Undercover Texas

Undercover Texas - By Robin Perini

Chapter One

“We need a dead body.”

“Yeah, Jimmy, we do, except we need two bodies for this job.” From the passenger seat of their van, Terence Mahew scanned the suburban development they’d staked out. A lick of sweat trickled down his forehead. Blasted Florida heat. The van was hotter than some of the hellholes he’d visited courtesy of the U.S. military before he’d been drummed out.

Terence swiped his brow with a bandanna, tied the rag around his shaved head and looked over at his eager-eyed cohort. “You wanna pick the vics this time? We need a woman and a kid.”

His nephew nodded, face flushed with excitement.

Yeah, Jimmy was psycho. Just the way Terence liked his accomplices. Ready for anything. No conscience in sight.

Terence propped his combat boot on the dash, slid his favorite Bowie from the leather sheath on his thigh and tested the blade. The sharp steel nicked his index finger, and a drop of blood pooled on the pad. Bored with waiting, he considered the crimson bead for a few seconds, then smeared it across his skin. Interesting how the cut oozed and then stopped so quickly. He inhaled deep and sucked the salty fluid. Sick, he knew, but he loved that coppery tang.

Since being booted out of Special Ops, Terence had missed the kill. He’d put the word out to the right people, and he’d landed a sweet gig this time. A woman and a baby. Easy pickings.

The way he looked at it, he’d been lucky. Paid to kill since he turned eighteen. Of course, now the highest bidder wrote the checks instead of the government. His next paycheck had enough zeros to take care of his mama for quite a while.

Terence flicked his thumb against the blade, drawing another dollop of blood. He’d regretted the fear in his mama’s eyes when he’d given her the new car his last visit. She never asked him a question or said a word. Just gave him that look, that same skittish, knowing look as when he was a kid telling her he planned to hone his “hunting” skills in the woods near home. Well, he was all grown up and still hunting. He expected she knew it. At least his prey was a lot more fun now.

Speaking of prey, Terence had a kidnapping to plan. He scanned the upscale neighborhood’s surroundings beneath a hooded gaze. His nephew might be raring to go, but too much enthusiasm made a man stupid. Jimmy boy didn’t need any help in that department.

His nephew needed to be cold and calculating, no emotions. That’s what made Terence the best.

“Okay, Jimmy, tell me what you see. Anything useful?”

“There are some nice houses,” Jimmy ventured nervously. “Lots of trees. Grass.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Even with the air conditioner blowing full force in his face, perspiration soaked the back of Terence’s T-shirt. Ninety percent humidity and ninety degrees pretty much sucked as much as the kid’s powers of observation.

“Listen up, you idiot. We’ve been following Dr. Jamison around for the past few days. Each afternoon we’ve been planted right in this spot, watching her. What does she do?”

“Uh...snags her kid from the car seat and cuddles him?”

“That’s the hearts and roses version. We’re kidnapping her. You need to identify what she does that will let us grab her and the baby. She pulls her car in right beside those great big bushes, takes the kid out and puts him on her hip, Jimmy. That means she balances all her other crap on the other arm so she has no way to defend herself.”

“Do we kill the kid?”

“No.” Terence had wanted to eliminate the baby, too. Easier to set up the disappearance that way. “The guy who hired us almost blew an artery when I suggested it. Apparently, his group needs Dr. Jamison alive and unhurt. They want her baby for leverage.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” Truth was, as long as the check cleared, Terence didn’t care what they’d planned for the doctor or her kid. None of his business. But he’d bet she wouldn’t be living in a small, peaceful suburban neighborhood with tidy green lawns anymore. From the rumors he’d heard about this terrorist group, she’d likely be held in one of the piss-poor desert countries he’d spent the past fifteen years crawling all over. The only way her kid would stay alive was if she did exactly as she was told. Terence could almost pity her, except he was too busy counting those tantalizing zeros.

He leaned his head on the seat rest and closed his eyes, envisioning the approach route to grab his quarry. Inside the house or out? Dusk? Full dark? What would be the best escape path? He wished he didn’t feel like he’d missed something important.

