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Quinn's Woman
Susan Mallery


Self-defense instructor D.J. Monroe would do anything to be the best. Even if it meant asking super-sexy military expert Quinn Reynolds to demonstrate some of his finest moves…on and off the mat! Normally, D.J. didn't date, didn't trust, didn't let anyone in. But when she found herself falling for Quinn, could she let go of her past and embrace a future with him?









Selected praise for

Susan Mallery


“A wonderful study of contrasts, as gritty defense lessons play out against the tender moments of falling in love.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Quinn’s Woman

“I enjoyed revisiting the Haynes family and I know that you will, too. Pick up a copy of Quinn’s Woman today and enjoy.”

—www.writersunlimited.com

“Not many novels get your pulse racing from the start. Quinn’s Woman does just that.”

—The Romance Reader

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified. Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews


Quinn’s Woman

Susan Mallery






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




SUSAN MALLERY


is a USA TODAY and New York Times bestselling author of more than eighty romances. Her combination of humor, emotion and just-plain-sexy has made her a reader favorite. Susan makes her home in Washington State, where the whole rain thing is highly exaggerated and there’s plenty of coffee to help her meet her deadlines. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.


To that young girl who grew up with

broken wings, and somehow learned to fly.

You are, as always, an inspiration.




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




Chapter One


“Try to bring this one back alive,” Sheriff Travis Haynes said as he nodded at the slightly built private waiting by the edge of the makeshift podium.

“Alive I can promise,” D.J. Monroe said as she grabbed a rifle from the stack on the table. “In one piece may be more complicated.”

The men standing around chuckled, but the private in question blanched. D.J. tossed him the rifle, grabbed a second one for herself, then started walking. She figured her partner for the next fourteen hours would come trotting along as soon as he figured out she wasn’t going to wait for him.

Sure enough, in about thirty seconds she heard rapid footsteps on the damp ground.

“What’s your name, kid?” she asked when he’d caught up with her.

“Private Ronnie West, ma’am.”

She gave him a quick once-over. He was tall—about six-three to her five-nine—skinny and barely shaving. His shock of red hair was bright enough to read by.

“Are you even eighteen, Ronnie?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nearly four months ago.”

“You insulted about being paired with a woman?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.” His pale-blue eyes widened as he glanced at her. “I’m honored. My sergeant said you were one of the best and that I was damned lucky to get a chance to watch you work.” He ducked his head and blushed. “Excuse me for swearing, ma’am.”

She stopped walking and turned toward him. The annual war games between the emergency services of Glenwood, California—sheriff’s office, fire department and EMT units—and the local Army base were a chance for all concerned to practice, learn and have fun. The morning had been spent on obstacle courses, sharpshooting and tactical planning. D.J. didn’t care about any of that. She looked forward to the search and capture phase of the games.

Between now and 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, she and her partner would be expected to bring in up to five enemy prisoners. For the past two years she’d won that section. It was a point of pride with her. The other players grumbled about her good fortune, not understanding it. Especially when she always took a relatively new recruit as her partner.

“Ronnie, let’s get some ground rules set up,” she said. “You can swear all you want. I doubt you can come up with anything I haven’t heard. Or said.” She smiled at him. “Fair enough?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. On this mission, I’m in charge. You’re here to listen, learn and follow orders. You get in my way, and I’ll cut off your ear. Or something you’ll miss even more. Understand?”

He swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Last, but most important, you’ve got a good six inches of height on me and weigh about forty pounds more. Is there any doubt in your mind that I could take you right here, right now?”

His gaze swept over her body from her Army-issue boots, past her camouflage pants and shirt, to her face.

He straightened and squared his shoulders. “No, ma’am.”

“As long as we have that straight.”

She ducked into the tent her team used for headquarters and picked up her backpack. Ronnie already had his gear with him. When she stepped back out into the misty afternoon, she pulled a knife from the pack and stuck it into her boot.

“Check your weapons,” she said.

Ronnie frowned. “They’re not loaded.”

“Check them, anyway. You always check.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He followed her lead and made sure both his side arm and rifle were unloaded. When he’d finished, she pulled her cap lower on her head and wished they could have had sun today. Telling herself the gray skies and low clouds would reduce the risk of shadows didn’t make her appreciate the chilly dampness any more. It was nearly July. Shouldn’t it be hot?

Northern California weather was frequently uncooperative, she thought as she set off into the forest. Ronnie trailed after her, making enough noise to pass for a musk ox. At least he wasn’t a talker. The one from last year had chatted on and on until she’d been forced to grab him from behind and threaten to slit his throat.

Two hours later they were deep in “enemy” territory. She slowed their pace in an effort to keep her boy toy from giving away their position. Her oversize shirt was damp and clinging to her skin, which she hated. Water dripped from her hat. It was the kind of day better spent curled up reading, not combing the backwoods for swaggering men who thought they knew it all. Still, the war games helped keep her sharp. For her life was all about maintaining her edge; the book would have to wait.

Up ahead she sensed more than heard movement. She stopped, as did Ronnie. After silently handing him her backpack and ordering him to wait, she circled around a cluster of trees so that she could come out on the other side.

A man sat on a log, studying a map. She recognized him as a Fern Hill EMT guy. Midthirties, in decent shape, but not much of a challenge. Oh, well, she had to take what she could get.

After deliberately stepping on a fallen branch to make it snap, she retreated into the dripping shadow of a thick tree. The man sprang to his feet and turned toward the sound. His backpack lay on the ground, as did his rifle. He wore his sidearm, but she doubted he knew how to use it.

As the man stepped toward where she’d broken the branch, she circled behind him. When she was less than a foot away, she grabbed his arm, turned him, then swept out her leg to topple him to the ground. He landed hard, with an audible “oof” of air.

She was already on him. After tossing his sidearm into the brush, she turned him and neatly tied his hands behind his back. She was nearly finished with his feet before he’d even gasped breath back into his body.

“Okay, kid,” she called. “You can come out now.”

Ronnie appeared, carrying her backpack. He stared open-mouthed at the tied man.

“That was so great,” he told her. “Really fast and smooth. He never heard you coming.”

The EMT guy didn’t look amused. “Now what?” he asked.

D.J. smiled. “Now you relax while we search out other prey. I’m not wasting Ronnie’s time by having him head back to headquarters with just one guy.”

“No way. You can’t leave me. It’s raining. The ground is wet.”

D.J. shrugged. “It’s war.”

He was still yelling when they were nearly a quarter mile away. She would have liked to tape his mouth, but it violated the rules of the game.

Pity.

An hour later they came upon three men standing together, smoking. They were talking and laughing, obviously unconcerned about the potential for being captured.

D.J. studied the situation, then pulled Ronnie back far enough for them to have a whispered conversation.

“If you want to win, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes,” she said as she slipped off her backpack. “Catch the enemy off guard with the unexpected. I’m going to wait while you get into position. You’ll head east and circle around them. When I walk into the clearing, you’ll be directly in front of me and behind them. When they’re distracted, walk in with your rifle pointed at their backs.”

Ronnie nodded, but she saw the doubt in his eyes. He wanted to know how she was going to manage to distract three men at the same time. She smiled. It was so easy.

First she shrugged out of her long-sleeved shirt. Underneath she wore an olive green tank and no bra. Ronnie’s eyes widened.

She narrowed her gaze. He blushed, took a step back and stuttered an apology.

While he was busy wondering if she was going to cut off an ear…or something worse…she pulled the tank up to just below her breasts, twisted the fabric into a knot and tucked it against her skin. The stretchy fabric now pulled tight across her breasts and left her midsection bare. Next she loosened the drawstring waist of her pants and rolled them down to her hipbones. She stuck her sidearm into her pants at the small of her back. Last, she dropped her cap to the ground and unfastened the braid. When her long hair was free, she bent at the waist and finger combed the waves in a sexy disarray. She straightened and tossed her head back. Her brown hair went flying.

Ronnie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, then gasped and quickly retreated. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hands. “It’s fine. Go get in position. I’ll give you a two-minute head start.”

