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  My head fell to my chest and I whispered, “They diagnosed me with leukemia.”

  Dalton’s hand covered my twisted fingers, his other coming up to tilt my chin until our gazes met. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  All I could do at his heartfelt words was shrug in a what-can-you-do manner. What was done was done, so I continued with my tale.

  “Dad’s visits grew more and more infrequent, until they stopped altogether.”

  “Fucking coward,” Dalton growled.

  I agreed with him wholeheartedly.

  It had broken me. It had broken my mother. It had also filled me with the resolve I needed to beat that cancer bitch with everything I had. It took five years, multiple relapses, not to mention loads of pills, chemotherapy, and radiation, but the day came where I was told I had won the battle.

  Except that wasn’t all…

  “After that, Mom took us and moved us to Jacksonville before the ink was dried on my parents’ divorce papers.” I giggled quietly at how we ended up here in the first place.

  Dalton smiled, and then asked, “What is it?”

  Shaking my head, I explained, “When I asked her why she chose North Carolina, she told me she’d fallen in love with the idea of it because of one of her favorite authors.”

  Dalton’s eyebrows rose as he laughed. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  I shook my head and met his disbelieving gaze. “Mom’s, Mom. She’s flaky at times, but if you’re one of hers, she’ll lay her life down for you without hesitation. So my life was uprooted, thanks to Nicholas Sparks, when I was fourteen. Even though we have no family around here, I loved it immediately. I still do.”

  It had been heaven for Mom and me.

  For a short two years at least.

  It turns out that numerous sessions of chemo and radiation caught up with me.

  Times two.

  “They always say bad things come in threes—and I was destined to live it, I guess.” I shrugged. “I was out with a bunch of friends, enjoying the last of the summer vacation before school started up again. We were at the beach. Ian, my boyfriend at the time, and I had snuck off from the rest of the gang that surrounded the bonfire we’d built for some one-on-one time.

  “The headache hit me like a ton of bricks. Then the nausea and the dizziness followed.”

  Dalton’s eyes widened in realization. “You thought the leukemia was back, didn’t you?”

  This had been rhetorical, but I nodded just the same. “The moment my mother saw me, she rushed me here to Onslow Memorial Hospital.” Since they knew of my history with leukemia, they ran the necessary tests and came back with nothing until they ran additional ones. “I got stuck with lupus and a rare type of anemia,” I grumbled.

  The man groaned. “Seriously?”

  “They put me on iron therapy to correct the anemia they found, but when that didn’t work, they tested my marrow and found that I had very few stem cells,” I explained. “As if lupus wasn’t enough, I also was diagnosed with aplastic anemia. My doctors had informed me that both the lupus and anemia were most likely caused by the various treatments I’d received while I was sick with leukemia.”

  Dalton’s head fell forward to his chest on a heavy sigh. His hands flew into his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Fuck, Dev,” came out, sounding pained before his tortured gaze met mine again.

  “So that’s me,” I ended on a whisper.

  “Fuck!” Then his hands reached for mine. He got to his feet, his ass found the side of my bed, and he pulled me into his arms for a hug.

  I sighed at the memory of Dalton’s hug. Unused to physical attention, especially from a male, I never expected for my body to melt at this intimate contact as quickly as it did.

  His heat.

  His kindness.

  His safety.

  As exhaustion set in, I held on to the feel of him wrapped around me, falling asleep with a smile on my face for more than just the simple reason that I’d be able to leave the hospital really soon.

  Chapter 10

  Dalton

  Was this a setup?

  I marched straight from the conference room, into my office, slamming the door.

  I couldn’t believe what Brycen had just filled me in on. If Wentworth wanted me on this wild goose chase for him, the bastard should have been honest with me from the get-go. For the first time, I cursed the lead that had sent the politician my way.

  And I couldn’t be any more thankful for Devolin’s warnings.

  With the latest information, gathered by the woman, then assessed by both Brycen and myself, I picked up the desk phone and punched in the number to Minister Wentworth’s personal line.

  “Mr. Kippers,” was my greeting upon the third ring. For a man whose son was incarcerated in Mexico, pending trial for being involved in the Canadian cabinet minister’s fiancée’s disappearance, possible manslaughter what with the extensive amount of blood at the scene, he was a little too chipper for my liking. “Do you have something for me?”

  “The Juan Cartel is involved?” That’s right. No polite greeting. No pleasantries.

  “How’d—”

  “When were you going to divulge the fact that you’ve personally had business dealings with criminals, not only known in Mexico, but throughout the U.S.?” I was seething. “This changes everything.”

  “Kippers—”

  “I’m done sitting on this shit and playing this your way.” I was so done with these pompous assholes. If the money wasn’t so damn good, I’d be more selective of my cases, but I wasn’t quite at that level yet. I needed more manpower before that could happen. “From now on, we’re doing this my way. That means, I’m going to be dealing with the RCMP, Global Affairs Canada, and the Canadian Consulate directly. Any new information you receive, you forward to me or my colleague, Brycen Matthews, immediately. Answers are given when they come and not a second before, Wentworth. Be warned, the bill you thought you were going to be footing just got a fuck of a lot heftier. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Wait just a goddamn minute!” the man bellowed.

