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The Survivor
Rhonda Nelson
Treasure hunter Bess Cantrell is used to picking through junk, looking for elusive gems that she can sell. Undiscovered antiques, rare finds…it's her world. But then her shop is ransacked. Someone is looking for the "Wicked" Bible–a rare and valuable edition–and they'll do anything to get it!Former Ranger Lex Sanborn is trying to pull his life together after almost losing it in battle. But being assigned to watch over the quirky and irresistible Bess is distracting him from thinking about his military past–by getting him out of his pants!Because when Bess wants something, she knows exactly how to get it….



Check out what RT Book Reviews is saying about Rhonda Nelson’s heroes in—and out of—uniform!
Letters from Home
“This highly romantic tale
is filled with emotion and wonderful characters.
It’s a heart-melting romance.”
The Soldier
“Wonderfully written and heart-stirring, the story
flies by to the deeply satisfying ending.”
The Hell-Raiser
“A highly entertaining story that has
eccentric secondary characters, hot sex
and a heartwarming romance.”
The Loner
“A highly romantic story with two heartwarming
characters and a surprise ending.”
The Ranger
“Well plotted and wickedly sexy,
this one’s got it all—including a completely
scrumptious hero. A keeper.”


Dear Reader,
November is one of my favorite months of the year here in the South. Summer clings determinedly through the bulk of October, so November really ushers in our fall. The leaves turn, the breeze gets crisp and my husband and I are often on our deck in front the chimenea, warming our feet by a fire. We get to enjoy Thanksgiving without the rush of the Christmas holidays. And it’s a great time to curl up with a good book, isn’t it? (Hint, hint, nudge, nudge.)
When Lex Sanborn comes out of the military and goes to work for Ranger Security, the last thing he expects is to be paired up with Bess Cantrell, on the hunt for one of the few remaining “Wicked” Bibles. A printing error in the 1600s edition, which says, “Thou shalt commit adultery,” makes this particular Bible one of the most valuable books on the market. And the forced proximity with the sexy “picker” is most definitely keeping sinning at the forefront of his mind.
Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than hearing from my readers, so be sure to check out my website at www.ReadRhondaNelson.com. Also, the Blaze Authors have taken on a Pet Project. Be sure to visit www.blazeauthors.com to see what we’re up to and how you can help.
Happy reading!
Rhonda

The Survivor
Rhonda Nelson


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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Waldenbooks bestselling author, two-time RITA
Award nominee and RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice nominee, Rhonda Nelson writes hot romantic comedy for the Harlequin Blaze line and other Harlequin imprints. With more than twenty-five published books to her credit and many more coming down the pike, she’s thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in. In addition to a writing career, she has a husband, two adorable kids, a black Lab and a beautiful bichon frise. She and her family make their chaotic but happy home in a small town in northern Alabama. She loves to hear from her readers, so be sure and check her out at www.readrhondanelson.com.
For Beverly. I miss you.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue

Prologue
LEX SANBORN HAD NEVER wondered what his last thoughts before dying would be, but he certainly hadn’t expected an intense craving for pineapple sherbet and having lines from American poet Alan Seeger’s I Have a Rendezvous with Death running through his mind.
I have a rendezvous with Death, at some disputed barricade, when Spring comes back with rustling shade, and apple blossoms fill the air…
The initial pain from the hit had receded, leaving a contented warmth in most of his body, an odd coldness at the site of the wound. His shoulder, he knew, more from the remembered pain of the injury and the absence of any real feeling now. Though he couldn’t open his eyes, he could hear them working above him, knew they were doing everything they could, and a part of him wanted to tell them to stop, to save someone who wasn’t going to die, that their efforts were wasted on him. He was finished. He could feel himself sliding further and further away, feel the blood leaving his body. Must have hit an artery…
But I’ve a rendezvous with Death, at midnight in some flaming town, when Spring trips north again this year…
“Lex! Lex, damn you, can you hear me?” Jeb, his best friend and fellow soldier, shouted near his ear.
He could, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t respond. Couldn’t do anything but drift away. He could feel himself getting smaller and smaller, shrinking into nothingness, and the nothingness felt wonderful, better than anything he’d ever felt before. A glow of euphoria started in his center and spread, his limbs going weightless. If he could have smiled, he would.
And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

1
Six months later…
FORMER RANGER TURNED newly minted security agent Lex Sanborn looked at the photocopied page of the Bible he’d been handed and felt his eyes widen in shock. “Thou shalt commit adultery?” Granted, he hadn’t been to church in years, but he certainly didn’t remember learning this particular version in Sunday school class.
Brian Payne, Jamie Flanagan and Guy McCann, owners of the elite security company who’d just hired him, all chuckled, presumably at his slack-jawed expression.
“That’s why it’s called the ‘Wicked Bible,’” Payne explained. “This version was printed—accidentally, of course—in 1636 and there are only believed to be eleven surviving copies in the world. The New York Public Library has one in its rare books section, there’s another in Branson, Missouri, at the Bible museum, and the British Library actually had it on display, opened to the page of the misprint, during part of ’09.”
“It’s very valuable,” Jamie chimed in. Sprawled in a leather recliner with a sports drink in his hand, he was affable and easygoing and Lex had liked him instantly. Had taken an immediate liking to all of them actually.
Jamie Flanagan had been the original player until he met and married Colonel Garrett’s granddaughter and purportedly sported a genius-level IQ. That quick brain combined with a substantial amount of brawn made him a force to be reckoned with. And with a lucky streak that bordered on the divine, Guy McCann’s ability to skate the thin line between recklessness and perfection was still locker-room lore.
Known in certain circles as the Specialist, Brian Payne was coolly efficient and had strategy down to an art form. With an unmatched attention to detail, there was no such thing as half-assed in his world. He didn’t tolerate it.
He was damned lucky to have a job here, Lex thought, thankful again to Colonel Carl Garrett for the recommendation. Was this what he’d imagined he’d be doing for the rest of his life? No. But six months ago he’d thought his life was over and that significantly changed things. Had changed him in ways that he wasn’t altogether proud of, in ways he’d never, ever anticipated.
“It’s worth around a hundred grand in today’s market,” Guy remarked.
