Read the book: «The Baby Pursuit»

One

Devin Kincaid swore and cut the wheel sharply to the left as the huge red horse broke from the trees to his right. For a second he thought the animal was a runaway, then he realized a slender figure was astride the beast.

His next impressions whipped through his mind at Mach speed—that the rider was female, that she was young and lithe of frame, that her hair, lashing across her shoulders with each lunge of the stallion, was the same shade of red as the mane that tangled with her locks as she bent low over her mount’s neck…and that she was racing him!

He glanced at the speedometer. Fifty miles an hour.

The primitive urge to win at all costs surged through him. He pressed the pedal downward and felt the kick of the powerful engine concealed beneath the hood of the nondescript SUV push him against the seat.

The youngster glanced his way, then she urged the horse faster. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three.

The car pulled ahead, leaving horse and rider behind. A brief flare of triumph brightened the heat-laden August afternoon. It was short-lived.

Frowning, he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing, racing a kid on a horse at fifty miles per hour. If the horse had stumbled, if the girl had fallen…

Ryan Fortune would have his hide if anyone on the Double Crown Ranch was hurt because of him and a momentary foolishness left over from a childhood that had forced him to fight back or die trying.

He glanced into the rearview mirror but the horse and rider had vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Maybe he ought to tell Fortune that some ranch hand’s kid was playing games with cars, probably on a prize stallion with a mile-long pedigree. On the other hand, a kid and her pranks weren’t his main concern at present.

The baby kidnapping was.

With this somber thought, Devin parked under a tree a short distance from the ranch house, an adobe hacienda of both awesome dignity and inviting warmth. As he walked up the sidewalk along the green sweep of lawn shaded by the oaks native to the Texas hill country, he heard the pounding of hooves on gravel and turned to face the road.

The huge red beast bore down on him. He gauged the distance between him and the rapidly approaching animal. Energy poured into him as he prepared to dive out of harm’s way. Six feet away, the rider pulled up.

The beast pivoted, then rose majestically on his hind legs, front hooves pawing the air. Backlit by the afternoon sun, horse and rider blended into one dazzling portrait of fiery splendor, so bright he had to shade his eyes, so alive and fierce and powerful, he felt an answering force within himself.

The rider studied him intently, and Devin felt a visceral thrill of recognition, as if he and the unknown young woman—she was definitely a woman, not a kid—had already met, as if this turbulent moment spoke of latent passions that had once flared between them…and would do so again.

She nodded once, as if acknowledging the mysterious connection. Then the great red horse seemed to gather himself on his powerful haunches before lunging forward into a ground-eating stride of unbelievable strength and speed.

Devin watched until horse and rider disappeared around the corner of the hacienda. At that moment, he realized his body was rock-hard and he was filled with an unquenchable hunger to follow wherever she led—

“You the FBI agent?”

He took a deep breath and fixed his attention on the man who stood at the edge of the lawn, looking him over with a critical eye. Ryan Fortune, patriarch of the Fortune clan, net worth one and a half cool billion, give or take a million or two, crossed the yard. He was dressed in typical cowboy work clothes—boots, jeans, long-sleeved shirt. A sweat-stained Stetson hat shaded his eyes.

Devin walked forward. “Yes, sir. Devin Kincaid.” He shook hands with the rancher and sized him up.

The older man was muscular and tall, standing about an inch less than Devin’s own six feet, two inches. Dark brown hair with gray sprinkled through it. Brown eyes. Laugh lines evident yet subdued by a deep frown that cut two creases across his tanned forehead. He looked as tough as whit leather, more the working cowboy than the rich man.

“It took you long enough,” Fortune said in a low, harsh tone, the anger controlled but urgent.

Devin had dealt with families locked in despair. He understood the agony and the fear, the anger that tried to hide both but never quite succeeded.

“I checked in with Sheriff Grayhawk before driving out.”

Devin knew more about the Fortune clan than the tight-lipped sheriff had revealed in his briefing that morning. Thanks only to lots of newspaper and magazine articles on the famous Fortune spread—the second largest ranch in the state—and to Sam Waterman, a long-time acquaintance who had a detective agency in San Antonio.

At the mention of the sheriff, Fortune nodded. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he squinted against the sun and surveyed the area as if looking for the cavalry to ride up any moment, bringing his baby grandson back.

Seeing the man’s expression soften slightly, Devin followed the dark gaze to the object of his attention. A young woman, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, approached them. Devin recognized the rider of the red horse. The tightening in his gut said he knew her. Logic said they had never met.

Her eyes were as green as the grass he stood on. Her hair was tousled and as fiery as a Texas sunset. She was the promise of everything he’d ever wanted from life. Longing and lust raced through him in equal parts.

“My daughter, Vanessa,” Fortune said. “This is the FBI agent we’ve been expecting.”

“Devin Kincaid,” Dev added. He held out his hand.

Her grip was firm, her fingers slender and warm in his. Though he couldn’t see it, he was certain an arc traveled from the point where their palms connected all the way up his arm and down his chest to join forces with the primitive hunger she aroused.

