Daddy to the Rescue Read online

  “How come you never told me about her?”

  “What?” Sara glared at Kirk. She’d spent months hating him for rejecting his daughter, and now he claimed that he’d never known about Abby? “I wrote you about Abby twice.”

  “I didn’t get anything about Abby.”

  “When you didn’t answer—”

  “I didn’t get them,” he insisted in a voice that reminded her of a soft sheath housing the sharpest of blades. He hesitated. “And I want to know my daughter.”

  “She’s our daughter.”

  “I missed you, Sara. I was hoping you would give us another chance.”

  He looked so sincere, as if he believed it. But she couldn’t allow herself to hope. “I can’t.”

  Dear Reader,

  HEROES INC. is my brand-new Harlequin Intrigue series about the highly trained men hired by legendary ex-CIA agent Logan Kincaid to take on the most impossible of missions. Okay, think irresistibly sexy heroes. Think of a team of men with hard heads, skilled hands and soft hearts.

  I’ve always enjoyed reading books that could sweep me away into a world of adventure. Writing them is no different. And this book kicks off the trilogy with a grand adventure that will have you sitting on the edge of your seat. I came up with the idea for Daddy to the Rescue while watching the television show Survivor. I kept thinking about where the producers put the show—always in warm places—and I thought, how would a woman survive in the cold? Alone with a baby? With no food or matches?

  So I stranded Sara Hardaker in the Rocky Mountains during a blizzard. But of course, I had to send a handsome hero to the rescue, who just so happens to be her ex-husband. However, in the end, I’m not really sure who saved whom.

  I enjoy hearing from readers, so please feel free to stop by my Web site: www.SusanKearney.com. Happy reading!

  DADDY TO THE RESCUE

  SUSAN KEARNEY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. Now she does something really hot—she writes romantic suspense. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she’s taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate from the University of Michigan, Susan is working on her next novel and writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband and children and a spoiled Boston terrier. Visit her at http://www.SusanKearney.com.

  Books by Susan Kearney

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  340—TARA’S CHILD

  378—A BABY TO LOVE

  410—LULLABY DECEPTION

  428—SWEET DECEPTION

  456—DECEIVING DADDY

  478—PRIORITY MALE

  552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

  586—CRADLE WILL ROCK*

  590—LITTLE BOYS BLUE*

  594—LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT*

  636—THE HIDDEN YEARS†

  640—HIDDEN HEARTS†

  644—LOVERS IN HIDING†

  682—ROYAL TARGET**

  686—ROYAL RANSOM**

  690—ROYAL PURSUIT**

  705—DADDY TO THE RESCUE††

  * * *

  CLASSIFIED

  For Your Information.

  Read and Destroy.

  The SHEY GROUP is a private paramilitary organization whose purpose is to take on high-risk, high-stakes missions in accord with U.S. government policy. All members are former CIA, FBI or military with top-level clearances and specialized skills. Members maintain close ties to the intelligence community and conduct high-level behind-the-scenes operations for the government as well as for private individuals and corporations.

  The U.S. government will deny any connection with this group.

  Employ at your own risk.

  * * *

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Kirk Hardaker—The canine specialist and Shey Group operative has been assigned his toughest mission of all: to find his missing ex-wife…and the child he’s never met.

  Sara Hardaker—The genius behind the latest in face-recognition software, she’s set on living her life as a single mother.

  Abby Hardaker—Sara has kept her eight-month-old daughter a secret from her ex-husband, until now….

  Logan Kincaid—Legendary founder of the Shey Group, the ex-CIA agent handpicked Kirk for this latest covert mission.

  Ryker Stevens—Ex-Special Forces with an MBA, Ryker’s specialty is cracking financial codes, but can he use it to help Kirk?

  Garth Davis—Sara’s friendly competitor? Or ruthless thief?

  “The Cowboy”—The eccentric millionaire knows Sara’s software could make him an even richer man.

  For Patricia Smith, an editor whose wise guidance is much appreciated. Thanks, Patricia!

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Trying and failing to relax, Sara Hardaker stared out the window of the private jet the government had sent to fly her to her meeting. As the only passenger on the plane besides her daughter, Abby, she had a prime window to look out at the crisp blue sky and admire the wisps of clouds as fine as Abby’s silky blond hair.

  Awake in the seat beside her, at eight months, Abby was a great traveler. Although she didn’t like her confinement in her car seat, the monotonous thrum of the private jet’s engines would soon soothe the baby to sleep. She’d already breast-fed, and since they were the only passengers, they’d had plenty of privacy.

  Sara hadn’t seen the pilot since she’d strapped herself into her seat. The small plane had no copilot and no flight attendants. But Sara counted herself lucky that the government considered her work important enough that it would arrange such luxurious private transportation. She could get used to traveling in plush leather seats with a fully stocked kitchen and bar at her disposal. After she completed the sale of her software to the government, she and Abby would be able to afford to take a nice vacation to someplace warm and sunny.

