A troubled hero returns home to a family nightmare in this thrilling Coltons of Shadow Creek tale!

Hired to renovate his family’s former mansion, River Colton hopes to find answers to his deepest questions. Plagued by memories of his fugitive mother, the ex-marine finds danger to his life in the estate’s secret chambers—and danger to his heart in Edith Beaulieu, its beautiful new guardian.

But someone doesn’t want Edith or River in the seemingly haunted house. When Edith falls victim to too many “accidents”—and falls hard for River—the Texas loner risks everything to protect her. If the ghosts of Coltons past lurk in the shadows, it’s up to Edith and River to hunt them down...

River’s broad shoulders moved up and down in a quick shrug. “It’s fine. I get it. You’re not interested.”

But Edith was. She was more interested than she’d ever been before. But she couldn’t admit that now. He might reach for her again. He might kiss her.

Then she opened her mouth because she wanted him to touch her, to kiss her...

But he reached for a broom instead and began sweeping up the shards of the vase she’d dropped. “You seem a little rattled,” he remarked. “Had you been hearing anything else before I showed up?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Any of those weird noises again?” he asked. “Like the clanging or the footsteps on the stairs?”

She shook her head. She almost wished she would have; it would have distracted her from thinking about him, from obsessing about him, about how passionately he’d kissed her, about how he’d carried her up those stairs...

* * *

The Coltons of Shadow Creek: Only family can keep you safe...

The Colton Marine

Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ever since LISA CHILDS read her first romance novel (a Mills & Boon story, of course) at age eleven, all she wanted was to be a romance writer. With over forty novels published with Mills & Boon, Lisa is living her dream. She is an award-winning, bestselling romance author. Lisa loves to hear from readers, who can contact her on Facebook, through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or her snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The darkness was all-encompassing. All-concealing. Night was the only time River liked to come out now—like the other nocturnal creatures that rustled around in the brush. The noises made his horse uneasy, and it shifted beneath him.

“It’s okay, Shadow.” He soothed the skittish stallion with a pat along his silky mane.

Maybe he should have chosen another horse from Mac’s barn—one less temperamental. But there was something about the formerly mistreated horse with which River identified. Not that he had been mistreated. Physically. His mother wouldn’t have wanted to leave any signs of abuse on him or his siblings; then she might have missed a photo op. Because she’d been busy with ventures other than parenting, she had missed pretty much everything else, though.

Of course she hadn’t had a choice the past ten years; until her recent breakout, she’d been in prison. For—among those other ventures—murder. The man he’d believed was his father would have been a killer, too, had any of his attempts proved successful. He had just pled guilty to several counts of attempted murder and assault.

River should have been relieved the DNA test had confirmed that Wes Kingston wasn’t actually his father. He’d never had much of a relationship with the man, anyway. Just like all his other half siblings, River used his mother’s maiden name: Colton.

But even though he had never used it, there had been some comfort in knowing he was a Kingston. Now he didn’t know who his father was or who he was, either.

But that wasn’t just because of his paternity.

Despite the warm July night, he shivered and tugged his hat down lower over his face. Hopefully nobody else was out this late. But since his mother’s prison break, there was always someone watching him and his siblings. The FBI, the police and of course the damn reporters—the ones from the national tabloids and that relentless website, Everything’s Blogger in Texas.

River shouldn’t have come back to Shadow Creek. Hell, he wouldn’t have—had he had any other choice. As his fingers slid away from the brim of his Stetson, they brushed down the right side of his face over the strings holding the patch in place over his eye—his empty eye socket, actually—and along the ridge of the not-quite-healed scar on his cheek and jaw.

Now he couldn’t leave Shadow Creek, and not just because he was still healing but also because of his siblings. He’d already been gone for most of the past ten years—leaving them alone to deal with the fallout of their mother’s trial. Since he’d joined the Marines, no one else had accused him of being a coward.

But he knew...

And it didn’t matter how many medals he had; he still considered himself a coward. He could have stayed and helped Mac with his younger siblings, could have worked the ranch with him.

He had been doing that since he’d come back. He’d started helping out while Mac’s son, Thorne, who was also one of River’s half siblings, was gone on his honeymoon. But Thorne and his new wife, Maggie, were back now, working on their house on the property, and River had stayed. It was too late now, though. He couldn’t change the past.

Hell, he didn’t even know his past anymore.

Who the hell was he?

Wes Kingston had no idea. Probably only one person knew for certain, and the police, the FBI and even the reporters hadn’t been able to find her yet.

Livia...

There had been sightings of her in Florida. But Florida in July?

He snorted, and the horse echoed the sound. Livia hadn’t liked the heat of Texas in the summer; there was no way she was in Florida now with the humidity and the bugs. So where was she?

For everyone else’s sake, he hoped far away. For his...

Hell, it wouldn’t matter if he found her. She wasn’t likely to tell him the truth. But maybe she’d written it down somewhere.

If she had, the records or journals would be hidden somewhere on the estate, at La Bonne Vie, which in French translated to The Good Life. But life there hadn’t been good.

The house, the acreage and the parties—it had all just been for show. A pretense. A lie. Like River’s entire life. He needed to know what the truth was. But time was running out. After sitting vacant for ten years, the estate had finally been sold.

River doubted the new owner would let him search the place, especially after all the damage the FBI had done when they’d torn the place apart ten years ago looking for more evidence against Livia.

As if they hadn’t already had enough. They’d searched it again after Livia’s escape. But River didn’t think they’d found what he was looking for. They didn’t know the house like he did. They didn’t know all of La Bonne Vie’s secrets.

Neither did he, but he was determined to discover them. He squeezed his legs, prodding the stallion with his knees so it hurried forward along the trail that led from Mac’s ranch to La Bonne Vie.

The horse felt his urgency and quickened his pace. River wasn’t certain how long he had before the new owner either took up residency or tore down the place. Nobody knew who’d bought it or why.

The stallion bounded easily up the hill toward the expansive shadow sitting atop it. This was it—the house. It was some French-country monstrosity with seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms and countless fireplaces—not that it often got cold enough for a fire. Just like the house, the hearths had mostly been for show.

He and Shadow had already vaulted the fence between Mac’s place and the estate. Then they’d wound around the base of the hill to head up the long circular drive. They now passed the fountain that gurgled in front of the house. If not for the property having a natural spring, the water probably would have stopped flowing years ago.

He tugged lightly on the reins, drawing Shadow to a stop next to that fountain. After sliding off, he tethered the horse to one of the gargoyles sitting on the edge of the fountain. The horse could drink while River found a way into the darkened house.

As he neared the front entrance, his steps slowed, his boot heels scraping across the surface of the brick pavers. This wasn’t a good idea for so many reasons.

First off, he was trespassing.

Second, he might not like what he found.

And third, he might not be alone—because the moon glinted off the metal and glass of the car parked on the other side of the fountain. He cursed. But just as he cursed, he heard the scream.

So did the horse. Shadow rose up with an anxious whinny and tugged his reins free of the gargoyle. He took off toward Mac’s ranch.

But River turned back toward the house. He wasn’t the coward he’d been at eighteen. He didn’t run from trouble anymore. Instead, he usually ran right into it. The last time he’d done that, though, he’d lost his eye and damn near his life.

What would he lose this time?

* * *

She had lost it. Edith Beaulieu was not the type of woman to scream like a banshee. She wasn’t the type to scream at all. Not even as a child. But the dark house and all of its creepy sounds had unnerved her.

She’d called the power company days ago to have the service restored after ten years of the estate sitting empty. They’d assured her that it would be done. But when she’d stepped into the foyer and flipped on the switch, nothing had happened. The elaborate chandelier remained dark, its crystals reflecting only the faint light of stars shining through the tall windows and the light of her cell phone.

Of course, after ten years, the bulbs might have burned out. She had already considered that, so she’d brought a lamp with her. When she’d plugged it into a socket, though, nothing had happened.

Maybe the power company hadn’t been able to get inside and throw the breakers? That was why she’d used her phone light to move throughout the house and try to find the door to the basement. Electrical boxes were usually in the basement. Even with the light from her phone, she stumbled over broken furniture and discarded drawers and papers. And other things that indicated animals may have taken up residence when the humans had left.

So she hadn’t been too concerned about those first scurrying sounds she’d heard. She’d just shuddered at the thought of crossing paths with rodents or spiders or snakes. But when she’d finally found the door to the basement inside the kitchen, she’d heard something else—something that had sounded like footsteps—human footsteps—moving down the steps. And when she’d opened that door, the light of her phone had glinted off a pair of eyes at the bottom of those stairs.

That was when she’d screamed. Nobody else was supposed to be inside this house—nobody but her. But when she looked again, she saw nothing. Had she imagined it? Had it been a person or an animal?

