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Too Many Brothers
Roz Denny Fox


THE TROUBLE WITH BROTHERS…Daphne Malone has three of them. All older, all overprotective, all convinced that their little sister can't take care of herself. Okay, it's true that her career pursuits, not to mention her romantic pursuits, haven't always panned out. Well, they've never panned out. But now, diploma in hand, she's starting a brand-new career–as a birthday party clown. But one of the movie studios will notice her any day now!Then Daphne gets noticed, all right–by FBI agent Logan Grant. If she thinks her brothers flipped out before, wait till Logan ends up hiding in her apartment. Wait till he becomes her temporary clowning partner. And wait till she falls for him–hard!









Too Many Brothers

Roz Denny Fox







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




ROZ DENNY FOX


A secretary by trade, Roz began her writing career in 1986 with a series of self-help articles. She sold a short story to a magazine in 1987. After much prodding from her then high-school-age daughter, Roz tried her hand at writing a contemporary romance. Roz began writing full-time in 1995.

Roz’s second book was a Romance Writers of America RITA


Award finalist in the Traditional category, and she’s also been a finalist for the Desert Rose Chapter’s Golden Quill Award and the Holt Medallion.

Currently, Roz resides in Tucson with her husband, Denny. They have two married daughters and five grandchildren. Readers can find out more about Roz by visiting her Web site, www.korynna.com.


For Nakita and Savannah.

Dream big. Read much.

Be anything you want to be.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE




CHAPTER ONE


DAPHNE MALONE put down her phone, threw her hands in the air and danced a zany victory dance around her perpetually unmade bed. She’d just been offered a job. Not the greatest in the world, but a start. In the middle of her jazzy dance to a blaring CD, a strand of curly dark hair caught on one of the four posters, bringing her up short. The jolt sobered her. This was real. A job. In a few hours.

She dashed to her cluttered closet, and because Daphne never did anything slowly, she rummaged around frantically until she uncovered an old beach bag. With her free hand she began pawing through costumes she might use today. She couldn’t decide, so she tossed in accessories. The bag was already bulging, and she still hadn’t settled on a costume. Maybe she’d phone her mom for advice. Calandra Malone had taught both her daughters how to sew at an early age, which was why Daphne had such a splendid array of clown suits.

She grabbed the phone from her nightstand and hopped around, pulling on a pair of clean white jeans while punching in her parents’ number. Daphne juggled the cellular between her cheek and shoulder and braided her long hair into a single, more manageable plait.

“Mom? Guess what?” she said the instant Callie Malone answered. “I’ve got a job at a birthday party this afternoon over near Commerce. I am so excited!”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s near East L.A., not in East L.A. Yes, Mo…ther, I know Kieran says that part of the city isn’t safe for a woman alone. But I’m going to the home of someone who’s a friend of a friend of the wife of one of Dane’s partners. It’s a party for ten seven-year-olds. How safe is that?

“Okay, okay! I’ll check in when I get home.” Daphne glanced at her watch. “I called to see which outfits you think I should take, but I need to run. Be happy for me, please. It means money, at least, until I get the break I’m really waiting for.” Daphne lowered the receiver at the last possible moment, listening to Callie, who continued to spout dire warnings. She ended with one good suggestion. “Take a variety, Daphne, and see which feels right when you get there. Just…be careful, sweetheart.”

Daphne added her favorite clown suits to the bag, all the while wishing her parents and her three older brothers would believe she could take care of herself. After all, she was twenty-six. Granted, Kieran subsidized the apartment, but only until she could get herself established. Meanwhile, why couldn’t the lot of them stop hovering? Her sister, Becky, was a year younger and they left her alone. Of course, Becky had a solid marriage, a good career, and she was already a mom herself. Daphne’s jobs had been a disaster up to now, and her love life—well, that didn’t bear mentioning.

Lugging the beach bag down to the vintage chartreuse VW Bug that her brother Perry had lovingly restored, Daphne let a perfect late-summer afternoon rejuvenate her spirits. She was an eternal optimist. She wasn’t going to let her mother’s undue alarm change that.

Placing the directions to the party on the empty seat, Daphne dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and chugged off along the familiar streets of Culver City—the suburb of L.A. where she’d lived forever.

Like a pro, she cut from the I-10 freeway to the Santa Ana Freeway, eventually exiting on Atlantic Boulevard. A cop’s siren screamed over her new Josh Groban CD. Daphne automatically moved to the right and rolled to a stop. Squinting into the sun out her side window, she watched in amazement as five police cars sped past. Daphne couldn’t tell if Kieran was driving one. Her brother did sometimes patrol this area. She hadn’t spoken with him since the previous Friday because she’d spent the week babysitting her oldest brother’s kids. As a rule, she’d know Kieran’s schedule. The Malones were a close-knit family in spite of her complaints about their hovering.

Five blocks farther down the road she discovered the police had cordoned off the street she was supposed to turn into. Not familiar with this neighborhood, she wasted time locating an alternate route on a map stored in a side pocket of her car.

The roundabout journey took her down some scuzzy streets. Remembering her mom’s lecture, she locked both doors. After making a U-turn, she finally found the street she wanted. The homes here were older, but she was relieved to see they were well maintained. The one she sought was at the bottom of a dead-end street. A partially wooded lot bordered it on the left, intersected by trails. Neighbors probably walked their dogs there or jogged through the trees.

Daphne hefted her beach bag, draping it nonchalantly over one shoulder as she checked the house number. She mounted the steps and knocked.

A harried, very pregnant woman opened the door. She introduced herself as April Ross. After exchanging a few words, April led Daphne into a living room that was a mess of floating balloons. “Forgive me, please. The first helium tank I rented didn’t work, so I had to take it back. This is Natalie, the birthday girl. Nat, Daphne Malone, our party clown. Honey, will you take Daphne to the guest bedroom so she can change into her costume?”

April finished tying off a balloon and added, “The guest room has a sliding glass door leading out onto the patio, where I’ve set up for the party. I know you said you’ll probably change costumes during your program. I thought it’d be easiest to run back and forth into the house through the slider.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks, April. I’ll scoot off and dress so I can help you greet the kids. Or tie balloon bouquets. Whatever you prefer. In any case, I’d better hurry. I see a couple of moms bringing kids up the walkway now. I’ll just go, get out of your hair.” Daphne moved toward the hall.

“Thanks for your offer of help. I’m frazzled and I hate being late,” April wailed. “Oh, and Daphne, thanks a million times over for bailing me out on such short notice. Nat had her heart set on a clown to do magic tricks. Like I told you, I booked through an agency, but apparently the receptionist flipped two pages at once on her calendar. Another family got first dibs because they’d phoned first.”

“No problem.” Daphne grinned. “Tell your friends, in fact. I need all the bookings I can get between now and when I find permanent work in my real field.”

Daphne chatted with the birthday girl as they walked down the hall. She loved kids, and often babysat her niece and nephew whenever Dane and his wife, Holly, needed her. Natalie Ross was cute and talkative. Before she scampered off, Daphne learned that Nat wanted her to paint the faces of all the kids attending the party.

So, she’d been right to bring all that stuff. Daphne intended to make this the coolest party ever. Humming happily, she dumped her costumes and face paints out across a cheery yellow bedspread. Matching curtains blew gently in the breeze.

She circled the bed and closed the miniblinds. Still feeling exposed, Daphne pulled the lined drape across the glass slider for privacy, leaving the door open for easy access to the patio.

Muted sounds of children’s laughter and boisterous shouts drifted through the closed hall door. Daphne kicked off her sandals and skimmed out of her jeans. She had her T-shirt nearly off, when a scraping sound at the slider made her swing around.

It’d be impossible to say who was most shocked, Daphne or a scruffy-looking man who stood poised on the balls of his feet as he stealthily shut and locked the glass door. The drape slipped through his fingers, silently closing them in together.

The T-shirt plopped at Daphne’s feet. Her throat tightened and her hammering heart battered her ribs. Feeling the stranger’s Delft-blue eyes making a thorough examination of her, she grabbed the first clown suit she could reach and covered herself as best she could with the slithery material. She opened her mouth to scream, but suddenly found her breath driven from her lungs by the agile intruder, who vaulted the bed in a single bound. He covered her mouth with a strong hand. A no-nonsense pistol caressed her ear before she could force air, let alone a scream, past her numb lips.

Her brother Kieran would’ve said only a fool would fight against those odds, but Daphne wasn’t about to die without putting up a fight. She tried jabbing an elbow into her captor’s midriff, but hit rock-hard abs. Next she attempted to disable him by stomping on his foot. Except that she was barefoot and he wore boots, as she quickly discovered. And the more she struggled, the more tenuous became her hold on the clown suit.

“Chill out,” he growled, jerking her tighter against his own heaving chest. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded in a gruff stage whisper.

“Mmmmf…mmfff,” Daphne mumbled against his sweating fingers. He smelled sweaty, anyway, and rough whiskers scraped her neck, although his longish, sun-streaked blond hair was soft where it brushed her cheek. What a funny thing to notice at a time like this.

As her initial shock receded, Daphne tried to store her impressions—for the police—supposing she got out of this alive. He was tall. A rangy build like her brother Perry. She was five foot eight; the man was taller. And stronger by far, she was learning. She couldn’t budge him, and twisting only tightened his grip on her.

Her legs felt every quiver of his taut muscles hidden under threadbare blue jeans. A once-black sweat-stained T-shirt hugged a muscled torso. Iron-hard biceps indicated her captor probably kept fit working out or doing manual labor.

For all she knew, he could be April Ross’s pool guy.

Although probably not. He seemed inordinately interested in what might be happening on the street in front of the house. Bingo! How close was the Ross home to the area cordoned off by the police? It’d be due east of April’s backyard. Quite close. Too close. Daphne began to shake uncontrollably as her mind revolved faster. He could be a hardened criminal. Maybe even a murderer.

That thought came when he forcefully dragged her to the far side of the front window, where he used the barrel of his gun to tip aside the blind. Apparently he didn’t like what he saw. He swore ripely under his breath and flattened them both against the wall, fast.

