TILL DEATH DO US PART?

When her estranged husband Dylan’s inadvertent dealings with a crime ring bring danger to her doorstep, Grace McIntyre has no choice but to follow him into the witness protection program. To safeguard her children, they must all go into hiding as one big happy family. Grace doesn’t know what’s worse—having to pretend she’s in love with the man who betrayed her trust or keeping ahead of the killers. In hiding, Dylan is all that stands between their safety and certain death. Now more than ever, he wants to be the man that Grace once loved. Keeping his family alive is his only hope—to be a hero and a husband.

“You can either come with me and listen to what I have to say or get ready to be a widow.”

It took only minutes for Grace to get the entire family into the SUV. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace unusual. And public. Preferably with a crowd.”

“You’re scaring me, Dylan.”

“Good. That makes two of us.”

The Botanical Gardens, he thought. There were enough people to provide anonymity. And plenty of places to hide. Dylan sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He looked over at his wife. Watching her, he could barely breathe. Look what he’d had—and let slip away. Grace was one of a kind. Of all the mistakes he’d made, losing her had been the worst.

Grace was a sensible woman. She’d see why his future—and hers—depended on the choices he was about to make.

Now wasn’t the time to reveal how much danger he was preparing to face. The less she knew about that, the safer she’d be.

* * *

VALERIE HANSEN

was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed, she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.

Married to her high school sweetheart, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for all the Love Inspired Books lines.

Life doesn’t get much better than that!

Family in Hiding

Valerie Hansen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

—Mark 10:14

To my Joe, who will always be looking over my shoulder as I write.

He was an extraordinary gift from God.

Contents

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

“Hello? Hello?”

Disgusted, Grace McIntyre slammed down the receiver. “Not funny, Dylan.”

The annoying phone calls had been so prevalent lately she was thinking of changing her home number. If she hadn’t figured that the harassment was coming from her soon-to-be ex-husband, she might have already done so.

She stared out the kitchen window, wistfully watching their children playing in the sunny backyard. At ten, Kyle was the eldest and had clearly been asserting more dominance over his three-year-old brother, Brandon, since Dylan had packed his personal belongings and moved out of the family home for good.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Grace murmured, desperately yearning to convince herself she’d had no choice but to file for divorce once she’d discovered Dylan’s sinister character.

Her gaze rested on seven-year-old Beth, their middle child. The pretty little red-haired girl had grown so moody and weepy Grace was at a loss. Not that Beth was the only one shedding tears over the breakup of the McIntyre marriage. The difference was Grace had done her grieving in private, hoping to protect the children’s tender emotions.

“Apparently, I haven’t done a very good job,” she told herself with a sigh.

The estrangement had not been sudden. She and Dylan had been drifting apart for a long time before she’d felt the undeniable need to act. If the problem had been another woman in her husband’s life, Grace believed she could have coped. But it wasn’t. Dylan worshipped the god of money, of privilege, and would do anything to succeed, even if his actions meant others had to suffer—as she had sadly learned.

She dried her hands on a tea towel and turned from the window. Being personally neglected was nothing compared to facing the painful truth about her husband’s underhanded business practices. His lack of remorse over what he had done had revealed Dylan’s true colors and had broken her heart. The man was bright. Clever. There was no way he could have been handling the paperwork for shady adoptions and pushed through falsified documents without realizing exactly what was going on.

The aspect that had really thrown her was his easy admission of involvement. He’d acted as if he’d expected her to accept his actions as necessary and to be proud of him for bringing home hefty bonuses for bending the law. How could she have lived with that man for twelve years and have so totally misjudged him?

She blinked back tears and whirled as the back door slammed.

“Mom! Brandon’s eating dirt!” Kyle shouted. “Beth told him it was a cookie.”

“I did not.” Muddy hands fisted on her hips, the little girl stomped her foot. “I was just playing house. I didn’t know Brandon was going to eat anything I made.”

If Grace hadn’t been so downhearted to begin with, the scene of her two carrot-topped kids standing nose to freckled nose and trying to stare each other down would have made her laugh out loud. They had her stubborn streak, all right. And the twinkling blue eyes of many of their Irish ancestors. Add the McIntyre genes to that and you had a volatile genetic mixture.

Grace held up both hands. “Okay. Simmer down. Is Brandon still eating the dirt cookie?”

Beth shook her head. “No. I took it away from him.” She glared at her older brother.

The smirk on Kyle’s face reminded Grace of Dylan. Then again, pretty much everything did. The house they had spent a fortune remodeling was wonderful, yet not a day went by that she didn’t rue her failure to ask him how they could possibly afford all the expensive improvements.

“You two go wash your hands while I get the baby and clean him up. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I want peanut butter and jelly,” Kyle said.

His sister made a face. “Ugh. That’s all you ever eat. No wonder your face looks like a peanut.”

“Does not!”

“Does so,” Beth countered.

Grace clapped her hands to get their attention. “That’s enough.” She pointed to her elder son. “You go use the upstairs bathroom,” she told him. “Beth, you use the one off the guest room. And no muddy messes, you hear? I want those sinks spotless when you’re done.”

Beth waited until her brother had started to turn away, then made a face and stuck out her tongue.

Grace had to smile. Kids. What would she do without them?

There had been times, particularly lately, when she’d questioned every choice she’d made since her marriage—except when it came to deciding to have children. It wouldn’t be easy raising them alone. She’d have to find a job and probably sell the house. But they’d get by. Even if Dylan was out of the picture, she knew he’d still help support them. He had never been stingy.

“Unless he ends up in prison for what he did,” she muttered, stepping into the yard in search of her three-year-old.

“Brandon? Where are you?”

Although he didn’t answer he was easy to find by following the sound of his giggles. Standing on tiptoe, he was splashing in a concrete birdbath, clearly delighted as water flew in all directions.

“Well, at least you’re cleaner than I expected,” Grace said, scooping him up from behind and carrying him toward the house with the wettest, muddiest parts turned away from her green silk blouse and designer jeans.

She kicked off her sandals at the door and carried the little boy to the kitchen sink where he obligingly held his hands under running water.

His giggling was infectious. “You are one dirty kid, you know that?” she said between soft laughs.

“Kyle helped me,” the child replied.

“I’m sure he did.”

Grace reached for paper towels to dry off her youngest. Kyle had never been an easy child and the older he got, the more he tested her patience. He had been acting even worse since Dylan had sat everyone down and told them he was leaving. Beth had wept and Brandon had sniffled. Kyle, however, had merely stood there, jaw clenched and eyes flashing, glaring at his parents.

The boy was angry. Grace understood. She wasn’t pleased with the way things had worked out, either, but there was no way she’d ever be able to forgive her husband for always putting his work before his family no matter how much they needed him at home.

Dylan had had a good job with a prestigious law firm and had been on his way up the corporate ladder, just as they’d planned, but somewhere along the way he’d lost sight of the underlying reasons for his hard work. And now? Who knew? It wasn’t only that he’d destroyed his own future, he’d ruined his entire family’s, too. Thrown it away as if none of them had ever mattered as much as making a lot of money.

It was always the money, first and foremost. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d fed the children, then eaten a burned dinner alone because Dylan had been too involved in some hot-shot business deal to bother to come home as promised.

Truth be told, her husband had been absent so often there was little difference between their present situation and the times when he’d still lived there.

Grace sighed. That wasn’t quite true. Back then, she’d always had hope he’d eventually show up. Now she knew he was gone for good. And once their divorce was final, probably the only times she’d encounter him would be when he picked up the kids on visitation days.

“Well, it is what it is,” she murmured, setting her youngest at her feet and taking his hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go get you some clean clothes before lunch.”

