The SOS Agency grants one Navy SEAL his most personal mission yet...

Home on leave at his family farm, Navy SEAL Cooper Johnson receives an unexpected assignment: to protect a beautiful socialite on the run from her abusive ex. Grieving his kid sister, a brave cop killed in the line of duty due to a faulty bulletproof vest, Coop is in no mood for work—until he meets Meg Taylor. Soon, he finds that riding the land, lovely Meg safe beside him, is a surprising comfort to his heart. But when he discovers Meg’s dark past—and the evidence she possesses that her ex would kill to keep buried—it will take both the cowboy and SEAL within him to get the ultimate justice.

This was a man who wouldn’t hurt her. Every bone in her body sensed this. He would die before raising a hand to strike her.

Perhaps even die fighting to keep her safe from others who did. Cooper Johnson was a Navy SEAL who had sacrificed much for his country, and his code of honor extended far beyond his military service.

In the end, he broke the kiss, drawing in a deep sigh, the blue of his gaze darkened. Trembling, Meg stared up at him, licking her lips.

He pressed a finger against her wet mouth.

“Don’t do that. Makes me want to kiss you all over again.”

“What’s stopping you?”

A rueful grin touched his own mouth. Cooper tugged at the jeans that obviously felt too tight. “A certain something that’s urging me to do more than kiss you.”

* * *

We hope you enjoyed this exciting installment in the SOS Agency miniseries!

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t want a sexy cowboy Navy SEAL to come riding into her life to save her from the villain?

Meg Taylor doesn’t.

Meg is a wealthy, but penniless, woman on the run from an abusive ex-husband who controls all her money. Meg wants justice, but the last thing she wants is hunky Navy SEAL Cooper to protect her.

Cooper Johnson is on leave from the Navy and takes Meg in as a favor to Jarrett Adler, whose SOS underground railroad promises Meg safe shelter. The troubled beauty shatters all his barriers and threatens the one thing he fears most—losing his heart.

Domestic abuse is a crime that is too often hidden in the shadows of real life. Many women are afraid to leave their abusive partners. In past travels for my day job, I’ve met poor women who were battered and abused by their husbands, and I’ve worked with nongovernmental organizations that aid these victims. When the survivors have the means to leave their abusive homes and start a new life, their transformation is a wonderful thing to behold. They blossom like sunflowers, always looking upward at the light, instead of at the darkness of their past.

Meg and Cooper were two characters I enjoyed creating: a heroine and hero who deserve their happy ending. I hope you enjoy their love story—one of courage and loyalty, and learning to have faith in each other.

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

Shielded by the Cowboy Seal

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

*New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BONNIE VANAK is passionate about romance novels and telling stories. A former newspaper reporter, she worked as a journalist for a large international charity for several years, traveling to countries such as Haiti to report on the sufferings of the poor. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband, Frank, and is a member of Romance Writers of America. She loves to hear from readers. She can be reached through her website, bonnievanak.com.

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In memory of Lora Celmer-Donato,

who couldn’t escape.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The late-autumn snowstorm promised to be a killer and her car was dead.

Fat flakes swirled lazily in the wind outside the battered 2010 sedan. A curtain of darkness had fallen, turning the pretty country road ink black. She should have checked the battery before leaving Florida. Certainly it would have saved her from being stranded here on a lonely stretch of New Hampshire road.

Meg August—no, she was Meg Taylor now; the “August” part of her life was back in Palm Beach with her soon-to-be ex-husband—tried the engine again. Nothing. She turned and looked at her traveling companion. “Well, Sophie, looks like we are up a particular creek without a paddle or a life raft.”

Woof!

Snug inside her pink-and-black Louis Vuitton dog purse, Sophie licked her hand. Shivering, Meg patted the dog’s head. She’d stopped to let Sophie out for a rest break and the car had died. The icy rain had turned to snow, but not before soaking her blue suede jacket. Perfect for chilly nights in south Florida. Not so perfect for this.

Meg removed the wet jacket and tossed it onto the backseat. Clad only in a thin yellow sweater and black linen trousers, she kept shivering. She went to rub her arms and winced.

Her left arm still felt tender. Prescott’s fists had landed there two weeks ago, shortly after she confronted him about her discovery that he’d shipped out defective body gear manufactured by Combat Gear Inc., the company she’d founded to provide quality, low-cost body armor to US soldiers and law enforcement personnel. Not only did he authorize the shipments months ago, but he’d filed the incorporation papers for Combat Gear Inc. with her first and middle initials, Margaret Elizabeth, and her maiden name, Franklin, as the CEO.

She was the one responsible for any deaths resulting from use of those vests. She had to make this terrible wrong right.

Prescott disagreed. When she’d threatened to call the authorities, he beat her. The bruises were myriad rainbow colors instead of black. She could silently endure his growing rages.

But she would not stand for others getting hurt because of her product.

She’d called her former college roommate, Lacey Adler. Asking for help was the hardest thing she’d had to do since burying her grandmother a week ago. Lacey told her about her charity that helped women flee their abusive husbands.

She’d asked for a safe house in New England, and Lacey had given her directions to a remote farmhouse in New Hampshire. Cooper Johnson, a Navy SEAL friend of Lacey’s husband, Jarrett, agreed to give her shelter through Project SOS Securities, his security firm.

Cooper would give her a place to stay with Sophie as long as she needed. She’d be safe. Coop, as he was called, was great with dogs.

Meg hated relying on strangers. But she needed a hiding place until she could obtain the proof that Prescott knew the body gear was defective.

If Prescott didn’t find and kill her, the New England storm surely would.

Now, they were parked alongside a dark road, no one in sight. She glanced down at her fashionable clothing. Perfect for leaving Palm Beach and avoiding suspicion from any of her neighbors.

Not so perfect for braving the chilly temperatures of the north. She tried turning the ignition again. Nothing.

After putting Sophie on the backseat, Meg climbed over the console and joined her. She reached for her grandmother’s antique quilt, her most precious possession, and wrapped it around them both. Sophie wagged her tail and licked Meg’s face, as if to offer reassurance.

Shivering, she curled up next to Sophie, the cold spiking her body like steel nails, and said a little prayer for some kind stranger to find them.

And not her soon-to-be ex-husband.

* * *

Cooper “Coop” Johnson rubbed the shoulders of the quivering mare. “Easy, girl,” he murmured.

Betsy was going on thirty, and had a mild case of colic. Colic had already killed one horse on the Sunnyside Farm, and he wasn’t about to see his baby sister’s favorite mare succumb to it. He walked her around the barn, mindful of her arthritis, rubbing her down, hoping the heavy blanket would help.

Jarrett, his former squad leader from the teams, had asked him to give refuge to a woman in trouble. Coop agreed because he would do anything for his ex-boss, but family came first these days. He’d taken leave from the Navy to help his mom run the bed and breakfast while her sister’s family visited relatives in Oregon. Mid-November was the slow time, so his aunt, uncle and their three sons decided to combine a family wedding with a much-needed vacation while Coop helped out with the farm and inn.

They’d closed the inn after his oldest sister, Brie, had died. Fiona, his mother, had reopened it two months ago, but with the approaching winter, only a few guests had registered. Keeping horses was expensive. Summer boarders helped pay for food and overhead. Those boarders had packed away their mounts into shiny trailers and headed south.

Probably to Florida, where it was warm.

Or Palm Beach, where it was warm and wealthy, where his assignment was supposedly traveling from.

Meg. He didn’t know anything about her, other than the photo Jarrett sent and the fact that she lived in wealthy Palm Beach and she needed a place to stay while her divorce was being finalized.

No one would take her in because her dog was vicious and bit people.

Jarrett said Meg’s money was all tied up until the divorce and she couldn’t afford a pet-friendly hotel. Coop doubted she was in trouble. The photo Jarrett sent showed a brunette woman who looked like a beauty queen dripping in diamonds. But it wasn’t his place to judge, just give her shelter.

All Jarrett had told him was that Meg had a dog that Coop needed to train. He refused to share anything else out of respect for Meg, who was supposed to arrive six hours ago.

Maybe she had to stop somewhere to buy the dog a prime rib dinner.

Coop stopped walking Betsy and placed her in the stall. “Good girl,” he crooned.

His sister had had a way with animals, and could always make Betsy better.

Betsy nosed around, looking for the carrot Brie had always placed there as a treat. Coop’s throat tightened. He stroked her withers.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can’t eat yet, not until you get over this colic.”

Betsy whinnied.

“I know,” he whispered, laying his head against the horse. “I miss her, too. But I promise, I’m going to do everything she would have to get you well again.”

Giving her a final pat, he headed outside, pulling up the collar of his faded sheepskin jacket. Dark storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the night had turned wicked cold.

Inside the house, he went into the private family living room and found his mom sitting by the fireplace in the rocker Brie had always liked to use when she was home. Fiona glanced up, lines furrowing her brow.

