Hazardous Legacy...

Her mother’s mistakes have made her a target.

After her estranged mother is killed by a crime syndicate, army ranger Laurel Landry knows she’s next...and she needs help from ex-ranger turned bodyguard Mace Ransom. While Mace is used to doing things his way, their best chance of staying alive is relying on each other. Their enemies aren’t backing down...but together Laurel and Mace might be able to stop them for good.

JANE M. CHOATE dreamed of writing from the time she was a small child when she entertained friends with outlandish stories complete with happily-ever-after endings. Writing for Love Inspired Suspense is a dream come true. Jane is the proud mother of five children, grandmother to seven grandchildren and staff to one cat who believes she is of royal descent.

Also By Jane M. Choate

Keeping Watch

The Littlest Witness

Shattered Secrets

High-Risk Investigation

Inherited Threat

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Inherited Threat

Jane M. Choate

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09688-1

INHERITED THREAT

© 2019 Jane M. Choate

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“We’re working together. No more going off on your own.” Laurel tapped a finger against Mace’s chest. “Got it?”

Mace caught her hand, stilled it. “What I do on my own time is my business.”

A zing of awareness raced up her arm. “You and I are joined at the hip until we figure this thing out.”

“You’re a hard lady.”

“No harder than I have to be.”

He nudged her to the truck. “I want you off the streets. Don’t forget, the Collective has put a bounty on you.”

Laurel snorted. “And here we go again, back to where we started. I’m sticking with you. Get used to it.”

Laurel didn’t hear Mace’s response—the rapid report of M4s reverberated through the night. The hiss of a bullet between her and Mace was too close for comfort. It buried itself into the dashboard.

“Stay down.” Mace was already reaching for his Glock.

But Laurel didn’t bother responding. She drew her weapon and opened the door.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading Laurel and Mace’s story. In many ways, this is also Sammy’s story. With his missing leg, Sammy, like others of us, does not measure up to the world’s standards of perfection.

The world’s ideals of beauty and value, as evidenced by awards ceremonies, magazine covers and other superficial criteria, will never be the Lord’s. He asks that we give of ourselves—of our hearts, our minds and our spirits—to serve others, for when we serve others, we are serving Him. When we do this with compassion, faith and love, we find favor in His eyes.

Missing legs or other physical imperfections matter not nearly so much as missing or unused hearts. I pray that we can each offer our hearts to the Lord, for He will turn our weaknesses to strengths, our flaws to honor, our sins to virtue.

With gratitude for His love,

Jane

If God be for us, who can be against us?

—Romans 8:31

Dedicated to America’s unsung heroes: military dogs. Military dogs save lives, sometimes at the expense of their own. These courageous animals provide comfort and companionship to American troops, detect explosive devices and even shield soldiers from flying bullets. A military dog was deployed by navy SEALs in the mission to capture Osama bin Laden. In 2009, a Silver Star, one of the navy’s highest awards, was awarded posthumously to a dog named Remco after he charged an insurgent’s hideout in Afghanistan.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The caw of a crow reverberated through the early morning air, scraping already frayed nerves. Senses spiking, Laurel Landry approached Bernice’s—she had never earned the title mother—storage unit. Bernice’s murder a week ago had brought Laurel to this shabby place at this moment.

Using the key she’d discovered in Bernice’s ancient double-wide trailer, Laurel let herself in and began her search. Sammy, her German shepherd, stood guard.

Buried beneath a stack of boxes, she found a familiar “go-bag.” From the time Laurel had been a small child, Bernice had kept a suitcase for when the two of them had to leave town in a hurry, usually just before the rent was due.

Inside the bag were three items: an envelope containing a picture of a lanky boy and a little girl that was labeled Jake and Shelley and dated more than twenty years ago, another photo, this one of Laurel’s mother and bearing the same date, along with a newspaper article about S&J Security/Protection; a ledger with what might have been names and dates written in some kind of code, the word Collective on the front; and packets of hundred dollar bills. A quick estimate put the amount at ten thousand dollars.

Laurel stuffed the contents into her pack. The shiver that skittered down her spine had nothing to do with the chill of the cold locker and everything to do with the single word Collective.

What was Bernice doing with a ledger bearing the name of a group of organized crime families that had infiltrated public and private sectors from banking to the US Attorney’s Office? News of the group’s exploits had reached her even during deployment in the Middle East.

Bernice, what had you gotten yourself into?

Laurel shook her head, the action one of resignation rather than denial. She’d long ago accepted that Bernice never thought through a decision and that she rarely, if ever, considered the effect her actions might have on others, especially her daughter. Her involvement with the Collective was but one more in an increasingly long string of bad choices. There’d be no more bad choices on Bernice’s part, Laurel reflected.

Though the Collective was based in Atlanta, its tentacles were everywhere, apparently even here in this speck of a town where Bernice had lived.

A chuff of noise outside the unit caused Laurel to go still. Had she been followed to the storage lockers? She’d been careful, but she had to admit that she had been more intent on reaching her destination than checking the rearview mirror.

Awareness feathered her senses. A tingle of apprehension raced through her. Ranger training had taught her to trust her instincts.

“Sammy,” she whispered to her dog as she pulled on her backpack, “time to go.”

Something in her voice must have alerted him for he went on point.

As she exited the unit, a large man swiped at her backpack. Fortunately, she had it secured around her waist as well as her shoulders.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she yelled and jerked away from him.

He broadened his stance, the menacing move designed to intimidate. Too bad. She didn’t scare. “Give me what I want, and you can go.”

Like she believed that. “I don’t have anything.”

He ignored that and reached for her again.

Sammy growled menacingly but remained still. He was too well-trained to attack without a command from her.

Laurel knew she could take down the intruder. Ranger training had honed the already formidable skills she’d earned courtesy of the US Army. She twisted out of his reach and spun, kicking with her right leg and catching him in the chest cavity. The grunt of pain told her she’d made serious contact. Good.

He went down. Hard.

“Sammy, now.”

Despite having only three legs, Sammy attacked, fastening his jaw around the man’s ankle.

The man yelped. “Get him off me.”

“Sammy, enough.”

Sammy released his hold on the man.

She glared at her would-be assailant. “Stay still or you’ll see what he can really do.”

While he figured out that he wasn’t getting away, Laurel did some thinking of her own. If she waited for the police, she’d be letting herself in for prolonged questioning. It didn’t take much to surmise that the man belonged to the Collective and wanted the money and the ledger. Though she didn’t understand the meaning of the coded numbers listed in it, she knew instinctively she couldn’t let him have it.

Laurel pulled her weapon and held it on the man. “Sammy, watch.”

With her other hand, she fished through his pockets, found a pair of handcuffs—had he planned on using them on her?—and a set of keys. When she pressed the key fob, a beep from a nearby truck identified it as his. She marched him to the vehicle.

“Open the driver’s and back doors, then put the right cuff on.” After he did so, she slipped the empty cuff through the exposed frame, clicked the second manacle around his other wrist and secured him there.

He struggled against the restraint, all the while spewing a stream of venom. Mean eyes glittered with hate. “This ain’t over.”

“You’re right. It ain’t. But you are.”

The brief exchange sent her thoughts in a different direction. What if her career with the Rangers was over as a result of the injury she’d sustained while deployed?

She’d meticulously constructed her life, a result of her chaotic childhood. A need to put order to everything had driven her first to the Army, then the Rangers. There, she’d found the first real home she’d ever known. Being part of something bigger than herself gave her life purpose.

If she couldn’t be a Ranger any longer, she feared her life would lose its meaning.

Nothing she could do about it now. At the moment, she was running for her life. There’d be time enough to worry over the future.

Whispers of pink streaked the sky as she headed out of town on a narrow road of chewed-up asphalt. She put a call in to the local police, gave the location of the storage unit and reported the man as a burglar.

Outside one of the small towns that dotted the backwoods road, she found a coffee shop that advertised free Wi-Fi. Though she was anxious to be on her way, she booted up her laptop. First, she contacted a friend at the DOJ and asked for any information he had on the Collective.

