“I used to work for the FBI. Crimes Against Children Division,” Royce said, a muscle twitching in his jaw

“So what does your experience tell you about this?”

“Usually kidnapping of a child involves a parent, a vengeful ex.”

Sarah’s lips twitched, but no humor tickled her. “I’m a widow, Mr. Graham.”

“There are more than ex-spouses. Ex-lovers get vengeful, too. Kidnappings are usually personal.”

“That’s not the case. It must be someone’s sick idea of a joke.” She had almost convinced herself of that.

Then he spoke her greatest fear aloud. “Or something or someone inadvertently thwarted their kidnapping attempt.”

If the threat was not a joke, but very real, who would protect them then? Could she count on Royce…a stranger?

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

We have a thrilling summer lineup for this month and throughout the season to make your beach reading positively sizzle!

To start things off with a big splash, you won’t want to miss the next installment in bestselling author Rebecca York’s popular 43 LIGHT STREET series. An overturned conviction gives a hardened hero a new name, a new face and the means, motive and opportunity to close in on the real killer. But will his quest for revenge prevent him from becoming Intimate Strangers with the woman who fuels his every fantasy?

Reader favorite Debra Webb will leave you on the edge of your seat with the continuation of her ongoing series COLBY AGENCY. In Her Secret Alibi, a lethally sexy undercover agent will stop at nothing in the name of justice, only to fall under the mesmerizing spell of his prime suspect!

The heat wave continues with Julie Miller’s next tantalizing tale in THE TAYLOR CLAN. When the one woman whom a smoldering arson investigator can’t stop wanting becomes the target of a stalker, will Kansas City’s Bravest battle an inferno of danger—and desire—in the name of love? And in Sarah’s Secrets by Lisa Childs, shocking secret agendas ignite perilous sparks between a skittish single mom and a cynical tracker!

If you’re in the mood for breathtaking romantic suspense, you’ll be riveted by our selections this month!

Enjoy!

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Sarah’s Secrets
Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author

Lisa Childs has been writing since she could first form sentences. At eleven she won her first writing award and was interviewed by the local newspaper. That story’s plot revolved around a kidnapping, probably something she wished on any of her six siblings. A Halloween birthday predestined a life of writing Intrigue. She enjoys the mix of suspense and romance. Readers can write to Lisa at P.O. Box 139, Marne, MI 49435 or visit her at her Web site www.lisachilds.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sarah Mars-Hutchins—The young widow’s secrets threatened her child’s life.

Royce “The Tracker” Graham—Had his search for Sarah brought danger to her door?

Bart McCarthy—His deathbed request prompted Royce’s search.

Donald Graham—Royce’s father would go to any lengths to protect his business partner.

Deputy Jones—He wanted to prove himself as a lawman and Sarah’s hero.

Alan McCarthy—His resentment of his dead brother extended to the man’s bastard child.

Donny McCarthy—His struggle with drugs had left him with few scruples.

Pamela McCarthy—Since her ex-husband didn’t support her or their sick child, she’d find other means of support.

Lionel Patterson—The kidnapper would die before revealing his accomplice.

Sheriff Matthews—The lawman trusted his friend to protect Sarah and her son.

Jeremy Hutchins—All he wanted was a father. But he needed a hero to save his life.

For my first hero, my dad, Jack Childs.

And for all the love and support of my HUGE, WONDERFUL family, my friends and fellow writers, the Ditzy Chix and our fun and loyal Chix-a-dees!

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Death hung in the air. The medicinal smell of it pervaded the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit. The bright lights in the hall illuminated the dread on the pinched faces of those who waited for word of it.

Death.

Royce Graham shrugged out of his rain-darkened overcoat, ran an unsteady hand over his wet hair and stepped close to a man who leaned against the corridor wall. “Father.”

The older man turned. He’d aged since Royce had seen him last. Lines rimmed the thin, compressed lips. His hair had slipped from silver to white. “You came.” Surprise lit the faded blue eyes.

“You called.”

“He wants you.”

A breath hitched in Royce’s chest. His father didn’t want him, wouldn’t have called for him unless he’d been asked. The rejection wasn’t new, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. “Why?”

“He’s dying, Royce.” A grimace twisted the man’s stern face.

Royce curled his fingers into his palm, so he wouldn’t reach out. He had no comfort to offer his father while Donald Graham watched his best friend die, at least, none the old man would accept.

“I’m sorry. What happened?” He figured a heart attack. These men lived on power and thrived on high-stress business dealings.

“He was shot.” Donald Graham’s voice cracked, and impotent rage surged into his eyes. “Someone shot him.”

“Who?”

A ragged sigh slipped through those thin lips. “He surprised someone breaking into his den. He never saw who, but the bastard shot him and cleaned out his safe—money, will, everything.”

Donald ran a trembling hand through his white hair. “I told him again and again to get a security system, especially after the break-ins at the company. He could probably have worked a deal when we upped security there. The cheap fool.”

Despite the brevity of the situation, Royce’s mouth tipped up with wry amusement. His father expected people to do as he told them. “So, he can speak?”

Annoyance narrowed Donald’s eyes. “I told you he asked for you. I don’t know why. He’ll tell only you what he wants. Get in there. The doctors say he doesn’t have much time.”

Royce’s heart beat slow and heavy with dread. Bart McCarthy had always been a strong presence in his life. His godfather. “Where?” He gestured toward the door beside his father. “In there?”

Donald nodded and took the overcoat from Royce’s arm. “He wants to talk to you alone.” Bitterness laced his father’s words.

Royce stepped around him and pushed open the door. Machines beeped and made wheezing noises as Bart McCarthy gasped for each breath. Tubes connected to his frail body: IVs, oxygen…

Royce had once feared this man, until he’d learned his loud bark concealed his generous, loving nature. Now pity softened Royce’s heart. And something else. He blinked hard. “Bart.”

Misted green eyes peered up at him. A voice rasped out. “You came.”

Royce approached the bed, his wet rubber soles squeaking against the pristine tiles of the ICU floor. “What’s with the surprise?” He forced his mouth into a grin. “You had the old man call. I didn’t dare disobey.”

And he’d wanted to come. He’d wanted to see this man again. But he didn’t want it to be for the last time.

“Smart a…”

“Hey, don’t waste your breath on insults. You need to save it. You need to fight.” He curled his fingers around the steel railing on the side of the bed.

Pride lit the green eyes. “Fight…”

Royce nodded. “You fight this. I want to know what happened last night.”

When Bart opened his mouth, Royce held up a hand. “But you shouldn’t get worked up.”

The pride burned brighter. “I got shot…but I…shouldn’t…get worked…up?”

Royce’s laugh didn’t rise above the cacophony of the life-saving machines. “There’s some of that McCarthy spirit. Now, are you going to tell me what happened last night, so I can track down the SOB who shot you?”