She waited the promised amount of time, then headed for the group of men. They were still standing around, talking and smoking. She stuck out her chest, then sauntered toward them, trying to look both easy and lost.

“I am so turned around,” she said in a low voice. “Can any of your gentlemen help me?”

They were all regular Army, officers and seasoned professionals. But they didn’t expect to see a half-dressed woman in the woods. It was damp and cold, so she wasn’t the least bit surprised when their gazes all locked on her chest.

The oldest man took a step toward her. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

They were all such idiots, she thought happily. They’d left their rifles leaning against a tree. Just one more step and the firearms would be out of reach.

D.J. stuck her hand into her hair and began to twirl a curl around her finger. “This is so not me,” she said. “I mean what was I thinking? I don’t even remember what team I’m on. I signed up for the games because my boyfriend asked me to, then the jerk dumped me three days ago.” She blinked, as if fighting tears. “I’m cold and tired and lonely.”

The men moved in for the kill.

“Hold it right there! Arms in the air.”

She had to give Ronnie credit. He sounded positively powerful as he gave the order. The men turned toward him. When they looked back, she had her handgun pointed at them.

Two of the officers swore, one laughed. “Hell of a show,” he said.

“Thank you.”

In a matter of minutes, all three of them were tied up.

The limit for captures was five. There was a bonus for up to four brought in before midnight. The earlier the “enemies” were brought back to camp, the bigger the bonus. D.J. had figured it would take her and Ronnie until at least nine or ten to get four, but they’d gotten lucky.

After the men were tied up, she unrolled her pants back to her waist and loosened her tank top. When she’d collected her gear, she shrugged back into her shirt.

“Don’t get dressed on our account,” one of the Army officers said with a grin. “Naked suits you.”

“How flattering,” she said, and turned her back on him. Why did men always assume women were interested in their attentions?

“You remember where the EMT guy is?” she asked Ronnie.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right. Take these three with you and collect him. After you escort them back to headquarters, make sure they give us our bonus points, then meet me here. I’ll be within a quarter mile of this position.” She chuckled as she remembered his lack of stealth. “I’m sure I’ll hear you coming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

D.J. watched as her boy toy led away their prisoners. The officers were only loosely tied together. Rules of engagement required that they cooperate on the trip back in. They were allowed to do whatever it took to get away right up until that first step toward camp. But just in case they decided to give her private the slip, she’d taken down their names.

When she was alone, D.J. sank onto a log and drew her backpack close. The misting had finally stopped. It was nearing sunset, and the day wasn’t going to get any warmer. She thought about starting a fire, but that would mean giving away her position. Something she didn’t want to do. If no one got too close, she would stay right where she was until Ronnie returned. If she had to hide, she figured the odds of him finding her were close to zero. She would give him two hours to make his way to camp and come back. The return trip would be faster because he would flag down one of the jeeps circling the forest. If he didn’t make it in the time she allowed, she would find one more potential prisoner herself and get back into camp by midnight.

Forty-five minutes into the first hour, D.J. heard something. It wasn’t footsteps or brush moving. She couldn’t actually place the sound, but it made the hairs on her arms stand up and her senses go on alert.

Someone was out there.

She silently slid off the log and into the shadowy protection of a tree trunk. After concealing her pack under some leaves, she confirmed she had her sidearm in place, then set out to find whoever was approaching.

She headed east first, then south to end up behind him. She worked on instinct, still not hearing anything specific, but knowing he was there. There were no bent twigs to give her direction, no footsteps, no startled birds or squirrels.

A couple of times she nearly convinced herself she’d been imagining the almost-noise and she started to return to her backpack. Then she would shiver, as if someone had raked nails on a chalk-board and she would know he was still out there.

It took her thirty minutes to make the circuit. When she ended up a few yards away from where she’d started, she was disgusted to find the guy pulling her backpack out from its hiding place. He’d gone right to it, as if he’d known it was there from the beginning. How had he done that?

D.J. dismissed the question. Once she verified the man had a purple arm band instead of an orange one like hers, she knew he was fair game. While he was bent over her supplies, obviously distracted, she moved in to attack.

She was less than a foot away when she pressed the barrel of the rifle against his back.

“Bang, you’re dead,” she said softly. “Now stand up slowly. Ghosts don’t move fast.”

The man calmly closed her backpack and put his hands in the air. “I heard you crashing around out there. What were you doing? Playing dodge ball with some rabbits?”

She didn’t appreciate the question or the smirky tone of voice. For one thing, she knew she’d been quiet. For another, she was the one holding the gun.

“Keep your hands up,” she said as she eased back far enough to keep him from grabbing the rifle.

When he was standing with his back to her, she considered her situation. The man was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and well muscled. His stealth told her he wasn’t an amateur like many of the participants. Nothing about him was familiar, which meant he was probably Army. Special Forces? Had they sent in a ringer?

She couldn’t see his sidearm, which worried her. His rifle was on the ground next to his pack, but where was the handgun?

“How long are we going to stand like this?” he asked conversationally. “Or did you forget the next part? You’re supposed to have me turn around, then we eyeball each other. Once you’ve scared me with your rifle, you tie me up. Can you remember that or should we take it in stages?”

“You have some attitude, son.”

“Son?” He chuckled. “Honey, you don’t sound all that old yourself.”

Arrogant bastard, she thought in annoyance. No doubt he thought because she was a woman, she would be easy to take. She was itching to kick his butt, but she wasn’t going to start something before she knew she could finish it. She might be irritated, but she wasn’t stupid.

“I have no interest in eyeballing you,” she said. “Put your hands on top of your head, then get on your knees.”

“But I just stood up,” he protested, sounding like a spoiled child being asked to eat his vegetables. “Why don’t you figure out what you want first, and then move me around.”

She gritted her teeth. “Listen, mister, you—”

He moved with the speed of a cheetah racing in for the kill. One second he was standing with his back to her, and the next he spun in a graceful circle. His foot cracked against the rifle with enough force to send pain shooting up her arm. Involuntarily her fingers released the rifle and it crashed to the ground.

D.J. barely had time to notice. With her arm throbbing, she was at a serious disadvantage. Not that they were going to fight. Her opponent pulled his sidearm out of nowhere and pointed it directly at her head.

Her brain had started processing information the second the man had moved. She knew that he was as powerful as she’d thought, with lethally fast reflexes. He was tall, had dark eyes and the faint smile curving up his lips contrasted with the cold metal in his hand. He was good. She gave him credit for that. But was he good enough? He’d kicked the rifle, not her. Had his mama taught him not to beat up on girls?

In keeping with her philosophy of using every weapon at hand, she decided to find out.

She ignored the gun and drew her throbbing arm up to her chest. With her free hand, she cupped her wrist and forced herself to whimper softly.

Whatever it took to win, she reminded herself even as she hated the thought of appearing weak.

The gun never wavered, but the man took a half step forward. “What? I kicked the rifle, not you.”

She glared at him. “Maybe that’s what you aimed at, but it’s not what you hit.” She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip. “I think my wrist is broken.”

He frowned. “I didn’t hit your wrist.”

She glared at him. “Right. Because in those boots you’re wearing you could feel exactly what you connected with. My mistake.”

Mentally she crossed her fingers, then nearly crowed with delight as he glanced down at his boots. One nanosecond of inattention was all she needed.

D.J. lashed out with her foot, connecting firmly with the man’s midsection. Even as all the air rushed out of him, he grabbed for her leg. But she’d anticipated the move, and had already spun away.

The gun disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He had to be weak from lack of air, but he still moved toward her. D.J. prepared for his attack, but when it came, she barely saw movement before she found herself tumbling onto the wet ground.

Part of her brain tried to figure out what exactly he’d done, while the rest of her recognized that the lack of pain anywhere meant he’d held back. He’d upended her with enough contact to send her tumbling but not enough to cause pain. How did he have that much control?

She wanted to summon up a little righteous indignation. How dare he treat her differently because she was female? But she was too busy scrambling to her feet and trying to figure out what he was going to do next.

