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Closer...
Jo Leigh
A stalker has destroyed Christie Pratchett's life. He's stolen her job, her friends and her freedom. The police can't help her, the private detectives are useless. She's done everything she can to save herself, to stop the madman. Nothing has worked. From out of the shadows comes Boone Ferguson, a soldier who's under the radar, a man with a secret that could cost him his life.He's going to train Christie to become a warrior…and his lover. Together, they're going to risk it all, on the street and in the bedroom.



CLOSER…
Jo Leigh


TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
To Deb and Dotes—couldn’t have done it without ya!
And, as always, to Birgit, for everything.

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Coming Next Month

1
CHRISTIE SAT IN THE FAR CORNER of her living room with her back jammed against the wall. Milo, her golden Lab, whined softly against her as she stared at the phone on the end table, willing the ringing to stop.
How had he gotten the unlisted number? She’d only had that phone for two days. It was her third new number in five months, but the bastard who was stalking her hadn’t skipped a beat.
The first phone call had come five months ago. She hadn’t recognized the voice. Male. Low. Taunting. She’d hung up, dismissing him as an annoying but inconsequential crank. Right.
Milo rubbed his head against her arm, and she rubbed him back. “You’re all right, kiddo,” she whispered, blessing him a hundred times. He was the only one left.
The ringing finally stopped. She wondered if she’d ever hear that sound again without terror taking over.
A moment later, the phone rang again, and this time, he left a message. The same message. You can run, but you can’t hide. The same voice, electronically altered with no background sound but a dull hum. For all she knew, it was a machine calling, and the bastard was outside her house even now, watching her.
The thing was, she’d done everything right. She’d contacted the police, who’d had her log his calls, put up security cameras, tried to trace his calls. She’d hired not one, but two private detectives who’d found out a lot about her neighbors and associates, but all that did was make her afraid of everyone. She’d taped his calls. She’d talked to the FBI, who had assured her that as soon as they had any evidence at all, they’d be all over it.
She’d read books, checked sources on the Internet, had asked for help from everyone she could think of, and still, the bastard was controlling her life.
This was it, though. She couldn’t take one more night of this torment. Tomorrow, she was going to call a Realtor, put the house up for sale. But she wouldn’t wait around. She’d go to the bank first thing and pull out her savings. She’d take Milo with her and leave. To where, she didn’t know or care. Somewhere small. Where he couldn’t find her.
Tears filled her eyes, and she didn’t even try to blink them back. Her life had gone to hell in the past five months. Everything she cared about had been stripped away, bit by bit.
She’d worked for one of the biggest design firms in Century City, where she’d had clients who ranged from studio executives to movie stars. She’d won awards for her interior designs, but more than that she’d loved her job.
He’d taken that from her last week. She’d been called into the big office and, with a lot of apologies and excuses, her bosses said the reason they were letting her go was because they were refocusing the objectives of the design firm. She’d come right out and asked if they’d been threatened, and while they’d denied it, Kerry and Stanley had both gotten so nervous and upset that she knew the stalker had somehow gotten to them. Her certainty had convinced the police to investigate, but they hadn’t gotten the couple to talk. The bastard had scared them spitless.
She had no business being so angry. She understood the fear. But she was angry. And achingly disappointed.
She went over to the pad of paper by the phone. Her log covered so many pages it was starting to resemble the L.A. phone book. On it, she recorded every incident, from e-mail threats to inappropriate gifts, to the content of messages left on her machine. She wrote it all down. The date, time, place and description. There was a space to notate witnesses, but there were none. Still, the police could do nothing. Would do nothing. Even with the anti-stalking laws in place, the bastard was so clever he never let them get anything on him. The FBI had traced the e-mail messages, but ended up with a variety of dead ends. Tracing his calls had proved equally unsuccessful. He was using either a cloned or a prepaid cell, neither of which could be traced.
The packages that had showed up on her doorstep had been searched for clues, but not a fingerprint had been found. As for the security cameras…they’d been a complete bust. Not one picture, not even a shadow.
Locks had proven useless. It didn’t matter that they were guaranteed to be the latest technology and completely burglar-proof, he got through them. He got into her house. Left messages. One on her bathroom mirror, in her own lipstick. You can run but you can’t hide. Two days ago, he’d eaten a piece of cake from her fridge.
He’d tranquilized Milo, which had scared her to death. Because if the tranquilizer hadn’t worked, she had no doubt he would have killed her dog.
She’d stopped asking the obvious question long ago. There was no reason behind this. Just because she didn’t recognize his voice didn’t mean she didn’t know him. He could be anyone. Her best friend’s husband. The man across the street. Anyone.
So she’d crawled into her house, once her pride and joy, until it had become a prison. If she didn’t break out tomorrow, it would become her coffin.
“Come on, baby,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get you fed.”
Christie had lost almost ten pounds since it began. Her skin was pale, her hands shook. She’d stopped bothering with makeup, kept putting her hair back in a messy ponytail, and she always wore shoes she could run in. She was under siege and he never let her forget it.
As she headed for the kitchen, she glanced at her mantel, at the picture of Nate. He would have helped her. Her big brother was ex-Delta Force. He would have caught the bastard and damn quick. But Nate was dead, and that wound was still raw.
She got out Milo’s bowl and his food. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her. She’d never had patience for the victim mentality. She believed in movement, in taking charge, in handling things. Never one to back down, she’d fought for her college grades, kicked ass at work, bought her own home, never settled when it came to men. And here she was, a pitiful, terrified shadow who hadn’t slept a full night in months.
She finished fixing Milo’s dinner, and put it in his spot at the end of the island. Milo, unlike herself, still had his appetite. She sighed as she went to the fridge. The last time she’d eaten was…hell, she had no idea. So maybe forcing some food wasn’t a bad idea.
A couple of scrambled eggs was all she could handle. She ate standing by the stove. Milo had finished and was expecting his walk, which was something she couldn’t avoid. Instead of taking him around the block, or even to the park that was five blocks away, she would drive to a random location. Somewhere crowded. Last night had been Melrose Avenue. The night before, Westwood Boulevard. Tonight, she’d go west. Santa Monica. Not that it mattered. He could be following her car. He could be in the house five minutes after she left. He could kill her in her sleep.
The phone made her jump, and she almost dropped her plate. Dammit, she should have unplugged it. Who was this guy? How in hell did he know so much about her life? He’d even gotten to her book club.
They used to meet at the bookstore every other Wednesday. But then the women started getting notes on their windshields. Two of them got flat tires. None of her friends had connected the vandalism to her because she hadn’t told them about the bastard. But she knew. So she quit. They’d all believed her lame excuse, which was a relief, because she wouldn’t be able to stand it if he hurt someone she knew.
“Milo? You ready?”
He clearly was, if jumping around and wagging his butt was anything to go by. Christie didn’t even glance at the mirror as she got his leash. She just headed into the garage, all her senses on alert as she turned on the light.
Senses. She didn’t have any senses left. Sleep deprivation had made her stupid and reckless, and that made her a fool. It was the house that had held her. Goddammit, she loved her home. It wasn’t just the money she’d poured into it, either. She’d made it her cocoon, her safe haven. Every room created for her pleasure and delight.
She locked the car doors after Milo climbed in, and then steeled herself to open the garage door behind her. It went up slowly, her gaze locked on the rearview mirror. The car was running, in reverse, her foot resting on the gas.
The second she was clear, she jammed out, then hit the brake hard when she got to the end of her driveway. A quick check both ways and she pressed the remote for the garage door. Once it was down she tore out again, tires squealing. How she wished he’d been in the way.

“THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT,” Christie said, shifting on the blue chair across from the bank’s vice president. “I’ve never had any dispute with the IRS.”
Jennifer Abbott, in her nice gray suit with her nice beige nails and her nice practiced smile, looked at her computer screen, then back at Christie. “There’s nothing I can do, except advise you to talk to the IRS.”
“Please check again. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”
Christie watched as the woman typed on her keyboard. She thought about last night, how she’d laid in bed, planning out her move. How she would call the Realtor from a pay phone, take her savings and her dog, and head toward Arizona. There was no plan if there was no money. But he couldn’t have gotten to her bank. That was impossible, even for the cleverest stalker. He was just a man. A sick, twisted prick, but still…How could he get the IRS to do his bidding?
“I’m sorry, Ms. Pratchett. All three accounts have been seized and there’s nothing at all we can do from here. I’ll give you the information they gave us. There’s a number you can call.”
Christie sat very, very still. Because any second she was going to lose it, and she didn’t want to, not here. Not sitting in the bank where she’d been a customer for over twelve years. She’d call the FBI, of course, but even if they did get right on it, it would still take time to clear it up. She had no hope in hell that they’d figure out who was behind this latest horror. That left her with the money in her purse, which wasn’t a lot. If she were lucky, her credit cards would still be good, but she doubted it. And that meant…
She had no idea what it meant. That the bastard owned her? That he’d be coming for her now? That he was laughing his ass off, knowing he’d destroyed every inch of her life?
She cleared her throat, unable to stop her body from trembling. “Can you tell me when this was done?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“I see.” Christie stood up, not quite sure her legs would hold her.
“I’m certain everything will work out in the end,” Jennifer said, handing her the printout with the IRS information. Then she picked up her phone.
Dismissed, Christie headed back to her car. The drive home was a daze, and when she got into the house she didn’t even bother locking the door behind her. She had nothing. Maybe a hundred bucks. Would that even get her out of town?
It had to, because if it didn’t, she was going to fall apart, and no one would ever be able to put her back together again.
Of course, Milo was there with his big brown eyes and his wagging tail. She gave him a hug, then she went to her office. Methodically, without even thinking, she opened the drawers and pulled out all the paperwork she’d be taking with her. Passport, insurance, bank records—which probably wouldn’t do her any good—and her mortgage papers. Everything went into her briefcase. She did the work carefully, her hands still shaking. She paused when she found a copy of her parents’ living wills.
She should head toward Illinois, toward the nursing home where her father lived, if you could call it living. Her mother’s apartment near the home was so small there was no room for Christie. They were getting by on so little, her mom had cried when Christie told her she’d lost her job. For years, it had been Christie’s money that had provided anything over the bare necessities.
Nate hadn’t left much. A small bank account and a motorcycle. The money had gone to Mom and Dad.
Behind the will, she found a picture of Nate in his uniform. God, he’d been a handsome devil. She turned it over and saw a phone number she’d forgotten all about. Not that it would do her any good now.
She remembered when he’d given it to her. Nate’s voice was so clear in her head, even now. He’d told her she should call that number if she ever needed help. That if she were ever in trouble, he would come. No matter what.
There was no reason to pick up the phone. He’d been dead seventeen months. But she did, anyway. She picked it up and dialed, and when the man answered on the second ring, she barely heard him say “Gino’s Pizza.”
“I’m—” She had to clear her throat again, and damn, enough with the tears. “I’m Nate Pratchett’s sister.”
“No Nate works here, miss.”
“You didn’t know him?”
“Sorry.”
“Everybody’s sorry,” she said. “Everybody wishes they could help. But they can’t.”
“Did you want a pie?”
“No. I want help. But you can’t do that. Never mind.” She hung up.
It took her a long time to move again. In fact, it was Milo to the rescue yet again. He knew. He knew she was in pain, that she was desperate, and in all the world, he was the only one who did a thing. He loved her.
Once she could move again, she started where she’d left off. Going through every piece of paper, taking only the essentials. She thought about bringing her address book, but when she flipped through it, there were only work contacts and the few friends she’d managed to avoid since this began. After the book club fiasco, she’d been scared to let anyone in. Scared she’d get them hurt, or worse.
It was dark when she stood up. Time to feed Milo.
Once again, she went through the motions. Giving Milo his dinner, taking him to another street, this time in Beverly Hills. But driving back, she almost fell asleep, and it was only furious honking from a Hummer that prevented a head-on collision.
So she wouldn’t leave tonight. If she could just get a few hours of sleep, it would be okay. She could pack her clothes in the morning. Now, all she wanted was to be home. To get in bed. To please, God, wake up and find out this was all a nightmare.
She got part of her wish. Safely home, she locked everything up, took a fast shower. She put on her most comfortable old T-shirt. It was stretched out and so thin it was held together by hope, but it was soft and it comforted. Then she called her dog and they both climbed into her bed.
As she put her head on the pillow, she stared up at the dark ceiling. Would she ever sleep in this bed again? The sheets had been a splurge, eight hundred thread count. The headboard had been custom-made of cherry-wood. Her own design. It was one of the things she loved most about her house. Her bathroom was, too. A shower that had nooks built in for candles. Jerusalem tile she’d picked out piece by piece. The bathtub was oversized with twelve jets and a sound system built into the walls.
She went through a list of all the moments, the decisions, the construction process that led to the dream becoming reality. This was more her home than anywhere she’d ever lived, including her parents’ house of her childhood. She’d put her soul into this place, and tomorrow morning she would walk out the door, and she had no faith at all that she would ever come back.
One man had taken her life. It would have been kinder if he’d simply killed her. She’d thought about doing the job herself, but she couldn’t go through with it. She’d fought her whole life, she couldn’t give up now. Even though she wasn’t sure what she was fighting for.
Milo moved, pressing his front paws into her thigh. She welcomed the contact. She’d always loved her pup, but never so much as in the last months. What would she have done without him?
Oddly, that thought led her straight to Nate. Her big brother had been the one to teach her to be strong. Neither of her parents had been. It was Nate who’d taught her not to take any guff from guys. He’d even told her, in a most enlightening and embarrassing afternoon, about sex. He’d been the one who’d walked her to school. Who had helped with her homework. Who had been there for her, always.
And then, he was gone. At the time, she’d thought it was the worst pain she’d ever have to face. Even worse than her father’s Alzheimer’s. Worse than her mother’s obliviousness to most of Christie’s life. It still hurt her terribly to think of Nate. Especially now when she needed him the most.
She closed her eyes, vaguely surprised that she wasn’t crying. Maybe she didn’t have any more tears left. Maybe those had been taken along with her faith in law enforcement, her faith in the whole concept of right and wrong. Everything had changed, and it was all out of her control. No matter how hard she fought, it was tilting at windmills.
She had the clothes on her back. Her car. Milo. She had a degree and a trade. Somehow, she’d claw her way back to her life. If he didn’t follow her.
That was a really huge if. Just one more thing she didn’t have faith in.
Could she live the rest of her life in terror? Did she even want to?
She turned over, clutched her pillow and prayed for sleep.

SHE HAD NO IDEA WHY SHE woke up. Only that Milo wasn’t there.
Had she heard something? Her gaze went to the bedside clock. It was one-twenty in the morning, and as she strained to hear, there was only silence.
He’d probably gone out the doggie door to the backyard. Or gone for a drink of water. There was nothing to be worried about, no reason for her heart to pound in her chest and her throat to close with fear. It wasn’t the first time she’d freaked out over nothing.
She pushed back the bedcovers anyway, and reached into her bedside drawer to pull out her gun. The one she’d bought three months ago, after the first time the bastard had been in her house. It didn’t matter that she’d always been afraid of them. If he was here, he wasn’t getting out alive.
The room was dark, but once she got into the hall, the night-light would give her strength. Tiptoeing, her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the hardwood floor to the door.
She paused there, listening again. Nothing. No sound. Wait. It was Milo. His low whine.
If the bastard hurt her dog, she’d shoot off his pecker.
Taking another careful step, she reached the hall. The night-light illuminated the space slightly. It didn’t make her feel better. There was no one there, and she was tempted for a moment to go back to her bedroom and lock the door. But she’d never rest until she found out why Milo was whining.
Her heart pounding, she entered the living room. The first thing she saw was her dog, and he was staring. Not at her. Behind her.
She turned and her Glock was ripped from her hand. It banged on the floor, as another hand, his hand, pulled her to his body, her back to his front. As she tried to scream, his hand covered her mouth. Everything was tight and real and she knew this was it. She was going to die.
Milo leapt at the man, but he sidestepped, taking her with him. She willed the dog to bite the bastard right in the balls. Instead, she kicked the man, connecting with his leg. She heard a grunt, and then a voice.
“Stop it,” he whispered. “Christie, just stop.”
She kicked him again. The bastard wasn’t going to take her down without a fight. All the frustration, all the rage she’d held in for so long went directly into the only parts she could still move. She banged back with her head, kicked him again and tried to reach him with her nails.
“Shit, would you stop?” She could feel the muscles in his chest, the strength of his thighs. He was big, and in her stupid sleep-shirt, barefoot, she couldn’t hurt him. She also couldn’t breathe.
It was the latter that made her still. Time slowed as she grew lightheaded. All she could think was Please, make it fast. I can’t stand pain. Don’t hurt me.
Then darkness. Then nothing.