“How’s Betsy?” she asked.

“Better.” Not exactly a lie, but he wasn’t going to worry his mom any more than necessary. “Horses are all fed, bedded down. They’ll be fine. And the guests?”

“They left a while ago. They wanted to get a head start away from the storm. I refunded the rest of their stay.”

Cooper wanted to protest, but his mother’s warning look stayed him. “Why?” he asked.

“Return business is important, Cooper. I didn’t want them to think we put our guests’ safety last and money first.”

It sounded like a wonderful principle, but it wouldn’t pay the bills. They were okay for now, but the first payment on the refinance of the farm was due soon.

Not to mention the costs of burying Brie...

He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. Sabrina was only twenty-six when a stray bullet pierced her body armor. She’d been responding to a routine domestic disturbance call with her partner. The husband shot them both, but Brie’s partner wore the standard departmental body armor.

He lived.

Brie died.

Cooper had purchased the armor especially for his baby sis when she started working as a beat cop in dangerous areas of the city. He didn’t want her having the standard body armor the department issued. He wanted the best.

Now Brie lay six feet under, and Combat Gear Inc., the company that produced the defective gear, kept rolling in profits. He would hire a lawyer to sue, but the company’s owner, M. E. Franklin, probably had enough money to purchase a cruise ship filled with attorneys. Coop had googled his name, but found nothing. He seemed a total mystery.

All he’d found so far was that the bulletproof vests were invented by Randall Jacobs, vice president of Combat Gear Inc. Coop had done a little more checking and found out the man owned a posh summer home on a lake near here. Once he got over some of his grief, maybe he’d pay the man a visit.

He studied his mother, worried about the purple shadows beneath her eyes. Today had been a tough day. Federal authorities had opened an investigation at last into Brie’s death after someone tipped them off about the faulty bulletproof vests. He’d sent the family lawyer to give a statement to the Feds and the media.

Dredging up Brie’s death had opened old wounds. For all of them.

Fiona’s warm brown gaze sharpened as she looked up at the antique clock on the fireplace mantel. “Isn’t your guest overdue? I made up the cottage with fresh linens and blankets, and stacked firewood.”

Coop stiffened. “I thought she could stay at the inn.”

“She has a vicious dog. Better if she stays in the cottage.” His mother gave him a knowing look. “With you.”

Uh-oh. He recognized that spark in her eye. “No. Maybe for the night, but, ah, no. I can find a place for the dog.” He flexed his hands in their worn leather gloves. The cottage behind the barn, with a fabulous view of the White Mountains, had been Brie’s retreat.

“Brie would approve of a woman in trouble staying there,” Fiona said in her gentle way. “You can’t keep that house as a memorial to your sister, Cooper. You have to let go sometime.”

“It hasn’t even been six months.” He went to the fireplace to warm his chilled body. “And I’m not sure how much trouble this Meg is in. She lives in Palm Beach and she’s rich. She looks like a spoiled beauty queen.”

“Don’t judge. Your friend Jarrett vouched for her. Isn’t that enough?”

Guilt pinched him. Coop turned around with a sigh and squinted at the now-darkened skies. “I’ll try calling the number he gave me for her cell phone.”

But after dialing it, it kept ringing. Fat flakes of snow began to fall as he paced the porch. Coop pocketed his cell and went inside.

“I’d better go look for her.”

“Call me when you find her.” Fiona always worried ever since Brie’s death.

“Of course.”

Gathering several blankets, he tugged his wool Stetson low over his brow, pulled up his collar and went outside. A blast of icy air slammed into him, sending a chill snaking down his spine. Cooper climbed into the Ford pickup and started the engine.

Damn nasty night to be outside. Maybe the princess had decided to sightsee and didn’t have the foresight, or the courtesy, to phone and let him know she’d be delayed. But as he drove through the increasing snowflakes, worry niggled him.

Coop knew his irritation masked a greater emotion—grief. It was far easier to give way to anger than to examine the winking light of deep grief that had gripped him since they’d lowered Brie into the ground. He’d refused to cry, held back the tidal wave of sorrow so he could stay strong for his family.

Focus. It was what had gotten him through missions with the team and brought him home alive time after time. He squinted as the truck’s headlights barely pierced the thick gloom of snow.

If she’s decided to hole up in some ritzy hotel and I’m out here for nothing, I’ll really be pissed.

But the same tingle that skated down his spine grew stronger. Gut instinct. Had saved his butt a time or two before on missions, so he never ignored it.

Instead of continuing down the main road, he turned off the side road that was a shortcut leading to the farm. Jarrett had given Meg directions, a disposable cell phone that couldn’t be tracked, and the fastest way to get to the farm. If Meg used this road and her car had broken down by chance, she’d be doomed because only locals used the shortcut.

And most locals were smart enough to be snug at home, curled up by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate, not riding around in a late-autumn blizzard.

He drove for two miles and was nearly ready to give up when he spotted an older model white sedan parked by the roadside. It looked deserted, but the tingle down his spine intensified.

Cooper parked behind the car and got out. A blast of icy wind slammed into him, slicing his cheeks like tiny darting needles. Damn, that was cold! The snow had stopped and turned to freezing rain. Driving on these roads was gonna be hell, but the truck was steady and he knew this turf.

His sole concern focused now on the occupant of the car. Using his Maglite flashlight he always carried in the truck, he shone light into the car.

A slender woman and a dog lay on the backseat curled up beneath a quilt. Neither responded as he opened the door. The dome light overhead didn’t even turn on.

Damn it! Cooper was glad she’d had the sense not to lock the car doors. He checked her vitals. Alive, but groggy, suffering from the early stages of hypothermia. He gathered her into his arms. His heart raced. She was so tiny and fragile. Storms blew in fast in this region, and what started out as a sunny day could quickly turn into bone-chilling temperatures.

He surveyed the fashionable, ankle-length black suede boots, thin trousers and light sweater. Dressed for a cocktail party, not the northern climate.

The woman, barely conscious, moaned as he picked her up and placed her into the back cab of his truck. Coop covered her with the thick wool blankets, slammed the door shut with the heater running, and returned to the sedan.

A small brown-and-white dog lay on the seat, looking half dead. Its fur was clipped short in a puppy cut and its eyes were closed.

A sparkling rhinestone collar with a heart pendant ringed its fat little neck. Next to it was a fancy-looking dog purse with a gold monogram that looked expensive enough to feed his horses for the next three months.

Despite the freezing rain dripping down his neck, Coop stopped and stared. “This is the vicious killer? I had stuffed animals more ferocious.”

Sheesh.

He gathered the dog into his arms and raced to the truck, placing the dog gently on the seat next to Meg. Then he made a quick call to Fiona, assuring his mother he’d found Meg and would return home shortly.

Coop cranked up the heat to full blast, then climbed into the backseat. He removed his jacket and wrapped the dog in it until it resembled a furry burrito.

Had to get this wet clothing off Meg. With a murmured apology, he removed her damp sweater, trying to avoid looking at her breasts, but it was tough. She had lovely breasts, full and generous, and a lacy red bra that was mouthwatering.

Focus.

As he went to drape her in a blanket, he saw enormous yellow and blue bruises on her arm.

Cooper went still. Rage boiled inside him. He gently touched one and heard her moan. Cooper pulled her upper body into his lap and tucked her hands between his thighs, knowing that area held the most warmth.

Yeah, it was doing wonders for his groin, but he’d survive.

Her eyes fluttered open. Green as the Caribbean he loved for scuba diving. Confusion flickered in her irises, then she blinked and panic set in. She tried to pull her hands from between his thighs.

“No,” she whispered. “No, please don’t make me do that. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

Jaw tightening, he forced her hands to remain between his legs. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now, but you’re in danger of getting hypothermia.”

Had to get her back to the cottage, get her warm before the storm got worse. Cooper gently disentangled himself from Meg. The little dog looked up, whined. She’d feel safer with the dog in her arms. As Cooper reached out for the dog, the animal growled.

And promptly bit his hand.

Chapter 2

Such delicious warmth.

Meg slowly opened her eyes. She’d been back at the car, Sophie curled beside her, wondering how they would survive the storm and not freeze to death. The cold had pierced her bones like icy knives.

And then she’d closed her eyes, trying to keep her dog warm by holding Sophie tight. The nightmare had been too real. Sophie, kicked out of the house by her husband, wandering the streets during a south Florida cold snap. Curling up in a doorway to stay warm, whimpering and afraid, confused as to why her owners had abandoned her...

She drove, as she had in the past when it really happened, searching the streets for her beloved dog. But this time during the nightmare, a handsome stranger picked Sophie into his arms and scowled at Meg, as if blaming her for Sophie’s condition.

Now as she stirred, she became aware of lying in a warm bed, blankets piled atop her. A lamp glowed softly on a nightstand.

