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Conception Cover-Up
Karen Lawton Barrett


HE WAS AS MYSTERIOUS AS THE NIGHTWhen a wounded stranger landed on her cabin doorstep on a rainy night, Shannon Garrett couldn't resist taking in the tall, dark and dangerously attractive man. A lonely recluse with a painful past she kept hidden, Shannon felt the man she knew as Caleb hid his own share of secrets. Except neither could mask the sudden passion that raged between them as fiercely as the storm.But in the cold light of day, Caleb realized he'd done the unthinkable: He'd just put two more targets in the sights of the killers at his heels–the woman he'd come to love and the child they'd just conceived.







“You’re pregnant.”

Caleb’s heart started to pound as he said the words. Joy and fear assailed him at once. He’d always dreamed of having a child. But not now…not with killers after him.

He could see the deep vulnerability in Shannon’s shadowed eyes. She hugged herself, then rubbed her arms as if she were freezing. “I want to know what you’re going to do,” she said.

There was no doubt in his mind. “I’m going to be the best father a child can have.”

“So you’re planning on being there for him or her?” Her tone was icy. “Alive?”

So that was where this was going, he thought. His undercover work. He looked at her and tried to talk, but he didn’t know how to tell her he loved her and that he didn’t want her taken away from him. The baby, either.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he finally said. “It’s you.”

Her eyes widened.

“If the men I’m after find out about you and the…baby, then you’ll be their first target.”


Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

All the evidence is in! And it would be a crime if you didn’t “Get Caught Reading” this May. So follow the clues to your favorite bookstore to pick up some great tips.

This month Harlequin Intrigue has the distinguished privilege of launching a brand-new Harlequin continuity series with three of our top authors. TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS is a story of family and fortitude set in the great Lone Star state. We are pleased to give you your first look into this compelling drama with Someone’s Baby by Dani Sinclair. Look for books from B.J. Daniels and Joanna Wayne to follow in the months ahead. You won’t want to miss even a single detail!

Your favorite feline detective is back in Familiar Lullaby by Caroline Burnes. This time, Familiar’s ladylove Clotilde gets in on the action when a baby is left on a high-society doorstep. Join a feisty reporter and a sexy detective as they search for the solution and find true love in this FEAR FAMILIAR mystery.

Our TOP SECRET BABIES promotion concludes this month with Conception Cover-Up by Karen Lawton Barrett. See how far a father will go to protect his unborn child and the woman he loves. Finally, Carly Bishop takes you out West for a showdown under a blaze of bullets in No One But You, the last installment in her LOVERS UNDER COVER trilogy.

So treat yourself to all four. You won’t be disappointed.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue


Conception Cover-Up

Karen Lawton Barrett






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




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Karen Lawton Barrett was raised in a small town in central California, where one of her elementary school teachers once wrote on a report card, “Karen daydreams too much.” These days she uses her active imagination to create romantic suspense stories.




Books by Karen Lawton Barrett


HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

560—HERS TO REMEMBER

615—CONCEPTION COVER-UP










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Caleb Carlisle—Running for his life from vicious drug dealers, he stumbles into the arms of a woman whose past shadows their future.

Shannon Garrett—Will the secret she carries bring her the life she craves, or will she lose another lover to a killer’s deadly bullet?

Zoe Yamana—Will the doctor be able to give her best friend the answer she desires?

Brandon Everly—Shot in the back and left for dead, he holds a secret he will reveal only to his partner.

Malcolm Knox—After a long, distinguished career in law enforcement, he’s earned the best drug arrest record in the state, but at what cost?

Sean Gallagher—He’s been in charge of the Special Drug Unit for the past fifteen years. Has the stress finally gotten to him?

Sid Muñoz—A friend and fellow agent, he ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Marissa Muñoz—Is Sid’s wife and family in danger, too?

Carlos Morales—Marissa’s cousin had to resign from the SDU for conduct unbecoming—or did he?

Larkin—He’ll do anything his boss wants, and enjoy doing it.


To my darling Duffy and wonderful Phillip, who bring me love and joy.

To Cherry, for her fearless and unstinting support.

And to the ladies of the BICC, for a terrific ride.

I thank you all.




Contents


Chapter One (#u1d27e2e6-c312-5c40-b3f1-00216b95ece6)

Chapter Two (#ue0ed4b34-a67f-55f6-ab88-9a3f7603fad5)

Chapter Three (#ubc86b00a-de28-50d7-ad52-8784f68bcc34)

Chapter Four (#u773a1bbd-cb51-5a27-ab9b-fe8bd951de2d)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Branches scraped the side of his four-wheel-drive truck with a sound like fingernails on a blackboard as Caleb Carlisle negotiated the turn onto the sorry excuse for a road that led to the Driscoe brothers’ compound. Ancient redwood trees spread their branches over the mud-and-gravel lane, darkening the already gloomy day. A distant rumble of thunder warned of a coming storm.

“I sure hope this rain holds off for a while,” he said to his partner, Brandon Everly, who lounged in the passenger seat. Brandon’s demeanor was deceptive. They both knew how important this meeting was.

As the road rose sharply, Caleb downshifted. Thunder growled again, closer this time. He accelerated over the last hump and drove into the compound.

Brandon reached behind the seat and grabbed the two backpacks that held the quarter million in cash for the supposed exchange. He handed one to Caleb. “Ready?”

Caleb nodded. Adrenaline pulsed in his veins. The Driscoes had been selling cocaine to the local teenagers like candy. It had taken months of undercover work to get to this point. Now all they needed was the identity of the brothers’ superior, the man who could lead them to their international connection. But whether or not they gave up their boss, the Driscoes were going down. Today.

Caleb and Brandon exited the vehicle and headed for the ramshackle barn that housed one of the most efficient cocaine-distribution centers in the state.

Jim Driscoe walked out of the building. Big and beefy, Jim stopped about twenty feet from them, chewing on a toothpick and studying them with shadowed eyes. His brothers followed him out, flanking him. Short fat J.P. stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt. Thin wiry Henry moved restlessly. None of them said a word.

A prickle crawled up Caleb’s spine. Something had gone wrong, he knew it. That sixth sense had saved his butt many times before, and he wasn’t about to question it now.

Caleb grinned over his foreboding. “What’s goin’ on, guys? We waitin’ for Larkin?” That weasel, the fourth in this little group of thugs, was always slinking around. His absence made Caleb uneasy.

A flash of lightning eerily lit the brothers’ unpleasant faces. A loud clap of thunder followed.

Caleb looked up at the sky. “Big storm comin’.” He glanced at the brothers. “Let’s go inside. We brought you some goodies.”

He took a couple of steps forward, but the brothers didn’t move.

Jim pulled out a handgun. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, pig.”

His younger brothers shifted their positions, cutting off Caleb and Brandon’s access to the truck.

“What’s up, man?” Brandon asked, using his jittery cokehead voice. “We brought you cash, and you pull a gun on us? I thought we were partners, man.”

A vicious look came to Jim’s face, and he raised his gun. “We ain’t partners with no cops.”

Caleb threw his bag in Jim’s face at the same time Brandon threw his at Henry. Before J.P. could even react, they pulled out their weapons and dove for cover. Within seconds the Driscoes opened fire.

There was a flash of lightning, then another. Thunder almost drowned out the sound of gunfire. And then the sky let loose, pouring down buckets of rain.

Caleb took a quick visual inventory of the situation. They were outnumbered and outflanked by Jim and his brothers.

Jim barked orders at J.P. “Henry and I will take care of them. You get Larkin, then stay by that truck. Don’t let those pigs near it. And tell Larkin to call Mick now.”

Registering the new name just added to the mix, Caleb looked at his partner. They had a choice: Go up the mountain or down. Brandon gestured up. So up they went.

The storm didn’t let up as they struggled through the overgrown ferns and bushes that covered the forest floor. They could hear Jim and Henry crashing through the undergrowth close behind them. The dense foliage and heavy rain didn’t make it any easier for the brothers, either.

Caleb stopped under a huge redwood for a moment to monitor the drug dealers’ progress. Jim and Henry were climbing slowly but steadily up the hill.

He resumed his trek, increasing his speed to catch up with his partner. They couldn’t carry on this pace forever. They had to find a way to take out Jim and Henry, then go back for the others.

Reaching a rushing stream, Caleb stopped Brandon. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Maybe we can circle around and get a jump on them.”

Brandon wiped rain out of his eyes. “You take that side of the stream. I’ll take this side.”