  “No! You omitted information that put me and my team at risk. We’re prepared to risk everything, our lives included, but playing me by being selective of the information I get, or don’t, doesn’t work well in this business.” I paused long enough to make sure the man got me with my next point. “You’ve got twenty-four fucking hours to get back to me before I bill you for hours worked and we part ways.” I slammed the phone into its cradle.

  Seconds.

  All it took was a few seconds before my line rang and I picked up the receiver.

  “Find her.” The line went dead.

  “I’m glad we could agree on something,” I grumbled to my office walls.

  Reclining in my chair, my arms up, fingers interlaced behind my head, I released a long tension-filled sigh, as I turned my chair toward the large cork board bolted to the wall behind my desk.

  I’d spent the better part of the day leaving messages and speaking with the proper channels to each Canadian agency, including the City of Ottawa Police. I also pulled my marker with my contact with the Mexican authorities, Miguel Sanchez, who happened to be a drinking buddy of the lead investigator in charge of the abduction and Wentworth’s son’s subsequent arrest.

  Suffice to say, that massive board was getting loaded with information, from dishearteningly graphic images of the hotel crime scene, to various names associated with the victim, Nadia Alvarez-soon-to-be-Wentworth. Minister Max Wentworth and his son, Scott’s known associates were listed there as well, and that list was rapidly growing.

  I took a minute to focus on both Wentworth men’s associates, drawing one parallel aside from the fact that they shared blood: Enrique Ortiz.

  After a quick search of the INTERPOL Criminal Information System, Ortiz was now an open book to me. Well, what various law enforcement had been able to gather over the ye
ars that is. With the rap sheet on that fucker, I knew I’d have my work cut out for me.

  Ortiz was one of the Juan Cartel’s chapter leaders. He was also on multiple international watch lists for crimes such as drug and human trafficking. The guy spent more time on U.S. soil than Mexican, tending mostly to the Southwest region of the States, but some Southeast parts were also in the mix now, which incidentally put him in my backyard. There’d been multiple attempts to indict him, all of which had failed. Let’s just say that the man had a knack at making people disappear. Being a massive man, at roughly two-hundred and ninety pounds of solid muscle and six foot six, people learned to fear him early on in his career, mainly because of his days as an enforcer.

  I studied the most recent shot of the guy that I’d added to the board. Clean-cut, tailored suit, Italy’s best if I had to guess. He was good-looking, confident in his stance. From that shot alone, notwithstanding the others I’d perused, he seemed to hold a certain approachability, a charisma that most likely got him a whole hell of a lot more than women.

  My email chimed, pulling me away from my target of study.

  Scott Wentworth’s rap sheet.

  An unsealed one, delineating each and every single infraction in the kid’s life.

  At a quick glance, nothing seemed out of the usual: petty misdemeanors, theft, drug and weapons possession, small-time dealing, solicitation…all since the age of fourteen.

  The minister’s son sure had been busy. If I were to hypothesize the reasons for the trouble the kid got into, I’d have to say that everything he’d done had been a push for attention from his father.

  He was now twenty-one, and if Nadia Alvarez, his father’s soon-to-be-wife was found dead, Scott could be facing up to twenty years, with no possibility of parole, for murder in the second degree. At the very least, I was confident that the man would see at least four years for being an accessory to kidnapping. And since these alleged crimes were committed in Mexico, he would have to go through their system, and suffer the less than desirable accommodations and treatment. If he wasn’t already, I’d be willing to bet he’d wager double his sentence for the comfort of a Canadian cell right now.

  As I scanned the rest of the email on Scott Wentworth, my cell began a vibrating dance to the Criminal Minds show tune. When Devolin had given me her number, I’d programmed it in to that jingle, seeing as she was a fan of the show, but mostly because she likened herself to Penelope Garcia, the program’s resident hacking guru.

  This warranted a smile from me.

  Probably the first of the day, and it was overdue considering it was past quitting time, and I was hungry.

  “Have you eaten yet?” I asked in place of a greeting.

  “Hello to you, too.” She giggled. “They just delivered my tray.”

  “Don’t eat it,” I ordered. “How do you feel about burgers and fries?”

  “Love ‘em.”

  “Then hold on, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Kip?” Devolin said, a smile in her voice.

  Wedging my phone between my ear and shoulder, I pressed the series of keys to lock down my system. “Yeah?”

  There was a long pause before she answered. It was as if she couldn’t decide what she wanted to say. “I’ll be here,” she whispered.

  Chapter 11

  Dalton

  “I have a confession to make,” Devolin said with a mouthful of fries.

  Within minutes of my arrival, we were set up and chowing down on the dinner I’d picked up for us.

  I paused with my burger halfway up to my mouth and met her gaze. “You do?” Then bit into the beefy goodness, courtesy of Fairfax, a local pub owned by an acquaintance of mine.

  She nodded, swallowed her food, then grinned. “Not that the food isn’t great, but I had an ulterior motive in calling you.”

  Maybe I hadn’t been the only one who had grown fond of our visits. To be honest, they were the best part of my days. This, combined with her words, made me grin. “Is that so?”

