by Cindi Myers
He was, though she had no intention of confirming this. “The Prophet would never harm me,” she said.
“I’ll bet Starfall thought the same thing, until he beat her and stole her baby.”
Andi pressed her hands against her belly, feeling the child shift inside her. “You need to leave,” she said.
“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I won’t be far away.” He headed toward the door. “I have a feeling Metwater is going to come back for you, and when he does, he’ll find me waiting.”
He left, closing the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, rage and fear and sickness swirling through her. Simon Woolridge was a horrible man. How could he make such terrible accusations against a man who spoke words of peace and caring? Daniel Metwater had saved her, and so many others.
Simon was a hard, abrasive cop who had no concern for her or her feelings.
But Daniel Metwater, despite all his goodness, had lied to her more than once. As far as she knew, Simon had never lied to her, even when telling the truth hurt.
Chapter Two
Simon prowled the hallway outside Andi’s room, immune to the appeal of well-upholstered chairs and elegant chandeliers. He viewed the hotel like a battleground, noting positions from which to mount an offensive, and the many places a fugitive might hide.
His conversation with Andi hadn’t gone as he had hoped. He had meant to come down hard on her, to insist that she come with him to a shelter or another place of safety. But one look at her beautiful, weary face had melted his resolve. Maybe it was better for her and her baby if she stayed here, where she would at least be comfortable. He would guard her and wait.
Metwater was going to come for her; Simon was sure of it. The man preached poverty and the simple life to his followers, but he had used the very people who depended on him to amass assets in excess of sixty-eight million dollars. And that was only the accounts Simon had managed to locate. There was probably more stashed elsewhere.
But he was a fugitive on the run now, his bank accounts frozen and unavailable to him. He would need money to leave the country, to run out of the reach of US law. Andi had money, and Metwater could be confident she would give it to him. All he had to do was get to her. A different type of man might have gotten by on wits and cunning alone, but Metwater was used to paying his way out of trouble.
He was the son of a man who had made a fortune manufacturing plastics in Chicago. He had a twin brother, David, who had reportedly embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars from the family business before Metwater Senior’s death. Without his dad to reign him in, David had really gone off the rails, racking up gambling debts, dabbling in the drug trade and getting in deep with the Russian mob. He had died under mysterious circumstances, supposedly killed by organized crime members he had tried to double-cross.
Meanwhile, Daniel kept on managing the family business, serving on the boards of various charities and cleaning up the mess his brother made. David’s death, he told the press, cut him deeply, to the point where he sold the family business and took to the road, preaching peace and poverty to a growing list of followers, who eventually followed him to the public lands of Colorado, where they set up camp in the Rangers’ jurisdiction.
The good twin and the bad twin. A classic cliché. Simon didn’t buy it. He figured Daniel had been every bit as corrupt as his twin, but managed to hide it better. Nobody was the saint the press made Daniel out to be.
Simon knew a few real saints—nuns who lived real vows of poverty and worked to save children in border-town slums, doctors who used their own money to fund clinics for the indigent, police officers who faced down corruption and paid the ultimate price when they were assassinated for refusing to look the other way.
But Simon was no saint. Working for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, he had sent widows and orphans back to uncertain futures and poverty because they had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of the border. He didn’t believe in mercy for those who broke the law, and he had little patience for whiners and weaklings.
And he knew there was a special place in hell for men like Daniel Metwater, who took advantage of the lost and lonely.
Beautiful Andi Matheson was a little of both. She had the kind of ethereal beauty that drew the eye. The first time Simon had seen the blonde there in Metwater’s camp, he had a hard time not staring. She had been born into privilege and by all accounts was a spoiled socialite who had never been denied anything—all reasons enough for him to dislike her, which he had been prepared to do.
Then he had looked into those sapphire eyes, and the hurt and fear in them had hit him like a sucker punch. Stripped of her beauty-queen gowns and protected privilege, he had seen her for the lost, struggling soul she was. From that moment on, Simon had appointed himself Andi’s guardian. Which is why he patrolled the hallways and public areas of the hotel, alert to anything that might signal danger.
He was torn between the desire to station himself outside Andi’s door, and the need to find and question the man who had spoken to her at the elevator. Simon sensed a threat from that man. If he could deal with the stranger, then he could focus on Metwater.
In the hotel bar, The Ship Tavern, he spotted a familiar blond head—the man who had approached Andi outside the elevators. He entered the bar and was immediately engulfed by a wave of noise—a dozen conversations rising over the blare of two TVs and the clink of glasses. The gleam of brass—brass railings, brass light fixtures, brass ornaments on the wall—caught and reflected back the light from old-fashioned ship’s lanterns and faceted chandeliers. Simon squeezed past a shapely brunette in a sequined cocktail gown. She smiled warmly and looked him up and down. “Hi, handsome,” she breathed.
