Kacey had also been left to die in a boat anchored not far from the marina.

  And her kidnappers had been in Rachel’s bar two nights before.

  She’d called her brother. Could have easily told him where she was.

  And Kyle could also be following his own leads and was out looking for her. He’d headed upstream. Too fast for Devon to commission a boat and catch up to him.

  Didn’t think it a good idea, in any case. Why would a boating guide go chasing after a man using the public marina restroom?

  One going the opposite direction of Devon’s property which was miles in the other direction.

  He pulled up his surveillance screens, though. Just in case Kyle turned around and headed toward Kacey. No way was he going to have his property used for illegal activity. There would be no suspicion, ever, of him being dirty.

  No way he was going to let Kyle hurt Kacey on his watch, either. If that’s what the man had set out to do. Even if Kacey had tried to hurt her twin with that knife.

  Could have been self-defense.

  Just as it might not have been.

  Or been her at all.

  Her kidnappers had been asking for a crate the night they were at the bar. Antonio had had the bar address on him the night he’d been killed.

  The same night.

  Keeping all mental channels open, he crossed the street to check in with Rachel—as he always did before leaving the marina area. Grabbed a burrito on his way, ate it sitting at the bar, washing it down with the soda she slid over to him.

  The look she gave him as she did so...she had something to tell him. There were others at the bar, asking questions about the area. Wanting her opinion on the best things to do, which boating tours to take, what stops they involved. And he chewed slowly. Seemingly lost in scrolling on his phone.

  More like, he was glued to his surveillance screens.

  Kacey was in the laundry room, watching them, too. As she had the day before. Right before she’d rushed out in time to see a crate show up onshore. Had she been watching for Kyle?

  The twins wouldn’t be so careless as to have Kyle show up on Devon’s cameras, but there could be some signal to her to get down to the shore. Off camera. Like where the crate had been shoved under the Bird of Paradise plants.

  That flower in her hair...

  His fingers in it so soon after...

  Or... Kacey could be watching the screens so diligently because it was the only thing she could do to try to get her life back. Looking for any evidence that might lead to her freedom...

  Boats on the water, going by his place was common.

  Them coming close enough to shore for him to see them on camera...

  Not so much...

  Rachel’s head appeared in his vision, tipping to see what he was looking at on his phone. Looking like a nosy bartender friend. “A guy came in. Early twenties. Wanted to know if I knew Jerome and Antonio. Said he heard Antonio had the bar’s address on him. He’d known his friend was meeting up with someone and was about to get rich. This guy was nervous but figured someone here could help him make some money off of some movies. Said he didn’t want to hold onto them, since they got his friends killed, but he needed the money bad. Seemed more like he needed a fix worse...” She looked him in the face as they talked, smiled a time or two. They could have been lovers having a little lunchtime tête-à-tête. Or good friends, sharing a good story over his glass of soda.

  Devon smiled in response. Tapped his phone. Glanced at the screen.

  “He said the brothers happened upon a broken case of porno movies during the storm. Stray movies from it were going downstream. They collected as many as they could. Found another case in the process, and then another. Thought they hit on a gold mine...”

  Explained how movies—and Jerome—ended up at Devon’s place.

  “What’d you tell him?” Devon asked Rachel.

  “The truth. I have no idea why Antonio had the address to this place.”

  Picking up a towel, Rachel wiped the counter around him, told him that Belen had been in touch to say his contact was open to conversation, and with another one of her sexy smiles, headed off to take the order of a couple who’d just taken seats at the bar.

  Leaving Devon more frustrated than ever.

  * * *

  She had to get ahold of Kyle. Kacey spent the morning watching the surveillance screens. Because...that was the only thing she could do during her current existence to feel as though she was taking action toward solutions.

  But as the hours passed, one truth got louder and louder in her head.

  She had to contact her brother. Period.

  He’d been knifed. He hadn’t told her—even when she’d turned in the weapon to the police. There was nothing about that that made any sense to her.

  Nothing that made his situation look good.

  But he was her twin. Her family.

  She had to talk to him.

  Even if it meant leaving the cabin permanently.

  There was nothing keeping her there any longer except her own safety. And Devon’s belief that he was safer if she stayed hidden.

  He was probably right about that.

  Stay gone. Kyle’s words had been in her head all morning as well. Over and over and over again.

  It was a match for the blood on the knife you turned in, hit her up as often. Followed by the vision of the cold question gazing at her from her lover’s blue eyes.

  She couldn’t stay gone forever.

  Nor continue living indefinitely with a man who might have feelings for her but was never going to trust her.

  She couldn’t let life trap her on a stool in a laundry closet.

  She had nowhere to go. No way to get there. No identification. No money.

  She had a phone.

  Could call a friend from Bullhead City. Ask someone to come get her. Take her home where she had everything she needed.

  Except protection.

