San Antonio Secret

She dumped the medical supplies on the rickety table and unbuttoned her jeans. She slipped them over her hips. The material stuck against her thigh. She hissed and froze. The blood had dried.

Closing her eyes, she slowly, gingerly tugged the denim away from her wound.

A sharp burn sliced up and down her leg. She whimpered. Maybe she should just rip it off, like a stuck bandage.

“One, two, three—”

A quick tug and the pants dropped to the floor. Sierra’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor, biting down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

That hurt. Bad.

Her thigh throbbed, blood dripped from the reopened wound. For a moment she simply sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. When the spots stopped spinning in front of her eyes, she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom.

Propping herself against the wall, Sierra irrigated the wound with hot water, picking out denim fibers and dirt, stopping every so often to lean her head against the wall and suck in several deep breaths before starting again.

A pounding knock sounded at the door.

Sierra limped to the table, wishing the kidnappers hadn’t taken her gun, and grabbed the scissors she’d purchased. As fast as she could, she crossed the room and slipped behind the door, knuckles white, her teeth biting into her lip.

“Mrs. Jones?”

The motel manager’s voice called through the door. He knocked again.

She said nothing. Surely he’d go away.

Her thigh throbbed in time with her pulse. She could hear every breath. She waited. After a minute or two, her muscles relaxed.

Urgent whispers filtered through the door, but she couldn’t make out the words. The doorknob jiggled. Metal on metal scraped. Damn. No one knew she was here. Had the men who kidnapped Mallory and Chloe found her?

Sierra skirted into the bathroom, gripping the scissors even tighter. If someone came in, she wanted a good look at him before she attacked.

“Mrs. Jones?”

Silent, Sierra peeked between the crack of the bathroom door just below the hinge. She made out the manager’s stout figure first.

The man frowned at the towels and trash scattered around the room. “She’s not here,” he said. “You’ll have to come back.”

The door creaked. “I’m her husband.”

She clutched the doorknob with a death hold. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, the deep rumble, the smooth velvet baritone, but she couldn’t believe those three words had escaped his lips.

“Rafe?” Sierra nearly rushed into the room before she stopped herself. Parading around in her underwear wasn’t an option. She peeked around the door.

“Hi, honey,” Rafe said, his expression grim, his voice soft and deadly. “I’m home.”

Before Sierra could contemplate how he’d found her, Rafe shunted the manager out of the room with an excuse, grabbed a bloodstained towel from the floor and wrenched open the bathroom door. He shoved the cloth at her. “What the hell is this?”

She snapped a clean bath towel from a rod and wrapped it around her waist to hide her high-cut panties and naked legs. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a bullet graze,” he said, ignoring the question. He tugged the terry cloth back to reveal her injury, and before she could say a word, swept her into his arms. Gently, carefully he laid her on the small bed.

He straightened and tossed his Stetson on the chair beside the table.

With his six feet four inches of pure muscle and outlawesque eye patch, he looked like a hero who’d walked straight out of a romance novel. He’d certainly featured in more than one of her own fantasies. At least until the morning after one very passionate night. She’d dropped her guard, flayed open her heart and he’d stomped all over it.

“I don’t need the help. I’ve got the situation under control.” She propped herself up on her elbows and tried to shift to the other side of the bed.

He grasped her arm and held her in place, pushing aside the towel. He didn’t speak, but probed at the angry skin surrounding the wound, then arched his brow as he met her gaze.

Sierra squirmed under his lingering, enigmatic look. Rafe shook his head and rummaged through the supplies. He returned to her side with antiseptic, bandages, antibiotic ointment and tape.

He straightened her leg and held her down with a firm hand. “Let me do this. I’ve had a lot of practice.” He tilted the antiseptic onto a large gauze square. “Brace yourself,” he said, and dabbed at the flesh.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her leg jerked.

“Easy does it.” He bent over the wound and blew, easing the sharp sting.

Sierra glanced away, her cheeks burning as he poked and prodded close the top of her thigh. He was nothing but professional, even distant. In fact he’d acted as if it were nothing but business as usual.

They hadn’t seen each other since a very awkward Thanksgiving dinner at her father’s house the week after he’d rescued her.