Lex whistled low. Now it was beginning to make sense. He looked again at the picture Payne had handed him and searched the image for clues. The snapshot depicted an old Coca-Cola sign that had been propped up on a dusty counter covered with lots of other junk. A blue mason jar with a rusty lid, wooden spools, an old teakettle and— Ah, he thought, spying the black spine of the Wicked Bible just below the teakettle.
“So this is it? This is what they’re after?”
“Yes,” Payne told him. “At least, we think so. Bess came to see me yesterday and brought that with her. She said she’d gotten a few emails about the picture, but not the sign, which was what she had for sale. She’s got an online store as well as the brick-and-mortar kind,” he explained. “She says the emailer wanted to know where the picture was taken and that she wouldn’t have told them regardless, but she genuinely didn’t remember.”
“She’s a junk dealer?” he asked.
Payne almost smiled and a flash of humor momentarily lit his gaze. “She rescues antiques,” he corrected, then gestured to a pair of old glass gas pumps in the corner. “For instance, I bought those from her. She has a great eye for things that are different. I’ve known her for years.” His grin widened. “And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t ever call her that to her face.”
Lex nodded, appreciating the advice. If he was going to have to work with this old woman, then he didn’t want to piss her off. In his limited experience, mostly with his grandparents, older folks were funny about their stuff. If he was reading this correctly, based on Payne’s advice, Bess Cantrell was the same way.
“At any rate, she didn’t hear from the emailer again and had chalked it up to an odd occurrence, nothing more,” Payne continued. “Then night before last her store was broken into and the external hard drive to her computer was stolen. While the police were still there doing the report, Bess got a call from one of her clients, Walker Wiggins, who said a man had come to see him about a book—”
“The one in the picture obviously,” Lex said, nodding grimly.
“—and that when he’d refused to let the man search his property, the stranger had gotten violent and tried to push past him into his house. His dog came to his rescue and ultimately sent the man packing, but Walker was shaken and concerned all the same.”
Heartened to hear that the man had an animal willing to protect him—he adored dogs and had briefly considered going into veterinary school before joining the military—Lex nevertheless frowned. “Why had he called Bess to tell her all of this?”
“Because the man had told Walker that he was a friend of Bess’s and had gotten his address from her.” He shrugged. “Walker knew Bess better than that and called her to give her a heads-up. Since then, three other clients have been contacted in this manner, and on this last occasion, one was actually hurt.”
Lex’s blood boiled. So whoever this jackass was, he was dangerous and he was a bully. Bastard, Lex thought. No doubt the majority of Bess’s clients were her age and older and they were being harassed and manhandled in their own homes over something that was, if they even had it, theirs.
“Naturally, Bess doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, particularly any of her clients, and doesn’t think that the police are going to truly be able to help her in time to prevent either a theft or a tragedy—” he grimaced “—or possibly both, unfortunately.”
“So that’s where you come in,” Flanagan told him. “We’re going to put a man at her store as a safety measure and you and Bess are going to go on the road and try to (a.) catch this guy and (b.) get to the book before he does. Obviously whoever has the book doesn’t realize what it’s worth. This person, whoever he is, no doubt is banking on that.”
Lex nodded, certain that he could handle this. He only hoped that Bess didn’t slow him down. He knew there were a lot of spry older people, ones who walked daily and kept themselves in shape, and he sincerely hoped that Bess Cantrell had done the same. If not, then he could easily see this becoming a problem. He inwardly grimaced. If she had a small bladder or a bad hip, they were going to be in serious trouble.
Honestly, he didn’t see any good reason why Bess had to go along. He would be able to move faster without her and, so long as he had a list of her clients and a good map, he could take care of everything himself. After a moment, he said as much. “Look, I appreciate that Mrs. Cantrell wants to look after—”
“It’s Miss,” Payne corrected mildly. “She’s not married.”
A spinster then. Whatever. “—her clients,” he continued. “But is there any particular reason why I can’t do this without her?”
Jamie Flanagan and Guy McCann shared a brief look and McCann was obviously trying to keep from smiling. For whatever reason, Lex knew that anything that would make the irreverent McCann want to grin couldn’t be anything that would work in Lex’s favor. He studied all three of them again and knew that they were sharing some sort of private joke.
And it was at his expense.
Excellent.
“You can’t do it without her because she’s not going to let you,” Payne said, releasing a long sigh. “These are her clients and she’s the one who has inadvertently put them at risk. Also, a lot of these people aren’t going to trust anyone but her, and if you show up without her, you’re not any more credible than the other guy. Much as I’m sure you don’t think so now, it’s better that she goes with you.”
Lex nodded, resigned. What choice did he have really? This was his first assignment and he was accustomed to taking orders. These weren’t orders, exactly, but they might as well be, and he had no intention of rocking the boat.
Honestly, when the doctor had told him he was never going to get a full range of motion back in his shoulder and that there wasn’t going to be any way he could continue with his unit, he’d been equally devastated and relieved. How two such opposing reactions could take place in the same body was simply amazing to him, but he had felt them both all the same. Devastated that his career was over, relieved because, for the first time in his life, to his absolute shame…he was afraid of dying. Afraid that that self-same fear would prevent him from acting, from doing what needed to be done.
And a fearful soldier might as well be a dead one.
Born into a service-oriented family, Lex had been raised with the belief that every human being needed to leave the world a better place than they found it. His father had served in the army for twenty years, then went on to become a police officer. His mother was a retired schoolteacher who helped inmates at the local jail who didn’t have their general education diplomas—GEDs—to get them so that they could apply for further continuing education classes. His brother was a medic, currently serving with the air force in Afghanistan, and his sister was a nurse.
His entire family contributed to the greater good of the world and he was unbelievably proud of them. They each had a purpose and, even though he’d had one up until six months ago, he’d never truly felt like his feet had been on the right path. He’d loved the military, had a tremendous regard for the men and women who served, and he’d been proud to be a part of it. But he’d always had the nagging suspicion that it wasn’t what he was meant to do, to be.
Truthfully, he couldn’t say being a security expert was what he wanted, either, but at least he was out of the military and would have time to pursue other interests.
He would be lying if he said there wasn’t a horrible sense of guilt at leaving. He had friends over there on the front lines—most specifically Jeb Anderson, whom he’d gone through ROTC with—and coming home, out of the line of fire, felt wrong in a way that he couldn’t accurately describe.
