by Lisa Childs
So then Dylan had tested him. He’d wanted a promise from Royce that he’d keep Jeremy and Sarah safe. All Royce had been able to offer was the vow he’d given Sarah, that he’d die trying.
“Uncle Dylan’s great.” The breeze tousled Jeremy’s fair hair and carried the wistfulness in his words. “So’s Evan. But they’re not…”
“What?”
“A dad, you know.”
Royce expelled a quick breath. “Sometimes having guys like that in your life can be enough.” In Bart’s case, more than enough.
“I know. It’s not that I’m dying for a dad, you know. I’m not talking about that.”
Why hadn’t the line moved? This was a discussion Royce didn’t want to have.
He tensed as impatience surged through him again. At the start of the line an elderly woman dug through her massive purse, probably searching for her keys. The other people, a relatively small number since it was the off-season, grumbled about the wait. But Royce worried more about what the kid was talking about.
“Mom’s great. Bossy sometimes…”
Royce’s lips curved, and he gave the kid a vigorous nod. “Oh, yeah…”
“But she’s always been straight with me…”
Despite the breeze, sweat beaded on Royce’s brow. The kid was too damned smart. “That’s good.”
“But she wasn’t last night. I know there’s more going on than you taking her to see some old guy.”
At a loss as how to respond, Royce only shrugged.
“The way she acted at the park and the ice cream parlor, and later at the house. And last night, the alarm going off, the deputy being there. Something’s going on, and that’s why we’re leaving.” His blue eyes narrowed with frustration, and his flush deepened.
Royce swallowed a groan and reiterated the truth. “I came to Winter Falls because someone asked me to find Sarah Mars.”
“Why?”
Oh, yeah, the kid would make a great interrogator.
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” Couldn’t tell him. Would he be able to tell Sarah?
“There’s more going on than that. I’m not stupid.”
Royce sighed. “No, kid, no, you’re not.”
“But you’re not going to tell me either?”
Seeking divine intervention, Royce glanced up…at Sarah. Someone had joined her at the railing, the early-morning sunlight gleaming off the guy’s bald head.
Jeremy snorted. “And now Sheriff Buck’s here. Something’s going on.”
“Sheriff Buck?”
“He’s retired now, but everyone still calls him that.”
Royce narrowed his eyes and studied the guy. Over a flannel shirt, Sheriff Buck wore a khaki vest with various pieces of shiny tackle attached to it. “Looks like he’s just going fishing.”
“Yeah…he does like to do that,” the kid admitted although doubtfully.
Royce had his doubts, too, because the bulge under the old man’s arm wasn’t a fishing lure. Although retired, the sheriff still carried a gun.
THE QUEASINESS in Sarah’s stomach had nothing to do with the ferry’s motion or the uninhibited way Jeremy and Sheriff Buck tore into their plates of pancakes.
She glanced at Royce, who picked at his breakfast while he studied the other passengers. Despite the anxiety for his friend, which churned in his eyes, he intended to protect Jeremy. So why had Dylan sent Sheriff Buck along?
Jeremy’s uncle hadn’t given any indication of his intention when Sarah, her son and Royce had stopped by the hospital on their way to the ferry. While she had signed the contract Evan had drawn up, Royce and Dylan had slipped from the room. Neither man had looked too happy when they’d returned, but Dylan had not protested her and Jeremy leaving Winter Falls.
But he had sent the retired sheriff along for backup. Buck had told her when he’d joined her at the railing. Why? Was it just that Dylan wasn’t taking any chances with her son’s safety?
Royce was the biggest chance she had taken since she’d been a stupid teenager. And she stood to lose the one thing she’d gained from that other foolhardy experience. Jeremy.
How stupid had she been?
The bite of croissant she’d taken turned to dust in her mouth, and her head filled with silent curses. She couldn’t take the advice Lindsey had given her earlier at the hospital.
When she’d hugged her bedridden friend, the feisty reporter had whispered in her ear, “Take a chance, Sarah. Everything I know about Royce says he’s worth it. Trust a man again, Sarah.”
