LITMIR.BIZ

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Matt patted her arm. “It’s nothing too serious. He fell off his tricycle and sliced his chin…got a few stitches.”

      Meg clutched the straps of her backpack as the blood rushed to her head in a quick succession of fear and relief. She stumbled back, her hip catching the edge of a bookshelf filled with pamphlets.

      She put out a hand to steady herself and her gaze collided with a pair of icy green eyes drilling a hole into her very soul.

      Looked like she didn’t have to tell Ian about his son after all.

       Chapter Four

      Ian tried to assemble his jumbled thoughts, his breath coming out in short spurts. Had that man just mentioned Meg’s son?

      Meg was still clutching the edge of the magazine rack with white, stiff fingers. She dropped her gaze from Ian’s, and turned to the man who had brought her the news, murmuring something in his ear.

      Could that man be the father of Meg’s son?

      Hot, thick rage thudded against Ian’s temples. Someone touched his shoulder and he spun around with clenched fists and nearly punched a face, any face.

      “Mr. Shepherd?” A sheriff’s deputy, his dark eyes dipping to Ian’s battle-ready hands, raised a pair of eyebrows to the rim of his cowboy hat. “I’m Sheriff Cahill. I’m sorry for your loss. Can we speak in the back?”

      Great. He’d almost assaulted an officer of the law, one who looked ready to accept the challenge. Probably some small-town sheriff with a chip on his shoulder…which was about to get bigger. Squeezing his eyes closed, Ian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not Mr. Shepherd, but I’ll explain all of that in a minute.”

      Cahill narrowed his eyes and scratched his jaw. “Something tells me I’m not going to like this…or you.” He glanced beyond Ian’s shoulder. “Meg, you need to join us in the back room.”

      Ian shifted to the side of the irritated deputy to study Meg’s face. She avoided his eyes and focused on Cahill’s square jaw instead.

      “I have a personal emergency, Pete.” She held up a cell phone. “I’m going to make a call first.”

      Ian’s brain had started functioning again and he realized the man, Matt, had referred to Meg’s son as your son. Matt couldn’t be the father. So who had that distinction? That lucky distinction.

      Meg turned her back on him and put the phone to her ear. It didn’t look like an explanation to him rated on her list of priorities right now. Payback was a bitch.

      “We’re set up in there.” Cahill pointed a steady finger toward the corner of the room.

      Ian trudged after the sheriff, feeling as if lead lined the bottom of his hiking boots. He wanted to listen in on Meg’s conversation. Was she calling the boy’s father?

      The thought of Meg with another man tightened hot coils of anger in his belly. Then he let out a long breath. Although neither one of them had filed for divorce, Ian had no right to these possessive feelings about Meg. Had he really expected her to be as pristine as the snow frosting the top of the Rockies?

      He hadn’t thought about it. Didn’t want to think about it.

      Ian trudged into the room behind Cahill, and squared his shoulders as he faced the room with two other deputies seated at a serviceable table nicked with scratches and scars. Seamlessly, his thoughts shifted from Meg to the job at hand. Meg had resented his ability and propensity to switch his focus so quickly. But his work had always been a top priority for him. His parents had demonstrated to him what happened to people who couldn’t commit to a job or responsibilities, and he refused to follow their example.

      Cahill reached around Ian and snapped the door closed, the glass set in the center trembling with the force. “Okay now, Mr. Shepherd, or whoever you are, do you want to explain what’s going on? Why did you stay behind and hike out of that canyon instead of boarding the chopper with your wife’s body? And I don’t want to hear about any wedding ring.”

      Ian reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and yanked out his wallet. He dug into one of the many compartments, his fingers closing around his I.D. Then he snapped it on the table top. “My name’s Ian Dempsey, and I’m on a high-security mission for the United States military. The woman who…fell was my partner and CIA.”

      The three deputies sucked the air out of the room. That probably wasn’t what they’d wanted to hear. And technically Ian hadn’t told them the whole truth and nothing but. Colonel Scripps would vouch for him. He’d better, because the Agency didn’t have any knowledge of this operation and would hang him out to dry.

      “Dempsey?” Cahill cleared his throat. “What branch of the military are we talking about?”

      His name seemed to stick in Cahill’s gullet. Ian ran a finger along the inside collar of his jacket. He knew Cahill wouldn’t be a pushover, by the set of his jaw and the suspicion in his eyes. “Intelligence. Covert ops.”

      Cahill cursed. “How much are you going to tell us and how much of that is going to come close to the truth?”

      “My partner and I…” The door swung open and Ian snapped his mouth shut.

      Meg poked her head into the room, her ponytail sliding over one shoulder. “Sorry.”

      “Everything okay with your little man, Meg?” Cahill’s eyes softened to brown pudding when he looked at her. So she had that effect on the sheriff, too. All men wanted to be her Sir Galahad, but she preferred to don the armor herself. She’d learned from an early age that support came with a myriad of strings attached.

      “How’d you know it was Travis?”

      “Matt told me before all the craziness started. Is he okay?”

      “He’s fine. A cut beneath his chin and a few stitches.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What did I miss?”

      “Mr. Dempsey here was just telling us he’s on a top-secret mission, and the poor lady who died wasn’t his wife.” Cahill wedged his hands on the table top and hunched forward. “How did your partner wind up at the bottom of the gorge, Mr. Dempsey?”

      “I have no idea, Deputy Cahill.” Had Dempsey been the school bully who’d stolen Cahill’s lunch money? The good sheriff seemed to sneer every time he said Ian’s name.

      Ian felt Meg’s glance slide across his face, but he kept his gaze pinned to Cahill, as unpleasant as that was.

      “Any chance you’re going to tell me what you’re doing in our neck of the woods?” The deputy’s dark brows created a deep V over his nose.

      If Ian ever did need help, he wouldn’t hesitate to enlist Cahill’s talents. Even though the sheriff clearly didn’t like him, Ian knew he could trust the no-nonsense lawman. But he had no intention of putting the local law in some terrorist cell’s line of fire.

      Ian shrugged, raising the right corner of his lips. “I’m on a reconnaissance mission, Sheriff Cahill.”

      “I’m gonna need more than this two-bit badge to trust you, Dempsey.” Cahill glanced at Meg and tapped the plastic CIA ID on the table, nudging it with his fingertip. “We have a woman’s death in our jurisdiction.”

      Ian fumbled through his wallet to locate Colonel Scripps’s latest cell phone number. The colonel wouldn’t appreciate a call like Cahill’s, but he’d come to expect being called upon to provide the legitimacy of his operatives from time to time.

      At least he had. The members of Prospero hadn’t been Colonel Scripps’s operatives for a long time now, but the colonel was the one who had called them all out of retirement to help find Jack. He’d have to accept a few glitches along the way, especially since they were conducting operations stateside now, instead of in the lawless regions of Afghanistan or Somalia.

      Cahill swept the card from the table and

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