“I want a boy cheese sandwich,” Brandon said, making his mother smile at the inside joke. He’d mistaken the word “grilled” for “girl” and had refused to eat the melted cheese sandwiches until Dylan had realized the problem and changed the name of the toasted treat.

“Okay,” Grace said. “I’ll cook you a boy cheese and Beth can have a girl cheese.”

Kids. No matter how heavy life got, they were always able to lift her spirits and remind her that the most important job she had was being a mother.

The telephone began to ring again.

Grace ignored it.

Kyle rounded the corner into the kitchen and passed his mother at a run. “I’ll get it. Maybe it’s Dad.”

“Well, if it is, tell him I’m busy.”

The boy’s enthusiastic expression twisted a figurative knife in Grace’s stomach as he snatched up the receiver with a breathless, “Hello? Hello, Dad?”

Grace saw Kyle’s expression sober. Heard him say, “Nah. He’s not here.”

She paused. “Who is it?”

Kyle was hanging up. “Some guy. He said he wanted to talk to Dad.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure he can reach him at the office if it’s important.”

The child’s cheeks were rosy, his eyes wide. “I hope not. He sounded real mad.”

“How could you tell? What did he say?”

With a quick shake of his head, Kyle answered, “No way. If I talked like that you’d wash my mouth out with soap.” He eyed the phone. “That was one scary dude.”

* * *

Dylan had spent the previous week in custody, being interrogated by local police as well as the U.S. marshals and FBI. By the time he’d learned enough to accept his own culpability, he’d been forced to accept the wild claims of the former missionary who had recently broken the disturbing truth to him by telephone. He was in deep trouble, legal trouble, and it looked as if there was no way out other than to confess and ask for mercy.

“Look, I’ve already told you,” Dylan insisted, facing the authority figures who kept asking the same questions over and over. “I don’t know anything about any kidnappings. I had no idea there was anything criminal about where those babies came from. For the most part, the paperwork was impeccable. I certainly had no indication a crime was involved in the cases where there were some minor omissions.” He stared at the St. Louis police detectives and other nearby officers, willing them to understand the rationale behind his prior behavior.

Like it or not, the fine line between merely doing his job versus being an upstanding citizen had blurred over time. Finding himself on the wrong side of the law had triggered an unwelcome surge of well-deserved guilt and had led Dylan to do some serious soul-searching.

“Did you tip somebody off?” one of the detectives asked.

“How could they have? You’ve had me isolated ever since you picked me up.”

“Then why were there were no records of any of the questionable adoptions in your office files by the time we convinced someone there to look for them?”

Dylan frowned. “There weren’t?”

The dark-haired young woman who had been introduced as U.S. Marshal Serena Summers shook her head. “No. None. Can you explain why that is?”

“No.” Dylan was truly at a loss. “Are you sure?”

Nobody laughed at his ridiculous question, leaving him with the disappointing conclusion that someone had disposed of any incriminating evidence. That was that, except...

He cleared his throat, determined to make his interrogators take notice. “Look. It doesn’t matter what happened to the originals. I have copies of everything that passed through my hands regarding those adoptions you’re asking about.”

“Where?”

“In my office. I can go get everything you need.”

“And you expect us to let you waltz out of here, just like that?”

“If your people couldn’t locate my private files, I’m the most logical one to retrieve them. Otherwise, they might disappear like you claim the other records have.”

“He has a point,” a detective offered. “Once we have to actually serve the subpoena, all the suspects will be alerted.”

“I still don’t like it.” Marshal Summers shrugged beneath the padded shoulders of her tailored jacket. “However, if he’s willing to sneak back in, I don’t see any reason to prevent his trying to help us. We can post men in the lobby and pick him up when he comes out.”

“I really do want to make amends,” Dylan said with feeling. “As long as no one suspects me of working with the police, I can’t see any problems, can you?”

“Actually I can see plenty,” the lead detective grumbled. “But it’s the Feds’ call. If you want him to go, I’ll agree to release him to you.”

That was how Dylan ended up back at his apartment to change clothes and shave before being escorted to his office at Munders and Moore, L.L.C., via taxi.

In retrospect, he felt it was possible that at least some of the clues might lead back to Frederick Munders’ wife, Matilda, who ran Perfect Family Adoption Agency. The puzzle was how an overtly open and honest woman like her could have gotten involved in baby stealing. It didn’t make sense. That was a big reason why Dylan hadn’t suspected the risks to his own conscience until he was in way over his head.

Thoughts of his three children brought somber reflection. How devastated those other parents must feel to have lost custody of their babies! When he’d believed that the adoptions were voluntary, he’d had no trouble bending the rules to expedite transfers of guardianship. Now, however, he knew better.

Straightening his tie and running a palm over his dark hair to make sure he was presentable, he left his plainclothes escort and entered the modern high-rise containing the law offices where he was ostensibly still employed. As long as nobody asked him what he’d been doing on his recent days off he figured he’d be okay.

He mopped his brow with a linen handkerchief before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his custom-tailored blazer, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the fourth floor.

Everything seemed quite ordinary when he disembarked. The firm’s prim receptionist merely nodded to him as he passed, while clerks and paper-pushers overlooked his passage the way they usually did when they were busy.

Dylan’s private office was bigger than a cubicle but far smaller than that of his boss or the other senior partners. He paused in the doorway, taking care to avoid attracting undue attention, then sidled through and quietly shut the door behind him.

Nothing seemed to have been disturbed until he crossed to a filing cabinet and opened it. Everything pertaining to the adoptions the police had asked about had been removed. It hardly mattered that the files were gone, however, because it wasn’t the actual paper copies the police needed, it was the private background information they contained. That, he could provide.

Going quickly to the golfing trophies atop his bookcase, Dylan unscrewed the base of one of them and withdrew a USB flash drive from a hollow space. His hands were shaking so badly he had trouble reassembling the award properly but he managed to cobble it together enough to withstand a cursory inspection.

Pocketing the drive, he wheeled and headed for the door. All he could think of was getting out of there ASAP.

He’d almost reached the elevator when he heard someone shout a gruff, “Hey!”

The doors slid open with a whoosh. Ignoring the urgent-sounding summons, Dylan stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

His last glimpse through the closing doors was of a uniformed security guard. The man had a hand on the butt of his holstered gun and was hurrying toward him.

It didn’t matter why the guard was alerted or who might have questioned his presence. All Dylan could think of was escaping. He punched other buttons, hoping he hadn’t been too late to override his original selection.

Slowing, then coming to a smooth stop, the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. The number two was still lit on the panel, so Dylan paused rather than disembark on three. A normal person who was being chased would get off as soon as possible and take to the stairs. Logically, so would the guard who had missed the elevator. Therefore, he had to think of some other way to elude his pursuer.

By the time Dylan reached the second floor the answer had come to him. There was a back entrance to the building’s barber shop with a stairway leading to and from the street. It was meant for tenants only, particularly for attorneys who wanted to avoid lurking reporters and other nuisances. This time, it would be his escape route.

He pounded down the concrete steps and burst out onto the busy sidewalk, quickly moving away. Made it!

When he thought about delivering the flash drive, however, he realized he had inadvertently ditched his covert police escort when he’d fled from the guard. There was no way he dared backtrack at this point. Worse, he looked every bit the professional man that he was. If someone from Munders and Moore really was after him it would be hard to hide. Not only were the police going to be looking for him soon, lots of people around there knew him on sight, too.

