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The silence thickened. She waited for him to say something, he supposed. But his mind wasn’t on talking at the moment. The electricity zinging between them was burning him up.

Finally she looked up at him. “I never get involved with employees.” The need blazing in her eyes protested the statement.

“Technically, I’m not an employee.” His voice was husky. He wanted to touch her but didn’t dare. He, too, had a rule against getting involved with a client … but technically she wasn’t his client.

“Guess not,” she agreed. She licked those lush lips again. “Truth is, I haven’t been kissed in more than three years. I may have forgotten how it’s done.”

He reached out and removed the clip that held her hair. He wanted her to feel what a kiss from the right man felt like.

About the Author

DEBRA WEBB wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romance, suspense and action-packed romance thrillers since. Visit her at www.debrawebb.com or write to her at PO Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815, USA.

High Noon

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my family, for always being there for me.

Chapter One

Beaumont, Texas, Sunday, May 26th, 9:50 p.m.

Joel Hayden had lingered in a dark corner of the High Noon Saloon for the past two hours. Finally a patron vacated a stool at the bar and Joel settled there before anyone else in the happy crowd could commandeer the prized position.

Whatever Laney Seagers was doing, she was doing it right. The century-old tavern she’d resurrected with her own two hands was hopping even on a Sunday night. The music flowing from the jukebox was country all the way and the atmosphere pure Texas from the murals on the walls depicting one-horse towns from the West’s heyday when duels were carried out in the street at high noon to the restored original wood floor that had seen its share of two-stepping boots and bloody brawls. The patrons carried the mood with their cowboy boots and Stetsons.

He’d watched Laney Seagers for the past three days. Wasn’t a hardship. The lady made his job easy, a vacation almost. Each time she laughed, the sound, sultry and sexy, left every single male customer within hearing range slack-jawed. Her honey-blond hair swung around her shoulders, making his fingers itch to see if it felt as silky as it looked.

Joel had handled a generous list of personal protection gigs for businessmen, celebrities and politicians alike, but he had to admit, this one was different. His new employer, the Colby Agency, wanted those with the most experience in the field on this case. This was Joel’s first assignment for the Colby Agency and not one to be taken lightly, despite the spirited setting and the sexy blonde in the tight jeans and formfitting T-shirt sporting the saloon’s logo.

Laney Seagers was in danger. And that was the easy part. That she didn’t realize the threat nipping at her heels was the element that made the situation less than optimal. Though Joel would rather watch the lady scurry around behind the bar than eat at chow time, there was only so much even the most highly trained bodyguard could do under the circumstances.

Throw in the mix a five-year-old kid who was scared to death of his own shadow and things were a little complicated. Since the boy wouldn’t start kindergarten until the fall, he spent most of his time attached to his pretty mother’s hip. Even now, as she worked the Sunday-night crowd, Buddy slept on a cot in the office. Whenever he was awake, he played video games in the kitchen where the cook, Tatum, a landlocked former sailor he called Uncle Tater, kept him company. Every other moment he clung to his mom. Thing was, the kid didn’t play just any old kind of games; they were the learning kind, reading, math and the like. As seemingly introverted as he was, little Buddy Seagers was as smart as a whip.

Joel had three brothers and they had all grown up hard. Their mother had developed multiple sclerosis when Joel was about Buddy’s age. By the time he was ten, she was helpless. Their father had been busy trying to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Later, when Joel was older, he also understood that it was easier for his dad to work all the time than to come home to an ever-unfolding tragedy.

Basically, the Hayden boys pretty much learned to take care of themselves out of necessity. Made Joel wonder if shy little Buddy had a chance against the bullies he would face in school. Without a proper father figure or even an older brother, preparing him to take care of himself fell on the mother’s shoulders. He didn’t know many mothers who taught their boys how to land a nice uppercut.

It wasn’t really his business whether or not Laney Seagers was up to that particular challenge, but being a kid from a primarily one-parent household, he wondered. She sure seemed to take by the horns the other challenges life tossed her way. Her background reflected a tough lady who preferred being a survivor to being a victim. A guy had to respect that. Rather than rely on entitlements, she got out and made things happen.

Laney sashayed over to where he sat at the center of the long counter. She smiled that big, bright smile that made her brown eyes twinkle and left a man a little dazed, and then she glanced at his half-empty glass.

“Somehow you just don’t look like a soda pop kinda guy to me, handsome. Can I get you something else?”

“I have a one-drink limit when I’m doing the driving home.” He gifted her with a wink and a smile of his own. “Unless you’re planning on taking me home, I guess it’ll be soda for me the rest of the night.”

She belted out another of those sultry laughs. “I have to give you credit, that’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” She picked up his glass. “You having regular or diet?”

There went that dazzling twinkle in her eyes again.

Beyond the fact that she was a knockout with a killer smile and inspiring eyes, he genuinely liked the lack of pretention in her manner and her looks. No fussy makeup or hairdos. She seemed completely comfortable in her own skin. He liked that a lot. She had spirit in spite of the hard luck she’d survived.

“Regular.”

She filled his glass and placed it on a fresh napkin in front of him. “We’ve still got wings and ribs in the kitchen,” she suggested.

He held up a hand. “I’m good.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Watching her walk away wasn’t in his job description, at least not the part where he zeroed in on those tight-fitting jeans. But then he was only human. Any woman who looked that good in plain old denim deserved a long, lustful stare from any man breathing.

Since this was work, there was very little chance he would have the opportunity to see what he was missing beyond watching her swing those hips. That alone was worth hanging around twenty-four/seven for however long it took.

Tonight, if all went as planned, he’d get his opportunity to get a little closer. He’d overheard the one remaining member of her security make the statement that he wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with the boss’s ex. The frustrated guy intended to give Laney the bad news tonight. He’d already accepted another position with the competition downtown and he wasn’t feeling inclined to give even a one-week notice.

A lot of that had been happening this week.

A raw deal for Laney but a much-needed opportunity for Joel to gain a better surveillance position. He’d laid the necessary groundwork with subtle comments to some of Laney’s employees.

He swiveled on the stool, his back against the counter, and surveyed the crowd. At a table near the jukebox, a belligerent and clearly inebriated jerk annoyed the waitress attempting to take his order. From a distance he appeared your average had-a-little-too-much reveler. But that was far from the case.

He was the rub. The no-good baby daddy himself. Terrence “Terry” Kingston. Poster boy for thirty-something men with failure-to-launch syndrome. And missing in action ninety percent of the time for the past five years under the guise of finishing his law degree so he could follow in his rich daddy’s footsteps. Though he and Laney had never married, he was the father of her son.

