SWAT officer Colby Vale and horse rancher Piper Caraway are left to die in the remote wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains. But for Colby, death is not an option. He vows to protect Piper as they navigate the treacherous way home. Surviving against nature is difficult. Fighting their attraction is harder. But when their tormentor makes his move...living to tell their tale may be impossible.

Tennessee SWAT

LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.

Also by Lena Diaz

Mountain Witness

Secret Stalker

Stranded with the Detective

Missing in the Glades

Arresting Developments

Deep Cover Detective

Hostage Negotiation

The Marshal’s Witness

Explosive Attraction

Undercover Twin

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Stranded with the Detective

Lena Diaz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07894-8

STRANDED WITH THE DETECTIVE

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

In 2017, Mills & Boon Intrigue lost a gifted author. The world lost a generous, caring soul. This book is dedicated to the memory of Paula Graves. Thank you, Paula, for the cat advice and for the privilege of letting me include a reference to your Chief Massey of Bitterwood P.D. in my very first Destiny, Tennessee, SWAT book, Tennessee Takedown. It was such fun sharing our fictional worlds. You will be missed.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Piper leaned around the edge of the tent that enclosed the temporary stables and curled her fingers around her pocketknife. Ahead and to the left, two more enormous tents partially concealed the winter-brown field that formed the fair’s makeshift parking lot. And, of course, the truck and horse trailer that she specifically wanted to see were in the part of the lot that she couldn’t see. Was Palmer still trying to figure out what she’d done to his truck? Or had he fixed it as soon as he’d popped the hood? Maybe she should sneak back to see whether her diversion was working.

No. Too risky. If he saw her, that would ruin everything. She needed to trust her plan, give it one more minute to make sure he didn’t come right back. Then she could duck inside and take what was rightfully hers.

The area in front of the stables was mostly empty except for a few stragglers by the food trucks. Most of the people were in the bleachers a hundred yards away, erected for the weeklong event on the outskirts of a little town called Destiny, Tennessee.

Its entire population could have fitted several times over inside Rolex Stadium at the Kentucky Horse Park back home. Tucked into the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, Destiny was smack-dab in the middle of Blount County. She supposed the central location made it the perfect spot for the fair because it would draw people from all over the state.

The distant rumble of engines signaled the beginning of the smash-’em-up derby, the main event. The audience was probably freezing as they huddled together, watching fools crunch cars into each other while speeding around a dirt track. Bumper cars for adults. Not Piper’s idea of fun, especially early in the morning, in forty-degree weather.

A metallic bang had the crowd cheering. She shook her head in bemusement. Tucking her chin into the collar of her hooded jacket, she watched two couples approach a food truck. One of them was pushing a pink baby stroller piled high with blankets. A lone man trailed a few steps behind, obviously with them but the expression on his face clearly said he’d rather not be.

Piper smiled in commiseration. This was the last place she wanted to be, too.

Maybe a hairbreadth shy of six feet, the loner had thick coal-black hair that reminded her of the mane on one of her bays. It was a shame he kept it so short, not that it wasn’t attractive cut that way. The style accentuated the sharp angles of his face, his strong jaw.

He wore a hip-length jacket, but it did little to conceal his thick biceps or the way his muscular thighs filled out his worn blue jeans. He looked fit and strong, the kind of man who could easily control even the most stubborn of stallions. But there was an innate gentleness in his easy smile as he bent over the baby stroller that spoke of a kind heart. Piper couldn’t imagine him wielding a whip to force a recalcitrant horse to bend to his will.

She shook her head at her silly thoughts. His dark good looks definitely appealed. But making assumptions about his temperament based on appearance was just as foolish as judging a Thoroughbred without running it around a track. It was also a waste of time. Why had she become so fixated on him when she should have sneaked into the tent by now?

The answer hit her like a fist to the stomach.

It was that black jacket that he was wearing, and the fact that his two male friends, and even the blonde woman without the baby stroller, wore the same kind of jackets.

Exactly the same.

The hair prickled on her arms. All four exuded an air of confidence and authority, of temporarily banked power, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. Behind the smiles and laughs, there was a guardedness about their posture, as if they were keeping a well-practiced eye out for trouble, hyperaware of their surroundings.

Just like police officers did.

That would explain the matching jackets. She’d bet the overdue mortgage payment on her ranch that those jackets were reversible, and if you turned them inside out, they’d have words printed on the back, something like Destiny Police Department.

Her hand tightened around her knife.

