“Get some rest. You want to be alert when we make a break for it tonight.”

“Will you rest, too?” she asked.

“I’ll keep watch,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply of her floral-and-spice scent. She made him feel more vulnerable than he ever had, yet at the same time stronger. A man who had spent his life avoiding complications, he welcomed the challenges she brought. She made him think what the future might look like with her in it.

She stirred, and he pushed away his musings. She opened her eyes, then smiled. “Does this mean the wonderful dream I was having is real?” she asked.

“What was the dream?”

Her smile widened. “It involved a big feather bed and you and me—naked.”

He indulged himself with a kiss, fighting the urge to take her there on the hard ground. “We’ll have to see about making that dream come true later.”

Black Canyon Conspiracy

Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CINDI MYERS is an 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.

For the Western Slope Writers of RMFW

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The sound of the explosion reverberated through the underground tunnels. Lauren tried to run, terrified the rocks would collapse around her, but her legs felt as if they were mired in sand. She fought to see in the murky darkness, choking on rising dust, her ears ringing from the aftershock. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

A strong hand grabbed hers, pulling her toward the light. Gunshots sounded behind them, even as rock chips flew from the wall beside her head, the fragments stinging her skin. The man with her pulled her in front of him, shielding her with his body. “Go!” he commanded, and shoved her harder. “Run!”

She ran, dodging piles of rubble and fresh cascades of rock. The dim light ahead began to grow brighter. Footsteps pounded behind her and she started to scream again, but it was only the man, his embrace warm and reassuring. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “You’re strong. You can make it.”

He sounded so certain that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, she believed him.

Another tremor shook the cavern, and larger boulders crashed around them. One struck her shoulder, knocking her to her knees. The man pulled her up, into his arms, and kept running, dodging the falling rock, taking the blows and moving on, always forward, toward freedom.

The cool night air washing over her brought tears to her eyes. She stared at the blurred stars overhead and choked back a sob. The first stars she’d seen in weeks. A taste of freedom she’d feared she might never know again.

“Can you walk?” the man asked, setting her on her feet, but keeping his arm firmly around her, supporting her.

She nodded. “I can.”

“Then, we’ve got to go. We’ve got to stop him.”

Hand in hand, they raced toward the castle situated improbably in the middle of the Colorado desert. She seemed to fly over the ground, her feet not touching it, only the firm grip of the man’s hand in hers anchoring her to the earth.

She heard the helicopter before she saw it, the steady whump! whump! of the rotors beating the air. Then they ascended a small hill and stared at the chopper lifting off, soaring into the pink clouds of dawn. No! she silently screamed.

* * *

LOUD, OUT-OF-TUNE CHIMES from the doorbell pulled Lauren from the dream—one she’d had too often in the weeks since her escape from the abandoned mine that had been her prison for almost a month. The details sometimes changed, but the results were the same as reality—her captor, Richard Prentice, escaping into the night as she watched, powerless.

“I don’t think she’s awake yet,” she heard her sister, Sophie, tell whoever was at the door.

Lauren struggled into a sitting position and checked the clock. Almost eleven. How had she slept so late? “I’m awake,” she called. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

She threw back the covers and sat up. She was safe in the apartment she shared with her sister in Montrose, Colorado. The words of her rescuer still echoed from the dream. You’re strong. You can make it.

In the living room, she found Sophie with two other women. Emma Wade, a tall redhead who dressed to show off her curves in flowing skirts and high heels, stood beside Abby Stewart, a sweet grad student whose shoulder-length brown hair was cut to hide most of the scar on one cheek, the result of a wound she’d received while in the army in Afghanistan. The two women had befriended first Sophie, then Lauren, after the sisters’ arrival in Montrose.

“Sorry to disturb you, but we’ve got something here you need to see.” Emma handed Lauren a newspaper. “Maybe you’d better sit down before you read it.”

“What is it?” Sophie asked, and followed Lauren to the couch, where Lauren sat and focused on the newspaper, nausea quickly rising in her throat as she read the headline.

Former Top News Anchor Released read the headline on the small article in the Denver Post’s entertainment section.

Lauren Starling, twice voted most popular news anchor in the Post’s annual “best of” selections, has been released from her contract with station KQUE, effective immediately. Station president Ross Carmichael asked for the public’s support and understanding for Ms. Starling “at this difficult time. Lauren’s illness is affecting her ability to perform her job, so we thought it was in her best interest to release her from her obligations, to allow her time to seek treatment and recover,” he said.

In March of this year, Starling was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, following several incidences of erratic behavior on-air. She made headlines when she disappeared for several weeks in May and June, eventually turning up at a ranch owned by billionaire developer Richard Prentice. Starling has accused Prentice of kidnapping her, a charge he denies. He says he offered his home as a safe place for Starling, a longtime family friend, to heal and recover.

Starling’s former husband, actor Phillip Starling, also issued a statement regarding Starling’s accusations against Prentice. “Lauren hasn’t been herself for the past year,” he told this reporter. “Her wild accusations against Richard—a man we’ve both known for years—prove how unstable she has become. I hope for her sake she will seek treatment and I wish her all the best.”

Ms. Starling was unavailable for comment.

Lauren smoothed her hand over the paper, trying to hide the shaking. She could feel the eyes of the others on her. Were they searching for signs that she was finally cracking up? She was used to people looking at her. She’d been a cheerleader and a beauty queen, and had finally landed her dream job of prime-time news anchor at Denver’s number two station. She’d spent most of her life seeking and gaining attention.

But that was when the looks from others had been admiring, even envious. Now people regarded her with suspicion. The looks came attached to labels. She was “unstable” or “erratic” or “crazy.” She’d admitted she had a problem and gotten help, but instead of sympathy and understanding, she’d only earned suspicion. She didn’t know how to handle the stares anymore.

“Lauren, are you okay?”

Sophie, her sister, asked the question the rest of them had probably been wondering. Lauren fixed a bright smile on her face and tossed her head back, defiant. “I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma, who worked as a reporter for the Post, said. “I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but I didn’t want you hearing about it from someone who wasn’t a friend, either.”

“I can’t believe Phil would say something like that.” Sophie rubbed Lauren’s shoulder, just as she had when they were girls and Lauren had suffered a nightmare. “I never did like the guy.”

Lauren had loved Phil; maybe part of her still did. Handsome and charming, as outgoing as she was and a talented actor, Phil had seemed the perfect match for her. But maybe two big egos in a marriage hadn’t been a good idea. Or maybe he’d sensed something was broken in her long before she’d discovered the reason for her erratic mood swings and out-of-control emotions. When he’d finally come clean about cheating on her with a woman he worked with, she’d taken the news badly. Though in the end, that plunge into depression had led to the diagnosis and work to get her life under control.

“Prentice probably paid Phil off.” Abby scowled at the paper. “And now he’s using his influence to ruin your reputation.”

“So far he’s doing a pretty good job.” She flipped the paper over and started to fold it, but another headline caught her eye. “Oh, no!” she moaned.

“I didn’t want you to see that.” Emma tried to pull the paper away, but Sophie took it instead.

“‘Task Force Status in Jeopardy,’” Sophie read.

“‘Senator Peter Mattheson has called for a Senate hearing to consider disbanding the interagency task force responsible for solving crimes on public lands in the region around Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. The task force, more commonly known as The Ranger Brigade, has successfully stopped a drug smuggling and human trafficking ring in the area as well as solved other less sensational crimes, but recently made headlines over charges of harassment brought by billionaire developer Richard Prentice. Prentice, not a stranger to controversies involving various government agencies, filed suit earlier this year against the Rangers, demanding seven billion dollars in damages.’”

“Don’t read any more,” Abby said. “It’s all a bunch of lies.”

“This is so awful,” Lauren said. “There should be something we can do to stop this guy.”

“The Rangers are working harder than ever to do just that,” Emma said. “I’m worried Graham is going to work himself right into a heart attack.” Captain Graham Ellison, FBI agent and Emma’s fiancé, headed up The Ranger Brigade. Other members of the task force included Abby’s boyfriend, Michael Dance, and Sophie’s boyfriend, Rand Knightbridge.

“What will happen if the task force disbands?” Lauren asked.

