Rancher Under Cover. Carla Cassidy

dimples.

      She probably had a boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine a woman like her being alone, without any love interest in her life. A woman like her surely didn’t want for male company.

      Was she aware of what her father had gotten himself involved in? How much, if anything, did she knew about the secret society? She’d been out of the country for months. It was possible she knew nothing about anything that had come to light recently. It was also possible she knew and that was the stress he sensed in her.

      Rhett was accustomed to women wanting to get close to him, finding him attractive, but Caitlin seemed to be the exception to the rule. She appeared as skittish and wary as Molly, but he was determined to get beneath her defenses.

      She intrigued him, and she definitely kicked up a surprising dose of lust inside him, but that wouldn’t stop him from manipulating her unmercifully to achieve his goals.

      Micky O’Donahue stood at the window of the small motel room, watching as twilight began to fall. With the violet shadows of night beginning to edge in, a tense pressure built painfully inside his chest.

      It was the same with the approach of each night since he’d left his ranch to go into hiding—the darkness brought with it a fear he’d never known before.

      The darkness could hold danger and he’d never see it coming. Somebody could crash through the door, take him out with a single bullet to the heart.

      He’d gotten in over his head, thrown his money and influence behind the wrong people, and now he didn’t know what to do to get himself out of the mess, was afraid that he’d pay for his mistakes either with his life or with a life behind bars.

      Hell, who was he kidding? Even if he wound up behind bars somebody from the society would find a way to get to him. He wouldn’t last a week before somebody shanked him in the back or beat him to death.

      He allowed the thick curtain to fall back across the window and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Even if he wasn’t scared senseless he’d find his surroundings horrifying.

      The nightstand was scarred with cigarette burns and drink rings. The gold shag carpeting was certainly the original. The lumpy bed held no appeal and the water pressure in the bathroom was nearly nonexistent.

      Mickey was accustomed to the best of everything and this seedy motel two hundred miles from his ranch was definitely depressing, but he also hoped it was the very last place on earth anyone would look for him.

      He glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand and mentally cursed the fact that when he’d decided to take off and leave home he’d forgotten to pack the charger. The phone was dead. But maybe that was a good thing. He knew that with today’s technology a cell phone registered in his name could lead searchers to him. Even if he had the charger he’d be afraid to use the phone.

      Although he’d like to check in with Esmeralda, he was also afraid to call the landline at the ranch. It was probably bugged and there was no way he could chance somebody tracing the call and finding out that he was here. He needed to go out to get a disposable cell, but so far he’d been afraid to venture outside the room for anything.

      Fear was a new emotion for Mickey. Sure, he’d been afraid when his wife had died and left him with a three-year-old to raise. He’d been scared then that he wouldn’t measure up, wouldn’t be the kind of father he wanted to be to his darling daughter.

      But this kind of fear was something different, something completely new. It seeped into his bones with a sickening cold, tightened his gut until he thought he couldn’t breathe.

      He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, that sooner or later he’d need to decide his next move. But the problem was, he didn’t know who to trust. Mickey had always been a survivor. His craftiness and sense of self-preservation were what had made him successful in the political arena.

      He’d been savvy, always with an eye to his own enrichment of power when it came to picking politicians to back. He’d only made one mistake—trusting Hank Kelley.

      His stomach churned as he thought of the senator who had fallen from grace. Hank had been a good friend and a powerful ally over the years, but now he found himself embroiled in the same mess as Mickey. Even worse, Hank’s daughter had been kidnapped by the very men Mickey feared were after him and now Hank was hiding out at his sons’ ranch in Montana.

      As Mickey thought of his own daughter his heart swelled with a combination of fierce love and pride. Caitlin was not only beautiful, she was smart. She’d breezed through medical school to become a plastic surgeon and he’d been proud of her decision to work with Doctors Without Borders before eventually opening her own practice.

      There was only one thing Mickey loved more than power or money and that was his daughter. He hoped she would never know what her father had gotten involved in.

      Once again he moved to the window to peer outside, the fear a rising lump in the back of his throat, a twisting coil in the pit of his stomach. The only thing that gave him any peace at all was the knowledge that Caitlin was safe and far away from all this, in South America doing charitable work.