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Deadly Sight
Cindy Dees


Since Grayson Pierce’s family was murdered, loyalty to Code X – and a death wish – is all that keeps him going.But now the hardened agent is facing his riskiest assignment yet, with a distractingly sexy operative. But will their combustible chemistry compromise their mission?












“The neighbors will be watching,” she murmured.


“In that case …” Grayson bent down and swept his arms around her. He lifted her in his arms and strode toward the front door. But, oh, the price of it. Using techniques a trauma therapist had taught him, he blanked his mind completely. And then bit by bit, he let in the details of this one moment. The cool air. The autumn smell of burned leaves. The weight and softness of the woman in his arms. A hint of roses as she shifted slightly. The way his breathing deepened in response to her.

Laughing, she reached down to open the door for him. He added the sultry delight in her laughter to his inventory of sensations.

Carefully, carefully he reached past this moment to the next safest thing: his job. This was a cover. They had to establish themselves as a couple. Being absolutely certain to let no emotion creep into him, he paused in the doorway and leaned his head down to kiss her.




About the Author


CINDY DEES started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan, where she grew up, to attend the University of Michigan. After earning a degree in Russian and East European studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include medieval reenacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing and Japanese gardening.

This RITA


Award-winning author’s first book was published in 2002 and since then she has published more than twenty-five bestselling and award-winning novels. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.




Deadly Sight


Cindy Dees






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




Chapter 1


Grayson Pierce looked at his watch impatiently. The plane was late. Either that or his Rolex had suddenly lost its orderly Swiss mind. How he was supposed to help with this very, very off-book investigation, he had no idea. But his old fraternity brother from Stanford, Jeff Winston, had asked for help, and that was enough for him.

The way he heard it, Jeff had been doing the U.S. government massive favors left, right and center, and Uncle Sam owed Jeff one back. Gray frowned. What kind of debt merited pulling a senior field agent like him out of deep cover on no notice and sending him to West Virginia, of all places? What crisis of national security significance could be afoot in this bucolic setting?

Finally. The whine of a jet became audible in the distance. Gray picked out the white speck, which rapidly grew larger, descending on final approach into the Elkins-Randolph County Regional Airport. Jeff was sending some guy named Sam Jessup here to help with whatever was brewing around a local cult leader named Proctor.

The thrust reversers of a sleek Learjet bearing the Winston Enterprises logo screamed as the plane came to a stop at the far end of the runway, did a one-eighty, and taxied toward him. He was parked in a vintage 1972 Ford Bronco outside the gold, two-story box of a terminal, such as it was. Chicago O’Hare, this airport was not. He pulled up beside the low jet and hopped out as the hatch popped open. A pilot wearing a crisp uniform trotted down the steps.

A pair of high-heeled, black leather boots with chrome ankle chains and stiletto heels that looked like lethal weapons appeared on the top steps. Slim calves came into view. The shapely legs turned out to be a mile long and sheathed in leather that looked painted on. A black leather jacket with slashes of red leather under the arms emerged from the shadows. Good Lord, the jacket was unzipped down to … well, that was an impressive flash of cleavage. What did the woman have on under the jacket to cause that gravity-defying display? An urge to tug the zipper down and find out made his fingers itch.

A swirl of flaming red hair swished over her shoulder. It was the color of strawberries and oranges if they got together and made a baby. A slender, porcelain-pale neck came into view, and then lush lips painted the most improbable shade of scarlet he’d seen in a long time.

The asymmetric triangles of her black sunglasses wrapped around her head like something straight out of a science-fiction movie. He’d lay odds she had body piercings in places he did not want to know about, too.

Who the hell was she? Surely Jessup didn’t bring his sex-kitten girlfriend on whatever mission this was. Maybe she was some sort of contact who would take him to Jessup. Gray frowned as no one else was forthcoming from the jet. The goth chick was looking at him expectantly, so he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Welcome to West Virginia. I’m Grayson Pierce.”

She took his hand in the firm grip most American women used, and which still startled him. “Sammie Jo Jessup. Nice to meet you.”

“Sammie Jo—” Oh, dear God. No. “As in Sam Jessup?”

The woman’s lips curved into a dazzling smile that almost, but not quite, redeemed her extreme attire. “Let me guess. Jeff didn’t tell you I’m a woman. He thinks that’s hilarious to spring on people.”

“Right. Hilarious,” he replied dryly.

“So let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she declared, “and you can brief me in. Call me Sam if you like.”

He didn’t like. The name made her sound like a man. And despite her … avant-garde … fashion choices, she was anything but masculine under all that leather and chrome.

He slung her black duffel bag in the back of the Bronco, and with a word of thanks to the pilot, she climbed in next to him. Oddly, she smelled like roses. The old-fashioned kind with undertones of Earl Grey tea and cinnamon. A dim memory of his grandmother’s formal rose garden flashed to mind. Acres of manicured green lawns and white-linen tablecloths covered with Royal Albert china rolled through his mind’s eye unbidden. Bemused, he guided the Bronco out of the airport and onto an asphalt road that wound up into the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Although they weren’t blue at all. Fall was just starting to paint the rolling hillsides in splashes of gold and crimson, oranges and maroons that were rapidly overtaking the carpet of green.

“Wow. Pretty,” Sammie Jo commented at random.

He glanced over at her and was startled that she appeared to be studying him and not the scenery. It was hard to tell behind those dark sunglasses of hers. Had she just called him pretty? He chose to pretend she’d been referring to the scenery. “I’m told it’s spectacular when the colors peak around here.”

“Mmm. So why am I here?”

Direct, this woman. “I have no idea. Jeff Winston called me and said he needed my help figuring out what some local nut job is up to. Guy named Proctor. I assumed you would know what’s going on since you work for Jeff.”

“Nope. He didn’t tell me anything more than that. But Jeff never does anything randomly. He clearly wants you and me to have a look around the local area. Turn over a few rocks and see what we find.”

“That seems damned random of him.”

“Agreed.” She nodded. “There’s clearly something going on. He must want us to take an unbiased look at it.”

Frustration rattled through him. “Look. I have other responsibilities to get back to, and I don’t have time for chasing shadows and vague rumors.”

An eyebrow climbed above the upper rim of one tilting triangle of her sunglasses. “Like I do have time for games?” she demanded.

“Hey. He’s your boss. Take it up with Winston.”

They fell into silence and drove for some miles before he felt the least bit inclined to be civil again. Dammit, Jeff was his fraternity brother and had been a loyal friend through some rough times. He owed the guy at least a shot at making this investigation, or whatever it was, work.

Gray sighed and said, “Jeff rented us a motel room in a burg called Mapletop. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the National Radio Quiet Zone. Are you familiar with that?”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s an area encompassing 13,000 square miles and straddling the Virginia-West Virginia border. It was set aside in the 1950s to surround the world’s largest radio telescope, which is an incredibly sensitive instrument. Inside the Zone, only very limited radio emissions are allowed. There are no cell phones, no Wi-Fi and only a handful of low-power radio stations. All electronic emissions generated in this area have to be approved so they don’t interfere with the telescopes.”

She nodded as if she already knew all that.

“We’ll enter the NRQZ in a few miles, and your wireless devices will lose signal shortly thereafter. If you have any last-minute phone calls to make, email to check, or texts to send, now’s the time to do it.”

“No one to call,” she said grimly.

His finely honed intuition sensed a story, but he didn’t pry. She wasn’t here to overshare her personal life with him, and he didn’t want to know, anyway. He had a job to do—assuming he could figure out what the damned job was.

What had Jeff been thinking to send this woman, who was as clueless as him, out here? It wasn’t like she was going to blend in with the locals in the least. This region was about country music, log cabins and outdoor sports. Sammie Jo Jessup looked like a character from a science-fiction movie.

As they turned into the parking lot of the motel, his alien-wannabe companion broke the silence. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she prodded. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old buddy of Jeff’s who owes the bastard a favor,” he retorted. “Why he chose to collect it like this is beyond me.”

He assumed she was looking at him. Her sunglasses were pointed at him, at least. “What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

Caution kicked in and he said carefully, “I work with computers.”

“Hmm. Why would Jeff bring you here, then, where you’re useless?”

He knew all too well the feeling of being useless. It had ripped out his soul, burned every last bit of the humanity out of him and left him the hull of a man he was today. But to be told he was useless by this impertinent female didn’t sit well with him.

Irritation flared in his gut. An errant urge to tell her the truth rose in the back of his throat. But the pain rose, too, and he wasn’t prepared to face the fire today. He pushed down the grief, pushed down the memories, pushed down any feeling at all.

He guided the Bronco into a parking spot in front of the two-bedroom motel bungalow Jeff had arranged for them. Gray’s manners were too deeply ingrained to ignore no matter how irritating this woman might be, so he went around the SUV to open her door for her. But of course, she’d already barged out of the car and stood beside it looking around.

“What?” she demanded as he frowned at her.

“I would’ve opened your door for you.”

She snorted. “I can get my own doors.”

“I’m sure you can. But that doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t open them for you.”

“Are you some kind of throwback to the olden days?”

He allowed himself a little smile. Wait till she got a load of how people lived in this region. The whole place was one giant throwback. “Something like that.”

He fetched her bag and headed for Home Sweet Home. The mint-green cinder-block structure had the metal roof so common in this region. Either that, or someone had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to paint rust stains on the thing. Metal apparently helped shield the minor electrical emissions of small household appliances from the nearby telescopes.

He hurried his steps to reach the door first and opened it for her with a flourish. He couldn’t actually see if she rolled her eyes at him, but he sensed that she did. He smirked at her back in satisfaction as he followed her inside.

“Wow. This is … rustic,” she declared.

He snorted. “This is as modern as it gets this far inside the NRQZ.”

His gaze strayed to her delicious tush, cupped in that naughty black leather as she closed the vinyl-lined curtains over both living-room windows. She headed for the kitchenette’s tiny window, and he enjoyed the view as she bent over the rim of the sink to yank the curtains closed over the small, high window there. The cabin’s interior went dim. But oddly, she didn’t remove her sunglasses. Hangover from partying too hard the night before? Or maybe something more mundane like a migraine?