There’s nothing to see here. Keep moving. Go watch the silly car bashing on the other side of the field.

The couple with the stroller stopped at a cotton candy booth about thirty feet from Piper’s hiding place. The other couple didn’t seem lovey-dovey like the first. It dawned on her that maybe, since they were wearing matching jackets that screamed “cop,” they were just coworkers out having fun rather than a couple. But the loner of the group—the dark-haired man she’d been admiring earlier—stood a short distance away from the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest.

In spite of the brisk air, a bead of sweat trickled between Piper’s breasts. Had she thought him kind looking before? Because now the concentration and focus on his face as he studied his surroundings seemed almost lethal, dangerous, like a feral predator looking for his next meal.

His head suddenly swiveled toward her. She sucked in a breath and jerked back around the corner.

Stupid, stupid. She shouldn’t have stood there so long. It wasn’t like she was seventeen again, crushing on the high school quarterback. High school was six years ago, a lifetime ago. And she had far more important things to worry about—like salvaging her livelihood, and the livelihoods of everyone who worked for her. She couldn’t let them down. Had he seen her? Did she look as guilty as she felt? Cops had a sixth sense about things.

She listened intently for the sound of his boots against the hard-packed dirt coming toward the tent. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear it pulsing in her ears.

Calm down. No one knows what you’re about to do. Not even hot-cop.

A sharp whinny sounded from inside the tent. Piper’s breath caught. She knew that beloved whinny. Tears sprang to her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, then another. There were no sounds of footsteps approaching. Maybe he hadn’t seen her after all, or hadn’t been concerned if he had. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now. She was all out of options and this was her run for the roses.

The whinny sounded again.

She flipped open the knife, then slipped into the tent.

* * *

COLBY TRUDGED ALONG behind the SWAT team leader and fellow detective, Dillon Gray, and Dillon’s wife, who was pushing their sleeping six-month-old daughter in a stroller. The other two fellow detectives and SWAT officers with them, Blake and Donna, had hurried ahead to save seats at the derby. But hurrying was the last thing that Colby wanted to do. He was content to let the space between him and the Grays get longer and longer. Being the third wheel, or fifth wheel in this case, wasn’t exactly at the top of his “how I wanted to spend my Saturday” list.

Plan A had been to play couch potato and watch a rerun of last year’s Super Bowl. But his well-meaning friends, who were worried that he was “moping” over his recent breakup with his girlfriend, had forced him to dump Plan A. Plan B was to sneak out of the fair and go back home. Unfortunately, from the way Dillon kept looking over his shoulder, Plan B wasn’t looking too promising.

So much for a relaxing weekend.

His friends meant well, which was the only reason he’d given in to their pestering to come here. But their concern was hardly necessary. Colby and his ex-girlfriend had parted on good terms, mutually agreeing that they were better suited as friends than lovers. Neither of them was suffering over the breakup and she was already dating someone else. Just because Colby hadn’t started a new relationship yet didn’t mean that he was unhappy. But Dillon’s matchmaking wife, Ashley, couldn’t accept that he could be happy alone. And her ridiculously love-smitten husband ruthlessly used his position as lead detective and head of the SWAT team to force Colby to go along with Ashley’s wishes.

Judging by the occasional commiserating looks that Blake had shot him this morning, Colby was certain that he didn’t want to be here either. But Blake was still new to the team and was having a hard time fitting in. So he wasn’t about to put up a fuss. The SWAT team was going to the fair and then to a cookout at Max’s house, yet another member of their team, whether they wanted to or not. Dillon had decreed it.

Colby hunched into his police-issued jacket, grateful for the insulated lining that kept him relatively warm. The smell of buttery popcorn carried across the cold breeze that blew through the pine trees. Maybe he could snag a bag later to eat while he watched the recording of that football game. If he was ever allowed to go home.

Slowing his steps even more, he glanced longingly at his brand-new dark blue 4x4 Chevy pickup parked in a field of weeds that had been transformed into a parking lot for the week. But when he looked back toward his friends, he saw that they’d stopped. Dillon was facing him, right hand on his hip, about where his holster rested beneath his jacket. Colby rolled his eyes at the empty threat but plodded forward anyway.

The wind blew again, bringing with it something new—a sound. Something that didn’t fit with the crowd noise in the distance or the vendors restocking for the rush they expected after the derby.