No. Not with her heart. And most importantly, not with her son.
She needed to know more about Royce. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat and asked, “So, do you live in Milwaukee, Royce?”
His gaze swung to her, his eyes narrowed at her question. Her sudden interest in him would come as a surprise, no doubt. “It’s where I grew up.”
He didn’t call it home. Not now.
“So you don’t live there?”
He shrugged a broad shoulder. “I have a place there, but I don’t really live anywhere. I travel a lot.”
“You live in your truck,” Jeremy said, envy in his voice. He had loved the variety of things he’d found in Royce’s vehicle, the climbing equipment and the computer gadgets. Everything that spoke of Royce, the Tracker. But nothing personal. Nothing that indicated Royce, the man.
Unless…perhaps he kept personal information on his laptop. She didn’t expect a journal. Even with what little she knew of him, she doubted he was the type. But bank records…e-mails. Anything to indicate who he really was and if he could be trusted.
Royce continued to study her, and she resisted the urge to squirm on the vinyl booth. If he knew her intentions…
He spoke to Jeremy but stared at her. “I live out of hotel rooms, planes and yeah, sometimes, the vehicle.”
Buck sighed. “Oh, to be young and carefree again…”
Carefree? She doubted Royce had ever been carefree. Despite the casual clothes and the long hair and unshaven jaw, he was too intense. Too driven. For what? For the sake of his dying friend. Or more? What did Royce Graham really want from life? From her?
That kiss? Her blood heated as she relived it. The sweet taste of his tongue as it had glided over hers. The pressure of his lips against hers. His rough fingers cradling her chin, holding her still for the possession of his mouth.
Something flared in his pale eyes. Could he read her mind? Did he relive their kiss, too? Did he want more? Did he want to possess her?
Heck, he didn’t even like her. If he believed the gossip about her, like the rest of Winter Falls he thought her a gold digger. If they only knew…if he only knew…would it make a difference?
Weariness burned her eyes, and she closed them for a second, hiding herself from Royce’s intense scrutiny. She didn’t care what he thought about her. If they’d had any sleep the night before, the kiss wouldn’t have happened. They were tired, Royce probably more than her. From the dark circles under his eyes, he’d missed more than one night’s sleep.
Had he slept since his friend had fallen ill? If a man could care that deeply, he had to be worthy of her trust. Didn’t he?
She opened her eyes, surprised by the tender look on his face. “You’re exhausted, Sarah. I rented that stateroom. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
Sleep? Until she knew if she’d done the right thing by coming with him that was impossible.
She had to learn more about Royce. With Jeremy and Sheriff Buck listening, she would hardly get him to reveal any secrets. But he hadn’t brought his laptop up with him. Could she get to his vehicle? Passengers were not allowed on the car deck.
But Sarah had learned one thing when she’d been orphaned again by her adoptive parents’ deaths and had inherited all that life insurance. Money could buy a lot. Not love. Not happiness. But sometimes…co-operation.
“Go ahead, Sarah,” Royce urged. “I’ll keep Jeremy occupied.” He’d watch her son. And so would Sheri
ff Buck. Jeremy would be safe. But Royce wouldn’t…not if Sarah discovered any hidden agenda.
AS HE WATCHED Sarah walk away, hips swaying in her fitted trousers, Royce’s stomach tightened with desire. She wasn’t the kind of woman he had any business wanting. Or kissing. That kiss had been such a mistake, brought on no doubt by too many sleepless nights.
Wasn’t sleep deprivation a form of torture? Then Royce tortured himself. And he tortured himself with the memory of Sarah’s silky lips moving under his, of her tongue sliding along his. Of the breath and essence of her soaking into him.
And he wanted more. He wanted to join her in that stateroom. And he didn’t want to sleep.
He groaned.
“You okay, Royce?” Jeremy asked.
While they’d waited in line, he’d told the kid to ditch the “Mr. Graham.” Made him feel old. And he was feeling old enough as it was.
He fought the threatening flush and winked. “Just too full.”