Her eyes locked with his as an emotion flitted over her face too fast for him to read. She smiled briefly—as if in acknowledgment of the attraction, lust, whatever, between them?—her eyes never leaving his.

Devin dropped her hand as if it were the proverbial hot potato. He had studied pictures of the Fortune clan, but nothing had done justice to the vibrant life he sensed in this slender, shapely young woman. Her entire aura was one of subtle intelligence and willful spirit.

The youngest child—along with her identical twin Victoria—of a very rich man, Vanessa Fortune was twenty-five years old, a dabbler in psychology who had once helped the local police nab a serial killer. One lucky break, Dev mused, and she probably considered herself an expert on the criminal mind.

She was also twelve years younger than he was and as bright and shiny as a new penny. And as tempting to pick up and slip into his pocket. Ha. The Fortune heiress would be a pretty penny, indeed, for someone like him.

“It’s a hundred and two degrees in the shade,” the daughter informed them. “Let’s go inside.”

Dev followed her into the hacienda when her father gestured politely for him to precede him. He was aware of the other man’s eyes on his back and had a feeling the father had correctly read his reaction to the daughter.

He wasn’t here to get involved with a redheaded siren, he reminded himself sternly. Getting seriously entangled with any woman wasn’t part of his future. Period.

The wrought-iron gate, wide-open in a friendly welcome, and tan adobe walls that had once protected the family from intruders gave way to a small courtyard that had been transformed into a garden of paloverdes and native plants. Various-size stones had been used to effect a dry creek. A curving walk led to the steps to a massive wooden door with black iron hinges of conquistador design.

Inside was a typical great room and, beyond, an inner courtyard where the family would have entertained friends and often taken their evening meal in days of old. The courtyard, too, was an inviting expanse of trees and flowers, as well as a fountain and an overhead trellis covered with flowering vines. Under the trellis sat a cozy arrangement of chairs and an old-fashioned yard swing.

Crossing the great room, a dining room was visible to the left through a tall archway. Its glass-paned doors were closed. He surveyed the stucco walls and beamed ceilings. The house looked solid, stable… A good place to raise a family.

The wings on either side of the original hacienda had been constructed for the two sons of Kingston Fortune. However, Devin knew that Cameron, the oldest son, had built his own place near the main house after his marriage. His widow, Mary Ellen, still lived there. Ryan Fortune had stayed on in the main house. Dev wasn’t sure where the ranch workers lived. But he would find out.

Just as he’d find out all the secrets of the Fortune clan and who would take the baby grandson and why. He had already concluded there was more than one person involved and that it was an inside job in spite of the many guests who had been present at the child’s christening party. The grab had been too smooth, too easily carried out under the noses of the collective family members and their long-time friends and neighbors for an unknown trespasser to achieve.

“Iced tea?” the daughter asked.

At his nod, she used an intercom to relay the order—phrased as a request—to the kitchen and the many servants he knew worked there. The size of the ranch and its numerous employees might make his job a little tougher than usual, but not impossible. Criminals always made a mistake. There was always a weak link or an unplanned incident—

“Please, have a seat,” Ryan Fortune invited.

Devin chose a leather chair at right angles to the matching sofa. From this angle, he could observe the entrance and the inner courtyard. He noticed a maid leave one room and enter another. She pushed a trolley much like those used in hotels. Another maid entered the great room, a tray in her hand. She served him first, then Ryan Fortune, who indicated the daughter should be next. Devin stored that bit of information away under “protocol of the rich.”

The tea looked refreshingly cold. A sprig of mint and an orange slice decorated the rim of the glass. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to remove the mint and orange slice and put them in the saucer that came with the tea or just drink from the other side of the glass.

He picked up the glass and waited to see what his host and hostess did. They ignored the refreshment, each watching him as if waiting for a brilliant deduction, Sherlock Holmes style, on the kidnapping. Feeling distinctly foolish, he sipped the flavored tea, then replaced the glass on the saucer which, he noticed, matched the leaf design of the three glasses.

“How many men do you have working with you?” Vanessa Fortune demanded, perching on the arm of the sofa closest to her father, who had taken the chair that faced Devin across the coffee table.

He snatched a number from thin air. “Twenty thousand.”

Dev didn’t know why he’d chosen a smart-ass answer, other than the fact that Vanessa Fortune got his dander up. Among other things.

“I didn’t mean the entire force of the FBI,” she said, not taking offense. “How many from the district office came with you and how many from the local office are assigned to the case?”

“I’m it,” he announced, checking both father and daughter to see how they took this news.

“One man?” she questioned.

Her lips tightened. The bottom lip was fuller than the upper, he noted, and she didn’t wear a smidgen of lipstick. He wondered how that mouth would feel under his and was immediately irritated at the thought.

“The field office will supply any additional help I need,” he continued. “For now, I want to explore on my own.”

“Explore where?” This from the patriarch.

“Here. The house and ranch.”

“That’s about five hundred thousand acres,” Ryan Fortune stated dryly, the impatience controlled but visible.

“I’m aware of that.” Dev’s tone was equally dry.

“What exactly are you looking for?” the daughter broke in. “Don’t you think all the clues will have been eradicated by now? It’s been two months since the kidnapping.”

