Solitary Soldier

She stared out at the passing landscape. The desert seemed to swallow them up almost as soon as they left Florescitaf. The sun was dropping even lower now, casting purple and pink hues like a halo around the descending ball of fire. And with it went the oppressive heat. Rachel shivered and chafed her bare arms with her hands to warm them against the cooler wind whipping through the open Jeep now.

“There’s a jacket in the back seat if you’re cold.”

Rachel glanced at Sloan’s unyielding profile. He could have been carved right out of the rugged Sierra Madre mountains that jutted skyward before them. How odd that he would show concern for her comfort when he had scarcely spoken a word since they left town except to question Josh. She couldn’t decide which persona she liked best. The Sloan who defined indifference, or the fleeting moments of the other man who obviously lay beneath all that bitterness and attitude. He hadn’t even named his price for the services he apparently intended to render. Now that Rachel thought about it, the fact of the matter was she had no idea where they were headed. His home, she assumed. A rustic cabin or a tent were the first images to pop into her mind. Sloan didn’t appear the type to put much stock in personal possessions.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said, in response to his offer of the jacket. Rachel focused her attention on the dusty road in front of them and asked, “Where are we going?”

“My place.” The answer was curt, and spoken grudgingly.

Iceman was back. Instinct told her that Sloan didn’t want anyone close to him. It would behoove her to keep her distance. His momentary lapse of concern had obviously passed.

“Our things are at the hotel,” Rachel realized aloud, only now remembering that they had checked into a hotel when they arrived the day before. With no idea how long it would take her to find Sloan or to persuade him to take her case, it had seemed like the right thing to do. But with Josh getting lost, sensible thinking had gone out the window.

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He said nothing. Determined to ignore his lack of social grace and to listen to her own instincts, Rachel leaned back into her seat and tried to relax. After two days without sleep, she was spent physically. She had no idea when she had eaten last either. In all honesty, food no longer held any appeal for her. Eating equated to survival. She survived for one reason and one reason only, to protect her son. Nothing else mattered at this point.

Sloan slowed and took a left, heading directly into the more rugged terrain that led to the foothills of the Sierra Madre. The Jeep bumped over the rough road for another mile or so before Sloan slowed once more. The mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks rising to the clouds to greet the darkening sky. The landscape that lay ahead sharply contrasted the sprawling desert land they had covered so far. Desert scrub and cacti eventually gave way to trees that sprouted up from the towering mountainous terrain.

Rachel saw the wall first, then the roof of the house that lay beyond it. She bent forward slightly, and stifled a gasp. The place looked like a modern-day fortress. A towering wall, at least ten or twelve feet high, surrounded the house. A huge iron gate stood before them when Sloan stopped the Jeep. He pressed a series of buttons on a keypad by the gate. The massive iron gates opened immediately, then closed automatically behind them. Rachel watched in a sort of surprised bewilderment as they drove away from the intimidating entrance.

Sloan parked before the double doors at the front of the southwestern-style house. The exterior was a stucco finish, painted a pinkish tan like the wall surrounding the property. The roof was a rustic red tile. One of the front doors suddenly opened and a short, thin man stepped out to meet them.

“This is where you live?” Rachel asked, then winced. God, what a stupid question. Of course this was where he lived.

“Ever since I ran off the local drug lord,” he said before hopping out of the Jeep.

Rachel frowned. Was that supposed to be a joke? Did she really want to know? Too tired to consider the remark any further, Rachel unfastened her seat belt and leaned between the bucket seats and released Josh’s. The boy, teddy bear in tow, scrambled out of the seat and into his mother’s arms. Rachel settled Josh onto the ground once they were out of the Jeep. Sloan was speaking to the other man in Spanish. Rachel couldn’t quite get the gist of the conversation. Something about a room, and trouble.

She and Josh were the trouble, of course.

“Good evening, Señora Larson,” the man said, his smile wide and pleasant. “I am Pablo. I am very sure that you are hungry. Come in and I will prepare a proper feast for such honored guests.”

