by Rita Herron
As if her words had conjured the savage beast within him, he tore at her dress, slid it off her shoulders and traced a path along the nape of her neck to her breast, licking at the soft mounds.
Moaning, she threw her head back in wild abandon, ran her hands over his chest and lower to his sex. He hardened and pulsed against her. Wild with hunger, she stripped him while he suckled and bit at her neck until fire burned through her nerve endings. The sweet tingle of release seeped through her as she gazed in awe at his body. Dark skin stretched taut over rigid sculpted muscles, the sleek hairless sweat-soaked chest a reminder of his heritage. A half-cocked smile tilted his mouth when he noticed her gaze, then he rose above her, pushed her legs apart with his knees, buried his face in her hair, and claimed her.
It took him a second to realize that she was a virgin. His mouth tightened and he stared into her eyes, questions and accusations flaring. He started to pull away, but she cupped his hips in her hands and dragged him tighter, begging him to make her his—
A VOICE broke into the haze of her mind, and Holly jerked her eyes open, her heart pounding. She wanted to return to the safety of her dream, but reality intervened. She was lying on a cot in some kind of dingy room, cement walls, cement floor, not even a window.
And a crazed-looking man was stalking toward her with a needle.
THE TRACKING device Night had put on Holly’s car had worked; she’d gone to the Langworthy cabin. A quick phone call to Night’s associates and Colorado Confidential had dispatched a team to search the area.
But the news was disturbing. The horse Holly had ridden to the cabin was in the corral outside. Holly was nowhere to be seen. Scuff marks in the cabin and footsteps outside suggested she’d been assaulted. Other evidence indicated she’d been scuttled away in a helicopter, although the heavy snowfall had nearly obliterated the markings.
Colleen reported that she’d received a tip that Grace had holed up in some kind of laboratory fortress in the mountains for the past few years, somewhere between Ouray and Gunnison. No one could pinpoint the exact location, but they would have choppers scoping the area and would radio Night if they discovered it. More than likely, if Grace had Sky, the baby was hidden at the lab. Maybe he’d taken Holly there, too.
She never should have gone off alone. Why hadn’t she phoned Night to go with her?
The terror in Celia’s voice when she’d described Teddy Grace’s behavior hammered fear into Night’s chest, driving it deeper and deeper as he settled in for the chopper ride to Ouray.
If Grace had Holly and Schyler, what would he do with them?
“He’ll probably keep the baby alive to test him,” Celia had said in a weak voice. “But Holly—he might be abusive toward her, take his hatred for me out on her. He has a bad te
The memory of Night’s last conversation with Holly flashed back. Holly was stubborn and independent. One reporter had written that she blamed herself for the kidnapping. Night hadn’t helped with his condemning attitude either. Worse, her father had shut her out, had told her the feds were giving up, that she should give up. And Night had done no better; he hadn’t been there to comfort her or to assure her that ICU wasn’t giving up, that he wouldn’t stop looking until he found their son.
He had to credit her for her bravery. Maybe she wasn’t the spoiled girl he’d thought her to be.
The chopper cut over the snowcapped mountain peaks, the vast expanse of the countryside beautiful but dangerous, especially with the storm clouds raging around him. Newscasters had hinted of a blizzard, but Night had ignored the warning. He couldn’t wait on another weather forecast.
The chopper shook, jerking up and down with the turbulence, and he braced himself for a bumpy ride. Once he got to the town, he’d rent a jeep, drive as far as he could into the San Juan mountains, and hike in on foot until he tracked down the laboratory.
He only prayed that Grace hadn’t hurt Holly or his son.
Was Grace following through with the second part of his plan? If so, Holly Langworthy and her family would finally get what they deserved.
Especially since they had cheated him out of what he should have had.
He flexed his hands and stared at them, bitterness swelling inside. He had worked so hard, had sucked up to all the right people, had learned to play the political game just like the Langworthys. And he had come so close to having all his dreams come true.