Caleb jumped over the water, then began to circle back. In the silence that followed a clap of thunder, he could hear movement in the bushes not far from where he stood. He stayed absolutely still. Then he caught a glimpse of red plaid—Henry’s shirt. When he couldn’t see Jim anywhere, he realized the brothers had split up.

He waited behind a huge redwood until Henry came nearer, then called out, “That’s far enough, Henry. Drop your gun.”

Henry shot toward the tree. One went wide. The second splattered mud on his boots.

Another shot and bark splintered inches from Caleb’s face. That was close, he thought. Too close.

Blinking to clear his eyes of the pouring rain, Caleb raised his own weapon. He could hear the rustle of foliage.

“Come on, Henry, you know you aren’t going to get away with this,” Caleb said, keeping his tone friendly. “Why don’t you just put down the gun?”

“I’m doin’ nothin’ of the kind, cop!” He charged toward the tree, firing madly.

Caleb fired his gun, too, till he heard a grunt.

“Damn you, you hit my leg!” Henry cried.

Caleb stayed where he was. Jim’s youngest brother wasn’t the brightest guy in the world, but he might be smart enough to fake an injury. Even as the thought struck Caleb, Henry emptied his pistol in the direction of the tree.

A hot sharp pain seared Caleb’s upper arm, and he grabbed it with his free hand. One of the bullets had ricocheted. He suspected it was only a graze, but his shooting arm now hurt like hell.

Another shot rang out, and Caleb dropped to a crouch. It hadn’t come from Henry…Had Larkin finally decided to join them? He listened intently for movement, but all he could hear was the rain.

“Hey, partner, did we get him?” Brandon’s voice sounded from across the stream.

Caleb ventured a look and saw Henry on the ground, very still, blood pooling from a wound in his chest. “Looks like,” Caleb yelled back.

“What about Jim?”

Caleb had no idea where Jim was. Then he heard a rumble, deeper than thunder, and the ground began to shake. An earthquake? Several large rocks tumbled by and the ground shook harder. He looked up the mountain.

“Landslide, Bran! Landslide!” Caleb ran to the right as fast as he could. Who knew how wide a swath the slide would cut?

Rain poured, thunder boomed and the mountainside came down faster and faster. Falling rocks struck him as he ran. His arm was on fire, but he knew he had to keep going. He slipped in the mud, once, twice, then got up and ran some more, not daring to stop, rocks and water rushing past him. One of the rocks struck his head and he saw stars. Then there was only blackness.

CALEB AWOKE to a steady rain. The ground beneath him was hard and rocky, his soaked clothing clung to his chilled body, his arm throbbed, and there was a relentless pounding in his skull.

He shivered, then groaned as a thousand other aches and pains vibrated to agonizing life. He stayed still for a moment, feeling as if he was on the losing end of a championship prizefight.

Or a landslide.

He sat up abruptly, making his tortured body scream in protest.

Brandon. Where was his partner?

Caleb dragged himself to his feet. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the area. The tons of rock and mud that had detached themselves from the hillside had come to rest just yards away. He’d been lucky to escape. Had his partner?

“Brandon!”

Thunder drowned out his yell. When the rumble died away, he tried again. Picking his way over the shifting pile of rubble, he tried to figure out where his partner had been standing when all hell had broken loose.

At a stream of rushing water, Caleb remembered. Brandon had been on the opposite side. Using a tree branch to keep himself steady, he started across the now knee-deep rapids. Branches and stones pummeled his legs, mud sucked at his boots. Bruised and breathless, he pulled himself onto the bank. He allowed himself only a few moments to rest and fill his lungs.

“Brandon!”

Desperate to find his partner, he dug in the mud with his bare hands. He shoved aside branches and kicked at rocks, calling out Brandon’s name until he was hoarse. Still he found no sign of his partner, or Jim Driscoe.

A shaft of hatred went through him at the thought of the drug dealer, who had put them in this situation.

Suddenly he heard a buzzing in his ears and the night got darker. “Dammit! I am not going to pass out.”

Disoriented and dizzy, he leaned against a tree. Letting the bulky trunk take his weight, Caleb wiped the moisture from his eyes. When lightning flashed again, he stared at his fingers. They were wet with not water, but blood. He closed his eyes, the smell of wet earth and leaves filling his nostrils.

Fatigue overtook him. Suddenly the ground didn’t look so hard and rocky. Would it hurt if he just lay down and slept for a while?

His foggy mind recognized the signs of concussion, and he shook away the thought. Forget sleep, he ordered himself. He pushed away from the tree that had been holding him up and lost his footing on the slick ground. Reaching out, his left hand made contact with a branch, which he used to lever himself up.

Swaying on rubbery legs, Caleb had to admit he wasn’t going to be able to find his partner on his own. Sliding around in the mud was getting him nowhere. He had to have help.

Lightning flashed, blinding him temporarily, and the boom of thunder that followed reverberated in his head. The pain drove him to his knees. Get up, Caleb, get up! he ordered. On legs of oatmeal, he staggered to his feet.

And walked.

With a hammer using his brain for an anvil and his arm still throbbing, Caleb concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Rain saturated his clothing, weighing him down. After a while he didn’t even try to stop the shivering that racked his body.

Lightning and thunder dogged him every step of the way.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

The words became a litany.

His feet were cold, so cold. His toes squished numbly inside his boots, whatever water repellent they’d once had no match for the sopping terrain.

He had to stop. He had to sit. Only the thought of Brandon, unconscious and alone, kept him moving.

And then he saw it.

A light. Faint. Flickering.

Keeping his gaze focused on that dim welcoming glow, Caleb forced his tired body on. The forest floor was uneven, covered with dead leaves and needles. Wet ferns and vines grabbed at his knees. At one point he stumbled over a fallen log, wrenching his ankle and falling hard on his injured arm. He hissed in a sharp breath, then lay for a moment on the ground, his lungs aching. Angry for his weakness, he pushed up.

Pain bit at his arm, but he welcomed it. As long as the pain stood by him, he wouldn’t be able to surrender to the lethargy the concussion caused.

He limped toward the light. His head pounded as thunder reverberated through the night. But he kept moving. He was not going to let those drug-dealing dogs get the best of him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Caleb finally arrived at the cabin. He made his way around the Jeep parked out front. Not sure what he would find, he reached around to the small of his back for his gun.

It wasn’t there.

He checked the pockets of his soaked denim jacket. Nothing. Great, just great, he berated himself. You’ve lost your only weapon.

In the dim light from a window, he saw the outline of a woodpile on the porch. He eased up the steps and picked up a log, a piece of branch really, just thick enough to get someone’s attention if necessary. Then he made his way to the window and peered inside.

The interior seemed warm and welcoming. A rectangular chopping-block table divided the living room from the kitchen. The furniture was old-fashioned and comfortable-looking. Oil lamps provided light, along with the flames from a huge stone fireplace.

Then he saw a woman standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.

Caleb couldn’t smell the food, but his stomach growled, anyway. He hadn’t eaten since he and Brandon had stopped for doughnuts and coffee before heading up to the mountains.

Thinking about his friend and partner reminded him of his priorities. Food and bed could wait. He needed a phone.

For a few minutes he stayed at the window, but seeing no other signs of life, he turned to make his way to the front door.

The movement sent stars shooting through his head so violently that he fell to one knee. The branch dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the porch. Afraid he’d black out, he stayed still for a couple of moments, drawing in deep breaths, then cautiously rose.

But the buzzing in his ears wouldn’t go away, and the night started to close in on him. Caleb hung on to the railing, fighting the faint. One step at a time, he followed the porch to the front door, the hold on his consciousness beginning to slip.

As he raised his fist to knock on the door, he cracked his right arm against the jamb. The pain that shot through him was more than he could bear. Almost instantly he collapsed.




Chapter Two


A flash of lightning illuminated Shannon Garrett’s shadowy kitchen, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. Turning from the stove where she stirred the soup that was to be her dinner, she glanced through the window over the sink. Rain battered the diamond-shaped panes, blotting out her view. The wind outside howled like a wounded animal.

A strange prickly feeling came over her. This was going to be one hell of a storm, she thought. Thank heavens for propane tanks and oil lamps. It might be days before her electricity came back on.

