TO SAVE HER DAUGHTER

Former army ranger Boone Anderson immediately senses danger when he spots Scout Cramer and her precious little girl while holiday shopping. Then two cars suddenly give chase in the parking lot—kidnapping the child. His worst suspicions are confirmed, and professional instincts propel him into action. Having lost his own infant daughter years before, Boone is determined to reunite the beautiful single mother and her missing child. But when a secret from Scout’s past finally catches up to her, she must work with her self-appointed guardian to save her daughter. Before the kidnappers cancel Christmas for all of them…permanently.

Mission: Rescue—No job is too dangerous for these fearless heroes

“Shhhhh,” Boone said. “You’re okay.”

“No. It’s not,” Scout sobbed. “Lucy is missing.”

“I didn’t say it was okay. I said you were.” He eased back, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes dark blue and filled with compassion. “There’s a big difference, Scout. One you have no control over. The other you do.”

“I don’t have any control over any of it, that’s the problem.” She stepped away, swiping at the tears.

“You know what I’ve realized during the years my daughter’s been missing?” he asked quietly, his hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, his eyes deeply shadowed. “We don’t always have to be in control to be content. We don’t always have to know every outcome to have peace.”

Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded trite, but Boone had lived her nightmare. He knew every ache of her heart.

“I wish I had your faith. I wish that I could believe something good was going to come out of this.”

“I wish I had my daughter. But, I don’t, and becauseI don’t, I’m helping you find yours.”

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed about elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschooling mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Her Christmas Guardian

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Here is what I am commanding you to do.

Be strong and brave. Do not be terrified.

Do not lose hope. I am the Lord your God.

I will be with you everywhere you go.

—Joshua 1:9

To Beth.

I miss going on long walks with you and your kids!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

I’ve been found.

The thought shot through Scout Cramer’s head, left her breathless, frantic. She veered the shopping cart toward the store exit, her heart pounding, her body vibrating with fear.

In her periphery, a man moved in. Casual in his dark slacks and sport coat, he looked like any other holiday shopper. She wanted so badly to believe he was.

Please, God. Please. Let me be wrong about who he is.

But she didn’t think she was.

She thought she was right. Thought that somehow, after nearly three years, everything she’d tried to do for Amber, everything she’d tried to do for herself and Lucy had come to nothing. If she’d been found out, if he’d learned the truth, it was all for nothing. Every lie. Every broken friendship.

All of it.

For nothing.

“Please, God,” she whispered as she unhooked Lucy’s belt and lifted her from the cart. At just a little over twenty-four pounds, she was tiny for her age, her little arms wrapping snugly around Scout’s neck.

“Mommy needs to find the restroom,” Scout murmured, afraid to walk out into the parking lot. He’d follow her there. She was sure of it. After that...

What would he do?

Confront her?

Worse?

The store was filled with holiday shoppers, dozens of people crowding into Walmart’s long lines, all of them desperate for Christmas bargains.

Would anyone notice if Scout was attacked?

Would anyone intervene?

Maybe, but she didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.

She glanced at the man, hoping he didn’t notice her sideways look. He was still, hovering at the head of an aisle, pretending to look at cans of asparagus.

She pivoted away, hurrying toward a restroom sign and the corridor beyond it. There had to be an emergency exit. She nearly ran to the end of the hall, stopping at double doors marked Employees Only.

What would happen if she walked in?

Would someone call the police? Set off an alarm?

Would she be arrested? If she was, what would happen to Lucy?

She looked at her little girl, smiling into dark brown eyes that were so much like Amber’s it hurt to look in them.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, and she hoped she was right. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life. She’d done a lot of things she’d regretted, but she’d never regretted her friendship with Amber. She’d never regretted the promise she’d made to her.

Even if she did sometimes wonder if she’d been right to make it.

She glanced over her shoulder. No sign of the guy in the sport jacket. But her skin crawled, and her hair stood on end.

Something wasn’t right, and that scared her more than anything else that had happened in the past couple of years.

She pushed the door open, took a step into what must have been an employee break room. No one there. Thank goodness. Just vending machines, a microwave, a refrigerator. Straight across from where she stood, an external door with a small window offered the hope of escape she’d been looking for.

“Everything okay, ma’am?” The voice was so unexpected, she jumped, whirling to face the speaker, her heart in her throat, her arms tightening around Lucy.

Tall.

That was the first impression she got.

Very tall, because she was eye to chest, staring straight at a black wool coat that hung open to reveal a dark purple dress shirt.

She looked up into ocean-blue eyes and a hard, handsome face, took in the black knit cap that almost covered deep red hair, the auburn stubble, the deep circles beneath the man’s eyes. He smiled, and his face changed. Not hard any longer. Approachable. The kind of guy a woman might put her trust in.

If she ever put her trust in anyone.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say.

“You’re in the employee break room,” he pointed out, flashing an easy smile. There was nothing easy about the look in his eyes. She was being studied, assessed, filed away for future reference.

“Yes. Well.” She glanced around, trying to think of a good excuse for being in a place she shouldn’t be. “I was looking for the restroom.”

“You passed it.”

“I guess I did.” Her cheeks heated, but she refused to look away. He hadn’t hauled out handcuffs or threatened to arrest her yet, so he probably wasn’t a security guard or police officer. She doubted he was working with the man who’d been following her. She’d have noticed him way before she’d noticed the other guy. That dark red hair and lanky height weren’t easy to miss. “I’ll just go find it.”

She sidled past him, moving back into the hall, Lucy’s arms still tight around her neck. She’d do anything for her daughter. Anything. Even run away from everything she knew. Give up a job she loved. Say goodbye to friends and never contact them again.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” the guy asked, following her down the hall.

Was she?

She didn’t know, wasn’t made for intrigue and danger. She liked quiet predictability. No drama. No muss. Nothing that was even close to trouble. The one time she’d tried to break free, do something wild and reckless and completely different, she’d caused herself enough heartache to last a lifetime.

No more.

Never again.

Except that she had done it again. Gone out on a limb, done something completely out of character. For different reasons, but the results had been the same. Trouble. It was breathing down her neck. She felt it as surely as she felt Lucy’s soft breath on her cheek.

“Ma’am?” The man touched her arm, and she jerked back, surprised and a little alarmed. She’d kept mostly to herself since moving to River Valley, Maryland, spent all her time with Lucy or at work. She didn’t let people into their world, into the place she’d carved for them. The safe little house in the safe little neighborhood.

“Are you in trouble?” he asked again, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and taking a step back.

“No,” she mumbled even though she wasn’t sure. The guy in the sport jacket seemed to have disappeared, and she was beginning to think she’d let her imagination get the better of her. But if she hadn’t...?

Then what?

Could she run again?

Did she need to?

“Sure looks like you are to me.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, and he nodded solemnly, his blue eyes never leaving her face.

“I’m glad to hear it, ma’am, but just in case you decide you’re not—” he pulled a wallet out of his pocket, took a business card from it “—take this. I can help. If you decide you need it.”

She took the card. Plain white with black letters and a small blue heart in one corner. “‘Daniel Boone Anderson. Hostage Rescue and Extraction Team,’” she read out loud.

