Stranded With The Suspect

They’re both undercover...

And in way over their heads.

To arrest a powerful cult leader, Officer Simon Woolridge needs evidence former group member Andi Matheson doesn’t know she has. But the pregnant heiress is being targeted by two killers—and hiding even more secrets. Now as she and Simon go on the run through a ferocious Colorado blizzard, her resourcefulness ignites a passion the cynical agent never saw coming...and a trap they have only one shot to survive.

The Ranger Brigade: Family Secrets

CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.

Also by Cindi Myers

Murder in Black CanyonUndercover HusbandManhunt on Mystic MesaSoldier’s PromiseMissing in Blue MesaStranded with the SuspectColorado Crime SceneLawman on the HuntChristmas KidnappingPhD Protector

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Stranded with the Suspect

Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07868-9

STRANDED WITH THE SUSPECT

© 2018 Cynthia Myers

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Chapter One

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any messages for you, Ms. Daniels. I promise to put any calls or other communications through to your room at once. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The desk clerk at the Brown Palace Hotel smiled as she spoke, as if she really was concerned that Andi have everything she needed.

“No. Thank you.” Andi tried to return the smile, but it wasn’t something she was used to doing anymore. The past year hadn’t given her much to smile about.

“Did you enjoy your visit to our spa this morning?” the clerk asked, after a quick glance at her computer screen, which no doubt showed every spa treatment, room service meal and other amenity Andi had enjoyed during her stay at one of Denver’s oldest luxury hotels.

“Yes, it was lovely.” Everything about the Brown Palace was lovely, from the richly patterned carpet beneath her feet to the stained-glass skylights in the main lobby. Towering fresh flower arrangements and elegant artwork shared space with photographs of the many celebrated personages who had stayed at the hotel, from the Beatles to US presidents. But none of it impressed Andi. For one thing, she had seen it all too many times before, when she stayed here with her father, Senator Pete Matheson.

That seemed a lifetime ago. Now all of this—the opulence and grand sense of history—wasn’t her world anymore. She craved simplicity over elegance, reality more than comfort. This felt so phony.

“If you need anything at all, please let me know, Ms. Daniels,” the clerk said.

Andi nodded and turned from the desk. Her name wasn’t even Daniels—it was Matheson. But Daniel Metwater had thought it amusing to register her under a variant of his Christian name when he had brought her here three days ago. He was supposed to have contacted her before now, to let her know he was coming to get her and take her home.

She reached up and put her hand over the pendant at her neck, the rose-cut diamond in the old-fashioned gold setting a comforting weight at the base of her throat. Daniel didn’t know that she had taken it before she left to come to Denver, but after all, he had promised it to her baby, so why shouldn’t she have it now? If he asked about it when he arrived, she would tell him she had been keeping it safe for him. He might not be pleased with that explanation at first, but he would come around. Daniel wanted her to be happy.

She waited for the elevator, her ankles swollen, feet hurting. Absently, she rubbed at the bulge of her abdomen, the baby kicking inside her. She tried to imagine what the little one looked like right now, recalling pictures in the tattered copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting that one of the women in camp had loaned her. She had no idea if she was carrying a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter—she would be happy with either. Part of her was anxious for the child’s arrival. Another part of her wanted to put it off as long as possible. She hadn’t seen a doctor since the public clinic had confirmed her pregnancy months ago, so she had no idea of her due date. But the other women in camp had assured her that the baby would come out when it was ready, and that she would be ready then, also.

Since she wasn’t ready for the birth, the baby must not be either, which was reassuring in a way. She didn’t want to have her child alone in this city that no longer felt familiar to her. She wanted to be back in the camp in the wilderness in southwest Colorado, with the women attending her and the men waiting outside, chanting for her and the baby’s health.

“Ms. Matheson? Andi Matheson?”

She turned toward the speaker before she could stop herself. A lean, athletic man with a blond goatee smiled at her. “So good to see you again,” he said, with just a hint of a foreign accent. Austrian? Russian?

“I... I’m sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.” She turned to face the elevator once more, but she could feel his eyes on her.

He stepped closer, brushing against her arm. “Oh, but I am sure I am right. I would never forget such a beautiful woman.”

