Laura hugged Emily, the little girl precious in her arms. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Now we’re talking.” Javier’s was black. He took it out and settled it on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. “How do I look, bella?”

He looked incredibly, unbelievably . . . hot.

Laura met his gaze, saw the warmth and humor in his brown eyes, and found herself struggling to form a coherent sentence. “He . . . um . . . looks very handsome, don’t you think, Emily?”

Emily looked over at Javier and gave a shy smile.

Javier grinned. “Maybe the ranching life is for me—getting up early to feed the cows, fixing fences, eating steak.”

“Steers, bro. Those were steers.”

Laura laughed along with the others.

“I bet some of your best rodeo stars are Puerto Rican. Am I right?” Javier adjusted the hat on his head. “We Boricuas—we are everywhere, man.”

“That’s the Javier I know.” Nate rolled his eyes, shook his head.

“We wanted you to know you’re always welcome here, come rain or shine, tarnation or hellfire,” Jack said. “You’re both a part of this place, and it’s a part of you.”

Laura smiled. “Thank you, Jack. Thanks to all of you.”

* * *

“I SAW YOU playing with that little girl,” Javier said as they drove toward the highway, his gaze warm. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother some day.”

He had no idea how deeply his words cut her.

* * *

THEY ARRIVED BACK in Denver Sunday evening to find that Tower had told Laura the truth, the backlog of e-mails and news articles like an onslaught after five days of quiet. Laura read through them one by one, determined not to lose the sense of peace she’d gained from her time at the ranch, but it wasn’t easy. The media were making Tower out to be the selfless hero who was helping to keep Laura safe despite her suspicions toward him. He was no longer a suspect in the bombing, and the Washington office of the U.S. Marshal Service had, indeed, apologized in what must have felt like a smack in the face to Zach and the Colorado office.

Laura called her attorney and left a message asking her to begin the process of getting a restraining order against Tower. He might not be behind the bombing, but that didn’t mean she had to put up with him.

“Don’t let him get to you, bella,” Javier said when he kissed her good night, leaving her to sleep alone while he took the guest room.

* * *

MONDAY MORNING FOUND Laura sitting at her desk, joining the morning I-Team meeting via Skype, while Javier took a shower. As much as she had enjoyed her time up at the Cimarron, it felt good to be getting back to work again, even if that meant enduring the image of Tom Trent’s scowling face on her monitor.

“You’re late, Harker. What’s on your plate?” he asked Matt.

Matt’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “The city is moving to condemn a stroke palace on Colfax—a place called Candy’s Emporium.”

“A stroke palace?” Kat asked. “What’s that?”

Laura had no idea what that meant either.

“Uh, yeah . . .” Matt stammered.

“Candy’s is basically a cross between a porn arcade and a strip club.” That was Alex. “Men go there to jack off.”

Stroke palace?

Ew.

“Apparently, customers get a helping hand at Candy’s. Police have been trying to shut it down for years but have never been able to prove what was happening there, so the city decided to take a different approach and went after the building’s owners for violating fire codes. I’m guessing about fifteen inches.”

“Can we get photos?” That was Syd, the managing editor.

“Done.” Joaquin said. “I went by there yesterday. That place is pretty seedy.”

“See if you can get interviews with some of the working girls,” Tom said. “Find out what impact this has on them.”

“I’ll be happy to take that on if you don’t have time, Harker,” Alex offered.

Laura rolled her eyes.

“Carmichael, since you seem to have energy and spare time, you’re next.” Tom’s gaze shifted to his left. “You’ve got follow-up stories about the bombing and the Al-Nassar verdict.”

“The feds aren’t sharing anything new at this point. I can see what the talking heads at the alphabet soup agencies have to say, write an update, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the same as Friday.”

Judging from his expression, Tom didn’t like this. “I want the bombing on the front page every day until it’s resolved. Some asshole tried to take out one of my reporters and damned near killed the entire I-Team staff. What about an interview with the kid’s parents?”

“I’ve called four times. I’ll try again.” Alex sounded irritated.

Then Tom looked directly at Laura. “Are you privy to any info the feds haven’t felt like sharing with the public?”