2
CHRISTIE WOKE. It was her bed, her room, and it was night. As the muddle in her head cleared, she felt her fear surge back full force. It hadn’t been a dream. The bastard was here, in her house. She reached over to her bedstand, but the drawer was open and empty. Instead, she grabbed the phone, but there was no dial tone. Tossing it to the bed, she got up, not willing to waste a second panicking. He was here. She had to get out.
Going directly to the window, she tried to open it and couldn’t. Of course, she’d locked it. To keep him out. Her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the lock right, and when she finally did, there were the screws above the inside window to pull free. She’d never experienced terror like this, not with any of his phone calls or even the notes he’d left inside. If she didn’t get out, she knew she would die.
“What are you doing?”
She spun around at the voice. “Don’t come near me.”
He stood in the doorway, but all she could see was his silhouette. He was so large. His shoulders nearly filled the space, his head just a few inches from the top. There was something in his hand. A mug. Her coffee mug. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke softly. Barely above a whisper.
“You son of a bitch. I’ll scream. I’ll scream my head off.”
“You don’t have to do that. I promise. I’m here to help. But please, keep your voice down.”
She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.
“Christie,” he said, moving a bit closer. “Your brother sent me.”
Her breath caught. “My brother’s dead.”
“I know. But he gave you a phone number. You called that number this morning.”
“What?” she asked, knowing it was a trick.
“I served with Nate,” he said, his whisper deeper, as if it wasn’t quite real. “He saved my life.”
“You could have tapped my phone.”
“I could have, but I didn’t.”
He took a step into the room and Christie backed up, banging her head against the window.
“Hold on. I’ll show you.” He walked over to her bed and put the mug down on the side table. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
Christie watched him, knowing she should make a run for it. Break the window if she had to. Scream, like she’d threatened. But she felt immobilized. As if her feet were stuck to the floor.
He approached, and every muscle in her body tightened. He handed her a snapshot.
Her fingers shook so it was hard to focus. It helped when he turned on the light by her bed. In the photo, she found Nate instantly. He wore camouflage, complete with floppy hat. Next to him was a big guy. The one standing not a foot away. There were other people in the picture, two men and two women. The six of them were smiling. Happy. Their weapons held casually, the way she used to hold her stuffed bear.
“That was in Kosovo. I’m sure Nate told you we were there.”
She looked at his face, which she could see clearly for the first time. Like Nate, he was a good-looking man. Dark hair cut short, but not as short as in the picture. Vivid eyes with long, dark lashes. An angular jaw and a full lower lip. He wasn’t as tall as she’d thought. Maybe six-two. And while his shoulders were broad, his hips were slim, his legs long. There were small lines at the edges of his eyes and a furrow between his eyebrows. “They said it was a pizza parlor.”
“It is. But the man who owns it doesn’t just make pizza.”
Her hands still shook as she returned the picture. “Why the hell did you break in?”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d wake you. I didn’t want your stalker to know I was here.”
“You know about the stalker?”
He nodded. “I got on it as soon as I heard about your call.”
“Got on it? What, you broke into the police department?”
“No. I have someone at the FBI who helped.”
“Jesus.” She pushed back her hair, wondering if this was the part where the men in the white coats entered. “So, what, you’re here to…?”
“Help. To catch him. To make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”
“The police and the FBI haven’t been able to do squat. What makes you so sure you can do anything?”
“Trust me. I can. I’ve already done a preliminary sweep in here. I found these.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a jumble of tiny electronic bits. “Why don’t we sit down. Talk this thing through.”
She nodded, hardly believing her eyes. The bastard had put bugs in her bedroom? It creeped her out so much her knees nearly buckled. She barely made it to the bed, where she sat for a few minutes remembering how to breathe.
When she was calm enough to talk, she looked up. “What’s your name?”
“Boone. Boone Ferguson.”
“There are only two possibilities here,” she said. “One, you’re him, and you’ve planned this whole thing, including the picture in your wallet. Two, you really did serve with Nate, and for some unknown reason, you want to help. If it’s the first, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it. You win. If it’s the second…” The breath she’d fought for slipped away. “You win there, too. I have nothing left. I was going to leave first thing in the morning. But he got to the bank. Had the IRS seize my accounts. I’m broke. I’m tired. I give up.”
Boone nodded. “Here’s what you’re going to do right now. Put on a robe and some slippers, take that mug of tea and come into the kitchen. Give me about ten minutes. I want to make sure we’re not overheard.”
“Where’s Milo?”
Boone almost smiled. “He’s in the kitchen. Ten minutes.”
She watched him leave. He wore jeans and an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He could have been a businessman or an architect. In truth, she had no idea who he was. Only that if he were telling the truth, he’d known Nate.
Instead of the robe, she changed into jeans and a shirt. She’d never go to bed in just a T-shirt again. As she dressed, she remembered some letters Nate had sent her from the Balkans. At the first opportunity, she’d get them out, check and see if there were any mention of Boone Ferguson. The name sure didn’t ring a bell.
Once she’d dressed, she took the cooled mug into the kitchen where Milo was gnawing on a big rawhide bone. One she hadn’t given him.
Boone was at the table, a large duffel bag by his chair and an array of electronic equipment spread before him. He looked up at her, then back at the meter in his hand.
“More bugs?” Those, at least, had convinced her to keep her voice down. Way down.
He nodded. “When was he in here?”
She went to the microwave and stuck the mug in for a minute. As she waited, she turned to him. “The last time was three days ago. He ate cake.”
“Ate cake?”
She joined him at the other side of the table. “He also left me a note. It said ‘You can run, but you can’t hide.’ So it’s safe to talk now?”
“Let’s keep it down, just in case, but I’m pretty sure the room is clean.” He looked down at the mess of electronic bits spread out in front of him. “This is some sophisticated shit.”
“Not as sophisticated as his IRS trick.”
“I’ve got someone who might be able to help with that.”
“How?”
“He’s got…interesting connections. We’ll see. Back to the stalker, do you have any idea who he is?”
“No. None.”
“He’s been after you for what, five months?”
“Yes. He’s been relentless. I’ve gone to the police, the FBI. No one has been able to find out a thing.”
“Has he indicated what he wants?”
She stared at him. “Are you kidding?”
“No. Some stalkers are very specific. They’re after a relationship, or they believe they’ve been wronged in some way. If his messages have had any kind of theme, that could be helpful.”
“He wants me to be afraid. Hold on,” she said, rising. Milo watched her, his paws still guarding his bone, as she went to the living room and got her log book. “Tell me something,” she said, handing it to Boone. “What did you do to Milo?”
“I gave him a bone.”
“No. Before. He didn’t attack you. He just whined.” She sat down again. “Like you were the mailman or something. Not an intruder.”
“Ah. Yeah, well. I have this spray.”
“Pepper spray?” she said, ready to find her gun.
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s fine. Not harmed in any way.”
“What kind of spray?”
“It’s a gentle tranquilizer. It’s already gone from his system.”
“You drugged my dog and broke into my house, and I’m having tea with you.”
“I told you. I’m here because of Nate.”
“Maybe you ought to tell me more about that. A whole lot more.”
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything I can. But first, I have to finish my sweep. I don’t want you saying a word out there until I’m done.”
“How long?”
“A few hours. He’s clever and he’s got great toys. I have to make sure. Christie, not all of these are listening devices. Some are cameras. He had two outside, which I disabled, but I have no idea how many more there could be.”
She shivered as she thought about her options. It was hellish being at Boone’s mercy, but she’d been at the bastard’s mercy for months. Just the fact that he’d been listening…Watching…Christ. In her bedroom.
A wave of nausea made her clutch her stomach. Not that she’d had any action for a billion years, but she wasn’t one to shy away from taking care of herself. “What can I do?”
“Get some sleep.”
She laughed. “Yeah. That’s gonna happen.”
He looked at her hard, that furrow between his eyes deep and serious. Green. She hadn’t seen that in the bedroom, but his eyes were a dramatic green. They weren’t like emeralds, or the grass outside her house. Maybe like the ocean by the pier in Santa Monica. “Sleep is the thing that will help the most,” he said. “It won’t be easy, and if you can’t fall asleep, you should at least lie down and close your eyes. You’re going to need everything in the next few days. All your brains and all your reflexes. If you’re too tired, you become a liability instead of an asset. From what I’ve heard, you’re not going to want to sit back and watch. So do us both a favor and go to bed.”
Christie felt as though she should be insulted. But that was probably just his tone, not his message. And it wasn’t really his tone, because he’d talked in that whisper of his. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. Will you wake me when you’re finished?”
“I’d rather wait until morning, if you’re willing. You could use the rest.”
“If I’m still sleeping, then let me sleep,” she said. “But whenever I wake up, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am. Right.” She turned to Milo, who was still having his way with the rawhide bone. She wanted him to come to bed with her, but his chewing would keep her awake, and she didn’t have the heart to take the treat away. Instead, she stood up, thought once again that she was quite insane for letting Boone stay in her house, and doubly so for going to sleep while he had the full run of the place. But she was so damn tired, it didn’t matter. “There’s fruit in the fridge. And stuff to make a sandwich.”
“Thank you.”
“I threw out the rest of the cake.”
He nodded slightly, then went back to examining the stuff. By the time she reached her bed and turned off the light, she was halfway out. Hitting the pillow was just dumb luck.