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m not a hostage.” She tried to give the card back, but he shoved his hands in his pockets, still eyeing her solemnly.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need rescuing,” he responded.

“I—”

“Take care of yourself and that baby.” He nodded, one quick tilt of his head, and walked off, long legs eating up the ground so quickly he was out of the corridor and around the corner before she could blink.

She shoved the card in her coat pocket.

She wouldn’t use it. Couldn’t.

She’d promised Amber that she wouldn’t tell anyone the truth about Lucy. She’d promised that no matter what happened, she’d keep it to herself. At the time, she’d expected Amber to be around, to help her navigate the world of subterfuge she’d agreed to. The fact that she wasn’t didn’t change the promise. Scout had an obligation to her friend. Even if she didn’t, she had an obligation to herself and to Lucy. She couldn’t cower in a store corridor, praying for rescue. She had to take action, do what needed to be done. Face her fear or call for help. One way or another, she needed to get moving.

“Mama! Go!” Lucy cried, impatient, it seemed, with staying in one spot.

“Okay, sweetie. I hear you.” She put her shoulders back and her chin up, marched back to the break room as if she owned the place. Walked through the room as if she had every right to be there. Out the door and into the cold November evening. She’d parked close to the store entrance, and she had to walk around the side of the building to get there. Her heart tripped and jumped, the leaves rustling in the trees that lined the parking lot. A shadow moved in her periphery, and she took off, Lucy bouncing on her hip, giggling wildly as they rounded the side of the building.

* * *

The baby was giggling, but the woman looked scared out of her mind. Not that it was any of Daniel Boone Anderson’s business. He should have gone back to hunting for the ingredients for pumpkin bread instead of leaving the store and waiting by the employee entrance. The problem was, he hadn’t been too into the holidays during the past few years, and the entire store was decked out with tinsel and Christmas trees and wrapping paper. Every aisle had some reminder of the holiday he least liked to celebrate. The best Christmas had been the one right after Kendal’s birth. Two months before Lana had walked out and taken their daughter with her.

Not Lana. He could almost hear his deceased wife’s voice. The Prophetess Sari. It has been ordained and it will be so.

That had been her mantra when she’d finally contacted him. Six months after he’d returned from Iraq and found their empty apartment—and the note.

But he tried really hard not to think about that.

Four years was a long time to be missing a piece of your heart.

Which was probably why he spent so much time sticking his nose into other people’s business and dealing with other people’s problems.

He followed the woman around the side of the building, hanging back as she walked to an old station wagon. Nothing fancy, but she didn’t seem like the fancy kind. Her jeans were a little too long, their scuffed cuffs dragging along the pavement as she buckled her daughter into a car seat. A long braid hung to the middle of her back. That had been what he’d noticed first—that long fall of golden-blond hair. Then he’d noticed the dark-haired little girl with her dimples and curls. Probably a couple of years younger than Kendal.

She’d turned five a couple of weeks ago.

He imagined her hair had grown long. It was probably straight as a stick, too.

But that was another direction he couldn’t let himself go.

All the begging, all the searching, all the resources that were available, and he still hadn’t been able to find Kendal. She’d been lost to someone in the cult. Probably someone who’d left it. Knowing Lana, she’d handed their daughter off without a second thought as to the child’s welfare.

Boone never stopped thinking about it.

Even in his sleep, he dreamed about his daughter.

He clenched his fist, leaned his shoulder against a brick pillar that supported a narrow portico. Christmas shoppers moved past, hurrying into the store for whatever deal they thought Friday shopping would bring.

He noticed them, tracking their movements in the part of his brain that had been honed by years working long hours deep in enemy territory, but his focus was on the woman and her child. She opened the driver’s door, tossed her purse into the vehicle, glanced around as if she was looking for someone.

Maybe whoever she was running from.

He was sure she was running. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d lifted her daughter from the grocery cart and run toward the restroom—fear, desperation, all the things he saw in the gazes of the people he was hired to rescue.

The station wagon’s headlights went on, and the woman backed out of the space. He’d have been wise to let her go and let the whole matter drop, but he’d never been all that wise when it came to things like this.

As a matter of fact, he often got himself in way deeper than he should be. Mostly because the one thing he wanted to accomplish, he hadn’t been able to. He couldn’t help himself, but he could help others.

Maybe he really did have an overinflated hero syndrome. That was what his coworker Stella said. She also said it was going to get him killed one day. She might be right about that, too, but he’d rather die trying to help someone than live knowing he hadn’t.

He waited, watching as the woman drove to the edge of the parking lot. That should have been it—her driving out, Boone walking back into the store and retrieving the cart full of stuff that he’d left in aisle one.

Lights flashed near the edge of the parking lot. A hundred yards away, another set of headlights went on. A third followed, this one even closer to the exit the woman had used.

His heart jumped, adrenaline pumping through him, thoughts flooding in so quickly, he barely had time to process them before he was sprinting across the parking lot. Jumping into his SUV. All three cars were already exiting, and he had to wait for an elderly woman to make her way across the parking lot in front of him.

He made it to the exit as the last car turned east, its taillights disappearing from view. He followed, turning onto a narrow two-lane road that meandered through hilly farmland. A quiet road, nearly empty. Which wasn’t good. His car would be easy enough to spot. Whether or not the guy in front of him realized he was being tailed depended on who was in the car.

They were making quite a line. His car, the one in front and two more just ahead of it. Taillights about a quarter mile ahead that he was sure belonged to the woman’s station wagon. He wasn’t sure where they were heading, but he pulled out his cell phone. One thing he’d learned a long time ago—only a fool headed into trouble without backup.

He never had a chance to call for it. One minute, he was keeping his distance, watching the procession of cars. The next, the car in front of him braked hard. He had a split second to realize what was happening before his windshield exploded, bits of glass flying into his face and dropping onto the dashboard.

He accelerated, adrenaline surging, every cell, every nerve alert.

The next shot took out a front tire. The SUV swerved, sideswiping a tree and nearly taking out a stop sign. He fought for control, yanking the vehicle back onto the road, the ruined tired thumping, the procession of cars pulling farther ahead.

“Not good!” he muttered, the SUV protesting as he tried to pick up speed again.

Not going to happen. The bumpy road and the flat tire weren’t a good combination. He jumped out of the SUV, glad he was carrying. He’d been known to leave his Glock at home. Carrying it around made him feel safe, but it also reminded him of loss and heartache. Of a hundred things that he was better off forgetting.

He snagged his cell phone, dialing Jackson’s number, hoping that his friend would pick up. In all the years he’d known the guy, there’d been only a handful of times when he hadn’t been available.

But then, that was the way the entire team was. There wasn’t a member of HEART who wouldn’t be willing to drop anything, travel any distance, risk whatever was necessary to help a comrade.

Jackson answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It’s Boone.”

“Yeah. I saw the number,” Jackson said drily. “What’s up?”

“I need your help.”

“With?”

“I’ve got a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Jackson’s tone changed, his words hard-edged and sharp.

“The kind that involves guns and bullets. A woman. A kid. Three cars that are following her,” he responded.

“You call the police yet?”