She said nothing, teeth clenched, willing the elevator doors to open so she could make her escape.

“You are living with the evangelist, Daniel Metwater, now, are you not?” the man asked.

Daniel wasn’t an evangelist. Not in the sense most people used the word. He was a prophet and a teacher.

The man touched her arm. “I would very much like to meet your boyfriend. Perhaps you could arrange it, no?”

She jerked away. The gilded doors of the elevator opened and she hurried inside. The man started to follow, but a dark-haired man shoved him out of the way and slipped in after her, immediately hitting the button to close the doors. “What floor?” he asked, his back to her.

“Fourteenth,” she said, still shaken from the encounter with the blond.

He pressed the button for fourteen, then turned to face her. She gasped as she recognized his face, and pressed her back against the railing on the inside of the elevator car. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

The vertical line between his dark brows deepened as he frowned at her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

She wasn’t afraid of him. Not exactly. Officer Simon Woolridge wore his disdain of her and the other members of the family she belonged to on his face for all to see, especially his contempt for the man who led them, their Prophet, Daniel Metwater, but he had never given Andi reason to be afraid of him. He had never tried to befriend her the way some of the members of his organization, the Ranger Brigade, had. After a lifetime of dealing with frauds and posers, she could appreciate that kind of honesty.

“Why are you here?” she asked again. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to the Prophet?”

The elevator door opened and Simon touched her elbow. “Let’s go to your room, where we can talk.”

He walked beside her to her room at the end of the hall, a tall, commanding presence at her right elbow. She was used to seeing him in uniform, but today he wore jeans and a black Western shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The clothes made him seem less familiar and more...intriguing. She hadn’t bothered to look much past the uniform before, but now she was aware of him as a man most women would give a second—or a third—look to. He waited while she slipped her card key from her purse, slid it in the lock and opened the door. Then he followed her inside.

She braced herself for him to make a disparaging remark about her luxurious suite, a sharp contrast to the tent she had been living in since she had joined Daniel Metwater and his followers five months previously. But he only gave the room a cursory glance before turning to her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

The question caught her off guard. “I’m fine,” she said automatically.

His gaze swept over her, his dark eyes intense, making her want to cover herself, even though she was fully dressed. He reminded her of a sleek cat, preparing to pounce on its prey. “You look pale,” he said. “Your ankles are swollen and you keep arching your back, as if it hurts.”

She put a hand to her lower back, which did ache, as did her swollen feet. She didn’t know whether to be flattered he had noticed so much in such a short time, or to be unnerved by his scrutiny. “I’m fine,” she said again.

“You’re a lousy liar. Who was the man you were talking to by the elevator downstairs?”

“I don’t know.”

“He acted as if he knew you.”

Yes. And that had been unsettling. “He knew who I was,” she said. “He called me by my name—my real name.”

“I heard him ask about Metwater.”

“Yes. He wanted to meet him. Maybe he was simply a fan.” Yes, that was probably it. The Prophet attracted many followers wherever he went.

Simon turned away from her to prowl the room like a restless predator. “Metwater must be doing pretty well siphoning money off his followers,” he said. “If he can afford to hide you away here.”

There was the cynicism she had been expecting. “I’m not hiding,” she said. “And the Prophet has money of his own. He inherited it from his father.”

Simon paused in his circuit of the room and looked back at her. “Then why does he need your money?”

Andi didn’t answer.

“You signed the agreement, didn’t you?” Simon asked. “The one that gives Daniel Metwater all your assets—now and in the future, as long as you remain with him.”

“The money goes to the Family,” she said. “We pool our resources so that no one has more than anyone else.”

“The money goes into Daniel Metwater’s personal bank account. I have the records, if you don’t believe me.”

The Rangers had no business looking into the private affairs of the Prophet, though of course, they thought their badges gave them the right. “He decides the best use of the funds for the Family,” she said.

“I guess this week, stashing you in a suite in the Brown Palace was the best use of the funds.”

Again, she said nothing. He had obviously made up his mind. And what business was it of his how the Family spent their money? She opened her mouth to ask him, but he cut her off.

“Whose idea was it to come here?” he asked her.

“The Prophet’s.”

