Snowbound Security

Saved and seduced...

by Wingman Security’s sexiest agent

Stuck in a raging snowstorm, Laura Collins can’t refuse shelter in Rico Metez’s Colorado mountain cabin. She’s been on the run with a child and will do anything to save her. But as he puts everything on the line to protect Laura, Rico senses she’s got deeper secrets that involve the little girl. Can he learn the truth before his own past gets them killed?

BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit beverlylong.com, or like her author fan page at Facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.

Also By Beverly Long

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Power Play

Bodyguard Reunion

Snowbound Security

Return to Ravesville

Hidden Witness

Agent Bride

Urgent Pursuit

Deep Secrets

The Men from Crow Hollow

Hunted

Stalked

Trapped

The Detectives

Deadly Force

Secure Location

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Snowbound Security

Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07893-1

SNOWBOUND SECURITY

© 2018 Beverly R. Long

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Suddenly, I feel like living dangerously.” He deliberately stared at her mouth.

“Really?”

She sounded breathless. Was it from walking up the hill? Or the idea of what his living dangerously might mean for her?

“Yeah,” he said. “What do you think about that?”

She stared at him. Her cheeks were red and her hair was flying around her face, full of static electricity from her cap. “Living dangerously. I’ve spent a lifetime doing just the opposite, being very careful to do just the right thing.”

“And now?”

“And now, I think I might be done with that.”

What was she saying? There could be no room for misinterpretation here. He leaned close, whispered in her ear so the little girls could not hear. “I want you in my bed, Laura.”

“I’m not in a place where I can make any commitments, Rico.”

“I’m not asking for any. Or expecting any,” he added. Hoping, yeah, but he didn’t need to say that.

“Then I say yes.”

* * *

Don’t miss the next romance in Beverly Long’s exciting miniseries, Wingman Security!

Dear Reader,

Thank you for the opportunity to share Laura and Rico’s story. I’m super excited that it’s set in Colorado. My grandparents homesteaded on the western slope of Colorado in the early 1930s. My mother, who claimed she could ride a horse before she could walk, had wonderful stories about her childhood on the mountain ranch. She left Colorado to marry my dad and they settled in Illinois. My grandparents, however, continued to live in Colorado until their deaths many years later.

In the summers, my parents would load up the Buick LeSabre with their five children (yes, those cars really were big enough for seven) and we would drive from Illinois to Colorado and spend two weeks with my grandparents. The excitement of seeing the mountains and knowing that we were close is a feeling that I will never forget. By then, my grandparents had left the ranch and were living in town. Aunts and uncles and cousins, who all still lived in Colorado, would arrive. We’d play canasta, catch frogs in the drainage ditch and pick tomatoes out of the garden that were delicious with just a little salt.

For me, Colorado is about family and that’s the theme that resonates in Snowbound Security. The importance of family, the risks one will take to keep family safe, the sacrifices one will make. The love that binds a family together.

I hope you enjoy!

All my best,

Beverly

To Lydia, who has helped me to know how very much my grandparents must have loved me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Laura Collins awoke when a small hand poked her in the nose. She opened one eye, then the other. Hannah stood at the side of the bed, her head at an angle, her long curly blond hair in even more disarray than usual. Likely from having it wadded up and stuffed underneath her small baseball cap for too many hours the day before.

“Wake up,” said the four-year-old.

Laura smiled. She felt as if she could sleep for weeks. But Hannah was likely not having any of that. She’d gotten regular naps snug in her car seat in the back of the white Mustang while Laura had driven for seventeen hours, her tense fingers clenching the steering wheel.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” They had some food left but Laura knew that she’d need to make a trip to the grocery store soon. There had to be one somewhere.

Hannah nodded, her big blue eyes solemn.

She was too serious. Maybe she understood more than Laura thought she did. She hoped not. One day she’d tell her the truth. But not now. She was too young. There was too much at risk. “Peanut butter toast and an orange?” she asked.

“Pancakes,” Hannah said.