He stopped and turned around. What had he heard? The scuffling of feet against dirt? Muted voices? A muffled argument? Something had the little hairs standing up on his arms and the back of his neck, and it wasn’t the wintry air. Had the sound come from the huge burlap tent about fifty feet away?

He’d noticed someone standing there earlier, their features concealed beneath a dark blue hooded jacket. But they’d ducked back when he’d looked their way. He’d been tempted to confront them, to see whether they were up to no good. But Ashley had distracted him by asking him a question. By the time he’d looked back toward the stranger, they’d disappeared.

The person he’d seen was probably just one of the handlers or one of the riders. When the derby and intermission were over, there was going to be a parade of horses to entertain the crowds. Ribbons and prize money would be handed out for a variety of categories. And after that there would be a horse race, one of the main reasons that Dillon had wanted to come. Horses were his life outside the SWAT team and his detective work.

Colby had grown up in Destiny just like Dillon. And since it seemed like every other house outside town had horses, including Colby’s family, he knew his way around them just as well as anybody. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around them in his off time. He’d much rather nurse a beer and put his feet up while he cheered on his favorite football team, even if it was a rerun.

Man, he’d really wanted to watch that game today.

When he didn’t hear anything else, he turned around and jogged toward Dillon.

A high-pitched scream sounded behind him.

Colby whipped around. Another scream rang out. It had come from the tent where he’d seen the hooded figure. He yanked his gun out of the holster and took off in a dead run.

Chapter Two

Colby stopped just inside the makeshift stables, holding his pistol down by his side. There were two aisles of wooden stalls, enough to hold about twenty horses. He could see the horses’ graceful heads arching above the sides of the stalls, many of them snorting or stamping their hooves in agitation. A string of lights ran overhead down the center of each aisle. He edged forward, listening intently, every muscle tense and ready for action.

A whimper sounded down the left aisle.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” a voice hissed. “Grow a pair.”

Two people were visible through the wooden slats of the next-to-last stall. One of them was maybe a couple inches over five feet, wearing the blue hooded jacket he’d seen earlier. The other man towered nearly a foot over him, his broad shoulders encased in a dark jacket, a green baseball cap perched on top of his head.

Colby crept down the aisle. He’d almost reached the open stall door when the larger man screamed. A knife glinted in the overhead light between them.

Colby sprang into the opening, swinging his gun toward the tall man holding the knife. “Police, freeze.”

The knife wielder’s eyes widened and he immediately dropped the knife in the straw at his feet.

“Officer, it’s not what you—oomph.” He fell to the ground, writhing in pain and cupping his hands between his legs. The smaller man, the one wearing the hood, had just slammed his shoe into the other man’s groin.

Colby winced in sympathy and holstered his gun. He stepped into the stall and the smaller man kneeled over the one on the ground and drew his fist back.

Colby yanked him to his feet before he could take the swing.

“What part of freeze and police did you not understand?” He shook the man.

His hood fell back and a mass of glossy brown hair fell out, tumbling down his back. Correction. Her back. Dark green eyes glittered up at him under perfectly shaped brows that formed an angry slash.

Colby hesitated, his hands on her shoulders. Even with her face scrunched in fury, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her long lashes framed catlike eyes and cheekbones a model would have killed for. An adorable smattering of freckles danced across her sun-bronzed cheeks. Pink, plump lips gave her a sexy, sultry appearance that had his mouth going dry.

“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wriggle free.

“Don’t let her hurt me,” the man on the floor gasped, still clutching himself.

Colby cleared his throat and let the woman go, taking a much-needed step away from her to look down at the man lying in a pile of hay. The knife lay beside him. Colby swiped it with his boot, sending it skittering out into the aisle.

“I’m Officer Colby Vale,” he said. “I heard someone scream.” He glanced from the large man to the petite woman.

“Well, it sure wasn’t me,” she snapped.

It took every ounce of control that Colby possessed not to smile at the gorgeous, infuriated hellcat. She looked incredibly insulted at the idea that she might have screamed.

The man in the hay coughed, his face turning bright red. “She had a knife,” he said, as if to explain, his voice coming out in a plaintive whine.

“You were the one with a knife when I got here,” Colby said.

“I’d just taken it away from her!” He pointed at the woman.

She rolled her eyes. “You got lucky. And it’s not like I came at you with the knife or anything. I was using it to cut the cruel bindings you’d put on Gladiator. He could barely breathe.”

“It was for his own safety,” the man argued. “He kept slamming himself against the sides of the stall. I had to tie him to keep him from getting hurt.”