And the horrible part? The part that made him sick to his stomach with guilt, regret and shame?
He was glad to be home. Thankful to be out of the line of fire.
He’d had nightmares the first few months after he’d taken the hit—hits actually, four right into his shoulder, shredding the muscle, nicking an artery, shattering the bone—and the only thing that had helped was the stray dog that had attached itself to him on his way to the car after therapy one day.
A scraggly big-eared mutt Lex had named Honey because of her golden color. She’d been dirty and half-starved and she’d looked at him with the most haunted and hopeless big brown eyes and he hadn’t thought twice about taking her home. She’d spent the first night on the rug next to his bed and, following a particularly horrible nightmare, had moved into the bed, against his back. Within a week, the dreams had stopped and there was something about her reassuring presence—knowing that they’d sort of saved each other—that made him feel like he was on his way to a recovery of sorts.
He’d always been an animal lover and inevitably ended up caring for the various strays on whatever base he was living. Having the dog to talk to, when he didn’t want to talk to anyone else, having the dog to take for walks and care for, had helped him in ways that he wasn’t even sure he could put into words. She’d loved him—unconditionally and quietly—and the difference she’d made in his world was phenomenal.
Thankfully Payne had assured him that the apartment that came with his unbelievably generous employment package was pet-friendly, and he also hadn’t had any objections to Lex taking Honey along with him on this first assignment. Naturally Lex knew there were going to be times when he’d need to find someone to keep her for him and, as an added bonus, Payne had mentioned that his wife was a vet and would be happy to board the dog when the need arose.
Overall, despite the guilt and the injury—his shoulder wasn’t ever going to be right again—Lex felt like he was closer to being where he should be than he’d been in a very long time. And rather than doing what was expected or what he knew would meet with approval, he was going to find his ultimate purpose and pursue it with as much energy as he could. Did that mean he intended this to be a transition job, that he’d hired on with the intent of leaving? No. But he was never again going to be so wedded to a career that he couldn’t make the most of his life.
As a result of almost dying on the battlefield, he had a whole new appreciation for life, and wanted to live it to the fullest. Every choice, every decision—from what he had for breakfast to what he was going to do with the rest of his life—held infinitely more significance.
Almost dying would do that to you. Among other things…
“You’re all settled into your apartment?” Payne asked.
“Yes.” It was very nice and, lucky for him, fully furnished. The place had been outfitted with every possible convenience. Much like the “boardroom” they were currently in, it had state-of-the-art appliances and electronics and had been decorated with an eclectic mix of old and new. The old had more than likely come from Bess Cantrell, he realized now. The cabinets and fridge had been stocked with essentials and a bottle of Jameson—a gift from Jamie—had been on his counter.
The apartment had previously belonged to Seth McCutcheon, who had recently married and moved into his new bride’s house in Marietta. Evidently he made the drive into Atlanta when necessary, but otherwise, mostly worked from home. Lex hadn’t met him yet, but everyone else spoke highly of him.
Despite the fact that he’d lived in different places all over the world, Lex had to admit that the South would always be home. Originally he was from Blue Creek, Alabama—a sweet little town that sat right on the banks of the Tennessee River—but Atlanta was a mere four-hour drive. He hadn’t been this close to home since he’d graduated high school, and while he didn’t have any desire to move back—they practically rolled up the streets at five o’clock—he did like the fact that he could make a quick run over for Sunday dinner and that he would be close enough to visit his parents, and his sister and her children, for holidays and the occasional barbecue.
All the things he’d missed, Lex thought with an inward sigh.
“Are you satisfied with the employment package?” Jamie asked.
Lex smiled. “Quite.”
“You’ll earn it,” Guy told him. “We offer an extremely specialized service and, as such, our clients pay accordingly. Without our former Rangers—some of the best-trained soldiers in the world, as you know—we couldn’t offer a fraction of the expertise that we do.”
In other words they needed him and were only paying him what they thought he was worth. He just hoped he didn’t disappoint them. Before he’d been shot he wouldn’t have had a problem accepting such an amount, but now…
“If we didn’t think you were able to do this job, we wouldn’t have hired you,” Payne said, his cool blue eyes missing nothing. “We’ve reviewed your discharge papers, looked at the medical report. We’re confident that you’re going to be able to meet the physical requirements of the job.”
Lex released a small breath and nodded. “If I ever reach a point where I can’t, then you can rest assured that I’ll tell you. I’d never compromise an assignment for my pride.” He grinned and shot them a look. “Much as I might want to,” he added.
McCann laughed and the other two chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say that’s something we could all identify with.”
Lex released a pent-up breath. “So when do I get started?”
“Now,” Payne told him. He handed him the file. “The address is on the front. You’ve got a GPS, right?”
He nodded.
“Good,” Payne continued. “Bess has her client list, you’ve got your laptop and it interfaces with all the technology here at the office. If you need us for anything, then don’t hesitate to call.”
Payne stood, prompting everyone else to get to their feet, and extended his hand. “Welcome aboard,” he said.
“Thanks,” Lex told him. “It’s good to be here.”
And it was. Or it would be, provided he could prove himself with this first assignment.

PAYNE WATCHED LEX SANBORN close the door behind him and waited until he was certain he was out of earshot. He turned to Jamie and Guy and arched a brow. “Well?”
“Much as Garrett has been a pain in the ass, I actually think we need to do something for the old bastard,” Guy remarked, settling back into the recliner. “He sure as hell knows what he’s doing when it comes to sending us recruits.”
“I think Lex is still a little unsure of that shoulder,” Jamie said, “but otherwise he seems like he’s got it together.”
Payne agreed. In fact, he actually thought that Lex was going to transition better than a lot of their other agents. Because he’d been through it himself, he could tell that Lex felt guilty for coming out of the service during a time of war and that was completely natural. He’d been career military until a week ago, and leaving friends behind—particularly ones in the line of fire—was never easy.
But Payne was also pulling another vibe from Lex, one that he couldn’t exactly put his finger on, but if he had to label it… Relief maybe? He’d been hit, had almost died. That would certainly be understandable.
Jamie chuckled. “Is he really going to take that dog with him?”