Meg realized she wore only panties and a bra.

And in addition to being half-naked, there was a hard male body next to her, also half-naked. Panic swept through her. She startled and moved away, but a strong, muscled arm hooked around her waist.

“Relax,” a deep male voice said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The voice was strange, tinged with amusement and a New England accent. The body belonging to that accent was hardened with thick muscle, not soft with fat like Prescott’s. She became aware of the scent of him, all cedar and spicy aftershave, a pleasing masculine smell, not the fancy and expensive cologne disguising the vodka Prescott had consumed far too much lately.

“Get away from me,” she mumbled. “Why are you doing this?

“No one dies on my watch, Princess, and you were entering hypothermia. Body heat is the best way of keeping warm. I daresay your little dog knows this, otherwise she’d be nipping at my toes instead of snuggled beneath them.”

He added, with a wry sound, “And if you got frostbite, the local doc would have to amputate those pretty pink toes of yours.”

She had to get out of here, but oh, the warmth beneath the blankets and the firm, muscled body beside her gave off heat like a blast furnace.

Meg blinked hard, trying to summon precious energy. “Her name is Sophie.”

“Should have called her Ouchie.”

Meg’s mushy brain couldn’t register the joke, until she lifted her head and saw her rescuer hold up his hand where a half moon marked the skin. “Bit clean through my glove.”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Mortified, she struggled to sit up, more concerned about her dog biting a total stranger who had saved them from death than her lack of clothing.

He pushed her down. “Easy now. You need to stay under these covers a while longer.”

“My dog...”

“No worries,” he said easily. “I trust she’s had her shots, and I’ve had mine, so you needn’t worry about your furball getting a disease.”

Meg realized he was joking. The tension gripping her sore, tight muscles eased a little. She peered upward to get a closer look at him. A thick shock of wavy dark brown hair was cropped short. He had an intense gaze, thin cheekbones and a wide mouth. Handsome, with a hint of Irish blood in those ice-blue eyes.

A dusting of black hair covered his muscled chest. Washboard abs rippled beneath smooth, tanned skin. He was mouthwatering, a prime example of masculinity. Meg stared, still struggling with the unreality that this man had rescued her from the cold and warmed her with his body.

“You’re Cooper Johnson?”

“The one and only,” he drawled. “Your host over the next several days.”

She pulled the blankets up to cover her breasts, well aware her lacy red bra provided thin covering in the chill, and her nipples had turned rigid.

From the cold. Not the pull of attraction toward this handsome stranger. It didn’t matter if her libido sat up and started shimmying.

All she had to do was think of what Prescott would do if he found her, and her heated blood turned to ice.

“Where’s Sophie?”

Cooper lifted the bottom of the blankets. Snuggled at his feet, wedged partly beneath the covers, her dog snoozed. Relief filled Meg. She tossed back the covers, climbed down the length of the bed and gathered her dog into her arms, checking her over anxiously.

“She seems okay.” Meg drew in a deep breath as the awakening Sophie licked her face.

Sheer male interest flared on Cooper’s face. He rearranged the blankets around his waist. Realizing he must have had a bull’s-eye glimpse of her rear end, Meg flushed. She clutched the dog just a little too tightly, and Sophie squirmed.

The interest faded as his expression shuttered. He scratched the bristles on his hard jaw. “You feeling okay now, Princess?”

At her nod, he flung back the blankets, displaying a pair of long, muscled legs. A dusting of hair didn’t hide a wicked-looking scar on his left thigh. Her fascinated gaze traveled upward to the black Jockeys he wore...

And the very large bulge beneath them showing a blatant male reaction.

Seems as if Cooper Johnson was equally attracted to her.

Not that she’d do anything about it. Not in her lifetime.

His mouth curved into a knowing smile as he reached down to the floor, retrieved a pair of jeans. Cooper slid into them and stood, buckling the belt.

“Had to get you warm. Can’t help the consequences. I’m a guy, and you’re a very attractive woman.”

He shoved a hand through his thick hair and the move flexed the biceps of his right arm. A tattoo of a snake writhed with the motion as well. Sailors got inked, from what she knew. And he was a Navy SEAL.

Not regular Army, like her brother had been.

SEALs were tough, Lacey had told her, but their missions and lives were shrouded in secrecy. She wondered what happened to him that he was here now with her.

It wasn’t her business. She released Sophie and held out her hand. “Thank you for rescuing us, Mr. Johnson. And my name is Meg.”

Surprise flickered across his face as he sat on the bed. “Cooper.”

His grip was firm, but not crushing, and he quickly released her hand. Then as he started to reach for her, Sophie growled.

Meg gripped her dog. As his gaze landed on her bruised arm, she flinched.

Cooper’s gaze narrowed as he muttered a low oath. “Is that what your husband did to you? Jarrett said you were in trouble, but he didn’t give details.”

“Ex-husband. Soon, anyway. I keep calling him my ex because I’ve x-ed him out of my life.” Meg felt her flush deepen, this time from shame. “It wasn’t that bad, this time.”

“This time is the last time,” he said in a low, deep voice that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

His expression turned intent. Totally concentrated and fierce, as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. She shivered. One would not want to cross him.

“I’m sure you have a story to tell me. Like why you’re driving. Why didn’t you take Jarrett’s offer of a bus ticket here?”

Keen, assessing. Little would escape this man.

“Too slow. I needed my own wheels. And I knew my ex would be able to trace my car, so I bought an older model for cash for the drive here from Palm Beach.”

Two nights in cheap motels, trying to sleep, fearing to shut her eyes in case Prescott had sent someone after her...

“Why did you buy such a lemon?”

Meg struggled with her pride. How ironic that she was once the heiress of Taylor Sporting Goods, one of the country’s largest producers of sports equipment, and she didn’t have a penny.

“I know it sounds implausible, but it’s all I could afford. My ex controlled all the money in our household, and all my accounts.”

She’d managed to save a little money and hide it. And she didn’t dare use her easily traceable credit cards.

Silence fell between them as he gave a pointed look to the diamond encased in an old-fashioned gold setting hanging from her neck. Meg fingered the necklace. “This was my grandmother’s. I suppose you deserve an explanation, since you’re kind enough to give me a place to stay.”

He rubbed the sexy dusting of dark bristles on his chin. “Let’s wait until you’re ready. Know this, Meg. We’ve had dogs on the farm before and mostly they stay outside. Your dog...”

At this pause, she tensed, ready for him to tell her he didn’t tolerate dogs who bit and he was going to toss Sophie outside, no matter that it was freezing. Prescott surely would have.

“She’s safe here, just as you are. I don’t tolerate abuse. Anyone who hits women, children or animals—” his hard blue gaze flickered to Sophie “—even animals who growl at them, will be strictly dealt with. You can relax. No one will get you here.”

Relief swept through her. “You’re not going to make Sophie stay outside?”

He lifted a dark brow. “In this storm? Relax, she’ll stay here with you. I only want one question answered.”

She tensed.

“Your last name. Need to know that in case anyone comes asking.”

His words sent a shiver of fear sliding through her again. Prescott knew people. Lots of people across the country. “Meg... Caldwell,” she said, giving her brother’s first name.

Cooper nodded. “Good. I’ll let my mom know. She runs the bed and breakfast at our farmhouse.”

Doubt filled her. “Is it really safe here? My ex has a lot of money and influence.”

“And I have a nine-millimeter and plenty of ammo.”

His reassurances should have made her feel safe, but they only made her aware of what kind of danger she placed this man and his family in. She couldn’t stay long. Just long enough to recover, figure out a plan and then move on.

Then Meg remembered her suitcase and all her most precious belongings were in the car. She had to retrieve them, snowstorm or no snowstorm. Anyone could find her things and know who they belonged to. One call to Prescott and he’d be here in the corporate jet. Her chest hurt and her heart constricted painfully and she found it hard to breathe.

“My things... I have to get my luggage. The quilt in the car, it’s an heirloom.”

As her voice rose, he remained calm. Steady. Not ruffled one bit at the hysteria in her voice. “Easy, Princess.” He pointed to the closet. “Everything from the car is in there. This is your room for the night. I put your cell in the kitchen on a charger. Your car is dead. I’ll have Mike, the local tow truck driver, haul it to his shop and fix it.”

“Thank you.” She released a deep breath. “If I had someplace else to go, I would have. I don’t plan to stay.”

That deep blue gaze burned into her. “What about your family?”

Familiar hurt squeezed a tight knot in her chest. “I don’t have any. My father died in a car crash shortly after my parents’ divorce.”

“And your mother?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “She went to Europe to be with her lover after Dad’s funeral. I haven’t seen her since.”

“No brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles?” Cooper gave her a disbelieving look.

“One brother. He was killed in Iraq shortly after he enlisted in the Army.”

