She’d lost her brother.

Can a jaded Delta Force soldier help her find out why?

Strong-willed Lana Moreno won’t rest until she finds out the truth about her heroic brother’s death. And neither will Logan Hess, whose covert government mission soon becomes entwined with another goal: protecting Lana. On Logan’s Texas ranch, these unlikely partners are fighting to understand what really happened overseas while sparks ignite between them. But their investigation quickly provokes a firestorm of consequences—and attention from all the wrong people.

CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

Also by Carol Ericson

Her Alibi

Delta Force Defender

Delta Force Daddy

Delta Force Die Hard

Locked, Loaded and SEALed

Alpha Bravo SEAL

Bullseye: SEAL

Point Blank SEAL

Secured by the SEAL

Bulletproof SEAL

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Enemy Infiltration

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09447-4

ENEMY INFILTRATION

© 2019 Carol Ericson

Published in Great Britain 2019

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

Note to Readers

Prologue

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

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Prologue

He grabbed the barrel of the old Kalashnikov as he took his place around the fire and yanked it away from him and toward the wall of the hut. “How do you expect me to think with that in my face?”

Rafi, the leader of the group, kicked at a mound of dirt in front of the man hoisting the rifle. “No need for that, Mateen. We’ve taken Major Denver’s weapons from him.”

“He’s Delta Force.” Mateen spit into the dirt. “He could use your shoe as a weapon and you wouldn’t even know it was off your foot.”

The other men around the circle laughed and Denver chuckled along with them. Good to know Delta Force still struck fear in the hearts of enemies and frenemies alike, and Mateen wasn’t too far off the mark with his comment.

Denver crossed his legs beneath him and stretched out his hands to the crackling fire. He winked at Massoud, the boy who’d brought him down from the mountain, now crouched behind his father, Rafi. Massoud offered a shy smile in return, his tough-guy bravado no longer necessary in the company of men.

One of the men began handing around earthenware bowls of lamb stew, which Massoud’s mother had been cooking when they’d barged in on her. Denver hadn’t seen the woman since.

He passed two bowls along the circle and claimed the third for his own, cupping his hands around smooth clay to warm them more than anything else. Then he tore off a piece of the flatbread making the rounds and plunged it into the steaming concoction, chock-full of chunks of lamb meat and vegetables.

He blew on the bread, dripping gravy, and then shoved it into his mouth, burning his tongue, anyway. He didn’t care. The warmth and spices in the stew made his nose run, and he didn’t care about that, either.

The other men must’ve been as hungry as he was. For several minutes, the only sounds from the hut with the dirt floor were slurping and chomping as the men gnawed the tough meat with their teeth and sopped up the gravy with the bread.

When he finished, Denver wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and screwed the bowl into the dirt. “Now, tell me everything you know about Pazir and how our meeting was compromised.”

Rafi raised his finger and then snapped. Massoud scurried around the circle, collecting all the bowls. He retreated to a corner and soaked up the dregs of everyone’s stew with the leftover bread he’d snatched from the fire.

A pang of guilt shot through Denver’s now-full stomach. Massoud’s mother hadn’t cooked enough stew for an unexpected gathering like this. The men had eaten Massoud’s dinner and probably his mother’s, as well.

Rafi folded his hands against his belly. “Pazir was foolish, a talker.”

The other men nodded and grunted.

“He told someone about our meeting?”

“He told many someones.” Rafi waved his hand, encompassing the men sitting at the fire. “We all knew about it.”

“Is Pazir still alive?” Denver massaged his temple with two fingers, the smoke in the hut giving him a headache.

“We don’t know.” Rafi shrugged. “When he found out what happened at the meeting place—an Army Ranger killed, one of your Delta Force team members going over the side of a cliff and you taking off—he disappeared.”

“He could be dead.” Denver drew a cross in the dirt and then wiped it out with his fist.

“No body.” One of the other men spoke up. “Al Tariq likes to send messages. No body, no message.”

“If it was Al Tariq who disrupted the meeting. And my Delta Force teammate? Did you hear anything about him?” Denver held his breath. He’d tried to save Asher Knight by pushing him out of the way. His action had spared Knight the bullet, but he’d tumbled over the cliff’s edge instead.

“Don’t know.” Rafi shook his head. “Didn’t hear.”

Denver blew out a breath. The others had heard about the death of the Army Ranger, but not Asher. Maybe that meant he’d made it. “I need to get another meeting with Pazir. Can any of you facilitate that?”

The men exchanged glances around the circle.

One of the men coughed and swirled his hot tea in his cup. “That could be dangerous.”

Another of the men jumped up and tossed the contents of his cup into the fire, which snapped and sizzled. “He’s dangerous. He shouldn’t be here. You should’ve killed him on the mountainside, Massoud.”

“Enough.” Rafi sliced a hand through the air. “Major Denver is the enemy of our enemy. That is enough. Al Tariq has been inciting trouble and violence in the region for over a year now and doing it with secret international support. If Major Denver wants to end that, it’s good enough for me. It should be good enough for all of us.”

A quiet man seated next to Rafi, who hadn’t said a word all night, stood up. “I know someone who can reach Pazir. The man has been working as a driver and translator like Pazir had been, and he might know where he is. He can let him know you survived and want to talk to him.”

“I appreciate that.” Denver bowed his head. “I appreciate all of it.”

Later that night after more tea and a shared hookah, Rafi allowed Denver to bunk down by the fire.

With the rest of the inhabitants asleep in the hut, Denver rolled toward the fire and then away. He stretched out his legs and then brought his knees to his chest.

The smoke had his head pounding again—or maybe it was the spicy lamb stew. He sat up and drew the rough blanket around his shoulders. Then he crept to the doorway of the hut.

He slipped outside to inhale the cold, fresh air. His head jerked as a glimmer of light from the rocks at the bottom of the foothills caught his attention.

He squinted into the darkness and saw a second point of light bobbing next to the first. He grabbed his weapon by the door, hoisted it and peered through the night scope.

Uttering a curse, he tracked the guns bearing down on the village. He’d brought the enemy to their doorstep… Now nobody was safe.

Chapter One

Lana’s brown cowboy boots clumped over the wood floor of her congressman’s office building. As furtive glances followed her, she tipped back her head, nose in the air and took even heavier steps—the louder the better. She wanted to create a stir.

“Miss, excuse me.” The blonde at the front desk half rose from her chair, phone at her ear. “Miss, you can’t go in there.”

Lana spun around, one hand jiggling the locked doorknob, the other on her hip. “Because it’s locked or because I’m not welcome? I’m a taxpaying constituent.”

“I’m sure you are, but Congressman Cordova is in a meeting right now.” The assistant waved her manicured fingers at a pathetic suggestion box stuck to the wall. “You’re welcome to leave a note.”

“I’ve left notes. I’ve left voice mails. I’ve left emails.” Lana leveled a finger at the blond gatekeeper. “I’m pretty sure I’ve spoken to you on a number of occasions, and Congressman Cordova—” the name rolled off Lana’s tongue in a perfect Spanish accent “—has yet to return my notes, voice mails or emails. Excuse me if I have a hard time believing he’s going to check his suggestion box. I have a suggestion. Tell him to open this damned door and meet with one of his constituents.”

The assistant plopped back down in her chair, swiveled away from Lana and whispered into the phone. She put down the receiver and cleared her throat. “If you’d like to leave your name and number, the congressman will call when he’s free.”