“It won’t,” Emma said. “All of Richard Prentice’s money isn’t going to keep him out of jail forever. The grand jury is supposed to end its proceedings today. Once they hand down an indictment, all his money and influence won’t mean anything.”

“If they hand down an indictment,” Abby said. “Michael is afraid all the expensive experts Prentice has hired will persuade the grand jury that he’s as innocent and persecuted as he likes to portray himself in the press.”

“They can’t ignore all the evidence against him,” Lauren said. She had spent two full days last week in the grand jury room, giving every detail of her six weeks as Prentice’s captive, as well as information about the investigation she’d conducted into his affairs that had led the billionaire to capture her and hide her away, first upstairs in his mansion, then in an abandoned mine on his property.

“Michael says he heard Prentice hired an expert to testify that the picture you gave them of Prentice with Alan Milbanks was so blurry no one could tell who the men in the photo really were,” Abby said.

“Alan Milbanks gave me that photograph himself before he died,” Lauren said. The drug dealer had been shot to death in the fish store that served as a front for his smuggling operation only a few days before Lauren was rescued. “He told me Richard Prentice was bankrolling his drug business.”

Abby shrugged. “I’m just saying that some people are more easily persuaded than others. The jury might believe Prentice.”

They might. After all, Lauren had believed his lies, too, at least at first. He’d portrayed himself as a caring, charity-minded businessman who’d been forced, by circumstance, into the role of champion of individual rights. All his problems with the government were simply misunderstandings, or the result of his defense of personal liberty for everyone.

“I heard the grand jury brought in a lot of other experts,” Emma said. “Of course, it’s all hush-hush. No one is supposed to know who testifies before the grand jury, and there isn’t even a judge present, just the prosecutor. But people talk.”

“What kind of experts?” Sophie asked.

“Psychiatrists.” Emma glanced at Lauren, then quickly averted her gaze.

“I’m betting they weren’t talking about Richard’s state of mind,” Lauren said.

“You don’t know that,” Sophie said. “Maybe they were explaining what would lead a man with more money than Midas to want to gain even more illegally. Or why a man known for dating models and actresses would decide to hold you hostage until you agreed to marry him.”

“The psychiatrists were talking about me,” Lauren said. “I saw some of the jurors’ faces when I told them Richard wanted to marry me. They thought I made the whole story up.” After all, that had been Prentice’s defense from the moment she was found: Lauren had come to him for help. She’d always been free to leave his property, but she’d fixated on him and insisted on staying. He’d only been trying to be a good friend; the poor woman was delusional.

“All I know is that the grand jury is supposed to deliver its decision this morning and I have to get to the courthouse.” Emma pulled her sunglasses from her purse. “I’ve already started working on my story for the next issue of the Post. There’s no way twenty-three people could hear what happened to you, Lauren, and not indict.”

“Call when you know something,” Abby said.

“Oh, I will,” Emma said. “We might even have to break out a bottle of champagne, once Prentice is safely behind bars.”

No one said anything until Emma had left, then Abby turned to Lauren. “Let’s forget about Prentice for a little bit,” she said. “What are you going to do about your job?”

Her job. For a moment she’d almost forgotten the original reason her friends had shown up this morning. She’d loved the excitement of reporting on breaking news and the feeling that she was involved in important events, a part of the lives of the people who tuned in every day to hear what she had to say. She still couldn’t believe she’d lost all of that. “I guess I need a plan, huh?” Though she hadn’t the foggiest idea what that plan should be.

“I think you should hire a lawyer,” Abby said. “The station can’t cut you off with no severance or benefits or anything when they’ve outright admitted their firing you is related to your medical diagnosis. The Americans with Disabilities Act probably has something to say about that.”

“Abby is right,” Sophie said. “Threaten to sue them and make them cough up a settlement—and continue your medical benefits, at least until you find something better.”

Right. She didn’t want to lose the benefits that paid for the medication that was keeping her on an even keel. “Good idea,” she said. “I have a lawyer friend in Denver. I’ll call him today.” She grabbed a notebook from the counter that separated the apartment’s kitchen from the living area and wrote that down. It felt good to have something constructive to do.

“And I’m not going to stop going after Richard Prentice, either,” she said. “Even with the grand jury indictment, the prosecutor will need every bit of evidence he can get to convict. Prentice thinks his money puts him above the law. I’m going to show him he’s wrong.”

“Emma will help, I’m sure,” Sophie said. “If you both use your skills as investigative reporters, you’re bound to turn up something.”

“We can all help,” Abby said. “I only know about botany, but I’m good at following directions, so if you give me a job, I’ll do it.” A graduate student, Abby had almost completed her work toward a master’s degree in environmental science.

“Me, too,” Sophie said. A former government administrator in Madison, Wisconsin, Sophie had given up her job to move to Montrose and search for Lauren.

“Thanks, all of you.” Lauren hugged them each in turn. For all the terrible things that had happened to her in the past weeks and months, she’d gained these wonderful friends. They had rallied around her since she’d come to Montrose, and treated her like another sister. That was a blessing she was truly grateful for.

A knock sounded on the door. Sophie said, “That’s probably Rand. He said he was going to stop by and take me to lunch.”

Lauren answered the door. “Hello, Rand.” She smiled at the handsome, muscular man with short brown hair who stood on the landing, then looked past him to the darker, taller man behind him. “Hello, Marco.”

“How are you doing, Lauren?” Agent Marco Cruz asked as he followed his coworker into the apartment. His deep, soft voice made her heart beat a little faster. When had she turned into such a cliché, going all swoony over the handsome guy in uniform who’d just happened to save her life? Of course, pretty much any straight woman with a pulse got a little weak-kneed around Marco, who might have been the inspiration for the description “tall, dark and handsome.”

But Lauren was not any woman, she told herself. She wasn’t going to allow hormones to let her make a fool of herself over a guy who was probably used to women falling at his feet. She was grateful to him, of course, but she refused to be that cliché. “I’m holding my own. Come on in.”

She ushered the men into the house. Rand greeted Sophie with a kiss. Since the two had worked together to rescue Lauren, they’d been almost inseparable. “Are we interrupting something?” he asked, looking around the kitchen at the women.

“We were discussing Richard Prentice’s latest,” Sophie said. “Emma just left. She showed us an article in the Post—he’s managed to get Lauren fired.”

“The article doesn’t say anything about Prentice getting me fired,” Lauren said.

“No, but I’d bet my last dime that he paid your ex to say you were unstable,” Sophie said. “And he probably threatened to sue the station if they didn’t let you go.”

“Prentice must have a whole team of lawyers working full-time,” Rand said.

“We saw that he’s suing the Rangers, and his senator friend is agitating to disband the task force,” Abby said.

Rand shrugged. “Nothing new there.”

“Do you think he’ll succeed in breaking you up?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s just trying to distract attention away from his own troubles.”

“Emma told us the grand jury plans to hand down an indictment today,” Lauren said.

“That’s just the start,” Rand said. “Once the indictment is in place, the serious work of doing everything we can to bolster our case really gets started. Even with everything we have, convicting that man is going to take a lot of luck to go along with our hard work.”

“What do you think, Marco?” Lauren asked. The DEA agent didn’t talk much, but she’d learned he was smart and thoughtful.

“I think we’re going to have to get lucky if we want to succeed in bringing down Prentice,” he said. “We need to find his weaknesses and target them.”

“Does he have any weaknesses?” Sophie asked.

“Lauren was his weakness once,” Marco said.

She flushed. When he’d kidnapped her and held her hostage, Prentice said it was to stop her from interfering in his business. But instead of killing her, he’d tried to woo her and persuade her to marry him. “I don’t think he feels the same about me now,” she said.

“The opposite of love is hate,” Marco said. “I still think you matter to him, one way or another.”

“Oh, I’d say he definitely hates me now, and he’s playing hardball, getting me fired and making the public think I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” Marco said. “Just stay smart and be careful. And call me if you need anything.”

She turned away, not wanting him to see how his assurance affected her. They’d only spent a few hours together, when he helped rescue her from Prentice, but she’d felt safer with him than she ever had with anyone, despite the fact that, to most people, he was pretty intimidating—hard muscles, hard eyes and an expression that said he was untouched by events around him.