Rachel took an instant liking to the man. She returned Pablo’s smile and followed as he led the way into the house. Rachel could feel Sloan behind her. She didn’t have to look, his formidable presence was unmistakable. There was an aura about the man that entailed much more than his air of danger.

Details flooded her senses. Muted colors, thick upholstered furnishings. Rachel had to admit that she had been way off base about the man’s taste in accommodations. Sloan’s home was elegant in an understated sort of way. Her artist’s eye was drawn to the clean lines and sparse but inviting furnishings of each large room she passed. The expansive hall cut through the middle of the house, flowing both left and right about midway. Pablo turned right and continued until they reached the third room on the left.

He gestured for Rachel to enter before him. “If there is anything you need, señora, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Pablo,” she said tiredly.

“I’m hungry!” Josh piped up.

Heat scalded Rachel’s cheeks. Josh was always hungry. “Josh,” she scolded.

“The boy needs to eat,” Pablo agreed. “Come with Pablo, little man, and we will prepare the feast together.” Pablo winked when Josh eyed him hesitantly. “You may taste as we go.”

Josh was ready to go then. He took Pablo’s offered hand and told him about his new bear as they disappeared down the hall. Rachel was amazed at how easily Josh befriended the strangers he met. She thought of the woman and the bear and decided that a long talk with her son was in order.

With Josh and Pablo gone, Rachel had no choice but to acknowledge her host’s brooding presence. She turned hesitantly to face him.

“I don’t know why you changed your mind,” Rachel began, trying hard not to allow that icy blue gaze to undo her. “But I—”

“You should eat and get some rest,” he said, his words an order rather than a suggestion.

He turned to go but Rachel stopped him with a hand on his arm. He stared first at her hand then at her, as if her touch were somehow offensive to him. But the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips was anything but offensive to Rachel. She jerked her hand back when a mild shock radiated through her, but caught herself before she frowned.

“I’d like to discuss your plans,” she managed in a surprisingly even voice. “I don’t want to be left in the dark. I need to know what you have in mind.”

For one long moment his gaze held hers and something intense passed between them. For Rachel, it felt all too much like sexual awareness. Sloan was handsome, in a fierce, rugged way. He was big and muscular and with eyes that could unsettle her with just a look. He frightened her, yet drew her on some level that Rachel could never hope to explain. Maybe it was simply the need to feel protected by someone who was strong enough to go up against Angel.

“I don’t have a plan.” His gaze remained unreadable, as seemed customary for him. “I’ll let you know when we have anything to discuss.” He brushed past Rachel and sauntered in the direction into which Josh and Pablo had disappeared.

Rachel leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms over her chest and sighed wearily. The man’s attitude infuriated her. How on earth would she ever tolerate his rude indifference? Rachel was too tired to contemplate the issue any further at the moment. She was so tired she wasn’t even sure she would make it through dinner. For Josh’s sake she would have to muster up the energy to at least show up, then see to her son’s bath and to get him tucked into bed. And just maybe, she could manage a leisurely bath of her own.

She glanced around the spacious room she and Josh were to share. She thought of the property’s elaborate security system, and then of Sloan himself. Despite her enigmatic protector’s personality, or lack thereof, Rachel felt safe for the first time in nearly five years.

SLOAN STARED AT the bottle of tequila on the table before him. He knew there would be no sleep for him tonight, no matter how much he drank. His mind was reeling with bits of information he didn’t want to remember. Faces he didn’t want to see. Voices he didn’t want to hear. But there were certain points he had to allow himself to recall. He had waited too long, planned too often for this very moment, yet feared it would never come. Not once since pulling himself from the gutter pain and depression had hurled him into had he allowed a glimmer of real hope. Anticipation was one thing, but hope entirely another. He’d learned the hard way that hope was only for those too weak to acknowledge defeat when it had them by the throat.

Sloan had faced defeat, but he hadn’t wallowed in it, at least not for long. He couldn’t change history, but he sure as hell had some say in the future. And he would make Angel pay. Very soon.