Laura shook her head. Not without eggs or milk. It was what she’d offered or nothing. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was so cold. She immediately looked down to see if Hannah had socks on. She did not. She reached down and scooped her up, then pretended to toss the little girl over her shoulder.

Hannah squealed in fun.

“You need slippers, little one.”

“Cold piggies,” Hannah said.

“Yes, you have cold piggies,” Laura said, rubbing the child’s soft feet. She carried her into the smaller bedroom and gently dumped her onto the bed. Then she opened the sack containing Hannah’s new clothes. She yanked at the thin plastic connecting the two slippers and once it broke, she put one on each foot. They were a little loose but it had been a pretty good guess.

She hoped she’d done as well with the rest of the clothes. She tore the tags off everything. It wasn’t as if she was able to take any of them back if they didn’t fit. They would have to do. “Here, sweetheart. Put this sweater on over your pajamas.”

The cabin was colder than it had been last night when they’d arrived. Laura had considered lighting the fireplace that took up almost one wall in the living room but had ultimately been too tired. It had been a struggle just to make the two beds with the linens that had been waiting in totes left at the footboards of both. There had been thick comforters and she’d been confident that Hannah would be warm enough.

But now she was going to have to get her act together. She needed to cut and darken Hannah’s hair and lighten her own.

“I want to watch TV,” Hannah said.

In her bedroom, there was a DVD player and about a thousand different titles, but she didn’t want Hannah to get used to the big screen. She’d be disappointed when they had to leave it behind. “You can watch my computer,” she said. She’d downloaded some movies that would keep the little girl entertained for a while.

The child nodded. Laura sighed. There would be so many compromises in the future. If only she could be assured that Hannah would be as accepting of all of them. But she couldn’t worry about it now. One day at a time.

When her good friend Melissa Trane had said Colorado mountain cabin, Laura had imagined a small space, probably a little rundown, maybe not primitive but certainly rugged. All the way from Tennessee, she prayed that the place wouldn’t be overrun with rodents. She’d thrown her dad’s old rifle in the trunk but had worried that she might have been better prepared if she’d included mousetraps.

Once she arrived, she realized that if there were mice here, they likely lived better than most people. The place was luxurious.

A little rested now, she was ready to explore.

The living room and kitchen was all one big space, but the furniture was oversized and arranged in such a way that it felt like two very separate areas. There were two couches in the living area, and she got Hannah settled on one of them with her computer. The couches sat in a V in front of the stone fireplace, with a big wooden end table between them. Both the couches were a rich brown leather with lots of comfy pillows. The rug on the glossy hardwood floor was a mix of browns and burgundies and gold that tied the space together.

In the middle of the dining area there was a big table. Lots of dark wood and six comfortable-looking fabric chairs in the same sort of colors that were in the living room. There was a runner down the middle with a gorgeous brown and gold blown glass bowl in the center.

The kitchen was what you’d expect to find in an upscale home, not in a cabin. Stainless steel appliances, big sink with a tall, arching faucet, and more rugs on the polished wood floor. Granite countertops and expensive-looking glass-fronted cabinets. Inside of them she could see plenty of dishes and glassware.

The only thing that seemed out of place was the rather plain telephone hanging on the wall—such a throwback to another time. She lifted the receiver, listened for the dial tone and smiled. It worked. How nice.

Not that she had anyone to call. She’d left her cell phone behind and had picked up a prepaid phone at the same time she’d purchased Hannah’s clothes. She’d activated it and then later made just one call—to let Melissa know they’d arrived safely.

Now if there was only a coffeepot hiding in one of the cupboards that hung above the countertop, she would consider it a sign that she was in the right place. Once she’d made the quick decision that she and Hannah had to leave Nashville, she’d thrown just a few clothes into a backpack, wanting to be able to travel light. Coffee and filters fell into the essential category and she’d brought them along.

She had very little in her apartment in Nashville. She’d rented it furnished and moved her own possessions in a couple boxes, leaving most everything behind in Memphis, where she’d lived for the last four years after leaving Indiana. She’d always intended to return to Memphis.

