“You had it all wrong,” Chris murmured to himself. “Josie didn’t kill Desmond Carlton, not even in self-defense. That’s not what this was all about.” Pieces of the puzzle were still missing—pieces only Josie could fill in—but he was pretty sure he knew the basic outline of what had happened.
Josie’s strange behavior eleven years ago...at the same time that small-time drug dealer was murdered. She’d only been twelve—she couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it. And word on the street was that Desmond Carlton had killed the other man. What if Josie had witnessed the murder? Carlton had probably been a visitor in his brother’s house—heck, the murder could even have taken place there for all he knew. And what if Carlton had threatened Josie somehow? Carlton could have killed her, but...he had a daughter himself, just a year older than Josie. What if he couldn’t bring himself to kill Josie because of that, but had threatened her instead? Keep quiet or I’ll kill everyone you love.
That made a heck of a lot of sense. Lizzie had given them all a clue back in February, when Josie had still been a suspect in the Alphabet Killer murders, but none of them had made the connection because they hadn’t known about Desmond Carlton. Chris couldn’t recall Lizzie’s exact words, but the gist was that Lizzie and Josie had been extremely close, like sisters. Right up until Josie suddenly became distant and guarded at age twelve...eleven years ago.
Josie had never given Lizzie an explanation, Lizzie had told them, no matter how hard Lizzie had pressed Josie to open up to her. But Lizzie had also been adamant back in February that Josie wasn’t the serial killer, long before there was concrete proof. That Josie didn’t have it in her to kill at all.
Someone had killed Desmond Carlton six years ago, but not Josie. And someone—or some organization—had done their best to erase Carlton’s name from existence. “Should have focused on that before,” he berated himself. “Only one entity has that kind of power. That kind of clout.” Conspiracy theories be damned, in this case there was only one answer—the federal government. That led directly to federal agencies that might have reason for secrecy of this nature, and only one came to mind. Witness Security, run by the US Marshals Service.
Which would mean Josie was in Witness Security, commonly known as Witness Protection by the general public. Which would also mean she hadn’t run six years ago because she was guilty of something. And she hadn’t cut off communication with her family when she was twelve because she no longer loved them, either. She’d been afraid for them...because she loved them. Carlton’s threat wouldn’t have worked otherwise.
Now Chris’s mind was flowing freely from one conjecture to another, but conjectures that fit all the facts. What if six years ago Josie decided she was tired of living in fear, tired of living under Desmond Carlton’s threats? What if she went to the police and told them what she’d witnessed? And what if they’d set up a sting to trap Carlton...a sting that went horribly wrong?
That matched what the reporter had said about Carlton’s death. There were no shell casings and someone even dug the bullets out of him, so there was very little to go on... A botched sting would explain it. Or even a deliberately botched sting. Either way, they’d whisk Josie away into Witness Security afterward. Give her a new identity, just in case any of Desmond Carlton’s associates decided they wanted revenge.
The more he thought about it, the stronger Chris’s hunch became that Carlton’s death might somehow be connected to why he had no convictions after twelve arrests. Why his murder had never been solved. Because someone didn’t want it solved?
Maybe. But that wasn’t the most important thing right now. Because all of Desmond Carlton’s known associates were either dead or in prison. And if Chris’s conjectures were true, Josie no longer needed to fear reprisals. Which meant...if she really was in Witness Security...she could finally come home to her family.
Annabel had told Chris where the man from the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list was currently incarcerated—the man who’d once run with Carlton. After this whole thing with the McCays was wrapped up, Chris was going to rope Trevor into paying the guy a visit with him. And get some answers.
* * *
Chris left, but not without telling Holly he was leaving. “I already took Wally outside, so he’s good,” Chris told her. “I’ll be back long before the McCays can get here, but don’t answer the door, just in case last night’s goons return. Sam and Annabel are here—if Wally starts barking or the alarm goes off, they’ll know what to do—so you don’t need to worry about that. If the phone rings—”
“Don’t answer it. Got it.”
He shook his head. “Do answer it. We want the McCays to know you’re here because we want to draw them here.” He grinned suddenly. “Gotta bait the trap with something irresistible, and...” He looked her up and down, sending her pulse racing when he waggled his eyebrows at her and said in his most suggestive voice, “I can’t think of anything more irresistible than you.”