A wiry gray brow rose above those lively eyes. This man wasn’t gone yet. “Tracking…”

Royce’s pulse quickened. “That’s what I do. Tell me everything you saw, Bart.”

“Too dark. Didn’t see anything…”

Frustration burned in Royce’s throat. He wanted whoever had done this to the old dragon.

“I have to…ask you…”

A cough wheezed out of his godfather’s frail chest, rattling the skeletal body and the tubes and wires connected to it.

Royce winced and tightened his hands around the railing till his fingertips tingled. “Whatever you want, it’s yours. Ask me.”

“Find…”

The lids fluttered over the pale eyes, consciousness slipping away from him.

“What? Who?”

Thin fingers closed over his hand, biting with a fierce grasp. “Find Sarah…”

Royce turned his hand over to clasp Bart’s, but his godfather’s fingers slid away. “Bart?”

“Sarah…”

A murmur rose from the bed. “Sarah Mars…”

SARAH’S HEELS clicked against the new subfloor as she walked the maze of stud walls. Closing her eyes, she could envision how it would be when the builder finished. Hers. Something for her, not given to her, not inherited, not on loan. Hers alone. As only her son was.

But she shared him now, as she should have years ago. A sigh slipped through her lips.

“Something not right, Mrs. Hutchins?”

The contractor hovered nearby with respectful interest in Sarah’s opinion. A woman. And an out-of-towner. Those were the only people who respected her. Strangers.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Hard to envision the finished product—”

“No, it’s not.” She patted the woman’s arm. “It’s perfect.”

A smile creased the young woman’s face. “I’m glad you think so. There’s a long way to go yet.”

Sarah waved a hand in dismissal. “I understand and appreciate you taking this job so far from home. Why don’t you head back down now for the weekend since your workers have already left? I’ll check in with you some time next week.”

The blond head bobbed. “Have a nice weekend, Mrs. Hutchins.”

Sarah held in her next sigh until the woman’s pickup backed from the driveway. Nice weekend? She hoped so. She would enjoy her son’s soccer game. She enjoyed every minute with her growing boy. But when she was alone…

She shivered despite the warm caress of the spring air. She turned to leave, her heel catching on a protruding nail. Grasping the stud wall prevented a fall, but a sliver drove in beneath her nail bed. A breath of pain hissed through her lips. “Just got that manicure, too.”

She glanced at the rose-colored nails and the rings glinting in the late-afternoon sun. He was dead now. As a widow, she could continue to wear his rings, to perpetrate that lie of her marriage.

Tears burned behind her eyes, and her heart contracted with pain. She missed him, her dear friend. But he’d never been truly her husband. She hadn’t felt a man’s passionate touch in many years.

She closed her teeth over the jagged end of the sliver and tugged it free. Blood dripped from her hand to the new floorboards.

Although the townspeople believed it, there was no proverbial blood on her hands. In fact, they’d be surprised if they knew who had really married whom for the money. Money had been little compensation for what she’d lost—loving, supportive parents, their hearts so big they’d first adopted one child and then a few years later, another. Her. They’d given her and her older, adopted “brother” a home. Family. But for Jeremy, that was all gone now. After taking one life, her brother had taken another, his own. And just a few years later, a plane crash had taken her parents, leaving her a single mother with no emotional support…only the life insurance money. So when as a young nurse she’d seen a patient struggling financially as well as physically, she had offered her help and been labeled a gold digger for her efforts. But that was the past. And where was the sense in looking back? Sarah had never found it.

Whatever mistakes she’d made, she couldn’t change them now. Whatever tragedies she’d endured, she couldn’t alter fate as much as she wished she could. She had to concentrate on the future. And her son.

If she dwelled on the past, she would open that folder her friend and business partner Evan Quade kept locked in a safe-deposit box, protected from her son’s curiosity and her own interest. If they wanted her to know who they were, they’d come looking for her. But after twenty-eight years, she didn’t expect them any time soon.

Being careful of her impractical heels, she stepped down a couple of concrete steps and walked across the cement slab that would be the garage.

Heat shimmered off the silver hood of her Mercedes as the late-spring sun shone bright in a clear sky. From behind a stand of trees with new leaves, Lake Michigan rushed to the sandy shore.

Jeremy would have so much fun here as he made his awkward passage from early adolescence to adulthood. A passage she prayed he traversed with more grace and caution than she had. But if she hadn’t…

No, no looking back, except to count her blessings, of which Jeremy was the biggest.

A wave of stale air crashed against her as she pulled open the car’s driver’s door. She should have left the window down. Someday she’d learn to plan ahead.

She slid onto the warm leather seat and reached for the keys she’d dropped in the console. Her nails scratched paper. She lifted a creased note, unfolded it, and read the printed message aloud, “We have your son!”

ROYCE HOPED he had the right woman this time. Finding Sarah Mars, the real Sarah Mars, hadn’t been easy even for an experienced “tracker” like him. He’d had pathetic little to go on.

Bart McCarthy had slipped into a coma. His family, gathered in the corridor with Royce’s father, had had no information on Sarah Mars. Bart’s son, grandson and ex-granddaughter-in-law had never heard the name before. And neither had Royce’s father, Bart’s business partner. So who was she?

Not any of the other women he’d found in the last few days. His gut had told him no. Not the one. Not yet. But when he’d pulled up information and a grainy newspaper photo of Sarah Mars-Hutchins, something had clicked for him. Her. Despite the poor quality of the photo, she’d even looked familiar. And standing on this ball field in Winter Falls, Michigan, had his instincts screaming. She was near.

Listening to his instincts while working for the Milwaukee Police Department had brought him to the attention of the FBI after he’d solved a high-profile case before they had. To save face, he’d always suspected, they had hired him away from Milwaukee PD. But he’d never really fit in at the Bureau. He hadn’t liked handling the media, and he’d hated the internal politics.

He’d had other, more painful reasons for calling it quits. But what he told the public was that he’d finally realized he could only work for himself. Maybe he was more like his old man than he’d thought.

He winced. No way.

The sun glinted on a man’s blond hair then reflected off the badge on his chest. Despite the shade of his dark glasses, Royce brought his hand to his brow to peer closer, not believing his eyes.

“Dylan!”

Dylan Matthews thrust a cell phone into his shirt pocket. Tension creased his forehead. He stared at Royce for a couple of seconds until a smile broke free. “Royce Graham!” He waved an arm in a gesture for Royce to come closer.

With trepidation Royce eyed the kids running around the field behind Dylan. They chased a soccer ball, kicking at it and tripping over each other. Cautious steps brought him to the edge of the excitement and next to his friend.

“Never thought I’d see you here.” They spoke in unison, then laughed and clasped hands.

Royce shook his head, not able to mesh the bitter narcotics officer he’d known in Detroit with this uniformed sheriff. “You’re a sheriff? I can’t believe I recognized you. Must have been when you were looking harassed. You can’t tell me a problem cropped up in this happy little town.”

