THE FEEL OF HER LIPS, the warmth of them, broke through the chill in his heart at the thought of not having her in his life. He answered her kiss, meeting her mouth with his over and over until they were breathless.

  Only then did he break apart from her, but he leaned his forehead on hers and skimmed his hand through the caramel locks of her hair. “You are a determined woman. A strong woman.”

  “A woman who can handle a life like yours,” she said, trying to convince him, only that wasn’t necessary.

  “You can handle anything, I think, including a life with me. It’s why I want you in my life. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. That is if you’ll have me,” he said.

  A smile slowly erupted across her features, brightening the blue of her gaze to the color of a summer sky. “If that’s a proposal, the answer is yes.”

  “Then there’s only one thing that would make me happier—how soon can you marry me?” he said and dropped a playful kiss on her lips.

  She chuckled and shook her head. “I think I like this new impulsive side of you.”

  In truth, she made him feel lighter, as if the weight of the world that had descended on him with the deaths of his mom and her partner was no longer holding him down. “It’s thanks to you. You’ve set me free of the past.”

  She leaned her forehead against his again and said, “Just like you’ve set me free. Together we can do this.”

  “We can. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go see my dad. Tell him the good news. Let him know that he’s free to move around now that we’ve caught the Crusader.”

  “I’d like that as well,” she said, rose, and held out her hand to him. “I’d like to go now, if you can, that is.”

  Miguel looked toward Nicholas’s office. “Let me just check with Nicholas about the search warrant.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, and he hurried off to his team member, who was on the phone with someone.

  As Nicholas hung up, Miguel said, “How are we doing?”

  Nicholas leaned back in his chair and laced his hands together behind his head in a casual pose. “They’re getting the judge out of bed to sign the warrant. May be another hour before we have it so I may go get a shower and change if that’s okay with you.”

  “It is. Maisy and I are just going to see my dad. We have some good news for him,” Miguel said with a smile.

  Nicholas’s gaze skipped from him to where Maisy waited in their work area. “Let me guess. You and Maisy—”

  “I proposed,” Miguel jumped in, surprised by his own excitement at the prospect.

  Nicholas did a quick wag of his head. “I have to admit, I never thought I’d see this day, but I’m happy for you. I think Maisy will be good for you and that you’ll be good for her.”

  Miguel looked back toward her and smiled. “I think so. Now, if only Liam would see what a mistake he made.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I think he may have. I overheard him saying something to David just before he left.”

  “Let’s hope so. I’m not sure I can take more of the Lorelai-Liam drama in the office,” he said and gestured to Maisy. “We’re going to visit with my father, but I’ll be back within the hour. Hopefully we’ll have the search warrant by then.”

  “Hopefully. I’ll see you later and...I’m happy for you, Miguel.”

  “And I’m happy for you, Nicholas. When you first met Aubrey during that serial killer investigation, I have to confess I was worried, but I see how happy she’s made you,” Miguel said.

  “I am happy. More than I ever thought possible so if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading home,” Nicholas said and shot out of his chair.

  “I’ll see you later,” Miguel said and followed Nicholas out the door to where his team member paused to congratulate Maisy.

  She hugged the other agent and after, walked to his side and twined her fingers with his. “Ready to go?”

  Ready? he asked himself, but didn’t hesitate to say, “More ready than I ever thought.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Liam juggled the flowers as he rode the elevator up to the BAU offices, which he’d left just a little over two hours earlier.

  He’d gone home as instructed and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d fallen asleep. But the moment he’d opened his eyes, he’d known what he had to do without delay.

  The elevator door had barely opened when he rushed out, pushed through the doors of the BAU offices and hurried to the director’s anteroom, where Lorelai was seated at her desk.

  She looked up as he approached and seemed surprised that he was there. Surprised but pleased, he told himself.

  “Good morning, Lorelai,” he said and held out the bouquet of flowers to her, but she didn’t take them or return the greeting.

  Fear gripped his gut, but he pushed on. “I know I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry. But when I called off the wedding, it wasn’t because of you—it was because of me. Because I was afraid that I would mess things up the way my family messed things up.”

  Lorelai wagged her head and blew out a rough sigh. “You are not your father or your mother, Liam. You don’t have to make their mistakes again,” she stressed.

  “I should have known that, but when I realized you were at the station with the bomber, it hit me. Hard. I didn’t want to lose you,” he said and held out the flowers to her again, holding his breath that this time she wouldn’t refuse them. Refuse him. “Please marry me, Lorelai. This week, like we had originally planned.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Lorelai said, but took the flowers from him and smiled. “Carnations. My favorites.”

  “It is that easy. I called the restaurant. They haven’t rebooked our room yet. The minister’s still available also. Please forgive me and say yes. Make me a very happy man.”

  She dipped her head to the bouquet and inhaled the spicy fragrance of the carnations. As she lifted her gaze to meet his, she smiled and said, “Yes.”

