Callum took the older kids into the living room. Once they were gone, Cory asked, “What’re we going to do? Who knows how many kids are in that orphanage.”

“We’ll pay them a visit,” Clint said with a sharp edge to his voice. “See what we’re dealing with.” He stood up. “First, we need to deal with the buyers that are arriving tomorrow morning.” He looked at Anthony. “Did you get the information?”

Axel glanced at Anthony as the older man nodded. “Horatio called back while you were in the shower. His attorney checked into it and got back to him right away.” Anthony produced a folded note from his pocket and handed it to Clint. “This is his name and address.”

“Who’s name and address?” Axel asked. Clint didn’t immediately answer as he slipped on his jacket. Axel exchanged a look with Cory; would either of them be briefed on what was happening? Axel let the question drop. Just let Clint do his job-

“I’ll explain on the way,” Clint replied abruptly.

“On the way…” Axel frowned.

Clint nodded. “You’re coming with me.”

“Oh…” Axel wasn’t expecting that.

“Come on.” Clint touched his back and urged him toward the door. “Time is short. We need to get going.”

A shot of excitement zipped through Axel and he felt a little foolish by how thrilled he was that Clint was taking him with him.

“Call Cruz,” Clint told Cochise as they headed out of the room. “Let him know what’s going on. Tell him to have his men posted at the warehouse in the morning, but to stay out of sight unless things go bad.” The Egyptian nodded.

What was going on? Axel wondered but didn’t hold up their departure by asking more questions; Clint said he would explain.

The cowboy remained silent as they walked outside and climbed into the car. Clint started the engine then leaned over suddenly and kissed Axel, a surge of unexpected passion flowing through their kiss. Axel’s body instinctively responded—it had no other choice, not when kissed like that by his cowboy.

“Don’t ever think you’re not the most important person in my life,” Clint told him as he cupped his head and stroked his thumb over Axel’s cheek. “Or that I think you can’t take care of yourself in this world. Wanting to keep you out of it has nothing to with your ability to survive within it.” He kissed him again then faced forward, shifted the car into gear, and drove away from the house.

As soon as they were headed through the city, Clint began to explain the situation. He didn’t mention anything more about the other, but what he had said comforted Axel more than expected. He wished everything was over for the night, so they could go home, crawl into bed, and make love until morning. But important things had to be taken care of first and Axel was glad to be a part of it this time.

Without a word or even looking his way, Clint reached over and took Axel’s hand and threaded their fingers, squeezing firmly. Axel smiled and gripped him back. Just a few months ago, he would have never dreamed that a rough and rugged cowboy gangster would become the embodiment of his entire world. Nor had he fathomed that he would one day be a strong, confident person who actually liked the man he saw in the mirror and no longer lived with the demeaning voices of his brother and father in his head, insisting he was a worthless piece of shit.

He tightened his hold on Clint’s hand and looked at the cowboy. All because of you. Did Clint even comprehend what a blessing he was to others? And especially to Axel? Sometimes, he thought Clint focused too much on the violence he brought down on the “bad guys” and didn’t truly realize all the good he did. Like rescuing abused and exploited children.

Children were God’s treasures. Whether Clint believed it or not, Axel was convinced that when this life was over, Clint and Cochise and all the others like them would be greatly rewarded.

 

•♦•

 

Wil Jordan sat slumped over the kitchen table, his head sagged heavily into his hand as he stared blankly at the open file and disheveled papers. Emptiness consumed him. It all felt like a lost cause, yet he couldn’t give up. He would never give until bodies surfaced that told him it was over…that he’d lost…he’d failed. The odds of the outcome being anything else were slim to none…but he couldn’t give up. His stare shifted as he slowly raised his head and looked across the hall into the living room where Tad sat on the sofa, pushing Hot Wheels around on the coffee table while classic Looney Toons cartoons played on the TV via the DVD series.

I can’t lose hope.

Tears distorted his vision as his eyes drifted to the Christmas tree adjacent to the sofa…and he thought about another home with another Christmas tree, beneath which were placed brightly wrapped gifts of hope…hope that they would be opened come Christmas morning.

Wil lowered his face into his hands and sobbed quietly. Please, God…please help me.

The doorbell rang.

Wil flinched and raised his head. He grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped his eyes then walked out of the kitchen. Tad perked up from the living room. “Who is it, daddy?”

“I don’t know.” Wil cleared his throat and smiled at his son. “I’m not superman, I can’t see through the door.”

Tad giggled. “You’re super daddy.”

Wil blinked as fresh tears tried to rise; he didn’t feel super at all. Just the opposite…weak and helpless.

He passed through the short entry hall, opened the door—and froze in shock at the sight of the large man looming on the porch stoop, stern face shadowed by the brim of his cowboy hat.

The cowboy.