Reaching for his wallet, he wished the police had seen fit to return his cell phone so he could at least call for help. He ducked into a drugstore to buy sunglasses and whatever else he could find that would alter his appearance. He was paying for the glasses and waiting for the clerk to cut off the tag when he spied the answer to his unspoken prayers.

A young man wearing a tattered red St. Louis Cardinals jacket and cap stepped up behind him at the register with a bottle of soda in hand.

“A hundred bucks for the jacket,” Dylan said, flashing a bill as proof and shucking his navy-blue blazer.

The youth began to grin. “Twenty more gets you my hat, too.”

“Done.” Dylan handed over the money as well as his own expensive coat and tie. “Here. Take these. I won’t need them.”

“How about my shoes?” the guy asked.

Dylan ignored him and told the salesclerk, “Keep the change,” donning the silky red jacket as he raced for the door. By the time he was outside he had put on the sunglasses and pulled the bill of the cap low over his forehead.

Now what? He knew he should immediately hail a cab and return to the authorities so they wouldn’t think he was trying to pull a fast one and get away from them.

Yes, he would go back. Soon. But there was something even more important to do first. He had to talk to Grace in person. To explain why he’d done what he’d done—and how he was determined to make amends. Somehow.

Granted, it probably wouldn’t make any difference to her at this point, particularly because he’d have to tell her he’d been in police custody, as well. Yet he desperately wanted her to know how penitent he was and that he was already aiding the authorities as best as he could.

That kind of truth had to be conveyed face-to-face, Dylan decided. There was no way he could ever convince Grace of his change of heart over the phone. Even looking straight into her eyes was no guarantee of success. But he had to try. He simply had to. Her opinion of him mattered more than anyone else’s and if he waited until after he’d turned over the flash drive he might not get that chance to speak with her privately.

Lacking an available taxi, he boarded a bus and took a seat. Just as the driver was pulling away from the curb, several more security guards burst from his office building and gathered on the sidewalk, talking into handheld radios and gesturing as if making plans for his capture. They might not know why he’d visited the office but they certainly seemed upset about it, meaning that someone must have an idea what he was after, despite not being aware of his secret files.

Dylan lowered his head to hide beneath the bill of the cap and used his hand to block the rest of his face.

His kids would be getting out of school soon and Grace would take Brandon with her to pick up Kyle and Beth. It was the only time he could be certain of catching her away from home—and away from the authorities who probably already had the family home under surveillance since he’d just given them the slip.

Gripping the back of the seat in front of him he watched the downtown pass and the suburbs begin. Almost there. Almost to his Gracie.

The thought of her pet name sobered him even further. He’d tried to be a good husband, yet his efforts had never seemed sufficient. It was just like when he was growing up. There was never enough of anything. Dylan had vowed that that would never happen to his family and it had not.

What about now? His jaw clenched. Now, his greatest desire was to stay out of jail—and to see that his loved ones were safe and well cared for. Even if his efforts to make amends were going to place him in jeopardy, he was certain his family would be safe. After all, he was no longer living at home or taking an active part in their daily lives so there was no reason for anyone to bother them, other than perhaps the police.

If he hadn’t been positive that God had given up on him long ago, he might even have closed his eyes and prayed for divine help. It was hopelessness, and well-deserved guilt, that stopped him.

* * *

Grace parked in the shade across from the school and released her three-year-old from his booster seat. His pudgy little arms encircled her neck and he hugged her tightly, inadvertently pulling her long red hair as she lifted him.

“Ouch,” Grace said with a smile and a toss of her head. “Easy, big boy.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too, Brandon. Just try not to pull Mama’s hair, okay?”

“Okay.” He leaned back and pointed. “There’s Beth.”

“I see her.” Toting her youngest, Grace crossed to the lawn in front of the elementary school where they joined her daughter. “Have you seen Kyle?”

“Nope.” Beth reached into her pink backpack and pulled out a handful of papers. “I got an A in spelling. And look what I drew.”

“Very nice, honey.”

“It’s me and you and Daddy and the boys,” the girl said proudly. “See? I gave Kyle an ugly face ’cause he’s always so mean.”

Grace did her best to ignore the child’s telling portraits. Not only was the family still complete in her daughter’s eyes, she’d noted the chip on Kyle’s shoulder.

It wasn’t hard to spot her eldest. His red hair stood out like a lit traffic flare at an accident scene when he left the main building and started in her direction. Then he paused, pivoted and ran right up to a total stranger.

The man crouched to embrace the boy, setting Grace’s nerves on edge and causing her to react immediately. She grabbed Beth’s hand and pulled her along while still balancing Brandon on one hip.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

The figure stood in response to her challenge. The brim of a cap and dark glasses masked his eyes, yet there was something very familiar about the way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint shadow of stubble on his strong chin.

Grace gaped. It couldn’t be. But it was.

“Dylan?”

He placed a finger against his lips. “Shush. Not here. We need to talk. Where’s your car?”

“Across the street. Why? Where’s yours?”

“I took a bus. It’s a long story.”

When he removed the glasses, Grace was startled to glimpse an unusual gleam in his eyes, as if he might be holding back tears—which, of course, was out of the question, knowing him.

“If you want to speak to me, you can do it through my lawyer the way we agreed.”

Dylan replaced the glasses and spoke decisively. “This has nothing to do with our divorce. It’s much more important than that.”

Grace’s first reaction was disappointment, followed rapidly by resentment. “What could possibly be more important than our marriage and the future of our children?” She knew her raised voice was attracting attention but she didn’t care. “This is precisely why I filed for divorce, Dylan. You have always put other things ahead of your family. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’m beginning to realize that my priorities need adjustment, but that’s not why we have to talk. In private.”

“What could you possibly have to say to me that can’t be said right here?” She knew her husband well enough to tell that he was struggling with something and, in spite of her anger, she felt a twinge of pity.

“Let me put it this way, Grace,” Dylan said quietly, cupping her elbow and leaning closer. “You can either come with me and listen to what I have to say or get ready to save a bunch of money because you probably won’t have to pay your divorce attorney.”

“Why on earth not?”

Dylan scanned the crowd and clenched his jaw before he said, “Because you’ll be a widow.”

TWO

It took only minutes for the McIntyre family to return to the family’s midsize white SUV. Grace secured little Brandon while Dylan made sure the other two were safely belted on either side of the toddler’s booster seat in the second row.

“If you want me to drive, I’ll need your keys,” Dylan said.

“Why? What happened to yours?”

“The same thing that happened to my briefcase and cell phone,” he replied, holding out his hand.

She pulled a ring of keys from her jeans’ pocket and tossed it to him. “Okay. But this better be good.”

He nodded. “Get in and buckle up.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace unusual. And public. Can you think of any nearby locations you and I have never visited?” He started the car and pulled into traffic, narrowly missing a passing motorist. “Preferably one with a crowd.”

“You’re scaring me, Dylan.”

“Good. That makes two of us.”

With an eye on his mirrors as well as the road ahead, Dylan headed west on Highway 44. “How about the botanical garden? You used to say you’d like to go there sometime and we never got around to it.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Grace set her jaw and folded her arms across her chest, clearly defensive. “I suppose you’re going to make me wait until we get there before you explain what’s going on.”

He met her stare and angled his head back toward their children. “I think that’s for the best. Once I’ve told you everything, I know you’ll agree I’m doing the right thing.”

“I’d better.”

Continuing to cut in and out of traffic whenever it was safe to do so, Dylan remained on full alert. Not only were criminals probably after him, so was the law. He knew he shouldn’t have ditched his handlers but once he’d reached the street outside his office, his heart had insisted he go straight to Grace and his children while he was still free to do so.