Payne nodded and smiled. He considered himself an animal lover and was married to a vet, so he completely understood being devoted to one’s animals, but even he had to admit he’d never seen anything quite like Lex and Honey. The dog was never more than a foot or two away from Lex and stayed in front of him, as though always ready to put herself between any potential threat and her master. And that adoration was clearly returned.
“Bess won’t mind,” Payne said. “And like he said, leaving her alone when they’ve only been in the building a few days would be hard on the dog.”
“Even with Emma watching her?” Guy asked. “She’s like Mother Teresa to the entire animal kingdom.”
Payne chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.”
Jamie nodded thoughtfully. “I think he’s going to be a good addition to the team.”
Payne did, too.
Guy grinned. “Do you think we should have mentioned that Bess isn’t—”
“Nah,” Jamie told him, a big grin spreading across his face. “He’ll find out soon enough.”
Payne smiled. He most certainly would.

2
BESS CANTRELL OBSERVED the mutinous look on her assistant’s face and heaved an internal sigh of frustration. In addition to everything else that was going wrong, she did not need Elsie’s drama. But if she hadn’t wanted drama, she should have never kept on the spotty psychic/occasional nudist/full-time pain in the ass as her help after her grandfather died.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Elsie predicted. “You never listen to me, but you’re going to wish you did this time. I know I’m not always spot-on—”
Bess gave a mental eye roll. “You mean like the time you told me that you saw me taking a beach vacation and the pipes burst beneath the kitchen sink?”
“—but I’m telling you, this time—”
Bess tidied her client list once again, then slipped it into a folder. “Or the time you told me that you saw me having a hot night of passion with the UPS man and the next day his face was on the front page of the paper for setting a warehouse ablaze?”
Elsie’s papery cheeks flushed, but she continued on. “Be that as it may, I have a terrible, terrible feeling that you’re going to get—”
Bess heaved a deep sigh. “Or the time you told me that I shouldn’t go to the grocery store on Lentil, to go to one on Hillengrove because you were certain that the one on Lentil was going to have some sort of trouble, and I went to Hillengrove and was held hostage for over an hour while the store was being burgled?”
“I got those two confused!” Elsie finally exploded, her dark penciled eyebrows winging up her forehead. “My sight isn’t perfect! How many times do I have to explain that to you? But the point is I was right about something terrible happening.” She grimaced primly. “I merely got the store wrong,” she said, as if this little detail didn’t signify.
And in Elsie’s mind, it didn’t.
Bess looked out the storefront and continued to wait for the agent Brian Payne, one of her good clients, was sending over. She didn’t have any idea how much his services actually cost—and would have been more than willing to pay—but Brian had insisted on trading the service out. As such, she was going to be on the lookout for anything she thought he might be interested in. Over the years he’d bought everything from old lighting fixtures to antique clear gas pumps. He had eclectic taste and had been a good customer.
When the police had failed to give her any true hope of catching the person who’d stolen her hard drive and was now in the process of harassing her clients, Brian had been the first person she’d thought of. She’d had no idea that the book in the picture had actually been a Wicked Bible and, furthermore, had had no idea that a thing like that even existed. But given that Brian had told her he knew of one that had gone for a hundred grand at auction recently, she could certainly understand the appeal.
Elsie released a self-suffering sigh. “You aren’t going to listen to me, are you?” she said, frowning tragically. “I have this sight—this gift,” she continued with a theatrical wave toward the sky. “And you are going to go about your mulish, headstrong ways.” She harrumphed. “You are just like your grandfather. Always have been, even when you were just a wee thing.”
“Thank you,” Bess said, even though she knew Elsie didn’t exactly mean it as a compliment. She’d loved her grandfather to utter distraction and had appreciated everything about him. She’d lost him three years ago and there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t miss him terribly. Her father had died in a car wreck when she was seven and her mother, racked with grief, had taken her own life a year later on the anniversary of his death. Officially orphaned then, she’d moved in with her grandfather—a widower himself—and had been with him ever since. So had Elsie, for that matter, which was no small reason why Bess didn’t let her go and hire someone more competent. But Elsie tried and, though there had never been anything romantic between the older woman and her grandfather, she’d been the closest thing to a grandmother Bess had ever had. Since she’d always collected odd things, Elsie fit in perfectly.
Her grandfather’s house was hers now, of course, and Bess had renovated it more to her liking, but there were certain things she hadn’t been able to touch. His tobacco stand still sat next to his old leather tufted wingback chair and the small needle-point footstool was still stationed in front of it, waiting for a pair of aching feet. She grinned.
Usually hers.
They’d made quite a pair, she and her grandfather. Though he hadn’t told her until much, much later, she hadn’t spoken at all for the first year after her mother had committed suicide. She’d nod or shake her head and occasionally cry, but she hadn’t talked and she hadn’t smiled. Rather than send her back to school before she was ready, he’d homeschooled her instead and, though he’d tried to reintroduce her to public school later, she’d become so distraught he’d refused to make her go.
Beyond second grade she hadn’t set foot in a classroom until she’d gone to college, and even then she would have rather been tutored by her grandfather. Frankly, her education would have been better. She’d learned the Classics at his knee, could read bits of Latin and knew more about the solar system than the general population. He’d taught her Roman and Greek mythology, had taken her to almost every major battlefield in the continental U.S. and had made history so alive for her, it was a passion she still had today.
They’d ride the back roads of the South “picking,” as he liked to call it, and he’d drill her on various mathematical theorems and throw out famous quotes and expect her to know them, based on all the biographies he’d wanted her to read. “I cannot live in a world without books” had been one of his favorites. Thomas Jefferson, she remembered.
Her grandfather had wanted her to have the degree in the event she ever decided to do anything besides “rescue history,” picking through old barns and houses for people’s “junk,” though she abhorred that term. Nothing was ever junk in her opinion. Everything had value and purpose.
To the illiterate eye her place was probably a catchall for useless items, but to Bess it was a cache of things that had almost been lost. She was holding on to them for safekeeping until they could be sold and passed on to someone who would appreciate them.
“I can see you’ve made your mind up,” Elsie continued, her nostrils flaring.
The luggage next to the door had probably “told” her that, Bess thought, squashing a smile.
“I have. Brian is sending someone over to keep watch on the store so you’ll be safe, and I’ll have my cell if anything comes up while I’m off with the additional agent.” She sent her a harsh look. “And by ‘comes up’ I mean a legitimate issue, not any premonitions, you understand.”