“Better,” she announced. She turned back toward him but stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the pictures spread out across the counter. He’d forgotten those were there. She stared at the surveillance photographs closely. “Who’s this guy?”

“His name is Luke Zimmer. Jeff sent me those and the kid’s dossier yesterday morning.”

“He’s cute. You stalking him?”

She was clearly trying to get a rise out of him, therefore he refused to take the bait. He answered blandly, “Jeff hired young Luke a few months back to come here and have a look around. Kid has a history of some rather extreme political views and has been known to act upon them from time to time.”

“What constitutes extreme in your world? Which side of the political spectrum do you fall on?”

It went contrary to every bit of his training and years of field experience to tell a complete stranger any details of his personal life. He was all about living the cover story. He never revealed the real man inside, for down that path lay self-destruction. “Not pertinent to the investigation at hand,” he replied stiffly.

“Are you always this uptight?” she asked curiously.

“Uptight? Why … I … Not at all,” he spluttered. Lord, this woman threw him off balance.

She strolled right up to him in a sexy catwalk, invading his personal space. Ahh. Come-ons by hot chicks—now those he had down pat. His world righted itself and, as he regained his equilibrium, his right eyebrow went up in sardonic amusement. She had another think coming if she thought she was going to intimidate him. One nicely shaped, albeit black, fingernail ran down the front of his shirt. Damned if his pecs didn’t tense at her touch, though, in spite of his best effort not to react.

“You don’t look like the jeans-and-flannel-shirt type, Sparky,” she purred. “And those hiking boots look brand-spanking-new. They’re a dead giveaway that you’re a city slicker.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” he retorted. “You’ll fit in around here about like an alien from outer space.”

She sat down on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other in a blatantly sexy display. “But I’m not trying to fit in. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Neither do I,” he snapped. “Jeff Winston asked for my help and, for some reason that completely escapes me, saw fit to send me you.”

He packed all the derision he could muster into that last word. Man, this woman got under his skin. Nobody ever got this big a rise out of him this fast. And that was bad. For him, feelings were dangerous things. Lethal even. If he felt too much he might lose control, and then he might let go of his will to live. He hadn’t fought to hang on this long only to let go now.

He commented more reasonably, “I have no idea whatsoever what I’m supposed to do with you.”

“I could make a few suggestions.” Her lips curved into a sinful smile. “You look like you could stand to learn a thing or two from me.”

An unwilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was confident enough in his skills in that department that he definitely didn’t need to rise to that jab. But she was tempting.

“Tell me about you,” he said in as businesslike a tone as he could manage.

“I work for Winston Enterprises. I’m an operations controller and analyst in the Winston Operations Center. Are you familiar with it?”

He nodded. He’d visited the high-tech, information-gathering hub once and been stunned. Most governments didn’t have anything better. Winston Enterprises, which was a sprawling international conglomerate of dozens of companies, practically had its own private intelligence agency.

“I’ve worked with Jeff for five years,” she continued. “Two years ago, I volunteered for the HIVE Project. Are you familiar with that?”

“Nope. Never heard of it.”

“That explains a lot,” she replied cryptically.

“What is it?”

“Hang on a sec,” she muttered as she fished in her jacket pocket and emerged with a cell phone. “I’ve got to talk to Jeff.”

“Your phone won’t work. No cell phone towers inside the NRQZ. And if you turn it on, the radio emissions police may show up and bust you.”

She swore colorfully as she stuffed the device back in her pocket. “Have you got a string and some tin cans for me to make a call with?”

“Landline’s over there on the wall. They bury the phone cables so they don’t screw with the telescopes.”

She marched over to the ancient rotary phone and glared at it. “How … quaint.” She dialed number by slowly rotating number.

“Hi, it’s Sam. Is the boss around?” There was a brief pause. “Hey, Jeff. What am I authorized to tell your buddy Grayson about HIVE?” She listened for a moment, and if he wasn’t mistaken, surprise crossed her face. But he couldn’t be sure. He really wished she’d take those shades off. It was unsettling not being able to read her expressions at all. Was this HIVE thing the reason he’d been dragged into the middle of nowhere and thrust into the company of this annoying woman?

She hung up the receiver. “Apparently, Jeff trusts you a freaking lot because I’m green-lighted to tell you all.”

An intimate undertone slid into his voice. “Are you, now?”

She rolled her eyes. “About HIVE. Tell all about HIVE.” She was cute when she was discomfited. Speaking hastily to cover her obvious discomfort, she said, “So. Does the local antitechnology monitoring mean this shack isn’t under any kind of electronic surveillance?”

“As far as I can tell. The locals would pick up the transmission from a bug or a parabolic microphone in a heartbeat. A few years back, not far from here, a heating pad in a doghouse had a short circuit in it too small for the dog to feel, but it still caused interference with the telescope.”

“Cool.” She sank down on the sofa facing him and studied her fingernails as if she’d rather avoid the conversation to come.

“So, what’s HIVE?” he prompted.

“Human Improvement Via Engineering. The name’s actually a joke. The project’s head scientist hates the moniker. Real name’s Code X.”

“Very spooky,” he murmured. Human improvement? What on earth did that mean? A buzz of consternation vibrated in his gut at the possibilities. He asked much more blandly than he felt, “What kind of engineering?”

“Give the city slicker points for asking the right question.”

She stretched a languid arm across the back of the sofa and drummed a complicated rhythm with her fingers on it. More delaying body language. She really didn’t want to talk about this HIVE thing. He was intrigued at the aggressive overall body posture. It made her look like some sort of predatory animal at rest, although which kind, he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

She continued, “A team of scientists who work for Jeff have been experimenting with a combination of stem-cell therapies and genetic engineering to enhance certain characteristics in test subjects.”

“What kinds of characteristics?” he asked.

“When’s the last time you saw Jeff? Like in the flesh?”

He was thrown by the abrupt shift of topic. “About two years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let’s just say he has changed a bit since you last saw him.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, alarmed. “You’re using human test subjects? Has Jeff done this experimenting on himself?”

She grinned. “Let’s just say he’s put on a little, umm, muscle mass. The guy can pick up a Jeep and throw it if he wants to. Literally.”

Gray’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe the implications of what she was saying. His old friend had used far-out, experimental science to make a … a … superhero of himself? “Has he become some sort of freak?”

The woman flinched at the word. “Yeah,” she said grimly. “A freak.”

He asked cautiously, “And are you also one of these test subjects?” She didn’t look like she could pick up a Jeep, let alone throw it.

“Yes,” she answered flatly. “I’m a freak, too.”

“You throw Jeeps?”

“No. My special abilities are somewhat different than Jeff’s.”

“Indeed? Do tell.”

That was definitely a wince tightening her facial features. What in the hell was going on with her?




Chapter 2


Sam warily eyed the dark-haired man lounging in the chair across from her. She had to admit, he was a hunk. Although that wasn’t exactly the right word for him. He looked … patrician. Not a word she used frequently, or that frankly ever came to mind. But it fit him. His features were classically handsome. Heck, flat-out well-bred.

“Do people actually call you Grayson?” she asked abruptly.

He looked irritated at the change of topic. Must be the intensely focused type. In her experience, such men made great lovers if they could get over their other hang-ups. But this guy seemed wired pretty tight. Probably would be as boring as they came in bed.

“My friends call me Gray. Why?”

She snorted. “The name suits you.”

A flash of heat flared in his gray-green gaze. Hmm. Maybe not so boring in bed, after all. Were he not Jeff’s friend, she might be tempted to find out for sure.

“What’s your super-ability, then?” he demanded.

She never just up and told people about herself like this. But Jeff had been clear. She was to brief in Grayson Pierce fully on Code X. And orders were orders. Taking a deep breath, she removed her sunglasses.

He stared like everyone did at her eyes. No human had eyes that color. At least no normal human did. She knew good and well that she looked like an alien with her eyes uncovered like this.

He mumbled, “Okay, so your eyes are a unique shade of … of gold. And it’s very striking, by the way. Surely that’s not why Jeff sent you here.”

Striking. What a polite word for weird. Her eyes were brilliant, freaking yellow. She responded drily, “I imagine he sent me here because I can read a newspaper from a hundred feet away.”

“That’s it! An eagle,” he exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” That was not the usual reaction she got from people when they saw her real eye color or first heard about her eyesight. Usually they called her a damned liar and demanded a demonstration.

“You reminded me of a predator earlier, but I couldn’t figure out which kind. It’s a bird of prey. A powerful one like an eagle.”

“My eyesight is better than an eagle’s,” she responded, more than a little flummoxed. “They rely on spotting movement, whereas my superior human brain can better process and analyze acuity-based input.” She broke off before she could descend into even greater geekdom. She wasn’t about to give this guy the slightest advantage over her if she could avoid it.

“Seriously?” he blurted.

“Seriously.”

His face lit up. “Surveillance. I’ll bet that’s why Jeff sent you here.”

“Could be. My eyes don’t require any electronic enhancements to do their thing.”

“If you were to look at a person, how far away could you be and still make a positive facial ID?”

She shrugged. “A mile or so, day or night.”

“Huh?”

“I see as well at night as during the day.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Call Jeff if you don’t believe me.”

“I think I’d rather see a demonstration in person.”

There it was. The skepticism and mistrust. This was more like it. She was back on familiar territory with this man who, up till now, had put her so off her stride. She shrugged casually. “Sure. When it gets dark.”

“Why not now?”

She glanced at the heavily covered windows. “Sun’s out. Small drawback of my eyesight—I have about ten times as many rods in my eyes as you do. Cones see color, but rods are light receptors. And that means I’m a wee bit sensitive to bright light.”

“After dark, then. It’s a date.”

Surely he’d meant those words innocently. But their double meaning sent a ripple of something she’d rather not name through her body. He really was gorgeous in a mysterious, brooding way. He was far too clean-cut for her usual taste, though. She went for wild guys. Losers with no ambition or, more important, no sense of self-preservation.