He caught sight of Kyle in the mirror and his gut clenched. If Grace was upset, their son was doubly angry. The boy’s brow was furrowed and he was glaring at his father as if he’d already forgotten how glad he’d been to see him.

The turnoff on Shaw Boulevard took them straight to the Missouri Botanical Garden. “What section?” Dylan asked, attempting to keep the concern out of his voice. “I understand the irises are in full bloom right now.”

“No,” Grace replied with an audible sigh. “Make it the Children’s Garden. That will give the kids something to do and we won’t have to stay long. I think they close early this time of year.”

“Okay. You go buy the tickets and I’ll bring the kids.”

Watching her shoulder her purse and slowly start toward the entrance, Dylan could barely breathe. Look what he’d had—and let slip away. Grace was one of a kind. A loving wife and a great mother. Of all the mistakes he’d made, and there were plenty, letting his work take precedence over his family had been the worst.

It was more than that, his guilty conscience insisted. You let yourself be blinded by the promise of success and wealth beyond your dreams. And now look where you are.

Straightening with Brandon on one hip and the older children close at heel, Dylan started for the entrance to the gardens. Judging by the number of cars present they had made a good choice. There were enough others there to provide anonymity without a crowd overwhelming them. And, if necessary, the gardens would provide plenty of places to hide.

Dylan sincerely hoped it was not going to come to that. If he’d had the slightest inkling that they were being followed he would have driven straight to the nearest police station and turned himself in.

However, since they seemed to be in the clear for the present he was going to carry out his plan. Grace was a sensible woman. She’d see why his future—and hers— depended upon the choices he was about to make. Given the lives those criminals had ruined and the children they had kidnapped, according to the police, he could hardly wait to help put them all behind bars.

Finished at the ticket booth, Grace turned back to her family. Dylan saw her hair catch the rays of the afternoon sun and gleam like burnished copper, afire with highlights that gave her a haloed appearance and made him rue the poor choices that had led them to that moment.

As much as he would have liked to appeal to his alienated spouse on a personal level, he realized that this wasn’t the right time to reveal how much trouble he was in and that he was preparing to face danger.

The less she knew about all that and the more he nurtured their estrangement, the safer she, and his children, would be.

* * *

Hardly anything would have surprised Grace more than her husband’s presence at the elementary school. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Dylan had picked up the kids. So what had brought him this time? And why was he dressed like a refugee from a Cardinals’ baseball game?

She held up the brochure she’d been given with the tickets and pointed to it. “Let’s go to number ten. It’s an elevated pavilion. We can stand up there and watch while the kids check out the tree house and the frontier fort.”

“Works for me.”

Grace led the way, noting that her usually rambunctious children were clinging close to the daddy they hadn’t seen in weeks. Although she felt slightly abandoned she could understand their feelings. They’d missed Dylan. So had she. Not that she’d ever actually admit it.

They started up a boarded walkway that was edged with a rough-cut rail fence and Grace wished she’d worn more substantial rubber-soled shoes rather than skimpy sandals.

She faltered once, catching herself on the bordering fencing.

“You okay?” Dylan asked.

Why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he be standoffish and aloof the way he used to be?

Because he’s trying to drive you crazy, her imagination replied cynically. And he’s doing a wonderful job of it.

“Grace?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

They reached the covered pavilion. Grace turned to her family. “Put Brandon down so he can go with Kyle and Beth.”

The three-year-old clung to his daddy’s neck. “No. I wanna stay here.”

More tenderly than Grace had ever seen Dylan behave in the past, he set the child on his feet and kissed his damp cheek. “I’ll be right here, buddy. You go with Kyle and your sister. Mommy and I need to talk.”

The child clapped his hands over his ears and sniffled. “I won’t listen. See?”

Kyle took him by the wrist and tugged him away, letting Beth follow at her own pace while Brandon began to whimper. Grace couldn’t tell what the older boy said to quiet his brother but the whining stopped as if someone had shut off a faucet.

“All right. We’re alone,” Grace said. “The park closes in forty-five minutes. I’ll give you thirty to tell me what’s going on and then the kids and I are out of here.”

Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of the silky jacket and paced away from her before turning. “It’s complicated. I hardly know where to start.”

“Maybe I can make it easier for you,” she said wryly. “I already know you were up to your neck in illegal adoptions because the police interviewed me about it. What more can there be?”

“Plenty,” Dylan said, swallowing so hard she could see his Adam’s apple move. “And it’s much worse than I’d thought. Learning the truth is what finally decided it for me.”

“Just wanting to be an honest, upright citizen wasn’t enough for you?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Dylan admitted, “although I’ve since had a long talk with myself and I promise I’ll never step that close to the line again.”

“Close? Ha! You were balancing on the sharp edge of a knife blade, Dylan. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall off onto the wrong side long before this.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. If I had it all to do over again I hope I’d make better choices.” He studied the planks at his feet. “When it all began it seemed innocent enough. My part in it was technically within the law.”

“Then why are we having this talk? What’s changed?”

“I have,” Dylan said. He removed the dark glasses and looked straight at her.

Grace was taken aback by the pain she saw in his expression, in his eyes. If they had not had the history of the past twelve years between them, she would have believed him in a heartbeat. “Why?”

Watching his internal struggle, Grace was almost tempted to go to him and put her arms around his waist. She resisted. Waiting. Listening. Never dreaming he’d have anything earth-shattering to reveal.

When Dylan said, “Because the children involved came from a baby-stealing ring,” she had to put a hand on the railing to keep her balance.

“Babies?”

It was barely spoken aloud, yet Dylan nodded. “Yes. I just found out. That’s why I decided to volunteer to provide the proof the police need to put a stop to it.” He paused. “I was hoping you’d be pleased.”

“Flabbergasted is more like it,” Grace said, glancing over his shoulder to watch her own children play. “I can’t even imagine what those poor mothers went through.”

“I can. I spoke with a friend of one of them on the phone. She got involved when she was a missionary in Mexico. The authorities are still trying to trace a baby she swears was taken, brought to the States and sold.”

“That’s terrible!”

“There’s more.” He reached for her hand and she let him grasp it for a few seconds before pulling away and folding her arms.

“Go on. It can’t get much worse.”

“Yes, it can. One of the men who had been trying to silence her—his name was Flores—was arrested and then murdered. In jail. So the authorities are no closer to nailing the higher-ups than they were before.”

A heaviness settled in her chest. “You know who they are, don’t you?”

“I have a fair idea about one or two. There’s still a lot of legwork to do but I think I’m the key. So do the cops.” He put his hand in his pants’ pocket and pulled out the flash drive to show her. “This is why I’m not in custody today. I was picking up this evidence for them.”

“Now what?” With a shiver she couldn’t stop, Grace began to scan the nearby grounds as if sensing imminent threats.

“I keep a low profile and wait, I guess. Once I’ve turned over these files to the cops they won’t need me anymore.” Dylan snorted derisively. “Of course I’ll have to find another job. I doubt my bosses will condone my change of heart.”

“Will you be safe?”

“Don’t tell me you care.”

“Of course I do. The kids are already struggling to adjust because you’re not in their lives. What will it do to them if you go to prison?”

“I don’t expect that to happen,” Dylan said. “At least I hope it won’t since I have something crucial to plea bargain with.”

“Does anybody else know you have evidence?”

“Not directly. I was noticed when I went by the office this morning but my regular files had been cleaned so nobody can possibly imagine what I was doing.”

“You hope.” Grace’s emotions were on a rollercoaster and she could envision a precipice at the end where the track vanished. And Dylan with it.

She started to pace. “What am I supposed to do about the divorce if you’re not around?”