  Months of hard work were about to pay off. Several government agencies were impressed with Sara’s face-recognition software, and she thanked her lucky stars that she’d had the courage to leave the corporate world to become an entrepreneur. Her company might be small and consist of only one person, but she’d succeeded in writing the computer code that could identify faces from a digitalized picture, even if a terrorist wore sunglasses and a hat, even in bad light.

  “Ball.” Practiced in gaining her mother’s attention, Abby tossed a plastic ball at Sara. The toy landed in her lap. Sara grinned and handed the ball back to Abby, knowing her daughter would simply repeat the maneuver. Sara didn’t mind. Abby was the one person who could draw her from thoughts about work. Her daughter had started to speak at an unusually early age.

  Sara was tempted to teach Abby more words but Abby really needed to sleep, not play. Sara stroked her baby’s neck in an effort to divert her attention from their game. The trip would go faster if Abby slept. Soon her eyes started to flutter closed.

  Abby usually went at full speed until she succumbed to sleep.

  But in the airplane Sara couldn’t allow her active child to climb out of her seat to crawl and explore. At the best of times, Abby was a handful. Sara considered the baby a blessing, though. Abby kept her anchored firmly in the real world.

&
nbsp; Otherwise, Sara tended to lose track of time while she worked in cyberspace. For Abby, she’d given up eighteen-hour days. And for the sake of her daughter’s future, she was making this very important trip. But Abby wasn’t supposed to have been with her. When the sitter came down with the flu, Sara had had no choice but to bring Abby along.

  Sara looked down at her precious daughter, who had fallen into a deep sleep. But even as she dreamed, kicking her tiny feet, the baby held onto her ball. Sara automatically smoothed back Abby’s hair and prayed she wouldn’t wake until the plane landed in Los Angeles.

  Looking down through the clouds, Abby spied the bleak snow-covered peaks and foggy valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Another hour, maybe an hour and a half, until they landed, she estimated.

  When the pilot opened the door separating the cabin from the cockpit, Sara realized she must have dozed. Her first glance went to Abby, who was still sleeping soundly.

  Sara pulled a loose sock back onto her daughter’s foot, then glanced at the pilot. “Who’s flying the—”

  Oh my God!

  The man held her computer briefcase full of books in one hand and opened the door with the other. Wind roared into the plane. She had an image of a backpack—no…a parachute—on his back. He jumped. With her computer bag.

  Leaving them with no pilot. No copilot.

  The nose dived, and the plane accelerated. She was crushed into her seat. And all Sara could think about was that Abby wasn’t supposed to be here. But she was. They were both going to die. The pilot had obviously wanted her new computer program. Sara glanced at the laptop she’d removed earlier and had slipped into the diaper bag of Abby’s car seat. They hadn’t succeeded in stealing her program or the specialized hard drive that ran her work, but she got no satisfaction from the thought.

  The plane plunged toward the mountains with sickening speed. Within seconds, it would smash into the harsh chaos of trees, ice and rock.

  In the bucking, diving plane, Sara reached for and, somehow, found Abby’s tiny hand.

  Chapter One

  Kirk Hardaker liked the cute one with the adorable eyes, the one who knew how to shake her tail, but he needed to check them all out. Only the best would do. One that came easily to him. No bullies. Since temperament was as critical to success as intelligence, he set high standards, requiring all his partners to be playful as well as smart before he’d waste his time on them or offer them a home on his Michigan ranch.

  Kirk was in no rush. Developing a strong rapport required patience and years of training, but the reward was often a happy, warm body to snuggle at one’s feet after a long day.

  With a sharp eye toward behavior that revealed character, Kirk surveyed his choices. The shy pup in the corner wouldn’t serve his purposes. Nor would the one ignoring the ball he’d just thrown into the middle of the litter. However, the puppy who’d chased the ball and brought it back to him might work out just fine.

  He patted the six-week-old German shepherd on the head, her reward for returning the ball, and was pleased to see that she neither feared him nor snapped at him. Carefully, he lifted the animal out of the pen and placed her in grass that topped her head by a good five inches. When she didn’t freeze or whine to return to the litter, but inquisitively headed north, he approvingly watched her explore, stopping occasionally to lift her head and sniff the air.

  Kirk removed a knotted rag from his pocket and dropped it in front of the pup. Eagerly, she played tug-of-war, not the least concerned over her unfamiliar surroundings.

  So far, so good. He had yet to test the pup to see if she feared loud noises, water, heights or uneven terrain beneath her paws—all such fears unacceptable in a top-notch search and rescue dog. However, the owner of this litter had left the dogs with Kirk for a week, and he had several days left to make his choice.

  Kirk needed the leisure to go slowly and choose carefully. He’d spend hundreds of hours training each animal, and so refused to rush his selection process. Out here on his isolated acreage from which a trip to town took half a day, the seasons ruled his working hours. During the long daylight hours of summer, Kirk had worked long and hard at his newly chosen career, determined to train the best search and rescue dogs in the country. Winter would curtail some of his training activities, giving him a chance to catch up on his ever-mounting correspondence. He often read after supper, studying the latest training manuals and poring over catalogues of the latest gear and equipment.