Gemma Jones said Sam had a death wish but pushed it onto her lovers rather than face it in herself. Whatever the heck that meant. Sam had had enough of well-meaning but clueless counselors after she’d landed on the streets in her teens and periodically got dragged into shelters by various do-gooders.

She stood up, acutely aware of Gray’s sharp gaze on her. For a moment, she almost regretted her choice of leather, then thought better of it. Let the guy look. It wasn’t like he was ever going to get a taste of any Sam candy. With a toss of her head, she announced, “I’m going to go catch a few hours’ sleep. I do my best work at night.” And she darned well meant that double entendre.

She lived nights, truth be told. But she wasn’t about to share any more of her personal life than she had to with this man who already knew enough about her to make her feel naked. And frankly, the sensation was unsettling. Grayson Pierce was far too attractive for his own good. She needed to get away from him for a little while. Get her feet back under her.

She had yet to hear about the guy whose pictures were spread all over the kitchen counter and why Jeff had asked her and Gray to check him out, but that would have to wait until she could think clearly. Until she’d achieved a little emotional distance from the disturbing man staring intently at her.

“The second bedroom’s pretty small,” he offered, “but it’s clean and reasonably comfortable.”

It sounded like he’d had to go to some effort to achieve both. “Thanks,” she muttered. She relished the view of his muscular physique as he showed her down a short hallway and into the room. Streaks of sunshine leaked between the slatted blinds, and she slammed the sunglasses back over her eyes as icepicks of pain stabbed her eyeballs.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got an errand to run, but I should be back by the time you wake up.”

As he backed out of the room, she quickly dug in her duffel for eye drops and her good blindfold. She never spent this much time in daylight, and for good reason. She’d forgotten how bad direct sunlight hurt. She put in the anesthetizing eye drops and sighed with relief as they numbed her burning eyeballs. She popped a pain pill for her smashing headache, pulled a velvet blindfold over her eyes and fell asleep to visions of a tall, enigmatic stranger who was far too sexy for his own good and not her type at all.

She woke to the sounds of quiet swearing from the living room. Based on the rosy light that made her squint as she peeled up a corner of her blindfold, it looked to be near sunset. But just to be safe, she donned her sunglasses before taking off her blindfold all the way.

The swearing led her to Gray, who was seated on the living-room floor with nylon cord tangled all around him. And yet, he still managed to look … noble.

“Making your own fishing net there, Sparky?” she teased.

“Putting together a new curtain rod for your room. But these instructions stink. They’re really, really badly translated into English.”

“And I need a new curtain rod why?”

“I got you some blackout shades, but you need something to hang them on.”

The thoughtfulness of the gesture pierced her defenses almost painfully. People didn’t do nice things for Sammie Jo Jessup. Ever. She knelt down beside him and said softly, “That’s incredibly sweet of you. Thank you.”

He looked up in surprise and their gazes met. She rocked back on her heels, startled at what she saw there. It was like looking into the depths of … nothing. It wasn’t that he was a psychopath. She’d looked into the eyes of guys like that a time or two. After all, punks and jerks were her specialty.

Rather, it was as if everything Gray was had been stripped away from him. As if he was completely, utterly lost. He wasn’t caught in the abyss. He was the abyss.

Shaken, she offered lamely, “You don’t have to bother with a curtain rod.” She looked into his eyes again, and this time saw only a wall of gray-green. Had she been hallucinating there for a minute? She mumbled, “If you have a roll of duct tape, just tape the curtain to the wall. Minimizes leakage of light.”

“But it won’t be very attractive.”

She shrugged. “I’m more about functionality than beauty.”

“That’s too bad,” he remarked as he climbed to his feet. “Life’s too short not to enjoy its beauty.”

The words made sense, but they felt recited. Like he’d heard them before and was parroting them back with no conviction or real understanding. What in the heck was going on with him? Is this why Jeff had sent her out here? To rescue his buddy?

Gray fetched a roll of duct tape from a drawer in the kitchen and she followed him to her bedroom. Bemused, she held the fabric in place as he neatly taped the curtains to the wall. Their shoulders brushed as he taped his way across the top of the window frame, and a strange little shiver of pleasure washed over her.

That was weird. She’d just dumped the latest loser, Ricky “The Rocket” Rossini, and was still deep in her mandatory, man-hating, post-breakup phase. There weren’t supposed to be any shivers, thank you very much.

Gray cleared his throat as he stepped back from her hastily. “I got weather stripping for around your door frame, too. It’s the self-adhesive kind and shouldn’t take long to install.”

Stunned, she stood there in the middle of the tiny room and stared at the open doorway through which he’d disappeared. When he came back, holding two rolls of narrow foam stripping, she demanded, “Why are you going to all this trouble for me? You barely know me.”

He stared at her and looked downright confused. “Because it’s the polite thing to do?”

She scoffed. “What’s your angle? What do you want from me?”

He drew himself up to his full height, clearly not missing her implication. “I don’t want anything from you,” he snapped. “Not in that way. If you can help me figure out what Luke Zimmer and this Proctor guy are up to so we can both go back to our regularly scheduled lives, that would be fantastic. But that’s it.”

He didn’t give off a gay vibe. Was it possible he was straight and actually wasn’t interested in her? Truly? Every guy wanted to do her. It was just a fact of life she’d learned to live with. But this one … didn’t?

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She supposed she ought to be vastly relieved, particularly since they were going to be working together. But somehow, she wasn’t. Man-hating phase, darn it. She would be relieved he wasn’t panting after her, and that’s all there was to it.

“I’m glad we’ve got that clear,” she declared. Yup. Relieved. That was her. Except something buried deep in her gut felt … restless … at the notion.

“Hungry?” he asked casually.

“Uhh, sure.” Dang, a man who could cook was smexy—smart and sexy!

“What’s your pleasure, ma’am?”

Her gaze snapped up to his, startled.

“For supper,” he clarified dryly.

Darn it. So much for relieved. “I prefer vegan. But I’ll take simple vegetarian.”

He snorted. “You are going to stick out like a sore thumb around here. This is the land of hardcore carnivores.”

“I’ll be fine with a salad for now if you’ve got the stuff. I’ll go shopping later and lay in my own food supply.”

“Grocery closes at nine,” he commented from deep within the refrigerator. He emerged with an armload of salad fixings.

Great. How was she supposed to live her night-owl existence in a town that rolled up its sidewalks and went to bed about when she was waking up? And she wouldn’t even have satellite TV or streaming, Wi-Fi internet to keep her company in the wee hours. This place was going to suck.

She hopped off the stool. “If you’ve got a knife, I’ll start chopping. But you’re going to have to move those pictures so I can fix my breakfast.”

“Would you like an omelet to go with that salad?”

“You know how to make omelets?”

He shrugged. “Sure. They’re not that hard.”

Hah. She had literally ruined a pot while boiling water before. The crash of the Hindenburg came to mind when she thought about her one and only try at omelet preparation. As she recalled, a fire extinguisher had been necessary before it was all said and done.

“What kind of salad dressing do you like?” he asked.

“Anything sharp and tangy.”

“Should’ve known.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“In my experience, women’s food preferences match their personalities.”

“I’m sharp?” Hey, she’d been on her best behavior for him.

“As in clever and intelligent, yes,” he replied smoothly.

“Nice save,” she retorted skeptically. She wasn’t about to tell him what a sucker she was for a high-quality, smooth milk chocolate to see where he went with that. Instead, she said, “Tell me about you.”

He went still. Completely, head-to-toe, not-moving-a-muscle still. That was weird. He formed words, but they sounded torn from deep inside him. “Not much to tell.”

If only she had her laptop and a wireless connection! She’d know everything there was to know about this mysterious man in two minutes. What had happened in his life to make him so brittle and closed? She said lightly, “You know everything about me. Don’t you think I deserve a little reciprocation, here?”

“I do not know everything about you,” he declared.

He was trying to divert her away from the subject of his life. Interesting. She had to find access to the internet, somehow, and get the scoop on this guy. “Name one thing you desperately want to know about me,” she declared.

“What did you have on under that leather jacket this afternoon?” he shot back at her.

Her jaw dropped momentarily before she managed to control it. That was way out of left field. Revealing, too. The man found her attractive, after all, huh? That restless feeling in her tummy felt a little better. “Tell you what. I’ll wear the same thing tomorrow, and you can find out for yourself … if you’ve got the courage to try.”

He whirled and had his hands on the counter on either side of her so fast she barely saw him move. Trapped between his arms and more titillated than she cared to admit, she stared up at him defiantly.

He spoke quietly, his voice a dangerous caress. “Be very careful about teasing me, little girl. You may get back more than you bargained for.”

Little girl? She hadn’t been one of those since she was about six and her mom’s latest boyfriend made a punching bag out of her for the first time. She ought to be offended. Tell Gray to go to hell. But he actually did make her feel young and rather foolish with that extreme self-control of his.

“That sounds like a challenge,” she responded belatedly. It was a lame comeback, but all she could manage with his large, muscular frame only inches from her own. Darned if her breathing wasn’t going all wonky, too.

He pushed away from the counter and she let out a careful breath. He turned around and something metal flashed in his hand. Knife. Her own hands flashed up defensively and her foot lashed out and connected with his shin. Hard.

“Ouch!” He leaped back from her. “What’d you do that for?”

“The knife … Saw it coming … Didn’t stop to think …” She trailed off into silence, too embarrassed to continue.

He was studying her far too intently for her comfort. “Are you a trained martial artist?” he finally asked.

“I’ve had some self-defense training.” Although her reaction had a lot more to do with a long string of jerkwad boyfriends—her mom’s and hers—than any self-defense training. But she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Perfect that. He’d probably never had a bad breakup in his entire life. But then, he probably never dated nut-balls, either. His women were no doubt as perfect and well-bred as he was.

He laid the knife down carefully on the counter in front of her. “If you’d like to chop up the tomatoes and cucumber, I’ll wash the lettuce.”