“Go ahead without me,” Dylan said. He shrugged so nonchalantly she wanted to scream before he added, “Of course you could postpone the final decree and see if you really need it.”

“Because you expect to be murdered like that other witness who was killed in jail? Is that what you were thinking when you said I might become a widow?”

“Let’s just say there’s an element of risk.”

His nonchalant attitude galled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Dylan. If you don’t care about yourself, think of your children.”

“I am thinking of them. And of all those other children whose futures changed because of me.” He began to pace the gazebo floor, hitting his opposite palm with his balled fist.

“What, exactly, did you do?” she asked, worried that the answer was going to hurt worse than not knowing. Merely being associated with Dylan at this point was making her feel sullied.

“The fewer details you have, the better,” he said.

“Now you’re sounding like the Dylan McIntyre I know,” Grace countered. “Always in charge, always sure nobody else is smart enough to grasp fundamentals as cleverly as you do.”

Returning to stand in front of her, toe to toe, he grasped her shoulders. The power and resolve emanating from him momentarily took her breath away. “Stop judging me by past performances and listen to me, Grace. I only came to tell you in person because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me otherwise. I’m not going to give you any more details because I don’t want to put you or the kids in danger.”

“How do you know it isn’t already too late?” she asked, ruing the tremor in her voice and hoping she looked far more courageous than she felt.

“Because everybody knows we’ve been estranged for a long time and are almost divorced. And, because nobody needs to know how the authorities are finally going to be able to prove who I answered to, why I did what I did.”

She twisted out of his grip. “Get real, Dylan. If these criminals are smart enough to steal babies and get away with it, what makes you think they won’t suspect you of divided loyalties?”

She watched his jaw muscles working for long seconds before he spoke again. “I have no choice,” he insisted. “Even if I tried to back down at this point there’s no way I could go to work and behave as if nothing has changed. It was hard enough to casually walk through the office this morning.” He spread his arms, palms toward her. “Look at me, Grace. Believe how sorry I am. You have to.”

Before she could form a suitable answer, there was a startling noise; a distant ping that made her husband jump.

Dylan suddenly launched himself at her, carrying them both to the wooden floor and knocking the air out of Grace. “Get off me! What’s the matter with you?”

“A shot! Didn’t you hear it?”

“I heard something. How do you know...?”

“The kids!” he rasped into her ear. “Go get the kids out of here while I draw their fire.”

Stunned, Grace nevertheless rolled onto her knees as soon as Dylan began to stand. Watching him crouch behind the railing as if those widely spaced boards would afford adequate protection from another bullet, she was astounded by the way her heart went out to him in spite of everything.

“Now,” Dylan shouted over his shoulder.

He began to sprint away.

Grace scrambled in the opposite direction toward her children. Kyle had apparently noticed the furor and had gathered his siblings together inside the walls of a miniature fort. Brandon was cooperating but Beth was screeching in protest.

Grace scooped up Brandon, grabbed Beth’s hand and barely paused before heading out the opposite side of the child-size structure and ducking into thick foliage along a garden path.

Shaking so badly she could hardly stand, she hunkered down, pulling all three children close. “Shush. We’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t make noise or they’ll find us.”

Only Kyle seemed to grasp the reality behind her actions. “Where’s Dad?”

“Never mind that. Just do as I say.”

The slim ten-year-old started to rise. Grace grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back down. “No! You have to stay with me.”

“But, Dad...”

“Your father got himself into this mess and he says he can get himself out of it, so we’re going to let him.” She fixed her most convincing parental stare on her eldest child, thankful to see him wilt from its effects.

What she wasn’t willing to admit, to Kyle or even to herself, was how worried she was for Dylan’s well-being. For his future. And for the rest of the family.

Positive her brood would stay put, at least for the present, Grace reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out her cell phone and pressed 9-1-1. Somebody had to be practical and behave like a sensible adult. While Dylan was acting as if he thought he could outrun bullets, she was going to summon proper assistance.

As soon as the call was answered, Grace began with, “I’m at the botanical gardens. We think somebody is shooting at us!”

* * *

Dylan was torn. Should he circle back to rejoin his family in the hope he could protect them? Or should he stay as far away from Grace and the kids as possible? Neither choice seemed foolproof.

He’d been listening carefully and had heard no more shots. Was it possible the whole incident had been imagined? Was he so mentally unbalanced from the stress of finding out what he’d done that he was hearing things? Ducking phantom attackers? Making a mountain out of a molehill?

His jaw clenched and he shook his head. This was no trivial matter. Even if his own life wasn’t currently in jeopardy, that didn’t mean he and his family would remain safe in the future. Nobody who had interrogated him had mentioned the possibility of going into the Witness Protection Program but surely that was an option. It had to be, particularly since other erstwhile eyewitnesses had been assassinated while in police custody.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should withhold his evidence until that idea had been discussed and his wife and children had been offered sanctuary.

The distant wail of sirens told him he had not been the only garden visitor who had sensed trouble. In a way, that was comforting. At least he could be certain he hadn’t imagined the attack.

Dylan stepped onto the nearest path and started to jog toward the gates, figuring to intercept the police, explain what was going on and direct them to Grace and the kids.

Rounding the final corner he spied several patrol cars entering the grounds. He raised an arm and waved to get their attention.

A crack of sound split the atmosphere.

Dylan felt as if someone had smacked his forearm with a baseball bat.

He faltered. Staggered. Grabbed his wrist with his opposite hand and yelled, “Over here!” at the top of his lungs.

When he looked down, there was blood dripping off his fingers and dotting the path at his feet.

THREE

The wail of multiple sirens settled Grace’s nerves considerably. Nevertheless she waited until she spotted a man in a police uniform before she stepped out to show herself and the children.

“You the lady who called this in?” the crew-cut officer asked.

“Yes.” Grace pointed at the gazebo. “We were right over there when we were shot at.”

“You and these kids?” He sounded incredulous.

“No. Me and my estranged husband. He’s around here somewhere.”

“You sure it wasn’t him who took a potshot at you?”

“It couldn’t have been. We were together when it happened.”

“What does your husband look like? How was he dressed?”

“He’s taller than you by a couple of inches,” she reported, failing to add that Dylan also looked far more masculine and mature. “He was wearing a red baseball jacket and cap.”

“You’d better come with me, ma’am.” Taking one last assessing look at their surroundings, he was apparently satisfied enough to holster his sidearm. “This way.”

“Have you seen him? His name is Dylan McIntyre. I’m Grace.”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe he’s in the parking lot with some of my team.”

“Is he all right?”

When she got no answer, she grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Tell me? Was he shot?”

“I really can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“We’re almost there, Mrs. McIntyre. He can tell you himself.”

Breath whooshed out of Grace’s lungs. If Dylan could talk, then he was at least alive. At that moment she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him for surviving or to smack him for exposing his family to such danger. Actually, doing both sounded best.

She and the slim officer cleared the exit gates together. Three patrol cars, one black van and an ambulance were parked at intervals, with the police situated closest to the gates.

Grace’s rapid scan of all the vehicles led her attention to the open rear doors of the ambulance where Dylan was being treated. He had removed the silky jacket and rolled up the right sleeve of his white dress shirt. The closer she got, the better she could tell that there was blood staining the cuff.

She stopped and turned to the closest person, a young woman wearing a tailored suit and mirrored glasses. Her dark hair was pulled back severely and Grace could see part of a holster peeking out from beneath her jacket.

“Excuse me,” Grace began, waiting for a smile she didn’t get, then continuing despite its lack. “That’s my husband over there and I don’t want to scare the kids. Could you watch them for just a few minutes so I can go punch him in the nose?”