She swung back to the stove and turned off the burner. The delicious smell of her homemade chicken soup wafted through the cabin, but she’d lost interest in eating. Suddenly, being alone, miles from civilization, didn’t seem like such a good idea. The storm and the dark were eerie. Shadows lurked in the corners of her small log cabin, making it feel claustrophobic, no longer the refuge it had been the past three years.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shannon.”

The sound of her voice made her feel a little better. She was being silly. More for something to do than out of hunger, she took an oversize mug from the cupboard next to the sink and began to ladle soup into it.

A loud thump outside startled her. She paused to listen. A tree branch falling? When no other sound penetrated the howl of the storm, she went back to her soup.

Another loud bump made her heart rise to her throat. She stood absolutely still, head cocked, listening to the too-human sound of the wind groaning in the trees. Lightning illuminated the room like a strobe while thunder drowned out all other sounds. The silence that followed was broken by another skin-tingling groan. The door rattled as if something heavy had fallen against it.

Shannon put down the ladle, then opened a drawer and took out two large flashlights. Listening intently, she walked slowly to the front door. She wished it had a peephole. But then, without a porch light, she wouldn’t be able to see who it was anyway.

A flashlight in each hand, Shannon forced herself to be logical. It wasn’t likely that anyone was out there. The cabin was miles from her closest neighbor, even more miles from the main road. The few people who knew where she lived didn’t casually drop in on her. The noises that had spooked her were probably just those of a raccoon seeking shelter from the storm.

Still, she had to be smart here. This part of the Santa Cruz Mountains was remote enough to hide all kinds of criminal activity. It would be naive to ignore the facts. She turned on one of the flashlights.

Another crash against the door made her jump.

“Who is it?” Her voice sounded pathetically shaky.

“Open the door…need to…”

It was a man’s voice, and Shannon moved closer to the door. “Who’s out there? What do you want?”

Silence.

She held her breath. It was stupid to assume the man who’d answered her call had just gone away. The voice had been barely audible, but the plea had been clear. She’d have to be made of stone to ignore it.

Holding one flashlight over her head like a club, Shannon eased the door open slowly. She shone the other light on what looked like a large pile of wet rags on her front porch. The clump of fabric moved, the weak beam of the flashlight revealing a dark-haired man who lay on his side. His face was pale, his brows drawn together. His jaw was tight, as if he was gritting his teeth.

Keeping the light on him, Shannon moved onto the porch. “Are you all right? What happened to you?”

From the looks of him the man was far from all right. It was perhaps a silly question under the circumstances, but then, Shannon had never been in this situation before.

Using his left hand, he pushed himself to a sitting position. “Landslide,” he said, his voice as deep and dark as the night. He looked up at her with eyes the color of blue ice. Under several days’ growth of beard, his face was hard and drawn with pain. “Won’t hurt you…promise.”

Making what she suspected was a very foolish decision, Shannon set both flashlights on a table just inside the door, then reached down to help him up. He flinched when she touched his upper right arm.

Wondering if the flinch was involuntary or just a means of stalling, Shannon looked around cautiously. Was someone else out there? When lightning lit up the area around the cabin, all she saw were trees and her Jeep. No other vehicles.

“Are you alone?” Would he tell her if he wasn’t? Shannon thought dryly.

“Yeah.”

“How did you get here?”

He rose to one knee, bracing his hand on the wall for support. “Walked.”

“That must have been some walk.”

A gust of wind blew rain onto the porch, dampening her sweater and jeans. She really had no choice—she couldn’t leave the man out in the rain. Crouching on his left, she used both hands to help him stand. “Let’s get you inside before we both drown. We can discuss the hows and whys later.”

Her visitor leaned heavily on her as she guided him into the cabin. He was big, his body hard and muscular. His clothes were soaked through, and he was shivering. She led him to the couch. “Here, sit down in front of the fire.”

He slumped onto the couch. His eyes met hers for a second, then rolled back in his head as he passed out.

Shannon stared at her unconscious guest. Big and dark, he had a compelling face. Not exactly handsome, yet the kind of face that drew a woman’s attention, making her wonder if he was a saint or a sinner.

A cut at his hairline oozed blood, but a huge lump on his forehead drew her attention. Not wanting to hurt him, she touched it gingerly. No wonder he’d passed out. He probably had a concussion. Standing back, she saw that the rest of his body wasn’t in much better shape than his head.

His face and hands had several bruises and scratches. His black denim jeans were muddy and torn at the knees, as if he’d fallen. His jacket had a tear on the right arm. In short, he looked as if he’d gone through quite an ordeal.

Working as quickly and quietly as possible in the dim light, Shannon gathered the items she figured she’d need. With the help of one of the flashlights, she found the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. She brought the kit, towels and a washcloth back to the living room and set them on the coffee table. In the kitchen she filled the teapot with bottled water, placed it on the burner and turned on the flame. It heated quickly. Deciding she’d need more light, she took the kitchen lantern and set it next to the one on the coffee table.

She returned to the kitchen and poured the warmed water in a mixing bowl. When she picked up the bowl, the water sloshed over the side. With shaking hands, she set it down and took a deep breath.

Relax, Shannon, she ordered herself. He’s just a human being who needs your help. Nothing more, nothing less. He can’t hurt you in his condition.

The pep talk didn’t work. Not when she knew better. Some people had no qualms about hurting others. Even people who claimed to love you hurt you. It would be unwise to assume this man meant no harm just because he’d been injured. His incapacity was only temporary.

Hugging herself in an effort to steady her nerves, Shannon walked over to the couch and looked down at him. She tried to read who he was by his appearance, for it was all she had to go on right now. His dark hair, still glossy from the rain, fell over his broad forehead, reminding her of a little boy who refused to comb his hair. But one glance at his hard face told her he was no boy. He was a man, a stranger.

Who knew where he’d come from? Could he be one of the drug dealers who were rumored to live in the hills?

She had to laugh at herself. The man could just as easily be one of the many computer programmers who commuted over the hill to Silicon Valley every day. Or he could be one of the retro hippies who thought Santa Cruz was the land of peace and love. Yet she’d automatically assumed he was a criminal on the run. She’d been buried in the hills so long her imagination was having a field day.

Of course, that still didn’t explain what this man had been doing wandering around in a storm so far from civilization.

He moved, emitting a low moan as some ache made itself known. Shannon responded to his pain. What did it matter who he was? He was hurt. He needed care. Until the power and phones were restored, she was his only chance of survival. So until then, she would just have to do what had to be done.

Her resolve set, she went back to the kitchen to retrieve the bowl of warm water. His wounds would need to be cleaned. She checked to make sure she had everything, then knelt in front of the couch.

She saw him shiver and knew his clothes would have to come off. Because of the way he’d reacted when she’d touched his arm, she decided to start from the bottom and work up. If he had a concussion, she knew she’d have to wake him soon, but she preferred he stay unconscious for the better part of her ministrations.

With hands held steady by determination, Shannon untied his shoes. She tugged off his muddy boots and set them aside. The dirty wet socks stuck stubbornly to his icy skin, but eventually gave in. She dunked a washcloth in the warm water and washed the dirt off his feet. His toes were long, the nails neatly trimmed. The sight of them eased some of her fears. She couldn’t imagine a drug dealer or murderer taking such care with his personal hygiene.

She gazed at the man dripping rainwater and mud on her sofa and wondered what act of recklessness had sent him out in a storm. An anger that felt way too familiar rose inside her. Sometimes she wondered if there was a man in the world who had the common sense to use the brains God gave him. They all thought they were invincible.

“And it’s left to us women to pick up the pieces.”

No response came from the unconscious stranger.

She leaned over to undo his belt. The jeans had to come off. Shannon pulled and tugged at them, but the muddy material clung to the man’s muscular thighs. She fought with the stubborn denim, struggling inch by inch to push it down his legs. “Come on, big guy, help me out here.”

Finally victorious, she tossed the jeans aside, then turned back. The sight of his white briefs made nearly transparent from the damp, had her drawing a sharp breath.

She’d been with one man in her life. She’d only seen one man naked in her life. She averted her gaze, feeling as if she’d invaded the man’s privacy.

He shivered violently, and Shannon realized her shyness was not only immature, but possibly dangerous to the man’s health. What did privacy matter to a person who was injured and cold?

Feeling a little unnerved anyway, she stripped off the briefs. She kept her gaze on his face as she draped a bath towel over his hips.

Glad to have the task completed, Shannon took a few minutes to wash the dirt and blood off his long muscular legs. She treated and bandaged the cuts on his knees, wishing there was something she could do to ease the painful-looking bruises, too. The more she saw of him, the more she realized what an ordeal he must have been through.