She couldn’t be sure. All she’d seen was darkness but for the glint of those eyes. She shuddered as her heart continued to race. But she heard nothing now—no movement at all. Her screaming had probably scared away whatever it had been.

Torn between running for her car and going down to investigate, she hesitated at the top of the stairs. In the horror movies, the one who investigated always got killed. But then, so did the one who ran for her car. She drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. Reaching inside her purse and pulling out her can of pepper spray made her feel a little better.

If Edith Beaulieu was going out, it was only going to happen after one hell of a fight.

She gripped the can tightly in one hand while she held up her cell phone with the other. The light illuminated the steps before her but could not penetrate the rest of the darkness of the basement. Her legs trembled slightly as she began the descent. Despite the heat of the July night, it was cold down there. The damp air instantly chilled her. Goose bumps rose along her usually smooth, dark skin. She had Mama to thank for her complexion; fortunately, that was all Edith had inherited from Merrilee MacKenzie Beaulieu.

Not the illness...

Unless she’d only imagined those eyes in the dark and had screamed for no reason. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold. As she reached the last step, she shone her light around the darkness, but it glinted off nothing now but boxes and crates and stacks of chairs and other furniture. She moved around the clutter toward a door off the hallway. As she pushed it open, the hinges screeched in protest. And above her the house creaked.

Since she’d unlocked the front door and stepped inside, she’d had a creepy sensation that she was not alone. First those eyes and now the noise against the floorboards—that sounded suspiciously like footsteps—confirmed it. Someone else was inside the house. But how had he or she gotten from the basement to the upstairs without passing her on the steps?

Unless there was another stairwell somewhere...

She’d heard the house had secret rooms. What about secret passageways?

She shivered again. But she wasn’t really cold—not with how quickly her blood was pumping through her veins. She was scared. Her hands trembled so much that she nearly dropped the pepper spray canister and the cell phone, making the light bounce around the room. It glanced off the furnace, a couple of water heaters and a metal box on the wall. She’d found the utility room.

She hurried over to the electrical panel and opened the door. Then she fumbled with the breakers, pushing them the opposite direction of where they’d been. They must have been off because a light from the dirty bulb swinging from the rafters in the ceiling came on.

She expelled a slight breath of relief. At least she had light now. But then her relief fled as she heard more creaks—of the basement door and then on each step leading down. She fumbled with her phone, shutting off the light. Then she reached for the chain hanging from that swinging bulb. She needed darkness so she could hide. But then she remembered she was the one with the right to be there. And she let the chain slip through her fingers while she tightened her grasp on the canister of pepper spray.

Whoever else was here was trespassing, which probably meant he was up to no good. Squatting? Stealing? Or using the abandoned house for other nefarious activities?

She wished now she had a gun. But the pepper spray would have to suffice. She clutched it tightly—pointing it out in front of herself. And she waited.

Within seconds the utility room door groaned as it was opened the rest of the way. A dark shadow filled the doorway. He was too far away for her to spray and hit him. So she lifted her cell phone light toward his face. The brim of a hat pulled low shadowed it, but still she saw the scars and the patch.

And she screamed again.

* * *

The pounding of hooves against the ground sent a cloud of dust rising up into the night sky and a chill of unease racing down Mac’s spine. He had returned only minutes ago from a date with Evelyn. She made him feel like a teenager instead of fifty-six. But the smile she always put on his face had slipped away when he’d found his house dark. No lights shone in the apartment above the stables, either.

Where was River? His truck was parked near the stables. But he realized why when the horse came into view, froth trailing from his mouth down his mane. The stallion looked mad. Or terrified, its eyes wild as it reared up on his back legs and stabbed at the air with his front hooves.

What had that damn stallion done? Had it thrown off River somewhere in the darkness? That unpredictable horse. Mac wouldn’t have had him but for Jade. She wanted to help the horse, but she couldn’t have him at Hill Country Farms. He wasn’t safe for kids to be around, and she had too many young visitors to her place. She worked with him here when she had the time. But she was busy rescuing other former racehorses.

And Jade was scared. Half the time her eyes looked as wild as the stallion’s. Maybe that was why she was so determined to help him.

But what if he’d hurt River?

The ex-Marine was still healing from whatever tragedy had happened on his last deployment. He refused to talk about it. Mac could understand River not wanting to answer the reporters’ intrusive questions about his scars, about his missing eye... But he hadn’t told his family anything, either.

Ever since he’d come back to Shadow Creek, he had seemed so lost.

“River?” Mac called out. Was he lost now? Where was he?

Careful to avoid the hooves, Mac grabbed the reins of the rearing stallion and tugged until the horse dropped to all fours again. With his other hand, he patted the horse’s sweaty neck. “Settle down,” he murmured soothingly. “Shh...”

He whinnied and tossed his head, pulling on the reins Mac tightly clasped. But eventually he calmed enough that Mac could lead him to the barn. He pulled open the door and led Shadow to his stall. There were other horses in the barn—ones River could have, should have, saddled up for his night ride.

Why had he taken the damn temperamental stallion? What had he been thinking?

Mac unfastened the saddle from the stallion and carried it to the tack room. He didn’t trust Shadow—either to be ridden or to lead him back to where he’d lost River. Where the hell was that? From the amount of sweat that had saturated Shadow’s coat, Mac could tell he had been running for a while. So Mac doubted River was anywhere on the ranch. He was farther away than that. But not so far that he would have needed to take the truck instead of a horse. Because of its proximity, the logical place was La Bonne Vie.

But why would River have wanted to return to a place he hadn’t been able to wait to leave ten years ago? What was his sudden interest in La Bonne Vie? And what had happened to him there that the horse had returned without him?

Chapter 2

He should have ducked and run away. But River wasn’t the coward he’d once been. Apparently he wasn’t that smart, either. The last thing he needed was a shot of pepper spray in his good eye. But instead of running away, he rushed forward and clasped the screaming woman’s wrist. Careful not to hurt her, he raised her arm, so if she sprayed, it wouldn’t hit him directly in the face.

She struggled against him, bringing her body flush against his. While she was slender, her breasts were full and lush against his chest. And she smelled so damn good...

Like sunshine and some flower he couldn’t quite place.

“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice sharp despite its thick Southern drawl. She didn’t sound like she was from Texas. She didn’t smell like it, either.

“Let go of this damn can,” River said. With his other hand, he pulled the pepper spray free of her grasp. But he didn’t release his hold on her finely boned wrist, even as he lowered her arm. Her skin was so silky and her pulse pounded wildly beneath his fingertips.

She stopped struggling and stared up into his face. And he saw the recognition dawn in her brown eyes. It was better than the look of horror she’d had when she’d initially seen him. When would he get used to that—to that reaction when people first saw him?

No. They didn’t see him. They saw only the injuries. The damage.

He was damaged—and not just physically. He released her and stepped back into the shadows outside the circle of light cast from the dim bulb, and he pulled his hat down lower over his face.

“You’re a Colton,” she said. “River?”

He nodded, not surprised she recognized him. Every local news broadcast included some kind of report about the Coltons of Shadow Creek—either a history lesson on their illustrious family or a recent Livia-on-the-lam sighting. But this woman looked vaguely familiar to him, as well.

Where had he seen her?

He should remember. She was such a beauty with her flawless dark skin and long, thick, black hair that she would definitely be unforgettable had they ever officially met.

“You don’t own this place anymore,” she told him.

“I never owned it,” he said. And for the past ten years the FBI had had custody of it, having seized it and whatever other assets of Livia’s they’d been able to find. Of course they hadn’t found them all. She had too many hiding places—so many just inside this house. He glanced around the cement walls of the cellar, wondering what lurked behind the concrete.

“Do you own it now?” he asked. She looked young, though, so young that he wondered how she would have been able to afford it. Unless it hadn’t gone for much at auction.

Who would want a house with such a notorious past?

“I am here at the new owner’s behest,” she said. “You’re not. You’re trespassing.”

He shook his head. “No. I was just out for a ride when I heard you. Why were you screaming?”

She shivered. It was chilly and damp in the basement and she wore only a tank top and some long gauzy skirt. But he didn’t think she was shivering because she was cold. She was scared.

“I saw someone...something...” She narrowed her dark eyes and studied him with suspicion. “Was it you?”

He shook his head again. “I didn’t come inside until I heard your first scream.”

She continued to stare at him as if weighing his words for truth.

“It wasn’t me you saw,” he insisted. A frisson of uneasiness chased down his spine, but he resisted the urge to shiver, as well. He reached for his weapon—before he remembered he wasn’t wearing a holster. He wasn’t armed. He hadn’t thought he would need to be when he came home. But he should have known he’d never really been safe here—not with a mother as mercurial as his.

He probably didn’t need a gun, though. But then he remembered the scream—her first one, which had been full of terror. She had seen something.

