Connor gripped her hand almost to the point of pain, and she glanced up sharply.

The intensity of the gold stare she met sent a tremor through her.

“So marry me now. I want you and Savannah both to have my name.”

Darby’s heart lurched. “What?”

“It’s what we’d planned before I went into WitSec. We can get a justice of the peace or the hospital chaplain to come—”

“Connor, stop.” She wrenched her hand from his and shook it to get the blood circulating again. “Think about what you’re saying!”

“I don’t need to think about it. It feels right. It is right.” Determination and conviction set his jaw and shone in his gaze.

Her pulse raced so hard her head spun. At one time, marrying Connor and growing old with him had been her heart’s desire, a dream within her reach. Now he was offering her another chance at the dream that had been snatched from her. She should be grabbing on with both hands. But she couldn’t.

How could she marry a man she knew planned to leave her in a few days?

The Return of Connor Mansfield

Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA, or visit her website, www.bethcornelison.com.

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For my dad. Thanks for all you’ve done for your family through the years!

Thanks to Emma Welch for sharing her cat, Toby. I was happy to celebrate the love and loyalty of her furry friend as Darby’s faithful feline companion.

Thank you to Allison Reed for her winning bid in Brenda Novak’s Auction for the Cure of Diabetes 2012 to be featured as a character in this book.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter 22

Excerpt

Prologue

Through the thick fog of a Louisiana autumn morning, Victor Gale watched his prey from an abandoned hunter’s blind. Raising his rifle, he peered through the scope and drew a bead on his target’s head. Hatred gnawed his gut like acid, and his muscles hummed with tension and anticipation. Other men had used this camouflaged blind to hunt deer. Victor hunted a man. A traitor. A liability to his family, his livelihood, his freedom.

Last year, Connor Mansfield had found evidence of Gale Industries’ side business, had stolen company records to show the FBI and had testified for the prosecution at William Gale’s trial. Mansfield’s betrayal had cost Victor’s father everything. For that, Mansfield had to pay. He had to be silenced. He had to die.

Their father had taken the fall for the family to protect Victor and his brother, James, so retribution against Connor Mansfield fell to his sons. Victor relished the duty.

As quietly as the mist curled through the woods, Victor tracked Mansfield’s progress from his truck to the small cabin, a hunting camp deep in the pine forest of central Louisiana, waiting for a clear shot through the trees. He had to take Mansfield out before he went inside.

Before he lost his chance.

Mansfield hesitated at the cabin door as if reluctant to go inside, but a fat cypress obscured Victor’s line of sight. Damn it!

When Mansfield finally slipped inside and out of view, Victor growled his frustration and spit on the ground. He might not get another shot for hours, not until Mansfield left the camp. Unless...

Victor considered approaching the ramshackle cabin, peeking in the window and shooting Mansfield from closer range. But he risked being seen or heard, tipping Mansfield off, leaving evidence near the scene that could trace the kill back to him.

No. Better to have patience. Wait him out. Catch Mansfield when—

A deafening blast rocked the woods as the cabin erupted in a massive fireball.

The concussion of the explosion knocked Victor off his feet. Rang painfully in his ears. Thundered in his chest.

Debris rained down around him, piercing the thin walls of the hunter’s blind and stinging his skin when it hit. When all fell quiet again and his shock eased, he scrambled to his knees to peer out the blind’s slit of a window.

The cabin Mansfield had just entered was in ruin, the remnants ablaze. Stunned by the turn of events, Victor stared, his head buzzing from adrenaline and the damage of the loud blast.

Finally he pulled out his cell phone and punched in his brother’s number.

“Is it done?” James asked without preamble.

“Yeah, but...I didn’t do it.”

“What are you saying?”

“The freakin’ cabin exploded. Maybe a gas line leak that went up when he hit the light switch?” Victor shook his head, still gawking at the carnage. “No way he survived that blast.”

Silence answered him.

“Did ya hear me, man?”

James’s sigh rattled through the phone. “Yeah. I guess fate took its own revenge.”

Victor grunted, a tickle of suspicion pricking his neck. “Maybe, but...I don’t like it. I smell a setup.”

“What kind of setup?”

“Don’t know, but...I think I’ll stay and watch the place. See who shows up—whether they recover a body—how this gets handled.” Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, dreading the long hours of sitting cramped in the hunter’s blind, getting eaten by mosquitoes. But he had to be sure.

“Fine,” his older brother said. “I want a full report of everyone and everything that happens out there the rest of the day.”

Resigned to the task and more mosquito bites, Victor stayed and watched as the cops and fire department arrived and put out the flames. Grim-faced men in FBI jackets came next. A coroner’s hearse hauled away a body bag. And an attractive redhead drove up, broke down in hysterical tears and was stopped from approaching the smoldering remains of the cabin by two FBI agents.

When the scene was deserted several hours later, Victor rolled his aching shoulders and dialed James again to report in. “Did Mansfield have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” James said. “A redhead. Name’s Darby something. Kent, I think. Yeah, Darby Kent.”

“She showed up. Seemed pretty torn up about his death.”

James grunted, then fell silent again for several nerve-racking seconds.

Victor braced himself. He knew what was coming next.

“Find Darby. Follow her. See if she meets up with him. If the explosion was part of a setup, she’s the key to bringing him outta hiding.”

“You want me to take her out?”

“Naw. She’s nothing to us. But if she meant anything to him, and he’s still alive—”

Victor glanced at the burned-out husk of the cabin. His brother had a point. Family had always been Mansfield’s weakness. But Victor disagreed with James on one point. If Mansfield was still alive, pulling a hoax, Victor wasn’t as squeamish as his brother about collateral damage. If Darby Kent led him to Mansfield, he’d kill them both.

Chapter 1

Four and a half years later—Dallas

Sam Orlean looked up from his laptop when he heard a knock on his office door.

His boss at Tri-State Insurance strode in and slapped several files on his desk. “These just came in. They’re Roy’s accounts, but he’s on vacation. All three have reached over a hundred thousand in claims in the past month and need a policy review, follow-up calls.”

Sam glanced at the sticky note on the top file that Roy had left.

Male, 87, two weeks in intensive care—complications from flu

Female, 3, cancer

Sam’s gut wrenched. The cases that involved children were always the toughest to handle. The third notation read:

Woman, 37, staph infection post-hysterectomy— extended hospital stay

Sam’s job didn’t usually include medical claim reviews. He was in the auto claims department, but the company was small enough that covering for a different department wasn’t unusual.

“What exactly am I looking for in the review?” he asked.

“Just look at the paperwork, check for duplicate charges, tests run without supporting documentation from the doctor. Just make sure everything we’ve been billed for is on the up-and-up.” His boss gave a little wave as he left. “Have fun.”

Sam leaned forward to drag the files closer, gritting his teeth in frustration. Days like today, he really hated the job the U.S. Marshals arranged for him. In his old life, when he’d been an accountant, he’d dealt with numbers. Numbers made sense. But insurance meant factoring in people—little girls with cancer and old men dying from complications from the flu. Even auto claims often mean human suffering. Spouses killed by drunk drivers, reckless teens who learned hard lessons and would never walk again.

Given any other feasible option, Sam would leave this job. He’d complained to Marshals Jones and Raleigh before, requesting a new position doing something else, and was given the bureaucratic runaround. His new identity couldn’t bear any resemblance to his old one. New name, new hobbies, new hometown. New career.

As they had when he entered the program, his handlers had fed him the line that went, “no Witness Security Program participant, who has followed security guidelines, has been harmed while under the active protection of the U.S. Marshals.” Translation: if you want to live, stop complaining and do what you’re told.

Acid gnawed Sam’s gut as he shuffled the files and opened the one on the case that would be toughest. Three-year-old girl with leukemia. Chemotherapy started. Doctors placed child on bone marrow transplant list. No match found on maternal side of family. Father deceased. No siblings. One paternal uncle was a partial match, but her doctors were still hoping for a closer match from the donor registry.

Sam sighed. He’d heard how rare it was to find a bone marrow donor with enough matching genetic markers outside of a patient’s immediate family. The poor kid and her mother were facing an uphill battle. A heartbreaking fight against an ugly disease.

His chest tightening with sympathy, he flipped the page and found the policy history.

Date policy purchased: January 18 of last year.

Clicking his tongue in his mouth, hoping he could find enough supporting information to approve the claims without bothering the mother for further paperwork, he flipped back to the first page, looked for the date the first claim was filed. March 2 of this year. A little more than two months ago. He turned back to the summary page Roy had left to see the total paid out so far and gave a low whistle. Cancer treatment wasn’t cheap.

As he flipped back to the front of the file, his gaze snagged on the name at the top of the form. The name of the mother, the policy owner: Darby L. Kent.

Sam’s heart rose to his throat. What were the odds that there were two Darby Kents? Slim.

He checked the woman’s address: 1209 Cypress Court, Lagniappe, Louisiana.

Icy dismay washed through him, chilling him to the bone. It was his Darby. The woman he loved. The woman he’d had to give up when he entered the Witness Security Program more than four years ago. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her as she’d looked the last time he’d seen her, an autumn breeze lifting her copper hair from her oval face. One errant wavy lock had blown across her green eyes, and she’d laughed as she brushed the strands behind her ear and blown him a kiss from her front porch steps.

He rocked back in his chair, slamming a hand through his hair. Through the haze of shock, his brain began clicking other facts into place.

Darby had a baby. A sick little girl. Three years old. Almost four.

He checked the child’s birth date and dragged a hand over his mouth as he did the math. The little girl would have been born...eight months after he left. Eight months after the U.S. Marshals faked his death, and he’d become Sam Orlean. Eight months...

The file read Father deceased. But he wasn’t dead.

A shudder rippled through him. The drone of blood whooshing through his veins buzzed in his ears.

It was a near certainty...

He was the baby’s father.

* * *

The hardest part about being a mother was seeing your child suffer and being absolutely powerless to ease her pain.

Her heart giving a tender throb, Darby leaned forward to stroke her daughter’s tiny brow, knit in discomfort even as she slept. If Darby could have been the one getting stuck with needles and dealing with the nausea from the chemo treatments, she would have switched places with Savannah in a second. But all she could do was watch her baby soldier through the treatments and procedures she was too young to understand.

Please, God, don’t take my baby, she begged silently for the millionth time. She’d lost Savannah’s father four and a half years ago, before she’d even realized she was pregnant, and thought she wouldn’t survive the pain. When she’d learned she was having Connor’s baby, she’d pulled herself together and rebuilt her life, focused on raising the miracle that was Savannah. An unexpected posthumous gift from Connor.

Connor. Another sharp pang twisted in her chest, and she forcefully shoved down the suffocating ache. She had to be strong for her daughter.

In her purse, her cell phone trilled. Darby set aside the sketch pad on her lap—drawing had always been her best stress reliever—and swiped tears from her cheek as she shuffled through her bag. The caller ID showed the insurance company with which she’d bought health coverage, and Darby tapped the answer key.

“Hello,” she whispered, hoping not to wake Savannah. She rose from her chair beside the hospital bed that swallowed her daughter and crept quietly to the hall to take the call.

After a brief silence, a man asked, “Ms. Kent?”

“Speaking.”

“This is...uh, Sam Orlean with Tri-State Insurance.” His voice had a funny nasal pitch to it as though he had a bad cold or something.

“Yes, Mr. Orlean, what can I do for you?”

“I’m...calling about your recent claims.”