One look and her heart had leaped at the memory of the way he’d touched her, the way he’d driven away her nightmares. At least for a few hours.

Until he’d vanished from their bed. And then walked away without a word after the family gathering he clearly had only attended to out the fact that she worked for CTC to her family. Noah in particular.

Sierra’s dreams had returned with a vengeance. Rafe hadn’t come back. A time or two she’d imagined she’d recognized him in a crowd, that he’d found her, that she’d been more than a convenient and willing night of passion, that he hadn’t simply used her.

She’d been wrong. A second glance and the imaginary figure had vanished. So had the rose-colored glasses.

How had she allowed herself to be duped? That she’d trusted a man who could so easily walk away.

Well, she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced again. By his memory, by her fantasies. She couldn’t trust him. Not with her heart. She’d learned her lesson. And she was an excellent student.

He pressed the final strip of tape against her skin but didn’t move his tan hand from her thigh. A tingling of awareness rose across her skin, settling deep in her belly.

Now if she could just convince her body to listen to her mind.

Rafe simply looked at her, the muscle in his jaw pulsing, holding her gaze hostage.

Despite her decision and best of intentions, she couldn’t control her response to his closeness. Being in her underwear on the receiving end of Rafe Vargas’s hot stare was a bad place to be. The man could still make her heart flip-flop. Even when he was obviously furious, like now.

She blinked, breaking the spell, and quickly tossed the bedspread over her naked legs.

Only one way to handle him. Get on the offensive and don’t back down. “In what fantasyland are you my husband?”

* * *

IF THE MOTEL owner hadn’t been so damn protective of Sierra’s room number, Rafe wouldn’t have had to resort to the lie. He wasn’t about to dwell on why the statement had crossed his lips all too easily, nor was he willing to apologize for it.

He’d dreamed of having Sierra in his bed for the past two months. His hand stroked the bandage on her thigh gently. But not like this. Never like this. When Rafe had first entered the room and had seen that bloody towel on the floor, his knees had nearly buckled.

A few inches and the bullet would’ve nicked her femoral artery. She’d have bled out.

She’d come too damn close to dying. Twice.

But she was alive. And mostly well. She lay propped up on the bed, shadows beneath her eyes, her cheeks pale. He cataloged the injuries he could see: the scrapes, the bruise darkening her jaw and cheekbone. She must be black-and-blue.

Someone needed to pay.

At his silence, a flash of blue fire erupted in her eyes. He’d witnessed the flame more than once: usually when someone crossed her, but also when she’d wrapped her arms and legs around him.

Her very presence drew him in. The small motel room’s walls closed in on him. He had to let the past go.

Every instinct inside him fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, breathe in her scent and just hold her close. If he closed his eyes, he knew he could feel the silk of her skin beneath him, smell the clean scent of her hair, remember her generosity as he held her, giving him her heart and soul.

And he’d been stupid—or smart enough—to throw it away when all he’d wanted was to stay with her.

He’d done the right thing. He had to believe that. The alternative—well, he just wouldn’t consider the alternative.

Instead of acting on his urges, he cocked his head to the side. “What am I doing here? Oh, no reason. I get a call from Noah that you’d vanished from Denver without telling your family only months after being held captive by a serial killer. And then, after you use your debit card at a convenience store, I find you a mile away in a barely up-to-code motel room, shot and obviously assaulted. I don’t know, Sierra. Why don’t you guess what I’m doing here? Saving you one more time.”

“A mile would’ve been far enough if anyone but you had been searching,” she muttered under her breath. Her lips flattened in a straight line. “Go home, Rafe. And tell Noah if he wants to send a babysitter, pick someone else.”

The words, though expected, still hurt. No distance would ever be far enough if she was in trouble. “Tough. You got me. And I’m not budging.” He lifted his hand and hovered over the stark mottling on her face. “Honey, who did this to you?”

Her eyes glistened and she looked away. “Don’t be nice. I can’t take it.”

“What are you involved in?” He leaned closer and with gentle fingers clasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “An op?”

“You and Noah got me suspended, remember?”

“And if I remember correctly, you seem to find ways to insert yourself into places you shouldn’t be.”

