by Cassie Miles
Though adrenaline surged through his body, Liam didn’t make the mistake of thinking he could take them. Their very stupidity made them lethal.
Finally, they got bored, gave up and left. Their pickup bounced along the graded road, leaving a cloud of dust and needless devastation.
A slow-burning anger took root in Liam’s heart. This vandalism would not go unpunished.
Kate tugged on his shirt, and he looked down into her eyes. The fear was still there. “They’ll be back,” she said.
“We’re not going to wait around for them.”
He stood, pulling her upright with him. Still tense, the heat of his fury surged through his veins. He was on fire inside. When he held her against his chest, she was ice-cold, shivering as though her blood had frozen.
Stroking her fragile shoulders, he whispered, “You were right, Kate. Somebody’s trying to kill you.”
“I wish I’d been wrong. I wish none of this had ever happened.”
Her voice quavered, but she wasn’t crying. He could feel her battling for self-control, willing herself to be strong. She’d been through hell. Hiding out for nearly a month, she’d lived with danger every single day.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” he promised. “I won’t let them.”
No matter what, he’d protect this small, brave woman. He lightly kissed the top of her head. She was delicate as a wounded baby bird. Her desperate need fueled his resolve. Nobody would hurt her. Never again.
At the foot of the hillside, he caught sight of his Cub. One white wing glistened in the sunlight. Liam’s anger sharpened to a knifepoint. Somebody would pay for this senseless destruction. He had a damn good reason to track down the bad guys.
THOUGH LIAM HAD BEEN hard-pressed to find anything positive about the assault on his cabin, he supposed they’d been lucky that the rifle-toting thugs had spared his Land Rover. They’d shot out the windshield on the Jeep parked at the front of the cabin. But they hadn’t bothered the Rover, which had been in the back of the hangar. He’d loaded up Kate and taken off fast.
After two hours’ drive, they were approaching Golden, a couple of miles outside Denver. Though the city of Golden had spread into upscale suburbs and developments, the center of town kept an old-west facade which was in direct contrast to the sprawling Coors Brewery, a huge tourist attraction offering free beer. Golden was also the gateway to Lookout Mountain, where Buffalo Bill Cody was buried.
Liam glanced over at Kate in the passenger seat. She’d been silent for most of the drive, turned in upon herself. And he’d been glad when she’d dropped off for a nap. The road ahead of her promised to be rocky and difficult—not to mention dangerous.
Now she was awake, and she gasped at the first panoramic view of Denver. City lights spread across the plains in twinkling splendor beneath a vast, dusky sky of gray.
“I’m coming home,” she said. “I should be glad.”
“But you’re not?”
“All I can think of is how much I’d rather be in the mountains.”
Liam didn’t bother with glib reassurances. “You’re not going to be safe until we find out who’s after you.”
“What if I never remember?”
“There are other ways to figure this out.”
His determination was twofold: find out who was threatening her, and protect her in the meantime. The handgun she’d used to threaten him—a Glock automatic—was in the glove compartment of his Rover, and Liam wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. His Cub had sustained serious damage, and the interior of his cabin was trashed. Insurance would handle the repairs, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted revenge.
“Why are we going to CCC?” she asked. “They were the only people you talked to. Obviously, they’re in on this.”
“I don’t believe that.” Adam Briggs was a good man, dedicated to finding the truth. He would also be Liam’s first choice for someone to stand beside him in a fight. “I think their phones are bugged.”
“Who would do that?”
He hated to point out the obvious. “Your mother was the person who contacted CCC and asked them to keep searching.”
“My mother?” She shook her head. “Mom and I aren’t cuddly and close. We’ve had more than our fair share of arguments. But I don’t think she wants me dead.”
“Other people in your family, or close associates, would have known that she’d contacted CCC. One of them might have bugged the phones.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if the hunters came from CCC?”
From what he knew of CCC, they weren’t often involved in active investigations. They’d have no reason to suspect a bug. “Nobody at CCC wants to kill you.”
“And someone in my family does?” She drew a ragged breath. “It’s hard to believe that.”
There were three men she’d mentioned: Her ex-husband, Jonathan Proctor. Her stepfather, Peter Rowe. And her stepbrother, Tom Rowe. In Liam’s mind, those were the three main suspects.
He parked on a side street outside a two-story Victorian house with neatly tended flower beds in the front yard. This quaint, refurbished building was the unlikely office for CCC. Though it was after eight o’clock, lights shone through the windows.
He used his cell phone, punching in the office number for CCC. Molly answered.
“It’s Liam,” he said.
“I’m so glad you called. I’ve been trying to reach you at the cabin.”
“Where are you?” Liam asked.
“Still at the office. Adam’s here, too. Needless to say, he’s annoyed about the Kate Carradine situation. He thinks—”
Liam disconnected the call. After reaching into the glove compartment and arming himself, he nodded to Kate. “We’re going inside.”
In the glow from a streetlight, he saw her face clearly. With a conscious effort, she erased the vestiges of fear. Her gaze became sharp and focused. “I can do this.”
Her determination reminded him of Rain, and he smiled. “You’re not alone anymore. I know you’re telling the truth, and I’m with you, every step of the way.”
