In Jennifer D. Bokal’s new Rocky Mountain Justice romance, a lone agent falls for the enemy

When security expert Cody Samuels finds fugitive Viktoria Mateev in hiding, he can’t believe his luck. Turning her in will be the perfect revenge on the crime family who destroyed Cody’s DEA career. But to his surprise, Cody is just in time to rescue Viktoria from assassins. He soon finds himself tracking her son’s kidnappers—and trying to resist his deepest desires...

To keep her son from her ruthless in-laws, Viktoria went on the run. Now she’s teaming up with a man she can’t trust. Cody’s courage and bold gambits are a temptation Viktoria can’t resist—even as a risky sacrifice guarantees they may not survive to see another holiday.

Cody released his hold on Viktoria. What kind of jerk would steal a kiss when her son had just been kidnapped?

But without a word, Viktoria closed the distance between them. She pressed her lips onto his cheek. “For luck,” she whispered.

Without another thought about right or wrong, Cody slid his arm around her waist and pulled Viktoria closer. Her breasts pressed into his chest, warm and inviting.

He placed his mouth on hers. Viktoria wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips. He moved his tongue into her mouth and she greeted him in return. Cody’s hands traveled down, memorizing her form. Their kiss became his world. His universe. His everything...

* * *

Rocky Mountain Justice: These Colorado mercenaries fight for duty and honor

Dear Reader,

Confession time: I’ve been a lifelong Harlequin romance reader, so I’m especially thrilled to introduce Rocky Mountain Justice, my first series for Harlequin Romantic Suspense. More even, is that this is a holiday romance, which are my favorite kind of books to read! Nothing says the holidays to me like a book that brings together family, traditions—and, of course, love.

Although I’ve been known to scour the shelves at my local bookstore in October looking for the latest holiday romances, I also love a great romantic suspense. Because what’s better than two people trying to save the world while at the same time losing themselves in each other?

For you, dear reader, I wish you all the joys and wonder of the season. May your days be filled with laughter and your nights filled with love. I also hope you enjoy reading Her Rocky Mountain Hero as much as I did writing it!

Happy holidays,

Jennifer D. Bokal

PS: Please visit me on Facebook at Facebook.com/Jennifer-D-Bokal-1527295950883205 or follow me on Twitter, @jenbokal. Looking forward to chatting with you!

Her Rocky Mountain Hero

Jennifer D. Bokal

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER D. BOKAL is the author of the bestselling ancient-world historical romance The Gladiator’s Mistress, and the second book in the Champions of Rome series, The Gladiator’s Temptation. Happily married to her own alpha male for twenty years, she enjoys writing stories that explore the wonders of love in many genres. Jen and her husband live in upstate New York with their three beautiful daughters, two aloof cats and two very spoiled dogs.

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In memory of my father, Jim “Mac” McDarmont. A girl couldn’t have asked for a better dad. Thank you for always believing in me and teaching me to believe in myself.

And to my husband, John. Without you, I wouldn’t be me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

December 23

4:00 p.m.

Telluride, Colorado

The sun hung above the horizon; the final rays of the day cast long shadows over the mountains and into the valley below. Cody Samuels shouldered open the door of his house and propped his skis against the wall. Balancing his poles next to them, he then worked his feet out of his hard, formfitting downhill boots.

He was glad he’d had a chance to go skiing. It looked like he might be forced to stay inside for the next few days. The weather was about to turn nasty and bring what the local meteorologists were calling “The Blizzard of the Century.” Actually, being snowed in for a few days didn’t seem so bad. It would help take away the sting of being alone over a holiday.

Closing the door, he carried his gear to the storage room next to the kitchen. His tablet sat on the counter, and he gave it a glance as he passed. A message icon glowed. When he finished putting his gear away, he returned and tapped it to open the email.

To: Samuels, Cody

From: Rocky Mountain Justice

Re: Mateev, Viktoria

Mateev, Viktoria. Cody’s shoulders tightened and his pulse spiked. The name Mateev was one he hoped to never see again and at the same time he looked for everywhere.

23 December

This message is an alert. One or more people hired to be found by RMJ have been located via facial recognition software. Please access the case file and make all necessary contacts.

Sir Ian Wallace

Founder and CEO, Rocky Mountain Justice

Scrolling down, he found a heavily pixelated photo of a blonde woman behind a steering wheel, along with an inset photo of the car’s Colorado license plate. A link took him to the case file. It contained half a dozen separate documents. Most originated from New York State’s Child Protective Services and contained reports of severe neglect by Viktoria Mateev of her son Gregory, aged four.

Damn the Mateevs. They’d haunted him since his days with the DEA. Clearly, he wasn’t through with them yet.

The Mateev family had been embroiled in crime from their very beginnings. They were infamous, not just in their native Russia but throughout the world. In the 1990s the Mateevs had strong ties in Brooklyn, New York. After being brought up on racketeering charges, the Mateevs left the country, but continued to practice their brand of lawlessness in Russia.

Cody discovered they’d returned to the US when a confidential informant had come forward with information that linked several Denver drug dealers to a cartel. Cody’s superiors were unimpressed with the CI, low-hanging fruit as far as the criminal underworld was concerned, and they never opened an investigation.

But Cody’s gut told him otherwise.

He began developing a case on his own time and met with the CI on several occasions. It was in one of those meetings that the name Nikolai Mateev was brought up.

Cody already knew of Mateev by his family’s very nefarious reputation. He again approached his superiors, this time with a signed affidavit. Cody’s supervisor promised to send the information up the chain of command.

To this day, Cody had no idea if the promise was ever kept. The next Saturday afternoon, he met the CI at a crowded Denver park. The man said only a few words before pulling out a gun and aiming it at Cody. Cody had no choice but to fire his own weapon in self-defense. A perfect shot to the head killed the man instantly. But the CI’s gun, which Cody clearly recalled him drawing, was never found, and too many witnesses saw nothing more than an armed federal officer shooting what they believed to be an innocent man. That moment ended not only a life, but Cody’s career with the Drug Enforcement Administration, as well.

He stared at the screen, seeing only the CI’s lifeless body and a gun that at one time had been real, but had apparently disappeared into thin air. An ache began between his shoulder blades and shot up his neck, enveloping his whole head. It ended with a stabbing pain between his eyes. Cody took in a long breath and held it to the count of ten and then twenty. He exhaled, still feeling that old fury rising within him, but then forced himself to read on.

The next document was an intake from RMJ and gave the case’s history. Viktoria Mateev was last seen in August as she left a hearing to determine her parental rights. When court reconvened the next day, she never showed. Calls and visits to her apartment were fruitless. Fearing for the safety of her son, the Department of Justice issued an AMBER Alert.

There were no leads.

A month later a car was sold for cash in Grand Junction, Colorado. The VIN was entered by the dealership into the DMV’s database and brought up Viktoria Mateev’s name. Searches of Grand Junction and the surrounding communities turned up nothing. Then New York State hired Rocky Mountain Justice.

Cody found that fact odd. RMJ was expensive, exclusive and not usually involved in simple custody cases. It raised questions for which he had no answers. Unless this wasn’t a simple custody case.

As was protocol, if Viktoria or Gregory Mateev were found, he’d been instructed to report to local law enforcement and offer all information obtained and any assistance required.

The final document contained a known picture of Viktoria along with basic personal information. In it, a smiling Viktoria wore a tailored red blazer and gray silk blouse. A double strand of pearls hung around her neck. She had large brown eyes and perfectly straight chin-length blond hair. She was attractive in a very cosmopolitan kind of way—beautiful, really. And certainly, the woman in the picture bore a striking resemblance to the one in the traffic photo. Still, it was Cody’s job to be certain.

Alongside was a picture of Gregory Mateev, a family snapshot of a kid with a mop of dark hair, sitting on a beach with a bucket in his hand.

A short bio followed: Viktoria Mateev, age twenty-nine, was the wife and now widow of one Lucas Mateev. Viktoria was the custodial parent of the missing Gregory Mateev, age four. Residents of New York City—Manhattan, specifically—Viktoria was a stay-at-home mom and Lucas was listed as a medical sales representative. Or he had been until his death in July, the victim of a hit-and-run accident while crossing a New York City street.

Neither the driver nor the car that struck and killed Lucas was ever found. Alarm bells began clanging in Cody’s brain.

Cody returned to the original traffic picture, expanding it until it filled the screen. The woman’s hair was longer and now fell around her shoulders, but that was to be expected if she no longer had it cut regularly. The nose and lips were the same, but there were also differences. He studied her face, complexion—pallid, with dark smudges under her eyes and a tightened jaw. In a word, she looked haunted.

Or maybe hunted.

Without question, that was Viktoria Mateev in the photograph. Like the best Christmas present in the world, Cody had been gifted with a Mateev needing to be brought to justice. And this time would be different—this Mateev wouldn’t get away.

