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J ordan sat outside Montana’s ranch-style home, wondering if the man were still alive and, if so, where he was and what he was doing. Why hadn’t he gotten a message to them? Was he hurt?

On Wednesday, Kurt’s memorial had been attacked, and Gold Team were actively hunting the psychopath—another mission he was barred from participating in.

Jordan couldn’t help feeling some twisted sense of relief about the fact that the ceremony hadn’t concluded, though he was grateful no one had been badly injured.

He didn’t want to memorialize a man who might still be alive.

He didn’t want to lie to the family or anyone else at the wake Ackers had insisted on hosting for show.

Jordan had ducked out of the church as soon as they’d ascertained the bad guy was gone and the danger was over.

He was frustrated by the slow progress of their investigation, but at least people were working on it.

Rowena Smith’s DNA didn’t match with anyone in any of the criminal or military databases, but they couldn’t gain access to the Brit’s databases.

They had an expert trying to whittle down people who might be her biological father.

He’d assumed it would be an easy case of this guy or that, but instead there were all these possible connotations.

Not only were records spotty and sometimes hard to decipher, but infidelity and incest also confused the issue.

He dragged Kurt’s large black bag from the trunk of his new car—the old one had been an insurance write off—and swung it onto his back. It wasn’t that heavy without all the weapons and ammo he’d left in Montana’s equipment cage, which no one had yet dared to touch and probably never would.

He trudged around the side through the gate to the back door. Used his key to unlock the door and came to an abrupt halt. A light was on in the hallway. Papers lay strewn across the kitchen table. A mug of coffee sat in the middle.

Someone was here?

Ackers had assured him the family had left right after the memorial on Wednesday afternoon.

Jordan lay the bag softly on the floor and eased the door shut. He drew his weapon. Had the person who’d paid Ellen Mires decided to search Kurt’s house? Looking for what?

He stepped soundlessly through the kitchen and into the hallway. The sound of water splashing had him narrowing his gaze. Whoever was here obviously felt comfortable enough to make themselves at home.

Anger, never far from the surface these days, rose inside him, pressed against his forehead, his chest, the knuckle of the finger that wanted to curl around the trigger of his Springfield Custom Professional 1911-A1.

Then he heard singing, and it pushed him over the edge.

He kicked open the door of the bathroom and pointed his weapon at the wet naked figure soaking in the tub.

She screamed and lunged for the towel. He beat her to it and whipped it away, searching for weapons. There was none.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Jordan recognized her from the bar last week .

She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to cover herself with her hands.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, sweetheart. Stop with the hysterics.”

Her gaze narrowed into thin blue lasers that would have cut out his heart if he’d had one.

He grabbed the first towel that came to hand and thrust it at her, realizing belatedly it wouldn’t cover much. Didn’t matter. He had no intention of being distracted. “Get out.”

He moved backwards, watching for an accomplice. He motioned her forward then took her arm and held her in front of him while he cleared the ground floor.

She trembled in his grip.

They reached Kurt’s bedroom. He swept under the pillows for weapons. Nothing. “Lie down.” He pointed at the bed and gave her a light push.

He grabbed a belt from Kurt’s closet and caught her on her way to the door. He tied her arms and wrists together and pushed her back onto the bed.

“Leave me alone!”

The kick in the face took him by surprise, but he ignored the pain and the blood and sat on her to capture her legs and ankles and bind them securely together. He wiped his nose, and she started screaming again. He found some socks and a canvas belt and used it to gag her.

This was an FBI matter now. Not a local one. As soon as he cleared the house, he was calling in Armstrong, Ackers, and Regan and they’d figure out what to do with the little hellcat.

The towel had come loose during the struggle, and her eyes were wide with fear. She was beautiful with an almost innocent air. But that innocence was deceptive, and he wasn’t foolish enough to fall for the same trap with different bait.

“Stay there while I check the basement for any accomplices. Move and you’ll regret it.”

The threat was a bluff. He wasn’t about to hurt her, but he was happy to scare her into submission so maybe she’d tell them who she was working for.

He headed downstairs, cleared the TV room and the back where the furnace and water heater were. He even shone a flashlight around a small crawlspace. Nothing.

