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The Christmas Clue
Delores Fossen


Agent Matt Christensen couldsave her life this Christmas.
If he didn’t kill her first, that is. After all, she’d broken into the home of a federal agent. Not the safest thing she had ever done.
Outside, she could hear the icy December wind assaulting the trees and Agent Christensen entering through his mudroom. Cass listened as he made his way to the bedroom, and turned on some music loud enough to muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floors.
She crept towards his bedroom. The only sound was the pulsing rhythm of a bluesy saxophonist whining out a familiar Christmas carol. Sax music and Dean Koontz paperbacks scattered everywhere. Under different circumstances, she might have wondered what else they had in common.
She eased the door open just a fraction.
And met Matt Christensen.
Or rather she met the barrel of his gun.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Special Agent Matt Christensen – He had no idea that his late estranged lover had given birth to his child, or that the child had been illegally adopted by a notorious crime lord. But once Matt learns he’s a father, he joins forces with Cass Harrison to risk everything to rescue his baby.
Cass Harrison – The Texas heiress has been on the run for a year. She’s counting on Matt to help her find the evidence to clear her name.
Molly Christensen – Matt’s six-month-old daughter. She’s too young to know that Cass and her daddy are risking their lives to rescue her.
Ronald McKenzie – Matt’s friend and fellow agent who agrees to help rescue Molly.
Dominic Cordova – In addition to having Matt’s daughter, the crime lord also framed Cass for murder.
Annette Cordova – Dominic’s wheelchair-bound sister, who would do anything to keep Molly, the child she and her brother illegally adopted.
Libby Rayburn – A federal agent who claims she wants to help Matt and Cass.
Hollis Beckman – The secretive groundskeeper at Dominic’s estate.
Gideon Tate – Matt’s boss. He’s following departmental orders, which prevent him from arresting Dominic.
Collena Drake – The troubled former cop who now devotes her life to finding dozens of illegally adopted babies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she was genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

The Christmas Clue
DELORES FOSSEN

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Beth.
Thank you for just being you.
Chapter One
Cibolo, Texas
Cass Harrison tightened her grip on the tranquilizer gun and waited.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she could feel every nerve in her body. She wanted to get out of there fast. But she couldn’t. Because this confrontation was the first step.
And because Agent Matt Christensen could save her life.
If he didn’t kill her first, that is.
After all, she’d broken into the home of a federal agent. Not the safest thing she had ever done. Hopefully, it would be worth the risk.
Standing at the window of his dining room, Cass made another check of the massive backyard so she could reassure herself one more time that she hadn’t been followed. It seemed clear. She prayed it would stay that way.
Outside, she could hear the icy December wind assault the trees. No traffic noise, though. Agent Christensen’s house was only twenty minutes from San Antonio, but there were no signs of the city here. His white limestone lodge-style house was nestled in the center of five heavily wooded acres, a location that had been a blessing and a curse. The seclusion had allowed her to leave her car a mile away on a nearly deserted side street and sneak into the house sight unseen. But the semi-isolation meant there’d be no one to help if something went wrong.
She was literally on her own.
Of course, it’d been that way for months now.
“Thank you,” Cass mumbled when she finally heard the cue that she’d been waiting for—the metallic grind of the garage door opening, then the sound of Agent Christensen entering through his mudroom.
There was a rustle of movement, and Cass listened as he made his way to the other side of the house. To his bedroom, where he would hopefully take off his standard-issue semiautomatic so it wouldn’t be readily available for him to try to use on her. He turned on some music. Not loud. But maybe loud enough to muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floors.
Before she could change her mind, Cass slipped out of the dining room and into the tiny kitchen. Keeping close to the wall, she went into the hall and toward his bedroom. She tried not to think of what might happen once she confronted him.
Maybe he would listen to her. Maybe.
And if he didn’t…well, Cass had studied what she could access of his official records, and at six-foot-two and one-hundred-and-ninety pounds, Agent Matt Christensen could easily pulverize her.
Forcing that unsettling thought aside, Cass inched toward his bedroom. The only sounds were the steady pulsing rhythm of a bluesy saxophonist whining a familiar Christmas carol. Sax music and Dean Koontz paperbacks scattered all over the house. Under different circumstances, she might have wondered what else Matt Christensen and she had in common.
After a mumbled prayer, she eased open the door. Just a fraction.
And came face-to-face with Matt Christensen.
Or rather with the gun he stuck right in her face.
Cass nearly screamed from the surprise, but she tamped down any startled response and kept a firm grip on her own weapon, such that it was. Not easy to manage with her suddenly trembling hands. And, mercy, her knees were shaking.
Despite all her trembling and shaking, she had no trouble seeing the man behind that gun. Matt Christensen wore black pants and a white shirt that he’d unbuttoned.
He looked one hundred percent lethal.
His bio had been dead-on. He was formidable, and his pretty-boy looks didn’t diminish that. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, toned and naturally tanned. And because his shirt was open, she could also see that he had muscled pecs and abs.
Even though he was a prime specimen of a man, Cass didn’t dare let that distract her. Not a chance. This situation could easily get out of hand even more than it already was.
“Well?” he said.
Definitely not a greeting but more like a challenge. It also had a tinge of a Texas drawl and more than a bit of dismissal to it. If he were even remotely concerned about having an armed intruder walk in on him, he didn’t show it.
“I need to talk to you,” Cass managed to say.
He lifted his left eyebrow. “And you thought aiming a tranquilizer gun at me was the easiest way to do that?”
“The safest,” she corrected. “I’m not here to hurt you, only to talk. I couldn’t meet with you at your office. Not with their security measures. And the office, assignments, your city apartment and this house seem to be the only places you ever go. You really don’t have much of a life,” she added in a mumble.
“I suppose this is your idea of getting me a life?”
“In a way. Just think of this as an early Christmas present.” Cass backed out into the hallway, to put some physical distance between them. It didn’t help. Matt Christensen still seemed to be right in her face.
“How did you get into my house?” he asked.
“I picked the lock. It’s a little skill that I’ve unfortunately had to learn to stay alive. It also helped that your security system wasn’t on. I guess this isn’t a high crime area out here. By the way, I’m Cass Harrison—”
“Even with the dye job and the bad haircut, I know who you are,” he interrupted. “Cassandra Leeann Harrison. Age twenty-eight. Last known residence, San Antonio. I’ve seen your pictures at least a dozen times in the newspapers and on wanted flyers.”
She resisted the urge to try to smooth her fingers through what he considered her bad cut. And it was bad. Being on the run from the authorities didn’t leave much time for visits to the hair salon.
“You’re an heiress. Or at least you used to be. Now, you’re a rich fugitive from justice,” he continued. “I know of at least two federal agencies who want to question you.”
“What they want is to put me in prison for something I didn’t do.”
“You didn’t assist your former boyfriend, Dominic Cordova, with his illegal transfer of funds to a South American bank account? And you didn’t murder his business associate when he discovered that illegal transfer?”
There it was. The accusations in a nutshell. A simple cockily delivered summary of something that hadn’t been so simple. It’d been earth-shattering, life altering. It’d felt as if someone had crushed her heart.
“No.” Cass shook her head. “I didn’t have any idea Dominic would set me up to take the fall for those charges. But it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is I finally get to clear my name, and you’re going to help me do it.”
He rolled those deep blue eyes. “I have no intention of helping you evade these charges.”