She didn’t like the hesitation in his voice. A knot tightened her gut. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s standard procedure to do a policy review when claims reach a certain level. The company needs to verify the claims so that your daughter’s treatments can be covered.”

A nervous sweat rose on Darby’s top lip. “What kind of concerns do you have?”

She tried to keep the note of panic out of her voice, but even the suggestion that the insurance company would deny her claim made her lunch churn and threaten to come up. If her claim for Savannah’s treatments was turned down, the expense of chemotherapy, the hospital stay, the CT scans, blood tests, doctors’ appointments... She’d go bankrupt paying for it all. She couldn’t possibly afford—

“Can you tell me when Savannah—” his voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat “—first showed signs of illness?”

Darby frowned, wondering what had the man so anxious, but also wary of his questions. She poked her head back into Savannah’s room to check on her. Still sleeping, if fitfully. “She had been acting droopy, tired and cranky for a few weeks back in February. I assumed she was catching a cold or maybe had an ear infection. You should have a receipt for the trip to her pediatrician in her file for around the sixth.”

“Yes, I see it.” He had her recount other trips to the doctor, tests that were run and details of the treatment regimen that was started once Savannah’s leukemia was confirmed. “And how far into the chemo treatments are you?”

“She’ll be finished with her first round by the end of the week.” Darby drew a deep breath and switched the phone from one hand to the other. “What is it exactly that you want to know, Mr. Orlean? What is it the company is taking issue with?”

He sighed heavily, and something about the world-weary sound tickled a memory, triggered a gut-level response. She knew it was ridiculous, that she’d never met the insurance man who worked in the company’s Dallas office, but she knew that sigh...somehow.

“We’re simply verifying the charges filed with us, cross-checking with standard treatment expenses, double-checking that your policy covers—”

“You’re looking for fraud.” Even the hint that the company might try to deny her claims or cancel her insurance, take away her ability to pay for Savannah’s treatments, made her knees buckle, and she slid to the cold tile floor.

“Well, we do have to be alert to the possibility of fraud, yes, but—”

A buzzing rang in her ears, and she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing measured and even.

Stay calm. Stay strong. I have nothing to hide, nothing to worry about...

“But as I said, this is simply a policy review—”

Darby groaned and dropped her head to her hands.

“Ms. Kent, are you all right?” One of the nurse’s assistants squatted beside her in the corridor, laying a cool hand on her arm.

Darby shook her head, searched for her voice. “No,” she rasped, wanting to deny everything about her current circumstances. “No, no, no.”

No, her daughter couldn’t be sick, couldn’t be dying. No, she didn’t have the will, the strength left to fight an insurance company for the medical coverage they’d promised. No, she wasn’t all right. She hadn’t been truly right in almost five years, since Connor died.

Tears prickled her sinuses and dripped on her cheeks. She waved the nurse’s assistant off with a tremulous smile, then wiped her face with a thumb. “I swear to you, Mr. Orlean. If something about the claims filed by the doctors or hospital is off, I’ll do my best to get things straightened out.” She heard the rustling of papers on the other end of the phone line. “To be honest, I haven’t paid close attention to what’s been filed and where claims stood. I’ve had my hands full just taking care of my daughter. Thank God I work for family, so I can get the time off—”

“You changed jobs?” he interrupted, his tone not quite so nasal this time.

“Uh...yes. Last January. Just before I bought the policy. But I am employed, if that is part of your concern. I won’t miss any premium payments.”

“I—um, no. That’s not... You’re working for Mansfield Construction? But your art...um, your file says you are an artist.”

She wrinkled her brow. If the company wasn’t concerned about her ability to pay her premiums, then what business was it of his where she was working?

“Yes, I do the billing and clerical duties for Mansfield Construction. They’re a small company a friend owns.” While she’d much rather be doing something with her art for a living, working for Mansfield Construction gave her a steady income, health insurance and, because the owners were her daughter’s grandparents, understanding and job security when she needed time off to take care of Savannah—a benefit that had been particularly welcome since Savannah’s diagnosis a couple months ago.

Mr. Orlean sighed again, and another hint of the familiar whispered down her neck. She shoved to her feet, feeling a bit stronger now, past the initial shock and dread of impending doom. She peeked in the room to check on Savannah, then pulled the door closed and resumed her position in the hospital’s corridor. “If that’s all, sir, I need to get back to my child—”

“Wait! I...” He cleared his throat again. “I still need to verify some things to satisfy the company’s questions about your policy.”

She straightened her spine, suddenly exhausted by the man’s endless questions. “Look, Mr. Orlean, I’ve paid my premiums on time, and if your company has questions about charges filed by the hospital, you should talk to the billing department. Not me. And if you try to deny my claims based on a clerical error or technical glitch and put my daughter’s health in jeopardy, so help me, I’ll sue your company ten ways to Sunday!” All her pent-up frustrations with Savannah’s illness, her helplessness to ease her daughter’s pain, her sense of being alone in the most important battle of her life boiled over. “If you think I’m going to lie down and let you walk all over me, you’ve got another think coming!”

A chuckle filtered through the line.

Darby saw red. “This isn’t funny! Do you think I’m kidding?”

“I know. I’m sorry, Darby. I...”

She stiffened hearing him use her first name, as if they were best friends. Hearing the way his Southern accent softened the hard ar in her name to Dahr-by. The way Connor used to say her name.

Pain clutched at her chest as Connor’s face flickered in her memory.

In the pause of the conversation, Mr. Orlean had apparently sobered. His tone was darkly serious when he asked, “What is Savannah’s prognosis? What are the doctors telling you about her treatment options, about her...chances—”

Darby felt the blood drain from her face. The best way she had of dealing with Savannah’s illness, the only way she had of not going stark raving mad with worry and grief and fear for her daughter, was to take things one day at a time. She couldn’t think about the long term, the odds of Savannah surviving her cancer, or she’d become so burdened with despair that she couldn’t be the mom Savannah needed now.

“I’m not sure why that matters to you at this point. Whatever the doctors feel is necessary and best for Savannah should be covered, regardless of how long it takes or whether she—” Her voice broke, and she paused for a reinforcing breath. “Or whether she responds to the treatments.”

“Of course. If Tri-State clears your policy after our review, we will cover—”

“If?” Darby shrieked then, clenching her teeth, she growled, “Listen here, buster. Don’t you screw around with me! I need that coverage to save my daughter’s life!” Just saying the words brought a rush of unwanted emotion, and moisture filled her eyes again. “Don’t take away my only means to give my baby the medical care she needs!” So much for the tough-cookie act. She was begging now, tears in her voice and the words. Pitiful.

Her shoulders slumped as she gave in to the tears, surrendering to the roller-coaster emotions that had her head spinning these past several weeks. She was a mess, and she had to pull herself together in order to be the rock, the comfort, the mother Savannah needed.

“Please, Ms. Kent, don’t cry. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” The man’s nasally voice softened with compassion. She almost believed his sympathy was real. “This is all standard company procedure. I promise. Please know that I will do everything I can to see that all of your claims are processed in a timely manner. I want your daughter to recover. Truly I do.”

Darby couldn’t answer. Her throat was too clogged with emotion to breathe, much less speak.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you. I know you’re dealing with a lot.” He sighed again. “Alone.”

She frowned. How did he know she was alone?

“I wish...” he continued in a low voice, the nasal twang gone again. “I wish I could do...something to help. I—”

Darby stilled. Her heartbeat slowed. Without the nasal affectation, his voice sounded so familiar. She shook her head. It was just her turbulent emotions playing with her mind. Wishing. Longing...

“Actually, there is something you can do,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Get yourself on the National Bone Marrow registry if you aren’t there already. The doctors say my baby’s best chance to beat this disease is a bone marrow transplant, but we need a donor. Her uncle was close, but not close enough.” Darby sighed. “It’s a long shot you’d be a match, but maybe you’ll be able to save some other mother’s baby.”

Silence answered her request.

“Mr. Orlean? Are you there?”

“Yes...I’m—I’ll do that. I’ll get on the registry this afternoon. I swear.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“I...have the doctors said...would her father have been a suitable match?”

A chill tripped down Darby’s spine, along with regret and fresh waves of grief. “Kind of a moot point since he died before she was born. That information should be in her file.”

“Yeah, I guess... I—”

Darby shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the personal nature of Mr. Orlean’s questions and tone. “Why do you ask?”

“I just...well, I thought, maybe...” He fumbled awkwardly, the nasal voice back. He sounded truly contrite, and Darby closed her eyes. The man sounded as if he really cared about Savannah’s plight, and she appreciated that he wanted to be more than just a cold company drone at the other end of the line.

“For what it’s worth, I bet he’d have been a match,” she blurted, not knowing why she was going down this road with a perfect stranger, other than the fact that the subject had preoccupied her mind for weeks. “She inherited so much from him. From his dark hair and light brown eyes to his stubborn streak.”

What if Connor were alive? Would his marrow have been able to save their child? She shook her head and shoved the what-if aside. She’d never know that answer. Connor was gone.

* * *

I bet he’d have been a match.

Connor rocked back in his desk chair and squeezed his eyes shut. Frustration and regret gripped his chest and twisted painfully. His daughter needed him. Needed his marrow.

“I have nothing to base this on other than my own speculation, of course,” Darby went on, the sadness in her voice almost more than he could bear.

When she’d started crying earlier, it was all he could do not to blurt out the truth and jump on the first plane back to Louisiana.

“But Savannah got so many other traits from her father, why not marrow type, too?” She paused for a humorless laugh. “And since Connor’s brother has some of the same markers and is a partial match, it seems reasonable to me that Connor would be a closer match. Right?”

Connor. He gritted his teeth, swallowing a groan of anguish. She’d unwittingly confirmed what he suspected, but hearing his name on her lips again was a sweet agony. The precious details about his daughter were like manna that he feasted on, but painful to hear, as well.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sounds reasonable.” He grimaced, realizing he’d forgotten to mask his voice again.

She grunted, and he heard shuffling noises. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m boring you with all this. I need to get back to Savannah. I think I hear her waking up.”

He heard a door squeak, a muffled, “Hi, Miss Priss. Did you sleep well?”

Connor held his breath and squeezed the phone, treasuring the tiny glimpse of the life he’d left behind. The life he ached for every waking minute and dreamed of every moment he slept.

If he slept.

A tiny, distant voice answered. Sweet, plaintive, so young. “It ouches, Mommy.”

Savannah. His daughter.

His baby needed him.

But going back to Lagniappe, leaving WitSec and reclaiming his old life would be suicide. More important, he could put Darby and Savannah in jeopardy.

“I have to go,” Darby said. “I don’t know if I’ve helped you settle anything, but I hope...well, that you’ll do the right thing. Goodbye, Mr. Orlean.”

He heard the click of the call disconnecting, then sat staring at the phone in his hand for long minutes after Darby was gone.

Do the right thing. Years ago he’d done what he believed was the right thing and “died” in order to protect his family and Darby. Now, to save his daughter, would he have to come back from the dead?

Connor went to a local medical lab that same afternoon, requested his blood be analyzed for bone marrow matching and gave the lab directions to send his contact information along with the results of his test to Savannah’s doctor in Lagniappe, flagged for comparison with Savannah’s blood. Roughly thirty-six hours later, his cell phone buzzed while he was in a morning meeting. Seeing the name of Savannah’s doctor on his caller ID, he excused himself from the meeting to take the call.

“Mr. Orlean, this is Dr. Allison Reed in Lagniappe, Louisiana. I received a set of test results yesterday from a lab in Dallas that you asked be compared with a patient of mine.”