His answer came swiftly. Stay out of their way.

She typed back. Too late.

Okay, but you asked for it.

Page after page of text filled her screen. She dug out a thumb drive and copied the information to it.

Next she ran a search on S&J Security/Protection of Atlanta, Georgia. Articles about the firm were abundant, as were mentions of Jake Rabb and Shelley Rabb Judd and their emphasis on hiring ex-military and police personnel as operatives.

Laurel did some quick calculations in her head, taking in the date on the picture and the probable current ages of the Rabb brother and sister. Could it be? Did she have a half-brother and half-sister?

The idea filled her with such longing that tears stung her eyes. In the lonely years growing up, she’d prayed for a sister or brother, someone to laugh with, to cry with. The possibility that she had both a brother and a sister revived that childhood dream. If only...

She put away the wishful thinking and turned her attention to the practical. She was going to have to do something she hated, something that stuck in her craw like having to bow and scrape to a smarmy politician: she was going to have to ask for help. She texted the contact number for S&J Security/Protection, gave a bullet point explanation of her situation, adding that she was a Ranger in the States on medical leave. When a reply came within minutes saying that an S&J operative, an ex-Ranger no less, would meet her, she knew she was on the right track.

With a to-go mug of coffee and a bottle of water for Sammy’s bowl, Laurel left the shop and started on her way once more. The road climbed, an easy ascent until it reached the ridge. From there, the ribbon of asphalt narrowed, twisting and looping back and forth on itself like a sidewinder as it gradually descended.

As she rounded the curves, she thought she caught a glimpse of headlights in her rearview mirror. When the pinpricks of light didn’t appear again, she returned her focus to hugging the centerline of the road. Relief sighed through her when she reached the base of the valley and the road straightened out once more.

The breath caught in her throat when she noticed a jacked-up truck with oversize wheels following close behind.

Looked like she’d picked up a tail. The truck closed the distance between them until it was riding her bumper. Hard.

Laurel refused to give way to the truck that was trying to run her off the road. She made out two men. If she let them send her into the ditch, she’d be at a distinct disadvantage. A grim smile touched her lips at the understatement.

Rule one in combat: keep the upper hand.

“Hold on, Sammy.”

The German shepherd, who rode shotgun, woofed in response.

She swerved, cutting off the truck’s attempt to come up on her right side.

Despite its battered appearance, the truck had muscle behind it, and she had combat driving training on her side. She called upon every skill she had and slammed down the accelerator, rocketing ahead. She stepped on the gas and didn’t let up. As the speed increased, her breathing slowed, steadied.

When she spotted a rutted road up ahead, nearly hidden by underbrush, she turned sharply, then held her breath when the truck passed in a tail of battered air and a boil of dust.

She wasn’t one to waste time on self-congratulations, but she couldn’t hold back a fist pump in the air followed by a brief prayer of gratitude. A scripture flashed into her mind. If God be for us, who can be against us?

Then it was back to business. The men would be back. What’s more, they undoubtedly had others in their network who would be coming after her as well. She was outmanned and outgunned.

Laurel didn’t run from trouble—Rangers typically ran toward it—but she wasn’t foolhardy. Admitting that she needed help hadn’t been easy, but she was grateful that an S&J operative was on his way. She only hoped he arrived in time.

* * *

Mace Ransom nosed into a parking spot at the mom-and-pop grocery store and waited for the client to show up. He climbed out of the truck and leaned against the fender. Anticipation sent adrenaline pumping through him as he replayed his boss’s words in his mind.

We’ve got a new client who’s found herself on the wrong side of the Collective. Laurel Landry. She needs backup, and she needs it now. Shelley Rabb Judd, founder and co-owner of S&J Security/Protection, had rattled off a name and directions to the meeting spot. By the way, she’s a Ranger, on medical leave.

He had kitted up, including flexi-cuffs, flash bangs and a few other goodies, such as an H&K UMP, suppressed and chambered, along with his NVGs. His night vision goggles had come in handy on more than one occasion.

The Glock 17, his preferred weapon, he placed in a custom-made shoulder holster. All that was left was his K-bar knife, which he slid inside his boot. He traveled light and liked it that way. Too many possessions, too many emotions, slowed you down.

There’d been no one to contact, no one to let know that he was going out of town. He supposed he ought to be grateful for the freedom. Instead, it only emphasized the fact that he was alone.

The spurt of self-pity annoyed him, and he shoved aside the unaccustomed feelings to focus on the job.

A battered sedan pulled in and a tall woman climbed out, accompanied by a dog. She raked Mace with a long look, then nodded, apparently satisfied, and strode toward him.

“You’re S&J, right?”

“Mace Ransom.” He drew in a sharp breath, not expecting the kick-to-the-gut attraction to the lady. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her.

She was a job. He’d do well to remember that.

“Laurel Landry.” She stuck out a callused hand. “I’ve got two tangos on my tail. They’re locked and loaded. I lost them a few miles back, but they’ll catch up. Sooner rather than later, I’m guessing.”

“Who’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward the dog.

“Sammy. My partner.”

She had no more gotten the words out of her mouth when a high-riding pickup pulled into the parking lot. Two men climbed out. They were loaded for bear with pistol-grip Mossberg twelve-gauge shotguns at the ready. The twelve-gauge shotguns would take down a grizzly. He didn’t want to see what they could do to a man.

The bigger of the two men, who held his weapon with casual ease, pushed his way forward and addressed Mace. “No sense beatin’ round the bush. Let us have the woman and we’ll kill you fast, rather than take our time with it.” Nicotine-stained teeth flashed in what Mace supposed was the man’s version of a grin.

Mace knew the lady was waiting for his reaction. Did she expect he’d just hand her over? He widened his stance. “Not gonna happen.”

“What’s she to you?” the man challenged, shifting his grip on the twelve-gauge ever so slightly.

“None of your business. And I take it real personal when someone says they’re gonna kill me. Fast or slow.”

The one doing the talking was clearly the leader. The hard look in his eyes spoke of a lifetime of bad choices and bad company. He stank of sour sweat and cigar smoke.

Mace switched his attention to the second man.

He was twitchy and shorter by several inches than his partner, with the compact, dense muscles of a wrestler or football running back. That spelled strength, but it also might mean he didn’t move as quickly as his leaner companion.

His head swiveled back and forth, and he shuffled from one foot to the other. Clearly, he ranked far down in the Collective hierarchy. Probably brought along for backup only. Dark hair sprouted around the armholes and neck of the camouflage-colored T-shirt he wore.

The first man aimed his weapon at Mace, an obvious show of power. Mace studied the man’s hands. He’d always found that hands telegraphed a man’s intention more than did the eyes. The man’s hands were sweaty. He wasn’t as calm as he pretended. Mace saw through the cocky facade to the fissures beneath.

He could use that.

“Whoever’s paying you to do this isn’t paying you enough,” Laurel said, speaking for the first time since the men arrived.

“Yeah? What’s it to you?”

“Only that if you’re going to kill me, I’d like to know my murderer was getting a big payoff.”

He grinned, a stretch of thin lips that held no trace of humor. “We’re not gonna kill you. Just take you to some folks that’ll pay us ten grand.”

“I figure I should be worth at least fifty grand.”

Confusion crossed his partner’s face. “Fifty grand?” Outrage rimmed his words.

“It’s like I said in the first place, you’re not being paid enough. I’d take it up with your boss.”

Mace edged closer to his goal, knowing that Laurel was trying to draw the men’s attention to give him time to get in position.

The second man shot the leader an accusing glare. “You said ten grand was it.”

“Too bad,” Laurel said, a pronounced drawl creeping into her voice. “I’m sure you could get more. Maybe you ought to call this boss of yours and demand a better deal.”

“And maybe you oughta shut up,” the first man said as he cut a hard look at his partner. “She’s playing you.”

Mace angled closer to the leader.

