Solitary Soldier

One side of his mouth quirked upward. “The only thing I have to do is die. And between now and then, all I plan to do is drink tequila and get laid. Anything else is uncertain.” He cocked his head and made a sound, more growl than laugh. “So unless you plan to help me with one of those two things, I would suggest that you don’t waste any more of your time or mine.”

A new surge of fear shot through Rachel’s veins. She could not allow him to dismiss her so easily. He was her only chance. “Victoria Colby sent me,” Rachel announced in a stronger voice than she had thought herself capable. “She said you could help me.”

Something flickered in that cold, remote gaze, then vanished as quickly as it came. “Victoria made a mistake.”

Before Rachel could protest, he turned and started toward the bar, his smooth stride unhurried and making her think of a panther as it stalked its prey.

Watching her only hope slip through her fingers, desperation tightened Rachel’s chest. She had to do or say something to convince him to help her.

Now!

“Angel intends to kill me,” she blurted. “If you won’t help me, what am I supposed to do?”

Sloan stopped and turned to face her. He stared at Rachel for a long moment with those pale, empty eyes, his unrevealing expression unchanged. What felt like a lifetime later, he spoke, “Get your affairs in order.”

Stunned by his indifference, and frightened beyond reason by his refusal, Rachel watched him walk to the bar and order another drink. The bartender filled a clean glass with tequila, the sound echoing around her, drowning her last shred of hope with its golden appeal.

Desperation exploded inside Rachel. She glanced at Josh to see that he was still occupied with his coloring, then she strode straight up to the bar, anger and frustration building almost as fast as the fear. She glared at Sloan’s unyielding profile and summoned the courage to defy his dismissal.

“I know what he did to you,” Rachel told him, her voice quaking with emotion she could no more hide than she could stop breathing. “I know about your wife and son.”

He stilled, the drink almost to his lips. A muscle flexed in his rigid jaw and his knuckles whitened around the glass. Slowly, with exacting precision, Sloan placed the untouched liquor back on the counter. He turned and stared at her, the full impact of his size slamming into Rachel for the first time. He was tall, with massive shoulders. He was more man than she had ever been this close to before. A new kind of tension zipped through her, adding to her already unbearable apprehension.

“Since you seem to know so much about my experience with Angel,” Sloan suggested with equal measures sarcasm and contempt, “why don’t you tell me what fascination you hold for the son of a bitch.”

Rachel’s throat constricted. She swallowed, but it didn’t help. “He wants my son.”

Sloan glanced at Josh. Josh was busy selecting another crayon from the well-worn box. Rachel’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. Would this man help her when she told him the rest? Please God, she prayed, please don’t let him turn us away. Not now. They had come so far.

Distrust or maybe disbelief flickered in Sloan’s otherwise emotionless eyes. “Why would he want your son?”

Everything inside Rachel stilled as she stared into the eyes of the only man on earth who could help her. And what she was about to tell him would likely be the very reason he would not.

“Because Josh is Angel’s son, too.”

IT TOOK A FULL ten seconds for the words Rachel Larson uttered to fully assimilate in Sloan’s brain. His gaze shifted to the dark-haired boy seated a couple of tables away. As if feeling Sloan’s gaze on him, the boy looked up. Wide, curious eyes stared back at Sloan. The same black eyes that haunted Sloan whenever he tried to sleep without getting half wasted first. A tremor started someplace deep inside him, like an earthquake before it reaches the surface of the earth. Sloan’s right hand shook and he curled his fingers into a tight fist. Something dark and ugly filtered through Sloan’s mind, but he pushed it away.

This was Angel’s son. Sloan didn’t need to see a birth certificate; the proof was written all over the boy’s face. He was a mirror image of his father. Sloan averted his gaze and blinked to dispel the image that somehow evolved into a full-grown version of Angel. Sloan reminded himself that this was only a child, innocent of his father’s heinous crimes.

“What do you want?” Sloan heard himself say, his voice so cold and hard that he barely recognized it as his own.

“I need your help,” she repeated, her tone low and pleading.