“Yes, ma’am. Darby Kent’s daughter, Savannah. Am I a match for a bone marrow transplant?”

“As a matter of fact, you are a fairly good preliminary match.”

Connor gave a silent fist pump, and his heart rate leaped. “That’s great!”

“I have to ask, how did you know you might be a match?” Dr. Reed asked. “What prompted you to send us your results?”

“I...” He hesitated, knowing he couldn’t tell the doctor he was Savannah’s father without blowing his cover. “I didn’t know. More like hoped I’d be a match, I guess. So what’s the next step? What do I need to do?”

“I understand that you are in Dallas, but if there was any way you could come to Lagniappe, I’d like to have a face-to-face consult with you and do a few more blood tests.”

“Go to Lagniappe?” His heart sank. Returning to his hometown, even for a little while, meant risking someone recognizing him. Meant putting his new identity on the line. Meant putting his life—and potentially Darby’s and his family’s lives—in danger if one of the Gales’ henchmen spotted him. “Can’t I have the blood tests here? Can’t I make the marrow donation here, should it come to it?”

“Well, yes. Technically you can, but I really prefer to have at least one face-to-face consult. And if we are able to go ahead with a transplant, I’d much rather have my team harvest your marrow here. I take a very hands-on approach.” She chuckled. “My husband has other names for it. But I work best when I can oversee every phase of a transplant.”

“Oh.” Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. Hell.

“Is there a problem? Is there a reason you can’t come to Lagniappe, Mr. Orlean?” Dr. Reed asked. “Because if you’re not fully committed to the possibility of being Savannah’s donor, it would be better that we not raise the family’s hopes—”

“I’m committed,” he interrupted. “I’m absolutely committed.” He’d figure out a way to get to Lagniappe, whatever it took. Maybe the U.S. Marshals, who’d set him up with his new identity, could provide him a cover or a disguise to get him in and out of Lagniappe when needed. “When do you need me there?”

“Can you be here Friday?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Good,” the doctor said. “In that case, I’d like you to get more blood drawn tomorrow. I’ll send you the address of the center where you should go. They’ll start a more detailed DNA study and send me the results in time for your consultation here Friday.”

Connor clenched his teeth, dreading the meeting with the U.S. Marshals, fearing what might happen if his cover was blown. But he had a daughter. A sick little girl who needed him. He would go to Lagniappe—hell, he’d eat glass or take a bullet to the gut in order to save his daughter’s life.

Chapter 2

“I need to go back to Lagniappe.” Connor cast a side glance to the men on his couch as he paced his small living room in Dallas. “Just for a day or so.”

“You can’t do that, Sam,” Deputy U.S. Marshal Gerald Raleigh, a fiftyish man with thinning hair, a long, jowly face and the body of an aged football player, countered. “The program only works if you—”

“My name is Connor. Not Sam,” he argued, feeling peevish.

Raleigh sighed. “Connor Mansfield is dead. You’re Sam Orlean now, and if you want to stay alive—”

“I understand what going back there means. But I found out today that I have a daughter.”

Raleigh exchanged a startled glance with his partner, Deputy U.S. Marshal Jamal Jones. “How did you hear about your daughter?”

Connor stiffened and faced Marshal Jones. “You knew about Savannah?”

Jones, an African-American of approximately Connor’s age, with closely shaved hair and a short Vandyke, didn’t answer, but the twitch of muscle in his jaw and self-conscious lift of his chin said all the federal marshal didn’t.

Raleigh dragged a hand over his face. “How did you find out?”

Connor bit out a curse. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me? What right did you have to keep something like that from me?”

“For exactly this reason,” Raleigh said. “That part of your life is over, Sam, and knowing about your daughter would have only made it tougher to—”

“She’s sick. Or did you know that, too, and not tell me?” He divided a glare between his handlers and ground his back teeth until his jaw ached. “She has cancer and needs a bone marrow transplant. I may be her best chance for a match.”

Jones shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sam. But Gale’s men are still a threat to you. They could be watching Darby Kent’s house, waiting for you to show up. We’ve been monitoring Darby since you entered the program, in case Gale or his men made a move on her. That’s how we knew about the baby.”

Connor shook his head, confused, a chill coiling in his gut. After everything he’d sacrificed to protect Darby, could Gale’s men still be watching her?

“Why would they watch Darby if they believe I’m dead? She had nothing to do with Gale’s prosecution. You said you tied up all of the loose ends. I’m officially dead, right? So why—”

Jones raised a hand. “Connor Mansfield, witness for the state, is officially dead. And as long as you stay dead, there is little chance Gale can find you. You are safe, and Ms. Kent will be safe.”

“But if you suddenly come back from the dead,” Raleigh added, leaning forward and poking the coffee table for emphasis, “your cover is blown, you become a target again and you put Darby and her daughter in the line of fire.”

“Our daughter. She’s my flesh and blood, too!”

“Exactly.” Raleigh spread his hands. “So why would you put her in danger by returning from the dead? Think about her safety—”

“I am thinking of her!” Connor shoved his hands through his hair, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Savannah could die if she doesn’t get my marrow!”

Jones stood and jangled the keys in his pocket. “You don’t know that you’re a match.”

“What if I am?” Connor blew out a heavy sigh. “I have to try to save her. I can’t sit here, knowing she needs me, knowing I might be the one who could save her life and not do anything!”

“I understand your frustration and concern, Sa—”

“Do you?” Connor spun to face Raleigh. “Do you really understand? Giving up the woman I loved to enter the program nearly killed me. Not a day goes by I don’t think about chucking it all and going back, consequences be damned. Darby’s safety is the only reason I haven’t gone back before now. My life means nothing without her.”

“Sam, I know it is hard to leave behind—”

“You had no right to withhold the truth from me!” Connor jabbed a finger toward Raleigh, punctuating his point. “If I’d known I had a daughter on the way, I don’t know if I’d have ever agreed to entering WitSec without Darby.”

Jones shook his head. “We’ve explained why that was a bad idea. To make it believable that you’d died—”

“—the woman I loved had to believe I’d died, too. Yeah, yeah. I remember your reasoning, but...” Connor turned to pace again. “But things are different now. My daughter is sick. I have to go back.” He planted his feet and squared his shoulders. “I have an appointment Friday with Savannah’s doctor. There’s a chance I could be a marrow donor for her, and the doctor insisted on a face-to-face consult and more tests.”

Raleigh shook his head. “Sam...”

Connor firmed his resolve. “I have to try to help Savannah.”

“Even if it puts all of your lives at risk? Not just yours, but Darby’s and Savannah’s. Your brothers. Parents. Anyone close to you could be at risk, because Victor Gale hasn’t forgotten the man who brought down his father’s money laundering scheme and put ole Pop behind bars. He has a history of vigilante justice and revenge against those who cross his family.”

“I’m aware of that, but I am going. The question is, will you help me get in and out of town without detection?” When his handlers hesitated, Connor dropped heavily onto a wingback chair and propped his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. “I’ll be careful, use disguises. But I can’t sit here, knowing I have a daughter who needs me. Savannah will die without a transplant.” Connor gritted his back teeth and revisited the option he’d rejected years ago, for Darby’s sake. “Is it too late for Darby to join WitSec with me?”

Even as he asked, his gut tensed, knowing what a difficult move that’d be for Darby to make. Asking her to give up her life, her family, her home to be with him would be so horribly selfish. Did she even love him anymore? Perhaps she’d moved on, found someone else...

Raleigh grunted. “Hiding a child who’s as sick as Savannah would be highly dangerous, full of pitfalls. Besides the high level of medical care she needs, tracking you through her medical records, through treatment facilities would be far too easy. There’d be too many doctors and nurses and other patients involved who could talk and blow your cover, even if accidentally...”

“So then I have no choice. My mind is made up.” Connor divided an even stare between the two marshals. “I know the risks. I hate the risks, of course, and I’ll deal with them somehow. But my baby needs me, so I’m going home. I’m going to save my daughter.”

* * *

That Friday, with help from her longtime friend and almost-brother-in-law Hunter Mansfield, Darby packed Savannah’s bags, preparing to take her daughter home following the last chemo treatment. When her cell phone rang and the caller ID showed Dr. Reed’s office, she assumed the call was about Savannah’s discharge papers and directions concerning her at-home care. Darby answered, relieved to have the chance to ask questions. She hadn’t felt this nervous about taking Savannah home from the hospital when she was a new mother with a one-day-old baby.

Hunter had Savannah distracted, animating her stuffed rabbit to make her laugh as Darby took Dr. Reed’s call. “Hello?”

“Darby, it’s Jillian Evans in Dr. Reed’s office.”

“Oh, hi, Jillian.” Darby smiled hearing the friendly voice of the nurse who’d been so helpful and supportive in recent months. “We got Savannah’s discharge papers, and we’re just getting ready to leave the hospital now.”

“Oh, great, but...that’s not why I’m calling.”

Darby heard an odd note of apprehension in Jillian’s voice, and her gut immediately clenched. Bracing for bad news—God, she was tired of bad news—Darby said, “Go on.”

“Well, Dr. Reed asked me to call you about some rather confusing information we have regarding a potential donor for Savannah.”

Darby’s spirits lifted. “You have a potential donor?”

Hunter’s head jerked up, and she met his hopeful gaze as she listened to the nurse explain.

“Well...yes. Dr. Reed will call you later to tell you more about that, but...” Elation made Darby’s head spin, and her heart pounded so hard she almost missed Jillian saying, “But his test results show something that has Dr. Reed puzzled.”

“Puzzled? What’s wrong?” Like being on a roller coaster, her stomach swooped, her mood crashing from high to low again. Here we go. The bad news...

“The DNA tests that show that he is a strong candidate as a donor also say, with statistical certainty, that he is Savannah’s father.”

The air froze in Darby’s lungs. “Wh-what? That’s impossible. Connor is dead.”

Hearing his brother’s name mentioned, Hunter rose to his feet and hurried over to Darby, pressing his ear close as she tipped the phone for him to listen in.

“That’s what Dr. Reed understood from your records, which is why she wanted me to call. Are you sure about who Savannah’s father is? Is it possible this other man—”

“No! There was no one else. I don’t sleep around, if that’s what you’re asking.” Darby’s hand shook, and she dragged in a breath, trying to make sense of what the nurse was telling her. “Your test is wrong. This guy can’t be Savannah’s father. Connor Mansfield is Savannah’s father, and he died four and a half years ago.”

“Of course we can run the test again. Dr. Reed just wanted to double-check with you, in case maybe...”

“But if the test was wrong about him being Savannah’s father—” Darby held her breath, tears pricking her eyes “—does that mean it was wrong about him being a match for her, too?”

“We’ll have to see. It’s just all so odd, especially since he initiated contact with us about being a donor.”

Darby’s legs buckled. “He did?”

Hunter squeezed her arm, supporting her, but his own face was paler than normal.

“Who is this guy? Where is he from?” she asked.

“He’s from Texas, I think. Don’t worry, Dr. Reed will screen him and assess if he’s a nut job or if he’s truly a viable donor. In fact, she’s meeting with Mr. Orlean now, and she’s requested new tests, pending what she learns in her consult with him.”

Darby blinked. Shook her head as if she’d heard wrong. “Wait. What did you say his name was?”

“Sam Orlean. Why? Do you know the name?”