A self-absorbed, egotistical leech who just wanted to play from time to time with the one girl smart enough to walk away. His serial stints in rehab had prevented him from taking legal action to obtain partial custody of his son. Not that he’d actually wanted the responsibility but the threat worked well when he wanted something else from Laney. Knowing the kind of money his father had put Laney at a serious disadvantage. Fear had likely prevented her from taking legal steps to get the guy out of her life once and for all.

But now Kingston had a new motive. Rich daddy had cut off his trust fund after the last round of detox following his son’s surrender to his never-quite-relinquished relationship with cocaine. So slacker Kingston junior needed a way back into rich daddy’s good graces. A brief background check and a few questions asked of the right folks and Joel had the whole sordid story.

There was nothing like a grandson, an heir, from an only son—an opportunity for a do-over—to get rich daddy’s attention. The desire to do it right this time, with a grandson when he obviously failed with his only son, was a powerful persuader for a man marching toward sixty. The senior Kingston had built his empire with no time for anything else and the guilt had caught up with him.

Kingston junior, on the other hand, was banking on his five-year-old investment to get his fingers back in the money jar.

And Joel was counting on human nature.

The cocky man swaggered up to the bar, his right tilt giving away his increasing level of intoxication. He elbowed aside a couple of patrons and bellied up to the counter. The unhappy folks grumbled but walked away rather than risk trouble.

The exchange between the ex and the saloon owner was muted by the lively music roaring from the jukebox, but Joel didn’t need to hear the words to get the gist of the conversation. The body language of both participants telegraphed the story loud and clear to anyone who bothered to look.

He wanted something and she wasn’t having any part of it.

Dekker, the security detail for the night—and every night since Joel’s arrival—cut through the crowd and stationed himself next to the troublemaker. Dekker was a big guy. Six-three or four. Two-forty or two-fifty. Looked like a linebacker for a pro football team.

Joel finished off his soda and stood. Things were about to get interesting and he didn’t want to miss the show.

Kingston turned on the big guy wearing the High Noon Saloon T-shirt and whatever he said didn’t sit well. Dekker turned to Laney, shook his head and walked out.

Based on the gossip Joel had heard from the waitresses, Dekker was sick of throwing Kingston out night after night and getting nowhere. The local cops wouldn’t give the guy what he deserved for fear of reprisals from his rich daddy. Adding to the pressure, Kingston had started threatening Dekker’s wife’s position at one of the elementary schools. Old man Kingston had friends in high places, the smart-mouthed jerk liked to brag.

Well, Joel didn’t care who his daddy was or where his friends fell on the food chain. He just wanted to kick the crap out of him on principle.

By the time Joel made his way down to that end of the bar, the patrons had scattered and Laney and Kingston were going at it loud enough to drown out the music.

A few more minutes and they would successfully clear the house. Bad for business. And Joel happened to know Laney couldn’t afford any dips in revenue.

“You can’t keep me from seeing my son,” Kingston slurred. “I’m petitioning the court for full custody. My daddy says this time I’ll win. And you can’t do a damned thing but cooperate or forfeit.”

“Do what you think you’re big enough to do,” she dared. “Until then, you can see Buddy when you’re sober and only when you’re sober. Right now, I want you out of here. This is my property and I have the right to kick your drunken butt out if you can’t behave.”

The arrogant fool laughed. “The way I hear it, that may be changing very soon. Money makes the world go round, in case you haven’t learned that yet.”

Laney was fighting mad. But beneath all that bravado she was terrified. Didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. It worked for her because they were honest, no-drama emotions. Something else Joel liked about her.

“I thought I might go for bourbon after all. Straight up,” Joel said as he cozied up to the bar next to the sleazebag harassing the lady.

Laney took a breath, shifted her attention to him. “Sure.” She pivoted and stalked over to the rows of liquor bottles lining the mirrored shelves behind the bar.

“Who the hell are you?” Kingston glared at Joel, his bleary eyes reporting his alcohol-consumption level better than any breathalyzer could.

Joel leaned closer to the man and said for his ears only, “I’m the guy who’s going to ruin those new veneers your daddy’s money bought if you don’t leave the lady alone and get the hell out of here.”

Kingston reared back, swayed. He patted his pocket. “Old switch might have something to say about that.”

Joel grabbed him by the collar, lifted him just high enough to prevent his boots from settling square on the floor, and hauled him across the room and out the swinging doors.

The drunken SOB cursed and swung repeatedly at Joel, missing every time. Joel snagged the key ring from the weasel’s belt and shoved him away. “If you have any friends, call someone to pick you up. Otherwise, call a cab.”

The guy charged at him. Joel stepped aside. Kingston went down face-first on the wooden walkway created as authentically as the ones straight out of an old Western movie. In fact, the whole scene could have been out of a classic John Wayne movie. Except Laney wore those body-hugging jeans instead of an ankle-length dress and petticoats.

“Show your face in here again,” Joel warned, “and I won’t be so nice next time.”

Joel waited at the door until Kingston staggered away, cell at his ear, hopefully calling for a ride.

Joel turned around and came face-to-face with the boss.

“Is he gone?”

“For now.” Joel glanced over his shoulder. “He’ll be back eventually for his ride.” He passed the keys to her.

“I wish that was the only reason for him to come back.” She stared across the parking lot, probably hoping the bastard would fade into the darkness never to be seen again.

“You okay?” The question wasn’t necessary. He could see that she was far from okay, but she had no way of knowing he understood far too keenly the unappealing facts of her financial and personal situations.

She shrugged, threw the bar towel over her shoulder. “I’d be a lot better if my security hadn’t bailed on me. That really blows.”

Joel made a show of considering the idea for a moment. “Maybe it is my lucky night.”

Her eyebrows shot up in skepticism. “Look, mister, your pickup lines will have to get a lot better than what I’ve heard so far for you to get lucky.” She looked him up and down. “Packaging isn’t everything.”

Joel laughed. “I wasn’t referring to that kind of luck, ma’am.”

Her cheeks flushed. She hitched a thumb toward the swinging doors. “I have to get back in there. Without someone keeping an eye on the crowd, anything could happen.”

She had no idea. The Kingston men were just the beginning of her troubles. As frustrating as things were for her at the moment, he hated to eventually be the one to let her know that it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.

He gave her a nod. “If you decide to hire a new bouncer, let me know. I’m in the market for a new job.”

Joel tipped his hat to her and stepped down from the walkway. He’d taken another two strides when she called out to him.

“How can I get in touch with you?”

He turned to face her, backed up another step. “I’m right here.” He shrugged. “I’ll probably be back tomorrow night.”

“You’d have to fill out an application.”

He paused.

For a lady who wanted to play it tough, she looked damned vulnerable at the moment. But then he knew why. Couldn’t blame her for feeling that and more.