D.J. crouched and cleared her mind. With a deep breath, she centered herself and knew she had to attack rather than wait to be bested.

As she moved toward him, she saw his arm push out. She ducked, spun and, instead of kicking at his knee as she’d planned, found herself slipping on the wet leaves. Something glinted and she instinctively reached out. Her fingers closed around his gun. He knocked her forearm with his hand so the gun went tumbling. She managed to kick it with a foot, sending it back into the air. With a graceful pirouette, she caught it and started to turn toward him. He ducked, her foot slipped again, and she began to fall. Her right hand shot out, and she accidentally brought the gun down hard on the back of his head. He fell like a stone.

Her first thought was that he was dead. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her second thought was that she had better get him tied up while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen when he came to.




Chapter Two


Quinn regained consciousness several seconds before he opened his eyes. He quickly registered the fact that he was lying on his back in the mud with his hands tied behind him. He silently swore in disgust. He’d been downed, not by superior training or force but by dumb luck. Wasn’t that always the way?

Worse, the woman had tied him up while he’d been unconscious. Not that she would have been able to secure him any other way. He gave her points for gutsiness, but none for the lucky head shot.

Now what? He figured he would fake being out for a while, just long enough to make his captor sweat his condition. But before he could put his plan into action, he felt a hand settle on his ankle. His interest piqued—no way was he going to miss any part of a show—he opened his eyes.

The sun had gone down, but there was plenty of light from the small battery-operated lantern she’d set on the ground. He wasn’t sure why she was willing to risk the light, but he appreciated being able to see what she was doing.

The woman crouched beside him. She felt along the inside of his left ankle and pulled out the knife he’d slipped into his boot. He turned his head and saw she’d already removed the one he’d tucked into his utility belt.

She ran her hand along the inside of his leg to the knee, then down the outside to his boot. After repeating the procedure on the other leg, she shifted and pressed her palm along the length of his thigh. When she’d nearly reached the good part, he grinned.

“A little to the left,” he said.

She glanced up. Sometime in their scuffle, her hat had fallen off. He registered long dark hair pulled back in a braid, brown eyes, a well-shaped mouth and a sprinkling of freckles on slightly tanned skin. Pretty, he thought absently. No, more than pretty. She was both elegant and tough. An intriguing combination.

One of her well-shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “A little to the left?” she repeated, then slid her hand over his groin and patted him. “I know most men like to think of their equipment as a weapon, but it’s not all that interesting to me.”

He chuckled. “You say that now, with me tied up and at your mercy.”

“Uh-huh. Just so we’re clear, there are no circumstances that would change my mind.”

She rose, stepped over to his other side and crouched again, this time running her hands over his other thigh. From there she felt her way up his stomach to his chest.

He liked the feel of her hands on his body. She moved quickly enough to show she really wasn’t interested, but thoroughly enough to find any concealed weapons. Or so she thought.

When she’d finished going through his jacket pockets and checking the hem and lining, she sat back on her heels. “You seem to be disarmed.”

“What about taking off my shirt?” he asked. “I might have something taped to my skin.”

“If you do, you won’t be getting to it anytime soon, will you?” She tapped his upper arm. “I tie a mean knot.”

He’d already figured that out. Pulling against the ropes hadn’t loosened them at all. He was going to have to find a different way to escape. Not that he wanted to go anywhere this second. His captor was the most entertainment he’d had in months.

He swept his gaze over her chest, lingering long enough on her breasts to make her shoulders stiffen. Then he returned his attention to her face. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, but she didn’t complain. Somewhere along the way, she’d learned the rules—if she was going to play in a man’s world, she would have to live by male rules. But that didn’t mean she had to like them.

They stared at each other, a minor contest of wills. Quinn knew he could wear her down eventually, but decided on something more interesting. A challenge.

“You cheated,” he said softly.

He waited for the blink, the blush, the guilt. Instead she only shrugged. “I won.”

“You took advantage of an accident.”

“Exactly.” She shifted until she was seated next to him. “Would you have done things any differently?”

He wouldn’t have needed an accident to win, but there was no point in saying that to her. She already knew.

“Besides,” she continued, “that was my only chance to tie you up. You wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise.”

“Good point.”

“So who are you?” she asked.

“Your prisoner of war. Do you plan to abuse me?”

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Stop sounding so hopeful. You’re perfectly safe.”

“Darn.”

The twitch threatened to turn into a smile, but she managed to control it. When her expression was serious again, she said, “You never answered the question.”

“I know.”

She wanted to know who he was, and he would tell her…in time. Right now, despite the cool evening and the damp mud, he was enjoying himself. He had thought the war games would be boring and without any challenge. He was glad to be wrong.

She drew one knee up to her chest and leaned toward him. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me why you looked down. You’re a good fighter. You had to know it was a mistake.”

A good fighter? Now it was his turn to hold in a smile. He was a whole hell of a lot more than that. She’d never stood a chance, and he would guess she knew enough to figure that out.

Her chin jutted out at an angle that was pure pride. Who was she? Military?

“I knew you were setting me up and I wanted to see what you would do,” he said.

She stiffened. “You were testing me?”

“More like playing with you.”

Her breath caught in an audible hiss. Dark eyes narrowed again and he had a feeling she was itching to draw blood.

“Quinn Reynolds,” he said to distract her. “Now that you’ve felt me up and all, we should probably be on a first-name basis with each other.”

She ignored the bait. “So you won’t tell me when I ask, but you’ll share the information on your terms?”

“Something like that.” He figured she wasn’t going to offer her name, so he changed the subject. “Where’s your partner?” he asked.

“He’ll be back any minute, and then we’ll take you to headquarters. He took in our first four prisoners. Where’s your partner?”

“I got here too late to be matched up with anyone. Besides, I prefer to work alone.”

“Of course you do.” She sounded mildly amused. “You macho paramilitary types always do.”

“That’s more than a little judgmental.”

“It’s accurate.”

Quinn couldn’t argue with that. Instead he glanced up toward the damp, gray sky. “The rain’s going to start up again. If you’re not going to march me back to headquarters anytime soon, you could at least drag me under some cover.”

She, too, glanced at the sky, but in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. He half expected her to leave him in the mud, but she surprised him by getting a tarp out of her backpack and spreading it under a nearby tree. Then she grabbed him under his arms and dragged him onto it.

Her strength impressed him, while her expression of annoyance amused him. What had her panties in a bunch? That her partner wasn’t back yet? That they both knew he was better than she was and probably only her prisoner for as long as it suited him?

“So what are you?” he asked. “Not military.”

She sat cross-legged on the edge of the tarp. “How can you be sure?”

“Am I wrong?”

She shook her head.

Just then the skies opened. Rain pounded the ground. In a matter of seconds the place where he’d been lying became a puddle. He pulled his knees toward his chest to get his feet out of the deluge.

His captor looked annoyed. He could hear her thoughts from here. How had he known it was about to rain? Who was this guy? Although he guessed she probably wasn’t using the word guy in her mind. No doubt she’d chosen something more colorful.

“If you’re not going to tell me your name,” he said, “I can try to guess.”

She adjusted the lantern and ignored him.

“Brenda,” he said.

She didn’t blink.

“Bambi? Heather? Chloe? Annie? Sarah? Destiny? Chastity?”

She sighed. “D.J.”

He wanted to know what the initials stood for but didn’t ask. She would be expecting that. Instead he said, “I’d offer to shake hands, but I’m all tied up at the moment.”

She smiled. “I can see that.”

Hey—a sense of humor. He liked that. A rough, tough woman in a very feminine package. If he could just get her to give him another full body search, his evening would be complete.



D.J. glanced at her watch and knew that her boy toy wasn’t going to make his way back to her anytime soon. It had been nearly four hours since Ronnie had left. He was either lost or captured. If he was close, she would hear him thrashing around in the bush. The silence told her she was very much alone with her prisoner.