“I’m aware of that, Ms. Fortune.”

“You had better call me Vanessa, otherwise you’ll have several people answer when the rest of the family is present,” she informed him crisply.

Devin caught the subtle nuance of arrogance in the correction, the demand that he do something now. He saw the father’s gaze shift to her, to him, then back to the daughter. The man saw more than Dev wanted him to.

An uncomfortable flash of heat hit him someplace deep inside. He maintained an impassive expression with an effort of will. But the hunger didn’t let up, nor the longing.

“My daughter will be available to answer any questions,” Mr. Fortune informed him. “I’ve asked her to take you any place on the ranch you want to go. You will have complete freedom to investigate as you wish.”

Another complication in an already complex situation. He ignored the woman and spoke to the father. “I understand Ms. Fortune is in school—”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from my studies,” she informed him. “A Ph.D. is nothing compared to finding my nephew.”

He thought of days spent in her company. Fate had never been kind, not to him. “I don’t have time for an amateur.”

The verdant eyes flashed. “I won’t get in your way.”

He didn’t argue, knowing the decision had been made before he’d appeared on the scene.

“You may go anywhere, question anyone, search any building,” Mr. Fortune assured him. “If anyone gives you any trouble, refer them to me.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dev breathed a little easier about his job. With Fortune’s approval, there was no doubt in his mind that he would get the cooperation he needed.

“Vanessa, take Mr. Kincaid to his room. He might as well get settled in—”

“I have a place in town, but thanks anyway,” Dev quickly put in.

“Staying here will be more efficient,” she told him in the same tone the father had used—as if no one would dare question the decision.

Before he could refuse, Mr. Fortune asked, “Are you by any chance related to the Montana Kincaids?”

“Not that I know of.”

As if he were kin to anyone with money. He was willing to bet the Montana Kincaids were another rich ranching family. Maybe he should tell Mr. Fortune and his snooty daughter about growing up in the Houston slums with a drunk for a father and a beaten-down mother—

“I was in Vietnam with Wayne Kincaid. A good man.”

“Yes, sir.” Dev wondered if the older man’s mind was wandering. People said and did strange things when they were under unrelenting stress for long periods.

“A lot of men didn’t come back.”

Vanessa laid a hand on her father’s shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture that expressed, more than words ever could, her love for her family. For the instant between two heartbeats, Devin let himself wonder how it would feel to be included in that circle of love and loyalty, the inner warmth that spoke of family and forever…

“I’ll take Mr. Kincaid to his room,” she said, “then show him around. Drinks around six?”

Ryan 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 him, as strong as the tornadoes that bore down from the northwest, destroying everything in their path. He fought the battle and won.

This he understood. It was passion, no more, no less. But the undercurrents between them whispered of something else. In the nursery, he’d seen the vulnerable side of her, the love for her nephew, the worry and despair that had shone briefly in the depths of her eyes. His partner’s wife had looked like that after they had buried Stan.

From those two, Dev had learned what a real marriage was supposed to be, the give and take, the sharing of the good and bad, the raising of their kids…

The pain hit him as it always did—rising from his soul, tormenting him. Love, he had discovered early in his life, was a hurtful thing. It lifted the heart on wings of hope, then dashed it to the ground, shattered and struggling.

“Why haven’t they contacted us again?” Vanessa asked suddenly, interrupting his inner tirade of guilt and blame. She clenched her hands at her sides. “I should have looked in on him. I started to, but I let myself be distracted. Maria had returned and I stopped and talked to her. After that, I forgot to check on Bryan. I should have. I meant to…”

When she looked at him, the pain was in her eyes. He knew that feeling and the guilt that went with it.

He looked away, refusing to give in.

“If only I had gone to the nursery—”

“And done what?” he asked harshly. “Surprised the kidnappers and gotten yourself killed?”

Vanessa shook her head, angry with herself for failing her nephew. “I don’t know.”

She swallowed hard against the knot of emotion that filled her throat, the agony in her spirit. “He was so tiny. Claudia was good about sharing him. She let me hold him and rock him. He liked patty-cake. And funny songs. He was our future, the next generation of Fortunes…” Her throat closed and she had to stop for a second. “It’s so difficult, not knowing if he’s alive and well. Or if…if…”

“In ransom cases, it’s in their interests to keep him alive,” he said tersely.

“Help me find him,” she begged, the despair rising. She instinctively knew this man would do his best to find the baby. There was something about him that she trusted.

No, it was more than trust. The moment she had looked into his eyes, had viewed the steadiness in him when he had faced her as the horse reared and pawed the air, she had known there was something between them, something deep and personal and eternal. She said his name. “Devin.”

His hand clenched at his side. “Dev,” he said, his voice dropping to a low roughness that both soothed and thrilled her. “My friends call me Dev.”

She heard the reluctance in his tone. He had been trying to distance himself from her and the feelings between them. She knew that. He didn’t want to be friends with her. He didn’t intend to get that close. She understood all that in an instant, and it didn’t matter…because she knew it wouldn’t work. Whatever this was, it was too strong for denial.