He looked over at Jimmy. “You’re sure she lives alone? No lover who’s out of town or on a military assignment? She’s got a kid out of wedlock, so she’s no saint.”

“I’ll check again.” Jimmy tapped his smartphone and chomped his gum, his fingers flying over the keys.

The kid’s computer hacking skills were useful. Only part of his brain that worked right, but he could find out anything about anyone.

“No husband. No lover. No baby daddy coming round. No siblings. No parents. No one will care when she disappears...except maybe the geeks at the university where she works.”

“She got a gas line going into the house?”

He flipped through a couple of screens. “Yep. Stove. Perfect setup.”

“If the fire is hot enough, it ought to destroy the DNA.”

Jimmy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Can I pick the people we’re gonna kill now? Please.”

“Okay. I guess you’ve earned it.” Terence scratched his chest. “Remember, we need a woman and a child.” He turned his head and met Jimmy’s glassy-eyed gaze. His nephew was already imagining the kill in his mind, just as Terence used to. “So, where do we hunt?”

“Ummm...the mall?” His nephew bit his lip and sent Terence a cautious glance.

“The mall.” What an idiot. “Why don’t you pick the damn police station? The mall means video cameras, and the victim will likely be someone with money and ties to the community. That’ll trigger a missing person’s investigation. Television, newspapers.” Terence glared, gripping his Bowie knife tighter. “I’m not gonna get caught ’cause you’re stupid.”

Jimmy swallowed so loud the gulp echoed through the van.

Yeah, the kid should be scared. The moment he screwed up, he’d disappear. Nephew or not. “Try again. This time use your brain.”

Jimmy bit his lip, his brow furrowing in concentration. “A homeless shelter?”

“Not bad.” Terence nodded at his nephew’s hopeful expression, then slipped the knife back into its sheath. “I like it. Take us to the next county. I know just the place.” He’d stayed there when he’d first been discharged. No one wanted to hire a vet with his record. He’d been at rock bottom then.

He leaned back in the van seat, satisfied how things had worked out. The ones who had looked down on him were all six feet under now. He’d made sure of that.

Just like he’d make sure that Dr. Erin Jamison and her son would disappear tonight. The whole world would believe they were dead.

Terence laughed. Before those bastards were through with her, she’d probably wish she was.

* * *

HUNTER GRAHAM PACED HIS LIVING room, cursing the sweltering New Orleans summers that made him feel so trapped. He’d been edgy all day, with nothing to account for it. Except maybe thinking about a trip he wanted to take, but couldn’t.

He stared out the huge glass front windows. Heat rose in shimmering waves from the sidewalk and the early afternoon sun flooded his living room with glaring light and oppressive heat. What idiot came up with the brilliant notion of lining three-quarters of the room with huge panes of glass in a state frequented by severe wind gusts, killer storms and hurricanes?

Deserts, horses and horned toads sounded better and better every stifling day he spent here. He’d have been long gone back to Texas if not for Erin Jamison and the baby.

Was she the source of his edginess?

He continued pacing like a caged animal. Erin was his weakness. He had no friends outside the company. No family. No social life. He hadn’t allowed himself a bit of softness since he’d screwed up and let Erin into his heart that week. What a stupid mistake seducing her had been. She and the baby could pay for that with their lives if his enemies found out.

Cursing one last time, he walked back to the state-of-the-art gym he’d set up in his living room.

Hunter centered himself on the vinyl seat of the weight bench, shoved the barbell straight up and locked his elbows. He focused on the weight, the tension in his arms, and pushed his feet into the floor, his entire body straining. Sweat pooled on his forehead.

Slowly, he lowered the two-hundred-fifty-pound bar to his chest. Aware of each muscle, he inhaled, then pressed up with a loud exhale. His arms trembled as he slowly lowered the bar back onto its stand.

God, he hated his existence. He wanted out. He wanted a life.

He wanted Erin...and his son.

