Stranded With The Suspect

“I haven’t heard anything from him since he brought me here three days ago,” she said. “Why? Where is he? What have you done to him?”

“We haven’t done anything. We don’t know where he is.” Simon’s eyes met hers, black and hard as coal. “I was hoping you did.”

She shook her head and sank onto the sofa, fearful her legs would no longer support her. “What’s happened? Why are you looking for him?”

“We found your friend Starfall’s baby.”

“Hunter!” Fear clogged her throat. Her tentmate’s child had disappeared from camp two days before Metwater drove Andi to Denver. Starfall had accused the Prophet of taking her child, but Andi knew that couldn’t be true. “Is he okay? Where was he?”

“He’s fine. He was with a couple of guys named Smith. Two brothers. Sound familiar?”

She shook her head, relief flooding her. “Then you know Daniel didn’t take Hunter,” she said. “Why are you still looking for him when you know he’s innocent?”

“The Smith brothers told us Daniel Metwater paid them to take Starfall’s baby,” Simon said. “Metwater said he wanted to teach her a lesson.”

Andi shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Then why did he kidnap Starfall and try to kill her? He tried to kill Ethan Reynolds, the Ranger who was trying to help her, too.”

“You’re lying. The Prophet would never do anything like that. He promotes peace.”

Simon stood over her, his shadow falling across her face, his bulk making her feel even smaller. “Why are you defending him?” he demanded. “What has he done for you but take your money and sleep with other women?”

She cringed at the words. “He’s trying to teach me not to be possessive.” Wanting the Prophet of their people all to herself was her personal failing, one she struggled with.

“A truly good man wouldn’t treat you this way,” Simon said, his voice gentler. “He would cherish you and protect you, not lie to you and use you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His expression hardened. “Maybe not. But I know you’re in danger if you don’t get away from him.”

“Danger?” The word shocked her out of her despair. She sat up straighter. “What kind of danger?”

“Daniel Metwater is running for his life right now. Every law enforcement agency in the country is hunting for him,” Simon said. “He knows sooner or later we’re going to catch him. When we do, he doesn’t want you around to testify against him.”

“I would never testify against him,” she said, horrified at the idea.

“You’re not married to him. You can be compelled to tell what you know.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“I think you do,” Simon said. “You’re closer to Daniel Metwater than anyone. You may not realize the significance of the information, but it’s something big enough that he took care to hide you away here, under an assumed name.”

“If that’s true and he’s so terrible, why didn’t he just kill me?” she asked. “That’s apparently the kind of man you think he is.”

Simon’s expression didn’t change. “He has to keep you alive until your twenty-fifth birthday, when your trust comes under your control. If you die after that, the money all goes to Daniel Metwater—am I right?”

He was, though she had no intention of confirming this. “The Prophet would never harm me,” she said.

“I’ll bet Starfall thought the same thing, until he beat her and stole her baby.”

Andi pressed her hands against her belly, feeling the child shift inside her. “You need to leave,” she said.

“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I won’t be far away.” He headed toward the door. “I have a feeling Metwater is going to come back for you, and when he does, he’ll find me waiting.”

He left, closing the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, rage and fear and sickness swirling through her. Simon Woolridge was a horrible man. How could he make such terrible accusations against a man who spoke words of peace and caring? Daniel Metwater had saved her, and so many others.

Simon was a hard, abrasive cop who had no concern for her or her feelings.

But Daniel Metwater, despite all his goodness, had lied to her more than once. As far as she knew, Simon had never lied to her, even when telling the truth hurt.

Chapter Two (#u275ac6f8-0169-5a07-8448-3e990ece577f)

Simon prowled the hallway outside Andi’s room, immune to the appeal of well-upholstered chairs and elegant chandeliers. He viewed the hotel like a battleground, noting positions from which to mount an offensive, and the many places a fugitive might hide.

His conversation with Andi hadn’t gone as he had hoped. He had meant to come down hard on her, to insist that she come with him to a shelter or another place of safety. But one look at her beautiful, weary face had melted his resolve. Maybe it was better for her and her baby if she stayed here, where she would at least be comfortable. He would guard her and wait.