“I’ll check it out,” he told her as he turned toward the door. Before he could step through it, she closed her fingers around his arm.

“Wait!”

“What?” he asked. Maybe she just wanted him to leave. Maybe she didn’t believe that he wasn’t the someone or something who’d made her scream the first time.

“Be careful,” she urged him with obvious concern for his safety.

He held up the can he’d taken from her. “I have this.” He took her hand from his arm and pressed the canister into it. “On second thought, you keep it.”

She glanced down at it. “But why?”

“In case we really aren’t alone down here,” he said. “If there is an intruder, you’re going to need it.” He would have told her to leave, but he didn’t want her walking alone through the house or getting so far away from him that he couldn’t protect her from any potential danger. If she stayed in the basement with him, he could get back to her quickly if someone else was in the house. And she had the pepper spray for protection, as well.

She shivered again. But she closed her fingers around the can and clasped it tightly. “What about you—what will you use for protection?”

Images flashed through his mind—images of when he’d had to improvise in order to protect himself and his unit during combat. He flinched at the memories before focusing on her.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. He closed his hand over hers on the canister. “Don’t hesitate. Next time someone comes through that door, you spray.”

“But what if it’s you?”

“Then aim for my right eye,” he told her.

Her gaze moved toward his right eye—to the patch—and her lips parted on a gasp.

He turned away again then and stepped through the door before he was tempted to do something stupid—like kiss her. It was safer for him to take on an armed intruder in the dark than make a move on a woman armed with pepper spray.

* * *

Intruder?

Their voices emanated clearly from the speakers inside the hiding space, summoning anger from the person listening to them.

They were the intruders. Neither the woman nor the man had any business being inside La Bonne Vie. The man hadn’t appreciated the house when he’d lived there. And the woman...the one who’d opened the basement door and screamed...

No matter who her boss was, she absolutely had no business being here.

What had she seen? Had the light on her phone illuminated enough for her to make an identification? She hadn’t told the man anything specific about what she’d seen. She’d been vague, but maybe that had been on purpose. She would be smart to not trust him.

Trusting anyone was a mistake—one the listener would not make again. Nobody and nothing could be trusted.

So what had the young woman seen?

Enough to get her killed?

Probably.

The risk was too great to let her live. Whoever she was, she would have to die—like so many others already had to keep the listener’s secrets.

* * *

His remark had shocked her so much that Edith took a few seconds before remembering what else she’d learned from all the horror movies she had watched: people never go off separately. Once that happened, they were picked off one at a time. She hurried out of the utility room into the hall.

But River was gone.

Heat rushed to her face at how she’d screamed when she’d first seen him. He’d probably thought it was because of the scars and the patch. But it was because he was so big and muscular and handsome despite the scars. Her pulse had continued to race, even after she’d recognized him. The news mentioned him often when reporting about his missing mother. He was the Marine who’d just recently returned—wounded—from his last deployment.

The media speculated that he must have been involved in an explosion of some kind. Nobody had confirmed that speculation, though. The government wasn’t talking and neither was River Colton. But it was clear he’d been hurt. The scars on his face were still healing. And his right eye...

It was gone.

So it couldn’t have been River whom she’d seen at the bottom of the steps when she’d first opened the door to the basement. Edith had seen a pair of eyes, both glinting in the darkness.

Hadn’t she?

Or had she imagined it all like Mama used to imagine things—like Papa, long after he’d died?

Edith didn’t believe in ghosts. Whatever her mother had seen hadn’t been real.

What about what she’d seen?

What the hell had it been?

Despite the couple of lightbulbs that burned now in the basement corridor, the shadows were thick yet and still too dark to determine what each was. Edith wasn’t going to try to figure it out at the moment. She’d found what she’d been looking for in the basement—the electrical panel.

Since she’d flipped the breakers, she had no reason to return to the utility room, where River had told her to wait for him. She had no reason to linger in the basement at all. She headed toward the stairs leading back up to the kitchen.

River Colton could find her when he was done searching the cellar. Edith was not going to try to find him. She shuddered as she remembered how a hapless female character always found her boyfriend in the horror movie—bludgeoned or chopped up or...

Not that River was her boyfriend.

Nobody was her boyfriend. She hadn’t had one for a while. She didn’t have any time for dating. She was too busy with her job. And from what she’d seen of the house in the dark, she knew she was going to be even busier getting this place ready for her boss.

As she headed up the steps, she noticed the door at the top was closed. River must have shut it behind himself when he’d come down to investigate after hearing her scream. She wished he had left it open; then she would be able to see if any lights had come on upstairs when she’d flipped all the breakers.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach at the thought of moving again through that mess of a mansion with only the faint light of her phone. She peered beneath the door but could see only darkness.

The lamp she’d plugged in must not have cast a glow wide enough to be seen in the kitchen. And none of the lights in the kitchen must have come on. She glanced down at her phone. Fortunately, the battery had enough charge left that she wouldn’t lose that light. But she probably should have waited until morning to come out to La Bonne Vie.

She would have—had her uncle been home when she’d stopped by his ranch. But when she’d seen his truck was gone, she had driven over here. It was just next door. So she’d thought she might as well check to see if the power had been turned on as she’d requested.

She should have waited until morning, though. Then she wouldn’t feel as though she’d stepped into one of those movies she had watched so often as a kid, trying to act tough in front of the others in her foster home. She hadn’t just been acting, though.

She was tough. And independent and brave, she reminded herself as she reached for the handle of the door. But before she could close her fingers around the knob, it turned and the door opened.

A dark shadow loomed in the doorway above her. There was a light burning in the house behind him, but the dim glow only cast his face more in shadows as his wide shoulders filled the doorway.

Remembering River’s advice to use the pepper spray next time, she fumbled with the canister, but it slipped through her grasp and tumbled down the steps. Then she lost her footing, as well. Arms swinging, she began to fall backward just as that shadow reached toward her.

She must have screamed herself out earlier because even though she opened her mouth, no sound emanated from her hoarse throat. She could only gasp as she fell.

Chapter 3

From the bottom of the stairs, River saw it happening—saw her falling. He saw the dark shadow at the top of the stairs, saw it reaching for her. Or pushing her?

He rushed forward, but before he could catch her, the woman’s hand closed around the railing and she steadied herself. But he wrapped his arm around her small waist and pulled her aside, stepping between her and that threatening shadow.

She clutched at him as she tried to find her footing on the steps again. She wasn’t going to fall, though. He had her in his one arm while he swung his other toward that shadow.

Just before his fist connected, the other man stepped into the light. And River jerked his arm back, exclaiming, “Mac! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Mac replied. “That damn horse came back without you. I thought it threw you. That you might be hurt.” His dark gaze skimmed over River. “But you look fine. What are you doing here?”

“I was out riding—”

“Not you,” Mac said. He gestured behind River. “What are you doing here, Edith? When I was looking for him, I noticed your car parked out front by the fountain.”

The woman tugged free of River’s grip and leaned around him. “Hi, Uncle Mac.”

And now River realized why she looked so familiar. He’d seen pictures of her in Mac’s house. Of course, she’d been younger then—much younger. Just a little girl with thick braids and her front teeth missing. She’d certainly grown up since those old photos.

She must have been at Thorne’s wedding, though, since they were cousins. River had made himself scarce at the ceremony. He hadn’t stood in the receiving line, and he’d skipped the reception. He hadn’t wanted to draw any attention away from the bride and groom. And since he’d been back, people tended to stare at him. And ask intrusive questions about what had happened.

He didn’t want to think about what had happened, let alone talk about it.

“What are you doing here?” Mac asked his niece again.

“I—I stopped by the ranch earlier,” Edith replied. “But you weren’t there.”

“I was out with Evelyn,” Mac said. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here—at La Bonne Vie?”

“You don’t know?” River asked. He knew Mac wasn’t particularly close to his niece; he had lost touch with her for years and felt bad about it. But River thought they’d reconnected during those ten years he’d been gone. Mac had written about her in some of the letters he’d sent River.

“No,” Mac said, and a muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. “Edith, what are you doing here?”

“I told you I’m moving out of New Orleans, that I’m moving to Texas.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But you didn’t tell me you were going to move here, to La Bonne Vie.”

She shook her head, and her long hair bounced around her bare shoulders. She stood so close to River on the stairs that a few tendrils brushed across his cheek. It was so soft—so silky. “I’m not going to stay here. Not for long, anyway, just until...”

“Until what?” Mac asked. “What business do you have with La Bonne Vie?”

River turned toward her now, studying her beautiful face as she stared up at her uncle. “The business I work for—it bought the estate. My job is to get it ready.”

“Ready for what?” Mac asked. “Ready for who? I don’t even know who you work for.”

