Sarah's Secrets

“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 initial 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.”

The lie burned in his throat because there was someplace farther he’d rather drive her…to a dying man’s bedside. The doctors and his old man were wrong. Bart would come out of the coma…for Sarah Mars.

“You’re sure?”

He fought to not squirm under Dylan’s penetrating stare. He hated putting off revealing the reason for his trip to Winter Falls even for a minute. But a public park was not the place to discuss a dying man’s wish. He nodded.

Sarah gasped. “I can’t believe you’re talking about me as if I’m not here. I don’t know this man—”

Dylan’s hand settled on her shoulder. “But I do, Sarah. I trust him.”

Royce winced, thinking of the conversation to come. Then he turned toward Sarah. “You don’t want the kid to know what’s going on, right?”

When she answered, she spoke slowly as if she suspected Royce was dimwitted. “Of course not. I don’t want to scare him.”

“You mean any more than you already have by running onto the field earlier?”

Her pointed chin tipped up, and her eyes flashed at him. Smarting pride painted her elegant cheekbones a bright pink.

He sighed and mentally kicked himself for being insensitive. But God, he was tired, and her prickliness irritated him. “I’m sorry. I know you’re rattled. But if you don’t want to scare the kid, we need to get him away from here before the car is dusted for prints.”

Dylan nodded. “He’s right, Sarah. You don’t want Jeremy to know there was a threat, especially if it is just some sick joke.”

If. But what if it wasn’t? What did that mean for a man who lay dying in a hospital bed in Milwaukee? Short of kidnapping her, Royce figured he wouldn’t get her out of Winter Falls while her son was in danger. And he didn’t blame her.

But then what did he know about mothers? He’d met some in the course of his job that he’d thought cared about their kids. Then they had proven him pathetically wrong.

Dylan stepped close to him. “You okay, Royce?”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, just tired. Is this game or practice almost over?”

Pulling a whistle from his pocket, Dylan called a stop to the action on the soccer field. As the kids scrambled over, another car entered the lot. Lights flashing, sirens blaring, the patrol cruiser stopped near Sarah’s Mercedes.

“Subtle.” Royce shook his head.

The sheriff sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about that deputy.”

First the kids fell silent, then resumed excited chatter. Dylan raised one hand and blew the whistle again. “It’s nothing. Just Deputy Jones.”

Parents who had watched their children or were just arriving to pick them up swarmed the field and the sheriff.

Despite not being familiar with casual touches, Royce found himself cupping Sarah’s elbow and steering her away from the crowd, as much for his protection as hers. During his years with Milwaukee PD and the FBI, he’d done the mob scene. Remembering the crush of bodies, the lack of oxygen, he dragged in a quick breath.

“You don’t need to do this. I can wait. I’ll think of something to tell Jeremy.” She pulled her arm free of his grasp.

The silk slid through Royce fingers, and he dropped his hand back to his side. For some reason he liked touching her. Probably just because it ticked her off. “I agreed to do this. I’m not reneging. Where’s your son?”

He turned to find a boy standing near them, the boy who looked like Dylan. Golden-blond locks stuck to the perspiration on his high forehead. Concern clouded his otherwise bright-blue eyes. “Mom? You okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry about earlier…”

“Were you visiting the hospital again? The sick kids?”

“I was at the hospital earlier.”

He offered a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Totally healthy.”

She laughed. “I know. Hey, you looked good out there.” Her red lips curved into a proud smile, which faltered as she followed her son’s gaze to Royce. “Jeremy, this is Mr. Graham. And this is my son, Jeremy Mars.”

The boy stuck out his hand, an ID bracelet dangling from his wrist. Such an uncomplicated kid. How’d he come from such a complicated mother?

Royce shook her son’s hand. The boy’s grip was firm. “Nice to meet you.”

A thought flitted through Royce’s head and lodged like a cramp in his gut. Dylan had claimed this child was his in a manner of speaking. Despite his wedding ring, how involved was the sheriff with Mrs. Hutchins? Except for how it affected his plan to bring her to Milwaukee, it shouldn’t have mattered to him if she slept with every married man in Winter Falls and bore them children. But it did matter.

Under the adults’ tense silence, Jeremy squirmed, flushing from more than his physical exertion. “I saw you talking to Uncle Dylan earlier…”

“Uncle Dylan?” The cramp eased.

The boy nodded. “Yeah, pretty cool having the sheriff for my uncle. He’s my coach, too. He couldn’t get out of uniform today because of the break-in. That’s gotta be why his deputy came here with the sirens on.” Excitement blazed in those blue eyes.

Royce’s mouth quirked into a grin as he recalled his own youthful fascination with every aspect of the law. “A break-in?”

“Yeah, at Doc’s office. He’s the only doctor in town. I hope they stole his shots.” The kid shuddered. They probably had.

“So how do you know my uncle?”

The kid would make a good interrogator. “We’re friends. I’ve worked with him before.”

“You’re a cop?” The blue gaze flicked over Royce’s unshaven face. “Narcotics, like Uncle Dylan was in Detroit?”

Royce fought a grin and shook his head. “Private investigator.”

“I thought cops didn’t like ’em.”

And the kid was well-informed. “That’s not—”

“True all the time.” Dylan chuckled. “Just most of the time.” He slapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

Royce glanced around and noticed the other kids and families had dispersed. He drew an easier breath. “Yeah, yeah, until the private investigator is called in to bail the police out of a jam.”

