Black Canyon Conspiracy

by Cindi Myers

  She had thought he would take the matching leather armchair across from her, but instead, he sat beside her, scarcely six inches between them. His hair was freshly cut, the smooth skin of his cheeks smelling of some woodsy aftershave. “I’ve been busy. Things shifted into high gear after law enforcement started moving into the camp. A lot of long days gathering evidence, tracking down leads. You’ve been busy, too, I understand.”

  He hadn’t really answered her question, had he? He’d told her what he’d been doing, but not how he felt. She could play that game, too. “The station has been very nice,” she said. “They’re calling me a special correspondent. I get to work part-time, choose the projects that appeal to me. I consulted my doctors and we all decided that would be the best way to get back into work—not too much stress or pressure.”

  “I saw one of the promos for the special you’re doing on the True Patriots.”

  “What a nest of vipers they are. Half white supremacists, half far-right-wingers, with a sprinkling of guys who seem like World War II reenactors caught on the wrong side. All those quasi-Nazi uniforms and flags, as if Hitler was some great hero. It’s so twisted.”

  “The Nazi thing was mostly Prentice’s idea, I think.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “That old picture we found, of the guy in uniform? Turns out that was his grandfather, Bruno Adel. He worked for the SS under Hitler and fled to Venezuela, where he lived under the name of Ben Anderson. Prentice spent summers with him as a kid and apparently idolized him.”

  “That explains all the stamps from Venezuela in his passport.”

  “Adel died ten years ago, but Prentice kept ties with his friends and gradually built up a contingent of deluded sympathizers whose discontent with the US government grew into this plan to wreak havoc and ferment revolution.”

  “From which Prentice would emerge as the new leader and power.” She grabbed a notebook and began writing furiously. “I knew some of this, but we’ll have to find a way to work in the new information. It’s fascinating, in a very sick way.”

  He waited until she finished and set the notebook aside before he spoke again. “You look good,” he said. He moved his hand near hers, not quite touching.

  She glanced up at him, at his beautiful, tense face. “So do you.” She looked away again, like someone who moved too near a fire and had to back away. “I heard the Rangers were together again.”

  He nodded. “We’re the big heroes now. Congress is happy to funnel money our way.”

  “You’re the real hero,” she said. “I hope people know that.”

  “You’re wrong.” He took her hand at last, his grip warm and firm. She drew a shaky breath, her heart beating wildly, forcing herself to go still, to listen to his words and not think about her feelings. “I was doing the job I was trained to do,” he said. “You’re the one who was really brave. You started the whole chain of events that led to the discovery of the terrorists by volunteering to go and talk to Prentice that afternoon.”

  “I never could have made it without you,” she said.

  He rubbed his thumb along the side of her hand, sending tremors through her. “We made a pretty good team, didn’t we?”

  “We did.” She put her free hand on top of his, stilling him. “I wanted to call you,” she said. “But I didn’t know what to say. I caused you so much trouble, almost got you killed...”

  “I thought you were avoiding me because you’d had enough violence and death to last a lifetime.”

  “I have, but I don’t blame any of that on you. And I wasn’t avoiding you. I thought you were avoiding me.”

  “I was going to stay away, but Rand wouldn’t let up on telling me what an idiot I was being.”

  “Good for Rand.” Still holding his hand, she scooted closer, more confident with every minute she spent in his strong, calm presence. “I think the feelings we have between us are special. We shouldn’t let them go.”

  His eyes met hers, dark and troubled. “I’ve never cared about a woman the way I care about you. But that doesn’t mean we belong together. I—”

  “Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I love you, Marco. It’s a scary feeling, love, but I’ve had time to think about it, and I’m determined to face my fears. I know there are some dark things in your past. There’s darkness in my life, too. Neither one of us knows what the future will look like, but we can be pretty sure it won’t always be easy. I have an illness that isn’t going to go away. Medication can control it, but things will happen to upset the balance. We’ll have to learn to deal with that, and it won’t always be easy. But if you can accept that—if you can accept me—then there’s nothing in your life that will stop me from wanting to be with you.”

  He cupped the side of her face and looked into her eyes, spearing her with a gaze full of raw need and longing. “I stopped looking for perfection in my life a long time ago,” he said. “But to me, you will always be perfect.”

  She had no need for more words after that. The love in his eyes, the gentleness of his caress, the intensity of his kiss, told her everything she needed or wanted to know. He pulled her close, fitting her to him as if trying to pull her into him. His kiss was both tender and commanding, claiming her, burning away the memory of every other kiss she’d ever known.

  When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless and shaky, but immediately felt stronger when he smiled at her. He so seldom smiled, she delighted in knowing she was somehow responsible for his pleasure and happiness in the moment. She twined her fingers in his and returned the smile. “Let’s go into the bedroom.” No need to be coy with him; they both knew what they wanted.