Hearing the pain in the other man’s voice, River turned toward him now. He felt as if he were intruding on a family moment. He’d often felt like that in his own home, though. In this home. But it had never really felt like home. Not when he’d been growing up here and certainly not now.

“This isn’t the time or the place to discuss this,” Edith said, and there was a coolness in her voice now that was nearly as chilly as the damp air in the basement.

“Why not?” Mac asked. “Your company owns this place now, right?”

“The company I work for,” Edith said. “Not me.”

“We’re trespassing,” River said. “At least that’s what she told me when I came inside here to see why she was screaming.”

Mac hurried down a few steps and reached out toward his niece, like he had been earlier. “You were screaming? Why? What happened?”

She shook her head. “It was nothing...”

“She spooked my horse,” River said.

“I—I thought I saw something—someone inside.” Her fingers skimmed over River’s arm. “Did you find anyone? Anything?”

He shook his head. Of course he hadn’t had time to do a thorough search. He’d heard the footsteps overhead—had heard the basement door creak open, and he’d rushed back to make sure she was safe, just as she’d been about to fall. “I didn’t see anything. But even with the power on, most of the lights are out down here. I couldn’t search thoroughly tonight. I can come back in the morning.”

“You’re not staying here,” Mac told Edith.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “I have a room booked at the local B and B.”

“Why?” Mac asked. “Why would you stay there and not with me?”

She uttered a soft sigh that River felt brush across his cheek. “I didn’t want to invite myself.”

“You’re family.” Mac turned around and headed up the stairs. “Come on, you two, let’s head back to the ranch.”

Edith clutched River’s arm now, tugging him back around to her. “You’re staying there?”

He’d had no place else to go.

“Of course,” Mac answered for him before he had the chance. “He’s family, too.” Only Thorne was his son. But Mac was the only father figure any of the Coltons had ever really known. Even before finding out Wes Kingston wasn’t his dad, River had never been close to the man—not like he was with Mac.

But Mac wasn’t really his father. He needed to find out who was. If the secret was anywhere, it was probably inside this house—in one of Livia’s hidden lairs.

“Why don’t you ride back with Edith,” River suggested to Mac, “and I’ll take another look around here before driving your truck back.”

“You just said you can’t search thoroughly until morning,” Edith reminded him, and there was suspicion in her voice now, like she was beginning to question his motives.

He couldn’t have that—not if he wanted to get back inside the house.

“You can ride with Mac in the truck,” she said, “and I’ll meet you both back at the ranch after I lock up.”

“You’re not staying here alone,” River said.

“I told you I’m coming back to the ranch—”

“Something could happen to you while you’re locking up,” River pointed out. Something to make her scream again like she had—with such terror it echoed inside River’s mind yet.

At the top of the steps, Mac turned back around and gestured for them to come up, too. “We’re all leaving together.”

Edith sighed, but she obeyed her uncle, heading up the stairs ahead of River. He couldn’t help but admire the sway of her hips beneath that long, gauzy skirt. And when she stepped into the material and nearly tumbled forward, he caught her around the tiny waist again and helped her up the rest of the way.

Her breath audibly caught and she pulled away from him as she reached the top. He couldn’t blame her. With the way he looked, he could understand why she wouldn’t want him touching her.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I just didn’t want you to fall.” Not wanting to see her revulsion, he turned back toward the stairs. So he didn’t see her face.

He only heard her murmur, “Thank you...”

But he did see something—maybe—at the bottom of the stairs. A glint in the darkness. Was that what she’d seen? What she’d thought might be human? He stepped closer and peered down, but the glint was gone.

And he couldn’t be certain what he’d seen—if anything. Hell, since losing his right eye, he didn’t quite trust his vision anymore.

“Come on, you two,” Mac urged them. “Let’s get the hell out of here and head back to the ranch.” It was no secret that he’d always hated coming up to the main house when he’d worked for Livia. And she had probably actually had more respect and affection for Mac than she’d had for the other men in her life—hell, even her own sons.

Just before he pushed shut the basement door, River glanced down those stairs again. The glint was back. It could have been eyes. Or maybe something shiny gleaming in the darkness. He couldn’t be certain.

But whatever it was unnerved him like it had Edith. He barely suppressed a shudder. There was something else inside this house, something that felt almost sinister.

* * *

Mac glanced across the truck console at where River sat quietly in the passenger’s seat. “Are you really okay?”

The wounded Marine had been quiet since he’d stepped out of the house. Not that that was unusual for River. He had always been a quiet kid. And since he’d been injured, he had become even more withdrawn.

River nodded, then snorted derisively. “Can’t believe you thought that horse threw me.”

“You haven’t been on a horse in years,” Mac reminded him. And he was still recovering from whatever had happened on that last deployment, but Mac didn’t have to remind him of that. He doubted it was ever far from River’s mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” River said. “I haven’t forgotten what you taught me.”

Mac had taught all the Colton kids to ride. River was nearly as good a rider as Thorne, who was probably second only to Jade.

“I wasn’t questioning your abilities,” Mac assured him. “It’s that damn stallion. He’s skittish and unpredictable.”

“So is your niece.”

Mac snorted now. “You don’t know Edith.” She was one of the strongest, most determined and driven women Mac had ever known. Not that he’d known her that long. Thanks to the nightmare that Livia Colton had made of his life, he’d lost track of his sister and his young niece. But that was his fault. He should have made time for Merrilee and Edith as well as Thorne and the other Colton kids. He’d always known his sister was fragile. He just hadn’t realized how fragile, however. Edith was nothing like her mother. But he wasn’t certain she knew that. While they had reconnected once she’d become an adult, she was still quite guarded with him. So guarded that he hadn’t even known the company for which she worked had bought La Bonne Vie.

“No, I don’t know Edith,” River admitted as he turned in the passenger’s seat and leaned slightly over the console. “Why don’t I know her?”

“You’ve been gone for ten years,” Mac said.

“But why don’t I know her from before then?” he asked. “I remember the pictures you had of her as a little girl, but I don’t remember her ever coming to visit. She’s from Louisiana, right?”

Mac uttered a sigh, but it didn’t ease any of the heaviness in his chest, any of the guilt. “Yeah, she grew up in New Orleans. I lost touch with my sister and her for a long time. I didn’t know...”

“Didn’t know what?” River asked.

“Didn’t know my sister had lost her husband and that she’d been struggling...”

“Financially?” River prodded when he’d trailed off.

Emotion choked Mac, and he could only shake his head. Even now he couldn’t talk about it—couldn’t think about it without the guilt overwhelming him.

Was that why River couldn’t talk about whatever had happened to him? Did he feel some form of guilt, as well—for surviving when others hadn’t?

Mac was glad the ranch was close, because he pulled into the driveway behind Edith’s car and cut the engine and the conversation.

But River wasn’t fooled. “Guess I’m not the only one who has things he’d rather not talk about.”

Mac sighed. “I can’t change the past,” he said. “So there’s no point in discussing it.”

“Exactly,” River agreed.

But Mac wasn’t as convinced that was true for River. Maybe he needed to talk about it, to work through it and get beyond it. Before he could suggest that, River opened the passenger door and slipped out. He didn’t stop, either—he headed straight for the barn. Hopefully he didn’t intend to take that damn horse out for another ride.

“Hey,” he called after him. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

River didn’t even turn back—just shook his head and continued to walk away.

“Where’s he going?” Edith asked as she stared after his broad back. “I thought he was staying with you.”

“He’s staying in the apartment in the barn,” Mac said. “I tried to get him to stay in the house...”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Mac shrugged. “He said he might disturb me.”

“How?” she asked.

Mac glanced down at his niece’s face, her dark gaze locked yet on River. She seemed awfully fascinated with the ex-Marine. While Mac loved River like a son, he wasn’t sure the man would be good for anyone right now. He’d been through so much and probably had more than physical wounds.

“I think it’s the nightmares.” Even with River in the barn, he heard him sometimes—heard the shouting. It sounded like he was trying to warn someone.

Edith shivered.

“Let’s get inside,” he said.

She turned toward him now and shook her head. “I really can’t stay. I have that room in town—”

“It would make more sense for you to stay here,” he said. “So you’ll be close to the estate, if you really intend to go back there.”

“I have to,” she said. But she didn’t sound particularly eager to return.

Mac couldn’t blame her. He hated that house, most of all he hated the memories it held for him. But like he’d told River, he couldn’t change the past, so there was no sense in dwelling on it. He slid his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the front porch.

Before they reached the stairs, though, she pulled away from him. A pang struck his heart. Would she ever forgive him for not being there for her when she’d needed him? She’d claimed, when they’d reconnected a half a dozen years ago, that she harbored no resentment—that she understood. But was that how she really felt?

Then he understood why she’d pulled away when she reached inside her purse and pulled out a vibrating cell phone. At least he hoped that was the reason.

