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Prologue T he dark-haired geologist who swung open the door to his favorite Barcelona restaurant was tall, lean and lanky, in the prime of his life. In five minutes, he’d be dead. At the tree-shaded park a safe distance away, a man fueled by cold revenge stabbed a button on his cell phone. “Target’s in.” Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call. Through powerful binoculars the man scanned the lunchtime crowd jamming the sunny sidewalk in front of the restaurant. When he spotted the two blond women who’d paused to check the menu posted outside the restaurant, his throat closed. Each dressed in a bright sundress, their skin tanned, they looked so much like his wife and teenage daughter he felt a wave of nausea. Sweat beaded his forehead, his palms. Don’t go inside. The warning flashed in his brain while fresh grief that was beyond name, beyond reason, ripped at his gut. The older of the two women pointed at something on the menu and shook her head; the younger one shrugged. They co
Prologue
Chapter 1 G ood to be home, Claire Munroe thought while juggling her purse, overnight bag, keys and one of the cardboard boxes containing the finds she couldn’t wait to display in her antique shop. It was late—all the businesses in Oklahoma City’s Reunion Square had closed hours ago—so she’d parked at the curb, a few feet from HomeTreasures’ entrance. Smart move, she decided, since the temperature hovered in the eighties and the box weighed a ton. In the hushed darkness there was only the click of her sandals on concrete as she lugged everything across the sidewalk. Thankful for the carriage lamps that cast puddles of light on the shop’s entryway, she managed to slide her key into the lock on the first try. The dead bolt snicked open; when the door swung inward she was greeted by cool air and the scent of the apple and pine potpourri she’d placed all around. A wash of weak light glowed from the pair of timer-operated globe lamps that went on each evening at dusk. She had been away for
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 J ackson watched Claire’s face go pale and fear grow in her eyes. He gripped her upper arms. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” Beneath his hands, she swayed like a sheet in the wind. “Let’s get you off your feet.” He hooked a foot around the leg of a chair and dragged it away from a table loaded with china and heavy silver. With a gentle push, he nudged her into the chair. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to tell her that way—after finding her handyman with his throat slit, the last thing she needed tonight was another shock. Someone wants to kill you. Smooth move, Castle. When it came to his work, he was never at a loss. Didn’t allow himself to get distracted from his focus. But seeing Claire again had shaken him far more than he’d ever thought possible. He ordered himself to snap back into control. Now. He couldn’t have her. Logically he knew that. Shouldn’t still want her. Didn’t want to want her. He bit back on frustration. Too much was at stake for him to let the emotio
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 “L iz called last night when she got off duty and told me about poor Silas Smith,” Allie Fielding said to Claire the next morning. “It’s just…horrible.” “Beyond horrible.” Picturing her dead handyman, Claire suppressed a shudder while lighting one of the many scented votive candles she habitually kept scattered throughout the shop. Slipping her lighter into the pocket of her slacks, she made a final check to ensure last night’s cleaning marathon had eliminated all sign of the murder and police investigation. Satisfied it had, she looked across the sea of lace-draped tables, curio cabinets and displays toward the main counter where her friend was disengaging two coffee cups wrapped with grippers from a cardboard carrier. A half hour remained before the shop opened, and Claire was glad for the time to spend with one of her two closest friends. “Al, every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw Silas. Dead. Bloody.” “Hey, I wasn’t even here and what Liz told me gave me creepy dr
Chapter 3
Chapter 4 “H ow can anyone live around all this clutter?” Jackson asked two days later as he stood in the doorway of a bedroom in a house that smelled of dank air and mothballs. “Not clutter, treasures.” Clicking on the camera feature of her cell phone, Claire snapped a picture of the iron bedstead propped against the room’s far wall. “I imagine the elderly owners of this place wish they could move their belongings with them into the retirement center.” Jackson regarded the matching bureaus and night-stands, their tops covered with ivory-colored doilies and glass figurines. The downstairs rooms were in the same state—brimming with antique furniture and knickknacks. Every inch of the hardwood floors were covered with rugs. There were so many hanging plates, trays and pictures that it was impossible to distinguish the pattern of the wallpaper. In the dining room, he had envisioned the massive table and breakfront groaning from the weight of the silver platters and stacks of china painted