“I think you will, once you hear what I have to say. I believe there’s evidence at Dominic Cordova’s estate in West Texas that will exonerate me.”
“So?” he challenged.
“So, the Justice Department has put Dominic off-limits.” It wasn’t a guess, either. Cass had kept very close tabs on Dominic, and she didn’t care much for the authorities’ change in attitude toward him.
“Political alliances make strange bedfellows,” Christensen countered. “The department considers you the bad guy, Ms. Harrison. Not Dominic Cordova. These days, he’s the man they’re backing to help them bring down criminals that they consider to be a lot worse.”
“There isn’t anyone worse than Dominic. And as I said, there’s evidence at his estate that’ll prove that the Justice Department can’t trust him. I want you to use your training and your contacts to help me get that evidence.”
His mouth quivered, threatening to smile. “I’m a federal agent, not a mercenary. Nor an idiot.”
“I don’t trust idiots or mercenaries. I’ve been burned by a few of the latter who’ve tried to sell me out for the bounty that Dominic has on my head.”
“But you’d trust me?” he fired back.
She huffed, and made sure it conveyed “not on your life.”
Matt Christensen huffed, too. “Let’s get something straight, lady. I’m not going to risk my career, my butt or anything else to help you. In fact, I’m going to call the cops so they can come and get you.”
“You can’t call them.” Cass raced after him, caught on his arm and somehow managed to get him to stop. Touching practically every part of his body, she squeezed past him and into the corridor just off the kitchen so she could step in front of him and meet his gaze head-on.
“Just listen to me,” she bargained. “And at the end of my explanation, if you still want to call the police, then I won’t stop you.”
It was a massive lie. A necessary one designed to buy her some time. She would stop him. Someway, somehow. Because an arrest would almost certainly lead to her death. Dominic or one of his hired guns would see to it that she wasn’t around to accuse him of the things he’d done. In the eleven-and-a-half months she’d been on the run, there’d been almost a half-dozen attempts on her life. In prison she’d be a sitting duck.
Matt Christensen studied her a moment with eyes that were somehow sizzling and cool at the same time. It wasn’t a quick assessment. In the depths of all those shades of blue, Cass could see the battle he was having with himself. A battle about whether or not to listen.
“Start talking,” he ordered.
Cass knew a gift when she saw it, and she didn’t waste time. “For months I’ve been trying to figure out how to prove I’m innocent. I finally got a break from an unexpected source, a former cop named Collena Drake. The police busted an illegal adoption ring, and she’s been going through hundreds of files related to the case. I heard through the grapevine that she’d seen Dominic’s name as an adopter.”
“And this is somehow linked to the evidence that’ll exonerate you?” He couldn’t have possibly sounded more disinterested.
Cass nodded and suddenly wished she’d rehearsed this. “Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little…shocking.”
He stared at her.
“Right,” Cass concluded. “You’re not easily shocked.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I called Collena Drake, and I pretended to be a servant at Dominic’s estate. I said I was concerned about a child that Dominic had recently adopted. Ms. Drake confirmed that Dominic had indeed adopted one of the babies in question. She’d yet to confirm that the process was illegal, but it was highly suspect. Because, believe me, Dominic wouldn’t qualify for a normal adoption. There are all kinds of skeletons dangling in his closet.”
“A baby,” he repeated. He shrugged. A dismissal sort of gesture that wasn’t as effective as his other brash expressions. Because while his shoulder might have been shrugging off her question, his eyes were demanding more info. “Why would you bring this to me? If you think the adoption was illegal, you should be informing the police.”
Oh, this was about to get messy. Very messy. “Remember Vanessa Jordan?”
Matt Christensen blinked. “Yeah. Of course, I do. It’d be hard to forget my ex-girlfriend. She’s dead. And what could she possibly have to do with you or this visit?”
Cass knew that the woman had everything to do with it. “You didn’t stay in contact after she broke off things with you.”
“No. And it was by mutual agreement.”
She braced herself to deliver what he wasn’t going to want to hear. “Vanessa had a baby six months ago. She gave birth the day she died.”
Another shrug, and it was even less effective than the last one. But then, it had to be. The ice man routine wouldn’t stand a chance against news like that. He pinned his narrowed gaze to hers. “You believe Vanessa’s baby was part of this illegal adoption ring?”
“Yes. And more. Let’s do the math. Thirteen months ago, Vanessa and you broke up. Then, she gave birth seven months later.”
Matt Christensen mumbled some profanity under his breath. Really bad profanity that didn’t seem to be steeped in surprise or anger. It all seemed to be aimed at her.
“Okay, let’s do some more math,” he commented. He casually propped his shoulder against the wall and angled his body so they were directly facing each other again. “Vanessa could have gotten pregnant right after we broke up, and then she could have delivered a preemie. It happens all the time.”
“Yes. But according to the records that Collena Drake found, the baby weighed over eight pounds when she was born. Hardly the birth weight of a preemie.”
“What are you saying?” Christensen snapped. But he didn’t wait for Cass to answer. “That the child is mine? No way in hell, because Vanessa was on the pill the whole time we were together. And we were careful because neither of us was ready to become parents.”
Since there was probably nothing she could say that would convince him, Cass decided it was time for the more direct, visual-aid approach. She motioned toward the pocket of her brown leather jacket. “I’m going to reach inside, so don’t shoot first and assume I’m going for a real gun.”
Only after he nodded—a gesture laced with reluctance and more of that cocky attitude—Cass slipped her hand inside and took out the picture. A picture that had not been easy to obtain. She’d had to pay off Dominic’s head groundskeeper to use a camera with a long-range lens.
“Vanessa was a redhead. Like me, before the dye job and the bad haircut. She also had green eyes. A Scots Irish-dominated gene pool.” She aimed her index finger at him. “Then, there’s you. If you introduced yourself as Thor Svenson and claimed you were of Viking descent, people would believe you in a heartbeat.”
With that, she handed him the photograph, and after more of that mumbled profanity, he took it.
Cass watched as his suspicious gaze eased away from hers and skimmed over the round-faced baby sitting in a stroller in a garden. But soon the skimming stopped, and his attention speared on to that image.
In the photograph, the angle of the sun was just right so that it glistened off the child’s loose curls that haloed around her head.
Blond curls.
And coupled with the little girl’s clearly visible piercing blue eyes, Cass figured that Matt Christensen wouldn’t be shrugging again anytime soon.
This wasn’t something he could shrug off.
Because he’d no doubt just realized that he was looking at the face of a child he hadn’t even known existed.
His baby daughter.
Chapter Two
Matt stared at the photo, and he stared at it some more. Even though he tried to tamp down all the wild scenarios that started to fly through his head, he wasn’t completely successful. The little girl was a dead ringer for him.
“You’re a fugitive from justice,” he pointed out, talking just as much to himself as his breaking-and-entering visitor. “So, why I should believe anything you say?”
“Because I’m telling the truth.”
No hesitation. None. It still didn’t help convince him otherwise, and she obviously realized that, from the Arctic look he gave her.
“The truth?” he questioned, upping that icy look a notch. He handed her back the photo, and she put it in her pocket. “I doubt it. You probably had the picture doctored. Or maybe that wasn’t even necessary. Maybe you just found some kid who looks like me and decided to use her to run this…whatever this is.”
She looked genuinely insulted. “Why would I make up something like that?”
“Easy. To convince me to help you get this so-called evidence from Dominic Cordova’s estate.”
That earned him a glare. And she was good at it, too. Those cat-green eyes could slice, dice and dismiss all in the same glance.
