Moonlight sprinkled pale silver across Rook Castle's
bare back, buttocks and thighs. His muscles tensed and
rippled as he thrust once, twice, again and again, filling
her with familiar, exquisite heat.
Irina's fingers slid through her husband's softly
waving hair. She arched upward, pressing her breasts against
his hot chest, demanding more.
He lifted himself, his biceps straining, glistening with
sweat and moondust. He gave her more—gave her everything she
craved. His deep, green stare mesmerized her.
"Rook," she whispered. "Why did you marry me?"
He went still. The moonlight no longer shimmered along his
flanks and shoulders.
When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?
His arms quivered with effort as he held himself suspended
above her. His arousal pulsed inside her.
"Rina—" he muttered, something between a warning and
an endearment. Dipping his head, he sought her mouth.
She longed to kiss him, to surround herself with his
powerful body, to feel him in her and around her as she had
so many times before.
But her hands acted against her will and pushed at his
chest. Resisting. She struggled to maintain eye contact.
"Why?" she repeated.
"You know why," he whispered, his breath tickling
her eyelashes.
"Tell me."
He kissed her eyelids, her cheek, the sweet spot below her
earlobe. Then he moved, rocking her with a slow rhythm born
of trust and familiarity. His chest rumbled with languid
laughter when she gasped.
"Shh," he whispered. "Come with me."
She tasted sweat on his neck—salty, delicious. "Rook,
please?"
With a frustrated sigh, he lifted his head. A jagged shadow
defined his rigid jaw.
"I had to marry you," he said. "It was the only
way I could protect you."
"But what about love?" Dear God, she was pathetic.
"Love? Rina, don't—" His voice rasped.
Then blood blossomed on his chest.
"No!" She reached for him, but her fingers slipped
in the hot, sticky liquid.
"Rook!" she shrieked. "No! Help! Somebody help!"
He clutched at his chest.
She screamed.
His eyes met hers and he whispered something— she
couldn't tell what.
She grabbed his arm, but he was too heavy. She couldn't
hold on to him.
The last thing she saw was his beautiful face distorted by
the bloodstained waters of the Mediterranean as he sank
beneath its waves.
Irina Castle bolted upright, gasping for breath.
"No!" The word rasped past her constricted throat,
pulling her out of the dream.
She wasn't on their yacht. She was at Castle Ranch,
alone. She kicked the covers away and gulped in air. The
taste of his sweat stung her tongue.
No. Not his sweat. Her tears.
Harsh moonlight glinted like a knife blade on every surface.
She covered her face with her hands, trying to block it out.
She hated moonlight. Hated night. Darkness brought the fear,
and moonlight brought the dream.
Every night she promised herself that next time she
wouldn't ask him. Next time, she'd take all the
dream would give and hold out for more. After all, her
memories were all she had left.
But every night she asked.
Sliding out of bed, she reached to close the drapes and shut
out the moon's light. But her skin burned and
perspiration prickled the nape of her neck, so instead she
flung open the French doors.
Cold air sent shivers crawling down her spine. She took
another deep breath, hoping the sharp April chill would
chase away the tattered remnants of her nightmare.
No such luck. Her body still quivered with un-quenched
desire. The empty place inside her still ached with grief.
In the distance, the Black Hills of Wyoming loomed in
magnificent desolation. Rook had loved the mountains.
He'd drawn strength and purpose from them. And like the
Black Hills fed him, his strength, his dedication, his
larger-than-life presence had fed her.
Then he'd been shot. His body was never recovered.
So for the past two years, she'd poured money into
looking for him.
Two weeks ago, her accountant had issued an ultimatum—stop
her unending search for Rook, or dissolve Black Hills Search
and Rescue, the legacy he'd devoted his life to.
She stopped the search. How could she have known that her
decision would set events in motion that would nearly
destroy his two closest friends?
He couldn't sleep. Hadn't been able to since
he'd been released from the hospital. The idea that
he'd been shot—shot—still spooked him. He was
lucky to be alive.
So he sat up, looking out the window toward the ranch house.
Toward Irina's bedroom. One of his favorite pastimes was
watching her bedroom at night. She rarely closed the drapes.
He saw movement. Irina stepped out onto her patio with the
red gown on—his favorite. She couldn't sleep, either. He
watched her for a while, noticing that the pain from his
gunshot wound wasn't so bad while he watched her.