“I have to take this,” she said, but yet she hesitated.

And he realized why—she didn’t want him to overhear her call. Was it from a boyfriend?

Or her mysterious employer?

Mac swallowed a sigh of disappointment that he wouldn’t find out—because he had to respect her privacy. But he was worried that the secrets Edith was keeping might put her in danger, especially if she insisted on going back to La Bonne Vie alone.

* * *

Edith waited until the front door closed behind her uncle before she called Declan back. He had only let the phone ring a few times before hanging up moments ago. That was the way he was—too busy to waste his time.

He’d even been like that when they were kids.

Of course he wouldn’t want to talk to her if she was with someone, either. He was fanatical about maintaining his privacy—especially in Shadow Creek. He’d come to town once when she’d been visiting her uncle, but he’d declined meeting Mac. She suspected, though, that Mac wasn’t whom he hadn’t wanted to meet.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, you alone now?”

“Yes...” But as she said it, she glanced around—making certain. She didn’t feel alone; she hadn’t since she’d stepped through the front door of La Bonne Vie.

“Good.”

He was obviously alone, as well. She felt a pang of regret over that; her boss was usually alone. But he always claimed that was the way he wanted it. It must have been, because, with his good looks and money, he could have any woman he wanted. But like her, he was too busy for relationships and too smart to want one.

“When do you plan to go to the estate in the morning?” he asked.

“I already checked out the place tonight,” Edith said.

“Of course you have,” he murmured with satisfaction. “What’s the situation?”

“The power has been turned on,” Edith said. “But I almost wish it hadn’t been.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because I can see how much work I have to do,” she said. “The place is a mess, Declan. It’s going to take major work if you want it to be inhabitable.”

“All it takes to be inhabitable is power and running water,” he said.

“You haven’t seen this place,” Edith said. He’d bought it sight unseen. And she couldn’t imagine why.

Something sounding almost like a growl rattled the phone. “I will soon,” he said, his voice gruff with frustration. “I’m going to clear my schedule...”

Which meant she would have to clear his schedule—in addition to all her other responsibilities as his executive assistant.

“...and visit in a few weeks,” he continued. “You’ll need to have a room ready for me then.”

“At the local B and B?” He hadn’t stayed in town last time he’d visited her. And of course he’d refused to stay with her at Mac’s. Instead he’d made the six-hour drive between Shadow Creek and Lake Charles, Louisiana, twice in one day.

He chuckled and replied, “At La Bonne Vie, of course.”

She shuddered at the thought of anyone staying there. Of course, she’d already told her uncle and River that she intended to. It made sense for her, though—since she had so much work to do there.

“You should have a room there, as well,” he told her, “if there’s as much to do as you say...”

She sighed. “I didn’t have the chance to do much of an assessment yet. I could barely walk through the place.”

“Sounds like inventory might take you a while.”

He’d bought the estate with all its furnishings. Edith knew how much he’d bid for it, which she’d thought was high even before she had seen the place. But Declan hadn’t built his business into the success that it was by paying too much for real estate.

“I’ll get it done,” she assured him.

“You always do,” he said. “That’s why I know I can count on you.”

She smiled over his praise but was compelled to admit, “I might need to hire some help to get the house ready for anyone to stay there, though.”

“Edith, you know I don’t want anyone snooping around La Bonne Vie.”

She flinched as she thought of River being inside, along with Mac. Declan wouldn’t like that. But River had only been investigating her scream. Hadn’t he?

“Not snooping,” she said. “Working on the place. You know the house has been empty for ten years.” Supposedly. It hadn’t felt empty tonight, though—even before River Colton had showed up. “It needs to have things fixed I’m not qualified to repair—like the central air-conditioning unit and maybe the plumbing and probably some windows.” Because the animals must have gotten into the house somehow.

Declan’s sigh rattled the phone now. “Just make sure whoever you hire can be trusted. And that no one knows I bought the place.”

She uttered a sigh now—of frustration. “Of course. I know my job.”

To protect his privacy at all costs.

She glanced back at the house. Through the front window, she saw Uncle Mac moving around, getting his house ready for her. She hated not being able to tell him more about her life. He clearly thought she didn’t want to include him in it. But she would—if she could.

“You had me sign a confidentiality agreement in my employment contract,” she reminded him. But that wasn’t why she kept Declan’s secrets.

“You know why I did that,” he said. “It isn’t easy for me to trust.”

“I know.”

“It’s not easy for you, either,” he said.

No. It wasn’t.

And for some reason River Colton’s face came to her mind. Even with that scar and patch, he was ridiculously handsome—not that she’d seen much of his face tonight with how low he’d pulled that hat.

But she remembered how he’d looked on news reports. His hair was thick and brown but always worn in a short, military-style cut. His eyes—eye—was a bright green, his gaze so piercing that it could nearly cut through a person. At least that was how he’d looked at the reporters and photographers bold enough to take his picture.

He hadn’t quite met her gaze tonight—until that moment before he’d gone off to investigate. Then he’d looked at her and leaned close, close enough that for a moment she’d thought he’d been tempted to kiss her.

Or maybe she’d only imagined that, like she’d imagined seeing those eyes glinting at her from the darkness. At least she was going to convince herself of that, since she had to go back.

River had said he would go back with her in the morning to thoroughly check out the place. Had it just been coincidence, like he’d claimed, that he’d been out riding when he’d heard her scream?

Or did he have some other motive for showing up at La Bonne Vie tonight?

But River wasn’t the only one she suspected wasn’t being completely honest with her.

“What’s your plan?” she asked her boss. “What do you intend to do with the estate?”

There was a long moment of silence—so long that she thought the call might have been lost—and then he replied, “I’m not sure...”

Neither was she. She wasn’t certain he was telling the truth. But before she could pry any further, he clicked off the phone.

She gripped it tightly, tempted to toss it, before she calmed her frustration and slid it back into her purse. Despite the warm night air, a sudden chill swept through her—raising goose bumps on her skin.

She felt as if she was being watched. But when she glanced to the house, Uncle Mac was sitting with his back toward her. He wasn’t watching her.

But someone was...

Chapter 4

The scene played out in slow motion—like it always did. He was just about to make the call—just about to send everyone in—when he felt it. The wrongness of it. The feeling was like a heavy rock lying low in his guts.

Something wasn’t right.

But Henry jumped the gun and headed in—and as he did, he tripped the wire stretched across the entrance to the abandoned hotel. The blast knocked River back, lifting him off his feet. His shout rang out—too late—as he flew through the air with the dust, the debris, the shrapnel and the other bodies.

Before he hit the ground, though, someone caught him, wrapping slender arms around him, holding him down. That had happened that day, as well; someone had held him back from going in—from trying to find the others.

He’d fought that person. Today he didn’t fight. Instead he jerked awake and stared into a pair of big eyes dark with concern.

“Are you okay?” Edith asked.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, her arms wrapped around his bare chest. She was nearly bare, too, but for an exercise bra and brief shorts. Her skin was as slick with perspiration as his.

His heart had already been racing from the dream, now it beat even harder and faster as desire rushed through him. His throat thick with passion, he could only nod.

“I was just getting back from a morning run,” she said, “and I heard you shouting.”

He cleared his throat. “Dream—it was just a dream.” And maybe so was this—her being here with her arms wrapped around him.

As if just realizing she held him, she jerked back. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have...”

He released a ragged breath. “Guess we’re even now,” he said. “I rushed in last night when I heard you screaming and now...”

Had he been screaming? Sometimes, when he relived the explosion, he felt the pain all over again. Self-conscious now, he touched his face. At least he hadn’t taken off the patch before he’d fallen asleep. But he had taken off his hat. With the sun shining through the bedroom window, his scars were clearly visible.

She wasn’t staring at his scars, though. She wasn’t even looking at his face. Her gaze was trained on his chest. The vest had protected that during the explosion. He had no scars beneath the dusting of dark hair. Just his—and Henry’s—dog tags dangled from around his neck.

Finally, she glanced up and met his gaze. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered again. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

Now that she was looking at his face again, he could see the doubt in her beautiful dark eyes.

What the hell had she heard?

The heat that had rushed through his body with her touch spread up to his face now. He was embarrassed over her catching him in such a weak moment.

“When are you heading back to La Bonne Vie?” he asked.

She blinked, breaking their locked gazes. “Right after I shower.”

New images flashed through his mind, of her standing naked beneath a spray of water. He groaned.

And she reached out but pulled her hand back just before it touched his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded. He would have stood up, but the sheet tangled around his hips was all that hid his reaction to her closeness, to her touch. Even all sweaty from her run, she smelled like she had last night. Like fresh air and flowers...

“What is that smell?” he asked.