She moved up to sit beside him. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to see how his arm was under the jacket. She started on his left side, moving the sleeve down his arm slowly. In spite of her care, he moaned. He pushed weakly at her, trying to fight her off.

“Don’t! Leave me alone!” His eyes remained closed. He seemed to be in the middle of a nightmare. “Have to find Brandon. Have to find Brandon.”

“I don’t know who Brandon is, big guy, but you’re not going anywhere.”

His eyes opened suddenly, pale blue and feverish in his dark face. “Who are you?”

She smiled, relieved he was awake. “Shannon. How about you?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “What am I doing here?” He sat up gingerly. “Where are my pants?” He tried to stand, causing the towel to drop to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. He swayed and dropped back onto the couch, clutching his head with his good arm. “God, my head hurts like hell.”

Cheeks flushed, Shannon replaced the towel, then took an instant-ice pack out of the first-aid kit and handed it to him. “Here, hold this on that bump. It looks like you took quite a knock. It’s possible you have a concussion.”

The man did as he was told, evidently realizing he wasn’t in any shape to argue. “There was a landslide. The last thing I remember was a rock or something hitting me in the head.” He took the ice off his head and looked at her. “How’d I get here?”

Shannon reached over and guided the hand with the pack back to his head. “Keep that there.” His big hand was warm, but not feverish. Feeling a little tingle from the contact, she drew her fingers from his. “I have no idea how you got here. I found you collapsed on my porch not long after the electricity went out.”

He nodded, winced, then laid his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

Shannon could see he was hurting, but she didn’t want him falling asleep again. She knew the first twenty-four hours in a concussion were crucial. She had to keep him talking. What’s more, she had to find out who he was. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” His voice slurred. “What’s my name?”

He sounded as if he was about to doze off. “You said something about a landslide?” she asked.

She heard the trace of suspicion in her own voice. Caleb opened his eyes, and she realized he’d heard it, too. “The ground started to shake,” he told her. “I looked up and it seemed like the whole mountain was coming down on me. I tried to run for cover. The next thing I knew, I was hit and everything went black.”

“Do you know how long you were out?”

He looked at his watch, and she saw that the crystal was cracked. The time had stopped at three o’clock.

“What time is it now?” he asked.

“About seven.” Four hours, she thought, a long time to be wandering around in a storm. “Do you know how far you walked?”

Caleb tried to come up with an answer to her question, but cold seemed to seep through to his bones, making him shiver. He dropped the ice pack and wrapped his arms around his chest, but the dampness of his shirt and jacket only made his trembling worse.

Shannon placed the ice pack on the coffee table. “We’ll figure it out later. We’ve got to get the rest of your wet clothes off.”

Caleb looked at her. She was a beautiful woman. Tall, with feminine curves, tawny-gold hair and skin like satin. Her eyes were shadowed, full of secrets, the color indistinguishable in the flickering light. He’d certainly never expected to find an angel in the midst of hell, but it appeared that was exactly what he’d done. If circumstances had been different, he would have enjoyed hanging around for a while.

But his partner was out there in the storm. A vicious drug dealer was after them both. He couldn’t forgive himself if he led trouble here, to the home of an innocent woman.

If she was innocent…He gathered the towel around his hips and rose slowly. How did he know he could trust her? What if the Driscoes and Larkin showed up? Would she just turn him over? His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Just because she’d taken in a stray didn’t mean she wouldn’t cave in to pressure, endangering both him and his partner. He had to get out of here. “Do you have a phone I can use?”

Shannon stood beside him. “Phone lines are down, along with the power.”

Caleb’s head started to swim. “You don’t understand. I have to make a call.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not possible right now.”

He tried to listen to what she was saying, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. He swayed, then felt strong arms go around him.

“Hang on, big guy.”

Her voice was gentle, kind, with a touch of humor. He did what she said and hung on. And found a gentleness he’d never known. He wanted to sink into the softness, to savor it.

Her arms tightened. “Don’t pass out yet,” she commanded sternly. “We have to get you to the bed.”

Caleb’s woozy mind thought bed sounded like a great idea. He imagined cool sheets and a tawny-haired woman lying beside him as he explored her luscious curves. He felt a stirring in his loins, then realized he’d dropped his covering. “The towel.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said matter-of-factly, guiding him along. “You’ll be under the blankets in no time.”

They entered a dimly lit room.

“Come on, just a few more feet.”

A few more feet. It felt like a mile.

“Okay, sit.”

She pushed him back gently until he felt a mattress give beneath him. The quilts had been drawn back, and the sheets felt cool against his skin. He started to shiver again. He grabbed at the blankets and tried to lie down.

Shannon held him up. “Oh, no, you don’t. We need to get your jacket off and your shirt, too.”

She tugged at his jacket. At her urging, he moved his arm out of the sleeve. She slid off the right sleeve, sending fire through his arm. He gasped involuntarily.

“Sorry. I’ll take care of that as soon as we take off the shirt.”

Caleb tried to tell her he understood, but when he looked at her bending over him, her lovely face intent, her hair spilling around her shoulders like golden silk, he couldn’t form the words.

He reached out to touch a skein of her hair. It felt like the finest silk. “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice sounded as though it came from the other end of a tunnel.

She frowned a little. “We really have to take care of that arm. So help me take off this shirt of yours, okay?”

He suddenly felt very tired. “Okay, then can I go to sleep?”

“For a little while,” she said in a serious voice.

With her help, he took off his long-sleeved knit shirt. Then he lay on his left side, his head against the cool pillows. He felt her draw a blanket over him.

“I’m going to get the first-aid kit.”

Caleb closed his eyes against the pounding in his head. “I’ll wait here, all right?”

“All right, big guy.”

He liked the way she said “big guy” and wondered if hearing her say his name would sound as sweet. “Caleb,” he said as a black hole started to swallow him. “My name is Caleb.”

“All right, Caleb.”

A half smile revealed a dimple in his right cheek. Shannon watched him sleep for a few minutes. Maybe he wasn’t as hard as he looked.

Or felt.

But the last thought was quickly quashed. She turned and left the room. A sensible woman didn’t think such thoughts about an injured stranger who landed on her doorstep. Even if the stranger was lying naked in her bed.

Especially because he was lying naked in her bed.

If being with Tony had taught her nothing else, it had taught her that she was better off being sensible. The roller coaster of their life together had left her at the bottom, hurt and disoriented. She had no intention of getting on that ride again. Its effects were devastating.

Retrieving the first-aid kit from the living room, Shannon returned to find Caleb dozing against the pillows. The quilt had fallen down around his waist, revealing his bare chest. Shannon’s breath caught. Broad, tanned, with a black mat of hair, his chest revealed that he was indeed a big strong man. A spurt of longing went through her, in spite of her earlier resolve to be sensible. He looked solid, down-to-earth, the kind of man who would walk through hell to protect a woman, the kind to hold that woman forever.

She turned away abruptly. She had no right to be looking at the man as anything other than someone hurt and in need. Just because she hadn’t had much human contact since she’d lost Tony didn’t mean she should turn this man into a romantic fantasy, even if he was tall, dark, dangerously attractive and mysterious as the night.

Shannon walked back to the foot of the bed. He’s a stranger, she reminded herself deliberately. Once the storm was over, he would go back to his own life, leaving her to her solitude. That was the way she wanted it, and that was how it would be.

Caleb opened his eyes and smiled wryly. “I can’t seem to stay awake.”

Hardening her heart against his vulnerability, Shannon moved around the bed to his right side and set the first-aid kit down on the quilt. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she said stiffly. “It’s only natural your body should want to rest and recover.” God, she thought, I sound like some frightened schoolmarm. The man could barely stay awake. What did she think he was going to do to her?

Caleb’s eyelids drifted shut again.

Shannon frowned, worried a little about his sleepiness. She’d done enough research on the subject of concussion to know she mustn’t let him sleep long.

His eyes opened suddenly. “What ordeal?”

Shannon raised a brow. His question had bordered on suspicious, which seemed a strange reaction. “You mentioned a landslide. Don’t you remember it?”

He gazed at her for a moment as if trying to read her mind. “It all happened so fast.”

His answer unsettled her a little. It sounded like the truth, yet she sensed something more was going on. She thought about questioning him, then decided against it. The man had been banged around so much he probably didn’t have any idea what he was saying. Besides, it didn’t really matter to her, anyway.

