file drawers.
His thoughts focused on risk assessment. On intelligence missions, he was accustomed to walking into a situation and determining the course of action. He needed to know why her house had been broken into. If he figured out what the bad guys wanted, he’d know how far they’d go to get it.
“Was there anything unusual in that photo?” he asked.
“Not really. We were standing in the backyard at my sister’s house in Denver.”
“Who took the picture?”
“My sister’s boyfriend.”
“Tell me about the background. And the clothing.”
Olivia squinted as she remembered. “It was at a family barbecue last summer. There was a blue spruce behind us. We were all dressed casual. My dad had on a god-awful pair of plaid shorts. He’s tall and has really skinny legs. Like a stork.”
He nodded. Actually, he’d learned a great deal about her parents. The life history of Richard and Sharon Laughton made for interesting reading, especially for someone like Troy who had a high security clearance. “Can you think of any reason someone would steal this particular picture?”
“It was just us. The Laughton family at play.”
The obvious answer was that the photo would be used for identification. Though pregnancy had vastly altered her appearance, she still resembled the woman in the photo.
Troy had only one other clue: the footprint in the garage. Why would the intruder have gone into her garage other than to search? A lightbulb went on in his head. The bad guys were hiding in the garage, setting an ambush. “I know what’s going on.”
“Oh, good.” She swiveled in the chair behind her desk and looked up at him. “Because I can’t find anything missing in my documents. Most of my confidential stuff is on my laptop computer, and I took that with me to the hospital.”
“The intruder or intruders were in your garage, waiting for you to come home.”
Her hand fluttered to her mouth, covering a frightened gasp. “Do you think they were there when I pulled up?”
“It’s possible.” Troy cursed himself for not searching the garage first. He could have ended this before it escalated.
“Why? What do they want?”
“Nothing is missing. So I’m guessing that their intention wasn’t robbery.”
“Then what?”
“They wanted to take...you.”
She looked away from him, shielding her gaze as though she had something to hide. “A kidnap attempt.”
“You don’t seem too surprised.”
“I’ve had a feeling for the past couple of days.” Her hands rested protectively on her belly. “It’s been like someone is watching me. Earlier tonight in the hospital parking lot, I thought I heard a gun being cocked.”
The situation was more intense than he thought. They needed to retreat to a safe location. “You have five minutes to get packed.”
“Kidnapping doesn’t make any sense.”
“Later, we’ll talk. Now, get packed.”
“No. I’m not going to leave my house until I understand.”
He braced his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned close. Being near her was a distraction, for sure. The blue of her eyes contrasted her healthy tan and the pink flush of her cheeks. Was she glowing? Later, he’d take the time to appreciate the miraculous changes in her body. Right now, he needed for her to cooperate.
“The standard reasons for kidnapping,” he said, “are money or leverage. The intruders want to use you and our baby to get something they want.”
“It can’t be for ransom money. My family isn’t superrich.”
“Your mom and dad are in Denver this weekend.”
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
“I’m in intelligence,” he reminded her. “They’re in town, right?”
“Staying with my sister, Bianca. They want me to move in with her until after the baby is born.”
“They want to protect you,” he said.
“From what?”
He held her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “I know about your parents.”
She blinked, an automatic response from someone who had spent her entire life living with lies. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Richard and Sharon Laughton work for the CIA. They’re spies.”
* * *
T HOUGH IT WAS still hard to believe that she was the target of a kidnapping plot, Olivia couldn’t take chances in her present condition. She had to leave her cabin.
In the bedroom, she threw some of her belongings into a suitcase. Most of her pregnancy clothes didn’t fit anymore, making packing easy. She took everything she could still wear, even the fancy, lavender crepe toga-style gown that she’d bought for a hospital fundraiser.
Troy stood watch, slouching against the doorjamb with his gun in hand. Though his posture was relaxed, she could see the tension coiling through him. At the slightest provocation, he was ready to strike. This was a side of him that she hadn’t seen before—a little bit scary but also reassuring. If he hadn’t shown up at her house when he did, she could have been in real trouble.
“You know,” she said, “my parents aren’t the kind of spies who do what you do. They don’t go on active missions.”
“Sure.” Somehow, he made that one terse word sound like he didn’t believe her.
“They work in embassies. My dad is a paper-pusher, and my mother is a cultural attaché. She hangs out with ballet dancers and artists. She arranges events.”
“Are you done packing?”
She’d already scooped all her bathroom toiletries and hair stuff into a plastic bag that was at the bottom of the suitcase. Tossing in a book from the nightstand, she gave him a nod. “That’s everything.”
“We’re taking my car,” he said.
She objected. “There’s nothing wrong with my car, and I’m going to need it when we’re in Denver.”
“If it becomes necessary to use evasive driving techniques, you’ll be glad I wrecked the rental instead of your car.”
A shudder went through her. “I hope that’s a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.” His eyebrows pinched in a scowl that made his dark eyes even more fierce and intense.