Chapter 4
Chapter 5 A t the bottom of the staircase, Jackson rolled to his feet and braced for attack. No need, he realized after one look at the man sprawled on the floor. His neck was angled so far backward there was no question the scum was dead. “Jackson!” He had just enough time to turn before Claire launched herself off the stairs and into his arms. If her attacker hadn’t already been dead, he’d have killed him, Jackson thought while he eased his gun from her clenched fingers. Since she’d locked onto him like a burr, he could feel her lungs heaving almost as crazily as his. “You’re bleeding.” He shoved the automatic into the holster he wore at the small of his back then nudged her dark hair behind her shoulder. The trickle of blood he’d spotted on the side of her throat had now congealed, telling him the wound was superficial. “Baby, did he cut you anywhere else?” “No. Oh, God!” She shifted, burrowed deeper against his shoulder. He pressed his fingertips against the uninjured side of her t
Chapter 5
Chapter 6 A fter his shower the following morning, Jackson followed the heady scent of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. Claire was there, standing with her back to him as she pulled utensils out of one drawer and slid them into another. She was dressed in slim white slacks and a turquoise blouse, her dark hair swept back and anchored with a tortoiseshell clip. The only visible evidence of last night’s attack was the small square of gauze taped to the side of her throat. “Guess when I straightened up I didn’t get everything back in its right place,” Jackson said quietly. Seeing her flinch at the sound of his voice had him setting his jaw. His years in the field had taught him that no security system was failsafe—there was no way to keep a determined intruder out, all anyone could do was make it noisy, time-consuming and difficult for him to get in. He would always blame himself for not checking Claire’s apartment when they’d returned from the estate sale last night and thereby almost
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 O n the drive back to Home Treasures, Claire was tempted to nix Jackson’s plan to teach her deadly self-defense moves. Then her thoughts shot back to the previous night and she felt the ruthless press of Ike Bolton’s calloused hand on her mouth. Her helpless struggle against his brute strength. The breathtaking pain when the tip of his knife gouged her flesh. The warm trickle of her own blood seeping down her neck. Reflexively, her hand went to the gauze pad taped to her throat. She’d been so debilitated by fear she’d had only a hazy memory of the moves she’d learned in the self-defense course she’d taken a year ago. It had been as if a sheet of ice slipped over her brain and she couldn’t get through it. It was pure luck she’d been gripping her key ring and had had the presence of mind to fling it at the storage-room door to get Jackson’s attention. What if Ryker showed up and Jackson wasn’t right there? Knowing how to defend herself lethally might be all that kept her alive.
Chapter 7
Chapter 8 D etective Liz Scott strode through the door of Home Treasures five minutes after Claire opened for business the following morning. Dressed in tapered black slacks, a black blazer and an aqua tanktop, Liz stopped at the front counter, her gaze sweeping the shop. “Where’s the yummy fed?” Standing at a round linen-covered table at the rear of the shop, Claire lit the last of the scented votive candles she kept constantly burning. “Jackson stepped into the back office to take a call from his boss.” Her throat tightened when she saw the serious look on Liz’s face. Clenching the long butane lighter, Claire wove her way around tables and display cases toward her friend. “Has something happened?” “I just received some results back from the lab.” Liz laid a file folder on the counter near the promotional platter of assorted gourmet cookies the owner of Reunion Square’s bakery had just dropped by. “It’ll save time if I brief you and Castle together.” “Yeah, I understand,” Jackson said
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 C ell phone clamped against his ear, Jackson stood on the rooftop terrace while the sun dipped below the horizon. He’d last heard from his boss the day before yesterday while at the wedding. Since then, he felt as if he’d been standing on a fault line, waiting for the earthquake. “Ryker’s still moving west,” his boss said. “I just got word he used his G-card this morning in northern Nevada. You’re scheduled out of Oklahoma City on a military transport leaving tonight at nine o’clock your time. You’ll land in Reno before dawn.” “I won’t be on that flight.” Until this moment, Jackson hadn’t been sure he had it in him to lay his job on the line. Seems he did. “That wasn’t a request, Jack. It’s a direct order.” “Understood.” His stomach was clenched into a dozen tight fists. “If you send me to Nevada, you play into Ryker’s hands. He wants every agent looking for him where he won’t be. He intends to kill Claire Munroe. To do that, he has to come to Oklahoma City.” “You’re guessing