That candid comment brought a twitch of mirth to the other woman’s face. “Only if you leave some of him for me and my partner.” She offered her hand. “U.S. Marshal Serena Summers. The guy over there hovering behind the paramedics is my partner, Marshal Josh McCall.”

“Dylan’s in a lot of trouble, isn’t he?”

The marshal nodded. “How much do you know already?”

“Only that he helped arrange some adoptions that weren’t strictly legal.” Grace lowered her voice to speak more privately, hoping the children couldn’t overhear. “He just told me some of the babies they placed were stolen. Can that be true?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case. Maybe we can talk later, after Mr. McIntyre finishes giving us an official statement.” She motioned to a nearby uniformed officer. “Put these kids in the van and show them all our whistles and bells. Keep them entertained and see that they stay put until I finish up out here.”

Grace frowned at her. “Hold on a second. I just wanted you to watch them while I talked to my husband, not take them into custody.”

“It’s for their own good. You want them to be safe, don’t you?”

“Of course, but...”

“Then bear with me, Mrs. McIntyre. May I call you Grace?”

“You know my first name?”

Marshal Summers nodded sagely. “Actually, I probably know more about you and your family than you do.”

“Why does that not make me feel all warm and fuzzy?”

Giving a subdued chuckle, the marshal glanced at her and smiled. “I like your attitude. Reminds me of myself.”

Grace mirrored the smile, partly in reply and partly because she wanted to put her children at ease. “It’s okay,” she told them, primarily concentrating on Kyle. “You can be in charge until I’m done checking on your father.”

“Is—is he okay?”

“You can see for yourself. He’s sitting right over there talking to the ambulance attendants. Now go with this policeman and be good for him, hear?”

The child’s nod was reluctant, yet sufficed.

“He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?” Marshal Summers asked as they walked away.

“Kyle’s hardheaded, all right. Just like his daddy.”

“What about you, Grace?”

“Me? Why?”

“Do you see yourself as resilient and flexible?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never pictured myself exactly that way but I guess the description fits.”

“Good.”

Grace was concentrating so hard on Dylan as they approached the ambulance, she almost failed to notice that her companion and the other marshal both circled behind her as if making themselves into human shields.

Her eyes narrowed. She stared at her almost-ex-husband, willing him deliver an honest answer when she demanded, “What in the world have you gotten us into?”

Although Dylan looked pale, he managed a contrite smile. Now that the medics had removed his glasses she could see the weariness in his eyes, not to mention the odd way they glistened. “I had to do it,” he said with evident remorse.

“To deserve all those big bonuses. I know. You told me about it often enough.”

Dylan was shaking his head. “No, honey. I don’t mean before. I mean now. I can’t walk away from this. I have to work with the police to try to stop the kidnappings.”

“Of course you do.”

His gaze left her and settled on the marshals. “You haven’t told her what’s up, have you?”

“Not yet. Nothing will be settled until we get a look at the files you just gave us.”

Grace clenched her fists and almost stomped a foot. “Will somebody please explain before I go ballistic?”

“It looks like I’ll be going into witness protection,” Dylan said. “I’m sorry. They say it can’t be helped.”

“But, if they have your files, why do they need you?”

“Because I can swear to their authenticity, among other things,” he said. “Hopefully, I won’t be gone too long.”

“What about the kids? Kyle is already beside himself over the divorce. If you drop totally out of his life, I don’t know how he’ll handle it.”

“I’ll try to call him often.”

Marshal Summers spoke up, shaking her head. “No, you won’t. There will be no outside contact. None. That’s how the program works.”

Frustrated, Grace threw up her hands and made a throaty, angry sound. “Well, at least you won’t be able to harass me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Dylan looked so puzzled it gave her pause.

“The daily phone calls. I know it was you. It had to be.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” He looked to McCall. “Did you have our phones tapped? If so, you can vouch for me.”

“Sorry. Those odd, incoming calls were from a burner phone, the kind you can buy almost anywhere, use once, then throw away.”

“But there were multiple calls? Grace isn’t exaggerating?”

“These past few days there were,” the marshal said. “The caller didn’t speak until this morning when your son answered.”

Dylan frowned at Grace. “What happened?”

“Kyle was embarrassed to repeat what he heard,” she said. “The guy apparently cursed. A lot.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

“Why should I? I thought it was either you or a friend of yours, trying to unnerve me.”

Sighing, he slowly shook his head, then bowed it. “How did we get to this point, Gracie? What did I do to give you such a low opinion of me?”

“Try consorting with criminals, for starters,” she snapped back. “I don’t know you at all anymore. Maybe I never did. For the kids’ sake I’m sorry that you have to disappear, but I can’t say I’m going to miss finding out more about your misguided career choices.”

A light touch on her arm from Marshal Summers diverted her attention. “Mrs. McIntyre—Grace. I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. The divorce will be final soon and the kids will get over missing their daddy eventually. If I had any doubts that I was doing the right thing, they vanished when I found out what Dylan has been involved in.”

“I’m not talking about your divorce. I was referring to the need for you and the children to enter witness protection, too.”

“Us? Why? I didn’t even suspect any of this until the police interviewed me a week ago. I told them then that I wasn’t involved. I’ve had nothing to do with Dylan for months. And before that he kept his business practices to himself. Now, I know why.”

“Nevertheless, you met with him today and were present when he was shot. Whoever is responsible for this attack has no way of knowing you aren’t culpable, too. If you’re not worried about your own safety, think of your children.”

Shock was too mild a word to describe Grace’s feelings at that moment. This whole scenario was the stuff of nightmares. She knew what the other woman was saying, yet her mind refused to accept it. There was no way she was going to leave everything behind and just up and vanish. What about her friends? Her mother and ailing father? Her church family? The kids were relatively happy and doing well in school. Kyle played soccer after school Thursdays and Beth was just getting interested in team sports.

Squaring her shoulders, Grace faced the marshals and said, “No. I’m sorry. We won’t go.”

McCall spoke aside into a radio.

Several uniformed police joined them.

Grace’s arm was grabbed and cold metal encircled her wrist with a click. She stared in disbelief. They were arresting her!

* * *

“There is one other way we can handle this,” Marshal Summers said, looking pointedly at Grace after the entire group was settled inside the van. “Participation in WitSec is voluntary for adults.”

Dylan knew where this conversation was going and waited for the explosion of his wife’s temper. There would surely be one. When their children were involved, Grace was as protective as a mother tiger. He saw her brows arch, felt so much tension emanating from her it was almost palpable.

Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, you can refuse to be relocated. However...”

“Why am I getting the feeling you’re about to add something I’m not going to like?” Grace asked.

Serena Summers gave a slight shrug. “We do have some room to maneuver when it comes to juveniles. A judge can rule that said juveniles be made wards of the court for their own good and be forced into witness protection.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re threatening to take my children away from me?”

“Not exactly. You’re welcome to stay with them wherever they go. But rest assured, Mrs. McIntyre, they are going.”

Observing Grace’s face, Dylan saw myriad fleeting expressions come and go, ending with resolve. She raised her chin and stared at the marshals. “Then so am I.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to see things our way, ma’am,” Marshal McCall said, sounding relieved. “It will make our task much easier.”

“I’m not doing this for anybody but my children,” Grace insisted. She glared over at Dylan. “Naturally, we won’t be housed together, particularly once the final divorce decree comes through. And the quality of the schools will have to be at least as high as the one Kyle and Beth attend here.”

“Of course.”

It occurred to Dylan to wonder how many witnesses tried to dictate terms to the U.S. marshals in charge of their relocation. His guess would be very few. Nor did he think it likely that the authorities would comply with Grace’s demands, particularly since she was simply collateral damage rather than an actual eyewitness to the crimes against children that they’d uncovered.