“When will that be? Never?” Lana twisted the doorknob and kicked the door with the toe of her boot. “Open the door, or you’ll be sorry, Cordova.”

The woman at the desk grabbed the phone again and held up the receiver, shaking it at Lana. “Miss, if you don’t leave at once, I’m calling security.”

“Do it.” Lana leaned against the impenetrable door and folded her arms across her chest. “This will play well.”

The blonde’s cool exterior and her voice finally cracked as she shouted into the phone, “Someone needs to get over here, right away.”

Before the final word left her lips, two security guards charged through the side door of the building. Cordova’s office only gave the illusion of his approachability. Barriers and layers protected him from the common people just as surely as they had protected a czar from his serfs.

As the two goons veered in her direction, Lana thrust out her hands. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to my congressman. I pay his salary—yours, too.”

“Ma’am.” The bigger security guard spread out his hands, which looked like slabs of pink beef. “Go about this the right way. Don’t cause any trouble today.”

“Trouble?” Lana sniffed and blinked her eyes rapidly. She refused to give in to tears here. Did she have any left? “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

The big guy rolled his eyes at his slightly smaller partner and said, “Are you even five feet tall? You’re not going to put up a fight, are you, ma’am?”

Lana widened her stance, the heels of her boots digging into the polished floor. “Five foot two.”

Security guard number two snorted. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to leave the premises, one way or another.”

“How about you leave the premises, and I meet with my congressman.”

“I—I can make an appointment for you with Congressman Cordova.” Cordova’s assistant swung her chair in front of her computer, her hands poised over the keyboard. “He’s free tomorrow at three o’clock. Will that work for you?”

“Hmm.” Lana tapped a finger against her chin as she tilted her head to the side. “No. Right now works for me.”

The taller, bigger, beefier security guard took a step forward. “Ma’am, this isn’t working for anyone right now. You’re going to have to leave and make an appointment through Tessa later.”

“I don’t want to leave, and Cordova is never going to keep an appointment with me. I’m on his no-call list.” Lana ground her back teeth together.

Tessa’s face blanched, almost matching the color of her hair. As the security duo moved forward with purpose, Tessa shouted, “Wait!”

But the guards had both started speaking at once in coaxing tones as they moved in on Lana, drowning out Tessa’s exclamation.

They each took one of Lana’s arms and peeled her off the congressman’s door. They started to march her toward the front entrance, the one facing the sidewalk, the one facing the public.

Tessa had jumped from her seat, the chair banging against the wall behind her. “What’s your name? What’s your name?”

Lana cranked her head over her shoulder and smiled at Tessa, her pale face now crumpled with worry. “Lana. Lana Moreno.”

“Wait…don’t.” Tessa scurried around the desk, banging her hip on the corner.

The security guards had embraced their mission and continued propelling Lana to the exit—flipping the congressman from the frying pan into the fire.

The three of them burst through the double doors into the wintry Greenvale sun, straight into the arms of the media Lana had called earlier.

Cameras zoomed in and microphones materialized out of thin air.

“Did Congressman Cordova kick you out of his office, Lana?”

“Did he have any answers for you?”

“Do you think this shows his disdain for the military?”

Both of the security guards dropped her arms so fast and at the same time, she listed to the side. The shorter guy growled. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a news conference, which never would’ve happened had Cordova agreed to meet with me.”

She brushed off the sleeves of her brown suede jacket, tugged on its lapels and stepped in front of a microphone. “Yes, Congressman Luis Cordova refused to meet with me, and he’s refused to answer any of my emails. You can make your own determination whether or not that shows disrespect for our military as he continues to cover up the circumstances behind the deaths of three marines in Nigeria.”

“Ms. Moreno.” The congressman magically appeared in the doorway behind her, his unctuous tone, as smooth as oil, swirling through the chaos on the sidewalk. “I was just finishing up with my meeting when I heard the commotion. I told my assistant to clear all my calls immediately. Come back into my office with me. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Lana nodded, backed away from the mic and swept past the two security guards, now trying to keep the reporters from following her and the congressman.

Five minutes later, ensconced in a deep leather chair across from Congressman Cordova, a glass of water in front of her, Lana took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I had to resort to those means, but you wouldn’t acknowledge any of my communications.”

Cordova swept a hand over the top of his head, slicking his salt-and-pepper hair back from his forehead. “You saw the report, Ms. Moreno. There’s no mystery, no cover-up. Your brother and the other marines were attacked outside the embassy outpost by a band of marauding criminals. Nigeria can be a lawless place, especially away from the big cities.”

“Really?” She crossed one leg over the other and took a sip of water. “What was the U.S. Government doing in that particular area of Nigeria?”

“That is classified information. Your brother didn’t even know what they were doing there.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She drummed her fingers on his desk. “I’m waiting for the Marine Corps to ship his belongings to me. They could even arrive as early as this afternoon. Gil always kept a journal. I can’t wait to read what he wrote in that journal.”

“I’m sure it will be a great comfort to you, Ms. Moreno. Lo siento por su perdida.” He steepled his fingers and bowed his head.

Tears stung her nose. “I don’t need you to be sorry for my loss. I need you to use your position on the House Foreign Affairs Committee to open up an investigation of what went down at that embassy outpost—a real investigation.”

“The Committee has no reason to believe anything other than the initial report, a report I went out of my way to send you, by the way.”

Uncrossing her legs, she hunched forward, the ends of her long hair sweeping the glossy surface of his desk. “A report so heavily redacted, I could barely read it through the black lines.”

“A necessity, but I’m sure you got the gist of the information. A marauding band of…”

“Criminals.” She smacked her fist on the desk, causing the pens in the holder to dance. “I’ve heard that line a million times. It’s a solid talking point, but why would common criminals attack a U.S. Embassy outpost? Do you think they were trying to steal computers? Watches off the embassy staff? Cushions from the pool furniture?”

“They’re criminals.” Cordova’s left eyebrow twitched. “I suppose they’re going to steal whatever they can.”

“Why choose a building guarded by U.S. Marines? And why do common criminals in Nigeria have RPGs?”

The congressman shot up in his chair. “Where did you get that information?”

“It wasn’t from the watered-down report you sent me.”

“Ms. Moreno, Lana—” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath “—I truly am sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a hero.”

“He was a hero for getting murdered during a common robbery?”

“He was a hero for serving his country honorably, and I’m going to look into the possibility of naming a park…or something after him in our home town of Greenvale.”

“A baseball field.” Lana gazed at the pictures of Cordova’s family that graced the wall behind him—his son in his baseball uniform and his daughter in a ballerina tutu. “Gil loved baseball and was a great player. He could’ve played some ball in college or the minor leagues, but he chose to enlist instead.”

“Like I said, a true local hero.”

Her eyes snapped back to Cordova’s face. “He was a hero because he and his brothers in arms tried to protect that outpost from a planned attack. Whatever was going on there required more than three marines to guard it, and they deserved backup, a response from other military in the area. I know about that, too.”

“I’m afraid the Committee is not going to open up an investigation based on some half-truths you learned from some anonymous source and your brother’s journal that you haven’t even read yet.” Cordova’s jawline hardened. “I’ve given you all the time I have today, Ms. Moreno, and you can run to the press all you like and paint me as the bad guy, but there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

She pushed out of the chair, her legs like lead beneath her, all the fight drained from her body. She automatically extended her hand across the desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”

The congressman’s face brightened as he squeezed her hand. “Anytime, Ms. Moreno, but make an appointment with Tessa next time and come alone.”