Elsie tsked and shook her head. “Poor Nostradamus,” she said. “I have an inkling right now how he must have felt.”
Bess smothered a snort. “Just cover the store and handle the auctions, please. Hopefully we’ll be able to take care of this relatively quickly.”
Where was the agent anyway? The longer it took them to get on the road, the more time the asshole who was terrorizing her clients had to get ahead of them. One of the advantages she and the agent would have was that Bess knew which clients were ones she’d sold stuff to and which clients she’d bought things from. The would-be thief was drawing from a master list and had been going to see both, and he was working in a pretty direct line, moving from place to place. If he kept to this pattern, then they should be able to catch up with him.
Initially Brian had tried to talk her out of going along, as well, but he soon gave that thought up. These were her clients, with whom she had credibility, and it was her foolish mistake that had put them all in jeopardy.
To be fair, it was her practice to take pictures on-site, particularly if the piece was going to be something she’d put up for auction online. It was faster to do it that way and it made the process a whole lot simpler. She’d come in from the road, upload the photos, write the descriptions and activate the auction. If things needed a bit more cleaning up before selling, she’d do that once she got back to the store, but for the most part, her clientele didn’t care if something was “clean.” Like her, they could look at it and see the potential. Furthermore, collectors weren’t as picky.
If only she could remember where she’d gotten that Coca-Cola sign, Bess thought for what had to have been the millionth time. She’d racked her brain, had gone through everything she’d had on auction during that time, and could not recall where she’d gotten the sign. It could have been someone she regularly visited or someone she’d never picked before. If she saw promise—barns, old buildings, rusty cars and bicycles in the yard—she’d stop and do a cold call. She always kept a record of what she bought, but the truth was she’d bought dozens of Coca-Cola signs—the brand was highly collectible—and it could have come from any one of those places.
Luckily she’d been in the process of trying to organize those records and had off-loaded them onto her laptop, so the—she was just going to call him Bastard—didn’t have access to them.
And really, without those particular records, Bastard was looking for a needle in a haystack. She took a mild amount of satisfaction from that.
“Ooo, I think he’s here,” Elsie murmured, peering out the window. She patted her extremely teased hair and moistened her heavily painted lips. “That has to be him. Nice khakis, black cable-knit sweater—you know how I love a cable-knit sweater on a man.” She gasped. “And, oh, look! He’s brought a dog!”
He had, Bess thought, watching covertly off to one side of Elsie, who was positioned behind the counter. While she would have ordinarily been more interested in the animal than the man, it was the man that held her attention right now.
Mercy.
Bess sucked in a shallow breath as every hair on her body suddenly prickled with goose bumps. Her heart galloped into overdrive and her mouth instantly parched, forcing her to swallow. She felt a bizarre sort of tug behind her navel and then a swirl of heat slid into her belly and settled there, making her more aware of the warmth than was strictly comfortable.
He was big and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair that was more swept to the side than styled, and the way that it clung to his head made her want to slide her hands through it, to see if it was as sleek as it looked. He had a face that was incredibly masculine—broad planes and angles, a nose that had been broken at least once—but an especially full mouth that gave him a slightly boyish quality, one she instinctively imagined he resented.
But the mouth was…incredible. She licked her own lips as she stared at his and wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his lips against hers. Her nipples beaded behind her bra and she released a small sigh and leaned closer to the window.
As Elsie had pointed out, he wore khakis that showcased long legs, a narrow waist and, from the side anyway, an ass that was nice and tight. The sweater stretched over a pair of heavily muscled shoulders, clung to an equally muscled chest and basically let a woman know that there was a rock-hard, beautifully maintained body beneath the clothes. The only part of him that she couldn’t truly see were his eyes, which were hidden behind a pair of designer aviator sunglasses she desperately wished weren’t in the way. I bet he has brown eyes, Bess thought, imagining a warm dark chocolate with long sooty lashes.
He opened the car door and clipped a leash to the dog, a blond mutt of questionable origins, but pretty all the same, and the animal leaped down onto the pavement. He scoped both ends of the sidewalk before studying the storefront and she watched his lips—that sinfully carnal mouth—twist with something akin to humor, but not as kind. A pinprick of disappointment nicked her heart, but she shrugged it off. Just because he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life didn’t mean he was going to be any different from the rest.
Sad, that, she thought, because her reaction to him had certainly been different from previous reactions to any man she’d ever seen in print, in person or in film.
She got the impression that he’d taken one look at her business, gotten her measure and had already—even though he hadn’t met her yet—found her lacking.
The bell over the door tinkled as he walked in and he went immediately to the counter, stuck out his hand and introduced himself. He’d removed the sunglasses along the way, but to her irritation, she couldn’t get a good look at his eyes. “Lex Sanborn, Ms. Cantrell,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Elsie, who was hardly what one would call a wall-flower, smiled brightly at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” she said, lowering her voice to a husky purr à la Lana Turner.
Bess smothered a snort and then had to cover her hand with her mouth when she caught Lex’s temporarily transfixed expression. Evidently he was picturing going on the road with a lusty senior citizen intent on making him her boy toy. After the look he’d given her shop, he could just keep that image, Bess thought, and stayed out of view.
He tried to withdraw his hand, but Elsie clung firm. She had closed her eyes, evidently going into one of her psychic trances. She murmured a nonsensical noise and gave a delicate shudder. “You came very close, didn’t you?” she said.
Lex gave an uneasy laugh. “I’m sorry?”
Elsie patted the top of his hand and, when she opened her eyes, her expression was strangely warm and sad. “But it wasn’t your time.”
Some of the color leached from his face and the dog nuzzled his leg as though picking up on a shift in its master’s mood. “Er…if you’re ready, we should probably get going.”
Bess frowned, puzzled over his reaction, and shot a look at Elsie, who seemed to have wilted against the stool behind the counter. The older woman very rarely looked her age—on purpose—but at the moment she seemed every one of her seventy-five years. What had happened? Bess wondered.
Elsie finally seemed to snap out of whatever had a hold of her. “Go? Go where?”
Lex smiled uncertainly. “After the man who has stolen your hard drive and is harassing your customers,” he reminded her, and it was obvious he thought she was a touch senile.