Before he could veil the recognition, the cowboy caught it and Wil’s fear escalated. Still, he struggled for obliviousness. “Yes?” His voice quivered and there was nothing he could do about that. It was common knowledge that few came face to face with the cowboy and lived to tell about it.

“Wil Jordan?” the cowboy queried, his tone neutral.

Wil trembled. “Yes?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Wil started to deny it, then nodded silently, his fear escalating. “I-I don’t know what you want,” he whispered. Tears that hovered close to the surface filled his eyes as fear for his son’s life took precedence over all else. “Just please…don’t hurt my son.” His weapon was in the bedroom…he couldn’t protect Tad from the cowboy.

A younger man—less threatening in appearance—stood quietly beside the cowboy and Wil cast him an uncertain look.

The cowboy spoke again, his southern drawl thick as he stated, “We’re not here to harm you or your son. We need to talk.”

Wil frowned, confused. “Talk?” he asked doubtfully. “About what?”

The cowboy dragged his hand over his mouth. “About your current investigation, detective Jordan, and the twins you’ve been looking for…Samson and Susie Morgan.”

Wil went still, his heart shuddering to a halt, barely beating as a new fear invaded his bones. “Are they…” his whispered words fell away; he couldn’t say it…didn’t want it confirmed…didn’t want his “Christmas gift” to the Morgans to be that they would never see their babies again.

“They’re alive and well,” the cowboy said. “And ready to go home.”

 

•♦•

 

The instant the man had opened the door, Clint knew he’d been recognized. His face wasn’t a mystery, so it wasn’t surprising that the man knew him on sight. His weak attempt at pretending not to know who Clint was had been betrayed by the stark terror in his eyes—eyes that had been damp and slightly bloodshot when he’d answered the door; he’d been crying recently.

The fear in the detective tapered off some as he stepped back and invited Clint and Axel inside. Clint acknowledged how unnerving it must be for the detective to have “the cowboy” in his home; they were at opposite ends of the law and Clint was aware of his reputation with the cops. He was certain that most, if not all, of the NYPD, had him branded as a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. Maybe he was.

Wil Jordan maintained caution as he led the two men to the kitchen. As they passed the living room, Clint spotted a young boy, maybe five or six, playing with some toy cars on the coffee table. Clint’s momentary focus on the child visibly unnerved the detective and he ushered them on into the kitchen.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” the detective murmured, visibly shaken by Clint’s news of the children…or simply Clint’s presence in his home.

“No, thank you.” Clint looked at the papers spread out on the table; photos of the Morgan twins clipped to the flap of the file folder. There was a compassion in the detective’s eyes and Clint suspected that his former tears were due to this case and his inability to locate the children. As a detective, the man had to know that the odds of finding the kids alive and untouched once taken by child sex traffickers were not in his favor.

The detective got straight to the point, tentative hope on his face. “What about the children? Where are they?”

“Safe,” was all Clint offered. “You’ll have them back by tomorrow.”

“How did they come to be in your care?”

“That isn’t important,” Clint murmured. “They’re alive and they’re safe.”

Jordan nodded slowly. “Where are the traffickers now?”

“The sex traffickers,” Clint said. “They’re at a warehouse a couple miles from the pier.”

The detective frowned. “What?” he whispered. “You know where they’re at?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Clint looked at Axel and a faint smile quirked the younger man’s lips, unnoticed by the detective. “They were waiting on the buyers who are scheduled to arrive at five-thirty tomorrow morning. You need to be ready and waiting for them. There is a special task force to deal with sex traffickers?”

“There’s a faction of the FBI that exclusively investigates the sex trafficking ring,” Jordan said. “I’ve been in contact with them about this case.”

Clint nodded. “Good.”

Wil Jordan stared at him, perplexed. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re not the only one with children in your life.”

The detective looked shocked by that statement. Clint understood; who would imagine that a ruthless killer would have a child in his life?

“Don’t let these bastards slip through your fingers,” Clint told him. “Be ready for them.”

The little boy from the living room raced into the kitchen and halted abruptly as he stared at Clint and Axel curiously. The detective instinctively tensed, though Clint saw in his eyes that he no longer feared for his son’s life.

The child cocked his head reminiscent of Jules’ much-adopted gesture and looked at Axel. “What’s your name?”

Axel smiled and sank to his heels. “Axel. What’s yours?”

“Tad.”

His smile stretching, Axel held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Tad.”

The boy shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.” He was friendly little thing.

The detective watched them and relaxed a little more as Tad went into a spiel about his Hot Wheels, then ran into the other room and returned with two of the classic toys, eager to show Axel.

“These are very cool,” Axel smiled, inspecting the two cars. “I might have to get me some.”

The boy giggled. “You play with toys?”

Axel chuckled. “Hey, a boy never grows too old for Hot Wheels.”

Clint watched him with the boy, his heartbeat picking up pace as he felt himself slip a little deeper in love with the young man.