To Sloan’s supreme irritation the vivid mental image of Rachel Larson suddenly loomed large in his mind. He could still hear the fear and panic in her voice when she called out for Josh. That same desperation had haunted his own voice seven years ago. The euphoria still lingered from the profound relief he had felt this evening when Josh was in his mother’s arms once more. The relief he had been denied seven years ago. Then the realization that Angel might be close by.

Too close.

Sloan shook off the feelings nagging him, but he couldn’t completely shake the picture of Rachel. The fear in those big brown eyes, the way her lips quivered with uncertainty. If anyone he had met in this business had ever needed protecting, she sure as hell did. But Sloan wanted to do more than protect her, he wanted to know her as a woman. That simple touch this evening in her room had sent fire raging through his veins. For the first time in more years than he cared to admit, Sloan yearned for more than mere physical release.

Ire burned in his gut. He couldn’t feel this way.

It was nothing more than his exaggerated instinct to protect. That’s all, he assured himself.

Angel flickered amid the other tangle of images and thoughts involving Rachel Larson. Sloan swore. His attraction to a woman who had once been involved with Angel made Sloan’s gut clench. Those feelings were a betrayal to the memory of his wife and son. He must be losing his mind to entertain such a fantasy. Hell, he had already lost his mind. He had brought Angel’s son into his own home.

Sloan swore repeatedly.

He hated himself for what he was doing. But it was the ultimate goal that made it all worthwhile. Angel would come for his son. It was the basic concept of possession. The kid belonged to him. Angel would want him back, so he had to come. When he did, Sloan would be ready.

And Angel would die.

Then Rachel and Josh would be safe.

That wasn’t supposed to be what counted to Sloan…but somehow it was. Somehow their welfare already meant entirely too much to him. And that didn’t sit well with him. But he would not let either of them any closer. He would stay in control—no matter what it took. All these jumbled feelings were nothing more than his deeply entrenched need to protect those weaker than him.

The way he couldn’t protect his own wife and son.

“Excuse me.”

Sloan’s head shot up at the softly uttered greeting. Rachel Larson hovered near the door. Hesitantly she stepped out onto the patio and approached him, her bare feet soundless on the cool tile. His gaze followed her movements, his body automatically responding and he silently cursed himself again. He was a fool. Sloan leaned back in his chair and leveled an impatient gaze in her direction.

“I prefer drinking alone, Miss Larson,” Sloan said tersely. “So if you’re looking for company, you’ll find Pablo’s more to your liking.”

Rachel hesitated a few feet away from the table. “I…I just wanted to thank you for helping us. I realized after I put Josh to bed that I hadn’t properly thanked you for allowing us refuge in your home.”

Sloan tossed back the tequila in his shot glass and set the empty glass down next to the bottle. The last thing he needed was her gratitude distorting the already fuzzy scenario taking shape in his head. “Don’t thank me, Miss Larson, I’m not doing it for you.” He poured himself another shot. “I’m doing it for me.”

Rachel nodded mutely. “Of course,” she murmured. “Well, good night then.”

Before she could turn away, and to Sloan’s royal irritation, he stopped her. “There is one thing you can do for me,” he said, his words dripping contempt, his senses already piqued in anticipation of her response. “You can tell me how you managed to get yourself intimately involved with a lowlife scum bag like Angel.”

Rachel visibly faltered. She seemed to struggle with her answer for so long that Sloan felt certain she didn’t plan to tell him. She shoved a handful of that thick dark hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. When her gaze finally connected with his again, her eyes were suspiciously bright. His gut clenched. Sloan swore another silent oath.

“I was very young, just nineteen,” she began slowly. “He tricked me into believing he was someone he wasn’t.” She swallowed, the effort required displayed along the delicate column of her pale throat. “My father died because of what I allowed to happen. If I hadn’t…” She fell silent, her eyes downcast.

Sloan’s chair scraped across the tile as he pushed back from the table and stood. Her head snapped up and she shivered as he walked deliberately toward her. When he stopped, he stood only inches from her. She tensed, and her breath caught with a little hitch. Damn him, he wanted to touch her. Anger swirled around him, inside him. He didn’t need this.