Elsie chuckled. “Oh, I’m not going,” she told him, as if he were the one who was confused.
He blinked. “You’re not?”
“No, Bess is,” she explained.
He gave his head a shake. “You’re not Bess?”
Elsie positively cackled with laughter. “Goodness, no,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mind being her for a few days,” she confided with a wink and, though Elsie’s comment was wasted on Lex, Bess knew it was in reference to her youth. Elsie often accused her of “squandering” it with old junk, cable internet and reality television, which was hardly fair when she’d caught Elsie watching Real Housewives, as well.
Elsie looked past Lex’s shoulder and he instinctively turned around.
“I’m Bess,” she said, coming forward. His gaze slammed into hers and, though she knew it was impossible, she practically floated the rest of the way across the room, tugged inexplicably by the pull of his stare. She felt a smile drift over her lips and released a slow steady breath.
Mystery solved, she thought.
His eyes were blue. And she was drowning.

3
HE COULDN’T HAVE BEEN more stunned if he’d been knocked over the head with a frying pan, Lex thought as he watched the woman come toward him.
In the first place, she was young. As in not old. Or not as old as he’d assumed she would be, at any rate. He struggled to get a handle on this change of events. Just a second ago he’d been certain he’d walked into his worst nightmare, a geriatric cougar bent on hunting him the entire trip.
In the second place, she was beautiful. Not mildly attractive or merely pretty.
Bess Cantrell was beautiful.
She had long wavy auburn hair and big green eyes that tilted upward at the corners, giving her an exotic edge. Curly lashes framed those compelling eyes, especially high cheekbones carved lovely hollows beneath them, and her nose was small and finely made. She had the clearest, smoothest skin he’d ever seen, and though he’d never understood the phrase “porcelain complexion,” he did now. The mouth that tied this all together was lush and bow-shaped and curled just so on the upper lip to make one think she was enjoying a bit of a private joke. At your expense.
She was petite and very curvy, probably carrying more weight than was currently fashionable, but he’d never liked a scrawny girl. He’d always imagined sex with a so-called supermodel would be like bedding a praying mantis. Sorry, not for him. He preferred the soft womanly frame of the old Hollywood stars—the pinup girls circa WWII—and this girl would have been right at home on the nose of a B-52.
The private joke he’d caught between his employers now made perfect sense and he felt his own lips twist with belated humor. A warning would have been nice, but wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable for them. Sneaky bastards. Perversely, he liked them even more now than he did before.
Bess shook his hand, the small touch resonating to the soles of his feet, then leaned forward and spoke in conspiratorial undertones. “I hope I’m the lesser of two evils,” she said with a tiny significant jerk of her head toward the woman behind the counter. Her voice was light and musical with a husky finish that put him in mind of tangled sheets and naked skin.
Hers specifically.
Lex smiled. He wasn’t touching that loaded remark with a ten-foot pole. “Lex Sanborn,” he said. “With Ranger Security.”
She nodded. “Bess Cantrell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her gaze dropped down to his dog and her naturally pink tinted lips slid into a friendly grin. “And who is this?”
“Honey,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought her along.”
“Not at all,” she said. “She’s a pretty dog.” She dropped down to face Honey and held her hand out so that the animal could get a sniff. Honey looked up at him, evidently seeking approval, and, at his nod, she nosed Bess’s palm. The ice broken, Bess petted her head and scratched her behind the ears. “Ahhh,” she said, grinning at the animal. “You like that, do you? You’re a good girl.” She was completely at ease talking to the dog. Some people weren’t, which he thought was odd. He’d always found it easier to get along with animals than people, a fact he’d forgotten until he’d found Honey.
Bess stood again and looked up at him. “So we’d better be going then?”
He nodded, annoyed that she’d had to remind him and not the other way around. What the hell was wrong with him? It’s not like he’d never seen a beautiful woman. Not like he hadn’t been with more than a few actually. So what was it about this one that had made him forget himself already? What was it about this one that had his balls tightening and his chest in knots? After less than thirty seconds in her company?
Bess went over and hugged the woman behind the counter. “I’ll check in often, Elsie, and call me if something important comes up.” She lingered purposely over the “important” part, leading him to believe that the bizarre Elsie was prone to contacting her about things that weren’t. Given what he’d observed in the minute he’d known Elsie, he could see where that would definitely have been the case. When she’d refused to release his hand and made the you’ve-come-close remark, he’d gotten the strangest sensation that the older woman had been peering directly into his brain, picking his secrets out, leaving him more than a little unnerved.
His gaze slid to Bess once more and lingered over her ripe rear end. Most definitely the lesser of two evils, he thought.
“Of course,” Elsie said with an innocent bat of her lashes.
“And you’ll feed Severus for me?”
“Every morning and afternoon to make sure that his blood sugar stays normal.” She snorted. “And cats are supposed to be low-maintenance pets.”
Bess smiled gratefully at the older woman. “Thanks, Elsie. You’re a peach.” She turned to face him once again and then headed toward the door and picked up an overnight bag. “I’m ready when you are.”
He hurried forward and took the bag from her hand, then opened the door for her, making the effort to remember that he was a gentleman and had been taught common courtesies.
“I could have gotten that,” she said. “Believe me, I’m used to carrying things a lot heavier.”
He imagined so. Nevertheless, he’d do the heavy lifting on this trip. He opened the car door for her and tried not to watch the way the denim clung to her luscious heart-shaped ass as she slipped into the passenger seat. Muttering a plea for self-restraint, he stored her bag in the back of the SUV next to his, then helped Honey into the backseat and unclipped her leash.
“She’s going to hate me for riding shotgun, isn’t she?” Bess remarked, glancing back at his dog. He loved the way her hair curved along her sleek jaw, over her shoulders and around one breast. It was sexy and sensual and utterly effortless on her part, which naturally made it all the more appealing. His dick stirred behind his zipper, forcing him to shift into a more comfortable position. This was so not good, Lex thought as he slid the key into the ignition and started the car. He looked over his shoulder and then pulled out into traffic, belatedly realizing that he had no idea where they were going. In retrospect, he should have gone over that with her before leaving the store.
Too late now.
Not off to a very auspicious start, Lex thought, feeling more and more out of control.