“I’d need references,” she tacked on.

“I can handle that.”

She hitched her head toward the door then disappeared inside. Joel followed, enjoying the view. Wasn’t often that the backside was every bit as gorgeous as the front, but this lady was definitely all-around gorgeous.

His job was to protect all of her and he finally had his in. Being employed at the High Noon would make his work a whole lot easier.

She skirted the end of the bar and poured that bourbon he’d had to walk away from. When she set the drink on the counter, she grabbed a pen and a napkin and placed them in front of him.

He glanced from the napkin and pen to her.

“The application. Just jot down the usual stuff. Name, address, phone number and references. I need their numbers, too. Use both sides if necessary.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel scrawled the requested info on the napkin. He flipped it over and provided a couple of names with numbers he retrieved from his cell. When he’d added the final digit, he passed it to her.

“Anything else?”

She studied the information. “When can you start?”

He grinned. “I thought I already had.”

She tried to look serious but one of those breath-stealing smiles peeked past her cautionary business persona. “All right. The pay is a percentage of the night’s take. It’s nothing to brag about some nights, but others make up for it.”

“Works for me.”

“I will call your references,” she reminded him.

“Then you’ll really be impressed.”

She held his gaze a moment. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Two

Monday, May 27th, 1:00 a.m.

Laney perched on the edge of her son’s bed and watched him sleep all snuggled up with his bear. He’d had that ragged old thing since he was born. It was the first toy she’d bought her child. She’d walked into the gift shop and immediately been drawn to the cute brown bear with its red bow tie. Made her feel safe and it seemed to do the same thing for Buddy. As silly as that sounded.

Regret settled heavily onto her shoulders. These late nights were hard on him. She had hoped to have a good solid staff on board before school started in late August so she could get her boy home at a decent hour, but with Dekker’s abrupt departure that was looking less and less likely.

Last week it had been two waitresses.

What was she going to do?

Getting home after midnight on Sunday night—a school night come this fall—was not going to work. She had to get a good team in place soon.

Terry was running off all her best help. The police would do nothing for fear of a backlash from his father. How did you fight that kind of trouble?

After all these years, why in hell did he have to hunt her down now? She hadn’t seen the bastard but twice in five years. Both times he’d been looking for a place to crash when things got too hot for him in Houston. Which generally meant his father had gotten fed up and decided to actually act like a father. Too little too late, unfortunately for both Terry and her.

She’d let him fool her the first time, but not the second. He’d been furious when she wouldn’t let him into the little apartment she’d had at the time or into her bed. The Kingston men weren’t used to hearing no for an answer.

They weren’t kids anymore. The time for playing games was over. She had a home and a business, as well as a son about to start school. She had responsibilities that needed her full attention and her best efforts. Terry needed to grow up.

Laney might have gotten a rough start with her life, but she was a quick learner. She was a bit of a sap but she was no dummy. The idea of allowing her mistakes to damage her son’s future hurt too much to even think about.

She tucked the covers around her baby, gave him a kiss and checked the window by his bed. Locked, shade drawn. Relieved the day was mostly done, she made her way to the kitchen. There hadn’t been time for even a five-minute break tonight, which was a good thing for her bank account. Now, however, her stomach was demanding attention.

As she took sandwich fixings from the fridge and deposited them on the worn wooden counter of her makeshift island, she considered that tomorrow she had to hire at least one of the new waitresses she needed. And she’d have to check the references on her new security guy.

Her fingers slowed in their work. Joel Hayden had been hanging around most of the week. One of the waitresses had told her he’d recently gotten laid off from his work as a bodyguard at some swanky security company that had closed its doors. Jobs were tough to come by these days and he’d opted to take a break from Houston’s big-city noise and mayhem. Beaumont, he insisted to the waitress who was clearly enamored with him, fit the bill.

Part of her couldn’t help thinking that it was not a coincidence that he hailed from Houston. Terry and his family were Houstonians. But, after the way Hayden had rousted her ex out of the saloon, she figured that wasn’t very likely. Unless the whole scene had been staged.

Damn. She hadn’t thought of that until now. Great. Something else to worry about. Maybe she’d do some checking beyond his references. Google him or something.

After stuffing two slices of bread with ham, cheese, mayo and tomato, she grabbed a beer and found her favorite spot in the living room. Her little corner on the sofa. Most of the living room served as a play area for Buddy. He had his Legos in one corner. His game station in another. And miscellaneous toys in yet another. At five, the kid was already more organized than most adults. He kept Laney on the straight and narrow when it came to clutter.

He was so smart that he scared her sometimes. Not in a bad way, though. Her biggest fear was that she would never be able to provide him with the opportunities he deserved. College tuition was outrageous. She had already started saving for that but it wasn’t much to speak of. She had thirteen years and so far her math was way off reaching the necessary sum.

“That plan’s really holding together,” she muttered. Between the walk-in cooler in the High Noon’s kitchen going out and that fancy automatic toaster oven Tatum had insisted he needed to make sandwiches folks would love, the almighty dollar was tough to hang on to.

Laney sighed as she settled into her corner. She clicked the remote and set the station to a movie channel that featured classic love stories. What could she say? She had to get her happily-ever-afters from somewhere. And there was nothing like getting lost in a sappy movie after a long, hard night at the High Noon.

Truthfully, she couldn’t complain. Her life had sucked for a while after her parents died. The accident had devastated her entire life. Just a ten-year-old kid with no relatives to take her in. Foster care hadn’t been so bad, but Laney had. She’d been a pain in the butt until she was eighteen and then she’d been an idiot.

As stupid as she was and as many mistakes as she had made, she had a beautiful son because of at least one of those errors in judgment. She couldn’t regret Buddy.

Man, she hadn’t realized how starved she was. Something as simple as a ham and cheese sandwich shouldn’t have a girl moaning but Laney had learned enjoying the simple things in life came with the single-mom territory.

As a single mom and a business owner, there was rarely any time left for a social life. Hayden’s image tried to nudge its way into her thoughts.

Hayden was business. She had to keep that fact firmly in front of her. He had trouble written all over that sexy frame.

She gave herself another fifteen minutes of me time before reluctantly moving on to the other chores that would not be put off. Laundry, dishes. Forget about picking up around the house. She was way too exhausted.

Her hodgepodge kitchen wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art. Far from it actually. She’d spent the past two years scrounging for castoffs from folks remodeling their kitchens. Few of the cabinets matched; none of the appliances were the same color or from the same decade, but they all had one thing in common—they worked! Even Tatum saw the beauty in her vision when it came to getting that toaster oven secondhand.