Rand checked his watch. “I hate to break up this party, but we have to go. We’ve only got an hour for lunch, plus I left Lotte in the Cruiser.” Lotte was Rand’s police dog, a Belgian Malinois who had helped locate Lauren.

“Give her a biscuit and an ear scratch for me,” Lauren said. “And we all have to get back to work, me included. I’ve got a lawyer to call.”

“I won’t be long.” Sophie hugged her goodbye. “Maybe we’ll take in a movie later.”

The men left with Sophie, and Abby prepared to take her leave, also. “I think Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly has a thing for you,” she teased as she collected her purse and sunglasses from the kitchen counter.

“Marco?” Lauren’s face grew warm. “He was just being nice.”

“Marco is never ‘just nice,’” Abby said. “Not that he’s not a decent guy, but he’s very reserved. And a little scary.”

“Do you think so?” She’d never felt afraid with Marco.

“He was in Special Forces,” Abby said. “Those guys are all a little scary. But very sexy, too.” She nudged Lauren. “And I think he definitely likes you. You should ask him out.”

“I don’t need another rejection right now.”

“I don’t think he’d reject you,” Abby said.

“Even if you’re right, now’s not the time to start a new relationship. I really need to get my life together.”

“Maybe Marco would help.” At Lauren’s scowl, Abby held up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop matchmaking. But, you know—keep it in mind.”

The apartment felt emptier than ever when the women were gone. Lauren set about putting away coffee cups and wiping down the counter. After she spoke with Shawn, her lawyer friend, she should update her résumé. And maybe see about doing some freelancing. The local university might need someone in their television department.

She returned to her list and began making notes. Was there a way to get hold of Richard Prentice’s tax records? Maybe through some kind of public records request? That might be revealing...

Pounding on the door made her jump—not a friendly knock, but a heavy beating against the wood that made the wall shake. She grabbed up her phone, ready to hit the speed dial for 9-1-1. “Who is it?” she called in a shaky voice.

“I have a delivery for Lauren Starling.”

She tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole. A burly man in a tracksuit stood on the landing. “You’re not with a delivery company,” she said. “Go away.”

“I have a package for you.” He held up a box about eight inches square.

“I don’t want it. Go away.”

“I’m going to leave it here on the landing. You need to open it.”

“Go away before I call the police.”

“Suit yourself.”

She watched as he set the box on the doormat and walked away. She waited a full five minutes, heart racing, mind whirling. Who was sending her a package? Was this some kind of joke, or a bomb?

Finally, reasoning there was only one way to learn the answer to her questions, she eased open the door and looked around. The area was deserted. Quickly, she picked up the package and took it inside, where she set it carefully on the table and stared at it.

No return address. No postage or metered label, either. She put her ear to it. No ticking. But would a bomb necessarily tick? She wished Rand and Lotte were still here. The dog could probably tell if the package contained explosives. She could call them, but Rand had enough on his mind right now without worrying about her. The local police might help—or they would just as easily dismiss her as that crazy woman who’d been on television. She couldn’t take any more humiliation. Better to handle this herself.

Feeling a little silly, she grabbed a knife and slit open the end of the box. Inside, she glimpsed red foil paper and white silk ribbon. Less afraid now, she worked the knife around until she could lift off the top. Inside the first box was a second, gift-wrapped package. Again, no label.

She carefully worked loose the ribbon on this box and opened the flaps. Inside was a single dried rose and a printed card. “In loving memory,” the card read, “of Lauren Montgomery Starling.”

Trembling, she turned the card over. Printed in pencil, in neat block letters, were the words, “Such a short life wasted. We’ll all miss you when you’re gone.”

Chapter Two

Marco stood in line behind Rand and Sophie at the sandwich shop, but his mind was still back at the apartment with Lauren. The first time he’d laid eyes on her in that abandoned mine tunnel where she’d been imprisoned, he’d felt a connection to her. Not just physical attraction—any man might have felt that for the blonde, blue-eyed beauty with the killer figure. The affinity he felt for Lauren went deeper than that, to something in his core. Which was crazy, really. They didn’t have anything in common. She was a beauty queen celebrity who lived in the public eye. He’d made a life out of skulking in the shadows.

Maybe it was her strength that resonated with him. It was different from the physical power and mental discipline he practiced, but her ability to endure moved him. She’d had to deal with more trouble in the past few months than most people would ever face in a lifetime, but she still managed to keep smiling and keep fighting. The smile had been a little shakier today; losing her job had to hurt. The stress of all that had happened to her was showing; she was drawn and pale. If Prentice was behind this latest attack on her, Marco wanted to find the guy and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

His phone buzzed and he slipped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Pls come. More trble. Don’t say anythng 2 others. Don’t want 2 upset Sophie. Lauren.

He pocketed the phone once more and tapped Rand on the shoulder. “I’m going to skip lunch,” he said. “Something’s come up.”

“Anything wrong?”

“Nah. I just remembered something I have to do. Anyway, you know what they say about three being a crowd.” He nodded to Sophie. “I’ll see you soon.”

He sauntered out of the shop—Mr. Smooth, not a care in the world. But every nerve vibrated with worry. Lauren wouldn’t have contacted him unless she was in real trouble. Though they’d spent some tense hours together when they were trapped in that old mine on Prentice’s estate, he was still a stranger to her. But who else did she have to turn to in the face of real danger? Her sister and her friends couldn’t handle a real threat, while he’d spent most of his adult life fighting off enemies of one kind or another.

He reached Lauren’s apartment a few minutes later and she opened the door while he was still crossing the parking lot. Clearly, she’d been watching for him. “Thank you for coming,” she said. She leaned against the door as if even staying upright was an effort.

He took her arm and guided her back into the apartment, then shut and locked the door behind them. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“A man delivered this a few minutes ago.” She led him to the kitchen table, where a brightly wrapped box looked like leftovers from a birthday party. “All that was in it was this dried-up flower and that card.”

He bent over the card, not touching it, and read the message printed there. “Look on the back,” she said.

He flipped the card over, and clenched his hands into fists. “Someone is trying to frighten you,” he said.

“It’s working.” She studied his face, searching for what—reassurance? Hope?

He could give her neither. “We can check for fingerprints,” he said. “But we probably won’t find any.”

“No, I don’t think you will. And I didn’t recognize the man who delivered it, though I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he works for Prentice.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“He was the type of guy Richard uses for his private security force—beefy and menacing. Guys who get off on being intimidating.” She shuddered, and he fought the urge to put his arms around her, to comfort her. She’d mentioned before that Prentice’s guards had tried to bully and take advantage of her, pawing at her when they thought they could get away with it. The idea made him see red. If he ever got one of those guys alone...

Not a productive thought. He needed to focus on the task at hand. They both stared at the small card—a harmless piece of paper that carried such a potent threat. “Is this his way of saying he’s going to kill me?” she asked.

“Maybe.” No sense sugarcoating the truth. If she was dead, she’d stop agitating for Prentice’s arrest. The billionaire had killed before to silence his enemies. Marco was sure of that, even if the task force had never been able to find conclusive evidence to link him to the killings. “You need to show this to the police.”

“And tell them what?” Anger flared, the sharp edge in her voice a good sign, he thought. She wasn’t going to sink into despair. “Do I say Richard Prentice is threatening me? He’ll deny it and issue another statement about how obsessed I am with him and how crazy I am. And they’ll believe him, because everyone knows you can’t trust an unstable person like me.”

He gripped her shoulders, not hurting her, but demanding her attention. “Don’t let what people say come true,” he said. “You’re not crazy or unstable. You’re strong. You were strong enough to get away from Prentice the first time. We can outsmart him now.”

“We?”

“I’m sticking with you until I’m sure you’re safe.”

“So you think this is a real threat?” The last word was barely a whisper.

“Yes. And you’re right—the police aren’t the answer. Going to them is probably exactly what Prentice expects you to do, what he wants, even.” He led her to the sofa and sat with her. “As long as he can keep this in the press, he can keep hammering home the idea that you’ve lost it. By ignoring him, we frustrate him and force his hand.”

“But what will he do next?”

“I don’t know. But it’s why I can’t leave you alone.”

She laughed, but with no mirth. That was the sound of someone fighting to maintain control. “This is ridiculous. You’re not my personal bodyguard. And you have a job. You have to work.”