“I will.” When he released her hand, she avoided the temptation to wipe it on the seat of her jeans.

He circled around his desk and showed her out of his office door, a big smile on his face in case a camera or two lurked in the waiting room.

As she walked toward the exit, her knees weak and trembling, she nodded to Tessa behind her desk, clutching the edge, looking ready to bolt.

When Lana reached the door, Cordova called after her. “A baseball field, the Gil Moreno Field. I’ll get right on it.”

“Gilbert.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Gilbert Moreno Baseball Field.” She twisted the handle and bumped the door with her hip, pushing through the double doors.

The cold air slapped her face when she stepped onto the empty sidewalk and her nose started running. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned the corner of Cordova’s office, which occupied the end spot of a newer strip mall. He probably had nicer digs in DC.

Dragging her hand along the stucco wall of the building, she meandered toward the back alley. She couldn’t do this anymore. She had nothing. She was going to fail her little brother when he needed her most.

She did a half turn and propped her shoulders against the wall, but her meeting with Cordova had sapped all her strength. Her knees giving out on her, she slid down the wall, the suede of her jacket scraping the stucco.

She ended in a crouch, dipping her head, the tears flowing freely down her face. “I’m sorry, Gil. You deserve so much more than a baseball field. You deserve the truth.”

A footstep crunched beside her and she jerked up her head. A tall figure loomed over her, the sunlight creating a bright aura around the stranger’s head.

Slowly he crouched before her, caught one of her tears as it dripped from her chin and said, “The truth just might get you killed, Lana.”

Chapter Two

The raven-haired beauty in front of him dashed the back of her hand across her runny nose and smeared a streak of black mascara toward her ear, where a row of silver studs pierced the curve.

“Who the hell are you?” The tough words belied her trembling bottom lip, full with a juicy cherry tint.

Logan pulled back and blinked his eyes. He knew Lana Moreno was pretty, but he didn’t expect her attractiveness, slightly muffled by a red nose and puffy eyes, to hit him like a sledgehammer.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Logan Hess, your new best friend.”

“I already have a best friend—” she narrowed her eyes “—and I already have a media contact. I’m working with Peyton Fletcher. She has my back.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He dropped his hand onto his thigh, rubbing his knuckles across the denim of his jeans. “I’m not with any news organization.”

The lips he’d been admiring flattened into a thin line. “Cordova’s office? Is that why you were warning me about the truth? You did warn me, didn’t you?”

“C’mon.” He spread his arms. “Do I look like a politician?”

Her dark eyes tracked from the top of his head, flicked sideways across his leather jacket and traveled down his jeans. When she reached the silver tips of his black cowboy boots, her nostrils flared.

The inventory got him hot and bothered, and he willed Lana to keep her eyes pinned to his boots so she wouldn’t notice his response to her assessment a little higher up.

He got his wish, as her eyes flew to his face. “As a matter of fact, you do kind of look like a politician—the smooth kind who tries to fit in with the locals with expensive designer duds no real Greenvale farmhand would ever wear…or could ever afford.”

Ouch. His erection died as fast as it had come on.

Logan tipped back his head and laughed at the sky, laughed so hard he fell backward, his backside, covered by his nondesigner jeans, hitting the dirt. His hands went out behind him, and he wedged his palms against the ground to keep from falling back any farther.

“You’re a pistol, little lady.” He put on his best Texas drawl. “Would they say things like that, too?”

One side of her mouth twitched. “Yes, they would. That accent though, it sounds legit. Where’d you pick it up?”

“Same place I got these fancy duds.” He slapped the side of his right boot. “Dallas. So, if you think you Greenvale, California, cowboys are the real deal, you’re dreaming.”

“Got me.” Lana held up her hands. “But if you’re not a reporter and you don’t work for Cordova, I repeat my question. Who the hell are you? And don’t say Logan Hess. That name means nothing to me.”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t recognize his name, but no report would ever reveal the names of a military unit.

“Let’s try this again.” Logan wiped his dusty palm against his shirt and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Logan Hess with U.S. Delta Force.”

Her mouth formed an O but at least she took his hand this time in a firm grip, her skin rough against his. “I’m Lana Moreno, but you probably already know that, don’t you?”

“I sure do.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw your little impromptu news conference about an hour ago.”

“But you knew who I was before that. You didn’t track me down to compare cowboy boots.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Did you know Gilbert?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Lana didn’t need to know just how unfortunate that really was. “Let’s get out of the dirt and grab some lunch.”

She tilted her head and a swathe of dark hair fell over her shoulder, covering one eye. The other eye scorched his face. “Why should I have lunch with you? What do you want from me? When I heard you were Delta Force, I thought you might have known Gilbert, might’ve known what happened at that outpost.”

“I didn’t, but I know of Gilbert and the rest of them, even the assistant ambassador who was at the outpost. I can guarantee I know a lot more about the entire situation than you do from reading that redacted report they grudgingly shared with you.”

“You are up-to-date. What are we waiting for?” Her feet scrambled beneath her as she slid up the wall. “If you have any information about the attack in Nigeria, I want to hear it.”

“I thought you might.” He rose from the ground, towering over her petite frame. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and waved it at her. “Take this.”

“Thank you.” She blew her nose and mopped her face, running a corner of the cloth beneath each eye to clean up her makeup. “I suppose you don’t want it back.”

“You can wash it for me and return it the next time we meet.”

That statement earned him a hard glance from those dark eyes, still sparkling with unshed tears, but he had every intention of seeing Lana Moreno again and again and however many times it took to pick her brain about why she believed there was more to the story than a bunch of Nigerian criminals deciding to attack an embassy outpost—a ridiculous cover story if he ever heard one.

About as ridiculous as the story of Major Rex Denver working with terrorists.

Her quest had to be motivated by more than grief over a brother. People didn’t stage stunts like she just did in front of a congressman’s office based on nothing.

“Sure, I’ll wash it.” Lana stuffed his handkerchief into the pocket of her suede jacket.

“My rental car’s parked around the corner.”

“That’s nice.” She shrugged her shoulders off the wall. “I’ll take my truck over and meet you at the restaurant.”

“Understood. You can’t be too careful…especially you.” Logan reached for his wallet. “Do you want to see my military ID before we go any further?”

She whipped around. “Why’d you say especially me? Come to think of it, why did you say the truth could get me killed?”

“I’ll explain over lunch.” He slipped his ID from his wallet and held it out to her, framed between his thumb at the bottom and two fingers at the top.

Her gaze bounced from the card to his face. “Your hair’s shorter in the picture.”

“Military cut.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, the ends no longer creating a bristle.

“And lighter.” She squinted at the photo on the card. “Almost blond.”

Logan felt that warm awakening in his belly again under Lana’s scrutiny. If this woman could turn him on just looking at his picture, he couldn’t imagine what her touch would do to him. He shivered.

“This—” he tapped the card “—was taken in the summer. My hair tends to get darker in the winter. Any other questions? Do you want me to shed my jacket so you can check out my…weight?”

Lana’s eyes widened for a second, and a pink blush touched her mocha skin. “I’m not questioning you. The ID matches the man. Do you like Mexican?”