  As he scooped up the pup and rewarded her with a good scratch behind the ears, he heard the sound of a helicopter. He looked up and saw an Air Force MH53J Pave. His dogs in the pens barked ferociously at the loud machine invading their turf. He placed the pup back in the litter and headed toward his cabin.

  He didn’t get many visitors. It was too soon for the pups’ owner to return, and he certainly wouldn’t arrive by helicopter. Two weeks ago some campers had gotten lost and Kirk had given them directions back to the highway. No one else had been out here for months. It was unlikely, anyway, that a lost tourist had taken a bad turn in a chopper.

  While still in the military, he’d sometimes imagined his promotion arriving in a chopper like this one. A high-level officer would exit and offer him the opportunity to oversee worldwide K-9 operations, a job he’d coveted since his days in boot camp. Promotions in his area of expertise came slowly and, although he’d been among the world’s best in the field, he’d had to wait for room at the top. Well, he was through waiting. That part of his life was over. Oh, he was still dedicated, but now he worked for himself. He’d leased the land for this ranch to train his dogs, and found the work surprisingly rewarding. Someday he hoped to purchase the acreage. So the men in the chopper overhead had nothing that could persuade him to leave—not even the head position in worldwide operations would tempt him to re-up. But perhaps the landing had nothing to do with him. The chopper might simply be low on fuel or be experiencing engine trouble.

  When a tall, dark-haired man in a black leather coat exited the pilot’s seat, Kirk stiffened. This man wasn’t lost. And he didn’t need fuel. From his ramrod-straight back, Kirk pegged the stranger as an officer. High-ranked. Trouble.

  Kirk knew the type so well because he had once been one of them. No more. He chose to serve his country in another way now—a way that gave him peace.

  Kirk waited for the man to come to him, convinced that no exchange of words would alter his plans. He’d had several offers by phone—calls he hadn’t bothered to answer. He wasn’t interested in going back. He’d made a new life for himself. A good one.

  However, the United States military wasn’t the best in the world without reason. They were experts at recruitment. And when they needed his kind of specialized expertise, they had no qualms about asking him to reenlist. Not today, he wouldn’t. Not ever again.

  The sharp-eyed pilot removed a leather glove and offered his hand. “I’m Logan Kincaid.”

  Not military. Kirk recognized the man’s name. Classified. Probably CIA. The man’s reputation was known only by those in the highest government circles. It was rumored that Logan Kincaid had worked with NORAD as well as NASA—his specialty was programming satellite communications—and that he’d written the code for America’s secret antimissile defense program. The only reason Kirk had heard about Kincaid was that his ex-wife, Sara, a brilliant programmer in her own right, had had to gain permission to use some of Kincaid’s code in her own work.

  “And you’re with?” Kirk prodded.

  “The Shey Group.”

  Kirk had never heard of the Shey Group. He shook the man’s hand, not bothering to speak his own name, which Logan obviously already knew. A man like him didn’t fly a chopper four hundred miles north of Detroit without knowing the name of the man he’d come to meet. And if what Kirk suspected was true, Logan Kincaid—the numero-uno computer guru in the United States—had already read his top-secret military file, and knew his credit rating and to the dollar how much he paid for the lease on this lan
d. So what?

  When they shook hands, Kincaid didn’t flinch at the dirt covering Kirk’s fingers and palms.

  Kirk pierced the man with a hard stare. “You’ve wasted your time coming out here. I don’t own a computer.”

  At Kirk’s lame joke, Logan’s facial expression didn’t change. A flicker of respect in his eyes, however, let Kirk know the man hadn’t anticipated that Kirk would know anything about his hush-hush world. And Kirk didn’t want to know. His stint in the military had already cost him too much.

  “If you know who I am, you know I don’t usually make house calls.”

  Sensing that Logan wouldn’t leave until he’d been heard out, Kirk gestured toward the cabin with resignation. “Would you like a beer?”

  “No, thanks. I didn’t come to drink.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to ask why you came?” Kirk asked with a shake of his head. “Because your reason doesn’t matter to me. I’m not interested in joining or rejoining any government organizations.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve wasted some of that very valuable time of yours. You should have phoned.”

  “I did—”

  Logan, seeming a bit amused, followed Kirk into the cabin and removed his long leather coat. He wore a sharp suit and tie that would look ridiculous on another pilot and would have made most men feel out of place. Not Logan Kincaid.

  “—You didn’t return my call.”

  Kirk shrugged, walked straight to the kitchen sink and thoroughly washed his hands. The message light on his answering machine was blinking red, and Kirk tried and failed to recall the last time he’d listened to the messages. He dried his hands, giving Logan time to take a good look around his one-room cabin.

  Between a kitchen and bathroom that boasted indoor plumbing, thanks to water from a nearby creek, and an electric generator that fueled his stove, kept the lights on and warmed the place if the fireplace fell behind, he had all the comforts he’d required to settle in. However, he wasn’t much of a housekeeper. Magazines and books cluttered the deep leather sofa and a mismatched kitchen table and chairs that had been left from the former owners. Unpacked canned goods still tumbled over in their grocery bags. Dog fur clung to his boots like magnets and then tracked onto the floor. And a stack of last month’s newspapers and mail lay scattered on the kitchen counters.