“I’m sorry.” His tone softened. “What unit?”

“Does it matter? He’s dead.” Meg’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Caldwell’s reckless disregard for safety while in combat was the reason she wanted to manufacture body armor for soldiers. She thought of her older brother’s bright, cheerful grin and how he’d always let her tag along, always promised to be there to keep her safe and happy because their parents didn’t care about them...

Caldwell broke that promise the day he enlisted.

“No aunts or uncles?”

“No. I was raised by my grandmother, and her funeral was a week ago.” She lifted her chin and gave him the impervious stare used when it was necessary to keep others at bay. “Are you finished with the interrogation yet?”

He gazed around the bedroom. “You and my sister are about the same size. I got you clean, warm clothing from the upstairs guest room in case you didn’t pack any winter clothing in your suitcase. You might want to consider wearing it. It’ll keep you warm more than those trousers. Feel free to borrow anything else of hers while you are here. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. Mom made a pot of stew. It’s on the stove.”

Her mouth watered at the mention of hot food. The ice inside her melted a little. “It sounds delicious. Thank you. And please, thank your sister for me as well, for lending me her clothing.”

Cooper tensed as if someone had shoved a rod down his back. With a nod, he left the room, making her wonder what she had said that made him shut down like that.

What Cooper Johnson felt was none of her concern. And Meg knew she didn’t dare tell him or his family the full truth. Guilt pinched her. He was better off not knowing he’d given shelter to a possible killer.

She needed to regroup and plan and get out of here.

Before Prescott found her, and she endangered anyone else.

Chapter 3

The princess, no, her name was Meg, was certainly pretty. With those big eyes, the tumbling curls spilling down her curvy backside, generous breasts and wide hips, she was stunning. Coop had always preferred curvy women, and Meg fit the bill.

But she was an assignment for Project SOS, not a potential date. At least she’d had the courtesy to thank him for pulling her rear end out of trouble.

And it was a very nice rear end. He’d gotten a sample as she’d crawled down the bed to get her dog. A thin triangle of red silk stretched across her pretty bottom, the kind of bottom a man could cup and squeeze as he drove deep inside her in the dark of night.

Forget it. She was clearly traumatized and the last thing Meg needed was him panting all over her as if she were steak and he hadn’t eaten in a month.

Well, it has been a few months since you had sex, his libido cheerfully reminded him.

Get used to celibacy. We have a job to do.

He stirred the pot of stew his mom had made, glancing out the window at the darkened skies. The snow was really coming down now, blowing in the fierce wind. He hoped Betsy was doing okay. Normally he’d spend the night with her in the barn, checking on her. Maybe once he got the beauty queen settled, he’d head there.

She sure was a beauty queen, too. Those big green eyes, perfect cheekbones and lush mouth made for kissing...

Hearing footsteps, Coop spooned out a generous portion of stew into a bowl and set it on the kitchen table upon a hand-sewn place mat, where a spoon rested. Meg entered the kitchen, the dog on her heels. She carried a can of dog food and a monogrammed dog dish and went to the can opener on the counter.

As the opener whirred and clicked, Sophie whined and pawed at Meg.

“Down, Sophie,” he said mildly.

The dog sat on her haunches, looked up at Coop and growled again. He shot the furball an amused look as he found a spoon for Meg to dish out the dog food.

“Well, hello to you as well. Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your chow. Mom’s stew is much better. But if you’re staying here, you will learn manners.”

After setting the bowl of dog food on the floor, Meg slid into the seat with an appreciative sigh. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”

As he started out of the kitchen, she blinked. “Aren’t you eating? I hate to eat alone.”

Sighing, he fetched another bowl. Ever since his leave, he kept up with PT, but watched his calories, mindful of his weight. Two dinners tonight. But he’d work it off tomorrow.

He joined her at the table. “It’s not filet mignon, but it’ll fill you up on a cold night, Princess.”

She frowned. “You don’t like using my name? Why do you keep calling me ‘Princess’?”

Cooper blinked. “You look straight out of the pictures I’ve seen of beauty queens. And I give nicknames to everyone. I do on the teams and around here.”

“Oh? And what did they call you?”

He considered. “Usually Coop. Farm Boy, too, because I grew up on a farm. Sometimes Beast because I get real ornery when I get hungry.”

As they ate, she kept stealing glances at him, maybe wondering if he’d rocket off into a temper because of his beast rep. Knowing she had been abused, he hastened to add, “I may get mean, but that’s only around the guys. You’ll see.”

“I won’t be around here long enough to find out,” she told him. “This is temporary.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is, you’re going to need new clothing if all you packed are clothes fit for Palm Beach. Like those fancy boots you were wearing.” He shook his head. “Totally inappropriate for New England weather.”

“Those are my eight-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choos. They’re suede,” she shot back.

“Jimmy’s shoes? Who’s Jimmy?”

“Jimmy Choo,” she said very slowly, as if conversing with someone with the mental capacity of a three-year-old. “He’s a famous designer.”

He knew this, knew all about expensive shoes because an ex-girlfriend raved about them. “So you like wearing shoes with a guy’s name on them? Your Jimmy’s shoes aren’t fit for snow and slush and mud. They’re worth about ten dollars now at a yard sale.”

“What’s a yadh?”

“Yard.” He spoke slowly. “My accent is coming out. Happens when I get tired. Better get you to a store tomorrow to fetch you some real boots.”

“Real boots?” Meg frowned. “What do you wear around here?”

He stuck out his foot. “Tractor Supply. Steel toe.”

Meg stared, a look of incredulity on her pretty face. “You expect me to wear Tractor Supply? I expect you’ll next want me in Farmer John overalls and a chambray work shirt?”

More like out of them, wearing nothing but skin. He swallowed hard at the mental image. And a pair of red suede pumps with stiletto heels. Coop imagined her wearing those only for him with the crimson panties and bra. Hoo-yah.

He assumed his best poker face to hide his thoughts and adjusted his jeans.

“Jeans will do just fine. We don’t put our hired hands to work in fancy yoga pants. You’ll need something that will wash out real good after you muck out the stalls.” He cocked his head. “You did come here to work in the stables. That’s what Jarrett said.”

“I, er, no, I...”

Laughing, he waved a hand. “I’m teasing.”

“Thanks,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not. Lacey didn’t tell me you were such fine entertainment.”

He sat back, enjoying the glare. Made her eyes all sparkle like Fourth of July. “Got you to stop thinking about it.”

“Thinking about what?” Meg dug into her stew and ate a spoonful.

All seriousness now, he glanced down at her dog. “What you’re running from.”

She didn’t look at him. “I didn’t pack much. There was no time, and I couldn’t risk my ex-husband seeing my warm clothing gone. He’d guess that I fled north.”

Wise move. “I’d have done the same. Tomorrow we’ll go into town, get you dressed for this weather.”

A faint pink flushed her cheeks. “I’ll be okay with what I have. I can’t afford to pay for it right now...”

Knowing how that admission must have dented her pride, he softened his voice. “No worries. Part of SOS’s services. Jarrett will foot the bill.”

The dog gulped down her food and finished, then sat by Meg’s side, growling at him. Cooper pointed his soup spoon at Sophie.

“Hey, watch it, mutt, or you won’t get dessert.”

Meg’s mouth curled into the first real smile he’d seen from her. She was so pretty, her mouth all rosebud red, her cheeks flushed.

“Sophie is not a mutt. She is a purebred shih tzu.”

“A shih-what?”

“Shih tzu.”

“Sounds like something I suffered downrange in Iraq that the medic had to treat with antibiotics,” he muttered.

Coop stared in frank bewilderment at the growling mop of fur. Any temporary bond created when he’d rescued the dog had been broken, as evidenced by the bared fangs.

“Sure has a sharp set of teeth for such a little thing.”

Guilt flashed across Meg’s face. “She’s very protective and loyal. Unfortunately, she hates men.”

“Selective,” he murmured. “Or did she learn from her owner?”

Her big green eyes narrowed in apparent anger. “She learned it from my ex-husband, who tried to starve her to make her mean.”

Coop looked at the dog. “You had it rough, huh? Guess I can’t blame you for biting me if you thought I was a threat to your mom here.”

Meg blinked. “Most people think I’m exaggerating about my ex. He’s very well respected in the community. He’s on the board of several charities and he’s known for his contributions to society.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not a jerk. What people show in public can be very different from their private lives.”

“You believe me?”

She sounded incredulous, as if she’d stated her ex was a little green alien instead of a bastard. Cooper carefully set down his spoon. “I believe the dog. Dogs, like horses, learn to be mean when they’re treated badly. It’s self-defense.”

Judging from the bruises Meg sported and the suspicious looks she cast him, the princess had been treated the same.

“Let me try something.” He picked up a piece of meat from his stew and held it out to Sophie. “Look, Sophie. Good stuff.”

