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  Jessica ducked as a gunshot took out the passenger side mirror. “I’m sorry, Wes—”

  “Save it.”

  This was the last time she was likely to speak with him, and he was going to hear her out. “There’s no cover out here. I’ll likely be dead before you get here, so shut up and listen. I truly am sorry for what I did to your career. But I genuinely believed you would be killed. And I cared—care—far too much for you to let you die. If that pisses you off, so be it. I forgive you for being mad at me. I don’t want you to beat yourself up with guilt after I’m gone. I chose to come out here and warn you. This is on me. Whoever killed me did it because of mistakes I made in my past. There was nothing you could have done to protect me.”

  Wes’s voice was ragged when he said, “If your shooter’s zeroing in on you, he’s in a stationary position, maybe in a sniper’s nest. Get away from there.”

  * * *

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  Dear Reader,

  This book fulfills a long-held dream of mine to combine a military hero, because who can get enough of those, with a rugged, independent rancher, because who can get enough of those, either!

  As if that weren’t enough fun, I also got to throw in my love of mountains—Montana has some of the prettiest ones anywhere—and I got to write about cattle. Now, you might think cows aren’t terribly sexy, but I grew up on a small cattle farm. My family bred and sold Herefords. I can verify that cows are truly like giant, sweet dogs. And in fact, the cow named Number 19 in this book was an actual cow on my family’s farm.

  At any rate, my heroine, Jessica, had to be a heck of a strong woman to stand up to an ex-Marine rancher who also happens to be one of the Morgan boys. I may or may not have channeled a tiny bit of my own life into her, too, but I’ll never tell which parts!

  I invite you to hunker down, pour yourself something to wet your whistle and saddle up for a wild ride in this cowboy’s deadly reunion!

  Happy reading!

  Cindy

  THE COWBOY’S

  DEADLY REUNION

  Cindy Dees

  New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Cindy Dees is the author of more than fifty novels. She draws upon her experience as a US Air Force pilot to write romantic suspense. She’s a two-time winner of the prestigious RITA® Award for romance fiction, a two-time winner of the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award for Romantic Suspense and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee. She loves to hear from readers at www.cindydees.com.

  Books by Cindy Dees

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  Runaway Ranch

  Navy SEAL’s Deadly Secret

  The Cowboy’s Deadly Reunion

  The Coltons of Kansas

  Colton in the Line of Fire

  Mission Medusa

  Special Forces: The Recruit

  Special Forces: The Spy

  Special Forces: The Operator

  The Coltons of Roaring Springs

  Colton Under Fire

  Code: Warrior SEALs

  Undercover with a SEAL

  Her Secret Spy

  Her Mission with a SEAL

  Navy SEAL Cop

  Visit Cindy’s Author Profile page at

  Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Excerpt from Stalked by Secrets by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Chapter 1

  Wes Morgan looked out his office window at the Washington Monument across the Potomac River, rising like a spire of light into the night. He rubbed his eyes wearily. His boss, Marine General George Blankenship, was angling for a position on the Secretary of Defense’s staff and had demanded a pile of briefings on current political issues ASAP. It had been a long day, and it was going to be a longer night. The general was hard-core bordering on a little maniacal. Only an aide as motivated and hardworking as Wes could keep up with the guy.

  His private phone line rang. Great. The boss had thought of more work to pile on his long-suffering aide. He picked it up and said briskly, “Captain Morgan.”

  A frantic female voice whispered barely intelligibly, “Wes, it’s Jessica. I’m in trouble.”

  He snorted. What was new? General Blankenship’s only daughter was always in trouble.

  “Puh-lease, Wesh. I need helllllp.”

  He frowned. She sounded drunk. Or high. Which was strange. She partied harder than most, but she was not a substance abuser. Sure, she drank through a long night of clubbing. Her thing was dancing. She could do it all night long. And she was good at it, sexy, flirty and fun on the dance floor. But word-slurring drunk? Not her thing. She was far too much of a control freak for it. In that regard, she was a lot like her old man.

  He heard a crashing noise, as if something had been knocked over.

  “Oopsies,” Jessica mumbled.

  Okay. Jessica was never clumsy. She was arguably the most graceful woman he’d ever dated. And he’d dated a ballerina from the National Ballet before.

  “Where are you, Jess?”

  “’M in a club.” She was starting to sound groggy.

  She’d gone from coherent and worried to stumbling drunk to near passing out awfully damned fast. He swore under his breath. Had she been drugged?

  “I got that. Which club?” he asked urgently.

  “Pop-up. Shh. I’s seeeecret.”

  He swore in earnest now. A pop-up club could have been set up in any abandoned building, warehouse or vacant office space anywhere in the suburban sprawl of Washington, DC, and its surrounding areas. It might have been in place for weeks or just for a single night.