Hunter’s teeth ground together and he shoved the bar up again. He had to quit wishing for things he couldn’t have. It was Logan Carmichael’s fault. Six months ago, Hunter had spent his so-called vacation helping the ex-CIA agent stop a royal coup and some vicious terrorists who were trying to kill Logan and his newfound family. Carmichael was now the prince—and de facto security head—of the tiny European country of Bellevaux, ruling beside his wife, an ex-Texas cowgirl turned queen.

Seeing Logan so happy with his wife, son and daughter made unfamiliar envy rip through Hunter’s gut. He’d given up his right to a family when he joined General Miller’s clandestine group.

A loud tone buzzed on the wall screen. Someone at the company making contact. Hunter let out another curse. He was on vacation, supposedly incommunicado from everyone and everything. He needed this time to pull himself together. Giving up on a dream didn’t come easy.

Scowling, Hunter tapped the remote in his pocket. Motorized shades slid down the windows, closing out the sun. The room went dark momentarily; automatic lights came on and a large wall screen flickered to life.

Hunter snagged a towel, mopped his face and looked at the screen. Leona, his handler at the company. The woman who held his life in her hands. She’d let her hair go gray, and it looked good on her, swept away from her face. She wasn’t a day over sixty, feisty as hell and an inveterate flirt. He adored her, and owed her for saving his life several times over, including on that last mind-shattering assignment. He didn’t know how she’d pulled it off, but no one would have come home without her intervention.

“Hi, handsome, you are quite a sight,” Leona’s husky voice drawled over the video conference. “If I weren’t married and old enough to be your mother, I’d eat you for breakfast.”

He tugged the towel around his neck and smiled. “If you weren’t married to the man of your dreams, sweetie, I’d sweep you off to an uncharted island and we’d live happily ever after.”

“If the idea of me leaving my hubby behind bothers you, we can always invite him along.”

Hunter laughed. “Whoa, Leona. You’re too wild for me. I don’t think I can keep up.”

She sighed. “Yeah, that’s the story of my life....”

Hunter shot her a grin, then turned serious. “So, I know you didn’t call to make Chuck jealous. What does General Miller want? He agreed to my three-week leave and—”

“Vacation’s been canceled. He wants you in Kazakhstan ASAP. Another high-risk op with limited intel.”

Hunter fought the cold sweat that enveloped him. His last mission for the clandestine agency had gone to hell. Limited. Right. An intelligence screwup more likely.

All Hunter knew was that when the ambush came, he hadn’t reacted fast enough. He’d been injured in the firestorm, but two members of the team had taken enough shrapnel to start a scrap metal business. Both men survived, but they’d never be the same. One would never walk again.

Hunter blamed himself. Those were his men, and his instincts usually warned him of danger. He hadn’t seen this one coming.

“I can’t go yet. I need some time.” He’d felt driven to check on Erin and his son for days. Every fiber in his being urged him to take that trip to Pensacola. Maybe instead of torturing himself by watching from afar, he should say goodbye for good.

“Look, Hunter, Miller’s not the only reason I’m calling.”

Hunter tensed. Leona’s voice had changed, taking on a note of urgency he recognized and that never boded well. He slipped on his sweatshirt to fight his sudden chill. “What’s going on?”

A shadow crossed her face. Leona stiffened suddenly, peered over her shoulder and quickly looked back at her computer. In a businesslike voice, she said, “Yes, sir, I can get that information for you.”

Confused, Hunter left the weight machines and walked over to the video system. “Are you talking to me?”

Leona shook her head slightly and tapped a few keys. “I’ll forward the data to your desk.”

When her visitor left, she rose and shut her door. “This has to be fast. Are you alone?”

Hunter caught the strain in her voice and, for the first time, noticed the worry lines on her forehead and bracketing her tight smile. “You have my attention.”

Leona leaned forward in her chair. “Remember the personal favor you requested of me about a year ago?”

Oh, hell, no. Erin. Leona had heard something.

He’d prayed this day would never come. “Yeah, I remember.” Hunter’s stomach clenched. “Are we secure?”