  “Mm-hmm…” She licked at the drop of mustard that had landed onto her finger.

  The act, although innocent in nature, set about a chain reaction that had me shifting slightly in my seat to ease the tightening in my pants. To say I was flustered with how this woman affected me would be an understatement, but then again, I’d been obsessed with her for the better part of a year, prior to meeting her.

  “I was hoping that we could talk about what I found,” she looked down to her food, “that is, if you can.”

  Well that knocked me out of my musings about her. Staring at her, I hesitated. “Dev…”

  “It’s okay,” she paused. “I understand—”

  Setting my burger down, I was quick to reach over her lap and cover her empty hand. “That’s not why I’m here, Devolin.”

  Her eyes rounded. “It’s not?”

  I shook my head, smiling. “I like you.” She swallowed hard. “I’m here as a…friend.” This got me a relieved expression, when I would have hoped to have seen one holding a bit of disappointment. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t interested in discussing how you came about those files, but it’s not why I pushed for our visits.”

  She remained silent, coyly averting her eyes from my intense gaze.

  Fucking sweet.

  Adorable.

  Hot.

  Completely clueless about her appeal.

  “Look at me,” I demanded, making her eyes snap to mine. She studied my face. “At this point, with all that you’ve shared, with what I’ve told you about me, I’d like to think of us as friends. Are we not?” She gave me a subtle nod that had me relaxing. “Good. And since Brycen isn’t completely done with pulling the information from your devices, and we’re far from piecing all that shit together, I’d rather not talk about the case just yet.”

  “But—”

  “Not yet,” I warned. This seemed to frustrate her, if the sour expression on her face was anything to go by. “I will come to you when it’s time.”

  Instead of acknowledging my words, she huffed, then shoved a couple of fries in her mouth, remaining mum for the next few minutes. Then, in a very petulant tone, she asked, “When am I getting my laptops back?”

  Had it come from any other woman but her, it would have grated on my nerves, but from Devolin, it was cute. So cute that she had me laughing, which seemed to incense her further.

  “I’m being serious, Dalton. I need to work.”

  The humor was knocked out of me, her words serving as a reminder that she worked for that criminal, Hewitt.

  “About that,” I cleared my throat. “You work for Gordon Hewitt?”

  “Oh, no! Not you too!” She shook her head from side to side, her demeanor going from irritated to outright furious. “I got it from your sister and my mom, who think Gordon’s creepy, and I didn’t take it from them, but I’m certainly not going to take it from you!” She proceeded to drop her food in the Styrofoam container and closed it, pushing it at me. “I think we’re done here. Take your food and go, Dalton.” She wiped at her face with the napkin, then threw it onto her bedside table. To further prove her stubbornness, she jutted her chin out, nose up in the air, and concentrated on the wall in front of her.

  “Dev—”

  “Gordon’s been nothing but good to me,” she defended. “He stuck with me when I had to reduce my hours. He let me work from my damn hospital bed! He’s been nothing but nice to me. He is a little eccentric, but…”

  I set my food down as she rambled on. Much like my sister, I could tell that if I didn’t find a way to stop her, she’d go on and on and on. Standing, I bent forward, then pinched and held her chin with a stern, “Devolin!” Her mouth snapped shut, her head turned toward me, eyes freezing on mine.

  “I’ve got to work, Kip,” she whispered.

  Gaze softened, my head moved toward hers. I knew her eyes were green, but since when did they glimmer like emera
lds with tiny flecks of gold like that?

  “Sweetheart…” I licked my lips, feeling the warmth of her breath fanning over my mouth. Fuck, I needed a taste of her. Just a small one. Ensnared, I inched closer until my lips barely brushed hers.

  Devolin emitted a tortured sound, tilting her head away from me. “Dalton, no.”

  That subtle contact had affected her as much as it had me. Even though she turned her head, she wasn’t pulling away. As much as I wanted to push the boundaries, I knew I had to give her what she wanted right then. Something told me that this connection of ours was too important to rush things.

  Therefore, I didn’t give into my baser instincts to lean back in and devour that sinful mouth of hers.

  Instead, I leaned my forehead onto hers. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  She nodded her assent, then reached for my hand that had somehow wrapped itself around the side of her neck and pulled it away. Giving it a squeeze, she released my hand, then set hers on my forearms, easing me backward, where my ass found itself back in its seat.

  “You…” Her fingers touched her lips. “You need to go.”

  “Sweet—”

  “Please,” she begged softly.

  I managed to croak an, “I’ll go,” before I got up, left the uneaten half of my dinner where it was—on the floor—and took one look back at the woman that was doing a number on my head, before dragging my ass out of there, trying to figure out how something that felt so right could have turned out so wrong.

  Chapter 12

  Devolin

  This is it!

  I’d waited a lifetime for this. Well, okay, maybe more like a year.

  Ten more steps, Dev!

  Staring up at the building looming before me, I paused to let it all soak in. Truth is; this newfound reality of mine was a little daunting to say the least. A year ago, I’d have laughed if anyone had told me that this day would come. Things had looked too grim for me to even entertain the thought of where I would be a week, a month, let alone a year later.