“Wait, Gladiator?” Colby asked. “We’re talking about a horse? Which one?”

Both of them pointed to the next stall, the last one in the aisle.

Colby turned and his mouth literally dropped open when he saw the stallion. Jet-black, it had a thick, glossy mane that rippled over its withers. Its proud, high tail was just as glossy and thick and probably swept the floor. The animal appeared to be a cross between some kind of draft horse and a Thoroughbred.

“What’s the breed?” he asked.

“Friesian.” The woman’s voice was full of pride. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Incredible.” Colby looked at the man on the ground. “Can you stand?”

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. Colby thought he might have to catch him. But then the man grabbed the top rail and steadied himself.

“What’s your name?” Colby asked.

“Todd Palmer.” He pointed at the woman. “I want you to arrest her.”

“You were the one with the knife,” Colby reminded him.

Palmer started to say something, but Colby held his hand up to stop him. “Hold it.” He looked at the woman. “What’s your name?”

Her mouth tightened, as if she was considering not answering. But then she grudgingly said, “Piper.”

A flash of sunlight stabbed down the aisle as the tent’s front flap lifted. Blake and Dillon both rushed inside. Colby waved them over.

“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s under control.” He eyed Piper, who reminded him of a rabid badger ready to attack. This time he didn’t even try to hold back his smile. “More or less.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

God help him, Colby stirred the hornet’s nest. He winked.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed again and she crossed her arms over her generous chest.

Dillon cleared his throat, giving Colby a curious look before picking up the knife from the ground. “Anybody hurt? We heard a scream. Several, actually.” He looked at Piper. “You okay, ma’am?”

She snorted.

Dillon arched his brows. “What am I missing?”

“She’s not the one who screamed.” He gestured toward Palmer. “He is.”

As one, Dillon and Blake turned toward Palmer. At least six feet two inches tall, he had the build of a lumberjack. His adversary was five feet, at the most. And she looked like a hard wind could blow her down. And yet, she’d been the one who was winning their little fight when Colby had confronted them.

“O...kay.” Dillon glanced back and forth as if trying to figure out how in the world a tiny woman could terrorize the giant of a man.

Colby wanted to know the same thing.

Blake coughed behind his hand, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Let’s start over.” Colby took a step back while Dillon pocketed the knife. “We’re detectives and SWAT officers for the Destiny Police Department.”

“I hate always being right,” the woman grumbled beneath her breath.

Colby didn’t have a clue what she meant. Pointing to his right, he said, “This is my boss, SWAT team leader and Lead Detective Dillon Gray.” He gestured to his other side. “This is Detective Blake Sullivan. I’m Detective Colby Vale. Dillon, Blake, the gentleman there says he’s Todd Palmer. I haven’t checked his ID yet.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Blake held out his hand. “Sir, if you’ll give me your driver’s license, I’ll run a few quick checks, make sure we’re all friends here.”

His smile was friendly, his words disarming, but there was a thread of steel beneath them that brooked no argument. Palmer handed over his license with obvious reluctance. Blake held it so that Dillon and Colby could read it before he pocketed it.

“I’m not some criminal with an outstanding warrant or something,” Palmer complained.

“Excellent. That’ll make my job much easier.” Blake held his hand out toward Piper. “Ma’am? ID?”

She blew out an impatient breath but did as he asked, pulling her driver’s license from the back pocket of her jeans.

Colby read the full name on the card as she handed it to Blake. “Piper Caraway. You and Mr. Palmer are both from Kentucky?”

Blake headed up the aisle with their IDs.

“I don’t know where he’s from,” Piper answered, aiming a glare at Palmer. “But I’m from Lexington, or right outside it anyway, Meadow County. Look, all you need to know is that he stole my horse and I’m here to take it back. If anyone needs to be arrested here, it’s him.”

Palmer drew himself up as if trying to look more imposing. But the effect was ruined by the smattering of straw stuck to the side of his head. From the smell coming off him, Colby had a feeling there was a fair share of horse manure in that straw. He wrinkled his nose and took a quick step back. Dillon wasn’t as subtle. He waved his hand in front of his nose and gave Palmer a disgusted look.

“He stole your horse?” Colby asked Piper. “The one you called Gladiator?”

“He sure did. It took me weeks to figure out where he’d taken him. I chased them halfway across the South.”

“I did not steal that horse.” He reached inside his coat pocket.

Suddenly two pistols were pointing at him, Dillon’s and Colby’s.