“But fifty grand...” A whine crept into the second man’s voice. “Homer, that’s a sight of money.”

“What’d I tell you about using names? Now shut your trap and let’s get on with it. We ain’t getting nothin’ if we don’t deliver the woman.”

Mace watched as the first man shifted his grip on the shotgun once more. He was getting ready to make his move. Mace telegraphed his intention to Laurel with a small nod. Not by so much as a flicker of her eyes did she indicate that she was following his progress as he closed the distance between himself and the man.

“Now!” he shouted.

TWO

Laurel and Mace had top-notch training on their side, while their opponents were sloppy and undisciplined but brought over 450 pounds of animal fat and pure mean to the fight.

Mace set his sights on the man he’d pegged as the leader and kicked the shotgun from his grip. It was now hand-to-hand. Mace had excelled at hand-to-hand in close-quarters combat training, but his opponent was no slouch and had Mace beat in the weight department.

“You think you’re gonna take me down?” the man taunted, all the while keeping his head out of reach of Mace’s fists. Could he have a glass jaw? The man had a tell. Before he advanced, he wet his lips. It was a small gesture, but it was there.

Mace saw his opening and made his move, neatly evading a blow to the kidneys. He used his opponent’s tell to his advantage, waiting for it, then moving in with a swift uppercut to the man’s jaw.

His guess was verified when his opponent’s eyes went glassy, his mouth slack. Mace followed up with a blow under the nose, causing the man to drop to his knees.

His opponent wasn’t finished, though. He got to his feet, muttered something under his breath, and advanced on Mace with unmistakable intent in his eyes. Mace aimed a short-armed punch to the goon’s face.

Striking the idiot in the face felt good, especially after he’d suggested that Mace abandon Laurel. He spared a glance in her direction and saw Sammy anxiously waiting for the command to attack. The command didn’t come. She flashed Mace an I’ve-got-this look and fought with the ferocity and skill he’d expect of an Army Ranger.

His man got to his feet once more, swiped blood from his mouth and sent Mace a look promising retribution. He grabbed hold of Mace’s arm and did his best to yank it out of the socket.

Mace wanted to give Laurel a thumbs-up, but he was too busy taking down the thug who was fixated on tearing him apart limb by limb.

“Nobody bests me and lives to tell about it. Not that we were gonna let you live in the first place.”

“Enough.” Growing tired of the man’s taunts, Mace did a roundhouse kick, aiming for his ample gut. When he went down, Mace knelt by him, saying, “Stay down, why don’t you, and save yourself some pain.”

The man spat at him. Mace grabbed a pair of flexi-cuffs from his back pocket and shackled the man’s hands.

He turned to see Laurel still grappling with her opponent.

“Homer always thought he was so smart. But look who’s still standing. I’ll take you back in pieces if I have to,” he said to Laurel, “but you’ll be alive. You’ll be real alive.”

Mace started to step in, but Laurel stopped him with a feral grin. “He’s mine.”

He saw that her man had tossed aside the shotgun and pulled a knife, clearly not wanting to kill Laurel, just subdue her. They squared off from each other.

Mace hadn’t pegged her as someone to back down from a fight. He was right.

* * *

The gleam of metal flashed menacingly through the air, but Laurel didn’t retreat. Instead, she moved like a blur of motion, stepping into the sweep of the knife’s arc and twisting the man’s wrist, breaking his hold on the hilt of the knife. It fell from his grasp, and she kicked it out of the way.

“Want to try again?” she asked.

Enraged now, he bared his teeth and charged at her, head first. She spun, then gave him a kick to the pants that sent him toppling to the asphalt parking lot. She put a knee to his back and pulled his arms behind him.

Mace handed her a spare pair of cuffs. “You’ve got some moves on you.”

After securing her man, she planted her hands on her hips. “What do we do with these yahoos?”

Mace pulled a length of rope from the bed of his pickup, tied the men back-to-back, and then bound their feet for good measure. “That should hold them until S&J gets the police on the horn and has them picked up.” A quick text to Shelley took care of the matter.

“Get your gear,” he said to Laurel. “I’ll have one of S&J’s operatives retrieve your car.”

She grabbed her backpack from her vehicle and headed to Mace’s truck.

He swung in the driver’s seat while Laurel slid in the passenger side and Sammy bounded over the seat to the back.

“Ever been on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, hold on. ’Cause we’re gonna take it now.”

With a squeal of tires, Mace peeled out of the parking lot. The narrow road wound its way through the valley then climbed steadily. Though navigating it required concentration, his mind wasn’t on the road but on the woman sitting at his side.

The tight set of her shoulders told him she was tense but wasn’t going to voice her worry aloud. Her sharp gaze was fixed on the road ahead.

“You’ve got some moves on you. You handled yourself like a pro back there,” he said.

She sent an unsmiling look his way. “I am a pro. I did the same training as you, Ransom. No one cut me slack because I’m female.”

“It shows.” She was as well-trained as any soldier he’d fought alongside. “Sorry.”

“Because you thought I was a poster child for women in the military and didn’t have what it takes to back it up?”

“No. I never doubted you had the goods. What I didn’t know was whether you traded on them, expecting special treatment because you’re a woman. Now I know that you don’t.”

Her nod was curt. “Apology accepted.”

“Where’d you pick up your friends?”

“Somewhere over the last ridge. I’d hoped I’d lost them, but they kept on coming.” Her voice took on an edge.

He didn’t bother telling her not to worry. She’d be a fool if she wasn’t scared, and this woman was nobody’s fool. A woman who’d made Ranger was exceptional. He’d known plenty of men, good men, who hadn’t been able to make the grade.

The three-legged dog was another mystery. Obviously well trained, the dog was probably military. Military dogs were heroes in their own right. They had been instrumental in taking down bin Laden. If Mace were to guess, he’d say Sammy had been an explosives-sniffing dog, probably losing his leg doing just that.

“Sammy’s ex-military, right?”

She nodded. “He lost his leg searching a building for explosives. He found something and refused to leave until he’d let his handler know. He saved my life that day plus six of my teammates.” Her eyes darkened. “Three didn’t make it.”

Her terse explanation didn’t pretty up the facts, though it had obviously cost her to recount that day. The affection between her and the big shepherd was palpable.

Mace darted a glance her way, then quickly looked away when he saw her bowed head. Though she didn’t say anything, he knew she was praying. While he respected, even admired, believers, he couldn’t agree with their faith. His own faith in the Lord had died during his years in Afghanistan. What kind of God allowed the atrocities he’d witnessed to take place?

Laurel looked up. “I apologize if my praying made you uncomfortable.”

“No problem.”

She slid her gaze over him. “But you’re not a believer?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe. It’s that I can’t.”

To his relief, she didn’t pursue the subject. She folded her hands in her lap and went still. Despite her energy and skills, she had a restful quality to her that he appreciated.

Once again, he experienced a jolt of attraction. That kind of reaction wasn’t typical for him, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all. Only one other time had he felt such a pull toward a woman and look at how that had turned out.

He resisted putting a hand to the scar that bisected his right cheek. No sense in drawing attention to it. Not that anyone could miss it. The scar, courtesy of a terrorist’s knife, was the least of his wounds. The left leg that would never be fully functional again came from time in a POW camp.

But even that paled compared to the scars that marked his soul. From long habit, he pushed away the spiraling downward turn of his thoughts and focused on the client at his side.

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, but this lady would make any man sit up and take notice. Flawless skin was complemented by heavily fringed eyes and a mouth that looked like it might have curved in a smile easily enough had the circumstances been different. As it was, her lips were firmed in an uncompromising line.

He didn’t fault her for that. Having two of the Collective’s foot soldiers on your tail tended to take the fun right out of you.

She held herself tightly, the tense posture saying more than words could that she was preparing for a fight. Her eyes blazed with the rush of adrenaline, and he knew his did as well.

“Relax,” he said. “I haven’t lost a client yet.”

His lame attempt at humor didn’t raise so much as a small smile from her.