“No one listens in on my encryption. Not even the good guys.” Leona tapped her keyboard, and half the screen filled with translated transmissions. “As you can see, there’s been chatter about Dr. Jamison for the past few weeks.”

“Weeks? Why are you just telling me now?”

“It took a while for me to identify who the references specifically meant. Besides—” Leona quirked an eyebrow “—when did you want me to tell you? When your cover was getting blown by a rogue informant or during your latest firefight?”

Hunter shoved his hand through his hair. “Point taken.”

“Besides, the intel wasn’t specific enough until now. Hunter, she’s in trouble.”

“The info is verified?”

“Affirmative, and action is imminent. According to the chatter, one of the Seattle cells is making a delivery of human cargo tonight. Your cargo. Both of them. Final destination—unknown.”

Hunter swore. “Get me off the Kazakhstan mission. Tell General Miller I’ve got the flu. I died. I’ve lost it. Whatever will work.”

“Convincing him of anything is not easy these days, Hunter. You’re his go-to guy for the tougher ops, and he knows you don’t break. He said—and I quote—‘I want him back in the saddle fast after the last trip’s...unfortunate outcome.’”

Hunter stilled. “Unfortunate outcome? Half the team got shot up. Drummond and O’Reilly are still in ICU at the hospital, hooked up to a million wires and life support. Yeah, that’s unfortunate.”

Anger laced every word, but guilt lay heavy on Hunter’s shoulders. There was plenty of blame to go around. In hindsight, he should have seen the ambush coming. Then again, the company should have, too, and well in advance. Either someone screwed up big-time or someone was out to get them.

“I can’t go to Kazakhstan. Not until I know Erin is safe.”

“I finagled what I could. You have five days before you have to report. I’ve already set the contingency plan you worked out for Dr. Jamison in motion.”

“You’re an angel.” Hunter snagged his ready bag from the closet.

“The plane is fueled and standing by. You’ll be at Eglin in one hour.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got your back...Clay Griffin. Don’t mess up.”

Clay Griffin.

An alias he hadn’t used in almost two years. One he hadn’t expected to hear or use ever again. Erin knew him by that name.

As Clay Griffin, he’d loved her, lied to her and left her, but it was Hunter Graham who dreamed of her every night, wishing he’d never been forced to abandon her and the child they’d conceived.

The moment he’d learned she was pregnant, he’d longed to go to her, but he had to stay away...to protect her and his son.

His efforts hadn’t mattered, though. Erin’s genius had put her in danger. Now he had to go to her, save her and his son, and leave them. Again.

Yeah, no doubt about it. His life pretty much sucked.

* * *

TERENCE TENSED AS JIMMY pulled the van into a run-down urban area and parked. They hadn’t needed to drive far to reach the perfect hunting ground for people who wouldn’t be missed. This was the land of the hopeless.

The surrounding streets were narrow and riddled with trash. Decrepit buildings loomed overhead, and seedy bars, with blaring music and falling-down-drunk patrons, fronted every other building. The homeless shelter huddled between an abandoned church and a boarded-up Laundromat. The haven of choice for the abandoned and invisible.

People shuffled in and out of the doorway of the shelter, heads bowed, defeated—and, to Terence’s mind, disposable.

He rolled down the window. The stench of hot urine on pavement filtered into the van. He coughed, hating the filthy place, but encouraged that, from this vantage point, he could survey potential targets.

A few women with babies walked by. One was the wrong race. Another too fat. Still others were too short or too tall.

Normally, he enjoyed the selection process, but with time short, their lack of success made him nuts.

“What about her?” Jimmy said. “She’s a match for Dr. Jamison.”

Terence looked, then growled at his nephew. “The kid in the stroller is wearing a pink hat. Are you blind?”

Jimmy cringed in his seat.

Terence glanced at his watch, his frown deepening. “We’re running out of time. This is taking longer than I thought.”

“There she is,” Jimmy whispered, pointing to a woman at the far end of the block.

Terence raised his binoculars to check her out, not feeling particularly hopeful.

Right height. Right weight.