It wasn’t that Daphne hadn’t heard such language before. Her older brothers, Dane, Kieran and Perry, were a firefighter, a cop and a long-haul trucker, respectively. Even though she frequently complained about having too many bossy brothers, oh boy, did she wish any one of them would burst through that door right now. If she ever got out of this predicament, she vowed she’d pay strict attention to every one of her mom’s lectures, too.

“Where’s April?” her captor asked right beside her ear. “Are you keeping her company because Mike deployed again?” Ever so slowly, he slid his fingers off Daphne’s mouth. But as she geared up to bellow for help, he waved the mean-looking pistol in her face. The cry froze on her lips.

“Get dressed,” he hissed, sounding almost angry. Her fingers felt all thumbs, and there was no way Daphne could comply.

Muttering, he gave her a shake and repeated his demand.

Logan Grant found that he was beginning to be affected by the armful of half-naked woman he’d surprised when he slipped in through April’s back door. At first he was too shocked over seeing anyone—let alone a partially clad anyone—in a room he’d counted on being empty. That, coupled with the fact that he was positive his cover had been blown in a big narcotics buy gone sour, meant Logan wasn’t having the best day of his life.

Special Agent Grant had spent ten months working his way into a position of power in an organization his agency had been trying to bring down for two years. He’d been minutes from meeting the next big fish in the scummy pond, which would’ve been another step up the slippery, slimy ladder of crime. Then all hell had broken loose. Cop cars had roared down side streets from all directions. And when push came to shove, Logan had been forced to take sides.

Billy Holt, his superior in the local heroin import ring, had seen him knock out another ring member and steal a pistol from him. Now Holt had more interest in tracking down Logan than in staying to fight local law enforcement, one or more of whom had to be on the take. Only an insider could’ve made Logan and brought in the cops.

Logan knew too much about the next big shipment due to land on California shores. It made him dangerous to the organization. Dangerous and expendable. Even now, two cars filled with Holt’s trusted henchmen were combing the streets, hunting for him.

Under other circumstances, Logan thought he might work up a red-hot interest in this big-eyed, leggy woman—in close proximity to a large, soft bed. Unfortunately, at the moment, saving his skin and hers took precedence over baser instincts.

He’d come here because his sister’s home presented his only chance of escape. Though taller than Mike Ross, Logan thought he could borrow Mike’s razor and fit into one of his shirts. A change of clothes, use April’s cell phone to contact his office, and poof, he’d be scooped up by his associates, leaving Holt to wonder how he’d managed to pull a disappearing act.

Things rarely went according to plan in a special agent’s life. This day had gone to hell more rapidly than most, however. Billy’s goons cruised the streets, alleys and backyards, leaving Logan—what? With a hysterical, nearly nude female threatening to scream her head off, that’s what.

To make matters worse, he’d stayed too long. He’d already put everyone in this house in jeopardy. He let loose another stream of colorful invective. Under current circumstances, it was all he could do.

Daphne’s addled brain took in his second barked order—get dressed—and that was what she was trying desperately to do, even though it meant peeling the clown suit away from where she had it plastered to her front. Even though it meant revealing her scanty Victoria’s Secret finery to a crazed gunman.

She attempted to shake out the material, bend and slide the colorful, baggy jumpsuit over first one leg, then the other. She nearly tripped and fell flat on her face. It wasn’t humiliating enough that the gunman caught her, oh, no. Worse, he zipped the suit up from the vee in her legs all the way to her neck because her fingers were shaking so hard.

“What kind of getup is that?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.

Fully covered now, Daphne felt a bit steadier. She smoothed back a stubborn curl that had slipped out of her clip and snapped back, “It’s a clown suit, you idiot. I’m here to perform at a birthday party. Natalie’s. Her name is Natalie. You, uh, called her mother by name. Are you…ah…a fr…riend of April’s?”

Hearing herself squeak, Daphne crossed her arms and grabbed her elbows just to have something solid to hang on to. No one, especially her brothers, would ever believe her if she told them she’d stood here trading niceties with a man holding a gun on her.

Logan noticed her wide, tawny cat eyes fixed on the 9mm Luger he’d taken from one of Billy Holt’s confederates—a much larger and more lethal weapon than the handgun he usually carried, a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson. All things considered, the party clown was holding up well. He figured that most women in her position would either be dissolved in tears by now, or they’d have fainted long ago.

“So, we’re finally making progress,” he said. “Dammit, I forgot Nat’s birthday. I’ll have to make it up to her later. Listen, can I trust you to open the door and call April back here without screaming down the house? I need to talk to her, but I’d rather Natalie didn’t see me looking like this.”

“I don’t think so,” Daphne sniffed. “You have one hostage already. I won’t be party to helping you get another. Especially not one who’s pregnant. What kind of degenerate are you?”

“Hostage?” He grinned then, showing two rows of very white, very even teeth. “I think you’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV. Just attract April’s attention, please. Then sometime, when I’m not so rushed, maybe you and I can sit down over a cold beer and talk about how I’d have done things differently if I really was making you my hostage.”

Daphne processed only about half of what he said. His killer smile had, in spite of his stubbly beard, devastated her equilibrium. That smile turned him into the most appealing bad boy she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Big surprise. She’d always been a sucker for the wrong men.

No wonder her family thought she needed a keeper! She was actually standing in this room contemplating a date with a man who was obviously on the wrong side of the law. Kieran would have a fit, she thought as she let the intruder hustle her toward the door.

“Get April,” he said again. “And be quick about it.”

Daphne cracked the door open, praying the hall would be empty. No—April Ross was just exiting the adjacent room. From the way she adjusted her smock, she must have been in the bathroom.

“Psst!” Daphne couldn’t think of any other way to get the woman’s attention.

April turned, curiosity on her face. Daphne looked quickly at the window, ready to shout a warning, but a ray of sunlight winked through the drapes covering the sliding glass door and glinted off the gun in her captor’s hand. That completely stilled her tongue. She merely beckoned frantically, not caring if her hostess thought she was a nutcase.

April walked slowly toward the woman she’d engaged to be her party clown. “Yes? Is there something you need, Daphne? A friend of mine took the children outside to play a game. You’ll make your entrance after that winds down, okay? If you don’t mind, later on I’ll have you help me serve refreshments. Cake and ice cream. I figured the kids would like an opportunity to talk with a real clown.”

Still unable to work any comprehensible sound through her lips, Daphne simply reached out, latched onto April’s wrist and yanked her inside the room. The door slammed on its own, and Daphne clasped her hands to her breasts. “I’m honestly so sorry to do this to you, April,” she croaked.

The woman glanced up at the man who hovered close behind Daphne. Her annoyed expression turned to one of recognition. “Logan! I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were out of town. Nat will be ecstatic.”

Daphne gaped from her hostess to the gunman and back again, while he reached around both and locked that door, too.

“April, this isn’t a social call. We can’t let Nat see me. I’m in trouble. I shouldn’t have taken refuge here—I forgot it was her birthday. Suffice it to say, I need a little assistance, and then I’ll be off.”

Daphne, exhibiting more bravery than she had up to now, insinuated herself between the man and the pregnant woman he appeared to know. “April, don’t listen. Even if he’s a friend of yours, that’s aiding and abetting,” she whispered to her hostess. “On the way in, I passed a ton of cops. Something big. Something bad went on. Between us, we can stop him.” She waved a hand toward where she’d seen the ruckus.

The man studied her with a half-amused expression. “Aren’t you forgetting I have a weapon?”

April snorted inelegantly. “Honestly, Logan. Quit scaring the poor woman to death. Just tell me what’s going on. Why do you look like a skid-row bum?”

“Sorry, you know I can’t tell you. Just get me a shirt of Mike’s and his razor. I’ve got to alter how I look enough to avoid the men who chased me here.”

As if Daphne wasn’t attempting to block her, April unlocked the door, opened it and peered down the hall. “The coast is clear. Go into our room. You can take anything in Mike’s closet. He’s out at sea with his naval unit for two weeks.”

Daphne threw her body against the door and slammed it shut. “Friend or not, he’s obviously involved in whatever just happened. He’s running from the law.”

April stared at the woman plastered against her guest room door. “Oh, Daphne, you don’t understand. Logan is the law. Logan, this is Daphne Malone. I hired her to perform for Nat’s party.”

His rough laugh rolled up from his belly. “I love it. I’ve gotten so jaded, I didn’t believe there were still people around who had the guts to stick their necks out for the good guys.”

“You’re a cop?” Daphne asked, suspicion in every tense line of her body. “What force? My brother’s LAPD. I know cops in a lot of the local precincts. I’m sure I’d remember if we’d ever met.”

“Honestly, didn’t you tell her you’re FBI, Logan? Daphne, meet my crazy brother, Special Agent Logan Grant.”

He didn’t look altogether happy about the introduction. “April, you can’t go blabbing what I do for a living to everyone under the sun. The element of surprise is our best defense. Sometimes our only defense.”

Feeling sheepish, Daphne quickly sidled away from the door. “Ohmigosh! Kieran said I was going to screw up big-time one of these days.” Her regard changed—became rapt as that of April Ross, who smiled with pride at her brother.

The agent actually got red in the face. “You need to forget my name—Daphne, is it?—and both of you forget I was ever here.” He stepped to the window again and made another furtive survey of the street. “Look, here’s the deal, April. I’ve got some real bastards wanting to get their hands on me. Bad enough that they’re in no hurry to give up the hunt. They probably have the area blanketed with sharpshooters. I don’t think changing into Mike’s shirt will make a lot of difference. So I’ll wait until the more obvious searchers move up the street. Then I’ll slip out through the back and take my chances. At least I can try to lead them away from this house.”

“No, Logan!” Worry creased April’s forehead. “Nat’s party is in full swing in the backyard. Surely you won’t risk getting my friends or the kids hurt if those men do spot you.”

“You’re right. Well, damn! What now?” He paced the length of the room and back.