“Probably would have been a good idea, but I’m not used to having police to rely on.” He was used to being deep in a foreign country, working in places where the only people he could count on were his team members.

“Where are you?”

“I didn’t see the name of the road. It’s the first right north of the Walmart you brought me to a few days ago.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Call the police before you leave. I think we’re going to—”

The sound of screeching tires split the quiet, and he shoved the phone back into his pocket, racing toward the sound. He’d covered a hundred yards when light burst to life in the distance.

Fire!

His heart jumped, the new surge of adrenaline giving wings to his feet. He sprinted toward the soft glow and the velvety black of the eastern sky, the sound of sirens splitting the night.

TWO

Get out! Get out, get out!

The words raced through Scout’s mind as she crawled over the bucket seat and unbuckled Lucy’s car seat. Black smoke filled the car, filled her lungs. She grabbed the seat, relieved that Lucy was babbling away, more excited, it seemed, than frightened by the crash, the smoke, the crackling fire.

Get out!

She reached for the door handle, coughing, gagging on blood that rolled from a cut on her forehead to the corner of her mouth.

The door flew open, and hands reached in, dragged her out, Lucy in the car seat, singing in that baby language that only a mother ever really understood.

Scout jerked away, the car seat slamming against her legs as she ran. Straight toward the black car that had been following her. She veered to the left, saw him. Just standing there. Sport coat and slacks, hands in his pockets. He could have been anyone, but she knew he was death coming to call.

“Who are you?” she rasped, backing toward the tree her car had run into when the tire was shot out.

“It really doesn’t matter,” he responded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. The cold calculation in his eyes made her blood freeze in her veins. She wanted to scream and scream and scream, but there was no one around to hear. Nothing that she could do but try to find a way out, pray that the police came quickly. Keep Lucy safe.

Please, God. Help me keep her safe.

“I called the police,” she said, her heart pounding in her throat, her eyes burning from smoke and fear. Every nightmare she’d ever had was coming true. All the fear she’d lived with since she’d left San Jose congealed in the pit of her stomach, filled her with stark hard-edged terror.

She needed to think, to run, to do something to save her daughter.

That was all she knew. All she cared about.

She lifted the car seat higher, pulling it to her chest, the heavy ungainly plastic filled with the only thing she cared about. “They’ll be here any minute,” she continued, because he was staring at her, the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He must think he had all the time in the world, must believe that there was no way help could come in time.

God, please! She begged silently, easing toward the line of trees that had stopped the wagon from careening down an embankment.

She just had to make it into the trees, find someplace to hide.

The faint sound of sirens drifted on the cold November air. Her heart jumped; hope surged. She could do this. Had to do this. She ran into the trees, blood still sliding down her face, Lucy giggling as the car seat bounced. She had no idea. None.

Scout’s feet slipped on slick leaves, and she went down hard, her hip knocking an overturned tree. She bounced back up, the car seat locked in her arms, Lucy now crying in fear, sirens growing louder.

“Sorry, but this just isn’t your night.” The words whispered from behind her, the cold chill of them shooting up her spine.

And suddenly, she wasn’t alone with the man and his cigarette. Two dark shadows moved in, and she was fighting off hands that were trying to rip Lucy away from her.

She screamed as something slammed into her cheek. Heard Lucy’s desperate cries and the sirens endlessly blaring. Heard her own frantic breathing and hoarse shouts.

A car door slammed and someone called a warning. To her? To the men who were attacking her? The car seat was ripped from her arms and something smashed into her temple. Darkness edged in, sprinkled with a million glittering stars.

She fought it, fought the hands that were suddenly on her throat. Lucy! She tried to cry, but she had no air for the words, no air at all.

She twisted, kneeing her attacker in the thigh.

Something flashed in the air near her head.

A gun?

She had only a moment to realize it, and then the world exploded, all the stars fading until there was nothing but endless night and the sound of her daughter’s cries.

* * *

“Go after the car!” Boone shouted as he jumped from Jackson’s car. “I’ll check to see if there are any injuries.”

Too late.

Those were the words that were running through his head over and over again.

Too late. Just as he’d been the day he’d arrived home from Iraq, ready to confront Lana about her prescription-drug problem, willing to work on their marriage so that they could make a good life for their child.

Too late.

He heard Jackson’s tires screech, knew he’d taken off, following the car they’d seen speeding away. Dark-colored. A Honda, maybe. Jackson knew more about cars than he did, and he’d know the model and make.

Good information for the police, but none of it would matter if the woman and her daughter were hurt. Or worse.

He ran to the station wagon, ignoring the flames that were lapping out from beneath the hood. The back door was open, and he glanced in. No car seat. No child. No woman.

He checked the third-row bucket seat, then peered into the front. A purse lay on the passenger seat, and he snagged it, backing away from the burning vehicle. He doubted it would explode, but getting himself blown up wasn’t going to help the woman, her kid or him.

He broke every rule his boss, Chance Miller, had written in the fifty-page HEART team handbook and opened the purse, pulling out the ID and calling Jackson with information on the woman. Scout Cramer. Twenty-seven. Five foot two inches. One hundred pounds. Organ donor. Blond hair. Blue eyes.

Victim.

He hated that word.

In a perfect world, there would be no victims. No losses. No hurting people praying desperately that their loved ones would return home.

Too bad it wasn’t a perfect world.

He stepped away from the station wagon as a police cruiser pulled off the road. An officer ran to the back of the cruiser and dragged a fire extinguisher from the trunk.

Seconds later, the fire was out, the cold air filled with the harsh scent of chemicals and burning wires. Smoke and steam wafted from the hood of the car, but the night had gone quiet, the rustling leaves of nearby trees the only sound.

The officer approached, offering a hand and a quick nod. “Officer Jet Lamar. River Valley Police Department. Did you see what happened here?”

“I got here after the crash. I did see the woman and child who were in the car. They left the Walmart about fifteen minutes ago.” And he didn’t want to spend a whole lot of time discussing it. Scout and her daughter had disappeared. The more time that passed before they were found, the less likely it was that they ever would be.

Something else he had learned the hard way.

Every second counted when it came to tracking someone down.

“So, we’ve got two people missing?”

“Yes,” Boone ground out. “And if we don’t start looking, they may be missing for good.”

“Other cars are responding. We have patrol cars heading in from the east. I just need to confirm that we’re looking for a new-model Honda Accord. Dark blue.”

Jackson must have provided that information, and Boone wasn’t going to argue with it. He knew his friend well enough to know that he’d have to have been 100 percent sure before offering information. “That’s right. It was pulling away as my friend and I arrived.”

“I don’t suppose you want to explain what you and your friend were doing on this road?” Officer Lamar looked up from a notepad he was scribbling in. The guy looked to be a few years older than Boone. Maybe closing in on forty. Haggard face. Dark eyes. Obviously suspicious.

“I followed the woman from Walmart. She looked like she might be in trouble.”

“So, you just stepped in and ran to the rescue? Didn’t think about calling the police?”

“I didn’t want to call in the police over an assumption.”

“Assumptions are just as often on target as they are off it. Next time,” he said calmly, “call.”