“Sorry.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s been a pretty intense twenty-four hours.”

“I get it.”

After that brief exchange, she lapsed into silence.

* * *

Laurel understood that she was being vetted by the bodyguard. She didn’t mind. Much. She was doing some vetting of her own and decided that Mace Ransom was a straight shooter who didn’t waste time. She appreciated that. A complicated man, she judged.

He was tall, with a rangy build that spelled both strength and speed. Along with jeans and Frye combat boots, he wore an Under Armour shirt and a tactical Blackhawk Warrior Wear jacket system. She guessed there was a holstered weapon beneath the jacket.

His no-nonsense clothes echoed her own. With the temperature steadily dropping in the deep woods, she was grateful for her Duluth Trading jacket, flannel shirt, jeans and Asolo hiking boots.

She turned her attention away from his clothes to the man himself. A bladed nose, sharp cheekbones and narrow-set eyes hinted of Native American ancestry. It wouldn’t be surprising. Many people in the South bore a trace or more of Cherokee blood. All in all, it made for a compelling face.

His features were too rough-hewed, his eyes too full of determination for the bland good looks that found favor in the glossies and online e-zines. No, Mace Ransom would never be mistaken for a movie star or a media idol.

He was closemouthed but could ask questions when he wanted to know something. Even if she hadn’t known he was an ex-Ranger, she’d have made him as spec-ops. It was there in the smoke-colored eyes that missed nothing, in the ramrod posture with the resolutely set shoulders.

His bearing shouted military. She liked the reassurance of that, the familiarity of it. Everything about him was hard. Hard eyes. Hard hands. Hard driven. She’d been around such men for the last nine years of her life. They didn’t give in and they didn’t give up. For that, she was grateful.

The scar on his cheek didn’t repel her. She’d seen worse. Far worse. Along with a day’s growth of beard that roughened his jawline, it added to the dark and dangerous appeal of the man. She bore her own share of scars, some visible, others not. Stars and scars, one of the men in her unit had used to describe spec-ops soldiers.

There was a faint indentation on his chin that might have been a dimple if his lips were to curve in a smile, but the harsh lines bracketing his mouth told their own story, that of a man who rarely if ever smiled. Had life in the Rangers turned him bitter and angry or was there another explanation for the dark cast to his face?

He bore not a lick of the gloss that had characterized her onetime fiancé, though he had been military, too. Jeffrey had been all spit and polish on the outside. It was a pity that he’d been so ordinary on the inside. Laurel pushed memories from her mind of the man who hadn’t been able to handle her making Ranger when he’d washed out.

Unless she missed her guess, there was evidence of a deeper kind of pain in Mace Ransom, the kind that shadowed the heart and the soul. She saw it in the darkening of his eyes when he turned her way and the tight control with which he held himself. At the same time, she detected a steady kind of valor in his eyes, the kind that said he’d do what was right, regardless of the cost to himself.

Whatever put the pain in his eyes, it was not her problem. Or her business.

She wasn’t there to psychoanalyze the S&J agent. She needed his help. Ever since the explosion that had injured her shoulder, she had been functioning at half speed. She needed to step up her game.

“If I didn’t say it already, thanks. For coming. For being here.”

“No need. I go where the job takes me.”

Okay. That put her in her place. She was an assignment. “Still, I appreciate it. I’ve handled myself in plenty of tough situations, but this has me rattled.”

As if sensing her distress, Sammy nudged her neck with his nose. She reached back to scratch his muzzle. “It’s okay,” she murmured. His wet tongue laved her cheek, the small gesture of affection warming her.

“He’s a good animal,” the man at her side observed.

She let her nod answer for her, afraid that her voice would break if she said that Sammy was far more than that.

She returned to her study of the bodyguard. He deserved to know what he was up against. “The tangos on my tail belong to the Collective.”

“I’ve been briefed.” His face hardened, along with his voice.

“Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Gotcha. The Collective doesn’t play nice with others.”

“No kidding? I think they murdered my mother.” She left it at that. There’d be time enough later to go into details, that Bernice’s throat had been slashed, nearly to the bone.

Sammy nudged her with his nose.

“Do you need to go out?” The shepherd gave a sharp bark, and she turned to Mace. “Can we stop?”

He pulled to the side of the road. “Make it quick. Unless I’m wrong, there’ll be others on your tail besides those two idiots back there.”

She hopped out of the truck, let Sammy out. He spent a minute sniffing the grass before settling down to business.

“Good boy.” She patted her leg. “I wish we could let him run,” she said as Mace joined them. “He’s not used to being cooped up.”

“Sorry. We’ve got to keep moving.”

His words triggered a nasty memory. While she’d been deployed in Afghanistan, her unit had been assigned to take down a munitions dump. They’d succeeded but had taken fire, leaving a couple of men wounded, which had slowed them down. A small band of the enemy had managed to escape into the hills and then proceeded to track Laurel and her men relentlessly, intent on revenge. They had lost a man in the ensuing fight.

“Believe me, I know.”

* * *

Mace didn’t fool himself into thinking that they were home free. There were bound to be others tailing his newest client.

He wasn’t often taken by surprise, but Laurel Landry had managed to do just that. Instead of the hard-edged female Ranger he’d expected, he saw a beautiful woman with auburn hair, golden eyes and a soft mouth.

Not that she was soft. She handled herself like the professional soldier she was.

It was that dichotomy that intrigued him.

The big shepherd stayed at her side. Having only three legs didn’t lessen the fierce protectiveness he displayed when Mace made to help Laurel back in the truck. A sharp woof told Mace to back off.

“Sorry,” Laurel said. “Sammy’s appointed himself my guardian.” She knelt and wrapped her arms around the dog’s big neck. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.” She gestured for Mace to put out his hand to Sammy, who sniffed it. “Friend.”

“At the risk of offending Sammy, can I give you a hand?” Mace had noticed she favored her right shoulder.

“Sure.”

“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked as she winced when reaching for her seat belt.

“I took shrapnel from an IED.” When she didn’t say anything more, he took the hint to back off from further questions.

On their way again, they talked little except to exchange ideas for the best route to Atlanta. He gave the lady credit for keeping conversation to a minimum. Small talk was not part of his skill set. It was the same for most of the soldiers in spec-ops. You want polite chitchat, you join a ladies’ garden society. You want results, you get yourself a Ranger.

He eyed the Sig Sauer P226 that showed beneath her jacket. “Nice toy you got there.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at the Glock 17 he carried in a shoulder holster. “Same goes.”

“It does the job.”

Right now the job meant getting the client out of harm’s way. He had no doubt that other men would pick up their tail quickly enough. With that in mind, he sifted through the choices. Keep to the back roads, hoping to fly under the radar. Or hit the freeway with the idea of losing themselves in the mix of vehicles heading east. Each came with a risk.

Part of his Ranger training was evaluating risks. A county road or the freeway? A county road was less likely to be patrolled by the tangos. On the other hand, there was safety in being able to lose themselves in the hundreds of vehicles that filled the freeway like an army of ants.

The freeway it was.

He took the ramp and merged into the steady stream of impatient drivers. Middle-of-the day traffic was only slightly less congested than that of early morning or late afternoon. He switched lanes, moving into the right where slower vehicles were directed. He had no problem going fast—none at all—but the slower pace would make it easier to spot a tail.

“You’re pretty cool for having been chased by thugs,” he said.

“Getting upset isn’t going to change things. Besides, it uses energy I may need on down the road.”

She was right about that. They weren’t out of the woods yet, and despite her calm words, he knew she was wound tightly. He saw it in the compressed lips and tightly clenched hands. She was likely running on fumes. When they gave out...

He shook his head at the probable outcome. Even a Ranger could go only so far without refueling. Adrenaline layered upon danger would have her crashing in an hour or so. He needed to get her somewhere safe, somewhere she could rest.

He glanced at her, noted the grayness of her skin that spoke of exhaustion. Even with that and the shadows beneath her eyes, energy vibrated from her. “You don’t say much.”