Crap. She berated herself silently for making a fool of herself over a stupid knife and vented her irritation onto the hapless veggies, which she minced nearly into pulp.

The omelet turned out to be as irritatingly perfect as its maker, all fluffy and light and neatly folded. It didn’t help her bad mood that Gray was quiet through the meal, alternately staring at his food and glancing up thoughtfully at her. She’d inadvertently revealed far too much of herself to him, and clearly he wasn’t hesitating to draw all kinds of no doubt accurate and damning inferences about her.

Too jumpy to stand those thoughtful looks any longer, she leaped up and cleared the table. While she washed and dried the dishes by hand—apparently dishwashers were off-limits in this wacky place—he gathered the pictures he’d piled together earlier and spread them out across the table.

She dried her hands and approached them.

“Sit beside me,” he ordered absently.

Startled, she sank into the chair he’d pulled up beside his. It brought their ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders into a proximity that threatened to destroy her concentration. Really, she ought to just jump the guy’s bones and get him out of her system so she could work with him. Otherwise, the next few days could be seriously miserable.

Gray filled her in efficiently. “Luke Zimmer’s upbringing was pretty normal. Middle class, Midwest, average home, average income. He ran with a neo-Nazi gang in high school, however, in—” he shuffled through the printed pages “—a suburb of Chicago. But his current political leanings are more antisocial than that.”

“What’s more antisocial than neo-Nazis?” she blurted. She’d hung out with a skinhead or two, and they’d been way too violent for her taste.

Gray continued, “Zimmer moved into this area several months ago, apparently at Jeff’s request.”

“Given that Jeff mentioned a cult leader to both of us, I’m assuming Luke got sent here to infiltrate Proctor’s group on behalf of Winston Enterprises?”

A flicker of something suspiciously like respect passed through Gray’s opaque gaze. “That’s a good guess. Although why Proctor’s a threat to an international conglomerate with no business dealings anywhere near here is a mystery to me.”

“Maybe Luke’s profile can give us a clue into what kind of a person Proctor is, or at least what the orientation of his cult’s stated beliefs is.”

The respect thing flickered again in Gray’s gaze as he replied, “My main impression of Zimmer is that he’s severely paranoid. I did a little reconnaissance on him yesterday, but without electronic equipment, I couldn’t get even remotely close to him. Although I don’t know if his paranoia predates his relationship with Proctor or is possibly a result of it.”

“Enter the girl with eagle eyes.”

He smiled a little at her. “If you can point your eagle eyes at this guy and learn more about him, that could be enormously useful.”

“Does Luke have a job?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How’s he paying his way, then?” she asked. Even losers had to eat and buy drugs.

“I’m working a little too off-book to just stroll into the local bank and ask.”

“I could hack into the bank’s computers—” she broke off “—but nobody uses computers around here, do they?”

“A few folks actually have them. They have to use hard-wired, buried cable lines, though, and there are no Wi-Fi networks.”

She shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. Guys like Luke work in cash. Leaves less of a trail for the cops to follow. What else do you know about him?”

“He’s twenty-seven years old. Computer science major at Cal Tech. Didn’t graduate, though. Busted a couple of times for pot possession by campus cops. Thirty days in jail and a fine the last time. Nothing remarkable about his family. Two brothers—one older, one younger. He got decent grades in high school, ran about a 2.5 GPA in college. Nothing else shows up on him in the system.”

She doubted she could dig up more than that if she had a computer and internet access at her disposal. He didn’t sound like the kind of guy whose life would leave much of an electronic trail. “Anyone interviewed the family?” she asked.

“I don’t have those kinds of resources at my disposal.”

She frowned. What the heck did that mean? “What can I do to help your investigation?”

“Anything you can see and learn is more than I have to go on now.”

“And who do you work for, exactly?”

He leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. Pressed his lips into a thin white line. He even spoke tightly. “At the moment, Jeff Winston.”

He might have dodged her question, but all that body language spoke volumes. He had secrets to keep. “You do realize I have the equivalent of military top-secret clearances or better,” she commented.

He didn’t seem impressed. And he didn’t open his mouth. There were not too many employers in the United States who demanded complete and total silence from their employees. She considered him thoughtfully. He didn’t look like a mercenary for a private security firm. He was too clean-cut for that. Too by-the-book. Government, then.

“Okay, Sparky. I’m going to assume you work for some spooky, secret government agency until you say otherwise. Which begs the question of why you don’t just have your peeps poke around a little and hand you a complete list of names of every known associate of one Luke Zimmer. Order up a little surveillance detail on his cronies, and you’d know what ole Luke’s up to in under a week. I don’t see why Jeff thought you would need my help at all.”

“It’s not that simple. Given our total lack of ability to use electronics in this area, the manpower required to mount the sort of surveillance op that you’re proposing would be prohibitive. Not to mention, people in this region routinely live completely off the grid. They’re nearly impossible to track by any other means than direct visual surveillance. For all I know this kid’s using a fake ID and isn’t going by the name Luke Zimmer at all.”

She nodded. “Fake identities are pretty easy to get.”

“You say that like you have one,” he replied, amused.

She had several, in point of fact. More than a little of her youth had been misspent. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “It’s dark enough to go outside and do parlor tricks with Sammie’s eyesight. If you’ll grab something with writing on it, I’ll start jogging down the road.”

“I have a better idea. Let’s put your eyes to work for real,” he suggested.

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about you put on some walking shoes and I’ll show you?”

He definitely came from the government-intelligence community. Those guys always answered a question with a question. Curious, she went to her room and grabbed her neon yellow running shoes. When she came back, Gray was just finishing packing a rucksack.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You were a Boy Scout and you’re taking along a few items in case we get stranded in the woods. With angry bears. In a blizzard. On the side of a cliff. And we need to put on Thanksgiving dinner for a dozen guests.”

He grinned. “I’m not that anal.”

“Had me fooled,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I’m trained to anticipate contingencies and plan for them.”

Oh, yeah. So a spy. When he headed for the passenger side of the Bronco, she rolled her eyes. “Really, Gray. I can get my own doors.”

“Really, Sammie Jo. Aren’t you confident enough to let a man get them for you?”

The quip hurt. She was sure he didn’t intend it, though. How could he know how inadequate she felt around polished, sophisticated people like him? To distract herself, she asked, “How old is this vehicle?”

“It’s a 1972. The first onboard car computers were put out in 1975, so all the cars permanently in the NRQZ have to be ‘74s or earlier.”

“This place is like some kind of bizarre time warp.”

He nodded. “Just think about how bizarre it’s going to seem in another twenty years. Tourists will come here to see the living history exhibit it’s rapidly becoming.”

“Where are we going?”

“Luke lives in the next valley over. Little town called Spruce Hollow. It’s known for being a bit cultish.”

That lifted her eyebrow. “Define cultish.”

“I wish I could. But I’ve only been here one day. As best I can tell, the folks there are particularly intent on eliminating all electronics from their lives. Real back-to-the-good-old-days fanatics. And apparently they’re pretty suspicious of outsiders. I thought it might be prudent not to just barge in and start asking questions.”

“Good call. I’ve done cultish before, and you have to be very careful in your approach. Best bet is to find a way to get them to invite you in.”

He looked over at her sharply. “Define having done cultish.”

She winced. It simply was not in her nature to be secretive. Yet again, her big mouth had given her away. “Let’s just say my choice in boys wasn’t always stellar. A few of them were gang types.”

“What kinds of gangs?”

“Bikers. Skinheads. Drug dealers.” She omitted the coming apocalypse bunch her mother had dragged her into the middle of. She nearly hadn’t gotten away from that particular cult alive.

To his credit, Gray didn’t show any outward signs of horror. He asked casually enough, “Do you still go for guys like that?”

The question stopped her cold. Did she? Until this afternoon, she might have said yes. But Grayson Pierce was a revelation. She’d had no idea that decent men actually existed. She’d always thought they were a figment of television producers’ imaginations. She settled for mumbling, “I don’t go for men at all at the moment. I’m a committed single person.”

He made a sound that was probably supposed to pass for a laugh, but somehow failed. “Me, too.”

“Why’s that?” she queried. “You must have women falling all over you.”

“Work,” he answered from between gritted teeth. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’d gone a little pale. What on earth?

She waited for more, but he didn’t add anything to that one-word response. She prodded, “Most men work and yet manage to have relationships. What’s the problem with your work?”

“Long hours. Lots of travel.”

“And then there’s the whole undercover thing,” she added sympathetically. “And the killing.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel abruptly, and in the glow of the dashboard, he looked a ghastly shade of gray. He gave no other outward sign of tension, but it was enough. Her eagle eyes didn’t miss much. She spoke quietly, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I have no secrets,” he ground out.

“Sure you do. You’re afraid of women. That’s why you avoid us.”

That made him actually jerk the steering wheel. The Bronco briefly swerved, and he righted its course angrily. “I am not afraid of women!”

So. There was passion beneath that calm, cool, collected exterior. Somehow, his outburst made him seem more human. More approachable. And a little color had returned to his face. Satisfied that he had himself back in hand, she sat back.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why the whole leather and chains bit? The scarlet lipstick and black nails thing shouts of insecurity and need for attention.”

He had no idea the nerve he’d just hit. She turned her head to look out the window. And there was no way she would let him see the tears in her eyes. She presented herself to the world as tough and savvy, and she wasn’t about to let down that facade.

The interior of the Bronco went silent. She fixedly studied the mountains outside the window. Although they were not all that tall, the terrain was rugged. Steep outcroppings of rock interrupted the carpet of green trees. Here and there she spotted movement. An owl circling in the dark overhead, a coyote slinking across an open field. The night was alive, and she sank into it, becoming a part of it.

“Do eagles hunt at night?” Gray asked without warning.

“They can. Although their prey mostly is active during the day, so they do the bulk of their hunting in daylight.”

“We’re coming into Spruce Hollow. Luke’s place is on the other side of town.”

