by Lisa Childs
Because he had to muffle a laugh, he missed Dylan’s orders. The kids scrambled off to do his bidding. One tall blond kid stood nearly a head above the others. “He yours?”
A wistful sigh escaped Dylan’s lips. “In a manner of speaking.” And the lines creased his forehead again. Worry.
Despite his press for time, Royce wanted to help. He hadn’t seen Dylan in a long time. But a dying man hung to life by a thread. Royce was that thread, he and the hope that he could find Sarah.
“I am looking for someone, Dylan. It’s really important that I find this person.”
“Here?”
Royce nodded. “That’s what the rumor is.” And a lot of rumors circulated about Sarah Mars-Hutchins. She had to be the one.
Dylan snorted again. “Rumors. You’ve been in town long enough to hear them?” He flicked his gaze over Royce again. “You don’t blend in with the tourist crowd. Wonder why no one mentioned your questions.”
Royce shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m good at my job?”
Dylan laughed. “Yes, you are. That’s why Detroit PD hired you a few times.”
Royce managed a tired grin. “I’m just a consultant now.”
Dylan snorted. “You’re full of it. So who are you looking for?”
Before Royce could answer, brakes screeched as a Mercedes slammed to a halt in the parking lot. A woman catapulted from the car, not even closing the door. On high heels she stumbled across the lawn, her gaze focused on the players. She staggered to the far end of the playing field, clutching her arms around her midriff. Her chest expanded against a silk blouse as she drew in a breath.
“What’s the matter with her?” With a shoulder, Royce nudged Dylan only to find his friend’s gaze already on the woman.
“She’ll be all right. She’s the strongest person I know.” Dylan’s voice vibrated with pride. Was this his wife? A wedding band encircled the third finger on the sheriff’s left hand.
When Royce turned back, the woman had resumed her approach. Only now she traversed the lawn with her head held high, a picture of grace and serenity. The breeze blew wisps of glowing red hair across her pale cheek.
His gut clenched over her ethereal beauty. “Whew…”
If not for the dome light burning in the Mercedes and the door standing open, he wouldn’t have believed his tired eyes had witnessed any anxiety from her.
He had his own problems. He couldn’t get involved, but he had to know. “Who is she?”
A sigh gusted from Dylan, and her name carried on the end of it. “Sarah.”
SARAH’S HEART struggled to find a normal rhythm. Despite Dylan’s assurances, via cell phone, that her son was safe, she hadn’t believed it. She knew about the lies people told to protect someone.
Tears swam in her eyes, blurring him from her vision. Panic washed over her again, stealing away the composure she’d managed to summon. She had to touch him, had to make sure he was real. Heedless of the scrambling boys, she rushed into the game.
Intent on the ball with his head down, he never noticed her until she threw her arms around him. “Jeremy, you’re safe! Thank God!”
He tried to squirm free. “Mom! I almost had that goal!”
“Sorry.” A sob threatened her apology. She wrapped her arms tighter around his thin frame, grateful she could hold her son.
When his bright blue gaze focused on her face, the irritation faded. “Mom? You okay?”
She nodded and reluctantly released him, edging backward toward the sidelines. “I’m fine. Play. Go ahead. Make a goal.”
He stared at her for another minute until the other players urged him back into the game. Except for a couple of troubled glances her way, Jeremy played with joyful abandon tempered with competitive skill. He romped with his friends on the soccer field, his head above theirs. Her tall, proud son.
She had to pull herself together. He had enough to live down with her as his mother. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, stifling the urge to drag him from the field to safety. But where would she find that?
Shaking legs carried her toward Dylan. She blinked away the tears. A man stood shoulder to shoulder with the sheriff. Despite his dark glasses, she burned from the scrutiny of his stare but willed the blush away. No doubt he’d seen her mad scramble from her car and into the midst of the game.
Who was he? The wind tousled overly long strands of his dark blond hair. She didn’t remember him from other practices or games. Was he a weekend father who neglected his son?
