by Robin Perini
He’d known it could exist. His parents had it; his grandparents had it. But they’d found each other by the time they’d turned eighteen. Thayne was nearly twenty-eight, and he’d started to doubt he’d ever find anything close.
Until Riley.
After a year of talking to her, of listening to her fears, sharing her excitement when she’d joined the task force; after sharing his frustrations with his missions, the politicians making his job impossible, his doubts whenever they lost another SEAL; he knew one thing. Riley could be his partner, could be his love, if he let her in. If she let him in.
Except they’d both kept their walls intact. Self-preservation. And he’d just discovered another one.
Her back pressed against him, she lifted her hand to her face. Probably to swipe away the tears. He wouldn’t embarrass her by turning her in his arms, though everything inside of him wanted to. He just continued to hold her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered against her ear. “Maybe I can help.”
“How exactly?” Her voice rose, and she whirled around, streaks of tears on her face. “Can you fix the fact that it’s my birthday, and my parents didn’t remember? Again. Or that the only time they pick up the phone is to remind me about my sister’s kidnapping. Like I’d ever forget. Like I haven’t obsessed about it for the last fifteen years. Like I haven’t spent night and day trying to find her and bring her body home.”
Riley slapped her hand against her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
Thayne froze, stunned. He’d never seen her lose her composure before. Not once.
Her cheeks flushed, and she groaned, shaking her head. “Just shoot me now.”
“Can’t. I like you too much,” Thayne said. He tilted up her chin. “So let me be the first to say, happy birthday, Riley.”
He cupped her face with his hands, unable to look away. Her eyes glistened. If Thayne could have reached through the phone and strangled Riley’s parents, he would have.
She blinked, attempting to hide the hurt. He wanted to heal her wounds. She deserved to be cherished. She deserved to be loved.
Ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, gently, tenderly, barely touching them.
He folded her into his arms, determined to make her feel treasured.
In the past, he’d have simply scooped her into his arms and let the passion take over. Seduction would have been his normal MO. Not talking made relationships easier.
Except he and Riley had talked. A lot.
She needed to be touched, all right, but holding her tonight wasn’t about passion. She needed more. He raised his head and met her gaze.
She shifted her weight, easing out of his arms, discomfort settling on her face. “Well, this is awkward. We were supposed to keep things professional.”
“It’s not awkward for me,” he lied, unwilling to walk away from her. Not when she needed him, even if she didn’t acknowledge the truth.
“Have you ever been awkward in your life, Thayne?”
He’d go with her less-than-clandestine attempt to change the subject. “When I was about twelve, my voice was changing; I was all arms and legs. Gram called me a human string bean.” He shook his head wryly. “Anyway, there was this girl I really liked, and the school announced a formal dance. I really wanted to take her. Heck, it was a chance to hold a girl in my arms, but I had two left feet. Until Gram got ahold of me. That’s how I learned to waltz.” He quirked a smile and wrapped one arm around her waist, clasping the other hand against his chest, swaying side to side. “Everyone should learn.”
“You know I don’t dance.” She fell silent.
“When’s the last time you celebrated your birthday, Riley?” He willed her to raise her gaze to his.
Finally, she gave in, her expression cautious.
“Fifteen years ago. Before my sister was taken.” She shrugged. “I didn’t care the next year. Or even the year after that. I missed her too much. Then it didn’t matter anymore. Too many things had changed. Birthdays were part of the past, when we were a real family. When Madison was there.”
God, he hurt for the little girl whose childhood had been stolen. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her fingers twitched, and she rubbed her temple. “Look, I’m tired, Thayne. And I need to work.”
“Not yet.”
Before she could speak, he opened the door and propped the latch so he wouldn’t be locked out. Her body language had telegraphed much more than fatigue. Her words had drawn a picture of a family torn apart under the stress of Madison Lambert’s abduction. For Riley, the wound had festered and never healed. He just hadn’t realized how much.
He’d witnessed the mask Riley had so carefully constructed slip. He’d seen inside her tonight, seen beneath the smart, intuitive profiler, beneath the beautiful woman.
She should scare him. She needed more than he’d ever imagined giving. But with Riley, he knew he had to show her that he could be there for her like no one else ever had. That she wasn’t alone.
He treaded down the stairs into the dining room. There they were: Fannie’s famous muffins. He snagged one of her cinnamon swirl quick breads with cream cheese frosting, grabbed a knife and plate, and headed back up the stairs.
She’d closed the door on him.
The night wasn’t over. He lifted his fist to knock. Soft, heartbroken sobs filtered from inside. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated, then very lightly tapped on the wood.
The cries immediately ceased.
For a moment, he could hear nothing from inside. Finally, tentative footsteps padded closer. The snick of a lock sounded, the knob turned, and Riley cracked open the door. “I need to work,” she repeated.
He lifted the muffin. “Everyone needs cake on their birthday.”
She looked at the treat, then up at him and took a shuddering breath.
“And no one should be alone,” he finished. He pushed through the door, standing so close he could smell the sweet, fruity scent of her hair. “We can share. And you’ll have to deal with the fact that I’m not leaving you alone tonight. Or ever. At least until we catch these guys.”