“You’re the chief witness in the case we’re building against Prentice,” he said. “The captain will agree we need to keep you safe.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? You don’t have a case. Prentice is doing his best to paint me as the crazy woman who can’t be trusted. Anything I say against him is obviously a figment of my troubled mind.”

“That’s what he wants people to think, but we know it’s not true. And other people know it, too. You have to stay strong and not let this get to you.”

“Did they train you to give these pep talks when you were in Special Forces? Because it’s not working.”

“There goes my career as a motivational speaker.”

His attempt at humor didn’t move her. “Why is he doing this now?” she asked. “It’s been almost a month since I escaped his ranch.”

“He was hiding out on some Caribbean island, working to get the charges against him dropped and probably hoping you’d go away. You haven’t, so he’s decided to turn up the heat. You know enough about him that you’re still a real threat to him.”

“Or maybe I’m a loose end he wants tied up,” she said.

“Or maybe he wants revenge because you turned down his advances,” he said. “Love can make people do crazy things.”

“Oh, please! Richard Prentice doesn’t love anyone but himself.”

“Maybe love isn’t the right word... He was obsessed with you, and I don’t think people like him turn those feelings off like a light switch. The obsession just...transforms. Turns darker.”

“Thanks. Now you’re really creeping me out.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if warding off a chill. “So what are we going to do? You can’t babysit me twenty-four hours a day.”

He stood and began to pace, studying the apartment. It was a ground-floor unit in a complex that faced a side street off the main highway. The front door opened onto a large parking lot, and there were large windows on all sides. No security. No guards. Easy in-and-out access. “Anyone could break in here with no trouble at all,” he said. “We need to move you to a safer location.”

“I can’t afford to move. I’m unemployed, remember?”

“You can’t afford to stay here, either.”

“Do you really think it’s that bad?” she asked. “I mean, would he really kill me? Isn’t convincing everyone I’m crazy enough?”

“We don’t have the proof we need, but we believe he’s had people killed before,” Marco said. “There was his pilot—and don’t forget that fish seller, Alan Milbanks.”

She nodded. “Milbanks’s death meant the chief source for my story about Richard Prentice was out of the picture. Very convenient.”

“Not having you around would be convenient for him, too. Do you want to take that chance?”

“No.” She straightened and lifted her chin, determined. “Do the Rangers have a safe house or something?”

“No. You can come to my place.”

“Your place?” She choked back a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You live in a duplex. With Rand in the other half.”

“Exactly. You’ll have twice the protection. And your sister’s over at his place all the time anyway.”

“No, Marco, I can’t. What will people think?” She flushed. “I mean, if your place is like Rand’s, there’s only one bedroom.”

He liked it when she blushed that way—it did something to his insides that he didn’t want to think about too much. He’d rather enjoy the feeling. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Go.” He put a hand to her back and urged her toward her bedroom. “Pack a bag. I know what I’m doing.” His duplex wasn’t ideal, but it was off the beaten path, had only one street leading in and out, bars on the windows and a reinforced door. And it wouldn’t be the first place anyone would look for her. Keeping her there would buy him more time to identify any real threat.

“If anyone but you tried to order me around like this, I’d tell them exactly what they could do with their bossy attitude,” she said as she headed down the short hallway off the living room. “But you make me believe you really do know what you’re doing.”

While he waited, he scanned the parking lot in front of the apartment. He focused on a big guy across the street. The man wore a blue-and-white tracksuit and had a pair of binoculars trained on Lauren’s front windows. Marco moved closer to the window and raised the blinds. The big guy didn’t move. Marco glared. No reaction from the guy in the tracksuit. He might have been a mannequin, except they didn’t make mannequins that burly, and after a few seconds, the watcher reached up to scratch his ear.

Marco moved quickly down the hall to Lauren’s bedroom and stopped in the doorway, stunned at the sight of her up to her elbows in lace and satin. She’d apparently dumped the contents of her dresser drawers on the bed and was sorting through the pile of panties, bras, stockings, negligees and who knew what other items of feminine apparel.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It was easier to just dump everything and sort through them this way.” She grabbed up a handful of items and danced over to an open suitcase in the dresser and dropped them inside, then spent some time arranging them, smoothing them out and humming to herself.

“There’s a man standing out front, watching your apartment,” Marco said. “He’s not even trying to hide it. He has this huge pair of binoculars, like a bird-watcher would use.”

“Maybe he is a bird-watcher.” She giggled, a high-pitched, unnatural sound.

“Come look and tell me if you know him.”

“All right.”

She glided down the hall ahead of him, still humming, and went to the window. “Oh, yes, I know him.” She waved like someone greeting a friend at the airport.

“How do you know him?” Marco asked.

“He delivered that package.” She waved idly toward the box on the table.

“All right. Go ahead and finish packing. We should leave soon.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. I have a gorgeous new dress. I was in the mall yesterday and saw it and just had to have it. I’ll take it in case we go someplace nice.”

Marco frowned. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

Her smile didn’t waver, though to him it seemed forced. “Why wouldn’t I be feeling all right?”

“You’ve been under a lot of stress.” He spoke carefully, watching her eyes. Her gaze shifted around the room, as if frantically searching for something. “Most people would be anxious in a situation like this.”

“Yes. I am anxious.” She twisted her hands together. “I just... I’d love to go for a run now. Burn off some of this extra energy.” She turned to a dresser and began pulling out exercise tops and shorts, adding them to the pile of clothing on the bed.

Now was not the time for a run. He had to get her away from here, away from the guy in the parking lot, to some place safer. “Would you like me to call Sophie?”

“No! No, don’t call Sophie! She’s always so worried, worried I’m going to go off the deep end or do something stupid. Something...crazy.” She whispered the last word, standing still with a tank top dangling from one hand.

“You’re not crazy.” He kept his voice calm in the face of the agitation rolling off her in waves. After he’d met her, after he carried her in his arms out of the collapsed mine on Richard Prentice’s estate, he’d gone online and done some reading on bipolar disorder. He’d learned that stress and even variations in routine could trigger a manic episode. Lauren’s life had been nothing but stress these past months, and she had no more routine—no job or real home or any certainty about the future.

“Maybe...maybe I should call my doctor.” She looked at the clothes piled on the bed and the open suitcase. “I took my medication,” she said softly. “I always do, even though, sometimes, I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“Maybe the medication just needs...adjusting.”

She nodded. “Right. I...I’ll call him.”

He waited in the bedroom while she went into the living room. He wondered if he should remove the clothes from the bed—pack for her. But no. That was too personal. Too patronizing, even.

He backed out of the room and rejoined her as she was hanging up the phone. “I talked to the nurse,” she said. “She suggested I take more of one of my pills, and she’s calling in another prescription I can take if I need to.”

He nodded. “Do you need anything from me? Help with packing? Something to eat?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll just, uh, finish up back here.”

“I’ll keep an eye on our friend.”

“Friend?”

He nodded toward the parking lot. “The bird-watcher.”

She laughed again, and the sound continued all the way down the hall. The sound worried him a little, but it also made him angry. Why did such a beautiful, vibrant woman have to be plagued with emotions that veered so easily out of control? Why was she at the mercy of a disease she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want? He’d spent his life fighting off physical enemies, first in a street gang, then the military, now as a law enforcement officer. But what could he do to help her?

* * *

THE MEDICATION BEGAN to work quickly, a numbing fog slipping over the anxiety and agitation that were the first signs of a climb toward mania. Lauren hated this lethargy and not feeling as much as she dreaded the extreme highs or lows of her disease. Why couldn’t she just be normal?

She finished packing her suitcase, stuffing in clothes without care, putting off having to go back into the living room and face Marco. This hadn’t been a bad episode. She hadn’t burst into song or taken off her clothes or made a pass at him—all things she’d done before her diagnosis had provided an explanation for her bizarre behavior. But she’d waved her underwear around in front of him, and laughed at the idea of a man stalking her.

He was so solemn and unemotional. What must he think of a woman who, even on her best days, tended to feel things too deeply?

In the end, she didn’t have to go to him; he came to her. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “We can stop and get some lunch on the way.”