  She led him down the short hall to the one room of the apartment she had bothered to fully furnish and decorate. The cream-colored satin comforter and lace-trimmed cotton sheets had made up for the deprivations she’d endured in those days and nights in the wilderness. Marco took in the king-size sleigh bed and luxurious bedding. “Better than the bare ground in the desert,” he said. “Though I wanted to take you right there, almost more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

  “I wanted you then, too,” she said. “But now I’m glad we waited.” She wrapped herself around him and they shared another searing kiss, then he slid his hands beneath the soft cotton sweater she wore, skimming her ribs and the sides of her breasts, coaxing her arms up so he could tug off the top. He caressed her breasts through the satin and lace of her bra, his erection hard and insistent against her stomach.

  She reached back to unhook the bra, but he stopped her and released the catch himself, tossing aside the garment and bending to take one sensitive nipple into his mouth. She arched against him as he suckled, and moaned softly, her pulse pounding. Blindly, she found the zipper of his jeans and lowered it, feeling his erection jump beneath her fingers. While he transferred his attention to her other breast, she wrapped her hand around him and squeezed gently, smiling against him as he gasped.

  Together, they stumbled toward the bed and fell back onto the soft satin, helping each other out of the rest of their clothes as they did so. Naked, they lay side by side, catching their breath and letting their eyes and hands explore each other’s bodies. He was everything she’d fantasized about and more—lean muscle and bronzed skin, strength and beauty honed by years of discipline and training. She traced a scar along his shoulder and another by his hip. “How did you get these?” she asked.

  “The one on my hip is from a gang shooting a long time ago, when I was a teenager. The shoulder is from Iraq. I don’t think about them much anymore.”

  “The scars inside always last longer,” she said, and he stilled, his hand resting on her thigh.

  She could feel him pulling away from her, pulling the shutters over his emotions and vulnerabilities. She wanted to shake him, to force him back to her, but settled for placing her palm over his heart, as if she could keep that part of him open to her.

  He blinked and he was back with her, looking int
o her eyes with the openness she treasured. “Yeah,” he said, and squeezed her thigh softly. “Those scars stay with you.”

  “You don’t have to hide them from me.” She kissed the puckered line of flesh at his shoulder. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “This is new for me.”

  “For me, too.”

  They kissed again, more gently, then he rolled her onto her back and knelt over her. He smoothed the hair away from her face, the calluses on his fingers snagging in the silken strands. “I love you,” he said. “I didn’t want it to happen, but I couldn’t stop it.”

  “Why didn’t you want it to happen?” she asked.

  “Because I’ll only bring you trouble.”

  “You could say the same about me.” She slid her hands up to caress the sides of his face. “So maybe we belong together after all—two people who know how to handle trouble.”

  His expression softened. “Maybe we do, at that.”

  “Now stop talking and make love to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He executed a mock salute, then slid his hand down her body to rest between her legs, over the hot, pulsing center of her need. As he slipped his finger inside her she let her head fall back, surrendering to the onslaught of sensation that battered at her. How was it he knew just how and where to touch her, as if he was reading her mind, or merely attuned to every sensation?

  As he caressed and kissed and fondled, she let her hands and lips explore his body, as well. She felt safe in indulging every desire with him, not worried about how she appeared or what he might think. With Marco, she was free to be herself, flaws and all.

  When at last he rolled on a condom and slid into her, she felt as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment of completion. There had been other men before him, but she could imagine no other man after him. He moved deftly, stroking and caressing, balanced over her until, with a cry, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her, arching to meet each thrust, making love with him, not to him.

  Her release shuddered through her, and he followed soon after, their cries of pleasure mingled and fading together. They lay joined for a long time after, breathing hard, letting the sweat dry and their bodies cool.

  They slid apart and she slipped out of bed to go into the bathroom to clean herself. When she returned, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but as she climbed into bed beside him he opened his eyes and looked at her. “How’s this going to work?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” She rolled onto her side to study him. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head.

  “This relationship. How’s it going to work, with you here in Denver and me in Montrose?”

  “I’m keeping my place in Montrose. I plan to spend most of my time there. I’ll only be in Denver when my work requires it, for a day or two at a time. And most of my work for the foreseeable future is going to be reporting on Richard Prentice and the terrorists.”

  “Then, I can see a lot of you.” Did she imagine the relief in his voice?

  “I think you should see a great deal of me.” She smoothed her hand over his chest. “In fact, I think you should move in with me.”

  He rolled over onto one elbow to face her. “What about Sophie?”

  “She and Rand are on their way to Vegas right now to get married. He’s been trying to get hold of you to tell you.”

  “I turned off my phone. I needed time to think.”

  “To think about me?”

  “About us.”

  “And what did you decide?”

  “That I was all wrong for you. That you’d end up hating the work I do and hating me. That I should turn around and go back to Montrose and never see you again.”

  “But you came here anyway.”

  He caressed her shoulder. “Like I said, I couldn’t stay away. I love you.”

  Three simple words, but said by him they meant so much. She buried her head against his shoulder. “I love you, too. Will you come to live with me?”

  “Maybe. First, tell me more about Vegas.”