“I figured you as the type who didn’t appreciate idle talk.”

“You figured right.”

She lifted a brow. “Then what’s the problem?”

“No problem. Just wondering what you did to make those yahoos so mad.”

“Let’s just say they woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

While he appreciated a woman who didn’t chatter all the time, he was looking for answers. “What do you know about the Collective?”

“Not as much as I’d like. I know Ronnie Winston’s been in federal lockup for the last year.”

“You came prepared,” he noted.

“When someone’s killed my mother and chasing me, I tend to take it personally.”

“How’d your mother get involved with the Collective?”

Laurel didn’t answer and, instead, asked a question of her own. “Jake Rabb and Shelley Judd, they’re brother and sister, right?”

He gave her credit for having done her homework on S&J. “Right. Shelley and Jake are good people. If anybody can help you, they can.”

“And you?”

“And me.” When she yawned widely, he said, “Why don’t you close your eyes for a while?”

“Why don’t I?” She made a half turn to the back seat. “Sammy, time for rest.”

Mace watched the exchange in the rearview mirror. Sammy relaxed his vigilant posture and stretched out on the seat, taking up the full length of it. A soft expression stole over Laurel’s face as she gazed at the dog.

“He’s special to you.”

“Sammy’s been through a lot and seen me through more. He’s the best. There were some who said he ought to be put down after he lost his leg.”

“Guess that didn’t sit well with you.”

Her partially closed eyes snapped open. Mace studied her. Weariness shrouded her, the lines fanning from the corners of her eyes deep, her smile there by an effort of will and little else.

“You guessed right. Sammy deserved better than that. He saved a lot of lives. In my book, that makes him a hero.”

“In mine, too,” Mace said, but her eyelids had drifted shut once more. He glanced over his shoulder at Sammy. “Don’t worry, boy. We’ll keep her safe.”

If Mace hadn’t known better, he’d have said that Sammy nodded his assent.

Mace maneuvered through traffic and considered S&J’s newest client. Beautiful. Intelligent. Courageous. A woman who was being hunted.

Laurel Landry was an intriguing woman, but she was a client and, as such, hands-off, even if he was attracted to her.

While in Jalal-Abad, he’d met an American woman working as a schoolteacher. Teachers were often in danger in Afghanistan and he’d admired her dedication to her students. Attraction had bloomed between them and, for the first time in his life, he’d found himself falling in love. It was a heady sensation, and he savored it.

He’d thought she returned his feelings, that is until he learned that teaching was a cover for her CIA job. Though the Army and the CIA occasionally worked together, their goals were often opposed. Any feelings for her had died when he discovered that she was using their relationship to advance her own agenda.

He’d learned his lesson and learned it well. He had no time for women now. Everything he had, everything he was, he gave to the job.

The job came first. Always.

THREE

Laurel awoke with a start, her thinking fuzzy as she tried to recall where she was. A glance at her watch had her groaning. She’d slept two hours.

Sammy! A shot of fear cleared her mind, and she started to turn around in the seat when Mace’s voice stopped her.

“He’s fine. He’s been snoring.” A pause. “Same as you.”

Her denial was instinctive. “I don’t snore.”

Mace flashed a grin. “Have it your way.”

“I never sleep in the middle of the day.” She needed to make that clear.

“You’ve probably never had members of the Collective on your tail either.”

“There is that.” She stretched. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until...”

“Until now. I get it. Adrenaline got you so far, then you crashed. It happens.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For not making a big deal of it.”

Another flash of that grin. “You’re the one doing that.”

He was right. There was no need to apologize for her body’s need for rest. “Still, thanks.”

He waved that off. “We need to stop and gas up.”

Her stomach rumbled. “I could go for some food.”

“You got it.” He jerked the steering wheel to the right and exited the freeway.

It was then she noticed the men following them. “Got company,” she said.

Mace didn’t take his eyes from the road. “Let’s see how good you really are with that Sig.”

She drew herself up as far as possible in the limited confines of the truck. “I can shoot the wings from a gnat and send them flying.”

“Well, then, is your arm broken?”

Laurel grabbed her Sig, the feel of it as familiar as her own hand.

She turned in her seat, rolled down the window. There was still the possibility that the driver wasn’t part of the Collective, just an innocent man who happened to be going the same direction they were, so she held her fire.

A bullet found its way into the upholstery, putting to rest any doubts. Firing from a moving vehicle took precision and timing. Television shows and movies made it look ridiculously easy. The truth was that only one in twenty marksmen could take out a tire in such circumstances.

Though she was a crack shot, she didn’t go for a tire but the engine. A bigger target increased the success rate exponentially, and a bullet hitting the engine could start a nice little fire, enough to keep the tangos busy for a time. She lined up her target and fired.

The ping of metal against metal told her she’d hit her mark. Seconds later, flames burst from the engine. “Nailed it.”

“Not bad.”

Laurel noted that Mace didn’t drive directly to a restaurant but took several detours as the two of them looked for any additional tails. Forty-five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a diner that had seen better days but was still trying. The pockmarked parking lot, where enthusiastic weeds grew between the cracks and a tired-looking sign promised home cooking, spoke of hard times.

Mace circled the lot. Laurel approved the precaution and paid attention to the location of windows and exits.

Sammy whined.

“Just a minute, boy, and I’ll take you on a walk and get you some food and water.”

Mace parked the truck by the rear door. “Might as well not advertise that we’re here.”

She nodded in approval. It wouldn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure that she and Mace would be looking for food and fuel. Mace at her side, Laurel took Sammy for a short walk, then set out a bowl and put food in it. She opened a bottle of water and filled his water bowl.

When Sammy finished, the three of them walked into the diner. She paused to talk to the man behind the counter. “Okay if I bring my dog with me?”

The man darted an impatient expression her way until he saw Sammy wearing his service dog vest, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. “No problem. I recognize a soldier when I see one.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He tapped his chest. “Marines. First Gulf War.”

“Rangers,” she said, pointing to Sammy and herself.

As though she and Mace had rehearsed it, each performed a grid search, doing a threat assessment. Laurel took the right half, noting a pair of teenage girls who couldn’t take their eyes off the boys in the next booth, an older couple who reached across the table to hold hands, a young woman nursing a cup of coffee. No one appeared menacing, and Laurel relaxed fractionally.

She watched as Mace performed his own search. Apparently he, too, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary for he took her elbow and steered her to a booth at the back.

They vied for the coveted position of back-to-the-wall. The wry grin he gave her told her he knew what she was thinking and was amused by it. In the end, they sat side by side so that they both had their backs to the wall. Sammy took position at Laurel’s feet.

The smell of deep fat frying filled the air.

Mace opened a grease-stained menu. She did the same and eyed the limited choices. They both ordered meatloaf sandwiches and mashed potatoes with gravy. The food was plentiful and surprisingly good. Laurel ate every bite and considered ordering a slab of pie as well. She hadn’t eaten since last night and discovered she was ravenous.

“You’re sure you’ve had enough?” The quirk of his lips caused her own to twitch.

“I’m thinking of getting a piece of apple pie.”

“Go for it.”

She did, washing down the warm pastry and fruit with a chocolate shake. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, lips curved in satisfaction.

“A full belly makes the world look brighter,” he observed, an appreciative smile breaking over his features.

“Spoken like a true soldier.” Her smile died as she considered the fact that she might no longer be a Ranger, not if the rehab for her shoulder failed.

“Now suppose you tell me what you did to get someone so riled up at you.”

She leaned forward, braced her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “I was home on medical leave when I got word that Bernice—my mother—had been killed.”

* * *

Mace listened, saying little, only nodding occasionally. All the while, he was processing what she told him, fitting it in with what he already knew about the Collective.

“Why your mother?”

“Bernice is...was...an attractive woman. In addition, she knew her way around a spreadsheet. She didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, but she could work wonders with numbers. It’s likely she caught some man’s attention, and he discovered she could keep books and keep her mouth shut at the same time.” Her lips twisted at the last.