More growling. Cooper avoided looking straight at the dog. Looking head-on at the canine would indicate aggression. “It’s okay. Come on.”

Sophie trotted forward, snatched the meat from his outstretched fingers and pranced backward, as if afraid he’d suddenly hit her.

Cooper leaned back, well away from the dog as she ate the meat.

“Good girl,” he crooned.

Sophie sat back and licked her nose.

“Lacey told me you’re good with dogs. You’re a Navy SEAL and Jarrett was your leader. Did you work much with dogs when you were deployed?”

Grief pinched him as he thought of Max. He stiffened. “I’d rather not talk about me. Let’s get you and the furball settled for the night.”

It took a few minutes for the tour. Meg gripped the dog as he showed them the master bedroom upstairs and the bathroom with the old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. The guest room where she’d sleep was downstairs next to another bathroom. He stood in the living room, wondering if she’d noticed how worn the plaid sofa was, with bits of fabric fraying at the armrest, or how the chair by the fireplace sagged a little too much.

Beneath the northern window overlooking the barn was a small table and two chairs. Brie had found the set at an antiques fair in Maine. He remembered that day so clearly it hurt. He’d taken her for an outing before one of his deployments, and they’d eaten hot dogs at a stand. It was a crisp, cool May day with pink and purple pansies and petunias starting to bloom, and she’d seen that little table with a long scratch down the middle and declared it needed a little TLC and would fit perfectly beneath the window.

He’d sanded, buffed and stained it, and she’d hugged him so tight he could barely breathe.

Soon after, she announced she was going to work in the inner city where she could do more good in protecting women and children. He’d tried to talk her out of it, but Brie was stubborn. So he’d purchased a new bulletproof vest his brother Derek said was the best. Combat Gear Inc.’s vests were lighter and more flexible, allowing Brie to get out of a tight space quicker.

He knew all about getting out of tight spaces.

She’d thanked him over and over when she’d tried on the vest, marveling at how thin and sturdy it seemed. He’d hung up the phone that day, relieved his little sister would be safe.

That body armor had proven faulty when Brie was killed. If he ever found M. E. Franklin, the man whose name was on the corporate documents... His jaw tightened as Coop shook the cobweb of memories from his mind. Had to focus on the present, and Meg, who kept staring at him as if he were an ogre.

“You look really angry,” she whispered.

“Sorry. Just woolgathering. This place used to be my sister’s.”

“Does she mind if I stay here a few days? I don’t plan on being here long.”

Meg wasn’t going to settle here for a while. She probably saw how shabby everything was and figured this wasn’t the Hilton. He wouldn’t force it. “She’s dead,” he muttered.

Ignoring her apology, he focused on building a fire. As the flames caught and flickered, he thought of how homey and cozy the cottage was. Brie had teased him about how he should use it for a tryst with a sexy brunette.

Funny how the princess fit the description. Her body, yeah, just his type, but not the personality. He preferred country girls who loved riding horses, didn’t mind baling hay and enjoyed dancing at the local honky-tonk.

Not wealthy women who carried dogs in designer purses.

After piling wood into the fireplace and igniting it, he dusted off his hands. “There’s plenty of food in the pantry. Thermostat’s on the wall behind the sofa if you get cold. Power may go out in this storm, but the heater is gas so you’ll be set. I’ll leave candles and a flashlight on the hall table.”

Meg sat on the sofa, eyes huge and round as she clutched her dog. “You’re leaving us alone here?”

Damn if she didn’t look lost and forlorn, like a stray puppy. He stood and cleared his throat. “I have to spend the night with Betsy.”

Her expression fell. “I understand. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you to stay here with us.”

Cooper grinned. “Betsy’s not my girlfriend. She’s a horse with colic.”

Meg’s eyes widened, and then a lovely smile graced her full lips. She gave a little laugh. “Oh! I thought...”

Admiring the pink flush on her china-doll cheeks, he pointed to the window. “I was going to spend the night in the barn, checking up on her. But I’ll come back here later, make sure you’re okay.”

“You really do care about your animals.”

His throat went tight. “Yeah, and ole Bets is special. She belonged to my sister.”

He didn’t want to launch into an explanation, but Meg nodded and a soft expression filled her face. “Of course. I understand. The animals come first. Because they can’t defend themselves. Your sister would do the same, I’m sure.”

Cooper rubbed a hand across his flannel shirt, suddenly uncomfortable. He hated talking about Brie. Any time her name was mentioned, it sent fresh grief through him, and he had to fight hard to maintain his composure.

“I’ll leave my cell number if you need anything. Barn’s not far.”

“My cell phone couldn’t get a signal, probably because it’s an inexpensive throwaway phone. Otherwise I would have called you.”

“Ah. That’s why you never called. I waited and waited. Hate it when a woman says she’ll call and never does.”

He liked her smile, wished she would relax. But he saw in her eyes the same trauma he’d seen overseas in women who had suffered much.

For a minute he imagined what this must be like for her—homeless, on the run, at the mercy of a stranger. A big stranger. She was so tiny and frail-looking, yet he suspected within hid a core of steel. It took courage to pack up and leave everything you knew. He couldn’t imagine doing it....

“When did your husband beat you?”

At first she didn’t answer, and the pink of her cheeks warned he’d stepped over an invisible line. Coop suspected she was ashamed of the incident and what happened to her.

He gentled his voice. “I only want to know if you need medical attention. If you don’t want to talk about it, tell me.”

Meg’s head bobbed in a jerky nod, and she looked away. “He wasn’t that bad this time. But the time I ran off last year, before my grandmother got sick, that was very bad. I was in the hospital for a week. When I returned home, Sophie was gone. I found her in a shelter known for euthanizing dogs.”

Cooper wanted to find her husband and show him exactly what he thought of men who beat women and animals. He’d had plenty of experience in dealing with those types and didn’t tolerate them well.

Drawing in a deep breath, she picked up Sophie and hugged her until the dog whined. He started toward her, but Meg flinched.

It would take time for her to trust him. Sighing, he took the pad and pen by the old-fashioned rotary phone hanging on the kitchen wall and scribbled his cell. “Service out here is sporadic, but I installed special equipment to boost the signal. I’m going to call your cell to make sure it works.”

After he dialed the number, the cell phone he’d plugged in at the counter began to chirp. Nodding, he hung up the phone.

“Everything’s okay.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“No one knows you’re here,” he assured her. “Only Jarrett and Lacey, and they wouldn’t tell a soul. You’re safe. And no one has the phone number of this cottage except my mom and me. Tomorrow we’ll move you up to the main inn.”

Wishing he could make her believe him, he snatched up his jacket from a peg by the door, along with his Stetson, and tugged on his gloves.

Cooper paused at the kitchen door. “Remember, you need anything, just call me. You’ll be fine.”

The dog looked at him and growled.

“You too, furball.”

Then he winked at Meg, opened the door, went onto the sunporch and into the storm.

* * *

When Cooper left, she peered outside, watching him struggle against the howling wind. Meg rubbed her arms, shivering from nerves, not the cold. Certainly it was warm enough here. But she hated being alone in this cottage. And how did she know he wouldn’t turn her over to Prescott? Judging from the faded, worn furnishings, Cooper didn’t have much money. Money could influence people, even those with the best intentions.

She’d seen it before too many times. But Lacey trusted him. And she trusted Lacey. It would suffice for now.

Not for long. Prescott would find her eventually.

The only person she could trust besides Lacey was Randall Jacobs, the longtime family friend who worked for the company. Randall had invented the fiber they used for racquetball paddles and Meg got the idea to incorporate it into flexible body armor.

After Randall discovered the material was too unstable to stop bullets, he pleaded to halt production. Prescott ignored his entreaties. So Randall hid copies of Prescott’s internal confidential documents ordering the shipment of the defective vests to Boston.

He’d told Meg he would give her those documents for her to turn over to federal authorities, and then give himself protection under the federal whistleblower act.

She picked up the cell phone and checked the charge. She’d texted Randall while on the road. He had this number and promised to call by tonight to arrange to meet her at his family’s summer house in a nearby town. What if something happened? Could someone trace this phone back to her? She’d been so careful.

Where could Randall have hidden those documents?

Sophie trotted on her heels into the living room after Meg washed the bowls and cleaned up. Sitting before the fire, she stared at the flickering flames.

Leaving Sophie to doze before the fire, she went into the bedroom and fetched her grandmother’s quilt. Meg wrapped it around herself and curled onto the sofa.

“I miss you, Gran,” she whispered. “Why did you have to leave me?”

Letticia Taylor had been a healthy seventy-year-old until a few months ago, when she began to sicken. She died in the hospital two weeks ago, Meg stroking her chilled blue-veined hand.

Prescott attended the funeral, and a few days later, they went to the family attorney in Boston. Bert Baxter informed Meg that Gran had left everything to Prescott. Everything.