Daphne had been studying him, trying to figure out how, disguised or not, he’d fooled her so completely. She wasn’t easily duped, since disguise was her business. Or rather, it would be her business when some studio hired her. She’d just completed a two-year makeup artistry course at City College. Special-effects makeup was an art. And she was good at it. She’d graduated at the top of her class. In another setting, she could make Logan Grant over. Except she didn’t have the proper equipment with her. She’d only tossed in rudimentary face paints for a kids’ party. But…

Clearing her throat, Daphne went to the bed where she’d dumped the contents of her beach bag. “May I offer a temporary solution? I wasn’t sure what type of clown Natalie liked, so I came prepared with several costumes. I can mix and match false ears, noses, wigs and such. One of them might fit you, Agent Grant.”

Logan sputtered, “I’ve gone out disguised as many things. But never as a woman, and certainly not as a clown. A guy has his limits.”

Daphne raked him up and down with disfavor. “Suit yourself. Dying’s a whole lot nobler, I’m sure.”

April joined Daphne at the bed. She pawed through the costumes. “Logan, stop being such a…such a man. I think Daphne’s hit on the perfect solution. The people chasing you have no idea I didn’t book two party clowns. Look, she has these big slipper feet in a couple of different styles. I can see this working,” she said excitedly. “And…the kids are yelling now to bring on the clowns.”

Daphne found herself agreeing less enthusiastically. What had she been thinking? “You’d have to shave. But I have greasepaint in my kit.”

“No. Then I’d be back to putting you all in danger. Besides, they’ll see through any attempt.”

That did it! He’d cast aspersions on her ability. “I promise you, Agent Grant, when I finish with you, not even your own mother will recognize you.”

“Quit calling me Agent Grant. That’s a dead giveaway,” he snarled.

Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I’ll think of something else to call you. How does Pancake sound? Or Custard?” Her sarcasm was unmistakable.

“I’d rather meet the guys outside with one hand tied behind me,” Logan retorted disdainfully.

April, who’d slipped briefly out of the room, returned with a razor and some clean underwear. She passed the items to her brother none too gently.

“I’ll need a shirt and pants,” he said as he headed for the guest bathroom.

Both April and Daphne shook their heads, but it was April who spoke. “They’d stick out like a sore thumb under this flimsy costume. I’m disposing of those clothes you have on,” she said stoutly. “They’re disgusting, Logan.”

He capitulated, though not gracefully. “Give me the damn clown suit. I doubt it’ll fit, but we’ll try it your way. If my boss or coworkers ever got a load of me in this, I’d never hear the end of it,” he muttered as he tore the clown suit out of Daphne’s hand, dived into the bathroom and slammed the door.

The women grinned at each other. In spite of the fact that they’d only just met, it was as if they’d bonded through this mutual accomplishment.

“April, go on out to the party and buy us some time. Tell the kids we’ll start the show in fifteen minutes. I’m sure you can come up with another short game.”

Nodding, the hostess left, and Daphne spread out her supplies. She set a chair in front of the mirror and began to apply her makeup.

When Logan shuffled out hesitantly in a silly one-piece clown outfit with a wide ruffled collar and baseball-size green puffballs that ran from his neck to his crotch, the outer room was vacant except for his new partner. “When I was a kid,” he said, eyeing her, “my dad gave me a talking Bozo the Clown. You look exactly like him.”

“I know,” she said smugly. “But if I’d known you shared a kinship with Bozo, I might’ve made myself up to look like his sidekick, Blossom.”

He squinted into the bright light she turned on over the mirror. “Wow, I’ve gotta say I’m impressed. If I hadn’t met you without makeup, I wouldn’t have a clue what you looked like in real life. Can you really do the same to me?”

“I’m going to try. Sit.” She pointed to the chair. “Otherwise I’ll trip over my feet.”

Logan cast a glance downward at her big, floppy slippers. An automatic laugh bubbled up.

“See, it works every time. The makeup. It’s why people see clowns and laugh.”

“Not all clowns are funny. Some are downright scary. For instance, our team once arrested a ring of clowns who walked right into houses in broad daylight. They preyed on latchkey kids. Of course, the kids let them in without a peep, and one clown entertained while his pals pulled a disappearing act that entailed backing a moving van up to the house. They burgled freezers, TVs, jewelry. You name it, they heisted it.”

Daphne frowned. “That’s awful. Especially when you think they might’ve done worse than clean out a house. They could’ve murdered the kids.”

Logan reared back, appraising her again. “My boss and I said exactly the same thing. Hmm, there are other kinds of clowns, too. At my buddy’s bachelor party, somebody hired one who did a rip-snorting lap dance. I don’t suppose you—”

“Absolutely not,” she said. But Daphne’s fingers, slick with the greasepaint she was applying to Logan’s newly shaved face, slipped off just imagining it. After he’d washed and scraped off his beard, Logan Grant looked too darn good. He stirred a heat in her that was better doused. If she had terrible luck with jobs, relationships were even worse. She was hopeless at choosing men—beginning with Kevin McBride, who’d come to pick her up for the prom on his muddy Harley. The jerk had taken a bet cooked up by Daphne’s brothers. Those guys always seemed to mess up her love life.

Logan Grant set off all kinds of warning bells in her head. Without whiskers and with his sun-streaked, longish blond hair tied back, there was no doubt he had a rakish kind of sex appeal. Just touching his smooth cheeks, no matter how impersonally, made Daphne’s fingers tremble.

It didn’t help that his killer blue eyes never left her face. She cringed at the thought of how she must look under his scrutiny. White face. Arched and exaggerated black eyebrows. A wig of red yarn, which was bald on top. Sheesh!

In reality, though, Logan sat there recalling how Daphne Malone had looked before suiting up as Bozo. Once he’d felt halfway safe from Billy Holt’s long grasp, Logan had taken time for a cursory once-over of the half-dressed woman he’d grabbed. All her body parts were strung together fine. Very fine, in fact. At first he’d seen her as cute. Later he’d altered that to hot—although she wasn’t his type.

After the demise of his short-lived marriage to another agent, a marriage that was probably the biggest mistake of his life, Logan tended to date women who weren’t only real lookers but had high-powered careers. Careers well out of his field. And they had to be women whose minds weren’t on the M word. One disastrous attempt at domestic bliss had been enough to last Logan a lifetime.

He watched Daphne step back, tilt her head to one side and examine him critically, and he still couldn’t shake the other image—the one in which she was barely dressed.

Well, hell! “Are we done?” he muttered.

“Almost.” She leaned around him to scoop something off the bed. A bright red felt hat that had bushy white hair attached to all sides. As she straightened, Logan got a whiff of a perfume that nearly had him following her with his tongue hanging out. Damn, but he was a sucker for certain scents. This one did something to his libido. Cranked it up full bore.

Daphne set the silly top hat squarely on Logan’s head. She made sure every bit of his own hair was hidden from view. “The flower on your hat has a vial of water attached by this camouflaged button on the brim. You can act like you’re tipping your hat to a lady. Instead, you squirt her with a fine spray of water. I don’t recommend using it on kids—they often have short fuses and no sense of humor when it comes to practical jokes. But the moms generally laugh.”

He stood then, and walked over to the mirror as Daphne pulled on white gloves to cover his big hands. “I can’t believe I’m really going out in public looking like this,” Logan lamented, lifting first one foot and then the other so she could install his oversize slippers. They felt awkward as hell.

“I can paint on tears so you can be a sad clown,” Daphne said tartly, climbing to her feet to peruse him from head to toe. “Otherwise, quit frowning. You’ll mess up the paint. The way I see it, I’ve just saved your scrawny butt.”

Logan scowled harder, or tried to. The thick face paint discouraged facial expressions, he discovered.

“Listen up, Special Agent. Here’s the plan. I have a few simple tricks I show the kids. I do a few riddles and give little prizes for correct answers. You’ll be my assistant. I’ll tell everyone you’re a clown in training. Natalie asked me to paint everyone’s face. If you’ve had any experience, we can split up the kids. If not, you’ll have to hang out and hand me paints and brushes as I need them.”

“I think you like humiliating me far too much for someone who doesn’t even know me. You say your brother’s a cop? Maybe you’re getting back at him through me. Or maybe a cop boyfriend dumped you, so making a fool of me gives you a kick.”

“I love my brothers. I’m proud of all three. Kieran wears the blue. Dane risks his life fighting fires. Perry transports freight cross-country for a living. And I never dated a cop. I have better sense. I think you’re acting pretty ungrateful for a guy in your position. Not to mention that you’ve endangered lives by coming here.”

Logan flinched at Daphne Malone’s verbal slap. “You’re absolutely right on all counts,” he said stiffly. “From here on out, or at least until the party ends, your slightest wish is my command…Bozo,” he added under his breath as Daphne thrust a bag in his hands and headed for the door. Logan revised his opinion of her. She wasn’t hot. She was a pain in the ass. But he’d associated with worse people to save his hide. So associate with Daphne Malone he would. Temporarily. Logan just hoped this party turned out to be the shortest birthday celebration in history.

He thought that even more as he watched Daphne’s sashaying tush disappear out the sliding glass door. Something must be wrong with his love life if he was attracted to a woman dressed like a clown. Her smart mouth alone should deter him. Not only that, Logan was a take-charge kind of guy who didn’t particularly like taking orders. Thankfully, his dealings with the dictatorial Daphne Malone would end at the close of this event.

But what if Holt’s buddies had already moved on, thinking Logan had given them the slip? Maybe going out there, making a spectacle of himself, would be for nothing. Hanging back, Logan slid across the floor to peer out front again.

He should’ve known Holt’s well-trained goons wouldn’t give up so easily. They were out there all right.




CHAPTER TWO


LOGAN STARTED working out a plan to borrow April’s car. With a little luck, he’d figured he could sneak past Billy’s lookouts. That hope died quickly. A glance through a crack in the blind showed one man from the organization strolling down the street, peering under bushes and over fences into side yards. He stopped to talk to a cop in an LAPD car; Logan wished he could see the cop’s face. A second goon followed a trail into the woods adjacent to April’s house. Dropping the blind, Logan realized he’d have to play along for a while.