“Sure.” She zipped the suitcase closed and looked at the disarray of the room.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You can clean this up later.” He picked up the suitcase. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the two pill bottles from the top of the dresser and cradled them to her chest. “I’m ready.”

She put the pill bottles in her purse and followed him to the door. Sophie had rented the apartment when she’d decided to relocate to Montrose to be with Rand, and Lauren only stayed there because she had no place else to go. She couldn’t claim to be attached to the place, but still, it felt bad to be leaving so soon, to face more uncertainty.

Deep breath. Center. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, the way the therapist at the psychiatric hospital had shown her. She could deal with this.

When she opened her eyes, Marco was watching her. She saw no judgment in his calm brown eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Is the bird-watcher still out there?”

“He left a few minutes ago. I guess he’d done his job.”

“What was his job, do you think? Besides delivering the package.”

“He was sending the message that you were being watched. His job was to intimidate you.”

“The note did that.”

“I guess Prentice likes to cover all the bases.”

“What about the package?” She looked around for the creepy gift. “I don’t want Sophie finding it when she comes back.”

“I’ve got it.” He indicated the shopping bag he must have found in the pantry. “I’ll have someone check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and learn something useful. Come on.” He opened the front door and started across the lot, toward the black-and-white FJ Cruiser he’d parked closest to her apartment.

“I’ll follow you in my car,” she said.

His frown told her he didn’t think much of that idea. “You should ride with me.”

“I can’t just leave my car. I can’t be stuck way out at your duplex with no transportation.” The idea ramped up her anxiety again, like something clawing at the back of her throat.

“Then, we’ll take your car and I’ll send someone back later for mine.”

“All right.” Relief made her weak. When they reached the car she hesitated, then handed him the keys. “You’d better drive. Sometimes the pills make me sleepy.”

He nodded and unlocked the trunk and stowed her suitcase and the shopping bag, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “What pharmacy do you use?”

Her prescription was ready. Once they’d collected it, he swung by a sandwich shop for lunch. She wasn’t hungry—another side effect of the medication—but she ordered to avoid explaining this to him. Finally they were on the highway headed to his place. She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Maybe when they got to his place she’d take a nap. But she’d need to unpack, and she still had to call her lawyer, Shawn...

“Have you had any trouble with your car lately?”

She opened her eyes and sat up straight. “No. What kind of trouble?”

“The brakes.” He pumped the brake pedal, but the car only sped up, down a long incline that curved sharply at the bottom.

“What’s wrong with the brakes?” She leaned over to study the speedometer, the needle creeping up past seventy miles an hour. “Why are we going so fast?”

“I think someone may have tampered with your car.” His voice remained calm, but the fine lines around his eyes deepened, and his knuckles on the steering wheel were white with strain.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the highway hurtling toward them with ever-increasing speed. At the bottom of the hill was a curve, and beyond the curve, a deep canyon. If their car went over the edge, they would never survive.

Chapter Three

Marco didn’t look at Lauren, but he could hear the sudden, sharp intake of her breath and sense her fear like a third presence in the car. He tried pumping the brake pedal, but nothing happened. He pressed it to the floor and downshifted to first gear. The engine whined in protest, and the car slowed, but not enough.

“Hang on,” he said, raising his voice over the whine of the protesting engine. He pulled back on the lever for the emergency brake and the car began to fishtail wildly. He strained to keep hold of the wheel. Lauren whimpered, but said nothing.

They were well out of town now, empty public land and private ranches stretching for miles on either side, with no houses or businesses or people to see their distress and report it. Not that anyone could do anything to help them anyway. If they had any chance of surviving a crash, he had to try to regain control of the car.

They continued to accelerate, racing toward the curve at the bottom of the hill. He steered toward the side of the road, gravel flying as the back wheels slid onto the shoulder. The idea was to let friction slow the car more, but the dropoff past the shoulder was too steep; if he kept going he’d roll the car.

Back on the roadway, the car continued to skid and sway like a drunken frat boy. The smell of burning rubber and exhaust stung his nose and eyes. If they blew a tire, he’d lose control completely; the car might roll. He released the emergency brake and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. “Brace yourself against the dash and lean toward me!” he commanded.

She didn’t argue. As she skewed her body toward his seat, he could smell her perfume, sweet and floral, overlaying the sharp, metallic scent of fear. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, that she didn’t have to worry. But he couldn’t lie like that.

He came at the guardrail sideways, sparks flying as the bumper scraped the metal rails, gravel popping beneath the tires. The scream of metal on metal filled the air, making him want to cover his ears, but of course he couldn’t. He kept hold of the wheel, guiding the car along the guardrail.

Friction and a gentler slope combined to slow them, and as the guardrail ended, he was able to use the emergency brake to bring them to a halt on the side of the road. He shut off the engine and neither of them spoke, the only sounds the tick of the cooling motor and their own heavy breathing.

He had to pry his hands off the steering wheel and force himself to look at her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, and pushed the hair back from her face with shaking hands. “My car isn’t, though. What happened?”

“The brakes failed.”

“I had the car serviced before I came out here,” she said. “My mechanic said it was fine.”

“It sat at that overlook in the park for a few days, and then at the wrecking yard for a few weeks. An animal—a rabbit or something—could have chewed the brake cable.” He didn’t really think that was what had happened, but he didn’t want to frighten her.

“But I’ve been driving the car for weeks now and it’s been fine.” She turned even paler. “What if this had happened when I was alone?”

What, indeed? He unfastened his seat belt. “I’m going to take a look.”

He had to wrench the hood open, past the broken headlight and bent bumper. He fixed the prop in place and stared down into the tangle of hoses and wires. After a moment, she joined him.

“I couldn’t open my door, so I crawled over the console,” she said. “Can you tell what went wrong?”

He leaned under the hood and popped the top over the master cylinder reservoir. It was completely dry, only a thin coating of brake fluid left behind. That explained why the brakes had failed, but why had the fluid drained?

He walked around to the side of the car and knelt beside the front tire. He reached over the tire and grasped the flexible hose that led to the brakes. It felt intact, but as he ran his finger along the hose, he found a moon-shaped slit—the kind of damage that could be made by someone reaching over the tire and stabbing the brake hose with a knife.

“What is it?” she asked, following him around to the other side of the car.

He knelt and checked that hose. “Someone punctured the brake line on both sides,” he said. “The brake fluid drained out, and that caused the brakes to fail.”

She steadied herself with one hand on the fender of the car. “The bird-watcher?”

“Maybe. Or it could have been done while we were at lunch.” Big failure on his part. He should have taken the physical threat to her more seriously.

“The parking lot at my apartment has a surveillance camera,” she said. “I mean, don’t they all, these days?”

“Maybe, but a lot of places use dummy cameras that don’t really film anything.” He’d bet her apartment complex fell into that category. “And whoever did this is probably smart enough to avoid any cameras.”

“We should call the police,” she said.

He glanced around them, getting his bearings. Drying rabbit brush covered an open expanse of prairie, only the occasionally stunted piñon providing shade. Here and there purple aster offered a surprising blot of color against an otherwise brown landscape. “This is the edge of national park land,” he said.

“Ranger territory.” She completed the idea for him and managed a weak smile. “Well, that’s something. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to the police.”

He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call someone to give us a ride, then get a wrecker to haul the car to headquarters where we can take a closer look at it.”

Her hand on his wrist stopped him. He looked down at the slender, white fingers, nails perfectly shaped and painted a soft pink. “Before anyone else gets here, I just wanted to say thank you,” she said. “You saved my life—again.”

He covered her hand briefly with his own. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Everything that happens brings us one step closer to stopping Prentice.”

“Thank you, too, for not freaking out about my illness,” she said. “I’m getting better at working at controlling it, but sometimes...”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Her head snapped up, her gaze searching. “How do you know?”

“I did some reading.” He shrugged. “I like to understand what’s going on around me.”

“There’s nothing understandable about this disease.”

“No, but you’re doing great. A lot of people would crack under the stress you’ve been under, but you’re hanging in there. You’re tough.”

“Yeah, I’m tough as a marshmallow.” She moved her hand away and squared her shoulders. “But I won’t let that stop me. And I won’t let Richard Prentice stop me. Maybe he’s done me a favor, getting me fired from the station. Now going after him is going to be my job.”

