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  That was before Caden.

  Before he’d held his son and had his world and his heart turned upside down.

  Jackson was about to ask her to explain her last comment when his phone rang. While still blocking her path, he took the cell from his pocket and answered it.

  “Evan,” he responded. “What do we have?”

  “Well, she’s not Ann Reeves,” Evan quickly provided. “Her driver’s license photo is a match to a woman named Bailey Hodges. She’s thirty-four, and her address is on the north side of San Antonio.”

  Bailey Hodges. The name sounded familiar, but Jackson couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it before.

  “I’ll have her background in a few minutes,” Evan added, and he hung up.

  Jackson put away his phone and got right in her face. “All right, why are you here in my home, Bailey Hodges? Did you leave that threatening letter for me?”

  She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind. “What threatening letter?” And she was too surprised and concerned for that not to be a real question.

  He continued to study her. “The one I sent a copy of to the San Antonio Police Department so they could investigate it.” That was all Jackson intended to tell her about that matter. “Why are you here?” he repeated.

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took out a folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket. For a moment, he thought it was another threatening letter, but it was a pair of photographs that looked as if they’d been copied from the computer. She thrust the paper at him.

  “Do you know either of these women?” she demanded.

  He glanced at the two photographs. They were both strangers. “What does this have to do with you being here at the estate?”

  “Everything,” she whispered. A moment later, she repeated it.

  Tired of this confusing conversation and whatever game she was playing, Jackson stepped out of her way. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “No.”

  “No?” It wasn’t often anyone said that to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time. The woman was gutsy. Or maybe not very bright.

  “Look at the pictures again, please. Perhaps the hair color isn’t the same. They could have done something to alter their appearances when or if you met them. So look hard and tell me if you know one or both of them.”

  Jackson didn’t bother looking at the photos again, and he handed the paper back at her. “I don’t know them. Or you. But I do know you’re lying about who you are, and I know I want you out of my house now.”

  She hesitated and then turned as if she might just do as he’d ordered. But she stopped. “What kind of letter did you receive?”

  He mentally groaned. “I don’t intend to discuss that with you.”

  More hesitation. “Was the threatening letter a warning about me?”

  “What?” This conversation had just taken a more confusing turn. “Why would it be?”

  She seemed relieved. Or something. And she waved him off. “I’ll go, for now. But I can’t stay away. I have to know the truth about him.”

  Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dumbfounded, but he sure as hell was now. He watched her walk to the double entry doors and wondered if he should stop her and demand an explanation. But his phone rang again.

  “Evan,” he said, answering the call.

  “I found out some things about Bailey Hodges,” Evan started. “She’s single. A graphic artist who designs promotion brochures and such. She’s actually done some work for us. She was engaged, and her ex-fiancé was her business partner, but things must have soured, because he moved to Europe nearly a year ago, and she removed him from her business records.”

  “She did work for us,” Jackson mumbled. “Maybe that’s why her name sounds familiar.”

  “Maybe. But it’s probably because she was one of the San Antonio maternity hostages.”

  Now that did more than just ring bells. Four months ago, a group of pregnant women, new mothers, medical staff and even some babies had been taken hostage by two masked gunmen. They’d been held for hours.

  Several people had died that day, including a cop’s wife.

  That instantly gave Jackson a connection with her. They’d both survived something that others hadn’t. It’d been the top news story for weeks, even after the two gunmen and their boss had been captured.

  But then Jackson remembered something else about that hostage situation.

  One of the newborns had gone missing.

  He remembered the Amber Alert that had been issued, mainly because he had been involved with the preliminary adoption process at the time. Even though he’d yet to hold Caden or even know of his existence, Jackson was now fully aware of how heart-crushing it would be to lose a child.

  A child that had come into his life just two weeks after the hostage situation and the Amber Alert.

  “Yes,” Evan said, as if he knew exactly what Jackson was thinking. “Bailey Hodges’s baby is the one the cops couldn’t find after they rescued the hostages.”

  Jackson’s stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot.

  “A coincidence,” Jackson mumbled.

  “Could be. Caden’s four months old. The age is right, but the adoption lawyer you’re using is reputable.”

  Still, it was a private adoption, and there’d been room for some loopholes. None that he knew about.

  But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been some.

  That’s the reason he’d been checking and double-checking the paperwork. In fact, he’d had a conversation with Ryan Cassaine, the attorney, just the day before. Jackson hadn’t wanted to have a problem arise down the road. He wanted to confront any possible issues now, and work them out before the adoption became final in less than a week.

  “The lawyer wouldn’t have dealt in stolen babies,” Evan added. “Ryan Cassaine went to law school with Sybil, and she had nothing but high praise for him.”

  “Make sure everyone else feels the same about him,” Jackson insisted. And he cursed. This couldn’t be happening. Caden was his son in every way that mattered.

  Bailey Hodges’s lost child had nothing to do with them.

  Jackson replayed the look in her eyes. The cryptic warnings. The strange conversation. And he prayed he was right—that this was all just some bizarre coincidence that could be explained away.