“The Kazakhstan situation was different. Zane needed help. He just didn’t know it yet,” Sierra countered. “I found the link between the terrorists and that charity, didn’t I?”

“Not the point. I’m not saying you’re not good at your job. Hell, you’re the best. We all know that.”

Her mouth dropped open, but instead of coming back at him like Rafe had expected, she gripped the sheets, twisting the fabric. “I might be good at the keyboard, but not in the field. I screwed up. I should’ve stopped it.”

Her eyes shifted away from his gaze. She seemed to be struggling for words. Finally a sharp curse escaped her. “I want more than anything to kick you out of this room and tell you and Noah to shove your concern where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Sierra—”

“But I can’t.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze, direct, unwavering. “I bought a burner phone to call Ransom. I need CTC’s help, Rafe. Someone kidnapped my best friend and her daughter. My goddaughter.” She paused, pain slicing over her features. “I let it happen, and I need you to help me save them.”

* * *

MALLORY COULDN’T STOP staring at the blood seeping from the dead man’s body. Her insides went cold. She glanced back at the trailer. She had to get Chloe out of here, but how?

“Get rid of the body,” the voice from the passenger side of the police car snapped. “And bring the girl here.”

“Yes, boss,” her guard said.

“No. Please.” Mallory would say anything, promise anything, to keep her daughter safe.

Two men picked up Judson and carried him to the side of the trailer. Mallory’s captor disappeared inside, leaving her alone.

Every instinct screamed to run.

A tall man opened the car door and stood. He wore a cop’s uniform. There was a touch of gray at his temples; his eyes were obscured by sunglasses.

“I wouldn’t advise trying to escape, Mrs. Harrigan. Or your daughter will pay the price.”

The aluminum door fluttered closed.

“Mommy! Don’t leave me anymore. I was scared.”

Chloe pulled at the cowboy’s arm.

“Let her go,” the cop ordered.

Within seconds Chloe raced to her mother. Mallory lifted her little girl into her arms and hugged her tight. She looked over her daughter’s shoulder. “Please let her go. She’s only five.”

“Chloe, do you want to leave?” the police officer asked.

The little girl nodded against her mother’s shoulder. “Princess Buttercup needs me. She has to eat her dinner. Kitties can’t miss dinner, you know. You have to take good care of them.”

The man smiled, a grin that made Mallory’s stomach roil.

“I’ll bring your cat to you, Chloe, but only if you tell me something very important.”

Chloe bit her lip. “I don’t know anything ’portant.”

“I imagine you do. Look at me.”

Twisting in Mallory’s arms, her daughter stared at the man. He stroked his chin. “What’s the name of the woman who tried to help you escape from the van?”

Mallory tightened her hold on her daughter.

“You’re squishing me, Mommy. Not so tight.” She wiggled and stared hard at the cop’s chest. “You have a shiny badge, so you’re not a stranger, but why do you want to know about Sierra? I saw her fall. Is she okay?”

With a silent groan, Mallory closed her eyes.

The cop smiled. “An unusual name. Perhaps your mother would be willing to tell us her friend’s last name.”

Chloe nodded. “Mommy knows it. I know it too. Just like my name is Chloe Harrigan. Sierra’s name is Sierra Bradford.”

The man nodded at his driver. “You get that?”

“Yes, sir.” Within seconds he’d placed a call.

Mallory’s hope sank. Now that her daughter had inadvertently put a target on Sierra’s back, how would her best friend ever be able to find them? She bit her lip, her mind whirling. She was on her own. How could she save them?

The cop crossed his arms in front of him, his smirk too satisfied. “Thank you for the information, Chloe. You’ve been a lot of help.”

“Where’s Princess Buttercup?” Chloe asked with a pout. “You promised.”

“And I always keep my promises,” he said. “Eventually. Right now, Glen will take you to your room. Your mother and I are going to have a little...chat.”

Leaning her forehead against her daughter’s hair, Mallory tried not to tremble.

Glen tugged Chloe from her mother’s arms.

“Mommy!”

The cop grabbed Mallory’s arm. Hard. She had no idea why they’d taken her, but she was afraid she’d soon find out.