A twinkle in the retired sheriff’s eyes told Royce he’d been caught, and that the old man knew exactly what he was full of.
“You full yet, Jeremy?” Buck asked, “or you feel like sharing a piece of that peach pie with me?”
Royce’s stomach churned at the amount of food his two breakfast companions had already consumed. A puddle of syrup pooled in the middle of each of their empty plates attested to their hearty appetites.
Jeremy’s eyes lit up as he stared at the dessert display at the counter. He licked his lips. “Oh, yeah…”
Buck slipped him some money. “The waitress is busy. Go up there and buy us a big piece of pie from the hostess. Have her warm it up, too. And maybe add a dollop of ice cream…”
Jeremy nodded and slid out of the booth.
“Kid’s got quite an appetite,” Royce remarked, pushing away his plate of congealed eggs.
“Growing boys do.” Buck rubbed his palms over his stomach, which strained at the buttons of his shirt and vest. “Of all ages. And for more than food.”
Oh, yeah, he’d been caught staring at Sarah’s enticing assets. He’d like to eat her with a dollop of ice cream, too. The flush rose, heating his face under the stubble of his days-old beard.
“Sometimes our appetites can hurt us, though. A piece of pie almost killed me a couple of years ago.” The old man sighed.
“Heart attack?”
“That was part of it. The other part was trusting someone I shouldn’t have. Cost some lives.” Regret weighed heavy in the retired sheriff’s words.
Royce turned away from the older man’s intense gaze to study Jeremy at the counter. While he waited for the hostess, he talked with a young boy about his own age. Royce’s heart constricted. Happy, carefree, trusting, Jeremy didn’t deserve what he was going through. But none of those kids had…the ones Royce had saved, and the ones he hadn’t.
“That boy is Sarah’s whole life,” Buck remarked.
Royce nodded. That was no secret, not like the rest of Sarah’s life.
“Having him cost her a lot,” the older man confided.
“Parents disown her or something?”
Buck smiled. “Not the Marses. They actually tried too hard to protect her.”
“There’s no protecting someone from the world.” Not even your child. How many parents had he told that to? Assuring them that they’d done nothing wrong. Unless, of course, they had.
“No, there isn’t. Although someone should have protected her from Dylan’s brother.”
“He was bad news?”
Buck shrugged. “For a young, impressionable girl, yeah. He took advantage of her loving nature.”
Loving nature? Royce fought to hang onto his mercenary image of Sarah, maybe to protect himself. But other images played over that. Sarah hugging her son, hugging Dylan’s bedridden wife. Her concern for her friends. Her love for her son. The passion in her kiss…
He swallowed hard. “Yeah, she was young when she had Jeremy.”
“Young and impressionable, but she still blames herself…for everything.”
“I take it Jeremy’s father was older than her, though? He should have been the responsible one.”
Buck nodded. “No, Dylan was always the responsible one of those two. Jimmy wanted her to get rid of the baby.”
Royce stared at the smiling boy, thinking of the waste if Sarah had listened. “But she refused.”
“Of course. If her mother had done that, she wouldn’t be here herself.”
“I’m sure her parents never considered…”
The old man shrugged. “Who knows what her biological mother considered. The Marses adopted her and her brother.”
“She has a brother, too?”
“Not anymore.” Buck’s broad shoulders sagged as if carrying a tremendous burden. “He killed himself…after he killed Jeremy’s father.”
The older man’s burden was one that Royce bet Sarah shared, or shouldered alone. “And Sarah blames herself.”
He understood now, the way she hadn’t met the eyes of the townspeople at the ice cream parlor. The way she’d bowed her head. Shame.
“The Marses tried to protect her. Tried to convince her that her brother hadn’t done anything…to Jeremy’s father. Or himself. Lies told to protect her from that guilt.”
“Didn’t work.”
“Not long enough, no. Like you said, there’s no protecting someone from the world.”
But if anyone deserved to be protected, it was Sarah. She’d lived through too much already. And now someone threatened her son. Royce suddenly hated himself for trying to fulfill a dying man’s wish. If he caused Sarah any more pain, he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt…not the way she did.
