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“Don't hand me that,” Colby muttered. “Any half-baked detective could have tracked him down through his relatives!”

“The father lived out of state,” Hunter said shortly. “Sarina didn't try to find him after that one attempt. She said that if he didn't want his child, it didn't matter, because she did. Bernadette is her whole life.” Hunter checked his watch. “We'd better get cracking. Ritter doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

Colby had a suspicion that Hunter knew a lot more about Bernadette's missing father than he was willing to say.

“Rodrigo looks familiar,” he murmured as they walked down the hall.

“Does he?” Hunter asked in a deliberately light tone.

Colby stuck his hands in his pockets. “He loves that child,” he said, thinking aloud. “He was ready to deck me for what I said to her.”

“He'd marry Sarina in a minute if she'd have him,” Hunter replied. “She won't. She has nothing to do with men.”

Colby's high cheekbones flushed with embarrassed guilt. He was glad his friend was looking the other way. He knew, as Hunter didn't, why Sarina had nothing to do with men. But it raised another question. How had she managed to get involved with Bernadette's father, after the pain he'd caused her?

 

W
HEN HE GOT TO
R
ITTER
'
S
office, the silver-haired elderly man wasn't alone. He had Alexander Cobb's family friend, Jodie, in his office as well. The young woman was flushed and traces of anger were still visible in her eyes.

Ritter gave Colby a look that promised retribution at a later date, but he didn't say a word about Bernadette at the moment.

“Miss Clayburn has just quit her job as Brody Vance's assistant,” Ritter said with a wry smile, “so we're rehiring her as a computer expert. Cobb says she's on a par with cybercrime experts in his agency,” he added. “I'd like to put her to work doing extensive background checks on certain employees.”

“We've got a member of the drug lord's team working here, haven't we, sir?” Colby asked Ritter.

“Almost certainly,” Ritter replied. “After what happened in our own warehouse, I'm convinced that we've still got an illegal shipment of drugs hidden somewhere as well. We had a close call.”

“Colby and I had a closer one,” Hunter murmured dryly with a smile at Jodie Clayburn. “If Miss Clayburn hadn't driven that car right into one of the drug smuggler's accomplices, Colby and I would both be dead right now—and so would DEA senior agent Alexander Cobb.”

Jodie smiled. “I still can't believe I did that,” she pointed out. “I'm much better at fighting crime with computers than cars.”

“That's what you'll be doing from now on,” Ritter told her, and outlined her salary and responsibilities.

She accepted the new job at once, and thanked Eugene. Hunter walked her out to her car. She could finger the female member of the drug smuggling team, who was Brody Vance's girlfriend, and she'd actually planted a bug for Cobb under the woman's table at a local coffee house and obtained evidence of drug smuggling. Cara had been arrested, but Jodie was in danger. Cobb was taking her down to his ranch in Jacobsville for a few days for safekeeping. It was Brody Vance who'd let Cara Dominguez into the warehouse parking lot in the first place. He'd bailed Cara out of jail, and pretended innocence. But Ritter knew he had to be involved somehow.

Ritter sat back in the conference room chair and glowered at Colby Lane when they were alone.

“I know,” Colby said on a sigh. “I've been unreasonable about the child. But there's an excuse, even if it isn't much of one.” He got up, pulled the drawing Bernadette had made out of his pocket, unfolded it and placed it on the polished wood surface of the boardroom table in front of Eugene Ritter.

“So? It's a drawing,” Ritter said, puzzled, as his blue eyes met Colby's dark ones. “The child has talent. Why are you showing it to me?”

Colby's face tautened. “That—” he put his finger on the man in fatigues with the machine gun in the drawing “—is the SOB who shot my arm to pieces in Africa! And this,” he added, indicating the path between two tall trees, “is where it happened.”

Ritter frowned. “You told the child?”

“I told her nothing,” he returned curtly. “I've told no one. There were eight other people with me in Africa, including Hunter, who saw it go down. None of them ever discussed it with anyone else, much less a little girl!”

Ritter sat back in his chair heavily. He didn't know what to say.

“The day I first saw her, in the hall here, she came right up to me and said that if I hadn't moved so slowly, I wouldn't have lost my arm,” Colby added heavily.

“I…don't understand,” Ritter murmured.

“Neither do I,” Colby said flatly. “I'm sensitive about my handicap,” he added. “I don't discuss it with anyone except Hunter and my old comrades.”

“Perhaps her mother told her…?”

“I haven't seen her mother for almost seven years,” Colby interrupted, and then clamped his jaw shut, because Ritter hadn't known there was a prior relationship.

Eugene's silver eyebrows arched. “You knew Sarina before you came to work here?”

Colby picked up the drawing and took his time refolding it. “We were married once. Briefly.”

“The child…” Ritter began at once.

“…is not mine,” Colby said firmly, in a tone that didn't invite further speculation.

“You're sure of that?” Eugene plowed right ahead.

Colby's eyes lowered to the boardroom table. “I'm sterile,” he said in a haunted tone.

Ritter's indrawn breath was audible. “I'm sorry. I have two sons. I can't imagine not having them.” He stood up. “But none of this is a reason to make Bernadette's life difficult. She takes enough heat from other students without getting it here where her mother works as well.”

Colby scowled. “Heat from other students?” he asked blankly, before he remembered what Sarina had said about putting the child in a predominantly Hispanic school.

Eugene's eyes were old and wise. “Didn't you have problems in grammar school?”

“I went to a grammar school on the reservation,” he replied. “All Apache.”