“I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Harrigan. If I hear what I want, maybe your daughter won’t have to watch her mother die.”

Chapter Three

The stillness in the motel room made Sierra want to squirm. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, back stiff. She’d filled Rafe in on the van, the kidnapping, everything.

How Mallory had called her after discovering missing money at her job for the San Antonio Rodeo. How Sierra had followed the money trail by digging into a few files and discovering numbers that had been adjusted after Mallory had reconciled her books. How they’d both wondered if her ex’s threats about their custody battle might be related. How that routine traffic stop on the way to pick up Chloe from school had led to the abduction and her getting shot. No point in sugarcoating the truth.

Of course, in typical Rafe fashion, he hadn’t said a word. The muscle in his jaw pulsed erratically, and he just stared. Stone-faced and silent.

His unblinking gaze bored into her. Uh-oh. She recognized the expression and forced herself not to look away. Rafe might be an enigma to practically everyone, but she knew a few things about him. He maintained control 99 percent of the time. She’d only seen him lose it once: their night together. One he obviously regretted—as did she.

Sierra still couldn’t believe Noah had sent Rafe, of all people, to find her. Okay, maybe she could believe it. Rafe was one of the few people Noah really trusted—outside family. Still, she would have preferred to face almost anyone else from CTC.

Her discomfort didn’t matter, though. She’d had no choice but to ask for his help. Mallory and Chloe couldn’t wait. They needed rescuing.

And damn him, Rafe was the very best. CTC called on him when the job was too complicated, too dangerous and required no nerves and even less fear.

And now, she needed him.

With a shaky hand she pushed back her hair over her ear. He was full-on quiet, which meant he didn’t want to speak whatever was on his mind. A waft of the antiseptic he’d used still burned. She wrinkled her nose. She hated the odor. At twelve she’d spent every afternoon at the hospital during her mother’s final illness. That scent did more than make her gut ache, it made her heart hurt. She’d been unable to do anything to prevent her mother’s death. Sierra could do something now...if Mallory and Chloe were still alive.

No. She wouldn’t let herself even consider they weren’t okay. Maybe frightened, but they had to be okay.

“I can’t believe you’ve been kidnapped twice in two months,” Rafe finally muttered with a shake of his head.

“Old news that’s irrelevant,” Sierra said. “And it’s almost kidnapped. If Chloe hadn’t been so scared—”

“You’d all be dead.” Rafe crossed his arms. “This is how it’s going to play. First, I’m calling Noah. He’ll send a plane to take you back to Denver—”

“Not happening,” she interrupted. No way was he pushing her out. She had to make things right. “Not until we find Mallory and Chloe.”

“Sierra—”

“I’m a witness. I know them. You need me.”

“Do you know who kidnapped them?”

She frowned. “They wore masks—”

“Do you have any suspects?”

He rubbed in the obvious with each question. She didn’t have much to go on. “Mallory is getting ready to file paperwork to get full custody. Her ex has been fighting her—”

“Most abductions are committed by someone who knows the victim.” Rafe stroked the stubble on his chin. “He involved other people, though, and that means loose ends. What does he get out of it, unless he plans to keep them prisoner? Or worse.”

An icy chill settled in Sierra’s gut. “The only other lead I have is that she discovered missing money at her job at the rodeo. I looked through some files Mallory brought home with her. I found a few suspicious entries, but I don’t have anything solid. To be sure, I need a look at the accounting system.”

“We need a warrant to do that. CTC has a contact on the San Antonio police force—”

She shook her head. “No cops. At least one helped with the kidnapping. I can’t risk word getting out.”

CTC had dealt with corrupt cops before. It’s one of the reasons the company existed—when law enforcement couldn’t or wouldn’t help. Her father hated that about her career. He’d been a cop until a gunshot wound had put him in a wheelchair, but just because he was no longer on the force didn’t mean you took the cop out of the man.

Rafe shook his head. “I can’t promise anything but to be discreet—”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he placed his finger against her lips. “I’ll call Ransom and request getting Zane out here. He’s got the computer skills. We’ll find your friend, but you are going back to Denver. We can handle this. Let me do my job.”