But to find out where she was now, he had to figure out where she’d been. The bottom of the photo had a small location and time stamp—Telluride: West Colorado Avenue/South First Street. 23 December, 1:32 p.m.

Cursing, he ripped his fleece cap from his head and threw it on the counter. More than two hours gone. If Viktoria Mateev was just passing through, she could very well be in New Mexico by now. Then in Mexico by tomorrow. He compressed the picture, examining the whole. The car was a late-model sedan, from an American manufacturer, gray and covered with dust.

The car was completely unremarkable, maybe even intentionally so. He examined the photo further. Strapped securely to the roof was a small pine tree. In the back seat, Cody could see the outline of a child.

No, Viktoria Mateev was not simply passing through Telluride. She was local, planning to celebrate Christmas with her son—and who knew who else. Maybe someone from the Mateev family?

Using her license plate number, Cody searched satellite images from earlier in the day and traced a route that led to a cabin tucked away in the foothills of the Rockies. The same car was parked in the drive. Another search gave him an address and the property’s owner. The cabin had been rented for the winter, and the current tenant’s name was not listed. Bingo.

Cody slipped his phone out of his pocket, then paused. For a moment, he thought about the significance of the date—December 23.

Casting his gaze at his refrigerator, he quickly glanced at the card his sister, Sarah, had sent—a family picture taken at Thanksgiving was attached with a magnet. On the bottom, next to the printed holiday greeting, was a note in Sarah’s loopy script inviting him to visit.

Memories of other holidays—some happy, some bittersweet—came to Cody. He blocked them all. He’d never been much for celebrating, but this year might be different. Would anything bring him more joy than bringing down a Mateev?

Chapter 1

December 23

9:00 p.m.

Outside of Telluride, Colorado

The timer’s insistent beep filled the small cabin. A slender pine tree stood in the corner. Red, green and white lights twinkled from each branch. The sharp scent of pine mingled with the sweetness of baking sugar cookies to create an aroma that was wholly Christmas. Viktoria Mateev set the bowl of green frosting aside and rose from the table. Before walking to the oven, she leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her son Gregory’s head.

He held up a cookie—Kris Kringle’s profile dripped with thick red frosting. “Do you think Santa will like this one?” Gregory asked.

“It will be his favorite,” she said. She opened the oven door and heat rushed upward, immediately fogging the windowpane nearby. The darkened outline of full evergreens and the frail branches of white aspens that surrounded her cabin were suddenly invisible.

It was almost as if the rest of the world could not see her, or Gregory, either. She exhaled and her chest contracted as if embracing the emptiness of a holiday spent alone. It was her first Christmas since her husband, Lucas, had died. She couldn’t even call her parents, fearing that their phones were being monitored. Standing taller, Viktoria reminded herself that she wasn’t alone. She was with her son and they were safe.

After pulling out the last two trays of cookies, Viktoria set them on the back burners of the stove to cool. “What else are you going to make for Santa?”

Gregory held up a reindeer-shaped cookie covered in green frosting and bright red sprinkles. “This one is for you.” He spoke around a spoon that had once sat in one of the frosting bowls. Pulling it from his mouth, Gregory smiled. His teeth and lips were stained green. Her son’s enthusiasm for the season was infectious and Viktoria couldn’t help but smile in return.

It was the simplicity and love in this moment that she sought. To give Gregory some Christmas joy, she had risked everything by slipping down the mountain and into town. The streets of Telluride had been teeming with people, an interesting combination of locals and wealthy tourists who came for a holiday on the slopes. At first the crowd had left her terrified of being seen and recognized. Yet as she turned off the oven, Viktoria convinced herself that the crowd had been a blessing. Certainly, she and Gregory had blended in—just two more faces out of many.

As Gregory iced another cookie, Viktoria knew the risk had been worth it. Even if the state of New York considered her to be an unfit parent, even if all the evidence against her had been lies, even if she knew that her deceased husband’s family had unparalleled wealth to orchestrate it all—Viktoria couldn’t deny her son the joy of the season. Maybe she even needed some holiday tidings herself.

Gregory yawned and leaned into the side of his arm. The clock on the back of the stove read 9:05.

“It’s bedtime, Captain Kiddo,” Viktoria said as she tousled his hair.

“But we still have more cookies to decorate,” he complained.

“How about this,” she suggested. “You get ready for bed and I’ll put everything away. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and Santa won’t come until midnight, so there’s plenty of time to finish decorating cookies in the morning.”

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Gregory said with a mock salute as he scooted off one of the mismatched chairs. “I’m going to get ready for bed, Agent Mommy.” The soles of his footed pajamas pitter-pattered as he crossed the room.

They had to find something else to watch beyond the DVDs of Phineas and Ferb that had been left in the cabin. “That’s Secret Agent Mommy,” she called after him, “and do a good job brushing your teeth.”

With a wistful smile, Viktoria rose and walked to the stove. Using a spatula, she lifted cookies from the tray and placed them on a plate. In the stillness, she suddenly heard an engine revving as it climbed the steep road several hundred yards away. She froze, not daring to breathe. She listened for the telltale sounds of a car approaching. The crunch of wheels on the cabin’s gravel driveway. The muffled music of a far-off radio or the near-silent shushing of windshield wipers as they cleared away a few stray snowflakes. A second passed and then another. There was nothing and yet she still held her breath.

She moved to the window and wiped the steam away. Outside she saw only the vast blackness of the winter night. As she exhaled, her breath collected on the glass, creating a barrier between her and the night once more.

They couldn’t have found her. No one in Colorado, much less Telluride, knew who she was. “They couldn’t have,” she said aloud.

“Who couldn’t have what?” Gregory asked.

Viktoria whirled around.

Face scrubbed, with a dab of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, Viktoria’s son stood right behind her. She’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t heard him approach. The past several months had taken their toll on Viktoria and she was so weary that she imagined she could sleep for days.

On the eve of her final hearing, Viktoria had been desperate, convinced that Gregory could be taken from her. She’d packed up their things and left their Manhattan apartment in the middle of the night, driving almost nonstop across country. During the intervening four months her son had asked few questions. He had no idea why they’d been living in relative seclusion. Nor would he. Their situation was her burden, not Gregory’s.

“I thought I heard reindeer hooves on the roof,” she said. If Viktoria was going to tell a lie two days before Christmas she might as well make it a big, fat, juicy one. “Then I thought, They couldn’t have come early.”

“Or one of Santa’s elves might be checking on us right now,” he said.

With mock sternness, Viktoria nodded slowly. “I bet you’re right.”

Gregory’s eyes grew big and his mouth hung open. With a deliberate snap of his jaw, he gave her a salute. “Good night, Secret Agent Mommy.”

He scampered up the stairs to the loft, where they both had beds. “I’ll be up in a minute for prayers,” she called after him. Viktoria knew what she would pray for. It was the same thing every night. She needed a miracle that would clear her name and allow her to return to the life she had abandoned to protect and keep Gregory.

* * *

Cody Samuels lay on his stomach, a thermal blanket between his body and the snow-covered ground. He looked through a set of binoculars and peered at the cabin set deep in the woods. Not for the first time, he cursed his bad fortune that the affable Sheriff Raymond Benjamin had assured Cody that his guys had the Mateev arrest covered and didn’t need the extra help. The weather, the sheriff claimed, was about to change and he didn’t want anyone caught in the storm. Cody’s interest in the case was far more compelling than his worry over a little snow. Their tactics had ruined more lives than Cody’s and moreover, he refused to lose a chance to question Viktoria Mateev.

The call Cody placed had been hours ago. Since then, he’d seen neither the promised storm nor a deputy. Yet here he remained, perched on the side of the hill—like a wayward Christmas tree.

The temperature plummeted after the sun sank behind the mountains and Cody was thankful that he’d thought to dress in layers of fleece and Gore-Tex. Yet all the time he waited gave Cody a sense of Viktoria Mateev.

Tall and lithe, she looked more attractive in person than she had in her photos. She wore blue jeans along with a red plaid shirt over a light-colored Henley. More than her beauty, she was clearly a loving and attentive mother, spending time teaching her son how to measure, stir and bake. Laughing with him. Talking with him.

In fact, Cody couldn’t quite find any sign of the unhinged parent the paperwork described. Or one hint of any of the other ruthless people he knew her family to be. Meaning...she had to be here alone.

The kitchen light went out, leaving the cabin dark. Viktoria and Gregory had gone to bed for the night. Why the hell hadn’t local law enforcement or social workers shown up yet? Slipping his phone from his breast pocket, Cody hit the home button. This far into the mountains there was no cell service, but the time was still accurate—9:15 p.m.