  “There’s more,” Evan continued. “The cops are concerned about Miss Hodges. She’s apparently been conducting her own investigation into her son’s disappearance. She’s hired someone to hack into files. She’s been following the suspects, so much so that one of them got a restraining order.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Her behavior is understandable. She wants to find her son.”

  “I agree. But there’s more. Not long after the hostage incident ended, someone tried to kill her. The cops think it was the gunmen or their boss.”

  This wasn’t helping his decision to go after her. It was only creating more sympathy for the woman. “But the threat is over, now that the gunmen and their boss are dead, right?”

  “Maybe.” And Evan paused, the moments crawling by. “The last time she spoke to the cops, she said someone was still following her.”

  Hell.

  “Was the threatening letter a warning about me?” she’d asked.

  Now, he understood why she wanted to know. But she’d also told Jackson that she couldn’t stay away, that she had to know the truth about him.

  Him.

  Had she meant Caden?

  Cursing even more, Jackson headed for the door so he could try to figure out what was going on. But he got there just in time to see Bailey Hodges driving away in the work van she’d ridden into the estate.

  Jackson clicked off the call with Evan so he could phone Steven Perez, his estate manager, and have someone shut the front gates. Bailey Hodges probably wasn’t headed to the address on her driver’s license, and with her suspicions about someone following h
er, she likely wouldn’t be an easy woman to find. Jackson didn’t want to lose her.

  But he was damn concerned about who she might really be.

  His house manager answered, but Jackson didn’t get a chance to issue the order to shut the gate.

  “We have a problem, sir,” Steven said. “An exterior sensor was tripped, so I checked the security feed. We have an intruder.”

  That didn’t ease the knot in his stomach. “You don’t mean the decorator in the van, do you?”

  “No, sir. I mean the person who just scaled the west fence on the back side of the property. He’s armed, and he’s making a beeline for the estate.”

  Chapter Two

  Bailey blinked back the tears. She couldn’t cry. She’d save those tears for later. For now, she needed to get off the Malone estate and away from whoever had been alerted because of Jackson Malone’s suspicions about her.

  Her face had no doubt been caught on a security camera. She’d anticipated cameras of course, but she hadn’t anticipated that she would alarm the estate owner to the point where he would have her investigated.

  It’d been a huge mistake to come here today.

  She wanted to kick herself for not being able to resist the chance to see the baby that Jackson Malone was adopting. Now, her weakness had put her in a position where she had to regroup. Heaven knows how long it would be before she got another opportunity to get back on the grounds and see the baby.

  The estate road leading to the highway was a series of deep curves, and she had to ease up on the accelerator. She certainly couldn’t risk crashing into one of the massive pecan trees that were on each side of her.

  An injury could delay her search.

  Bailey spotted the wrought iron gates just ahead. In only a few seconds she’d be on the highway where she could turn onto one of the side roads and get out of sight of anyone that Jackson would send to follow her.

  But the gates started to slide shut.

  Her heart went to her knees, and despite the danger from the trees, she hit the accelerator. She had to make it through them before they closed. If not, Jackson might have her arrested for trespassing.

  Bailey took the last curve, the tires squealing in protest at the excessive speed, and for just a moment she lost sight of the gates. When she came out of the other side of the turn, her heart did more than drop.

  The gates closed right in front of her.

  Bailey slammed on the brakes. She smelled the rubber burning against the asphalt. Her body lurched forward, the seatbelt digging into her stomach and chest. And then there was the sound. Metal slamming into metal when the front of the van collided with the wrought iron.

  The airbag deployed, smacking into her and pinning her against the seat. Bailey didn’t take the time to determine if she was hurt. She had to get out of there now. There was a footpath gate next to the wrought iron ones, and she might be able to leave that way.

  She fought with the airbag and managed to shove it aside. Maybe because her hands were shaking, getting out of the seatbelt was no easy feat either. She finally got her fingers to cooperate and she disengaged the lock. Ready to run, Bailey threw open the door.

  But she didn’t get far.

  A rail-thin young Hispanic man came bursting through the shrubs and trees. She recognized him. He was with the estate gardening crew who had told them where to put some exterior lights.

  He was dressed in work clothes, jeans and a dirt-splattered denim shirt, and with his breath gusting, he caught onto her arm. “Mr. Malone says you’re to come with me,” he told her. “A man just climbed over the security wall. An intruder.”

  Oh, God. “Where is he?”

  He started to run with her in tow. “He’s headed to the main house.”

  Bailey didn’t know how she managed to hold on to her breath after hearing that. Was the intruder after the baby? Was that what Jackson’s threatening letter was all about? He was a very wealthy man, and someone might be attempting to kidnap the little boy for ransom.

  She had to help keep the baby safe, even if he wasn’t hers. And even if it meant putting herself in danger.