Boone didn’t bother responding, just waited while Officer Lamar jotted a few notes, his gaze settling on the purse Boone still held.

“That belong to the victim?”

“Yes.” Boone handed it over, shifting impatiently. “They could be across state lines by now.”

“Not likely. We’re about a hundred miles from the Penn state border. I’m going to take a look around. How about you wait in the cruiser?”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but Boone didn’t take orders from anyone but his boss or the team leader. He followed Lamar to the still-smoking station wagon, paced around the vehicle while Lamar looked in the front seat, turned on a flashlight and searched the ground near the car.

He didn’t speak, but Boone could clearly see footprints in the moist earth near the car. Two sets. A woman’s sneaker and a man’s boot. “Looks like she survived the initial impact,” Lamar murmured. He called something in on his radio, but Boone was focused on the prints—the deep imprint of the man’s feet. The more shallow print of the woman’s. There had to be more, and he was anxious to find them. For evidence, and for certainty that Scout and her child really were in the car that had driven away.

If not, they were somewhere else.

Somewhere closer.

He scanned the edge of the copse of trees that butted against the road. If he’d been scared for his life, he’d have run there, looked for a place to hide.

Protocol dictated that Boone back off, let the local P.D. do their job. It was what Chance would want him to do. It was what Boone probably would have done if he’d witnessed only the accident or even the kidnapping.

But Boone had spoken to Scout Cramer. He’d seen the fear in her eyes. He’d looked into her daughter’s face and been reminded of what he’d lost. What he could only pray that he would one day get back.

He couldn’t back off. Not yet.

A sound drifted through the quiet night. Soft. Like the mew of a kitten. Boone cocked his head to the side.

“Did you hear that?” he asked Lamar.

He knew the officer had. He’d stopped talking and was staring into the woods. “Could have been an animal,” he said, but Boone doubted he believed it.

“Or a baby,” Boone replied, heading for the trees.

“You think it’s the missing child? How old did you say she was?”

“Two? Maybe three.” Cute as a button. That was what his mother would have said. Probably what his dad would have said. They loved kids. Would have loved to know their first granddaughter.

Boone would have loved to know his only child.

In God’s time...

He’d heard the words so many times, from so many well-meaning people, that he almost never talked about his marriage, about his daughter, about anything that had to do with his life before HEART.

“It’s possible she was thrown from the car. I didn’t see a car seat.”

“She was in one.”

Lamar raised a dark brow and scowled. “I’m not going to ask why you know so much about this lady and her child. You’re sure the kid was in the car seat?”

“Positive.”

“If the car seat was installed wrong, it still could have been thrown from the car. Wouldn’t have gone far, but a child that age could undo the harness and get out. She’s young to be out on a night like tonight, but I’d rather her be out in the woods than in a car with a monster.” Lamar sighed. “Wait here. I’ll go take a look around.”

Wasn’t going to happen.

Boone followed him into the thick copse of trees, his gaze on the beam of light that illuminated the leaf-strewn ground.

“Anyone out here?” Officer Lamar called.

No response. Just the quiet rustle of leaves and the muted sound of distant sirens.

“We should split up,” Boone suggested. “The more area we cover, the better.”

“I’ll call in our K-9 team. That will help. In the meantime, you need to go back to the car. There’s a ravine a couple of hundred feet from here. You fall into that and—”

“I’m a former army ranger, Officer Lamar. I think I can handle dark woods and a deep ravine.” He said it casually and walked away. They were wasting time arguing. Time he’d rather spend searching.

If the little girl had been thrown from the car on impact, the sooner they got her to the hospital, the better. But he didn’t think she’d been thrown. He’d seen Scout buckle her in. She’d been secure. Someone had taken her from the station wagon. That same person could have tossed her into the trees, thrown her down the embankment, disposed of her like so much trash.

He’d seen it before, in places where no child should ever be. He’d carried nearly dead little girls from hovels that had become their prisons.

Rage filled him, clawing at his gut and threatening to steal every bit of reason he had. He didn’t give in to it. He’d learned a lot from his father. Watching him deal with the foster kids his parents had taken in had taught Boone everything he needed to know about keeping cool, working with clear vision, not allowing his emotions to rule.

“Baby?!” he called, because he didn’t know the child’s name, and because a scared little girl might respond to a stranger’s voice.

Then again, she might not.

She might stay silent, waiting and hoping for her mother’s return.

Was that how it had been for Kendal? Had she been dropped off and left somewhere with strangers? Had she cried for her mother?

He shuddered.

That was another place he wouldn’t allow his mind to go. Ever.

“Hello?” he tried again, and this time he heard a faint response. Not a child’s cry. More like an adult’s groan.

He headed toward the sound, picking his way through narrow saplings and thick pine trees, the shadowy world swaying with the soft November wind.

He heard another groan. This one so close, he knew he could reach out and touch the injured person. He scanned the ground, saw what looked like a pile of cloth and leaves under a heavy-limbed oak and sprinted to it.

Scout lay on her stomach, pale braid dark with blood, her face pressed into leaves and dirt. For a moment, he thought she was dead, and his heart jerked with the thought and with the feeling that he was too late to make a difference. Again.

Then his training kicked in, and he knelt, brushing back the braid, feeling for a pulse. She shifted, moaning softly, jerking up as if she thought she could jump up and run.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, the amount of blood seeping into her hair, splattering the leaves, seeping into the earth alarming. He needed Stella. All her years of working as a navy nurse made her a crucial and important part of HEART. It wasn’t just that, though. She had a way of moving beyond emotion, filtering everything external and unnecessary and focusing on what needed to be done. He coveted that during their most difficult missions.

Scout either didn’t hear his demand or didn’t want to follow it. She twisted from his hand, the movement sluggish and slow, her face pale and streaked with so much blood, he thought they might lose her before an ambulance arrived.

He needed to find the source of the blood, but when he moved toward her, she jerked back, struggling to her knees and then her feet, swaying, her eyes wide and blank. “Lucy,” she said clearly, that one word, that name enunciated.

“Was she with you?” he asked, easing closer, afraid to move quickly and scare her again.

“She’s gone,” she whispered. “He took her.”

That was it. Just those words, and all the strength seemed to leave her body. She crumpled, and he just managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

Footsteps crashed behind him, sirens blaring loudly. An ambulance, but he was terrified that it was too late.

He ripped off his coat, pressed the sleeve to an oozing wound on her temple, the long furrowed gash so deep he could see bone. He knew a bullet wound when he saw one, knew exactly how close she’d come to dying.

His blood ran cold, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone had come very close to killing Scout, and that someone had Lucy.

“Is this the woman?” Officer Lamar panted up behind him, the beam of his flashlight splashing on leaves wet with blood.

He knelt beside Boone, touched Scout’s neck. “We need to get that ambulance in here. Now!” he shouted into his radio.

Voices carried on the night air, footsteps pounding on leaves and packed earth. Branches breaking, time ticking and a little girl was being carried farther and farther away from her mother, and if something didn’t change, a mother was being carried farther and farther away from her daughter.

He pressed harder, praying desperately that the flow of blood would be stanched before every bit of Scout’s life slipped away.

THREE

Lucy!