“Well, Bernadette isn't so lucky,” the old man told him. “She's had her problems with prejudice, in Arizona and now here. It's one reason Sarina moved into a heavily Hispanic district. Bernadette fits in there better than she does in a predominantly white school. In fact,” he added, “Hunter's daughter, Nikki, goes to the same school. They've had their own problems.”

Colby put the drawing back into his pocket. “That doesn't explain why she has to stay in the canteen in the afternoons,” he said slowly.

“Day care costs as much a week as Sarina makes,” Eugene said flatly.

Colby stared at the older man. “What if a woman had two or three kids?”

“It would cost more than she made at most clerical positions to put them in day care, I suppose.”

“That's not right,” Colby said harshly.

He shrugged. “Tell the government. Meanwhile, I let Bernadette sit in the canteen, where she's no trouble. It's my corporation. I can do what I like in it, within reason.” His blue eyes narrowed. “And you won't cause her any more problems, will you, Lane?”

“No, sir, I won't,” Colby replied quietly. “I didn't understand the situation at all.”

“None of us understands it,” Eugene muttered, turning. “How any man could turn his back on a beautiful child like that is beyond my comprehension.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Well, let's go through the warehouse one more time,” he told Colby, “and see what we can turn up.”

“Right behind you, sir.”

 

T
HE SECURITY GUARD
who'd let the drug smugglers into the warehouse was in jail pending arraignment. Ritter and Colby talked to the other two security guards, who maintained that they hadn't seen anything suspicious. They did a cursory search, but turned up nothing that looked like drugs.

Ritter contemplated having the warehouse searched inch by inch, but Colby felt that constant surveillance would yield better results. He recommended the placement of additional hidden cameras and recording devices, which would be unknown even to the security guards.

The suggestion made Eugene grin. He agreed at once, and Colby felt better about his earlier faux pas.

 

B
UT HE WENT BACK
to his office feeling vaguely uncomfortable, still, about the way he'd upset Bernadette.

He'd taken out his .40 caliber automatic Glock, checked the clip, and was cocking it when Sarina walked in without knocking. She stopped dead in the doorway as he put on the safety and stuck the pistol back into its holster on the opposite side of his belt.

Sarina stared at the gun. She hadn't realized that Colby would carry one on the job, but it was stupid not to have anticipated it. The Glock was the preferred weapon of many law enforcement agencies. You could drop one in a mud puddle and it would still fire.

But she wasn't supposed to know that, so she kept her mouth shut and folded her arms over her chest.

“I know why you're here,” Colby said without preamble. “Your friend Ramirez and Mr. Ritter have both had a bite of me. So go ahead.”

He'd taken the wind out of her sails. He didn't even look hostile.

“Why did you upset her this time?” she asked instead.

He pulled the drawing out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her.

She blinked. She didn't understand it. She frowned up at him. “It's a jungle,” she began.

He shucked his jacket, unbuttoned his sleeve and shot it up.

She actually gasped when she saw where the prosthesis met the remaining portion of his left arm, just below his elbow, and all the blood ran out of her face.

Her reaction made him uncomfortable. Maureen had found the prosthesis repulsive, too, not that it had mattered. He'd lost his arm after they'd separated. He'd given in to her decision to maintain a separate residence with bad grace and stayed drunk for a long time afterward. She'd lived with the man she later married, and became pregnant in defiance. Colby had given in to the divorce at once when he knew that, but she'd been oddly careless about it, and she'd never shared the final papers with him. She'd acted as if her marriage to Colby didn't even exist.

It was during that separation that he'd lost his arm. He hadn't touched a woman intimately since the shooting. Obviously Sarina found him distasteful as well. It shouldn't have bothered him, they were worlds apart now; but it did.

He dragged the sleeve down savagely and refastened it. “I was on assignment in Africa a few years ago, one of several assignments I took there. That—” he gestured toward the drawing “—is where it happened. It was just after Maureen moved out. I developed a serious drinking problem. Our unit ran into an ambush that all our intelligence hadn't prepared us for. I wasn't quick enough to get out of the way. My arm was shot to pieces, although one of our team walked right into the machine gun nest and took it out. If he hadn't, I'd be dead. We had a doctor in our group who did the amputation. We were miles from a hospital and blood poisoning set in. If there hadn't been a small clinic nearby where our doctor had access to surgical instruments and antibiotics, I'd be dead. It isn't a memory I particularly enjoy.”

She stared again at the drawing. “Nobody told Bernadette about any of that,” she said.

“I'm not totally stupid,” he shot back. “I do realize that.”

She bit her lower lip, hard. “I'm sorry. I'm certain that she didn't mean it to be upsetting.”

“Are you?” He laughed curtly. “She doesn't like me. I've already made an enemy of her. She gave me a look that could have fried bread, and then she drew this.”

She frowned worriedly. “She isn't vindictive,” she said, but without real conviction. Her daughter had a regrettable temper.

“Maybe she isn't, consciously.” He studied her curiously, remembering what Hunter had said about her life. “You could have hired a private detective and found Bernadette's father, forced him to pay child support,” he said bluntly.

Her eyelids flickered, but she didn't betray the unsettling feeling that remark provoked in her. Her arms folded tighter. “I had all the trouble I could handle, at the time,” she said quietly.

“Things are different now.” He perched on the edge of his desk, his black eyes narrow and thoughtful. “I can find him, if you want me to.”

Her face went pale. “I don't,” she said firmly, and wouldn't look him in the eye. “It's ancient history.”

“Not when you can't even afford day care,” he retorted.