He blinked. He liked this Mexican. A lot.

“Food. Do you like Mexican food?” She stomped the dirt from her boots like a filly ready to trot.

“I’m from Texas. What do you think?”

“I’ve eaten Mexican food in Texas before, and if you think that salsa is hot…you’re dreaming.”

His lips twitched into a smile. If California salsa was as hot as Lana Moreno, he’d love it and ask for more. “Then I’m in for a treat because I like it hot and spicy.”

Ignoring his innuendo, she turned her back on him and marched toward the street.

When they turned the corner and reached the front of the strip mall, someone in Congressman Cordova’s office flicked the blinds at the window. Was the congressman afraid Lana would come storming back in?

She hadn’t mentioned what she and Cordova discussed during their private conversation but judging from her tears after the meeting, it wasn’t what she’d wanted.

She must’ve noticed the blinds, as well. Squaring her shoulders, she tossed her head, her dark mane shimmering down her back. “The restaurant’s about ten minutes away.”

She gave him the name and address and then hopped into an old white pickup truck with a flick of her fingers.

Could she reach the pedals of that monster? As if to prove she could, she cranked on the engine and rattled past him.

Logan shook his head as he ducked into the small rental. He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for with Sergeant Gilbert Moreno’s sister. He just hoped they could help each other, and for that, he needed to stay on Ms. Moreno’s good side, which just might involve a little lying or at least some omission of the facts.

He plugged the restaurant’s address into his phone and followed the directions that led him several miles away from the congressman’s office. The buildings and streets on this side of town lacked the spiffy newness of the other area, but the restaurant stood out from the rest. It occupied a Spanish adobe building with a colorful sign out front and a small line at the door.

Logan parked his car and strode toward the entrance, his cowboy boots right at home with the ranchera music blaring from a bar two doors down from the restaurant.

Lana waved from the arched doorway of the restaurant, and he wove through the line of people waiting for a table.

“How long is the wait?”

“I already have a table in the back.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Are you a regular here?”

“You could say that.” She turned her head over her shoulder as she led him to their table, a small one that looked like an afterthought, tucked in next to the bar.

Logan reached past her to pull out a chair.

Putting a hand on the back of the chair, she said, “I’m going to wash my hands first.”

“Probably not a bad idea.” He turned his hands over and rubbed a thumb on his dirty palm.

“This way.” She pointed down a short hallway behind the bar, and he followed her to the restrooms, his gaze slipping to her rounded derriere in her tight jeans.

Several minutes later, he made it back to the table, where two glasses of water waited for them, before she did.

Lana strolled from the kitchen, chatting with one of the waitresses, and Logan had a second chance to pull out her chair.

Lana thanked him as she took her seat. “Iced tea for me, Gabby.”

“And for you?”

“Water is fine.” Logan tapped the water glass on the table.

As soon as the waitress left, a busboy showed up with a basket of chips and a small bowl of salsa.

“Is the service always this good, or is it just you?”

“The service is always good here. It’s one of the oldest Mexican restaurants in Greenvale, and one of the most popular—at least with the locals.”

“And you’re a local? Have you always lived in Greenvale?”

“My grandfather was a bracero in the Central Valley, worked the fields on a seasonal basis and then brought over my grandmother and their ten children. My father was third to the youngest.”

“So, you have a big family here.”

“Not here… Salinas. Most of them are still in Salinas. My father came to Greenvale to work with horses on a ranch. When the work became too much for him, he started cooking—here.”

“Is he still in the kitchen?”

“He died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Your mother?”

“My mother went back to her family in Mexico. My grandmother is ill and Mom takes care of her.” She picked up a chip from the basket and broke it in two. “And you? Dallas native?”

“Born and raised outside of the Dallas–Fort Worth area.” He dipped a chip in the salsa and crunched it between his teeth. He waved his hand in front of his mouth as he chewed it. “You weren’t kidding. This stuff is hot.”

“I can have Gabby bring a milder version for you, Tex.”

He grabbed another chip and scooped up even more of the salsa. “Oh, them’s fightin’ words. Now it’s a matter of pride.”

Lana smiled, and their dark, little corner of the restaurant blazed with light.

“Competitive much?”

He nodded as he dabbed his runny nose with a napkin. Luckily Gabby saved him from stuffing his face with any more of the hot stuff as she approached their table and took their order.

When Gabby left, Logan took a sip of his water and hunched forward. “Tell me, Lana, why do you think there’s more to the story than the government is telling us about the attack on the embassy?”

“Because my brother told me there was.”

“He died in the attack.”

She flinched. “He suspected something was going on before the attack.”

“He communicated this to you?”

“We had a few face-to-face conversations on the computer after he got there. He didn’t understand why they were at the outpost to begin with. There were a lot of secret comings and goings and a supply shed that they weren’t allowed to enter.”

“Who exactly was coming and going there?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Some Americans, some foreigners. The guards weren’t briefed, and he didn’t recognize any of them—except one.”

“Who was that?” Logan’s heart thumped so hard, Lana could probably hear it over the music playing in the background.

“A Major Rex Denver. The guards all knew him. They’d heard all about his exploits in Delta Force…” She snapped and aimed her index finger at him. “Delta Force, like you.”

This was not one of the things Logan planned to lie to Lana about. “That’s right. I know Major Denver. He was my squad leader before…”

“Before he turned traitor and went AWOL.”

“That never happened.” Logan slapped a palm on the table and a chip slid from the basket.

“You’re trying to exonerate him. That’s why you’re interested in the attack on the embassy.” She settled back in her chair and stirred her tea with the straw, the ice clinking against the glass. “Not sure the fact that Major Denver showed up at the outpost is going to do that. In fact, it makes him look guiltier if there was any hanky-panky going on at that compound.”

“Not if he knew about the…hanky-panky and was there to investigate it himself.”

Gabby brought their food. “Watch the plates. They’re hot.”

“Thanks, Gabby.” Logan pointed his fork at the salsa dish. “Can you bring more salsa, please?”

“Of course.” She swept the nearly depleted bowl from their table.

Lana smirked. “You don’t have anything to prove, Logan.”

“I know.” He plunged his fork into his burrito and sliced off a corner. “It’s growing on me.”

She picked up one of her tacos and held it over her plate while the busboy delivered another bowl of salsa. “Maybe Denver’s presence at the outpost triggered the attack, or maybe it was the questions he asked after his visit.”

“How do you know he asked questions?”

“I know he asked Gil and the other marines a ton of questions while he was there. The guys were kind of in awe of him, but they couldn’t give him any answers.”

“Did Gil tell you what kinds of questions Denver was asking?”

“Mostly about that shed.”

“I suppose you didn’t record your sessions with your brother?”

“I didn’t, but I’m sure he wrote down everything in his journal.”

“He kept a journal?”

“Gil was always a good writer and I think he believed he had the makings of a book.”

“Where’s his journal, Lana?”

“On its way to me.” She patted her chest. “The military is sending me his personal effects.”

“You’ve already—” Logan swallowed “—buried him?”

Lana dropped her taco and crumpled her napkin in her hand. “Yes, they returned his body and we buried him with full military honors—a military that refuses to honor him now by telling the truth.”

“I don’t know if you can blame the military, Lana. There’s something going on, something secretive, something so deep cover I don’t think even the top brass knows what’s happening.”

“And you believe it has something to do with Major Denver.”