She turned her attention back to Quinn. For a man who’d been left tied up on the ground for a couple of hours, he looked surprisingly relaxed. The rain had stopped, but it was still cool and damp. She shivered slightly. She would like nothing more than to head back to camp. There was only one thing stopping her…one very tall, very strong, very male thing.

“The rules of engagement state that a prisoner may do whatever he can to escape,” she said. “However, once he and his captor start back to headquarters, he must go quietly.”

Quinn nodded. “I heard that, too.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “I was never one to follow the rules.”

Just what she’d thought. With Ronnie helping her, she might have a shot at keeping possession of Quinn. But with only herself to guard him, he would get away. She hated to admit that, but it was true. He was too good.

She eyed his powerful body and wondered who and what he was. How much did he know that she didn’t? Where had he learned it? She’d never met anyone like him, and being around him made her want to ask a million questions. Not that she would. Showing interest meant tipping her hand—something she’d learned never to do.

“If you won’t cooperate, we’re stuck here until morning,” she said. “We’ll be picked up by one of the patrols.”

“Fair enough—I don’t have to take a midnight hike, and you get credit for my capture.”

She didn’t trust his easy agreement. He was the kind of man who always had a plan. Still, he hadn’t made any moves to get away…at least not yet.

He shifted so that he was more sitting than lying, leaning against the base of the tree. Then he jerked his chin toward her backpack.

“If we’re stuck out here for the night, how about something to eat?”

At his words, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A flurry of phone calls had kept her from grabbing lunch before she’d headed out to the afternoon start of the war games.

She reached for her pack, then paused. “Where’s your gear?” she asked.

“Hidden.”

Hers had been hidden, too, right up until he’d found it. She wondered if she would be able to locate his pack, then decided it wasn’t worth facing the cold, rainy night to find out. They could get by on what she had.

She dug out four granola bars, two chocolate bars, an apple and another water bottle.

“No fast food?” he asked. “I have a hankering for some fries.”

“You’ll have to wait until they show up on the prison menu,” she said as she divided the wrapped snacks into two equal piles.

He eyed the food, then shrugged. “That beats an MRE.”

Meals ready to eat. Prepackaged food soldiers could carry into combat. She’d tried a couple and, while they weren’t as bad as everyone claimed, she would rather dine on what she had in her pack.

“So you’re military?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“Special Forces?”

“Something like that.”

She wasn’t sure if he was being coy to annoy her or because he couldn’t talk about what he did for a living.

She poured some water from the new bottle into the one she’d been using. When there was an equal amount in both, she propped one up next to Quinn. He half turned away from her, exposing his bound wrists.

“Want to cut me loose so I can eat?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Not even on a bet.”

He rolled back into a seated position. “Then you’re going to have to feed me yourself.”

He didn’t look very upset at the prospect. In fact, there was definite amusement in his dark eyes.

She ignored it, along with the teasing tone of his voice. If he thought hand feeding him was going to fluster her, he was in for a shock.

“I haven’t seen you around town before,” she said as she unwrapped the first granola bar in his pile. “You’re not stationed at the base here, are you?”

“No. I flew into the country day before yesterday and got to Glenwood this morning. I’m here to meet up with my brother.”

She broke the granola bar into small pieces and offered him the first one. He didn’t bother leaning forward, which meant she had to stretch her arm out across his body. When her fingers were practically touching his mouth, he finally opened and bit down on the food.

He winked. “The ambiance needs a little work, but I can’t complain about the service.”

She ignored him. “Where did you fly in from?”

“The Middle East.”

There was something about the way he answered the question that made her think she wasn’t likely to get any more information from him. She waited until he’d finished chewing, then offered another piece of the bar.

“What about you?” he asked when he’d finished chewing. “You live in Glenwood?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

She hesitated because her natural inclination was to not reveal any personal information. Quinn waited, his expression interested, his body relaxed. Finally she shrugged and gave him the bare-bone facts.

“I’m a private consultant,” she said. “I teach classes at local schools, telling kids how to stay safe. I teach women basic self-defense. I’m also on call with several state and federal organizations, along with some private firms. They bring me in to help in extracting children from dangerous situations.”

“Domestic abductions?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Domestic abductions meant the kidnapping of a child by the noncustodial parent. “Sometimes it’s a straight kidnapping for money or revenge.”

She stopped talking the second she realized she wanted Quinn to be impressed. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself. What did she care what this guy thought of her?

She fed him the last of the granola bar then unwrapped one for herself.

“Is there a Mr. D.J.?” he asked.

“No.”

“Just no?” Quinn raised his eyebrows. “A former Mr. D.J., then?”

“Not even close.”

“Why not? A pretty woman like you should be married.”

She laughed. “You sound like an Italian grandma. I have no interest in getting married. It was an institution invented by men to get their needs met. They get full-time live-in help, including a maid and a nanny when they have kids. Not only don’t they have to pay for it, but most wives will do all that and go get a job. Marriage is a great deal for men, but what do women get out of it?”

“Safety. Security.”

“Right. Tell that to the women at the local shelter. The ones who have been beat up by their loving husbands.”

“You’ve obviously thought this through,” he said.

“It didn’t take long.”

She finished her granola bar and opened his second one.

“So you keep your men on a short leash?”

She leaned toward him. “I keep them in a cage.”

She’d thought he might be offended by her opinions and bluntness, but instead he laughed. Her forearm brushed his chest, and she felt the rumble of his amusement.

His dark gaze locked with hers. “Do you have them all running scared or are a few of them brave enough to stand up to you?”

“Most are too busy heading for the hills. They want soft, gentle, trusting women.”

“You can be soft.”

“Right. That’s me. A delicate flower.”

“You’re still a woman, D.J. Combat boots and a few fancy moves don’t change that.”

She thought of herself as competent and independent. Not soft. Soft implied weak. “My moves aren’t fancy and I have more than a few of them.”

“Tough talk for a girl.”

She held up the piece of the granola bar. “Do you want to eat this, or do you want to keep flapping your lips?”

He obligingly opened his mouth. She moved closer. This time, though, as he took the food, his lip came in contact with her fingertips.

There was a flash of heat where their skin touched, along with a flicker of tightness in her stomach. D.J. nearly jumped in surprise. What on earth was that? She didn’t react to men. Not now, not ever. She liked some, disliked others and rarely trusted any of them.

Unsettled, but determined not to show it, she continued to feed him the granola bar but was careful to make sure there wasn’t anymore contact. As she finished her second bar, she tried to analyze what was going on. Okay, Quinn wasn’t like most men she met. He was unfazed by her or by being tied up. He was an excellent fighter, probably in Special Forces and most likely stationed overseas. He was—

Tall, dark and good-looking. Of course.

Relief coursed through her as she realized what was going on. Quinn Reynolds reminded her of the Haynes brothers. All four of them shared the same general physique, dark coloring and facial structure. She’d known Travis Haynes, the sheriff, and Kyle Haynes, one of the deputies, since she’d first moved to Glenwood. Over the past few years, she’d met the other brothers.

They were all good guys, and some of the very few men she trusted. Quinn looked enough like them to put her off balance.

Having solved the problem, D.J. relaxed. She fed Quinn his chocolate bar, ate her own, then used her penknife to cut the apple in two, then divide it into slices.

“I don’t think your partner is coming back,” he said conversationally.

D.J. glanced at her watch, then nodded in agreement. “Ronnie wasn’t really good in the woods,” she admitted. “I’m guessing he’s lost. Or captured by an enemy.”

“Are you sure you didn’t leave him tied up somewhere?”

She grinned. “He and I were partners. I would never actually hurt him. I settled on threatening him.”

“Was he scared?”

“Terrified. Barely eighteen and a new recruit. But he knew how to follow orders. We captured four prisoners in our first couple of hours. Three of them were army officers.”

“How?”

She explained about distracting them while Ronnie sneaked up from behind. When she’d finished, Quinn shook his head.

“Do you always do whatever it takes to win?”

“I do whatever it takes to be in control. There’s a difference.”

He glanced down at her hand. “So I didn’t kick you in the wrist before. You were faking it.”

“Of course.”

“I can respect that.”