She was literally cashless and powerless.

The sexy Cooper with his crooked grin and burning blue eyes assured her this cottage was safe. He would protect her.

No one can really protect me.

She hadn’t been safe all those times before when she’d tried to escape Prescott, and she had no real confidence Cooper Johnson could deliver on his promise.

Meg turned on the television in the living room. It was an older model, and nothing compared to the wide-screen HDTV in her mansion.

She channel surfed, restless, until landing on a news channel. And then she stiffened as she recognized the familiar surroundings. It was a news report from Florida, with several police cars surrounding a BMW she knew...for she had been there the day he’d bragged about getting that “sweet” car.

No, please no.

The television news reporter was talking.

“Murder in Palm Beach! The body of Palm Beach millionaire Randall Jacobs was found this morning inside his car in a public park near a playground. There are no suspects at the time and police are investigating...”

Meg snapped off the remote and stared at the blank screen. Wind pushed at the windows, howling to get inside.

Her chest hurt and her throat tightened. “Randall, oh God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Randall Jacobs, the only man she trusted, the only one who had the evidence to convict her husband and send him to jail, far out of reach, was dead.

Chapter 4

It didn’t matter if Cooper Johnson had a room filled with weapons. She wasn’t safe here. Prescott had murdered Randall. She knew it.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Meg paced the living room, thinking hard.

She went into the kitchen and unplugged her cell phone from the charger.

The light blinked, indicating a voice mail. She dialed it and listened, her blood turning to ice.

Randall.

“Meg, they’re after me.” A small, gruff laugh, filled with terror. “Should never have stayed in this game, but I got greedy. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry for what I did.”

Sounds of a train going by in the background. Randall’s voice became more frantic and he spoke in a rush.

“Meg, I don’t have much time and I can’t be certain this phone isn’t bugged. Prescott’s in deeper than I thought. It’s not him you have to worry about...it’s his new friends with deep pockets, and they’re planning something big. Be careful. The documents and cash for you to live on are hidden. Remember 43.961281 and -71.058542. There’s also a backup microchip close to your heart. Watch yourself, Meggie.”

Hands trembling, she shut off the phone. Meg jotted the numbers down on a nearby pad. Then she looked at the cell phone. Police were investigating and would trace the phone number back to her.

Pulling open drawers, she pawed through their contents until she found an old-fashioned meat tenderizer. Perfect. Meg removed the battery from the cell phone and then set the phone on the floor and smashed it. Then she took the shards and placed them in a plastic bag to dispose of later.

It was a prepaid cell phone with a new SIM card that she’d paid for in cash. The police could call the number and use the phone to track her down. Randall’s call came three hours ago. Enough time for them to start checking out his phone calls.

The numbers played over in her head: 43.961281 and -71.058542. Tears burned her throat. Randall had lived a lavish lifestyle, jet-setting and spending money extravagantly, but he was a good man at heart, wanting to do the right thing.

And now he was dead because of it.

She went to the fireplace and warmed her ice-cold hands. All she had as clues were the numbers and a vague message about her heart.

What did those numbers mean?

A loud crash sounded outside, making her jump. Sophie barked and scrambled to her feet. Meg’s blood turned to ice. Immobilized with fear, she stared in the direction of the kitchen.

Right outside the sunporch.

Turning off all the lights, wishing she could bank the fire as well to plunge the room into total darkness, Meg took a deep breath. Gathering all her courage, she peered out the living room window that paralleled the sunporch. Fat snowflakes swirled in the storm, making it difficult to see, despite the dim glow of the porch light. Tree branches scraped against the side of the house like nails against a chalkboard.

The crash was probably the wind knocking over one of the clay planters on the steps. It made no sense that Prescott had found her, unless he’d traced her to Jarrett and Lacey...

Meg ran to the fireplace and seized the poker, carrying it like a weapon. She found the coat Cooper had left for her, hanging on a peg in the sunroom. Sophie trotted behind her, but she motioned for the dog to stay quiet.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. If something was lurking outside, she wasn’t going to hide in here, cowering in fear.

She was so tired of being afraid all the time.

Snow pelted her face, danced around in the air as she stepped onto the landing. The tiny light outside did little to illuminate the gloom. Wind whipped at her hair, sending tiny stinging needles into her skin.

Meg held up the fireplace poker, ready to swing at an unknown assailant. But no one was outside. The clay pot, containing only dirt, had been knocked over and lay in shards on the snowy ground. Nothing. Just the pot, knocked over by the wind. Still she stood there for a minute, listening to the wind howl and the trees moan under the storm, cold snaking down her spine.

A deeper cold she knew would never leave, not until she’d freed herself permanently from Prescott’s clutches.

Finally, the cold became too much to bear and she returned inside.

Meg set down the poker on the kitchen table. Using the kitchen phone, she dialed the toll-free number Lacey had given her.

Her former sorority sister answered on the first ring. “SOS.”

“Lacey, it’s Meg. I made it here, but I’m not staying.” She spoke in a rush, worried the connection would get cut off.

“Meg! We were worried about you.” Her friend’s relief was obvious. “Stay there with Cooper. You’re in a safe house now. We need you to stay put until we can find another place to move you.”

Move me. Like I’m furniture, only the moving meant putting more people at risk. Her throat tightened. She’d already played havoc with too many lives and endangered good people. It had to end now.

Fingering the diamond around her neck, she thought of the cash it would bring if she pawned it. Enough to find another place to run and hide, until she could figure out the numbers Randall had left her.

She hated pawning her grandmother’s jewel, but Gran would understand. Meg’s hand trembled as she gripped the phone. “No. I have a little money. I’ll find a place on my own. Thank you, but I can’t risk it.”

“Meg, please, I know you’re scared, but Cooper is the best...”

“You don’t know my ex. He’s ruthless and has enough money to make anyone vanish. You both aren’t safe. If he finds out you helped me... I can’t risk your lives, Lacey.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us, Meg,” Lacey told her. “Jarrett takes every precaution when it comes to our underground railroad of aiding women in distress. Coop’s going to give you a new ID, new passport, driver’s license...but it will take a little time.”

“I don’t have time. It won’t matter.” She gripped the phone and thought of Randall, and his cheerful, round face, now frozen in death. “Cooper Johnson can’t help me. He has his hands full here.”

“Cooper is a professional soldier and he’ll make sure you’re safe. He’s okay, Meg. Trust him,” Lacey told her.

“I can’t stay here. And you and Jarrett and Fleur are in danger, because if Prescott finds you...”

A crackling over the phone and mumbling in the background.

“He’s not going to touch Lace, or Fleur, and if he gets within one hundred miles of our house, I’ll be on him, Meg. Stay with Coop.” The deep, rumbling tones of former Navy SEAL Lt. Jarrett Adler sounded confident and assured.

But she could not take chances.

“Watch yourselves.” Meg hung up the phone, then she went to the window, worried about the storm. No time to go out in this mess. She had no car, and for now, she was stuck.

Stuck in a cottage with someone outside. She lifted the checked curtain at the kitchen window and peered out into the darkness again.

Was someone out there now, watching her every move?

Fear soured in her stomach. The barn couldn’t be far. She suddenly couldn’t stand to be alone anymore. She found Sophie’s leash and hooked her up and took the key to the front door off the peg in the kitchen.

“Come on, Sophie. We’re going to find Cooper.”

* * *

“Easy, girl.”

Coop finished walking Betsy around the barn, cursing the storm that kept the mare inside. Then he rubbed down Betsy once more for the night. He lifted the latch on the stall door and locked it behind him. In the stall next to Betsy’s, Adela poked her head out and looked at him suspiciously.

“Hey, Adela,” he murmured. He went to the minifridge where he kept carrots and apples and medication for the animals, and fished out a red apple. Coop unlatched her stall door and stepped inside.

But Adela backed away, laying her ears back.

Still wouldn’t take food from his hand. He needed to work with her more, needed time to work with her.

“It’s okay, girl. When you’re ready.” Backing out of the stall, he fumbled with the finicky catch and let himself out. Coop set the apple down on a bench to try later.

In the aisle, he sat on the chest containing cleaning equipment and pulled out his cell phone. After scrolling through messages, laughing at a stupid joke one of his teammates sent, he clicked onto a news station from Palm Beach County.

Needed to see what else he could find out about Meg.

And then he saw a headline screaming in bold type: Palm Beach Millionaire Found Shot to Death.

Coop’s heart raced. He read through the article, and then set his phone down, burying his face in his hands.

Damn it. There went his hope of getting to Jacobs and finding out how to track down M. E. Franklin, owner of Combat Gear Inc. Digging into this company was like a game of Chutes and Ladders he’d played as a child, and he’d just slid down a very long chute.

He dug into his pocket and withdrew a jeweled figure no bigger than his thumbnail.

