When the waiter set her plate of smoked fried chicken in front of her, her eyes widened. “That’s huge.”

  “Better start eating,” he quipped. “Before I get hungry for something else.

  He dropped his hand to her thigh again, fingers inching up.

  She slapped his knuckles. “Stop that.”

  Pierce laughed and dug into his burger. She made her way through as much of her chicken as possible, but it was hopeless. Even eating for two she couldn’t possibly consume this much food.

  Miles came back and asked about dessert. They both shook their heads, then Pierce paid the bill.

  “Wait here. I need to hit the head.”

  Brea couldn’t not giggle. She was so used to her father and his far more delicate way of expressing that bodily need. “I’m going to go ahead and go.” She glanced at her phone. “It’s already six fifteen. Daddy will be back home, and I think tonight will go better if you give me a few minutes to talk to him before you knock on the door.”

  His face said he didn’t like it, but he understood.

  “Fine. And after that, I’m climbing out of this monkey suit.” He pulled uncomfortably at his collar.

  She winked. “I’ll even help you.”

  He leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. “I’ll absolutely let you. See you in less than an hour.”

  “See you then.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you.” Brea pressed another kiss on his lips, then backed away, waving when he finally headed to the bathroom.

  As she made her way to the front door, the Hispanic woman who had entered just after them stood and fell in behind her. Brea looked over her shoulder at the woman pulling a tissue from her purse.

  When the stranger looked up, she realized they were about the same age. The woman had the most beautiful black hair…and the saddest red-rimmed eyes. She’d definitely been crying. Brea’s heart went out.

  “I’m sorry to intrude. I just… Are you all right?”

  She looked startled and shook her head. “No. I… I am very sad. I lost my brother this week.”

  It took Brea a minute to understand around the woman’s thick accent, but the second her meaning hit, Brea hurt for her. She was clearly grieving. And angry. Not a surprise since anger was one of the stages of grief.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The brunette shook her head. “I-I am the one who is sorry. I do not know why I told you. You have a kind face. But my problems are not yours.”

  When the woman walked around her and pushed out the door, Brea followed. “It’s all right. You should never apologize for your grief. You have my condolences for your terrible loss. If you ever need a welcoming community or just an opportunity to pray with people who will understand, my father is the reverend of a church in Sunset, just up the road.”

  The stranger dabbed at her eyes, then tucked the tissue back in her purse. “Thank you. I am very sorry for this.”

  Before Brea could question the woman, she pointed a gun in Brea’s direction. “My brother is dead, and your man is the one who killed him. Come with me now or I will shoot you.”

  Chapter Nine

  One-Mile sauntered through the dimly lit restaurant toward the exit with a roll of his eyes. He would have already been in his Jeep and gone if one of the waitresses hadn’t spotted him leaving alone, tried to rub up against him, batted her lashes so fast he was shocked she hadn’t taken flight, and pressed her phone number in his hand.

  He tossed it into the trash bin behind the hostess stand, not giving two shits if she saw. Despite her obvious cleavage and musky perfume, he wasn’t interested in the least.

  The only woman he wanted was Brea Bell.

  They’d been through so fucking much together. Ups, downs, miscommunications, lies, injuries, separations, saboteurs like Cutter, and hell, even a whole damn town. He’d had to fight her family, her religion, her perception, and her fears… But he’d soldiered on because she belonged in his home, in his bed, wearing his ring, and carrying his babies.

  Now the only thing that stood between him and that future was for one man to say yes.

  One-Mile didn’t delude himself. That blessing, if he got it, would be hard-won. In fact, winning Preacher Bell over might be the hardest battle he’d ever fought because he couldn’t use his fists or pull out his firearm. He had to use his words and be persuasive. And he didn’t know what to say except that he loved Brea and wanted to take care of her for the rest of their lives.

  With his thoughts running in circles, he pushed his way out of the restaurant to head for his Jeep so he could make the drive to Sunset, then do or say whatever necessary until Jasper Bell gave his consent. The sound of screeching tires to his right caught his attention. He turned and saw a sight that stopped him cold.

  A black SUV hauled ass out of the parking lot—with Brea’s panicked face plastered against the back window.

  Fucking son of a bitch…

  Fear crashed through his system and tried to freeze him, but he shoved that shit into a mental compartment and locked it down as best he could. Then he breathed and forced himself to remember his training.

  Still, his heart revved furiously as he yanked his keys from his pocket, unlocked his Jeep with a press of his jittery thumb, then dove behind the wheel, peeling out in hot pursuit.

  The black SUV had disappeared around a curve. Goddamn it, he’d been so fucking focused on Brea that he’d only caught part of the license plate, and that wouldn’t help much if the vehicle had been stolen.

  One-Mile careened around the bend in the road, his thoughts churning. Who would abduct her now? Why? It might be random…but he doubted it.

  Was the tube of lipstick the colonel had received this morning somehow meant to be a warning for him, too? One-Mile didn’t see how it added up, but he couldn’t untangle that shit now.

  When he reached the intersection, the black SUV was gone and he’d missed the light. Nor did he see it in the thick fall of traffic.