  She couldn’t bring anyone she knew into her world. It was too dangerous. Her brother had already been hurt.

  It seemed likely, with mention of the missing crate, that her kidnappers had had something to do with those two brothers turning up dead.

  All over adult movies?

  Thoughts rolled around, and as many times as they passed by again, they still made no sense to her.

  She had to contact Kyle.

  * * *

  Devon was still sitting at the bar, when his phone vibrated against the wood in front of him. And then again, and again. As he tapped on the screen, trying to find out what was going on, a 911 text from Sierra’s Web popped up. Followed by another vibration.

  The noise was distracting enough, Rachel glanced over. Smiling an apology in her direction for anyone who might be watching, he tapped to get back to his screens. They’d blacked out.

  All of them.

  At once.

  Only one way that could have happened.

  He pushed speed dial for Kacey’s burner phone. It went straight to a voice mailbox that hadn’t been set up.

  His heart sinking, causing his thoughts to stagger, he dropped money on the bar, left and ran to his vehicle. He had it moving before he’d even fully closed his door and broke every speed limit as he devoured the miles between the marina and what had once been his private haven.

  Kacey had shut down his surveillance system. It could only be done, all at once, from inside the cabin. No one else could have entered without him, or Sierra’s Web, being aware of it. One vibration to him, not dozens of them.

  Just as she couldn’t have exited without being seen.

  He’d trusted her, dammit. Left her alone at his place, believing that she wanted to be there, that she’d respect his property, at the very least.

  He’d hoped she’d keep herself safe.

  His security system being disabled...was Kyle there? Were they setting Devon up to take a fall for illegal drug distribution via porno flicks?

  Was she okay?

  She must have made the choice to disable the system.

  No way anyone could have gotten to her without him knowing.

  Unless, the day before, she’d given the number of her burner phone to someone.

  He’d trusted her with that phone.

  What in the hell was she doing?

  Nothing safe. That was guaranteed.

  She had a target on her head.

  And he had no idea who was behind the trigger.

  Why hadn’t she trusted him to help her?

  Every muscle in his body was tense, the blood racing through his veins, as he chewed up the miles.

  And he thought of the last words he’d said to her. It was a match for the blood on the knife you turned in. There’d been accusation in his tone.

  Borne of fear.

  If she’d stabbed her brother, he couldn’t help her.

  And borne of doubt.

  He was a man who’d always have difficulty trusting.

  He tried her phone again. Same result. Either she’d shut it off, was hitting end call the second she saw it was him, or...

  What?

  Rachel called as he was nearing his turn in. Not wanting to take attention away from Kacey, he told his partner that it was a private matter and hung up.

  And then called her back. He was a good cop.

  “I’ve got something going on at my property. Connected, I think, to those movies. I’ll keep you posted.”

  It had nothing to do with their operation. She couldn’t blow her cover to help.

  And he wasn’t blowing his to ask for help.

  Not unless he had to.

  There was no sign of tire tracks other than his own larger off-road wheels in the dirt leading onto his land. The drive was hard desert ground. Plants, cacti, rock all looked as they had the hundreds of times he’d driven to and from the cabin in past months.

  The cabin, when he careened within view, appeared...unremarkable. Just as he’d left it. No broken windows, or bullet holes in the wood. Front door intact. Closed. No sign of a vehicle, other than his own.

  Had Kacey decided to take her own life? And turned off the tape so no one had to see?

  He’d given her the gun.

  Heart in his throat, tears close, he tore into the building, practically breaking the door when the lock got in his way. He could still have time to save her.

  God, please don’t let her die.

  His last words to her had been full of accusation...

  He’d never said anything about the way he admired the hell out of her ability to stand up when life knocked her down, or how she was the one woman he’d have wanted to marry if he trusted himself to do such a thing. Not even a word about how much he liked her cooking.

  In the door, his gaze flew faster than his feet.

  Nothing out of place in the kitchen.

  Her room. The bathroom.

  The living room.

  The laundry closet. He turned the security system back on. Scanned the screens like a madman.

  Looked at the rooms he’d just been through.

  No blood.

  No sign of struggle.

  Back out in the cabin, he took a quick look in his room. Avoiding more than a cursory glance at the unmade sheets, he eyed the rug over the trapdoor. She couldn’t get down there and then replace the rug, but someone could have...

  The rug flew across the room as his hand let go of it, landing on the bed, and he pulled up the opening to his small bunker.

  Not one damned thing down there.

  Where in the hell was she?

  And then it hit him.

  She was an award-winning swimmer.

  The river.

  Chapter 23

  Kacey hiked for miles. Her phone was turned off and in a sealed kitchen storage bag in her pocket. Bottles of water and granola bars were in another sealed kitchen bag tied up in a shirt to the belt loop at her waist. And her gun was shoved in the other side of her waistband. She was careful to stay as hidden as she could in the never-ending tall desert brush. Walking along mountain edges for coolness as often as she could. When Arizona’s blistering hot sun got too much for her, she climbed down to the shore and swam downstream for a while, her goods on her person and secured, then got out and hiked some more. The river was the quicker and less tiring way to travel, but she’d also be more likely to be seen there.