Dylan snorted. “You’d be surprised. But what brings the Tracker here?”

Royce groaned. “Very little sleep and a genuine deadline.” His heart flipped, and he squeezed his eyes shut to the image of Bart lying helpless in ICU. Would Sarah bring him out of the coma?

“Of course you’re looking for someone. You’re always looking for someone or something, but usually in some godforsaken foreign country. You couldn’t be here on vacation. I doubt you’ve ever taken one.”

Although Dylan’s words were spoken mildly, Royce reeled. Had he become the aggressive, ambitious man his friend described? Had he become his father?

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “This is different. It’s personal.”

Dylan’s gaze swung from his intense surveillance of the soccer players to Royce. “Yeah, you look like hell.”

Royce’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Thanks a lot.” Then he stumbled back as the group of kids surged toward them.

“What next, Coach? Sheriff?”

Because he had to muffle a laugh, he missed Dylan’s orders. The kids scrambled off to do his bidding. One tall blond kid stood nearly a head above the others. “He yours?”

A wistful sigh escaped Dylan’s lips. “In a manner of speaking.” And the lines creased his forehead again. Worry.

Despite his press for time, Royce wanted to help. He hadn’t seen Dylan in a long time. But a dying man hung to life by a thread. Royce was that thread, he and the hope that he could find Sarah.

“I am looking for someone, Dylan. It’s really important that I find this person.”

“Here?”

Royce nodded. “That’s what the rumor is.” And a lot of rumors circulated about Sarah Mars-Hutchins. She had to be the one.

Dylan snorted again. “Rumors. You’ve been in town long enough to hear them?” He flicked his gaze over Royce again. “You don’t blend in with the tourist crowd. Wonder why no one mentioned your questions.”

Royce shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m good at my job?”

Dylan laughed. “Yes, you are. That’s why Detroit PD hired you a few times.”

Royce managed a tired grin. “I’m just a consultant now.”

Dylan snorted. “You’re full of it. So who are you looking for?”

Before Royce could answer, brakes screeched as a Mercedes slammed to a halt in the parking lot. A woman catapulted from the car, not even closing the door. On high heels she stumbled across the lawn, her gaze focused on the players. She staggered to the far end of the playing field, clutching her arms around her midriff. Her chest expanded against a silk blouse as she drew in a breath.

“What’s the matter with her?” With a shoulder, Royce nudged Dylan only to find his friend’s gaze already on the woman.

“She’ll be all right. She’s the strongest person I know.” Dylan’s voice vibrated with pride. Was this his wife? A wedding band encircled the third finger on the sheriff’s left hand.

When Royce turned back, the woman had resumed her approach. Only now she traversed the lawn with her head held high, a picture of grace and serenity. The breeze blew wisps of glowing red hair across her pale cheek.

His gut clenched over her ethereal beauty. “Whew…”

If not for the dome light burning in the Mercedes and the door standing open, he wouldn’t have believed his tired eyes had witnessed any anxiety from her.

He had his own problems. He couldn’t get involved, but he had to know. “Who is she?”

A sigh gusted from Dylan, and her name carried on the end of it. “Sarah.”

SARAH’S HEART struggled to find a normal rhythm. Despite Dylan’s assurances, via cell phone, that her son was safe, she hadn’t believed it. She knew about the lies people told to protect someone.

Tears swam in her eyes, blurring him from her vision. Panic washed over her again, stealing away the composure she’d managed to summon. She had to touch him, had to make sure he was real. Heedless of the scrambling boys, she rushed into the game.

Intent on the ball with his head down, he never noticed her until she threw her arms around him. “Jeremy, you’re safe! Thank God!”

He tried to squirm free. “Mom! I almost had that goal!”

“Sorry.” A sob threatened her apology. She wrapped her arms tighter around his thin frame, grateful she could hold her son.

When his bright blue gaze focused on her face, the irritation faded. “Mom? You okay?”

She nodded and reluctantly released him, edging backward toward the sidelines. “I’m fine. Play. Go ahead. Make a goal.”

He stared at her for another minute until the other players urged him back into the game. Except for a couple of troubled glances her way, Jeremy played with joyful abandon tempered with competitive skill. He romped with his friends on the soccer field, his head above theirs. Her tall, proud son.

She had to pull herself together. He had enough to live down with her as his mother. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, stifling the urge to drag him from the field to safety. But where would she find that?

Shaking legs carried her toward Dylan. She blinked away the tears. A man stood shoulder to shoulder with the sheriff. Despite his dark glasses, she burned from the scrutiny of his stare but willed the blush away. No doubt he’d seen her mad scramble from her car and into the midst of the game.

Who was he? The wind tousled overly long strands of his dark blond hair. She didn’t remember him from other practices or games. Was he a weekend father who neglected his son?

Her mouth tightened with distaste and she dismissed him, turning to Dylan. Yet her flesh still burned. How could she be so aware of this man? A stranger? Was he the one who’d left the note?

Dylan’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Are you okay, Sarah?”

She opened her mouth but didn’t trust her voice since his concern undermined her tenuous composure. She nodded.

“Where’s the note?”

She glanced again to the stranger. He wore a black polo shirt over faded jeans. Nothing about that stamped him as an outsider, but she knew he wasn’t from Winter Falls. A week or more growth of beard, darker blond than his hair, clung to his strong jaw. He was unkempt. She shivered.

“Sarah?” Dylan squeezed her shoulder and followed her gaze. “Oh. Sarah, this is Royce Graham. He’s an old friend. Royce, this is Sarah Mars—uh, Hutchins.”

No relief rippled through her stomach. Maybe Dylan called him a friend, but she gleaned that she never would. His hard-looking mouth stayed in an uncompromising line, no smile of welcome softening the firm lips. Yet, his name struck some distant chord of memory.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hutchins.” He didn’t extend his hand to her but kept them both shoved in his jeans pockets, tightening the worn material across his lean hips.

She nodded and dismissed him again by turning back to Dylan. “I left it in the car, in the console, where I found it.”

“At the new-home site?”

She nodded again.

“Who was there?”

“Just the builder and I. I stayed for a while by myself, and I’d left the car doors unlocked. Although I didn’t see anyone drive up, the stud walls are up, and I was inside. With the waves drowning out any sound…” She had been distracted, too, with maudlin thoughts about the past. Nothing good ever came of looking back.

Her gaze slid to the soccer field. Jeremy lifted his head from the game, stared at her for an assessing moment and then waved. With a trembling hand, she waved back. “Thank God he’s okay. This must just be some sick, practical joke.”

A deep voice rumbled out of the chest pressing against the black polo shirt. “I know this is none of my business…”

She turned to the stranger. “No, it’s not.”

“Sarah.” Dylan sighed. “Royce is more than a friend, he’s a pro. We might need him.”