She turned her attention to his arm. “I’m going to clean this and put some antibiotic ointment on it. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Caleb nodded. “Do what you have to. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. A woman alone, you could have left me out on the doorstep.”

“Well, it did cross my mind,” she admitted, venturing a smile.

She looked at the deep red groove on his upper arm. Suddenly she didn’t feel like smiling.

What had she done? What kind of man had she taken into her home? Only one thing could have made a wound like that.

A bullet.

She stepped back from the bed. “Who are you?”

His light-blue eyes showed bewilderment. “What’s wrong?”

Shannon glared at him. “You didn’t receive that cut in any landslide. That wound came from a gun. Someone shot at you and grazed your arm. Now, I want to know who you are and what you’re doing in these hills.”




Chapter Three


The fact that Shannon was more angry than afraid intrigued Caleb. A woman alone in a remote cabin, a wounded stranger collapses on her doorstep. Turns out he’s been shot. It would be only natural for her to feel fear at her discovery. But the angry flush on Shannon’s cheeks showed nothing of the kind. He wondered why.

Hands on hips, Shannon glared at him. “I’d like an answer, Caleb, or whatever your name is.”

She was really something. It took guts to question a stranger when there was a very real possibility he could be dangerous. Because of that, his first instinct was to reassure her. His second told him that reassuring her couldn’t be his first priority. She might be gutsy and gorgeous, but she was still an unknown quantity.

“Well?” she said impatiently.

Time for some fast thinking. He’d already made the mistake of giving her his first name, but that didn’t mean he had to tell her the last, or his reason for showing up on her doorstep bloody and torn, beyond the landslide.

He’d learned in his undercover work that the key to successfully hiding your identity was to keep as close to the truth as possible. “My name is Caleb Joseph,” he said, using his middle name. “A friend and I were visiting a cabin up here.”

“In the middle of one of the worst winters this area has known?”

He shrugged off her suspicion. “We didn’t know the hillside was going to fall down on us.”

“I can imagine,” she said dryly. “So what were you doing up here?” She glanced at his arm. “Hunting?”

The horror that filled her gaze brought an immediately denial. “Of course not!”

He realized his mistake just as her eyes narrowed.

“Dammit, I should have known. You’re a cop, aren’t you?” The conclusion seemed to raise her ire even more.

He regarded her with genuine surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“The lack of detailed information in your answer. And the fact that you have a bullet wound, yet you weren’t hunting. Either you’re a cop or you’re a criminal.”

Good deduction, he thought. Convincing his hostess that she had nothing to fear without revealing his identity was going to be harder than he thought. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but the gunshot wound was the result of a ricochet, just some guys doing target practice.” He thought it better not to mention that he was the target. “And I work in computers.” Everything he’d said was the truth, as far as it went.

She still looked skeptical. Time to try a different tack. “I have to say I’m a little surprised by your earlier reaction. Most people would be thrilled to find out they had a cop collapse on their doorstep, rather than some criminal on the run.”

“I’m not most people,” she snapped. “One was enough.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And you are not some dweeb from Silicon Valley, so cut the bull.”

“A man can work in the computer industry and not be a dweeb,” he countered, doing his best to sound offended.

He didn’t know what to make of the bitterness that edged her voice, and his head ached from trying. He closed his eyes and reached up his good hand to try to rub away the pain. The logical answer was that she’d had a run-in with the cops. Which put her on the other side of the law. But Caleb couldn’t see this beautiful caring woman as a criminal. Petty or otherwise. Damn, he wished he didn’t have such a headache. It made it hard to think clearly.

He opened his eyes. “How did you know a bullet made the mark on my arm?”

“Personal experience,” she said stiffly.

“Really?” Disbelief colored his voice. His instincts told him she was as innocent as she looked. “Were you the grazer or the grazee?”

“Neither.”

This time Caleb recognized a hint of pain behind the anger. Whoever had been injured was someone she’d cared about. Her father? Brother? Husband?

“Then who?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She moved to the bed and picked up a sterile pad. “We need to finish this.” She started swabbing at his wound.

The antiseptic stung, and he flinched.

“Sorry.” She continued more gently.

Once it was clean, she slathered on the ointment, then covered the wound with a new piece of gauze, fixing it to his arm with white tape. Her hands were gentle and competent as she wound the bandage around his arm. Her silky hair brushed his bare shoulder. She smelled of rain and wood smoke. Scents he would never have considered erotic until now.

Knowing his turn of thought was completely inappropriate, he stared straight ahead and tried to concentrate on the natural weaving that hung on the opposite wall. It was fashioned of driftwood and pinecones and thick earth-toned yarn. He liked it. But even as he studied the unusual work of art, he couldn’t ignore the fact that if he turned his head another inch, he could taste Shannon’s full wide mouth.

He felt his body warm at the thought and knew he should do something, anything, to dampen the burgeoning spark. Women like Shannon had a way of complicating things. They made a man want to solve every problem, explore every secret. And then they left you wanting. He didn’t need that kind of complication. His best bet was to stay as far away from her as possible.

Seconds later Shannon finished her task. Without saying a word she picked up the first-aid kit and turned to leave the room.

“Shannon?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to worry.” He smiled. “I really am harmless.”

She gazed at him for several seconds. “A harmless computer guy who just happened to be visiting in the area,” she said sweetly, “and just happened to get himself shot and just happened to get caught in a landslide?”

He had to admit the woman would have made a great interrogator. A less-experienced cop might have been ready to confess here and now. And so would he. Later. When he was sure she was out of harm’s way.

For now he just smiled wryly. “What can I say? I’m a klutz.”

Her own smile was grim. “Well, try not to fall out of bed, all right?” Then she left the room.

Against his will Caleb waited for her to come back. Impatient with himself, impatient for her presence, he found himself a victim of the very complication he’d dreaded.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why she was so bitter. He wanted to soothe away the hurt. He wasn’t the only one with something to hide. There were secrets behind her anger and pain. What man had hurt her so badly?

He caught himself again, pulled himself back. She doesn’t need or want you, buddy. So put away the sword and shield. The woman might be a damsel in distress, but she’s obviously determined to fight her own battles. And you have your own problems.

Brandon. His partner and best friend could even now be lying under tons of rock and mud. Had he escaped, only to run smack into Jim Driscoe? Or even worse, that weasel Larkin? Caleb shifted on the bed. His body screamed in protest.

He lay still until the din eased. Once he was able to relax a little, he had to laugh at himself. Who was he to be thinking about slaying dragons?

Hell, his own dragon had nearly devoured him. A months-long undercover investigation had blown up in his face. A landslide had come close to burying him forever. He had a concussion that kept his head banging constantly, and he was stuck in the middle of nowhere while his partner was out there alone. He had enough to worry about without dragging out the armor and steed to go jousting with the demons of a woman who’d just as soon toss him out in the rain.

SHANNON PUT AWAY the first-aid supplies and tried not to think about the man who lay on her bed. No stranger had ever affected her so thoroughly. Her fingers still tingled from touching the firm strength of his arms. Those weren’t the muscles of a man who spent his life in a high-tech firm.

She saw the soup waiting for her, but her appetite had fled. She poured the cooled soup back into the pot and put the mug in the sink, along with a few dishes from earlier. Washing them would give her something to do. She turned on the faucet, but no water came out. Duh, Shannon, she thought. No power, no pump.

She looked over at the computer that had been her lifeline. If she had electricity, she could work. As a syndicated advice columnist, she always had work to be done, letters to be answered, subjects that needed researching. Dealing with the problems of the faceless readers who wrote to her for advice was much easier than dealing with her own.

She rubbed her arms, feeling out of sorts. Having a man in the house was not doing her nerves any good. Especially when she suspected he was lying about his identity. Which made her physical reaction to him all the more frustrating. She wished she could take a long walk to work off her restlessness, but the deluge outside would likely drown her.

Letting out a long sigh, she opened the old trunk where she kept extra blankets and took out a pile. She covered the couch, still damp and dirty thanks to her unexpected guest. Sitting, she stared at the fire in the hearth and wished with all her might that the storm would end, the power would come on, the phones would work, and her guest would go home.

But even as she wished, she knew it was futile. She’d seen storms like this before. By now the stream at the foot of her property would have flooded the road. Even if she could get safely through it with her four-wheel-drive, that didn’t guarantee passage on other area roads. Caleb’s landslide probably wouldn’t be the only one.

