He picked up his half-eaten plate.

  “I’ll head out then. Be back as soon as we can.”

  Izzy murmured for him to be safe.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

  “I have two patients. I’ll be here, in my office.”

  Alec tapped his finger of his free hand to her nose. “No heroics, Iz. Martin’s dangerous.”

  She shivered as she grabbed his finger, holding it in a tight grasp. “I know, and I’d rather the police caught him.” She hesitated for a moment before she leaned in and dropped a soft, quick kiss to his lips.

  Alec surveyed the fewer remaining veterans, but no one was paying Izzy and him attention. Much as he wanted to gather her up for a longer kiss, he managed to stop himself.

  “You always were sharp,” Alec said as he stood.

  No matter what else happened, he had to protect the woman he loved.

  Isobel

  * * *

  Isobel had awakened with the beginnings of a tension headache. Her conversation with Portia did not make the throbbing improve.

  “I can’t, Portia,” Isobel said, her head pounding, as fear overwhelmed her. She couldn’t shake the pinned-bug feeling when he’d last stared at her, calling her vile names. “Not with Martin out there.”

  Portia’s face scrunched tight and she balled her fists. “But you promised!” Portia’s eyes filled with tears and she darted away. When Isobel stood to follow, Catarina grabbed her wrist in a gentle hold.

  “Give her a bit to calm down,” Catarina said. Worry made her mouth screw up tight.

  Isobel rubbed her temples. “I know she’s been looking forward to our ride all week.”

  “More like a month,” Catarina said. “But safety comes first.”

  Isobel sighed in acceptance before she trudged toward her office. She downed an ibuprofen pill with the last of her coffee and opened her file folder for her first patient of the day.

  Three hours later, Isobel closed her office door. The main house remained quiet. Most of the men had requested patrol assignments on the ranch’s perimeter. When Isobel mentioned her worry, from a psychological standpoint, about regression and PTSD triggers, Steve said, “They trained for protective assignments, Iz. It’s what they know—what they’re good at.”

  “But—”

  He cut her off, something Steve never did. “If I tell them they can’t go, then I take away their autonomy. I tell them I don’t think they’re well enough.”

  Steve’s response continued to turn over in Isobel’s mind as she walked outside. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want her veterans out there, risking their health. Her father’s truck wasn’t in its usual place, meaning he and Alec were still out. She wanted Alec to hold her, no longer caring who knew they were in a relationship.

  Unable to go sit in the mess hall, she hiked over to the barn.

  It was dark and quiet in the space. Isobel sighed in relief. Her headache had abated but not disappeared, and the silence was welcome after the morning stress.

  Isobel walked down the length of the barn, surprised to see that only two horses remained in their stalls. Something about that nagged Isobel. She slowed, trying to tease out the worry that gripped her shoulders and neck.

  The door squeaked open and her mother stuck her dark head in the door.

  “Portia?” Catarina called.

  “I haven’t seen her since this morning,” Isobel said.

  Catarina sagged against the door. “She’s missing,” she stammered.

  “Missing?” Isobel demanded.

  Catarina turned, eyes widening. “I…she said she was going to talk to you…”

  Isobel bit her lip to keep the panic inside. “When was that?”

  Her mother choked back a sob. “About thirty minutes ago. She…she was supposed to tell you I’d set up a small l-l-lunch in the kitchen.”

  “I never saw her.” Fear licked its way up Isobel’s stomach, clutching at her throat, making the words stick there. “I had a patient.”

  Catarina shook her head, her eyes fracturing with fear. “Moy thee. She wouldn’t go on the trail alone, would she?”

  20

  Alec

  Cynthia was at the coffee shop when Alec strode in. He walked to her chair and wrapped her in a tight hug.