  * * *

  THE HOTEL ROOM door flew open as soon as Miguel knocked. “Thank God you’re both okay. I just saw the news on TV,” his father said and invited them into the room. “We’re fine, Dad,” Miguel said and his father narrowed his gaze as they walked into the room hand-in-hand.

  “I’m so glad, Miguel. You know how I worry about you,” his father said and followed them into the room.

  Miguel shared a quick glance with Maisy, but then smiled. “I know you worry, but I think you’ll be happy to hear that Maisy agreed to marry me.”

  Robert smiled and his gaze sheened with tears. He walked over and hugged Maisy and then Miguel. “I am so happy. I think I worried as much, maybe more, about you being so alone.”

  Maisy hugged Robert and said, “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. I think Miguel and I will be very happy together.”

  His father’s teary gaze skipped from Maisy to him. “I know you will be. You’ve made this old man very happy.”

  “And we’re very happy, Dad. I hope that you’ll think about spending more time in Seattle,” Miguel said.

  This time the tears, of joy and not sorrow, slipped down his father’s cheeks. “I think I will. Maybe even move here, that is if you don’t think I’ll be intruding.”

  Maisy laid a hand on his jacket sleeve and smiled. “I know this is all so sudden, but I think it would be wonderful to have you here.”

  “I agree, Dad. You can even help us plan the wedding,” Miguel said.

  “A wedding. You and Maisy! How wonderful,” he said and hugged them once again.

  It is wonderful, Miguel thought and savored the peace of the embrace with his father and Maisy. It was a peace he’d never expected, but he welcomed it.

  In their arms, he was finally free of the pain of the past. Free to forge a future and a family with this amazing woman.

  * * *

  MIGUEL HUGGED MAISY to him as they moved to the languid beats of the slow dance. He brushed a kiss across her temple and said, “This is nice.”

  She skimmed a kiss along his jaw and said, “It is. Everyone seems so happy.”

  Miguel looked around at his team members as they danced with their significant others. Madeline and Jackson. Dashiell and Raina. Nicholas and Aubrey. Liam and Lorelai, dressed in their wedding best.

  They all looked so happy and he hoped they were as happy as Maisy and him.

  Caitlyn Yang stood off to one side of the room with her boyfriend, David beside them with his girlfriend.

  My team, he thought with pride at what they’d been able to accomplish in the past few months. Catching a serial killer. Freeing a young child from a kidnapper. Proving Dashiell’s sister was not an embezzler. Stopping Richard Rothwell and his rampage as the Seattle Crusader.

  It had taken them the past week to tie up all the loose ends. Adams, who had planted the bombs, had luckily survived his wounds and together with Davis, the licensed blaster, had provided them the last bits of evidence needed to create an airtight case against Rothwell. If there was one thing that bothered him it was that the U.S. attorney had agreed to accept Rothwell’s guilty plea in exchange for a reduced sentence. Miguel had thought Rothwell should serve the maximum sentence considering all the harm he’d done in order to win the state senate seat and make some cash from the insurance payouts on the bombed buildings he owned. Still, thirty years in jail might be the equivalent of a life sentence given Rothwell’s age.

  And I’ve been freed from my life sentence of loneliness by meeting Maisy, he thought and bent his head to kiss her.

  She kissed him back and he could feel her smile against his lips. It dragged a smile to his lips as they kissed again and again.

  But then a sound and vibration crept into his awareness, pulling him away from the joyful moment.

  He yanked his smartphone from his jacket pocket. Director Branson.

  “Good evening, Olivia,” he said and as his team members heard her name, they looked his way and stopped dancing.

  “Good evening, Miguel. I’m so, so sorry to interrupt your celebration and please wish Liam and Lorelai my best,” she said, her tone contrite.

  “I will and I know you wouldn’t be calling unless it was important,” he said and little by little his team members drifted over to hear the discussion.

  “It is. We have a new case and I’m sending all the information to you. I need the team to review it and be ready to discuss it in an hour,” she said.

  Miguel glanced at his team members’ faces and had no doubt. They were the FBI Seattle BAU team and could tackle any case that came their way.

  “We’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  Don’t miss the previous books in the

  Behavioral Analysis Unit series:

  Profiling a Killer by Nichole Severn

  Decoding a Criminal by Barb Han

  Tracing a Kidnapper by Juno Rushdan

  Available now

  wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  When her estranged father dies and leaves her his sprawling Texas ranch, Janessa Parkman must come to terms with the stipulations in his will and her past. This includes confronting what happened between her and rancher Brody Harrell all those years ago...and figuring out if the magic of the Christmas season can help them pick up where they left off...

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  Christmas at Colts Creek by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.

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  Christmas at Colts Creek

  by Delores Fossen

  CHAPTER ONE

  “THIS IS LIKE one of those stupid posts that people put on social media,” the woman snarled. “You know the ones I’m talking about. For a million dollars, would you stay in this really amazing house for a year with no internet, no phone and some panty-sniffing poltergeists?”