“Then, if you follow that through to its logical conclusion,” she countered, “I must be telling you the truth about there being evidence to exonerate me. Or else why would I need your help?” She paused, and let that hum between them for a few seconds. “Now, do me a favor and take that even one step further. If I’m telling the truth about that, then I’m also telling the truth about the little girl in that picture. She’s your daughter.”
Matt shook his head. “There’s nothing logical about that conclusion.”
And that meant he had to figure out the next step. He could just call the cops and have her arrested. One call. A simple solution. He could have her out of his house within twenty minutes. Maybe less. But his instincts told him to take a little detour first. Not that it would change the outcome. Not that it would prevent her arrest, but it’d make him sleep a little easier if he confirmed, or disproved, a few things.
First things first though. He reached out and grabbed her tranquilizer gun. He definitely surprised her, because judging from the look on her face, she had no idea it was coming. Only after he’d successfully disarmed her did Matt take his cell phone from his pocket.
“No!” she practically yelled. She grabbed him, clamping onto his arm and shoving him against the wall. “I can’t let you call the cops.”
He actually had to bite back a smile. The woman had courage.
Or something.
Maybe desperation was the great equalizer because he towered over her and outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, and still she tried to hang on to him. While they were practically plastered against each other.
She noticed that, too.
Her gaze slipped from his eyes and landed on his right thigh and groin that pressed against her jeans. With her free hand, she reached down and gave his thigh a shove, which was a necessary adjustment. Unfortunately, her hand wasn’t too steady, or else she wanted to torture him. Because her touch was more of a grope, and she almost gave him an erection in the process. It was surefire reminder that it’d been a while since he’d been this close to a woman.
“Why don’t we take this conversation out of this narrow hallway so we’re not practically standing on top of each other?” she suggested. “And then we can discuss why you can’t call the police.”
“I’m not calling them,” he informed her. “Yet.”
“Then who?”
“A friend. And I don’t plan on telling him you’re here. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my problem, not his. I just want some information.” And Matt didn’t want to try to get that info while trying to keep an eye on his visitor.
She waited a moment, staring at him. “What’s your definition of a friend?”
Matt decided to keep things vague. “Someone who can prove you’re lying.”
“Oh.” And she actually relaxed a little.
A reaction that had Matt tensing a lot. It couldn’t be possible. Cass Harrison couldn’t be telling the truth.
“This call would be to someone we both can trust?” she asked. “By that, I mean to someone not in the Justice Department.”
Again, he kept things vague. “The call will be safe.”
She released the grip she had on his arm, took a step back and motioned for him to continue. Matt took her up on that—after he continued to consider her response and then dismissed it as some bizarre mind game.
Yes, that had to be it.
He made the call. To his friend and co-worker, Agent Ronald McKenzie. Definitely someone in the Justice Department. He didn’t have the same reservations about safety that Cass did.
“Ronald,” Matt greeted. He winced when he heard Ronald give a groggy yawn. It was past 10:00 p.m. and obviously bedtime for some. “Sorry to wake you, but this is an emergency of sorts. I need you to run some thing on our old pal, Dominic Cordova. I’d like to know if he’s become a father in the past six months.”
That stopped Ronald in midyawn. “A father?”
It wasn’t just a simple question. Ronald wanted to know what had precipitated this call. But Matt didn’t want to get into that yet. So he trimmed down the details of an explanation and hoped it would suffice. “Yeah. I’ve heard rumors that he adopted a child.” He paused, because he had to. “I’ve also heard rumors that this baby might have a connection to Vanessa.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. But like I said, it’s probably just a rumor.” Or an out-and-out lie.
“I’ll check,” Ronald promised. “And then I’ll call you right back.”
“Thanks.”
Matt pushed the end call button, slipped the phone into his pocket and looked at her. Her face wasn’t hard to miss since she was right there in front of him. They were practically standing on each other. Way too close. It was time to do something about that, so Matt stepped around her. Unfortunately, his arm swiped her right breast, causing her to suck in her breath. Matt ignored both the swipe and her reaction, and he headed into the kitchen, figuring she’d follow.
She did.
“Too bad you’re not a Navy SEAL,” she mumbled. She brushed her fingers over the tiny one-foot mini tree that had come predecorated with about a dozen tacky ornaments. It was his sole attempt to recognize the holidays. “I hear they’re fearless.”
Matt just glared at her. “That won’t work.”
“What won’t?” she asked innocently.
“Insulting me.”
She scratched her eyebrow. Auburn eyebrows that didn’t match her now-chocolate-brown hair. “I was actually trying to goad you.”
“That won’t work, either. So, talk to me about this so-called evidence that’ll exonerate you,” Matt insisted. If there was anything to it, and that was a huge if, he could pass on the info to the authorities once she was in custody.
“Surveillance disks,” she answered. “Dominic records everything that goes on in every room. And I mean everything. Since the murder happened in his office at the estate, I’m sure some information about it will be on one or more of the disks.”
Matt didn’t even try to suppress a loud groan. “And I’m guessing there are plenty of these disks?”
“Hundreds in a vault in the basement. I have the code to get into the vault. That’s not the problem. The problem is, according to someone who’s familiar with the estate, Dominic only keeps each disk one year. That means if I don’t act fast, he’ll erase any evidence I can use.”
He leaned slightly closer. “That isn’t helping your case, you know.”
“You mean because if Dominic records everything, then the sheer volume will make it impossible for us to find the evidence?”
“You,” he corrected.
“You what?”
“You said it’ll be impossible for us to find the evidence. There is no us in this delusional plan, only you.”
“Oh, there’s an us all right.” She shook her head, and sent a lock of her chin-length hair sliding across her cheekbone. “The little blond-haired girl in that picture changes everything.”
“No. She doesn’t.”
And Matt was almost positive he believed that.
Cass Harrison apparently thought otherwise because she just stared at him.
“Okay,” he said trying a different angle. “Let’s suppose for argument’s sake that there is disk evidence. How do you intend to get it?”
“We will use equipment to jam Dominic’s disk surveillance feed. After that, we can gain access to the basement. Since covert measures are your specialty, that shouldn’t be a problem. Then, we’ll open the vault and search through the disks until we find what we’re looking for.”
Matt bypassed the last half of what she said and groaned again. “Equipment? What kind of equipment?”
“That’s another area where I’ll need your help. I don’t have access to the kind of equipment necessary to bypass Dominic’s state-of-the-art security system, and it’s not something I can buy.”
Matt really didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “But I do have access?”
She made an of course sound. “Don’t make me quote questionably obtained intel reports about the recent rescue of an American businesswoman who was being held hostage in South America. The only way the military and the Justice Department could have gotten her out was if they’d used the exact kind of jamming equipment that we need.”
He scowled at her. “And you think the Justice Department just leaves this equipment unsecured so anyone can use it?”
“No. But I think you can get it if it becomes necessary. And guess what? That little girl in the picture makes it necessary.”
Matt leaned in. “Yet another example of totally faulty reasoning. Or maybe it’s just a lie.”
She groaned. “I wish you’d stop accusing me of lying.”
“Sorry.” An apology Matt definitely didn’t mean, and his tone conveyed that. “It’s just that I get a little testy when someone breaks into my house, holds a tranquilizer gun on me and then demands that I steal classified equipment, break ranks and join in a halfassed, stupid plan that would almost certainly get both of us killed.”