While they were discussing recent history…“How did you throw me without hurting me?” she asked. “I barely felt anything.”

“I have great hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too. Besides, I don’t beat up on women.”

With his abilities, he could beat up on anyone he wanted.

“Being female can give you an advantage,” he said. “Men aren’t always expecting women to be tough. Do you ever get into trouble using your femininity in a situation? Ever take on more than you bargained for?”

“I don’t go in blind, so no. I’m prepared for every eventuality.”

“Do you ever get personally involved?”

“Not even close.”

He considered her answer. “You could do undercover work.”

“Maybe.” But it wasn’t her style. “That would require a level of vulnerability I don’t allow.”

“Sometimes it comes with the territory. Aren’t you the one willing to do whatever it takes to win?”

“No. To be in control.” She studied him. “What about you? Do you ever go undercover?”

“Sometimes. Mostly I just creep around in the dark, waiting to pull people out of places they’re not supposed to be.”

Probably a simplistic version of his work, but one that made her want to ask a lot more questions. Doubtful that he would answer them, she checked her watch. It was after eleven.

“Are you going to get in trouble for staying out all night?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“I hope so.” He shifted so that he was stretched out on the tarp. “If you’re going to make me stay out in the rain, the least you can do is cuddle close so we can stay warm.”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s the woman in you talking.”

She started to protest, then realized he was right. The temperature was cool enough to make her shiver. Neither of them would get any sleep unless they could warm up. But stretching out next to a strange man wasn’t her idea of a good time.

“Shy?” he asked cheerfully.

She ignored him and slid closer. While she’d “slept” with a few men, she’d never been one for spending the night. She certainly never allowed herself to fall asleep after. Of course, in this case Quinn wasn’t a lover—he was her prisoner. That changed the dynamics.

He was big and tall and as she moved next to him, she could feel his heat.

“I could use a pillow,” he said.

“Fine.”

She grabbed the pack and shoved it under his head. He smiled at her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.” She reached to turn off the lantern, but before she could, he spoke again.

“I can’t. My arms hurt.”

She glared at him. With them both lying down, his face was fairly close to hers. She could see the stubble on his jaw and the length of his dark lashes.

“I’m not untying you,” she told him. “If you promise to behave, I’ll take you into camp.”

His mouth turned up at the corners. “I almost never behave.”

“Why is that not a surprise?”

She reached behind her and clicked off the lantern, then shifted close to him. But somehow he’d managed to move just enough so that when she lowered her head, she found it resting on his shoulder.

Her first instinct was to bolt for safety. Because she didn’t want him to know she was rattled, she forced herself to stay in place. A few minutes later, her apprehension faded. Quinn was tied up; she was safe.

She deliberately concentrated on slowing her breathing. After a few more minutes she became aware of the not-unpleasant masculine scent of his body. He generated plenty of heat, and she found herself relaxing.

“This is nice,” he said into the darkness.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t I get a kiss good-night?”

Her eyes popped open and she stared into the darkness. A kiss? “No.”

He made a low clucking sound. It took her a second to realize he was trying to imitate a chicken.

“Oh, yeah, that’s going to work,” she said.

“You’re tempted,” he said, “but nervous. That’s okay. I understand. I’m a big, handsome hunky guy who turns you on. But you don’t have to be nervous. I’ll be gentle.”

“You’ll be sucking wind.”

Obviously, the man didn’t have any self-esteem issues. Although she wasn’t the least bit concerned about her safety, what did make her jittery was the fact that the thought of kissing him was almost appealing.

“You’re missing out,” he said. “You know, you wouldn’t even have to untie me. You could take advantage of me. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

He sighed heavily. “Just one kiss.”

“No.”

“There doesn’t have to be any tongue.”

“Gee, thanks for letting me know.”

“Come on. You want to. How long will it take? Then we can go to sleep.”

Despite the craziness of what he was saying, D.J. found herself reaching for the lantern and clicking it on.

“You’re getting on my nerves,” she said.

Quinn puckered his lips like a man imitating a fish. She couldn’t help chuckling.

He was big, dangerous, probably trained to kill and he made her laugh. What was wrong with this picture?

She sighed. “I want your word that you’ll be quiet and go to sleep. No more conversation, no more requests.”

“I’d cross my heart, but I’m a little tied up right now.”

“Was that a yes?”

“Yes.”

She leaned close. One kiss, she told herself. Just a quick peck good-night. It didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t let it. She was just doing this to shut him up—not because she was the least bit…interested.

Her mouth barely touched his. There was the same flash of heat she’d experienced when her fingers had brushed his lips, and a tightening low in her belly. She braced herself for an aggressive response from him, but he didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

Slowly she pressed a little harder. Not exactly deepening the kiss, but not ending it, either. Something warm and liquid poured through her. It made her thinking fuzzy and her body relax. It made her—

Panic surged as she realized she was actually enjoying the close contact. Temptation, desire, need were all too risky. Too dangerous. She knew better. She’d spent her entire life knowing better.

But she wouldn’t let him know she was rattled. Instead of jerking her head back, she broke the kiss slowly, then opened her eyes.

She braced herself for a verbal slam, but Quinn only smiled. Not a victorious smile, but one that said they’d shared something intimate.

No they hadn’t, she thought as she turned off the lantern and settled onto the tarp. They’d kissed. So what? People kissed all the time. It didn’t mean anything. It never had. She wouldn’t let it.




Chapter Three


Quinn awakened sometime before dawn. He recognized the gray light outside the main flap of the large military-issue tent, then he stretched on the cot. The makeshift bed was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the tarp where he’d spent the first part of the night. Of course, then he’d had a sleeping companion. He’d traded the company of an intriguing and beautiful woman for comfort. Not much of a trade.

Memories of the previous evening made him smile. When D.J. woke up and saw he’d escaped, she was going to be spitting nails. Too bad he would miss the show. At least he knew she would come looking for him at camp, demanding to know how he’d done it. He’d made sure of that by leaving his cut ropes coiled up neatly beside her. The message was clear—he’d escaped and he’d had a knife that she’d missed. No way would she be able to resist a challenge like that.

Fifteen minutes later he was sipping coffee at one of the tables in the mess tent. He’d spread out the morning paper, but instead of reading, he was watching the main entrance, waiting for a tall, shapely brunette to burst inside and demand an explanation…not to mention retribution.

Instead he saw his brother stroll in. Gage looked around him, saw him and started across the dirt floor.

“You made it,” Gage said, and grinned.

Quinn rose and they shook hands, then embraced briefly. After slapping each other on the back and reassuring themselves that each had survived and was well since their last meeting, Quinn glanced at the man who had accompanied Gage.

His brother stepped back. “This is Travis Haynes. He’s the local sheriff here.”

Quinn shook hands with the man, then frowned when he realized there was something familiar about him. He was sure he and Travis Haynes had never met; Quinn didn’t forget faces. Yet there was something that teased at the back of his mind…almost a memory, but not quite.

Travis looked him over, then shook his head. “I’ll be damned,” he said, then motioned to the table. “We should probably sit down and talk this over.”

Curious but not concerned, Quinn settled back in his chair. Gage took a seat across from him with Travis sitting to his right. Gage rested his forearms on the table.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked Quinn.

Quinn sipped his coffee. “You have something to say, so say it.”

Gage nodded. “I just—”

Travis leaned forward. “I should go. After you two talk we can all get together.”

“No.” Gage shook his head. “Stay. This concerns you. Besides, if Quinn has some questions, you’re the best one to answer them.” He returned his attention to Quinn. “Sorry to be so mysterious. I didn’t want to tell you in a phone message or a letter. I appreciate you coming here.”

Quinn shrugged. His work kept him out of touch with his family for months at a time. Their only way to communicate was to leave a message at a special number and wait for him to get back to them. Sometimes he was able to respond in a few days, but most of time it was weeks or months. Gage had left his first message nearly two months ago. His second, requesting Quinn meet him in Glenwood, had been delivered just as Quinn had returned to the States.

“Have you talked to Mom?” Gage asked.