“He wanted you here so that you couldn’t tell us anything we could use against him,” Simon said. “But it’s too late for that now. We already have everything we need to put him away.”

“Are you saying you arrested him?” She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, but failed. For months, the Rangers had been harassing Daniel Metwater and his followers. The Family, as they called themselves, got the blame for every crime that occurred on the public lands the Ranger Brigade patrolled.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Simon asked.

“I haven’t heard anything from him since he brought me here three days ago,” she said. “Why? Where is he? What have you done to him?”

“We haven’t done anything. We don’t know where he is.” Simon’s eyes met hers, black and hard as coal. “I was hoping you did.”

She shook her head and sank onto the sofa, fearful her legs would no longer support her. “What’s happened? Why are you looking for him?”

“We found your friend Starfall’s baby.”

“Hunter!” Fear clogged her throat. Her tentmate’s child had disappeared from camp two days before Metwater drove Andi to Denver. Starfall had accused the Prophet of taking her child, but Andi knew that couldn’t be true. “Is he okay? Where was he?”

“He’s fine. He was with a couple of guys named Smith. Two brothers. Sound familiar?”

She shook her head, relief flooding her. “Then you know Daniel didn’t take Hunter,” she said. “Why are you still looking for him when you know he’s innocent?”

“The Smith brothers told us Daniel Metwater paid them to take Starfall’s baby,” Simon said. “Metwater said he wanted to teach her a lesson.”

Andi shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Then why did he kidnap Starfall and try to kill her? He tried to kill Ethan Reynolds, the Ranger who was trying to help her, too.”

“You’re lying. The Prophet would never do anything like that. He promotes peace.”

Simon stood over her, his shadow falling across her face, his bulk making her feel even smaller. “Why are you defending him?” he demanded. “What has he done for you but take your money and sleep with other women?”

She cringed at the words. “He’s trying to teach me not to be possessive.” Wanting the Prophet of their people all to herself was her personal failing, one she struggled with.

“A truly good man wouldn’t treat you this way,” Simon said, his voice gentler. “He would cherish you and protect you, not lie to you and use you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His expression hardened. “Maybe not. But I know you’re in danger if you don’t get away from him.”

“Danger?” The word shocked her out of her despair. She sat up straighter. “What kind of danger?”

“Daniel Metwater is running for his life right now. Every law enforcement agency in the country is hunting for him,” Simon said. “He knows sooner or later we’re going to catch him. When we do, he doesn’t want you around to testify against him.”

“I would never testify against him,” she said, horrified at the idea.

“You’re not married to him. You can be compelled to tell what you know.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“I think you do,” Simon said. “You’re closer to Daniel Metwater than anyone. You may not realize the significance of the information, but it’s something big enough that he took care to hide you away here, under an assumed name.”

“If that’s true and he’s so terrible, why didn’t he just kill me?” she asked. “That’s apparently the kind of man you think he is.”

Simon’s expression didn’t change. “He has to keep you alive until your twenty-fifth birthday, when your trust comes under your control. If you die after that, the money all goes to Daniel Metwater—am I right?”

He was, though she had no intention of confirming this. “The Prophet would never harm me,” she said.

“I’ll bet Starfall thought the same thing, until he beat her and stole her baby.”

Andi pressed her hands against her belly, feeling the child shift inside her. “You need to leave,” she said.

“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I won’t be far away.” He headed toward the door. “I have a feeling Metwater is going to come back for you, and when he does, he’ll find me waiting.”

He left, closing the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, rage and fear and sickness swirling through her. Simon Woolridge was a horrible man. How could he make such terrible accusations against a man who spoke words of peace and caring? Daniel Metwater had saved her, and so many others.

Simon was a hard, abrasive cop who had no concern for her or her feelings.

But Daniel Metwater, despite all his goodness, had lied to her more than once. As far as she knew, Simon had never lied to her, even when telling the truth hurt.

Chapter Two

Simon prowled the hallway outside Andi’s room, immune to the appeal of well-upholstered chairs and elegant chandeliers. He viewed the hotel like a battleground, noting positions from which to mount an offensive, and the many places a fugitive might hide.