Palmers eyes widened and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I just wanted to show you the bill of sale.”

“Hold still.” Dillon holstered his gun and patted Palmer down while Colby aimed his pistol at the ground.

“He’s clear,” Dillon announced. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of the man’s inside jacket pocket as Colby holstered his gun again. “Is this what you wanted to show us?”

“Yes.” Palmer waved toward Piper. “It’s my employer’s bill of sale, Wayne Wilkerson. He owns the place next to the Caraway ranch and had me bring over the bill of sale to pick up Gladiator on his behalf. Aren’t you going to search her, too?”

“Colby will take care of that.” Dillon studied the papers.

“While you’re at it,” Palmer snarled, “you can charge her with vandalism or something. My truck alarm went off in the parking lot and I found it with the hood up. I didn’t see any damage or anything missing, so I tried to start the engine to make sure everything was okay. It wouldn’t start. Took me thirty minutes to figure out that someone had shoved a rubber washer onto the battery post to block the electric current. It doesn’t take a brainiac to figure out who’s responsible.”

“Thank goodness, since that would completely disqualify you,” Piper snapped.

Colby hid his smile by rubbing the light line of stubble that ran up the sides of his face to his hairline.

Palmer’s face reddened and he took a threatening step toward Piper.

The woman had the audacity to take an answering step toward him.

Colby swore and jerked her back to a safe distance while Dillon stepped between them.

“Cool it, or I’ll slap you in cuffs,” Dillon ordered, addressing Palmer. “And it’ll be that much longer before we straighten out this mess.”

Palmer glared at Piper, his earlier fear of the knife apparently forgotten. But he didn’t try to approach her again.

Dillon arched a brow at Colby, an unsubtle reminder to do his job.

Feeling his face flush with heat for letting his professionalism slip yet again around the intriguing woman, he told her, “Ma’am, I need to check you for weapons. Tempers are obviously running high around here and we don’t want any firearms getting in the mix.”

“I’m not armed,” she said but suffered through the frisk without complaint.

Everything about her posture and expression screamed that she was the wronged party, making Colby feel like a jerk for touching her. If Palmer—or his alleged employer, Wilkerson—had stolen her horse, then she was the innocent here. He quickly finished his search and stepped back.

“Looks legit,” Dillon announced. “The papers are notarized and look like the bills of sale I’ve got at home. On the surface, I’d say that he’s telling the truth. Wilkerson owns the stallion, and that last paper clearly states that Palmer is his representative to take care of the horse.”

“Since I would never, ever sell Gladiator, those papers are obviously fake.” Piper reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. “I might not have the pedigree papers with me, but I’ve got proof that he’s been my horse his entire life.”

She unlocked her phone and pressed the screen, then held it so that Colby and Dillon could see it. She swiped her fingers across the face, showing an impressive collection of pictures of a young colt transforming into a mature stallion. The same stallion standing in the next stall.

“Those pictures appear to show that you’ve owned the horse in the past,” Colby said. “But that doesn’t prove that you didn’t sell him and have seller’s remorse.” He took the papers from Dillon and scanned them. “The stallion was sold four weeks ago?”

“Impossible,” she said. “I was out of state when Palmer tricked my ranch manager into believing I’d authorized the sale and that he was taking him somewhere on behalf of Mr. Wilkerson. Old man Wilkerson doesn’t even breed horses anymore, so that was obviously a lie. But he wasn’t home when one of the ranch hands went over there to verify Palmer’s claim. So Billy felt he had no choice but to let Gladiator go. When I found out what had happened, I filed a complaint with the police. But they haven’t been able to reach Mr. Wilkerson to straighten things out. They said until they talk to him, there’s nothing they can do. I had to track down Gladiator myself. Now that I’ve found him, I’m not leaving here without him.”

“Billy?” Colby asked.

“Billy Abbott. My ranch manager.”

“Got it. Where did the alleged sale take place?” Colby handed the papers back to Dillon, who pocketed them.

“At my ranch,” Piper said.

“Horse or cattle?”

“Horse. I run a breeding program.”

“Thoroughbreds? Racehorses?”

“Some, yes. I also raise exotics—rare or unusual breeds in this part of the world, including draft horses. They’re my bread and butter, steady income while we try to produce the next Kentucky Derby champion. But that’s like winning the lottery. The last Derby winner our ranch produced was back when my dad ran the place, when I was just a baby.” She frowned. “I don’t see how any of that matters, though.”

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