On his last trip to RMJ headquarters in Denver, Cody had returned his satellite phone because of a promise for an upgraded model with tighter security software in the New Year. At the time, Cody had doubted he’d need much over the holiday weekend.

He’d never been more wrong in his life.

With a sat phone, he could call Sheriff Benjamin and find out what was amiss. Because there was one thing Cody knew for sure—something was wrong about this case.

Turning his field glasses to the east, Cody followed the road. In the moonless night, the asphalt coiled in and around the snowy terrain, like a large black snake. Nothing. No headlights. No taillights. It was as if the report he had filed with the sheriff’s office had been forgotten.

And then the black road undulated. Rummaging in the pack at his side, he withdrew a pair of binoculars with night vision capabilities. Looking through the ocular, the world turned an eerie and unworldly green. Glancing back to the road, he saw two black SUVs traveling without lights. They turned up the long drive to the cabin, their engines running whisper quiet. Clouds of exhaust billowed and rose in the cold mountain air. At the front door of the cabin, three men dressed all in black exited the two SUVs. They adjusted balaclavas over their faces and checked their sidearms.

These definitely weren’t the local sheriff’s guys.

Instantly, Cody was on his feet, slinging the pack over his back as he ran toward the cabin. He dodged trees and jumped over fallen logs. Frigid air burned Cody’s nose and lungs, as his cold, stiff muscles protested from the sudden exertion. His pulse thrummed and sweat covered his skin.

With less than one hundred yards to go, Cody watched as the lock on the cabin’s front door was picked and two men rushed inside. The third man ran to the back of the property. Mere seconds later, one man exited the cabin and made his way to one of the idling SUVs. When he opened its back door, the interior light clicked on. Cody could make out someone seated in the rear who reached for a bundle the other man had carried from the cabin.

Not a bundle. The kid.

Mateev, Gregory. Cody saw the case’s paperwork in his mind’s eye. Age 4.

During Cody’s time with the DEA he’d borne witness to heinous acts committed by lawless people. But still, he believed everyone deserved justice and protection by the law. At the same time, most of the victims he’d encountered were involved in the illegal drug trade, as well. In short, there was no denying that if you played with fire, you’d eventually get burned. As far as Cody was concerned, it was easy to assume that Viktoria Mateev was complicit in bringing these men to her door. Even so, he was morally obligated to help—regardless of his own investment in her capture.

But the kid? He was too young to be tangled up in any criminal enterprise and Cody pushed his legs faster, refusing to let someone so innocent become collateral damage.

The man in the back seat pulled the door shut while the other one slid into the driver’s seat. The car’s tires kicked up snow and gravel as they searched for purchase. Once the tread gripped, the SUV sped backward down the drive. It turned on the street and disappeared, blending in to the black road in the black night.

Never one to believe in coincidences, Cody knew it wasn’t an accident that Viktoria Mateev’s son was kidnapped on the same day he’d verified her whereabouts. He hated to think that somehow Sheriff Benjamin was involved. Because that meant something even worse—Cody had inadvertently led these men right to her door.

* * *

The man came from the darkness just as the heavy feeling of sleep pulled Viktoria under. Yet, as his hand encircled her throat, she knew this was no nightmare and he was no apparition. He was blood and bone. When his fingers dug into her flesh, she cried out in pain but her voice wouldn’t come. Her throat burned. Her eyes watered.

The man pushed her down into the mattress as his grip tightened. With both hands, she pulled his wrist with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed and his hold broke free. Viktoria drew in a single gasping breath. She tried to rush from the bed, but the blankets tethered her and she fell to the floor.

Her pulse raced, echoing inside her skull. Her breath was shallow and she gasped. “Gregory,” she screamed.

There was no answer.

She scrambled forward, reaching for her son’s bed.

It was empty.

Her assailant, dressed in all black, face obscured, gripped her arm and yanked her to her feet. Pulling backward, Viktoria kicked out at the same instant, aiming for the man’s knee. Her socked foot connected, snapping cartilage and ligaments as the kneecap slid. For once, she was thankful for the self-defense classes she’d taken as a high school student. The man swore and fell over, releasing his grip on her as he went down. Viktoria stumbled back and turned, racing to the wooden stairs that connected the loft to the single room that made up the ground floor.

Suddenly her hair was grabbed from behind and her head snapped back. Viktoria clawed at the hand that held her, and finding the thumb she pulled back until she felt a pop. The man let go and Viktoria pitched forward, tumbling down the stairs. The floor rushed up and the air rushed just as quickly from Viktoria’s lungs in a single gust. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. The inside of her lip throbbed.

Still, she managed to pick herself up from the floor and run to the phone. Lifting the handset, she dialed 9.

The shadow of another man, a faceless silhouette against the darkness of the night, filled the space at the open front door.

She stifled a scream and fumbled for the next number—1.

That man ripped the phone from Viktoria’s grip. He slammed the handset onto the counter, leaving only plastic-and-metal rubble. He then jerked the base from the counter, pulling out the cord and chunks of plaster with it.

Viktoria dove for the door, but the man blocked her exit. Just as she drew back her fist to strike him, the attacker from upstairs came up from behind and grabbed her wrist. He wrenched her arm down and around, pinning it behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulder, forcing her to double over. No matter how desperate she was, she knew she couldn’t fight them both. Terror gripped her throat as she tried to think of a way to escape and found none.

“Gregory?” she said hoarsely. Her son was all that mattered to her.

“He’s safe,” said the man, who still held her wrist. “Go to the car,” he said to the other man. “This will take only a minute.”

“What have you done with my son!”

The man twisted her arm and forced Viktoria to drop to her knees. He spoke with a slight Russian accent. “You should have taken the offer. You were foolish to fight the vory v zakone.”

The offer. One million dollars to relinquish custody of Gregory.

“All of this is so my dead husband’s father can take Gregory back to Russia? You can’t steal my son.” Yet, tonight they were doing just that.

“In Russia, a man is the head of his family. This boy belongs to his grandfather.”

“This is America,” spat Viktoria. She struggled to rise to her feet. “And Gregory is my son. Nikolai Mateev cannot hope to raise my son as well as his own mother can. Take me to him!”

“Your son will be treated as a prince and will grow up wanting for nothing. You should have taken the money. But, you are a proud American and now your stubbornness will kill you.” He pushed her toward the floor. “Kneel.”

“No,” said Viktoria. She braced her feet and tried to pull away. The man held her wrist even tighter. Despite the pain searing through her shoulder, she twisted her body to try to break the man’s grip.

“Always the fighter,” said the man. “I admire your bravery, but you lost this battle before it even began.”

Something cold and hard pressed into her skull. Viktoria had never held a real gun, but it was not hard to imagine the barrel of a pistol shoved into the back of her head.

She saw only the wooden floor and the man’s shoes behind her own socks. Feet? Was this to be the last thing she saw in the world? She lifted her gaze and saw the Christmas tree sitting in the corner. At its very top stood the angel, her wings outstretched. It gave her a measure of solace and courage. Certain she was about to die, Viktoria closed her eyes and fixed her mind on her son.

* * *

Cody pressed his back into the worn wood of the cabin’s outside wall. He slipped the Glock 22 from the holster on his hip. One round in the chamber, thirteen in the magazine. It was the same sidearm he’d carried when he worked with the DEA. The weight and balance of the gun felt right, like shaking the hand of an old friend.

Crouching low, he cast a quick glance around the corner. The front door of the cabin still stood open. He had originally seen three men storm the cabin. One had left in the other SUV with a fourth guy holding Gregory Mateev. That meant two remained. A man now sat in the driver’s seat of the waiting SUV. Where was the other man? And more importantly, where was Viktoria Mateev?

He recognized an older-model sedan parked under a nearby canopy as the one Viktoria had been driving when caught by the traffic camera. The stench of gasoline rolled off the car and burned Cody’s eyes. Fuel trickled down from the rear bumper, where its gas line had been severed. Cody could see that the two rear tires had been slit. He imagined that the front ones had been cut, as well.

What had begun as an ordinary custody case had spiraled quickly out of control. These men were true specialists, sent on a professional hit. No matter what Viktoria Mateev might have done, Cody was duty bound to make sure that she wasn’t murdered.

Staying low and quiet, Cody raced to the other side of the cabin, coming up behind the SUV. As Cody crawled forward on his stomach, auto exhaust rolled over him in a putrid gray cloud. Looking up into the side mirror, he could clearly see the man in the driver’s seat keeping his eyes trained on the cabin’s front door.

The cabin remained dark and silent. Cody didn’t want to catalogue everything that might be happening inside. Before he could deal with that, he had to get past the driver.

With a whir, the driver’s side window lowered and acrid cigarette smoke cut through the stench of the exhaust. Reholstering his Glock, Cody marshaled the strength in his legs as he launched himself from the ground. Midstride, he redirected his body’s energy to his fist, which he aimed at six inches behind the man’s jaw.