She counted buildings—gas station, small grocery store, car wash, video store. Wow. She hadn’t seen one of those in a while. And of course, a church. Several dozen modest homes clustered around the businesses. Soft lights came from a few windows, and she frowned, not placing the dim glows. Those weren’t electric. Kerosene lamps, maybe? Wow. These folks did take going off the grid seriously.

“Don’t blink or you’ll miss the whole town,” she joked.

“Hence my confusion over why Jeff Winston saw fit to pull us both and send us here.”

“I get it now,” she replied quietly. “It is strange, isn’t it?”

“Luke’s cabin is up that turnoff. I figure we need to head on down the road a bit and hike back.”

She looked at the dirt track winding up a mountain into a heavy stand of spruce trees. She’d read before she came here that scientists had planted spruce trees inside the NRQZ in the 1950s because they believed the needles were the right length to absorb radio interference.

“Could we at least park uphill from his place so it’s a downhill hike?” she asked.

“You’d still have to hike back to the car.”

“I’ll wait at the cabin and you can bring the car to pick me up. After all, you’re such a gentleman.”

He murmured as he pulled the car off the narrow road and into the woods. “I’m not always a gentleman.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him in the dark. That sounded like a come-on. Surely this man was not throwing pick-up lines at her. Not after he’d so strongly signaled his complete disinterest in her earlier. His features might be easy to see, but they were not easy to read. His face was completely devoid of hints as to what he’d meant by that comment. Expressionlessness aside, the innuendo behind that comment had not been her imagination. There was definitely something going on between the two of them. A spark. Or at least friction. But what kind of friction, she had no clue.

Gray hefted the rucksack and started off through the woods. He swore quietly as a tree branch snagged his shirt.

“How ‘bout you let the lady who can see in the dark go first, Sparky? You just show me which direction we need to head, and I’ll take point.”

He frowned but said nothing.

“What? You don’t like the idea of the girl going first?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Keep in mind I’ll be able to see the bad guys way before they can see me.”

“I still haven’t had my demonstration of how well you can see.”

She glanced around in the trees, seeing every stick, every leaf. “Follow me.” She led him unerringly around the trees, calling out logs and low spots quietly over her shoulder. They topped the ridge that rose behind Zimmer’s house in a few minutes. She paused at the edge of a clearing and looked out over the town.

“Want me to start reading license plates in the driveways down there?” she murmured. “You can write them down and check them when we head back through Spruce Hollow.”

“What do you see over toward Luke’s place?”

She looked where he pointed and made out a darkened cabin through the trees. “No movement through the windows. Dirty dishes in the sink, though. I see muddy footprints on the porch, leading to the door and away from it.”

Gray stared at her. “You see footprints?”

“Shall we move in close so the blind, normal guy can verify it?”

“No. I’ll take your word for it.”

She studied the cabin for a moment. “If we move off to our right a bit, I ought to be able to see if anyone’s in bed. The curtains are open in the bedroom.”

“By all means,” Gray muttered. “All I see is a dark blob where the cabin is.”

She moved off confidently through the trees. It took her a minute to find a vantage point through the forest to see the cabin again, but she spotted it and reported, “No one’s in bed. Looks like Luke’s not home.”

Gray murmured, “He’s got a big dog. Any sign of him?”

“Nope. There’s no movement at all, and I can’t imagine any dog leaving the food on the kitchen table undisturbed like that. Luke took Fido with him. Want to move in closer?”

“Sure.”

“Too bad we can’t plant a few bugs while we’re inside.”

“I didn’t say we’d go inside!” he exclaimed under his breath.

“What’s the point of getting close if we don’t?” she retorted. “And I saw that eye roll, mister.” She grinned at the startled chagrin that crossed his features. It was good to be able to see in the dark.

She led the way down the hill to the cabin, approaching it using tree cover all the way. Gray touched her arm as they drew near and whispered, “We should check the garage. Make sure his truck’s gone.”

“I see recent tracks in the dirt. It’s gone.”

“Ohh-kay, then.”

“C’mon. The rain barrel on the porch has been moved recently—the ring of dust at its base is disturbed. I bet that’s where the spare key is hidden.” Sure enough, she was right. In short order, she let them into the cabin while Gray muttered his misgivings under his breath. She paused in the doorway and scanned the room.

“What are you doing?” Gray asked. “We know he’s not home.”

“Checking for booby traps, Mr. Impatient.”

Gray subsided behind her.

“All clear.”

He pulled out a flashlight and she slammed her hand over it fast before he could flip it on. “No lights. My eyes are fully dilated right now and you’d injure my retinas. You’ll have to make do in the dark as best you can. Downside of hanging out with me.”

He nodded his understanding and stowed the light. “What do you see, then?”

She frowned. “Actually, I see what could be signs of a struggle. That chair’s at an odd angle from the table. The hand towel lying on the floor was probably pulled off the stove handle and wasn’t hung back up. Fork’s lying halfway across the table from the unfinished plate of food.”

“Those footprints on the back porch. Could those be an intruder coming and going?” Gray asked grimly.

“Find me a pair of Luke’s shoes and I’ll compare the size to the prints on the porch.”

“Good idea.” He left and was back in a minute with a ratty pair of combat boots.

They opened the back door and she stared down at the gray floorboards. “The prints are substantially larger than these boots,” she announced. “Luke had a visitor recently.” She headed down the porch steps to examine the marks more closely. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Gray was instantly at her back, the heat of his big body close enough for her to feel.

“Drag marks. Two thick, parallel lines. Something heavy was pulled out of there.”

“Like a body dragging its heels?”

“Yup.”

He had a pistol in hand and jumped in front of her so fast she barely saw him move. “Cover your eyes, Sammie Jo. I’m turning on my flashlight.”

She slapped a hand over her face.

“Okay. The light’s off. I need you to come over here,” he announced.

He was crouching a few yards away from her. She joined him and immediately saw what he was looking at. “Do you think that’s blood?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He touched a dark, wet cluster of dead leaves and smelled his fingertips. “It’s blood, all right. Can you pick up anything from here? A trail?”

She walked around slowly, staring at the ground. “There are too many disturbed leaves and sticks. But I’m not seeing any more blood. Maybe someone bled here and then was carried away from this spot?”

“Could be,” he allowed.

She walked in ever wider circles, seeking some clue as to what had happened here. “I only see a few drops of blood near that first bit you found. I’d say someone was punched there. Maybe knocked out. I can’t discern a spatter pattern, and there’s not enough blood for a knife wound or gunshot.”

“Makes sense.” Gray went back into the house to conduct a more thorough search while she continued looking around outside. They’d been at it for maybe ten minutes when she heard something in the woods. And it sounded like it was headed this way.

“Gray,” she called out low. “Bring that gun of yours out here.”

He was by her side in an instant, shoving her behind him. She peered over his shoulder impatiently. She spotted the movement and let out a relieved breath. “It’s a dog.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s why I’m here, Smarty Pants.”

A big yellow Labrador retriever bounded out of the brush a few moments later.

“That’s Luke’s dog,” Gray said. “Take cover. Zimmer may be close behind.” He took her arm, but she stood her ground, staring in horror at the dog.

“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she said thickly. She turned away, retching.

Gray flashed his light at the dog and swore, confirming what she’d seen. The dog’s muzzle and front legs were matted with blood, and he was carrying what looked like a severed human hand in his mouth.

“Here, boy.” He whistled to the dog, who bounced over to them eagerly. Gray grabbed the dog’s collar. “Can you get me a piece of rope or something to leash him?”

She stumbled back to the house and came back with an electric extension cord. Gray had disengaged the hand from the animal’s mouth. It looked badly mauled, and it looked male. “Luke’s?” she choked out.

He shrugged. “Let’s see if we can get Fido to lead us back to the rest of this guy.” He showed the dog the hand and said urgently, “Go get him, boy.”

The dog took off, straining against the makeshift leash. They raced along behind the dog who took off like an arrow through the woods.

The spruce forest had little undergrowth apart from dead, needleless branches that tried to scratch the heck out of her as she barged through them. Were it not for her excellent vision, they’d have succeeded.

The dog whined and Sam strained to see ahead. “There. I see something,” she panted to Gray.

He dragged the dog to a walk, and they approached cautiously.

“No movement,” she reported quietly. She eased forward, taking the lead whether Gray liked it or not. Her vision was simply so much better than his that she had to go first. There. Something roughly human in size and shape lay on a limestone outcrop. She slowed abruptly and Gray slammed into her nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Ooomph,” she grunted as his arms went around her to steady her. Oh, boy. He was as strong as she’d imagined.

“Sorry,” he muttered in her ear.

“About a hundred yards ahead,” she breathed.

“What direction?”

Usually, when she went out in the field, the men she was with had night-vision equipment. She’d forgotten he was as blind as a kitten out here. She stepped around behind him, turned his shoulders slightly to the left and gave him a little push.

He walked forward cautiously, his arms out in front of him. He looked like a zombie, and an urge to laugh might have claimed her if she wasn’t scared to death of whatever was ahead.

They walked for maybe a minute, and then Gray made a sound in his throat. “It’s a body. Looks like animals have been at it. You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

But that was kind of the whole point of her being out here, wasn’t it? She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind him.




Chapter 3


Gray stared in dismay at what had once been a human being but was now an eviscerated mess. Fido whined eagerly, obviously sensing a tasty snack. He tied the dog’s makeshift leash to a tree and approached the gory remains cautiously. The guy’s face was intact enough for him to murmur, “That’s Zimmer.”

It could not be good for their investigation that Jeff’s undercover cult infiltrator was lying in pieces on the ground. What in the hell was going on around here? What had poor Luke stumbled into the middle of? What were he and Sam in the middle of?

“Uhh, Gray,” Sammie Jo replied, “you might want to take a closer look at the body with a light. I’ll cover my eyes for a second.”

Her tone of voice warned him that he wasn’t going to like what he saw. He flashed the light down at Luke’s head, which was just about the only intact part of him, and reeled back, shocked. The guy’s bloody mouth was frozen in a silent scream of terror and agony.

“His wounds don’t look like the tearing a snacking predator might cause.” Sam swallowed thickly and continued, “The edges are clean. Smooth.”