They entered the building and went directly through the first door on the left into the offices of Colorado Crime Consultants.
Molly Griffith stood behind the front desk. She was a tall, sleek blonde in her midthirties, and she dressed a lot sexier than a typical office manager.
Walking firmly in spike heels, she rounded her desk. “You must be Kate Carradine.”
“I must be.”
“Good to finally see you.” Molly enveloped her in a hug. “I can’t tell you how many times I looked at your photograph and prayed you’d be okay.”
Adam Briggs stepped through the door of his private office. Tall and muscular, with military bearing, he was nowhere near as warm as Molly. “Liam, what the hell did you think you were doing? This woman needs to be—”
“Don’t start,” Liam warned. “A couple of hours ago, my cabin was under assault from men who were looking for Kate Carradine. They trashed my cabin, and shot up my Super Cub. And the only place I had called was here.”
Briggs lowered his eyebrows in a scowl. “Nobody else saw you or heard from you?”
“Nobody. We flew to my cabin without stopping anywhere else.” Liam pointed to the phone on Molly’s desk. “One call.”
“A bug,” Briggs growled. “You think somebody tapped my phone line.”
“The whole damn office could be bugged.”
While Molly fussed over Kate, her boss tore apart the handset on the desk. He found a small, silver disc. “Son of a bitch. This isn’t even high tech.”
“Not on this end,” Molly said as she took it from him. “But this device could be programmed to pass information to a computer. Any search could be screened to show references to Kate Carradine.”
“Like checking e-mail,” Liam said. That was how the bastard had known she was at his cabin. And he’d acted quickly, sending his thugs.
Molly said, “We need to sweep the office for bugs.”
“We’ll make a full report to the police,” Briggs said.
“And to the sheriff in Grand Lake,” Liam said.
“No.” Kate stepped forward. “There’s nothing the police can do. We were never close enough to get a license plate from the truck that showed up at Liam’s place. And I still don’t remember enough to—”
“You’ll make a report,” Briggs said. His tone brooked no argument. “May I remind you, Miss Carradine, that Wayne Silverman is still missing. He is possibly the victim of foul play.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she gave a curt nod. “You’re right. I owe it to Wayne Silverman to make a full confession to the authorities.”
Confession? Liam frowned. What was she talking about?
Chapter Six
As Liam drove, Kate peered into the darkness at the edge of the well-lit highway. Out there—beyond this tunnel of light—crouched the shadowed foothills, rife with nocturnal hunters and prey. Though she couldn’t see the barn owl as it dived through the night and snatched a scurrying rodent, Kate could feel the wind from widespread wings. The hunters were coming closer every minute, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
If Liam was right about her family being responsible for sending the men who shot up his cabin and his airplane, she was walking blindly into the arms of those who wanted her dead.
They were on their way to her mother’s house.
Kate wanted to be angry—outraged—by the threat to her safety. Instead, a dull sadness filled her heart. What kind of life was she living? What could possibly turn a family member into a killer?
“The police have leads to follow,” Liam said. “If Molly’s theory about the bug broadcasting to a computer is correct, the cops can get a warrant to check all computers.”
“At my mother’s house?”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t count on it,” she said. “My family has a lot of clout. One of the charities RMS supports is the Police Benevolent Fund. My mother plays bridge with the governor’s wife. It’s going to take more than a suspicion to get a warrant on the Carradines.”
“Politics.” Liam’s jaw clenched. “I remember this crap from when I worked for the D.A.’s office.”
The stonewalling had already started. Adam Briggs had insisted that Kate talk to the police before anyone else. But he’d been overruled. The detectives in charge of the case had readily deferred to her mother. Kate was going home. The police would meet her there.
Approaching the exit ramp, she braced herself, unsure of what to expect and fearful of what she might remember. After another few turns, they were on the two-lane road leading to the house where her family had lived for the past eighteen years. Her memory of this place was crystal clear. Even in the dark, she recognized the landscape of home. It seemed as though she’d never forgotten these streets or the rising glow of porch lights on the ridge or the hedges and the landscaped stands of conifers.
“Turn right here,” she instructed. They circled a long, paved driveway to a sprawling, two-story Tudor-style home with a dark brown shake-shingle roof. Every light was lit, and the multipaned windows sparkled in the night.
Liam parked near the entryway. “You’re home,” he said.
She should have felt relief. Home ought to mean safety. Instead, she was nervous, tense, scared. She grasped Liam’s arm. “Stay with me. You’re the only person I feel safe with.”
He rested his hand upon hers. His eyes were warm and reassuring. “I won’t abandon you. Not ever.”
“I want to get away from here tonight. To go home to my own house. To sleep in my own bed.”
“We can make that happen.”
“It won’t be easy,” she warned. “My family can be very domineering.”
Liam gave her a cool, determined smile. “So can I.”
The front door opened, and an attractive blond woman emerged. Kate’s mother, Elizabeth, would never do anything as unsophisticated as running, but she approached quickly. The gray silk scarf she wore around her throat streamed behind her in the evening breeze.