“I know it does.”

“Why did he take off? Why not stay and fight the charges against him?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to wage a war on your own terms. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” She jabbed her straw into her glass so hard, a chip of ice flew onto the table and skittered toward him.

Logan dabbed at the ice with the tip of his finger. “I think he could see the net closing in on him and he understood that it was a trap—especially for him. I’m sure wherever he is, he’s fighting. He’s doing it his own way.”

“I can understand that.”

She gazed over his shoulder as if at something in the distance, and he wondered what battles Lana had undertaken on her own.

Several minutes later, Gabby slipped the check out of her pocket and waved it over the table. “Anything else?”

“Not for me. Logan?”

“Anything more than that burrito?” He plucked the check from Gabby’s fingers. “No way.”

She picked up their plates and spun away, calling over her shoulder. “See you next time, Lana.”

Lana stretched out her arm to him and wiggled her fingers. “How much do I owe?”

“I’ll take care of it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You keep me updated on Gil’s journal and anything else you find.”

“And you do the same.”

“Deal.”

“It seems like we’ll be helping each other, so we can split the check, too.”

“I’m the one who suggested lunch. You can get the next one.”

She plunged her hand into her purse and pulled out a wallet. “Let me get the tip.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be generous with the tip.” He added a few more bills to the pile and held it out to her. “Is this okay?”

“More than generous.”

“You’re kind of a control freak, aren’t you?”

“You could say that.” She stood up and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair. “Where are you staying?”

“The Greenvale Inn and Suites back by the congressman’s office, but I’m not going there right now.” He reached the front door of the restaurant before she did and held it open for her.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m following you back to your place. You said you were expecting a delivery of your brother’s possessions any day, and I’m going to hold you to your word.”

“All right.” She flicked up the collar of her jacket. “I want to show you something in that report, anyway. Have you read it?”

“I’ve seen bits and pieces of it, not the entire report.”

“The report is bits and pieces. There’s so much redaction, it’s hard to read.”

He could believe that. There would be secrecy surrounding an embassy outpost like that even without an attack. “Your address?”

“Just follow me. It’ll be easier.”

He did follow her, right to her truck, and opened the heavy door after she’d unlocked it.

She placed one boot on the running board and hopped into the driver’s seat. “It’s about a forty-minute drive.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He followed her out of town and along the two-lane highway. He hadn’t given too much thought to Lana’s housing situation, but didn’t expect her to live out in the boonies like this.

Farmland rolled past his window, and occasionally he got a whiff of fresh manure, a smell that reminded him of home.

After about forty minutes of driving, the right indicator on Lana’s truck flashed on and off and she slowed down. She turned and drove the truck between two posts onto a small paved road.

As Logan took his car through the posts, he tried to read the writing carved on the sides but it was too small. Lana lived on a ranch. Was it hers? Her husband’s?

The thought of a husband lurking beyond the gate up ahead socked him in the gut, but he brushed it aside. If Lana Moreno had a husband, she wouldn’t be running around on her own trying to get closure on Gil. And if she had a husband and he allowed her to do this on her own, the guy didn’t deserve her.

As Lana’s truck approached the main gate to the ranch, Logan threw his car into Park and jumped out. He jogged to the gate, unhitched it and swung it wide.

Lana waved as she drove through and then waited for him while he followed with his car. He pulled up behind her, left his car idling, closed the gate and slid back into his rental.

He kept after her as she wound up the road past a horse riding ring and a pasture. Her truck rattled past the big house that had a later-model truck than hers and a minivan parked in the front.

He didn’t take her for a minivan type, anyway. She kept driving toward a stand of trees and then curved around them, pulling alongside a much-smaller house than the one in front and hidden from the view of the road.

He left his rental car several feet behind her truck. When he got out, she was halfway to the porch.

“I think it’s here.” Her boots clattered on the wooden steps of the front porch.

By the time he joined her, she’d sunk beside a box by the front door and had slid a knife along the taped seam.

As she made a grab for one loose flap, he said, “Let me get it inside for you first.”

She scrambled to her feet, as he wrapped his arms around the box and hoisted it against his chest. With hands that could barely hold on to her key chain, she fumbled at the lock before he heard a click and the door swung open.

She stood to the side. “Put it in the middle of the floor.”

His boots clumped against the hardwood floor as he made his way to a throw rug in the middle of the room. Crouching, he allowed the box to slip from his grasp until it settled on the floor.

Lana fell to her knees beside it, knife clutched in her hand. She ran it along the other seam and peeled back the lid. She stopped, gripping either side of the box, her eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” Logan touched her hand. “Do you want to do this on your own? I can step outside.”

Her eyelids flew open and one tear glistened on the edge of her long lashes. “It’s okay. It’s the smell, you know? It came at me all at once—his smell.”

Logan inhaled deeply. Lana smelled her brother, but another scent hit him and resonated deep in his core. “It’s the smell of war.”

Hunching over the box, she buried both of her hands inside and pulled out some clothing. She placed a stack of clothes on the floor, smoothing her hands over the shirt folded on top. She dived in again and again, withdrawing toiletries, books and personal items.

As the pile of Gil’s things grew around her, her movements grew more and more frantic until she withdrew the final item from the box—Gil’s beret.

She collapsed against the base of the couch, clutching the hat to her chest, her eyes dark slits. “They stole it. Somebody took Gil’s journal.”

Chapter Three

Lana kicked the empty box with her foot, flipping it over. She should’ve known someone would snatch Gil’s journal. Maybe if she hadn’t blabbed to anyone who would listen about what she knew and how, Gil’s journal wouldn’t have come under any scrutiny. She’d led them right to it—and the only proof she had that the attack on the outpost wasn’t random.

“You’re sure it’s not in one of these smaller pouches?” Logan poked at Gil’s stuff with his finger, toppling one of the piles.

“I looked in each one as I pulled it out, but you’re welcome to do it again.” She folded her arms over Gil’s beret and dipped her head, the scratchy wool tickling her chin. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have mentioned that journal to anyone.”

“Maybe there’s another box on its way. Maybe the mail person delivered the second box to the house in the front. Does that ever happen?” Logan righted the empty box and placed his hands inside, as if he thought there might be a false bottom.

“The mail person doesn’t make mistakes but my stuff does have a habit of winding up at the big house.” Lana clenched her teeth at the thought of Bruce pawing through Gil’s belongings.

Logan sprang to his feet and extended his hand to her. “Do you want to ask them?”

“You’re coming with me?”

He cocked his head. “If you want me to.”

She couldn’t wait to parade Captain Logan Hess in front of Bruce, even though she couldn’t pass off Logan as anything more than a friend, not even that, really, but she’d relish the expression on Bruce’s face when he got a look at Logan and his rippling muscles. Not that she could see those muscles under his shirt—but she could imagine them and she had a wild imagination.

“Of course I want you to. You don’t want to stay here by yourself, do you?” She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

She dropped the beret on the couch, but didn’t drop Logan’s hand—not yet. The strength and warmth of his fingers sent a zap of courage through her body, and she sorely needed some of that right now.

This must be how it feels to have someone on your side.

He squeezed her hand. “Are you okay? That had to be rough going through your brother’s personal effects.”

“I’m all right. I’ll feel better once I get my hands on his journal.”

