The Colonel's Widow?. Mallory Kane

house. Toward Irina’s bedroom. One of his favorite pastimes was watching her bedroom at night. She rarely closed the drapes.

      He saw movement. Irina stepped out onto her patio with the red gown on—his favorite. She couldn’t sleep, either. He watched her for a while, noticing that the pain from his gunshot wound wasn’t so bad while he watched her.

      Then he saw something—someone—inside the bedroom.

      “Irina, don’t tell me you’ve got a man in there,” he whispered.

      A cloud drifted by and the moonlight got brighter. He could see the man’s face clearly. Cunningham. He’d know that hard face anywhere. What the hell was he doing in Irina’s suite? At midnight?

      He stood carefully, groaning with pain and dizziness, and got his shaving kit. Inside, hidden with the rest of his stash of goodies, was a LoJack.

      It didn’t matter what Cunningham was doing in Irina’s suite. What mattered was that he had a window of opportunity to keep up with his every move.

      He sighed and clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain. He didn’t want to go out there. He wanted to take another painkiller and go to bed. But he had a feeling this late-night meeting between Irina and Deke was no lovers’ assignation.

      From the way Irina was acting, she didn’t know Cunningham was there.

      Was this the night Cunningham would lead them to Rook Castle?

      Pulling on a jacket, he stuck the LoJack in a pocket and took one more longing look at the bottle of painkillers on his bathroom sink. He needed one—bad. But he had to take care of business first.

      Novus Ordo was willing to spend millions to find and capture his nemesis, Rook Castle.

      He wanted at least one of those millions as a finder’s fee.

      BLACK HILLS SEARCH and Rescue specialist Deke Cunningham moved silently through the east wing of the sprawling ranch house. Behind him, beyond the enclosed courtyard, past the living room and kitchen, was the west wing, home of the offices of Black Hills Search and Rescue. The building to the south housed the staff quarters.

      Hard to believe it had only been two weeks since Irina had called Matt Parker back from overseas.

      A lot had happened, not the least of which was that he’d become a father.

      Unbelievable. And thrilling. An involuntary grin stretched his mouth as he thought of Mindy and his newborn son.

      On the heels of his grin came a wince. His tongue sought the cut on his lip that matched the one over his eye as he stopped in front of the door to Irina’s suite.

      Damn, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at the hospital with Mindy and their baby. He wanted to be planning their future together as a family.

      But even more, he wanted to be in a different world. A world where his best friend hadn’t had to die in order to save his wife. A world where a terrorist hadn’t made it his mission to kill Rook Castle and everyone close to him.

      But that world didn’t exist. So he had to do his best to clean up this one—to make it safe for the people he loved. And one of those people was Irina Castle, Rook’s widow.

      He took a deep breath and glanced up and down the hall. There were four suites in the east wing. Irina’s, of course. Next to hers was the one he’d lived in until he’d left on a mission to rescue his ex-wife, Mindy.

      The suite directly across from his belonged to Rook’s baby sister, Jennie. For the past two years, she’d been living in Texas with a family friend and attending graduate school. The fourth suite, opposite Irina’s rooms, was empty.

      Satisfied that there was no one around, Deke gripped the door handle. He’d waited until two o’clock in the morning for a reason. If he’d ever been on a stealth mission in his life, this was it.

      The door was unlocked. “Dammit, Irina,” he whispered. “You know the danger.”

      He eased open the door and peeked around it. Moonlight angled across the rumpled bed.

      The rumpled, empty bed.

      Instantly on alert, he drew his weapon as he slipped inside and closed the door. A movement caught his eye. Curtains ruffling in the breeze. The French doors were open.

      His unease ratcheted up a notch. Dan Taylor had assured him that there wasn’t a chance in hell anyone could sneak past the Secret Service’s perimeter onto the ranch. But Dan didn’t know Novus Ordo.

      Deke did.

      He’d experienced firsthand what the internationally famous terrorist Novus was capable of. Twice. So it would take more than the word of a young hotshot with lots of civilian training and zero field experience to put him at ease.

      Deke moved silently across the room, trying to position himself to see the entire patio without stepping out of the shadows. The French doors faced south, which meant she could be seen from the guesthouse, where the three specialists lived. If she was out there, they could see her—and him if he wasn’t careful.

      He knew from the gate guard that all three were there. And he had a very good reason for not wanting any of the three to know he was here.

      He took another step, craning his neck to see the southwest corner. Finally, he saw a flash of red. There she was, in a red gown and robe, bathed in moonlight. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and her head was bowed.

      He blew out his breath in relief and frustration. She was all right. But she was exposed. He sank back against the wall.

       Now what?

      He had to get her out of here and on the road. Every second increased the danger that he’d be spotted.

      He thought about calling out to her, but if someone was watching, her reaction would alert them.

      And once they were alerted, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that there was only one reason he’d be spiriting Irina away from Castle Ranch—the one place on earth she should be safe—in the middle of the night. And right now he couldn’t risk anyone knowing where he was taking her. Not even his fellow BHSAR specialists.

      Gritting his teeth, he waited, absently rubbing at the bandage on his right forearm. The surgeon had done a great job of stitching up his arm—thirty-two stitches—but the deep slash itched and hurt like a sonofabitch, courtesy of the weasel who’d called himself Frank James.

      He’d like to have five minutes alone with James. Hell, three minutes would be plenty. But that was impossible. The dynamite he’d set off in a last-ditch effort to save Mindy and their unborn son had taken care of James and Novus Ordo’s soldiers—permanently.

      A rustle of silk pulled Deke’s gaze to the French doors. Irina’s shadow stretched across the bedroom floor. She was coming inside.

      No matter what he did, his presence was going to scare her, so he stood still and waited until she stepped inside and closed the heavy drapes.

      She headed toward the bed, reaching for the sash of the shimmery red robe. Then she stopped, her palm pressed against her midsection. She’d sensed him. Slowly, she turned her head.

      “Irina,” he said softly. “Stay quiet.”

      SHOCK PARALYZED Irina. She tried to suck in enough breath to scream, but her throat seized. She coughed and gasped.

      “It’s Deke,” the voice said.

      Deke. She shuddered as relief whooshed through her, followed by ringing alarm.

      “Deke?” she said, her voice rising. “What’s wrong?”

      “Be quiet. Okay?”

      She nodded.

      “I’m serious. Promise?”

      “Yes,” she whispered. “Is it Mindy? Or the baby?”