They had been right at his fingertips, but the Langworthys had snapped them in two like they were nothing but cheap glass. But he would not break under the pressure of lost hopes.
Not like his own father had years ago.
Joshua Langworthy’s face flashed onto the TV screen. Another interview. Another celebration of his good fortune. Another showing of the rich and famous Centennial family in their godlike glory.
But the new governor wouldn’t be celebrating when he realized his baby sister was gone, and that his win had cemented her demise.
Chapter Three
The next time Holly woke, she felt stronger, her head clearer. She had no idea how long she’d been held prisoner, but as she surveyed her surroundings, she realized she was locked in some kind of cave-type room. The air was cold and dank, the floors and walls virtually made of stone as if they’d been carved out of the side of the mountain. She eased herself to an upright position, giving herself time to let the dizziness pass, then stumbled toward the door and banged on it.
“Let me out of here!” She yelled and slammed her fists against the surface, trying desperately to jiggle the knob free, but to no avail. Whoever had brought her here had her baby.
And she wanted to see him.
She poued the door again, fighting tears of frustration. Finally she heard voices outside. Footsteps sounded, then faltered by the door, and the knob twisted. Fear squeezed her chest, but she braced herself, ready to fight her attacker if need be. Or beg, whichever would work most effectively. She glanced quickly around for her purse and the gun, but her abductor had obviously confiscated it.
The door screeched open and a dark-haired man in his late thirties towered over her. She sized him up, deciding whether or not to fight him. He weighed at least fifty pounds more than she did, and his scathing green eyes warned her not to bother.
“Who are you? Do you have my son?”
He didn’t speak. He simply seized her arm and dragged her through the doorway, down a long hallway supported by thick concrete columns, and through a maze of corridors. Cold air sucked at her lungs, disorienting her. “Where are you taking me? Who are you and where’s my son?”
He ignored her, shoving her along, until he finally stopped at another room, unlocked the door and hauled her inside a laboratory. Test tubes, beakers, vials and medical equipment filled shelves above work counters housed with microscopes and other scientific equipment, and an assembly of test tubes filled with blood.
Holly’s legs wobbled as he shoved her into a metal chair. “What am I doing here?”
The hulking man exited through a swinging door to a back room. Another man stepped through the cracks, this one older, mid-sixties, about five foot ten, with thinning white hair. His build was slight, but his serious demeanor and the crazed look in his eyes negated his slight size.
“Who are you and what have you done with my son?”
“I’m the man who should have been your father.”
Holly stiffened. Theodore Grace—her mother’s first husband? She’d seen pictures, but he’d been younger. Was it really him? Her mother claimed he was a madman, a crazed scientist who researched biological warfare.
“What do you want with me and my baby?”
“You’ll understand everything, all in good time.” His shoes clicked on the hard floor as he drew nearer, a hypodermic in his hand.
“Please don’t drug me again,” she pleaded. “Take me to my little boy.”
The man’s devilish eyes narrowed over thick glasses perched on his nose. “Yes, yes, I suppose that wouldn’t hurt. But first
, I must draw another blood sample.”
“Why are you doing this? What could you possibly want with my blood?”
“To see what effects the virus you contracted months ago had on your body.”
Holly bolted backward, determined to find an escape before this madman could touch her.
His nasty chuckle reverberated through the room. “There is no escape, not if you want to see your son.” He paused, tapped the needle, waiting.
Holly froze. “Do you really have my baby?”
“Yes.” He gestured toward the gurney. “If you fight me, I wi have Bertram strap you down to the table. Or we can give you a sedative to knock you out again.”
She cringed at the sight of the leather straps. No, she wouldn’t let him tie her down or sedate her. She needed her wits about her to think. Realizing it was useless to fight, she relented, glaring at him as he drew the blood sample. When he finished, he gestured for her to stand and follow him. The other man, Bertram, reappeared and fell into step beside her, his menacing glare warning her not to try to escape. They veered down another corridor, which led to another. Holly tried to memorize her way, but the hallways all looked the same—rocky and cold, as if they were virtually isolated from the world. Then Bertram stopped at another door and unlocked it.