Her gaze flickered over his unshaven face and the hair that flirted with the collar of his shirt. Other women might consider his surfer look sexy. Not her. Nor did she consider him trustworthy. But she’d learned to trust Dylan. She owed him. She bit back another smart retort as the chord struck her memory again, and she recognized the name.

Due to the days’ growth of beard, the face had changed somewhat. He didn’t wear the suit and the short haircut, but he was the FBI agent publicly canonized for his work in finding missing children. A shiver raised the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. How had he known?

But he wasn’t with the FBI anymore. He had his own agency and all the notoriety that went with it. She’d seen him recently on the news, dark-blond hair slicked back with rain, overcoat hiding his clothes. He had just rescued a kidnapped businessman from desperate rebel fighters in some third-world country.

Dylan sighed again. “I’m sorry, Royce. You’re here for a job. Something personal. I can’t impose. Just stay here a minute while I grab the letter from Sarah’s car.”

She fought the desire to scramble after Dylan’s long strides. She didn’t want to be alone with Royce Graham. Despite his fame, he was still a stranger, and she was too vulnerable while her emotions overflowed. Anxiety. Relief. Anger. Joy. She could hardly identify each as it rolled through her heart and her head. The force staggered her, and she stumbled back.

Strong fingers closed over her elbow, burning through the thin silk of her blouse. “Careful now, you almost fell. Are you okay, Sarah?”

The sound of her name in his husky voice brought on a shiver. Then she stiffened. With Dylan gone from hearing, it wasn’t Mrs. Hutchins but Sarah that he called her.

“I’m fine.”

A sigh slipped through his lips, his breath feathering through her bangs. She glanced up to find him close, his head bent to hers. In his dark glasses, mirrored images of her stared back. Pale face. Wide, horrified eyes.

Pride had her bristling against the image and him. “I told you I’m fine.” Shaking her arm didn’t dislodge his firm hold.

He shook his head. “No, ma’am, you’re not.”

Intending to pry him loose, her fingers closed over his. Warm, rough skin slid under her palm, sending tingles up her arm, inciting her anger. “Let go of me.”

“No.”

Her head snapped back. No one talked to her like that, no matter how much respect the rest of the world had for him. “Who do you think you are?”

“The only thing keeping you from falling on your face. You’re shaking.”

She couldn’t deny the obvious, or hold onto her anger. He’d done nothing to incite it. “Yes, I am.”

“This note really rattled your cage.”

Caged was how she lived her life now, keeping her emotions in check. Until now… “You don’t have children of your own, do you, Mr. Graham?”

“No!” He cleared his throat after his sharp retort then sighed, his warm breath caressing her skin with the scent of butterscotch. “And I don’t intend to.”

She nodded. “That’s good that you know that now, before it’s too late and an unwanted child is brought into the world.” As she’d been. A throwaway. Until the Marses had adopted her.

He lifted a dark-blond brow above one of the lenses of his sunglasses. “You’re not talking about your son. I saw you wade into those kids and hug one. I couldn’t see which one, but—”

“No!” She drew in a quick breath. “I love my son very much. That’s why this note…”

“What does it say?”

Her fingers still lay over his on her elbow. She squeezed them, taking a moment’s comfort in his warmth and strength. Turning her head, she gazed over the soccer field where Jeremy’s golden hair glowed in the afternoon sunshine.

Her heart clenched, fear rippling through her veins again as it had when she’d read that note. “It says, ‘We have your son.’”

His hold on her elbow tightened as if he expected her to faint at his feet. “But they don’t. He’s one of the kids on the field.”

She nodded, a sob of relief threatening to escape her throat, and swallowed hard. “Yes, he’s safe.”

“For now.”

She shivered and tugged her arm free of his grasp. “Why would you say something so awful?”

He ran his fingers along the unshaven length of his jaw. “I’m being realistic. I’ve had some experience with situations like this.”

She stared into his face, wishing she could see behind the dark lenses to what lay in his eyes. “Yes, Dylan called you a pro.”

And she knew why but saw no reason to stroke his probably oversize ego by admitting it.

He nodded, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I used to work for the FBI Crimes Against Children Division.”

Despite the warm caress of the sun, she shivered. Crimes against children. What he must have witnessed…. Memories of one of his earlier interviews flashed through her mind. His grim face, his admission of how the child was found. Dead. Was that why he didn’t want any of his own?

She again longed to stare into his eyes. But she fought the ridiculous urge to comfort him. Nothing about him begged for comfort. A haircut and a shave, maybe…

“So what does your experience tell you about this?” she asked.

He rolled a shoulder. “Usually the kidnapping of a child involves a parent, a vengeful ex.”

Her lips twitched, but no humor tickled her. All she enjoyed was a moment’s satisfaction in proving him wrong. For some reason she imagined few people ever did. “I’m a widow, Mr. Graham.”

His face didn’t soften with sympathy. She expected no condolences and wasn’t surprised when he brushed off her admission.

“There are more than ex-spouses. Ex-lovers get vengeful, too. Kidnappings are usually personal, at least in this country they are.”

She slid her hands over her upper arms, trying to dispel the chills. She didn’t know this man. And his inference of an ex-lover showed he knew nothing of her. “That’s not the case. It must be someone’s sick idea of a joke.” She had almost convinced herself of that.

Then he spoke her greatest fear aloud. “Or something or someone inadvertently thwarted their kidnapping attempt.” She followed the angle of his head to witness Dylan striding toward them.

A sigh hitched in her throat. “He didn’t change from his uniform today. Must not have had time.” Had that been enough to frighten off a would-be kidnapper?

Fortunately for her and Jeremy, Dylan had been around this time. As her son’s uncle and his soccer coach, Dylan maintained a presence in their lives. But he had his own life, a very stressful one at the moment.

So what happened when she and Jeremy were alone? If the threat was not a joke but very real, who would protect them then?

Chapter Two

Sarah Mars. Up close, she resembled the photo he’d found of her. The photo that had brought him to Winter Falls. He had the right one. He knew it in his gut. And his gut instincts had gotten him out of some of the hottest spots in the world.

He had also figured he had her when he’d pulled marriage licenses. As a tracker, he had the most trouble finding women. They married and changed their names, or didn’t. So he’d had to search Sarah Mars as a married name and a maiden name.

He’d found several Sarahs. But only this one had married then buried a man more than twice her age. Was that her angle with his godfather? Marry him for his money, then pull the plug? Then why didn’t she hover by Bart’s bedside with a marriage license and a preacher?

He’d known women like her; he’d come from one. But his mother hadn’t been as lucky or as smart as Sarah. Mother had found nothing sweet about her sugar daddy. So she’d cut her losses and left. She’d looked like an angel, too. Or was that only a little boy’s memory of her?

His fingers still tingled from the contact with Sarah’s silk blouse and the heat of her skin beneath, and he cursed himself for touching her. Raised in a cold, unemotional household, he’d never been given to physical demonstrations. But he hadn’t wanted her to fall on her face either when she’d been shaking so hard.