He sat up, his heart quickening as he took in the tattered blue blanket covering a kid just the right size. The kid must be sweltering, but he wouldn’t suffer for long.

The combination was perfect.

Jimmy fairly vibrated in his chair. “It’s them, right? What do we do now?”

“Start the van. Drive toward them, slow and easy,” Terence crooned, his voice calm as he tried to quell his building anticipation. “We don’t want to spook her. She took too long to find.”

Jimmy turned the key, and the van’s engine rumbled to life.

Terence squeezed between the seats and edged to the back doors. Snagging a wire from the toolbox with one hand, he placed his other hand on the lever. He loved this part. The surprise on the victim’s face. The fear. Then, finally, the realization that death was imminent.

He couldn’t wait.

“Not until she crosses the street,” Terence warned.

Jimmy slowed the van to a crawl, and the vehicle eased alongside the woman.

Terence eyed her struggling with the stroller, one wheel wobbling when the blanket tangled around it. The woman shook her head in frustration, lifted the boy with one arm and tugged at the blanket jammed in the wheel.

“Now!” Terence called.

Jimmy slammed on the brakes; the back end of the van stopped beside the woman.

In one motion, Terence shoved open the metal panel door and hopped out of the vehicle. The woman’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to scream, but Terence clamped his hand across her lips, wrapped his other arm around her and dragged the woman and baby into the vehicle.

He flipped her on her back and straddled her legs. With one quick loop, he circled the wire around her neck and pulled, cutting off her air supply.

The baby rolled on the floor and wailed in desperation.

“Jimmy, grab the stupid kid and move out.”

“It’s screaming. Are you sure we need it?”

The woman’s eyes bugged. She clawed at the wire, frantic to survive for her child. She kicked out against Terence and he laughed. She couldn’t hurt him. He had her.

The van started moving.

“You gonna be quiet?” he whispered to the terrified woman. “Or do I kill your kid now?”

Immediately, the woman stopped kicking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A tear trailed down her cheek, but she didn’t move. She thought she could save her kid.

The brat made good leverage.

Maybe Terence’s clients were smarter than he thought.

“Not a word,” Terence warned her. He eased the wire off her throat, noting how the steel had left a red mark, but little else. He smiled. He knew exactly how much pressure would incapacitate, and how much would kill. He wrapped her wrists with the wire. “If you try to escape, this will burrow into your skin, slice through your tendons and eventually sever your hands from your arms. I don’t suggest you try it.”

The blood drained from her cheeks and she nodded.

He drew a finger down her cheek and lifted the tear from her face. He swiped the salty wetness with his tongue. Blood and tears. Ambrosia of the gods. Today was looking up.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let my baby go.”

He frowned at the Southern drawl in her voice, trying to place her accent. She wasn’t a local. Maybe she’d never be missed. “I warned you to shut up.”

He snagged some duct tape from the bin on his right and snapped it in place over her lips. He ran his fingertips down her arm and up again. The woman’s skin erupted in goose bumps.

“You like that, do you?”

Quivering, she shook her head.

“Liar.” He trailed his hand from her neck, over her breast to her waist, watching her cringe and flinch from his intimate touch.

“She’ll do just fine, Jimmy.” The woman’s physique matched Dr. Erin Jamison’s, down to the C-cup size. Terence glanced at his watch. “Our customers will be at the airstrip at seven tonight. We make the switch in four hours, deliver the goods and collect the money.”

“What’ll we do until then?” Jimmy asked, gripping the squalling kid in one arm as he struggled to drive without snagging the attention of the law.

Terence pulled a long strip of duct tape and shifted off the woman’s hips, then moved down to bind her ankles. He slid his knife from its sheath and sliced through her shirt, leaving her stomach bare. One more swipe and he’d cut the frayed material of her cotton bra.

She whimpered as her full breasts spilled free.

He stared at the abundance of curves and smiled. “I’ll think of something.”

* * *

DR. ERIN JAMISON PULLED HER old Chevy into the driveway, shut off the car and fell back against the seat. The baby was sleeping in his car seat, and she couldn’t muster the energy to move. She’d left work early to pick Brandon up at day care, but traffic on I-10 had been a nightmare. They were late getting home.