Then he kissed her as if he meant it, and her racing pulse went into overdrive. He muttered something Holly couldn’t catch and reluctantly let her go, then grabbed his black Stetson from the hook by the front door and settled it firmly on his head. He turned with his hand on the door handle and said, “And stay away from the windows. I mean it, Holly,” he added implacably when she started to speak. “You trusted me to keep you safe, and I will. I’m not chancing a marksman taking you out with a high-powered rifle.”
He grinned again. “And before you say it, I am the boss of you when it comes to this.”
* * *
The morning dragged for Holly. “Stay away from the windows,” she grumbled under her breath. Problem was, there wasn’t a single room in the house that didn’t have at least one window, not even the bathrooms. She made the rounds of the house, Wally at her heels, and confirmed she was right.
The drapes were drawn in the living room and formal dining room—neither had been used since she’d been here—but could someone see her shadow if she got too near those large windows? The kitchen windows only had café curtains—they let in the sunlight beautifully, but she would be a sitting duck if someone took aim at her while she was in there. The family room wasn’t any better than the living room, unless she crouched in the corner—something she wasn’t about to do.
There were no drapes in the master bedroom, only those top-down, bottom-up shades, with a valance across the top and floor-length swags on either side. But those swags were decorative only—they wouldn’t close. They looked pretty, but they wouldn’t provide any additional coverage. The two guest bedrooms were occupied. And no way was she going into the baby’s room, not for any money—she’d probably start crying for Chris and everything he’d lost.
Which left Chris’s office. It had a window, but only one. And it was L-shaped. If she sat at his desk, no one would be able to see her.
She fetched a book from her bedroom, then settled down in Chris’s desk chair to read. But for some reason the book couldn’t hold her interest, so she glanced around the room. For the first time she realized that of all the rooms in the house, this was the only room that reflected Chris’s personality. The rest of the house—even the master bedroom—had been furnished to a woman’s taste. Laura’s taste.
But this room was different. There were none of the little decorative touches here that were in the other rooms. Chris’s office was beautifully furnished—desk, bookcases and credenza were all honey oak—but there was a solidity to the furniture and a lack of feminine knickknacks that bespoke a man’s occupancy.
Holly nodded to herself, smiling a little. If she never saw Chris again after this was all over, if she returned to her life in Clear Lake City with Ian and Jamie, she would always remember Chris in this room. Sitting on the floor with Wally draped across his legs, Ian on one side, Jamie on the other, as he read them their bedtime stories. Sitting at this very desk, concentrating on his work. Standing in front of this desk and kissing her as if his life depended on it—their first kiss that had devastated her with how much she wanted him, and—oh, God—how much he’d wanted her. Go to bed, Holly, he’d told her in that deep rasp his voice made when he was hurting. This isn’t what you want. Thinking of what was best for her and the hell with what he wanted.
“How could I not love him?” she asked herself.
Still smiling, but just a tad misty-eyed, Holly glanced down at the notepad sitting in the center of the desk. Cryptic notes jotted down in a distinctive scrawl that had to be Chris’s—who else could it be? But she couldn’t make heads or tails of it, although she was sure it meant something to Chris. Especially the two words circled near the bottom—eleven years.
She realized with a sudden start of guilt she had no business reading anything on Chris’s desk, and she hurriedly put the notepad down. She turned away, and that was when she saw the silver-framed photograph standing in a secluded corner of the desk. Not large—four by six, maybe—but the face, surrounded by wavy light brown hair parted on one side, was immediately recognizable. The resemblance to Peg was obvious, but even if it wasn’t Holly would have known who this woman had to be. Annabel had described Laura to a T—sweet, pretty, with a gentle, almost shy smile.
Curious, even though Holly told herself not to be, she reached over and picked up the photograph, studying it minutely. Peg’s features were here, but nowhere did she see what Peg had an abundance of. Grit. Determination. Character. Not Wonder Woman, but a woman who did what she had to do without complaint. Her love for those around her flowed from strength.
What had Annabel said about Laura? Chris was her world, and whatever he did was right. Good in some ways, not so good in others.
