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  The final light to come on was in the front room on the second floor—her bedroom most likely. I could picture her kicking off her heels, unbuttoning that blue shirt she'd been wearing—bright blue for Christ's sake. Like a summer fucking sky. I'd told her to wear blue—a dark color, in my mind—so I would know who she was in that dim bar and instead, the woman had shone like a beacon of blue light. Didn't matter. I was positive no one had followed me, and other than a few glances from horny men, no one had bothered her. It was clear she was slumming it and they'd steered clear.

  I'd chosen the bar on purpose so I could get a fix on her. There was no real reason to suspect she wasn't who she said she was, but in my line of work, I knew enough to take stock of the situation from all angles before moving forward. I'd watched her for twenty minutes or so, wanting to size her up before sliding into the empty seat next to her. It'd only taken a minute or two, to know she was exactly who I thought she was—a wealthy, sheltered debutante who had never been in a place like that before—but I'd taken another fifteen just to enjoy the view.

  I hadn't been able to see her face at that point, but I liked her feminine posture, her spine straight and her ass scooted back on the bar stool, liked the way she crossed her shapely legs, and the way she picked at the label on her beer bottle. She was the picture of elegance, and a woman clearly out of her element, attempting not to appear nervous. But she was nervous, vulnerable. She didn't act like she owned the place, that uppity attitude I'd seen so often in wealthy, privileged women. There was something . . . lonely about her, and it'd poked at me in some way I couldn't identify.

  When I'd finally moved close enough to see her face, I'd liked that too. She didn't have the sort of looks that jumped out at you, more a subtle prettiness that had only grown on me as I'd watched her face move into different expressions. She wore every emotion on her face, each reaction in those big, blue eyes, and I wondered if she realized it. Probably not—who would choose to be such an open book that way? No wonder she'd been a sitting duck. Maybe until recently, the woman had never known the sting of betrayal, the pain of someone knowing your weak spots and using them against you.

  I did. But I'd learned. Learned how to shut down so no one would ever do that to me again. You let people see what you intended them to see and nothing more.

  I hadn't thought of that dog pen on the edge of my uncle's property for a long time, but for some unknown reason, my thoughts took me there now. The aggressive growls, the yelps of pain, the smell of blood—I wrenched my mind away. No point in going there. None at all.

  My eyes lingered on that second-floor window. What the hell was I doing here anyway? More reconnaissance? I'd already ascertained Olivia Barton was on the up and up. So why the fuck was I sitting outside her house watching her lights blinking off, one by one just as they'd come on, the final one—her bedroom—going dark as well?

  She was in bed and I couldn't help the picture that came to my mind, that chestnut brown hair spread over her pillow, her slim shape clearly outlined under the blankets. I wondered what she slept in—more silk probably—and I felt a twinge between my legs. I frowned, turning the key in the ignition as my truck purred to life. Yeah, I was attracted to my client and that was a damn inconvenience, not only because she'd hired me—to find the runaway fiancé who'd broken her heart no less—but because I was using her for my own ends.

  I swore quietly under my breath as I pulled away from the curb. Hell, inconvenient physical attraction happened. It was just a chemical thing, some invisible hormonal cocktail that sometimes grabbed a man by the balls. I'd deal with it. Didn't help that it’d been a while since I'd taken a woman to bed. Women had been scarce in the remote desert where I'd been sent for almost a year. Since I'd returned to the States, quite frankly, no one had piqued my interest. Sure, I'd seen attractive women, but no one who caused that spark of electricity that made sex fun. Without it, without that driving force that compelled me to claim a specific woman for the night, I could just as well use my own hand and avoid an awkward goodbye the next morning.

  My motel was only a ten-minute drive from the upscale residential neighborhood in Las Vegas where Olivia Barton lived, but what a difference ten minutes made. Rowdy groups of teens loitered on the street corners, and women strolled too slowly to actually be heading anywhere. The motel was rundown and seedy-looking, the parking lot littered with flyers advertising discount sex.

  The door next to mine opened just as I was entering my room, and a girl who looked to be about sixteen with painted lips and deadened eyes stumbled out as a man belched behind her. Our eyes met and she smiled seductively, if a little wobbly. "Need some company, mister?"