The punch connected and the man’s head snapped back. For a moment, only the whites of his eyes were visible, then he fell sideways, his seat belt holding him upright. The cigarette dropped to the ground and Cody crushed it underfoot. After turning off the SUV’s ignition, he pocketed the keys. Reaching for his sidearm again, Cody turned to the cabin.

In the hours that Cody had spent watching Viktoria Mateev and her son, he had learned the cabin’s layout. The first floor contained one open living area with a sofa, chair and table against the far wall. The kitchen table stood in front of a fireplace that bisected an exterior wall. A small bathroom sat under stairs that ascended to a loft. All of it was accessed via a single door at the end of the kitchen counter.

The cabin’s interior was even darker than the outside and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. When they did, what he saw was horrifying. A man, clad completely in black, had Viktoria’s arm pinned behind her back and a gun pressed to the back of her head. She struggled against the assailant, but had nowhere to go.

“Do you pray?” the man asked her. “Because now’s the time for it.”

“Gregory,” Viktoria whispered. Cody could barely hear that she had spoken.

“He is safe.” With a soft click, the man released the safety on his weapon. “You, however, will see him in the next life.”

Chapter 2

Viktoria tensed. Like the hammer of God had fallen, a gun’s report boomed in the small cabin. The noise pressed in on her chest, squeezing her heart and lungs. The stench of burning sulfur wafted over her. She waited for the agony, the heat, the nothingness.

The man’s hold on her arm lessened, then released altogether. Free of his grip, Viktoria fell hard to her knees. She flipped over, ready to fight again. The assailant stared at her blankly and then tumbled to the side. In the meager moonlight seeping through the windows, she saw the shadow of another man. A tendril of smoke rose from the barrel of the pistol he still pointed toward her.

Scuttling on hands and feet, Viktoria pressed her back into the wall. A branch from the Christmas tree scraped her face but she paid it no mind. Her attention was trained on the man with the gun.

Dressed in black from head to foot, he was nothing more than a shadowy figure, his features lost in the darkness. Yet, she saw his eyes. They were light blue—the same crystalline blue of the sky over the Rocky Mountains on a crisp winter’s day.

He approached the man on the floor and placed two fingers under his chin. With a sigh and a shake of the head, he stood. Even without someone checking for a pulse, she knew her assailant was dead. A pool—black as tar—surrounded him and grew. The coppery scent of blood filled the cabin. It mingled with the tang of the pine tree and sweet scent of the cookies. She pressed a hand to her mouth and fought the urge to retch.

The man with the gun approached, trapping her against the wall and at the same time allowing her to see his features. He wore a black fleece cap. It was pulled down low, but not so low that it covered his face. The fringes of his dark brown hair were also visible. A dark sprinkling of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. At another time, in another life, she would have seen him as handsome. But now, he still held his gun. He was dangerous, deadly, and Viktoria was wholly at his mercy.

Panic and adrenaline made Viktoria’s breathing short and ragged. Her tongue was leaden, her mouth dry. Somehow, she managed to ask the only question that mattered. “Gregory? What have you done with Gregory?”

The man shook his head and took another step toward Viktoria. She shrank back, as if the cabin’s wall could absorb her.

“I don’t have your son,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

“Who are you?” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“I’m Cody Samuels,” he said. He slid his gun into a holster on his hip. “If you want to live, come with me.”

Viktoria pressed her hand to her mouth, unsure whether she should laugh or cry. Cody Samuels’s line sounded like something out of a bad movie. Yet this was real life, not a B-rated thriller. Her son was gone. Gregory was the only reason she had strength to get out of bed in the morning. How would she ever get him back?

More than the grief—that awful, sickening hollowness in her chest—was the despair at knowing she had been made powerless. Her only hope now was a stranger with a gun. Much like the man who had tried to kill Viktoria, Cody Samuels had materialized from the darkness, bringing with him death and destruction.

Indecision weighed her down. She knew nothing about Cody Samuels, less than nothing. Was he any better than the men who had stolen her son? In fact, Gregory might be his real target.

Perhaps he’d only spared her life to use her to meet his own wicked goals.

“We have to go,” Cody said. He lifted his hand a bit, reaching out to her.

Viktoria ignored his outstretched palm and rose on shaking legs. “They took my son,” she said. Somehow the words made this nightmare real. Fear took over and gripped her middle. Its intensity bent Viktoria double, escaping in a sob.

Cody stepped toward her.

“Are you hurt?”

The unexpected kindness of his question surprised her and she stood upright. Viktoria had a hard time imagining a possible assassin inquiring about her health. She catalogued her injuries—lip, shoulder, knee—and decided they were all manageable. She realized, though, that she was freezing. Her whole body trembled. Her teeth chattered. The room grew dim; the outline of furniture became indistinct. “I’m cold,” she said. The words she spoke didn’t seem to come from her.

“You’re in shock,” said Cody. He slipped off his parka and draped it over Viktoria’s shoulders. He gripped her biceps, and with his hands on her arms, he steered her past the body on the floor.

Something about the calm command of his voice, along with the warmth of his touch and scent of his coat—pine and earth and sweat—snapped Viktoria’s mind back into her body.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice was weak and her throat tight. “I’m okay,” she repeated, more to convince herself, and she stood up taller.

“Good,” he said. “We have to get you out of here. Now.”

She looked around the tiny cabin that had been her place of refuge for the past two months. All her meager possessions were here. She was wearing one of her two sets of pajamas—fleece bottoms and a long-sleeved thermal tee. For a moment, she wondered what she should take with her and how quickly she could pack. Once she and Gregory were together he would want some of his toys and books. She needed her money. Cody already stood by the door, looking into the night. His pistol was once again out of the holster and in hand, angled slightly down. Viktoria cast one more glance at the dead man on the floor, a vapor cloud rising from the pool of blood surrounding him. The sight left her light-headed and uneasy on her feet. She held on to the wall for support and moved to Cody’s side. Her boots sat nearby and she slipped them on over her thick wool socks.

Viktoria began to tremble again. “There were other men,” she said, “the ones who took my son.” How many had remained to make sure that her fight to keep Gregory was over, permanently?

Cody nodded toward a black SUV that sat silently in the driveway. “As far as I can tell, only three men invaded your cabin. One took your boy and left. Then, there’s the one back there.” He hitched his chin toward the dead man. “And the last guy is in the SUV.”

“How do you know all that?” she asked. Cody may have saved her, but who was he? His stare pinned her where she stood.

“I just do,” he said, before casting his light blue gaze out the door. A few fat snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, silvery white against the darkness of the mountains.

A spark of anger flickered to life inside her chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I just do?” she asked. Someone had taken her son and tried to kill her. She deserved some answers.

He didn’t bother to turn around, much less give her a response. Cody edged toward the door. The small spark of anger licked to life and became a flame. Fury warmed her and gave her something to cling to while dangling over the gaping pit of despair.

“Hey!”

She reached for his shoulder. The solid muscle was unmistakable under his polar fleece jacket. How long had it been since she had touched a man? Months—well before her husband, Lucas, had died. Cody turned and looked at her hand on his shoulder then raised his eyes to meet hers. Viktoria’s skin suddenly felt too tight. She pulled her hand away and pressed it to her chest.

Her son was missing. As handsome as Cody Samuels was, Viktoria was crazy to see him as anything other than a necessary—and risky—means to an end.

They stared at each other, not speaking, not moving. Viktoria didn’t even breathe.

She finally broke the silence. “Those men took my son. I need to know what you know.” After a moment, she thought to add, “Please.”

“I was keeping watch on your cabin,” he said, “I saw the men arrive, but was too far away to stop the kidnapping.”

At least he’d been close enough to save her life.

“Why were you watching me?”

“It’s a long story that’s going to get longer before this night is over. For now, you need to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I really don’t have any choice, do I?”

Cody ignored her question. “We need to neutralize the driver,” he said and then added, “These guys were sent here to do a job. I don’t think they wanted to kill your son. If they did they would have done that right away.”

Small blessing that it was, Viktoria felt better knowing that Cody also believed that Gregory was safe, although she imagined he was terrified.

Cody continued, “If we’re going to get your son back, I don’t want the driver to warn anyone.”

Viktoria took in a sharp breath and her chest swelled with joy. Cody was going to help her get Gregory back. Before she could ask how, she had an awful thought. He clearly was prepared to kill the driver next. What if Cody’s ultimate plan ended with her son as his final target?

She was wholly unprepared to deal with kidnappers and murderers on her own. Cody, at least, was ready to help. All she could do was stay vigilant. For now, Cody was her only hope.