The vinyl floor tiles were of a mixed variety as well, all leftovers from those same remodeling ventures. But her prized find was the old butcher’s chopping-block stand that she used as a center island to ground the assorted eras she’d converged in the room. The island didn’t sit level and the surface was beat all to hell and back, but still she cherished it.

She’d managed to replace all the broken windows in the house, again with castoffs from those moving to more energy-efficient choices. She’d painted the eighty-year-old wood siding herself. She’d painted the whole house as a matter of fact. Looking at it now made her proud even if she wasn’t likely to be featured in House Beautiful.

The saloon was a similar project. The building and five acres she’d gotten for a song at a tax sell-off. Someone had abandoned the place and Laney had grabbed it, using her measly savings to purchase it flat-out and do the necessary renovations. She’d talked the president of a small local independent bank into taking a risk and lending her the money on her newly remodeled house so she could buy and renovate the saloon.

That had worked great at first. Problem was, she hadn’t seen the nice older gentleman’s bad side until it was too late. The loan had been on a balloon note which wasn’t a problem at the time. Time flew and now that note came due in a mere ninety days. He had just informed her that he wouldn’t be renewing the loan so the full amount was due in three months.

If she didn’t pay, she would lose her business and her home. Worry crushed down on her shoulders.

Last month’s receipts had looked stellar, and she had felt confident she had proof of steady-enough income to get a new loan elsewhere. But now the trouble with Terry and good workers walking had started a trend in falling revenue.

Many of her regulars were complaining that the guy made them uncomfortable. With all the wackos shooting up restaurants and the like, she could understand. But the last thing she needed was a drop in cash flow as the drop-dead date on getting a new loan approached.

She needed the books to look good. Laney choked back the anxiety and reminded herself that there was still time.

With the washing machine churning and the dishes done, she walked through the house to ensure the windows and doors were locked. Before Terry reappeared, she left her windows open at night during good weather. That was a risk she couldn’t take with him lurking around. She couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Keeping her .32 handy once Buddy was asleep was another new addition to her nightly routine. She hated that feeling of being afraid. She’d lived it too many times. Seemed just when life was looking up something else came along and rained on her parade.

She hesitated at the front window, one hand on the paper shade ready to drag it down. Her house sat a good fifty yards off the road and there were no streetlights on these old county roads, but the moon was big and bright tonight, giving her a clear view of the road that ran in front of her house.

A Jeep had parked on the shoulder directly in front of her house. With the convertible top removed, she could see that someone was behind the wheel but she couldn’t begin to determine whether the driver was male or female. Definitely wasn’t Terry’s fancy import. Since his keys were at the High Noon, she could safely assume it wasn’t him.

Unless he’d hitched or borrowed a ride from some jerk friend of his.

There was no logical reason for the driver to be stopped in front of her house unless he’d run out of gas. Since the closest convenience store was nearly all the way in town, a long ways from these twisting, winding roads, it wasn’t smart to joyride out here without at least half a tank.

Evidently the guy didn’t mind being seen since a few yards to the right or left of his position and her view would have been blocked by the trees in her yard. Not scary but definitely unsettling.

She didn’t have any binoculars but she could get closer to have a better look and assess the situation. Knowing old man Kingston, he had a P.I. or member of his personal staff watching her, hoping she would make some sort of unfit-mother mistake. She had decided that making his old man happy was the only possible reason Terry was interested in Buddy after all this time. There had to be an agenda.

“Not happening, old man.” He wasn’t getting her son and she wasn’t about to screw up. The thought that Kingston might be behind her banker’s change of heart had crossed her mind. Failing to keep a roof over her son’s head and food on the table might push her firmly into the unfit category.

“Don’t borrow trouble, Laney.”

She slid her cell into her back pocket and tucked the .32 in her waistband. She eased out the back door and made her way to the front of the house using the grapevine trellis and the old well house as cover. The trees and an abandoned tractor that was nearly as old as the house gave her a few points of cover from there. She’d considered having the old tractor hauled off when she first bought the place but she’d decided it gave the yard character. Her five acres had once been part of a huge family farm. It came with all sorts of funky character, like a leaky roof and unlevel floors.

The final tree available to shield her was only about ten yards from the road. She should be able to have a decent view of the interloper from there.

She rushed through the ankle-deep grass until she made her destination. Cutting the grass was something else she needed to find the time and energy to get done. Laney added the chore to her growing mental list.

Crouching behind the tree, she studied the vehicle and its driver. Male. The cowboy hat prevented her from making out his profile or his face.

As if he’d picked up on the thought, he removed his hat and placed it on the passenger seat. He leaned the seat back and appeared to be settling in for the night.

Strange.

He checked the screen of his cell phone and the glow highlighted his face.

Joel Hayden.

What the heck was he doing here?

Before her brain assimilated the best course of action, she pushed to her feet and strode toward him.

When he glanced her way, she demanded an answer. “What’re you doing out here?”

He hopped out of the Jeep. The doors had been removed, leaving nothing between him and making that cocky move.

Her right hand rested on the butt of her Smith and Wesson. She kind of liked this guy, but the truth was he was a stranger and she had to be smart.

“I guess I should’ve knocked on the door and let you know I was here.”

“I guess you should’ve.” A frown nagged at her. “What’re you doing?” How was it that her eyes couldn’t stop surveying him from head to toe? The guy looked even better in the moonlight, but that was no excuse to go stupid.

He shrugged, set those big hands on his lean hips. “I was worried that guy might show up at your house after I kicked him out of the saloon.”

Laney beat back the smile that tickled her lips. She did not know this man or his motives. As much as she wanted to be flattered by his chivalry, she couldn’t ever be a fool again, especially when her son’s safety was at stake. Still, she was flattered.

“That’s very noble of you, Hayden, but your pay ends when you walk out the door of the High Noon.”

“This isn’t about getting paid overtime,” he assured her.

“What’s it about, then?” Her hand still rested on the weapon he could plainly see. “I warned you about those pickup lines. Persistence doesn’t add any points.”

“I have no patience for men like the one who gave you a hard time tonight,” he explained in a firm tone that still reeked of charm. “Maybe I was a little rougher on him than I should have been. I don’t want him taking out his frustration with me on you.”

Wow, that really was sweet. “Nice of you to care, but honestly, you being out here now is kind of strange unless there’s a hidden agenda. I don’t know very many men—actually I don’t know any—who would go so far out of their way just to be nice. So, what’s the hitch?” Her cynicism was showing. That was never attractive.

He took a couple of steps toward her.

Her pulse reacted, but not in fear. She was attracted to this guy and that was dangerous.

You don’t know him, Laney!

“I like you.” He didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of her in the grass that marked her property from the gravel road the state owned. “I don’t have anything else to do and this felt like the right thing.”