He’d strapped the Luger to his leg with two rubber bands he found in his sister’s bathroom cabinet. He’d be walking oddly, anyway, in the big slippered feet. Walking at all was a challenge, he soon discovered, wondering whatever possessed grown-ups to do this for a living.

By placing all his weight on his heels, he managed to make it past the slider onto the patio without falling on his face. Daphne already had the kids sitting in a semicircle, gazing up at her with adoring eyes. A surprising stab of nostalgia rendered him immobile for a heartbeat. An early argument Logan had with his ex had come about because he wanted kids and she flatly refused to discuss it. He envied his sister and her friends, who sat around the pool in deck chairs smiling at their cherubs. Logan again cursed himself for potentially bringing disaster down on them.

Noticing one of Billy Holt’s men walking out of the woods on the unfenced side of April’s yard, he tensed all over. Logan had gotten into the house undetected by knowing the area. If he ever got out of this, he’d try to convince Mike to move his family to a better location. At the very least, Logan knew he’d come back and help fence their yard.

Feeling protective of everyone here, he waddled up and insinuated his body between Daphne and the deadly onlooker—a man sure to be packing the latest automatic handgun. The availability of high-tech weapons to criminals was something else that made Logan’s job more difficult by the day.

Daphne, seemingly oblivious that they were being observed, produced five plastic bowling pins from a flowered bag she’d brought out. She began juggling three pins. Then added two more. When she finally did see the stranger watching from the trees, she faltered and pins flew in five different directions.

Logan scooped them up. Even with gloves covering his hands, he tossed the pins in the air and kept them aloft far longer than Daphne had.

The kids clapped loudly.

“Hey, quit upstaging me,” Daphne said, planting her hands on her hips.

The kids and their moms assumed the banter was part of the routine. They all laughed and urged Daphne to take the pins away from her partner.

“That’s okay,” Daphne told the children. “My magic tricks are way cooler than his.”

“What’s your name?” called out one boy.

“I’m Bozo. This is Buzzy. He doesn’t talk much,” Daphne said seriously. “But he’d like another round of applause for how well he juggles. How about if we all show him our appreciation?”

The group of kids and adults clapped harder. Logan knew why Daphne had said he didn’t speak. If their intruder stayed at the edge of the party—and he showed no indication of leaving—the guy might well recognize Logan’s voice. Logan’s estimation of Daphne Malone’s ability to think on her feet went up several degrees.

But he thought it was too bad her magic tricks were so pathetic. Bumping her aside, Logan grabbed the coin and deck of cards out of her hands. As a boy, he’d spent hours with a box of magic tricks he’d received for Christmas one year. This was an arena where he felt confident he could hold the kids’ interest.

Daphne crossed her arms and tapped one oversize foot, appearing outwardly annoyed at her partner. Truthfully, she was annoyed. What did he think he was doing, horning in on her gig.

Again, everyone present assumed it was part of the act. And Daphne had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Logan Grant was a whiz at magic. He held the kids enthralled for a good fifteen minutes. Five minutes, tops, was all she’d ever managed. But then again, this clown business was a sideline for her. Her real talent lay in makeup.

At the first sign that the kids were growing bored with Logan’s sleight of hand, she clapped sharply and offered a new diversion.

“Time for face painting. Who wants their faces done?”

The kids jumped up and crowded around her. “Me first, me first,” all ten shouted as they danced up and down.

“Whoa! The birthday girl is always first. I’ll give Natalie a list of faces I came prepared to paint. She’ll choose for everyone. It’ll be a grand secret until each of you finally gets to look in the mirror.” Daphne flipped open a canvas camp stool hauled from the depths of the voluminous beach bag. Next, she produced a tray filled with small jars of paint.

Logan saw that their watcher had left the tree and appeared to be searching the back half of the vacant lot. Logan judged he could safely leave in ten minutes or so. Except that the kids not being painted started milling about. Those with moms on hand whined. The boys roughhoused, and April suddenly wore a panicked expression. She didn’t know they were being watched or she would’ve been downright terrified.

Logan thought he owed it to his sister, to his niece and to Daphne to stay and help out a little longer.

He whistled to regain the children’s attention. Elaborately, he pantomimed that they should again gather around. He began slowly pulling out a row of scarves he’d discovered hidden in the false sleeve of his costume. He tied them together and made the lot disappear.

Even Daphne gave him a rolling “Ooooh,” followed by applause. Emboldened, Logan marched up to his sister. He made a big show of patting April’s burgeoning belly. He pretended to listen to her baby with a fat clown ear, and made cradling motions with his arms. Then, big as you please, Logan leaned down and shot April in the face with the water-filled flower.

She sputtered, wiped her cheeks, and to everyone’s glee she swung at his arm.

Daphne tried to keep a straight face, but she had to smother a laugh. Through talking to Natalie, she’d learned that most of the children at the party had attended fairs where they’d had butterflies or lightning bolts painted on their cheeks. No one was prepared for the display Daphne had planned. Natalie had agreed that Daphne would turn each child into a specific animal. Daphne was relieved the girl had liked her idea. Especially since animal props were the only ones she’d brought, and she figured the kids would enjoy taking them home.

First, she covered Nat’s face with white paint, then added pink blush to her cheeks. Using a brush, she framed the little girl’s face in black, and added a black nose, jet-black arched eyebrows and whiskers. She painted on big ruby-red lips. Rummaging in her bag, she hauled out two red-and-white polka-dot bows. One was attached to round black ears, which she affixed to the back of Nat’s head. The second bow she pinned at the girl’s throat. “Voilà, meet our pretty house mouse,” she announced, presenting the birthday girl to her family and friends. They both curtsied, Nat gracefully, Daphne a bit more awkward given the size of her false feet.

As the children exclaimed over how great Natalie looked, Daphne started on the next child. Whiskers the Cat was followed by a mop-haired boy as El Perro the Dog. He sported a black ring around his left eye when Daphne put on the finishing touch.

Logan was most impressed by the zebra makeup. The boy wore a black-and-white striped T-shirt that made the costume more realistic. The band with pointy ears that Daphne clipped around his head enhanced the total effect of his black-and-white face paint. The kids liked the Bengal tiger best, though.

“Hey, you’re really good,” Logan muttered when he thought the kids wouldn’t be able to hear him talk normally.

Daphne merely smiled in response, but Logan could tell she was pleased. Did she get so few compliments then? He took a minute to really watch her sure and steady strokes.

A boy with a pronounced lisp became another dog. Daphne quickly cut big paws out of a discarded grocery sack she’d asked Natalie to hand her. Dog-boy ended up with floppy, grocery-bag ears, too.

A two-toothed rabbit caused everyone to laugh uproariously. The girl wasn’t shy. She hammed it up, which only increased Daphne’s popularity.

Logan watched the moms ooh and aah among themselves. He had little doubt that his partner had just scored more parties for herself. Strangely, he felt a stab of pride at Daphne’s accomplishments. It was similar to the way he’d feel about another agent’s success.

She finished the final kid, transforming a cherubic girl with naturally apple-red cheeks and a mop of wildly curling black hair rather like Daphne’s own, into a hissing, snarling wildcat. Then she screwed a lid on the paint jar and casually nudged Logan. “Don’t look now, but our watchdog’s back.”

At first Logan thought Daphne was referring to one of the kid animals. But with an elaborate roll of her eyes, she turned his attention to the wooded lot.

Sure enough, the worst of Holt’s henchmen stood at the edge of April’s grass, boldly observing the proceedings.

“Listen up, kids. Buzzy is going to help Mrs. Ross bring out Natalie’s cake. While they’re gone, I want everyone to practice helping her blow out the candles. I’ll dish up ice cream to go with the cake in a minute. Oh—I see an interested neighbor. Maybe he has a child he’d like to book a party for. I’ll go tell him how to contact us.”

Was she nuts? Logan couldn’t believe his eyes. Daphne marched straight up to Billy’s right-hand man, a cold-blooded killer if ever there was one. Logan recognized the man nicknamed Razor for the way he carved up his enemies. Jeez. Did Daphne Malone have a death wish? Logan tried to pull loose from April, but his sister had his clown suit in a grip that he feared would tear the material if he resisted too strenuously. Twisting his head to keep an eye on Daphne didn’t work, either. April opened the kitchen door and shoved him inside, totally cutting off his view.



AFTER YEARS OF LIVING with an excess of authoritative older brothers, Daphne had learned that the best way to divert a problem was to face it head-on. Even though her knees knocked inside her baggy polka-dot clown suit, she walked right up to a man she knew to be on the wrong side of the law. “Hi, I’m Bozo the Clown,” she said. “My partner, Buzzy, and I perform at children’s parties all over the valley. I couldn’t help noticing the interest you’ve shown in our act. Unfortunately, I don’t have a business card with me.” She made a show of holding out her costume so the man could see she had no pockets. “I can give you a phone number, though, if you have a child with a birthday coming up.”

“No kid,” the man growled. He practically stumbled over his feet in an attempt to back away from Daphne.

“Oh.” She actually managed to sound saddened by his revelation. “Well, I’ll let you go then. Buzzy and I always help the hostess serve refreshments. This many kids can make a real mess of cake and ice cream. So, if you’re just out for your daily walk, Mr….” She let her words trail off.

Daphne knew, of course, that he wouldn’t supply a name. As she’d expected, he turned abruptly and all but melted into the woods.

She wanted to grin and pat herself on the back. However, her knees were too spongy. It was all she could do to make it to the patio before collapsing on the camp stool she’d set up to paint faces.

Logan exited the house carrying a sheet cake with seven lit candles.

Daphne saw from the disapproving flash in his blue eyes that she was in for a tongue-lashing. It was only a matter of time. Well, Logan Grant ought to thank her. That was what he ought to do. It was plain to her that the man watching them was suspicious of their act.

