by Laurie Paige
Before he could refuse, Mr. Fortune asked, “Are you by any chance related to the Montana Kincaids?”
“Not that I know of.”
As if he were kin to anyone with money. He was willing to bet the Montana Kincaids were another rich ranching family. Maybe he should tell Mr. Fortune and his snooty daughter about growing up in the Houston slums with a drunk for a father and a beaten-down mother—
“I was in Vietnam with Wayne Kincaid. A good man.”
“Yes, sir.” Dev wondered if the older man’s mind was wandering. People said and did strange things when they were under unrelenting stress for long periods.
“A lot of men didn’t come back.”
Vanessa laid a hand on her father’s shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture that expressed, more than words ever could, her love for her family. For the instant between two heartbeats, Devin let himself wonder how it would feel to be included in that circle of love and loyalty, the inner warmth that spoke of family and forever…
“I’ll take Mr. Kincaid to his room,” she said, “then show him around. Drinks around six?”
Ryan Fortune patted his daughter’s hand. “Yes. I have to return a call to my attorney. I’m sure you’re aware…” He hesitated, then shrugged, his expression grim as he glanced at Dev. “It’s common knowledge that I’m involved in a nasty divorce case. I suppose you’re aware of that.”
“I have the general details,” Dev admitted. At the other man’s assessing glance, he added, “Sam Waterman is a friend. He was in Intelligence when I was in the Marines.” Waterman was now a private investigator and had been hired by Ryan Fortune to protect his family after the kidnapping.
Devin exchanged a glance with Fortune that spoke of common experiences, of friendships forged and proven in the heat of battle, whether that was in the jungles of Nam, the deserts of Kuwait, or endangered embassies in various parts of the world where he had served.
As an embassy guard who had figured out an assassination scheme on an ambassador before it happened, Devin had reported his findings to CIA Agent Waterman. The higher-ups had transferred him to Intelligence, which was how he’d ended up in the FBI when his tour of duty was finished.
“If you’re ready…” the daughter said, making it obvious she was by rising.
Dev also stood. He thanked the tall rancher for his cooperation, then followed the daughter across the room to the covered and enclosed flagstone sidewalk that extended around the inner quadrangle and served as the hallway to the rest of the house.
“Except for the windows, this was part of the original structure. So was the great room, the rooms off it on either side and the wall enclosing the compound,” she explained, seeing his interest. She pointed toward the back wall. “The stables are garages now. Grandfather—that was Kingston Fortune—remodeled the main house, enlarging the dining hall and installing a modern kitchen. Later, he added the wings on each side for his sons’ families. This is my father’s side. He and Sophia… He has a suite.” She indicated a door as they passed.
Devin stopped. “I’d like to see it.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll ask my father.”
“He’s already given his consent.” He tried the door, then walked in.
The suite opened into a sitting room—a combination man’s study and woman’s parlor. An ornate recliner, gold-trimmed with red silk upholstery, seemed out of place among the obviously antique heavy Spanish desk and leather chairs. A white-and-gold table on spindly legs held a telephone and a pedestalled gilt mirror. The table and red silk recliner were placed so the occupant could view the inner courtyard with ease. The antique desk and two comfortable chairs, backed by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled the corner and wall nearest the entrance door. An open door revealed a bedroom.
Devin quickly inspected the area, including the adjoining bath with its whirlpool tub and fancy fixtures. He checked all doors, finding mostly closets—closets bigger than his bedroom at the house where he’d grown up in Houston.
“Okay, we can go.”
“Just what are you looking for?” she demanded, the impatience—Dev thought it must be a family trait—visible in a frown that nicked a line between her eyes. She stared at him without blinking.
For a second he forgot the question and became lost in those verdant depths. He wondered what her passion would be like, if she would be as impatient to get to a climax as she was to get on with the investigation.
He reined in the hunger. A woman, especially this one, had no place in his life. Control was his strength; logic his métier. That’s why he succeeded in cases that other law enforcement officials had given up on. Why he had been sent on this job—to solve a kidnapping, not to fall for the daughter of the house.
“What?” he said, vaguely recalling a question being asked, not sure if it had come from him or her.
She looked away. This time he sensed confusion behind the other emotions she tried to hide.
“Nothing.” She led the way into the hall.
There were four other doors in the east wing. She paused at the first one and looked at him with a question in her eyes. He explored the room, checking it as he had the main suite. One door revealed a nursery.
The small room contained a combination dresser diapering station, a crib, bassinet and a rocker. There was a daybed—for a nanny, he assumed—and chest of drawers along one wall.
“Is this where the child was sleeping?” Dev asked.
She nodded. “Bryan. His name is Bryan. Claudia had put him to bed in here after the christening—” Her voice wobbled on the last word and she stopped speaking abruptly.
Devin sensed her distress and felt a tightening inside, as if what she felt, he did, too. This was a case, he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford to get emotional.
“Okay, let’s move on,” he said, ushering her out. He glanced into the other bedrooms, noting that each had a door that opened to the inner courtyard, an ensuite bath, and the usual compliment of closet space the rich seemed to require.