Dylan coughed. Despite being tired, Royce’s reflexes kept him from jumping.

“Royce, have you calmed her fears?” the sheriff asked.

Sarah’s smoky gray eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “No, he seems convinced this is real, and your presence prevented the kidnapping from taking place.”

She gestured toward the note Dylan had slipped into a plastic evidence bag. “Then what about the note? Explain why they would leave the note in my car when they had not abducted my—”

Her voice broke. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. “—son.”

“Because they put the note in the car first, convinced they’d be able to grab your son and not have time to leave the note after the kidnapping. The note would keep you close to the phone for their instructions.”

She swayed on her feet again, shaken. Royce fisted his hands and shoved them into his pockets. He wouldn’t touch her again…unless she asked. And a woman like her would never ask a man like him. He hadn’t missed her initial assessment and subsequent dismissal of him. She’d judged him based on his clothes and his looks. And he’d been deemed unworthy of her.

Probably too young, too. He only had a few years on her, not a few decades. He bit the inside of his cheek, ticked at himself for letting her get to him.

“Jeez, Royce, go easy.” Dylan’s voice deepened with warning. He handed over the plastic bag and turned toward his team, calling out a few commands.

Royce whipped off his glasses and tucked one ear-piece in the open collar of his shirt. He waited until he had Dylan’s attention again. “Plain paper, impossible to trace. Stenciled block letters. Tough one. Unless you lift some prints or DNA, you’re not going to learn much from this, man.”

Dylan nodded. “I called in one of my deputies. We’re going to check the car for prints.” He reached for the evidence bag. “And we’ll run this through the lab. Sarah, it’s going to take a while.”

“I don’t want Jeremy to know.” Fear haunted her eyes again.

Royce called himself a fool for doubting her. He’d briefly considered the idea that she may have crafted the note herself in order to get some attention. She wouldn’t have been the first to do so. But a person couldn’t feign the kind of fear haunting her gray eyes. Then he called himself a bigger fool. He’d been duped before and fooled by a woman’s false tears.

“Royce!” From the volume of Dylan’s voice, it wasn’t the first time he’d called his name.

He lifted a brow.

“Can you give them a ride home? I hate to impose. I know you’re pressed for time and looking for someone—”

Dylan stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you looking for? You never said.”

Royce’s pulse jumped. From the protective way the sheriff treated Sarah Mars-Hutchins, Royce figured it wouldn’t matter that they were old friends. If Dylan didn’t think Sarah should leave the state now, he’d get in Royce’s way. And with Bart’s life draining away, he didn’t have much time. He swallowed hard. “We’ll talk about that later.”

When he’d had time to think of the best approach to convince them that Bart’s last wish deserved to be fulfilled. His godfather had to see Sarah Mars. “Right now I’ll drive Sarah and her kid home, no problem.”

The lie burned in his throat because there was someplace farther he’d rather drive her…to a dying man’s bedside. The doctors and his old man were wrong. Bart would come out of the coma…for Sarah Mars.

“You’re sure?”

He fought to not squirm under Dylan’s penetrating stare. He hated putting off revealing the reason for his trip to Winter Falls even for a minute. But a public park was not the place to discuss a dying man’s wish. He nodded.

Sarah gasped. “I can’t believe you’re talking about me as if I’m not here. I don’t know this man—”

Dylan’s hand settled on her shoulder. “But I do, Sarah. I trust him.”

Royce winced, thinking of the conversation to come. Then he turned toward Sarah. “You don’t want the kid to know what’s going on, right?”

When she answered, she spoke slowly as if she suspected Royce was dimwitted. “Of course not. I don’t want to scare him.”

“You mean any more than you already have by running onto the field earlier?”

Her pointed chin tipped up, and her eyes flashed at him. Smarting pride painted her elegant cheekbones a bright pink.

He sighed and mentally kicked himself for being insensitive. But God, he was tired, and her prickliness irritated him. “I’m sorry. I know you’re rattled. But if you don’t want to scare the kid, we need to get him away from here before the car is dusted for prints.”

Dylan nodded. “He’s right, Sarah. You don’t want Jeremy to know there was a threat, especially if it is just some sick joke.”

If. But what if it wasn’t? What did that mean for a man who lay dying in a hospital bed in Milwaukee? Short of kidnapping her, Royce figured he wouldn’t get her out of Winter Falls while her son was in danger. And he didn’t blame her.

But then what did he know about mothers? He’d met some in the course of his job that he’d thought cared about their kids. Then they had proven him pathetically wrong.

Dylan stepped close to him. “You okay, Royce?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, just tired. Is this game or practice almost over?”

Pulling a whistle from his pocket, Dylan called a stop to the action on the soccer field. As the kids scrambled over, another car entered the lot. Lights flashing, sirens blaring, the patrol cruiser stopped near Sarah’s Mercedes.

“Subtle.” Royce shook his head.

The sheriff sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about that deputy.”

First the kids fell silent, then resumed excited chatter. Dylan raised one hand and blew the whistle again. “It’s nothing. Just Deputy Jones.”

Parents who had watched their children or were just arriving to pick them up swarmed the field and the sheriff.

Despite not being familiar with casual touches, Royce found himself cupping Sarah’s elbow and steering her away from the crowd, as much for his protection as hers. During his years with Milwaukee PD and the FBI, he’d done the mob scene. Remembering the crush of bodies, the lack of oxygen, he dragged in a quick breath.

“You don’t need to do this. I can wait. I’ll think of something to tell Jeremy.” She pulled her arm free of his grasp.

The silk slid through Royce fingers, and he dropped his hand back to his side. For some reason he liked touching her. Probably just because it ticked her off. “I agreed to do this. I’m not reneging. Where’s your son?”

He turned to find a boy standing near them, the boy who looked like Dylan. Golden-blond locks stuck to the perspiration on his high forehead. Concern clouded his otherwise bright-blue eyes. “Mom? You okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry about earlier…”

“Were you visiting the hospital again? The sick kids?”

“I was at the hospital earlier.”

He offered a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Totally healthy.”

She laughed. “I know. Hey, you looked good out there.” Her red lips curved into a proud smile, which faltered as she followed her son’s gaze to Royce. “Jeremy, this is Mr. Graham. And this is my son, Jeremy Mars.”

The boy stuck out his hand, an ID bracelet dangling from his wrist. Such an uncomplicated kid. How’d he come from such a complicated mother?

Royce shook her son’s hand. The boy’s grip was firm. “Nice to meet you.”

A thought flitted through Royce’s head and lodged like a cramp in his gut. Dylan had claimed this child was his in a manner of speaking. Despite his wedding ring, how involved was the sheriff with Mrs. Hutchins? Except for how it affected his plan to bring her to Milwaukee, it shouldn’t have mattered to him if she slept with every married man in Winter Falls and bore them children. But it did matter.