He ignored her and continued on until he reached the bar, and eased in beside the blond man, who immediately turned to see who had joined him. Simon nodded in greeting. The blond returned the nod, and gave no indication that he recognized Simon. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Fat Tire,” Simon said. When the bartender had walked away, Simon turned once more to the blond. “I saw you talking to Andi Matheson earlier,” he said. He seldom wasted time with subtlety. In his experience, a direct confrontation was more likely to catch people off guard.
The blond tensed, one hand slipping inside his jacket. “Who are you?”
“Are you going to shoot me right here in this bar because I made a simple remark?” Simon kept his voice even as he turned to accept the beer from the bartender, who flicked a glance at the blond.
The blond brought his hand back out in the open and nodded to the bartender. “My friend thinks he’s so funny,” he said, his English very good, but definitely with a hint of a Russian accent.
The blond waited until the bartender had walked away before he spoke again, keeping his hands outside his coat. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“I’m a friend of Ms. Matheson’s,” Simon said. “Who are you?”
“You’re the man in the elevator.” Understanding lit his eyes.
“Who are you and what do you want with her?” Simon asked.
“I am also a friend.”
“That’s not what she says. She says she never saw you before.”
“She doesn’t remember.” He sipped his drink—something dark and thick in a small glass. “It was at a party, with a lot of people.”
“When? Where?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“It’s my business to be interested.”
The blond studied Simon more closely. He tensed again, eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop,” he said.
Simon didn’t deny or confirm, but met the blond’s glare with a hard look of his own.
“I don’t like cops,” the blond said.
“I don’t like people who bother Ms. Matheson. She said you asked her about Daniel Metwater.”
&
nbsp; The blond contemplated the liquid in the glass. “Her boyfriend. He’s putting her up here, isn’t he?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I have a connection at the front desk.” He cut his eyes to Simon, his expression wary. “Are you after her for something—or is it Metwater you want?”
“Right now, I’m interested in you.”
“I’m a man having a drink in a public bar.” He drained his glass and set it down on the bar with a hard thunk. He pulled a heavy gold money clip from his pocket, peeled off a twenty and laid it on the bar. “Good night.”
“Leave Ms. Matheson alone,” Simon said.
“Watch your back,” the blond said softly, but loud enough for Simon to hear.
Simon started after him, only to be blocked by a group of men and women who pushed toward the bar. By the time he got free, he reached the door just in time to see the blond pushing through the glass doors of the hotel lobby to the street.
Simon returned to the bar and paid for his beer, then walked back into the lobby. A quick scan satisfied him that the blond hadn’t returned. But Simon had added the Russian to the short list of people who might be a danger to Andi.
He made his way back to the fourteenth floor and the room two doors down from Andi’s. His bosses were going to scream when they got the bill for the suite, but it couldn’t be helped. If Daniel Metwater—or the Russian—tried to get to Andi, they would have to get past Simon first.
* * *
SIMON’S VISIT HAD banished all hope Andi had of resting. Not that she had been sleeping much lately anyway. She missed having other women around to talk to—that had been one of the best things about joining the Family. An only child, she had never realized how comforting it could be to have other women around you—sisters who understood your concerns and were always willing to listen or offer advice. Casual acquaintances you didn’t live with could never understand you as well as family. A check of the clock showed it was only eight thirty, so she dialed the number for her former tentmate at the Family’s camp, Starfall. She would have to remember to call her Michelle, now that she had left the group and decided to go by her birth name once more.
“Hello?” Michelle answered.
“Hi. It’s Andi.”
“What do you want?” Michelle’s voice wasn’t exactly angry, but it wasn’t friendly either.
Andi grimaced. She had forgotten that the two of them had argued the last time they had spoken. “I heard they found Hunter safe,” she said. “I wanted to tell you how glad I am about that.” Michelle must have been half-crazy with worry when her little boy disappeared.
“No thanks to Daniel Metwater,” Michelle said. “He was the one who hired the guys who kidnapped him. And then Metwater tried to kill me. He tried to kill Ethan too.”
So it was true. Not that Andi had really doubted Simon’s words. “I heard,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Who told you about it? You’re not with Metwater now, are you?”
“No, no. I haven’t seen or spoken to him. Simon Woolridge told me. He’s one of the officers with the Ranger Brigade.”
“I know Simon. When did you talk to him?”
“A little while ago. He came to Denver—I guess he’s hoping he’ll catch the Prophet when he comes to pick me up at the hotel. But I don’t think he’s coming. Why would he risk it?”
“Besides the fact that he thinks he can get away with anything?” Michelle asked.
“Why did he try to kill you?” Andi asked. “Why would he want to kidnap Hunter? None of that makes sense to me.”
“I don’t know,” Michelle said. “Most of what he said didn’t make sense—but Ethan thinks it’s because I know something that could get him into trouble.”
“Ethan is the officer who was helping you?” Andi asked.
“Yes. He’s been great.” Michelle’s voice softened, her tone almost wistful. “I can’t believe how great he’s been.”