Metwater was going to come for her; Simon was sure of it. The man preached poverty and the simple life to his followers, but he had used the very people who depended on him to amass assets in excess of sixty-eight million dollars. And that was only the accounts Simon had managed to locate. There was probably more stashed elsewhere.

But he was a fugitive on the run now, his bank accounts frozen and unavailable to him. He would need money to leave the country, to run out of the reach of US law. Andi had money, and Metwater could be confident she would give it to him. All he had to do was get to her. A different type of man might have gotten by on wits and cunning alone, but Metwater was used to paying his way out of trouble.

He was the son of a man who had made a fortune manufacturing plastics in Chicago. He had a twin brother, David, who had reportedly embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars from the family business before Metwater Senior’s death. Without his dad to reign him in, David had really gone off the rails, racking up gambling debts, dabbling in the drug trade and getting in deep with the Russian mob. He had died under mysterious circumstances, supposedly killed by organized crime members he had tried to double-cross.

Meanwhile, Daniel kept on managing the family business, serving on the boards of various charities and cleaning up the mess his brother made. David’s death, he told the press, cut him deeply, to the point where he sold the family business and took to the road, preaching peace and poverty to a growing list of followers, who eventually followed him to the public lands of Colorado, where they set up camp in the Rangers’ jurisdiction.

The good twin and the bad twin. A classic cliché. Simon didn’t buy it. He figured Daniel had been every bit as corrupt as his twin, but managed to hide it better. Nobody was the saint the press made Daniel out to be.

Simon knew a few real saints—nuns who lived real vows of poverty and worked to save children in border-town slums, doctors who used their own money to fund clinics for the indigent, police officers who faced down corruption and paid the ultimate price when they were assassinated for refusing to look the other way.

But Simon was no saint. Working for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, he had sent widows and orphans back to uncertain futures and poverty because they had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of the border. He didn’t believe in mercy for those who broke the law, and he had little patience for whiners and weaklings.

And he knew there was a special place in hell for men like Daniel Metwater, who took advantage of the lost and lonely.

Beautiful Andi Matheson was a little of both. She had the kind of ethereal beauty that drew the eye. The first time Simon had seen the blonde there in Metwater’s camp, he had a hard time not staring. She had been born into privilege and by all accounts was a spoiled socialite who had never been denied anything—all reasons enough for him to dislike her, which he had been prepared to do.

Then he had looked into those sapphire eyes, and the hurt and fear in them had hit him like a sucker punch. Stripped of her beauty-queen gowns and protected privilege, he had seen her for the lost, struggling soul she was. From that moment on, Simon had appointed himself Andi’s guardian. Which is why he patrolled the hallways and public areas of the hotel, alert to anything that might signal danger.

He was torn between the desire to station himself outside Andi’s door, and the need to find and question the man who had spoken to her at the elevator. Simon sensed a threat from that man. If he could deal with the stranger, then he could focus on Metwater.

In the hotel bar, The Ship Tavern, he spotted a familiar blond head—the man who had approached Andi outside the elevators. He entered the bar and was immediately engulfed by a wave of noise—a dozen conversations rising over the blare of two TVs and the clink of glasses. The gleam of brass—brass railings, brass light fixtures, brass ornaments on the wall—caught and reflected back the light from old-fashioned ship’s lanterns and faceted chandeliers. Simon squeezed past a shapely brunette in a sequined cocktail gown. She smiled warmly and looked him up and down. “Hi, handsome,” she breathed.

He ignored her and continued on until he reached the bar, and eased in beside the blond man, who immediately turned to see who had joined him. Simon nodded in greeting. The blond returned the nod, and gave no indication that he recognized Simon. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Fat Tire,” Simon said. When the bartender had walked away, Simon turned once more to the blond. “I saw you talking to Andi Matheson earlier,” he said. He seldom wasted time with subtlety. In his experience, a direct confrontation was more likely to catch people off guard.

The blond tensed, one hand slipping inside his jacket. “Who are you?”

“Are you going to shoot me right here in this bar because I made a simple remark?” Simon kept his voice even as he turned to accept the beer from the bartender, who flicked a glance at the blond.