Missing in the Mountains

  To protect her family

  she’ll need to trust a man from her past...

  When Emma Hart witnesses her sister being kidnapped, the only person she can trust to keep her and her baby safe is army vet turned security expert Sawyer Lance. He immediately offers his help but is shocked to meet her young son—a boy who looks a lot like him. To protect their reunited family, Emma and Sawyer will have to find the kidnapper before he strikes again.

  Emma fell against the door, thrown off balance by the speed of the turn. “Slow down,” she snapped, fumbling for her seat belt.

  “I can’t.” Sawyer ground the words out. He adjusted his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and pressed the limp brake pedal into the floorboards. “My brakes are out.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened.

  Before them, a line of cars plugged away behind a slow-moving school bus on the road ahead of them. He jammed his thumb against his emergency flashers and continued a battering assault on his horn. His truck was out of control, and if the cars didn’t move, he was going to take them all out with him.

  Tiny horrified faces came into view, staring back at him through the dusty emergency exit.

  Sawyer couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow. Couldn’t hit a busload of children at his current speed or they would all be dead, thrown over the mountain or fatally broken on impact.

  With no other choice, Sawyer gritted his teeth and resolved to leave the road at any cost.

  MISSING IN THE MOUNTAINS

  Julie Anne Lindsey

  Julie Anne Lindsey is an obsessive reader who was once torn between the love of her two favorite genres: toe-curling romance and chew-your-nails suspense. Now she gets to write both for Harlequin Intrigue. When she’s not creating new worlds, Julie can be found carpooling her three kids around northeastern Ohio and plotting with her shamelessly enabling friends. Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, Julie is a member of International Thriller Writers, Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. Learn more about Julie and her books at julieannelindsey.com.

  Books by Julie Anne Lindsey

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Fortress Defense

  Deadly Cover-Up

  Missing in the Mountains

  Garrett Valor

  Shadow Point Deputy

  Marked by the Marshal

  Protectors of Cade County

  Federal Agent Under Fire

  The Sheriff’s Secret

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Emma Hart—Steadfast single mother and recent witness to the abduction of her older sister, Sara. Emma reaches out to a private security firm for help but never expects the man who fathered her child and then broke her heart will be the one who shows up at her door.

  Sawyer Lance—Recently discharged army ranger and current cofounder of Fortress Security, a private security firm created to protect civilians in danger. Sawyer’s been stateside less than a month when a familiar voice calls for help. Now he’ll stop at nothing to protect the woman he’s always loved and the baby he never knew he had.

  Henry Lance—The four-month-old son of Emma and Sawyer.

  Sara Hart—Older sister of Emma Hart and local credit union account specialist. Sara’s been keeping a secret from Emma, and now she’s been brutally attacked and abducted.

  Christopher Lawson—The diligent credit union IT staffer who fielded Sara’s calls on an issue she shouldn’t have had.

  Detective Rosen—Local detective assigned to the disappearance of Sara Hart.

  Detective Miller—Local detective willing to work with Sawyer to bring Sara home.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Excerpt from Her Assassin For Hire by Danica Winters

  Chapter One

  Emma Hart couldn’t shake the unsettling notion that something was wrong. The sensation had pestered her all day, needling away at her calm. Though she hadn’t said so, her sister and housemate, Sara, seemed to feel it too. Sara had hunched over her cell phone and a notebook most of the day, barely speaking or touching her dinner. It wasn’t like Sara to be inside short of a blizzard, yet there she was. All day.

  Emma had thrown herself into the tedium of housework and the exhaustion of new-mommy duties, hoping to keep her mind off the inexplicable feeling that trouble was afoot. Nothing had worked. The prickle over her skin that had raised the hair on her arms and itched in her mind since dawn refused to let up, even now as the gorgeous setting sun nestled low on the horizon between distant mountains. If there was a silver lining, it was that the peculiar day was finally nearing its end, and tomorrow was always better.

  She crossed her ankles on the old back-porch swing and shifted her attention to the beautiful gold and apricot hues spilling over everything in sight, including her perfect baby boy, Henry. Emma hoisted him off her lap and wiggled him in the air until a wide toothless grin emerged. There was the thing she lived for. A smile spread over her lips as she brought him down to her chest. “Someday I’m going to teach you to rope and ride, the way your granddaddy taught Sara and me.” It would have been nice if Henry’s father was around to teach him those things the way her father had taught her, but it didn’t do to dwell on what wasn’t, not when the things that were tended to be so fleeting.

  Henry’s daddy was a soldier on leave when they’d met, but he’d been raised a cowboy. Brought up on a ranch like hers, not too far from there, but he’d been deployed before she’d known she was pregnant, and despite the voice message she’d left asking him to call her, he never had. Of course, that wasn’t a surprise since the next time she’d tried to call him the number was no longer in service. The local news hadn’t announced his death the way they often did when a local soldier was lost, so she could only assume he’d survived that “eight week” mission he’d gone on nearly a year ago and had simply chosen to avoid her after his return. Whenever she thought of how his selfishness would force Henry to grow up without a father, Emma was glad he hadn’t died on that mission. This way, if she ever saw him again, she could kill him herself.