She hated the daily commute, but she needed to be near enough to her research, yet she needed a safe neighborhood with good schools for Brandon to grow into. Granted, he was only one, but she always planned ahead. Always...

Her life consisted of lists, five-year plans, schedules.

Her daily planner was her closest friend.

She was the proverbial “good girl,” and except for the weeklong passion fest she’d indulged in Santorini that had resulted in Brandon’s birth, she’d always colored inside the lines. The lines had been kind of blurry since then, but she still tried.

“Mama!”

Brandon’s excited voice broke into her reverie.

She glanced over her shoulder at the little dark-haired wonder grinning at her as if she hung the moon. Her heart filled. She’d never regret that vacation. She regretted falling so hard for a lying, cheating, sexy daredevil who swept her out of her sensible shoes, but regret her amazing son? Never. Even though he looked exactly like his father.

“Ready for dinner, cutie?”

“Mama,” he chortled. “Mama...mama...mama.”

She smiled and gathered her purse, briefcase and Brandon’s diaper bag, giving thanks that he’d finally moved past “Dada.” It made her sad to hear that word knowing Brandon would probably grow up without a father.

It would be a heck of a long time before she trusted her instincts regarding the male population again.

She opened the car door with a sigh. What an energy-depleting day. She’d fielded dozens of calls from the organizers of the upcoming symposium in Switzerland, concerning everything from computer equipment to what kind of bottled water she wanted. Seriously?

Erin rounded the front of the car and opened Brandon’s door. “Hi, cutie. Guess what?” She leaned in closer and dropped a kiss on his head. “Mommy’s boss says that I’m a ‘rock star’ in nanotechnology. How about that?”

Brandon blew her a raspberry, then tugged a hank of her hair half out of her head.

Erin laughed, even as she rescued her locks. “Thanks. I hope the crowd at the symposium is more impressed by my status than you are.”

After years of dedicated work through the nanotechnology department at Florida Tech, she headed a small research division in a little known location near Eglin Air Force Base. Erin’s latest project had generated incredible buzz in the medical field. With her new working prototype, she could taste personal success on the horizon. Once she delivered the paper on her exciting breakthroughs in nanorobotics, she could write her own ticket.

She unclicked the top buckle on Brandon’s car seat.

Clay Griffin, Brandon’s disappearing Dad, had warned her off the project. Said she might attract the wrong kind of attention. Thank God she hadn’t listened to him.

The leaves on the oak trees lining the street rippled in the slight breeze.

Despite the heat, a weird chill ran over her, as if she were being watched.

Strange. She glanced around quickly, but because of her intense work schedule she didn’t know any of her neighbors. She recognized one or two cars by sight, maybe, but that was it.

After another few clicks to disengage the safety harness, she removed Brandon from his car seat. She balanced him on one hip and settled the diaper bag, her purse and the briefcase holding her laptop on the opposite shoulder. Suddenly, getting her son into the house seemed vital.

Brandon rubbed his eyes and nestled into her neck. She’d love nothing more than to spend the evening cuddling him, but she had a lot to do this weekend to prepare for the lecture. She’d officially present the prototype of her miniature robot at the worldwide conference next week.

The symposium organizers had kept the title of her nanorobotics presentation under wraps as long as they could, but her topic had started leaking out over the past couple of weeks. She’d been fielding questions from the robotics, engineering and medical communities ever since. Would the tiny robot survive the body’s immune system responses? Would the technology work? So far, all the tests had exceeded her wildest hopes.

She walked toward the front door, Brandon tugging on her blouse. He threw her off balance, and the strap of her laptop slipped down her shoulder a bit. Her son had the same unsettling effect as his father.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, forget Clay Griffin,” she complained. But how could she, when every time she pushed back the lick of hair from Brandon’s forehead, she saw a miniature of Clay’s face? Brandon’s black hair and dark brown eyes were so unlike her green irises and blond locks. Clay’s eyes had mesmerized her. She’d thought them a window to his soul.