BOONE HAD SEEN THIS EQUIPMENT many times. It was top-of-the-line, and mostly unavailable to the public. John Q. Public couldn’t get it from the neighborhood spy store, but it could be found. Whoever the stalker was, he knew what he was doing. He’d placed the bugs perfectly—in the smoke detector, in a loose tile by the refrigerator. If Boone hadn’t known the ropes he’d have missed at least one.
He got up, stretched and dismissed the idea of getting a sandwich. There was too much to do before Christie woke up. He grabbed his bag, slipped on his night-vision goggles, and headed for her office.
It took over two hours to do the bug sweep. The stalker was inventive, that’s for sure. Boone was certain he was someone in security, maybe even a spook, and that made Boone damned uncomfortable. The stalker’s obsession most likely had nothing to do with his profession, but it did make him far more dangerous.
Stalkers weren’t all the same, but they all had things in common. They were socially immature loners, unable to establish or sustain close relationships. They tended to pick unattainable victims, and create intimate fantasies that could turn deadly in the blink of an eye. Intelligence was a factor, too. Many delusional stalkers were smart as hell, which made catching them more difficult.
Boone had never gone after a stalker before, but he’d had a lot of experience going after people who didn’t want to be found.
He sat down at her computer, took off the goggles, then booted up. He’d already found a bug at her desk, but now he was looking for software. Particularly key-logging software. If this guy was a security geek, he would have used his time inside the house to get more access. If he had key-logging technology, he’d be able to read her every keystroke, and see every message she wrote. The more personal the better.
He wouldn’t be obvious about it, either. It wouldn’t be under the software name. Boone would have to look for hidden files, for specific code. Luckily, he had his own program that did just that. He inserted the disk and let it run. It would take a while, and in the meantime, he could continue with his sweep.
He stood, and his gaze caught on a picture of Nate and Christie, barely illuminated by the light near the computer.
Nate had told him a lot about his sister, but not how beautiful she was. The picture, taken in better times, showed him how much this ordeal had taken out of her. She’d lost weight, which was understandable. But the bones were there. Big brown eyes, dark hair that swept her shoulders. Everything was right about her face, especially her smile. Warm, inviting. He wondered how long it had been since she’d laughed. Since she’d known any peace at all.
He remembered one night, several years ago, when he and Nate were stuck together doing some surveillance in a damp, cold building in the middle of a burned-out Serbian village. There was nothing going on, and nothing to do. They couldn’t sleep, so they talked. Nate got on to the subject of Christie. He never talked much about his family, so Boone had paid attention. It was clear Nate loved her, and felt protective of her, but it was equally evident that he was proud of his baby sister. How she’d gotten through college on a scholarship, how she’d become a designer to the stars. The way he described her, as funny and sarcastic, had stuck in Boone’s mind long after the conversation and the mission ended.
He’d thought a lot about her after that. He had no one close, except for the men in his unit, so she’d become a comfort to him when things got rough, much as she had for Nate. He’d imagine her at Christmas, when he was stuck in a jungle or a town where he didn’t know the language. It wasn’t anything sexual, just comforting. But now that he’d seen her, he’d never think of her as a little sister again.
She also reminded him of Nate. The way she lifted her right eyebrow in doubt. Rubbing her lower lip when she was nervous. They were both habits Nate had, ones Boone hadn’t consciously noted until seeing them echoed in Christie.
He picked up the photo, studying her, filling in the blanks. Once Seth had sent out the SOS, Boone had used his slippery network of inside sources—some from the military, some from domestic agencies—and found the records of the stalker immediately. He’d spent the next five hours digesting everything he could about the geek. Then he’d come here. He didn’t live far—a rented house in Pasadena. It hadn’t taken any time to gather his equipment. He always had it packed.
The only problem was the work he’d left behind. He might be living under the radar, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t busy. Since he’d come back from the Balkans, he’d found a lot of people who needed his services. Others, like himself, who worked in the shadows, came to him when they had security problems. Someone listening. Someone they needed to listen to. Although he’d been a radioman in Delta, he’d acquired a lot of gadgets and the know-how to get the jobs done.
Seth had stepped up to the plate once more. If anyone knew more about covert surveillance than Boone, it was Seth, and he’d agreed to take over Boone’s jobs until the stalking bastard had been taken out. It was a relief to know that despite the mess they were all in, the unit had never lost touch. They were a team, now and always.
Boone moved on. The hallway. The guest bedroom. The back porch. The collection of bugs grew. Most of them were listening devices, but some were also cameras. The freak understood about security grids, so that there were pitifully few places for Christie to hide.
He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the prick.
The first hints of daylight were changing the sky when Boone felt as if he could stop. He wasn’t finished. He wanted to do more sophisticated tests, but that could wait until he’d caught a few hours of sleep.
Besides, it looked like Milo, who’d been following him from room to room, carrying his mangled bone, wasn’t going to rest until he did.
Instead of going to the guest room, which was too far away from the doors, Boone would crash in the living room. He’d left the computer running, his software checking every line of code. By the time he woke up, he should know exactly what the geek had planted.
There was only one more thing he had to do before he could rest. In four different spots in the house, Boone put in four different cameras. His own. Not to spy on Christie, but to catch the geek. Maybe he wouldn’t need them, but Boone wasn’t a man to take chances. He also put a bug in the phone. If the stalker called again, Boone wanted a record.
After running a quick check to make sure everything was running properly, he went to the living room and decided the couch was too narrow, so he stretched out on the floor. Milo joined him, not touching, but close. Boone closed his eyes, and he was gone.