  Bailey didn’t ask where the man was taking her, but she did make sure he wasn’t armed. There was no visible weapon, and he wasn’t big or strong enough to be hired muscle. If she had to, and she might, she was fairly certain she could fight him off if he turned out to be someone who wasn’t concerned about the baby’s safety.

  They cut through a garden on the east side of the property. The man didn’t stop running. Neither did Bailey, though the icy December air was knifing through her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She hadn’t put on a coat for her escape, and the chill was slowing her down.

  She finally spotted the estate, but the man stopped next to some thick shrubs and checked around them before they ran the last hundred yards across the lawn to an east entrance. It was a sunroom decorated with plenty of lush green plants and pristine white furniture.

  “Miss Hodges,” someone said the moment they entered.

  Jackson Malone was standing there in the opening that divided the sunroom from the main house. Unlike when she’d seen him earlier in the foyer, he’d ditched his perfectly tailored midnight blue business coat and loosened his tie. His storm black hair was rumpled. His eyes were troubled.

  And he had a gun pointed at her.

  Bailey wanted to scream at herself. How could she have been so stupid? She’d bought the gardener’s story about an intruder, and in doing so, she’d come right back to the lion’s den.

  Jackson looked at the gardener who’d rescued her. “Thank you, José. Now go back to your quarters and lock the door. I don’t want anyone out on the grounds until we know what we’re up against.”

  The man gave a shaky nod, mumbled something in Spanish and hurried away, leaving Bailey alone with an armed man.

  “I would have gone after you myself,” Jackson said, as a threat, “but I didn’t want to leave my son.” He motioned for Bailey to follow him.

  She didn’t. Bailey stayed put. “Is there really an intruder?”

  “There is.” His tone left no room for doubt. He held up the sleek, multifunction cell phone he had in his left hand, and on the tiny screen she saw what appeared to be video feed from security cameras. The man was dressed in camouflaged clothing and a ski mask.

  And he was carrying an assault rifle.

  “My advice?” Jackson added. “Bullets can go through glass, so if I were you I’d move.”

  She glanced at the sunroom, three sides of which were indeed glass. Still, Bailey didn’t budge. Going inside could be just as dangerous as staying put. Jackson didn’t have his gun aimed at her exactly, but it was angled so that aiming it would take just a split second.

  “Is this some kind of trick?” she asked. “Do you want me dead and out of the way?”

  Jackson just stared at her. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  Bailey shook her head. “The last thing I want is you dead.” And she meant it.

  He stared her, those ice-gray eyes seemingly going right through her. “Get inside,” he ordered. “You might not value your life, but I’d prefer you stay alive so I can figure out who the hell you are.”

  She debated it, but in the end she couldn’t dismiss the part about bullets going through glass. Yes, despite his comment that he preferred her alive, Jackson Malone might indeed have murder on his mind, but right now Bailey felt safer with him than she did with the ski-masked intruder. She only hoped she didn’t regret trusting her instincts. She certainly didn’t have a good track record in that department.

  Bailey stepped out of the sunroom and into the main part of the house, and Jackson immediately closed the double doors and locked them. He pressed some numbers on a security system keypad, and then stepped in front of her to prevent her from going any farther.

  “We’ll wait here,” he insisted.

  Here was a casual living room with a butter-colored sofa. Floral chairs. A
fireplace. There were toys in a basket on the hardwood floors.

  That caused her breath to catch.

  “Who’s the intruder?” Jackson asked her, checking the phone again.

  Bailey pulled her attention from the toys and that phone so she could shake her head. “I don’t know, but maybe he came here to kidnap the baby.”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Jackson mumbled, making it sound like profanity. He shoved the gun into the back waist of his pants, crossed the room, pressed some buttons, and a bar opened from the wall. He poured himself a glass of something from a cut crystal decanter, tilted back his head and took the shot in one gulp.

  “You have someone after the intruder?” she asked. “Someone who can stop him from getting inside?”

  “I do. And my son has been taken to a panic room where no one can get to him. We’ve called the sheriff, and he’s on the way. Now, what does the intruder want?”

  Because her legs felt shaky, Bailey stepped to the side so she could lean against the wall. “I don’t know.”

  “Then guess,” he demanded. “And while you’re guessing, try to figure out how this intruder could be linked to you.”

  “To me?”

  “You,” he verified.

  He walked back to her and got close. Probably to violate her personal space and make her feel uncomfortable. It worked.

  Everything about him, from his clothes to his scent, to the liquor on his breath, screamed expensive, but that look he was giving her was from a powerful man who knew how to play down-and-dirty.

  An attractive man, she reluctantly admitted to herself.

  That’s the first thing Bailey had noticed about him when she saw his photo in the newspapers. With his perfectly cut, but a little too-long hair, Jackson Malone looked like a bad boy rocker turned billionaire. He was drop-dead handsome, and despite the lousy circumstances and her personal feelings about him, her opinion about his looks didn’t change. He was the kind of man women noticed, and she apparently wasn’t exempt from that.

  He glanced at her jeans pocket. “Why did you ask me about the two women in the photos?”