Stephen Lancaster sauntered through the doors of his downtown office building and set his Stetson brim-down on the receptionist's counter. "Howdy, miss," he said, winking at the brunette behind the desk. It was a new girl, one he hadn't fully charmed yet, but the smile she beamed back at him said she was well on her way to falling for him.

"Mr. Lancaster," she said, her voice pleasantly low, almost husky. "You're in a good mood—I was worried after what happened with the LanCast building."

"That's all being handled," Lancaster said, affecting a grave tone. "Of course, I have the families of those workers to take care of, and I swear I'll get them justice. I've been working closely with the police department to find the criminals who did this, and Chief Howard has assured me they will be persecuted to the full extent of the law."

"Do you have any leads?" the receptionist asked eagerly.

He winked and spoke in a loose drawl. "Oh, we have a few. I can promise you this, darlin': they won't be troubling anybody else when I'm through with them."

"I'm so relieved," she said, flashing him a brilliant smile. She tapped something on her computer and looked back up at him. "You got a call from the insurance company—did you get the message?"

"I did," Lancaster said, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning into her space. "I'm heading up to my office to call them back now. When I'm done, maybe you could block an hour or so off in my schedule and come give me your thoughts on the claim."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, batting her eyelashes.

Lancaster picked up his hat and settled it low on his brow, running his finger along the brim to point at her. She giggled, and he made his way to the elevator and punched in the number to his office, straightening his shirt cuffs as he went. The top floor was carpeted, and his boot heels made a pleasant tapping sound as he strode toward his door, unhurried. He had time before the phone call, enough to check in on a few other matters, and he expected good news.

He unlocked his door and crossed the cowhide rug to his desk, sighing as he sat in his overstuffed office chair. His cellphone rang—just on time—and he answered with a lazy, "That took longer than expected. Are you on your way back?"

There was a pause, and Lancaster sat up straighter, frowning. "Janish?"

"We ran into a problem," Janish answered sullenly.

Lancaster's good mood vanished. "What kind of problem?"

"Spencer's alive."

A jolt of fear—no, not fear, Lancaster didn't feel fear—concern made him glance toward his open door. He had security; he was safe. "That's impossible," he said in a flat voice. "He took the same fall that killed Vinny. We know he was hurt, and we've been watching the hospitals. It's more likely he crawled into an alley and just hasn't been found yet."

"I saw him," Janish said. "He was at the house when we went to get the deed."

Lancaster frowned. What did Spencer have to do with June Davidge? She hadn't reached out to him—they'd been monitoring her—and as far as Lancaster knew, Spencer didn't have any connections to the area. "What was he doing there?"

"He didn't say. He didn't seem to recognize me, but he stopped us outside the house."

"You fought him," Lancaster said. "So he's dead now?"

"No," Janish grumbled.

Hell, this was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. When Janish had first recognized Spencer the week before, walking onto the LanCast construction site with the blonde he'd since identified as the Parker, international art thief, Lancaster had taken steps to prevent his interference. It had taken some digging and quite a few bribes, but thanks to Janish's contacts, they'd been able to get more information on the crew Spencer was running with. There were five of them, run by a man named Nathan Ford, though the identities of the other two members of the team had eluded him. It didn't matter—he knew enough to take action.

A little bit of the best tech money could buy had disrupted their communication, but not before some hasty surveillance determined Parker's plan to blow up the LanCast construction site. That was easy enough to work around—if he let her blow it up and then proved Ford's team was behind it, he'd just collect the insurance payout and start over. The building was a front, anyway—he only cared about what might be beneath it. But Janish had warned him against Spencer, said they wouldn't be able to fly under his radar for long, and that it would be better to take care of him before pinning anything on the rest of Ford's team.

So he'd had Janish snap a picture of Parker on her way to the building, sent it to Spencer, and sat back to wait for the extra explosives Janish had planted to do their work. It meant sacrificing the men Lancaster had sent to lure Spencer inside, but if it got rid of him and the thief, it was worth it.

Except it hadn't.

When the blast went off, Spencer had been blown clear and somehow escaped, and they'd found no trace of Parker inside the building. Ford's team had abandoned the hotel Lancaster had been watching, and he hadn't been able to track them down yet. Now apparently Spencer had discovered his interest in June Davidge's property. It was only a matter of time before they came for him, and this time they'd have revenge on their minds.

Lancaster took a deep breath and studied the painting on the far wall. It was a Frederic Remington, depicting a man sitting shotgun on a wagon seat, firing a rifle at a band of outlaws on his trail. Lancaster adjusted his hat and scowled at the phone.

If Ford's band of outlaws wanted to square off against him, then let them come.

"Get back here," Lancaster spat. "I want this taken care of."

"I'm on my way."

Lancaster ended the call and eased back in his chair, thinking. This was a setback, but he had faced setbacks before. He was smarter than any group of thieves, and he had more than enough resources to make them go away. He just had to find a way to lure them out. Perhaps if he—

"Janish tell you the news?" asked a soft voice.