3
CHRISTIE HEADED TOWARD THE GUEST ROOM, tightening the belt of her robe and wondering just how much of last night was real, when she saw him on the floor.
He was on his back. No pillow, no blanket. Just flat out, his mouth slightly open, his right arm flung across his chest. Milo, who was curled up next to Boone’s hip, looked up at her questioningly, as if defending his choice of sleepmates.
Okay, so the Boone part hadn’t been a dream. Which meant the bugs and cameras weren’t, either.
She headed to the kitchen and got busy making coffee. She felt odd, and not just because of the stranger in her home. After the fourth scoop of Sumatra Mandheling, it dawned on her that she felt rested. Not week-in-a-spa rested, but it was the first morning in ages she could actually see clearly. More than that, the panic that had become her heartbeat was gone. No, not gone. Dampened. Definitely dampened.
In theory, Boone could be the bastard. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. He would have tried something last night. She’d crashed in bed, he’d disabled the phone and she had no weapons. He already knew that if she were too scared, she passed out like a little girl. Instead, he’d gone to sleep on the floor of her living room. She didn’t understand that part at all. There was a perfectly nice guest bedroom just down the hall—so, what, he had a bad back?
What she needed was coffee and an explanation. She desperately wanted him to be just what he said he was. It embarrassed her to realize how badly she needed to be rescued. Her, the woman who’d built her life around the fact that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That the knight in shining armor was nothing but a myth. And a destructive one at that.
She poured the water into the coffeemaker and pressed the On button. The gurgle was a welcome sound, as was the click of doggie nails on the bamboo floor. Turning to face a very guilty-looking Milo, she crossed her arms and gave him the glare. “Breakfast time and who loves Mom now, huh? Didn’t your new best friend bring kibble, too?”
“Nope. Forgot it.”
Christie looked up to find Boone, his hair sticking up and his shirt wrinkled, standing just outside the kitchen.
“Is that coffee?”
“It is.”
“You have cream?”
“Milk.”
“It’ll do. I’ll be back.” He turned and headed toward the bathroom.
She looked at Milo. “What do you see in him? Besides his big bone?”
Milo wagged his tail, but that was probably more to do with the fact that she’d picked up his bowl than any prurient interest in Boone.
As she gave Milo his two scoops, she had yet another revelation. She’d made a joke. An admittedly poor joke, but still. Nothing had been funny, not since that first phone call. She put the dog dish down and when she stood, she pushed her hair back. It was longer than she liked it, and she hadn’t had highlights in four months. Hair care, along with other nonessentials such as eating and sleeping, had slipped away as she’d been forced into her nightmare existence. Seems, however, that like her sense of humor, she’d discovered she still had some vanity left, and she wished she’d showered before coming into the kitchen.
When Boone joined her, he’d changed into a plain white T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Her idea of him as a businessman fell away as he reached down to pet Milo. The muscles of his back strained the shirt, making her wonder how he kept in such good shape. Of course, her gaze shifted downward and his jeans were just tight enough for her to see the curve of his small, tight, high rear end. Not that she had any prurient interest, either.
He stood and she blushed.
“Coffee?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself. And don’t leave. We need to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
She headed to her room, curious, concerned, confused. But she couldn’t interrogate someone while in her bathrobe. After gathering her clothes, she went into her shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it. She’d had three nozzles installed, not just one, and they hit her in all the right places. Head, upper back, lower back. Perfect to release tension. Maybe today it would do just that.

THE PHONE RANG WHILE SHE WAS in the shower. Boone went to the living room and checked that the answering machine was on. After four rings, the message played—Christie’s voice, no nonsense, nothing provocative. Just a request for a name and number after the tone.
The voice he heard after that wasn’t so benign. He knew immediately that it was distorted by a digital signal processor, and there was a low electronic hum in the background so that nothing could be traced.
“Naughty girl, Christie. You know we can’t let your friend come between us. If he leaves now, he won’t get hurt. And neither will you.”
There was a click, and then the dial tone. Boone opened the answering machine and lifted out the tape. Despite the tricks the prick had used, Boone was going to let Seth give it a look.
He went back to the kitchen, debating the wisdom of telling Christie about the call. She was upset enough. What she needed now was confidence. The decision made, he went back to his duffel and put the tape in a small bag, ready for Seth. He’d drop it off later.
He poured her a cup of coffee as soon as he heard her in the hallway. He’d already had one, but another wouldn’t go to waste. If he was going to be here for a while, he’d have to get to the market. She didn’t have much, and he was a stickler for his coffee his way. Besides, she needed to put on some pounds.
She walked in, changed from her robe into a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that he guessed used to be her size. The jeans were big, and where the shirt had a V he could see too much bone and not enough flesh. Shopping, definitely. After he’d done another sweep outside. He wasn’t taking any chances. By tonight, he’d know everything the geek had planted in or around her house. He’d check out her car, too.
“Is this for me?” She nodded at the mug he’d poured.
“Yeah.”
Her look was more suspicious than grateful.
“You had questions?” he asked.
She went to the fridge and got out her low-fat milk, then to the cupboard for a packet of sugar substitute. When the coffee was to her liking, she sat down across from him. “Tell me about you and Nate.”
“We met at Fort Bragg. We’d both been recruited into the First Special Forces Operational Detachment, and we trained together. He became a team leader, I was the radioman. There were four of us, basically, and some UN personnel. We were all together in that picture I showed you. We did a lot of hairy missions. Never lost a man. Never fell short of the objective.”
“Nate would never tell me what he did. Just that he was working for God and country.”
Boone could hear him say just that. In bars, mostly, when he was trying to impress the ladies. As if he’d needed a line. The women fell all over him. Not that Boone had done so badly, but he’d never been the magnet Nate was.
“Why are you smiling?”
He hadn’t realized he was. “Just remembering.”
Christie leaned forward, and he could see the hunger in her eyes. The need to hear about her brother, lost so young.
“He was hell on wheels when we were out of pocket. It didn’t matter where we were. D.C. or Kenya or Panama. He’d own the room before we left, and leave them wanting.”
She bit her lower lip, and he wasn’t sure if it was to stop from laughing or crying.
“I can’t tell you how many times he’d fall back into his cot at three in the morning, totally AWOL, drunker than shit, then get up an hour later and outrun the whole team on the obstacle course. I still don’t know how he did it.”
“God, he was just like that at home. Not the drinking part, he was too young, but he was always sneaking out of the house, and he never got caught. I ditch one day of school, and I’m on restriction for life.”
“Sounds right.” He drank some coffee, more for the distance than the taste. He wasn’t here to get nostalgic and emotional. In fact, the last thing he needed was to care about anything but the job. He’d need to be on his game, and there was nothing that screwed up a man faster than letting his defenses down. “He talked about you.”
“Yeah?”
Boone nodded. “He worried about you. But he was proud. Real proud.”
She turned to look at Milo for a long minute. The dog wagged his tail at the attention, then came to her for a pet. “He was a great brother, until a couple of years ago. Then, I don’t know.” She looked at Boone again. “He changed. He got paranoid, and he hardly ever called. When he did, he wouldn’t tell me squat. Just that he was in the middle of something. I only saw him the one time—”
She stood up and put her mug in the microwave. “What were you guys doing in Kosovo?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Great. That’s just perfect. And I’m supposed to trust you with my life?”
“Yeah, you are. And I’d hope you’d realize that my silence, Nate’s silence, was for your protection.”
“Spy central. Jesus. Don’t you know your big-boy games can get people killed?”
“Yeah. I know. But that’s not the issue now. What’s on the table is the stalker and how we’re going to stop him.”
“Wait.” The microwave dinged and she came back to the table with the steaming coffee. “I’m not finished with the question portion. What’s with the pizza parlor?”
Boone bit back his impatience. She was scared, she didn’t know him from Adam and he needed to make her trust him. “It’s got a special phone. One that monitors calls from the old team. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“Things didn’t exactly end for any of us. Not for Nate, not for me. We needed a way to communicate with each other that wouldn’t get us noticed. So we have Gino’s.”
“Didn’t end? You mean something bad went down in Kosovo, don’t you? Something that shouldn’t have happened. And someone isn’t happy about it, right? That’s why Nate left the service. That’s why he was killed.”
Boone nodded.
“Great. Are the feds going to bust in here and arrest us both? Because, while it would solve the stalker problem, it doesn’t seem like the best possible outcome.”
“Now I really know you’re Nate’s sister. Don’t worry. No one knows I’m here. No one’s going to. And while this has been fascinating, we have work to do.”
“What kind of work?”
He leaned forward, glad the Q & A was over, although a little surprised she hadn’t pressed for more. “I’ve written an e-mail I want you to send. The geek installed key-logging software on your computer, and I want to use that.”
“Wait, what?”
“Do you know what key-logging is?”
“Yeah. It’s for wives who want to spy on their husbands.”
“And for stalkers who want to spy on their victims.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her brown eyes were serious and determined. “Fine. Whatever it takes. I want him taken out.”
“Can you use that gun of yours?”
“Well enough.”
“You hadn’t released the safety. When you came to shoot me in the hall.”
“Oh.”
“Can you defend yourself, hand-to-hand?”
She lifted that right eyebrow of hers, and he had to admit, even with all that had gone down with her, she was still a great-looking woman. Too bad this was work.
“You will.” He stood up, took his cup to the sink and rinsed it out. “I want to do that e-mail, then we’re going to the store. From today on, you eat, and you eat well.” He turned and gave her his no-excuses glare. “You’ll sleep, too. But mostly, you’re going to do everything I say. Got it?”