Dylan chuckled again. “Also helps when the private investigator is ex-FBI.”

“FBI?” The kid’s brows met his hairline, and his eyes rounded. His voice cracked with reverence. “You were an FBI agent?”

Sarah sighed. “Oh, no…”

Royce suppressed a chuckle at her reaction and nodded. He didn’t have any more to say about his time at the FBI, especially to a kid. Hell, there wasn’t much in his life, past or present, that he could tell a kid. “Ready for me to drive you home yet?”

“You’re driving us home?” Jeremy’s glance slid over his mother’s face.

She didn’t jump to offer a lie, so Royce did. “Yeah, she has some car problems. Dylan and the deputy will see to it. But I’ll be happy to give you and your mother a ride home.”

Despite his fatigue and his godfather’s last hope hanging on a thread in Milwaukee, he wanted to give Sarah a ride. How long had it been since he’d held a woman? The fact he couldn’t remember didn’t reassure him. His hand on her elbow was the closest he’d been to one in a long while. Taking a step closer to her, he drew in a ragged breath and inhaled the scent of orange blossoms. His brows rose. He’d expected something heavy and expensive.

“Where’s your car, Mr. Graham?” the boy asked.

“The silver Avalanche.”

The kid gasped, law enforcement obviously not his only interest. He loved trucks, too.

Royce turned toward Dylan. “I’ll wait at her house until you come by. Then we’ll talk.”

Dylan nodded.

The deputy rushed forward when they neared the parking lot. “Mrs. Hutchins, are you all right?”

She nodded, but Dylan answered for her, his deep tone a warning in itself. “It’s just car trouble, Jones. We’ll deal with it.”

“But—but I can drive her home…”

Under her breath, which caressed the side of his neck and stirred the hair he never found time to have cut, she murmured, “Everybody wants to drive me home.”

He flashed a glance at the deputy. The young man was a minute from tongue-lolling in his blind adoration of the gorgeous widow.

“Jeremy and Sarah are riding with me.” The kid had already rushed across the lot to the SUV, his fingers streaming along the silver fender as Royce’s itched to stream along Sarah’s thigh. Her silk trousers, molded against her by the slight breeze, silhouetted long, graceful legs. In his overtired, fevered mind, he could picture them wrapped around his hips as he buried himself inside her.

He muffled a groan, surprised at his powerful reaction to her. She wasn’t his type at all, not that he could remember exactly what his type was.

“Who are you?” The deputy’s tone rankled with suspicion and jealousy. Had Sarah given the young guy any reason to believe he had a claim on her?

Dylan cleared his throat. “He’s a friend of mine, Jones, and I asked him to drive Mrs. Hutchins and Jeremy home.” He lowered his voice. “We have to check the car for prints. What did you learn from Doc’s office?”

Mottled red rushed into the deputy’s face. “I—I—uh, Doc said only two things were missing from the break-in.”

Royce shook his head. Some things didn’t matter, whether big city or small town. “Drugs?”

A smug smile slid over the deputy’s face. “No.” His dark eyes flashed with victory and dismissal.

Royce had been dismissed enough for one day. Although he probably should have escorted Sarah to the Avalanche, he lingered. “So what was stolen?”

The deputy waited for the sheriff’s nod before he responded. “Two medical files.”

The muscles tightened in Royce’s stomach as his instincts kicked. “Whose?”

“Sarah’s and Jeremy’s.”

“This just happened?”

“Late last night is the doctor’s best guess.” Dylan answered this time.

Not long after Royce had arrived. He’d found Sarah, but in doing so, whom had he led straight to her? If her son was in real danger, Royce was as much at fault as whoever had followed him.

If he hadn’t already accepted it, he would have realized then that he had the right Sarah Mars because long ago he’d stopped believing in coincidence. The break-in at Bart’s, the shooting, the threat…what was the link? He didn’t doubt there was one.

Sarah gasped. “Our records?”

“Royce?” Dylan nudged his shoulder. “Let me give you directions to Sarah’s place.”

Sarah sighed. “Obviously I’m being dismissed. I’ll accept that for now, but I still want an explanation about this theft, Dylan.”

The sheriff’s brow creased with new tension lines. “Sarah…”

She drew in an impatient breath. “Later. Now I’ll leave you two alone, but before I go, how is Lindsey?”

Royce lifted a brow.

“My wife,” Dylan answered his unspoken question. “And she’s not happy at being confined to bed.”

Before a smile could tip up Royce’s mouth, the sheriff added, “She’s pregnant and keeps going into premature labor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you and me both. So far the doctors have managed to stop it. The baby can’t come this early.” More worry lines creased his forehead.

“Let me know if I can do anything…” Sarah trailed off. Until she knew what the risk was to her son, Royce doubted she’d be able to think of anything else.

“You can go home, Sarah, and take care of Jeremy. We’ll figure out what’s going on with this threat.”

Royce surreptitiously surveyed the lot, then passed her the keys. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

She nodded, frustration gleaming in her smoky eyes. “Don’t shield me, Dylan. My parents did that years ago, and we all suffered from their lies. I want the truth this time!” She glanced toward her son. “Later.” Then she stomped away, her heels nearly raising sparks on the asphalt.