“I’m already on it,” he said.

“Then, with both of us on his case, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

* * *

LAUREN WISHED SHE was as confident as Marco sounded. She’d meant what she’d said about making convicting Richard Prentice her full-time job. She desperately needed the focus on work to quell her anxiety and tamp down the threatening mania, but the idea that the man she was investigating wanted her dead shook her to the core.

All she wanted was a normal life—a job and a husband and maybe a family one day. But all those things seemed so out of reach. Her own brain had betrayed her, and while the doctors and therapists had assured her that she could live a normal, productive life with bipolar disorder, she suspected them of lying to make her feel better. Or was that just the depressive side of her disorder pulling her down? She couldn’t even trust her own thoughts these days.

While Marco contacted Ranger headquarters and summoned a wrecker, she walked around to the other side of the car and phoned Sophie. “Hey, I was just on my way back to the apartment,” Sophie said when the call connected. “I thought maybe we could take in a movie or something.”

“I’m not there.”

“Where are you?”

“With Marco. My car broke down and we’re headed over to Ranger headquarters.”

“What happened? What’s wrong with the car?”

“Marco thinks someone sabotaged the brakes. We’re okay,” she hastened to add. “The car’s kind of beat up, but we’re fine.”

“Was Marco with you when it happened?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. I’m going to stay with him a few days.”

“With Marco?” Sophie’s surprise was clear.

“He thinks it will be safer. There was someone watching our apartment earlier.” She didn’t tell Sophie about the package with its implied death threat. Thank goodness Marco had taken it with them. She didn’t want to upset her sister, but also talking about the note made it too real.

“I’m sure it is safer.” Sophie sounded amused. “That should be interesting. I think he’s attracted to you.”

She shifted her gaze to Marco. Did all her friends think that he was interested in her? Then, why couldn’t she see it? He stood with his back to her, giving her a great view of his broad shoulders, muscular arms, narrow waist and admittedly perfect backside. He looked like the after photo in the advertisement for a workout program. Physically fit and totally together. The perfect match for a basket case like her—not. “He wants to get Prentice,” she said. “I’m the quickest route to that goal. It’s nothing personal.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s good at hiding his feelings, but he’s bound to have some, somewhere beneath that stoic facade.”

“You should consider staying with Rand,” Lauren said. “At least for a few days.” She didn’t want someone coming to the apartment looking for her and finding Sophie there alone.

“Not a bad idea,” Sophie said.

“Make him go back to the apartment with you to get your things,” Lauren said.

“Do you really think it’s that dangerous?”

She glanced at her destroyed car, the paint scraped from the side in a jagged, violent wound. “Yes,” she said simply.

Marco tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned toward Lauren. “I have to go,” she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to overhear Sophie’s analysis of his potential as a love interest. “I’ll call you later.”

“Someone will be here to pick us up in a few minutes,” Marco said once she’d hung up. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I was just letting Sophie know what was happening.”

“Good idea.” He leaned back against the car and scanned the horizon. He had a stillness about him she envied, as if whenever he wanted he could quiet all the busyness and distraction that plagued her.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“That it would be hard for a sniper to position himself here. The country’s too open.”

Her knees went weak, and she joined him in leaning against the car. “You think someone might be out there, ready to shoot us?”

He shook his head. “It’s not a good location.”

She closed her eyes. This was too real. Someone—probably Richard Prentice—wanted her dead.

“I’ll feel better when we get out of the open,” he said. “Someone will probably come along soon to see if we crashed—to make sure we’re dead.”

She swallowed hard. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

He didn’t take his gaze from the horizon. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I had six older sisters.”

“Big family.” She envied him. Sophie was the only family she had. “Do you see them often?”

“Not really. They live in California.” He fell silent for a moment, then added, “Only four of them are still alive.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“One sister died of an overdose. The other disappeared. We don’t know what happened to her.”

And here she’d thought she was the only one with troubles. “That must be hard,” she said. Not the innocuous conversation she’d hoped for.

“It is what it is.” He straightened. “Here’s our ride.”

A Cruiser identical to the one Marco usually drove made a U-turn and pulled in behind Lauren’s disabled car. Montrose County sheriff’s deputy Lance Carpenter, the local representative on the task force, left the vehicle running as he stepped out of the driver’s seat and pushed his Stetson back on his head. “Trying out for the demolition derby?” he asked.

“Very funny.” Marco shoved the car keys into Lance’s hands. “Give these to the wrecker driver—and make sure nobody touches anything around the brakes until the techs have gone over it.” He took Lauren’s hand and pulled her toward the Cruiser.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lance asked.

“I need to get Lauren out of here before whoever cut those brake lines shows up to admire the results of his handiwork.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Lance asked.

“Wait here for the wrecker driver.”

“Should we have left him?” Lauren asked as Marco gunned the engine and they headed toward the park.

“The wrecker will be there any minute now, and I wasn’t comfortable with you standing around out in the open.”

“The idea that I have a target on my back doesn’t seem real to me.”

“The trick is to balance the awareness of danger with the need to keep from panicking.” He glanced at her. “Not easy, I know.”

“I think I’m glad I got the extra meds.”

“I want to stop by headquarters and talk to the captain, then we’ll get you settled at my place.”

“I left my bag in the car.”

“Lance will bring it.”

“You seem pretty sure of that. Do you Rangers communicate via ESP or secret code or something?”

“He’s got my back.” He glanced at her. “Now you’re with me, so he’s got your back, too.”

His words—and the certainty with which he spoke them, sent a different kind of heat curling through her—part old-fashioned lust and part the unfamiliar warmth of acceptance. Her disease had separated her from others for so long. How ironic that a threat to her life had involved her with a community of friends again.

Half a dozen Cruisers filled the spaces in front of the task force headquarters building. “Something’s up.” Marco parked along the side of the road and was out of the vehicle before Lauren had even unbuckled her seat belt.

She hurried after him, running to keep up. Inside the building, uniformed officers crowded the small, low-ceilinged rooms. “What’s going on?” Marco asked.

“You’ll find out as soon as everyone’s here.”

The captain retreated to his office, shutting the door behind him.

“Any idea what this is about?” Lieutenant Michael Dance, Abby’s boyfriend, asked.

Everyone shook their heads. “All I know is, the captain has been on the phone most of the morning,” Carmen Redhorse, an officer with the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, said. “Whatever this is about, he’s not happy.”

Twenty minutes later, Graham finally emerged from his office and surveyed the room full of officers. “Where’s Lance?”

“I’m here.” Lauren looked over her shoulder to see the deputy in the doorway. He made his way over to them and handed Lauren her overnight bag, then gave Marco a slip of paper. “The car’s on its way to the impound lot.”

“Did you take a look at the brake lines?” Marco asked.

“Yeah. They look cut to me, but we’ll know more when the techs are done.”

“If I could have your attention.” Graham stood at the front of the room and held up one hand. A hush settled over the crowd. Lauren clenched her hands into fists and fought to keep still; the tension was contagious.

The captain cleared his throat. “The grand jury has failed to indict Richard Prentice of any of the charges against him,” he said.

Chapter Four

Lauren blinked, sure she had heard the captain wrong. He must mean the grand jury had indicted Richard Prentice, right? She turned to Marco, his face the stone mask of an Aztec warrior. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“Somehow, Prentice managed to get off,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she said, still dazed. “He kidnapped me. He held me prisoner. You saw where he was keeping me.”

“We saw.” Rand’s expression was as grim as everyone else’s. Even Lotte, who stood by his side, looked upset. “We know you’re telling the truth, not just about the kidnapping, but about the other crimes he’s involved in.”

“At least you believe me,” Lauren said. “The jury obviously didn’t. They believed Richard when he said I was making everything up.”

“Maybe it wasn’t you,” Marco said. “Maybe it was something else.”

“They didn’t believe me because they think I’m crazy,” she said. “I’m mentally ill, so of course I must be a liar, too. I made the whole thing up. It was a wild fantasy I concocted just to get attention.” Online columnists and bloggers had already wasted plenty of bandwidth speculating on the reasons for Lauren’s “obsession” with the billionaire. Because of course, why would he ever be obsessed with her? Sure, she was pretty, they said. But she had a history of wild behavior. So of course, her side of the story couldn’t be trusted.

