скачать книгу бесплатно
His Best Friend's Baby
Mallory Kane
His Best Friend’s Baby
Mallory Kane
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uceebaa64-c86b-51f2-afa6-322853c774fc)
Title Page (#u961412bd-5199-5fd2-b7e6-7e0924fbcb89)
About The Author (#u74448bb4-1b4c-596e-aea9-cbd9c80e3364)
Dedication (#u3b84b15a-25b1-5146-921c-c4c1f4850b2b)
Prologue (#ulink_9da8414e-259f-5e40-a20a-e142c89ba8d0)
Chapter One (#ulink_2a3f0fdb-a96f-546e-8e97-1d77f99b58fb)
Chapter Two (#ulink_4123c7d6-0fc6-58d7-ad65-83a9a2d45ca3)
Chapter Three (#ulink_1ba6d8a9-c4dd-5183-a086-89d21ce54b28)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history, and could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.
Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, seven computers. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at mallory@mallorykane.com.
For Michael, for the usual reasons.
Prologue (#ulink_b3ceb72b-6e37-5d4d-890f-2314bbd98f62)
The cold rain beat down on the white roses that blanketed Bill Vick’s coffin, turning them yellow and soggy. The canopy flapped and creaked in the wind.
A dozen or so people had braved the weather to attend the graveside service, but Matthew Parker saw only one—Aimee Vick, his best friend’s widow.
From his vantage point, several dozen feet away and partially hidden by trees, Matt could barely see the strands of brown hair that had escaped from beneath her hat to blow across her pale face.
Aimee didn’t notice. She stood stiffly, her arms folded protectively across her tummy, nodding and smiling sadly as people filed by, offering their condolences one more time before they headed home.
Matt pushed his fists deeper into his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the bone-deep chill that shuddered through him. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold April wind or the freezing rain that poured off the brim of his Stetson.
Three days before, he’d done the two most difficult things he’d ever done in his life. He’d brought Bill’s body home to Sundance, Wyoming, and he’d faced Bill’s wife and tried to explain how a weekend adventure had turned into tragedy.
How, in the blink of an eye, she was widowed, and her unborn baby would never know his father.
Her utter shock and disbelief had been agonizing to watch, but he’d stood there, needing to see it. Just as he did now. He needed to share her grief, her pain.
Aimee wiped her cheek with a gloved finger, and bowed her head for an instant.
Matt’s eyes stung. He blinked and looked at his watch. He needed to leave now. His flight back to the tiny border province of Mahjidastan was scheduled to leave in an hour.
For a few seconds, he debated whether he should speak to her. But he quelled the notion as soon as it surfaced. Seeing him would only hurt her more.
He’d known Aimee nearly as long as he’d known Bill, which was most of his life. He’d kidded Bill about not deserving her. She was generous and kind, and forgiving to a fault. She gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, until they proved they didn’t deserve it.
Three days ago, Matt had proven he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. She hadn’t said it, but the look in her eyes had spoken louder than words.
If not for him, Bill would still be alive. He’d be safe at home with his wife, awaiting the birth of their son.
Bill’s death was his fault.
Chapter One (#ulink_2136c16f-26f2-5a3b-806a-549a0745208c)
A year later
THURSDAY 0900 HOURS
Matt Parker stepped outside Irina Castle’s ranch house, the headquarters for Black Hills Search and Rescue in Sundance, Wyoming, and headed for the helipad a few hundred yards to the east. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of crisp, fresh Wyoming air.
The day before, for the first time in a year, he’d set foot on American soil, on Wyoming soil. He was back home, where he belonged. He loved the Black Hills. Even though they’d tried to kill him and his three best friends twenty years ago, he loved them. They sustained him.
He’d done his best to track down any rumors of Americans in the remote mountain province of Mahjidastan, which was located in a disputed border area shared by Afghanistan, Pakistan and China. His objective had been to find Rook Castle, Irina’s husband. But ultimately, he’d failed, as had BHSAR specialist Aaron Gold before him. And now Irina had called off the search.
As he circled the Bell 429 helicopter that was BHSAR Specialist Deke Cunningham’s baby, another fellow specialist, Brock O’Neill, appeared in the doorway of the hangar.
“Parker,” he said as Matt approached. The terse greeting was typical of the ex-Navy SEAL. He held out his hand and cocked his head—the only indication Matt had ever seen that the patch over his left eye bothered him.
Matt shook his hand. “Brock. How’re you doing?”
“Hmph. Watch out. Your buddy’s in a mood.” Brock broke the handshake and headed toward the ranch house.
Matt suppressed a smile as he continued toward the hangar. For Brock, that was a warm greeting.
