Hill Country Holdup. Angi Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ come here specifically to find this, just in case the reference to one of its characters in his “antidote note” hadn’t been a fluke. He flipped through the pages, finding a Valentine’s Day card with last year’s date and a “Love, Hayden.”

      Who was Hayden?

      Under the card was a picture of Jane and himself at his parents’ lake house. He flipped it over. Austin Lake Country where Steve assured me I wasn’t alone in the galaxy.

      She’d kept the book and his picture.

      Dr. Jane Palmer closely guarded a secret about herself. He’d given her his favorite book for her birthday present, then found out she had an amazing memory. She could recite chapters of books she’d read in college.

      Shoot, he couldn’t go down memory lane right now. But he could go exactly where Jane had pointed him. Lake Buchanan, near Austin.

      He pulled out his cell and had his thumb over the speed dial for George. It was more than a hunch now. Jane had deliberately left him a trail. She needed him.

      But why not call the FBI? Why not write on the antidote note that she was in trouble? Why “Zaphod”? Because he’d understand immediately, and no one else would.

      What if he were wrong? McCaffrey would have his head if he misdirected the team. He didn’t want to be permanently relieved of duty. Right?

      He brought up the directory and retrieved the number for Southwest Airlines. If he were lucky, he could catch the first plane to Austin and bring Jane in alone. It was the safest way to get her to turn herself in and sort out why she was working with kidnappers.

      What did he have to lose?

      NINE TEDIOUS HOURS and Jane was losing her patience. Driving to Lake Buchanan through heavy rains had been a nightmare. Unexpected flooding in south Texas shut down roads and delayed her by four hours.

      Her uncanny recall for details had set her apart for as long as she could remember. But an eidetic memory didn’t help in storms that obliterated the road signs or detours due to flooding.

      How she’d wished for her ability to go away so she could be like normal little girls. A normal life full of dolls, playtime and friends. Full of stability instead of university studies. That “special” part of her everyone admired had contributed to her exploitation by her parents, losing her dream job and now the kidnapping of her son.

      The formula stored in her unique memory had drawn criminal attention to her. Guess she didn’t blend in well enough after all. If she had, Rory would be safe at home instead of in the hands of coldhearted kidnappers.

      Thunder echoed across the landscape, jolting her back to the driving rain beating against the windshield. It had started storming south of Stephenville and never let up. Kingsland had received its share, too. Although it was nearly seven in the morning, the sky remained shrouded in darkness as the rain continued to pour.

      She drove past two barricades on the last turn and parked the car in a drive leading to an unused field. The ground was normally a mixture of small pebbles and dirt, but was now mainly water and mud. A couple of steps from the car and she slid to the ground, losing the flip-flops in the dark. She walked the last quarter mile to the lake house, falling time and again.

      Her luck had to change. If the FBI understood her message, she could wait for their help here, away from the kidnappers’ view.

      If they didn’t show, she’d get a message to them. Somehow. But she was too exhausted to think after driving all night. And if Steve decided to come, what then? She’d thought about how to break the news to him. He deserved to know. But how did you tell a man he was a father and that his son had been kidnapped in the same sentence?

      I can’t think anymore. She finally sloshed up the muddy walkway thankful the heavy rains had placed the lake country in a flash-flood warning. There weren’t any cars along the road or in the driveway. No lights on in the house. Hopefully, the family was still at the ranch.

      Amanda Woods, Steve’s mother, usually hid a key so her kids could use their weekend retreat at a moment’s notice. Jane hoped it would be that way now, or she’d spend a horrible wet day in the boathouse. She hooked the soggy strands from the wig behind her ears, wearing it just in case someone saw her or if she was stopped.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