Under the adults’ tense silence, Jeremy squirmed, flushing from more than his physical exertion. “I saw you talking to Uncle Dylan earlier…”

“Uncle Dylan?” The cramp eased.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, pretty cool having the sheriff for my uncle. He’s my coach, too. He couldn’t get out of uniform today because of the break-in. That’s gotta be why his deputy came here with the sirens on.” Excitement blazed in those blue eyes.

Royce’s mouth quirked into a grin as he recalled his own youthful fascination with every aspect of the law. “A break-in?”

“Yeah, at Doc’s office. He’s the only doctor in town. I hope they stole his shots.” The kid shuddered. They probably had.

“So how do you know my uncle?”

The kid would make a good interrogator. “We’re friends. I’ve worked with him before.”

“You’re a cop?” The blue gaze flicked over Royce’s unshaven face. “Narcotics, like Uncle Dylan was in Detroit?”

Royce fought a grin and shook his head. “Private investigator.”

“I thought cops didn’t like ’em.”

And the kid was well-informed. “That’s not—”

“True all the time.” Dylan chuckled. “Just most of the time.” He slapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

Royce glanced around and noticed the other kids and families had dispersed. He drew an easier breath. “Yeah, yeah, until the private investigator is called in to bail the police out of a jam.”

Dylan chuckled again. “Also helps when the private investigator is ex-FBI.”

“FBI?” The kid’s brows met his hairline, and his eyes rounded. His voice cracked with reverence. “You were an FBI agent?”

Sarah sighed. “Oh, no…”

Royce suppressed a chuckle at her reaction and nodded. He didn’t have any more to say about his time at the FBI, especially to a kid. Hell, there wasn’t much in his life, past or present, that he could tell a kid. “Ready for me to drive you home yet?”

“You’re driving us home?” Jeremy’s glance slid over his mother’s face.

She didn’t jump to offer a lie, so Royce did. “Yeah, she has some car problems. Dylan and the deputy will see to it. But I’ll be happy to give you and your mother a ride home.”

Despite his fatigue and his godfather’s last hope hanging on a thread in Milwaukee, he wanted to give Sarah a ride. How long had it been since he’d held a woman? The fact he couldn’t remember didn’t reassure him. His hand on her elbow was the closest he’d been to one in a long while. Taking a step closer to her, he drew in a ragged breath and inhaled the scent of orange blossoms. His brows rose. He’d expected something heavy and expensive.

“Where’s your car, Mr. Graham?” the boy asked.

“The silver Avalanche.”

The kid gasped, law enforcement obviously not his only interest. He loved trucks, too.

Royce turned toward Dylan. “I’ll wait at her house until you come by. Then we’ll talk.”

Dylan nodded.

The deputy rushed forward when they neared the parking lot. “Mrs. Hutchins, are you all right?”

She nodded, but Dylan answered for her, his deep tone a warning in itself. “It’s just car trouble, Jones. We’ll deal with it.”

“But—but I can drive her home…”

Under her breath, which caressed the side of his neck and stirred the hair he never found time to have cut, she murmured, “Everybody wants to drive me home.”

He flashed a glance at the deputy. The young man was a minute from tongue-lolling in his blind adoration of the gorgeous widow.

“Jeremy and Sarah are riding with me.” The kid had already rushed across the lot to the SUV, his fingers streaming along the silver fender as Royce’s itched to stream along Sarah’s thigh. Her silk trousers, molded against her by the slight breeze, silhouetted long, graceful legs. In his overtired, fevered mind, he could picture them wrapped around his hips as he buried himself inside her.

He muffled a groan, surprised at his powerful reaction to her. She wasn’t his type at all, not that he could remember exactly what his type was.

“Who are you?” The deputy’s tone rankled with suspicion and jealousy. Had Sarah given the young guy any reason to believe he had a claim on her?

Dylan cleared his throat. “He’s a friend of mine, Jones, and I asked him to drive Mrs. Hutchins and Jeremy home.” He lowered his voice. “We have to check the car for prints. What did you learn from Doc’s office?”

Mottled red rushed into the deputy’s face. “I—I—uh, Doc said only two things were missing from the break-in.”

Royce shook his head. Some things didn’t matter, whether big city or small town. “Drugs?”

A smug smile slid over the deputy’s face. “No.” His dark eyes flashed with victory and dismissal.

Royce had been dismissed enough for one day. Although he probably should have escorted Sarah to the Avalanche, he lingered. “So what was stolen?”

The deputy waited for the sheriff’s nod before he responded. “Two medical files.”

The muscles tightened in Royce’s stomach as his instincts kicked. “Whose?”

“Sarah’s and Jeremy’s.”

“This just happened?”

“Late last night is the doctor’s best guess.” Dylan answered this time.

Not long after Royce had arrived. He’d found Sarah, but in doing so, whom had he led straight to her? If her son was in real danger, Royce was as much at fault as whoever had followed him.

If he hadn’t already accepted it, he would have realized then that he had the right Sarah Mars because long ago he’d stopped believing in coincidence. The break-in at Bart’s, the shooting, the threat…what was the link? He didn’t doubt there was one.

Sarah gasped. “Our records?”

“Royce?” Dylan nudged his shoulder. “Let me give you directions to Sarah’s place.”

Sarah sighed. “Obviously I’m being dismissed. I’ll accept that for now, but I still want an explanation about this theft, Dylan.”

The sheriff’s brow creased with new tension lines. “Sarah…”

She drew in an impatient breath. “Later. Now I’ll leave you two alone, but before I go, how is Lindsey?”

Royce lifted a brow.

“My wife,” Dylan answered his unspoken question. “And she’s not happy at being confined to bed.”

Before a smile could tip up Royce’s mouth, the sheriff added, “She’s pregnant and keeps going into premature labor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you and me both. So far the doctors have managed to stop it. The baby can’t come this early.” More worry lines creased his forehead.

“Let me know if I can do anything…” Sarah trailed off. Until she knew what the risk was to her son, Royce doubted she’d be able to think of anything else.

“You can go home, Sarah, and take care of Jeremy. We’ll figure out what’s going on with this threat.”

Royce surreptitiously surveyed the lot, then passed her the keys. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

She nodded, frustration gleaming in her smoky eyes. “Don’t shield me, Dylan. My parents did that years ago, and we all suffered from their lies. I want the truth this time!” She glanced toward her son. “Later.” Then she stomped away, her heels nearly raising sparks on the asphalt.

Dylan winced. “She’s right, and I didn’t handle that well.”

Royce shrugged. “She’ll get over it.” He hazarded the guess.

“I don’t know about that. Sarah doesn’t forgive easily.” Dylan squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I should have asked her to stay.”

“So you’re not just giving me directions?” Royce’s stomach knotted. Maybe Dylan had seen through him already. Maybe he’d made a connection between Royce’s arrival in town and the threat to Sarah’s son.