When she succeeded in getting her legs under her again, Daphne stood up and flounced into the kitchen.

Logan quickly followed, leaving his sister to oversee blowing out the candles and cutting the cake. “What the hell did you think you were doing out there?” he demanded the minute they were both closed inside.

“He left, didn’t he?” Daphne returned flippantly. She pried the lid off a round carton of ice cream and shoved a scoop that lay beside it into Logan’s hand. “Make yourself useful,” she said haughtily.

He blinked down at the scoop as if to ask how he came to be holding it.

Daphne calmly extended the first bowl. “We’d better hurry. April won’t be able to keep the kids from wanting ice cream for long once Natalie blows out her candles.”

“You may think this is all a kid’s game, like cops and robbers, Ms. Malone. What you did out there was damn stupid. You risked your life and the lives of all those kids and their moms.”

Picking up four bowls Logan had filled with ice cream, Daphne bumped her butt against the door to open it. Lowering her lashes demurely, she gave him a sweet smile, which she knew probably looked grotesque with her makeup. “It’s a little difficult to take a clown’s lecture too seriously.”

Practically frothing at the mouth, Logan started after her to show her how seriously he ought to be taken. But melting ice cream dripped down the handle of the scoop and over his glove. Swearing under his breath, he waddled to the sink and wiped off the sticky stuff. Damn, a man in clown slippers couldn’t even stomp out properly.

Logan was two seconds from going into the bedroom to strip out of this ridiculous costume when an out-of-breath April flew down the hall from the direction of the guest room. “I just walked Mariel Weber to her car,” she said. “I saw at least three strange men nosing along our street, Logan. Are they the people who want to—well…snuff you?” she asked, lowering her voice to a bare whisper.

Daphne had returned for more bowls. “Hop to it, Grant. The natives are getting restless. Our lives won’t be worth a plugged nickel if we don’t feed those boys out there chocolate ice cream. I’m not too popular, ’cause I made them wait till all the girls were served.”

“You’re not too popular with me, either,” Logan snapped. “If you hadn’t waltzed up and consorted with Razor, he and his pals might’ve taken a powder by now.”

“Razor? No wonder he wasn’t eager to share his name.” Daphne didn’t so much as flinch when Logan swore. She just relieved him of the scoop and quickly filled the next set of bowls. “You cop types all need to clean up your language,” she said primly. “You may think swearing is manly, but it doesn’t impress the ladies.” She hurried back to the patio before Logan self-destructed with apoplexy. Frankly, the only way she could deal with him was to treat him as she’d treat her brothers. Otherwise, if she paused to think about what was really going on, she might fall apart.

At last the party wound down. One mother and daughter had already left, saying they had a family obligation. Daphne knew it wouldn’t be long before the others followed. Natalie still had some presents to open, but Daphne knew kids could make short work of ripping through wrapping paper. She’d pack up and leave then. But…what about Logan?

Maybe they could stall through cleaning up the patio, but that was the maximum time she could spend hanging around. Otherwise she’d lose credibility. She sure hoped Agent Grant had more than a few flimsy scarves up his sleeves—although why she cared was beyond her.

Irritated, Daphne pulled empty bowls from children’s hands as fast as she could and rushed back to the kitchen. “April, you’d better go on out with your guests. Leave Logan and me to put this stuff away. I think Nat’s ready to open her gifts. The kids who already finished eating are poking at her packages.”

“I’ll go, but will you talk some sense into this brother of mine? He’s planning to change into street clothes and take his chances with those thieves and murderers. I think it’d be smarter if you two left together dressed as you are. Those men hanging around out front won’t know that you don’t usually come and go in costume. Maybe you could swing past Logan’s office and dump him out. He’ll get your costume back to you somehow. Or else I will. I have your phone number.” Bestowing a last unhappy glance on her brother, April disappeared out the kitchen door.

Daphne wasn’t at all keen on the idea even though she saw its merit.

“Don’t you start giving me lip,” Logan told Daphne as she put the lid on the ice-cream carton. Logan, familiar with where to find the freezer, tripped over his feet as he went into the alcove to stow the ice cream. Coming back, he stalked circles around the center island. When Daphne said nothing, he threw up his hands. “If your brother’s a cop, you know full well I can’t…won’t let you help. I’d be in trouble for soliciting help from a civilian, especially a female civilian.”

Daphne threw the sponge into the sink after wiping chocolate ice cream off the counter. “I don’t know you at all, Logan. I guess your ego’s too fragile to ask for help from a mere woman.”

“That’s not it,” he exploded. “It’s against rules. Besides, my boss sees me dressed like this and worms the story out of me, I’ll be on report from now until I retire.”

“Yes,” she said sympathetically. “On the other hand, you might actually live to retire.” She’d edged over to a window that faced out on the front yard. “I have to agree with April that staying in costume makes the most sense. And believe me, I’m not looking forward to riding in a hot car wearing full greasepaint. It’ll run.”

“Is runny makeup all you’re worried about? If one of those yoyos even suspects I’m his man, your car will end up riddled with bullet holes.”

“I drive pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t any of this faze you? If—and I’m saying if—I go along with this half-baked scheme, I’m driving the getaway vehicle. I’ve had to dodge tails before, which I doubt you have.”

“I’ve had to shake a persistent friend who thought I was dating her boyfriend. But she didn’t have a gun,” Daphne said with a grin. “At least I don’t think she did.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

She sobered instantly. Daphne’s tawny eyes revealed that she wasn’t nearly as blasé about any of this as she tried to let on. “Let me collect my props and get my check. I owe a lot of people, so if I turn up dead, maybe what I earned today will go toward staving off my creditors.”

“Hey,” Logan called as Daphne sped around him. “We’re splitting today’s take fifty-fifty, aren’t we?” He winked when she stopped to gawk at him. “Well, I did do half the job,” he said, spreading his white-gloved hands. “I thought I was pretty good.”

“You did okay for a rookie. But in this line of work it’s common for an apprentice to pay a master clown to teach him the trade. If we manage to get out of this in one piece, though, I might buy you dinner one of these days.”

“Really? Dinner with a clown? That’s an offer a guy doesn’t get very often. Okay, Bozo, you’re on. Let me go ease April’s mind. I’ll bring anything you left on the patio to the bedroom. By the way, I’m not driving in these clodhoppers. I’m changing into my boots.”

“What kind of special agent are you?” Daphne tossed her head. “Any bad guy worth his salt will spot those run-down boots of yours. That’s why I’m driving. I have socks on under my clown shoes. I can slip these off once we’re in the car. Your buddies out there will be none the wiser.”

“You’re a hard woman, Daphne Malone. Okay. You win. Are you sure you’re not the cop in the Malone family moonlighting as a clown?”

“Don’t ever let my brother Kieran hear you say that. He’s convinced it takes a virtual deity to do what he does for a living. A deity with a penis, no less.”

“Hmm. Your brother and I would get along fine. Too bad we’ll never meet. The agency discourages fraternizing with local law enforcement. In case it’s necessary to put us out in the community undercover.”

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “You’re so good at working undercover.”

Logan grabbed another sponge off the counter and threw it at her. But she was too quick. It missed by a mile. He found himself grinning in spite of the situation. Daphne Malone was really something. He’d bet she didn’t take an ounce of guff from her brother. Brothers, he corrected, recalling that she’d mentioned three. All men in tough-guy fields. No wonder she’d learned to hold her own in a verbal scuffle.

Remembering how she’d looked in skimpy underwear, Logan grinned a moment longer. He pictured scuffling with her across a king-size bed. His smile faded. Ludicrous, he thought, stiff-arming his way out the back door.

April left one of her friends in charge of the children who’d stayed to play after Nat had opened her gifts. She’d received a croquet set and the kids wanted to try it out. One of the other moms promised to help set up while April paid her performers.

“I’m worried, Logan. Phone me as soon as Daphne drops you at your office. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Mike being at sea, without worrying about your safety, too.”

“We’ll be fine. In fact, I only see one carload of bad guys hanging around,” Logan said, brushing a kiss on April’s forehead. “Stop worrying. It’s not good for the baby. Oh, tell Nat I phoned or something, and that I’m mailing her a gift. What does she want that she didn’t get?”

“See if you can find the Barbie with all the camping gear. The stores in this area were all sold out. We’re using Mike’s leave to go camping before the baby arrives, which is why Nat wants the Barbie that comes with a tent and stuff. She was disappointed, I think, when she found out it wasn’t what her dad and I had given her.”

“Man, I hate going down Barbie aisles in toy stores. It’s more intimidating than Victoria’s Secret. Well, almost more intimidating,” he said, realizing what he’d admitted not only to his sister, but to Daphne Malone. She’d stowed her check in her bag and waited impatiently at the front door. Logan expected one of the women to ask who he bought skimpy lingerie for. Thankfully, neither remarked on it.

Before either of them could, he relieved Daphne of her bulging beach bag and reached around her to open the door.

“Go on out with Nat and enjoy the rest of her party, sis. I’ll call you when I can. Don’t worry if you don’t hear right away.”

April walked onto the front porch. Daphne waved before she and Logan climbed into her Volkswagen.

“You said you had a car,” Logan grumbled, trying to fold his long body enough to fit inside the cramped space.

“No disparaging comments, please. I happen to love my little car. She’s a classic. And Tootles gets me where I’m going economically. I find parking when bigger cars have to pass up a spot.” She patted the dash. “Oops, I see two cars with dark windows. Looks like maybe two occupants in each, and both show an inordinate amount of interest in us. You might want to lean into the back seat so they can’t get a good look at you.”

“I got a good look at me at April’s. I don’t think my boss would recognize me.”

Still, Daphne noticed he took her suggestion. Agent Grant didn’t do anything without bickering, but he listened and eventually took advice—from a woman, no less. Daphne stored that information for tossing up at Kieran one day.

“Hey,” she said, flexing her fingers around the wheel. “A dark blue car pulled in directly behind us.”

The word that left Logan’s mouth wasn’t pretty, but Daphne thought it described how she felt at the moment, too.