“A couple of days ago. She said everything was fine.” He frowned. Had she been hiding something? Was she sick?

Not surprisingly his brother knew what he was thinking.

“She’s okay,” Gage told him. “I wondered if she’d mentioned anything…” He leaned back in his chair. “This is harder than I thought.”

“Just spit it out.”

“Fair enough.” Gage stared at him. “Ralph Reynolds isn’t our biological father. He and Mom couldn’t have kids together. They both wanted them so she got pregnant by another guy. Someone she met in Dallas. His name is Earl Haynes. Travis here is one of his sons. Which makes him our half brother.” Gage grinned. “Actually, we have several. It seems there are a lot of Earl Haynes’s sons running around the world.”

Quinn heard the words, but at first they didn’t have any meaning. Ralph Reynolds not their biological father?

A half-dozen memories flashed through his mind—none of them pleasant. Of his father walking away, of his father telling him he would never be good enough, of his father making it clear over and over that Quinn could never measure up to Gage. Of his father…Not his father? Was it possible?

“I had a hard time with it, too,” Gage said quietly.

Quinn didn’t doubt that. Gage and the old man had been tight. Always. While Quinn couldn’t wait to get out of Possum Landing, Gage had stayed and made his life there. He’d been proud to be the fifth generation of Reynoldses in town. He’d become the damn sheriff.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

Gage nodded. “Mom told me. Back thirty-plus years ago, it was more difficult for infertile couples to get help. Plus our folks didn’t have money for expensive treatments. Dad was the one with the problem, not her. Dad—Ralph—came up with a plan for Mom to find someone who looked like him and get pregnant.”

Quinn stiffened. “That sounds barbaric, even for the old man.”

“She wasn’t happy,” Gage admitted. “Finally she agreed and headed up to Dallas. She met Earl Haynes. He was in town attending a convention.”

“And nine months later you came along?”

“Yeah.” Gage shook his head. “Ralph was happy with his new son, everyone assumed he was the father and things were fine.”

Until he’d come along, Quinn thought impassively. He’d long since become immune to dealing with the realities of not being wanted by the man he’d always thought of as his father.

“The following year she went back,” Gage continued. “She got pregnant with you. So we’re still brothers.”

None of this was sinking in, Quinn thought. Nor did it have to. He would deal with it all later. For now, he relaxed in his seat and grinned at Gage.

“Damn, and here I thought I was finally getting rid of you.”

His brother punched him in the arm. “No way. I’m still older, better looking and capable of kicking your butt anytime I want.”

The latter made Quinn laugh. “Yeah, right.” He turned his attention to Travis Haynes. “So you’re a sheriff, too?”

“Law enforcement runs in the family. I’m a sheriff. My brother Kyle is a deputy. Craig, the oldest of us four, works for the Fern Hill Police Department, and my half sister, Hannah, is a dispatcher. Jordan is the black sheep—he’s a firefighter.”

Gage looked at Quinn. “I’m a sheriff and you do your own personal version of keeping the world in line. How much of that was because of the gene pool?”

Quinn had his doubts. “I’m not a fan of destiny.”

“That’s because there are a few things you still don’t know.” Gage pushed Quinn’s coffee toward him. “Drink up. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“It seems that Earl didn’t just stop at sleeping with our mother. He also—”

Gage was interrupted by a commotion at the door. Quinn turned around and saw D.J. burst into the tent. She glanced around until she saw him. When she did, her brown eyes narrowed and she stalked toward the table.

She was walking, breathing outrage. With her olive-and-khaki clothes, her long dark hair, and a rifle in one hand, she was a female warrior at her most appealing.

A young officer started to cross her path, took one look at her set expression and carefully backed out of the way. Quinn doubted that D.J. even noticed. When she reached the table, she tossed the cut ropes in front of him.

“How the hell did you do it?” she demanded.

Fury spilled from her. Quinn didn’t doubt that if she thought she could take him, she would be on him in a heartbeat.

Instead of reacting to her question or her temper, he casually sipped his coffee before pushing out a chair with his foot.

“Have a seat,” he said calmly.

She ignored the offer. “I asked you a question.”

“I know.”

He met her gaze, prepared to wait her out. He wanted to smile but didn’t let himself. He wanted to grab her by her hair, haul her close and kiss her until they were both panting. He didn’t do that, either. Instead he waited.

He wasn’t sure how long they would have played “you blink first.” Travis stood and moved between them, ending the contest. He put his hands on D.J.’s shoulders and not too gently pushed her into the chair.

“Take a load off,” he said. “I’ll get you coffee.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Thanks,” she said, not sounding all that gracious.

When Travis returned, he set the mug in front of her and sat back into his seat. “I see you’ve met Quinn, here. This is his brother, Gage.”

D.J. glanced at Gage, nodded and returned her attention to Quinn. “I want answers.”

He made a show of checking his watch. “I thought you’d be back sooner. You must have slept in. But after the night we had, I’m not surprised you were tired.”

She half rose from her seat. Quinn expected the rifle to swing in his direction. But before she could get physical, Travis started to laugh.

“I don’t think so,” he said easily. “D.J. would have chewed you up and spit you out.”

Quinn met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “I’m not so sure.”

If he smirked, she was going to kill him, D.J. decided. Right there in front of witnesses. Although she wasn’t usually one for reckless behavior, Quinn had really pissed her off.

She watched him drink his coffee, as if he had all the time in the world. Which he probably did. He looked rested, showered and utterly relaxed. She was tired, dirty and had leaves in her hair. Worse—he’d escaped. She wanted to know how and she wanted payback.

She refused to acknowledge that some of her temper came from the memory of the brief kiss they’d shared. She still couldn’t believe she’d given in and actually kissed him…and liked it. Not that she would ever let him know.

“How did you two meet?” Gage asked.

“D.J. got the drop on me during the war games,” Quinn told his brother.

Gage, about the same age as Quinn, with the same dark coloring and strong, good-looking features, straightened in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Gage’s expression turned doubtful, and D.J. didn’t blame him. As much as she’d wanted to be the one in charge, Quinn had been in control the entire evening. He’d only let her hold him prisoner for as long as it suited him. She wanted to know why. Even more, she wanted to find out all the things he knew that she didn’t.

But how to ask?

As she considered the question, she picked up her coffee and turned to thank Travis for bringing her the mug. It was only then she noticed how much her friend looked like Quinn and Gage. The same general build, the same coloring. Even the shapes of their dark eyes were similar.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is there some kind of Haynes family look-alike contest going on?”

Travis turned to her and smiled. “Funny you should say that.”



Over breakfast in the mess tent, D.J. listened as Travis and Gage explained their surprising family connection. D.J. was more interested in Quinn’s early years than in his being a half brother to the Haynes family. Somehow she couldn’t picture a kid from Possum Landing, Texas, growing up to be a dangerous operative, but it had obviously happened.

She picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite just as a tall, thin, very damp young man with flaming red hair walked over to the table.

D.J. looked Ronnie over and sighed. “Did you get lost or captured?” she asked.

He flushed. “Um, both, ma’am.”

“I’m assuming you got lost first.”

He hung his head. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize for not finding you again.”

The men at the table had stopped talking to listen to her conversation. She eyed the eighteen-year-old. He already felt bad about what had happened. There was no point in chewing him out publicly. She’d never been into that sort of thing for sport.

“Mistakes happen,” she said. “Go grab some food and coffee.”

Ronnie stared at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “Ma’am?”

She allowed herself a slight smile. “I’m not cutting off your ears, Private. Go get some breakfast.”

He beamed at her. “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

When he was gone, she looked at Travis who sat across from her, then at his brother Kyle. They were both grinning.

“Don’t start with me,” she warned.

“It’s not like you to be a soft touch,” Travis said.

“I’m not. The kid tried hard and he screwed up. It happens.”

Kyle leaned toward her. “He thinks you’re hot.”

D.J. rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m sure I’m going to star in all his dreams for the next fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Kyle chuckled.

D.J. ignored him. She scooped up some eggs. After a few seconds, conversation resumed and she was once again listening rather than participating.