  “Where are you, Jessica? Did you see any buildings or street signs on your way in?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Think. This is important. What’s the last place you saw that you recognized?”

  “Cons...constitu-shuh...”

  “Constitution Avenue?” he tried.

  “No. Buil...ding...” Her voice faded.

  “Stay with me, Jess. Don’t pass out. That’s an order!” He lurched to his feet, adrenaline screaming, on full battle alert. Sure, she’d pulled stunts on him before, but nothing like this. She sounded genuinely trashed and in real danger.

  “Talk to me,” he bit out as he grabbed his keys and raced out of the office.

  “Whadya wanna...know?” she mumbled.

  “Did you have to go up or down stairs to get into the club? Or are you on the ground floor?”

  Silence stretched out for so long he thought she’d passed out. He bolted out into the long corridor of the Pentagon’s E-Ring and sprinted down the nearest stairwell, taking a half-dozen steps at a time.

  Jessica surprised him by mumbling, “Up. Wen’ up.”

  “Great. Can you see any windows from where you are?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Move over to the nearest one and look out. I need you to tell me what you see.”

  “Tired,” she mumbled.

  “Move!” He used his best Marin
e command voice to bully her into motion. Anything to keep her conscious. There was no way Jessica had gotten this smashed by herself. Someone had fed her much stronger booze than she’d realized she was drinking. Or, worse, she’d been drugged. Either way, Jess was in big trouble.

  Panic hummed in his gut as he raced past the startled security guards, burst out of the Pentagon into the damp chill of early winter and tore across the parking lot to his pickup truck.

  He’d rescued Jessica from her ridiculous and impulsive follies more times than he cared to count during the past four years of working for her father on battalion staff and then here in Washington. But her stunts ran more to speeding tickets or getting caught gluing mustaches to statues on base. This time, however, his gut told him she was in serious danger.

  “Are you at the window yet?” he demanded as he jammed his truck into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “S’dark.”

  “It is nighttime,” he replied drily. “Do you see any buildings?”

  “Wash...wash...ton. Mon...ment.”

  She was up high, then. “The Washington Monument? How far away is it?”

  “Phal...lic...symb...”

  “Yes, I know, sweetheart. Is it close or a long ways away?”

  She giggled a little. “Tiny.”

  “Can you see the Potomac River from where you are?” he tried. If she was on the Virginia side of the river on the high hills overlooking Washington, DC, the wide river should be in sight, also.

  “No.”

  Okay. The Maryland side of the river then. She’d mentioned the Constitution Hotel earlier. That was on the north side of DC in a posh part of town. He frantically calculated the fastest route to the swanky hotel. It was nearly ten o’clock. Traffic wouldn’t be a serious factor. The Beltway it was. The multilane highway ringed the city and would bypass the congested and convoluted city streets of Washington, DC, proper. At rush hour, the Beltway was a parking lot. But at this time of night, it would more closely resemble a NASCAR track. Perfect.

  “What else can you see?” he asked.

  “Ho...dell.”

  “The Constitution Hotel?” he confirmed sharply. She was fading on him.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way. I need you to fight. Stay awake.”

  “Luf...yooo...”

  The mumbled syllables stunned him. She loved him? For real? Shock pounded through him. He and Jess had been hot and heavy last summer, and he’d been pretty infatuated with her, too. She was an exotic creature—beautiful and brilliant and wild—and he’d been amazed that she saw anything in him to attract her. He’d worried that he was some sort of revenge against her father with whom she was pretty much constantly at war. But, against all odds, she had seemed to genuinely care for him.

  And now this declaration of love? His pulse leaped exultantly—

  Stop right there, soldier.

  She was stoned out of her mind on something. She didn’t know what she was saying. He had no business getting all worked up at anything she said in her current state. But a little voice in the back of his head whispered, What if the drugs coursing through her system had actually revealed a hidden truth?

  Even if she did secretly have feelings for him, getting back together with her was a nonstarter. General Blankenship had been blunt with Wes. Quit dating his daughter or face career ruin. A dutiful soldier, Wes had backed off dating Jess before they could fall any harder for each other. She’d been furious and accused him of being a wimp and not deserving to have her if he wouldn’t stand up to her father.

  Yeah. That had hurt to hear. Because she was not wrong.

  But he had an overbearing father of his own to deal with. Wes was the Morgan clan’s great hope to follow in his father’s footsteps and have an illustrious career in the Marines. His older brother had come home under a cloud from the Navy and, as the second son, the good son, all the pressure had landed on Wes to uphold the family name.

  Hang on, baby. I’m coming for you.

  “Wes?” Jessica’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “I’m here. Keep talking to me.”

  “’Fraid.”

  He’d never known Jess to be scared of anything, and she sounded terrified right now. If he’d had any doubt about the seriousness of her predicament, that one word had just erased it. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

  She had a thing about promises. She hated them because she said people always broke them. He prayed he wouldn’t end up breaking this one to her.

