Angi Morgan - Hill Country Holdup

She pulled the key from under Brandon’s Texas-shaped stone near the roses, meaning Steve’s brother had been the last one here. They each had a cement rock with their handprint and initials from when they were five.

Walking along the veranda-style porch, she wondered what it would have been like to have a loving family with traditions and roots. Her parents had done what they thought was best, protecting her from…well, everything. Yet exposing her to one university study after another and keeping her from a normal childhood.

To be normal was all she wanted for Rory. And now? One step at a time. Or one hurdle.

The door swung open without a squeak. Now breaking and entering could be added to her list of fugitive accomplishments.

Trembling from nerves more than the damp, she grabbed a towel from the shelf in the mudroom and buried her face in its softness. A good sleep was far beyond her reach without Rory in her arms. But she’d been up for days and craved to stretch out with a pillow under her head. Just for an hour or so.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Jane screamed, dropped the terry cloth, and looked up to see Steve. A very alive, strong, healthy Steve. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh at the intensity of his stare. She took a deep breath, calming her racing blood.

The T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest. He looked great. Too perfect for words. But she could come up with a few: absolute, excellent, flawless, hunk, masterful. Not to mention archaic, pig-headed and loner.

Steve’s brow wrinkled, and the tiny laugh lines around his eyes were emphasized. She’d been gaping at him, but couldn’t help another look down his long, lean torso and back up again to his lightly whiskered face. Another gaze at the last and only man she wanted to see.

But, dear God in heaven, she’d missed everything about him. The shape of his once-broken nose, his deep brown eyes, how his dark hair curled out from under his hat—even his boots. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but couldn’t. He’d made his choice four years ago. Having him hold her wouldn’t change that.

“You look surprised to see me.” He blocked the door leading into the rest of the house. He was dry and immaculate except for that little bit of stubble that drove her crazy. “Didn’t you leave me a note?”

Technically she’d left two. “I expected someone else.” She wasn’t up to verbally sparring with him. She wanted to warm up and dry off. Curl up and cry. Turn everything over to the FBI and be certain they’d find Rory.

“Yeah, well, that knockout juice left a heckuva hangover.” He rubbed his forehead while continuing. “But I managed to make a plane.”

“Just you? None of your team is here? Why wouldn’t they come? You never work alone.”

“I take orders from the FBI, or at least I think I do.” He rubbed his temples again. “They put me on medical leave after I was stuck with an unknown drug.”

“You were obviously injected with the antidote so you have nothing to worry about.” She needed to sit down. She pushed at his chest, attempting to get around him, but he held his ground, not budging from the mudroom.

“You know, for a genius you’re not making much sense. You left a note for me to follow, but you’re surprised to see me.” He shoved the dripping blond wig off her head, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on, Jane? If something’s wrong, why not just tell the authorities everything?”

“It was the only thing I could come up with. There wasn’t a way to write a note.” She didn’t dare look at him again. She kept her eyes focused on the scuff marks on his boots. She was just too shaky to think straight. “The picture was already in the book, so I decided to come here and hope.”

“Why tell the FBI where you were going at all? Kidnapping has serious consequences. Tell me where the boy is and where you stashed the money.”

“What are you talking about?” She’d kidnapped someone and had the money? “The kidnappers said they’d give him back if I did what they asked.”

His hands stilled and created two pools of warmth through her wet T-shirt.

She opened her mouth to ask about Rory but couldn’t. He let her go and turned away. But not before she’d seen the disappointment on his face. The same disappointment she experienced for not having enough courage to tell him about Rory.

Steve pulled his cell from his belt. “I’ve got to call McCaffrey and let him know I’m bringing you in.”

“I can’t go back to Dallas!”

“Oh, yes, you can. I don’t know how you got involved, but—”

She tried to take the cell from his hand. His grip was too firm so she kept her fingers wrapped around his. “Please, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”

“It’s a kidnapping.” He shook her hand from his, but didn’t dial the phone. “Every minute counts if we’re going to find the kid.”

“The kid? His name is Rory.” So he didn’t know. But why was he there? She couldn’t tell him about his son like this. She needed to think. Plan what and how. She hadn’t really slept in three days. Everything was getting jumbled in her head.

“Rory?” He wrinkled his brow. “You collected the ransom for Thomas Brant. The kid you and a couple of monsters abducted yesterday morning.”

Another kidnapping? A second little boy was missing? She stumbled against the washer and slowly slid to the floor.

Sweet mother of God, would she ever see her son again?

“Are you okay?” Steve’s first instinct was to kneel down and pull Jane into his arms, but he couldn’t. She was a fugitive.

Wanted for kidnapping.

And no longer his.

“I’m so stupid.” Her hands covered her face and she burst into tears. More than tears. Her body shook from the force. She rocked back and forth like a woman keening for a lost child.

This near hysterical person was not the woman he had known four years ago. Jane hadn’t shed a tear as they parted ways or at any point in their relationship.

“I’ll never see…him…again,” she hiccupped.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“My son, Rory. He’s gone. They took him. I can’t believe I… Oh, my God.”

When he couldn’t watch the stream of tears any longer, he knelt until she looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think I heard you right, Jane. You keep saying your son. The little boy that’s missing is Thomas Brant.”

“And Rory. They have Rory.”

“You’re saying they kidnapped two kids and one is yours?” He got back to his feet.

Her bottom lip trembled and her head dropped as she pulled her knees in close to her chest again.

Steve couldn’t have heard her correctly. He’d been up all night, drugged yesterday and his brain wasn’t working right. Were her words just the result of a drug-induced hallucination?

She had a son? Jane? His Jane?

Her dark auburn hair was plastered to her scalp, she was soaked to the skin, but she was still beautiful with those tear-filled eyes staring up at him. And very real.

Leaning on the doorjamb kept him upright, but he couldn’t think. He forced his hand to reach out. After a few seconds her shivering fingers wrapped around his and he pulled her to her bare, muddy feet. Then he moved, taking the short tiled hall in four steps with Jane following. He tossed his phone onto a chair, sinking onto its match. All his energy had been zapped right out of him when he heard those words.

She had a son.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He croaked the question past a very dry throat, wanting to head to his dad’s wet bar and the bottle of Jim Bean hidden from view. “When did you get married?”

That guy was lucky. Jane was smart, beautiful and crazy in bed. He couldn’t think of her like that. The hell he couldn’t. She’d been with him first. Her kid was missing on top of being involved with the Brant kidnapping. Pull yourself together, Woods. You made your choice four years ago.