Logan had taken off his jacket when they’d walked into the house and he grabbed it from the back of the chair. She hadn’t bothered shedding hers but zipped it up now to meet the cold—and Bruce McGowan.

As they tromped down her driveway toward the main house, Logan said, “I’m assuming the people in the big house own this ranch.”

“They do.”

“And you do…what?”

“I train horses here. My father worked for the current owner’s father, Douglas McGowan, who kept me on after my father went to the restaurant. Douglas died just a few months after my father’s death.”

“So, you’ve been here two years on your own. You’re lucky. You must like it to have stayed on.”

A muscle twitched in her jaw, and she rubbed it away. “It’s a job and I need a job. I’m sending money to my mom in Mexico, so she can take care of abuelita.”

“You’re saying you don’t like it?”

“I like the horses.” She put a finger to her lips as they rounded the corner of the yellow house.

She climbed the two steps to the porch, and the familiar butterflies swirled around her stomach as she jabbed her knuckle against the doorbell.

The bell rang deep in the house, and Lana squared her shoulders and shoved her hands in her pockets, knowing Bruce was peering at her through the peephole, or soon would be.

Seconds later, the door swung open and Bruce’s big frame filled the doorway. His face broke into a grin. “Lana-Madonna, what brings you to my castle? You must…”

His words trailed off as the step behind Lana squeaked and Logan hovered behind her.

“Bruce, this is Logan Hess. Logan, Bruce McGowan.”

As Bruce lurched past her to grab Logan’s hand, his shoulder brushed hers.

“Nice to meet you, Logan. Friend of our little horse trainer?”

Lana held her breath as Logan seemed to suck in his with a sharp breath.

“Yeah.” Logan dropped his hand from Bruce’s and placed it on the small of her back.

Bruce’s gaze flicked to the gesture, and then the smile, a bit stiffer this time, returned to his face. “What can I do you for on this fine winter afternoon?”

“I received a delivery today—a box—and I was wondering if by any chance there was a second box delivered here by mistake.”

“Those mail people—give them one job to do and you’d think they could do it right instead of screwing it up all the time.” Bruce glanced at Logan and shrugged. “They’re always delivering Lana’s mail up here to the big house.”

“Yeah, funny how that works though. I never seem to get your mail. Anyway, did you get a box delivered?”

“Nope.”

“Did you pick up the mail or did Dale? Where is Dale?”

“She’s upstairs…resting.” Bruce’s jawline hardened. “Dale didn’t pick up the mail. She’s pretty much been…resting since she took the kids to school—and they’re still there in case you’re wondering.”

“I figured that.” The butterflies returned and she pressed a hand against her belly. “You’ll let me know if you get something of mine.”

“Always, Lana. Anytime you need anything from me, well almost anything, my door’s always open.” Bruce winked.

Logan’s body, just behind hers, tensed, his fingers curling into her hip.

Bruce stepped back inside the house as his face momentarily lost its ruddy color. “Nice to meet you, Logan. Any friend of Lana’s is a friend of ours. You have a good day now.”

He practically slammed the door in their faces, and Lana released a pent-up breath.

She pivoted on the porch and marched to her house with Logan hot on her heels, but silent.

When they reached her porch, he grabbed her arm. “What the hell was that all about? Who does that guy think he is? He’s lucky he still has his front teeth after the way he talked to you. Our little horse trainer? I’m surprised you didn’t smack him after that one.”

“He’s my employer.” She lifted a shoulder. “And my landlord. He and Dale let me live here for free. It was an arrangement his father had with mine, but I’m sure Bruce could end that arrangement anytime he wanted, especially since he’s selling off most of his horses.”

“He clearly doesn’t want to end the arrangement. He likes having you at his beck and call, doesn’t he?”

“You caught that, huh?” She dragged her lower lip between her teeth. She would hate for Logan to believe she and Bruce had anything between them—like the ranching community here believed.

“It’s just as clear to me that you don’t want to be here. So why not move? Find another job?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s not that easy to find a job as a horse trainer, Logan, and free rent? Impossible. I have an advantageous setup here and putting up with Bruce once in a while is worth it.”

And worth it for the other big perk.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “What does putting up with Bruce once in a while entail? Does he steal your mail?”

“That’s one of the little games he plays with me.” Lana sank to the top step and curled an arm around the wooden banister post. “He takes pieces of my mail, claiming it was a mistake on the part of the mail person, and then lets me know he has them to force me to go up to the big house.”

“Tell him to put the mail back in your mailbox.” Logan took a seat beside her on the porch, his shoulder bumping hers, which caused a completely different feeling to surge through her body from the one occasioned by Bruce doing the same thing.

“He always has an excuse why he can’t do that. Bottom line—if I want my mail, I have to get it from him.”

“He sounds like an ass. He is an ass and needs his kicked.”

Lana’s lips curved into a smile. “I’d like to see that, but for now I just avoid him as much as possible.”

“Do you believe he doesn’t have a second box of Gil’s?”

“I’m not sure if I do or not. Your presence threw him for a loop. It wouldn’t be any fun for him to invite me in and give me the box if you were by my side. That’s something he’d prefer to do without an audience.”

Logan’s eyebrows collided over his nose. “Has he ever gotten physical with you? Do you have anything to fear from him other than his slimy words and manner?”

Lana ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, the sour taste almost gagging her. “Only one time.”

“What did he do?” Logan’s body vibrated beside hers as if he were ready to take on Bruce right here and now.

“He…he put his hands around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss.” She rolled her lips inward at the memory and put her hand over her mouth.

“Bastard. Did you slug him?”

“I was too shocked to react quickly enough. I did push him away and told him I’d report him to Dale if he ever tried that again.”

“What did he do?”

“Laughed, but he never tried it again.”

“Yet.” Logan kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot. “What’s the story with his wife and why is she resting?”

“Dale’s an alcoholic. They have…two adorable kids, but Dale spends most of her time hitting the bottle and partying with her friends.” She pinned her hands between her knees and tapped her boots together. “Honestly, I don’t think she cares what Bruce does. I’m pretty sure she has an affair or two under her belt.”

“So to speak.” Logan smirked. “Doesn’t sound like you have much leverage with the wife.”

“Yeah, except Bruce doesn’t want to give Dale any excuse for a divorce. They don’t have a prenup and Bruce stands to lose a lot—half of everything—in a divorce. That’s why he puts up with her behavior, too.”

“Sounds like a great marriage, a match made in hell, but I don’t give a damn about Bruce or Dale or their hellish marriage. I do give a damn about your safety and the way he treats you.”

She patted Logan’s thigh. “Thanks. He’s not going to try anything else. He just plays his little games with me and enjoys watching me squirm because he knows I have nowhere else to go.”

“I got a totally different vibe from you when I watched you outside of Congressman Cordova’s office. I didn’t see you as someone who’d take guff from anyone.” He turned on the step and took her by the shoulders. “You need to get out of here, Lana. Find another job, move. This is unhealthy.”

She flattened a hand against her stomach. She hated for anyone to see her as weak, especially a man like Logan Hess, who probably charged through life on his own terms. But she’d been weak plenty of times in her life, and she didn’t want Logan to know about those times, either.

Resting her head against the post, she asked, “Are you married, Logan? Do you have…children?”

His head jerked. “No.”

She ignored the little sigh of relief that sprang to her lips and continued, “Have you ever had anyone dependent on you?”

“My Delta Force team. We’re dependent on each other.”