  "No, ma'am, but thanks anyway." She blinked, her head tilting as I shut my door behind me, removing my cap and tossing it on the bed. I went through the room, checking the windows, the latches, looking at the way my things were placed, making sure nothing had been moved and no one had been in my room while I'd been gone.

  I turned up the air conditioning as I stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor. The cool water felt like heaven, and I groaned in appreciation as I stepped under the spray. I was going to enjoy every cool shower I could until we left for Colombia. Lord only knew when I'd get another. The country had been ravaged by a massive 8.2 magnitude earthquake almost two months before, causing mass casualties and practically leveling some small towns. The tsunami straight after attacked the coastal towns, causing more destruction. Infrastructure was down everywhere, food and fuel were scarce, and communication was spotty at best. Whereas the wars between guerilla soldiers and military forces had resolved in recent years, in the wake of the destruction, conflict had arisen again, drawing out rebel groups. The natural disaster had made criminal elements of all types more brazen, from organized political factions and big-time drug traffickers to petty criminals alike.

  Many parts had only just begun to re-build. It was going to be a long process, especially for the poor, rural areas where entire roads had been destroyed and there was no way to send assistance.

  I was used to traveling through harsh terrain, but Olivia Barton was not, and I cringed to think about what the next week or so would be like as I led her through forests, past the Amazon, over low mountainous regions and finally to the Caribbean coast. Colombia had a little bit of everything, none of which Olivia Barton had ever experienced without the benefit of a resort close by and a tropical drink waiting on a poolside veranda.

  I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, shaking my head as the soapy water sluiced over my shoulders and down my back. This was going to be hell—a hell of an entirely different sort than I was used to.

  Still . . . it would be worth a hellish week, if the end result was what I hoped it would be.

  As for Olivia Barton, trekking through a crime-infested country in ruination to locate the loser who'd lied to and abandoned her was her own foolish choice. I'd make sure she was as safe as I could, though. I was good at my job, and I had every confidence I'd get us both to Palomino unharmed.

  I'd used others before for the greater good. I hadn’t enjoyed it but knew it was a necessary evil. So why the idea of using Olivia Barton sent a spear of regret through me, I wasn't sure. The attraction, I supposed. It was a damn shame I hadn't met her under different circumstances. Across a crowded bar, eyes meeting and flaring, that moment everything in my body told me: that one, I want her. God I loved that fucking moment. Loved the single-minded pursuit. I was a hunter, by trade and by nature—I couldn't change it any more than I could change the color of my eyes, the eyes I knew unsettled some women right off the bat. But if things had been different, I'd pursue Olivia Barton until she was stripped bare and writhing under me, legs locked around my hips, eyes glazed with lust. I'd see everything in that wide, blue gaze, know if she liked it slow and deep or hard and fast. I'd watch that expressive face as she came and—

  Shut it down, man. Fuck. This was not the direction my mind needed to be heading right now.
I had a shit ton of work to do before I left the country and fantasizing about my client was not one of them. Jesus Christ. I was hard now, so I turned the water to icy cold, hissing out a breath as the frigid water met my skin, my cock, the shock taking my arousal down a notch. As my blood cooled, a frisson of unease went through me, the feeling that this job was going to be more dangerous than I anticipated in some unknown way. And I always trusted my gut. Which meant I needed to be on my A-game.

  I turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and toweled off before heading to the bedroom for my phone. I had calls to make, I had a trip to arrange, and I needed to get myself under strict control.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Olivia

  What did one pack to go on a hike through Colombia in search of her missing fiancé? Hike. I snorted. I had a feeling that was an extremely loose description of what we'd be doing. I'd looked at a map of the areas we'd have to get through to make it to Palomino—a small town on the Carribean coast—and they looked to be unpopulated for large stretches. Luckily, commercial flights had resumed to a few of the larger airports. But how would we travel after that? Surely we wouldn't walk. It would take a month. No, my guide, the man I'd been too flustered to remember to ask his name, would make arrangements for transportation. Right? Surely. How did this work? I took a deep breath, placing my hand on my stomach as if I might contain my nerves that way.