Then he saw something—someone—inside the bedroom.
"Irina, don't tell me you've got a man in
there," he whispered.
A cloud drifted by and the moonlight got brighter. He could
see the man's face clearly. Cunningham.
He'd know that hard face anywhere. What the hell
was he doing in Irina's suite? At midnight?
He stood carefully, groaning with pain and dizziness, and
got his shaving kit. Inside, hidden with the rest of his
stash of goodies, was a LoJack.
It didn't matter what Cunningham was doing in
Irina's suite. What mattered was that he had a window of
opportunity to keep up with his every move.
He sighed and clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain.
He didn't want to go out there. He wanted to take
another painkiller and go to bed. But he had a feeling this
late-night meeting between Irina and Deke was no lovers'
assignation.
From the way Irina was acting, she didn't know
Cunningham was there.
Was this the night Cunningham would lead them to Rook Castle?
Pulling on a jacket, he stuck the LoJack in a pocket and
took one more longing look at the bottle of painkillers on
his bathroom sink. He needed one—bad. But he had to take
care of business first.
Novus Ordo was willing to spend millions to find and capture
his nemesis, Rook Castle.
He wanted at least one of those millions as a finder's fee.
Black Hills search and Rescue specialist Deke Cunningham
moved silently through the east wing of the sprawling ranch
house. Behind him, beyond the enclosed courtyard, past the
living room and kitchen, was the west wing, home of the
offices of Black Hills Search and Rescue. The building to
the south housed the staff quarters.
Hard to believe it had only been two weeks since Irina had
called Matt Parker back from overseas.
A lot had happened, not the least of which was that he'd
become a father.
Unbelievable. And thrilling. An involuntary grin
stretched his mouth as he thought of Mindy and his newborn son.
On the heels of his grin came a wince. His tongue sought the
cut on his lip that matched the one over his eye as he
stopped in front of the door to Irina's suite.
Damn, he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be at the
hospital with Mindy and their baby. He wanted to be planning
their future together as a family.
But even more, he wanted to be in a different world. A world
where his best friend hadn't had to die in order to save
his wife. A world where a terrorist hadn't made it his
mission to kill Rook Castle and everyone close to him.
But that world didn't exist. So he had to do his best to
clean up this one—to make it safe for the people he loved.
And one of those people was Irina Castle, Rook's widow.
He took a deep breath and glanced up and down the hall.
There were four suites in the east wing. Irina's, of
course. Next to hers was the one he'd lived in until
he'd left on a mission to rescue his ex-wife, Mindy.
The suite directly across from his belonged to Rook's
baby sister, Jennie. For the past two years, she'd been
living in Texas with a family friend and attending graduate
school. The fourth suite, opposite Irina's rooms, was empty.
Satisfied that there was no one around, Deke gripped the
door handle. He'd waited until two o'clock in the
morning for a reason. If he'd ever been on a stealth
mission in his life, this was it.
The door was unlocked. "Dammit, Irina," he
whispered. "You know the danger."
He eased open the door and peeked around it. Moonlight
angled across the rumpled bed.
The rumpled, empty bed.
Instantly on alert, he drew his weapon as he slipped inside
and closed the door. A movement caught his eye. Curtains
ruffling in the breeze. The French doors were open.
His unease ratcheted up a notch. Dan Taylor had assured him
that there wasn't a chance in hell anyone could sneak
past the Secret Service's perimeter onto the ranch. But
Dan didn't know Novus Ordo.
Deke did.
He'd experienced firsthand what the internationally
famous terrorist Novus was capable of. Twice. So it would
take more than the word of a young hotshot with lots of
civilian training and zero field experience to put him at ease.
Deke moved silently across the room, trying to position
himself to see the entire patio without stepping out of the
shadows. The French doors faced south, which meant she could
be seen from the guesthouse, where the three specialists
lived. If she was out there, they could see her—and him if
he wasn't careful.
He knew from the gate guard that all three were there. And
he had a very good reason for not wanting any of the three
to know he was here.
He took another step, craning his neck to see the southwest
corner. Finally, he saw a flash of red. There she was, in a
red gown and robe, bathed in moonlight. She had her arms
wrapped around herself, and her head was bowed.