Mace noted that she referred to her mother by her first name. He filed that away, to be taken out and examined later.

“When she stole the ledger and the money, she sealed her fate.” The lack of emotion in Laurel’s voice as she spoke of her mother’s murder intrigued him almost as much as did the fact that the woman had worked for the Collective.

“How did you find the ledger and money? It makes sense that whoever killed her went through her things to find them.”

“I think they did. The trailer was a mess when I arrived. Bernice wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper, but she’d have never left flour on the counter the way I found it. She couldn’t abide weevils and that’s a sure way to attract them. I think the people who killed her looked for the ledger and money, then ran out of time when I showed up at the trailer for the funeral.”

“Still doesn’t tell me how you found them.”

“There was a receipt and a key for a storage locker in the pocket of a dress. I almost missed it. I went to the storage place and found her go-bag in the locker.”

At his raised brow, Laurel explained, “Bernice always kept anything of value in an old suitcase, her go-bag. No matter how many times we moved when I was growing up—and there were a lot—she took that suitcase with her. It was ugly as all get-out. I remember asking one time why she kept it and she told me that it wasn’t any of my business.

“I had to wonder what made that suitcase so important that she had to rent a storage locker for it when she barely had two nickels to put together.” Laurel rubbed her arms, as though suddenly cold. “That was when I discovered the ledger and money.”

“You made sure you weren’t followed?”

She gave him a what-do-you-think look. “By that time, I was feeling pretty paranoid. So, yeah, I made sure I wasn’t followed to the locker. Or I thought I did.” Her face scrunched into a frown. “But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought because a man was waiting for me when I started to leave. I took care of him, but Homer and his buddy picked up my tail. You know the rest.”

Considering she had narrowly escaped two sets of gunmen intent on killing her, the lady looked remarkably calm. “Tell me about making the Rangers.”

If she was confused by the change of subjects, she didn’t let on. “I earned my place like any other soldier. But nobody could leave it at that. They had to make a big to-do over it.”

“You have to admit that a female Ranger is news.”

“I wanted to be a Ranger. Just that. Not a female Ranger. Just a Ranger.”

He could all but see the impatience chafing at her. “Why does everyone have to goggle? I’m a woman. I’m also an Army Ranger. In my mind, the two fit just fine. The fuss the bigwigs in the Pentagon, not to mention the idiots in the media, make of it makes me see red.”

Mace respected that, even admired it, but she was being naive if she thought women in the Rangers weren’t going to attract attention. “Get over it. You’re news.”

“Yesterday’s news.” Her shrug belied the annoyance in her eyes. “Can we talk about how we’re going to get out of here without taking company with us?”

“Company?”

She lifted her chin at the two men who’d just walked into the diner. There wasn’t anything about them to attract attention unless you looked closely and saw the way they carried themselves, their arms held slightly away from their bodies to accommodate the weapons that were no doubt holstered at their shoulders.

He should have spotted it. Would have, but he’d been engrossed in Laurel and the puzzle she presented.

“Get up and act like you’re going to the ladies’ room. Then wait outside the door.”

She didn’t bother asking questions, only did as he said, Sammy trotting at her heels. When she’d exited the room, Mace signaled for the check. He paid it, added a generous tip, and then casually inquired about the shortest route to Washington, DC. The young waitress gave directions to the freeway. He nodded and thanked her.

He made his way to where the restrooms were located and found Laurel. Pushing open the door to the men’s room, he made certain it was empty, then gestured for her to follow him inside.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We wait.”

It didn’t take long.

The larger man came in first. Mace grabbed him by the arm, twisted him around so that he fell heavily against the sink. The thug reared back, but Mace was ready and slammed the man’s head into the stained porcelain. The man gave a single grunt, then made a “no more” gesture. Mace whipped out flexi-cuffs from his back pocket and quickly bound the assailant’s hands together.

Sammy growled, and Laurel smoothed her hand over his hackles. “Next one’s mine.”

“Go for it.”

When his buddy didn’t return from the restroom, the second man showed up. “Virgil?” He gave the door a cautious push. “Virge, you there?”

Laurel waited behind the door.

Mace nudged his captive with a none-too-gentle kick to the ribs. With the barrel of his gun pressed against the man’s head, Mace whispered, “Answer him. No funny business.”

After a grimace, Virgil called out. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Hey, Virge, what’s taking so long? I expected you to come back with a couple of war trophies—”

Laurel didn’t give him time to finish. She yanked the door back, sending the second man off balance. When he stumbled, she kicked out with her right leg, catching him in the gut.

He grunted in pain but didn’t topple.

She followed up with a blow to his jaw, then slammed the ridge of her knuckles under his nose. It bled profusely.

“You’re gonna—”

“Pay for that? That’s what they all say.” She hooked her leg under his, and, with a twist of her hips, threw him to the ground. Positioning her foot against his neck, she said, “Tell us who sent you.”

The man twisted his neck to shoot her a look of hatred.

Virgil got his bravado back. “You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from us.” Despite the defiant words, the man looked like he didn’t think for himself and waited on others to tell him what to do. A nose that had been broken at least twice did nothing to offset a mouth that had several teeth missing.

“No?”

“Maybe this will help. Sammy, show ’em your stuff.” The skiff of fur at Sammy’s neck stood at attention, and he gave a grumbling growl.

“I ain’t scared of no three-legged dog,” the second man said even as he shrank away from Sammy.

“Sammy is a decorated soldier. He knows twenty ways to kill you. All it takes is a command from me and you’ll be dead within seconds.”

A man walked inside, took a look at the scene before him and quickly backed out.

“Tell us who sent you or I’ll leave the lady and her dog to finish you two off.” Mace made a sound of disgust. “And maybe I’ll put it out there that the two of you were taken down by a woman half your size and her three-legged dog.”

Neither man said a word. Laurel knelt beside them and searched their pockets. “Nothing. Not even a cell phone.”

Though the men didn’t appear overly smart, they’d had brains enough to leave their phones behind. A phone’s history could yield a wealth of information.

Mace pulled out his own phone and sent a text to Shelley, explaining the situation. She would smooth things over with the local cops who were sure to show up in quick order. A grin pulled his lips up at the corners when he got a reply.

What’s up with you? Can’t you go a couple of hours without getting into it with the Collective’s thugs? Shelley had never held back on voicing her opinion.

After slipping a pair of flexi-cuffs on the second man, he hauled both men into the far stall and dumped them on the floor. “These two won’t be going home tonight.”

Sammy gave a last growl at the men.

“Keep your freak of a dog away from me,” Virgil muttered.

“What? Now you’re afraid of my three-legged friend?” Laurel gave a short command to Sammy, who sat back on his haunches, then aimed a look of contempt at the men. “You’re the worst kind of cowards. Sammy served his country bravely. You two wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”

Mace wadded up paper towels and stuffed them into the men’s mouths.

“C’mon,” he said to Laurel. “If the police get here before we leave, we’re in for a bunch of questions. I want to put a whole lot of gone between us and whoever is after you.”

“You read my mind.”

Mace hustled them out the back door. Rain spat from angry clouds, thin drops sharp with teeth that slashed at the skin.

Laurel climbed into the truck, Sammy on her heels. Once inside the cab, she heaved out a breath.

Mace drove out of the parking lot at a leisurely pace just as two police cars were pulling in.

Her sigh of relief echoed his own feelings. Though he believed in cooperating with the locals whenever possible, he hadn’t wanted to stick around. If it was the Collective who was after her, they were bound to have more men in the vicinity.

“I’d have liked to question those two some more,” she said, frustration ripe in her voice, “but they’re like the others, obviously low-level, probably don’t even know who sent them after us.”

She was right. The men hadn’t appeared to have the intelligence or the initiative to act on their own.

She angled herself toward Mace. “What now?”

“We keep heading for Atlanta.” He slanted a curious look in her direction and asked the question that had nagged at him since Shelley had told him of the assignment. “Why S&J? There had to be other security firms you could have hired.”

