Her Rocky Mountain Hero

It took a quarter of an hour to circumvent MI5’s firewall. Once there, he had only moments to fill in a complete picture of Sir Ian’s life. He had been an agent with MI5, awarded his knighthood after thwarting a terrorist attack on London’s subway system. After that, Ian had been linked romantically with several famous women, and most recently with up-and-coming Denver sports agent, Petra Sloan. It explained how a Brit ended up in Colorado. He had opened a private security firm in Denver, Rocky Mountain Justice.

RMJ was a small operation; unless you knew where and how to find them, they were invisible. Yet, Belkin had pulled back the veil and now had access to all pertinent corporate information. The firm quietly found missing people and sometimes worked with a variety of agencies, such as the Colorado Bureau of Investigation and the federal big brother—the FBI—in matters such as public corruption.

Belkin stared at the computer. Certainly a firm unrestrained by laws could be bothersome to a large-scale drug dealer, but something didn’t add up. Why did Nikolai want Sir Ian dead? His firm had less than two dozen employees. In fact, why did he care at all?

On a whim, he entered Nikolai Mateev’s name into the RMJ search engine. An incomplete hit turned up one Mateev—Viktoria Mateev, no less. It appeared that RMJ had been hired to find her and it was their tip that had led Belkin right to her. He laughed to himself. Ironic, no?

A few more keystrokes and he found the automatically generated email and stopped. It was another name he recognized and never thought to see again: Cody Samuels.

While at the DEA, Agent Samuels came close to building a strong case against the Mateevs—one that could have crushed the family—and he had to be killed. As it turned out, Belkin’s would-be assassin had become the victim. In the end, the loss of life cost Samuels’ career. The case against the Mateevs was closed and Belkin considered the outcome a success.

He closed the RMJ site and placed all information gathered into an encrypted document that he then transferred to another part of his computer. From there he opened a file that he’d kept for more than a year as insurance only. As Belkin studied Cody’s picture his stomach churned, filled with sour repugnance for having to deal twice with the same problem.

He moved from the file to his bank’s secure website. The payment promised by Nikolai for the kidnapping had not yet been deposited. Though Belkin was weary and his jaw still ached where Gregory Mateev had struck him, he refused to go to bed before confirming payment. He was annoyed more than worried about not getting the money immediately. Even though Nikolai was a force unto himself, there were plenty of other powerful and dangerous men who would match payment for the Mateev brat—dead or alive—and the only thing keeping Gregory from that fate was Belkin’s purchased loyalty.

Returning to the RMJ site, Belkin took in a deep breath and began to hum the refrain of the American Christmas song “We Three Kings.” Since he had time and enough information to get started, he might as well learn what else he could about Sir Ian Wallace and the men of Rocky Mountain Justice.

Chapter 5 (#ue6735db2-53df-5912-8c80-dd77dba67cf0)

Viktoria drove into the relentlessly falling snow. The headlights cut a swath through the flakes, creating a tunnel of white surrounded by blackness. The tires slid on the slick roads, forcing her to steer cautiously into each turn. Inevitably, the SUV’s rear fishtailed. It gave the impression that she was hurtling uncontrollably through space, and the effect left her slightly sick to her stomach.

“Turn here,” Cody said, pointing to the left.

She exited the road in the direction he indicated. The SUV slowed as the tires sank into several inches of snow. They entered a makeshift parking lot, meant to accommodate only a dozen cars for cross-country skiers in the winter or hikers in the summer.

On this night, the lot was empty. Almost. A forest green, four-door Range Rover sat alone near a cut-through in a snowbank. The pricey British vehicle gave her pause.

“I thought you said you drove a truck,” she said of the Range Rover. “Every truck I’ve ever seen had a rear bed and was covered in rust and primer.”

“Ah, spoken like a true New Yorker.” Cody grinned as he reached over to hit the ignition button. The SUV’s engine shuddered once and stilled. “My boss is a Brit and as far as he’s concerned, this is a truck. Me, I’m a good old Colorado boy at heart, and primer is one of my favorite colors. But since Ian pays for this ride and I get to drive it for free, I call it whatever he wants me to. Although I do have a personal vehicle—a real truck, no rust or primer—back at my house.”

Primer was his favorite color. Viktoria almost felt a smile pull up the corners of her mouth. Then she thought about Gregory, alone and afraid. She couldn’t let anything distract her from finding her son, even Cody Samuels.

Cody opened his door and jumped down. “Let’s go.”

Viktoria hopped down from the SUV and her feet sank into the snow. Cold, wet flakes sifted over the tops of her boots and soaked her fleece pajama bottoms. Cody conducted himself with such confidence that Viktoria found her spirits buoyed. But she still had no idea what she would do if—no, not if, when—she was reunited with her son. How would she be able to escape the long reach of the Mateevs a second time? Would it be enough to disappear and drop off the grid as she had before?