It had a gold halo, a white crystal for a head and body, and two blue crystals for wings. His guardian angel.

“I’m sorry, Brie. I let you down again,” he whispered. “God, I wish you were here. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to keep you safe.”

Brie had bought it for him the day he enlisted. She’d pressed it into his palm as he slung his duffel over one shoulder. “To protect you, Super Cooper. No being the hero, okay? You come home to us,” she’d told him, and then hugged him tight.

He treasured it as much as he did his Budweiser SEAL pin. He’d tucked that angel into his uniform pocket and it had traveled with him ever since. The little angel had seen him through BUD/S, the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS training all SEALS endured, and was in his uniform when he’d taken a bullet in Ramadi that should have killed him. Jarrett had teased him about it at first, but later, his LT started thinking maybe that angel pin pulled Coop out of a bad scrape or two dozen.

He’d been banged up bad, came through it intact. But no angel pin could keep Brie safe. Only a damn vest that should have never been sold.

Coop ran a hand through his hair, his guts churning. He looked at the little guardian angel charm and felt his throat close up.

A noise at the barn door jerked him out of his ruminations. Coop pocketed the angel and stood, muscles tensing, his hands itching for a weapon as the barn door opened.

Wind blew the snow inside as Meg and her dog ran into the barn. Meg struggled to close the doors.

He stood, alarm pelting him. “What’s wrong?”

Had to be a hell of a reason to bring her out of the nice, warm cottage in this mess. Scanning her body, he felt relieved to see no obvious injuries, nothing but a hint of distress in her green eyes. At her side, the dog wagged her tail and then shook, spraying melting snow everywhere.

“I need to talk to you.”

She braved this snowstorm for a chat? Exasperated, he shook his head. “I told you, I’d be by the cottage later.”

“I know.” She came forward, snowflakes dusting her soft brown hair. “I also wanted to see how Betsy is doing.”

Nice of her to check, but he resented Meg’s intruding on his personal space, his retreat away from the world. “She’s good.”

Cooper splayed his legs and tensed. “Go back to bed and stay warm. You’ve just been through one bout with exposure. Unless you want me warming you all over again.”

Not a bad idea, his body cheerfully agreed. Amid the earthy scent of horses and hay, he caught a tendril of her fragrance, all floral and feminine. Yet another reminder it had been a long time since he’d had a woman warm his bed. Or warm anything of his.

Meg flushed a little and she bit her lip. He caught sight of her pulse pounding at her temple, as if she thought it was a great idea as well.

Right. Put that thought out of your gray matter, chum, ’cause it ain’t happening in this lifetime.

He heard a whuffing sound and hooves clicking against the cold cement floor, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Adela had nosed her way out of the stall and now stood in the aisle, right in front of Meg and her furball.

Son of a...should have fixed that damn latch. But it had been yet another thing on his long to-do list.

“Stay where you are and don’t move toward her,” he warned in a low voice, not wishing to alarm Adela.

Wariness faded from Meg’s expression. Instead, she pulled off one glove and started toward the horse. Terrific. Now I have to save you a second time tonight?

He murmured to the horse, hugging the left side stalls, not wishing to get kicked by Adela’s hind hooves.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Meg crooned. She picked up the abandoned apple.

“Careful. Back off, now,” he warned. “She’s a rescue and had a tough time of it.”

“A rescue horse?” Her face lit up and she smiled with such warmth, it nearly took his breath away.

What would it be like to be greeted with a sweet, sunny smile like that every day? Marriage, family, a wife who would stick by his side, someone he could talk with, encourage her hopes and dreams like she did to him. Not the women he’d taken to bed and watched walk away, women who simply wanted sex because he was a Navy SEAL.

Shaking free of the thought, Cooper watched Meg with wariness. Adela had been a rescue from a group out West. Her owner failed to care for her, leaving her alone in a pasture without enough water or feed. Ribs stuck through her skin, and Adela had huge trust issues.

One didn’t simply walk up to a horse, let alone an abused one, and start chatting. But Meg walked toward her, nice and easy, approaching from the side, talking slow and soothing.

Adela trembled at Meg’s approach, her ears pinned back. Meg stopped and stepped to the side, her gaze averted.

“I know, pretty one. Someone was mean and hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, baby. I just want to offer a little treat. A nice, fresh apple.”

Meg took the fruit and held it out. “I’m going to stay right here and let you see me, see I’m not going to do anything until you give the okay.”

She kept talking in low, soothing tones to the horse. Finally the mare’s ears returned to the side and she lowered her head.

Meg kept palming the apple. “I’ve got a good friend who really likes horses, just like Cooper here does. She’s small, so you have to be real careful around her. Sophie, go say hello to Adela, nice and slow, like I taught you.”

The mare didn’t retreat, and her muscles didn’t tense.

Tail wagging, Sophie went to Adela, approaching very slowly from the side to avoid the horse’s blind spot just as Meg had. The dog stopped about thirty feet away, watching the horse, as if gauging her reaction.

Ready to spring into action—it wouldn’t be good if the horse trampled the princess’s furball—Coop tensed.

When Adela relaxed, Sophie loped over to the horse. For a moment, the pair sniffed at each other. Jaw dropping, he watched as Sophie nuzzled the horse’s neck and Adela responded by playfully butting the dog.

Well, look at that. The dog and the horse. Remembering what Meg had said about Sophie being abused, Coop shook his head. Animals never ceased to amaze him. All the times he’d worked with Max, the Belgian Malinois who had been an integral part of the teams, he’d learned a lot.

But he’d never seen anything like this. Instant friendship. His gaze whipped over to Meg, whose attention remained riveted to the dog and the horse.

Meg made a hand gesture to Sophie, who moved away from the horse. Then Meg continued sidling up to Adela, holding out the apple. Adela plucked it with her big white teeth and munched. Meg stroked her neck, continuing to murmur soothing words.

With a reassuring pat to Adela, Meg left, Sophie trotting on her heels.

He must look like a fool, standing there with his mouth open. Coop approached Adela after she finished her treat and led her back to the stall. She went docilely, and he made certain to latch the gate firmly.

Then he turned to Meg, who was crouching down and petting Sophie. “Where did you learn that trick?”

She stood up. “I work with a local animal rescue group in Florida for abused horses, everything from feeding them to caring for their needs. Sophie has been a natural at getting the horses to calm down. I spent a lot of time at the stables training her to get horses to trust again.”

“You don’t look like the type to muck out a stable. Weren’t you worried about chipping a nail?” His gaze shot up and down the length of her body, from those well-manicured hands to her dainty feet.

Meg’s pouty mouth flattened. “My grandparents owned a farm up north and I grew up there. I know just as much about shoveling manure as I do about hosting a charity benefit, Mr. Johnson.”

Coop leaned against a bale of hay, slightly ashamed of jumping all over her. Maybe because he was attracted to her, too attracted, and felt a natural need to put distance between them.

Like between now and next week would be good.

“Adela’s had it rough. Thanks for that.” From beneath the brim of his Stetson, he gave her a meaningful look. “But next time, do as I say. I don’t care if you rescued all the wild mustangs in the West and tamed them, you don’t go walking into a man’s barn and approach any of the horses until you know their background. Deal?”

He removed his right hand from his pocket and shoved it out at her.

But she did not take his hand. Rather, the princess looked at his palm the way Adela had regarded the apple earlier.

Fine. He was here to keep her safe until the next step of her journey. Nothing more.

Meg went to a bale of hay and sat, Sophie at her side. She scratched the dog’s head. “What happened to her?”

He glanced at Adela. “I bought her from a kill pen last month. She was scheduled to be shipped to Canada to a slaughterhouse.”

Yeah, kinda harsh. He winced as her mouth trembled and she blinked rapidly. “I hate kill pens. I’ve bought a few horses from a kill buyer and managed to save them. But it’s never enough.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised. “You know about the business?”

“The foundation I helped was very involved in rescuing abused and abandoned horses, and horses sold by their owners for the slaughterhouse. Mainly older horses who had outlived their use, as seen by their owners. I’ve rescued a few. Once, I actually staged a protest outside the polo grounds to raise awareness.” Meg gave a rueful smile. “It didn’t win me many friends with the polo set, and I was banned for a month.”

His respect for her grew and he felt a little ashamed for judging her so quickly. “Good for you.”

Her expression fell. “When my husband found out, he was infuriated, because he had business dealings with executives who played polo. He said I did it deliberately to mock him.” Meg looked down, rubbing her hands against the jeans he’d lent her. “He wasn’t one for saving any stray animals. With him it was all business and all money, all the time.”

Cooper leaned against Betsy’s stall door. “That guy sounds like a total loser. Then why did you marry him?”

Meg bit her lush lower lip, and the little movement fired his blood. “When I first met him, he was urbane, charming and caring. He swept me off my feet. He was the first person to really listen when I talked to him about my plans and my dreams. He put my needs first, or so I thought.”