Sloan blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, you said that already.” He leveled his gaze on huge brown eyes that made his gut clench with an old feeling that was familiar yet alien to the man he had become. He squashed the protective instincts that rose automatically at the sight of this needy young woman and her son…. Angel’s son.

Sloan swallowed. Hard.

“Exactly what kind of help is it that you think you need from me, Miss…”

“Rachel Larson,” she told him again.

Sloan studied the woman as she worked up the nerve to spell out what she wanted from him. She was a real looker if a guy liked his woman a little on the skinny side. From the dark circles under her eyes though, Sloan would lay odds that she didn’t sleep long or often. But all that thick brown hair hanging around her shoulders was her saving grace…and the lips. She had those full, kissable lips that any man breathing would lust after. The blouse and long flowing skirt were too loose and concealing to determine if there were any curves at all hidden beneath them. Strappy sandals with sensible heels adorned her feet. It wasn’t until his gaze collided with hers again that Sloan realized she hadn’t spoken yet because she was too busy fighting the urge to turn tail and run. His blatant appraisal had seriously disturbed her shaky bravado.

“No matter where we go,” she finally burst out, then caught herself. She took a calming breath. A combination of frustration and fear danced across her pretty face. “Or how many times we move, he always finds us.” She clasped the shoulder strap of her bag more tightly. “The last time he found us he told me that he was tired of my running and that very soon he was going to take Josh…and…and then he would have no further use for me.” She blinked furiously to hold back the tears threatening. “I don’t know what else to do. You’re our only hope.”

Sloan mentally stepped back from what every instinct urged him to feel. He refused to feel any of this. It was a hell of a sad story but it had nothing to do with him. Angel’s former lovers held no interest for Sloan. Besides, this sounded too good to be true. That someone Angel might care about, with his son in tow, would waltz into Los Laureles looking for Sloan’s help seemed a bit too pat. This had setup written all over it. Still, she had said that Victoria sent her.

“Sounds like a domestic problem to me, Miss Larson,” he suggested, testing the waters of sincerity. Sloan pressed her with a steely glare intended to intimidate. “And I’m no social worker.” She faltered, but didn’t scurry away as he fully expected.

“I don’t need a social worker,” she said with determination, and a hefty dose of bitterness. “I need someone who can protect my son from Angel.”

Still skeptical, Sloan cocked his head and eyed her speculatively. “Call a cop,” he offered.

The flash of anger that brightened her eyes took Sloan by surprise. He almost smiled, but he was too busy watching the metamorphosis in Rachel Larson.

“You know the police can’t help me,” she returned with barely controlled fury.

“Then tell me, Miss Larson,” he goaded. “What is it you think I can do that the police can’t.”

The look that passed between them proved immensely more telling than the words that followed. “Angel will come for his son. I want you to do whatever it takes to stop him.”

A long silence followed, but her fiery gaze never wavered. She was dead serious, Sloan realized then. Rachel Larson wanted him to do the one thing he had longed to have the opportunity to do for seven endless years. She wanted him to kill Gabriel DiCassi.

Time had not dulled his fierce desire for vengeance, only the urgency of it. His wife and son were dead. Nothing could change that. Sloan set his jaw hard against the paralyzing emotions that wanted to surface even now, after all this time. The finality had crashed down around him long ago, after almost a year of nonstop searching for Angel. Grief and the need to avenge his wife and son had kept him looking when everyone else had given up. The realization that nothing he did would matter, it sure as hell wouldn’t bring them back, hit him eventually. Then there was nothing. He stopped feeling anything at all.

But now anticipation surged anew through Sloan’s veins. The mere notion of killing Angel made him almost giddy. His gaze traveled back to the boy. The woman was even providing the perfect bait. How far would a piece of crap like Angel be willing to go for his own son? A strange calm settled over Sloan then. He knew just how far any man would go. And he wouldn’t have to do anything but wait Angel out. Long buried sensations bombarded Sloan. A dozen snippets of memory flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes in overwhelming despair when the sound of his son’s cries echoed through his soul. Sloan wanted to kill Angel more than he wanted to draw in his next breath. For the first time, Sloan had the perfect means by which to lure him.