“See if you can shake him. Keep to the middle lane. At the next intersection, if the light’s green, whip into the right lane and make a hard right turn.”

Daphne followed his instructions to the letter. But the car tailing them crossed in front of a truck in a real squeaker of a move and ended up behind them again.

“Don’t act like you’re keeping tabs on him,” Logan said. “But glance in your sideview mirror occasionally.”

“He’s so close on my rear I can almost feel him breathing.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid he thinks we deliberately tried to ditch them.”

“We did.”

“I know, but I’d hoped they wouldn’t be expecting it of you. I thought maybe we could zigzag through a few streets and throw them off our scent.”

Daphne tried to relax. She leaned back against the seat and loosened her death grip on the wheel. “Where’s your office? Can we shake them in five o’clock traffic? The next block will fill up soon with workers leaving a packing plant.”

Logan named an address, and Daphne was surprised to learn his office wasn’t more than ten blocks from her apartment building. “I didn’t know there was a federal building on Jefferson Boulevard.”

“There’s not.” He scrunched down even lower in the seat and rested his hat against the headrest. “Our whole unit is operating on the q.t.”

“Phew, that’s good. I didn’t relish pulling up in front of a federal building to let you out in case I can’t lose that blue Mercedes afterward. But if your whole unit’s under wraps, those guys won’t know I’m leaving you with feds.”

“Don’t be too sure.” Logan crossed his arms and studied his driver. “They have unheard-of sources. Money talks, and that gang of thugs has gold to burn. Their last heroin shipment brought in half a billion dollars on the street.”

“That’s disgusting. Think of all those pathetic humans who lie, cheat and steal to pay for their drug habits.”

“Unfortunately, in California and elsewhere, plenty of folks with big bucks are dabbling in the hard stuff. They earn their money on Wall Street, or in occupations that are well thought of.”

“Like entertainment and sports, you mean?”

“To name two, yes.”

Daphne spared him a sidelong glance. “I’ve lived on the fringes of Hollywood my whole life. I know rich-and-famous kids who spent more than their school lunch money to stay stoned out of their minds.”

“Did you know any dealers? Do you now?”

“No. I always figured it was better not to know. I didn’t use, or run around with kids who did.” She shrugged. “I was never very popular.”

“Now that I find hard to believe.”

She sent him a dirty look. As dirty, at least, as a clown with a painted-on smile could deliver.

“Are they still on our bumper?” he asked, not wanting to turn around.

“Yes,” she said, making a right turn and then a left. “Dang, I thought that maneuver might confuse them. They seem acquainted with all our one-way streets. Shoot, I’m afraid I really tipped them off.”

Logan squinted into the sun to read the next street signs. “Go up Linda Vista and join the Foothill Freeway. From there, see if you can disappear in heavy traffic. Then swerve onto the Glendale Freeway. Follow it all the way down to the Golden State. If they’re unaware the feds have a branch office here, it may throw them off the track long enough to let me slip out and double back. I just don’t want to leave them following you. By the way, where do you live? And do you live alone or with family—or with a significant other?”

“Alone.” She gave him the coordinating cross streets for her apartment. “Why do you need to know where I live?”

“Because I may have to go home with you to make it look convincing to these jokers if they’re too persistent.”

“What? No way! I just told you I live alone.”

“How many people in your building know that?”

“A few. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It is if our tails get nosy and start asking questions around here. If they weren’t suspicious of us—of me—I think they’d already be peeling off to look elsewhere. They know where I live. I’m sure someone’s watching my condo.”

“I suppose you can come up for a little while. How do you plan to leave my apartment, though—and when?”

“I’ll think of something. I hate to ask a fellow agent to extract me, but if all else fails, I will. Those jerks behind us don’t know your name. You didn’t give it to Razor, did you?” Logan leveled a serious look at Daphne.

“I said we booked birthday parties as Bozo and Buzzy. I said I didn’t have any business cards with me. Your friend wasn’t interested. I pretended I thought he had a child and was checking the party because he might want to book us.”

“That was good thinking,” he said somewhat unwillingly.

“Thanks.” Her response was dry.

“No, I mean it. Have you considered going into police work yourself?”

“Are you kidding? With my work history?” She laughed hilariously as she navigated up the ramp onto the first of the three freeways.

“It couldn’t be too bad. You aren’t that old.”

“Part-time jobs have been my downfall,” she muttered with a grimace. “I figured anyone could be a waitress. I’ve certainly encountered some ditzy ones. But my first day on the job, I dumped Caesar salad in the lap of a really big movie star. I guess you could say I got blackballed from working at any local restaurants where there’re decent tips.”

“So, your mistake was in assuming that waitressing’s easy.”

“On my next job, I tried lifeguarding at Santa Monica Beach.”

“Can you swim?” Logan asked carefully.

“Yes, don’t be an idiot. I swim fine. I just couldn’t rescue a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound doofus who almost drowned himself and me. He was drunk out of his gourd, and his buddies thought the way he fought me was really cute.”

“Well, jeez, what do you expect if the guy outweighs you? Cripes, you can’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty.”

“A hundred and twelve to be exact. But the instructor who trained me insists its not a matter of weight but of leverage. So I still got fired.”

“That’s just two jobs. It’s obvious you didn’t give up.”

“No. I applied for and got a job as a dog walker. I screwed up at that, too.” She sighed.

“That job seems like a no-brainer if you don’t mind my saying so. What happened?”

“You won’t believe it,” she responded glumly. “My family still can’t. The agency I signed up with had some high-toned clients. I was assigned to meet dog owners at the valet parking for Rodeo Drive. In a way it was my own fault. My first time out, I was to walk three chows. You’ve seen chows? They’re big and fluffy and red. This particular threesome turned out to be pampered and undisciplined as well. The owner, a star who shall remain nameless, neglected to tell me they had a hankering for a certain French poodle. Her owner operated a ritzy accessory shop on the Drive, where I was told to walk the dogs. I tried my best to hold the chows back when we passed this place. Suffice it to say that before the walk ended, we’d wiped out the awnings of two elite establishments. My dad coughed up for the damages. I won’t even tell you what he had to lay out in cold cash. I am going to pay him back, though.”

“What made you decide to try being a party clown, of all things? That seems like a job with built-in drawbacks. Kids bite, kick and spit. Mothers never believe their rug rats are at fault.”

“Oh, I’m only doing this temporarily while I wait to hear on a job at one of the movie studios. My family talked me into giving college another stab after the last disaster. They weren’t overjoyed when I chose to become a makeup artist. But I’m good at it, and I think it’ll be exciting and rewarding work. No two movies are ever alike. Plus, I’ll meet a lot of interesting people—including single men. But don’t you dare ask about my history in that department. I’ve spilled all of my life story you’re going to hear, Agent Grant. It’s your turn.”

“We’ll have to find a different subject, then. Damn, I see we haven’t lost our shadow. If I’m not mistaken, the next off-ramp is the one you need to take.”

“So it is. Does this mean you’re really coming to my apartment?”

“I’m afraid so,” Logan said slowly. He checked and re-checked the car following them without giving the appearance that he was doing so.

“Then you can tell me all about Logan Grant. Must be a fascinating life you lead, what with criminals chasing you around, driving you into the back bedrooms of virtual strangers.”

“It was my sister’s bedroom. She’s hardly a stranger. And that doesn’t happen often. Agents aren’t supposed to talk about their private lives,” he muttered. “However, I will tell you that drugs aren’t all we suspect these men of trafficking. Don’t worry, though, I’m not planning to trouble you for long. Just until I call my office.”

Daphne exited the freeway and took the surface streets three blocks west to her apartment. Spotting a sports car pulling out of a parking place, she zipped into it, causing Logan to bump his head against the curve of the windshield when she braked fast.

“Sorry. This parking space is directly in front of my entrance. It means we only have to walk a few steps to get inside. I don’t see any other opening. Your friends back there will either have to double-park or wait until someone leaves. This time of the afternoon, when everyone’s coming home from work, chances of that are slim to none.”

“Good. Hey, I didn’t think to ask. Is your main door keyed or do you have a doorman on duty?”

“No doorman. This is a low-budget part of town. Almost anyone who wants to enter the building can get someone to buzz them in. I hate that the people here aren’t more careful, but it’s mostly college kids and artsy people. Either they have lots of company or they’re all in the habit of forgetting their keys.”

“It’s too late to worry about changing neighborhoods now,” he said. “I’ll bring your beach bag. You run ahead and unlock the door. Act like we’ve done this a million times. Pretend this is your Oscar-winning performance.”

She stuck out her tongue. “I’m not a struggling actress. Name me one person who’s ever won an Oscar for makeup. Well, they do, but no one can name them.”

“If we pull off this scam, babe, I’ll give you a gold statue myself.” Logan scrambled out of the cramped space, retrieved Daphne’s bag and actually whistled as he bounded up the steps. When she bent to insert the key, he casually placed a hand on her hip, as if it was habit.

The weight of his palm and the warmth of his long body standing so close sent heat to the pit of Daphne’s stomach. She fumbled her key and would’ve dropped the entire ring had Logan not been agile enough to catch it. Smiling, he kissed her knuckles and left red paint from his mouth smeared across her white glove. Then he opened the door without a hitch.

She refused to meet his eyes, certain she’d encounter a satisfied masculine smirk on his cocky face. Just continue to treat him the way you treat your brothers. She chanted that over and over, even as her brain turned to mush. Damn, she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life. But then, she clearly wasn’t Logan Grant’s type. She knew that instinctively. So at most, she’d have to play hostess for an hour or so. Just until someone from his office figured out how to get here and pick him up.




CHAPTER THREE


THE FRONT DOOR CLANGED shut behind them. Daphne ducked out from beneath Logan’s hand without saying a word and raced up the stairs. She’d come inside in stocking feet. Logan was not only grappling with the awkward beach bag, but he still wore the oversize clown slippers.