  “Sleepy...”

  “I know you are. Fight it, baby. You’re the strongest woman I know. You can do this.”

  “Dec...deca...dec...”

  He frowned, listening intently, trying and failing to decipher what she was trying to say. She was clearly fading. Clearly losing all ability to form words. But she was fighting like crazy to say something.

  “Deca...dence,” she finally got out. A note of triumph sounded in her voice.

  The line went dead.

  Sonofabitch.

  He alternated between panic and...well, more panic...as he drove like a maniac around the Beltway toward the north side of town.

  What the hell did she mean by that? Decadence?

  Jessica hadn’t been talking about herself, had she? She was a known drama queen, spoiled rotten and a bona fide pain in the ass at times. She was decadently beautiful and, God knew, she’d blown his mind in bed with her decadence there. But why would she say something like that with such urgency just before she passed out?

  He made it to the Continental in record time and miraculously managed not to encounter any police as he destroyed every speed limit between the Pentagon and the hotel. He pulled into the circle drive in front of the hotel and looked around frantically. A pop-up nightclub would need a large, open space. Easy access. Plenty of parking. There. Across the street. A tall, ugly office building with a huge banner hanging across its front declaring the space for lease.

  He sprinted across the street, eyeing the building. There. A flash of blue and then red out of a top-floor window. That looked like disco lighting. That had to be it.

  A chain hung unlocked on one of the front doors. He stepped into a deserted lobby lit only by the dim glow of exit signs. God. If he didn’t know Jessica was upstairs somewhere, he would never guess anyone at all was here. He jammed the elevator button and waited impatiently for it. The only reason he wasn’t running up the stairs was this would be faster. Plus, if Jessica was passed out and being carried from the building, the douchebag who’d drugged her would inevitably drag her into the elevator and not try to carry her down a dozen flights of stairs.

  Girding himself for he knew not what, he watched the elevator door slide open.

  Empty.

  He jumped inside and mashed the button for the top floor. It was the longest elevator ride of his life. Every second was agony. Was someone dragging Jess into a bathroom or coatroom right now? Taking advantage of her? Doing unthinkable things to her?

  He forced the grisly images from his mind, along with the red haze of rage accompanying them. It had been less than ten minutes since she’d mumbled that last word to him. That wasn’t long enough for anything bad to happen to her, right?

  Cripes. It was a lifetime.

  C’mon, c’mon. He exhorted the elevator to go faster.

  Finally, at long last, the doors began to slide open ponderously. He slipped sideways through the opening as soon as it was wide enough to accommodate his muscular chest. He gathered himself to take off running, but spied a man standing at the end of a short hallway. Wes checked himself and strode toward the guy.

  On full combat alert, Wes took note of details instantly—Asian. Late twenties. Same height as Wes—six feet
on the nose. Ripped like a bodybuilder.

  As Wes approached, the dude said woodenly, “Password?”

  Password? What the hell? Clearly this was some sort of private pop-up party. Which meant drugs, booze and girls were likely involved. What on earth had Jessica gotten herself mixed up in?

  Thinking fast, he slurred his words a little. “Crap. I forgot it. My friend said the best action in DC was here. I’ve got cash...” He dug for his wallet, praying that he had enough bills in it to look like more than a few bucks.

  “No password. No entry.”

  Dammit. Then inspiration struck. “Wait. I’ve got it. Decadence.” And if that didn’t work, Wes was clocking this guy and taking him out.

  As Wes’s fist balled tight, the bodybuilder nodded. Stepped back. Opened the solid wood door.

  Praise the Lord and pass the potatoes. Wes stepped into a large open space with exposed vents and conduit overhead. Concrete floor. Exposed concrete columns broke up the expanse. Four big guys lounged just inside the door, obviously to keep the riffraff out—or throw the riffraff out as the case might be.

  The music was deafening, and a dozen young women lolled at a bar built of cases of beer. Beyond the bar a crowd gyrated to the music in a near orgy on the dance floor. As far as he could see, people were standing, sitting and—holy crap—lying down in various stages of undress and orgy.

  How in the hell was he ever going to find Jessica in this morass of bodies, booze and sex? Stone-cold terror washed through his gut. He wasn’t going to get to her in time. Someone was going to assault her, and she was utterly defenseless. He’d been in killer firefights in hot combat zones that scared him less than this.

  Jessica, what in the hell have you done?

  “Yo, brah,” one of the thug/bouncers said, coming forward to greet him. “You look uptight as hell, man. Can I get you something to drink? Snort? Shoot? You know, get you in the mood?”

  He was in the mood to hurt someone. “No. I’m good,” he bit out.

  He moved into the crowd, bypassing the dance floor on the assumption that she was currently unconscious. He had to step over and around people shooting drugs, engaged in near sex acts or simply passed out. Class in a glass, man.