Sloan opened his eyes to the woman standing before him. Self-disgust abruptly made him sick to his stomach. Uncharacteristic moisture stung his eyes. Had he fallen so very far? He shook his head. What kind of man would use a woman and child to assuage his own savage thirst for revenge? Sloan swallowed the answer that welled in his throat, the answer he didn’t want to acknowledge. But it was there, it had always been there. The urge was so strong that Sloan could taste it. Not one doubt had ever existed in his mind that, if given the opportunity, he would do anything, give anything, within his power to make Angel pay for what he had done.

But not this.

He would not use a child. He could not. Not even Angel’s child.

He leveled his gaze on Rachel’s and with his next words affirmed his decision, “I’m not the man you need for the job.”

Sloan walked away without looking back.

He pushed through the swinging doors and into the harsh light of day. He lifted his face to the sun’s warm kiss and drew in a ragged breath. No point wasting any effort on regret. There would be a day of reckoning, he had no doubt. He would take Angel down, Sloan had made that vow long ago. But he would never stoop to Angel’s level to do it. Sloan could not—would not—use a child.

Cool, soft fingers touched Sloan’s arm. He pivoted and glowered down at the woman who had followed him from the cantina.

“I told you I’m not the man for the job,” he growled. The little boy cowered behind his mother now, cautiously peeking past her skirt. Sloan swore under his breath. Now he was scaring small children.

Rachel held her ground, meeting his lethal glare with lead in her own. “You’re the only man for the job,” she insisted with quiet strength.

“Lady, you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve coming to a place like this.” He gestured at all that surrounded them. “Do you have a clue the kind of men you walked past in there?” He stepped closer to her, putting himself in her personal space now and forcing her to acknowledge his superior physical strength. “Florescitaf is the bottom of the barrel down here. There are sleaze-bags here that would sell their own mother for their next drink. Any one of them could eat you alive and not blink. I’m surprised you made it this far.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. “I had to come here,” she said finally. “This is where you are. And I need you.”

Sloan shook his head. Victoria had no business sending this woman and her son to him. He wasn’t a do-gooder anymore. Sloan took the jobs no one else wanted to take. The ones too dangerous for a man who cared whether he lived or died.

“I’m no knight in shining armor, Miss Larson. In fact, I’m so far from it that most women who know my reputation wouldn’t consider themselves safe this close.” He allowed his gaze to rove the length of her once more for good measure. “You’re sure it’s me you’re looking for?”

Uncertain now, she shifted nervously. “Victoria said you’re the best. She said you know Angel.” She licked her full lips. To Sloan’s irritation, he followed the movement with growing interest. “She said,” Rachel continued, “that if there was anyone who could help me, it was you.”

“Like I told you before, Victoria made a mistake.” He started to turn away, but something in those big, pleading eyes stayed him.

“You know what he’ll do,” she murmured. Tears slipped past those long lashes and streamed down her cheeks. “Can you turn your back on us knowing what he’ll do?”

Sloan looked away. He didn’t want to see or hear any of this. He wanted to go back into the cantina and finish off that bottle he left on the bar. He wanted to forget the name Gabriel DiCassi. He wanted to erase the image of this woman and her son from his mind. But he could never do either of those things.

“Josh!”

Sloan jerked his attention back to Rachel. She whirled around, calling her son’s name. Josh was nowhere in sight.

“Oh God, where can he be?” Rachel rushed forward, then hesitated as if unsure which way to go. “He was right behind me…. Josh!”

Sloan’s heart pumped hard in his chest. The vivid memory of endless days and nights of searching for his own son broadsided him with the force of a runaway train. The first moment of realization that his little boy was not at home…not at the neighbor’s…not anywhere. A cold sweat coated Sloan’s skin. The final gut-wrenching instant when he had to admit defeat. His son was dead…murdered. Sloan shuddered, then trembled with remembered pain so sharp that nausea burned the back of his throat.

“Josh!” Rachel cried out, her voice riddled with hysteria and the panic no doubt tightening like a steel band around her chest. She zigzagged in and out of the throngs of people milling from shop to shop.