Holly gasped, her heart pounding as she entered the room. It was a nursery, painted a bright blue equipped with a crib, changing table, rocking chair and baby toys. An elderly nurse sat in the corner, rocking a baby in her arms. Oh, god! It was Schyler! She lurched forward, but the woman frowned up at her with suspicious eyes. The doctor gestured toward Holly. “Mary, let Miss Langworthy hold her son for a while.”
Her breath caught. The nurse’s air of possessiveness toward Holly’s son was as frightening as the crazed scientist. But Mary did as she was instructed.
Tears swam in Holly’s eyes, and her heart squeezed as she cradled her son back into her arms, where he belonged.
NIGHT HAD BEEN tracking through the mountains for almost two days, climbing the rocky terrain between Ouray and Gunnison, weaving in and out of the tall Ponderosa pines and spruce trees, and peering down at mile after mile of untouched, brown-hued hillsides. Colleen had wanted him to wait for backup, but he’d insisted they couldn’t waste time. He’d promised to radio his location when he found the lab so that she could helicopter in help.
He had had no sleep and had stopped only long enough for water as he made his way through the gorges and canyons. Before he had started on the journey, he had gathered natural herbs, roots and berries to create one of the ancestral potions he had been taught by his grandfather, then built a fire, stripped his shirt, and drank the concoction, calling upon his native soul as he always did before a mission. In the tradition of the Cheyenne warrior, he had chanted and prayed, remembering the words he had learned as a young boy.
The scent is in your blood. You are a horse whisperer, the grandson of a mighty Cheyenne. Become one with the land and earth that gave you life, and follow your instincts.
During the grueling hours he climbed and tracked through the wilderness, he allowed the peace of the land to drive him and calm the inner turmoil threatening to destroy his concentration. When he came upon a cave, he left firewood, provisions as well as a backpack of baby supplies inside, in case he and Holly needed shelter on the return trip to his jeep.
When he had first seen Holly, he had given her the name Laughing Green Eyes, because she radiated life and joy, and the Cheyenne believed in rejoicing in life. He had nearly fallen in love at the sight of her, but had convinced himself he was simply in lust. He had been alone so long. Had always felt isolated from the world. Had known that his future was not destined for love or family. That walking the tightrope between the old ways of his people and the modern white ’s world made it impossible for him to really belong.
Her youthful exuberance, her excitement over the smallest moments in her daily life, had drawn her to him. She had been a feather of a free spirit, replacing the brashness of reality from his soul with her sweetness.
Yet, the last time he’d seen her, there had been no laughter in her eyes.
She had changed, had grown up, had suffered during the past few months. Remorse knotted his stomach. He had felt guilty for destroying her innocence that night, for crossing the line between employer and employee. His job had become his life. He had nothing else.
And he couldn’t allow himself to believe that a beautiful, young woman as Holly would want more from a jaded half breed like himself than one night. In fact, he was sure her seduction was an act of rebellion against her father, a game he had more sense than to play. He’d learned a hard lesson with another rich girl, Charity Carmichael.
Charity had welcomed his attention, had warmed his bed at night, then when her father had discovered they were lovers, she had betrayed him in the worst way—she’d claimed he had tried to force himself on her. Night had never forgotten the shame he had felt with her accusations. The beating that had followed. The realization that he had been a fool to drink from the pool of water on the opposite side of the tracks.
The very reason he’d known nothing could happen between him and Holly.
Would things have been different if he’d disagreed with her father about the two of them belonging together? Would Holly have married him and allowed him to be a father to their child? Or had she simply wanted to taste his passion, as Charity had done? Once Holly had had her fill, would she, like Charity, have decided that a blue-blooded man made better husband material than one filled with red blood?
