Fortune patted his daughter’s hand. “Yes. I have to return a call to my attorney. I’m sure you’re aware…” He hesitated, then shrugged, his expression grim as he glanced at Dev. “It’s common knowledge that I’m involved in a nasty divorce case. I suppose you’re aware of that.”
“I have the general details,” Dev admitted. At the other man’s assessing glance, he added, “Sam Waterman is a friend. He was in Intelligence when I was in the Marines.” Waterman was now a private investigator and had been hired by Ryan Fortune to protect his family after the kidnapping.
Devin exchanged a glance with Fortune that spoke of common experiences, of friendships forged and proven in the heat of battle, whether that was in the jungles of Nam, the deserts of Kuwait, or endangered embassies in various parts of the world where he had served.
As an embassy guard who had figured out an assassination scheme on an ambassador before it happened, Devin had reported his findings to CIA Agent Waterman. The higher-ups had transferred him to Intelligence, which was how he’d ended up in the FBI when his tour of duty was finished.
“If you’re ready…” the daughter said, making it obvious she was by rising.
Dev also stood. He thanked the tall rancher for his cooperation, then followed the daughter across the room to the covered and enclosed flagstone sidewalk that extended around the inner quadrangle and served as the hallway to the rest of the house.
“Except for the windows, this was part of the original structure. So was the great room, the rooms off it on either side and the wall enclosing the compound,” she explained, seeing his interest. She pointed toward the back wall. “The stables are garages now. Grandfather—that was Kingston Fortune—remodeled the main house, enlarging the dining hall and installing a modern kitchen. Later, he added the wings on each side for his sons’ families. This is my father’s side. He and Sophia… He has a suite.” She indicated a door as they passed.
Devin stopped. “I’d like to see it.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll ask my father.”
“He’s already given his consent.” He tried the door, then walked in.
The suite opened into a sitting room—a combination man’s study and woman’s parlor. An ornate recliner, gold-trimmed with red silk upholstery, seemed out of place among the obviously antique heavy Spanish desk and leather chairs. A white-and-gold table on spindly legs held a telephone and a pedestalled gilt mirror. The table and red silk recliner were placed so the occupant could view the inner courtyard with ease. The antique desk and two comfortable chairs, backed by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled the corner and wall nearest the entrance door. An open door revealed a bedroom.
Devin quickly inspected the area, including the adjoining bath with its whirlpool tub and fancy fixtures. He checked all doors, finding mostly closets—closets bigger than his bedroom at the house where he’d grown up in Houston.
“Okay, we can go.”
“Just what are you looking for?” she demanded, the impatience—Dev thought it must be a family trait—visible in a frown that nicked a line between her eyes. She stared at him without blinking.
For a second he forgot the question and became lost in those verdant depths. He wondered what her passion would be like, if she would be as impatient to get to a climax as she was to get on with the investigation.
He reined in the hunger. A woman, especially this one, had no place in his life. Control was his strength; logic his métier. That’s why he succeeded in cases that other law enforcement officials had given up on. Why he had been sent on this job—to solve a kidnapping, not to fall for the daughter of the house.
“What?” he said, vaguely recalling a question being asked, not sure if it had come from him or her.
She looked away. This time he sensed confusion behind the other emotions she tried to hide.
“Nothing.” She led the way into the hall.
There were four other doors in the east wing. She paused at the first one and looked at him with a question in her eyes. He explored the room, checking it as he had the main suite. One door revealed a nursery.
The small room contained a combination dresser diapering station, a crib, bassinet and a rocker. There was a daybed—for a nanny, he assumed—and chest of drawers along one wall.
“Is this where the child was sleeping?” Dev asked.
She nodded. “Bryan. His name is Bryan. Claudia had put him to bed in here after the christening—” Her voice wobbled on the last word and she stopped speaking abruptly.
Devin sensed her distress and felt a tightening inside, as if what she felt, he did, too. This was a case, he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford to get emotional.
“Okay, let’s move on,” he said, ushering her out. He glanced into the other bedrooms, noting that each had a door that opened to the inner courtyard, an ensuite bath, and the usual compliment of closet space the rich seemed to require.
The next-to-last door was her room. He smiled at the jumble of books, clothes, jewelry and other female “junk” spilling over the dresser, tables and chairs. The room was just what he would expect from a spoiled kid. This knowledge put her back on an even keel where he was concerned, and he relaxed somewhat, his libido easing up.
There were four doors in her room—one to the courtyard, one to a bathroom, another to a walk-in closet. The fourth door led to the room next door.
“Whose room is this?” he asked, annoyed by the connecting door and the possibility of having a lover close by, then was annoyed with himself for thinking of it.
“Yours,” she said, her manner indicating it should have been self-evident.
He couldn’t hide his surprise.
Amusement flashed through her eyes. “I thought this would be convenient since we’ll be working together on the case.”
For a moment he was tempted to kiss the arrogance out of her, maybe throw a little scare into the overconfident debutante for taunting a male she didn’t know. He erased the idea with difficulty.
“I’m here to do a job. You get in my way, and you’re in trouble,” he warned, trying to find the right ground for them, a neutral place without emotion or attraction.
“I’m going to help. I’ve read every book that has been written on kidnappings like this one.” She gestured toward the books littering her desk. There were others on the criminal mind, he noticed.
Stubborn, interfering female. He could see she meant business. Okay, he could handle that. He was a great believer in using whatever came to hand to solve a case. He would give her something to do to keep her out of his hair.
Passing close to her on his way to check the rest of her quarters, he caught a whiff of her scent. He was reminded of the outdoors, of sunlight and the sweet, spicy scent of wildflowers, of wind and the fresh smell of the earth after a summer shower, of nature and the powerful thrust of the stallion she had ridden….
Unbidden, unexpected, the hunger swept over
