They didn’t have anything to fear from the conspirators at Hidden Hills anymore. Asher had turned over his Hidden Hills file to a commanding officer in Delta Force and army personnel had moved into Hidden Hills and closed it down.
Asher slumped in a chair at the dining room table. “I’m all clear, Paige. They believe my story because it’s all there in the file from Hidden Hills, but the doctors who engineered my brainwashing refused to implicate anyone else. They took the fall themselves and claimed they were conducting unauthorized experiments.”
“And the kidnappers refused to talk.”
“I don’t see how that woman could talk after you clocked her in the jaw.” Asher winked. “That was awesome.”
Her lips twisted into a smile. “That did feel pretty good, but they haven’t said anything about who gave them the orders to take Ivy or why.”
“They pretended it was all a part of the Hidden Hills experiments.”
“Does the army really believe that?”
“I don’t think so, but nobody is talking. Nobody is cracking.” Asher slammed his fist on the table. “What more do they want? Cam and Martha proved that the emails that started the whole investigation into Denver were bogus, and we just shot holes in the narrative that Denver killed an army ranger and tried to kill me while meeting with a known terrorist. What more do they want?”
“There’s more to his story, isn’t there? Why doesn’t he come in? Why doesn’t he surrender and try to prove his innocence?”
“If I know Major Denver, he’ll do that on his own terms and only when he has a handle on who tried to set him up.”
“He may never come in.” Paige slid into Asher’s lap. “But you’re safe? We’re safe?”
“There’s no reason for anyone to come after us now. I’m out of their clutches, and the file that Tabitha stole implicates everyone at Hidden Hills. That so-called rehabilitation center is now closed and will reopen with new staff.”
“Is someone going to face murder charges for Tabitha’s death?”
“I guess we’ll see who decides to take the fall for that. So far there’s a lot of finger-pointing going on with nobody taking full responsibility.”
“That’s because nobody at Hidden Hills is fully responsible. They were following someone else’s orders, and it doesn’t look like we’ll ever find out who’s behind the conspiracy.”
“Oh, we’re gonna find out.” He kissed the side of her head. “Why were we waiting to get married? I must’ve never recovered that memory.”
“I just wanted to make sure...” She trailed off and rested her cheek against his hair.
“That I forgave you? Trusted you? Wanted you to be the mother of all the rest of my children?”
“The rest?”
He tucked his arm around her waist. “We both hated being only children, didn’t we? I’m not putting Ivy through that. She’s going to have a few siblings.”
“A few?”
“Ivy’s got the greatest mom in the world. It’s only right she share her with some brothers and sisters.”
Tears pooled in Paige’s eyes and she cupped Asher’s strong jaw with one hand. “And all I had to do was save you from a psychiatric prison and rescue Ivy from a couple of kidnappers to prove it.”
“Paige, you never had to prove anything to me. Your love was always enough...and it always will be. Christmas wedding?”
“Are you serious?”
“Why not? We are in Vegas.”
“Just as long as we don’t have an Elvis impersonator performing the ceremony.”
“You’re no fun. Let’s go tell Ivy—and we don’t need a microchip to find her.” Asher pounded a fist against his chest over his heart. “You’re both always right here with me.”
* * * * *
Look for the next book in
award-winning author Carol Ericson’s
Red, White and Built: Pumped Up miniseries,
Delta Force Die Hard,
available next month.
And don’t miss the previous title in the
Red, White and Built: Pumped Up miniseries:
Delta Force Defender
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Renegade Protector
by Nico Rosso
Chapter One
Dark night hunched over Mariana Balducci as she stood outside the back door of her shop and double-checked the locks. The light in the parking lot behind the building was out, and she was the last to close along the row of stores. For months, every time she heard the metal snap into place on the glass door, it sounded final. Customers avoided her place, and sales were terrible. It was only a matter of weeks or days before she locked up one last time and handed the keys to a stranger.
A shape forty feet away sent a startled shock up her spine. Through the glass back door she peered down the length of her store to where a man stood at her front window. She’d already been on edge from the deep shadows surrounding her, and the figure on the other side of the building froze the breath in her lungs. A streetlight carved out his features enough for her to recognize him. He’d been in her shop that day.
When he’d first come in, she’d thought about walking him through all the organic apple products she had, produced directly from her fifth-generation orchard. But there was a quietness about him that demanded a little space as he discovered things for himself. He was a handsome black man, clean shaven over a square jaw and close-cropped hair. Broad shoulders. Somewhere in his early thirties, around her age or a little older. It was probably a good idea that she hadn’t tried to hand-sell him any cider, because when their eyes did meet, an unexpected heat bloomed across her chest. Her mouth had managed only a simple greeting. Anything wordier would’ve tied her tongue in knots.
