Hush (43 page)

He knew it was with relief.

Leaning back against the car for support until he could regain his equilibrium, he reached for Riley and pulled her into his arms.

BY THE TIME
Finn got done kissing Riley, and warning her, and then kissing her some more, Margaret's house was alive with activity. Riley watched as small figures that she knew were Bax and the agents and the cops and the one whose blond hair clearly marked her as Margaret ran in and out.

Finn pulled a phone out of his pocket and called Bax. The activity stopped.

“Stengel's not coming back,” he warned her again as they finally
headed for the house. His arm was around her shoulders, and hers was around his waist. “You never saw him, he didn't try to kill you, nothing like that happened. You stepped outside for some air, and I came after you. Forget everything else. The key here is to keep the Agency out of it, and keep everything you know about those bank accounts to yourself.”

“I understand,” Riley told him, which was what she'd been saying variations of ever since he'd first spelled the facts of her new life out to her.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. I know nothing.
“Don't worry. I've got it. I can do this.”

That made him stop, and look down at her. Then he smiled, one of those rare real smiles.

“Angel, I have no doubt at all,” he said, and kissed her.

It wasn't until they were on the way to the house again that an epiphany hit Riley.

“I know where Emma is.” Excitement surged through her, and she stopped walking. Finn stopped, too, looking at her with raised brows. “Kenny Rogers! Emma is so smart! Bill has a boat called the
Gambler.
He keeps it in a boathouse in Galveston. That must be what she was trying to tell me.”

Finn didn't reply. Instead he pulled out his phone, placed another call, and passed on what she had just told him to whoever was on the other end. Then he grabbed her hand as, bubbling with elation, she started to take off for the house to tell Margaret.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, his voice deadly serious. Riley was reminded once again of the lethal nature of the secrets she'd learned, and the men who kept them. “This complicates things. If you're right, Emma obviously knows she's being held in Stengel's boathouse, so she's going to at least suspect he's involved. But she
won't know anything about the bank accounts, or the Agency, or anything like that. What you're going to have to do is pretend that you think Stengel was a lone wolf after the money just like everyone else. You can never tell anyone anything else.”

Some of Riley's elation faded as a hard truth hit her: “Bill was going to kill her, wasn't he?”

“I don't see how he could have let her live once she knew he was involved.”

“That bastard.” An even more terrifying thought occurred. “You don't suppose he's already. . . ?”

She couldn't bring herself to put it into words.

Finn shook his head. “He wouldn't have killed her until he was sure he had the information he needed, and he didn't get that until he took you.”

But Finn couldn't
know
that. Riley's stomach knotted. They were just a few feet away from Margaret's front porch when Finn's phone buzzed. He answered, then smiled at Riley, who had frozen in place as she listened to his end of the conversation.

“They've got her,” he said. “She's safe.”

Riley felt a rush of relief and joy and thankfulness so strong it made her dizzy.

Then she pulled away from Finn and rushed up the front steps.

Margaret was standing in the doorway between the living room and the hall when Riley burst through the door.

“They've found Emma,” Riley cried. “She's safe.”

“Oh, thank God.” Margaret sagged against the door frame. Then Riley reached her, and Margaret wrapped her arms around her.

Riley hugged her while she wept.

F
inn had never been a big believer in happy endings. But on this particular Saturday morning he had to admit that things were looking pretty good in that regard. He was in Riley's bed, in her apartment, with Riley tucked cozily against his side.

She was still sound asleep. Not a surprise, after the night they'd spent.

He was in love. For real.

So, she'd told him, and given him to understand in lots of satisfying and extremely inventive ways, was she.

It was now two weeks after Emma had been found.

At Riley's instigation, he'd gotten to know both Margaret and Emma since then. They were Riley's family, which meant that they were now an ongoing part of his life.

There had been a one percent finder's fee on the missing money. Since Riley had found it, the fee was coming to her. It would more than cover the ten million she'd taken from the hidden accounts.
Both Riley and Margaret were excited about that, mainly because, from what he understood, that meant that Emma would be able to stay on in her expensive private high school. The problem was, Emma was now saying that the place was too snobby, and she thought she might want to try a public school with hot football players. There was some family drama about that, but it was nothing to do with him and he was staying out of it.

He'd put safeguards in place to make sure Eagle and everybody else at the Agency left him and Riley alone. The most important of them was a kind of poison pill composed of the details of every operation he'd been in on, written down and ready to be disseminated to every type of media outlet available in the event something untoward should happen to Riley or him, like, for instance, the kind of heart attack that had killed Bill Stengel, who'd been found dead, slumped behind the wheel of his car the morning after Emma had been rescued.

