Mountain Shelter. Cassie Miles

who called?”

      “It was your father.”

      His words hit her with a jolt. She spilled her coffee, with most of the liquid being sopped up by the napkin before she shoved the whole mess onto the tray. “What does he want?”

      “He didn’t tell me.”

      Belatedly, she realized that if Dylan was answering her phone, he must be giving some kind of explanation for why she was unavailable. She didn’t want wild stories about her intruder to spread all over the hospital. “What have you been telling people?”

      “Not a thing. I’m saying that you’re not available and you’ll call back. Your assistant demanded to know if we were dating, and I told her that she’d have to ask you.”

      “And my dad? What did you tell him?”

      “He was a different story.”

      She knew he would be. Peter Shackleford, her esteemed-by-everybody-else father, was a man who expected people to take his phone calls, especially his only grown daughter. She figured there would have been loud shouting, threats, demands and a hearty dose of cursing. “What happened?”

      “He was at your house.”

      “Here? My house here in Denver?”

      “That’s right.”

      Panic exploded through her. She threw off the covers and charged toward the adjoining bathroom. In the doorway, she pivoted and faced him. “Did you tell my dad where we were staying?”

      “Nobody knows we’re here. It doesn’t do much good to take you to a safe place if I tell everybody where it is.”

      “And my dad accepted that?”

      “He wasn’t happy about it,” Dylan said. “He called about half an hour ago, and I expect he thinks he can triangulate your phone signal to get your location. But I have my own signal jammer that I attached to your cell phone.”

      “Another of your proprietary inventions?”

      “That’s right.” He finished his coffee and stood. “We need a plan for the day.”

      “I’m going to perform the surgery. Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed, and we’ll go to the hospital.”

      “And your father?”

      “Later.”

      She didn’t want to deal with him right now, but she had to contact him. He was at the center. If an international assassin/kidnapper had broken into her house because of something her dad had done, he should be the one to fix it.

      This wasn’t her fault. She’d gotten sucked into this high-stakes game, and she didn’t want to play.

      * * *

      LAST NIGHT WHILE Jayne was sleeping, Dylan had done computer searches on her, her father, Martin Viktor Koslov and local hackers who might have helped out Koslov. After a sickening dive into the dark web where you could buy any sleazy thing for the right price, he’d found a set of digital footprints running away from Denver. Well-known cyber-ace, Tank Sherman, was erasing himself, changing to another identity, trying to escape. If Tank had worked with Koslov, the local expert might want to make himself invisible before Koslov erased him.

      Martin Viktor Koslov was a ruthless killer whose land of origin was Venezuela. Reputedly, he had garroted, beheaded, shot and stabbed his targets. Never caught, never even arrested, he was known for planning down to the last precise detail. The neatly picked lock on Jayne’s back door was typical of Koslov; leaving behind a fingerprint was not.

      What had thrown the assassin off his game? Was it the instruction to kidnap rather than kill? Koslov avoided explosives because he’d lost several family members, including his mother, to a bomb explosion. Koslov had a brand of violence that was not inspired by any type of loyalty or ideology; rather, he committed acts of atrocity for the highest bidder. And that might make him an enemy of her father.

      Dylan had also found a number of connections between Peter the Great and Koslov. They knew many of the same people, visited the same cities and were both cruel in their own way.

      Jayne’s dad—the man she defended so fiercely to the DPD detective—wasn’t a murderer, but he hired and fired without concern for his employees and didn’t hesitate to destroy his competitors. He’d made plenty of enemies. Most were businessmen and women based in the US, but there were a few Middle Eastern sheikhs and South American oil magnates who might consider kidnapping to be nothing more than leverage on the next deal.

      When Dylan got the phone call from Mason, telling him that he would arrive at the side entrance in five minutes, he rapped on Jayne’s bedroom door. “Time to go.”

      “Are we coming back here tonight?”

      He wouldn’t make that decision until later today. Right now there was no time for a discussion. The plan was for them to jump into the vehicle as soon as it pulled up to the curb.

      Dylan shoved open her bedroom door. “Now, Jayne.”

      She was dressed in a pair of dark teal slacks, a matching suit jacket and a shiny black blouse. With her dark hair pulled up in a high bun, her appearance was professional and classic. “Give me a sec, I need to find my sneakers.”

      He grabbed her sneakers off the floor and lobbed them into the gym bag on the bed where she had packed other clothing items. He zipped the bag and tossed it toward her. “Remember when I said there was only one rule for you when I’m being a bodyguard?”

      “Don’t go anywhere without you,” she recited.

      “I lied. There’s another rule.”

      “Which is?”

      “When I say go, we have to go.”

      She stuck her toes into a pair of polished black loafers. “Why are we in such a big rush?”

      “No questions. I’m serious.” Though he wasn’t trying to scare her, Dylan didn’t want her to think this was a game. “Your life might depend on your ability to respond to my instructions.”

      The grin fell from her face as she picked up her gym bag and purse. He grasped her elbow and rushed her through the suite, out the door and into the concrete stairwell. He went first so she’d have to keep up with his pace.

      As they descended, he explained, “Lots of abductions occur when the victim is in transit, moving from one location to another. That’s why Mason is driving over here to pick us up. It’s also why we’re taking the stairs. It’s too easy to trap you in the elevator.”

      “I’m glad it’s only five floors.” Their steps were loud on the concrete stairs, and their voices echoed. “I’m guessing that you aren’t carrying my bag so your gun hand will be free.”

      “Good guess.” And he didn’t feel guilty about making her drag a heavy burden. All she had was a shoulder purse and her gym bag. He pointed to the bag. “Are your scrubs in there?”

      “Lots of stuff—lotion, scrubs, comfortable shoes, a cap that’s big enough to cover my hair, extra barrettes and more. These operations take several hours, and it’s important to have clothes laundered exactly the way I like them. By the way, you did a good job choosing my undies. The sports bra is just what I need.”

      “That was Smith’s idea. If it had been up to me, I would have picked the red satin bra and the leopard panties.”

      “Most men do.”

      Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t let himself be distracted right now. Dylan had to keep his focus on getting her to the car without incident.

      They rounded the last turn in the stairwell. Both he and Mason were familiar with the layout of this particular hotel. If they had their timing right, Dylan and Jayne would emerge from the stairwell, walk down a short hall and exit onto the street just as Mason pulled up to the curb.