“It’s not a half-assed, stupid plan.” But then she paused, shrugged. “Okay, maybe it does have some half-assed, stupid elements to it, but I’m doing the best I can with what I have. And what I have is you, Matt Christensen. You’re a highly trained federal agent. You can get us into that estate.”
In most cases, that would be true.
But not this time.
Judging from the intel reports he’d read, Dominic Cordova’s estate was a fortress. With reason. The man had enraged at least a dozen people, criminals, who killed as easily as they breathed. And that kind of situation made a person paranoid about security.
“Why didn’t you just ask the authorities to check out Dominic’s place, huh?” Matt asked. “If the evidence is there, they could find it—legally.”
“First of all, the authorities wouldn’t believe me. And if by some miracle they did, they wouldn’t risk offending their new ally by requesting the necessary documents to do a search of his estate. Plus, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure there’s a leak in communications. I think Dominic may have an insider in the Justice Department, and this person might be feeding him official information.”
Interesting. Matt hadn’t heard that particular accusation. Perhaps because she’d just made it up. He certainly wasn’t about to assume it was true. “Is that a guess, or do you actually have proof?”
“Proof. I did a test a few days ago and phoned in some bogus info to a person I thought I could trust in the Justice Department. Then, I timed it. In less than an hour, Dominic received a call on his secure line at his estate. The caller spoke through a computer voice scrambler so I have no idea who he or she is, but the person relayed the bogus info verbatim to Dominic.”
Matt considered all of that and decided it could mean nothing. It did, however, warrant some further investigating. “Do I dare ask how you gained access to Dominic’s secure phone line?”
“No.” She had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “That’s not a good question to ask.”
If this entire conversation hadn’t been so frustrating, Matt would have smiled. But he doubted he’d be doing much smiling tonight. “How’d you ever hook up with Dominic Cordova in the first place?”
She angled her head and stared at him. “Is this small talk?”
“In a way.” Matt checked his watch. “I’m waiting on my friend to call back. If he doesn’t within the next ten minutes, I’m phoning the cops. I figure this is as good a way as any to pass the time.”
For a moment Matt didn’t think she’d answer. Strange, since she’d volunteered everything else. But then, he’d probably riled her with that threat to call the cops. Which wasn’t exactly a threat. He would call them.
As soon as Ronald verified that she was lying.
“Dominic,” she mumbled, saying his name as if it were a persistent infection. She thumped a tiny Santa figure dangling from the Christmas plant and sent the Santa swaying. “He sought me out, attending the same parties, the same social functions. He pursued me. At the time, I didn’t realize it was a setup, that he wasn’t interested in me nearly as much as my multimillion-dollar trust fund.”
“He’s that good an actor?”
Her sigh was laced with regret. “He’s that good, and I can usually spot a phony. My parents might have been wealthy, but they weren’t born that way. They were streetwise, and before they died they were always warning me about guys like Dominic.”
“But you missed the signs with him,” he pointed out.
“Obviously.”
She quickly looked away after her gaze landed on his bare chest, making him wish he’d taken the time to rebutton his shirt after he’d realized he had an intruder in the house. This was not good. Even with all the unreasonable demands, Cass Harrison was still a woman.
An attractive woman who had a unique way of reminding him that he was a man.
“I missed the signs because I was thinking with the wrong part of my body,” she explained. “It took me seven weeks to realize that Dominic wanted to use my money and business contacts to carry out illegal activities.”
Matt didn’t doubt that part, but he also believed that Cass had loved getting involved with a dangerous man. It was what bored socialites like her did. And he should know. Vanessa had done the same thing to him.
She’d loved his job. The danger of it. The excitement. It’d gotten her hot. But that heat had fizzled out very quickly when she grew bored with him and his lack of massive amounts of money.
That was something he had to accept. And it was a realization that still caused Matt to curse himself for ever getting involved with a blue-blood heiress in the first place. At least it was a lesson learned.
And one he wouldn’t repeat.
Ever.
Even if the heiress across from him was causing him to have a few lustful thoughts.
Cass pulled in a hard breath and stood. “You’re not going to help me, are you?”
“No.”
She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her well-worn jeans. It was a little maneuver that had her navy blue sweater tightening across her breasts and hitching up to expose an inch or two of her stomach. No bra. And how did he know that? Because the sides of her jacket were far enough apart that he could see the outline of her erect nipples.
Oh, man.
Why didn’t he just hit himself in the head? He shouldn’t be looking at her. She was as off-limits as any woman could possibly be. When this was over, he really did need to take some time and get laid.
“I can’t recover the evidence on my own,” she said, her voice a little quavery now. More than quavery. Feminine. Not good. That quavery feminine voice teased his protective instincts while her semibare midriff teased a part of him that needed no such teasing. “And if I do nothing, I have to stay on the run. Not exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life.”
He made a grunt of agreement and forced his attention away from that snug sweater. “You know the old saying about being between a rock and a hard place. Guess that’s where you are right now.”
She made a mimicking grunt of agreement, and while the sound was still reverberating in her throat, she pulled her right hand from behind her. Not slowly, either. She was fast. Damn fast. And her hand wasn’t empty, either.
She aimed a gun—a real gun—right at him. “I always carry backup,” she let him know.
“Hell,” he mumbled, and he silently chastised himself with some much-stronger profanity. How had he let the situation come to this?
Oh, wait.
He knew what had caused his lapse in judgment. It was her nipple-showing sweater and that quavery voice. He’d stupidly let them distract him, and now that stupidity might have some serious consequences.
Matt glanced at her and then took a better look at her weapon. He instantly recognized the model. A Kahr PM9. A trim 9 mm with a tiny three-inch barrel. Heck, the whole gun was only five inches long, so no wonder he hadn’t noticed it in what was no doubt a slide holster tucked in the back waist of her jeans. But Matt knew this was a case where size truly didn’t matter. It was a combat weapon and just as deadly as any gun in the wrong hands could be.
“This is a mistake,” he insisted. Not his best attempt at reasoning, but Matt was still berating himself for allowing the situation to escalate into this.
“A mistake? I don’t think so. I have a different saying for you—a woman’s place is behind the trigger. Guess that’s where I am right now.”
Man, she was as good with the wise comebacks as she was at distracting him. Too bad he’d have to be the one to make sure she was arrested. And it was really too bad that he didn’t like having to do that. It was his job to protect and defend, he reminded himself. But a part of him, a very small part of him, wouldn’t have minded if Cass Harrison had somehow been able to find evidence to clear her name. Especially since that would send Dominic to jail for the rest of his life.
“So, what now?” Matt asked her. “I’m your hostage?”
She nodded. “Temporarily. Take off your pants.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re going to sexually assault me?”
That earned him one of those glares and a nasty little huff. “You wish. I’ll use them to tie you up. I don’t especially want to go rifling around your place to find something to restrain you.”
Oh, so she did have a plan.
Such that it was.
Matt unzipped his pants, all the while looking for the opportunity to disarm her. It wouldn’t take much. Just a split-second distraction, and then he could launch himself at her. A tackle of sorts. And then he would call the authorities. Her time was up.
Stripped down to his shirt and boxer briefs, he extended his arm in front of him and dropped his pants on the kitchen floor.
In the three feet of space that separated them.
She scowled, probably because she knew it would be a major mistake to try to reach down and pick them up. Instead, she kept her gaze fastened on him and used her foot to drag the pants closer to her. She didn’t stop there. Cass began to back up, moving farther away from him.
