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  Still, she knew she was taking a chance by coming here. How to Vanish without a Trace, the book that had been her bible these past months, warned against seeking out known and familiar places.

  And yet…Not only was she running dangerously low on money, but she’d changed her identity so many times they were starting to run together. She needed a break—just a week or maybe two—to rest and regroup. And surely, after all this time, anyone still looking for her would have written this place off.

  Lord, she hoped so, she thought, turning to glance fondly at the cabin’s simple interior. The structure was a standard, open-concept A-frame. Toward the back, an L-shaped kitchen occupied one side, while the bathroom and a sleeping area with a massive built-in bed occupied the other, the two areas separated by a narrow stairway that led up to a small loft.

  A bank of windows stretched across the cabin’s front, divided by a floor-to-ceiling native-stone fireplace equipped with a glass-fronted heat insert. Although the oversized navy couch, the trio of maple occasional tables and the pair of padded rocking chairs were new, chosen by the property management company she’d hired when the place had passed to her and her brother, they had clean, uncluttered lines, like the old furniture she remembered, and were placed to make the most of the sweeping view of the surrounding peaks.

  If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe it was fourteen years ago and that any second her great-uncle Ben would come clattering through the door, an adoring twelve-year-old Seth dogging his heels. The two would snatch away whatever book she happened to be reading—her little brother complained that Genevieve was always reading—and tug her out on the deck to see the sunset or watch an eagle soaring overhead.

  Except that Uncle Ben had been gone more than a decade, the last to pass of the quintet of elderly relatives who’d done the best they could to provide their great-niece and great-nephew with some occasional normalcy. While Seth…

  Her heart clenched at the memory of the last time she’d seen her brother. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, his hands weighed down with shackles, Seth’s normally easygoing expression had been closed and implacable as he faced her through the mesh divide of the visitors’ room of the Silver County Jail. “No. No way, Gen,” he’d said flatly. “You go into court and refuse to testify, they’re going to throw you in jail, too.”

  “But—”

  “No. It’s bad enough that you’re probably going to lose your house—and for what? To pay an attorney who thinks I’m guilty? But I swear to God I’ll confess before I’ll let you sacrifice your freedom.”

  “Seth, don’t be foolish—”

  “I’m not kidding. It’s a slam dunk I’m going to be convicted.” His voice had been even, almost uninflected, but his eyes had been so defeated it had taken all her strength not to lay her head down on the scarred counter between them and weep. “The best thing you can do is accept that I’m a lost cause and just…move on.”

  As if, Genevieve thought fiercely now. The mere thought of giving up on her little brother was inconceivable. They’d never known their father, and it had been just the two of them ever since their mother had abandoned them for good when Genevieve was ten and Seth was seven. She certainly wasn’t about to sit back now and do nothing while he was punished for something he hadn’t done. Any more than she would play a part, however unwilling, in making him appear guilty.

  So, after considerable agonizing, she’d decided to run. It was far from a perfect solution—she accepted that eventually she’d have to pay for defying the court—but so far, at least, she’d done what she’d set out to. The trial had been delayed, buying Seth some time. And there was always a chance that one of the dozens of people she’d written to over the past three months—policemen, attorneys, private investigators, her congressman—might actually decide to do what she’d begged and look into the case.

  In the meantime, she was doing okay. Sure, she was lonely—just as How to Vanish warned, the hardest part of disappearing wasn’t constructing a new identity or not leaving a paper trail or even not staying too long in any one place.

  The hardest part was having no one to talk to. She couldn’t count the number of times during the course of a day that she longed to hear a familiar voice or see a familiar face. As much as she missed home, what she missed even more was someone to confide in, someone she could trust.

  Still, as long as she had her books, her freedom and her sincere belief that if she just continued to insist on Seth’s innocence somebody somewhere would eventually listen, she could survive anything.

  Uh-huh. Except for that killer squirrel that’s lurking outside, just waiting to get you.

  Well, really. What was she going to do? Let herself be controlled by a nonexistent bogeyman, animal or otherwise? Crawl under the bed, cover her eyes and hide?

  She drew herself up. Heck, no. She had enough legitimate worries without letting her imagination into the act.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she zipped up her parka, strode to the door and flung it open. Marching outside, she caught her breath as a blast of frigid air swept over her, but she didn’t falter. Planting herself at the top of the stairs, she scanned the clearing one more time, determined to put an end to her foolish fears. She scoured the snow for telltale footprints and searched the shadows at the base of the pines for anything out of place.

  Nothing. Yet she still had the strangest feeling….

  Determined to be thorough and be done with this once and for all, she turned and marched out onto the large, prow-shaped section of the deck that jutted from the cabin’s front. Again she looked and listened, but there wasn’t a thing to suggest another human presence. There was just a glint of sun on snow, the intermittent call of a hawk and the whisper of the wind sighing through the surrounding trees.

  See? There’s nobody here but you.

