to deal with snakes and other wildlife she might encounter in the backcountry, but the truth was, ever since her stint in Afghanistan, she felt safer armed when she went out alone. Flashes of unsettling memories crowded her mind as she drew the weapon; suddenly, she was back in Kandahar, stalking insurgents who'd just wiped out half her patrol group. As a woman, she'd often been tasked with going into the homes of locals to question the women there with the aid of an interpreter. Every time she stepped into one of those homes, she wondered if she'd come out alive. This scene had the same sense of being cut off from the rest of the world, the same sense of paranoia and danger.

Heart racing, she struggled to control her breathing and to push the memories away. She wasn't in Afghanistan. She was in Colorado. In a national park. She was safe. This was probably just another hiker, someone else who appreciated the solitude and peace of the wilderness. She inched forward and pushed aside the feathery, aromatic branches of a piñon.

A small, dark woman bent over the ground, deftly pulling up plants and stuffing them into the pockets of her full skirt. Dandelions, Abby noted. A popular edible wild green. She replaced the gun in its holster and stood. “Hello,” she said.

The woman jumped and dropped a handful of dandelions. She turned, as if to run. “Wait!” Abby called. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.” She retrieved the plants and held them out to the woman. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very beautiful. Her skin was the rich brown of toffee, and she had high cheekbones, a rosebud mouth and large black eyes framed by lacy lashes. She wore a loose blue blouse, a long, full skirt and leather sandals, with a plaid shawl draped across her body.

She came forward and hesitantly accepted the dandelions from Abby.
“Gracias,”
she said, her voice just above a whisper.

Latina, Abby thought. A large community of Mexican immigrants lived in the area. She searched her mind for what schoolgirl Spanish she could recall.
“Habla inglés?”

The woman shook her head and wrapped her arms around what Abby had first assumed to be a bag for storing the plants she collected, but she now realized was a swaddled infant, cradled close to the woman's torso with a sling made from the red, blue and green shawl. “You have a baby!” Abby smiled. “A
niño
,” she added.

The woman held the baby closer and stared at Abby, eyes wide with fear.

Maybe she was an illegal, afraid Abby would report her to the authorities. “Don't worry,” Abby said, unable to remember the Spanish words. “I'm looking for plants, like you.” She broke a stem from the desert parsley and held it out.
“Donde esta este?”
she asked.
Where is this?

The woman eyed Abby warily, but stepped forward to study the plant. She nodded.
“Si. Yo conozco.”

“You know this plant? Can you show me where to find more?
Donde esta
?”

The woman looked around, then motioned Abby to follow her. Abby did so, excitement growing. So far, specimens of
Lomatium
had been rare. Having more plants to study would be a tremendous find.

The woman moved rapidly over the rough ground despite her long skirts and the burden of the baby. Her black hair swung behind her in a ponytail that reached almost to her waist. Where did she live? The closest homes were miles from here, and the only road into this section of the park was the one Abby had come in on. Was she collecting the dandelions because she had an interest in wild food—or because it was the only thing she had to eat?

The woman stopped abruptly beside a large rock and looked down at the ground. Desert parsley spread out for several feet in every direction—the most specimens Abby had ever seen. Her smile widened. “That's wonderful. Thank you so much.
Muchas gracias
.” She clasped the woman's hand and shook it. The woman offered a shy smile.

“Mi nombre es
Abby
.”

“Soy
Mariposa
,”
the wo
man said.

Mariposa. Butterfly. Her name was butterfly?
“Y su niño?”
Abby nodded to the baby.

Mariposa smiled and folded back the blanket to reveal a tiny dark-haired infant.
“Es una niña,”
she said. “Angelique.”

“Angelique,” Abby repeated. A little angel.

“Usted ha cido harido.”
Mariposa lightly touched the side of Abby's face.

Abby flinched. Not because the touch was painful, but because she didn't like being reminded of the scar there. Multiple surgeries and time had faded the wound made by shrapnel from a roadside bomb, but the puckered white gash that ran from just above her left ear to midcheekbone would never be entirely gone. She wore her hair long and brushed forward to hide the worst of the scar, but alone in the wilderness on this warm day she'd clipped her hair back to keep it out of the way while she worked. She had no idea what the Spanish words Mariposa had spoken meant, but she was sure they were in reference to this disfigurement.
“Es no importante,”
she said, shaking her head.