He blew out his breath in relief and frustration. She was
all right. But she was exposed. He sank back against the wall.
Now what?
He had to get her out of here and on the road. Every second
increased the danger that he'd be spotted.
He thought about calling out to her, but if someone was
watching, her reaction would alert them.
And once they were alerted, it wouldn't take them long
to figure out that there was only one reason he'd be
spiriting Irina away from Castle Ranch—the one place on
earth she should be safe—in the middle of the night. And
right now he couldn't risk anyone knowing where he was
taking her. Not even his fellow BHSAR specialists.
Gritting his teeth, he waited, absently rubbing at the
bandage on his right forearm. The surgeon had done a great
job of stitching up his arm—thirty-two stitches— but the
deep slash itched and hurt like a sonofabitch, courtesy of
the weasel who'd called himself Frank James.
He'd like to have five minutes alone with James. Hell,
three minutes would be plenty. But that was impossible. The
dynamite he'd set off in a last-ditch effort to save
Mindy and their unborn son had taken care of James and Novus
Ordo's soldiers—permanently.
A rustle of silk pulled Deke's gaze to the French doors.
Irina's shadow stretched across the bedroom floor. She
was coming inside.
No matter what he did, his presence was going to scare her,
so he stood still and waited until she stepped inside and
closed the heavy drapes.
She headed toward the bed, reaching for the sash of the
shimmery red robe. Then she stopped, her palm pressed
against her midsection. She'd sensed him. Slowly, she
turned her head.
"Irina," he said softly. "Stay quiet."
Shock paralyzed Irina. She tried to suck in enough breath to
scream, but her throat seized. She coughed and gasped.
"It's Deke," the voice said.
Deke. She shuddered as relief whooshed through her,
followed by ringing alarm.
"Deke?" she said, her voice rising. "What's
wrong?"
"Be quiet. Okay?"
She nodded.
"I'm serious. Promise?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Is it Mindy? Or the
baby?"
He put two fingertips against her mouth. "They're
fine. Listen. I've got to get you out of here."
Fear tore through her like lightning. It had happened.
Danger had penetrated her home. She'd known it would one
day.
"I'll get dressed," she whispered.
Deke shook his head and grabbed her hand. "No. No
lights. No movement. I can't risk anyone knowing I was
here."
Nothing Deke said made sense. "But—"
"Irina, we've got to go now."
It didn't take Irina long to figure out where Deke was
taking her. The route was familiar. They were headed to a
hunting cabin Rook had acquired years ago. He'd managed
to keep the title and tax papers in the name of the original
owner and hadn't told anyone about it, except Deke and
Matt, his oath brothers.
He'd called it their getaway house. A place the two of
them could go where no one could find them if they
didn't want to be found.
She hadn't been there since he'd died. Their last
night there had been too painful to relive. Besides, why go
alone?
Irina folded her arms beneath the wool throw Deke had tossed
her way when he'd gotten into the SUV. She stared at the
road, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
Several times, she'd tried to engage him in
conversation, to no avail.
He acted as if he were too busy making sure they weren't
being followed. Rook's best friend had always treated
her with loving respect, but for whatever reason, tonight he
wasn't answering any questions.
So she clamped her mouth shut and snuggled deeper under the
throw. Her flimsy silk robe offered little protection
against the late April chill. She shuddered. Nothing short
of a direct and imminent threat would have made Deke ignore
her comfort or dignity. Fortunately, she had clothes at the
cabin.
Once they reached the hunting camp and Deke was satisfied
that she was safe, she'd unload on him. She didn't
get angry often—temper rarely helped any situation—but she
didn't like being bullied. Not even by the man who'd
appointed himself her protector after her husband's
death, and not even if it was supposedly for her own good.
Deke spoke only once during the hour's drive, and then
not even to her. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a
pre-programmed number. He listened for a few seconds.
"Dammit," he muttered. After another couple of
seconds, he hung up and glanced at the tiny screen, as if to
check the number he'd dialed. Then he shot her an
awkward glance and turned his attention back to his driving.
Irina bit her tongue to stop herself from asking who he was
trying to reach. He'd tell her when he felt like it.
The road ended a quarter mile from the camp, but Deke barely
slowed down. He circled around and drove up behind the
cabin, where he parked and shut off the engine of the large SUV.