She moved aside and let him in. “Why are you doing this, Thayne?”
“Because we just got shot at?”
“I mean the cinnamon roll.”
He ignored her question as she closed the door. “Sorry I don’t have a candle.”
She’d taken off the suit jacket she’d worn all day, revealing a tailored white shirt. On the sleeve, a smear of red over what appeared to be a bandage drove his plan out of his mind. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you said the sniper didn’t get you?”
She glanced down at her shirt. “He didn’t. I should have changed the dressing sooner. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t duck fast enough Friday night. Just a graze. Hardly worth stitching up.”
Thayne’s heart pounded against his chest; his breathing tightened in his lungs. Deliberately, struggling to control his fury, he walked across the room and set the cake on the small table in the corner of the room. When he turned around and faced her, he couldn’t stop the anger surging up his spine and scalding the base of his neck. “Exactly when were you planning to tell me you’d been shot?”
CHAPTER TEN
Riley had never seen Thayne truly pissed off. His eyes had narrowed, and his voice had gone cold and deadly soft.
“Don’t go all hero on me, Thayne. I’m fine.” She tilted her head at him. “Besides, I seem to recall a mission about six months ago where you didn’t tell me for weeks that flying shrapnel had peppered your side.”
“That’s not the point. You were across the world and couldn’t do anything. But I’m right here, and you didn’t tell me the moment you landed!” The words snapped out rapid-fire. “Why?”
“Because right now I’m not important,” she shouted. “Cheyenne is the only one who matters.”
The fury thawed from Thayne’s gaze, though not completely. The muscle in his jaw pulsed with
barely contained frustration, but Riley refused to back down. She was right. They both knew it.
She appreciated his concern, but except for a few twinges, she’d almost forgotten about the injury.
“Riley—”
His ringing cell forced him to pause. “Blackwood.” He paused, never once wavering his hard gaze from hers. “I’ll be right down.” Thayne pocketed the cell. “The files are here. I’ll be right back.”
His entire body stiff with irritation, he left the room. The moment he disappeared from view, Riley’s knees gave way. She sank onto the bed as his footsteps thudded down the stairs, followed by the front door of Fannie’s slamming closed.
She hadn’t meant to yell, but she hated the idea of anyone seeing past the mask she wore. He’d looked beneath the surface and garnered a peek at the truth she hid so desperately.
FBI Special Agent Riley Lambert was a strong, confident, damn good profiler who could see the world through the eyes of the most depraved mind. That’s who Thayne and his family needed right now.
The real Riley Lambert was a vulnerable woman whose twelve-year-old sister had vanished from their house never to be seen again . . . and whose family had never recovered from the tragedy.
Riley had never wanted Thayne to recognize her true flaws and vulnerabilities.
Why couldn’t their relationship continue as it had been?
She scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. The small birthday roll came into focus, mocking her from the table. Thayne might be a SEAL, but he also had a big heart. She really needed to make certain he didn’t get any closer to owning hers.
He saw too much. He made her feel too much.
She rose from the floor and moved to the window. With cautious fingers, she pushed aside the curtains and peered through the small gap.
Below her, in front of the B&B, she saw him. Her body tensed in fear that a shot would ring into the night and he’d fall to the ground.
A car pulled away from the curb, and Thayne gripped two file boxes in his arms and ran toward the B&B like an IED had erupted behind him.
Riley sucked in a deep breath. She had a job to do. She couldn’t let the threats or their personal relationship distract her from the task at hand.
She strode over to the sink and splashed water on her face before staring into the mirror at the circles beneath bloodshot eyes, at her pinched mouth. “Cheyenne. Where are you? Your family needs you.”
Her heart thudded against her rib cage, knocking hard as if it were trying to escape, and her shallow breathing quickened.
The image of Sheriff Blackwood, Thayne, the entire family flashed through her mind.
Riley had to find Cheyenne. For the Blackwoods. For Thayne.
Her hands gripped the marble vanity in an attempt to quell the firestorm of panic rising within her. Normally her gut was her best indicator of the direction the investigation should veer. Not with Cheyenne. She doubted herself.
Every instinct told her Helen Blackwood had seen something important, but what good did that do? Riley had to go back to the beginning. Start over.
A half-dozen deep, shuddering breaths later, she lifted her chin. No more wallowing. No more overreaction. It didn’t matter that grit scraped her eyes when she blinked. It didn’t matter that regret swirled through her. She would give the search everything she had, every scrap of energy she could muster. Answers were all she had to offer.
The door pushed open, and Thayne walked in carrying the two stacked file boxes and a basket on top of them. In silence, he set the pile on the bed.
“Thank you,” she said, hating the awkwardness that had settled between them.
“Where do we go from here to find Cheyenne?”
Riley could work with pretending nothing had happened between them. Focusing strictly on the investigation, that was something she could hold on to.
“I need caffeine and quiet,” she said. “In that order.”
“Fannie sent up extra coffee packets.” He handed her the basket.
Riley filled the water in the coffeemaker just high enough for extra-strong liquid fuel, started brewing, and faced him.
“We have a conference room full of investigators sifting through the evidence at the sheriff’s office,” he added.