“And you need to let me do mine.” With a jerk, Sierra flung his hand away and swiveled to the opposite side of the mattress from Rafe. She stalked around the bed and picked up her soiled jeans from the floor. She didn’t look forward to putting them on, but she had nothing else to wear. “I’m staying until we find Mallory and Chloe. If all you’re going to do is put roadblocks in front of me, just go home. I’ll contact Ransom myself and get someone else to help me.” She snatched her burner phone from the table. “Mallory and Chloe don’t have any more time. We’ve wasted too much debating already. I don’t need your protection, Rafe. I need your help.”

Rafe rubbed his temple. “You are so damn stubborn. Fine. I’m in.”

Without a word he stalked out of the motel room, returning in moments with a duffel. He dropped it on the bed, unzipped it and threw a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt at her. “Put them on. At least they’re clean.”

Catching the clothes, she nodded. “Fine.”

Okay, that had been easier than she’d expected.

Surprised he’d given in, Sierra vanished into the bathroom, secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to pull her jeans up over her wound.

She stepped into the huge sweatpants and slid them over her hips. After tightening the drawstring so they wouldn’t fall off, she slipped on the T-shirt that fell to her midthighs despite her five feet ten inches. Rafe’s clothes dwarfed her, but they would do.

Raising her chin, she stared into the mirror. “Are you sure you’re up to this? Maybe Rafe and Noah are right,” she said to the stranger looking back at her, scared, uncertain, despite her bravado in the other room.

No wonder Rafe was skeptical. Look at her. Circles under her eyes. Scrapes on her forehead, bruises darkening her cheek and chin. Where was the strong woman she’d always imagined herself to be? The one who could give all three of her brothers a run.

She knew the answer even if she didn’t want to admit it. Archimedes had ripped something from deep inside her soul. She pulled the neck of the T-shirt lower. The infinity symbol he’d carved into her flesh glared at her, red and angry. A sign of how helpless she’d been in that small room. Completely at his mercy.

He’d gotten the drop on her then, just like the kidnappers had today. Despite her skills at the keyboard, Sierra hadn’t reacted like an agent. Then or now.

But she knew in her gut she could help. Those accounts had made the back of her neck tingle. There was something hidden just beneath the surface. She could feel it.

“So, why didn’t you see the trouble coming? Again?”

She adjusted the soft fabric to cover the scar, bent over the sink and slapped some water on her face. Rafe had instincts. But so did she. “You’ve followed your gut a million times. Numbers don’t lie.”

Right. But this case was more personal than anything she’d ever investigated. “Get a grip, Sierra.” Mallory and Chloe couldn’t afford for Sierra not to be on her A game.

Neither could Rafe. He needed a partner he could count on.

She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. “You can do this,” she lectured the shadow of herself. “For them.”

* * *

THE BATHROOM DOOR had remained closed for too long. What was Sierra doing in there? Rafe rubbed his hands over his face. What the hell was he going to do with her? She’d been through so much, but she’d fought like hell because her friend Mallory was in trouble. He admired the loyalty. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Noah’s sister. But he could also see beneath the bravado, and the anger. Even the strongest could crack under enough pressure. Sierra loved fiercely. But that emotion could boomerang. Rafe should know.

He slipped his secure phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He needed facts, not feelings.

“I don’t have another job for you, Rafe.” Ransom didn’t mince words when he answered. “Not yet.”

Rafe grabbed his duffel and walked outside. “That’s not why I’m calling. I need information from the San Antonio Police Department, and I need it hush-hush.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“We may have some dirty cops. How far do you trust Cade Foster?” Rafe stuffed his belongings behind the seat in his truck.

“If I could tempt him to leave the San Antonio PD, I’d hire him in a heartbeat.”

“Then I need everything you can find on Mallory Harrigan. For a new case.” After a quick glance around, he filled in Ransom on what he knew of Sierra’s friend, but he didn’t mention Noah’s sister. Not yet.

“I’ll get back to you,” Ransom said. “Does this have anything to do with Sierra Bradford flying down there a few days ago?”

Rafe nearly dropped the phone. “How did you know?”

“The same way I know you’ve been holed up in Mertzon,” Ransom said. “It’s my job to worry about my team.” He ended the call.