Scout tried to call for her daughter, but the words stuck in her throat, fell into the darkness that seemed to be consuming her. She tried to struggle up from it, to push away the heavy veil that blocked her vision, but her arms were lead weights, her body refusing to move.

She tried again, and nothing but a moan emerged.

“I think she’s waking up,” a woman said, the voice unfamiliar, but somehow comforting. She wasn’t alone in the darkness.

“I hope you’re right. Until she does, we’ve got nothing to go on,” a man responded, his soft drawl reminding her of something. Someone. She searched through the darkness, trying to find the memory, but there was nothing but the quiet beep of a machine and the soft rasp of cloth as someone moved close.

“Scout?” the man said.

Someone touched her cheek, and that one moment of contact was enough to pull her through the darkness. She opened her eyes, looked into a face she thought she knew. Dark red hair, blue eyes, hard jaw covered with fiery stubble.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice thick, her throat hot.

Where am I?

Where is Lucy?

That last was the question she needed answered most. It was the only question that mattered.

She shoved aside blankets and sheets, tried to sit up.

“Not a good idea,” the woman said, moving in beside the man and frowning. She had paler red hair. Cropped short in a pixie cut.

“I need to find my daughter,” Scout managed to say, the words pounding through her head and echoing in her ears. Sharp pain shot through her temple, and she felt dizzy and sick, but she wouldn’t lie down until she knew where Lucy was.

“We’re looking for her,” the man said, his expression grim and hard, his eyes a deep dark blue that Scout knew she had seen before.

“I need to look for her,” she murmured, but her thoughts were scattering like dry leaves on a windy day, dancing along through the darkness that seemed to want to steal her away again.

“You’re not in any shape to look for anyone,” the woman said, dragging a chair across the floor and sitting. “We’re going to do this for you, and you’re going to have to trust that we can handle it.”

The words were probably meant to comfort her, but they only filled Scout with panic. Lucy was missing. That was the only clear thought she had. Everything else was a blur of feeling and pain, bits of memories and shadowy images that she couldn’t quite hold on to. A store. A man. Flames and smoke.

“I don’t know who you are,” she responded absently, her attention jumping from the woman to the man, then past them both. A hospital room with cream walls and an empty corkboard. A television mounted to a wall. A clock. In the background, Christmas music played, the carol as familiar as air.

“I’m Stella Silverstone. I work for HEART Incorporated.” The woman took a card from her pocket and set it on a table near the bed. “Among other things, we help find the missing.”

Missing. The word was like a dagger to the heart, and Scout had had enough. Enough listening. Enough talking. Enough sitting in a hospital room.

“I’m going to find my daughter.” She scrambled from the bed, dizzy, sick, blankets puddling near her feet. “She’s—”

“Been gone for three days,” Stella said, the blunt words like hammers to the heart. “Running out of the hospital in some mad dash to find her isn’t going to do any good.”

“Stella,” the man warned. “Let’s take things slow.”

“How slow do you want to take them, Boone? Because I’d say three days waiting to talk to the only witness is slow enough. I’m going to find Lamar. He’s hanging around here somewhere.”

She stalked from the room, closing the door firmly as she left. The sound reverberated through Scout’s head, sent stars dancing in front of her eyes.

“You need to lie down.” The man nudged her back to the bed, and she sat because she didn’t think her legs could hold her.

“What happened?” she murmured to herself and to him, because she couldn’t remember anything but those few images and the deep, deep fear for her daughter. It sat in her stomach, leaden and hard, the knot growing bigger with every passing moment.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to find out.” He sat in the chair his friend had abandoned, his elbows on his knees, his gaze direct.

“We’ve met before,” she offered, the words ringing oddly in her ears.

“You remember.” He smiled, but it didn’t soften his expression. “I’m Boone Anderson.”

The name was enough to bring a flood of memories—a trip to Walmart, Lucy in the cart. The man she’d been sure was following her. Boone handing her his business card.

And then...

What?

She pressed shaking fingers to her head, wanting to ease the deep throbbing pain. A thick bandage covered her temple, the edges folding as she ran her hand along them.

“Careful,” Boone said, pulling her hand away and holding it lightly in his. “You’re still stapled together.”

“Tell me what happened,” she responded, because she didn’t care about the staples, the head injury, the IV line attached to her arm. All she cared about was getting up and going, but she didn’t even know where to start, couldn’t remember anything past the moment Boone had handed her his card. “Tell me where my daughter is,” she added.

Please, God, let this be a nightmare. Please, let me wake up and see Lucy lying in her little toddler bed.

“We don’t know much, Scout,” he responded. “What we do know is that you were shopping. When you left the store, you were followed. The tire of your car was shot out, and you were in an accident.”

She didn’t care. Didn’t want to know about the car or the accident or being followed. She needed to know about Lucy. “Just tell me what happened to my daughter.”

“We don’t know. You were alone when we found you.”

“I need to go home.” She jumped up, the room spinning. The knot in her stomach growing until it was all she could feel. “Maybe she’s there.”

She knew it was unreasonable, knew it couldn’t be true, but she had to look, had to be sure.

“The police have already been to your house,” he said gently. “She’s not there.”

“She could be hiding. She doesn’t like strangers.” Her voice trembled. Her body trembled, every fear she’d ever had, every nightmare, suddenly real and happening and completely outside of her control.

“Scout.” He touched her shoulder, his fingers warm through thin cotton. She didn’t want warmth, though. She wanted her child.

“Please,” she begged. “I have to go home. I have to see for myself. I have to.”

He eyed her for a moment, silent. Solemn. Something in his eyes that looked like the grief she was feeling, the horror she was living.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll take you.”

Just like that. Simple and easy as if the request didn’t go against logic. As if she weren’t hooked to an IV, shaking from fear and sorrow and pain.

He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then texted someone. She didn’t ask who—she was too busy trying to keep the darkness from taking her again. Too busy trying to remember the last moment she’d seen Lucy. Had she been scared? Crying?

Three days.

That was what Stella had said.

Three days that Lucy had been missing, and Scout had been lying in a hospital unaware. She closed her eyes, sick with the knowledge.

Please, God, let her be okay.

She was all Scout had. The only thing that really mattered to her. She had to be okay.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t have the energy to wipe it away. Didn’t have the strength to even open her eyes when Boone touched her cheek.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly, and she wanted to believe him almost as much as she wanted to open her eyes and see her daughter.

“How can it be?”

“Because you ran into the right person the night your daughter was taken,” he responded, and he sounded so confident, so certain of the outcome, she looked into his face, his eyes. Saw those things she’d seen before, but something else, too—faith, passion, belief.

“Who are you?”

“I already told you—Boone Anderson. I work for HEART. A hostage-rescue team based in Washington, D.C.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Stella bustled in. Slim and athletic, she moved with a purposeful stride, her steps short and quick. “I’m not happy about this, Boone.”

“I didn’t think you would be,” he responded, stepping aside.

“She’s not ready to be released,” she continued as she pulled on gloves and lifted Scout’s arm. “You’re not ready,” she reiterated, looking straight into Scout’s eyes. “You have a hairline fracture to your skull, staples in your forehead and a couple more days of recovery in the hospital before you should be going anywhere.”