He stopped on the first landing and pulled off the foam booties that tripped him up on every step. After that he moved better. But the woman leading the charge kept going higher and higher. “Hey,” he finally called, wincing as his voice echoed in the stairwell. “Which floor do you live on?”

“Eighth. It’s the top floor in this building. I started out on third, but I hated having people tramping around overhead. So the minute an apartment opened up on eight, I switched.”

“I can’t believe there’s no elevator.”

“It’s an historic building is why. I think the circular stairs are part of the charm.”

“Great! Who needs historic?”

Daphne had finally reached the last landing. She turned and headed down the hall, where she stopped outside the last door on her left.

Logan paused to check out possible exits. His hostess appeared to have a corner apartment overlooking the front of the building. The minute she opened the door and he walked in behind her, Logan saw with some pleasure that she also had a big corner window. He made a beeline over there to scan the street below.

Glad he was otherwise occupied, Daphne zigzagged through her living room, picking up items she’d strewn haphazardly about. She wouldn’t call herself a slob, exactly, but picking up never seemed a top priority, unless she’d arranged for company. Or if family members phoned to say they’d be dropping by, she made certain the place looked more presentable than it did now.

She hooked an arm around the beach bag Logan had set just inside the door, then threw it and a dirty T-shirt scooped off the couch, plus yesterday’s nightgown, into her bedroom. Quickly slamming the door on a rumpled, unmade bed, she hurried out to make a similar survey of the kitchen.

Ugh! Her kitchen was even messier. Daphne enjoyed cooking if she had guests. Otherwise, she’d never been able to work up much enthusiasm for fixing three meals a day. And doing dishes—well, last night’s microwave teriyaki rice bowl and her toast plate from breakfast still sat on the counter, along with glasses and an empty orange-juice container. She really ought to develop better habits.

Lord help her if Logan Grant took a notion to open her refrigerator. There was no telling what kind of flora and fauna he might find growing in there. She cast a sidelong glance at him. He was probably hungry, but she needed to shop for groceries because she’d stayed at Dane’s house all last week.

“Damn,” he muttered. “The car that followed us found a parking place right across the street from your VW. The occupants don’t seem in any rush to get out. But it doesn’t seem as if they’re set to leave anytime soon, either.” He sidled away from the window and walked to the front door.

Frowning, he turned. “What did you do with the bag I carried up? I’ll think better after I shower and change into my own clothes. Well, not mine but that stuff of Mike’s I asked April to pack. Mike’s heavier and a few inches shorter than me, but I’m sure his shirt will fit. I’ll have to make do with my jeans, though, no matter how grungy they are.”

Daphne looked stricken. “When did you ask April to pack some of her husband’s clothes? I saw her stuff your old clothes in a department-store bag she sent off with her friend who left the party early. She asked Mariel, I think her name was, to toss the bag in a commercial trash bin. I’ll look again, but I’m sure there are no clean clothes of yours in the bag.”

She hurried into her bedroom and pawed through the beach bag. She walked back out, shaking her head. “The only things in there are the costumes I took to the party. I’m sorry, Logan.”

While Daphne was in her bedroom, he’d removed the hat that had fuzzy white yarn sticking out wildly over each ear. He ran a hand through his own sun-streaked badly matted hair and tugged off the rubber band tying it back. “What was April thinking? I can’t go roaming around town wearing this.” He gazed helplessly at his wilted costume.

“April thought I was dropping you at your office. Since you’re planning on phoning your boss, have him bring some clothes so you can change before you leave.”

“Right. Good idea. That wig fit so tight, it must’ve shrunk my brain.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring, Special Agent Grant. You’re supposed to be our government’s finest protector.”

Logan delivered a dirty look. “Where’s your phone?”

Daphne went into her bedroom and came out carrying a silver cellular.

“I can’t use a cell. That group outside has ways of pulling cell waves out of the air. Did you see the array of antennae on the Mercedes? It’s set up with every kind of scanner known to man.”

“A cell is all I have. I canceled my land line after I lost my last job. I needed to keep monthly costs down.”

“So you don’t have a computer, either?” He acted as if no one could be that hard up.

“No. If I need one for any reason, I run by my folks’ or over to one of my brothers’ homes. They have all the latest high-tech toys.”

“Which does me no good. Hell, this paint you put on my face is starting to itch like mad. I’ll at least go wash it off, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s a half bath off the smaller bedroom down the hall on your right. I, uh, am going to shower in my bathroom. Sorry, but I have a closetful of clothes. None you’d want to share,” she said, grinning mischievously.

“Ha, ha. Well, maybe our shadow will give up and leave by the time I get this gunk off. How hard is it to remove? Will I peel off a layer of skin?”

Daphne’s smile broadened. “I happen to have this handy-dandy magic cream. Momento! I’ll go find you an extra jar.”

Logan cooled his heels and inspected her living room as Daphne disappeared again into what he assumed was her bedroom.

He stood in the center of the high-ceilinged space and swiveled in a slow circle. Nothing matched. Not woods, not fabrics, not colors. Oddly enough, the crazy mixture held a homey appeal. The potted plants everywhere added a natural charm.

Personally, Logan didn’t own much in the way of furniture or knickknacks. What he and Lizzy had bought during their brief marriage went to her in the divorce.

Or should he call it a bloodbath? By about the third meeting with both of their lawyers, Logan figured he’d be lucky to end up with a shirt. He’d been so naive about what could happen during a divorce. He’d gone into it assuming they’d be fair and split things down the middle because their marriage had been a mutual mistake. But that piranha Liz hired as her attorney had made him out to be the most unfeeling bastard on the planet. Between her and the judge, they’d stripped him of everything except his pride. Even that was rocky for a while.

Logan didn’t like remembering how Liz had taken every opportunity to undermine him in the department where they’d both worked in D.C. If it hadn’t been for Simon Parrish being transferred to L.A. to head up a team, and the fact that he’d asked Logan to come along, there’d be no telling how his career might have fared.

Daphne popped back into the room. When he glanced in her direction, Logan noticed her face was free of greasepaint. She smiled and passed him an open white jar filled with an opaque cream. “I thought I had a second one of these, but I couldn’t lay my hands on it. So I quickly washed my face. You can take this to the bath I pointed out earlier. You’ll find washcloths and towels under the sink.”

“Thanks. I’ve gotta say, you’ve been decent about all this.”

“No problem.”

“I doubt many women would’ve faced the situation as calmly as you did.”

She uttered a self-conscious laugh. “I didn’t feel calm. You had me at a disadvantage from the start. It helped to find out you were on the right side of the law.”

Logan remembered how her heart had fluttered when he’d flung his arm around her in order to pull her over to the window. He also had a sudden, distinct memory of exactly how she’d looked standing before him in lacy blue underwear. And how soft and velvety her skin felt under his own rough fingers.

Clearing his throat, which had gone bone dry, Logan nervously juggled the jar of cream. He gave a couple of jerky nods and sped off down the hall to the guest bath.

Daphne noticed the sudden tension in the air as she watched Logan vanish into the back bedroom.

Men could be so touchy at times. Obviously, she’d said something he deemed unacceptable, but she had no idea what. And of course her brothers always claimed she let her mouth run away without ever connecting with her brain. She guessed that was true enough.

Deciding it was just too bad, she ducked back inside her own room, intent on showering. Her hand hovered above the lock for all of ten seconds. Then she curled her fingers into her right palm and went into her bathroom. He was, after all, an FBI special agent. And if he’d had designs on her body, he’d already passed up a chance to ravish her at April’s. Of course, his mind had been on other things. Turning back, she engaged the lock. Not that Logan had given the slightest sign he found her even vaguely attractive, or that he’d make a pass if the opportunity presented itself. But better safe than—Daphne frowned. That was exactly what her mother would say.



LOGAN HAD LONG SINCE returned to Daphne’s kitchen by the time her door opened and she emerged a different person. She’d put on blue jeans and a shocking-orange T-shirt that read All Men Are Animals, Some Just Make Better Pets.

She missed his fleeting grin because she was busy toweling dry her riotously curly black hair. Logan fought an urge to bury his fingers in the frothy dark ringlets.

“I take it those scumballs haven’t gone,” she mumbled from under folds of terry cloth.

“No.” He eased a bare shoulder away from the wall where he stood to one side of the glass. Long shadows were falling as the day waned, and he hadn’t turned on any lights because he didn’t want the goons to see him watching them.

As Daphne appeared from beneath the towel, she did a double take at seeing the clown suit hanging loose around Logan’s narrow hips. He’d slung a hand towel around his neck, which did nothing to hide whorls of glinting blond hair that fanned across his chest.

He saved her from stepping on her lolling tongue by attempting to explain his unruly state. “That hot-water faucet in your sink needs fixing. I wrenched it too hard and the water shot out, giving me a shower. I hope you aren’t squeamish about seeing a half-naked man.”

She shrugged to show it was of no consequence. And it shouldn’t have been. After all, she’d lived a good part of her life in a one-bathroom house with three growing brothers. Why didn’t this feel the same?

Considering the issue settled, Logan turned the conversation back to her earlier question. “Unfortunately, it looks like those dirtbags are determined to stick around. Does this historic building have a back door? And if so, where does it lead?” Logan didn’t know when he’d ever been this restless. His adrenaline still ran high, and suddenly he had to battle masculine urges he didn’t need interfering with his good sense at the moment. He began pacing the small kitchen.

“My building has two fire escapes with window exits at the end of every hall.” Folding her towel, Daphne fluffed her still-damp hair with her fingers. “The fire escapes actually dump you out on the sidewalk. My brother Dane’s always harassing me about this building not meeting new city codes. But I checked, and historic buildings are grandfathered in the city’s fire plan. They’re considered safe if they provide fire escapes, a monthly check of extinguishers on every floor, and if the building undergoes a yearly wiring inspection. This one does.”

“Which one is Dane?”

“My oldest brother. He’s a fire captain. And a know-it-all,” she said, making a face.

“Look. I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to either go find my boss or get a message to him ASAP.”

“There’s a phone booth a block down the street on the southeast corner.”

