Montana Secrets

by Charlotte Douglas

“They were trying to find out my real identity. That’s why they took the mirror from my shaving kit. It had my fingerprints. George MacIntosh just brought a message from my commanding officer. A hacker has broken into AFIS—”

  “Aphis?”

  “The FBI’s automated fingerprint identification system. The terrorists know now who I really am.”

  She shook her head in befuddlement. “You’re not Trace Gallagher?”

  “No.” Dear God, would she despise him for his deception? And would she give him time to explain five lost years?

  “Then who are you?”

  He took a deep breath. Everything was riding on his next words, but how could he even begin to explain?

  “Kalila—”

  Her eyes widened with shock, her hand flew to her mouth, and the color drained from her face. “No, you can’t be—”

  He knelt before her and grasped her shoulders. “I’m Ryan, Cat. I’ve wanted to tell you—”

  Her expression crinkled with disbelief. “If you’re Ryan, why don’t you look like Ryan?”

  “They had to rebuild most of me after the bombing.”

  She searched his face, measured his features and stared deep into his eyes. Her summery blue ones lit with sudden recognition. And joy. “Oh, God, I can’t believe it’s true. You’re really alive.”

  “I wanted to tell you before—”

  She threw her arms around him and buried her head on his shoulder. Her body shook with sobs.

  “Don’t cry, please.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m so happy.” As if the thought had just struck her, she cocked her head and glared at him through her tears. “Where have you been all these years?”

  With reluctance, he untwined her arms from his neck and pushed her gently away. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know later.”

  “But—”

  “Right now you must pack for you, Megan and Gabe. I have to take you all to safety at the base in Great Falls before the terrorists come looking for us.”

  “I thought you said they didn’t want us, just you.”

  “Now that they know I’m Ryan, they’re after me and everyone close to me.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”

  “To find out what I know and who I told. Then to kill all of us—”

  “Kill us?”

  “They’re desperate to eliminate anyone who can identify them.”

  The mixture of hurt, fear, confusion and happiness in her eyes tore at him, but he didn’t have time for more explanations.

  “Hurry and pack. Take the minimum, because we have to get moving. We’ll pick up Megan and Gabe on the way out.”

  She touched his face with her fingers, a light, feathery contact as gentle as a kiss, then pushed past him to run up the stairs.

  HER NAME—Ryan’s pet name for her—on his lips had convinced her.

  Kalila.

  For five long years she had longed to hear Ryan call her that just one more time.

  But his distinctive khaki-colored eyes had been the key. Looking back, she realized her subconscious had recognized him by his unusual greenish-brown eyes that first day he’d appeared in her classroom.

  No wonder she’d felt so drawn to him. She hadn’t fallen in love with a stranger. Her heart had recognized Ryan.

  Stumbling up the stairs in her haste, she attempted to sort through a jumble of emotions.

  Joy.

  Anger.

  Hurt.

  If he’d kept his existence secret for all this time, could she trust him now?

  She hurried into Megan’s room, and concern for her daughter’s safety ended her hesitation. If the slightest chance existed that Megan could be harmed, Cat wasn’t about to take it. She’d seen Ryan with her daughter—their daughter—and although she wasn’t sure of anything else at this point, she was certain he would never do anything to hurt Megan.

  Rushing from room to room, Cat gathered the barest necessities for herself, her dad and Megan and stuffed them in a backpack. She met Ryan at the top of the stairs. He had his duffel bag slung across his shoulder.

  “Ready?” he asked in that strange, husky voice that must have been caused by bomb damage.

  Unable to trust her own voice, she nodded, then followed him down the stairs and out the door to the car.

  Once he’d stowed their bags in the back, he held out his hand. “You’d better let me drive. Things could get hairy if we meet these guys on the road.”

  She tossed him the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. Ryan slid behind the wheel, started the engine and took off in a flurry of gravel and dust.

  Since learning he was Ryan, one detail had nagged at her, and Cat could contain her hurt no longer. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d survived?”

  “Because I didn’t know myself until three weeks ago.” He kept his eyes on the road and his white-knuckled grip on the wheel. A muscle ticked with tension at the base of his square jaw.

  Cat felt as if she were trapped in a surreal dream and couldn’t wake up. For almost three days, he’d lived in her house, claiming to be Trace Gallagher. Little more than an hour earlier, he’d made love to her with both ferocity and tenderness.

  Now he’d told her that he was really Ryan, and they were all in danger. But when she demanded explanations, his answers made no sense.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Trust me, Cat. I didn’t desert you. I suffered amnesia after the blast. Between the military and Asim, they convinced me I was Trace Gallagher, one of Asim’s bodyguards. Everything I told you about living in the prince’s household was true.”

  She wanted to believe him, but she still ached too much from his deception to be completely trusting.

  She shook her head, knowing she should withdraw her hand but unable to resist the comfort of his touch. “Why did the Marines tell us you were dead?”

  “For your protection—and mine.”

  “I don’t understand.” The words came out with a sob. Her skin flushed hot, then cold, and she wondered if she was going into shock.