A faint flush tinted her cheeks. “He even fooled my grandmother, who approved of the marriage. She had hired him to take over the reins of the family business, and he saved our company when we were headed into the red. But a year after we married, my husband showed his true colors. And yet I stuck it out for two more years.” Her voice lowered, as if she were ashamed to say the words. “I thought I loved him. I was a fool for not leaving him sooner.”

Anger raced through him. Some men weren’t fit to have a relationship, no matter what their background. “It takes a lot of courage to leave. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She looked him in the eye and said clearly, “I kept hoping he would change. He used to promise never to do it again.”

He’d heard that story before, and it rankled him that this pretty, seemingly frail woman had endured such abuse. Coop had been raised to respect women, and never hurt them, no matter what. The hardest thing for him to do as a SEAL was turn off that ingrained belief, and do his job in enemy territory when facing a woman holding a grenade...

He gentled his voice. “Someone like your louse of an ex will never change. The behavior is too ingrained in them. Like drug addicts, they find it hard to kick the habit.”

“You seem to know a lot about abuse.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Adela. “I have more than a nodding acquaintance with it. My sister was with a guy who used his fists when he got drunk.”

Meg’s eyes went round. “And how did she end the relationship?”

“She didn’t. I did, by showing the guy the business end of my nine-millimeter.” Cooper offered a grim smile. “Brie wasn’t happy I muscled into her life, but later, she thanked me.”

“You were being a concerned brother,” she said gently.

His smile dropped. Yeah, but he’d failed Brie in the one area he’d felt confident of protecting her. That little reminder truly rankled him. “Why are you here? You said you needed to tell me something. So talk.”

Inwardly he winced at his curt tone. The softness fled from Meg’s heart-shaped face and she looked wary. Even the dog growled at him.

“I came to tell you I’m only spending the night and leaving in the morning as soon as my car is fixed. That’s all.”

She turned on her heel, and the dog followed. Coop rubbed the nape of his neck.

Ah, damn. He was supposed to protect a woman for Project SOS and offer her safe refuge from an abusive spouse.

And she was going to bolt.

Cooper ran after her, blocked her from exiting the barn. He held out his hands, kept his body relaxed and loose.

“Don’t go because I’m an ass. Stay. You came here to find a safe place and I promise, you will be safe here.”

She watched him with narrowed eyes, and he could read the doubt in her expression.

Spreading out his hands, he wriggled his fingers. “Look at me. I’m not armed, and I will listen to you. If I say something stupid again, you can go ahead and do what my mom always does when I’m being dumb.”

Meg’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “And what’s that? Send you to bed without supper? Is that what I should do?”

Sending me to bed with you would be a most pleasant punishment. Desire surged through him, and his grin tightened as he struggled to maintain a grip on his emotions. There was something about this woman that scrambled his senses and made all his tightly held control go southward.

Straight to his groin, in fact.

He wasn’t the charming type like his teammate Stephen, or a ladies’ magnet like LT before LT had married Lacey. He’d always been quieter, more drawn to animals than people, and relationships were brief because of his time downrange with the teams. When he did have leave, it was always spent with family, not partying and impressing women.

But something about Meg drew him like a lodestone. Oh yeah, she was a beauty, but it was more than that. He’d had his share of beautiful women, some of whom were vapid as an air bag. Maybe it was the wounded look in her eyes he wanted to erase, or her sheer pluck, or the fact that she refused to cower.

That “no retreat” attitude he both admired and recognized.

But she’d fled a bad marriage and a man who treated her like a punching bag. Last thing Meg needed was unwanted male attention. Coop cocked his head.

“What you should do with me is tell me what drove you in here, in this storm, ’cause you had something you wanted to tell me before I went all ape on you. What happened?”

Her gaze darted away, a sure sign she was nervous. “It was nothing.”

Suspecting he wouldn’t get much more out of her, Coop opted for a different approach. He crouched down to Sophie and spoke in a low, soothing voice, the kind that coaxed women into his bed and animals to his hand. “C’mon, pretty girl. Did something scare you? Because if it did, I need to know so I can make it right. I want you to feel comfortable here in my home, and I sure do want you to stick around because my mom makes the best breakfast this side of the Mississippi. You can’t run off before you taste her cranberry-orange-nut muffins with honey butter.”

Sophie’s tail waved ever so slightly. She bent her head and sniffed in his direction. Then she cautiously approached him and smelled the hand he held out.

Meg watched as her man-hating dog licked Cooper’s hand. He glanced at her and winked. “She wants me to tell you. See?”

“I don’t understand. Sophie doesn’t like men.”

Scratching behind Sophie’s ears, he nodded. “She’s been burned, but animals are smart. They know which people will hurt them and which ones to trust.”

At his meaningful look, Meg sighed. “You’re not going to let this go.”

“Nope. I can be real stubborn that way.”

“There was a crash outside. I think it was the wind.” She looked away. “Or not. I had this feeling of being watched.”

Immediately he assessed the situation. She’d been alone in a strange place, all sorts of noises outside in the storm where anything could sound like a threat. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I’ll come back with you now.”

“What about Betsy?”

Much as he wanted to remain in the barn, he couldn’t leave Meg alone. The horse seemed to be over the worst of the colic. “She’ll do fine. Come on.”

“It was nothing,” Meg repeated. “Just the wind knocking something over.”

Straightening, he turned toward the door. “Show me.”

The wind had died down, and the clouds had scudded across the night sky, showing a pale full moon as they made their way back to the cottage. The path was only a few hundred feet away, but he thought of Meg making her way to the barn in the dark with only a thin pencil beam from the flashlight to illuminate the way, and his guts churned.

He should never have left her alone.

At the porch steps, she gestured to the broken clay pot. Brie had planted marigolds in the three pots on the steps, and when they’d died, he simply hadn’t had the heart to do anything with them. Same reason he hadn’t cleaned out Brie’s closet or, against his mother’s wishes, gone through any of her personal things.

Cooper saw Meg’s trim boot prints in the newly fallen snow, and a set of paw prints leading from the front steps.

Nothing obvious. But he’d check the entire cottage to make sure.

“Go inside, get warm. I’ll be in shortly.”

His no-nonsense tone indicated business. Meg bit her lower lip again and then held out the flashlight. He shook his head. “Don’t need it.”

“It’s dark out here.”

“Yeah, and it’s how I roll. Go inside. Lock the door behind you.”

He was relieved to see her unlock the door and head into the cottage, the dog on her heels. Soon as he heard the lock click, he began a perimeter check. The new snow made it easy to spot any disturbances. And using a flashlight would be like a neon sign if there was anyone, or anything, lurking outside.

Cooper made his way around the cottage, using the light of the moon as illumination. Nothing. Maybe it was the wind. But he didn’t like it. Took a mighty strong wind to knock over a pot that heavy.

As he walked to the east, hooked around the house and examined the grounds, he got a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. Gut instinct saved his butt more than once in the field, so he paid attention to the night sounds, the quietness, the smells...

He inched toward the living room window that was parallel to the sunporch. And then his blood ran cold.

Another set of prints in the snow, these much larger.

As if a man had been standing outside the window, trying to peer past the curtains at Meg...

Using the spare key, Cooper let himself into the house. Meg sat at the kitchen table. “Did you find anything?”

“Maybe.” Coop headed to the closet and opened the gun safe where he’d stashed Brie’s .38 special. After loading it, he returned to the kitchen and showed her the gun. “Ever use one of these?”

Meg’s eyes widened to dinner plates. “No. Is it necessary?”

“Not as long as I’m around. It’s for when I can’t be at your side.” He showed her the safety. “Click this off and point and shoot, but only if you’re certain your target intends harm.”

She looked at the gun as if it were a cockroach. “I can’t use this.”

Coop considered. “Fine. Need you to do something. Ever make plaster of paris?”

At her head shake, he told her where to find the flour and bowls, and to warm the water. Taking the flashlight, Coop next returned outside.

After making another thorough perimeter check, he fetched the bowl of plaster. Coop poured the liquid into the footprints to let it set. Then he returned inside, locking the door. Pulling out a chair, he joined Meg at the table.

“You asked if I found something. I found a set of man’s footprints, size 14, in the snow. I wear size 11, and no one I know, even the hired help, wears shoes that big.”

Blood drained from Meg’s face. She hugged herself. “Prescott wears that size shoe. He’s found me. Oh God, I knew I never should have come here. He killed Randall and I’m next.”

Coop’s suspicions flared. He knew that name, all too well... “Randall?”

Meg’s gaze darted away. Bingo. Cooper leaned forward, all business now. She knew something and he was going to find out what.

“I think it’s time you started leveling with me about your ex. I need to know exactly why you ran away from him, who he is and what his business is. Starting now.”

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