  Fuck. Left or right? North or south? He had to decide quickly.

  Following a hunch, he got in the left-hand turn lane to go south. Traffic was heavier in that direction because the majority of town lay that way. If this motherfucking abductor wanted to blend, he would head downtown.

  Seconds dragged on, and he imagined all the horrible things a monster could do to his gentle pretty girl. He started to fidget and crawl out of his skin.

  “Fuck the red light.”

  One-Mile dodged between cars crossing the intersection legally, managed to turn, and tore down the street. His blood boiled. His rage seethed. He tried to quell the panic and think.

  He hadn’t seen her purse scattered or lying abandoned in the parking lot. If she still had it, that meant she had her phone. That probably wouldn’t last long. The kidnapper would know she could be traced and ditch the device—leaving him without a clue where to find Brea.

  He had to get his hands on her computer and track her cell phone ASAP, but he didn’t dare head away from her and waste time off the road.

  He needed help.

  “Who the fuck can I call?” Not Cutter; on his honeymoon. Not Cage; probably in Dallas. He didn’t know her father’s number. He didn’t know how to contact anyone else in her life.

  He banged a fist on his steering wheel.

  Motherfucker, there must be someone.

  He yanked his phone from his pocket and dialed Matt, who answered on the first ring. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  “Someone took Brea.” He described the incident as he merged over one lane and scanned the cars around him.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Down by the airport, looking at a bike.”

  South end of town. “Great. Get on the highway and head north. Look for a black Escalade with a license plate that begins with W-eight. If you see it, follow and call me.”

  “You got it. Call the police?”

  “Not yet. They’ll want to interview me before they put out a BOLO.”

  “And you can’t wait around for that. I’ll call you if I find anything.” Matt hesitated. “She’s a good girl, and she doesn’t deserve this.”

  “It’s my fault.” Self-loathing clawed through One-Mile.

  “You don’t know that. We’ll find her.”

  Before it was too late, he hoped. “Thanks.”

  He needed another hand. Since he had just exchanged numbers with Forsythe, and the guy was supposedly a top-notch investigator, One-Mile hoped that would work for him today. He pressed the button for Trevor’s contact.

  The guy answered on the first ring. “Hey! Decide you like me after all?”

  “I’ve got an emergency.”

  All hint of teasing disappeared. “What do you need?”

  One-Mile thought of an easy half-dozen people he could have Forsythe track down—her father, the man’s fiancée, her boss. He didn’t trust any of them to stay cool in crisis. “Where are you?”

  “On I-49, north end of town. Need me to head back south?”

  Jesus, what a lucky break. “No. Head to Sunset. It’s the next town you’ll come to. I’ll text you an address. Go around the back, head into the bedroom window on the southwest corner of the house. On the desk, you’ll find a computer—”

  “Hold it, Serial Killer. I can’t just break into someone’s bedroom for you.”

  “It’s my fucking girlfriend’s. She’s been kidnapped. She’s still got her phone, and her computer can trace it.”

  “Oh, shit. All right. Stepping on it. Any idea who took her?”

  “No.” And that bugged the shit out of him. “But if they’re any good, you know she won’t have her phone for long.”

  “She won’t. I’m actually almost to Sunset. Someone said rent out here was cheap.”

  Probably. “Call me once you’re in her room. I’ll help you into her computer. Oh, and her dad might be home, so don’t get caught.”

  “If I get arrested, you’re bailing my ass out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, man. We’ll find her.”

  One-Mile fucking hoped so.

  They hung up, and he stopped at a red light. It was a major intersection, and he looked all around, hoping against hope to spot the Escalade. But it was getting dark now. It looked like rain might fall.

  He had no fucking idea how he was going to cope if he didn’t find Brea in time.

  Fuck no! They had been through too much for their love to end this way. He would use everything he’d ever learned and exert every bit of his will to save her. For now, he could best serve her by shutting down the goddamn fear.

  Working to keep his calm, he texted Brea’s address to Jock Strap. The guy replied with a thumbs-up. The light turned green, so he followed the stream of traffic.

  Would the kidnapper be looking to get Brea out of town or hunker down nearby to force on her whatever sick shit was in his head? He didn’t know. He just knew he needed to move mountains to save her.

  Plucking up the phone again, he dialed the colonel, who answered immediately. “Got something already?”

  “A problem.” He explained the situation.

  Caleb cursed. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Call your buddies at the police department. I didn’t make any friends over there during Cutter’s hostage standoff at the grocery store, so—”

  “You only pissed Gaines off. Most everyone else thinks you’re a fucking hero.”

  If he was the ultimate cause of Brea’s death, then no. He’d deserve to rot in hell.

  “I need you to get them to issue a BOLO, have squad cars out looking, check any traffic cams, follow up on leads people might phone in. But I can’t sit still and talk to them now.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  One-Mile let out a breath. “Think this has anything to do with that tube of lipstick you got?”

  “Maybe…but my gut says no. You weren’t a part of that original mission, and these people would prefer to have Valeria back without incident. Taking someone before we’ve even had time to act doesn’t fit that MO.”

  “True.” And that made him feel better—to a point. “But this may be revenge for Emilo’s death.”