TOUCHING THE COMPUTER WASN’T easy. Just knowing he’d been there. That he’d been monitoring every single keystroke. Looking at the sites she’d visited, checking out her Google searches. It made her skin crawl.
It helped that Boone was right next to her, although that wasn’t all peaches and cream, either. Yeah, she needed the help, but doing everything he said? That was a bit much.
Then again, her options were pretty damn narrow. “Okay, who do I send it to?”
He gave her an address that seemed ordinary enough. And he scooted his chair closer. So close, his thigh brushed against the side of her butt. In a move both uncharacteristic and slightly humiliating, she felt her cheeks fill with heat. She concentrated on the typing.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Hi, Gina,” he said, waiting for her to type the words. “Guess who’s back? Boone is here and he’s going to take care of everything. That problem I told you about is going to be resolved soon. Anyway, don’t worry, it’s under control. I’ll call you as soon as things are back to normal here. Take care, Christie.”
She finished it up, then waited for the word to hit Send.
Boone nodded, and she hit the key, knowing the bastard was reading about his own demise.
“Why are we sending this?” she asked.
“To get him to move in.”
“Uh…”
“We can’t do anything if he stays in the background. He already knows his bugs have been detected, so he’s suspicious. Today, I’m going to make sure he knows we’re a couple. In fact, we’re going to do that right now. You ready to go to the store?”
“Together?”
“Yep.”
“Let me get my purse.”
“Skip it,” he said, as he pushed his chair back. “It’s all part of the service.”
Christie thought about protesting, but Boone knew the situation with her finances. She’d just have to make sure and write down how much he spent so she could pay him back. Every penny.
They stood at the same time, moving into the same space. She bumped into his chest. His hands gripped her shoulders, and she froze. Her head tilted back to look up into his face, and when she found him staring at her with his ocean eyes, she shivered.
The seconds slowed while her heartbeat sped. She’d been terrified in his arms last night, but now his size, his hardness, gave her strength. But that wasn’t what made her pulse race. It was the way he looked at her. Like a predator. Like a man who wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. And it felt an awful lot like he wanted her.
He dropped his hands, and before she could even blink he was out of the office, his heavy footsteps loud in the hallway.
It took her another minute to get her act together, to realize how ridiculous she was being. He didn’t want her, for God’s sake. They’d met twenty seconds ago. He was here as a favor to her brother, a debt to be paid. She was a walking wreck who could barely string two coherent thoughts together.
She followed him down the hallway, dismissing her temporary insanity. This wasn’t her life. It wouldn’t be her life again until the bastard was behind bars. Nothing mattered but that. Nothing.

HE TOOK HER OUTSIDE, WALKING slowly past the hidden camera that was just below the eaves of her roof. There was no way this exit would be missed. That, in combination with the e-mail, should shake things up. Boone just hoped he could prepare Christie for what was to come. He would be right with her, but that wasn’t enough. She was going to have to learn to defend herself. Later, he’d take her to the gym, and he’d show her some moves. Tonight, he’d take her to the shooting range. By the time he was finished with her she might not be a sniper, but she’d know enough to hit her target and not herself.
“Slower,” he whispered, careful not to move his mouth much. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and felt her tense. But he smiled, stepped closer to her, wanting the geek to assume they were a couple. Jealousy was one of the triggers that would make a stalker act. That’s exactly what Boone wanted.
They strolled down her walkway toward his Explorer. He’d parked it across the street, a few doors down, and while he knew the camera was above the eaves, he didn’t know the range, so they’d keep it up until they cleared the block.
It wasn’t a hardship. Damn, she smelled good. He didn’t think she wore any perfume, which was just what he liked. He pulled her closer, wanting more of the sweet scent, then leaned close to her hair.
A hint of citrus made him run his hand up her shoulder to the first curve of her neck. Soft skin that even his calloused fingers could appreciate stirred more than his interest. It had been a long time since he’d been close to a woman. There was no way he could, not safely, which was just another reason he wanted the get the pricks who’d put him in this position. There was a time he’d thought about having a wife, a family. Now, the best he could hope for was a few stolen hours with a willing stranger.
Today, at least, he could enjoy the feel of her, the way his hip pressed into the curve of hers. He could even toy with the idea of more…at least until they got to the car.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“No. I’m most definitely not okay,” she said. “He’s watching, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“You want him to think we’re lovers.”
“Yep.”
“So he’ll come after me.”
They got to the sidewalk, and he stopped her there. If the camera was on them, the geek would only see their backs. “Listen to me. The sooner he makes his move, the sooner he’s out of your life. He may be coming after you, but he’ll be getting me. Trust me. He’s gonna be damn sorry he was ever born.”
She turned and he saw her eyes were glistening. Her hand came up slowly and she touched his cheek with two fingers. She didn’t linger, letting her hand fall to her side. “Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“Take the bastard down. So far down he’ll never see daylight again.”
“You got it.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
She smiled.
He leaned in and kissed her. If pressed, he’d swear it was for the camera, but he’d be lying. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her. But he’d keep it easy. No sense freaking her out any more than she already was. He just held her loosely and enjoyed her soft lips.
As he pulled back, her hands tightened on his shoulder, and damned if she didn’t part those lips and slip him the tongue. No fool, he went with the flow, and right then, that very second, a whole world of possibilities blossomed.

4
HE WAITED AS THE PICTUREemerged from the printer, and leaned back in his leather chair, his attention divided between the monitor and the photo. They were leaving the house, which gave him a window of opportunity. The problem was what to do with it?
The photo came out, a very clear picture of the man she called Boone. An ex-lover? He didn’t think so. He’d never come across the name, not in any of his research. So who was he, and how come he knew how to look for the cameras?
There was a simple way to find out. He took the picture and put it facedown on the fax. He hit speed dial One, and there it went, off to his friends who would find out everything there was to know about Big Boy Boone.
It didn’t matter. His plan was still in motion, on course. Soon, she’d be ready for him. Soon, she’d see that there were no other options. That there was no place to run, no way to hide. Boone, whoever he was, could be used to that end. He smiled, thinking of the possibilities.

“BOONE, WOULD YOU JUST STOP?” Christie planted her feet in the breakfast food aisle. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
He turned his head as he continued walking. “Then you’d better catch up.”
She thought about walking out of the store. But she didn’t even have enough cash to get home. He’d taken her a long way from Culver City to a humongous Costco, where he’d gotten a huge cart, and without even asking her, had started filling the damn thing. Her anger mounted as she followed him. “It’s my damn house,” she said, “and I don’t like that kind of paper towel.”
Boone looked at her with infuriatingly calm eyes. “Look, let’s just get this over with. We have a lot to do today, and shopping isn’t the priority.”
“Then let me shop.”
He turned back to the granola. “It’s fuel, Christie. It’s paper. It’s soap.”
“It’s my house.”
He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes, we’re out of here.”
“Fine.” She walked past him as he dumped a box of Grape Nuts in the cart. She got her Lucky Charms and dared him to say one word. He didn’t. But he didn’t stop. He just kept putting things into the cart, without asking. Well, two could play that game.
She got a giant-sized box of Twinkies and put them in the cart.
Boone snorted, but he didn’t say anything.
He turned to the next aisle, and she followed, getting more pissed by the minute. He didn’t even glance at her when she put in the giant tub of the highest-fat ice cream in the place.
By the time they got to the checkout, the cart was filled to capacity. Christie couldn’t believe the amount of vegetables and fruits. Did he ask her if she liked eggplant? No. And what the hell was with all the Brussels sprouts? She wasn’t eating them, not if he begged her.
“Are you done?”
“Does it matter?”
“Christie, we have—”
“I know. Things to do. It’s only food. It’s only paper.”
Boone left the cart in the checkout line and came right up to her, right into her space. “What are you doing?”
She put her hand on the pastry counter. “I’m going to get a cheesecake.”
“A cheesecake.”
“That’s right.”
He closed his eyes, and she watched the muscles in his jaw flex. When he looked at her again, his green eyes looked cold as ice. “Is that really necessary.”
“Yes. Cheesecake is always necessary.”
“Goddammit, do you want this asshole to kill you? Is that it?”
She stepped back, the bluntness of his words more shocking than the bitter tone.
“Miss, you okay?”
Christie blinked at the store clerk, a skinny blonde with a problem complexion. She wanted to warn him away, but Boone turned on him first.
Not a word was spoken. She couldn’t see Boone, but she didn’t need to. The terrified expression on the clerk’s face said it all. He backed up into a table of minidonuts and muffins, made a choking sound, then hightailed it off to produce.
When Boone turned back, he seemed calm again. Everything except his eyes.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll forget about the cheesecake. But I’m not giving up my Lucky Charms.”
Boone nodded once. Then he turned, and they were out of there ten minutes later.