When he stepped through the open door, Deke was leaning back in his desk chair with his feet propped up, tossing a steel bearing from hand to hand. A small TV was tuned to a morning news show, its sound muted.
“Hey, Deke,” Matt said. “Playing catch with yourself?”
Deke’s feet hit the floor and he set the silver ball on his desk. “That goober I just hired overtightened a bolt and ruined this ball bearing. Brock offered to take him out for me.”
Matt laughed.
“How’re you doing?”
Matt took Deke’s hand. “Been a while. Can’t say I’m glad to see you.”
“I know.”
“Man, I hate this,” Matt said, nodding back toward the ranch house. “The place feels like a funeral home. I didn’t see Irina. How’s she holding up?”
Deke shook his head. “She’s trying to act like she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s in bad shape.” Deke wiped a hand over his face and then pushed his shaggy hair back. “She’s in town this morning, talking to her accountant again.”
“So it’s true?” Matt asked. “All her funds are wiped out?”
Deke nodded. “All her personal funds. Damn Rook for not signing everything over to her when they got married. I’d like to kill him—” Deke stopped and clamped his jaw.
Matt snorted. “Too late. But it’s not like he knew he was going to die.”
“No?” Deke’s brows lowered and his blue eyes turned black. “He spent his whole life stepping in front of bullets for other people. He had to figure one would hit him sooner or later.”
“I don’t get it. She’s his wife—widow. Why doesn’t she get his money?”
“It’s all about the suspicious nature of his death. Just because they don’t have a body—greedy bastards.”
“Hang on a minute,” Matt said as he glanced at the TV. “Turn that up.”
Deke scooped up the remote control and tossed it to him. “What is it?”
“Check out the pink dress. It’s Margo Vick.”
“Bill’s mother? Opening another Vick Resort Hotel?”
“Not this time. That’s FBI Special Agent Aaron Schiff standing next to her.” Matt hit the volume control.
“—I am personally offering a reward for any information leading to the kidnapper.”
Kidnapper. Alarm pierced Matt’s chest as Margo yielded the microphone to the FBI special agent. Among the dark suits, her brightly colored dress drew all eyes to her.
“We plan to hold press conferences on a regular basis, and we’ll update the media as we have more information,” Special Agent Schiff said. “Meanwhile, please let us do our job. Our primary concern is getting Mrs. Vick’s grandson back home safe and sound.”
“It’s Aimee’s baby. He’s been kidnapped.” Matt sat on the edge of a folding chair and propped his elbows on his knees, listening as Schiff answered questions from reporters. The cameras pulled back to reveal the front of the Vick mansion, located just outside Casper, Wyoming. Besides Schiff and Margo, several uniformed police officers stood on the marble steps, along with a couple of men in suits.
Matt’s gaze zeroed in on a pale face behind Bill’s mother. It was Aimee, dressed in something dark that blended with the suits and uniforms. Her eyes were huge and strands of hair blew across her face.
“There’s Aimee.” He didn’t take his eyes off her until the camera switched back to Schiff. Then he shot up off the chair and paced, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip.
“There’s something more going on here,” he said as dread pressed on his chest like a weight.
“What—with the kidnapping?”
“About a month ago, my journal disappeared from my room.”
Deke frowned and picked up the ball bearing again. He tossed it back and forth. “You mean on your laptop?”
Matt shook his head. With every passing second, pressure in his chest grew. “I keep notes in a small leather journal just for my use. I write my reports to Irina from my notes. You know, rumors of Americans in the area, anything I can glean about what Novus Ordo or his terrorist friends are up to, lists of expenses.”
“You think it was stolen?”
He nodded.
“Okay. How does this have anything to do with the grandbaby of one of the wealthiest women in Wyoming being kidnapped?”
Matt glanced back at the TV, but there was a commercial on. “Work stuff wasn’t all that was in the journal.”
He turned toward the window, letting his gaze roam over the jagged peaks in the distance. “It’s been a year since Bill died, and I haven’t talked to her.”
Deke didn’t comment.
Matt rubbed his lip. “I just couldn’t face her. So I was trying to compose a letter. A way to—tell her how sorry I am.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Novus knows we’ve been searching for any clue that Rook survived his sniper attack. I’ve been followed ever since I got over there. I’m sure whoever stole my journal was sent by Novus, so now—”
“Now he knows how you feel about Aimee,” Deke supplied. He set the ball bearing down and sat up straight.
“How I feel—?” Matt frowned. “Well, yeah. He knows about her baby and about me being William’s godfather. And now Irina’s stopped looking for Rook. What if Novus thinks she stopped because I found him?”
“And what? You think Novus had Aimee’s baby kidnapped—”
“To get to me.”
Deke blew out a long breath. “Kind of a stretch. Why wouldn’t he have grabbed you before now if he thought you knew something?”