  “Right before Marc went into a coma,” Ryan explained, “he told the men who found him that I could identify the traitor in the embassy, the man who was working with the terrorists. Before the brass could put a lid on that info, it had spread among the survivors. If the terrorists had known I was alive and if I had contacted you, they would have killed us both.”

  “I would have kept your secrets.” His lack of trust stung her.

  “I know, but it wasn’t up to me.” He squeezed her hand again. “The first thing I tried to do when my memory returned was to call you. But Asim’s bodyguards hustled me straight to Colonel Barker. He sent me directly to the counterterrorist unit at the Pentagon. I wasn’t allowed any phone calls. Once I realized how much danger you’d be in, as much as I wanted to see you or just to hear your voice, I didn’t dare put you at risk by letting you know I was alive.”

  As he drove, taking the mountain curves at maximum speed, he told her how Wentworth had hoped coming to Montana would cure his amnesia.

  “But you still can’t remember those days before the bombing?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “When I learned Marc had said nothing to you that would identify the traitors, I called Wentworth to report. I wanted to leave.”

  “Why?” Her heart sank. Had she misread his affection? Had his caring for her and their unforgettable lovemaking been part of his pretense?

  The glance he threw her was filled with agony and despair. “Being close to you and Megan, not being able to tell you the truth, not being able to touch you, to hold you, was sheer torture. I couldn’t risk leading the terrorists to you if I confessed my real identity. Even staying as Trace Gallagher would be too risky.”

  “Then why didn’t you leave?” Her head spun, trying to absorb all that he told her.

  “Wentworth ordered me to stay. I might have disobeyed those orders, but when Gabe was hurt, I remained here to help out. You
know the rest.”

  A puzzle nagged at her. “How did the terrorists locate you so quickly?”

  “They probably still have contacts in the embassy. Possibly even in Asim’s palace. When I was jerked out of Tabari so quickly and sent to the Pentagon, then ended up in Ryan Christopher’s and Marc Erickson’s old stomping grounds, the circumstances must have made them nervous. They had to find out who I really was.”

  “And now they know you’re Ryan.”

  He nodded, his face grim. “I’m the one man still alive who can ID who’s connected to the embassy bombing.” He slammed the wheel with his fist. “If I could only remember.”

  After his outburst, he grew quiet and concentrated on the treacherous hairpin curves. She took the opportunity to study his profile. In her classroom the day of his arrival, she’d been positive at first glance that he was Ryan, but then the subtle changes in his appearance had thrown her. Now, reading the firm line of his jaw, the patrician shape of his nose—minus the bump from his childhood brawl, the familiar arch of his brow and the jut of his chin, she could see the Ryan she remembered had been there all along.

  Her heart ached for the injuries he’d sustained. The fact that his nose had been straightened, his cheekbones lifted and the cleft in his chin erased testified to the extensive surgeries he’d undergone. He must have suffered untold physical agonies. Add to that the psychological distress of amnesia, and his very existence must have been pure hell after the bombing. And he’d had no friends, no family to help him through those tough times. He must have felt again like that lost and lonely little boy who’d been abandoned at a Chicago church.

  She wondered how emotionally scarred his experiences had left him. With a flush of heat, she remembered from their lovemaking the multitude of physical scars, evidence of the damage his body had endured.

  How could she not have recognized him? She’d missed so many clues. Rogue had accepted the so-called stranger. How could a horse recognize its former owner when she hadn’t identified the man she loved?

  And the fingerprints. She understood now why Trace had argued against the crime techs dusting the house. They would have uncovered his secret.

  And the love in his eyes when he looked at Megan. No wonder the poor man was so smitten. Megan was his very own daughter.

  In retrospect, Cat felt a perfect idiot for not knowing. If nothing else, her immediate strong feelings for him should have tipped her off. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Ryan was alive and he loved her.

  And she loved him.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” Cat said, putting all the warmth and sincerity she could muster into her tone. “Your family’s missed you.”

  “I didn’t want to make love to you until I could tell you the truth,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

  “I think I’ve sensed that you were Ryan all along,” she admitted. “Why else could I have fallen in love with a total stranger?”

  He reached across and brushed a curl off her cheek. “I’ve caused you too much pain. First thinking I’m dead. Now running for our lives. You deserve better, Kalila.”

  She grasped his hand and planted a kiss on his palm. “How could I have better when I already have the best?”

  He pulled his hand to the steering wheel and seemed to withdraw into himself. “There’s no future with me, Cat. Not as long as those killers are after me.”

  “Then you and your Colonel Wentworth will just have to catch them,” she said with fierce intensity, “because I’m not losing you again, Ryan Christopher. And Megan’s not giving up her father.”

  Her words were laced with bravado, but fear filled her heart as they turned onto the road that led to the MacIntosh dairy. They had yet to pick up Megan and Gabe, and they were still a long way from Great Falls and safety.

  “AS FAR AS everyone else is concerned,” Ryan said as they approached the house, “I’m still Trace Gallagher.”

  “Everyone except Dad,” Cat said.

  Ryan nodded. “We’ll tell him once we’ve left the hospital.

  If we make it that far.

  “What about telling Megan?” he asked

  “She’s going to be very confused. We’d better wait until we can explain things a little bit at a time.”