  “My sources down there say that shit show he ran is in chaos now. There’s some infighting about which of his lackeys will take over, but word has it that the big boss intends to step in and appoint someone.”

  “El Padrino?”

  “Yep.”

  It seemed unusual that the organization’s kingpin would stoop to care about Emilo’s scrap of territory, but maybe it had been more important than he’d thought. “Think someone bucking for the job is using Brea to get to me so he can prove how effective and brutal he is?”

  “It’s possible…but unlikely. Once El Padrino gets involved, no one down there so much as breathes without his consent.”

  Not usually, no. That calmed One-Mile a little more. If the cartel had Brea, he knew what would happen and how bad it would be. But if Tierra Caliente wasn’t involved…

  “Have any idea who else might have your girl?”

  “None.” He had enemies, sure. But unless they’d just been waiting for him to reveal his Achilles’ heel, One-Mile didn’t see it.

  “Keep looking. You’ll figure it out or find a clue. Something… Need me to send the boys out to help find Brea?”

  Meaning his bosses. Since he’d mostly pissed them off left, right, and center, he doubted they’d do much to help him. “If they’re willing.”

  “I’ll get them on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  There wasn’t much more to say, so after Caleb promised to check in if he learned anything new, they hung up.

  One-Mile continued to drive around. He saw black SUVs, but not Escalades. The one he did spot, he followed to a residential district, only to realize four kids sat in the back and the license plate didn’t match.

  He pounded his steering wheel again. Goddamn it, he was chasing a needle in a haystack. Brea could be anywhere by now. She could already be out of town. Hell, she could even be on a plane out of the country, depending on who had her and what their resources were.

  But under the panic, his gut told him this was about him—not her—and they wouldn’t take her anywhere until they put the screws to him.

  A minute later, the phone rang. He glanced at the display and picked it up. “Jock Strap?”

  “I’m in. Her computer is up,” he whispered. “Her dad is in the living room pacing, so I’m trying to be extra fucking quiet. What’s her password?”

  One-Mile recited it, hoping like hell she hadn’t changed it in the last two months since he’d hacked into her machine.

  “I’m in. It’s locating. I’m fucking shocked they haven’t ditched the phone or turned off location services. Amateurs?”

  Maybe. And that would be a huge fucking relief. “Anything?”

  Trevor didn’t answer for a long moment. The silence seemed to stretch so thin he would have sworn it would snap. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel and drove too fast back out of the residential part of town, closer to the highway.

  “Okay, her phone is still on the grid. Her last location is somewhere on Highway 353. What’s out there?”

  “It’s the road to the lake…and not much else.” It made no sense, but One-Mile still floored it in that direction.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hit refresh. See if the phone is still moving and in which direction.”

  “Yeah.”

  One-Mile heard him tapping a key and waited. “You haven’t overheard her dad say anything about receiving a ransom, have you?”

  “No. Earlier, he was talking to someone on the phone about meeting you. He didn’t sound excited.”

  Why would the preacher be? From her father’s perspective, he had ruined, impregnated, and jeopardized the man’s daughter. Fuck, even if he got Brea back, he’d be lucky if Preacher Bell ever spoke to him. And One-Mile didn’t blame him one bit.

  But that wouldn’t stop him. Nothing—not this kidnapper, not her father, not her best friend or the whole damn town—was going to keep him from making Brea his.

  Except death.

  “Shit.”

  One-Mile snapped back to the conversation. “What?”

  “Either your girl is heading into an area without cell signal or the location services just got turned off. I’m now getting an old location. But I got enough of an update to see that they’re going east.”

  His heart stopped. His stomach plummeted. The one surefire way he had to help her was gone. “Fuck. Now get the hell out of there. And thanks.”

  “Are you sure? Is her dad expecting her home? Will he call the police if she doesn’t show?”

  He was and he might. “Good point.”

  “Want me to fill him in?”

  One-Mile weighed the pros and cons, then decided he didn’t have much choice. “Yeah. Thanks again. He’s got a heart condition. Try to keep him calm.”

  “Sure. I don’t know you well, man. But you’re doing every fucking thing you can.”

  He just hoped it was enough. “Call me if he becomes a problem.”

  Jock Strap just laughed. “The FBI taught me how to sidestep direct questions and difficult conversations. You do you. I got this.”

  “Thanks again. I owe you.”

  “Knowing me, I’ll need it someday.”

  They hung up, then he called Matt. “What you got?”

  One-Mile gave him the location update. “Know where that is?”

  “Vaguely. I’ll figure it out. Headed that way now.”

  Maybe they could run this kidnapper down. He had to hope so.

  He rang the colonel again next.

  “I’m in touch with the police,” Caleb said. “They’re going to issue a BOLO in the next few minutes. They’ll get cruisers looking. Traffic cams are a no-go without a warrant.”

  “Thanks.” Then he updated Caleb on the location of Brea’s phone. Thankfully the man knew exactly where the road was. “I’ll pass that on. I also know a guy who runs a swamp tour out there. Crazier than a rat, but observant and suspicious. I’ll ask him to poke around.”