“I—maybe. It rings a bell but...” She fumbled through her memory. A classmate? A customer of Mansfield Construction? No. It was more recent. Darby looked at Hunter, and he shrugged and shook his head, silently denying any familiarity with the name.

She dredged up the call earlier in the week from her insurance company. Was that where she’d heard the name? She replayed bits of the call in her head, trying to conjure the man’s name. But other pieces of the conversation were what stood out.

Would her father have been a suitable match?

I’m sorry, Dahr-by.

“Connor,” she said under her breath, not daring to hope. And yet...

Her imagination raced, and just the possibility that Connor might still be alive made her dizzy with expectation. The need to know, the demand for answers pounded through her like a tribal chant. Connor. Connor. Connor.

“As soon as Dr. Reed gets out of her meeting with him, I’ll have her call you with—”

“Then Sam Orlean is still there, at your office right now?” Adrenaline made her pulse pound so hard in her ears, she could barely hear, much less think. Connor. Connor. Connor.

“He’s in with the doctor, discussing his test results and—”

“Don’t let him leave.” She squeezed the phone tighter and hurried to grab her purse from the chair by the bed. “Stall him. I’m on my way.”

“But—”

She hung up before Jillian could object and sent Hunter a pleading look as she rushed to the door. “Will you stay with her? I have to know.”

“Of course,” Hunter said, his expression reflecting his own shock and need for answers.

Darby jogged down the hospital corridor to the elevator. Dr. Reed’s office was in a medical building a couple blocks away. She debated taking her car but decided that by the time she got to the parking garage, dealt with traffic and red lights and parked again, she’d get there faster on foot.

On the elevator, she pushed the lobby button again and again as the car descended, as if it would make the elevator go faster. She knew better, but her nerves jangled, and she needed something to do until the doors parted at the lobby. Hiking her purse higher on her shoulder, Darby flew out the front door of the hospital and made a beeline for Dr. Reed’s office. She dodged people on the sidewalk, wove through cars to cross the street and took the stairs at the medical building rather than wait on another slow elevator.

By the time she raced through the door of Dr. Reed’s office, she could barely catch her breath. Though she’d run track in high school, she’d let herself get out of shape in recent months, while dealing with Savannah’s illness.

She approached the receptionist desk, panting. “Sam...Orlean? Jillian said...he was...here.”

The receptionist looked up and smiled at her, but when she saw Darby gasping for air and sweating, her smile fell away. “Um...he was here. But they just left.”

Darby’s whole body sagged, dejection sandbagging her. “He left? I told...Jillian to...stall....”

“Darby.” Jillian appeared behind the receptionist, frowning and shaking her head. “I tried to keep him here, but when I mentioned you wanted to meet him, he got agitated, and they left in a big hurry.”

She stiffened. “They? He had...someone with him?”

“Yeah. A big guy. Light brown hair. About fifty. Clean-cut and—”

Darby waved her quiet. “Never mind. How long ago did they leave?”

“They just did. Seconds before you got here. I’m sorry—”

Darby spun back toward the door, leaving her purse, encumbering ballast, on the receptionist’s counter. Heart in her throat, she sped back down the stairs, but this time made her way toward the parking garage. She had to have at least a glimpse of this man whose DNA tests were so confoundingly wrong. Unless...

He initiated contact...

Dahr-by...

She slammed through the heavy door to the parking garage and skidded to a stop on the concrete landing. From the slightly raised vantage point, she could better see over the top of cars on this, the main deck of the garage. She swept a glance down each aisle and spotted three men, an African American, a tall man with light brown hair and a raven-haired man with a beard, sunglasses and baseball cap.

“Mr. Orlean?” she called, her breathless shout drowned out by noise from the street below. She hurried down the steps and chased after the men. “Mr. Orlean?”

She stared at the back of the man in the cap as she ran to catch them. The broad shoulders and confidence in his stride seemed familiar, though his hair was many shades darker than Connor’s.

She closed the gap between them before trying again to get their attention. “Mr. Orlean! Please, wait!”

The man in the cap stiffened, slowed. When he started to turn, the black man beside him glanced over his shoulder and pushed the dark-haired man toward a silver sedan. With the fob in his hand, the tall, older man clicked the locks off and opened the back door of the sedan. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for the man in the cap to get in the car.

They weren’t just ignoring her; they were escaping from her. Puzzled and more than a bit miffed, Darby shouted again, “Wait! Sam Orlean, I need to talk to you!”

When she reached the silver sedan, the black man tried to block her path, but she shoved past him. She grabbed the arm of the man she believed was Sam Orlean as he tried to climb in the backseat. “Wait!”

He froze for a moment, dropped his chin to his chest then, straightening to his full height, he turned.

Mumbling an earthy obscenity, the older man stepped forward as if to intervene, but Orlean raised a hand to stop him.

Winded, Darby gasped for a breath and grabbed the open car door for support, her body shaking as she studied the beard-covered face. The man’s coloring was wrong, his hair too dark. His eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses and shaded by the cap. And yet...

He stood stock-still, except for a slight shudder as he drew a stuttering breath.

The chant in Darby’s brain screamed louder— Connor, Connor, Connor! Reaching up, she snatched away his cap, pulled his sunglasses off.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, scowling at the cars parked across the aisle.

“Look at me,” she whispered, and when he refused, she screamed, “Look at me, damn it!”

She grabbed his chin and wrenched his head toward her. When he lifted his eyes to hers, they were damp with tears, brimming with regret and apology. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her knees buckled, and her lungs seized.

She knew those golden-brown eyes. Intimately. They were her daughter’s eyes.

“Connor.” Her voice squeaked as her throat clogged with emotion. Her body shook with unspent adrenaline, and she lifted a hand toward his cheek. He wrapped long, warm fingers around hers, moving her hand off his face and squeezing her hand. Stunned, she grappled with what her heart was telling her, while her brain rejected the truth. A hesitant joy filled her chest like helium, expanding, lifting her hope. But a darker emotion lurked at the edges of her shock. She shoved the darkness aside, not wanting anything to shadow the moment.

Tears filled her eyes as a half laugh, half sob bubbled up from her chest. “You’re alive!”

He gave the slightest of nods, but that tiny confirmation sent a tidal wave of conflicting emotions coursing through her. Relief and elation tangled with disbelief. She surged forward to hug him, to celebrate their reunion. But the older man beside them caught her arm, separating them. “Not here.”

She blinked her confusion, looking to Connor for answers. His expression was grim, full of grief and regret. “I’m sorry.”

His apology released the darkness she’d tried to hold at bay. A chill crept from her scalp to her toes as the first flicker of understanding dawned on her. Anger and resentment elbowed past her other emotions.

He’d left her. On purpose. He’d deceived her, let her think he was dead. He’d said he loved her, but he’d abandoned her.

Just like her father.

Her hand flew up, surprising herself as much as him when she struck his cheek. Hard. “You bastard!”

“That’s enough,” the black man growled. He grabbed her, restraining her arms as he pulled her away from Connor.

Darby fought the captive arms. Furious. Heartbroken. “You lied to me! You said you loved me!” she spat at Connor.

“Get in.” With a hand on Connor’s head, the older man pushed him into the backseat.

“No!” she shouted, desperation rearing its head. She couldn’t lose Connor again. “Wait!”

The older man hitched his head to the black man, whose muscular arms held her like a vise. He hitched his head toward the backseat. “Bring her. We need to contain this.”

Fear clawed inside her as the black man lifted her effortlessly and shoved her in the backseat.

“What the hell?” Connor barked. “Let her go!”

When her abductor pushed into the car behind her, she toppled onto Connor’s lap. He caught her, steadying her as the car engine roared to life. Panic choked her as the sedan pulled sharply out of the parking space and lurched down the garage aisle. She clung to Connor’s arm for balance.

“Let me out! Please!” Tears and terror strangled her. “I have to get back to Savannah. My daughter needs me!”

“Damn it, Jones!” Connor snarled. “This was never part of the plan. What are you doing?”

We need to contain this. An ominous shiver spun through her. Who were these men, and what was Connor involved in? What was she now involved in?

* * *

Connor scowled at Marshal Jones as Raleigh pulled out of the parking garage onto the city street. Forcing Darby into a car against her will was not the best way to start an already difficult conversation. She was understandably confused, terrified.

“You’re safe, Darby,” he said and stroked a hand down her back, trying to calm her. She jerked away from his touch and sent him a dirty look. In her eyes he saw hurt, confusion, fear...but mostly fury. His return from the dead had her royally pissed.

Connor sighed, his heart heavy. Had he really thought that she’d simply fall into his arms and all would be forgiven and forgotten? That she’d still love him after so many years? That the lie of his faked death and subsequent hurt he’d caused could be swept aside merely by returning from the grave?

Using the rearview mirror, Marshal Raleigh glanced to the backseat at Jones. “What’s the plan? Where am I going? Back to the hotel?”

Darby lunged toward the front seat, grabbing at Raleigh’s arm. “Take me to St. Mary’s Hospital! My daughter is there. We were about to take her home!”

Jones pulled Darby off Raleigh. “Not yet. We have to talk.”

She wrenched away from Jones with a frown, then wiggled off Connor’s lap. She squeezed onto the seat between him and the car door, pushing him closer to Jones. When Raleigh stopped for a red light, Darby scrabbled with the door handle, trying to escape. Without success.

“Childproof safety locks,” Jones said evenly. “They’re not just for parents anymore.”

Raleigh chuckled, but Darby shot Jones a look that said she didn’t appreciate his dry humor. Then her gaze shifted back to Connor, and he felt the same kick of yearning and awe he’d known every time her green eyes had met his in the past. Except now her gaze was suspicious and hostile.

“Connor, who are these people? What’s going on? H-how are you still alive?”

He gave her a humorless laugh. “Wow. I missed you, too, honey. Thanks for the warm welcome home.”

A fresh wave of anger hardened her face briefly before tears filled her eyes and grief slackened her features. “You jerk. Of course I missed you. I died inside when I thought I’d lost you!”

Compunction punched him in the gut. “I’m sorry, Darby. I just—”

“Sorry?” she shrieked and landed an inert fist on his arm. “We buried you! Your parents had to pick out a headstone for their son. Your brothers carried your casket. I saw them wheel a body bag out of the charred cabin. But it was all a lie!” A tear broke free from her eyelashes, and when he reached up to wipe it from her cheek, she knocked his hand away.

“Honey, I know my leaving hurt you and my family. I’m sorry. I am! Leaving all of you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done! If I’d had any other way—”

“You did! You could have not pretended to die, not devastated us, not lied to us—”

“I did it to protect you. All of you. I loved you, Darby. I didn’t want to hurt you, but the Gales wanted—”

“You abandoned me. You don’t abandon someone you love.” Her voice cracked, and she turned toward the window, biting her bottom lip.

Connor mumbled a curse and rubbed his face.

After pulling the car into an alley with a tall privacy fence on one side and a department store loading dock on the other, Raleigh cut the engine. He caught Connor’s attention via the rearview mirror. “I know you two have a lot of personal stuff to air out, but can we stick a pin in it for now? The more immediate problem is coming to an understanding with Ms. Kent and assuring her silence.”

Darby’s chin snapped up, her eyes widening. “That sounds like a threat. What do you mean assure my silence? Connor, what kind of thugs are you involved with?”

“Not thugs, ma’am,” Jones said, pulling out his badge. “Deputy U.S. Marshals. Sam Orlean is under our protection as part of WitSec, the Witness Security Program.”

“U.S. Marshals?” Darby ignored Jones’s badge and scowled at him. “Since when is it okay for federal agents to kidnap law-abiding citizens?”