“If you had to do something you didn’t like, had to just suck it up and get on with it to protect one of your team members, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d do anything for them.” His thumbs pressed against her collarbone through her jacket. “What are you getting at?”

“That’s me.” She waved an arm toward the ranch. “Here.”

His gaze shifted over her shoulder to take in the expanse of the ranch. “You’re protecting someone here?”

“I have responsibilities here. I’m sending money to my mom and my grandmother in Mexico. I can’t just quit work. I have horses here…relationships.” She tossed her head like one of those horses, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I can handle Bruce McGowan. It’s the U.S. Government I’m worried about.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “It’s none of my business how you conduct yours. I hate guys like McGowan, who abuse their power.”

Logan’s green eyes burned with a passion that had to go deeper than what he’d just witnessed between her and Bruce. Any injustice seemed to instill in Logan a desire to correct it. That same feeling must be driving him to exonerate Major Denver.

“I appreciate your concern. Like I said, I can handle Bruce…and Smith & Wesson if it comes to that.”

The crease between his eyebrows vanished. “That’s good to hear not only because of Bruce’s attentions, but because you are kind of isolated out here.”

“There are some quarters for the ranch hands behind the stables. It’s not as isolated as you might think.”

“Do you mind if I take another look at that box?”

She pushed up from the porch and dusted off the seat of her jeans. “C’mon back in.”

Once inside the house, Logan crouched beside the box she’d sliced open with such anticipation. He studied the tape hanging from the flaps, and then shoved the box toward her. “Does that look retaped to you?”

Lana ran her fingertip along the tape and looked up. “It could’ve been. Do you think someone opened the box, searched it and taped it back up?”

“Could’ve happened. Someone did a slick job of it if that’s what occurred, but there’s some roughness that could be some cardboard ripped off the box.”

“It’s worse than if McGowan is holding on to a second box, isn’t it? The motivation is a hundred times more sinister.” She pinged the side of the box with her fingernail. “And if someone took Gil’s journal, I’ll never have any proof that his death was part of some organized attack.”

“Lana, are you sure your brother kept a journal?”

“I’m positive. He always did, and since he suspected something amiss on this assignment, he wouldn’t have quit at this precise moment.”

“Unless he sensed the danger of keeping a journal.”

“What if I never find it? What if it’s gone forever?” She fell to her knees next to the piles of Gil’s belongings and ran her hands over the items. “I won’t be able to help you with your investigation, either.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Logan rose to his feet. “I just wanted to touch base with you to find out why you were so adamant in the belief that there was something more to that attack. I didn’t expect you to have any proof…just a sister’s grief.”

A hot tear coursed down her cheek and she let it drop off her chin. That’s twice she’d allowed this man to see her cry—some kind of record.

In two steps, he was towering above her and gently urged her to her feet. She swayed as she rose beside him, and he enfolded her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He whispered the words in her ear.

She nodded against his solid chest. “Thank you. I know as a serviceman, you understand maybe more than most do.”

Sniffling, she pulled away from his warm comfort, trying to avoid wiping her nose on his shirt. Trying not to be too dependent.

He stepped back, leaving a cold void between them. “I—I’d better get going. I’ll leave you my cell phone number in case anything else comes up, and you do the same.”

“How long will you be staying in Greenvale?” Now, suddenly having that journal in her hands meant more than uncovering the mysterious circumstances behind the marine guards’ deaths. It meant keeping in contact with Logan Hess. Once she had nothing to offer him, he’d take off in search of the next clue.

How quickly that feeling had come back—that she had to have something to offer to make someone stick around. She hadn’t learned anything.

“I’ll be here for a few days. I hope to talk to Congressman Cordova myself.”

She brushed a hand across her wet cheek. “Maybe I can reciprocate and buy you lunch while you’re still here.”

“I’d like that.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the big house. “You’ll be okay here?”

“I live here. I’ll be fine.”

Five minutes later, she pressed the piece of paper with Logan’s cell phone number on it to her heart and watched him fold his large frame into the little rental car that looked too small for him.

She lifted her hand as he went around the line of trees and disappeared from view. Then she spun around and dived into Gil’s possessions, returning most of his things to the box.

After packing away Gil’s belongings, checking on the few horses left at the ranch and eating dinner, Lana made some tea and curled up with her laptop.

Her activity had driven Logan from her thoughts—temporarily. She’d better get Logan out of her head—at least until their lunch. He’d be on his way soon, and she’d be among his vague memories and one of many people he’d encountered while trying to clear his commander’s name.

But a girl could dream—or at least do a little investigating on her own.

She powered on her laptop and entered Logan’s name and Dallas, Texas, in a search engine, her eyes widening at the number of articles scrolling down her display. No wonder Logan believed she could just pick up and leave. No wonder he felt a person shouldn’t have to put up with an uncomfortable situation.

Easy for him to lecture her about principles—he had all the money in the world to buy them.

Sighing, she snapped shut the lid of her computer and swept it off her lap. Now she had to try all over again to get Logan off her brain, and after discovering more about him that became even more important. Given Logan’s background and situation, he could never be right for her.

She got another cup of tea and settled back on the couch, this time losing herself in the English accents and costumes of a period drama on TV. As she clicked onto the next episode, frantic banging on her front door disturbed the English countryside.

Knots tightened in her belly. She hoped none of the horses had been taken ill. She kicked off the blanket wrapped around her waist and strode toward the front door.

With her hand on the doorknob, she peeked through the window and her heart skipped several beats as she looked at the tear-streaked faces of Carla and Daniel McGowan. Bruce had better not be on one of his rampages, terrifying the children.

Lana jerked open the door. “What’s wrong, kids? Where are your parents?”

Carla placed a hand on her little brother’s shoulder just like Lana used to do with Gil. “Daddy’s not home. They’ve taken Mama. We hid in the closet.”

Lana’s fluttering heart banged against her chest. She gathered the children toward her and into the house and slammed the door. “What are you talking about? Who took your mother?”

She crouched in front of Daniel and wrapped her arms around his shaking body. Had Dale gotten involved in drugs along with her drinking? Bruce’s wife had been associating with some rough characters in the dive bars she favored.

“I don’t know, Lana.” Carla sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Mama was downstairs watching TV. I heard the doorbell ring and then loud noises when she went to answer the door. When I looked through the banister from upstairs, two men were in the house and they were hurting Mama.”

Lana put a hand to her throat. Dear God, what had Carla witnessed? “Is that when you hid?”

Carla nodded. “I made Daniel get away from the stairs and we hid in the closet.”

“Did these men look for you?” Keeping Daniel by her side, Lana walked backward toward the kitchen and her phone charging on the counter. Carla followed them.

“They stayed downstairs, yelling at Mama. I kept quiet.” She patted her brother’s head. “And I kept Daniel quiet, too. Then I heard the front door close and I couldn’t hear anything else. When we went downstairs, they were gone—Mama, too.”

Lana held up her phone and her hand had only a slight tremble. “Have you called 911 yet? Your father?”

“I couldn’t find Mama’s cell phone and I didn’t want to stay in the house, so we ran over here.” Carla dropped her lashes. “Is that okay?”

“Okay? That’s super amazing. That’s precisely what you should’ve done.” Lana blinked back her tears.