  She patted his back, sniffling. She drew back and cupped his cheeks. “You look so much better. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Alec, aware of the stares they were garnering, helped her back into her seat and took the one across. Yes, his mother had him quite young and still looked damn good for her age, but Alec understood that wasn’t the reason for the comments and mutters. The Petras family was known here and well-liked. Adrian informed Alec on the ride into town that word of his and Isobel’s relationship had spread like wildfire through the ranch and into the community.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Alec said loud enough to get the closest onlookers to turn away. “I’m happy,” he said in a softer tone. He hesitated before he asked. “How’s everything at home?”

  Cynthia shrugged. “Your father’s black eyes are healing. His pride is taking longer,” she said drily. She plucked a thick manila envelope from her blood-red tote that matched her heels, earrings and lipstick. Alec frowned. His mother never wore lipstick, let alone something as bold as the color staining her lips now.

  With her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back and the snug jeans encasing her legs, Alec had to admit his mother barely looked older than he did. No wonder people grumbled at her enthusiastic greeting.

  “Everything I could find on Martin Keening.”

  Alec took the envelope and opened it, letting the papers spill onto the checkered tablecloth. Alec picked up an article in his left hand and a certificate in his right.

  “Fifteen years, let out after six for good behavior.” Alec raised his head. “He’s a convict?” Alec rubbed a hand down his face. “I still don’t get how the hell did he get through the application process.”

  Cynthia nodded, chewing her lip so that red lipstick coated her front tooth. “I told you. Your father falsified documents, including Martin’s last name. And Martin is a violent and dangerous man. He’s been on your father’s payroll as something of a…” She frowned like she was searching for the word.

  “An enforcer,” Alec murmured.

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes!” The light slithered from her eyes. “I read some of the oldest reports on him, Alec. He’s…dangerous to women.”

  Alec swallowed with difficulty. “More than assault?” he whispered.

  His mother nodded. “When you mentioned his name, I remembered the case, remembered the fight your father and I had about Martin working for him when he was paroled. Your sister was so young…”

  Alec inhaled through his nose. “Why would he do this?”

  * * *

  Cynthia picked up her coffee mug with shaking hands. “Your father craves power, Alec. Some men enjoy food or…” Her cheeks bloomed with color. “Sex or money,” she rushed out. “But your father...to him, nothing is more important than winning, being in control of others.”

  “Including you?”

  She smiled at him, but it never reached her eyes. “Most definitely me. I think that’s due to his failed relationship with Laurel. He loves to be in charge of my day just as he wants to control you and your siblings.”

  Alec leaned back in his chair, straightening his legs as he considered his mother’s comments. “I wish you’d told me then,” he said. “I want you safe and happy. All of you.”

  For the first time in her life, Cynthia didn’t seem to care or was unaware that her mascara was smeared. “You were too young. And you’re my child. It’s always been my job to protect you.”

  “No, Mom,” Alec said. He leaned in and wiped away the black tear streaks running down her cheek with a tissue. Then he sat back and squared his shoulders. “Nope. I’m a man, responsible for my actions and reactions. Dad isn’t…” Alec huffed. “Are you happy with him?”

  Cynthia grabbed the mascara-laden, damp tissue. “I’m a homemaker, Alec. I don’t know how to be more than a wife and mother. I wasn’t taught. That’s not to say I can’t, that I won’t learn, but that’s all I was brought up to want or need or prepare for. And, well, I do love Luke.” She smiled but it was tremulous. “Not his actions toward you or the Petrases. But…I’ve lived with him for over thirty years, Alec. He’s my life.”

  Alec’s heart ached for his mother, but he saw her in the proper light: she was a woman of her culture. Not weak, no, but not yet strong enough to break the cycle. Maybe that would come and maybe it wouldn’t, but Alec would still love his mother for all the happy memories she helped him create and for having the courage to stand up for him, for his siblings, when she needed to.

  Cynthia patted Alec’s hand. “Don’t worry about me. I have some ideas.”

  Alec frowned. He leaned in. “If it’s money—”

  “Cynthia,” Adrian Petras said, beaming. He leaned in and kissed both her cheeks. “It has been so long. Catarina would like you to have coffee. Soon, eh?”