“Prentice is trying to distract people by making this case about you,” Marco said. “It’s a game he’s playing, but it’s a game he isn’t going to win.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“We’ll have to start over.” Captain Ellison joined them. “We’re going to work the case as if it’s brand-new, reexamining every lead, taking a second look at every bit of evidence. I want everyone focused on this. It’s going to take a lot of long days and hard work, but we’ll build a case the prosecution can’t deny.”

Around her, heads lifted and shoulders straightened. The anger they’d felt moments earlier transformed into determination to see justice done. Lauren wished their energy was contagious, but she was still reeling from the knowledge that what had happened to her had been so easily dismissed by the twenty-three members of the grand jury. She touched Marco’s arm. “I’ll go now and let you get to work.”

“Let me go with you,” he said. He pulled keys from his pocket.

“No, you’re needed here.” She looked around the room. Already, members of the task force were pulling out files and booting up computers, ready to get to work.

“It’s not safe for you to be alone,” Marco said.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call Sophie to come pick me up.” It wasn’t as if she could drive her wrecked car. “Now that he’s swayed the grand jury, Prentice knows I’m no threat.”

He was going to argue with her, she could tell, but the door burst open and Emma stalked in, the heels of her stilettos striking the tile floor so hard Lauren expected to see sparks. Jaw clenched, eyes blazing, she looked ready to punch someone. “Hello, Emma,” Graham said, as calm as ever. “I take it you heard the news about Richard Prentice.”

Emma set her bag down on the edge of a desk. “Officially, I’m here to get your statement on this turn of events for my story,” she said. “Unofficially, I need to vent to someone who understands my frustration. How could they do this? How could they ignore all the evidence you had against him?”

“We’ll never know for sure, but I’m guessing they interpreted everything as circumstantial,” Graham said. “We don’t have fingerprints, tape recordings or any written records, and only one eyewitness.”

“Whom they don’t consider reliable,” Lauren said. She blocked any protests they might have made. “Don’t deny it. I’m not.”

“He is doing a smear campaign against you,” Emma said. “My editor sent me a copy of the press release Prentice issued this afternoon.”

“What does it say?” Michael asked.

She leaned against the desk and pulled up the press release on her phone. “There’s a bunch of malarkey about justice being done, proves his innocence, blah, blah, blah.” She waved her hand. “But here’s the part about Lauren. ‘It is painful to know my friend Lauren Starling is so ill. I can find no other explanation for why she would attack the one man who truly tried to help her. I hope she will find the help she needs to get well. On her behalf I am making a generous donation toward mental health research.’” She made a face. “Excuse me while I vomit. The man is disgusting.”

Everyone gathered around Emma to examine the press release and rehash the grand jury’s ruling. Lauren took the opportunity to slip outside, where she texted Sophie to pick her up at Ranger headquarters.

She slipped the phone back into her purse and walked over to the gazebo at the far end of the parking lot, which offered a view of the canyon that gave the park its name. The Black Canyon of the Gunnison plunged more than twenty-five hundred feet down to the Gunnison River. Sun penetrated the bottom for only a few hours each day, giving the canyon its name. The land around the gorge shimmered in the early August sun, wind rustling the silvery leaves of sage and rattling the dry cones of stunted piñons.

When Lauren had first arrived here over two months ago the harsh landscape had repelled, even frightened her. She saw nothing beautiful in dry grasses and empty land. The quiet and emptiness of this place made her feel too small and alone.

But her weeks of captivity had changed her opinion of this place. With nothing to do in the early days of her stay at Prentice’s mansion—before he moved her into the abandoned mine—she’d spent hours staring out at the prairie. She’d learned to appreciate the stillness of the land, which had called forth a similar stillness within her. She began to see beauty in the thousand shades of green and brown in the grasses and trees. Now the emptiness that had once repelled her calmed her.

The squeal of brakes announced the arrival of a car. Lauren turned to see Sophie’s blue sedan pulling into the lot. She hurried to her sister and slid into the passenger seat.

“I can’t believe it,” Sophie said before Lauren could speak. “Rand just called and told me Richard Prentice is getting off scot-free.”

“I guess so.” Lauren buckled her seat belt and leaned back against the headrest.

“What are we going to do?” Sophie asked.

Lauren closed her eyes. She was so tired. “Right now, I just want to go home,” she said.

Sophie put the car in gear and backed out of the lot. “Is something wrong?” she asked after a moment. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m okay. I took an extra pill and it’s making me a little sleepy.” She hoped that was all it was. Sometimes lethargy was a sign of depression.

“Why did you take an extra pill? Should you be doing that?” Sophie’s voice rose in alarm.

Lauren opened her eyes. “It’s okay. That’s what the doctor said to do.”

“You talked to your doctor? Why?”

She knew better than to ignore the question. Sophie wouldn’t let it go. She’d always been like that, never giving in on anything. Lauren should be grateful; Sophie’s refusal to give up on her had led to her coming to Montrose and prodding the Rangers into finding her.

“I had a minor manic episode this morning. Nothing big, and it’s under control now.”

“When was this? What happened?”

“After you and Emma left. After Abby left, too. I think it was just the stress of finding out about my job.” Though her life had been nothing but stress for months now.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I just got a little...giddy. Feeling out of control. Marco was there, and he helped calm me down.”

“Marco was there?”

“I called him when I realized someone was watching the apartment.”

“That must be why he left the café in such a hurry,” Sophie said. “Who was the watcher?”

“I don’t know. Marco didn’t know him, either, and the man left. But there was something else—something I didn’t tell you before.”

“What’s that?” Sophie kept her eyes on the road, her expression calm.

“The guy who was watching delivered a package. Like a gift box, but all it had in it was a dried-up flower and a note.”

“What did the note say?”

“It was like one of those memorial cards you sometimes see at funerals, with the words in memory of written on it. It had my name on it.” She shuddered at the memory. “The Rangers are going to look into it, but I doubt they’ll find anything. Someone was trying to scare me.”

Sophie didn’t say anything for a long while, taking it in. Lauren closed her eyes again.

“I’m glad Marco was with you,” Sophie said. “The guy doesn’t say much, but he’s deep. And any bad guy would think twice before tangling with him.”

That was true enough. Beyond his physical strength, Marco had perfected an intimidating attitude. Which made his gentleness with her all the more touching.

“Hey, I thought you were going to stay with him,” Sophie said.

“I was, but we’ve had a change of plans. He needs to devote himself to the investigation. And now that Richard has gotten the charges against him dropped, I’m no longer a threat.”

“Aren’t you?” Sophie asked. “You aren’t going to give up because of one grand jury’s mistakes, are you?”

“I don’t know.” She was just so tired—of always fighting, of having to be strong when she felt so weak.

“You can’t give up,” Sophie said. “Giving up means he wins—that the lies he’s told about you are true.”

She opened her eyes again and forced herself to sit up straight and look at her sister. “Then, what do we do?”

“We do what we can to help with the investigation,” Sophie said. “We talk to people, find out what they know.”

“Who do we talk to?” Her one contact on the case, Alan Milbanks, was dead.

“Why don’t we start with Phil? We’ll find out if Prentice paid him to tell the press those lies about you.”

The last person Lauren wanted to see was her ex-husband, but Sophie’s reasoning made sense. Talking to Phil was a smart and relatively safe place to start. “All right,” she said. “We’ll talk to him.”

“Do you know where he’s staying?”

She took out her phone and scrolled through her list of contacts until she found the address of the rehab facility in Grand Junction where Phil was staying. She read it off to Sophie.

“Great. We can be there in an hour.” She punched the address into her GPS. “Why don’t you take a nap while I drive? I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Lauren closed her eyes again and tried to get more comfortable in her seat. If only she’d wake up from her nap to find the past few months had been nothing but a nightmare—not the awful reality she had to keep surviving.

* * *

LATER THAT AFTERNOON Marco trained the high-powered binoculars on Richard Prentice’s mansion. The gray stone castle, complete with crenellated towers and a fake drawbridge, was the billionaire’s way of giving the finger to the county officials who had thwarted his plans to sell the park in-holding to them at inflated prices. The castle blocked a park visitor’s best view of the Curecanti Needle, a famous rock formation. Now, instead of marveling at the beauty of nature, visitors standing at the Pioneer Point overlook in the park saw this monstrosity.