Siesta had long passed and the streets were filled with shoppers and peddlers going about their business as the heat of the day slowly subsided with the retreating sun. Children played in the alleys and the streets. Dogs barked and sniffed about, looking for handouts. The occasional car horn honked to clear the way as it inched past on the cluttered cobblestone street.

Sloan scanned face after face, each distracted with his or her own agenda. Another handful of children skipped past, chattering and laughing. But none proved to be the one he was searching for.

Josh was gone.

Sloan moved toward Rachel, then caught her by the elbow and pulled her around to face him. He pinned her with a steady gaze, hoping to calm the fear dancing in hers. “Stay right here, out in the open where Josh can see you.” Another tear streaked downward. Before he could stop himself Sloan reached up and swiped that tear from her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I will find him,” he promised, then turned away.

Josh couldn’t have gone far on his own….

Chapter Two

Rachel’s frantic search stalled in the middle of the street. Sloan’s warning to stay where Josh could see her belatedly echoed in her ears. She watched in utter despair as Sloan came out of the last shop empty-handed. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest ached with each heavy thud. She wanted to run through the streets screaming her agony, but her arms and legs felt like useless wooden clubs. This couldn’t be happening. The nightmare she feared most had reached long bony fingers from the blackest depths of her subconscious and climbed into her reality.

Josh was gone.

They had looked everywhere.

Sloan paused near a group of children and spoke to them in fluent Spanish. All other sound except his voice faded into insignificance. The children shook their heads in a sort of surreal harmony. No, they had not seen an American boy. Rachel blinked, once, twice. This was her fault. She had taken her eyes off Josh for just one moment and—

A horn blasted behind her. Strong hands jerked her forward and against a hard wall of muscle.

“Dammit, woman, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Sloan growled, the sound rumbling from his massive chest.

Beyond caring whose strong arms were around her, Rachel wilted against him. The tears she could no longer restrain flowed from her, bleeding out the last of her resolve in salty rivulets. She fisted her fingers into the soft cotton of Sloan’s faded shirt and fought to hold on to consciousness. She could not give in to the relief her exhausted body propelled her toward. She had to find Josh. She couldn’t live without her son. She had to find him…to protect him.

With renewed determination Rachel pushed away from Sloan, oddly bereft without his powerful arms around her now. But she had to do something. She couldn’t just stand here. She swiped the moisture from her cheeks and stared up into those piercing blue eyes. “He has to be here…”

“I told you I would find him and I will. But I can’t look for him and keep you out of trouble at the same time.” The irritation in his voice manifested itself in a line between his eyebrows.

The look of concern that emanated from Sloan’s gaze frightened Rachel all the more. If a man like Sloan was worried, then the situation must look pretty hopeless. A tremor shook her. No. She wouldn’t believe that. Josh couldn’t have gone far. He was just curious that’s all. Sloan was right. He was probably exploring and had wandered out of sight. The goats had captured his attention earlier. And the children…

“I have to look for him, too.” Dragging in an uneven breath, Rachel averted her gaze from the one watching her so very intently. She dug furiously through her bag until she found a recent snapshot of her son. Armed with the only weapon she possessed, her determination, she hurried to catch up with the children who were slowly meandering down the street. With both of them looking they could cover more ground.

“Excuse me.” Rachel displayed Josh’s picture. Maybe they would remember seeing him if they knew what he looked like. A half-dozen sets of dark expectant eyes looked first at Rachel then at the picture she held in her trembling hand. “My son…my niño is lost.” Rachel moistened her lips and forced herself to take a breath. The blood roared in her ears. She wanted to cry again. Her mind whirled, making concentration difficult, but she had to focus on finding Josh. The children only looked at each other, then at her and shook their heads. Frustration twisted inside Rachel. Surely someone had seen him.

He couldn’t have simply disappeared into thin air.

Unless…Angel was here already. Overwhelming dread pooled in Rachel’s stomach. No…he couldn’t have known she was coming here. He couldn’t have found her so quickly.

Rachel felt strangely detached from her surroundings. She squeezed her eyes shut to chase away the black spots and to slow the spinning in her head.

“Mommy!”

