Hard Target. Barb Han

college, and after another three years, graduated from the small university.

      She’d come to North Texas solely on the promise of affordable living and an abundant job market, figuring she could build the rest of her life from there. And she had. She’d gotten a job as a data entry clerk at a computer company and was working her way up. Her boss was due a promotion and she’d been promised his job.

      There were rare occasions when she heard from her mother, although it was mostly when she needed money. Turns out free love didn’t pay all that much. Watching her mom wither away after her dad walked out, Emily had made a vow. No one would take away her power. Ever.

      Being resourceful had gotten her through college, and landed her first real job. She’d pulled on every bit of her quick wit to escape her captors. Once back in the States, she could locate a church or soup kitchen, and get help. No way could she find a police station. Not after overhearing her abductors talk about bribing American border police. Her body trembled. They’d hand her right back to Dueño. She’d be dead in five minutes. Not happening.

      Once she was on dry land, she could figure out a way to sneak into her town house. She needed ID and clothes. There was a little money in her bank account. She could use it to disappear for a year or two. Wait it out until this whole thing blew over. Dread settled over her at the thought of leaving the only place that felt like home.

      She thought about the threat Dueño had made, the underlying promise in his tone that he had every intention of delivering on his word. The way he’d said her name had caused an icy chill to grip her spine.

      The ship pitched forward then stopped. Had it docked?

      Emily repeated a silent protection prayer she’d learned when she was a little girl as her pulse kicked up a notch. She had no idea what she’d find on the other side of the crate.

      Her skin was clammy and salty. She was starving and dehydrating. But she was alive, dammit, and she could build from there.

      There were male voices. Please, let them be American.

      She listened intently.

      At least two men shouted orders. Feet shuffled. She couldn’t tell how many others there were, but at least they spoke English. Her first thought was to beat on the walls of the crate, let them find her and beg to be taken home. But then, she was in a shipment, beaten and bruised, illegally entering the country with no ID.

      Would the men call police? Immigration?

      There were other, worse things they could do to her when they found her, too. A full-body shiver roared through her.

      She couldn’t afford to risk her safety.

      Besides, the man who’d had her kidnapped had been clear. She’d been his target. If she surfaced now, she’d most likely be recaptured or killed. Neither was an acceptable prospect.

      Could she figure out a way to slip off the boat while the deckhands unloaded the other boxes?

      If she wriggled out of the crate now, she might be seen. The only choice was to wait it out, be patient until the right opportunity presented itself. This shipment had to be loaded onto something, right? A semi? Please, not another boat.

      Painful heartbeats stabbed her ribs. She tensed, coiled and prepared to spring at whatever came next.

      A voice cut through the noise, and everything else went dead silent.

      The rich timbre shot straight through her, causing her body to shiver in the most inappropriate way under the circumstances.

      She listened more closely. There were other sounds. Feet padding and heavy breathing.

      Oh, no.

      Police dogs.

      Their agitated barks shot through the crate like rapid gunfire, inches from Emily’s face. In the small compartment, she had nowhere to hide. The dogs’ heated breaths blasted through the cracks. If her odor wasn’t bad enough, this certainly wouldn’t help matters. Now she’d smell like dirt, sweat and bad animal breath.

      Emily’s heart palpitated. She prayed an officer would stop the dogs. From the sounds of them, they’d rip her to shreds.

      “Hier. Komm!” another voice commanded.

      Emily made out the fact the officer spoke in another language. Dutch? German?

      Damn.

      She was about to be exposed. Her heart clutched. She had no idea how powerful the man who’d kidnapped her was. One thing was certain. He had enough money to buy off American border police. Was she about to come face-to-face with men he had in his pocket?

      She shuddered at the thought of being sent back to Dueño, to that hell.

      Her left eye still burned from the crack he’d fired across her cheek when she’d told him she didn’t know the codes.

      Maybe she could tell the officers the truth, beg them to let her go.

      If they were for real, maybe she had a chance.

      Voices surrounded her. Male. Stern.

      She coiled tighter, praying she’d have enough energy to fight back or run. She’d have about a half second to decide if they would send her back to that hellhole, but she wouldn’t go willingly.

      A side panel burst open and Emily rolled out. She popped to her feet.

      The officer in front of her was tall, had to be at least six-two. His hair was almost dark enough to be black. He had intense brown eyes, and he wore a white cowboy hat. He was built long and lean with ripples of muscles. Under normal circumstances, she’d be attracted to him. But now, all she could think about was her freedom.

      He had a strong jawline, and when he smiled, his cheeks were dimpled. His eyes might be intense, but they were honest, too.

      She held her hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “Help me. Please. I’m American.”

      * * *

      “YOU’RE A US CITIZEN?” Reed Campbell had taken one look at the curled-up little ball when he opened the crate and felt an unfamiliar tug at his heart. He pushed it aside as she shot to her feet. Her face was bruised. She had a busted lip. Even though her hair was overly bleached and tangled, and she could use a shower, her hazel eyes had immense depth—the kind that drew him in, which was ridiculous under the circumstances. It had to be her vulnerability that stirred the kind of emotions that had no place at work.

      “Yes.” She spoke in perfect English, but American citizens didn’t normally travel home in a crate from Mexico. It looked as if standing took effort. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

      She nodded and he helped her to a smaller crate where she eased down. He asked an agent to grab a bottled water out of his Jeep. A few seconds later, one of his colleagues produced one.

      The cap was on too tight, and she seemed too weak to fight with it.

      “I can do that for you.” He easily twisted off the lid.

      She thanked him, downed three-quarters of the bottle and then poured the rest over her face.

      “What’s your name?”

      She stalled as though debating her answer. “Emily Baker.”

      “I need to see ID, ma’am. Driver’s license. Passport.” He looked her up and down. No way did she have a wallet tucked into her two-piece swimsuit. The material fit like an extra layer of skin, highlighting full breasts and round hips. Neither of which needed to go in his report. He forced his gaze away from the soft curves on an otherwise firm body.

      He cleared his throat. Damn, dry weather.

      “I don’t have any with me.” The words came out sharp, but the tone sounded weary and drained. The crate she was in was huge and there were several compartments. More illegals? Human trafficking? Reed had seen it all in the past six years as a Border Patrol agent.

      “Let’s