“You allowed yourself to be seduced by the bastard while he was plotting to kill your own father?” Sloan hurled the words at her like missiles intended to wound, intended to push her away. Hadn’t he done the same damned thing? Seduced by the challenge of the hunt, he had dogged Angel’s every step until the animal retaliated. Years of pent-up rage unleashed inside Sloan at the thought.

He leaned closer to Rachel, directing that unforgiving energy at her, widening the emotional gap between them. “I guess that makes us both pretty stupid, huh? Neither one of us were smart enough to know what we were up against until it was too late.”

She trembled, but held her ground. “He tricked me. I didn’t know—”

“Yeah, well that was a tough break for your old man, wasn’t it?”

Her anger flared finally, however faintly. “I don’t want to discuss this any more.” She pivoted and started toward the door.

Sloan snagged her by the arm and swung her around to face him. He ignored the electricity that crackled where his hand closed around her bare skin. “You screwed up, just like I did.” He pulled her closer, his body’s response to hers only fueling his building anger. She glared up at him, her own anger taking belated shape. “You’ve come all this way looking for a miracle. And what do you know? I’m fresh out. Maybe you’d better rethink your strategy.”

“You’re our only hope.” Her sweet, desperate breath fanned his lips.

Sloan clenched his teeth and shook his head, every muscle in his body growing harder by the moment. “Maybe you think coming here is the answer to your prayers, but you’re wrong. I’m just a man, Rachel Larson. I’ll take Angel down, but that won’t change what he took from you or me. I’m no superhero, and I’m sure as hell no saint. But if you hang around long enough the one thing I can guarantee you is that you’ll end up in my bed.”

Sloan saw it coming, but he didn’t try to stop her. Her right palm connected with his jaw. He took the blow, because he deserved it. The pain was somehow cleansing. Pain he could handle, these other feelings he couldn’t.

Rachel jerked weakly at his fierce hold on her left arm. “Let me go.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to track me down,” he rasped as he snaked his arm around her waist and hauled her up against him. “Don’t you want to find out if I’m half the man you seem to think I am?”

The dam broke loose then, tears trickled down her face. She pushed uselessly against his chest. “I already know all I need to know.” She was shaking uncontrollably now. “I saw how you reacted when you thought Josh was lost. You’re a good man. I know you are.”

Sloan had no come back for that allegation. He could only stare into those deep brown eyes, watery with the kind of pain he understood all too well. Just when he felt certain that he would have to kiss her…kiss her or die, she wilted in his fierce hold. Startled, Sloan scooped her slight body into his arms.

Damn.

She had been through too much. He had pushed her too hard. All because he couldn’t control his own sadistic impulses.

Sloan considered the sweet, innocent-looking woman lying unconscious in his arms for a long moment. He shook his head in self-disgust.

“I told you I was no knight in shining armor.” He let go a mighty breath. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

Chapter Three

Rachel moaned contentedly and snuggled into her pillow. Her lids slowly opened to the realization that it was now daylight. The last vestiges of sleep retreated bringing awareness one degree at a time. The fluffy pillow beneath her cheek, the cool sheet over her body, and the slight breeze whispering across her face. She inhaled deeply of a scent that was at once alien and soothing. A pleasant masculine scent, musk and leather.

Sloan.

Rachel’s eyes opened wide. She surveyed the part of the room readily viewable without having to move. This was not the same room Pablo had shown her and Josh to last evening. Her heart pounded in her chest as last night’s heated words with Sloan replayed in her head. She remembered collapsing…

Her attention suddenly lit on the puddle of clothing a few feet away on the carpeted floor. Her blouse, her skirt and sandals. The fact that being on the small side in the bust allowed her to go braless most of the time slammed into her. She sat bolt upright on the side of the bed and looked down at herself. She wore what appeared to be a man’s T-shirt. Too large for Pablo’s. She swallowed tightly. Sloan’s. She looked around the room and realization dawned with unnerving clarity.

She was in Sloan’s room. In his bed.

Rachel spun around to look on the other side of the bed. It was empty.

Where was Josh?

