“Iced tea?” the daughter asked.
At his nod, she used an intercom to relay the order—phrased as a request—to the kitchen and the many servants he knew worked there. The size of the ranch and its numerous employees might make his job a little tougher than usual, but not impossible. Criminals always made a mistake. There was always a weak link or an unplanned incident—
“Please, have a seat,” Ryan Fortune invited.
Devin chose a leather chair at right angles to the matching sofa. From this angle, he could observe the entrance and the inner courtyard. He noticed a maid leave one room and enter another. She pushed a trolley much like those used in hotels. Another maid entered the great room, a tray in her hand. She served him first, then Ryan Fortune, who indicated the daughter should be next. Devin stored that bit of information away under “protocol of the rich.”
The tea looked refreshingly cold. A sprig of mint and an orange slice decorated the rim of the glass. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to remove the mint and orange slice and put them in the saucer that came with the tea or just drink from the other side of the glass.
He picked up the glass and waited to see what his host and hostess did. They ignored the refreshment, each watching him as if waiting for a brilliant deduction, Sherlock Holmes style, on the kidnapping. Feeling distinctly foolish, he sipped the flavored tea, then replaced the glass on the saucer which, he noticed, matched the leaf design of the three glasses.
“How many men do you have working with you?” Vanessa Fortune demanded, perching on the arm of the sofa closest to her father, who had taken the chair that faced Devin across the coffee table.
He snatched a number from thin air. “Twenty thousand.”
Dev didn’t know why he’d chosen a smart-ass answer, other than the fact that Vanessa Fortune got his dander up. Among other things.
“I didn’t mean the entire force of the FBI,” she said, not taking offense. “How many from the district office came with you and how many from the local office are assigned to the case?”
“I’m it,” he announced, checking both father and daughter to see how they took this news.
“One man?” she questioned.
Her lips tightened. The bottom lip was fuller than the upper, he noted, and she didn’t wear a smidgen of lipstick. He wondered how that mouth would feel under his and was immediately irritated at the thought.
“The field office will supply any additional help I need,” he continued. “For now, I want to explore on my own.”
“Explore where?” This from the patriarch.
“Here. The house and ranch.”
“That’s about five hundred thousand acres,” Ryan Fortune stated dryly, the impatience controlled but visible.
“I’m aware of that.” Dev’s tone was equally dry.
“What exactly are you looking for?” the daughter broke in. “Don’t you think all the clues will have been eradicated by now? It’s been two months since the kidnapping.”
“I’m aware of that, Ms. Fortune.”
“You had better call me Vanessa, otherwise you’ll have several people answer when the rest of the family is present,” she informed him crisply.
Devin caught the subtle nuance of arrogance in the correction, the demand that he do something now. He saw the father’s gaze shift to her, to him, then back to the daughter. The man saw more than Dev wanted him to.
An uncomfortable flash of heat hit him someplace deep inside. He maintained an impassive expression with an effort of will. But the hunger didn’t let up, nor the longing.
“My daughter will be available to answer any questions,” Mr. Fortune informed him. “I’ve asked her to take you any place on the ranch you want to go. You will have complete freedom to investigate as you wish.”
Another complication in an already complex situation. He ignored the woman and spoke to the father. “I understand Ms. Fortune is in school—”
“I’m taking a sabbatical from my studies,” she informed him. “A Ph.D. is nothing compared to finding my nephew.”
He thought of days spent in her company. Fate had never been kind, not to him. “I don’t have time for an amateur.”
The verdant eyes flashed. “I won’t get in your way.”
He didn’t argue, knowing the decision had been made before he’d appeared on the scene.
“You may go anywhere, question anyone, search any building,” Mr. Fortune assured him. “If anyone gives you any trouble, refer them to me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dev breathed a little easier about his job. With Fortune’s approval, there was no doubt in his mind that he would get the cooperation he needed.
“Vanessa, take Mr. Kincaid to his room. He might as well get settled in—”
“I have a place in town, but thanks anyway,” Dev quickly put in.
“Staying here will be more efficient,” she told him in the same tone the father had used—as if no one would dare question the decision.
Before he could refuse, Mr. Fortune asked, “Are you by any chance related to the Montana Kincaids?”
“Not that I know of.”
As if he were kin to anyone with money. He was willing to bet the Montana Kincaids were another rich ranching family. Maybe he should tell Mr. Fortune and his snooty daughter about growing up in the Houston slums with a drunk for a father and a beaten-down mother—
“I was in Vietnam with Wayne Kincaid. A good man.”
“Yes, sir.” Dev wondered if the older man’s mind was wandering. People said and did strange things when they were under unrelenting stress for long periods.
“A lot of men didn’t come back.”
Vanessa laid a hand on her father’s shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture that expressed, more than words ever could, her love for her family. For the instant between two heartbeats, Devin let himself wonder how it would feel to be included in that circle of love and loyalty, the inner warmth that spoke of family and forever…
“I’ll take Mr. Kincaid to his room,” she said, “then show him around. Drinks around six?”
Ryan Fortune patted his daughter’s hand. “Yes. I have to return a call to my attorney. I’m sure you’re aware…” He hesitated, then shrugged, his expression grim as he glanced at Dev. “It’s common knowledge that I’m involved in a nasty divorce case. I suppose you’re aware of that.”
“I have the general details,” Dev admitted. At the other man’s assessing glance, he added, “Sam Waterman is a friend. He was in Intelligence when I was in the Marines.” Waterman was now a private investigator and had been hired by Ryan Fortune to protect his family after the kidnapping.
Devin exchanged a glance with Fortune that spoke of common experiences, of friendships forged and proven in the heat of battle, whether that was in the jungles of Nam, the deserts of Kuwait, or endangered embassies in various parts of the world where he had served.
As an embassy guard who had figured out an assassination scheme on an ambassador before it happened, Devin had reported his findings to CIA Agent Waterman. The higher-ups had transferred him to Intelligence, which was how he’d ended up in the FBI when his tour of duty was finished.
“If you’re ready…” the daughter said, making it obvious she was by rising.
Dev also