  I thought about him again, pictured the flash of those pale eyes in the midst of his hardened face and shivered as I had when the light hit him in that bar three nights before. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant shiver, more a strange mix of uneasiness and curiosity. He was a type of man I'd never come into contact with before, had no reason to. Until now. He was dangerous, obviously used to the shadows, when I lived in the light. Or at least I had . . . until now. "Oh Alec, what happened to you?" I whispered despairingly.

  I allowed myself a moment of sadness before I resumed packing, grabbing a pair of jeans and placing them in my backpack. Pack light, he'd said.

  When I'd gathered everything I thought I'd need, keeping in mind the limited space, I set the full backpack next to my bedroom door and went to my home office to make sure all my personal responsibilities were in order before I left town.

  Six months before, I'd taken a leave of absence from my job at a large financial institution when my parents passed away unexpectedly in a boating accident. They'd been extremely wealthy and once I'd begun the job of settling their estate and managing the inheritance, I'd realized it was going to be a full-time job. I'd since hired people to help me with the various aspects of estate management, so I didn't need to worry about that while I was gone, nor did I have to worry about taking time off from a job. Still, there were plenty of odds and ends that would need to be taken care of regarding my bills and my house before I left, especially because I didn't know exactly when I would return.

  Just as I entered the room, I heard my cell phone ringing from where I'd left it on the kitchen counter and hurried back that way. I noted the words unknown number on the screen before I snatched it up. "Hello," I said breathlessly.

  There was a momentary pause before that deep voice came over the line. "I booked you a flight for tomorrow morning at nine, leaving McCarron and arriving in Rionegro."

  My heart stuttered and then resumed in a quickened beat. "Tomorrow morning?"

  "Problem?"

  "No," I said faintly. "No," I repeated with more certainty, standing straight. "I'll be there. What about you? Will you be on the same flight?"

  "No, but I'll meet you at the airport in Colombia."

  "Oh . . . okay. Where? I mean, where should I meet you?" I'd never been to Colombia, had no idea what the airport was like. Oh my God, I was flying to Rionegro tomorrow?

  "I'll find you." How comforting. This man liked to keep plans to himself, sharing only tiny tidbits of information as he alone saw fit. But . . . I'd hired him to make the plans, hadn't I? My stomach cramped. Oh God, I was trusting a complete stranger—a probably dangerous stranger—with my safety in a foreign country where I'd never traveled before and only knew the bare minimum as far as language was concerned. My pulse leapt, and my breathing became labored though I was standing still.

  "Okay," I croaked.

  Another pause. "If you want to cancel this plan, now's the time. Once we get there, there'll be no turning back."

  No turning back.

  I pulled in a slow breath, blowing it out, picturing Alec's face as he'd bent on one knee in front of me, asking me to be his wife. Asking me to be his family, all he had. All either of us had. "No." I shook my head. "No, I don't want to cancel."

  "All right. Your ticket will be waiting at the airport. I'll see you in Colombia."

  "I'll see you in Colombia," I repeated numbly.

  He paused yet again and for a second all I heard was the sound of his breathing across the line. "Last chance, Olivia," he finally said softly, his voice almost . . . gentle somehow though I must be imagining that. There was nothing gentle about the man I'd met in a dive bar off the Vegas strip. Last chance, Olivia.

  "I'll see you in Colombia," I said again, putting all the strength in my voice I could muster.

  "Good enough." And with that the line went dead. I lowered my phone, tapping it against my chin as I leaned against the counter. After a moment, I dialed my friend Christina's number.

  "Hey," she greeted.

  "Hey."

  Whatever tone was in my voice must have alerted her to my mood, because she immediately said, "What's wrong?"

  "I'm doing it, Chrissy. I'm going to Colombia."

  "Oh no. No. We talked about this. You can't fly to Colombia with no way to get where you're going other than to walk alone. Quiet!" I heard in a muffled yell before her voice came back to me. "Sorry. Kids are having an all-out war in the playroom."

  Despite the nerves still sparking in my stomach, I smiled, picturing the five sweet faces of my friend's kids. "I'm not going alone. I got a call from a man—a guide I guess. I don't know what to call him, but he got word that I was looking to hire someone and called me, offering his services."