The thought of spending several days with this handsome stranger, who suddenly didn’t feel like such a stranger, unnerved her. She hadn’t lived with another person for three years, and she’d come to like it that way. No disagreements, no fights, no dispute over what to have for dinner, what to watch on TV, when to get a new car.

No love, a little voice added.

What did love have to do with it? she scoffed. Love was useless. Love promised everything, but in the end it left you with nothing. She didn’t need love anymore. She needed her work and she needed her solitude. And thanks to this storm, she had neither.

She crossed to the fireplace and added a couple of logs. What she had was a perfectly normal female reaction to a big handsome male. Hormones. If he wasn’t here, she’d be sitting by the fire, wrapped in an afghan, enjoying the sound of the rain.

Alone.

The last time she’d visited Santa Cruz, she’d bought several books she looked forward to reading. What better time to do that than when you were stuck inside on a rainy night?

Alone.

Shannon closed the screen and went back to the couch. In spite of the glowing heat, she felt chilled. She grabbed the afghan off the back of the sofa and draped it over her shoulders. Still she shivered. Damn him for showing up on her doorstep and disrupting her quiet peaceful evening.

She did not want him here. She didn’t need the warmth that radiated from him. She didn’t need his problems.

She didn’t care how many times he told her he worked in computers. She had a hard time believing it. But she couldn’t come up with a reason he’d lie about his identity, either.

Well, liar or not, she didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of him. Tending his wounds had brought back her experience with Tony as vividly as if it were yesterday. She did not want to patch up another man just to have him turn around and get shot again. She’d barely survived the first time.

“Shannon?”

She jerked around and saw Caleb leaning against the back of the couch. He’d wrapped the quilt around himself, and his face was pale from exertion.

All thoughts of the past faded. She jumped up and went to him. “For heaven’s sake, what are you—Never mind. Come and sit down before you fall down.”

She put her arm around his wide back and guided him to the couch. It seemed incongruous that she should be helping a man who made her feel tiny and vulnerable. Yet when she looked at his mouth, pinched with pain he’d probably scoff at, she couldn’t help feeling protective.

As he sat on the couch, the quilt slipped from around his shoulders, reminding her that he wore nothing underneath. Not that she’d really forgotten. That would have been as hard as ignoring the fact that he was a man. A dangerously attractive man, with a dimple charming enough to make the hardest woman melt at his feet.

“You must be cold,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and cover himself.

He looked up at her. “I’m fine.”

His blue gaze met hers. His eyes were quite beautiful, she thought involuntarily. Clear and shiny, like the sky reflected in a raindrop. They seemed to see inside her, sense things Shannon didn’t want to share.

She looked away. He was much too compelling. She’d told herself her reaction had nothing to do with him, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. Taking him into her home, she’d probably saved his life. It didn’t matter that he was a stranger, and a lying one at that. She still didn’t want to pick up the newspaper next week or next month and see an article reporting the death of Caleb Joseph in some freak accident. Thinking of those beautiful blue eyes cold and lifeless hurt her heart in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d lost Tony.

Not liking the path her mind had taken, Shannon searched for an out and found it. “I put some chicken soup on the stove earlier. I’m sure it’s been hours since you’ve eaten.”

Caleb shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. If you’ll give me my clothes, I’ll get out of your hair.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. The concussion had obviously scrambled his brain. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept my hospitality for a while longer.” She walked over to the stove and turned on the burner.

“Shannon, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your taking me in and taking care of me, but I have to check on my friend. He got caught in the landslide, too. I really need to borrow your Jeep.”

“It won’t do any good,” Shannon told him patiently as she stirred the soup. He really sounded worried. Her heart went out to him.

And that has to stop right now, she ordered herself. You’re better off treating him like one of your readers. A stranger looking for expert advice. Though she’d never felt less like an expert.

“It’s a four-wheel drive,” he persisted. “Surely it’ll be able to negotiate a little flooding.”

Lightning flashed, followed immediately by thunder so loud it rattled the windows. Shannon turned on him, hands on hips. “Are you paying attention at all? The Santa Cruz Mountains don’t know what ‘a little flooding’ means. It’s been raining off and on for weeks. Power lines are down. The hills are saturated. The landslide that almost buried you wasn’t the first this winter and it won’t be the last. Until the rain stops, you’re just going to have to stay put.”

She swung back to the stove. This was really something, having to convince the man to stay when she didn’t want him here in the first place!

The soup started to simmer. She picked up the wooden spoon and stirred it. “Besides, your right arm is injured. How do you propose to drive a stick shift?” Realizing that might sound like a challenge, Shannon hurried on, “But if you’re really set on leaving, I guess I could drive you.”

“Absolutely not!”

Shannon turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s no way in hell I’d let you drive in this kind of weather. The roads are far too dangerous and—” Caleb stopped abruptly. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Shannon shrugged and picked up a soup mug and ladle. Reverse psychology. Tony had used it on her so often that she’d picked up the trick herself. She filled the mug, then found a spoon and returned to the couch.

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. She could almost hear the wheels turning. She held the mug out to him. “Go ahead. You won’t lose any macho points by eating a little soup.”

He took it. “This isn’t macho posturing. There are people out there who are counting on me.”

“Counting on you to what? Fix their computers?” she asked innocently. “Since there’s no electricity for miles, I bet they can wait.” She took her own mug and crossed to the rocking chair next to the fireplace. “Besides, you’re not going to be much help to those people if you’re dead. Driving around in the rain with a concussion is not conducive to good health.” An understatement to be sure, and the reason she refused to tell him about Tony’s automatic four-wheel-drive pickup truck sitting in her garage. He might be capable of driving it, but that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t end up in a ditch. “When the weather calms down a little, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. For now you’re stuck, so you might as well enjoy your soup.”

Obediently Caleb ate a spoonful. He couldn’t argue with her logic, but it wasn’t going to be easy waiting around until he could safely leave. Well, one thing he could be grateful for: If he couldn’t get out, then no one could get in. Which meant he didn’t have to worry about one of the Driscoes showing up looking for him.

He glanced over at Shannon. With the light behind her, her face was cast in shadows. He suspected she preferred it that way. Secrets and shadows.

“So who was the man who made you bury yourself in the wilds of the Santa Cruz Mountains?”

Shannon started at his deliberately abrupt question. “How do you know I’m not just staying here for a vacation?”

He glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings with a trained eye. “Bookshelves filled with books. Curtains on the windows. Furniture old but well cared for. Art on the walls. Way too homey to be only a temporary retreat. Besides, even the most dedicated techie doesn’t travel around with all that state-of-the-art equipment.” He gestured toward her computer. “I should know,” he added. Even if she did suspect the lie, she couldn’t be sure of the truth. It was safer that way. “So why don’t you tell me about—”

“It’s really none of your business,” she said coolly.

And he might have let it go if he hadn’t seen the flash of pain that crossed her face. “Well, the storm outside isn’t letting up. And until it does, as you pointed out, you’re stuck with me. We can’t just sit and stare at each other.”

“I’m sure we can come up with lots of subjects to discuss.”

Yes, he thought, but none of them interested him as much as learning about the man who’d been idiotic enough to hurt this lovely woman. “He must have meant a lot to you.”

She took a sip from her mug, then placed it carefully on the side table. “I really don’t want to talk about this, Caleb, so—”

“You might not want to,” he interrupted, “but you need to.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “So now you’re a psychologist?”

The sarcasm didn’t bother him. It meant he’d gotten to her. He didn’t know why this was so important, but it was. “You can be as rude as you like. It doesn’t change the fact that you could use a sympathetic ear. And I need something to keep my mind off my friend.”

Shannon searched his expression, looking for signs of manipulation. What she found was genuine concern. “Tony Garrett,” she supplied, still a little reluctant. “He was my husband.”

“Was?”

His expression was interested, not avidly curious. He wasn’t looking for a sensational story. He was offering an ear.

Needing to move, she got to her feet and walked over to put her mug in the sink.

For days after Tony’s death his fellow officers had dropped by. They’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, too. But she’d gotten the feeling that they needed to talk about Tony, to reassure themselves that the same thing wouldn’t happen to them. When she’d tried to express her own frustration, they’d turned off. They didn’t want to hear what their wives and girlfriends felt when their loved ones put their lives on the line time and time again.

She walked back into the living area. Caleb had set his empty mug on the coffee table. “Can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head. “Come sit down.”

She sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. Two seat cushions separated them. It wasn’t enough. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. His arms were tanned and muscular, their strength undiminished by the cuts and bruises that marred the flesh. Her fingers tingled as if remembering the texture of his skin.

She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from reaching out. What the heck had gotten into her? Had she lived within her self-imposed seclusion so long that she was ready to throw herself at any man who came along?

“Shannon? Are you all right? I’m sorry I pressed you. If it’s still too painful to talk about your husband…”

She looked at Caleb, saw the concern on his handsome face and knew that he was not just “any man.”

“I’m fine.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I was just thinking.” About him, not about Tony, as Caleb must have thought.

The twinge of guilt that followed loosened her tongue. “Tony was a police officer in San José. He was killed three years ago in the line of duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

The simple words eased the lump in her throat. Her friend Zoe had often told her she’d feel better if she talked about it, but she’d never been able to discuss Tony with anyone, even her best friend. Was that why she’d suddenly decided to talk? Or was it just a cover-up for her inappropriate feelings?

“Don’t stop now.” Caleb touched her hand.

The resulting tremor rocked her to her toes.

She pulled her hand back, looked away. Oh, no, she could not have this. He was a lost soul, just passing through. And she? She was even more lost than he was. No matter how her senses reacted to him, physical attraction did not equal a relationship. And even if it did, a relationship was the last thing she wanted.

“Shannon?” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

And because telling Tony’s story suddenly seemed easier than dealing with her own feelings, she did.

“It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. Tony was very brave and capable. But his sense of responsibility for his fellow officers…” She gazed into the fire, remembering. “He was always first—the first to arrive, the first to volunteer.”

“The first to be wounded?”

She nodded. “I can’t count the times I had to go to the emergency room to pick him up.” Gashes, knife wounds, bullets. “Time after time, I’d tend Tony’s wounds. Time after time, he’d go back to the job.” Eagerly, happily, as soon as he could, she remembered bitterly. “Being a police officer was his life.”

“And in the end it was his death,” Caleb said quietly.

Shannon nodded.

“I don’t mean to be judgmental, but it sounds like he was reckless.”

She half laughed, feeling no humor. “Men are. Haven’t you noticed?”




Chapter Four


Caleb wanted to dispute it. He’d gotten his share of injuries, but he’d never rushed into the situations that had led to them. He’d gotten a reputation for knowing when to go and when to stay. It had saved his butt. It had saved his partners’ butts. But after the way he’d landed on her doorstep, why should Shannon believe him?

Besides, now that he’d started the lie, he had to stay with it. For his, and her, own good.

He looked over at her. She sat staring into the fire. Light danced on her face and shot red highlights through her tawny hair. He still couldn’t discern the color of her eyes, but he knew they didn’t see the fire that set her smooth skin aglow. No, her eyes were focused on the past. On a man who had made police work his life.

He tried to understand Officer Tony Garrett. It should have been easy. Caleb had been a dedicated officer of the law since he’d graduated from the Police Academy at the age of twenty-two. Twelve years later he looked back on a decorated career he was proud of. But he hadn’t had a loving wife waiting for him at home.

Shannon was a beautiful intelligent woman. Tony Garrett had been lucky to find her. How could the man keep putting himself in situations where in seconds he could lose everything?

Yet, knowing the kind of vicious criminals that plagued the world, Caleb thought a second later, how could he not? A real man, a real cop, couldn’t go home to his family knowing he hadn’t given his all to rid the streets of crime. It might be hard for the widow of a dead cop to understand, but…

Wanting very much to ease her pain, he reached out and touched her hand again.

She jumped as if she’d been burned, then got up to place another log on the fire.

“I hope you don’t regret telling me about your husband,” he said.

She shook her head and prodded the new log with the poker. “I moved here a couple of months after Tony died. Most of my communication is done over the computer or the telephone. I haven’t talked to anyone about Tony in years.”

Her delivery was so stoic that Caleb felt an urge to give her a shake. “I understand that becoming a widow at such a young age must have been hard on you, but don’t you think three years is long enough to live as a recluse?”

She turned on him, poker still in hand. “You know nothing about me or why I choose to live the way I live, so keep your opinions to yourself.”

Caleb immediately apologized. “You’re right. Our acquaintance is too short for me to make such a judgment,” he said formally. But he couldn’t help thinking that he had hit a raw nerve. Was it possible the ice Shannon had encased herself in was thawing? It seemed to him that her fiery reply could only mean one thing. Shannon Garrett was returning to the land of the living—and fighting it every step of the way.

She returned the poker to its rack. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed. I’ve been working since six this morning. Since I’ll be sleeping on the couch, you’ll have to go back to the bedroom.”

The coldness of her request caused an equal and opposite reaction in Caleb’s lower regions. He looked at Shannon, who stood stiffly, her head tossed back as if ready for a fight.

“I know it’s still fairly early,” she added. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Caleb bit back a laugh. The words may have been polite, but the tone told him she didn’t give a damn whether he minded or not. How could a once-married woman not realize what a challenge a haughty woman presented to a man?

As much as he wanted to stay in the same room with her, if she kept looking at him like a prickly princess, with him in his weakened condition, he didn’t know if he could trust himself to keep from kissing the frown off her face. He wrapped the quilt around himself and stood. “It doesn’t seem fair for you to sleep on the damp couch.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Not sleeping on a damp couch,” he insisted. “Look, I could sleep on the floor. Or we could share the bed.”

The look she gave him could have felled a tree. “I don’t think so.”

The line of her thought came through loud and clear, irritating the hell out of him. “I’m not in any shape to attack you.”

“Go to bed, Caleb.”

Since nothing he said seemed to convince her, he decided to give in gracefully. “Good night, Shannon, and thanks again.”

He took a step. His bad ankle gave out on him and he lost his balance.

“Watch out!” Shannon exclaimed, moving to catch him.

His hand caught hers, and they both went down on the floor in a tangle. Though the patterned area rug cushioned the fall to some extent, pain rocketed through him.

“Caleb! Are you all right?”

Registering the concern in her voice, Caleb opened his eyes and looked straight into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. They reminded him of a forest at sunset, when the trees cast dark-green shadows and the sun dappled the forest floor with gold. He gazed into them, knowing if he looked long enough, he could uncover the secrets hidden in their mysterious depths.

“Caleb? Did you hurt yourself?” Shannon ran her hands along his bare torso, skimming over his chest and his ribs, as if looking for injury.

The touch of her hands on his body caused sensations he knew a man in his condition shouldn’t be feeling. He took a deep breath, trying to slow the hot blood that raced through his veins.

It didn’t work.

The quilt had been torn away when he fell, and the soft denim of her jeans rubbed against his lower body, causing an erotic friction that lit a fire in his loins. A man would have to be made of stone to ignore the luscious curves pressed against him, the warm breath mixing with his, the lush lips close enough to kiss.

“Would you please say something?” she prodded.

The exasperated plea got his attention. He smiled wryly. “You’re going to have to get off me,” he said, though he’d never wanted anything less in his life.

She flushed, then pushed herself up till she stood above him. Her eyes widened and she swung around so her back was to him. “I thought you were in shock,” she accused.

He was, he thought. In shock because he wanted a woman—one he hadn’t known even existed until a couple of hours ago—so much that he’d forgotten his injuries and his circumstances. He suspected Shannon Garrett could make him forget his own name.

“Caleb? Did you want some help up or should I just make you a bed on the floor?”

Caleb grabbed the quilt and wrapped it around his hips, wondering what she’d do if he took her up on her somewhat provocative offer. With regret he held out his hand. “You can turn around now.”

She pulled him up but wouldn’t quite look at him. “I think I can scare up some sweats that might fit you.” She turned and walked to the bedroom.

He followed at a slower speed, favoring his left ankle. Entering the room, he found Shannon bent over, digging through the bottom drawer of a large oak dresser, presenting him with the sight of her denim-clad, nicely rounded backside. He groaned inwardly.

She stood up and turned to face him before he could hide his expression. She shot a glare at him that should have disintegrated him on the spot and tossed a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt onto the bed. “Here, these should fit you.”

The worn but clean outfit boasted a San José State logo and certainly looked big enough for him. But he didn’t really like the idea of dressing in another man’s clothes. She’d already tarred him with the same brush as her reckless husband. The fact that she still had the clothes three years later surprised him.

He looked at her and saw she’d been studying him.