* * *

Darby’s stomach swirled sourly, and she held her breath, wondering where she’d found the nerve to so openly challenge these men. The bulges under their jackets were almost assuredly guns. How far would these men go to assure her silence?

The man named Jones looked surprised. “You haven’t been kidnapped. You’re free to go whenever you like.”

Darby scoffed. “Childproof locks ring a bell?”

Jones smiled and sent Connor a side glance. “Feisty.”

“Just one of her many attributes,” he replied.

“Marshal Raleigh,” Jones said, still smiling, “would you be so kind as to unlock Ms. Kent’s door for her?”

“Roger that.” Raleigh pushed a button on the driver’s door, and the rear door locks clicked off.

Darby blinked, startled by the turn of events. Was she really free to go, or would they shoot her in the back if she tried to leave? She glanced from the door to Jones, narrowing her eyes as she decided whether Jones was pulling a trick. She tested the door release, and it popped open. Then she paused. Connor.

She jerked her gaze back to Connor, the man she’d once loved and conceived a child with, and her heart staggered. This wasn’t about a standoff between her and two U.S. Marshals. The important issue was Connor. Who was alive. In Witness Security. And who’d contacted Dr. Reed.

He could well be a tissue match for Savannah’s bone marrow transplant. Connor.

She exhaled a ragged breath, shifting her gaze from one man to another. And closed the car door. “I... All right. You have my attention.”

Chapter 3

Connor divided a look between Jones and Raleigh. “Do you want to do the honors?”

Jones waved a hand in deferral. “Go ahead. We’ll jump in as needed.”

Darby sighed impatiently. “Someone talk.”

Turning on the seat to better face her, Connor scooped Darby’s hand in his. For a moment, he thought she might yank it back, but she hesitated, eyeing him with a combination of suspicion and concern. “Do you remember right before I...left—”

Her eyebrow rose as if taking issue with his euphemism. You abandoned me.

Connor’s chest wrenched. Knowing how hard Darby had taken his disappearance—no, his faked death—poured acid guilt on his conscience. He’d known she’d be heartbroken. They’d been in love, planning to marry. But he truly hadn’t realized how bitter, how hurt she’d be.

He puffed out a breath and plunged on. “You remember that I testified in the federal trial against William Gale, right?”

She nodded, holding his gaze.

“Well, what I didn’t tell you at the time was that the Gales have ties to organized crime. In fact, they head up a branch of organized crime that operates in Lagniappe.”

She sat straighter, her eyes widening and her face paling. “Organized crime? But—”

“I didn’t know about their criminal connections when I went to work for them. And I didn’t learn about the criminal activity for a long time. They’re quite good at hiding their illegal sidelines.”

Darby held up a hand. “Wait. I’m sensing this is too big to cover in one hurried conversation parked in a back alley.” She flipped her wrist and checked her watch. “I’ve already been gone too long. Savannah is leaving the hospital today. She was almost ready to go when I bolted out of her room to follow my hunch about you.”

Connor frowned. “Who’s with her now?”

“Hunter. But I have to get back. I—” She leaned toward the front seat, grabbing Raleigh’s arm. “Take me to St. Mary’s Hospital. Now!” She sighed and added, “Please.”

Raleigh turned on the seat to face his partner. “She’s right about one thing. We need to get her back to the hospital before her absence causes concern with the family or hospital staff.”

Jones tapped fingers to his lips as he thought. “Okay.” While Raleigh started the engine again, Jones narrowed a serious look at Darby. “Here’s the deal. Witness security only works if the subject breaks all ties with his former life. No one can know Sam is still alive.”

“But his family—”

“No. No one. Do you understand?”

Darby hesitated, nodded, then knitted her brow in consternation. “Wait, how is Connor supposed to be Savannah’s donor if no one can know he’s alive?”

“Connor can’t. Connor is dead. But Sam Orlean can.” Jones paused and leaned toward Darby to emphasize his point. “As long as his cover remains intact.”

Darby glanced at Connor, then back to the marshal. “Only problem with that is my family, Connor’s family...everyone knows Connor is Savannah’s father. And because of the DNA tests he took, so does Dr. Reed and her staff. They even called me to ask about it. They were puzzled when the tests showed Sam Orlean—” she drew quotation marks with her fingers as she said the name “—was Savannah’s biological father. They wanted to know if I was sure it was Connor who’d fathered my baby. As if I slept around and couldn’t keep track of my lovers.” Her tone held a bitter edge.

“That could work,” Raleigh said from the driver’s seat as he negotiated traffic. “You could tell the doctor you had a one-night stand while on vacation and were too embarrassed to say anything before now.”

Darby’s expression mirrored her outrage. “Pregnant from a one-night stand? Hell, no! I’m not that kind of woman.”

“We’re not saying you are. But if you could tell people that’s how you got pregnant, that’s why Sam Orlean of Dallas is the girl’s father—”

She visibly tensed, her fury palpable. “You mean lie? If I tell people that, I become that woman in the eyes of people I love and respect.”

Connor had heard enough. “Darby...”

Her gaze jerked to him, her green eyes blazing. “Do you hear what they’re asking? Do you have any idea how much it would hurt your parents for me to tell them the little girl they love, the grandchild they believe was a posthumous gift from you, isn’t really yours?”

A sharp ache speared him. The last thing he wanted was to cause his family or Darby any more pain. “I hate this as much as you do, but we have to consider all the options.”

She rounded on him. “Do you hate it? You hurt us all easily enough when you faked your death five years ago! What’s one more stab in the back to a family you already walked away from? The family who grieves for you even today!”

Connor stiffened. “Leaving you, letting my family think I was dead was the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I hated the idea of my parents thinking I’d died, of you going through that kind of heartache and grief. Of my brothers—” He huffed in frustration as a knot of his own grief balled in his chest. “I did it to protect you. All of you! And I’d rather that sacrifice not go to waste by blowing my cover now.”

“I will not lie to the people I love. I cannot hurt them that way!” Darby poked him in the chest, then flopped back against the seat and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Even if it means protecting the father of your child from men who want to kill him?” Jones asked.

Darby snapped her attention to the marshal, her anger clearly slipping a notch when faced with the brutal reality of the situation. Her mouth opened, as if to reply, then closed again.

Connor turned toward her, tamping his own frustration in order to keep his tone nonconfrontational. This might be his only chance to see Darby, to touch her and explain the choices he’d made, and he refused to spend it arguing. “Honey, forget about me for a minute. Yes, having my cover blown would put me at risk, but more important to me is the danger you and Savannah might be in. And my family. If the Gales find out I’m alive, they might strike at you to get back at me. They know the best way to hurt me is to hurt the people I love.”

A shadow of fear crept into her eyes, and she wet her lips. “Connor, I don’t want you or anyone else to get hurt, but there has to be another way. Your family can keep the secret that you’re alive if—”

“No,” Jones interrupted. “The more people who know, the higher the risk. We have to contain this. We need your word that you’ll cooperate with us, whatever it takes, in order to keep Sam alive and your family safe.”

“And we need that commitment now,” Raleigh added. “We’re at the hospital.”

Connor glanced out the side window, and sure enough, they’d reached St. Mary’s. He glanced up at the brick edifice, and his heart seized. His daughter was inside those walls. The little girl he’d made with Darby. A longing so pure and deep flooded him that he couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Raleigh and Jones were still trying to impress upon Darby the importance of her complete silence, the need for her to agree to whatever lie they invented about Savannah’s parentage.

“I want to see her,” he blurted. Three heads swiveled toward him.

“What?” Darby asked.

He held Darby’s gaze, bittersweet longing swelling in his chest. “I want to see my daughter.”

Though he knew in his head all the reasons it was a bad idea, his heart shouted down the rational voice of his conscience. He might never have this chance again, a chance to meet his firstborn, the opportunity to hold her, hug her, tell her he loved her. He took Darby’s hands in his, his pulse thudding unsteadily. “Let me meet Savannah. Please?”

“Uhhh,” Raleigh said, dragging out the syllable to reflect his uncertainty. “Not a good idea.”

Connor ignored the marshal, still holding Darby’s hands and gaze, waiting. If she agreed, he’d move heaven and earth to make time with his daughter happen.

Tears filled her eyes, and she bit her bottom lip when it trembled. Hurt and anger darkened her gaze. “I want to say no. I want to say you gave up the right to see her when you walked out of our lives.”

Connor tensed and squeezed her hands. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

She nodded her concession on that point. “That’s why I can’t justify keeping you from her. You’re her father. You have a right to see her.”

Behind him, Jones grunted. “Sam, we can’t—”

“I am.” He shifted on the seat to face Marshal Jones, determination firming his resolve. “I am going to meet my daughter. With or without your help.”

Chapter 4

Clearly sensing a lengthy discussion was in the offing, Marshal Raleigh pulled away from the curb in front of the hospital and circled the block, finding another alley to park in. Jones and Raleigh took some convincing to cooperate with Connor’s insistence on meeting Savannah. But with some brainstorming help from Darby and Connor, they developed a cover to get Connor into Darby’s house without raising any red flags with the Gales.

“Wait. What about Hunter?” Darby asked as they headed back toward the hospital.

“Who’s Hunter?” Raleigh asked.

“My youngest brother,” Connor said.

“Hunter was with me when I got the call from the doctor’s office asking if I could explain why Sam Orlean’s DNA tests showed such a significant parental match.” She glanced from Connor to the marshals. “He knows I was trying to intercept you at Dr. Reed’s office to find out who you were, why the tests showed you were Savannah’s father.”

“All the more reason to go with the one-night-stand story,” Jones said.

Darby shook her head. “He won’t buy it. Hunter knows me better than that. He knows I suspected Sam Orlean was Connor.”

“Then tell him you were too late to catch up with Sam,” Raleigh offered. “Tell him the doctor’s office realized they’d mixed up records and apologized for the confusion.”

She snorted her disagreement. “I can’t lie to Hunter. He’ll see right through me.”

“My brother is trustworthy,” Connor said quietly, turning toward Jones. “Now that Darby knows the truth, maybe it’d be best to tell Hunter about WitSec, as well. He can keep it quiet.”

“Yes!” Darby nodded her agreement. “Let me tell Hunter the truth. He won’t believe that anyone but Connor is Savannah’s father, and he reads me too well for me to lie about any of this.”

In the front seat, Raleigh groaned.

Jones rubbed his face with his hand. “You understand that the more people who know who Sam is, the more risk there is of the wrong people finding out?”

Raleigh pulled to a stop once more at the hospital entrance and turned toward the backseat. “Do I need to circle the block again?”

“Hunter won’t talk.” Connor narrowed a certain gaze on Jones. “We can trust him.”

Jones and Raleigh exchanged a long dark look, as if communicating telepathically.

Darby twisted her hands in her lap, her heart still racing from adrenaline and her brain muddled with the surrealism of the past half hour. Finally, Raleigh sighed and turned back to the front window, while muttering under his breath about hell in a hand basket.

“Okay.” Jones flipped up his palms. His expression said he was far from happy about acquiescing. “But tell Hunter as little as possible until we’ve had a chance to debrief him and impress upon him the urgency of his silence.”

Darby gave a jerky nod and opened the car door. “I understand.”

As she slid out of the backseat, Connor caught her arm. “Darby.” She faced him, waiting for him to continue. Emotions played over his face, clearly telling her how conflicted he was, deciding what he wanted to say, what he could say. As if he were torn between what was in his heart and the masquerade he was playing.