“Right! I saunter out partially dressed—like a clown. Guaranteed our surveillance team will see me and gun me down. And say I did, by some miracle, give them the slip. I’d have every beat cop in the area pouncing on me for indecent exposure. Without any ID on me—well, you fill in the blanks.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I can go make the call for you. Those guys have no way of knowing what I look like dressed normally.”

Logan pondered that. “It’s too risky,” he finally said. “They’re not stupid. As well, you’re outnumbered. One of them could easily follow the first man or woman leaving the building who fit our general descriptions. No, I’ll just have to hang out here until after dark.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll make a run for it. I know this part of town pretty well. Down a few alleys, over a few back fences, and I’ve shaken them.”

“Hardly,” she said with a sniff. “That costume you’re wearing is made of glow-in-the-dark material. The spots that run down your right side are phosphorescent, as are the white stripes running down the left.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. When would you play a clown in the dark?”

Daphne treated him to a scowl. “Not all kids’ birthday parties are at two o’clock in the afternoon. Parents who work nine to five sometimes have after-dinner dos.”

“Oh. I never thought of that. I should have, I suppose. My mom let me have a few campouts in the backyard with pals on my birthdays. But then, I was probably in fifth or sixth grade and would’ve died before I let her book a clown.”

“I’m sure,” she drawled, raising an eyebrow. “What interests fifth- and sixth-grade boys are fifth- and sixth-grade girls.”

“Wrong,” he threw back. “My buddies and I went for older women. My mom would kill me if she knew Danny Welch and I smuggled two eighth-grade girls in for one of our campouts.” He shook his head and chuckled at the memory.

Daphne noticed how laughing altered the harsh, hollow planes of Logan Grant’s lived-in face. She’d thought he was good-looking before, but mainly because of his body and his incredible blue eyes. Her dad’s family had those Delft-blue eyes. Some of the Malones were even blessed with beautiful Irish-green eyes. Two of her brothers, in fact—Perry and Kieran. Dane and Becky’s were a pretty hazel that changed shades with their moods.

As a kid Daphne used to check in the mirror every morning after saying a novena the night before, praying for her odd gold eyes to magically change color. It so happened that her mom, who was as Greek as someone named Calandra Dimitrious could be, had olive skin, black hair and dark eyes—genes she might have passed straight to her firstborn daughter. But no. If Daphne hadn’t resembled her mother’s baby pictures, she’d be sure the hospital had switched her at birth. Her eyes were the color of old brass.

Logan continued to prowl the kitchen. By now his over-long hair was practically standing on end.

“I could go down the hall and use Mrs. O’Bannon’s phone to call your boss. Her son Shawn insists his mother have a phone, even though she’s deaf as a post. I know she wouldn’t mind my using it. Shawn’s forever calling me to see if she’s okay. He phones her, and she doesn’t hear the ring.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Logan started to pull up the damp clown suit as he headed for the door. “Introduce me as a friend or coworker. I’ll phone Simon.”

“No. You don’t understand.” Daphne bit her lip. “Shawn O’Bannon and Dane work together. And his mom, for all that she’s half-deaf, is an incurable gossip. That means I’d have to explain to my whole family how I met you, and…well, I’d rather not.”

Logan let the costume fall to his hips again, clearly torn between pushing the issue based on his authority as a special agent and complying with Daphne’s wishes. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But I’ll write down exactly what I need you to tell Simon. It’s important you relay the codes exactly as I give them. And keep the call short, Daphne, in case our pals have already tapped the main phone line. Otherwise, Bil—let’s just say it could prove dangerous for both of us if you stay on long enough to attract a trace.”

Daphne was sure he’d almost revealed the name of an important person in the organization the FBI hoped to infiltrate. Bill something. Obviously Logan didn’t trust her, despite everything they’d been through together. And after he said she’d handled herself well, too.

She found that slightly depressing. Her brothers always did that—closed her out, talking over her head as if she didn’t have brains enough to know some things were classified information.

Logan apparently had no idea that he’d insulted her. He snatched the paper and pencil she’d rummaged for and found in her desk. He bent over the small secretary with its one wobbly leg, writing in a clear, legible hand. All in capital letters. Facts of that nature interested Daphne. She thought the way someone wrote revealed a lot about his or her personality and she’d read several books about it. For instance, if she remembered correctly, people—usually men—who wrote everything in caps did so to throw up a wall. They’d either been badly hurt or felt betrayed by someone close to them.

She averted her eyes, not wanting to spy. But when she’d completed his call, Daphne intended to look up the specifics in her handwriting dictionary, to make sure she was correct in her analysis.

“All these numbers mean what?” she asked, glancing at the paper he’d thrust into her hand. The bold strokes were mostly gibberish to her. “Does it tell your colleagues you need them to come and pick you up here?”

“The less you reveal at your neighbor’s, Daphne, the better. For one, her phone line isn’t secure. I haven’t seen anyone leave the car, so I don’t think they’ve put a tap on the main phone box. But with those guys, you never know the extent of their resources. They have more devious tricks up their sleeves than the most accomplished of your master clowns. For now, just relay this information to Simon. Let him tell you what I need to do next.”

“Oh. Well, fine. Don’t worry, though, if I don’t rush back. Make yourself at home—help yourself to a beer.” Too late, Daphne remembered the state of her fridge. She sucked in her cheeks and crossed her eyes. “Mrs. O’Bannon can talk a visitor’s leg off. She doesn’t get a captive audience often, so she makes the most of it when she does. Believe me, I know of what I speak. I grocery shop for her. Bless her soul, she lost Mr. O’Bannon early last year. If it wasn’t for her dog, Muffy, keeping her from being so lonely, I don’t know what the poor woman would do. Her sons have intense jobs and large families of their own. And Mrs. O. flatly refuses to go live with any of them, even though all the boys have tried to talk her into moving in with them.” She took a deep breath.

“Has anyone said you do a fair job of talking someone’s leg off yourself?” Logan noted dryly, doing his best to shove Daphne out the door. “I’m locking up after you leave. Don’t mention me to any neighbor you meet along the way, either. Tap softly three times when you return. I’m serious about this. If anyone hears you banging on the door, they’ll come out to investigate. The fewer people who know you’re entertaining a strange man in your apartment, the better. I get the feeling it’s not the norm for you. And it’d only take one well-placed question for our pals out there to pinpoint my location.”

Daphne stopped short of the door, digging in her heels. “You think I’m a blabbermouth and someone incapable of getting a date?” The truth was she didn’t date much. Hardly ever, in fact. But she’d be darned if she’d admit that to a man who probably had only to crook his little finger to have scores of dates falling in his lap.

“Go!” Logan opened the door and in spite of Daphne’s resistance, shoved her out. He sighed a huge sigh as he bolted the door behind her, thinking if he escaped and remained alive, it’d be a miracle. He was the solitary type, and Daphne Malone hadn’t stopped talking since they crawled into that joke she called a car.

A beer would hit the spot. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that the afternoon was nearly gone. It was ten to six. Ordinarily he didn’t drink alcohol on the job—only if an undercover assignment made it necessary to appear social. But Daphne’s offer of a beer bounced around inside his head.

Logan opened the fridge door and at once recoiled from the smell. Plugging his nose, he searched for and found one source of the problem. An open carton of milk that had gone bad.

No wonder, he mused, pouring the curdled mess down the drain. According to the carton, the milk was two weeks beyond its expiration date. After rinsing out the carton and setting it aside, he returned to the fridge. He had to reach past a basket of strawberries to get to the six-pack of beer. Logan noticed a layer of furry mold covering a majority of the exposed fruit. Extracting the beer can, he let the door swing closed. Then he opened it again and removed the spoiled berries. They followed the curdled milk down the garbage disposal. He ran water from the tap for five minutes before taking up his former station near the window where he could spy on Bill Holt’s cronies. The men appeared to be settling in for the night.

Logan savored the brew, realizing he hadn’t touched one in weeks. No one in the organization was allowed to imbibe, since Holt believed that booze impaired his people’s abilities to do the job. And there were stories about what happened to men who didn’t follow his orders to the letter. If Logan had any sense at all, he’d be shaking in his shoes.

Looking down, he smiled as he saw he was still barefoot. Macabre humor played better at times like these than dwelling on what Billy Holt would do if he ever laid hands on him. If the man tortured his hirelings for minor infractions like having a beer, imagine what he’d do to a spy in their midst.

Someone exited the car in question. Logan’s heart pounded unexpectedly. He drew back fast, then edged out little by little to see what the guy was up to.

Just stretching. Phew! Logan blotted the sweat that had popped out on his forehead. Where was Daphne? He glanced at his watch again. She’d said it might be a while, but did she think she could take all night? Blasted woman had been down there for a full fifteen minutes.

Goon one was a nasty assassin by the name of Lobo Morales. He sauntered to the end of the block and moseyed back past Daphne’s VW. His eyes darted from passersby to people entering the building, to the interior of Daphne’s car.

Logan figured people were coming home from work about now and those who were driving slowly by were looking for parking spaces.

Daphne’s cell phone rang. Logan nearly jumped out of his skin. Of course his inclination was to answer. He didn’t dare. But, he wished whoever the hell it was would give up and stop letting it ring and ring and ring. Her apartment wasn’t that large. Was Daphne in the habit of not answering her phone?

Ah! It finally quit. Belatedly, Logan realized he’d lost track of Lobo. “Dammit!” He set his beer on the counter. And because Daphne had turned on a lamp in the living room before she left, he got down on hands and knees and crept up to the window. Once there, he eased his head up by inches, attempting to discover where Morales had gone. It was possible he’d climbed back in his car while Logan was focused on the phone. Long shadows stretched across the street, and he couldn’t see anything but the top of the gang’s car.

He was preparing to creep back out of sight, when Daphne’s lock clicked open, and her door swung inward, causing Logan to whirl in panic—still crouched on all fours. He barely managed to get his feet under him and was ready to spring on his unknown assailant when he recognized her.




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