That would never happen now. The life she had known before had been pushed out of reach.

She opened one cupboard and found a toaster. That was good; she would need that, too. There were also a few canned goods on the shelf. Soup, vegetables, beans. She looked at the expiration dates. They were all good for at least the next six months.

She’d be long gone before then.

She opened the other cabinet and thank you, God, there was a coffeepot. It was clean and she quickly plugged it in, then filled the pot halfway full with water. Got a filter, put the grounds in and sighed when the first sizzle hit the bottom of the now-hot glass pot.

She toasted two slices of bread and peeled an orange. Once the toast popped, she slathered on the peanut butter, put a piece of toast on each of the small plates she found and divided the orange. “Here you go, Hannah.”

Hannah, already engrossed in the movie, blindly reached out for an orange slice. Laura sat at the table, eating her breakfast and drinking the black coffee that she’d have preferred with cream. This was the first day of their new lives. It should feel momentous.

But it just felt overwhelming. How the hell was she going to manage? How was she going to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table?

Hannah should be at her preschool at this very moment. She should be at work. Instead, they were both halfway across the country. Thrown together by circumstances too complex for many to understand.

By now the police would have been called.

Would the case wind its way to Detective August Phillips’s desk? Would he put two and two together and realize the connection to another of his cases, the deaths of Joe and Ariel Collins? The deaths she was sure were suspicious, although the seasoned veteran with thirty years on the force was not yet convinced.

He’d said he respected her opinion and that he’d keep an open mind.

But he likely wouldn’t think much of her now.

None of that mattered. Hannah was safe. And Laura intended to keep it that way. The alternative was simply too horrible to bear.

* * *

Rico Metez wasn’t supposed to be driving. His doctor had said to wait another two weeks before getting behind the wheel or returning to work, but the hell with that. He was tired of babying his injured ankle, tired of being at less than 100 percent.

He was headed home. To the Colorado mountains. To his cabin. He’d been saddened to hear from Georgina Fodder that she wasn’t feeling well enough to make her scheduled trip. He’d known her cancer was rapidly advancing but had hoped she’d have one more visit to the mountains. After the conversation had ended, he’d made a few follow-up calls to ensure that she had everything she needed to make her final days as comfortable as possible. Her son had sung the praises of Melissa Trane, a home care worker who’d become indispensable to Georgina.

And when he’d decided that he wasn’t going to let the cabin simply sit empty, his partners had almost cheered his decision. “We owe you,” they’d said. And they did. Because he’d had the bad luck to be available when Mora Rambeilla had needed executive protection a few months ago. It was really good money but, unfortunately, had been more drama than it was worth.

She’d been demanding and prone to hysterics. Her ex-husband postulated conspiracy theories that had no basis in fact, and she had manipulative adult children who should have had their own lives but apparently didn’t. It had been a daytime soap opera that had consumed him for two months prior to his accident. Royce Morgan, Trey Riker and Seth Pike had all felt as if they’d escaped a bullet.

He’d packed a bag, put gas in his SUV and had been grateful when Las Vegas was not even a speck in his rearview mirror. Now, nine hours later, he was close. And as luck would have it, Jennie Jones’s little store was still open. Jennie had to be at least seventy but she still worked twelve-hour days, selling groceries and gas to the locals and anybody passing through that didn’t mind paying a premium of 20 percent for the convenience of not having to drive all the way down the damn mountain to get to a big store.

He pulled in and killed the engine. Lucky, who’d been sleeping in the passenger seat, immediately perked up and started to whine.

“No, you’re staying here,” Rico said. “This is a quick stop.”

The dog cocked his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was being left behind.

“I’ll get you a treat,” Rico said before opening his door. Then he pulled the crutches that he’d come to despise after him. He negotiated the two steps easily—after all, he’d been using the crutches for weeks now. When he opened the door, Jennie looked up from the cash register.

“Saints preserve us, is that you, Rico?” she asked, coming around the counter. She took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “What happened?”