“I did some research and liked what I learned about S&J, especially that it’s made up of ex-military and law enforcement. In my book, that says a lot.”

The answer made sense. Yet he had the feeling there was more to it than that. He stored that away.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Don’t be. We weren’t close.”

It was a cold answer, but he sensed there was more to it than what the few words conveyed. The expression in Laurel’s eyes told him that she wasn’t going to say anything more, at least not then. Another mystery.

None of his business. All he cared about was keeping her safe and learning whatever she knew about the Collective.

“You must be really important to have the Collective send three teams after you in one day.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Her lips lifted in a wry smile. “I’m beginning to think that the Stand was safer than Georgia.”

He grinned at her use of the military’s slang for Afghanistan. “You might be right.”

Mace’s smile died as memories assailed him. He’d returned to the States a different man from the callow boy he’d been when he’d enlisted.

He had watched buddies die, put up with orders that made no sense from politicians who had never stepped foot on a battlefield, and been betrayed by the woman he thought he loved. He’d endured all that and more.

But it was the unspeakable cruelties he’d witnessed that had soured his stomach and destroyed his faith.

FOUR

Mace sifted through impressions of his client. Strong. Stubborn. Full of secrets. Everyone was entitled to secrets. Including him. Especially him. He wouldn’t hold having secrets against Laurel, unless those secrets put him and her in danger.

The truck’s interior was too small to contain the tension that shimmered through the air. Granted, he and Laurel had just fought off yet another attack, but it was more than that. There was a coiled anticipation in her that made him want to stop the truck here and now and demand that she tell him what was going on. He pulled at his collar to rid himself of the cramped sensation, but to no avail.

Laurel must have found a safe place for her thoughts to inhabit as she didn’t attempt to break the silence that pulsed between them. Which was fine with him. He wasn’t ready to give voice to the maelstrom of thoughts that swarmed through his mind. He was still coming down from an adrenaline high, as he suspected she was doing, too. Taking on two tangos spiked the senses, then came the crash.

With an effort, he focused on the present. He had a job to do. Deliver Laurel to Atlanta and keep her safe.

After several attacks on her life in the last few hours, it was quickly becoming clear that keeping her safe meant stopping the Collective. From what he knew of the organization, it would hunt her relentlessly and then exact a price of retribution.

He could ask Shelley to assign another operative as Laurel’s bodyguard while he worked the investigative end of things. If that meant taking down more goons like the last ones, well, that was all right by him. His lips tightened at the idea of men hunting her as though she were an animal.

Laurel would demand that she work with him. Though they’d known each other for only a few short hours, he already understood that she wasn’t one to stand on the sidelines. What had he expected? She was a Ranger, after all.

A frown worked its way across his face. The Collective wouldn’t go down easy. The members would fight with their last breaths, and they’d fight dirty. Did she know what they were capable of?

As soon as he posed the question, he had his answer. Of course she knew. She’d fought in Afghanistan, saw firsthand the inhumanity that hatred spawned. In the Stand, fear and cruelty ruled.

There were instances of exceptional courage, both on the part of American personnel and that of the Afghani people, who were, by and large, honorable and devoted to their families. It was the warlords and insurgents who had corrupted the country with ever-growing intimidation and terror. Their thirst to inflict their extremist beliefs upon others was unquenchable.

He’d put the horrors of that war away, only to sign on with S&J and take on a different kind of war—protecting innocents from those who would prey on them.

He had to convince Laurel to let him do the investigating while she remained in a safe house. Knowing that she’d undoubtedly raise a ruckus over that didn’t solve his problem. He worked best alone. Always had. He’d tell her, let her down easy. Maybe now would be the right time.

Before he could explain to her why she couldn’t work with him, she said, “You’re trying to figure out how to tell me that you’re going to cut me loose when we get to Atlanta and investigate on your own. Right?”

Caught, he nodded. “Something like that.”

“No way, Ransom. I’m in. All the way. It’s my life on the line.”

“S&J doesn’t let clients work with operatives.”

Even as Mace said the words, he knew he wasn’t being completely truthful. Other S&J operatives had worked with their clients, and four of those operatives were now married to those same clients.

Not that he had anything to worry about on that score.

“It’s a safety thing,” he said, wincing at the lame-sounding words. “Shelley Judd will assign another operative to act as your bodyguard, and I’ll start investigating. We’ll keep you safe and put an end to the Collective at the same time.”

“You really think S&J can stop the Collective?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But we can put a big dent in the organization.” Of that, he had no doubt.

He’d seen S&J’s operatives bring down some pretty big fish, including corrupt federal prosecutors, greedy union bosses, and dishonest newspaper publishers. When it came down to it, they were all the same: predators who stepped on others to get what they wanted.

“Why should you do the investigating?” Laurel asked, returning to the subject he preferred to leave behind. “Why not leave it to someone else?”

He had his answer ready. “I was with military police before I made Rangers.” That was weak, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason: he was attracted to her, so much so that he feared he’d lose his objectivity. The sooner he handed her over to another operative, the better.

For both of them.

“And I’ve had CID training,” she said. She didn’t add “so there,” but she might as well have.

The Criminal Investigation Department of the Army was among the best-trained law enforcement in the armed services. “When?”

“Before I made Ranger. I wanted to get as much experience under my belt as I could.”

“You must have started young.”

“I enlisted when I was eighteen.” A small shrug. “Seemed the right thing to do.”

She’d managed to surprise him. Again.

“We’ll be in Atlanta in another hour. You can tell your story to Shelley and Jake and we’ll take it from there.”

“Thanks for all you’ve done.”

Mace shrugged that off. “Save it for when I’ve actually done something.”

“You saved me from those lowlifes the Collective sent after me.”

“You and Sammy did a pretty good job of saving yourselves.”

Her gaze touched his, but for only a moment, before it darted away and a blush stole up her cheeks.

He’d spoken the truth. He had no doubt that Laurel could have taken on the teams of men by herself with Sammy as backup and come out on top. She had grit to spare. He liked that about her. In fact, he liked a lot of things about the lady.

The direction of his thoughts startled him. As though to negate them, he shook his head, refusing to go down that rabbit hole. As they said, Been there, done that.

* * *

Laurel wanted to do a happy dance in her excitement about meeting Jake and Shelley. At the same time, she wanted to weep for the years she had lost with them. Her brother and sister. She felt it. There would have to be tests, but her gut told her she was right.

She and Mace had made the rest of the trip to Atlanta with scarcely a word spoken between them. She was too wrapped up in anticipation, and Mace had lapsed into a brooding silence, the edge of a frown putting the beginning of furrows on his brow.

At her request, he had taken her to a hotel and, after checking in, she’d cleaned up, fed Sammy and then taken him for a walk.

Now, as she sat in Shelley’s office at S&J headquarters, she absorbed impressions of Shelley and Jake. They had an easy kind of give-and-take relationship that made her think of the families she’d dreamed of when she’d been a little girl.

Jake was tall and rangy while Shelley was petite, a bundle of energy that made her seem larger than her five-foot-nothing frame. Jake took his time making up his mind and spoke with slow deliberation; Shelley made snap decisions and didn’t mind letting everyone know what she thought.

Like two adjacent pieces of a puzzle, they fit. Would there be a place for her? Laurel wondered. Or was the puzzle an exclusive one, made only for two? She steered her thoughts from that emotional quicksand and concentrated on the present.

After introductions were made, including giving Sammy time to sniff Jake and Shelley and decide that they were all right, Laurel explained what had brought her here.

Concluding her story, she gestured to her backpack. “I have the ledger and money here. I didn’t want to leave it at the hotel.”

“Smart move,” Jake said.

Shelley leaned forward. “Can we take a look?”

In response, Laurel opened the pack, withdrew the ledger and money and handed them to Shelley.

Shelley flipped through the pages of the ledger. “Obviously encoded. We’ll put our encryption specialist on it.” She passed it to Jake.

