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      And the most important piece of clothing

       you must wear is love. Love is what binds us together in perfect harmony.

      —Colossians 3:14

      Contents

      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

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Chapter One

      Senior Special Agent In Charge Gabe Brody shucked off his motorcycle helmet, still straddling the idling Ducati M900. He waited on the graveled turnout along the country road while the cell phone connected. The hot Montana sun felt good, and so did the chance to rest. His first time on a motorcycle in years and his thighs and back muscles hurt immensely.

      He prided himself on being the best agent in his division, but the truth was that the hours spent in the gym couldn’t prepare a man for the rigors of a mission.

      Even if that mission involved riding a powerful motorcycle in the middle of a summer afternoon with heaven spread out all around him. He breathed in the fresh air that was sweetened with the scent of seeding grass and wildflowers from the surrounding fields.

      Not much different from the kind of place where he’d been as a boy. The countryside was peaceful and he didn’t mind looking at it while he waited to be connected with his commander. Finally, he heard his direct supervisor bark out his usual gruff salutation.

      “Agent Brody here, sir. I’m on assignment in Montana and good to go.”

      “Watch your back, agent.” Captain Daggers was an old-time agent who believed in a job done right. And who’d seen too much in his years at the Bureau. “The Intel we’ve got says this McKaslin fellow is a wild card. We can’t predict what he’s gonna do. You keep your head low. I don’t want to lose my best agent.”

      “Don’t worry, sir. I’m cautious.” He patted his revolver tucked in its holster against his left side and ended the call.

      He was ready to make his move. His first objective was to make contact with McKaslin. Brody figured that with heaven on his side, he’d soon have enough evidence for a team to move in on an arrest warrant.

      Please, Father, let this mission be a safe one, fast and clean. It was his last assignment for the Bureau. He wanted a textbook case, a solid evidentiary trail and an arrest without incident, as he was known for. He’d built the last ten years of his reputation on working hard and smart, and he wanted to leave the same way. Without a single blot on his record.

      What could go wrong in paradise? Brody breathed in the fresh country air, once again taking in the scenery that spread out before him in rich fertile rolling hills. The beauty of it was deceptive. As if injustice never happened here. As if criminal activity could not exist where the wide ribbon of river sparkled a brilliant and perfect blue.

      Mountains jabbed upward, rimming the broad valley spread out before him. Larks sang, a few cottonwoods rustled lazily in the breeze and the hum of tractors in a distant field sparked a memory of his childhood.

      He’d been a farm boy in the quiet hills of West Virginia. A lonely childhood and a hardworking one, and sometimes he missed it and his parents who had passed on when he’d turned twelve. When his happy country life had come to an abrupt end.

      Enough of that. Brody shut off the sadness inside with a shake of his head. He yanked on his helmet and drew down his shades. What sense was there in looking back?

      Life was in the here and now, he’d learned that the hard way. Now was the only thing that mattered. He’d leave the worry over tomorrow to God, and make the most of what he had today.

      And today he needed to get rolling. His stomach rumbled something fierce—he’d skipped lunch again. A sign of too much on his mind.

      He’d find a room, grab a bite, right after he made a pass through the McKaslin property. Get a feel for the lay of the land and what he’d be up against.

      The swish of an approaching vehicle on the two-lane road was a surprise. He’d been sitting on the pullout of a dirt driveway for eight minutes—he checked his watch—and no one had passed by. Until now. Was it too much to hope that it was Mick McKaslin speeding along in his truck?

      Brody took one look at the ten-year-old Ford Ranger that had seen better days judging by the crinkled front bumper, the rust spot in the center of the hood and the cracked windshield. Nope, he didn’t recognize the vehicle from the workup in his file. It wasn’t Mick’s truck.

      He waited until the vehicle whipped by before he revved the Ducati’s sweet engine, released the clutch and cut out of the gravel with enough spin to spit rocks in his wake.

      He hadn’t been on a bike since the counterfeiting bike gang down in Palm Springs five long years ago, and he felt rusty. He needed to practice, put the bike through its paces. Dust off his motorcycle skills so that when he drove up and asked old man McKaslin for a chance at a job, his cover would be flawless.

      No one would see one of the top agents in his field, but a drifter on a bike who, like so many others across America, was looking for temporary work.

      With the wind on his face and the sun on his back, Brody lost himself in the power and speed of the machine.

      He intended to make this last case his best job. No matter what he faced.

      Was it wrong to love shoes so much? Behind the wheel of her little blue pickup, Michelle McKaslin considered the three