  His mother beamed back at Mr. Petras. “Oh, that’s kind of her. I’d like that.” She leaned in and said in a soft undertone, “And thanks for coming over, I think people thought I was hitting on my own son.”

  Alec chuckled as he stretched out his legs.

  Cynthia continued to speak with Mr. Petras about coffee. She patted his hand. “Yours is so much better than what I’m drinking now,” she said, distaste twisting her mouth. A small gleam entered her eye, but before Alec could ask her about it, she lifted her phone from her bag, maybe to glance at the time. Or to see if Luke was checking in on her.

  “I have to go,” Cynthia said to them. Then she stood. Alec got up, too. She hugged him, hard. “I’m glad we talked,” she mumbled against his neck. “And I’m very, very glad you and Isobel are able to give a relationship a chance.” Cynthia kissed Alec’s cheek. Her soft perfume enveloped him for a moment. “She’s always been good for you.”

  “Adrian, would you mind walking me to my car?”

  “Not in the least.” Adrian smiled at Alec’s mom, much as one would a convalescent or a fragile child. The ache around Alec’s heart intensified as Mr. Petras motioned Cynthia forward and walked with her from the small coffee shop. Alec sat back in his chair, drained.

  After he read the materials on Martin and shoved them back into the manila envelope, Alec ordered another coffee. He needed a shot of something to get him through the rest of the day. He just put away his wallet when Boone slammed open the door. Boone tore up to Alec, his chest heaving.

  “Hurry up! We gotta find ‘em.”

  Alec’s own heart rate shot up with the bang of the door, which reminded him too much of gunshots. But Boone’s pale skin and blazing eyes made the fear ratchet up higher.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. He glanced apologetically at the cashier, a bored teen, who shrugged. Alec tucked the envelope under his arm and grabbed his coffee the young man handed him. He and Boone hustled out the door.

  “Portia’s missing. Got the call a few minutes ago.”

  “Who called? Wait. Your phone works here?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not important right now. Miss Isobel called me,” Boone said. Alec’s heart clenched and his lungs spasmed. He had to lean against the side of the building to catch his breath.

  “Shit,” he mumbled.

  Adrian’s pickup tore out of the nearby lot, his phone settled between his ear and shoulder, not noticing Alec and the rest of the soldiers stepping out on the sidewalk nearby. Adrian climbed in and gunned the engine, accelerating quickly out of the lot.

  Alec cursed again and Boone nodded, punctuating Alec’s assessment of the situation, no doubt.

  “There goes my ride,” Alec said.

  “Miss Isobel said to have you call her.”

  That’s right—Alec hadn’t brought his cell phone. It didn’t work out here and he hadn’t had a chance to change over service to the one carrier that was semi-reliable. It had been on his to-do list—after he met up with his mother.

  “By now, I’m guessing Isobel’s on a horse, looking for her sister,” Boone muttered.

  What the hell? Isobel going after Portia?

  “Start at the beginning,” Alec said, trying to remain calm.

  “No goddamn time. Get your ass in gear. We’re going up in the helo soon as we can get to the tarmac.”

  Alec’s coffee slipped from his fingers, landing on the ground with a faint thud and a splash of hot, dark liquid.

  “What?”

  “The helo.”

  He tried to calm down, tried not to think of the last time he’d sat in the cockpit, as smoke filled the cabin and he struggled to maintain control. He hadn’t been able to and the chopper slammed into the hardpacked Afghan dirt. Alec flinched.

  “What kind is it?” he asked, trying to jerk himself out of the memory. He’d flown a TH-67 for the army.

  “I don’t know. Look, we need you to fly it over the property. Steve’s gonna get it sanctioned with the sheriff’s department.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve trained to fly the aircraft—”

  Boone turned toward him and pushed his nose right up to Alec’s. “There’s no one else. None of us have the ability and the normal pilot up and quit last week. They’d have to get someone in from a nearby base and that’ll take time. You’re better, from what I’ve heard, and already here.”