The surprising blush on her skin had persisted as he’d walked her store. His thoughtful eyes had captured hers as if he’d already known her and her struggles. As if he understood. But the man didn’t say much, and instead of buying anything, he spent most of his time looking at the antique black-and-white photographs on the wall. They’d been passed down through her ancestors, Italians who settled in the Monterey Bay of California and the Mexican families they’d married into. For a moment, she’d considered telling him what little history she knew from the pictures, then maybe asking if he wanted to get a cup of coffee. But her tongue
still felt too thick for nimble words, and it wouldn’t have been fair to flirt with the man while she was buried under two tons of trouble.
Now, standing at the back of her store, seeing him lurking out there on the other side, she wondered if he was part of that trouble. Usually the men who hovered near her shop or prowled just at the edge of her property outside town wore a more stony expression. Their eyes were hard, with zero sympathy. Predators, sent by the Hanley Development Group to intimidate her customers and scare the hell out of her. All so she’d close up shop and sell her land to them. The damned plan was working.
Mariana kept one eye on the man through the windows of her store and backed quickly toward her parked pickup truck. His body straightened, as if he’d spotted her movement. She lost sight of him when she whipped her keys out and tried to get them into the truck door.
Another wave of fear crashed coldly through her. Clothing rustled close by, way too close to her. The presence of a man loomed from the shadows at the bed of her truck. Was it the man from the front of the store? How did he get there so fast? She didn’t even hear any footsteps.
“Back off.” She forced her voice into a command and jammed her hand in her purse for a canister of pepper spray.
“You back off,” a deep voice growled. A hand swung out and slapped the purse from her grip. “Back off your store. Back off your land. Back off this whole county.” Shadows erased the details of this man, but she fully understood the threatening step he took toward her.
“I know who sent you.” It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the Hanley Group was behind this. A few months ago, they’d reached out to buy her orchard and land. She’d refused. Then the goons started showing up.
The man sneered. “I doubt it.”
Her muscles tensed. Words hadn’t been enough to end this. Balling her fists, she tried to control her breathing. Panic would only make her an easier target. Until this moment, none of these threats had been overtly physical. The rules suddenly changed, though, and she had no idea what it would take to make it through this night. The man moved forward again, shadowy arms upraised. She had to fight.
All her fury at being bullied, being afraid, feeling helpless, was released in a punch toward his throat. The man turned at the last instant and her knuckles glanced off the top of his hard chest, then found the side of his neck. He flinched to the side. The impact jarred up her arm and threw her off balance.
The man recovered quickly and lunged, barking, “You little—”
She ducked her head beneath her arms and braced for the impact. Two bodies slammed together with a loud grunt, but she was untouched. Her attacker and someone else thumped into the side of her truck, rocking its squeaky suspension. The new man was equally obscured in the darkness. Maybe he was local police. Her ex, Pete, was one of them, and still came around sometimes. But the police always identified themselves first.
The only things the new man spoke with were his fists. He drove them with brutal efficiency into the attacker. Rough, pained wheezes answered that the new man knew what he was doing. While she was in the clear, she dived to the ground in search of her purse. Her attacker might be armed, and she needed any advantage she could get. The idea of the new man getting injured while helping her boiled her blood. She found the purse strap and dragged the bag to her. The fight continued next to the truck. The new man was knocked to the side, then sprang back with a knee into the first attacker.
The brutality shook her. The fights she’d seen at the local saloon were drunken and sloppy. This was high stakes, between two people who knew what they were doing. And if it went on too long, one of them would die.
Her hand finally wrapped around the canister of pepper spray. She crouched low, released the safety and pointed it out ahead of her, toward the men. Their shadowed shapes continued to struggle, each trying to get the upper hand as they slammed each other into the side of her truck. If she released the spray now, she’d hit them both.
At least it would end the fight. She tightened her thumb on the trigger.
A car suddenly screeched into the parking lot. Headlights blinded her. Maybe now the police were showing up. But there were no sirens. The engine sped closer and did not slow. Her vision cleared enough to see the two fighting men. One of them was the black man who’d been in her store. The other man she didn’t recognize. He was white, with a shaved head and a mean scowl.