He wisely kept his opinions to himself. The time would come when Grace would have to take whatever accommodations were offered and be thankful, no matter what. It didn’t take much imagination to figure that her ire would then be directed toward him.

Dylan didn’t care. All he could hope for at this point was that his loved ones would remain unharmed. Enough innocent victims had already suffered for his mistakes.

He had no secret death wish, yet he’d made a solemn decision when he’d realized he’d been shot. If he had to pay with his life for his sins, then so be it. Anything, as long as his family was safe.

“I’ll need to pack, of course,” Grace said, organizing her thoughts and making mental lists of all the things she’d have to do before she’d be ready to leave St. Louis. “I suppose we can have the kids’ school transcripts forwarded later.”

Marshal McCall cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you can’t go home again, Mrs. McIntyre.”

“What? But I have to. There are a hundred things I need to see to—canceling the newspaper delivery, stopping the mail, calling my friends to say goodbye. Everybody at church will want to pray for us, and I’ll need to touch base with my mother, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her jaw dropped. She looked into each of their faces, finally settling on Dylan’s. “You knew all this, didn’t you? That’s why you came to see us. You wanted to fix it so we’d have to run off with you.”

It made no difference that her husband was shaking his head. She didn’t believe him.

“Well, it’s not going to work,” Grace declared. “I don’t care how much trouble you’re in or how many government agencies interfere in my life, I am never going to change my mind about you or about the divorce. It’s too late for us, Dylan. Way, way too late.”

Added to that declaration was her intense disappointment in his character. While they’d been married, she had mistakenly put her trust in him. Had accepted his excuses and explanations without question, over and over again, until she’d become numb to his lies.

Well, that kind of naïveté was in the past. She was wise to Dylan’s tricks. He was never going to be able to fool her again.

Leaving her friends and former life was going to be hard, yes, but not nearly as difficult as it had been to accept the truth about the husband she had once idolized, then take the necessary steps to sever their relationship.

It had nearly killed her spirit when she’d finally given up and filed for divorce. Now, in spite of the ongoing heartache, she was glad she had done so. The more distance she could put between Dylan and their children, the less his warped sense of right and wrong would exert a negative influence upon them.

The kids had to come first. As their only respectable, upstanding parent, she owed it to them—no matter how great her personal sacrifice.

One fleeting glance at Dylan told her it was going to be huge.

FOUR

By the time the paramedics had finished bandaging Dylan and had given him an injection of antibiotics, his arm was truly throbbing. It had occurred to him to wonder why it hadn’t hurt when he’d first felt the bullet’s impact. The ambulance attendants had explained that the initial shock had temporarily deadened the area.

They fashioned a sling, passed a prescription to one of the marshals and had him sign a release before they packed up and left.

Inside the black van, plans were in the making. He sat back and listened as best he could while battling the distraction posed by his pulsing arm. He’d put on a brave front for his wife and children but was rapidly approaching the moment when he was either going to have to take a pill or lie down. Or both.

He shifted his position, hoping to find relief. Instead, a stab of intense pain made him wince. And, of all people, Grace noticed.

She stared and scowled. “I thought that was just a flesh wound.”

“Still hurts,” Dylan admitted. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not how it looks to me,” Grace said, transferring her attention to Marshal Serena Summers. “Can’t you give him something for it?”

“We will. As soon as he’s been properly debriefed,” Summers said. “We’re taking you to a safe house until we can process your paperwork and arrange for permanent transfer. Do you have any friends or family in Texas?”

Grace shook her head. So did Dylan.

“In that case, we’ll proceed as planned.”

Dylan could tell by the expression on his wife’s face that she was already having second thoughts. When she said, “Hold on a minute,” he figured the marshals were in for a talking-to.

If she had not been cradling Brandon, Dylan knew Grace would have jumped to her feet in confrontation mode. “This safe house. If we go there, where will you put Dylan?”

“In the safe house,” McCall answered.

“Not with us, you won’t.”

Dylan was afraid both marshals were going to laugh, particularly when Grace made a disgusted-looking face at him. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have been ready to join them.

“Mrs. McIntyre,” McCall said calmly, “it’s our job to protect you from criminals. We’re not marriage counselors or psychologists. We will provide accommodations that will keep you and your family safe. I suggest you stop thinking of yourself and start considering your children.”

The look of abject astonishment on Grace’s face was a sight to behold, one Dylan knew he would not soon forget. In the following moments she went from amazement to anger, then to resignation and finally penitent surrender.

Nodding, she said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I suppose he’ll behave since his arm is hurt.”

The bullet wound was not the only place Dylan was hurting. He cast sad eyes on his wife and slowly shook his head, taking care to move the rest of his body as little as possible. “I have never abused or even threatened you, Grace, and I’m not about to start now, with or without a bullet hole in my arm.”

“I never said you had.”

“You implied it.” He heaved a noisy sigh. “Look. I made some big mistakes and I’m paying for them. I don’t deny that. But what I did, I did for you. For our family.”

“Don’t try to put the blame on me,” she countered. “I never told you to lie or steal or whatever else you did.”

“You were always happy when I brought home those hefty bonus checks.”

“Because I didn’t know what you were doing to deserve them! You...you...”

Marshal McCall stepped between them. “That’s enough. Both of you. You’ll have plenty of time to argue once we settle you in the safe house. Right now, we need to transfer the children and their mother to one of our cars for transport.”

Dylan was about to ask about himself when Grace did it for him.

“He stays with us until we’ve finished asking questions and have turned his computer files over to our techs to make sure they’re what he promised,” McCall answered. “Then, if all goes well, he’ll join you.”

The expression on Grace’s face was cynical when she said, “I can hardly wait.”

In Dylan’s mind the same sentiment lurked. Only in his case, sarcasm was not involved.

* * *

Grace had no idea where a younger marshal was taking them, nor did she ask, although Kyle did pipe up once to object to their not going home. As long as she and her poor, tired babies were safe she didn’t really care. Not tonight, anyway.

Picturing tough, belligerent Kyle as a babe made her smile. He’d been such a sweetie—until his sister had come along and he’d ceased being an only child. Conversely, when Brandon had arrived, Kyle had acted delighted to have a brother on his side against the females of the household.

That ratio was normally two to two since Dylan was so seldom in the picture. His absence was one of the things that saddened her, although, in retrospect, she was glad her estranged mate had not had as much direct influence on their children as she’d had.

If her parents had been able to cope she might have called upon her own father to step in as a surrogate, but he had developed Alzheimer’s and was so far gone he didn’t even recognize his wife and caregiver these days. Male relatives on Dylan’s side of the family were nonexistent. His late mother had raised him by herself, meaning there had never been a father figure in his young life.

Perhaps that was the crux of his problem, Grace mused. And, if he’d chosen a role model from work, perhaps someone like his boss, Fred Munders, he’d probably been looking in the wrong place. She wasn’t positive, but since Fred’s wife ran an adoption agency, she wondered if good old Fred might be up to his neck in this mess.

The unmarked, black sedan approached a modest-looking, darkened house on a quiet, suburban street. The driver parked in front of the closed garage door and started to get out.

“So, this is it?” Grace spoke quietly to keep from disturbing her exhausted, dozing children.

“Yes, ma’am. Please stay in the car until I tell you it’s safe to get out.”

“We weren’t followed, were we?”

“Only by an unmarked police car, and he turned off just before we arrived so we wouldn’t draw attention.”

“How long will I have to stay here?”

“Until McCall or Summers tells you to move,” the driver said. “You need to trust them. They’re good at what they do.”