Her mouth tightened with distaste and she dismissed him, turning to Dylan. Yet her flesh still burned. How could she be so aware of this man? A stranger? Was he the one who’d left the note?
Dylan’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Are you okay, Sarah?”
She opened her mouth but didn’t trust her voice since his concern undermined her tenuous composure. She nodded.
“Where’s the note?”
She glanced again to the stranger. He wore a black polo shirt over faded jeans. Nothing about that stamped him as an outsider, but she knew he wasn’t from Winter Falls. A week or more growth of beard, darker blond than his hair, clung to his strong jaw. He was unkempt. She shivered.
“Sarah?” Dylan squeezed her shoulder and followed her gaze. “Oh. Sarah, this is Royce Graham. He’s an old friend. Royce, this is Sarah Mars—uh, Hutchins.”
No relief rippled through her stomach. Maybe Dylan called him a friend, but she gleaned that she never would. His hard-looking mouth stayed in an uncompromising line, no smile of welcome softening the firm lips. Yet, his name struck some distant chord of memory.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hutchins.” He didn’t extend his hand to her but kept them both shoved in his jeans pockets, tightening the worn material across his lean hips.
She nodded and dismissed him again by turning back to Dylan. “I left it in the car, in the console, where I found it.”
“At the new-home site?”
She nodded again.
“Who was there?”
“Just the builder and I. I stayed for a while by myself, and I’d left the car doors unlocked. Although I didn’t see anyone drive up, the stud walls are up, and I was inside. With the waves drowning out any sound…” She had been distracted, too, with maudlin thoughts about the past. Nothing good ever came of looking back.
Her gaze slid to the soccer field. Jeremy lifted his head from the game, stared at her for an assessing moment and then waved. With a trembling hand, she waved back. “Thank God he’s okay. This must just be some sick, practical joke.”
A deep voice rumbled out of the chest pressing against the black polo shirt. “I know this is none of my business…”
She turned to the stranger. “No, it’s not.”
“Sarah.” Dylan sighed. “Royce is more than a friend, he’s a pro. We might need him.”
Her gaze flickered over his unshaven face and the hair that flirted with the collar of his shirt. Other women might consider his surfer look sexy. Not her. Nor did she consider him trustworthy. But she’d learned to trust Dylan. She owed him. She bit back another smart retort as the chord struck her memory again, and she recognized the name.
Due to the days’ growth of beard, the face had changed somewhat. He didn’t wear the suit and the short haircut, but he was the FBI agent publicly canonized for his work in finding missing children. A shiver raised the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. How had he known?
But he wasn’t with the FBI anymore. He had his own agency and all the notoriety that went with it. She’d seen him recently on the news, dark-blond hair slicked back with rain, overcoat hiding his clothes. He had just rescued a kidnapped businessman from desperate rebel fighters in some third-world country.
Dylan sighed again. “I’m sorry, Royce. You’re here for a job. Something personal. I can’t impose. Just stay here a minute while I grab the letter from Sarah’s car.”
She fought the desire to scramble after Dylan’s long strides. She didn’t want
to be alone with Royce Graham. Despite his fame, he was still a stranger, and she was too vulnerable while her emotions overflowed. Anxiety. Relief. Anger. Joy. She could hardly identify each as it rolled through her heart and her head. The force staggered her, and she stumbled back.
Strong fingers closed over her elbow, burning through the thin silk of her blouse. “Careful now, you almost fell. Are you okay, Sarah?”
The sound of her name in his husky voice brought on a shiver. Then she stiffened. With Dylan gone from hearing, it wasn’t Mrs. Hutchins but Sarah that he called her.
“I’m fine.”
A sigh slipped through his lips, his breath feathering through her bangs. She glanced up to find him close, his head bent to hers. In his dark glasses, mirrored images of her stared back. Pale face. Wide, horrified eyes.
Pride had her bristling against the image and him. “I told you I’m fine.” Shaking her arm didn’t dislodge his firm hold.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, you’re not.”