  Emma forced down the bitter knot rising in her throat and worked a pleasant smile over her lips. “You will always be enough for me,” she promised Henry, “and I will be enough for you. Whatever that means on any given day. Always.” She nuzzled his sun-kissed cheek, then stretched onto her feet as the last orange fingers of the sunlight slid out of view, replaced with the tranquil blues of twilight. “What do you say about a warm bath and fuzzy jammies before your nighttime bottle?” she asked. Now she needed a distraction from the icky feeling that had followed her all day and from the frustration of a man who’d probably forgotten her name.

  Emma jumped as the back door flew open, her knuckles colliding sharply with the handle. “What on earth!”

  Sara stood on the threshold, one palm on the door, skin pale as the rising moon. “You need to come inside. Now,” she gasped. “Hurry.”

&nb
sp; Emma obeyed, and Sara locked the door behind them, then checked the window locks and pulled the curtains. Without speaking again, she moved to the next room and did the same.

  “What’s going on?” Emma followed on her sister’s heels, fear riding high in her gut. “Why are you doing that?” They only battened down the hatches if the news predicted heavy winds or rain. “It’s a beautiful night. There’s no storm coming.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Sara mumbled.

  Emma hurried around her sister, forcing herself into Sara’s path. “Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sara shot her a remorseful look, letting her gaze slide briefly to Henry, then back to her work. “I need you to listen to me and do as I say. We have to be quiet.” Her hands trembled as she reached for the nearest light switch and flipped it off. Her face whipped back in Emma’s direction a moment later. “Is your truck in the garage? Or the driveway?”

  “Garage.”

  “Good.” She nodded, her eyes frantic.

  “Hey.” Emma set her hand on Sara’s. “Stop.” Her sister never behaved this way. She was naturally calm to the extreme, cool in a crisis and found the positive in everything. Whatever had her so worked up was enough to make Emma want to pack a bag and move. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Fat tears welled in Sara’s eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Sara,” Emma demanded, using her most pointed tone without upsetting Henry, “you can tell me anything. You know that. I don’t understand what’s happened. You were fine at dinner.”

  Sara snorted, a derisive, ugly sound. “Was I?”

  “Weren’t you?” Emma grabbed hold of her sister’s wrist, a lifelong stubborn streak piercing her forced calm.

  Before she could answer, a set of headlights flashed over the front window, and Sara froze. “Don’t make any noise,” she said, looking half-ill. “We’re not home.”

  Suddenly Sara’s erratic behavior began making sense. “Is this the reason you’re locking us up like Fort Knox?” Emma asked. “You knew someone was coming?” Someone who obviously terrified her. “Who?”

  Sara jerked her arm free and went to peek through the living room curtain. “Hide,” she seethed. “You’re in danger. Henry’s in danger. We all are. Now, go! Keep him quiet. Find his pacifier.” Her rasping whisper cut through Emma’s heart, and she pressed her back to the nearest wall, away from the front window.

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Emma shot back in a harsh whisper.

  Heavy footfalls rumbled across the porch, and someone rapped against the door in loud, demanding strikes until Emma was sure the door would fall down.

  “I’m calling the police,” Emma said. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, then you can tell them.”

  Henry started in her arms. He released a small whimper as the pounding continued.

  Sara turned to them. Her eyes were wide, her face the perfect mask of horror and resolve. “Hide first. Call the police after.” She rubbed her palms against her jeans and stepped forward, toward the rattling door.

  “Where are you going?”

  Sara gave Emma a pleading look, then swallowed hard. “I’m going to answer the door before he breaks it down. If you hide, he’ll assume I’m alone, and you’ll be safe, but I won’t give him what he wants.”

  Emma’s stomach twisted and coiled with nausea. “What does he want?”

  Sara took another step.

  “I won’t leave you.”

  Sara shot one determined glance over her shoulder. “Your job is to protect Henry. Mine is to protect you. Now, hide.”

  Terror gripped Emma, and she snagged the cordless phone handset from the wall, immediately dialing the local police department. She ducked around the edge of the living room wall, hiding just out of sight in the long hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Come on,” she urged, impatient for the ringing call to connect.

  The dead bolt snicked back in the next room. The door swung open on squeaky hinges.

  “I’ve already called the police,” Sara said coldly in lieu of a proper greeting.

  A choking gasp cracked through the silence a moment later.

  Emma sucked air. Horrific images of what could have caused such a sound raced through her head. There were no more words in the silent home. Just the low gurgling of someone desperate for air. Emma prayed the sound wasn’t coming from Sara.

  A tinny voice broke through the phone speaker at her ear. “Knox Ridge Police Department.”