“I certainly hope so. What are my instructions? Do I just go in the house and wait? How will I know what’s going on in the outside world? And what about school for the older kids? Classes were almost over for the summer but I know they’re missing final exams.”

“All of that will be taken care of. Wait here,” the driver told her as he got out of the car.

Grace watched as he raised the overhead door, returned and pulled the car into the garage. He then moved to a side entrance to the house, unlocked the door and, pulling his gun from a shoulder holster beneath his coat, slipped into the silent house.

Grace’s fingers clenched in her lap. If this place was so safe, why did he need to inspect it with a gun in hand? What had Dylan gotten them into? The more she learned, the worse the situation became. Unfortunately, at this point, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it, either.

The agent returned. She thought he was talking to himself until she realized he was taking a hands-free phone call as he opened her door and helped her out.

“Yes, sir,” he said into the headset. “Forty-five minutes. I’ll get them settled and be ready when you arrive to relieve me.”

“Was that your boss?” Grace asked, more for something to chat about than out of curiosity.

The agent nodded and replied as he unbuckled Brandon and handed him to her before freeing Beth. Kyle undid his own seat belt. “Yes, ma’am. Marshal McCall will be here shortly.”

And that meant...? “Him and who else?”

“Mr. McIntyre and Marshal Summers, I believe.”

Grace mumbled, “Peachy,” belatedly noting that Kyle had observed the telling reaction. Well, too bad. She had tried more than once to explain to the children why she’d filed for divorce and had basically failed, or so it seemed. Of the three, Kyle remained the most antagonistic, which figured, since he was the oldest. The boy was ten going on thirty, thanks to having mentally tried to assume the responsibility for the family that his father had neglected for so long.

“Kyle, honey, I’ll need your help with Brandon,” Grace said, hoping that assigning him a task would help her son cope. “Would you please take him to the bathroom and get him ready for bed while I look after Beth?”

“Yeah, sure. Where is it?”

“Just head down that hall and you’ll find everything you need,” the young marshal said, pointing. “Clothes in a lot of sizes are in the closet and bureau drawers of the first bedroom. Just grab whatever you think you’ll need.”

Grace had progressed as far as the kitchen. It was neat and clean, but so very tiny. There wasn’t even a dishwasher! How in the world was she supposed to keep house properly in a place like this? And who was going to tend the yard for them?

“How long can we expect to be stuck here?” she asked.

The officer shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve seen these protection programs go on indefinitely. But you won’t be staying here. This is just a halfway house. A place to stage before you disappear for good.”

“That kind of thing really works? I can’t imagine that a determined criminal couldn’t track down just about anybody he wanted to, especially if he had enough money. What are the chances we’ll be found?”

“Small, as long as you follow the rules.”

Picturing Kyle in particular, she asked, “What happens if somebody cheats?”

He appeared to be weighing his answer carefully before he sobered and said, “Sometimes they die.”

* * *

Getting the incriminating flash drive into the right hands had definitely been a relief to Dylan. It was going to feel even better to be reunited with his family—the sooner the better.

Recorded questioning at headquarters didn’t take long and he was finally given something to help dull the pain in his arm. As he had hoped, turning over the computerized files had led the authorities to halfway trust him. Besides, considering the grilling he’d received in the past few days, there wasn’t anything more to add. Evidently, law-enforcement officials had realized that and were cutting him some slack because he was hurt. Now, if he could just get Grace to do the same....

As the pain subsided and he started to relax, his eyelids grew heavy and closed. He was half-asleep, slouched in a chair and cradling his arm, when he heard his name in the background.

One eye eased open enough to peer at the marshals who had been watching him. The woman, Serena, was obviously upset and not shy about letting on.

“What do you mean it’s gone? I gave it to you.”

“I know you did. And I put it into an evidence bag and tagged it right away. You saw me.”

“Then where is it?”

Dylan noticed her sidelong glance in his direction before she said, “You’ll have to search him again, just in case.”

“He didn’t take it. He can’t have. He hasn’t moved a muscle since you gave him his meds.”

“Just the same, it can’t have gotten up and walked off.”

“Around here?” McCall snorted in derision. “I’m beginning to wonder. Too many witnesses have died in custody for me to believe that all these setbacks are coincidental.”

“You think there’s a mole in the office?”

“Don’t you?”

Dylan saw her shrug before she said, “I don’t know what to think. Look what happened to my brother, Daniel.”

At that, McCall stiffened and turned away from her. Strange, Dylan thought, peering at the others and wondering if his confusion was due to the pain meds or if the situation was so convoluted he couldn’t have made sense of it if he’d had his wits about him. Either way, their personal squabble was none of his concern. He had enough problems of his own at the moment.

McCall crossed to him and stopped, his arms folded in a stern, defensive manner. “McIntyre. Stand up,” he ordered. “Sorry, but I need to search you.”

“I don’t have that drive anymore and you know it,” Dylan said, dismayed to hear his words slurring as an effect of the medication.

“Well, I know I put it on my desk and it’s not there now, so you’re our best guess.”

“Why would I take it back? Think about that for a second.” Wincing, Dylan managed to stand although he was wobbly and had to use his good arm to steady himself on a nearby file cabinet.

“Yeah, I know,” McCall told him, sounding truly regretful. “This search is just so we can rule you out.”

“You should ask some of the people I saw milling around in here while you were fighting with your partner.”

“We weren’t fighting.” He started to methodically check Dylan’s pockets. “Who did you see near my desk?”

“Um, can’t say. Sorry.” Dylan rubbed his good hand over his face, trying to clear his mind of cobwebs. “Everybody was kind of blurred, like they were in a fog.”

“Did you see uniforms? Badges? Jackets with U.S. Marshal printed on the back?”

“I don’t think so. Everybody wore street clothes, like you and your partner.” He paused, taking a shaky breath and hoping to regain some of his equilibrium. “So, who’s Daniel and what happened to him?”

The ensuing pause was so long Dylan began to wonder if the man was going to explain.

McCall cleared his throat and continued with the search. “Daniel was one of us. Marshal Summers’ brother. He was killed in the line of duty. You probably read about it in the papers. The story was all over the news right after it happened.”

“If my mind was working normally tonight I’d probably remember,” Dylan said. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.” The marshal backed away. “You can sit down again. I’m done. You don’t have it on you.”

“That’s what I told you in the first place.” Sinking into the chair with an oomph, Dylan fought to catch his breath as the pain ebbed and flowed in time with his pounding pulse.

“I don’t suppose you made a backup copy.”

“Sure did,” Dylan said, shooting a disparaging look at the marshal. “And I gave it to you.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” McCall conceded. “Okay, we may as well take you over to the safe house since there are no files for our techs to examine right now.”

“I can’t remember all the adoption cases,” Dylan warned. “Don’t even ask me to. That’s why I kept those records.”

“Understood. But whether or not we find other evidence, you’ll still be needed to testify.”

“You are determined to get me into more hot water, aren’t you?”

“You’re already in up to your neck and plenty close to a boil,” the marshal gibed, helping him to his feet. “Come on. Summers and I’ll take you to your family.”

Dylan was medicated just enough to loosen his tongue. “I haven’t got a family,” he slurred. “I lost ’em. Lost ’em all, just like that.” A feeble attempt to snap his fingers failed and he staggered, nearly falling until the marshal righted him.

“Easy, man. I know how you feel but it won’t do any good to lose sleep over it. Some things are beyond fixing.”

“You sound like you know all about that.”

McCall nodded as Summers joined them. Dylan saw him look straight at her as he quietly said, “Yeah, I do.”

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