Camouflage Cowboy

A wave of concern washed over him. He shrugged it off as he reached out to take her hand.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you, Grace.” Their palms touched and he closed his fingers around hers. Her grip was firm, her hand delicate but strong. An instant surge of protectiveness consumed him. He released her hand and stepped back. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Grace eased herself into a chair at the massive table, thankful that her legs hadn’t collapsed from underneath her the moment she entered the room. Every wall she’d erected to protect herself and Caleb was being compromised by her own hand at this moment, but she had no choice. She couldn’t let her son die because she was afraid to reach out when she needed help, and Nick Cavanaugh was the first man she’d met in Freedom who gave her a sense of hope.

He sat down at the table across from her. She was grateful for the distance that separated her from the handsome man who now studied her with eyes that seemed to calculate every aspect of her. It didn’t help, either, that she could smell the lingering scent of his clean aftershave in the room.

“I don’t normally do things like this, but as I told you in the hospital parking lot, my son, Caleb, needs a bone-marrow transplant. I’m desperate to find a donor, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

Leaning forward, he put his arms on the table and said, “Please, call me Nick.”

She nodded, trying to force down a lump that formed in her throat. She tried not to stare at him, at the hunger in his clear blue eyes, or the strength in his powerful body. He made her feel safe simply by being close to her.

“He won’t make it to his fifth birthday if he doesn’t receive a transplant soon. He has an added complication—he’s AB negative.”

“So his blood type isn’t easily matched?”

“Yes. It’s not impossible to find a matching donor, but it’s not that simple. Their HLA, or human leukocyte antigens, need to match on lots of points, as well, or his body will reject the stem cells, but the odds of it happening before…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t deal with the prospect of living without her little boy. “I was given up for adoption as an infant. And even though I’m not a donor match for Caleb, my birth mother could be. There’s a high probability that she has the same rare blood type as him, and their HLA profile will match up. I managed to trace her to Freedom two years ago. She could save his life. That is, if I can find her.”

She watched his facial features soften for the first time since she’d entered the room. One unguarded moment from the man of steel sitting across from her was better than none at all.

“The only problem is, I don’t know who she is. That’s what I need you to find out for me.” Grace dug into her purse where she’d placed it in her lap. “I have a redacted copy of the adoption paperwork signed by the judge. That’s how I traced her to Freedom. But other than a Jane Doe of a designated age, I don’t have much else.” She pulled out the copy and slid it across the table toward him. “I can pay you a small retainer.”

Nick’s gut cinched in a knot he wasn’t sure he’d ever get untied. He should have seen this coming, known how to react, like a soldier on a mission. Duty. But he was sitting across the table from a woman with a dying child. It didn’t get more real than that. Had his years on the battlefield turned him into a heartless monster?

“Please help me find her.” The plea in her voice cut like a knife.

Slowly he nodded, unsure whether voluntarily or involuntarily; he only knew it felt good in his soul to take up on the side of honor. “I’ll see what I can come up with.” He picked up the adoption paperwork and flipped it over. “Where can I contact you?”

A shallow smile pulled at her mouth and he found his thoughts wandering to her lips for an instant.

She rattled off her cell number. “I work at Cradles to Crayons most mornings, so you could leave me a message there, and starting next Monday, I’ll be working a couple nights a week at Talk of the Town Café if you’d like to speak to me in person.”

Nick wrote down her number, new information to him, but he already knew her work schedule at the preschool.

“You’re going to go to work for Faith Scott?”

“Yes.” Grace put her purse on the table, pushed back her chair and stood up. “I don’t know how to thank you enough, Nick.”

Staring across at her, he could see the relief in her eyes.

“Just tell Caleb to hang in there, would you?”

“I will.” She picked up her purse and without a backward glance, opened the door and left the conference room.

Dammit. What had he done? He rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes. This was one ambush he’d willfully landed himself in. Just like the firefight his bogus intel had drawn his buddies into in Iraq. There were lives at stake.

Frustration ignited a powder keg of guilt inside of him. He had to get it right this time.

Caleb Marshall’s life now rested in his hands.

NICK TRIED TO GET COMFORTABLE in one of the oversize leather wingback chairs clustered in the long gallery leading to Governor Lila Lockhart’s office, but it was useless. His body was simply reacting to the agitated state of his thoughts.

Succumbing to frustration, he stood up and took to pacing back and forth as he fingered the DNA analysis report in his hand.

The firm sound of his boot soles on the gleaming white marble floor echoed throughout the gallery, but he didn’t stop.

He’d gotten himself involved in a conflict of interest that had the potential to blow up in his face, but he brought the image of little Caleb Marshall into his mind’s eye and felt his nerves relax.

The little guy deserved a fighting chance, and if this meeting with the governor afforded Caleb that, then he would take whatever fallout it generated around his position at CSaI.

Glancing up he spotted Parker McKenna as he stepped through the double doors at the end of the corridor and strode toward him with a frown on his face.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, buddy, but the shooting attempt still has Lila rattled, and we picked up some movement around the perimeter of the grounds late last night on the security cameras. I put the place in lock-down while Matteo and Harlan checked it out.”

“Not a problem.” He fell in step next to Parker as he turned and headed back toward the governor’s office doors. “Did you find anything in your sweep?”

“A couple of boot tracks in the mud on the northeast corner of the grounds. No one trespassed beyond that point. We cast them for analysis. Matt is taking apart the surveillance video frame by frame, hoping to get a possible ID on the intruder.”

“Could be whoever it was, was testing your preparedness, checking to see if you’ve beefed up the protection around Governor Lockhart. Could be they’re scouting for weaknesses in your defenses so they can make another attempt.”

Parker stopped outside the doors. “Thanks for your input, Nick. I certainly wish you were involved in this investigation, but I understand you’re working on something else for the governor.”

“Let me know if I can help with reconnaissance if you get a usable image off the video footage.”

“I will.” Parker reached down and turned the knob on the right side door, then pushed it open.

Nick stepped inside and listened to the soft click of the latch behind him.

Governor Lila Lockhart looked up from her position behind the massive desk that dominated the antique-filled room. The place had once been her father’s safe haven. He only knew it for fact because team member Wade Coltrane had told him this was the place where Lila’s father had cut a land deal to help out a desperate Henry Kemp. A deal that had left the Lockharts rich and the Kemps struggling to hold on to the remainder of their ranch.

“Agent Cavanaugh. Please, come in. I’m anxious to hear about your progress on the matter we discussed.”

Nick encased his intentions in armor and walked to the desk, where he shook Lila’s outstretched hand.

“I don’t have to tell you how sensitive this matter is.”

“No.”

“Good. Have a seat and tell me, were you able to get any information based on the license-plate number I saw the morning the family picked up the infant?” She stared at him with an unemotional intensity that spoke of analytical precision, but somewhere under her polished exterior she had to have an emotional response of some kind. That infant had been her child, her own flesh and blood.

He shrugged it off and lowered himself into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “I was able to trace the old plate number you gave me to a Claudine and Ralph Wilson in Amarillo. They’re both deceased now. A car accident four years ago.”

For an instant Lila’s facade melted and her blue eyes took on a watery sheen that she easily blinked away. “And what of the child? Were you able to make a DNA match between us?”

“Yes. She’s your daughter. She’s alive, well and living here in Freedom.”

Lila sucked in a quick breath and leaned back in her chair. “Does she know I’m her birth mother and that I gave her up for adoption?”