Sloan was the first to spot the boy. Josh stood on the other side of the street. To Sloan it looked as if someone had just left him there. Instinct pricked him. This didn’t feel right. Sloan waited for a rusty old truck to chug past then he ran to the boy. He crouched in front of him and surveyed him for injury. Profound relief raced through Sloan’s veins, chasing away the suspicions niggling at him. The kid was fine.

Josh’s lips protruded into a pout. “I want my mommy,” he muttered, tears welling in his dark eyes.

Rachel was suddenly on her knees next to Sloan. She hugged her son so close Sloan was sure the kid couldn’t possibly be breathing. Rachel was crying and kissing Josh and telling him how much she loved him.

Sloan stood and looked away.

What the hell was he doing with this woman and her child? They aren’t your problem, he told himself firmly. It wasn’t his fault that Rachel Larson had herself in a no-win situation. Sloan would just send them back to Victoria on the next flight out of Chihuahua. The last thing he needed or wanted was complications. And this lady and her kid were definitely complicated. They reminded him too much of the past…of what he had lost. And even if Angel did care enough about his kid to come for him, Sloan had no desire to start a war with a woman and child caught in the middle.

No way.

“Josh,” Rachel said hesitantly. “Where did you get this bear?”

Sloan’s gaze swung back to the boy. Rachel pulled Josh’s hand from behind his back. He quickly hugged what appeared to be a small brown bear to his chest.

“It’s s’posed t’be a secret, Mommy,” the boy whispered too loudly. His doubtful gaze darted up to Sloan, then widened with distrust.

“Look at me, Josh.” Rachel held him firmly by both shoulders. “Where did you get the bear?”

Josh huffed a big breath. “It’s a present from my daddy.” He turned the bear to his mother then so that she could see his prize. “See.”

Recognition slammed into Sloan. The bear with its big button eyes and red ribbon tied neatly around the neck mocked him. Sloan’s son had cherished a bear very much like this one. The bear had been found with his…body. Sloan had buried the toy with his child. Sloan tugged the bear from Josh’s grasp and inspected it more closely.

Josh wailed his protests. Rachel pulled him to her and tried to quiet him, her face stricken with a mixture of fear and desperation. She was thinking the same thing Sloan was. He could see it in her eyes.

As if in slow motion, Sloan turned all the way around, his gaze searching every face, every shop window, every shadow.

Could Angel be this close?

Anticipation ignited the adrenaline already flowing with the wild hammering in his chest. His attention still tracking every move around them, Sloan passed the bear back to Rachel.

“Let’s go.”

Rachel stood, Josh clutched tightly in her arms. “What do you mean?” Hope flashed in her eyes.

Sloan shot her a look that quelled any other questions she might have asked, “You’re coming with me.” A new kind of evil just rolled into town, he didn’t add.

RACHEL FELT COMPLETELY drained. She glanced over the seat at Josh who was preoccupied with his new bear. Fear twisted inside her each time she recalled Josh’s words. It’s a present from my daddy. The more distance they put between them and the town the calmer Rachel felt.

Once Sloan had ushered them into his Jeep the interrogation had begun. Sloan wanted to know every detail of every moment Josh had been out of their sight. It didn’t seem to matter to Sloan that a four-year-old had no concept of time. Josh explained that he had followed one of the children who was chasing a dog and had gotten lost. When he couldn’t find his mommy he simply sat down and cried. A nice dark-haired lady, according to Josh, had come along and told him not to cry and that she had a gift for him from his daddy. Then she had led Josh to where he could find his mommy.

The lady’s description matched most every woman in this country, including Rachel’s. She consoled herself with the belief that perhaps some kind lady had offered comfort to a lost child and then helped him find his way back to his mother. Maybe the woman hadn’t had time for pleasantries, or didn’t care about being thanked.

Sloan was far more skeptical of Josh’s story. He had his own theory, though he hadn’t felt compelled to share his thoughts as of yet. But Rachel knew he was convinced Angel had something to do with it. Whatever motivated him, Rachel was grateful that he had changed his mind and decided to help them. The concern he had shown when she couldn’t find Josh warmed her, and gave her hope that Sloan wasn’t really as bad as he pretended to be.

But then, Rachel was a die-hard optimist.