  “Sophie called me from the airport. They’re waiting to get married until I can get there. You should come with me and stand up as Rand’s best man. I’m sure that’s why he’s been trying to reach you.”

  “I’ll do that.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “But there’s something else I want to do while we’re there.”

  “What? Do you want to gamble? I’m sure we can do that, too, see some of the sights.”

  “I want to take a different kind of gamble. You ought to know now that I’m not a man who does things halfway. When I’m committed to a mission, I give it my all.”

  “Marco, what are you saying?”

  He slid from beneath her and turned to face her, his gaze locked to hers. “Marry me, Lauren. We’ll do it in Vegas. We can even make it a double wedding if you want.”

  Her heart turned over. It was a crazy idea. Impulsive. Manic, even.

  Marco was none of those things, however. She couldn’t think of a person who was more sane and grounded. “You really want to marry me?” she asked.

  “I’m in this for life. I want to make it official.”

  She smiled through the tears of joy that dimmed her vision. “Then, yes. Yes, let’s do it. Let’s start the rest of our life together now.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from TEXAS PREY by Barb Han.

  Texas Prey

  by Barb Han

  Chapter One

  Rebecca Hughes held her chin up and kept alert as she thrust her shopping cart through the thick, oppressive North Texas heat. She blinked against the relentless sun, a light so intense her eyes hurt.

  The van parked next to her car in the grocery store lot pricked her neck hairs. Blacked-out windows blocked her view of the driver’s side or anything else that might be lurking, waiting, ready. A warning bell wailed inside her head as she neared her sedan.

  Today marked the fifteenth anniversary of that horrible day when both she and her younger brother were abducted, and it always put her on edge. The two had been isolated in separate sheds. When an opportunity had presented itself to run, Rebecca had escaped, thinking she could bring back help. Instead, she got lost in the woods and never saw her baby brother again.

  Steering her cart toward the center of the aisle, she made sure no one could surprise her by jumping from between two cars. Tension squeezed her shoulder blades taut as memories assaulted her. Those thirty-six hours of torture before she escaped without her little brother, the horror and Shane’s disappearance would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Shuddering at the memory, she tightened her grip on the handle and pushed forward. The early Friday-morning crowd was out. Most people were just beginning to run errands at the same time her workday ended. Her overnight shift at the radio station kept her sane after years of being afraid to be home alone in the dark.

  She and Shane had been twelve and seven respectively when she’d sneaked out to play that stupid game with her friends. They’d been told to stay inside while the annual Renaissance Festival was in town, in full swing. Parents were busy, distracted. Strangers in costumes were everywhere. People came from nearly every state, descending on Mason Ridge in RVs and trailers and filling camp sites. And Shane was supposed to be asleep when she’d slipped out her bedroom window to meet up with her friends, not following her.

  But none of that mattered. She should’ve realized sooner that the little stinker was trailing behind, his favorite blanket in tow. Shane had been her responsibility. And she’d let him down in the worst possible way.

  The unfairness of his disappearance and her survival still hit with the force of a physical blow. His screams still haunted her. An imprint left by the horrible man who’d been dubbed the Mason Ridge Abductor was the reason she still watched every stranger warily.

  When no one else had disappeared and all leads had been exhausted, law enforcement had wri
tten the case off as a transient passing through town. Logic said the man was long gone. Point being, he couldn’t hurt her anymore. And yet, every time she got spooked he was the first person who popped into her thoughts. That monster had caused her to lose more than her sense of security. He’d shattered her world and taken away her ability to trust. Her parents had divorced and become overbearing; friends looked at her strangely, as if she’d become an outcast; and she’d eventually pushed away the one person she’d truly loved—Brody Fields.

  The van’s brake lights created a bright red glow, snapping her focus to the present. Panic pressed heavy on her arms. Maybe she could circle around the next aisle and get back to the store before being seen.

  There were a million wackos out there waiting to hurt unaware women, surprise being key to their attacks. Rebecca was fully present. She tightened her grip on the cart handle a third time, turned around and stalked toward her car. No one got to make her feel weak and afraid again.

  Reaching inside her purse as she neared her vehicle, she gripped her Taser gun. Anyone trying to mess with her would get a big surprise and a few thousand volts of electricity. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not again. She was no longer a shy twelve-year-old who could be overpowered in the dark.

  With every forward step, the tension in Rebecca’s body tightened. Her gaze was trained on the van.

  She heard footsteps coming toward her from behind. Turning in time to catch a glimpse of a man rushing toward her, she spun around to face him. He was less than three feet away, moving closer. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood covering his hair and half of his face. Sunglasses hid his eyes. Before she could react, he slammed into her, knocking her off balance. She landed flat on the ground.

  This time, she knew it was him—had to be him. She’d recognize that apple-tobacco smell anywhere. The scent had been burned into her senses fifteen years ago.

  With the Taser already in hand, she struggled to untangle her purse strap from her arm. She shook free from his grasp, but not without upsetting the contents of her purse.