The sound of the phone ringing sliced through the room. It was exactly the distraction he’d been waiting for. She automatically glanced at the phone mounted to the wall, and that glance cost her.
Matt launched himself at her.
She didn’t fire. In fact, she didn’t even attempt to shoot him. She turned, as if to run, but Matt latched on to her shoulder. His full weight slammed into her, and the momentum sent them both crashing to the floor. They landed between a pair of bar stools.
Somewhere amid the sounds of the struggle, he heard his answering machine kick it. “It’s Matt. Leave a message.”
Matt relied on his training. He turned, maneuvered and adjusted until he had her pinned down, and then he wrenched the small gun from her hand. Because her knee could quickly become a painful weapon, he literally pressed her entire body against the floor so she couldn’t move.
“Matt, are you there?” Agent Ronald McKenzie said into the answering machine. It was a call that Matt would have liked to answer, but there was no way he would let go of Cass now that he’d subdued her. Well, sort of.
He might have gotten her physically restrained, but she was hurling eye daggers at him and was mumbling some rather creative profanity through bursts of labored breath. It was obvious she wouldn’t give up and was probably already looking for another way to escape.
“I checked on our friend for you,” he heard Ronald say. “I found something.”
Matt couldn’t help it. That comment captured his complete attention. It obviously captured Cass’s, too, because she stilled, her body practically going limp, and her gaze drifted in the direction of the phone.
“Just asking the question seemed to make a few people uncomfortable,” Ronald explained, his voice noticeably laced with anxiety. “Still, I asked, and here’s the answer I got—it appears that six months ago Dominic Cordova did indeed adopt a baby. He named the girl Molly.”
Matt felt as if someone had slugged him.
Oh, man.
All he could do was lie there while Ronald continued.
“I hope I’m wrong, but I doubt it, so here goes. The adoption might not have been aboveboard. It’s all tied to that illegal adoption ring that the San Antonio PD recently broke up. And if you’re thinking this kid belongs to Vanessa, you’re right. The timing is dead-on. Vanessa did have a baby, and Dominic’s adopted child was born in the very hospital and at the very minute that Vanessa gave birth. But here’s the clincher, and believe me, it’s not a clincher you’re going to like.”
Matt looked down at Cass at the exact moment she looked up at him. He tried to brace himself for whatever Ronald was about to say, and judging from the sympathetic look that passed through Cass’s eyes, he was about to get some very shocking news.
“According to my source, Vanessa didn’t get involved with another man after you.” Ronald paused several snail-crawling moments. “If I were a betting man, I’d say yes, Dominic Cordova has your daughter.”
Chapter Three
“Well?” Cass challenged. “Do you finally realize I’m telling the truth?” But she dropped the snarky attitude when Matt groaned, rolled off her and landed on his back on the floor.
“I can’t believe this,” he said. And he kept repeating it, punctuating it with some profanity.
Cass tried to sit up, but he put his arm across her stomach to keep her down. “I know it’s going to take some time to sink in—”
His glare cut her off. “Don’t say anything. Don’t move,” he said, through clenched teeth. “And don’t you dare pull out another weapon.”
“Because you already have enough to deal with. Yes, I understand that.”
Besides, she had no intention of holding him at gunpoint. Not now. That phone call was exactly the impetus that could get Matt Christensen to cooperate with her plan.
Well, maybe.
Maybe he would go in an entirely different direction and try to turn all of this, including her, over to the authorities.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Because with Dominic’s recent pact with the powers-that-be, no one would be looking hard for evidence to exonerate her. Heck, they might even destroy those surveillance tapes to protect the tenuous relationship they had with a man who could help them catch bigger, meaner fish.
“Truth time,” Matt insisted, groaning and turning his head toward her. Unfortunately, that put their faces only a couple of inches apart. Practically eye-to-eye. “Did you doctor that photo?”
“No.”
He studied her a moment. “But you had reason to doctor it.”
“True, but if I hadn’t thought the child was your daughter, I wouldn’t have come here.” Because all that intimate eye contact was starting to distract her again, she looked away. “I figured…hoped,” she said, rethinking, “that you’d want to find Molly.”
“How?” he tossed at her like a gauntlet. “Your plan sucks, and it has crater-size holes in it. For instance, if by some miracle you do get inside Dominic’s estate, what then? Have you even thought beyond that point?”
“You bet I have. The plan is simple—we find the evidence and your daughter, and we take both her and the surveillance disks and get out of there.”
Because he still had his arm slung over her stomach, she felt his muscles tense. “My daughter.” A moment later he hissed out a breath. “If it’s really true, then why wouldn’t Vanessa have told me?”
Cass could think of a reason—maybe the snobbish Vanessa hadn’t wanted her middle-class ex-boyfriend to know because she’d had no plans to keep their child—but Cass didn’t voice that aloud. Judging from his silence and the way his jaw muscles had declared war on each other, Matt had already drawn the same conclusions.
“Look, I know it’ll take you awhile to come to grips with all of this,” she said to him. “But the truth is—we don’t have time to spare. Remember that part about Dominic recycling disks every year. Well, in eight days it’ll be a year since he murdered his business associate and framed me. I have it on good authority that he didn’t bother to erase those disks, probably because he’s too arrogant to believe he could ever get caught. We have eight days at the most to get the evidence, and each and every one of those days means that your little girl is living under the same roof with a man like Dominic.”
His gaze snapped to hers, and his teeth came together. “I don’t need that reminder.”
She wasn’t immune to that emotion she heard in his voice. A father’s concern. Even though she wasn’t a parent, Cass had no trouble imagining how she would feel if their positions were reversed.
“For what it’s worth,” she offered, “Dominic’s sister, Annette, has apparently been taking care of the child since the adoption. In fact, Annette’s the one who wanted a baby, and Dominic adopted Molly for her because she can’t have children of her own.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should. Annette’s physically handicapped and overly devoted to Dominic, but from everything I’ve heard about her, she’s also, well, human. And kind. I’ve never met the woman, but I don’t believe she’d hurt your daughter.”
Cass prayed that was true anyway. Dominic was Annette’s baby brother, and Cass figured if it came down to it, Annette would protect Dominic at all cost. Unfortunately, that now involved an innocent baby girl.
She pushed off his arm and got to her feet, not easily. Cass winced at the soreness in her backside and legs. She’d have bruises from their wrestling match, but then Matt likely hadn’t escaped injury, either. “You should probably get dressed so we can start making plans to leave.”
However, the moment the words left her month, a chill went down her spine. Not because of the leaving part—that was a necessity—but because the full impact of that call hit her. She’d let the news distract her, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“Just who was that on the phone anyway?” she asked.
“Ronald McKenzie.” Matt got up from the floor. No wincing for him. He accomplished it quite easily, then put her weapon on the counter next to the tranquilizer gun, picked up his pants and put them on. “He works for the FBI.”
That spine chill got significantly worse. “Oh, mercy.” She stepped in front of him. “Didn’t you hear that part about the leak in official communication’s channels?”
“I heard, but I trust Ronald.”
“Yes, but you can’t trust the people he questioned about your child.”
Matt opened his mouth and closed it. Cass could almost see the thought process happening in his head. But what she couldn’t determine was where exactly those thoughts were leading.
“You need me to get into Dominic’s estate,” she said, in case he was thinking about ditching her. “I’ve been there, and I know the layout. Without me, it’ll take you a lifetime or two just to find your daughter.”
He just stared at her.