“Like a knife cut?” he asked, startled.

“Exactly.”

“I need to photograph this. If you need to move away while I use the camera flash, feel free.”

She stumbled away in the dark while he got to work snapping pictures from every angle. His hands shook as he wielded the camera. This grisly scene was all too much like another one, years ago—

Violently, he forced the memory from his mind. This was work. He’d seen plenty of blood and guts before. He could do this, dammit. Besides, how would he explain himself to Sammie Jo if he freaked out and ran screaming?

Clenching his jaw with all his strength, he lifted a flap of skin to examine it. Sammie Jo was right. A blade—a sharp one—had made that cut. Luke had been sliced open from rib to rib and hip to hip, then the two horizontal cuts joined with a vertical slash. He’d been laid open like a book. A methodical killer, then. Possible torture. Not a fight or self-defense.

It looked like a lot of the poor guy’s intestines and other organs were missing. Unless Fido or some other critter had eaten them, it would mean Zimmer had been gutted elsewhere. As Gray photographed the ground around the corpse, nowhere near enough blood was present to go along with the crime. Definitely killed elsewhere and dumped here.

The violence of the murder staggered him. Who felt such rage toward Luke Zimmer? Or worse, who would send such a vicious message to others with this killing? Who could the target of such a message be? Zimmer’s boss, maybe? Gray’s alarm ratcheted up another notch. What in the hell had he and Sammie Jo walked into? Who was Proctor?

He continued snapping pictures grimly. There were rope burns around Luke’s wrists. He’d fought for his life against those ropes, for the skin was raw and bloody. Gray reached down gingerly to test the rigidity of the corpse’s clawed hand and arm, and it gave way slightly under pressure.

It took about three hours for rigor mortis to set in and about three days for it to wear off. Luke didn’t stink enough to have been dead for three days, which meant his murder—for what else could this be—had been recent, within four or five hours, probably. And that meant he must have been killed relatively near here, too.

He heard movement nearby and whipped out his pistol.

Sammie Jo’s voice floated out of the dark. “It’s just me. But keep that out.”

It was eerie how she could see in this gloom. And why did she want him to keep his weapon drawn? He searched the woods urgently, but saw only darkness and more darkness. She materialized out of nowhere, and even though he knew she was there, she still startled him.

“I’ve got a blood trail,” she murmured. “Is it possible he wasn’t killed here?”

“It’s probable. Lead on.”

“Should we call the police and let them do the tracking?”

“Not until we have a chance to gather data for ourselves,” he replied. “Once they get involved, we’ll be shut out of the investigation.”

She moved off confidently at an oblique angle to the ridgeline. They’d been walking for several minutes when she asked, “Why on earth would the killer kill someone in an isolated spot and then move the body to another isolated spot to dump it? Why not just leave it where he killed the guy?”

“That’s an excellent question. Maybe the end of this blood trail will tell us.”

No sooner had he said those words than she came to an abrupt halt. His night vision was adapted enough by now for him to stop before he plowed into her, but he didn’t see what she was peering at.

“Road ahead,” she breathed.

“I’ll go first,” he bit out. He moved past her and crept forward slowly. Sure enough, a dirt road materialized, although he had to walk a lot farther to find it than he’d expected. He eased up to its margin and checked both directions. Deserted. “Do you see tire tracks?” he asked her.

“Pass me your camera. The tires look new,” she commented as she pointed the camera, closed her eyes, and snapped a few pictures.

“See anything else?” he asked her.

“Looks like a vehicle parked here. There’s a big cluster of footprints like someone pulled something bulky out of the vehicle here. Then the tracks lead into the woods. I think I see the return set of prints, but they’re hard to distinguish.”

“Amazing.”

“Do you recognize this road?” she asked.

“No, and I’ve studied the maps of the area exhaustively.”

“Google Earth will show it—” she broke off, swearing colorfully. “The guys at Winston Ops will have to mail us a hard copy, won’t they?”

He chuckled at her frustration. He’d banged his head against the technology wall out here a few times, too. “You catch on fast, grasshopper.”

“I’ve seen all I can, here. Now what?”

“Now we hike back to the Bronco, drive to town and call the police,” he answered. The cops were no doubt going to want a statement from them. “We need to come up with a reason for visiting Luke’s place that’ll hold up to a police investigation.”

Sammie answered gaily, “Well, obviously I went to college with him and have come to town to visit the NRQZ at his suggestion. You’re too old to pass for his pal, but I’m not.”

“I’m thirty-five,” he retorted indignantly.

“Like I said. Ancient.”

“How old are you?” he challenged.

“Twenty-eight, Grandpa.”

He’d bet she wouldn’t call him that if he made love to her— He broke off the thought, appalled. Where had that come from?

“I guess folks will believe you and I are a couple,” she commented doubtfully.

He made a worried sound back at her. “I dunno. That’s a bit of a stretch. It’s not like you’re really my type.” He didn’t need supervision to see the hurt that flashed across her face. “Just kidding,” he added hastily.

Huh. Who’d have thought swaggering, leather-clad Sammie Jo had a vulnerable underbelly? Intrigued, he climbed into the Bronco without protesting her opening her own door.

“Okay. So you’re Luke’s friend and I’m your …”

“Fiancé,” she filled in promptly.

The wave of pain that slammed into him was so bad it took his breath away. He’d tried over the years to avoid the pain, to ignore it. But he’d learned the only way to survive it was to go straight into the fire, to experience the hellish agony of it head-on. He took a deep breath and let it wash over him. A person would think that, after five years, it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Granted, the waves didn’t slam into him as often now, nor bury him so deep. But they still hurt just as much.

When the worst of it had passed, he glanced over at his companion. She wanted to pose as his fiancée and not just a girlfriend, huh? Interesting. It suggested a level of intimacy that would take their cover story to a whole different place. He ought to be game to go there. He ought to be all for it, in fact. Those curves of hers practically begged to be touched.

Then the larger problem hit him. “How on earth are we going to explain your—” He broke off.

“Reptilian eyes?” she supplied wryly.

“They don’t look reptilian,” he retorted indignantly. “Insectoid, maybe, but not reptilian.”

Thankfully, he’d judged her correctly. She laughed at the remark. “Seriously,” he continued. “We can’t waltz into the police station with your eyes exposed. And at this time of night, they’ll think you’re stoned if you wear sunglasses the whole time.”

That made her giggle. She had a great laugh. “I’ve got it covered, Sparky. I wear brown contact lenses in public.”

“All right, then. You’re not an alien, and we’re getting married. Have we set a date?”

“I doubt the police will ask, but no. We’re trying to figure out where to live first,” she answered thoughtfully. “Are we considering moving to the NRQZ?”

He liked that idea. It would give them an excuse to poke around the local area openly. “Can you pull off a back-to-nature hippie persona?” he asked her.

“I can be anything you want me to be, big guy,” she answered flippantly.

For some reason, the comment set his teeth on edge. “How about you just be yourself with me? I don’t need or want pretense from my women.”

She looked shocked and fell silent as he guided the car to the Spruce Hollow gas station and its no-kidding, working pay phone. He mentally kicked himself for making that “my women” comment. No sense in leading the poor girl on.

He dialed the number of the police placarded on the side of the pay phone and reported Luke’s death. He was not surprised when he was ordered to stay right where he was and wait for a deputy to come meet them.

The remainder of the night went predictably. He and Sammie Jo described arriving at the cabin to find their “friend” gone and his dog bloody. They gave detailed instructions to the sheriff as to where to find Luke’s body. They followed a deputy back to the sheriff’s office in the Bronco and were ordered to come inside and make statements.

Fido had arrived at the police station to be held as evidence until a forensic pathologist from Charleston could come down and collect the dog to examine. He could be seen jumping around inside playing with a deputy, already on his way to being spoiled rotten. As Gray stared at the well-lit building, he glanced over at Sammie Jo in concern. She was in the middle of putting contact lenses in her eyes. “Are you going to be okay in there? It’s pretty bright.”

“Artificial light isn’t as bad as sunlight. I’ll survive. Gemma had these contacts specially made for me. They act like miniature sunglasses. I just can’t wear them for more than a few hours at a time.”

When they stepped inside, he rather missed the odd, but uniquely Sammie Jo, gold color of her eyes. In spite of the lenses, she squinted heavily and looked like she was in pain as they were seated at desks, pads of paper and pens shoved in front of them, and told to write down their statements.

He had a hard time concentrating on his because a deputy spent the whole damned time hitting on Sammie Jo. She rebuffed him steadily, but the guy just wouldn’t catch a clue. By the time Gray laid down his pen, his fist ached to punch something.

When Sammie Jo finished her statement, Gray stood up immediately and moved to her side. “C’mon, sweetheart. It’s been a long night. Let’s get back to our place and get some sleep.” Glaring at the deputy, he placed a possessive arm across her shoulder and pulled her to his side.

She was tall enough that her curves fit against him nicely. Her body was lithe and vibrant against his, softer than he’d expected, and a surge of possessiveness flashed through him. Stunned, he walked her to the Bronco and deposited her in the passenger seat in silence.

As he climbed in and started the car, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Dim-witted bastard,” he muttered. “Couldn’t he see you were with me?”

As she popped out the lenses and stored them in their little plastic case, she commented, “Why, Grayson Pierce. Are you jealous of Barney?”

“Who?”

“Barney Fife. From The Andy Griffith Show.”

“Not familiar with it.”

“Good grief, man. You’ve lived a freakishly sheltered life! We must rectify this flaw in your upbringing!”

He doubted his grandmother would agree that his upbringing was flawed. At least not until his American mother divorced his British father and hauled herself and her son back to the States to live. He’d gone straight into high school and hadn’t had time or inclination for American television. He’d had enough trouble making the transition to this culture without trying to master that aspect of it.

“Did you get any good pictures of the body?” she asked.

“You tell me. You’re the one with supersight.” He passed her the digital camera and she peered at the pictures closely.

“God almighty, this is nasty,” she muttered. “Somebody really had it in for this guy. I’d love to blow these up on a high-definition computer monitor and have a look at them.”