“See anything?” Rand asked, crouched next to Marco on a rocky outcropping of land just across the boundary line from Prentice’s ranch.

“Nope.” He swung the binoculars to the left and focused on two muscular men in desert camo, who lounged against a tricked-out black Jeep. One of the men had an AR-15 casually slung over one shoulder. “The troops are taking it easy,” Marco said.

Rand grunted. “Their boss is probably feeling pretty secure since the grand jury let him off the hook.”

“Something tells me insecurity isn’t one of Prentice’s problems, ever.” He shifted the binoculars farther to the left, to the pile of rubble that marked the entrance to the mine where Lauren had been held. No telling what other illegal booty had been stored in the maze of tunnels. Prentice had been worried enough to order his men to set off explosives and collapse the mine, almost trapping Lauren and her rescuers inside.

Rand must have been thinking about that night, too. “Why didn’t the grand jury believe Lauren when she told them what he’d done to her?” he asked.

“People are afraid of mental illness. Prentice and his experts played on that fear.”

“What about you?”

Marco lowered the binoculars and stared at his friend. “Are you asking if I’m afraid of Lauren?”

“Not afraid, but do you worry about getting involved with someone who’s dealing with something like this?”

He shifted his backpack from his shoulder and stowed the binoculars. “I don’t lose sleep worrying about it.”

“Sophie told me you volunteered to be her bodyguard. I thought maybe it was because you were interested in her. You know, romantically.”

Marco zipped up the pack and shrugged back into it. “She needs protecting. I can protect her. That’s all.” That was all there could ever be between him and Lauren Starling.

“So you’re just above all those messy emotions the rest of us mortals have to deal with,” Rand said.

“I don’t have time for them.” Those “messy emotions” brought complications and distractions he didn’t want or need. He turned back to the view of Prentice’s castle. “We have a job to do.”

Rand stiffened and put a hand on the pistol at his side. “What’s that noise?”

The low whine, like the humming of a large mosquito, grew louder. Marco looked around, then up, and spotted what at first looked like a toy plane or one of those radio-controlled aircraft hobbyists flew. “I think it’s a drone,” he said as the craft hovered over them.

Rand scowled at the intruder. “Is it armed?”

“No, but I think it’s spotted us.”

“The captain said Prentice had one of these. What do you think it’s doing?”

Marco trained the binoculars on the craft. “It looks as if there’s a camera attached to the underside, so I’d say it’s taking pictures.”

“Pictures of what?”

“Of us. Evidence that we’re harassing the poor little rich guy.”

“Nothing wrong with being rich.” Rand gave a big, cheesy smile and waved up at the drone.

Marco lowered the binoculars, resisting the urge to make an obscene gesture at the camera. “No, but there’s a lot wrong with being a jerk.” And a jerk who used a beautiful, vulnerable woman in his sick games had to be stopped.

Chapter Five

The low-slung cedar and stone buildings of the Dayspring Wellness Center looked more like an exclusive vacation resort than a medical facility. Fountains and flowers dotted the lavish landscaping, and the few people Lauren and Sophie saw once they’d left their car in the parking lot were tanned and casually dressed as if on their way to a tennis game or setting out to hike in the nearby hills.

“Maybe we should look into checking in here,” Sophie said as they made their way up a paved walkway lined with brilliant blooming flowers. “This is way nicer than our apartment. And we wouldn’t have to cook or clean.”

Lauren stopped before a signpost with markers pointing toward the dining room, gym, pool and treatment rooms. “This all must cost a fortune.”

“Then, how is Phil paying for it? Wasn’t he hassling you for money before you disappeared?”

“He wanted me to increase his support payments.” Because Lauren had earned more money than Phil, an actor with a small theater company, the court had ordered her to pay him support after their divorce. “But I haven’t given him any money in months.” While Prentice had held her captive, she hadn’t had access to her bank accounts, then she hadn’t been working, recovering from her ordeal. Now that she’d been fired, no telling when she’d be able to pay him.

Then again, not having access to her money had forced him to admit that his drug habit had gotten out of hand, and he had to seek help. When the Rangers had questioned him about her disappearance, he’d been living in a fleabag motel on the edge of town. “Maybe his girlfriend came into money.” When they’d divorced, Phil had been seeing an actress he worked with.

“Maybe Richard Prentice is footing the bill,” Sophie said. “In exchange for a few ‘favors.’”

“I don’t know.”

They headed to a building marked Welcome Center. “We’re here to see Phillip Starling,” Lauren said.

The receptionist consulted her computer. “He’s in Pod A.” She indicated a map on the desk in front of her. “Follow this walkway around back and you’ll see the groups of cottages are labeled. He’s probably in the courtyard. We encourage our guests to spend as much time as possible out of doors, enjoying nature.”

Lauren thanked her and they headed down the walk she’d indicated. “What’s the difference between a patient and a guest?” Lauren asked.

“Maybe a couple thousand dollars a day?” Sophie guessed.

They found Pod A and walked under a stone archway into a courtyard with padded loungers and shaded tables arranged around a gurgling fountain. Phil, his back to them, sat at one of the tables, talking with a young woman who stood beside a cart next to the table.

As Lauren and Sophie drew nearer, the woman laughed and playfully swatted Phil’s shoulder. “You are so bad,” she chided.

“Come back after you get off and I’ll show you how bad—and how good—I can be,” he said.

She laughed again, then saw the two women. “I’d better go,” she said, and rolled her cart away.

“Hello, Phil,” Lauren said.

He turned toward her and arched one eyebrow. “You’re about the last person I expected to see here.”

Hair cut, clean shaven and wearing a polo shirt and pressed khakis, he looked much better than the last time she’d seen him. He had a tan and had put on a few pounds. Her ex-husband was definitely handsome. She waited for the catch in her throat that always happened when she saw him again after time apart, and was relieved when it didn’t come. Maybe she was finally getting over him. “You’re looking good,” she said.

“You, too.” He stood and kissed her cheek, and nodded to her sister. “Hello, Sophie.”

“Hello, Phil.” Her greeting was cool; Sophie had never liked Phil, and when he’d left Lauren for another woman she’d stopped trying to hide her disdain.

“What brings you two here?” he asked. “Did you miss me?”

“We wanted to talk to you about Richard Prentice,” Lauren said. No sense being coy.

Some of the cheerfulness went out of his eyes, replaced by edgy caution. “What about him?”

“The grand jury refused to indict him on charges of kidnapping,” Sophie said.

Phil’s surprise seemed genuine. “They think he didn’t do it?”

“Apparently, he persuaded them I made up the whole story,” Lauren said.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Oh, please.” Sophie folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Your comments in the paper—calling Prentice your good friend and practically accusing Lauren of being delusional—didn’t help matters any.”

“You know how the press can be,” he said. “Always taking things out of context.”

“Did Prentice pay you to say those things about me?” Lauren asked.

“Is that what you think?” He put his hand on her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrug him off. “Lauren, honey, I know this is hard for you to hear, but you have to admit that the last few months we were together, you were pretty out there. Not yourself.”

“Neither of us was at our best then,” she said.

“Maybe so. But at least I didn’t suddenly decide to redecorate the whole condo and stay up for two nights in a row ripping out tile and moving furniture, only to abandon the project half-done two days later and start looking at new places instead. And what about the time you bought all that expensive cookware and enrolled in an Italian cooking course? You gave one dinner party, then almost never went into the kitchen again.”

Lauren did move away from him then. “None of those things hurt anyone,” she said.

“They’re not normal, Lauren. All I wanted was a normal marriage. A normal life.”

“So that’s why you became a drug addict,” Sophie said. “So things would be ‘normal.’”

He took a step toward her, but Lauren stepped between them. “Back to Richard Prentice. Why did you tell the paper he was such a good friend? You hardly knew him.”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt my reputation to be associated with a billionaire, you know?”

“How does Prentice feel, being associated with you?” Sophie asked.

Phil shot her a look and turned back to Lauren. “Maybe you shouldn’t be going around asking questions about Richard Prentice,” he said. “I mean, haven’t you had enough trouble from him?”

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