“Stay here,” he said, then slipped into the night. She started to go after him. With the moonlight seeping through the overhead cloud cover, Viktoria got her first clear view of Cody Samuels. Even in the darkened cabin, she had seen that he was handsome, but now she understood he was truly a magnificent male specimen. His chin and jaw were strong, as if part of a sculpture. Those arrestingly light blue eyes were a strong contrast to his darker hair and complexion.

Gun lifted, he pointed the barrel into the SUV’s open window. Cody retreated a pace and waved Viktoria back to the cabin. “The driver’s not here,” he whispered.

A shot, like a clap of thunder, rang out. A single stream of hot wind rushed toward Viktoria. At the same instant, pain erupted in her head and she tumbled forward.

Chapter 3

A bullet flew past Cody’s ear. Instinctively he dropped to the ground and immediately looked for Viktoria. She lay facedown in the snow, a jagged hole visible in the door directly behind where she’d been standing. Cody’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t meant for her to become a casualty, no matter her associates.

The voice in Cody’s head was strong and without remorse. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He never should have allowed her to follow him from the cabin.

He looked back at her still body, her fingers splayed, as if in surprise. A volcanic rage rose inside Cody for having unwittingly played a role in the death of Viktoria Mateev. He’d never forgive himself, and yet the game was not over.

The gunman had gone silent, but Cody was far from safe. The other man was out there, somewhere, lying in wait for his chance to strike again. He stared at Viktoria, still angry at himself and full of disbelief. The tips of her fingers twitched, a movement so slight he was almost convinced that it was his imagination.

Then she lifted her eyes and sought out his.

A great wave of relief washed over Cody and for a moment, he thought that he might melt into the snow.

Cody pressed his palms down to the ground, in the universal sign for stay put. She gave a nod, just a quick lifting of the chin.

With Viktoria prone on the ground, Cody rose to one knee. He peered through the SUV’s window and scanned what he could see of the horizon. The cabin sat in a bowl with peaks on all sides. The surrounding woods were thick, shadows turning every tree into a possible perpetrator. Or vice versa.

A quick estimation of the bullet’s trajectory told Cody that the shooter was on the hill, in approximately the same place from which he’d been observing Viktoria and Gregory earlier. It was a prime location, with a view of the cabin’s front door, the driveway and the road beyond. The SUV was parked between the hill and the door, momentarily providing cover for Cody, but not Viktoria.

Another shot boomed, this one lower and only slightly to the right of where Viktoria lay on the ground. The next bullet shattered the doorjamb and the one after hit the ground in front of Viktoria, sending snow, gravel and dirt flying.

As unsafe as she was by the cabin, she would become an even easier target by running the five yards to the SUV. The only way it could be done was for him to provide her with cover. He hoped that she would continue to read his hand gestures.

Two fingers to his chest, then two to his gun and then the hill. Cody pointed from Viktoria to where he was, made a fist and extended three fingers, one at a time. He repeated the sequence for good measure. Her gaze was trained on him, her jaw tight. Cody held up one finger. He lifted a bit, ready to take aim and fire. A bullet punched a neat hole in the windshield. A spider’s web of cracks spread outward from the point of impact.

“Now,” he called out fast. She ran, low to the ground, and dove out, sliding in next to him. She took refuge behind the SUV’s quarter panel, so close to Cody that her rapid breath washed over his neck. A thin red line ran across her cheek as blood seeped from a wound.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. He placed a gloved hand to the cut. His pulse sped at the touch, fueled from adrenaline, no doubt—and this night that had suddenly gone awry.

“It’s splinters from the door,” she said. “I’ll be picking bits of wood out of my hair for weeks, if we survive.”

“We’ll survive.” Cody’s hand still rested on Viktoria’s cheek. He dropped it quickly, leaving a smudge of crimson on her milky skin.

Two more bullets rained down, striking the ground mere feet from where they sat. Ice and gravel flew upward and Cody shielded Viktoria with his body.

She was warm and soft. Her breath was sweet and minty. Her hair held the slight scent of the floral shampoo she used. He inhaled deeply and reminded himself that Viktoria was part of a case. More than that, he’d be damned before he allowed her beauty to distract him from what was truly important—justice.

Cody turned his attention back to the shooter on the hill, assessing the challenge he presented. “He’s a good shot.”

“So the men who kidnapped my son are armed and dangerous and good at what they do.” The panic in her voice was palpable. “They’ll take him to Moscow unless they’re stopped.”

Viktoria’s knowledge of the kidnapper’s plans confirmed Cody’s suspicion that she was intimately involved with Russian criminals. Even though he’d suspected it all along, having the evidence felt like a betrayal. Another cut to his heart. Well, scar tissue was the strongest and his scars made him tough enough to do his job without question or remorse. A lesser man might feel sorry for Viktoria Mateev.

“We need to know this guy’s location.” Slipping the pack from his back, he retrieved his night vision binoculars and powered them up. To find the shooter, he was going to have to make himself a target. He pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. At least he could ensure that she had a way to save herself if he were shot or killed. “If I get hit, take this car and get out of here. Go.” He paused. He wanted to tell her to go to the sheriff’s office in Telluride. But since Cody feared that Sheriff Benjamin was somehow involved in the kidnapping, he let it be. He continued, “Contact Rocky Mountain Justice in Denver. Ask for Sir Ian Wallace. Tell him what happened. Got it?”

“Cody.” Viktoria placed her palms on the front of his chest. Even through the fleece, his skin instantly warmed at her touch. “Don’t get shot.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, “whoever you are, for saving me.”

With a nod, Cody fixed his mind on where he thought the shooter would be located. He rose, just enough, and brought the night vision binoculars to his eyes. The crack of a pistol echoed off the hills and Cody ducked down. But, he had seen all he needed to see.

“Our shooter is just above the tree line. More than his location, the guy has a set of night-vision goggles, so he can see in the dark and fire at the same time. No question, we’re at a complete disadvantage.”

“If we shine a bright light in his face he’ll be blinded, right?”

Cody wanted to groan. Hollywood had ruined the public’s perception of law enforcement tactics.

“Let me guess,” he said, “you saw that in a movie.”

Viktoria shrugged. “Several.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Then again... Sometimes the simplest solutions were the most effective. “We’ll try it. Get into the driver’s seat, Viktoria, but stay low. Turn the SUV about forty-five degrees and when I tell you, turn on the high beams.”

She drew her brows together. “How do you know my name?”

Cody had never intended to lie to Viktoria. He had been hired to do a perfectly legitimate job. Sure, spying on her wasn’t part of his assignment, but his presence had saved her life. Why, then, did he hesitate in telling her the truth? He didn’t have time to question his motivations.

Instead of answering her question, he said, “This guy is going to keep shooting at you. But, I’m going to be firing back, which should hinder his aim. Just be ready when I tell you to turn on the lights. Got it?”

Thankfully Viktoria didn’t press him again about his knowing her name, although he doubted she’d forgotten. Then again, if his plan didn’t work, she might not have another chance to ask.

* * *

Viktoria opened the driver’s side door as two more bullets rained down. She dove into the car and huddled on the floorboard, frozen with terror.

Then she thought of her son and her fear no longer mattered. She quickly pulled the door shut. Her heart racing, she gripped the key fob with such ferocity that it dug into her flesh.

Another crack of a gun. Another echo on the hills. Another puff of gun powder filling the air. She eased into the seat and glanced into the rearview mirror. The long driveway stretched out like a black ribbon, pulled taut. Viktoria could do this now—run, escape, live. But then, where would she go? How would she even find her son? Even though Viktoria had come to rely on only herself and trust no one, she needed Cody—at least for now.

One more shot fired, this one by Cody.

Viktoria fumbled with the key fob, setting it in the console between the seats, then hit the ignition button while pressing her foot on the brake. The engine rumbled to life and she gripped the steering wheel, careful to remain below the dashboard. With a deep breath, she turned the steering wheel and threw the gearshift into Reverse.

The SUV spun in one fluid motion as Cody fired at the hill—once, twice, three times. The shooter didn’t return fire.

“Now!” Cody yelled.

Viktoria flipped the switch for the lights. The hillside glowed, flooded instantly with bright white light. A few stray snowflakes fell, dancing lazily in the beams. Midway up the rise, a man lay on his stomach. A set of goggles encircled his head. He ripped them off, tossing them aside.

Cody advanced. Bullets blazed from the barrel in rapid succession as he moved toward the tree line. “Stay where you are,” he called back to her. With a soft click, his gun’s empty magazine fell to the ground and he quickly reloaded.

Viktoria lost the shooter’s exact location. She sat up taller in her seat and peered at the hill.

Just then a bullet broke through the driver’s side window and pebbles of safety glass exploded into the car. She felt the heat and the wind as the round passed her ear. It tore through the leather headrest and lodged deep within the back seat.