“What does he think you know that could hurt the Prophet?” Andi asked.
“I wish I knew what it was—I’d shout it from the rooftops.”
“Simon says he thinks I must know something that could hurt Daniel, too,” Andi said. “That’s why he hid me away here in Denver.”
“So, what do you know?”
“Nothing. I swear. I can’t think of anything.”
“You spent the most time with him and were closest to him,” Michelle said. “I’ll bet you saw a lot of things you shouldn’t have.”
“No.” In spite of all the time they’d spent together, she really didn’t know much at all about Daniel Metwater. He had kept her ignorant, changing the subject whenever she asked about the past or his plans for the future, or even what he did in the hours she wasn’t with him. She knew only what he wanted her to know, and that wasn’t anything beyond his public image as a sincere, wise teacher and leader.
“Stay away from him, Andi,” Michelle said. “He wants people to think he’s good and has their best interests at heart, but that’s not true.”
“I’ll be careful,” Andi said.
“Stick with Simon,” Michelle said. “The Rangers had Metwater figured out a long time ago. I wish now we had listened to them.”
“It’s a little strange, hearing you, of all people, talking about trusting the cops,” Andi said. The Prophet had always taught that law enforcement officers were not their friends, and Michelle, who had apparently had her share of run-ins with the police, had agreed wholeheartedly with this assessment.
Michelle laughed. “And now I’m in love with one. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“I’m glad things are working out so well for you,” Andi said, ignoring the stab of jealousy that lanced through her. Michelle sounded so happy. As if she lived in some alternate universe different from the one Andi occupied. It didn’t even seem possible to be that happy in her world.
“Take care of yourself,” Michelle said. “And keep in touch. Let me know when your baby is born.”
“I will.” They said goodbye and Andi hung up the phone. She had hoped talking to a friend would soothe her, but the conversation had only reinforced the reasons she had to be worried and afraid. All this emotional upheaval couldn’t be good for the baby. She needed to find a way to stay calm.
She phoned room service and ordered a cup of warm milk. That had been her mother’s remedy when Andi struggled to get to sleep as a girl. She set down the phone, tears pricking her eyes at the memory of her mother. Cancer had taken her almost ten years ago. Everything had changed after that—Andi’s father had become more focused on his political career, more concerned with power and prestige than with his daughter, except when she could be an asset to his image.
If her mother had lived, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Andi wouldn’t have fallen for her father’s bodyguard—a man who turned out to be married. Already pregnant, Andi had discovered the bodyguard’s deception and her father’s corruption. Wanting to escape the dishonesty and shallowness of her life, she had found solace in the teachings of Daniel Metwater. She was sure he was a man she could respect and love, and she hated men like Simon Woolridge for making her doubt her beliefs.
Now Michelle was telling her Simon was right, and she didn’t know what to think. Had her judgment really been so poor? Or was Daniel Metwater extremely gifted in deceiving people?
A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts, and she checked the peephole and recognized the livery of the hotel staff. Relieved, she opened the door, only to find herself shoved backward into the room.
Daniel Metwater tossed the tray with the cup of milk aside and grabbed Andi by the wrists. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”
Chapter Three
Simon paced the length of the hotel room, too unsettled to sit still. When he had booked the room, h
e had imagined using it as a base to keep an eye on Andi’s suite, but the layout was all wrong. He couldn’t see her door clearly from here, and the walls were too thick, the carpeting too plush, for him to hear anyone approaching.
Under other circumstances, he could have worked with hotel security to set up a surveillance camera to monitor her door. But that kind of thing took warrants—and it took time. Time Simon didn’t have.
Metwater was running, and he was desperate. Maybe he would leave town, or even leave the country and forget about Andi altogether, but Simon didn’t think so. For one thing, he didn’t have the resources he would need to make a getaway. For another, he had already proven he didn’t like loose ends or unfinished business. He had hidden Andi away here—or thought he had—when the Rangers began closing in. He didn’t want the cops talking to her.
And Metwater would know that Andi’s twenty-fifth birthday was only a few days away. Once her trust—several million dollars—passed to her, he could use his power over her to control the funds. A man as greedy as Metwater wouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity to have that kind of money.
Simon had the Russian to consider too. He had seen the man leave the hotel, but he could have easily circled around and come back in through another entrance. Though the man hadn’t directly threatened Andi, Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a danger to her.
Not on my watch, Simon thought, and stepped back into the hallway. He could station himself outside Andi’s doorway as a guard, but Metwater would see him and avoid approaching. That might keep Andi safe, but it wouldn’t trap Metwater. Simon wanted to stop the Prophet before he hurt anyone else. That meant staying hidden and getting the jump on him when he did approach.
He scanned the hallway, his gaze coming to rest on a recess that housed a decorative plant. A real plant, he noted as he squeezed in behind it, not a silk one. The space was cramped and uncomfortable, but he settled in as best he could, gun drawn, eyes focused on the doorway to Andi’s room and the hallway leading up to it.