“Okay, maybe not a lifetime,” she countered, when that stare crossed over to making her uncomfortable. “But if we do this right, it can be a quick in and out. An extraction, I believe you special agent guys call it. You could bring Molly home where she belongs.”
Matt zipped his pants. “Or I could simply ask Dominic Cordova to hand her over to me.”
It was an angle Cass had already anticipated, and she had a cautionary answer. “You could, but what happens if he refuses? The Justice Department won’t be on your side. You said so yourself. Dominic is their new best friend.”
He paused a moment and then shook his head. “You’re asking the impossible. I can’t break the law. I’ve sworn—”
“I know.” Best to nip the doubt before it could grow into a full-blown argument. “But if we think this through, we may be able to skip anything illegal. For starters, I know the head groundskeeper at the estate. He’s a semifriend, and he can hire us as part of the crew who’ll be decorating the estate for Christmas. That way we wouldn’t technically be breaking and entering.”
“No. We’d only be stealing. Last time I checked that was still a crime even for former debutantes.”
She hated that label and hated even more that it bugged her. And he knew it bugged her.
“You have a right to your daughter,” she reminded him. “And Dominic obviously isn’t planning on just handing her over, or he would have already done it. If he didn’t know beforehand, he certainly suspects now that the adoption was illegal. It was all over the news, and the lawyer who handled Molly’s adoption was arrested.”
“All of that could mean nothing.” But his body language told her that Matt knew she was right.
Cass pushed a little harder. “Here’s my suggestion. You ask for some vacation time. If your boss wants to know why, you can say it’s some sort of family emergency. Which it is. Then, you borrow the jamming equipment, and we can leave immediately. If all goes well, you could be back as soon as the day after tomorrow—with your little girl.”
“No,” he said, buttoning his shirt.
Stunned, Cass replayed that one word, hoping she’d heard him wrong. “No? To what part of the plan?”
“To all of it.”
She replayed that, as well, and it didn’t sound any better the fifth time around. “But what about Molly?”
He shrugged. “That’s what official channels are for.”
Cass could have pointed out all the pitfalls associated with official channels, especially since Dominic was now part of those channels. However, Matt Christensen knew what was at stake here. He knew that Dominic could hide the child so that no one could get to her—ever. He knew what could go wrong, and yet he was obviously willing to risk doing this the official way.
“Okay,” Cass mumbled. She took a deep breath and pushed her hair away from her forehead. “So, I guess this is goodbye. No hard feelings, I hope.”
With that, she started for the door.
She didn’t get far.
He snagged her by the arm. “You think you’re leaving?”
Since that sounded like a challenge, her chin came up. “I am leaving.” She tried not to sound hesitant.
But she was. Heaven help her, she was.
Special Agent Matt Christensen had been her best shot at clearing her name. Without him, she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of doing that.
“It’d be suicide for you to try to break into Dominic’s estate alone,” he pointed out.
“I have insider help, remember?”
“Yeah, and if that were enough, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
Touché.
Yes, she had an insider, Hollis Becker, Dominic’s head groundskeeper and the man in charge of external security for the estate. Because she was paying him well, he was good at eavesdropping, keeping track of Dominic and taking the occasional picture for her. But Hollis wouldn’t be able to get her past the internal security system there. No, the best he could do was get her a fake job as a seasonal helper, give her a temporary place to stay and tidbits of information as to Dominic’s immediate whereabouts. That would give her, perhaps, an opportunity to sneak inside the basement of Dominic’s estate.
Cass tried to move out of his grip, but he held on, latching on to her other arm as well. She really hated the idea of kneeing him in the groin, but if it came down to it, she would. If she stayed, she’d end up in jail and therefore, dead.
“Once I’m inside the estate, I’ll do everything within my power to get your daughter out of there,” she explained, even though it was hard to deliver a calm explanation with her emotions doing a foot race inside her.
He blinked. “You’d actually try to get the baby out?”
“Of course.” Cass watched the surprise on his face. No, not just surprise. Shock. She frowned. “What, you think I’d leave a child there with Dominic if I had a chance to save her? You must really believe I’m a selfish bimbo.”
The hold he had on her melted away, and he groaned and dropped back a step. Cass took it as the gift that it was. She retrieved both of her weapons, and she headed for the back door.
She made it two steps.
“Wait,” he said.
Cass stopped. Held her breath. And prayed. Because even though she’d been willing to walk out that door, she knew without his help, she’d fail. Slowly she turned back around to face him.
He opened his mouth to say something. What, she didn’t know. And she didn’t get a chance to learn because the phone rang again.
Like before, he didn’t answer it. He stood there. Waiting. It didn’t take long for the answering machine to kick in.
“Matt, it’s me, Ronald,” the voice said. She recognized it as the man who’d called earlier. Except his voice was a little different now. Not sleepy. Frantic. “I hope to hell you’re there listening to this. And I hope to hell I’m wrong.”
Matt reached over and hit the speaker function on the phone. “What’s going on?” he asked the caller.
“I don’t know exactly, but five minutes ago the communications guys at the central command post intercepted a Level Red threat.”
Cass looked at Matt, silently requesting an explanation.
He didn’t provide one.
“I take it this Level Red has something to do with me?” Matt asked his friend.
“It has everything to do with you. Your name is on it. So is a fugitive—Cassandra Harrison. They believe she’s there with you.”
That caused Matt to curse.
“What’s wrong?” Cass mouthed.
Again he didn’t answer.
“My advice is to get out of there fast,” Ronald McKenzie continued. “We’ve got backup on the way, but it doesn’t look like we’ll make it in time. These guys are five to ten minutes ahead of us.”
With that ominous-sounding warning, Ronald McKenzie hung up.
Matt didn’t waste any time. He snatched his weapon from the fridge.
“What’s wrong?” Cass demanded. “What does Level Red mean?” And she held her breath because she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Matt Christensen latched on to her arm and got her moving toward the kitchen door. “It means we leave now. Someone sent assassins to kill us.”
Chapter Four
“I hate to say I told you so…” Cass grumbled under her breath.
Yeah. Matt hated it, too, but hindsight wasn’t going to get them out of this situation.
“Help is on the way, but I doubt they’ll arrive in time. And I’d rather not get involved in a shootout,” he said more to himself than her.
“Then you’d better have a plan to avoid one.”
She added something else equally obvious in that on-the-verge-of-panicking tone, but he shut out whatever she was saying. He had to concentrate if he was going to get them out of this alive.
Matt grabbed the black leather jacket that he kept next to the back kitchen door. He shoved his cell phone, a small supply kit, her tranquilizer gun and some extra magazines of ammo into his pockets. The supply kit had money, matches and just in case, tools for picking locks. While he was at it, he crammed some ammo into Cass’s front jeans pocket, as well. Not the best idea he’d ever had.
His fingers went places they never should have gone. Cass let him know that with a huff.
Matt mumbled an apology and eased the back door open an inch, but he didn’t step outside. He paused and lifted his head a fraction. Listening.
“Won’t the assassins use the street out front?” Cass asked. She slid her smaller gun back into her holster.
“Maybe. But they might come at us from several directions.”
She sucked in her breath. Yeah. The severity of their situation had obviously sunk in.
Matt opened the door farther and did a situation assessment. He heard the vicious winter wind. But there was no indication that there were assassins about. But then, a hired gun probably wouldn’t give many indications before he aimed and pulled the trigger.
Still, they’d have to risk it.
“Let’s go,” Matt ordered her.