“No.” Dylan glanced at his blatantly eavesdropping deputy, then led Royce to the middle of the lot.

Royce braced himself for an ugly confrontation with a man he’d always respected. “So?”

“I’m asking for direction, Royce.”

“What?”

“This is what you’ve built your reputation on.”

Royce squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out a barrage of images from his past. When he’d begun his search for Sarah Mars, he’d never imagined it might lead him back into a past he hadn’t been able to handle. “I don’t do that anymore, Dylan. Give me a missing diplomat in a foreign country, not a kid. I left the FBI a while ago, Dylan. And for a reason. You know that.”

“I know you’re still called in when local law enforcement gets desperate. And I know you still come despite your reservations. You can’t walk away from a child in need, Royce.” Dylan’s fingers squeezed his shoulder, then slid away.

Although Dylan spoke the truth, he didn’t know what it cost Royce.

Another little piece of his soul. And he didn’t have much left to spare.

His gut tightened. If he were smart, he’d walk away now. No, he’d run. Nobody had guaranteed that Bart would come out of the coma. In fact, they all doubted he would. So maybe he’d never know Royce hadn’t kept his promise.

But Royce would know. He sighed.

“Dylan, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m called in after the fact. I’m called in to track down the missing person. Jeremy’s not missing.” He’d kept the Avalanche and the boy in his sight at all times. And a certain red-haired woman, too.

“I intend to keep it that way, Royce, but I need your help. I would handle it on my own, but with what’s going on with my wife…I’m too distracted.”

Another reason he was relieved he was still single, thought Royce, as he saw the agony of worry in the sheriff’s blue eyes.

“I hate to ask because I know you’re already working on something. But Royce, this is my nephew. And the theft of those medical records…”

Royce nodded. “It’s not good.”

“That’s happened before?”

He nodded. “Yeah, kidnappers like to know about the kid’s medical conditions. If they’re not close enough to the kid personally, they’ll steal records. That way they know what meds he’s on, that sort of thing.”

Dylan groaned. “I knew it was a bad sign.”

Royce lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Could be a good sign, too. They want to keep him alive.”

He’d seen other cases where the kidnappers hadn’t cared. His stomach burned, the ulcers he’d left behind with the FBI threatening to return.

“So that note wasn’t the joke Sarah believes it is.”

Royce narrowed his eyes on the red-haired woman who stared back at him, her chin lifted at a challenging angle. “No, Sarah doesn’t believe that.”

A ragged sigh gusted out of Dylan. “I need your help, Royce. I need to keep Jeremy and his mother safe, and with Lindsey’s precarious medical condition, I’m not going to be able to do it alone.”

“Was their address on these medical records?” he asked.

“No, Sarah and Jeremy just moved into a friend’s house. I’m sure their records had the old address.” The sheriff blew out a relieved breath.

“Okay, I’ll drive them home. That’s all I can promise for now. We’ll talk more later.”

Dylan nodded. “I know you have other obligations. I appreciate whatever you can do.” He squeezed Royce’s shoulder again and walked back to his deputy, leaving Royce standing alone in the middle of the lot.

He glanced back at his friend and intercepted the dark stare of the younger officer. Resentment radiated from Deputy Jones. He’d gladly drive the young widow and her son home. Royce could retrieve his keys from Sarah and leave Winter Falls. He could pretend he’d never found Sarah Mars.

“Mr. Graham!” Jeremy called out and called him back to his past. He never could walk away from a child in need. Damn.

“Yeah, Jeremy?” Long strides carried him toward the boy and his mother, who stubbornly hadn’t used his keys to get inside his truck.

“I know you’re busy and all, but a lot of the team stops for ice cream after practice…” Hope brightened the already bright eyes.

Royce’s gut tightened. More exposure to danger. But was going straight to their house the best idea? What if the danger had followed him? Wouldn’t it continue to follow him right to their doorstep?

“Jeremy.” Sarah’s voice carried a note of caution. Something Royce had heard friends’ mothers use on their sons. He couldn’t remember his own mother’s voice.

Jeremy turned those eyes on her. “But maybe Mr. Graham’s hungry.”

Royce suppressed a chuckle, barely. The irritated frown creasing her forehead verified she’d caught it despite his attempt to disguise it as a cough. He liked messing her up a bit, ruffling that serenity she wore like a shield. He’d like to see another kind of passion on her face besides that of anger. He’d like to see her flushed with desire.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m a little hungry.” And a lot crazy. What the Hell was he thinking?

“Really, I think it’d be smarter to just go home,” Sarah protested.

Playing the unfamiliar role of gentleman, Royce opened the passenger door for her while Jeremy vaulted into the backseat. When she moved to climb into the SUV, Royce stepped closer. Her indignant gasp brushed across his cheek. And he dragged in the scent of her again. Orange blossoms.

He dropped his voice and lowered his mouth until his lips brushed the silky strands of hair near her ear. “It might be smarter not to go straight to your house, if you know what I mean.”

Eyes wild, she glanced over his shoulder and around the lot. “You’re saying—”

He shook his head. “I’m not saying anything. But I’m not taking any chances.”

That was a lie. He’d taken a big chance by not running when his instincts had first kicked him.

Sarah’s gray gaze locked with his, searching. He knew she wanted a reason to trust him. She was too smart to take him on Dylan’s endorsement alone. What would she do when he told her he’d come to Winter Falls for her? Dylan had warned him that she didn’t forgive easily.

SARAH SHIFTED on the metal seat of the lawn chair, hoping the sun-heated steel would warm her. A cold wind blew in off the lake as the afternoon wore on. She glanced out over the sparkling surface of the water. Then her gaze returned to Jeremy.

He’d already devoured his ice cream and lingered on the lawn that surrounded the parlor as he talked with his friends. He gestured a couple of times to Royce, and the other boys stared at the man beside her. An ex-FBI agent. Despite not being in hearing distance, she knew her son spoke in awed tones about the stranger to Winter Falls.

She’d been trying to avoid looking at him even though he sat next to her. Still bristling over his and Dylan’s high-handedness, she’d let Jeremy carry the conversational ball during the short ride to the parlor. He’d been full of questions. She was, too, but she couldn’t ask them here. The parents of the other children stood or sat around in close proximity.

Curiosity drew their glances again and again to her and her scruffy escort. A voice dropped into a whisper here and there as they discussed the possible identity of the stranger and his relationship to her. She heard them. And her throat burned with questions of her own.

She wanted to know what the theft of those medical records meant. An ache throbbed behind her eyes. Tension. Stress. As a nurse, she recognized the symptoms. As an ex-FBI agent, he’d know what that theft meant, especially considering what he’d specialized in then and now. Kidnappings.

She turned her attention from Jeremy’s playful antics with his friends to the man who lounged next to her. Despite having glimpsed them earlier in the park, the color of his eyes surprised her again. Pale brown like sun-warmed sand.