While he looked at it, Shelley thumbed through a packet of hundred-dollar bills, a corner of her lip caught between her teeth. “Not a fortune,” she said, “but enough to steal.” At that, she flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that your mother—”

“It’s okay,” Laurel said and, like Shelley, tucked the corner of her lip between her teeth.

“I’m pretty sure she stole the money. That’s probably what got her killed.”

“I’m sorry,” Shelley repeated, and Laurel heard the sincerity behind the two words, “for your loss.”

Laurel shook her head. “We weren’t close.” Familiar pain pushed its way forward. As always, she pushed back.

Thoughts of Bernice and how she’d died intruded. Bernice, who’d always chased happiness with the wrong men. She’d played the victim card and attracted men who wanted to make her just that. In the end, it had gotten her killed.

Laurel caught the shared looks between Shelley and Jake and found herself not wanting to lie to them, to pretend that the relationship between Bernice and her was that of a loving mother and child.

Questions she’d parried throughout childhood and her early teen years came back to taunt her. Questions like “Why doesn’t your mom come to your school play?” and, worse, “Why is your mom so mean to you?”

She told herself that none of that mattered now and changed the subject. “I want in on the investigation. I was with CID for a time before I joined the Rangers. I can help.”

Mace bunched up his mouth, as though trying to contain the words that were itching to get out. When he finally spoke, it was in a carefully neutral tone. “I already told her that we don’t involve clients in the investigation. It’s too dangerous.”

Shelley steepled her fingers together. “With her background, Laurel could be an asset.” She turned an expectant gaze on Mace.

Mace trained cool eyes on Laurel. “Boss lady says you’re in, you’re in.” A muscle at the base of his neck flexed even as a flicker of annoyance skimmed over his face.

Laurel heard the reluctance in his voice and knew that while he wasn’t happy about the decision, he’d abide by it. Though he’d left the Rangers, he was still a soldier and that was what soldiers did: follow orders.

“Thank you,” she said to Shelley. “Thank all of you. I’d be grateful if you could keep the money and ledger here. I don’t want to carry it around with me. Too risky.”

“Good idea,” Shelley said. “I’ll put them in our safe.”

Mace stood. “Laurel’s dead on her feet. I’m taking her back to the hotel where she can get some shut-eye.”

Shelley gave Laurel a sympathetic look. “Of course. Don’t worry. Mace will keep you safe.”

Outside, Laurel realized how late in the day it was. The sun slid like melted butter below the horizon. On the drive back to the hotel, she closed her eyes, taking in all that had happened. Shelley and Jake were everything she had hoped for. And more. You had only to gaze into Shelley’s eyes to see the integrity shining there. The same went for Jake.

But something had held her back from telling them about the photo and sharing her belief that she might be their half-sister. She chewed on her lip when she recognized the source of her omission. Fear. She’d never lacked courage when it came to taking the fight to the enemy, but she was afraid to confide in Shelley and Jake.

Laurel had endured Bernice’s rejection, but she wasn’t at all certain she could bear rejection from the man and the woman who might be her brother and sister.

Had anyone noticed that Shelley had a habit of tucking a corner of her lip between her teeth, the same as Laurel?

She opened her eyes to find Mace watching her.

“What did you think of Jake and Shelley?” he asked.

She blinked. What did he mean? Had he guessed... No. She was jumping to conclusions. “I liked them.”

“They’re pretty great,” he agreed. “They had a rough childhood, but they’ve made something of themselves, something good.”

What would it have been like to have grown up with such a brother and sister? She tamped down the longing in her heart and reminded herself that she was here to find answers, not to moon over what might have been. And she had Sammy, the best partner she could ask for.

As though aware of her thoughts, Sammy nuzzled her neck.

“You look far away,” Mace observed.

“No further than my thoughts,” she said lightly, though those thoughts were anything but light.

“Care to share?”

“No.” Afraid she’d sounded abrupt, she tacked on, “But thanks.” For right now, she’d hold her thoughts to herself.

“No problem.”

Only it was a problem. She, who had always prided herself on her honesty, was lying to the man who had saved her life and to the brother and sister she longed to call her own. She understood why she hadn’t yet told Jake and Shelley the truth, but why not Mace?

The answer came swiftly. She didn’t want to put him in the position of having to keep something from his bosses who were also his friends.

* * *

Mace ran a dispassionate gaze over Tony the Snitch. Tony was a slight figure who was frequently overlooked, which made him all the better at slipping in and out of places and ferreting out information.

Tony had earned his nickname legitimately. He sold what he learned on the streets...if you could meet his price. He had his fingers in a number of pies, including running errands for people who knew people. He moved in and out of the shadows with the certainty that no one would stop him. He provided a valuable service and took pride in it.

Mace had used the CI for several years now. Confidential informants—good ones—were worth their weight in gold. Tony was a sneak and a thief and would as soon sell you out as he would breathe, but he delivered the goods.

After settling Laurel in the hotel and ordering room service for the two of them, Mace had arranged for another of S&J’s operatives to stand guard outside her room. Guilt nagged his conscience as he thought of the intentional omission.

He told himself that Laurel needed rest, but that wasn’t the whole truth. He preferred working alone.

He had slipped out of his room and driven to the seamy side of the city, where back-alley deals were made with the same finesse as those in the upscale financial district. That the traders wore chains and leather rather than Brooks Brothers made no difference.

He preferred the first to the second, hands down. At least the chains and leather traders made no pretense of being anything other than what they were, unlike the Brooks Brothers–clad businessmen who hid behind facades of civility and polish.

Now he stood in one of those back alleys, with the intention of trading money for information. Steam rose from the concrete, turning the air thick and murky. A sliver of moon cast eerie shadows. The stench of overripe garbage permeated the night.

Mace ignored the stinging in his nostrils as he did the gang graffiti that covered every surface. Guilt scratched at his conscience as he thought of leaving Laurel behind. He soothed it with the reminder that she needed rest.

In his experience, security/protection jobs had prolonged periods where things moved at a glacial pace intermixed with intense action. With Laurel, there’d been few times of inaction, only continuous engagement with the enemy. He wanted to take advantage of the lull and get a handle on what he was dealing with.

Tony slunk out of the shadows. Quick as a snake and twice as crafty, he was whip thin with an oily edge that made Mace want to wash his hands after dealing with the man. Now, Tony hedged and dodged Mace’s questions about the Collective.

“You know me,” Tony whined to Mace in a singsong voice that was his trademark, “I don’t mess with the Collective. They’re bad news.”

Tony had his share of faults, but he had always been on the up-and-up with Mace. So when Tony said he didn’t mess with the Collective, Mace believed him.

As Tony fidgeted, Mace dug in his wallet for a fifty-dollar bill. It was a game where both parties knew the rules. Tony pretended not to know anything; Mace coaxed out what he needed by flashing cash under Tony’s nose. In the end, both got what they wanted.

“The Collective’s been active lately,” Mace said, easing Tony into the conversation by slipping the fifty into the man’s grimy hands.

“Word on the street is that someone took somethin’ they want back. They want it back real bad like.”

“Any idea of what that something is?”

“Some money. Maybe ten grand. But that ain’t the big thing. It’s a book.” Looking genuinely perplexed, Tony scratched his head. “I don’t know why they’re all worked up over a book. Can’t be worth much, least not to my way of thinkin’.”

The ledger. That had to be it. Mace kept his excitement to himself. “What makes this book so important?”

Tony lifted a scrawny shoulder. “Don’t know. There’s a reward for it.” His eyes lit with greed. “A big one. No questions asked.”

“If somebody came across this book, who should they contact about it?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Tony said. “No one wants to deal with the Collective. Like I said, it’s bad news.”

“What about the money? Any reward on it?”

“Yeah, but the book is worth a whole lot more.”

“You hear anything else, you let me know. Right?” Mace held out another fifty, which Tony deftly snatched and pocketed.

“Right.”

Satisfied that he’d learned all that he could, Mace headed back to his truck just as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Laurel.

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