He heard a heavy thump and hurried back up the stairs.

He paused mid-step on his rush through the living room.

There, on the sideboard, was a large, framed photograph he’d never noticed before, of Kurt with his arm around a blonde woman in a black graduation gown.

The same woman who was currently tied up in Kurt’s bedroom.

Oh my fucking God.

He realized his mistake with the sense of impending doom like watching an axe about to sever an innocent neck.

He strode into the bedroom in time to find the woman pressing the combination of Kurt’s small gun safe in the base of his wardrobe with her bound hands.

He launched himself on top of her. Rolling them away from any loaded weapons until he had time to explain and apologize.

She tried to head butt him, and he jerked back.

“Wait. Wait . Daisy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were an intruder. I am so sorry.”

Those deep blue eyes that he now realized were the exact same shade as Kurt’s were filled with loathing and hatred.

Fuck . He had screwed this up so badly.

“I’m truly sorry.” He became aware he was pressed down on her naked body, and no wonder she looked as if she wanted to kill him. He rolled off of her and quickly scooped her up and placed her on the bed. She tried to kick him again, but he dodged her.

She was a scrappy little thing.

He grabbed a bathrobe off the back of the door and covered her with it. “I’m really sorry. I can explain. Let me—” He reached tentatively for the belt he’d tied around her face and dragged it off.

She spat out the socks. “I’m going to fucking kill you. ”

Jordan held up his hands in surrender. “You have every right to be angry.”

“Every right? Every damned right? How fucking dare you tell me when I have the right to be angry. I’ll be angry any time I want to be.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I—” He swallowed. He couldn’t tell her another woman had seduced him in the hopes of uncovering information about her father. “Your father asked me to take care of his place while he was away. I thought you were…”

She was breathing heavily.

Christ . “An intruder. I would never have treated you with so much disrespect if I’d realized it was you.”

“On Monday night,” she spoke over him, “you said, ‘Tell whoever hired you that I don’t need any more whores to fuck and kill.’ What did you mean by that?”

He blew out a big breath.

“Who did you kill?” Her voice was firm but wobbled a little at the end. She was scared. Who wouldn’t be?

He scrubbed his free hand over his forehead. Sat on the bed. “It’s a long story and technically I didn’t kill anyone. She tried to run me off the road and ended up wrapped around a tree. I thought you were… Look, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m so sorry for what I said on Monday night.”

“You shoved me against my car. I have bruises.”

She’d have more from tonight. “Again. I’m sorry. I thought you were a criminal, and that’s no excuse. I will do anything to make it up to you.” Except tell you the truth .

“You scared me.” Her voice was small, and he felt like slime. Any lower, and he’d be looking up to people like Ellen Mires, who’d broken her oath for money.

Daisy wriggled under the robe fighting the straps on her wrists. The shoulder slipped lower, and they both froze. She glared at him.

He swallowed with difficulty. “If I undo the restraints, will you promise to hear me out before you call the cops? I am law enforcement. I worked very closely with your dad. I promise from now on, I’ll protect you with my life.”

She stared at him long and hard. “Prove it.”

At first, he didn’t understand. Then he realized she wanted to see his ID. He slipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his creds. Gold shield on one side. Official ID on the other.

“ You’re Jordan Krychek?” Her features pinched with surprise and what looked a lot like disappointment.

He knew that feeling. “Your father mentioned me?”

She shook her head, obviously lying but he couldn’t figure out why.

“The HRT Director told me Kurt’s family had left town. I would never have come over if I’d thought you were still here.” He slipped his hands under the robe at her feet to undo the belt that tied her ankles together. She lifted her arms from under the robe, and he released her and stood back.

“You may have seen it all before, you sonofabitch,” she bit out, “but you don’t get to see it again. Turn around.”

He did so, and a moment later she swept past him wearing Kurt’s oversized blue robe. He followed her through into the kitchen. She opened her mouth to say something when Jordan realized they couldn’t have this conversation here.

“Wait.” He held up his hand for silence. Whoever had bugged his place could conceivably have bugged this one too. Although, would they bug the home of a supposed dead man?

In case he somehow tried to make contact…