Robin Perini - San Antonio Secret

“Just make sure she’s okay. She’s not herself these days, Rafe. She can’t sleep. She’s got circles under her eyes. I don’t want to lose my sister. You and I both know how the nightmares can take over your life.”

Yeah, Rafe knew. He’d had his fair share. He also had up-close-and-personal experience with Sierra’s demons. Her bad dreams had led to the best—and one of the worst—night of his life.

Spending time in Sierra’s arms had made him want more. That’s when he’d known he’d fallen way too deep. She’d ripped a hole in the Kevlar protecting his heart. She’d made him want forever. Except Rafe had learned all too well that love destroyed. He didn’t matter, but he couldn’t bear to hurt her more than he already had. So he’d walked away—for her sake—and instead had taken to watching her from afar. To make certain she was always safe.

She’d nearly caught him more than once, and he’d begged Ransom for another assignment. Something that would get her out of his constant thoughts. He’d believed he’d wanted distance, but he never should’ve ended his surveillance. If he hadn’t, he’d know exactly where to find her. “Did you check the buses and airlines?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I’ll call when I find her.” Rafe stuffed his 1911, a Bowie and his P-11 with its ankle holster in his bag, along with ammunition, a secure satellite phone and some of Noah’s more interesting tracking devices.

Now all Rafe had to do was find her.

He tapped a few keystrokes into one device and started the search. He had a bad feeling. He didn’t know if his gut was warning him of trouble or if he simply dreaded seeing Sierra again. Once he found her, could he resist her? Could he walk away again...and did he even want to try?

* * *

ILLUMINATED SIGNS DOWN the San Antonio street kept the road brightly lit even though night had fallen. The 18-wheeler’s engine rumbled in idle. Sierra clutched the door handle and shoved it open.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said, easing out of the truck.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” the driver asked.

When her foot hit the ground, a shot of pain pierced her thigh. She couldn’t stop the wince.

“I’m fine.” And doing a lot better than Mallory and Chloe. First she had to take care of her leg. She’d be no good finding them if she passed out and ended up in the ER. Gunshot wounds at the hospital meant cops. Cops meant trouble.

She forced a smile and turned to look up at the man who’d saved her life when he’d stopped. She dragged the bag containing her laptop, extra money and credit card from the seat. She’d stashed it in the trunk when she and Mallory had left to pick up Chloe. Even though the car keys had vanished sometime during the abduction, luckily Sierra had been able to pop the trunk release just inside the driver’s side door and retrieve her belongings. “Thanks again.”

The diesel revved before the truck’s horn blared and the vehicle rumbled down the road. Sierra walked away from the motel, limped down several long blocks and hurried as best she could across four lanes of traffic. If anyone asked the trucker about her, they wouldn’t locate her easily.

After a quick stop at a convenience store for bandages, a burner phone and a few other supplies, she trudged another mile before locating the perfect, most nondescript motor inn on the street.

The place reminded her of another motel, another time. Another place.

She’d learned a lot from Rafe Vargas that week. Most lessons she preferred to forget. But how to disappear in plain sight, that was a skill she would find useful tonight.

Ready to collapse, she pushed through the motel’s office door, causing a dangling bell to chime. Within a few minutes, Sierra had laid down the last of her cash in exchange for a key. Once she’d locked herself inside the room, she sagged against the door.

She dumped the medical supplies on the rickety table and unbuttoned her jeans. She slipped them over her hips. The material stuck against her thigh. She hissed and froze. The blood had dried.

Closing her eyes, she slowly, gingerly tugged the denim away from her wound.

A sharp burn sliced up and down her leg. She whimpered. Maybe she should just rip it off, like a stuck bandage.

“One, two, three—”

A quick tug and the pants dropped to the floor. Sierra’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor, biting down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

That hurt. Bad.

Her thigh throbbed, blood dripped from the reopened wound. For a moment she simply sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. When the spots stopped spinning in front of her eyes, she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom.

Propping herself against the wall, Sierra irrigated the wound with hot water, picking out denim fibers and dirt, stopping every so often to lean her head against the wall and suck in several deep breaths before starting again.

A pounding knock sounded at the door.

Sierra limped to the table, wishing the kidnappers hadn’t taken her gun, and grabbed the scissors she’d purchased. As fast as she could, she crossed the room and slipped behind the door, knuckles white, her teeth biting into her lip.

“Mrs. Jones?”

The motel manager’s voice called through the door. He knocked again.

She said nothing. Surely he’d go away.

Her thigh throbbed in time with her pulse. She could hear every breath. She waited. After a minute or two, her muscles relaxed.

Urgent whispers filtered through the door, but she couldn’t make out the words. The doorknob jiggled. Metal on metal scraped. Damn. No one knew she was here. Had the men who kidnapped Mallory and Chloe found her?

Sierra skirted into the bathroom, gripping the scissors even tighter. If someone came in, she wanted a good look at him before she attacked.

“Mrs. Jones?”

Silent, Sierra peeked between the crack of the bathroom door just below the hinge. She made out the manager’s stout figure first.

The man frowned at the towels and trash scattered around the room. “She’s not here,” he said. “You’ll have to come back.”

The door creaked. “I’m her husband.”

She clutched the doorknob with a death hold. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, the deep rumble, the smooth velvet baritone, but she couldn’t believe those three words had escaped his lips.

“Rafe?” Sierra nearly rushed into the room before she stopped herself. Parading around in her underwear wasn’t an option. She peeked around the door.

“Hi, honey,” Rafe said, his expression grim, his voice soft and deadly. “I’m home.”

Before Sierra could contemplate how he’d found her, Rafe shunted the manager out of the room with an excuse, grabbed a bloodstained towel from the floor and wrenched open the bathroom door. He shoved the cloth at her. “What the hell is this?”

She snapped a clean bath towel from a rod and wrapped it around her waist to hide her high-cut panties and naked legs. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a bullet graze,” he said, ignoring the question. He tugged the terry cloth back to reveal her injury, and before she could say a word, swept her into his arms. Gently, carefully he laid her on the small bed.

He straightened and tossed his Stetson on the chair beside the table.

With his six feet four inches of pure muscle and outlawesque eye patch, he looked like a hero who’d walked straight out of a romance novel. He’d certainly featured in more than one of her own fantasies. At least until the morning after one very passionate night. She’d dropped her guard, flayed open her heart and he’d stomped all over it.

“I don’t need the help. I’ve got the situation under control.” She propped herself up on her elbows and tried to shift to the other side of the bed.