Kate stepped from the car and into her mother’s perfumed embrace. A sigh fluttered from her mother’s lips. Elizabeth Carradine was a complex woman. She could be ethereal, completely out of touch with reality. Other times, she was solid as a bulldozer, demanding that things be done her way.
“I never gave up hope,” Elizabeth whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, darling. Not you, too.”
“I’m okay.”
Elizabeth held her at arm’s length and studied her. A fey smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “What have you done to your hair?”
“I couldn’t take care of—”
“Darling, do you really have amnesia?” Elizabeth leaned close to squint. Her eyes reminded Kate of when she’d been a little girl, sick in bed, and her mother would wish away the illness with a lullaby and a cup of honeyed tea. It was always the nanny who’d called the doctor. “Kate, darling. You remember me, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mom.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin and tossed her scarf over her shoulder. “What’s all this nonsense about losing your memory?”
“It’s nothing,” Kate lied. She didn’t want to cause her mother any more worry. “Just a little glitch. I can’t remember exactly what happened before I set up camp in the forest.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound healthy.” Elizabeth scowled, and a bevy of tiny wrinkles creased her forehead. “You need some tea. Chamomile, I think.”
Liam stepped up beside them. “That’s a fine idea, ma’am.”
Elizabeth gave him a quick assessment, scanning his denim shirt and broad shoulders. “You’re the young man who found my daughter.”
“Liam MacKenzie.” Kate introduced him.
Apparently, her mother had decided that Liam was acceptable. She grasped Liam’s large hand in both of hers. “Thank you for rescuing my Kate.”
“She didn’t need much rescuing,” he said. “Kate was surviving very well on her own.”
His words sparked a warm feeling of pride within her. Kate wasn’t a victim, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start acting like one. She had to take control, and Liam would help her. He’d back her up. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go inside.”
Before they could walk the few paces to the front door, chaos descended. Briggs and Molly parked behind Liam’s Rover on the circular drive. Two police cars arrived with red and blue lights flashing.
Kate’s stepbrother, Tom, drove up behind the cops, leaped from his car and loped toward her. His shaggy brown hair fell so low on his forehead that his eyes were hidden. He came to a stop in front of Kate, peering through his bangs. He seemed to want to embrace her but held himself back.
And she didn’t open her arms to him. Her recent memory of Tom aiming his Remington rifle was too vivid in her mind. Those guys who had attacked Liam’s cabin were just the sort of morons Tom would hang out with.
He regarded her with something akin to suspicion. “You’re okay?”
“Yes,” she said. Was he disappointed? “I used the wilderness-survival techniques my father taught me.”
“Living off roots and berries?”
“It’s not berry season, Tom. Except for huckleberries, and there weren’t any—”
“I get it.” He reached out and clumsily patted her arm. “Damn, Katie. I thought you were dead.”
His words echoed hollowly inside her. Had Tom expected her to be dead? Could her own stepbrother have hunted her?
Though Tom had only been in the family for two years and was still something of an outsider, he generally supported Kate in family discussions and in business. More than once in the RMS boardroom, Tom had voted with her.
She pulled away from him, unsure of what she could or couldn’t believe. Everyone was talking at once, and the noise disconcerted her.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to face her stepfather, Peter Rowe. A total contrast to his son, Peter w
as tanned and perfectly groomed. In his butter-yellow polo shirt and khaki trousers, he looked like he’d just finished eighteen holes under par.
A familiar surge of hostility went through her, and she quickly suppressed it. She shouldn’t blame Peter for marrying her mother. By every indication, he made Elizabeth happy.
“It’s good to have you back with us,” he said.
“Good to be back.” Her response was automatic.
Tom grasped her arm and pulled her toward the house. “You need food, Katie. Your mom probably doesn’t keep any chocolate in the house, but I’m sure the cook can find something.”
“Wait.” She planted her feet, refusing to be drawn deeper into this swirling eddy. She needed her anchor. Only Liam could keep her from drowning in a well-intentioned undertow.
He stood slightly apart—tall and strong and amazingly calm. She thrust her hand toward him, reaching for a lifeline. And he came forward, linking his large hand with hers. As long as he was with her, Kate would feel safe.
NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, Liam sat beside Kate on a plaid sofa in an opulent room she referred to as the “den.” A gleaming oak desk stood sentinel in front of a floor-to-ceiling display of hardbound volumes so perfectly aligned that they might have been painted on the wall. Two plainclothes police detectives sat like bookends in captain’s chairs at either end of the sofa.
Kate spoke first. “We’re wasting our time, detectives. I can’t remember how I got to the place where I set up camp.”
The husky, blond detective who identified himself as Clauson from Homicide nodded calmly. “Just a few questions, Kate. Let’s start with your plans for the weekend you left on your camping trip. What’s the last thing you recall?”
She fidgeted impatiently, reminding Liam of a wild animal trapped inside a cage. Her hands were in constant nervous motion, plucking at her clothes and combing through her short hair. She’d refused to change from the boys’ jeans and the Darth Vermin T-shirt.
Though she’d managed to drink a few sips of a blended protein shake, she’d also avoided food. Kate seemed to be keeping her distance from everyone but him.