Lancaster sat up, his attention snapping to the corner of the room, where a man leaned casually against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. His heart made an attempt to escape up his throat.

"How did—" Lancaster sputtered. "How did you get in?"

The man he recognized as Eliot Spencer regarded him without moving. "Door."

Lancaster reached for his phone, but Spencer's gaze followed his hand. "I wouldn't," he said quietly.

"There's no need to do anything rash," Lancaster said. When Spencer didn't react, he cleared his throat and stood carefully, keeping the desk between them. "I can have security here in seconds."

"If you think that would help," Spencer said.

"What do you want?"

Spencer's expression was calm, almost bored. "Answers."

Answers. Okay, he could give answers—no matter how good Janish said this Spencer was, it wasn't as if he could fight off all of Lancaster's men if they charged him at once. He could stall, keep the man talking, and wait for the routine security sweep to pass by. He wasn't in danger.

Encouraged, Lancaster set his hat on his desk and combed a hand through his dark hair. "All right," he said. "Ask your questions."

Spencer frowned at the hat before looking back up at Lancaster. "Why are you trying to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Lancaster echoed, holding up his hands. "I'm not trying to kill you."

"Your men were," Spencer said.

"You must be mistaken. What happened at my offices was an accident."

"And my friend?" Spencer asked, his gaze hardening. "Was killing her an accident?"

Interesting. He didn't know Parker hadn't been inside building, which meant he probably wasn't in contact with the rest of his team. If he didn't know the whole truth…

"She wasn't supposed to be there," Lancaster said, picking his words carefully. "I tried to save her. Whoever attacked you was sent by someone else."

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe that?"

Inspiration struck, and Lancaster forged ahead with a little more feeling. "Nathan Ford—he's not what he seems."

That made him pause. Lancaster hid his satisfaction, watching Spencer's eyebrows furrow, his jaw clench. The lie wouldn't hold for long, but if he could make Spencer hesitate, if he could get him to doubt—

"Who's Nathan Ford?" Spencer asked.

Lancaster blinked. A spark of anger threatened his composure; Janish must have gotten Ford's name wrong, and Lancaster didn't suffer incompetence on his staff. But no, Janish had been sure, and he knew better than to give faulty reports. Was Spencer pretending? Trying to hide his connection to Ford? Lancaster frowned at him, studying the barely concealed confusion still evident on Spencer's face, and noticed a purple bruise over his right ear. A head injury? He'd been in the explosion, after all—it was possible. He hadn't recognized Janish. He didn't seem to remember Ford.

Lancaster gambled.

"Nathan Ford is your enemy," he said, watching Spencer's reaction carefully. "You came to me for help against him, but before I could do anything, he lured your friend into the LanCast building, hoping to kill you both. You escaped. I've been searching for you, hoping to find you before Ford could finish you off."

"You sent Janish to June's," Spencer said.

"On an unrelated errand," Lancaster said. "We were lucky he found you."

Spencer's frown deepened. "He knew me."

"You both work for me," Lancaster said. "I hired you just before your trouble with Ford. You and Janish have never been friendly, though, and I'm afraid Janish took advantage of the situation and tried to get in a few cheap shots. Believe me, he will be reprimanded."

Spencer shook his head, his expression closing up, and Lancaster pushed on before he could withdraw. "Think about it. You found your way back to me, didn't you? Part of you must have realized that you were meant to be here. I can help you against Ford. I can help you get revenge."

"Revenge?" Spencer echoed in a hollow voice.

"It's only a matter of time before he comes after you again," Lancaster said. "I can protect you. I can help you fight back."

Spencer swallowed. "What would you need from me?"

"A plan," Lancaster said. "Your expertise. Help me set a trap for Ford, help me lure him here, and we'll make sure he never hurts anyone else again."

For a long moment, Spencer didn't react. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "What about June?"

"I need her property," Lancaster said. "One way or another, I'm going to get it. But with you on my payroll, I'd be willing to entertain alternate measures."

"You mean you'd send me instead of Janish," Spencer said.

Lancaster smiled. "It would be the quickest way to get what I need, and the best way to ensure June Davidge isn't bothered again. Janish is good at what he does, but from what I hear, you're better. What do you say?"

There was a pause, but the interest on Spencer's face was clear. Lancaster held out his hand, hiding his grin, congratulating himself on another victory snatched from defeat. It was how he did things—how he'd always done things. When other men hid from their troubles, Lancaster faced them head on. He was a bull in a field of sheep. And with Eliot Spencer at his side...

He'd be unstoppable.

"What do you need from June?" Spencer asked, pushing away from the wall.

"The deed," Lancaster said. "There's something I'm looking for, something that may be buried on her property. I've checked all the other places it might be, and the Davidge land is the last."

"What is it?"

Lancaster nodded to his hand, and Spencer came forward, hesitated, and took it.

"Welcome aboard," Lancaster said, grinning. "Now. What do you know about Jesse James?"