  Emma inched toward the end of the hall, ignoring the woman on the line. Desperate to know her sister was okay, she counted silently to three, then peeked her head around the corner, chest tight with fear.

  A man in head-to-toe black, a ski mask and leather gloves had one giant hand wrapped around Sara’s throat while she clawed uselessly at his fingers. Her eyes were wild, bulging, her mouth gaping for air. The man raised a pistol in his free hand.

  Hot tears rushed over Emma’s eyes. She had the police on the phone, but couldn’t speak. If the man heard her, he might use his gun on Sara. Or on Henry.

  Hide. Sara’s desperate voice echoed in Emma’s addled mind. Protect Henry.

  “Knox Ridge Police Department,” the woman on the phone repeated. Her small voice suddenly sounded like a booming gong.

  Henry bunched his face and opened his quivering lips, a scream poised to break.

  Emma took one last too-risky look into the living room, needing assurance her sister hadn’t been choked to death while she’d stood helplessly by and deliberated over what to do next.

  The man tossed Sara onto the couch like a rag doll and climbed on top of her in a flash. He lowered his face to hers and growled through the mask. “Who did you tell?” He pinned her hands overhead and pressed them hard into the cushions until they vanished from sight.

  “No one.” Sara choked out the words, still coughing and gasping for air. “No one. I have no one to tell. I swear it.”

  Henry released a warning cry, and the man’s face snapped in Emma’s direction.

  Emma rocked back on socked feet and took off like a bullet down the hallway. Henry bounced and jostled in her arms as she pressed him to her chest and gripped the phone between one ear and shoulder. She slid and scooted as adrenaline forced her legs faster than her feet could find purchase on the hard, slick floors.

  “What was that?” the man asked, footsteps already falling through the living room, nearing the hall at a clip.

  “Cat!” Sara yelped. “It was only the cat.”

  Emma snatched their mean old barn cat off the hallway windowsill on her way to the master bedroom, and she threw him into the space behind her. He’d surely bite her the next time he saw her, but she’d gladly choose to face off with him rather than whoever was attempting to murder Sara.

  The cat screeched and hissed, claws skidding over the wide wooden planks as he slid in the direction of Sara and the masked lunatic.

  The footfalls stopped.

  Emma barreled into her closet and pulled the door shut behind her. Her heart hammered and her chest ached. She climbed through the clothes racks, over boxes and blankets and shoes, then curled herself around her son and shushed him out of a fast-approaching fit.

  Several wild heartbeats later, the footfalls retreated back toward her sister, who she hoped had had the good sense to run.

  “Who did you tell?” the man’s voice came again, impossibly angrier.

  Emma’s heart fell. Sara hadn’t run.

  “Ma’am?” the voice asked through the phone. “Miss Hart? Caller ID shows this as the Hart residence?”

  What was happening? Why was it happening?

  “Miss Hart,” the woman persisted.

  “Yes,” she whispered, finally finding her voice. She cringed with each terrorizing demand of the intruder in the nex
t room. Who did you tell?

  Sara screamed.

  Her gut-wrenching wail ripped through the rafters, the drywall and Emma’s soul. “Someone is hurting my sister,” she whispered. “Please, hurry.”

  Emma’s gaze darted through the dark space. If only she hadn’t moved her daddy’s rifles into a gun safe after Henry was born. If only Henry was sleeping in his crib, and she could trust him not to scream. If only she could help Sara.

  A deafening crack stopped her ragged thoughts. The sound of skin on skin. A brain-jarring slap. Or jaw-breaking punch. Every sound was amplified in the impossibly still home. Emma heard the muted thud of a collapsing body.

  Then no more screaming. No more demanding growls. Just silence.

  Outside, the rumble of an engine drew hope to Emma’s heart. The psychopath was leaving. Whatever condition Sara was in, at least she hadn’t been shot, and the police were on the way. Sara would be okay, and she would tell them everything so the son of a gun who did this to her would pay.

  Emma crept from her hiding spot and raced to her bedroom window, confirming the empty driveway before racing back down the hallway, heart in her throat and preparing to provide triage while they awaited the first responders.

  On a deep intake of air, she shored her nerve at the end of the hallway, tucked Henry tight to her chest and dared a peek into her living room.

  But all that remained of her sister was a thick smear of blood on the polished wooden floor.

  Chapter Two

  Sawyer Lance, former Army Ranger and cofounder of Fortress Security, reached reluctantly for the ringing phone. It was late and he was tired. Protecting civilians was harder than he’d predicted when opening the private sector security firm. Far more challenging than similar work overseas where he could at least shoot the bad guys. He tossed another pair of aspirin into his mouth before blindly raising the phone from his desk.

  What would it be this time? Another punk ex-husband or boyfriend bullying the woman he claimed to love? An unhinged stranger stalking a woman who didn’t know he existed beyond the fact he harassed her anonymously with creepy unwanted gifts and the occasional break-in? “Fortress,” he answered, his voice little better than a bark. “This is Sawyer Lance.”