Quinn sat at the end of the table. She never directly looked at him, but she was aware of him. Of how he and all the other men seated here were physically so similar.

Craig and Jordan Haynes had arrived and pulled up chairs. Craig was the oldest of the Haynes brothers, Jordan the second youngest. Two fraternal twins, Kevin and Nash Harmon were also a part of their group. D.J. hadn’t quite figured out their relationship to the other men. Apparently, when Earl had been in Dallas getting Quinn’s mother pregnant, he’d also had his way with the twins’ mother. Quinn and Gage had grown up with them as close friends, only recently learning they were in fact half brothers. Everyone at the table but her was part of the Haynes extended family.

She supposed there were some people who would have felt left out, under the circumstances. Not her. She’d been part of a family once, and now lived her life blissfully free of familial obligations.

Keeping her head turned toward Travis as he spoke, D.J. casually glanced to her left. Quinn had finished his breakfast. Now he sat listening, nodding occasionally and not saying much. While he’d been two parts annoying, one part charming and very talkative the previous evening and when she’d first arrived this morning, he’d gotten more quiet as the group had expanded. Didn’t he do crowds?

She was about to turn away when Quinn moved slightly and met her gaze. His dark eyes didn’t give away what he was thinking, nor did the neutral expression on his face. He could have been trying to decide if he wanted more coffee. Yet she felt something crackle between them. A tension. Awareness tightened her skin and made her shiver.

Unfamiliar and too powerful for comfort, the sensations unnerved her. Distraction came in the form of Ronnie returning with his breakfast.

By the time she’d introduced him to everyone and had slid her chair over to make more room, she had convinced herself that she’d only imagined the weird reaction to Quinn.

Travis waited until Ronnie had his mouth full, then grinned at D.J. “So, you didn’t win this year.”

The kid started to choke.

D.J. scowled at Travis, then pounded Ronnie on the back. When he’d swallowed, he gulped down half his glass of milk and shrank in his seat.

“About me not getting back,” he began.

D.J. cut him off with a stern look. “Let it go, kid,” she told him. “My streak was bound to run out sooner or later.”

“Too bad she wasn’t able to capture a prisoner all on her own,” Quinn drawled. “No, wait. You did have someone, didn’t you?”

D.J. ignored him.

Ronnie’s eyes widened. “You lost a prisoner?”

Travis chuckled. “Don’t go there, son. D.J.’ll take your head off.”

Ronnie returned his attention to his breakfast.

D.J. couldn’t help glancing at Quinn, who had the nerve to smile at her. Just smile. As if he was happy or something.

Nash Harmon, a six-foot, one-inch testament to Haynes family genes, rose. “I hate to break this up, but I have things to see to this morning.”

Kevin, his twin, hooted. “Things? Don’t you mean Stephanie?”

Nash smiled. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He looked over at Quinn. “You probably haven’t heard. I recently got engaged. Of course, I’m not the only one. Kevin’s planning a wedding for early October, and you already know about Gage.”

D.J. noticed that Quinn’s gaze settled on his brother. Gage shrugged. “We haven’t had time to go into that. I’m getting married, too.”

“Congratulations,” Quinn said.

“All three of you just recently got engaged?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Is it something in the water?”

Travis rose. “Could be. That’ll make you switch to bottled, huh?”

“In a heartbeat.” D.J. shook her head. “Married.”

She held back saying “yuck” even though it was what she was thinking. In her experience, marriage was all bad for the woman and all good for the man. Okay, the Haynes brothers seemed to have decent relationships. And her friend Rebecca had married a pretty okay guy, but they were exceptions.

It seemed that everyone had a place to be. In a matter of a couple of minutes, the table had cleared, except for D.J. and Quinn. She expected him to stand up, as well, but he didn’t. Instead he sipped his coffee and looked at her.

She told herself this was great. Now she could get her questions answered. The only problem was his steady gaze made her want to shift in her seat. She wouldn’t, of course. She would never let him know he could make her feel uncomfortable. Nor would she admit to wanting to know what he was thinking as he watched her.

She resisted the incredibly stupid impulse to touch her hair to make sure it was in place, as if that mattered, then turned toward him and decided to just go for it.

“How did you get away?” she asked. “The ropes were cut, but I’d checked you for knives. I’d put yours in the pack, which was out of reach. I checked it this morning and you hadn’t opened it. So you had a knife on you somewhere. One that I missed.”

She had the sudden thought that someone could have crept into camp and released him, but she dismissed the idea. She knew in her gut Quinn had gotten away all by himself. He’d managed to outsmart her and to do it all while she was sleeping.

Even more annoying, he’d left his jacket draped over her, as if she needed protection from the elements.

“How could you have missed a knife?” he asked, his eyes bright with humor. “You gave me a very thorough and very enjoyable search. If you’d like to check me again…” His voice trailed off.

She ignored the suggestion and the teasing tone of his voice. “Where’s the knife?”

She half expected him to insist she come find it. Instead he flipped up the collar of his heavy military-issue shirt, and pulled out a short blade. Not a knife…just the blade.

Of course, she thought, impressed by the ingenuity. No one paid attention to stiff collars. The points were supposed to be that way. All Quinn would need to do was a little shift and shimmy to get his hands in front of his body, then the blade would be within easy reach.

The possibilities intrigued the hell out of her. “What else do you know that I don’t?”

Instead of making a smart-ass response, Quinn stood. “This has been great,” he said.

She rose and walked toward him. “Wait. I really want to know.”

His gaze never left her face, yet everything changed. The teasing was gone, as was the humor. Instead, bone-deep weariness invaded his expression. He knew things, she thought as she involuntarily took a step back. He’d seen and done things no man should experience. His life was about a whole lot more than simply getting people out of places they shouldn’t be.

“I’m not playing,” she said. “I want to learn what you know. I’m a quick study.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Your skills would help me with my work. I want to be better.”

“Aren’t you good enough to get the job done?”

“Yes, but I want to be better than good enough. I want to be the best.”

“There is no best.”

Of course there was, she thought. There always was. She worked her butt off to make sure it was her most of the time.

“I’ll pay you,” she said.

He smiled then. “Thanks, but I’m not interested. Take care, D.J.”

And then he was gone. He simply walked out of the tent without looking back.

She watched him go and decided right then she was going to get him to change his mind. She didn’t know how, but she would convince Quinn Reynolds to teach her what he knew. She would be stronger, faster, smarter, and finally the ghosts would be laid to rest.



Two days later D.J. still hadn’t come up with a plan. What on earth would a man like Quinn want that she could give him? She’d paced most of the night, and when that hadn’t cleared her mind, she’d awakened early for a three-mile run. Now she prowled her back room, pausing occasionally to jab at the punching bag in the corner.

“I can see you’re in a temper this morning. Want to talk about it?”

D.J. turned toward the voice and saw Rebecca Lucas standing in the doorway of her workout room. She held a thermos in one hand and a pink bakery box in the other. D.J.’s spirits lightened immediately.

“Danish?” she asked, heading toward her friend.

“Of course. Don’t I always bring Danish?”

“You’re a good woman.”

“I know.”

Rebecca led the way to the main office, where she set the box on the front desk and opened the thermos.

“So what has you all crabby this morning?” she asked as she poured coffee into two mugs. “If you were anyone else, I would swear it was man trouble.”

“It is, but not the romantic kind.”

Rebecca handed her the coffee. “Too bad. You need a man in your life.”

“Right. That would be as useful to me as inheriting a toxic waste dump.”

Rebecca tisked softly as she poured more coffee for herself, opened the bakery box and pushed it toward D.J.

D.J. grabbed a napkin, then a cheese Danish. The first bite was heaven. The second, even better. She slowly chewed the flaky, sticky, sweet pastry.

Rebecca took one for herself and nibbled daintily. As usual, all conversation ceased until they’d each downed at least one Danish and felt the kick-start, blood-sugar rush of refined carbohydrates and frosting.