  Frowning at that, Janessa Parkman blinked away the raindrops that’d blown onto her eyelashes and glanced at the grumbler, Margo Tolley, who was standing on her right. Margo had hurled some profanity and that weird comment at the black granite headstone that stretched five feet across and five feet high. A huge etched image of Margo’s ex, Abraham Lincoln Parkman IV, was in the center, and it was flanked by a pair of gold-leaf etchings of the ornate Parkman family crest.

  “Abe was a miserable coot, and this proves it,” Margo added, spitting out the words the way the chilly late October rain was spitting at them. She kicked the side of the headstone.

  Janessa really wanted to disagree with that insult, and the kick, especially since Margo had aimed both of them at Janessa’s father. Or rather her father because he had that particular title in name only. However, it was hard to disagree or be insulted after what she’d just heard from Abe’s lawyer. Hard not to feel the bubbling anger over what her father had done, either.

  Good grief. Talk about a goat rope the man had set up.

  “Do you understand the conditions of Abe’s will?” Asher Parkman, the lawyer, asked, directing the question at Janessa.

  “Yeah, do you understand that the miserable coot is trying to ruin our lives?” Margo blurted out before she could answer.

  Yes, Janessa got that, and unlike the stupid social media posts, there was nothing amusing about this. The miserable coot had just screwed them all six ways to Sunday.

  Twenty Minutes Earlier

  “SOMEBODY OUGHT TO put a Texas-sized warning label on Abe Parkman’s tombstone,” Margo Tolley grumbled. “A warning label,” she repeated. “Because Abe’s meanness will surely make everything within thirty feet toxic for years to come. He could beat out Ebenezer Scrooge for meanness. The man was a flamin’ bunghole.”

  Janessa figured the woman had a right to voice an opinion, even if the voicing was happening at Abe Parkman’s graveside funeral service. Janessa’s father clearly hadn’t left behind a legacy of affection and kindness.

  Margo, who’d been Abe’s second wife, probably had a right to be bitter. So did plenty of others, and Janessa suspected most people in Abe’s hometown of Last Ride, Texas, had come to this funeral just so they could make sure he was truly dead.

  Or to glean any tidbits about Abe’s will.

  Rich people usually left lots of money and property when they died. Mean rich people could do mean, unexpected things with that money and property. It was the juiciest kind of gossip fodder for a small town.

  Janessa didn’t care one wet eyelash what Abe did with whatever he’d accumulated during his misery-causing life. Her reason for coming had nothing to do with wills or assets. No. She needed the answer to two very big questions.

  Why had Abe wanted her here?

  And what had he wanted her to help him fix?

  Janessa gave that plenty of thought while she listened to the minister, Vernon Kerr, giving the eulogy. He chirped on about Abe’s achievements, peppering in things like pillar of the community, astute businessman and a legacy that will live on for generations. But there were also phrases like his sometimes rigid approach to life and an often firm hand in dealing with others.

  Perhaps those were the polite ways of saying flamin’ bunghole.

  The sound of the minister’s voice blended with the drizzle that pinged on the sea of mourners’ umbrellas. Gripes and mutters rippled through the group of about a hundred people who’d braved the unpredictable October 30th weather to come to Parkmans’ Cemetery.

  Or Snooty Hill as Janessa had heard some call it.

  The Parkmans might be the most prominent and richest family in Last Ride, and their ancestor might have founded the town, but obviously some in her gene pool weren’t revered.

  Margo continued to gripe and mutter as well, but her comments were harsher than the rest of the onlookers because she’d likely gotten plenty of fallout from Abe’s firm hand. It was possibly true of anyone whose life Abe had touched. Janessa certainly hadn’t been spared from it.

  Still, Abe had managed to attract and convince two women to marry him, including Janessa’s own mother—who’d been his first wife. Janessa figured the convincing was in large part because he’d been remarkably good-looking along with having mountains of money. But it puzzled her as to why the women would tie themselves, even temporarily, to a man with a mile-wide mean streak.

  A jagged vein of lightning streaked out from a fast approaching cloud that was the color of a nasty bruise. It sent some of the mourners gasping, squealing and scurrying toward their vehicles. They parted like the proverbial sea, giving Janessa a clear line of sight of someone else.

  Brody Harrell.

  Oh, for so many reasons, it was impossible for Janessa not to notice him. For an equal number of reasons, it was impossible not to remember him.

  Long and lean, Brody stood out in plenty of ways. No umbrella, for one. The rain was splatting onto his gray Stetson and shoulders. No funeral clothes for him, either. He was wearing boots, jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt that was already clinging to his body because of the drizzle.

  Once, years ago on a hot July night, she’d run her tongue over some of the very places where that shirt was now clinging.

  Yes, impossible not to remember that.

  Brody was standing back from the grave. Far back. Ironic since according to the snippets Janessa had heard over the years about her father, Brody was the person who’d been closest to Abe, along with also running Abe’s sprawling ranch, Colts Creek.

  If those updates—aka gossip through social media and the occasional letter from Abe’s head housekeeper—were right, then Brody was the son that Abe had always wanted but never had. It was highly likely that he was the only one here who was truly mourning Abe’s death.