  Blowing out a breath, she forced her stiff shoulders to relax. Everything was fine. She and her memories were the only ones here. And once she had the rest of her things out of the truck and got started on the soup she planned to make for dinner, she’d feel even better. She turned and took a step toward the stairs.

  Like a ghost come to life, a man materialized out of the shadows of the overhang.

  Her heart slammed to a stop along with her feet as she stared at him, the blood suddenly roaring in her ears.

  Like her, he was dressed for the weather in a parka, boots and jeans. But that was where all similarity ended. He was huge, six foot four at least, with powerful legs and shoulders like a linebacker’s. His hair was coal-black, cropped close to his head, and his hooded eyes were a pale, icy green.

  His face was all angles, with a slash of high cheekbones, a straight blade of a nose, a stubborn chin and firm lips set in a straight, uncompromising line.

  He looked dangerous as hell, and Genevieve hadn’t stayed free for three months without learning to trust her instincts.

  Whirling, she ran for her life.

  Two

  W ell, hell.

  Feeling a distinct stab of annoyance, Taggart launched himself after little Ms. Bowen, who appeared to be operating under the delusion that now that he’d found her, he might actually let her get away.

  He swallowed a snort. There was about as much chance of that as of him dancing in the Denver Ballet.

  She might be fast, but he was faster. Not to mention bigger, stronger and trained—by the US Army Rangers—to take down considerably tougher, rougher members of society than Genevieve would ever be.

  Although he had to admit, closing this case was going to make his week. Hell, who was he kidding? It was going to make his year.

  Catching up to her with ease, he tackled her, hauling her close as they reached the edge of the deck, crashed into the railing, flipped over the top and plunged toward the snowbank below.

  Instinctively—he wanted to take her into custody, not put her in the hospital, damn it—he twisted, taking the brunt of the impact as they slammed to the ground. He winced as his hi
p struck a rock and he heard a distinct crunch of plastic as his cell phone bit the dust. Then he winced again as the back of Bowen’s head slammed into his collarbone.

  Baring his teeth at the pain, he loosened his grip a fraction, only to bite out a curse as his captive drove her heavily booted heels into his shins at the same time as she punched him hard in the stomach with one sharp little elbow.

  That did it. Setting his jaw, he locked his legs around hers and tightened the grip he had on her midriff. “Knock it off.”

  “Let go of me!” she countered. “Let go of me this instant or—” her voice wavered as he increased the pressure on her solar plexus, making it impossible for her to get a deep breath “—I swear…you’ll—you’ll be—sorry—”

  She was threatening him? Unbelievable. The woman clearly had more nerve than sense. He tightened his hold even more. “Pay attention, lady. I’m in charge now. You do what I tell you. Understand?”

  He waited a beat for her to answer.

  When she didn’t, he increased the pressure until she couldn’t breathe at all, knowing from experience that the more he could dominate and demoralize her now, the less likely she’d be to give him trouble on their return trip to Colorado. “Understand?”

  A whimper escaped her throat. “Yes,” she finally gasped. “Yes!”

  “Good.” Satisfied, he loosened his hold, dumped her unceremoniously onto her side and climbed to his feet.

  Knocking the snow from his pants, he considered her as she lay sprawled in the snow. With her shiny mop of hair, her eyes squeezed shut so that her inky lashes shadowed her smooth cheeks, her mouth trembling each time she took a greedy gulp of air, she looked small and defenseless, almost childlike.

  Except that thanks to their recent tussle, the lush curve of her ass and the soft swell of her breasts were imprinted on his brain, leaving him in no doubt she was a thoroughly grown-up female.

  And a treacherous one at that, he reminded himself, his shins throbbing annoyingly from where she’d kicked him.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  She drew in one last shuddering breath, then opened her eyes. He watched her struggle to control her fear, and felt a grudging admiration as she willed herself to present a semblance of calm.

  She pushed herself upright, watching him warily. “What do you want with me?” she demanded.

  “I work for Steele Security. James Dunn’s parents hired us to find you.”

  “Find me?” She widened her dark eyes in an excellent imitation of surprise. “But why would—”

  “Forget it. I know who you are, Genevieve—so whatever you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying. Now, get up.”

  She stayed where she was. Probing the back of her head, she winced and dropped her gaze. “I will. It’s just—I’m a little dizzy.”

  He took a threatening step forward. “Now.”

  She flinched and threw up her hands. “Okay, okay!” Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she gave a defeated sigh and reached up for assistance getting to her feet.

  Normally he’d have taken a step back and left her to deal on her own. But not only were her lips trembling again, but her outstretched hand was suddenly shaking, too.

  With a faint, exasperated sigh of his own, he reached down. Her delicate palm slid across his calloused, much larger one. Yet the instant he tightened his grip, damned if her other hand didn’t swing up and clamp around his wrist. With surprising strength for such a little bit of a thing, she threw her weight backward, yanking him forward at the same time she drew up her legs and lashed out.

  She was quick, he’d give her that. Luckily, however, he was quicker. He threw himself sideways, and instead of her boot heels catching him in the groin as she’d obviously intended, they thudded heavily into his right thigh.