She turned away, the profile of her good side to the woman, and spotted a delicate white flower. The three round petals blushed a deep purplish pink near their center. Half a dozen similar blooms rose nearby on slender, leafless stems. Abby knelt and slipped off her backpack and took out her trowel. She deftly dug up one of the flowers, revealing a fat white bulb. She brushed the dirt from the bulb and handed the plant to the woman.
“Este es comer. Bueno.”
Her paltry Spanish frustrated her. “It's good to eat,” she said, as if the English would make any more sense to her new friend.

Mariposa stroked the velvety petal of the flower and nodded. “It's called a mariposa lily,” Abby said.
“Su nombre es Mariposa tambien.”

Mariposa nodded, then knelt and began digging up a second lily. Maybe she was just humoring Abby—or maybe she really needed the food. Abby hoped it was the former. As much as her studies had taught her about wild plants, she'd hate to have to depend on them for survival.

She turned to her pack once more and took out another collection bag, then remembered the energy bars stashed on the opposite side of the pack. They weren't much, but she'd give them to Mariposa. They'd at least be a change from roots. She found three bars and pressed them into the woman's hands.
“Por usted,”
she said.

“Gracias.”
Mariposa slipped the bars into the pocket of her skirt, then watched as Abby took out the camera and photographed the parsley plants. On impulse, she turned and aimed the camera at Mariposa.
Click
. And there she was, captured on the screen of the camera, face solemn but still very beautiful.

“You don't mind, do you?” Abby asked. She turned the camera so that the woman could see the picture.

Mariposa squinted at the image, but said nothing.

For a few minutes, the two women worked side by side, Mariposa digging lilies and Abby collecting more specimens of parsley. Though Abby usually preferred to work alone, it was nice being with Mariposa. She only wished she spoke better Spanish or Mariposa knew English, so she could find out more about where her new friend was from and why she was here in such a remote location.

Though the army had trained Abby to always be attuned to changes in the landscape around her, she must have gotten rusty since her return to civilian life. Mariposa was the first to stiffen and look toward the brush to the right of the women.

Abby heard the movements a second later—a group of people moving through the brush toward them, their voices carrying in the still air, though they were still some distance away.

She was about to ask Mariposa if she knew these newcomers when the young woman took off running. Her sudden departure startled Abby so much she didn't immediately react. She stared after the young woman, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Mariposa ran with her skirt held up, legs lifted high, in the opposite direction of the approaching strangers, stumbling over the uneven terrain as if her life depended on it. Abby debated running after her, but what would that do but frighten the woman more? She watched the fleeing figure until she'd disappeared over a slight rise, then glanced back toward the voices. They were getting louder, moving closer at a rapid pace.

Abby slipped on the pack and unholstered the weapon once more, then settled into the shade of a boulder to wait.

The group moved steadily toward her. All men, from the sound of them. The uneven terrain and stubby trees blocked them from view, but their voices carried easily in the stillness. They weren't attempting stealth; instead, they shouted and crashed through the underbrush with a great crackling of breaking twigs and branches. As they neared she thought she heard both English and Spanish. They seemed to be searching for someone, shouting, “Come out!” and, “Where is he?”

Or were they saying, “Where is
she
?”
Were they looking for Mariposa? Why?

The first gunshots sent a jolt of adrenaline to her heart. She gripped the pistol more tightly and hunkered down closer to the boulder. For a moment she was back in Afghanistan, pinned down by enemy fire, unable to fight back. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, fighting for calm. She wasn't over there anymore. She was in the United States. No one was shooting at her. She was safe.

A second rapid burst of gunfire shattered the air, and Abby bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. Then everything went still. The echo of the concussion reverberated in the air, ringing in her ears. She couldn't hear the men anymore, though whether because they were silent or because she was momentarily deaf, she didn't know. She opened her eyes and reached into the pocket of her jeans to grip the small ceramic figure of a rabbit she kept there. She'd awoken in the field hospital with it clutched in her hand; she had no idea who had put the rabbit there, but ever since, she'd kept it as a kind of good-luck charm. The familiar feel of its smooth sides and little pointed ears calmed her. She was safe. She was all right.

The voices drifted to her once more, less agitated now, and receding. They gradually faded altogether, until everything around her was silent once more.

She waited a full ten minutes behind the boulder, clutching the pistol in both hands, every muscle tensed and poised to defend herself. After the clock on her phone told her the time she'd allotted had passed, she stood and scanned the wilderness around her. Nothing. No men, no Mariposa, no dust clouds marking the trail of a vehicle. The landscape was as still as a painting, not even a breeze stirring the leaves of the stunted trees.

Still shaky from the adrenaline rush, she holstered the pistol and settled the backpack more firmly on her shoulder. She could return to her car, but would that increase her chances of running into the men? Maybe it would be better to remain here for a while longer. She'd go about her business and give the men time to move farther away.