He couldn’t forget that Holly had not even tried to find him, not once during the nine months of her pregnancy, or when their baby had been born, or in the months since.
When his thoughts turned to grief over the lost months with his child, he called upon the Cheyenne beliefs again—the golden thread of Cheyenne existence—not to long for the past, but to rejoice in the present.
He would channel his anger and pain into the hunt.
And when he found his son, he would share the stories of the Sun dance and the Big Dipper and the Seven Stars with him. He would teach his son the traditions of their proud people. Even if Holly or her father tried to deny him.
Memories of life on the reservation crowded his mind. The difficulty his white mother had had fitting in, the isolation he’d felt being part of two worlds, but not belonging to either. Did he want his boy to suffer the same fate?
His radio beeped, and he answered, hoping Colorado Confidential had news.
“Night, it’s Colleen. Listen, Wiley found something in Helio’s effects.” She paused. “We believe Grace has built a lab in a cave.”
“Do you know the location?”
She gave him the coordinates.
“Thanks, I’m not too far from there. I’ll check it out
By the time Night reached the area Colleen had mentioned, the sun was setting, a gray misty fog enveloping the canyon below. He finally spotted a strange rock formation that jutted out from the side of the mountain. Shrouded in heavy brush and trees and snow, it was hardly visible from his viewpoint. Not visible at all from the sky.
He checked his compass, noting the coordinates. Could this be the cave housing Grace’s fortress?
He sped up, running up the steep incline, taking the jagged rock ledges as if they were stair steps. Snow crunched beneath his feet, but he measured his footsteps, padding silently across the ice as he approached the mouth of the cave. Before he went in, he phoned in his location to Colorado Confidential. “I think I’ve located it.”
“Wait for backup,” Colleen ordered.
“I’m just going to check it out, see if Holly or the baby is here.”
“Night, wait—”
He cut the connection. He had no intention of giving Grace more time to hurt Holly or his son.
Moving closer, he listened for signs of a guard, the chant of his people’s Sundance echoing in the foothills of his mind. Pine-crested hills and thick Douglas
firs and pinions cradled the formation in their depths, scrub brush and trees nearly covering the entrance. He moved forward, pushing through the dense brush, checking the parameter for another doorway. He had to make his entrance unannounced. Thankfully, Grace had not installed high-tech security. He obviously thought his fortress so isolated it would never be detected.
To the east, he located a side door buried beneath the snow-capped vegetation, and managed to open the door. He waited for an alarm to sound, but heard nothing. Still, Grace might have a system that activated a silent alarm, so he paused to listen for the sounds of men approaching before he continued. Giving his eyes time to adjust to the grayness of the interior, he allowed his senses to drive him through the corridors. He had to find Holly and baby Schyler and make certain they were safe.
Then he would deal with Theodore Grace.
HOLLY HAD MISSED precious moments with her son, had worried she might not even recognize him, but one look into his brown eyes and she realized she would always have a connection to him—and to his father.
Schyler had grown so much. His little hands and cheeks were now pudgy, as was his face. He was able to hold his head up, and sit up by himself. Her heart squeezed.
She had missed seeing him learn to do that.
He swatted at her hands playfully, his dark eyes searching her face. Did he recognize her? Remember her scent?
She sniffed the blanket wrapped around him, then his hair—he carried a faint odor that reminded her of Night. Then she traced a finger over the crown of his head, the fine hair which was now thicker and even darker than it had been at birth. It had grown, too. So had his little fingernails. And he had developed chubby little rolls around his legs, and dimples in his cheeks….
Wiping away tears, she recognized Night’s soulful, serious expression in those Schyler had the same stubborn thrust of his chin and high cheekbones as his father. And his thick dark hair reminded her of the man she had thought she had loved. The man she still craved. All these months, even after he had deserted her, she had wanted him, had imagined what it might be like for her and Night to raise their child together.