Before she could respond with something intelligent, he added, “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

“That’d probably be best.”

She gave him her back and marched toward the house. In those few minutes in the moonlight she understood one very important thing about Hayden. He was trouble.

“Are you certain he won’t come back?”

She hesitated. She shouldn’t have. But he had a legitimate question.

Laney turned to face him. “He might but I doubt it.”

He’d been damned drunk. Terry was probably sleeping it off at some dive motel with a honky-tonk honey who didn’t have any better sense.

“Are you prepared to use that weapon if he does?”

That was none of his business. “If I have to.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

No. “Of course. Why would I carry a weapon I can’t use?”

“Because it makes you feel safe even when you have no idea how to use it.”

Heat scorched her cheeks. “I said I know how to use it.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Laney. I’m only here to help. No hidden agenda.”

Okay, so maybe the guy was bored. As much as she felt sure providing him with entertainment would be equally entertaining to her as well, that wasn’t happening.

The last time she’d been in bed with a man was three years ago when she’d been stupid enough to believe more of Terry’s lies. As much as she recognized her own needs—needs that she had ignored for far too long—she had a son to protect.

“Good night, Hayden.”

“I’ll be out of your way at sunup.”

“Suit yourself.”

To her amazement, she made it all the way to the house without looking back. A repeat of her nightly rounds in the house proved the doors and window were secure.

In her room, curtains and shades drawn, door closed, she stripped off her clothes. A shower would just have to wait until morning. She was way too tired. Besides, the washing machine was still running and that meant the water pressure in the shower would suck.

No, thanks.

She dragged on her favorite T-shirt, the one with that silly sponge character her son loved. Tucking her .32 on the shelf above her bed—way out of Buddy’s reach even if he climbed up on the iron headboard—she realized she was sore from unloading that supply truck this afternoon.

She crawled into bed and her whole body sighed.

Her bed was the most awesome piece of furniture she owned besides the lumpy sofa.

Lying on her back, she stared at the slow turn of the ceiling fan blades in hopes that sleep would come quickly.

Didn’t happen.

How could she hope to sleep with him out there watching?

Instead, her brain started throwing out scenarios that had nothing to do with a good working relationship with the cowboy.

Not smart, Laney.

The folks who liked her called her hardworking, nice, friendly … but not a one had ever accused her of being savvy when it came to spotting the devil behind a nice smile and good manners.

She had a feeling it was going to take her savviest maneuvers to head off this collision course.

Joel Hayden was going to be way, way more than she could handle.

Chapter Three

6:30 a.m.

The sun was up and the promise of an early summer scorcher was in the air.

Joel walked back toward his Jeep. The need to stretch his legs had awoken him before sunup. All remained quiet. The last of the lights had gone out in Laney’s house around two. He doubted she and the boy would be up any time soon.

The past five nights had been spent like last night, only without Laney’s knowledge. Parked out of her line of sight, Joel had slept in his Jeep—what sleep he’d gotten—in order to keep watch on her.

It wasn’t the most comfortable assignment he’d had as far as getting any shut-eye but there was no way around it. For now, he couldn’t ensure her safety via any other means.

Clare Barker was still unaccounted for. Her whereabouts unknown since her great escape from the apartment in Copperas Cove. Rafe, her husband, remained on death row. His execution was barely more than three weeks away.

He’d been the one to contact the Colby Agency yet he’d shut down completely since learning of Clare’s disappearance. In part, possibly, because he had learned the one person he had trusted and communicated with in recent years had double-crossed him by helping Clare elude the agency’s surveillance.

Not a whole lot about this case made sense.

The necessity to keep the principals in the dark was primarily to ensure their safety. Until the Colby Agency discovered what Clare Barker was up to, these women’s safety had to be top priority. If word got out, the media circus would hinder the agency’s investigation. Disrupting the lives of the three women who had been confirmed as the long-missing Barker daughters was going to be problematic enough, mostly for them. Sadie Gilmore, the youngest, had accepted this new reality well enough, but there was no way to guess the reaction from the remaining two women. For now, keeping the investigation quiet and finding the truth as quickly as possible was essential.

Bottom line, it didn’t have to make sense to Joel or anyone else. His single mission was to protect Laney and her son.

He settled his Stetson in place and leaned against the front fender. A few more minutes and he would relocate to ensure Laney didn’t grow any more suspicious than she already was.

Laney Seagers had no idea that she had been born Lisa Barker, middle daughter of Clare and Rafe Barker. Prints from her one arrest for assaulting the same jerk who was giving her a hard time at present had confirmed her identity. She had no idea and Joel wasn’t looking forward to sharing that information. And he wouldn’t until one of two things happened—the danger had passed or he was forced to do so in order to keep watch.

The lady seemed reasonably happy considering the less-than-kind hand fate had dealt her. Like most these days it was a rough go on the financial front, but she was managing or she had been until her banker decided to turn testy. To Laney, getting that loan taken care of was her biggest worry at the moment. She had no idea that far larger problems were brewing like dark clouds over her head.

Rafe and Clare Barker were two of Texas’s most heinous criminals, the Princess Killers. The two had allegedly kidnapped and murdered more than a dozen young girls. That number didn’t include their own daughters, who had disappeared under suspicious circumstances the morning of their arrests. The Barkers were sentenced to death. Though Clare’s conviction had recently been overturned, according to her husband she was the one who had actually committed those gruesome murders more than twenty years ago.

Both had been arrested and charged, after so many young girls had gone missing in and around the community of Granger. Several bodies had been recovered from the Barker property. But the bodies of some of the missing as well as those of their three little daughters had not been found.

Now Joel and the other folks at the Colby Agency knew the reason why. Rafe Barker claimed he had turned the girls over to a trusted friend to ensure their safety from their crazy mother. To that end, he’d staged the family car and their room to make it look as if he’d killed them. But now that Clare’s conviction had been overturned, he feared for their lives.

The Colby Agency had no idea as of yet if there was any validity to Rafe’s claim of innocence, but he had been right about his daughters. The woman, Janet Tolliver, he had alleged was his accomplice in that eleventh-hour move to protect his girls had, in fact, arranged for their private, off-the-record adoptions.

Regrettably, she had been murdered within twenty-four hours of Clare’s release. So far there was no proof Clare had anything to do with the murder, but they now knew that Clare had an accomplice. A one-armed man by the name of Tony Weeden.

As an infirmary nurse, Weeden had befriended Rafe Barker. Weeden was the one person to whom Rafe had told his story—until Rafe contacted the Colby Agency. His letter to Victoria Colby-Camp had been smuggled from Polunsky Prison by Weeden.

Whatever scheme was in motion and whoever was telling the truth, there was damned good reason to believe the Barker girls were in danger. The only question was from whom.