She stood up and stepped back, away from his bed. Then she touched her own face now and wiped away some of the perspiration. “I was running—”

“Not that,” he said, although even her sweat smelled sweet. “The flowers. What kind of flowers do I smell every time I’m near you?”

“Gardenias,” she replied as she backed toward the door to the stairwell that led to the stables below.

“Gardenias,” he repeated as she slipped through that doorway. He smiled as he heard how hard her shoes slapped against the steps.

She was running again—away from him.

But she hadn’t looked horrified—like he’d thought she had been last night when she’d first seen him. Instead she’d seemed almost flustered, as if she’d been as affected by his nearness as he had been by hers.

He pushed his hand over his face, down over his scar. Hell, he must have still been dreaming. She couldn’t have looked at him like he had imagined—like she was at all interested in him.

For one, just as she must have heard him shouting through the open window of the apartment, he had heard her through it, too—last night when she’d been talking to someone on her cell phone.

Her boss or her boyfriend?

The affection in her thick Southern drawl had been apparent, and he wouldn’t have expected someone to have such an affinity for an employer. She had definitely been talking to whoever had bought La Bonne Vie, though. Apparently even she wondered why the man had purchased the estate. Along with the affection, River had also heard frustration in her voice. Whatever her relationship was with the caller, it was complicated.

So River doubted she had any interest in him. She had more than enough to handle already. And he knew he had no future with anyone until he’d retraced his past and discovered who he really was. Since Edith was distracted with her difficult job and her difficult boss, she might not notice his snooping around the estate.

His stomach muscles clenched with dread over the thought of going back to La Bonne Vie. But it was the only place that might hold the answer to who he really was.

* * *

Edith’s skin was chilled—from the cold shower she’d taken. She had needed it to bring her to her senses, though. She couldn’t believe she’d been ogling River Colton like she had. The man was wounded; he had very obviously been through hell. And she’d been attracted. Of course she had been concerned, too.

But then she’d noticed his body—his hard, muscular body. She had never seen so many sculpted muscles, his slick skin stretched taut over them. Her pulse quickened even now, thinking of them.

Or maybe her pulse was quickening because she was about to unlock the front door of La Bonne Vie. It shouldn’t have been as scary now, in the bright light of morning, as it had been last night, cloaked in darkness and full of shadows.

But now she could see the neglect of the last ten years—in the paint peeling away from the door and the fascia and the window frames. Moss clung to the brick walls. The landscaping was overgrown, vines climbing up the lattice in the windows to cover them—like that black leather patch covered River’s right eye. Trees overhung the roof, some big limbs even lying across it.

She’d told Declan it was going to be a big job to get the place ready. But even she had underestimated the amount of work it would take. She wasn’t going to undo ten years of neglect in a few weeks’ time. But Edith had never shied away from work before. She would get the job done—just like she’d told Declan she would, just like she always did.

Of course working as hard as she did left little time for anything else—like a personal life. Like friends. Like men...

She thought of only one man, though—of River Colton, his chest bare and heaving with his pants for breath. He was the last man with whom she could get involved even if she had time. He had issues she wasn’t prepared to deal with again.

And she had La Bonne Vie.

She slid the key in the lock, but before she turned it, the knob turned—easily. The door hadn’t been locked. But she was certain that she had the night before when they’d all left together.

Why wasn’t it locked now?

“Damn this house...” She pushed open the door but hesitated before stepping inside the foyer. She reached into her purse instead, but her fingers fumbled across notebooks and pens, her wallet and plastic makeup containers. She couldn’t find the hard metal of the pepper spray canister. Then she remembered she had dropped it last night. It was under the basement stairs.

“Not going to do me a whole hell of a lot of good down there,” she murmured.

She peered around before stepping across the threshold. “Hello?” Her voice echoed throughout the two-story foyer—off the marble floor and the ornate plaster ceiling. The paint was peeling off the plaster like it was the exterior and several crystals in the chandelier were shattered, fragments lying on the scratched marble floor.

What were Declan’s plans for the house? Did he want it restored?

From estimating previous projects, she had an idea how much money it would take to return the mansion to its former glory. More than Declan would probably be able to get out of it—if he intended to flip it, like he had other properties. He wasn’t just CEO of SinCo; he’d built the company from the ground up. So maybe he was going to develop the land instead. The three hundred acres might get him a return on his initial investment if he turned it into a housing subdivision or something. But she grimaced at the thought of Uncle Mac’s ranch adjoining a real estate development.

“Hello!” she called out again. Nobody else’s voice echoed back at her. She heard nothing else. No creaking. No footsteps. Not even the scurry of rodent feet.

She shuddered at the thought of dealing with rats or mice. But no doubt animals had moved in when the humans had moved out. That was probably what she’d heard and seen the night before—some nocturnal creature like a raccoon or possum.

She probably hadn’t actually locked the door last night, either. As rattled as she’d been, she might have turned the key the wrong way before pulling it out. Maybe instead of locking it, she had unlocked it.

She expelled a slight breath of relief at the rationalization. Of course she knew that was what she was doing—trying to convince herself that everything was fine. She had been doing that most of her life, so it was second nature to her now.

It was also how she had survived. So she wasn’t about to change her ways. Even though she was only twenty-seven, she was still too set in them. Or maybe, as some people including Mac and Declan had accused her, she was too stubborn to change. Instead of being insulted, she’d always taken that as a compliment.

She was tenacious. As she glanced around the damaged house, she was glad that she was. A less tenacious woman might have turned around and walked back out.

As damaged as the house was, though, it was still apparent how beautiful it had once been. The foyer was quite grand, with French doors opening off it on the left to a parlor and living room and an arched hallway to the right leading to the dining room and kitchen. And in the middle of the space wound a grand staircase to the second-story landing.

She could almost hear the music from the parties she’d heard had been held here. The murmurs of conversation, the tinkling of laughter...

What had it been like to grow up here? It was a far cry from the overcrowded foster home where she and Declan had grown up. Was that why Declan had bought it? Did it represent some sort of accomplishment to him?

She knew it was important to him. She just didn’t know why. But because it was important, she had to get it ready for him. He couldn’t see it like this or he might be horribly disappointed—in the house and in her.

She turned around again, surveying the damage. “Where do I start?” she murmured.

The kitchen. She would need the plumbing and appliances functioning in order to stay there while she did inventory of the furnishings, and Declan would need it working for his visit, as well. La Bonne Vie was too far from town to order takeout. They would have to be able to prepare their own meals. When he came, he would have to tell her what he intended to do with the estate. Maybe he just hadn’t said yet because he wanted to assess the property in person before he decided.

She passed through the dining room, with its elegant coffered ceiling, to the kitchen. Sunlight worked its way through the vines and grime covering the many windows to gleam off the stainless steel counters that looked like they had begun to rust. The wooden floor had buckled near where the sink must have leaked. The doors to that cabinet stood open, as if they’d rotted off their hinges. She could smell the dankness of water damage and mold.

She would need a plumber for certain and definitely a carpenter. She moved toward the stove, about to check the gas, when she heard the noises again. The basement steps creaked as if beneath someone’s weight.

Instinctively she reached for her purse again, but then remembered the pepper spray was gone. So she reached instead for the metal pot holder dangling over the island, and she grabbed a heavy iron skillet. Declan had taught her how to swing a bat. She suspected this wouldn’t be much different.

It would do for protection.

Drawing in a deep breath, she opened that basement door again. But she didn’t see anything this time. Was it just the sounds of a neglected house settling into disrepair?

Something scraped across cement, and she knew it was more than the house. Something—or somebody—was down there. But she was the only one with a right to be in this house—in Declan’s house.

So she started down the stairs with the frying pan held over her shoulder like a bat. She was ready to swing. But when she reached the bottom step, she couldn’t tell where that scraping noise had come from.

It was farther away than the stairs, than the utility room. She had no idea how big the basement was or where the dark hallway might lead. She needed more than the frying pan. So she moved around the stairwell until she stood beneath it. Cobwebs brushed across her face and clung to her hair, but she felt around in the shadows until she found it—the can of pepper spray.

Its metal was dented and dirtied with dust. As she reached for it, she noticed a bright patch of color lying in the dirt next to it. She picked up the piece of pink lace along with the can. The handkerchief must not have rolled around in the dirt like the pepper spray because it wasn’t nearly as dirty.

Where had it come from?

She doubted River had had it on him the night before. But Mac could have; it might belong to the woman he’d started dating, Evelyn. Edith had met her at Thorne’s wedding. She dropped it into her purse so she could ask him about it later. But she held on to the pepper spray yet because she heard that noise again—that scraping noise...

Someone else was down here. This time Edith would find the intruder and deal with him once and for all.

* * *

Why had it taken ten years after seizing the estate for the FBI to sell it? Why now? For a decade, it had sat empty—abandoned.