AT FIRST Sarah hadn’t had much luck bribing any of the crew of the SS Wolverine. But as she’d learned over the years, no one was totally incorruptible. Would she discover the same was true of Royce?
She slipped through the main lounge to the employee stairwell. A flight of stairs, a narrow corridor and she stood before the door marked Private. She’d been warned the door would be locked, and the attendant might not hear her. The kid was known to play his music loud, and here the engines roared, the noise vibrating in the steel deck beneath her feet.
She hesitated with her knuckles against the door. Fear over what she’d find increased the rate of her heartbeats. She suspected that she’d find as much or more pain in his past as in hers.
Whenever anyone mentioned the FBI, Royce’s eyes churned with bitter regret. She thought he was haunted by the children he’d not found in time, the ones he hadn’t managed to save. Or was she being fanciful?
Because she found him attractive—and damn it, she did—was she wishing him capable of depths of emotion that he didn’t possess? He claimed to love this dying man, but how did she know Bart McCarthy even existed?
She hoped Royce’s laptop would validate her decision to come to Milwaukee with him. Perhaps Lindsey was right and he was worth trusting.
She knocked with force, and the door pushed away from her hand. Stale odors of gasoline and oil wafted from the cavernous hold. She called out, but the engine drowned her voice. Her rubber soles silent on the steel floor, she slipped through the door, glad that she’d foregone her usual heels for more practical shoes.
Near her, vehicles were locked bumper to bumper, only a narrow space left between the sides. No wonder all the attendants were so small. They had to squeeze out the driver’s door after they backed the vehicles onto the car deck.
The kid on duty was probably lounging in the vehicle with the best stereo system. But no music reached Sarah’s attentive ears, only the drone of the motor and the crash of the waves.
Beyond the nearby vehicles, empty space stretched out, as the ferry was not at full capacity due to the off-season. Across the water-stained floor, Royce’s silver truck stood alone. He had probably slipped someone extra money to ensure the safety of his precious vehicle. And she’d thought only young boys were protective of their toys
.
Her brief smile stole away as she considered what she was about to do. Violate someone’s privacy, something she herself held so dear.
After slipping through the narrow space between vehicles, her steps faltered. She hesitated, her gaze on Royce’s SUV. Could she do it? Could she break in and rummage through his private possessions? Boot up his laptop and go through his personal records?
And if she could, what had she become? Desperate.
A mother desperate for the safety of her son. She had no choice. She started across the vibrating steel deck toward the truck.
Before she made it across the open area, she noticed movement in the bed of the truck. Fingers curled around the top of the metal. Bloodied fingers as someone tried to pull himself up.
“Oh, my God!” She ran, feet skidding on the slippery deck as mist from the waves floated through the gangway door like fog. She reached the box of the truck and peered inside.
A young man lay against the rubber bed liner, a cut on his forehead oozing blood down over his face. He needed medical attention. Sarah had to get help.
She needed Royce.
With her attention focused on the young man, she didn’t notice the shadow slink around from the other side of the truck until the cold barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. “Sarah…” A deep voice rasped out her name, the same voice that she’d heard in a telephone threat yesterday. A threat against her son.
She shuddered and started to turn, but the barrel pressed harder. “Don’t look at me. Not unless you want me to pull this trigger.”
She closed her eyes and dragged in a quick, nervous breath. “He’s hurt. Let me get him some help!”
“Get yourself some help, Sarah. Get rid of the Tracker or we will and get the money ready! Because we will get your son!”
A mother’s outrage stiffened her trembling legs. “You’re not going to get my son!”
“Then maybe I should blow your head off right now.” The barrel pressed again.
She resisted the urge to beg for her life. Jeremy’s was more important. “A dead woman can’t pay ransom.” But with Royce’s protection, she wouldn’t have to. She prayed.
“Get on your knees.” A strong hand on her shoulder forced her to the steel deck. “Keep your eyes closed.”