Sadie Gilmore, born Sarah Barker and the youngest of the three, was already in the capable hands of Colby investigator Lyle McCaleb.

Russ St. James had his eye on the unpredictable Olivia Westfield, born Olivia Barker, the oldest of the three. When reviewing the background files on the Barker girls, Joel had expected that his assignment would prove the most troublesome. Laney Seagers had a record of violence, though not exactly a rap sheet as long as her arm. She’d been in and out of one kind of trouble or another during her teenage years. She was also the only one of the three sisters with a kid in tow.

So far the biggest issue was with her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child. Still, Joel hadn’t attempted to move in close to his mark until last night. He supposed the next couple of days would reveal a clearer picture of what lay ahead as far as his ability to gain her trust.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Laney stepped out onto her front porch, settled her attention directly on him and headed his way.

He’d promised to be gone by sunup. Maybe he’d lingered too long. Laney seemed to appreciate his charm to a point, but she was far too wise of the ways of men to be fooled for long. She had no intention of falling into a trap of any sort. The lady was definitely jaded when it came to all things male. But she was attracted to him.

Jeans skintight, T-shirt just as formfitting, she strode purposefully toward him. Her hair bounced around her shoulders, the gold catching the early morning sun and shining like silk.

Now that would be a hell of a vision to wake up to every morning for the rest of a guy’s life. Even a hardcore bachelor like him could appreciate that prospect.

“You’re up early.” He smiled, gave her a nod.

“Saw you walking around out here at the crack of dawn yourself.” She set her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “I imagine you could use a cup of coffee before you go back to town.” She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do after you stood guard all night.”

He cast a speculative glance at the waist of her jeans. “Decided you didn’t need your weapon this morning?”

She smiled. Not one of those full-blown make-his-heart-thump kind but sexy as hell nonetheless. “I’m a little paranoid at night. Afraid of the dark as a kid. You know how it goes. Some of us just don’t grow out of it.”

“Never had any trouble in the dark.” He matched her smile. “But I have my moments with paranoia.”

“So, you interested in coffee? I grind the beans every morning.”

“Hard to refuse an offer like that.”

“Is that a yes, Mr. Hayden?”

“Hop in.” He grinned. “Considering the miles you walk most nights from one end of that bar to the other, taking a load off won’t hurt.” Not that he minded watching her walk.

“That’s a nice Jeep.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Looks new.”

“It’s a couple years old.” He cranked the engine. “Bought it for my thirty-second birthday. I guess it’s my midlife-crisis car.”

“At least you didn’t get a massive truck.” She shook her head as he rolled along her dirt driveway. “Some guys think they either have to buy the biggest truck or the fastest car. For some crazy reason they think it’s a chick magnet.”

He glanced at her as he parked in front of her house. “You mean it’s not?”

“Definitely not.” She admired the interior of his Jeep. “A vehicle should suit the man and his purpose in life.”

“Never really thought about it that way.”

Her gaze settled on his. “What’s your purpose, Hayden? You got a house? A wife? Kids?”

He laughed. “No. No. And, no. Did I pass the test?”

She swung her legs to her right and hopped to the ground. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He wondered what her old beat-up Chevy said about her purpose. Just getting by? Or laid-back and happy to go with the flow?

“I know what you’re thinking.” She strode up onto the porch.

If she was a mind reader they were in serious trouble. “Is that right?”

She nodded. “You’re wondering why I drive that old truck.”

He pushed up his hat and studied her a moment. “The thought has crossed my mind.” He wouldn’t mention how recently.

“It was my father’s.” She turned toward the old blue vehicle. “It was the only thing left after the fire. A buddy of my dad’s saved it for me. Took him a while to find me with the bouncing around from one foster home to the other. It’s a damn good vehicle. Since I was sixteen it’s been the one reliable thing in my life. Got me where I needed to go. Even served as a home sometimes.”

“That beats the hell out of a high-tech sound system and power windows any day of the week.”

“Damn straight.”

The screen door whined as she swung it open. The old house had a comfortable feel about it. Swing on the front porch. Pot of colorful flowers near the door. Old-fashioned screen door fronting an even older slab door with glass so old it had that wavy look. Inside, the place was well-kept and smelled of fresh-brewed coffee.

Likely every part of the decorating and furnishings were secondhand but she’d done a nice job making the place feel like a home for her and the boy.

“Buddy still asleep?” Joel didn’t have a doubt that if the kid was conscious he would be either following his mom around or designing the next rocket for space exploration. As smart as he was, he didn’t appear to have any playmates his age. The kid didn’t seem to mind.

“He’ll be up soon and then he won’t slow down until he crashes for the night.”

Joel laughed. “Kids that age never slow down unless they’re sick.”

“Thought you didn’t have any kids.”

The remark was tossed offhandedly enough but Joel suspected it was one of those self-protective measures. “Lots of nieces and nephews.”

In the kitchen, there was more of Laney’s eclectic decorating. Again, lots of repurposed items. He was impressed with her ingenuity. A lot of things about the lady impressed him. She grabbed a mug from the rack and poured the coffee.

“Smells good.” He accepted the cup and savored a long swallow. “Hmm. You have a special blend?”

She patted a glass container. “I mix a few different beans to get the perfect combination of light and dark, French and Colombian. It’s the best mix I’ve come up with so far.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds kind of tragic but it’s a hobby of mine.”

Judging by the large pot rack hanging over her island and the broad selection of cooking implements, the lady liked to cook. “Did you do the decorating yourself?”

She cradled a mug of her special brew in both hands. “I did. The remodeling and the decorating. I spent a lot of time in salvage stores and hustling to remodeling sales. It got to be a kind of competition with myself to see how much money I could save.”

“Looks like you have a knack.”

“That’s what my grandmother said.” She smiled, remembering. “I was just a kid when I helped her remodel her old farmhouse. She was all by herself and my parents were on the road with business all the time. One day we just tore into the place and started fixing things up. It was a learning experience, let me tell you.”

“Your folks live around here?”

She shook her head. “They’re all long gone. Died when I was a kid. Had foster parents through my crazy teenage years and, believe it or not, I just got a little crazier after that. I didn’t get my act together until I had Buddy.”

He knew her history but asking the logical questions was necessary for his cover. “Well, you turned out pretty damned good, Ms. Seagers.”

Those brown eyes searched his. “What’s a guy like you doing hanging around the High Noon and tossing out compliments to lonely women?” She heaved one shoulder then let it fall. “Or here, for that matter? You’re clearly educated, polished. Not the usual cowboy who hangs out in saloons.”

“The company I worked for went south. I have some savings. I decided taking a little time off to just chill would be a good thing.”