If this photograph was anything to go by, Laura wasn’t much like her older sister. Not that sweetness and gentleness were traits to scoff at. And Laura was far prettier than Holly could ever hope to be. But there was something lacking in Laura’s face Holly couldn’t quite make out. Then it dawned on her—Laura wasn’t a fighter. In Holly’s place she could never have stood up to the McCays.
Maybe that was what Annabel had been trying to tell Holly the other day, that what Chris really needed was a strong woman. An independent woman. A woman who wouldn’t always agree with him, who wouldn’t let him immerse himself in his work, body and soul. Who would force him to have some balance in his life.
A woman like me.
The phone shrilled suddenly, and Holly almost dropped the framed photograph. Remembering that Chris had said to answer the phone if it rang, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” Nothing but dead air answered her. “Hello?”
Whoever it was disconnected without saying a word, and Holly shivered. Could it have been one of her in-laws? One of their henchmen? Or just a wrong number?
She hung up and carefully replaced the photo of Laura exactly where she’d found it. Then whirled and caught her breath when the bell-like alarm went off, indicating a door or window had been opened somewhere in the house.
“Holly?”
She breathed sharply when Chris called her name, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath until she knew who it was. She shook her head, impatient with herself because she should have known by the tinkling sound it wasn’t someone trying to break into the house. “In here,” she called back. “Your office.”
Chris appeared in the doorway, so reassuringly big and male. “Hey,” he said, juggling her keys in one hand. “Anything happen when I was gone?”
“Someone called just now. I answered, but they didn’t say anything.”
He smiled and nodded with satisfaction, as if this was just what he expected. “The McCays checking to make sure you’re here.”
“It could have been a wrong number, but—”
“But probably not,” he finished for her. “I parked your SUV out front. They can’t possibly miss it.”
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
“What if they don’t show up?”
He leaned his weight on one hip, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether or not to tell her something. Then he said, “They’re already on their way. Driving, not flying.”
“How do you know that?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Because I sent a couple of men down there yesterday to shadow them.”
She stared at him. “You did?”
“You think I’d have told the McCays yesterday where you were if I didn’t have eyes on them? You think I’d have left you here today—even with Annabel and Sam—if I didn’t know exactly where the McCays were at all times?” He laughed under his breath. “What kind of PI do you take me for, Holly?” He held up one hand when she started to speak, and joked, “No, don’t answer that.”
Holly’s lips curved in a smile as she walked toward Chris. “But I want to answer the question,” she said when she was close enough to touch him. Her fingers brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, then trailed lightly down, coming to rest on his shoulder. “I think you’re incredible. Amazing. There aren’t words to describe you. I thank my lucky stars the McCays hired you to find me, because I’d be in a world of hurt if it had been anyone else.”
His slow smile rewarded her. “You’d have managed somehow,” he said. “You’re a fighter—no way would you ever surrender. I knew that from the minute I entered your room in the rooming house. That’s what I lo—”
Chris stopped midsentence when the sound of bedroom doors opening down the hallway and questions asked and answered between Sam and Annabel suddenly intruded on their conversation.
Holly rarely cursed—it hadn’t been acceptable in her home growing up as the daughter of missionaries. But if she did curse, she would have just then. She would have given anything to know what Chris had intended to say. Love? As in, “that’s what I love most about you”?
But she couldn’t bring herself to ask, especially since Chris had already turned toward his sister and brother. “Well, if it isn’t Beauty and the Beast, finally awake,” he drawled.
“Bite me.” Sam obviously wasn’t of a sunny disposition when he first woke up.
Annabel elbowed Sam. “What makes you think you’re the Beast?”
Chris turned his head and his eyes met Holly’s, a glint of humor in them. “And there you see why Ridge is a better choice than ‘don’t you dare call me beautiful’ Annabel and ‘don’t call me a beast even though I am’ Sam.”
“I think I’m missing something here,” Sam growled.
Holly laughed. “Let’s have lunch and I’ll explain.”
* * *
Holly went to her bedroom after lunch to call her sons—“Keep away from the windows,” Chris told her in no uncertain terms.
“I will.”