IT TOOK THEM HALF AN HOUR to put the food away. Christie still couldn’t believe how much he’d bought. She’d insisted that he give her the receipt, which was more than two hundred bucks. Despite the fact that he’d gotten all kinds of crap she’d never eat, like protein powder and bean sprouts and whole wheat bagels, she’d repay every last cent.
Being angry at someone other than the bastard was a novelty. Being away from the house and actually feeling at ease had been a revelation. Contradictory, yes, but it was completely true. She felt better than she had in so, so long, even though she couldn’t shake the creeps that had hit since he’d shown her that first electronic bug.
She’d been naked. She’d gotten herself off. She’d wept, she’d ranted, she’d slept. With him watching her.
“You ready?”
Boone’s voice scared her, and she jumped. “Almost.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She turned to watch him walk down the hall. He had those long legs and damn, that ass of his. But still. He wasn’t exactly Barbie’s dream date. His arrogance had surprised her. Nate was like that sometimes. So sure of himself and infuriatingly cocky. Maybe it was the military that did it. Or maybe the job just attracted that kind of man.
Her fingers went up to her lips as she remembered, for the billionth time, how he’d kissed her. It was a ploy, she knew that. All for show. But it hadn’t felt fake.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d kissed him back like that. The easy answer was that she needed the contact. It was true, too. It had been ages since she’d touched someone else. Someone who wasn’t Milo. Fear for her friends had kept her away from her usual haunts, and fear for herself had kept her wary of every man in the city. It had never occurred to her, before this horrific time, how often she was touched. A handshake. A pat on the back. A hug, a kiss, friendly or intimate, it all added up, and it was important. The lack of contact made her feel less of a person somehow. As if she weren’t part of life at all.
Of course, living in terror 24/7 would do that, too. Boone could be an arrogant jerk, but under the circumstances, that arrogance was just what the doctor ordered.
She wondered if they would have to keep up the charade. If he’d kiss her again. The idea wasn’t unwelcome. Oh, who was she kidding? She totally wouldn’t kick him out of bed.
“Are you still standing there? You’re not even dressed.”
She jumped. “Relax, soldier. This isn’t the barracks.”
“No, it’s not. It’s war. And if you want to win, you’d better get that pretty ass of yours in gear.”
It was hard to gripe at a guy who’d just complimented her ass. So she went with the huffy walk. That’d show him.
After she got changed into her running shorts and sports bra, she put her T-shirt back on and met him in the kitchen. He’d found her blender and he’d used it to concoct some ghastly looking goo. Which he held out to her, as if she would actually drink it. “What drugs are you taking?”
“Excuse me?”
“You must be high if you think I’m going to drink that.”
He sighed heavily. “You don’t even know what’s in it.”
“It doesn’t look very good.”
“It’s got a lot of the stuff you need. You’re weak, you’re out of shape, and we have no time for screwing around. So drink it.”
She took the tall glass in her hand, and sniffed. It didn’t smell too horrible. And when she sipped it, she was surprised to find that it didn’t taste all that bad, either. More like a fruit smoothie than ground-up spinach.
“Finish the whole thing,” he said. “We need to get going.”
She saluted and downed the brew. It was a lot, and by the time she’d drained the glass, he was standing at the front door, keys in his hand, waiting impatiently. He’d changed from his jeans to a pair of sweatpants and a muscle tee, which made his shoulders and arms look ridiculously buff. Damn.
“Well?”
“I’m coming, jeez.”
Milo figured he was coming, too, given his hysterical bouncing by the door. Boone crouched down and scratched him behind the ears. “You want to come, boy? You want to take a ride?”
“Really?” she asked. “He can come?”
“Sure. We’re going to take a run, then when we’re at the gym, he can hang.”
“Wow, what kind of gym lets dogs in?”
“Not the kind you’re used to. Let’s lock and load.”
She got ready to face the camera again, while Boone got Milo’s leash from the wall hook. When they went outside, Boone immediately put his arm around her shoulder. Even though it was only the second time, she focused on the reassurance, not the reason, so it was better. She leaned against him, the way she would if he’d really been her boyfriend. With Milo pulling, and Boone’s hand tightening on her arm, she knew they painted a pretty picture, one that was sure to infuriate the bastard. Now, the only question was, would Boone kiss her again?

“MOVE YOUR ASS, PRATCHETT. We haven’t even gone a mile.”
Boone, who watched her from about a hundred yards ahead, had to laugh when the exhausted woman flipped him the bird. He knew he was pushing her. He’d trained enough in his life to know when to ease back, and they weren’t there yet.
The biggest drawbacks were her sleep deprivation and the fact that she hadn’t been eating, but today’s workout would help with the former, and his protein shakes would start building muscle almost immediately. They couldn’t afford to take it slow. She might have to protect herself tonight, tomorrow…
He kept on trotting backward, watching her run. He’d found out she used to run a lot, and that was a good thing. Muscle memory and form were all in her favor. Now it was just a question of stamina.
But he could tell she was only going to make one mile. It was enough. Besides, they still had some maneuvers to get through at the gym, so he geared it down. “Okay, Christie. Slow her down.”
She took him a little too literally, shifting to a walk, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving. Milo, who’d had himself a great run all over the grass, looked to her for a pet, but she didn’t have the energy.
Boone, who hadn’t even broken a sweat, moved to the two of them, wishing there were more time for him to really get in a decent run. “You did great,” he said. “Got your heart pumping, just like it should.”
“Right,” she said, still struggling to calm her breathing. “I’ll fall over dead, and then the problem is solved.”
“Come on. You’re doing great.”
“Milo,” she said, waving her hand in Boone’s direction. “Kill.”
Milo did come, but it was to lick Boone’s hand.
“You traitor,” she said.
“He knows who his friends are.”
“Oh, please. You gave him a giant rawhide bone. What’s not to like?”
A smart-ass answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet. Instead, he headed toward the truck, watching the park for anyone who looked at all hinky.
He’d brought her back to his neck of the woods. He knew Pasadena. Where the restaurants were, where to get the best price for his Goldwing tires, and he knew where the dark alleys were, where a man could disappear.
He’d chosen the grassy area in front of Cal Tech, and while he saw several student types wandering around, it was mostly empty this time of day. He’d parked where he had an easy out, and despite his workout gear, he was armed.
He doubted the stalker would show in such a public place. If something was going to go down, it would be at Christie’s, where the geek would have some measure of control and containment. Boone knew for a fact the geek wasn’t getting into the gym.
Christie was breathing better when they got to the truck, and although Milo looked sorry to leave, he jumped into the backseat with his typical enthusiasm. Damn great dog.
Boone climbed behind the wheel, his gaze running over the length of her exposed legs. Despite her current circumstances, she still had some muscles in her calves and thighs. A few weeks with him and she’d be ready for anything. Given the time he’d allotted for this mission, he could still get her into pretty decent shape. All he had to do was keep his focus. They headed off to the gym, which wasn’t far.
“I need a drink,” she said, leaning her head against the side window.
“There’s a water bottle in the back.”
“There’s a root-beer float at the Dairy Queen.”
“You can have one later. After the gym.”
She lifted her head to give him a dirty look. “You’re not short enough to have a Napoleon complex, so, what, you used to be a drill sergeant?
“I can’t believe you’re bitching this much when we haven’t done anything yet.”
“Believe it. You don’t seem to get that I haven’t slept in months. How am I supposed to do all this gym crap when I can barely keep my eyes open?”
He stopped at a notoriously long red light on Colorado Boulevard. “You don’t think he knows you’re exhausted? That every day you don’t rest, you’re more vulnerable?”
She winced, then turned to face the street.
“You’re going to get plenty of sleep tonight,” he said. “I’ll be there, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Christie nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know,” he said. It would be so easy to coddle her now, to give in to those big, dark eyes. Maybe offer the kind of comfort he gave best. He just watched the traffic, front and back, making sure they weren’t being followed.
After a few minutes, she reached behind his seat to get a bottle of water, her hand resting on his shoulder. The touch wasn’t sexual at all. But try telling that to his dick.