  Ryan checked the rearview mirror to make sure no one was following. Getting away from the ranch and out of Athens was taking too much time, and as long as they remained in the area, they were an easy target for the terrorists.

  He ducked his head to scan the sky through the windshield. Cloud cover obscured the mountaintops. The weather conditions nixed the possibility of requesting Wentworth to lift them out by chopper. They’d have to take the roads.

  And their chances.

  He stopped the car in front of the house. “We have to get in and out of here fast.”

  Cat nodded and hopped from the SUV. Ryan followed her to the door where Mrs. Mac stood waiting.

  “I heard your car on the drive. Is everything all right?” Curiosity and concern burned in the older woman’s eyes.

  Ryan knew someone in the household had taken Wentworth’s message and probably shared its contents with the others, but for the safety of their good neighbors, he didn’t dare elaborate on his situation.

  “We’ve come for Megan,” Cat said. “We’re going out of town for a few days. A family emergency.”

  “I put her to bed,” Mrs. Mac said, “less than thirty minutes ago.”

  “No need to wake her,” Ryan said easily, tamping down his impatience. He’d never felt more like a sitting duck, and he hated that Cat and Megan were targets, too. “I’ll carry her to the car, and she can sleep in her booster seat.”

  Mr. Mac had joined his wife in the entry hall. “Made arrangements for your livestock while you’re away?”

  Cat blinked in confusion, and Ryan felt a stab of sympathy for her. With all the emotions and information she’d had to assimilate in the past hour, someone to care for the animals at the ranch was probably the last thing on her mind.

  “Could your grandsons take charge for a day or two?” Ryan asked. “Just until we can make other arrangements?”

  “Don’t see why not,” the older man agreed. He and his wife exchanged a long look. They obviously knew something wasn’t right, but they were too polite to ask.

  “Megan’s in the last room on the right, just down the hall,” Mrs. Mac said.

  Feeling the pressure of time running out, Ryan started down the corridor, and Cat followed on his heels.

  “You get Megan,” she said. “I’ll get her things.”

  He opened the bedroom door, and light from the hallway illuminated two twin beds. In the first, Jessica slept peacefully, her curls a dark spot against the white linen pillowslip.

  The other bed was empty.

  Ryan whirled and called to Mrs. Mac. “She’s gone.”

  Mrs. Mac’s eyebrows lifted in alarm. “That’s not possible. Try the bathroom across the hall.”

  Ryan opened the door and flicked on the light. The white-tiled room was empty.

  “She’s not there.” Cat’s voice verged on panic. “Where is she?”

  “Gramma?” Jessica sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  Mrs. Mac rushed to her granddaughter’s side. “We’re looking for Megan, sweetie. Do you know where she is?”

  Jessica nodded solemnly. “But I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

  Mrs. Mac grasped the girl’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Promises are important, but Megan’s mother needs her. You’ll have to break your word this time.”

  Jessica hesitated, and Ryan stifled the urge to shake the little darling. The clock was ticking down the seconds, each minute decreasing their chance of escaping before the terrorists came for them.

  “Megan went to the barn,” Jessica finally admitted, “to sleep with the kitties. She said they were lonesome.”

  Ryan heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll get her. Cat, tak
e her things to the car, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Mr. Mac said to him.

  The men went through the kitchen, where Mr. Mac stopped to exchange his house slippers for boots. The farm was quiet, with only the gentle lowing of cows from the dairy breaking the stillness as the men crossed the back yard to the horse barn in the gathering gloom. Mr. Mac opened the barn door, slipped through first and turned on the lights.

  Ryan went straight to the stall where he’d played with his daughter and the kittens. The tabby and her offspring were there, curled up fast asleep.

  There was no sign of Megan.

  “You search the barn,” Mr. Mac said. “I’ll call my boys to help.”

  The farmer left, and Ryan stood for a moment, hoping to hear a childish giggle above the snuffling of the horses and the plaintive mew of an unhappy kitten.

  “Megan,” he called. “Come out if you’re here. Your mommy’s waiting for you. We’re going on a trip.”

  He cocked his head and listened, but only the noises of the animals broke the stillness.

  Hoping Megan might be sound asleep somewhere in the building, Ryan raced through the barn, searching every corner and crevice. Outside, the clang of a large bell, muffled only slightly by the fog, echoed off the surrounding mountains. Its clamor would be heard clearly by the MacIntosh sons who lived in their own homes nearby.

  Ryan was inspecting the hayloft when the barn door flew open and Cat rushed in.

  He hurried down the ladder to meet her.

  “Where’s Megan?” she demanded.

  The terror in her face stabbed through him, filling him with reproach. “We don’t know. Mr. Mac’s alerting his sons to help us search.”

  Cat grabbed his arm so tightly her nails dug into his skin. “Megan would never wander off without permission. She knows better.”

  Ryan refused to allow himself to think the worst. “Maybe one of the kittens got loose, and she went after it. It’s not dark yet. We’ll find her.”

  Outside the barn, they found Mr. Mac with his sons George and Greg and three teenage grandsons, who had gathered in the yard in response to the emergency bell. The boys rode all-terrain vehicles.