  By drones, if nothing else.

  Not that she was getting fanciful, or dramatic.

  She was being practical.

  Trying to stay alive.

  She had to get far enough away from Devon’s place to make a call without leading anyone anywhere near him. And then she was throwing the cell in the river.

  Just as Devon had taught her.

  She’d left him a note—on his pillow because she had to believe that some of what they’d shared there had been special to him, too—apologizing for shutting down his system. And thanking him for all that he’d done for her.

  She’d researched cell towers in the area. Had to get fifteen miles to be assured that her phone would connect to a different service than the one the cabin used. Two miles was possible, because there was a tower at the marina that could reach out another ten. Ten was safe, due to the rural area. Fifteen guaranteed her that she wouldn’t be able to connect to the smaller tower that provided signal to Devon’s place.

  Stopping to eat granola bars in shaded coves, to sip water on a regular basis, she didn’t let herself think beyond the next horizon. What she’d find out when she got her brother on the phone...that was to worry about in that moment.

  Where her next meal would come from, if she’d have a pillow somewhere to lay her head on that night, if she’d be alive by morning...all things currently out of her control to know.

  She had to talk to Kyle.

  She’d planned on twenty-minute miles. Three miles an hour, five hours to destination, give or take five-minute breaks for resting and eating. Longer if she happened upon wildlife. When she grew discouraged, she reminded herself that swimming helped cut down the time.

  And she thought about the previous night in her bed, and Devon’s. Before she’d gone to bed alone. The way he’d touched her, the tenderness...it brought tears to her eyes just thinking about it.

  When she figured she’d gone eight miles, she leaned against the side of a mountain, about a hundred yards from the river, and pulled out her cell phone. Opened an app that let her see what tower she was connected to, and nearly wept when she saw that she’d gotten lucky.

  That fate, or her father’s angel, was watching out for her.

  She could make her call.

  With shaking fingers, she dialed her brother’s number. She’d hear his voice. Connect to her real life. Threaten to turn herself in if he didn’t tell her what was going on. She couldn’t stay gone any longer.

  The phone rang. She took a deep breath.

  And heard that the number she was calling was no longer in service.

  * * *

  The second the trapdoor had slammed back into his bedroom floor, Devon had called Sierra’s Web, telling them to track one of many burner phones they’d given him—his only way to do an immediate search for the woman who needed to remain dead even after she was found. If she was found. And giving them a no-holds-barred directive to find Kyle Ashland.

  He’d been halfway to his own boat dock by then, had jogged and jumped downhill the rest of the way, and had been on the river ever since. Up and downstream. Slowly. Searching banks. Shorelines. Looking for any sign of Kacey. A piece of clothing. A tennis shoe.

  A granola bar wrapper. Whether she had them with her or not—he hadn’t taken the time to find out—he figured her for being prepared when she’d left.

  Of course, if Kyle had picked her up just beyond Devon’s dock, she’d have needed no other preparation.

  As a couple of hours passed with no sign of her, his tension grew. As did his return to thinking like the full-time star detective he’d been. Kacey didn’t fit the profile of a suicide victim. Not on any level.

  Didn’t mean she couldn’t have gone to the river to die. Profiles were only suggestions, supposition. Guesswork based on data.

  After he’d done enough searching to be convinced that Kacey wasn’t swimming the river, he headed back to search his property—and beyond—on dry ground. Until he heard from Kacey, or heard that she’d been located, he would be in his vehicle, driving every inch of desert setting out from his cabin.

  He was not going to rest until she’d been found.

  * * *

  Sitting on top of a five-foot boulder Kacey tried Kyle’s phone one more time. To hear the same recording. Looking at her screen, to make sure she’d dialed correctly, she could hardly make out the numbers through her suddenly tear-blurred sight. She allowed the wracking sobs to rip up from deep inside her, let them have their say.

  For a minute. Just until she could make them stop.

  She couldn’t afford to cry. Heatstroke, caused in part by dehydration, was the most common cause of death in the Arizona wilderness. She had to conserve her bodily fluids. Her father’s words from years gone by sounded in her brain.

  Sitting up straighter, she took note.

  Sipped from her second water bottle. She had two more. Hadn’t figured she’d be hiking further than fifteen miles, expecting Kyle to either come get her or send someone he trusted, and hadn’t wanted to weigh herself down.

  The more weight, the more danger of tiring sooner and falling prey to heat exhaustion.

  She had her phone. Other than the brief seconds to make her calls, she’d had it off. But if she was going to risk exposing herself, she could send money electronically.

  Where? Where would she send it?