The longer he hesitated, the more irritated she grew. The Connor she knew had never hedged, never held back from sharing his heart with her. But then, that Connor was dead, wasn’t he? This Connor—or Sam Orlean—had lied about his death, had stayed away for almost five years.

“See you in about an hour,” he said at last, his frown saying he knew how lame he sounded.

“Right.” She snatched her arm from his grip, frustrated, hurt and so angry with him she was shaking.

She hurried back inside the hospital and onto the same elevator car she’d ridden down some forty or so minutes earlier. As the doors closed, she marveled at how the elevator could look the same when her life had changed so completely in such a short time. Connor. Connor was alive!

The air in her lungs stalled, just as it had when she’d recognized the man with the dye-darkened beard and sunglasses in the parking garage. She braced a hand on the wall of the elevator and bent at the waist to catch her breath.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” an orderly on the elevator with her asked.

She peeked up at him and shook her head. “No. Not really.”

They arrived at her floor, the door sliding open with a ding, and she straightened. Flashing a forced smile to the orderly, she stepped off the elevator, waving the hospital employee away when he made a move to help her. “No, thanks.”

“Mommy!” Savannah called to her as she ducked back into her hospital room.

She managed a smile for her daughter and bent to kiss her temple. “Hi, Miss Priss.”

Hunter spun to face her, his phone at his ear, his expression impatient. “Cheese and rice, Darby!” He waved his cell, thumbing the disconnect button. “Why haven’t you answered your phone? I’ve called you at least ten times!”

“Because...” She blew out a deep breath and slapped a hand to her empty shoulder where her purse usually hung. “Crud! I left my purse at the doctor’s office.” Raking a hand through her hair, she dropped her shoulders wearily. “Will you stop by there to let me grab it on our way home?”

He pulled a face. “Uh, yeah. Whatever.” Spreading his hands, he raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Well? What happened? Did you see him?”

Darby cut a side glance to Savannah, then scowled at Hunter. “Ixnay about Onnorcay.”

Hunter looked ready to strangle her. “Just give me a yes or no. Was it him?”

“Did someone die, Mommy?”

Darby faced Savannah, her pulse stumbling. “No, honey. Why?”

“You told somebody on the phone that Connuh was dead.” Savannah wrinkled her nose. “Who’s Connuh?”

“Um...” She fumbled, glancing to Hunter for help. She’d put off telling Savannah about her father until she thought the little girl was old enough to fully understand the concept of death. Then Hunter’s elderly dog had died a few months ago, and she’d had to explain where Bo had gone and why he wouldn’t be back.

But Connor came back.

“Connor is...” She rubbed the spot on her forehead where a killer headache was forming.

“My brother,” Hunter supplied.

Savannah tipped her head in confusion. “But Uncle Gwant is your bwother.” Savannah had just started speech therapy that spring to help her pronounce her Rs, when they’d been handed the challenge of cancer. Rs would have to wait.

Hunter grinned. “A guy can have more than one brother. In fact, I know someone who has seven brothers!”

Savannah’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of bwothers!” She sank back against her pillow, her face sobering, her tenacious curiosity and keen memory not letting Hunter’s attempt at distraction work. “Did your bwother die like Bo?”

“Um...” Hunter stalled and looked to Darby. “Did he?”

“Priss, why don’t you watch TV while I talk to Uncle Hunter for a minute.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and led him into the tiny bathroom out of Savannah’s earshot.

“What’s going on, Darby?” Hunter asked as she closed the door behind them.

She wiped sweaty palms on the seat of her pants. “Here’s the deal—and you can’t tell anyone about this...”

* * *

While Darby returned to the hospital room to bring Savannah home, Connor and the marshals acquired medical scrubs, a few pieces of medical equipment and a van detailed with Lagniappe Home Health on the side panel. Soon after Darby and Hunter got Savannah home, the faux home health team arrived, and Darby ushered them through her front door. Hiding in plain sight.

“Connor!” Hunter rushed forward as soon as his brother stepped into the foyer, shock and joy reverberating in his voice. “What—? How—?”

As ordered, Darby had given Hunter only the barest of information. Connor was alive. He was in hiding with WitSec. He was in disguise and headed to her house to meet Savannah.

The emotional reunion between the brothers was bittersweet for Darby. Hiding the truth from the rest of Connor’s family gnawed at her. She hated feeling as though she were buying into the lie that hurt and angered her so much, even if she understood Connor’s reasoning for his choice to enter WitSec. And what did she tell Savannah about the man who wanted to meet her?

Connor exchanged a bear hug with Hunter. “It’s a long messy story. One that, I’m afraid, isn’t over yet.”

Hunter stepped back, holding his brother at arm’s length. “What do you mean, it’s not over?”

Connor’s eyes darted back to Darby, and he pulled away from Hunter. “I can explain, but first...”

Marshals Jones and Raleigh lumbered in carrying an oxygen tank and monitoring equipment, part of their cover as health care workers looking after Savannah.

Connor introduced Jones and Raleigh to Hunter, then the two marshals moved into the living room with their load of equipment, leaving Connor to his family reunion. Even having spent forty minutes with him in the marshals’ sedan, having had time for the news to sink in, having conveyed the shocking truth to Hunter, Darby was having trouble wrapping her brain around Connor’s resurrection and return. Seeing him in her house again after almost five years seemed odd. Especially since he’d darkened his hair and sported a beard as part of his cover as Sam Orlean.

Her thoughts were scrambling in too many directions at once to sort them out. Her heart thundered in her chest, and all she could do was stare at the answer to her prayers. As if he felt her attention, Connor turned his head and met her gaze. A tingle of sensation, like receiving a static shock, zipped through her as she stared back at him. She hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was or how her body responded to his rugged good looks, but seeing him again, in the flesh rather than a two-dimensional photo or mistlike memory, was surreal. She felt as if she’d added a sugar high to a caffeine buzz. All her senses were on overdrive, and her emotions were supercharged, tangled and confusing.

“Darby?” The sound of his voice triggered a cascade of moth-balled memories. Her giddy excitement when he’d asked her for their first date. Nights when he’d held her and crooned her name as they made love. Her horror on that foggy morning more than four and a half years ago when she’d seen the charred skeleton of the hunting camp’s cabin.

And the voice of a stranger on the phone just days ago. I’m sorry, Dahr-by.

How could he have abandoned her, deceived her for so many years? Hurt and anger returned with the bite of acid in her gut. She swung at him, reacting before she’d even realized what she was doing. “You left me. Lied to me!”

Her balled fist smacked his chest with all the effect of a pillow hitting a brick wall. His muscled body was still every bit as taut and toned as she’d remembered. She swung again, the fury for the lies and pain she’d suffered because of his deception and desertion surging in her, and he absorbed the blow as if he knew he deserved it.

“Darby, stop. What are you doing?” Hunter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back. “Calm down, okay? You’ll wake Savannah.”

Another stab of pain slashed through her. Savannah. How many times had she wished Savannah could know her father? And now he was here. To meet his daughter. Yet they couldn’t tell Savannah the truth. It wasn’t fair. How could she draw her daughter into the deceit? And yet, how could she tell her daughter the truth knowing Connor would leave again, return to WitSec with the marshals in a matter of days, hours? Darby knew too well the pain of losing a father, having him blithely walk out of her life.

Her shoulders shook with sobs as she turned and buried her face in Hunter’s shirt. He folded her into a comforting embrace, muttering soothing reassurances.

But no words could calm her. No hug could ease her troubled heart.

Connor was alive, and she had no idea where to start sorting out the tangled web of his lies.

* * *

A cold heaviness filled Connor’s chest as he watched Hunter hug Darby, soothing her. His brother had been Darby’s close friend since college. She’d started hanging out at the Mansfield family home during Hunter’s freshman year at Louisiana Tech, and their friendship had never faltered, even when Connor had fallen hard for his brother’s friend and started dating Darby the same summer.

That Darby would turn to Hunter for comfort during a difficult time was logical. Still, seeing her in his brother’s arms caused a sinking sensation to settle over him. Had the nature of their friendship changed over the years he’d been gone? On the heels of Darby’s hostile reception of him, the possibility that his brother had replaced him in Darby’s affections shot a chilling spear of jealousy through his heart.

They thought you were dead, he tried to rationalize, yet the argument fell flat, did nothing to ease the swelling ache of betrayal.

Hunter is a good guy, salt of the earth, the kind of man Darby deserved, his logical mind justified. But he’s your brother. He knows how much you loved her—still love her, his heart countered.

Connor dragged a hand along his jaw, reeling from the turn of events, stung by Darby’s anger. Acid churned in his gut as he tried to sort out his next move. He had to make Darby listen to him. He had to make her understand his reasons for leaving, for letting the U.S. Marshals fake his death.

Shoving down the seesawing grief and frustration that ripped through him, Connor drew a deep breath, searching for control over his emotions. “Please, Darby, just give me a chance to explain. I never wanted to hurt you. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

She jerked free of Hunter’s arms and spun to face him, her expression cold. “So you said. But the facts remain. You left. You deceived everyone you loved.”

He raised his chin and set his jaw. “My family had to believe I was dead in order to convince the Gales—”

“I’m not interested in hearing any more of your excuses. A lie is a lie. You abandoned all of us. Left us to grieve for you!” She folded her arms over her chest and pressed her lips in a thin line. Anger vibrated from her, but a sadness and vulnerability swam in her green eyes, as well. The hurt and questions reflected in her tearful gaze broke his heart. And gave him a shred of hope. Maybe in time she could forgive him for his choices.

He spread his hands in appeal. “Please, Darby, give me a chance. For our daughter’s sake.”

Darby jerked her chin up, fire filling her eyes, her body going rigid. “Don’t you dare use Savannah as a bargain chip! When you left me, you left her, too.”

He took a step toward Darby. “Because you never told me you were pregnant!”

“I didn’t know yet!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Darby closed her eyes and huffed a sigh, as if she realized she had no right to hold that argument against him.

“If I had known about the baby...” he started, but couldn’t finish.

What would he have done? His life would still have been in danger—and Darby’s, too, by association. He would still have wanted to protect her. His handlers in the Witness Security Program would still have argued that she had to believe he was dead to convince Gale. Her disappearance near the time of his faked death would still have sounded too many alarms with the men who hunted him for revenge.

Asking her to leave her family, her job, her friends, her life behind to go with him into hiding would have been too great a sacrifice for him to impose on her. Her family was too important to her. Lagniappe was the only home she’d ever known.

She lifted her eyebrows and tipped her head, inviting him to continue. “If you had known...what? What would you have done differently? Would you have loved me more? Would you have stayed for the sake of the baby?”

He heaved a weary sigh. “I honestly don’t know.”

“If I wasn’t enough reason to stay, if somehow you didn’t love me enough, then maybe it’s just as well you left. I don’t want you here just because of our baby.” A tear spilled onto her cheek, and his heart cracked. “I needed more than that from you. I deserve more than that.”

“It wasn’t like that, Darby. I did love you, but—”

A shuffling sound in the hall to his right drew his attention, stopping him midsentence.

A frail-looking girl with only thin wisps of dark hair on her nearly bald head stood in the threshold rubbing her eyes. “Mommy?”

Connor’s breath hung in his lungs, and his chest contracted. Tears rushed to his eyes as he took a step toward the girl and dropped to his knees. With a trembling hand, he reached for his daughter’s delicate cheek and wheezed, “Savannah.”

