High Octane (Texas Hotzone 2)

“I’m fresh out of the Army,” he said. “I’m used to early mornings.”

“I’ll have to break you of that habit.”

“You intend to wake up with me often enough to do that, do you?”

She nodded. “I’ve decided this whole stolen-purse thing has worked in my favor. You look good in my bed.”

He chuckled. “I think the guy is supposed to say that.”

“Say it, then,” she urged.

“It’s not my bed,” he said, though he’d like it to be right about now. “But you look good in any bed with me.”

She grinned a sleepy grin. “You’re such a sweet-talker. How long will I be needing this bodyguard service of yours?”

He rolled her over, slid between her legs. “We’ll have to evaluate as we go.”

A knock sounded on the door. Ryan arched a brow. “Get many 6:00 a.m. visitors?”

“No,” she said. “That’s just odd.” Alarm slid across her face. “What if something’s happened to someone? I should get the door.”

Ryan rolled off her and found his pants. “I’ll go check it out, so you don’t have to get dressed.”

She was already getting up, snatching up his shirt. Together they made a complete outfit. “Where’s my phone?” She searched the dresser. “Oh. The kitchen.”

As Ryan started down the hallway, Sabrina trailed on his heels. “I should have listened to my cell-phone messages,” she said. “And I should have called my parents back. What if something is wrong?”

Ryan turned and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Sweetheart. Stop making yourself crazy here. Whatever is at that door, be it a paperboy or bad news, we’ll get through it. And they haven’t knocked again. It might have been someone at the wrong door.”

Her eyes went wide. “Or my mother. She said she’d come here if I didn’t call.”

“Let’s get the door,” he said. “Would you like to give me my shirt first?”

She shook her head. “Just open the door! I need to know.”

Shirtless didn’t seem the way to meet Sabrina’s mother, but whatever she wanted. Ryan opened the door. A large envelope fell forward.

“What in the world?” Sabrina asked in astonishment. “Who left me an envelope at six in the morning?”

“I’d wager it’s the same person who left your purse.”

“Is it safe to open?”

“I guess I’ll find out,” he said. A few minutes later he had the contents spread out on the dining-room table. Several pictures of a family. One large one of a soldier in full-dress uniform.

“That’s the soldier I wrote about,” Sabrina said. “Mike Patterson. The one who robbed that bank. How would anyone know to send this to me? I wrote that story under a pen name.”

“Obviously someone knows who you are,” he said. Sabrina picked up a picture of a little girl and a boy, elementary-school age. “He had kids. That just breaks my heart.” She glanced at Ryan. “Do you think this is the wife?”

“I wouldn’t assume anything,” he said. “You went to that news conference. Like Marco’s sister Calista, there must have been other people who’d recognize you. My issue here is that this person knows where you live. And it’s too much of a coincidence that your purse was stolen. I don’t like this one bit.”

She hugged herself. “I think I need coffee. Or maybe another margarita.”

“What you need is to stay out of this,” he said. “Convince whoever this is that you aren’t the person to help them.”

“Convincing this person might be easier than convincing my boss,” she said. “He all but threatened my job last night if I didn’t find out why the wife of this soldier visited the mayor a week before he died.”

“This could be dangerous territory,” Ryan told her.

“What about the kids, Ryan,” she argued, holding up the photo. “What if their father wasn’t really a criminal? They shouldn’t have to grow up believing he was.”

He took the picture from her. “Could he have been undercover?” Ryan wondered. “If this soldier was and you expose him as one of the good guys, you may put others in danger. You can’t do that. And who knows what the mayor’s involvement is, or the wife’s. You have to let it go. And if this is the wife, she needs to do the same. She’s going to bring attention to herself that she won’t like. Just like you will. The truth will eventually come out. You have to figure out a way to make your boss just drop it. This could be a whole different ball-game than what you’ve dealt with in the past. In fact, we need to think about your safety until this passes.”

“I’m not worried about me,” she fretted. “It’s those kids. I feel bad for them.”

“Then make an anonymous donation to them,” he said. “I can get you the information to do it. We can organize something for them through the Hotzone, even. Being soldiers ourselves, it would be natural to care for the children of our fallen brothers.”