  “It depends on the model—”

  “Can’t get a pilot up here for three hours at best. Who knows what’ll happen by then,” Boone said.

  Alec ran his hand over his hair, shocked by how long it was. Not that his hair mattered. No, Isobel and Portia were in danger. Isobel was in danger.

  “I’ll check it out, but call in backup,” Alec said. His protocol kicked in, and he continued, “We need a pilot with flight hours on this chopper.”

  He breathed deep through his nose as the shots and screams from those many months ago buffeted the edges of Alec’s consciousness. He forced them back with difficulty.

  “Come on.” Boone led him to an old ranch truck. Once they were settled in the cab, Boone said, “We think Portia’s going up to the ridge. That’s where Miss Isobel planned to take her on their ride. Where Portia went alone. Problem is, Martin’s escaped and that’s the best place to hide out in a three-hundred-square-mile radius.”

  Boone gave Alec a significant look. “It’s remote. Hard to get to. Can’t take a truck or Jeep. That’s why Steve is working to get you access to the chopper.”

  Boone sucked in a breath as he steer the truck toward the small airport on the other side of town. “That’s what Adrian heard on his phone, no doubt, and he’s gotta be worried out of his mind about both his daughters. He can’t get up there in that rig, so we’re going to go save them.”

  Alec swallowed hard, clasping his hands between his spread knees. Flying a helo. He’d never planned to go up again. But he couldn’t leave a fifteen-year-old girl out there alone. And he sure as shit wouldn’t leave Portia at the potential mercy of man not known for any compassion.

  And Izzy… He knew deep down she’d already saddled up a horse, ready to find and fight for her sister. Alec shivered as a chill of possibility—Isobel hurt, injured, scared—floated through his mind. Alec clutched the manila envelope to his chest.

  “He’s worse than we thought. Martin,” Alec clarified. “I don’t get why Steve took him on. He’s not military.”

  Boone pursed his lips but chose not to answer.

  “We found that out after he was here,” Boone said. “And by we, I mean Jamie and I called around to people we knew who were in his regiment. Except he wasn’t enlisted.”

  “Why didn’t Steve kick him off the property once he realized?” Alec asked, the frustration in his chest ready to explode.

  “You’ve met Steve,” Boone said. “The guy’s all about second chances.”

  Alec would usually consider that a good trait, but because of Steve’s choice to keep Martin at the Bar V, Izzy was in danger. And Portia. Crap. How was he going to bring them both down safely? His hands shook even though they were locked together.

  “Any word from Steve?” Alec asked after a lengthy pause. His leg bounced as he worried over scenarios. At least it kept his mind off climbing into a cockpit.

  “No. Steve said he was going up on horseback once he’d talked to the sheriff. That was about twenty minutes ago. He’s radio silent.”

  Bad news.

  “Jamie?”

  Boone shook his head, his eyes bleak.

  Alec slammed his clammy palms on his thighs, hoping they weren’t too late. The muscles in his arms danced and quaked. God, he hoped he had more courage than he suspected he did.

  21

  Isobel

  Isobel looked around the stable, the throbbing in her head intensifying with each of her mother’s soft sobs. After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a walkie-talkie from its charging location and clipped it to her hip.

  She hurried over to her favorite saddle, glad it was still here, and snatched up a blanket. After shaking it out and feeling the rough wool over for burrs, Isobel entered Chico’s stall. Chico was a large roan gelding who stood over seventeen hands high. While normally easy-going and hardworking like most of the horses, Chico’s grandmother was full-blooded Arabian and his father was a Clydesdale. The large body held both power, and Isobel hoped, speed.

  “Get me a shotgun and a pistol,” she said to her mom.

  “Isobel, honey, I’m not sure that’s smart. Your father’s on his way back…”

  “And he can’t ride like I can.” She placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders and squeezed. “Please, Mom. Grab them. And extra bullets.”

 

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