The next-to-last door was her room. He smiled at the jumble of books, clothes, jewelry and other female “junk” spilling over the dresser, tables and chairs. The room was just what he would expect from a spoiled kid. This knowledge put her back on an even keel where he was concerned, and he relaxed somewhat, his libido easing up.
There were four doors in her room—one to the courtyard, one to a bathroom, another to a walk-in closet. The fourth door led to the room next door.
“Whose room is this?” he asked, annoyed by the connecting door and the possibility of having a lover close by, then was annoyed with himself for thinking of it.
“Yours,” she said, her manner indicating it should have been self-evident.
He couldn’t hide his surprise.
Amusement flashed through her eyes. “I thought this would be convenient since we’ll be working together on the case.”
For a moment he was tempted to kiss the arrogance out of her, maybe throw a little scare into the overconfident debutante for taunting a male she didn’t know. He erased the idea with difficulty.
“I’m here to do a job. You get in my way, and you’re in trouble,” he warned, trying to find the right ground for them, a neutral place without emotion or attraction.
“I’m going to help. I’ve read every book that has been written on kidnappings like this one.” She gestured toward the books littering her desk. There were others on the criminal mind, he noticed.
Stubborn, interfering female. He could see she meant business. Okay, he could handle that. He was a great believer in using whatever came to hand to solve a case. He would give her something to do to keep her out of his hair.
Passing close to her on his way to check the rest of her quarters, he caught a whiff of her scent. He was reminded of the outdoors, of sunlight and the sweet, spicy scent of wildflowers, of wind and the fresh smell of the earth after a summer shower, of nature and the powerful thrust of t
he stallion she had ridden….
Unbidden, unexpected, the hunger swept over him, as strong as the tornadoes that bore down from the northwest, destroying everything in their path. He fought the battle and won.
This he understood. It was passion, no more, no less. But the undercurrents between them whispered of something else. In the nursery, he’d seen the vulnerable side of her, the love for her nephew, the worry and despair that had shone briefly in the depths of her eyes. His partner’s wife had looked like that after they had buried Stan.
From those two, Dev had learned what a real marriage was supposed to be, the give and take, the sharing of the good and bad, the raising of their kids…
The pain hit him as it always did—rising from his soul, tormenting him. Love, he had discovered early in his life, was a hurtful thing. It lifted the heart on wings of hope, then dashed it to the ground, shattered and struggling.
“Why haven’t they contacted us again?” Vanessa asked suddenly, interrupting his inner tirade of guilt and blame. She clenched her hands at her sides. “I should have looked in on him. I started to, but I let myself be distracted. Maria had returned and I stopped and talked to her. After that, I forgot to check on Bryan. I should have. I meant to…”
When she looked at him, the pain was in her eyes. He knew that feeling and the guilt that went with it.
He looked away, refusing to give in.
“If only I had gone to the nursery—”
“And done what?” he asked harshly. “Surprised the kidnappers and gotten yourself killed?”
Vanessa shook her head, angry with herself for failing her nephew. “I don’t know.”
She swallowed hard against the knot of emotion that filled her throat, the agony in her spirit. “He was so tiny. Claudia was good about sharing him. She let me hold him and rock him. He liked patty-cake. And funny songs. He was our future, the next generation of Fortunes…” Her throat closed and she had to stop for a second. “It’s so difficult, not knowing if he’s alive and well. Or if…if…”
“In ransom cases, it’s in their interests to keep him alive,” he said tersely.
“Help me find him,” she begged, the despair rising. She instinctively knew this man would do his best to find the baby. There was something about him that she trusted.
No, it was more than trust. The moment she had looked into his eyes, had viewed the steadiness in him when he had faced her as the horse reared and pawed the air, she had known there was something between them, something deep and personal and eternal. She said his name. “Devin.”
His hand clenched at his side. “Dev,” he said, his voice dropping to a low roughness that both soothed and thrilled her. “My friends call me Dev.”
She heard the reluctance in his tone. He had been trying to distance himself from her and the feelings between them. She knew that. He didn’t want to be friends with her. He didn’t intend to get that close. She understood all that in an instant, and it didn’t matter…because she knew it wouldn’t work. Whatever this was, it was too strong for denial.
“Hold me,” she said softly. It wasn’t a request or even an order. It was stark need.
He rammed his hands into his pockets. His glare should have withered any expectations she might have, but it didn’t.
“Hold me,” she repeated.
“You’re playing dangerously, just as you did when you pitted that red stallion against a car. If you had fallen—”
She shook her head, cutting off the reprimand, and felt her hair shift around her shoulders as if it, too, sensed the restless need of her spirit. “I’d been watching for you. I saw you turn off the highway. I wanted to be here when you arrived. I wanted to be the first person you met.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Why are you so anxious to keep tabs on me?”
The question was meant to startle and disarm. It did neither. “I want to help with the investigation. The baby, Bryan—” She stopped and took a ragged breath. “He’s so little, only three—no, four—months old now. An innocent baby. He’ll be frightened. How could anyone take him?”