Chris watched her go. Part of him wished they hadn’t been interrupted earlier, but another part was glad. He hadn’t intended to say anything to Holly yet—not while she still needed his protection. He’d already had one tussle with his conscience over making love to Holly while he was guarding her—he didn’t want her to think there was some kind of quid pro quo going on, that he expected sex in exchange for looking after her and her sons. And he’d had no intention of telling her how much he loved her until she was free to make a decision without the threat of murder hanging over her head.
But somehow, when Holly had smiled at him, when she’d touched him and told him he was incredible and, oh yeah, amazing, the words of love had almost come tumbling out despite his best efforts.
Annabel jabbed Chris in the ribs to get his attention, her tone caustic. “Wake up there.”
“Ouch!” Chris rubbed his ribs. “Darn it, Bella,” he complained. “You still have the sharpest elbows of anyone I’ve ever known, even if you are my favorite sister over thirty.”
“I’m your only sister over thirty,” she retorted.
“Darn it?” Sam raised his eyebrows in a question Chris wasn’t about to answer.
He headed for his office, with Annabel and Sam right behind him. “Before we get caught up in the sting,” he said as soon as they sat down, “I want to run something by you two.”
He recounted his conversations with Trevor, Brad and the reporter for the Dallas Morning News. He reminded them of what Lizzie had said about Josie back in February. Then he gave them the conclusions he’d drawn. “Am I way off base here?” he asked. “Or does my theory fit all the facts as we know them?”
Sam glanced at Annabel, who nodded. “Your logic is sound,” he told Chris. “But the only way to know for certain is to track Josie down and see what she says.”
“Trevor might be able to help there,” Annabel said. “If Josie really is in the Witness Security Program, the FBI is in a better position to approach the US Marshals Service. Let’s see what he can shake loose.”
Chris ruthlessly suppressed the tiny flare of jealousy triggered by Trevor’s name. Annabel was right—Trevor was in a better position than Chris to take the investigation into Josie’s disappearance to the next level. Yeah, Chris had been searching for his baby sister for years, but it really didn’t matter who ultimately solved the mystery. Bringing Josie safely home was more important than his ego. “You’re right,” he told Annabel. “As soon as we wrap up this case, I’ll talk to Trevor.”
Holly walked into the office with a smile on her face, and Chris couldn’t help it—his eyes softened at the sight of her. Then he caught Annabel watching him, and he quickly schooled his expression into one of pure professionalism. “Everything okay with the twins?”
“Fine, but Peg says they’re starting to fret over the least little thing. Which means—”
“They’re missing you something fierce.” He and Holly shared a private smile.
“I shouldn’t want them to,” she confessed. “But I do. I want them to miss me.” She glanced at Annabel. “Does that make me a bad mother?”
Annabel chuckled. “No, it makes you a perfectly normal mother.”
Chris brought his mind back with an effort to the reason they were all here, and said, “Let’s get everything nailed down—who’s going to do what. Planning ahead is half the battle.”
Fifteen minutes later Chris had laid out his plan in detail. “Any questions?”
He glanced from Sam, who shook his head, to Annabel, who did the same, and finally to Holly. “Got it,” she said.
“My men tracking the McCays already called from the road. We’ll know in advance almost to the minute when they’ll arrive, so no worries there. My men will turn off before they get here—we don’t want to spook the McCays, let them know they’re being followed. I’ll have them double back afterward, although I don’t think we’ll need them. But just in case...”
* * *
Just like the morning had, the afternoon dragged. Holly just wanted it over—she was unexpectedly calm about the upcoming confrontation with her in-laws, but she wanted it to be past tense.
Everyone, it seemed, had something to keep their minds distracted—except her. Sam read the morning newspaper he’d brought with him. Annabel had another police procedural textbook she soon became engrossed in. And Chris worked on his computer, answering a string of emails. Holly felt a twinge of guilt. Chris had a business to run after all. He’d made her case his top priority, but that didn’t mean everything else came to a screeching halt. She wanted to ask him about the notes he’d left in the middle of the desk, but she didn’t—for two reasons. She didn’t want to interrupt him, and she didn’t want him to think she’d been snooping. She wasn’t sure which reason reigned supreme.
Holly sat on the floor stroking Wally, who lay in a contented heap at her side. And she wondered if Chris would let her take Wally back with her to Clear Lake City...assuming she went back. Assuming something didn’t go wrong this afternoon. Assuming Chris didn’t love her.