Now there were too damn many people coming in and out, poking around.

Trembling fingers reached for the volume on the speakers, turning them down. It wouldn’t do for anyone to hear that echo—of that damn scraping noise.

What the hell was going on?

The person didn’t tremble with fear but with rage. With fury.

Those shaking fingers reached for other things now—for the gun lying atop an old bureau. Or the knife...

Even from down here, in one of the secret rooms, someone might be able to hear a gunshot. And if they came to investigate...

He or she would have to die with whoever was investigating now. That scraping sound was against one of the walls of the secret room. Too close.

So close that whoever it was might accidentally trip the switch to open the door. And if they did that, they would have to die.

The person picked up the knife and gripped it tightly. Yes, it would have to be the knife.

It would be quick and quiet. And there were other rooms where a body could be hidden...where it might never be found.

Chapter 5

Excitement coursed through River. He was so glad he’d rushed over to the estate while Edith had been in the shower at Mac’s, so he’d had time to investigate before she showed up. This had to be one of them—one of Livia’s secret rooms. The wall wasn’t thick enough to be an exterior one. It wouldn’t have been installed to support anything, either. He’d found it at the back of the wine cellar. Maybe it was just a place to store more expensive bottles.

But Livia wouldn’t have hidden those. If she had anything of value or beauty, she had put it on display. She’d only hidden her dirty money and her secrets and the evidence that had eventually put her away.

His paternity was one of those. Who was his father that Livia had hidden his identity? One of the drug dealers or human traffickers with whom she’d associated?

The thought turned River’s stomach. He pulled the crowbar back from the wall. He’d been shoving its end between the bricks of the cement wall, trying to get them to budge. He hadn’t wanted to knock them down; he suspected instead that one of the cracks between the blocks hid a lever—something that would open the entire wall.

He could see where the dust on the ground had been disturbed around it. Maybe the FBI had done it when they’d searched the house again. But that had been a few months ago, long enough for the dust to have settled again.

Unless it kept getting disturbed.

Edith might have seen something—someone—the night before. If she hadn’t screamed...

If he hadn’t rushed in when he had...

Would that person have done something to her? Hurt her?

His stomach flipped again at the thought of her being in danger or worse yet, hurt. He had to make certain that didn’t happen. And the best way to do that would be to find that person wherever he was hiding.

Whatever he was hiding...

River had had enough of secrets. It was time to learn the truth—no matter how horrible that might be. He lifted the crowbar to the wall again. Just as he began to swing the tip toward what looked to be a bit of metal sticking out between the blocks, he heard it.

The scrape of shoes against the concrete and a soft gasp. He dropped the crowbar and whirled around to face Edith. She had her can of pepper spray grasped tightly in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

“Are you going to blind me or cook me?” he asked.

“You’re lucky I didn’t spray you or hit you,” she said with a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you doing down here again?”

Feigning surprise, he lifted a brow. “I’m checking out the house like I told you I would last night.”

“And I told you that wasn’t necessary,” she said.

“I promised Mac that I’d make sure you’d be safe here,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. They’d all talked about his coming back the next morning to check the place out. “I wanted to make sure there really wasn’t anyone else in here.”

Her big, dark eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “Seems funny the only person I ever actually find inside is you. Why do you keep showing up here?”

If he told her the truth, that he was looking for information, she’d probably toss him out and never allow him back inside. So despite how much he hated them, he’d actually have to keep a secret of his own.

It wasn’t the only one he was keeping, though. There were things that had happened while he’d been deployed that he couldn’t talk about—even if he’d wanted to. He was honor bound to his country and his fellow soldiers. He wasn’t honor bound to Edith.

Something else bound him to her, though—a desire that quickened his pulse and heated his blood every time he was near her. And he wasn’t near enough. He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice as he finally answered her question. “You,” he said. “You’re the reason I keep showing up here.”

Her full lips parted on a soft gasp, and her eyes widened again. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked.

Like her uncle, she was straightforward. He appreciated that. Hell, he appreciated entirely too much about her—like her body and her face and her voice and her sexy-as-sin scent.

He laughed and touched the scars on the right side of his face. “Like you’d be interested in me...”

She gasped again, but it was his name that slipped out between her lush lips. “River!”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I’m not looking for pity.” That would be a hell of a lot easier to find, though. He’d just have to go into town or to a family function. They all looked at him like that.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

And he tensed. She wasn’t just straightforward. She was smart, too.

She gestured at the crowbar he’d dropped. “I heard you scraping at something.”

He shrugged. “I was just killing some spiders.”

Her eyes were still narrowed. “With a crowbar? What do you swat a fly with? A shovel?”

“The crowbar was handy,” he said. “And the spiders were big.”

She shuddered in revulsion. She wore more clothes than she had last night or this morning. Now she had on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt—probably because of the bugs and spiders she’d known would be in the house. She glanced around the basement. “That’s all you found down here?”

“I found some rats and a squirrel.” But he knew he’d been close to finding something else. If he’d hit that latch in the wall, he might have opened one of his mother’s secret rooms. He might have found some of her secrets. “Oh, and a snake, too.”

She shuddered again. “Let’s go upstairs, then,” she said. And she hurried down the hall toward the stairs.

He appreciated following her, appreciated the curve of her hips in her jeans, and appreciated how her butt moved as she climbed the steps. Her legs were long and toned—probably from the running. She was slender but not so slender that she didn’t have lush curves.

When she reached the top, she glanced back at him—as if she’d been aware of his staring. As if she’d felt it.

He wanted to touch her, so badly that he curled his fingers into his palms. She was already leery of him. He had to be careful.

But he found himself admitting, “I am looking for something...”

She tensed now. “What?”

“A job,” he said.

“I thought you’ve been working with Uncle Mac on the ranch,” she said.

He nodded. “But like I told you, I’m not looking for pity. And I think that’s the only reason he’s made work for me. Thorne really runs the place. They don’t need me.”

That was true. They didn’t. Nobody did. He’d been gone ten years and they’d all functioned just fine without him. He really had no reason to stay in Shadow Creek—except that he had no place else to go.

He wasn’t about to feel sorry for himself, though. He hadn’t lost nearly as much as some people had. “But I need to do something...” Like find out who the hell his father was. “And it looks like you need a lot done around here.”

Her dark eyes widened, and she blinked her long, thick lashes. “You want to work here? For me?”

He nodded. “It would be the perfect solution to both our problems. You need work done, and I need to work.” That was true. If he didn’t keep busy, he would have too much time to think—too much time to think about what he and the others on that last mission had lost.

She narrowed her eyes again and studied him with skepticism and suspicion. “How do I know you can handle the job?” she asked. Gesturing at the kitchen sink, she asked, “Have you done any carpentry work? Any plumbing?”

“I have,” he said. “During high school, I worked summers for Rafferty Construction, and since I’ve been back, I’ve helped my sister-in-law Allison, who owns the company now, with some projects.”

“Why aren’t you working for her now?” she asked.

“Are you in Human Resources?” River asked. Because he felt like he was being interviewed. “What exactly is your job title?”

Her wide mouth curved into a slight, sexy smile. “Everything,” she said. “That’s my job title. So yeah, I’ve been part of the hiring process. My boss usually has to approve all hires, though.”

“You don’t think he would hire me?” River asked.

“He is very private,” she said. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s purchased La Bonne Vie.”

“Why not?”

Her smile slid away, and she looked tense.

And he realized she didn’t know, either.

She shrugged. “That’s his business. And he doesn’t want anyone else knowing it.”

“I can respect that,” River said. “That’s why I’m not working for Rafferty Construction. Coworkers stared, asked questions. And reporters were able to track me down on the jobsites. They took pictures...” He shuddered like she had over the spiders.

“You don’t think they’ll find you here?” she asked. Even as she asked it, they heard the rumble of engines as vehicles pulled into the driveway.

He groaned. “I hope they haven’t. Maybe that’s just Mac again.” But he doubted it. Mac had trusted that River would make sure his niece was safe here. And he wasn’t likely to willingly return to La Bonne Vie unless he had a damn good reason.

Maybe they’d caught Livia, and she was back behind bars where she belonged. But someone would have called him with that news. At least one of his siblings would realize he’d want to know. He pulled out his cell and stared down at the standard screen saver.

He had missed no calls.

And they wouldn’t have driven out here. Nobody but Mac knew that he’d intended to come back to La Bonne Vie. And Mac thought he’d only been doing that to keep Edith safe. But if those were reporters pulling up outside the estate, who was going to keep him safe?

* * *

Edith hadn’t missed the dread on River’s face—the tension tightening his already clenched jaw. He didn’t want to see if those were reporters who had pulled up outside. And she didn’t blame him.

It wasn’t his responsibility. “You can stay in here,” she offered, as she walked down the hallway heading from the kitchen back to the foyer.