“I need to find—”

“Your daughter.” Stella cut her off. “Yeah. I know. And she needs her mother’s brain to be functioning well enough to help with our search.” She pulled the IV from Scout’s arm and pressed a cotton ball to the blood that bubbled up. “But I’m not going to waste time arguing with a parent’s love. I’ve seen men and women do some crazy things for their kids.”

She slapped a bandage over the cotton ball and straightened. “So, fine. We’ll head over to your place. You can look around to your heart’s content. Don’t expect me to scrape you up off the ground, though. You fall, and I’m—”

“Stella...” Boone cut into her diatribe. Scout looked as if she was about to collapse, her face so pale he wasn’t sure she’d make it into a wheelchair. “How about we just focus on the mission?”

“What mission?” she muttered. “This is pro bono, and I’m only helping because you saved my hide in Mexico City. If you remember correctly, I’m still supposed to be on medical leave.”

“For the little scratch you got on the last mission? I’d have been back to work the next day,” he scoffed, because he knew she wanted him to, knew that asking her if she was up to going back to work would only irritate her.

“If I remember correctly,” she responded, her eyes flashing, “you took two weeks off for that little concussion you got in Vietnam.”

It had been a fractured skull, and he’d been forced to take a month off, but he didn’t correct her. “True, but I’m not as pain tolerant as you are. I need a little more time to recover from my injuries.”

She snorted. “We have some clothes around here for the lady? I don’t think she wants to leave in a hospital gown.”

“Just what she was admitted in.” He pointed to a pile of belongings. He’d been through the purse, the pockets of the coat and jeans. He’d found nothing that might point him to a kidnapper.

“I’ll help her get dressed. You wait in the hall.”

“I don’t need help,” Scout murmured. “If you just call a cab for me, I’ll get dressed and—”

“Not going to happen, sweetie,” Stella said. “You go with us or you don’t go at all.”

“Says who?”

“Says the people who are looking for your daughter for free,” Stella bit out.

“What Stella means,” Boone cut in, “is that you’re weak and you need to be careful.”

“What I mean is that if we’re going to do this, I want to get it done. Besides, if we don’t go now, Lamar might show up and put a stop to our little party.”

“We’re not sneaking her out of here, Stella. It isn’t that kind of mission.”

“Whatever kind it is, Lamar isn’t going to be happy that you’re taking his only witness. He’s been waiting three days to question her, and if he weren’t following a lead that was called in—”

“What lead?” Scout asked, her eyes alive with hope.

He’d seen it many times before, watched hope flare and then die only to flare again. He knew the feeling, knew the quick grip of the heart when it seemed as if what was longed for would finally be had. Knew the despair when it wasn’t.

“Don’t know,” Stella responded. If she noticed Scout’s sudden excitement, she didn’t let on. She wasn’t one to give false hope, and she wasn’t one to feed dreams. “I just know he left. Said he wouldn’t be gone long. So, how about we get this show on the road?” She looked at Boone, pointed at the door. “Out.”

He went because she was right. If they were going, now was the time. Lamar wouldn’t be happy that they’d helped his lone witness walk out of the hospital. On the other hand, he had no reason to keep her there.

Except to protect her.

She’d nearly died and had lost so much blood, she’d been given five units her first night in the hospital. Whoever had taken her child hadn’t planned on Scout surviving.

Why?

Who?

They were questions the police were desperately trying to answer with little to no success. They’d reviewed security footage from the store and parking lot, tried to ID the man who’d been following Scout. He’d been careful, though, his face always turned away from the cameras as if he’d known exactly where they were. No license plates had been visible on the cars that had followed her. No clear image of any of the drivers. The kidnapping had been planned by someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Lamar and his team weren’t denying it, and they were doing everything in their power to find the people responsible.

The problem was, there were no good leads. No one who’d really seen anything. Most people had been caught up in preholiday daze and hadn’t noticed Scout or Lucy. If they’d noticed her, they hadn’t noticed the man who’d followed them around the store.

Three days on the phone with Chance, convincing him that using HEART resources was the only way to bring Lucy home, and Boone was just tired enough to feel as though he was biting off more than he could chew. He couldn’t let the case go, though. He wouldn’t, because he didn’t want another parent to go through what he had. He didn’t want anyone to ever have to spend every second, minute, hour of every day wondering where their loved one was.

Yeah. He was going to search for Lucy, and he was going to do everything in his power to bring her home safely. God willing, that would happen.

In the meantime, he’d promised Chance that he’d keep his nose clean, that he wouldn’t overstep the boundaries or smash any local P.D. toes while he was working on the case.

He wasn’t sure taking their sole witness from the hospital was the way to do it, but he’d seen the look in Scout’s eyes before. Seen it in the gaze of every mother, father, uncle, aunt, brother, sister, loved one who’d lost someone. She’d do what she thought she had to in order to bring her daughter home. If that meant sneaking out of the hospital alone, she’d do it.

And sneaking out alone when someone had nearly killed her?

That wasn’t such a great idea.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lamar’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. He left a message, figuring that was as good as asking permission.

Chance wouldn’t see it that way, but Boone figured he was following the letter of the law. For now, that would have to be good enough.

FOUR

Please let me wake up from this nightmare.

The prayer flitted through Scout’s throbbing head as Stella pushed her wheelchair outside. The full moon glowed from a pitch-black sky, the frigid November air slicing through her T-shirt and coat. Someone had washed all of her clothes, but she still thought she could smell the coppery scent of blood. Somewhere people were having a conversation, their voices drifting through the quiet night. A nightmare wouldn’t be so full of details. A nightmare wouldn’t let her feel the first drop of icy rain on her cheek or smell the frosty dampness of the air.

Lucy.

Gone.

The thought lodged in her head and stayed there. The only real thought she could hold on to.

An SUV pulled up to the curb and Stella opened the door, took Scout’s arm and helped her in. “Seat belt,” she barked, and Scout fumbled to snap it into place.

Her hands trembled, but somehow she managed. She wanted one thing. To find her daughter. Everything else—the throbbing pain in her head, the sick feeling in her stomach, the fear that made her chest ache—didn’t matter.

Boone didn’t ask for an address or directions to her house. He just pulled away from the hospital, merging into light traffic on the main road that led through River Valley.

Scout knew exactly what she’d see on her way home. Dark trees stretching toward the moonlit sky, houses dotting the landscape, a few cars meandering along. She watched the landscape flying by, her eyes heavy with fatigue. She felt weaker than she wanted to, and she couldn’t afford to be weak. Not with Lucy missing.

Boone turned into her neighborhood, bypassing the bigger fancier houses and weaving his way through main roads and side streets. He was familiar with the neighborhood and must have been to her house on several occasions. It wasn’t easy to find, tucked away from the road, the driveway long and winding. In the next lot over, Mrs. Geoffrey’s house was dark, the porch light off. She’d been planning to visit family for Thanksgiving and had asked Scout and Lucy to come along.

They should have gone.

Boone turned into the driveway, slowing as overgrown trees brushed the sides of the SUV. In the spring, Scout would have them trimmed. Her rent-to-own lease allowed her the luxury of doing whatever she wanted to the tiny little rancher and the acre it sat on.