Cody used his key fob to unlock the Range Rover’s doors and start the engine. As if he were attuned to her thoughts, he broke the silence by asking, “How long have you been living in the cabin?”

“Two months. We left New York in August and moved around for six weeks before I decided we needed to find one place to stay.”

“Why did you leave New York?” Cody asked, his gaze trained on her face.

Viktoria got the impression that she was being tested and that somehow Cody’s knowledge of her life went beyond his having investigated her late husband’s family. Still, she had nothing to lose by telling the truth.

“The state of New York had moved to terminate my parental rights. I suspect that Belkin had manipulated the system on behalf of Nikolai Mateev. They had a video of Gregory sitting in our apartment and crying—it went on for hours. In it, I was asleep on the sofa with an empty bottle of vodka cradled in my arms. The whole thing was a fake. I don’t drink. I’ve never left my son alone for minutes...” She shook her head; the dismay and dread from being set up came back to her. “It almost worked and I ran before the courts could take Gregory from me. There was money after my husband’s death, some more in savings and I knew it could last us awhile. I sold my Mercedes for cash and bought a clunker.”

Cody regarded her with those intense and otherworldly eyes.

“Go on,” he urged.

She continued, as if she wasn’t captivated by his gaze. “I paid cash for the cabin rental, October to March. The utilities were included. When I first arrived, I hired a delivery service for our groceries and paid them in cash. I only used the cabin’s landline phone that was there for emergencies,” she said, covering the basics. “But there was nobody I dared to call. We never went into town. Until today, that is. I have no idea how they found me, though.”

“Your image was picked up on a traffic camera,” Cody said.

It made sense. “Is that how the sheriff knew to call Belkin?”

“Probably.”

“Probably is hardly an answer.”

Cody exhaled, his breath a frozen cloud. “Let’s get out of here. We aren’t being productive just standing in the snow.”

He opened the passenger door of his Range Rover. Bright light spilled over the snow and bathed Cody in its glow. He was breathtakingly handsome. Was she a bad mother for noticing the dimple on his cheek or his broad shoulders? He was hot—it was more fact than opinion. Like the fact that it was snowing, or that the date was December the twenty-third or that her son had just been kidnapped.

The last thought brought her down to reality and left her weak and light-headed. She clung to the side of the Range Rover.

“Are you okay?” Cody scooped his hand under her elbow, lifting with just enough pressure to keep her from crumpling into the snow.

Viktoria had to get a hold of herself. She’d never do Gregory any good if she continued to be so weak. “Yes,” she said. Standing straight, Viktoria rolled back her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” said Cody hesitantly. “If you’re sure, jump in.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see the sheriff.”

“I thought you said that he helped Belkin find me. Why would we go to him for help now?”

“Because we need something he has.”

Viktoria couldn’t imagine a crooked sheriff having anything she wanted, much less needed. “And what’s that?”

“Information about the people who took your son.”

* * *

This time, Cody took the wheel. He should have been problem solving—analyzing the attack on the cabin, the kidnapping and exactly how to save Gregory. Instead he was thinking about Viktoria. She’d been honest with him about the court case against her in New York. In truth, her version of the story had shone a new light on the few facts he’d been given.

Dark shadows ringed her eyes and cords of muscle stood out on her neck. As if her body spoke to him, he imagined that he heard stories of her strength—both physical and emotional—and her weariness from the fight. Cody admired her spirit. He might even like her personally.

It brought him back to their ultimate destination, the sheriff’s office, and more important, the reason behind their visit there. Cody had worked with Ray Benjamin in the past and found him to be a competent and trustworthy guy. How could he have been taken in by a dirty scheme? He tried to think of another possible way Belkin could have located Viktoria. He couldn’t come up with anything else that was even remotely plausible, especially when he considered that the deputies had been a no-show this evening.

The county office complex came into view and Cody eased the Range Rover off the road and into the snow-filled parking lot. Industrial lights on tall poles illuminated the campus of five buildings. The Sheriff’s office, squat and made of red brick, sat at the back of the property. Four black-and-white cruisers waited in a line near the front door, but Cody knew that at this hour the office would be empty—only a few deputies were out on patrol with the rest on call in case they were needed. The county’s emergency services were handled at a call center on the opposite side of town.

Near the rear entrance to the building sat a silver pickup, which he recognized as belonging to the sheriff. Several inches of white powder covered the roof, the hood and filled the rear bed. Ray Benjamin staying at the office late and alone only fanned the flames of Cody’s suspicions. He steered into what might have been a parking place, but was too covered with snow for him to tell, and cut the ignition.

“Before tonight, I would have said that Sheriff Benjamin was a good guy,” said Cody, ending the interminable silence.