“At a glance, the wounds strike me as too surgical to have been inflicted in uncontrolled rage. I think the killer wanted to send someone a message.”

She looked up at him sharply. “It would be a heck of message. Who would the killer send it to?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“Hey, I’m a desk jockey. I don’t do the whole dangerous, chase-after-psychopathic-murderers thing.”

He glanced over at her in surprise. “With your eyesight? I’d think Winston Enterprises would put you out in the field nonstop.”

“Doc Jones has been keeping me close to home for testing, and that’s fine with me. I’m a big ole chicken when it comes to scary stuff.”

Somehow he doubted that. She’d been fearless trekking through the woods earlier. He commented dryly, “Welcome to the big leagues, kid.”

“And what league is that, exactly? You’re a spy, right? Who for? Please tell me you have tons of field experience and aren’t in over your head here.”

“Sorry. I can neither confirm nor—”

“Oh, stop,” she interrupted. “If we’re going to be working together, you might as well tell me. Besides, if my life’s in danger, I have a right to know who I’m depending on to keep me alive.”

Depending on. The words staggered him. No. No! She mustn’t! Panic ripped through him. He failed the people who depended on him! He couldn’t be responsible for more violence, more death …

He realized he was about to rip the steering wheel out of its column and forcibly relaxed his fingers. He couldn’t work with her if she was expecting to depend on him. She had to get out of here. Far, far away from him. He’d call Jeff when they got back to the motel and tell him to pull her off this op.

How he managed to guide the Bronco the rest of the way back to their motel, he wasn’t quite sure. It all passed in a haze of terror. He parked the vehicle and turned off the ignition. “You need to leave. Now. I’ll call Jeff and have him send a jet for you in the morning.”

“I don’t bail out on people because the going gets tough, Gray.”

“This isn’t about abandoning me. It’s about your safety. I won’t risk your life—”

“Really. Stop. I realize you’re some sort of mega-protective, do-the-right-thing type, but get over it. I’m not leaving.”

He closed his mouth on his next protest because it threatened to become a scream of agony. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t be responsible for her. Not for anybody ever again. He fought his way back to a modicum of sanity by focusing on Sammie Jo. He replayed her protest in his mind. A faint note of desperation in her voice had caught his attention. Something that said no matter how dangerous it got here, she’d rather face this than face whatever waited for her back home.

On a hunch he asked, “What are you running from?”

That stopped her cold in the act of pushing her car door open for herself. “I beg your pardon?”

He took advantage of her distraction to go around and open it for her. He took only a single step back, which forced her to slide past him at a distance of about two inches. When they were chest to chest, he repeated, “Who are you running from, Sammie Jo?”

She hesitated for an instant and then moved past him to the bungalow. As he turned on the lights, she slid a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. He stared at her featureless gaze expectantly.

“Dang, you’re good,” she commented neutrally.

“Well?”

“I just broke up with a ginormous jerk, and I happen to find a change of scenery refreshing at the moment.”

“Is he violent?”

“Possibly.”

“Psychotic?”

“Definitely.”

His heart was pounding far too hard. She needed protection, and he couldn’t possibly do it. She mustn’t depend on him. “Anything else I should know about you?” he asked tautly.

“Hey, you’re the one with all the secrets, not me,” she declared.

And that was how he planned to keep it. There were some things he would never speak of. Ever.

“Now what?” she asked, startling him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Our only lead on what this Proctor guy’s up to is dead. How do you want to proceed with investigating his cult or whatever it is?”

“After I put you on a plane in the morning, I plan to drive up into the mountains and find that road again. Then I’ll follow it and see where it leads.”

“Why wait till morning? I see great at night. I’ll be your eyes.”

And apparently, she was bright-eyed and bushytailed at nearly 3:00 a.m. Far be it from him to admit that he was beat and would rather sleep. He picked up the car keys resolutely. “Let’s go, then.”

Finding the dirt road wasn’t hard. His sense of direction was unerring and he went right to it. But it got weird when Sammie Jo announced from the passenger seat that she’d spotted the tire tracks leaving the drop-off point. All he saw was gravel stretching away into the dark in the headlights.

“Slow down,” she ordered, leaning forward in her seat. “Okay. Go straight ahead through the intersection.”

They followed the tracks for maybe a mile. Then they ran into a paved road and the tracks turned right. But the dust had worn off the tires in a few hundred yards, and Sammie Jo shook her head in disgust. “Lost the tracks. Drat. That vehicle could have gone anywhere from here.”

“Let’s head back to the motel and get some rest. We can talk to the sheriff tomorrow and see what he’s come up with.”

“You think he’ll work with you?” she asked doubtfully. “He seemed the type to resent outsiders, and he wasn’t exactly friendly to us. Now, Deputy Barney seemed all kinds of eager to work with me. I could probably pump him for some—”

“No.” She looked far too pleased at his knee-jerk response. He scowled. “Have you got any better ideas?”

“Well, yeah,” she answered. “We have to stop being outsiders.”

“Come again?”

“Let’s move into the area. Settle down.”

“What are you talking about?” He was lost, and he considered himself to be a reasonably bright fellow.

“Think about it. We’ve already established ourselves as a couple. I mentioned to the sheriff that we’re thinking about moving off the grid and into this area. So let’s rent a little place. Meet the neighbors. They’ll be a lot more likely to talk to us than if we’re tourists passing through.”

The idea of setting up house sent figurative butcher knives slashing through his body. It was a cover, dammit. Just a cover. An act. Lord knew he’d become a hell of an actor over the past few years. He could put on this fake skin and live in it for a while if he had to.

“Where do you suggest we move to?” he asked.

“Spruce Hollow, of course.”

“It’s a bold gambit.”

She grinned over at him. “Are you in?”

“Your middle name is trouble, isn’t it?” he grumbled.

“With a capital T. Just leave it to me. I’ll set up the rest of our cover tomorrow. All I need you to do is get some of the kind of clothes you normally wear.”

“That I normally … What are you talking about?”

“You look like a pig dressed up as a showgirl.”

“Excuse me?” he exclaimed.

“Well, you don’t look like an actual pig. You’re quite a hottie, in point of fact. But you look totally uncomfortable in those jeans and that ridiculous flannel shirt. If you’re going to blend in, you have to look like yourself.”

He frowned. “I’d have to make a trip to a real city to shop.”

“You do that and I’ll take care of the rest. By the time you get back, I’ll have all the arrangements made.”

He stared at her in shock. Steamroller, thy name isSammie Jo.

He got back to the motel room after his road trip to Charleston at about noon and found a note on the kitchen table.

G.—I took the liberty of packing your stuff—nice silk boxer shorts, BTW. Check out of the motel and meet me at this address. And for God’s sake, wear some uptight rich-guy clothes.

—S.

She’d checked out his underwear? Vixen. He’d have to return the favor sometime. He noticed belatedly that the sticky note was pasted to a hand-drawn map. What had she gone and done?

Bemused, he followed her instructions to Spruce Hollow’s one and only side street and pulled up in front of a one-story brick ranch house that looked straight out of the 1950s. Oh, God. He couldn’t do this.

The house was low and rectangular, nothing like the neat, craftsman-style home that flashed into his head with blinding clarity. A home with blood everywhere. Death. And that horrible, primal scream that wouldn’t stop.




Chapter 4


He’d done some hard things in his life, seen and survived horrors that would have broken a lesser man—at least that was what the shrinks told him. But turning the Bronco into that little ranch house’s driveway, parking it and climbing out like he wasn’t screaming in terror inside his head was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

Two women emerged from the house as he stood by the SUV fighting every warning his body could shout at him to turn and run until he couldn’t take another step. The yard was overgrown and full of weeds, but a neat carpet of green swam in his mind’s eye. Paint peeled from these shutters, and a rusty rain gutter dangled from the front porch. That other house had been fully restored to pristine perfection.

He forced his mind to a place of calm. No emotion. It had been a long time since he’d had to set a date for himself, but he did so, now. One month from today. If the pain had not subsided by then, he gave himself permission to contemplate ending his life on that day. And with the mental exercise came a modicum of peace. It had been the only way he’d survived those first few years. Making bargains with himself that, if it all became too much for him by some set date, he could check out of life’s mortal coil.

He eyed the ranch house critically as he climbed out of the SUV. The roof looked sound and the brick siding looked solid, but that was about the best he could say for the place.

One of the women on the long front porch wore a business suit that screamed Realtor. The other one looked like June Cleaver, complete with pastel-flowered dress, full skirt and a demure little belt cinching in a tiny waist. Her coloring was creamy and soft, her eyes dark, her hair in a French twist… . Good God. Her red hair.

He barely recognized Sammie Jo. She looked sweet. Domestic. Gentle, even. Gone was the leather, the loud makeup, the in-your-face swagger. The change staggered him. He climbed out of the Bronco in minor shock.

“Honey, you’re here!” Sammie Jo cried. “Isn’t it cute? We’ll have so much fun fixing it up. Oh, our first place together,” she gushed.

Oh, God. One month. He could keep up this horrible charade for one month. Jeff Winston deserved that long from him in return for all Jeff had done for him in his darkest days. Gray put one foot in front of him. Then his other foot. One step at a time. One second at a time. Just keep going. Keep moving.

Sammie Jo rushed up to him excitedly. “I knew you’d love it, so I went ahead and started the paperwork. We’ve only rented it for six months. If you hate it, you won’t have to live here that long.” She smiled up winningly at him.

“How could I say no to you?” he managed to choke out.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. He was so stunned he just stood there and let her.

“Well, don’t you two make the most darling couple?” the Realtor cooed from behind Sammie Jo.

Couple? A tiny voice wailed in the back of his mind, Nooooooo. One. Month.

He shook hands and murmured appropriate inanities as Sammie Jo introduced him to the Realtor. In a fugue state that made him feel more robot than man, he followed the women inside and duly signed a lease.