“You shouldn’t go out there alone,” he said as he followed her. It wasn’t like when he’d followed her down the basement hallway. Then she’d felt his gaze on her—on her body. And her skin had heated.

He wasn’t looking at her at all now. His neck was arched, as he tried to peer out the windows through all the ivy covering them.

She laughed off his concern. “I’m usually alone,” she told him, “in far more dangerous situations than this.”

He caught her arm and spun her back around in the foyer. “Why? Where?”

She laughed harder. “I grew up in New Orleans.” But she’d thickened her drawl and pronounced it the correct way. “I’ll be fine, cher.” She held up her hand with the canister of pepper spray in it. “I have this.”

He tilted his head and studied her face. “Have you ever used it?” he asked.

Her lips curved down, her smile slipping away, as she remembered and nodded. It hadn’t been pretty, but she had done what she’d had to do. She still felt bad about it, though.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t hesitate to use it again if you need to.”

With him and his ridiculously muscular body beside her, she doubted she would need to use it. He would scare anyone away. But he stepped back as she opened the door, so whoever was outside would see only her.

Lightbulbs flashed, blinding her, as questions bombarded her. “Are you the new owner of La Bonne Vie?”

“What is your name?”

“What are your plans for the place?”

Squinting against the bursts of light and the sun shining overhead, she peered at a crowd of faces and microphones and cameras. And she understood why River had stepped away from the open door.

Growing up as one of the notorious Coltons, he’d been hounded by paparazzi probably almost his whole life. Except for when he’d been deployed.

Reporters had speculated where he was those ten years he’d been gone. But none had known. She wondered if even his family knew.

“Miss, what is your name?”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Aren’t you afraid of owning Livia Colton’s home?”

Her hand clenched on the pepper spray canister. She was tempted to use it. Maybe this was how River had wanted her to. But she resisted the urge.

Instead she raised her voice and said, “You are all trespassing! Leave the estate immediately or I will call the police and report you.”

“So you are the owner?” a male reporter persisted. But he sounded skeptical. “You have the authority to report trespassers?”

She groaned at the man’s arrogance and chauvinism. “I have a legal right to be here,” she said. “You do not.”

But her threat hadn’t compelled any of them to leave. They kept taking pictures and asking questions. And her head began to pound.

She’d worried about someone being inside the house earlier. But she’d had no idea how bad it was to have them outside. Yet that didn’t seem to be enough for them. They crept closer to her and lifted their cameras to snap pictures over her head—of the interior.

“What is the condition of the home?” one asked.

“Is there any evidence of Livia’s crime spree left inside?”

She pulled the door shut behind herself. “You need to leave. Now!” She reached for her purse, trying to fumble her cell phone from the inside of it. Her fingers skimmed across the bit of lace she’d picked up earlier. But she couldn’t find her phone.

Had she dropped it somewhere? Left it on the kitchen counter?

Nobody listened to her. They stepped closer, as if they were going to reach around her to open the door. Was River still inside? Would he help her stop them?

She heard another vehicle pull in. Or were more of them going to just keep coming?

A horn blared, drawing the reporters’ attention toward the big truck that had roared up the drive. “Get the hell out of here!” a deep voice boomed as Thorne Colton stepped out of the driver’s door.

Edith breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her cousin. He rushed up toward where she stood at the front door. As he moved through the crowd, they took his photo and bombarded him with questions.

“What are you doing here, Thorne? Do you have a relationship with the new owner?”

“Are you going to be living on the estate again?”

Thorne held up his big hands and waved the reporters off. “I’ve called the sheriff. He will be arriving soon to arrest anyone who is still trespassing on the property.”

While they hadn’t listened to Edith, they seemed to believe Thorne and started moving toward their vehicles. As they walked away, Thorne snapped a couple photos with his phone. “And if anyone comes back, these pictures will be turned over to the sheriff,” he said. “So you will be arrested for illegally accessing a private property.”

One bold reporter lingered and had the audacity to ask, “Aren’t you trespassing, too?”

“Then I guess the sheriff will arrest me when he gets here, and we’ll be going to jail together, Jake.” His bluff was enough to send the reporter scurrying toward his network van.

Edith didn’t relax or turn to her cousin until all the vehicles had driven off. Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you!” She pulled back slightly. “And thank you for calling the sheriff!”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “He’s worthless.”

“Good to know...” What if there really had been an intruder in the house? If she had called for help, apparently none would have come.

But she hadn’t had to call...because she had River.

She’d had River. Where had he gone?

Only Thorne had come to her rescue this time. Why?

Her brow furrowed as she stared up at her cousin’s handsome face. His skin was lighter than hers and his eyes a pale brown. Even though they were just cousins, they looked more alike than Thorne looked like his brother River or any of his other siblings for that matter. But no matter what they looked like, all the Coltons were attractive.

An image of River flashed into her mind again—shirtless as he’d been that morning with a couple sets of dog tags nestled against his pecs. Her face heated and she stepped back.

“How did you know I needed help?” she asked.

“River,” Thorne replied. And he glanced around as if expecting his brother to be there.

Edith shrugged. “I don’t know where he went.” She hadn’t even known how he’d gotten there. When she’d arrived, the only vehicle parked outside had been hers. She hadn’t seen a horse, either—unless he’d put it inside the barn behind the house.

She sighed as she glanced toward the other structures on the property. She would have to inspect those buildings and inventory their contents, as well. She had a big job to do. Would it be more manageable with River’s help? Or would he just prove a distraction she didn’t need?

* * *

Thorne hadn’t seen his cousin since his wedding and he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to her that day. There had been so many other guests but most of all there had been his bride, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. And he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but her and how much he loved her and the family they were about to start together. Maggie was already carrying his baby.

Guilt flashed through him now, and he understood the guilt his father always felt about Edith. Just like Mac hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him, Thorne felt like he hadn’t, either.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re going to be working here?” he asked.

“I wasn’t at liberty to say,” she replied.

“At liberty?” He snorted, and his guilt turned to frustration. He remembered why nobody helped Edith—because just as her mother had with Mac, she never asked for it, never admitted she needed it. “You work for a real estate development firm, not the CIA. Why the hell aren’t you at liberty to say?”

She glared at him. “I have a confidentiality agreement with my employer.”

“That agreement says you can’t even tell anyone who you work for?”

She nodded.

And he cursed. “Maybe you do work for the CIA, although I can’t imagine what the hell they’d want with this place.” He turned toward the house and shook his head. “I can’t imagine what anyone wants with this place.”

She said nothing but he wasn’t certain if that was because she wasn’t at liberty to say, or if it was because she didn’t know.

“There’s a hell of a lot of work to do here,” he continued. “You can’t handle all of this alone.” Was her employer going to send reinforcements or expect her to do everything herself?

She sighed and nodded. “That’s true. I can’t.”

He widened his eyes in astonishment. “I can’t believe you’re actually admitting you can’t do everything alone.”

She lifted her chin and bristled with pride. “I can do everything...but plumbing and fixing the AC. I need to hire someone to do that.”

“Rafferty Construction—”

“River offered to work here,” Edith said.

“River?” He glanced at the house again, surprised that his brother would consider working here. That he would even want to be around this place and its memories ever again. “He’s been working at the ranch.”

“He said you don’t really need him.”

“That’s not it.” Thorne sighed. “We’ve been taking it easy on him. We don’t know how badly he’s injured.”

She nodded. “He was right.”

“About what?”

“The pity,” she replied. “He thinks everybody pities him.”

They had several reasons for feeling that way. He’d been hurt in the line of duty, and he’d been hurt again when he’d returned home to find out the man he’d believed was his dad wasn’t. A DNA test had confirmed Wes Kingston’s suspicion that he wasn’t River’s father. But nobody knew who was. Maybe not even Livia herself. Poor River...

“Do you pity him?” Thorne asked. “Is that why you’d hire him?”

“I would hire him because I don’t think he’s going to bother me to find out who my boss is,” she said. “I don’t think he’s going to talk to the press, either.”

Thorne chuckled. “That’s the last thing he’d do.” He didn’t want any media attention. That was why they’d all promised to keep it secret that he didn’t know who his father was.

“Can I trust him?” Edith asked.

“I just said he won’t go to the press—”

“I’m not talking about that,” Edith said. “I just want to know that he’s a man I can trust. We’ll be working alone together in this house.”

“Of course,” Thorne said. “River’s a man of honor. A hero.”

“Thanks for being my hero right now,” Edith told him with a hug. But she pulled away from him and headed back toward the house.

Knowing he was being dismissed, Thorne headed toward his truck. As he drove away, he wondered about what he’d told her. He wondered if River could be trusted. His brother had been gone ten years. How well did any of them really know him?

After whatever he’d been through, how well did River even know himself?

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