  "Holy crap, Livvy. Do you know anything about this guy?" A door closed and her voice suddenly echoed slightly as if she'd gone into a closet. "He could be a nutjob for all you know! And you'll be in the middle of a damn jungle with him. No, uh uh. I can't allow this."

  I hesitated, chewing at my lip. The PI I'd hired, Jeremy Quaid, had obviously put the word out that I was looking to hire someone, but I hadn't even checked in with him to find out my guide's references . . . his background. It'd just been a whirlwind, surreal almost. Everything had happened so fast, and I guess in the back of my mind, I assumed Jeremy wouldn't give anyone my information if he didn't believe he was a professional, trustworthy. A lawyer, who had worked at the same company as me, had recommended Jeremy, and I’d felt he was genuinely sympathetic to my situation. He'd done all he could do to help me. "It's done, Christina. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I . . . I have to. I have to do this or I'll always wonder. I'll always regret. Just think of it as me going backpacking in Colombia. People do it all the time and have amazing experiences."

  "Yeah, people get kidnapped in Colombia all the time too," she muttered.

  "Hence my hired protection."

  I heard her sigh, and she was quiet for a moment as if deciding whether to keep trying to talk me out of this. Finally she said, "I'd come with you if I could."

  "I know you would. I'm going to be okay, I promise. This guy isn't a nutjob. He seems intense and alert . . . standoffish, but professional. And I'll contact you if I can."

  "Livvy, what about what we talked about before Alec disappeared? Your doubts then and—"

  "Wedding jitters, Chrissy. They're normal. And if this situation has convinced me of anything, it's that I'm willing to fight for Alec."

  She paused again before saying, "All right. But, honey . . . if things . . . well, if he doesn't want you to fight for him, if things d
on't turn out the way you're hoping when you find Alec—"

  "I'll be okay, Chrissy. Really, I will. I'm . . . prepared for that possibility."

  I heard banging and a few high-pitched voices yelling in the background. The army was at the gates. I pictured Chrissy pressed into the corner of a closet, or pantry, as her kids knocked relentlessly, calling for her attention, little hands coming under the door. My lips tipped up, and though I knew they were probably on Chrissy's last nerve, yearning rose inside me. I wanted that too. Noise. Family. Love. "Okay," Chrissy finally said. "I just . . . God, this really worries me, Livvy."

  "I'll be okay. I will. I promise." I have to be okay. I’ve spent two months grieving and trying to resolve Alec’s loss, and I’ll survive if I can’t find him, but I need to know the truth.

  As the yelling grew louder, I promised to email Chrissy my travel details, just in case. I refused to dwell on what just in case meant, but it was always wise that someone had your itinerary, vague though mine might be. I promised to text her when I got to Colombia, and we said our goodbyes.

  I stood at my counter for a few more minutes, staring off into the distance, seeing in my mind's eye the stranger who would lead me to my runaway fiancé, picturing the two men who couldn't be any more different—Alec with his clean-cut handsomeness, and my mysterious guide with the stormy eyes. Shaking my head, I walked to my office where I'd been headed when my phone rang.

  I had so much to do before tomorrow.

  Tomorrow.

  I was doing this. My God, I was really doing this.

  **********

  The flight time between Las Vegas and Rionegro was just under ten hours. I spent a few hours sleeping restlessly, but the rest of the time, I spent going over scenarios in my head about what might happen when—if—no, when, I found Alec in that seaside town. Would his expression tell me immediately where his heart was, or would he only look at me with shock and bewilderment? Would he be relieved? Angry? My heart thumped nervously in my chest as I imagined any one of several possibilities. Initially, I hadn't been able to convince myself of anything other than that something terrible had happened to him, and all I'd felt was desperate fear for his well-being. But as the days went by and more and more information came to light—the failing company, the money problems—information that pointed to the possibility he'd been lying to me for a long time—I'd had to consider that he'd disappeared on purpose. He'd been keeping secrets, and then he'd run. The question that plagued me was why. Was he ashamed and couldn't face me? Did he think I'd turn my back on him because he'd made mistakes? Had he desperately tried to figure things out on his own rather than admit his failings? Was that the underlying tension I'd detected in him for months? The mood I'd attributed to the stress of wedding planning?