Ice cream dripped from his collapsing cone, over his long fingers and onto the lawn between his worn leather shoes. He leaned forward and ran his tongue around the rim of the cone, then over his fingers.

The muscles in Sarah’s stomach contracted, and she shifted against the metal, stiffening her spine against the hard chair back. If she kissed him now, he’d taste like rich vanilla ice cream, and his tongue would be cold against hers.

She jumped, the chair creaking under her. What was she thinking? She’d never kiss a man like him, no matter how long it had been since she’d kissed any man. He was too macho, too controlling. And Sarah had never let anyone control her, not even the parents she’d loved so much.

“You sure you don’t want an ice cream cone?” He’d caught her staring.

A flood of heat surged into her face, and she welcomed the cooling breeze against her fevered skin. “N-n-no. I’m not hungry.”

The corners of his mouth quirked into a teasing grin. “It’d cool you off.”

“What!”

“You’re still mad, right?” He reached around and dumped the dilapidated cone into the trashcan behind her, his arm lingering on the back of her chair.

The nape of her neck tingled where it brushed the skin of his forearm. She leaned forward, breaking away from the disturbing contact. “Mad? Of course I’m mad. I can give directions to where I live. I’m not some ditzy female with no sense of direction.”

He nodded, the teasing grin still playing at the corners of his firm mouth.

“But you weren’t discussing directions, were you?” She sighed over the frustration of having to leave her other questions unasked for now.

“I think you should take us home now. Jeremy probably has homework.” And if he didn’t do it on Friday night, he wouldn’t get around to it again until Monday morning.

Royce didn’t move to stand up, just stretched out those long legs. “He’s having fun with his friends. It’s early yet, and the weekend. Homework’s not due till Monday, right? I don’t mind waiting for him.”

Resentment flared again. “But you’re not—”

Detecting a lull in the flow of conversation around her, she glanced up and found curious gazes focused on her. She bit off her argument and pulled on the mask of calmness she always wore in Winter Falls.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

She dropped her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You were going to say that I’m not a parent. You’re right. If you think you need to head home so the kid can get started on homework or whatever, we’ll leave now.” He shifted to the edge of his seat.

With his easy agreement, her anxiousness to leave ebbed away. She found comfort in the normal after-practice ritual of stopping for ice cream. But back at the house, she’d have to face the harsh reality of the threat against her son.

“We can give him another few minutes. If you think it’s safe…”

His broad-shouldered shrug wasn’t very reassuring. “As safe as anywhere…”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his stare was unfocused. Was he thinking of his past with the Crimes Against Children Division of the FBI? Or was something in the present troubling him?

Despite the questions she wanted to ask him about the stolen medical records, she found herself wondering aloud, “Why are you here? Dylan said that you were on a job but it was personal. What is it?”

The strong line of his jaw grew tauter. “Sarah…”

“I understand that you probably can’t tell me. Confidentiality rules with a client—”

He shook his head, the dark-golden hair flirting with his shirt collar. “Not this client. I’m not doing this job for money.”

For love. He didn’t have to say it; the words were etched in the worry lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. “It is personal,” he added.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” And she was aghast at her lack of manners. She’d made a vow long ago always to respect the privacy of others. And hope they respected hers.

His light-brown eyes swirled with indiscernible emotions. “You’re not prying. In fact, I plan to tell you all about it. I have to tell you all about it. Later.”

She shivered. “I don’t understand…”

“You will.”

A bead of cold sweat rolled down between her breasts. She couldn’t handle anything else right now. Opening her mouth to demand answers, she glanced around at the interested faces of the other ice cream parlor patrons. Then she swallowed her questions.

They didn’t need to hear anything else. They already knew too much about her life. Her teenage pregnancy. Her adopted brother’s crime. Her marriage to a wealthy older man.

They knew enough to resent her. Perhaps enough to send her a threatening letter in order to shake up her composure. But did they resent her enough to harm her child?

ROYCE RUBBED his knuckles over his aching side. Too much ice cream? He doubted it. He’d hardly managed a few licks between watching Sarah and her son. And the townspeople.

While friends surrounded Jeremy, people hung back from his mother as if glass walls separated her from the rest of the world. Maybe she was a snob. He figured she looked down her pert little nose at him, but she didn’t seem to disparage any of those around her. Although a cool smile played around her mouth, she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

She almost acted as if she were ashamed. Of what? Of her marriage to an older guy? Of inheriting his money? How much money? Enough to make her son a prime target for a kidnapper?

He wished he could accept he had nothing to do with the threat against her son. But he’d stopped believing in coincidences long ago.

He glanced around, meeting the curious gazes of the people around them and searching beyond. The hair lifted on the nape of his neck. He knew someone was watching them, someone other than the parents of the other children.

But nobody would be foolhardy enough to attempt to abduct the boy with half of the town to witness and interfere. And as popular as the kid was, he traveled nowhere without his friends. He was probably safest in public, but in private…

“Jeremy, it’s time to go,” Sarah said, stopping a few feet from her son.

“Mom…”

“Jeremy, we have a guest.”

The boy flashed a smile at Royce. “Mr. Graham, I’d like you to meet my friends…”

Young faces swam before Royce’s eyes. Despite the cooling breeze, sweat beaded on his brow. These lively faces melded with images from the past. Staring eyes in dead faces… He jerked back a step. “I—I’d like to, but I have to make a call.”

The lie came easily but prompted him to remember Dylan. He should let the sheriff know they’d stopped off before heading back to Sarah’s. And maybe he should get those directions.

He dragged his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. “I’ll head back to the SUV while you say a quick goodbye.”

Sarah’s dark-gray eyes widened, and she took a step toward him. He lifted a hand and gestured with his head toward her son. She nodded and turned back to Jeremy. Whatever concern she’d felt for him had been replaced with a mother’s worry for her son.

He didn’t care. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone’s concern. The only one who’d ever really cared about him lay in a coma.

He rubbed his free hand over his unshaven jaw. He had to get Sarah back to Milwaukee, to a dying man’s bedside. But how would he get her away from Winter Falls?

Because they’d been later than the rest of the team to the ice cream parlor, he’d had to park the Avalanche around the block. He started toward the silver SUV, his finger hovering on the buttons of the cell phone. He’d neglected to get Dylan’s number. Did this little town even use 911?

Underneath the carriage of the SUV a shadow fell across the pavement. Someone crouched on the other side. Waiting for what?

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and slowed his stride. Stealthy steps carried him around the short pickup box on the back of the SUV.

A sweatshirt hood concealed the face of the person who crouched near the rear tire, his back to Royce. Royce widened his stance on the asphalt. He had just reached his arm to wrap around the would-be attacker’s neck when a hand came up.

The blade of a knife flashed, reflecting the afternoon sun. Had Royce’s approach been reflected in the shiny metal of the SUV?

He braced for an attack.

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