The lights were off at the house. She hadn’t left them that way. She always left the porch light burning and the foyer light on. Too many dark shadows around the house at night, and even with Mrs. Geoffrey just a few hundred yards away, Scout always worried that someone might be waiting in the gloomy recesses of the yard.

Tonight, she had nothing to fear. She’d already lost everything. There was nothing more that could be done to hurt her. She opened the door as the car coasted to a stop, might have jumped out and run to the house if Stella hadn’t grabbed her arm.

“Slow down, sister! You want to kill yourself before we find your kid?”

She didn’t respond. The car had come to a full stop, and she wasn’t waiting any longer. She stumbled out, nearly falling to her knees, her body refusing to cooperate with her brain’s commands.

Just move! she thought. It’s easy.

Only it wasn’t. Her legs wobbled as she took a step toward the house, her purse thumping against her side. The keys were in it, and she needed to pull them out, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to manage that and the walk.

“How about you not go rushing out of the SUV like that again?” Boone stepped into place beside her, his arm sliding around her waist. In another lifetime, she would have blushed at the zip of electricity that seemed to shoot through her at his touch. In this lifetime, she just wanted to get into the house, go into Lucy’s room, make sure that her daughter wasn’t waiting there for her.

“If I were rushing, I’d already be in the front door,” she responded through gritted teeth.

“If you were thinking, you’d have realized that anyone could be waiting out here. It’s a nice dark area. No streetlights. No neighbors around. You’re an easy target. Might as well put a bull’s-eye on your chest and stand out in the middle of Main Street,” he drawled.

She hadn’t been thinking about that.

Now she was, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. She shivered, fishing in her purse for keys that weren’t there.

She dug deeper, found her wallet, cell phone, spare change. The little rag doll that Lucy loved. She pulled it out, her heart burning with tears that she wouldn’t shed. Crying couldn’t bring her daughter back.

“My keys,” she began, but Boone had keys in his hand. Her keys—heart key chain with three keys: one for the front door, one for the back, one for the car.

“The police used them to access your place when they were looking for Lucy. They returned them last night.”

And he’d taken them.

She didn’t know how she felt about that, didn’t think it really mattered.

The police had searched her house, just as Boone had said.

Lucy wasn’t in there.

She felt defeated, sick to her stomach and ready to collapse, but she was going to look in the house anyway, because she didn’t know what else to do.

The door swung open on creaky hinges. She’d been meaning to oil them, but time had got away from her—all the busyness of going to work and being a mother had made anything extra nearly impossible to do.

She walked into the dark living room, inhaling stale air and silence. No sound of Lucy giggling. No soft pad of little-girl feet on the floor. No squeals or cries. Nothing. The house felt empty and lonely and horrible.

Her foot caught on something, and she fell forward, would have hit the ground if Boone hadn’t grabbed her arm.

“Careful,” he said.

“There’s something on the floor. I think it’s the couch cushion.”

“How about we turn on a light. Then you’ll know for sure,” Stella said drily.

The light went on, illuminating a room that had been taken apart. Couch cushions slashed and tossed on the floor, books torn and flung away. Photographs ripped from walls, their frames smashed. Lucy’s little stuffed bear near the fireplace, its stuffing hanging out like entrails.

She started toward it, but Boone grabbed her arm. “Not yet.”

“What—?”

“Take her outside.” Boone cut her off, his face hard, his expression unreadable.

That was it. A quick sharp command, and Stella grabbed Scout’s arm, started dragging her back toward the door.

Only she wasn’t going, because this was her house, her daughter, her problem to solve. No matter how sick she felt, no matter how scared she was.

She yanked away. “I need to check Lucy’s room,” she mumbled, more to herself than to either of the people who’d brought her home.

“Not going to happen, sister.” Stella tightened her grip, dragging Scout backward with enough force to nearly throw her off balance. She had a choice. Go or fight. Normally, she’d go, because she was a rule follower, the kind of person who’d never take a stroller on an escalator or park in a no-parking zone. She didn’t try the grapes at the grocery store before she paid for them or take fifteen items into the twelve-items-or-less line.

But she had to find Lucy. Had to.

And if that meant fighting, that was what she was going to do.

She yanked her arm from Stella’s, tried to run through the living room and into the hallway beyond. It should have been easy. She jogged nearly every day, sprinted after Lucy all the time, across the backyard, through the local park.

But her legs didn’t want to move, and she stumbled forward, moving in what seemed like slow motion, the hallway so far away she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to it.

“Not a good choice, Scout,” Boone sighed.

Next thing she knew, she was in his arms, heading back the few feet she’d managed to go. Outside again, the cold November air stung her cheeks, and she wasn’t even sure how she’d got there, where she was going, what she was looking for.

Lucy.

She zeroed in on the thought and held on to it, because she couldn’t seem to hold on to anything else.

“Put me down!” She wiggled in his arms, trying to free herself. He just held on more tightly, striding to the SUV and opening the door. He set her in the backseat, leaned down so they were eye to eye.

“Do us both a favor,” he growled, “and stay there.”

He closed the door and walked away. She would have opened it and followed, but Stella was right there, hips against the door, back to Scout.

Scout slid across the bucket seat, reached for the handle on the other side, heard a soft click and a beep. She tried the handle. The door wouldn’t open. She climbed over the seat and into the front, pushed the button to unlock the doors. Nothing.

Someone tapped on the window, and she looked out, met Stella’s eyes. “Not going to open, sister,” Stella called through the glass. “We’ve got a special lock system for situations like this.”

Like what? Scout wanted to ask, but Stella turned away, her attention focused on the edge of the property and the oversize trees that lined it.

Standing guard?

That was what it seemed as though she was doing—putting herself and her life on the line for Scout.

Why?

It was another question Scout wanted to ask.

Later.

First, she needed to find a way out of the SUV and back in the house. Lucy might not be there. Wasn’t there. She admitted it to herself, because living in a fantasy world wouldn’t help her get Lucy back. She had to be practical, had to be smart, had to trust that her daughter was okay and that they’d be reunited eventually.

If she didn’t, she’d fall apart. That wouldn’t do anyone any good.

She pressed a shaky finger to her temple, the bandage scratchy and thick, the throbbing pain of the wound it covered making her stomach churn.

“Concentrate,” she muttered, looking around for some other method of opening the doors.

Maybe the hatchback?

Hadn’t she seen something in a survival show about unlatching trunks from the inside? Was it possible to do the same with the hatchback opening of an SUV?

She crawled back over the seat, her stomach heaving as pain shot through her temple. Cold sweat beaded her brow, and her entire body seemed to be shaking, but she managed to get to the back section of the vehicle. She felt around for a mechanism that would open the door, found nothing.

Two police cars pulled into the driveway, lights flashing, sirens off. Scout stayed where she was as several police officers ran past. She didn’t think they saw her lying on her side in the back of Boone’s SUV. She doubted it would matter if they did. They weren’t going to let her out of the vehicle, and Stella hadn’t budged from her place near the passenger door.