“Let’s go?” She didn’t move, even when he clamped on to her arm. “How could it possibly be safer out there than it would be in here?”
“Those assassins are going to riddle this house with bullets. There’s no place we can hide in here where we can’t be shot.”
Obviously not convinced, she frantically shook her head. “But—”
“They probably have explosives or some other heavy artillery they can use to turn this place and our vehicles into fireballs,” he interrupted. “We’re leaving now.”
Matt didn’t wait for an argument. He pulled her out the door and headed for the first cluster of oaks at the back of the house. It wasn’t far, less than twenty feet away. But every step felt like a mile.
By the time he hauled her behind the largest of the trees, his body was already in full adrenaline mode. His gaze whipped from one side of the woods to the other, and he braced his weapon in case he had to fire. But Matt saw no indication that anyone had trespassed—yet.
“Keep your gun ready,” he instructed. He pointed toward another cluster of trees just to the east of where they were. “Let’s go.”
Cass cooperated. Without hesitation or questions she ran, hurdling over a fallen cedar before she ducked into the next barrier of trees.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her breath heavy with every word. Like him, she kept a vigilant watch around them.
He knew the answer, but he didn’t think she’d like it. “To a bunker of sorts. We’ll wait there until it’s safe for us to leave.”
“And what will keep the gunmen from finding us there?”
“Nothing.”
Her breath got even heavier. “This doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
And at the moment it didn’t sound like much of a plan to Matt, either. He had an old truck stashed back beyond the bunker, but it’d be a bear to get to it and then get out without drawing attention from the assassins.
Which meant he might have to kill them.
Of course, Matt had known that from the moment he’d first heard about the Level Red threat. Those men had almost certainly come to murder them, and since Matt wasn’t ready to die, he was prepared to take them out first.
Matt surveyed the area, then pointed toward a pair of cedar elms with an ankle-deep stream ribboning around them. Just like before, they raced toward cover.
It was winter all right, not that that was news to Matt, but he became brutally aware of just how cold it was when he felt the slushy, partly-frozen water seep right through the leather in his boots.
Matt heard something. The back door to his house. No doubt opened by one of the assassins. The men had probably come in through the front and already searched the place—and now they were ready to look outside. Cass’s and his tracks wouldn’t be that hard to follow.
Cass must have heard the door, as well, because she dropped to the ground, using the mound of frozen dirt and rocks as cover.
She aimed her gun in the direction of the house. “We don’t have time for this,” she whispered. “We need to get out of here so we can get that equipment and leave for Dominic’s.”
So, she did appear to have that mountain of resolve even in the face of assassins. Matt admired that. But that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Because he had a really bad feeling that camaraderie and admiration were not going to be assets where Cass Harrison was concerned. The less he felt about her, good or bad, the better.
He was about to repeat to himself when a flash of movement captured his complete attention.
One of the men, dressed head to toe in black, darted behind an oak. Matt automatically took aim. So did Cass.
It was too little too late.
A bullet came right at them.
FROM THE MOMENT she’d seen those gunmen, Cass had braced herself for the possibility that she’d have to dodge gunfire. What she couldn’t have planned for was the deafening blast that sent that bullet their way. The sound ripped through her, spiking her adrenaline and sending her heartbeat racing out of control.
“Stay down,” Matt barked.
Just as another bullet slapped into the dirt mere inches from her head.
Cass flattened her body right against the frozen ground, and she tried to find out where the shots were coming from. The angle was all wrong for the bullets to have come from the gunman behind the big tree.
“He’s on the roof,” Matt informed her, as if reading her mind. He levered himself up and fired.
Cass hadn’t braced herself for that, either, and if she’d thought the shooter’s rifle was loud, it was a whisper compared to the sonic boom that came from Matt’s gun a couple of feet from her ear.
“Did you get him?” she asked, unable to spot the guy who was obviously trying to kill them.
“Not a chance. He’s out of range, and he knows it. That’s why he’s up there.”
Oh, mercy. So, they had one shooter out of range and another likely creeping his way through the woods toward them.
“Turn around,” Matt ordered her. “And watch our backs.”
Cass hadn’t thought it could get any worse until he said that. Her heart was no longer just racing, it was banging against her ribs, and she could feel her pulse pound in her ears.
Forcing herself not to panic, she rolled over so that she was on her back. The trees that’d given them so much protection to get to the bunker were now obstacles. Each one could hide a potential killer. Even worse, if she managed to spot him, Cass wasn’t even sure she’d be able to shoot. Simply put, her aim had never been tested in a real situation, only at a firing range.
She might die right here, right now. And all because Dominic wanted to make sure she couldn’t testify against him.
Those words flashed through her head and fed the adrenaline. They also fed her determination. They had to survive this. They had no other choice. Because if they died, they would never get Matt’s child away from Dominic.
Fueled with her new motivation, Cass readjusted her position and her gun so she’d be better ready to fire. And she waited.
Next to her, Matt fired two more shots.
“You said the guy on the roof is out of range,” Cass whispered.
“He is. The guy behind the oak moved.”
Oh, God. More heart-pounding adrenaline. But Cass stayed focused on her own task. There was no movement in the back of the woods. No sounds, other than those that should be there. So all she could do was wait and pray that Matt was as good a shot as she thought he was.
It didn’t take long, mere minutes, for the winter to stake claim to her body. She was bone cold, and her butt had likely frozen. Oh, and her teeth were chattering. Audibly chattering. Cass clamped her teeth over her bottom lip and hoped it would help.
Matt fired yet another round and then almost calmly readjusted his arm. “The guy behind the tree is injured. I shot him in the right hand, so he probably won’t be shooting at us anymore.”
He’d said that so calmly that it took a moment to sink in. Cass hated that she felt nothing but elation over the injury of another human being. But it seemed appropriate, considering this man, this stranger, had been willing to kill them.
“What about the one on the roof?” she asked.
“Still there.”
Wonderful. They couldn’t get him, but he could certainly do some damage to Matt and her.
There was a cracking noise. A sound that caused both Matt and her to scurry to re-aim. But Cass saw no gunman. Instead, a dead tree limb swooped to the ground.
Matt immediately went back to his original position so he could keep an eye on the roof. “We need to get to that clearing just to your right.”
She glanced in that direction, and it was obvious that Matt and she did not share the same definition of a clearing. At best, it was a path. A narrow one. To make matters worse, there weren’t nearly enough trees or underbrush, and it’d be easier for the roof shooter to see them and gun them down.
“Why do we need to be there?” she asked.
“I have a truck parked at the end of the clearing.”
Cass glanced in that direction. “How far can the roof guy shoot?”
“Five hundred meters, give or take a meter or two.”
“My butt and brain are too frozen to do the math. How far do we have to make it down that so-called clearing before we’re safe?”
“About halfway.”
This time Cass attempted the math, and she figured that was at least thirty running steps. In other words, it was way too far. “And how many bullets can he fire in thirty seconds?” she asked.
He gave her a flat look. “You don’t want to know.”
Cass groaned softly. “We can’t just lie out here. We’ll freeze to death. So, what do we do?”
“The clearing,” Matt repeated. “First, though, scoop up those dead leaves and twigs around your feet and toss them on top of the makeshift bunker.”
It seemed a strange request, but since there was nothing nonstrange about any of this, Cass did as he asked.
Immediately, bullets came hailing down on them.
“Keep moving those leaves,” Matt instructed. He returned fire with one hand and did some leaf arranging of his own.