THE ODOR IN THE GYM WAS a combination of testosterone and dirty socks. Christie saw one other woman inside, and she was enormous. Huge muscles, the thickest thighs and back on any woman Christie had ever seen, and a really cute hairdo. The woman was curling a barbell the size of a refrigerator, and she seemed pretty damned determined to make some portion of her body explode.
Boone didn’t even blink as he led her and Milo toward a giant mat lying in an otherwise empty room. Once there, he turned, put his hands behind his back, spread his legs, and looked at her as if he were going to tell her to drop and give him twenty. Milo, the chicken, curled up by the wall, his head comfortably cradled in his paws. Christie turned to check out the quickest exit. No one was blocking her way, but there were at least four guys out there who could lift a VW without breaking a sweat, so she didn’t run. Yet.
“You’ve never had any hand-to-hand training? Any kind of self-defense?”
“I kneed a guy in the groin once,” she said. “But it wasn’t on purpose.”
“You remember what he did when you kneed him?”
“I believe he cupped himself and wept like a child.”
“Sounds about right. Now, remember what you did to me when I had you?”
She nodded. “I hyperventilated and passed out.”
He gave her an almost-grin. “Before that.”
“I kicked at your leg, and hit you with the back of my head.”
“Exactly. The head butt was a good move, one that could have worked, at least in part. But kicking my leg with your bare feet wasn’t very effective.”
“Milo was supposed to attack.”
“You can’t depend on Milo or me. For the purposes of this lesson, you’re on your own, and this guy means business.”
The reassurance she’d felt being with Boone all morning fell away as her situation came home once more. She wasn’t safe, not even a little. And this might just be the most important lesson she’d ever learn. “All right. Tell me what to do.”
From his parade-rest position, Boone looked past her and nodded. She turned to find a hulk of a man encased in rubber so thick he couldn’t put his arms down. He wore a football helmet and huge handguards. She doubted he’d feel a cannonball hit at fifty feet.
“This is Josh,” Boone said. “You cannot hurt him, but I want you to try.”
“Okay. How?”
“Come behind me and try to choke me.”
“I thought Josh and I were going to mix it up?”
“You will. But not for a while. He has somewhere to be.” Boone turned toward the man. “One hour.” Then he faced her again. “Okay. Take me out.”
She walked around to Boone’s back, feeling the flex of the mat underneath her sneakers. Not sure if she was supposed to try and surprise him, or strangle him, or just put her arm around his neck, she went for the full court press. The second she had her arm in place, it was swept away, she was spun around, and her arm was pulled uncomfortably high up behind her own back. That was only the beginning.
Boone made her try every kind of attack she could imagine. From the front, from the side, from the top as if he were sleeping, when he was walking, when he was running. And he defeated her with such ease tears came to her eyes. Not because she was hurt, although she was sore, but because her own uselessness hit her harder than he ever could.
What hit her equally hard was that she hadn’t just missed being touched, she’d been starved for it. Every block, every hold, and even though she was fighting as hard as she knew how, she was completely aware of all the body parts and where they met.
He actually flipped her over, and to keep her completely immobilized, he lay on top of her, flat out, breast to chest. For a long minute, she stared into green eyes that seemed lit by an inner fire. The next minute, with his breath and her breath swirling between them, she thought sure he was going to close the distance and kiss her. But he blinked.
The next thing she knew, he was on his feet and out of the room.
She stared at the ceiling as she tried to calm the hell down. This was war. He’d been very specific. And in war, there was no room for the sex.
Boone walked back in. She felt his footsteps on the mat, felt his presence as he approached. He didn’t come too close. Instead, he told her, in his most military voice, to get to her feet. It was time for her to start the active phase of today’s lesson.
“Start the active phase? What the hell have I been doing for the last hour?”
“Learning, I hope.”
Behind him, Josh reentered the room, still wearing the puffy suit. Boone moved aside and didn’t say anything more. He just waited and watched as Josh attacked.
The first time she hit back it was so girly it made her blush. An hour later, she was attacking him with the weight of her body behind her, and more importantly,with the strength of Boone’s conviction that she had all the resources she needed to win.
By the time he called it quits, she was dripping with sweat, shaking from exhaustion and feeling at least a little better about her chances to survive.
She also had a brand-new appreciation for Boone, which had nothing to do with his hotness. He hadn’t let her get away with squat. He didn’t take any excuses and he expected her to be at her best every minute. It made her think a lot about Nate, about how he would have been right here, training her just like this, if he’d been around.
Boone finished a quiet conversation with Josh, then met her where she stood, still trying to catch her breath. He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned close. “You were awesome,” he said, his voice low and intimate, but filled with conviction. “You fought like a tiger, and I feel damn sorry for anyone who tries to mess with you.”
She laughed, even as the swell of pride rose up in her worn-out body. “You silver tongued devil.”
“I’m not bullshitting here, kiddo. You’re fierce, and don’t hold back. That’s gonna keep you alive.”
Her ego deflated as she remembered, yet again, why she was doing all this. The bastard wasn’t out of the game. “You know what’s weird? I can’t hold on to it. Even when it scares the crap out of me, even when I’m shaking in my boots, it won’t stay in my brain. And every time I remember, it’s like knowing for the first time. Knowing he’s after me. That it’s intensely personal, and that he’s never going to just give it up.”
Boone squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not the victim anymore, Christie. You’re the victor. And the poor bastard doesn’t even know it.”
She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze. “We’re gonna kick his ass.”
He nodded. “We sure are.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. Cool.” Boone’s lips parted and he moved a tiny bit closer. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited.

5
BOONE WATCHED HER EYES close, felt her breath as she leaned forward. His gut tightened as he moved in to kiss her, but the sound of a heavy weight just across the gym startled him into backing away.
He coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment, then turned toward Milo, who was staring at him accusingly. “Let’s go. We need to grab something to eat before we go to the range.”
Behind him, he heard Christie shift on the mat. She didn’t say anything and he hoped she wasn’t planning ways to use her new training to kick him in the nuts. She had every right. Dammit, he was the one in charge of this operation, and he’d clearly given her the wrong signals, which was not only stupid but dangerous.
He turned around to find her standing near the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders slumped. All the confidence she’d had just moments ago had vanished because he was a screwup of the first order.
“What do you want for lunch?” he asked.
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can find a diner that serves Lucky Charms.”
Not a smile, not even a glance. Shit.
“Okay then, I’ll take you to a place I like. It’s not fancy, but it’s on the way.”
Christie shrugged. Then she called the dog, and when Milo approached she crouched down to give him a hug.
The woman was terrified out of her mind. She had exactly one person to turn to. “Come on. Let’s hit it. I want to get in a couple of hours at the shooting range.”
As she led Milo out of the gym, Boone kept a respectful distance behind her. He could tell she was sore. Her movements were stiff, her posture rigid. She’d need a long soak tonight, and an early bedtime.
He would stand guard, and he wouldn’t think of anything but the job.

SHE STOOD WITH BOTH FEET flat on the floor, shoulder width apart. The headphones played no music, just blocked out sound, and the goggles hurt the backs of her ears. She stared at the target, the familiar silhouette they show in all the movies, and she imagined that it was the bastard, standing right there.

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