“You seem a little young to retire.”

He laughed. “True. But there’s a high burnout rate in security services. A lot of pressure and a lot of long days and even longer weeks.”

“You’re on break,” she suggested, her expression a bit wary and openly disappointed.

He nodded. “I guess I am.”

“Why bother with working for me? I mean, it’s still security work. Last night can’t be your idea of chilling.”

“Definitely not the same.” He finished off his coffee. “Most of my work involved high-risk principals. Politicians, celebrities. Lot of pressure. Last night was a cakewalk.”

She poured him another cup. “You meet anybody really famous?”

“You mean like a rock star or movie star?” he teased.

She scooted up onto the counter. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“A few. A former president and vice president impressed me the most.”

“Wow.” She pursed her lips. “I may have to get you a special T-shirt for work.”

“Does that mean I have the job?”

She held his gaze for a bit. He didn’t miss the hesitation in her eyes. “I don’t usually trust people right off the bat. I take a while, most of the time. But for some reason I do trust you, Hayden.”

That should have made him relax. It sure would make his assignment a hell of a lot easier. But it also meant that she would eventually learn that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. Knowing that she had decided to trust him made that part a whole lot harder.

“I’m flattered,” he confessed. A woman like her didn’t trust easily.

“Just make sure you don’t make me regret it. And when you’re ready to go back to your real life, I expect a two-week notice.”

The tension held a moment. “You have my word.”

Another second or two of that thick silence elapsed.

“I guess you have the job, then. Barring any unflattering information from your references.”

“Fair enough.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “Now I have a question for you.”

Her expression turned skeptical. “Be aware, I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Agreed.”

“So ask.”

“Why’re you lonely?”

She looked confused.

Before she could put two and two together, he went on with the question that had nothing to do with his assignment. “A woman as young, smart and hot as you should never be lonely.”

Surprise flashed in her eyes but quickly reverted to wariness. “I was trying to be funny, Hayden. I don’t have time to be lonely.”

He’d hit a nerve there. He glanced at the array of hanging pots and pans. “You must be a heck of a chef.”

“I can hold my own.” She set her cup aside, visibly relaxed. “The only time I’ve ever known a man to be interested in kitchen utensils was if he was a chef himself or if he was hungry.”

Joel grinned. “I’m afraid my culinary skills leave something to be desired.”

Laney folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll make a deal with you, Hayden. You cut the grass and I’ll make you a breakfast you’ll tell your grandkids about.”

“Deal.”

Joel was only too glad to help.

One step closer to where he needed to be.

Chapter Four

Colby Agency, Houston, 9:00 a.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp reviewed the records they had amassed on the Barker case. What was she missing?

Each step taken by the investigating detectives after the arrest of the Barkers was spot-on. There was every reason to believe that the Barker girls had died that final morning before their parents’ arrests. The blood at the house and in the family car had suggested foul play. The blood type was consistent with that of the little girls. The bodies were not recovered and no trace of the girls had been discovered in all these years.

Until now.

If Janet Tolliver, Rafe Barker’s friend who had helped with whisking away the children, had lived, perhaps she would have been willing to cooperate with the agency’s investigation and solved at least part of this mystery.

But she had been murdered and the killer was still out there. Had she been killed by another of Rafe’s confidants? That wasn’t logical and no other resource he might have used had been discovered.

And why would he kill the woman who had kept his secret all these years? To cover his tracks? Had Janet Tolliver known incriminating information beyond the location of the three Barker daughters?

If Rafe hadn’t orchestrated her murder, had Clare? Not likely. Lucas, Victoria’s husband, had been keeping watch on Clare until she vanished with Tony Weeden, the one-armed man. There simply had been no real opportunity for Clare to have gotten to Janet. Unless Weeden had committed the act for her or for Rafe.

Weeden was the only variable. It had to be him. For one thing, he was left-handed, out of necessity, but a leftie nonetheless. The police in Copperas Cove had determined that the blow that ultimately killed Janet Tolliver had likely been wielded by a person who was left-handed. The murder weapon was thought to have been a heavy marble angel statue from Janet’s home. The killer had obviously taken the time to clean it thoroughly as well as anything else he or she may have touched in the home. But trace amounts of Janet’s blood had been found on the statue. Since the statue hadn’t been lying near her body, the blood hadn’t simply splattered there.

But if Rafe hadn’t ordered Janet’s murder, which his doing so would have made no sense, why had Weeden turned on Rafe and murdered the woman who had ensured the safety of Rafe’s daughters? That scenario made no sense, either. But someone had murdered her and that murderer had a motive. Had Weeden been waiting for just the right opportunity to take vengeance on Rafe or Janet?

For what reason?

Was Weeden somehow connected to Clare beyond the role of accomplice? If so, why had they not found a connection in his history? Weeden was raised by foster parents but his birth record was ambiguous to say the least. Simon Ruhl, the head of the Colby West offices, was convinced the record was a forgery.

So many questions and hardly any answers.

Victoria heaved a weary sigh. The day had scarcely begun and already she felt emotionally drained.

Time was short and all at the Houston Colby office were working overtime to solve this complex puzzle, including Victoria and Lucas.

The idea of an innocent man being put to death twisted her insides. But was there time enough to prove who was innocent and who was guilty?

Victoria thought of the way Rafe had looked at her when she revealed that Weeden had deceived him. The devastation had been clear in his eyes but it was the other emotion—something like rage—that disturbed her immensely. Forced her to rethink his motives and his story.

Was she working with the devil himself?

A rap at the door drew Victoria from the troubling thoughts. Simon and Lucas entered the small conference room where, together with Victoria, they had created a timeline of events along a whiteboard that extended across the better part of one wall. Photos, newspaper clippings, it was all there.

“We have a new development that may prove our first real break in the case,” Simon announced as he and Lucas joined Victoria at the conference table.

“We could certainly use one.” Though they had uncovered small details over the course of the past few days, not one had propelled the investigation forward.

“As you know,” Lucas began, his expression cautiously optimistic, “I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours attempting to track down anyone who knew either Clare or Rafe in college, before their marriage.”

Anticipation trickled in Victoria’s veins. Lucas had that look in his eyes. He’d found something. “And?”

“A Francine Parks was a close friend of Clare’s for the first year they attended the same university. She claims Clare was raped by one of their professors but she refused to report the incident for fear that the scandal would somehow cause the loss of her scholarship. This woman believes a pregnancy resulted from the rape.”

“This would have been thirty-one or thirty-two years ago?” Clare was about the same age as Victoria.

“Thirty-two,” Lucas confirmed.