“She’ll be fine,” he said, finally answering her question about the dog. “Payne brought me up to speed on what is going on and mentioned that your thief has been moving from one address to the next closest. Is this correct?” There, he thought. That sounded semiprofessional.
“It is,” she confirmed. She pulled a paper from a folder she’d had in her bag and consulted it for a moment. “Based on the address of the last incident he should be going down toward Waycross.”
“Waycross?”
“Yes, if he’s continuing to the next closest address. I figure he’ll stay within Georgia before going toward Mississippi, Tennessee or the Carolinas.”
He felt his eyes widen. Good grief, he’d had no idea they could potentially be covering that kind of ground, much less that in her quest for junk she covered that kind of ground. Had Payne left that little tidbit out of the briefing? Lex wondered, or had he just missed it?
“Have you alerted your clients in Waycross?” he asked, trying to quickly pull together a plan.
“Client,” she corrected. “And yes I have. Gus has been put on alert, knows that I haven’t sent anyone as my representative and he doesn’t have anything remotely resembling the book. He’s armed, and if anyone comes up on his property and doesn’t heed him, they’re liable to get the shock of their lives.”
“Sounds like this guy needs it,” Lex remarked with a grunt. “Have you had breakfast?”
She blinked, seemingly confused by the sudden subject change. “Breakfast?”
“First meal of the day,” he said. “From the late Middle English breakfast, meaning to break one’s fast.”
“I know what it is,” she said, shooting him an exasperated smile. “But thanks for the etymology lesson all the same.”
He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t enough to know what a word meant, he wanted to know where it had come from, as well. He was an avid crossword fan and he found that knowing a word’s origin often helped him figure things out. He’d picked the habit up from his grandfather, who’d also been in the service, and had been working them ever since.
“Well?” he pressed.
She looked confused again, as though they weren’t having the same conversation. “Well what?”
He chuckled. “Have you had breakfast?”
She grinned. “I have, actually, but if you haven’t, then I certainly don’t mind watching you eat.”
“I’ve already eaten, too,” he told her. “But I think we need to plot our route a little more thoroughly, so why don’t we stop for a quick cup of coffee and work that out?”
She nodded. “Sure. That sounds good.”
He found a coffeehouse with an outside eating area for Honey, and Bess stayed with the dog while he went in and ordered for them. The air had a bit of a chill to it, but thankfully not so cold as to be unpleasant. Bess had tied Honey’s leash to a chair and was busy petting the dog, who naturally had her head angled toward the store until he came out.
“She doesn’t like it when she can’t see you,” Bess remarked when he returned with their drinks and a Danish apiece. He handed Bess her spiced apple cider and took a chair opposite her. Honey immediately came to sit at his feet, resting her chin against his knee. He patted her head and rubbed her velvety ears. “She’s awfully devoted. How long have you had her?”
“About five months,” Lex told her.
She took a sip of her drink and he noticed she’d donned a kelly green hat, a matching scarf and fingerless gloves. Impossibly, she looked even more gorgeous. “So she wasn’t a puppy when you got her?”
“No. According to the vet she’s about a year and a half.” He tore off a piece of apple tart and put it in his mouth. “What about you? What’s a Severus?” he asked, remembering her instructions to Elsie.
She laughed softly. “A Severus is a black cat and he’s the unofficial boss of my house.”
“Unofficial boss?”
“I’m the official one,” she confided. “I just don’t tell him that.”
“And this is Severus, as in Severus Snape, the much-vilified and hated Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”
She gasped delightedly. “A hobby etymologist and you know your Harry Potter.”
He’d read the books while he’d been recovering. It was the first time in years that he’d had so much time to simply be still, and he’d heard the books were filled with a lot of literary references and mythology. He’d enjoyed every minute of them.
“They were incredible,” he said. But nice as this was, it wasn’t getting them any closer to their goal. He snagged the maps on the table and picked up a red ink pen. “In order to make sure we know exactly where we’re going and where we are in relation to where he might be, I think we need to mark everything off on the map and then go from there.”
She pulled an atlas from her bag and opened it to Georgia. “You mean like this?” she asked.
Lex was genuinely beginning to wonder exactly why he was here. “Yes, like that exactly,” he said, shooting her a forced smile.
Evidently catching the slight snarl behind his grin, she chuckled. “I’m sorry,” she said, her green eyes twinkling with humor. “I did this last night. As I understood it, they were only bringing you up to speed this morning and I thought it might be helpful.”
It was helpful and he had no reason to be irritated or feel like she’d lopped his balls off and handed them to him, but he did. This was his first assignment and so far she’d done all the work. It was time for him to start earning his money.
“It is helpful,” he said. He snagged the book and flipped through it. She’d marked up all the surrounding states, as well, everywhere she’d been. It was very thorough, very meticulous and he couldn’t have done a better job himself. Still, he hadn’t done it, and that was the problem.
He looked up at her and released a pent-up breath. “Let me ask you something, Bess.”
“Sure.”
“Are you a good shot?”
She frowned, seemingly confused. “You mean with a gun?”
“Yes.”
She sucked in a breath, released it and shrugged. “Not particularly,” she demurred.
Good, he thought. Then maybe he’d be of some actual use on this assignment. Provided he got to shoot at someone. Preferably not himself, though intuition told him he was going to need some form of distraction to put him out of his misery—that of the sexual variety—before this was over.

SHE HADN’T REALLY LIED, Bess thought. She wasn’t a good shot—she was an excellent shot. Good implied mediocre, and she was far from just good. After her mother had committed suicide, Bess had been utterly terrified of guns. She’d go into a fit of terror if a car backfired, if she heard a fake gunshot on television. Simply seeing one sent her into a panic.
Given the way she’d reacted, one would have thought that she’d been in the house when her mother had taken her own life, but that wasn’t the case. Her mother, bereaved and out of her right mind as she was, had at least had the forethought and kindness to send Bess over to a friend’s to play. She’d attached a note to the front door to prevent anyone from letting her child into the house so that Bess wouldn’t be the one to find her. A second note for Bess, with a simple “I’m sorry” at the end of it for her, was tucked behind a picture of the three of them together, Bess and her mom and dad, one of the few she had from her childhood.
At any rate, convinced that the only thing that was going to get her over her fear of guns was learning to handle one herself, her grandfather had taken her out for target practice over and over again and proved to be delighted when she’d been a natural. Regardless of what kind of piece he put in her hand, be it a pistol or a rifle, she always came within an inch of the bull’s eye.