“Those aren’t Tony’s,” she said quietly. “They belonged to my father. He was a professor at San José State for thirty-five years. He and my mother retired to Northern California last year.”

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not by the information. On the one hand he was glad they hadn’t belonged to her husband. But if they had, and she’d offered them, then it would have shown she was ready to move on with her life.

Whoa! Stop right there, he ordered himself. What difference did it make to him if a woman he hardly knew got over her dead husband? As soon as he could, he was out of here. He had to find Brandon and make sure the Driscoe operation was shut down.

“I’ll let you get changed. Good night,” Shannon said, turning to leave.

He caught her arm as she passed. “Wait.”

Despite her thick sweater, Caleb felt the heat of her body and smelled the subtle fragrance of her skin. There was something about this woman that called to him. Something that made her achingly familiar, instead of the stranger she was.

A gust of wind sent rain clattering against the windows.

Shannon’s gaze skittered away from his, focusing on the dark square framing the black night. “Storm’s picking up again.”

She could say that again, he thought wryly. “Shannon.”

Eyes shadowed by thick dark lashes gazed warily up at his face. “Is there something else you need?”

You. The answer was so definite in his mind it shocked him. How could that be, when he barely knew her? How could he need a stranger?

He looked at her face, so beautiful, so wary, so unwilling to trust. And who could blame her? He might not have the same reckless bent as her husband, but he did have a job to do. The Driscoe brothers had been showering cocaine on the local kids like it was snow. They were vicious dangerous criminals. And he wasn’t going to stop until they were in prison.

“Caleb? Are you all right? Is your head hurting again?”

“A little,” Caleb said, though the pounding seemed relentless. She’d done enough for him. “Nothing that a bit of sleep won’t cure.”

“I’ll just get some things, then you can go to bed. But only for a while. If you do have a concussion—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. He really had to get her out of there. “I’ve had concussions before. This was just a little knock on the head.”

She didn’t look convinced. She walked over to the closet and grabbed a nightgown and robe off a hook. Then she paused at the door. “Well, good night, then.” Her voice was a little husky. She cleared her throat. “I put a jug of water in the bathroom, since the pump’s not working right now. You’ll find towels in the cabinet over the toilet and a new toothbrush in the one over the sink. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” he told her. “Good night.”

He waited until she left the room, then sat down on the bed, feeling every ache and pain…unable to deny that the biggest ache was for Shannon.

It was going to be a long night.

THE CLOCK CHIMED twelve times. Lying on the couch, Shannon counted every one. Just as she’d done at nine, ten and eleven. She twisted to lie on her side, facing the fireplace. Behind the screen, the flames licked at the log she’d added thirty minutes before. She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, but she couldn’t get her guest out of her mind.

She told herself she was foolish. He was a stranger. She knew nothing about him, except what he’d told her. Lies. She was sure of it, though she couldn’t figure out why he’d thought lying was necessary. What could a man like Caleb have to hide?

Hurt, bleeding, in pain, he’d trudged through a landslide and a rainstorm to land on her doorstep. Bandaged, yet still in pain, he’d insisted on leaving. To find his friend, he’d said. Because he’d had no choice but to stay, he’d settled down to lend her a sympathetic ear.

Shannon thought about Caleb’s concern for his friend. More than once during the evening he’d looked out the window at the unceasing rain, his frustration apparent. She felt bad about having to refuse him transportation. And she didn’t like the idea of leaving some poor man out there exposed to the elements. She prayed he’d found refuge like Caleb.

Caleb. What was it about him that drew her to him? Not just his looks, although those were exceptional. Not just his touch, although her skin had tingled when he’d touched her and her breasts had ached when they’d been pressed against his chest. Not his dimple, although it showed an impish sense of humor in his otherwise hard face.

Shannon opened her eyes to stare at the fire, and saw in the flames images of Caleb’s face. What was it about him that made his face so difficult to forget? Something in those beautiful blue eyes…Warmth? Empathy? She didn’t know if it was one thing or many. She only knew there was something about him.

Something you have to forget, Shannon. You don’t need another man who’ll lie to you, for whatever reason. You had enough of that with Tony.

Not for the first time Shannon wondered if maybe Tony’s job would have been easier for her to accept if she’d known more about it. Instead, he’d made up stories to keep her from worrying. Tony had been adamant about not bringing his work home with him. After a while he’d hardly brought himself home.

Shannon turned onto her back. An image of Caleb, half-dressed, sitting on this very couch intruded on her thoughts. She groaned and covered her eyes with her hands.

How stupid can you be, Shannon Garrett? Caleb Joseph is a stranger. You’d be nuts to let yourself get involved with him.

She turned to stare again into the dancing flames. “You’d be nuts,” she whispered.

Because tomorrow or the next day or the next, Caleb would be gone. And it wouldn’t matter at all that she wished he could stay.

“BRANDON, NO!”

A vehement cry startled Shannon out of a light sleep.

“Dammit, Brandon, answer me!”

Caleb, she realized. He must be having a nightmare. She pushed back the quilt and swung her feet to the floor. The clock over the mantel chimed two. She’d checked him about an hour before, and he’d been sleeping peacefully.

She got up and padded on bare feet into the bedroom. Caleb had kicked off the covers and was thrashing around on the bed, moaning. Her heart went out to him. It was obvious his ordeal hadn’t just been physical.

She went over to the side of the bed and spoke to him quietly. “Wake up, Caleb.”

Gently she touched his left arm, but he grabbed her hand, staring at her with unseeing eyes. “Where’s Brandon? I can’t find him.” The anguish on his face was a testimony to the closeness he shared with the man, whoever he was.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright. “I’ve got to go find Brandon.”

Shannon pushed him firmly back on the bed. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He didn’t fight her, just lay back against the pillows, eyes closed, murmuring. “Brandon…have to find Brandon. I left him…should have stayed.”

She touched his forehead, smoothing back his hair in a gentle rhythm. “Quiet now, Caleb. You need to rest. Someone will find your friend. You’ll see, he’ll be safe and sound.” At least she hoped he would. Caleb already hated himself for leaving his friend alone. She could tell him he’d had no choice and he’d done the right thing until she was blue in the face. If something terrible had happened to his friend, she suspected Caleb would never forgive himself.

When he seemed to be sleeping again, Shannon covered him, then backed away from the bed. Careful not to make any noise, she perched on her overstuffed chair and watched him.

Though his breathing came evenly, his expression still showed its earlier distress. The scratches on his face showed no signs of infection, nor did the larger cut at his hairline. The lump on his forehead had started to color, promising to be multihued by morning.

Caleb moaned and turned onto his side. Shannon held her breath until he settled. The movement caused the blanket to shift, baring his chest to his waist. Evidently he’d chosen to wear only the sweatpants she’d given him earlier. The bandage on his upper arm showed white against his tanned skin.

A few more inches to the left and Caleb wouldn’t have come into her life at all.

Shannon hugged herself, feeling a chill that had more to do with her morbid thoughts than the coolness of the room.

Caleb moved onto his back, mumbling. “Mick…It was Mick.”

Shannon lowered her brows. Mick? That was a new name. She wondered who he was.

“Dammit, Brandon…The case…the bust…was set…. How did they know?” Caleb’s words were filled with frustration and confusion.

Shannon held her breath while he spelled out in mumbled words what she’d suspected. What she’d yearned to deny in the face of his smooth lies.

Caleb was a cop.

She’d heard the same emotions in Tony’s voice time and time again. Though he’d never told her the details of his cases, he hadn’t been able to hide when something was bothering him. He hadn’t allowed her to help him, either.

That had only heightened her frustration. She was a person who craved details. That was why she did the column. She could handle anything, if she knew what was going on. Not knowing drove her to distraction.

Caleb had used different tactics. He’d probably even had different reasons, but the results were the same. Once again she’d been lied to. Once again she’d been treated like a child. And soon another man would leave her behind to pick up the pieces.

Another moan from the bed brought her attention back to Caleb. He moved restlessly in his sleep, kicking at the blankets.

“Where’s Brandon? Have to find Brandon…”

Shannon moved to his side and touched his shoulder. “Shh, Caleb. Relax. Everything’s fine,” she soothed. To do anything else when he was so distressed was unthinkable. He might not want her help during his waking hours, but for now he had no choice.

He didn’t respond to her voice and, instead, became more agitated. “Where is he? Where is he?” He kicked at the covers. “The other side…have to get to the other side. Can’t do it…can’t make it. Have to get help.”




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