Cody raced to the SUV and jumped in through the shot-out window. “Go,” he shouted, as he climbed over her and into the passenger seat.

Viktoria didn’t need directions. Spinning the steering wheel, she pointed the SUV down the driveway and stomped on the accelerator. The powerful engine roared and catapulted them toward the road. Another bullet flew after them, shattering a side mirror.

“Left, left, left,” said Cody, as the end of the drive loomed close.

Viktoria turned the wheel and the SUV skidded as the tires connected with the cold, wet pavement. Viktoria pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and slammed on the brakes. The SUV began to spin. Mountainside. Cliff. Mountainside. Cliff.

Viktoria was determined to control the mechanical beast and bend it to her will. She let off the brakes and held tight to the steering wheel, forcing the tires to remain straight. The SUV swerved, but ceased spinning. They were aimed directly at a snow-covered steel guardrail. Another step on the brake, and the car slid sideways. Metal scraped against metal and sparks shot into the night. Snow flew in through the broken window. With a shudder, the vehicle came to a stop.

Cody held tight to the dashboard. His jaw was slackened and his tanned face had gone pale. “Where’d you learn how to drive like that?” he asked. She couldn’t decide if it was awe or terror that fueled his breathlessness.

“Manhattan,” said Viktoria with a shrug.

Cody leaned back in the seat and exhaled. “I should have killed him,” he said.

Viktoria began to shiver and it wasn’t just from the cold wind that blew at her from all sides.

“I don’t like that he’s still out there,” Cody said. “He’s not the man in charge, but he’ll tell his boss you’re still alive. He’s probably using the phone in your cabin right now.”

“He could be, but he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“When those men broke in, I tried to get to the phone. One man took it from me and smashed it against the wall.”

* * *

Dimitri sidestepped down the hill and stood in the middle of the driveway, the taillights of the speeding SUV just two demonic eyes of red. He heard the screech of tires on pavement and the roar of the engine. Both faded until there was nothing. No lights. No sounds. Just the frosty scent of incoming snow on the air.

He recognized the smell—knew it well. The weather in Russia was much harsher than any in the United States, and he’d been in more blizzards than he cared to recall. If he was right—and he was—then one hell of a storm was about to hit Telluride.

His smart use of time was essential.

He returned to the cabin and, as he’d feared, his comrade was dead on the floor. Shot by the other man who never should have been there. Dimitri kicked the door closed and flipped on the light. There were bullet holes in the wall and casings on the floor. He knew there’d be several more of both outside. Concealing those would take time, never mind dealing with the corpse and all the blood.

He turned to the stove. It used gas as the heating element. Perfect. On the table sat a plate of iced cookies. Picking one off the plate, he took a bite and chewed it slowly. The Christmas tree in the corner was covered with a cheap set of lights, also useful. In a drawer he found a set of matches. In the bathroom cabinet stood a large bottle of rubbing alcohol alongside a bag of cotton balls.

Using a knife from the kitchen, he cut through the wires of the Christmas tree lights and plugged them back in. The live end sparked and hissed. He then returned to the stove and turned on all the gas, leaving the burners unlit. After pocketing half a dozen cookies, he went to the door and opened it. He placed the cotton balls in a pile and soaked them with the alcohol, then made a trail to the lights. Once across the threshold, he lit the match and tossed it into the puddle of alcohol on the floor. He closed the door and began to walk down the driveway.

As he ate another cookie, he regretted not taking time to say some words over his fallen comrade. They’d served together in Ukraine during the summer a few years ago, and the man deserved more than to be incinerated in a lonely little cabin. Well, that could hardly be helped now.

Dimitri needed to get in touch with the others and let them know what had happened. He had neither car nor phone. By now, the boss would be wondering why there’d been no contact.

A whoosh erupted behind Dimitri and heat warmed his back. His best chance at survival lay before him and he didn’t bother to turn around. As his pace quickened to a run, he decided that fire was the best way to erase any sins.

* * *

“Try again,” Peter Belkin barked at his driver. His second team had yet to make contact, even though they should have left the Mateev cabin twenty minutes ago.

The man lifted his walkie-talkie. “Beta, this is Alpha. Do you read?”

The faint crackle of static could barely be heard over the wailing child, who sat next to Belkin.

Gregory Mateev had been inconsolable since leaving the cabin, not that Belkin had expected anything less. Even though the boy was being taken for his own good, he was too young and too upset to understand.

“The mountains could be causing interference,” said the driver, raising his voice to be heard over Gregory. “We still don’t have mobile phone service, but should be okay when we reach the house.”

Gregory quieted. Belkin turned to the kid, trying to smile. Fist cocked back, Gregory threw a punch that caught Belkin under the chin. The attorney’s teeth cracked together and his jaw throbbed.

“That’s it,” said Belkin, “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of you.” Gregory threw out a wild kick that struck Belkin in the arm.

Belkin gripped his biceps. He would have a bruise by the morning. From his breast pocket, he removed a syringe already filled with a sedative. He drove the tip into the child’s upper arm and pressed down on the plunger. The child began to scream, but as soon as the mild tranquillizer entered Gregory Mateev’s bloodstream, he quieted. With a few drowsy blinks, his head lolled to the side and he slept.

Acquiring Gregory Mateev and returning him to his grandfather was Belkin’s main objective, and now at least, the boy was safe—and quiet.

The job should have been simple. Nikolai Mateev, the godfather of the Russian mafia, wanted his grandson to be raised in Russia. After the death of Nikolai’s son, Lucas, Belkin had been hired to convince the mother to give up her child. But Belkin had pushed too hard in New York City, spooking Gregory’s mother and forcing her into hiding with the boy for months. When Belkin had gotten word that she might be in western Colorado, he’d flown in to the area with his team to be there when she surfaced. Since then, there had been no contact. No use of a credit card. No bank withdrawals. No internet searches. It was as if she had simply disappeared and until this afternoon, Belkin feared that she actually had. Now he just wanted to complete his task and get paid.

Gregory slumped over in his seat, snoring softly as the SUV rounded a bend and pulled through a circular drive. The driver parked in front of a two-story house built in the alpine A-frame style, complete with wooden scrollwork on the eaves and a balcony to make up the A’s crossbar. Light shone from an exterior sconce, illuminating the snow as it fell.

“Try to contact Team Bravo again,” said Belkin, “and after you’ve spoken, put Gregory to bed in one of the upstairs rooms.” Belkin stepped into the night. Fat, downy snowflakes floated down, coating the road and settling on Belkin’s shoulders and well-trimmed dark hair.

The extreme cold and falling snow reminded him of how fickle the weather could be in Russia. Taking the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the home screen. A blizzard warning scrolled across the bottom of the display. He opened the weather application, where a digitized radar reading of pink and white, signifying heavy snow and winds, filled the entire northern part of Colorado. Future radar predicted that the blizzard was expected to hit Telluride in the early morning and last for the next twenty-four hours.

Belkin glanced at the local time—10:15. In four hours they would be airborne and on their way to Moscow. But could they leave earlier if necessary? No. The call regarding Viktoria Mateev’s whereabouts had come in only a few hours before and the private plane from New Jersey to transport Gregory back to Russia wouldn’t be in Colorado yet. Now, with the storm, it was better that they wait.

Belkin added, “And tell them our departure is delayed by a day to day and a half.” He had enough sedatives to keep the kid quiet until they arrived in Moscow, even with the postponement.

The driver’s words drifted out of the SUV’s open door. “Bravo, this is Alpha, do you read?”

Belkin paused. Waited.

“Bravo,” said the driver again. “This is Alpha. Do you read?”

Belkin still thought that his plan to capture the child and kill the mother was flawless. Bribery and threats had been very effective in gaining the support of the smaller law enforcement agencies in the area. It was through one of those “strategic partners” he’d learned today that a private security firm hired by New York State authorities—under the impression that they were seeking a runaway abusive mother—had found Viktoria and Gregory hiding in a cabin less than an hour’s drive from Belkin’s rented house.

Cooperation. It was a beautiful thing.

Belkin had waited impatiently until dark before executing his plan. Team Alpha had grabbed the boy, and by now Team Bravo should have killed the mother.

Cold wind cut through his cashmere coat as he waited for a response. More than the money, or even Peter Belkin’s reputation, was on the line. Nikolai Mateev did not take disappointment well and if Belkin didn’t deliver Gregory to his grandfather by Christmas, then Belkin wouldn’t live to see the New Year.

Chapter 4

“Bravo. This is Alpha. Do you read?”

The disembodied, static-filled voice resonated inside the SUV’s quiet interior.

Cody looked at Viktoria. Her eyes were wide, her gaze trained on a walkie-talkie they hadn’t even noticed, nestled between the SUV’s front seats.

“That’s got to be the guys who took your son,” Cody said, while reaching for the walkie-talkie.