D.J. finished first and licked her fingers. Rebecca dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

They couldn’t be more different, D.J. thought affectionately. Rebecca was all girl, from her long, curly hair to her wardrobe of soft, flowing, floral-print dresses. She wore foolish shoes, delicate jewelry and wouldn’t be caught dead in town without makeup.

“You’re looking at my dress,” Rebecca said when she’d finished her Danish. “You hate it.”

“No. It’s great.”

D.J. studied the light-blue flowers scattered on a white background, the lace at the edge of the collar and the tight, puffy sleeves, while trying desperately not to wince.

“I just don’t understand why you have to dress so…girly.”

Rebecca took another Danish. “We don’t all need to look as if we’d just come from a sale at the army surplus store. Olive green isn’t my color. Besides, Austin likes how I dress.”

End of argument, D.J. told herself. If Austin mentioned he would like the rotation of the earth changed, Rebecca would set out to see what she could do to make that happen. She adored her husband past the point of reason. D.J. found the situation palatable only because Austin was a good man—weren’t those few and far between?—and he loved his wife just as completely. D.J. believed down to her bones that if someone tried to hurt Rebecca, Austin would rip that person into stamp-size pieces.

Rebecca looked her over, making D.J. aware of her camouflage pants and heavy boots.

“You’re expecting a war later?”

“Real funny.” D.J. grabbed a second pastry. “So what’s going on?”

Rebecca filled her in on the latest escapades of her four children, including David’s increasing fascination with cars. “He’s going to be a holy terror on the road,” Rebecca said, her voice mixed with worry and pride. “He’s already poring through Austin’s car magazines and giving us suggestions for his sixteenth birthday.”

The conversation continued. Rebecca made it a habit to drop in two or three mornings a week. D.J. enjoyed hearing about her family. As she didn’t plan to get married, and doubted she would be a very good single mom, Rebecca’s kids were as close to her own as she was going to get.

“I’m having a party next week,” Rebecca announced as she poured them each more coffee.

D.J. held up her hands in protest. “No, thanks.”

“How can you say that?”

“You have two kinds of parties. One is for couples, which means you’re going to set me up with some guy I don’t want to meet. The other is a girls-only deal where someone will be trying to sell something I’ll find completely useless.”

“Cosmetics,” Rebecca confirmed. “And they’re not useless. I know you’re not a big fan of makeup, but you take good care of your skin. This line of skin care is really amazing. Besides, it would be good for you to get out.”

“I get out.”

“I’m talking about spending some time with normal women.”

“I spend time with you.”

Rebecca sighed. “Why can’t you be more social?”

“It’s not my thing.”

“So what is your thing?”

D.J. thought of Quinn. He intrigued her. “There was this guy I met during the war games,” she said.

Rebecca instantly brightened. “Did he ask you out?”

“It wasn’t like that. I captured him, but only because I got lucky. I want him to teach me what he knows.”

“Which is what?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve asked around a little and found out that he works for a secret branch of the military. I’ll bet he knows more about killing people than anyone I’ve met.”

Rebecca shuddered. “Not exactly someone you want to have over for dinner. What’s the guy’s appeal? You don’t kill people. You keep them alive.”

“The more I know, the better.”

Her friend studied her. “You seem very determined. Are you sure this is only about the exchange of knowledge?”

D.J. didn’t bother answering. It was a stupid question. Well, maybe not stupid. There had been that kiss.

She instantly shoved the memory away. The kiss had been nothing, she told herself. Any reaction she’d felt had been brought on by exhaustion or adrenaline or a spider bite.

“Why does your silence sound so guilty?” Rebecca asked.

D.J. did her best not to squirm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I believe that.” She flicked her long hair over her shoulder and shook her head. “If he’s so special, can’t you just date him? Does every encounter have to be a battle?”

“I asked him to teach me some things, but he wasn’t interested. I even offered to pay him.”

“Not exactly the best way to win him over.”

“I don’t want him to like me.”

“Why not?”

It was an old conversation and one D.J. wasn’t about to start up again. Rebecca had never understood her reluctance to get involved with a man. She didn’t get that caring meant vulnerability. Danger lurked in most relationships. Men were bigger, stronger and, for the most part, meaner. Not all of them, of course, but D.J. wasn’t taking any chances.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, just an instructor,” she said. “Don’t try to change my mind. Just tell me how to convince him to help me out.”

“I will, but under protest. You need a good man in your life.”

D.J. rotated her wrist, motioning for Rebecca to get on with it. Her friend smiled impishly.

“There’s only one way to get a man to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Finally, D.J. thought. Information she could use. “What’s that?”

“Give him the one thing he really wants and can’t get any other way.”




Chapter Four


D.J. hovered in front of the hotel room door. She hated to think of herself as someone who hovered, but there was no other way to describe her actions. She reached up to knock once, then took two steps back and shoved her hands into her jeans pockets.

This was crazy, she told herself. She shouldn’t even bother. She wouldn’t, either, except she really wanted Quinn to teach her a few tricks. But would he agree?

Rebecca had said to find something he wanted that he couldn’t get any other way and offer it to him. Great advice, except she didn’t know what would interest him. Except for something he’d mentioned while he’d been her prisoner.

He’d teased her about taking advantage of him, joked about her searching him more thoroughly and had wanted to kiss her. She might not have a date with a different guy every Friday night, but she knew something about the male of the species. The way into a man’s frame of reference wasn’t through great cooking, witty conversation or a sparkling personality. Nope, guys were more basic than that. Something she thought she could use to her advantage.

She stalked up to the door and raised her hand again. This time she knocked, then wished she hadn’t. Planning to make a deal with Quinn was one thing, but going through with it was something else. She didn’t usually offer to pay for things with sex. In fact it was something she’d never done. But desperate times called for—

The door opened.

D.J. had already come up with several opening lines. She didn’t like to get caught unaware. But all her prep work hadn’t prepared her for the impact of seeing Quinn again.

As a rule, a man was a man was a man. A few she liked, a few she wished were dead and the rest rarely made an impact on her life. She considered herself sensible, autonomous and rational. So why did the sight of Quinn standing in the doorway to his hotel room suddenly made her chest go tight?

Nerves, she told herself firmly. She didn’t usually allow herself to feel them, but obviously they were bothering her. A few deep breaths and she would be fine. Really.

Quinn stared at her for several seconds, then smiled. As the corners of his mouth turned up, he leaned one forearm against the door frame and shifted his weight to one leg. The other was slightly bent at the knee. He looked relaxed…and predatory. Big, tall, powerful.

His physical resemblance to the Haynes brothers eased some of her tension, but not all of it. He might look like them, but could he be trusted like one of them? Did it matter?

“Afternoon, D.J.,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sure it is.”

He studied her, his dark eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. Once again she had the ridiculous urge to make sure no strands of hair had pulled loose from her braid.

She returned the appraisal, checking out his blue short-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. His feet were bare and his hair tousled. It might be the middle of the afternoon, but he looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed.

He pushed off the door frame and stepped back. The invitation was clear. Come on in.

She stepped into the room, showing a confidence she didn’t feel. Familiar statistics filled her mind—the number of women attacked in hotel rooms each year, the number of women date raped in hotel rooms, the number of—

She drew in a deep breath and consciously cleared her mind. Quinn wasn’t going to attack her. She’d come here on her own. No one was drunk, no one was going to get hurt. Perspective, she told herself. If nothing else, she could stomp the hell out of him and make her escape. He might have fifty pounds of muscles on her but his bare feet were no match for her heavy boots.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair by the window.

She took in the plain room, the large bed, a desk with a straight back chair, the low dresser with the television. There weren’t any personal effects lying around, with the exception of a hardback mystery propped open on the bed. No pictures, no wallet, no dirty socks.

Instead of taking the seat he offered, she grabbed the chair from the desk and turned it around. She was less than ten feet from the door. When Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, she had an unrestricted escape route to either the door or the window. Not that she planned to need either.

When he was settled, she tried to remember what she’d wanted to say. Somehow she’d forgotten all of her carefully constructed opening lines. So not like her. She would have to improvise.




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