“Which is great. You can contact me when they identify any fingerprints or blood samples—”
“Preliminary results indicate the blood belongs to Cheyenne and Gram,” Thayne said. “Cheyenne’s military records have her DNA, and Gram has samples at the hospital, so they’re sending them off for verification. As for fingerprints, they only found them in the exam rooms. These guys wore gloves.”
Riley stilled. “No trace evidence at all?”
“They’re working on it, but given this new information, they’re doubtful.” He paused. “I haven’t told Dad yet, but we’ve got nothing except the black SUV, and still no results on the BOLO.”
“I see.” Organized and disorganized. The coffeepot began to bubble, and she took the top off a file box. “Thayne, please understand, I need to be alone for a while.”
“I could help. Two sets of hands,” he said, his voice quiet.
She could hear the need in his voice, but some things had to be done alone. “I’m sorry. I can’t worry about what you might hear, how my thoughts will affect you. I need to explore scenarios in my head, and my words could hurt you. It’s how I have to work. Alone.”
“I see.” He moved in close but didn’t touch her, his gaze searching out hers. “I’m not going home. I’ll be downstairs if you need me. You’ll be safe. I promise.”
“I have no doubt.” Riley wanted to look away, but his intensity held her captive. “The kidnappers have made mistakes. We just have to find the oversight that will lead us to them.”
They still had a chance to find Cheyenne alive. Despite the statistics.
Only 6 percent of predatory kidnapping victims escaped their captors without law enforcement intervention or their abductors releasing them.
That meant locating Cheyenne was on her and Thayne and the residents of Singing River. Unless Riley’s first instincts were wrong, and Cheyenne had been taken by someone who knew her.
If that were true, she was either already dead, or her captor might let her go.
Two very different outcomes.
Riley had to figure out the truth soon . . . if they expected to bring Cheyenne home.
He nodded and strode to the door before turning back. “If you need me, I’ll be here for you. Always, Riley. Don’t forget that.”
She blinked at the intensity in his gaze. “I won’t.”
“Please, find her.” He shut the door, and the lock snicked closed.
We’re counting on you.
She could almost hear the words.
A clock’s chime sounded twelve times from downstairs.
First things first. She poured a large mug of coffee. A few sips would provide her with a second—or maybe third—wind.
Warmth seeped through to her hands, and Riley closed her eyes as the nectar of the gods slid down her throat, warming her insides. Two things about Singing River she would never forget: her week with Thayne and Fannie’s special blend.
She wasn’t sure what would happen with the first. The second, hopefully, would keep her going long enough to unravel the mystery of Cheyenne’s disappearance.
She cleared the table and moved the birthday cinnamon roll to her bedside table. With one last look of regret for what the sweet bread represented—Thayne—she fastened her hair back with a clip and dug in to the boxes. Within minutes, her computer and supplies littered the round table. She removed a picture from the wall and tacked up Post-it notes with the very short timeline. From her briefcase, she pulled the case file that Thayne had provided and tacked up the photos of the primary crime scene and the layout of Cheyenne’s office building on an improvised crime scene board.
Stepping back, Riley scanned the evidence, narrowing her gaze at the crime scene photos.
Back and forth she strode, studying each image. She took a sip of coffee. The more she analyzed, the more she came to believe there was a purpose in what the thieves had stolen. But what? And why?
And more importantly, who?
Medical supplies. She crossed the room and bent over her computer, tapping the keys. A quick Internet search later, she found what she was looking for.
“Cheyenne Blackwood has the only doctor’s office in town.” Riley couldn’t sit still. She paced, muttering to herself. “If they’d wanted drugs and supplies, they could’ve at least tried the county medical center, since it keeps more on inventory. The Marbleton clinic isn’t that far away, only forty minutes or so.
“So they needed more than supplies. They needed a doctor. But why you, Cheyenne? Why here? Was it chance? Opportunity? Location?”
Riley closed her eyes, visualizing herself in the middle of the room. The getaway driver was waiting outside, on the lookout and ready to leave. “Cheyenne is strong, tall. They’d need at least two people to subdue her.”
Her gaze pinned one of the crime scene photos. She squinted at the blood on the floor. Some drops, but not enough to kill.
A blow to the head or face. Enough to knock her out.
“Cheyenne didn’t grab the door. No blood or prints near the knob.” Riley paused working through the logistics. “She had to be unconscious when they took her.”
And after five o’clock, no one had noticed because Main Street had closed down. That explained the choice of Singing River . . . a small town.
No witnesses except for Thayne’s grandmother, and she couldn’t help.
“Think, Riley.”
Streets deserted. She fingered the map of Singing River and the surrounding area. A black SUV had been placed near a lake at the base of the Wind River Mountains, and Cheyenne’s cell phone had been found northwest of town on the way to the mountains.
Riley placed red dots at the three locations.
She added a white dot at the Blackwood swimming hole; the body dumped there had been buried for six months or so. Probably unrelated.
She didn’t like the distribution. The geographic profile was incomplete. She needed at least one more point, and even then she wasn’t so sure. The kidnappers had planned well. They’d started out of town moving west and dropped the cell phone heading northeast.
