Rescued by a Ranger

Tonight, in plaid pajama pants and a black T-shirt boasting Total Domination, his sandy brown hair in need of a trim, Bryce looked more like the bighearted slacker he used to be than the successful game designer he was now. At the benefit, she hadn’t even recognized him in his tux. Of course, she’d been preoccupied, trying to deal with her uncharacteristically hostile husband at the last social function they’d attended as a married couple. Unlike his father, Christopher Hargrove’s favorite form of manipulation had always been charm, not bullying. But, by last spring, Christopher had become fed up with her questions about his family’s shadier dealings and her insistence that they couldn’t raise their daughter with the Hargroves’ flagrant disregard for rules.

Christopher had believed consequences were for other people, but being rich, good-looking and well-connected hadn’t saved him when he wrapped his sports car around a tree the month after Heather left him. The Hargroves blamed her, said his self-destructive actions had been fueled by his pain over losing his wife and daughter. Eileen Hargrove’s ice blue eyes had bored holes into Heather at the funeral. “You killed him, you ungrateful nobody. You killed my son! And you will pay.”

Heather shivered, and coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug.

“Easy,” Bryce cautioned, taking the hot cup away from her. He turned to set it on the coffee table, but the surface was buried under gaming magazines, napkins from local fast-food restaurants and illegible notes scrawled in half a dozen spiral notebooks. With a shrug, he shoved a stack of papers to the floor, then blinked at the corner he’d uncovered. “Huh. I forgot this had a glass top.”

“What am I going to do?” Heather asked. It was a rhetorical question. Her mess wasn’t his problem.

“I’ll tell you what you’re not going to do—let those soulless bastards take Little Red.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as he glanced at Josie’s fiery curls. “I know I only saw you with her father from across the ballroom, but he was clearly bad news.”

It had been obvious to anyone with eyes and ears what kind of night she and her husband had been having. Bryce hadn’t bothered trying to catch up with her about old times; he’d simply waited until Christopher went to the restroom to say hi and give her his number. She’d called Bryce for moral support after she and Josie had moved into an apartment. Shame welled inside her, humiliation that it had taken her so long to admit her husband would never change. Her old friend had seen Christopher’s true colors in a single evening. Why had it taken her years?

In her defense, Bryce had only witnessed her husband drunk and antagonistic. He hadn’t seen the determined charmer who’d pursued her or doted on her during their first blissful year of marriage. Plus, Bryce had been looking through the eyes of an adult, not the eyes of a young woman who’d grown up in the foster care system and felt cherished for the first time in her life.

“Chris had his moments,” she said softly. She liked to think that some of her late husband’s good qualities would live on in Josie.

Bryce waved a hand. “My point was, you make his parents sound about a thousand times worse than him.”

“Agreed. But running was a mistake.” All she’d ever wanted growing up was a family of her own, yet now she’d endangered her daughter’s chances of a normal home life. Josie was still reeling from losing her father. How could she be expected to cope if Heather’s impulsive actions landed her in jail? After her arguments with Christopher about operating outside the rules, her failure to appear made her a terrible hypocrite.

“You’re not thinking about going back?” Bryce asked dubiously.

Dread knotted her stomach. Her in-laws had scared the hell out of her from the day she’d met them. At first, it had been because she hadn’t believed she was good enough for their son—an opinion Eileen Hargrove reinforced at every opportunity. But over the past few years, she’d become apprehensive for other reasons. Christopher had joked that Hargroves were “above the law...because we can afford to be.” Though Heather lacked specific details, she knew her father-in-law’s criminal activities weren’t limited to bribing his way out of traffic tickets.

Not that I can prove it.

“I can’t go back,” she finally said. “They have unlimited funds and a lawyer who makes great white sharks look cuddly in comparison.” From things she’d overheard during her marriage, Phillip Hargrove might also have judges and state officials in his back pocket.

“You mentioned funds.” Bryce peered at her through his wire-rim glasses, his concern unmistakable. “Need a loan?”

She rose, crossing to the expensive ottoman to hug him. “You are a prince. Why couldn’t I have fallen for you in college?” She’d been nineteen and vastly inexperienced with men when she’d met Christopher at a museum near campus.

“A diligent scholarship student like you with a wastrel like me? Pshaw. You couldn’t have been expected to put up with this.” He gestured toward the cluttered tabletop and the magazines now scattered haphazardly on the unvacuumed carpet. “It would be an affront to your artistic sensibilities. Now stop trying to change the subject, and tell me if you need money.”

“No. At least, not yet. If I’m careful.” When she’d first considered leaving Christopher, she’d begun quietly squirreling away cash. It had taken her a long time to work up the courage. She’d later supplemented her new bank account by selling jewelry. She’d realized she might have to pay for a contentious divorce, but at the end of the day, despite his faults, she’d known Christopher loved Josie. She’d prayed that would guide him to some reasonable decisions.

Eileen and Phillip Hargrove didn’t love anyone. They saw Josie, the only child of their only child, as the Hargrove heir, belonging to them by rights—as much a possession as Eileen’s BMW or Phillip’s Jag.

“What I need—” Heather sighed “—is a plan. Other than hauling ass toward the Mexican border.”

“With customs security checkpoints? Definitely not the direction you want to head if there’s possibly a warrant out for you.” His forehead crinkled in concentration. “I might know a place you can go. Ever been to the hill country? I have a cousin in Fredericksburg.”