“Yeah, and that foolishness worked out really well for you.”

Once at the door, she fumbled for her keys and jostled Brandon. He giggled, squirming.

“You are such a wiggle worm.” She stumbled through the door, laughing. “Give me a minute and I can put you down.”

A shadow crossed the floor in front of her. Her entire body went taut. She turned to run.

“Erin, wait! It’s Clay Griffin.”

It couldn’t be...

“Clay?” She slowly faced him, staring in shock at the man she hadn’t seen in nearly two years. He’d changed. His face was leaner, his body harder. His eyes a lot colder. The black T-shirt tucked into his black jeans outlined his sculpted muscles. He’d been breathtaking when she’d first seen him on the Santorini beach. If anything, he looked even better now...the lying, scum-sucking jerk.

“Get out of my house,” she snapped, her voice dark with anger. She stepped aside and nodded at the open door. “Go. There’s nothing for you here.”

Clay didn’t budge. “There’s an emergency. We need to talk.”

“No.”

He took one step toward her and she backed up. His powerful presence filled the room, sucking the oxygen from her lungs. The man she remembered, the one still haunting her dreams, had been sexy. He’d intoxicated her senses. Facing him now, in reality, made her shiver. He looked dangerous. Menacing. Anything but the warm, romantic lover who’d seduced her.

Brandon wriggled in her arms, trying to get a look at the stranger. Clay’s gaze fell on the boy and softened, became almost vulnerable.

“How’d you get in?”

“Your security is a joke. Shut the door.”

A frisson of fear rippled up her spine. “And be alone with you? That worked out really well for me last time.”

Clay shut the door himself. “You’re in danger and we have to leave. Get your things together.”

Sudden fear raced through her. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Clay’s face went hard as granite. He glanced at his watch. “We’re out of time. You’re going to have to trust me—”

“Trust you?” She let out a sharp laugh. “Are you delusional? You left me alone in your bungalow. No note, no phone call. You vanished. I called the desk and they said not to worry. You’d paid both our bills before leaving. That made me feel great, Clay. Tell me. Was it good for you, too?”

“Erin, we don’t have—”

She cut him off, determined to get her say. “Yeah, we do. When I contacted your so-called company, they said they’d never heard of you. You’re a liar, Clay Griffin. If you said the sky was blue, I wouldn’t believe you.”

He cursed under his breath. “Fine, we’ll do this the hard way.” He crossed toward her. “You’re coming with me. You’re the target of a kidnapping plot by suspected terrorists.”

“Right.” She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

Clay pulled out a small electronic gadget and pointed it at her phone.

She glanced at the touch screen. No signal. No way. She recognized the jammer from a classified briefing she’d attended. Top-secret technology. “Who are you?”

He snagged her phone and tossed it aside, then grabbed her arm. “Erin, the men who want you are dangerous. Come with me now or you and Brandon could die.”

“You’re craz—”

A loud crash sounded at the back of her house followed by a dull thud in the kitchen.

Clay yanked his pistol free and shoved Erin behind him.

Two armed men wearing ski masks burst into the living room.

Clay raised his gun. “Freeze!”

The smaller of the two, barely more than a kid, skidded to a halt, his eyes widening with surprise. “Terence, what do we do?”

“Shut up and fire!” The taller man raised his own gun.

Erin gripped the baby, trying to stifle his panicked cries. Clay flew across the room and slammed one foot into the teenager’s groin. While the kid writhed on the floor, moaning, Clay shifted, lightning fast, and kicked the gunman’s arm, making his shot go wild.

The man named Terence cursed, but held on to his weapon, then faced off against Clay. “You’ve had training, pretty boy, but I’m still going to tear you apart.”

Clay’s eyes went dark and deadly. “Drop your weapon.”

The kid staggered to his feet, blocking the shot, and Terence shoved the guy into Clay and fired.

Clay spun to the side, shaking off the kid, then dove at Terence’s weapon. They grappled for his gun and it went off again.

The shot slammed into the wood near Erin’s head.