Her gaze slid to Lex, who was going over the maps, evidently plotting their route. Somehow she didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him that she was an excellent marksman. He was already feeling relatively useless, if she had her guess.
But just because she could plot a map and fire a gun didn’t mean she’d actually have the guts to shoot someone if it came down to it. She’d like to think that she could do it to defend her own life or someone else’s, but she’d never been in that situation.
As a former Ranger she knew he had, and she also knew that she couldn’t be in better hands.
But she didn’t need to think about being in his hands, because that ignited a thought process that took her imagination to depraved places it had no business going and made her panties feel like they’d been dipped in steam.
His eyes weren’t just blue, as she’d noted before. They were a bizarre mix of blue and green with a darker ring of lapis around the edges. They were utterly arresting, the shade managing to be both bright and dark, like the sky in a Maxfield Parrish painting, so perfect it had earned the name “Parrish Blue.”
She’d known the minute she’d looked at him that she was going to be in trouble, that she was going to want him with an intensity far beyond anything in her experience. On a physical level, he simply did it for her. He was big and hard and exuded confidence without being cocky, and there was an irreverence in his gaze, in the shape of that droll, incredibly carnal mouth, that was particularly attractive.
Something about the line of his jaw against his neck when he turned his head just so made her long to slip her fingers along that bone, to trace the shell of his ear. Everything about him was masculine and beautiful, even the way his hair lay against his scalp. She watched his fingers trace a path along the map and her belly gave a clench. His hands were large and veined and the strength in them was palpable. She imagined them kneading her flesh and released a sigh deep enough to draw his attention.
She felt a blush race to her hairline and took another sip of her cider.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Only with her misguided libido, Bess thought. She blinked innocently. “No.”
His lips twitched with humor.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked, waiting to watch the way his mouth moved when he talked. It was sensual and mesmerizing.
“No,” he said. “Not at you.”
“But something was funny?”
He dropped the pen in his hand and leaned back and regarded her more thoroughly. That lazy scrutiny made her stomach flutter and warm. “Yes, actually. I was thinking you must have learned that little innocent look you just gave me from Elsie because it was the same exact blinking incomprehension that she gave you when you told her not to call unless it was important.”
She popped a bite of Danish into her mouth and laughed. “It’s possible that I picked it up from her,” she said. “I’ve known her most of my life.”
“She’s quite a character,” he said, which she thought was more charitable than saying she was crazy as a shit-house rat, which was what most everyone else thought about her. Including Bess, if she were honest, but it only added to Elsie’s charm.
“She is,” Bess said with a nod. “She has the sight, you know.”
“The what?”
“She likes to think she’s psychic,” Bess clarified, and wondered again what had spooked him so much when Elsie had taken his hand. Something had, she was sure. And for all his irreverent nonchalance, there was an unexplained shadow in his gaze—almost haunted-looking—that made her wonder about his story. Everyone, in her experience, had a story and she found herself unbelievably intrigued by his.
It was his turn to blink and she chuckled again. “Seems like you’re a quick study on the look, as well,” she told him, wrapping her hands around her drink to keep them warm.
A rustle of leaves swept along the sidewalk and pots of mums bloomed in burgundy and yellow batches around the little patio. She loved fall, Bess thought. It was her favorite season, when the harvest peaked and Mother Nature, proud of her accomplishment, settled in and took a much-needed rest. Every wind felt like her sigh, and Bess huddled more snugly into her jacket.
“She rattled you, didn’t she?” Bess prodded, knowing he more than likely wouldn’t answer, but curious all the same.
He bit the inside of his cheek. “You mean when she practically slithered across the counter toward me and lowered her voice into that alarmingly breathy purr?”
She felt her own lips twitch. “Elsie likes younger men.”
He grinned and quirked a brow. “Do they typically like her?”
She chuckled again, unable to help herself. “She’s managed to date a few younger men.”
“And by younger, you still mean they are senior citizens?”
“Yes,” she said, snickering.
“Aha,” he said. “I thought so. I’m less than half her age.” He gave a shudder. “I almost feel like I need a bath.”
Laughing quietly, Bess felt her eyes water. “Oh, come on,” she said. “It can’t have been as bad as that.”
“It was,” he deadpanned. “Because I thought she was you.”
Her sides were aching. “Yes, I know,” she wheezed.
His eyes widened in outrage. “You know? You knew?” He gasped. “You were watching,” he accused. “You saw the whole damned thing, didn’t you?”
She nodded, unable to respond.
“That’s… That’s…evil,” he said, staring at her with a new sort of appreciation in his eyes.
She merely shrugged. “I saw you when you got out of the car,” she said. “I might have corrected you, but you were in such a hurry and then—” she pressed her lips together to keep from grinning again “—and then it was just too funny not to watch.”
He shook his head, continued to stare at her, then sketched a makeshift bow. “Glad to provide your entertainment, milady. Let me know when I can do it again.”
Ooo-la-la, Bess thought as the last words rolled off that incredibly smooth tongue. She had a feeling he could provide her with hours and hours of hot, sweaty, wonderfully wicked entertainment if she’d let him.
And judging by the heat scorching her veins, she just might before this trip was through.

4
AFTER AN HOUR IN BESS’S company, Lex was beginning to wonder if he might have been better off protecting his virtue from Elsie than essentially being trapped in the car with a woman he’d wanted to lick from head to toe the first moment he’d set eyes on her.
Licking, he was relatively sure, wasn’t in his job description, and considering that he was already feeling like he wasn’t doing the damned thing properly—that she’d beaten him to a plan, as it were—he didn’t need to further complicate matters by making a play for his…partner. He couldn’t think of anything else to call her, really. She wasn’t his client or his target or even his accomplice.
And more importantly, she was Brian Payne’s friend. Brian had mentioned that he’d known Bess for years, that he’d been buying things from her for a long time and that her case was special. Though he hadn’t said as much, Lex imagined that Bess was either trading him out inventory for services or she was getting a vastly reduced rate. He didn’t have any idea what kind of money she pulled in through her store selling her ju—stuff, he mentally corrected, remembering Payne’s warning about her dislike of the word, but he couldn’t imagine that it was a huge income.

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