IT WAS MONDAY AFTERNOON, THE SKY OVERCAST AND CLOUDY. IN A grove of leafless aspens on a hillside overlooking the Diamond Bar Ranch, he studied the activity in the valley below.

His dark green Hummer had made the trip up the muddy, rocky back road without a hitch. A loose stone had put a ding in the lower panel on the driver’s side door, which pissed him off, but the vehicle had done its job, and the thrill of looking down on his prey was worth the cost of the repair.

Focusing the lenses of his two-thousand dollars a pair, crystal-clear Swarovski binoculars—worth every dime—he studied the flow of men moving between the barn, the outbuildings, and the sprawling, log-and-stone ranch house.

He followed the progress of a man exercising a palomino horse in an arena next to the barn, lanky, with sandy brown hair escaping beneath the brim of a battered felt cowboy hat. Not a man, he realized, grateful again for the high-quality lenses. More like a teenage boy.

He panned the glasses, saw the back door open and a woman walk out, wearing tight jeans, battered cowboy boots, and a blue flannel shirt. The thick auburn hair pulled into a single braid was a dead giveaway. Logan’s woman. He had noticed the possessive gleam in the man’s dark eyes the minute he had seen the two together.

His groin pulsed as anticipation poured through him. In the back of his mind, he saw the scene unfold like a rerun of his favorite movie.

Through the lenses, he watched Ellie cross the yard to the arena and step up on the bottom rail. The kid led the horse over, and the two of them started talking. They laughed together at something he said.

The kid could be useful, he thought, his mind racing ahead as a plan began to formulate in his head.

His thoughts went to the memories that had plagued him, nightmares that shifted between ecstasy and horror. He’d told himself he just needed to take back control, needed some kind of payback, a way to put things on an even keel again.

Frank Keller’s name had popped into his head, a man who worked for Mountain Ore; he had used him before to resolve unforeseen problems. Keller was a conscienceless SOB willing to do just about anything if enough money was involved.

Harassing Logan after all these years returned some of his sense of control. When Keller suggested blowing up a tunnel in the Red Hawk Mine, which sat on Diamond Bar property, he had jumped at the chance to cause trouble for Logan and at the same time shove a little dirt in the old man’s face.