“Chasing chickens,” he said. It was an old joke. When he’d been a little kid and wandered into Jennie’s store and stayed too long, she’d send him on his way and say, “Just tell your parents that you got busy chasing chickens.”

His parents, who had picked fruit for a living, had smiled, grateful that Jennie had watched over their boy while they were busy in the fields, and heated up dinner for him.

“How long are you staying?” she asked.

“Couple weeks,” he said. He reached for a plastic basket.

“You point and I’ll fill your basket. But make it fast, Rico. I was just about to shut down the store. My youngest granddaughter, Ari, is visiting.”

“How old is she now?” he asked, pointing at boxes of whole grain cereal.

She dropped them in his basket. “Six. Paddie is watching her while I’m here.”

Paddie and Jennie had been together for as long as Rico could remember. They had never married. “I’ll bet she’s a beauty,” he said.

“She is. What else do you need?”

“Skim milk. Green tea. Any fresh fruit or veggies that you might have.”

There were red grapes and apples as well as asparagus, mushrooms and carrots.

“Perfect,” he said. “Still carrying the whole wheat pasta?”

“Just for you,” Jennie said. “Nobody else seems too interested.”

He smiled. “Throw in a loaf of your seven-grain bread and a dozen organic eggs and I’m out of your hair for a few days. Oh, almost forgot. Do you have any of those dehydrated apricots? I need something for Lucky.”

“I wondered if he’d made the trip.” She grabbed a bag from a shelf near the front, then joined him at the cash register. No scanners for Jennie. She punched the numbers in by hand.

He put the items into plastic sacks and then handed her cash.

“I can carry those out to your car,” she said.

“No need.” He grabbed the sacks with his free fingers, using just his thumbs and the heels of his hands to negotiate the crutches. That would be the day when he couldn’t manage to get himself and a few groceries to the car. “Thanks, Jennie. Good to see you, as always.”

“You, too. Don’t be a stranger while you’re here.”

Once he was back in his car, he opened the apricots and gave Lucky one. “Am I forgiven?” he asked.

Lucky, never one to hold a grudge, licked his hand.

It took Rico another fifteen minutes to wind his way up to his cabin. As was his habit, he looked through the trees as he rounded the last curve, always eager to catch his first glimpse.

And immediately slowed his SUV down. There was a light on. Actually, two. The blinds were drawn but not quite tight enough. There was definitely light coming from the main living area and from the large bedroom. What the hell?

He pulled off to the side of the road and quietly opened his door. He reached under his seat and pulled out the handgun that he always carried.

Lucky, as if sensing that something was very wrong, growled.

“Be quiet,” Rico said. “Stay.”

Then he grabbed a small flashlight from the middle console. Considered his crutches and discarded the idea. His doctor said his ankle could start taking a little weight.

He limped up the driveway. There was a vintage white Mustang with Tennessee plates and a kid’s car seat in the back. For just a minute, he wondered if it was possible that Georgina had been able to come. But he almost immediately discounted the idea. She was too sick.

He climbed the two steps to get onto the front porch. There were no rocking chairs to navigate around—those were in the back, where a person could sit and see the lake. He moved close, in an attempt to see inside the cabin through the small slit the almost-closed blinds offered.

He was pretty sure the family room/kitchen was empty.

He was going in. He tried the door. Locked.

No problem. He started to punch in the code on the keypad near the door. Stopped when he heard a noise behind him.

“Put your hands up,” a female voice said.

Well, hell. This was interesting.

The accent wasn’t Colorado. So not a local.

He considered his options. He was a good shot, and fast, but he wanted to let this play out a little. He slipped his gun into the front of his pants and pulled his shirt to cover it. “I’m putting my flashlight on the ground,” he said. He bent, did what he’d said, then straightened. Then with his hands in the air, he slowly turned.

It was dark in the mountains because even on moonlit nights, the trees were so tall that they blocked the light. But he’d pointed the beam to try to pick up the woman behind the voice.

There she was. She stood about fifteen yards away, and he could just make out her frame and what he thought was a rifle.