His conversation with Andi hadn’t gone as he had hoped. He had meant to come down hard on her, to insist that she come with him to a shelter or another place of safety. But one look at her beautiful, weary face had melted his resolve. Maybe it was better for her and her baby if she stayed here, where she would at least be comfortable. He would guard her and wait.

Metwater was going to come for her; Simon was sure of it. The man preached poverty and the simple life to his followers, but he had used the very people who depended on him to amass assets in excess of sixty-eight million dollars. And that was only the accounts Simon had managed to locate. There was probably more stashed elsewhere.

But he was a fugitive on the run now, his bank accounts frozen and unavailable to him. He would need money to leave the country, to run out of the reach of US law. Andi had money, and Metwater could be confident she would give it to him. All he had to do was get to her. A different type of man might have gotten by on wits and cunning alone, but Metwater was used to paying his way out of trouble.

He was the son of a man who had made a fortune manufacturing plastics in Chicago. He had a twin brother, David, who had reportedly embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars from the family business before Metwater Senior’s death. Without his dad to reign him in, David had really gone off the rails, racking up gambling debts, dabbling in the drug trade and getting in deep with the Russian mob. He had died under mysterious circumstances, supposedly killed by organized crime members he had tried to double-cross.

Meanwhile, Daniel kept on managing the family business, serving on the boards of various charities and cleaning up the mess his brother made. David’s death, he told the press, cut him deeply, to the point where he sold the family business and took to the road, preaching peace and poverty to a growing list of followers, who eventually followed him to the public lands of Colorado, where they set up camp in the Rangers’ jurisdiction.

The good twin and the bad twin. A classic cliché. Simon didn’t buy it. He figured Daniel had been every bit as corrupt as his twin, but managed to hide it better. Nobody was the saint the press made Daniel out to be.

Simon knew a few real saints—nuns who lived real vows of poverty and worked to save children in border-town slums, doctors who used their own money to fund clinics for the indigent, police officers who faced down corruption and paid the ultimate price when they were assassinated for refusing to look the other way.

But Simon was no saint. Working for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, he had sent widows and orphans back to uncertain futures and poverty because they had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of the border. He didn’t believe in mercy for those who broke the law, and he had little patience for whiners and weaklings.

And he knew there was a special place in hell for men like Daniel Metwater, who took advantage of the lost and lonely.

Beautiful Andi Matheson was a little of both. She had the kind of ethereal beauty that drew the eye. The first time Simon had seen the blonde there in Metwater’s camp, he had a hard time not staring. She had been born into privilege and by all accounts was a spoiled socialite who had never been denied anything—all reasons enough for him to dislike her, which he had been prepared to do.

Then he had looked into those sapphire eyes, and the hurt and fear in them had hit him like a sucker punch. Stripped of her beauty-queen gowns and protected privilege, he had seen her for the lost, struggling soul she was. From that moment on, Simon had appointed himself Andi’s guardian. Which is why he patrolled the hallways and public areas of the hotel, alert to anything that might signal danger.

He was torn between the desire to station himself outside Andi’s door, and the need to find and question the man who had spoken to her at the elevator. Simon sensed a threat from that man. If he could deal with the stranger, then he could focus on Metwater.

In the hotel bar, The Ship Tavern, he spotted a familiar blond head—the man who had approached Andi outside the elevators. He entered the bar and was immediately engulfed by a wave of noise—a dozen conversations rising over the blare of two TVs and the clink of glasses. The gleam of brass—brass railings, brass light fixtures, brass ornaments on the wall—caught and reflected back the light from old-fashioned ship’s lanterns and faceted chandeliers. Simon squeezed past a shapely brunette in a sequined cocktail gown. She smiled warmly and looked him up and down. “Hi, handsome,” she breathed.

He ignored her and continued on until he reached the bar, and eased in beside the blond man, who immediately turned to see who had joined him. Simon nodded in greeting. The blond returned the nod, and gave no indication that he recognized Simon. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Fat Tire,” Simon said. When the bartender had walked away, Simon turned once more to the blond. “I saw you talking to Andi Matheson earlier,” he said. He seldom wasted time with subtlety. In his experience, a direct confrontation was more likely to catch people off guard.