Intending to pry him loose, her fingers closed over his. Warm, rough skin slid under her palm, sending tingles up her arm, inciting her anger. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
Her head snapped back. No one talked to her like that, no matter how much respect the rest of the world had for him. “Who do you think you are?”
“The only thing keeping you from falling on your face. You’re shaking.”
She couldn’t deny the obvious, or hold onto her anger. He’d done nothing to incite it. “Yes, I am.”
“This note really rattled your cage.”
Caged was how she lived her life now, keeping her emotions in check. Until now… “You don’t have children of your own, do you, Mr. Graham?”
“No!” He cleared his throat after his sharp retort then sighed, his warm breath caressing her skin with the scent of butterscotch. “And I don’t intend to.”
She nodded. “That’s good that you know that now, before it’s too late and an unwanted child is brought into the world.” As she’d been. A throwaway. Until the Marses had adopted her.
He lifted a dark-blond brow above one of the lenses of his sunglasses. “You’re not talking about your son. I saw you wade into those kids and hug one. I couldn’t see which one, but—”
“No!” She drew in a quick breath. “I love my son very much. That’s why this note…”
“What does it say?”
Her fingers still lay over his on her elbow. She squeezed them, taking a moment’s comfort in his warmth and strength. Turning her head, she gazed over the soccer field where Jeremy’s golden hair glowed in the afternoon sunshine.
Her heart clenched, fear rippling through her veins again as it had when she’d read that note. “It says, ‘We have your son.’”
His hold on her elbow tightened as if he expected her to faint at his feet. “But they don’t. He’s one of the kids on the field.”
She nodded, a sob of relief threatening to escape her throat, and swallowed hard. “Yes, he’s safe.”
“For now.”
She shivered and tugged her arm free of his grasp. “Why would you say something so awful?”
He ran his fingers along the unshaven length of his jaw. “I’m being realistic. I’ve had some experience with situations like this.”
She stared into his face, wishing she could see behind the dark lenses to what lay in his eyes. “Yes, Dylan called you a pro.”
And she knew why but saw no reason to stroke his probably oversize ego by admitting it.
He nodded, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I used to work for the FBI Crimes Against Children Division.”
Despite the warm caress of the sun, she shivered. Crimes against children. What he must have witnessed…. Memories of one of his earlier interviews flashed through her mind. His grim face, his admission of how the child was found. Dead. Was that why he didn’t want any of his own?
She again longed to stare into his eyes. But she fought the ridiculous urge to comfort him. Nothing about him begged for comfort. A haircut and a shave, maybe…
“So what does your experience tell you about this?” she asked.
He rolled a shoulder. “Usually the kidnapping of a child involves a parent, a vengeful ex.”
Her lips twitched, but no humor tickled her. All she enjoyed was a moment’s satisfaction in proving him wrong. For some reason she imagined few people ever did. “I’m a widow, Mr. Graham.”
His face didn’t soften with sympathy. She expected no condolences and wasn’t surprised when he brushed off her admission.
“There are more than ex-spouses. Ex-lovers get vengeful, too. Kidnappings are usually personal, at least in this country they are.”
She slid her hands over her upper arms, trying to dispel the chills. She didn’t know this man. And his inference of an ex-lover showed he knew nothing of her. “That’s not the case. It must be someone’s sick idea of a joke.” She had almost convinced herself of that.
Then he spoke her greatest fear aloud. “Or something or someone inadvertently thwarted their kidnapping attempt.” She followed the angle of his head to witness Dylan striding toward them.
A sigh hitched in her throat. “He didn’t change from his uniform today. Must not have had time.” Had that been enough to frighten off a would-be kidnapper?
Fortunately for her and Jeremy, Dylan had been around this time. As her son’s uncle and his soccer coach, Dylan maintained a presence in their lives. But he had his own life, a very stressful one at the moment.
So what happened when she and Jeremy were alone? If the threat was not a joke but very real, who would protect them then?
