Cowboy's Secret Son. Robin Perini

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СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t the only person whose life could change forever.

      A bell’s ring announced another patron. Courtney glanced up and her stomach flopped. The man’s military haircut screamed his thirty-year Marine career. She’d hired him because he didn’t frequent her family’s social circles. No one would think Courtney, Edward Jamison’s high-society daughter, would hire a private investigator who didn’t boast a Fifth Avenue pedigree.

      That fact alone made Joe Botelli precisely who she needed.

      He gave her a quick nod and crossed the room toward her. “Ms. Jamison.” He placed the folder between them and slid it across the table. “I found him. You were right. He stayed at the Waldorf that night.”

      She closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself for the rest. “Tell me.”

      The PI flipped open his notebook. “The highlights?”

      She nodded. She could read the rest later, in the quiet of her penthouse, where she didn’t have to maintain such rigid control on her emotions.

      “Jared King, thirty-two years old. Until about three years ago, desperate to keep his family’s Texas ranch in the black by training rodeo horses and raising stock.”

      Jared. She rolled his first name around a few times, attaching it to the all-too-sensual dreams that invaded her sleep much too often. The moniker suited him. From what she’d seen on television, his apparent career was anything but expected.

      “Jared King.” She tested it aloud for the first time. “So he really is a cowboy?” Courtney sagged in her chair, her body going limp with disbelief. That’s one she wouldn’t have guessed until she’d seen his image a week ago. And definitely not based on the Armani suit he’d worn all too perfectly that weekend at the Waldorf Astoria. The Stetson, flannel shirt and well-worn jeans had been her one holdout of hope that she’d been wrong.

      “Yes and no. He lives on a ranch that’s been in his family for generations. It’s on the outskirts of a small town called Carder in the southwestern part of Texas.” Joe Botelli shifted in his seat. “Several years ago oil was discovered on his property. He went from scraping by to being one of the wealthiest men in Texas. The money didn’t change his lifestyle much from what I can tell. He still spends most of his time working the cattle ranch and supplying stock to rodeos.”

      She could hardly wrap her brain around his words. Cattle, rodeo? The closest she’d ever been to either was flipping through channels on late night television and landing on an old 1940s Roy Rogers movie.

      “Is...is he married?” she asked, trying not to reveal her nerves—or her fear. After her mother had died, she’d learned never to expose her thoughts or emotions, to maintain control and dignity at all times. Hopefully the skill would keep Botelli with the discerning gaze from realizing her true vulnerability. She’d taken a huge risk asking a stranger to investigate Jared King. Right now she had to wonder what she’d opened in the proverbial Pandora’s box.

      “Widower.”

      Jared had lost his wife. Her heart quivered in sympathy—and foreboding. What if he wanted...? She couldn’t let her mind go there.

      The PI leaned back in his chair as if he couldn’t care less about her or the devastation his information had caused. “Do you want me to continue digging?”

      Courtney gripped the folder in her hand as if her future depended on its content.

      In truth, it did. Every fact she digested from the dossier would make Jared King more real. More dangerous. But she couldn’t fall apart here. “His address is inside?” she asked.

      At the man’s nod, Courtney opened her three-year-old Prada purse and slid an envelope of cash across the table. No need to create a record of this transaction. She didn’t plan on seeing the private investigator again. She’d shred his card when she arrived home. “Thank you.”

      The PI’s brow arched, but he pocketed the money and stood. “If you need anything else—”

      “I won’t.”

      At her terse response, he gave a sharp nod, rose from the table and exited the coffee shop. Courtney barely noticed him leaving. She couldn’t stop staring at the folder. For so long she’d dreaded—and wished for—this day.

      Her phone dinged. A text came through.

      Come home. Trouble.

      The oddly curt message from her housekeeper closed her throat. Courtney clasped her neck. She couldn’t breathe. The barista called out her order, but Courtney ignored the announcement. She had to get home. Without a backward glance, she raced out of the coffeehouse and flagged a taxi.

      Panicked, she dialed home.

      No answer.

      Without a second thought she called her assistant to inform her she wouldn’t be returning to the museum.

      The cab swerved through traffic. Courtney took in a slow, deep breath. Perhaps she was overreacting. Since recognizing Jared, she’d been a rigid ball of nerves.

      Despite logic trying to convince her everything was fine, her heart raced, slamming against her chest. She fought through the dread and clutched the door handle.

      Luckily traffic was lighter than normal. The moment the taxi stopped in front of her building, she threw a hundred-dollar bill at the surprised cabby and jumped out.

      “Good day, Ms. Jamison,” the doorman commented, holding the heavy glass open for her.

      Unlike normal, she couldn’t muster a smile or chitchat. Ignoring Reggie’s furrowed brow of concern, she hit the button for the elevator.

      She slipped the key card into the penthouse lock, but the familiar click didn’t sound. The door silently eased open.

      “Marilyn?” she called. “What’s wrong?”

      Courtney skidded to a halt. Her sitter lay on the living room floor, eyes staring unblinking and lifeless at the ceiling. Blood pooled around her head, seeping into her gray hair.

      She dropped to her knees, her finger slipping through the blood when she searched for a pulse.

      Nothing.

      Only a split second passed before the shock leached into Courtney’s throat. “Dylan!” Courtney tore through the living area, searching frantically. Where was her son? She grabbed the fireplace poker and gripped it tight before racing into her baby’s bedroom.

      She froze.

      The crib had been overturned, the chest of drawers upended, clothes strewn across the floor.

      Courtney whirled around. Her gaze landed on the closet door. Her stomach rolled and bile rose in her throat. Was the murderer still there? Did he have her baby?

      She picked her way through the chaos, clutching her makeshift weapon with both hands. She reached out, barely able to breathe.

      Terrified of what she’d see, unable to stop the horrifying images flying through her mind, she yanked open the door and flipped on the light.

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