Laura stiffened. “No. I haven’t spoken with anyone from the FBI or the Marshal Service since last week.”

Surely Tom realized she couldn’t share information from an active investigation just because she worked for the paper.

His gaze shifted back to Alex. “Get me something—an interview with a source close to the investigation, the kid’s parents, witnesses. I want at least ten inches on this, enough for a decent headline.”

“Whatever you say.” Alex was definitely irritated. “There was a gang-related killing in the state pen overnight. The suspected head of one of the Mexican nationalist gangs was found dead in his cell this morning with his throat slit. Word is that the head of the white supremacist group green-lighted the murder from his cell in D-seg. I’d like to report this—maybe ten inches—and use it as a springboard for a bigger piece about gangs in Colorado prisons.”

While Tom and Alex discussed possible angles for Alex’s proposed story, Laura looked over her notes, knowing it was almost her turn in the hot seat. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Javier. Her breath caught, her mind going blank. He stood in her office doorway wearing nothing but a towel. In the sauna, seeing him dressed like this had been one thing. But seeing him standing in her office, daylight highlighting his muscles, making his dark skin gleam . . .

“Can I use your washer?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, unable to keep from raking him with her gaze.

“Nilsson, you there?” Tom looked into the computer screen.

“Yes.” Laura glanced down at her notes. “I need to finish my interview with Ted Hollis, the man I was speaking with when the bomb went off. I’ve got two more soldiers I’d like to interview after that. I’m slated to talk to the local coordinator for the VA’s PTSD program tomorrow. I’d like to talk to the regional VA director, as well, but he keeps shunting me over to the PR flack. I hope to have a story by Friday.”

Laura glanced back over her shoulder, but Javier was gone.

* * *

MCBRIDE SHOWED UP with Callahan at fifteen hundred hours to brief Laura on the investigation. Javier could tell the man was pissed. So was he.

“I’ve never known the Marshal Service to back down like this. Tower must have powerful friends in Washington. He also has an alibi. A friend of his claims he was in D.C. at the time the bomb went off. I’m sure it’s false, but I can’t prove that. He came in voluntarily and answered our questions, even offered to help, which makes him look good. Officially, he’s no longer a person of interest in this case, but unofficially . . .”

Laura nodded. “I understand.”

Javier stood to her right, the tension inside him making it impossible for him to sit. “What about all the phone calls, the way he followed her to her car? What about the bruises he left on her wrists?”

McBride didn’t seem to take Javier’s frustration personally. “The district attorney has declined to prosecute the case. He bought into Tower’s claim that Tower would never have touched Laura if she hadn’t held a gun on him. He says one incident of following Laura to her car doesn’t constitute stalking. But if Tower continues to call you or comes near you again, Laura, we’ll arrest the son of a bitch and charge him with violating the restraining order. He won’t be able to squirm out of that.”

The order, signed by a judge on his lunch hour, thanks to Laura’s very determined attorney, sat on Laura’s coffee table beside half-empty coffee cups.

Tower was making the most of his fifteen minutes of fame to repeat his lies about her being to blame in some way for her own abduction and the deaths of his men, and this time some of the papers had taken the bait, dredging up old news stories, reexamining the State Department’s report. The bastard was a master schemer, and he’d taken advantage of the bombing to manipulate the media.

But Javier was willing to bet Laura knew more about the media than Tower did—and she had her own contacts. She’d already been interviewed by her editor for a piece in tomorrow’s paper, and she’d left a message for her former anchor, who’d been more than happy to give her a segment on Thursday’s primetime broadcast.

Laura reached out, touched McBride’s hand. “Thanks. This isn’t your fault.”

McBride turned to Detective Callahan. “I believe you wanted to update Laura on your investigation.”

Detective Callahan nodded, dark circles beneath his blue eyes proof he’d been putting in long hours. “We’ve collected debris from the bomb site and from the body and have been able to piece together the explosive device.”

“Have you learned anything definite so far?” Laura asked.

Callahan nodded. “We know that the bomber used dynamite stolen from a construction site in Adams County to use as a primer. The dynamite was detonated by cell phone. A call was made to a cell phone connected to an SCR switch.”