Chapter 9
Chapter 10 B y the time Jackson parked his rental car behind Home Treasures, his jaw was locked tight enough to cramp. Replaying in his brain was the image of Claire standing amid a sea of formally clad art patrons while she gazed up at her ex-fiancé. And the look of abject love on banker boy’s face when he’d dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers. When she’d finally extricated herself from Brice Harrison and showed back up at his side, Jackson had noted the rush of color staining her throat and cheeks. And he sure as hell hadn’t missed the way she tensed against his touch each time he pressed his palm at the small of her back while they moved through the museum’s various exhibition galleries. She’d had very little to say to him during the remainder of the art council benefit. And on the drive home from the museum, the atmosphere in the car had been as relaxed as a coiled snake. “Everything all right?” he asked after he escorted her inside her building’s back door and reset
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 T he following evening, Claire, Liz and Allie gathered for a girls-only session in the plush dressing room at the back of Silk & Secrets. Faint wisps of lavender haunted the air, along with the scent of the rain that had swept in an hour ago. “So, you and the yummy fed did the hot-sheet samba last night?” Liz asked around a bite of chocolate cherry ice cream. The question was accompanied by a crash of thunder that reverberated through the sturdy brick building. “That’s not exactly the way I would describe our…activities, but you definitely got the drift,” Claire said. Curled into one corner of a powder-pink love seat, Claire regarded her friend skooched down in a plush upholstered chair. Dressed in black capri pants and a red halter top, Liz wore her long, coppery hair loose. Her sun-browned legs were slung over one arm of the chair and a bowl brimming with ice cream was propped on her flat stomach. The sole evidence of her profession was the holstered automatic lying on the
Chapter 11
Chapter 12 B y late afternoon, the rain had pared down to a steady drizzle. Claire kept scented votives lit throughout the shop and set out a pot of tea and a platter of scones. The homey atmosphere and comfort food prompted the customers that braved the damp weather to stay in the shop for lengthy browsing sessions. Claire had to fight a smile when she thought about the hefty sales she’d rung up throughout the rainy day. “From what I’ve seen, the shop’s doing a landmark business,” Jackson said when he appeared a half hour before closing time. He’d positioned himself with a hip against the front counter, standing with his arms crossed, his body apparently relaxed. Yet every few seconds his intent gaze focused like a laser out the front window. Although she’d been so busy that she’d caught only a few glimpses of him during the day, Claire knew he had been close by, watching for any sign of Frank Ryker. Her gaze tracked Jackson’s toward the window. Reunion Square’s lush green grass and w
Chapter 12
Chapter 13 H is vision blurred, lungs burning, Jackson lifted his head off the floor. In his half-lucid state, everything was fuzzy and disjointed. He couldn’t think coherently. Couldn’t move his arms. He made a futile attempt at blinking his bleary vision into focus. In a hazy flash of memory he saw himself easing down the stairs, automatic drawn. Spotting Claire in the carved wooden chair. Feeling an almost imperceptible spray hit his right cheek, then he’d dropped and blacked out. Ryker. “Jackson!” Claire’s scream blew away the last of the sticky cobwebs in his brain. Blinking again, he realized his fuzzy vision wasn’t due to injury, but smoke. Thick, acrid smoke. With his wrists bound behind him, Jackson used an elbow to lever into a sitting position. And saw that one corner of the shop looked like an inferno. Adrenaline pumped through him like a drug, driving him to his knees, his feet. The air was almost too hot to breathe. A few yards away, a river of fire flowed across the floo
Chapter 13
Chapter 14 S tanding on the building’s rooftop, Jackson knew he would forever remember the image of Claire prepared to do battle against Navarro, her knuckles white as bone against the heavy pewter candlestick she’d gripped like a Louisville Slugger. Valiant color had ridden high on her cheeks and determination had glazed her eyes. He was an idiot a hundred times over for leaving her again. That realization had nothing to do with how close she’d come to taking a bullet from Navarro’s automatic. The truth had first hit him while he’d sat at the airport’s boarding gate. It had struck again with the force of a sledgehammer when he’d pried Claire’s fingers off the candlestick, wrapped her in his arms and felt resistance. Since then, the sick certainty that he’d walked away from her one too many times had kept his gut in knots. “So, my theory is, the General Santa Anna deed must have been mixed in with the other Spanish legal documents Charles McDougal bought at the California estate sale.”
Chapter 14
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