in.”
In the few moments it took to reach the turnoff to her ranch, Jesse formulated a simple plan. He and Wentworth would cover the front and back of the house, keeping the intruder trapped until backup arrived. With more manpower, they could search the house, then spread out and search the entire property.
Wentworth got off the phone. “Agent Burke and some men from the ranch are on the way.”
“How long until they get here?”
“Five or ten minutes.”
They drove up the packed dirt road leading to the house. Unlike the other ranches in the area, there was no fence circling Fiona’s property. Her long one-story log cabin nested in a stand of aspen that would be beautiful in the fall when the leaves turned to gold. Behind the cabin, he saw a barn and a couple of outbuildings.
“Fiona, how many entrances does your house have?”
“Only front and back.” Her voice was soft but not breathy. The tone reminded him of gentle notes played by a wooden flute. “But there are windows. If somebody wanted to escape, they could go out a window.”
“Stay in the car, Fiona.” Jesse glanced at Wentworth. “I’ll take the front. You go around back. Don’t enter until backup arrives.”
As soon as Wentworth parked outside the detached garage, Jesse got out of the car. The adrenaline rush masked his pain. His gun felt natural in his hand. He could handle this. No problem.
Moving as quickly as he could with a bum leg, he took a position at the corner of the house beside a long, one-step, wood-plank porch covered by a shingled roof. From this position, he could see the entire front of the house and another side in case the intruder decided to exit through a window.
Leaning against the logs of the cabin, he felt his heartbeat drumming inside his head. His blood pumped hard. He was sweating. In his peripheral vision, darkness began to close in. Not a good sign. He shook himself. Stay awake. Stay alert.
If Fiona’s intruder was, in fact, one of the kidnappers, they were armed and dangerous. They hadn’t hesitated before opening fire on him when he tried to rescue Nicole.
His knees began to weaken. Wentworth had been right. He needed more time to recuperate. Too late to turn back now. No way in hell would he allow himself to collapse. This was his job. His life.
When he glanced toward the car, he was surprised to see Fiona dart across the yard toward him. What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she know it was dangerous? She flattened her back against the log wall beside him.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“You could have stayed in the car,” he said dryly.
“This is my home. I need to be ready to defend it.”
In different circumstances, he would have read her the riot act about why she ought to leave the business of security to professionals. But he wasn’t exactly a shining example of rational behavior. Not today. Not when he’d left the hospital only an hour ago. Not when he was taking prescription painkillers. He wasn’t fit for duty.
Later, he’d reprimand himself. For now, the best he could hope for was to avoid getting himself or Fiona shot.
“Stay close,” he said to her.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Damn it, I’m fine.
“I’ve thought about you often, Jesse. I never got to thank you in person for saving my husband’s life.”
“You sent me flowers in a handmade vase.” A strange gift for a man like him whose job meant he was seldom home. “And a note.”
“Which wasn’t enough. That was such a crazy time. I was pregnant, and the doctor told me I had to stay in bed. Then I had the baby.”
“Boy or girl?”
“My daughter’s name is Abigail. Abby.” As she spoke her child’s name, her voice turned musical again. “She’s with the babysitter.”
As he focused on Fiona’s delicate face, the dark edge of unconsciousness receded. Conversation might be what his brain needed to stay alert. “You said this cabin was your home. I thought you lived in Denver.”
“Not anymore.” She peeked around him to see the front door. “Shouldn’t we be rushing inside or something?”
“We’re waiting for backup.” He didn’t tell her that the idea that he could rush anywhere was just about as likely as sprouting wings and flying. “Why did you move up here?”
“Not by choice,” she said. “I lost the house in Denver. And the Mercedes. And the boat. Pretty much everything, actually.”
Her problems distracted him. He couldn’t imagine that Wyatt Grant, a savvy attorney, would have left his widow in such bad shape. “Everything?”
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Her gaze turned downward. “I haven’t told anybody.”
“You can tell me,” he said. “It won’t go any further.”
“Are bodyguards confidential? Like lawyers.”
“Not in a legal sense. But I wouldn’t have many clients if I started telling them their business.”
“I’m not your client,” she pointed out.
“As of this minute, I’m working for you. No charge. Pro bono.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand for him to shake before realizing that he was holding a gun in his right, and his left was in a sling. Her confusion ended with a fist bump against his left elbow.
“Now you can tell me anything,” he said.
“There’s not much to say, really. Wyatt had an ex-wife, and two adult children from that marriage. They weren’t happy with the terms of his will. Their attorneys froze everything that was jointly owned, including our checking and savings accounts. When I couldn’t pay the bills, they swooped in. The only reason I have this cabin is that Wyatt signed the deed over to me on our first anniversary. It’s in my name only.”
“You must have contested the family’s actions.”
“Not as much as I should have. Obviously.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice. “I didn’t have a taste for arguing. Nothing seemed to matter, except for my daughter. It took all my energy to crawl out of bed and take care of her.”
“You let everything go.” Probably even that diamond necklace she’d been wearing in the photograph.
“Didn’t seem worth the effort to hold on. Not when I’d already lost the most important thing in my life.”
A caravan of vehicles from the Carlisle Ranch made the turn off the main road and poured toward them. Jesse would have liked to be the man in control; leadership was natural to him. But he was in no shape to be calling the shots.
He