She screamed and ducked down, holding her son tight. Her briefcase and diaper bag slid to the floor. Dragging them, Erin scooted backward toward the door. She had to get Brandon out of here. They needed help. Maybe someone had heard the shots and had already called the police.

Blood spattered the floor where she had just been sitting. She flinched as Clay slammed his fist into Terence’s face for what was obviously not the first time. Blood spewed from man’s mouth and he growled like a feral animal, his eyes wild and insane.

He gripped Clay’s shirt in bloody hands and yanked Clay forward into a brutal head butt. Clay’s head snapped back. He grunted, then twisted his body, grasped the madman’s arms and flipped the guy over onto his back. The floorboards shook from the impact. Clay tried to pin Terence, but he kept fighting.

The younger man, dazed and wobbly, rose to his knees and started scrounging for his loose gun on the floor.

“Clay,” Erin shouted. “Watch out!”

Unable to break away from Terence, Clay kicked the other man’s gun away, “Get my backup weapon from my ankle holster and cover him.”

Still holding the screaming baby, Erin scrambled to her feet, dashed over to Clay and yanked a small pistol from its holster.

The distraction gave Terence the advantage. “Fool, she’s your weakness. It’s every man for himself.” He slammed his fist into Clay’s kidney. He doubled up, and the thug pinned him to the floor. A second later, Clay retaliated, breaking the hold.

Erin caught movement from the corner of her eye and whipped the gun toward the smaller assailant. “Don’t move,” she warned him, flipping off the safety. “I’ll shoot.”

The young man looked at her shaking hands and sneered. “You don’t have the guts.”

He aimed the gun at Clay and Erin squeezed the trigger. A vase just left of the guy’s head shattered. The kid dropped his gun, “Holy hell—” He thrust his hands into the air.

“Get down,” she shouted. Brandon, hysterical now, screamed nonstop. She tugged him close, even as her finger twitched on the trigger.

Clay finally pinned Terence and jammed a forearm against the idiot’s windpipe. “Who sent you?”

A small ding sounded on the guy’s watch. He smiled. “Don’t matter. You should’ve killed me and run. The house is rigged to explode in forty-five seconds.”

Clay punched Terence and shoved him aside, then swept up Erin, the baby and her laptop and yanked them to the doorway. “Go! Go! Go!”

Still cradling Brandon, Erin stumbled through the door and took off across the lawn, her purse smacking off her legs. Clay was behind her, urging her to head left, toward her neighbor’s property. Once they rounded the low hedge, she glanced back.

The smaller masked gunman staggered out, holding his crotch and breaking into a panicked run.

Terence followed, blood coursing down his battered face. “You’re dead!” He bolted across the lawn, his gun raised.

Clay dragged Erin behind a huge Hummer in her neighbor’s driveway and yanked the backseat door open. “Get in!”

She ducked her head as he shoved her inside, then crawled over her into the driver’s seat. Bullets ricocheted off the vehicle and windshield. The Hummer had bulletproof glass? She hunkered down against the floorboards, clutching the terrified baby, when a huge explosion rocked the car. Bricks, boards and flaming debris rained down on the lawn and the vehicle.

Dear God, her house had erupted in a fireball, flames licking the darkening sky like crazy, writhing snakes. The two men attacking them had been slammed to the ground. The psycho, his sleeve on fire, stumbled to his feet and raised his weapon again.

She bent down, sheltering Brandon.

Clay rammed the Hummer into gear and careened into the street. The car skidded and swerved, throwing Erin back against the bottom of the backseat. Her laptop and the contents of her purse scattered. She hugged her son to her chest, struggling for balance.

Clay gunned the engine and the Hummer lurched forward, speeding away in a squeal of tires. He careened around several corners, driving like a NASCAR racer until he finally slowed a bit. “You okay?”

“Not even close.” Erin shook uncontrollably as the adrenaline drop racked her system. “Clay...who were those men? Why were they trying to kidnap me?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure they’re hired by terrorists.”

“What? Why?”

“You really should’ve listened to me in Santorini. Why’d you go and finish that prototype?”