Their melee paused in the light of the oncoming car. With a quick shove, the black man separated himself from the other man, then dived toward her. He wore a thick denim jacket, yet she felt how muscular the arms were that surrounded her. She and the man tumbled to the side, his body taking the brunt of the impact on the asphalt. He remained wrapped around her as they rolled out of the way of the speeding car. It screeched to a stop between them and the first attacker. The bald man jumped into the back seat, and the car peeled off again with the smell of burning rubber and engine oil.
The car was quickly out of the parking lot, then turned up a side street, leaving Mariana in the dark again. With a stranger clutching her to his chest.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was deep and smoky.
She assessed her body quickly. Bruised, definitely, but nothing broken or bleeding. “I’m fine.”
With athletic grace, he separated from her and stood. She took his outstretched hand for balance, but hesitated before getting to her feet. The touch of their skin reminded her of the quiet connection she’d thought they’d shared in her store when their eyes met. It had brought on a blush before, and now it shot fire through her veins. But that might be the adrenaline from the fight and nearly getting run over.
She rose and released his hand so she could brush the gravel from her palms. The prickles of pain brought the fear and danger crashing back into her.
“I’m fine,” she said again and dragged her foot across the ground, searching for the pepper spray she hadn’t been aware of dropping. Anger tightened her throat. “I’m not fine.” She fired the words in the direction the car had disappeared. “I’m pissed.” She toed the pepper spray and picked it up, glad to be armed again. “I’m tired of being leaned on, threatened, attacked...” Both the languages she spoke ran through her head in an attempt to explain why she was shaking. “Solo estoy cansado. I’m just tired. I don’t know who you are, but saying thanks doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He took a step forward, as if to speak, but she continued, “You did an amazing thing.”
“My name is Tyler Morrison.” He maintained a distance and spoke calmly. “Call me Ty.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Ty.” She wished there was some light to examine his face. “I’m just going to disappear now and find a life where I’m not in someone’s crosshairs.” If she could find her purse, she could get her keys and drive home to dig up all the paperwork to transfer the deed of her orchard to the Hanley Group and they could stop ruining her life. “I’m fine, and you can go back to your vacation or road trip or whatever it is that brought you to Rodrigo, California.”
He spoke evenly. “I’m here for you, Mariana Balducci.”
Danger immediately clutched her again. She held her pepper spray and got ready to run. “What the hell does that mean?”
A pool of light flicked across the ground. Ty held a small flashlight on a key chain. She was able to make out the shape of his nose and serious mouth, but his dark eyes remained unreadable. The light landed on her purse and remained there. Neither she nor Ty moved.
Adrenaline continued to rack her body, amplified each second he didn’t answer her question. She raised the pepper spray higher in her fist. “Explain,” she demanded.
He nodded easily. “In exchange for me helping you out just now, you can do something for me.”
“So this whole attack was a setup for you to show up, play hero, then get something in return.” For months there’d been threatening phone calls, unexpected letters and unwel
come presences in her store. And here was another man thinking he could push her around.
“This was no game. Those guys were dead serious.” Ty shook his head, and the light glinted off his eyes, revealing their depth. “Here’s what you can do for me—stay.”
She squinted at him, trying to piece together his meaning.
“Make a stand,” he continued with a passionate fire growing in his voice. “Fight back.”
She barked an incredulous laugh. “I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I’m down to my last twelve dollars, my last hour of sleep and my last nerve. Looks to me like the best way to stay alive is to sell out.”
“You’re not alone in this fight.” His jaw was set.
She lowered the pepper spray but stayed on guard. “Yes, you were absolutely there for me just now, but this has been going on for months. Are you going to stick around that long?” She jabbed her finger toward him. “And what do you get in return?”
He bared his teeth. “I get the satisfaction that a good person won her fight.”
She swept her purse off the ground. Ty talked tough, but confidence alone wasn’t going to win this struggle. “You make it sound so easy.”
His flashlight pointed at the door of her truck now, bathing him in reflected red light. “I know it isn’t.”
“You seem to know a hell of a lot.” It was crazy to collect any hope from Ty’s conviction. “And all I know is the name you gave me.” Which could easily be fake. “How did you find me? I haven’t gone public with any of this.”
He explained slowly, “But you did go to the police when the extortion started. And that puts things on record.”
“So you’re a cop?” That might clarify parts of this, but not everything. Ty certainly had authority in his presence, but if he was here on any official capacity, he would’ve flashed some identification. Not that she had much trust in the police these days. Pete toed the line with the rest of the local cops, explaining that they couldn’t do anything without proof. The goons who’d been coming around had been too slick to get caught.
Delta Force Daddy Page 19