Lights splashed out from the windows of the little rancher she’d lived in for three years. She knew each window, each light. Named them silently as they flashed on. Dining room at the side of the house. Her room in the front. Lucy’s room. Behind the house, trees butted up against the night sky, the canopy of the forest illuminated by moonlight. She knew exactly how far the kitchen light would spill out from the window above the sink, knew just how much of the backyard would be painted gold by it.

Her heart thudded painfully as shadows moved in front of the window. Somewhere, her daughter was sleeping in a strange bed, in a strange house, with strangers all around.

Best-case scenario, she was.

Worst-case scenario...

Scout refused to put a name to it, refused to allow herself to imagine anything other than her daughter lying in bed crying for her.

She closed her eyes, trying to pray, wanting to pray. Her mind was empty of anything but fear and sorrow and the aching pain of her injury.

A car engine broke the silence of the night, and she managed to crawl back over the seat. She sat there as a small Toyota pulled up behind the police cars. Scout knew the car. It belonged to her landlady, Eleanor Finch. The police must have called to let her know there’d been a break-in at the property.

Eleanor got out of the car, but she didn’t approach the house, just stood and stared at it. Maybe this was old hat for her. She owned a number of properties in River Valley. Most of them were a lot more impressive and lucrative than this one. Scout figured that was why she’d been willing to do a rent-to-own contract on the rancher. It didn’t rent for enough to make it worth Eleanor’s while to keep it.

She hadn’t ever asked, though. Eleanor liked her privacy. She wasn’t warm and fuzzy. Nor was she approachable. She’d insisted on three months’ rent as a deposit and the contract read that she got to keep it if Scout decided to break her lease.

That had been fine with Scout. She hadn’t intended to break the three-year lease, because she’d pictured living there forever with Lucy. A nice little place in a nice little town filled with lots of nice people. Good schools. Pretty little church. Everything clean and tidy.

Only it wasn’t anymore, and maybe the house wasn’t going to be a place for forever. Maybe it was just a stopgap on the way to somewhere else.

Eleanor pulled out her cell phone and made a call, her gaze still on the house. Scout wanted to get out of the SUV and talk to her, but the doors were still locked tight and Stella was still standing guard. There was nothing Scout could do but wait and wonder what was going on in the house and when someone was going to come out and tell her about it.

* * *

Boone had been hoping for a ransom note. There hadn’t been one. No prints on the furniture, doors, pieces of broken frame. He watched as the local police processed the scene, staying out of their way because he didn’t want to get kicked out. He needed information. The more the better. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be had. Someone had torn the house apart.

Maybe more than someone.

Maybe several people.

Going through a house as thoroughly as this one had been gone through would have taken one person a few hours. A couple of people working together could have accomplished the job much more quickly.

He walked down the hall, bypassing a uniformed officer who was dusting the bathroom door for prints. Even that room had been torn apart, medicine cabinet emptied, a picture pulled off the wall and taken apart, the frame in pieces on the floor.

Lamar was two doors down, taking pictures of Lucy’s room. Like the others, it was a wreck, the mattress on the toddler bed slashed, the stuffing strewn all over the floor. Stuffed animals had been dismembered, picture books thrown from shelves. It looked as if a hurricane had blown through.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked, and Lamar frowned.

“I should make you leave. This is a crime scene.”

“I’ve been in more than a few of them. I’ll be careful not to contaminate anything. Did you find anything?”

“Aside from a mess? No. Whoever did this was careful. No prints on the doorknobs or any other surface in the house. I pulled a couple of kid prints off the underside of the bed in here, but nothing else.”

“Someone wiped things down?”

“Thoroughly.” Lamar nearly spat the word out, the look on his face a mixture of disgust and frustration.

“Awfully knowledgeable petty thieves,” Boone said, even though he didn’t think the ransacking had anything to do with thievery. It had everything to do with the fact that Lucy was missing. He was sure of that; he just wasn’t sure what the connection was.

“Neither of us believes that thieves did this,” Lamar muttered.

“You have any leads on the kidnappers?”

“Nothing. I’m hoping I can get a description from Scout tonight. If she got a good look at our perp, we may finally have a lead.” He eyed Boone for a moment. “Speaking of Scout, I don’t suppose you want to explain why you brought her here.”

“She wanted to come.”

“Sometimes my son wants to come to work with me, but he’s six, so I have to tell him it’s not a good idea.”

“Scout isn’t six. She’s a grown woman, and she was going to find a way here with or without my help. I figured it was better to give her my help and a little protection.”

“Maybe next time, you can convince her to wait for the police instead.”

“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, Anderson. Things aren’t making sense, and in my experience that means there’s a lot going on under the surface, a lot we don’t know about, a lot that could cause Scout serious trouble.”

“She’s already in serious trouble.” Boone pointed out the obvious, and Lamar frowned.

“Not your problem. I’ve been allowing your team to do some investigating, but that stops if you get in my way.”

“Maybe you should explain what that entails so I can avoid it.”

“Let’s try this on for size,” Lamar responded. “You don’t take a witness out of the hospital without permission from me. You don’t take her to undisclosed locations or hide her away somewhere for safekeeping, either.”

“Seeing as how she’s sitting in my SUV waiting for us to finish in here, I’d say she’s not exactly hiding.”

“I’m making it clear for future reference, because if she suddenly disappears, your entire team is going to be on the line for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It took a lot to get him riled up, but Boone was heading there. He stayed out of the way. He played nice. He’d followed Chance’s rules of engagement with local police. What he wasn’t going to do was stand there and take it while HEART was used as a scapegoat.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that you were the last person aside from Scout to see Lucy—”

“Don’t go there, Lamar.” He bit the words out. “Because if you do, I’ll go here—you and your team need as much help as you can get on this. Turning away an organization that has made its name freeing hostages and bringing them home safely isn’t the smart way to go.”

“I know who you work for, and I know what HEART does. What I don’t know is why you’re wasting time on this case when there are bigger, more lucrative cases you could be tackling.”

“Because it isn’t about money. It’s about family,” he retorted, full-out riled, and he’d better not let it show. He’d made that mistake on one too many occasions, and local police hadn’t much appreciated it. Neither had Chance. Boone didn’t care all that much, but if he wanted to help Scout, he needed to play things smart.

“Everything is about money, Anderson. You work this job enough, and you start to realize it,” Lamar said wearily as he used gloved hands to lift a photo from the floor. Nearly ripped in two, it was a close-up of Scout and Lucy taken when Lucy was a baby. Probably one of those Sears or Walmart portraits. It shouldn’t have been beautiful. The background was a little too bright, the lighting a little harsh, but Scout looked soft and sweet, her expression so filled with love it made Boone’s heart ache. He’d seen that look in Lana’s eyes the day Kendal was born.

Had it been there after that?

He didn’t remember. He’d been out of town a lot, working missions that he couldn’t talk about in places he wasn’t allowed to reveal. He’d missed out on weeks and months of memories. Some days that hurt worse than others. Today, looking at the photo of Scout smiling at a sleeping Lucy, it hurt a lot.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said abruptly, because he didn’t want to stand in the doorway of the nursery any longer, thinking about his daughter, who was out in the world somewhere. Lost to him until he could find her again.

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