“It’s bad enough I imposed on you,” she said, not following his train of thought. “I can’t show up on your cousin’s doorstep.”

“You can if she’s not home.” He was starting to look excited, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “My cousin Kelsey is married to a guy in the military. He’s been overseas a lot but now he’s got a six-month assignment in Alaska. She’s going to join him, and I arranged for a friend to house-sit. All the regular bills are set for automatic drafts out of Kelsey’s bank account. As long as you’ve got cash for stuff like groceries, you and Little Red would be set. It’s perfect!”

“I don’t understand. What about your friend who already agreed to do it?”

“She’ll be inconvenienced when I tell her Kelsey’s changed her mind. And a little peeved,” he admitted. “But I’ll make sure she lands on her feet. You have a hell of a lot more at stake, Heather.”

She was all too aware of the high stakes. To keep the panic at bay, she tried to lighten the moment. “Heather, huh? I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me anything but ‘Red.’”

“About that.” He tilted his head, considering. “You stand out with that hair color. Ever thought about going brunette?”

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “Not until just now. I’m new at this whole fugitive thing.”

“Different hair would help. So would different names. I can assist you there.”

She glanced up, startled. “There’s a limit to what I’ll let you do for me.” Even as she said the words, she prayed they were true. How much risk would she let a friend take if it meant protecting her daughter?

“I didn’t mean like create new social security numbers for you or falsify a passport,” he clarified. “This isn’t a Bourne movie. But I might know someone who, uh, dabbles in fake IDs. It would have an upcoming expiration date because the new ones are too hard to copy and it probably wouldn’t fool a professional beyond a quick glimpse, but it’s a start.”

Counterfeit identification and lying about who she was? Bryce’s intentions were good, but did she dare continue on this path? Then again... She cast one more anxious glance in Josie’s direction. How could she dare not take Bryce’s help?

Chapter Two

“You haven’t said anything since we left the steak house.” Stupid. Since when was Sergeant Zane Winchester reduced to stating the obvious? His razor-sharp instincts had helped solve cold cases and take down crooked politicians. Colleagues sought his input because he was known for having a quick mind, but a few hours in his teenage daughter’s company made him feel like an inept rookie fumbling with a gun for the first time, capable of shooting himself in the foot with one stray word.

Eden glared from the passenger seat of the truck. “What do you want me to say? Thanks for ruining the first nice time I was having since I got shipped to this godforsaken town?”

There were so many things wrong with her retort that he didn’t know where to begin. My fault. Too out of practice. He hadn’t tried hard enough to keep a close bond with her while she and his ex, Valerie, lived in California. Eden didn’t let an hour pass without reminding him that she hated her parents’ decision to relocate her. She saw her mother as selfish for ditching her, and she clearly viewed Zane more as prison warden than father.

“What exactly did I do?” Zane asked, trying to better understand the daughter he no longer knew.

“You practically threatened that cute waiter at lunch! You might as well have pulled your gun on him.”

“You’re exaggerating by a mile. And that ‘cute waiter’ was too old to be flirting with my fifteen-year-old daughter.” He steered onto their street. “You may think you’re an adult, Eden Jo, but you’re not. Adults face the consequences of their actions. You blame your mama for sending you here, but you refuse to take responsibility for your part in forcing her hand.”

“Why are you defending her?” To Eden’s credit, she sounded genuinely baffled rather than sarcastic. “You should be mad, too. You didn’t want me here.”

“That’s not true!” Rather than take the time to pull into the garage, he angled crookedly in their driveway and cut the engine so he could focus on her. He studied her face, marveling at the changes. This wasn’t the little girl with blond pigtails he used to carry on his shoulders. She was a young woman now, with two thin streaks of hot pink framing her face.

Strips of neon aside, she looked so much like Valerie that he couldn’t help a twinge of nervous déjà vu. As a teenager, Val had been beautiful, fascinating and self-destructive. He prayed the similarities between mother and daughter would prove superficial.

He put a hand on Eden’s shoulder, an awkward substitution for a hug. “I love you. Even if I’m not crazy about the behavior that led you here, I’m glad to have this time with you.”

Her green eyes glittered. “Yeah, I can tell how much you care by all those visits to California and the dozens of phone conversations we had.” She wrenched open her door and hopped to the pavement.

He followed, still trying to frame his explanation as he unlocked the front door. On the other side, the dog was already going nuts, barking in manic greeting.

It had hurt like hell to let go of his daughter, but he’d thought it best. When he and Val had divorced, Eden had been just starting that tumultuous journey from adolescence to physical maturity. He’d known there would be questions and scenarios she’d be embarrassed to discuss with him. Instead of an acrimonious custody battle that would compound the pain of the divorce, he’d let Val take her. As Val had reminded him, at least she was around for their daughter, rather than chasing bad guys all across the state of Texas.

With Eden’s displeasure filling the foyer, it seemed even colder in the house than it had out in the brisk March breeze. “I never would have given up custody so easily if I hadn’t believed it was in your best interest. I figured you’d be better—”

“I was better off in California,” she interrupted. “If you really loved me, you’d let me go back to my friends and my life there!” Tears spilling from her eyes, she stalked down the hall to the guest room. A moment later, the little ranch-style house shook with the force of her slammed door.

He shifted his weight, torn between the urge to go hug her and the urge to reprimand her for the temperamental display. At the rate she was going, he’d have to replace all the hinges in the house by the time she went back to school on Monday.