Chapter 5

Darby froze as Connor knelt before their daughter and stroked her cheek. Seeing the man with whom she’d dreamed of building a future beside the child they’d created together was an image she’d conjured so many times in her mind. And now it was real. But also heartbreaking.

Though she knew Connor would never hurt Savannah, he was a stranger to her. Connor could easily frighten Savannah if he came on too strong, too fast. Darby’s heart thumped wildly, and she held her breath, watching.

“Hello, precious girl,” he murmured.

Savannah wrinkled her nose and tipped her head as she studied her father and the medical scrubs. “Ah you a doctuh?”

Darby joined Connor in a crouch beside Savannah. “No, baby, this is...uh—” Daddy. The name stuck in her throat. Even though Connor was here for the sole purpose of meeting his daughter, the idea of telling Savannah who he was, only to rip her father away within days seemed cruel. She met Connor’s golden-eyed gaze, and a shudder raced through her. The tender awe and love in his expression wrenched inside her, tripping over her anger and confusion.

Darby scooped Savannah into her arms quickly and stood, turning her back to him. She needed to set some ground rules with Connor before things went any further.

“What’s wrong, Priss? Did we wake you?” She stroked Savannah’s head. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Savannah shrugged and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Darby didn’t have the heart to fight the bad habit that had reappeared recently. Anything that gave her baby comfort was fine with her. Her daughter craned her neck to peer over Darby’s shoulder to Connor. “Where’s Kaylee?”

A grin tugged Darby’s lips. Savannah loved Kaylee, Grant’s new baby. And she had to admit, with his hair darkened, Connor looked a good bit like his older brother. “Kaylee’s at home. That’s not Uncle Grant.”

Darby shot Hunter a glance, looking for help, but Connor’s younger brother only shrugged, deferring to her. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and sent her a commiserative glance.

She leaned back to meet Savannah’s light brown eyes. Connor’s eyes. “Remember at the hospital a little while ago, Uncle Hunter told you he had another brother?”

Savannah wrinkled her nose again, clearly skeptical.

From behind her, Connor moved into her peripheral view. The knot of frustration and overwhelming confusion tightened in her belly. “This man is Hunter’s other brother.”

“The one who died?” Savannah asked, her brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

“Well, that’s what we thought. But we were wrong.” Darby rubbed her daughter’s arm and forced a grin. “Connor didn’t die after all.”

“You can call me Uncle Connor,” he told Savannah, taking Darby’s cue. His baritone voice was pitched low and rolled over her like a warm spring breeze. “It’s nice to meet you, Savannah.”

When I hold you like this, the rest of the world just fades away. You are my everything, Darby. The echo from her past, spoken in the same deep, lulling tone, washed through her with a bittersweet pang.

Uncle Connor. Another lie. Connor should be more to Savannah than the uncle who passed through town once when she was almost four years old.

Savannah’s father was alive. When she remembered the call that started today’s incredible events and brought Connor here to meet his little girl, she was hit with a fresh onslaught of emotion. Fragile hope. Wary joy. Tentative expectation.

Could Connor be the key to saving Savannah’s life? Darby couldn’t help the tiny catch in her breath when she considered the prospect of Connor’s marrow healing their daughter.

Connor shifted his gaze to Darby, and his face grew serious and direct, his eyes blazing with a purpose and passion. Clearly he’d read in her face where her thoughts had strayed. He’d always had an uncanny knack for reading her. Years ago, she’d believed that synergy meant they were soul mates. But then he’d left her.

Savannah patted her mother’s face, claiming her attention. “I want some juice.”

Darby shook off the painful memories, hoping Savannah wouldn’t pick up on the tension in the room. Clearing her throat, she asked, “How do you ask for juice?”

Savannah rolled her eyes. Forget the teen years. Her daughter was already a drama queen. With an exaggerated sigh, Savannah said, “May I have juice? Please!” She grasped her throat, adding, “I’m so thirsty!” Then, obviously an encore for their guest, Savannah wilted in Darby’s arms as if she’d passed out from thirst.

Connor grinned, clearly amused by Savannah’s melodrama.

“Someone’s been hanging out with Peyton,” Hunter said with a laugh. “I swear, where do my nieces get all this angst and theatrics?”

Savannah perked up hearing the name of Grant’s oldest daughter. “Peyton is my cousin. She’s six.” She fumbled to hold up six fingers.

“Six,” Connor repeated, his expression honestly stunned as he absorbed the truth of how his niece had aged in his absence.

“Come on, silly goose. Let’s get your juice.” She cast a glance to Connor as she headed into the kitchen. “Would you like to join us for a drink?”

“Absolutely.” He and Hunter fell in step behind them. “What kind of juice are we having?”

“Gwape!”

“My favorite.”

“Mine, too!” Savannah grinned, her eyes sparkling as Darby helped her climb into her booster seat at the table.

Darby bit her bottom lip, pleased to see how comfortable Savannah seemed around Connor, but also troubled. Her daughter adored Hunter and Grant. If she became as attached to Connor as she was to her uncles, Savannah would be heartbroken when Connor left.

She paused with her hand on the refrigerator door, a stabbing ache lancing her chest. When Connor left... The cruel truth was, Connor was leaving again, going back into hiding with WitSec. And whether she hated him for his lies and resented him for his desertion, she would still be devastated when he returned to his new life.

* * *

While Darby poured juice for them, Connor pulled Hunter into Darby’s mudroom. “Did you sleep with her?”

Hunter faced him, a startled look lifting his brow. “Did you really just ask me that?”

Connor firmed his jaw. “Don’t you think I have the right to know?”

His brother squared his shoulders. “I won’t apologize for being Darby’s friend, for giving her the support and comfort she’s needed the past few years. Or for being a father figure to my niece. Losing you was hell on Darby. Being a single mother, juggling work and a baby has been tough, and now, with Savannah sick—”

“Answer the question, Hunter.”

His brother paused, looked away and sighed. “If you were anyone else, and the circumstances were any different, I’d tell you it’s none of your business. But—”

“Did you sleep with her?” Connor grated impatiently.

Hunter propped a hand on the washing machine and narrowed a glare on him. “No. We’ve never had that kind of relationship. You know that.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and he glanced away for a moment, a telling gesture, before facing Connor again. “But I asked her to marry me.”

Connor stiffened. “What?”

“When she told me she was pregnant...” Hunter swiped a hand over his mouth. “We thought you were dead, bro. I didn’t want her to feel she had to face being a mother alone. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“What’d she say?” Connor held his breath.

“I’d think that was obvious. She said she didn’t want me to give up the chance to find my soul mate and spend my life with someone I loved. She said it didn’t feel right to marry me when she was still in love with my brother.”

Connor drew his shoulders back and scoffed. “Still in love? You could have fooled me.” He glanced back toward the kitchen, remembering Darby’s angry outburst.

“Can you blame her for being mad?” Hunter jammed his hand on his hip and arched a dark brown eyebrow. “She’s got a right to be hurt. You’ve been lying to her with your absence for more than four years. Where have you been? How could you trick us all into thinking you were dead?”

Connor sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Long story. I promise you’ll get the details soon, but right now, I need to get back in there and drink juice with my daughter.”

Hunter huffed. “You mean your niece.” Sarcasm dripped from Hunter’s tone. “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“That was Darby’s call. I’d love for Savannah to know who I am. I want to hear her call me Daddy more than anything. But I won’t hurt her, either. And when I have to leave again—”

Hunter straightened, his expression startled. “You’re not staying?”

Connor sighed, a hollow ache throbbing behind his ribs. “I can’t. If I blow my cover, all of you could be put at risk.” He took a step toward his younger brother. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For the pain I caused you. All of the family. If I’d thought there was another way...”

Hunter’s expression eased, his brow furrowing. “Mom took it especially hard.”

Connor dropped his gaze to his feet. “I can imagine.” Then, glancing back up, he met his brother’s eyes. “How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re doin’ all right. They look older. First they lost you. Now Savannah is sick. It’s been difficult for them.” Hunter shook his head sorrowfully, then sent him a half grin. “Kaylee’s been a bright spot, though.”

“Kaylee?” Connor asked, recalling Savannah asking about the girl.

A wider smile split Hunter’s face. “Kaylee is Grant and Tracy’s new baby. She’s two months old and cute as can be. Savannah adores her.” He shrugged, a sappy grin on his face. “We all do. Peyton dotes on her baby sister, and Grant is over the moon. Tracy miscarried twice in three years before they had Kaylee. So naturally we’re all thrilled for them.”

Connor smiled, remembering how his older brother had gushed when his first daughter had been born. Geez, he thought, Peyton is six years old now. Almost seven.

“That’s awesome. No one deserves it more. He’s a great dad.”

Hunter held Connor’s gaze for a moment, then stepped forward to give Connor another bear hug. “We’ve missed you, Con.”

Connor had to battle the surge of emotion in his throat before he could respond. “It’s good to be back.” Even if I can’t stay...

Pulling away, Hunter hitched his head toward the kitchen. “Now get in there and get to know your own daughter.”

My daughter. His pulse hiccupped in his chest as he stepped back into the kitchen.

“Sit by me, Uncle Connuh!” Savannah patted the table next to her.

“I’d be honored.” He pulled out the chair beside his daughter and took a sip of the grape juice Darby had waiting for him. Savannah already had a purple mustache from her juice, and Connor chuckled. “Looks like you’re wearing your juice.”

“Oops!” She giggled and swiped at her face with her arm.

His own beard and mustache, prosthetics he’d put on that morning with Raleigh’s help to aid in his disguise, itched. He looked forward to pulling off the faux facial hair at the first chance he got.

“Napkin,” Darby said from the kitchen.

Savannah reached for a napkin, her hand flapping against the table when she came up short. Connor handed her one and pulled another for himself. He found himself staring at the fragile little girl he’d helped create, marveling at every freckle, every precocious gesture. And worrying over every obvious sign of her illness. The hair loss, the shadows beneath her gold eyes, the red needle marks and bruising on her arms where she’d obviously been stuck for blood draws and chemotherapy treatment.

Leukemia. His gut twisted. His baby had cancer. How had Darby managed these past months with that dark diagnosis? Bile churned inside him. He should have been here, should have been with Darby, sharing the burden, supporting her.

Hell, he should have been here for Savannah’s birth, her first steps, her first words. When his sinuses burned with his rising grief, he gritted his back teeth, forcing down the sting of tears and regret. He hated all the milestones he’d missed, but he couldn’t let his daughter see his sorrow.

Someone pounded on Darby’s back door, then threw it open with a crash. “Darby!”

Connor stiffened, recognizing the voice.

“Grandma!” Savannah chirped.

“Darby, is it true? Is Connor—” His mother burst into the kitchen from the mudroom. With a gasp, she staggered to a stop when she spotted him and wheezed, “Alive.”

Chapter 6

Connor shoved to his feet, caught off guard by his mother’s arrival. “Mom, how—?”

“Look, Gwandma!” Savannah pointed to him, beaming proudly. “It’s my new uncle Connuh.”

Tears puddled in Julia Mansfield’s eyes, and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Praise the Lord! My sweet boy.”

She rushed forward, folding him in a hug. He squeezed her back, both overjoyed to see her and confused by her appearance.

“But how did you know?” Connor divided an irritated glance between Hunter and Darby over his mother’s head. One of the two had to have told her, breaking their promise and blowing his cover.

Darby hurried into the breakfast area from the kitchen, frowning. “Hunter, I told you not to say anything!”