Tears filled her eyes. She stepped forward, reaching for him, needing the strength she sensed he could offer. She sighed wearily as she felt his warmth enclose her like a sweet, welcome embrace although he refused to touch her.
“Money,” he replied, his tone hard. “That’s the usual reason people commit crimes.”
She laid her hands on his chest. She felt small and fragile next to his great strength, although she had never considered herself either. His breath sighed gently on the top of her head as he stared down at her, his stance wary.
“I’m not your father,” he said. “I’m not here for your comfort.”
When she didn’t step back, he put his hands on her shoulders as if he would push her away, then paused, as if he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel.
“There’s compassion in you,” she murmured. Desperation and despair churned in her. “I’m afraid. I know the chances of getting my nephew back alive lessen with each passing day,” she whispered, guilt forcing the words from her. “If I had gone to the nursery, they might have taken me in his place.”
She was glad when he didn’t murmur the usual platitudes that offered scant comfort.
“If he’s alive, I’ll find him,” he said in a deeper, huskier tone. A promise.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “I know. The moment I saw you, outside, when you arrived, I knew—”
She stopped, the explanation dying on her lips. He bent slightly, then pulled back, a stunned expression flashing into his eyes, replaced immediately by one of fierce, angry control. And something more—a darkness that spoke of regret and a bitter knowledge of life that excluded anyone else.
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing whatever they felt toward each other was right, her and this dark knight with eyes like the morning sky.
He sucked in a harsh breath.
She realized with something akin to shock that she wanted him to kiss her, to act on the impulse he had subdued. Instinctively she arched against him and felt the shudder that tore through his big, strong body.
She barely heard his low curse as he backed against the door frame, taking part of her weight as she was thrown off balance. Her own breath became ragged and filled with an urgent need she’d never before known.
A roaring filled her ears. A Texas tornado, she realized vaguely. It was coming toward them…
“What the hell is going on?” a male voice said savagely.
Two
“Matthew,” Vanessa murmured, reluctantly turning from the warmth. Coldness rushed in when Dev released his grip on her shoulders. However, her heart was touched at the haggard appearance of her oldest brother and she suppressed her own needs and fears. “Have you heard anything?”
Matthew brushed her question aside with the usual Fortune impatience. “I need to talk to the FBI agent. Where is he?”
Vanessa gestured toward Dev with her free hand. “This is Devin Kincaid.”
“You know him?” Matthew demanded.
She saw the puzzled suspicion in her brother’s eyes as he stared at them. She stepped away from the solid comfort of Dev’s warmth.
“Yes,” she said simply, and realized there was no need for further explanation. In her heart, she knew this man well. She’d acknowledged that from the first contact. A moment ago, touching him, it had been like coming home.
“We met earlier,” Dev said, covering for her. “You must be the baby’s father.”
“Yes. Have you found anything?”
“Not yet.”
The brother cursed and stalked restlessly to the window that opened on the courtyard.
“It must have been an inside job,” Vanessa told them.
When the men looked at her, she realized there was a similarity between them. They both had blue eyes and brown hair, Matthew’s hair being somewhat darker. His features were more refined, aristocratic while Dev’s were rugged.
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She thought Dev’s nose had been broken at one time. He sported a thin scar along his chin. His eyes were watchful, his stance wary, alert to danger. There was goodness in him. Caring. A sense of responsibility toward others. Again she was reminded of Matthew and his manner at times.
Matthew had chosen medicine after watching their mother die of cancer. The FBI agent had chosen police work, another field that demanded patience and a protective, nurturing personality for those with idealistic traits. She wondered what forces had influenced his life and knew she wouldn’t rest until she found out.
“Why do you think that?” Dev asked.
She sensed his reluctance to accept anything at face value. “There were too many people around, too many friends and neighbors who know the entire family, for a stranger to walk in, then out, with a child.”
“On the other hand, every bedroom has a door leading into the courtyard,” he pointed out.
“And from the courtyard, it’s easy to get outside,” Matthew added. “There’s an exit through the original wall at the end of each wing, plus the old stable doors.”
“If someone left the nursery with the baby, they could easily slip into any of the bedrooms if need be—” she conceded, pointing toward her door and the adjoining room assigned to Dev. “From there, it would take only a second to slip down the steps into the courtyard, around the corner and out through the gate.”
“If everyone’s attention was toward the great room balcony where Dad was proposing a toast, it would have been an easy feat,” Matthew finished. “Especially since the trellis partially blocks the view.”
Vanessa could read nothing in Dev’s face as he listened to their theory of the kidnapping. The familiar frustration welled up in her. She wanted to do something…now.
“I’d like to tour the entire compound today. I want to know who lives where—ranch hands, family, everyone.”
“Yes,” she said, reining in the impatience in the face of Dev’s calm questioning. His quiet, impassive manner was a facade that covered a man of deep feeling. She had sensed that in him when he’d responded to her despair.