He roused enough from his state of horror to register faint surprise at Sammie Jo’s signature. Samantha Jessup. Samantha, huh? Suddenly, the idea of calling her Sam didn’t seem so wrong. As a derivative of Samantha, it wasn’t nearly as masculine and awkward as he’d thought it was. Thankfully, as soon as she dropped a hint about him officially carrying her over the threshold now that it was theirs, the Realtor laughed and took her leave.

“Are you okay?” Sammie Jo mumbled in concern as soon as the Realtor’s car door slammed shut.

“What have you done—” he started as they stood on the porch and watched the woman’s car pull out of the driveway.

“Inside, sweetheart,” she murmured, sotto voce. “The neighbors will be watching.”

“In that case …” He bent down and swept his arms around her. He lifted her in his arms and strode toward the front door. But Lord, the price of it. Using techniques a trauma therapist had taught him, he blanked his mind completely. And then, bit by bit, he let in the details of this one moment. The cool air. The autumn smell of burned leaves. The weight and softness of the woman in his arms. A hint of roses as she shifted slightly. The way his breathing deepened in response to her.

Laughing, she reached down to open the door for him. He added the sultry delight in her laughter to his inventory of sensations.

Carefully, carefully he reached past this moment to the next safest thing: his job. This was a cover. They had to establish themselves as a couple. Being absolutely certain to let no emotion creep into him, he paused in the doorway and leaned his head down to kiss her.

What he hadn’t counted on was her kissing him back. On her mouth opening in surprise beneath his, on her tasting like chantilly cream, all sweet and fluffy with a hint of vanilla. Her arms went around his neck, and she moaned in her throat. She went soft and warm in his arms, cuddling up against him like a purring kitten. Gone was the predator, replaced by this entirely foreign—and entirely female—female.

She casually smashed through every barrier he’d erected for himself, ripping away the fog he’d wrapped himself in like a protective blanket. All that was left was something raw and unnamable, both needy and violent. It scared the living hell out of him.

But the job demanded it, right? It was all part of their cover. It was okay. He let go of the fear and allowed in the sensations bombarding him from every direction. He tested her lips with the tip of his tongue and they were as tasty and alluring as the rest of her. She kissed him back eagerly, almost as if she’d been thinking about it for a while and wondering what it would be like.

And then the heat really amped up between them. What changed, he wasn’t sure. But one second they were kissing, and the next, they were kissing. She was pulling his head down to hers, he was plundering her mouth with lips and tongue, she was devouring him back, and raging need to get her naked roared through him.

He stepped all the way inside the house and kicked the door shut. Not breaking the incendiary kiss, he let her body slide down to the floor slowly, registering every feminine curve that pressed wantonly against him. It had been so long. So very long …

“You’re making me think naughty thoughts,” she gasped.

“That’s how you like it, isn’t it?” he murmured back. “Naughty.”

Her lips curved in a smile so smoking hot he was vaguely surprised his hair didn’t catch on fire. “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

And with that, she stepped back from him. She spun into the room off the left of the tiny foyer. Her full skirt twirled around her and she looked like a fresh, young girl. Where had the edgy, tough goth chick disappeared to? He fought to form a coherent thought and came up with, “What’s with the retro virgin look?”

She laughed gaily. “I gather from the enthusiastic welcome home that you like the look?”

He shrugged. “The neighbors were watching.” He wished the words back as soon as he saw her face fall in disappointment. But then she rushed to the corner, yanking at the edge of a horrible gold shag carpet that looked nearly original to the house.

“Check out the hardwood beneath this hideous stuff. Once we pull up the carpet and buff the floor, it’ll be gorgeous.”

“I’m not doing home improvement projects on our hideout!”

“But that’s our cover. We’re setting up our first home together. If folks see us doing yard work and painting and replacing carpet, they’ll know we’re moving in for good. They’ll open up to us.”

“How long are we supposed to spend playing house and hoping it leads to some information?”

“As long as it takes,” she answered blithely.

“You’re mad.”

She threw him a disingenuously innocent look. “Why, I’m not mad at all. I’m thrilled. Let’s make a list and head out to the home-improvement store right now. Shelly—she’s the Realtor—told me where it is.”

“Seriously, Sam. This is nuts.”

“Seriously, Gray. It’ll work. Trust me.”

“I hardly know you! How am I supposed to be your fiancé full-time and in public, no less?”

She laughed. “That kiss you laid on me was a bit more than a hello-it’s-nice-to-meet-you peck. Just go with that.”

“What the hell does that kiss have to do with anything?” He would have added that the kiss had just been an act for the nosy neighbors, but he didn’t want to make that hurt look pass across her face again. And besides, it would have been a lie.

Damn. It would have been a lie. He’d kissed her because he’d been looking for an excuse to do so. The notion staggered him. He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years. And it felt disloyal of him to do it now.

“C’mon. I’ve already got a shopping list started.”

She dragged him around the house, for all the world acting like an enthusiastic bride with no sense of how much work she was proposing to take on with the various projects she had in mind. They’d be busy for weeks renovating this stupid house at the rate she was going. He didn’t even want to contemplate what it was going to cost him emotionally to get through this. It was a job. Just a job. And somehow he suspected he’d be repeating that to himself more times than he cared to count in the days to come.

“How about we start a little smaller and see how things go?” he finally wedged in between bursts of ideas from her.

“Party pooper,” she announced.

“Who’s paying for all of this, anyway?”

“Jeff Winston. He gave me an expense account.”

“Yes, but let’s not bankrupt the guy.”

She laughed. “In the first place, we could renovate the state of West Virginia and not bankrupt Jeff. And in the second, if we do a great job on the place, our lease includes an option to buy. Jeff can buy it and sell it for a profit.”

“Not in this housing market,” he snorted.

“You’re too practical for your own good,” she declared. “You need to loosen up.”

He’d heard that before. But for the past few years, he hadn’t cared. From her, though, it stung a little.

As they pulled into the parking lot of a home-improvement store a little while later, though, he had to admit her enthusiasm was contagious.

She exclaimed, “This place is so cool! It’s a time warp, I’m tellin’ ya.”

He gazed around the parking lot, populated entirely with vintage cars. Frankly, he found it a little creepy. “Come on, June,” he grumbled.

“Who?”

“June Cleaver.” He wasn’t completely ignorant when it came to American TV.

She flashed him one of those heart-stopping smiles of hers. “Ahh, if only you knew what I’m capable of in the dark. You’d never call me that.”

His heart actually skipped a beat. Her sunglasses today were oversize things with white plastic frames and rhinestones that made him think of Marilyn Monroe. He’d give anything to be able to see past those dark lenses to her eyes right now. Was she just teasing him, or was there an edge of truth to her words? Did he detect a hint of an offer in that flirtatious comment? Did he dare contemplate taking her up on it?

She looped her arm in his as he headed for the store. She murmured offhandedly, “That chaste little peck you laid on me back at the house doesn’t even constitute a warm-up kiss in my world.”

Mentally, his jaw dropped. He swore under his breath at the places his thoughts raced off to and refused to come back from. And that was why she probably got away with buying hundreds of dollars’ worth more of paint and light fixtures and curtain rods than they needed. She even managed to cram a half dozen scrawny rosebushes in the back of the Bronco.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he grumbled, “You took blatant advantage of my distraction to bankrupt Jeff.”

“My mother always told me, ‘Honey, if you’ve got it, use it.’”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t like your mother.”

Her voice dropped into a grim, tense register he’d never heard out of her before. “Neither do I.”

He peered over at her, but she was staring straight ahead and those damned shades gave away nothing. “What’s wrong with her?” he ventured to ask.

“I would have to know where she is to be able to answer that fully.”

Whoa. “Did she leave you?”

“No.” A sigh. “I left her. But by the time I grew up enough to go back and find her, she was gone. Moved away, I guess.”

“And with all of Winston Enterprise’s resources you haven’t been able to locate her?” he blurted, surprised.

“Didn’t look.”

Instinct told him to let the subject drop. She’d run away from home, huh? How young? It certainly explained her harder edges. So who was the soft, sweet Sammie Jo who’d spent the past few hours with him … and who was suddenly and completely absent?

Although the house was nominally furnished, they still spent much of the afternoon assembling simple furniture and establishing that Sam didn’t know a flat-head from a Phillips screwdriver. She could clean with a vengeance, however, and the little house fairly sparkled before she slowed down enough to help him tape up black-out shades in a bedroom for her. For his part, he stayed busy and did his best not to think at all. Not to remember. Another first house. Another life.

Sam called him from the living room. She’d unpacked the NRQZ-approved, flat-screen TV he’d carried in for her, but she needed help hooking it to the house’s cable system. The phone, electricity and cable were already turned on, so they got a picture right away. She was in transports of ecstasy.

“TV junkie much?” he asked as she nearly bowled him over with a hug of thanks.

Another woman’s laughter echoed in his head. Another woman’s arms around him. He must not remember!

Sam was speaking. “… have no idea. How else am I supposed to spend my nights?”

His arms tightened involuntarily around her. “I can think of a few ways.”

She swatted his arm before he released her and headed for the kitchen. He’d discovered a while back that kitchens were great places to work off a case of panic. Lots of fussy little jobs to do with his hands and attention to detail to distract him. Tomorrow he’d have to go grocery shopping. He already had supplies for a simple spaghetti alfredo in deference to Sam’s vegetarian preferences, and he set about whipping it up.

They ate a late lunch on tray tables in the living room, which felt cave-like with the windows draped in thick curtains. She’d taken out her contacts, and her eyes glowed an unearthly shade that was more than a little unsettling. He was fascinated, though, by how Sam continuously cycled through no less than four television shows. “You’re going to wear that remote out,” he commented.

“Get your own if you’re worried about it,” she shot back.

The tough, mouthy version of Sammie Jo was back, apparently. Which one was the real person and which one the act? It was hard to tell. He had to give her credit for distracting him, though. He’d made it all the way through the meal without one flashback. Small steps, buddy. Small steps.

“So how do we go about gathering all this supposed intel the neighbors possess?” he asked.

“Can you bake?” she asked obliquely.

“What does that have to do with anything?”




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