He made sure Eagle knew what he'd done.

He also made it clear that he was retiring again, this time for good. He wanted to ranch. He was taking Riley to look at his place in Wyoming, to see what she thought. They were leaving tomorrow, staying for a week.

If she didn't like endless blue skies and cool bright air and the smell of mountains in the distance, well, he was prepared to be flexible.

Because more than he'd ever wanted just about anything, he wanted Riley Cowan in his life.

If she wanted to stay closer to home, to Margaret and Emma, he could make that work.

There were ranches in Texas, right?

RILEY WOKE
up to the feel of a firm, warm body against her, and smiled. She was naked, he was naked, and he was in her bed, so she knew who he was instantly, no need to open her eyes: Finn. He wasn't asleep. She could tell by the latent power in the arm wrapped around her shoulders, by the rhythm of his breathing. Her head was pillowed on his wide shoulder, her hand rested in the crisp hair in the middle of his chest, and her leg curved over his muscular thighs. He'd been staying with her for the past two weeks, and in that time she'd discovered many facets to his character that she never would have suspected. Most important of which, right at this moment, was that the man could cook.

“I'm hungry,” she murmured, opening her eyes as she ran a caressing hand across his chest and down over his ripped stomach, loving the smoothness of his skin, the steely strength of the muscles beneath.

He tensed. The arm around her shoulders tightened.

“So am I.” His voice was a husky, throaty rumble.

She stopped stroking him just short of where she knew he wanted her to go, rubbed his tummy, and tilted her head so that she could see his eyes.

They were heavy-lidded and hot, leaving her in no doubt at all about what he had in mind.

“Best. Pancakes. Ever,” she said plaintively, because she really was hungry, and his pancakes really were that good, and—she liked teasing him.

“Are you serious?” The look he gave her combined amusement, dismay—and heat.

“One hundred percent,” she assured him, letting her hand wander south until she was renewing her acquaintance with her new best friend. He caught his breath, went hard and still as stone, and she smiled. “But I can wait.”

“Good thing,” he growled. “Because I can't.”

He rolled with her, and she found herself pinned beneath a big, honed body that was approximately as solid and heavy as a Mack truck.

She shivered a little as tiny thrills of anticipation raced over her skin. Deep inside, her body began to throb and burn.

He frowned down at her. “Cold?”

She shook her head, smiled. “Hot.” Then as his eyes blazed at her she added, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, and kissed her.

They got to those pancakes eventually, but it took a while.

THE FOLLOWING
evening, Sunday, Finn walked out of his barn and took a wide, sweeping look around. His ranch in Wyoming had to be just about his favorite place on earth. Wide-open spaces. Pine covered mountains touching blue sky. Low-slung, red-roofed house, a couple more barns, plus shelters and outbuildings dotting rolling green fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Cows, his prized black Angus, grazing in the fields. A couple of horses in a corral were closer at hand.

Riley, leaning against a split-rail fence not far away, was looking at the horses, sexy as hell in jeans and a T-shirt, her red hair blowing in the wind. As he headed toward her, she glanced over
her shoulder, saw him, then turned all the way around to wait for him.

“It's beautiful here,” she said as he reached her, and smiled at him.

Finn felt his heart do something funny. Like maybe expand a couple of sizes.

She was leaning back against the fence now, her elbows on the top rail, one leg curved as she hooked a boot heel over the bottom rail.

“It is,” he agreed. “I was just thinking that as I walked over here. I was thinking that I was looking at every dream I ever had come true.”

Her eyes met his. “You love this ranch that much?”

“No,” he said. “I'm talking about you.”

She took a breath, and pushed away from the fence.

He caught her, pulled her against him, and wrapped her in his arms.

Wherever they wound up, here or Texas or Timbuktu, as long as he had her, he'd be all right.

It takes a village to publish a book. Thank you to Louise Burke, who has been absolutely wonderful as always. More thanks to Elana Cohen, who is there in the trenches with us when things are coming down to the wire. Thanks also to Carly Sommerstein, Beth Maglione, Susan Rella, Jean Anne Rose, and the entire staff of Gallery/Pocket Books.

I also want to thank my agent, Robert Gottlieb at Trident Media Group, for his tireless help and support.

And last but never least, Peter, Chris, Jack, and Doug: you all know what you do. I couldn't have done this without any of you.