Lana called 911 and told them as much of the story as she could. Bruce might’ve preferred to handle this on his own without the police, especially if one of Dale’s lovers or some drug dealer had her, but he’d just have to suck up the embarrassment on this one. It sounded like Dale was in serious trouble.

“The police are on their way, sweetie.” Lana curled her free arm around Carla’s stiff little body, inhaling the sweet scent from her hair. “You are so brave, Carla. Did you hear what the men were saying to your mama? The police are going to ask you some questions.”

“They kept asking her about a gerbil. Where was the gerbil? Where had she put the gerbil? We don’t have a gerbil.”

“Of course not.” Lana bit her lower lip. That made no sense. “Did you get a look at the men?”

“They had masks on.” Carla formed her fingers into circles and put them over her eyes. “Like when you go skiing and it’s really cold.”

Daniel had been patting Lana on the back, so Lana squeezed him tighter. “Are you okay, Daniel? You’re very brave, too.”

She didn’t want to play favorites.

“They didn’t say gerbil, Carla.”

“What, sweetie?” Taking Daniel’s hand, Lana sat back on her heels. “You didn’t hear gerbil?”

“They didn’t say, where’s the gerbil? They said, where’s the journal? They hit Mama on the face and said, ‘Give us the journal, bitch.’”

Chapter Four

As the sirens wailed their approach, Lana shoved open the gate and pulled her jacket tighter, the gun heavy in her pocket. She’d left Carla and Daniel with a few of the ranch hands at her house. The kids had been afraid to go back to their own house, and she’d been afraid to leave them alone at hers.

And after Daniel’s insistence that the word gerbil Carla heard was actually journal, she’d just been afraid.

She’d tried calling Bruce a few more times, but he’d gone radio silent—probably on one of his own benders, which involved gambling as opposed to drinking—not the best environment for the children.

When the squad cars’ lights illuminated the road to the ranch, Lana stood in front of the gate and waved her arms over her head.

She ran to the driver’s-side door of the first car to roll through the gate. “The house is up ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m Officer Jacobs. You’re Lana Moreno, right? Why don’t you hop in and tell me what’s going on?”

Lana scurried in front of the police car, squinting against the lights and keeping her jacket close to her body so the officer wouldn’t see her gun. She slid into the passenger seat.

“There’s been a kidnapping, Dale McGowan, the owner of the ranch.”

“I know the McGowans. Was Mr. McGowan present?”

“Bruce is out. I haven’t been able to reach him yet.”

Jacobs nodded, his jaw tight.

He probably knew Bruce from a few domestic violence calls they’d received—from Bruce. Dale had been known to throw a vase or two in a drunken rage, and while Bruce didn’t want to air their dirty laundry in public, he also didn’t want to be caught with his pants down if Dale ever did sue him for divorce. He’d wanted to have some ammunition ready in case that day ever came.

Maybe now it never would.

Hunching her shoulders, Lana hugged herself. All because someone was looking for Gil’s journal.

“The kids okay?”

“They’re fine. They hid, although the…kidnappers never made any effort to search the rest of the house for any other family members.”

“Maybe they knew Mr. McGowan was out, and they didn’t want to harm the children.”

“Maybe.” Lana slid a sideways glance at the officer. He’d already landed on his first suspect—the husband. She wouldn’t put it past Bruce to get rid of Dale to avoid the alimony, but not over a missing journal.

As they reached the house, the other squad car pulled up beside them and another car roared in behind them. Jacobs exited his vehicle, his hand hovering over his service revolver on his hip as he turned to face the headlights of the oncoming car.

Lana blew out a breath when the little rental squealed to a stop. “It’s okay. He’s a friend of mine.”

Logan bolted from the car and swooped toward her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Dale McGowan’s been kidnapped.” She leaned toward Logan. “How’d you know about this?”

“I was in the lobby bar of my hotel and word spread like wildfire that there was trouble at the McGowan ranch.” He took both of her hands. “I’m sorry for Mrs. McGowan, but I’m glad it’s not you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Logan squeezed her hands. “What does that mean?”

“Stop! Don’t come any closer.” The officer’s voice cut through their conversation.

Lana spun around to see the ranch hands, Humberto and Leggy, frozen in the white spotlight from the squad car, the kids clamped in front of them.

She disentangled her hands from Logan’s. “These two men are with the ranch. I left them with the McGowan children at my house.”

Both officers approached the ranch hands and when they’d determined the men knew nothing beyond what she’d told them, they dismissed them.

Jacobs cupped his hand and gestured toward her. “Lana, take the kids into the house and sit with them while we question them. Someone was able to reach their father, and he’s on his way.”

Taking a step back, she grabbed Logan’s sleeve. “I need my friend with me, too.”

As she and Logan followed the officers and the kids to the McGowan house, Logan dipped his head to hers and whispered in her ear, “What’s going on? Do you have something more to tell me?”

“Daniel, the boy, said the kidnappers were asking his mother about a journal.”

Logan cursed softly. “Do the police know any of this yet?”

“Not yet, but I’m gonna give ’em an earful.”

The officers gently led Carla and Daniel through an account of what they heard and saw.

Lana gave the kids encouraging smiles as her attention bounced between them and Logan as he wandered around the living room. He sauntered to the grand piano and picked up a framed photograph of Dale McGowan.

He slowly turned toward her, clutching the picture in his hands. He pointed at her and then pointed to the picture of Dale, who could’ve been her sister.

Lana nodded. Her resemblance to Dale had come in handy more than once.

When Daniel got to his part of the story, correcting Carla about the word the kidnappers were repeating, Lana cleared her throat.

Officer Jacobs glanced up. “Do you have something to add, Lana?”

“I—I think I know what might have happened.” She twisted her fingers in front of her. How crazy was this going to sound? “I’m expecting a journal from my brother. H-he died overseas recently. If you know Dale McGowan, you know we look alike. I’m thinking this is a case of mistaken identity and Dale’s kidnappers were really after me…and my brother’s journal.”

Jacobs blinked. “Why would anyone want your brother’s journal to the point of kidnapping and violence?”

“I think it contains some classified information, or information certain people don’t want released.”

Officer Zander, the female officer, pointed at Lana. “I saw you on the news tonight outside of Congressman Cordova’s office. You think this kidnapping is related to what you were talking about on TV?”

Jacobs put a hand to his head as if she’d just ruined his case. “Lana…”

The front door burst open and Bruce charged across the threshold. “Kids? Kids, are you okay?”

Carla and Daniel broke away from the officers and ran at their father, who gathered both of them in his arms. Tears stung Lana’s nose and she rubbed the tip.

Bruce pinned Jacobs with a hard stare over the top of Carla’s head. “They’re not hurt, are they? My wife’s scumbag associates didn’t hurt my children, did they?”

“Your kids are fine, Bruce, shaken up.” Lana stood up, hands on her hips. “Where were you?”

“Who are you, the detective on the case?” Bruce glared at her and shifted his gaze to Logan, his glare turning even icier.

Jacobs stood up, nervously tapping his pencil against a notebook. “The kids ran to Lana’s house, Mr. McGowan. She called 911 and made sure they were safe. Are you saying your wife had…associates who would kidnap her?”

“It could all be a ruse.” Bruce sliced one hand through the air. “Maybe Dale thought this would be a good way to spend a few days away from her home and children.”

“Are you done with the kids, Officer Jacobs? Maybe they should go to bed.” Lana shot Bruce a hard look and ran her finger across her throat.

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