While keeping a grip on her gun and watching their backs, Cass hurried, scooping and tossing, until she’d gathered up everything that was gatherable.
“Now, put your coat up there,” Matt added.
Heck, she didn’t question that, either, even though once Cass had stripped off the jacket, she went from teeth-chattering to downright freezing. But she didn’t forget to remove the picture of Matt’s baby. She shoved that into her jeans.
“Take the small black case from my pocket,” he continued. “And then help me out of this jacket so you can add it to the leaves.”
Cass did that, too, and it required a lot more body touching than she’d anticipated. Specially, touching Matt’s chest, abs and arms. It wasn’t easy to get a man his size out of a jacket without her practically crawling all over him.
When she’d finished removing his jacket, Cass opened the wallet-size case and found some small tools, cash and a book of matches. “I’m going to set fire to the leaves and coats?” she asked, not believing that was a good idea.
He nodded, then shot at the guy on the roof, ejected the empty magazine and reloaded. “Literally a smoke screen.”
Oh. It might work.
But since Cass couldn’t come up with anything better, and since the guy was still shooting at them, she used one of the tiny tools to rip off the bottom of her cable-knit sweater to use as kindling. It wasn’t easy because of her shaky hands, but she struck the match, and she sheltered the tiny flame until she managed to get the wool-blend fibers to light. She tossed the lit hunk onto the leaves, twigs and coats.
The cold wind actually helped. It fueled her scrawny fire and quickly whipped it into a pile of gray billowing and suffocating smoke.
Cass coughed and turned her face from the fire.
Matt didn’t turn his face, and he began to peel off his shirt. “There’s not enough smoke.”
She disagreed but then realized the guy on the roof wouldn’t have much trouble seeing down past the smoke and flames. Matt was right. They needed more.
Cass yanked off her sweater and immediately felt the harder sting of the cold. Her white silk camisole wasn’t much protection, and it wasn’t the best of days to be braless.
Matt tossed his shirt onto one end of the fire; Cass added her sweater to the other end. Both garments caught fire, and both produced a slightly different-colored smoke. It was enough to create a six-foot-high wall that would hopefully conceal them if Matt didn’t stand up too straight.
“Let’s go,” Matt said, and he pulled her to her feet.
Cass didn’t even have time to catch her breath before they started running.
Chapter Five
Matt considered every step to be a victory. But of course the only victory that counted was for them to make it through the clearing without getting shot.
He pushed Cass ahead of him so he could shield her as best he could and catch her if she fell. Yet despite the thorny underbrush and the limb-riddled ground, she not only stayed on her feet, she ran even faster than Matt imagined she could. But then, she had a huge motivation to run.
A spray of bullets tore into the ground. They were close, but not close enough. Which told Matt one important thing—the smoke screen had worked. Because if it hadn’t, Cass and he would have been dead.
With bullets zinging around them, Matt spotted the crest just ahead. “Hit the ground,” Matt ordered. “Slide down.”
Cass did. Just as the bullets stopped. She dropped onto her butt and began the descent down the remains of the banks of a ravine. The dark-green rust-eaten truck was there, waiting for them. It didn’t look like much, but Matt knew that it worked, and it was their ticket to safety. It was literally his backup, a vehicle he’d placed in the woods in case the worst happened.
“Don’t slow down,” Matt warned her when they reached the bottom. By now the gunman was probably off the roof so he could come after them.
Cass raced toward the truck, jerked open the passenger-side door and jumped onto the seat. Matt got behind the wheel and used the key that was duct-taped beneath the seat to start the engine. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and got them out of there.
“Stay down,” Matt insisted.
She did, sort of. Cass slid lower into the seat, but she kept her attention focused on the side mirror. She also kept a solid grip on her gun. Matt kept watch, as well, and then he got them the hell out of there.
Kicking up ice and dirt, he plowed through the ravine and exited onto a path that would eventually take them to a back road and then the highway.
Matt dodged some scrub oaks, barely scraping past them, and he checked the rearview mirror. No gunman in sight. That didn’t mean there soon wouldn’t be. He had to make it past the next rise and dry creek bed before he could even start to level his breathing.
Next to him, Cass was doing her own share of heavy breathing. He could see every muscle in her body knotted, the pulse on her neck pounding. The adrenaline was no doubt still pumping through her. It wouldn’t last long, and she’d soon have to deal with the inevitable crash.
“I don’t see him,” Cass announced. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”
“Not easily he won’t. By now he’s probably rushing back to his vehicle. Maybe calling for reinforcements. If we’re lucky, he might be making arrangements to get his comrade to the hospital.”
Matt knew he should call headquarters. He should report this, especially since he’d discharged his weapon and injured a man. But what if Cass was right? What if there was a breach in security? If so, his personal cell phone would be easy to track.
She checked the mirror again. Then she leaned forward and tried to turn on the heater.
“It doesn’t work,” he explained, turning off the cold blast of air from the fan. “There’s a blanket behind the seat.”
While still staying low, she draped her arm over the back of the seat and fished it out. “There’s only one blanket?”
He nodded. “Use it. Your lips are turning blue.”
Matt wasn’t sure she was going to follow his advice, but then she glanced down at the front of her camisole, noticing her very erect nipples. And that wasn’t the only thing. The camisole was short, and the shortness revealed several inches of her bare stomach.
He felt that slam of lust shoot through his body, and he silently cursed his brainless reaction.
“Cover up,” he snarled.
She did, finally, but she kept her shooting arm free by draping the fake Navajo-design blanket over only half her body. For some stupid reason, she seemed even hotter and more provocative than she did without the blanket.
“All right. I’m covered. Satisfied?” she asked.
Noteven close.
Cass glanced at him, sat up in the seat, did a full 360-degree check of their surroundings and, apparently content that they were safe, she opened the glove compartment. “You have a first-aid kit?”
Alarmed, he looked at her. “Are you hurt?”
“No. But you are.” She pointed to the jagged slice across his left bicep. He hadn’t even been aware of the injury, but it looked to be from a bullet.
She extracted the small travel-size kit and scooted across the seat toward him. Very close to him. She brought with her the scent of the woods. The fragrant cedars. The leaves. The winter soil. The smoke. But she also brought the smell of flowers. Her shampoo, he discovered, when she leaned across him and her hair went right in his face. It was distracting. But not nearly as distracting as having her firm, small breasts pressed against his right arm.
“You saved my life back there,” she said, working quickly to clean the wound. “So, while I’m not thrilled about what just happened, I have faith in you.”
Matt winced, both at her comment and the poking around she was doing to his injury. “Faith?”
Cass’s gaze met his. So did her breath. “Yes. You know, as in confidence in your ability to keep us alive and get into Dominic’s estate.”
Matt leaned back to put some distance between them, and he took the ramp that led to Highway 281, which would take them directly into San Antonio. “Don’t have that kind of faith in me.”
She shrugged and kept working on the bandage. “Too late.”
“It’s never too late. Let me tell you something about me. I don’t play well with others. I do mainly solo assignments because that’s the way I like it.”
“Keep talking,” she insisted. “Because this is going to hurt, and I’d rather you have your mind on something else when I do this—”
Without further warning, she doused his wound with antiseptic. And she was right.
It. Frickin’. Hurt.
Matt barely muffled a groan.
“Besides, faith is sort of a moot point,” she continued. “I have to trust you.”
Hell. Now they were onto trust. What next? Fuzzy teddy bears and air kisses?

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