Hunter raised his palms, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t—” He stopped suddenly, his face going slack as he groaned. “Oh, wait.” He winced and sent Connor a guilty grimace. “I texted her earlier.” He looked to Darby. “After you got that call from the doctor’s office about the DNA test results.”

Darby’s shoulders sagged, and Connor blew out a frustrated breath. His mother pulled back from her embrace and gave him a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? What’s going on?”

“Uh, Savannah, honey.” Darby pulled back the girl’s chair and lifted her down “Why don’t you take Uncle Hunter to your room for a while?”

“Mom texted me this morning wanting to know when Savannah would be going home,” Hunter said, still explaining. “I told her you’d left. Told her about the call. I—”

Outside, car doors slammed, and Connor tensed.

“That’ll be your father and Grant,” his mother said. “I called the office on my way here, and they said they’d be right behind me.”

“Julia? Darby?” his father called as he and Grant hurried through the back door. They stopped and scanned the room full of faces, their expressions eager. “Where is he?”

In seconds, the volume in the kitchen rose exponentially as everyone began talking on top of each other and emotions swelled.

“Connor! We thought you were dead!”

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

“Mommy, can Uncle Connuh play with me? Mommy?”

“Hunter, please take Savannah to her room.”

“Honest, Con, I texted her before I knew—”

From the living room, Raleigh and Jones appeared, clearly having heard the commotion. “What the hell?” Raleigh growled. “Sam, who are these people? And what part of ‘you can’t tell anyone you’re alive’ did you interpret as ‘have a welcome home party?’”

Her eyes wide, Savannah shrank behind Darby as the two large men in scrubs, strangers to her, stormed in and barked at him. The fright in his daughter’s eyes was the last straw.

Stan Mansfield, Connor’s father, stepped toward Raleigh, his shoulders back. “I could ask the same of you. Who—?”

Connor put his thumb and finger in his mouth and whistled for quiet. “That’s enough!”

Everyone settled down, facing him with startled looks.

“You’re scaring Savannah,” he said, casting a warning gaze to the offending adults. Moving to kneel by his daughter, he tugged lightly on her sleeve. “Hey, sweetie, sorry about all that noise. I believe your mom asked you to take Uncle Hunter to your room for a while. Why don’t you do that now?”

Savannah bobbed her head, then asked softly, “Will you play with me, too?”

He smiled and stroked her arm. “I would love to. Let me finish talking to the grown-ups, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Okay?”

Hunter took his cue and lifted Savannah into his arms, tickling her side. “Come on, princess, I was hoping I’d get the chance to kick your tail at Chutes and Ladders.”

“No, I’m gonna kick your tail!” Savannah said with a grin.

Darby sent him a grudging half smile. “Thanks.”

He pushed to his feet and squeezed Darby’s arm. “We’re on the same side.”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” his mother asked, her voice cracking. “Connor, who are these men? Why did they call you Sam? Where have you been all these years?” She paused and wiped at her eyes, then in a lower voice asked, “Are you in the CIA?”

Connor chuckled as he faced his mother. “No, Mom. Not the CIA.” He took a deep breath. “I’m in WitSec.”

Connor spent the next hour explaining his situation to his family, despite the marshals’ objections. “They might as well hear the truth,” he’d countered. “They know I’m alive, and the best way to reign in the situation now is to lay out the stakes, give them the background and our reasoning for staging my death.”

When Jones scowled and paced the kitchen, mumbling sourly, Connor had quipped, “Unless you’d rather erase their memory with one of those Men in Black flashy sticks. You have one of those, right?”

“Can I tell Tracy?” Grant asked. “I don’t like the idea of keeping something this big from my wife. She won’t say anything.”

“And what about my family? My mom and sisters?” Darby asked. “They should know. Especially since Savannah knows him as her uncle Connor. If he does end up donating his marrow, I’d think it would come out.”

“No!” Raleigh said with a huff of frustration. “We need to shut this down. It doesn’t go any further than this room.” He pointed at Connor, adding, “And you should have kept to your cover with the little girl. Big mistake telling her your name was Connor.”

“I told her that because she recognized the family resemblance. She knew I was a Mansfield brother before I opened my mouth.” Connor tapped his fist on the kitchen table and divided a look between the marshals. “Here’s the deal. Half of the family knows I’m alive. Protecting my cover made sense when we thought I could slip into town, meet with the doctor and get out again without anyone knowing the truth. I didn’t consider the fact that my DNA test would rat me out or that the doctor’s office would call Darby about the discrepancy in what she’d told them about Savannah’s father.”

He rubbed a hand along his cheek, weighing his options, and when he encountered the prosthetic beard, he groaned and peeled it off. “At this point, I can’t see any point in keeping up the charade. I say let Grant tell Tracy. Let Darby tell her family. They need to be aware of the potential threat so that they can take necessary precautions. And as Darby pointed out, if I do donate my marrow to Savannah, it will be harder to keep my identity secret.”

“You really think these men, the Gale brothers, will come after you?” his mother asked.

“I do. They think I betrayed them.”

“They have a history of going after people they feel have crossed them,” Jones said, his jaw tense. “We have to take the threats they made against Sam seriously.”

“His name is Connor,” Darby said with a defiant glare.

“Not anymore,” Jones countered.

“All right.” Connor raised his hands, signaling for a ceasefire. “I think, despite our intentions, the horse is out of the barn as far as my cover goes.”

“He’s right.” Jones gave Raleigh a level look, then turned an accusing glare at Darby.

She recognized the accusation and sat taller, stiffening, her expression defensive as she sputtered, “I didn’t—the doctor’s office called me and—how was I to know—”

“It’s not your fault. No one’s blaming you.” Connor sent Jones a hard look and put a supportive hand on Darby’s arm, which she jerked away. “But you raise another good point. Savannah’s doctor needs to know the truth. My biological connection to Savannah could be relevant to Savannah’s care. Also however many members of her staff as needed to contain the speculation already circulating in the office.”

Raleigh rocked back on two legs of his chair, scrubbing both hands over his face. “God bless America, Sam. What happened to staying in town only long enough to talk to the kid’s doctor then getting the hell outta Dodge? You can make the donation from Dallas, can’t you?”

All eyes swung toward Connor, and his pulse rose, torn between what he knew would keep his family safe and his selfish desire to stay and get to know his daughter, patch things up with Darby, spend precious time with his family.

“Yeah, the doctor said I could donate from Dallas, if I proved a close enough match.” A stir of reaction interrupted him, sighs of disappointment from his parents, grunts of satisfaction from the agents. He looked to Darby, needing some measure of where her heart was. Her jaw was tight with stubborn anger, but her green eyes were full of pain and discontent. “But she also said the ideal arrangement, the way she preferred, was for me to be here.”

As he repeated the doctor’s words, a certainty washed through him, a resolve that settled the debate warring inside him. “I want only the best for Savannah. If I can be my daughter’s donor, I’ll do it from here. Even if it is only marginally better logistically, I want ideal circumstances for my little girl.”

Darby’s expression was conflicted. The struggle between gratitude and resentment, fear and hope, grief and joy was plain in her eyes. Connor’s chest ached for the hurt he’d caused her, the doubts and bitterness he was responsible for.

Raleigh shook his head, clearly unhappy with Connor’s decision. “Do you understand what you’re risking?”

“Of course I do. And I’m not saying I plan to wave a red flag in front of Gale Industries. I’ll lay low, take precautions, continue wearing a disguise in public.” He flicked his hand toward the fake beard in front of him. “Whatever it takes.” He leaned forward, drilling Raleigh with a hard stare and jabbing his finger into the table. “But I need you to protect my family. I need you to make sure the Gales don’t get anywhere near Darby or Savannah or any of the people I love.”

“Our job is to protect you,” Raleigh countered. “And the best way to do that is to get you back to Dallas and try to minimize the exposure from the cracks in your cover.”

“I’m not leaving Lagniappe until I’ve done all I can to save Savannah.” He hoped his tone conveyed his determination on that point. “Maybe that will be tomorrow, if I’m not a close enough match to her. But if I am, I need to know you’ll do everything in your power to keep my family safe while I’m here.”

Jones drummed the table with his thumb. “We’re only two people, man. We’re good, but we’re not superhuman. We’ll do what we can to minimize the threat to your family, but we can’t be everywhere. You’re still our priority, the witness in WitSec, and where our efforts have to be focused.”

“So bring in more men. Or I’ll hire private security.”

Jones raised a hand. “No. No outside hires.” He glanced briefly to Raleigh for some silent confirmation or perhaps giving him a chance to object. “We’ll see about getting a little backup, but the department is stretched kinda thin these days.”

Connor’s father, Stan, had been taking in the conversation from the opposite end of the table, his arms folded over his chest and his intense scrutiny shifting from one speaker to another. Now he pushed his chair back and stood. “Bring in extra men if you want, but don’t underestimate the ability of the Mansfield men to protect our own.”

Grant had been leaning against the kitchen counter. Now he stepped forward, nodding. “That’s right. Every one of the men in this family is trained in firearms and licensed to carry concealed. Dad spent fifteen years in the army, and Hunter spent five years in the reserves. I’ve been hunting since I was twelve.”

“What’s the saying?” Connor’s mother asked. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

The marshals exchanged another unreadable look.

“Well, being alert to problems will certainly help, but these men are professional killers, not common street thugs.” Raleigh rose from the table. “Let me make a few calls, see about getting an extra team down here.”

“Then we should head back to the hotel soon,” Jones said, sending Connor a direct look.

“A hotel?” Julia said, her tone full of dismay, as if Jones had suggested they were sleeping in the gutter. “But this is Connor’s home. He should stay with his family.”

“We have to be with him in order to guard him.” Jones raised one eyebrow as if driving home his point.

“And we have to be with my family in order to keep them safe.” Connor sent the marshal a challenging stare. “I’m staying here. With Darby and my daughter.”

Darby’s head jerked up, and her gaze clashed with his. “You’re what?”

“I want to know you’re safe. If somehow word of my return has leaked beyond this family and the doctor’s office, which is a real possibility, I don’t want you here alone. What better protection than two U.S. Marshals and the man who’d die defending you?”

Darby’s cheeks paled, and her eyes widened.

Connor reached for her, and stroking her chin, he whispered, “Don’t look so surprised, Dar. I already died once to protect you. I’d do it again, for real, if needed.”

“Oh, Connor,” his mother said, her voice choked. “Don’t say that! It’s bad luck!” Her hand fluttered to her chest where she rubbed the cross charm on her necklace.

Darby huffed an exasperated breath and flattened her hands on the table. “Looks like the decision’s made for me.” She pushed to her feet. “Marshals, you can stay in the guest room. The decor is a bit juvenile, since I had in mind having my nieces and nephews staying with me when I decorated it. But the twin beds are new and should be comfortable. You—” she faced Connor, a spark of ire lighting her jade gaze “—can sleep on the couch.”

Jones chuckled under his breath. Raleigh opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped it closed. Scowling, he jammed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys. “I feel a FUBAR in the making.”

Darby pushed her chair back under the table and headed for the door. “I’m going to check on Savannah.”

Savannah. Thoughts of his sweet daughter lifted Connor’s spirits, which had taken a dive while discussing the serious security threats to his family. As concerned as he was by the unplanned turn of events, he couldn’t regret having time, brief as it may be, with his daughter. And no matter how angry Darby was with him for his past choices, this unexpected time with her gave him a chance, however remote, of healing the wounds he’d caused her.

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