  The blow caught him squarely in the femoris muscle and hurt like hell. Off balance, he stumbled, his leg twanging as if comprised of overstretched guitar strings.

  It was all the advantage his adversary needed. Giving him one final kick, this time in the knee, she rolled away, sprang to her feet and bolted toward the trees.

  “Son of a bitch.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper, having learned early on to regard intense emotion of any kind as the enemy.

  Yet suddenly he was on the verge of being genuinely pissed.

  He tore after her. Catching up with her handily, he snagged the neck of her parka in his fist, then set his feet and yanked, jerking her off her feet.

  “Let go of me! I’m warning you—” Twisting, she struck out at him, and damned if one of her flailing hands didn’t connect with a glancing blow to his mouth.

  If he’d been Gabe, he probably could’ve soothed her with a few reasonable words. If he’d been Dominic or Cooper, he most likely could’ve charmed her into submission. But he had neither a gift for reassurance nor a way with women and he was sick and tired of being used as a punching bag.

  “That’s it!” Ducking his head, he caught her by the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder.

  This can’t be happening, Genevieve thought, kicking and squirming as her captor strode effortlessly through the snow. It wasn’t right. This big, scary-looking stranger with his hard body and shuttered eyes couldn’t just appear in her life, overpower her and drag her back to Silver.

  Somebody obviously forgot to tell him that, though, because that seems to be exactly what he’s doing. And you can pummel and threaten him all you want, but he’s still going to be able to overpower you.

  It was clearly time to change tactics. She was no match for him physically, which meant if she was going to have a chance at escape, she was going to have to out-wit him—easier said than done when she was hanging upside down, the blood rushing to her head, her stomach jouncing painfully against his hard shoulder with every step.

  She thought hard for a moment, then blew out a breath, forced herself to quit struggling and went limp.

  Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. Finally, however, she felt the faintest hesitation in her adversary’s long, effortless stride. “You all right, Bowen?” he asked.

  “No.” Sounding weak and pathetic didn’t require any effort. “If you don’t put me down, I’m going to lose my breakfast.”

  Darned if he didn’t shrug, lifting and lowering her with a hitch of his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. “Tough.”

  “But—”

  “No.” He paused for a beat. “And if you get sick on me, you’re gonna regret it.”

  His low voice held just enough menace that she believed him totally. Even so, he couldn’t really expect her to control something like that—could he?

  Deciding she’d prefer not to find out, she swallowed. Hard. “What—what’s your name?”

  He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “Taggart.”

  “Is that your first name or your last?”

  “Just Taggart’s all you need to know.”

  Nobody was ever going to accuse him of being a chatterbox. She gulped as he hefted her a little higher. “Okay, Just—” She started to call him Just Taggart, then thought better of it. Antagonizing him more than she already had couldn’t be wise. “Listen, please? I’m not rich, but whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it if you’ll let me go.”

  “No.”

  “Then how about if you just put off taking me back for say…a week?” Surely she could find a way to escape in that space of time. “We can stay here. You’ll still be doing your job, but I’ll pay you, too, and I’ve got lots of supplies and—”

  “No.”

  “Then what about a day? Just one day. Surely twenty-four hours can’t matter—”

  “Not gonna happen, Genevieve.” Without warning, he dumped her on her feet next to the truck. Towering over her, he gave her a quick once over, his ice-green eyes impossible to read. Then he caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Now shut up, keep your hands where I can see them and spread your l
egs.” Planting a palm between her shoulder blades, he gave her a nudge.

  She had barely enough time to throw up her hands and brace herself against the fender before his big, hard hands were on her. They skimmed impersonally down her arms and skated over her back, breasts and sides, then slipped downward to explore her legs and thighs.

  Humiliation painted her cheeks with fire as he patted her hips, then gave a huff of satisfaction as he encountered the car keys she’d zipped into her coat pocket. Before she could voice a protest, he took possession of them, then resumed his exploration. By the time he finished, she was shaking all over from the indignity of his touch.

  “Okay,” he murmured, reaching around her to open the truck door. “Get in.”

  “But my things—”

  “Are in back where you left them.”

  “But I can’t just leave!” She twisted around to face him. “What about the cabin? The fire’s going and I’ve got groceries sitting out and—”

  “I’ll arrange for somebody to come and close things up.”

  “Okay, but—but we really shouldn’t take the truck. The heater’s shot and the brakes aren’t reliable and the lights don’t always work and it’ll be dark soon—”

  “No sweat. My rig is parked on the next track south.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” The look he sent her was frigid enough to flash-freeze boiling water. “You can babble until hell freezes over, but I still plan to be back in Colorado—with you in custody—this time tomorrow. Got it?”

  She thought about Seth, about his threat to confess rather than allow her to forfeit her own freedom and felt a spurt of desperation. Surely there had to be some way to reach this man, some way to change his mind. “I know you have a job to do, but you have to understand. I can’t go back. Not yet.”

  “Oh, yeah. You can. You are.”