She folded her hands together and pressed the sides of her thumbs into her lips. “So, what do we do now?”

Just because they’d escaped together didn’t mean they were on the same side. No matter what, she was a Mateev. The name alone brought back painful memories that lodged in his chest—a leaden ball full of spikes. All the same, Cody was determined to get the kid back, which meant he had to work with the mother. Besides, he reasoned, once they’d rescued her son, Cody could still finish the job—turn the kid over to CPS and question Viktoria before she was taken away by the police.

“Bravo.” The single word rang out like a shot. Viktoria started.

“What do they want?” she asked.

It was a good question with a horrific answer. “My guess is that they’re checking to make sure that you’re dead.”

A gust of cold wind blew through the shattered window. Viktoria folded her arms across her chest and looked away. Cody turned the SUV’s thermostat to ninety degrees, its upper limit. The hot air hit him and he started to sweat. Small price to pay if it would make her more comfortable.

What was it with his reactions to this woman?

“We can’t ignore them,” she said and turned to him. “This could be our chance to try to negotiate my son’s release.”

Cody understood her desperation and admired her bravery. “It won’t work. First, there’s nothing we have that they want,” he said. Then he hesitated. “Unless there is. Do you have any idea why this happened?”

Her gaze never left his. “They want my son,” she said, “and for me to be...neutralized.”

Cody wasn’t sure if Viktoria was purposely not revealing the real story behind the kidnapping, but at this point he needed to view this situation tactically. What he needed was a plan and intel.

“Let’s start with what you know,” Cody said.

“I know my son is safe,” Viktoria said. “The man in the cabin, the one who held me at gunpoint...” Her voice trailed off and Cody gave her a moment to reconcile with the nightmare she’d survived. “He told me that Gregory belonged to his grandfather Nikolai.”

Like a piece from a puzzle, the latest bit of information clicked into place. Once again it came down to Nikolai Mateev—the head of the Moscow-based Mateev crime family.

Now Cody knew Viktoria’s relationship with the Mateevs. Yet in getting that one answer, it brought up hundreds of questions. He swallowed them all, practically choking on his desire to ask about the drug trafficking ring.

“These men are desperate and if we try to negotiate, they’ll know they failed.” He paused. His next words would be hard, no, devastating, for a mother to hear.

“And?” she insisted.

“Failure to have killed you might force these men to abandon their plans to take your son from the country.”

She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “That’s good. They’ll release Gregory.”

“Unless they don’t.” Cody couldn’t bring himself to verbalize Gregory’s possible fate.

Viktoria understood, though. Like she’d been sucker punched in the gut, Viktoria sucked in a deep breath and sat back hard in her seat. In a way, Cody supposed she had been hit, and he’d been the one to deliver the blow.

“Bravo?” A voice, barely audible, rose from the static. “Update?”

“What if you answered them,” she proposed, “and pretended to be one of them. They can’t see who’s speaking and the connection is full of static on our end. It has to be the same on theirs.”

Cody sat taller. It was a crazy idea. “That can go wrong in a million different ways. If they figure out that I’m lying, Gregory’s the one who could suffer the most.”

“Please!” she said. Her fingers rested on the back of Cody’s hand. Those old internal scars, the ones he’d developed and nurtured into his own personal armor long ago, began to ache. “This could be my only hope of finding my son. I’d do it myself, but obviously even with the bad connection I’m not a man.”

Viktoria was right about that—she was all woman.

“Bravo. Copy.”

Cody didn’t like playing games with people’s lives, and especially the lives of children. But Viktoria was the mother and it was her call. Without another moment’s thought, he depressed the talk button. “This is Bravo,” he said. “Copy.” He hoped they continued to use English. His ability to speak Russian was nonexistent.

“Where the hell have you been?” the voice barked.

This was something else Cody feared. Before he had to think of a reason for their delay, the voice rang out again.

“Status update.”

Cody’s gaze met Viktoria’s. He refused to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did. Yet, that’s exactly what the man on the walkie-talkie needed to believe. Cody flicked his eyes to the windshield. He watched the snow dance in the beams of the headlights.

He depressed the talk button. “Neutralized.”

“Come again?”

Like he’d just sprinted the last three hundred yards of a marathon, Cody’s pulse hammered and his chest constricted. If these guys knew each other well, they could very easily recognize voices, even with the bad connection.

Cody silently cursed. He was committed now. “Neutralized,” he said again. This time he was slower. Louder.

A second passed. Then another. It seemed like hours.

“Copy that,” the kidnapper said. “Extraction is delayed twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Plane can’t land due to the incoming blizzard. Return to your safe house and wait for my call. Belkin’s orders.”

Cody’s head dropped back against the headrest and he let out a long sigh. He had to keep the smile from his voice. “Copy,” he said.

He tossed the walkie-talkie onto the console between the seats and scrubbed his face with both hands. He turned to Viktoria. “We might not know everything, but at least we know that your son is in the area and likely to remain here for the next day to day and a half. That’s good. Most important,” he added, “is that we have a name.”

He turned to look at Viktoria. Even in the SUV’s darkened interior he could see that she’d gone pale. She licked her lips and exhaled. “I know who Belkin is.”

* * *

Gregory’s face flashed in Viktoria’s mind. She pictured what he must have gone through tonight. Gregory’s dark eyes, so much like her own, would have sought her out, wild with terror. Then, her throat closed at the memory of the very real hand that had squeezed her neck.

She had failed her son. Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

“Can you drive?” Cody asked Viktoria. “We need to get off the road.”

Viktoria’s head snapped over. She had almost forgotten about Cody, her handsome savior.

“Drive?” It took effort to say the word, as if her tongue were heavy. A sheer cliff rose upward on one side and the road fell sharply away on the other. Snowflakes, fat and thick, fell from the sky and dusted the roadway. They blew in through the shattered window. Balls of safety glass coated the car’s interior and twinkled with reflected light from the dashboard.

“Let’s get out of the middle of the road,” he said. “We aren’t safe here. If you can’t drive, I can.”

Drive? Yes, she could drive. Shifting the SUV into Reverse, Viktoria eased away from the guardrail. The simple task unleashed a burst of adrenaline within her. “We should go to the sheriff,” she said, thankful that she finally made a decision.

Although that plan wasn’t perfect, either. Was she still wanted by the authorities in New York State? If she was, then the local sheriff would be interested in her case. At the same time, legalities from home didn’t matter, not where Gregory was concerned. Without question, she had to stop Peter Belkin from delivering her son to her father-in-law. She could deal with the legal consequences later.

Up ahead was a turnaround. Viktoria drove the short distance and pulled in. With a little maneuvering, she turned the SUV so it faced the road. “Which way to the sheriff’s office?” she asked.

“Wait just a minute, will you?” Cody said. “I don’t want to go to the sheriff.”

“What? Why not?”

Cody hit the ignition button and the engine fell silent.

“Before we go anywhere,” he said, “tell me everything you know about Nikolai Mateev.”

She hadn’t expected Cody to ask about her father-in-law. “I’ve only met him once. He traveled to New York from Russia for Lucas’s—my husband’s—funeral. My husband and his father had a falling out years ago, before Lucas and I met.”

“Anything else?”

“Nikolai is wealthy, I know that.” She didn’t bother to add that she now knew her father-in-law to be corrupt as hell.

Cody regarded her with eyes narrowed. “So you claim to know nothing?”

His challenge hit her like a slap in the face. “The sheriff,” she said, “can help sort all of this out.”

“One more thing before we go. Tell me what you know about Peter Belkin.”

Viktoria opened her mouth, ready to insist that he stop grilling her and just point her toward Telluride, then her jaw clamped shut.

Peter Belkin.

The man on the walkie-talkie had said they were following Belkin’s orders. Viktoria had told Cody that she knew Belkin. But she’d never said Belkin’s first name. And yet, Cody had known. He had known her name, too.

This night had gone wrong at a terrifying rate. Viktoria hadn’t questioned Cody much—or really at all. He had saved her life twice and to her that proved some kind of trustworthiness. Or did it? Cody could be even more dangerous than Belkin, with his own deadly intentions for Gregory—and for her.

It was her turn to insist on answers.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I told you. My name is...”

“I know your name,” she interrupted. She turned to watch him, gauge his reaction. “But there’s a lot about you I don’t know. For starters, how did you show up at exactly the right time to save my life?”

Cody drew the black cap from his head and raked his fingers through this thick, dark hair. “I investigated your family, the Mateevs, when I was with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

“Was?”

“Look, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. For now, can you just trust me?”

“Actually, no. I’m done trusting you for no reason.”

“No reason? I saved your life,” he said. “Twice. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“If you really were with the DEA, why won’t you go to the sheriff? Aren’t you both on the same side?”