Chapter Two
Sarah Mars. Up close, she resembled the photo he’d found of her. The photo that had brought him to Winter Falls. He had the right one. He knew it in his gut. And his gut instincts had gotten him out of some of the hottest spots in the world.
He had also figured he had her when he’d pulled marriage licenses. As a tracker, he had the most trouble finding women. They married and changed their names, or didn’t. So he’d had to search Sarah Mars as a married name and a maiden name.
He’d found several Sarahs. But only this one had married then buried a man more than twice her age. Was that her angle with his godfather? Marry him for his money, then pull the plug? Then why didn’t she hover by Bart’s bedside with a marriage license and a preacher?
He’d known women like her; he’d come from one. But his mother hadn’t been as lucky or as smart as Sarah. Mother had found nothing sweet about her sugar daddy. So she’d cut her losses and left. She’d looked like an angel, too. Or was that only a little boy’s memory of her?
His fingers still tingled from the contact with Sarah’s silk blouse and the heat of her skin beneath, and he cursed himself for touching her. Raised in a cold, unemotional household, he’d never been given to physical demonstrations. But he hadn’t wanted her to fall on her face either when she’d been shaking so hard.
Dylan coughed. Despite being tired, Royce’s reflexes kept him from jumping.
“Royce, have you calmed her fears?” the sheriff asked.
Sarah’s smoky gray eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “No, he seems convinced this is real, and your presence prevented the kidnapping from taking place.”
She gestured toward the note Dylan had slipped into a plastic evidence bag. “Then what about the note? Explain why they would leave the note in my car when they had not abducted my—”
Her voice broke. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. “—son.”
“Because they put the note in the car first, convinced they’d be able to grab your son and not have time to leave the note after the kidnapping. The note would keep you close to the phone for their instructions.”
She swayed on her feet again, shaken. Royce fisted his hands and shoved them into his pockets. He wouldn’t touch her again…unless she asked. And a woman like her would never ask a man like him. He hadn’t missed her initia
l assessment and subsequent dismissal of him. She’d judged him based on his clothes and his looks. And he’d been deemed unworthy of her.
Probably too young, too. He only had a few years on her, not a few decades. He bit the inside of his cheek, ticked at himself for letting her get to him.
“Jeez, Royce, go easy.” Dylan’s voice deepened with warning. He handed over the plastic bag and turned toward his team, calling out a few commands.
Royce whipped off his glasses and tucked one ear-piece in the open collar of his shirt. He waited until he had Dylan’s attention again. “Plain paper, impossible to trace. Stenciled block letters. Tough one. Unless you lift some prints or DNA, you’re not going to learn much from this, man.”
Dylan nodded. “I called in one of my deputies. We’re going to check the car for prints.” He reached for the evidence bag. “And we’ll run this through the lab. Sarah, it’s going to take a while.”
“I don’t want Jeremy to know.” Fear haunted her eyes again.
Royce called himself a fool for doubting her. He’d briefly considered the idea that she may have crafted the note herself in order to get some attention. She wouldn’t have been the first to do so. But a person couldn’t feign the kind of fear haunting her gray eyes. Then he called himself a bigger fool. He’d been duped before and fooled by a woman’s false tears.
“Royce!” From the volume of Dylan’s voice, it wasn’t the first time he’d called his name.
He lifted a brow.
“Can you give them a ride home? I hate to impose. I know you’re pressed for time and looking for someone—”
Dylan stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you looking for? You never said.”
Royce’s pulse jumped. From the protective way the sheriff treated Sarah Mars-Hutchins, Royce figured it wouldn’t matter that they were old friends. If Dylan didn’t think Sarah should leave the state now, he’d get in Royce’s way. And with Bart’s life draining away, he didn’t have much time. He swallowed hard. “We’ll talk about that later.”
When he’d had time to think of the best approach to convince them that Bart’s last wish deserved to be fulfilled. His godfather had to see Sarah Mars. “Right now I’ll drive Sarah and her kid home, no problem.”