Simon picked up where Lucas had left off. “Ms. Parks is certain Clare gave birth to a child conceived in the assault. But she has no proof. She is basing her assumption on excessive weight gain and repeated bouts of something like morning sickness those final few weeks of the spring semester. The following fall, Clare returned looking and behaving as if nothing had happened. According to Parks she refused to discuss the incident at any time.”

“But this Francine Parks can’t be sure,” Victoria guessed.

“She cannot,” Simon confirmed.

It was definitely a possible lead, though not a particularly reliable one. Hearsay was just that, hearsay.

“According to Parks,” Lucas noted, “the incident occurred in late November which would suggest a July or August delivery date. The timing could imply that perhaps Tony Weeden is Clare’s son and, frankly, I’m inclined to believe the Parks woman. She has no horse in this race.”

“The age would be right.” Victoria resisted jumping to the immediate conclusion. “Did Ms. Parks have any other reason to believe that a child resulted from the attack? An overheard conversation? Rumors around the campus?”

“None,” Simon answered. “Clare requested a different roommate that fall and apparently kept to herself since we haven’t been able to find anyone she was close to until she met Rafe.” Simon sat back in his chair and seemed to consider the possibilities. “Clare was young, only twenty-one. Her parents, the Sneads, were murdered when she was a kid. At eighteen, she left her foster parents without looking back. But,” he countered, “she did have a sister, Janet Tolliver. Might she have turned to her? That would provide the connection between the three.”

“You’re assuming,” Victoria suggested, “that Clare knew where her biological sister ended up.”

“We’ve learned the Tollivers, the people who raised Janet, and the Sneads, Clare’s parents, were friends,” Simon reminded her. “Our thinking when we first discovered that Janet and Clare were biological sisters was that the Sneads gave Janet up due to financial reasons but that may not have been the case. The one source we found who knew the Tolliver family at the time Janet came to live with them suggested the Sneads had been afraid of Janet. There was talk that she tried repeatedly to harm her younger sister, Clare, and that was the reason for the Sneads sending Janet away.”

“Is this source that reliable?” Victoria was sure both Lucas and Simon understood that accuracy was key not only for finding the truth but also for moving forward in the proper direction. “We have little time, gentlemen, for running theories that prove groundless. We need something solid. And we need it now.”

Lucas joined the conversation. “The woman who lived next door to the Tolliver family is old, and her memory is sketchy on some aspects of how Janet came to be a part of the Tolliver family, but she was absolutely certain of that point. The Tollivers had no other children at home. They were all grown, so they never saw any trouble out of Janet. She gave the appearance of a nice young girl but the neighbor was not comfortable around her.”

“We’re checking with old schoolmates and any living teachers,” Simon explained, “to determine if Janet had any problems at school.”

“We learned nothing else from Janet’s neighbor in Copperas Cove who held the photo albums of Rafe’s daughters for her?”

Simon shook his head. “The neighbor knew the aunt who left the house to Janet. She and Janet saw each other occasionally as children but their friendship was more recent and, I suspect, relatively superficial.”

Were they wasting their time digging up information on a dead woman? Maybe, but they simply had no other leads. There was nowhere else to go in light of Rafe Barker’s abrupt silence.

“Would Clare turn to a sister who had tried to harm her as a child?” Seemed a more than reasonable question to Victoria. Victoria had a younger sister of her own who had proven that blood was not always thicker than water.

What exactly had happened to tear apart Clare’s family and to set her on a course to connect with Rafe Barker? Had he turned her evil or had she changed him?

“Clare may not have known about the incident or perhaps didn’t comprehend the magnitude of what actually happened.” Simon had children of his own and would certainly understand the capacity of young ones for forgiveness. “She was three when Janet was sent away. Her parents may have chosen not to tell her or she may have simply blocked the incidents from her memory.”

“Then again, Janet may have sought out Clare.” Victoria understood the need to find long-lost loved ones. “She was certainly old enough to remember a sister even if she chose not to remember certain events.” Then again, the prison logs listed no visitor named Janet Tolliver for Clare or for Rafe.

“Janet may have done more than that,” Lucas interjected. “After Clare’s parents were murdered, a couple of neighbors stated they saw a teenage girl outside the home. The lead proved a dead end. But what if it was Janet? What if she came back—she would have been fourteen at the time—and killed the parents who deserted her? Perhaps she even hoped it would be blamed on Clare as punishment for being the daughter they kept.”

“Then why would Clare see Janet again? Even after being raped and feeling utterly alone?” That part didn’t feel right to Victoria. The police reports from the time Clare’s parents were murdered indicated that she had come home and found the tragedy. Yet she had been covered in blood. From her attempts to save them, she had claimed.

So much death and devastation. Would this tragic cycle end with the surviving Barker daughters? Victoria intended to ensure the nightmare ended with this investigation.

“Clare may have blocked the horror of that evening from her mind, as well,” Lucas offered. “It’s far easier to fall back into a pattern that worked once than to stand up and face such a terrible truth.”

Her husband had a very good point. Victoria had long thought that the tragedy of her own son’s abduction and the twenty years they had lost was the worst a woman and mother could suffer. This frightening family saga had her rethinking the definition of “worst-case scenario.”

“If the two were in contact again,” Simon proposed, “Janet may have taken care of the child born to Clare just as she did her three daughters years later.”

But Janet Tolliver had taken the three girls for Rafe, not for Clare.

“That possibility, however, gives Clare less of a motive for murdering Janet,” Victoria suggested. “Why kill the person who helped her with such a tremendous burden at a critical time in her life?”

“Because she discovered that Janet had hidden her daughters from her … and then refused to tell her once she was released where they are,” Simon offered.

“Janet had even gone so far as to hide the photo albums she had saved,” Lucas pointed out. “With the woman next door. Seems to me she wanted to make sure Clare didn’t get her hands on them.”

The photo albums. All three were well-documented biographies of the girls’ lives, from their original birth certificates to current photos. All apparently recorded by Janet Tolliver.

“Assuming Weeden is, in fact, Clare’s son, he may have killed Janet in an effort to help his mother,” Simon summed up. “The flip side of that is that possibly Weeden is only pretending to help his mother. He may have an entirely different motive and agenda.”

“Revenge,” Lucas agreed. “He was the child his mother abandoned. Subsequently marrying and having three little girls.”

More theories and scenarios and no answers, Victoria thought. She banished the mounting worries. “Where are we on Laney and Olivia?”

“Hayden called in this morning,” Simon reported. “He’s making good progress. St. James is still watching Olivia from a distance.”

“Both are very good at what they do,” Lucas tacked on. “Laney and Olivia are in good hands, even from a distance.”

Victoria prayed they could keep these women safe.

And she hoped solving this puzzle would not be too late to stop an innocent man from being executed.

If he was indeed innocent.

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