Fear rushed through her limbs to lodge in her chest. She had tucked him into bed in the other room. She blinked, forcing herself to concentrate rather than losing herself to the panic. Maybe he was having breakfast already. What time was it? Her gaze sought out the nearest clock. The LED display on the bedside table read 10:00 a.m. Rachel shot to her feet. How could she have slept so long?

Where was her son?

Laughter floated through the open window. Josh. Rachel bounded off the bed and to the generous windows. She peered out into the backyard. Sheer, gauzy drapes fluttered around her in the gentle breeze. With Pablo watching, Josh chased a bright red ball. His delighted squeals and laughter brought the first relaxed smile to her lips in too long to remember. It felt so good to see her son play without worry that someone would snatch him away from her. Pablo tossed the ball again, and Josh’s enthusiastic race for the brightly colored, bouncing object gladdened her heart. This was all she had ever wanted for her son…for him to feel happy and safe.

Taking stock of the area for the first time in daylight, Rachel amended her earlier impression. This was not a backyard, this was a courtyard. As beautiful as any she had ever seen. And she had seen a few while growing up. Rachel’s smile faded as she considered the bittersweet memories of growing up with her father. Her mother had died when she was only a small child. But her father had made up for the loss many times over. He took Rachel everywhere with him. A well-respected figure in the State Department, they had traveled frequently, abroad mostly. The hotels were always luxurious. But she had yet to view a courtyard any more spectacular than Sloan’s.

Elegant tile or cobblestone pavers covered what was most likely a sandy yard. The house surrounded the courtyard on all sides, adding to the feeling of security. Numerous sets of French doors opened onto the courtyard from the rooms facing it, including the one in which she now stood. Lush foliage, mostly tropical, probably native to the area, nearly camouflaged a sparkling pool. Beyond the house, a water tank towered, supplying the residence with water despite the sprawling desert that surrounded it. The word fortress flitted through Rachel’s mind again. She wondered if there were generators and a bountiful food supply stored somewhere on the grounds, making the place self-sufficient despite the desolation and its remoteness.

Relieved that Josh was safe, Rachel pushed her other curiosities from her mind. She would ask Sloan more questions when the opportunity presented itself. For now, she should get dressed and join her son outside. She had a feeling that Sloan would let her know what he wanted from her, monetarily and otherwise, when he made up his mind or developed some plan. He didn’t strike her as the sort of man one could hurry.

Finding her reluctant host watching from the open doorway, Rachel gasped. That unreadable blue gaze traveled down the length of her, then back to connect with hers. Her state of undress sent a flush of heat up her neck and across her cheeks. She edged closer to the sheer material hanging around her for some sense of protection from his all-seeing gaze.

The sound that rumbled from his chest was more growl than laugh. “Don’t be shy, Miss Larson, I’ve already seen all there is to see.”

He had undressed her last night, then again just now with his eyes. On some level she had already known that Sloan was the one. Though she preferred to undress herself, Pablo having done so would have been a great deal less humiliating alternative. To her chagrin, her nipples tightened at the thought that Sloan had looked at her so intimately. That was not an appropriate reaction, she reminded herself with rising indignation.

“I’d like to get dressed now,” she announced, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

“Your suitcase is in your room. Pablo picked it up this morning, along with a few other things I told him you would need.” A holster, complete with sleek black gun, was strapped to one broad shoulder. He crossed his arms over his mile-wide chest and leaned against the door frame.

Rachel tried not to follow the distracting movement of powerful muscle. She moistened her lips and asked the question that tightened the back of her throat. “Why did you bring me to your…in here?” Surely she would remember if anything happened. She couldn’t have been that far out of it. She shivered at the thought of those strong hands touching her bare skin.

“The boy was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.”

Somehow she sensed that there was more to it than that. He hadn’t wanted to be in the same room with Josh—even for a few minutes, she suddenly realized. “I don’t usually…react like that,” she began in explanation of what he probably considered weakness. She squared her shoulders and stepped away from the meager protection the drapes provided. Somehow she had to learn to hold her own in the man’s presence. “Despite how it may look to you now, I am a strong person.”