Cody let out a long exhale. He hit the ignition button and the car rumbled to life. “I have reason to believe that the sheriff was involved in the raid on your cabin tonight. That he passed on information to Belkin about your whereabouts.”

Viktoria went cold. Was there no one she could trust? No place to go for help?

“Let’s get out of this SUV. We can use my truck. I left it up the road from your cabin. Go to the right.” Cody pointed to the road. “I’ll explain while you drive.”

“Everything?” Viktoria asked.

“I’ll tell you what I can.”

* * *

Peter Belkin unlocked the rented ski house and held the door ajar for the head of his personal security detail, who carried a sleeping Gregory Mateev. Belkin watched as the kid was maneuvered through the doorway and then followed, locking up behind them.

He was very happy to be back in comfortable surroundings. If he had to bide his time during a job, this wasn’t a bad place to do it. The house belonged to an American footballer from San Francisco, a tax shelter no doubt, and one of the nicest homes available in Telluride. Situated halfway up the mountain, a mudroom, complete with heated floors and cubbyholes for skis and snowboards, served as the entryway. A set of stairs descended to a well-appointed basement that featured a sauna and a home theater with leather recliners for two dozen along with a popcorn machine. Floor-to-ceiling picture windows in the great room looked out to the nearby woods, with a private trail heading to the white stretch of ski slopes visible between the spindly tree branches. Beyond a fireplace large enough for a grown man to stand in was the kitchen, which held a five-hundred-bottle wine cooler and multiple pantries along with what seemed like acres of granite countertops and shiny appliances.

Even the most opulent homes in Russia were not as luxurious as this playhouse for wealthy Americans. Standing at the window, Peter Belkin stared at the snow accumulating on the adjoining deck. It had already piled up around the base of the hot tub. He had been right to postpone their escape and let Mother Nature have her fun.

Ah, knowing that he would be back in Russia for Christmas also warmed him. Upon his arrival in Moscow he would go to Ugolëk and order borscht, hot black tea and good vodka. While Russia was always Belkin’s home, he knew that he could return to the United States and a residence such as this whenever he chose—for he had also become a wealthy American.

“Belkin?”

Instead of turning to the man who now stood behind him, he used the glass as a mirror reflecting off the black night and made eye contact that way. “Da.”

“The kid’s in bed and sleeping off the sedative. What do you want me to do?”

“Leave now,” he said. His team didn’t know all the details of the Gregory Mateev abduction, nor did they need to. “We’ll meet at the airstrip—four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Get in touch with the other two in the morning and let them know.”

“Anything you say.”

“One last thing.” He pinned the man with his reflected stare. “Leave the syringes.” Belkin didn’t want to deal with Gregory should he still be belligerent when he woke up.

Belkin waited while the other man moved through the house, quietly gathering his gear. The front door opened, sending a blast of frigid air swirling through the room, then the door closed with a soft thump.

Letting out a long breath, Belkin returned to the kitchen. He drew a chair from the large kitchen table and slid it inside one of the pantries. Perched atop the chair, Belkin stretched, reaching for the uppermost shelf. His fingertips connected with the slim, cold metallic edge of his personal laptop. He pulled it out then gingerly stepped down from the chair. Having dragged the chair back, he set the laptop carefully on the table.

Before sitting down, Belkin walked to the front door. A quick glance through the peephole showed that Alpha had taken the spare car, leaving Belkin with the SUV. He clicked the lock into place and returned to the table. True, he relied upon his security team. True, there were reasons to keep them all together. True, Belkin might still need them, even though the operation was nearly complete. Still, he didn’t trust them, or anyone else, completely.

The fee for retrieving the Mateev brat had been a healthy quarter of a billion US dollars. His men were being well compensated, but they didn’t know the exact take. Over the years, Belkin had learned that people were greedy. And greedy people couldn’t be trusted.

Certain he was right to remain alone, Belkin powered up the computer and opened the FaceTime app. A small screen with his visage in real time appeared. Seeing his face on the computer screen always surprised and faintly depressed him. He seemed tired, old. Fine lines surrounded his eyes and the hair at his temples had turned unmistakably gray. He smoothed down an unruly eyebrow before entering a number into the contact bar. With a few more clicks of the mouse Belkin’s screen dropped down to the corner and Nikolai Mateev’s face popped up.

Nikolai was a large man with sparse white hair. He had small, dark eyes and a bulbous nose, made all the more noticeable by the broken capillaries that surrounded its base like angry red worms. A testament to a lifetime of drinking vodka, no doubt.

“You have good news for me, yes?” Nikolai asked.

“Very good news. You will have your grandson with you by Rozhdestvo. The real Christmas,” he added quickly, meaning Russian Orthodox Christmas. “We had hoped to be in Moscow by the evening of December twenty-fourth, but a storm has delayed our plans to leave.”

“And the mother?” Nikolai turned, so that his eye was level with the camera.

“She will bother you no more.”

The nose filled the small inset screen again. Nikolai sniffed and a gigantic nostril appeared. “You have done well.” He paused and added, “This time. I will transfer payment now.”

“Thank you, Otets.” Nikolai was no sire of Belkin’s, but he did hold ultimate power over Belkin and his fate, and a little flattery by referring to the criminal overlord of Moscow as father always went a long way.

A meaty hand flashed across the screen, waving away Belkin’s sobriquet. “There is something else I want you to handle. Once you return from Russia, that is.”

“Of course,” said Belkin. His pulse did a triple step.

“There is a retired MI5 agent, Sir Ian Wallace, who now lives in Denver.” Nikolai leaned back, his face lost in the gloom of the ill-lit room behind him. “I need to know all about Sir Ian and then I need him to disappear.”

“Of course, Otets.”

Nikolai’s nose grew large again and then his screen went blank.

Belkin sat back and massaged his neck. It had been a long assignment that just got longer. It didn’t matter. To curry favor with someone as important as Nikolai Mateev, Belkin would do anything.

He opened his computer’s internet browser and spent a few minutes accessing the deep web. Give Belkin a name and there was nothing he couldn’t learn about a person: from shopping habits, to favorite cable news network, to secrets, to the loved ones they would do anything to protect and the secrets of those people, as well.

It took a quarter of an hour to circumvent MI5’s firewall. Once there, he had only moments to fill in a complete picture of Sir Ian’s life. He had been an agent with MI5, awarded his knighthood after thwarting a terrorist attack on London’s subway system. After that, Ian had been linked romantically with several famous women, and most recently with up-and-coming Denver sports agent, Petra Sloan. It explained how a Brit ended up in Colorado. He had opened a private security firm in Denver, Rocky Mountain Justice.

RMJ was a small operation; unless you knew where and how to find them, they were invisible. Yet, Belkin had pulled back the veil and now had access to all pertinent corporate information. The firm quietly found missing people and sometimes worked with a variety of agencies, such as the Colorado Bureau of Investigation and the federal big brother—the FBI—in matters such as public corruption.

Belkin stared at the computer. Certainly a firm unrestrained by laws could be bothersome to a large-scale drug dealer, but something didn’t add up. Why did Nikolai want Sir Ian dead? His firm had less than two dozen employees. In fact, why did he care at all?

On a whim, he entered Nikolai Mateev’s name into the RMJ search engine. An incomplete hit turned up one Mateev—Viktoria Mateev, no less. It appeared that RMJ had been hired to find her and it was their tip that had led Belkin right to her. He laughed to himself. Ironic, no?

A few more keystrokes and he found the automatically generated email and stopped. It was another name he recognized and never thought to see again: Cody Samuels.

While at the DEA, Agent Samuels came close to building a strong case against the Mateevs—one that could have crushed the family—and he had to be killed. As it turned out, Belkin’s would-be assassin had become the victim. In the end, the loss of life cost Samuels’ career. The case against the Mateevs was closed and Belkin considered the outcome a success.

He closed the RMJ site and placed all information gathered into an encrypted document that he then transferred to another part of his computer. From there he opened a file that he’d kept for more than a year as insurance only. As Belkin studied Cody’s picture his stomach churned, filled with sour repugnance for having to deal twice with the same problem.

He moved from the file to his bank’s secure website. The payment promised by Nikolai for the kidnapping had not yet been deposited. Though Belkin was weary and his jaw still ached where Gregory Mateev had struck him, he refused to go to bed before confirming payment. He was annoyed more than worried about not getting the money immediately. Even though Nikolai was a force unto himself, there were plenty of other powerful and dangerous men who would match payment for the Mateev brat—dead or alive—and the only thing keeping Gregory from that fate was Belkin’s purchased loyalty.

Returning to the RMJ site, Belkin took in a deep breath and began to hum the refrain of the American Christmas song “We Three Kings.” Since he had time and enough information to get started, he might as well learn what else he could about Sir Ian Wallace and the men of Rocky Mountain Justice.

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